Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wen Ruohan strode out of the Scorching Sun Palace, throwing his arms out maniacally as he howled at the forces before him. Nie Mingjue felt his body and sabre burn with heat and rage as the madman’s crimson eyes fell on him, insanity burning within those hellfire irises.

Jiang Wanyin had inadvertently taken a step back at the sight of Wen Ruohan, having never seen him at his most deranged, and even Wei Wuxian, with dark miasma heavily draped around him like a cloak, clutched tighter at Chenqing.

Beside Nie Mingjue, Lan Xichen panted as Shuoyue dripped filth onto his already stained robes. As Wen Ruohan leapt down the grand steps, he swept a hand through the air, and a heavy weight flew past him, tumbling down.

The First Jade furrowed his eyebrows, confusion taking hold of all of them for a moment, as the pile on the steps finally came to a halt.

The thin outer robe, stained beyond belief, unfurled in almost slow motion—a parody of a flower in bloom, blossoming outwards to reveal a pale face. The flesh seemed completely bloodless, yet the drooling line of red from the temples and lips told another story.

Lan Wangji gazed blankly at the four of them, absolutely serene, eyes half-lidded and barely revealing the thinnest shadow of dull, dead gold. His wrists were bound together with rope, and had been flung up over his head with the force of his landing, displaying the fiery marks that wound fervently around his neck and shoulders, the innumerable cuts that riddled his limbs, and most damningly, the Wen brand crusted in burned skin and limpid yellow, blinding sunlight on his heart.

The stones beneath them cried out in dissonance as Shuoyue dropped, blade-first. Lan Xichen staggered forward, eyes wide and white, breath rasping from his throat—“Wang—“

Nie Mingjue grabbed him by the arm as he fell, and Wen Ruohan roared with laughter. He spun around, catching sight of Jiang Wanyin, who was frozen in horror at the sight, and Wei Wuxian, who seemed to have become virtually inhuman.

“Indeed, he was the Second Jade! He didn’t even flinch at torture—only breaking his meridians seemed to do the trick!” Wen Ruohan advanced upon them, a pillar of flame—his sword—manifesting in his right hand, even as he drew Lan Wangji’s body forward with his left.

Lan Xichen was shaking in absolute hysteria, choking on the blood that made its way up his throat as he wailed. Nie Mingjue could barely hold him back as his once-white sleeves began to tear from the strain.

Wei Wuxian suddenly threw himself at Wen Ruohan, heedless of Jiang Wanyin’s snap of fear for him to—“Get back, Wei Wuxian you idiot!”—a wave of darkness enveloping his body with a shriek of a thousand ghosts as his shadows slammed against the crimson sword.

“Oh?” Wen Ruohan inspected Wei Wuxian’s eyes, blown red, tears already dripping down his cheeks. Mouth bared in a monstrous snarl, black smoke seemed to burst from his eyes and throat, billowing around his face like ink spilled in water, reaching for Wen Ruohan’s neck. The sect leader laughed, blasting him back with a sweep of fire. “And here I thought you of all people had no love lost for him!”

Wei Wuxian faltered, expression twisting upwards, anguish gripping his brow. Even the serpentine movements around him stilled.

Before Wen Ruohan could blow him away for good, Jiang Cheng dashed in, Zidian spitting and crackling as it wrapped around the red sword. He yanked with all his might. Sweat dripped from his temples.

Lan Xichen took advantage of the distraction to slip from Nie Mingjue’s grasp, staggering to a halt beside the cold body on the ground. Even as the other three engaged in battle with the Chief Cultivator behind him, the fight fell through his deaf ears and slipped uselessly down his trembling fingers. His robes pooled under him as he fell to his knees and gathered his brother’s body in his arms, drawing out the last vestiges of his energy to send through Lan Wangji’s system…but there was nothing there.

Where there had once been powerful, bountiful spiritual veins and energy, were now completely annihilated remnants. Lan Xichen sobbed, cradling him to his chest, wiping his sleeve at the corner of Lan Wangji’s lips, desperately etching away at the dried blood.

Nie Mingjue kept Xichen in the corner of his eye as he charged Wen Ruohan. The man spun in a circle, tongues of flame lashing out from his body and fending off the deadly attacks from three fronts. A wave of volcanic heat washed over them—Wei Wuxian’s shadows were blown out into wisps, before collecting themselves and rearing for another strike. Zidian and Baxia leapt forward at the behests of their masters, landing glancing blows on Wen Ruohan’s body. However, nothing seemed to deter him.

Wen Ruohan was an unstoppable force—Wei Wuxian, Nie Mingjue, and Jiang Cheng, having already waded through a hellish mass of fierce corpses and cultivators, were at their limits. After what felt like only a few moments—a drawn-out cacophony of clashing blades and leering flames—they stood before Wen Ruohan, exhausted and wounded.

Wei Wuxian was delirious. He felt the fury of the dead permeating through his veins, crashing into the waves of despair and disbelief as he caught sight of the Lan brothers again. Seeing Lan Zhan’s limp body, his sightless eyes…The world seemed to stretch around him, with the knowledge that Lan Zhan’s murderer was right in front of him screaming at him, scraping at his helplessness. Something enveloped him like a tide, and he distantly felt the Yinhufu scorch him from where it sat in his robes, gathering swirling masses of the howling dead above like a hurricane.

Jiang Cheng watched as Wei Wuxian was swallowed up by a writhing mass of shadows that slowly edged closer to Wen Ruohan, stomach dropping at the sight. The man himself seemed to have no fear, simply waiting for him to approach. A glint of excitement flashed through his bloody eyes.

The cloud of souls reared back, lashing out and barely restrained by the eye of the storm. They shot towards Wen Ruohan, a wall of piercing death, as he readied his sword and energy for the final blow. The impact shattered the stones beneath them, thousands of dead screeching as they dropped onto Wen Ruohan. A shockwave tore out from the centre, rendering all within range deaf for a few moments.

Shards of stone blew past his face.

The stink of sulfur was almost noxious.

All was silent. Then, thunder crackled.

Numbness overcame Wei Wuxian as he stared at what had become of Wen Ruohan. A body slashed into white and red—mutilated at the hands of the dead—with a blade protruding out from its chest.

Meng Yao drew the sword back with a flourish. The body of one of the greatest sect leaders of the cultivation world fell, grandiose robes fluttering.

Before it had even hit the ground, Wei Wuxian had turned and moved away, coming to a stop before the Lan brothers. He stumbled to his knees, a hand reaching out tenuously to Lan Wangji’s sleeve. Lan Xichen had quietened. He simply held Lan Wangji close, eyes closed, suffocating.

Wei Wuxian stayed, a pale hand just out of reach. The sky began to weep.

Chapter Text

To cultivators, rain was nothing. 

Righteous cultivators, at least. Wei Wuxian’s body began to shiver as the relentless pattering went on. 

They had been kneeling there for a while.

Lan Xichen was still leaning over his brother, keeping only his face dry from the rain. Washed-off blood formed a small pool around his body, the stains on his inner robe seeping crimson watercolours. 

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes at the sight, before forcing himself up. He swayed a little, the taste of copper filling his mouth. Jiang Cheng watched him from his resting spot a few steps away with glassy eyes, ready to move if he collapsed.

Instead, Wei Wuxian gingerly made his way over to where Lan Xichen had dropped Shuoyue and picked up the bloodied sword. Slowly, he shuffled back towards the Lan brothers. With each step, he felt the weighted toll of the demonic path beneath his skin, but held himself together as he kneeled down again. 

Finally taking Lan Wangji’s cold wrists in one hand, he held Shuoyue by the innermost part of its hilt with the other. Focusing on everything but that dead weight, he carefully cut through the immortal-binding ropes that tied those elegant hands together. 

Lan Xichen still hadn’t moved. 

Keeping his eyes trained away from Lan Wangji’s serene face, Wei Wuxian placed Shuoyue beside Lan Xichen. Despite the cold, he peeled off his wet outer robe, shaking and wringing it out to the side. 

Finally, he laid it over Lan Wangji.

The black outer robe was a stark contrast to the white beneath. It was almost as if Lan Wangji had really been swept away, falling into the shadows of the otherworld. At the very least, the ghastly marks on his body were now hidden from view.

A long moment passed before Zewu-jun finally stirred, focusing on the length of fabric that covered Lan Wangji up to the neck. Lan Xichen set an indescribable gaze on Wei Wuxian, who returned it emptily, before seeming to stutter back into motion. 

With trembling fingertips, he gently slid Lan Wangji’s eyes closed, those long eyelashes drawing down like a sigh. Zewu-jun then folded the rest of the robe over his brother’s pale face. 

His dark eyes watched the whole time, as if this was the last chance that he could etch those features into his memory. 

Lan Xichen stood slowly, the weight of Lan Wangji cradled in his arms. On the other side, Nie Mingjue moved to help him, but at the slightest movement Lan Xichen made to turn away, he desisted. 

“Wei Wuxian,” Staring straight ahead, Lan Xichen rasped, voice raw from screaming. 

“Before the Scorching Sun Palace is pillaged, please…” The hands holding Lan Wangji’s body clenched into the dark robe. “Take his things from that place, if you can find them.” 

Wei Wuxian stared at Lan Xichen’s wavering form, still standing tall despite everything. A faint sense of shock overcame him, before he was awash with cold. 

He bowed his head. 

Lan Xichen breathed out, turning away.

Streaks of red from the Infernal Hall led the way into the dungeons.

The horror that climbed up Wei Wuxian’s throat tasted like iron. The thought of Lan Zhan, dragged into Wen Ruohan’s execution ground, guaranteed anything but a quick end…those vile words spat by Wen Ruohan came back to haunt him, of meridians and torture. How excruciating would it be, to have them pried open, one by one, destroying the very structure of his cultivation? How agonising?

To Wei Wuxian, who had borne the pain of manifesting his golden core as it had been cut out of him—at least still retained his meridians and spiritual veins. They were simply empty. 

For Lan Zhan, who had been known for his cultivation, to have his power, his body torn apart in such a way…a crushing pressure descended on Wei Wuxian’s chest. His vision swam, hot, and he leaned against the wall. 

Then, Wei Wuxian had found the branding iron. 

He looked at it, so similar to the one used on him by Wang Lingjiao that he couldn’t be sure that they weren’t one and the same. Crusted with dried flakes of skin and blood, the sun peered out at him mockingly.

Distantly, Wei Wuxian wondered if the emotions frozen in him at this moment were in danger of turning into another Yinhufu—was the resentment dispensed from Lan Zhan’s death and the surrounding carnage enough, or perhaps even too much? Could the hate and agony spilled in this place sink into the very bars of the cells around him, shrieking loud enough into the otherworld to raise every single corpse in the land, enough for him to—

The cravings of the dead came to a harsh halt, ice surging through his body like spiritual power used to. Wei Wuxian stared at the thin strip of white hanging beside a veritable pool of blood. 

This was the end of the trail. 

Heart in his mouth, he staggered into the cell. 

He reached out. Wei Wuxian’s fingers smoothed over a Lan sect forehead ribbon, the only one he had ever touched. Soaked Wen-red in places though it was, the embroidered clouds under his fingertips were unmistakable. 

It was not whole, however. A tail end had been cleanly severed off and lay coiled on the ground of the dark cell. 

It was the most innocuous thing, a plain, cloudless sky. 

Wei Wuxian looked at it, and it seemed to look at him. Blood pounded in his ears. 

He reached down, fingertips scrabbling on hard stone, and slipped it into his robes like a thief.

By the time Wei Wuxian stepped out of the Scorching Sun Palace once more, hordes of cultivators had arrived. 

They must have come from the backlines, he realised. The distribution of able-bodied cultivators here mostly pointed towards one sect—the petals of Sparks Amidst Snow bloomed passionately into the Wen residences. 

Looking around, he saw the edges of the crowd, where the wounded were being treated and the dead collected. There Jiang Cheng stood, waiting.

Wei Wuxian slowly made his way through the streams of people. They parted before him, though he felt the weight of their lingering gazes. Fear, awe, and curiosity. 

Missing his sword and outer robe, stained with miasma, with tiny cuts all over his bare skin from stone shards; he must have made quite a sight, but no more than the others who had also faced Wen Ruohan.

Up close, Jiang Cheng had clearly received spiritual energy; colour had returned to his face. He squeezed Wei Wuxian’s bony shoulder. 

“Finished?” 

Wei Wuxian nodded, mute. Jiang Cheng glanced at him strangely, then opened his mouth again.  

“I don’t know why Zewu-jun would want you to…” His brusque remark trailed off. Evidently, this shidi of his recovered far too quickly. 

Wei Wuxian thought exhaustedly, would you have wanted to do it instead? 

The answer was obviously no, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue right now. Jiang-zongzhu’s head was still somewhat on his shoulders—he saw something in Wei Wuxian’s expression and dropped it. 

“Get yourself looked at.” Jiang Cheng ordered, nudging him away with an elbow. Wei Wuxian glanced at the line of healers, spread thin through the plains of wounded cultivators. His lip curled. 

“I’m fine, Jiang Cheng. There’s others to worry about.” 

A familiar furrow appeared on his sect leader’s brow, “Wei Wuxian—”

“A-Cheng! A-Xian!” Their heads snapped up in an instant. 

Jiang Yanli hurried towards them, her pale face scrunched up with worry. In the blink of an eye, she had thrown her arms around the two, pulling them close. The scent of her surrounded them—everything other than death, than war. 

In that moment, the stench of corpses and iron seemed to fade away from around them. In that moment, they were home. 

“Are you both unhurt? What happened?”

Both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng unconsciously relaxed into her embrace, slumping a little into her arms and each other. 

Her voice wavered between words, but no tears fell. “Even from all the way back, we saw all the sword glares, and that whirlwind of darkness…” 

Jiang Yanli smoothed a shaky hand through Wei Wuxian’s hair, before pulling back, “A-Xian, was that actually you?”  

Worry swam in her eyes like tears. Had the resentful souls really been visible from so far away? 

Again, Wei Wuxian could only say, “Shijie, I’m fine.” 

It only served to increase her obvious heartache. 

Jiang Cheng spoke dazedly, “A-Jie, we won. We really…” Saying it out loud, it seemed like he had awoken from a dream. The nightmare that had started with the massacre of Lotus Pier, dragged them through the darkest, filthiest trenches of war and blood and hate, was now…over. 

“We finally did it.” He choked out, eyes damp. 

“Mother and Father…they can rest now.” Jiang Cheng swallowed, a weight slipping off his shoulders, disappearing into the bloodstained grounds of Nightless City.

Jiang Yanli gazed at him, overwhelmed. She pulled her brothers into her arms once more, and finally allowed a few hot tears to slip from her eyes, squeezed shut. 

Wei Wuxian leaned into her, burying his face into her shoulder. 

The ribbon next to his heart seemed to scald him through his robes.

Chapter Text

Though it had only been a day, the sects were well on their way to making Nightless City their own. 

In the largest hall outside of the Scorching Sun Palace, the celebrations were only just commencing. Every lantern in the vicinity was lit, and a festive atmosphere danced through the air. Tonight marked the end of a long and tireless war, and it was here that a new chapter in cultivation history would begin. 

Wine flowed like rivers and lively chatter sounded all around him. Lan Xichen, seated in a position of honour, sighed in his heart.   

He glanced across the room, catching sight of the Jiang siblings. Jiang-zongzhu, whose face was usually set in a permanent scowl, looked much more like the youth that he was. Clearly a little inebriated, he wore a fierce grin, speaking animatedly to his disciples.

Beside him, Jiang Yanli sat primly, a small smile on her face as she watched her brother. It seemed that with her there, the food was always within Jiang Wanyin's reach, not just the wine. 

Jiang Yanli turned a little, catching Lan Xichen’s gaze with a start. With a small nod, she took and inclined her cup towards him ever-so-slightly, the motion only visible to a dedicated observer. Lan Xichen took up his teacup in return.

He thought of her request to him. No better time than the present. 

Emptying his cup, he quietly rose and slipped out of the hall. He caught the tail end of Nie Mingjue's bellowing laughter behind him.

After the sounds of merriment became muffled, Lan Xichen made his way through the streets, towards the section of the city where Yunmeng Jiang had settled for the time being. Further away from the celebrations, an almost-silence weighed over him. The night breeze was cool against his skin.

As he approached, he heard the faint tones of a dizi, sharp and mournful, cutting through the air. 

The melody was sweet yet sorrowful, nostalgic yet hopeful. Weaving through the empty streets, it was a far cry from the wild and shrill evocations that he’d previously heard from Chenqing. Lan Xichen thought he even caught a hint of Gusu Lan influence in the piece. 

He wondered, from where had Wei Wuxian heard this?

Wei Wuxian’s room was easy to find, the only candlelight flickering in the residence. Before Lan Xichen could knock, the dizi abruptly stopped and a faint clinking sounded from the inside. 

Upon receiving no answer, Lan Xichen carefully slid the door open, moving through the hallway, towards the candlelit room. 

The second door was already half-open. Wei Wuxian sat behind a desk, several jars of wine standing innocently on the wet wood, a fallen cup and Chenqing beside them. Next to him, at least two more empty jars had rolled haphazardly onto the floor. The bed sheets were undisturbed.

He barely looked up as Lan Xichen stepped in, quietly closing the door. 

“Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian finally spoke as he settled himself on the ground. His voice was a little rough. “What brings you here?” 

“Jiang-guniang asked a favour of me.” Lan Xichen replied calmly, pulling his guqin out of a qiankun pouch and laying it on his knees. 

When they had crossed paths earlier in the day, Jiang Yanli had come up to him and politely yet firmly requested the aid of a Lan cultivator to calm the resentful energy within Wei Wuxian. Though she must have already heard of Wangji’s passing, she did not mince words nor linger unnecessarily on condolences, which Lan Xichen was quietly thankful for. 

He had agreed, and Jiang Yanli immediately softened, thanking him sincerely. She was as warm-hearted as Wangji had described. 

When he looked up, Wei Wuxian was staring at the instrument as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Ah.” He exhaled through his nose, hiding his face in the shadows as he reached for the wine, “Cleansing.”  

Lan Xichen didn’t dignify that with a response and instead began to play. 

Cleansing was not an easy piece of music. While not excessively technical, the piece used almost the entirety of the guqin’s range, to symbolise the thorough suppression of resentful energy from every nook and cranny of the body. It required discipline and focus, which provided a perfect distraction for Lan Xichen. 

He played, drawing on the last dregs of his concentration. He played, suppressing the grief in his heart. 

Soon, he would return to the Cloud Recesses. He would face his uncle and lay Wangji to rest with their parents. The thought was lost in a swirl of string crossings.

By the time he had plucked out the closing notes, the full moon was high in the sky. At the desk, Wei Wuxian had slumped over, a hand still gripping the neck of a wine jar. His fingers twitched. 

Lan Xichen looked at his pitiful form for a moment—the Yiling Laozu lying limply, curled into himself, eyes tight with uneasy dreams. 

Lan Xichen had originally come to take Wangji’s things as well, but it could wait until tomorrow. Stowing away the guqin, he moved soundlessly towards the door. Wei Wuxian murmured something. 

Lan Xichen eased the door open and made to step through. 

“Lan Zhan.” 

He froze. 

Behind him, Wei Wuxian spoke, voice breaking. Lan Xichen turned back, but the young man only released his grip on the wine jar, letting it roll away. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes darted around erratically. 

It was only after a while that Lan Xichen moved again.

With a gentle snap of his fingers, the single candle in the room went out with a sigh. 

He turned away and stepped out. 

Dazzling sunlight streamed through magnolia leaves, warming Wei Wuxian’s side as he lounged in his seat. Eyes closed, he hummed a sweet melody, the shadows beyond his eyelids dancing in tandem with the breeze. 

He slowly came to, feeling the weight of his chin resting in his hand, smooth lacquered wood under his drumming fingertips. The movement of paper in front of him whispered something important yet unheard, and he felt the presence of someone opposite him, their qi cool and serene.

It was a good day, he thought.

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes gradually. A blurry figure came into view, sharpening into the graceful, noble lines of Lan Wangji’s features. The Second Jade of Lan sat poised and elegant, a frostiness over his brow even as he drew his brush over the paper with nothing but the utmost care. The characters appeared and yet eluded Wei Wuxian, though he wasn’t focused on them in the slightest. 

“Lan Zhan.” He murmured fondly. The name left his mouth in a whisper. 

Lan Wangji didn’t seem to have heard him. A smile blossomed across Wei Wuxian’s face. 

This was familiar territory. 

All manner of ramblings left his mouth as he began to needle Lan Wangji, leaning over the desk they shared and teasingly flicking a corner of the paper he was writing on. Lan Zhan, ever the stoic, simply ignored him, even when Wei Wuxian began saying the most ridiculous things. 

Time passed in a haze.

Wei Wuxian thought drowsily, Lan Zhan’s getting better at this.  

It was a little strange though. At this point, Wei Wuxian was getting more and more audacious, and Lan Wangji hadn’t even twitched an eyebrow, much less looked at him. All of a sudden, Wei Wuxian felt a little lonely. On such a beautiful day, he had the luck to be with such a beautiful person, and yet…he wasn’t even spared half a glance. 

“Lan Zhan!” He called out this time, sliding over to the other side of the desk and reaching out towards a white-robed shoulder. Instead of being slapped away as expected, his fingers dug into the soft, finely embroidered fabric, the warmth of flesh and bone and qi singing beneath skin. Even so, Lan Wangji did not acknowledge him, not a furrow between his perfect brows nor a pursing of his lips. Even when Wei Wuxian, entranced, draped his other hand around Lan Wangji’s slim neck, tracing the line of his cheek, those golden eyes remained downturned. 

He kept writing. Virtue looked like spilled ink. 

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian breathed, his face inches away from Lan Wangji’s. Steady puffs of air ghosted over his mouth. He shivered, an impudent hand slinking through long black hair, a whisper of touch, before pausing by that strip of white. Outside, a passing cloud cast the Library Pavilion in shadow. 

“Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, Lan-er-gege~” Wei Wuxian’s mouth was sour with sleep, even as he teased. “Lan-er-gongzi…Lan Zhan!” He finally cried out. 

Overcome with emotion, he gripped Lan Wangji’s shoulders and shook. 

No reaction. 

Taking him by the lapels, Wei Wuxian pulled. Still nothing. 

He yanked Lan Wangji out of his seat, pressing him against the wall so hard that those white robes creased. He shook Lan Wangji like a ragdoll. He dragged and pulled and wrenched at that unmoving body, and ended up in the same position, hands fisted into Lan Wangji’s lapels. If Wei Wuxian could see himself, he’d think that he was in the midst of a qi deviation.

His vision seemed to blur again as he panted, exhausted. The coldness of defeat welled up inside him. What was he doing right now? 

Something fell onto the desk with a clatter. 

Startled, Wei Wuxian snapped to attention. 

The brush Lan Wangji had held rolled off the desk. The blank page was splattered with black. Those white robes, too. 

Wei Wuxian stared down in horror. His hand, resting on the junction of Lan Zhan’s warm neck, felt a faint vibration. 

Wei Ying, Lan Zhan seemed to say, golden eyes finally resting on him. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Wei Ying, he said again. Ink-stained fingers came up to caress his face. They quivered.

Limpid eyes pulled him in, and Wei Wuxian leaned even closer, before something stark appeared in his peripheral vision.  

The splattered ink was now splattered blood. 

Lan Wangji’s inner robes were dyed crimson. The warmth of the sun, the magnolia tree, and the Library Pavilion all vanished into blackness. 

He lay cold and unmoving, red oozing through his skin. 

Wei Wuxian sat in the dark, Lan Zhan’s mangled corpse in his arms.

When he awoke, his face was wet. The wine had spilled onto the desk where he had been sleeping. The scent of alcohol surrounded him. 

Wei Wuxian slowly sat up, fingers dragging through the liquid. The room became colder and colder, and the sound of splintering wood came from a distance. 

He thought of the last time he had seen Lan Zhan alive, in Langya. He thought of that veiled apology, that warm golden gaze.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian swept all the jars off the desk with a mighty crash, a scream torn out of his throat. 

Shattered against the ground, the porcelain fragments littered the floor like snowflakes.

He breathed, head hung low. 

Chapter Text

When Wei Wuxian arrived at Lan Xichen’s room, it was clear that his temporary stay was almost over. If he hadn’t appeared, it seemed that Lan-zongzhu might have started back towards the Cloud Recesses in the next quarter shichen or so. 

Of course, that was only an assumption based on observation. In reality, he would never leave without his brother’s belongings.  

Lan Xichen welcomed him with a nod as he stepped in through the door. He was as put together as always, but ever since the final battle, the Lan sect leader had appeared smaller somehow, more fragile. After that, nothing had shown on his face except for the complete lack of his usual geniality. 

Unfortunately, the cold expression that he now wore made him the spitting image of Lan Wangji. 

He shook the thought away.

Wei Wuxian, who only knew that he had drunkenly fallen asleep during Cleansing last night and not much else, decided to wipe that frankly embarrassing event from his memory. Opening his mouth to speak, he would have gone straight to business, but Lan Xichen beat him to it. 

With a faintly curious gaze, he asked, “Wei Wuxian, the song that you were playing on Chenqing yesterday, where did you hear of it?”

He shut his mouth with a snap. 

Recently, Zewu-jun seems to have tired of formalities, Wei Wuxian thought. 

“I’m not sure.” He replied. Unconsciously, he felt a little on edge. “I must have heard it a long time ago…though I don’t remember where.”

Lan Xichen hummed in understanding, a little wistful. “I thought I heard some elements of our Gusu Lan pieces in the details. Perhaps you came across it in Caiyi, or even Moling.”

At those words, Wei Wuxian froze. Suddenly, a faint memory began to come back to him. 

“Perhaps.” He agreed, numb. Lan Xichen fell silent and turned away for a moment. 

A dark cave, dripping water, and the stink of rotten corpses. His head had been pounding, and his body was on fire. A soft, low voice hummed that nameless melody. A cold hand smoothed over his forehead.

Lan Zhan. It had been Lan Zhan. 

But if even Lan Xichen didn’t recognise the song, did that mean…? 

Choking down the sudden sourness around his nose, Wei Wuxian pulled out a qiankun bag and practically shoved it into Lan Xichen’s hands. “Here.” 

Somewhat taken aback at his urgency, those elegant fingers wrapped loosely around the pouch for a moment before carefully pulling it open. 

Wei Wuxian put that memory away and braced himself.

First came Bichen, whose white sheath had been wiped of all that had previously stained it—as clean as it should be. 

Next, Lan Wangji’s namesake guqin. Two strings had been broken, but Wei Wuxian was probably the last person who could remedy that. A thin, winding fracture ran down the dark body of the instrument.

Finally, Lan Xichen drew out the remaining length of Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon. As he turned it over in his hands, his expression was distinctly heartbroken. The air around them stagnated and sharpened with the weight of his grief. 

Wei Wuxian swallowed and looked away, readying himself for the inevitable. There was a ball of lead in his stomach where his core once sat. This was it. He was about to tell a barefaced lie to the leader of a sect known for their mountain-carved wall of rules, most of which included not lying.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen’s voice was as gentle and inscrutable as always, though still slightly raspy, “Did you find his forehead ribbon like this?”

Wei Wuxian started at the unexpected question, collecting himself after a moment where he realised what Lan Xichen meant, those dark eyes examining every thread of the snowy fabric.

Of course. With the state of his brother's body, Lan Xichen must have found it hard to reconcile that with the clean ribbon. His shoulders slumped down from where he had unconsciously held them tight.

“No, I—” He swallowed again. “I washed it.”

Lan Xichen stared at him. “You washed it?” He sounded vaguely disbelieving. The ribbon shivered, like a breeze had blown past them. 

Wei Wuxian suddenly gained interest in a speck of dust next to sect leader Lan’s right foot as he spoke. “Since it was raining, we had plenty of water.” He hesitated, not yet daring to look up. “Bichen too. When I found them, they were both…”  

Lan Xichen stayed silent, and as Wei Wuxian stole a glance, remained staring at him with wide eyes. 

Wei Wuxian suddenly had the feeling that he had made some kind of huge mistake—something other than just taking the tail end of Lan Zhan’s ribbon, which was definitely already a grave offense. 

There had been that one-time incident at Qishan, at the archery competition…but since Zewu-jun had requested it of him, surely he had a leg to stand on? 

He opened his mouth and immediately put that leg and his foot into it. 

“I’m sorry, Zewu-jun, I know the Lan forehead ribbons are—”

“You don’t know anything.” Lan Xichen rounded on him, eyes bright with a fire that Wei Wuxian hadn’t ever seen before. His fingers clenched around the forehead ribbon, the clouds creasing. The words remained stuck in Wei Wuxian’s throat.

Then, as quickly as it had ignited, Lan Xichen’s anger disappeared. He stilled, then took a deep breath, turning away from Wei Wuxian. 

A moment passed.

“I apologise. Thank you for finding Wangji’s things, Wei Wuxian.” He said quietly, without turning around. “You may leave.”

Later, Wei Wuxian said, “Jiang Cheng.”

Silence, except for the clip-clopping of hooves. A ways behind them, the disciples were messing around. 

Wei Wuxian’s horse snorted as it outpaced his sect leader’s dark steed for all of two seconds. 

“Jiang Cheng.”

“...”

“Jiang Cheng!”  

“What!” He finally snapped, frightening his horse somewhat. 

Wei Wuxian fell silent for a moment. Jiang Cheng’s eyes rolled back far enough that he could see the inside of his skull. 

“Spit it out.” 

“What exactly do the forehead ribbons mean to the Lan?” Wei Wuxian spoke so quickly that Jiang Cheng thought he might’ve had a promising career as a street vendor. He snorted, turning away. 

“Shouldn’t you know that? You’re the one who had to copy all of their rules.” What kind of question was this, anyway?

Wei Wuxian looked askance at him, then lead his horse away to trot beside Jiang Yanli. He didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip, appearing to be in deep thought. His sister shot him a concerned glance over Wei Wuxian’s moping form. 

Jiang Cheng didn’t know what to think. 

For the past few days in Nightless City, before their return to Yunmeng, Wei Wuxian had been—for the lack of a better description—practically kicking the bucket, or as much as one could while still being alive.

Permanently stuck in his room, he was rarely seen outside, and when he was, it was nigh impossible to see him without thinking that he had somehow turned into one of those walking corpses that he controlled. With an unhealthy pallor to his skin, Wei Wuxian carried heavy bags under his eyes like they were going out of fashion. He constantly reeked of alcohol, and with the wretched way he would listlessly stare into nothing all the time, one would think his wife had died or something. 

Except he’d never had a wife. 

And it was Lan-er-gongzi who had died. 

…

Of course, Jiang Cheng was not unaffected. Lan Wangji had been a pinnacle of their generation, a shining example of the Lan sect, and a devastating force in the Sunshot Campaign—before he had been captured, at least. Jiang Cheng had been horrified when faced with his body and the agonising way he had passed, which was a near-critical blow to his brother and sect. 

But Jiang Cheng’s demons were numerous as well. Yunmeng Jiang had been massacred, and despite it all, risen from the ashes. He had to grieve his murdered shidi and shimei, his mother and father, everyone who was close to his heart with the exception of A-Jie and Wei Wuxian. Even now, after it was all over, they had to put in the effort to rebuild, to hold the sect together by fraying threads amidst the power vacuum left by the Qishan Wen. 

In the end, it was war, and Jiang Cheng had accomplished what he had set out to do. He would mourn for Hanguang-jun, but they had not nearly been close, so that was the end of it. 

His shixiong, though… 

Wei Wuxian, who had constantly annoyed Lan Wangji during their days at the Cloud Recesses, and was later righteously despised by him for using demonic cultivation—Wei Wuxian, who had never held a halfway civil conversation with the man. Wei Wuxian, who seemed to declare every moment of proximity as an invitation to piss Lan-er-gongzi off. 

That Wei Wuxian had somehow become undone by Lan Wangji’s death, despite surviving the complete annihilation of his sect, a three-month stint in the Burial Mounds, and the literal Sunshot Campaign. 

It was verging on ridiculous. 

Jiang Cheng could hear his A-Jie’s voice in his head. Perhaps this was the culmination of everything that only showed itself in the aftermath.

He looked at Wei Wuxian’s thin back, slouched over his horse as he rode forward.  

No, he didn’t think so. 

A few days later, when one of his senior disciples burst into the main hall, Jiang Cheng almost dropped Sandu—Wei Wuxian was in the infirmary, for drinking too much??

He almost questioned it out loud, but the expression on Jiang Liyun’s face had him hurrying over like his ass was on fire. 

In the infirmary, a handful of disciples fussed about. The ones who had known Wei Wuxian as their da-shixiong, like Jiang Liyun, looked especially frazzled. 

Curled up in the foetal position on one of the rickety beds, Wei Wuxian tugged at his own hair with one hand and gripped his—wet?—robes with another. He groaned as Jiang Cheng approached with thunderous steps. Along with the stink of alcohol, the faint, sour scent of vomit wafted from his wretched form.

Jiang Cheng wrinkled his nose in disgust. 

“Wei Wuxian, you—how much did you even drink?”

His absolute moron of a shixiong groaned again like the lantern light was too much for him, and tried his best imitation of a cooked shrimp. Jiang Cheng looked incredulously at Jiang Liyun, who seemed helpless. Her usually stoic expression was twisted in worry.

“Zongzhu, we found him half-conscious next to one of the pavilions, behind a wall by the lake. He was…” She gestured with a grimace, “He’d been sick, so we carried him back here. I’ve called for a healer.”

“A healer.” Jiang Cheng deadpanned. “For this.” 

He reached down and flicked Wei Wuxian roughly in the forehead like he was exterminating a particularly annoying insect, “Wei Wuxian, can you even call yourself a cultivator?” 

The shrimp in black robes curled tighter.

“We have so many goddamn things to do, and you let yourself get taken down by wine? Wine??” For Wei Wuxian, whom Jiang Cheng had never even seen close to drunk, it was almost unthinkable.

“...”
 
Wei Wuxian weakly shifted himself about an inch further from Jiang Cheng, turning his face away. 

“Shut it, Jiang Cheng.” He sounded like someone had taken sandpaper to his throat. Jiang Cheng was more than irritated. He threw a hand over his disciples, the message clear—out, now.

A scurrying of footsteps, then the doors slid shut.

“Wei Wuxian.”

The man himself nauseously thought, oh no.

“What is this about.”

He buried his face into his palms, strands of dirty hair tangling in his fingers, and kept quiet. With his luck, maybe he was going to vomit again. 

Jiang Cheng reached out, like he was about to pull Wei Wuxian’s wrists away, but eventually drew back. It was quiet. But with Jiang Cheng, being himself, the silence was destined to be broken.

Then—

“Is it because of…Lan Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian’s hand jerked, like a muscle spasm. That was all the confirmation Jiang Cheng needed. He breathed out, a vein twitching at his temple, eyes squeezed shut.

“What the hell were you thinking? Pick the worst time to be irresponsible, why don’t you—we might as well quit trying to rebuild now since even our head disciple would rather drink himself into a stupor!”

Wei Wuxian flinched at the volume, his headache returning with a vengeance. His shidi was really letting it all out.

“Jiang Cheng, I—“ He managed to croak, before being unceremoniously interrupted.

“Did you even think of A-Jie? Were you trying to—How the fuck did you get so drunk anyway?”

Jiang Cheng didn’t give him the chance to reply again, carrying on like a tidal wave.

“And for who? Hanguang-jun?? If it weren’t for him—“ A bitten-off pause, like he was deciding whether to say it or not. 

Since it was Jiang Cheng, of course he said it, “If it weren’t for him, Qishan Wen wouldn’t have come down on our Lotus Pier!” 

Oh. 

That was cruel.

Despite his ragged state, Wei Wuxian finally had the energy to respond to his sect leader’s scolding. Turning back towards him, he struggled to sit up, hacking out a wet cough.

“What the hell are you saying, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian finally spat out, a slight slurring in his words, “How does that even make sense?”

Jiang Cheng stared at him from above, seeming more angered at his sudden reaction, an old rage simmering to the surface, “If Lan-er-gongzi hadn’t caused enough trouble at the indoctrination camp for you to bother saving him, would that Wang bitch have demanded retribution?” Zidian crackled on his finger in assent.

“Shut up—”

“Would she have brought the Core-Melting Hand here? Would our sect have been massacred?!” 

“Shut your mouth!” Blood dripped from his lips. 

This shidi of his, Wei Wuxian thought furiously, really needed a good beating. 

His fists clenched as he and Jiang Cheng glared at each other for a silent moment. In the end, Wei Wuxian was still too weak. He thought of his golden core rotating lazily in Jiang Cheng’s chest, and a fresh wave of fire welled up inside him, far from the burn of alcohol.  

“Fine,” He hissed, venomous, staring his shidi straight in the eyes, “Think that way. Go to the Cloud Recesses and thank Lan Zhan properly for your core and the Yinhufu then, since without him I would have been rotting in the Xuanwu Cave long ago!”

Jiang Cheng seemed to baulk, “Ridiculous. Wei Wuxian, speak human words!”

“Ridiculous?? What’s fucking ridiculous is you!” He staggered to his feet, reaching out to grab Jiang Cheng’s collar. Wei Wuxian’s vision focused in and out in short bursts, a painful red haze overcoming him. 

Vaguely aware of a faint voice in the distance—“A-Xian!”—he lost feeling in his limbs. Swaying, he dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsing onto the ground.  

Chapter Text

The last thing Wei Wuxian remembered seeing was the look on Jiang Cheng’s face. His brows had been scrunched upwards in rage and frustration, mouth set in a sharp twist, dark eyes flashing with lightning. 

He jolted awake, ears ringing, and found himself staring at his shijie. 

She paused from where she’d been wiping at his forehead, and suddenly, terrifyingly, looked like she was about to cry. 

“A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli set the cloth aside and cradled his face in her hands, her voice restrained, “What happened to you?”

Wei Wuxian blinked. His head swam a little, and he could still taste blood and alcohol at the back of his throat. If it weren’t for the state of him, he might have felt embarrassed. 

“Shijie,” He coughed, trying to sit up. Jiang Yanli helped him lean back, a set of pillows at the ready. When it became too much, he ended up spitting blood into the bowl beside him. 

A handkerchief was pressed to his lips, dabbing at the corners. After making sure he wouldn’t look like a nightmare when he opened his mouth, Wei Wuxian spoke.

“Shijie, don’t worry…” He tried for a smile. Judging by his shijie’s face, he had failed. “I just had a bit too much to drink.” 

Jiang Yanli didn’t know whether to scold him or burst into tears. For a second, Wei Wuxian saw Jiang Cheng’s expression over hers. The resemblance was striking.

“A-Xian, why didn’t you tell us?” She asked, despondent, folding his hand into hers. Wei Wuxian blinked again. 

What. 

“What?” He said dumbly. “Tell you what? That I was drinking?” 

He immediately winced at how crass he sounded. Jiang Yanli’s fingers clenched around his, and she seemed almost hurt. 

“You collapsed while arguing with A-Cheng, and the healer said that…” Her eyes were glassy. “He said—”

The doors slammed open with a bang and Wei Wuxian jerked in his seat. 

Jiang Cheng stormed in, glaring at him furiously.

“The healer said,” He continued, thankfully at a normal volume, voice tight with the restraint he was exerting, “That there was something wrong with your spiritual energy. And your golden core. As in—”

Wei Wuxian was spinning. This could not be happening. 

How could he have been so careless? 

Jiang Cheng took a deep breath. “When we give you energy, nothing happens. He can’t feel where it’s going, and your meridians are dark. Wei Wuxian,” 

His sect leader towered over the bed, jaw tightly clenched. “Explain.” 

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. It was out of the question. 

“I…” Wei Wuxian started, trailing off as he stared at them blankly. His thoughts were a swirl in his head. He was cold and everything hurt and he wanted to be drunk again. 

Looking down, he took a moment just to escape their gazes. Strangely, Jiang Cheng was actually waiting for him to speak. 

Suddenly, he burst out, “It’s the resentful energy!” 

Jiang Cheng snapped, “What?”   

This was one thing Wei Wuxian was good at. He continued, forcefully, “It clogs up my spiritual veins and meridians. Of course you wouldn’t be able to feel anything—that’s like trying to feed energy into the Burial Mounds!”

Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow at him. His sister looked vaguely horrified. 

“Is that why you didn’t…” Ah, his shidi was contemplating homicide again. “Wei Wuxian, how could you be so fucking stupid?” 

“A-Cheng!” Jiang Yanli suddenly said. Wei Wuxian couldn’t see her expression. He would have laughed it off any other time, but it was taking all his energy to sit up. 

For a moment, the three of them languished in silence.

Finally, Jiang Cheng started, “Since when?” 

“...Since the Burial Mounds.”

“How? Why?”

Wei Wuxian’s brain was steaming from how hard it was working to churn out the utter dogshit coming out of his mouth. “When Wen Chao dropped me in…”

He thought of the rush of blackness, the screaming, drowning in resentment and his own hatred. He wasn’t lying, exactly. The seed of truth was there. 

“I told him to torture me as much as he could, so that I’d come back after death to haunt him as a ghost, day and night.” Wei Ying swallowed, bloody lacerations and Wen brand marks in his mind’s eye. “Down there, the resentful energy was drawn to me. It ended up smothering my qi for a while—that’s how I survived.” 

What a joke. He survived because he had no qi in the first place. 

“Demonic cultivation is still cultivation, you know. Either way, it requires an energy source. It’s just that I’m channelling resentment instead of spiritual energy.”

“And the side effects?” Jiang Cheng bit out, looking like he wanted to strangle Wei Wuxian. 

“None!” He tried again for a smile. Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched. Jiang Yanli’s brows were still creased in distress.  

“Bullshit.”

“Jiang Cheng, Shijie,” Wei Wuxian looked between them, trying to convey the picture of sincerity, “Believe me, I know myself. Look, for the ghost path, nothing has happened! That’s just how it works.” 

“So you’re saying that getting absolutely dead drunk is the reason you were spitting blood.” The bowl splattered with red liquid sat beside him, quietly incriminating. 

“Well…you know that resentful energy isn’t exactly conducive to healing. It just takes time, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him for a few seconds, the glare frozen onto his face. Wei Wuxian forced down his rising anxiety. 

“Fine.” He snapped, striding away. “If you get even a papercut, your ass is getting dragged here. Any abnormalities and I’ll lock you in.” 

Jiang Cheng paused, hand on the door, not even looking at him. “...And next time you want to drown your sorrows alone, just lay off on the wine. You’ve lost your touch.”

And then he was gone, leaving Wei Wuxian staring. 

“D-Drown my sorrows?” Dumbfounded, he turned towards his shijie. She looked at him with heartache in her eyes and stroked a hand through his hair. The guilt immediately swam up his throat, sitting sour with the taste of hours-old bile.   

Before he could open his mouth, Jiang Yanli stood and offered him a hand, “Can you walk, A-Xian?”

Wei Wuxian gaped incredulously, “Of course, Shijie!” When he jumped to his feet though, he swayed for a moment, Jiang Yanli already holding onto his arm.

Together, they slowly made their way towards Wei Wuxian’s room, where a hot bath and change of robes awaited him. When he was done, his shijie came in and began to fuss over him again. 

She said softly, once he had been tucked into bed, “Won’t you return to the path of spiritual cultivation now? The war is over,” A dainty hand smoothed over his warm forehead, a rueful smile in her voice, “A-Xian is so little, he needs to rest.”

Wei Wuxian, whose eyes were already slipping closed, murmured in disagreement, “Shijie, it takes time to switch out the energies. I can’t…let Yunmeng Jiang look weak now…and...Jiang Cheng…”

And then he was asleep. 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian was still resting when Nie Huaisang made his merry way into Lotus Pier, so Jiang Cheng was the one to greet him. Unfortunately, Nie Huaisang endeavoured to make his life difficult, and so brought news of politics. 

Of a burgeoning alliance, to be specific.

Jin Guangshan, eager to take the title of ‘best flower vase’ off the Jin, had presented the newly-named Jin Guangyao to Nie Mingjue in hopes of swearing oaths of brotherhood. 

Apparently, Jin-furen wasn’t exactly happy with the whole thing. Although Jin Guangyao was the strongest candidate for the position, being the one who had dealt the killing blow to Wen Ruohan, she had still regarded it as near-slander against her son. 

“Xichen-ge wasn’t even considered,” Nie Huaisang muttered, his fan waving like a forlorn maiden. He then recounted how he had excitedly asked his brother about it, since Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were childhood friends, but the former had shot him a dark look and said, “The Lan are in mourning”, and that was that. 

“I hear he’s in seclusion now, Lan-lao-xiansheng too.” 

“So the Lan are definitely out of the question.” Jiang Cheng was almost a little…disappointed. To be honest, Lan Xichen, despite his youth, possessed a political acumen and geniality that definitely came in handy when dealing with other sect leaders. He would have been a worthwhile ally.  

But of course, asking him to join a brotherhood in this period of mourning was nothing less than a direct slap in the face. 

“So I suggested you, Jiang-xiong!” Nie Huaisang giggled behind his fan as Jiang Cheng calmly sipped his tea. Nie Huaisang paused after a moment, turning to him with a confused expression.

“Huh? I thought you’d have started yelling by now?”

Jiang Cheng snorted, despite his headache. “It would benefit the rebuilding and our sect as a whole. What’s there to complain about? Also,” he pulled out a folded letter from his robes, tossing it towards Nie Huaisang who almost dropped his fan to catch it, “I already knew.”

Nie Huaisang read the letter avidly, his expression verging more and more towards gleeful disbelief. Finally, he carefully set the paper down, shoulders shaking.

After a quiet moment, he choked before bursting into laughter. 

“Jin-gongzi ah,” he wheezed, “Really thinks that out of becoming sworn brothers with him and letting him marry your sister, you’d prefer the second option. Does he even know why you and Wei-xiong detest him in the first place?”

Jiang Cheng scowled, twisting Zidian on his finger, “Even after a war, he still hasn’t learned to use his brain properly.”
 
“Well,” Nie Huaisang huffed, “It’s not like Jin-zongzhu let him do much anyways. In the end, Lianfang-zun’s war stories are still more popular.” 

“Anyway,” He spoke again after calming down somewhat, “Can you imagine da-ge dealing with Jin-gongzi or Yao-ge on his own? He’d either beat Jin-gongzi into shape or qi deviate early…” Nie Huaisang sighed dramatically and shook his head, “I thought you would be a good fit, Jiang-xiong—you’re diligent and hardworking, exactly the opposite of me!

Jiang Cheng frowned, “What’s with the sudden involvement in politics?” Before the Sunshot Campaign, he knew that the dandy second son of Nie wouldn’t have wanted to touch such matters with a ten-foot pole. 

Nie Huaisang hummed and looked down, folding his fan. A moment passed, the breeze rustling through the gauzy curtains of the main hall.

“Well, you know, with Lan Wangji’s passing.” He hesitated, unusually serious, “Xichen-ge was really…it changed my mind about some things. So I’m trying to make sure my da-ge is alright, even if I can’t personally help.” 

As the other man turned away, somewhat abashed, Jiang Cheng’s brows were a little tight. He remembered his shixiong’s reaction to Hanguang-jun's death and immediately thought, deadpan, I’ve also changed my mind about some things.  

Then, he recalled the incident in Langya and softened a little. Deep down, he knew that it wasn’t Lan Wangji he was angry at.

“I see.” He said instead. “I don’t care if it's Lianfang-zun or Jin Zixuan. Either way, allying with their clan will lessen the pressure on A-Jie. They can figure it out themselves.”  

“Well said, Jiang-xiong!” Nie Huaisang stood and applauded him with a flourish. At Jiang Cheng’s unimpressed look, he chuckled awkwardly and attempted to change the subject. 

“By the way, where’s Wei-xiong?”

The long-suffering Sect Leader Jiang replied with a sigh, “Drinking.” 

Wei Wuxian was, in fact, not drinking. 

For the next few months, Jiang Yanli banned him from consuming alcohol.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a ban. Whenever Wei Wuxian would approach a wine shop, or return to the Jiang residences with jars in his arms, his shijie would look at him like he’d killed a puppy. And then he’d be either forced to back away or place them in a corner of the main hall in full view of all disciples. If they didn’t know better, one would think that the young Sect Leader Jiang had a developing alcohol problem.

In any case, Wei Wuxian didn’t stop. He just didn’t drink as much. 

When autumn came, they made their way to Phoenix Mountain for the hunt.

On horseback, Wei Wuxian was assaulted by the smell of flowers. In front of the Jiang were the flowing white robes and ribbons of the Lan contingent, who were a much smaller group than usual. Even though Gusu Lan disciples weren’t known for any particularly happy expressions, it seemed like they were still covered in a layer of frost all these months later. 

At the head of the formation was neither Lan Xichen nor Lan Qiren, but rather another Lan from the main family, from the clouds on his forehead ribbon. Though less imposing than either of the Twin Jades had been, he sat elegantly on his snowy steed, dark brows drawn over solemn eyes as he rode forward.  

Wei Wuxian looked away as the Jiang entered the hunting grounds. When he and Jiang Cheng were doused in raining blossoms, he couldn’t muster up much more than a faint twitch of his lips. 

He caught a single flower in his hand. For a moment, he stared at the blooming red petals, then turned his gaze upwards to the watchtower above him. His shijie leaned over the balcony, waving, and though both her brothers smiled back at her, Jiang Cheng immediately gestured for her to lean back. 

After she had steadied herself, Wei Wuxian paid no more mind to the pomp and circumstance of the other entrances except to be irked by Jin Zixuan’s theatrics. Despite the fact that he wasn’t enthusiastic for this hunt by a long shot, it suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t yet given the peacock the beating he deserved in Langya. 

Mind made up, he unwrapped the black ribbon from his wrist guard, careful not to reveal the white one beside it, and blindfolded himself. Jiang Cheng didn’t even realise what he was doing, and when he did, it was too late. 

Wei Wuxian had sent an arrow sailing into the centre of a target, blind. 

The resulting silence and sudden roar of cheers were expected. 

Wei Wuxian ‘looked’ at Jin Zixuan’s direction and tilted his head, a shadow of a smirk on his lips. He had considered shooting through the peacock’s previous arrow, but relented. Jin-gongzi was on a losing streak these days, after all. 

Although Jiang Cheng had been taken aback by Wei Wuxian’s sudden actions, there was a warm flame of pride in his chest as he watched. And, as Jin Zixun let shit out of his mouth, Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but find the whole picture somewhat amusing. The second young master of Jin, trying his very best to bluster over his wounded pride, and his shixiong, who was currently masquerading as a blind man. 

He left Wei Wuxian to his own devices, satisfied. Jiang Cheng had a feeling that this hunt was going to go well. 

After finding a suitable tree, Wei Wuxian hopped up and made himself comfortable. 

Pulling out Chenqing, he took a deep breath, then paused. Instead, he chose a tune that he’d used to hear in the markets of Yiling, and improvised from there. 

The sound of the dizi was clean and clear, soaring into the sky and over the mountain. Vaguely familiar and vaguely nostalgic, the melody would send shivers into anyone listening and linger in their ears. 

If even the dead heard him, he wondered…

When Wei Wuxian finished the song, the last note seemed to echo infinitely. He slowly lowered Chenqing, almost hesitant to part. 

These past few months, he had developed a bit of a habit. They weren’t usually things to be ashamed of, but this one would make anyone look at him dubiously.
   
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian murmured to himself, pulling absentmindedly at the ribbon tail on his wrist. A soft breeze whispered through the trees around him, and a few sunset leaves drifted gently to the ground. 

It sounded as if Lan Wangji had sighed in response. 

“I never did get to show you how many pheasants I could catch.” Leaning back against the tree trunk, Wei Wuxian answered the rustling leaves. “Even without my—” 

He paused, something caught in his throat. Forcing it down with a rueful pursing of his lips, he continued.  

“Even blindfolded, I beat out the peacock!” He slapped a hand over the black ribbon as he gestured wildly with Chenqing in the other. “You must have seen it, Lan Zhan.”

The breeze answered him again, murmuring through the leaves like a quiet laugh that he’d never heard.

Lan Zhan would have turned to him, looked at him consideringly with those golden eyes of his, and said, “Do not boast of your strengths”—even if he’d witnessed Wei Wuxian’s performance in person! Though, Lan Wangji would of course hold himself to the same standard. 

The thought almost made Wei Wuxian smile for real this time, keeping a hand over his warm eyes. He rested against the tree for a while, the autumn sunlight dappling across his skin, muted birdsong instead of what should have been the ruckus of a good hunt. 

When he had finally collected himself, he decided that enough time had passed. But before he could move, Wei Wuxian felt the softest press of something against his lips, startling him so much that he almost toppled out of the tree. 

After a heart-stopping moment where he was now firmly gripping onto the branch beside him, the blindfold slipping down and lopsided, he looked down at his lap to see…a leaf. 

Maple, from the tree he was sat in, with a centre of fiery red that blossomed outwards into a pale yellow. It was no different from any of the other leaves around him, except for its slightly larger size. 

Wei Wuxian stared at it silently for a long while, struck dumb.

Then, he burst out in hysterical laughter. He felt drunk. After being blindfolded for so long, the light was too bright for his eyes.

He picked it up, examined it, still huffing for breath, and tucked it into his robes as he leapt out of the tree.

By the heavens, he was really the greatest fool in the world.

Chapter Text

Halfway Through The Sunshot Campaign…

Jiang Yanli was not the first person Lan Wangji had expected to see when he stepped out of his room. 

Although Lanling Jin were still standing on the Langya front, they were just barely holding on. Thus, Yunmeng Jiang had been called as reinforcements. 

Ever since he and Xiongzhang had left the Jiangling front to Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji had taken the long way around—between travelling and assisting the sects at their positions against the Wen armies, he would also night-hunt within civilian areas, cleaning up where there were no other cultivators to spare.

While Wangji had been reluctant to leave, Xiongzhang had made the suggestion to allow Wei Ying more time and space to recover after what he assumed had been a troubling ordeal. The Yunmeng Jiang forces had already proved themselves by taking Jiangling back from the Wen, and there was only so much Cleansing could do when Wei Ying wouldn’t deign to listen.

A few months later, when the call for help came from Langya, Lan Wangji was immediately sought after thanks to his previous cooperation with the Jiang. 

“Don’t think that just because you come from a powerful sect, you can take credit for and trample on other people’s intentions. Some people, even if they come from poor backgrounds, are much nobler in character than the former. Please conduct yourself with dignity.”

The arrogant tone was grating.

Now in the Langya base he stood, the sky above a pale grey, threatening rain. Jiang Yanli's clear eyes were overflowing with tears, lending them an almost mercurial quality as they dripped down her heartbroken face. Beside her, Jin Zixuan stood like a wooden block. He even had the gall to have a righteous look about him. 

Lan Wangji had always been rather apathetic towards the Jin heir, but at this moment, everything Wei Ying had ever said about the ‘peacock’ came to mind. He looked to the left, then to the right. 

In this busy camp, no one had yet come to help. 

Walking forward, he inclined himself carefully towards Jiang Yanli. “Jiang-guniang, what happened?”

She raised her head to look at him, tears still streaming. Instead of speaking, she seemed to cry even harder, now beginning to hiccup. For Jiang Yanli, who was always gentle and composed, to have been pushed this far—it must have been something terrible.

Jin Zixuan looked away, almost rolling his eyes. 

At a loss, Lan Wangji continued to stare at her for a moment before realising that it was likely not the most productive course of action. Taking a handkerchief from his sleeve, he had just gingerly placed it into her trembling hands when Jin Zixuan opened his mouth again. 

“Jiang- guniang ,” There was a sarcastic emphasis on her title. “Decided to take credit for coming to my room in secret and leaving extra soup for me. Unfortunately for her, I already know the young lady who actually did it, though I don’t know what Jiang-guniang was doing here otherwise.”

“I didn’t—” Jiang Yanli hiccuped, bringing the handkerchief up to press at her eyes, turning away. It was quickly soaked through. “I’m not—” Uncontrollable sobs interrupted her at every turn. He saw her frustration in the creased fabric straining between her fingers and the way she chased after every breath. 

On the outside, Jiang Yanli was wronged, but it seemed that her heart was now cold.

Lan Wangji regarded Jin Zixuan silently and wondered how another man could be so much worse at talking to women than himself, an actual cutsleeve. 

Not only did Jin Zixuan bring up the topic of sects and background, which was the last thing anyone should do around the Jiang for the next century or so, he had fundamentally insulted her family and character. From what he knew, Lan Wangji did not believe that Jiang Yanli could ever take credit for another’s labour. And from the flowery praises Wei Ying sung of her, she seemed to do enough herself as it was. 

Indeed—if it were extra soup she was leaving, Lan Wangji could think of two far more likely candidates than Jin Zixuan. 

Gently, he guided Jiang Yanli to step completely out of Jin Zixuan’s room. As he did, he asked her in a low voice, “For Wei Ying and your didi as well?” 

She didn’t—couldn’t speak, but nodded unevenly. 

He turned back to Jin Zixuan, who seemed to be pretending that he hadn’t seen their interaction. For all Wangji knew, he might have missed it.

“Jin-gongzi may be too cursory,” Jiang Yanli seemed to need another handkerchief. Unfortunately, he only had the one. “It is Jiang-guniang’s kindness if she serves you silently. She gains nothing.”

Jin Zixuan frowned, annoyed, “Hanguang-jun, I would think that you would agree with the truth of my sentiments.” 

The 'truth of those sentiments' were absurdly biased.

“In addition,” Lan Wangji continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “Speaking ill of others’ families is improper.” 

Jin Zixuan’s mouth snapped shut. He paled, finally realising what he had essentially said and what he had also implied, though his lips were still set in a thin line. After a long pause, it looked like he was going to speak again. Lan Wangji didn’t give him the chance, irritation sharpening his words.

“What of the other maiden?”

“The other maiden?”

“Of poor background.” 

“Right. Of poor…” Jin Zixuan shifted a little, discomfited. As expected of Hanguang-jun, quick to put things together. “What about her?”

“What has she gained from presumably serving the soup?”

At this point, a crowd of people had gathered around them, watching the show. Lan Wangji wondered, where were they when Jin-gongzi was berating Jiang-guniang to tears?

Jin Zixuan seemed to consider it, and now hesitated to speak. “I…”

Suddenly, a figure in black robes came striding towards them. The three of them simultaneously turned to look—catching sight of Wei Wuxian, face stark white with panic and the beginnings of a fire in his gaze, Jin Zixuan drew back.

Lan Wangji didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. 

“Shijie!” Wei Wuxian shouted, fretting over the still-sobbing Jiang Yanli, hands hovering above her slight shoulders, though she was much less distressed than she was a few moments ago. Wei Ying himself was completely dishevelled; his hair was barely held up by a red ribbon and his eyes flickered about wildly, almost madly.

“Shijie, are you alright? What did—” He caught sight of the Lan-white handkerchief in her hands and paused, then turned to Lan Wangji. Aside from the confused crease of his brows, he seemed to sense that Lan Wangji had not willingly inserted himself into this mess. He pulled tightly on a snowy sleeve. 

“Lan Zhan, what’s happening here?” Wei Wuxian was frantic—this was not the time to be distracted. Lan Wangji turned his gaze back to Jin Zixuan and, while regarding him, recounted what the Jin heir told him in abridged but no less excruciating detail. It left a bad taste in his mouth.

He had to hold Wei Wuxian back from pouncing on Jin Zixuan at the end, when Lan Wangji had repeated the speech he’d heard. The shape of Wei Ying's arms beneath his fingers were worryingly thin, he noted.

“With dignity?? You absolute fucking dog—!” The Yiling Laozu roared, hands curled into fists. The temperature of the air around them dropped sharply to a glacial chill.

Suddenly, he cut himself off, as if something had occurred to him in the absolute silence that followed. Then, he snapped at the cultivators around them—whoever knew of this woman should better make themselves useful and drag her out before he rearranged Jin-gongzi’s seven orifices. 

They scrambled.

As they waited, Wei Wuxian spat furiously, almost vibrating with anger, “Do you think you’re so high and mighty, you shitty excuse for a human being?? How dare you insult my shijie as if you haven’t been enjoying the fruits of her labour, what an ingrate!”

The second time he pounced, Lan Wangji reeled him back once again. He snarled, teeth bared, “One of these days, you’re fucking dead!!”

Jin Zixuan didn’t reply, his face furrowed into a scowl, though Lan Wangji could feel the discontent radiating off him. Evidently, Wei Wuxian's appearance had only cemented the notion that he still might be in the right. 

Lan Wangji could only sigh in his heart. Beside him, Jiang Yanli had thankfully stopped crying, while Wei Ying seemed to sink into his arms, hating the fact that he couldn't make Jin Zixuan into the true definition of beauty with his fists.

Shortly after, the maiden was brought before them. She was quite decent-looking, with dark eyes and soft brows set in a teardrop face, wearing the robes of an outer sect disciple. 

Her eyes were wide and terrified and, after glancing at the hiccuping Jiang Yanli, then at Wei Wuxian, who looked like he was ready to raise hell on earth just to escort Jin Zixuan back down, broke into panicked wailing.

“I’m sorry, Jin-gongzi, it wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!” The words burst out from her lips like they were racing. “I saw Jiang-guniang bringing over the soup and I—” The wailing pitched up somewhat hysterically. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me! Please!”

If anything, it was quick.

The surrounding audience gasped and ooh-ed and aah-ed over the sudden twist. Jiang Yanli was vindicated, and Lan Wangji felt a faint curl of satisfaction at the Jin heir's speechlessness. 

Wei Wuxian continued to spit venom at Jin Zixuan, who was now frozen in place, face dark, even more useless than the wooden block he’d been before. Now, he really had nothing to counter with, whether it be his misguided beliefs or poor character judgement. 

After a while, when Wei Wuxian was panting and exhausted from the effort of cursing him out and straining against Lan Wangji’s signature arm strength, his shijie, who had thoroughly calmed down, pulled him away. 

The crowd began to disperse. At Jiang Yanli’s glance, Lan Wangji followed after them to a more secluded area, most likely the Jiang section of the base. When they stopped, she turned to him, warmth in her eyes. 

Though they were quite different in appearance, she somehow reminded him of his Xiongzhang. Perhaps it was a quality shared by older siblings.

Unbidden, Nie Mingjue came to mind, and so he banished the thought.

“Thank you, Lan-er-gongzi.” Jiang Yanli murmured, indicating the handkerchief. “May I return this to you later?”

“Of course.” Lan Wangji replied, equally quietly. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, breaking through the volume threshold. He raised his arm, as if to playfully sling it over Lan Wangji's shoulder, but hesitated at the last moment and scratched at his own neck instead. Lan Wangji was not disappointed at all. “Luckily you were there—defending my shijie so valiantly and teaching the peacock a lesson in etiquette—what could I ever do in return?”

Lan Wangji tried not to take that too literally. 

“Not only etiquette.” He said, looking into Wei Wuxian’s eyes and and thinking of what his Xiongzhang had said. “He was too quick to judge.”

“Ah…” Wei Wuxian faltered under his gaze. He didn’t know if Wei Ying understood him or not, but he was at least taken aback. 

Jiang Yanli slowly glanced between them. Lan Wangji didn't look away.

After an awkward moment, Wei Wuxian brushed it off. “You didn’t have to hold me back so seriously though, Lan Zhan. He really deserved a good beating!” 

“Mhm.” Lan Wangji hummed, turning to the side. 

Wei Wuxian suddenly broke into a teasing grin, darting in front of him. “So you agree?”  

Upon Lan Wangji’s silence, “You agree that you should have let me rearrange his peacock feathers?” Aware that he was pushing it, he added cheekily, “A little?”

He considered it, mostly for Wei Ying’s sake and said haltingly. “...I do not disagree.”

Wei Wuxian burst into gleeful cackles. Lan Wangji hadn’t heard him like this since perhaps their time together in the Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian turned to his shijie, who seemed quietly amused. 

“See, shijie? Don’t you think he’s quite funny?” Jiang Yanli let out a giggle, nodding in assent. 

Lan Wangji shot him a glance. “Ridiculous.”

Wei Wuxian’s laughter echoed throughout the camp. 

Chapter Text

“Lan-zongzhu invites you to the Cloud Recesses.”

Out of all things, Wei Wuxian hadn't expected that to come from Jiang Cheng’s mouth. His shidi had just returned from a trip to Gusu—Jiang Cheng had been reluctant, but Nie Mingjue had insisted, and who was the little Sect Leader Jiang to offend one of his newly-pronounced sworn brothers? 

Upon returning, he had spent the day helping with the rebuilding, a perpetual furrow between his brows. Now that they’d finished dinner, he dropped a bomb like this.

“Hm?” Wei Wuxian questioned. “For what?”

Jiang Cheng gave him a dirty look. “What do you think? You leave tomorrow. Take a horse.”

After a few teasing jabs about needing an escort—“Don’t even dream of it, I need disciples to do the work that you’re slacking on”—“Ah, but what if Xianxian gets eaten along the way?!”—“Get your ass to bed!”—Wei Wuxian found himself swallowed only by the mountain mists, trotting towards the white gates a day later. 

As he dismounted, the guards didn’t seem at all surprised to see him, letting him in without a word. Wei Wuxian made his way through a familiar path, though the sights around him had changed immensely. He hadn’t been to the Cloud Recesses since the lectures, and the burning had occurred soon after. 

Scorch marks littered the bases of once-pristine wood, and there were pavilions and smaller buildings that were still under construction. Where there used to be swathes of lovely flowers had now been filled in with grass or stone. As was the case for Yunmeng Jiang, the Sunshot Campaign had delayed much of the rebuilding. 

“Wei Wuxian.” A gentle voice pulled him from his musings. 

Lan Xichen had intercepted him on the path, standing before him. 

“Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian greeted, Sect Leader Lan saluting in turn. 

The first thing that Wei Wuxian noticed was that Lan Xichen looked even worse off than he had at Nightless City. His face was insidiously pale, with a prominent sharpness to his cheekbones. Almost swallowed whole by his plain white mourning robes, the stiff fabric lent him no grace as he turned—still elegantly—leaving Wei Wuxian in silence. 

It was strange to see him in such ordinary clothing. Somehow, he seemed to bear the rough cloth like a burden.  

Wei Wuxian was hesitant to speak after last time, and so quietly followed Lan Xichen. It wasn’t like he didn’t somewhat understand the older Lan; if the roles were reversed, and Lan Xichen had been the reason why Jiang Cheng had gone off on his own after Langya and was then captured… Wei Wuxian would’ve been a lot harsher than Zewu-jun had been to him. He was still in disbelief that Zewu-jun would give him this opportunity in the first place. 

Lan Xichen led the way into the heart of the compound, a ways away from even the Library Pavilion. Here, the old marks of the burning were not as visible—perhaps the Wen hadn’t reached this place. 

Between them, there was nothing but the whisper of the breeze and the faint chirping of birds. 

They finally stopped at a large pavilion. Carved of white stone, it was perhaps the only mildly ostentatious structure in the Cloud Recesses, with its resemblance to white jade. As Lan Xichen took him in, Wei Wuxian was mesmerised by the delicate patterns and lines of scripture carved onto every other surface, as well as the gauze-like silks that fell between each of the open columns. Once inside, the world beyond was muted, dreamlike, yet the sunlight still reached through, a faint warmth seeping into the serene chambers. 

Indeed, this was Gusu Lan’s Ancestral Hall. 

Rows of memorial tablets sat in the centre of the hall, arranged in a circular pattern. Searching almost desperately with his gaze, Wei Wuxian hadn’t realised he had been holding his breath until he felt it punched out of him as he read the titles of Lan Zhan’s parents, Qingheng-jun and Lan-furen.

And below them: Lan Zhan, Wangji, Hanguang-jun.

Wei Wuxian all but stumbled over onto the woven mat before them, sinking to his knees. He heard, vaguely, the rustling of silk behind him, fading away through the pounding in his ears. He stared at the beautifully carved characters, the script stolid and exquisite, full of elegance yet not at all extravagant—they were so fitting, they could have almost been written by Lan Zhan himself. 

Wei Wuxian kneeled in silence for so long that his legs were going numb by the time he pulled himself together, slowly lighting three incense sticks with a candle. They were set into the finely-crafted incense burner with shaking hands. The scent of sandalwood welled into the air. 

He straightened up again. The next thing was to bow but…He found his body was held taut, trembling. 

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian spoke into the sunlit hall, a whisper that dissipated into the space. If he said anything here, the tranquillity of this place made it feel like no one was listening. Even the breeze was out of reach, behind layers of gauze. 

He hesitated. 

How shameless, he thought mockingly to himself. Fancifully, he had spoken no shortage of quiet words to Lan Zhan these past few months, yet when actually faced with him, he couldn’t speak. Even more brazen, he realised as he glanced down, was the hint of white peeking out from under his sleeve. 

Lan Zhan’s stolen ribbon. 

Something hot and mortified rose up inside him, and Wei Wuxian quickly tucked the little tail back into his sleeve with a burning, embarrassed haste. 

Once he had settled and the flaming heat was gone from his cheeks, he wished for a sign, some kind of movement. It was easier to pretend when there was always a response. 

Wei Wuxian thought, painfully and earnestly, Lan Zhan, I can’t…

There was too much that he couldn’t do, and even more that he didn’t know. In between, there was everything that he couldn’t say. 

Unable to finish the thought, he could only murmur haltingly, the only thing that he knew for certain. 

“I…came back to Gusu with you.” 

He reached out, tracing his finger over those characters a hair’s breadth away. 

Lan Zhan, Wangji, Hanguang-jun. 

In the end, Wei Wuxian backed out of the hall, defeated. He stood there for a moment, half-stooped, unable to tear his lingering gaze from the tablet. 

Loath to part, he eventually stepped through the curtains of silk. They fell back into place behind him with a sigh as the world returned to his senses. 

Zewu-jun had been waiting for him outside. The sun had arced across the sky, and the light of late noon streamed over them as they began to walk. 

Finally, Lan Xichen spoke, soft and steady. “Wei Wuxian, I apologise for last time.” 

Wei Wuxian was a little taken aback, “Ah…It’s alright, Zewu-jun, I understand.” 

They kept walking. Their surroundings began to look more familiar to Wei Wuxian. 

“I realised something.” Lan Xichen started after a while, in that same curiously level tone. Wei Wuxian almost had to lean closer to hear him. “When Wangji left, at Nightless City. I realised that it may have just been you and I, of our generation, who had any love for him.” 

Wei Wuxian sucked in a sharp breath, but Zewu-jun didn’t seem to notice, turning a deep gaze onto him. “Real affection,” He continued, “Because he wasn’t only a jade, a perfect disciple, an outstanding cultivator. He always tried to do what was right, and he always gave aid to those in need. He loved the gentians, the rabbits, and seeing the world. He was gentle and kind…he was A-Zhan, my didi.” 

Here, his voice finally wavered. Wei Wuxian was afraid it would break. 

“You saw and knew, Wei Wuxian. And he was fond of you as well.” Lan Xichen’s lips twisted into the shadow of a smile. “So I thought, how could I not lend you a hand? How could I deny him the company of his only friend? And here you came.” 

For the third time that day, Wei Wuxian was speechless. All he could feel was an all-consuming heartbreak, something that had not left him since Lan Zhan had, since he had lost his core, since the day Yunmeng Jiang was massacred. It was accompanied by a crushing guilt, because if he had shown more restraint, chosen his words more carefully, thought before he spoke—Lan Zhan might not have left when he had and ended up like this. 

Lan Xichen knew this, and still…

As his throat closed up before the words could come, Lan Xichen reached into his coarse sleeve and brought out a small object, holding it out to him. Wei Wuxian could only stare. 

The swirling, nebulous clouds carved onto its pale surface seemed to shimmer in the daylight.

“This is…” A jade token, went unsaid. The design was quite different from the one he had while studying at the Cloud Recesses so long ago, Wei Wuxian thought distantly.

“You will return again to visit him, won’t you?” Lan Xichen asked after a moment, placing the jade token slowly into Wei Wuxian’s cold hand. 

Wei Wuxian blinked, then closed his fingers around the hard stone, the blue tassels threading in between. 

“...I will. Thank you, Zewu-jun.” He murmured, tucking the token into his robes, opposite where the Yinhufu sat. The coolness of the pure jade was a welcome contrast to the low heat of sleeping resentment. 

“There is no need.” Lan Xichen inclined his head, his smile seeming to have a touch more life. “With the rebuilding, I cannot keep him company as much as I would like.” 

He stopped. “Ah, one more thing.”

They had arrived at the Hanshi. 

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen had settled Wei Wuxian near the entrance of the Hanshi, in a room that resembled a study. He briefly excused himself, leaving Wei Wuxian with his thoughts once more. The bamboo curtains were as still as the paper windows—the sect leader’s residence, of course, was well-protected from the elements. 

Before long, Lan Xichen returned, sinking gracefully into the opposite seat. He held a little pouch in his hands, sliding it over the desk to Wei Wuxian. 

“Would you happen to know what this is?” He asked. Wei Wuxian carefully held it up, curiosity fully piqued.

It took him a moment to realise that it wasn’t any old pouch. It was Mianmian’s perfume sachet! 

He let out a breath of disbelief, turning the clean, sweet-smelling little bag around in his hands—a far cry from what it had been like in the Xuanwu cave, emptied out and bloodstained (he’d thought) beyond saving. 

The flowery embroidery winked gold in the muted sunlight, and even the pouch strings were in perfect condition, save for a little fraying. It had been refilled with herbs, though by the fading scent, they seemed to be quite old. 

Wei Wuxian’s heart quivered. Could it be that Lan Zhan had…?

“Well?” Lan Xichen asked patiently. He came back to himself in an instant, clearing his throat. 

“It’s a perfume sachet from Mianmian,” Wei Wuxian started, wondering how to put it.

“She was with us during the indoctrination. The herbs inside…helped with our wounds when we were trapped with the Xuanwu.” 

The sentence ended in a mutter, a little too quickly. He twirled one of the strings of the pouch around his finger.

Zewu-jun paused for a moment, his gaze moving from Wei Wuxian’s downturned face to his fidgeting hands. 

Then, his eyebrows shot up as he came to a conclusion—unfortunately for Wei Wuxian, it was the right one. “Did you ask for the young lady’s perfume sachet?” 

Ah, the ever-discerning Zewu-jun. 

“...I may have,” Before Lan Xichen could say anything, Wei Wuxian hastily added, “Look, Lan Zhan wouldn’t have let me carry him in any case, even with his broken leg, so at the very least I had to…” He trailed off.

“Had to?” Lan Xichen prodded, with the look of a man upon whom realisation was dawning. 

Wei Wuxian remained stubbornly reluctant. “You understand, Zewu-jun.” 

Lan Xichen closed his eyes and breathed. He really didn’t. This was like pulling teeth. 

“Well, I’m afraid I must clarify. Wei Wuxian, you are saying that since Wangji was in pain and wouldn’t permit you to help, you instead went up to a maiden in the group, asking for her perfume sachet in order to procure healing herbs for him?”

His lips were pulled up into a pursed smile. 

Wei Wuxian stared at him the way a ghost would stare at a cultivator when their spiritual bodies had been run through by a sword. He swallowed, then nodded.  

“Right.” Lan Xichen put away his smile as another man would put away his weapon. “Thank you for making that clear.” 

Lan Xichen sighed, suddenly feeling very tired.  

“Would you take it?” 

Previously frozen, Wei Wuxian now thawed, shock in his blinking eyes. 

“W-What? The perfume sachet?” 

“Yes.” Lan Xichen brushed himself off, beginning to stand. “I found it among Wangji’s things, and since you had originally procured it…”

He looked at Wei Wuxian, still dumbstruck in his seat. “Unless you don’t want—”

“No, it’s fine! I”ll—” Wei Wuxian scrambled up, hitting his knees on the desk. The sachet remained tightly clutched in his hands. “I’ll take it! Thanking Zewu-jun for everything, no need to see me out!” 

And with that, the fearsome Yiling Laozu hurriedly backed out of the room, tripping over himself, and dashed away. 

Lan Xichen stood there like a fierce corpse returned to death. He blinked, then murmured, “Safe travels, Wei Wuxian.”

The door to the Jingshi opened with a sigh. Lan Xichen swept in, robes smoothing over the dustless floor, and set his eyes on the desk. 

Beside the guqin was a small wooden box, its lid wide open. Two sheets of paper had been scattered on the lid, left there when Lan Xichen had taken the embroidered pouch out. On the topmost sheet, a beautiful youth sat tall and elegantly, brought to life with careful strokes of the brush. A blossoming flower adorned his hair.

Kneeling down, Lan Xichen gazed at him, marveling in sorrow and silence. Despite his origins and late beginnings, Wei Wuxian was indeed as talented as any other gentleman. 

Behind the painting of his brother, two rabbits peeked out from the bottom sheet. The dynamic, inky lines they were composed of made it seem like they were about to leap off the paper, with snippets of grass and blossoms decorating the corners. On each side of the image, in Wangji's steady hand, were their names—the names that Lan Xichen had teased him about, once upon a time.

Zewu-jun carefully set the papers back inside. 

The lid shut with a quiet clack, and Lan Xichen returned the little box to its secret place underneath the floorboards. 

Upon Wei Wuxian’s return to Lotus Pier, on the topic of the Cloud Recesses, Jiang Cheng had become as Buddhist as his sword: he was blind, mute, and deaf. When he asked his shidi what he, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen had discussed, he got nothing.

Even when Wei Wuxian mentioned the events of his short trip (which, surely, something or other about the whole affair must have at least irritated Sect Leader Jiang?) Jiang Cheng just screwed up his face, looking constipated but maintaining his silence.

Wei Wuxian himself had felt a little floaty for the next few days, wandering around the lakes like a restless spirit. He didn’t know if it was from visiting Lan Zhan, finding dozens of rabbits frolicking in a meadow on his mad dash from the Hanshi, or the numerous jars of Emperor’s Smile he had smuggled back to Yunmeng.

Perhaps it could have been the white ribbon still tight around his wrist, or the faintly fragrant sachet that accompanied him in his robes.   

But now, as he stared down at a grimy, exhausted Wen Qing, practically begging him to find her brother, all he felt was a deep, sinking dread in his stomach. Even as he brought her food and made her promises, his thoughts were racing. 

What can I do? Think, Wei Wuxian!

They rushed to Jinlintai like the wind, the galloping horses leaving them covered in dust. Wei Wuxian entered alone and found himself in the midst of what looked like preparations for a banquet.

Servants hurried about and disciples from various sects were slowly trickling in, but fortunately, it seemed that the event had not yet begun. 

Jin Zixuan, he reminded himself, dropping the ‘Peacock’ moniker for once. I need to find him. 

Wei Wuxian slipped through the shadows of the enormous tower, searching desperately. He cursed the place for being so unnecessarily massive. But before long, a figure with a familiar sword came into view in an empty but no less grandiose hallway, and Wei Wuxian strode before him, landing Chenqing heavily on his shoulder. 

Jin-gongzi jumped, eyes wide. To him, the Yiling Laozu had just melted out from the shadows, with not a hint of movement nor sound. 

“Jin Zixuan.” Wei Wuxian started, a sharp edge bleeding into his words, “Where is Jin Zixun?”

“What—Wei Wuxian? Where did you come from—” He stammered, one hand on his chest and the other on Suihua. 

“It’s urgent. Tell me, or I won’t be polite about finding him.” Wei Wuxian was beginning to wonder if this was a waste of time, if he should have directly stormed Glamour Hall instead, banquet or no banquet. 

But before his rising anxiety gave way to more threats, Jin Zixuan set a solid hand on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, having composed himself. He shrugged off Chenqing. With his brows drawn like this, and an absence of irritation in his eyes, he was unusually mature. 

“Why do you need him? Tell me what happened first.” He demanded. 

Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth.  

“Wen Qing is looking for her brother, Wen Ning. After a failed night-hunt in Qishan, Jin Zixun beat up Wen Ning and his group for the crime of not wanting to carry spirit-attraction flags for him. Now they’re gone.” 

Jin Zixuan looked at him with an indescribable expression when he said the name ‘Wen’, but Wei Wuxian didn’t want to hear it.

“Jiang Cheng and I owe the Wen siblings a life debt. Do not argue with me on this—speak now or I will find him myself.”

“Alright,” Jin Zixuan suddenly said, perturbed by the look in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, before turning on his heel and striding down the hallway with an aborted gesture.

“Come, he will explain. I’m sure it’s nothing.” 

With quick steps, Wei Wuxian followed him through the maze that was Jinlintai. In one of the many courtyards, Jin Zixuan beelined towards a gaggle of golden-robed disciples, beginning to speak as Wei Wuxian caught up to him.

When he finished, he took Jin Zixun by the shoulder, herding him and Wei Wuxian into a secluded alcove back inside. 

Wei Wuxian hadn’t even started and Jin Zixun already looked vaguely repulsed from breathing the same air as him. Or maybe that was Wei Wuxian’s hair-trigger temper talking. 

“Zixun, about a young master named Wen Ning, do you know where he is?” Jin Zixuan’s voice was even. Wei Wuxian realised that this was how he spoke to those he held no animosity toward.

Jin Zixun recoiled, “What? Zixuan, why are you asking me about some Wen-dog?”

“I’m the one asking, Jin-gongzi.” Wei Wuxian cut in icily. “Where is he?” 

A scowl formed on Jin Zixun’s face, tinged with disdain. “Never heard of him.”

Wei Wuxian, “Impossible. Allow me to remind you. Last month, from Ganquan to the Wen detention camp, you were hunting an eight-winged bat king. You ran into a group of Wen disciples who were also investigating it, and demanded for them to carry spirit-attraction flags, becoming bait for the hunt. Of course, they wouldn’t dare. Wen Ning was the leader of the group, who tried to reason with you. But the bat king escaped, so you beat them up and took them away. Where is he?” 

It felt like the most he’d spoken in an age. 

Jin Zixun, “How would I remember? Wei Wuxian, don’t tell me you’re actually defending a Wen-dog?” 

“Whether I want to defend him or decapitate him, is it any of your business? Hand him over!” Wei Wuxian snapped, quickly losing patience.

The temperature around them dropped sharply, and darkness seemed to loom over the Yiling Laozu’s handsome face like a cloud blotting out the sun.

Jin Zixuan shot Wei Wuxian an apprehensive glance before stepping in, laying a firm hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Zixun.” 

Jin Zixun tilted his head, toad-like eyes bulging with incredulity. “It’s a Wen-dog!” He exclaimed, a broken record, like that explained everything. 

“Even so.” Jin Zixuan answered steadily, nothing betraying him but the twitch of his brow. “This is important. Please answer him, Zixun.” 

Jin Zixun huffed, ‘he’s gone mad’ written all over his face, but finally spat it out. The words “Qiongqi Path” struggled to escape from between his gritted teeth. 

Wasting no more time, Wei Wuxian swiftly turned and hurried away, leaving him standing there, spluttering. 

He had rushed to the entrance of Jinlintai before he realised that he had a shadow—Jin Zixuan was hot on his heels. 

He spun around, moving behind a large column.

“What is it?!” Wei Wuxian hissed, itching to leave but not with a tail.

Jin Zixuan’s brows were pinched together. 

“I’m seeing you off.” He said, like it was obvious. 

Wei Wuxian was dumbstruck for a moment. The nagging feeling he’d gotten from the peacock’s demeanour this whole time held him back from leaving immediately. 

“Why did you—”  Help me out back there, he wanted to say.

Wei Wuxian had honestly expected Jin Zixuan to be unconvinced by anything that came out of his mouth, but he’d actually aided him—against his own cousin no less. If Wei Wuxian wasn’t in a hurry, thinking about it carefully, he would have been even more bewildered.  

Jin Zixuan took a breath, hesitant and perhaps a little embarrassed.

Eventually, he simply said, “I'm repaying a favour.” 

Wei Wuxian frowned, “What do you mean?”

“For—” Jin Zixuan swallowed. “The soup incident.”

He cocked his head. At his familiar arrogance, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but let out a huff of disbelief. “Well, technically I owe Hanguang-jun, but you’re the closest thing. Just go, will you?”

Wei Wuxian shot him one last baffled look, before rushing down the steps, back into the city of Lanling where Wen Qing awaited him.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

Chapter Text

Before Lan Wangji could even open his eyes, something kicked him in the chest. 

To say he was confused was an understatement. 

As pain shot through his ribs like an old friend, his groans were eclipsed by a voice that roared, “Stop playing dead!” 

Lan Wangji felt like he had awakened from the bowels of the very earth. His entire body was small and unfamiliar, aching with phantom pains as well as very real ones. He was practically delirious. 

The last thing he remembered was…the Infernal Hall, then a few dreamlike memories. 

Dying. He had been dead. 

Oh, he thought blearily, ears ringing. It wasn’t a dream. 

He continued to stare dumbly at the figure in front of him as it raved and spat like a madman, the tone of his voice imbued with the unfortunate quality of a duck’s quacking. Distantly, he realised that they weren’t alone; a few broadly-built men, dressed like servants, had rummaged through and smashed almost everything in the dark room. 

“How dare you complain—who are you playing dead for now? As if anyone would want these piles of shit! Since I’ve cleaned it up for you, let’s see how you’ll tell on me from now on! Are you proud just because you went and cultivated for a couple of years? Yet you were still kicked back here like a stray dog!” 

The figure, who turned out to be a gangly, sickly-looking teenager, reached out and roughly jabbed at Lan Wangji’s nose with a bony finger. Lan Wangji dearly wished he had the reaction speed to recoil, but could only shiver in disgust as his head landed back onto the floor. 

Playing dead…if only that worked. 

How did he end up here, firstly; alive, and secondly; in a body that was definitely not his own?

As he lay there limply, the ‘young master’—as he was called by the servants—swept out of the room with them flanking him on each side, slamming the door as he went. Outside, Lan Wangji heard him shout, “Watch him carefully! Don’t let him out, he’ll make a fool of himself!” 

With departing footsteps came blissful silence. 

Like a snail without its shell, the world around Lan Wangji was cold and unfamiliar, and he was weak.

He lay still for a few moments, coming to terms with the situation. 

Gingerly attempting to move, his fingers touched something smooth, which turned out to be a bronze mirror. Turning onto his side, Lan Wangji looked into it, and would’ve jumped out of his skin if he’d had the strength. 

Staring back at him was a hanged ghost; a face painted ghastly white, with blood-red streaks slashed onto each eye like wildly overflowing tear tracks. Encircling his neck like a collar was a striking geometric pattern in the same shade. 

Almost bemused, he wiped a hand over his face. It came back smeared with powder. 

Makeup.

Carefully, he smoothed his sleeves over the rouge and paint, wiping off as much as he could. However, the collar around his neck didn’t budge at all, and he realised that the pattern wound around his wrists and ankles as well, a complete set of shackles. 

Just by looking at them, Lan Wangji felt himself shudder, breath quickening without his permission. Though it was only ink, they seemed to carry a faint weight, a terror that he couldn’t remember. 

Lan Wangji scrambled up, head spinning. He hadn’t imagined the smell of copper. 

He was sitting right in the middle of a blood array. 

Crookedly drawn, the liquid was still fresh. Although he was—had been—a skilled cultivator, even Lan Wangji had trouble deciphering the gruesome incantations. It seemed like a sacrificial array with some sort of conditional requirement. The only thing he could make out for sure was the repetition of the character 正, encircling the border of the array like a warped stamp of approval. 

Lan Wangji blinked, then looked down at his wrists. The same character made up the shackles—he’d just mistaken it for a pattern at first. No matter how he thought of it, he couldn’t connect the various meanings of the word to anything the array had done. It was the antithesis of this whole mess. 

This sort of thing would be Wei Ying’s specialty. 

The thought brought an unexpected choking sensation to his new body. Coughing, Lan Wangji forced it down. 

As he stumbled to his feet, a little dizzy, something fluttered out of the front of his robes. A few crumpled sheets of paper, scribbled in the same desperate hand that had carved out the array. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the first line. 

To the esteemed Hanguang-jun, this one is named Mo Xuanyu… 

His brows drew together as he read.

It was the plight of a young man who was unfortunate enough to be born as a well-known sect leader’s illegitimate son. The aforementioned sect leader had lent a golden touch to Mo Village for only a scant four years before abandoning them, then came back to pick Mo Xuanyu up a decade later. 

Despite his mother’s hopes and his own efforts, he was eventually driven out of the sect by—here Lan Wangji blinked at the paper—allegations of homosexuality.

Lan Wangji didn’t know when in time after his death he was, but he dearly hoped that it wasn’t popular knowledge that the ‘esteemed Hanguang-jun’ had been a cutsleeve. 

Right. It had to be a coincidence. 

The handwriting, which seemed to veer from ‘borderline calligraphy’ to ‘barely legible’ was now definitely within the bounds of ‘emotional anguish’. The size of each character varied wildly and every stroke seemed to have taken either an age or a great struggle to put down. 

Lan Wangji slowly pieced the story together, directing a faint scowl at the paper. 

After shamefully returning to his village, Mo Xuanyu had been driven to lunacy. Like a wanderer who had lost his soul, he behaved in erratic and crazy ways. Along with the ridicule brought on by his exile, it was too much for his mother, who died shortly after. 

Even then, the poor boy was not let off. His cousin, Mo Ziyuan, who was instilled with some kind of misguided superiority complex, would come by every few days trying to humiliate him to death. He would take Mo Xuanyu’s things too; anything that even had the slightest whiff of the cultivation world would then belong to him. 

In his sect, Mo Xuanyu had discovered something about someone named Kou Song. Chifeng-zun—Lan Wangji startled at this—had died. Yiling, the Burial Mounds, spiritual artifacts, and something about attempts on his life. 

That was all he could glean from the letter for certain, and none of it sounded good aside from the fact that, if he had to guess, the Sunshot Campaign had been successful. The rest—he was sure it was unfinished, but the last two pages were practically unreadable. It was more than unfortunate, since they seemed to be the most important. 

Lan Wangji could not have been older than Mo Xuanyu currently was when he had died, but nevertheless he felt sympathy and pity for this young man that he hadn’t known. To him, being a cutsleeve was no crime, and everything else that had come Mo Xuanyu’s way seemed more bad luck than karmic retribution. 

Speaking of which, Lan Wangji was not under the impression that the spell that had brought him back was anything close to orthodox, and the ink shackles only proved it. If he had to guess, they were some kind of ticking time bomb that required the fulfilment of certain conditions to fade. Lan Wangji had no idea what to do.

But if Mo Xuanyu hadn’t offered his body to Hanguang-jun, he might’ve had a chance to walk away from the darkness. Lan Wangji, however, had already died within it. 

Here was now a dead man walking, back to disturb the worldly order, and perhaps also the ones who had mourned him. 

His heart ached as he thought of his brother.  
  
With a sigh, Lan Wangji stowed the letter into his robes. He glanced back at the array, hesitating. Though Mo Xuanyu was known as a lunatic, it wouldn’t do to leave any evidence that he had been replaced with a different person. Lan Wangji roughly smudged out the array, then decided to try the door. It was locked. 

After meditating for a while, the issue of food had resolved itself, with someone delivering him scraps through the door. Having sated his body’s hunger somewhat, Lan Wangji had pushed past the servants in his courtyard and slipped into the seemingly empty main house, careful to avoid the commotion coming from the East Hall. 

The world seemed to waver, mist-like, around him. He was still in shock. 

Lan Wangji found a water basin and began washing his face, cleaning off the rest of the makeup slowly and methodically. When he was done, there was still a grey cast over his skin and his brows were slightly tinted red, but he no longer looked like a ghost.

Strangely enough, at certain angles, the clear eyes that looked back at him in the mirror were the same gold as his original body. It was a relief to have at least one familiar feature, because Mo Xuanyu’s face was vastly different otherwise. The curve of his brows was more playful than Lan Wangji’s, and the shape of his eyes more rounded, almost doe-like. Even the corners of his lips were slightly upturned, far from Hanguang-jun’s famously unsmiling expression. 

Though, as he stared at his hazy reflection, Lan Wangji found that the resemblance was a little striking when he schooled his features and recalled the long-lost feeling of ‘annoyance’. Mo Xuanyu’s lips and brows flattened out, and his eyes gained a dangerous glint. Lan Wangji’s mouth then twisted at the look, almost into a smile. It was indeed reassuring. 

As he explored what was probably the west wing of the manor, Lan Wangji stumbled into a dusty room. In one of the drawers that he combed through, he found a light grey veil—he had been looking for a scarf to cover the inked collar on his neck, but it seemed that this would have to do. 

It was long and layered enough to cover the collar and even drape behind his shoulders, yet not translucent enough for the red ink to peek through. Surely most people wouldn’t care to examine Mo Xuanyu’s appearance, but Lan Wangji didn’t want that collar out for the world to see. 

On the desk sat a guqin. Of course, there should be one in any respectable household, but this instrument seemed to have not been touched in an age. Upon examination, the strings and wooden body were in working order, so Lan Wangji bundled it up in the cloth underneath with only a slight sense of discomfort.

As he stepped back out into the courtyard, guqin slung on his back, he caught sight of a group of white-robed youths spread out along the walls and roofs. Only one of them was clad in black. 

He blinked. 

It seemed like his eyesight hadn’t deteriorated. The robes were familiar, because they wore forehead ribbons—embroidered with clouds, they were blood descendants of Gusu Lan. 

So these were the cultivators the servants had been gossiping about.

Lan Wangji walked forward in a daze, absently noticing the curious formation the disciples had created with black flags. He recognised none of their faces. 

One of the young men, the leader, called out to him. As he spoke, Lan Wangji leapt up onto the roof, startling him as he took and examined a flag. 

“Hey! What are you doing!?” 

His blood ran cold as he read the incantation. It was not one he had ever used, but Lan Wangji had seen this talisman before. 
 
The disciple before him was reaching out. Lan Wangji glanced at him, then braced himself and slipped down the roof, darting behind a tree. The disciple squawked in surprise. 

On the way to the Wen supervisory office, the Yiling Laozu had left a trail of corpses and talismans; talismans that matched this one almost exactly. Reversing the characters for repelling spirits, this now attracted them. 

It only took a few heartbeats for the disciple to follow him down, trying to snatch the flag away. Lan Wangji clutched at it like a dying man, tilting his head to see it better as they played tug-of-war in almost total silence.

Their audience was definitely giggling at them though.  

“Don't touch that! Give it back!” He was quite loud, for a Lan. 

After Lan Wangji confirmed that the talisman only had a small radius of effect, he released his grip, pleasantly surprised that even in this body he could contend with the Lan arm strength. 

“Don’t mess with these things! Try it again and I’ll beat you up!” The disciple panted, obviously surprised that he’d let it go. 

“Jingyi!” The boy in dark robes called out like an admonishment, leaping off the roof to join them. 

Faced with Lan Jingyi’s bewildered gaze, Lan Wangji felt compelled to explain. “I was only checking it.” 

“Ah, might this young master be the cultivator that Mo-furen mentioned?” The boy in dark robes smiled gently as he approached, eyes darting over the veil that covered Lan Wangji’s face.  

Lan Jingyi snorted, clutching the flag like a string of pearls and crossing his arms. “Sizhui, don't yell, I didn’t even touch him. He’s that lunatic?”

Lan Wangji looked between the two. 

Perhaps they’d gotten their robes mixed up this morning?

Decidedly, he set a dead gaze on Lan Jingyi. “I am that lunatic.” 

The boy immediately recoiled, looking both embarrassed and unnerved.

Despite this, the one named Sizhui maintained his expression, speaking politely. He was a handsome, dignified young man, and something about his tone and the kind curve of his eyes reminded Lan Wangji of his brother.  

“Mo-gongzi, we were setting up a formation to capture the walking corpses. It will be dangerous when they come out, so it’s best for you to stay in your room.” 

All of these disciples were clearly much younger than Mo Xuanyu, so speaking such words could easily sound pretentious. But this Sizhui was rather gentle and courteous, with a tone that was neither coddling nor imperative. In his heart, Lan Wangji felt a faint sense of approval and thought it was quite unfortunate that the boy didn't have a forehead ribbon, though he and Lan Jingyi seemed to be joint leaders of the group.

“Mhm.” Lan Wangji hummed, inclining his head and turning away. There seemed to be nothing to worry about here. 

Lan Jingyi spluttered behind him, and Sizhui herded his friend back towards the roofs to realign the flag formation. 

Once he had returned to Mo Xuanyu’s little courtyard, he cleared some space on the low desk and began painstakingly plucking at the guqin. Delight was too strong a word to describe the low satisfaction Lan Wangji felt as he slowly ran his fingers over the strings, muscle memory somehow imbued within him even after death. However, a little romantically, he wondered if perhaps his connection to the instrument had suffused his very soul. 

Hours passed like this, and the moon rose and fell. But long before the break of dawn, a commotion sounded outside his room, thundering footsteps approaching. 

Lan Wangji wrapped the guqin and hastily slid it underneath the desk. Almost immediately, his door burst open. Servants poured in, surrounding him in torchlight. 

“Drag the murderer out! Take him to the main hall to pay with his life!” 

Wei Sizhui didn’t know what had gone wrong. 

There hadn’t been any issues with the flag formation or the walking corpses that were drawn to it. They’d guarded it all night, and just as Jingyi had started celebrating—“Too easy!”—screams and shouts had rung through the manor, bringing them back to the main hall where Mo Ziyuan’s body was found.

The young master had definitely met his end at the hands of an evil spirit, if the state of his corpse was anything to go by. 

Wei Sizhui was carefully examining it when someone else was dragged into the hall—he almost thought it was another corpse, by the way that person was dumped limply on the ground. 

But after a moment, he groaned and sat up. That slight figure and the veil he was straightening; it was the other young master, Mo Xuanyu!

Regaining his bearings, the young man set his gaze onto the body, taking in its aged appearance. 

Suddenly, Mo-furen, who had been resting in a half-faint, lunged towards Mo Xuanyu, a gleaming dagger clutched in her right hand. Wei Sizhui rushed forward, knocking the weapon to the ground. 

For his troubles, the lady began to scream in his face, spraying spittle. “The scoundrel who murdered my son is here, how dare you stop me from avenging him?!”

Wei Sizhui grimaced, wishing he also had a face covering of some sort, but didn’t move from where he stood. 

Kneeling by the corpse, Mo Xuanyu was peeling the white sheet away. He took a moment to glance at his aunt. Though his expression was as blank as always, Wei Sizhui almost felt a hint of pity in his eyes. 

The veil fluttered as he took a breath, calmly stating, “I was uninvolved.” And went back to his examination.

Lan Jingyi immediately nodded in agreement, “Of course, the body—”

She shrieked, “Lies! You lunatic, how could you do this to your own little brother!”

“Mo-furen,” Wei Sizhui tried to calm her down, continuing Jingyi’s train of thought. “Only an evil spirit could’ve left your son in that state, not a human being. There is no evidence that—”

Seeming not to take in any of his words, Mo-furen took gasping breaths, a hand on her chest as she began to weep. “That one is practically an evil spirit! A-Yuan, my poor A-Yuan! He—”

“He did it to himself.” 

Mo Xuanyu’s cold voice interrupted her hysteria. Wei Sizhui looked back at him. 

A spirit-attraction flag dangled from his fingers, the tails still hidden in Mo Ziyuan’s robes.

Immediately, all the disciples understood, murmuring amongst each other. Wei Sizhui and Lan Jingyi looked between them, matching expressions of ‘how could someone be so stupid’ on their faces. It wasn’t as if the residents of the manor didn’t know they were here for a walking corpse problem, and Sizhui had specifically warned everyone not to leave their rooms last night. 

They hadn’t known that the evil was something a few times worse than the average walking corpse, but what else could they have done at that time? 

Mo-furen, however, was beside herself, even more so when she saw her son’s missing arm. Turning a hateful glare to Mo Xuanyu, she scrambled for a teacup and hurled it viciously at him. 

Wei Sizhui was rather impressed when Mo Xuanyu only moved his head slightly to the side, the cup flying past his ear by a hair’s breadth and smashing into the wall. His veil rippled from the wind, but he was completely unruffled.

“Would he have gone out at night if you had given him what he asked for? You cheap son of a bitch!” 

Wei Sizhui didn’t have time to parse out that logic before she turned on him and the Lan disciples, continuing to screech. 

“And you, useless wastes! What cultivation, what power?! You couldn’t even protect him. A-Yuan was still a child!” 

A child? At the ripe age of what—seventeen? 

Despite his age, Wei Sizhui had encountered his fair share of nonsense in life, but he was sure his friends had never been spat at like this. Beside him, Lan Jingyi could only raise an incredulous eyebrow, mouth half-gaping in disbelief. His martial brothers looked like they were choking back blood. 

Sizhui would’ve laughed, but it took a few moments for even him—whose father could be called the most shameless in the cultivation world—to begin to retort.

Before he could, Mo Xuanyu spoke, his scathing words still clear and loud after Mo-furen’s shrieking. 

“Even a child would know better.” He rose, moving to stand between his aunt and the disciples, somehow elegant despite his slight figure. “They are not your servants. If Mo Ziyuan did not want to understand human words, he brought it upon himself.” 

Not for the first time, Wei Sizhui wondered if this man was even insane at all. 

Mo-furen stared at him for a moment, about to burst with anger, before spinning on her heel and shouting for her husband. Wei Sizhui looked at Mo Xuanyu, who’d turned back to sweep his gaze over them, and gave him a small, grateful smile. Something in the man’s eyes softened, and he nodded slightly in return. 
   
Wei Sizhui reached for the spirit-attraction flag and disabled the talisman, settling next to the corpse to check on its stump of an arm. Behind him, Lan Jingyi organised the disciples to reinforce the protections in the main hall. 

But before Wei Sizhui could find anything, an ear-piercing scream from the courtyard sent the hall into chaos once more. The crowd streamed outside, rendering their efforts moot, and Wei Sizhui exchanged a perplexed glance with Jingyi before they bolted out as well.

“Jingyi,” Wei Sizhui murmured, as he laid apprehensive eyes on two new corpses. “The signal flare?” 

“I set it off, but I don’t think any of our seniors are night hunting in this area. It’ll take at least an hour for help to arrive, what should we do?” 

Although Lan Jingyi was innately lively and boisterous, at times like these, he was as solid as a rock. 

“A-die should be nearby.” Wei Sizhui gritted his teeth, reaching into his robe and pulling out an activated warning talisman. The incantation glowed a soft red. “We must hold out until then.”

The servant, A-Tong, hadn’t actually died yet, and decided instead to choke himself before a morbidly captive audience to his actual death. 

Then, whatever evil that was haunting them picked that moment to blow a gust of sinister wind through the manor, extinguishing every last source of light. Amidst the sudden frantic movement and terrified screams of the crowd, Lan Jingyi’s voice sounded out, “Don’t move! If anyone tries to run, I’ll drag you back!” 

Lan Wangji knew what he was trying to do, but the current state of Gusu Lan disciples was really…

After a while, the panic had died down somewhat, and the warm glow of Sizhui’s flame talisman had been distributed amongst the candles. 

Lan Wangji had already deduced that the evil spirit was possessing and taking the corpses’ left hands; Mo Ziyuan, his father, and the servant. Moving towards the disciples, he glanced at Mo-furen—and froze.

After a fraction of a second, he continued on as if nothing had happened. 

As he approached, Sizhui saw him coming, turning to him with a politely questioning gaze. Lan Wangji hesitated, thinking it would be a little improper to call the boy by only his first name. He turned instead to his friend, “Lan Jingyi?” 

Lan Jingyi whipped around. “You again?” 

Sizhui pursed his lips, as if holding back a tsk, and elbowed him instead. Lan Jingyi stifled a yelp. “What is it, Mo-gongzi?” 

Lan Wangji started, “Their hands—”

“His hand! A-Tong’s hand is gone!” 

He was interrupted by the screech of the servant girl, who had pointed at the corpse. She promptly fainted. Lan Jingyi scrambled to check, while Sizhui kept looking at him dutifully, like a student in class.

Lan Wangji was almost amused.

He continued after a beat. “The hands. They didn’t kill themselves.” 

Puzzled, Sizhui tilted his head, mulling over the words. Lan Jingyi popped back up between them like a disgruntled mole, scowling. “Do you even hear what you’re saying? He just choked himself to death!” 

Clicking his tongue, Lan Jingyi tugged Sizhui down to the corpse. “Don’t waste time with him, we have to figure this—”

Mo Xuanyu took his wrist in an iron grip, leaning close. The flickering candlelight cast shadows over the exposed part of his face, suddenly sharp, with not a movement in those golden eyes. Lan Jingyi cut himself off and froze like a statue, scalp suddenly numb, a tinge of fear in his heart. 

That stare almost felt like he was being scolded by Lan Qiren, if Lan Qiren was as silent and dangerous as a coiled snake.

“All were right-handed. Think.” Mo Xuanyu spoke like it was a command, dropping his wrist after a moment. Lan Jingyi snatched it back like he’d been scalded. The Lan disciples obeyed almost automatically, and even Sizhui began muttering. 

“When Mo-furen and her husband drank tea and wrote…” They had both used their right hands. The servant had also done everything with his right hand when they saw him bustling around the manor. 

Lan Wangji set his gaze on Sizhui then. “The dagger.” 

His brows creased together. “The dagger?”

Realisation flashed across Sizhui’s face and he whipped around to stare at Mo-furen. More specifically, at her left arm, which was now the bulging, veiny arm of a man. 

“Restrain her!” He shouted, leaping forward. 

Although a few of the other disciples held her back, just as Wei Sizhui was about to slap a talisman down, Mo-furen’s arm suddenly shot out at lightning speed, aiming for his neck. Panicking, Sizhui couldn’t stop his motion, trying to twist out of the way. 

Just as he thought there was no chance of escape, that his throat was going to be caught in that clawed grip, Lan Jingyi slammed into him from the side. The demonic hand gripped onto Jingyi’s outer robe instead and a green blaze suddenly erupted with a shower of sparks from the point of contact.

They both tumbled away, half of the outer robe shredding into flames. 

Lan Jingyi panted for breath, hurling the fiery remains of his robe to the ground. He pointed a furious finger at Mo Xuanyu, who was watching them calmly, and shouted.

“You shoved me, you lunatic! Who are you trying to kill?!” 

Lan Wangji could only thicken his face and stare the boy down. “It was not me.”  

Of course it was him. It was also very obvious who he'd been aiming for.

But in the absence of his spiritual power and guqin, the only thing he could do was rely on the Lan robes’ embroidered protection arrays. 

Lan Jingyi stared at him in pure disbelief for a moment, wondering how someone could possibly be so outrageous, then scoffed and turned away. The man was insane. He wasn’t going to be the one who got in trouble for beating up a civilian. 

The other Lan boys gathered their outer layers together, encasing the rogue arm in a cocoon of white. 

The green flames had started burning again. It wouldn’t hold for long, with how powerful the thing was, but it was better than nothing. 

Sizhui reached for something in his robes, a talisman of some sort, then leaned close and murmured to Lan Jingyi. Lan Jingyi whooped in response, shooting a triumphant glare at the burning arm, as if it were a criminal awaiting execution. It seemed like their reinforcements were coming. 

Lan Wangji decided this was the time to make himself scarce. He slipped into the shadows of the manor, hurrying back to his room.  

Mo Xuanyu owned nothing of value, so Lan Wangji simply slung his guqin on his back and closed the door behind him. On the other side of his courtyard was a stable, and here he found a donkey. The animal stopped chewing as he approached, staring at him from the side. Lan Wangji swiftly untied it and tugged a little on the reins. 

The donkey didn’t even budge an inch. It casually looked off into the night. 

Lan Wangji sighed. He reached out, smoothing a hand over its face and short mane, suddenly wishing for his rabbits. The donkey finally deigned to face him head-on. It must have seen something in his eyes, because it gave a snort, shook its head, then began to head out of the stable towards the main road. 

Though it felt a little incomplete, they were off. Lan Wangji left Mo Manor behind, just like he’d left his past life. 

But if Lan Wangji had looked back, he would have caught the light of a familiar sword glare piercing through the dawning sky.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji would never regret lending aid to the common people, but in this second life of his, he was cutting it close. 

With no plans for himself, he was content to wander about for as long as he was able, a ghost among men. But the case on Dafan Mountain had piqued his interest enough, and when realisation had struck him, he raced to the Temple of the Heavenly Maiden where the young disciples had gone. 

Lan Wangji burst into the cave just as it was filled with an ominous, blood-red glow. Desperately, he grabbed at the last item in the qiankun bag that he’d come across, and ended up hurling a gourd of alcohol towards the goddess statue—crimson flames burst from the sprout, a white flash of daylight stolen from the heavens. 

He caught sight of Lan Jingyi and Sizhui, along with their group, and threw out a hand to point. 

“Run!” He shouted, voice loud and clear as he beckoned them to the exit, “The statue is a soul-consuming goddess!”    

As she began to move, the fire illuminated her jerky, inhuman movements, a puppet coming to life. 

Lan Wangji didn’t know it, but his appearance as a shadowy, veiled figure who brought light with him like a comet was quite imposing. Most of the disciples were indeed encouraged to flee. 

Lan Jingyi and Sizhui exchanged a glance, then swiftly followed him into the bamboo groves, where his donkey waited. The goddess advanced forward as well, despite the relentless attacks from all sides—whether it be swords, arrows, talismans or other tools, nothing seemed to stop her. Eventually, the rest of the cultivators poured out of the cave.

Turning to the Lan group, Lan Wangji instructed, “Signal flares, now.” 

His heart thumped uncomfortably at the prospect of seeing a familiar face, but the children’s safety was more important. They rushed about, searching frantically for the flares, but as it turned out…

Lan Jingyi finally spoke, since no one else wanted to. 

“We ran out of them last time…” The boy actually seemed a little embarrassed for once, scratching at the back of his neck sheepishly. 

Lan Wangji closed his eyes, willing himself to be patient. The pitch of his voice didn’t change as he recited, sternly and almost unconsciously, “One must always be adequately prepared.” 

As one, the Lan disciples looked down at their feet in shame, as if he had directly scolded them with fists and fervour. 

Sizhui stepped forward, pulling a talisman from his robes and showing it to him. It was the one Lan Wangji had seen him use at Mo Manor—just a slip of paper like any other talisman, but the incantation scrawled onto it glowed a soft, steady red. 

“Mo-gongzi, no need to worry. My father will be here soon, with aid.” Slightly reassured, Lan Wangji hummed in assent. 

In his heart, he didn’t quite lament, but it was close; the only non-Lan disciple here was the only one who had actually followed the rules. What a world he’d found himself in. 

Sizhui was tugged back by Lan Jingyi, who whispered irritably, as if Lan Wangji wasn’t right there. 

“Worried? What worry?? He looked like he was calculating the number of discipline ruler strikes he'd assign us!” As if he’d realised something, Lan Jingyi turned to him again, a tinge of suspicion in his gaze. 

“Hey, how did you know that rule—” 

“But Mo-gongzi,” Sizhui interrupted. This time, he was the one who pulled Lan Jingyi behind him, the question stopped in its tracks with an ack! “Why are you here? How did you know that it was the statue?” 

Lan Wangji spoke, glancing at Jingyi as he swung himself up onto the donkey, “Common sense.” The boy puffed up in indignation, but he continued, “The souls.”

The disciples followed him like a flock of little ducklings as they ran, asking question after question. He gave them little hints here and there, but with each answer, Lan Wangji felt his reluctant disappointment become deeper and deeper. Gusu Lan’s education system had really…stagnated. 

There might still be hope, though. They were still young.

When Lan Wangji heard of the ‘wish’ Jin-gongzi, Jin Ling, had made in the temple—“He said, 'if it really works, then I pray for the thing that eats souls on Dafan Mountain to appear before me right now.'" Lan Jingyi's eyes almost rolled to the back of his head—he would’ve fallen off the donkey if they hadn’t run into the goddess taking its meal. Unfortunately, he was thrown off anyway, because regardless of how calm and obedient his steed usually was, it still had a sense of self-preservation.  

Lan Jingyi wailed as they ran, “What is actually happening?! The Yiling Laozu said that the high-level ones eat souls, but only low-level ones eat flesh!” 

Relieved as he was to hear of Wei Ying's name—or title, Lan Wangji felt a little whiplash that it was on the subject of demonic spirit theory. Perhaps he should’ve expected it.  

“Jingyi!” Sizhui exclaimed, “Do not be complacent! Even he says not to take his word for things, and adapt to the given situation.” 

“Hey!” Jingyi retorted, but there was a gleam of playfulness in his eye, “I know last year was fun for you, but do not quote the rules at me!” 

They ran into a small clearing, the goddess hot on their tail. Lan Wangji breathed out of his nose as he scanned the other shell-shocked disciples. All these faces, and yet none of them were familiar. 

If Lan Jingyi hadn’t mentioned the Yiling Laozu, or if he hadn’t overheard those cultivators complaining about Jiang Wanyin of all people, he would’ve assumed that perhaps a few generations had passed. 

On his way up the mountain, Lan Wangji and his rather well-behaved donkey had trotted past a group of cultivators who were on their way down. Looking to be from a smaller sect, their expressions were extremely pinched, and they were so frustrated that they didn’t even notice as Lan Wangji quietly rode past. 

“These Great Sects really are miserly, quarrelling with us over a soul-consuming spirit of all things! 

“Let it go. Who would dare to offend Jiang Cheng? Sect leaders are sect leaders, small fry are small fry.” 

“Jin-gongzi too! Must a child be so—hey, who are you calling small fry?!”

With the whistling of arrows, Lan Wangji's gaze was directed toward a figure clad in golden robes, Sparks-Amidst-Snow stamped across his chest. He stood atop a small hill with an unexpectedly heroic aura from one so young, shooting incessantly at the Heavenly Maiden as she followed the tantalising scent of agitated souls. 

This must be Jin Ling. 

His arrows pierced through her body like it was flesh, but did nothing to slow her down. Other cultivators kept up their hailstorm of attacks, but everything was useless. 

“Jin Ling!” Sizhui called out, following close behind. “Light your signal flare!” 

The Maiden danced, whirling forward, getting closer and closer to Jin Ling. He started a little at the call of his name, but didn’t turn. Undeterred, he kept shooting as if he hadn’t heard it at all, lips pinching into a fierce scowl. 

Sizhui's expression tightened, displeasure flashing through his light eyes for the first time. “Jin Rulan!” He shouted, a strange emphasis on the name, but to no avail.

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth at the sight and sat down against a tree, pulling out his guqin to place over his knees. It was an average instrument, bulkier in form than Wangji, but he would make do. 

The disciples that stood by him seemed to ripple with murmurs. 

The melody of Eradication would be too obviously Lan, so he decided to improvise instead. He gathered as much energy inside himself as he could and channelled it, fingers slicing across the strings.

At first, he released only a trickle of power. But the chords he played were clear and resounding, the guqin’s sound strengthening with each beat. It had probably been a long while since Lan Wangji had used spiritual qi, but something felt off. 

Very off. 

Lan Jingyi turned to him, his face warring between confused and impressed. His eyes fixed on the qin, “Hey, what are you—”

Suddenly, power exploded from Lan Wangji’s body, a dam whose walls had abruptly vanished.  

Rising high into the air was a torrential wave of swirling blackness—a second of frozen silence, anticipation—then it smashed down onto the Heavenly Maiden. 

It took Lan Wangji a blank, terrified moment to realise that it was resentment. The statue reeled back, a crack forming where she’d been struck, the fissure glowing like it was imbued with molten metal. 

Lan Wangji had almost stopped dead in shock. He felt the surge of icy resentment through Mo Xuanyu’s spiritual veins, almost tasting it in his throat, and his breath began to come quicker. 

It was startlingly familiar. So familiar, like his meridians were about to be crushed one by one, like Wen fire was about to split him open. The shackles around his limbs seemed to burn hot against his skin. 

But seeing as it was working, he kept playing in a daze, the air around him electrified. 

Tendrils of black, tinged with fiery red, landed blow after thunderous blow on the goddess’s body. The other cultivators shouted and scrambled out of the way as she was slammed this way and that onto the ground like a ragdoll, turning petrified eyes towards Lan Wangji. 

The earth trembled. Around him, the younger disciples were frozen. 

Lan Wangji didn’t know what was happening. 

He played as if in a trance, chest tightening with fear as he watched himself wield pure resentment. He tried to force spiritual qi out instead, but any and all energy that came blasting out was tainted with darkness.

Mo Xuanyu didn’t have enough. He didn’t even have a golden core. 

With each strike, the Heavenly Maiden cracked some more. Like he was just a spectator in Mo Xuanyu’s body, Lan Wangji noticed that a surplus of resentment had gathered in the sky above, a swirling whirlwind of shadows. In his panic, his fingers flew even faster across the seven strings, the low, murky notes inadvertently drawing out something ominous. 

An unearthly screeching sounded from the shadows, the clashing of metal on metal and the howling of the dead. As the cloud of black slowly descended, it seemed to draw on the sheer terror of the gathered cultivators below, the very air seeming to waver with its power. 

It hovered for a moment, then dropped down onto the Heavenly Maiden with the weight of a mountain. The impact sounded as if Buddha himself had stepped forward, a bellowing crash that blew the trees back with its shockwave. 

The Maiden was obscured from view.

Lan Wangji had ended the song, but the leaves hadn’t yet begun drifting back towards the ground when he felt something grip his insides, his eyes unknowingly glowing a dark red. 

The resentful energy was still here, begging for blood.

His fingers found the strings again, desperation coating his sound. He needed to restrain the energy, pull it back to wherever it had come from, before it turned this place into the next Burial Mounds. 

As the dust cleared, he couldn’t even look at what had become of the goddess, focused on the wall of resentment dancing before him instead. It swirled around him, nipping at his robes almost playfully but full of killing intent, like a wolf barely leashed. 

It wanted to tear him and everyone around them into shreds, but Lan Wangji couldn’t let that happen. If he knew anything from being born into Gusu Lan, it was how to cleanse, how to purify, and how to calm. 

With great effort, Lan Wangji tore his thoughts away from his own fear and searched for the last time he’d been content, before his death and before the Sunshot Campaign, suffused with the warmth of newborn affection. The guqin drew a familiar melody out of him. 

Longing and wavering, content yet resigned.  

It was the sweet sound of Wangxian. 

With every note he plucked, his panic began to subside, the wave of terror that had crashed into the shore now ebbing back into the ocean. It took him back to peaceful days spent in the Library Pavilion, snowy rabbits, and a dazzling smile. Singing through his instrument, the tenderness of his heart blanketed the air around them with comfort. 

The resentment also seemed to be subdued, a misbehaving child lulled back to sleep. Lan Wangji was too drained to even be alarmed when the shadows slunk towards him, chastised, black smoke seeping into his body to rest. 

Wangxian finally ended, elegant fingers quivering where they hovered over the dark wood. Something hurt. As he’d played, the strings had been caught one too many times between the sensitive skin underneath the nails of his left hand and the nails themselves, left aching and sour. 

Before him, like a sacrifice to the heavens, the Heavenly Maiden had been thoroughly crushed, pummelled deep into the earth. She laid still in a crater, blown to pieces. In the centre of her body, where her heart should have been, a glowing spherical core was nestled within. 

Lan Wangji breathed out. All was silent. 

If he hadn’t been sitting down, he would have collapsed. Lan Wangji slumped back against the tree, ears buzzing. The world around him began to fade in and out. 

“Mo-gongzi!” He heard a faint voice shout—it was Sizhui. Then, breathless with relief, “A-die!”

A pair of dark boots crunched over dead leaves in front of him, a figure kneeling down and pulling his hands away from his qin. The hands that encased his own were calloused and warm, trembling slightly. 

Lan Wangji felt cooling sweat drip down his brow. The scent of upturned earth permeated the air. His head lolled to the side, eyelids fluttering, and he would have fallen flat if those warm hands hadn’t reached out to prop him up. 

“You…” 

The voice was familiar, achingly so. Lan Wangji caught sight of a blurred face, before his eyes slid shut. 

Chapter Text

When Lan Wangji finally came back to himself, cultivators were shouting all around him. 

“So the Yiling Laozu did take a personal disciple!” 

“How dare you! Try saying that again!” 

That was most definitely Jiang Wanyin. 

“Who are you trying to deceive? The last time I saw that kind of resentment was in Nightless City, fifteen years ago!” 

“Now, now, this one is flattered, really! But I haven’t touched resentful energy in a while, and I certainly don’t know who this young man is! Don’t strain yourselves!”

And that voice was…

Lan Wangji forced his eyes open, gasping for breath. He blinked at the sight around him. 

Jiang Wanyin, who looked slightly older but as bad-tempered as ever, was some distance away on the right. Jin Ling stood behind him like a little shadow, scowling. 

Lan Wangji blinked again. If his vision had been slightly blurrier, he could’ve mistaken the pair for brothers. 

Sizhui and the Lan group were on the left. Further back, the scattered cultivators had gathered into a crowd, the source of the incessant exclamations. 

Lan Wangji turned his head. Standing before him was a man clad in dark robes in a similar style as Sizhui. Jet black, with accents of red and grey, a sword on one side and a dizi on the other. Scrawled along the hems of his sleeves and lining his robes were tiny incantations. 

When the man finally turned back to face him, Lan Wangji’s heart pounded so fast he thought it would fly out of his mouth. 

He swallowed, staring. He couldn’t look away. 

Nothing else mattered in that moment, in this life or the next. 

It was Wei Ying. 

Wei Ying, bright with life and love. His silver eyes sparkled with mischief, alluring crescents as he grinned, and his tousled hair fell around his face like dark waves of windblown silk. His beautiful smile pulled Lan Wangji’s heartstrings from his chest and played them like a qin; he felt sixteen again, he was enamoured, he was a dead man with a broken heart. 

Time had passed but had not been poor to Wei Wuxian—the hostile aura that had enveloped him before like resentment itself had softened into traces of an almost solemn, mature air. Though there were hints of hollowness in his face and a rigidness to his brow, the line of his jaw and the litheness of his figure were the same, or perhaps even lovelier, than the last time Lan Wangji had seen him. 

The last time, Wei Ying had been hurt, struck by the backlash resulting from the Yinhufu. Expression twisted in fury and contempt, his eyes had burned crimson, hands clenched into bony fists. He hadn’t carried Suibian for months. Lan Wangji had left him there in the rain, unable to stand those words that tore into him like blades never could.   

Selfishly, Lan Wangji had left him in the cold and dark. Wei Ying hated him. 

But now, Wei Ying looked alive, radiating warmth. He was perfect. Lan Wangji felt his throat tighten, a momentary heat behind his eyes. 

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, staring at him as if he could read his thoughts, but before he could speak, another loudmouth shouted, “Isn’t that Mo Xuanyu, the one who got kicked out of Lanling Jin? The man’s a cutsleeve and a lunatic, fat chance he’s a disciple of the Yiling Laozu too!” 

“Then mind your own damn business! Scram!” 

At least Jiang Wanyin was good for something, Lan Wangji supposed, slowly sitting up and wrapping his guqin back in its cloth with shaking fingers. He studiously ignored the hands—Wei Ying’s hands—propping him up. They felt like two sources of magma while he was the sea, endlessly soaking up his warmth. 

He stood up, wobbling, as the other cultivators began to disperse. But it had only taken the utterance of Mo Xuanyu’s name to draw Jin Ling to his side like a moth to flame, Jiang Wanyin following close behind and clicking his tongue. 

“Jin Ling—” Wei Ying started beside him.

“Mo-shushu, is that you?” Jin Ling gasped, staring wide-eyed at him. “Why are you wearing a veil?” 

He almost bit his tongue. Shushu? 

Oh. 

Oh no. Lan Wangji felt a faint horror dawn upon him. Abruptly, he wished for the resentment to overcome him again. Anything was better than this.

Could Mo Xuanyu’s well-known sect leader father actually be Jin Guangshan??

Staring back at the boy, Lan Wangji decided, in that moment, to avoid everything; upon Mo Xuanyu’s return to Mo Village, he had been struck with a qi deviation, losing both his marbles and memories. 

He only needed to play dumb. 

Obviously, his resurrection had knocked around something in his head, because Lan Wangji opened his mouth and said, “Who?” 

Ah. Not that dumb. 

Jin Ling’s eyes were suddenly watery, and Lan Wangji would’ve stepped back if there hadn’t been a tree behind him. 

“What happened to you, Mo-shushu?” He cried, sounding on the verge of tears. Jin Ling reached out, desperately tugging at his sleeves. “They were all talking nonsense about you and that Xue Yang bastard, and I couldn’t find you after you left!” 

Facing this barrage of emotion, Lan Wangji blanked, and could only put his half-baked cover story into action.

“I don’t know who you are.” He explained, then immediately wished, again, that he’d kept his mouth shut. Jin Ling went motionless, hands wrinkling Lan Wangji’s dark robes. The boy’s lower lip trembled. 

Wei Wuxian coughed, reaching out and gently pulling Jin Ling away, nudging him towards Jiang Wanyin. “A-Ling, give me a minute with him, alright?”

There was a bit of a scuffle—“Jiujiu, let me go!”—“Jin Ling, try that again and I’ll break your legs!”—and Lan Wangji’s theory was only confirmed. A young master of Lanling Jin who called Jiang Wanyin jiujiu. 

This was the son of Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli.

Wei Wuxian turned to him with a friendly smile, but there was a shadow in his eyes. 

Lan Wangji suddenly felt, wildly and irrationally, that Wei Ying knew who he was, that Wei Ying still hated him. He took a stilted breath, forcing it down.

Hesitating a little, Wei Wuxian stepped forward and reached out, seemingly concerned, “Are you alright?”

Lan Wangji couldn’t answer, because Wei Wuxian’s hands were smoothing over his shoulders, his arms, even his lapels, skimming gently over the veil. Even if he was just checking over him, as a stranger, surely he didn’t need to be so…

“Mhm.” He managed instead. Wei Wuxian let out a huff, a little amused, continuing his movements. He examined Lan Wangji’s robes like he was searching for loose threads, like they were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. 

“That was a very impressive mass of resentful energy you summoned just then.” He slowly brought his gaze back up. “How?”

In all honesty, Lan Wangji had no idea and wasn’t particularly enthused to find out, so he said as much. He could never lie to Wei Ying. “I don’t know.” 

Those silver eyes regarded him steadily, flicking over the veil. Wei Ying’s fingers shifted at the juncture of his neck, and Lan Wangji dazedly wondered if he would take it off to reveal his face. 

Lan Wangji wouldn’t stop him. All of a sudden, the light cloth seemed too stifling. 

But the moment passed, and Wei Wuxian pulled away, hands dropping down to his sides. 

“You’re coming back with me to Yiling, then.” It was a fact, not a question. “How does that sound?” And that smile was back, blinding him, filling Lan Wangji with warmth to his very core.

Lan Wangji had never been good with words, so he simply nodded. Now that he had a second chance, he would never deny Wei Ying again.

“A-Yuan, with me!”

A-Yuan, tell me about your Gui-gege!

The voices overlapped in his mind like an echo. 

Lan Wangji blinked. Was he hallucinating now?

Since Wei Wuxian had played the overprotective uncle last time and was currently occupied, it was Jiang Cheng’s turn. 

Over the years, he’d gotten better at controlling his temper, but to be fair, teenagers could be extremely, unbelievably stupid. 

“Jin Ling!” He snapped shortly, forcing back his anger, “No signal flare, no nothing! If it weren’t for Sizhui’s talisman, who knows how far gone your soul would be by now? What were you playing at?!” 

It was still a work in progress. 

“Jiujiu…” Jin Ling was clenching his jaw, bottom lip sticking out in a way that Jiang Cheng knew made him harder to deal with. “Sizhui already scolded me, you don’t need to go on about it.”

“Oh, so I’m going on about it now—?”

“Jiang-zongzhu!” A mess of white robes crashed excitedly into his side, but Jiang Cheng barely budged. 

“Did you see whatever the hell that resentment was?! What else can that lunatic do? He plays pretty well though, don't you think? It’s really strange, but since he was doing it to save Jin Ling, he’s probably a decent person, right?” Lan Jingyi blabbered all at once, then gulped in a deep breath. 

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, breathed out, and roughly patted Jingyi on the shoulder. The boy detached those squid-like arms from him, satisfied. “Yes. I don’t know. No. Who knows.”

“Really? The qin sounded pretty good to me though. I mean, there’s worse in the practice hall…” 

Jiang Cheng snorted. “That’s because you’re too young to have heard Hanguang-jun.”  

“Ah, what a sore spot. Too young to see the Yiling Laozu wield resentment as well, I guess.” Lan Jingyi muttered, deflated, then turned to Jin Ling. “Well, what did you think? It was kind of impressive, wasn’t it?” 

Jin Ling glared at him, pout still fixed on his face, and shrugged. 

“Hm?” Jingyi wondered, darting closer and staring exaggeratedly at the other boy’s expression. 

Then, seeming to come to a realisation, he threw his head back and cackled wildly, “Are you sulking ‘cause Sizhui pulled the ‘Jin Rulan’ on you?” 

“Shut up.” Jin Ling spat, crossing his arms and turning away with a huff. 

Watching these children squabble, Jiang Cheng could only sigh in exasperation and turn back to his shixiong. His brows furrowed. That Mo Xuanyu was still there.

Something about him seemed different, much more than the few times Jiang Cheng had met or seen him before. 

Suddenly, mind set, he strode over and spoke, interrupting Wei Wuxian as he called for his son. 

“Wei Wuxian. Let me whip him.” 

Wei Wuxian choked on his spit, turning on him incredulously. “What did you just say?” 

Jiang Cheng didn’t elaborate, and instead moved closer to where Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu stood. Now that he’d figured out his intentions, the former stepped forward as well, blocking Jiang Cheng’s view, a darkening look on his face. Around them, the juniors had fallen silent, apprehension building in the air. 

They glared at each other for a tense moment, locked in a battle of wills. 

Wei Wuxian was as stubborn as ever, but that was fine with him. Jiang Cheng would just be the one to make sure that he didn’t try and get himself killed again. 

When he’d glanced back and saw his shixiong speaking with Mo Xuanyu, there had been a look in his silver eyes that Jiang Cheng had only seen once before. 

And that look had been terrible, very bad news. 

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Wanyin said again. Though his face was set in a scowl, his voice was eerily steady. “Move, or I will make you.” 

Wei Wuxian didn’t seem to even be breathing and thus didn’t move at all. Unable to just sit there and wait for his reaction, Lan Wangji gently pushed past him to face Sect Leader Jiang. 

He didn’t see the shock, nor the anguished twist of Wei Wuxian’s face behind him. 

“Jiang-zongzhu, do as you please.” Lan Wangji didn’t bow his head, but looked Jiang Wanyin straight in the eye. 

If his soul was so easily separated from this body, then he wasn’t meant to return in the first place, and was very likely to die soon anyway. 

It would save him time and heartbreak. He had already accepted it. 

But if his soul remained, he still had reason to stay. 

And somehow, Lan Wangji already had an inkling as to how this would go. 

“I have nothing to hide.”

Jiang Wanyin stared at him for a moment, something like confusion flashing briefly through his gaze. But he didn’t hesitate otherwise, raising Zidian with a flourish—

“Jiang Cheng, wait!” Wei Wuxian cried out. 

—And bringing it down upon Mo Xuanyu’s body with a crack of thunder. 

Even though Lan Wangji had braced himself, he was still flung back into the tree with force. Sprawled upon the roots, he sucked in a breath, irritation winding through him like the whip of lightning that had slashed across his chest. 

With a low groan in the silence that followed, he tried to pull himself up. On the side, Wei Wuixan fell to his knees to support him. When Lan Wangji was finally standing again, albeit a little shakily, Wei Wuxian withdrew reluctantly, but it was as if he was afraid to touch him again. 

Lan Wangji was currently preoccupied with glaring at Jiang Wanyin, a hand over his chest, almost forgetting to feel relief. The pig had brought itself to the table, so surely there was no need to thrash it so thoroughly?  

Jiang Wanyin looked back at him quizzically, then at his spiritual weapon, then back at him, stroking Zidian with his finger. It unfurled again. 

“Not enough?” Lan Wangji managed to ask, raising an eyebrow slightly. 

Wei Wuxian immediately sprang into action at his low inquiry, though he had seemed a little stunned himself. Shooing him off towards the juniors, he slapped his shidi’s wrist for good measure. Jiang Wanyin hissed, recoiling. 

“Enough, it’s enough! Jiang Cheng, put Zidian away or so help me!”

Wei Wuxian then tugged Lan Wangji to the side, running his hands frantically but gently over where he’d been struck. Zidian had left dark scorch marks over his clothes, and his robes gaped loosely at the front. 

Where the whip had made contact with his chest was now a thin, stinging red line. The skin around it was cracked and already beginning to swell. 

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian froze, drawing back as if he was the one who’d been hit, not Lan Wangji. His hands trembled where they hovered before his bare chest, and his eyes, which had been fixed on the marks, suddenly darted to and away from Lan Wangji’s face. They were tinged red. 

His cheeks, his ears, his nose—they were all dusted with red.  

“Sorry, I—” Wei Wuxian stumbled on his words, looking lost.

Lan Wangji was a little fascinated. 

“I’m—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, and turned away instead, “Sizhui, where’s your healing ointment?” 

Sizhui hurried over, leaving Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling behind him. He pulled a small jar from his sleeve, glancing at Wei Wuxian for a moment and receiving a nod, then handing it carefully to Lan Wangji.

“Apply a thin enough layer over the whole wound so that it remains translucent three times a day, as well as before and after bathing.” He recited dutifully. Lan Wangji took the ointment, opening the lid to a thick, light green paste inside. It smelled strongly of herbs.

He inclined his head in thanks, and slipped the jar into his robes, fixing them as he did so and deciding to apply it in private.  

“Ah!” Wei Wuxian moved to stand behind Sizhui, presenting him proudly to Lan Wangji with his hands on the boy’s shoulders. 

“...Gongzi,” He started with a slight hesitation, as if he’d forgotten Mo Xuanyu’s name, but then perked up again. “I heard you helped my son before at Mo Manor? Wei Sizhui, thank him properly, won’t you?” 

Wei Sizhui started, then realisation settled into him. He sunk into a respectful bow. “Right. Many thanks for your assistance back then, and this time too, Mo-gongzi. You really saved us.” 

Lan Wangji, who’d immediately lost any and all thoughts at the words ‘my son’, could only stare for a moment. 

Son. 

Son…?

Wei Ying had a son…?

He swallowed. It was a struggle. 

Wei Ying had a son? Wei Ying, lively, flirtatious, troublemaking Wei Ying, had fallen for a maiden and was…married. His son was a youth old enough to have a courtesy name, the same age they had been at their fateful encounter in the Cloud Recesses… 

Wei Wuxian’s expression seemed rather hopeful. What? 

“Wei…Sizhui?” Lan Wangji asked, stilted. 

What a name. Had his wife…?

He couldn’t even blink. Or think anymore. 

“Yes.” Wei Sizhui answered, ducking his head a little shyly. “My A-die took me in when I was small so…that’s why we don’t look much alike.” 

Wei Wuxian ruffled his hair with force. “What nonsense is my A-Yuan saying? Of course I gave birth to him—just look at those eyes!” 

He grinned at Lan Wangji, like he wanted him to play along. Lan Wangji, who’d regained control of his respiratory faculties, slowly leaned in to inspect the boy’s eyes. Strangely enough, they were almost that exact shade of familiar silver, with just a tinge of blue. Wei Sizhui blinked at him, and they became brighter somehow.

Lan Wangji straightened up and hummed in agreement, “He has his father’s eyes.” 

Wei Wuxian bit his lip, as if fighting another smile, but eventually beamed at him again. “Doesn’t he!”

Fighting the urge to ask about the boy’s mother—based on the joke he’d just made, Wei Wuxian was probably equally liable to say something ridiculous along the lines of ‘I am the mother!’—Lan Wangji made his way towards his donkey, who was grazing a small distance away. 

“Jin Ling, little Lans! You’re all going home through Yunmeng, right? Come by our place first!” Wei Wuxian called, to a chorus of agreement from the juniors. 

To Yiling, Wei Ying had said. Lan Wangji wondered, why not Lotus Pier? 

When Wei Wuxian had caught the first few notes of that song, it was like the world had stopped around him. 

He froze, heart beating out of his chest, eyes wide in astonishment. Chenqing slipped from his slack grip, and would have fallen into the dirt had Jiang Cheng not lunged forward and caught it. He shoved it back into Wei Wuxian’s hands, frowning. “What is it?” 

Unable to speak, Wei Wuxian could only breathlessly move forward, step by step, as each note came as he expected it—the melody that he had only heard once in his life in the Xuanwu cave. The melody that had haunted him for fifteen years, that he had in turn sung to little A-Yuan. 

Except this time, instead of the low hum of a lovely voice, it was a qin.

He pushed past a crowd of scattered cultivators and came into a clearing, the mass of resentful energy that had sent the Yunmeng Jiang group scrambling up the mountain dancing before them. 

More specifically, the black shadows swirled around a single figure, leaning back against a tree, a large crater smashed into the earth before him. His dark robes and the veil covering the lower half of his face fluttered about wildly in the sinister winds, revealing the barest glimpse of thin lips pulled into a firm line. He was slim and graceful, fingers drawing elegantly over the guqin that sat in his lap, eyes glowing a deep, vicious red. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to think. Only one person should know this song, other than himself—of course, that would be the composer. And this person played it as easily as he breathed, despite the settling panic in his expression and the tightness around his eyes. 

As the song ended, the resentment withdrew, gathering towards the young man and sinking into his body. He faltered, blinking, as Wei Wuxian came closer. 

“Mo-gongzi!” Wei Sizhui shouted from the other side of the clearing as the qin player slumped back against the tree. His son called for him as well, but Wei Wuxian was deaf, rushing forward, numb with anticipation and fear. 

Crouching down, his heart seemed to stop as he saw those golden eyes, a hue that he’d chased in his dreams ever since Lan Zhan had died. Wei Wuxian had almost forgotten the colour despite his efforts, but as he stared, it had returned to him in striking clarity; the breaking of sunlight over the clouds of dawn, a warmth that had faded with his memories.

He couldn’t help but reach out, taking those cold hands into his own, shaking with disbelief. Lan Zhan—it had to be Lan Zhan this time—went boneless at the touch, and Wei Wuxian ended up holding him in an embrace as he fell back. 

“You…” Wei Wuxian choked out, gathering him close. His chest felt tight, his nose sour, and he couldn’t stop looking, relishing, pulsing with hope. 

The man in his arms smelled like sweat and the metallic tang of resentment, eyelids fluttering until they closed.

He was Lan Zhan. He was beautiful.  

Wei Wuxian never wanted to let him go. 

As he fell unconscious, Wei Wuxian reached out to take his pulse, thrumming with anxiety. The kind of resentment that he had just seen…it was comparable to that of the Burial Mounds, the way it had been before Wei Wuxian made a home there.  

Thankfully, Lan Zhan had been alright. Now, as they made their way back to Yiling, Wei Wuxian thought, whatever had happened to Lan Zhan, they would fix it together. 

But for the moment, he was alive. And for Wei Wuxian, whose heart was blooming open in his chest for the first time in nearly sixteen years, that was more than enough. 

Chapter Text

The markets of Yiling were flourishing with activity. As the group of cultivators passed through the crowds, Wei Wuxian and Wei Sizhui were enthusiastically greeted by various locals that they passed by. 

“Wei-gongzi, brought your friends along?” 

“Wei-daozhang, good to see you back!” 

Lan Wangji moved closer to Lan Jingyi, catching the boy’s attention with a tilt of his head. “Why do they not stay in Lotus Pier?” He quietly asked.

Lan Jingyi turned to him, as incredulous as ever, but faltered when he saw Lan Wangji’s serious expression. “...Did you actually hit your head or something? Wei-qianbei hasn’t lived there for nearly fifteen years.” 

“Lan Jingyi,” He said solemnly, “I recently qi-deviated. My memories are unclear.” 

Before his death, Lan Wangji had certainly gone into qi deviation and ended up with a scrambled mind, so it wasn’t a lie.

The boy stared at him, an inkling of suspicion in his eyes, and almost walked into the side of a street vendor’s cart. But eventually, he relented, since apparently the story wasn’t anything new to those of the cultivation world.

Some time after the Sunshot Campaign was won and Lan Wangji’s death, Wei Wuxian had defected from Yunmeng Jiang, leaving his life as Head Disciple for the Burial Mounds in Yiling and taking with him the Wen Remnants. 

The truth was indeed stranger than fiction, Lan Wangji thought as he recalled Wei Wuxian’s vitriolic hate against the Wen they had fought during the war. No wonder he had defected—Jiang Wanyin certainly wouldn’t have stood for it. 

Despite all the noteworthy events of the following decade—“Way too much to cover!”—Wei Wuxian never officially left the place, not even for his Shijie’s wedding nor the birth of her son. Essentially, he had been a recluse until recent years. It was a relief to hear, though, that the Yinhufu had been destroyed sometime during Wei Wuxian’s seclusion, the pieces handed over to the Great Sects.  

When Wei Wuxian had finally reemerged, he had also returned exclusively to the sword path. He wandered around the borders of Yunmeng territory, exorcising spirits and protecting the common people. The people of Yiling hailed him as a figure similar to a sect leader thanks to his cleansing of the surrounding lands.

Many wished to bow to him as disciples, regardless of which path he taught, but he refused all of them. The Burial Mounds and the few affiliated with it became mysterious figures and quite controversial, to say the least. 

Hearing all of this, Lan Wangji felt something that had been suspended ever since he’d seen Suibian on Wei Wuxian’s hip settle within him. 

So Wei Ying had picked up his sword again, in the end. 

“Even though Wei-qianbei practically became the Hanguang-jun of this region, whenever something goes wrong elsewhere, those old bastards really like dragging his name in the mud. It’s like they can’t sleep well if they don’t blame someone else!” Lan Jingyi ranted. 

Lan Wangji, who did not let the swearing slip by him, nodded with a “Mn.” then looked ahead. 

They had arrived. 

This was…the Burial Mounds?

Wei Wuxian led the way past the residences towards the main house, which stood further away from the others and sat almost opposite a large, yawning cave. 

Lan Wangji had only seen the Burial Mounds from afar before his death, and never had he imagined it to be like this. There was not even a hint of resentment in the air, and flourishing patches of vegetation were dotted around the houses and perimeters of the wide clearing.

A large bamboo grove encased one side of the main house. From the looks of it, it was spreading out onto the mountain. 

Altogether, this looked more like a picturesque little village than an ancient battlefield inundated with the dead. Had Wei Ying done this?

The main house was a sturdy, stately building. It didn’t come close to the size of a sect compound, but it wouldn’t lose to the typical noble family’s manor either. Wei Wuxian ushered in the juniors, most of whom seemed to have a passing familiarity with the place. 

Upon entering, they immediately scattered, with the exceptions of Lan Jingyi, Jin Ling, and Wei Sizhui. 

“Make yourselves at home, kids.” Wei Wuxian called, before turning back to Lan Wangji. “Give me a minute, I’ll be back!” 

He rushed out. Lan Wangji was left awkwardly standing at the entrance with Jiang Wanyin and the trio of boys. 

“Mo-gongzi,” Wei Sizhui finally broke the silence with a gentle smile, “Please come in. Would you like some tea?” 

Lan Wangji hesitated for a moment, before nodding and following the young man inside. They made their way towards a large hall, the boys bantering between each other, Jiang Wanyin following at the rear. Lan Wangji could practically feel the man’s suspicious stare piercing into the back of his head; he elected to ignore it. 

The main hall was spacious and opened up to an outside courtyard with what looked like accompanying gardens. The sound of the youths’ idle chatter filled the air as they settled into their seats. 

Wei Sizhui excused himself for a moment.

In the late afternoon sunlight, the atmosphere was suffused with a gentle warmth. Lan Wangji couldn’t recall the last time he had felt somewhat peaceful. The months before he’d finally passed…well, those were best left forgotten, and he had a sense that his time as one of the dead hadn’t been pleasant, either. 

It was a joy to be alive, to feel the whisper of air across his skin, the dappling light streaming through long stalks of bamboo. The presence of others had never been a comfort to Lan Wangji, but here, they faded into the background, bringing close a sense of security. If only he could see his brother and uncle one more time, that would be all he needed. 

But he wouldn’t put them through the pain of losing him again, despite his selfish wishes. He closed his eyes. 

Lan Wangji would simply enjoy what he could have for now, even if this body was destined to be short-lived. 

Wei Sizhui returned with a smile, bringing the refreshing scent of tea with him. He carefully set a teapot and cups on the table, then began pouring with textbook grace; first for Jiang Wanyin, then Mo Xuanyu, his friends, and himself. 

What a filial child, Lan Wangji idly thought. By the faintly approving look in Sect Leader Jiang’s dark eyes, they actually seemed to agree on this.   

Carefully lifting the cup to his lips under the veil, Lan Wangji had barely taken a sip of that well-steeped tea before Wei Wuxian came skidding back into the hall, stopping with a dramatic sigh. He beckoned towards his son.

“Your gugu is away until tomorrow. Sizhui, take—” Silver eyes slid over to where Lan Wangji sat, teacup still halfway from his lips, “—Mo-gongzi to the nice guest room and get him settled in.”

Wei Wuxian clapped his hands, calling out to the juniors spread out in the courtyard and gardens outside. “Boys! Go help with dinner!” 

Shouting back in kind, they slowly began filing inside like a line of obedient ducklings. Lan Wangji was almost amused.

Finally, Wei Wuxian turned to Jiang Wanyin with an unsatisfied twist to his mouth. “And Jiang Cheng, I need to talk to you.”

Jiang Wanyin grumbled a little, but rose nonetheless. On his other side, Lan Jingyi put a theatrical hand over his mouth and pretended to swoon. “No, Wei-qianbei, not Jiang-zongzhu! We still need him for the kitchens, he’s our only hope!”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes good-naturedly at him, though his lips quirked up into a small smile as he pointed a thumb towards the direction of the entrance. “Don’t worry, Wen Ning is still here.” 

At the same time, Jiang Wanyin muttered, “If anyone’s getting their ass kicked, it’s him.” 

Jin Ling snorted. 

Wei Sizhui led Lan Wangji out towards the guest wing. Wei Wuxian didn’t miss the heavy golden gaze that remained on him for a moment, but swallowed and looked away. 

He and Jiang Cheng walked towards the study.   

As soon as the door was shut, Wei Wuxian turned on Jiang Cheng, cocking his head and flicking his shidi on the shoulder. 

“Really? Zidian?” Wei Wuxian prodded him none-too-gently. 

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, levelling a judgemental stare at him. “Wei Wuxian, since you're begging to be bewitched by every other yao on the road, don’t blame me for being cautious.” 

Wei Wuxian paused, before flushing high and hot on his cheekbones, stumbling back. “Every other—Jiang Cheng, that was one time—”

“Don’t lie to me, I know it’s happened at least twice.” At his shixiong’s befuddled look, he continued brazenly, “Sizhui mentioned it.” 

Ignoring Wei Wuxian’s squawk of betrayal, “And who knows how many other times, when we weren’t there?” 

“...Fine. But did you have to hit him that hard?”

He snorted, “Better safe than sorry.” 

They fell into a mullish silence.

Jiang Cheng hesitated briefly, finally asking the question that had been weighing on his mind since Dafan Mountain.

“How are you so sure it’s him?” 

Wei Wuxian immediately glanced away, unable to meet his eyes. 

It was obvious that he was stalling, but he eventually relented with a mumbled, “...It’s not like you can disprove it.”

Looking back at Jiang Cheng and catching sight of his dissatisfied expression, Wei Wuxian quickly and earnestly declared, “Anyway, it has to be him, I know it.” 

Nostrils flaring and full of disbelief, Jiang Cheng spat. “Keep your secrets then. We both know that Lan Wangji wouldn’t lower himself to possession.” 

“Who knows if it was intentional?” Wei Wuxian instantly rebutted, “Nothing happened, even with Zidian! You saw the way—the state Wen Ruohan left him in.”

“But the soul-calming rituals—”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, “If you want to argue about those little things, Wen Ning is right outside.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, then went back to frowning. “Then, if he were a resentful ghost…you would have been fine with that?”

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a moment, baffled, as if forgetting how to speak. That was a completely unexpected question. 

But it definitely wasn’t one that he couldn’t answer.

“...Jiang Cheng, have you forgotten who I am? As the Yiling Laozu, what haven’t I done? I couldn’t give half a damn, if it was Lan Zhan then—”

“Enough, I get it.” Jiang Cheng cut him off, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

Why wasn’t he used to it already, considering he’d spent so many years with this Wei Wuxian? He had personally seen the state of the man after Hanguang-jun’s death—alright, he’d just keep his mouth shut from now on. 

Jiang Cheng sighed, turning away. He hadn’t gotten the answers he’d wanted, but the heavens be damned if he had to go through this shit again with Wei Wuxian.  

“Do what you want. Just don’t put the kids in danger.”

Jiang Cheng returned to the main hall to finish his tea, lest it go to waste. He wouldn’t hesitate to say that out of the juniors, the tea that Wei Sizhui made was always the best, even after cooling a little. 

He really had no clue how Wei Wuxian had raised a child so unlike himself. 

Jin Ling couldn’t do it for the life of him, and had no desire or need to practice, given his station. Jiang Cheng almost snorted at the thought—the peacock would probably do it himself before even thinking of forcing his son. 

He stepped into the gardens, eyes roving over the colourful but muted blossoms. Orchids, lilacs, gentians, peach flowers, and a spread of loquats. It was early spring, so the lotuses had begun to sprout, but had yet to flower. The beauty of the scenery rivalled even the gaudy presentations of Jinlintai, and in Jiang Cheng’s humble opinion, certainly had more character. 

This had indeed been one of Wei Wuxian’s hidden talents. When he was still the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang, that boisterous youth had much preferred shooting pheasants or swimming around and robbing lakes of lotus seeds to something as placid as gardening, and any plants he deigned to care for seemed to wither away at his touch. 

Well, it wasn’t like he’d tried very hard anyway. 

But since the lotuses Wei Wuxian first planted in the Burial Mounds managed to survive, he’d tried his hand at several other fruits and flowers over the years—not to mention the bamboo grove, but that had hardly required any effort. 

Gazing at the wash of cold blooms before him, Jiang Cheng was suddenly reminded of the first year when the magnolias finally bloomed amongst the sea of blue. 

Wei Wuxian had been almost delirious with joy, shouting out his accomplishment at Jiang Cheng and his sister as they arrived at the foot of the mountain. Jiang Cheng had initially been unimpressed, but it was hard to stay that way when one considered what the Burial Mounds had been like before. 

The soft pink flowers had reminded him of the Library Pavilion in the Cloud Recesses, and according to Wei Wuxian, had taken almost a decade of painstaking care to cultivate.

At that time, they had only come to visit. As the breeze wound gently through the gardens, causing the petals to shiver, Jiang Cheng remembered that this was also when his shixiong had decided on Wei Yuan’s name. 

Wei Wuxian hummed, watching the young boy from afar with a subdued yet tender gaze. “His courtesy name will be Sizhui.” 

He looked down, something content lingering at the corners of his lips, but something still wistful tightening the lines of his eyes, hands hidden in his sleeves. 

Jiang Cheng regarded Wei Wuxian for a silent moment, the blush of early-blooming magnolias swaying behind him. 

He couldn’t help the tiniest huff of air that escaped him, mouth twitching—he should have figured.  

Wei Sizhui…

Thinking of the one I cannot follow; 
Longing, for when will he return?

This naming sense was really…as bad as those Lans.

“Wei Ying.” 

Rain poured down in thin sheets, misting over the remains of the battlefield. The droplets were so fine that they fell with hardly a sound, lest they reawaken the dead. The silence was broken by the slightest of movements, a faint light in the gloomy fog. 

Hanguang-jun waded through the corpses like a ghost, or perhaps an immortal, golden eyes sharp enough to chase those restless spirits away. 

On one side were plains of Wen flames, the whites of their robes sodden grey by the mud, dried blood returning to liquid to slough off the bodies. 

The other side also contained that red motif, but was dotted with uniforms of Jin yellow, peonies stamped into the ground. Not a single vermillion mark remained whole in the carnage. 

For those who hadn’t been cut down by the Wen, their own spiritual energy had turned against them, driven mad by the resentment that had rushed them from all sides, striking the front like a calamity from the heavens. 

Lan Wangji slowly approached the dark figure amongst the corpses, Chenqing slanting into the ground. 

Wei Wuxian knelt, eyes empty and robes dragging into the mud, clutching a dark piece of metal in each hand. 

Even from this distance, Lan Wangji could feel the resentment radiating out—though it had mostly dissipated into the air, the pieces of the Yinhufu still emitted a faint, almost inaudible rumbling. Like the purring of a satiated cat, it was revelling, satisfied with the bloodbath it had caused, having eaten its fill—for the time being. 

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji called again. His low voice seemed to waver on its way, struggling to pierce through the rain. Wei Wuxian didn’t move. 

Finally standing beside him, Lan Wangji reached out, gently pulling him up by the arm. Wei Wuxian was soaked to the bone, fine tremors wracking through his body. 

Lan Wangji murmured, “Put it away.” 

Wei Wuxian turned to him, slowly, as if just realising he was there. He blinked, something dark rising into his dull grey eyes, and spoke, voice rasping, “Lan Zhan.. I didn’t mean to…” 

“I know. Put it away, Wei Ying. Don’t use it again.” 

He jerked away from Lan Wangji’s hold, fingers clenching and unclenching around cold metal. Wei Wuxian’s mouth opened and closed with the movements unnervingly, like a puppet. 

“I don’t—No. I must—I have to keep it. Just in case, just in case…” 

Lan Wangji looked at him, arm outstretched. 

“Then, just for now. Come,” He hesitated, “We must return to Langya. I will play Cleansing for—”

“Hahahaha!” A chilling, screeching noise ripped itself out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. 

Lan Wangji froze, golden eyes wide with distress. 

Wei Wuxian continued to laugh, if it could even be called laughter. Shrill and piercing, he threw his head back towards the sky to let it clamber out, silver eyes muddy and unseeing. Despite the drunkenness of it all, his body stood as straight as a pole, almost motionless as it was shaken from the inside. 

The sound was more like the agonised screams of a ghost or the clawing of resentment against its container, bouncing off the mounds of dead flesh around them as if they were rock—if Lan Wangji was a less accomplished cultivator, he would fear that the Yiling Laozu had finally been possessed. 

“Cleansing!!” Wei Wuxian hissed, before screaming out in mirth again. “Hahaha!”

Lan Wangji couldn’t stand it anymore, hands returning to his sides as fists. But he didn’t step back, “Wei Ying, please—”

“Hanguang-jun!” He abruptly snapped back to attention, those lips that had been maniacally pulled up now peeled back in a snarl. “What do you think Cleansing will do, hm? Against this thing!” 

“You need to rest. If necessary, Gusu is not far.”

“...Gusu?” Suddenly, Wei Wuxian fell silent. 

Lan Wangji nodded, a little desperate. “Balance is the foundation. After this,” His eyes flickered around the battlefield almost involuntarily, “There will be time for you to recover.” 

“Lan Wangji,” With vitriol, Wei Wuxian spat, “How long have you been deaf for?”

“Cleansing? Gusu!? Now that you’ve seen this thing, even the illustrious Hanguang-jun truly fears me!” 

“That’s not—” 

“Ri-di-cu-lous.” He spelt each syllable out, tilting his head and mocking him. His gaze was sharp and controlled, his words cruel and unforgiving. It was too much even for Lan Wangji, who had had this argument too many times to count.  

“Isn’t this funny, Lan Wangji? Who is the student and who is the enforcer?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “How many times have I told you that your little songs won’t work on me? Must you write lines to remember it? Until when will you hold me down?!”  

Of course, Hanguang-jun couldn’t be spoken to like this. “Wei Wuxian! The demonic path—” 

“—Harms the body and the heart! This price, I will pay it ten thousand times over because, did you know? It harms the Wen-dogs too!”  

At this, Wei Wuxian threw his arms out to sweep over the corpses piled around them, the rain doing nothing to mask the stench of blood and death. He stared at them, almost in awe, then began to laugh again. 
 
Lan Wangji could only watch him until his laughter petered out, and he gasped for breath. After a few moments, Wei Wuxian fell silent, regarding Lan Wangji closely as if expecting him to lunge and bite.

They stared at each other. Lan Zhan was now as soaked as Wei Wuxian. His forehead ribbon had been drenched a shade darker, and strands of wet hair framed and clung to his pale face like the fingers of a lover, loath to part. His eyes were as clear and stony as always, but somehow, even standing as a beacon of light on the battlefield…he looked a little helpless. 

Wei Wuxian pushed those thoughts away, and quirked a challenging eyebrow at him, as if to say, well?

Lan Wangji took a breath and hesitated again. Finally he spoke, softly, carefully, “Wei Ying, let me…”

He trailed off as Wei Wuxian lazily raised a hand at him and turned his head away, feigning disinterest. “Wrong. Go.” 

A fine bead of water slid down the bridge of Lan Wangji’s nose and fell onto his slightly parted lips, bloodless and wet. He didn’t make a sound. 

Wei Wuxian continued, now scathing and sarcastic. 

“Hanguang-jun, haven’t you tired of this one yet? Just leave.” 

He still didn’t move. 

But all of it was enough for Wei Wuxian, who reared up like a snake. 

“Get lost!” He roared, glare burning crimson. 

Lan Wangji looked at him, a ripple in his golden eyes like a drop of ink fallen in water. He turned before Wei Wuxian could see it spread, stood there for a moment, then walked away. 

In white, the shadow of his back made a lonely figure into the distance.

As he went, the rain finally began to pour in earnest. It had been cold this whole time, but now something warm and infuriated trickled down Wei Wuxian’s cheeks. 

Fingers still locked around the Yinhufu, he looked up at the sky, cursed it in his heart and scoffed, “Waiting for him?” 

Wei Wuxian snapped awake. 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian stared at the dark ceiling, breathing hard, a fine sheen of sweat drying cold on his face. 

His last words to Lan Wangji had been ‘get lost’. 

And Lan Wangji had proceeded to do exactly that. For fifteen years. 

A low, keening noise escaped Wei Wuxian as he sat up, burying his head in his hands.

Upon hearing that song again and knowing that Mo Xuanyu was indeed Lan Wangji, the only thing that bloomed through him was hope, soft and tremulous.

But now, since the memory of their last confrontation had returned to shake him back to reality, the carefully nurtured hearth in his heart was swept over with a gust of cold wind. 

In the past fifteen years, Wei Wuxian had mourned him. Even as the seasons blurred together, as he watched the changes of the cultivation world, as A-Yuan grew from a little boy to a young man, Wei Wuxian could never really, truly let go. 

Even after spiritual energy began flowing through him once again, the smallest things would still make his breath catch; the sound of the qin, the scent of sandalwood, the worn-out strip of white fabric that remained hidden in his sleeve.

Over time, Wei Wuxian had settled into a kind of acceptance, one that Lan Wangji’s return had taken and ripped right out of his chest. 

In some ways, things had been simple before. 

It was both simpler and not, because while Wei Wuxian collected pieces of Lan Zhan like a starving dog, he had never needed to justify himself for it. The precious sentiments hidden inside him remained concealed from all others, and Wei Wuxian never faced a reality where Lan Wangji perceived his heart’s desires. 

However, since Lan Wangji had been truly gone, with not even his soul responding to Inquiry or any other methods the Lan employed in their determination to set their second young master to rest, it was impossible for Wei Wuxian to apologise, to beg for his forgiveness. As a rule, Wei Wuxian had never been the sort of person to live in the past, but somehow, to him, Lan Wangji was the only exception. 

He could never forget. On one hand, the sight of white rabbits or blossoming flowers was enough to warm him through Yiling’s harsh winters. On the other, Wei Wuxian had to live with his regrets—the words he should and shouldn’t have spoken, or the things he should have done differently. 

And despite all of this, he still dared to keep that ribbon, to associate with Gusu Lan, to treasure his own audacious sentiments. 

No matter what Lan Xichen said, if it turned out that Lan Wangji had actually held any sort of true dislike for him back then, Wei Wuxian really might die. 

Yet it was well-known that since he was young, Wei Wuxian liked to court death, so he steeled himself and stepped out of his room, quietly making his way over to the guest wing. 

It was the middle of the night. Springtime in Yiling was still usually somewhat chilly, and Wei Wuxian wondered if perhaps Lan Wangji’s room might be cold. 

The ‘nice’ guest room was the biggest in the wing, and the only one that had the privilege of being semi-regularly maintained. To be honest, Wei Wuxian was not one for receiving guests, unless they were family or perhaps the Lan kids, though even they had only stayed once or twice before. 

Security had been tight during his years in seclusion and hadn’t lessened much even after he’d reemerged, thanks to Wen Qing’s insistence. The Yiling Laozu had no shortage of self-proclaimed enemies, after all.     

Somehow, Wei Wuxian found himself at Lan Wangji’s door. That look in Lan Wangji’s eyes, blurred in the rain so long ago, appeared in his mind. 

His mouth tasted sour. As he stood there, he told himself that he just needed to see Lan Zhan, that was all. 

Just once. To leave that terrible memory behind. To reassure himself that Lan Wangji was alive and breathing, and that Wei Wuxian would do his damndest to keep him that way.  

He knew, distantly, that what he was doing was monumentally stupid, but silently slipped inside anyway. Once the door was shut behind him, he turned to face the room, and froze. 

On the bed, Lan Wangji lay, illuminated by a small sliver of moonlight that peeked through his window. The shadow of the magnolia tree outside swayed gently in the breeze. 

The veil that Lan Wangji had taken to wearing was set beside him, and although Wei Wuxian could finally see those thin lips, tightly pursed, he was immediately arrested by the stark red lines that formed a gruesome collar around that pale neck. 

Any thoughts of comfort fled his mind. How could he take comfort from—whatever this was? 

It startled a sharp breath out of him as he moved closer, tracing the pattern with wide eyes. The semi-transparent fabric of Lan Wangji’s inner robes did nothing to hide the same marks on his wrists, one of which was placed on his chest in the corpse-like sleeping posture of the Lan, the other which had slipped down to grip the blanket. 

Instead of a collar, these were shackles. 

Leaning over the bed, Wei Wuxian forcefully calmed himself and surmised that this was a curse. And quite a terrifying one too, by the looks of it. What he couldn’t figure out was why such a dark curse mark inexplicably used the character zheng. 

Before he could devolve into a panicked internal tirade that would surely twist his guts into a mess, Lan Wangji made a noise in his sleep. 

Wei Wuxian’s scalp went numb. 

His sneaky hand immediately stopped dead where it hovered over a pale shoulder, intending to brush away a few strands of hair so he could better see the collar. 

Lan Wangji’s brows twitched and he jolted a little, another small sound issuing from his parted lips. Louder than before, it was something between a gasp and a stifled groan. 

This close, it was impossible to mistake the way his jaw was tightly clenched. 

At once, Wei Wuxian began slowly inching his arm back, fearing that even the shadow it cast could wake the other man from what seemed like a nightmare. 

He swallowed in relief as Lan Wangji stilled completely, about to thank the heavens. 

Suddenly, feverish golden eyes shot open. 

Here, Wei Wuxian knew he’d made a mistake. He should’ve run at the first sign of movement. 

But he had always been ridiculous when it came to this man. Even after fifteen years, not much had changed. 

A firm hand lashed out and pressed against a tender spot on his waist. Wei Wuxian’s knees buckled and he collapsed over the bed, hissing as his body dropped like a rock.

With his arms thrown over Lan Wangji’s torso, his face lolled over a sharp hip bone, legs weirdly draped over the edge of the bed, throbbing where his thighs had cracked down onto the frame. 

The body underneath him was warm. Wei Wuxian abruptly found that he couldn’t move. 

Not for lack of trying. Somehow, he was completely slumped onto Lan Wangji, and he really couldn’t move. 

…This was it. 

He, Wei Wuxian, the proud and renowned Yiling Laozu, would actually die of shame—of all things! Jiang Cheng was going to laugh at him all the way into the ground.  

A warm hand descended on the curve of his cheek, the one that wasn’t pressed against Lan Wangji’s waist, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t flinch away. Slender fingers tapped all over his face a few times, sliding over his forehead and into his hair, leaving him pliant and tender from just the touch.

After a long moment where it stroked gently over his brow, the hand stilled completely and drew back. He almost whined in discontent.  

“Wei Ying?” Came Lan Wangji’s voice, quiet in the dark. 

All thought stopped for a moment.

Lan Zhan had finally called his name. 

“…Mm, it’s me.” Wei Wuxian had no choice but to reply helplessly, a little muffled by the weight of his own face. Or lack thereof. 

The shadow that was Lan Wangji moved out of the corner of his eye. Stuck in the awkward position that he was, Wei Wuxian could neither see nor resist as slim hands hauled his boneless body onto the other end of the bed, away from the edge. 

He landed on his side with an oof, breath knocked out of his lungs. When Wei Wuxian strained to look again, a pair of bleary eyes appeared above him, shining faintly metallic in the moonlight. 

It was only a few seconds later that he remembered to breathe. 

Those eyes blinked at him once, slowly, before Lan Wangji laid flat on his back, placed both his hands neatly on his chest, and fell asleep. 

Wei Wuxian, “...?”

Helplessly sprawled out beside him, waist numb and aching, Wei Wuxian stared at him, a growing feeling of wild disbelief making him twitch. He began whispering with increasing hysteria. 

“Lan Zhan! Hey, wake up! …What did you do to me, Lan Zhan! Lan-er-gongzi? Hanguang-jun??”

It was as if he’d been trussed up in immortal-binding cables or something. What kind of weird technique was this? Was this a Lan thing?

Jerkily, he could only shuffle the tiniest bit closer to the statuesque figure beside him. Wei Wuxian’s quivering fingers were almost close enough to touch Lan Wangji’s shoulder, but close still wasn’t enough. He lay there, panting with the effort, but he was unable to force himself to move any further. 

Once he’d settled a bit, realising that there really was nothing he could do, he started to whisper again, “If you don’t let me go, I’ll be forced to stare at you the whole night, Han—guang—jun!” 

Silence. 

This threat was really…

Soft beams of moonlight landed on Lan Wangji’s face, illuminating his features a little shyly, the same way Wei Wuxian gazed at him. His breath and words were both stolen at the sight. 

It was a different face than he was used to remembering, but knowing that it was Lan Zhan, he couldn’t help but admire him nonetheless. 

He was like an immortal fairy, something of his old countenance having returned to him in slumber. Even so, the frost-covered demeanour of Hanguang-jun gave way to their proximity, those fine brows smooth and unmoved, those long black lashes casting faint shadows over his lovely cheeks. 

Unlike when Wei Wuxian had first slunk into his room, Lan Wangji now seemed to be more at ease. His chest rose and fell evenly, and the sound of his breathing was quiet and comforting.  

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian murmured, the barest hint of air passing between his lips, as if he didn’t want Lan Wangji to hear him now. “Did you really…want to come back? Or was it just the curse…?” 

Curling his fingers imperceptibly around the air, it was like Wei Wuxian was trying to hold onto the person next to him, grasping for anything that could tie them together. “Lan Zhan, even if you don’t want to be here anymore, you can’t just—”

His mouth snapped shut, as if silenced. He remembered the wicked flare of Zidian and the way Lan Wangji had spoken so steadily, stepping so calmly towards Jiang Cheng, towards what could have been a second death sentence. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what had happened to him in the Infernal Palace, and even more than that, he couldn’t ascertain exactly what kind of mental state Lan Wangji had been left in, even after fifteen years.

But it made him hurt, viscerally, to know that Lan Wangji could have died again, leaving him behind again—this time willingly and easily. 

In a hushed voice, it spilled out of him. “I won’t let you go. Lan Zhan, you have to stay, I…”  

Being so close, Wei Wuxian could feel his body heat, radiating outwards despite the thin layers between them. He wanted to touch, to make sure Lan Wangji was really there, not a figment of dream or fantasy. 

He…really wanted to touch him. 

Wei Wuxian swallowed as he blinked rapidly, and without much force behind his words, breathed out, “Lan Zhan, I really will…”

The next morning, Wei Sizhui made his way towards Mo Xuanyu’s guest room, and was about to knock on the door when his father came bursting out, nearly flattening him on the way. 

“Gah—A-die?! What are you—mmph!” 

Eyes wide and panicked, Wei Wuxian immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, silently shutting the door behind him. Keeping his hand in place, he carefully herded Sizhui down the hallway. 

Rather disgruntled, the young man thought that his father should know that he’d keep his mouth shut regardless, but let him do as he pleased.

When they were far enough from the guest room, Wei Wuxian released him.   

“Sizhui!” He exclaimed brightly, as if they had just coincidentally encountered each other, “Is Qing-jie back yet? I need to talk to her.” 

Dutifully, Wei Sizhui nodded, though he couldn’t help but scrutinise him suspiciously. “Mn, they just returned. A-die, what were you doing in Mo-gongzi’s room? And in your…” 

He trailed off and abruptly froze. 

Wei Wuxian had emerged from Mo Xuanyu’s room in his sleeping robes. 

Bright and early. Clearly not asleep. 

Wei Sizhui could almost hear his own spine cracking with effort as he slowly looked up towards his father, who was looking back at him innocently.  

“Aiya, Sizhui, some things little kids don’t need to worry about—”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Didn’t they teach you not to interrupt your elders last year—?”

“In the Cloud Recesses. We live in the Burial Mounds.”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw clicked shut, and he stared down at this little rascal. Wei Sizhui was as composed as ever, barring the slightest twitch at the corner of his lips. Despite being tempted to snort at the sight, Wei Wuxian crossed his arms instead.

After a moment, he sighed. 

“Be good, A-Yuan.” Patting him on the head and ruffling his hair, Wei Wuxian turned and strode away, waving a hand behind him. “Let the young master sleep a little more before breakfast.” 

Wei Sizhui stood there, watching him go. His mouth had twisted into a small, tight smile, and he slowly turned back to the direction of the nice guest room, as if he could burn holes in the walls with his eyes. Eventually, he took a deep breath, shook himself off, and decided to also take a page out of his martial uncle’s book.  

He did not see. It did not happen. 

The day was yet young, and there was much to do.

Although Wei Wuxian had said he would be seeing Wen Qing, Wei Wuxian was also a liar. A particularly flustered liar, at this point in time. 

His feet automatically carried him back to his own room, and as soon as the door shut behind him, he leaned backwards onto it and slowly slid to the floor like some kind of dried-up slug. 

A moment of silence, where he stared ahead soullessly, his run-in with Sizhui already forgotten. 

Then, Wei Wuxian buried his head into his knees and let out a particularly undignified noise as the air left his lungs in a deflating hiss. 

Last night, after Wei Wuxian’s attempt to comfort himself from that nightmare by checking on Lan Wangji had ended up with him lying defeated on the latter’s bed, he had worried himself dizzy with Lan Wangji being so close as well as theories about the curse marks. But in the end, he had also fallen asleep, soothed by those even breaths. 

The dream that came after that was soft and innocent, though Wei Wuxian didn’t remember much of it. The only thing that remained was the faint fragrance of magnolia blossoms.  

In fact, he had been so content that when the morning sunlight roused him from slumber, Wei Wuxian blinked slowly and drowsily, revelling in the unusual warmth that seemed to envelop him. His lashes brushed against something close to his face. 

Wei Wuxian stiffened, eyes flying open, when he realised that he had become an octopus. 

An octopus who was wound completely around Lan Wangji. 

One of his arms was thrown over Lan Wangji’s chest, clinging onto his right shoulder, and the other was trapped between Wei Wuxian’s body and Lan Wangji’s left arm, long gone numb. Wei Wuxian was slightly curled up to account for the height difference between the two of them, and his shameless left leg was even straddled over both of Lan Wangji’s own. 

Shameless—by virtue of the very position he found himself in, but also because, by virtue of the early hour, the problem between Wei Wuxian’s legs was pressed directly into Lan Wangji’s thigh. 

Lan Zhan’s very warm, very thinly-clothed thigh. 

Wei Wuxian swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut, a hot, mortified heat simmering in his belly. 

…Lingchi. 

Drawn out over at least twenty one days to account for his spiritual power. 

That was how he deserved to die. He could take it.

Their heads were pillowed next to each other, and the thing that Wei Wuxian’s eyelashes had fluttered against was Lan Wangji’s smooth cheek!!

Lan Wangji himself was still asleep, as proper as always. Lying on his back, hands folded over his chest. He was the perfect living pillow. 

Still as a corpse, Wei Wuxian felt like he was about to spit blood. 

No matter how one looked at it, the Yiling Laozu was clearly sticking to Hanguang-jun like a barnacle! He had quite literally become Hanguang-jun’s extra blanket!! 

Painstakingly carefully, Wei Wuxian had released Lan Wangji from his loose embrace, staring at his face the whole time. His heart was in his throat, ready to jump out of his mouth. 

Every breath Lan Wangji took seemed to be a precursor to his awakening, where he would see them tangled together, realise the exact nature of Wei Wuxian’s condition, be undoubtedly revolted, give Wei Wuxian the most humiliating yet most concise verbal flaying of his life, then leave and never deign to see him again. 

Well. That may have been an overreaction. 

Of course, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t let that happen, but. He had been panicking.

He was still panicking, in fact, like the useless cutsleeve that he was.  

…Off to Wen Qing he would go, then. Perhaps he could annoy her into knocking him out for half a day or something.

Lan Wangji sat at the desk, warming up his fingers on the qin. The deep sound of the strings was low and resonant in the serene air, the quiet murmuring of a stream and the chirping of birdsong accompanying him. He frowned. 

This body’s nails were still slightly too long on the left hand.  

A knock sounded on his door. Lan Wangji swiftly tied his veil into place and responded. 

Wei Sizhui poked his head in, smile widening when he saw Lan Wangji seated before his instrument. Stepping inside, he bowed and spoke, “Good morning. Breakfast will be ready soon—would Mo-gongzi like me to take him to the hall?” 

This child really came just in time. Lan Wangji shook his head, but stood up nonetheless. “No need.” 

Blinking, Wei Sizhui’s smile faltered slightly, before he nodded. His silvery gaze darted from Lan Wangji’s face, to his hands, then to the qin. Finally, he said, somewhat hesitantly, “Did Mo-gongzi need something else?”   

This time, Lan Wangji blinked. Under the veil, the corner of his mouth twitched. “...Would Sizhui have a blade suitable for the nails?” He raised his left hand. 

Wei Sizhui beamed at him. “Of course!” Stepping back, he held the door open for him. “Please come with me.” 

Leading the way out, once he had closed the door, Wei Sizhui spoke again as they began to walk. “Mo-gongzi’s playing is truly exquisite.” 

Lan Wangji didn’t quite stumble, but it may have taken an extra heartbeat for him to place his next step. 

That was certainly a compliment. After more than a decade of not practicing, suspended in primordial soup and all, Lan Wangji was hardly inclined to grade himself. At most, he could only say that he was still far from the standard of Hanguang-jun during the Sunshot Campaign. 

It was hard to understand children these days. 

“...Flattery.” He decided plainly. 

“Not at all!” Wei Sizhui immediately refuted, startling sincerity in his clear eyes. He worried his lip between his teeth, then bowed his head slightly. The boy seemed to want to say more, but also realised that doubling down would truly make it sound like flattery. 

In the end, Sizhui simply let out a faint sigh as he took Lan Wangji into a room. 

Resembling a study, the space was flooded with natural light, leafy shadows dappling through the wide window from the trees outside. Before them was a low desk, a qin laid atop it, the colour of the wood rich and bright. 

To Lan Wangji, the shape of the instrument seemed almost familiar, though it was soon blocked from his sight as Wei Sizhui stepped forward and took a small box from where it also sat on the desk. 

Removing the thin lid, he revealed a small pair of engraved knives, melded together at the hilt. Lan Wangji had guessed that Wei Sizhui was also a student of the qin, but something about the whole arrangement—the colour and smooth lines of his surely-spiritual instrument, and now even the flat blades used to trim the nails—was a strangely accurate reminder of Gusu Lan.   

“Please sit, Mo-gongzi.” 

As Lan Wangji sank down, Sizhui followed, handing over the fine blades. Lan Wangji inclined his head in thanks, and after a moment of examination, began the task. 

This pair…seemed to be of Gusu make. The wispy cloud pattern and the flat section on the curve of the handles were signature markers. 

Before Lan Wangji could consider it further, Wei Sizhui spoke again, seeing that he was almost done.  

“Mo-gongzi, I really meant what I said.” He hesitated, catching Lan Wangji’s gaze squarely with his own. The boy was so earnest, it was a little amusing. 

“Mn.” Lan Wangji replied, just to tease him. Wei Sizhui’s ears tinted a faint red, though he maintained his composure. “And yourself?” Lan Wangji asked, turning his eyes to the instrument between them. 

Wei Sizhui smoothed his fingers over the edge of the desk, almost nervously. “This one has only just begun learning the intermediate techniques, as well as Inquiry.” 

At Lan Wangji’s slight reaction, he continued with a small, pleased smile, “I was lucky enough to attend the lectures of Gusu Lan last year. Most of my instruction took place there. Even so…I still find myself behind the other disciples of musical cultivation.” 

Inquiry was not a piece that Lan Wangji would consider intermediate, unless it was only the most basic of questions. But this explained Wei Sizhui’s knowledge of the Lan rules and the easy way he got along with the other boys.

However, Lan Wangji wondered exactly how Wei Ying had managed to convince his Shufu to allow Wei Sizhui to learn musical cultivation, especially the qin language. It was almost unheard of for guest disciples.   

He was suddenly curious, “Show me.” 

Wei Sizhui floundered, “Hm??” 

Reaching out, Lan Wangji drew a finger gently over the seven strings. They rung out, already tuned and ready to play. Satisfied, he turned his steady gaze back to Wei Sizhui, who seemed torn between embarrassment and excitement. 

Sizhui quickly lost the staring match, and with a deep breath, set his hands onto the qin. His fingers quivered slightly—having a senior player call him out like this was bad enough, but he wasn’t anywhere near warmed up either! 

In any case, he began to play. The first notes were a little shaky, but after a few measures, he settled into the rhythm, the weight of Lan Wangji’s scrutiny gradually becoming lighter. 

Listening to him, Lan Wangji seemed to settle, closing his eyes. 

This piece was indeed intermediate—in fact, it was one of the first that disciples learnt at that stage. Somewhat meandering, the work provided a basis in which to carefully infuse spiritual energy, a suitable exercise in balance and control.  

Sizhui’s playing only fell slightly short of textbook accuracy. It was a shame that Lan Wangji didn’t dare to use his own spiritual energy to demonstrate, after what had happened on Dafan Mountain. The boy had done well on his own so far. 

A drawn-out note sounded out, Wei Sizhui’s left hand delicately sliding up the string, leaving a question ringing in the peaceful air. 

From a distance, fast, heavy footsteps came from outside, becoming louder and louder until the door was suddenly thrown open. 

Wei Wuxian burst into the room like a storm. 

Wei Sizhui’s finger slipped, flicking out a discordant tone. Letting out a squeak of alarm, he immediately slapped his palms on top of the vibrating strings, rendering them mute.

“Sizhui, where’s our errant guest? I—”

Wei Wuxian stopped dead, taking in the scene before him. 

Lan Wangji gave him a sideways look. 

“Ah.” He said, then blinked. The corners of his lips and eyes rose in a minute curve, strangely tender. “There you are. Come with me!” 

To Sizhui, “Go get something to eat, A-Yuan. You’ve been up for a while.” 

The boy bowed his head a little, hair falling over his face, and hummed in assent. 

At Wei Wuxian’s gesture, Lan Wangji carefully set the nail-trimming blades back into the box and rose. Before he stepped out the door, he paused and turned back to Wei Sizhui, who looked a little forlorn, sitting alone at the desk. 

“Your playing is fine. Continue to practice.” 

Then he followed Wei Ying out, gently closing the door behind him. 

Wei Wuxian was quiet as they made their way through the main house. 

He did not seem angry or frustrated, but Lan Wangji could tell it had something to do with himself. Every so often, Wei Wuxian’s eyes would dart over to him momentarily, then immediately flick away, turning his face with the movement.

It was strange, to say the least. But if he had realised something, surely he wouldn’t stay quiet about it? After all, Lan Wangji hadn’t put much effort into his deception. 

Or any effort at all, at least towards him. 

“Did you sleep well?” Wei Wuxian asked. Immediately, he made a face as if he wanted to eat his words, but it was too late. 

Lan Wangji replied, considering. “...Very well.” 

That was not exactly the case. As soon as he’d fallen asleep, the greedy arms of that nightmare had reached out just like every night since his revival, dragging him back into the Infernal Palace. 

Later on, however, the nightmare had transformed for the first time. It was neither dream nor fantasy, simply an all-encompassing warmth, paired with the golden rays of morning sun shining through his eyelids. 

It had been a nice way to wake up. 

For some reason, upon hearing his answer, Wei Wuxian looked away again. He flicked his thumbnail against his fingers in turn, slightly too rough to be comfortable, and cleared his throat. “T-That’s good.” 

They fell into silence as they left the house behind. Lan Wangji followed him towards the other residences grouped together a ways away. The largest of them seemed to be their destination.

Wei Wuxian cleared his throat again, turning to Lan Wangji with a small smile. “Right, Wen Qing’s back. Let’s have her take a look at you—see if we can figure out that little resentment problem of yours.” 

Lan Wangji gave him a nod. 

Wen Qing. He remembered her as the favoured niece of Wen Ruohan, famed for her medical skills. According to Lan Jingyi, she had been the cause of Wei Wuxian’s defection, having begged him to save her little brother from the Jin. However, they had been too late to save Wen Ning, and Wei Wuxian had instead revived him as a conscious fierce corpse. 

Before Lan Wangji could think too much again, they stepped inside.  

Immediately, Wen Qing appeared, as if waiting to pounce. 

“Come,” She ordered, all business and no nonsense. “Mo Xuanyu, was it? Sit down and give me your wrist.”

Lan Wangji was led over to a seat before a low desk. He had only ever seen Wen Qing less than a handful of times at inter-sect events, and his memory was not entirely clear. The most notable difference was the mature air that blanketed her, the arrogance of her youth sanded down somewhat. 

Taking his wrist, she immediately tensed at the sight of the bloody bracelet inked into his skin. 

“What is this?” Her voice was tight. Wei Wuxian came over as well, eyes glued to the marks. 

Lan Wangji closed his eyes and let out an almost imperceptible sigh. Wen Qing’s sweet features narrowed into a faint scowl, but before she could speak again, he reached behind his neck and untied the veil. Delicately folding it into a square, he set it on his lap and turned his head a little so that the collar could be seen as well. 

Lan Wangji looked away. 

It was silent for a moment. 

Wen Qing meticulously examined the red lines, catching the pattern. “Wei Wuxian, are these not curse marks?” 

Wei Wuxian had settled beside Lan Wangji. He slowly reached out, but then abruptly stopped. 

“May I?” He asked quietly.

“...Mn.”  

Warm fingers folded a sheet of dark hair between them, carefully setting it behind Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He fought the urge to shiver. Wei Ying hadn’t touched him, but he was so close. 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes traced over the collar. Lan Wangji couldn’t bear to look at him and kept his head tilted away. 

“How did you get this?” 

Lan Wangji hesitated for a moment. Wei Wuxian’s voice was steady, with a hint of coldness underneath. 

He shifted slightly, still keeping his gaze averted, and extended a hand to take a brush from the desk. With a glance towards Wen Qing, who nodded back, Lan Wangji dipped it in ink and set the brush on a sheet of blank paper. 

The ring of ‘zheng’ came first, the shape of a circular seal. Inside, Lan Wangji tried his best to recall the swirling, garish radicals that had been painted in blood. Thankfully, his memories of the past few days were quite fresh, unlike some of his first life. 

When he was finished, he presented the array to Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian. For some reason, his heartbeat seemed to quicken. 

At first glance, Wei Wuxian’s jaw fell slightly slack, and he snatched up the paper, almost crumpling the edges. The longer he stared at it, the paler he became. Behind his shoulder, Wen Qing forced his elbow down so that she could see it as well. Her eyebrows furrowed. 

It was only after Wei Wuxian had thoroughly read through the array and Wen Qing began to show her impatience that he set the paper down on the desk, a sharp crinkling sound accompanying it. 

He stared at Lan Wangji. “Four shackles and a collar for four limbs and the head, bound in blood. Five demands for correction. After a certain amount of time—” Wei Wuxian’s breath caught, “The marks will inflict damage on the soul. In conclusion, a modified sacrificial ritual, offering the body of the caster to a spirit.”

His chest rose and fell unevenly, despite his steady tone. 

Wei Wuxian continued, faltering, “You…” 

Lan Wangji stared back at him. 

Beneath Wei Wuxian’s fingers, the paper began to crumple again. 

In the end, Lan Wangji lost. A quiet sigh escaping from him, he murmured, “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” The name slipped past Wei Wuxian’s lips, almost too quickly. His eyes widened, as if he had spoken before thinking, and he shrunk back. The hand that had held onto the array had slid forward on the edge of the desk, as if to touch the dark sleeve before him. 

Hearing his name spill out of Wei Wuxian so easily made heat bloom into his chest, threatening to overflow. Then, something in Lan Wangji tightened, suspended in his throat, as he kept talking. 

“...No, tell me.” Wei Wuxian began, a little hopelessly but decisively, as if forcing himself, “Tell me three things that only Hanguang-jun would know.” 

Things that only he would know? 

It was rather unbelievable, but Lan Wangji was instantly at a disadvantage. Some of his memories were really…

Wei Wuxian seemed to see something in his face. Eyes darting to and fro, he had settled back into his composure. He hummed for a moment, then exclaimed.

“Ah! I had once given him a gift, in the Library Pavilion of the Cloud Recesses.” 

Lan Wangji didn’t even have to think, before the names had already flashed through his mind. 

“Two rabbits.”    

Wei Wuxian blinked once, then swallowed. He took his hand from the paper, lest it shake and reveal his foolish heart. 

“Correct.” 

The man before him looked down at the veil neatly folded on his lap, a picture of deep thought. Wei Wuxian was already about to break.

Those elegant, qin-playing fingers smoothed over the silk. Golden eyes met his own.

“In the Xuanwu cave, I…bit you.” 

Wei Wuxian, “...”

Those golden eyes were still and serious, home to the tiniest lick of what—embarrassment? Even though Wei Wuxian’s emotions were being toyed with thanks to what he had gleaned from the array and Lan Zhan’s subsequent confession—having suddenly been reminded of that incredible incident by Hanguang-jun himself, he really couldn’t help it. Wei Wuxian couldn’t believe this. His shoulders began to shake, and he covered his face with his hands. 

Ultimately, Wei Wuxian failed, and burst into hysterical laughter.  

Lan Wangji, who had earnestly prepared his third piece of evidence as Phoenix Mountain, was struck dumb. 

Wen Qing, who had been watching the drawn-out exchange from behind with the silence of chopped liver and all the patience of a saint, felt an old, long-suffering grievance return to haunt her. Really, it was her mistake, to think that the passage of time would prevent her from encountering this particular headache again. She rolled her eyes and stepped away, leaving them to it. 

…Wen Qing would come back later.

Whenever they actually needed her.  

Chapter Text

A dream, many years ago…

With the bright sun beating down on the wilderness outside, the air in the small log cabin was warm and still. Yet, the smooth movements of the loom that weaved of its own accord seemed to bring a faint breeze into the room. The solemn notes of a qin rang out, long and tender, a familiar melody.  

To Wei Wuxian, who stepped inside after a long morning in the fields, the sight of Lan Wangji refreshed him completely, as if he had been doused in cool water. Sitting perfectly upright at the desk, those golden eyes were turned downwards at the qin before him, thick lashes casting shadows over his pale cheeks. His fingers slid over the instrument with a languid grace, a restraint more suited to frost and shade than the flagrant light of the day.

Although Lan Wangji now wore simple cotton robes of blue and white, he looked exactly the same as he had in the Library Pavilion all those years ago—a beautiful, studious youth learning the way of the immortals. He set his palms over the strings as the door opened, dampening the sound into stillness.

Wei Wuxian tempered his disappointment.   

“Er-gege, I’m home!” He called as he leaned and hastily set his things down. Before he could rise, something leapt at him with surprising force. Yelping loudly in surprise, he caught a little body in his arms. 

“A-die! I’m here too!” A childish voice sounded by his ear, high and sweet. A-Yuan beamed at him, mouth open wide to reveal a missing front tooth. 

“Ah—A-Yuan! How could your silly father forget?” Grinning, he swept the boy up as he stood, nuzzling his nose eagerly into a baby-soft cheek as he laughed, spinning around wildly. A-Yuan let out a whine of forced protest, small hands scrabbling uselessly against his hold. 

Like Lan Wangji, he also wore light robes of blue and white, miraculously clean. With such a neat appearance, he could almost pass for a child of the Lan sect, if not for the lack of a forehead ribbon. But he was so cute in any case, like a spoiled young master playing cultivator on a free day, that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but cuddle him closer, relishing in his squeals of delight. 

Looking up, he caught a hint of a smile on Lan Wangji’s lips as the latter looked at them, but it was gone in a moment. The qin had been set aside, and he seemed to be waiting for them to come over. 

“You were practicing today? It’s been a while, yet Wangji sounds as beautiful as ever.”

Wei Wuxian teased as he sat down at the wooden table, A-Yuan content to cling onto him like a little monkey. The gaze that Lan Wangji directed at him was almost stern, but the effect was softened as he handed a cup of water to Wei Wuxian, who accepted gratefully.

“It’s too hot to keep working!” He exclaimed, “The sun is determined to scorch me to death. Days like this are the best for lazing around and enjoying the breeze—there’s no need to go out again.” Wei Wuxian smacked his lips after taking a generous gulp, setting the cup down and sprawling gracelessly onto the floor. He fell rather close to where Lan Wangji sat, unperturbed. 

“Wah! A-die!” A-Yuan squeaked as they fell, though his head was safely tucked in the crook of Wei Wuxian’s sweaty neck, who huffed out a laugh after they landed. A-Yuan squirmed around for a moment, his hair getting into Wei Wuxian’s mouth. After he found a suitably comfortable position, the little one had no more complaints and promptly decided to fall asleep.

This child always found the best times to nap.

“Mn.” Was Lan Wangji’s low reply. He reached out and carefully swept the strands away from Wei Wuxian’s face, before returning to his original position. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian watched the smooth movement of white and blue robes as he spoke, like the interplay of clouds across the clear sky. 

Involuntarily, his eyes curved into crescents.  

“I played around in the river and caught some fish, exactly one for each of us.” As considerate as ever, Lan Wangji didn’t say that A-Yuan would certainly not be able to finish such a big fish, either tomorrow or next week. Instead, he took out a small white towel as Wei Wuxian continued on, rambling, “Won’t you cook fish stew tonight, Lan Zhan? Do you know how to make suan cai yu?” 

For some reason, Lan Wangji’s quiet answer of 'I do' delighted Wei Wuxian, as if it were a surprising fact. In honesty, nothing should surprise him anymore when it came to this man! He couldn’t contain himself.

“Let’s make it as spicy as usual, A-Yuan should get used to it early—you as well, Lan Zhan, ahaha! Since it’s so warm outside, it’ll be good to sweat out the heat.”

The white towel dangled before Wei Wuxian, waiting for him to take it. He stared at it for a second, then his brows creased slightly. Sticking his bottom lip out, he turned his face away and butted his head against Lan Wangji’s leg childishly.

“Lend me your lap, Er-gege.” Wei Wuxian demanded, his grin hidden by the cotton of those long robes, but not by his voice. 

“...” Undoubtedly, Lan Wangji was rendered speechless. But it was a considering silence instead of the expected reprimand, so Wei Wuxian already counted that as a win.

After a long moment, a pair of slender hands lifted him gently by the shoulders and pillowed his head on a warm lap. Somehow, it felt a little familiar, niggling at the edges of his memory. A-Yuan grumbled a little in his sleep, sticky-sweet in the way of little ones, but settled once more.

Because Wei Wuxian had turned away from the towel, Lan Wangji began wiping the dried sweat from his face, slowly and diligently. 

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, A-Yuan breathing faintly ticklish puffs of air against his neck. Summer had arrived, but contentment blanketed him like a cool breeze, a relief against the afternoon sun. To the side, the loom was still weaving, a comfortable rocking rhythm that was almost like a lullaby. The towel continued to press soothingly against his skin as he enjoyed the sensation, trying to remember what he was going to say.

He whispered, half-asleep already, “Lan Zhan, that song…what was the name? Won’t you tell me? I liked it so much…”

Instead of an answer, Wei Wuxian felt a change in the breath of the body he was laying on, and suddenly, Lan Wangji was humming that sweet melody. Like this, it became even more familiar.

Slow and steady, the lovely notes of his song took shape in the air around them. A-Yuan sighed into his skin, his little face pressed against the ache in Wei Wuxian’s heart. 

Above him, Lan Wangji raised a hand over his face, casting a shadow that Wei Wuxian could sense through his closed eyelids, shielding him from the sunlight. His whole body relaxed, sore from all the labour of the morning. 

Just like that, with the quiet creaking of a loom on one side and Lan Wangji’s smooth voice on the other, he nodded off, a tiny smile on his lips.

The next day, Wei Wuxian stepped inside after a long morning in the fields…

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian huffed, “Lan Zhan—” His eyes curved into faint crescents, “You really…I can’t believe you said that.” He was somewhat breathless from laughing, the words both pleased and dazed.

Lan Wangji willed himself to remain unmoved, though his lips parted a few times before he rebuked weakly, “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian answered, as reflexive as before. 

After a moment, he repeated Lan Wangji’s name softly again and again as if in a trance, the smile slipping gradually from his face. Reaching forward, he slid his hands under Lan Wangji’s own, clasping them tightly together. His skin was warm, a contrast to the cool silk of the veil beneath their hands.  

It was as if Wei Ying had dipped his arms into his very chest, holding Lan Wangji’s heart in his palms, the way it was suspended inside him.  

Wei Wuxian seemed emboldened by Lan Wangji’s lack of movement, pressing even closer. The earthen scent of ink was almost dizzying as it curled around him, along with a faint herbal fragrance. Wei Wuxian’s eyes were bright yet somehow shadowed, flickering about before settling on him.    

“Lan Zhan, I’m…sorry.”

Lan Wangji almost flinched back at the unexpected apology. Instead, his brows creased. The other man immediately took notice of his confusion. 

Wei Wuxian swallowed, but he didn’t dare to look away. “The last time. We…parted on bad terms. It was my fault. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. I regretted it so much, I—” 

He cut himself off and looked down, fingers squeezing tight.

Lan Wangji considered the words as his heartbeat gradually returned to its usual rhythm. A faint sense of exhaustion overcame him. Back then, he was the one who had fallen short of Wei Wuxian, who had been struggling to walk on his newfound path. And yet even after so long, Wei Ying apologised to him.

“Wei Ying.” He spoke calmly, “Did the resentment affect you back then?”  

Wei Wuxian’s head snapped up to stare at him. His face scrunched into something painful before smoothing out again with an exhale. 

Clearly, he didn’t want to make excuses. 

“I…”

“I also learned,” Lan Wangji swallowed, a knot in his throat, though his voice remained steady. “Of how resentment affects the body and the mind. In the Infernal Palace.” He added, and horror dawned bright and startled on Wei Wuxian’s face. 

“I do not blame you. Still, I am glad you returned to the sword path.” 

That expression remained, but as soon as Lan Wangji made to move, Wei Wuxian turned his face away. He let out a shuddering sigh, absently smoothing his fingertips over Lan Wangji’s hands. 

“Lan Zhan…You really are too good.” 

There was nothing he could say to that. 

Instead, Lan Wangji savoured the gentle touch that Wei Ying allowed him for a while longer, before he drew back and reached into his robes. 

“Here.” He handed Mo Xuanyu’s letter over. 

As he read, Wei Wuxian’s lips and brows pinched into a frown. There were many things that didn’t make sense about the situation that Lan Wangji had found himself in, and Mo Xuanyu was only a part of it. Eventually, he set the letter down with a faint exhale. “That poor child.” 

But when his silver gaze trailed back down to the shackles on Lan Wangji’s pale wrists, his face hardened. “Let’s go to the Cloud Recesses, Lan Zhan. There must be something in the Library Pavilion—at least something we can use to lift the curse. And the resentment…” Wei Wuxian hesitated, then stood up and began to pace. 

“Wen Qing told me that Wen Ruohan was looking to create a true tribulation, even before the Sunshot Campaign. That’s why he didn’t use…” He continued, but Lan Wangji suddenly felt as if he were underwater, the words muffled to his ears. 

A true tribulation? 

The three types of legendary tribulations were written and spoken of with fear—lightning, yin fire, and wind. But no living cultivator on record had successfully gone through even one. Not because they weren’t strong enough, but because in the current cultivation world, tribulations simply didn’t exist. No matter how powerful one became while walking the way of the sword, the heavens did not deign to descend on them. Either they died by strife, or, at some unknown point, the golden core would extinguish with nary a flicker, taking the life with it. 

This meant only one thing—that Wen Ruohan had been in pursuit of ascension. 

True immortality, like that of Baoshan Sanren. Something that was half-myth, half-legend, the path of which had been lost for hundreds of years. The very concept could make one dizzy, but to someone as powerful as Wen Ruohan, it must have simply seemed like the next step.  
 
When Lan Wangji was captured, he hadn’t known what Wen Ruohan wanted from him, but he quickly ascertained that it wasn’t information about the Lan sect nor the war effort. The venerable Sect Leader Wen had not even deigned to allow news of Lan Wangji’s capture to spread, and he had been kept in the Infernal Hall for almost the whole time. Now, it made sense. 

To Wen Ruohan, Lan Wangji’s body and cultivation were just playthings, variables in whatever horrific experiments he was conducting. At the beginning, Sect Leader Wen hadn’t even wasted a drop of his blood, though that courtesy had tapered off towards the end. It was also this end that Lan Wangji had the most trouble remembering. He was sure he had been conscious for most of it, sustained by talismans and possibly whatever arrays had been slowly, brutally carved into his skin. 

But when he tried to remember, all he felt was the glacial touch of resentment on his insides, coupled with the divine burn of Wen fire, then fear. Lan Wangji didn’t know why, but that fear was all-consuming, accompanying him all the way until his after-death. Even now in his next life, just thinking about it, he had forgotten to breathe. 

He came back to himself in a moment, with Wei Wuxian’s blurry figure kneeling before him. 

“...Zhan, Lan Zhan,” He murmured hastily, holding him by the arms as if Lan Wangji were about to tip over. “Shit, I shouldn’t have—don’t speak, just breathe with me.” 

Wei Wuxian’s hands were warm, the pads of his fingers smooth as they rubbed into Lan Wangji’s skin above the shackles. He focused on the rise and fall of Wei Wuxian’s chest, the breaths trembling through his lungs. Eventually, they fell in sync, inhaling and exhaling together. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. But please, at the very least… let me take you back to Gusu.” 

He looked into Wei Wuxian’s earnest eyes and thought, how things have changed. 

“Wei Ying,” The words rasped like sandpaper against his throat, “I cannot tell you because I—”

A sudden, thunderous crash came from outside the building. They both froze, then glanced at each other. Immediately, Wei Wuxian pulled him up, rushing through the door. 

As soon as they stepped outside, a shockwave shot straight towards them. With a flourish, Wei Wuxian swept his arm up against it, a sharp pulse of his spiritual energy shattering it apart. He let go of Lan Wangji as they surveyed the scene, but remained standing in front of him. 

In the wide clearing between the main house and the cave, the demonic arm thrashed on the ground where it was pinned down by a figure clad in dark robes. A trail of black resentment inked the air from the hand to the cave, where Wei Wuxian had sealed the qiankun pouch the night before. As if the air had almost congealed, an incredible pressure bore down on them.

Beside them was a tree, or what was left of it. The thick trunk had been completely smashed through, the leaves and branches scattered all around. 

Wei Wuxian’s jaw clenched as the figure howled, resentment bursting between him and the arm as he struggled to keep it down. The arm itself writhed furiously, shadows pulsing from it in waves. 

“Tsk,” Clicking his tongue, Wei Wuxian threw out a talisman and slid Chenqing from his belt, muttering under his breath. “Could he not pick a better time?” 

He began to play, the flute singing out shrill, searching notes. Evocation, Lan Wangji realised sluggishly, struggling to think past the waves of dark energy rushing over him. Still playing, Wei Wuxian glanced back at him before stepping forward, brows creasing as he tilted his head, gesturing for him to stay back. 

The talisman had landed a few steps before them, expanding qi into a brightly glowing array in preparation for a summoning. 

And the figure—he must be Wen Ning, judging from black veins that wound from his neck to his face—began fighting even harder against the arm, his whole body jolting upwards as he forced it down. At the sound of the song, the arm seemed to become further enraged, its veins bulging and muscles twisting. The very air was heavy with hate and fury, making it difficult to breathe. 

Despite the roaring of winds, both sinister and spiritual, Lan Wangji vaguely noticed the crowd of juniors that had gathered at the entrance of the main house and the purple-clad figure that rushed out after them. The bright light of Zidian flickered in and out of his vision, parrying away the shockwaves that radiated from Wen Ning and the arm. 

It was strange, he thought as he gradually sank to his knees, the weight of resentment becoming too much to bear. Wei Wuxian had already played through two sections of Evocation and yet the soul had not been summoned. 

“Mo-gongzi!” A voice suddenly called out beside him. Lan Wangji half-turned, startled, as Wei Sizhui appeared next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Clearly, he had slipped past Jiang Wanyin. “Are you alright?” 

Behind Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian glanced back again. His lips pursed as he saw Sizhui, and the next few notes from Chenqing went a little sharp. 

“Mn.” Lan Wangji replied. They kneeled there for a moment, huddled together, watching Wei Wuxian with bated breath. The winds continued to tear past them, bringing tears to Lan Wangji’s eyes, though Wei Wuxian didn’t yet falter. 

Nothing seemed to change. 

Unable to stand it anymore, Wei Sizhui took his qin out from a qiankun pouch, offering it to Lan Wangji with a worried frown. 

“Mo-gongzi, please, can you help him?” His voice wavered. In the clearing, Wen Ning howled once more and Wei Sizhui’s eyes darted over, mouth twisting downwards. 

Lan Wangji stared at the instrument for a moment, cold hesitation clogging his veins. Then, he made his decision. 

It shouldn’t be impossible. Even without a golden core, Lan Wangji was intimately familiar with the feeling of spiritual energy—and Wei Wuxian needed support. If he trusted anything, it was his own focus. 

“I will try. Stay back.” But if Lan Wangji couldn’t control what little spiritual energy this body had, he wasn’t about to let Wei Sizhui come to harm. 

The boy’s whole figure seemed to droop in relief, and he hurriedly handed over the qin. Closing his eyes and trying his hardest to block out the roaring of resentment and a fierce corpse, Lan Wangji centred himself. 

Gingerly, as if raising a bucket of water from the depths of a well, he brought his energy to the surface, careful not to let anything spill out just yet despite the darkness that resonated within him. Reaching into the water, he began plucking out strands of qi from the rushing river of soot-thick ink, grasping them tightly. 

Slowly, delicately, Lan Wangji’s fingers drew out only the bass notes of Evocation. It was enough to supplement Wei Wuxian’s playing, taking a weight off his shoulders. The strain of concentration seemed to pull on his very soul, and Lan Wangji wondered if he was imagining how cold the curse shackles felt against his skin, deprived of resentment.

But after a few moments, it was evident that even with the song coming to an end, the spirit was nowhere to be found. 

He paused to gather himself and his focus once more, realising that he had nearly forgotten to breathe. Balancing between energies like this and only letting what was spiritual emerge—Lan Wangji had never done something like this before, but that did not mean it was something he couldn’t do.  

Taking a deep breath, he called out to Wei Wuxian, “Rest!” 

Immediately, Chenqing dropped from the high, agitating notes of Evocation to the calming tones of Rest. Following Wei Wuxian’s lead, it gradually became easier for Lan Wangji to play as the resentment slowly subsided, their duet a balm to the fragment of a lost soul. 

Soon, the arm went limp in Wen Ning’s hold. Wei Wuxian sprang forward, scooping up the unused array talisman from the ground and pulling open a qiankun bag, allowing Wen Ning to shove the errant limb inside. He sealed it tightly, tying it off with a sigh of relief. 

Then, catching sight of the both of them, Wei Wuxian hurried over to where Lan Wangji leaned onto Wei Sizhui, the qin having been put away. 

“Lan Zhan, are you alright?” He worried, dropping to his knees and dabbing at the sweat that was threatening to drip into Lan Wangji’s eyes with a sleeve. On the side, Wei Sizhui blinked quizzically. “I could’ve done it alone, you didn’t have to…”  

“Mn. I am fine.” Lan Wangji breathed out and made to stand up. He succeeded, but ended up leaning on Wei Wuxian’s arm slightly. As the scent of ink wrapped around him with burgeoning familiarity, his heartbeat took a moment longer to steady. 

At this point, the other boys had rushed over to them from the main house, and were now scattered loosely around the three of them, seeming as if they were bursting to speak. 

Too late, Lan Wangji realised that his face was bare, having stowed the veil into his sleeve when he and Wei Wuxian had run out. The bright, blood-red collar on his neck was in full view. 

No wonder the juniors looked as if they had been caught peeping into the women’s bathhouses. He turned away. 

“How come an outsider like you knows our Lan sect songs so well? Evocation and Rest, at that!” Lan Jingyi stepped out and asked loudly. 

Wei Wuxian huffed, raising an eyebrow at him, angling himself to cover Lan Wangji a bit more. “Shouldn’t you be asking me first, Jingyi? Is this one not an outsider as well?”  

Lan Jingyi narrowed his eyes in frustration as he scowled at the smirking Wei Wuxian, but he didn’t seem to have another retort after “You don’t count!”. Lan Wangji, who had neatly tied the veil back on, turned back to face them. The boys who had been trying to look over Wei Wuxian’s shoulders suddenly averted their eyes, a little awkward. 

“A-Yuan, what’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian had seen something in his son’s expression, different from the others who were simply gawking at Lan Wangji. 

Wei Sizhui opened his mouth, hesitating before he began to speak. “That arm…the spirit-attraction flags we used in Mo Village had a radius of only five li. If the arm had been there before, there’s no way the whole village wouldn’t have been wiped out long ago. So I can only assume someone targeted the Lan disciples and released it there when we arrived, but that’s really…” He trailed off, fidgeting with his sleeve. 

Wei Wuxian, who had examined the flags at Mo Manor previously, gave him a small smile, “Good point. Now, if you had to deal with the matter of this arm, what would you do?”

Wei Sizhui looked a little unsure, but spoke confidently nonetheless. “I’d start by finding the source of the resentment, or the rest of the body.” 

Lan Jingyi pursed his lips, waving a hand, “Not possible. Wei-qianbei, if even you couldn’t summon the soul with Evocation…”

Wei Wuxian huffed in amusement, “Aiya, I suppose you guys didn’t get a good look at the arm before I sealed it. Let's see,” He made a fist, then swivelled his arm around before pointing in a certain direction, “The hand was pointing towards the northeast—that’s where you’d find some clues.” 

As the juniors chattered among themselves at the realisation, Lan Wangji suddenly spoke. “Let us go. We will take a detour on the way to Gusu.” 

Snapping around, Wei Wuxian gazed at him brightly, a sun that had emerged from behind the clouds, “Really?!”  

Lan Wangji, “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian tugged on his sleeve as if he wished to leave this very moment. “Then let's go!” He turned back to the group of boys, who looked at them with adventure-hungry gazes, interests piqued.

Having been silent this whole time, it was somewhat surprising when Jin Ling spoke, “Gusu? Why there?”

Wei Wuxian’s face hardened and his previously relaxed expression now became somewhat forbidding, though he still spoke in a lighthearted cadence. The effect was unnerving. “You kids may have seen,” He gestured faintly to his own neck, “That our gongzi is under a bit of a curse, so we’ll be going through the Library Pavilion. Now, little ones, you’d better keep your lips sealed tight, or you’ll be doing handstands until you end up like this uncle here.” 

Dangling the qiankun pouch before them, his eyes seemed to glint red despite the daylight. The juniors immediately fell into line, gulping and nodding rapidly in agreement. 

Fearlessly, Lan Jingyi piped up again, “Since we’re going in the same direction, let’s all go together, Wei-qianbei!” 

But before he could step closer to Wei Wuxian, a hand reached out and snagged him by the collar. Lan Jingyi squawked gracelessly, trying to twist backwards to glare at his assailant. Behind him, a few of the boys giggled.  

“Think before speaking.” Jiang Wanyin snapped, pulling him back and setting him down with an ease that was akin to the handling of a puppy. Lan Jingyi staggered upon landing, gaping with indignation. “Who would want to travel with a horde of brats like you? Let these two scram first, don’t think I haven’t noticed some of you trying to avoid a checkup now that Wen Qing’s returned.” 

When some of the boys looked like they were going to protest, he continued with a glare as sharp as Sandu, “Which one of you wants to tell Zewu-jun his disciples got hurt under my watch?” 

Silence.

“Hmph. That's what I thought.” 

While Jiang Wanyin was speaking, Wei Wuxian pulled Lan Wangji away, back to the main house to pack a few things. They were unable to avoid Wen Qing before they left, with her having found and cornered them in Wei Wuxian’s study. With no preamble, she took Lan Wangji’s wrist and examined his meridians properly, and promptly, her face fell into a mask of restrained horror. 

She pulled away, hands folding neatly together. Unconsciously, Lan Wangji’s fingers curled, remembering the things Wei Wuxian had told him earlier. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this before. The resentment is practically a part of you—it’s even worse than Wei Wuxian, back in the day. At least he was only a conduit, but you—you are the source.” 

After her words landed, there was a moment of quiet. Lan Wangji heard nothing but the blood rushing through his ears, though he felt Wei Wuxian’s grip on his sleeve tighten. He, at least, didn’t need to hear more, and the next thing that Lan Wangji knew, he was being carefully guided outside, stepping back into the afternoon sun. 

They stood together in the clearing. Lan Wangji came back to himself. When he turned to look at Wei Wuxian again, he was hit with the belated realisation that he had to look upwards.  

Lan Wangji’s body—his old body—had been slightly taller than Wei Wuxian, just enough that they could see almost eye-to-eye. Now, it was a little disconcerting. 

He shook off the thought. 

“The arm—” Lan Wangji started hoarsely.

Wei Wuxian set a gentle hand on his elbow, but his voice was firm as he drew the sword at his hip. “Lan Zhan, you must be dreaming if you think I’m not kidnapping you to Gusu right now, after what we just heard.” 

Lan Wangji was suddenly reminded of the fact that he had barely seen scabbard nor glare of this sword since Wei Wuxian’s days at the Cloud Recesses. Suibian was bright and well-oiled, the white blade gleaming in the sunlight as it floated before them. He looked at it, then at Wei Wuxian, who was gazing at him expectantly, expression completely serious. 

When he parted his lips to respond, Wei Wuxian raised a hand. “If anything other than agreement comes out of your mouth, this one won’t be polite anymore!”

Lan Wangji closed his eyes, a little resigned. Should he have expected this? 

Perhaps, he answered himself as he gingerly stepped on. In their teenage years, Wei Ying had only been pushy for the sake of getting under his skin. But recalling their time in the Xuanwu cave, Wei Ying had been particularly eager to treat him, even taking the herbs that Lan Wangji had painstakingly pressed onto the Wen brand and putting them back on his leg. 

And now, Lan Wangji had much more than a mangled leg. In an unknown amount of time, it was his very soul that would be mangled instead.  

As Wei Wuxian stepped onto Suibian as well, a few of the juniors ran out of the main house, shouting their goodbyes. Wei Sizhui was at the front, calling out. 

“Be careful, A-die, Mo-gongzi!” 

His father smiled back at him, waving his arm lazily, “Sizhui, when you leave, take the donkey with you. Have a go at the rogue cultivator style and tell your A-die what you think!” 

Wei Sizhui waved back, “Mn!” 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes curved into soft crescents. “Good boy!” 

With the shouting of the youths behind them, they disappeared into the clouds.

They were already a ways away from the mountain when Wei Wuxian suddenly slapped his own forehead with a shout of displeasure. Suibian jolted dangerously under them. 

“Lan Zhan, I forgot to show you the rabbits!” 

Chapter Text

The trip to the Cloud Recesses took almost a day and a half by sword. Through it all, Wei Wuxian’s voice was a consistent melody, accompanied by the whistling of the wind. Occasionally, Lan Wangji would ask a question or simply hum in response; strangely enough, Wei Wuxian seemed particularly encouraged to continue after every‘mn’. 

All of this was somewhat expected.

What was unexpected was the hidden side entrance that Wei Wuxian directed Suibian to, a point of entry that was only ever used by inner disciples and members of the sect family. 

The lush overgrowth of greenery concealed the boundary of the Cloud Recesses. Even upon their encroachment, the mists were cool and still, parting soundlessly before Wei Wuxian’s blade. The distant sound of birds, the whispering of spring leaves—it was a stark contrast to the infernal heat of Lan Wangji’s last memories, soothing something deep inside him.

He was home.

After they dismounted, Lan Wangji asked, “How do you know of this entrance?” 

Sheathing Suibian and brushing off his robes, Wei Wuxian gave him a cheeky smile, “Hm? Oh, Xichen-ge told me about this one—well, one time your Shufu found me at the Ancestral Hall and he was not happy. There was a bit of a fuss about that, so I’d come through here afterwards.” 

“You…visited the Ancestral Hall?”

“Yeah, I—” Wei Wuxian froze, then his whole face crumpled, aggrieved. “Of course I visited you, Lan Zhan!” 

I wasn’t there. Out of nowhere, he suddenly thought, heart twisting in his chest. But he could only nod and turn away, as Wei Wuxian sighed dramatically and fished something out of his robes, muttering under his breath, “What kind of friend do you take me for?” 

Friend? 

Lan Wangji immediately whirled back around to speak, but his attention was caught by the jade token dangling innocently from Wei Wuxian’s fingers. 

Mid-rank at the least—white jade, circular in shape. Complex, swirling clouds carved into the surface, extending onto both sides. Double beads, double tassels, all in light blue.

Swallowing suddenly became difficult. He stared instead.

“I’ve only got one of these…” Wei Wuxian frowned, before brightening abruptly. Dropping the token into Lan Wangji’s hand, he strode towards the translucent protective barrier that ran along the boundary. Clearing his throat, he raised a hand to knock gently into it, as if on a door. 

The barrier shimmered blue like the surface of a lake, his knuckles sinking halfway through.

“Xichen-ge, it’s Wei Wuxian. I’m at the usual spot. Do you mind letting an extra person in?” 

Although he was still mostly fixated on the familiar shape of the jade in his lax grip, Lan Wangji blinked. That…was certainly not how the barrier worked. 

Though there might not be any other options. It was a simple matter to enter the Cloud Recesses through the man gate without a token, but not so much the hidden entrances. 

Satisfied, Wei Wuxian walked back to him, taking the jade token and slipping it into his robes. Lan Wangji resisted the urge to shiver as their fingers brushed, then immediately despaired, recalling the frankly embarrassing yearning that had suffused him for this whole trip. 

“And now, we—” Catching something out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian turned a bemused gaze towards the inside of the barrier, where a tall figure in white was hurrying towards them. The figure seemed to glide above the ground with perfect technique—no one could say he was doing anything as undignified as running within the Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Wangji’s breath gave a tiny hitch. 

“I was going to say wait, but it looks like someone’s beaten us to it.”

Wei Wuxian stepped forward, glancing back at Lan Wangji when he didn’t move. His eyes softened as he took Lan Wangji by the wrist, fingertips pressing into his palm, leading him through on numb legs. This time, the barrier provided no resistance. 

“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Xichen called as he approached, even though his gaze was fixed on the other person standing next to him. Lan Wangji’s hands flexed around empty air as his brother came ever-closer, until they were facing each other. 

Bright in the sunlight, Lan Xichen’s dark eyes settled on his inscrutable expression, tracing over the lines of his unfamiliar features. Looking back at him, searching for something in that blank face, Lan Wangji was completely motionless—almost scared to move, as if moving would break the fragile air between them. 

He couldn’t have spoken, even if he wanted to. There was a lump in his throat.

Could Lan Xichen tell somehow? Could he see through the shell of Mo Xuanyu’s body—could he see the soul that resided within? Did he know that the person in front of him was, in fact, Lan Wangji?

For a moment, it seemed like Lan Xichen was going to speak, before he suddenly lurched forward, reaching out desperately and enveloping Lan Wangji in a crushing embrace. 

It was a million things at once, yet at the same time, it was only one. His brother was here, and he knew.    

“A-Zhan—” Lan Xichen gasped, his voice cracking, eyes squeezed shut. His fingers dug into Lan Wangji’s back, the press of fine silk against his face. Faintly, his broad body was overrun with tiny shivers, smoothing out with his long, punched-out breaths.

Lan Wangji was frozen for a long while, held close and precious like a child, the sentiment made more obvious by the fact that Lan Xichen now stood nearly half a head taller than him. Eventually, Lan Wangji’s hands came up to grip at his sleeves, the slightest shudder running through him as well.

“Xiongzhang.” 

Hearing this, Lan Xichen let out quiet noise, almost a sob. Pulling back, his grip remained tight, and he seemed too overwhelmed to speak. 

At the sound of his name, the endearment that he hadn’t heard since he was a child, a burst of warmth had spread through Lan Wangji like the outstretched fingers of sunlight that invited the spring thaw. The ice inside him fractured, dispersing his sentiments into his veins.

Lan Xichen started, breathless, “Wangji, it’s really you…how did this happen?”” Abruptly, he caught sight of the collar on Lan Wangji’s neck and the shackles inked onto his wrists, exposed by the sleeves that had slid down his forearms. In a flash, his expression pinched into deep concern as he made a tiny, aborted movement. “What—what are those?”  

Wei Wuxian, who had been unobtrusive up until this point, interrupted, “Xichen-ge, it’s a long story—the Hanshi would be a better place to talk. Lan Zhan...” He hesitated for a moment, lowering his voice. “I’ll go to the Library Pavilion first, alright?”   

Blinking, Lan Xichen seemed to realise that this was not as simple as a happy reunion. His lips pursed. “Of course.” 

Lan Wangji had not yet reacted before Wei Wuxian turned to him, as if making sure he was alright. His heart full, Lan Wangji gave him a small nod. Wei Wuxian’s shoulders dropped by barely a cun as he left them with a lingering look. Moving down the winding path, he disappeared behind the trees.  

Though Lan Xichen didn’t quite hold on to Lan Wangji all the way to the Hanshi, he stuck as close as possible, not even deigning to watch where they were going, as if he feared Lan Wangji would disappear the moment he took his eyes off him.

It had been many years since Lan Wangji had been subjected to this particular response from his brother, Lan Xichen’s heavy, worried gaze a blanket over his shoulders. 

The first time, Lan Wangji, six years old, had been kneeling in the snow before the gentian house. 

And now, hopefully, it would be the last. 

In the Hanshi, Lan Xichen was still reluctant to stray more than a chi away from him, though he managed to set two cups of hot tea between them. There, he sat, staring at Lan Wangji as if he couldn’t fathom that it wasn’t all a dream. 

“Xiongzhang, are you well?”

The dawn broke over Lan Xichen’s fragility as a tiny laugh was startled out of him. He looked at Lan Wangji fondly, “Much more than that, now that you’ve returned.” 

“And Shufu?” Lan Wangji asked, not knowing what to expect. 

Lan Xichen hesitated before saying, “He will be the same, after seeing you again.” 

He must have seen something in Lan Wangji’s face as he hastened to continue, “Oh, Wangji. After the mourning period, Shufu was always—trying to find out what exactly happened to you. Over the years, he…” Lan Xichen trailed off, closing his eyes. 

Eventually, he looked back at Lan Wangji, reaching out to smooth a thumb over his hand, drawing away after a moment. Even after all this time, he still knew Lan Wangji’s heart. “Do not worry. I will talk to him and bring him here after this.” 

There was no point in worrying, for he would see his uncle soon. Lan Wangji acquiesced and told his brother what had happened so far, from waking up in Mo Manor to coming to the Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen circled back. “This curse…”

“Wei Ying and I came for the Library Pavilion.”

“Mn.” Lan Xichen agreed, a promise to join them. Nonetheless, in the set of his shoulders and the line of his mouth, Lan Wangji could still see the hints of his distress, the fear that he was holding back by the reins. “And the resentment...So that was why Wen Ruohan was keeping it a secret. I’d asked Jin Guangyao if he had known you were held in Nightless City, but he always insisted that he never even knew anything about this matter.” 

His eyes narrowed as he spoke.

Lan Wangji paused at the unfamiliar name. “Jin Guangyao?” 

Lan Xichen blinked, seeming to realise something, “Ah. He was given that name after the war. I meant Meng Yao.” 

A bolt of lightning shot through Lan Wangji’s every nerve. The tea in the cup he was holding splashed out as his hands spasmed, suddenly, violently—then, in a fraction of a breath, it was gone. 

The inferno licking through his bloodstream warmed the path to his heart—meridiansmeridiansmeridians—so much red, was that the colour? Heart demons, did the fire burn you crimson? 

Molten gold seeping eagerly from a cut—which one? all of them—no, the brand—redgoldredgold, a wedding night carved into flesh—as if trying to escape—leave before—before what?—before!

“That poor brother of yours, I would like to see his face…!”

“Wangji!” Lan Xichen scrambled forward with haste, setting the cup aside and cradling Lan Wangji’s hands in his own, soothing the reddened skin with spiritual energy.

Lan Wangji stared down at the sight blankly, hearing nothing but the blood rushing through his ears, singing a nightmarish refrain of notagainwhywhywhy. The shackles on his wrists seemed to sting—perhaps the hot tea had dyed them darker. 

His collar itched faintly, like a still-healing scar. 

Dantian, his dantian was—how many more did he have? Twelve, eight, twelve, three-hundred, twelve, six hundred—he knew this, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Why—if he knew, he knew, if only—then why?! How much more? Why?! When would it end—why—kill him already—why—stopstopstopstop!!

In the end, clinging onto the person before him, Lan Wangji summoned the strength to breathe out the words. “Wangji is…fine.”

Hearing the way his voice wavered, the slightest quiver ran through Lan Xichen’s fingers like an echo, even as his grip tightened. He didn’t respond—lying is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses—choosing instead to move himself to the same side of the table, his hold remaining strong all the while. 

His very presence was close and warm, a familiar balm to his resentful soul. The only thing that kept Lan Wangji breathing was watching the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest.  

“Xiongzhang,” He finally whispered again, hoarse, as if he’d spent hours screaming. Lan Wangji closed his eyes, forcing the words out, a choking pressure around his neck. “I don’t remember many things from after I was captured.”  

“It’s for the better.” Although it was a matching whisper, Lan Xichen spoke resolutely, his eyes hardening as he looked down at their joined hands. As firm as he tried to be, Lan Wangji was not deaf to the sheen of dread over his voice, a layer of thin frost. “Wangji, you must forget it, forget all of it. I won’t let anything like that happen ever again.” 

Helplessly, Lan Wangji looked at him, the brother that loved him through thick and thin, who had mourned him for so long already. He thought in the deepest parts of his heart, where the strings had once been ripped out by the roots—do not make promises you cannot keep. 

But in the end, Lan Wangji remained silent.

Magnolias bloomed outside the window, the fragrance fresh and sweet. 

In an abhorrent display of gentlemanly manners, Wei Wuxian balanced two open books on his knees as he sat cross-legged, various other texts scattered on the desk and floor before him, with a brush held in his mouth. If Lan Qiren saw him like this, he would have upended a table over his head for it. 

This was how Lan Wangji found him upon stepping into a quiet corner of the Library Pavilion. 

“Wei Ying.” He said, disturbing the silence. 

Wei Wuxian’s head jerked up, the brush slipping from his lips as he involuntarily replied, “Lan Zhan!” 

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened as the brush fell, threatening the ancient texts in Wei Wuxian’s lap, but the latter jerked to the side and caught it in one swift movement, the books thumping to the floor. Lan Wangji couldn’t help his slight wince.

“Don’t worry, the ink was already dry!” Wei Wuxian reassured upon glancing at his expression. Lan Wangji made his way closer as he carefully set the brush aside, clearing some space on the floor beside him. “How was it? Talking to Xichen-ge and your Shufu?” 

Lan Wangji nodded. It appeared that the conversation was still weighing on him. “Fine. It is more than I had hoped for,” He paused. “Being able to see them again.” 

Wei Wuxian nodded in understanding, quiet. Lan Wangji made an elegant beckoning gesture, forgoing the seat that Wei Wuxian had cleared for him, “Come.” 

Without question, though with a tinge of disappointment, Wei Wuxian followed, scrambling to pick up the books from the floor. 

“Leave it.” 

Happily complying, he surreptitiously hoped that if a Lan disciple found this little nook of his, they wouldn’t have a heart attack. As they walked, he couldn’t help but tease, “Lan-er-gongzi, letting me be a slob in your family’s precious library? Who would believe it?” 

Although he couldn’t see Lan Wangji’s face, a faint huff was his reply. 

He led the way towards an ordinary-looking row of books, then stopped. Wei Wuxian watched as he gracefully lowered himself and flipped over a mat. It revealed nothing special, but then Lan Wangji slid his fingers over the floor, taking off one of the wooden boards. Underneath was the outline of a secret door that pulled open to reveal a set of stairs leading downwards.
 
Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, impressed, as Lan Wangji stood up again. “Aiya, I just knew there had to be a secret room in here somewhere, but Xichen-ge said he wouldn’t tell me if I didn’t need to know!” 

It must also be known that Wei Wuxian hadn’t even attempted to find it, so said secret room had remained untouched by his grubby paws until this day, when Lan-er-gongzi himself would lead him down. 

“The Jinshushi.” Ignoring him, Lan Wangji intoned. Wei Wuxian was tempted to snort at the name as he followed behind. The chamber they descended into was made of stone, filled with rows of bookshelves. Despite this, the actual number of books was rather sparse—some were slotted against each other while others lay flat, but nearly everything was covered in at least a thin layer of dust. 

“We have some time.” Within the closed room, Lan Wangji’s low voice reverberated charmingly, surrounding him with warmth. The next words made him even more attractive. “You may take what you need before we go to dinner.” 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the pleased little sound that escaped him, even as he began examining the titles—with one searching glance, he had already found the section on forbidden spells. “Lan-er-gege,” He joked, like an idiot, “If you had been so lax with me back when I studied here, I surely would have fallen for you.” 

Immediately, he bit his tongue and buried his face in a book when an answer didn’t immediately come. Stupid, stupid! Wei Wuxian really liked playing with fire, didn’t he? Lan Zhan showed him an inch of lenience and he would demand a mile!

Behind him, underneath long sleeves, Lan Wangji’s hands curled into fists. There was the liquid sound of rustling silk, and he stepped forward to stand next to Wei Wuxian. Reaching out towards the shelves, he murmured a ‘ridiculous’, though there was no heat to it. Instead, his voice was quiet and magnetic, sounding right next to Wei Wuxian’s ear and making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. 

The book that he was holding almost slipped from his grasp.  

Although Lan Wangji was much less imposing in this body than his original one, the size of his presence had not diminished in the least, nor the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. 

There was not even a hint of anger or annoyance.

Hidden in the shadow of the shelves, Wei Wuxian’s smile was a delicate thing. 

They worked in a comfortable silence, broken only by the turning of pages and the stirring of Wei Wuxian’s brush. After a while, the dinner bell rang. 

Collecting the necessary notes and texts, they took their time meandering out of the Library Pavilion, stepping out onto the empty paths only after dinner had begun. Outside the Jingshi, they found Lan Xichen coming out, having left them a meal inside.  

Seeing them, he inclined his head. “Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen started, “I would offer you the guest dormitories, but it may be best to keep your presence here quiet, especially with what was written in Mo-gongzi’s letter.” He gave Wei Wuxian an almost firm gaze, though the corner of his mouth threatened to tick upwards.

Wei Wuxian blinked at him, glanced at Lan Wangji, found no reaction, then spoke rather merrily, “That’s fine, Xichen-ge! I’ll sleep on the floor or something. Gotta keep an eye on Lan Zhan, anyways.” 

Lan Xichen’s lips finally drew up in a smile, as if he hadn’t intended it. He bowed his head shallowly. “Enjoy your meal. I will see you both tomorrow. Goodnight, Wei Wuxian, Wangji.” 

He only parted after Lan Wangji gave him a slow nod and a ‘Goodnight, Xiongzhang’, walking not in the direction of the Hanshi, but towards the Library Pavilion.

Watching him go, Wei Wuxian sighed before carefully closing the doors. He sneaked a glance at Lan Wangji, who was still quite composed, then turned to inspect the room. The Jingshi, sweeping and open, was perfectly maintained, not a speck of dust to be seen. Wangji-qin sat on one of the desks, and even Bichen, who Wei Wuxian hadn’t seen since he’d returned it to Lan Xichen all those years ago, lay gleaming on a stand by the wall. The soft light of approaching dusk bathed the room in a warm glow, the whispering of bamboo leaves outside bringing a sense of serenity.

Two trays of food sat on the table, kept by a warming talisman. As they sat down to eat, Wei Wuxian brought one of the books with him, laying it open on his knee.

“Lan Zhan,” He appealed, “You don’t mind if I do a little reading, do you?” 

Lan Wangji looked at him calmly for a moment, before taking a small bottle out of his sleeve, setting it next to Wei Wuxian’s portion. As the latter took it curiously, Lan Wangji silently began to eat.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, comparable in size to the bowls on the table. An incredulous, questioning noise escaped him. 

“Huajiao oil?!”¹ His head moved up and down between Lan Wangji and the little bottle in total shock. “You—where, when?!” 

Lan Wangji gave no reaction, though he definitely had to be watching from the corner of his eye as he swallowed, completely unhurried. 

Oh, there was a rule about this, wasn’t there? 

No speaking while eating.

A light flush coming to his cheeks, Wei Wuxian ducked his head to hide the twitch of his lips as he put the book away and gleefully flooded his dishes with the oil. “Who knew that Lan Zhan was good at spoiling people, huh…” 

(If Lan Wangji was anyone else, he would have surely rolled his eyes. 

No, he only wished to spoil Wei Ying.) 

As they ate, Wei Wuxian continued to speak in between satisfied mouthfuls of food. For his part, Lan Wangji simply nodded when necessary, acting as if he'd never been a rule enforcer in his life. It was fantastic.

“By the way,” After a while, Wei Wuxian swallowed and licked his lips, glancing at Lan Wangji’s empty bowl. “How did Xichen-ge know it was you, anyway? Even I had to double check—I mean, I had to ask you questions just to make sure.”

Lan Wangji looked at him strangely, putting his chopsticks down. “Jiang Wanyin mentioned something about Dafan Mountain in his most recent message.” 

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a moment, polished off his last bite, then set his chopsticks down as well. A peculiar expression made its home on his face—he was trying not to laugh. “Ah, I see. The Jiang-Lan friendship strikes again.”

Lan Wangji paused from where he had begun arranging the empty dishes. “Jiangnan?”²

Wei Wuxian gave a light huff before enunciating the words clearly. “Jiang-Lan. I mentioned that Chifeng-zun took Jiang Cheng under his wing, didn’t I? And that Xichen-ge ended up volunteering for the bulk of it later on. They’re always talking, those two—sect business, sect business, and more sect business.”

Lan Wangji’s brows raised ever so slightly. “I…see.” 

For a moment, he seemed to fall into thought—probably questioning exactly what exactly Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng had in common, aside from being heirs of their respective sects that unceremoniously came to lead at fairly young ages thanks to the previous generation dying at the hands of the Wen… alright, that was already a starting point, even if the criteria did include Nie Mingjue as well. 

In any case, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but soak in the minutest changes in Lan Wangji’s countenance, before he soon came back to himself. 

Somehow, Hanguang-jun was a little adorable…

“What did you mean by double checking?”  

Wei Wuxian’s lips twisted fondly, leaning back. As he thought—he had been playing himself. It looked like he hadn’t fooled Lan Wangji at all. “There’s really no hiding from you.”   

Lan Wangji dipped his head and waited for him to continue. 

“Lan Zhan, do you remember the song you sang for me back in the Xuanwu cave?”

“Mn.” His golden eyes were faintly questioning. 

Wei Wuxian hesitated for a moment, then asked, “You…composed it?” 

“...Mn.” 

Wei Wuxian heaved out a huge sigh, having come across the answer to an age-old mystery. “So it was like that. Lan Zhan, let me tell you, aside from one time, I never heard a melody that sounded even similar. That’s how I knew it had to be you, when you played it on Dafan Mountain.” 

As usual, Lan Wangji was reticent as they arranged the dishes back onto the trays together, but Wei Wuxian knew that he wasn’t imagining the faint pink that tinted the other man’s earlobes. Deceptively innocent, he teased Lan Wangji, asking for the name of the song—though Hanguang-jun remained curiously silent on the matter, preferring to turn away rather demurely.

There was definitely a name, Wei Wuxian decided. Either it was named in the folly of Lan Wangji’s youth and he was embarrassed about it—which was extremely unlikely, considering he had named his weapons Bichen and Wangji respectively, which were both objectively good. That left only the other option, which was that the name was so meaningful and intimate to Lan Wangji’s person that he was loath to share it too easily. 

Even with Wei Wuxian. 

In his heart, he wondered if the song held a similar meaning between the both of them. Well, that was indeed wishful thinking. 

After their meal, they returned to scouring through the texts they’d brought from the Library Pavilion. Wei Wuxian had found the ritual that Mo Xuanyu had used—it was the one he’d been thinking of, that had only been successfully performed four times before. 

Every instance had been for the sole purpose of revenge.

The summoner would inflict upon themselves wounds that could only heal after the requests they made of the spirit were fulfilled, then sacrifice their own soul. After the spirit’s return, they would be granted an unknown amount of time to do what was needed. If the wishes were left unfulfilled, the summoned spirit’s soul would be destroyed, never to reincarnate. 

But Mo Xuanyu seemed more talented than he appeared. He had modified the ritual, utilising the character zheng to both demand correction for five wrongs—instead of, for example, designating deaths—and to keep the spirit from wreaking unnecessary havoc. To fear that Hanguang-jun would have the temperament of a resentful wraith despite the soul-calming ceremonies of his childhood, perhaps Mo Xuanyu had known something about Wen Ruohan’s intentions, or at least about how Lan Wangji had passed? 

After all, it seemed an odd choice.

The wound requirement had been changed as well. Instead, the shackles implied a restriction of movement of the physical body as well as the soul. What Wei Wuxian focused on was the time limit—thankfully, because of the modifications to the ritual, there was a chance that the consequences were not set in stone. 

The first thing he would do was to find a way to halt the progression of the curse. If he could freeze it somehow, the worst would never come to pass, he thought, leaning forward against the desk. 

Across the room, Lan Wangji was taking a break from his own texts after almost a shichen of being studious, fingers running gently over his qin. 

He seemed to be re-familiarising himself with the instrument, playing each note with a delicate touch. Wangji-qin welcomed its old master with open arms, responsive to his every movement. The melody was soothing despite the lack of spiritual energy, soft and warm, like the glow of lamplight in the cool spring night.    

Wei Wuxian watched him, thoughts settling. 

Lan Wangji was a painting come to life—a beauty sitting before the moon window, leaning gracefully over the sleek body of the qin. His very figure contrasted with the pale walls of the Jingshi, dark robes shifting like water with the slightest movement. Those golden eyes, striking in the dim light, were fixed downwards in concentration, occasionally slipping closed to focus on the sweet tones he coaxed out of the instrument. As he played, the exquisite latticework of the room cast shadows over his mouth, almost like a smile.  

It was a breathtaking, enrapturing sight. Surely, such a masterpiece would fetch a fortune in any land, in any dynasty. But Wei Wuxian was a selfish man. He wanted to keep this for himself. 

He couldn’t let go of Lan Wangji. 

After a moment, Wei Wuxian’s brows furrowed. 

Suddenly, he leapt to his feet in one smooth motion, striding towards Lan Wangji and dropping to his knees. He reached out before halting, almost recoiling. Staring at those wrists where the sleeves had fallen back to cover them, he said, urgent, “Lan Zhan, give me your hands.”

For a second, Lan Wangji only stared back at him, startled out of his trance, but then complied. Carefully, Wei Wuxian took hold of a thin wrist, the sleeve falling away. He examined it for a while, a pit of fear growing in his stomach, then took Lan Wangji’s other hand and did the same. Lastly, he brought his focus to the collar. 

“The marks…” Wei Wuxian swallowed down the sour taste on his tongue. “They’re darker than they were three days ago, aren’t they?”

It was less of a question and more of a statement—the marks that had been a bright, scarlet red had now darkened ever-so-slightly into the shade of a blooming rose. The dread that Wei Wuxian had been covering with teasing and cheer ever since they’d left the Burial Mounds now seeped into his expression, unrestrained. He gazed at the shackles helplessly, jaw tight, as Lan Wangji gazed at him. 

When he glanced up at Lan Wangji, he realised it was the same look that he wore when Wei Wuxian had first spoken about the curse. 

Was it…resignation? 
 
Frozen, he waited for the other man to say something. 

Wei Wuxian wanted to beg, to plead—he wanted to reassure him, Lan Zhan, please, don’t give up now, I’ll find a way, I promise, I promise. But his heart sat in his mouth, and he couldn’t move, much less speak, without crushing it between his own teeth. 

As calm as ever, Lan Wangji gently withdrew his hands, took a breath, and said, “It is time to sleep. Wei Ying, take the bed.” 

Wei Wuxian, “...”

It was like a bucket of warm water had been dumped over his head. All of a sudden, he could breathe again, the heaviness of the air having been chased away. The droplets lingered, a reminder and yet still a reassurance. 

Lan Wangji really knew how to give him whiplash. 

His body finally reacted as he choked out, scrambling up, “I said I’d take the floor!”

Rising as well, Lan Wangji glided over to a closet, taking out some extra bedding and blankets and—more importantly—ignoring Wei Wuxian’s words. “Seriously, Lan Zhan,” That was definitely bordering on a whine, “How can I let you sleep on the floor when you haven’t even slept on a bed in fifteen years?” 

Out of all things, that made the other man pause. Lan Wangji glanced at him from the corner of his eye and said dryly—dryly! 

“Until Wei Ying mentioned it, I was unaware. You are a guest.” 

Then he began arranging the bedding on the floor. 

Wei Wuxian, who had been unexpectedly quelled, stammered in frustration for a moment before sighing. Time to change track. “Hanguang-jun, don’t you trust the big, scary Yiling Laozu to survive something as small as this?” 

Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as he remembered something. “Wait, this body—you don't even have a core, don’t you?! No way, Lan Zhan, your bed is your bed!! Get in, quickly, I’m not going to sleep right now anyways.” 

The mildly offended twitch of Lan Wangji’s eye really shouldn’t have been so funny, but Wei Wuxian was busy trying to wrangle the stubborn Hanguang-jun to sleep like he was a three-year-old child, so he didn’t quite burst into laughter. Instead, he made a ‘hurry up’ gesture, tilting his head insistently towards the paper screen and the bed behind it.

Fortunately, Lan Wangji relented, moving away. Only then did Wei Wuxian breathe out a sigh of relief and allow himself to return to the desk. 

What was extremely unfortunate, though, for Wei Wuxian, was that the bed was hidden from view from a paper screen. 

Behind the paper screen was a lamp. 

Between the paper screen and said lamp, Lan Wangji moved with all his usual grace. 

The problem became quite obvious. 

Unhurriedly, the shadowy figure that was cast onto the pale screen reached to undo his outer robe, letting it slip down his shoulders before properly removing and putting it away. Then, Lan Wangji pulled the ribbon from his hair, the sleeves of his inner robes sliding down to his elbows at the movement for a brief second. 

His long hair tumbled free. He loosened his belt. 

The shadow provided no detail, but Wei Wuxian had always been imaginative. He swallowed, a little dry. 

Lan Wangji seemed to have noticed the silence, absent of the sound of pages turning or his usual scribbling of notes. 

“...Wei Ying?”

Abruptly, Wei Wuxian rushed to take his brush up once more like a schoolboy caught misbehaving, despite the fact that Lan Wangji couldn’t even see him. He replied quickly, a little strangled, light pink dusting his cheeks, “Ah—aiya, Lan Zhan, if you’re feeling rebellious, you’re welcome to watch me work instead of sleeping! Hahaha.” 

Internally, he lamented; the great Wei Wuxian, Yiling Laozu, fourth on the list of handsome cultivators in his youth—reduced to a stuttering mess by a barely-suggestive shadow alone?!

For shame!

Instead of replying, Lan Wangji let out a faint sigh, deciding to have mercy and extinguishing the lamplight on his side of the room. Wei Wuxian heard the quiet murmur of moving sheets. He almost smiled as he imagined Lan Wangji settling into the rigid Lan sleeping posture. 

Then, that low voice came again, and he couldn’t help but do exactly that. 

“Goodnight, Wei Ying.”

The sound of papers rustling carried a hint of warmth. 

A breath.

“...Goodnight, Lan Zhan.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian, who had found Lan Wangji’s very shadow appealing, was doomed. 

Before him, Lan Wangji’s slim fingers worked his own belt loose, pulling it from his waist in one swift motion before folding and laying it down beside him. Then, he slid off his inner robes to reveal a pale expanse of skin, slightly marred by silvery scars and hints of old injuries. Nonetheless, the liquid grace of his movements as he shrugged off the fine silk, bringing it to pool in his lap, made Wei Wuxian’s pulse rabbit in his throat. 

Why could he have not constructed the array quicker? Why did they have to be doing this late in the evening, the glow of lamplight casting the person before him in warm gold, the dim atmosphere making him ache with want?

He moved to settle behind Lan Wangji, which did not help matters at all.

From here, Wei Wuxian could see the lovely flush that crept up the back of that slender neck, where Lan Wangji’s hair was swept over a shoulder. Again, his ears were tinted pink. The muscles of his back shifted slightly as he straightened.

Wei Wuxian…had a job to do. 

“Lan Zhan,” He breathed after swallowing, holding Suibian above his palm and desperately willing himself not to tremble, “Hold still.”

Lan Wangji replied, ever-reassuring, “Mn.”

As he began drawing the array onto his back, Wei Wuxian set his left hand tentatively against the line of the other man’s bicep to steady himself. Lan Wangji’s whole body tensed when he made the first stroke, fingers slick with blood, before relaxing as he continued. 

His skin was warm, and Wei Wuxian had to remind himself not to linger. Gradually, he fell into focus. 

It was a two-part array—first, an expanded variation of the stasis talisman he had invented all those years ago, designed to freeze the shackles at one point in time and prevent any further progression of the curse. Next, a complex seal of suppression. Any source of resentful energy, whether internal or external, would not be able to imbue the marks with power. Like this, they wouldn’t be able to tick faster, nor cause Lan Wangji any more pain. 

Theoretically, that was. 

When he was finished, Wei Wuxian double and triple-checked the array against his notes, making sure that each and every radical was in place and ready to work. The array sprawled red and stark against Lan Wangji’s skin, winding from the top of his shoulders to the sharp jut of his hip bones—Wei Wuxian had needed a few deep breaths before that part. In any case, he could proudly say that it was one of his best works. 

Of course, only the best for Lan Zhan. With that thought, he pressed the tip of his finger onto the centre of the array, sending out a fine pulse of spiritual energy. Under his finger, Lan Wangji let out a tiny gasp. For just a second, the array lit up a brilliant red, stretching lines across his whole body, visible even through the white silk of his pants. Then, the light faded, seeming to sink into the skin.  

“Feeling alright?” Wei Wuxian asked, wiping his hand and stepping forward to face Lan Wangji. The other man gave a small nod, examining the shackles on his wrists, though there were no obvious differences. 

Wei Wuxian took the inner robe from his lap, mindful of the heat Lan Wangji’s bare skin seemed to radiate. He shook it out, then couldn’t help draping it over those thin shoulders. “Any changes?” 

As he put his arms through the sleeves, Lan Wangji considered the question for a moment, tilting his head slightly. His silky hair fell over his pale chest. 

“My body feels lighter.” 

Relieved, Wei Wuxian let out a gusty sigh. “Good. I wasn’t expecting anything else, since it’ll be most effective if you come into contact with resentment.”

It had taken almost a week, but Wei Wuxian had done the improbable—he’d halted the progress of the curse. The impossible was yet to come—lifting the curse entirely. 

Therefore, he burrowed even deeper into the Library Pavilion for the next few days with a single-minded focus. Although Lan Wangji tried to assist, he clearly knew his own limits when it came to these kinds of dark rituals—that was, he had almost no experience with them. In the end, he spent most of the time coaxing Wei Wuxian to take breaks in between long hours of work, though he was not entirely successful until Wei Wuxian had completely gone through all the relevant texts. 

With a yawn, he set down the brush and stretched his arms over his head, feeling the satisfying ripple of spiritual energy through his body, refreshing him. He went straight to the Jingshi, but upon finding it bare of Lan Zhan, wandered about the Cloud Recesses for a while until finding himself in his now second-favourite spot. 

In the lush grass of the meadow, Lan Wangji sat in the dappled shade of a tree, surrounded by dozens of fluffy snowballs. With the way his head was gracefully bowed, clad in white robes, he looked just like the youth that Wei Wuxian had lost fifteen years ago.

One rabbit was snuggled in his lap, and another, smaller one lay serenely in his palm, enjoying light, languid strokes from the tip of its nose to its tail. Approaching such a scene, Wei Wuxian was almost as ridiculous as to become jealous of the little furball. 

It was too cute, bringing back sweet imaginings of the young Lan Wangji earnestly taking care of the rabbits Wei Wuxian had brought him. When Lan Xichen had told him about it, he could only guess what Hanguang-jun had looked like back then. 

Now, he actually had the chance to see it. 

“Lan Zhan!” He called, dropping down beside him and sprawling out. The horde of fluffy bunnies scattered in alarm at the newcomer, save for the two that Lan Wangji held. 

Slowly, Lan Wangji turned his gaze over to him. His eyes, which had already been soft, were the colour of melted honey in the sunlight. The scent of fresh grass surrounded them, a contrast from the musty air of the Library Pavilion.

“How is it?” He asked. 

Wei Wuxian, who had been ready to tease Lan Wangji about the rabbits, abruptly closed his mouth. He didn’t want to speak out loud what he already knew—that he was unlikely to find a solution here—without exhausting all available avenues just yet. 

Unfortunately, Lan Wangji saw something in his face, and didn’t wait for an answer. 

“You have worked for days. Take a rest.” 

“How can I?” Giving up on presenting a brave front, Wei Wuxian drew in a sharp breath, shoulders tensing. His fingers dug into the soft dirt. “I’ll take care of the curse first, then I’ll have all the time in the world to relax.” 

With you, he wanted to say. Knowing that there was no chance of Lan Zhan being taken from him, knowing that he could protect him this time—that would be when he could finally rest. 

It was quiet for a moment. Slowly, the rabbits who had been scared away began to hop back over, tiny pink noses twitching. Only when they had gathered the courage to settle around them again did Lan Wangji speak once more, his voice low so as not to disturb them. 

“We should follow the arm.” 

Wei Wuxian, “...?” 

This was possibly the last thing he had expected. 

Lan Wangji continued, “Find the source and cleanse the resentment.”

“Lan Zhan, we haven’t even found a way to undo the curse—is this really the time to go hunting for body parts?” 

“There will never be a good time. And you need a break. Perhaps we may find something helpful on the way.” 

“But…”

As Wei Wuxian struggled to argue, Lan Wangji calmly took the rabbit he had been petting and deposited it into his lap. Absent-mindedly, Wei Wuxian laid a hand over the bunny’s soft ears. 

Unfair, he thought. The rabbits, whether it be here or in the Burial Mounds, never liked it when he picked them up. 

Lan Wangji prodded, “You do not trust your array?”

Immediately, he was met with a denial.  

“It’s not that.” Confident, Wei Wuxian assured him. “But anything can happen on a hunt, Lan Zhan.” 

“It won’t. Besides,” The previous hints of softness disappeared from his countenance, and the expression he turned to Wei Wuxian was now a true deadpan, paired with a flat monotone. “Whatever could happen to me with the big, strong Yiling Laozu by my side?”

It took all of Wei Wuxian’s finesse to not devolve into spluttering. Unfortunately, by the look of what had to be mirth in Lan Wangji’s eyes, he was not completely successful. When he recovered, he still felt like the world was spinning off its axis—from where had Lan Wangji learned to joke?! 

Again, they fell silent for a long moment, Wei Wuxian running deft fingers over the sleeping rabbit in his lap, trying to calm himself. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, and this time Wei Wuxian thought he was prepared. He was wrong.

“I would like to night-hunt again.” 

Wei Wuxian’s words died on his tongue. He stared at Lan Zhan, feeling as if he’d been hit over the head. 

When had Lan Wangji asked anything of him, in this life or the last? The only request he’d ever made was—‘Come back to Gusu with me.’

And despite everything that happened, in the end, hadn’t Wei Wuxian done just that? 

How could he refuse Lan Wangji?  
 
Like a bolt of lightning, Wei Wuxian was struck by the realisation that he would offer his still-beating heart to this man if he so much as asked. With that realisation came neither fear nor anger, just a peculiar helplessness, like it was something he’d known long ago that was only now coming to the surface. 

Nevertheless, it had been borne from him years and years ago, this feeling. 

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji was close—too close. He’d really gotten comfortable with Wei Wuxian this time round, hadn’t he? Was it Wei Wuxian’s touchiness rubbing off of him, or was Lan Wangji just like this with people he was close to?

…No, he wasn’t like this with Lan Xichen.

Wei Wuxian abruptly realised that he had just been sitting there and staring like an idiot. “I—a-alright, Lan Zhan. We’ll go together. Xichen-ge…”

“I will talk to him and Shufu.” Lan Wangji hesitated for a moment, the line of his lips earnest. “Thank you, Wei Ying.” 

Here, Wei Wuxian froze once more. His scalp went numb only for a brief second before he let out a strained chuckle, “Ah, I just remembered something. Lan Zhan, you really don’t need to thank me. I know it might be hard for someone as proper as you, but if you must, please do anything else.” 

Lan Wangji’s brows furrowed. “What did you remember?” 

“...The last time you said that. After biting. In the Xuanwu cave.”

As a person who didn’t make a habit of dwelling on the past, it was rare for Wei Wuxian to suddenly recall things like this. But it was also hard to forget the sensation of sharp teeth sinking into his elbow, scraping right against the bone, hanging on like a hungry dog. Or the way a certain someone had fixed his own clothes and hair calmly afterwards, pretending nothing had ever happened, before thanking Wei Wuxian as if he were thanking someone for a meal!

If it were anyone else, they would look properly chastised. But what was he expecting from Lan Wangji, the man who had brought up the incident himself? He was entirely unrepentant, only waiting patiently for Wei Wuxian to continue. 

“Lan Zhan, the problem I told you about back then, I’ll tell you again. I can’t stand it whenever people thank me—I’ll get goosebumps, alright?! So don’t…” He trailed off when Lan Wangji simply nodded and turned away, grateful that he didn’t need to continue to explain himself. Honestly, it wasn’t just that. If Lan Wangji ever thanked him again with that more-serious-than-usual face of his, Wei Wuxian would break out in hives!! 

Delicately releasing the rabbit from his lap, Lan Wangji stood up, brushing off his robes.

“Your memory is indeed quite good.” 

Hearing this, the hairs on the back of Wei Wuxian’s neck stood straight up. He abandoned his bunny as well and jumped to his feet like he’d been electrocuted. “Don’t you have a rule against excessive praise in the Cloud Recesses?!” 

Lan Wangji paid him no mind, beginning the walk back to the Jingshi. 

They had gone a few paces before he finally answered, placidly, as if he were laughing at Wei Wuxian.

“We do not.”

"Lan Zhan!"

The realisation that Lan Wangji was the youngest child of the family hit Wei Wuxian abruptly when he came gliding over to meet him at the gates of the Cloud Recesses, perfectly proper, with not a single disciple chasing after him.

When Lan Wangji had gone to face his uncle, Wei Wuxian had been ready to come with. It had been years since Lan Qiren had truly exploded at him, and he was semi-confident that they could get away with this if they worded it properly—that was, Wei Wuxian was not stealing the Second Jade from Gusu, Lan-lao-xiansheng, but simply accompanying him. For protection, one could even say.

But Lan Wangji had politely declined his offer.

In hindsight, that was definitely for the better. Towards Wei Wuxian, the old man had merely developed a shallow degree of tolerance over time; it was still best to stay out of his sight, lest Wei Wuxian accidentally induce a heart attack by existing. Lan Qiren much preferred Wei Sizhui, even though he’d only known the child for a year. 

How Lan Wangji managed to convince his uncle to let him go, especially without an entourage numbered in the dozens, Wei Wuxian would never know.

Lan Xichen hadn’t been enthused, but he’d settled into acceptance after talking to Lan Wangji. For some reason, he seemed assured by Wei Wuxian’s presence by his brother’s side, which Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but be both flattered and mildly dubious about. 

“Wei Wuxian,” He’d said while sending them off, almost more serious than he had been with the Yinhufu. “Take care of each other.” Please take care of him was implied, but Lan Xichen could clearly see how happy he was at Lan Zhan’s return, even with the curse still hanging over them. All Wei Wuxian needed was Lan Wangji’s presence, and at this time, Lan Wangji simply needed to rely on him a little. 

It wasn’t that Wei Wuxian didn’t trust his own strength, but he felt that he really couldn’t be as magnanimous as Sect Leader Lan if placed in the same position. 

If his little brother came back from the dead, there was no way he was letting that brat out of his sight until one of them ascended.

They departed on foot, now following the resentful left hand to the northwest. Upon leaving the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji had donned the white robes of a rogue cultivator, forgoing the veil—naturally, even the plain clothing of Gusu Lan covered one up to the neck. Lan Xichen had returned his old forehead ribbon to him, though he wore it tied around his wrist instead of his head. They were trying to be inconspicuous after all; there would only be more questions if Mo Xuanyu suddenly went around in the guise of a Lan disciple. 

Like in the rabbit meadow, seeing Lan Wangji in his sect colours did not do any favours for Wei Wuxian’s heart. What was even more palpitation-inducing—though this was entirely his own fault—was the fact that they stayed in one room every night. 

Unlike previous years, he wasn’t short on money. But after duetting Rest, Wei Wuxian had to make sure that his array was intact and working as expected. There were never any problems. Then, Lan Wangji would undress to either bathe or sleep, the fragrance of sandalwood wafting off his robes. Every time, without fail, Wei Wuxian would be on the verge of smothering himself in his own blankets. 

The benefit of doing this was that he wouldn’t be stuck gazing at the folding screen between them with all the longing of a cutsleeve Dengtu Zi¹. The pitfall was that he could clearly hear every miniscule movement Lan Wangji made in the water, or the gentle rustling of robes, and all he could think about was holding Lan Zhan close, never letting him go, and—  

Wei Wuxian really was…the worst!

After a few days, as they neared Qinghe, the left hand curled its accusatory finger back, forming a fist instead. Whatever the source of the resentment was, they were getting close to it. 

The small city they had arrived at was nonetheless bustling with activity, the streets filled with passersby. Lan Wangji was rather thankful for his current appearance—although his robes were plain, they were finely made, and with someone who was very obviously a cultivator by his side, most people were reluctant to push and shove too close to them.

However, Wei Wuxian had unstuck himself from Lan Wangji only a few moments before, making a beeline towards a hawking vendor who had been yelling something about the Yiling Laozu. 

How infamous had Wei Ying become?

Lan Wangji waded carefully through the sea of people, straining to catch a glimpse of him. Wei Wuxian was scowling at the vendor, mouth moving at an alarming rate. The latter, who was brandishing a stack of rather hideous portraits, seemed caught between exasperation and indignance. Over the bustling of the crowd, Lan Wangji caught snippets of the argument as he approached.

“—untrue, you’re simply misleading the youth—” 

“—young master—leave this one be if you aren’t—”

“—infamous?! Tell me what exactly—”

“—massacre of—wasn’t that—”

“—get it right, do you really think—!”      

Before the vendor could reply, he saw Lan Wangji coming to join the person he was arguing with. It only took a glance to realise that the pair of them would be even harder to take on, and he hadn’t been blind to the sword that Wei Wuxian carried at his hip either. With a panicked huff, he decided to live another day, collecting his wares and abruptly running off. 

Wei Wuxian called out, irate, “Hey! Why are you running?!” 

But he was already gone. 

Lan Wangji stepped next to him. Wei Wuxian turned to him like a flower to the sun, the annoyance vanishing from his face. “Lan Zhan!” 

“What happened?” Admittedly, he was a little curious. 

“Ah, it’s nothing! Ai, some people are just really…” He trailed off, then perked up again, reaching out towards Lan Wangji’s sleeve. But before he could take his hand, a blur of pale yellow shot towards them, darting straight for Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji’s breath caught, and he made to draw a nonexistent sword at his waist. 

“Dajiu!” 

Lan Wangji froze.

With a grunt, Wei Wuxian stumbled under the weight of the young girl who had thrown herself at him, the air knocked from his lungs. She wrapped her thin arms tightly around his waist, squeezing as hard as she could.

“A-Xing?” He squeaked out, ruffling her hair in a vain attempt to make her release him. “What are you doing here?!”

After a long moment, the girl stepped back. Her almond-shaped eyes were bright, a hint of grievance within. Despite her fierce expression, the ends of her brows were downturned and delicate, and a vermillion dot sat strikingly in the centre of her forehead. 

Her robes were almost the golden shade of Lanling Jin’s, but lighter and creamier, almost unadorned save for the exquisite lotuses embroidered on her sleeves. But the quality of the fabric and the gilded sword at her side made it clear at once that this was no ordinary young mistress. 

She looked almost exactly like her mother.   

This…was most likely Jin Hanxing. 

Wei Wuxian had spoken about her with glee, his favourite—and only—niece. As young as she was, her talents lay in hiding and sneaking around; her most recent pastime was ‘taking trips’ away from Jinlintai, an emerging rebellious streak that was driven in no small part by Jin Zixuan’s current condition. 

“Dajiu, ge told me to meet him in Qinghe if I had to—huh, who’s this?” 

Wei Wuxian gently flicked her on the temple, smoothing down his robes with the other hand, “That’s your Mo-shushu, you little monkey.” 

Jin Hanxing stared at Lan Wangji for a second, her gaze blank, before turning back to her other uncle. “Oh. Anyway, he said if I ran off anywhere else without him, Erjiu would break my legs.” 

With a sigh, Wei Wuxian lamented, “I don’t know why A-Ling likes that threat so much—Jiang Cheng would rather eat his own foot.” 

“It’s because he cares,” Jin Hanxing said matter-of-factly, blowing a few strands of hair out of her face, “And he wants me to think he could beat me up, but can’t say it. ‘Cause he wouldn’t.”  

Lan Wangji stared at this extremely emotionally aware child for a few moments, before she continued. 

“What are you doing here though, dajiu? With Mo-shushu too.” 

“Nothing that naughty little monkeys need to worry about. Don’t even think of running away again, A-Xing, you’re coming with us.”

With the air of a practiced, long-suffering parent, Wei Wuxian wheedled out the location of the inn the girl was staying at. They decided to accompany her back first before doing anything else.  

Seeming to remember something, Wei Wuxian asked, “So Jin Ling’s heading here too?”

“Uh-huh.” Jin Hanxing straightened, looking a little smug, “Since Dafan Shan was a failure, he wanted to come investigate Xinglu Ridge.”

“Xinglu Ridge?” 

Put simply, it was a man-eating ridge that was home to man-eating castles that were home to man-eating monsters. Although outwardly, Jin Hanxing appeared to be that sort of easily-deceived young miss from a sheltered family, she scoffed at the tale, adding that there was probably nothing for Jin Ling to find. In any case, it made a good excuse, since she wouldn’t allow anyone else from Jinlintai to drag her back.

Wei Wuxian went to make some more inquiries about the rumours as Lan Wangji and Jin Hanxing loitered around. No words were exchanged between them, though Lan Wangji didn’t fault the child for it. He didn’t know when exactly Mo Xuanyu had been expelled from Lanling Jin, and, going by her reactions, she seemed too young to have known or remembered him properly. 

Even so, she kept sneaking quick sideways glances at him, as if he couldn’t see her. Lan Wangji kept up the act, making sure they didn’t wander too far from Wei Wuxian. 

The girl suddenly broke the silence, scooting closer to be heard over the noise of the street. 

“Mo-shushu.” 

He acknowledged her with a nod, leaning down slightly. There was no time to regret it before the next sentence came. 

“Did you elope with my uncle?” 

Lan Wangji almost stumbled over thin air. 

He turned an expression to her—though he didn’t know what it was—hoping that it conveyed the sheer bewilderment he felt at that moment. In the back of his mind, he prayed that his ears were not burning red. 

“No? Then,” She eyed him up and down, or at least did her best impression of it, being nearly a whole head shorter than him. “Maybe someone from the Lan sect?” 

Children were indeed curious creatures. 

“Jin-guniang,” Practically fighting for his life, Lan Wangji began, voice slightly muffled, “It is not proper to inquire about such matters.” 

Her delicate face scrunched up, and for an eerie second, Lan Wangji saw an echo of Jiang Wanyin in her features, “I know that, but we’re family, aren’t we? What’s with the Jin-guniang, too—A-Xing is fine. ”

If Lan Wangji thought the Gusu Lan curriculum was lacking, he would probably find himself halfway into the ground again if he ever saw what Lanling Jin taught. Evidently, it wasn’t enough to imbue their young disciples with a sense of caution towards strangers, even those who were endorsed by their hermit uncles. 

Thankfully, said hermit uncle chose this moment to come bounding back to them, tucking something into his qiankun pouch as he went. 

“Alright, I’ve got it! A-Xing, that’s the place you’re staying, right?” He gestured towards an inn across the street, the restaurant below bustling with patrons. Jin Hanxing nodded. Wei Wuxian patted her head, then nudged her in that direction.  

“Go back and wait until A-Ling comes. Your shushu and dajiu are just going to have a look around.”

Despite his cheery smile, Jin Hanxing remained completely unfooled. “You’re going to Xinglu Ridge, aren’t you.”

Still smiling, Wei Wuxian ruffled her hair slightly more aggressively, “Aiya, so what if we are? This little monkey is still going back to the inn.”

She narrowed her eyes at her uncle, breaking the deadpan expression that was wildly out of place on her childish face. “...Fine. But if you’re not here by nightfall, I’ll make sure Erjiu finds you.”  

With that, she brandished her sleeves like they had sharp edges, a hand on her sword as she strode across the street. Despite her height, she cut a striking, ostentatious figure in the crowd, with bystanders parting before her. It was only when he’d seen her step inside the building that Wei Wuxian sighed, drawing Lan Wangji gently away from the street. 

“Kids these days…” He murmured, though it was a little fond. They made their way towards Xinglu Ridge, following the directions Wei Wuxian had received, strolling into a quiet cedarwood forest. He talked as they went; the man-eating castles of the ridge were more hearsay than anything, a rather outlandish rumour. The so-called victims of the monsters inside the castles had no names, ages, or any other description, like they simply didn’t exist. 

And even though Qinghe was under the jurisdiction of the Nie sect, getting help for this matter seemed to be a pipe dream—after his brother’s death, Nie Huaisang had acquired the title of ‘Headshaker’, renowned for his uselessness despite being the leader of a Great Sect. If Yunmeng and Qinghe were closer, perhaps he’d spend half his days asking Jiang Wanyin for help, since he was Nie Mingjue’s sworn brother. 

But as it was, he would go to the Cloud Recesses instead. Sometimes, he’d catch Jiang Wanyin there, where Lan Xichen was also willing to hear him out, on account of the old friendship between himself and his late brother. Other times, he would go to Jinlintai to complain to Jin Guangyao.     

Lan Wangji hadn’t expected this turn of events—frankly, he’d never really imaged that Nie Mingjue could even die at all. It was naive of him, but he had seen the late Sect Leader Nie as a figure akin to his own brother; he was here before Lan Wangji, and seemed ever-present, a reassuring constant. 

“How did Chifeng-zun pass away?” 

“Qi deviation, maybe ten or so years ago?” Wei Wuxian replied, his face pinched as if he were remembering something complicated, “Wen Qing actually saw him once before the last time, after Huaisang asked for her help. But apparently it was too late by then—he fell ill, then deviated.” 
 
They lapsed into silence again as Lan Wangji digested his words. 

It wasn’t long before they finally encountered a problem, if it could even be called that. A small group of walking corpses of the lowest level meandered towards them, looking as if they could collapse into pieces if the breeze blew too hard. Wei Wuxian obviously thought so too, not even bothering to reach for a weapon. 

He brought his hand up, as if about to flick a finger at them.

Suddenly, the corpses caught sight of the pair and froze for a moment. Their white, sightless eyeballs seemed to roll in sheer panic as they turned their heads between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian in unison, rotting bodies trembling and seeming on the verge of a collective undead heart attack. 

Lan Wangji blinked. As one, the corpses immediately whirled back, hobbling away at double speed. Beside him, Wei Wuxian was rather dumbfounded, letting his arm drop down. It was as if he had been wronged twice in a day. 

There was a moment of silence. Somewhere in the trees, a crow laughed at them.

“I guess the Yiling Laozu’s still got it, hahaha…” Wei Wuxian attempted to joke, although he looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.      

They continued on for a short while, before a sudden, violent string of dog barks sounded from a distance. As if he’d been struck by lightning, Wei Wuxian jerked backwards, arms shooting out to latch onto the person beside him with a muffled gasp.

Lan Wangji abruptly turned into a statue. 

It must have been quite a sight, the legendary Yiling Laozu reduced to a trembling ball as he cowered behind a sickly-looking youth. With those hands flexing tightly against the soft flesh of his waist, Lan Wangji was almost afraid that if he was in his old body, he would have already been clambered on like a tree. 

But at this moment, he was more preoccupied by the feeling of being embraced by Wei Ying. 

Eventually, he recalled a similar scene from the past—he had long known that Wei Wuxian was deathly afraid of dogs. Breathing in, Lan Wangji steadfastly ignored the warmth at his waist, twisting slightly to glance behind him. 

“If you are afraid, then draw your sword. Why are you hiding?” 

The real question was: why was he hiding behind Lan Wangji, who was currently more likely to strum the qin at a dog than to actually chase it away?  

Wei Wuxian’s face popped out from where it had been pressed against his back, his grievances so palpable that they seemed to stream from his eyes like tears.

…No, that was cold sweat. 

“D-D-Drawing Suibian is too much, I might swing if I see it. Let me hide first—ah!” Remaining at a distance, the barking came again, and Wei Wuxian buried his face in Lan Wangji’s back, again. But after a moment, he seemed to startle, slowly uncurling from his position to stand relatively straight. Fast, warm puffs of air brushed against Lan Wangji’s nape, and he clenched his jaw at the sensation.    

“W-Why does it sound a bit familiar? Is it—” Suddenly, Wei Wuxian’s hands tightened even more on his waist, and he let out a disbelieving groan. “It’s Xianzi.” 

Lan Wangji, who still could not move and also could not think, “Xianzi?”  

“Jin Ling’s spiritual dog. Why did this kid—” Wei Wuxian jolted as the barking interrupted him once more. “I-I-It doesn’t matter! We have to find him!”

And yet he returned to his position at Lan Wangji’s back like a particularly clingy sword.

“...Aren’t you going to move, Lan Zhan?” 

Lan Wangji inhaled. He did not recall wearing two belts today. “Let go first.” 

Wei Wuxian, “...” 

He did not let go. 

Somehow, they followed the constant barking, going in circles through the forest for almost twenty minutes. Upon realising that they were in a maze array, it was easy for Wei Wuxian to dispel the illusion and find the exit. After leaving, they stumbled across the strange stone castles, where they were met with a spiritual dog that paced outside restlessly.

When Wei Wuxian caught sight of the black-haired dog, he groaned again, “It really is her, ah—!”

Xianzi approached, barking even more wildly now that she had a target.

“Don’t come near me, don’t—save me, Lan Zhan!” 

Lan Wangji opened his mouth and glared at the dog. 

“Stop.”

She stopped, letting out a devastated whimper. 

Wei Wuxian peeked out from behind him, only showing his wide eyes. He made to speak, as if he’d remembered something. 

“She is well trained.” Lan Wangji noticed. 

“Now that you mention it, I think Jin Ling said something about a ‘stop’ command.” Wei Wuxian muttered sheepishly into his shoulder.  

The angle was awkward, but Lan Wangji still managed to give him a dry look.

“I forgot, I forgot, it’s not like I visit Jinlintai anyways! He keeps Xianzi away from me too! Ah!”   

Xianzi stayed in place, but continued to cry out pitifully, leaping about. She seemed to struggle against Lan Wangji’s command and didn’t come closer. Eventually, she turned and led them around the stone castle, barking all the way and checking behind her at every step. 

There was a section in the back wall that had been blasted open, roughly about the height of a person. Small, pitiful chunks were all that remained, scattered on the ground. It was easy to recognise the damage done with a spiritual tool. 

First, he made an arbitrary wish to a soul-eating goddess statue. Now, he went around blowing holes in the walls of creepy stone castles. In his heart, Lan Wangji could only mourn for Jin Rulan’s education. 

…But that was something to do later. They had to find the boy first. 

“Let us go in.” He said. 

Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth, glancing between the dog and the hole in the wall. “Alright.” He breathed, then spun towards Xianzi again, fingers gripping Lan Wangji’s sleeve. 

“You—” It was as if Wei Wuxian was being made to swallow needles. “Stay—argh, Lan Zhan, I can’t do it!” 

Lan Wangji turned to the dog, who was standing a proper distance away, tail wagging furiously. “Stay here.”

Xianzi gave a singular, loud bark. 

Wei Wuxian jumped with fright, putting a hand on Suibian’s hilt and scrambling past the rocks. “Come on, Lan Zhan!” 

Looking into the yawning darkness of the stone castle, tinted with red, Lan Wangji braced himself. Though he now held a light talisman in his hand, Wei Ying’s face was half shadowed as he beckoned him forward. 

Lan Wangji took one step onto the cold stone, and immediately crumpled to his knees. 

Chapter Text

Ever since he’d been thrown into the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian had been able to sense even the faintest brush of resentful energy. 

So it wasn’t that he hadn’t been able to hear the voices of the dead gradually getting louder as they had approached the stone castles; rather, he’d been more preoccupied by the demon in dog form that had led them there.

Even so, Wei Wuxian hadn’t expected Lan Wangji to take one step inside and drop like a bag of bricks!!

“Lan Zhan!” Unconsciously, the light talisman fluttered from his fingers, and he scrambled forward to catch him, rock fragments clattering under his feet. “Lan Zhan, what’s wrong?!”

In his arms, Lan Wangji took a shallow breath, eyes scrunched shut. He shook his head, one hand coming up to cover an ear. 

“It’s…loud.” He finally hissed out. 

Wei Wuxian swallowed, then tentatively asked, “The voices?” 

Lan Wangji gave the tiniest nod, leaning his head onto Wei Wuxian’s shoulder as he tried to regulate his breathing. Even this close, the faint fragrance from his body seemed almost snuffed out by the overwhelming staleness of the stone around them. 

Of course. Of course he could hear them too—now that Lan Zhan was a walking magnet of resentment. But since nothing worse had happened, he could only assume that his array was working to keep the energy from seeping into the curse marks. 

As Lan Wangji tensed against him, Wei Wuxian gently took one of his wrists and began probing with his spiritual energy. The lines of the blood array lit up beneath pale skin, glowing with power. The more qi that Wei Wuxian transferred, the more lax Lan Wangji became, sinking into his arms with a sigh, the frown fading from his countenance. 

It was clear that his energy mitigated the effects of the resentment in this place. Unconsciously, Wei Wuxian interlaced their fingers together, maintaining the steady connection.  

There was a conversation he’d once had with his Shijie, many years ago. But now, instead of fastening a halter around his own neck, Wei Wuxian thought that this feeling really wasn’t bad—holding Lan Wangji like this, time and time again.  

“Wei Ying.” After a while, Lan Wangji finally spoke. His warm breath tickled Wei Wuxian’s robes, the spot over his heart. “We must find Jin-gongzi.”

Slowly, he managed to stand, holding fast onto Wei Wuxian’s arms. 

Wei Wuxian himself let out a croaky laugh, though he couldn’t help scanning Lan Wangji’s meridians one more time. 

“Less of that, Lan Zhan, you’ll remind me of the peacock.” 

Lan Wangji hesitated. “Jin Rulan, then.” 

Wei Wuxian was completely unprepared for the surge of embarrassment that overcame him at hearing Lan Zhan say that name. His heart seemed to skip a beat, as if wanting to tear wildly from his chest and run away in a fluster. 

It wasn’t that no one had commented on ‘Jin Rulan’ before (Jiang Cheng, Jin Zixuan, Jiang Yanli, Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao, Nie Huaisang, Wen Qing, Wen Qing’s apprentice, Wen Ning, Wei Sizhui, Lan Jingyi, Jin Hanxing, Jin Ling himself…heavens, he was only missing Lan Qiren and that would be practically half of the cultivation world!)—but hearing it from the lips of Hanguang-jun himself was a completely different story! 

He coughed. “R-Right!”

Thankfully, Lan Wangji was too preoccupied with standing straight to notice his mortification. 

They made their way deeper inside the castle, Wei Wuxian shouting for his nephew in every room. However, there was no trace of the boy, even in the coffins that had started to appear. And those were rather strange too. 

After the fourth or fifth one, something niggled at the back of Wei Wuxian’s mind. These stone castles that sat on the fringes of Qinghe Nie territory, filled with resentment, and these coffins that held not bodies but sabres…He was reminded of Lan Wangji’s question about Chifeng-zun’s death, and what Wen Qing had told him back then. 

Shaking off the thought, he scanned the dark chamber once more. 

“Jin Ling’s not here. We’re almost back to the entrance.” 

The words echoed faintly, reflecting his worry. 

Beside him, Lan Wangji took his qin from the qiankun pouch, setting it soundlessly on the wood of one of the coffins. 

Upon seeing this, Wei Wuxian knew what he intended to do. He could only hope that their qi transfer from before had strengthened the other man’s constitution enough. 

Those slender fingers hovered briefly over the strings before Lan Wangji started to play, his energy now solid and settled. Compared to last time, facing off the demonic arm with Wen Ning, it seemed much easier for him to work. 

The opening melody was one that Wei Wuxian had heard from Lan Xichen’s hands, that Sizhui had practiced painstakingly over the last year. 

Inquiry. 

One note sounded as soon as Lan Wangji had taken a hand off the strings—a resounding yes. So there was a spirit here, willing to answer. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispered, drawing closer, “Help me ask what this place is, and if anyone has been here recently.” 

Lan Wangji gave him a look from under his lashes, but complied. A flurry of clear tones fell from his fingers. 

After a moment, the strings seemed as if they were vibrating, but there was no sound. Then, two high notes rang out. 

Lan Wangji blinked. 

“What did it say?” Wei Wuxian hurriedly asked.

“It’s me.” 

“What?”

“It said, ‘it’s me.’”

Now it was Wei Wuxian’s turn to blink. 

The spirit couldn’t mean…?

“Jin Ling!” A sharp gasp escaped him, and he listened intently to the barrage of resentful voices. When he focused, he could indeed make out the faint shouts of his nephew among them—it was a wonder he hadn’t noticed before, with the amount of curses this brat could fit into each half-dead breath! 

Before Wei Wuxian could speak, Lan Wangji had already started playing again. This time, he was interrupted by an unruly burst of noise, as if a dog had pawed at the instrument. To Wei Wuxian’s amazement, the cadence was exactly the same as Jin Ling’s faint yelling.

“What was that?” 

It was obviously as bad as it sounded, because Lan Wangji looked about two degrees away from pursing his lips. But the following sentence would have been hilarious in any other context, especially in that low, flat voice. 

“Lan Jingyi, you’d better make yourself useful or so help me.”

As a youth, hearing such words from Lan Wangji would have had him rolling on the ground like a fool, splitting his sides with laughter. As an uncle, Wei Wuxian was rendered completely speechless. 

Who taught this kid to waste his dying breaths cursing out his schoolmates instead of giving useful information!! 

Continuing the conversation, Lan Wangji plucked the strings almost sternly. Wei Wuxian caught the word ‘Lan’, but what followed was different. 

“What did you just say, Lan Zhan?” 

“Face the southwest. I am Lan Wangji.” 

Although he was mildly confused, Wei Wuxian obediently faced the southwest. “Huh? Yeah, I know.”

A tiny twang escaped from the guqin, as if someone’s hand had slipped. When he spoke again, Hanguang-jun sounded like he was on the verge of holding back a sigh. 

“No. I told him, ‘I am Lan Wangji.’”

Before Wei Wuxian could decide whether to laugh or cry at Lan Zhan getting him twice with the same joke, the qin sounded again. 

“Wei Ying, take a step forward for every note. Then break him out.” 

The notes came and Wei Wuxian hastened to move, each one the same pitch and almost evenly spaced. Then, they gradually began to sound faster and faster, until Wei Wuxian had stepped in front of an empty wall. Silence followed.

He would have stopped to gape at it for a moment, but he reached for Suibian instead, a tense breath rushing from his nose. His sword glare flashed bright, carving through the first layer of grey-white bricks. Once they had shattered, fragments raining onto the ground, Wei Wuxian reached in with his hands, digging frantically through the black dirt. Lan Wangji came to join him.  

Dark hair. A vermillion dot, almost completely smudged off. Coal-black soil that clung to long eyelashes, framing wide brown eyes that blinked open furiously. 

As soon as Jin Ling’s nose and mouth were uncovered, he lurched out of the wall, coughing his lungs out. His clarity bell was grasped firmly in his left hand, ringing with a limpid tone as he staggered and shook himself off.   

“Shishu?!” Jin Ling gasped, shivering all over. He glanced around. “Lan—” 

Abruptly, he seemed to realise that he’d cursed out the wrong person during his time as a spirit, and shut his mouth, blinking rapidly. Then, he reached up to scrub at his eyes. His face twisted through a myriad of expressions, eventually settling on a familiar one—brows drawn together, lips twisted into a scowl, he was the very image of his father.  

Lan Wangji stared back at him placidly for a moment, then turned to the remnants of the wall. 

Jin Ling’s expression didn’t improve. “I thought you two—blergh—were in Gusu?” 

Ignoring the words, Wei Wuxian rushed over, roughly dusting off the boy’s face and shoulders while checking for any injuries. Jin Ling let himself be handled, trying to spit out more dirt in the process. When Wei Wuxian was done, he glared at the clarity bell and snatched it away. Jin Ling made a faint noise of protest. 

Shaking it off a little, Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. 

“Useless thing.” He muttered. For an artefact that could keep even Wen Ning at bay, it had sure…   

No. 

The bell had done something, Wei Wuxian realised, feeling the malevolent energy that had embedded itself angrily into the silver metal. 

…How many curse marks was he destined to encounter, and in such a short period of time too! 

Moving swiftly, he reached for a spare pouch and dropped it in, slapping some talismans on the outside. 

Glancing back up, he was abruptly met with the aggrieved face of his nephew, who looked like he’d just threatened to murder Xianzi and her entire extended family. 

“What?” What did Jin Ling have to look like that for?

The boy turned away, though the expression remained. Wei Wuxian looked at the pouch in his hand, then back to his nephew. Coming to a realisation, he let out a sigh and patted Jin Ling’s shoulder.

“Be good, Shishu will make you another one.”  

Jin Ling snapped back around, defiant. “That’s not the point!” 

His voice was still a little hoarse from nearly being suffocated to death in a dirt wall, accompanied by more unfortunate skeletons. Wei Wuxian honestly didn’t know what to do with him. 

How was he going to explain this to his Shijie?

…Never mind Shijie for now, there were two others that were more pressing. 

“Then what was the point? Jin Rulan, were you planning on dying here with A-Xing and your Jiujiu half a town away?” 

Jin Ling opened his mouth, gritted his teeth, then spoke, “I just wanted to scout out the ridge on the way there, but when I got here, something—no, the resentment—drew me in. I tried to escape,” He gestured at the pouch Wei Wuxian held, “But it was too strong. Shishu, I swear, I wouldn’t leave A-Xing like that.” 

He stared at Wei Wuxian unwaveringly, a desperate crease marring his vermillion mark. After a moment, Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and sighed again, voice gentling. 

“Alright, A-Ling. But what have I told you about—ah!!” 

Wei Wuxian jolted in fright. The untimely interruption turned out to be Xianzi’s wild barks, echoing from where they reached the three of them.  

“Something is wrong.” Lan Wangji, who had been examining the wall and the corpses within, stood back and began moving towards the entrance. 

“Xianzi!” Jin Ling straightened, but it was obvious that his legs were still a little weak, having stood unconscious for a while. Wei Wuxian reached out, letting the boy lean on him as they went back the way they came.

When they emerged from the castle wall, Jin Ling bound towards Xianzi, briskly running his hands over her head and flank. The black-haired spiritual dog barked and pranced around with excitement, tail wagging so fast that it became a blur. She leapt up and licked a long wet stripe on her owner’s face, heedless of the dirt. 

Jin Ling giggled. Wei Wuxian shivered at the sight.

Lan Wangji came up to him, holding a scrap of cloth in his hand that the dog had dropped. There was a question in his eyes, before he turned and glanced around at the surrounding trees. 

Wei Wuxian hesitated. Finally, he came to a decision. 

“Let’s go back. As long as we have a lead, it won’t be hard to find whoever was here.” And fat chance he was going to leave Lan Wangji and Jin Ling behind in this state. 

“Mn.” Lan Wangji agreed, tucking the scrap of fabric into his sleeve. 

“Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian called. He made to step forward, but froze as both Xianzi and his nephew turned to him, cold sweat beading at his temples. He swallowed and forced out his next words. “You… Tell the dog to stay next to your Shushu. Lean on me.” 

The boy scoffed. “I can walk!” 

He stood up from where he’d been crouched next to Xianzi and abruptly swayed, letting out a grunt. Lan Wangji stepped closer and held him by the elbow. 

Once he steadied himself, Jin Ling seemed to realise exactly who was supporting him and snatched his arm away, glaring at Lan Wangji with a complicated expression in his eyes. Eventually, when he was done cradling his arm like an offended young mistress, he lowered his gaze.

“Xianzi, follow him.” 

Obediently, she gave a short bark and moved to Lan Wangji’s side, tongue lolling out. Lan Wangji glanced at her, then took a few steps away to give them space. 

At last, Wei Wuxian was put somewhat at ease, and moved to support Jin Ling as they traipsed out of the forest, the boy grumbling softly all the while. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t forget to keep an eye on his other companion as they walked. Lan Wangji stayed a respectable distance away and kept Xianzi on his other side, keeping pace as well—yet Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but sigh in his heart. 

Originally, as the illustrious Hanguang-jun, it was hard to say for sure that he would have been tired even after playing the qin for three days and three nights. Now, upon his revival, waking up with such a poor physique and cultivation level was certainly not an easy thing to accept—not even mentioning the curse marks! 

Moreover, although Lan Wangji tried very hard to act like he was fine, Wei Wuxian had long since noticed the tightness around his eyes just from being steeped in resentment and playing Inquiry.   

The setting sun cast long shadows over the town. As both he and Jin Ling were covered in dirt, they attracted some attention from passersby—after all, it was rare to see respectable cultivators looking so dishevelled. When they arrived back at the inn, Wei Wuxian had barely taken a step forward before the slight figure of his niece leapt over the empty balcony, robes fluttering as she landed in front of them.

Upon straightening up, she stared at Jin Ling with an indescribable expression on her young face. In the following silence, she came closer, then reached out to brush off more dirt from his arm. Jin Ling already looked resigned, although there was a hint of worry at the corners of his eyes.

Wei Wuxian sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day, reaching out to gently ruffle her hair. “Your gege just got stuck in a wall. He’s fine, A-Xing.”  

The sleeve that Jin Hanxing had been rubbing at was now mostly clean. She cast a quiet look at him, then blinked slowly. “If you say so, Dajiu.”

With that, she shook out her arms, specks of dirt falling from her fingers, and strode into the inn without a backwards glance. Beside him, Jin Ling seemed to deflate somewhat, finally a little remorseful, before gathering himself and going after her. 

Wei Wuxian turned to meet golden eyes; Lan Wangji looked oddly commiserating as he gestured to follow the two siblings. They entered together. 

Jin Hanxing led them to a room upstairs, the sound of voices in the empty inn becoming louder as she approached. When she pushed the door open, the sight that greeted them was somewhat comical. 

Jiang Cheng sat back, arms crossed. His eye twitching faintly, Zidian sparked impatiently on his finger. Opposite him was Nie Huaisang, covering his head with the width of his fan as if expecting to be cuffed on the ear. From this angle, the expression on his face was visible and could be described in two words, which also happened to be Lan Wangji’s old favourites: extremely pathetic. 

Wei Wuxian hadn’t seen him in a while. Of course, it was rare to find him idling around in his own sect, but he was more likely to be idling around in Gusu or Lanling than Lotus Pier. And although Wei Wuxian was a free man, he didn’t often venture outside the Burial Mounds for fun either. 

Upon catching sight of him, Nie Huaisang’s eyes seemed to glimmer with unshed tears. Wei Wuxian could almost hear his thoughts as his head swivelled frantically between the two from Yunmeng; how am I supposed to deal with both of them?!

“Nie-zongzhu,” He greeted, swaggering inside and taking the seat Jiang Cheng had risen from as soon as he’d seen their nephew. Lan Wangji settled beside him. 

Jiang Cheng’s customary scowl was working at full force, though Wei Wuxian noted his suspicious gaze as he took in the Jin siblings. “Didn’t you agree to come straight here? Why did I have to hear about this from A-Xing?” His eyes raked over the boy’s dishevelled form, including the dirt that coated him like a second skin. “Jin Rulan, your uniform is a disgrace. Go change.” 

Jin Ling, who had been called by his courtesy name twice in one day, had really almost run out of things to say. “Jiujiu, I—”  

Jiang Cheng wasn’t interested, swatting lightly at him. “Out.” 

And then he herded the kids through the door like a pair of lost lambs, closing it firmly behind them as a percussive accompaniment to Nie Huaisang’s drawn-out wail of “San-di!”

From the outside, there came a muffled snort. “So you still call yourself an older brother.”

The unspoken words being, and yet you make so much trouble! 

Well, it might be true that Jiang Cheng had less-than-stellar luck when it came to most of his brothers. 

Wei Wuxian turned back to the matter at hand, his gaze darting to Sect Leader Nie’s sleeve, which was missing a scrap of fabric. After finding Jin Hanxing, Jiang Cheng must have gone to Xinglu Ridge to look for Jin Ling, and had caught the Headshaker running off. 

How fortunate for them. How unfortunate for Nie Huaisang. 

Seeing that the focus was now back on him, Nie Huaisang immediately shrank into himself, a barrage of denials flying from his mouth, “I don’t know, I don’t know, I really don’t know!”  

“Nie-xiong,” Wei Wuxian started, keeping his gaze firmly on the other man’s wildly darting eyes as he reached into Lan Wangji’s sleeve and pulled out the piece of cloth, setting it onto the table. 

Nie Huaisang swallowed. 

“Your Nie Sect’s man-eating castles are filled with sabres, corpses, and excess resentment, so much so that Jin Ling was accidentally drawn in and returned by the skin of his teeth. That’s enough to set your dear San-di on you, but think of what the other cultivation sects will say after something like this gets out? It’s quite a controversial combination, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Wei Wuxian smiled charmingly, showing a sliver of teeth. 

If anyone in the Jianghu knew anything about controversy, it was the Yiling Laozu.    

Nie Huaisang seemed on the verge of breaking down. 

It was at this moment that Jiang Cheng chose to return, sans children, slamming the door open and sitting himself next to Nie Huaisang, who looked like he’d been cornered by a tiger. 

“You already said you would explain, so get on with it.” He clicked his tongue. 

Caught in the act, Nie Huaisang grit his teeth helplessly, even as his face became completely sullen. Then, he sighed. “San-di, Wei-xiong, before I explain, can you promise me something? Owing to the bond between the Jiang and Nie that you swore with my Da-ge, whatever I say after this, you two…and the one beside you, must not tell anyone. If anything comes to light in the future, I’d appreciate it if you could both say some good things as witnesses—” Here, Jiang Cheng snorted, “—since San-di has always been on the straight and narrow, and Wei-xiong’s…”

Here, he trailed off for a second, and Wei Wuxian resisted the urge to roll his eyes before he continued. “...reputation is ever-improving.” 

Ha! Good save. But it would probably be more credible if Qinghe was closer to Wei Wuxian’s usual haunts for night-hunting. The further away from Yiling one went, the more liberties the rumours usually took. 

Jiang Cheng considered it for a moment. “...Fine.” 

Lan Wangji, who had been watching silently this whole time, “As you wish.” 

Wei Wuxian, “I’ll have to hear your explanation first.”

Nie Huaisang gave him a desperate look, but seemed to realise that was probably the best he was going to get. 

Finally, he began to explain, starting with the ancestral cultivation of the Nie, derived from the resentment of evil spirits and beasts. 

“...and almost every single sect leader died from sudden qi deviations. Their unstable temperaments were also related to this method.”

Wei Wuxian raised a brow. No wonder the Nie Sect had never openly condemned him after Nie Huaisang became sect leader. He was keenly aware of Jiang Cheng’s hands tightening on the table across from him. 

“Almost sounds like demonic cultivation, doesn’t it?” 

Immediately, he was met with a defence—no, the cultivation of the Nie absolutely did not involve human lives or spirits! 

Then, Lan Wangji spoke, “Chifeng-zun, also?” 

Nie Huaisang’s lips parted as he turned his gaze to the serious-looking youth, almost taken aback. “Yes…” He eventually answered, his anxious energy dulling somewhat, “The Sunshot Campaign wasn’t good for him. And even though Wen Qing is extremely talented, it was going to be inevitable as long as he remained cultivating the path.” 

He swallowed, glancing up at Wei Wuxian. “That reminds me, I still haven’t had the chance to thank her, even after all these years.” 

Wei Wuxian’s mouth twisted a little ruefully. It was hard to find anyone with an unbiased opinion of Wen Qing these days, considering what had happened with Jin Zixuan at Jinlintai and then Chifeng-zun. “I’m sure Nie-xiong knows that we don’t take many visitors, but I’ll see what she thinks.”

Nie Huaisang nodded in thanks before continuing. In the end, the full explanation was enough to placate both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian; the former owing it to his late sworn brother (though not hesitating to threaten Nie Huaisang regarding Jin Ling’s bad luck), and the latter not being one to stick a hand into the affairs of the cultivation world unless it was for his family. 

Finally reassured, Nie Huaisang left, still looking exceedingly frazzled. 

Lan Wangji had headed downstairs to order food while Wei Wuxian pondered over the bell, tossing the sealed pouch up and down in the air with one hand. Then, he decided to follow.  
 
“You have rooms.” Jiang Cheng said brusquely as he stood to leave. 

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian blinked, before sighing. No doubt would Jiang Cheng make Jin Ling stay in his room, if only to be sure that the kid wouldn’t be drawn outside by resentment again in his sleep or something. “Just one is fine. Give A-Ling his own. He won’t make it through the night if you keep breathing down his neck like this, Jiang Cheng.” 

Sandu Shengshou, who had been turning away, took two long seconds to become a statue. Then he whipped back around, an expression that seemed to war between disbelief and pure disgust painted onto his face. His eyes bulged bright with incredulity, his eyebrows trying their best to escape past his hairline. 

Even Zidian seemed rather shocked, sparking weakly on his finger.  

“‘Just one is fine’?!” He choked out. 

Wei Wuxian’s mouth twitched, involuntarily. “Is your hearing going, Jiang-zongzhu? I’m sure Wen Qing would be happy to—”

“No, no, no.” As if longing to put a good distance between them, Jiang Cheng opened the door and quickly began striding away. “I’ll count my blessings, you dog!” 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but laugh after he was gone. Surely the Jiang-Lan alliance had informed the sect leader that Wei Wuxian had painted an experimental blood array onto Lan Wangji’s body that presumably needed much care and supervision? 

To believe that Wei Wuxian would immediately take advantage of Lan Wangji in such a delicate state… Jiang Cheng really didn’t think much of him on this front, didn’t he?

He had to laugh again. 

What Jiang Cheng had meant by ‘you have rooms’ was that he’d bought out the whole inn after kidnapping Nie Huaisang. It had probably been clear to him that Jin Ling had gotten into something, and his sister was practically infamous for not wanting to be around people. Jiang Cheng could say it was for ease of interrogation all he wanted, but Wei Wuxian knew better. 

Funnily enough, although Sect Leader Jiang’s temperament was still somewhat rotten, he had developed a strange doting streak over the years when it came to the young ones. 

Well, it couldn’t hurt for the children to be a little spoiled. 

Wei Wuxian was still here, after all. 

Downstairs, he found Lan Wangji waiting for him with dinner. As expected of Hanguang-jun, he had long become used to Wei Wuxian’s tastes and ordered the food accordingly. Lan Wangji himself stuck to mostly bland vegetables, but every so often Wei Wuxian caught him endeavouring to try little morsels of the spicier dishes. A tiny wrinkle would appear on his nose or his ears would flare red, and, when he thought Wei Wuxian wasn’t looking, he’d take quick sips of water. 

He was amused, but it felt like every small movement Lan Wangji made would tickle the tip of his heart. 

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair, although Wei Wuxian chattered as much as he usually did. By the end, he caught sight of his little nephew coming down the stairs. A-Xing had most likely gone to bed already—it was certainly bound to be tiring, constantly playing ‘runaway young mistress’.  

It was a bit of a shame that Jin Ling reverted to his father and uncle’s old mannerisms when he was nervous. He walked over to their table, one part arrogance and two parts disdain. 

“So? Who’s this mighty cultivator that Mo-shushu died to summon?” 

Regarding Jin Ling’s relationship with this Shushu of his, that was, the real Mo Xuanyu, Wei Wuxian could only make guesses. He wondered how Jin Ling had known him—had they been close? But it was strange, considering that Jiang Yanli had made no mention of him before. Perhaps Mo Xuanyu had only been a vague figure in Jin Ling’s early childhood, before being kicked out of Lanling Jin.   

But really, Wei Wuxian thought, coming back to the present. Jin Ling was lucky that Lan Zhan had finished his meal, otherwise he would’ve just been ignored. 

Lan Wangji gave the boy a sideways glance, before setting his chopsticks down. “As I said before.” 

Jin Ling made to retort, before he abruptly froze, actually thinking over Lan Wangji’s words. No doubt Jiang Cheng had told him something of the situation, but Wei Wuxian didn’t trust Jiang Cheng to speak three sentences on a topic he didn’t like when half a sentence would suffice. 

Knowing him, he’d probably said that Mo Xuanyu had sacrificed his body to ‘someone that his Shishu knew’ or something equally as unhelpful. 

His nephew’s face seemed to go between red, green, then finally white; a myriad of colours for a myriad of emotions. Obviously, having heard strings instead of voices in the stone castle, he’d thought that Lan Jingyi had been pulling his leg, calling himself Lan Wangji. But now that Mo Xuanyu himself was practically confirming it, he was decidedly caught off guard.

Blinking rapidly, Jin Ling shot a now-helpless look at Wei Wuxian, who gave him a small smirk. 

Ah, trust the youth to entertain.

Are you serious?? He mouthed, gesturing wildly with his eyes at Lan Wangji, who was peacefully setting aside the empty dishes, ignoring them completely. 

Wei Wuxian tilted his head and mouthed back, raising an eyebrow. 

Dead serious.

Jin Ling swallowed. The edges of his sleeves creased as his hands formed nervous fists, and he straightened up slightly, not taking his eyes off Lan Wangji.

Unbidden, Wei Wuxian was reminded of a memory from long ago.

“A-Ling, what do we say when we’ve hurt someone’s feelings?”

The little boy pouted, sweet and wronged. “...But Mama, I didn’t mean to—”

Gently, but insistently, “A-Ling.” 

“...Hmph. A-Yuan-gege, I’m sorry…”

Watching this scene, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. 

Hesitantly, as if afraid that Wei Wuxian was pranking him and Mo Xuanyu was in on the joke, Jin Ling began, with none of his previous impetuousness, “Hanguang-jun, Rulan has been impolite.” 

He brought his hands together in a bow. From here, one could see his throat bobbing again. 

Wei Wuxian very nearly fell to the ground in an effort to suppress his laughter. Jin Zixuan’s awkwardness was indeed a hereditary disease!

Lan Wangji turned to regard the boy for a moment, who shuffled slightly under his flat gaze, but seemed not to find anything lacking. 

“Mn, it is fine.” 

With that, he rose gracefully. Anyone else might not have been able to tell, but his face was soft as he looked at Jin Ling, then over to Wei Wuxian. 

“Wei Ying, I will go up first.”

Wei Wuxian hummed in agreement, lips upturned. “Alright.”

As soon as Lan Wangji’s slight shadow disappeared up the stairs, Jin Ling tugged on Wei Wuxian’s sleeve, eyes still following after him. “Shishu.”

Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue, making him turn back in annoyance. 

“How many times do I need to say, it’s Dajiu to you!” 

Forgoing his next sentence, Jin Ling snapped his mouth shut and glared at him mullishly. Even so, his hand remained tight on Wei Wuxian’s sleeve.

“Wei-qianbei—”

“That’s enough, Shishu it is.”

Jin Ling scoffed, closing his eyes for a moment so the rolling wasn’t visible. Fondly exasperated, Wei Wuxian thought, what was the use of trying to save him some face? There was no one else here! 

“What exactly is going on?” As if the floodgates had been opened, Jin Ling began pelting him with questions. “Why did Mo-shushu bring Hanguang-jun back? Are you sure it’s him? What were those marks on his body? And the resentment from Dafan Mountain? Will he—will he be alright?” 

The boy’s voice seemed to waver on the last sentence, although he tried his best to remain steady until the end. Wei Wuxian patted his shoulder, then gently nudged him towards the stairs. 

“It’s a long story, A-Ling. But yes, he is Hanguang-jun. As for the marks and the resentment, leave it to us, alright? It’s under control. I’m not going to let him—go again.”   

Seeing that Jin Ling still didn’t want to budge, he brushed a hand over his face, tidying his hair somewhat. 

“And there’s no need to be so afraid of him. He doesn’t bite.” 

Unless he’s wounded and your name is Wei Ying.

Jin Ling hesitated. “But, he…”

Wei Wuxian gave him a questioning look. “What is it?”

A pause, then Jin Ling shook his head. “No, it’s nothing. Goodnight, Shishu.” 

“Mn. Goodnight, A-Ling.” 

The sound of fading footsteps, and then, distantly, a door clicking shut. 

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, letting out a sigh before taking his wine jar and downing what was left. He trudged upstairs, the sealed pouch a weight in his sleeve. 

The day had been long, but little did he know, the curse mark on his clarity bell was about to make the night a lot longer.  

Chapter Text

The flight from Lanling to Gusu didn’t take long.

Atop the mountain hidden in the clouds, the wind was sparse but biting, the rosiness of late evening colouring the mists that shrouded the Recesses. Thankfully, Wei Wuxian’s golden core burned bright in his chest, the energy circling heat consistently through his body.

It was a simple matter to slip past the guards, fond recollections of his school days calming the irritation in his heart. Beneath his boots, the newly-revealed green grass crunched wet with dew, releasing a clean scent. That slip of white ribbon was tucked tightly under his wrist guards, which were in turn hidden by the draping of his long sleeves and coat.

It had barely been a week since the end of his seclusion—and yet, all he wanted was to return to the Burial Mounds after this. 

Wei Wuxian had originally been ready to savour the fresh air outside of his musty cave, but tripping over a beat-up kid on his way to Yiling had ruined his mood, especially when Wen Ning informed him who exactly that little brat was. ‘Xue Yang of Kuizhou’, the fearsome delinquent who had apparently wiped out a whole sect just a month or so prior. 

Forget about the Yiling Laozu—what on earth were they feeding kids these days?! And why was Xiao Xingchen the only one going after him?! 

Well, at least some things never changed. The cultivation world still picked and chose what to be concerned about.

In any case, Wen Ning definitely went to the markets just for the gossip. But Wei Wuxian wasn’t complaining—looking at Xue Yang’s pitiful appearance, he’d been on the verge of taking the boy into town to a healer himself. If anyone happened to recognise Xue Yang, or heaven forbid, the both of them, it would practically be a case of one criminal escorting another!
 
At least in Yiling, there was one fortuitous event bestowed upon him, and that was his encounter with his Shishu. 

Despite his youth, Xiao Xingchen was truly steady of heart and intention, not even batting an eye when Wei Wuxian revealed that Xue Yang had landed into his hands. They went out of the city and Wei Wuxian covertly signalled for Wen Ning to hide, leaving their guest tied to a tree. 

Xiao Xingchen examined the boy, taking in his widening eyes and the curses that he tried to spit past the cloth gag in his mouth. After he was satisfied, he wordlessly took a length of immortal-binding rope and trussed Xue Yang up doubly tight.

Then, Xiao Xingchen turned to Wei Wuxian. 

“Thank you, gongzi. I will take him to the Discussion Conference in Lanling and present the evidence of his crimes to the cultivation world. Would you like to accompany me? You are the one who captured him, after all.”

It was at this point that Wei Wuxian realised that it was probably time to tell his Shishu who he was, lest some sort of troublesome misunderstanding develop. After all, although Wen Ning liked to keep them updated with worldly affairs, he never went into detail about Wei Wuxian’s ever-descending reputation. Who knew what kind of tall tales were being spun about him now?

He thought, Well, if he can accept it, then we’ll travel together. If he can’t, I’ll follow from a distance just in case Xue Yang makes a run for it. I’m going in the same direction anyway. 

Surprisingly, Xiao Xingchen had reacted quite calmly to the name ‘Wei Wuxian’. In fact, there wasn’t much of a reaction at all. The corners of his lips raised a miniscule amount, and his dark eyes gleamed gently. 

“It is a pleasure to meet the son of my late Shijie.”

Wei Wuxian was so surprised that he momentarily forgot how to speak properly. “That’s it?”

Xiao Xingchen’s smile remained. 

…He’d probably get along with Lan Xichen.

“I had some suspicions. Also, my sword is telling me that there’s a corpse behind that tree. Wen-gongzi, I presume?”   

Silently, Wen Ning slunk out of the bushes and stuttered out a timid greeting. Wei Wuxian didn’t know if he should be offended that this guy admitted defeat so easily. What if he wanted to play dumb? His cover would have already been blown!

On that bright note, so began their journey to Lanling. 

Even if it were only Xiao Xingchen, he probably wouldn’t have any trouble. With the addition of the Yiling Laozu and Gui-jiangjun, Xue Yang wouldn’t have been able to escape even if they left him untied the whole time.  

Xiao Xingchen himself was exactly the same as the first impression he gave off—a decent and proper kid, if a little idealistic. His goal in the cultivation world was to save the common people, and upon descending Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, he met a companion who was of the same heart and mind as him—Song Lan, Zichen. 

Of this person, his Shishu was obviously quite enamoured with him. His dark eyes would sparkle upon mentioning the upright and aloof ‘Zichen’, ‘Song-daozhang’, and he would also tend to speak more hurriedly. Wei Wuxian couldn’t begrudge his innocent enthusiasm; even such a mature youth as Xiao Xingchen would have his moments of childishness. And naturally, Wei Wuxian also knew how difficult it was to meet someone like that in this life—someone who viewed the world the same way as oneself. 

To found a sect based on one’s principles rather than the bloodline of a clan…if something like that could happen, it would be quite the dream. 

As they travelled, Wei Wuxian appreciated this person more and more. It had been a long time since he had such conversations with others—back home, either Wen Qing would be hammering the basics of cultivation into his head in an effort to speed up his progress, or Wen Ning would present him with a verbal diary entry while he was meditating. And although A-Yuan made for a fascinating conversation partner, in the end, he was still a child. 

Xiao Xingchen’s demeanour was calm and consistent, which made their interactions straightforward. He was not the type to jump to conclusions or interrupt, and so Wei Wuxian would never feel rushed in finding his words. Xiao Xingchen filled him in on the night-hunts he had participated in since his descent from his master’s mountain, as well as he and Song Zichen’s first unfortunate meeting with Xue Yang in Lanling. 

Hearing Xiao Xingchen recounting the tale at dinner, Xue Yang looked like he either wanted to bite someone or start snarling like a dog. Thankfully, Wen Ning, ever-astute, chose that moment to shove a large mantou into the boy’s mouth. 

With this interesting air between the four of them, they arrived at Jinlintai some days later. 

When Xiao Xingchen strode into the main hall unannounced, the faces that turned towards him were filled with curiosity, and perhaps even anticipation. But when the guests realised who exactly was trailing behind him, holding Xue Yang by the collar of his robes, their expressions morphed straight into shock-horror!

Wei Wuxian could see more clearly as they approached. On the dais was Jin Guangshan, who looked a little worse for wear, and Jin Guangyao, whose eyes were a bit tight. To the side was Jiang Cheng, half-risen from his seat, as if he was seriously considering leaping for Wei Wuxian’s throat—aiya, long time no see?

To accompany the thought, Wei Wuxian tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. Upon being completely ignored, he tossed Xue Yang onto his knees before his Shishu with a silent huff. 

Next to Jiang Cheng was Nie Mingjue, who was watching them with a narrowed gaze. And on the other side was Lan Xichen, a brief respite from this ocean of tempered animosity. Sect Leader Lan looked better compared to when Wei Wuxian had seen him last, perhaps thanks to the ending of the mourning period. To his right was not Lan Qiren, as he might have expected. Instead, it was the same main family member who had led the sect at Phoenix Mountain. 

Lan Xichen gave him a small smile, though it was tinged with concern.

At the sight, Wei Wuxian was reminded of Jiang Yanli. He had really hoped to see his Shijie, but of course she wasn’t here. With Jin Zixuan in his comatose state, apparently, she had spent day and night by his bedside, waiting for him to return to consciousness. Not even the Jins were heartless enough to require her presence at a Discussion Conference of all useless things. 

Xiao Xingchen’s greetings were smooth and courteous, living up to his description as the ‘bright moon and gentle breeze’. His voice was resonant, and although he was explaining such cruel and unusual events, the words were clear and comfortable to listen to. 

Before Jin Guangyao could reply, Jin Guangshan leaned forward. “Be that as it may, why have you brought the Yiling Laozu here?”

What appeared on Xiao Xingchen’s lips was not a smile as much as a small movement, and seemed almost bland. “Forgive me, I had not yet mentioned. Wei-daozhang was in fact the one who captured Xue Yang in Yiling, then handed him over to me. He has been a great help on the road here as well.”

Xiao Xingchen had not even finished speaking before others started to murmur.

Hearing this title, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel as if he were about to sweat. Shishu, you’re lucky that I’ve already reformed my core, otherwise you would have just lied for the first time in your life. 

The familial resemblance between Jin Guangshan and his son wasn’t usually very evident, but at this moment, they both looked rather constipated. Especially when Jin Guangyao began to address him directly. “Wei-gongzi—”

“Wei Wuxian!!!”  

A loud shout and a thunderous bang came from the doors of the main hall like the roar of a wounded animal. Wei Wuxian, who had been secluded for three years and had only recently gotten reacquainted with the sounds of strife, damn near jumped. 

“Wei Wuxian!!! You!!” 

The shout came again, louder, this time accompanied by a large man in Jin robes bursting into view. He rushed up to Wei Wuxian and pointed at him furiously, practically frothing at the mouth with rage, as if his accusatory finger could kill someone. 

Before he could speak, Wei Wuxian squinted at him.

“Don’t yell, my eardrums are about to come out. Who are you?” 

The man froze. Then, he actually began frothing at the mouth—or was that spittle?

“How dare you! I am Jin Zixun!”

Ah. So that was why he seemed vaguely familiar. Jin Zixun, Jin Zixuan’s cousin. Shouldn’t he be worrying over his family instead of making such a scene? 

Jin Zixun remained pointing, glaring at him with pure hatred. “Lift the vile curse that you put on me this instant, and I may still let you live.” 

Wei Wuxian blinked. “What curse?” 

“What curse?! You, you—Fine!” Jin Zixun was downright humiliated, eyes darting wildly back and forth between the watching cultivators before he finally couldn’t hold back anymore, gripping the collars of his robes and tearing them open. “Let’s see you try and deny it now!” 

Those who could see Jin Zixun’s chest gasped in horror, a wave of frightened exclamations in the wake of this revelation. 

It only took one glance at the hair-raising sight for Wei Wuxian to realise. 

“Hundred Holes?” 

“You even have to ask? Of course it’s Hundred Holes!” 

Wei Wuxian frowned. “So? Why do you need to keep injuring my ears? It has nothing to do with me.” 

Next to him, Xiao Xingchen watched silently. Absently, Wei Wuxian wondered if all the goodwill his Shishu had accumulated for him was going down the drain. So much for being unbiased. If Jin Zixun had only one gift, which he did, it was timing!

A flash of darkness crossed Jin Zixun’s eyes. “That—since that time, you have always been itching to kill me, Wei Wuxian!” 

He thought for a moment, until it became obvious; they had only conversed two times before. Once, publicly, at Phoenix Mountain, and the second time privately, here in Jinlintai. Jin Zixun was only alluding to it because he probably didn’t want everyone in the cultivation world to know that what happened at Qiongqi Path was because he had told the Yiling Laozu where to go. 

Still, Wei Wuxian thought Jin Zixun really might not have a brain. Not even an acquaintance, with only two points of interaction, who wants to waste time thinking about you, much less plotting your demise??

“Hiding away all these years like a rat, who knows what kind of evil schemes you’ve hatched! Who else could it be apart from a criminal like you!” 

Irritation gnawed at Wei Wuxian’s heart. He’d come all the way to Lanling, lugging an actual, whole criminal along, ready to go on to Gusu—only to find that he couldn’t even see his Shijie or his nephew, and now came this ridiculous headache. 

“Jin Zixun, listen carefully.” He spoke lowly and evenly to get his point across. “I don’t use these dirty tricks. If I wanted to kill someone, I’d let everyone know that they died at my hands. And if I wanted you dead, you’d be a thousand times more unsightly than this.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Wei Wuxian wanted to slap himself. Even if he spoke in such a level tone, these people were guaranteed to find fault with him.

His mistake! It had been too long since he had to converse with these kinds of morons!

And here it came. Someone at the far end of the room stood up and shouted, “Wei Wuxian! You are far too arrogant!” 

Another person added sarcastically. “He captured Xue Yang? More like colluded with him! He must have only brought him in to avoid suspicion!” 

The clamouring of voices began, reverberating left, right, and centre. It was clear that these people had been addled by the Yiling Laozu’s reappearance, for all of them to be joining in so enthusiastically with all kinds of drivel. But Wei Wuxian was rooted to the spot. Was the cultivation world too peaceful these days, that the moment he came into sight, they were dying to go against him? 

In the back of his mind, a small part of him was thankful for his own foresight. This was how they acted when they simply despised him. How outrageous would they become when they wanted something from him? 

At the corner of his eye, there was a hint of movement—white robes shifting slightly. On the other side, Zidian sparked familiarly. 

Xiao Xingchen cleared his throat, and suddenly, it was as if he had cleared away all the sounds of dissent. He spread his hands amicably, though his smile was still a little bland.

“I have only known Wei-daozhang for a short while, but from what I have seen, he is a man of integrity. Hundred Holes causes a physical backlash on the caster, does it not?” He turned his eyes to Wei Wuxian, who suddenly felt like he was being scrutinised by Lan Qiren. “I must say, I did not notice any hint of corresponding marks on his body. Jin-gongzi, may I ask when you first noticed your affliction?”  

Jin Zixun balked at Xiao Xingchen’s earnest query, but quickly spat out, face going alarmingly red, “Eight months ago.”

Eight months!

The other cultivators in the room were certainly not as polite as Xiao Xingchen, and the whispering began anew. Jin Zixun gritted his teeth, the skin under his eye threatening to twitch. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to be impressed or not. It was certainly pitiable, if not entirely shameful, that a curse like Hundred Holes—that only those with low cultivation were susceptible to—couldn’t even do its job in a timely manner with Jin Zixun as a power source.

It might be less painful to simply die outright; at least then people wouldn’t assume that you’d been cultivating air your whole life.   

Before he could actually begin to feel bad for this guy, Lan Xichen stepped forward, the picture of peace. If Xiao Xingchen was the calm that the bright moon evoked, Zewu-jun was the mild moonlight itself, reflected in the water with nary a ripple. 

“Jin-gongzi, if that is indeed the case, I can assure you that Wei Wuxian did not cast the curse.” 

Jin Zixun looked so aghast that he couldn’t even reply. Jin Guangyao did so instead. “What do you mean by that, Lan-zongzhu?”

Lan Xichen spared the man not even half of a flavourless glance, before turning to the room at large. “As you all know, Wei Wuxian destroyed the remaining half of the Yinhufu early in his seclusion and handed over the fragments to our Gusu Lan Sect. The entire process of rendering the tally harmless took a toll on his body that he had been recovering from for the rest of that time.” 

The second half was new information to almost everyone here. Wei Wuxian held back a grimace, hoping that Lan Xichen knew where he was going with this, otherwise he’d have people thinking that Wei Wuxian was weak now. 

Zewu-jun took a breath and folded his hands neatly together, before setting a solemn gaze on his enraptured audience once more. 

“However, when I visited the Burial Mounds to observe the situation there—certainly less than eight months ago—Wei Wuxian was still recuperating. He was not in the state to cast any curses, and most definitely not on a target such a great distance away. Moreover, I happened to see the skin of his chest while Wen Qing was treating him. It was completely unblemished, save for the Wen mark he was branded with before the war.” 

Wei Wuxian blinked, then swallowed in the silence that followed. 

Xichen-ge, you brilliant…liar!!

“Want to see?” Rejuvenated, he called out sarcastically, dragging a finger over the length of his collarbone as he pointedly tried to catch the eyes of everyone he looked at. Without fail, they all glanced away. These hypocrites. “I'm warning all of you, there’s nothing there!” 

Jin Zixun seemed on the verge of blubbering as he took stock of his uncle’s expression and the slowly fading light in Jin Guangyao’s eyes. “You—you can’t seriously believe—it’s Wei Wuxian! Who knows if he has some sort of trick to hide the marks—” 

Here, Nie Mingjue stood abruptly, the very motion causing Jin Zixun’s jaw to click shut.

“That’s enough. I believe Xichen’s words are true. Wei Wuxian didn’t even recognise your face—he is not so bored as to be cursing you from Yiling.” His brows were furrowed low, gaze sweeping across the room like a sword glare. Beside him, Jiang Cheng sat straight and rigid, beaming his own glare into the audience. “Unless anyone disbelieves Zewu-jun?” 

Silence. Once again, sudden, pure silence!

Except for the noise in Wei Wuxian’s heart.

Yes! He thought hysterically, trying not to lose his head. Zewu-jun is spouting nonsense!! 

Sure, Lan Xichen had come to Yiling a few months ago. But that was about the only thing that was true. Recovering from the taxing effort of destroying the Yinhufu? That was breakfast for Wei Wuxian. What he had been doing was recultivating his core from scratch, eating well every day, maintaining some sort of healthy sleep schedule, and begging A-Yuan to play with him so that he wouldn’t die of boredom when he wasn’t meditating. 

And Lan Xichen somehow glimpsing his bare skin? Sorry, what? Did all these people actually think that Wei Wuxian was shameless enough to taint Zewu-jun’s eyes like that??

“As I thought.” Nie Mingjue rumbled, settling back into his seat. “Jin Zixun, if you want to live, focus your efforts in the right places. Xiao Xingchen, present your evidence. Let us get on with it.” 

Jin Zixun immediately erupted in protests, supported by his lackeys in the Jin crowd. The sounds of commotion began to increase again.

Wei Wuxian clenched his jaw, breathed in, and moved closer to whisper to Xiao Xingchen, “Shishu, I’m leaving first. Sorry about all of this.” 

Xiao Xingchen tilted his head towards him, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “It is fine, I will handle the rest. Once again, thank you for your assistance.” 

Wei Wuxian flicked his wrist in a ‘no need’ gesture before slipping away. His Shishu was really a good kid. 

As he left, he met Lan Xichen’s gaze—not being able to get close enough to say anything, Wei Wuxian could only give him a nod and mouth his thanks. Lan Xichen blinked back in acknowledgement, dipping his head slowly. 

And then he was out. 

He was out! High up as Jinlintai was, the air was crisp and clean, with not even a single person milling about outside. The sun was right above in the sky, beaming down at him—making it to Gusu would be easy. He strode away from the hall, freeing Suibian from his belt. 

Wei Wuxian was ready to go!

…Wei Wuxian was not ready to go, because there was a kid running after him, and Suibian was crying tears of frustration on his behalf. 

“Wei-daozhang! Please wait.” The young man called out, hurrying forward to stand before him. He couldn’t be much older than Xue Yang. With fine features, he gave off the air of a diligent student, though his forehead was bare of the vermillion mark. 

A guest disciple too, then. Despite his fresh-faced appearance, he stood at almost the same height as Wei Wuxian, though with an added lankiness to his limbs. 

Wei Wuxian resisted the urge to click his tongue. “What is it now?” 

The young man paused to catch his breath, before his lips pulled up into a friendly smile, sincerity gleaming in his phoenix eyes. “Wei-daozhang, Jin-zongzhu would like to give you a message. Considering Jin Zixun’s condition, he invites you to stay at Jinlintai for an extended period of time in order to find the true culprit of the Hundred Holes curse.”

Here, he took something out from his robes. It was a letter, and he handed it carefully to Wei Wuxian before continuing. “You are welcome to bring anyone you like, including Wen-yishi or Gui-jiangjun—the Sect will provide for you. Jin-zongzhu is sure that you would also like to accompany Jin-xiao-furen as well, especially during these hard times.” 

Wei Wuxian stared at this boy, fingers curling loosely around the letter. The contrast between that genial smile and the nonsense coming out of his mouth was almost too much to bear. 

He was sick of all the fake smiling going around today. He missed Lan Zhan. 

It looked like none of the Jin clan, except maybe Jin Guangyao, could actually speak properly to others. Jin Guangshan was clearly asking for his help yet decided to threaten him at the same time—what kind of mockery was this? Sending such a youth to do his dirty work, too. 

With slightly weak hands, he opened the letter and skimmed through it. It was exactly as this disciple said—but the fact that this message had been prepared even before Wei Wuxian had turned up unannounced today meant that Jin Guangshan knew about Jin Zixun’s situation exactly. If he hadn’t come today, this letter would have probably found him in Yiling instead. 

Wei Wuxian wasn’t blind nor deaf. If Lanling Jin dared to openly recruit disciples like Xue Yang, who went around literally committing murder, there definitely wasn’t anything good going on behind the scenes. Jin Guangshan hadn’t even seemed surprised when he saw him, Jin Guangyao even less so. 

And with Jin Zixuan’s current state, Wei Wuxian was under no illusions about what could happen to him in Jinlintai if he accepted this ‘offer’—and what kind of end he would meet.  

As much as he wanted to tell Jin Guangshan to stay away from him and his people, or simply fly away without a word, these were not viable options. To threaten him so easily, was this old geezer really that confident? 

At this moment, he viscerally understood what must go through Nie Huaisang’s mind whenever he saw Zewu-jun. Xichen-ge, save me!

He coughed, glancing away from the young man’s face as he folded the letter up before speaking. 

“Please tell Jin-zongzhu that I appreciate the generous request, but my talents are not very suited to curse-breaking.” A lie. Wei Wuxian was, famously, multi-talented. 

“Also, I’d probably fear for my life in Jinlintai, considering that his nephew is convinced that I cursed him.” If that sentence was sarcastic, only Wei Wuxian knew. “My best wishes for his recovery though—” He paused for a moment, holding the letter out. “Both him and Jin Zixuan’s.”

The young man's lips parted, and for a second, he simply stared. Then, he shook himself off and reached out to receive the letter. His voice was as friendly as before, although now it contained a hint of disappointment. “Understood, Wei-daozhang. Thank you for speaking with me.” 

With that, he gave a proper bow and walked back towards the hall. 

Wei Wuxian stood there for a moment. 

What was done was done. There was no unsaying it. 

He stepped onto Suibian.

Over the time it took to get here, the churning emotions had loosened in his chest. Surrounded by the tranquillity of the Cloud Recesses, he made his way towards the Ancestral Hall. 

The white stone of the structure glowed a bright orange with the approaching sunset, giving off an oddly warm feeling. The silks draped throughout had been changed since the last time he was here—there were more layers, and they were opaque instead of translucent. Even the mats inside were thicker, probably switched out for the winter. 

Wei Wuxian sank to his knees and reached for the incense sticks. It was strange that in Gusu Lan—the sect that was well-known for being imposing and aloof—their Ancestral Hall seemed to be the warmest place on the mountain. And yet, as the scent of sandalwood dispersed into the air, mingling with the mist that clung onto Wei Wuxian’s clothes, it was as if he was being enveloped into a soft embrace. 

“Lan Zhan, you won’t believe what happened today. I finally…”

No one really listened to him the way Lan Zhan had. 

He sat there and murmured for a long time. After trailing off, Wei Wuxian’s throat felt a little rough. It had been a while since he had spoken so much, more often being spoken to at home, so he simply fell into a silent meditation. The quiet and stillness of the large chamber was somehow unlike that of the Fumo Cave—the latter never was truly silent. 

However, when he opened his eyes, ready to leave, the air shifted.

“You,” Suddenly, a low voice came from behind him. Wei Wuxian stiffened and whipped around, coming face-to-face with Lan Qiren, who stood under the fluttering curtains like a wrathful deity. Backlit by the last rays of the setting sun, there was a terrifying expression carved into his face. 

“How dare you.” 

A pit of dread opened in his stomach—he felt that the heavens had surely been telling him to scram back to the Burial Mounds all day. All he had been faced with was trouble. 

He’d only wanted to burn some incense and make up for lost time, but he knew this wouldn’t end well. Slowly, Wei Wuxian moved to rise, fingers clenching into the fabric of his robes. 

It wasn’t warm anymore. 

“Lan-lao-xiansheng,” He started calmly, “I am only here to—“

Lan Qiren stalked towards him, every step a crack of thunder in the hall.

“Did Xichen let you in?” He interrupted, still in that icy tone, though his voice was beginning to rise. “You dare to step foot in this place, Wei Ying? You dare to disturb Wangji’s rest, when you—!”

Towering before Wei Wuxian, who had frozen in a half-kneel, Lan Qiren reached out an arm shaking with rage, as if he intended to drag him out by the collar. Eyes widening, Wei Wuxian immediately dropped down, hands pressed before white boots.

He couldn’t. Not here!

“Lan-lao-xiansheng, please, this Wei Ying will go willingly!” 

Silence.

“Get up.”

Lan Qiren’s gaze burned, as if he hated the fact that Wei Wuxian had picked today out of all days to be compliant. He strode out, followed by his dark, stumbling shadow. The wind whipped past them in a sharp gust once they were outside. 

Descending the steps to the pavilion, Wei Wuxian turned back to Lan Qiren after he was on lower ground. Without words, he could read the expression on the old man’s face—his knees thudded onto the grass, and he kept his gaze lowered. 

He wasn’t wrong. He knew he couldn’t be wrong, coming here to visit Lan Zhan. But for his uncle, who had never forgiven him, Wei Wuxian had to back down—he wouldn’t make it harder for the old man. 

Looming over on the steps above him, Lan Qiren spoke words of cold steel, but there was the faintest hint of instability in his voice. 

“Wei Ying, you really are…!” 

The swishing of robes, and a voice calling out, barely shouting, “Shufu!” 

Glancing up, Wei Wuxian caught a flurry of white in the corner of his eye before Lan Xichen swept in front of him, standing between Wei Wuxian and his uncle.

“Shufu, what are you doing?” 

Over the edge of Lan Xichen’s figure, Lan Qiren’s face creased in betrayal. 

“Xichen, you allowed this person into our Ancestral Hall? After what he did? After what resulted from his actions?!” 

“Shufu, please calm down, Wei Wuxian was only—”

“He is the reason that Wangji—!” After that name, Lan Qiren seemed unable to continue, pointing a shaking finger at him. Wei Wuxian squeezed his eyes shut, rasping out. 

“Lan-lao-xiansheng, I...”

“We both know that is not true.” Lan Xichen’s voice was steady. Wei Wuxian wondered how many times he had practiced these words, to be so sure.   

“You would fail your brother like this? Wei Ying is the progenitor of a deviant path, a detriment to all those around him!” Lan Qiren sucked in a breath, as if bracing himself, “Wangji’s sentiments—” 

Wei Wuxian could almost hear the next words, even before they were spat out. 

Each felt like a blade to the gut. 
 
Got him killed! 

“Do not bear grudges, do not seek to harm others with words, do not succumb to rage. Shufu, what more can Wei Wuxian do?” Lan Xichen spread his hands, stepping towards Lan Qiren slowly.

“He has already surrendered the fragments of the Yinhufu and rejected the ghost path. He did not retaliate with force even when others sought to harm him, and is uninvolved with the affairs of the cultivation world. Too many words may bring harm, but Wei Wuxian has proven through his actions what kind of person he is.”

Lan Qiren’s jaw clenched tightly and his sleeves seemed to tremble. When he opened his mouth once more, face still twisted in a rictus of anguish, Lan Xichen finally reached out and set a gentle hand on his arm.    
 
“I beg of you, Shufu, speak if you must. But not here, not in front of A-Zhan.” At this point, even Lan Xichen wavered a little, trailing off weakly. 

For the briefest moment, Lan Qiren froze completely, his eyes darting down to Wei Wuxian’s defeated form as something indescribable flashed across his features. He turned away abruptly, like he couldn’t bear to look at his nephew, and brandished his sleeves as he strode away without another word.

Lan Xichen stood there, watching him go, brows faintly creased over his dark eyes, mouth drawn into a tight line. Then, he seemed to gather himself back together, turning to Wei Wuxian and offering him a hand up. 

“I’m sorry, Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian began roughly. Lan Xichen immediately shook his head, lips parting slightly as he righted Wei Wuxian by the wrists. He glanced down, then back up to meet his gaze.

“No, he was unfair.” Briefly, the expression in his eyes was hidden as he closed them for a moment. “Forgive him, Wei Wuxian. I’m sorry you had to hear that. I know how much you’ve done these past years.” 

Wei Wuxian was never the first person people apologised to, and certainly never this sincerely. He swallowed down the knot in his throat, an unfamiliar emotion making his tongue feel heavy in his mouth. Wanting to thank this person sincerely, but feeling as if mere words weren’t enough, he could only remain silent.

Lan Xichen looked at him, as if in understanding. Moving back, he brushed some dust off the shoulder of Wei Wuxian’s coat. 

Gently, he spoke again, “You should go.” 

After a delay, Wei Wuxian made a sound in reply and turned away, towards the gates. 

As he stepped out of the boundaries of the Cloud Recesses, the darkening sky parted and sent him off with a delicate sheet of spring rain.  

Chapter Text

After discovering the corpse’s legs on Xinglu Ridge, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian bid farewell to Jiang Cheng and the kids. Having extracted a reluctant promise from Jin Ling to be more careful, Wei Wuxian was in a good mood. But after following the arm southwest to Yueyang, recounting the events of the past wasn’t a fun way to end the day. 

“Speaking of all the things that happened back then…trouble really seems to find me everywhere. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered—it probably would have turned out the same if I hadn’t gone.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, absentmindedly dropping some vegetables into Lan Wangji’s bowl. Lan Wangji promptly abandoned the dish that he had been reaching for, tasting the mouthful of greens instead. 

After a moment, he swallowed and said, “In any case, you would go.”

The corner of Wei Wuxian’s mouth hooked up into a grin. Even after all this time, did Lan Zhan really know him best? Setting down his chopsticks, he made a show of drawing his liquor closer, asking slyly. 

“Lan Zhan, are you calling me a busybody?” 

Lan Wangji shook his head and said extremely seriously. “Wei Ying, you are quite responsible.” 

Wei Wuxian abruptly choked on the wine he was drinking, then poured the rest down his throat to soothe it. Lan Wangji didn’t elaborate, so in the end, he didn’t answer either.

“Anyway, a few years after Yueyang Chang was massacred, Chang Ping died as well. Xue Yang had already been executed by then, but—”

“Gongzi, more wine!” The waiter had returned with his extra jars.

“Ah, thanks!”

“Gongzi, this one couldn’t help but overhear your conversation—you wouldn’t happen to have been talking about the big villain that exterminated the Chang sect, would you?”

Curious, Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow at him, as well as the liquor to his lips, “And you wouldn’t happen to know the name of that ‘big villain’, would you?” 

The waiter puffed out his chest, beaming at him. Wei Wuxian suddenly had a foreboding feeling, somehow knowing that he wouldn’t like the words that came next. 

“Ah, of course I know.” He exclaimed confidently. “It was the Yiling Laozu, Wei—Wei Wuqian!” 

For the second time that day, Wei Wuxian choked. His eyes darted involuntarily towards Lan Wangji, who looked completely unruffled, as if his companion hadn’t been accused of mass murder before his very eyes!

Wei Wuxian sighed in his heart. Ah, well. It was always a novelty to wander into the Jianghu and wonder what ridiculous accusation would come flying out to hit him in the face next. 

Alright, twice was enough. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t usually bother doing this kind of thing, but at this rate, Lan Zhan was going to get carried away by all these rumours—the Yiling Laozu was certainly no slaughterer of sects, defiler of virgin maidens, devourer of little children—thank you very much!!

Training a slightly strained smile onto the waiter, Wei Wuxian slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “My good brother, you’ve gotten things wrong! Xue Yang of Kuizhou was the one who killed off the Chang sect—Wei Wuxian actually helped catch him!” 

The waiter frowned, thick-skinned enough to brush of the correction to his name,  “Really? But when Chang Ping was finished off, wasn’t that Xue person already dead?”

Wei Wuxian waved a dismissive hand. “You think a youth who could wipe out so many in cold blood would have any trouble returning as a fierce ghost or the like? In any case, Wei Wuxian had nothing to do with it!” 

Finally understanding the seemingly limitless possibilities of cultivators, the waiter nodded with an open-eyed expression. “I see, I see! Thanking gongzi for the insight!” 

Wei Wuxian chanced another glance at Lan Wangji, then immediately put his hand down, feeling a little embarrassed. Don’t look at him like that, Lan Zhan! He was only defending his good name!

Abruptly, he cleared his throat and stood. “We’d better get going. Ah—” Glancing at the surplus of wine at his feet, he added half-jokingly, “I’ll save these for after we finish up. Make sure they’re still here when we get back.” 

The waiter immediately rushed to promise. “Of course! It’ll be waiting for you long into the night—we won’t close until you return! By the way, gongzi, are you going to the Chang sect’s place now? Pretty daring, I say, I’m a local and haven’t done much other than sneak a few looks at it! What are you going to do?”

Wei Wuxian, “We’ll also just have a look, from a ways away.”

He knocked a knuckle against the empty wine jar, which made a pleasant ringing sound. “Oh, I finished a jar.” 

The waiter stared at him for a moment. “Sorry?” 

Seeing how guileless this guy was, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a little better. “I’m still standing, aren’t I?” 

“Oh, right!” The boy finally realised, gaze darting rapidly between his customer and the empty jar in wonder. “That’s amazing, I—I really haven’t seen anyone who could still stand and speak properly after one of those! Then, gongzi, what’s your surname?” 

At this point, Lan Wangji had already wandered outside the shop, his elegant figure glowing a soft red under the banners, as if the setting sun had entrusted its last wash of colour to him. Seeing him waiting so diligently, Wei Wuxian suddenly wanted to test if he still had the good hearing that came with cultivation. 

“My surname…” He started quietly, keeping his gaze still. “...is Lan.”

The figure didn’t move. 

“Of course!” The waiter replied with the shamelessness of youth. “Then from this day, my surname will be Lan!” 

If Wei Wuxian had spoken in a whisper, then the waiter had practically announced his intent to all on the street. Outside, Lan Wangji seemed to stumble. Wei Wuxian caught the sound of small rocks skipping away from the heel of his white boot, and his eyes curved into mischievous crescents as he walked over to his companion’s side. 

No words were needed. 

Lan Wangji’s ears were already red. 

After the Yinhufu had been destroyed and Wei Wuxian had refused Jin Guangshan’s offer, the Jin sect did their best to keep Xue Yang’s head off the chopping block. He was young and brilliantly talented, although he used his talents for all the wrong things. There had even been whispers that he had once created a weapon on par with Wei Wuxian’s now-extinct Yinhufu.

Lan Wangji murmured, “If he indeed possessed such a thing, then the massacre of Yueyang Chang may not have only been an act of revenge.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. That was also the first thing he’d thought upon hearing about this.

Lanling Jin was indeed shameless. Not long before, Jin Zixuan had come a hair’s breadth to losing his life, having been on a hunt for an eight-winged bat king. His whole side had been nearly torn apart, left scarred and mutilated, rendering him half a cripple. Falling into a deep coma, not even their best doctors could know whether or not he would ever wake. 

At that time, Jiang Yanli had been pregnant with their second child. 

So when Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian had arrived, there was no Jin-gongzi nor Jin-xiao-furen at the proceedings. Xue Yang was sentenced to death, but as soon as the other sects were out of sight, it was immediately commuted to a life sentence and he was sealed safely into the dungeons. 

Upon hearing this, Nie Mingjue had gone nearly mad with rage, but no matter how much he pushed, Lanling Jin only hemmed and hawed, refusing to budge on the matter. Eventually, he stormed into Jinlintai, resulting in the infamous incident on the stairs, which had the unfortunate luck of always being the scene of the crime. 

Back then, it was the even more unfortunate Sect Leader Jiang who had to keep his sworn brothers from fratricide. 

However, after Jin Guangshan’s untimely and embarrassing passing, there seemed to be no one left in his sect who was willing to shield Xue Yang. Jin Guangyao certainly wasn’t. Upon ascending to the position of Chief Cultivator, his first order of business was to declare the rogue’s execution. His corpse was even examined by Chifeng-zun himself, shortly before his own death. 

Then, when Chang Ping was found brutally murdered, the rumours of Wei Wuxian’s implication began. The original perpetrator was long dead, so perhaps he had an accomplice! And out of the two others involved—Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian—who else could it be but the Yiling Laozu!? That was until…

Lan Wangji said, “Then, afterward, what happened to Xiao Xingchen-daozhang?” 

Wei Wuxian paused. “It wasn’t a pretty story. The temple that Song Zichen grew up in, Baixue Guan, was completely wiped out. When he rushed over, he too was attacked—his assailant used poison to blind him.”  

Lan Wangji pursed his lips. “...You are certain that Xue Yang was dead?” 

Wei Wuxian shrugged carelessly, but was a little pleased at the direction of Lan Wangji’s thoughts. “Chifeng-zun himself saw his corpse, so what could anyone else say?” 

Indeed, it seemed like it was exactly something that Xue Yang would have done. With how twisted he was, it made sense to not go after the one who had captured him, Xiao Xingchen, but instead, his dearest friend. 

Except for the fact that Xue Yang was already six feet under. 

Upon finding his friend in such a state, not only blinded but severly wounded, Xiao Xingchen broke his vow and returned with Song Zichen to his master’s mountain, begging her to heal him. Baoshan Sanren obliged, but when Song Zichen left the mountain a year later, he left alone, with eyes that could see once more. 

Xiao Xingchen had dug out his own eyes and given them to him. It turned out that not even a miracle could save the both of them. This shocking truth had spread far and wide, along with Song Zichen, who wandered about, seeking Xiao Xingchen. 

In the end, word of his whereabouts also ran dry. 

Wei Wuxian never saw his Shishu again.

But here was another point where trouble had returned to seek Wei Wuxian. Except that time, it was no longer Xue Yang, but Jiang Cheng. 

After telling this long story, he sighed, glancing at Lan Wangji. Sometime, somehow, he wanted to tell him about the other things that had happened back then as well. It felt like he never wanted to run out of things to tell Lan Zhan, no matter how painful they had been at the time, because he felt that if he stopped speaking, that Lan Wangji would…
 
They had arrived at the Chang estate, and began walking over to the cemetery nearby. Lan Wangji asked quietly, “Wei Ying, Baixue Guan and Chang Ping—”

Before he could finish, a series of loud bangs erupted from the ground before them. In the blue light of the fading dusk, the noise was especially eerie, paired with nothing but silence in between. 

It was the sound of the dead Chang sect begging without words to be let out, lest they suffer a fate worse than death. 

Muffling their breaths, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji crept stealthily over to the pavilion that overlooked the grounds, hiding behind the pillars. Down below, in the centre of the tombstones, a hole gaped out of the ground like an empty mouth. As they watched, more and more dirt was flung out—so here was a gravedigger. 

Less than an hour of waiting passed before the person inside jumped out, carrying something limp and dangling on their back. As soon as that person’s feet touched the ground, he whirled towards the pavilion, immediately catching sight of them. 

A cloud of thick, black mist seemed to ooze from his face like a candle wick melting wax, obscuring every single feature. In the darkness of the night, his tall figure almost appeared like a headless corpse, a pair to the body on his back. 

Wei Wuxian wasted no time. Leaping forward, Suibian’s sword glare shot out, bright white and blinding. The gravedigger summoned his own weapon, clouded over by that same black mist, making it almost impossible to discern. After the very first strike, Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened—this wasn’t an ordinary opponent!

They clashed again and again, spiritual energy blasting through the cemetary. At this point, Wei Wuxian had no doubt; somehow, this person was familiar with his sword forms. Eyes narrowing into a flinty glare, he renewed his attacks with vigour, abruptly slipping into the long-forgotten Wen style. 

With this, the gravedigger stumbled back, guard wide open. 

“Really,” Wei Wuxian called with a sharp grin, slashing forward ruthlessly, “What a scholar you are!” 

But before he could deal an incapacitating blow, the gravedigger fumbled desperately and pulled something from his waist. In response, Wei Wuxian immediately brought out a stasis talisman and took aim. 

Suddenly, a burst of sound ripped through the air, an icy blue flash separating the gravedigger and corpse cleanly. 

Lan Wangji had taken out his guqin and collected enough spiritual energy to land a ferocious hit. Blood bloomed from the length of the gravedigger’s arm and side—finally, something that wasn’t covered by the mist. Wei Wuxian lunged forward as the man staggered, falling to his kness. 

With fingers outstretched, he was almost there. 

Just a little more—!

Something heavy slammed point blank into his face. Blue flames surged out from beyond his vision with a loud roar. The stink of rot, and a wave of heat. 

Wei Wuxian clutched at his nose, blinking stars out of his eyes. Completely disbelieving, he stared dumbly.

Wei Wuxian, “...???”

Ridiculous! 

…Flinging a whole dead body at one’s opponent—what the hell was this escape tactic?!

“Lan Zhan!” He finally called out miserably, hearing soft footsteps beside him. Had the Yiling Laozu ever been so aggrieved in his life? “He threw a corpse at me!”

There was the rustling of robes, and then a smaller hand reached out to hold his cheek, another ghosting delicately over his nose. Upon seeing the look in Lan Wangji’s lovely eyes, his fine brows slightly pinched, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the dizzy smile that instantly pulled at his lips.

“Are you unhurt?” Lan Wangji asked, ignoring the dead body sprawled gracelessly before them.

Wei Wuxian too, ignored it, choosing to nuzzle into Lan Wangji’s warm hands instead. Forget fresh dirt and rotting flesh, all he breathed in was sandalwood. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan,” He whined, “I wanted to mess with him some more!” 

Lan Wangji let him languish stickily for a bit longer, before withdrawing to turn to the corpse. “You reap what you sow.”

The words was both cold yet incredibly gentle. Wei Wuxian bit his lip, lest he beam at the ash-pale torso that had come loose from its fake cotton limbs. 

“What timing we have!” He said instead, delighted. “We actually came to investigate, just to bump right into the intruder before he ran off with the evidence.” 

Lan Wangji seemed to hesitate for a moment, before reaching into Wei Wuxian’s sleeve as the latter remained smiling at the dismembered abdomen. He took out one of the extra double-layered qiankun pouches. “He was familiar with Yunmeng Jiang’s sword style.”

At this, Wei Wuxian snorted, finally becoming serious again. “Luckily I don’t only have that one trick up my sleeve. The Wen forms got him good.”

“Do you believe you know him?”

Wei Wuxian thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Never sparred with him, at least. But it’s not like I know every disciple in Yunmeng Jiang these days, either.” 

Lan Wangji nodded as he secured the torso in the pouch, before handing it over for Wei Wuxian to check. They wandered around for a while, like an elderly pair taking a stroll after the evening meal—Wei Wuxian’s mood was too good, and he had to stifle another laugh. 

Eventually, they went back to the restaurant. The young waiter sat outside, eating a late-night snack. Seeing them, he rushed forward with a greeting, leading them back to the table they had sat before, where Wei Wuxian’s wine was still waiting for him. 

He started, internally lamenting the subject. “So, Chang Ping—you were going to ask how he died, weren’t you?”   

Lan Wangji nodded. 

After Xue Yang was executed, it could be hoped that calm would descend upon the cultivation world once more. Song Zichen and Xiao Xingchen had also begun to fade from memory, not even the wind whispering of them. 

Then, some years later, Chang Ping and the remaining members of his sect were also murdered.

Each person’s fingers were neatly carved off, except for Chang Ping’s, whose fingers were sliced into ghastly, uneven lengths of flesh and white bone. Only his pinky fingers were completely severed. Moreover, their tongues had been ripped out from inside their mouths, and in combination with the fingers, spelled four grotesque characters on the ground—‘sweet mouth, honeyed tongue’.

Now, Wei Wuxian was no stranger to gruesome deaths. He had left a veritable cesspool of bodies trailing behind him during the Sunshot Campaign, with even more poor souls brutalised by his hand after Lan Wangji’s disappearance. However, this case was such an anomaly that seeing the details had even given him pause.

There was only one piece of evidence left behind. And again, no one was willing to investigate. But the following revelation was what made Wei Wuxian descend from the Burial Mounds into the Jianghu once more, a singular goal in mind—to search for his Shishu. 

From the marks left on their fingerless hands and bodies, it was confirmed that these wounds had been inflicted by Xiao Xingchen’s sword, Shuanghua. 

Lan Wangji, who had finally reached out for the dish of peanuts, stopped dead in his tracks and withdrew his hand. Wei Wuxian felt a little remorseful. 

“Xiao Xingchen’s sword…was used to commit the crime?”

Wei Wuxian hummed. “Yeah. But before that, my Shishu had already disappeared for a while. I even went around to search for him, but…”

It had been like searching for a ghost. 

Lan Wangji, “Soul summoning?”

Wei Wuxian, “Nothing was found.”

Lan Wangji hesitated before asking again. “What about Inquiry?”

An empty smile graced Wei Wuxian’s lips. It was a cheerless memory. “I asked Xichen-ge to play it for him once. There was no reply.” 

Lan Wangji fell silent. Wei Wuxian continued, “If it weren’t for that, I probably might have still had some hope. Things like soul summoning aren’t usually conclusive—certain variables could easily fall out of place. What do you think, Lan Zhan? Could Xiao Xingchen really have committed such a crime?”

While Lan Wangji pondered his reply, Wei Wuxian murmured, “Well, it isn’t as if there’s no precedent for this sort of thing. Yanling Daoren, I suppose…”

“Some things do not align. The cases of Baixue Guan and Chang Ping both seem as if Xue Yang could have been the perpetrator, yet he was dead. The characters that were spelled out also…seem to have no relation to Xiao Xingchen. It is more akin to an act of vengeance.”

Finally, Lan Wangji shook his head, eyes landing back onto the dish of peanuts. “But one should not comment without understanding the whole story. What do you think?”

Wei Wuxian huffed, “Aren’t you directly asking me to step into a pit, Lan Zhan? Why should I share my thoughts when you’ve just told me exactly what a gentleman does?” He swirled the liquor in its bowl, dark and silvery. “I already thought so much about it, but it is as you said.”

Looking back at Lan Wangji, he smiled with a hint of provocation. “Hanguang-jun, why are you looking at me like that now? I won’t speak on things I don’t fully understand. Surely you should know how earnest my agreement is? Anyway, I bought too many jars—it’s rare for me to come out, so I went a little overboard. How about having a drink with me?” 

He said it half-jokingly, ready for Lan Zhan to rebuff him as always. But who knew that the venerable Hanguang-jun would look at him with such a steady gaze and reply, “I will drink.”

Wei Wuxian froze for a moment. He bit the inside of his cheek, then clicked his tongue. “Lan Zhan, how things have changed! You’ve been holding back on me, or—” Leaning forward, he reached to pour a bowl for Lan Wangji. “Have you been a secret drinker since the beginning?” 

Lan Wangji gave him a look so bland that Wei Wuxian immediately knew he had been innocent since the day he was born. “I have never drunk alcohol.”

“If you say so.” Wei Wuxian watched avidly as the bowl was raised up to those pretty lips. “Go on. I really want to see this, I wonder how many cups it’ll take for Hanguang-jun to get under-the-table drunk…”

Smoothly and effortlessly, Lan Wangji downed all the liquid in one go. 

Chapter Text

A moment passed.

Then another.

Wei Wuxian, “...”

Nothing changed! His face was still as fair as ever, not a single ripple in those golden eyes!! 

Before Wei Wuxian could speak, Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly, tongue darting out primly across his lips, as if evaluating the aftertaste. He set the bowl down and looked at him seriously. 

“Passable.”

The liquor! He was referring to the liquor, Wei Wuxian!

“...Lan Zhan, I didn’t expect you to be so picky. Have another one, won’t you?” 

Even as he complained, Wei Wuxian poured another, something fluttering in his stomach. Lan Wangji, this little rule-lover, was actually drinking with him, and—despite never having touched alcohol before, his taste was in fact quite sophisticated. Moreover, downing a whole bowl so quickly didn’t seem to affect him at all!

How exhilarating!  

“Here,” Wei Wuxian gestured to the bowl. Lan Wangji took it with no hesitation and swallowed it all in one smooth motion. Wei Wuxian’s lips twitched. Still nothing?

“Come on, Lan Zhan, I’ll keep you company.” Saying this, he raised his own bowl. “Tell me, do you like it?” 

Lan Wangji adjusted his collars and shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. It was still a little early to get excited, though, for when he opened them once more, his gaze was as clear as always. 

“The consistency is smooth, but the taste…” He paused to take his next mouthful, swallowing before continuing, “...is unpleasant.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, nudging the plate of peanuts at him. “Spicy?” 

A delicate hand reached out, taking a singular peanut and bringing it up to those pink, wine-glazed lips. 

“Warm.”  

This is it, Wei Wuxian thought, feeling already—impossibly—somewhat drunk. I’ve corrupted the venerable Hanguang-jun beyond repair. 

“Ah, what have I been doing?” Abruptly, Wei Wuxian poured out yet another bowl, but this time, he held it right up to Lan Wangji’s face. “Unexpectedly, Hanguang-jun has good instincts, but let me teach you the details. Appreciating wine is an art!” 

Lan Wangji glanced at his own reflection in the lightly rippling surface, then back to Wei Wuxian.

“First, smell the aroma.” 

Lan Wangji continued to stare at him, something incredulous stealing across his face, then bowed his head slightly. He took a deep inhale—then recoiled, a wrinkle between his brows. 

Wei Wuxian really thought he was going to die laughing.

“Lan Zhan, not that hard! The alcohol will go right up your nose, hahaha!”

When he finally caught his breath, holding tightly onto the bowl, he gave a proper demonstration. Lan Wangji reproduced the movement. “Gently…just like that. How is it? Fragrant, right?”

Like this, they were a little close, facing each other over the reflective liquid. Lan Wangji’s lips parted, but no words followed. In the end, seeing Wei Wuxian’s expectant expression, he closed his mouth and replied with a lukewarm hum.

Again, Wei Wuxian was incredibly amused. Honestly, he didn’t know why. You could lead a donkey to wine and make him drink it, although he’d never agree that it was good, or something? Lan Wangji was so boring, but Wei Wuxian probably loved it because it was Lan Wangji. 

He felt a flush rising to his neck.

“Now, take a small sip.” Wei Wuxian continued, keeping his voice even. “Just a little! Let it cover your tongue. Then, when you’ve appreciated the taste, swallow—slowly!” 

As he spoke, he nudged a little closer, gesturing for the other man to take it. But instead, Lan Wangji simply leaned down again, one hand coming up to support only the bottom of the bowl, brushing over Wei Wuxian’s suddenly weak knuckles. 

This was…he was…

In the dim corner of the restaurant, Lan Wangji sipped from the vessel they held as one. Those golden eyes gazed directly into Wei Wuxian’s own. While his lips were still parted, a few drops overflowed from the edge, trickling shyly down to the sharp line of his jaw. 

Both of Wei Wuxian’s hands had trembled, watching him.

After Lan Wangji took his sip, Wei Wuxian pulled away and set the bowl down, feeling somewhat dizzy. 

Lan Wangji swallowed, as slowly as he’d required, but it appeared much more difficult than just downing one bowl after another. His tongue darted out again to clean the corner of his lips, but it wasn’t enough, so he dabbed at his chin with his sleeve as well. Then, he took another peanut. 

Wei Wuxian made sure he had enough air in his lungs to say, “Good?”

Lan Wangji took the next proffered bowl, seeming to not notice his unsteadiness. “As I said before.”

Passable.

His eyes seemed to bore into the liquid, bringing it to a boil, even as it went right down his throat. Mediocre was all it would ever be.

Wei Wuxian let out a breathless chuckle. “Lan Zhan, since you’re so stubborn, let me tell you the differences between good and bad wine. This one actually isn’t too bad, it…”

He continued in that vein for some time, unable to avoid the topic of Emperor’s Smile as a comparison. Yet despite the sheer amount that Lan Wangji drank as easily as water, not a hint of a flush appeared on his face, nor any unsteadiness in his movements. His eyes remained frighteningly clear, and as he became more comfortable with each continuous bowl, they seemed to silently ask Wei Wuxian when he was going to get bored with this challenge—it was practically the case of an unbreakable spear and an impenetrable shield. 

Wei Wuxian was actually impressed. He didn’t know what Lan Wangji’s original tolerance was, but certainly, in Mo Xuanyu’s body, he was a force to be reckoned with! If Wei Wuxian was a mortal, there was no doubt that he’d be under the table right about now. Did the Lanling Jin blood have something to do with it? 

They talked into the night—well, Wei Wuxian talked and poured, Lan Wangji occasionally responded, not lifting a finger otherwise—until the young waiter came over and sheepishly told them that they were closing. Wei Wuxian, whose curiosity was only half-satisfied, had decided to buy a few jars to bring along. 

That was until Lan Wangji stood up, wobbled, and abruptly toppled over. 

Wei Wuxian made a startled noise, catching his dead weight in his arms. 

“Ah! L—Wei! Gongzi!” 

As soon as the words escaped him, he clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw creaked in painful protest.

Alright then! Lan Wangji was Wei-gongzi, and Wei Wuxian was Lan-gongzi! 

“Is he alright, Lan-gongzi?” The waiter asked, peering over with concern. Wei Wuxian’s shock was not self-inflicted this time, but that didn’t make the impact any less jarring. 

“Ah—yes, he’s…” Lan Wangji was completely unconscious, and Wei Wuxian nervously brought a finger to his nose. He hadn’t inundated the recently-revived Hanguang-jun to death with wine, had he??

The astonished words dropped slowly from his lips. “...He’s asleep.” 

He fell asleep. 

He fell asleep??

Incredible. All that wine, absolutely no drunkenness, and straight to the land of dreams. Was this Mo Xuanyu’s fault, or Lan Wangji’s? Silently, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the twinge of disappointment in his heart. 

The waiter blinked. “The both of you are really amazing. If you kept going, we might have run out of wine for the season.”

Wei Wuxian gave him an awkward smile, then began stumbling away, dragging Lan Wangji’s prone figure along by the arm. “Right. You got lucky, kid!”

“Undoubtedly! Goodnight, Lan-gongzi, Wei-gongzi!” 

The doors of the establishment closed behind them. Wei Wuxian tripped out onto the street. 

He sighed, glancing at Lan Wangji’s pale face, ruddied by the shadow of the red banners. Then, he hoisted the slight body in his arms up, carefully letting Lan Wangji’s head loll against his shoulder, murmuring as he walked. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan…what have I done now…” 

Wei Wuxian was not the type of person to be overly sensitive to the gazes of those around him—if he was, he’d probably already have died long ago thanks to Yu-furen’s efforts. But it only took a few poorly-hidden side-eyed looks from passersby to make him realise something as he took out his money pouch to pay for rooms at an inn. 

He, Wei Wuxian, was an adult man. His lips were perpetually updrawn at the corners, and to those who didn’t know him, contained a hint of arrogance. Although he had the youth of those blessed with cultivation, he clearly exuded a mature air, with his dark robes and confident countenance—after all, he had borne a son from his own body! 

Some things were impossible to hide.

And Lan Wangji, who was in Mo Xuanyu’s body…

…Still looked like a tender youth. With the blood of the aristocratic Lanling Jin clan running through his veins, his features were graceful and delicate, all the more so in sleep. Even his body was slender, the kind of figure that old, unscrupulous noblemen or even cultivators wouldn’t mind stooping down to consider. 

Moreover, they both reeked of liquor. 

Now, Wei Wuxian had never considered carrying Lan Wangji to be embarrassing—but upon coming to this realisation, he had decided to support the other man from the side again, feeling a little faint. 

In other words, they looked a little more than suspicious!! 

The madam of the inn looked them up and down before handing him the key. Then she turned and simply walked away, like this wasn’t her own business. Wei Wuxian was half-expecting her to call the town magistrate on him or something. 

He quickly settled them into a room, laying Lan Wangji’s slight figure onto the bed, taking his boots off, and tucking him in. He was just about to bring in some hot water to at least wash his face before something warm ignited against his chest. 

At this familiar sensation, Wei Wuxian checked his inventory and made sure Lan Wangji was still fast asleep. Slipping out again and finding himself in a desolate woods, he only needed to wait a few moments before the ever-warming talisman in his robes flared hot again for a split second. Something rustled in the bushes. 

The shadow of the city wall seemed to stretch out, and in the blink of an eye, Wen Ning had appeared before him soundlessly. 

“Wei-gongzi.” He gave a greeting.

“Wen Ning.” Wei Wuxian replied with an easy smile. “How are the little ones going? How did they end up around here?”

Wen Ning hesitated, his stiff facial muscles not budging an inch, but to Wei Wuxian, it was as if his whole person had drooped to the ground. 

“Oh no,” He bemoaned, “Don’t tell me there’s something strange going on.”

Wen Ning’s fingers jerked, his equivalent of a wince. “A-Yuan and the other Lan disciples went night-hunting around Langya after you left, but…” His lips parted slightly, as if taking a breath. “They’re travelling to Shudong now, following a trail of dead cats. Jin-gongzi is with them as well.”

He explained the situation briefly—and the way that Sizhui, Jin Ling, and the other boys had been practically lured out to the area. 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but glance at the heavens. “I purposely left him with Jiang Cheng, and now he’s purposely gone off to play with Sizhui. What do I even say about this kid?”

Trying to placate him, Wen Ning continued, “Don’t worry, at the very least, Jiang-zongzhu took Jin-guniang with him. And Jiejie sent Qiyue along with A-Yuan, so they won’t get into any trouble.”  

Trust Wen Qing to pile on the safety nets, sending her own disciple after such a big group. Well, he was pretty sure none of the Lan boys were healers, so it wouldn’t go to waste. 

“Alright. It’s just—” It was that niggling feeling that had been there ever since Lan Zhan’s return. He had no concrete evidence to prove his suspicions yet, but if the arm pointed them anywhere near Shudong in the next few days… 

“Keep an eye on them. And let me know if anything happens.”

Wen Ning gave a solemn nod. “Of course. I—” He made a strangled noise, the likes of which Wei Wuxian had never heard from his undead throat all the time he had been a fierce corpse. “—erghk, Lan-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian whirled around immediately.

He resisted the urge to jump out of his skin.

Look, it wasn’t like he was doing anything weird? What was this overreaction?

Incredibly, Lan Wangji was standing there, holding a stick. 

In the moonlight, his usually indifferent expression seemed to have some edge to it—oh, who was Wei Wuxian kidding, it was the most displeased that he’d seen the man appear since his return! It could almost be compared to the Hanguang-jun of the Sunshot Campaign!

“...Ah, Lan Zhan.” He said, a little guiltily.

Lan Wangji remained silent. Upon closer inspection, the ‘stick’ that he was holding turned out to be the handle of a broom. Wei Wuxian could tell, because there was a piece of twine at the bottom with a few bits of hay still desperately hanging from it. 

“I didn’t know Gusu Lan disciples also learned the way of the staff?” He tried to joke.

Aside from walking closer, Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened as he stared straight at Wen Ning. Immediately alarmed, Wei Wuxian rushed forward. Of course, it would take more than a measly stick to off Wen Ning again. But the whole scene looked very foreboding, alright?!

Lan Wangji actually raised the stick, as if he were about to strike at the defenceless corpse in front of him. Before it could land, Wei Wuxian caught it with one hand, holding fast, talking faster. 

“Lan Zhan, Hanguang-jun, who said you could go around randomly beating people like this? Are you dr—” Abruptly, Wei Wuxian realised that Lan Wangji’s left boot was on his right foot, and his right boot was on his left foot. “—unk?!”

Excuse him for being a little incredulous. Because his confused brain hadn’t yet caught up with his mouth, he continued.

“Look, this is Wen Ning—not a bad guy! You’ve seen him before, but haven’t been introduced properly, have you? He’s my—” Before Wei Wuxian could finish the sentence, Wen Ning slapped a cold, heavy hand on his shoulder, and immediately looked to be regretting it. Lan Wangji’s gaze seemed to somehow contain a thousand blades.

“What I am is leaving. Goodnight, Lan-gongzi, Wei-gongzi.” With that, he leapt away, disappearing silently into the dark night. 

Wei Wuxian stared at the faintly rustling trees. In all these years, he could count on one hand the amount of times Wen Ning had laid hands on him. What was this, all of a sudden??

Turning back, Wei Wuxian, who was still holding onto the stick, “You’re…drunk?”

Lan Wangji, who immediately dropped the stick, “No.” 

It fell right on his misbooted foot and bounced away.  

Wei Wuxian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Lan Wangji, who could drink a restaurant’s worth of wine in one go as easily as water, stood before him. His face was as pale as always, not even a hint of a flush. If one looked at his shadow, apart from the height difference, he could be mistaken for the fierce Hanguang-jun of wartime. 

And yet!

He ended up laughing, just a little. “Alright, Lan Zhan. But since you are drunk, why doesn’t your face flush at all?”

Lan Wangji stared at him for a moment, then reached out and grabbed his hand, pressing Wei Wuxian’s palm to his chest. 

All of a sudden, he wasn't laughing anymore. Wei Wuxian’s hand couldn’t help but clench into those plain white robes.

It was warm.

“The heartbeats.” Lan Wangji said.

“What?”

“The face doesn’t show anything. Feel the heartbeats.”

That was certainly. A concept. 

Wei Wuxian felt like he was about to explode. 

“Lan Zhan, are you saying you want me to touch your chest every time we talk?!”

Placid, Lan Wangji looked down at his trembling hand. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian, “...”

Two big men out on the street late at night, one touching the other’s chest—Hanguang-jun, leave a thought or two for your good name!

“...Let’s go back, hurry.” He finally spat out, dragging Lan Wangji back to the inn. Who knew what kind of terrifying things this person could do in this state. Despite the thought, he didn’t know whether or not he was disappointed—this was supposed to be a chance to see Lan Wangji embarrassing himself, not for Wei Wuxian to be embarrassed!!

When they returned to their room, he brought in a basin of hot water and a towel. Turning back to Lan Wangji who sat obediently at the edge of the bed, perfectly composed, he wrung out the towel and began dabbing at that jade-like face. 

His movements were slow and gentle. Lan Wangji’s eyelashes fluttered when the towel neared his eyes, but otherwise stared at him unblinkingly. 

“Aren’t your eyes tired, Lan Zhan? Or do you like what you see?” Wei Wuxian’s fingers brushed over Lan Wangji’s bare forehead, dropping to trace the line of his brow. With the other hand, he tossed the towel into the basin, finished with cleaning. 

Lan Wangji leaned into his touch for a moment. Then, his arms came up, wrapping around Wei Wuxian’s waist and pulling him closer, that clear gaze still set on him. 

Abruptly, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but be reminded of A-Yuan, who had always been as sticky, even after he’d grown up a bit. His lips twitched, unresisting, and he gathered Lan Wangji’s face in his hands. 

“So obedient, Hanguang-jun. Will you do whatever I ask you to?”

Still looking at him, Lan Wangji gave a half-blink. “Mn.” 

“You’ll answer all of my questions, then.” Wei Wuxian leaned down somewhat, a knee against the edge of the bed. Anticipation warmed his chest.

“Did you like the Burial Mounds?”

Lan Wangji spoke clearly, as if he were in a lecture, “Yes.”
 
“You really wanted to go night-hunting with me? You weren’t just being contrary?”

“Yes.”

Feeling his confidence grow, Wei Wuxian paused. Then, asked a question that had been on his mind for a long time. “Would you have visited me in Yunmeng, back then?”

Naturally, he was talking about when he had invited Lan Wangji back when they were young. It was a different problem altogether, whether or not Lan Wangji remembered—

“...Yes.”

Wei Wuxian fell silent. 

The words were softer than before, perhaps even a little regretful. 

There was something blooming in his chest, travelling all the way to his fingertips and toes, like a flower kissed by the light of the sun. The next question burst from his throat—as soon as the words tumbled out, he resisted the urge to slap a hand over his mouth. 

“Have you ever liked anyone?”

Stupid question. Of course the monk-like, austere Hanguang-jun wouldn’t have ever—

Lan Wangji looked directly at him. “Yes.” 

Unlike before, the answer was immediate. 

At that moment, his mind went completely blank. Leaping away from Lan Wangji like a startled cat, hands dropping to his waist, Wei Wuxian spat out furiously, “Who?!”

Belatedly, he realised that Suibian was leaning innocently against the wall, nowhere near them. 

Lan Wangji stared at him, arms having fallen lax about his sides. There was a vaguely forlorn air about him. If Wei Wuxian were not currently drowning in morbid curiosity, he would wonder if he caught a hint of disbelief in that blurry gaze. His whole expression—usually cold and impassive—had softened almost imperceptibly.

A hot, prickling sensation jabbed at Wei Wuxian’s heart, and it was as if his stomach had vanished from inside of him, leaving only empty space. Unwillingly, his thoughts began to race. 

In Lan Wangji’s short life, which had been besieged by war in his last years, at what point would he ever have had time to entertain any romantic entanglements?? For heaven’s sake, male and female disciples were separated in the Cloud Recesses! Wei Wuxian was willing to bet that Lan Wangji had seen more female cultivators during the Sunshot Campaign than during the first eighteen years of his life!! 

So who exactly could he have—!

Suddenly, he strode back, as if these errant thoughts were simply fog that would part before him. 

No, he really did not want to know!!

For Lan Wangji to remember that person like this, even in his second life, and to wear that sort of expression….

Wei Wuxian cleared his throat and forcefully unclenched his hands, lips curving up into a strained smile. In his mind, he searched desperately for a safer topic. 

“What do you think about Jiang Cheng?” 

Lan Wangji fell back into his ‘perfect student’ composure, and replied with a slightly frowning ‘mn.’

Wei Wuxian felt a little better, but not by much. “A-Yuan?” 

“Good.”

“Hm…Wen Ning?” 

Lan Wangji’s face didn’t move an inch. “No.”

At this, Wei Wuxian burst into real laughter. “What do you mean, no?! Hahahaha!”

Snorting somewhat, he finally calmed down as Lan Wangji watched him, completely unamused.

A strange atmosphere fell between them as the room quietened. 

Wei Wuxian swallowed. 

He should have learned not to ask stupid questions by now, but when would another chance like this arise? 

Raising a finger, he prodded at his own chest.  

“How about this one?” 

Lan Wangji reached out and took Wei Wuxian’s wrists in a firm grip, pulling them together again. Looking up at him, his breath seemed almost fragrant. “Mine.” 

For the second time that night, Wei Wuxian’s brain stuttered. 

“What do you—”

Lan Wangji crowded closer, clinging to his wrists, slender hands flexing. His golden eyes were steady and sincere, every syllable he spoke clear and heavy. 

“Mine.” He repeated, with conviction.  

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him, blinking rapidly. 

Drunk Lan Zhan was really dangerous, alright?!

And these nonsensical words, they were really, really—!

Wei Wuxian’s gaze dropped slightly, and he came to a realisation. 

During his fight with the gravedigger, his wrist guard seemed to have come slightly loose, and a slip of white was peeking out from underneath. Throat dry, he pulled out the full length of the ribbon from where it sat under Lan Wangji’s thumb. 

“This?” 

It was a little desperate.

As soon as Lan Wangji froze, turning to stone, Wei Wuxian suddenly realised that he’d made a huge mistake—Lan Wangji must have meant something else, because that was not the look of a man who knew what he was looking at!!

“I mean—!” He tried to retract his words, pulling away somewhat, although the grip on his wrists made sure he was going absolutely nowhere.

Lan Wangji was noticeably confused now, tilting his head to the side the slightest bit, unnecessarily endearing. He repeated, now in a questioning tone, “Mine?”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers spasmed around the fine fabric, fighting to keep himself still as Lan Wangji examined the slip of pure white, not a cloud to be found. His heart was in his mouth. 

Unsatisfied, Lan Wangji took the main part of his ribbon from where it was wrapped around his own wrist, and compared the two. 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help the nervous chuckle that passed his lips. “Well, I guess you can’t really tell if—”

Lan Wangji spread his ribbon out onto the bed and took the remaining piece from him, placing them next to each other. Turned onto the inner side, the character ‘zhan’ was embroidered delicately in blue silk at the centre. Wei Wuxian’s piece fit perfectly, completing the shortened left side and resulting in a completely symmetrical band of white. 

“…it’s yours or not.” He finished, belatedly, sounding quite dumb.

He’d actually forgotten!! That the Lan ribbons were embroidered with their names!! It was a mark of both symmetry and ownership!! He had seen it himself, all those years ago, and yet!!!

“Lan Zhan, I—”

Seemingly satisfied with his findings, Lan Wangji scooped up the short end of the ribbon, holding it up like some sort of prize he had won, then turned back to Wei Wuxian. He could only watch, speechless, as the honourable and upright Hanguang-jun retied the strip around his wrist, finishing off by fastening Wei Wuxian’s wrist guard gently back into place.

Lan Wangji, who was admiring his work??? “Good.”

Wei Wuxian was about to faint. 

This ribbon, precisely this ribbon, which he had accidentally pulled off Lan Wangji that one time and had been practically glared to death for?? This ribbon, that Sizhui had told him, quite reverently in fact, that the Lan considered a symbol of individual restraint, that only parents, children, and spouses were allowed to touch? This ribbon?? That Lan Wangji had knotted tightly around his wrist, as casually as he would set up an immortal-binding net??!

Hanguang-jun!! Are you quite alright??

Before Wei Wuxian could gather himself to say any of the things that flew through his mind like a thousand galloping horses, Lan Wangji’s expression flickered suddenly. His hands, which were previously gentle, left no room for sentiment as Wei Wuxian was shoved unceremoniously onto the bed. The light faded as the candle was abruptly snuffed out.

Head spinning, the blurry scenery wasn’t helped by the blood that had been pounding through his ears. Thinking that Lan Wangji had sobered up somehow and proceeding to panic, here, he broke the cardinal rule of rule-breaking—his guilty conscience escaped through his mouth!

“Ah, Lan Zhan! I didn’t—”

Looking back, it was almost laughable. What didn’t he do? Take the chance to carry Lan Zhan in his arms, to stick close to him, to practically interrogate him?? 

Then, before he could finish speaking, a familiar spot at his waist was pressed, and his whole body fell lax. Unable to move, all Wei Wuxian could do was watch helplessly as Lan Wangji laid down beside him and pulled the blanket over them both, completely ignoring the other bed on the other side of the room. 

“It is hai shi.” He intoned. “Rest.”

Wei Wuxian cursed the fact that he hadn’t already developed some way to protect against this accursed body-locking spell, but didn’t quite have the strength to hiss, Lan Zhan, your body clock is off!! It’s zi shi right now!!

It couldn’t be helped, after all. Lan Zhan wasn’t in the same body anymore.

“Can’t we at least keep talking? I still have questions to ask.”

Lan Wangji, “No.”
 
Struck by this blow, Wei Wuxian fell silent, a little bitter. Around his wrist, the forehead ribbon itched with how tightly it had been tied. I bet you won't even remember any of the good things you did in the morning. Just watch how I'll play you then, Hanguang-Jun!

“Fine, I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep. At least remove the spell for me—we don’t have two beds just for show, you know.”

A pause. A hint of movement, then warmth. Lan Wangji’s hand came over to his chest from under the blanket, somewhat clumsily, and began pulling at the ties of his robes. 

Wei Wuxian’s life flashed before his eyes. 

“Nevermind!! Not removing! We are not removing anything!! Nothing!! Lan Zhan’s hand, be good and go to bed!! Good night to you too!!” 

The hand stilled, then slunk away. Wei Wuxian’s right side, the side that wasn’t next to Lan Wangji, felt a little cold. After a while, he couldn’t help but run his mouth again.

“...Your Gusu Lan sect could really stand to be less stuffy. Making kids restrain themselves for so long will only cause problems when they grow up. You know, if my A-Yuan were a Lan, he wouldn’t have these kinds of issues. He holds his liquor so well, it’s no wonder that I—”

Eyes closed, Lan Wangji’s pretty profile remained unmoving as he reached over and covered Wei Wuxian’s mouth. He swallowed down the scent of sandalwood.

“Shhh.” Lan Wangji breathed, barely a whisper.  

What else could Wei Wuxian do?!

The dark room fell completely silent. 

Well, he thought morosely, heart beating out of his chest. Maybe I’ll get a good night's sleep?

Chapter Text

It was a pleasant awakening.

The golden fingers of sunlight reached shyly through paper windows, gracing the room with a warmth that was both muted and bone-deep. It was quiet, like a dream. Even the birds outside seemed to only murmur.

Lan Wangji was surrounded by the earthen scent of ink, and something vaguely herbal, tinged with soft spice. His mouth was dry, but he didn't want to move. A ghost of a breeze whispered over his eyelashes, tinged with moisture.

Someone was holding him in their arms.

His eyes snapped open.

Immediately, his breath stilled.

Wei Wuxian's features were lax in sleep, tilted slightly upwards to face Lan Wangji from where he was curled up on his side. Lips parted, his breath was warm. One arm was draped over Lan Wangji's waist, while the other lay in the scant space between them. Sometime during the night, Wei Wuxian had pillowed his head on the crook of Lan Wangji's arm, a heated weight on numb muscle.

Although Lan Wangji's memory wasn't good, the man beside him appeared a little paler than he had been in his youth. Nonetheless, a hint of qi seemed to invigorate the veins under his skin.

Lan Wangji savoured the comfort of their proximity for a while longer, right up until he was on the verge of exploding out of his mortal body. Carefully and quietly, he slipped out from under Wei Wuxian's hold, adjusting his robes after he'd stood up.

Behind him, the other man made a discontented noise. Lan Wangji couldn't help but look back to admire him once more—and froze. Absently, he felt his jaw slacken.

A strip of white was fastened tightly to Wei Wuxian's wrist.

…He. Didn't know what he was looking at.

Lan Wangji stared for a long while.

Finally, he realised that his eyes were rather dry, and blinked. He glanced down at his own wrist, which was bare. Jerkily, he reached a hand into his robes.

Right. It was there.

An image flashed through his mind—his forehead ribbon, laid inside-out. The damning character of his name, the perfect symmetry. Somehow, he simply knew, for certain, that the fabric wrapped around Wei Wuxian's wrist was…his.

Like a distant, oncoming earthquake, Lan Wangji's fingers began to tremble. He extracted his hand and clutched tightly at his own lapels instead, feeling the increasingly wild rise and fall of his chest, his heart begging to be let out. His ears were so hot, as if fresh blood were dripping down from the tips to the lobes, onto his neck, scalding him like boiling water.

His forehead ribbon—it had been cut, back in the dungeons. Gusu Lan had only recovered the main part. And now, Lan Wangji was realising that ever since their reunion, he had been vaguely aware of the uneven thickness of the wrappings under Wei Wuxian's left wrist guard, as if there were some extra fabric there. Something so inconsequential had all but completely escaped his interest.

He swallowed, the smooth aftertaste of good wine an echo in his throat. One question managed to clear the maze of his mind—how long?

First his jade token, and now his—his…

...Did his brother know about even this as well?!

Before Lan Wangji could truly work himself up into a silent frenzy, a shattering sound came from the desk where the qiankun pouches had been discarded. Wei Wuxian abruptly woke with a startled 'arghk?', flailing about on the bed, and Lan Wangji took the chance to rebalance himself and stride to his guqin, regulating his breathing.

He picked up the instrument, faltered, then tossed Chenqing to his companion. Thankfully, Wei Wuxian was awake enough to catch it easily, immediately realising what the situation was.

Lan Wangji set his fingers on the strings.

They slipped.

The first chord he strummed out would have made his uncle die on the spot.

Even the three escaped body parts seemed astonished. The wrist of the left arm flopped down weakly; the legs fell to their knees; the torso gave a lurch, as if experiencing severe back pain. Wei Wuxian choked on his breath, Chenqing letting out a shrill shriek in protest.

Lan Wangji took a deep inhale, ears burning, and played properly.

It took three repetitions of Rest to calm the resentment. By the end, Lan Wangji felt that it would be good to be mute for the remainder of his second life. He stepped away, re-wrapping his qin in cloth as Wei Wuxian stepped forward, Suibian in hand. Brows furrowing in something that looked a lot like disbelief, he tapped the sheath against the abdominal muscles of the now-exposed torso.

Suibian felt as if it had been bashed against a stone wall.

He walked to the left, and tapped the obliques. He walked to the right, and tapped the strikingly-defined pelvic line. Wei Wuxian looked like he was about to whistle.

"Aiya, Lan Zhan, I know he's a fierce corpse, but just look at this...it's kind of inhuman. What was this guy eating?"

Lan Wangji couldn't bear to watch this anymore. "Move your sword."

Wei Wuxian, tilting his head, "Hm?"

He moved Suibian away, then stared expectantly, waiting for Lan Wangji to do something.

Lan Wangji suddenly realised that he had long exhausted whatever spiritual power this body had. He looked down, jaw clenching, and murmured, "Seal it."

Heavens, why was he like this.

Wei Wuxian blinked. "Oh, alright."

By the time Lan Wangji glanced back, the body parts had been secured, Wei Wuxian tying double knots around the pouches. Thankfully, disappointingly, his forehead ribbon had returned to its place tucked underneath Wei Wuxian's wrist guard, instead of flagrantly tied against his bare skin like a brand. In hindsight, it made for a familiar crease that Lan Wangji could not ignore.

Wei Wuxian seemed to want to speak, yet a little afraid to. Lan Wangji kept the silence. Eventually, he cracked. "Lan Zhan, you drank so much last night, I was really impressed. You don't remember anything, don't you—ah, you must have the hangover of the century! Wash up and rest for a bit before we leave again, let me buy us something to eat."

He paused, eyes darting to check Lan Wangji's expression, before adding cautiously, "…Unless, you don't need my help washing your face again, do you? If you want—"

"No need." Lan Wangji felt like he'd been slapped in the face. What did he mean, again?!

Upon seeing Wei Wuxian's slightly crestfallen eyes, his heart twanged like a string had snapped loose. Torn between taking Wei Wuxian by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of him—or something else he might regret, he spoke hurriedly. "Give me some time. I will meet you downstairs."

Wei Wuxian hesitated for a moment, then relented, smoothing out the wrinkles on the qiankun pouches. "Alright. There's no rush."

He left, the door closing softly behind him.

Lan Wangji stood there, unmoving.

He suddenly, violently, felt as if he had never appreciated Bichen's presence enough in any lifetime.

What exactly had he done last night!!??

By the time Lan Wangji had composed himself and stepped out, he caught sight of Wei Wuxian lounging on the dusty stairs, surrounded by a gaggle of children.

He seemed to be talking quite seriously to the pair of boys that stood before him, one with a length of white rope wrapped around his forehead, the other holding a stick and rock in each hand. After he finished, the two nodded hesitantly, in the way that children did when they only half-understood something. The others followed suit.

Wei Wuxian clapped his hands together merrily, then proceeded to take out the buns he had brought, passing them to the kids who looked a little hungry from playing around.

"Now," He took a bite and called out, "Since you all like the game so much, give it another try, won't you?"

And so Lan Wangji watched on by the doorway as Wei Wuxian played director.

"Nie Mingjue, this expression of yours isn't right! You're not trying to smack down some petty thieves, you're enacting vengeance. There's a difference! And Lan Wangji, I know you can be more fierce—let out some killing intent! Your eyes should be sharper than your A-Niang's kitchen knife...hm, almost. Look, even if you don't usually want to do it, it's something that must be done. Like…copying the texts of the ancients! You boys have to study those, don't you?"

The little 'Lan Wangji' looked at him honestly. After a pause, he spoke quietly, with no preamble. "But I like copying."

The other children hid their giggles.

Wei Wuxian froze.

An unbearably fond expression crossed his face, and his whole person seemed to soften, the way sunlight did when it passed tenderly through the petals of a flower. His lips twisted upwards, as if he were trying not to beam. "Alright, that's fine, of course you do," He said, and gently ruffled the child's hair. The boy's brows wrinkled into a tiny frown, and he reached up to straighten the rope.

Wei Wuxian watched the movement carefully, then turned away, the slant of his mouth still upturned.

Lan Wangji swallowed. Something delicate had landed on the tip of his heart.

The play continued.

Evidently, Wei Wuxian was having a lot of fun.

"Wei Wuxian, look how resolute your friend is! If you band together, even a thousand Wens will be no match for you. Stand closer to him, you'll be stronger that way. Oh, looking sharp! Can you spin the flute? With one hand only—aiya, be cooler! Come, let me show you how it's done."

With this, Wei Wuxian took Chenqing from his belt and twirled it with his fingers, the red tassel slicing through the air. His dutiful audience gasped in amazement, all except for one.

"Wow, Shushu, your flute looks just like Chenqing! Don't tell me you're actually…?" The 'Yiling Laozu's' expression was innocent, but his eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned in with anticipation.

Wei Wuxian seemed completely taken aback, rendered speechless for a moment. Then, he jumped back into motion, reaching out lightning-fast and pinching the boy's ear. He gave a squawk. "Firstly, open your eyes wide and take a look. Do you think the real Chenqing would be covered in teeth marks like this, you little rascal? Have you ever seen it before?" Clearly he wasn't waiting for a reply. "No, of course not. Secondly, who are you calling Shushu??"

The boy abruptly stopped squirming at looked up at Wei Wuxian searchingly, head tilted.

Lan Wangji was suddenly reminded of that time many years ago, above the Waterborne Abyss...yes, he had to agree with the assessment of 'little rascal.'

"…But you look a good bit older than my A-die."

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes and pinched again. "Where are your manners?" 

The 'Yiling Laozu' wailed dramatically. "Ah-ah-ah-ah Da-gege I was joking, I was joking, I'm just a kid—Da-gegeforgivemeaaah!!"

The other children had long burst out into laughter. Only the little Lan Wangji wore a faint frown once more.

"That's more like it." The boy was released with a huff from Wei Wuxian. He stumbled back to 'Lan Wangji's' side, rubbing at his ear. 'Lan Wangji' stared at him for a moment, then reached out to poke curiously at that red ear, as if he couldn't help himself. 'Wei Wuxian' squawked again, jumping in fright.

At this moment, the real Lan Wangji stepped closer.

Upon catching sight of him, Wei Wuxian leapt up with a cautious smile. "Ah, Er-gege, you're here!"

Lan Wangji glanced at the rambunctious group, who had returned to their game. Jiang Cheng stumbled into Jin Guangyao, knocking him into Nie Mingjue's sturdy shoulder. Jin Guangyao's eyes welled up with warbling tears. On the side, Jin Zixuan looked as if he were already anticipating a scolding from his mother. Wen Ning had given up and sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, finishing someone else's leftover bun.

Lan Wangji looked away, beginning to walk. "Do not trifle with children."

Wei Wuxian quickly said his goodbyes and fell into step beside him. "I was just having some fun, Lan Zhan. Besides, they trifled with me first."

Lan Wangji, "…"

His companion beamed and handed him a bun.

With that, they were off to Shudong.

Chapter Text

On the way, Lan Wangji asked once more about what he had done the night before. Wei Wuxian, who didn't know whether to be wracked with guilt or inexplicable laughter, smoothly answered with as little as possible. Thankfully, Lan Wangji didn't press. Other than that, the road to Shudong was calm and companionable.

They arrived at a small village, with a set of three different roads before it. The stone sign that stood by the third path was cracked in an almost completely illegible way. After staring at it for a while, Wei Wuxian turned back to the thatched houses, deciding to ask the village women. Lan Wangji accompanied him for a few steps, before hovering by the fences.

At his approach, the women were clearly on guard, but Wei Wuxian's friendly disposition and good looks seemed to quickly win them over. Lan Wangji watched them for a while, the conversation unable to make its way to his ears. He looked down and toed at a rock with his foot. The innocent little rock rolled over the dusty path and bounced off a wooden pole, skidding to a stop before two dark paws.

Beyond the fence, in a small, closed-off section of the yard, a mottled brown bun had risen up onto its hind legs, staring at Lan Wangji intently. He stared back. A faint crease appeared on his brow as his eyes roved over the village again, a vague flicker of familiarity in his mind. Carefully, he moved closer to the fence. One of the rabbit's ears twitched, but it remained watching.

The sound of aged, creaking wood interrupted the strange stare-off between man and hare. With a groan, the door of the house behind the yard opened and an elderly woman hobbled out. Upon catching sight of the figure beyond the fence, she paused, blinking cloudy eyes. They reflected gold.

It was as if she had seen a ghost.

Then, her wrinkled lips stretched into a small, wondrous smile, and with a sound of excitement, she shuffled over enthusiastically. The rabbit darted away. Lan Wangji made to move, as if he could support her from the other side of the barrier. But he could only watch and wait until the old woman leaned over, reaching out a slightly trembling hand.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as Lan Wangji's face became clearer and clearer. "This…is that really you? Hanguang-jun!"

He blinked in confusion. Out of all the places he might have expected to be recognised, this didn't even make the list. Not to mention, this face wasn’t even his own.

A little lost for words, Lan Wangji couldn't help but give an uncertain nod.

The old woman let out a hoarse chuckle. "You look just the same as you did all those years ago!"

Lan Wangji, "…"

Leaning forward, she pinched his cheek. "As handsome as ever."

His face caught between gnarled fingers, Lan Wangji could only blink again.

"Popo, what are you doing to that poor young master?!"

One of the younger village women rushed over, hurriedly pulling her grandmother's hand away. Putting up no resistance, the old woman simply chuckled again.

"Jiajia," She began, and her granddaughter's eyes immediately widened, becoming a little shiny. "Look, Hanguang-jun came to visit! If it weren't for him, you wouldn't have had a place to return to when you came back home."

"…Popo, you remember me?"

The grandmother beamed. "Of course, our lovely Jiajia, how could I ever forget? But, come in, come in, have some tea and rest for a while, Hanguang-jun and his companion. It has been so very many years…"

The girl, Jiajia, shot them a pleading look under wet lashes. It could be assumed that her grandmother's memory had been deteriorating as she aged, and it seemed like it had been a while since she recognised anyone properly, judged from the assortment of sniffles coming from the other women. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian glanced at each other, before winding around the fence to step into the yard and house.

With nearly ten of them gathered in the small room, it was somewhat cramped. Tea was poured for the guests, hot and a little watery. They could not offer anything more.

The old woman spent some minutes fussing over Lan Wangji, marvelling at his golden eyes and the qin at his back—which were how she had recognised him. Then, she explained with surprising clarity how they had encountered each other all those years ago.

During the Sunshot Campaign, there were practically no cultivators around to night-hunt nor cleanse resentment, especially since Shudong was partly under the jurisdiction of Qishan. Any Wen disciples were too busy fighting on all fronts, and it wasn't an exaggeration to say that even during peacetime, they were far from helpful. Qishan Wen never did have a reputation of aiding the common people—they were more likely to relocate and unleash troublesome beasts on the local populations rather than actually cleanse them for good.

Therefore, when a tiger yao began rampaging through the small village, all the village folk were left for dead. It had mauled almost a third of the people here before Hanguang-jun, who was only passing through from Jiangling, had arrived. When Wei Wuxian glanced in his direction, a faint grin at his lips, Lan Wangji seemed to have shrunk back the tiniest bit, listening to the old woman wax poetic about her rescue. The tips of his ears were slightly flushed.

Jiajia had returned from the provincial capital with some fellow villagers after her parents had become casualties in the war. In her family, her grandmother was the last one left alive. Ever since then, the village had fallen quiet, with no more than whispers coming from the nearby, long-haunted Yi City.

Yi City had never been a prosperous place. Most of the residents tended to die early, whether it be naturally or by accident, so it was filled with coffin homes. They were also skilled at making all sorts of burial goods, hence the name, but in the last few years, there had been no one coming in or out of it.

Coincidentally, the corpse arm had pointed them directly there.

"Thank you for playing along, young masters." Jiajia whispered after she returned from taking her grandmother to the inner room to rest. She was a sweet young woman, made a little haggard by hard labour. "It's been years since she could properly recognise anyone, even me…"

"Don't feel too bad," Wei Wuxian reassured her, "I'm actually a good friend of Hanguang-jun's, so it wasn't completely a play."

Jiajia gave him a hesitant smile. "In any case, know that I appreciate your kindness towards her. Please feel welcome to rest here for a while, before going on. I hope your business in Yi City goes smoothly."

She had led them to a small shed at the edge of a courtyard and fence which led back to the three paths. With that, they exchanged farewells.

Wei Wuxian poked his head through the door. There was a place to sit, and that was about it. "Come in, Lan Zhan," He called out behind him. "Let's take some time. I don't think we'll be able to head straight there anyway."

Lan Wangji stepped inside, settling himself in the seat. "Why?"

Reaching into his robes, Wei Wuxian half-drew out a talisman that glowed a warm, flickering red, before tucking it back in. “A-Yuan is around here. The other kids too, probably. I'll track them down when the location stabilises.”

Leaning against the wall, Lan Wangji nodded and let out a tiny sigh, closing his eyes briefly. Wei Wuxian studied him for a moment and couldn't help but tease. "It's funny though, Hanguang-jun. Who would've expected someone to recognise you all the way out here!"

Those golden eyes blinked open slowly, half-lidded. "It was a long time ago. At that time, I was also…" Lan Wangji's fingers curled. "…injured. Nevertheless, the yao was subdued."

He fell silent, wearing a strange look. It took a moment for Wei Wuxian to realise that it resembled the expression he used to have after they argued, in the years of the Sunshot Campaign. The memory made something twinge dryly in his throat—he had only glimpsed that look by accident, once, after having slunk past the tent they’d been quarrelling behind to go find his shijie, only to realise that Lan Wangji had still been standing there, staring at the ground.

But it wasn’t the same as the one at their last meeting. That one had been completely filled with despair.

Now, Wei Wuxian could guess what he was thinking. Before the old woman left, she'd given them a wrinkly, genial smile, calling out, "I look forward to your good news, Hanguang-jun!", after Wei Wuxian had mentioned the direction of their travels. All those years ago, roaming about the countryside on his own, Hanguang-jun had taken down countless cultivators and yao alike, regardless of any injuries.

And in the present, even with Wei Wuxian at his side, he must have still been reminded of the weakness of his current body, this unusual powerlessness for a person like him. Even discounting the standing of his sect and his own status, Lan Wangji had worked hard on his impressive cultivation from his very earliest years.

Seeming to read something on Wei Wuxian's face, Lan Wangji looked down. "Many things would be easier in my original body." His voice was even. "But this is the way it is."

A rush of insistence welled up in Wei Wuxian's heart. He was suddenly overcome with the need to console him.

"Lan Zhan, after all of this, let's go back to Gusu together."

Lan Wangji looked up, blankly.

Wei Wuxian nodded encouragingly at him. "We'll go back, I'll ask Wen Qing to come read through the library, and we'll figure out a permanent solution for your body for sure. Back in the day, she and I created an array to keep Wen Ning safe from anyone else's control. Any type of curse, modified or not, won't be a match for us. Her skills are really something, since she could even…"

Wei Wuxian hesitated, as if he had talked himself into a corner.

He took a breath, then finished, "…transfer a golden core."

Lan Wangji blinked at him. "…What?"

Wei Wuxian bit the inside of his cheek, hard, but pressed on.

"So, you don't need to be worried at all. I'm here. And we will find a solution."

It had the opposite effect than he had intended. Lan Wangji fell silent for a long, long while. When he looked up again, there was something akin to slow-rising panic in his light eyes.

"Wei Ying, speak properly. A golden core?"

In his youth, Wei Wuxian had always tried to render Lan-er-gongzi speechless, but never like this. This hadn't been the way he had wanted to tell Lan Wangji about this matter—honestly, part of him still didn't want to share at all, but since he had already tripped into this conversation…it was hard. Why was it even harder than the time he had told Lan Xichen?! At least that time, it was his life and the Burial Mounds at stake.

Except with Lan Zhan, it was just…everything.

But he deserved the truth.

Filled with a sudden urgency, Wei Wuxian didn't want any more misunderstandings between them, not when they would have to fight for any scrap of time left together. He didn't want Lan Wangji to suffer in silence, in fear of the unknown, still haunted by the agony of his death and the echoes of weakness that yet chained him down. He didn't want Lan Wangji to think that he hated him back then, that he couldn't stand the sight of him, because it had clearly been the opposite—and Lan Wangji didn't even know!

He took a deep breath. It came spilling out.

"After the massacre of Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng…his core was melted by Wen Zhuliu. He was in such a bad state. I begged Wen Qing to do it, so that at least Yunmeng Jiang could go on. We hid the truth of it from him, but the transfer was successful. And..and so during the Sunshot Campaign, when I walked the ghost path, it wasn't just for the sake of it, Lan Zhan. I didn't mean for you to leave, I didn't want it to push you away, but—I had no choice. I…"

All of a sudden, he trailed off.

Lan Wangji remained quiet. His lips seemed to tremble, as if passed by a silent breeze. As unmoving as a statue, all the blood had drained from his face, leaving him pale and stark.

"A core transfer…?"

He reached forward, the motion tremulous. Involuntarily, Wei Wuxian held his breath.

Slowly, Lan Wangji moved his hand over Wei Wuxian's chest, his small palm slipping down his abdomen until it sat against his dantian. Those slender fingertips pressed gently into his skin, as if they wanted to safely encase the core inside.

"This?" A disbelieving whisper.

From where Lan Wangji was touching him, faint cracks spread through Wei Wuxian's body, that warm hand the only thing that held him together. His heart had never quite broken for himself, when he'd lost his core, but this…

Wei Wuxian gave a tiny nod.

"How?"

His scalp prickled. Of course, this question couldn't be avoided.

"A surgery."

"…Was it painful?"

Wei Wuxian felt that the answer slipped past his lips without his permission. He couldn't stand to see Lan Wangji hurt like this. Desperately, he felt the need to comfort him. Yet simultaneously, he felt like he couldn't lie to him.

"Would you believe me if I said, just a little?"

The person before him…really looked like he was about to cry.

The differences between Mo Xuanyu and Lan Wangji could not have been starker than in this moment, but somehow, incredibly, Wei Wuxian could see the young Hanguang-jun before him like a wavering mirage. The edges of his eyes and cheeks bloomed with redness, and his fine features sharpened into an achingly pained expression, as if someone had torn his heart out by the strings. The weak sunlight that scattered over them through the singular window made Lan Wangji’s irises glint a transparent white, as fragile as glass, as lovely as morning dew.

Wei Wuxian couldn't bear it, yet he couldn't look away. Instead, forced his lips into a wobbly smile.

"Ah, don't…don't look at me like that, Lan Zhan. It's alright." He rasped out. "I managed to cultivate a new one, didn't I? You can feel it right here."

Deliberately, Wei Wuxian circulated energy around his dantian, spilling golden heat into Lan Wangji's palm, who remained silent.

Just by looking at him, Wei Wuxian's fingers twitched uselessly, and an overwhelming helplessness arose in his throat. He could only inch even closer, clasping his hands over his stomach, covering Lan Zhan's own.

Finally, Lan Wangji spoke, haltingly.

"During the war, I condemned you, without knowing a thing."

"You couldn't have known, Lan Zhan, I made sure of it. I didn't want anyone to know."

A rattling breath escaped him.

They sat like that for a while, frozen in motion, hands pressed against Wei Wuxian's still-pulsing core. Somehow, the rhythmic warmth of it seemed to eventually reassure Lan Wangji, and he pulled himself together enough to ask, "…Why now?"

Honestly, even Wei Wuxian didn't really know what had possessed him after hearing that old tale of Hanguang-jun and seeing Lan Wangji's quiet melancholy. But he tried to explain himself.

"…I just…I didn't want you to misunderstand me again, like the last time we saw each other. I know a little of how you feel in this body right now, but you don't need to worry at all, because I'm even more capable than I was back then." He bit the inside of his lip, "And I wanted to tell you that we'll always be able to find a way, even if we do have to strive for it."

Aghast, Lan Wangji cut in hoarsely, grip tightening. "We will do nothing of the sort."

Wei Wuxian slumped dramatically over their hands, leaning his forehead onto a slight shoulder. "Lan Zhan, that's not what I meant. It really was a terrible situation at that time."

"You—" Lan Wangji closed his mouth abruptly and shook his head. Based on his expression, Wei Wuxian half-expected him to mutter 'incorrigible'—although anything was better than before—but he simply pulled closer, seeming just to want them to be almost chest to chest.

Immediately, he could tell. Wei Wuxian had really…worried him.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No." Lan Wangji shook his head again. "No apologies. But…thank you, for telling me."

"…Then, there's no need for thanks either, Lan Zhan. Not between us."

Finally, Lan Wangji nodded, laying a hand on Wei Wuxian's hair, stroking his fingers almost unnoticeably over the smooth base of his ponytail. In the small shed, Wei Wuxian felt the heat of him, warm and alive, wrap around him like the scent of sandalwood. Tiny motes of dust danced gently through the air in the corner of his eye.

All of a sudden, he fell completely lax. A wave of honey-sweet relief crashed through him.

Something in his heart, which had been as tight as a dead knot, loosened for the first time in fifteen years.

The gates of Yi City were ruined and dilapidated, and the city itself was surrounded by steep, craggy cliffs on all sides—almost as if it were being held in the palm of some hideous demon. Consumed by the dense white fog, it was clear at a glance that demons and ghosts had long brought this place to ruin.

Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose as they approached. If he had no core, he would have shivered. Instead, he sidled up closer to Lan Wangji; an area like this was practically handcrafted to hold resentment and sinister energies.

He sighed, "The feng shui here is awful."

Lan Wangji spoke in agreement, "Barren mountains and treacherous waters."

Before they stepped through the gates, Wei Wuxian spared a moment to reach into his robes and realise something, then sighed again, with feeling. Lan Wangji glanced at him curiously.

"The kids are inside." Wei Wuxian grumbled, sticking a foot out. "Heavens, what can I even say…"

In the city, they naturally walked almost shoulder-to-shoulder, lest the fog swallow them whole. The further inside they stepped, the harder it became to see what was ten steps in front of them, then five—then, the fog coalesced into pure white, as dense as thick snow.

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian stepped on something with a faint crunch. He bent down slightly, before pausing and taking Lan Wangji's hand in his, then reaching out again, ignoring the abrupt spike of his heartbeat.

With him squatting down like this, even Lan Wangji beside him had to bend down a little as well as he examined the head of the paper warrior. Absently, Wei Wuxian thought that he was really encountering too many dismembered body parts lately.

After standing back up, but before he could crack a joke, a shadow sped past him. Suibian shot after it immediately, and Wei Wuxian's spiritual energy even gave a buzz in exasperation when it came back empty-handed, returning to its sheath.

"What was that?" He clicked his tongue, scanning through the dense fog uselessly.

Lan Wangji's qin was already halfway out of its cloth. "Footsteps and a bamboo pole."

The shadow didn't reappear even after a few minutes, being replaced by a multitude of soft footsteps instead. Wei Wuxian listened closely and took Lan Wangji's hand in his, tracing onto his palm.

Kids. Follow. Quiet.

When he was done, Lan Wangji caught his hand and slowly smoothed a thumb over his knuckles in agreement.

Wei Wuxian didn't quite trip over the paperman's head, but it was a close call.

Holding hands like this, they padded silently around the group of people who had made the sound of footsteps earlier, circling behind them. With a Yin-Burning talisman between his fingers, he used spiritual energy to augment his senses to their limits.

Wei Wuxian grinned mischievously, and pounced on his victim's shoulders—a boy who had the bad luck to be at the back of the pack.

The talisman flared up in a earsplitting rush of flames, momentarily blasting through the fog.

"I'm gonna eat you!" He cackled wickedly.

Two high screams rang out in perfect harmony.

"AAAHHH!!!"

A clamour of panicked voices followed.

But the figure that Wei Wuxian had grabbed didn't even twitch. Instead, he turned around, and Wei Wuxian was met with a bland smile. Wen Qing's disciple stared back at him, phoenix eyes curving into crescents. There were at least three needles held between his fingers, aimed at various vital points. "Wei-qianbei."

"Ah—" Wei Wuxian released him, disappointed that he had accidentally mistaken grey robes for white. "Qiyue, how come it's you? I thought you were Jingyi…"

"Wei-qianbei, you nearly scared me to death!!" Lan Jingyi wailed from the side. "What was that for?!"

When the other Lan boys heard that it was Wei Wuxian, they flocked over, relieved. The disciples from the other sects followed hesitantly.

"Hm, I don't know…" Wei Wuxian turned and squinted at him and Jin Ling, the latter who had fallen silent, though he was still barely shaking. "Maybe I just wanted to see how you kids would handle actually getting into serious trouble. You know, since all of you saw this very-clearly-haunted town and decided to run in without informing anyone. At all. A-Yuan."

His gaze fell onto Wei Sizhui, who gave his father a tight smile. As the fog began to reform, his hand came up to pinch lightly at Wei Wuxian's sleeve. "A-die, it's not like you didn't know we were here, though."

Wei Wuxian was two seconds away from rolling his eyes. "Shijie was right..."

Children at this age really did just end up doing whatever they wanted.

"Oh!" Having stepped close enough, Wei Sizhui caught sight of Lan Wangji, "Mo-qianbei came too!"

Lan Wangji nodded at them, then realised that it wasn't visible, and gave a hum instead. Lan Jingyi narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the shadowy qin on his back, but before he could open his mouth, Wei Sizhui had elbowed him and spoken up again, "Anyway, we were just following something—or, being followed. It's a short shadow, about this big," He gestured to about chest-height, "And it always comes with that tapping sound."

"I'm pretty sure this is a ghost town, too." Jin Ling piped up. "There's no humans here, and nothing but fog in broad daylight."

"That's fine." Wei Wuxian brushed it off. "Sizhui, have you seen Wen Ning? He was following you on the hunt, wasn't he?"

Wei Sizhui blinked. "Right. But it's only been fifteen minutes, and he usually follows at a distance—"

Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of the bamboo pole rang out again. Echoing through the mist, the incessant tapping seemed to bounce from place to place, making it impossible to pinpoint the source.

At this point, Wei Wuxian had long let Lan Wangji's hand slip from his own, but suddenly wished he had held on. Instead of surreptitiously waving his hand around, he called out to the juniors. "Everyone, come closer. Don't run and don't try to attack. Sizhui, you said fifteen minutes? But we've already been here for…"

"Half an hour." Lan Wangji's voice sounded quietly behind him.

"I believe we're stuck in some sort of maze array. You circled behind us, right, A-die?" Wei Sizhui said, his calm cadence similar to the one who had spoken before him.

Next to him, Kang Qiyue added, "Because it is not possible to have encountered Wei-qianbei and Mo-gongzi from the front, as we have been walking in a straight line this whole time. Sizhui also tried flying out of the fog, but couldn't see anything except for a few blurry shadows."

"…This isn't some kind of poisonous fog, is it?!" Lan Jingyi suddenly startled at the realisation.

Jin Ling snarked, "Try thinking a little, it's free. We'd be long dead if it was poison." There was a faint grinding of teeth and a scuffling sound, as if Wei Sizhui were holding someone back by the robes. Jin Ling sighed obliviously before continuing, "I should have brought Xianzi with me. It's all because of that damned donkey...wait, how did you end up here anyway, Shishu?"

Before Wei Wuxian could reply, Lan Jingyi finally cut in. "Hey, we still have a bone to pick with that fat dog of yours! It tried to bite first, and got a faceful of Xiao Pingguo's hoof like it deserved! That was pure self-defence—don't go blaming others for it!"

He would have liked to inquire on behalf of Lan Zhan at least, but Jin Ling retorted immediately with heat.

"Are you serious? That beast went wild the moment it was out of Sizhui's sight! In any case, it's just a donkey. Xianzi is a spiritual dog—if anything actually happened to her, not even ten thousand donkeys could pay for it!"

Aiya, Rulan, Wei Wuxian thought tiredly, but he couldn't help his slight amusement, your peacock is showing.

"If your dog is so great, then who told it to go pick on a donkey four times its size?! And we—"

"Hold on—who's we? Since when was Sizhui on your side?"

Lan Jingyi sounded as if he were stating the obvious, "…Jin-da-xiaojie, aren't you a bit slow on the uptake? Since he came to the Cloud Recesses last year!"

"Lan Jingyi, you—! Other than that, he has nothing to do with your sect! He's the son of my Shishu!"

"What kind of logic is this? Either way, he's not from the Jiang or the Jin. He didn't study or live in Yunmeng nor Lanling. Sure, not a Lan either, but he might as well be! If it's not the manners, at least he's got the family nose!"

Wei Wuxian was in shambles. He really wished he could hold Lan Zhan's hand, just to see if the other man found this as ridiculously funny as him.

"So what if he has a nose! Who doesn't have a nose! And manners clearly don't matter, have you even taken a look at yours—mnff! Mpph?? Mmmh??!"

His words devolved into closed-mouthed spluttering, furious and confused. Wei Wuxian blinked.

Lan Jingyi seemed completely taken aback. "…Well, I'm glad you decided to shut it, Jin-da-xiaojie, but you're still—mnfh."

He froze.

It took him a moment to realise that this was indeed his own sect’s silencing spell, rather than the errant hand of some mouth-zipping deity.

"Mn?? Mm-mmph?? Mmn mnn mmph!!"

From the tone, Wei Wuxian could practically hear the words: Who? Who dares? Release the spell!!

A hush washed over the disciples. It was eerily quiet. None of the Lan boys volunteered.

Lan Wangji broke the silence, "…Who named it Xiao Pingguo?"

Wei Sizhui, honestly, "Me."

After all this ruckus, Wei Wuxian was finally allowed to speak. "Good name." He praised, then turned a little and murmured to Lan Wangji, "He gets it from me."

Lan Wangji hummed in agreement. "Very casual."¹

Wei Wuxian choked on a snort.

But before he could compose himself and speak again, the sound of staggering footsteps came from within the fog. The stench of rotting meat drifted over. Wei Wuxian barely held himself back from wrinkling his nose. Forming a sword seal, Suibian sliced through the air, drawing a white circle and cutting the walking corpses in halves before returning. Then came a few irregular thumps, as the bodies fell to the ground.

There was no time to recover, as another set of heavy footsteps crashed over to them, even closer now. A little more irritated, Wei Wuxian sent his sword out again, but this time, there was an awful squelching sound after the blow landed, as if he'd split open a giant, overripe fruit. It was accompanied by a wave of panicked shouts from the disciples.

Suibian hovered before him as he stepped forward, concerned. The bright white of his sword glare pierced through the fog, but made it difficult to distinguish between shapes.

"What happened?" He called out.

Lan Jingyi answered from the left, spitting wildly as he did. So much for manners.

"Something—blergh—some sort of powder exploded from the body. It tastes, eurgh," He seemed to gag, "Bitter-sweet and rotten!"

Kang Qiyue's voice came from the right, sternly, "All of you, retreat at least five steps from that area. Do not inhale. Gather your qi and forcefully express air outwards from the nose and mouth in turn. It's most likely corpse poisoning."

Ah, so it was only corpse poisoning. Wei Wuxian said brightly, "Whoever cast the silencing spell should have left it for longer, it could've been helpful."

He got an offended "Wei-qianbei!" and "Shishu!" from each side respectively.

But when Wei Sizhui's face came into sight, lit by the pale glow of Suibian, he had gone completely white.

"A-die, behind you!!"

A shadow darted across his vision. Wei Wuxian whirled around and struck.

Where he originally thought Lan Wangji had been standing behind him, was the smoked-screened head of the gravedigger!

The lithe figure reached out a bandaged arm to snatch away the pouch at Wei Wuxian's side. As he did, Wei Wuxian combined the force of the spirits' release with a harsh jab of his sword to blast the gravedigger back, away from the juniors. Unfortunately, the gravedigger had realised he'd been duped as soon as he'd touched the pouch, immediately retreating. The spirits were almost instantly dissipated with a sweep of that concealed sword.

"Everyone stand back!" Wei Wuxian shouted, pressing his advantage. "Stay with Mo-gongzi—dare to follow and I'll let Jiang-zongzhu tan your hides on the docks!"

He'd learned his lesson from last time, and had long discarded the Jiang forms for this fight. The sword style he was using now was purely Wen.

Behind him, Lan Wangji had lit a Yin-Burning talisman, and the juniors flocked towards him. Alright—now he could focus on giving this person a real thrashing!

"Mo-gongzi," Wei Wuxian called out in a different tone. He sensed the warmth of the flame, which had been moving away, pause briefly. His lips couldn't help but turn up. "Take the kids and deal with the poison."

Lan Wangji's voice floated over, as steady as always despite the clashing of swords and the blasting wind of activated spells, "I will. Return soon, Wei Ying."

Suibian seemed to flare bright in response, betraying his delight.

Wei Wuxian dashed forward. His next strike was neatly blocked, the figure darting back into the fog.

His eyes narrowed as he slipped a hand into his robes, talismans caught between his fingers like a fan.

Things were just about to get interesting!

Chapter Text

"Mo-gongzi," Kang Qiyue turned to him after he had finished examining the disciples. "It's corpse poison."

Hearing this, Wei Sizhui gave a small sigh of relief and smiled cheerfully, reminiscent of his father. “Oh, that’s fine then. It’ll be a fun story to tell everyone at the next Discussion Conference.”

As Kang Qiyue began sorting through the boys, making sure the poisoned ones would all be carried, Lan Jingyi swivelled around in shock, a fire in his eyes.

“I beg your finest pardon?? We are literally—” Here, he staggered a little, his left leg giving out. Beside him, a non-Lan disciple gave an almost inaudible shriek and caught him. It didn’t deter him in the slightest. “—dying right now, Wei Sizhui! What are you talking about!!”

Lan Wangji held back a sigh. “Calm yourself. Increased blood circulation will bring the poison to your heart, and you will begin to rot.”

The non-Lan disciple, who was attentively listening to every word, drooped completely, bringing Lan Jingyi’s arm down with him. “Rot?!”

“We will find the cure.” Lan Wangji assured.

“It’s very simple.” Wei Sizhui added, still looking vaguely amused.

They, as naturally as breathing, left it at that.

“…So, what’s the cure?!” Lan Jingyi was forced to chase up after a moment, feeling that the way these two talked was enough to drive him to a qi deviation before the poison could even off him properly.

“Glutinous rice!” Jin Rulan snapped, tugging Lan Jingyi’s arm over his shoulder. “Now shut your mouth and stay still, or do you want to become a hopping corpse so badly?”

From where he was helping to carry another person, Kang Qiyue tossed a sentence over his shoulder as Lan Jingyi began to splutter. “Don’t be offended, Lan-gongzi, your cultivation isn’t bad. I’m sure you’ll be higher level than that—a jogging corpse at the very least.”

Lan Wangji could only watch and wane. At least Jin Rulan and Wei Sizhui had Wei Wuxian to fill in the gaps of their sect education, but how Lan Jingyi did not know such a simple fact was beyond him…

He set it aside. “Let us go. Those who are poisoned, do not move or speak unless necessary. We must find a house with residents.”

Eyeing the group, he directed, “Sizhui, Rulan, go left and right. Qiyue, stay back with the poisoned ones.”

And so, the healthy disciples separated into two single-file streams, everyone holding onto each other’s sword sheaths, and began knocking on the doors. After tossing Lan Jingyi off to someone else, Jin Ling couldn’t help but grumble, “There’s no need for Ha—Qianbei to call Rulan. Anyway, why the ones with residents? Aren’t we just looking to run into danger?”

Lan Wangji let out a small breath behind him and said patiently. “I am here.”

For some reason, Jin Ling felt immediately as if thick, weighted blanket had fallen over his shoulders. He clearly hadn’t seen this ‘Hanguang-jun’ do anything impressive, and yet the feeling remained.

He didn’t ask again.

The other boys, who were listening in behind them, also felt this strange sense of reassurance. Perhaps it was the way Lan Wangji spoke, with a steady, quiet confidence, or the fact that he didn’t seem to think that the poison would be a problem at all—as did both Wei Sizhui and Kang Qiyue, who had both proved to be completely dependable during their travels. It might have been the fact that Lan Wangji could speak to the Yiling Laozu so casually, even calling him by his birth name. Some also assumed that he was a senior associated with the Lan sect, with the qin he carried. Regardless, the disciples followed instructions obediently, with no complaints.

But after they had knocked on more than ten doors on each side combined, it was only natural to become a little agitated. On the other side, Wei Sizhui stopped and knocked again, as politely as he had the dozen times before.

“Excuse me. Is anyone home?”

Finally, a response came. The door opened a tiny slit, revealing nothing more than a dark shadow inside. However, there was no verbal reply. Watching this scene, the other juniors felt goosebumps crawling all over, but Wei Sizhui peeked guilelessly through the door like a some kind of short-lived madman.

“Excuse us. Dianzhu¹, we are travellers passing by, but the fog outside is so thick that we’ve gotten lost. Would you kindly lend us your shop so that we may rest for a while?”

A croaky, bizarre voice replied, slowly. It were as if the sound were struggling to climb out of the source, dry and stiff.

“My shop is not for travellers to rest.”

Before Lan Wangji could step in, Wei Sizhui’s smile widened.

“There really isn’t anywhere else. Dianzhu, seeing that we are young and incapable, won’t you do us a small favour? We are willing to pay. And it will only be for a short while, this one promises.”

With this, he brought out a dark money pouch.

There was a long pause, before the door opened a little wider, revealing the old woman who stood behind it. Silently and expressionlessly, she moved out of the way.

Lan Jingyi, while he was being carried inside, couldn’t help but mumble admiringly, “Wow, Sizhui, you’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

Wei Sizhui grinned at the back of his head and whispered behind him, “Don’t get mad, but I had my foot wedged against the door the whole time."

“…” Jin Rulan narrowed his eyes at this admission, before turning to the other juniors and cocking his head aggressively as if to say, look at this! What good manners!

Catching the tail end of the gesture, Wei Sizhui’s lips twitched. Then, a shadow fell over his face.

As soon as everyone had reluctantly filed inside, the old woman shut the door, sinking the room into blackness. A second passed, before a warm glow came from where Wei Sizhui was standing. Lan Wangji had been saved from having to light another talisman himself.

“Dianzhu,” The youth asked again, his steady voice seeming to echo in the silent room. “May I light the lamp?”

There was no reply. After a moment, the little light hovered over a lamp on the dusty table, before it caught the flame. Between one second and the next, the room was murkily lit up—filled with disciples, filled with people.

Lan Wangji saw Lan Jingyi tense, as if he had bitten his tongue. The boy next to him seemed about ready to faint. Jin Rulan’s sword was halfway out of its sheath. A few muffled gasps sounded out, as the juniors gaped at the crush of paper mannequins that crowded around them threateningly.

The expressions of these disciples were quite familiar—Lan Wangji had seen too many in his youth, when he had joined group night hunts. Those who were suddenly so shocked that their fingertips went numb, but fought to preserve some face in front of their peers. Now, it was a little amusing to watch, as it hadn’t been so much back then.

He took a candle from the table and lit it on the lamp, moving quickly through the room to light the others. The old woman simply watched, although the more warmth that spilled over the walls, the more she glowered at him. At least, the boys seemed reassured, be able to see each other’s faces clearly for the first time since they had arrived in Yi City.

When he was done, Lan Wangji turned to the old woman.

“May we possibly borrow the kitchen?”

She remained glaring. “The kitchen is in the back. Do it yourself.”

Immediately, she ducked into another room, as if she couldn’t stand the light, slamming the door.

Jin Rulan scowled, biting out, “There’s something off with that old—!”

Kang Qiyue cut in placidly, “That’s an understatement, Jin-gongzi.”

“Quiet.” Lan Wangji said. He looked over the boys, then realised that he knew too few of them. “Sizhui, Rulan, come.”

As they moved, that non-Lan disciple’s eyes widened, interest piqued. “It’s just them again…”

Lan Wangji paused, considering.

Without turning back, he said, “You as well.”

The boy scrambled over himself to follow. As they went to the kitchen, harried whispers came from behind him. “Ouyang Zizhen, you don’t need to say anything unnecessary. What if you piss him off?”

Ouyang Zizhen sounded a little wronged, “It was just an observation…Jin-da-xiaojie.”

A snort.

“You—!”

“Quiet down,” Wei Sizhui’s muted voice came, “Jin Ling, Mo-qianbei’s temper is very good, so there’s no need to worry.”

They reached the kitchen, which stank as if a hundred ghosts and demons had left their mortal bodies there to rot—meaning, to high heaven. Lan Wangji stepped in, closed his eyes briefly, and got to work.

After about a minute, he paused and straightened. The three juniors remained standing by the door, looking as if they would have liked to pass away. Jin Rulan was rapidly fanning at the air, as if that would do anything with the windows closed. Ouyang Zizhen’s usually-bright eyes had become a watery mess. Only Wei Sizhui had attempted to step through the doorway.

Lan Wangji, pointedly, did not sigh. “Help if you are willing. Find others if you are not.”

At this, Wei Sizhui rushed in. The other two followed, a little slower. Together, they threw out all the rotten food, cleaning the kitchen and its hearth. After a thorough cleanse, the room looked like it belonged to human civilisation once more, although again, only Wei Sizhui seemed to have an idea of what he was doing. He rummaged through the cupboards and found a chest of glutinous rice with a small sound of triumph, handing it to Lan Wangji.

From there, he took over. As Lan Wangji poured the rice into the pot, Jin Rulan asked, politely, “You’re making congee?”

Lan Wangji, “Mn.”

Jin Rulan, “…”

There was nothing more to say.

“Can you cook, Jin-gongzi?” After a moment, Ouyang Zizhen asked curiously.

Jin Rulan crossed his arms. “I…only one dish. But I haven’t made it.”

A confused expression appeared on Ouyang Zizhen’s face. “What does that mean? So you haven’t cooked?”

With a faint scowl, Jin Rulan retorted, “I’ll definitely be able to do it on the first try. There’s just been no occasion yet.”

Wei Sizhui came over, having finished washing bowls in preparation for eating, “Oh, are you waiting for A-Xing’s birthday?”

“Huh? How did you…”

“It’s Jin-furen’s lotus root and pork rib soup, isn’t it? I’m sure you’ll get it on the first try. You’ve watched her make it so many times, after all…

As they talked, Lan Wangji stirred the contents of the pot, whose colour had been lightly tinted from the other ingredients he had mixed in. He had already spooned the finished congee into bowls by the time the trio realised that he was done. They went out and distributed them amongst the poisoned juniors. Holding the piping-hot bowls in their hands, no one seemed quite ready to take the first bite.

Lan Wangji inclined his head. "Eat."

Obediently, they began.

After the first spoon, Lan Jingyi blinked at his bowl, then went for another, enthusiastically.

"Why does it taste so familiar?" He mumbled halfway through his third mouthful.

A boy from one of the other sects cried out through what appeared to be unsalted tears, "Lan Jingyi, what exactly are you talking about? How can congee taste like this??"

The answer was clear.

Somehow, it was both overwhelmingly medicinal and yet bland beyond measure!!

But the Lan juniors seemed to have no trouble slurping it up like it was their last meal. "It tastes just like home…" Another disciple managed, before abandoning his spoon and directly drinking from the bowl.

Lan Wangji's brows pinched slightly. "Do not speak while eating."

It was silent after that—barring the sounds of both hesitant and enthusiastic congee-drinking. Despite some comments regarding the taste, no one actually protested against the food.

Out of curiosity, Wei Sizhui tried some of the extra congee. Immediately, his mouth puckered at the herbal bitterness that he was well-acquainted with, having had to suffer through a year's worth of such cuisine. However, it would’ve been quite delicious with the addition of fresh ingredients and chilli oil. The rice was perfectly cooked, after all.

Turning back to Jin Ling, who was looking on with a raised eyebrow, he shook his head and mouthed—tastes like the Cloud Recesses.

Jin Ling quickly slapped a hand over his own mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

It took a while for the boys to get through the congee, but even the most picky ones finished up the last dregs after a sigh of “Do not be wasteful”. By the end, all the non-Lan disciples seemed to be sweating somewhat, looking faintly green.

Beside Lan Wangji, Wei Sizhui whispered, “Mo-qianbei, the old lady’s door…”

A faint gust of cold wind seeped in from the outside, making the other room’s door give a high-pitched creak, falling slightly open. The inside was completely dark, with only the blurry outline of a figure hunched over a table.

Lan Wangji gave the juniors a stern look so that they did not follow, and walked into the room. Nevertheless, he heard the sound of muffled footsteps behind him. The rustling of his robes against the floor was heavy in the dusty space, fading as he stopped before the old woman.

Lan Wangji sat himself by the table, his movements slow and telegraphed.

“Dianzhu,” He said softly, eyes fixed on the embroidery she held in her lap. He had never seen this kind of corpse before, both living yet dead, a conscious soul trapped in its already-stiff body. “Would you like some assistance?”

She gave no reply, but her fingers continued the attempt, jerky movements eventually slowing into stillness. Carefully, Lan Wangji took the needle and thread, pulling the latter through with the help of the flickering light of the lamp outside. After handing it back, he slowly stood, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Wei Sizhui, who had been watching by the doorway, spoke in a hushed voice. “Mo-qianbei, she is…”

He seemed to know something.

“What is she?” Lan Wangji inquired.

Wei Sizhui took a deep breath. “A living corpse.”

Jin Rulan immediately blanched. “Like your uncle?”

Turning a firm gaze towards him, Wei Sizhui explained. “Not exactly. A living corpse is a dead person in all but consciousness and breath. The body is rigid and stiff, and small, subtle movements cannot be replicated. These include blinking, moving the eyeballs, and in this case, threading a needle. It is harder for them to think, but they aren’t afraid of pain.”

There was a beat of muffled whispering among his peers—“Who’s his uncle?”—“…Gui-jiangjun, I think.”—“Sorry???”—“Yeah, his uncle is Wen Ning.”—“And his father is the Yiling Laozu, what kind of pedigree is this…”—before another boy called out curiously, “Then how different is she from the Gui-jiangjun?”

The speaker was immediately elbowed by a Lan junior, but Wei Sizhui hadn’t seemed to take any offence. He answered smoothly.

“It seems that living corpses came about as an attempt to imitate a sentient fierce corpse. But my Shushu had died first before any kind of revival. This is simply demonic cultivation, turning living humans into living corpses—some might not even realise that their bodies are already deceased. In conclusion, they are failed imitations.”

Wei Sizhui’s face was set in a resigned frown by the end.

What a needlessly cruel thing to do.

“You have encountered them before?” Lan Wangji asked.

“Mn,” Wei Sizhui nodded with a grimace. “There’s no shortage of Yiling Laozu copycats, after all.”

“We will leave her be.” Lan Wangji said, before the juniors could talk amongst themselves again. “She is not a threat.”

Before his last word had even landed, a loud rapping suddenly sounded at the front door. Everyone inside froze, whipping their heads over to look with trepidation. There was nothing to be seen, only a looming shadow over the boarded-up window next to the entrance. The sounds of combat had long been drawn away, leaving behind a faintly whistling gust of wind.

Wei Wuxian’s voice came from the other side. “Open the door—it's me."

Jin Rulan was the only one who dared to move, but Wei Sizhui caught his arm. Wait, he mouthed, before stepping forward. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, he called out.

"What's the password, A-die?"

"…"

The assorted juniors stared at him as if he had lost his mind. On the other side, Lan Wangji could imagine the face Wei Wuxian was making. With some amusement, he inferred that it was most definitely the son who had come up with this precaution, and not the father.

"Well?"

"…I could be dying out here, Sizhui."

"And your son could have opened this door five seconds ago. The password?"

"Fine. Last time, I came to deal with…"²

Wei Sizhui cracked the door open and tugged his father inside, holding his breath all the while. The boy had been calm and collected since their arrival in Yi City, but now his control slipped, as he was betrayed by his slightly shaking hands.

“Are you alright? What happened to the other person?”

Wei Wuxian chuckled, wiping at a small scratch on his face, “All you need to know is that he won’t be back anytime soon.”

Turning around, he beamed at Lan Wangji and the juniors, “Good, everyone’s here. Did H—ahem, Mo-gongzi take care of you while I was gone?” He seemed to stumble on his words slightly, but covered it up with a cough as he swaggered over, surveying the room.

“He made rice congee for us,” A Lan disciple piped up, “It was really good.”

This statement was followed by several nods and hums of agreement from those of his own sect, while the other boys stared on disbelievingly.

“Oh, is that so?” Wei Wuxian had made his way to a table on the other side of the room that was laden with funerary goods. With his back turned, there was a faint, metallic clinking, and then he moved away from the table, revealing a lit incense burner. Along with his return, a familiar scent seeped over after a few moments—the scent of sandalwood.

Lan Jingyi sniffed the air, then sneezed violently. “Where’d you get that stuff from, Wei-qianbei?”

“Qinghe.”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Smells cheap.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, coming up to him. “It’s better than that dusty, rotting stink, though. Say ah.”

Lan Jingyi said, very naturally, “Ah.”

“In any case, the congee was much better than whatever you would have cooked up, Wei-qianbei.” Kang Qiyue said, poking his head over to help double check that everyone was fully cured.

“You’re probably right, but only by a bit. My cooking is still the best, isn’t it, Sizhui?” Satisfied, Wei Wuxian stepped back. His son nodded diligently next to him, but didn’t say a word.

Behind his martial uncle’s back, Jin Rulan mimed the act of throwing up.

Here, Wei Wuxian had the juniors fill him in on their travels so far. Of course, he had gotten the gist of it from Wen Ning, but more detail was always appreciated. After Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian had left the Burial Mounds, Wei Sizhui had gone with the Lan disciples intending to return to the Cloud Recesses, but they stopped over in Langya for a night hunt. Jin Rulan had slipped away from Sect Leader Jiang while the latter was occupied with keeping a leash on Jin Hanxing. Eventually, both groups had been lured to Yueyang with a trail of dead cats.

It was an extremely strange scene for Lan Wangji—with the exception of Jin Rulan and Wei Sizhui, the juniors of the Lan sect were the ones who actually talked the most. The other boys seemed intimidated into near-muteness, despite Wei Wuxian’s generally unserious disposition. His reputation indeed preceded him.

“By the way,” Wei Wuxian said casually, just as the sound of a knock came from the window. He reached out and jerked a finger towards it; immediately, one of the wooden boards that covered the frame flew off, clattering to the floor.

The colour of bleached bone: pupil-less eyes stared back at them, glowering. That pale face with delicate features, framed by the window, opened its mouth in surprise—without warning, blood surged violently from that torn gape of a mouth. At the same moment, those white eyes became rimmed with a visceral red, crying crimson tears.   

The juniors froze, as if about to scream. Lan Jingyi squeezed his eyes shut, clutched desperately at his chest, and cried out for Zewu-jun in his heart. 

Wei Wuxian grinned.

“We have a guest.”

Chapter Text

The ghost maiden stared back at them, about as equally shocked as the juniors. In her hand, the bamboo pole was half-raised, ready to knock again. Although her eyes were flooded with red tears, the irises followed each subtle movement of the people inside.

Despite the somewhat terrifying picture she made, everyone had enough sense to not make a sound—that was, until Wei Sizhui whispered. “A-die, even though her eyes are pale, she seems able to see.”

No one dared to shush him, but more than a few shot him pleading glares from behind. Wei-gongzi, please leave all ghosts and demons to the resident expert!!

Wei Wuxian made a quiet noise of acknowledgement and moved closed to the window. At his heels, Lan Wangji’s footsteps followed. The maiden watched them warily, fingers tightening around the bamboo pole. Crimson lines of blood from her face dripped slowly onto her neck, making her scrub at her collarbone with the back of her free hand absently. The movement dislodged the lapels of her dirty robes, and something dark embedded on her skin peeked through.

“Guniang,” Wei Wuxian started, a hint of friendliness to his words, “What business do you have with our kids?”

The girl’s pale eyes trembled, and she parted her bloodied lips slightly. Like some sort of nightmare, a flood of red poured out again, but her intentions soon became clear. Only a stump remained of her tongue.

“She can’t talk.” Jin Ling realised, paling at the gruesome sight.

Lan Wangji had stepped in line beside Wei Wuxian. Gesturing wildly, the girl began scratching at the ground with her bamboo pole, stomping in frustration when all that came out was a mess of stick figures and not legible characters. She was illiterate.

“Guniang,” Lan Wangji spoke softly, as if soothing a frightened rabbit. The maiden glanced up at the sound of his voice and blinked guilelessly a few times. If she were living, it would have been an adorable sight. But it still made some of the juniors shiver in fear, nonetheless.

Wei Wuxian hushed them as Lan Wangji continued, “Are you trying to warn us about something?”

The girl nodded furiously, rapping the bamboo pole onto the windowsill as if to emphasise the point.

Lan Wangji considered her for a moment, then asked, “Yao, mo, gui, guai?”

With each option, he presented a finger on his left hand. The thumb, index, middle, and ring fingers, in order.

She glanced down at the options, delicate brows furrowing. Almost resentfully, she spun in a circle and kicked at the ground with her heel, knocking up a puff of dust. It was an odd question to ask someone who was obviously not a cultivator, but she didn’t jump to select any of the choices. After steadying herself, the girl glared at Lan Wangji’s hand, gritted her teeth, and shook her head.

No.

Lan Wangji’s expression tightened. Finally, he uncurled his pinky finger. “A human?”

As if she’d been waiting for this answer, the maiden leapt towards the windowsill, rapping onto it again and nodding all the while.

Yes, yes! She mouthed.

Now that she was so close, Wei Wuxian could finally make out the marks around her neck.

Dark, inky black circles, something between a tattoo and scorch marks on wood, burnt a long chain that wove around her neck and shoulders. It was a mimicry of beaded jewellery, piled messily in the hollows of her throat and collarbone.

…So there had been some truth to the rumours about Xue Yang after all.

“Guniang, what is that?” Wei Wuxian traced a finger over his own collar, tapping for emphasis.

The maiden craned her neck down to look, then turned back to him, tilting her head as if asking a question.

I don’t know, she mouthed, waving her free hand carelessly. Wei Wuxian frowned, and she shook her head upon deciphering his expression. It wasn’t this that had killed her, then?

“Do you have any idea where it came from?”

She seemed a bit irritated by this line of inquiry, and shook her head wildly while stomping her feet again. There wasn’t much more to be found, so Wei Wuxian relented.

“Alright, alright, we’ll find this person and clean up this city for you. Guniang, just stay put, won’t you?”

With a twist to her mouth, the maiden stared at him blankly.

A grimace flashed across her features. A gust of cold wind swept by.

In an instant, she had vanished into thin air.

A little dumbfounded at her sudden disappearance, Wei Wuxian thought, kids these days are all the same.

Before he could even sigh, there was a scuffle behind him by the wall. Lan Jingyi cried out from where he and some others were pressed against another window, “Wei-qianbei, there are more corpses coming!”

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian replaced the board onto the window before sauntering back to the table in the centre of the room. Going in the opposite direction, the remaining boys crowded around the slit between the boards to peek outside the door. “I set up a barrier formation outside—plain old corpses won’t be able to get through.”

Wei Sizhui withdrew as well and accompanied him to the table. “What should we do?”

Wei Wuxian tilted his head, thinking. “The ghost maiden told us it was a human—who probably set those corpses on us. It might be worth waiting it out.”

As if he were attending some sort of banquet, Wei Wuxian swept down to sit properly before the pot of leftover congee, ignoring the disbelieving looks of the juniors around him.

…Did the great, dastardly Yiling Laozu have no inkling of vigilance? They had been chased by a unknown assailant, set upon by countless corpses, poisoned with corpse powder, and entreated by a tongueless ghost—all in the span of a shichen! How could one even work up an appetite in this situation? Was this the time or the place to be acting so relaxed??

Behind his father, Wei Sizhui looked on a little helplessly, though there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“Just as well, I was feeling hungry.” Wei Wuxian exclaimed with cheer, before spooning the congee into a smaller bowl. The Lan juniors saw nothing wrong with this. The non-Lan juniors had become completely dumbfounded.

Wei Wuxian lifted the spoon to his mouth, as if he were really anticipating imperial dishes at his banquet.

Only Ouyang Zizhen managed to choke out, “Wait, Wei-qianbei—”

Wei Wuxian swallowed.

He closed his eyes.

A long moment passed.

His tongue darted out to lick off a tinge of bright green by his lips.

The assorted disciples looked on, frozen.

Wei Wuxian set his spoon back into the bowl, seeming to savour the flavour. Then, he took his second mouthful, his third, his fourth. Soon, he was digging in with enthusiasm.

Jin Ling’s lips puckered. Wei Sizhui’s eyebrow twitched.

Wei Wuxian finally took a break to give Lan Wangji a particular smile, with a piece of rice sitting on his upper lip. “Delicious. As expected of gongzi. Reminds me of our—ahem, my school days.”

Lan Wangji gazed at him calmly, then said, “Your memory is quite good.”

His answer was a quiet huff as Wei Wuxian lifted his spoon again.

But before he could take another bite, Wei Wuxian froze, jerking his head up to look. Their eyes met, a split-second of comprehension passing between the two, as if they had noticed the same thing at the same time.

Abandoning his meal and drawing Suibian in one fluid motion, Wei Wuxian barked out—

“Scatter!”

With a thunderous crash, the ceiling exploded open above them. Shards of debris rained down where he and Wei Sizhui had been but half a second before.

Lan Wangji leapt backwards, sweeping an arm over the disciples behind him to shield them with his sleeve. He called out to the juniors on the other sides of the room, “Stay back!”

Sword raised, Wei Wuxian wiped at his mouth with his free hand, a little disgruntled. Glancing at the shattered table and bowls, he muttered, “Why do I keep getting interrupted at the best times…”

Just as the dust barely began to clear, a black-robed figure dropped down from the ceiling. Taller than anyone else in the room, he wore an unusual horsetail whisk on his back while brandishing a long sword with a silver hilt. His features were sharp and handsome, but the most pressing thing was his eyes—pupil-less and pure white, this was clearly a fierce corpse!

Alright, perhaps plain old living or walking or even hopping corpses wouldn’t have gotten past Wei Wuxian’s formation, especially in those numbers, but this one was quite a few levels above them thank you very much!

Before anyone could react, the fierce corpse lunged towards the person closest to him—the unfortunate kid being Jin Ling. An awful screeching sound tore through the room as his gilded sword blocked the heavy strike. Inexplicably, there was a long, pregnant pause as Jin Ling stared at the crossed blades in total shock. Along the gleaming edge of Youguang, a fine fracture ran from the side where the corpse’s sword had struck it, right into the middle.

Collecting himself, he glared viciously at the corpse, who had also halted and seemed almost taken aback. “Hey, are you serious—?”

“Jin Rulan!” Wei Wuxian shouted sternly as the black-robed corpse attacked again. Jin Ling’s hand was narrowly saved from being lopped off as Suibian parried with its sword glare, forcing his opponent back. “Time and place!”

“I can’t believe he’s talking about time and place…” Narrowing his eyes, Jin Ling nevertheless scrambled back obediently next to Wei Sizhui, who began fussing over his cracked sword.

Jin Ling’s mouth snapped shut as the fierce corpse whirled around and swung at Wei Wuxian, the blade whistling a deadly tune before it abruptly froze. After a millisecond, both weapon and master were blasted back violently into the remnants of the table, a dissonant chord ringing out in the aftermath. Wei Wuxian didn’t yet spare a glance at Lan Wangji, whose qin was drooping slightly in his arms after sending out such a powerful attack—instead, he rushed over and threw out a handful of talismans.

The yellow scraps elongated into fiery chains, pinning the fierce corpse down onto the floor with his arms crushed to his sides. Thrashing about and roaring wildly, the sight of him made most of the juniors shrink into the two corners of the room they were scattered around. Wei Wuxian stepped closer, noting the narrow stab wound on the cultivator’s chest as well as the dark blood dripping from his lips, and added a few more chain talismans for security. Leaning over, he used one hand and the hilt of Suibian to pinch the corpse’s sallow cheeks, forcing his mouth open.

Like the ghost maiden, his tongue had been severed.

Strange. Two people, who both appeared blind, who both had their tongues pulled out. Add that to the resentment-scorched marks on the ghost girl’s neck, the rumours that involved Xue Yang, and the remaining, torturous deaths of the Chang clan…

Wei Wuxian could only come up with one open hypothesis:

Somehow, the delinquent of Kuizhou was—most definitely—not dead. 

Or, if he indeed was, he'd kicked the bucket fairly recently.

Staring down at this poor corpse, lost in thought, he barely realised that Lan Wangji was beside him until he felt a faint tug at his sleeve, just above his wrist.

“Wei Ying?”

At the touch, he immediately came back to himself. It was that wrist!!

Wei Wuxian jolted from head to toe, before casting a slow look at the other man, trying his utmost to keep his voice free of the guilt that was seeping from his very pores. He inched his hand away. “Hm? What is it?”

Lan Wangji glanced at him strangely, but didn’t seem to find anything amiss. Wei Wuxian let out a silent breath as those golden eyes turned back to the tightly bound corpse. “The resentment is particularly strong around his head.”

Confused, Wei Wuxian cocked his own head. He traced the cultivator’s hair and neck carefully with his gaze—suddenly, a dark glint caught his eye. Reaching out, Wei Wuxian felt around behind his temples and found two points of something vaguely metallic. His nose wrinkled into a frown as he grasped the round nibs, about to pull them out.

Then, he paused.

Since they were still searching for clues regarding this mysterious human behind the scenes, it wasn’t the time to be reckless. A fierce corpse like this was almost on par with Wen Ning, but seemed to have lost all semblance of consciousness and self-control—it would be best to understand the situation better before Wei Wuxian accidentally lobotomised him or something.

Withdrawing his hands, he assessed Lan Wangji, then turned to the juniors, who had crept closer around the table after the corpse had been secured, watching with morbid fascination.

As he opened his mouth, Wei Wuxian felt a faint strain on the barrier formation.

“A moment.” He said distractedly, then leapt up through the hole in the ceiling, the flooring letting out twin creaks of alarm as he kicked off. At the apex of his jump, he lashed out with Suibian, spinning in a circle. The bright sword glare cut cleanly through the fog as well as the countless corpses that had been slobbering at the perimeter, letting out howls as a good chunk were exterminated or beaten back.

He landed lightly in his original position. As he did, the fierce corpse jerked up again, struggling fruitlessly but disturbing the debris around them. It had brought the stink of death and resentment inside after crashing through the roof, chasing away the sandalwood that had been cleansing the place. Before Wei Wuxian could click his tongue and debate on pulling out a stasis talisman, Kang Qiyue came closer. “Excuse me.”

A few well-placed needles were not enough to completely subdue the cultivator, but reduced the thrashing movements to random twitches, which was good enough.

Other than nodding his thanks, Wei Wuxian continued as if nothing had happened. He turned to the Lan disciples, pointedly ignoring Lan Wangji’s tight expression beside him. “Can anyone play Inquiry?”

Surprisingly, none of them responded, simply glancing at each other and shuffling about nervously.

“Jingyi, you can’t do it?” Jin Ling prodded, as if he were completely uncaring of the strange atmosphere.

Lan Jingyi’s lips twisted mulishly. He replied as if he were parroting someone else’s words, “Ability is not proficiency. Wei-qianbei, why bother? Sizhui can play it just fine.”

Wei Wuxian shrugged. “This qianbei only thought he should ask, since you made a big deal about ‘outsiders’ and all last time.”

Now, Lan Jingyi’s eyes narrowed as he glanced conspicuously towards Lan Wangji, who gave no response. With a huff, he turned away, crossing his arms.

Wei Sizhui wasted no time pulling his qin out, setting it onto his knees with perfect posture.

After he had readied himself, Wei Wuxian said, “Ask what his name is.”

Wei Sizhui nodded and proceeded to chant the incantations.

As he did, Wei Wuxian sidled up close to Lan Wangji’s ear and whispered, hopefully in a winning tone, “Be easy on him.”

Beneath lowered lashes, the sideways glance that Lan Wangji gave him was inscrutable, golden eyes flickering with the uneven light. It made something flutter in his stomach. Wei Wuxian was given no reply—not that he needed one.

Lan Zhan was a very reasonable person, after all.

A long moment after Wei Sizhui played the first question, two notes, deep and resonant, burst out from the strings.

The boy’s eyes widened in shock as he exclaimed, “It’s Song Lan!”

As one, everyone’s heads whipped over to stare incredulously at the corpse—at Song Lan, again. They were all, ostensibly, thinking along the same lines. This person, a proud and renowned gentleman, the partner to Xiao Xingchen’s bright moon and gentle breeze—how had he ended up in such a wretched state?!

Wei Wuxian’s lips tightened. Watching him, Wei Sizhui unexpectedly noticed that he and Lan Wangji wore practically the same expression. He was snapped out of his strange realisation by his father’s voice.

“Next question: who killed him?”

He played the phrase seriously and earnestly, putting irrelevant thoughts out of mind.

The silence drew out unbearably long, this time.

Just as Wei Sizhui was about to ask again, the strings vibrated three times, making his hands jump back in order not to hinder them.

He blinked down at his instrument, once, twice, then spat out, exactly as Wei Wuxian might have exclaimed in his youth, “What?!”

It was as if someone on the street had hacked a glob of phlegm at his feet—he was so personally offended. With this expression, no passerby could ever guess that he hadn’t grown up a spoiled young master!

Lan Jingyi, who had rarely seen this good brother of his so dismayed, asked hurriedly, “What did he say?”

For Wei Wuxian, the answer came in both his son’s sharp tone and a quiet voice beside him.

“Xiao Xingchen!”

Silence fell over the group. Several juniors glanced between Song Lan’s still-twitching corpse and the guqin a few times with skepticism, as if searching for answers. Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak. He could only glance at Lan Wangji, who looked as equally as stumped—as he could look, anyway.

His head felt like it was spinning.

For Wei Wuxian’s shishu, who was such a good kid, to actually raise Shuanghua against the one in his heart that he so dearly and lovingly called Zichen, Song-daozhang… Wei Wuxian never claimed to know everything about a person, but he considered himself a decent judge of character.

It didn’t seem possible. It was not even close to probable. There was definitely more to the story here.

Jin Ling started, rightfully hesitant, “Sizhui, maybe you…”

He trailed off, but the words got it wrong? were palpable in the air. The juniors shifted among themselves, until Lan Jingyi cried out, aggrieved on Sizhui's behalf. “There’s no way—‘who are you’ and ‘who killed you’ and the most basic tenets of Inquiry. You could doubt me if I played it, but it’s Sizhui—come on!”

A furrow between his brows, Jin Ling seemed about to protest further. Lan Wangji spoke instead, the faint movement of his sleeve sending a shadow skittering over the wall, “Everything was correct.”

Lan Jingyi turned to him with a mutinous look, “You—”

“Enough.” Wei Wuxian cut in firmly. “Debating will get us nowhere. Sizhui, let's go on to the last question: who is controlling him?”

Wei Sizhui had remained silent after the initial revelation, but there was still an upset twist to his mouth as he played. All the juniors seemed to hold their breaths in tense anticipation, a faint whisper of breeze washing over them.

The strings began to quiver.

As each note rang out, Wei Sizhui’s translation followed with an eerie, half-beat delay.

“The. One. Behind.”

His breath stuttered, expression freezing over in the span of a millisecond.

“You—!”

Instantly, he shoved his qin aside with one hand and struck out with his sword in the other, lunging towards Lan Wangji.

Simultaneously, a scream of steel of steel pierced the air, and Wei Sizhui’s furious shout: “Get away from him!”

The juniors scrambled back; Suibian flared to life.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Wei Sizhui didn’t dare to move anymore.

The situation revealed itself.

Behind Lan Wangji's straight, rigid figure, there was a glint of teeth. The young man holding his sword to Mo Xuanyu’s neck grinned radiantly.

Lan Wangji gave a half-swallow, tilting his head back ever-so-slightly. The blade followed the motion, disinclined to leave even a hairsbreadth of space, kissing insistently against his pale neck.

A thin line of red seeped out.

Wei Sizhui’s Qingsheng wavered, the fine tip trembling as it crossed over the yin-black of Jiangzai, pointing directly between the other youth’s brows. Perpendicular to the figure before him, Wei Wuxian’s Suibian gleamed with icy killing intent, mere inches from the beaded necklace that peeked out from the collars of the young man’s robes.

Xue Yang clicked his tongue, dark eyes dancing with mirth, fixed on Wei Sizhui—his bared teeth, his furious glare.

“You should step back, Xiao-Laozu.”

Chapter Text

Wei Sizhui, somewhat stubbornly, did not give an inch.

At least until Xue Yang’s fingers tightened on the hilt of Jiangzai, and Wei Wuxian spoke.

Quietly, the word resounded like a whip-crack.

“Sizhui.”

The juniors had already been silent, but upon hearing the glacial tone of that voice, gave a collective shiver. Wei Sizhui’s cheek twitched. He took a single step back, sword still raised.

“Release him.”

Still grinning, Xue Yang finally took his attention off Wei Sizhui, but ignored Wei Wuxian’s demand. “It’s been so long, and this is how you greet an old friend? Da-Laozu, your hospitality has really gone down the drain after all these years.”

In the unbearably tense silence that followed, not even the breeze seemed to stir. And with Wei Wuxian’s back to the disciples, the expression on his face couldn’t be seen. But there was no mistaking the killing intent that seemed to crystallise the very air, so overwhelming that it steadily crushed down against one’s flesh and internal organs—the weight of a mountain. Although it was well known in the cultivation world that the Yiling Laozu had long given up his ghost path, one couldn’t help fear that the denizens of hell were seconds from clawing up through the dirt.

“…Xue Yang.” Wei Wuxian said again.

Xue Yang cocked his head, making no move otherwise. “Hm?”

“What do you want to keep?”

Although he was faced with such a strange question, Xue Yang’s smile only stiffened, but didn’t falter. He licked his lips and mocked, “Did you finally lose it?”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t even blinked yet.

“Choose one body part to keep for your next life.”

Xue Yang’s expression flickered.

Wei Wuxian moved.

Lightning-quick, the sound of steel wailing in protest was long delayed after a brilliant sword glare. Faster than the eye could see, Suibian darted under Jiangzai and hooked the blade away from Mo Xuanyu’s pale throat, but before Wei Wuxian could disarm him completely, strands of black smoke burst out violently from Xue Yang’s body.

Wei Wuxian froze.

The beaded necklace Xue Yang wore radiated pure resentment, slender, noxious wisps swirling lazily around him and Mo Xuanyu, as if to bind them together. Beneath Lan Wangji’s white robes, Wei Wuxian’s blood array flickered ominously in response to the concentrated energy, fighting against the curse’s instinct to devour it. A furrow appeared between Lan Wangji’s brows, his jaw clenching almost unnoticeably.

“Don’t be hasty, Da-Laozu. Adults should talk to adults. I’ll let the kids go, so release that pincushion over there, won’t you?”

Xue Yang inclined his head over at Song Lan, then glanced at the juniors and bared his teeth playfully. The sensible ones scrambled back, closer to the door. Wei Sizhui remained exactly where he was. Jin Ling’s hand was still on his sword, although it quivered somewhat at the increasing pressure of the Yiling Laozu’s killing intent.

When it seemed that Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to reply, Kang Qiyue stepped forward. Despite the sudden turn of events, he remained remarkably composed—perhaps because he was the oldest of the disciples. “Qianbei?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes didn’t move from where they were burning holes into Xue Yang’s head. “Might as well.”

The words were offhanded, but if one didn’t know better, they might have thought that Wei Wuxian was decreeing a death sentence.

Without preamble, Kang Qiyue approached Song Lan’s kneeling figure.

“Excuse me,” Came his quiet murmur. With a sweep of his hand, he collected the needles embedded into the corpse. After a brief pause, a shudder ran through Song Lan’s body, but he made no further movements.

Kang Qiyue glanced back at Wei Wuxian, who turned towards him slightly, still keeping an eye on Xue Yang and Lan Wangji.

“Go.” He said lowly. “Take care of them. Sizhui, be good.”

Wei Sizhui’s eyes darted between the three of them, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. There was a stubborn set to his mouth. But in the end, he only met his father’s gaze and gave a nod.

Kang Qiyue answered for the both of them, “Yes, Wei-qianbei.”

The disciples filed out without a word, unnecessarily organised. They stood in a neat crowd in the foggy street, holding onto each other’s sword sheaths and breathing in slowly—understandably, a little dazed. After the cold, crushing pressure inside, the corpse-dusted breeze felt like the freshest breath of summer.

No one spoke.

Then Lan Jingyi attempted to clear his throat, his knees as unsteady as a newborn deer.

“So…” There was a point of a confusion. Thus, he turned to Sizhui. “The next life?”

Wei Sizhui, who was practically unaffected by his father’s monstrous aura, simply worried his lip as he stared at the blurry outline of the closed door. He replied absently.

“Yeah, he’d probably summon the guy back a few times to take care of him properly.”

Jin Ling, who had been staring despondently at the tiny fissure line on his blade, looked up at the back of Wei Sizhui’s head excruciatingly slowly. Kang Qiyue placed a hand over his own tired eyes.

The juniors, “…”

The juniors, after realising something had to happen to the rest of the body if only one part would be left for the next ‘few times’, “…??!!”

Once the door had closed, Xue Yang pressed closer to Lan Wangji, murmuring into his ear in a strangely placid tone. “A-Yu, you said you’d find me, but you brought some interesting company.”

It was strange because he spoke so affectionately, but with a kind of hidden viciousness, like poison dissolved into water without a trace. In the grand scheme of things, the words themselves were harmless—yet upon hearing them, Lan Wangji felt the indescribable urge to flinch away. After all, these words weren’t even meant for him.

Watching Xue Yang whisper to him so intimately, Wei Wuxian’s expression twisted into something that might have been called ugly on anyone else.

“Taking him hostage like this—what do you want, Xue Yang?”

If it weren’t for the wisps of resentment that surrounded them, powerful enough to disturb his array, Wei Wuxian would have cut him to pieces long ago.

Xue Yang’s lips pulled down. “What’s this? Not going to ask how I’m alive? Da-Laozu, you really wound me…”

“Spit it out.”

At this point, Xue Yang had lowered his sword somewhat, fairly confident that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t make a move as long as his necklace continued posing the threat of resentment. With a flick of his wrist, the flat side of Jiangzai lay on Lan Wangji’s shoulder as he stepped back to pull something from his robes. He tossed it—a spirit-trapping pouch—over to Wei Wuxian.

Upon catching the pouch, Wei Wuxian’s brows creased as he felt inside with his spiritual awareness. After a moment, he tilted his head at the little delinquent, his flinty gaze clearly impatient. “Such a fragmented soul, shouldn’t you be more careful with it?”

“I only need him to clarify something for me, so...”

As he spoke, Xue Yang idly tapped Jiangzai against Lan Wangji’s shoulder twice, then flipped it around and repeated the motion. Wei Wuxian eyed him warily. Lan Wangji could only sigh in his heart—he was sure that Wei Wuxian had already caught the glint of steel under his white sleeve, but it seemed that they were both unwilling to take any chances with the resentment. Better to let Xue Yang finish his own play.

“You want me to put this back together? Xue Yang, you can’t be this brainless. From the looks of it, this person probably committed suicide and has hardly any desire to exist anymore. It’ll disintegrate the second the pouch opens.”

Jiangzai stilled, a cold, heavy weight.

“Back then, weren’t you cursed at for walking your ghost path? It was something impossible, irrevocable, brainless. Anyway, I don’t care. Although I do wonder how you know this one here…”

Jiangzai tapped again, slower, “Since A-Yu certainly never mentioned he was so close to the Yiling Laozu.”

The message was clear—impossible or not, I have a hostage.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. Lan Wangji had to hold back another sigh. Calling Mo Xuanyu so intimately implied some kind of history together, which made sense since they had both been disciples at Jinlintai. It was somewhat bewildering, though; one minute, it was A-Yu, the next, Xue Yang seemed ready to run him through.

“Surely you don’t need me to restore a soul? What with the beads you lodged into Song Lan’s head, and that ugly thing you’re wearing right now.” Wei Wuxian spoke casually, but there was a faint derisiveness in his eyes that Lan Wangji had last seen during the Sunshot Campaign. “You’re quite capable.”

It must be said that the beaded necklace could not be evaluated as ugly, it was just that Wei Wuxian was not exactly in the frame of mind to be complimentary at this time.

Xue Yang clicked his fingers in delight, instead of clapping his occupied hands together. “Oh, you noticed? I even named it in accordance with your convention—the Zhenfozhu¹. And that’s just the thing. You’re the founder, Da-Laozu. If I can’t do something, then surely you can. Get to it, hm?”

This faux-flattering tone really sent shivers down one’s spine. In fact, Lan Wangji actually twitched, as if a wave of icy water had rushed over him, because Xue Yang had released more resentment into the air after the sentence had landed.

Wei Wuxian, “You seem a little desperate, and too humble.”

Xue Yang snorted, then bared his teeth with the ensuing smile. “I’m hardly exaggerating. You know I don’t boast, Da-Laozu. I mean, look at what happened to your dear Shishu and that dog of his.”

It was clear that he was talking about Song Lan.

Seeing the look on Wei Wuxian’s face, Lan Wangji couldn’t help but lean forward, finally speaking, “Wei Ying.”

Behind him, the air seem to freeze.

Jiangzai pressed down with the weight of a boulder.

Immediately, Lan Wangji knew that he had said something very, very wrong.

“…A-Yu, what did you just say?”

There was not a hint of tease nor mockery in Xue Yang’s voice, as if he had suddenly become a dead man talking.

Wei Wuxian regarded him cautiously, finding it strange that all expression had been wiped off his face at the sound of the Yiling Laozu’s birth name. But this ire…was directed at Mo Xuanyu, wasn’t it?

“Xue Yang, he’s not Mo Xuanyu, so let him go.”

It was probably the product of not interacting with people for the better part of a decade, because both Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian had somehow said the wrong thing.

“What.”

It didn’t sound like a question.

Wei Wuxian tried again, speaking faster.

“Didn’t you find it strange that Mo Xuanyu could suddenly use musical cultivation? You’ve got the wrong person, so—”

Xue Yang’s hand, faintly clammy, lashed out to claw at the back of Lan Wangji’s neck. His fingers dug in painfully, almost drawing blood.

“You.” He hissed furiously, dropping Jiangzai to clutch Lan Wangji’s neck with both hands, thumbs pressing into the base of his skull. Lan Wangji shuddered, unable to even resist as the array on his body flickered wildly, the resentment around them swirling like a whirlpool. “Get out.”

He wasn’t yet being choked, but the curse collar underneath Xue Yang’s fingers pulsed hotly, as if tightening. There was something inside his spine, cold and heavy, beating in tandem with the resentment and his heart, sending shockwaves of agony through his body.

“Get out of that body, before I make you!”

“It’s not possession, he can’t, he can’t, let him go—!”

Lan Wangji crumpled to his knees, barely able to keep his eyes open to catch Wei Wuxian’s frenzied expression as he lunged at them like an animal, pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks. The air was burning, or was he burning inside? His limbs were on the verge of being torn away, his veins simultaneously filled with ice and pure lightning—

But Lan Wangji wouldn’t succumb. He’d faced worse, much worse. He wasn’t going to die—but more than that, he wasn't going to die in front of Wei Ying.

In the very moment that his resolve hardened, he was roughly yanked forward. At the same time, something slammed in to the ground where he had been half a second prior with enough force to send the debris around them skidding away.

It took him a few breaths to realise that he was encased in a pair of strong arms, spiritual energy flooding through his system, familiar silver eyes swimming in and out of his vision.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, hold on for me, alright? The array, it’s—Xue Yang this fucking bastard, fuck!”

That voice was muted, but there was no mistaking it. When was the last time he had heard Wei Ying sound so desperate?

“Qiyue, Kang Qiyue, get in here now!”

More deafening crashes, shaking the ground and dust underneath him. Harried footsteps, kicking debris out of the way. Lan Wangji was gently sat up, those hands firm and steady, even as Wei Wuxian’s voice wavered. His robes were tugged open and down to expose his back.

“Lan Zhan, it’s alright, don’t move, I just need to—Qiyue!”

“Yes, Qianbei.”

Tiny pinpricks stabbed into Lan Wangji’s skin. His breath hitched, the chaos inside him stilling, barely restrained and pulsing in place. In his very core, he was still burning, but the constant flood of spiritual energy made everything just bearable enough. Without delay, Wei Wuxian was smearing wetness across his bare back, the coppery tang of blood pungent in the air.

The array—Xue Yang had fractured it somehow, and now Wei Wuxian was repairing it.

Within five long seconds that were more an eternity, the array was reinforced by one last burst of energy. Lan Wangji gasped, gulping in what felt like his first breath since Xue Yang had grabbed him. As he toppled forward, Wei Wuxian caught him in an embrace, holding him awkwardly from the side.

He stared out aimlessly for a beat, before his vision abruptly refocused.

Everything was a mess. A wall of the shop had been blown right through, shattered to little more than dust. Song Lan was no longer kneeling to the side. Two steps away, Kang Qiyue was watching over him with barely-hidden concern, Wei Sizhui beside him with a similar expression, hands half-raised. The other juniors were spread out throughout the now open-air complex. A series of crashes and thunderous booms came from afar, as if a small army were intent on pillaging the town.

Some ways away came a voice that he recognised as Wen Qionglin, who managed to make even his own roaring sound plaintive. “Xue Chengmei! How—how did you get even worse!!”

It was followed by a high, mad shout, and the sound of a building collapsing.

Lan Wangji blinked slowly and turned back to Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian who was fretting over him, who was warm and smelled like good ink and lovely fragrance.

“Lan Zhan,” He said, expression creased in worry, his fingers trembling from where they smoothed the cold, still-drying sweat away from Lan Wangji’s temple. “You—”

Wei Wuxian paused, then flushed.

Wordlessly, he tugged Lan Wangji’s robes back up and fastened them properly. Lan Wangji himself was a little dazed, but didn’t protest.

Wei Wuxian helped to smooth out his lapels, then cleared his throat, looking almost self-conscious. As if he had almost forgotten, he plucked the needles from Lan Wangji’s neck and handed them over to Kang Qiyue. The young man gave him a sideways glance, but accepted them without a word. Next to them, Wei Sizhui finally looked away, seeming somewhat embarrassed as he put a hand on his sword and went to sightsee the fierce corpses duelling.

Ignoring all of that, Wei Wuxian looked into Lan Wangji’s eyes and said seriously, as if trying to persuade him.

“I’m gonna kick that little bastard straight to hell.”

Lan Wangji tested his voice, and felt surprisingly sprightly for someone who’d just had their entire meridian system polluted with resentful energy. Wei Ying could indeed work wonders. “I am fine. He won’t get me again.”

“Well yeah, not if I get him first.”

Wei Wuxian was obviously itching to kill someone, but he still gazed at Lan Wangji with naked concern. “Are you sure you’re alright, Lan Zhan? Should we rest for a bit longer—hey, what are you—!”

Lan Wangji stood up. Halfway through, he became slightly dizzy, and would have stumbled if Wei Wuxian had not shot up with him and held him steady. He blinked a few more times. His vision had cleared. The shackles were only aching slightly. And although his body felt as if he’d been cooked over hot coals, plunged into the Cold Springs, then air-dried in the summer heat—there was no reason to delay.

“Wei Ying,” He said. The words came out strangely. “Do you have enough spiritual energy?”

The sudden change of topic completely confused the other man, but he answered enthusiastically after a moment. “I could beat Xue Yang into the next life a couple of times, if that’s what you mean?”

An affirmative, then. Lan Wangji directly asked, “May I have some?”

Wei Wuxian stared at him blankly, before a pleased grin spread across his face. Lan Wangji imagined this was perhaps what he’d look like after downing a warehouse full of Emperor’s Smile. Immediately, Wei Wuxian pressed close, tenderly taking Lan Wangji’s thin wrist and passing him another bountiful deluge of spiritual energy.

A delighted huff escaped Wei Wuxian’s lips, which he tampered down as soon as it did. It was as if Lan Wangji was a maiden who’d tossed one too many loquats at him. He was beginning to wonder if qi exchanges could cause mild intoxication or something.

“Hanguang-jun,” He whispered, “Do you like my spiritual energy that much? There’s no need to be shy, you can ask for it anytime you like.”

Lan Wangji, “…”

Lan Wangji, so that he didn’t grab this vixen right then and there and do something he’d regret, “Deal with Xue Yang. I will—”

Before he could detail his plan, he was interrupted by the urgent tapping of a bamboo pole. Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian exchanged a quick glance, and he decided to keep it similarly brief, “—investigate.”

Wei Wuxian was hesitant. “Are you sure?” He asked again. It almost sounded petulant.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian seemed to struggle with himself for a moment. “…If you want to, then. Take the kids with you—they’ll just get in my way.”

Lan Wangji nodded and made to turn.

“You have my talismans and everything? If any weird corpses come and you don’t have any more energy, just hit them with your qin. Don’t be unwilling to break it, I can afford that much. You can use A-Yuan’s if you really need to, I think it’s cracked already.”

…What was Wei Wuxian even saying.

Lan Wangji looked at him for a moment, proceeded to undergo his own internal struggle, and nodded again.

“Aiya,” Wei Wuxian gave an exaggerated sigh as he drew Suibian, “I’ve been abandoned twice in one day. Go on, then.”

The only person who was ‘going on’ was him, as he leapt straight out into the fog and joined the fray. The thudding and howling of fierce corpses was soon accompanied by the screeching of steel and Suibian’s sword glare. Another unfortunate building toppled over.

After watching him leave, Lan Wangji turned to the juniors, who had converged before him when he wasn’t paying attention.

What a sentence. He hoped never to think it again.

The most pressing was Lan Jingyi, who was glaring at him with betrayal in his shining eyes.

“How could you be so cold to Wei-qianbei, when he treats you so well?? Talk about a white-eyed wolf!!”

Lan Wangji, who had recently escaped death by resentment and was gathering the remains of his mental fortitude after being subjected to the tender treatment of the man he’d loved since he was sixteen, “…What.”

“You! Don’t pretend like you don’t understand! Wei-qianbei, he looked like, he looked like he was going to—”

Ouyang Zizhen cut in when Lan Jingyi seemed to have angered himself into an aggrieved fit, although he wasn’t much more collected, “Wei-qianbei practically said, ‘you can abandon me as many times as you like, I’ll always find you again’!! He’s too much! Mo-qianbei, you really can’t be so—”

Abruptly, he cut himself off as Lan Wangji turned to him.

Lan Wangji, who didn’t know what expression he was wearing and frankly didn’t want to ever know, “…”

He could only stare dumbly into this crowd of children. Before he could say something incriminating, the sound of the bamboo pole appeared again, tapping faster as if with irritation.

Finally, Jin Rulan stepped up. “Qianbei, all these guys know is how to speak nonsense. Please ignore them.”

Wei Sizhui swiftly agreed. “Yes, that’s right. Let’s go, Mo-qianbei.”

And so they went, following the ghost maiden’s tapping through the town. It wasn’t long before a house rose out of the fog, standing lonely and decrepit. As they stopped before the entrance, the front door creaked open with a long, eerie squeak.

Lan Wangji paused. After catching sight of a faint flicker of white in the gloom, he stepped over the tall threshold.

He cautioned, “Step carefully.”

The disciples lit a few flame talismans as they entered, illuminating the house. Despite his warning, a few of them still managed to stumble on the way in.

Jin Ling cursed quietly as he tripped, then shot an alarmed glance at Lan Wangji’s back. When there was no reaction, he muttered disdainfully under his breath, “What’s the damn entrance so high for?”

Hearing this, Wei Sizhui immediately launched into an enthusiastic explanation of the wonders of coffin home design and the intellect of non-cultivators while Lan Wangji scanned the room. The ground was roughly padded with straw, on which rested several wooden coffins. Besides a single altar and some stools, the place was bare of furnishings. There was a small room off to the side, presumably for the ones who guarded the coffin home.

When Lan Wangji looked back over, the juniors were stifling giggles at one disciple who had decided to test Wei Sizhui’s theory. With his hands pressed stiffly against his sides and legs stuck together as if bound, he tried to jump over the threshold without bending his knees.

Clearly, he had failed, and was still, good-naturedly, failing.

Naturally, this disciple was Lan Jingyi.

Turning around to pout at his friends, Lan Jingyi froze as he saw the blank face of Lan Wangji staring over and the even blanker, pale white gaze beside him.

“Jingyi? What’s wrong…ah!”

Someone yelped as the disciples began to turn.

Lan Wangji stood as straight as ever, with the ghost maiden sitting on a coffin behind him, staring directly at them.

“Q-Qianbei…” Ouyang Zizhen stuttered bravely, “Next to you, um, there’s…”

Slowly, Lan Wangji turned his head to the side, and was met with the girl’s pupil-less eyes.

He blinked. “Mn.”

Mn? What mn?? Half of them would have died of fright alone if they had a ghost sitting on their shoulder like that, alright!!

Before anyone could speak, the ghost maiden slid down and patted the wood of the coffin frantically, then gestured with her hands, as if to open it. When the boys approached, intending to help, Lan Wangji said firmly, “Stay back.”

He raised one wrist to his face, draping his sleeve over his nose and mouth. With the other hand, he opened the coffin and set the lid onto the floor. Lan Wangji peered inside, and looked for a long minute.

The juniors crept closer when he remained silent, with the ghost girl leading the way.

A young man lay inside, limbs slightly askew, as if he had been tossed in. Wearing snow-white robes, it was clear that he was dressed as a rogue cultivator. What could be seen of his face was soft and handsome, but layers of bandages stained with something dry and rust-black wound over the upper half of his face—underneath, his eye sockets appeared hollow.

His left and right hands loosely gripped a horsetail whisk and a sword, respectively. The latter was speckled with that same rust-black.

Wei Sizhui sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. “That’s…”

The flickering light caught on the blade of that fine sword. Shuanghua.

“…Xiao Xingchen?” Jin Rulan finished for him.

At the sound of the name, the girl stumbled forward against the side of the coffin, as if she wanted to throw herself in to join him. Instead, she reached down to touch the young man’s face, desperately smoothing her thumbs over the bandages like she wanted to tidy them up. Unfortunately, her ghost body was too weak, the dim aura surrounding her pulsing with grief. After a long while, she could only withdraw and look at Lan Wangji with tears streaming down her face. Even as she tried to speak, only painful noises and blood escaped her lips.

Without looking away, Lan Wangji asked, “Sizhui, can you play again?”

It was enough that they had a conduit. Even if his mastery of the technique was inadequate, it would be fine as long as the ghost could speak.

Wei Sizhui gave a sound of affirmation, his qin landing in his hands. There was a sudden pause in his movements. Lan Wangji looked over.

Wei Sizhui stood staring at the instrument he held, which had a large crack that ran from its shoulder to the tail. The four ends of two strings hung limply away from the body, drooping somewhat pathetically. The juniors stared, dumbfounded.

The boy himself looked like he would have quite liked to become a fierce corpse at this moment.

Lan Wangji reassured him, “No matter.”

Wei Sizhui’s shoulders became even more hunched.

Lan Wangji kneeled down and took out his own instrument.

To the side, Lan Jingyi elbowed Jin Ling and muttered something. Jin Ling, who was both aggrieved at having to keep his Shishu’s secret and relieved that Hanguang-jun had his own methods, roughly elbowed him back and kept his mouth shut.

When the opening notes of Inquiry rang out, Lan Jingyi just about had an aneurysm.

Not that Lan Wangji noticed, having focused on the task at hand.

Who are you? What happened here? How did you die?

The girl had settled across from him. Upon hearing the questions, she straightened rigidly, pale eyes widening.

My name is A-Qing and Daozhang was tricked—

Her mouth made no movement but her aura glowed with urgency.

Xue Yang that filthy mongrel, ungrateful murderous shit-eating motherfucker, he killed all of them he killed everyone—

“A-Qing-guniang,” Lan Wangji called over the rush of dissonant notes that exploded from the silk strings, a veritable waterfall blurring the guqin’s resonance with its power. A-Qing leaned closer to him, face wild with hatred and hurt, reaching out as if she wanted to shake him by the shoulders. Lan Wangji felt his stagnant energy reacting to her proximity—the proximity of the dead, of yin—and shivered, almost lurching forward. What had Xue Yang actually done to him? For him to feel so disembodied like this.

“Stop!”

A fine blade was thrust between them, glowing hotly. Lan Wangji finally took a breath. Wei Sizhui gritted his teeth, fingers clammy on the hilt of Qingsheng.

“Guniang, please, you’re hurting Mo-qianbei.”

She threw him a glance full of dismay, but leaned back onto her haunches. A few mournful notes sounded from the guqin.

Too much, too much…if only I could show you…

Lan Wangji’s lips parted slightly at the words. The last note rang out, dragging down the thinnest string with hesitation and regret. He tensed, but it was too late; in the blink of an eye, the silk unravelled and snapped with a soft tearing sound—as if punctuating A-Qing’s despair.

She jolted as the string broke, then bowed her head low in apology. Ghostly tears couldn’t drip down, but Lan Wangji knew that she was crying again with frustration.

“Jin Rulan,” He suddenly said. “Do you have your clarity bell?”

Jin Rulan stepped closer, keeping an eye on A-Qing’s pitiful form. “Yes, Qianbei.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Then we will try another way.”

While the other juniors seemed completely lost, Wei Sizhui had abruptly caught on and almost dropped his sword as a result.

“Mo-qianbei, you’re saying—Empathy?!”

“Mn.”

“Are you sure that’s—before, you were…”

“I am fine now. And it seems…my constitution is suitable.”

Wei Sizhui stared at him with a rather familiar look of consternation. Lan Wangji suddenly remembered where he’d seen it before; the time in the Xuanwu cave, when he had shoved the herbs onto Wei Wuxian’s brand wound, he had looked just like this—both helpless and concerned.

A rush of fondness took him by surprise, warming his chest where he had been cold since leaving Wei Wuxian behind. He couldn’t help but gently touch Sizhui’s hair. “Do not worry.”

Wei Sizhui froze. After a moment, his face flushed red and blotchy. He seemed to tremble, but didn’t move away, only looking down with an almost inaudible hum of assent. As Lan Wangji moved his hand back, Kang Qiyue came closer to sit next to the boy and give him a perceptive glance.

The sprouts that Wei Wuxian nurtured were all good talents.

A little more reassured, he turned back to the golden-robed boy beside him.

“Jin Rulan, can you do it?”

It wasn’t ideal, but Lan Wangji was not familiar enough with any of the juniors, and both qins were broken—incapable of producing their highest tones. He could only trust the quality of Wei Wuxian’s handcrafted clarity bell and hope that would be enough to pull him out. If he thought optimistically, perhaps it had become even more effective after being thoroughly cleansed of that curse mark.

At this moment, as he was gazed upon by steady golden eyes, Jin Ling—who had been born and raised a spoiled young master, who was only subject to the authority of three people in the cultivation world (not including his many uncles)—felt the weight of a life-and-death responsibility on his shoulders.

He swallowed dryly. In the end, he was still an impetuous youth who would rather die than lose face, especially once more in front of Hanguang-jun, so he simply nodded without a word.

Lan Wangji inclined his head and settled himself on the straw, leaning against the coffin. He turned to A-Qing, his gaze softening faintly, and made a small gesture.

“You may show me. Come.”

Chapter Text

A-Qing’s life was placid—well, as placid as it could be, considering the circumstances of her birth and her own fiery temper. She spent her days acting blind and snatching purses, until one particular day where she had the fortune to bump into Xiao Xingchen.

Despite his sedate, unruffled air, his appearance seemed to tell a different story. The bandages that wrapped around the top half of his face were faintly stained pink, while the outer layers of his robes were somewhat disordered. He wore a silver sword on his back, the tails of its tassel a little tangled.

He was young too. All in all, probably easy to fool.

“Gege,” She said gratefully, after spiriting his money pouch away, “A-Qing is very thankful to you! Where did you come from?”

Xiao Xingchen, “…From Lanling. And it’s Daozhang, not gege.”

“But you’re both Daozhang and Gege?”

He smiled. “Since you call me Gege, why don’t you give back Gege’s pouch?”

She was caught!

Although her behaviour had been more than unbecoming, Xiao Xingchen still stepped in when the man she had pickpocketed before came calling. Upon seeing him again, Lan Wangji’s whole body froze over, his spirit hand twitching with the need to perform a familiar ‘de-arming’ motion.

But as expected from a gentleman of Xiao Xingchen’s reputation, he had her return the man’s money pouch. Afterwards, with an inspired combination of pitiful words and senseless arguments, A-Qing somehow managed to convince Xiao Xingchen to allow her to stick by his side

They travelled around to different places, a familiar not-pattern, just like Lan Wangji had done in his youth—following rumours and sightings of strange events, all while night-hunting along the way.

Xiao Xingchen did not seem to be the same as he had been back when he met Wei Wuxian. Although he treated A-Qing gently and others with courtesy, he didn’t smile widely nor laugh easily. It was as if something heavy was constantly hanging over him, weighing his heart with worries. Such a look was not unfamiliar to Lan Wangji. Even when resting or keeping watch, the rogue cultivator’s whole person was laden with almost mournful air. With Shuanghua on his lap, he would play absently with the silvery tassel that adorned the sword’s hilt.

Moreover, despite the fact that he avoided all clans and cultivators as much as he could, when they did happen to encounter them, Xiao Xingchen’s reaction was quite unexpected. In more than a few instances, upon hearing the disciples of the Lanling Jin Sect declare themselves, his fine features would twist into shocking fury—even through the blindfold, the expression was crystal clear. Shuanghua would practically radiate frost, enough to make one shiver in broad daylight. It was these few times that A-Qing realised that this Daozhang of hers really wasn’t someone to be trifled with, despite his usual gentility.

However, with the exception towards Lanling Jin disciples, Xiao Xingchen might have been in some respects too decent of a gentlemen.

This was evidenced by the day they met Xue Yang.

To A-Qing’s chagrin, Xiao Xingchen carried the bloodstained youth all the way into the coffin home, the very same that the girl had led Lan Wangji and the juniors to.

Xiao Xingchen began wiping the blood from Xue Yang’s face, revealing the sharp features underneath. Thanks to his brief stint as a hostage, Lan Wangji hadn’t been able to see the boy’s face before—he was only recognisable thanks to Wei Wuxian’s previous descriptions: a lanky youth who looked like he could be blown away by a gust of wind, with a face that was begging for a beating, and a radiantly irritating smile that would probably send Lan Qiren into qi deviation back in his teaching days (for some reason, these might have sounded somewhat familiar to the teenage Lan Wangji, although Wei Wuxian in his youth had been less lanky and more lithe, as well as less begging for a beating and more begging for Lan Wangji to look at him).

And the severed left pinky, of course. The string of prayer beads wrapped around his wrist was also a good indicator, presumably the Zhenfozhu.

Peculiar was one way to put this situation, Lan Wangji thought. Surely, since Xue Yang had been alive and presumably well back then—he must have been the one who had massacred Baixue Guan and poisoned Song Zichen. And now they were here, the unfortunate Xiao Xingchen saving the life of the boy who had blinded the one he held dearest in his heart.

At this moment, Xue Yang’s eyes flew open.

Xiao Xingchen reacted immediately.

“Don’t move.” He ordered, hands shooting out to grip Xue Yang’s shoulders as the latter attempted to scramble away. A hint of frost coated his words. “You’re already in such a state, what else do you want to do?”

A-Qing took one look at the little rogue’s fierce expression, who seemed as he were about ready to snap his jaws at the hands that held him, and shivered indignantly.

Lan Wangji found something else rather odd. Xiao Xingchen was a gentle person, but here he seemed to be biting something back, unusually stern.

Still struggling fruitlessly, Xue Yang had nonetheless regained his bearings somewhat. “What…”

His voice was completely hoarse. It would be impossible for anyone to recognise him by sound alone. Lan Wangji couldn’t help the pit that began to yawn in his stomach—for a person uninvolved with political matters and who roamed about in order to help the common people, Xiao Xingchen’s luck was indeed hopeless.

…Well, Lan Wangji was probably not the most appropriate person to think such a thing.

“I told you not to move.” Xiao Xingchen repeated. His hand squeezed, but withdrew after a moment, satisfied that Xue Yang wasn’t going to leap off the bed. Composing himself, his voice softened back to his usual tone, the frost thawing away. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t save someone just to hurt them.”

Xue Yang had long realised that he wouldn’t be recognised. Playing weak, he coughed out, “Who are you?”

Irritation flashed through A-Qing’s heart. Although she couldn’t see past Xue Yang’s acting just yet, she instinctively found something displeasing about him. “Can't you see for yourself? He’s a roaming cultivator. He carried you all the way here, fed you elixirs and saved your life—and yet you’re still so vicious!”

Xue Yang turned towards her, eyes narrowing. “You’re blind?”

This boy was indeed dangerous. In this half-dead state, he was still sharp enough to detect the tiny inconsistencies in A-Qing’s speech.

But it was a good thing that she was about equally as sharp. Despite her racing heart at his suddenly threatening expression, she successfully diverted the topic of conversation, bringing Xiao Xingchen back to her side.

After this, Xiao Xingchen turned back to the delinquent. “You’re practically one with the wall. I still need to bandage the wound on your leg, so come here.”

Xue Yang stared at him, unmoving. Lan Wangji could practically see the thoughts racing behind his dark eyes.

Xiao Xingchen added calmly, “If you leave it like that, you’ll end up crippled.”

Of course, that was enough for him As if a mask had slid over his face, his whole demeanour seemed to melt into something harmless and grateful, “If it’s no trouble, Daozhang.”

A-Qing shivered again. Lan Wangji…was not looking forward to this.

As Xiao Xingchen began tending to his wound, Lan Wangji realised that Xue Yang was preventing the other cultivator from touching his left arm. The slightly short sleeves of his coat, which seemed at odds with the rest of his robes, draped over his wrist. The Zhenfozhu glinted gently underneath—here, Lan Wangji was able to examine it more closely. Each bead was carved with illegible inscriptions and intricate grain patterns, held together with a red tassel. It was not dissimilar to the prayer beads that one could find on monks in temples.

Xue Yang ran his fingers absently over the silvery beads, his shoulders relaxing fractionally, although his eyes still darted about.

“It’s done. Don’t move, unless you want it to go to waste.”

The tone was kind, but the words were a little…more direct than either A-Qing or Lan Wangji were used to.

Being treated so kindly by his sworn enemy in all his ignorance, Xue Yang’s mood seemed to have become better. His thin lips twitched upwards. “Daozhang, you actually won’t ask any questions? Who I am, why I was so badly injured?”

Xiao Xingchen paused minutely from where he was cleaning the medical kit, then resumed after a moment. “Who am I to ask after the affairs of others? It was simply luck that I could lend you a hand today. After you recover, we will head our separate ways. If it were me, there’d also be many things I wouldn’t want others to ask about.”

The first sentence sounded strangely bitter. Lan Wangji wondered if Xiao Xingchen had second thoughts about helping capture Xue Yang back then, since it had appeared to lead to Song Zichen’s blindness thereafter. Yet there had been no evidence to suggest Xue Yang’s involvement, so how could he have known?

In any case, even if Xiao Xingchen deigned to ask further, Xue Yang would have probably enjoyed plying him with a flawless explanation. Lan Wangji also highly doubted that they would simply go their separate ways later, with the way things had turned out.

Deep in thought, he almost missed Xiao Xingchen’s next words. “But for now, a name will suffice.”

Xue Yang blinked, a skeptical look in his eyes. He considered it for a moment, leaning back against the wall languidly.

“You can call me…Zhuli-lang.”

Lan Wangji, “…?”

His first thought was that it sounded almost familiar. His second thought was—did Xue Yang…enjoy romance novels or something??

If he was guessing the characters correctly, a name like this was so fantastical that it couldn’t not be an alias.

A-Qing blinked, gave a muffled snort, and burst into sidesplitting laughter.

Ah, finally, Lan Wangji could practically hear the girl think. I’m going to cuss the fuck out of him.

“Zhuli-lang? Bwahahaha!” She slapped her knee and wiped at the tears beading at her eyes, “Are you a bird? Or a dog?”¹

Even Xiao Xingchen seemed completely recovered from his strange mood upon hearing this interesting name. The corner of his lips had raised up by a centimetre or so.

Xue Yang narrowed his eyes at her, then huffed mockingly. “You’ll never be able to guess, since you’re illiterate.”

Instantly, the laughter ceased. A-Qing very nearly exploded. “You-!”

Xiao Xingchen was suddenly beside her as she swung her bamboo pole in a wide arc, a gentle hand on her head. “Zhu-gongzi, then.”

Watching A-Qing jab wildly at the air, the rogue cultivator holding her back, Xue Yang gave another derisive huff and turned to face the wall.

It seemed, however, that he was not to be underestimated. As soon as Xiao Xingchen had sorted out the sleeping arrangements and gone out to night hunt, Xue Yang began testing A-Qing relentlessly—from tossing candy at her and seeing if she’d jump away, to pointing his sword straight for her to walk into. Each word that he spoke belied the cold cruelty just beneath the surface of his terrifyingly complete mask, probing at everything she said and did. Thankfully, A-Qing was too quick-witted, not only passing his tests but feeling him out in return—here, she realised that he was also a cultivator. He finally let down his guard, satisfied that she was truly ignorant and blind.

The next day, despite A-Qing dragging him out and whispering all sorts of bad things about their guest, Xiao Xingchen was steadfast in his judgement and gently chided her. After finding some materials, he went outside to repair the roof of the coffin house when Xue Yang followed them out.

Now it was his turn to be admonished. “Zhu-gongzi, is it really fine to be walking around like this? Are you waiting for your wounds to reopen?”

Xue Yang grinned, “I’ll recover faster if I move around more. Besides, it’s not like my legs are broken, and I’m used to this level of injury. I grew up being beat up.”

Xiao Xingchen, “…”

The faint parting of his lips could only be described as awkward. Then, he seemed to gather himself. “That was in the past. You should take better care of yourself now.”

Xue Yang must have been expecting a different reaction. “Daozhang seems to know how to deal with this one quite well.”

Xiao Xingchen, “…Unfortunately, I am used to people who don’t put much stake into their own wellbeing.”

A-Qing almost snorted at the dry tone.

Like this, the two of them went up to repair the roof together. Xiao Xingchen worked diligently, while Xue Yang lazed around and ordered him about diligently. The little delinquent had a knack for useless wordplay and witty comebacks, with a sense of humour that wouldn’t be out of place in a street market. If one could ignore the context that he was a mass murderer and prolific disciple of demonic cultivation, the boy could even be called charming in the way of sly youths. As he probably wasn’t exposed to this type of humour often, Xiao Xingchen was easily tickled. Laughing, he mentioned that Xue Yang had said something that reminded him of an old friend. Here, Xue Yang finally fell silent for a moment.

Having overheard the ‘fun’ they were having, A-Qing mouthed something that was suspiciously close to I’ll beat you to death you bastard.

How to say it…Lan Wangji didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree.

Xue Yang had been presumed executed before the massacre of Baixue Guan. However, after giving his eyes to Song Zichen, Xiao Xingchen had gone straight to Lanling, leaving with a particularly strong animosity towards their disciples. It wasn’t impossible that he knew that the delinquent was alive, but no one knew what had happened as a result. Perhaps it was too difficult to accuse Lanling Jin of harbouring Xue Yang if there was no evidence.

Additionally, it looked like Xue Yang had nearly lost his life thanks to all of this. Wei Wuxian had told Lan Wangji with no small amount of bitterness that he should have killed Xue Yang the instant he had stumbled upon him—tossing his body over to the Jin probably wouldn’t have been an issue. Regardless of the consequences, he would have smelted down his soul just to avoid all the trouble for his Shishu that came after.

Lan Wangji hadn’t exactly agreed, but Wei Wuxian’s logic was nonetheless sound. Seeing the boy through Empathy, though, made him more wary. After a month, his wounds were mostly healed, but he hadn’t mentioned leaving even once. There was no way Xue Yang had harmless intentions, playing Xiao Xingchen like this.

One day, after putting A-Qing to sleep, Xue Yang managed to convince Xiao Xingchen to let him come along on a night-hunt. Naturally, both Lan Wangji and A-Qing were extremely skeptical of his intentions, so the girl snuck out and followed them from afar. When she arrived, she hid behind a house, peeking out.

At the sight, Lan Wangji felt a shot of ice in his veins.

Half-slouching, Xue Yang looked on with a radiant smile, surrounded by bloodied corpses. Before them, Shuanghua’s silver sword glare cut through the night, piercing the through the heart of a villager—who was still alive.

A-Qing began to shake uncontrollably, but thankfully managed to keep silent.

After exchanging a few words with the other cultivator, Xue Yang said, “Daozhang, how about you go ahead first? There’s so many corpses around these days, I want to investigate a bit.”

Xiao Xingchen’s brows furrowed. “It might not be safe—I should stay.”

Xue Yang shook his head and spouted a few more nonchalant words, convincing Xiao Xingchen to leave. “Circle the perimeter and see if there are more. I’ll just take a quick look. If there’s nothing else, we’ll burn these corpses immediately.”

“…Alright.” Xiao Xingchen agreed, then moved away.

When he was out of sight, Xue Yang stood over the piled bodies, all marked with traces of Shuanghua. He loosened the Zhenfozhu at his wrist, gripping one line of the beads in his palm, and held it out in front of him.

The inscriptions began to glow an eerie red, the light pulsing outwards in controlled waves like a sword glare in slow motion. Upon reaching the dead, the Zhenfozhu shone even brighter. Xue Yang took a deep breath. After a moment, tendrils of blackness began to rise from the corpses, inching towards his palm. He stood there for a long while, sweat beginning to bead at his temples, as the excess resentment was siphoned directly into this repulsive artefact.

Lan Wangji watched on, horrified.

When it was done, Xue Yang dropped his hand. The Zhenfozhu gave one last burst of brilliant red before returning to its dormant state. The process had taken some kind of toll on his body, as evidenced by his shallow, panting breaths, and the way the edges of his robes stuck to his skin. Xue Yang stared at it sourly for a moment, before cursing and stomping off to find Xiao Xingchen.

It was only when she was sure that he was really gone that A-Qing crept out, closer to the corpses. She only dared to poke at them with her bamboo pole, seeing that they all had white eyes, and there were signs of livor mortis—it gave her relief, but Lan Wangji’s heart sunk to his feet, and he felt a rush of incandescent fury.

These people weren’t corpses. They were all living under corpse poisoning, and with their tongues cut out, could only howl in pain and wait for Shuanghua to direct Xiao Xingchen to cut them down.

What kind of senseless, deranged method was this? Using someone like Xiao Xingchen to murder innocents, practically spitting blood all over the hand that fed him!

This Xue Yang was truly—in one word—reprehensible!

Lan Wangji had realised this, but A-Qing was unfamiliar with the details of corpses and night-hunting. All she saw was that the two cultivators had indeed killed ‘corpses’, and Xue Yang had even ‘cleaned’ up the lingering heaviness in the air.

Who knew what he could do with that resentment.

Despite her worries seeming unfounded, A-Qing was both sharp and stubborn. It appeared that she and Xue Yang were destined to be rivals at first sight, for her instinctive hatred of him extended beyond all logical reason—it was simply intuition. And so, she continued to follow whenever the two cultivators went out to night-hunt. Each time, Shuanghua felled the tongueless living corpses. Each time, Xue Yang performed this strange ritual with the prayer beads.

One winter night, the three of them were crammed in the small side room, warming up by the furnace. Xiao Xingchen was painstakingly mending a basket, while A-Qing was wrapped up in a bundle by his side. Xue Yang fiddled with the Zhenfozhu, rubbing his thumbs over the patterns—like a shitty version of cat’s cradle or something, A-Qing thought. If he had such a thing, shouldn’t he use it properly?

Trying to distract herself from looking at his hands, A-Qing decided to pester Xiao Xingchen. “Daozhang, I want to hear a story!”

Xiao Xingchen, “I’ve never heard a story told properly before. How would I know how to tell one?”

Acting spoiled and wilful, A-Qing carried on for a while before he finally relented. “Alright. I’ll tell you a story that happened on a mountain.”

His voice was resolute enough that she immediately fell silent, anticipating his next words eagerly. Even Xue Yang had turned his face towards them slightly, still fiddling with his eyes closed.

“Once upon a time, there was an unknown celestial mountain. Upon it lived an immortal who had reached enlightenment. This immortal accepted many disciples, but didn’t allow them to leave the mountain.”

Lan Wangji immediately understood. This was clearly Cangse Sanren’s master, Baoshan Sanren.

A-Qing, “Why not?”

Xiao Xingchen explained the immortal’s wish to be secluded from the mortal world and her rules, then proceeded to tell the tales of Yanling Daoren and Cangse Sanren. The latter ended quite abruptly.

“And then they accidentally passed away during a night hunt.”

A-Qing felt like she wanted to burst out of the blanket that she had wrapped herself so tightly with. “Are you serious?! She married a servant, then went and died with him? I’m not listening anymore!!”

She rolled on the ground like a dropped zongzi.²

Xiao Xingchen’s head tilted at the sound of the uneven thumps, lips twitching. He was probably happy that she was getting some exercise in this weather. “Are you sure? It has a good ending, though.”

A-Qing suddenly stopped rolling and begrudgingly made a questioning sound.

“The couple had a son before they died. He grew up to be a fine gentleman, whom I admire.”

Lan Wangji’s chest filled with warmth.

To the side, a mutinous expression had appeared on Xue Yang’s face.

A-Qing narrowed her eyes. It was probably the only time in a thousand years that these two were even close to being in sync. “And? He didn’t lose his head and start massacring everyone like the first guy, did he?”

Lan Wangji twitched.

Xiao Xingchen paused, then shook his head disbelievingly. “Of course not. The last I heard, he was doing well. He even has a son of his own.”

A-Qing, “…So where does he live?”

Xiao Xingchen, “On a mountain?”

It wasn’t a question, but somehow sounded like one.

A-Qing squinted and spat, “Didn’t he just go back to the very beginning?? What was the point of his mother leaving the mountain then??”

A wry smile twisted Xiao Xingchen’s lips. “Well, I don’t know. But what’s important is that he’s happy…most of the time.”

Xue Yang looked so derisive that it seemed as if the disdain seeping from him could power the furnace for another three nights.

A-Qing gazed blankly at her Daozhang, immediately sensing that there was more behind this story. However, being the smart girl that she was, she knew that it must have been something depressing, and had already realised that Xiao Xingchen had a talent for making innocuous stories even more depressing. Being put through this frankly inane thought process, Lan Wangji didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

In any case, she decided to let it go with all the enthusiasm of a hunter tossing a skinny fish back into the water. “Hah, is it so easy to be happy all the time? He sounds like a wimp, I don’t want to hear it anymore!!”

Xiao Xingchen sighed. “He is not. And I said that I couldn’t tell stories from the start.”

A-Qing sniffed. “Then, what about…your night-hunts? What sorts of monsters have you beaten up?”

“There are really too many…” Xiao Xingchen fell into thought and didn’t say more.

Xue Yang, who definitely had a belly full of rotten water, prodded for the first time in a while, “Really? Before, did you night-hunt on your own too?”

Lan Wangji stared at him grimly and wished he had a physical body to discipline this kid with.

Xiao Xingchen seemed to answer on impulse, “No, I—” Something bright flashed across his lips momentarily, but then faded. “No.”

An odd gut feeling tugged at her, but A-Qing’s curiosity was already piqued, “Then, who accompanied you?”

Xiao Xingchen paused for a long time. Then, extremely quietly, so that Lan Wangji could only barely read his lips over the soft crackling of the furnace, “The person of my heart.”³

A-Qing stuck her neck out from her blanket shell, “What?”

Straightening, Xiao Xingchen smiled slightly and corrected himself, “A very good friend of mine.”

…If he and ‘the person of his heart’ were simply good friends, then Lan Wangji’s title was Zewu-jun.

Xue Yang still wore an expression that was practically begging someone to beat him up, but A-Qing was only innocently curious. “Daozhang, who is he then? What sort of person is he?”

Xiao Xingchen replied, calm and steady, “A sincere man of noble nature.”

Hearing this, Xue Yang rolled his eyes, a tiny, scornful huff escaping him. Without seeing his face, one could mistake it for an ordinary exhale. But with his cultivation, he had clearly heard the murmured words from before. “Then where is he right now? Since he’s the person of your heart, why hasn’t he come to find you when you’re already like this?”

…Lan Wangji, who had never enjoyed playing with words, was really speechless.

Xiao Xingchen very obviously froze, a bit of colour rising to his pale cheeks, before it ebbed back. Even A-Qing had sensed something off, glaring in Xue Yang’s direction with a twitching eye, as if she were itching to take a bite out of him. After losing himself in thought for a while, Xiao Xingchen gathered himself and broke the silence, his words shaped softly and with undeniable tenderness.

“All that matters to me is that he is in a safe place. One’s heart is difficult to understand, two hearts even more so. We can only give one another time to recover, and when the moon is full, we will meet again.”

For Xiao Xingchen, who often spoke without preamble—this was probably the most poetic thing they’d ever heard from him.

Lan Wangji couldn’t help but agree with A-Qing’s incredulous thoughts. Hah?? What moon is full, you’re clearly longing to see him right this very moment!!

Xue Yang had fallen unusually silent.

Finally, he muttered, “…Pretty pathetic.”

Xiao Xingchen gave a small smile, and said gently, “It’s impossible not to be, isn’t it? It might as well be for him…ah, how did we get here? I really don’t know how to tell stories.”

A-Qing, hurriedly, “it doesn’t really matter.”

Xue Yang had seemed to regain some of his punchable demeanour, and said at the same time, “How about I tell one?”

And so, he indeed, told one.

…He also, really didn’t know how to tell stories.

A-Qing was sick of both of them!!

The days passed like this, a delicate peace between the two younger ones thanks to Xiao Xingchen’s consistent efforts. One day, A-Qing was playing blind on the streets again. A frosty voice came from behind her, the tone almost a little familiar.

“Guniang, if you cannot see, it’s best not to run so fast.”

This cultivator—for he was certainly a cultivator, which his sword and horsetail whisk—stood tall and proud, like an ancient pine. Wearing black robes, they were a similar style to Xiao Xingchen’s. Looking closer, A-Qing realised something; the silvery tassel on the hilt of his sword was near-identical!

Lan Wangji regarded him with a strange feeling in his heart. At a glance it was obvious that this was the distant snow and cold frost, Song Zichen. Where Xiao Xingchen was shorter, Song Zichen was taller. Where Xiao Xingchen wore white, Song Zichen wore black.

As A-Qing gawked, the young man had already come over, herding her to the side of the road.

Although their outward appearances were different, their hearts were the same. Seeing the youth before him, Lan Wangji could even pick out a hint of similarity in their demeanours, especially when Xiao Xingchen became the slightest bit stern.

After thanking him, A-Qing immediately got down to business. “Daozhang, do you have a friend that is just like you, but much nicer?”

…Despite staying with Xiao Xingchen for so long, she hadn’t picked up an ounce of tact.

Regardless, Song Zichen’s eyes widened and he stared down at her. “I do happen to be looking for a friend. He’s blind and carries a sword. How did you know?”

A-Qing hummed and tapped out an uneven rhythm with her bamboo pole, gazing aimlessly. “Daozhang, can you walk around a little? Like you did just then?”

Song Zichen’s brows twitched in confusion, although the rest of his expression seemed frozen. “You want me to…?”

A-Qing abandoned the rhythm and thumped her pole down once impatiently. “Yes, just a little! I need to check something!”

The cultivator blinked, not expecting to be scolded like this by such a young girl. Then again, he had no reason to refuse her either. As though he felt he were making a fool of himself, he took a few steps to and fro. When it didn’t seem to be enough for A-Qing, he began walking in circles around her.

“That!” Her eyes flew open from where they had been closed in concentration. Lan Wangji lamented the useless acting skills of the youth. “What’s that sound on your body?”

She tapped out the rhythm once more. Song Zichen tilted his head and took a few more steps, before coming to a realisation. He took his sword from his back, bringing it closer to A-Qing’s face and tapping the tassel against the sheath. “This?”

She nodded furiously, “Yes! What is it?”

Song Zichen hesitated. “A sword tassel.”

A-Qing asked, “Does your friend have one as well?”

Song Zichen immediately replied, “He does." Then he repeated, "How did you know?”

A-Qing pursed her lips, “The other Daozhang might have one as well. Are you really his friend?”

Song Zichen’s breath hitched for a moment. Finally, he said gravely, yet gently, “…Of course.”

A-Qing couldn’t help but freeze, a shiver running down her back. This tone…it was exactly the same as Xiao Xingchen whenever he talked about the person of his heart! It was awful! Spine-chilling! Nightmare-inducing!

She had practically no more doubts, but still had to be doubly sure.

“Then…how tall is he? Is he pretty or ugly? What is his sword like? What does he sound like?”

Song Zichen didn’t even blink at this interrogation, answering each question calmly, one-by-one. “He stands slightly shorter than me. His appearance is exquisite. There are frost patterns carved on his sword, and he sounds like…the gentle breeze over a moonlit lake.”

Alright, that was it, A-Qing was going to be sick.

Hiding her shudder, she exclaimed, “I know where he is then. Follow me!”

Song Zichen had evidently been searching for a long time, and had definitely faced countless disappointments. His stern expression seemed to crackle with hope as he barely managed to say, “Thank…thank you…”

Like this, guilelessly, A-Qing led the way back to the coffin home. But when they were almost at the door, Song Zichen stopped in his tracks, staring as if the slab of wood was going to eat him.

His previously cold expression was completely gone. There was a hint of struggle in his dark eyes, a pinching to his brows, and a nervous twist to his mouth.

Lan Wangji thought, was it possible to be so anxious in this situation?

But right as Song Zichen had gathered the courage to take another step, a lanky figure appeared, swanning through the door. Upon seeing this person, Song Zichen’s face went completely white.

Laughter rang out of the half-open windows.

A-Qing snorted, “The annoying bastard is back.”

Song Zichen swallowed, completely wrought with shock. “Who is he? Why is he here?”

“He introduced himself as Zhuli-lang to us, can you believe it? What a pretentious name. Daozhang saved his life, and now he sticks to Daozhang like glue. He’s a real pain!”

“Zhuli-lang…” Song Zichen’s pupils flashed and gritted his teeth. Silently, he moved forward to eavesdrop by the window. A-Qing cautiously followed.

It was an innocuous conversation, but as soon as Song Zichen heard Xiao Xingchen’s voice, his whole body trembled.

“It’s your turn today, isn’t it?”

Xue Yang hummed. “Yeah. I might stop along the path to collect some pretty ones, so don’t wait up…”

Xiao Xingchen paused for a moment. “Must you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have to?”

“Daozhang, everyone has their own hobbies. Just because you can’t see doesn’t mean you should disparage mine.”

“That’s not…”

”And you don’t need to get all sensitive about it. They’re just insects. Count yourself and little blind lucky that I’m not pinning kittens or something.” Xue Yang let out a short laugh.

Xiao Xingchen didn’t reply.

Eventually, Xue Yang gave a sigh. “I told you that it’s quick. And I don’t go after the dying ones, they’re not pretty enough.”

“…If you say so. Come back soon.”

“Uh-huh.” And with that, he sauntered out, holding a basket.

Song Zichen, still shaking, led her a distance away and asked a few questions. A-Qing answered dutifully, but with only one warning—”Don’t tell him anything unnecessary”—she was left in the dust.

For some reason, she had a really bad feeling. At this point, Lan Wangji couldn’t tell if the sensation of crawling in his stomach was truly his or hers.

Hurrying over, A-Qing rushed to the path that Xue Yang usually took, sneaking along until she found him lingering along the path on his return. She hid behind the thick vegetation that lined the forest, content to follow until—

“Xue Yang.” Song Zichen’s glacial tone rang out.

The young man froze, before a twisted smile spread over his face, baring his sharp canines. In response, Song Zichen walked out from behind a tree, his dark sword already unsheathed.

“Song-daozhang.” Xue Yang said, his voice honey-sweet. He tossed the basket away and drew Jiangzai. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Took you longer than I thought!”

Song Zichen lunged forward, and demanded simultaneously, “What are you scheming, staying so close to Xingchen for all this time, you white-eyed wolf!”

“Oh come on, don’t you have more important things to ask?” Xue Yang affected an air of disappointment, as if scolding a child.

Song Zichen was completely enraged. “Tell me! Why would a scum like you help him night-hunt?!”

The dark sword’s glare kissed his cheek, leaving behind a cut on his face. “Song-daozhang, you wound me…”

“Tell me!” In his fury, Song Zichen’s sword pierced through the flesh of his opponents arm.

Completely unruffled, Xue Yang’s eyes glinted, as if he had long prepared what to say already. He leapt back to put some space between them, blood dripping down his elbow, and casually began.

“Alright, since you asked for it. Shuanghua tracks corpse energy, right? Yet it can’t tell the difference between living and dead corpses, what a pity. But I figured out that if you cut out the tongues of people under corpse poisoning, they sound just like walking corpses, isn’t that funny? Anyways, so your dear Daozhang went around exorcising corpses everywhere—really, it’s thankless work. Corpses are corpses, so…”

The more he spoke, the paler Song Zichen became.

“You beast…you’re simply worse than a beast…!”

Xue Yang made a face, completely unimpressed with these curses. “Oh, come on, it’s not all doom and gloom. He helped me, and kind of grew on me—you know, like a parasite. So I decided to do something nice for him, but too bad you took your sweet time finding him.”

It was as if Song Zichen hadn’t heard these words at all, still fixated on the horrific acts that Xue Yang had used Xiao Xingchen's hands to commit. He attacked once more, aiming to silence this monster once and for all, “You took advantage of his blindness and deceived him so viciously!”

The blade was a hairsbreadth away from carving Xue Yang open in the middle, but he dodged at last second, and it tore open his shoulder instead. Terrifyingly, the youth didn’t even grimace, still as agile as ever. Even his voice contained the same amount of mockery, perhaps even more. “His blindness? Aiya, Song-daozhang, have you forgotten the reason why you can see the world right now?”

Song Zichen’s expression froze. His movements stiffened.

Xue Yang continued, practically spitting, “Saying such awful things to the one you supposedly loved before he took you back to his master’s mountain and saved your dog life? He came to Jinlintai, you know, demanding vengeance and everything. I bet not even his master had even seen him so furious, he would have torn me apart himself if he could! He was the reason that I had to—!”

Xue Yang cut himself off here, shaking his head roughly, a little agitated.

“But really, you didn’t need to do that. And the message you sent him after the dust settled, tsk—” Xue Yang clicked his tongue, sniggering. “Really pathetic.”

Song Zichen froze, staggering back. His jaw was lax with disbelief. “You—What?”

Xue Yang barked out a peal of laughter. “I have to say I was pretty shocked when a messaging talisman I’d never seen before just slid out of Shuanghua like that.” He clicked his fingers, then grinned. “Good timing, too. Pity that all the things you said could only be listened to once, and that you could only send one. I’m the one who had to suffer through all of it. You should have grovelled more, maybe you could have made it to half a shichen!”

Song Zichen’s incensed glare was almost strong enough to slice the little delinquent apart, but not quite enough. He continued, taunting. Lan Wangji realised with a sick jolt that he was quoting Song Zichen’s words.

“Xingchen, I’m so sorry for all the things I said to you, I didn't mean any of it—”

Xue Yang’s attacks quickened. Song Zichen’s breath stuttered.

”Xingchen, I will come to Lanling and search for you, please wait for me—”

Ever since mentioning Shuanghua, Xue Yang had been slowly but surely gaining the upper hand. But Song Zichen was too wrapped up in his own turmoil to properly notice.

The two swords screeched piteously against each other, but not enough to cover Xue Yang’s last words.

”Xingchen, my beloved—” His youthful features twisted in disgust as he bared his teeth, “Ah, you fucking hypocrite!”

After this third strike, Song Zichen had been completely thrown off balance. Anguish tore across his face, his stance and sword both wavering wildly—it was Xue Yang’s perfect chance. He threw up a hand, and a veritable rain of fine corpse powder fell from above, bursting and scattering into the air.

Song Zichen accidentally breathed in a lungful, and was moving his arm to cover his face—but it was too late. As he coughed, Jiangzai darted forward, straight into his mouth!

At this moment, Lan Wangji's vision went black. A-Qing had desperately squeezed her eyes shut, frightened to death.

Slick sounds, wet coughs, and low, heaving groans of agony.

Song Zichen’s tongue was cut out just like that.

A-Qing gritted her teeth, corralling every single gasp and whimper that threatened to escape her back into her chest. She blinked her eyes open once more.

Somehow, Song Zichen was still standing, leaning on his sword. A river of red poured through his fingers, dripping down his chin, his dark robes, and dyeing his beautiful sword tassel an ugly, murky colour. Blood oozed incessantly from the tails, like the tears of lovers parting.

He stumbled forward. Xue Yang’s lips were painted with glee.

With a sickening squelch, Shuanghua’s silver blade plunged into Song Lan’s chest.

Chapter Text

Song Zichen gazed down at that fine blade, jutting out from his heart, and looked up at the delicate hand that seemed to touch his very core. His quivering pupils landed on Xiao Xingchen’s face, and, despite it all, shone brilliantly at the sight of him.

Xiao Xingchen turned away, towards where Xue Yang was standing. “You’re here?”

Song Zichen’s dark eyes shone even brighter. His lips, stained roughly with crimson, parted without a sound.

Observing him, Xue Yang’s voice let nothing slip as he cheerfully agreed. “Yeah. Why did you come?”

With no fanfare, Xiao Xingchen withdrew Shuanghua and sheathed it. As soon as he did, Song Zichen began to collapse, as if in slow motion.

“Shuanghua was behaving strangely. I followed it and came over to have a look.” His lips turned downwards slightly. “I didn’t know that walking corpses could roam on their own—we usually find them in groups. I wonder where it came from?”

Song Zichen slid down onto his knees. Jolted from his landing, the blood-soaked tassel on the hilt of his sword dangled from side to side, quietly thumping against the flat of the blade—once, twice.

At this moment, Xue Yang spoke again, glancing down with a hint of teeth. “It must be special, since it howls like a dog.”

And so, Song Zichen could only kneel there helplessly as the breath left his body, flecks of his lifeblood slowly drying on the blade of Shuanghua. His beloved stood above him, unknowing of who he had just killed, having never heard his last words, nor his true feelings. Song Zichen would rather Xiao Xingchen live in blissful ignorance than have his own gruesome death be avenged. Even as cooling tears ran down to join the river of red that branded him fully, he did not make a single movement, a single sound.

Xiao Xingchen hesitated. “Did I interrupt you?”

Xue Yang’s lips hooked up. “Not yet. But you should take the vegetables back first, I saw something good over there.”

What nonsense.

Xiao Xingchen seemed to soften, and agreed, leaving first. When he was gone, Xue Yang patted down his own wounds and sauntered over to Song Zichen’s cold body. He leaned down to examine him for a moment. Somewhat satisfied, the smile never left his face.

Straightening up, Xue Yang threw one last command over his shoulder, as if he were ordering a dog.

“Stay.”

With empty, lightless eyes, Song Lan stayed.

The next day, as soon as Xue Yang had left, A-Qing asked Xiao Xingchen shakily, “Daozhang, do you know someone called Xue Yang?”

Xiao Xingchen’s smile froze over completely, transforming into something quietly furious in the blink of an eye. His pale face became even more bloodless, fingers clenching tightly.

“…Xue Yang?” He swallowed, tempering himself. “A-Qing, where did you hear that name?”

A-Qing, “He’s the bastard that’s been staying with us! I heard someone say that he looked just like a person called Xue Yang, and that he killed a lot of people. Daozhang, it must be him!”

Xiao Xingchen murmured to himself, “…The person staying with us? But he is…then why…?” He finally faced her again. “Why are you so sure?”

“Daozhang, we should leave. It’s him, isn’t it? I always felt that he was such a dangerous person. Oh, Xue Yang—he, he only has nine fingers, right? You’ve definitely seen him before, haven’t you?”

Xiao Xingchen inhaled sharply. Now, there was no mistaking the cold aura that had enveloped him like encroaching frost. “And how did you know that?”

A-Qing gulped, a little disconcerted, but pressed on, “…The person who recognised him said it!”

Lan Wangji had realised that Xiao Xingchen had probably suspected or even seen Xue Yang at Baixue Guan, which had led him back to Jinlintai. Therefore, he wouldn’t be too surprised to hear that the little delinquent was actually still alive. But no matter how much effort A-Qing had put into her deception, she was still a child after all. Aside from the absurdity of it all, there were too many holes in her story.

After a while, Xiao Xingchen finally spoke again, his voice stony and pained. “A-Qing, are you lying to me?”

A-Qing gritted her teeth, feeling like she was suffocating.

“No! Daozhang, believe me, it really is him! He killed a man who came to confront him, who called him that name, and he spoke with a different voice! He even had a sword—I saw it myself! We have to run away.”

This new shock seemed to crash into him like a wave. Xiao Xingchen stiffened. “…You saw it? You can see?”

If she really wanted him to believe her, there was no other way around it.

“…I’m sorry, Daozhang! I’m not blind! I didn’t want to lie to you, I was just scared you would chase me away! But please, that’s not important right now. Let’s go already, he’ll be back soon!”

Xiao Xingchen stood there blankly for a long moment, his whole person trembling. Just as Lan Wangji was afraid that he would collapse, Xiao Xingchen took a deep breath, turning away.

“A-Qing, go first.”

A-Qing hadn’t expected it to turn out like this, fear seeping into her voice. “Alone? Daozhang, we have to run away together!”

Xiao Xingchen shook his head. Now that he had turned back, the blood that was beginning to soak his bandages was visible. “I cannot just leave like this. If he really deceived me and stayed by my side for this long, he must have schemed something terrible. I can’t leave the people of Yi City in his hands—and I…also have unfinished business with him.” His lips tightened into a thin, unforgiving line.

A-Qing was completely torn, rushing up to crash into Xiao Xingchen’s chest and attempting to wipe the blood that ran down his face a the same time. She sobbed out, even as her fingers were stained red, “Daozhang, how could I leave without you? Forget all of that for now, your life is more important! It’s better to live another day and come after him later, isn’t it? If we both stay he might just kill the both of us, and if I go alone I’ll die out there anyways! Daozhang, please, let’s just go together!”

It was useless. Lan Wangji knew that Xiao Xingchen had long intended to take revenge on Xue Yang for the blinding of his beloved. There was no way that he could leave so easily.

Xiao Xingchen patted her head and gently pushed her away. “A-Qing, you can see and you’re so clever, I trust you can escape safely. This matter is between me and him, it needn’t concern you. You don’t understand what kind of beast he is—you can’t stay. You have to leave!”

I understand! A-Qing wanted to scream. I know exactly how vicious he is!

But if she wanted to tell him that, she had to tell him about Song Zichen.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from outside.

Xue Yang had returned.

Alarmed, Xiao Xingchen’s head whipped towards the door. He pulled A-Qing away with one hand and unsheathed Shuanghua with the other, whispering urgently. “When he comes in, you must escape while I handle him. Do as I say!”

Almost petrified with fear, A-Qing still managed to nod with tears threatening to drip from her eyes. Xue Yang kicked at the door. “What are you guys doing? You’re still here even though I’m already back? Let me inside—I’m dead tired.”

I wish you were! A-Qing thought fiercely as she wiped her face. She realised quickly—Xue Yang had been waiting for Song Zichen to find them. Everything had only happened yesterday, so if there was even a hint of strangeness today, he would definitely be vigilant. She crept towards the door and pulled at the wooden bar in the wrong direction, affecting a struggle.

“The damn door’s stuck!” She spat, disguising the nasally tone of her voice.

“The bar?” He sounded somewhat disbelieving. “It looked fine the last time I saw it.”

“Hmph, what would you know? You never use the thing when you’re in here!”

“’Course I don’t, it’s useless. Why’d you even bar the door anyway, it’s not like anyone wants to peep.”

Despite her wobbling legs, A-Qing gritted her teeth and echoed somewhat childishly, “Why do you leave it open all the time?! No one’s trying to get an eyeful of your ghostly ass either!!”

“…Alright, I’m giving you two seconds before I kick it down. One—”

“Go ahead, kick it all you like!”

With a mighty crash, the door burst open with the sound of the wooden bar splintering. Xue Yang stepped inside, holding the basket of produce in one hand and an apple in the other. Right as he bit into the fruit, Shuanghua sunk viciously into his flank.

The basket fell to the ground, spilling out its contents. After a muffled choke, the piece of bitten apple was coughed out to join the rest.

Xiao Xingchen shouted, “A-Qing, run!”

Her heart pounding out of her chest, A-Qing leapt out the door and scampered away, before creeping back again. She found her usual hiding spot and climbed in, sticking her head out to watch what was going on.

The scene before her was harrowing.

Xiao Xingchen stood rigid and wrathful, the glacial air of his spiritual aura rolling off him in waves as he held his sword to Xue Yang’s neck. The tip of Shuanghua was a mere half-inch from his skin, but Xue Yang was as carefree as ever—the Zhenfozhu in his hands was wrapped around the silver blade, hissing out resentment like steam. It was the only thing between him and certain death.

“So it really is you.” Xiao Xingchen said, the words barely audible. Lips curling, he spoke with more force, “Why are you here? Why did you—staying here for so long, just what were you trying to do?!”

Xue Yang’s eyes curved up in familiar delight. Before answering, he took a step back, freeing Shuanghua from the chain of beads with a hair-raising scraping sound. Then he gave a shrug, tilting his head.

Xiao Xingchen didn’t budge. The sword remained aimed right below the other man’s collarbone, unwavering.

“Xue Yang, give me one good reason to not end your miserable life right here.”

Here, Xue Yang laughed, the sound loud and mocking. He had returned to using his original voice. “Oh, how noble of you, Xiao Xingchen. As a matter of fact, there are a few things I wanted to tell you.”

There was no reply, but Xiao Xingchen’s whole demeanour was practically screaming get on with it.

Looking down as if there weren’t a sword blocking his view, Xue Yang casually patted the wound on his stomach, staunching the bleeding. “Do you remember the day little blind wanted you to teach her how to fight?

Xiao Xingchen’s brows wrinkled.

That had been a long time ago. Upon asking, A-Qing had sounded half-joking, saying that just hearing the speed of Xiao Xingchen’s sword strikes could make her swing her bamboo pole faster. But she had truly been curious about her Daozhang’s sword forms that were said to be from an immortal master. And of course, he wouldn't be able to tell exactly how closely she was watching. How could he deny her when she threw a tantrum, exclaiming that he and Zhuli-lang weren’t the only ones who could teach the townspeople who looked down on them a lesson? That even if A-Qing was blind, she could beat them into the ground simply by hearing and knowing how the air moved?

Naturally, he thought that it wasn’t possible to teach her properly. She could probably only improve her aim at the very most. But his heart was softened.

And so, Xiao Xingchen left Shuanghua inside after he and A-Qing had managed to find a sturdy stick to be his practice sword. Xue Yang, irritated by the glare of the summer sun, had stayed inside the coffin home to nap.

Having remembered this, Xiao Xingchen nodded warily. “What about it?”

“Your sense of timing was really impeccable. Not ten minutes after you went back outside, a slip of paper slid right out of Shuanghua’s hilt. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes! Imagine my surprise when I had a look and realised it was a message from a familiar person. He said all sorts of things, practically grovelling at your feet.”

He pitched his voice deeper and began mocking, just as he had Song Zichen. Unfortunately, Xue Yang seemed to have a talent for impressions. His inflection and articulation were—from what Lan Wangji had heard—eerily similar to Song Zichen’s way of speaking. The incessant smile at the corner of his lips was becoming more and more despicable.

“Xingchen, I must beg your forgiveness, even though I do not deserve it. I was truly out of my mind when I said those things. It wasn’t your fault. Xingchen, you must wait for me. Even if you hate me, I cannot leave things like this between us…Oh! He even dared to call you his beloved!”

The more Xue Yang spoke, the more Xiao Xingchen trembled, breaths coming faster. His grip on Shuanghua tightened. His knuckles had gone white.

“The proud and noble distant frost is really—”

“Shut your mouth.”

After a long moment, Xiao Xingchen added from between gritted teeth. “…Where is it?”

Xue Yang burst into laughter. “Hahaha! Are you stupid, or do you think your Song-daozhang is? Did it sound like I was talking about a letter? It was a message talisman that played his voice to me, then crumbled to dust right after. Shame that he didn’t speak louder, hm?”

The little delinquent had clearly worded everything as deliberately as possible. Each sentence was like a poison-tipped arrow, piercing right into one’s weakest points.

Xiao Xingchen really couldn’t take it anymore. With a hiss, his spiritual energy burst out once more as he reared back to strike—once again, Shuanghua flared to life, and once again, it was caught between silver beads. Before Xiao Xingchen could break free, Xue Yang lurched forward, forcing the blade off-centre, the Zhenfozhu screeching metallically as it was dragged all the way up to the hilt.

Taking advantage of his proximity, Xue Yang leaned forward to reveal in a hushed faux-whisper, “Since we’re on the topic, I finally met him again the other day.”

Shuanghua jerked upwards violently as Xiao Xingchen stumbled back in shock, wrenching at the blade a few times before Xue Yang finally released him again. He was practically playing with his food.

“I’ve seen it before, but you two are really peas in a pod. He even demanded an explanation, just like you did!”

Xiao Xingchen remained silent, as if trying to restrain himself. This time, both Shuanghua and his gaze stayed pointed towards the floor. Perhaps he was considering aiming lower when he attacked again. Xue Yang examined his stiff, half-slumped posture with mirth in his eyes.

They had come to a strange standstill.

“…Where is he?”

“You’re not curious about what I was planning?”

Lan Wangji had the feeling that a lesser man might have scoffed with derision as Xiao Xingchen murmured coldly, “The things you want to do can only be called disgusting. Are you finished or not?”

This, however, seemed to be Xue Yang’s weak point. Upon hearing this, he let out a jeering, bitter laugh, killing intent flashing through his eyes. “Xiao Xingchen, do you think that people like you and your Song-daozhang are the pinnacle of righteousness? Or even Wei Wuxian? The amount of people’s blood on your hands might collectively be able to fill the old Infernal Palace! Even with eyes, you truly deluded yourself blind. Thinking that someone like me is disgusting is par for the course, ridiculous as always. But you—do you really have the right to be disgusted by me?”

Receiving blow after blow, Xiao Xingchen seemed to still for a moment, as if forgetting to be shocked. “What are you saying?”

Listening to him speak, Lan Wangji could only feel faintly nauseous.

Xue Yang’s tone was unsuitably fond, as if reminiscing old memories with a familiar shixiong. “The whole time I’ve been here, haven’t we always gone out together every so often to clean up walking corpses and other things?”

Xiao Xingchen’s lips, still bloodless, parted. He repeated, “What are you saying this for, now?”

Xue Yang, “Well, it’s nothing urgent. Unfortunately, you gave your all-discerning eyes to your precious Song-daozhang, so you couldn’t see the ‘walking corpses’ that you killed. They were so desperate and pained when you pierced them through, kneeling and begging for you to let off their families and loved ones. If it weren’t for me slicing off their tongues beforehand, surely they’d be wailing for you to spare them too!”

Xiao Xingchen had gone completely, unnervingly, motionless.

Watching him intently but speaking with wild abandon, Xue Yang was clearly enjoying the show. “And when I told your beloved this, what do you think his reaction was? Such a noble and upright person as Song Lan, surely he was disgusted by you!”

Suddenly, Xiao Xingchen lunged forward, half-staggering over himself as he lashed out with abandon. Shuanghua’s brilliant glare carved deep gouges into the walls. “Shut up! Shut your mouth!”

It was beyond easy for Xue Yang to dodge these uncoordinated strikes, laughing his head off all the while. “I’m joking. No, he really said—can you believe it—that I had taken advantage of your blindness and deceived you. Hilarious, coming from him!”

Xiao Xingchen shouted hoarsely, “Xue Yang, I won’t ask again! Where is he!”

Xue Yang raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t you know? Well, actually—shouldn’t Shuanghua know?”

Frenzied and furious beyond comprehension, Xiao Xingchen surged forward once more. Xue Yang darted back nimbly, and the air seemed to shift as soon as snapped his fingers. Instantly, a sword glare exploded out towards Xiao Xingchen, who blocked with his own weapon. As soon as the familiar limpid tone of steel-on-steel rang out, he lurched backwards.

One word managed to make it past his lips, his expression a mask of blankness. “…What?”

There was no answer.

After a moment with not a hint of movement in the air, Xiao Xingchen reached out silently with a shaking hand. His long, elegant fingers had never looked so unsure, clenching and unclenching faintly as they met only emptiness—until finally, grazing something smooth and cold.

Song Zichen’s pale cheek.

That hand paused, then moved upwards, tracing over those fine features: that stern brow, the long lashes that curtained his eyes, the noble slope of his nose, and…his thin lips, splattered with dried blood.

“Zichen…” Xiao Xingchen breathed hesitantly, becoming more and more anxious as he spoke, “Zichen, can you hear me? What happened…it’s you, isn’t it? Zichen, answer me, please…!”

Finally, as if afraid of the answer, Xiao Xingchen’s hand dropped down to those dark robes, unsteady and wary, following the line of Song Zichen’s arm to the pommel of his sword. That hand abruptly stopped as it encountered the knot of the silver sword tassel, then continued until it found those two damning characters: Fuxue.

After tracing the words, his fingers spasmed tightly, staining the blade crimson.

Turning back, Xiao Xingchen raised Shuanghua again, crying out through bloodied teeth—the blood from his eyeless sockets having already seeped down his whole face.

“What did you do?! What have you done to him?!!”

Xue Yang’s voice came from beside him, filled with morbid delight.

“What did I do? No, you should be asking yourself. Do I still need to tell you who exactly was the walking corpse that you killed yesterday? I’ll ask you again, Xiao Xingchen. Do you have the right to be disgusted by me?”

“Yesterday…!”

With a piercing clang, Shuanghua dropped to the ground.

Xue Yang burst out in hateful laughter, leaning against the wall for support.

Xiao Xingchen had whirled back around, hands outstretched as if to touch the other person again—but immediately withdrew them as if burned. He couldn’t. How could he…!

Instead, he fell to his knees and clutched at his own head, wailing as though his ribcage had been pried open, exposing the bloody heart within. Beside him, on the ground, Shuanghua seemed to resonate with the same frequency. The sound was both ear-piercing and yet damningly empty, a wounded animal howling into the void.

It was impossible to tell whether Xue Yang’s lips were down-or up-turned as he goaded, a strange glint in his eyes, “What’s wrong? Do you want to embrace your beloved?! Let me tell you something, Xiao Xingchen. The dead are quite obedient, you know!”

Upon saying this, he snapped his fingers again.

With the sound of rustling robes, Song Zichen slowly kneeled down. The tip of Fuxue sunk into the ground as he abandoned the sword and leaned forward, the corpse somehow affecting a cautious air, carefully controlled. Xiao Xingchen drew into himself as his presence came closer, still heaving with wretched sobs.

Song Zichen bowed his head, lowering his face into Xiao Xingchen’s neck, where a racing pulse was visible. His hands curled around the other man’s shoulders and waist as his cold cheek brushed against Xiao Xingchen’s jaw. He brought them loosely together, a mimicry of a lovers’ embrace.

A shiver ran through Xiao Xingchen’s whole body, as if he had stopped breathing. He went completely lax, shuddering like a leaf in the wind. His hands clenched into useless fists. Finally, a low, wretched keening noise escaped him, broken and stuttering, so genuinely agonised that Lan Wangji felt as if he had been stabbed in the chest, the blade twisting and turning.

Desperately, Xiao Xingchen’s hands came up, grasping and clutching recklessly at whatever was in reach. His blood streaked finger marks onto Song Zichen’s face, dripping down onto his collarbones. It seeped into that dark hair, those dark robes, heavy and wet. Yet no matter how much Xiao Xingchen convulsed in his arms, Song Zichen remained immobile, as if duty was to hold on like this until the end of time.

“No, Zichen, Zichen…I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Zichen, please…please, say something…anything, please…!”

Even his voice seemed like it had shattered with his heart, a thousand fragments spilling out onto the dusty ground. But Song Zichen remained silent, pupil-less eyes gazing aimlessly beyond him.

Xue Yang watched all the while as Xiao Xingchen carried on like this, begging for Song Zichen to speak to him. He only began to quieten as his throat went completely hoarse, overcome with despair.

All was silent.

Then, a hint of movement revealed that Xiao Xingchen had extracted himself somewhat from that loose embrace, and that his hand had moved to the sword on the floor.

Xue Yang raised an indolent eyebrow at him.

“Don’t you like it, Xiao Xingchen? The person of your heart is at your beck and call.”

The hand froze. Those thin knuckles, previously white, were smudged with red. Xiao Xingchen’s lips parted with the most expression that he’d shown in a long while, incredulous and almost stupefied. His breath stuttered, a remnant of a sob clawing out of his throat, before he swallowed hard.

He managed to speak.

“You…you disgusting beast…Xue Yang, you’re really beyond help, in this life or the next.” He lifted his head, turning his terrifyingly blood-streaked face to Xue Yang, baring his teeth, his expression frozen in anguish. Yet he had one final thing to say.

“The person that you’re waiting for, who waits for you…I pity him.”

Xue Yang’s face went slack.

Xiao Xingchen tightened his grip.

But instead of leaping forward as expected, he brought the dark blade to his neck, lips moving soundlessly. Fuxue’s sword glare lit up the myriad of expressions in Xue Yang’s eyes.

At that moment, time seemed to stop.

Xiao Xingchen’s corpse toppled back into the waiting arms of his beloved. His slender figure sprawled awkwardly, limbs askew within that cold embrace, dripping blood on the both of them. Fuxue fell onto Shuanghua with a ringing tone. And still, Song Zichen stared forward blankly, at where the two tassels had tangled together into a crimson mess.

It was quiet. Xue Yang blinked.

“…What did you say?”

Of course, there was no answer. The two people before him were both dead.

He strode over, crouching down and taking the white-robed corpse by the blood-soaked lapel. “Xiao Xingchen, what do you even know about…!”

Xue Yang cut himself off and shook his head. Lips curling back, he tossed Xiao Xingchen back onto the ground. Before him, a faint breeze shifted the edge of Song Zichen’s long sleeve.

Making to turn away, Xue Yang suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned back, as if unsatisfied.

“Goddamned hypocrite to the end, huh?” He spat, and gave Xiao Xingchen a kick. The body skidded a few inches, moving back towards Song Zichen’s unseeing gaze. Muttering under his breath senselessly, Xue Yang was somehow still enraged as he stared down, as if his eyes could send this person’s soul straight to hell.

The faint breeze kissed Song Zichen’s other sleeve. Just as Xue Yang drew his foot back, about to kick again, there was an almost inaudible noise—the whisper of shivering metal. His eyes darted over to Fuxue, who had been utterly unresponsive on its own since its master had died.

Xue Yang seemed to realise something. “You…”

He sneered, turning to face Song Zichen.

“Fucking dogs, the pair of you.” He nudged Xiao Xingchen’s head with his boot, “If I bring this one back, won’t you be happy then? How pathetic.”

As he spoke, he glared down at Fuxue. After a moment, he seemed to find what he was looking for.

A chilling smile pulled at his lips.

“You don’t want it? Well, that’s too bad. I still have some questions to ask him.”

Xue Yang couldn’t bring Xiao Xingchen back.

He tried, of course. Curiously, he seemed to be fixated on the last thing that Xiao Xingchen had said to him, the disgust and pity that had coated his words, oddly poisonous. In the end, the rogue cultivator’s soul had been shattered into tiny fragments, impossible to revive as a fierce corpse. Perhaps, if he was really unlucky, he wouldn’t even be able to enter the cycle of reincarnation.

Lan Wangji thought of the final three words that had escaped Xiao Xingchen’s bloodstained lips: Zichen, forgive me.

He had died, just like that, having killed his beloved and countless innocents alike. Xiao Xingchen had perhaps the purest intentions in the cultivation world when he’d left Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, yet thanks to someone like Xue Yang, his short life had been ruined so thoroughly.

The last A-Qing saw of Xue Yang was when he ran out of the coffin home, looking for a spirit-trapping pouch. The scene changed abruptly after she ran from Yi City, following her through unfamiliar streets in unfamiliar towns. She wandered around, asking anyone she could if there were any big sects in the area, and where the powerful cultivators were. However, no one took her seriously. Some treated her with pity, thinking that the young girl was not only blind, but had gone mad as well. Most others turned away more swiftly.

Lan Wangji watched her with a complicated feeling in his heart as she was dismissed again and again. After another long, tiring day, she followed a less-trodden path into the mountains, eventually reaching a small stream.

She cupped her hands and drank some water from the stream, then sat back on her legs on the cool grass. Staring emptily at the water and listening to its cheerful burbling, her eyes began to sting again. Why did it just have to be a villain like Xue Yang who was victorious time and time again? While people whose hearts contained nothing but goodness had to be trampled underneath his feet!

So lost in thought was she that when a shadow loomed over the stream, she mistook it for a cloud. The realisation came far too late; before she could even react, something cool and sharp pressed against her neck. A-Qing didn’t even dare to gulp—there was no doubt that it was a long blade, held steady and stinking of copper.

“Guniang,” A voice came from above her head, terrifyingly gentle. “Are you looking for someone?”

…How unlucky was she, to die at someone else’s hands before she could even cut Xue Yang into pieces!

Cursing in her heart, A-Qing held her head up and hissed out, “So what if I am?!”

The person behind her, who was tall and warm, seemed to pause in surprise. He huffed in faint amusement, then said, “How curious—might this one ask?”

A-Qing gritted her teeth. With a sword at her neck like this, was he asking or threatening?!

But a curl of wild hope sprouted in her heart; her throat hadn’t been slit yet, so maybe there was a chance. And if she was going down, she was going to bring that filthy bastard down with her.

“I need to kill someone named Xue Yang—I have to cut him into pieces so that he won’t ever reincarnate again! Are you a cultivator? Do you know any powerful people?”

She was surprised to find herself half-begging, tears of frustration beginning to prick at her still-swollen eyes.

The sword dipped down slightly as its owner actually laughed. It was a warm sound, completely at odds with his actions. But A-Qing had stayed with a master performer for so long that the sound sent nothing but chills up her spine. Taking her chance, she craned her neck back, but only caught a glimpse of gold and a smiling, upturned eye before she was forced to look forward again.

“Guniang, don’t worry, hm? I don’t know about reincarnation, but rest assured, that brat will definitely suffer.” A large hand patted her head as if petting a dog, almost fondly. A tiny shudder wracked her body.

“Beyond even his own understanding.”

The hand slid down to grip at her jaw, the way one would grasp a misbehaving kitten by the scruff.

“Now, hold still. I’ll make this quick.”

The slick, wet sound came so fast that it took a moment for her to remember where she had heard it before—back then, when Xue Yang had thrust Jiangzai between Song Zichen’s lips.

Then—blinding pain.

A white-hot line drawing straight over her throat.

Lan Wangji woke up—

—his tongue cut out from the root, his chest burning with fire, his eyes crusted with lingering tears.

Lan Wangji woke up in the Infernal Palace.

“…He’s awake, I think.”

A faint voice, the words shaped indolently, almost bored.

Someone was prying his insides open.

Just above his left kidney, there was a—something between tearing and drilling, that crushed every nerve in the vicinity and twisted—

He thought he didn’t have any more blood to lose. He was wrong.

And then on the right side, an explosive, hellish burst of pressure that landed over his living corpse with the weight of what felt like the heavens, breaking something, grinding it so thoroughly into dust that—

His meridians—no, his spiritual root!

His dark eyes flew open, bleeding crimson, seeing black.

Lan Wangji convulsed in pure agony, but he couldn’t move.

Lan Wangji screamed, blood in his lungs, but he couldn’t breathe.

Amidst the high-pitched, muted buzzing in his ears…the sensation of being torn from existence, of spinning dizzily in a void. Silent, ragged gasps that choked on slow-moving copper.

Why hadn’t he died yet? Why was he still—

His core was—it was weeping with sorrow, drenching liquid gold into the stone floors, seeping diligently down as if it could erode the volcanic rock. Attempting to feed back into the earth, as if it had already given up all hope of surviving in Lan Wangji’s body.

In that final moment before he fell into deviation, he thought, with all the emotion he didn’t have the strength to muster—Xiongzhang, Wangji is sorry.

His regrets, the sound of a flute—Bichen—Wangji-qin—sunshine dappling through the magnolias—soft fur, rustling leaves—lovely laughter, and a bright smile he wished he could keep.

Lan Wangji’s eyes glowed, bright and molten, one last time.

Maybe in the next life.

Yes, that was all he had hope for.

I’m sorry.

Chapter Text

And so, Lan Wangji fell, and fell, and fell, tumbling into emptiness, darkness, the vastness of the cosmos.

It was familiar.

“You must have seen it, Lan Zhan.”

He grasped a long, sharp tusk in his bare hands, cold wind where there should have been blood.

“Watch out! …You—be careful, it’s getting up again!”

Warmth—an embrace, translucent. A voice, humming a lullaby, slower than it was supposed to be.

“Go back to sleep, A-Yuan.”

His song played out under his fingertips, the crowded inn, the sounds of merriment.

“Gongzi, I wanted to ask…”

And a little boy, standing barely up to his hip. He was so wronged, and yet he held back his frustrated tears, turning wet eyes up to Lan Wangji.

“Gui-gege, why am I the only one who can see you?” ¹

“A-Yuan, I…”

Jin Ling had been ringing his clarity bell furiously, but Mo Xuanyu was still writhing in pain. Sweat beaded finely along his temples, and his breath came in stuttering pants. Tears slid slowly from beneath the fluttering lashes of his left eye, dripping down his clenched jaw.

“Mo-qianbei,” Wei Sizhui said urgently, holding him by the arm, heart in his mouth. Kang Qiyue kneeled on the other side, gripping a pale wrist just it case it lashed out again. Even his usually-stoic countenance was faintly perturbed as he watched. “Mo-qianbei!”

At long last, Mo Xuanyu’s body fell lax, with the exception of a few shudders. His golden eyes blinked open dazedly, a little wet, and he stared at the gaggle of boys before him with empty exhaustion.

Wei Sizhui let out a tiny breath in relief and immediately moved his hold to Mo Xuanyu’s wrist, transferring spiritual energy as he had seen his father do before. “Mo-qianbei,” He asked again, tone gentling, “Are you alright?”

Slowly, Mo Xuanyu turned towards him. There was a strange quality to his gaze, as if he were seeing the world through a new lens. At least the spiritual energy Sizhui was passing along to him didn’t seem to be encountering any blockages. Before he could let any residual anxiety get the best of him, Mo Xuanyu rasped out quietly, “A-Yuan…?”

For some inexplicable reason, Wei Sizhui’s breath hitched, a feeling that was old and warm spreading in his chest at the call. The way Mo Xuanyu said his name was easy yet full of gravitas, as if Sizhui was such an important person to him—there was something achingly familiar about it, somehow. It itched at something way back in his memory, a faint impression of a calm, deep voice, his father’s safe embrace, and A-Yuan’s lullaby…perhaps, the first spring they had spent by the lotus lakes…?

Wei Sizhui realised that he had been staring dumbly for a while and hurried to answer, embarrassed at his sudden confusion, “Ah…yes? That’s me.”

Instead of saying anything else, Mo Xuanyu only gave a weak nod and placed a hand on his chest, circulating his own spiritual energy. The lines of Wei Wuxian’s array pulsed to life, though they weren’t whole. Tiny fractures spiderwebbed throughout.

Wei Sizhui couldn’t help his wince at the sight. His father was not going to be happy about this.

The other disciples, who had been watching with bated breath, now swarmed closer around them. When Mo Xuanyu remained silent, they eventually gathered the courage to speak, resulting in a cacophony of half-hushed ‘Mo-qianbei’s’.

“Mo-qianbei, are you really alright?”

“What did you see?”

“Kang-xiong, he hasn’t gone mad, has he?”

“Lan Jingyi, can you shut it, he’s obviously fine.”

“Look how quiet he is, what if he’s not actually fine?!”

“Don’t be stupid, he’s always been this quiet.”

“You—your sister is quiet!!”

“…Well, yeah? So?”

Mo Xuanyu finally spoke, “Quiet.”

The juniors fell silent at once.

Wei Sizhui’s lips twisted as Mo Xuanyu sighed, and he hurried to support the other man as he gingerly stood up. Although he still looked pale and drawn, tear stains on his face, he turned to A-Qing and said in that strangely, quietly comforting way of his, “You’ve worked hard. Stay back, now.”

A-Qing gave them a long look, pale eyes trembling, before putting her hands together in a deep bow. Upon straightening up again, she took up her bamboo pole and made a few voracious stabbing movements, expression resolute.

Wei Sizhui couldn’t help the faint amusement that rose up in his chest, as well as admiration. The young maiden had gone through what seemed like a hellish experience, and was still so determined to help despite it all. By the softening of Mo Xuanyu’s eyes, he seemed to also feel a similar way.

“Don’t rush.” He said, then turned back to the disciples. “All of you, stay here. I will return.”

He gently removed himself from Wei Sizhui’s support and stepped away. As Sizhui was suddenly debating the correct course of action, Lan Jingyi rushed forward. “Wait, what did you see?!”

Mo Xuanyu didn’t look back, “Too much.”

Jin Ling added, “Can’t you summarise it or something?…Qianbei.”

Mo Xuanyu paused at the door. “Later.”

Wei Sizhui watched as he left, fingers twisting into his sleeves, and thought weakly to himself, it should be fine to let him go…surely A-die has disarmed Xue Yang by now?

Like this, the disgruntled juniors were left behind as Lan Wangji quickly followed A-Qing’s tapping back towards the battlefield.

In short, it was pure chaos.

Thanks to the thick fog and the layout of the town, Wei Wuxian was at a clear disadvantage. Suibian had no choice but to slice almost randomly through the air, relying on its sheer speed to chase Xue Yang’s tail. Yet Jiangzai wasn’t faring much better, lashing out wildly in return. Lan Wangji inched his way over, assisted by A-Qing—fortunately, it seemed that Song Zichen was already out of the fight. As he approached, he caught the end of a sentence, swallowed by the fog.

It was clearly Xue Yang’s voice, as taunting as always.

“Naming your son like that, too? Aren’t you doing a bit much?”

Somewhere to the left, Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue, “You’re one to talk, going A-Yu this and A-Yu that.”

One of the sword glares—he couldn’t tell which—careened sideways into a building with a loud crash of crumbling wood.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji turned and called out lowly.

Shuffling, and the sound of hurried footsteps. A quick acknowledgement of “Lan-gongzi” passed him by with a strong gust of wind—it seemed that Wei Wuxian and Wen Qionglin had seamlessly switched places. A familiar warm hand took his wrist and lead him back a few steps, and Suibian’s light was dimmed but clear; it was Wei Wuxian. His fine features were unruffled, a small smile hooking up his lips as their gazes met.

He held up two long black nails for Lan Wangji to see. Ink-black yet gleaming, the base of the nails were not flat, but consisted of a rounded bead, like some ugly imitation of a pearl-encrusted hairpin.

“Song Lan’s out of the fight.” Wei Wuxian stepped even closer, silver eyes reflecting concern. “Lan Zhan, you’re alright?”

Lan Wangji nodded and gave him a quick summary of the events that he had seen during Empathy. With each twist and turn, Wei Wuxian’s expression fell more and more. Finally, he gave a tight sigh and readied Suibian, upper lip curling to bare his teeth. “Alright. Let’s take care of him for good. Stay back a bit, Lan Zhan.”

Before he could agree, Wei Wuxian and Wen Qionglin switched places once more, the latter taking a defensive stance somewhere in front of Lan Wangji, the former attacking again with even more vigour—although, now not only with his sword.

Wei Wuxian called out, sounding as casual as ever, not even hinting that Lan Wangji had told him everything already, “So, Xue Yang, why did you beg me to restore my Shishu’s soul anyway? Didn’t you hate him—and me?”

Xue Yang laughed wildly, “Beg? I didn’t beg for anything. and don’t take it personally, Da-Laozu. I paid Xiao Xingchen back for what he did, and it’s not as if I didn’t try with you.”

Wei Wuxian was silent for a moment, “What are you saying?”

“Well I had a go at your kid a couple of times, but…he’s just like you, pretty hard to kill. Like a cockroach—hah!”

Suibian landed a glancing blow, bringing along the sound of tearing cloth. Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction.

Listening to this exchange, Lan Wangji was reminded of some other memories he had glimpsed during Empathy. Stepping forward, he reached into his sleeves and calmly called out, “Zhuli-lang.”

Abruptly, Suibian pierced flesh. Xue Yang shouted hoarsely, that strange fury rising up again, “Shut up, you imposter!”

“Oh, that’s right.” Wei Wuxian cocked his head and sent out a talisman with the hand that wasn’t holding a sword seal. The ground some ways before them exploded. He continued, as if nothing had happened, “Were you waiting for Mo Xuanyu?”

Having been corralled over, Xue Yang spat, “Waiting? I have better things to do than wait around all day, what do you think you know?!”

Lan Wangji answered into the fog. “You wanted to revive Xiao Xingchen because you didn’t understand his last words. Why would he pity a person he had never met, rather than himself or Song Zichen? Especially after all you had done to them.”

It was clear that Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were taking turns backing him into a corner, but Xue Yang couldn’t hold down his contempt. “Ridiculous! You know that those two were a real pair of mandarin dogs², so virtuous that it made me sick. If I turned them into fierce corpses, killing and pillaging for the rest of time, who else in the cultivation world would dare call themselves virtuous ever again?!”

Lan Wangji could practically hear the confusion in Wei Wuxian’s voice. “Alright, but I’ve always wanted to know—why did you kill Chang Ping?”

Xue Yang sneered, “Are you serious? I’m a man of my word. I said I would wipe out the whole of Yueyang Chang, so I wouldn’t even leave a dog behind!”

“Doesn’t make sense.” Wei Wuxian seemed as if he wanted to say more, but decided to get to the point after Suibian bit into flesh once again. He had smelled blood, both literally and figuratively. It was rather unnerving how many times Xue Yang had been struck, yet he had not let out even a groan of pain. “Don’t tell me it has something to do with Mo Xuanyu again?”

His pain tolerance might have been inhuman, but this topic of conversation was always guaranteed to hit the mark. Xue Yang’s voice seemed to tear itself from his throat. “Does the fucking world revolve around him? Shut your mouth!”

“I mean, if you just said it was revenge, I can kind of see it. You made it quite obvious. But you waited for a while, didn’t you?”

Lan Wangji stepped in again. “You planned everything. You knew Song Zichen would come eventually, and night-hunted with Xiao Xingchen to collect resentment in the meantime.” The massacres of Yueyang Chang and Baixue Guan, deceiving Xiao Xingchen into murdering innocents, Song Zichen’s intercepted message, the way he had been killed, and the way Xue Yang had so excruciatingly revealed everything to Xiao Xingchen. No doubt he had savoured every second of plotting his enemies’ demise.

Lan Wangji knew exactly what to say. Moreover, he believed it.

“Xue Yang. You are really…beyond disgusting.”

A wordless scream of rage came, along with the whistling of something sharp slicing through the air towards him. Wen Qionglin appeared before him in a blast of wind, knocking back the jet-black nails that had been hurled straight at Lan Wangji’s face.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cried out in alarm.

Within the fog, Xue Yang let out a series of wet coughs, fiercely spitting blood onto the ground.

“’Lan Zhan’?” He sounded dumbstruck for only a moment before beginning to laugh wildly, “Ah, good, really good! It turns out the person who stole my A-Yu’s body was actually your Hanguang-jun! Another hypocrite—heavens, they’re just everywhere, aren’t they!!”

Lan Wangji blinked. That was it.

Unflinchingly, he proclaimed, “Mo Xuanyu offered his body to me.”

Silence.

The wind whistled as Jiangzai returned to Xue Yang’s hand with a muffled thump. The tip dropped heavily into the ground.

Then, “You..you liar. You’re lying!!”

Catching on, Wei Wuxian said in a hard tone, “You seem pretty close. Do you have a habit of mentally torturing everyone in your vicinity? Did Mo Xuanyu suffer at your hands as well?”

Xue Yang finally attacked again, this time wordlessly, though as vicious as ever. But Lan Wangji was completely prepared. Silver strings flicked out from his sleeves, catching onto Jiangzai’s hilt, wrapping around the pale hands that held it. Blue light sparked the last dregs of his qi along the lines, “Wei Ying!”

Naturally, Wei Wuxian had realised what he’d done in the instant he had done it.

Suibian lashed out, piercing through Xue Yang’s body. Jiangzai fell. Blood burst out from the wound, painting a large plane of the white fog into a brilliant red. The previously cold mist had been dyed warm and pulsing, saturated with the overwhelming stink of copper.

Wei Wuxian made to withdraw his weapon, ready to incapacitate Xue Yang for further interrogation. However, the little delinquent only swayed where he stood, breathing heavily. He slurred out a few words, thick and wet, before leaping towards Lan Wangji—heedless of the blade driving deeper, “Get out of his body!”

With a blinding flash of white, Suibian tore out of his flank, jerking Xue Yang off-course. Wei Wuxian showed no mercy—the arm that had reached out so brazenly was cleanly sliced off!

But before he could do anything else, a pillar of blue flames exploded from the blood-soaked ground to the sky. The strings that Lan Wangji held suddenly tightened and went limp, despite the both of them rushing forward at the same time. All that was left of Xue Yang was his severed arm and the spirit-trapping pouch that contained the fragments of Xiao Xingchen’s soul, strewn carelessly about. Wei Wuxian carefully stowed the latter away into his robes.

Now that the action was over, Lan Wangji asked measuredly, standing heavily on his heels, “The gravedigger?”

Wei Wuxian’s expression was pinched. “I thought he’d retreated after the beating I gave him. Guess that Zhenfozhu is really worth something, after all.”

As he spoke, Wen Qionglin came over, attempting to wave the bloody mist away.

“He could be dead?” He asked, optimistically.

Wei Wuxian looked at Xue Yang’s arm, which had been severed from the elbow, and the amount of blood splatter on the ground. His brows crinkled together. “What do you think?”

Wen Qionglin took a closer look as well, then paused. His mouth opened stiffly, then closed. “I’m being hopeful.”

Wei Wuxian huffed and waved a hand. “Forget about him for now. He won’t be causing trouble again anytime soon, at least.”

Wen Qionglin, “…You said the same thing about the other guy.”

Before Wei Wuxian could retort, Wen Qionglin had silently slipped away. Wei Wuxian shook his head exasperatedly, turning back to Lan Wangji. “Dead or not dead, who cares. Let’s find the kids.”

As they walked, the fog dissipated even more. Wei Wuxian suddenly stopped as he came closer and caught sight of Lan Wangji, a faint horror in his eyes. He brought his hand up and touched his thumb against Lan Wangji’s cheek, feeling a hint of tackiness. His silver gaze was bright, something anxious swimming in its depths.

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted slightly. “…You cried?”

Lan Wangji blinked at him, then touched the other cheek with his own hand. It was dry.

He gave a tiny shake of the head. “No.”

The other man stared at him for a moment longer before finally removing his hand. The warmth left with him.

“…Then, let’s go back.” He said, sounding—to Lan Wangji—completely unconvinced. But he didn’t press.

They returned to the coffin home side-by-side. When they arrived, Song Zichen was standing beside Xiao Xingchen’s coffin, head bowed as he looked within.

Almost all the disciples were watching him with tremulous gazes, swords at the ready. Kang Qiyue stood at the front, supporting the tip of Lan Jingyi's sword when it began shaking too much. Upon realising that their seniors had returned, they were all relieved, though none but Wei Sizhui came over. He gave a nod in greeting to the two seniors, then followed them towards the fierce corpse.

Wei Wuxian stepped forward, examining Song Zichen’s limpid black eyes carefully—the ones that had originally been Xiao Xingchen’s. He looked away for a moment, as if in pain, then greeted smoothly, “Song-daozhang.”

Song Zichen’s gaze brimmed with anguish as it settled on the spirit-trapping pouch that Wei Wuxian offered to him. It was clear that he retained all his memories from his time under Xue Yang’s control. It was clear that, were it not for the constraints of his current body, he would have long wept enough for the tears to gouge tracks into his pale cheeks.

“My Shishu.” Wei Wuxian said, placing Xiao Xingchen in his hands, then blinked and turned slightly to the side. A quiet shuffling sounded, and A-Qing materialised with a dim glow, inching closer to Song Zichen. Her bright eyes were fixed on the pouch in his hands. The fierce corpse didn’t protest as she made her way to his side, as if he hadn’t noticed her at all.

Wei Wuxian glanced at her, then asked, “Song-daozhang, what will you do with my Shishu’s body?”

Song Zichen carefully tucked the pouch into his robes, laying a hand over his still heart, before drawing Fuxue with the other. He wrote on the ground: Cremate the corpse. Nurture the soul.

Perhaps, for these two, that was the only way forward. Perhaps, one day, they would meet again in this life.

Wei Wuxian shared the same thoughts as Lan Wangji, and nodded his head. “What do you plan on doing now?”

Fuxue carved into the ground, like a promise.

Roam the world with Shuanghua. Cleanse evil together with Xingchen.

Fuxue hovered for a second, the blade trembling. Then, he added.

When he wakes, tell him everything I couldn’t say before.

Those things that had already spilled from Xue Yang’s poisonous lips—it wasn’t your fault. I will wait for you, my beloved.

Quietly, Lan Wangji hoped that these words would one day reach their intended, properly this time.

To A-Qing, Lan Wangji asked, “You want to accompany him?”

She turned to face him, giving a resolute nod. Solemnly, she brought her hands together, bowing once to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, then once again to the still-frozen juniors—who scrambled in place, making various ‘get up, please!’ motions with their arms, all while staying completely silent.

Watching all of this, a deep emotion unfolded in Song Zichen’s eyes. Yet he only raised his hand and gently ran his stiff fingers over the air above A-Qing’s head. The two seniors and the disciples escorted them to the city gates—here, the ghost girl and the fierce corpse left, together.

The shadow of their backs was a great contrast. Clad in dark robes, one stood as tall as an ancient pine, the matching tassels of Shuanghua and Fuxue swaying in tandem on his back. The other was short and slight, emitting the faintest pale glow, tapping eagerly at the path ahead.

It was this path ahead that, hopefully, would one day return Xiao Xingchen to them.

They had barely disappeared into the distance when Wei Wuxian jolted, as if suddenly remembering something. “Oh, right!” He exclaimed, then pulled out a qiankun pouch, offering it to Lan Wangji, who blinked and took it.

The energy emanating from the pouch was awfully familiar.

Wei Wuxian gave a small smile. Of course, his mood was dampened after recent events, but he still gazed at Lan Wangji with expectation. It was rare to see Wei Wuxian so… proud. If he had a tail, it would have been wagging at the sky.

Lan Wangji tried, “…The right hand.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile blossomed. “Yep!”

There was nothing else to say. Under the siege of poisonous walking corpses, the gravedigger, and the thick fog, Wei Wuxian had managed the task with ease. “Well done.”

Wei Wuxian said something, waving his hand carelessly.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji said, feeling as if his head had dipped underwater for a moment. He gave a faint shake, as if to clear the blockage from his ears. His head swam, dregs of qi sparking sluggishly.

Wei Wuxian said something again.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji replied again, vaguely realising that his legs had given way as well. He staggered, almost in slow motion. In the space between one second and the next, Wei Wuxian had appeared at his side, so warm and close, holding him fast. His handsome features were a little blurry, and Lan Wangji’s tongue felt thick as he murmured noiselessly, “I forgot to…”

He had only been underwater for a few moments.

When he broke through the surface, he was leaning against a firm chest, bracketed in a careful embrace. The sunlight was warm, so much so that the dust motes in the air danced gently within its rays.

Lan Wangji’s whole person had stilled. In his spiritual veins, his qi pulsed quietly, calmly; replenished and bountiful. From the open door came the faint sounds of young men sobbing, and the low crackling of flames. Lan Jingyi’s voice was most prominent, Ouyang Zizhen’s less so. Jin Rulan was a close third, throwing tearful curses left and right.

Without opening his eyes, he could feel it. Wei Wuxian had repaired the array once more.

The touches that ghosted over Lan Wangji’s wrists and neck withdrew. Kang Qiyue’s murmur came, crestfallen and regretful. He was still so young, yet who knew that he held Wei Wuxian’s heart in his hands?

“I’m sorry, Wei-qianbei. With a curse like this, I cannot do much more for his body.”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded slightly, acquiescing. After the boy slipped out of the open door, he continued cradling Lan Wangji in his arms for a long while before sitting up properly. He didn’t seem surprised as Lan Wangji turned a half-lidded gaze towards him, only gently ensuring he could sit up on his own. Yet his hand remained on Lan Wangji’s wrist, fingers covering the shackle as if he wished he could smear the marks from existence.

“Lan Zhan, I…”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes were shadowed, a sheen over his lowered gaze. He looked as if he were struggling for words—a sight that had been so rare in his last life. Lan Wangji’s heart ached at the sight, and he couldn’t help but murmur, “It is as if you are the one who was cursed.”

It was perhaps a little lie. Wei Ying had always been able to bear what others could not.

Immediately, Wei Wuxian bristled faintly, brows drawing down into a scowl. “…But it wasn’t me.”

Looking at him, it was almost as if Lan Wangji could see a reflection of his young self in the other man’s countenance—the Hanguang-jun who had seen Wei Wuxian return in a flurry of darkness and resentment, who wanted to keep him safe from his own power, who had an inkling of how the tides might turn against him in the end, who wanted to hide him away. But back then, Wei Wuxian hadn't been willing. And now, Lan Wangji understood him completely.

“Let us go on.” He spoke in a low voice.

Wei Wuxian retorted, as if he had been waiting for such a statement, “And what if something else happens?”

“It won’t.”

Squeezing his eyes closed, Wei Wuxian took a deep breath before looking at him again. It was the same expression as before, when he had touched Lan Wangji cheek, silver gaze brimming with concern and a long-buried torment. “Lan Zhan, I really can’t—I can’t let you—not again…”

He trailed off like this, losing his words.

Looking at him, the tension that marred his handsome features, the way his strong hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, Lan Wangji couldn't help but soften.

Wei Wuxian tried to continue. “If anything…”

His voice cracked. He would have pulled away, had Lan Wangji not caught his hands. Insistent and comforting, he murmured again.

"It will not."

And that was the truth that Lan Wangji could feel in his bones.

Because the next time this array failed, it would be the last.

Chapter Text

On the slow walk back to the city where Xiao Pingguo and Xianzi had been left behind, Lan Wangji began to lean more and more heavily against him. Wei Wuxian waited until it seemed that the other man had dozed off—with only his legs moving by sheer force of unconscious will—before gently scooping him into his arms. He continued forward at the same pace, not noticing Lan Jingyi behind him, who had stopped in his tracks with a completely dumbfounded expression.

About half the juniors had reacted similarly, while the other half went on as if nothing had happened. Wei Wuxian was unknowingly grateful for the quiet atmosphere. The events of the past few hours had etched a solemn look on his face, in contrast to what the kids usually saw of him.

His thoughts jumped here and there; the grief of learning exactly what had happened to his Shishu, that he really should have put Xue Yang out of his misery all those years ago. It was nevertheless balanced by the relief that no matter what had already occurred, Xiao Xingchen’s beloved had returned to his side—someone who was willing to devote their remaining days to him, nurturing his fragmented soul back to health. Wei Wuxian had told Song Lan that he was welcome to come to the Burial Mounds any time for assistance, giving him a few more spirit-trapping pouches in case of emergencies. He could only hope that was enough.

As for Lan Wangji’s curse…

One part of Wei Wuxian wanted to take him back. Back to Gusu, to the Jingshi, so they could return to those halcyon days. If he were honest with himself, it brought him a rare sense of peace, the faint illusion of their years of youth.

With time and safety, the Library Pavilion, Wen Qing’s expertise, and Wei Wuxian’s brilliance—what curse could they not break? What could possibly take Hanguang-jun away from him again?

Another part of him had long realised, like Lan Wangji did, that there was more to this corpse’s dismemberment than could be seen on the surface. The juniors’ encounter with that so-called ‘hunter’ who led them to Yi City only confirmed it further. With how far this rot had spread, even brushing through both Yunmeng Jiang and Qinghe Nie, who knew what disastrous consequences would result from this plan if left unchecked?

And still the last part of Wei Wuxian knew that he would never bring himself to go against Lan Wangji’s wishes, Lan Wangji’s word. He had already stolen Lan Wangji away once, spirited him away to the Burial Mounds. Knowing the upright Hanguang-jun, he didn’t even need to have any stake in the matter to offer his aid. That was what he had been known for, after all—it was he who went wherever the chaos was.

And now, that mix of determination and resignation had appeared in his golden eyes again.

Would Lan Wangji forgive him, if Wei Wuxian extinguished this chance?

Wei Wuxian couldn’t bear it.

He wished he could be more selfish. And yet he couldn’t help the warmth in his heart that burned like a candle flame, melting the wax of his sorrow whenever he thought of Lan Wangji like this.

It was why he had fallen in love with Hanguang-jun in the first place. It was why he had admired Lan Wangji for so long, and so dearly.

The blue light of dusk had begun to settle in as they arrived in the city, which was in contrast both brightly lit and bustling with activity. Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen went to deal with the dog and donkey, while Kang Qiyue herded the others into staying on the first floor.

Still holding Lan Wangji in his arms, Wei Wuxian hesitated for a moment before nodding at Sizhui. His son, being the brilliant boy that he was, ordered a table for his peers and a room upstairs for the seniors.

Before Wei Wuxian went up, he shifted Lan Wangji’s head securely onto his shoulder and used his newly-freed hand to pat Sizhui’s hair. “I’ll be down soon. Eat something first.”

Wei Sizhui’s expression was somewhat inscrutable, but his eyes carried a hint of worry as they darted towards Lan Wangji’s sleeping form. After a moment, the boy only hummed in agreement and watched him ascend the stairs.

When Wei Wuxian set Lan Wangji down carefully onto the bed, he found himself unable to move away. Lan Zhan was silently clutching at his robes with pale fingers. Feeling a strange, resigned warmth welling in his throat, Wei Wuxian had no choice but to sit down and outfit the room with the proper protections as he waited for the other man to wake, still leaning against him.

Lan Wangji’s breathing was deep and even. If he was squeezing in some proper rest like this, Wei Wuxian was happy to oblige—after the events of Yi City, it was the least he deserved. Wei Wuxian’s chest tightened as he watched the shadows lengthen and darken over Lan Wangji’s eyelashes, remembering what Sizhui had told him. Of course this stubborn man wouldn’t have included the fact that it was Empathy and not Inquiry that was the source of his information, lest he worry Wei Wuxian into fussing over him in the midst of battle.

Throughout his life, Wei Wuxian had always been scolded for his troublemaking tendencies. Yet, he thought bitterly, it was always people like Lan Zhan who deserved to be scolded for their own sake, at the very least. Just because Lan Wangji’s exterior of icy jade didn’t belie a hint of his impulsive heart, didn’t mean that it wasn’t there!

Right as Wei Wuxian was about to give into the urge to whisper a few soft, chastising words, Lan Wangji began to stir. As soon as those long lashes fluttered and those thin lips parted, the impulse vanished like a wisp of smoke dissipating into the air.

“Lan Zhan,” He murmured instead, “You’re awake?”

Golden eyes blinked slowly up at him, making his heart still for a moment.

Lan Wangji gave a small nod, then moved so he was sitting up properly, leaving Wei Wuxian mournfully patting at the warm spot on his arm. They sat in silence for a long while—Wei Wuxian was a little afraid that he might look at the other man’s pale countenance and become possessed by Wen Qing’s spirit of professional scolding—until Lan Wangji finally said, “I would like to meditate.”

Wei Wuxian somehow managed to not leap off the bed at the quiet words. Instead, he cleared his throat and stood up at a completely normal pace. “Alright. I’ll bring dinner up later.”

Lan Wangji gave him a nod, sat in the lotus position, and closed his eyes. Wei Wuxian gave him one last, long look, and closed the door behind him.

He sighed.

It wasn’t as if there was anything to say, really. He, Wei Wuxian, had once used his very own golden core to pay back a debt and given up his position in the gentry to go farm atop a corpse mountain with a group of former war prisoners. Thanks to his own particular brand of decency, his good name had been completely tarnished for the second half of his life, leading to all sorts of bothersome situations for the next decade.

Now, of course it wasn’t all bad. Being a rogue cultivator that was no longer tied to any sect gave him the freedom to come and go as he pleased, night-hunting for the common people as Hanguang-jun had once done. Their little village in the Burial Mounds had become a home not just for the Wen remnants, but others as well, including street children and orphans—Kang Qiyue having been one of them. The Wens had kept Wei Wuxian company all these years, and had gifted him his most precious treasure, A-Yuan. There were many blessings in his life as it currently was.

Although Wei Wuxian was well aware of how things looked to outsiders, he just didn’t particularly care.

At this big age of his, and after all of that, he couldn’t be telling anyone what to do—least of all Lan Wangji, who was probably the most righteous person alive or dead in the cultivation world. The problem was, though, that it seemed to be some kind of crime against the heavens for him to want to keep his beloved alive and safe. Case in point, Wei Wuxian had quite literally never been known to even acknowledge the existence of rules. Lan Wangji’s miraculous return was yet another blessing that he had to treasure—and safeguard.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Wei Wuxian ambled downstairs. The juniors seemed well into their meal, at the point where most set their chopsticks down and began engaging in the most pervasive hobby of the youth: gossip.

“The silencing spell?”

“But it wasn’t any of you, was it?” With this tone of Lan Jingyi’s, even it was one of his martial brothers, chances were that they would be cowed into silence—after all, it practically screamed, tell me so I can break your legs and receive punishment together!

A chorus of denials and head-shaking followed.

Ouyang Zizhen’s voice came, a little curious. “Could it have been Wei-qianbei? He seems to like messing with you guys.”

Wei Wuxian almost snorted. He liked messing with everyone, thank you very much.

Jin Ling, “I don’t think so.”

Lan Jingyi huffed. “Right, you wouldn’t know. If Wei-qianbei knew that spell he’d never let us get a word in. Ever. He’d have too much fun with it.”

Wei Wuxian came closer, watching the scene from the shadows. Lan Jingyi turned to Wei Sizhui, “Don’t you think so, Sizhui?”

Calmly, Wei Sizhui swallowed his wine and poured himself another cup without looking up. “That is true.”

Ouyang Zizhen drooped like a wilted flower. “Ah, if you say so. I just thought that Wei-qianbei seemed to have quite a few allowances with Gusu Lan, so maybe the silencing spell was one too…”

Wei Sizhui’s face was blank when he glanced over, so he hurriedly added, “Sorry, Wei-xiong.”

“Sizhui’s fine.”

Ouyang Zizhen’s lips parted for a moment. Rather than happy at the permission, he seemed a little crestfallen.

Brows creasing, Wei Sizhui leaned over. “Is there something wrong?”

Ouyang Zizhen bit his lip, hemming and hawing, curling into himself. At this point, even the other disciples were looking at him curiously. Wei Sizhui raised an eyebrow when their gazes met. Ouyang Zizhen finally burst out, cracking under nonexistent pressure:

“Um, your courtesy name, doesn’t it come from that poem? Thinking of the one I cannot follow; longing, for when will he return?¹ It’s just, it, just—sounds really sad!!“

Hands shooting up to cover his mouth, the boy looked on the verge of tears. Wei Wuxian had to wonder, was his little A-Yuan really that scary??

In the near-silence that followed, there came a few mumbles from the other disciples.

“…Wow, he really is a romantic…”

“Well, it’s true though, isn’t it? Comparatively…”

“I mean, we’ve got ‘orchid-like’, ‘reflected-demeanour’, ‘reaching for the shade of trees’…”

They trailed off. It was quite obvious that Wei Sizhui’s name was indeed unique. The assorted youths stared between the two boys, wondering if Ouyang Zizhen had reason to be so nervous, as well as if Wei Sizhui would actually get offended.

Finally, Sizhui asked, lips twitching, “Is it such a depressing name?”

Poor Ouyang Zizhen looked like he was being shaken down for coins in the middle of the street. He burst out again, “It just sounds like Wei-qianbei really missed your mother!!!”

Sizhui’s face returned to a carefully blank expression. Wei-qianbei himself was trembling, trying not to laugh. It must be said that he had not foreseen such a situation when bestowing little A-Yuan with such a courtesy name. And it wasn’t as if Ouyang Zizhen was wrong. Wei Wuxian had really missed A-Yuan’s…mother…?

Something seemed a little off with this sentence...

“I see. But Zizhen, you should know,” Wei Sizhui waited until the moment Ouyang Zizhen brought a cup to his lips, struggling to regain a semblance of composure, before he finished, “It was actually A-die who gave birth to me.”

Naturally, Ouyang Zizhen choked spectacularly, spraying water out like a fountain. 

It was fortunate that the meal had long been finished.

Jin Ling reached out and slapped his back until he could breathe again, shooting Sizhui a helpless look.

“Don’t listen to him,” He warned the table at large, “He’s just like his father.”

“Back to the topic!” Another disciple cheerfully reminded, “Weren’t you talking about allowances, Ouyang-xiong?”

Relieved that Wei Sizhui was amicable enough to make jokes, Ouyang Zizhen wiped his mouth hurriedly and glanced around, as if for support. The disciples were still as curious as ever.

“Well, Wei-qianbei was the head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang back in the day, right? And Jiang-zongzhu and Zewu-jun are close, but Zewu-jun and Wei-qianbei have a good relationship too. He visits Gusu often, doesn’t he? I think I saw him during the lectures.”

Wei Sizhui gave a nod, which seemed to bolster his confidence. Ouyang Zizhen began to count on his fingers.

“And then, Wei-qianbei seems to know a lot about the Lan Sect’s songs and techniques, at least three or four…and even their rules! His relationship to the sect must be good, since they helped him with the matter of the Yinhufu all those years ago, and he swore to them the oath to abandon the ghost path. Oh, during the lectures too, weren’t you given special permission to learn their musical cultivation, S-Sizhui? That’s practically unheard of!”

He’s a Yiling Laozu fanboy, Wei Wuxian thought, amazed at this rather accurate retelling of his black history. Lan Jingyi had once nearly travelled onto that path, before meeting Wei Wuxian himself had set him straight. But to think that there were still more among the youth…it was somewhat hilarious.

In the background, Lan Jingyi muttered to himself, “That’s because he’s good at it, alright? Heaven knows they haven’t bred tone-deafness out of the family yet…”

Finally, Wei Sizhui was looking like he was almost about to flounder—at least to Wei Wuxian. He gave a half-hearted protest, “Well, that’s not so many, is it…?”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Ouyang Zizhen continued, lowering his voice as if afraid to be overheard. “And, um…is it true that your father has an entry token to the Cloud Recesses?”

Of course, everyone had leaned in to listen and had subsequently heard.

It was at this moment that Wei Wuxian swaggered up from behind them and proclaimed, “Of course I have a jade token!”

Naturally, he had already pulled the thing out and waved it in front of the kids’ faces with a cheerful smile, like some sort of stepfather trying too hard to impress his now-children.

Wei Sizhui looked away with a tiny sigh to hide his relief. Lan Jingyi took one glance at the token and leapt to his feet. The jar of wine that he’d been raring to try all night crashed to the floor as he suddenly flailed about. Ouyang Zizhen shrunk back in alarm. Jin Ling watched with a pinched expression, having a gut feeling that his Shishu had done something worthy of a beating again—unfortunately, the only person of Wei Wuxian’s generation who might even attempt said beating was all the way in Lotus Pier.

“Why do you have one of those?!” Lan Jingyi cried out.

Wei Wuxian tilted his head and attempted to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder in a familiar movement—for being so shell-shocked, the latter dodged admirably quickly.

“Don’t be so surprised, I just told you I did. Didn’t you already know? And also, what happened to ‘Wei-qianbei’?”

“Not that!” Lan Jingyi choked, eyes as wide as the token itself. “Why is it a sect family token! And such a high level one too!!”

Wei Wuxian froze, hand still dangling in mid-air.

He didn’t know what that meant, but it wasn’t hard to guess.

“A what—?!”

Lan Jingyi lurched forward, snatching the token from his suddenly weak grasp, running his fingers over the carvings and turning it this way and that as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He recited with a well-practiced fervour, “Circular, double beading, double tassels, cloudy skies!”

Suddenly, the boy added on a double-take, as if realising something.

“Wei-qianbei, are you sure you're not married?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Wei Wuxian, who had been about to defend himself, choked on his spit.

Beside them, Wei Sizhui sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you serious, Jingyi?”

“M-Married??” Wei Wuxian finally stuttered out. “Lan Jingyi, have I been too lax with you? Asking such a question to your elder, whom you know is not married, by the way—”

“The only reason you would have one of these is if you were married to a Lan!!” Lan Jingyi finally burst out again almost petulantly, looking close to frustrated tears. Furiously, he rummaged through his robes before pulling out his own jade token and shoving it in Wei Wuxian’s face. It looked very similar to the one he held, probably because the boy was also a descendant of the main family—circular in shape, with double beading and tassels. However, the carvings on the smooth surface were markedly different, and the tassels were much darker in colour.

“Hey,” With an air of sudden realisation, Ouyang Zizhen whispered to Jin Ling beside him, “Why does Jingyi keep his token concealed? I think I’ve seen Zewu-jun—”

“Do you think we’re stupid!?” Lan Jingyi rounded on him. “That’d be like hanging the key to your front door on your belt! Only Zewu-jun is qualified—it’s not like anyone can take it from him!”

He whirled back to Wei Wuxian, leaving Ouyang Zizhen to cover his ears from the force of his shout, cringing. “Anyway! All of the sect family receive a pair of tokens, one for daily use and the other as a replacement, if needed. Upon marriage, the second token is given to the spouse. So why! Do you!! Have!!! It!!!!”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him. He looked at the small white object sitting innocently in Lan Jingyi’s hand again, then at his own. Then he blinked again.

Did Lan Xichen actually…???

“I don’t know.” He managed to say numbly. “Lan Xichen gave it to me.”

Lan Jingyi looked like he was about to faint.

“Someone hold me.” He wheezed, staggering back.

Immediately, Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen rushed to his side. Wei Sizhui instead went up to his father, laying a hand on his wrist. “A-die, are you alright?”

Slowly, Wei Wuxian lifted his head to look at him.

“...Why aren’t you surprised?”

Wei Sizhui blinked innocently. “What?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think you can fool me, you little rascal.”

His son attempted to hold his stare for a moment longer before he gave up, closing his eyes with a sigh. The little twitch at the corner of his mouth wasn’t fooling anyone. “I didn’t know, A-die, I only realised your token was a little different from the ones us guest disciples received during the lectures. Which seemed quite normal, since A-die isn’t a guest disciple.”

“Stop being smart with me.” Wei Wuxian said half-heartedly, tucking the piece of jade back into his robes. Lan Jingyi was still swooning, looking half-dead. “I’ll bring Doufu and Rongrong back to terrorise you.”²

At that, Wei Sizhui actually looked a little eager, “You’ll really do it?”

“In your dreams.”

Wei Wuxian was halfway up the stairs with the food before he realised that he really would like to have a drink tonight, and had just turned back before he was face with Kang Qiyue, who had appeared out of thin air. He blinked at the youth, who held up two jars marked as liquor and placed them on the tray without a word.

Instantly, gratefulness welled up in Wei Wuxian’s chest towards the village that had raised this young man so well. Wen Qing always said she never wanted children, but Qiyue was exactly as soft-hearted and sharp-tongued as she was to make up for it.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but reach out and ruffle his neat hair roughly. “What a good kid you are, Qiyue.”

Kang Qiyue bore it for about two seconds before shaking him off with a dead-eyed expression.

“Goodnight, Wei-qianbei.” He said, before hurrying away from him.

Ah, the affection of the youth.

A little more buoyant, Wei Wuxian went upstairs for the second time.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian, chopsticks in hand, was fighting for his life.

Upon marriage, the second token is given to the spouse.

Upon marriage, the second token is given to the spouse.

Upon marriage, the second token is given to the spouse!!!

Why did the Lan sect have so many rules regarding spousal permissions? First the forehead ribbon, and now this!! What was next—upon marriage, one’s chastity is given to the spouse? One’s salary is given to the spouse?? One’s children are given to the spouse???

It was here, when things started sounding a little ridiculous, that Wei Wuxian should’ve known to stop thinking.

Unfortunately, not only did Wei Wuxian not stop—he actually continued thinking. Frantically.

Until now, out of the people in Gusu Lan, the person Wei Wuxian had been closest to was definitely Lan Xichen. Of course, he was familiar with many of the disciples after all these years—especially those who worked directly under Zewu-jun, and maybe a few elders. But there was no way he was on marriageable terms with anyone, thank you very much!

He, Wei Wuxian, was still the Yiling Laozu, alright?? He wasn’t that easy to marry!!

Wei Wuxian suddenly froze.

Zewu-jun’s own jade token…he’d definitely seen it more than enough times, but he couldn’t recall the details. Curse his damnable memory. He had a faint impression of it hanging from Lan Xichen’s belt, looking quite similar, if not identical, to his own…but surely not.

Surely not!

Lan Xichen was his benefactor and a good friend, really nothing more. In fact, the man was more likely to lob his spare into the nearest Yunmeng lake, with how often he visited—in any case, it just didn’t make sense. Perhaps the Lan elders weren’t pushy, but Wei Wuxian could hear tales of Zewu-jun’s beauty and elegance even from backwater Yiling. He was probably the last person in the cultivation world to be short on marriage prospects. For some reason, maidens were drawn to the whole jade-beauty-mourning-in-seclusion type like flies to honey, but Wei Wuxian was half-convinced that Lan Xichen was actually carved out of jade with the amount of interest he didn’t deign to show to anyone!

Forgive him if he looked at that face (which had incidentally also been Lan Zhan’s face) and found it hard to believe that Zewu-jun had the faintest clue about the ins and outs of animal copulation!! It was quite possible that the man was a literal monk!!

Right. Moreover, back when Lan Xichen had given him the token, when had Wei Wuxian ever shown any interest in any Lan besides…

Unwittingly, his gaze flitted up to the person sitting opposite him, who had finished the meal and was setting his chopsticks down elegantly.

…Really. Surely. Not!!

Wei Wuxian grabbed the untouched wine jar and downed half of it in one go to stop his stupid mouth from asking something incredibly incriminating like, oh, Lan Zhan, do I have your jade token?

Even asking about the tokens in general was too much of a risk. Lan Wangji had seen Wei Wuxian’s pass when they entered the Cloud Recesses—surely he would have recognised it as his own?

But why hadn’t he said anything? Did he…not mind that Wei Wuxian had been given his personal token? Or, what if it wasn’t Lan Wangji’s at all? Yet there was no reason for Lan Xichen to give him his own—they really didn’t have that kind of relationship!! Was there a distinction between the Sect Leader’s token and his brother’s? Maybe Lan Zhan was only making it seem like he didn’t mind so that if Wei Wuxian was ignorant there wouldn’t be any fuss over it—

Wei Wuxian choked on the wine and coughed violently, thumping at his chest.

He minded! If that was actually Lan Zhan’s token, by the heavens, he really fucking minded!!

Lan Xichen when I get my hands on you! This is Lan Zhan we’re talking about, alright?!!

Hanguang-jun himself, whose brows were slightly pinched in concern, stared at him as he wiped his mouth. Finally, when it seemed like Wei Wuxian wouldn’t die of alcohol asphyxiation, he asked, “Is it strong?”

Wei Wuxian, who didn’t have much face but loved saving it in front of this man, and would be keeping his mouth shut on pain of death, “Ah…just a little bit.”

Lan Wangji’s gaze slid slowly to the cup still held in his hand. After a moment of internal debate, he reached for the other, unopened jar. Before his slim fingers could close around it, Wei Wuxian stopped him.

“What is this, Lan Zhan? You want to drink?”

That pale hand froze, and retreated back to Lan Wangji’s lap. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him, feeling his jaw go a little slack. “…Alright then.”

Saying this, he took the jar himself and poured out a proper cup. There was no way he was going to let Hanguang-jun drink straight from the jar like some common rogue. He then nudged it over the table with a weak grin. “Don’t tell me you’ve acquired a taste for it?”

Lan Wangji took the cup and held it in front of his face. His light gaze flickered over, and he intoned again, somewhat mournfully, “Mn.”

Before Wei Wuxian could say anything else, Lan Wangji closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and downed the whole thing in one go.

…Of course, even when the empty cup was set back down, there seemed to be no effect. That slightly pinched expression returned between Lan Wangji’s brows. As soon as it did, his hand shot out to grasp the neck of the wine jar. Wei Wuxian hadn’t even blinked before it was perched on Lan Wangji’s thin lips, his throat moving prettily as he drained the remaining wine without a sound.

The first thought that came to mind was—Lan Zhan, am I really such bad company??

The second thought, after Wei Wuxian had composed himself internally, was of Lan Wangji’s strange tone before he’d taken the first cup.

Was Lan Wangji…actively trying to get drunk?

At this moment, the man himself closed his eyes tightly, braced his hands against the table, and attempted to stand.

That’s right—Mo Xuanyu’s body could hold strong against jar after jar, but if he tried to stand up—!

As soon as the thought crossed Wei Wuxian’s mind, his body had already moved, scrambling to the other side of the table to catch Lan Wangji as he toppled over limply. The empty wine jar dropped onto the floor with a thunk, followed by a few echoing rolling sounds. All the while, Wei Wuxian was gazing at Lan Wangji’s pale face in his arms, troubled.

He didn’t know much about what had happened after they had parted in Yi City, only what Sizhui had told him. That Lan Wangji had reacted badly as Empathy neared its end, jolting and clutching at his neck; then, a short while later, writhing in pain before falling completely lax.

The neck part—well, it was mostly clear how A-Qing had died. But for the torment to continue…

Unless…unless Empathy had triggered something. Memories of something.

Wei Wuxian let out a shuddering breath.

Preoccupied with irrelevant thoughts until now, he hadn’t realised that Lan Zhan had possibly…experienced his own death again.

How could anyone bear it?

Least of all Wei Wuxian.

He remembered suddenly—the picture appearing in his mind’s eye as if it were yesterday—the way Hanguang-jun’s corpse had looked, sprawled gracelessly over the stairs of the Infernal Palace. The violent bruises and slashes that spelled agony over his bloodless flesh, the vivid streaks of crimson that painted his lips and chin—just like Song Lan and A-Qing.

Could it be that Lan Zhan had also…

A wave of heavy, harsh hurt threatened to overwhelm him, almost choking in its intensity—he struggled to breathe it out once more. Gently, he stood with Lan Wangji in his embrace, walking to the bed. Again, he made to set Lan Wangji down as before. Again, the other man gripped tightly at him, unwilling to be parted.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian began softly, shakily, but he couldn’t continue. How could he bear to refuse this man anything? If Lan Wangji wanted him to stay like this the whole night, half-curled over and kneeling, then so be it.

Lan Wangji’s fingers clenched arrhythmically in the folds of his robes, his breathing uneven, shivering all over. However, his expression revealed not a hint of distress, aside from perhaps the faintest tightening of his lips.

Just the sight of him made Wei Wuxian’s heart ache.

“Hurts…”

The word that escaped Lan Wangji’s lips could barely be called a sound. It was nothing like Wei Wuxian had ever heard from him before, more of a sigh than anything else. Throat tight, he reached out to smooth his thumb over those trembling brows, quietly desperate to soothe him.

“Er-gege,” He murmured, “Don’t endure it anymore, hm? Won’t you tell me where it hurts? I can’t help you if I don’t know where the pain is.”

Lan Wangji stilled somewhat, before his hands slid down weakly, now clutching at the edges of Wei Wuxian’s sleeves. After a long while, his breathing seemed to calm, but the same word escaped him again, almost completely inaudible. “…Hurts.”

What choice did Wei Wuxian have then, other than to take Lan Zhan’s hands and warm him with spiritual energy?

Finally, at the trickle of qi flowing through his meridians, Lan Wangji seemed to relax. The shivers gradually abated as he allowed his body to sink into the bed. Wei Wuxian made sure he was suffused from head to toe, the array glowing against his skin. He couldn’t help but lean down—here, he hesitated—before brushing his lips gingerly against the corner of Lan Wangji’s brow, a dragonfly skimming over water.

He hovered there for a moment, slowly breathing in the faint scent of him—cool sandalwood, as always. When he was satisfied that Lan Wangji’s reserves were filled almost to the brim, he drew back with regret. Freed from that tight hold, Wei Wuxian moved away to fetch some hot water. Otherwise, he might have just sat there for the rest of the night, watching over Lan Zhan’s now-settled countenance.

If he took as much time as he needed to calm down a little, only he knew. By the time Wei Wuxian returned, towel and basin in hand, Lan Wangji was sitting placidly on the bed.

Back as straight as a board, he held his guqin upright between his legs, leaning against the inside of one knee. His slim fingers glowed faintly as he restrung the broken string. Although that golden gaze was slightly dazed, both his expression and movements were so elegant—if Wei Wuxian didn't know better, it would be impossible to tell that Lan-er-gongzi was drunk.

Lips twitching, he sat at the table and watched attentively, as if he had returned to the days of his youth in the Library Pavilion of the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji came over and set his qin down on the flat surface to tune the new string. The melodious, somewhat comical twanging—sliding up and down half- and quarter-steps in an attempt to find the desired note, along with Lan Zhan's perfectly deadpan face—really made Wei Wuxian want to laugh. However, he held it in until the task was complete.

Lan Wangji set his hands down and turned to him.

Wei Wuxian, "Tired? Want to sleep some more?"

Lan Wangji stared at him unerringly, saying nothing.

"I guess that's a no. Lan Zhan, are you going to do whatever I ask you to again?"

"...Mn."

Wei Wuxian pretended to think for a moment, unable to contain his teasing smile. Watching Lan Wangji sit in front of him so obediently put him in an inexplicably good mood. "Won't you tell me the name of that song?"

Although there was no movement from the other man, there was a sense that the air had frozen. After a moment, Lan Wangji's gaze moved both slowly and deliberately, landing on the side of Wei Wuxian's head.

As if he couldn't see him.

He was baffled.

"Are you pretending you can't hear me? We talked about this before, I know you know what I'm talking about."

Even as he sidled closer, Lan Wangji's gaze was always offset. Ah, this felt familiar.

Wei Wuxian prodded even further. "Did you ever sing it for anyone else? You didn't, right? Doesn't that make me special, Lan Zhan?"

This time, Lan Wangji actually turned his head away. Wei Wuxian was positively giddy. Was this a yes or a no? "You really…"

But before he could continue, Lan Wangji's hand shot out to lay flat over the strings of his guqin. He stared at it for a moment, almost deliberately, before glancing over slowly to Wei Wuxian—properly, this time.

Wei Wuxian looked between the qin and the person a few times. Then, he understood.

"Oh, you want to play it for me instead?"

Lan Wangji inclined his head the tiniest bit.

A grin broke out over Wei Wuxian's face, but he still tried to contain his voice.  "Hm, I won't refuse this time. But you won't get away with this again, Lan-er-gege."

Seeming not to hear him, Lan Wangji began to play.

Wei Wuxian had never heard this version, naturally, because he had only ever heard it once. The low, resonant tones of the qin filled the air, reverberating serenely through the room, painting waves across the walls. The familiar melody was, to Wei Wuxian, half an elegy—but now, his beloved was playing him a lullaby. Faint memories came back to him, of days with Lan Zhan, and of little A-Yuan throughout the years.

Warmth saturated his very core. Wei Wuxian lay languidly over the table, arms outstretched, watching those slender fingers pluck and hold and slide across the silk strings, beautifully precise. Paired with the soft sounds of breath at the forming of each lovely phrase…his eyelids began to droop, lips turning up in a gentle smile. Lan Wangji played their song twice, and Wei Wuxian never wanted him to stop.

The long reverberation of the last note had barely faded before he felt something wrap around his wrists.

…There was something wrapping around his wrists??

Wei Wuxian's eyes snapped open, suddenly wide awake. His ribs smacked against the edge of the table when he jolted in surprise, letting out a hiss.

What was this? Again??

Lan Wangji, do you even know what you're doing right now?? Was this more revenge for that one time at the Qishan discussion conference? Even so, Hanguang-jun, revenge is beneath a gentleman like you! Have some decorum!!

And so, Wei Wuxian could only watch, dumb as a wooden chicken, as Lan Wangji properly tied eight ugly knots into that sacred ribbon. Seemingly satisfied, he sat back and examined his work with the air of a student having aced a test.

"...Lan Zhan," He started weakly, "Are you trying to kill me?"

Lan Wangji's expression became ever-so-slightly concerned.

Wei Wuxian's throat began to hurt.

"Really, this isn't funny anymore. Take it off."

The tiny crease between Lan Wangji's fine brows smoothed over immediately. With the same misunderstanding as before, he immediately reached to tug at Wei Wuxian's belt.

Now Wei Wuxian's liver hurt.

"Not that!! Your forehead ribbon! Do you remember it? The last time I touched this thing when we were young, you almost killed me for it! So take it back!! Won't you think of your good name, Hanguang-jun?"

He sounded a little pathetic at the end, but Wei Wuxian was really trying, alright? Forgive him if the lump in his throat was hard to swallow. He had spent so long with Lan Wangji in his heart—he wasn't going to take advantage of him the moment the opportunity presented itself, especially when Lan Zhan didn't even know what he was doing.

Hearing this, Lan Wangji suddenly stood up, wound the ends of the ribbon in a tight grip, and began dragging them towards the door.

He wanted to go out??

Wei Wuxian was not a devout man, but at this moment, he wailed at the gods and buddhas to save him.

Lan Wangji had lost his mind!!

He allowed himself to be dragged from the table, but that was it! In an instant, he'd reversed their positions and flung them around. Gripping the ribbon until he couldn't anymore, Lan Wangji was tossed against the wall like a sack of rice. Before his head could collide with it, Wei Wuxian's still-bound hands darted in between, cushioning the hit.

As soon as he put his arms down, he realised that there was still a suspicious gleam in Lan Wangji's eye, and so immediately scrambled away to the other side of the room.

This room was divided into two sections by a wooden screen. Wei Wuxian hid behind it and started tugging urgently at the dead knots with his teeth.

A cultivator of his calibre could easily break through the binds of a Lan forehead ribbon, no matter how many little spells were woven into it. But Wei Wuxian had carried a small part of this very ribbon for more than a decade with the utmost care—he wasn't about to tarnish his record now!

A shadow approached from the other side of the screen. Lan Wangji's expression darkened into something rather displeased as he realised what Wei Wuxian was doing. The latter removed his mouth from the fabric as he took in that face, lips twitching as he flexed his wrists in order to loosen the binds even more.

Distract him, distract him!

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but you really can't treat your family's forehead ribbon so casually, Lan Zhan." He rambled frantically, "Imagine if we were outside! First, all the kids would be wondering why you have one of these, and they'll never stop asking questions. And then you'd lose all of the Lan sect's face! Think about it—mmph!!"

Lan Wangji abruptly covered his mouth with one hand.

Wei Wuxian said, will you let me talk or not or do you just like pretending you can't hear me? Make up your mind or use your silencing spell so I know you mean it! Lan! Zhan!

Instead, it came out as a series of muffled protests, moistening the soft palm that covered his lips with the humidity of his breath. Even as Wei Wuxian shook his head fiercely and attempted to back away, Lan Wangji followed him doggedly step-by-step. His back hit the wall, and Lan Wangji's other hand found purchase at his waist.

He couldn't speak anymore.

Pinning him tightly, Lan Wangji looked up at him almost guilelessly in stark contrast. His honey-coloured eyes glinted in the moonlight. His jade-like countenance was as unaffected as ever, as if he were meant to be holding Wei Wuxian down like this, stealing the words from his mouth, a cool rush of sandalwood blanketing them—

Wei Wuxian couldn't take it anymore.

Fine. If Lan Wangji didn't want to play fair, using his weakness against him like this, then don't blame him!

He parted his lips and deliberately swiped against Lan Wangji's hand with his tongue.

As if he had touched an open flame, Lan Wangji reared back, his whole body jolting in shock.

Just like that, Wei Wuxian was free.

After he composed himself and turned back to the other man, he suddenly wasn't feeling so free anymore.

Lan Wangji had run away and dropped listlessly onto the bed, staring down. With his knees hugged to his chest, he held both hands out, as if debating which one to chop off first. Strands of hair were scattered messily over his face, shadowing his positively aggrieved eyes, falling into the corner of his thin lips, bitten red. With his pale robes draping in a similarly disordered way, he painted the very picture of a pure maiden who had been dispossessed of her virtue.

Even his fingers looked like they were faintly trembling.

Wei Wuxian didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Was a measly little thing like this enough to send Hanguang-jun into shock?? What was with that look? And that position?? Who was the real pervert here? Wei Wuxian had a leg to stand on, alright? No one could have seen Lan Wangji shutting his mouth and pinning him to the wall and thought that he was in an advantageous position! This was truly a wolf in sheep's clothing!!

"What are you doing? That should be me."

Wei Wuxian stepped closer to the bed. Lan Wangji watched him silently, now clutching both hands to his chest, looking even more wronged.

"Who committed the worse crime, hm? You took away my right to speak while I only retaliated a little. You know how hard it is for me to not run my mouth, but you can just wipe your hand. Here, how about I wipe it for you, er-gege?"

The more Wei Wuxian spoke, the more…the intentions in his heart changed.

As soon as he reached out, Lan Wangji evaded him. Wei Wuxian's lips quirked without his permission as he slowly, carefully, set one knee on the bed. "Scared?"

He hadn't meant to sound so delighted.

Lan Wangji leapt from the bed like a startled rabbit. Without looking back, he moved to stand a ways away from him, half-hiding behind the wooden screen.

A huff of laughter escaped Wei Wuxian as he straightened, turning. "What are you running for? My hands are still tied up, and I'm not even scared after you were so rough with me, so why are you scared? What could I possibly do to you, Hanguang-jun? Come on, come here."

He approached lazily, dragging his feet. Lan Wangji continued to hide, his shadow dancing elegantly over the paper on the screen as he 'fled'. Wei Wuxian chased after him, even reaching out. His fingertips were kissed by the breeze Lan Wangji left behind. They circled around a few times, and Wei Wuxian was suddenly reminded that the last time he'd played so childishly was probably with A-Yuan.

It was fun. It was also a little…sad.

Growing up in the Lan sect, with the situation between his mother and Qingheng-jun…well, Lan Xichen had told him what Lan Zhan had been like as a child. Simply adorable, but neither of them had the opportunity for fun and games. And after that, Lan Wangji hadn't had the chance to come to Yunmeng with him, to even see the end of the Sunshot Campaign. He never saw A-Yuan grow up, how his sect now thrived, how Lan Qiren had softened towards all of the juniors…

Upon realising that he had stopped, Lan Wangji looked curiously at him. Again, his face was half-hidden, head slightly tilted. There was the faintest dusting of pink on his ears and cheeks, though he didn't show any signs of exertion at all. He really was adorable. Looking at that silent expression, Wei Wuxian felt a familiar tug at his heart.

He forced his lips into a small smile and said, "Do you want to keep playing?"

Without preamble, Lan Wangji gave a nod.

His smile became a little more real. There was nothing else like mischief that cheered Wei Wuxian up, after all. He took a few nimble steps—immediately, Lan Wangji went in the opposite direction, maintaining the distance between them. It really was like playing with a six-year-old—he would know.

Their footsteps thumped through the room for a few more rounds. Otherwise, it was almost comically quiet, though not boring at all. Wei Wuxian decided to spice it up as Lan Wangji turned the corner again.

"Run, run. Go faster. I’m gonna catch you! If I catch you, I’m going to lick you again. Are you scared?”

It was supposed to be a threat, considering Lan Wangji's previous reaction. But as soon as he finished teasing, Lan Wangji stopped in his tracks and spun around, heading straight towards him.

At the same time—a crashing thump sounded from outside the door.

The two of them froze.

It sounded like someone or something had fallen onto the ground.

After a long moment came the sound of footsteps. Eventually, they faded away.

Alright, maybe some drunkard just fell on their face or something.

Back to the problem at hand.

Seeing his attention had returned, Lan Wangji stared at him steadily and expectantly. The sight of this expression made Wei Wuxian's heart jump with an inexplicable emotion. When he remained frozen, Lan Wangji took his bound wrists with some dissatisfaction and brought them over his head. As a result, his arms were almost comically looped around Lan Wangji's neck.

"You caught me." He said, impassively.

Wei Wuxian was a little dazed. "...Huh? I mean, I suppose."

The line of Lan Wangji's lips tightened. He stared into Wei Wuxian's eyes and enunciated clearly, as if he were spelling out something extremely obvious, "You. Caught me."

"...? Yeah, I caught you."

Lan Wangji looked at him…anxiously?

He caught him. So?

What did he say again? Before they had been interrupted?

If I catch you, I'm going to lick you again!!

He.

He. Had, indeed.

Said. That.

…Hanguang-jun, what is this!!??

Wei Wuxian's face burst into flames. Suddenly, he felt extremely lightheaded.

He hurried to free the loop of his arms from Lan Wangji's neck. As best as he could, one hand gripped Lan Wangji's with anxious urgency while the other pointed a shaking finger. Fighting the blistering heat that threatened to make his voice crack, he said as seriously as possible, "Lan Zhan, I'm telling you this because you're drunk, and you'd die of shame if you were sober. Cultivating these kinds of bad habits really isn't good, alright? You cannot just go around letting other people lick you!!"

There was another thump somewhere in the distance, but he was truly preoccupied.

Wei Wuxian didn't give five flying rabbits if Lan Wangji was acquiring a taste for alcohol. He was never letting him drink again, especially with other people—no, Wei Wuxian would rather kill everyone in that room and then himself!!

But why was Lan Wangji only staring at him stubbornly, without saying a word??

Losing confidence at a rapid rate, Wei Wuxian's pointed finger wavered, and he moved to retract it.

Before he could, though, Lan Wangji's piercing gaze slid down.

And then he bent his head, and—bit his knuckle!!?

Wei Wuxian screeched like he'd been stabbed. "Lan Zhan!!"

Thankfully, it was just (just??) a bite. At the very least, he didn't have to relive the Xuanwu cave experience again. Lan Wangji straightened up immediately and glanced away, only giving him a sideways look. As if nothing had happened!

His finger stinging to the bone, a little wet with saliva, Wei Wuxian was completely speechless. Of course, such a wound was practically minuscule to him, but it was the shock that was drumming his heart in his chest like an imperial summon!! The shock!!!

The paradox was that Wei Wuxian was the most likely to speak when he was 'speechless'.

"Lan Zhan—" He repeated, sounding truly wretched, "Are you doing this on purpose? Is this your idea of fun? First, you listen to only what you want to hear and pretend not to understand me otherwise, trussing me up like a damn chicken for the slaughterhouse. Then, you don't let me speak. And then you torture me like this. What are you trying to do to me? What do you—"

As he spoke, Lan Wangji came closer and closer, a strange intensity about him. Again, Wei Wuxian backed away further and further.

"—want me to—mmnph!!"

There was something warm covering his mouth.

But…this time, it wasn't a hand.

It was Lan Wangji's soft, thin lips.

Wei Wuxian didn't even realise what was happening. His mind had gone completely white, blank as a sheet of paper, as Lan Wangji pressed even closer, enveloping him completely. Those lips moved against his, a gentle yet unyielding pressure. He was melting from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It was sandalwood that intoxicated him through its scent, and smooth alcohol that intoxicated him through the tongue. He was…he was…

He wondered if he was drunk, or dreaming.

After a long while, Lan Wangji finally deigned to let them part. His beautiful face stayed close as they breathed the same air, the fragrance changed and yet the same.

Upon seeing the dangerous glint in those golden eyes, something lurched in his stomach. Lan Wangji was so close, the tips of their noses almost touching. As if he was waking up from a dream, Wei Wuxian gradually realised that the other man was shaking all over. Before he had collected himself in any capacity, Lan Wangji moved back.

His heart dropped.

Lan Wangji looked at him for a moment, then abruptly struck himself solidly in the forehead.

With a thud, he would have collapsed in a pile on the ground—if he hadn't leaned forward. Wei Wuxian, who seemed to have been kissed stupid, had no strength left in his knees.

And so, they tumbled to the floor together.

In the night, the room was quiet. The faint bustling of the town permeated, nonetheless. 

Moving woodenly, Wei Wuxian bit the knots of the forehead ribbon loose, staring stubbornly into space all the while and sparing not a glance for the beauty in his lap.

Afterwards, he lifted Lan Wangji onto the bed. He removed those white boots, folded Lan Wangji's hands over his chest, flattened the forehead ribbon with effort, and placed it next to the pillow.

When he was done, he rolled off the bed and onto the floor.

Eventually, he crawled over to the empty wine jar that had been left to roll around. He collected the one on the table as well. Looking at them, he spaced out again.

Abruptly, Wei Wuxian hurled the jars out of the window.

A soft thud came from one that landed on the grass. A thin shattering sound came from the other.

He stared outside.

Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian, what the hell are you doing? Do you know what this is called? It's called taking advantage of people, you shameless dog.

Another part—the part that realised Lan Wangji had kissed him, and not the other way around, thought—

Was it possible that Mo Xuanyu's cutsleeve tendencies left an impression on his body?

After all, Hanguang-jun was as straight as a discipline rod—no, maybe he was just this kind of drunk?

That made things even worse, didn't it.

Wei Wuxian…really couldn't let him drink ever again.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian stirred faintly as warm arms encircled him. A sweet breath gusted through his hair.

When his sleep-addled mind sluggishly realised what was happening, he fought not to tense until he was deposited on the sheets, still mellow with someone else’s body temperature.

Finally, he dared to whisper, “…Lan Zhan, have you sobered up?”

“Mn.”

When no further reply came, Lan Wangji added,

“It is still early. Rest some more.”

Wei Wuxian opened one bleary eye to stare at him for a moment. Lan Wangji looked back at him serenely, haloed with care by the grey dawn. It was clearly five in the morning. His gaze fell, involuntarily, down to those thin lips.

They were indeed…softer than he could ever have imagined.

He swallowed.

Before he could say anything more, Wei Wuxian made a vague sound of agreement and rolled woodenly over to the other side of the bed, facing the wall. But as Lan Wangji went to the door, he couldn’t help but mumble, “Lan Zhan, you really are a blackout drunk, huh?”

Those light footsteps halted.

Then, Lan Wangji’s voice came, a gentle rebuke, “You already knew.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart jumped.

The door closed with a quiet click.

As the sounds of activity began to wind through the town, Wei Wuxian’s thoughts continued to race, heedless of the early hour. Of course, it was fortunate the Lan Wangji didn’t remember such a thing. If he did, forget the limits of Mo Xuanyu’s curse-riddled body, he would already have attempted to take Wei Wuxian’s life out of humiliation! It wasn’t as if Wei Wuxian didn’t deserve it either, taking advantage of his drunken state and what was probably his first kiss…wait, didn’t Lan Wangji have some maiden that he liked? Since Wei Wuxian had been so blindsided by that prickling fact, was it possible that he was wrong about this, too—no, it was more likely that Lan Wangji was really a jade-carved monk.

But the way he’d been kissed was truly very…intense.

On the other hand, did it make sense for Hanguang-jun to understand these types of—

A knock on the door interrupted his delusions. “A-die, are you awake?”

Wei Wuxian, who had been rolling around foolishly on the bed, fell onto the floor with a muffled thump. He groaned and called out, “Wait outside, A-Yuan.”

Only the Lan juniors were to be found at this hour, but the rest came fast enough some time later, and then they were ready to go.

After experiencing the trials of life and death together in Yi City, it was understandable that the boys were reluctant to part. They congregated for a long while, exchanging promises to meet and write, before finally dispersing. In the end, only the Lans, Jin Ling, Wei Sizhui, and Kang Qiyue were left.

Despite the usual quietness of the Lan boys, Lan Jingyi seemed unnaturally withdrawn today. His gaze often darted between the seniors erratically, and his lips kept twisting, as if he were stopping himself from speaking. Both Jin Ling and Wei Sizhui, too, looked strangely haggard. Only the healer of the group was acting somewhat normally.

Wei Wuxian eyed them covertly for a while, but decided it was better not to ask. The children would come to him with anything important.

“Where are we going now, A-die?” Wei Sizhui asked as they walked, Xianzi on one side and Xiao Pingguo on the other.

“Hm, good question.” Wei Wuxian mused, before snapping his fingers. “Ah, I heard Zewu-jun came around Yunmeng again. How about we return these little ones back to him?”

Naturally, the disciples brightened at the mention of their esteemed sect leader. Only Jin Ling’s brows were somewhat furrowed, but he remained silent.

The two seniors walked at the front, while the juniors followed some ways behind.

Unable to restrain himself, Wei Wuxian eventually prodded, "Lan Zhan, you're not curious about last night?"

The breeze ruffled teasingly at Lan Wangji's hair, revealing golden eyes that didn't even bother to look at him. "If I asked, would you tell?"

"I'll tell you, I'll tell you!" 

Lan Wangji waited.

Wei Wuxian cleared his throat and wondered if hadn't yet dug enough holes during the Sunshot Campaign—at the same time, his mind was desperately working on editing the events of last night. "Let's see...you fixed up your qin, performed your song for me, and then we played hide-and-seek."

...After editing, there really wasn't much to say. Even while speaking these meagre words, Wei Wuxian had to consciously keep his voice steady.  

A beat of silence, before Lan Wangji glanced at him. Wei Wuxian really couldn't help the raising of his lips, the way his whole body turned. Won't you look at me more?

"Hide-and-seek."

The deadpan tone did nothing to stop the warmth radiating in his chest. 

"Mmhm. We ran around about a dozen times."

They kept walking for a moment. The sun shone down, genial in its brightness, and the jade figure before him charmed him more than any painting. Then, Lan Wangji took up Xiao Pingguo's reins, inclined his head, and stared straight at him. 

Wei Wuxian blinked.

Then he understood.

He burst out into raucous laughter. The juniors behind him jumped. 

He had long known that Lan Wangji had a sense of humour. Clearly, he hadn't believed Wei Wuxian's words, and yet offered him a ride on that untameable donkey—since his legs were so sore from running around all night, of course.

"What a generous offer! Lan-er-gongzi is too kind to this feeble one!"

Wei Wuxian was willing. Xiao Pingguo begged to differ. Eventually, he managed to get on—"Shishu, what in heaven's name are you—", "Wei-qianbei, be careful, your fingers—!", "Someone get an apple!!"—but not without a struggle. It was worth it though, just so he could slump lazily over the donkey's back and watch Lan Wangji's pretty profile as the reins swayed from his grip. 

How lovely it was.

He suddenly remembered the warm embrace that had carried him this morning. A flash of memory came to him, faded and blurry, the texture of well-worn paper—two figures in black and white, the child that was Wei Wuxian, and a little donkey.

Lan Wangji led the way forward on the narrow path, the faint chattering of the juniors behind them. Sizhui's voice came to him on the breeze. 

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, heart swelling. He hummed under his breath. 

Upon nearing their destination, the topic of conversation turned. 

“Do you think Zewu-jun will allow us to stay awhile in Lotus Pier?”

There was some hemming and hawing, but it seemed that most of the disciples agreed that they needed a break after what had happened in Yi City.

“Of course.” Lan Jingyi said, then added with a twitch of his lips, “It’s good for inter-sect relations, after all.”

The cheeky remark set off a few of the other boys who weren’t too familiar with the home of the Jiang sect. There was some wondering about the local cuisine, the lakes, and if they would perhaps be able to practice swimming or not.

“I heard that lotus seeds pods taste better with the stems attached.”

This was Lan Xiuqing, a disciple who had been ferrying around Lan Xichen’s paperwork since the tender age of eleven or twelve. Thanks to his aforementioned penchant for administrative matters, he wasn’t usually keen on travel. It seemed that this would also be his first time in Lotus Pier.

The resident expert in all things lotus, Jin Rulan, frowned again. “There’s no difference. Where did you hear that?”

Lan Xiuqing stared at him blankly. “…There isn’t? That can’t be right. Zewu-jun told me so.”

Wei Wuxian, who had been watching with amusement, asked, “And where did Zewu-jun hear that from? I don’t ever recall seeing him eating seeds from the stem.”

Lan Xiuqing’s expression was somewhat cornered, like a pitiful little animal, before he composed himself and coughed. “Well, he told me that Hanguang-jun once heard something like that, and even verified it.”

The boy himself even tilted his head slightly towards Jin Ling upon finishing the sentence, as if to say, if you have a problem, take it up with Hanguang-jun if you can!

Obviously, he was completely unaware that Jin Ling could, in fact, actually take it up with Hanguang-jun. Who had gone suspiciously still beside him.

At this point, Wei Wuxian had become infinitely more interested. “Oh? And how did he verify it?”

Behind his back, Lan Jingyi and Jin Ling exchanged a glance.

Lan Xiuqing cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and began with the air of a classroom recitation,

“One summer in his youth, Hanguang-jun descended the mountain in search of a lotus pond. A kind woman at the market pointed him to a place about ten li away. He followed her directions, but ran into a situation with a spirit that was bothering some common folk. Hanguang-jun naturally couldn’t leave them in such a state, and so assisted them. After that was dealt with, he finally found a lotus pond at sunset, which was over thirty-four li away.”

The disciples gasped in unison. How had ten li suddenly become thirty-four?

Wei Wuxian privately thought to himself that kids were too well-behaved these days. In his teenage years, he would probably have interrupted that paragraph four times already.

A 'kind woman at the market'? Was it possible to find fresh lotuses so close to Gusu Mountain? Was this called being gullible or simply trusting? More than that, if little Lan Zhan wanted to find a lotus pond, wouldn't the solution just be to fly in that direction until he saw one? Those things were quite visible, after all. Don't tell him that innocent youth had walked the whole way!

Concerned, Wei Sizhui piped up, “But if it was some family’s lotus pond, wouldn’t they close after dark?”

Lan Xiuqing nodded eagerly as he promptly exited his recitation-style of speaking. “Exactly! But somehow, Hanguang-jun convinced the lady to let him pick some lotus pods…I’m not sure about the details, it was something like that.” He then brightened even further, turning a smile to his raptly-listening audience. “Well, if he was anything like Zewu-jun, it really is no wonder!“

Reaching out, Wei Wuxian flicked Lan Xiuqing on the forehead and gently scolded. “No need to compare. Your family’s Hanguang-jun is completely different from his brother, and not a bit worse for it either.”

The boy was undeterred, bouncing back immediately. “Ah, of course! Wei-qianbei knew Hanguang-jun well, right?”

Wei Wuxian was suddenly acutely aware of the calm gaze at his back.

“Ah?” He turned away, scratching his head. “Now where did you hear that one?”

The conversation ended there, to the disappointment of the disciples.

In the end, he couldn’t help but gaze quietly at Lan Wangji as they went, thinking that he had really been so adorable as youth. Blindly believing someone’s words, enough to go through all that trouble…and Wei Wuxian knew for sure that there was no difference in taste between those two types of lotus seeds!

Lan Zhan, there has to be a limit to your innocence!

Thinking this, he drooped, thinking of the night before. If he were alone, he would’ve slapped himself.

The limit to Hanguang-jun’s innocence was named Wei Wuxian.

The docks before the entrance of Lotus Pier were bustling with activity, the savoury and sweet fragrances of street food itching at the disciples' eager noses. As they arrived, Jin Rulan in particular was greeted respectfully by those of Yunmeng Jiang, barring a few amused looks in his direction. 

“Gege!”

Lan Wangji felt a faint sense of deja-vu as a blur of yellow shot towards them from the gates, barreling into the young master Jin. The meaning of the amused looks became clear—Jin Hanxing was here.

“Ah, everyone’s here!” The girl exclaimed after pulling away from her brother. Peeking over at him last, she greeted almost shyly, “Mo-shushu.”

Lan Wangji nodded back.

“A-Xing-guniang, did you escape Jinlintai again? Wasn’t Jiang-zongzhu bringing you back?” Lan Jingyi probed, a teasing glint in his eye. They seemed quite familiar, if the slightly narrowed gaze Jin Hanxing turned on him was any indication. Jin Rulan sighed minutely and grasped the back of her robes in preparation, but she only turned up her nose at the Lan disciple.

“A-Yi-gongzi¹, aren’t you here because you like running off that mountain of yours? The sect heir is certainly one to talk.”

Lan Jingyi spluttered. Although they had been a little startled at the sudden appearance of the infamous Jin-guniang, his martial brothers were now trying their best to hide their collective amusement.

Ignoring him in favour of her uncle, Jin Hanxing continued, “Anyway, Erjiu’s not home yet. He’s bringing Lan-shushu back.”

Lan Wangji blinked. Lan-shushu was…his brother?

Wei Wuxian nodded sagely. “Ah, I see. A-Xing, how about you take everyone to get some food first? Dajiu has something to do.”

Jin Hanxing gave a solemn nod, and her uncle smiled softly before turning, brushing reassuringly against Lan Wangji as he walked away. They were led into Lotus Pier, through walkways and open corridors, the wooden floors creaking occasionally. The setting sun cast a hazy glow that spilled over them, accompanied by a breeze that carried the fresh scent of damp greenery throughout.

Both the Jin siblings treated this place like their second home, leaving the Lan juniors marvelling. Strangely enough, Wei Sizhui seemed more familiar with the residence than not. When they arrived at a small dining hall tucked away next to a tranquil lake, Jin Rulan took over. Before long, plates of steaming food were brought in, making for a veritable feast.

“Most of this is as bland as we can make it,” Jin Rulan pointed at the spread of plain-looking dishes, featuring tofu and all kinds of steamed fish and vegetables. Well, they seemed quite plain next to the red-tinted soups and noodles that sat before the non-Lans.

“But you’re all welcome to try the local stuff, if you can.” He finished with a small smirk.

It was clearly a bait. Lan Jingyi fell hook, line and sinker.

At the conclusion of the meal, he was red-faced and trying desperately not to breathe through his mouth, downing cup after cup of tea. There was a bit of commotion when his seatmates realised that his unflappable mouth had actually been spiced into silence, and he wasn't just sulking. 

"Green tea won't do much, you know." Kang Qiyue said calmly, taking the empty cup from his trembling hands.

On the other side, Lan Xiuqing was as easily panicked as ever, spreading it to his entire half of the table. "Someone get more rice!" 

"The rice is hot!" 

"...The wine?"

"Do you want him to die??" 

Meanwhile, Kang Qiyue ignored the fierce debate and pulled a small paper-wrapped parcel from his sleeve. Opening it swiftly, he then shoved the sweet pastry into Lan Jingyi's mouth. With the sugar melting on his tongue, he was saved. 

As the commotion began to die down, Lan Wangji realised something important.

There was a shadow in the corner of the room, where they had left their things. 

Then, footsteps—quickening. 

“A-Xing!”

Lan Wangji had barely turned to look before there was a deafening crack of splintering wood.

Wei Sizhui’s figure blurred for half a second before reappearing ten steps away from the cleaved-through pillar behind his seat—and the curled, grey hand that removed itself from the remains. Instantly, all the disciples scrambled from their seats.

Wei Sizhui was gripping the back of Jin Hanxing’s pale robes, having directly spirited her away from the headless figure that now stood in the centre of the room. His expression was frozen with shock, mouth in a tight line. Nevertheless, he set the girl carefully onto her feet, eyes never leaving the fierce corpse.

Jin Hanxing stumbled slightly; Jin Rulan immediately pulled her behind him. Meanwhile, Lan Wangji had soundlessly summoned his qin. He had just laid his fingers onto the strings when he heard the tiniest hiss of steel.

With a warning in his gaze, he glanced over—seeing this, Kang Qiyue put a hand over Lan Jingyi’s sword hilt, and the blade slid slowly back into place.

The corpse stood still in the middle of the room. Even without its head, it gave off the impression that it was turning in every direction, surveying everyone within. The burial robe that just managed to preserve his modesty was in dirt-stained tatters, while the shredded remains of Wei Wuxian’s qiankun pouches clung to his limbs. It was clear that, in the absence of stronger cultivators, it had taken the opportunity to piece itself back together.

Somehow, Lan Wangji felt that this figure…was undeniably familiar.

“…M-Mo-qianbei,” Lan Jingyi called out, voice still a little hoarse. “That’s…that’s the owner of the hand that tried to beat us to death, isn’t it?”

The answer was so obvious that Lan Wangji didn’t even need to speak. Instead, Lan Xiuqing squeaked out, “Jingyi, wouldn’t it be better for us to stay silent?”

Wei Sizhui spoke in a subdued tone, though his words reached all the jittery disciples. “The corpse is lacking a head. How can he hear us? What’s most important is to restrain our spiritual energy—he seems powerful enough to sense it.”

Lan Wangji raised a hand, “Sizhui is correct. Spread out, slowly.”

Lan Jingyi, as they began to move, “Qianbei, can we move quickly? Please say we can move quickly, I’ve never needed qigong in my life, I can’t take it anymore.”

Kang Qiyue, who was still beside him, “Not unless you want him to try your head on.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

Jin Hanxing was pale as she pointed slowly at the corpse—though she was rather unruffled for a child who had just avoided a near-fatal blow. “Look at the way he’s groping around. He’s clearly trying to find his head!”

She frowned, "Wait, so where is his head?"

"Jin-guniang, please, this is not the time!"

The corpse moved about, then stilled, deciding between two directions. His right arm waved about in a loose fist all the while. Finally, he trudged towards where the Jin siblings were standing together at the far end of the dining hall, huddled against the wall. Lan Wangji thought, he seemed to have an instinctive sense for them, despite the fact that they had barely moved. The corpse had gone after Jin Hanxing at first, too.

Seeing this, Jin Rulan involuntarily held the sheath of Youguang up to cover his sister, about to summon the blade. Wei Sizhui raised a quelling hand in response. Staring fixedly on the menacing figure advancing towards them, he reached into his robes and threw something out in the opposite direction.

The corpse froze, then turned back, following the clattering against the wooden floorboards. Like this, he drew closer to the outside edges of the dining pavilion. Here there were no windows, only open porches leading straight to the pier, adorned with fluttering curtains.

“Everyone,” Lan Wangji said, then gestured with his head to where he wanted to the disciples to go. “Carefully.”

With that, he began to move in the opposite direction. The boys went as they were told, as if in slow motion, some trembling with fear. Filled with resentment, the pressure of the air was as heavy as a mountain. The aura of this ghoul was indeed formidable, not to mention the sudden, frightening movements it would make out of nowhere, striking out with a fierce temper!

Just as the corpse had stepped over the threshold, a crash sounded from behind.

All the air was sucked out of the room in an instant.

Whipping around, the headless figure ‘glared’ at the floor—at Lan Xiuqing, who had tripped over his robes while crouching. The boy was sweating furiously, completely white with shock at his own traitorous feet. Without thinking, he scrabbled backwards.

Heart in his mouth, Lan Wangji knew what was about to happen as soon as the corpse’s legs tensed—before he could pounce on the disciple, Lan Wangji took a page from Sizhui's book, improvised, and sent a chopstick flying at his back. With pinpoint precision, the point of the utensil struck exactly at the base of his severed neck, clattering dumbly onto the ground.

Those bulging grey arms twitched minutely.

The corpse shifted his weight and pivoted around on his heel—excruciatingly slowly this time—to where Lan Wangji was standing under the drapes. Those gauzy curtains didn’t even dare to flutter anymore, as the corpse raised its left hand and pointed an accusatory finger at him, practically vibrating with rage.

All was silent, but for the pounding of blood in his ears.

Lan Wangji thought, belatedly, ah.

In a blink, the corpse’s nails appeared before his face—blunt and black, an inch from his eye!

“DO NOT.”

Blinding white. A familiar voice, hoarse with wrath, and an even more familiar sword glare. Vaguely, Lan Wangji registered a door having been blown off its hinges, the accompanying yelps of disciples, a thump.

But realising that instant that his life wasn’t in danger, and determined to keep it that way, Lan Wangji raised the qin that had accompanied him from Mo Manor, gave his thanks, and slammed it down with all the strength he could muster.

The corpse stumbled from the sheer force of the blow, lurching back. Its left arm had already been severed once more by Suibian, twitching on the ground, surrounded by splinters of wood.

Wei Wuxian was by his side, that white blade threatening to skewer into dead flesh. Before he could open his mouth to speak, silver eyes widened, and Lan Wangji was lifted up and backwards onto the pier. In the next second, a wave of pure resentment exploded towards them.

Suibian cut through the blackness, but Lan Wangji still felt it blast over him, a hairs breadth from his skin. It was freezing cold, forcing the air from his lungs—but Wei Wuxian’s arm at his waist was firm, and the glow of his sword was almost scalding in its intensity.

When the dust cleared, the corpse had joined them outside. The arm had reattached itself. Wei Wuxian glared at the tall figure like he was ready to dismember the man once more, and raised his blade to do just that.

The mellow tones of a xiao floated through the air.

Naturally, Lan Wangji immediately recognised his brother’s playing and felt some additional regret for the poor qin he had just obliterated. Wei Wuxian reluctantly sheathed his sword and brought out a few talismans, hurling them towards the corpse.

With surprising agility, the headless man evaded them with ease, even snatching one out of the air. At the sight of this leap, Liebing’s sound faltered, and when Lan Wangji turned, his brother was wearing an expression of absolute shock. Before the dust could settle, Wei Wuxian threw out another batch of talismans.

This time, he didn’t endeavour to plaster them against the corpse. Instead, they elongated into fiery chains, the same that had been used to restrain Song Zichen in Yi City, crushing onto the body below with the weight of pure steel. It was enough to hinder his moments, and Wei Wuxian took the chance to pull out Chenqing before the echo of notes could fade away completely.

Soon enough, the dizi began to sing. Like an invisible whip, the shrill sound burst from the dark body of the instrument, lashing out and cornering the corpse. It could only step further and further back, evading the soundwaves that threatened to crack the wood at his feet.

It was different, Lan Wangji thought, from the Chenqing he had heard on the battlefield all those years ago.

When Lan Xichen came back to himself and joined in again, the headless ghoul staggered somewhat. The song was not one of Rest or Eradication, which were more suitable for the qin, yet still a battle melody nonetheless. The xiao held the low line of defense, forcing the resentment to fold into itself, preventing its spread. In the upper register, the dizi continued its relentless attacks, each blow solid and piercing.

Together, they made for a deadly duet. 

Finally, under the increasing pressure of the two flutes and Suibian, which had erected a barrier-like formation of sword glares before the disciples, the corpse succumbed. The moment he stopped resisting, his body fell apart into those familiar pieces—arms, legs, and torso, thumping solidly onto the wood of the pier.

The juniors let out a collective sigh of relief and swarmed over as Wei Wuxian put Chenqing away. He glanced over them, as if doing a headcount, then clapped his hands.

“Everyone, out.”

A pause. Then, they hurriedly greeted Zewu-jun before scrambling out, unused to such a severe-looking Wei-qianbei. Only Jin Hanxing tried to linger, but Jin Rulan tugged her away as if scruffing a kitten. The door, which had been wholly separated from its hinges, was approximately placed over the wall with the help of some Lan arm strength.

The disciples' footsteps faded away and the three of them were left standing over the ghastly pile. As a breeze passed over, Wei Wuxian glanced between the Lan brothers, who were both staring down intently.

His eyebrow twitched. "Don't tell me you two already recognised this guy?"

Lan Wangji thought, I have.

Lan Xichen said, "I know who he is."

Wei Wuxian gave a tiny grimace. "It's Chifeng-zun, isn't it."

Lan Xichen's jaw clenched, dark eyes hard. 

"Xiongzhang," Lan Wangji said, "You know of our travels?"

Wei Wuxian waved a hand as Lan Xichen gave a restrained nod, "Then, let me just say it. The gravedigger in Yueyang was familiar a good number of Jiang sword forms—and, well, we know which sect's relations with the Jiang have been flourishing the past few years."

It was left unsaid. With a marriage alliance and an oath of brotherhood, the answer was clear. 

He continued, "The person behind this knows the secrets of Qinghe Nie, enough to hide body parts in their saber hall. Who has enough of a connection to Xue Yang to have another hidden in Yi City. A person who's close with Yunmeng Jiang, who...conflicted with Chifeng-zun."

After a moment, Lan Xichen finally gathered himself enough to speak. "It would be remiss of me to say that I had never suspected him. But this is..."

Wei Wuxian gave a one-armed shrug, crouching down to seal the separated corpse back into the qiankun pouches. "We're in the same boat, Xichen-ge. Now that Xue Yang's turned up too, it isn't looking good for him—ah!"

The door, which had already experienced an early death, was kicked down from outside and bashed against the floor once more. Startled, the limp wrist Wei Wuxian was holding slid from his grip, bouncing off Lan Wangji's boot. The former looked up at him apologetically, lips twisting.

Now, Lan Wangji had never been a troublemaker, in this life or the previous. But as he looked into Wei Wuxian's eyes, he felt acutely as if he had been caught plotting trouble somehow. He kneeled down and busied himself with helping seal the parts, leaving Lan Xichen, the only person who seemed almost pleasantly surprised, to look towards the new arrival.

Jiang Wanyin stood imposingly at the doorway, Zidian crackling temperamentally on his finger.

"Now that Xue Yang's turned up? It isn't looking good for who?!" 

Wei Wuxian met his eyes again with a wince, and muttered under his breath, "I haven't even had dinner yet." 

Chapter Text

Even as fresh crimson splattered into his eyes, Lan Xichen could only wrench Shuoyue from the Wen’s chest, leaving the body to crash, gurgling, on the ground.

It was the last one to fall.

In the silence that ensued, he remained unhearing. All he could do was stare, his vision tinted red, at the undulating breadth of Ganquan—and the corpses that bloomed at his feet, inking the dry ground below.

Wangji, he thought, emptily, yet the ache of sorrow was bone-deep. Where are you?

Beside him came a shuffling sound. Wei Wuxian stepped over, wetness slowly seeping into his boots. His black-robed figure was blurry. Despite this, Lan Xichen caught the slight tremble of exhaustion in his hands as he tucked Chenqing back into his belt.

With the two of them, it had taken just one night. They were encroaching on Wen territory already, with the main troops scouting the borders. It was only a matter of months, after these long years, before Nightless City fell.

And still.

“Zewu-jun, let’s go.”

Lan Xichen didn’t move. He stared numbly at the wide expanse of land before him, blood trickling from his lashes, blood dripping from his blade.

“…Zewu-jun?”

Bare of blue, the sky was yet vast. A sheet of thin clouds above them stretched as far as the eye could see. Bleak white, like the Lan. Bleak white, like mourning.

But all Lan Xichen saw was red. The stink of copper, the stench of failure.

“Zewu-jun?…Lan Xichen!”

Finally, he turned.

Wei Wuxian quietened. A movement, and then something soft was pressed into his hand. The fabric was silky and familiar, the embroidery a whisper of memory. He brought it up against his face, but there was no scent of incense, no hint of home. And so he scrubbed once, roughly, before lifting his head, blinking.

It was a white handkerchief, now overrun and stained.

Lan Xichen spent a few moments staring at it. Wei Wuxian took it from his loose grip.

“Let’s go.” The other man said again, voice low. “He’s not here.”

With that, he moved back towards the remains of the Wen outpost they had descended on. His thin figure seemed ever-more frail with each passing day. The cold wind nipped at those dark robes, edges fluttering in and out of sight.

Lan Xichen looked back, gazing over the bodies he and Wei Wuxian had left behind.

Liberation. Suppression. Elimination.

For a moment, he saw his brother’s corpse among them.

The resentment that he had been born to subdue rose in his heart, a slow poison to his very soul.

He turned away.

It had been months since anyone had heard from Hanguang-jun.

“Still nothing?” Nie Mingjue asked, settling himself on the other side of the table.

Lan Xichen couldn’t reply through the lead in his throat, so he ducked his head instead.

As he pulled out his qin, Chifeng-zun shuffled about the small room. For such a broad man, he moved in near-silence, the exhaustion of the battlefield clinging even to his fresh robes. After the instrument was gently plucked, tuned to readiness, Lan Xichen paused, hands falling limp over the strings.

The pressure of his dead weight sunk heavily onto the bridge. He watched impassively as the lowest string dipped further and further with his heart, as if about to snap.

What would he find, if he played again?

Inquiry had been, no matter the day, a futile effort. All he had been able to glean from lingering spirits around the countryside was that Hanguang-jun had been where the chaos was, until he wasn’t. The Wens that Wei Wuxian had gotten his hands on weren’t any help either, all too happy to throw the disappearance of Lan-er-gongzi in their faces—well, before they started screaming, at least. Even their souls yielded no new information.

As long as he was alive. As long as he was alive. 

Nie Mingjue didn’t break the silence, placing a steaming cup before him instead with unusual gravity.

Idly, he thought, too hot.

Lan Xichen understood him—at least, in a theoretical sense—but couldn’t bring himself to feel charitable about it. What more could Nie Mingjue say? Don’t push yourself too hard? Don’t worry? 

He wasn’t that type of person. If it had been Nie Huaisang that had gone missing, Lan Xichen would have had to be the one to stop Chifeng-zun from storming Nightless City himself, Sunshot be damned.

“Have some. You look terrible.”

Yes, that was exactly what Nie Mingjue would say.

As if he’d been seeking an excuse to take his hands off those strings, Lan Xichen immediately obliged. The tea scalded his lips and tongue, burning hot as he involuntarily gulped down a mouthful. Seeing this, Nie Mingjue grimaced and forcefully took the cup away.

The taste was exceedingly…awful.

He hadn’t had tea like this since little Wangji, solemn yet enthusiastic, had tried steeping his first cup.

Lan Xichen blinked once, breathed, and looked up. Even though his face didn’t move, Nie Mingjue was definitely familiar with his own lacklustre skills. For some unfathomable reason, he refilled the cup and put it a good arms length away to let it cool, before turning back to him with a frown.

“It’s better than seeing you sit there like a corpse. Xichen, I—”

It was alright. Lan Xichen didn’t want anyone to try like this anymore, even if that person was as earnest as his old friend. He was tired of the unspoken condolences, the pitying looks—too early, too little, too late. 

The only two who did not yet pity him were Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin, because one was searching alongside him, and the other knew what it felt like.

He didn’t want this. He wanted his brother back.

And so Lan Xichen interrupted.

“How is Huaisang?”

Lan Xichen hadn’t passed through the Cloud Recesses since bringing his uncle news of Wangji’s disappearance. He couldn’t return without him.

Nie Mingjue gave him a long look, then sighed.

“He’s fine. He even had the heart to send me copies of your family’s scriptures. It’s barely readable, but it makes for decent meditation—”

“Zewu-jun!”

Chifeng-zun was unceremoniously interrupted once more as the door flew open and Wei Wuxian charged in. It was clear that he hadn’t stopped to rest since their return to Qinghe, dark robes still dishevelled from their travels—and his most recent, impromptu outing. He held a young boy by the arm, practically dragging him into the room.

“Ah—” Wei Wuxian blinked and greeted with his free hand, “Chifeng-zun.”

Nie Mingjue had long gotten used to Lan Xichen’s occasionally menacing shadow and was quite fond of said shadow’s military prowess. He gave a nod, knowing that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have barged in over some trivial matter.

The boy was set in front of the table like a particularly interesting piece of furniture, looking to be around nine or ten years old. Thin as a rail, he was nonetheless wiry; his body was completely tensed up, an arrow on a bowstring ready to fly away at any moment.

“Go on,” Wei Wuxian said, laying a steadying hand on his shoulder, “Tell Zewu-jun exactly what you told me.”

The boy glanced at him anxiously, fingers twitching. Then he finally took a look at Lan Xichen. His eyes widened dramatically and his hands fell limply to his sides. He whipped his head back towards Wei Wuxian.

“S-sorry? But isn’t, isn’t this him, though?”

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a moment. The skin under his eye jumped faintly. “What?”

The boy jabbed his head towards Lan Xichen. “Aren't you the cultivator in white?”

Wei Wuxian stared again, lips parting. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and threw an irritated hand in the air, waving the boy’s mouth shut. “No, that’s—they’re not the same person. Oh, whatever, I’ll just—”

He turned to Lan Xichen. "Zewu-jun, this boy told me that his village on the border was evacuated some months ago by a white-robed cultivator, before a Wen contingent came to pillage them. He carried a white sword, a qin, and wore the cloud-embroided ribbon. And now," Wei Wuxian waved his hand again, increasingly agitated, "The boy mistakes you for him. It must be Lan Zhan."    

Lan Xichen’s heart stuttered. "Some months ago?"

The boy confirmed, "Y-Yes, gongzi. Around three months ago!"

"And…after he came to warn you, where did he go?"

"I was playing in the forest with my meimei when he found us. He—he told us to run first, that he'd send everyone else to follow—gongzi, you gotta know that there's more grandmas at our place than kids like meimei…so we ran to the place where he pointed us, and all the elders came a bit afterwards…"

Immediately, his stomach sank. 

Lan Xichen could practically imagine it. 

"...He didn't return."

The boy chewed his lip. "...Yeah. Yima said he stayed back to check that everyone got out."

Wei Wuxian cut in. "Have you gone back?"

"N-No. We ran all the way to Qinghe, until we saw the beast-head flag. Last I heard—um," He swallowed conspicuously, rubbing at his nose, "Yima said we can't go back, because the borders are a mess…"

The room fell silent, with the exception of the boy's sniffling, which he tried to restrain with all the finesse of a ten-year-old. After a moment, Wei Wuxian couldn't take it anymore.

"Lan Xichen. We can make it there before the afternoon." 

Lan Xichen felt as if the world was underwater. Slowly, he looked down at the qin on the table, as if it were even a question—then stuffed it back into his qiankun sleeve with haste.

To the living, what use were the songs of the dead?

Standing up abruptly, he forced a small smile, and addressed the boy with as much kindness as he could muster. "Your Yima was right. Stay here and protect your meimei."

The boy blinked. "He…said that too."

Lan Xichen's smile froze. It took a second for his mind to catch up.

Of course. Wangji, ever-gentle, would have…

"Gongzi, he's—he's your brother, right? And you're looking for him?"

Lan Xichen nodded mutely. At this response, the boy's face creased in determination, before he tilted forward into a low bow. He cried out, high and earnest:

"When you see him again, please give him my thanks! He saved us—no, our whole village!" 

Looking at his thin back, laden with the weight of gratitude, Lan Xichen felt an unfamiliar, sour heat. It welled up through his lungs and into his eyes, as if he had spent countless hours gazing into the endless desert. 

He managed to find his voice. "Of course, little one."

Nie Mingjue, who had been watching in silence, stood up and clapped a hand onto his shoulder, "Go. I'll see the kid out." 

Lan Xichen gave him a grateful nod, met Wei Wuxian's eyes, and left.

To find his brother.  

Ever since Wei Wuxian had returned from his own three-month disappearance, he hadn’t looked quite right. 

At a glance, he wasn’t even recognisable as that cheerful youth who had led all instances of troublemaking in the Cloud Recesses. The tips of his eyes and brows, which had always retained a smiling curve, had fallen into something both flat and piercing. When he did smile, nowadays, it was twisted and cruel—more suited for the face of a demon than a bright boy. 

It only got worse as the war dragged on. Wei Wuxian radiated resentment, a razor-focused coldness. A single glare could silence a room, and a single breath could bury hundreds more. 

Of course, Lan Xichen was certainly not one to talk. He hadn’t dared to look at his own face in the mirror for a while now, afraid that the candlelight would gift him his brother’s eyes.

This ‘strategy’ of theirs was both simple and effective. First, Lan Xichen would approach enemy locations on his own, feigning carelessness. The Wens had shown time and time again that they would jump at the chance to take down Zewu-jun, and would therefore rush in enthusiastically.

They were currently here: step two.

"Oh, look who’s here! I’d recognise that face anywhere!”

Stopped in the middle of the way to the border village, Lan Xichen was surrounded by blades. Presumably they had come from the Yangquan base; the one whose patrols they had slipped past on the way to Ganquan. 

It was Wei Wuxian’s face he saw behind the Wen’s approaching figures, hidden in the shadows, eyes gleaming a dull red.

"Doing something useful for once, Zewu-jun?” Another soldier jeered. “Looks like you’ve gotten tired of—!!!”

Wei Wuxian leapt forward, teeth bared like a beast, a talisman in hand. 

To say that the soldier screamed would be an understatement. 

With a wave of blistering heat and liquid, the man's head was blown off his body. Chunks of flesh and pulverised bone burst violently outwards, splattering against his comrades, who could only cry out in terror. 

Yes, in any case, Wei Wuxian looked more demonic than ever like this, with blood painted across his cheeks as he lurched forward. The headless corpse remained standing before him, the severed neck a mess of mangled, pulsing red. He raised Chenqing to his lips, and—

"Get him! Don't let him play!!" 

The captain's orders were drowned out by the roaring of his charging subordinates. 

And now, step three.

Shuoyue sprung free.

There were only about a dozen men. Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian had taken down whole stations together. Being in the middle of the road, there was plenty of space to tear into the cultivators surrounding them. 

It was a clear, cool day. The sound of the dizi rang out, high and lively. 

Sunlight dappled throughout the woods, onto the decaying leaves that blanketed the ground, matched by the heat of viscera that spurted and gushed into the soil.

There was a lot of talking, sneering, mocking; something that Lan Xichen had long become accustomed to. He reached deep within himself—it seemed to become easier every time—and drew on the helpless rage, the exhaustion, and that tiny reservoir of hope. It muted his hearing in a rush of blood, and he did what he did best. 

He fought. 

Lan Xichen blocked three strikes, sent Shuoyue's sword glare straight through someone's stomach, and whirled around to barely catch a blow aimed at his back. He frowned slightly at the desperate eyes of the man before him, their blades screeching against each other. Before he could switch his grip and strike once more, suddenly, a hand—!

—appeared from the man's chest with a muffled, bone-shattering crack. 

He blinked. The man blinked back, his face a grotesque rictus of shock. 

His body began to fall forward, slowly, so Lan Xichen stepped to the side to avoid it. The headless corpse behind it withdrew its drenched hand. 

Surveying the road, which was now strewn with fallen Wen, he sheathed Shuoyue and stepped towards his companion. The smell of fresh carnage was so familiar that he couldn't even bring himself to wrinkle his nose at it anymore.

Wei Wuxian had kept only the captain alive, who also happened to be the man who'd spoken at the very beginning of their encounter. He was held down on his knees by a corpse on each side, as well as a talisman. Most likely, he had already attempted to struggle away, but seeing the blood pooling by his ankles, it seemed a lost cause. All he could do was whimper faintly, head bowed.  

"I was wondering why this Wen-dog would say something like that. Have you met this person before, Zewu-jun?" 

Wei Wuxian snapped his fingers, and the corpse on the right used a still-warm hand to raise the captain's face. 

Lan Xichen scanned his features. He was an unremarkable youth, too old to be a junior disciple, too green to be a commander. Wearing the usual uniform of Qishan Wen disciples, his guan marked him out as the leader here. The only things of note were the two dark moles on his face, the first being a teardrop under one of his closed eyes, and the other on the side of his nose. 

Lan Xichen didn't hesitate. "No."

"But he could recognise you from a mile away, I'm sure. Now why is that?"

After his head was forcefully raised, the youth bared his teeth and glared at him. Lan Xichen was jolted by the look in his eyes; a fierce, hateful pleasure, as if he knew all the ways to enrage him, as if he would take it all to his grave.  

"Looking for someone, Lan Xichen—"

His voice, which was hoarse with grit, cut off as Wei Wuxian slammed his head violently into the ground. 

Silence, as he was held there. Wei Wuxian gazed impassively at the back of the head that he was grinding mercilessly into the dirt. After a long pause, he stepped back and let the corpses raise him up again.

“Wen-dogs really do lack discipline." Wei Wuxian remarked quietly, expression as cold as ice. Yet he spoke as if he was only scolding a young disciple. "Try again.”

The youth coughed, hacking out a glob of blood by Lan Xichen's feet. 

"Kill me if you like, use my corpse if you can! You'll never find what you're looking for!"

Lan Xichen looked down at him. "And what am I looking for?"

"I don't know much more than you, Ze—wu—jun." He grinned, emphasizing the title. "Hey, but did you know? No one makes it out of the Infernal Palace with their corpse intact."

Almost dazedly, Lan Xichen watched that revolting expression twist the youth's face until it was practically crumpled with savagery. Then, a crunching sound came from below, and that savagery transformed into excruciation. The Wen let out a low groan and gave a full-body jerk, letting out a string of filthy, agonised curses.

Looking down, another corpse had crawled over and caught his dangling hand in its blunt jaws. Another crunch sounded, wet and brittle enough to make one's stomach lurch. Only uneven strings of flesh and dull bone remained where his first three fingers had been. 

"Let us not waste time." Wei Wuxian suddenly said, inspecting his work as if this was the occasion for a self-evaluation. "Inquiry might make an honest man out of him."

With the verdict spoken, he moved behind the youth, placed a hand over his nape and bloodied mouth—and wrenched.

A grisly crack—and then Wei Wuxian stepped away, lips in a tight line. All three corpses before him fell limply to the ground in a deformed pile. 

He crossed his arms, inclining his head towards Lan Xichen, "Please."

Remaining silent, Lan Xichen took out his qin. He had been the audience of many similar scenes already, and now he only felt somewhat responsible for all the blood that dirtied Wei Wuxian's hands in the course of their travels. 

It wasn't as if he couldn't do his part—but the other cultivator certainly had no qualms about taking any measure necessary to extract information on Wangji's whereabouts. 

He could almost laugh at that moment, as he played the opening of Inquiry. How far had war debased them, so that the First Jade of Lan felt so little remorse over the deaths at his hands?

But in the end, the rule in all its fastidiousness was only: Killing is forbidden within the Cloud Recesses. 

Lan Xichen asked, with his voice and the strings, "Where is Lan Wangji?"

The spirit replied, I don't know.

"Where did you see him?"

The village down the path.

"And then?"

I don't know. I only saw him once.

"You didn't fight him?"

No. If he was captured, he must have been—

"Was he captured?"

The notes clashed, dissonant.

—taken to the Infernal Palace. I don't know.

Lan Xichen took his first breath in a few minutes. 

"Do you know where he went?"

I don't know. I hope you find him, Lan Xichen. The Twin Jades really do look alike.

Lan Xichen slammed his fingers over the strings to stopper the notes, flesh digging roughly into wood. It whined in remorse, a muted creak. He forced the qin away and stood up, fighting the urge to set the corpses before him alight. Turning away, he made to continue down the path. 

"We're going." He said, shortly, to his companion.

Wei Wuxian followed him without question. 

They all but chased each other to the end of the road, and when they arrived, the sun was beginning to set.

The blood-red rays loomed over the village like a dying gasp. But it could barely be called a village anymore.

All that was left was…

Wei Wuxian staggered forward, and Lan Xichen lingered back.

He watched that black-robed figure breathe in tandem with the descending light, the lengthening shadows. As Wei Wuxian wandered through the charred ruins of what had once been houses and gardens and gathering places, he became more and more frantic. Restlessly, he darted about the strewn wreckages, kicking up pockets of grit here and there. As he moved, dark smoke seeped from him, reaching outwards as if searching for a trace of disparate energy.

There was nothing to find.

Lan Xichen watched him reach what had been the centre of the village, now the centre of his line of sight. Wei Wuxian dropped his gaze towards the deflated bodies that had been flung around him, dyed a dusty red. It wasn’t enough to cover the patches of white, both bone and silk—all those who had died wore the robes of Qishan Wen.

…Wangji must have been here.

Lan Xichen forced his legs to move. There was nothing to see, only black and burnt black, the scent of ash and despair, the liquefaction of the corpses assaulting the senses.

Step by step, he came closer. Wei Wuxian had fallen to his knees, hands clutching at his own shoulders, shaking with force. It was as if he were trying with all his might to keep something terrible from bursting out of him, something that threatened to rend him asunder from the inside. 

“Lan Zhan,” After a long while, Wei Wuxian choked out, reaching out. His fingers sunk and dragged into the black dirt, splinters digging into his skin. 

Lan Xichen finally glimpsed his face, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Wei Wuxian was smiling.

Wei Wuxian was smiling, an awful, wretched little thing, like a man whose last pinprick of hope was about to slip from his grasp. And with this expression that pulled his brows upwards in a facsimile of his youthful mirth, he fell forward, whispering as if to a treasured one.

“Lan Zhan, don’t go where I can’t follow. Lan Zhan, when I find you, I’ll…“

Something had taken a blunt knife to Lan Xichen’s chest, these past few months. A relentless force that worked the once-blade ever deeper every second of every day, every moment that he thought that Wangji…he could be…

Watching Wei Wuxian, his heart had finally been carved out. As precious as a malformed pearl, it rolled down his robes and dropped quietly into the slim grooves of the earth, freshly dug with hopeless hands. 

As long as he was alive. As long as he was alive. 

Did you know? No one makes it out of the Infernal Palace with their corpse intact.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. 

He didn’t even know how to pray anymore.