Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’ve always preferred Cain.

His angry
loneliness, his
lack of his mother’s
love, his Christian
sarcasm: “Am I
my brother’s keeper?”
asks his brother’s murderer.

Aren’t we indeed
the keepers of our dead?

- Genesis, Valzhyna Mort

Cloud Recesses rose out of the mist like an island upon a vast lake, the ridges of the mountains blurred as though painted in ink upon a blank sheet of paper. The coolness of the peaks eased the heat of their journey; the thin mountain air was gentler to breathe than the sweltering heaviness of the valley they had left behind. Yet it made the head swim, and Wei Wuxian found himself restless, tingling with a mischievous urge to jest.

“Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan!”

“Mn?”

“I’m starving. Don’t you think a rabbit from the back mountain would taste heavenly once skinned and roasted over a fire?”

The only reply was the unshaken calm in those pale eyes. Wei Wuxian laughed at his own joke, looping an arm around Little Apple’s neck to coax the donkey into a quicker pace. They had climbed barely half the way, but something in Wei Wuxian’s legs drove him to stride with all the exuberance of a boy still trying to outrun the silence within.

“Haha, of course I would never roast one of your rabbits. But truly, I am hungry. We should have brought steamed buns from Caiyi Town. Why don’t we turn back and—”

Lan Wangji caught his hand. The gesture seemed that of a lover, yet when Wei Wuxian tried to pull free, he realized the grip was firm, unyielding.

“Lan Zhan!”

“Do not be anxious.”

“Anxious? Who says I’m anxious?” Wei Wuxian forced a laugh, nearly stumbling over his own feet as Lan Wangji drew him mercilessly onward. “Lan Zhan, you’re absurd. Me, anxious? Have you ever seen me lose my nerve?”

Lan Wangji’s silence was answer enough. He did not let go, but the warmth of his palm pressed gently around Wei Wuxian’s, his thumb tracing quiet comfort across the back of his hand.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan. Do you take me for a child to be soothed? I’m not afraid of your uncle, truly not. Didn’t I torment him endlessly even as a youth? And your brother and I are on good terms. What should I fear? Honestly, I’m looking forward to this visit, to the cold springs…”

Lan Wangji let him ramble on like a brook spilling over stones, though most of it was nonsense. Wei Wuxian knew it himself—he strung together fragments of chatter only to fill the stillness, lest his thoughts turn inward. And what would he think, if not that he truly was anxious?

They reached the summit: Wei Wuxian’s mouth still spilling words, Lan Wangji cloaked in dignified silence. Neither cast a glance toward the Wall of Discipline—had they not already broken enough rules to copy it thrice over? Wei Wuxian lagged slightly behind, pretending to fuss with Little Apple before crossing the threshold. Hidden in Lan Wangji’s shadow, he need not worry about being noticed.

No one appeared to greet them. Wei Wuxian felt a wash of relief at the unusual emptiness of Cloud Recesses, fanning himself carelessly before turning to Lan Wangji.

“I’ve kept my promise. ‘Come back to Gusu with me,’ you said—so here I am. Now then, go find your brother or your uncle. I can manage myself. I’ll wait for you in the Jingshi.”

Whether or not Lan Wangji replied, Wei Wuxian did not listen; he slipped away, tugging Little Apple with him. The last thing he wanted was to encounter a member of the Lan Clan. Surely Lan Wangji would forgive him—after all, he had come back with him. Wei Wuxian understood what those words, Come back to Gusu with me, meant. By following, he had already given his answer: I love you as well.

He unfastened Little Apple’s reins, sending the donkey down the back slopes to graze on whatever grass and wildflowers the rabbits had left untouched. Then he entered the Jingshi. He found two jars of Emperor’s Smile, but with little taste for drinking alone, he set them back in their hiding place. Weary of every other occupation, he stretched out upon Lan Wangji’s bed and drifted into half-sleep.

The sheets were soft as clouds. He dreamed he was the mountain itself, floating in a sea of mist. Clouds shaped like fish swam past, slipping away when he reached out to catch them. The trees upon the slopes unfurled like lotus stems, and the cool breath of fog shifted into the fragrance of still waters—lake-scent mingled with summer’s warmth, with cypress wood and lotus bloom. And Wei Wuxian knew he was no longer in Cloud Recesses, but once more among the waters of Lotus Pier.

I want to go back to Lotus Pier even in my dreams. That was what he had told Jiang Cheng, and it had not been a lie. The fragrance of lotus blossoms lingered always in his memory, the summer wind over the lake, the taste of the soup his shijie would cook. He remembered it all from his former life, yet the memory was absurd—false, misleading—for in this life he had never tasted that soup, nor swum in that lake.

He never would again.

A sudden splash of a carp startled him from his dream—no, not a splash, but the knock upon the door of the Jingshi. Drowsily, he rose and ambled over, hand upon the latch, when he realized something strange: someone had knocked. Lan Wangji would not knock upon his own door. Whoever stood outside was not Lan Wangji, and likely had no inkling of Wei Wuxian’s presence.

He considered crawling back to bed and feigning sleep, but the knock came again. With a sigh and an expression of feigned innocence (for fear it might be Lan Qiren or Lan Xichen), he opened the door with studied nonchalance.

What greeted him was Lan Sizhui’s radiant smile.

“Wei-qianbei!”

Before Wei Wuxian could utter a startled “A-Yuan,” the boy had flung himself forward, wrapping his arms tight around Wei Wuxian’s leg. He would not let go, even as Wei Wuxian shook him gently.

“Alright, alright! Foolish child. Do you think this is fitting for a Lan disciple? No improper conduct—rule twenty-seven of the Wall of Discipline.”

Lan Sizhui straightened, eyes glimmering faintly with tears, as though embarrassed by his own outburst.

“You know the rules so well, Wei-qianbei.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “Anyone forced to copy them as often as I was should know them by heart. Otherwise, I would have to question the strength of his mind.”

He patted Lan Sizhui’s head, just as he once had when the boy was a small child buried in the soil all those years ago. “But why are you here? Weren’t you going to Qishan with Wen Ning?”

Lan Sizhui smiled again. “But that was half a year ago.”

Wei Wuxian raised his brows. Half a year? Had it truly been so long since he and Lan Wangji had begun their wanderings, so long since they had last seen Gusu and Cloud Recesses? No wonder Lan Wangji longed to return. No wonder Lan Sizhui had missed him so much that he would fling himself upon his leg like a child. Wei Wuxian had let the passing of time slip from his grasp. But what did time mean, to a man with no duties, no ties, no home?

“Where is Wen Ning now?” he asked.

“He stayed below with the rabbits, together with Jin Ling—ah, I mean, Jin-zongzhu. When I saw Little Apple, I ran up here at once to find you.”

Wei Wuxian had begun to nod, but something in Lan Sizhui’s words caught him short.

“Jin Ling is here?”

In theory, Wei Wuxian knew that Jin Ling must by now have become clan leader. After Jin Guangyao’s death, he was the natural heir, and at last of an age to assume the authority of the Lanling Jin. Yet it was hard to imagine him so. To Wei Wuxian, he was still that child, still the nephew scolded by Jiang Cheng whenever he misbehaved. Those days, it seemed, had passed. How quickly the world had changed in six short months.

He followed Lan Sizhui hesitantly, unsure if Jin Ling would welcome him. Yet had Lan Sizhui not said Wen Ning was with him? For all the bitterness Jin Ling once bore, it was a comfort to know he endured Wen Ning’s company. If he could bear with Wen Ning, he would not cast Wei Wuxian away.

“Wei-qianbei!” Lan Sizhui called, walking faster than Wei Wuxian’s ambling stride. “We must not keep Jin-zongzhu waiting. He is very busy, but he wished to see you once more before he departs.”

“Did he?” Wei Wuxian wanted to cast a searching glance at Lan Sizhui's face to see if he was lying, but all he could see was the back of his head with its neatly knotted headband. He didn't believe that a Lan disciple would get caught up in lies, but Lan Sizhui had enjoyed enough Wen influence in his life to tip the scales slightly. After all, he had also taken note of Wei Wuxian's witty teachings on how to behave around beautiful young women. 

Why would Jin Ling want to see him? For one last quarrel, after laying aside their old strife? To raise some matter left unspoken at their last meeting? Or… had he simply missed him, as Sizhui had? Wei Wuxian hoped desperately for the last, though he was not so foolish as to expect it.

“A-Yuan, not so fast! My body is still half asleep. You woke me.”

“Forgive me, Wei-qianbei,” Sizhui said, though he did not slow. He only waved and vanished among the trees that concealed the rabbit burrows.

Wei Wuxian quickened his pace, then halted with hands on his hips, catching his breath. White rabbits hopped around his feet, and Little Apple grazed further down where the slope leveled. On a nearby boulder sat Wen Ning, sharp ears already catching their arrival. Beside him stood Jin Ling, arms crossed.

He looked older than when Wei Wuxian had last seen him, though it had been scarcely half a year. His hair was bound not fully but half up, just as his father once wore it, and his golden robes hung longer, more flowing than before. His face was gentler. Wei Wuxian had never seen it so unguarded.

“Jin Ling!” Wei Wuxian called, eager for his notice.

“It is Jin-zongzhu now,” his nephew corrected, with the same arrogance that had once so irked him in Jin Zixuan. Yet in Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian found it more amusing, more endearing. “Even for you.”

“Forgive me, forgive me.” Wei Wuxian stepped closer and bowed with exaggerated respect. “Jin-zongzhu.”

“Good.” Jin Ling let his arms fall to his sides. “Then we may leave.”

“Leave? For where?”

“For Yunmeng.” Jin Ling tossed the words as though they were fallen leaves on still water, but his gaze flickered, betraying itself in Lan Sizhui’s direction. When Wei Wuxian followed, Lan Sizhui averted his eyes, fixing them instead upon the hem of his sleeve. A glance passed between the two boys, quick and awkward, and Wei Wuxian did not miss it.

He narrowed his eyes and rubbed at his nose. “Ah, I see. You wish to hurry back to visit your uncle, but wanted to see me once more before your departure. Well then, I won’t hold you. Safe travels, Jin-zongzhu.”

“No,” said Jin Ling. The stubborn, tight-lipped expression was one Wei Wuxian knew all too well. “You will come with me.”

Wei Wuxian gave a sharp laugh. “Even if you miss me so dearly, Jin Ling, I can’t follow you everywhere just to keep you company. Take Sizhui, or Wen Ning.”

“But you must come.” Jin Ling nearly stamped his foot, like the spoiled child he once was. His brow furrowed so tightly it seemed his head might burst with unsaid words, yet his lips stayed pressed shut.

“What Jin-zongzhu means,” Sizhui interjected gently, catching Wei Wuxian by the sleeve, “is that he needs your help. Jiang-zongzhu is ill—gravely ill. He asked my advice, but I could not identify the curse that afflicts him. We thought perhaps you might…”

“You think it demonic enough that I would know the answer?” Wei Wuxian shook his head. Jiang Cheng, ill or cursed? In all his life he had never heard of such a thing. Either it was dire indeed, to worry Jin Ling into coming this far—or it was a trick the youngsters had contrived. In either case, Jiang Cheng would hardly want him meddling.

“Ask Zewu-jun or Lan Qiren. Or are you too afraid? A-Yuan?” Was that why they had turned to him—because it was easier to speak to him than to those paragons of the cultivation world?

“Not at all, Wei-qianbei. Only…” Sizhui looked helplessly to Jin Ling and Wen Ning. Both had been watching in silence, Jin Ling tense, Wen Ning calm as always. Neither offered more than a small nod.

Lan Sizhui continued: “Only—ah… we suspect it may be the Thousand Sores and Hundred Holes Curse.”

A sharp breath escaped Wei Wuxian’s lips, though he quickly gathered himself. “Hundred Holes? Impossible. You must be mistaken.”

Who in their right mind would be foolish enough to curse the clan leader of Yunmeng Jiang? The Thousand Sores and Hundred Holes Curse rebounded so violently that its caster would be instantly exposed, and Wei Wuxian had no doubt Jiang Cheng would hunt them down. Jiang Cheng had that maddening habit of always being in the right place at the right time—something Wei Wuxian had felt painfully on his own skin.

“So what if we are mistaken?” Jin Ling snapped, exhaling in frustration. “Then so be it. But Jiujiu lets me see nothing, tells me nothing. He’s too proud to ask for help—so he’ll die, and leave me all alone.”

His lower lip trembled, though his eyes glared stubbornly at Wei Wuxian. Lan Sizhui, too, clutched at his arm. “Please… help him.”

“All right, all right—don’t cry, the pair of you.” With a sigh, Wei Wuxian closed his eyes against the sight of their young, sorrowful faces—pleading, like orphaned pups. The sight made him shiver. “Wen Ning, what do you think?”

The Ghost General glanced at Jin Ling and Sizhui before answering softly, almost shyly. “I have not been to Lotus Pier myself. But from what is said… Jiang-zongzhu’s condition seems grave indeed.”

Wei Wuxian drew a long breath, then cast his fiercest Yiling Laozu glare upon each of the three, a silent warning not to exaggerate. Yet none of them flinched, none looked away. At last, he sighed in defeat. “Very well. I will see what can be done. Let me only wait until Hanguang-jun returns from his meeting with Zewu-jun.”

“You three wait here,” Lan Sizhui said to the others. “I will go with Wei-qianbei.”

And with that, he darted up the steep slope as lightly as a startled rabbit, leaving Wei Wuxian struggling to keep pace. “A-Yuan! Why are you so skittish today?”

He chased him, but could not catch up. By the time Wei Wuxian reached the Hanshi, Sizhui had already arrived long before him. Wei Wuxian meant to hold him back, but Sizhui paid no mind and slipped directly into the clan leader’s quarters without a backward glance. Wei Wuxian stood outside, stunned.

Not five minutes later, Lan Xichen emerged, Lan Sizhui close at his heels. Of Lan Wangji there was no sign.

“Zewu-jun.” Wei Wuxian followed Lan Xichen’s fine example of courtesy and inclined in a bow. “Is your brother not with you?”

“Ah, he is,” Lan Xichen replied, glancing down at the boy, who returned a shy nod. “I hear you are returning to Lotus Pier for a time? That is well. Take Lan Sizhui with you—he is eager to roam again. As for Lan Wangji, I must ask him to remain here. When he is free, I will send him after you.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to protest, but Lan Xichen’s gentle, sincere gaze disarmed him. This man had always shown him kindness—how could he defy him like some unruly disciple? “Then do not worry on my account. Tell Lan Wangji I will return as swiftly as I can.”

Lan Xichen smiled and laid a hand upon Lan Sizhui’s shoulder, urging him toward Wei Wuxian. “A safe journey. Give Jiang-zongzhu my greetings.”

I want to go back to Lotus Pier even in my dreams.

The first time he had spoken those words, it had been rejection—a retort to Jiang Cheng’s accusations. They had been the truth of his heart, yes, but uttered only to soothe his brother’s bitter self-reproach. Never had he thought beyond dreams, never had he believed Lotus Pier would welcome him again.

So dreams do come true, he thought, as he walked the docks before Lotus Pier with Jin Ling, Wen Ning, and Lan Sizhui. Had Jin Ling not invited him himself? Did that not count as welcome? Since nephew and uncle were bound so closely, Jin Ling was nearly part of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan himself.

He carried himself as though he were. Jin Ling strutted through the streets as if he owned the place, greeting the merchants with a lordly nod, striding ahead as if he alone knew the way. Wei Wuxian had to smile when he took a shortcut—one he and Jiang Cheng had discovered in boyhood—and felt a flicker of surprise when some of the disciples greeted him not with his title as clan leader, but by his given name. Last time he had been here, Jin Ling had had no friends in his clan. Perhaps now he had found a second home within Lotus Pier?

Before the entrance they paused. Wei Wuxian turned to Wen Ning. “Perhaps it would be better if you stayed outside.”

“Ah, nonsense.” To his surprise, it was Jin Ling who waved the concern aside. “If I say he may enter, then he may. Jiujiu won’t object to what I have allowed.”

With a shrug, Wei Wuxian let the others precede him, and followed last across the threshold.

The world shifted, though nothing had changed. He was still himself, the surroundings still the same. Yet the feeling—different. Was the air heavier? He had to swallow it like water lest he choke, and his sluggish heart had to beat fiercely to push blood through his limbs. In his chest, the weight pressed downward like stone, and in its place yawned a hollow void. He exhaled once, steadying himself before taking the next step.

Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui had gone ahead, their steps light—accustomed to this place, to them it was nothing. Only Wen Ning lingered at his side, until Wei Wuxian gestured him on with a flick of the hand. He preferred to be alone.

Lotus Pier was no longer his home. But it was more familiar than any place in the world, estranged only by the shadow of what might have been. He did not know how to carry himself here. The self-assuredness he wore everywhere else deserted him as soon as he had seen the plaque above the gates. Not even Jin Ling knew this place so well—yet he must trail after him like a guest, tolerated, not belonging.

It hurt less than it had in his first life. That was a relief, but it was all he could say. It hurt less.

Jin Ling seemed so often at home here that the others paid him no heed, save for a nod in greeting. None asked his purpose, none questioned why he came. And because Wei Wuxian, Wen Ning, and Sizhui walked with him, none questioned them either. They passed through Lotus Pier as though they were Jiang disciples themselves.

One of those disciples told them Jiang-zongzhu was in his quarters, taking a meal. Alone? Wei Wuxian thought. Typical Jiang Cheng. Can’t he set aside his surly, solitary clan leader airs even now? And yet, if Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui’s accounts were true, his health was failing. That might well explain his seclusion.

This time, Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning waited outside while Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian walked together through the courtyard to Jiang Cheng's rooms. When Wei Wuxian saw them disappear through a side gate out of the corner of his eye, he had a slight suspicion that the two would not go far. After all, Wen Ning had a history of eavesdropping on private conversations. 

Jin Ling knocked and, barely waiting for an answer, pushed the door wide open and went inside. Wei Wuxian followed him a little more cautiously, his hands clasped behind his back so they wouldn't move so much. Half hidden behind Jin Ling's back (which was difficult, as the young clan leader was still two inches shorter than him), he peered at Jiang Cheng, who was sitting at a table on the side of the room.

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling called out so loudly that it echoed in Wei Wuxian's ears. There was a feigned cheerfulness in his voice. “Look who I brought back from Gusu.” 

Jiang Cheng looked up, carelessly setting down his meal. He wore the deep purple robes of the clan leader of Yunmeng Jiang, his hair tied in the same style Jiang Fengmian had worn, quite different from when they were young. A frown had formed between his dark brows, one that never seemed to leave his face when Wei Wuxian saw him. The only reason it hadn't become permanent was probably Jiang Cheng's high cultivation. 

When his eyes fell upon Wei Wuxian, the furrow in Jiang Cheng’s brow deepened, impossibly so. He leapt to his feet, fists clenched tight at his sides. “Wei Wuxian! What are you doing here?”

Whether he meant Lotus Pier as a whole, or the sanctity of his private chambers, Wei Wuxian could not tell. He stepped out from behind Jin Ling with a sheepish smile. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, don’t take offense. Jin Ling asked me to come, to lend a hand. He said… you were very ill?”

“Ill? Who told you that?” A storm lit in Jiang Cheng’s dark eyes, sparks like lightning. He turned that withering gaze from Wei Wuxian onto his nephew and strode toward him with heavy steps. “Was it you? Jin Ling, I warn you—clan leader or not, I can still break your legs.”

“You won’t anyway,” Jin Ling shot back, stubborn though his feet shuffled backward as his uncle advanced. He lifted his arms protectively over his head, drew in his neck. “And aren’t you sick? For half a year you’ve been sullen and withdrawn, living like a sick man. Lan Sizhui says you suffer from a sickness of the heart.”

He had said too much, and Jin Ling knew it. He shrank further, pressing his back against the wall that separated the room from the courtyard beyond.

“Jin Rulan!” Jiang Cheng raised his hand—then thought better of it, curling it instead into a fist before Jin Ling’s face. Wei Wuxian could see he was on the edge of exploding into thunder and lightning, and his heart ached for Jin Ling, crouched before him like a frightened kitten.

“Calm yourself, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said softly, stepping between nephew and uncle, between Jin Ling and that threatening fist. “Jin Ling meant no harm. He only wished to help you.”

Jiang Cheng snorted, forced now to stare down at Wei Wuxian instead. “Do I look like I need help? I am neither ill nor cursed. Nonsense! You’ve wasted your time, Wei Wuxian.”

“I see.” Wei Wuxian smiled, though inwardly a sigh welled up. He had believed Jiang Cheng had laid aside his hatred, that even if reconciliation was impossible, at least there was no enmity lingering between them. As for this matter… please don’t keep t in your heart. All those things are like from my previous life now. Let them go please. And we both should stop lingering on them. That was what he had said at the Guanyin Temple, and in that moment he had thought Jiang Cheng agreed—that he too wished their past quarrels to be buried. Yet afterward, they had spoken no more. And now, it seemed nothing had been forgiven; Jiang Cheng still clung to old fires of resentment.

“Then…” He was about to say, Then I had better take my leave, when Jin Ling suddenly stepped out from behind him, voice cutting across. He seemed to have recovered swiftly from his uncle’s fury; in his mischievous eyes there was no longer a trace of fear.

“You cannot leave. As clan leader, I forbid it. Jiujiu, let him stay for a few days. I know you haven’t spoken in a long while, but you must. Even Lan Sizhui said it would be better if you talked things through…”

“What does that Lan Sizhui know?” Jiang Cheng growled. “The meddling of that Lan disciple disgusts me. How often does he come here? It feels as if he visits you every week.”

Jin Ling flushed red, but he held firm. “Jiujiu! You cannot turn them away after they’ve come all the way from Gusu just for you! To refuse them now would bring shame to our clan.”

“I alone decide what brings shame.”

Wei Wuxian grimaced, torn, watching uncle and nephew clash. “There’s no need for strife. Wen Ning and I can find an inn in the city—no trouble to anyone.”

“Shut your mouth,” Jiang Cheng snapped. “Who asked for your opinion? You will stay here if I say so. But tomorrow—you leave.”

Wei Wuxian bowed his head in obedience. Yet as Jin Ling tugged him away in secret, he still caught the words Jiang Cheng muttered under his breath: “Ridiculous. I am not sick. And even if I were—what could you possibly do about it?”

“Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian said as they walked out together. “Why did you lie to me?”

“It wasn’t really a lie,” Jin Ling defended himself, though not with full conviction. “Jiujiu is sick. He just doesn’t know it. Ever since the Guanyin Temple, he’s been angry, shut away… I thought, if you came to Lotus Pier, maybe it would lift his spirits.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help himself—he burst out laughing. “What in the world makes you think Jiang Cheng would be in better spirits when he sees me?”

In truth, the opposite was always so. Whenever Jiang Cheng’s eyes fell upon him, shadows crossed his whole face, as if a dark cloud had smothered the sun. That he had not already thrown him bodily out of Lotus Pier was a miracle in itself.

“But he’s always complaining that you never come! Then he rants that you’d rather stay in Gusu, as though Yunmeng is no longer good enough for you.”

“Your Jiujiu has a very contradictory nature.” If Wei Wuxian entered Lotus Pier, Jiang Cheng’s glares would cut him down; if he stayed away, Jiang Cheng still took offense. To please him was simply impossible. But Jiang Cheng had always been thus. He would speak one way, think another, and act in yet a third, entirely different.

“He is angry and he is lonely,” Jin Ling said with sudden gravity. “The two don’t go together.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him in surprise. “When did you become so wise? Words were never your strength.”

Jin Ling shrugged. “I’ve heard enough of your chatter to remember a few sayings.”

Wei Wuxian was about to retort with a mock-offended scolding, when they were interrupted by a Jiang disciple catching up to them from behind, calling out to him. 

“Wei-qianbei. A room has been prepared for you.” The disciple waited patiently, clearly expecting Wei Wuxian to follow. So Wei Wuxian bid Jin Ling farewell.

“We’ll speak again tomorrow,” he said with a sigh, and trailed after the boy.

He did not need to take more than two steps before he knew where he was being led. The path was too familiar, the turn too clear. There were no other rooms in this direction save Jiang Cheng’s old quarters. A restless unease stirred within him as he followed, and at the doorway he dismissed the disciple.

“Thank you. I can manage from here.”

In truth, he wanted to face his old chambers alone, for the first time. Why had Jiang Cheng given them to him now? To make him feel guilty, because they would never again belong to him? To force him to look upon what he had lost?

With a resolute breath, he stepped inside.

His gaze swept the room—the walls, the bed, the table, the floor. Nothing had changed. The realization struck like a blow to the stomach, and he gripped a wooden beam for support, lest his knees give way. It was the same room he had once lived in, unchanged in every detail. And yet, it could not be. Lotus Pier had been destroyed, years had passed, he himself had died and lived again. These rooms should not have endured untouched unless Jiang Cheng had rebuilt them, piece by piece, to be exactly as they once were.

How had he remembered so clearly? Wei Wuxian himself only recalled certain things now because he saw them here before his eyes.

The old paper kite he had crafted together with Jiang Cheng. Surely it could not be the same one from their childhood? Could such fragile paper have survived the ruin of Lotus Pier? And if not, then who had remembered it so well, recreating even the rolling eyes and the uneven red streaks Wei Wuxian had once clumsily painted on its side?

The shells he had collected from the lakebed. Some of them had contained misshapen pearls, too wild to hold value, yet beautiful enough to keep. He had given them to Yanli, and she had been delighted, storing them in her own chamber. Were these the very same? How had anyone salvaged them, buried as they were beneath devastation?

With heavy limbs Wei Wuxian sank onto the bed, also a precise copy of the old. It was as though time itself had stopped in Lotus Pier, as though stepping across that threshold had cast him back into the past.

He was not certain he could bear it. He had let go of so much already: his own mistakes, the wrongs done to him. All that was from another life, a life he considered closed. But his shijie, Lotus Pier, those he could never forget.

All those things are like from my previous life now, he had once said to Jiang Cheng, and he had meant it. The loss of his golden core, the Yin Tiger Tally, the Burial Mounds—these worries he no longer carried with him. They were painful memories, yes, but only memories, which could be laid to rest.

But Lotus Pier—he could never lay it to rest. He had tried, forced it from his thoughts, but in the defenseless hours of night it always returned: the taste of Yanli’s soup, the scent of lotus blossoms, the sound of flowing water. And he would wake trembling, guilty, aching.

He could not remain here. Whatever Jiang Cheng’s intention—punishment or not—Wei Wuxian felt it as torture. Rising swiftly, he left the room. The cool evening air steadied his thoughts as he walked toward the only place he could go.

The rebuilt ancestral hall he had already seen, the first time he came here with Lan Wangji. Then, they had bowed before Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan, before Jiang Cheng caught them and cast them out. And then… what had followed, Wei Wuxian would rather not remember.

He still felt like a trespasser, slipping quietly into the hall. The hairs at his nape stood on end, a chill coursing down his spine as he knelt before the ancestral tablets and lit three sticks of incense. The candles glowed, the room was warmer than the night outside, yet cold seeped into his bones, a tension like the turning of seasons, as though summer had departed and winter had entered.

He bowed three times, and at the third he heard footsteps behind him. His heart stopped—then raced twice as fast. He remembered too well what had happened the last time Jiang Cheng found him here: anger, fighting, revelations that should never have been spoken. He bowed his head lower, not wishing to give Jiang Cheng any excuse to call him disrespectful.

“I knew you would come here,” Jiang Cheng said. The words dripped with venom, yet the fire was gone from his voice. He sounded weary. “So I waited.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed. He did not know what to say. Slowly, he rose and turned to face him. He searched his expression for hostility, expecting to be dismissed at once, but found only resignation.

“I had to pay my respects,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “Who knows when I’ll be here again.”

When I’ll be allowed here again, he thought, but he did not say it. With someone who could twist any word into insult, silence was safer.

But Jiang Cheng was not prepared to let him go so easily. “Why are you here?”

Wei Wuxian hesitated. “Jin Ling said—”

“No,” Jiang Cheng cut him off. “As if Jin Ling’s pitiful excuse for a lie could ever fool you. And even if I were sick, what right would you have to cure me? I have healers far better than you. So—why are you here?”

Why indeed? Jiang Cheng was right; he had never truly believed Jin Ling’s story, and had not been surprised when it turned out to be nothing but a pretext to draw him back to Lotus Pier. And yet, he had come.

Because he had wanted to see Lotus Pier again. Because he pitied Jin Ling, who bore more than his share. Because he missed his shijie. Because he worried for Jiang Cheng.

So many answers, but all too heavy, too raw to voice. Instead, he chose a truth easier to bear.

“I promised Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen that I would protect you. That oath I have kept, but still I feel… I owe more.”

“And you think I need your protection?” Jiang Cheng’s voice rose, but with a glance at the ancestral tablets he lowered it again. “Wei Wuxian, how dare you? You said we should not entangle ourselves in these matters any longer, and yet you return. Out of guilt? What now, you would guard me like a shepherd guards his flock?”

Wei Wuxian had known it: whatever he said would be wrong. He sighed, furrowing his brow. “Jiang Cheng, what would you have me say? Jin Ling asked me to come, and I wished to see Lotus Pier once more. Is that so incomprehensible?”

“It is… unexpected,” Jiang Cheng muttered, brows knit.

“Unexpected?” Wei Wuxian echoed, puzzled. “Why unexpected?”

Jiang Cheng looked as though he wanted to speak, but in the end he only shook his head. “Not important. You’ll be gone by morning.”

Whether it was command or simple statement, Wei Wuxian could not tell. He accepted it as fact and bowed his head.

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian woke unusually early. Perhaps it was because these rooms made him restless, or because he had no wish to delay his departure—whatever the reason, he woke not long after Lan Sizhui. Out in the courtyard, he met him, and when Wei Wuxian said he would soon be leaving again, Lan Sizhui’s face crumpled into such sorrow that Wei Wuxian found himself scolding him.

“Aiya, A-Yuan. Are you not nearly a grown man? And yet you still pout like a child?”

“But it works,” Lan Sizhui protested, still pouting on purpose.

Wei Wuxian sighed. Indeed, it worked well enough to make him sad himself, but it could not change the decision. Not his decision anyway, but Jiang Cheng’s. That was what he explained, though Lan Sizhui only pressed his lips in confused dismay.

“But we came here on Jin-zongzhu’s invitation.”

“And tell me, A-Yuan, is it Jin-zongzhu or Jiang-zongzhu who rules Lotus Pier?”

Lan Sizhui had no answer but another sorrowful look. Wei Wuxian waved him off with a crooked smile and started toward the gate. “Best I leave before everyone else wakes.”

He did not look back as he walked away from Lotus Pier. He did not want to see the distress on Lan Sizhui’s face.

He had gone about a mile when Jin Ling caught up with him. Wei Wuxian had just reached the outskirts of Yunping City when hurried footsteps rang behind him, and he glimpsed in the distance a flash of gold—a young figure running toward him. Narrowing his eyes, he recognized the robe embroidered with white peonies, the colors of the Lanling Jin Clan, and the ungainly, breathless pace that could belong to no one but Jin Ling.

Resigned, Wei Wuxian waited until he drew near, and then a little longer, until the boy’s breathing steadied. But before Wei Wuxian could speak, Jin Ling burst out:

“Why did you have to leave so early? You never wake before the ninth hour! And who said you could just leave without saying goodbye? Jiujiu is furious! You should have asked his permission first. And do you know how hard it was to find you? Without Fairy, how am I supposed to track your trail?”

Wei Wuxian endured the outburst as if he were a stone beneath a waterfall, letting the words wash over him. But at the mention of the dog, he twitched in alarm, glancing around him. “Where is your dog, anyway?”

Jin Ling huffed in annoyance. “Jiujiu banned dogs from Lotus Pier. I’m not even allowed to bring Fairy there, in case… Forget it. The point is, you have to come back with me.”

Ignoring that last demand, Wei Wuxian folded his arms and tilted his head. “Jiang Cheng banned dogs?”

“Why so surprised? Can he not forbid what he wishes?”

Wei Wuxian gave a dry laugh, more a lift and fall of his chest than a sound. “I don’t believe it. Your Jiujiu loved dogs more than anything. He was furious with me back then because he had to give away his three on my account.”

Jin Ling’s eyes widened. “He had dogs?”

“He even gave them names as ridiculous as yours. Princess, Jasmine, and Love, they were called. Half the time, I thought you named Fairy after his fashion.”

“He never told me that.” Jin Ling bit his lip, then scowled again, anger washing over sorrow. “Doesn’t matter. He banned them. So there are no more dogs in Lotus Pier. Which means you have nothing to be afraid of, and you can come back with me. Right now.”

He grabbed Wei Wuxian by the wrist, tugging him along. Wei Wuxian allowed himself a few steps, startled, then planted his feet firmly and leaned back. With a nervous laugh, he slipped his hand free from Jin Ling’s grip.

“But I’ve already left, haven’t I? I’m on my way to Yunping City. If you want, you can accompany me there, but turning back now would be pointless.”

Between Jin Ling’s brows appeared that same furrow, so like Jiang Cheng’s when he was angered. “But—”

“Wei-gongzi! Jin-zongzhu!”

Both turned at once toward the voice that had called them. Wen Ning was flying toward them more than running, his face even paler than usual, his eyes wide, his chest heaving with urgency.

He landed before them, breathless, panic plain in his expression. “Wei-gongzi! Lan Yuan is gone!”

“Gone? But I just said farewell to him. He isn’t still at Lotus Pier?”

Wen Ning shook his head helplessly and pulled something from his sleeve. “He left this behind.”

It was a letter, or rather, a scrap of paper, upon which two lines were written:

There was a girl who needed my help. I went with her to the Drowned Echo Caves.

“Well then, Jin Ling,” Wei Wuxian said, striving to steady his voice, to give it the sound of calm. “It seems we must return after all.”

Chapter Text

I know. I know you know
what you've done to me.
I know your days are blackened ash
and briar.
I know that you are lost now
in the dust.
Listen: there are words to say
that can change us.
Will you say them? Will you live them?
Will you be them?
Brother,
I, too, have done harm in this one life.
Look up at the starlight in the darkness.
Even the dark stars get to shine awhile.
Come, then. Come home again and lie with me.
Tell me we are not what we have done.

- Abel's Body to Cain, Joseph Fasano

Dawn broke with purple clouds and silver mist over the lake, and from the depths of his heart Jiang Cheng knew that Wei Wuxian was gone.

It was the icy calm that told him so—the thin frost coating within, keeping his heart from shattering into rage or pain. If Wei Wuxian were still here, his pulse would be unruly, his blood stirred, his temper quick to flare. But its heavy stillness in his chest told him Wei Wuxian had left some time ago. Nothing remained to disturb it.

Jiang Cheng rose and watched as night was devoured by morning. The last stars still clung to the dark blue sky, winking at him as if in mockery. How long had he stood beneath them the night before, waiting for Wei Wuxian to finally enter the ancestral hall?

But he had needed to speak to him, needed to ask why he had come. That he had not seen through Jin Ling’s obvious lie—Jiang Cheng had not believed that for a single instant. For all his foolishness, Wei Wuxian was far sharper than his nephew. He had come despite Jin Ling’s falsehood, and that fact gnawed at Jiang Cheng. A cold knot had formed somewhere deep in his chest, and it had been hard enough to swallow it down while Wei Wuxian was still here. Left alone with his thoughts, it only grew tighter, more impossible to unravel.

Why had he come? His debt to Jiang Cheng’s parents was repaid, no matter what he had said in the ancestral hall. He had protected Jiang Cheng when he had needed it most, and that had fulfilled his duty. That was why he had done it, was it not? Out of duty. Out of obligation. All his talk of promises, guilt, and penance. At Guanyin Temple he had told him outright that his apology should be taken as repayment to Jiang Clan. An account settled. Was that all Lotus Pier meant to him?

Perhaps it was, without Yanli. Jiang Cheng knew how deeply Wei Wuxian had loved her—just as he knew how deeply he himself had loved her. But after her death, the bridge between Wei Wuxian and Yunmeng had crumbled. The bridge between them had crumbled. Yanli had been all that bound their broken hearts together. Her warm hands had linked theirs. Now that they were gone, there was only a chasm of frozen air yawning between them.

So cold that Wei Wuxian wanted to forget. Jiang Cheng remembered his words. As for this matter, please don’t keep it in your heart. Forget it. Though I knew according to your character, you’ll always remember it. 

And how could he not? Wei Wuxian had given up his golden core for him. It was the price of a life. He had risked death itself to save him.

Only out of guilt? Only out of duty? Jiang Cheng found that hard to believe. He himself could never have done it for those reasons. He had risked his own life, lost his golden core, to save Wei Wuxian when the Wens had captured him—yet “duty” had not crossed his mind. If anything, he had abandoned duty then, forgotten his obligation to A-jie and to his clan, in order to protect Wei Wuxian. When it came to family, Jiang Cheng could never think of the greater good. He acted on impulse, protecting those closest to him instinctively, heedless of consequence. And Wei Wuxian, no matter what he claimed, had been his family.

He must once have seen it that way too. In their childhood, in their youth, when Jiang Cheng had chased away dogs for him, when they had dived for fish in the lake, when Yanli had peeled lotus seeds for them. Jiang Cheng was certain that Wei Wuxian had once thought of Lotus Pier as his home.

But now? But I have to say, I really think that all is past. All those things are like from my previous life now. Let them go please. And we should stop lingering on them. 

His words had been clear enough: those times were over, gone beyond recall. Jiang Cheng was to forget them, to return to Lotus Pier alone, not to cling to what had once bound them. In Wei Wuxian’s “former life”—it was as though after his death he dismissed all that had come before, as though none of it belonged to him anymore, as though the memory had died with him.

And Jiang Cheng had obeyed, had held to those words, though they cut into him like lashes of Zidian. That was why he had not spoken to him again as they left the temple. That was why he could not tell him what he had done for him back then. It no longer mattered. Wei Wuxian wanted to forget what belonged to his past life.

So why had he come here? His voice had once echoed loud through the courtyards of Lotus Pier, lingering endlessly; now it was rare, subdued. Silence clung to him. For some reason that made Jiang Cheng angry. He could not even say why.

Angry, too, that Wei Wuxian had left without farewell. That was what he told Jin Ling, when his nephew asked the cause of his sour mood. It was explanation enough to convince him, and Jin Ling had gone rushing after Wei Wuxian to confront him. Jiang Cheng had let him. At worst, it would drive Wei Wuxian from Yunmeng all the sooner.

Jiang Cheng could not make sense of himself that morning. His anger churned low in his belly, simmering, ready to flare at the smallest glance from a disciple, the smallest sound. That Wei Wuxian had left without a word—yes, that was reason enough. That he had left at all, without Jiang Cheng ordering him to—another. That he had dared to come at all—contradictory though it was, Jiang Cheng counted that as well. He wanted Wei Wuxian here, and he hated when he was here.

Long he wrestled with this turmoil before he understood it. The truth was as simple as it was absurd: he did not know what to say. When Wei Wuxian was present, he could freeze him out in silence or strike him with sharp words, but anything else was beyond him. He hated Wei Wuxian for bringing out the worst in him, and for that he could not bear his presence. He hated Wei Wuxian for leaving him alone, and he would give anything to bring him back.

It was a situation with no solution. So he stood alone on the pier, steeped in sorrow, watching the last stars fade. Perhaps he was ill. He felt something like homesickness, though he was at home. Another contradiction, as insoluble as the rest.

His senses were still sharp, honed by weariness and doubt. He noticed at once the shadow approaching from behind. Zidian flashed to life as he spun around.

“What are you doing here?” The lightning subsided when he recognized Wen Ning, leaving only a weary spark. Jiang Cheng liked his presence at Lotus Pier no more than before, but he was Jin Ling’s friend and guest, and so could not simply be driven away. It would have been ungrateful as well, after what Wen Ning had told him. Without him, he might never have learned the truth.

Wen Ning bowed, murmuring, “Jiang-zongzhu.” Then, his pale hands trembling, he straightened and offered Jiang Cheng a folded slip of paper. “Lan Yuan is gone. And I do not know where this place is.”

Lan Sizhui was not of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, and under ordinary circumstances Jiang Cheng would have dismissed the matter of a wayward disciple as Gusu’s concern. Guest or not, he was no nursemaid to unruly Lans. But the mention of the Drowned Echo Caves made him gather his things at once. Whatever business Lan Sizhui had in that place, it would not end well.

Wen Ning had vanished. How typical. The Ghost General seemed to emerge from the shadows and sink back into them at will, like some pale wraith. Perhaps he had stayed only to search for his Lan friend, before once again trailing after Wei Wuxian like an unfortunate puppy. Too bad that Wei Wuxian disliked dogs.

But Jiang Cheng had no need of him to find the caves. Everyone in Yunmeng knew of them, though few knew their location. As clan leader, he was one of the few. How Lan Sizhui had discovered them, and who had lured him there, was a riddle—but one Jiang Cheng intended to solve quickly. He would not allow the other clans to say that he had no command over his own land.

He took no one with him. He was not in the mood.

When he reached the river that fed into the great lake—the very springs that wound their way through the Drowned Echo Caves—he saw, in the distance, three figures heading toward the same place. He did not need to wait for them to draw closer to know who they were. Jin Ling’s golden robes were unmistakable against the gray mist, and the two black-clad figures behind him could only be Wei Wuxian and the Ghost General. Jiang Cheng resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Wei Wuxian would come running the instant one of his precious Lans was in danger.

He pretended not to notice them and did not wait. Time was far too precious. That foolish Lan boy could already have stumbled into gods knew what peril.

The river wound upward into rockier ground, narrowing as it went. A pale gray path between green hills veiled in mist. Jiang Cheng followed it swiftly, until sheer stone walls rose around him. Here, water spilled out of a cave—but this was not yet the Drowned Echo Caves. Those lay much deeper inside, where the spring gathered in an underground pool. To reach them, one had to journey far into the mountain. Jiang Cheng wondered how far Lan Sizhui had gone.

He was about to find out when a shout made him turn. Jin Ling, calling to him from a distance. Jiang Cheng would have preferred to ignore him, but he had already looked back. Now that the moment was broken, he sat down wearily on a rock near the entrance.

“So soon returned?” he said with biting irony, once Wei Wuxian came within earshot. He cast scalding looks at Jin Ling and Wen Ning, silencing them before they could speak.

“Forgive me,” Wei Wuxian replied, his gaze sliding away. “But A-Yuan… I must be certain that he is safe.”

Jiang Cheng snorted, spared the others no glance, and strode into the caves. Three sets of footsteps followed, their echoes bouncing from the close stone walls. Darkness fell quickly in the passageways, only to give way again where the roof had caved in, letting shafts of light through. They had entered in silence, but soon Jin Ling’s uneasy voice echoed behind him.

“Jiujiu… what are the Drowned Echo Caves?”

Jiang Cheng exhaled, irritated. “There is a story. You tell it.”

His words were addressed to no one, yet Wei Wuxian understood. He cleared his throat, roughness still in his voice.

“They say it like this: Many generations ago, in Yunmeng, there lived a young girl, the daughter of a lotus farmer. She was famed for her voice—clear as a flute over water—and was courted by a young scholar from the city. The caves were their secret refuge. There, he made her three promises: that he would wed her, that he loved only her, and that one day he would lead her out of her humble life. She believed him.”

He cleared his throat again. Jiang Cheng, walking ahead, smiled bitterly. How easily promises and vows of fidelity could be broken—Wei Wuxian of all people knew it best. He had paid dearly for that lesson. Yet Jiang Cheng doubted he had ever truly regretted it. Perhaps he had even resented having sworn them in the first place. The Twin Prides of Yunmeng—just another childhood tale. Wei Wuxian had never wished to see it lived out.

He went on: “But the promises were empty. He was already betrothed to a woman of higher station. When the truth came out, people mocked the girl as naive and shameless. No one believed her when she said he had sworn eternal love. Shamed and despairing, she came here, to these caves at the edge of the lotus lake, threw herself into the dark pool, and drowned. They say she did not die in silence. Her last breath became a scream that carved itself into the stone. Since then, every lie spoken here does not echo back as a repetition, but as the speaker’s true thoughts. The spirit of the young woman tests every voice, as punishment for the disbelief she once endured.”

“That last part is, of course, only a legend,” Jiang Cheng corrected flatly. Wei Wuxian’s imagination had always been too fanciful. “That her spirit still dwells in these waters—I doubt it. But the caves are dangerous. The echoes can mislead you until you cannot find the way out. And who knows what else lurks in the waters—water demons, and worse.”

“I don’t think it’s a legend,” came Wei Wuxian’s quiet reply. “I remember even back then, there were stories of people who wandered in here and came back saying the same. That the echoes did not return their words.”

“Nonsense.” Jiang Cheng shot him a sharp glare over his shoulder, Zidian sparking faintly at his finger. “What do you know of Yunmeng? Sixteen years you kept your feet away from this land. Do you think a clan leader knows his own territory less than you?”

“I never said that. I only suspect there may be some truth in it. Where else would the tales come from?”

“People are fools. They’ll believe whatever sounds pleasing to the ear.”

“You’re the fool,” Wei Wuxian muttered—and for a moment, he sounded exactly like the boy who had once sulked that Jiang Cheng had eaten all his soup.

Jiang Cheng gave a derisive snort, half amusement, half contempt, and turned to Jin Ling. “You see what sort of company you keep. He has always had fine words ready for anyone.”

“But he sounds just like you,” Jin Ling said, wide-eyed. “You call me a fool all the time.”

To Jin Ling’s great fortune, the passage was too narrow for Jiang Cheng to cuff him. He could feel Wei Wuxian’s grin behind him and let Zidian flare once, enough to intimidate them both into silence. After that, peace reigned until they reached a wider chamber.

“We are close,” Wei Wuxian said as he stepped into it, glancing up at the vault of stone overhead. The cavern was broad enough for the four of them to stand abreast, and another passage branched off, plunging deeper into the mountain. It was unusually cool and stifling down here. “A-Yuan can’t have gone much deeper than the next cave system.”

This time, he took the lead, Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling following, while Wen Ning brought up the rear. Jiang Cheng ignored him entirely. He could not see why they needed the Ghost General here at all.

“There’s a yellow light up ahead,” Wei Wuxian called back to them. “It must be the sun.”

Jiang Cheng followed after him. His precious robes of deep violet silk brushed against the damp stone walls, and he stifled a shudder. Outside it had been oppressively hot, yet here one could almost imagine it was already autumn.

“A-Yuan?” Wei Wuxian’s voice carried forward, but no answer came. Not even an echo. Jiang Cheng frowned. In a cavern system this large, hemmed in by stone on every side, sound should have rebounded—unless something was swallowing it. They needed to know what it was.

Wei Wuxian stepped out of the narrow passage and looked upward. Jiang Cheng followed his gaze. Contrary to expectation, there was no opening in the rock to admit the sun—only black walls, the same as anywhere else. The yellow glow Wei Wuxian had seen came not from above, but from below. And when they stepped forward a little and turned their eyes in that direction, they saw it.

At the center of the cavern lay a deep lake. That it was deep was not merely guessed—it could be seen, in the lights that covered its floor and walls. Tiny growths, like moss clinging to stone, shimmered gold and green, casting their glow into the water until the entire chamber was filled with their radiance. Without them, one could scarcely have seen a hand’s breadth in front of the face. With them, the far side of the lake was clear to behold.

“They must be some kind of bioluminescent algae,” Wei Wuxian murmured, leaning over the edge of the lake to study them more closely.

Annoyed at his constant show of expertise, Jiang Cheng seized his arm and yanked him back roughly. “Don’t fall in. I’ve no desire to rescue you in addition to your fool of a Lan disciple.”

Wei Wuxian whistled a short, light note—it meant both that he didn’t care and that his mind was already elsewhere. He stepped forward again, this time not to peer into the water, but to gaze across it, into the shadows beyond.

“A-Yuan? Are you here?”

“Sizhui!” Jin Ling called beside him, worry rising in his voice.

“Lan Yuan!”

Jiang Cheng let the three of them call, focusing instead on scanning the far shore for any shape or figure. He thought he glimpsed a pale silhouette among the shadows of the rock—and he was right. Startled by the shouting, a white figure stirred, and Lan Sizhui stepped into sight at the bank, waving toward them.

His lips moved, but no sound reached across the lake.

“Is the water swallowing his voice?” Wei Wuxian wondered aloud, then shouted, “A-Yuan! Can you say something?”

The Lan boy shook his head quickly. He gestured toward the glowing water before him, then sideways. Following the line of his arm, they saw it: a narrow ledge of stone tracing the wall of the cavern, skirting the lake’s edge. Barely wide enough for a single person to walk upon without falling in.

“All right, A-Yuan, I’m coming,” Wei Wuxian said, and without hesitation set his foot upon the slick stone.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. Must Wei Wuxian always play the hero, always hurl himself into danger without a word to anyone? With a sharp, angry snort, he followed him onto the narrow path and turned a hard glance back at Jin Ling and Wen Ning. “You two stay here.”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said over his shoulder, “you don’t need to follow me.”

“Are you giving me orders now?” Jiang Cheng snapped. “I am the leader of Yunmeng. This is my land. I go where I will.”

That silenced Wei Wuxian. They had gone about halfway across when Jiang Cheng heard footsteps behind him. He craned his neck, and his eyes flared as he caught sight of Jin Ling’s golden robes.

“Jin Ling! Did I not tell you to stay where you were?”

“I want to help too,” Jin Ling retorted stubbornly, setting one foot after the other. “Lan Sizhui was my guest. What kind of clan leader would I be if something happened to him?”

“I’ll break both your arms when we reach the bank,” Jiang Cheng growled, but the threat had no effect. Jin Ling followed, and the path was too narrow for Jiang Cheng to turn and drive him back. He would have to wait until they reached the far side.

Wei Wuxian was the first to step off the ledge and onto the bank, where Lan Sizhui waited. Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling joined him soon after, and at once Wei Wuxian turned to the boy, running his hands quickly over his arms and shoulders.

“You’re truly not hurt?” he asked anxiously. Lan Sizhui shook his head, silent.

Jiang Cheng looked on, rolling his eyes. “Are you his mother?” he snapped. “Stop making a fuss.”

Once Wei Wuxian had convinced himself that the boy was unharmed, he stepped back. “How, and why, did you come into these caves? Were you not told they were dangerous?”

Lan Sizhui exchanged a glance with Jin Ling and gave him a small nod before answering. “These are the Drowned Echo Caves. I read about them in the restricted library at Cloud Recesses. They say that here, at this shore, the truth returns as an echo.”

“And you wanted to see them for yourself just because of some childish tale?” Jiang Cheng’s look was stern. It was not his place to scold a junior of the Gusu Lan Clan—but at this moment, he very much wished to.

“It is not a tale,” Lan Sizhui said firmly. He stepped toward the lake and spoke into it. “You will see by example: I came here only to study the legend.”

The lights in the water flared where the sound waves struck them. And then, for the first time since they had entered the caves, an echo answered back. Jiang Cheng half expected the voice of the drowned woman—but no, it was Lan Sizhui’s own voice.

I came here to fulfill my plan with Jin Ling.

“What plan?” Wei Wuxian asked, while Jiang Cheng was still caught by the strange interplay of sound and light on the water. But then the meaning of the words struck him, and he turned sharply toward the boys.

“You will see,” Lan Sizhui replied cheerfully. “Wen Ning!”

With startling ease, the Ghost General crossed the narrow ledge, took Lan Sizhui’s hand, and steadied him as he stepped onto it. Then, together, they moved back toward the opposite side. Wei Wuxian started after them, but Jin Ling stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

Lan Sizhui waited on the ledge while Wen Ning lifted a boulder from one side of the cavern and, with the strength of the dead, rolled it into place at the narrow path. He set it down at the entrance and sealed the way behind them.

The other three were trapped on their side of the lake.

“Unfortunately, that is the only crossing to the other shore,” Lan Sizhui explained. “I would not attempt to swim; dark creatures dwell in the depths of this water. Good luck, Jin Ling. We will come back for you in a few hours.”

“Jin Ling!” Jiang Cheng whirled on his nephew and seized his arm in a bruising grip. “Explain this.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Wei Wuxian standing at the boulder, calling after Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning, but the two had already vanished to the far side of the lake. They would not be coming back quickly. If there was to be an explanation, it would have to come from Jin Ling.

Jiang Cheng’s hold tightened. “Jin Rulan.”

Jin Ling’s lower lip trembled, yet his dark eyes fixed on him with stubborn defiance. “Yes. Lan Sizhui was never truly in danger. It was only a plan—to finally make the two of you talk.”

Jiang Cheng waited for the echo from the lake, the kind that had sounded when Lan Sizhui had spoken, but there was only silence. Could it be true, then, that the spirit here only repeated what was false?

“What is that supposed to mean?” he pressed.

With the arm Jiang Cheng had not pinned, Jin Ling shielded his head, as if warding off his uncle’s perilous glare. “I knew you hadn’t really reconciled. You’re polite when you meet, but in truth you’ve never resolved your differences. That’s why we wanted to trap you here, so you’d finally say everything.”

Still no echo. Jiang Cheng almost shook him, but Wei Wuxian stepped between them, his face unusually solemn, brows knit tight. “Jin Ling. What do you think we still have to say? Hasn’t everything already been said?”

Jiang Cheng gave a sharp snort but inwardly agreed. Wei Wuxian had made himself perfectly clear: he wanted no ties to the Jiang Clan. Jiang Cheng had accepted that. Jin Ling’s childish wish—that everyone might forgive and behave like brothers—was the dream of a youth, no doubt inherited from his mother’s gentle heart. Jiang Cheng could not bring himself to be angry at him for it. He released him.

“Foolish boy. It isn’t so simple. Call them back and let us leave.”

Jin Ling stamped his foot like a spoiled princess denied her will. “They won’t return until the time we agreed upon. Besides, you wanted to say something to Wei Wuxian after the temple incident. I know you did.”

Wei Wuxian tilted his head, regarding Jiang Cheng from beneath lowered lashes. It was a trick he had used in their youth, a sly way to coax out secrets without the other noticing. “Is that true? You wanted to tell me something?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng said gruffly.

Yes.

The lake gave back his voice. The still waters rippled, the glowing lights beneath dancing like fireflies. A tremor passed, and then the mirror surface lay flat again, while Jiang Cheng’s echo clung in the cavern air like a lingering breath of lotus-scent.

“So it seems the Drowned Echo Caves do function as the legend says,” Wei Wuxian said lightly, rocking from one foot to the other. He fell quiet, then looked at Jiang Cheng expectantly. “Tell me, then, what was it you wanted to say?”

Jiang Cheng was not a fool to make the same mistake twice. If he lied, the spirit in the lake would strip the falsehood bare. “I’m not telling you,” he said flatly.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian drew out his name as he had so often in the past, whenever he complained of him. “Here we are, and we will be alone for hours. No one can hear us but Jin Ling. Why not tell me?”

Jiang Cheng clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth ground together. He said nothing, refused to look at either of them.

“Aiya, Jiang Cheng. Afraid of being found out? I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

He said nothing.

“Or is it something Jin Ling should not hear? He could walk back into the caves for a while, and not listen to it.”

He said nothing.

“Or perhaps you’re worried about me? I will listen quietly, I promise. Even if it is an insult, I will endure it. It isn’t as if I haven’t grown used to those.”

He said nothing.

“Jiang Cheng—”

“Shut up! I don’t want you to speak anymore.”

Please don’t stop speaking to me.

They both froze, stunned at the echo that burst from the lake. Jiang Cheng’s hand clenched into a fist, nails biting into flesh so hard they left crescent moons. His lips pressed tight, he stared past Wei Wuxian into the darkness.

Across from him, Wei Wuxian drew a shuddering breath. “I will not stop speaking to you.”

It was a reassurance, but there was warning in it too. Jiang Cheng had never feared Wei Wuxian—but in this instant, he understood why others had. He was still the Yiling Laozu, even if he had cast aside his darker ways. “Tell me what it was you wanted to say.”

“And what if I refuse? Neither you nor this cave can force me.”

“No.” Jiang Cheng could hear the smile in Wei Wuxian’s voice. “But Jin Ling said you meant to tell me that day, when we parted at the Guanyin Temple. That must mean it matters.”

Jiang Cheng exhaled heavily, his breath harsh. He wished they would stop pressing him. “I cannot say it.”

But I want to.

If it had not been his own voice, he would have killed it. As it was, shame coursed through him hot and stinging, and he shot the glowing lake a bitter glare.

“You don’t have to say it now.”

Startled by Wei Wuxian’s sudden gentleness, Jiang Cheng turned toward him. His eyes were warm—almost tender—yet a searching gleam lay behind them. “Let me ask you another question, then. Why did you ban dogs from Lotus Pier? I thought you loved them so much?”

“And if I do? Does that mean I must keep them?” Jiang Cheng’s temper flared. Why now were all of them hammering at his walls, probing his innermost thoughts as if storming the secret chamber of a fortress? Was Jin Ling’s scheme only meant to humiliate him? Why did Wei Wuxian not face these same questions?

“I know why,” Jin Ling cut in, unbidden. Jiang Cheng had almost forgotten the boy was even here, yet in this moment, he wished he could throw him straight into the lake.

“Shut up!"

“Then tell the truth.”

Jiang Cheng bit down hard on his lip. Perhaps there was some way to outwit the lake, some hidden flaw in the curse of this cavern. What would happen if he did not speak the whole truth, but only part of it? Omission was not the same as a lie; otherwise the lake would have echoed even when he said nothing.

“Some people fear dogs,” he said stiffly.

You fear dogs.

He ignored the echo. “Lotus Pier should be a safe place for them.”

I hoped you would return.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes locked on the glowing water, hard and unyielding, before flicking upward only when Jin Ling shifted restlessly. The clan leader of the Lanling Jin shuffled from one foot to the other. “I told you it was for your sake.”

Jiang Cheng glanced toward Wei Wuxian, who was staring across the lake, his gaze heavy, dark brown, without the gleam of temper or mirth that once lit it. His eyes were dull now, like stagnant pools of black water.

“What else are you hiding from me?” Wei Wuxian asked quietly. “You can say it now, I already know there is something. If you keep it, I will never forget, I will carry it always.”

Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed as he met that steady gaze. Forget it. Though I knew according to your character, you’ll always remember it. Did he mean it then? Why did he now make an exception for himself—why could he not let go? Jiang Cheng’s confusion churned, his buried anger rising once more, loosening his restraint.

“Fine.” His voice was sharp. “Fine,” he repeated more softly. “Then you shall know. Do you know how I lost my golden core?”

Wei Wuxian recoiled, as if struck. Clearly, he had not expected this wound to be torn open. Nervously, he licked his lips before answering: “You went back… to recover Jiang-shushu’s and Yu-furen’s bodies…”

His eyes drifted, caught in memory, dark with pain. Jiang Cheng saw the tightness in his jaw, the anguish coiled there, and wondered if Wei Wuxian still blamed himself.

He shook his head. “I was… despairing. But I wasn’t that foolish. Do you think I would have left A-jie alone?”

Do you think I would have left you both alone?

Jiang Cheng spoke through the echo. “I went out to find you. I saw you buying something at a stall. Those Wen dogs were behind you. Perhaps they had recognized you, perhaps only meant to question you, to find us. But one of them already reached for you.”

He drew in a shuddering breath. “I turned into another alley and let them catch me. It was enough to draw them off. But I couldn’t escape. Isn’t it ironic?” A bitter laugh escaped him, blurred with tears at last. “I gave up my golden core to save you, only for you to sacrifice yours instead.”

Wei Wuxian stared, lips parted, eyes unfocused, lost. “But… why? I was only a servant—you could have let them take me…”

There was no echo, and Jiang Cheng slowly began to wonder if the curse only had an effect on him. Wei Wuxian couldn't really believe—but yes, he could. Jiang Cheng knew him well enough to know that. Wei Wuxian had believed back then, and still believed today, that his life was worthless, that he was just a servant to the Jiang Clan, that they had opened their doors to him out of pity, that his sacrifice was deserved.

“Are you an idiot?” Jiang Cheng demanded, praying the lake would speak the words that died on his tongue.

The echo did not fail him. You are my brother. How could I not save you?

“But—” Tears welled in Wei Wuxian’s eyes, bright as pearls, and he clutched at his head as though dizzy, as though in pain. “You blamed me for their deaths, you said…”

“I did not,” Jiang Cheng burst out.

Only for a while, the lake murmured.

“But not for long.” It was strange, to quarrel with his own voice—but the Yunmeng Jiang Clan leader had never feared an argument, with anyone. “I never meant it.”

He had only needed someone to bear his rage. And it had always been Wei Wuxian. Always. Jiang Cheng swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“But—” Wei Wuxian’s voice broke as he swallowed his tears—“you said I was no longer welcome in Lotus Pier.”

Did he not understand, even now, that words were not always meaning? Jiang Cheng had never mastered his tongue. “I thought you didn’t want to return, after I…”

“After you what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

They say I killed you. Did you not know?

Jiang Cheng’s throat constricted. He had seen the accusing eyes, the reverent eyes, all fixed on him. Not only Jin Guangyao—the whole cultivation world believed Jiang Cheng had killed Wei Wuxian. Praise or condemnation made no difference. They all believed it, so it became truth.

“You did not,” Wei Wuxian said fiercely. “Listen to me. You did not. Forget what they say. None of it matters anymore.”

“You always say that.” The old fury surged back, coiling through his body until he shook with it. He barely knew why. What was it in Wei Wuxian’s words that hammered against his chest so painfully, that left him no outlet but anger? “I cannot forget. Why do you want me to forget?”

Wei Wuxian’s tongue flicked across dry lips. “Because it is past. I have repaid my debts to Jiang Clan—and after what you have confessed, perhaps more than I had thought I had to repay. Isn’t it enough? Can’t we live on from here?”

For the first time, Wei Wuxian’s words carried an echo.

Can we not forgive each other? Can we not outlive the pain?

A single tear slipped down his cheek, catching in the corner of his mouth. He must have tasted it, for he parted his lips and whispered on: “Did you never hear what I said? I want to go back to Lotus Pier even in my dreams.”

I miss my home. I miss shijie. I miss you.

It was too much for Jiang Cheng. He lunged forward, seized Wei Wuxian by the arms, and shook him—the way he had longed to do in the Guanyin Temple. “Why did you never say that? You told me: let it go. You told me: we should stop lingering. What else could that have meant, if not that you wished to part ways with me, with Lotus Pier? What else?”

It hurt to know you hated me. It still hurts. Please tell me you can forgive me. Let everything be as it once was.

“It can never be as it once was,” Wei Wuxian said softly, laying his hands on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. More tears spilled down his cheeks. “But I forgave you long ago.”

“Did you truly give up your golden core out of duty?” There could never be a better moment to ask. The truth would be revealed by the spirit in the lake, and at last Jiang Cheng would know if Wei Wuxian had lied.

“I promised your parents I would protect you,” Wei Wuxian replied.

Fool, said his echo. You are my shidi—how could I not save you?

“I’m sorry.” Jiang Cheng buried his tear-streaked face in Wei Wuxian’s collar and held him so tightly it felt as though his heart cracked in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Still an ugly crier,” Wei Wuxian teased, but he was crying too. Jiang Cheng felt his hot tears dampen his temple. “After all this time.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers dug into Jiang Cheng’s hair, painful and reassuring all at once. “How could you sacrifice yourself for me, hm? I can’t believe you did that. Jiang Cheng, are you trying to kill me with this confession?”

“Take your own advice,” Jiang Cheng muttered bitterly, squeezing him deliberately until the breath rushed out of him. “Don’t keep it in your heart any longer.”

I will never forget what you did for me. But can we not speak of it anymore? I want you as my brother again, with nothing standing between us.

“You really mean that?” Wei Wuxian laughed wetly. “Your thoughts are so far from your words, your echo in the lake sounds like a stranger to me. Are you sure this curse works?”

Do you truly mean it? Can we be brothers again?

“Stop making jokes, or I’ll throw you in myself.” Jiang Cheng let him go and looked into his shimmering eyes. His own must have been just as red and wet, his cheeks just as blotched. “Don’t think I’ll forgive you for everything.”

Of course we can. I never stopped loving you.

Wei Wuxian had to smile, and Jiang Cheng knew why. Even the echo of his own voice sounded sour and ill-tempered as it spoke those words.

“The spirit really threw itself into the role, to say that. I think we should applaud her artistry.”

“Shut your damn mouth. Look—Jin Ling is crying too.” And indeed, tears streamed ceaselessly down the boy’s face, his eyelids swollen. Jiang Cheng raised his finger and wagged it warningly before his eyes. “Are you a little girl, crying like that? Pull yourself together.”

“Jiujiu,” Jin Ling choked out, sobbing harder. “I can’t help it. I’m happy and sad all at once.”

And then he did something he had never done before. He threw his arms around Jiang Cheng’s waist and pressed his face to his chest. Jiang Cheng looked helplessly at Wei Wuxian, but the latter only shrugged with a smile. The tear-streaks still gleamed, dry now, on his cheeks. Then Jin Ling pulled away, only to use the moment of surprise to drag Wei Wuxian into the embrace as well.

He laughed against Wei Wuxian’s collarbone. “Now you can come visit us at Lotus Pier anytime.”

Wei Wuxian smiled the gentlest smile Jiang Cheng had seen from him in years. “If your jiujiu allows it.”

I would like to return to Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng wiped his own tears from his face. He was clan leader; he could not show them so openly. “If you truly want to.”

Please, come home.

Wei Wuxian smiled at him, then stepped toward the lake. He bowed deeply to the glowing water. “Thank you.”

“What was that?” Jin Ling demanded, speaking Jiang Cheng’s own thought aloud. “If you have to thank anyone, it’s Lan Sizhui and me. We orchestrated everything, it was our plan that brought you two together.”

“Don’t get cocky now, Jin-zongzhu, or your Jiujiu will threaten to break your arm again.” Wei Wuxian laughed, his tear-bright eyes lit with an inner joy. “But you’re right. The two most important words one can ever say are thank you and sorry. So: thank you.”

He turned from Jin Ling to Jiang Cheng. “Thank you. And sorry.”

Jiang Cheng turned his head aside, a curl of disdain tugging at his lips. “Don’t make yourself so important. Aren’t you my shixiong? What kind of shixiong apologizes to his shidi? How am I supposed to take you seriously?”

Wei Wuxian smiled. “Ah, so your temper is back. Now I know you’re all right.”

“Sizhui,” Jin Ling suddenly shouted. “They’re back!”

He waved across the lake, and when Jiang Cheng followed his gaze, he saw Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning on the far bank. They waved back and began making their way around the water, coming to free them from the Drowned Echo Caves.

“Finally,” Jiang Cheng muttered, eyeing them sternly. “If they belonged to my clan, I’d have them whipped.”

The lake gave no echo. Jin Ling bit his lip, and Jiang Cheng raised a brow. Some words of his truly needed no lie to be cutting. Still, he followed Lan Sizhui and Wen Ning without another word. Better not to remind them ever to speak of this place, or this night. If they returned to Gusu as quickly as possible, his mind would be far more at ease.

The Lan disciple had joined Jin Ling, and the two whispered to each other, excited. Wen Ning trailed behind them. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian lingered at the mouth of the cave.

“Perhaps I should seal it,” Jiang Cheng said thoughtfully.

“And rob the children of their fun? It’s hardly hostile.” Wei Wuxian balanced a gentle smile on his lips as he turned to Jiang Cheng.

He returned it cautiously. “Will you stay?”

“Not yet.” Wei Wuxian shook his head with regret. “I must return to Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji is waiting for me there. But we’ll visit Lotus Pier for certain, once he’s finished with his duties. Tell Jin Ling he can wait for us.”

Jiang Cheng felt the icy weight he had carried on his chest for so long at last begin to lift. He exhaled a quiet sigh and only nodded.

“One more thing.” Wei Wuxian’s voice was light and easy, like foam on a river, but in the tension of his temple Jiang Cheng sensed a flicker of unease. He listened carefully. “I want you to know this. I will keep visiting, even if you get a dog. Don’t let me stop you. Just lock it away while I’m there.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. You’ll protect me, won’t you? Drive it away, as you used to…”

Promises had rarely held between them in the past. But Jiang Cheng dared to make a new one.

“I will always drive the dogs away for you.”