Chapter Text
The very air of Qishan Village seemed to have been dipped in liquid gold and set alight. The annual Harvest Moon Festival was in full, riotous swing, a temporary transformation of the dusty, work-worn settlement into a pulsating heart of noise and color. Paper lanterns in a hundred hues bobbed in the gentle evening breeze, casting a warm, dreamlike glow over the crowded central square. The scent of sizzling pork, sweet rice wine, and honeyed pastries wove through the cooler, earthy aromas of the autumn night, a tantalizing tapestry that could almost make one forget the harsh realities of rural life.
For Wei Wuxian, the festival was not a diversion; it was a weapon. A godsent tool of chaos and distraction. After his formal, tense release from the hunting lodge a release punctuated by a single, searing glare from Nie Mingjue that promised this is not over this public spectacle was his first and best chance to act. The plan was simple: use the crowd as a smokescreen.
At his side, Jiang Yanli moved with an ethereal calm that belied the tension thrumming through both of them. To any observer, she was the picture of a gentle Beta sister, pointing out stalls of sweet treats and handcrafted trinkets to her younger sibling. But her eyes, soft and kind, missed nothing. They were constantly scanning, assessing the flow of the crowd, noting the positions of Nie Mingjue’s pack enforcers.
“The path to the temple should begin west of the square,” Wei Wuxian murmured, the words a ghost of sound lost beneath the din of laughter and music. He paused at a stall overflowing with hand-painted masks, his fingers brushing over the grotesque and the beautiful. He selected one a cunning fox with a sly, knowing grin and held it to his face. The wooden scent was a welcome barrier. “Behind the blacksmith’s forge, if my memory of the map is correct.”
Jiang Yanli nodded slightly, her own gaze flicking toward the western edge of the festivities where the crowd thinned and the lantern light grew sparse. “The press of people is heaviest near the storyteller. It would be easy to slip away there. But A-Xian…” Her voice dropped even lower, laced with concern. “Your scent. The moment you leave the crowd…”
It was the most significant obstacle. Even after his heat, his Omega biology left a distinct signature on the air a sweet, unmistakable fragrance of peach blossoms that would act like a beacon the moment he stepped away from the masking odors of sweat, food, and perfume.
A slow, sly smile spread across Wei Wuxian’s face, hidden safely behind the fox mask. “I anticipated that.” From a small, discreet pouch at his belt, he produced a handful of dried, crumbled herbs. “Silver nettle and dried chrysanthemum. A local remedy for fever, but when crushed together, they create a pungent, medicinal odor that effectively neutralizes dynamic scents. The village healers use it for patients who desire privacy.”
With practiced, subtle movements, he rubbed the mixture onto the glands at his wrists and the sensitive skin of his neck. The effect was instantaneous. The delicate peach-blossom sweetness was violently overwhelmed by a sharp, astringent, almost bitter aroma. To any Alpha’s senses, he would now register as a Beta who had been handling potent remedies.
Jiang Yanli’s eyes widened in genuine admiration. “Where did you learn that?”
“I read,” he said simply, the smile on his lips not quite reaching the brittle edge in his voice. “When everyone assumes you’re a simple, empty-headed Omega, they become remarkably careless with their books.” He handed her a smaller pouch. “For you. So we match.”
As they blended back into the throng, the herbal mask creating an invisible shield around them, Wei Wuxian felt a thrilling, illicit sense of liberation. Behind the mask and the false scent, he was a ghost. An illusion. No longer Wei Wuxian, the unwanted bride, but a shadow with a purpose. The intoxication of it was a potent draught.
They navigated the periphery of the celebration, a seemingly aimless stroll that was, in fact, a deliberate path toward the western shadows. The joyful noise of the festival began to fade, replaced by the whisper of the wind through the trees and the frantic beating of Wei Wuxian’s own heart. They were close.
“Wei Wuxian.”
The voice was not loud. It did not need to be. It cut through the distant music and chatter like a shard of ice, its resonance vibrating deep in Wei Wuxian’s bones. It was a tone of absolute, unmistakable recognition.
He turned, his movements feeling slow and heavy. Lan Wangji stood a few feet away, having materialized from the deep shadows between two shuttered stalls. He was not dressed for festivity. He wore his usual impeccable white shirt and dark trousers, a figure of stark, elegant severity amidst the colorful chaos. He looked like a winter spirit who had wandered into a mortal revel, his celestial beauty out of place. But his eyes those liquid gold eyes were fixed on Wei Wuxian with an intensity that was entirely, devastatingly earthly.
He did not advance, but his gaze was a physical weight, sweeping over them, taking in the masks, their trajectory away from the light and the people. His nostrils flared, a minute, almost imperceptible movement. The herbal mask had done its job; his expression showed no sign of detecting Wei Wuxian’s Omega scent. But he knew him. He had recognized his posture, the set of his shoulders, the very essence of his being.
“Lan...Xiansheng,” Wei Wuxian corrected himself, the honorific feeling foreign and clumsy on his tongue. He offered a slight, formal bow, Jiang Yanli mirroring the gesture beside him.
“The festivities are centered in the square,” Lan Wangji stated. His voice was neutral, devoid of inflection, but the statement was not an observation. It was a question, a demand for an explanation for their departure into the darkness.
“My sister was feeling overwhelmed by the crowd,” Wei Wuxian lied, the words smooth and practiced. He gestured to Jiang Yanli, who offered a convincing, delicate smile. “We thought to find some quieter air.” He prayed to any god that might be listening that the herbal scent masked the frantic, rabbit-quick rhythm of his heart.
Lan Wangji’s eyes remained locked on him, seeing through the mask, through the lie, down to the frantic hope and fear beneath. “The mountain paths are uneven and poorly lit after dark,” he said, his tone still cool. “It is not safe.” The unspoken words hung in the air between them, heavy and protective: Especially for you.
Before Wei Wuxian could formulate a response, a new voice shattered the tense intimacy of their standoff. It was a sound like boulders grinding together, laced with irritation and unquestioned authority.
“There you are.”
Nie Mingjue shouldered his way through a group of villagers, who parted for him with instinctive deference. He smelled of festival ale and the aggressive, metallic scent of his own dominance whiskey and cold iron. His gaze, dark and imposing, landed on their small group, and his expression hardened into a storm cloud when he registered Lan Wangji’s presence.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, the words aimed like arrows at Wei Wuxian, though his eyes flicked to Lan Wangji with open suspicion. “It’s time you were presented to the senior pack elders. Stop lingering on the periphery like a shy child. Your presence is required.”
The command was a cage door slamming shut. The investigation was over before it had truly begun. Desperation, cold and sharp, clawed at Wei Wuxian’s throat.
“Alpha Nie, my sister was just..” he tried, his voice straining for a placating tone.
“I don’t care,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, the words a blunt, dismissive blow. “Your duties to this pack come first. The Jiang family’s standing needs to be reinforced, and you standing out here, skulking in the shadows with...” He cut himself off, but the accusation was as clear as if he’d shouted it. With him.
Nie Mingjue shouldered his way through a group of villagers, his presence causing an immediate ripple of deference. He smelled of festival ale and his own dominant, whiskey-and-iron scent. His gaze landed on their small group, his expression darkening when he saw Lan Wangji.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his words aimed at Wei Wuxian, though his eyes flicked to Lan Wangji with clear suspicion. “It’s time you were presented to the senior pack members. Stop hiding on the periphery.”
The command was clear. The investigation was over before it had begun. Desperation clawed at Wei Wuxian.
“Alpha Nie, my sister was just...” he tried.
“I don’t care,” Nie Mingjue interrupted bluntly. “Your duties come first. The Jiang family’s standing needs to be reinforced, and you standing out here skulking with..” He cut himself off, but the accusation was clear. With him.
Lan Wangji’s posture, already stiff, became utterly rigid. A flicker of that glacial fury from the lodge returned to his eyes. “He was not ‘skulking’,” he said, his voice dropping into a dangerously soft register. “He was taking air. Is he now a prisoner who cannot walk freely?”
The public challenge was electrifying. Villagers nearby had stopped their chatter, sensing the shift in the Alpha dynamics. The festive mood curdled into tense anticipation.
Nie Mingjue’s face flushed with anger. “He is my intended. His actions reflect on me. I decide where he walks and with whom.” He took a heavy step forward, his dominance flaring, a visible pressure meant to force submission. “And he will come with me. Now.”
He reached out, his large hand aiming to grasp Wei Wuxian’s arm.
It was a mistake.
The moment Nie Mingjue’s intent to physically claim him became clear, Lan Wangji moved.It wasn’t a aggressive lunge. It was a shift of such seamless, deadly grace that it was over before anyone could blink. He placed himself squarely between Nie Mingjue and Wei Wuxian, his body a solid, unyielding barrier. The air around him grew cold, his winter-sandalwood scent sharpening into something that smelled like a blizzard about to devour a mountain.
“Do not touch him,” Lan Wangji said. The quiet words were not a request. They were a primal, absolute warning. A promise of violence.
The crowd gasped. An open, public challenge between the Pack Alpha and his high-ranking brother-in-law. It was unprecedented. Scandalous. Nie Mingjue stared, his hand still outstretched, shock and pure, unadulterated fury warring on his face. “You would dare?” he growled, the sound animalistic. “You would challenge my claim in front of my entire pack?”
“You speak of a claim as if it is a leash,” Lan Wangji retorted, his golden eyes blazing. He didn’t raise his voice, but every word was a chip of ice, sharp and cutting. “He is not your property to be dragged around. He is a person.”
The square had gone utterly silent. Even the musicians had stopped playing. All eyes were on the two Alphas locked in a silent war of wills, with Wei Wuxian as the trembling prize between them.
Wei Wuxian stood frozen, humiliated and terrified. This was his worst fear realized. He was a spectacle. The cause of a pack-shattering conflict.
It was then that an elderly Omega woman, her face a roadmap of wrinkles and her back bent with age, pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She ignored the tense Alphas completely and shuffled right up to Wei Wuxian. Her milky eyes studied him intently, her nose twitching as she inhaled deeply through the herbal mask.
She reached out a gnarled, trembling hand. Everyone tensed, expecting Nie Mingjue to explode. But he was too stunned by her audacity to react.
The old woman didn’t touch Wei Wuxian’s face. Instead, her fingers brushed against the collar of his jacket, near where his mother’s hairpin was hidden in its secret pocket.She leaned in close, her voice a dry rustle of leaves that somehow carried in the dead silence.
“The scent may lie, but the blood does not,” she whispered, her ancient eyes locking with his. “You have her fire. And you bear her mark.”
She straightened up with a painful slowness and turned to face the stunned Nie Mingjue and the rigid Lan Wangji. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger, filled with a authority that belied her frail form.
“Enough of this posturing, Alpha Nie. This is not some stray Omega you seek to command.” She pointed a bony finger at Wei Wuxian. “This is the grandson of Baoshan Sanren. The last blood of the woman who saved this village from starvation. The one whose legacy you and your fathers have tried to bury for thirty years.”
The silence that followed was deeper than before, heavier. The name ‘Baoshan Sanren’ dropped into the crowd like a stone into a still pond, sending out ripples of shock and muttered recognition among the older villagers. Nie Mingjue looked as if he’d been struck. The anger on his face was replaced by sheer, uncomprehending shock. “What? That’s… that’s impossible. He’s a Jiang.”
“He is her daughter’s son,” the old woman insisted, her voice ringing with certainty. “I was there when she left. I would know her lineage anywhere. It is in the set of his eyes. In the defiance of his spirit. And it is in the symbol he carries.” Her gaze fell to Wei Wuxian’s hidden pocket once more.
Wei Wuxian’s heart was hammering against his ribs so hard he thought it might break them. This was it. The revelation he had been searching for, delivered not through stealth, but in a thunderclap of public drama.He slowly, deliberately, reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver hairpin. He held it up, the nine-petaled lotus catching the lantern light for all to see.
A collective murmur ran through the crowd. The symbol was known.
Nie Mingjue stared at the hairpin, then at Wei Wuxian’s face, his own expression a tumultuous mix of confusion, dawning horror, and a crumbling sense of reality. The narrative he had built of a disappointing obligation from a indebted family shattered and fell away, leaving behind a far more complex and dangerous truth.
Lan Wangji’s gaze was fixed solely on Wei Wuxian. The cold fury was gone from his eyes, replaced by a look of staggering intensity a look of awe, of understanding, of a thousand pieces clicking into place.
Wei Wuxian stood tall, the fox mask still held in his other hand, his chin raised. The hidden, clever Omega was gone. In his place stood the heir to a legacy he was only beginning to understand. He looked directly at Nie Mingjue, his voice clear and steady, carrying across the silent square.
“My name,” he said, “is Wei Wuxian. My mother was Cangse Sanren. And it seems I have a great deal to learn about my family’s… history… with your pack.”