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Chapter Text

“Jiujiu, were you going to say something earlier?”

“What?” Jiang Cheng said. “No.”

“Just now!” Jin Ling persisted. “I saw it. You were going to say something to Wei Wuxian, but you didn’t.”

After a long silence, Jiang Cheng shook his head. “There’s nothing to say.”

Walking shoulder to shoulder with his uncle, Jin Ling hesitated. As infuriating as it was to know that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t speak up, he empathized with the uncomfortable emotions that swirled in his chest and held his tongue back.

Guanyin Temple’s floors, once polished and clean, were drenched and defiled. Blood from the recently killed Jin and Su cultivator corpses strewn about mingled with the remnants of the thunderstorm that boomed over their heads not too long ago. If Nie Mingjue didn’t pulverize their bodies, Jiang Cheng’s Zidian made a show of splattering debris across the floors.

The Lan clan of Gusu remained the dominating force of the clean up operation. They worked efficiently and almost silently, their juniors helping gather the wounded into nearby medical tents that were set up so quickly, Jin Ling didn’t notice until the air began to hum with qi-transfers. Senior cultivators from the Jiang and Nie clans were taking evidence. It was a whole mess. It was suffocating.

The Jin clan of Lanling, whose leader was elected the Cultivation Chief, was in shambles with the aftermath of Jin Guangyao’s sins brought to light. The elders whispered to themselves about succession. Some clan members sat silently, mourning. Others were angry, hissing curses at Jin Guangyao’s retreating coffin. It was as if new winds blew in the political courts of Lanling, with slander riding each gust.

The coffin was being carried with the utmost care by six men, all senior cultivators from different clans. It would have been a beautiful show of clan unity, had the circumstances been different. At least, Jin Ling thought to himself, they’d have something useful to keep them busy for a while. He coughed without thinking, the atmosphere continuing to invade his senses.

The coffin had to be sealed away with decisive intention. A ceremony was being planned. The resentful energy emanating from it caused some of the lower level cultivators nearby to start coughing blood and bleeding from the ears. They ran as quickly as their bodies could, though some moved as though they were on the cusps of being possessed, jerking unnaturally.

Lan Qiren led a group of senior clansmen in surrounding the coffin and playing Rest on their assorted instruments. They calmly worked together to pacify the resentful energy as much as they could. It calmed Jin Ling down a touch, but the chaos inside his heart swelled once the song was far off in the distance.

“About time they got that thing out of here!” Lan Jingyi’s voice broke through the murmurs in the crowds. “Glad we didn’t have to carry it, right Sizhui? Hey, Sizhui! What’s wrong with you?”

Jin Ling’s attention turned back to the juniors nearby. Lan Jingyi was right; something was troubling Lan Sizhui. His polite smile was replaced with something Jin Ling had seen in Jiang Cheng when old wounds pressed too deep. His golden eyes squinted and he lowered his head to get a better view of Lan Sizhui’s face as he walked over to them.

What none of the juniors were aware of was the tidal wave of memories that were overwhelming Lan Sizhui at that moment. Lan Wangji had anchored Lan Sizhui back to the present when he called for the junior to return Wei Wuxian’s spiritual weapon, Chenqing. Though the exchange was brief, Lan Sizhui felt his hands prickling from where he held the flute. It was like he didn’t want to return it.

“The resentful energy in this place is unsettling.” Ouyang Zizhen remarked, hugging himself and glancing around. “Are you feeling unwell, Sizhui? You look-”

But Lan Sizhui couldn’t focus on the words coming from his friend’s mouths. He heard ringing in his ears followed by a child’s voice humming a familiar tune along a flute. A warm laugh followed instructions telling him to try again, slower this time. A large, careful hand was guiding his smaller one as he traced talismans in the dirt. An older woman’s embrace whose comfort would have been perfect, had her strewn hair not tickled his nose and mouth.

“...Sizhui?” Jin Ling’s voice cut through the haze, clear as a bell.

Lan Sizhui’s eyes regained their light as he inhaled sharply. He looked up to see his friends growing more concerned. He lowered the hand that had been clutching his chest and wrinkling his robes. Shaking his head, he regained his composure and forced out a polite smile.

“I’m sorry; I think I have to take a quick break. I’ll be fine.” He relented, but the strain in his voice made it seem unconvincing.

Jin Ling’s brow furrowed in alarm. What the hell did he mean that he has to take a break? This is Lan Sizhui: Hanguang-jun’s devoted disciple and arguably the top cultivator of their group, though he’d never admit it aloud. He stayed steady in the face of menacing yao and could withstand the icy waters of the Cloud Recesses cold springs without missing a beat. They’d ventured into more dangerous territory than a defiled temple before. Jin Ling’s heart began to race. He didn’t know how many more of his trusted companions he could stand to see lose their composure in one day before he loses it too.

“You’ve never looked like that, even after handstand punishments. Was it that flute? It wasn’t THAT ugly.” Jingyi jeered, elbowing Ouyang Zizhen and promptly being smacked lightly by his umbrella.

“Thank you, Jingyi. I just need to..” Lan Sizhui’s voice trailed off as his wandering eyes found who they were looking for. “I’ll catch up with you guys later. Check in with the medics to see who else needs help.”

The trio exchanged wary looks as they watched Lan Sizhui walk over to the Ghost General, Wen Ning. No longer sporting a hole in his abdomen from where Nie Mingjue’s fist landed, Wen Ning bowed to the approaching Lan junior and slouched to meet his eyes. They began to speak, but were too far for the trio to overhear them.

Before Jin Ling could investigate further, Jiang Cheng’s voice rang out from a medical tent several meters away.

“Jin Ling, get over here!” Jiang Cheng barked. “Let’s make sure your poor choices didn’t have any consequences.”

Jiang Cheng was beckoning Jin Ling to the medical tent where a few clansmen were already working spiritual energy into his body. His face was dark and clenched in concentration.

“I’m fine. You’re the one that got hurt, jiujiu.”

“Shut up and let them look at you.”

Jin Ling waved off the medics that were turning their attention to him and away from Jiang Cheng. 

“You have eyes, don’t you?” Jin Ling bit. “Take care of the old man bleeding out on the bed. I’m fine.”

“Did that guqin string around your neck earlier take a chunk of the little sense you have left? Stay still and let them do their damn job.” Jiang Cheng responded, having trouble sitting up on the bed but controlling his breathing steadily. 

Ears burning, Jin Ling inadvertently gulped and closed his eyes as the medical team accomplished their triage. Other than being tense and some slight qi wavering, Jin Ling was okay.

Jiang Cheng’s jaw softened a touch when they announced that Jin Ling was in good health. With a sigh, he leaned back and spoke.

“We’re going back to Lotus Pier.” It was not open for negotiation.

Jin Ling scowled, though Jiang Cheng didn’t see it. His eyes were closed in concentration. He didn’t bother to respond. Turning on his heel, his bloodied golden robes whipped around as he left the tent.

Fairy rose from the ground, her eyes following Jin Ling. Her black fur was matted with rainwater, but Jin Ling’s robes were already destroyed, so he didn’t mind her getting him wet. Her tail wagged happily and she curled into Jin Ling’s hand as he petted her head.

“You did incredible today, Fairy. I’m proud of you.”

She barked once in acknowledgement. For a moment, Jin Ling let out a half-smile until he remembered how ferociously she was howling when she was trying to keep him from scaling over Guanyin Temple’s walls. His hand grasped at his chest, remembering how close he was to being killed by the monk’s arrow.

“...aiyah, Fairy. What am I supposed to do… I’m losing everyone again… ”

Fairy’s ears quivered as she followed behind Jin Ling. She kept pace with her master as they traveled across the courtyard, eyes darting to anyone who got too close to them.

Jin Ling’s steps slowed to a cautious stride, stopping before a beautiful man in white robes who was seated on the steps of the temple. The clans had restored order to the courtyard, but only the kind that sits over rubble.

Lan Xichen lost his composure long before Lan Qiren scolded him. With his uncle having left to deal with the coffin, Xichen allowed his body to slump against the soaked steps of the temple. His face was in his hands. He was restless and despondent at the same time. His headband was slightly crooked and his hair wrapped around his sunken shoulders. Liebing and Shuoyue were resting neatly by his side, as if someone carefully collected them for the Lan sect leader, but were too hesitant to disturb him.

So, Jin Ling hesitated and took a deep breath.

“Excuse me, Zewu-jun.”

Jin Ling stood with his shoulders braced as if someone might swing at him for speaking. His eyes were red at the rims and the Jin crest on his belt dull. The cinnabar mark on his brow was showing signs of slightly fraying. A boy pretending to be iron, and failing in all the places that mattered.

As if roused by a gentle hand on his shoulder, Lan Xichen raised his face to see the young master coming up from his bow. His eyes softened and he soundlessly rose from the steps. He gave a ghost of a smile and slightly bowed. Lan Xichen was exhausted.

“Jin Ling. I’m sorry about A-Yao and everything that has transpired today. Are you alright?” 

Jin Ling twitched almost imperceptively at his name. He didn’t miss how Lan Xichen’s voice quivered after apologizing. His eyes began to burn again, grief threatening to spill over.

“...mn.”

“If I had… If he hadn’t…” Lan Xichen, normally eloquent and intentional with his speech, was fumbling over what to say. “...sorry…”

Jin Ling’s fists clenched. He felt so powerless and pathetic. He was so angry, yet he couldn’t forget the affection that Jin Guangyao’s memory now haunted him with. Jiang Cheng had been the one to primarily raise Jin Ling, but Jin Guangyao was the person he trusted the most when Jiang Cheng’s anger became unbearable. 

“He’s gone now. Nothing more we can do about that. But I ...I need a favor, Zewu-jun.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened slightly, the light faintly returning to them, but still dull. He readjusted his forehead ribbon, smoothed out his robes and cleared his throat. He waited for the youth to continue.

“Jiujiu wants to go back to Lotus Pier, but I…” Jin Ling trailed off, biting his lip, before rasping the rest out. “I need to find Wei Ying and get some answers. If I stay, everyone will tell me what to think until I don’t know which thoughts and feelings are mine. I promise, I’ll be safe and I’ll go back to Yunmeng. I just have to-”

Lan Xichen’s sigh stopped Jin Ling’s train of thought. He looked at him for a long moment and felt the ache in his chest move. He had just been bleeding out words he’d never meant to say, telling another man about the scars carved into his brother’s back for his sake. He had held medicine to the body of a sworn brother he could no longer recognize, only to hold the sword that pierced that same sworn brother moments later.

He had no weight left for composure. Only this.

“Jin Ling, your grief is not wrong.”

Jin Ling blinked at him, startled. He had braced for a scolding, a lecture in the Lan style, not this quiet permission. His shoulders lost a bit of their tension with this moment of being seen by an adult who is acknowledging his feelings. His chin came up like a challenge. He was so very young. At sixteen years old, grief doesn’t sit; it paces and demands doors to open.

“You would go alone?” Xichen asked.

Jin Ling swallowed. “If I have to.”

“Do not,” Lan Xichen said. “Not tonight.”

The boy flinched, expecting the refusal to come. It didn’t. Xichen’s voice stayed low.

“Have someone accompany you. You trust our juniors, Jingyi and Sizhui, isn’t that right?”

After a beat, Jin Ling responded. “Sizhui is already after them, I assume. He left with the Ghost General.”

“Good. If you cannot find a companion, you will send word before the morning bell. If no word comes, I will send a discreet group to fetch you before your uncle’s worry becomes a blade in someone else’s hand.”

Relief flooded his cheeks as the youth realized he would be allowed to leave with the support of Zewu-jun. He allowed himself to breathe. 

“What are you going to ask when you find him?”

“I’m not sure, but jiujiu won’t talk to me and Wei-” Jin Ling paused, not knowing how to address his uncle anymore. “I just want things to make sense. He forgave me after I hurt him, he saved my life and I’m tired of pushing away the people in my life that make me better. I need to be stronger, and if you tell anyone I said all of this, I will set Fairy loose on that secret rabbit garden you let Lan Wangji keep in Gusu.”

The last of his words overflowed until the heat rose to his ears and reminded him to stop talking. 

A sound came out of Lan Xichen that was neither a laugh or a cry, but something in between. A little more light shone in his dark eyes.

Jin Ling turned his body to the side, not quite facing away but not willing to fully face Lan Xichen at the moment. Then, after a breath, he said something honest because he could not manage anything else. “After that, I’ll just say whatever feels right.”

Whatever feels right. Lan Xichen let the words pass through him. He thought of thirty-three lashes put down one by one onto his brother’s back. He thought of Wei Wuxian’s face when he’d learned it. He had remembered what speaking from pain buys: a moment of relief, a longer ache.

It should have been easy to be the elder he had always been: the jade of Lan. He could have weighed consequences aloud, delivered a tidy lesson and sent the boy to bed with a gentle instruction to trust his seniors. He could have picked up composure like a sword and wielded it through the night.

But he had no hands for that sword. He had already used them. He had used everything.

“If you must go, then go. But go like a hunter, not like a storm.” Lan Xichen added, hearing Qiren’s voice in his own, choosing the softer route anyways. “If Wangji is with him, listen to him first. He won’t lie to you.”

His throat tightened on the next words. “Wangji has… earned that from all of us.”

Jin Ling swallowed again as he saw Lan Xichen reach into his sleeve, finding a small disc of cool jade by touch alone, and pressed it into Jin Ling’s palm. The jade was cool and had a weight to it that calmed the boy before the depth of its appearance settled in his mind. This jade token had the Lan engraving on it that was specifically from Zewu-jun. If Lan patrol or others were to intercept Jin Ling, the token would serve as a physical cover for his coming and going. No one would question Zewu-jun’s authorization.  

“Rear gate,” he said. “Cypress steps. Knock once if anyone looks your way; twice and the outer patrol will answer. Do not run. Running makes noise.”

Jin Ling curled his fingers around the jade as if it might vanish. “Zewu-jun… why?”

Because I could not save the ones who needed me. Because my brother bleeds where I cannot reach, and my sworn brother died on my blade. Because my uncle asks questions I cannot survive hearing. Because you are a child and your grief is honest and I have destroyed enough tonight.

Lan Xichen did not say any of that aloud.

“Because,” Xichen said, and let his voice be plain, “I will not add more walls between you and what you need to grow stronger.”

Jin Ling made a rough sound that might have been agreement, might have been gratitude. He bowed too hard, as boys do when they’re trying not to cry, and straightened quickly before his eyes gave him away.

“I will speak for you if questions are asked. Be safe. Do not let grief drive you into danger.”

With a look of desperate determination, Jin Ling nodded curtly. Lan Xichen extended a gentle, tired hand to Jin Ling’s shoulder.

“Even I cannot protect you from sect leader Jiang’s fury if you were to be too reckless.”

Tears pricked at the corner of Jin Ling’s eyes. He bowed deeply, walking off without another word. Behind him, Lan Xichen exhaled a breath that was almost a sigh. He did not move to follow. His heart felt as heavy as the silence that settled once Jin Ling’s footsteps faded from the courtyard. He could not save his sworn brother. He could not shield his own clan from sorrow. But this small mercy was still within his reach.

Fairy, sensing the energy swelled up in Jin Ling’s posture, followed behind her master as he unsheathed Suihua. She barked proudly as the spiritual energy coming from Jin Ling’s body fluctuated, becoming briefly visible before consuming Suihua in a light aura. She followed surely and patiently as Jin Ling prepared to take flight.

Jin Ling gripped Suihua’s hilt so tightly his knuckles burned white. He had mounted his sword in practice countless times, but never like this. Never with his pulse hammering like a trapped bird. The blade quivered beneath his boots as he urged his qi into it. His breath came ragged, uneven, the threads of energy slipping from his grasp as if mocking him. For one terrifying instant the sword pitched sideways, and he nearly toppled into the mud.

His running start left something to be desired. He didn’t know how much time had passed since Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had disappeared from Guanyin Temple. He didn’t know if Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning were with them or not. He just knew that he had to leave the temple and fast. No one was there to acknowledge the stinging tears or how when he wiped them away, with Jin Guangyao’s blood leaving faint stains on his cheeks.

Suihua had plenty of spiritual energy. It glowed faintly, its white tassel following behind as the wind whipped it back and forth. If Jin Ling’s own mind and heart were under control, it would have been a peaceful flight. Instead, Jin Ling’s arms flailed in the air as he cursed every wind that threatened to blow him off course. He followed the dirt road leading away from the temple as Fairy tracked the familiar scent of sandalwood that would lead him to either Lan cultivator. He needed Lan Wangji to lead him to Wei Wuxian. He needed Lan Sizhui to lead him to... He just needed… someone!

The misty fog left behind from the thunderstorm made it harder to spot low hanging branches that whipped Jin Ling’s body as he flew. The impacts brought back memories of Jiang Cheng smacking him to the ground in the temple. His teeth clenched and he waved his hand in front of him, as if to swat the memory away.

“Hold steady,” he hissed, his voice shaking. “Just… just go.”

Suihua lurched forward, dragging him upward into the open evening air. The forest swelled beneath him, black ridges of trees stretching into a horizon smudged with clouds. Wind tore at his hair, ripped at his robes, stung his wet skin until it felt raw. Fairy barked furiously below, a dark streak racing after him between the trees.

The higher he climbed, the thinner his qi felt. It slipped away like water between clenched fists, forcing him to push harder. His chest ached with the effort. His teeth ground together.

Still, he pressed on.

The temple lights dwindled to pinpricks, until the only illumination came from the sunset strained through the clouds above. For a moment, it almost felt like freedom. He could outpace the whispers, the scoldings, and the endless weight of Jinlintai’s halls.

Then the rays of sunlight began to blur.

His vision smeared at the edges, the clouds bleeding into shapes that weren’t there. A soft voice gently curled into his ear. It was his mother’s, he thought, though he had no memory of her. Just the words other people had given him, painted onto her ghost: A-Ling, don’t cry. Be good.

His chest hitched, and Suihua bucked underfoot. He nearly slipped, heart jerking into his throat as he flung his arms for balance. The sword steadied, but his qi flared painfully, causing a sharp pain in his ribs.

The voice faded. Another filled its place: stern, clipped, carrying disappointment. Stand tall, A-Ling. Do not shame us. His father? Or was it only his own mind, inventing what Jin Zixuan might have said? The imagined tone sliced sharper than the cold air.

“Enough,” Jin Ling rasped, though his throat was dry. “Stop it.”

His knees weakened and his stance faltered. Suihua trembled, tilting in the current of his unsteady qi.

Far below, Fairy barked again, a sound more frightened than angry.

Jin Ling forced his gaze forward, but the horizon spun. His legs shook violently.

“Not now,” he whispered, the words breaking like glass in his mouth. “Don’t… don’t you dare stop!”

But his grip slipped, his qi frayed, and the sword dipped hard, sending him into a spiral toward the dark tree line. The spiral broke hard. Air screamed past his ears as the sword pitched downward. His stomach lurched into his throat. Branches whipped against his arms, tearing at his sleeves and snapped like whips against his face.

He hit the ground with a bone-jarring crack. The impact knocked the breath clean from his chest. Suihua clattered away into the underbrush, dimming without his qi to sustain it.

For a long moment, Jin Ling lay sprawled in the mud, staring blankly at the dark canopy above. His ribs ached with every shallow gasp. The ringing in his ears drowned out even the rustle of the forest.

Then Fairy was there, her wet snout pressing against his cheek, her bark sharp and insistent.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, though his voice rasped as if the word itself had cut him. He pushed onto his side, coughing, spitting mud and blood. His hands shook so violently he had to clench them into fists just to steady himself.

The world smelled of damp earth, sharp pine, and rain-soaked rot. His robes clung to him, heavy and sticky with sweat and grime.

His vision pulsed at the edges. When he blinked, light shimmered in the dark. The lights were like the lanterns bobbing across Lotus Pier’s waters. They were like his mother’s warm hands reaching to steady him, her face hidden but her love ever present. He reached out before he realized his hands were empty.

You poor thing, her voice seemed to say, threaded with sorrow. You shouldn’t have to bear this.

Tears stung his eyes, but then another voice cut through. It was deeper, sterner. You must be stronger, A-Ling. The clan is watching. Do not falter.

Jin Ling groaned, pressing his palms to his temples as if he could crush the voices out of his skull. “Shut up,” he whispered, his throat hoarse. “You’re not real. You’re not-”

Fairy barked again, sharp and grounding, dragging him back. She used her nose to ring the clarity bell hanging at his waist. It chimed bright and clear, like a rock disturbing a still pond’s surface. He blinked hard, forcing the phantoms to scatter like mist.

Four breaths in. Hold for four. Release for six. White robes with cloud designs came to Jin Ling’s mind as he remembered the breathing technique he and Lan Sizhui practiced together when they suffered from the corpse poisoning in Yi City. He wasn’t poisoned, but his spirit felt like it was.

He shoved himself to his feet, swaying, every muscle trembling. His qi felt shredded, fluttering in his veins like torn paper in the wind. Suihua’s weight tugged at his hip when he sheathed it, heavier than it had ever felt.

At last, a glimmer of hope came. The mud ahead bore tracks. There were two sets, pressed fresh into the earth. Lan Sizhui’s light, precise steps were tucked next to Wen Ning’s slower, dragging stride.

Jin Ling swallowed hard, his throat raw. He couldn’t fly, not now, but he could walk. He had to walk. 

And so, he walked. His calves burned and his posture was contorted in a way to accommodate the bruises that were more than likely forming on his back. Fairy was quiet but present, keeping pace. Other than the occasional whine, followed by a glare from Jin Ling, she sniffed around and continued to track the Lan cultivators.

It was only when the low, familiar bray of a donkey cut through the gloom that Jin Ling stopped. Jin Ling’s heart lurched.

He had seen this animal before, tied outside an inn, trailing behind Wei Wuxian like some ridiculous banner of shamelessness. Little Apple.

The donkey blinked at him, unbothered, chewing slowly.

Jin Ling’s hands trembled as he reached out, stopping short before his fingers brushed the coarse mane. The sight was absurd. After Guanyin’s chaos, after his uncle’s silence, after his own near fall to death, this was what the world gave him: a stubborn donkey waiting in the mud. But the absurdity caught in his throat and cracked into something jagged. Because if Little Apple was here, that meant Wei Wuxian was near.

Fairy seemed curious by Little Apple, drawing closer to the donkey before Jin Ling’s hand found her fur and guided her away.

“Go.” Jin Ling whispered, his voice cracked. “Not this time.”

She whined, confused and unhappy. She tried to nuzzle against the hand that gently shoved her shoulder.

“Go! Find somewhere else. Don’t let him see you!” 

Fairy hesitated once more before slinking back into the shadows.

Jin Ling breathed a sigh of relief before turning back to Little Apple.

“Where’s your irreverent master?”

As if on cue, Wei Wuxian’s laugh carried through the leaves. The answer that rose in Jin Ling’s throat died when breath turned into breathlessness on the other side of the thicket. Clothes rustled. A muffled gasp. Lan Wangji’s breathing, rough and close.

Jin Ling froze. Heat shot up his neck. Of course. Out here of all places. Shameless. He backed a step, then another, careful on the wet ground, every twig suddenly loud.

“...there’s no way. There’s no fucking way. What the hell?!” Jin Ling thought to himself, his cheeks burning.

He absolutely did NOT want to get caught peeping. His stomach did backflips at the thought of it. Unfortunately, he took too long to move a safe distance away and Jiang Cheng’s training made his ears too sensitive, too attentive.

When Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi exchanged knowledge on how to disguise books as erotica in the Cloud Recesses, Jin Ling couldn’t believe it. Lan Jingyi made vulgar gestures, praising Wei Wuxian for his irreverent genius. Lan Sizhui’s ears would not revert back to their normal shade and he refused to look at the novels for too long, despite the idea being his. He muttered about propriety and shoved the books back. Ouyang Zizhen nodded along, chuckling at Lan Jingyi’s antics and commenting on how much trouble they’d be in if Lan Qiren found out.

Jin Ling had scolded them in a low voice, trying to overpower their stifled laughter without alarming any seniors nearby. His face burned as his eyes betrayed him and glanced at the pictures in the erotic novels. He was partially disgusted but infuriatingly curious. It felt like a game you weren’t supposed to take seriously.

But this was not a game. The sounds of intimacy were vulnerable, tender and unashamed. It made those novels seem like scrap compared to the flesh that was carrying it out. It wasn’t funny anymore. It was trust, bare and terrifying.

He caught himself reaching for the cool disc in his sleeve. The jade token Lan Xichen had pressed into his palm sat there like a small, certain island. It did not give him answers, but it cleared a path. Someone older had told him to go like a hunter. He could borrow that steadiness until his own returned. He let the sounds behind the thicket belong to the men who made them, and eased back another step.

Maybe this was what his parents had. He had heard rumors of Jin Zixuan initially disliking Jiang Yanli in their youth. Yet somehow, despite all the political pressure, his grandfather Guangshan’s affairs, the initial destruction of Lotus Pier and the eve of demonic cultivation, they found each other in that same space of intimate vulnerability. And they’d found enough safety in each other to anchor down and create a life.

His stomach twisted. What did it feel like, to be wanted without having to earn it? To rest your whole heart in another’s hands and not fear it would be crushed?

He thought of Jin Guangyao’s silken praise, what used to be an unconditional affection now wrapped around chains. He thought of Jiang Cheng’s sharp voice, love forged into the shape of scolding and training drills. If he was useful, if he was strong, if he never embarrassed them, only then did he feel the ghost of affection. It was never free. It was never safe.

He had learned love as a ledger of debts and duties. What he was hearing in the thicket did not keep accounts. It was not anchored in fear of disappointment.

Wei Wuxian didn’t have to be strong for Lan Wangji to want him. Lan Wangji didn’t have to be composed for Wei Wuxian to hold him. The unguarded and ragged sounds Jin Ling heard told him they were enough as they were. There was no test to pass. No punishment if they faltered. No approval dangled like bait.

Intimacy and security in another person existed, and it was close enough he could hear it in the next breath of air, but it wasn’t his. It had never been his. The only face that rose when he reached for it was-

Lan Sizhui.

“...shit.”

As if called on purpose, Lan Sizhui’s voice rang in Jin Ling’s memory.

“Everyone has their preferred breath count. I found that 4-4-6 works for me. Try it out, Jin-gongzi.”

Jin Ling refused to acknowledge the peace that Lan Sizhui’s breath count gave him. Breathe in for four. Hold for four more. Out in six. Again.

Sizhui had tapped the numbers into his fingers once, patient as water, until Jin Ling’s chest remembered the pace on its own. His body remembered what steadied it before his mind agreed. On the third cycle, the noise in his head softened. On the fourth he could think again.

Little Apple flicked an ear, unimpressed. Jin Ling almost laughed as he backed away from the thicket. He clicked his tongue once, soft, and Fairy slipped out of shadow to heel.

“Come on, Fairy.” He whispered. “Find Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui.”

She tilted her head sideways, ears twitching.

“The shameless lunatic is too busy to give me answers right now. He will be for a while. He deserves the break. Find the others.”

He turned away and eventually found the prints in the mud: a precise step and a slower drag. Lan Sizhui and the Ghost General. Good.

“We go like hunters, not storms.”

Chapter Text

Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning fell into a comfortable silence as they walked together down the dirt road leading to Yunping City. The events at Guanyin Temple shook the city, but the clans worked diligently to contain the chaos to the surrounding area. The part of the city where the duo were staying was on the opposite side of town.

The sky was still cloudy, with puddles comfortably taking space along the road. The clouds seemed to mute whatever daylight was left between late afternoon and evening, leaving everything feeling like it was paused.

The memories that swirled in Lan Sizhui’s head did not stop.

It was close to dinnertime, but he was not hungry. He knew Wen Ning didn’t need to eat, but they would eventually have to rest somewhere.

Pulling out his jade token, Lan Sizhui withdrew the funds they needed to settle their accommodations. They found a humble inn to stay the night. The thunderstorm, having pulled most of the citizens back indoors for the evening, meant fewer eyes on the hooded figure of the Ghost General, who stayed silent as Lan Sizhui did all of the talking.

After two rooms were purchased for the night, Lan Sizhui departed to find dinner. He brought back two meals, hoping Wen Ning would indulge him in a meal together.

Despite not needing to eat, a faint smile graced Wen Ning’s pale face and they sat across from each other in Lan Sizhui’s room. Crossing their legs, they began to pick at the rice and drink tea without any rush. As the chopsticks tapped the plates and bowls, Lan Sizhui became more anxious. Sensing his discomfort, Wen Ning began the conversation.

“I know you do not talk while you eat,” he started, softly. “We can share stories whenever you are ready.”

“...!” Lan Sizhui paused chewing, putting his bowl of rice down and patting his face with a handkerchief. “I don’t know where to begin, Ning-shushu.”

He raised two fingers to feel his forehead ribbon, using its presence to ground himself. Perhaps it was to remember that he was Lan. Or maybe it's because he didn’t know if he was still Lan. The memories still swirled. 

“Begin with a name: Wen Yuan. That was the name my cousin gave you when you were born.” Wen Ning started, slowing down enough to allow Lan Sizhui to stop him. He did not. “A-Qing, my sister, helped at your birth as well. The midwife was late. Jiejie was not patient with lateness.”

Lan Sizhui’s eyes widened. He gulped unconsciously and listened expectantly.

“You clung to the legs of everyone you were close to. Wei-gongzi, A-Qing when she wasn’t scolding Wei-gongzi, and Granny Wen. Lan-gongzi was your favorite. You liked him. He spoke little. You liked him very much.” Wen Ning went on, his voice had found a lightness as it kept going.

Lan Sizhui’s ears burned slightly upon hearing how clingy he was, but he shoved the feeling down, remembering that he was only a child then.

“Hanguang-jun bought me grass butterfly toys. I remember how he scolded the rabbits when they chewed through one of them. I was still getting used to the Cloud Recesses.” The Lan youth said, gulping down his tea to ease the tightness in his throat. It was a motion more rushed than he’d liked.

Wen Ning poured tea as if it were a rite. He did not drink. Steam rose between them in thin white threads. Lan Sizhui kept his eyes on the teapot as if its small pool of darkness could hold him steady.

“You loved to help with the gardening. We had to remind you not to chew on the lotus seed pods before they were ready. You did not always listen.”

A breathy chuckle escaped Lan Sizhui’s lips before he could swallow it down. He could definitely picture that.

“Wei-gongzi buried you up to your neck in the garden. He had convinced you that you would grow taller and faster.” Wen Ning smiled gently, before his smile fell by a fraction. “He also convinced you that more children would grow, so you had friends to play with. We were not many.”

A pang of sadness soared inside Lan Sizhui’s chest. He could also picture that. A young boy, decades younger than the surviving members of the Wen clan, simply longing for companionship. It made him all the more grateful for the junior quartet. His chest ached when he remembered how they were concerned for his well-being earlier that day at the temple.

“It sounds like Wei-qianbei and Ning-shushu worked very hard to keep a boy like me happy in dire circumstances.”

Wen Ning solemnly nodded. He slowly recalled the sensations he remembered upon his consciousness being restored by Wei Wuxian. It was hazy at first, but with time and the support of the Wen clan, he learned to adapt to his new life.

Lan Sizhui empathized with the cloudy cognition Wen Ning described. The memories slowed their swirling.

“I am grateful,” he said, trailing off in hesitation before his words found their way again. “I am grateful to know I was loved from the beginning. I’m trying to reconcile how to be both ‘Wen Yuan’ and ‘Lan Sizhui.’”

Wen Ning thought for a moment before answering. “You chewed lotus pods too soon. Will you give me a Lan rule you broke too soon?”

“Hmm… one of Hanguang-jun’s earlier punishments. I had to kneel in front of the Lan clan’s wall of rules because I snuck a fifth bowl of rice after meals. I was still relatively new to the Cloud Recesses and managed to convince an auntie to give me more food. I remember how a pebble lodged itself into my knee, but I wasn’t allowed to readjust. Hanguang-jun bought me candied haw the next day in Caiyi.” Lan Sizhui responded, wincing at the memory before smiling.

“Lotus seed pods and rice servings. Both are you.” Wen Ning linked his fingers together in a motion meant to convey that the two stories were connected. “Inside this room, both of your names live. Outside, you can choose which one to use. Not because one is wrong, but because some ears are not careful.”

Lan Sizhui’s callused fingers found their way back to the piece of folded cloth he fiddled with throughout their conversation. The knot behind his ribs loosened. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Wen Ning helped him decide. “And if being buried makes you taller, and you feel yourself shrinking, I can bring more soil.”

Lan Sizhui laughed, bringing his hand up to muffle the noise and then dropping it halfway, not caring if he was heard.

They spoke until their tea grew cold. Their meal appeared to be abandoned, so Lan Sizhui began to pack the food away for a later time.

Wen Ning bowed and closed the sliding door behind him, leaving Lan Sizhui to take in the silence of the night. It was past the time he would normally rest, but he had some unfinished business. Taking out a scroll and brush, he began to write a letter.

[Jingyi, it’s Sizhui. Sorry to have abandoned you and Zizhen at the temple; something important came up. I’ll tell you both all about it when I get back to Gusu. Ning-shushu and I are in Yunping. We’re going to travel to Qishan before heading back. Try not to break too many rules while I’m gone. And could you please look out for Jin Ling? He probably feels horrible after what happened. We’ll smuggle him on a night hunt after I finish whatever punishments await me for running off. Stay safe.]

He laid the brush down, hands still hovering over the paper. The characters of his name glistened faintly in the lamplight, a little uneven from where his hand had trembled. Lan Sizhui. It felt both true and false at once. A life lived under the mountains of Gusu, yet rooted in soil from the Burial Mounds.

He let out a slow breath and folded the letter neatly, sealing it with wax. Jingyi would grumble about the lack of detail, then grin at the promise of a secret story when he returned. The thought steadied him.

Pulling off his outer robe, he sat cross-legged on the bed, spine straight, and let his breath even. Meditation had always come easily in Cloud Recesses. Tonight, it brought only fragments: a boy half-buried in the garden dirt, laughing, Wei Wuxian’s hands dusted with earth, and Hanguang-jun’s quiet shadow watching over them all. He guided the thoughts past like boats on a river, counting the length of the inhale, the hold, the longer exhale.

Lan Sizhui… Wen Yuan… who am I, if not both of them?

Before he could dwell on it further, a bark made his shoulders jump. His eyes flew open. The bark resounded again, familiar enough to make his heart thud once in recognition. He opened the sliding door of his room to the narrow balcony that overlooked the street below.

“Fairy?”

He left his guqin behind, throwing on his outer robe and using his sword to fly off the balcony. The dog’s silhouette darted beneath the inn’s lantern glow, wet fur bristling and her tail lashing with agitation. She gave another bark and trotted ahead, pausing to glance back as if beckoning him.

“Where’s Jin Ling?” He called down, keeping his voice steady for her sake. “Show me where he is.”

The road beyond the city gates gleamed with puddles, the air cool and heavy with the storm’s aftertaste. Lan Sizhui’s heart lurched. Jin Ling should have been with Jiang Cheng. He just lost his uncle, Jin Guangyao, and was nearly killed in the ordeal. The last few days had eaten away at his strength, yet he still chose to run. Jin Ling’s pride does not ask permission. It asks for a direction and burns itself getting there.

Of course he did.

The city fell away behind them. Lanterns thinned to a few stubborn flicks of gold, then vanished. The air held the clean bite that followed a storm, gathering in Lan Sizhui’s lungs as he scanned the path Fairy set before him. He kept his sword low enough to the ground to avoid the tree branches, allowing his spiritual sense to ride ahead of him in a narrow fan. He skimmed the ditches and hedges for the sour tug of resentful energy, finding nothing.

Lan Sizhui’s sword traveled through the air cleanly, only leaving a wisp of wind behind him. Fairy cut across a shallow wash where frogs were loud from the sudden water, then veered toward a darker shoulder in the roadside. Lan Sizhui eased the blade down. He stepped off and misjudged the mud, sliding half a pace before correcting his stance. He pressed the edge of annoyance flat and lifted a fire talisman between two fingers.

Light flared. Fairy snorted at him, shook herself in a spray of cold droplets, and gave him the look she reserved for people who did helpful things too loudly.

“Good girl,” Lan Sizhui said at once, softening his voice as he cupped the talisman to dim it. “Well done.”

The glow steadied to an amber glimmer. It showed a figure slumped against a boulder. His legs were crossed at the ankles and his hands were loose in his lap as if they had forgotten what to do with themselves. His hair stuck to his temple and enveloped his shoulders like a dark coat, hiding the top of the golden Jin clan robes that were still tattered from Guanyin Temple.

Lan Sizhui moved closer, careful not to slip on the mud again, as he allowed the light to fall across the boy’s pale face. He watched for the rise of his chest, haphazard but breathing. He assessed the Jin heir’s pallor and let out a sigh of relief when his dark lashes fluttered at Fairy’s wet nose pushing against his cheek. Only then did he kneel and speak.

“Jin-gongzi.” He spoke softly, voice low enough to be heard over the frogs.

“Ugh, lower your voice.” Jin Ling hissed, arms slack against his abdomen and thigh. “And do not call me that. We aren’t in Gusu.”

“Alright.” Lan Sizhui responded, hearing the bark but not feeling the bite. “I assume sect leader Jiang is not around?”

“He pissed me off, so I ran away.” Jin Ling said, matter-of-factly. “Jiujiu will be fine. Your sect leader covered for me.”

Jin Ling’s hand turned over, revealing a jade token that Lan Sizhui recognized as having Lan Xichen’s seal of authority. The shifting movement drew a scowl onto his face. Relief eased Lan Sizhui’s shoulders. The lines of command would not collapse on them. At least not tonight.

“May I check your pulse?”

“Fine. Just do it.”

Lan Sizhui’s fingers were warm from the talisman, contrasting Jin Ling’s clammy wrist. He deftly moved to remove the tied wristguard, adjusting the pressure of his hands when he heard Jin Ling strangle a groan of pain in his throat. The pulse he felt was fast and fine. Extending his qi, his spiritual sense ran around the wrist but never inside it. He did not want to push without permission. It was enough that he could sense the fluctuating spiritual energy within Jin Ling. 

“You are cold,” Lan Sizhui stated with a voice that tried to leave no room for disagreement. “I’m going to help you up now.”

“Yeah, alright.”

After a three count, Jin Ling sucked in air as Lan Sizhui helped him into a standing position. Lan Sizhui felt every piece their bodies met, not from impropriety, but for balance. The mud gave an inch, then held. Fairy shoved her head between Jin Ling’s knees to help when the weight tipped the wrong way.

“You still haven’t explained what’s happened.”

“Interrogate me after I get into some clean robes. Geez, where’s your Lan sense of decorum?” Jin Ling muttered.

Knowing he was dodging the question, Lan Sizhui didn’t push further. He used one arm to support Jin Ling’s body while the other unsheathed his sword. When Jin Ling realized that the boy was getting ready to fly, he immediately fought back.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. I’ve had enough flying today, thank you.”

“What? But we’ll get there faster if we-”

“No, I-!” Jin Ling swallowed, adding a beat for honesty. “Your flying is too steady. It hurts my stomach. Makes me think too much. Just carry me.”

For a moment, Lan Sizhui almost laughed out loud. Of all the protests Jin Ling could have made: resentment, insult, the refusal to be carried. He had chosen airsickness and thought.

“Very well,” Lan Sizhui said at last, smiling with warmth. “On my back. Arms around my shoulders. Careful with the ribbon.”

“I know where not to touch.” Jin Ling snapped, already complying.

His arms hooked over Lan Sizhui’s shoulders with more care than his tone allowed. His breath hitched once, something between a laugh and a grunt of pain, before it settled to controlled breathing near Lan Sizhui’s ear. “If your boots are destroyed in this mud, you can send the bill to me.”

“I will add it to the list, then.”

“Ha! Ow-”

He lifted Jin Ling’s weight higher, tightened his core and exhaled as he rose to a standing position. The Jin heir was all damp heat and stubborn bones, unlike the training dummies they practiced with back at the Cloud Recesses. Fairy snapped at a frog that had gotten too close and proceeded to leisurely follow beside the boys as they began to head back to Yunping City.

For a while there was only the sound of mud sucking at his boots and the dog’s paws. The frogs and other sounds of nature had turned to soft humming after the first lantern lights appeared again. Fairy was panting at a regular pace.

Jin Ling’s breath warmed the spot beneath Lan Sizhui’s jaw, the closeness drawing the Lan youth’s attention. Lan Sizhui’s eyes stayed firmly planted on the road. His mind measured the weight in his arms, making minor adjustments as the muscles began to warm from use. Because Jin Ling had stopped groaning in pain after half an incense time, Lan Sizhui was sure that he’d passed out on his back.

Then Jin Ling stirred. His lips parted, spilling words without the filter of pride.

“I… I can’t… ever get it right.” His breath shuddered, caught. “No matter what I do… they only see Jin Zixuan’s son. Jiang Cheng’s nephew. The boy who’ll ruin it all.”

Lan Sizhui’s chest tightened. The words landed like stones dropped into a still pond, making rings that reached farther than he wanted. He did not answer right away. Hanguang-jun had taught him that some hurts require a listener more than a lecture.

Jin Ling pressed on, the way a wound presses when it needs to be felt. “They look at me and… I can hear it. I can see it. Too loud. Too spoiled. Too young. Not enough. Never enough…” His voice cracked, dissolving into something close to a sob and almost a bitter laugh. “I don’t know what they want me to be.”

Fairy whined and nosed at his dangling wrist. Jin Ling made that broken noise again and tipped his forehead against Lan Sizhui’s shoulder, as if the bone there could be the wall that shielded him from his despair.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to hold all of it.” He said. “Everyone’s expectations. My own anger. It feels like my chest will… split apart.”

Lan Sizhui’s throat ached. He tightened his grip around Jin Ling’s legs and found the balance point where his own spine would bear it cleanly. His robes clung, heavy with rain and a few tears that were not his. He wanted to tell him, you’re already more than enough, Jin Ling. More than you know. More than your uncles show and more than your sect will appreciate. But Jin Ling’s pride would never allow it. 

There is a Lan rule about speaking only when it is time. This was that time. Not to solve Jin Ling, but only to prove he was heard. He chose the smallest true sentence and kept the rest.

So Lan Sizhui only murmured, voice soft as the night wind: “I am here. You are not alone on this road. Not tonight.”

Jin Ling’s breath steadied slightly. His fists, curled weakly in the fabric of Lan Sizhui’s robes, loosened at last. He did not answer. He did not need to. His head settled heavier against Lan Sizhui’s shoulder, the way a person settles when they decide to rest and let someone else keep watch.

Step by step, they pressed toward Yunping’s lantern glow.

Lan Sizhui’s heart clenched. For all of Jin Ling’s loudness, his pride, his quick temper, this was what lay beneath: fear that no matter how hard he fought, no one would ever see him for himself.

He had never known that kind of gaze, sharp as knives, weighing him down from the start. The Cloud Recesses had asked him only to follow the rules and to walk the path of a Lan. And he had done so, gladly. Even now, with the truth of his Wen blood uncoiled inside him, he felt relieved. Relieved to know he was rooted somewhere beyond the mountain, that his memories of warmth in Yiling had a place to belong.

But Jin Ling had never been allowed such peace. He had never been set down long enough to only be himself.

The realization pressed sharply in Lan Sizhui’s chest, almost turning into guilt. He could not take the burden from Jin Ling’s shoulders, not really. But he could carry him now. Step by step, he could shoulder him, hear him, and not turn away.

Lan Sizhui adjusted his grip, drawing Jin Ling more securely against his back, the boy’s breath warm against the crook of his neck. “For this much,” he whispered, voice swallowed by the night. “Let me carry it.”

Ahead, Yunping’s lanterns flickered brighter, coming into view.

Lan Sizhui shouldered the door to the inn open. He politely declined the aunties who offered to help him carry the boy on his back, instead asking for extra robes and apologizing for the trouble. They instead directed their attention to Fairy, who was drenching the floors with muddy prints. He made a note to leave extra coin and then took the stairs two at a time.

The room smelled faintly of cedar smoke, warm compared to the road’s chill. Wen Ning looked up from where he had been sitting quietly on the cushion, his gaze widening at the sight of Jin Ling. He rose instantly. 

“Jin-gongzi?”

Jin Ling stirred faintly, lifting his head. His eyes cleared enough to focus on Wen Ning’s face, and for a heartbeat, something unreadable flickered across his expression. Not fear or anger but a hesitance that made his jaw clench.

Lan Sizhui lowered him onto the bed, steadying his shoulders. Jin Ling didn’t resist, but his gaze darted back toward Wen Ning.

Wen Ning paused, hands hovering as if unsure whether to reach out. His voice came low, almost careful.

“...I’ll prepare a bath for Jin-gongzi.” Wen Ning said, then to Lan Sizhui, gentler. “A-Yuan, there should be extra towels inside the closet.”

Jin Ling’s apprehension of Wen Ning was replaced with confusion at the sudden change in address towards Lan Sizhui. His gaze flicked to the cloud ribbon at Lan Sizhui’s brow, then back to Wen Ning’s face. Childhood name. He swallowed. Not now. He’d ask when the room wasn’t spinning. Lan Sizhui clocked the switch in his expression, but stayed silent.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His throat worked. Finally he muttered, “...You don’t have to.”

A silence stretched. Fairy hopped onto the bed, pressing herself against Jin Ling’s side, as if to bridge the gap between them.

Lan Sizhui glanced between the two, feeling the knot of tension tighten in the room. He placed a hand on Jin Ling’s arm, steady but light. “He knows he doesn’t have to. That’s why it matters.”

Jin Ling didn’t answer, but his jaw slackened a little. His fingers curled into Fairy’s fur, his shoulders sinking back into the bedding.

Relief softened Wen Ning’s face. He bowed his head slightly, as if grateful for the space Jin Ling’s silence gave him, then moved to the corner to tend the brazier. 

Lan Sizhui stayed by Jin Ling’s side, careful not to crowd him. Gratitude and uncertainty warred in the boy’s expression. Though he said nothing, the Lan youth could see it.

Jin Ling remembered the way Wen Ning had stood between him and the strikes of Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse. He was not ungrateful. He just didn’t know how to carry the weight of owing anything to the Ghost General.

“...It’s ready.” Wen Ning said gently.

Jin Ling shifted, his palm smoothing Fairy’s fur. He didn’t turn away, but his eyes slid off Wen Ning’s face, as though looking too long would expose something he wasn’t ready to say. His lips parted, then closed again. Finally he muttered, “...Thank you.”

The words were low, nearly swallowed by the crackle of the brazier, but they landed all the same. Wen Ning froze for a fraction of a heartbeat, then inclined his head.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said, stepping back. His movements were quiet, almost reverent, as he set aside the towels he had folded. He glanced once more at Jin Ling, then at Lan Sizhui, as if passing something unspoken between them. “Knock once if you need me.”

Then he bowed his head and slipped out, closing the sliding door with a soft tap to return to his own room.

The silence that followed was thicker than before, but warmer too. Jin Ling leaned back against the pillow, eyes fixed stubbornly on the ceiling as if to ward off anything sentimental. Fairy licked his hand, tail thumping once.

Lan Sizhui sat on the stool beside the bed, watching the steam from the bath curl into the lantern light. The air felt less heavy without Wen Ning’s presence, but the absence left something else in its place: a peace that belonged only to the two of them.

The faint bubbling of the brazier was the only sound outside of their own breathing. The steam thickened, curling with the scent of herbs, a reminder that the bath was ready whenever Jin Ling could muster the will.

Lan Sizhui rose from the stool and reached for the bundle he had set down earlier. He untied the cloth, the aroma of warm broth and rice escaping into the air. “Here,” he said, setting the bowl on the low table. “Eat something first.”

“I’m not hungry,” Jin Ling muttered. His voice was hoarse but stubborn, the words muffled by Fairy’s fur as he buried his face against her side.

“You won’t recover well if you don’t eat.” Lan Sizhui replied evenly. He ladled a spoonful of broth, letting the steam rise between them. 

Golden eyes flicked up at him, narrowed. “You sound just like jiujiu.”

Lan Sizhui smiled faintly. “That’s because he’s right.”

Jin Ling scoffed, turning his face away. “You’re insufferable.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Sizhui allowed. He tapped the edge of the bowl with the spoon, letting the sound carry. “If you’d like me to feed you, I can-”

Jin Ling shot upright so fast Fairy yipped in protest. “Absolutely not.” He snatched the bowl from Lan Sizhui’s hands, nearly sloshing broth over the rim. His cheeks burned crimson. “I can eat on my own.”

Lan Sizhui folded his hands neatly in his lap, a picture of serenity, though his lips threatened to curve upward. “I never doubted it.”

For a moment the only sounds were the clink of chopsticks and the faint huffing breaths of Jin Ling’s indignation. He ate slowly, each bite grudging, as though every mouthful was a concession in their ongoing battle. Fairy sprawled across his legs, tail thumping contentedly each time he dropped a sliver of meat for her.

When at last the bowl was set aside, mostly empty, he leaned back with a sigh, eyes sliding closed.

Satisfied, Lan Sizhui rose to pour the bathwater into the waiting tub. The steam rose thickly now, carrying the promise of warmth and calm. “The bath is ready,” he said gently. “Do you want me to-”

“I can handle it,” Jin Ling cut in quickly, sitting up straighter. His ears were still pink. “Just… stay nearby.”

“As you wish.” Lan Sizhui bowed slightly and moved toward the door. “Call if you need anything.”

Jin Ling muttered something indistinct. Whether it was an acknowledgment or a dismissal, Lan Sizhui couldn’t tell.

The Lan youth stepped just outside the door onto the narrow balcony, letting the night air cool the lingering heat in his chest. Their bickering had left him oddly light, as though the heaviness of the road had eased just enough for him to breathe.

From inside the bathroom, Jin Ling discarded the robes that clung to him like the grief welled in his throat. The steam rose thick around him, curling against his damp hair and reddening his cheeks. Jin Ling sank lower into the tub until the water lapped at his collarbone. Fairy had planted herself by the bath, her chin on her paws, and her amber eyes fixed on him as if daring him to collapse again.

He let out a low groan, scrubbing a hand over his face. Everything ached: his arms, his legs, and his chest where his breath still hitched unevenly. Even breathing felt like work.

And then there was Wen Ning.

The image wouldn’t leave him: the Ghost General standing between him and Nie Mingjue’s fury, corpse-pale arms raised as blows rained down. The way he had not flinched, had not faltered, though each strike should have shattered him.

Jin Ling clenched his jaw, splashing water against the side of the tub. He had spent years hating that face and that name. Blaming it for the blood that had soaked through every corner of his childhood. And yet… how could he hate the one who had shielded him with his own body?

He pressed his forehead to the damp edge of the tub, the wood cool against his heated skin. Gratitude sat like a stone in his chest, sharp-edged and awkward. He didn’t know how to carry it. Not toward him.

And Lan Sizhui.

Jin Ling’s ears burned at the memory of waking against his shoulder, words spilling loose he could hardly remember now. Something shameful, surely. His pride curled tight in his stomach just thinking about it. And yet… Lan Sizhui had carried him without complaint, calm and steady, as though Jin Ling wasn’t a burden at all. As though he wanted to bear the weight.

The steam clung thick to the air, blurring the edges of the room until even Fairy at his side looked softened, her outline hazy. Jin Ling sank deeper into the tub, letting the heat seep into his bones, undoing knots of pain in his shoulders and back.

When he finally reached up to scrub his face, his palm came away streaked red. For a heartbeat, he panicked. Blood? But no. The cinnabar mark of the Jin clan. It was washed away, diluted into the bathwater.

He stilled, staring at the faint ripples. The water reflected a boy’s face back at him: pale from exhaustion, dark hair clinging damp to his cheeks, a smudge where the mark had once been. Just Jin Ling.

No Jin Zixuan’s son. No Jiang Yanli’s orphan. No nephew of Sandu Shengshou. No future Sect Leader Jin.

The sight made something twist in his chest. Was it a relief? Loneliness? Both? He leaned closer, breath fogging the surface, until the reflection quivered and broke apart.

He pressed his forehead to the wooden rim of the tub again, eyes squeezed shut. Gratitude for Wen Ning, the steady weight of Lan Sizhui’s shoulder, and the emptiness where the cinnabar mark had been. It was too much, all at once. His chest felt too small to hold it.

Fairy gave a soft huff at his side, thumping her tail once.

“Idiot,” Jin Ling muttered into the water, though whether it was at himself, at Wen Ning, or at Lan Sizhui, he couldn’t tell.

When he finally pulled himself from the bath, he left the cinnabar mark floating faint and broken in the water, and stepped back into the world carrying only his own name.

The door slid open with a faint creak.

Jin Ling stepped inside the bedroom, hair damp and clinging to his cheeks, his fresh robes loose around his shoulders. His cinnabar dot was gone, washed away by the bath, and the absence made him look startlingly young. Not the heir of Lanling Jin and not a sect leader’s nephew. He was just a boy, weary and bare in the lamplight.

Lan Sizhui straightened where he had been seated by the window, turning toward him. His gaze lingered, unspoken words pressing against the back of his throat. He had never seen Jin Ling look like this. The sharpness of his presence, that restless pride, seemed dulled. Not gone, but softened into something quieter.

For a heartbeat, he thought to say something. To tell him he looked… lighter, freer, more himself. But Jin Ling’s eyes flicked toward him, wary, and the words stayed caught in his chest.

Instead, he offered the easier bridge to cross. “The bed is warm. You should get some rest.”

“Tch. I’ll get there. Don’t rush me.”

The inn room was quiet now, only the occasional crackle from the brazier filling the space. Jin Ling flopped down with Fairy curled into the crook of his legs. His damp hair fanned against the pillow, stubbornly refusing to dry no matter how many times he raked his hand through it.

Lan Sizhui finished tidying away the remnants of their meal and moved to unfasten his outer robe. When he turned, Jin Ling was glaring at the wall with the kind of intensity usually reserved for enemies.

“There’s only one bed,” Lan Sizhui said mildly, stating the obvious.

“I noticed.” Jin Ling’s tone was clipped, defensive.

“I’ll take the floor, then.”

“No.” Jin Ling sat up sharply, startling Fairy. His eyes flicked to Lan Sizhui’s, then away. “You’re older. And you carried me all that way. I’ll take the floor.”

Lan Sizhui tilted his head. “You’re exhausted.”

“So are you.”

“I’m used to it.”

Jin Ling opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. His shoulders slumped. “Fine. We’ll share.” The words came out like a reluctant surrender, though his cheeks flushed hot against his pale skin.

Lan Sizhui didn’t argue. He slipped onto the far side of the bed, settling with the calm composure of someone unbothered by the arrangement.

Jin Ling, meanwhile, lay ramrod stiff on his side, glaring at the wall as if sheer willpower could hold the awkwardness at bay. Fairy had already claimed her spot, snoring softly between them, tail flicking in her dreams.

After a long silence, Jin Ling muttered, “Don’t get any ideas.”

Lan Sizhui blinked, turning his head slightly. “Ideas?”

“You know what I mean!” Jin Ling hissed, his voice pitching higher in his fluster. “All that nonsense the disciples sneak around reading. Those… those novels.”

A beat of silence. Lan Sizhui frowned faintly. “…Novels?”

Jin Ling rolled halfway toward him, cheeks scarlet. “The erotic ones!” The words burst out before he could stop them. “They’re nothing compared to the real thing, anyway!”

The room froze. Even Fairy’s tail seemed to pause mid-thump.

Lan Sizhui’s eyes widened. His ears heated so sharply he thought they might catch fire. “Jin Ling, what- what are you even saying?”

Realization dawned on Jin Ling’s own face, horror chasing away his bravado. “I-” His voice cracked. “I didn’t… forget I said anything!” He yanked the blanket over his head, burying his face.

Lan Sizhui sat stunned, heartbeat pounding louder than the crackle of the brazier. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then pressed a hand firmly over his lips to keep from laughing. Not unkind laughter, but helpless, stunned amusement.

From beneath the blanket, Jin Ling’s muffled voice snapped, “Shut up!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Lan Sizhui managed, though his voice trembled with the effort of holding back.

“Don’t you dare repeat it!”

“I wouldn’t,” Sizhui promised, honesty softening the humor in his tone. “But, Jin Ling…” He turned onto his back, gazing up at the dark rafters. “You really are impossible.”

There was no reply, only the huff of a boy too mortified to answer. But Fairy wriggled closer to Jin Ling, licking at his ear until a muffled groan broke free.

Lan Sizhui closed his eyes, smiling faintly into the darkness. For all the heaviness of the night, for all the burdens Jin Ling carried, this moment felt strangely light. Awkward and ridiculous, but light. And with that thought, his breathing slowed, drifting at last toward sleep.

Chapter Text

Jin Ling awoke to the sounds of a guqin he knew. As he stirred and rubbed his temple, Fairy got closer, as if to urge him to stay in bed. He laughed despite himself and forced himself out from under the blankets. With every stretch came a dull ache from yesterday’s misadventures in the air. Suihua rested nearby, blissfully patient. The sword couldn’t feel shame. Jin Ling glared at it anyways.

Dragging himself to the closet, he grabbed a pair of generic outer robes to wear. Glancing at the bloody, torn robes he left on the floor from the night before, he made a note to dispose of them properly before stepping out of the room.

Following the strings of the guqin, Jin Ling paused on the stair and took in the common room. A few aunties were admiring Lan Sizhui’s playing, some dressed in housekeeping attire and others in plain city wear.

In typical Lan fashion, Lan Sizhui looked as if he'd been awake for quite some time. His cultivation robes were pristine and flowed gracefully as his fingers made work of the guqin strings. The aunties praised his talent with hushed voices as they came and went with baskets of laundry and other evidence that work had to be done. Lan Sizhui handled their praise with a polite smile and continued to play wordlessly.

Jin Ling leaned against the railing of the steps, pausing to listen to the song being played. It was soothing to hear, but something about it was familiar. When he closed his eyes to remember where he’d heard the song before, his heart jolted.

Lan Sizhui’s image transformed to Jin Guangyao, playing the guqin in the lotus garden of Jinlintai. Jin Ling had heard the song before, but he didn’t think much of it.

He sucked in a sharp breath and finished descending the stairs, coming to a stop in front of Lan Sizhui.

Lan Sizhui slowed his playing until reaching a stop, carefully resting his fingers over the strings to silence them. He looked at Jin Ling as if momentarily appraising his well-being and then concluding that the young heir was well enough to move without being babysat. Jin Ling didn’t miss the look and rolled his eyes. 

“I’m fine. I just needed some rest.”

“Is there something wrong with me just looking at you?”

“You know what you did.”

With a chuckle, Lan Sizhui relented. “Fair enough. I’ll be more discreet when I check-in on you.”

Jin Ling plopped down and sat across from Lan Sizhui as the aunties drifted back to work. His senses took in the quiet that follows music being played.

“I’ve heard that song before.” Jin Ling said, pausing long enough to give Lan Sizhui room to speak.

“Ah, I’m not very good at it. I’m still learning it, but it’s a particularly difficult piece.”

“It was good enough to keep an audience. The last time I heard it…” Jin Ling paused, thinking of what exactly to say.

Lan Sizhui sat still, his full attention on Jin Ling. He made no move to try and finish Jin Ling’s sentence. He simply kept his hands planted on the guqin strings, as if to prevent them from interrupting.

After shaking his head slightly, Jin Ling resumed. “...Xiao-shushu used to play it back at Jinlintai.”

Ah, sect leader Jin must have learned it from sect leader Zewu-jun. 

Lan Sizhui thought to himself. I’m impressed he learned to play such a hard piece. As expected of sect leader Jin.

Neither boy knew what to say after that, so they sat in silence for a moment. It wasn’t particularly uncomfortable, but there was a need to give room to the feelings that Jin Ling was bearing.

As if on cue, Fairy’s taps were heard rushing down the stairs, her tail nearly knocking over one of the housekeepers who had a tower of linens folded in her arms.

“Aw, geez, Fairy! Sorry about that, auntie!” Jin Ling gave a short bow before grabbing Fairy’s scruff and guiding her next to the spot where Lan Sizhui waited patiently, smiling at the entire interaction.

“Good morning, Fairy.” Lan Sizhui greeted her with a wide smile, removing his hands from the guqin strings to tussle her dark fur. “I got you a treat for your hard work yesterday.”

“Huh?! Don’t spoil her; she did exactly what she’s supposed to do!”

“Shh, don’t tell Jin-gongzi about the treat. It’ll be our little secret, okay?” Lan Sizhui winked at Fairy, who responded by clambering over the guqin in delight.

“No, no, down! Damn it, Fairy-” Jin Ling caught the edge of the guqin before Fairy’s leap caused it to tumble.

Sensing that Fairy was in a particularly joyful mood, Jin Ling gently lifted the instrument and moved away to store it in its case. Lan Sizhui laughed as Fairy moved to fully place her weight on his chest, eagerly sniffing at his face and neck. Jin Ling cursed himself internally for getting irrationally angry at the display of affection.

Once Lan Sizhui’s guqin was safe, Jin Ling moved to bring Fairy to heel. He returned, ready to lecture the Lan youth on discipline, before his brain caught up to the scene in front of him.

Wen Ning was patting Lan Sizhui’s head as the youth let out a soft chuckle. A gentle smile was on the Ghost General’s face. Jin Ling had never seen such an expression on Wen Ning’s face. He didn’t particularly make it a point to study the man, but those complicated feelings came back up to the surface. He no longer knew how to interact with the man who had unintentionally killed his father and intentionally saved his life. He just knew that the longer he dwelled on it, the more his eyes threatened to spill tears he wasn’t ready to shed.

Seeing that Jin Ling had returned, Lan Sizhui nodded in acknowledgement. Wen Ning turned to face Jin Ling and bowed low enough to make Jin Ling feel a twang of shame. Jin Ling’s thumb found the Lan jade token in his pocket and started to press against it.

He gave the Ghost General nothing more than a short nod, jaw locked tight to keep the grief from spilling out. If Wen Ning noticed, he gave no sign. He straightened slowly, patience softening his sharp features.

“Good morning, Jin-gongzi.” Wen Ning started, his voice was still hoarse. “I was just letting Lan-gongzi know that the city gate has many wagons to rent. Before we leave Yunping, we have a few things to grab from the market. If there’s anything you need, I’m able to help.”

The offer hung in the air like a lifeline. Jin Ling wanted to scoff and declare that he had no intention of being dragged along. Instead, he stayed quiet and pensive.

This whole time I haven’t even asked why these two are still in Yunping. Jin Ling thought to himself. I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world to stick around. I’d probably throw myself off Jinlintai if I went back to Lotus Pier and jiujiu decided to mope the entire time.

Lan Sizhui moved to sling the guqin case over his back. His expression was calm, but his eyes held a semblance of understanding.

“We’ll be in the market, then.” Lan Sizhui said, leaving the choice unspoken.

“Wait.” Jin Ling pulled a Jin jade token out of the borrowed robes. “You can’t seriously expect to walk around in daylight in a city market and not get asked questions.” He said, referring to the Ghost General. “I’ll go and buy whatever you both need. It’s the least I can do after eating your food and taking up a bed.”

Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui exchanged a quick glance before the Lan youth spoke up.

“Jin Ling, you don’t have to pay me back. We’re friends.”

“Kindness in this world is never offered without some form of expected debt. I pay my debts. Take it.”

Lan Sizhui frowned and reached out, pushing away the token Jin Ling was trying to offer him. “You don’t owe me anything.”

When Wen Ning looked slightly puzzled at the idea of this imagined debt being paid, Jin Ling’s hand froze on the token.

Jiang Cheng drilled etiquette and courtesy expectations into Jin Ling. He had never considered the possibility of unearned kindness. The words pounded into him like iron on a forge. Every smile, every gift, every scrap of generosity was a chain, and sooner or later, someone would tug it tight. There were no gestures that wouldn’t come back. Don’t expect help. Don’t expect fairness. The world will not hand you anything. If you want something, fight for it or earn it. And if you lose, learn to live with it.

Yet here was Lan Sizhui, serene as always, denying him with a simple shake of the head. No lecture and no reminder of debts or obligations.

Jin Ling’s ears burned. “That’s easy for you to say,” he snapped, shoving the token back into his sleeve. “You’re a Lan. You’ve never had to worry about people keeping score.”

The words landed heavier than he knew.

Never had to worry about people keeping score. If only that were true. The cultivation world had already tallied the Wens’ sins long before he was old enough to understand them. They brought fire and swords to balance the scales. The blood of doctors, farmers, and children whose only crime was being born with the wrong surname. The cultivation world hounded them until they were forced to give themselves up as sacrifices for the world’s hatred. Wen Yuan would have been another small body on the pile of corpses that evened the world’s score had it not been for the mercy of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji.

Lan Sizhui’s calm demeanor wavered for the briefest moment. Sorrow flashed in his eyes, quick to come and quick to be buried under the years of Lan discipline. His voice came out steady and determined.

“The world and its people do keep score. You’re absolutely right.” When his gaze settled on Jin Ling, it was tender, but the stillness in his eyes carried a weight that Jin Ling couldn’t decipher. “But I don’t. Not with you.”

With that line, Jin Ling had no counterpoint to latch onto. How could he argue against such sincerity? But it was Jin Ling, after all.

“Don’t… don’t say stuff you don’t mean.” The retort came out sharper than he intended, but the way his voice cracked at the end made it seem like a plea.

“If I say it, I mean it. You’ll learn that.” Lan Sizhui replied coolly, his lips relaxing into a smile that made the flush on Jin Ling’s neck rise further.

“The hell do I need to learn from you?!” He spun on his heel, storming toward the noise of the street as if the marketplace had personally offended him. “Get moving; we have stuff to buy and I’m not waiting around all day!”

Wen Ning watched as the young Jin heir stomped off, raising a brow at Lan Sizhui, who smiled serenely in response. They left the inn with a quick thanks before spotting Fairy’s tail wagging excitedly a few meters away. She was clearly feeding off of Jin Ling’s agitation, but straightened out when he scolded her.

Jin Ling shoved his way through the busy market street, his ears burning and his heart pounding. He was silently grateful that the sounds of the marketplace were so loud. They helped dull the words that were repeating in his mind.

“If I say it, I mean it. You’ll learn that.”

Scoffing to himself, he kept walking quickly and hoping he could outrun the uncomfortable sensation that was swallowing him whole.

Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui kept pace with the young heir’s proud strides easily. They didn’t try to slow him down or control him. They simply allowed him to carve his own path through the crowds.

When the first merchant shouted prices for rice and herbs, Wen Ning leaned slightly toward Lan Sizhui. His voice was low, careful not to cut across Jin Ling’s mood. “That’s on the list,” he murmured.

Lan Sizhui nodded, then spoke just loudly enough for Jin Ling to overhear as he walked a step ahead. “We’ll need rice and dried meat before we leave. It’s better to buy them fresh here.” His tone was mild, as if commenting on the weather.

Jin Ling’s stride faltered, just for a moment. He clicked his tongue and veered toward the stall, slapping down coins with more force than necessary. “Fine. Then let’s get it over with.”

The rice went first, purchased in a flurry of coins and irritation. Jin Ling stalked off with the bag slung under one arm, as if daring anyone to comment. The vendor, startled but pleased, handed over the remaining goods at once. Lan Sizhui accepted them with a polite bow, and Wen Ning kept his silence, letting the storm blow itself out.

The next stall was stacked high with jars of oil and pickled vegetables. Wen Ning glanced once at the jars, then at Lan Sizhui. No words passed between them; they didn’t need to.

Lan Sizhui adjusted the guqin on his back and spoke with the same calm tone he always used. “Cooking oil keeps well on the road. We’ll need some.”

Jin Ling rolled his eyes. “Tch. Then pick one already.” He shoved another pouch of coins toward the vendor, muttering, “Don’t blame me if you end up carrying all this.”

Lan Sizhui bowed lightly to the merchant, accepting the oil without fuss. “I don’t mind.”

Jin Ling’s scowl deepened, though his ears burned again.

A few stalls later, the sharp tang of dried herbs filled the air. Bundles of sage and mugwort hung overhead, rattling in the breeze. Lan Sizhui slowed, but this time Wen Ning spoke, his voice low and steady. “Medicine is useful. Even for small injuries.”

Jin Ling’s hand twitched at his coin pouch before he could think. “Fine.” He snapped the words, already digging out the money. The vendor wrapped the herbs neatly, and Jin Ling stuffed them into the bundle with more force than needed. “Happy?”

“Grateful,” Wen Ning said quietly, bowing his head in thanks.

The simple sincerity made Jin Ling falter, the heat in his face rising all over again. He turned away fast, snapping over his shoulder, “What else? Let’s get this done before nightfall!”

By the time the bundles of rice, oil, and herbs were tied together, Jin Ling’s temper had cooled into muttering. The crowd pressed around them in waves, every stall a riot of smells of the local cuisine. His stomach betrayed him with a loud growl.

Lan Sizhui glanced over, brows raised.

“We should stop here.” He nodded toward a dumpling stall tucked against the edge of the square.

The benches were worn smooth, the air thick with steam and broth.

“I can go longer,” Jin Ling said quickly, though his ears betrayed him by flushing red.

“Even cultivators fight poorly on an empty stomach,” Lan Sizhui replied with maddening calm. “Besides, it will give us a chance to speak without being interrupted.”

Before Jin Ling could argue, Wen Ning was already placing a careful hand on Fairy’s scruff to keep her from wandering into a butcher’s stall. “I’ll take her to rest by the fountain,” he offered, his voice steady. “You two should eat. We’ll need strength for what comes after.”

“What comes after?” Jin Ling demanded, too sharp.

Lan Sizhui only gave a small smile. “We’ll explain. Thank you for looking after Fairy, Ning-shushu.”

Jin Ling opened his mouth to protest. Fairy was his responsibility, but the look of calm assurance on Wen Ning’s face silenced him. It was easier to glare and turn away than admit how tired he was too.

Jin Ling scowled. “Tch. Fine. But I’m paying.”

When they reached the edge of the square, the smell of broth and vinegar hit them, warm and insistent. Steam rose from a dumpling stall tucked beside a lacquered screen, its benches worn smooth from years of use. The roar of the market dimmed here, replaced by the soft hiss of frying dough and the steady chop of a cleaver.

Moments later they sat across from each other at the low bench, their bundles stacked at Lan Sizhui’s side. With Wen Ning and Fairy gone, the space felt closer and harder to fill with muttering. For the first time since they left the inn, Jin Ling couldn’t hide behind the noise of the market.

They were served in half an incense time by an auntie who blushed at Lan Sizhui’s polite gratitude. Jin Ling rolled his eyes and bit into a dumpling with more force than necessary, juice scalding his tongue. Lan Sizhui ate more slowly, dipping his food in sauce with deliberate calm. The silence between them stretched thin until Jin Ling snapped.

“Alright. Enough being cryptic. What was that thing the Ghost General mentioned? Why are you both here in Yunping?”

“Speech is forbidden while eating.” Lan Sizhui gave his best Lan Qiren impression, earning a scoff when he touched his imaginary beard.

“Insufferable.” Jin Ling retorted, slouching out of spite while the corners of his mouth threatened to upturn.

Satisfied, Lan Sizhui set his chopsticks down, folding his hands in his lap. “We came to Yunping for supplies. There’s something we need to build in Qishan.”

“Wait, what? Qishan? Build what?”

“Ning-shushu and I are building a cenotaph for his sister. We’re also burying the ashes of our family there.”

Jin Ling’s hand froze halfway to his mouth, the dumpling caught in his chopsticks falling onto his plate with a wet plop. The more answers Lan Sizhui gave him, the more confused he grew.

“W-wait, wait. You and him are… family? But you’ve been a Lan your whole life! I saw you copying the rules back when we were still about 7 years old!”

It was Lan Sizhui’s turn to sputter. “You still remember that?”

“That’s the part you focused on?!”

Lan Sizhui coughed into his sleeve and used his other hand to make a motion as if to tell Jin Ling that he was raising his voice too much. Normally, he’d care less, but there were too many questions still posed.

“I’m still figuring it all out, and my memories are still not quite there. It happened when I recognized Wei-qianbei’s flute, Chenqing.” Lan Sizhui explained patiently. “From there, Ning-shushu and I spoke. Hanguang-jun took me in as a child to be raised in the Lan clan. He saved me.”

He paused, reflecting on a memory from long ago. “I used to be surnamed Wen, but they changed my name. From there, I became Lan. I don’t think I would have had a long life if I hadn’t been found in Yiling.”

Jin Ling squeezed his chopsticks and breathed out slowly. “...so that’s why he called you ‘A-Yuan’ and you both are suddenly so close. Geez, Sizhui…”

Lan Sizhui’s ears burned at the familiar name coming from Jin Ling’s mouth, but he quickly composed himself and nodded. “This doesn’t change anything with my plans to cultivate. I’m still going back to the Cloud Recesses. I’m not done learning.”

Jin Ling noticed how the Lan youth turned somber and restrained himself from asking more questions. They took turns eating in silence for a while. When Jin Ling couldn’t stand staring at the half eaten dumpling on his plate anymore, he spoke up in a low growl.

“So what does this mean? I thought the Wen clan was full of murderous monsters and traitors. That’s not what jiujiu and xiao-” He cut himself off too late. 

Lan Sizhui’s face softened, but he didn’t argue. “It means that history is more complicated than we were taught.”

Jin Ling clenched his jaw. Complicated. That was the last thing he wanted it to be. It was easier when the world was simple: when the Wens were villains, Wei Ying was a traitor, and the Jins stood righteous at the top. Except none of that held up anymore. Not with Wei Wuxian alive again. Not with Lan Sizhui calmly telling him he had once been Wen Yuan. All of the history lessons Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao had drilled into Jin Ling as a younger youth told a story that contradicted the evidence lying plainly before him.

His once simple resentment towards the Yiling Patriarch and the Ghost General was now complicated. His uncle Jiang Cheng’s relationship with his other uncle Wei Wuxian was complicated. His former relationship with the now passed Jin Guangyao was complicated.

Jin Ling huffed more sharply than he intended. “This doesn’t make any sense. If some of the Wens were innocent, why didn’t anyone say so?”

“Someone did. The cultivation world didn’t care. They had a score to keep.” Lan Sizhui’s hair covered his eyes, but Jin Ling didn’t need to see his eyes to see how unsettled this made him.

It took half a second before Jin Ling felt the cold shiver of mortification grip his chest. His own voice from that morning reminded him of a foolish thing he’d said.

“You’re a Lan. You’ve never had to worry about people keeping score.”

His ignorance came off as cruel. His pride took hold and got the better of him. He wanted to throw a sharp jab that would take the heat off of his embarrassment. Goosebumps seared across his arms. He remembered the calm on Lan Sizhui’s face, the way he hadn’t flinched even then, and the memory burned hotter. Of course he hadn’t flinched. Lan Sizhui knew the truth already. He had heard Jin Ling sneer about debts and scores when he himself had survived only because mercy was carved out for him where none should have been given.

Jin Ling’s throat felt tight, and he gripped his chopsticks until his knuckles blanched. Mortification swelled until it curdled into anger. It was not directed at Lan Sizhui, but at himself, at the cultivation world, and at the way he kept running his mouth like a fool.

Damn it. Damn it all. 

Across the table, Lan Sizhui’s gaze lingered for a moment before slipping politely away. He didn’t press or offer any reassurance, but Jin Ling could feel it. There was a subtle awareness in the way Lan Sizhui’s hands stilled on his chopsticks, the quiet patience in his posture.

He had known. Of course he had known.

And that made it worse. If Lan Sizhui had snapped back, if he’d demanded an apology, Jin Ling could have fought him and buried the shame under anger. But Lan Sizhui only sat there, calm as a still pond, as though willing to let Jin Ling wrestle with himself until the fire burned clean.

It was infuriating. It was unbearable. It was mercy, and Jin Ling didn’t know how to stomach mercy.

Lan Sizhui released his chopsticks and let them rest neatly on the rim of his bowl. His voice stayed even, but there was a weight under it that hadn’t been there before. “Not all of the Wens were innocent. But the ones Ning-shushu and I are honoring are the ones who were swept up in the war. Children, the elderly, farmers and healers should not have been the ones to satisfy the cultivation world’s hatred.”

Jin Ling’s scowl deepened as he took in all of this information. Did this mean that the Jiang clan and the Jin clan were responsible for the deaths of innocent people? If he were to take up the mantle of sect leader, what did this mean for how he would lead the Jin clan? Is this the real reason why Wei Wuxian was hated so much by the cultivation world? Not because of some unorthodox and wary cultivation practice, but because he stood in the way of the world’s vengeance?

“...and that’s why you both are traveling to Qishan.”

“Yes.” Lan Sizhui said, softly.

“...”

“...”

“...Lan Sizhui. What in the hell, man.” Jin Ling slammed his palm onto the low table, earning a jump from one of the aunties nearby.

Startled, Lan Sizhui let out a breathy laugh, grim and hoping to relieve some of the tension in the air. His guqin case laid beside him, opposite of the bundles they’d purchased earlier. He laid a steady hand on the case as if to ground himself and gave it a faint, but genuine smile.

“You don’t have to come with us. Wei-qianbei offered to come along with Hanguang-jun. We’ll be okay. We want to do this.”

The words landed sharp. Jin Ling hated the way his stomach dropped at the suggestion. Not have to come? After everything they’d just said? After hearing his own foolish words from the morning echo like a curse? The thought of being left behind, of being shut out of something tied to Wei Wuxian and to Lan Sizhui both, hurt worse than the truth itself.

“Tch, knock that off. If you’re both traveling to Qishan, you’ll need back-up. Who knows what kind of mess is waiting in the Nightless City. Plus, you’ll need more money to make the cenotaph worth the journey.” Jin Ling raised a hand to stop the response Lan Sizhui had ready. “Don’t look at me like that; that loudmouth Jingyi told me how much Lan juniors get for an allowance.”

Looking up from the guqin case, Lan Sizhui’s eyes met Jin Ling’s. His eyes regained their usual mirth and serenity. His body relaxed, radiating gratitude and relief. He was deeply moved by Jin Ling’s choice to stand by him as he took on this personal journey. He only allowed himself to regret the fact that Wen Ning was not present to hear this development. He’d have to tell him later.

You’re going to be the death of me, A-Ling. Lan Sizhui thought to himself before smiling at his friend.

“Thank you. I hope this doesn’t cause you any problems.”

“Stop worrying about that. I said I’d come and I meant it. You’ll learn that.” Jin Ling responded, satisfied with the way it came out.

Lan Sizhui coughed slightly, his neck starting to feel warm. He subtly hid his nervous smile behind the teacup he brought up to his mouth.

“Since we’re… learning from each other, I’d like to apologize for something.”

Jin Ling’s brow raised questioningly. He didn’t expect an apology. He raised his own teacup to his mouth and waited for Lan Sizhui to continue.

“I showed you and Jingyi how to hide erotica novels in the Cloud Recesses and I shouldn’t have done that. I hope I didn’t offend you that day. I’m learning to be more considerate of the things Wei-qianbei taught me.”

Jin Ling spat tea back into his cup, choking on the sharp intake of air he just had before wiping off the remnants of his drink.

Lan Sizhui, of course you’d decide to bring this up over lunch!

“You- you bring that up now?!”

Lan Sizhui gave him a sheepish smile, the embarrassment genuine. “It was careless. I didn’t want you to think I was mocking you.”

Jin Ling’s face burned hot, half from indignation and half from relief that the heaviness had finally cracked. Of all the things Lan Sizhui could have apologized for, this was what he chose? Treating Jin Ling’s dignity as if it mattered? It made the air between them feel too close, too heavy, and he lashed out the only way he knew.

He jabbed a finger at Lan Sizhui. “You’re an idiot. Absolute idiot. Don’t ever do that again.”

For the first time in the entire meal, they both laughed, the sound easing the knot of grief between them. Jin Ling’s shoulders loosened, and Lan Sizhui’s own quiet laugh carried with it a weight lifted. The sound didn’t erase the grief that lingered, but it made it bearable. For a brief moment, they weren’t heirs of clans or survivors of massacres. They were just two boys, sitting in a noisy square, trying to figure out how to grow into themselves.

Jin Ling leaned back against the bench, arms crossed tight over his chest as if to trap the warmth in before it escaped.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was the kind that invited words to fill it. And before he could stop himself, Jin Ling spoke.

“Back on the road, before you found me outside of the city…” He trailed off, cursing himself immediately. Why had he even started? But Lan Sizhui was already watching him, patiently waiting. There was no escape.

Jin Ling groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Last night, when I said that about the… real thing-” His ears went scarlet. He gripped his teacup so tightly he thought it might crack. “I didn’t mean it like it sounded.”

Lan Sizhui blinked, startled, but stayed quiet, letting him go on.

Jin Ling’s voice dropped to a growl. “I wasn’t… I’m not like those idiots sneaking around with those books. I just-” He swallowed hard, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “I panicked, alright? I thought you’d… think something stupid. That I was thinking something stupid.”

The admission hung heavy between them, awkward and raw. His pride wanted to snatch it back immediately, but it was too late.

Lan Sizhui set his cup down. The porcelain kissed the wood with a soft click that somehow cut through the stall’s hiss of steam and the distant chop of that cleaver. “I did not think that,” he said, tone even, the kind you could plant your feet on. “Not then, not now. One bed is logistics, not invitation. You set the line; I keep it.”

Jin Ling stared at the grain of the table as if it might split. His fingers were damp against the teacup. Stop being so calm, he thought, heat creeping up his neck. Stop making it sound simple.

Lan Sizhui held his gaze, steady as a hand on reins. “If I tell you to rest, you rest. I will not cross your boundary, and I will not let anyone else do it either.” The words settled like a ward drawn cleanly in the air. He let a breath ease out, lighter. “If I meant anything else, I would say so. I prefer clarity to guessing games.” The corner of his mouth tipped. “Also, Fairy was the chaperone.”

A laugh threatened to escape Jin Ling before he strangled it into a scoff. He nearly sloshed his tea anyway. “Who needs guarding? And Fairy is on my side.”

“Exactly,” Lan Sizhui said, unbothered. He nudged the vinegar dish closer until the tang stung Jin Ling’s nose. “Eat before you challenge me to a duel over a blanket again.”

Jin Ling muttered about ridiculous Lan confidence and reached for another dumpling. The wrapper stuck slightly to his chopsticks before giving way. He dipped it, tasting vinegar and feeling something warm that unwound the knot under his ribs.

He did not need guarding. Except part of him had wanted those words anyway. He wanted them like a cool cloth on a fever. He kept his eyes on the bowl and let the warmth spread, telling himself it was only the broth.

Chapter Text

Picking up the bundles of supplies they had purchased, Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui paid for their meals and found an enchanting scene.

Wen Ning and Fairy were sitting near the street fountain, clearly in their own world. Fairy’s wet nose prodded at the Ghost General’s hands, demanding pets as she sprawled in his lap like the puppy she believed herself to be. In reality, her limbs and tail were too much for Wen Ning’s seated lap to fully contain.

Wen Ning had his hands up, half petting her and half avoiding the way she playfully bit his fingers. When the petting was unsatisfactory, Fairy shoved her muzzle into his hands again, a grunt rumbling out of her throat. She added one elegant paw, the size of a soup bowl, insistently to his wrist to emphasize the need for faster pets. 

“Like this?” Wen Ning asked, because talking to a dog felt right.

Fairy’s tail thumped against the ground like a content drum when the rhythm of affections passed her rigorously high standards.

“All right.” Wen Ning responded, amused in his own small way.

With gentle strides, Wen Ning’s fingers found the patch of fur nestled between her eyes and crown and continued to lay the hair flat. Slowly and evenly, they both settled into the positions before Fairy let out a yawn.

“Getting sleepy?” Wen Ning asked gently.

Fairy’s ear flicked, acknowledging the question and electing to ignore it as she blinked slowly. She made a careful “woo” in the back of her throat to express her satisfaction. It was not a bark, but rather a very reasonable and conversational vowel. And Wen Ning, a man called fearsome things by men who did not know him, responded to the vowel like a young disciple answering the morning bell.

“Woo,” He said softly.

Fairy seemed content with that response and gave him a short “aroo,” as if to say, “Exactly.”

An auntie swept the front of her family’s stall nearby, taking the scene before her. She saw the Ghost General sitting very straight, his hands respectfully preoccupied with a very important job. That job was being judged by a colossal dog that melted into his lap, her tail giving the proper amount of soft thumps to the ground. If she had been a storyteller, she would have called it auspicious. Instead, she nodded to Wen Ning as one person to another, and went on her way.

Fairy shifted in Wen Ning’s lap, exhaling with depth. Wen Ning’s shoulders eased a fraction at seeing her so relaxed. Warmth soaked into his knees and shins, flowing freely into his hands. It was a good warmth. It was not the same warmth from when he was alive, yet it still filled his core.

“Your master will be back soon,” Wen Ning reminded her. “He flies well.”

Fairy produced a doubtful grunt, implying Suihua’s presence was tolerable, but in no way as impressive as she was. Wen Ning carefully did not laugh. He rubbed the back of her ear and received the reflexive kick of her back leg. Fairy tried to keep the kick dignified and failed.

“Fairy,” Wen Ning said in a scandalized whisper. “Decorum.”

Tucking her back leg, Fairy looked at Wen Ning with an expression that clearly stated she could have decorum when it suited her. She nibbled at the sleeve of Wen Ning’s robes, firm enough to insist that she wanted more attention. Giving her what she wanted, Wen Ning continued to pet her fur until she relaxed enough to close her eyes fully.

It was a simple exchange of care between two beings. It was uncomplicated and soothing. There was no need to bow or fear unfounded rumors. Wen Ning did not need to pretend to be smaller than he was. With Fairy, he had no sins to repay and no shrinking to make his presence more tolerable. It was the first duty he had in a very long time that allowed him to stand taller.

Fairy suddenly stood abruptly, her head grazing Wen Ning’s chin on the way up. The sudden change in weight would have toppled anyone else, but Wen Ning adjusted his body the way his feet would adjust to new ground. Fairy planted her paws on both sides of the Ghost General’s knee and leaned her head into his chest, licking his chin. It was a respectful lick, as befits a spiritual dog greeting an honored uncle.

Wen Ning blinked once before laughing. It escaped him before he had time to consider whether he was allowed to laugh. It was a small, almost boyish sound, refreshing the surrounding area.

“Fairy,” He started. “You are very strong. And very heavy.”

Fairy returned the praise with another lick before her ears flickered in recognition of a nearby familiar scent.

“See?” Wen Ning pointed out, his voice warm and gentle. “Your master and A-Yuan.”

Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling approached, the former with a grin while the latter looked relieved to know Fairy was not causing a disturbance.

“Ning-shushu. I trust we didn’t take too long?”

Wen Ning shook his head, using one arm to steady himself as he rose to his full height.

“Fairy keeps good company.”

“Mn.” Jin Ling agreed, locking away the memory of Fairy and the Ghost General resting by a fountain. The memory unspools something low in his ribs. Fairy is safe with him. Wen Ning does not tire like humans do. The world can say what it likes; Fairy knows who is kind.

“Shall we fetch a cart to carry the cenotaph materials?” Lan Sizhui offered, motioning to the direction of a stall in the distance.

Jin Ling folded his arms. “I’ll take care of that. You two wait here.”

With that, the Jin heir walked off with Fairy loyally at his heels.

Wen Ning did not miss how Lan Sizhui’s gaze remained on their retreating figures for a breath longer than necessary. Lan Sizhui smiled at him anyways.

“Jin Ling offered to come with us to Qishan.”

“That’s kind of Jin-gongzi. More hands to carry the materials.”

“I shouldn’t have presumed you’d be okay with someone else coming to attend to your family’s remains.”

“They are your family too, A-Yuan.”

“That’s true. Thank you, Ning-shushu.”

They paused, allowing the moment to pass without concern.

Jin Ling returned after a few minutes.

“They will hold the cart by the inn. We can carry the bundles and cenotaph materials there during the trip.”

The sound of stone hitting the ground grabbed the group’s attention. A stonemason chided his apprentice before helping him pick up the slab and set it against another. The mason’s yard was cluttered with stone and tables, tools strewn about. Dust covered the ground and tables, gathered on the stonemason’s hands like a second skin. He looked gruff, eyeing the group with suspicion. He looked at them for too long; Jin Ling’s shoulders squared in reflex.

“We’re paying.” Jin Ling said, sharper than he meant to. “We’re not here to gawk.”

“You’re here to pick the wrong stone if you don’t know what you’re looking for.” The stonemason grunted.

Lan Sizhui stepped forward with his palms open. “Would you please advise us, sir? We need stone that will resist harsh winds and stand strong in harsher weather. Fine grain so that the characters cut cleanly.”

His approach earned the smallest tilt of the man’s chin. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to a line of pale slabs. “Those are pure and hard enough. If you chip it wrong, you’ll be dealing with a broken wrist. Those over there are sturdier, but cost more. You want it smooth? Want it to last?”

Lan Sizhui’s hand hovered over one of the slabs, his callused fingers testing the cool face of a slab. “To last,” He said solemnly, “But not boastful.”

The mason snorted. “Stone doesn’t boast. People do.”

Jin Ling tracked the veins in the stones, taking in their appearances. He knew nothing about stonemasonry and he hated knowing nothing.

Wen Ning had not moved. He stood a little back from the tables and lines of materials, head bowed under his hood. Lan Sizhui turned to him without speaking and waited.

Wen Ning’s hands then rose and touched a slab with a quiver. “Jiejie didn’t like things that shone,” He murmured. “Plain and strong. The kind that holds when people lean on it.”

The mason’s form shifted, as if the answer drew a character he recognized. “This one, then. It cuts kind.” He thumped the back of a slab with the heel of his hand. The sound was subtle but deep. “You’ll need a base block to keep it true.”

Jin Ling lifted his chin. “We’ll take both.” The price chalked on the slab was hard to swallow, but the youth did not look away. “And the chisels. And a mallet. And a whetstone.”

They began to barter. The mason pushed. Jin Ling pushed back. Lan Sizhui’s tone smoothed the edges of their words. By the time that coins exchanged hands, the mason was instructing the group on how to anchor the base block on soil.

“Bring friends when you move it.” The mason said.

“We have Fairy.” Jin Ling said without thinking.

The mason eyed the dog. Fairy sneezed at a drifting breeze of stone dust.

“Bring friends anyways.”

They left with the promise to return for the heaviest pieces once the cart was brought over. In return, the stonemason referred them to a jade artisan nearby.

The artisan’s stall was shaded, covered by a curtain that filtered soft light onto the wares. Trays of gems and other minerals splayed across the tables, resting on silk that invited the eyes to gaze longer. The artisan’s smile measured the group faster than scales measured weight.

“Cultivators,” he greeted them smoothly. “Welcome. What are you seeking? Protection? Fortune? Purity?”

Jin Ling’s mouth flattened, unimpressed. “Jade,” he responded. “A small piece. A good piece.”

“Good spans across a spectrum, young master.” The artisan said, naming a price that made Fairy’s tail pause mid-wag.

Jin Ling’s temper flared. “My companion’s robes are not an invitation to add zeroes.” He snipped, knowing the price would have been worse if he were dressed in his usual Jin gold.

Lan Sizhui’s hand nudged the sleeve of Jin Ling’s clenched fist. “Something modest,” he addressed the artisan, his tone as cool as a spring river. “Small, but sincere. It’s for a memorial.”

The artisan’s eyes finally slid to Wen Ning, who had stayed back and silently observed the interactions. Wen Ning did not lift his head. After a moment of mental calculations, the artisan pulled out a tray of smaller jade pieces that were polished but not faceted.

Lan Sizhui’s fingers hovered, approving enough to step back and open the space in front of the tray. Wen Ning stepped into the space, hovering over the artisan. His hand trembled once over the stones before settling on a piece that was the color of a cloud. He lifted it into his palm as if weighing a bow. “She liked this color of white,” he murmured. “Not loud.” 

The artisan heard something sacred in those murmurs and named another price. It was still business, but it felt cleaner. Jin Ling paid without haggling, ignoring Jiang Cheng’s voice in the back of his head telling him he was being cheated. Lan Sizhui gave a bow in thanks and offered to wrap the jade in silk. Wen Ning touched the piece to his brow for a moment before handing it over.

Their last stop, the apothecary stall, was found by their noses before their eyes. Bundles hung from the rafters like brooms that children would use. Jars lined the shelves, labeled with the patience of someone who appreciated meticulous detail. Jin Ling was surprised to see that the girl running the store looked to be their age.

“Good afternoon,” the apothecary greeted them. Her gaze found Wen Ning and she politely tucked her curiosity away. “What can I get for you?”

Lan Sizhui spoke first, allowing the medicinal air to steady him. “Offerings for a healer.”

The apothecary respectfully did not ask whose. She looked at Wen Ning and waited.

Wen Ning’s voice was sure of itself in this place. “Ai ye. Dang gui. Bai shao. Ren shen, if you have it.”

The apothecary smiled like someone hearing a song she’d not been sure if anyone else knew. Her freckles wrinkled in a way that made her look younger than she seemed. Tying the bundles of herbs with a red thread, she set them aside before weighing the ginseng. A small root was placed upon a scale. “This one isn’t cheap.” She warned.

Jin Ling’s jaw flexed. “We’ll take it.”

“Do you have any white silk?” Lan Sizhui asked after receiving the root. He didn’t stare at the bandages that wrapped around her wrist.

“I don’t but Madam Xu next door does,” The apothecary responded, putting away the scale. “Tell her it's for mourning. She won’t cheat you.”

Jin Ling stood, feeling useless for a moment. His eyes tracked how Wen Ning held and released the medicinal herbs as if they were old comrades. Fairy pressed her head against his thigh, letting out a gruff “aroo” when her master’s fingers found her ear and gave it the attention she asked for.

When the group stepped back out onto the street, they could feel the day starting to wind down. Madam Xu’s silk was carefully placed in Lan Sizhui’s sleeve, an extra strip added on with the brisk kindness of someone who had counted too many funerals.

Looping back to the stonemason yard with the cart they rented by the inn, the mason had a handcart ready and an apprentice to help load the materials. He watched the way Wen Ning took hold of the slab without strain and pretended not to notice the lack of breath.

Lan Sizhui bowed to the mason. Jin Ling returned the gesture, stiffer but sincere. Wen Ning’s hand touched the edge of the slab the way a younger brother might straighten an elder sister’s sleeve.

Evening came like a whisper, their market run lasting longer than they intended, but no one seemed to mind. Securing the loads in the stable next to the inn, Wen Ning raised a thumb in approval and reconvened with the youth in front of the inn.

“Ning-shushu, will this be acceptable?” Lan Sizhui said, eyeing the load and searching for the Ghost General’s approval.

Wen Ning clamped a sincere hand on the Lan youth’s shoulder, his voice low but steady. “Even if we brought a hundred rare herbs, jiejie would still reach for the mugwort first. We chose well.”

With a nod, Lan Sizhui smiled and rested his hand on his sheathed sword. His thumb grazed the hilt and he turned to Jin Ling.

“It’s getting late. It would be dangerous to travel in the dark. We can stay one more night at the inn before departing in the morning.”

“Fine by me.” Jin Ling responded.

“I want to survey the road before we travel. Go for a ride with me?” Lan Sizhui’s brow lifted, expectant, hopeful. 

Jin Ling hesitated briefly before shrugging his shoulders as casually as he could play off. He ignored the flutter his heart made.

“Jin-gongzi, I can watch Fairy. She will be no trouble.” Wen Ning assured him, already moving to scratch her crown.

“You’re right. She won’t be trouble, right Fairy?” Jin Ling’s hands rested on his hips and his eyes gave a half-serious accusatory glare. His grin betrayed any weight behind the words.

With a bark that sounded the way eyes would when they roll, Wen Ning and Fairy crossed the inn’s threshold, leaving the two youth on the street. The sun idled in the sky, not setting just yet but thinking about it.

Unsheathing Suihua, Jin Ling tested the sword’s weight in his hands for a moment. The steel felt honest. Lan Sizhui didn’t miss how he frowned at Suihua before infusing it with qi and making the hand sign to prepare to mount it. Unsheathing his own sword, Lan Sizhui gave a short bow of gratitude before planting his feet firmly on the blade.

Flying on swords was a fun experience for every cultivator. It starts off challenging, mastering the right flow of qi to fuse into the sword so that it balances the body without draining one’s meridians too quickly. Then, there was the training of the body to maintain proper flight form, lest a stray wind or shift in altitude throw someone off from lip-biting heights. Children adored seeing cultivators flying. It was every bit as freeing as it looked, minus the minor exhaustion that came from pushing the flight too hard or carrying too much. It was one of Lan Sizhui’s favorite cultivation techniques.

Jin Ling enjoyed flying on Suihua, as well. His hesitation came from the flight from Guanyin Temple. It had been reminiscent of when Jiang Cheng was first teaching him to fly. It was rough and ended in tears and bruises, both to the body and the ego. So much had happened since then. So much new information had been learned. Jin Ling took a breath in, holding for four counts, and releasing for six, the way Lan Sizhui taught him. With renewed determination, he mounted Suihua.

When the blade didn’t buckle, he looked up to give Lan Sizhui a smirk that would let the Lan youth know he was ready. He didn’t expect Lan Sizhui’s hand to be held out, as if to assist him if he had stumbled or faltered. Normally, he would have scoffed at such a display of perceived pity. Instead, he was grounded by the comfort of knowing that Lan Sizhui would offer his help, regardless of whether he asked.

“I got it,” he said, unable to help the curve at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks, Sizhui.”

“Anytime.”

They lifted as one is a slow, sensible way that let the courtyard fall away without drama. They cleared the city gates with room to spare and leveled into the open air, where the road to Qishan ran. The plan was to ride for about an incense time, surveying the road for any major concerns that would hinder their journey with the cart. If any bridges were down or any particularly dangerous yao had nested near the road, they would make a note of it before the journey in the morning. More than that, it was a break from the heaviness of the day.

The boys took a casual speed, enough for their robes to flutter in the breeze without making too much sound. The sunset made the shadows cast by the trees stretch into long streaks across the dirt paths. Birds that would normally fly beside the cultivators were already nesting, ready to wake early. Lan Sizhui flew with his hands folded behind his back, still and upright. Jin Ling’s arms were folded, his stance rigid.

“When does Gusu teach its disciples to fly?” Jin Ling asked, comfortable with the pace they were taking.

“Hanguang-jun taught me a bit earlier than the clan normally does. He taught me when I turned 9. Jingyi claimed favoritism for a month. What about you?”

“Jiujiu didn’t let me learn until I was 12. He said I’d use it to escape lessons.”

“Was he right?” Lan Sizhui teased.

“I’ll never tell.” Jin Ling grinned, allowing himself the moment of mirth.

Their flying was steady, side by side as the tree line stayed a few meters below them.

“How fast can you fly?” Lan Sizhui asked in a casual voice, the challenge in his words laying low.

“I’m decent,” Jin Ling responded, his arms unfolding across his chest, his fingers lacing behind his head as if he’d always flown that way. “I prefer to fly high.”

“Like this?” With a swift motion, Lan Sizhui dipped his sword forward before climbing to a higher altitude, his body leaning forward and his knees bending with the angle shift. It was a clean arc, cutting through the air without pride. He inched as close as he could to being completely vertical, the air becoming more crisp.

Jin Ling followed suit, the bell at his waist giving a clear chime as he caught up to Lan Sizhui with a toothy grin. He allowed his arms to spread as if welcoming the open air to embrace him, the wind sliding through his sleeves. He loved chasing that feeling that unwound the knots in his chest when the world sat on it for too long, only for the wind and skies to relieve that pressure.

The boys ascended further, their swords circling around each other in a dance that left their ribbons trailing behind them. They crossed in figure eights, sleeves close enough to whisper to each other. The swords kept them honest and agile; their youth kept them playful. Lan Sizhui leaned in and spun his blade a quarter turn, the balance point rolling under his boot. Jin Ling mirrored the motion late and laughed anyway.

“On your left,” Lan Sizhui pointed with his chin. “The bridge is down to one plank.”

“The cart won’t like that,” Jin Ling said, his breath proud and wholly open. “We can cut through that ford with the willows.”

Making a note on the map he folded back into his sleeve, Jin Ling tipped Suihua into a long glide. Lan Sizhui’s blade answered with the same clean, quiet eagerness that he carried in everything he did. They slid shoulder to shoulder in the air, leaning left and right together.

They tried speed the way they would taste fruit: first a testing bite, then the rest followed. Their swords gathered the wind and smoothed it. Jin Ling shifted his weight into his hips and knees, feeling Suihua catch for a second, and allowing a short, boyish laugh to escape.

Lan Sizhui answered with a move that teetered between sparring and dancing. He curled his sword’s nose down and allowed his toes to kiss the balance point, rolling his body through a half-turn pivot that made the word tilt before sliding back into position. Jin Ling mirrored him a heartbeat later, smirking because late still meant together.

“Again?” Lan Sizhui invited.

“Again,” Jing Ling answered, already angling into the pivot.

They wove a figure eight wide enough to draw a gasp from the wind, their cross coming close enough to the bell at Jin Ling’s waist to chime against Lan Sizhui’s sleeve. The blades hummed with energy.

Lan Sizhui stood straight, Lan appropriate, and allowed his blade to drift up.

“Vertical?” He asked, his eyes bright.

“Race you,” Jin Ling said, and they went.

Their fingers could graze the clouds that filtered the remaining sunlight as they slowed at the top of their arc. They stopped to feel the height, the tree line blurring as fields collapsed into a quilt of textured squares. The sky held it all in place. Suihua held true.

With his eyes fluttering shut, Lan Sizhui tucked his chin and opened his arms, tipping the nose of his sword. He began to fall in a spiral so lazy, it stretched. Jin Ling dropped in above him, matching the turn and allowing their descending circles to twine. They fell at the same tempo, the distance widening and narrowing in a language gravity had learned to listen to. On the second spiral, Lan Sizhui widened his descent just enough that Jin Ling slid through the gap and took the inner path, angling their shoulders towards each other like a secret.

They leveled, the trees gaining their texture again as the wind thickened with the approaching dusk.

“Still breathing?” Lan Sizhui asked.

“Yeah,” Jin Ling responded, pleasantly surprised to hear how even his voice was. “Feels good.”

“Good.” The Lan youth responded with a smile that threatened to make the sun rise again.

Feeling brave, Lan Sizhui slid ahead of Jin Ling and allowed him to tuck into his slipstream. The air eased around Suihua. Jin Ling felt the change and adjusted his qi to match the pace. He drew the blade close enough that he could have touched Lan Sizhui’s shoulder. He restrained himself, allowing the almost touch to ring between them like a soft bell.

They swapped, with Jin Ling then leading. Lan Sizhui drifted close behind Suihua, his eyes pretending they didn’t notice how the tips of Jin Ling’s ears pricked red. He relished the shiver that erupted behind his ribs anyways. Pulling apart, they flew shoulder to shoulder for a moment.

“Show me that Gusu neatness,” Jin Ling teased, a brow lifted in challenge.

Lan Sizhui obliged, standing straight as an arrow with every joint upright in attention. It was like starting into a Lan training manual.

“Show me that Lanling arrogance,” Lan Sizhui returned.

Jin Ling cocked one knee, pitched a casual hip, and allowed Suihua to lounge through a turn with a haughty grace that still looked correct. They both erupted into laughter at each other and with each other.

Gravity tapped their shoulders and cleared its throat, reminding them of their proximity to farmhouse roofs when they got too close. They were having fun, but it was time to end.

The city gates swelled open, inviting the boys back with twinkling lanterns and aunties telling children to get inside. Their boots met the stones with a new level of lightness, fresh air in their lungs and their spirits high. The wind still danced in their hair, reluctant to leave. 

“You fly well,” Lan Sizhui remarked.

“So do you,” Jin Ling responded, happy with how honest it came out.

The inn’s common area greeted them with a warmth that tickled the cold glued to their cheeks from the flight. Up the stairs, they greeted Wen Ning and Fairy, who greeted them in exchange with a warm meal. They ate in peace, discussing the boys’ findings from their flight. Looking mostly auspicious, they felt confident their travel would be mostly unhindered.

“We can leave at first light,” Wen Ning said, his fingers lost in Fairy’s dark fur. “I also spoke to the innkeeper. Jin-gongzi, you have a room prepared for yourself across from ours. Madam Xu put in a good word. They did not ask for coin.”

Hearing those words, Jin Ling took longer to chew the rice in his mouth than normal. He nodded in acknowledgement after a heartbeat.

“Thank you,” Jin Ling made a mental note to leave coin regardless. “I’ll go check it out.”

Part of him flushed at the disappointment when he realized he wouldn’t be sharing a room with Lan Sizhui that night. But it was right. Propriety and all those rules. It was better not to cause trouble for the Lan youth. Still, Fairy would have been the chaperone.

Shaking his head, he finished his food and excused himself, Fairy following suit. Wen Ning helped clean up and patted Lan Sizhui’s head before heading to his own room.

The room felt empty after everyone left.

If only Jingyi was here. He’d try to sneak alcohol into the room. Zizhen would try to talk him out of it, only to end up reciting drunk poetry with him later. I wonder if he got my letter yet.

Shrugging off his outer robes, Lan Sizhui prepared to bathe in silence. He thought about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s advice before they parted on the road. A melancholy smile graced his face, torn between missing the men that effectively acted like his fathers and respecting their elopement.

He entered the water, cleaning himself before giving his thoughts a stage. He closed his eyes and began to picture a lantern, warm and glowing in the dark. It was a habit he picked up as a child in Yiling. When the pressures of the world came down on him, closing his eyes and imagining a warm, lit lantern helped him stay calm. This was before his cultivation helped him learn to steady himself in other ways.

In his mind, the lantern transformed into Wei Wuxian, mounted on Little Apple as Lan Wangji steadied his back with one hand, the lead in his other hand. They were smiling at one another, their longing turned into contentment and hope. Lan Wangji’s face was not broken with the ache he held for so long. He was happy. Wei Wuxian’s snark softened, relief easing his features as he leaned upon the man who would shoulder all his pains and fears. The polite distance that Lan Sizhui had observed for years had been closed and sealed with a vow of certainty and faithfulness.

The image in his mind disappeared, replaced with a lantern that had Yunping City’s insignia on it. The lantern grew smaller and smaller as the darkness around it transformed into the forested landscape he and Jin Ling flew over earlier that evening.

He wondered if it felt the way the air between him and Jin Ling on their survey flight felt. The midair flourishes weren’t out of character for the boys; they had long grown used to showing off and trying to outdo the other, the way boys do when learning from each other.

But something shifted in Lan Sizhui’s chest when he heard that first belt of unrestrained laughter escape from Jin Ling’s mouth. It was not the sharp laugh he used when verbally sparring with Jingyi, nor the brittle one reserved for elders who had crossed him. The sound made Lan Sizhui want to turn and watch the way his eyes crinkled, his brows loosened and his mouth released the joy. He secured that sound away in all its brightness and subtle feral energy, not minding how his heart fluttered when he replayed it in his mind.

Their survey flight had started practical, keeping track of hazards on the road to Qishan. It smoothly transitioned into boyish bravado, their loops saying, “I’m not afraid; I want you to look at me.” Their swords drew patterns with their bodies that no brush would have been able to keep pace with. Then, their flight shifted into something cleaner and more personal.

When Jin Ling climbed up with Suihua, Lan Sizhui fell back to give him the air. When Lan Sizhui cut across a crosswind, Jin Ling adjusted without complaint. Their movements found each other like a hand finding the other in the dark. Lan disciples trained in this kind of synchronized flight drill as they got older. None of the drills had taught Lan Sizhui how it felt to be read so effortlessly. Whether it was trust, permission, surrender or a combination of all three, he didn’t know.

Opening his eyes, Lan Sizhui’s gaze found his forehead ribbon. It rested on the stool atop his robes without a fuss, folded neatly the way Lan Wangji taught him. He wondered if there would ever come a day when he would present it to his own spouse.

There’s no rush. Sure, I’m already 17, but my guan li won’t be for another 3 years. Matchmaking in the Lan clan is… particular. And even then, I’m content with the way things are now. I don’t have the pressure of needing to produce an heir like some of the others do.

Suddenly, Lan Sizhui paused. His brow furrowed in concentration.

Wait a second. If Wen Ning is a fierce corpse and there really is no one left… Do I have to produce an heir? Do I even want to? Who would I even-

A knock came to his door, gentle. “Sizhui?” Jin Ling’s voice came through the door, muffled and guarded. “I left something in your room. I can wait until you’re done.”

“Coming,” Lan Sizhui responded, rising out of the water and drying himself off. Satisfied that he was approaching the door with decency, he tightened the knot on his forehead ribbon and slid open the door to the hall.

Jin Ling waited patiently, his arms crossed across his chest as he leaned against the wall. His expression was serious, clearly having been deep in thought before Lan Sizhui opened the door. He had not moved from where he was leaning. He was guarding a space he had no right to claim and every intention of protecting.

“Sorry, I just forgot to take care of my sect robes from last night. They might still be in the corner where I left them.” Jin Ling said, not quite meeting Lan Sizhui’s gaze.

“Oh, your robes? The innkeeper took them earlier this morning,” Lan Sizhui said, moving his body and using his hand to motion to the empty corner of the room where Jin Ling’s soiled Lanling robes had been the night before. For half a heartbeat, it almost felt like an invitation into his room.

“O-oh, she did? I’ll have to ask her tomorrow, then,” Jin Ling sputtered, before falling silent. Lan Sizhui waited a few moments before daring to speak.

“...did you need anything else, Jin Ling?”

Jin Ling glowered, his shoulders tensing up again. He could feel the words coming up, threatening to spill out before his pride regained control.

“No, nothing at all. Good night.”

With a quick heel turn, the Jin youth left Lan Sizhui alone in the doorway, confused and slightly disappointed.

You utter moron. Of course he’s busy. Of course he has to get ready for bed; he has that Lan routine drilled into his bones. He doesn’t have time to talk to you just because you’re feeling… What am I feeling?

Jin Ling thought for a moment before sighing at himself, dejectedly falling onto the bed with the grace of an angry goose sliding across an oil slick. Fairy followed suit, claiming her spot on the bed with the regality befitting one of her status. She didn’t push away when Jin Ling wrapped his arms around her, holding her tighter than he normally does. 

The next morning greeted the group with hazy fog that lifted as the sun rose. Instead of waking up to Lan Sizhui’s guqin, Jin Ling felt a cool breeze that got him to leave the bed. The blanket had been kidnapped, captured by the hind leg of a spiritual dog that heard her new uncle approach the room door.

The group convened shortly after in the common area, agreeing on the route they’d take. If they made good pacing, it would take about a day and a half to arrive at Qishan with the cart.

Jin Ling received a tap on the shoulder from an elderly innkeeper who presented him with his Lanling robes without a fuss. Jin Ling flushed when he saw that she had stitched a tear he’d been meaning to ask Jiang Cheng to fix, mumbling a token of gratitude. She gently patted his cheek with a soft, wrinkled hand before smiling at him. It infused the Jin heir’s chest with a warmth that threatened to spill something deeper inside him.

Taking a moment to change into his robes, Jin Ling excused himself from the group. Lan Sizhui watched the boy disappear into a room, wondering if he was still upset from their corridor conversation. When Jin Ling returned and huffed that he was ready to leave, Lan Sizhui threw the concern away and elected to simply follow along.

Their steps on the dirt road were sure, full of purpose, as the cart carried their mission. Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui continued to quietly share stories of their memories at the Burial Mounds as they walked. Jin Ling tried to contain his wince when they spoke about the harder parts of surviving in Yiling. The starvation, the isolation, and the hard labor that rarely produced sufficient harvest were a few of the parts that left their biggest impressions.

Despite the despair that should have plagued them, Jin Ling couldn’t help but admire how the Wen survivors came out relatively altruistic and pure-hearted. Lan Jingyi was a testament to how the Lan clan, with all its rules and order, still bore reckless fruit every once in a while, not excusing Lan Sizhui’s temperament. Even Wen Ning, who had spent so much time near the Yiling Patriarch and was tortured by the cultivation world, was not moved to darker impulses.

Jin Ling couldn’t help but feel left behind. They had suffered so much, yet they were still able to smile and honor their fallen without seeking revenge. He grew up well fed and comfortable, yet he still grew mean. Shame rose in his gut, envy disguised as anger. 

When he thought too hard on it, his hands instinctively itched and he ruffled Fairy’s fur more harshly than necessary. Fairy took this as an invitation to playfully ram into her master’s hips, getting the verbal reaction that always precedes their short chases. It was easier to carry the world with Fairy around.

The group walked steady for a few hours before settling on a clearing near a riverbank. It was still early afternoon, the sun baring down on them without suffocating them. Settling the cart down, Wen Ning began to prepare a humble campfire and cookware. He knelt by the fire, laying kindling in tidy spokes while the pan and kettle waited nearby like well-behaved pupils.

“I can grab fish by the river, if you don’t mind hunting for pheasants,” Lan Sizhui offered. “Better to save our rations for when there isn’t as much opportunity, right?”

“Mn.” Jin Ling agreed, content with having something useful to do. “It’ll take me a bit of time to scope out the area. I’ll whistle for Fairy if something comes up.”

With a nod, Lan Sizhui grabbed a basket and began to make his way to the riverbank while Jin Ling’s bow hummed with anticipation. It had been a few days since Jin Ling was able to use it and he was ready to let arrows fly.

Down by the river, Lan Sizhui rolled his trousers and waded into the water, the current lapping around his shins. He stole a glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with Jin Ling with a look that said, “Be careful, but I trust you.”

Jin Ling answered it with the smallest tilt of his chin, turning towards the treeline with his bow under his palm. His forearm flexed, warming up as he rolled his shoulders and stalked off, eagerness forming in his back. The bushes and thicket swallowed his golden robes as he disappeared.

Fairy watched him go with tragic restraint, sitting because she had been commanded to sit. The gave a very quiet, but wholly dignified whine into Wen Ning’s sleeve when he reached over to scratch her ear.

“He will whistle when it is time,” He reassured her, half-smiling.

Jin Ling focused his qi around and in front of him, breathing slowly as he eased his steps into an intentional rhythm. He avoided the leaves and sticks that would make noise, keeping his ankles loose enough that they wouldn’t argue with roots. His bow’s weight steadied him as he repeated the mantra in his head: draw, settle, release. His lungs filled with the scents of nature as they repeated their own mantra: inhale, hold, exhale. His body spoke the same language, just two different dialects.

With his body settled, his eyes found the tells he was searching for: a low shrub that snapped back into place after a short burst of flight kicked up some dirt. He followed the gossip, stopping when a breeze blew before continuing to hunt. His posture came easy, setting his feet quietly while his shoulders came down and his neck relaxed.

The draw pulls from your back, not your arm.

Another delicate rustle stirred the shrub. The breeze had already passed. Jin Ling nocked without looking at his quiver, his fingers finding the fletching out of habit. The bird’s head lifted, a ray of sunshine giving it the visibility needed not to overthink the shot. His lungs emptied as he loosed the arrow. The release was clean and neat.

He waited, counting to five in his head before moving. A second bird might have been near. He tucked the first into his game bag, wiping the arrow and inspecting the fletching. Another rustle was heard, closer this time. He pivoted at the waist, setting the second arrow to the string.

White flashed before him.

He registered what it was before his fingers moved. Soft ears were folded like silk and the body shared the color of flour in a kitchen. A wild rabbit groomed its face, whiskers twitching. It was naively trusting in the way that small prey does when it has not learned better yet.

His hands knew what to do. The rest of him said no.

Easing the draw, he felt his bow complain before relenting. The rabbit chewed away, unconcerned. It reminded Jin Ling of the absurdity of Lan Wangji’s swarm back at the Cloud Recesses. They were small, soft tyrants who lorded over the small children and stern cultivators that found their garden in the back hills. He remembered finding himself leaning against the threshold between the back hills and the pavilions, watching as a rabbit joined the serene picture in front of him.

In his memory, Lan Sizhui was kneeling in the grass, a tree shading him and the pile of rabbits that were objecting to his presence in their rest spot. He sat with the patience of a boy who could be gentle for an hour and not be bored. His palms were low and flat, inviting the furry creatures that investigated his offerings of carrots with wet noses. They hopped away with dignity, their movements and the tickling of their whiskers pulling at the corner of Lan Sizhui’s mouth until a soft laugh spilled out. The arrow solemnly returned to its quiver.

“Get out of here,” he whispered, the privacy making him sentimental. “Before my reputation suffers.”

The wild rabbit’s ears flicked in acknowledgement, his hind legs springing to action. It vanished under a low fern. Jin Ling didn’t mind the grin he let slip.

He moved on, finding a low rise where a magpie decided to scold him from a tree. It eventually found the youth uninteresting and flew away, allowing Jin Ling’s attention to settle on the pheasant in the clearing. The draw of his bow gave a pleasurable shiver as the anchor point found his jaw. He could have shot with his eyes closed and hit something worthwhile. He did not. He watched for a breath longer, waiting for the peep of baby chicks. When none were heard, he released the arrow, striking true.

 With two birds in his game bag, Jin Ling began making his way to the riverbank, satisfied with his hunt. Walking back, he allowed the Burial Mounds stories to unspool again, not shying away from them this time. He envisioned Wen Qing, a woman whose medical expertise rivaled her ability to keep Wei Wuxian in check, comforting a young Wen Yuan. He pictured Wen Ning, taking the grief stricken blows from a starved and sleep-deprived Yiling Patriarch that didn’t know how to balance his goals with the world’s accusations. He wondered how the young Wen Yuan didn’t shatter completely when he was left alone at the Burial Mounds after his clan gave themselves up to the cultivation world’s cruelty.

Jin Ling clenched Suihua’s hilt, a strange feeling sitting in his chest. He knew he could not match their history. He didn’t have to. He just had to walk beside it. If he could keep step with them, maybe it would begin to wash away the dirt left by his ancestors.

The forest began to thin as their humble campsite came back into view. Fairy spotted Jin Ling first, standing without barking before she remembered that she was a dog and gave a proud “woof” for continuity’s sake. She pranced over, dignity intact despite a slight trip over a branch.

“Good girl,” Jin Ling said, his praise washing over her.

Lan Sizhui diverted his attention away from the river, straightening up when he saw the golden robes of Lanling appear in the distance. He waved, asking, “Any luck?”

Jin Ling lifted his game bag with a modest flourish, his pride tasting better when he saw the Lan youth smile. “No luck, all skill.”

Rolling his eyes with total fondness, Lan Sizhui turned his attention back to the river.

Wen Ning had a kettle boiling water while oil sizzled in the pan he had ready. Jin Ling remembered how Wen Ning mentioned picking up cooking duties during their time at the Burial Mounds.

With careful consideration, Jin Ling picked up the tools near the Ghost General and helped prepare the game. They worked in tandem, quiet exchanges of gratitude between them that help soften the sharpness that was once there. With a gentle reassurance, Wen Ning offered to cook the birds while Jin Ling rested. Not feeling tired, but not wanting to disagree, Jin Ling led Fairy away from the food. She whined, tempted to turn back anyways until a reprimand kept her gaze straight ahead.

Watching Lan Sizhui in the river, his body still as he worked to catch more fish, Jin Ling was reminded of the rabbit in the forest. He didn’t mention it. Two clean shots and one refusal sat right with him.

Feeling accomplished, but the restlessness starting to stir within him, Jin Ling rolled his own trousers up and approached the river, commanding Fairy to sit. She sat heroically, a statue of obedience.

The first brush of the river against his ankles was cool and crisp. He didn’t mind the way his heart picked up when he stood alongside Lan Sizhui. The Lan youth glanced over and shifted half a step to make room for the two of them as the silt settled into stillness in the water. They waited together.

Chapter Text

Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling waded side by side until the river forgot their ankles and began to focus on their knees. The current was fast enough to make standing feel like an action and not a pause.

“Here,” Lan Sizhui murmured. “Turn so you’re facing upstream. Let it come to you.”

He demonstrated posture and motion cleanly, his hips quiet and his shoulders easy. His hands made a shallow bowl just below the surface, his fingers spread and his wrists steady. The river slipped through the gaps as if his hands always belonged there.

Jin Ling matched the stance and discovered that matching it was only half the work. Lan Sizhui’s stillness was not an afterthought; it was attention turned outward until the world adjusted in response. From their proximity, he could see the work that Lan Qiren drilled into the Lan disciples. Arm strength, forearms shaped quietly, the kind of muscle you’d get from handstands that came as almost naturally as walking. The forehead ribbon kept its proper place, dark hair falling into obedient strands that shaped his face. His profile could have been found in a Lan manuscript- fair and refined, most dignified, the type of face that invites self-restraint and an appreciation for the rules.

“Count to five,” Lan Sizhui’s smooth voice rose, careful not to disturb the water. “When the water clears and the silt has settled, you’re still enough.”

Jin Ling counted in his head, similarly to how he counted when hunting. His toes began to argue about the cold. He ignored them. From the grass, Fairy’s tail thumped grass at a dignified and appropriate tempo, as if the grass had room to file a complaint.

“Now,” Lan Sizhui said, “watch the shadows. Not the deeper parts, but over there where the current folds in on itself.” His fingers dipped into the water further, stopping imperceptibly. “When it flickers, close your hand. It doesn’t need to be hard, just decisive.”

He moved, though the motion barely counted as movement. The water shuddered and his hands came up with a fish. He didn’t lift it high or show it off, rather easing it into the basket on his hip and allowing his hands to return to their work.

Jin Ling tried not to stare. There was a brush of admiration that drew characters in his chest; competence without commentary and a body that backed it up. Up close, Lan Sizhui’s hands were a ledger of hard work on the guqin and swordsmanship, a smudge of talisman ink hiding in his inner wrist.

“Your turn,” Lan Sizhui said, not teasing.

Jin Ling set his feet and took a breath, setting his hands where he’d seen the other boy. The first flicker of shadows came too soon and he struck like an archer, quick and sure, but coming up with nothing but the indignity of water sliding past his wrists.

“Too fast,” Lan Sizhui said mildly. “Let the river think it’s still its idea.”

Jin Ling made a face at the water before resetting. The second flicker came too late and he overcorrected, his hand closing on river water. He felt as though the fish were mocking him.

“Show off,” he lamented under his breath.

“The fish accepts your flattery,” Lan Sizhui remarked, deadpan, before tilting his head in the direction of another shadow. “There.”

Jin Ling didn’t move, instead allowing his eyes to follow where Lan Sizhui was directing him. A sliver of light broke and mended. He closed his hands the way he released an arrow, on an exhale and with assurance, and let out a small laugh when he felt the living weight settle on his palms. It didn’t feel like a fight but more like an agreement with the river. He looked at Lan Sizhui, who smiled in approval.

“Good,” Lan Sizhui said, turning back to the river. “Again.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder with enough room not to jostle the other, their sleeves brushing against each other. Lan Sizhui’s touch almost never came without a reason; two fingers giving small and exact adjustments to Jin Ling’s wrist or hips. They weren’t corrections as much as reminders. The touch registered where it needed and then left a warmth that even the river’s waters could not wash away.

“Keep your elbows low,” Lan Sizhui said. “You’ll last longer.”

“Are you calling me weak?” Jin Ling retorted, reflexively combative.

“I’m calling you efficient.” Lan Sizhui replied, making Jin Ling feel worse and yet better.

Jin Ling rolled his eyes and complied anyways, the subconscious ache in his shoulders untying itself like a knot that suddenly remembered it didn’t have to exist. The next catch came easier, the fish surrendering with the composure of someone that had chosen to be caught. Despite that, he felt the needle of comparison trying to penetrate his mind.

It was a familiar, admittedly stupid habit that his fifteen year old self decided to cater to from time to time. He measured himself to the other cultivators around him, disappointment staining his tongue when he compared his achievements to those of a seventeen year old who was built around rules and the intentional honing of spiritual abilities. The river picked up on this habit of comparison and picked up its pace, shoving the needle away as it demanded more attention. Lan Sizhui’s skills didn’t belittle Jin Ling, rather it invited him to match their tempo. He could admit that without choking on it.

“Again,” Lan Sizhui said, this time his tone proposing a game. His chin pointed and Jin Ling moved, his hands coming up empty. He pretended not to see the scowl that followed and turned his basket to accommodate the next fish.

Wen Ning gave a gentle cough by the campfire. Fairy tried a single, barely suppressed whimper before giving up on being seen as tragic.

“Do you do handstands every day?” Jin Ling asked, not because he was thinking about them or the forearms that had experience with them.

Lan Sizhui blinked before smiling in that small, sincere way that suggested he didn’t expect other people to notice. “When I can,” he responded. “Jingyi times me, but he cheats.”

“Of course he does,” Jin Ling’s mouth curved into a half smile, trying not to lose focus. “How long do you aim for?”

Thinking for a moment, Lan Sizhui gave a simple, “Today I did over a hundred breaths against the wall. I normally do fewer in the practice yard since the ground isn’t as forgiving.”

Jin Ling thought about his own cultivation practices. Jiang Cheng’s watchful eye during drills with Suihua helped him become agile; archery practice at dawn helped him become accurate. The bruises and aches were tended by the sheer joy of competence for its own sake. He acknowledged that he wasn’t a genius when it came to cultivation, but it didn’t stop him from aiming higher. He crouched lower, his elbows where Lan Sizhui had placed them, and waited for the river to give way. A silver flicker and curled fingers later, another fish was caught. It was getting easier.

“You’re getting better,” Lan Sizhui commented warmly.

“Pfft, obviously,” Jin Ling returned, his cheeks becoming warm.

They kept at it until the basket felt like it had a pleasing weight to it. Stepping out of the water without a fuss, they were greeted with the smell of kindling oil. Fairy, who had not moved an inch because she was the cultivation world’s most long suffering spiritual dog, erupted into prancing when they touched land again. Jin Ling glanced down and she composed herself instantly. Lan Sizhui’s sleeve hid a small chuckle at the interaction.

Settling down around the fire, the trio worked meticulously to clean the fish and prepare to eat. Jin Ling took over the oil-slick pan for Wen Ning, muttering something about how Fairy needs a quick jog and Wen Ning was the best suited for it. Wen Ning did not hide the pleasant surprise in his face before he bowed and invited Fairy with him to the treeline. Lan Sizhui knew better than to thank Jin Ling for trusting Fairy to the Ghost General, but he made sure not to forget that act of kindness.

They ran around the campfire, jumping over the river in supernatural bounds, neither showing signs of fatigue after an incense time. The fish hissed as oil met heat, skin turning gold and edges crisping. Jin Ling’s stomach betrayed him, though no one heard it. Smoke climbed in quiet threads in the sky. When they returned, Wen Ning and Fairy settled near the fire with the kind of contentment earned from running.

Fairy’s ears flicked first when it happened. Her head lifted, shifting her gaze to the left where the treeline met the clearing. Wen Ning’s gaze followed, his posture not moving but the energy shifting. His eyes grew attentive. Two heartbeats later, the air thinned with the anticipation of sword flight. A cultivator was approaching.

Jin Ling had an arrow nocked before the second rush of air, signaling the arrival of another cultivator. His shoulders found the familiar tension they were used to and he inhaled.

“Wait,” Lan Sizhui said, calm as water. Two of his fingers touched Jin Ling’s wrist. The touch was light, not possessive, and gave enough reassurance that Jin Ling’s bow dipped.

A bright voice burst through the bushes before boots did. “Don’t shoot! I’m allergic to getting shot out of the sky!” Lan Jingyi declared, his hands up in self defense. He bore a grin too wide for someone who was about to get skewered and didn’t care.

Ouyang Zizhen touched down after a moment, right behind Lan Jingyi, sleeves fluttering like he had been bothering to keep them from creasing mid-flight. He offered a courteous bow to Wen Ning before turning to the other boys. “We smelled lunch down the road and chose to inconvenience you.”

“Zizhen,” Lan Sizhui smiled, the warmth easy in his voice. “You’re never an inconvenience.”

“Zizhen isn’t,” Jin Ling started, jabbing a thumb at the other Lan disciple. “That one on the other hand…”

“Oi,” Lan Jingyi pointed back, his grin never faltering. “I can just tell Sect Leader Jiang that you got hurt and he needs to send his full entourage of seniors over.”

“Like I said,” Jin Ling replied, his arrow landing back in his quiver, the sharpness in his eyes not matching his voice. “Inconvenient.”

Lan Jingyi sniffed the air, impressed. “Fish? Real fish and not my imagination pretending that dry rations are interesting?”

“Your imagination could never afford this.”

Lan Jingyi planted his hands on his hips. “Listen here, Young Mis-” He stopped so fast, it came out as a squeak. His grin rearranged itself into something innocently neutral. “Jin-gongzi, lovely to see you not scowling at the river.”

Ouyang Zizhen’s smile tilted, his eyes glinting. “Jingyi has been practicing restraint,” he confided to Lan Sizhui as the two observed their friends’ interactions like bird watchers. “Let’s see how well he does.”

“Lan Jingyi,” Jin Ling started again. “Have you come to eat what you did not catch?”

Lan Jingyi straightened with scandalized dignity. “I’ve come to keep you from ruining perfectly good fish.” His eyes flickered over to the wet trouser hems of both his friends, a dozen smart remarks tucked away for later. “Also to rescue Sizhui from your conversation.”

“My hero,” Lan Sizhui teased, his own grin coming up. “How did you both find us?”

“I got your letter,” Lan Jingyi started, tucking away his sword and approaching the campfire. “We didn’t know where you were, but we knew where you were going.”

“We worked our way backwards,” Ouyang Zizhen added, his finger making a loop in the air as if to imitate their sword flight. “We figured we’d find you on the way. We also found some other things.”

At this, Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui perked up, their expressions turning serious. They gave each other a subtle glance before Wen Ning rose and gave a polite bow. “Ouyang-gongzi, Lan-gongzi, you are both welcome to sit.” His voice carried a gentle steadiness that left no room to argue. The boys didn’t want to argue anyways. 

Lan Jingyi didn’t wait to be asked twice. He dropped onto the grass, sword across his knees, and reached toward the pile with the confidence of a boy who had camped with these people for years. Jin Ling moved the platter just enough that Lan Jingyi missed the biggest piece by the width of a chopstick. Lan Jingyi blinked at the empty space, then reached again with exaggerated patience, stealing the crispiest edge and pretending it was strategic. 

Ouyang Zizhen pulled a packet out of his sleeve with the flourish of a storyteller.

“Before the heavy topics,” Zizhen announced, revealing candied discs that the boys regularly saw during village festivals. “Some sweets. For morale, of course. And balance since Jin-gongzi looks like he put a lot of effort into the meal.”

Jin Ling lifted an eyebrow. “I cook with excellence, thank you,” he leaned forward and poured a cup of tea, offering it to Ouyang Zizhen. “But I only did half the work. You can thank Wen Ning.”

Lan Sizhui didn’t miss the veiled compliment and respect towards the Ghost General. He raised the tea cup to his mouth and allowed the warmth to fill him.

“Humility from Jin Ling?” Lan Jingyi jabbed, his eyes widening. “Zizhen, we might have found a fraud. Wei-qianbei would be devastated to know there’s someone out there as bad as he is at impersonation.”

They ate with ease, comfortable to be sharing a meal with comrades who had marched the same miles. Lan Sizhui rotated a skewer and, without looking, set his bowl a fraction closer to Jin Ling so their knees shared the same strip of shade. Jin Ling pretended not to notice, lifted the kettle to fill Lan Sizhui’s cup before his own. He then, with the careless air of someone adjusting tableware, slid the best corner of pheasant meat into Lan Sizhui’s bowl. Ouyang Zizhen’s brows lifted imperceptibly and then smoothed. He did not comment.

Wen Ning cooled a filet with careful breaths, setting it on a leaf for Fairy. She sat with the serious gravity of a general awaiting orders. Jin Ling tapped her paw once and she waited. He looked at Lan Sizhui, who hid a smile, then at Wen Ning, who did not. On the second tap, he said, “Go ahead.” Fairy accepted the fish with the reverence that was due an imperial decree.

Lan Jingyi ate too fast for his own tongue. “Hot-hot-hot!” Jin Ling snorted at his reaction. “Don’t worry, Fairy, it's simply a battle injury.”

“Self-inflicted injuries don’t count.” Jin Ling pointed out.

“I engaged an enemy fillet at close range!” Lan Jingyi very convincingly reported, his hands patting his sides as if searching for something.

“Yeah, and it won.” Jin Ling grinned, having mercy and handing Lan Jingyi the water pouch he was looking for.

They continued to eat peacefully together, enjoying the company and warmth. It was when Lan Sizhui moved to put spare supplies back into the cart they were traveling with that Lan Jingyi spoke up.

“So, what’s with the cart and why are you guys traveling to an abandoned city with a bunch of ghosts?”

Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui gave each other a look. Wen Ning nodded and Lan Sizhui took a deep breath. He sat back down at the circle, watching the fire as he told Ouyang Zizhen and Lan Jingyi the truth of his heritage. They sat quietly, respectfully, as Wen Ning filled in the gaps where Lan Sizhui fell silent. Jin Ling only spoke up once they brought up their two night stay in Yunping, and even then, he said very little.

Lan Jingyi nodded, sharp and then slow, like something he had always known, finally lining up with itself.

“I remember,” he said, and color climbed into his face as if he were embarrassed on behalf of younger versions of everyone. “One day Hanguang-jun came back with a boy who wore different robes and looked at the ground more than he looked at people. He would hide in Zewu-jun’s shadow and cling to his leg during lessons. The younger children said things when the adults were not near.”

Lan Jingyi’s jaw set. “I told them to stop. Told them where on the wall they could find the rules for ‘do not gossip’ and ‘be just.” He frowned, hunting the exact phrasing he had recited a hundred times. “We have a few rules for orphans. I quoted all of them. Loudly.”

“You did,” Lan Sizhui said, and the corner of his mouth lifted, gratitude folding neatly into the words.

Jin Ling had gone very still. His hand slid to Fairy’s scruff and stayed there, fingers buried under the dense coat where warmth gathered. He felt the old, unpleasant tug from Jinlintai from where young boys pointed out the empty spaces where his parents should be. He remembered how Jin Guangyao had solved the problem with a smile and a puppy whose paws were too big. Fairy snorted and pressed her skull into his palm until pressure became comfort.

“Well, if that’s what you both want to do, don’t let us sit by and not do anything,” Lan Jingyi spoke up first. “You’ve always been there for me when we were growing up. Let’s give Miss Wen Qing a memorial worth remembering.”

Lan Sizhui’s eyes brightened, looking at Wen Ning who was also trembling with sober joy.

“Sizhui, Wen Ning, let us carry this with you,” Ouyang Zizhen placed a polite hand on the Lan youth’s shoulder. “Especially since Qishan isn’t the safest place right now.”

“What do you mean?” Jin Ling asked, his arms folded.

Pulling out a map, Ouyang Zizhen pointed to a circle encompassing the Nightless City. The juniors gathered around it.

“Before we left Guanyin Temple,” Ouyang Zizhen started, looking down at the map. “We overheard sect leader Jiang Cheng speaking with sect leader Lan Xichen.”

“I don’t know if I would have called it ‘speaking,’” Lan Jingyi muttered, crossing his arms. Jin Ling frowned at him, but stayed silent.

“Regardless,” Ouyang Zizhen continued. “Sect leader Lan Xichen was trying to get sect leader Jiang Cheng to calm down and seemed to talk him out of sending a bunch of trackers to find you.” He looked at Jin Ling.

“Zewu-jun told him that we could send help without making a crowd. He pointed to me and a few others and said we were to aid the Jin heir on the road. He made it sound like a plan that had already existed.” Lan Jingyi added.

Jin Ling nodded. Lan Xichen had kept his word and covered for him.

“I offered to go instead so the Lan juniors could keep doing medical work. There were wounded who needed capable hands more than the road needed swords.”

“After that,” Lan Jingyi interrupted. “Zewu-jun spoke to us in private and asked us to find a certain Lan disciple that ran off into the forest like a runaway bride.”

Lan Sizhui’s gaze focused on the map. “I did not run. I departed in an orderly manner to verify information with Hanguang-jun and Wei-qianbei.”

“Verify information and then run off with a certain Ghost General and peacock,” Lan Jingyi said, picking food out of his teeth with his nail. “Who also left the scene with all the grace of a startled goose.”

Jin Ling’s chopsticks halted midair. “I did not honk.”

“You did a little,” Ouyang Zizhen’s eyes smiled over the rim of his tea cup. “In your defense, anyone would honk if the cultivation world suddenly insisted on piling political power onto them like stone slabs.”

Lan Sizhui exhaled a small laugh. “There was some honking.”

Jin Ling’s chin lifted, trying his best to appear princely. “Fine, it was a small honk.” He swallowed the group’s laughter without getting upset. “It was suffocating there. Jiujiu wouldn’t talk to me, the Jin elders were speaking out of turn, Wei Wuxian disappeared with Lan Wangji without warning and I almost died a few times.”

The group paused, the tone shifting. Jin Ling continued,his mouth feeling dry. “I didn’t want to sit around while everyone else decided what my life means and what my future holds.”

Ouyang Zizhen solemnly nodded, offering another candied disc that was politely declined. “It really felt like that. Everyone kept talking. Sect leader Yao in particular had a few words to say. My father put him in his place, but I know I’ll have to go back and make sure he didn’t apologize afterwards. He’s still a little spineless. He folded when sect leader Jiang Cheng realized I was part of the group sent to find you, Jin Ling. He did not trust me,” Ouyang Zizhen adjusted his posture. “Sect leader Jiang Cheng sent a small group of cultivators to track you down anyways. For safety, he said.” He paused, looking at the cart with the cenotaph materials. “For love, I think.”

Jin Ling’s hand went stiff before his shoulders relaxed.

“So,” Lan Jingyi said, his eyes growing brighter as the story reached the part he liked. “We made it hard for them to track what did not want to be tracked.”

Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling looked at each other, brows raised in interest. Ouyang Zizhen opened his fan with feigned innocence, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “A travel notice at Yunping’s north gate ledger said a party with a Jin bowcase boarded a ferry at mid-afternoon. It was very official. The wax seal was straight.”

Lan Jingyi coughed into his fist. “It was straight eventually.”

Ouyang Zizhen ignored the commentary, gracefully moving on. “We also mentioned to two very attentive Jiang disciples that their quarry would likely head towards Lanling to report. You know, the most sensible thing for a sect heir to do because he values propriety.”

Lan Jingyi lifted his palms, pleading blamelessness. “They chased after the ferry. We split off and took the canal’s side path, cutting east. If anyone had stopped us to ask, we were very obedient and walked very quickly in the wrong direction until they stopped checking.”

Lan Sizhui’s finger caressed the side of his tea cup. His mouth was set in a straight line. “Sect leader Jiang Cheng will be furious.”

“He’ll be angry and relieved at the same time,” Ouyang Zizhen said. “It’s the worst anger until it cools off.”

“He just wants you home,” Lan Jingyi tipped his head in Jin Ling’s direction without looking at him. “After Guanyin, nobody is made of stone. The Jin elders are acting like vultures, circling the corpses and getting ideas since you’re not there to glare at them.”

Jin Ling made a sound that was a mixture of contempt for the elders and agreement. He stared at his hands. “They can circle all they like. They’ll get tired.”

Ouyang Zizhen’s voice softened. “He’s on high alert because you are first in line now. He doesn’t want you shoved onto a throne because of other people’s schedules.”

“Good,” Jin Ling responded, his gaze looking towards the riverbend. “I will sit when I choose and not because they push.”

Lan Sizhui’s sleeve brushed against Jin Ling’s. He thought for a moment before speaking. “They will forgive us,” he said, sounding sure. “We will ask for forgiveness when we are done.”

“We’re already practicing,” Lan Jingyi said, sounding pleased. “Though, Jiang cultivators almost ruined it yesterday. They were a different group, so I told them we were on an important mission from Zewu-jun to find region specific herbs to help with the medical efforts. I warned them that they’d have to speak to Zewu-jun if they interrupted our efforts.”

Ouyang Zizhen’s fan waved, his smile barely hidden. “And I asked them for a donation towards the medicine to prove their sincerity.”

“Did they pay?” Lan Sizhui asked, startled into a laugh.

“Three of them did,” Lan Jingyi reported with smug satisfaction. “The fourth ran off.”

Lan Sizhui shook his head, sobering up. “Thank you,” he said, looking at each of them in return. “Thank you for trusting us.”

Lan Jingyi pushed his friend’s shoulder playfully. Ouyang Zizhen shrugged as if the choice had been obvious. “We trust you to do what you said you would: build a memorial and come home with a better story than the elders expect.”

“And,” Lan Jingyi added, flicking a stray leaf off his boot. “We trust Jin Ling to be too slippery to catch if he does not want to be caught.”

“Correct,” Jin Ling agreed, his mouth curving into a half smile.

Coughing into his sleeve, Ouyang Zizhen referred to the forgotten map. “We got a little side tracked, but this was what I was referring to about Qishan.”

His finger traced the circle they made on the map around the Nightless City. “Resentful energy hasn’t gotten any better in the area since the Sunshot Campaign. We figured you all hadn’t reached the city yet since the main road was littered with walking corpses. There was film on the water as well. I think rogue cultivators were messing with the protection arrays that were set up as well. No one has really made time to do upkeep.”

Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui silently looked at each other. They had considered the possibility of evil spirits and resentful energy hindering their journey to the abandoned Nightless City. It made sense that the land was still tainted from Wen Ruohan’s Inferno Palace. Any lingering resentment that was missed when the clans attempted to cleanse the lands after Ruohan’s assassination was promptly forgotten after the Nightless Day.

Jin Ling spoke up first. “So we should expect everything to be more of a problem than it looks.”

Ouyang Zizhen fanned himself calmly. “Louder and more stubborn, indeed.” He smiled wryly, his hand moving to scratch Fairy’s ear. “Still, with four juniors, a ghost general, and a very good dog, we should be okay.”

“We should start moving now, then.” Lan Sizhui stood up, the calm in his voice landing like a plan had been set. “We can put a few more li between us before sunset and camp near running water. Wei-qianbei said resentment disperses more easily there.”

Wen Ning nodded, pointing to a part of the map that was in the direction they were heading. “There’s a stream that cuts east of the old post road. We can follow it in the morning. It’s safer.”

Jin Ling was already on his feet, ready to move and adjusting Suihua’s fittings. “If anything crawls out of a ditch, I’ll make it wish it hadn’t learned to crawl.”

Lan Jingyi sprang up. “You mean you’ll ‘encourage’ it to engage in ‘non-crawling behaviors,’ right, Jin Ling? Remember, you’re among Lans. We use gentle language.”

“Then I will gently help it stop existing,” Jin Ling countered, resolutely failing to sound gentle.

They broke apart, some moving to pack up materials while others removed evidence of their being there. A sweeping of footprints and a dousing of fire later, the group did a final sweep of the area.

Jin Ling tossed the last pouch into the cart, a flourish that flew over Lan Sizhui’s head. He walked over to the Lan youth, catching his hand for half a heartbeat and turning the palm upwards.

Cinnabar ink stained the skin near Lan Sizhui’s wrist where a talisman had smudged in the river, right above a pulse point. Jin Ling’s thumb paused. “You missed a spot, Lan-gongzi,” he said casually, his voice low.

“Have mercy, Jin-gongzi.” Lan Sizhui replied in an amused hush. “I only have two hands.”

Junior cultivators across all clans had that same habit when they weren’t being cautious. Cinnabar ink could smudge when the binding additives were compromised. Normally, it meant a stubborn stain that wouldn’t go away for a few days unless one wanted to rub their skin raw or use a special soap. The ink provided great spiritual conductivity, making it helpful for fast acting and effective talisman work. On the skin, especially near a meridian, it could compromise spiritual energy output. Cinnabar ink on a pulse is a beacon to nearby spirits.

“Stand still,” Jin Ling reached for a strip of linen from his pouch. “You are a hazard to sleeves and decency.”

“To sleeves perhaps,” Lan Sizhui agreed, resting his hand on Jin Ling’s outstretched one as salve was applied to the smudge. “Decency remains unthreatened.”

“For now,” Jin Ling blew on the damp stain. The salve he was applying started to run before it thought better and held. “Hold still. If you squirm, I’m charging a medical fee.”

“What’s your rate?”

“One candied hawthorn stick per complaint,” Jin Ling looked up from his work. “You can afford me.”

Lan Sizhui’s mouth curved upwards. “Then I shall be brave.”

“Don’t be brave; be obedient.” Jin Ling’s tone was crisp but his fingers were careful, pinching the linen and turning it around the wrist. “Relax your elbow.”

“It is relaxed.”

“It is pretending,” Jin Ling tapped on a tendon until it obeyed. “Better.”

Lan Sizhui watched him work, close enough to learn but far enough to give him room. He noticed something. “You tie bandages like you tie bowstrings.”

“It works better,” Jin Ling measured the tension, continuing to wrap and smoothing it out. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen you smudge a seal because you won’t stop to dry your hands?”

“Twice,” Lan Sizhui counted, his brow raising as if waiting for a challenge to that number. “And both were today.”

“Three times,” Jin Ling corrected him anyway. “You did it in Caiyi last month when Jingyi knocked over a broom closet and you refused to be distracted.”

Lan Sizhui blinked. “You remember that.”

“I remember things I’m forced to fix,” Jin Ling answered, cheeky and untrue. He tucked the end of the linen with a small tug that made the knot lie flat and close. “There. Do not get into a fight with it.”

Lan Sizhui turned his wrist, testing the give of the linen. “It’s pretty comfortable. Feels steady.”

Jin Ling gave an affirmative noise and gave the edge of the linen a last swipe, catching some of the salve that seeped out. His voice softened in spite of itself. “You work and work until your hands forget they are just hands. Now, your hands will know they are remembered.”

Lan Sizhui’s gaze lifted, meeting Jin Ling’s own. He did not move his wrist out of the hold. “My hands are grateful.”

“They’d better be,” Jin Ling let go and did not immediately move away. “If it loosens, tell me. I’ll fix it.”

“I will,” Lan Sizhui smiled, a faint color dusting his cheeks. “You tied it like a promise.”

Jin Ling scoffed and rolled his eyes because they had witnesses. The witnesses were a wooden cart and pine trees. “I tied it like a person who knows what they’re doing.”

“Who said they can’t be the same thing?” Lan Sizhui asked, flexing his fingers once last time before dropping his hand. “Thank you.”

“You already said that,” Jin Ling cleared his throat. “Stop thanking me for something that any decent person would do.”

“Not everyone would notice.” Lan Sizhui’s tone stayed simple. “You did.”

Jin Ling reached as if to retighten the knot. He knew it was just fine. He did it anyway, a lingering thumb pressing down on the pulse point. “It’s only because you forget that even you have limits.”

“And you forget that you can be kind.”

Jin Ling’s mouth twitched. “Slander.”

Lan Sizhui’s hands came up in innocence. “Just an observation.”

Jin Ling huffed, surrendering to a small smile. “Fine. Don’t get too used to it.”

Lan Sizhui inclined his head, his tone solemnly playful. “Noted.” A thought came to him. He leaned in closer. “If you are going to charge a fee, I will pay in something better than candy.”

Jin Ling’s ears began to warm. “Like what.”

“Like carrying the heavy bundle when we approach a steep hill,” Lan Sizhui said, entirely serious. “And not arguing when you give orders to the rear guard.”

Jin Ling tried to look unimpressed. “Acceptable currency. Your bargaining skills are unparalleled.”

“Then we are even,” Lan Sizhui turned his wrist once more, satisfied. “You’ll see to my hands and I’ll see to your back.”

Jin Ling nodded, short and firm, as if they had just settled a contract between sects. “Deal.”

A throat cleared with the gravity of a senior disciple and the timing of a disaster.

Lan Jingyi materialized at the edge of their little bubble, hands on hips, expression arranged into an innocence that fooled absolutely no one. “Hate to intrude on whatever official wrist inspection is going on, but we’re ready to head out. Everything is up: talismans, dry rations, Zizhen’s hair.”

Ouyang Zizhen appeared half a step behind him. “What Jingyi means is the kettle is empty and our courage is full.”

Jin Ling released Lan Sizhui’s hand in a motion that was not guilty at all. “We were just discussing field dressings.”

Lan Jingyi glanced at the linen on his friend’s wrist, his lips pursed in amusement. “And in discussing dressings, Sizhui received a ceremony. Very Lan of you, Jin Ling.”

Lan Sizhui’s cheeks turned a shade warmer. “It’s a support wrap. For precision.”

“Precision,” Lan Jingyi repeated, nodding as if contemplating a deep nugget of wisdom found in the Lan Annals. “While we are on the topic of precision, I have precisely counted the amount of sweets left in Zizhen’s sleeve. There are precisely zero. Tragically, this means it’s time to go.”

Ouyang Zizhen offered an apologetic bow, his hands devoid of the candied hawthorn. “I was robbed by a close friend. It was a betrayal of the highest order.”

Lan Jingyi brightened, grinning from ear to ear. “He means me.”

Fairy chose that moment to trot over, placing a firm paw on Lan Jingyi’s boot. She snorted at the boy’s attempt to move away. He was anchored down by a paperweight that was nine parts dog and one part destiny.

“Ah. Restraint. Hanguang-jun would be proud.”

“Fairy,” Jin Ling warned, not a drop of sharpness to be found in his tone. The dog lifted her paw with the dignity of a general obeying the orders of their emperor. Lan Jingyi wiggled his toes in freedom, predictably pointing back down at Lan Sizhui’s wrist.

“For the record,” Lan Jingyi started. “I support competent medicine. I also support labeling the knot so the rest of the team knows which battlefield promotions we’ve missed.”

Lan Sizhui’s sleeve dropped without hurry. “You’re going to be demoted on the battlefield if I have to keep you from stepping on corpse nets again.”

“Now hold on,” Lan Jingyi protested, his finger coming up insistently. “It was one trap. Singular.”

“Jingyi, it was labeled.”

“Their calligraphy was horrible! It was in a different dialect! You know I’m used to reading Hanguang-jun and Zewu-jun’s characters. Lan calligraphy really is the best. Who writes so haphazardly anyways?”

Jin Ling coughed into his sleeve.

Tapping his fan once against his palm, Ouyang Zizhen’s courteous interruption called the group’s attention. “During clean up, I spotted trackers. About two li away. If they kept the canal path, we’d be better off being early.”

Lan Sizhui nodded, the conversation neatly concluded. Jin Ling slung his bow and walked past Lan Jingyi with a princely calm that made Lan Sizhui roll his eyes in fond exasperation.

“If you have energy to complain about promotions, here’s your promotion,” Jin Ling jabbed a thumb at the direction of the cart. “Pull the cart uphill.”

Lan Jingyi moved at once, his chin tilted up to match the Jin heir. “Behold: diligence and perseverance. I am but a small ox with excellent hair.”

“You are a small ox who talks too much.” Jin Ling said, no edge in his voice.

Wen Ning finished securing the harness straps and lifted his head. “Road while the light is still good.” His voice carried a soft gravity that made the juniors obey without feeling scolded.

“Let us go make good trouble.” Ouyang Zizhen smiled, falling in step beside them.

Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui took point, leading the group down the road. Ouyang Zizhen and Lan Jingyi carried their respective halves of the cart while Jin Ling and Fairy covered the rear, bow in tow. They had agreed that if tracking cultivators found them, Ouyang Zizhen would do the talking.

I’ll keep them busy while Jin-gongzi decides whether to be seen.

Jin Ling exhaled in appreciation when that was said.

Good. Let Zizhen soften the ground; I’ll decide where to stand.

They started up the slope at a steady march. The cart murmured instead of creaked, its corners dressed with four neat talismans that held their ink like quiet breath. Lan Jingyi slipped the bell thread into his pocket so it would sing only when invited, then patted the outside once as if to remind it of its manners. Wen Ning lifted a hand without looking back, feeling the ground the way other men felt weather, and let it fall when the earth answered plainly. Fairy ranged ahead, nose low, her tail spelling out small reports that Jin Ling translated in his head without thinking.

Jin Ling took the rear as planned, bow light in his hand, the work of watching made strange by how easy it was to keep his eyes on what mattered.

Ahead, Lan Sizhui set the pace with that ordinary sort of authority that made the road behave. His white sleeve settled over the linen, shoulders squared. He moved like a solution to a problem waiting to present itself. He did not look back. He never needed to. He trusted the shape of their line and the person at the end of it.

Sometimes the wind lifted the edge of Lan Sizhui’s dark hair and set it down again. Sometimes he shifted the cart a hand’s width to keep it true. It was nothing anyone else would name. It was everything Jin Ling noticed. He counted the breaths that matched Lan Sizhui’s steps, then stopped counting when he realized he had matched them at all.

He told himself he was tracking posture for signs of fatigue. He told himself he was checking that the bandaged linen sat clean and did not catch. He told himself many reasonable things while the part of him that did not argue watched the line from pale wrist to strong shoulder and felt something unreasonably steady.

The bandage sits neatly. It’s a good knot. My knot. If it snags, I will hear it before he does. I could retie it in the dark in three breaths. I should not think about doing that in the dark. Stay focused, Rulan.

Lan Sizhui touched two fingers to the map at his belt to confirm the next bend. Without turning, he lifted his voice just enough that the group could hear him. “Water to the right. There’s a gentle rise up ahead.”

“Got it,” Jin Ling answered, the word landing softer than it usually did.

Lan Sizhui’s hand fell back to his side. The sleeve hid the linen again. The road went on. Jin Ling set his gaze where a rear guard should. It wandered forward anyway.

He let it, for three heartbeats and no more, and held the shape of those heartbeats like a kept arrow in a good quiver.