Chapter Text
Lan Huan fades back in slowly.
He’s – warm, which is nice, because he remembers being cold – remembers numbness crawling up his limbs, remembers-
He remembers his chest burning with pain. It aches now, still, like an echo – but nothing nearly so bad as in his memory.
He feels weak, drained and exhausted – even putting aside the ache in his chest, his limbs feel heavy – like he wouldn’t have enough strength to lift them if he tried.
He-
He remembers-
He remembers Jiang Wanyin screaming-
Memories slam into him one after the other – the village, the bears, the fight-
Claws, slicing through his chest-
Falling, his legs giving out-
Jiang Wanyin, crying, face open and tears on his cheeks – don’t you dare leave me-
Jiang Wanyin, screaming – Xichen-!
(Jiang Wanyin-)
Opening his eyes feels insurmountable, but Lan Huan struggles anyway – he has to be awake, he has to-
He’d known he was dying, and Jiang Wanyin-
His eyelids flicker open-
Wherever he is, the room is suffused with soft light.
He blinks, blinks again – everything is bleary, but gradually his eyes come into focus-
There are purple banners hanging from the roof above him, stencilled with the Yunmeng Jiang lotus symbol – he’s in Lotus Pier, and he turns his head-
There’s someone sitting by the bed, turned away, and for a moment his heart leaps in his chest – and then he sees the sword they’re holding across their lap. It’s a fine sword, well maintained, but the scabbard is the brown lacquer favoured by Yunmeng Jiang disciples, not the brilliant purple scales of Sandu.
It’s not Jiang Wanyin.
Lan Huan opens his mouth, tries to speak – his throat is dry, and he swallows, tries again – ends up with something inarticulate, but the person turns their head-
It’s Jiang Feng, and his eyes widen.
His sword clatters against the stool as he scrambles to his feet, bowing. "Zewu-Jun,” he says. “Please, don’t move – I’ll get-”
He vanishes behind hanging curtains, and Lan Huan-
There’s nothing Lan Huan can do but wait. He needs-
He needs to know how long he’s been unconscious, how badly he was injured, what’s been happening since the night hunt-
(Needs to know that Jiang Wanyin is all right.)
Jiang Feng returns a few moments later with a healer – Lan Huan recognises him from the ward outside the village, the one who spoke to Jiang Wanyin about the wounded.
“Zewu-Jun,” the healer says, “this one is Jiang Bai,” and bows. “How are you feeling?”
Lan Huan opens his mouth, makes another noise-
“Ah,” Jiang Bai says, and crosses the alcove to a table – comes back a moment later with a bowl and carefully spoons some liquid into Lan Huan’s mouth.
It’s something herbal, sharp and acrid, but Lan Huan thought he was dying and now he’s awake – he can probably trust that the healers from Yunmeng Jiang are highly skilled, no matter what their medicines taste like.
He dutifully swallows each mouthful until Jiang Bai decides he’s had enough, and sets the bowl aside.
“And now?” Jiang Bai asks.
He swallows against the bitter aftertaste of the medicine in the back of his throat, tries again to speak.
“I’m tired,” he manages. His voice is a quiet rasp. “My chest hurts.”
Jiang Bai hums. “Excellent,” he says. He turns to Jiang Feng. “Please step outside,” he says. “I will examine Zewu-Jun now.”
Jiang Feng bows, retreats behind the curtain, and Jiang Bai takes hold of the sheet and folds it down.
Lan Huan peers down – he’s not wearing a robe, and his chest is swathed in bandages.
“How – how bad was it?” he asks.
Jiang Bai sets a tray over Lan Huan’s legs and starts peeling up the bandages, piling them on the tray.
“You very nearly died in the village,” Jiang Bai says. As he peels away the bandages, they stop being so clean – crusted with the remains of medicines and salves, and smeared with blood.
“You nearly died again, several times, while we were returning to Lotus Pier,” he says.
His fingers are stained red – the bandages are coming off directly over his body, now, and they’re soaked through with blood. Lan Huan keeps his eyes up – he’s not sure he wants to see what his chest looks like.
“It took three days to mix an appropriate cure for the venom,” Jiang Bai says. “And in that time-”
“I nearly died again?” Lan Huan says lightly – but Jiang Bai doesn’t smile.
“Zewu-Jun,” he says, “you must understand, you were a hairsbreadth from death for days. Yunmeng Jiang cultivators worked in shifts to transfuse your spiritual energy while we tried to stop you bleeding to death. Hanguang-Jun arrived on the second day to assist – he stayed for a week, until you were no longer in danger of dying. Sect Leader Jiang-”
Jiang Bai cuts off abruptly, pressing his lips together, and Lan Huan needs to know-
“What about him?” he says, hoarse, but Jiang Bai shakes his head.
“Forgive me,” he says. “It’s not my place to speak on that matter. You must ask another.”
Lan Huan is burning to know – his last memories of Jiang Wanyin are of him crying, screaming – he needs to know that Jiang Wanyin is okay – needs to know that Jiang Wanyin still-
That he still-
(Needs to know that Jiang Wanyin still cares for him.)
“What about the other cultivators?” Lan Huan asks. “The others struck by the bears?”
Jiang Bai is leaning close now, examining his chest. “They all survived to take the cure,” he says. “None was as badly injured as you, and all have now recovered.”
Lan Huan remembers the senior cultivators, in the fight – several of them had, he’d thought, been slashed reasonably severely. For all of them to have now recovered-
How long has he been unconscious?
Jiang Bai leans back, nodding, removes the tray with soiled bandages and replaces it with one containing various medicines.
“How long?” Lan Huan asks.
Jiang Bai picks up a powder and starts shaking it onto his wounds; doesn’t pretend to misunderstand.
“You have been unconscious for just over two weeks,” he says. “By the end of the first, you were no longer in danger of imminent death and your core had been stabilised. We ceased the spiritual transfusions entirely three days ago, and just this morning I removed the needles keeping you unconscious.”
Two weeks. It’s been two weeks, and Lan Huan-
(He remembers dying, remembers his realisation, remembers trying to tell him-)
He needs to see Jiang Wanyin.
“How do the wounds look?” he asks instead, because Jiang Bai has made it clear that he will speak no more on the matter of Jiang Wanyin.
“They have finally begun to heal,” Jiang Bai says. He sets the powder down, picks up a bowl and scoops up a glob of salve. “In several more weeks, perhaps, you may be able to leave the infirmary.”
He starts to apply the salve, and Lan Huan blinks. Several weeks?
“That’s longer than I would expect,” he says. “Was there some complication with the venom?”
“There was,” Jiang Bai confirms. “Due to the resentful energy the venom was imbued with, the injuries sustained from the bears are not healing like they usually would, and spiritual energy is of little assistance. The effect is quite similar to that of wound inflicted by a discipline whip,” and Lan Huan-
A discipline whip-
Lan Huan remembers treating Wangji’s injuries, thirty three lashes that had opened him to the bone, nearly killed him. They had healed in the end, after years – healed, and left-
“I take it that I will scar,” Lan Huan says, and Jiang Bai nods.
“You will,” he says, and Lan Huan-
He remembers seeing Jiang Wanyin’s scar for the first time – the first in his memory, anyway. Jiang Wanyin had been nervous, looking away, but Lan Huan had traced the raised wound from one jagged end to the other, bent to press a reverent kiss to the centre of his chest-
A scar means you’re alive, he’d said. I will always think you’re beautiful, and Jiang Wanyin-
Jiang Wanyin had flushed red, something raw in the back of his eyes. That’s what you said last time-
Lan Huan shakes the memory away. “I’m alive,” he says, “and grateful to be so. No doubt it’s by your skill that I survived.”
“Many hands kept your life safe,” Jiang Bai says quietly, sets the salve down, and swaps the tray of medicines for one with fresh bandages, crisp and white.
Lan Huan tips his head back against the pillows, lets his vision lift to the hangings as Jiang Bai starts laying the fresh bandages across his chest. “And I am indebted to all of them,” he says.
Lan Huan has no further questions (or at least, no further questions for which he will receive answers) and so Jiang Bai continues his work in silence. With the fresh application of medicines, the ache in his chest has died down – it's much more bearable now.
“Done,” Jiang Bai says finally, removing the empty tray and folding the sheet back over Lan Huan’s chest.
“Zewu-Jun,” he says, and Lan Huan drops his eyes, meeting his gaze.
“Do not attempt to move or leave the bed,” Jiang Bai says. “You are no longer at risk of death, but you are still severely injured.”
“I understand,” Lan Huan says, and Jiang Bai bows, vanishes through the curtains.
A moment later Jiang Feng comes back in, sits down by the side of the bed; Lan Huan rolls his head to the side so that he can see him.
“Will you tell me?” he asks. Jiang Feng arrived far too quickly to have been out of earshot – Lan Huan suspects he was outside the curtain the entire time, listening in.
“Tell you what?” Jiang Feng asks. He’s smiling, but there’s no humour in it. “Tell you that Sect Leader Jiang carried you back to Lotus Pier himself? Tell you that he went without sleep for days at your bedside until the cure was ready? Tell you that he nearly burnt himself out transfusing your spiritual energy?”
Lan Huan is shaking. “Is he okay?” he gasps.
“Jiang Bai had to knock him out with needles,” Jiang Feng says. “He’s – more or less eating and sleeping now, mostly, but I’m pretty sure he’s trying to work himself to death instead.”
Lan Huan needs to see Jiang Wanyin, needs to tell him-
But Jiang Bai had said-
“Can I – I need to speak to him,” Lan Huan says.
“You do,” Jiang Feng agrees. “But you also need to understand that the last time he was like this was at the start of the Sunshot Campaign.”
He doesn’t elaborate – he doesn’t need to. Lan Huan knows-
The Sunshot Campaign had started with the burning of the Cloud Recesses – and the massacre of Lotus Pier.
“If I hadn’t pushed him out of the way,” Lan Huan says, and his voice is shaking just thinking about it. (The thought is unacceptable, that Jiang Wanyin might have-) “He would have-”
“I know,” Jiang Feng says. He gentles his voice. “Zewu-Jun, we know. You saved his life. It’s just-” he shakes his head. “Seeing him like this again, after all he’s done, all he’s overcome-”
He sighs. “Every Yunmeng Jiang cultivator – we’re here because Sect Leader Jiang personally brought us into the sect. Many of us had nothing before him. We would all do as you did – choose to die in his place, if it were within our power. If Jiang Zhao or myself had been closer to him-”
He leans back on the stool. “We are all grateful to you. It’s just hard to see him like this.”
Lan Huan swallows. “Now that I’m awake, can you ask him to come and see me?”
Jiang Feng shrugs. “I can’t make Sect Leader Jiang do anything,” he says. “But I’ll try.”
“Thank you,” Lan Huan says, rolls his head back upright, staring back at the ceiling. He desperately needs to speak to Jiang Wanyin – but he’s not allowed to move.
Jiang Wanyin needs to come to him.
–
Jiang Cheng is alone on the training field.
Well, as alone as he can be – he’s pretty sure Jiang Zhao and Jiang Feng have been taking it in turns to shadow him, and he saw Jiang Feng heading to the infirmary after lunch, which means Jiang Zhao is surely lurking around somewhere nearby.
Jiang Cheng normally finds the devotion of his disciples a little uncomfortable – and the way his more senior disciples nag him about whether he’s eaten or slept or seen the healers when he’s not even bleeding that badly is often highly irritating. But right now he’s so far past caring about those trivial emotions, because two weeks ago-
Two weeks ago Lan Xichen had-
(Jiang Cheng has had nightmares about this before, but as it happens the reality was far worse.)
Two weeks ago, Lan Xichen had died in his arms.
Jiang Cheng had had spiritual energy tangled halfway through Lan Xichen’s meridians – had felt his core flicker, felt his heart stop-
If Jiang Bai hadn’t arrived at precisely that moment-
And it had happened again, repeatedly, on the flight home.
Jiang Cheng had been burning spiritual energy recklessly, flying as fast as he dared while still trying desperately to keep Lan Xichen’s meridians from collapsing. They’d had to fly in formation – Jiang Feng crammed in at his left shoulder, Jiang Zhao on his right – both of them with healers balanced in front of them on their blades – all of them frantically trying to keep Lan Xichen alive.
On their way to the night hunt, it had taken them five hours to get to the ruins of the village. With Lan Xichen dying in his arms, they’d landed outside Lotus Pier in just under four, sometime in the early hours of the morning – and the guards at the gate had taken one look at Lan Xichen limp in Jiang Cheng’s arms, the way all of them were soaked in blood, and started a ruckus.
A hall nearby the healers’ workroom was hastily converted into an infirmary – Jiang Cheng had carefully set Lan Xichen in the bed assigned to him, kept pouring spiritual energy through his meridians as Jiang Bai had torn back in like a whirlwind with a tray full of medicines and three additional healers-
He knows, now, that it was three days until the cure – Yunmeng Jiang cultivators had filed in and out across from him; Hanguang-Jun had come in and stayed – but it had all blurred together at the time, an endless grey haze of spiritual exhaustion and pure desperation.
He’d felt Lan Xichen die, but then, somehow, he’d lived – and after that happening so many times, it felt like if he let go now, if he stopped, Lan Xichen might-
Finally, Jiang Bai had something that would work – he’d administered the cure, established that it was working, that Lan Xichen was starting to stabilise – told Jiang Cheng that he could stop, that he needed to rest.
Jiang Cheng had told him to get fucked, and then-
He’d woken up in his own quarters a full day later, groggy – rolled out of bed and stormed straight to the infirmary. Jiang Bai had met him at the door, told him he’d expended so much energy he’d nearly shattered his own core, that he was no longer permitted to give Lan Xichen spiritual energy – but that he could, of course, still see him.
Jiang Cheng had drawn back the curtain, hesitated – Lan Xichen had been so still, three needles in his head keeping him asleep, face pale, bandages covering his chest.
He couldn’t-
‘m sorry, Lan Xichen had slurred; he’d spoken of regrets, of things unsaid-
(And then his eyes had slipped closed, and he’d sagged in Jiang Cheng’s arms, and Jiang Cheng had felt his heart stop-)
He wasn’t allowed to give him spiritual energy, but Jiang Cheng had never been one for idleness – he was no Hanguang-Jun, perfectly content to sit completely still in a corner of Lan Xichen’s alcove for hours. He couldn’t just sit there and watch-
So he’d done what he’d always done when he didn’t know how to cope with his emotions – throw himself into his work.
He eats sometimes, catches snatches of sleep in between nightmares painted with blood, and every now and then steps into the infirmary to look at Lan Xichen’s still face before he-
(Before he flees like a coward.)
Because Lan Xichen very nearly died-
(Lan Xichen had died – and he’d done it saving him.)
It wasn’t his hand on the sword, no, but it was his fault just the same. If he hadn’t stumbled, if he hadn’t made a critical mistake, Lan Xichen wouldn’t have-
Wouldn’t have-
Jiang Cheng has cared deeply about very few people in his life. And all of them have left him – everyone he loves leaves. (Even Jin Ling has left – he’s Sect Leader Jin now, has his own life, his own friends. He’s still alive, but he’s gone all the same.)
He’d thought his greatest nightmare was reliving his losses – watching his parents die, his sect burn; Wen Zhuliu burning his core; A-Jie dying in his arms-
(Wei Wuxian screaming, staggering in the throes of qi deviation, his fierce corpses closing in-)
But those were old losses, faded with years of mourning. Compared to this-
Lan Xichen fading in his arms, his lifeblood pouring onto Jiang Cheng’s robes – feeling his meridians start to collapse-
Jiang Cheng had been terrified.
He’s been trying, this last year of visits back and forth, to let himself be vulnerable – to lower his public face and let Lan Xichen in past his defences. Trying to let himself heal; move past his traumas and learn how to-
(Learn how to love.)
And he’d – it had been working. He’d found it easier and easier to relax, when it was just him and Lan Xichen alone; started to open up, be comfortable-
And then Lan Xichen had shoved him out of the way of a killing blow and taken it himself, and Jiang Cheng-
Jiang Cheng doesn’t know how to cope. (Doesn’t know how to be vulnerable again, in the face of almost losing-)
So here he is, on the training field, preparing for another few hours of trying to exhaust himself enough to sleep without dreaming-
To sleep without feeling Lan Xichen die.
Because for Lan Xichen-
(Jiang Cheng loves his sect, his nephew, but this is different – this feels different. For Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng thinks he might-)
Jiang Cheng is terrified, and he doesn’t know what to do – so he’ll cope how he always has: work himself into exhaustion.
For Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng feels-
He draws Sandu from its sheath, takes a stance, and starts the first, most basic Yunmeng Jiang sword form. It will take him hours to work through every form one by one – and maybe then he’ll be tired enough to get some rest.
(For Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng feels love.)
–
By the time evening falls, Jiang Wanyin still hasn’t come.
Jiang Feng had left shortly after their conversation, and Lan Huan can only guess that Jiang Wanyin is either busy working himself to death, or-
Or Jiang Wanyin is avoiding him.
Lan Huan doesn’t know how to feel about that, the possibility that Jiang Wanyin might not want to see him – but also Lan Huan apparently nearly died repeatedly in a very short space of time, and it’s possible that Jiang Wanyin might-
That Jiang Wanyin might no longer want-
Lan Huan just – really needs to speak to him.
“Zewu-Jun,” someone says from the curtain, and Lan Huan snaps his eyes down from the ceiling – but it’s just Yu Fan, Jiang Wanyin’s head of household staff, carrying a tray.
“Please, come in,” he says, and she comes over to the bed, sets the tray down, and bows.
“This one is delighted to hear you were awake,” Yu Fan says. “Jiang Bai has prepared a medicine for you, and then I have some broth, if you can manage it.”
Jiang Bai saved his life – Lan Huan will drink whatever the healer wants. But-
“I’m not sure I can lift my arms,” he says. He’d shifted one on reflex earlier, and pain had bloomed across his chest; Lan Huan has remained very still since then.
“If you permit, this one will assist,” Yu Fan says, and picks up a spoon.
The medicine tastes just as bitter as it had earlier, but then Yu Fan swaps to the broth, and it’s delicious – thick and flavoursome, with the tiniest hint of spice.
“Thank you,” Lan Huan says, when he’s finished the entire bowl. “That was delicious.”
“Your thanks are not necessary,” Yu Fan says, and stands just so she can bow again, low. “Zewu-Jun, you saved Sect Leader Jiang’s life. Yunmeng Jiang is indebted to you.”
“Yunmeng Jiang has saved me in turn,” Lan Huan says gently, and Yu Fan lifts out of her bow. “But I do have a question.”
“If it is within my power to answer, I will,” Yu Fan says.
“Where is Jiang Wanyin?” Lan Huan asks.
“Ah,” Yu Fan says, and raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps you mean to ask, why is Sect Leader Jiang not here?”
“Perhaps,” Lan Huan says, a little faintly. He hadn’t expected Yu Fan to just say it outright like that, but there’s something a lot like compassion in her face as she looks back at him.
“Sect Leader Jiang is – complicated,” Yu Fan says. “There are many reasons why Sect Leader Jiang is not here, but if you would take this one’s advice-”
“Of course,” Lan Huan murmurs-
“Sect Leader Jiang does not sleep much or well these days,” Yu Fan says. “He has become accustomed to visiting the infirmary at odd hours,” and Yu Fan smiles. “This one would suggest you stay up past your Gusu Lan sleeping hour tonight.”
Lan Huan nods. “Thank you for your advice, Yu Fan,” he says, and Yu Fan brings her hands together again to bow.
“Zewu-Jun,” she says, collects the tray and leaves.
Well.
Lan Huan doesn’t know where Jiang Wanyin is, doesn’t know what he’s doing – but if he can stay awake as Yu Fan suggests-
As the evening wears on, he does his best to keep his eyes open – does his best to stay alert – but he can’t stop blinking, and each time he blinks, it’s harder and harder to open his eyes again, until finally he gives up, just leaves them closed.
He’s been unconscious for over two weeks, but he’s still healing – he knows he needs rest, but he also needs to talk to Jiang Wanyin – he needs to tell him-
Needs to tell him-
–
Lan Huan gasps himself awake from a dream – the details are fading, but he remembers blood, remember Jiang Wanyin screaming-
It takes him a minute to steady his breathing, centring himself. (He saved him. Jiang Wanyin is alive, even if Lan Huan hasn’t yet seen him.) It must be some time in the small hours of night; everything is quiet, the inside of the infirmary silent, still.
There’s sweat beaded unpleasantly across his face, and he tries unthinkingly to lift a hand to scrub across his eyes – moves only a fraction before pain splashes through his chest and he groans-
There’s a rustle of fabric to the side, like a movement suddenly aborted, and Lan Huan turns his head-
It’s dark, of course, he can barely see – but there’s light enough to make out the sharp line of Jiang Wanyin’s cheekbone, his jaw-
Jiang Wanyin is finally-
“You’re here,” Lan Huan breathes, and Jiang Wanyin-
Jiang Wanyin sags. “Lan Xichen,” he says, voice full of emotion Lan Huan can’t even begin to identify.
He doesn’t move, though, stays standing across the room, and suddenly Lan Huan needs more than that – needs him to be closer, needs to be able to see.
“Won’t you sit down?” Lan Huan says, and Jiang Wanyin moves, faltering, across the room – nearly falls onto the stool by the bed, leans Sandu against the wall.
Lan Huan’s core is still weak, but since spiritual energy can’t help with his wounds, he has little else to use it for. He reaches out, and the candle by the bed bursts to life-
Jiang Wanyin flinches from the light, turning his face away as he blinks – and he looks awful. There are dark circles under his eyes, his face is pallid – even his hair looks limp, like he hasn’t bothered to take care of it properly.
“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Huan says, “I can’t move my arms yet. Will you take my hand?”
Jiang Wanyin is still blinking, but he reaches out, slides his hand under Lan Huan’s – his hand is warm, he’s alive, and Lan Huan curls his fingers across his palm and holds on.
“Thank you,” he says, and then takes a breath. “I – I need to apologise.”
“Apologise for what?” Jiang Wanyin says, and Lan Huan can see he’s exhausted, but his tone is still sharp, wary.
Jiang Wanyin still has his walls up, and it’s jarring.
“I’m not sorry for pushing you out of the way,” Lan Huan says. “The thought of you being killed, or even seriously injured – it terrifies me. I couldn’t-” he shakes his head. “But I am sorry that I – that I-”
He doesn’t know if he should say die – because he didn’t, he’s still alive; but at the same time he did, more than once-
And then Jiang Wanyin snorts. “That you died?” he says, and scoffs. “You were terrified? You taking that blow was terrifying. You died, Xichen.” His breath is coming faster, face twisting into a grimace. “You died so many times, I felt your heart stop, I felt your meridians collapse-” he breaks off on a gasp, and Lan Huan squeezes his hand.
“They told me,” he says. “I – I’m sorry I-”
“Everyone leaves me,” Jiang Wanyin bursts out, “and I can’t – I think I might – I can’t lose you.” He gasps a ragged breath. “Don’t leave me-”
“I never wanted to,” Lan Huan says. And then: “Wanyin, I – when I was dying, I-” and watches Jiang Wanyin swallow.
“You said you regretted something,” Jiang Wanyin says, looks down at their hands. His voice is suddenly small, uncertain. “Was it – do you regret – this? Us?”
Lan Huan can only blink at him for a moment. “I – no, Wanyin – never-”
“Because it was my fault,” Jiang Wanyin says. “I made a mistake, and you-”
“No,” Lan Huan says, “stop. Wanyin, I chose to push you out of the way. I-” He squeezes their hands again. “I chose you,” he says, watches Jiang Wanyin’s head come up, eyes damp- “I chose you,” he says again. “And I – the thing I regretted was not telling you – not having the chance to tell you-”
(Jiang Wanyin is staring, eyes wide and mouth dropped open – Lan Huan doesn’t think he’s breathing.)
“That I – that I love you,” Lan Huan finishes, and watches Jiang Wanyin suck in a wobbly breath.
“You-” he says faintly. “You-” he mouths the word love, like he can’t even voice it when it’s referring to himself. “Me. Me.”
“You,” Lan Huan confirms, and watches the damp in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes spill over.
“I,” Jiang Wanyin says. “I can’t-” He sucks in another breath. “Xichen, you dying terrified me, and I felt – I feel-”
He’s gasping, and Lan Huan squeezes their hands. “Wanyin-”
“There’s a new rule number one,” Jiang Wanyin says, and it’s not no and it’s not a rejection, and Lan Huan-
Lan Huan knows that Jiang Wanyin has had to work hard to be able to be vulnerable, with him – knows that right now Jiang Wanyin’s walls are still partially up, even though he’s showing his distress.
Knows that there are things that Jiang Wanyin can’t say, that Jiang Wanyin might not be able to say for a long time.
(It’s not a rejection, and for Jiang Wanyin, that’s practically a declaration.)
“Rule number one is you’re not allowed to die,” Jiang Wanyin says, and Lan Huan musters up a smile.
“Only if rule number two is you’re not allowed to die either,” he says. “I refuse to lose you.”
“And I refuse to lose you,” Jiang Wanyin says, and Lan Huan-
“Wanyin,” he says gently, waits for Jiang Wanyin to meet his eyes. “I want you to hold me,” he says, and Jiang Wanyin pushes so sharply to his feet that for a moment Lan Huan fears he’s upset-
And then he kicks off his shoes and crawls onto the bed, settling down against Lan Huan’s side. “Is this okay?” he asks, resting his arm low across Lan Huan’s hips, below where the bandages are – tucking his head into the curve of Lan Huan’s shoulder. And Lan Huan-
After he nearly died, after he woke up to a day filled with hours of uncertainty – Jiang Wanyin is here, holding Lan Huan, and Lan Huan-
“Wanyin,” he says, “I’d like to kiss you,” and Jiang Wanyin-
Jiang Wanyin levers himself up on his elbow, face flushed. “You want to-”
“Kiss you,” Lan Huan says, turning his head toward him. “I always want to kiss you-” and watches Jiang Wanyin’s blush deepen.
“Shameless,” he mutters, but he does lean forward, presses his lips gently to Lan Huan’s.
Lan Huan takes the kiss, steals another, another – whines when Jiang Wanyin pulls his head away. “Wanyin-”
“Xichen,” Jiang Wanyin says. “You only just woke up, you need to rest.”
“Will you sleep too?” Lan Huan asks, watches Jiang Wanyin shift.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t been – sleeping well. Since.”
Lan Huan nods. “I understand,” he says, “but I – would you-”
This morning, Lan Huan woke up alone – Jiang Feng was there, but Jiang Feng isn’t Lan Huan’s – he’s not Jiang Wanyin. And Lan Huan wants-
“Don’t let me wake up alone,” he says, watches Jiang Wanyin’s face go solemn.
“I won’t,” he says, like a promise, and Lan Huan-
He’s alive. Jiang Wanyin is alive. Lan Huan loves him – has finally told him that he loves him, and Lan Huan-
Lan Huan won’t wake up alone.
–
When Lan Huan next wakes, there’s a particular kind of quiet hush in the room. He’s warm, warmer than he had been yesterday, on waking – he blinks open his eyes, looks down, and oh, that would be why-
Jiang Wanyin is still crammed onto the bed with him, pressed up against his side with his arm slung low, head tucked into his neck. He’s deeply asleep, breathing steady and even, and his face is soft, relaxed – the dark circles under his eyes starting to ease.
Lan Huan can’t help but smile, seeing him – he’d been worried, when he heard that he hadn’t been sleeping, but right now, Jiang Wanyin seems to be sleeping just fine.
There’s a faint noise from the curtain, almost like a gasp, and Lan Huan glances up sharply – if they’ve woken Jiang Wanyin-
It’s Jiang Bai, with Jiang Feng looking over his shoulder. Jiang Bai has a tray balanced on one hand, the other clapped over his mouth, eyes sparkling; Jiang Feng is smiling wide.
Jiang Feng steps clear of Jiang Bai, and bows. He comes back up, still smiling, mouths thank you – takes Jiang Bai by the shoulder, and backs them away.
Lan Huan glances back down to Jiang Wanyin – his face is scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and he makes a low noise.
“It’s nothing,” Lan Huan murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”
Jiang Wanyin makes another noise; his face smooths out and he nuzzles into Lan Huan’s shoulder. After another minute his breathing evens out again, body going loose and heavy against Lan Huan’s side, and Lan Huan-
After everything they’ve been through, the misunderstandings, their respective wounds of the spirit, the disastrous night hunts, Lan Huan nearly dying-
After all that, Jiang Wanyin is still here – still willing to try, to be vulnerable. And Lan Huan-
He remembers knowing he was dying – remembers thinking about what he’d wanted, the future he wouldn’t have-
(Wrapping his ribbon around Jiang Wanyin’s arm, a claim and a declaration that he was Lan Huan’s and Lan Huan’s alone; bowing three times with Jiang Wanyin, dressed in red; cultivating to immortality with Jiang Wanyin by his side.)
And now-
Lan Huan is alive. Jiang Wanyin is alive. And the future Lan Huan thought he was losing is blossoming again, bright with possibilities in his mind.
He loves Jiang Wanyin. And here, with Jiang Wanyin pressed against him-
Here, in the sect Jiang Wanyin rebuilt with his own two hands – here, in the place where Jiang Wanyin has achieved the impossible-
Lan Huan feels like he can do anything.
The future is within his grasp. And Lan Huan-
Lan Huan feels hope.