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Chapter Text

Lan Wangji sits in a field of bodies.

It is not an unfamiliar occurrence. Rather one made far too common by the endless years of war, of countless fields, bloody and profane. If there is an extra bitterness that the war is officially at an end and yet the bloodshed persists—that the bodies around him belong to unarmed men, women, and children fleeing from laughing gold-clad cultivators armed with bows–Lan Wangji does his best to set it aside.

It is not his place to say.

Death is death; the rage, confusion, pain, and despair thickening the air are the focus of Lan Wangji’s duty. To bring rest and peace to the land, to release souls to find a new life. A cultivator’s charge, after all, is to serve the already-lost. And to do that justly, he must not succumb to those malignant emotions himself. He must remain above attachments and the inevitable suffering they drag along in their wake.

After so many months spent bringing death, honed as a weapon to cut down both the living and the reanimated at his commander’s order, it is perhaps easy to forget. Here, in the dirt, a reminder that he will need to find a way back to what life was before the war, now that he has survived to live it.

To serve his sect. To honor justice and protect the weak.

It all seems very far away.

Lan Wangji allows no hesitation in the notes of Rest as it flows from his fingers, twining through the stillness of the plain. A firm edict to the dead to leave behind these painful last moments. To release themselves from the cares and suffering of this world, to not linger and plague the living.

And woven into the melody, an apology perhaps.

He pushes that away, tasting the indulgence in such a thought. To allow himself to dwell on his own feelings about these events is a weakness that opens him to resentment. A disservice to the souls surrounding him. An undermining of the control from which his power flows. He is his duty. Nothing more. Nothing less. As he is meant to be.

Separate. Apart. Detached. Steady.

To be anything less is to risk disaster.

Then, through the trees, a dizi joins in on the melody as if to mock his attempts at detachment. It is a soaring, beseeching melody; a listening ear. The perfect counterpoint to the thrum of the guqin.

We, the living, see your suffering, it seems to say, and wish to see you bound by it no more. Let go. Let go.

Coaxing and gentle, with nothing of the battlefield command and screech of death Lan Wangji has grown accustomed to. Here, instead, there is understanding. Empathy. I am sorry, I am sorry. It was not right.  

Lan Wangji’s heart stutters under the clear call of Wei Ying’s flute, and yet his fingers do not falter, his own power rising to meet Wei Ying’s. Melding and twining together, falling upon the field like a gentle rain on parched earth or long-forgotten sunshine on a gloomy day.

Wei Ying, he thinks, the ache in his chest swelling and slipping free of his control. Wei Ying. Close, but as always, hopelessly far.

Lan Wangji releases a long, controlled breath as the music at last fades and settles into the earth. The task is done. He should return to Nightless City. Make his report. Fulfill his duties. The people here will still need to be buried and the proper rites observed, lest the land grow restless again. But there will be time for someone else to be sent after Lan Wangji makes his report. A report of facts and necessary duty.

Lan Zhan. What do you think of the people here? Who is good and who is evil?

Lan Wangji stows his qin and rises to his feet. Rather than returning to the city to make his report, he instead chases after the phantom echo of the dizi. Chasing after Wei Ying as assuredly as a young visiting disciple once sought out Lan Wangji.

It has been many years since those days. If only the memories could as easily be put to rest.

He finds Wei Ying standing among the trees nearby, flute lowered, shoulders bowed, face cast in shadows that make him seem thin, fragile. Ephemeral.

“Wei Ying,” he says.

Wei Ying sighs, looking away. “Can we not, right now?”

He looks exhausted. Worn. But as always, angry just underneath, like a trap constantly waiting to snap. Lan Wangji yearns to soothe that as well. It would be just another kind of duty, would it not? To care for the living as he cares for the dead?

Lan Wangji thinks of Wei Ying standing on the cliff’s edge just before they followed the screams to this field that is not a battlefield, his arm rigid and unyielding under Lan Wangji’s grip. Lan Zhan! Enough!

Wei Ying wants him to let it go. Let him go.

He cannot.

Did Wei Ying not hear what Jin Zixun said as they stood together in that field of bodies? Does he not understand? Anyone who has concerns with the yin iron should not be alive.

Had Wei Ying not just finally admitted to Lan Wangji that his new tool came from yin iron, even if somehow refined and changed? Different from Wen Ruohan?

Why, why would he play with something so dangerous? Did he not hear Lan Yi when she said how foolish it was to think the yin iron could ever be used without the user being the one used in turn? Destroyed by the yin iron. Twisted and consumed. And why, with this conflict at an end, would Wei Ying still cling so tenaciously to it? Why does he welcome this harm?

Lan Zhan. Are you afraid I will be like Wen Ruohan who was controlled by the yin iron? But the yin hu fu is not yin iron, and I am not Wen Ruohan.

The words are there on the tip of Lan Wangji’s tongue. There has never been an exception. Resentment can only be eradicated, not embraced. Not used. Not even influenced. The orthodox ways handed down to them from the ancients exist for a reason. Wen Ruohan no doubt believed himself to be strong enough as well, in the beginning.

Lan Wangji cannot watch Wei Ying fall to this. He will not.

Wei Ying must see something of his insistence, a long sigh escaping. “Lan Zhan, are you not tired of fighting?”

Yes. Yes. Lan Wangji is tired of fighting. Tired of death. Tired of endlessly reaching for Wei Ying only to once again be met with the solid wall of his indifference, if not the sharp slice of his disdain. Lan Wangji grows tired of thinking he might somehow finally find the right words when he never has been able to before.

“Can’t you just let me be?” Wei Ying says.

You promised, a petulant voice in Lan Wangji wants to plead. You promised to let me help you. Yet Lan Wangji, as always, has no words to say.

In the heavy silence, a distant wail echoes through the trees. The sound of a child inconsolable with fear.

Wei Ying’s chin lifts, turning to the sound, hand reaching for his flute.

A moment later, the sound abruptly cuts off. Alarmingly so.

They share a look and immediately set out after the origin of the phantom sound, the same way neither of them hesitated to follow the calls for help earlier, to stop that last arrow from meeting its mark. There is no need for conversation in this.

Moving swiftly through the trees, there is no sound under their feet as Lan Wangji extends his senses for any further cries. He shifts to the left, Wei Ying easily adjusting in his wake.

There. At the base of a tree, the form of a woman. The same woman, Lan Wangji realizes, that they saved from Jin Zixun. A Wen.

The young mother is shaking, eyes wide with overwhelming fear as she rocks back and forth. Her hand is pressed to her child’s face, fingers digging into the soft flesh, a desperate attempt to keep her quiet. Too tightly, in her fear, keeping air from the child. Suffocating her.

“Madam,” Wei Ying says, down on his knees beside her and prying her hand free.

The child remains limp and unmoving.

Leaning forward, Wei Ying blows into the face of the listless child. The child stirs, sucking in a deep breath, and there is a moment of shining silence before the child again begins to wail.

“No, no,” the woman says, frantic, reaching once more to silence the child. “You mustn’t! They will hear!”

Wei Ying scoops up the child, cradling her to his chest, whispering comforting nonsense to calm her wailing.

Lan Wangji once again sits down with his qin, playing a calming song often meant for settling nightmares. The woman and child are commoners, with no power of their own, but Lan Wangji can still wind the song around them, use his own energy to calm the spirit. To push down and eliminate despair.

Mother and daughter eventually calm, as much as they can.

They should be brought back to whatever camp Jin Zixun must have been escorting them to before they escaped. There would be greater safety there, where they are meant to be, overseen by the sects. He does not understand what this non-cultivator and her child might possibly have to do with the yin iron. Yet, if they did not, why would they be there?

Sect leader Nie and Sect leader Lan also agreed, Jin Zixun had said.

Lan Wangji’s jaw clenches. Likely they have a plan Lan Wangji does not completely understand, some other reason for it. It is not for him to question. When he makes his report, there will be time to—

“Madam,” Wei Ying says, squatting down next to the woman, her child still held tight to his chest. “You must leave this place behind. Go as far as you can manage.”

Lan Wangji looks at him sharply, but Wei Ying’s attention is all for the woman.

“Where can we go?” she asks, face streaked with tears and hopelessness. “Where is safe?”

Wei Ying closes his eyes. “Madam. You must leave your name behind as well. If you wish to live. Your ancestors will surely understand.” Reaching into his sleeve, his hand pulls free with talisman paper pinched between his fingers, using his own blood to sketch out a spell Lan Wangji cannot recognize from this angle.

Turning to the child, Wei Ying wiggles his fingers into the girl’s stomach, soft and silly, the shocked, tear-stained child startled enough to let out a soft sound. Not quite a laugh, but something easier than a wail. “Your mama needs you to stay quiet to be safe, little one. But that can be hard when you’re scared, right? Sometimes we just need to make noise.”

Lan Wangji thinks of Wei Ying, young and bright in his lecture whites, voice raised and echoing. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, won’t you look at me?

The little girl nods, sucking in a hiccupping breath.

“Since that might be hard, can I give you a special spell that will help you stay hidden?”

She looks uncertain.

“It won’t hurt,” Wei Ying says, a wide, warm smile on his face that Lan Wangji feels he hasn’t seen in years, like being thrown back in time to life before. It’s disorienting. Beautiful. “I promise.”

The girl nods, still not completely sure.

Wei Ying presses the talisman to the girl’s chest, infusing a small thread of power in order to activate it.

“Did that hurt?” Wei Ying asks.

The girl shakes her head, poking a finger at the paper.

Wei Ying turns back to the woman. “This should last a day. It will keep sound from traveling. Promise me you won’t try to stifle her again.”

She shakes her head. “No, no—I didn’t mean—I would never.” She is near tears again.

“I know,” Wei Ying says soothingly, creating a second talisman. “And this one you can use when the other stops working. Okay? Two days to get as far as you can.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I can’t…”

Do more , Lan Wangji knows he wants to say. For a terrifying moment, it feels like Wei Ying might offer to escort her away. To hide her. What he has done here is bad enough, to interfere with the Jin and their prisoners. If anyone ever found out…

“Wei Ying.”

His shoulders hunch in response, all of the previous softness gone. “Just walk away, Hanguang-Jun,” he says, not even turning to look at him. “This doesn’t need to involve you.”

That stings and yet has no right to. Lan Wangji’s duty is clear. What is right is clear. They are one and the same, are they not? They have to be. Will this woman and her child truly be better served by wandering Qishan unprotected than in a camp run by a Great Sect where there would be shelter and food and protection?

And what protection was Jin Zixun offering? asks a voice at the back of his mind that sounds far too much like Wei Ying.

The prisoners were running. Trying to escape. They must have been.

And does that excuse shooting them in the back? Slaughtering them?

They had been laughing, Jin Zixun and his companions. Laughing as the people died.

Wei Ying’s attention is back on the woman, attempting to open the chains encircling the woman’s neck and ankles. Wei Ying insisting on acting, as always, without forethought.

But if you don’t believe me, how can I help you?

Lan Wangji unsheathes Bichen, the woman letting out a whimper, shifting to hide behind Wei Ying.

Wei Ying swings around, flute up as if to block a blow. “Lan Wangji,” he snaps, fury and hurt swirling in his eyes. 

Lan Wangji takes a careful breath, refusing to register how deeply Wei Ying’s reaction cuts. “The chains,” he says.

Wei Ying blinks. “What?”

Instead of repeating himself, Lan Wangji lowers down to one knee, reaching towards the manacle circling the woman’s wrist. Before touching, he looks up at her, waiting for permission.

Her eyes widen, and she darts a glance at Wei Ying and then back to him. She nods, looking no less terrified.

With a careful application of energy through the blade, Lan Wangji is able to break open the manacle, following quickly with freeing the other wrist. He then lifts the blade, needing to access the metal band around her throat. Her terrified eyes meet his.

“I will not harm you,” Lan Wangji states.   

She nods, squeezing her eyes closed as his blade lifts.

Lan Wangji is precise with his application, tuning everything else out, and with a short spark, the chains fall away.

As soon as Lan Wangji sheathes Bichen, the woman scrambles to her feet, child clutched to her chest.

Wei Ying reaches into his sleeve, pulling free with his money pouch. “Go,” he says, pressing it into her hands. “Don’t look back.”

Her eyes still full of tears, the woman gives him a determined nod. Bowing multiple times in quick succession, she says, “Thank you.”

“Go,” Wei Ying says, voice soft.

She disappears into the trees, the two of them staring after her as unnatural silence once again settles over the forest. Even the sound of her footfalls is muffled. It is an effective talisman.

Then Wei Ying lets out a pained breath, his hand clutching at his chest, and Lan Wangji can see resentment swirling off him like ribbons in an unfelt breeze.

Lan Wangji masters the impulse to reach out to him, to feel his wrist in his grip. Concentrate. It would be unwelcome. As would any offer to play as his fingers itch to do. He is unwelcome.

Another moment and Wei Ying masters himself. Lan Wangji watches him duck down and pick up the discarded chains before walking off in the opposite direction from the woman, the metal clanging loudly in the forest. Lan Wangji follows him without comment, until they come upon a river.

Wei Ying heaves the chains into the water, and they disappear from sight, sinking into the muck. It erases none of what they did here today. None of what they have done in this war and what has been done to them.

Lan Wangji still cannot believe this was the right choice. He is certain Wei Ying meant it as a kindness, and that settles somewhere deep inside him, this evidence of Wei Ying’s heart—that goodness somehow still there despite everything, despite his baffling choices and unorthodox magics. Freeing the woman and her child, sending them off. Lan Wangji is just not sure it will actually be a kindness, in the long run. For the woman or for Wei Ying.

Last evidence of the woman now gone, Wei Ying turns to walk back up the stream towards the city. Lan Wangji follows a few steps behind.

“Nothing to say?” Wei Ying asks, more challenge than inquiry.

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond, certain his words would be unwelcome anyway.

A rough huff leaves Wei Ying. “Of course not.”

They walk in silence until Wei Ying’s face abruptly lifts, his eyes staring out across the stream even as his hand tightens around his flute.

“Wei Ying?”

His brow furrows. “There’s…something. Do you feel it?”

Lan Wangji quiets his breathing, stretching out with his senses. Beyond an artificial silence, he finds nothing out of place.  

Wei Ying lifts his flute to his lips, only to pause, glancing over at Lan Wangji. It takes him a moment to realize that Wei Ying is expecting him to protest, to argue, maybe. As if only an hour before they hadn’t put a field of spirits to rest together.

What I use is music.

Lan Wangji remains silent, body still as he waits for Wei Ying to decide.

Defiance still there in every line of this body, Wei Ying plays a long, searching note—something far different from musical cultivation as Lan Wangji knows it.

The fine hairs on the back of Lan Wangji’s neck rise in a wave. “What do you sense?”

Wei Ying doesn’t answer, the note instead shifting, surging higher, something like a query. Coaxing.

“Resentment,” Lan Wangji guesses, something changing in the air around them.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, lowering his flute. “Like knows like.”

It’s a joke, or perhaps a vicious jab. Either way, Lan Wangji lets it pass through him, not wanting to fight.

“Could be anything, really,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji knows what he means. The land is rife with death, both from the battles and the neglect left behind by cultivators too busy with war to serve the common people. Lan Wangji did what he could between battles. It was a relief, something as simple and uncomplicated as clearing out yao and ghouls and returning order and peace. To take on the work he was raised to believe was his purpose, not this endless slog of death and losses.

“I will see to it,” Lan Wangji says. He simply needs Wei Ying to direct him towards the disturbance. 

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Wei Ying says, and then he is leaping across the water, wincing slightly when he lands more heavily than he should on the other side. Almost graceless.

Lan Wangji frowns, worrying that Wei Ying is still not completely recovered, or perhaps hiding an injury. With a quick leap, he follows, not allowing Wei Ying to slip out of sight.

The trees thicken as Lan Wangji follows behind, Wei Ying’s dark robes nearly lost to the shadows as he darts from tree to tree, the occasional note calling out from his flute. He eventually slows, eyes slightly narrowed with focus, body taut with expectation.

Lan Wangji settles silently next to him. They are close now, close enough that Lan Wangji can feel the thickness of resentment in the air. He pulls Bichen from its sheath, pale blue light spilling across the forest floor.

Wei Ying glances at him, something searching in his gaze, before nodding. “Almost there,” he murmurs, and then leads him forward.

The trees slowly thin, leading to a cleared field, plants abandoned and dead, a small house a lonely sight in an otherwise empty space. No one living has been here in a while.

They cross the field, the dead plants crunching under Wei Ying’s feet. Across the open space, beneath a tree, there is a neat row of graves, paper blessings fluttering in the breeze. Rotten fruit and burnt incense rest against the markers.

These dead were once cared for.

A quick investigation reveals the graves to still be settled and content. The dead here are not festering.

He glances at Wei Ying to see the same assessment in his eyes. He nods, his attention shifting to the house. There is something else at work here.

Where is the one who cared for these graves so carefully?

Together, they move forward slowly. Here they are seamless, working together as they did on the battlefield. Lan Wangji does not like that this ease is only present when they are surrounded by death and resentment. By emergent violence.

The house has an air of abandonment: weeds sprung up against the steps, windows ragged and torn, the front door hanging slightly open.

“Definitely something here,” Wei Ying murmurs.

As if in response, all of the shutters on the house blow outwards as one, wood pieces shattering and flinging across the ground with an unnatural shriek. The air seems to thin—not with rage, not will malicious intent, but with ice-cold, sharp despair.

Lan Wangji feels a shard of wood sharp against his cheek, the warm trickle of blood. The house moans and rages.

Wei Ying is already writing a seal in the air, sending it towards the walls of the house, buying Lan Wangji enough time to summon his guqin, settling on the ground.

Whatever measure Wei Ying has used to contain the spirit in the house seems to be holding. An unnatural silence has settled over everything, even the breeze having stopped entirely, like a halted breath. Next to him, Wei Ying shifts, posture alert.

There is too much resentment here, too much wild emotion for the ghost to be sent on to rest with a simple song. And yet he is also not willing to resort to his sword. More information is needed.

Lan Wangji plucks out a series of notes and then waits for a response. Who are you?

He can feel Wei Ying watching with great interest. It is likely he will not have seen this before. Lan Wangji was still finishing his mastery of it when they were boys hunting for the yin iron. And their years in war have rarely been spent soothing the dead.

“Associating with spirits?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Wangji hums in response, inexplicably warmed by this evidence of Wei Ying’s bright mind. That he perhaps paid more attention during his time in Gusu than he might have pretended.

“What did you ask?”

An answer comes before Lan Wangji can respond.

Fu Hao, plucks out the spirit.

“What?” Wei Ying asks, settling in the dirt, arms crossed over the knees he has tucked into his chest like a child, eyes wide and curious. “What are they saying?”

“Their name. Fu Hao.”

He glances back at the house. “Definitely someone here then.” As if the blatant attack had not been sign enough.

“How did you die?” Lan Wangji says as he plucks out the notes, so Wei Ying can follow along.

Alone.

The notes echo plaintively through the clearing.

Wei Ying tilts his head in question, eyes darting back and forth between the guqin and the house.

“They died alone.”

“Right,” Wei Ying says, voice soft as his eyes dart back toward the graves.

“What killed you?” Lan Wangji asks, fingers moving over the strings.

Alone, is the only response. Alone. Alone. Alone.

Lan Wangji tries once more, to no avail. It is not that the spirit is powerful enough to resist him, but rather that the resentment has corrupted her so much that she may not be able to remember.

Lan Wangji rests his hands on the strings. “We may need to suppress.”

Wei Ying grimaces. “I’d really rather not.”

While Lan Wangji can understand the preference for liberation, there is also no need to feel a particular way about needing to take the second option. Sometimes it is simply necessary, just like elimination.

Lan Wangji does not keep his emotions in check simply by inclination, after all, but because it is necessary. Letting one’s emotions rise in response to the plight of a spirit not only risks mental fatigue, but also contributes to the power of the resentment itself. Facing a night hunt with high emotions will only feed into the strength of resentment and make the task harder, if not impossible.

Yet Wei Ying has always shown his every emotion without care, and now in an even more volatile fashion. It makes him vulnerable.

“Will you let me try something?” Wei Ying asks, the stubborn set of his shoulders indicating it isn’t so much a request as an inquiry into whether he will end up having to fight Lan Wangji as well. 

Lan Wangji bites back the blunt corrections he would give any cultivator under his supervision, and instead nods. He is, after all, tired of fighting.

Wei Ying gives him a half-smile and then lifts his flute. Wind sweeps up from the ground, dirt rising in a whirlwind as Wei Ying starts to play. Pressure builds like the too-tight skin of a drum.

The spirit is drawn forward, almost as if in response to Wei Ying’s will. It coalesces as a writhing mass, the shadows cast by the house pulling together into a vaguely human form. It thrashes, but Wei Ying keeps it in thrall, somehow held by the music he plays.

The hair trailing down over Lan Wangji’s shoulders lifts and dances in the wind, dust making his eyes water.

The dizi’s notes start shrill and bright, trickling lower and lower like a stone weighing down on the spirit—demanding submission. At a particularly powerful note, the dust around them settles hard, like the pull of the earth has increased and will no longer be denied.

Only then does Wei Ying’s playing shift, smoothing out into something softer. A gentle entreaty, an invitation to confide. A light flourish like an inviting laugh or a flirtatious smile. A pull towards Wei Ying.

The ghost dances closer and closer.

“Yes,” Wei Ying says, not looking away. “I’m so sorry.”

For what? Wei Ying appears to be speaking with the ghost, but there is no way for that to be possible.

Wei Ying looks at Lan Wangji, his eyes darting towards his guqin. He lifts his mouth away long enough to say, “Try Rest.”

If the ghost is too mired in resentment to even answer simple inquiries, it is doubtful that Rest could reach it either.

“Wei Ying,” he says in warning. It is one thing to seek to liberate, as one should always begin; it is another to allow oneself to be waylaid by the demands of a resentful spirit. “We should suppress.”

“What, so she can just stay here and fester? Lan Zhan, we have to at least try.”

Try to do what? Rest will not have the effect he hopes for.  

“Come on, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheedles.

Lan Wangji starts to play. Somehow, the spirit responds, gentling its hold on whatever attachment is keeping it anchored in this place. What exactly has Wei Ying done to it?

Wei Ying lowers his dizi. “There we go,” he says. He looks down at Lan Wangji and smiles. “I think she’s ready. Maybe she just wanted someone to know.”

To know what? Why is Wei Ying speaking as if he now somehow knows this spirit?

It does indeed seem to be weakening its hold on the resentment though. Did whatever Wei Ying has done lessen the spirit’s resentment somehow? It should not have been possible. It’s nothing they have been trained to do.

He feels fear spike in his chest at this additional evidence of how far Wei Ying has strayed from the path. Emotion swells in his chest, a thick mix of fear and worry, this certainty that Wei Ying is slipping out of reach. That there will be no way to pull him back.

It happens quickly—perhaps in Lan Wangji’s moment of distraction, or simply as is the way of spirits who are not quite ready to leave.

The ghost lets out a shriek that shakes the trees and flies directly towards them, rushing across the clearing, an almost solid wall of resentment. It slams into Lan Wangji’s chest, knocking him to the ground. He’s aware of Wei Ying crumpling next to him.

He braces himself for a further attack, for the next wave, but nothing comes, not even as he rolls back to his knees, pulling Bichen in front of him.

Silence settles over the clearing.

“You alright?” Wei Ying asks, as they both get back up to their feet.

Lan Wangji takes a moment to breathe and assess. “Yes,” he decides, feeling nothing amiss besides slight aches from hitting the ground, quickly fading under his cycling energy. “And you?”

Wei Ying nods, brushing off his robes. “Maybe she wasn’t quite so ready to go,” he says of the ghost. “Or at least not without one last bit of mischief.” He huffs, almost looking fond. “Not that I can blame her. One last little temper tantrum before she goes. Got to admire it.”

Lan Wangji chooses not to comment on that, instead stretching his senses out over the area.  A soft calm has settled over the homestead now, leaving it feeling quiet and empty. Abandoned just like its last inhabitant.

Wei Ying bumps his shoulder against Lan Wangji’s. “Just like old times,” he says, giving Lan Wangji a soft, almost shy smile.

Lan Wangji feels it like another blunt impact to his chest.  

Old times. Those days together on the yin iron quest feel so distant, but in this moment so close. Wei Ying chasing after him, his wretched binding talisman trapping Lan Wangji’s wrist, sitting together in tea houses, the dancing fairy, Wei Ying sleeping on his roof, soft and drunk and smiling.

Wei Ying. I must go.

There is a dull thud in his chest, followed by a sharper sensation on his wrist. He rubs absently at it, slight pressure around the bones, like a phantom rope. He must have fallen on it. He cycles energy through it, and in a moment, the sensation is gone entirely. Slipping through his fingers again.

“Let’s bury her, yeah?” Wei Ying says, voice still soft, close.

Lan Wangji nods.

Wei Ying moves towards a small lean-to, coming out with a shovel and moving to the line of graves. Normally this is something the local village would be left to do, but there is no one here to care. Qishan is in tatters, its people dead or scattered. Defeated.

Lan Wangji considers offering to dig for Wei Ying, but doesn’t want to see the defensive hunch of Wei Ying’s shoulders in response to a perceived slight. The way everything Lan Wangji offers him is an insult. He will hold onto this momentary calm between them as long as he can.

“I will see to the body,” Lan Wangji says and steps into the house.

Enough time has passed that the stench has mostly dissipated, the body dried and desiccated. It lies alone on a thin pallet. There is a hearth and a table with four chairs. The table is set with only one bowl, one rough cup. A home that had once been full, and then left with only one. And now none.

He looks again at the woman, feeling a strange pang in his heart. He pushes it aside, not out of callousness, but knowledge that he cannot be of use if he personalizes each night hunt, every tragic soul he comes to soothe. No one life is more valuable or important than any other. Each must be equally respected.

Lan Wangji still uncharacteristically finds himself biting back the impulse to say, I’m sorry. I’m sorry this happened to you.

She was so lonely.

Taking a breath, he considers what needs to be done. A quick survey of the available resources has him reaching for his travel pouch. Part of him knows it isn’t proper, but that feels very far away in the moment. She deserves something at least.

Folding her hands across her chest, he carefully wraps her in the white silk of one his spare robes, the best shroud he can muster. She barely weighs anything in his arms. He pulls the trailing edge of the cloth up and over her face.  

“It’s ready,” Wei Ying says from behind him.

Lan Wangji doesn’t startle, but he wonders how long Wei Ying has been there. He tries not to feel caught out. Nodding, he gets to his feet, following Wei Ying back out into the yard, bringing Fu Hao’s body to its final rest.

They complete the rituals, side by side. Putting this land to rest as best they can. It feels so right, the togetherness. So correct.

Lan Wangji can only hope that, put to rest side by side with the rest of her family, Fu Hao might rest. That she might no longer feel so alone.

He takes another moment to let the peacefulness of the clearing settle over him and the closeness of Wei Ying soothe him. He tries not to think about how when they finish here, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying will return to the city, each going their own way. Lan Wangji will write his report, including what Jin Zixun did to the Wen prisoners, and Lan Wangji’s own actions in response.

He will watch Wei Ying walk away and out of reach.

But for now, he simply breathes.

Lan Wangji has never enjoyed banquets. The initial arrival and speeches are ritualized enough to be tolerable, his responsibilities and actions clear and prescribed. Once the formalities are over, however, things become less structured and therefore more treacherous. And tedious. Fortunately, few people approach him, though tonight that solitude feels particularly sharp, leaving him feeling strangely exposed.

Wei Ying, he can see out of the corner of his eye, is drinking copiously on the other side of the hall, his body looser and less controlled as the evening continues. Clearly he is drunk. This is nothing new. Wei Ying has always enjoyed wine, enjoyed being inebriated. Even before. Before he became like this. Yet it now feels like something more than simple misbehavior, different than cheerful disregard for propriety. It feels more like…armor. Or something between a slip in control and a way to hold onto it. Lan Wangji doesn’t know which. Like so many things about Wei Ying these days, it frightens him.

There is some small disturbance over the question of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan’s engagement that is embarrassing to see exposed so callously in public. It would seem to reflect poorly on Jin Guangshan, but of course all everyone is speaking of is Wei Ying’s alleged disrespect of Jiang-zongzhu. From what Lan Wangji knows of the siblings, and Jiang Wanyin from those weeks together searching for Wei Ying, it was not disrespect so much as the careless, blundering nature of their relationship. Excusable perhaps for blood siblings. But Wei Ying’s position remains as unclear as ever: not a true sibling, but something almost like it. Or perhaps tolerance for Wei Ying has thinned all around.

It settles hard and sour in Lan Wangji’s stomach, his fists tightening against his thighs. He is unsettled and has struggled to find equilibrium all day. He is perhaps tired. Has neglected his meditation too much as of late.

All the more reason, when Wei Ying saunters out of the hall, ignoring all niceties and swiping an additional bottle of wine on his way out, for Lan Wangji to stay where he is.

He stands, noticing Xichen nearby talking to Jin Guangyao, their heads lowered together. No one stops Lan Wangji as he follows after Wei Ying, feeling somehow tugged along in his wake.

Wei Ying hasn’t gone far, sprawled on the stairs off to one side, looking up at the stars. They are hard to see beyond the glare of torches and the perpetual haze that seems to hang in the air here. He is currently pouring wine into his open mouth, liquid trailing down over his throat with casual abandon. Lan Wangji watches, helplessly ensnared.

Once he feels better in control of himself, he steps just close enough to be in Wei Ying’s peripheral vision.

It doesn’t take long for him to react, shoulders tightening before he lets out a long breath. “Lan Zhan, are you here to scold me again?”

There is little to say that he hasn’t said before. At least of the things he is allowed, the things he knows how to say. The truth, after all— please, just let me be near you —can never, ever be said. It swirls and tightens in his chest.

Wei Ying scoffs, rolling his eyes before he takes another swig of wine, his general disdain for Lan Wangji clear, making him painfully aware of his every deficiency as he stands here, not knowing what to do. Too weak not to follow, too stiff to actually do anything.

Wei Ying will be leaving tomorrow, along with most of the sects. Slipping out of reach at last.

Lan Wangji grasps his own wrist, the pressure of his fingers tight around the bones, seeking stability, perhaps a calm center, and finding neither. Just an empty ache like a bruise.

He knows better than to ask again, knows it will only destroy what little tolerance Wei Ying is willing to allow him. Fracture the last illusions that Wei Ying is fine.

Lan Wangji knows this, and yet the words rise up and escape as if beyond his control.

“Come to Gusu,” he says.

Wei Ying lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck off, Lan Zhan,” he says, only the slightest sharpness beneath the lilting, cheerful tone. He pushes to his feet, swaying slightly. “I’m going home. Back to Lotus Pier with my siblings.” He pushes the wine bottle into Lan Wangji’s chest, tapping it there twice, an answering twinge squeezing his heart. “Whether anyone thinks I deserve to or not.”

Wei Ying pushes off Lan Wangji’s shoulder then, hand firm and fingers pressing in as he seeks the momentum to stride away, to leave , and Lan Wangji is left with nothing but the phantom heat of his hand, the hard knock-knock of a bottle against his chest like an invitation to enter that will never come.

At the bottom of the stairs, Wei Ying pauses, head turned slightly back over his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Lan Zhan.”

He walks away.

Lan Wangji’s hand tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of his wrist, a fierce flare of something like pain streaking up his arm and through his chest. He masters the weakness, taking a careful breath.

“Goodbye, Wei Ying,” he says to the empty air, feeling like something, somewhere, is ripping hopelessly in half.

It is no matter. He will return home as well, seek out whatever answers may live in the knowledge there. Some other way to help Wei Ying. Some solution. Some wisdom still just out of his reach.

Lan Wangji returns to his solitary room, settles into a meditative pose, and tries to put everything back in perfect order.

Chapter Text

Nightless City is emptying.

Lan Xichen watches the activity around him speed up and then slowly trickle away into calm. The sects and their disciples slip away, returning to what is left of their homes at long last, to see how it might all be put back to rights.

Lan Xichen is staying a few extra days to help support A-Yao, or rather Jin Guangyao as he is now. He has been tasked with overseeing the dismantling of the palace, which he is efficiently doing with a sort of pleased pride under his exhaustion. There are endless goods to be cataloged and distributed as agreed upon by the sects in the Sunshot accords. A complicated, ponderous agreement slowly pieced together in meeting after meeting. It’s been a grueling month, in a different sort of way than the wearing uncertainty of war.

Lan Xichen is looking forward to returning home, even knowing the pain to be found there in halls only partially reconstructed, rooms and positions empty, training fields and lecture halls horrifyingly underpopulated. They can rebuild. They must.

He knows he is more fortunate than most. While he has suffered losses, he still has both his brother and uncle alive at his side. Has lost neither of his sworn brothers when so many others have lost countless loved ones. His sect is weak, but still standing. The work ahead is daunting. But it is good work. It is the chance they have fought to have.

It will be good to see Uncle again. To have his and the surviving Elders’ guidance after facing this political maze on his own for so long.

At the sound of a knock, Lan Xichen bids entrance to two disciples carrying trays of lunch for him and Wangji. Lan Xichen smiles down at the food as it is set on the table, knowing it was likely arranged for them by A-Yao, and thanks the disciples before dismissing them. He pours the tea, glancing up at Wangji’s door and wondering where his brother is.

Wangji has spent most of the morning in meditation. While this might simply be a way to avoid the general chaos of leave-taking—the Nie and Jiang having both left at first light—Lan Xichen can’t help but worry about how worn his brother looked at breakfast. Wangji admitted he had not slept well.  

Wangji has been…unhappy as of late. He hasn’t complained, of course, but Lan Xichen can see it in the set of his shoulders, the tenseness of his jaw as his eyes follow Wei Wuxian. The strain between them has clearly not dissipated, instead only intensifying as Wei Wuxian’s behavior becomes more and more worrying.

It is a topic none dares to raise directly, Wei Wuxian’s terrifying new power, but it seems to sit underneath the surface of every conversation regardless. To be fair, since he rose from his sick bed, Wei Wuxian has been more at risk of being insulting and embarrassing than violent. But there are many who wonder, especially as Jiang-zongzhu’s annoyance and seeming inability to control his Head Disciple become clearer and clearer.

The power that Wei Wuxian demonstrated in the final battle was troubling. Uncle’s letters have had much to say about the dangers posed by this unorthodox path and the powerful tool Wei Wuxian wielded.

Lan Xichen begins to wonder if encouraging a friendship between Wangji and Wei Wuxian all those years ago had perhaps not been a good idea after all.

He takes a careful breath. There is nothing to be done about the past. Rising, he steps across the room to knock at Wangji’s door.

There is no response.

“Wangji? Lunch has arrived.”

When he still receives no response, hearing nothing from behind the door, he frowns. Wangji would never be rude enough to simply ignore him. At least not over something as inconsequential as lunch.

“Wangji?” he says again, loath to breach his brother’s privacy, but feeling a beat of concern. He slides the door open.  

It takes a moment for Lan Xichen to understand what he is seeing: his brother slumped against the edge of his desk, face pale and covered in sweat.

“Wangji!” He hurries to his brother’s side, hands on his face, feeling for the soft movement of his breath. “Lan Qicheng!”

The disciple appears immediately, standing in the doorway with wide eyes.

“Fetch the doctor,” Lan Xichen orders.

He sketches a quick bow and disappears.

Lan Xichen struggles to lift Wangji’s limp body, moving him towards the bed. “Wangji?”

His brother stirs lethargically, but doesn’t open his eyes.

While he waits, Lan Xichen does a cursory check of his brother. His pulse is racing, his qi sluggish and weak. Xichen is tempted to feed his brother qi, but without knowing what is wrong, does not want to risk causing him more harm.

There is no sign of blood or injury. Only then, as he presses his fingers to Wangji’s wrist, he sees the slightest shadow under his sleeve. A bruise? Loosening the wrap around his forearm, Lan Xichen pushes the sleeve back. A shadow is burned into Wangji’s skin, wrapping perfectly around his wrist. Two lines, looking almost like vines or strings, twist around each other.

A curse mark.

The doctor arrives before Lan Xichen can do anything else. Lan Yunxia quickly takes in the curse mark before reaching for Wangji, starting her own assessment. “You found him like this?”

“Yes, slumped over the table.”

“And how long since you saw him last?”

“This morning, at breakfast. He seemed tired, but fine.”

She nods to acknowledge she’s heard him and then dismisses him. “Let me work.”

Lan Xichen moves back, standing anxiously as the doctor runs a series of spiritual diagnostics. Time seems to slow horribly.

Eventually, Lan Yunxia looks up at Lan Xichen. “It is a curse and it is quite advanced. It is draining his spiritual energy and weakening his body. But it is not one I recognize. I may be able to keep him alive for a short while, but we must discover how he was cursed, or who cursed him.”

Lan Xichen feels his heart thundering away in his chest. How will they discover that? They will need information. “Can you wake him?”

She nods, feeding Wangji qi. He rouses partially, eyes opening a sliver only to fall shut again immediately.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, kneeling by his side. “How did this happen? I need you to tell me. When were you cursed? Who cursed you?”

Wangji’s lips part, a soft murmur escaping.

“Wangji?” he asks, leaning closer.

Wangji says it again, the syllables stumbling, but unmistakable, and Lan Xichen feels his heart lurch.

He turns, eyes latching on to the closest disciple. “Did the Jiang contingent already depart?”

“Yes, Zewu-Jun. First thing this morning.”

Traveling with Jiang Yanli, they could not be moving too quickly, only a half-day’s travel away at most. Easily made up via sword.  

“Keep him alive,” Lan Xichen says to Lan Yunxia. “I will return.”

He calls six disciples to him and strides out the door, preparing himself to do whatever it takes to save his brother’s life.

Wei Wuxian twirls Chenqing in his fingers, idly studying the landscape passing by as he rides on the back of his horse. Jiang Cheng is slightly ahead of him, back so rigid that each step of the horse must be like a stab up his spine. Not that comfort would be more important than looking every inch the sect leader.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, glancing back instead to see the carriage carrying Shijie, disciples riding on all sides, protecting the precious cargo inside. 

He’s fortunate that Jiang Cheng is content to ride horses back to Lotus Pier, being unwilling to let Shijie out of his sight. This way Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to come up with some excuse for his inability to ride the sword. Though he supposes he will have to eventually.

Nope. That’s a problem for future Wei Wuxian to worry about. For now? The road. Some sunshine.

Lotus Pier. Home.

Returning to Lotus Pier feels bittersweet. Being back there with his siblings is all he has ever wanted. Yet he always knew it was likely more than he could ever hope to have. He wants it, and fears it all at the same time.

But he refuses to think on that either. The war is done, the ones who hurt them and killed Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu are dead. They can hurt no one else. And Wei Wuxian is here with his siblings, who are safe and alive.

That is everything.

It’s enough.

So instead, he focuses on provoking Jiang Cheng, listening for the sound of Shijie scolding them from time to time. Making everything feel as normal as possible. And definitely not thinking about what will happen when he’s expected to start training the shidis and shimeis. If there are any shidis and shimeis. He’ll probably be expected to be involved in the recruiting of new disciples too.

He shakes his head, taking a moment to push down the rage screaming at the back of his head, the seal feeding him endless images of Lotus Pier covered with bodies. As if he were ever in danger of forgetting it even for a moment.

He’ll just have to avoid it as best he can. Until Jiang Cheng stops asking and finds someone more reliable to do it. He can’t stay pissed at Wei Wuxian forever, can he? He’ll figure something out. He always does.

“Zongzhu,” one of the disciples says mid-afternoon. The disciple’s arm lifts to bring their attention to a small group of figures on swords at their rear in the distance.

In a moment, they are a war camp again, the sharp, bitter tang of adrenaline flooding the space.

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian turn their horses, bringing themselves back to stand between the arriving force and their sect, a dozen disciples circling to surround Shijie’s carriage without needing to be told.

Wei Wuxian reaches for his flute, sharing a look at Jiang Cheng. What is this?

Jiang Cheng shakes his head, clearly not knowing, Zidian ready at his wrist.

They wait in tense silence as the details grow, robes of white and light blue.

“The Lan?” Jiang Cheng mutters in confusion, squinting up at them.

Probably not an attack then, right? Unless they’ve finally decided not to let a known so-called demonic cultivator run around free. If Lan Zhan’s pointed demands to return to Gusu are turning into something else. But, no. Lan Zhan would never take it that far. Would he?  

“Keep your mouth shut and let me handle this,” Jiang Cheng says, pulling his horse slightly forward as the Lan step off their swords at a respectful distance.

It’s none other than Lan Xichen himself and what is the Lan Sect Leader doing running around after them?

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Zewu-Jun says, bowing. “Well met.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t dismount, merely nodding his head with the barest of civility. “Zewu-Jun. We were not expecting to be honored with your arrival.”

Which is a pretty nice way to say, what the fuck is this? Wei Wuxian thinks. Jiang Cheng is really growing into this sect leader thing.

Lan Xichen bows again, something more complicated on his face than his usual bland politeness. “I apologize for disturbing your progress, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng waves away the apology. “It must be urgent,” he says, giving Wei Wuxian a shifty look, clearly wanting to know what the hell is going on. What did you do? is unspoken.

Wei Wuxian just shrugs back at him. He can’t say his memory’s the best, but he doesn’t think he’s done anything particularly awful recently.

“It is,” Lan Xichen says. “Most urgent.”

Now that Wei Wuxian’s looking, Lan Xichen does actually look a little freaked out. As much as a Lan ever looks freaked out. “What’s going on?” Wei Wuxian asks, ignoring Jiang Cheng’s glare.

Lan Xichen does not move his gaze from Jiang Cheng. “I am requesting that Wei-gongzi return with me to Nightless City.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help but put his hand to the pouch on his hip, defensiveness rising up in his chest. When will these Lans ever leave him alone?

“And why would he do that?” Jiang Cheng says, his horse taking a restless step forward.

For the first time, Lan Xichen’s gaze darts to Wei Wuxian. “It’s Wangji.”

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says, his hand dropping from the pouch.

Lan Xichen nods. “He’s been cursed.” He pauses, taking a careful breath, his eyes closely watching Wei Wuxian’s face. “I fear he’s dying.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, all other thoughts dropping away. He slips off the side of the horse, walking over to Lan Xichen. “How? When? Why?” He’d just seen him last night, and he’d been his normal, aggravating self.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “We do not know. And we are running out of time.”

So Lan Xichen used that time to come here? To find Wei Wuxian? “You need my help?” Wei Wuxian asks, a little thrown, but more than willing to do what he can. He’s far from an expert on curses, but he can definitely come up with something. It’s Lan Zhan, after all. The man might be annoying as hell and staring at Wei Wuxian with sharp disapproval all the time these days, but he’s hardly going to let him die.

He’s far too fun to tease, after all.

“Will you return with me?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says.

“What the fuck, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng bursts out behind him.

“Jiang Cheng, it’s Lan Zhan.” Even if he wasn’t his…okay, friend is probably a stretch these days, but whatever. Even if, it would hardly look good for the Jiang sect to refuse help to the heir of the Lan sect.

Jiang Cheng must already understand that Wei Wuxian is going to go with or without his permission, because he turns his ire on Lan Xichen. “What makes you think I’ll just let you run off with my Head Disciple?”

Wei Wuxian somehow manages not to roll his eyes. After all, he’s not sure telling Jiang Cheng he’s pretty useless to him anyway is the right way to go. But seemingly abandoning him to help Lan Zhan is not going to make things any less tense between them either.

Walking back to Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian puts his hand on Jiang Cheng’s knee, patting it a few times. “Hey. What do you say I go see if I can help and then I’ll catch back up, okay? You need to get Shijie back to Lotus Pier.”

“Yeah, well, I need you back in Lotus Pier as well.”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen says, sounding seriously stressed, enough that he’s not even bothering with his polite smile anymore. Lan Zhan must be pretty bad.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says.

He rolls his eyes, looking away. “Don’t pretend you won’t go no matter what I say.”

Wei Wuxian grins at him, giving his calf a little pinch. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Jiang Cheng grumbles something about not bothering to come back at all. Wei Wuxian ignores that as he dodges the kick Jiang Cheng sends at him.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Wei Wuxian says, giving him a snarky little bow.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jiang Cheng says, grabbing the reins and turning the horse back around.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t wait to see his sect head off, instead turning to Lan Xichen.

“Your sword?” he asks.

“Ah, no,” Wei Wuxian says, not willing to give any more explanation.

Fortunately, Lan Xichen doesn’t seem to have the patience for that fight right now. “You will fly with me.” He nods at one of the disciples to take Wei Wuxian’s horse, presumably to bring back to the city after them.

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says, looking warily at the sword Lan Xichen quickly pulls from its sheath, stepping up on it. He turns back towards Wei Wuxian, holding out his hand. 

Wei Wuxian really, really doesn’t want to do this, but there doesn’t seem to be any other option. Lan Zhan needs help. So. There’s nothing for it. He’s just gonna have to do it.

“Yeah, sure, of course.” He takes Lan Xichen’s hand and lets himself be pulled up behind him. He rests his hands on his shoulders and tries to be as unobtrusive as possible.

As they lift up, he breathes deeply and tries his best not to panic. Tries to remember how much he used to love flying by sword. The thought echoes hollowly in his chest, grief he refuses to entertain rising in his throat. Riding passenger has always been less pleasant than flying oneself. Even before…

They turn a bit sharply, correcting course back to the city, and Wei Wuxian feels the moment of disorientation like a sharp knife to his gut. He scrambles to right himself, sucking in a breath. Lan Xichen needs him, he won’t toss him off his sword from height. Probably.

“Wei-gongzi?”

He pats his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry.”

He does his best to zone out for the rest of the ride, Lan Xichen clearly intent on making really good time. They finally, finally, finally dismount far closer than is probably polite, and there’s barely any time for relief, Lan Xichen immediately leading him swiftly down corridors and through doors, not even giving Wei Wuxian time to worry about throwing up.

Wei Wuxian instead tries to grill him for details, but doesn’t get much in response.

There’s a collection of disciples clustered in a receiving room when they finally arrive, voices hushed and faces grim. Grim because they’re too late? Or just…normal grimness? It’s hard to tell with Lans.

“This way,” Lan Xichen says, leading him into a bed chamber.

Lying on the bed inside is Lan Zhan.

He looks awful.

Not his usual ethereal jade-like pale, but rather the grayish sheen of death that has become far too familiar in the years of the campaign. His hair is matted and sweaty around his face, body listlessly twitching as if losing a fight with some unseen opponent.

Hanguang-Jun doesn’t lose.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, crossing the room towards him. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

He doesn’t make it far though, finding a sword drawn on him.

Wei Wuxian pulls up short, just barely in time to keep the sharp blade from his throat. He glances at the disciple holding him at sword-point and back to Lan Xichen, who doesn’t seem particularly alarmed by this sudden aggression. “I thought you wanted me to help. I can’t really do that from over here. Or with a slit throat.”

“What did you do to Hanguang-Jun?” the disciple demands.

“Me?” Wei Wuxian looks over at Lan Xichen in confusion.

He doesn’t quite seem able to hold Wei Wuxian’s gaze, and that is answer enough.

Letting out a harsh laugh, he shakes his head, feeling like an idiot. “Oh, right. Of course.” What did he think? That they wanted his help ? Stupid. “Clearly this must be me.”

“Everyone has seen how at odds you are with him,” the disciple says.  

That lands like a spike in Wei Wuxian’s chest, his hand tightening around Chenqing. “ Everyone should probably mind their own fucking business.”

“Wei-gongzi,” Zewu-Jun says, looking pained, but resolute. “You must understand. We know nothing about the origins of this curse, and your name was the only thing he would say.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. His name? “Meaning I cursed him?” He has half a mind to charge back out of the room, but one glance at Lan Zhan’s sweaty, pale face keeps him where he is. These stupid assholes can think whatever they want. He’s more focused on trying to figure this out. When would Lan Zhan have gotten cursed? And why would he be saying his name? “We pacified a ghost yesterday morning. We did get hit right at the end, but it didn’t seem to do anything. And he was fine . But maybe it did? Maybe that’s what he meant?”

“Lies!” the disciple cries, and, wow, when did Lan disciples get this mouthy?

Wei Wuxian is starting to feel his patience thin. He uses Chenqing to push the sword of the overly eager disciple down, ready to wrench it away if he needs to. “Look. We don’t have time for this. So either kill me, or let’s find the real way to save him.”

The disciple looks like he’d be pretty content with plan A.

Only suddenly there is the sound of another sword entering the mix, this one pushing away Wei Wuxian’s would be attacker.

Somehow, Lan Zhan is on his feet, sword bare in his hand as he uses Bichen’s sheath to maneuver Wei Wuxian behind him as if to protect him.

Wei Wuxian stares at the back of Lan Zhan’s head in astonishment, but is quickly more concerned with the sweat beading Lan Zhan’s face and the way his arm trembles under the weight of Bichen.

“You will not. Touch. Wei Ying,” he rasps, barely managing to suck in breaths between words.

There is a moment of perfect astonishment as they all try to process what is happening, and then the mouthy disciple is back at it again.

“See!” he cries, gesturing with his sword. “He’s bewitched Hanguang-Jun!”

“Sorcery!” someone else shouts.

Wei Wuxian sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. It would almost be funny under any other circumstance.  

Lan Zhan’s whole frame sways, and Wuxian is tempted to reach out and steady him if it wouldn’t probably immediately start a fight.

“Wei Ying did not harm me,” Lan Zhan says, his voice managing to be very cold and dismissive considering how thin and reedy it is.  

Wei Wuxian decides it’s worth the risk, and pats Lan Zhan’s arm, feeling how hard his muscles are working just to keep him upright. “Hey. Lan Zhan. Thanks. I appreciate you clearing that up. Why don’t you sit down before you fall down, okay?”

Lan Zhan, the stubborn asshole, doesn’t budge.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, torn between exasperation and affection for this ridiculous man. “Look. I am capable of protecting myself. If I need to.” He says it as much for Lan Zhan as for everyone else.

There seems to be a shudder of awareness through the room.

Lan Zhan looks back at him, face pinched in his pissy, disapproving expression. Wei Wuxian is very familiar with it. But Lan Zhan does also finally sit back down on the edge of his bed, Bichen lowering, but not put away.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, kneeling next to his brother and sparing Wei Wuxian barely a glance.

“I am feeling better,” Lan Zhan says.

That much is clear.

Lan Xichen reaches for Lan Zhan’s wrist, pushing the fabric back to reveal a curse mark. Wei Wuxian leans in to get a better view.

Two thick lines intertwining around his wrist, almost like vines.

“Interesting,” Wei Wuxian says, taking in the details. “So the curse hasn’t broken, but it’s still getting better?”  

Lan Zhan takes a careful breath, like it’s taking a ton of energy to keep his perfect posture. After a moment, he nods.

“You think this is from that farm?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“I am uncertain,” Lan Zhan says, each word carefully formed, like maybe they are causing him pain. “But I can think of no other time I could have been afflicted.”

Wei Wuxian is still skeptical. “It wasn’t that strong of a ghost.” Lan Zhan should have been more than able to fight off a curse from such a low-level spirit. He’s too powerful to be taken down like this from something so willing to be soothed, in the end.  

“Tell us about the night hunt,” Lan Xichen says.

Wei Wuxian drops to the floor, crossing his legs and hugging his flute into his chest. “It was an angry ghost. Her entire family had died. She managed to bury them all, complete the rites for them. But she was alone there for a long time before she herself died. It was an unpleasant death, and with no one to bury her or mourn her, she was left to fester.” The sort of thing they have seen over and over again these last years. A reminder that death and tragedy on a small scale still happen underneath all the vast battles of war, that the costs are never just what happens on the battlefield. “You did get hit, Lan Zhan.”

He slides Wei Wuxian a glare. “As did you.”

What an asshole, Wei Wuxian thinks, biting back a smile. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who’s cursed.” His amusement fades. “You said you were fine.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze lowers, as if abashed to be caught in an accidental lie. Or maybe just at having allowed himself to be less than perfect. “I believed I was.”

Wei Wuxian nods. “Okay,” he says, one hand patting at the bed before pushing to his feet. “I’ll go back. See if we missed anything.”

If there was a resentful ghost powerful enough to curse someone as strong as Lan Zhan, he had to have missed something. Lan Zhan is definitely able to ward off most curses. And if he hadn’t for some reason, settling the lingering spirit should have gotten rid of it. Or maybe there was something else there that managed to get him, something they overlooked. A cursed object? If not, they might have to consider someone did this to him at the banquet the night before. The very thought of that makes rage start to boil in his chest.

He walks forward without thinking, only to have his way blocked by swords. Again.

This is getting really old.

“Zewu-Jun,” he says, voice sharp. “Other than Lan Zhan, I’m the only one who knows where it is.”

“I can go,” Lan Zhan says, getting back to his feet like the big, stubborn dummy he is.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian sighs with exasperation. “You’ve been cursed. You can barely stand.”

“I feel much revived,” he says. Which seems to be true, interestingly enough, but still isn’t the point. The last thing they need is him passing out on them or getting worse out in the middle of nowhere. He looks to Lan Xichen to back him up.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says. “I will accompany Wei-gongzi. You should stay here and rest.”

Lan Zhan’s lips press lightly together, a blaring expression of annoyance from him, but still nods once, settling back on the bed.

Wei Wuxian puts a hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder before he can think better of it, can remember that Lan Zhan doesn’t like being touched, and certainly not being touched by him of all people.

Lan Zhan makes a small sound, shoulder rolling up into the touch.

Probably to shove him off, Wei Wuxian thinks, quickly pulling his hand away. “We’ll figure this out. Okay?”

Lan Zhan nods, but his hands also curl around the edge of the bed.

The abandoned farm isn’t far, close enough that with Lan Zhan clearly out of immediate danger, they don’t need to travel by sword or horseback. He and Lan Zhan hadn’t taken the most direct route the first time, so it’s actually even quicker. He follows the stream, meaning he doesn’t have to go back to the field where that asshole Jin whatshisface was using Wen civilians as target practice.

Lan Xichen is quiet on the way. He hasn’t brought any additional disciples with him, and that could be a sign of trust. Or it’s just about making it easier to kill Wei Wuxian and get rid of the body without any witnesses. 

Ha! That probably won’t happen. He can't actually think Wei Wuxian’s the one who cursed Lan Zhan. Then again, he hasn’t apologized for the assumption yet either.

Wei Wuxian slides Lan Xichen a look. He doesn’t know him all that well, for all the opportunity the war provided to see him dominate a battlefield over and over again. Could Wei Wuxian take him in a fight if he had to? Maybe. But it wouldn’t be pretty. 

“Wei-gongzi?” Lan Xichen asks, clearly not missing his appraisal.

Wei Wuxian laughs, waving his hand. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just trying to figure out the chances that you brought me out here to murder me.” 

Lan Xichen’s expression doesn’t crack, not even a tiny bit. He just stares back at Wei Wuxian for a long time. An uncomfortably long time. Patience of the mountains, really.

The thing is, Wei Wuxian can’t quite tell if he’s fucking with him or not.

“Uh, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, breaking first. “It’s this way.” He gestures ahead. “We’re almost there.”

It’s dusk by the time they get there.

The house is just as he remembers it. Dying, abandoned fields. Neat row of graves. Dilapidated house. He wonders if someday someone will move in here again, try to revive it. If they will honor the family that lived here before.

Wei Wuxian reaches for his flute. There’s resentment almost everywhere, even if just dispersed broadly like a layer of dust. But something strong enough to hurt Lan Zhan really should be easy to find.

“Allow me,” Lan Xichen says, giving the flute a wary look.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Go for it.”

Sitting down, Lan Xichen pulls a guqin out of a pouch, setting it on his lap.

Wei Wuxian looks on in interest.

As a proprietary Gusu Lan skill, the only time he’s seen it performed was when Lan Zhan did it yesterday. He’d read about it at some point, though not with any real detail. Mostly just brief descriptions allowed to outsiders. From his understanding, it doesn’t communicate with spirits as much as compel any nearby spirits to answer whatever question the cultivator wants to ask. Not a conversation, an interrogation.

But apparently perfectly orthodox.

Whatever.

Lan Xichen apparently talks to someone. He doesn’t helpfully translate like Lan Zhan had, so Wei Wuxian wanders off to poke around the house.

It feels pretty empty. More lonely than anything else. 

He thinks of Lan Zhan, so carefully bundling up the woman’s body. Hanguang-Jun indeed. Nothing too mundane for the light-bringing lord.

He sighs.

He’s pretty certain there is nothing here. If it were anything less than Lan Zhan’s life on the line, he might leave it there. But it is Lan Zhan’s life.

So he carefully draws out an array on the floor. One powerful enough to keep the worst of the Burial Mounds out of the cave he’d been forced to subsist in for those three months. He’d say been forced to live in, but he’s still not really sure that had technically been living, per se. Whatever. Such distinctions don’t really matter and he’s not there anymore and he’s sure as hell never going back.

So, yeah. The array. If there is anything lingering somewhere he can’t sense, the array will trap it. Or at least piss it off enough to force it to make itself known. Either way would help.

It’s not exactly a simple array, something he’d been forced to cobble together from half-remembered diagrams and a handful of flights of fancy. But it’s not like he’d had a choice, so… It had worked. Eventually. He forces back a wince as he touches his hip in remembrance of what had happened the first time the array failed. Yeah, that had sucked. He’d barely had enough energy to attempt the second one. It’s fine. He’s here.

It’s…whatever.

He refocuses on the array. There’s much less chance of anything going bad this time. At most, he’ll just blow himself up. Might just improve things for everyone, really.

He sets the last stroke in place, sitting back on his heels to make sure he’s got it correct.

Lan Xichen is standing in the doorway, head tilted as he takes in the array.

“Anything?” Wei Wuxian asks, tucking away his bleeding palm. No need to risk Lan Xichen noticing how slowly the small wound heals.

“I agree. There is nothing here.” He studies the floor, head tilting slightly. “A…repelling array?”

“Yup,” Wei Wuxian says. “Of a sort.”

“I am not familiar with it.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t be,” Wei Wuxian says, not really wanting to talk about this, far too close to opening a door to a discussion of his new unorthodox techniques. He might tolerate that shit to some extent from Lan Zhan, but he sure as hell won’t from Lan Xichen. “Here we go.” He slams his hand down into the center of the array, resentful energy flooding the lines.

Nothing happens.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, sitting back on his heels. “Definitely nothing here.” He shakes his head. “Strange. But if the curse is not tied to a spirit…”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen says with a sigh. “It will be much more challenging to dispel.”

The most reliable and straightforward curses to deal with are ones tied to a spirit. All you have to do is liberate or eliminate it. Pretty darn doable in most cases. This, apparently, is not one of those cases.

Wei Wuxian taps his flute against his chin. “Conditional curse?” he suggests.

“Perhaps,” Lan Xichen says, not looking pleased by the idea of having to figure out what condition needs to be fulfilled when they don’t even know for sure where the curse originated in the first place, let alone what it might want. Especially with Lan Zhan being affected so severely and so quickly. Not to mention, there is no longer a ghost to ask. Unless they dig her back up. He could force her back if he had to. But a liberated spirit likely would have no memory of the things done as a resentful spirit.

Wei Wuxian somehow doubts the ghost’s earthly belongings are going to give them much of a clue either.

So, a conditional curse is going to be a pain in the ass. Still better than it just being permanent. Supposedly there are no unbreakable curses. But there can be curses with conditions that are impossible to fulfill, so they might as well be. No need to go there yet. They still have a lot of other possibilities.

They poke around the house some more, trying to find any last clues. They’re about to leave when a panicked Lan disciple meets them, dropping off his sword in a careless swirl of white.

“Zewu-Jun!”

Lan Xichen’s head lifts and he steps out of the small house. “What is it?”

“Hanguang-Jun has grown much worse again,” the kid says, bowing as he talks, mixing it all up together. He glances nervously at Wei Wuxian. “He’s asking for you.”

Lan Xichen steps forward. “For me?”

The disciple clears their throat. “For Wei-gongzi.”

Lan Xichen turns to Wei Wuxian, his brow furrowing.

Wei Wuxian can only shrug in response. “I swear, other than wanting one last chance to scold me before he dies, I have no idea what that is about.”

Lan Xichen pales, and Wuxian realizes it’s probably not a great idea to joke about Lan Zhan dying. He resists the urge to smack himself in the face, instead letting Lan Xichen pull him up onto his sword without complaint as his act of contrition.

He is capable of not being a pain in the ass sometimes, thank you very much.

“Stay here and look around,” Lan Xichen tells the exhausted-looking disciple, giving him a ready excuse not to fly back immediately. The kid must have flown here at breakneck speed. “I will send more disciples back to you.”  

The return trip takes very little time at all, and Wei Wuxian is impressed by Lan Xichen’s stamina, lugging Wei Wuxian all over the countryside with little sign of fatigue.

He tries not to feel a pulse of envy at the casual show of power. It’s fine. He has his own kind of power these days.

Once on the ground they fast-walk their way through the corridors, twining through courtyards to the Lan quarters.

Inside, the crowd of disciples and doctors do not look happy.

Lan Zhan is pale and sweaty on the bed, but even more alarming is how limp he looks. How helpless. Wei Wuxian hates it. “How is he this bad again so quickly?” They’d only been gone four hours at the most.

The doctor starts filling Lan Xichen in on the details, but Wei Wuxian only half listens as he moves closer to Lan Zhan. No one seems to want to stop him this time at least.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian mumbles, kneeling down by Lan Zhan’s side. “What’s done this to you?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes crack open, barely a glimmer as he peers up at Wei Wuxian and then immediately closes them again, like keeping them open is way too much work. For a second, it almost looks like his hand twitches as if reaching for something.

“Lan Zhan?” he asks.

There is no response. 

Wei Wuxian picks up his hand, considering the curse mark closely, and ignoring how limp and graceless the usually powerful fingers feel in his own.

They haven’t been back long before Lan Zhan starts to stir. His eyes finally open and stay that way.

“Wangji.”

“Xiongzhang,” he says, blinking his eyes slowly.

The doctor comes in close, shouldering Wei Wuxian out of the way without actually having to lay a hand on him, just through the sheer force of her frightening doctor aura. Lans, he thinks, shaking his head.

“I apologize,” Lan Zhan says, shakily pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. “I am feeling better.”

Wei Wuxian rubs at his chin, peering down at Lan Zhan and wondering at his recovery. That’s twice now he’s gone from looking one step away from death to conscious. Still very weak and not great-looking but certainly better. It’s strange.

“Some sort of trigger?” he wonders aloud. “Why does it keep getting worse and then better? You felt terrible this morning, recovered this afternoon and then lapsed again this evening.”

“It clearly isn’t a straight-forward curse,” Lan Xichen agrees.  

“No, it isn’t,” Wei Wuxian says, his mind already whirling with possibilities. It’s very interesting! If it weren’t, you know, threatening to kill Lan Zhan. “Could it be something he ate?”

“A poison?”

“I see no evidence of that,” the doctor butts in.  

Lan Xichen nods. “Wangji and I shared breakfast. The night-hunt still seems the most logical answer.”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “And yet, a conditional curse should resolve when the condition is met. Not wax and wane. It has to be something else.” But if not food, what other variable is there? Lan Zhan has been in this room the entire time. His clothing is the same. The time of day, possibly.

“And yesterday? Did you feel ill with the same pattern? Morning? Evening?” Wuxian thinks he knows the answer, having seen Lan Zhan himself yesterday evening at the banquet. But if he indeed was cursed before that at the house, it would make sense.

“No,” Lan Zhan says.

Everyone is still watching Wei Wuxian warily, like if he can’t figure this out they’ll all assume it’s him again after all. As if Wei Wuxian himself is the root of all evils. It’s almost flattering. But he’s not the cause of everything .

Unless…

Wait. That is another variable.

Could it be Wei Wuxian? That sounds insane. He knows he didn’t curse Lan Zhan. He is very clear on that. But he’d also been there when it happened, been hit by the ghost just as much as Lan Zhan. Which would be more evidence to point towards Wei Wuxian being cursed himself. But could it also mean something else?

Could Wei Wuxian himself be the trigger?

Huh.

Reaching out, Wei Wuxian touches Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Predictably, his entire body seems to stiffen in reaction, Lan Zhan still hating to be touched. But he also makes a soft sound that he is just a moment too late hiding.  

“Is that painful?” Wei Wuxian asks, pressing his fingers more firmly into his shoulder.

Lan Zhan’s eyes slide to the side. “No.”

But it’s something though. Not that Lan Zhan is likely to admit it.

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian says. He taps out a quick little rhythm along the line of Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “You called for me.”

Lan Zhan only stiffens further. “I do not remember that.”

Wei Wuxian knows better than to think he’s going to get a lot of cooperation out of Lan Zhan. Which means there’s nothing to do but test his hypothesis.

He glances at the doctor still actively monitoring Lan Zhan’s pathways.

“Well then,” Wei Wuxian says, making a big show of standing up. He stretches his arms up over his head, wincing a bit at the habitual pain in his back and left hip. “I’m sorry to say I really have no idea what is going on. I very much doubt I’ll be able to help and Jiang Cheng is probably pissed at me enough as it is. So…I’ll just be going back to Lotus Pier.” He smiles at Lan Zhan, giving him a little wave. “Maybe we’ll all see each other again sometime! Though probably not for a long, long while!” He strides towards the door.

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen objects, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t stop until he’s out of sight.

He pauses a moment for Lan Xichen to catch up.

“Just testing a hypothesis,” Wei Wuxian says when he does. He glances at one of the Lan disciples who has followed the sect leader out into the hall. “Hey, you. Yes, you. Watch Lan Zhan. If he shows any symptoms, you come get me immediately. I’m just gonna walk straight towards the palace gates.”

The guy gives Lan Xichen a wide-eyed look and after a moment the sect leader nods his head. The disciple looks between them and then walks swiftly back into the room.

“A hypothesis?” Lan Xichen asks.

Wei Wuxian claps him on the shoulder. “Trust me.”

Lan Xichen stares back at him as if in disbelief.

Maybe a bit high of an ask. “You put a guy on me too if it makes you feel better.”

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says with emphasis.

Wei Wuxian waves him away. “Go back to Lan Zhan. And send that guy the moment Lan Zhan shows any side effects. Okay?”

Lan Xichen reluctantly agrees.

Wei Wuxian slowly wanders, another disciple just a few steps behind him, but it’s only about ten minutes when a Lan disciple is heading their way.

“He’s gotten worse?” Wei Wuxian asks.

The disciple nods.

Wei Wuxian immediately turns, running back towards Lan Zhan’s room. The disciples both make a sound of protest, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t slow down.

He skids into the room to find Lan Zhan folded in half on the edge of the bed, one hand pressed to his chest.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Zhan’s head lifts with a snap, eyes dark with pain. Almost as if against his will, his hand lifts towards Wei Wuxian.  

Wei Wuxian scurries to kneel in front of him, bumping against Lan Xichen a bit in his haste as he grabs his hand. “Hey, no. Didn’t mean it. I’m not leaving. Not going anywhere. See?” He pats lightly at his knee, but Lan Zhan just sucks in a deep breath, his own hand settling over his, fingers digging in. He seems to realize himself a moment later, lifting his hand away, one of them disappearing behind his back as he tugs his other one free.

“Huh,” Wei Wuxian says, not taking it personally. “As I suspected.”

The brothers turn to look at him, both baffled in their own way, and it’s almost funny to see.

“It is me.”

Every eye seems to swivel to him at once. The scrappy disciple from earlier looks ready to pull his sword.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Proximity trigger,” he says, sitting back on his heels.

“Trigger?” Lan Xichen asks.

“Yup,” he says. He thumps his hand against his sternum. “With me as the trigger.”

“Explain,” Lan Zhan says, low and blunt, and that’s a good sign, hearing him sound so much like himself again.

Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Xichen. “You said he was asking for me. It’s not because I cursed him. It’s because the curse is tied to me.”

Lan Xichen frowns at him, clearly struggling to follow his amazing logic.

Lan Zhan, on the other hand, follows Wei Wuxian’s reasoning immediately. “Fu Hao,” he says.

Wei Wuxian nods, patting Lan Zhan’s knee in reward. “That ghost was angry. But mostly she was lonely. She’d been alone out there for a long time. She wasn’t even trying to kill us as much as trap us. To suck us in so she’d have someone to share her misery with, I suppose.”

That was pretty common with the spirits in the Burial Mounds, after all. Their first instinct was to return to the world the violence done to them, but mostly, at the root, was just a giant old fear of being alone or forgotten. Of being powerless. Sometimes it was just a matter of letting them feel their power, to be remembered. It’d been enough for Fu Hao. Or so he’d thought.

Wei Wuxian taps Lan Zhan’s wrist where the curse mark is visible. Like a manacle or a binding rope. “This thing probably latched on to the nearest other person at the time of the curse. Which happened to be me. Unfortunately for Hanguang-Jun here.”

After all, Wei Wuxian is probably quite literally the last person in the world Lan Zhan would want to have around him by actual choice . Except, you know, Wen Xu or Wen Chao, but they are helpfully very, very dead. What a victory for Wei Wuxian’s place as most loathed.

It is still a bit weird for it to have affected Lan Zhan but not him, though.

Curious, Wei Wuxian unties his own bracers, pulling them free so he can tug up his sleeves. His wrists are unmarked. “No curse mark for me. And I haven’t had any symptoms.”

The doctor looks at him, seeming like she might reach out to check him. He shuffles back to his feet, wrapping his bracers back in place and stepping out a range. He hasn’t avoided doctors this long just to be grabbed by one now. She gives him a sour look, but doesn’t chase after him.

“So,” Wei Wuxian says. “Does this kind of curse sound familiar to anyone? Heard of anything like this before? Because I haven’t.” He’d remember something this interesting for sure!

Lan Xichen and the Lan doctor share a look, and it’s clear neither of them have.

“We’ll probably need to research, then.” He’s already got a few ideas rattling around, but it would really help to have some reference materials. He supposes there must be a library around here somewhere. For when the Wen weren’t too busy trying to massacre everyone. “How’s the Wen library?”

“Being cataloged,” Zewu-Jun says. “Large portions have already been removed to Lanling.”

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes at the idea of the Jin sect, of all people, walking off with the spoils of a war they refused to fight. Especially books. He has his doubts that Jins know how to read. “Well, that’s a waste.”

Meaning, the best place left for research would be…

Wei Wuxian lets out a long sigh. 

He can feel the resentment swirling in him just at the thought, like it knows how badly the Lan Sect wishes to purge him of it, break him apart.

They want to weaken you.

Wei Wuxian grits his teeth, knowing he has no other choice. Not if it means Lan Zhan’s life. Besides, the Cloud Recesses has the best library and a long history of dealing with curses. It’s the most logical choice, even if he’d like to punch logic in the face right now.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks.

He gives him a grim smile. “Looks like you’re finally getting your wish, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan stares back at him, expression blank.

“I’m coming to Gusu with you.”

Wei Wuxian expects Lan Zhan to look triumphant, finally getting his wish to rehabilitate and punish him to his heart’s content, but instead he only stiffens.

“But you get the honor of explaining this to Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says to Lan Xichen.

They’ll see who survives the outcome of that conversation.

Chapter Text

Embarrassment is an unproductive sensation, so Lan Wangji does his best to not feel it. Or at least, to not give it power over him. Being upset has never been useful.

And yet.

To have so much attention and fuss directed at him even in a normal situation would be unbearable, let alone one in which his control has been wrested away and he is left weak and useless. But to have so much attention on him because of a curse, and one of such mortifying dimensions…it is difficult.

It all threatens to knock him askew, each gaze rubbing against his skin, each solicitous question like a knife in his skull.

And that does not even take into account Wei Ying.

It is humiliating.

Lan Wangji is adept at letting none of his discomfort show. The only thing worse than feeling this would be for others to see it. He breathes carefully, narrowing his focus on physical sensations, grounding himself in the sway of the horse under him, the steady movement of her legs, the road ahead, the feel of the reins in his hand, the air stirring the hair at his neck.

It helps. He’s able to feel each conflicting emotion, name it, and then let it float away. It is all he can do.

They will be six or seven days on the road between Nightless City and the Cloud Recesses, depending on the conditions of the road. Xichen has flown ahead with half of their disciples, intending to get started on research immediately. The doctor would not allow Lan Wangji to fly himself, too fearful that a sudden attack of the curse might have him falling out of the sky. It is not a caution he can dismiss, as demeaning as it may be.

It at least means he does not have to deal with Xichen’s unsubtle looks of concern. While Xichen would not demand an explanation, he is aware that Lan Wangji has not been completely forthright with his feelings about the situation.

Lan Wangji would prefer not to be quite so easily seen at the moment.

He would prefer a great many things right now. Few of which seem to matter.

At least Wei Ying is here. Lan Wangji feels the relief of it, even as he knows, deep down, the truth of it: Wei Ying would not be here without the curse. He would already be long gone, back to Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji happily out of his mind.

A sudden pang in Lan Wangji’s chest has him sharply turning his head.

Wei Ying is there at his side, keeping perfect pace on his horse. The sight soothes the curse, but drags up the usual turmoil in Lan Wangji’s heart. He means to look away in hopes that Wei Ying might not sense his sudden attention, but Lan Wangji seems fated never to find peace in this life again.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks, gaze on him as he leans one elbow forward on his saddle, apparently uncaring that it makes his mount dance to the side.

Lan Wangji forces his eyes back to the road ahead of them.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying wheedles, almost something of long forgotten days in it—libraries and punishments and the endless assault of Wei Ying’s bright attention.

To think Lan Wangji had been so worried then, of revealing something, of blindly stepping into a situation he did not understand, did not feel he could control, only to inevitably be humiliated by it. Mocked. Teased. Abandoned. Found wanting. Found strange. His younger self would have burned to ash in mortification by now, to have fallen to a curse, one that Wei Ying was able to shrug off. It’s…mortifying.

And confusing. The selfish part of him that is pleased to have Wei Ying near, to have him returning to the Cloud Recesses with him, is equally dishonorable. He does not appreciate the murkiness of his feelings.

“All this and you still won’t speak to me?” Wei Ying complains. “Or even look at me? So cold, Lan Zhan. So cruel.”

This is nothing but a game to him, Lan Wangji reminds himself, wrestling with the part of himself lighting up under the bright teasing, the relentlessness of Wei Ying’s disorienting attention. Someone pushing closer, ever closer.

The things he would have done these last dark months to have even a moment of it. But not like this.

Lan Wangji takes a careful breath, still looking straight ahead. “I am sorry to take you from Lotus Pier. I know you would wish to be returning there.” He burns with the shame of it. The part of him that wants to feel satisfied by this turn of events, no matter how dishonorably it came about.

Wei Ying has not said yes. He has not chosen this. He is trapped as surely as if Lan Wangji had taken him prisoner. It quivers in his stomach, that knowledge. 

Wei Ying waves it away, careless as always of his own inconvenience. “Who am I to turn down a little vacation?”

If only that could be true. If only this were anything other than what it is.

Wistfulness is no more productive an emotion than embarrassment.

Silence once again falls over them as they continue down the road.

Wei Ying slowly drops back over time, his horse falling behind. Lan Wangji tracks him with his eyes as long as possible without turning his head until Wei Ying slips out of sight at last. There is a beat of panic in his chest, air seeming to leave his lungs not in one giant rush, but slowly like a boat taking on water through a leak.

“How about this, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying’s bright voice asks, enough to loosen the vise in Lan Wangji’s throat. “Is the curse doing anything?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything, but Wei Ying pulls back up next to him, nodding his head as if seeing something in Lan Wangji’s expression to confirm it.

“All right,” he says softly.

Lan Wangji continues to ignore him.

Only then Wei Ying starts staring. Lan Wangji can feel it like a physical touch against his cheek. When the staring does not stop, becoming nearly unbearable, Lan Wangji turns his head to look at him, giving him an inquisitive blink.

Wei Ying’s eyes crinkle a bit as he squints at Lan Wangji, leaning closer. “Can’t hear my thoughts, can you?”

A horrifying notion, one that has Lan Wangji leaning back in response before he can stop himself.

Wei Ying laughs. “Yeah. That wouldn’t be fun for anyone, now would it?”

Wei Ying amuses himself with theory after theory as they ride, many absurd, most brilliant, until he talks himself into silence as the sun sinks low down into the sky.

It is near dusk when they come to the gates of a city, buildings rising up around them in sharp contrast to the open countryside they have left behind: Yueyang, where they will stay the night at an inn.

It has been less than three years since Lan Wangji last visited this place, and Wei Ying had been at his side then as well. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then.

Wei Ying, laughing with Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin—much better companions than Lan Wangji—but also grabbing Lan Wangji’s arm to drag him to a teahouse. Lan Wangji stiff and outraged by it, even as part of him was relieved to be dragged along, feeling unmoored under the feeling of having the trip begun with just the two of them, despite Lan Wangji’s reluctance to have Wei Ying along, co-opted by first Nie Huaisang and then Jiang Wanyin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji tries to see if Wei Ying remembers, if he thinks of those days at all.

He has grown quieter as the afternoon stretched on, face falling back into the far more familiar mask of indifference, whatever moments of whimsy from the morning long since lost. From time to time he almost looks as if he might be in pain. But then it will pass, and Lan Wangji will wonder if he imagined it.

Lan Wangji returns his focus to the town around them.

It is changed, as it would be, of course; touched not just by war, but also the brutal demise of the local Chang sect. The buildings here are intact but worn, and there are more beggars on the streets, fewer merchants. Not merely because it has been too unsafe to travel the roads, but because what few fields were planted were often conscripted to feed the passing armies.

It will likely be a rough winter for many.

For now, there is still the growing heat of summer, and there may yet be time for recovery before the snows fall.

They pass the teahouse, instead heading towards one of the more reputable-looking inns. A message has been sent ahead to arrange rooms for their large party. The money will no doubt be welcome, as travel to the region has also been limited.

They arrive in time for the evening meal, Lan Wangji sending the disciples upstairs to settle in, arranging for their meals to be sent to their rooms. No doubt they are all looking forward to some quiet after the long day on the road.

Rather than following, Wei Ying sits at one of the tables in the main room.

Lan Wangji longs for solitude, for a quiet meal in their rooms. But he has asked enough of Wei Ying already, and will not force him to endure his unwanted presence any more than he needs to. He sits across from Wei Ying and orders a simple meal, unsurprised when Wei Ying orders something full of spice and a bottle of wine.

He looks at Lan Wangji out of the corner of his eye as he does it, something like a challenge.

Lan Wangji looks away and does not comment.

Wei Ying downs a cup and then a second in quick succession. He peers over at Lan Wangji after.

Lan Wangji does not shift under the scrutiny, even as he feels it skitter across his skin. Is Wei Ying looking for censure? Is he planning some horrid prank?

Lan Wangji’s heart pounds at the thought. In fear, he tells himself. Not anticipation.

“How do you feel?” Wei Ying eventually asks.

“I am well,” Lan Wangji replies, spine almost automatically stiffening. He is not weak.

“Hm,” Wei Ying says before taking a long swig straight from the bottle this time. He wipes at his mouth gracelessly even as his eyes never leave Lan Wangji’s face. “If I get drunk, do you think you’ll get drunk too?”

Lan Wangji blinks in sudden alarm, not having considered such a thing. But that is Wei Ying’s mind, twisting and sharp and able to see far more than it ever should. More than is safe.

“I suppose if that were the case, you would already be face down on the table, hm, Lan Zhan?”

He does not respond, feeling unmoored by the teasing smile sent his way. Instead, he keeps his attention on his meal, on taking small, measured bites.

Lan Wangji proving to be poor company as usual, Wei Ying eventually turns his attention to others. He thoroughly charms the innkeeper and his family, as well as some of the few travelers staying at the inn. Of course he does. He has always been charming. Bright. Inviting. Though Wei Ying’s charm now has a sharper edge to it. The silken thrum of his power is a living thing in the room, like a pulse of potential, the incipient spill of violence. It draws people in even as it makes them uneasy.

Once they have both finished eating, Wei Ying lingers over his wine. Two men are setting up a drum and an erhu to provide evening entertainment. The room has only grown more crowded as the evening progresses. Gaunt-faced townspeople with worn clothing brushed clean with a semblance of care.

Wei Ying orders a second bottle. 

“Need my entertainments while I can, won’t I?” he says like a man being marched towards his doom.

As if Lan Wangji needs any reminders that Wei Ying hates the Cloud Recesses. This at least is something he can give him. He nods and rises to his feet.

“But Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying immediately protests, holding his wine bottle close to his chest. “I want to hear the musicians!”

“Then stay.”

Wei Ying looks momentarily surprised. “Eh? Really? Will the—” He cuts off, aware of listening ears in the room, no doubt. Though Lan Wangji is not sure if Wei Ying is hesitant to speak of the curse in public because it would be embarrassing to Lan Wangji or because of how vulnerable it makes him. “Will you be alright if I do? I promise I won’t go anywhere else.”

“I will be fine,” Lan Wangji says, which is not a lie. He will be fine. He is not certain the curse will not be triggered, but either way, he will be fine. It is never so terrible at first.

Lan Wangji goes up to their room, ignoring the pulse of the curse as he closes the door behind him. Wei Ying is here. Wei Ying is not going anywhere. I will see him soon. In the doorway, he pauses to look at the two beds on either side of the room.

“Wei Ying will return soon,” he says to the empty room as much as to the dull throb in his chest.  

Putting it from his mind, he quietly prepares for bed, trying to find calm in the familiar rituals of taking down his hair, combing through it, and braiding it for the night. In the washing of his hands, face, and neck. In shaking out and putting away his day clothes and changing to his night clothes. In quiet meditation to settle his mind after a long day.

He is able to ignore it until he slips under the covers, lying back and trying to find sleep. At that point, there is no longer any way to deny it.

Having Wei Ying out of sight is…difficult.

He tightens his jaw against it—the cramp and tug of his muscles. Bears it, but doesn’t sleep. Feels it creep closer and closer, spreading relentlessly through his limbs.

Do not be a bother to others, he reminds himself.

He has been taught self-regulation as the ultimate state of being. Self-reliance. It is the mark of an elevated mind. A strong cultivator.

Besides which, needing people does not mean they will stay. He hasn’t allowed himself to need anything since his mother died. Made himself strong and self-sufficient and obedient….and small. He has made himself take up the least amount of space possible. Asking nothing from others. Not even allowing his brother inside the space he has created around himself.

And then they grew up and Xichen no longer knew how to offer, and Lan Wangji had long since forgotten how to ask.

He closes his eyes tight, knowing this line of thinking to be unproductive.

Sometime near midnight, Wei Ying returns, footfalls clumsy as he crosses the room, letting his robes fall carelessly to the floor behind him. He brings with him the smell of night air and wine and smoke.

Lan Wangji watches him through slitted eyes. He is here. He is here.

Wei Ying tumbles into bed, shifting restlessly for nearly half an hour before falling silent.

Lan Wangji breathes out, and tries to sleep.

Lan Wangji rises on time, but does not feel rested. He lets Wei Ying sleep until breakfast is served and then shakes him awake. He is slow to rise, movements thick and slow like cooled porridge, requiring several nudges and reminders to stay awake. He complains aimlessly, and Lan Wangji has to bite back a smile at getting to witness his ridiculousness firsthand, warmth filling his chest in direct opposition to the cold crawl of the curse the night before.

They eat downstairs with the rest of the disciples, Wei Ying barely eating in his half-awake state. Perhaps hungover.

Eventually, they manage to return once more to the road.

That afternoon, they pass silently through an abandoned village. Only some of the buildings here are burned, but through open doorways, bodies are visible.

They will need to be buried, rituals done to keep the land from becoming restless. However, if they stop at each one, it could take them weeks, if not months, to return to the Cloud Recesses. It is tempting, to stretch out this strange journey, to spend his days by Wei Ying’s side settling what ills they can.

It is a selfish urge. He owes it to Wei Ying to sever the curse as quickly as possible. And to do that, they must return to the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji turns his head to the side, speaking to the disciple behind him. “Lan Sidao. Take note.”

“Yes, Hanguang-Jun,” he says, swinging a leg off his horse and pulling out a writing set.  

“We aren’t stopping?” Wei Ying asks, watching Lan Sidao walk from house to house, making careful notes.  

“Disciples will be sent.”

Wei Ying scoffs. “Sure. Once they finish fighting over who gets to claim this land? How long will that take? And I’m sure they’ll rush right over.”

Lan Wangji’s hand tightens around the reins. “The sects will do their duty.”

Wei Ying must think him terribly naïve. But Lan Wangji must trust in his elders. He remembers with a thud that Wei Ying no longer has elders.

There are no living here in this village left to protect. It can wait.

Wei Ying is visibly sullen and agitated the rest of the afternoon. Clearly unhappy. Unhappy with Lan Wangji most of all, refusing to speak with him the rest of the day.

Lan Wangji tells himself it would be foolish to let that hurt more than the curse.

There are no large towns along this stretch of road, which means they need to utilize tents that night, as they had for much of the Sunshot campaign. Lan Wangji ensures that Wei Ying has his own, refusing to impinge on Wei Ying more than he already has, to force Wei Ying into close company he does not desire. They will be just as close as they had been in the inn with their tents side by side. It should not be an issue.

Lying in his own tent that night, Lan Wangji’s thoughts catch and linger on Wei Ying’s scorn earlier that day. The way they fight, endlessly fight.

He would not be here, if you had not trapped him.

Sharp pain lances through his chest, sweat prickling on his brow.

He is in the next tent, he tells himself. Wei Ying is near. He will be here when I wake. He repeats it until the pain recedes to a manageable level.

He sleeps very poorly, managing something more like light meditation. 

It is enough. He will survive.

The next morning, Lan Wangji rides as close to Wei Ying as he can. He wants to give him space, to not force proximity, but the pulse of the curse from the long night of separation is slow to leave him and he is helpless to do anything else.

“Are you alright?” Wei Ying asks mid-morning, voice still a bit distant. Sulky.

“I am well,” Lan Wangji answers.

Wei Ying lets out a sound like a scoff. “Right. Of course, you are. Silly me.”

The road splits in two at midday. One path continues east, the other turning sharply south. The latter would take them towards Lotus Pier, directly into Yunmeng. They pass it by, instead continuing east through the width of Qishan and Lan Wangji does not allow himself to check if Wei Ying’s gaze lingered on the path towards his home. 

The progress of the Sunshot campaign had not been a direct path, winding around obstacles and armies and chokepoints, but in many ways this journey backtracks along that route. That is why they continue to pass through ravaged countryside, villages abandoned in the approach of one or both armies, ransacked for supplies. The Wen forces had taken to burning fields and villages as they retreated, not wanting any supplies to fall into the hands of the rebellion. Even more villages have been overrun by creatures in the wake of the restless dead and unabated resentment.

It will be the work of generations to lay the land to rest and make it fruitful once more.

Despite what Wei Ying may think of him, Lan Wangji will pause and have the disciples do what they can in places where villagers are still attempting to survive. But in other places where there is no one to help, he will instead have careful notes taken that can be sent on to whichever sect will end up claiming the specific territory.

They pass through another burned-out village, Wei Ying crossing his arms and refusing to speak to anyone as Lan Sidao makes another note after a cursory study.

Lan Wangji spends a restless night in his tent, finding his hand fruitlessly pressed to the cloth closest to the direction of Wei Ying’s tent.

They do not come across any other village the next day, abandoned or otherwise, though they do come across a family with an overturned wagon.

Wei Ying is off his mount before Lan Wangji can call the procession to a halt.

“We Yunmeng Jiang know much of practicalities,” he says—half boast, half insult—and wanders over to hail the farmer.

Lan Wangji suppresses a huff. Yunmeng Jiang are famously descended from rangers, not farmers. But they are still closer to the earth than the Lan sect, who prefer to remain separate from the people they protect. Not out of snobbery, as some might accuse them, but rather to best serve them.

Wei Ying glances back halfway to the wagon, and at first Lan Wangji thinks he is looking for disdain again, for Lan Wangji to say this is not something they have time for. But then Wei Ying’s eyes travel down Lan Wangji’s body, and it occurs to him that Wei Ying is checking to see if the distance between them has grown too wide with the movement.

It is. It is too wide, even when he is right at Lan Wangji’s side.

Lan Wangji looks back at the two disciples behind him and gestures for them to offer whatever aid they can.

Wei Ying looks surprised at first to see them join him, and then smiles, clapping them both on the shoulder. “Let’s put that famed Lan arm strength to work, shall we?”

The disciples are a little wide-eyed as they regard Wei Ying—though whether from the unexpected contact or his reputation, Lan Wangji cannot be certain. “Please tell us how we may help, Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Ying drags them forward into a conversation with the elderly farmer, the group of them standing around the overturned wagon, gesturing at various parts of the vehicle. At one point, Wei Ying hunkers down on his heels in a squat as he peers at the problem, gesturing with his hands.

The farmer nods in reply, face clearly relieved.

Wei Ying pulls off his outer robe in the growing heat, sweat glistening on his throat and along the flash of collarbone exposed as he lifts the wagon with the others. Lan Wangji is forced to look away.

The wagon is easily righted by the four of them, Lan Wangji’s eyes narrowing as he notices Wei Ying wincing a bit as he lifts. He rolls his shoulder, but then quickly laughs it off. Wei Ying orders the Lan disciples to hold the wagon aloft as they address the broken wheel.

They look to Lan Wangji, as if in question of whether or not this is beneath them. Or if they should be submitted to following Wei Ying’s orders. Lan Wangji looks straight ahead and coolly refuses them any quarter.

Wei Ying tilts his head as he looks down at the cracked wheel. “Is it fixable?” he asks. He listens raptly as the farmer explains in detail how it can be addressed. Apparently, there is no easy fix out here so far from any town or village.

Wei Ying asks many more questions, fingers twitching absently as if imagining designs and solutions. It is only a matter of a quarter-hour before he comes to a solution. In the end, he uses a talisman to reinforce the wheel. 

Patting the wheel, Wei Ying sits back. “That should get you there at least. Or to a village with a wheelwright.”

The farmer is awed and very grateful, bowing repeatedly to Wei Ying and the disciples. Wei Ying smiles at the farmer, touching his shoulder and bringing him back up. Perhaps trying to convince the man how happy Wei Ying is to help.

And he is, from the look of him, Lan Wangji can’t help but notice. Face flushed slightly from the heat, beads of sweat soft along his hairline, but body relaxed in a way Lan Wangji has not seen in a very long time. Not even when he is intoxicated.

He is beautiful in the sunlight.

Lan Wangji breathes carefully, willing the dangerous thought away.

Wei Ying eventually swings back up on his horse, dancing in close to Lan Wangji’s side. “They’re joining family in the east,” Wei Ying explains, wincing as the motion of mounting pulls on his shoulder.

Lan Wangji frowns, making a note to have Lan Yunxia see to him when they make camp. For now, he forces his attention back to the farmer and his family.

“May we escort you to your turn-off?” Lan Wangji asks the farmer.

The farmer bows his thanks. “We are grateful to you, Hanguang-Jun.”

He nods in response.

Lan Wangji notes that Wei Ying is still rubbing at his shoulder as they continue down the road, the family and their cart rumbling along with them. Dust rises to the pale blue sky, parching the air.

“Thanks,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji tilts his head in question.

“For letting us stop. I know you’d rather get home as fast as possible and get this fixed.”

Lan Wangji wonders if Wei Ying truly thinks he would not pause to help a stranger on the road. He thinks of Wei Ying’s anger when they did not stop at the empty village. Can he not see the difference between the two? The living take precedence.

“I do not object to offering aid where we can,” he says, aware of how stiff he sounds.

“Even when it’s just an overturned cart?” Wei Ying presses.

An overturned cart is no less inconvenient to people than a spiritual anomaly, Lan Wangji knows. Perhaps easier for a commoner to deal with on their own, but no less troublesome. Who is he to judge the impact? It was only the matter of moments to help. It will hardly influence their arrival time.

“Of course,” Wei Ying says, giving him a sly, sideways glance. “No offer of aid is below Hanguang-Jun.”

Lan Wangji feels his ears heat at the way Wei Ying lets the syllables drip off his tongue, not understanding how the title—one he is still generally ambivalent towards while understanding it as an honor worthy of respect—can sound so provoking on Wei Ying’s tongue. Something like a tease, only more dangerous.

At least Wei Ying is not saying it as he had the first time, like a sharpened blade of formality slipped straight into his heart.

Lan Wangji forces himself to look ahead, resisting the urge to push his mount into a quicker pace. It would be little more than a futile attempt to escape his own embarrassment.

“Ridiculous,” he forces out.

He is rewarded with a soft laugh. Nothing of Wei Ying’s bright youth, but light and real nonetheless. Only more precious for how rare it has become.

Wei Ying’s moods certainly are mercurial. Highs and lows, amusement and anger, all darted between with very little warning or reason. It feels like navigating a rocky stream, Lan Wangji needing to quickly jump from rock to rock without ever fully setting his weight on any one perch. Nothing but frigid waters and sharp edges ready to catch him if he miscalculates.

It is the sort of navigation at which he has never excelled. He is tired of misjudging the path, the habitual worrying for Wei Ying’s health a constant rub. Because what else can this all be, if not a sign of Wei Ying’s eroding temperament? Of the damage the resentment is doing to his heart?

If only he could find a way to help Wei Ying see—

He cuts off the thought, counting carefully through three slow breaths. Wei Ying did not say yes. Wei Ying did not agree to come in order to seek help.

They continue down the road. After some time, Wei Ying drops back to talk to the family, to tease the women and children and make them laugh.

Lan Wangji attempts to be grateful for the distance.

Lan Yunxia attends Lan Wangji in his tent before he prepares for bed that evening, as she has every night since the curse was discovered.

She nods her head as she completes her assessment, fingers dropping away from his wrist. “You are recovering well, Hanguang-Jun. Though your spiritual levels are a little lower than I would like.”

Low considering they do nothing but ride all day, he knows she means. All the time on the road within sight of Wei Ying is not quite enough to erase the cost of the long nights alone.

“How is the pain?” she asks.

“Insignificant,” he says, flipping his sleeve back down over his wrist.

Her eyes narrow. “How often today did you experience symptoms?”

With Wei Ying so constantly near during the day, the only time he feels any twinge from the curse is when he allows his thoughts to wander in unproductive directions. He will do better to control his focus. “I am able to manage it.”

Lan Yunxia may want to push, but won’t dare. Not unless the situation becomes far more acute. Which it will not.

He is grateful that she doesn’t ask how well he is sleeping. He is not certain how he would be able to answer it properly without revealing too much. He is not ashamed. He is not keeping things from her. He simply already knows what he must do to fix it and requires no further consultation.

Lan Wangji takes a moment to roll the question around in his mind before speaking. “And Wei Wuxian?”

She turns to him, giving him her attention, but not inquiring.

It is not, strictly speaking, his right to know about Wei Ying’s health. He justifies himself that the curse that connects them makes it a special case.

Lan Wangji takes a careful breath. “He has shown no adverse effects from the curse?”

Lan Yunxia folds her hands in front of her stomach. “He has not allowed me to examine him.”

Lan Wangji bites back a spike of emotion in his chest that he wants to be annoyance at Wei Ying’s blind stubbornness, but suspects is likely something much closer to fear.

“Will there be anything else, Lan-er-gongzi?”

He shakes his head. “I thank you for your care.”

After she leaves, he settles into meditation. The flow of qi exercises are second nature to him and very calming. He is able, after, to take the time to neatly sort through the tangles in his mind.

It helps.

Right up until he lies down in preparation to sleep.

The camp is quiet, the forest dark around them. Lan Wangji stares up at the ceiling of his tent and fails to sleep. This is not a problem he has faced before, and he finds himself ill-equipped to deal with the issue. Even at the height of the war, in fraught times after the burning of the Cloud Recesses or even the dark of the Xuanwu cave, sleep has always come to him, an essential cornerstone of his life.

And yet, here he lies, the curse thrumming under his skin, growing only more and more insistent, a spring winding tighter and tighter in his chest.

Weak . He is being weak.

He closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing, forcing each of his fingers to uncurl one at a time.

The time of night has escaped him entirely when the flap to his tent opens. Lan Wangji reaches for Bichen, heart in this throat at the unannounced intrusion, the battlefield still a heavy, constant presence—

It is Wei Ying.

Wei Ying is slipping into his tent, arms full of blankets.

The tightness in Lan Wangji’s chests recedes with a suddenness that leaves him unmoored and gasping.

The flap falls closed behind him, taking Wei Ying’s silhouette with it. As if he’s disappeared. As if he were never there, and maybe—

Against his will, Lan Wangji lets out a low sound. He pulls Bichen a few inches from the sheath, pale blue light filling the small space, falling across Wei Ying’s face, throwing it in high relief.

He’s here. He’s still here.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

“Look, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says into the silence, dropping the pile of blankets to the floor. “I know this is probably a nightmare for you. I get it. But if we’re going to get this thing figured out, I need you to be honest with me.”

Lan Wangji must admit to having an issue with focus at the moment, uncertain what Wei Ying is asking of him. Only knowing that he is here. That Lan Wangji is able to take the first full breath in many hours.

“So tell me,” Wei Ying says, easing down to his knees, bringing his face closer. “Is it hurting you when I’m in my own tent at night?”

Ah, Lan Wangji thinks, wondering at how he can be simultaneously pleased and horrified to have been seen through. That Wei Ying might be looking close enough to notice anything about him.

He closes his eyes with shame.

“It’s just…you seemed tired today,” Wei Ying presses on, voice soft in the darkness. “And you never really looked like that before even when you had every reason to… So. Can you tell me? Is it? Would it be better if I was here?”

Before he can stop himself, Lan Wangji nods, a short jerk of his chin, hating himself for it.

Wei Ying lets out a breath, the sound rushing out in the quiet of the night. “Okay. Thank you for being honest.”

There is a rustle of blankets as Wei Ying makes a pallet for himself near the door, as far away from Lan Wangji as the enclosed space allows.

Once he is settled, Lan Wangji forces himself back down as well, Bichen snipping shut with a small click. Darkness falls over them once again.

“Goodnight, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to answer.

It is strange to have him here. To hear the soft rhythm of another’s breath so near.

He does not, as a rule, share a tent. At least not since he was a junior. And even then, he ended up alone more often than not, if they were ever in uneven numbers. And sometimes when they weren’t.

Wei Ying, he imagines, is used to sharing, fellow disciples happy to share with him. Or maybe he always shared with Jiang Wanyin. Though that would no longer be appropriate with Jiang Wanyin’s succession as sect leader. And it never would have been appropriate to share with his sister. It’s barely appropriate for Lan Wangji and Wei Ying to be sharing now, unrelated young masters of a similar age.

As head disciple, perhaps Wei Ying was offered the luxury of privacy as Lan Wangji himself had been. Such luxuries fall away in a time of war, but Lan Wangji fears Wei Ying was left on his own for similar reasons, even if the root of fear others hold for them are far different. Each of them someone to be avoided now.

They often fought near each other in battle during the war, Wei Ying with nothing but his flute that could deflect sword attacks better than it should be able to—a powerful spiritual tool. And by using talismans and seals and his own quick reflexes. Lan Wangji wondered, sometimes, what Wei Ying was even doing out there in the midst of battle, so undefended. And yet he was still magnificent. Still relentless and seemingly undefeatable. He still survived when so many others did not.

Little did he know the true power Wei Ying was wielding until that final battle. Until he took control of every puppet and ended the war. It was enough to make Lan Wangji wonder how much earlier he could have done that, and why he had not. Did he know, even then, how others would react? What the cost might be?

Only when all was lost did he finally turn to his newly forged tool. When there was no other choice.

Lan Wangji sees it when he closes his eyes sometimes, Wei Ying hanging helplessly from Wen Ruohan’s grip, Lan Wangji trying to get there in time. In his dreams, sometimes he doesn’t make it. Sometimes he gets there only in time to see the light leave Wei Ying’s eyes. To see them empty and staring.

Too late, too late.

He wakes with a gasp, a shooting pain in his chest stealing his breath.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying mumbles from the other side of the tent.

Alive. And here. Just within reach.

“You alright?”

Lan Wangji calms his breathing. “Sleep,” he says, voice cold and brusque with the attempt to keep his emotions trapped behind his teeth.

A sleepy hand clumsily pats at his arm in the dark, warmth replacing the icy cold terror so quickly he feels faint from it.

The hand retreats and Lan Wangji almost chases it. Wants to.

He does not.

He feels the curse mark throb and tighten around his wrist. In a moment of weakness, he scoots his bedroll almost immeasurably closer to Wei Ying and wills himself back to sleep.

While the week on the road allows them no opportunity to research information about possible curses, it does give them a chance to map out its contours.

Lan Wangji can have Wei Ying out of sight long enough for privacy—allowing them each a chance to bathe and change and relieve themselves in private—with almost no reaction at all. The only small blessing offered in the situation.

With Lan Wangji’s promise to be honest, they begin to experiment with distance. How far ahead of Lan Wangji Wei Ying can ride before he feels any effects. Or how far back he can fall where Lan Wangji cannot see him easily. There does not seem to be some set distance. And at times it seems affected by other variables. Such as how tired Lan Wangji is.

Or how disorderly his thoughts are.

He can usually last nearly an hour alone without direct effects of the curse, tested slowly over days as Wei Ying would shift slightly further away.

It is even easier when Lan Wangji is immersed in a task that holds his concentration. Such as when they come upon a village, just as burned out as nearly all the others they have passed, only this one reinhabited. For this village, they stop to render aid.

For the most part, Wei Ying does not involve himself in the rituals when Lan Wangji deems it necessary to stop and help. He leaves the settling of spirits to the Lan disciples. It is strange, perhaps, for Lan Wangji to think back with fondness to the day he was cursed, the day he spent with Wei Ying. It was a day of tragedy and sadness, ultimately. But it was a day they spent together, their aims aligned.

Wei Ying is not idle, however. He often takes the time to speak to the surviving villagers. Carrying heavy things for a grandmother, flirting shamelessly with aunties. Squatting down in the dirt to entertain a small child with simple tricks that likely feel like magic. Talismans of protection for their doorways. Small but generous comforts, Wei Ying waving off any sort of payment besides a few cups of wine he drinks brazenly with a deeply wrinkled old man with patched robes.

It burns through Lan Wangji in an entirely different way than the curse, to see Wei Ying like this. To see him mischievous and helpful and far, far from the bloody, hopeless battlefields. It raises something like hope in Lan Wangji’s chest, despite the danger of it.

“It will be a lean winter for them,” Wei Ying reports with a frown as his horse settles in next to Lan Wangji’s. “It would be better for them to leave, but they said they don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“I will have Lan Sidao take note of their needs. We will send back what we can.” The Lan Sect has lost much, but even they are not in danger of starving.

Wei Ying nods. “There truly is no glory to be found in war.” His gaze pulls out over the barren fields, ones that should, by this time of year, be fat with crops. “All this, because one man wanted more people under his heel.”

It is a simplification of a complex situation, but not one Lan Wangji can argue with. He feels the weight of it, the loss that has yet to be tallied. Each day here on the road, more reminders of the prices yet to be paid, by those least prepared to pay it. Those least connected to it.

They pass a series of fresh graves, newly dug and cared for, on their way out of the village.

Beside him, Wei Ying lets out a sound barely heavier than a breath, his hand clenched to his side, the same place the amulet likely rests. It is hard to tell if the darkness around Wei Ying is a trick of the fading light against his black robes, or something more.

They pass the days this way, settling still-populated villages, the frequency of such places increasing as they near the edges of the Qishan Wen lands, further from the path of the armies. No further from the slaughter, but further from the complete devastation found closer to Nightless City. More proof that in the end, Wen Ruohan ruthlessly turned on his own people and for such unspeakably evil reasons. It is hard to stomach.

That evening as they settle in at an inn, Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying pace their room out of the corner of his eye, clearly in some state of heightened distress. He has not elected to drink down in the dining area this evening, though he does have a bottle up here with him. He seems distracted enough to forget it is there.

Lan Wangji longs to ask, but equally does not wish to hear Wei Ying snap back in response. He especially does not want to hear all the ways in which Wei Ying is being inconvenienced, taken from his beloved family, and dragged to a place he hates. By a person he has perhaps grown to hate as well.

Seeking comfort, Lan Wangji pulls out his qin to check the strings, to do the minor maintenance required from the days of laying villages to rest.

At the first strum, Wei Ying whips around to glare at him, and Lan Wangji’s hands tense and lift from the strings. “I am not a broken village to be put to rights, Hanguang-Jun,” he spits, eyes hard and challenging.

Lan Wangji is taken aback, but does not let it show. He had not intended…

And yet.

His intentions aside, he does still wish to play for Wei Ying. Would do it if allowed.

Wei Ying is not right. Perhaps he is not a broken building or an overrun forest, but there is darkness lingering in him. There is something wrong. Something Lan Wangji wishes he could soothe. Correct.

You have no right. You have no right.

Wei Ying is still staring at him, looking like he will bolt from the room at the first note of Clarity.

Lan Wangji could simply put the guqin away, but for some reason—stubbornness, he suspects but will not admit even to himself—he instead begins to play.

Wei Ying opens his mouth to say something else, something doubtlessly hurtful, only to pause, his head tilting to the side as the song forms.

It is a folk tune, one with uncouth lyrics Lan Wangji would never dare repeat. But he has heard much, these long months moving across a wide swath of countryside. Music and tunes that would never make their way to the Cloud Recesses.

Wei Ying lets out a rough laugh. “Lan Zhan…” he says, shoulders lowering.

Lan Wangji tells himself it is unbecoming to feel smug. He keeps playing.

They pass the evening in music.

The moment of levity that evening in the inn is the last one of the trip.

As the landscape gently changes to the more familiar forests and mountains of Lan Wangji’s childhood, Wei Ying becomes more tense and snappish.

It reminds Lan Wangji of each and every time he offered to bring Wei Ying back to the Cloud Recesses during the war. Each and every way Wei Ying had told him no.

Fuck off, Lan Zhan.

An important reminder as the routine and rhythm of sharing space with Wei Ying threatens to erode his clarity. Of what this is and what it is not.

The day they finally stand at the base of the mountain, Wei Ying looks up the stairs that will lead them home, face set.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says, hand clenching around his flute. He stomps up the mountain as if each stair is a challenge.  

Lan Wangji follows, reminding himself with each step that he has no right to miss the intimacy of the road.

Together, they return to the Cloud Recesses.

Chapter Text

“Unacceptable,” Lan Qiren pronounces.

Wei Wuxian internally sighs and keeps his eyes focused on his hands lying in his lap as he sits in the grandmaster’s office. He can only hope it comes off as deference when in reality he is struggling not to do something utterly shameless just to see Lan Qiren’s face turn purple. The old goat.

You are here to break this curse and get the hell out of here before they try to perform an exorcism on you, Wei Wuxian, he reminds himself. For once, being on his best behavior actually seems the wisest choice, no matter how tempting the alternative.

Look at that. He’s all grown up. It’d just taken a war and dying and letting ten thousand ghosts set up camp in his insides.

With his newfound maturity and grace, he manages to passively listen to all of Lan Qiren’s objections to Wei Wuxian’s character and cultivation and very existence, letting it wash over him as noise. It doesn’t matter. It never has.

The amulet isn’t quite as sanguine. It’s been getting louder the last few days as they passed through ravaged countryside. With each empty village and unburied body they left behind as nothing more than a mark on a map for some future promise of help. With each starving villager and broken family.

He knows Lan Zhan really believes it. That help will come. Wei Wuxian tries to let that cool the anger, the knowledge that despite Lan Zhan’s feelings about Wei Wuxian, he’s still an honorable guy. He must really believe it. It must be nice, to have that faith. Wei Wuxian knows far too well how it is to be forgotten.

The amulet rumbles, burning cold against Wei Wuxian’s side, the dark whispers rising in volume.

Wei Wuxian’s hands clench and he forces a slow breath, wrenching his hard-won barriers back into place.

It’s getting more difficult.

The amulet had been quiet when he initially woke up after the last battle. At first he figured he was just too tired, that maybe the amulet knew he was too worn out to be useful. But now he’s beginning to suspect that it had simply been appeased. So much violence and power. Such brutal revenge. Wei Wuxian had given almost every part of himself over to it, and the amulet had reveled in it.

Of course it was impossible that it would remain content.

The unfortunate truth is that it had been easier to control with constant war and promises of coming revenge. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have any of that to offer it anymore. He hadn’t thought through any of this, of course, what it would mean to live through the war. There hadn’t been time!

And now, it can feel the way Wei Wuxian is threatened by being here, the punishment and captivity promised by this place. Something far worse than a text thrown at his head or copying lines. Worse even than a wooden paddle. In response to this looming threat of punishment and confinement, the amulet fills him with images of destroying the elegant, tranquil halls. Wood burning. Lan blood flowing.

No. The war is over. And these are not his enemies.

They hate you. They fear you. They want to break you.

Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens around Chenqing. He will make them his enemies if he has to.

He’s dragged out of the dangerously spiraling thoughts by the next thing Lan Qiren says.

Wei Wuxian is prepared for the objections to having a so-called ‘demonic’ cultivator—and he really wished people would learn to understand the difference of what he does, the ways in which the ghost path is not fucking demonic cultivation, nor is he himself a demon, yet—in the hallowed, pristine halls of the Cloud Recesses. He’s even prepared to hear about the horror of Hanguang-Jun being submitted to the indignity of Wei Wuxian’s crass company. But he has to admit to being a little thrown by Lan Qiren’s loudest objection.

“They cannot reside together,” he declares. “Wangji’s reputation and marriageability must be protected.”

Wei Wuxian chokes on absolutely nothing. “I’m sorry—his what ?”

Demonic cultivator and defiler of virtue, each more wrong than the last. They think he’s going to seduce Lan Zhan? Or force himself on him? As if Wei Wuxian had ever managed anything so much as holding someone’s hand. As if Lan Zhan, arguably the greatest cultivator of their generation, would find himself helpless against the dreaded Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan would slice him in half for even thinking about it, let alone actually trying anything.

He can’t help but laugh, helplessly and overly loud. This is all just so fucking insane.

Lan Zhan goes stiff next to him, managing to radiate a sense of dour outrage and mortification. Probably at the thought of being touched by anyone, let alone him.

Something in Lan Zhan’s rigid posture gives rise to the very old impulse to tread shamelessly on his dignity. Wei Wuxian nudges Lan Zhan with his elbow. “Thank goodness we were all so carefully chaperoned this last year.”

“Do not be absurd,” Lan Qiren says. “That was war.”

Wei Wuxian feels himself abruptly sober, something twisting horribly in his chest.

It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.

A relief, but also something else. The long reality of his life stretching forward. A life after the war.

It’s over.

He never really expected to survive.

His mind carefully dances away from the thought. It doesn’t matter. He did. All he has to do now is keep moving forward. Just like he does anytime he finds himself in a mess. Keep shoving forward until a door appears. Or an abrupt fall. And a climb back up again.

Heavens, he could really use a drink.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan queries, voice low.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Whatever. Just give me a cot or something. I’ll sleep in the yard. That should be close enough.”

Lan Qiren seems to be considering it, but it’s Lan Zhan who objects.

“Ridiculous. Wei Ying is a guest.”

Guest. Right. That’s one word for it.

The amulet continues to grumble, filling his head with noise. Wei Wuxian doesn’t need that right now, thank you very much. It’s getting hard enough to think. To keep his cool as the walls seem to be closing in on him.

But Old Man Lan isn’t quite done. “You will also turn over your spiritual tools for the duration of your stay.”

“I fucking well will not,” Wei Wuxian snaps, any last pretense of equilibrium vanishing immediately. 

So much for playing along.

Lan Qiren’s hand bangs down on the table top, the unoffered tea jumping and rattling. Just another slight, a clear sign that Wei Wuxian is not a guest. “I will not have your wicked ways corrupting the Cloud Recesses!”

Meaning he has to leave himself completely vulnerable? To just trust in Lan honor?

They are trying to weaken you. They will try to destroy you. They want our power for themselves. Will you let them take it? Will you let them dominate you? Break you?

Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian!

He pushes to his feet, the amulet vibrating at his hip, breaths surging in him like a bellows. “I didn’t come here to be some sort of prisoner. I’m not turning myself over to Gusu Lan judgment,” he snarls, making his thoughts on Lan moral superiority very clear.

Lan Qiren scoffs loudly. “You have already been judged and found more than wanting, Wei Wuxian.”

For a moment, the image is perfectly clear. Thick coils of resentment curling tight around Lan Qiren’s throat. His beard twitching as he gasps and writhes and his face flushes red and then gray as death takes him. The crack of his neck, bones grinding—

Wei Wuxian blinks back to reality, Lan Qiren sitting, looking at Wei Wuxian with undisguised disgust.

If only he knew.

Wei Wuxian wrenches around, striding out of the room—he just needs a moment to breathe, to stop from giving in to the screaming rage of the amulet—but he barely makes it to the door before Lan Zhan lets out a pained gasp.

Wei Wuxian spins back around as Lan Xichen makes a sound of alarm. Lan Zhan has a hand pressed to his chest as he bends towards the table. Scrambling back to his side, Wei Wuxian skids to a stop on his knees next to Lan Zhan, grabbing his shoulders.

“Lan Zhan. Hey. Breathe.” He leans over, putting his face in Lan Zhan’s line of sight. “I didn’t go anywhere, see? Still here. Very much not leaving.”

Everything in him is still screaming to, though, like blades grinding against each other under his skin. Lotus Pier needs him. Jiang Cheng needs him. Shijie. He has to be able to protect them. And he needs Chenqing to do that. He needs the amulet. He cannot let them weaken him this way. He’s nothing without it. Useless.

That’s right. You need us.

But if he leaves, Lan Zhan dies. How the fuck is he supposed to make that decision?

Easy. Because it isn’t really a decision.

Letting out a long string of very lurid curses—half to terrorize Lan Qiren and half as a way to let out his feelings in a way that isn’t killing everyone—he jerkily pulls the flute from his belt, setting it down on the table. The amulet screams at him, threatening to tear him apart for being a coward, his very bones aching in response. Gritting his jaw, he ignores it, somehow managing to pry his fingers free and let go.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, voice shaky as he works to even out his breathing. “No. You do not have to—”

As if Lan Zhan hasn’t spent the better part of the last year trying to get him to set the flute aside. “I’m not letting you die, Lan Zhan,” he says gruffly. “I know I’m a depraved fiend and a heretic to boot, but I’m not looking to add another corpse to my glorious army. There’s no job opening for you. You’ll have to stay here and be perfect instead. So let’s get you cured, huh? I’ll sleep in the damn library if I have to. And then we can all go our separate ways and I’ll never darken the Cloud Recesses with my evil presence ever again. Deal?”

Lan Zhan makes another low, wounded sound, his hands clenching at the fabric covering his knees. Still not able to find any amusement in anything, Wei Wuxian supposes. One would think the thought of being free of him might cheer Lan Zhan up.

Wei Wuxian reaches out, touching the back of Lan Zhan’s hand and Lan Zhan makes a sound almost like a whimper, quickly squashed.

“Does that…help?” Wei Wuxian asks, pressing his palm firmer against the back of Lan Zhan’s hand, maximizing the skin-to-skin contact. This is not something they have experimented with.  

“It helps,” Lan Zhan admits through gritted teeth, looking mortified.

Wei Wuxian gives him a smile, trying to soften the blow of actually having to enjoy Wei Wuxian’s touch. “Well, that’s not a problem then. You know me, always running around looking for any excuse to touch you.” He wiggles his eyebrows deliberately, offering Lan Zhan a chance to be annoyed rather than focusing on this painful forced vulnerability.

“Shameless!” Lan Qiren snaps.

Wei Wuxian just nods his head, ignoring everyone but Lan Zhan. “Yes, yes. I’m shameless.” Then he lowers his voice, looking carefully at Lan Zhan’s face. “Good?”

Lan Zhan nods, leaning slightly back. “I am well.”

Wei Wuxian takes his word for it, slowly letting go of him, sitting back on his own pillow to give Lan Zhan more space.

They all sit in silence as Lan Zhan gathers himself, his fingers twitching and then curling into fists.

“I don’t believe sleeping in the library will be necessary,” Lan Xichen says into the spreading silence. There is something strange in the way he’s looking at Wei Wuxian. “You will stay in the Jingshi with Wangji. We will have a second bed set up in the storage alcove.”

At the sound of protest from Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen merely smiles, something immovable about it.

“I think we can all agree that Wangji’s health is the most important consideration. And so long as Wei-gongzi agrees not to use any…unorthodox methods within the Cloud Recesses, I trust him to keep his belongings with him.”

“Xichen!”

Lan Xichen looks at Lan Qiren, face passive and calm, hands in his lap. “Yes, Uncle?” The perfect picture of filial acquiescence, despite just having undermined his elder.

It’s a petty little corner Lan Xichen has backed his uncle into. To object now is to speak against the still rather newly installed sect leader, to risk undermining him. Wei Wuxian is impressed with Lan Xichen’s backbone.

Lan Zhan is his little brother, though. It’s natural for older brothers to do anything to protect the younger. It’s what’s right.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t wait another moment to reach out and take Chenqing, eager to have it back in his hands before someone changes their mind. The relief is immediate. He can feel tension leaking out of his body, the pain numbing slightly as if in reward.

Lan Zhan is watching him closely, one hand still pressed to his chest.

Wei Wuxian can’t resist twirling Chenqing between his fingers, eyes finding Lan Qiren’s. “Alright,” he says. “Now that the sleeping arrangements are all worked out, can we get started on curing this thing? Maybe we’ll get done before nightfall and it won’t even be an issue.”

Lan Qiren lets out a dignified huff and deliberately looks away.

Just like old times.

They are not done before nightfall.

Wei Wuxian knew they wouldn’t be, really. It was just a hopeful wish. They arrived at the Cloud Recesses late enough that there is little time to devote to the matter before curfew. He wonders if Lan Zhan will expect him to keep to the ridiculous Lan bedtimes.

He’d been pretty chill on the journey. Well, as chill as Lan Zhan could ever be at least, having nothing to say about bedtimes or drinking. At least out loud. But Wei Wuxian has also been really careful not to do…much of anything, really. Be too much himself, he supposes. No using Chenqing. Certainly not using the amulet, not that he has any intention of using it ever again. Barring another war. And he can only hope those are done for a while.

All of which to say, Lan Zhan didn’t seem too intent on imposing the rules on him during their journey. But that was also all outside the Cloud Recesses, so Wei Wuxian isn’t quite sure what to expect now as he is led to Lan Zhan’s house. Even that itself is a surprise. He’d expected something more like a cell. But that would mean putting Lan Zhan in a cell, so maybe that explains it. He’ll leave those worries for after they cure Lan Zhan. For now, he gets to see where Lan Zhan lives.

He’s never been here before, so he’s a little curious despite himself, getting this chance to see something this private of Lan Zhan’s. It’s certainly off the beaten path, taking Wei Wuxian into a part of the Cloud Recesses he’d never been in, even in his most nosey poking about during the lectures. A rustic gate opens onto an elegantly appointed garden with cypress trees and a pond.

It’s so different from the intertwined, flowing structure of Lotus Pier, where everyone is— was twisted up in each other’s space. There was never any true privacy there, for better or worse. (Better, when it came to running around with his shidi, worse, when it came to avoiding Madam Yu.)

From the front porch of Lan Zhan’s house—the Jingshi, the sign tells him, and isn’t that ridiculously fitting—he can’t even see the roof line of another house. Just trees and bamboo and the faint twinkle of lights in the steep mountainsides that must be other dwellings nearly lost to the perpetual clinging clouds.

Inside, the house is even more perfectly Lan Zhan than the exterior. Beautiful without being showy. Minimalist to the point of starkness. Silent as a grave. It makes Wei Wuxian lonely just looking at it. But also like he’s in danger of ruining everything just with his mere existence.

How torturous it must be for Lan Zhan to have him here. It’s kind of funny, in a horribly sad way, that this curse would happen to a guy like Lan Zhan, who clearly loves solitude, hates noise, and still does not like to be touched. And to be cursed with Wei Wuxian of all people! If it had been some nice quiet Lan disciple instead, Lan Zhan would have been way less grumpy about it, Wei Wuxian is sure.

Lan Zhan sets Bichen down on a stand and places his guqin on a table, everything in its place. Wei Wuxian wonders what Lan Zhan would do if he tried to place Chenqing in the rack next to Bichen. He bites back a laugh at the thought. Lan Zhan’s expression would probably be hilarious. Then again, Wei Wuxian’s lost a bit of his taste for Lan Zhan looking enraged at him. Where’s the fun in something provoked so often, and with so little effort?

Wei Wuxian contents himself with poking around the building instead, not even bothering to try to pretend to be some perfect guest. At the far end, a privacy screen blocks off what he assumes is Lan Zhan’s bed and a bathing area. Beside the table with Wangji now resting on it near a hearth, there is another table that probably serves double duty as a desk and a place for meals. If Lan Zhan eats here and not in the main hall.

Oh heavens, is Wei Wuxian going to have to suffer through three tasteless meals a day in full view of all the Lan disciples? Or was that building burned down too? Come to think of it, had Lan Zhan’s home burned? The lecture hall? Weirdly, he feels an unexpected pang at the thought of any of the buildings they spent time together in being gone.

Fucking Wen Xu.

Wei Wuxian shakes the thought out of his head before the amulet can grab onto it too hard.

Currently, the table has a careful stack of texts and another of papers with neat columns of characters. Wei Wuxian drops down and pulls the top sheet of notes towards himself.

Lan Xichen said he’d provide them with a list of all the texts that have been pulled from the library and reviewed by a disciple, and a short summary of anything of use found in them.  Apparently, no one had found anything that conveniently describes this exact curse and how to dispel it. That’s fine. It’s possible they overlooked something, or that there are more texts hidden in that giant library of theirs. Wei Wuxian isn’t worried quite yet.

Then Wei Wuxian remembers that the library burned too. It feels like a million years ago, like a different life. Lan Zhan with his broken leg and stubborn face as he tried not to look like he might cry over what happened to the Cloud Recesses, to what happened to his brother and uncle.

Well, Wen Xu is now very dead and no one is coming back to burn anything in the Cloud Recesses again. Certainly not with him here. Fucking Wen Xu. If that asshole burned up the text that could help them… Ugh.

Wei Wuxian shakes off the confusing tangle of protectiveness that wars against the constant, low-grade demand to be the one destroying this place. Fortunately, he’s grown rather used to the confusion.

For now, there is a problem to focus on. A mystery to solve.

Tomorrow morning some of the elders will take a reading of the curse directly from Lan Zhan in a special diagnostic space they call the Mingshi. How Wei Wuxian managed not to find that place during his first stay, he will never know. He’s interested to see what additional information they might glean about the curse. 

Wei Wuxian isn’t expecting much, but it will be interesting to watch. Assuming they let him. Well, they’ll have to, he supposes. If Lan Zhan can’t really be out of sight from him. This curse might have one use to it after all!

Peripherally aware of Lan Zhan puttering around putting his travel things away—and Wei Wuxian briefly wonders how long it has been for Lan Zhan since he last set foot in his home, probably a year at least—Wei Wuxian skims the summarized notes, nearly as quickly determining that he would much prefer to read the texts himself. It’s not that the notes are bad or anything. They just leave a lot to be desired. There are likely more avenues of possible interest here that they missed.

Really, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan have learned a lot about how the curse behaves this last week that Lan Xichen and his researchers couldn’t have known.

There’s the proximity aspect of the curse, but there is also the trigger being another person, there is the ghost as a possible origin, there is the idea of conditional curses, touch possibly providing relief, physical injuries and emotions not being transferred (thank Heavens), among many other things they learned so far. Since they haven’t found the exact curse, they’re likely going to have to get creative. And all those specifics might help come up with a solution.

He’ll have to re-read all these texts himself.

He tries to ignore the fact that this is kind of fun. A little bit? It’s just nice, he supposes, to have something like this to focus on. A traditional, normal kind of problem that might actually have a solution. One not particularly likely to require an unorthodox solution. Not that he won’t go there if he needs to. He just knows the Lans probably wouldn’t let him.

Anyway, it doesn’t matter. For now, he’ll look for a traditional solution. But traditional doesn’t mean it has to be boring. Just look at Lan Zhan!

Anyway, he thinks, turning his attention back to the stack of texts. What he wouldn’t have done to have access to this wealth of information back when he was just trying to stay alive in the Burial Mounds.

Nope. Not thinking about that either.

He pulls the first text off the top of the stack and starts skimming it. He’s barely aware of the sound of someone tapping lightly at the door.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, some indeterminate amount of time later.

Wei Wuxian makes a noise in response, but doesn’t look up from the text. It’s not exactly the most stodgy, incomprehensible text he’s ever read, but it’s pretty close! He gets the appeal of a graceful turn of phrase, but this is painful. Whoever this scholar was, they could probably have learned a lesson from Lan Zhan. He never wastes a single word and yet is still completely comprehensible. And alliterative!

When he actually chooses to speak, that is.

“Wei Ying.”

A bit startled to hear Lan Zhan calling him from very nearby, he looks up to find Lan Zhan standing over him holding a tray. “Huh?” he says, much more eloquently than this long-dead author.

“Dinner.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. They did kind of miss eating this evening, didn’t they? He thinks to protest that he’s not hungry, but Lan Zhan is already setting down the tray and collecting up the texts.

“Wait, wait!” he says, slapping a hand down on them. “I have a system!”

Lan Zhan gives him a look that clearly says chaos is not a system.

“I’ll do it! I’ll do it,” he says. He picks up the ‘have already looked at’ pile and dumps it on the floor to his left, while shuffling the ‘haven’t gotten to it’ pile to the right. He then scoops up the notes and puts them on a shelf, twisting around to reach it without getting up.

Lan Zhan doesn’t make a face or anything, but Wei Wuxian can still feel the disapproval radiating off of him. Well, it’s not like Wei Wuxian wants to be here either, so Lan Zhan will just have to learn to put up with a bit of a mess if he wants this curse broken.

Wei Wuxian turns back around and looks down at the bowl of rice and the broth that might as well be plain water with tofu and sad vegetables and feels absolutely no compulsion to put any of it in his body. Which is not all that unusual, unfortunately.

Wei Wuxian has gotten really good at not thinking about his body. There’s just too much there if he lets himself think about it. Hunger is, strangely enough, something your body can learn to stop feeling. Not that it hides the ache of a body consuming itself to survive. But that ache is kind of…relaxing compared to everything else. The pain. Not the pain of injuries not healed, but held in stasis. The endless headaches. Enough to drive anyone mad. But mostly, the cold. The deep endless cold where there was once warmth.

It’s just a lot. And better left unconsidered.

Besides, common people live their whole lives never knowing the lack. It’s pathetic of him to allow anything like pain at the loss of his core. He was never even meant to have it in the first place. Like most things, it was lovely while it lasted. He won’t be ungrateful and yearn for more.

So. Food.

He forces himself to reach for the chopsticks, refusing to think on it anymore. He lifts the first bite to his mouth.

It tastes like nothing. It tastes like air. Like bitter bile on his tongue.

He’s not stupid. He knows he needs to eat. But it also makes him feel like he’s going to throw it all up immediately, and that is not something he is ever going to do in front of anyone, let alone Lan Zhan.

He forces himself to swallow. Heavens, what he wouldn’t do for some chilies. He doesn’t know why spiciness makes it easier. It just does. Like it erases any taste or texture beyond ‘bright and painful’. This aggressive plainness is the opposite of that. It’s all bile and texture and rotten and dirt and bones crunching—

He takes a breath.

The rice is fine. He can do that. There is just no way he’s going to be able to face the cold slide of the tofu.

Who would have thought rotten food and dead things would be easier to get down than this medicinal blandness?

He bolts down what he can as quickly as possible, trying to make it look like he’s taking and eating more than he is. Even with all that theater, there’s a damning amount of food left.

When Lan Zhan looks over at him, his eyebrows very nearly moving with what is probably annoyance at Wei Wuxian wasting food, he flops down on the table, rolling his head back and forth. “I’m so tired, Lan Zhan,” he whines, making a spectacle of himself. “You can’t expect food this boring to do anything other than put me to sleep!”

Lan Zhan lets out a breath dangerously loud enough to be called a huff and looks away.

Wei Wuxian bites back a smile. Much better to be seen as a bad guest than as a wreck, he tells himself.

Lan Zhan shakes him awake at an ungodly hour the next morning. Wei Wuxian considers making a scene, being shameless enough to drive Lan Zhan away so he can get another couple hours of sleep.

It’s not that he’s lazy, no matter what Jiang Cheng might accuse, or how his shidi might have teased him. He just has a hard time getting his brain turned off in the evenings. Not to mention it’s usually the only time he actually has to himself. It just seems a waste, to sleep those hours away. And by the time he does fall asleep, it means his best hours of rest are in the early morning.

But he’s not going to tell any of that to Lan Zhan. Just like he won’t mention that he’d faked going to sleep when Lan Zhan had the night before, only to return to the texts and notes after Lan Zhan was soundly asleep.

Besides, he remembers as the sleepy fog clears, there is a reason to get up early today! Things to do, curses to fix, Lans to escape.

He still whines a bit, just because he can and because Lan Zhan should never get too comfortable, really. It isn’t good for him.  

Wei Wuxian eats what he can of the insipid breakfast, jumping up and using his eagerness to visit a new part of the Cloud Recesses as further cover.

“Lingering over breakfast is no way to get this curse cured, Lan Zhan!” he says, hopping to his feet and ignoring the twinge in his hip.

Lan Zhan stares down at Wei Wuxian’s half-empty bowls for a lingering moment before finally rising to his feet. He leads Wei Wuxian out the door without comment.

Back in the main area of the Cloud Recesses, things are much more lively than they had been when he arrived the night before. Well, lively for the Cloud Recesses. Pairs of white-clad disciples walk between buildings. It’s mostly very young juniors and elders.

Nearly all of the juniors give a little startle when they see Wei Wuxian. He wonders what they’ve been told. He doubts Lan Zhan’s condition would be widely shared. Wouldn’t look good for the Lan sect, their prize disciple getting cursed.

It’s the elders who glare or lift their chins in clear disapproval.

Whatever.

Wei Wuxian hardly cares what the stuffy Lan elders think of him. That doesn’t stop the line of tension from creeping up his back. He may have come here to help Lan Zhan, but the self-righteous elders could still try to find a way to rid the world of his heresy given the chance.

He wonders what makes them think they would stand a chance even if they tried.

“Wei Ying?”

Ugh, his least favorite Lan Zhan expression. Concern. He’s hardly going to attack his stupid elders.

He bats down the energy coiling from the amulet and picks up his pace. “It’s this way?” he asks.

The only thing that can really quiet the amulet down is having something interesting to focus on, after all.

Lan Zhan follows him in silence.

Just as Wei Wuxian suspected, the Mingshi is fascinating. They don’t have anything quite like this back at Lotus Pier. Then again, the Lan sect is the one known for more scholarly pursuits. The Jiangs have a much more chivalric focus on swordplay, archery, and commerce. The Jiang sect lives with the local populace, not above it like the Lan sect. They have no monastic past to emulate. And thank the heavens for that. Keeping the waterways tamed for traders and the towns and fields safe and productive for the common folk takes precedence even over legendary hunts (much to Madam Yu’s disapproval) or exciting new ideas (much to Wei Wuxian’s occasional regret).

Sure, Wei Wuxian might have liked to have had more room to experiment, but he was kept wonderfully busy at Lotus Pier. He fits perfectly into the atmosphere of Lotus Pier.

Or at least he had.

The Mingshi, though, well, that’s something else. Some small evidence that the Lans are maybe not just chanting the same orthodox drivel over and over. Clearly there is some experimentation and discovery going on. He wonders if they just wanted to hide it from the visiting students or if this is not very common.

A dirty little secret, maybe!

Wei Wuxian nearly laughs at the thought.

It turns out that the function of the room is more protective than diagnostic, but it is still designed in a rather fascinating way. An ancient bronze bell hangs in the center of the room, carved with various characters and patterns meant to help reveal the true nature of objects—a connection across realms, across perception. The floor is laid with a complex array that Wei Wuxian would love to spend more time investigating, but when he tries to get a better look he’s rather abruptly nudged out of the way by a disapproving Lan disciple whose name he doesn’t know.

There’s about a dozen people here, all looking sour and serious.

“You will stand over there,” Lan Qiren says to Wei Wuxian, voice stern as he indicates a small alcove well free of the array. But still within sight of Lan Zhan.

“Right,” he says. At least they aren’t trying to shove him in there to see what makes him tick.

The amulet rumbles defensively.

He tells it to calm the fuck down. He doubts anything in here is even capable of making sense of something so far beyond anyone’s understanding. But he certainly doesn’t want any questions either.

The doctor they’d traveled here with is back, carefully checking Lan Zhan over before they start. A good sign that they are at least taking proper care of their precious Second Jade.

Lan-daifu nods her head. “Hanguang-Jun’s energy levels have recovered well. Clearly keeping proximity to Wei-gongzi is at least keeping the curse from advancing.”

That just makes Lan Qiren look even more sour. The old goat. “And there is no evidence of Wei Wuxian’s… cultivation harming Wangji by proximity?”

Is that what he’s scared of? Like Wei Wuxian is so evil he’ll, what, poison Lan Zhan with resentment just by sitting near him?

“There is not,” Lan-daifu confirms.

There’s no reason for Wei Wuxian to feel relief at that.

Having the doctor’s approval, Lan Zhan steps under the bell. Lan Xichen takes out his xiao and begins to play.

Spiritual energy builds, thick and active in the air. The seal bristles a bit, but Wei Wuxian tells it to shut up, far too fascinated watching the interplay of musical cultivation with the ancient artifact and geomantic set up of the room. A thousand questions dance on Wei Wuxan’s tongue. He knows none of them would be welcome.

Lan Zhan starts to glow, light the same color as his cool, blue magic solidifying around him. They can see the thin stream of energy moving through his body, the way it flows through his meridians, coalescing into the solid swirling mass of his golden core. It’s so bright it’s hard to look at straight on.

Wei Wuxian feels a strange twist of pride and longing, seeing it there. Good for Lan Zhan , he thinks. He’s worked hard for it.

Shifting his gaze, Wei Wuxian studies the wrist bearing the curse mark. Sure enough, there is disruption in the flow of energy there, a subtle purple bruise where the energy is stagnant. The slow, pooling sludge Wei Wuxian is much more familiar with.

It barely shifts under the relentless power of the xiao.

“Stubborn little thing, isn’t it,” Wei Wuxian observes.

Lan Qiren merely harrumphs in response.

It isn’t that powerful of a curse, barely a bruise against the brilliant light of Lan Zhan’s qi. But it’s clearly there.

It doesn’t make sense. The ghost was not that strong. Lan Zhan must have picked it up somewhere else. Or is something else feeding it?

It seems incomprehensible. Not just because they have come a great distance away from Qishan now, or that the Cloud Recesses should be clear of anything like that. Unless it’s Wei Wuxian’s cultivation itself, like Lan Qiren clearly fears.

He feels sick at the idea, that maybe the simple curse has been twisted by him somehow. But, no. That doesn’t make any sense either.

The doctor looks at Wei Wuxian. “If you would slowly back away,” she says.

Right. They need to see the curse reacting.

He meets Lan Zhan’s gaze, waiting for the slight dip of his chin in acquiescence before he moves.

He steps back.

With each step, the curse mark darkens, the surrounding energy slowing further.

“Wangji mentioned you have tested the limits of the curse this past week.”

He nods. “Yeah. It’s actually usually worse when he can’t see me.”

“Let us try that.”

Wei Wuxian nods, walking a circle around Lan Zhan until he’s behind him.

The flow of Lan Zhan’s energy thins, like it’s being pulled, the mark darkening, spreading far beyond his wrist, twisting down the lines of his meridians through his whole body.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head, thinking about how the curse has behaved.

“I’m here, Lan Zhan,” he says, to see what happens.

A slight lightening, the curse weakening.

Wei Wuxian reaches out, touching Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and it gets even better, receding almost completely.

Wei Wuxian waits a beat and then pulls back. He takes one giant step back and then another. And another.

He steps back, watching the curse slowly grow stronger with each step, until he’s near the door. Reaching for it, he slides it open, the noise audible in the room.

Lan Zhan sucks in a breath.

“I’m going outside now,” Wei Wuxian announces.

Lan Zhan, if possible, seems to straighten his posture even more, but the curse is bleeding dark now, like a vine spreading through his whole body.

Before stepping outside, something occurs to Wei Wuxian. He closes the door as if he’s left, but remains inside out of sight of Lan Zhan.

Lan Qiren scowls at him, but Wei Wuxian wants to try this first, to see if the curse is triggered by him leaving or by Lan Zhan thinking he’s leaving.

Almost immediately, Lan Zhan’s entire body tenses, almost as if curling in on itself. The line of his energy thins further, the black bruise of the curse visible more clearly along his meridians.

Fuck , Wei Wuxian thinks. This is far beyond a spot of resentment rooted in the mark on his skin. 

Wei Wuxian carefully watches as the curse expands, sending claws into Lan Zhan’s meridians the longer Wei Wuxian is out of sight. There is no way it isn’t painful, and yet beyond his initial reaction, Lan Zhan has shown no reaction at all, posture perfect. If Wei Wuxian pays very close attention, the only indication he can see is that Lan Zhan’s breathing has gone just the slightest bit shallow.

All of which means Wei Wuxian is going to have to pay much closer attention and not let Lan Zhan brush him off so easily. So unwilling to show any emotion at all! Stubborn, silly Lan Zhan. If he isn’t going to take care of himself, Wei Wuxian will have to do it for him.

The xiao shifts in tone and tempo, exploring and questioning, trying to get the curse to give something of its nature away to the observing cultivators. Then Lan Xichen tries to pull the curse away with the music.

Lan Zhan leans forward and gasps in pain, one hand pressed to his core.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen says in alarm, lowering his xiao, the diagnostic energy disappearing.

Wei Wuxian strides quickly across the room, stepping up into the array and touching Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Hey,” he says, moving his face into sight.

Lan Zhan turns to look at him immediately, his hands twitching as if to reach for him, but not allowing himself the weakness. There’s a slight sheen of sweat along his hairline. This small imperfection on his otherwise blank face makes something in Wei Wuxian’s heart squeeze.

Fuck propriety. Wei Wuxian takes both of his hands, Lan Zhan’s blooming warmth cradled in his own cooler palms.

“Just breathe,” Wei Wuxian says quietly, stubbornly holding on.

Touching Lan Zhan this way is surprisingly nice. Wei Wuxian’s always been tactile, or at least he had been. Before. And now, Lan Zhan isn’t pulling away, his own fingers curled tight and clingy.

It’s just holding hands. Hardly anything to get worked up over. He still can’t quite meet Lan Zhan’s gaze. Still doesn’t want to let go of his hands.

He must be more touch-starved than he realized.

Wei Wuxian rubs his thumbs across the back of Lan Zhan’s hands. “Good?” he forces himself to ask when he doesn’t think he can justify holding on any longer.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lan Zhan nod. His hands tighten once, almost like it’s an impulse outside his control, and then Lan Zhan is letting go.

Wei Wuxian steps back, letting Lan Xichen help Lan Zhan get down, bringing him back over to the doctor to let her assess him. Content that no one looks overly concerned and Lan Zhan is as steady as ever if not slightly more blank-faced than usual, Wei Wuxian settles down behind a desk in Lan Zhan’s direct line of sight. He pulls an ink stone towards him, needing to get this rattle of thoughts out of his head.

They haven’t learned much from this little diagnostic beyond the full reach of the curse. Far more extensive than he would have expected. But the diagnostic can’t tell them much more than that.

Curses aren’t ghosts after all. They don’t have a soul. There’s nothing to answer questions or to explain its purpose. A curse is merely a powerful desire given spiritual form. Sure, they have wants and even personalities to some extent, but a curse isn’t self-aware. It’s more a dark, animal thing. It wants nothing more than to fulfill its purpose, its desire, whatever that might be. It just so happens that whatever the curse wants often has really bad outcomes for the human host taken along for the ride. This curse doesn’t seem like fulfilling one specific desire will make it go away.

It’s not so much punishing Lan Zhan when it gets worse; it is instead growing stronger, getting whatever it needs. But that only makes it more powerful, killing Lan Zhan by inches. Which makes Wei Wuxian wonder if it is so much that he is the trigger–there is no evidence here of anything actually linking them–but rather that Wei Wuxian being near means Lan Zhan is not giving it whatever it wants, making the curse grow weaker. 

So the real question is, how to fulfill the curse’s driving desire without letting it kill Lan Zhan. Or how to destroy it before it can get what it wants.

Ink ready, Wei Wuxian writes down everything they have learned so far, just to get it out of his head and in some semblance of order.

“Have you come up with something?” a voice asks.

Wei Wuxian forces himself not to react by covering up what he’s doing. He’s used to jotting down half-baked ideas as quickly and unobtrusively as possible. Madam Yu had had no patience for his ‘nonsense,’ as she put it, preferring him to make himself useful on the training field with the shidi and shimei. His use was always as a sword.

Or as a shield.

His mind, on the other hand, was only ever something that got him in trouble.

He looks up to find Lan Xichen frowning down at his probably illegible calligraphy. Lan Zhan, he sees, when he quickly scans the room, is still sitting near the doctor, his eyes trained on Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian gives Lan Zhan a slight smile, Lan Zhan looking down at his hands in reaction.  

Wei Wuxian turns back to Lan Xichen. “Just trying to get this all down to make sense of it. What we know about the curse.” He taps the back of his brush against the table. “There’s something just not quite right about it and the way it behaves. Not to mention how it could actually attach to someone as strong as Lan Zhan.”

Lan Xichen nods thoughtfully. “Curses can take root in moments of distraction.”

It does seem like something that might have started out as too small to even be noticed, and by the time it was big enough to cause any symptoms, it had already thoroughly infested Lan Zhan. But he also doesn’t remember Lan Zhan being particularly unfocused. He’d been as upright and disapproving as ever.

“Hanguang-Jun does not get distracted,” he muses.

Lan Xichen makes one of those vague humming sounds that is so annoying when it’s anyone other than Lan Zhan doing it. 

“This isn’t going to be easy to unravel,” Wei Wuxian says. It doesn’t bode well for getting out of here before the elders get ideas about Wei Wuxian. But it is also very interesting. So long as it isn’t killing Lan Zhan.

Lan Xichen looks grim, but determined. “We will put all our resources at your disposal.”

“Good,” he says. “Because I already read everything in the Jingshi. Where’s the rest?”

Lan Xichen looks surprised, but makes no comment. “Once Wangji has recovered, I will show you.”

The library, when they finally get there later in the morning, still smells of fresh wood and seems barely completed. This is apparently where most of the elders are spending their days, sitting at writing desks—compiling knowledge from memory, Wei Wuxian realizes.

Other disciples seem to be circling in and out, apparently being sent on missions to reacquire lost texts out in the world, traveling to distant towns and trading posts and monasteries. Purchasing where they can and copying where they cannot.

It will be the work of generations to rebuild. Just the kind of disruption Wen Ruohan no doubt hoped for.

Asshole. 

Though at least no poor visiting disciples will have to suffer through the lectures for a while. The thought doesn’t sit as comfortingly as he would have thought. Who knew how nostalgic he would end up feeling about those days of endless punishment.

The design of the building is nearly the same, but the desk Lan Zhan sat at all those long hours of supervising his punishment is no longer here.

Wei Wuxian tries not to feel a particular way about that, mostly because the amulet hardly needs more anger or sadness to cling to.

Instead, texts. Finding answers. Two young juniors are assigned to them, moving through the stacks and retrieving anything that might be relevant. Wei Wuxian would honestly rather do the poking around himself, but it’s a place to start, so why not.

He sits and starts reading, Lan Zhan settled right across the table. Anytime he reads a scroll or bound text that might possibly be useful, he puts it on a pile closer to Lan Zhan. The others he hands back to a junior to be reshelved.

One of them is so young, and clearly very uncertain of Wei Wuxian, eyes wide and hands a bit clumsy as texts pass between them. Wei Wuxian takes a moment to smile at the kid, thinking of his own shidi. The kid flushes and does a strange half-bow in response before scurrying away.

“Focus,” Lan Zhan says from across the table.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, absently reaching across the table to pat Lan Zhan’s hand. His hand curls up into a fist in response, and Wei Wuxian laughs to himself before picking up another text.

Silly, silly Lan Zhan.

Most of what Wei Wuxian knows about curses are from stories told in the disciple dorms and the occasional mention of them in required historical readings. Unfortunately, he’s barely gotten started on getting a firm foundation on the topic when Lan Zhan gets to his feet. 

“Lunch,” Lan Zhan says, standing over the table.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t bother looking up at Lan Zhan. He’s just getting to the good part! Besides which, lunch means more Lan food, and even back home lunch had always been one of his more optional meals.

“Come,” Lan Zhan says.

“Lan Zhan,” he complains. “I’m trying to cure your curse. Why are you being so unreasonable?”

Unsurprisingly, Lan Zhan doesn’t relent. He’s so stubborn. Doesn’t he see how ridiculous these rigid mealtimes are?

Unless Lan Zhan is hungry. He has had a rough morning, after all. And, fuck, that’s really the only argument Wei Wuxian can’t resist. Lan Zhan is stuck with him. If he doesn’t go eat lunch, then Lan Zhan doesn’t get lunch. This is the worst.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, even as he knows he’s going to lose this fight. “You are the strongest cultivator of our generation. You used inedia in the cave for days, you cannot tell me you have a grumbly tummy from missing one tiny meal.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer, merely staring a long moment at Wei Wuxian before turning his back and walking towards the door.

When it is clear Lan Zhan isn’t going to stop, Wei Wuxian scrambles to his feet to follow. “Lan Zhan!”  

Lan Zhan doesn’t so much as pause, opening the door and stepping outside. The absolute gall of him!

“How did you know I would follow?” Wei Wuxian scolds, scurrying after him.

Lan Zhan keeps walking, eyes straight ahead as if his destination is the only thought in his stupid pretty head.

Wei Wuxian lets out a sound of frustration far too much like an angry cat. “I could have stayed behind and you would have gotten sick, and your elders would beat me and lock me up somewhere!”

“Wei Ying would not,” Lan Zhan deigns to say, almost looking smug, if he were capable of such a thing.

“I might,” Wei Wuxian grumbles.

Lan Zhan ignores him, leading him to a long tent apparently currently serving as the temporary dining room. It’s fairly crowded with silent disciples similarly taking a pause from their duties to eat their boring food.

Not a surprise, really, that their rebuilding efforts seem to have been concentrated around the library, the medical pavilion, and some housing first with everything else deemed secondary. Especially everything related to comfort.

Just another sign that the Jingshi must have survived. He doubts Lan Zhan would ever allow his space to be rebuilt first. Though his sect might have particular feelings about their precious Twin Jades’ comfort.

Wei Wuxian takes his bowls and sits next to Lan Zhan, letting their knees brush. When Lan Zhan doesn’t immediately move away, Wei Wuxian knows he must still be feeling pretty crummy after this morning’s experiments. Not that he’d say anything.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head fondly. Lan Zhan is completely ridiculous.

The only benefit of being surrounded by people—more than one of whom gives Wei Wuxian far-from-subtle glances ranging from curiosity to animosity to straight-up fear—means that Lan Zhan can’t do much more than give Wei Wuxian little glares as he pushes food around his bowl rather than eating it.

He eats what he can stomach and leaves the rest. Lan Zhan can just deal with it.

Later, back in the library when Lan Zhan looks like he might try to say something about it, Wei Wuxian just hushes him and says, “Lan Zhan, no speaking in the library!”

This clearly irritates Lan Zhan, but that’s just another victory for Wei Wuxian. Annoyed is a lot better than angry.

For now, the books.

And wow, are there still a lot, despite everything. It’s like the Lan sect disciples don't give birth to babies but scrolls and texts instead.

The library back at Lotus Pier is very different. That library is for quick reference for night hunts, and that’s about it. The Lan library has much more varied materials and an extensive collection of foreign texts, too. Like they never saw a word they didn’t feel the impulse to archive. It’s actually pretty impressive.

Under any other circumstance, he might be excited to have access to it. What he wouldn’t have done to have some of their texts on musical cultivation to reference back in the Burial Mounds instead of having to rely on trial and error. Especially when error led to such immediate and inescapable backlash.

He finds a fascinating text on arrays during his scouring of the library, which is off-topic but far more in his usual area of interest than all this curse stuff. It’s amazing how many pranks can be improved with a well-placed array. Or how much mischief can be covered up with one.

He’s not sure arrays would be useful in this case, but they’re something to consider if they exhaust all other options. So far, there hasn’t been a perfect text that helpfully describes this exact situation and how to fix it, so identifying a specific curse seems more and more unlikely. He sets the text on arrays aside for later consideration, fending the kid off when he tries to reshelve it.

Far too soon, he gets dragged out again for dinner. He’s not happy about it, even if his body is starting to really protest sitting in one spot for so long. It’s only been five hours since the last time they ate! How do Lan disciples ever get anything done? This time Lan Zhan doesn’t even ask. Just packs up, looks at Wei Wuxian and then walks out, apparently very sure that Wei Wuxian will follow. Which he does, of course, because he is not a monster. Unlike some other sticks-in-the-mud he knows.

Asshole.

Even worse, they don’t head towards the hall or Lan Zhan’s place. Dinner, it turns out, will be with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen. A family dinner.

“I can sit out on the porch,” he offers when he realizes, half-joking but also half-serious, only for Lan Zhan to ignore him entirely.

Wei Wuxian follows him inside with a sigh. Lan Qiren is already there, looking pinched about the eyes, as if he too is only now realizing that eating with his younger nephew will mean all new kinds of sacrifice.

Frankly, Wei Wuxian is pretty pleased that he’s not the only one whose life is being turned upside down by all this. Though to be honest, as much as he likes seeing Lan Zhan a bit flustered, he doesn’t take quite as much joy in his life being ruined.

Lan Xichen at least attempts to give Wei Wuxian a polite, if not particularly warm, greeting, gesturing at a seat across from himself. Lan Zhan folds himself down next to Wei Wuxian and across from Lan Qiren.

They make nonsensical small talk while they wait for the food to arrive, primarily consisting of Lan Qiren pontificating on various things no doubt aimed specifically at making Wei Wuxian rethink his path and every choice he’s ever made. But the joke’s on him, because Wei Wuxian isn’t even listening.

He’s very skilled at sitting through meals without taking a word in.

He waits until food is on the table and everyone has taken their first bite before shifting his seat, lifting one knee to ease the pain in his hip. It has the added bonus of making Lan Qiren rage. He can’t say anything about ‘keep a proper seat’ though, not when it would take breaking the no-talking-while-eating rule. A victory all around.

Lan Zhan gives Wei Wuxian a particularly loud look, clearly very aware of just what Wei Wuxian is doing. Wei Wuxian smiles at him and then shoves more rice in his mouth.

The rest of the meal is primarily made up of Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen having some sort of silent conversation that must be based on mind-reading as neither actually makes much of an expression. If Wei Wuxian were forced into silent meals his entire life, he’d probably have developed a skill like that out of sheer desperation himself.

As it is, he sits through the excruciating meal, eating little, and trying and failing to keep his shifting to a minimum as his hip lets its displeasure at all the endless sitting be known. Here there is far less to distract him than there had been in the library.

Lan Qiren seems to take his unfinished bowls as a sign of insolent ungratefulness. Wei Wuxian couldn’t care less what he thinks.

There is talk with actual words after the bowls are cleared away, but Wei Wuxian is certain there is far less discussion than usual. As if Lan Qiren hasn’t the stomach to speak in Wei Wuxian’s hearing.

That is perfectly fine with Wei Wuxian.

Finally back in the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian sits down at the table as Lan Zhan moves through his evening routines, pulling out the text on arrays he’d slipped into his robes in the library. But rather than starting to read that, he takes out some paper to jot down what he’d learned today, lest it all slip away.

The Mingshi had been interesting, there is no denying. It confirmed an important detail—Lan Zhan’s curse is definitely in some way connected to Wei Wuxian. And that it is, unfortunately, far more advanced than anyone would have expected.

Beyond that, it wasn’t particularly helpful. Nor had the texts miraculously provided an answer or a simple cure. But Wei Wuxian is certainly learning a few things from what he’s read. He’s never been an expert at curses, which only makes it more obvious that Lan Xichen couldn’t have been seeking out Wei Wuxian’s help when he first came to claim him back from Jiang Cheng. He was an idiot for not seeing that. He’d just been worried about Lan Zhan.

Well, whatever. Wei Wuxian might be here just as collateral in order to keep Lan Zhan alive, but he still isn’t going to leave either of their fates up to the stuffy, unimaginative Lan elders. No way.

He will just have to become an expert at curses.

Unfortunately, he already knows enough to see that the simplest answer is closed to them. The ghost is already liberated. Which leaves a few options, according to the books he’s read today.

Most curses are a matter of a resentful spirit longing for something in particular. Something as brutal as the death of the one who wronged them, but also possibly something as simple as wanting to experience something one last time. The trick is that the spirit needs to be lucid enough to know what that desire is that ties them to the world. But resentment is corrosive. It burns away the details, the humanity of the spirit, leaving only the impulses behind.

It’s why so many spirits end up suppressed instead. Which only breeds more and more resentment. Resentment isn’t stagnant, after all, not even when it’s suppressed. The only other option is elimination. Or using that rage and resentment to power other needs and desires and dreams.

There’s just something Wei Wuxian is still missing here, he’s certain of it. And if the fancy Mingshi can’t give him those answers, he’ll just have to find them himself.

Lan Zhan crosses back into the main area, his hair down now, falling about his shoulders. There’s something unbearably soft about him at this hour, though whether that is from exhaustion or just the relaxing of his perfect exterior, Wei Wuxian has no idea.

“Would you let me try something?” Wei Wuxian asks, watching him as he crosses the room.

He fully expects to be told no, but Lan Zhan just blinks, something slow and sleepy in the gesture. Wei Wuxian should really wait until tomorrow, until Lan Zhan is better rested and can say no as he likely would, if he were any less exhausted.

As it is, Lan Zhan merely stands and looks at Wei Wuxian. As good a ‘yes’ as he’ll get, no doubt.

Wei Wuxian gets to his feet, moving slowly, giving Lan Zhan plenty of time to move away. “I just need to check one thing.” He moves closer to Lan Zhan, stepping just behind him. It might be easier face to face, but this feels safer somehow.

Lan Zhan’s head turns to follow him, even as he doesn’t move away.

Wei Wuxian lifts his hands, palms held out flat, parallel to the line of Lan Zhan’s back. “Can I?”

After another long silence, Lan Zhan dips his head in agreement.

Ever so gently, Wei Wuxian reaches his hands out and presses them against Lan Zhan’s back just below his shoulder blades.

Lan Zhan sucks in a sharp breath in reaction, but doesn’t pull back or run Wei Wuxian through with his sword, so he takes it as a win.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” Wei Wuxian says.

“I believe you,” Lan Zhan says, voice so soft and low in the dim space as to nearly be lost in it.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t let himself think about why that simple trust is so much more devastating than the expected rejection.

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, and lets his senses stretch out towards the curse. He whistles a soft, slow note, just something of a hello, trying to see how the curse reacts. It’s resentment, after all. Something Wei Wuxian knows as an intimate friend.

The curse doesn’t react, cautiously curious as Wei Wuxian slowly stretches closer.

Curses have no consciousness, after all. They aren’t spirits. They instead only have a simple drive. Wei Wuxian just wants to confirm what that drive is.

He presses closer, whistling a slightly more complex series of notes. The notes have never mattered, something it took him far too long to realize. The notes certainly have power and influence, but ultimately what Wei Wuxian found through trial and error is that when it comes to musical cultivation, or the bastardized version he practices, intention is so much more important. He likes to think how scandalized the Lan elders would be to hear him say so.

Too bad Lan Zhan would never be able to get past that enough to allow himself to be curious. Wei Wuxian is certain they could have some pretty fun conversations about it. Well, maybe it’s safer this way. Letting Lan Zhan ask one question would only lead to more, most of which he has no intention of ever answering.

Wei Wuxian takes another careful breath, and then opens himself to the curse, offering to hear its wants, its desires. The way Inquiry might invite a resentful spirit to share its grievances. 

This curse is far simpler. This curse has no complex story to be told, no life lived and lost. With this curse there is a single, swamping emotion. It reaches for him, crying out to him, an emotion so overwhelming, Wei Wuxian nearly gets pulled into it, nearly allows it to become his loneliness.

Wei Wuxian.

But Wei Wuxian is far too adept at wielding this power to let it consume him that way, to allow it to invite him in. He is in control here, not the resentment. 

Slowly, he pulls back, untangling himself from the curse one tiny, greedy tendril at a time. When he’s finally able to open his eyes, he notices that Lan Zhan’s breathing is just a little too quick.

“You okay?” Wei Wuxian asks, sliding his hands to curve around his shoulders.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, neatly stepping forward and away.

Wei Wuxian lets him go without complaint. It was really rather decent of him to put up with it for as long as he did.

“I think you’re right,” Wei Wuxian says.  

Lan Zhan, having taken enough steps to be well out of Wei Wuxian’s reach, turns back to look at him. His head tilts just enough to connote a question. As if saying ‘explain’ would be too frivolous for him. Lan Zhan really is ridiculous.

“That ghost was just really lonely,” Wei Wuxian explains, the emotion still shivering over his skin. He gives Lan Zhan a sly smile in the hopes of dislodging it. “She must not have wanted you to be lonely ever again! Too bad for you that I was so nearby.”

Lan Zhan only hums in response. “Is that helpful?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Who knows. But at least that’s one less piece of guesswork.”

Lan Zhan nods. “We should sleep.” He gives Wei Wuxian a probing look as if to impress the words upon him.

“Right, right,” Wei Wuxian says, thinking about the next text he’s going to read. If it’s going to make Lan Zhan less fussy, he’s glad to pretend to go to bed too.

And so Wei Wuxian’s first full day in the Cloud Recesses ends.

Thrilling.

Wei Wuxian must have been more tired than he expected. It’s the only thing to explain why pretending to go to sleep for Lan Zhan’s benefit turned into actually falling asleep. Not that it mattered. Only an hour or two later, Wei Wuxian’s startling awake, a scream lodged in his throat.

He’s pretty good at waking up without noise by now. Though waking up in unfamiliar settings doesn’t exactly help reality reassert itself. No matter. He’s spent the last year waking up in strange places, even if Lan Zhan’s house is stranger than most. He can deal.

Catching his breath, he rolls his head to the side, staring aimlessly until his brain registers that he can see Lan Zhan asleep in his bed. When they’d gone to sleep, Lan Zhan had put a privacy screen in place, hiding his bed from view. But now it’s not there, and Wei Wuxian can see across the building. Lan Zhan must have moved it.

Probably the curse, he thinks, equally fond and frustrated. Lan Zhan had struggled, too, with having a tent wall between them, hadn’t he? So maybe being in the same room isn’t quite enough on its own. He also needs line of sight, or something.

What was the point of even trying to keep the screen up in the first place? He shakes his head. Silly Lan Zhan. Like actually needing something from someone else once in a while is a crime.  

Fortunately, it looks like Wei Wuxian hasn’t woken him up with any screaming or anything.

It helps with the nightmares that he rarely sleeps long stretches. He doesn’t need much sleep to function, after all. His best hours for rest have always been between dawn and mid-morning. Better to look lazy and indulgent than like an insomniac baby who can’t handle a couple nightmares. (It’s not a couple. It’s near constant. But that’s neither here nor there, really.) Lying around in one place that long isn’t just bad for his thoughts, but also his body. The aches and pains threaten to settle in.

It’s just always been better to keep on the move. War made that easier.

War made a lot of things easier. And how fucked up is that? That there is a part of him that is actually a little annoyed he’s still here? It’s not like he wanted to die or anything. He just hadn’t thought of anything other than holding it together to get revenge, to keep his family safe. To stop the suffering.

He honestly just hadn’t expected to survive it. There’d been a moment there, with Wen Ruohan’s hand wrapped around his neck, that he’d felt it coming. He’d almost been…relieved. He’d gotten away with it. Helped win the war, neutralized Wen Ruohan’s power, kept his siblings safe. And now he would die, and no one would ever have to know. Never find out what Wei Wuxian had done. And maybe they’d even remember him fondly, from time to time. That would be enough.

But anyway, he did survive, so there’s no real point in dwelling on his hypothetical death wish. There are clear goals right in front of him now, at least, and who knew he’d be relieved for a curse—or for extended-study in the Cloud Recesses.

Everything is so totally upside down.

He gets up, watching Lan Zhan all the while, but he doesn’t so much as twitch, or move out of his perfect back-sleeping posture. Ever obedient, even in sleep.

Lighting a single candle, Wei Wuxian moves back to the table stacked with his books and notes.

He hadn’t really appreciated the Lan library last time. He’d been young and stupid and so blissfully naive about so many things. He thinks about that boy hanging out in the library with Lan Zhan, nothing more pressing than the impossible challenge of finding another way to get Lan Zhan to actually look at him.

Hadn’t even let himself think about why he wanted Lan Zhan to look at him.

Not that it matters. Not anymore.

So. His plan is simple. Keep the amulet under control. Find a cure for Lan Zhan. Try not to get exorcized. Get the hell out of the Cloud Recesses as fast as he can. Go back to Lotus Pier. Figure everything else out later.

Simple. Easy.

At least at the Cloud Recesses, no one actually expects him to be anything other than a waste of space. It’s a relief. It’s not like he’s ever cared what they think of him, anyway.

Except maybe Lan Zhan. But he’s pretty sure any chance he had of Lan Zhan actually thinking kindly of him is well and truly gone. If the curse weren’t tying him here, he’d probably rather be literally anywhere else. Sure, Lan Zhan spent the last year chasing him around, but that was only to yell at him and lecture him and try to find a way to get him beaten with bastinados again. Or something worse, no doubt. If that’s what one got for drinking some wine, he can only imagine what they’d like to do to a ‘demonic’ cultivator.

Against his side, the seal rumbles.

He mentally smacks it back down. All Wei Wuxian needs to do is keep moving. There’s never been any point in looking back. 

He picks up a book and starts to read. 

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji wakes with a heavy breath, the vivid and troubling images of his dream following him into wakefulness. He focuses his eyes on the reality of the room around him, cataloging the mundane details, the variety of textures. His breathing slows, his body relaxing as the haunting images gradually become distant enough to be safe. Harmless. 

The nightmares came with his return to the Cloud Recesses. Not that he had never been plagued with them before, but during the war there was little time for good sleep and plenty of new horrors to have imprinted on his sleeping mind which meant little time to linger over old hurts. Back home and war over, there appears to be plenty of time to consider it all.

The slaughter of the Chang clan. The burned-out flower garden. The horrible weight of the yin iron held close to his chest. The burning of the Cloud Recesses. The indoctrination. So much that happened and so close together, leaving little time to process, to examine and make inert. Instead he is left not knowing which might prey upon him.

There is one set of memories, however, that always lingers right under everything else—three months of frantic searching. Wei Ying hanging, helpless, from Wen Ruohan’s grip. Blood on his lips and rage in his eyes. His body falling, falling, falling.

Lan Wangji turns his head abruptly, sharp fingers of fear clawing up his throat.

There Wei Ying is, slumped over the table, his cheek pressed to the papers lying there. Back rising and falling with his steady, unlabored breath. Sleeping. Simply sleeping. Within reach.

With time, Lan Wangji’s heart rate finally calms, leaving him with mild irritation as his dominant emotion–far safer. Clearly Wei Ying had not gone to sleep when Lan Wangji did, despite the show he made of it. Though perhaps he had simply awakened later in the night.

He was still in bed when Lan Wangji had risen in the middle of the night to shift his privacy screen aside. Each night Lan Wangji pledges not to succumb to the weakness, but thus far he has not been able to resist. The curse is easier when Wei Ying is in sight. It is a simple fact he tries not to feel any particular way about.

Just like he tries not to linger on thoughts of how strange it is to have Wei Ying in the Cloud Recesses again.

The first time Wei Ying came, Lan Wangji was convinced there could never be anything more destructive to the Cloud Recesses than Wei Ying. He had thought, once Wei Ying returned home, that things might once again return to their calm certainty, the steady comfort of routine and unquestioned rules. How naive he had been, as if he somehow believed that a stream, once disturbed and diverted, could ever follow its familiar paths again. 

Yet it was not the Cloud Recesses that had changed, but rather Lan Wangji himself. He had been fundamentally altered as if his foundation had been riven with deep cracks. He was left disturbed.

How foolish he was back then. On many levels. As if Wei Ying’s chaotic exuberance and provoking questions could ever be as destructive as the fire and death brought by the Wen.

The images from his dreams threaten to rise up again. Without thought or volition, Lan Wangji’s gaze returns to Wei Ying. He is once again here in the Cloud Recesses, the very outcome Lan Wangji has been asking for, pleading for, with his awkward, stilted words for months.

A mockery, it feels, of that long-damaged part of Lan Wangji that seems to think the return of Wei Ying might at last be the thing to fix the lingering unsettled feelings in him.

Now he has Wei Ying here at last, in the most shameful way possible. He asks himself what he had hoped would come from this, really, every time he asked Wei Ying to return with him. A greater sense of control, perhaps, back here in his childhood spaces; a place with clear rules and routines and answers. A place of healing. Or equally, perhaps the return of that whirlwind of bright mischief in response to it.

Another naivete to be stripped away. Wei Ying is nothing like he was before.

He is behaving well enough in comparison to before. For the most part, he remains focused on their studies in a way he never had as a student. It should be something to celebrate, something the younger Lan Wangji would have done anything to see. Something his younger self might have assumed was all he wanted of Wei Ying: for him to simply treat the learning offered here with respect.

Instead, it is irritating. 

Wei Ying’s ability to endlessly find new ways to be aggravating is astounding. For what other reason could Lan Wangji feel that his being quiet and diligent is just as irritating as the sprawling and whining? Lan Wangji tells himself it is only because this is evidence that Wei Ying was capable of it all along but refused to do it. Yet he suspects it has more to do with disappointment. The feeling that Wei Ying is not behaving so much as making himself small.

Lan Wangji can see all the ways Wei Ying works hard to not bring attention to himself, to avoid the disapproving glares of the elders, when Wei Ying’s brightness deserves to have attention focused on it at all times.

Being here is diminishing him. Lan Wangji is diminishing him.

Because if Wei Ying has simply finally accepted the wisdom of the Lan and their rules and practices, would he look so haggard? Would he still be spurning the sword path that they once walked together? Lan Wangji has seen the way he barely eats. Pushes his food around as if to hide it. Worse, the way he does not even complain about it the way he had in their youth. He simply doesn’t eat.

Nor, Lan Wangji suspects, does he sleep. He goes to bed without complaint when Lan Wangji does, but there are also more notes the next morning than there had been before, texts left to be read suddenly swapped out for new ones. Work is clearly being done, and as they spend every moment together, it can only be that it is happening in the middle of the night as Lan Wangji sleeps.

That bit of misbehavior is not something Lan Wangji can find relief in. It seems to speak to a sort of desperation. That Wei Ying will put aside rest, even eating, just to get away from Lan Wangji faster.

There was a time when Lan Wangji would have done anything to see Wei Ying sit properly. To see him keep quiet during meals and focus on his studies and not make noise and stop calling his name and mocking him.

Now he only does it to escape a trap. Like a fox considering gnawing their own foot off if it would mean freedom.

A tight pain travels from wrist to shoulder, and Lan Wangji closes his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate. He must not let his thoughts be so unruly. He must give them no more power than he would allow the nightmares.

Rising from his bed, Lan Wangji dresses quietly and moves to sit behind his table, settling into meditation. An hour or two, he thinks, should help wrangle his thoughts, once again subsume his emotions into manageable shapes.

After two hours, he rises to his feet. He will wake Wei Ying and begin another day of research.

They will find the answer they need.

They are not making much progress.

Wei Ying spends all day in the library, his focus complete if not still somehow loud. His hair remains a mess, his posture horrendous, occasionally chewing on the end of his brush, his fingers stained with ink. But he is, for the most part, quiet. Focused. Reading text after text.

Lan Wangji is the one struggling to focus. His attention is constantly on Wei Ying, caught on each movement, each roll of his shoulders and shift of his weight from one hip to the other.

Lan Wangji forces his attention back to the text in front of him. It is unclear if it will be of any help at all.

It would be easier, perhaps, if more than half their texts hadn’t been burned, or if everything weren’t still in disarray. They end up spending a lot of time sorting through the jumble, inadvertently doing more help to sort the library than any real research. 

Around them, various elders are busy copying texts, many from memory. The Wen had deliberately targeted their elders in the fight. Those who survived are here imparting their knowledge while young ones dart in and out, running errands as they are able. The beating, thrumming heart of their clan persisting. An open wound and a source of hope all at once.

The population of the Cloud Recesses is mostly younger than twelve and older than seventy. Of the few survivors of Lan Wangji’s generation, many are injured. Some may never again be able to take up the sword. Killing the living, watching the living and undead kill your brothers and sisters…that is difficult for many of them to face now, in the quiet after.

Lan Wangji knows he is not the only one to suffer from nightmares.

It is easier to focus on Wei Ying. Even if it feels more like a compulsion than a choice, and not one he can reasonably ascribe to the curse alone. And yet, observing Wei Ying this last week has only reinforced how much there is still to be done. 

Beyond even his unorthodox methods and weapons, Wei Ying is a mess.

Lan Wangji’s eye catches on Wei Ying’s wrist, exposed as he reaches forward to pull his notes closer. Skin untouched by a curse yet so thin, little more than skin stretched over bone. Lan Wangji feels that if he were to wrap his hand around his wrist and squeeze, it might snap like the brittlest branch.  

Has he been like this the entire war? Since he first reappeared from whatever place had swallowed him whole for three months? For all they fought the endless war side by side, Wei Ying never kept Lan Wangji’s company beyond the occasional confrontation or battle meeting. He has never been this close since the Xuanwu cave. He tries to recall the exact turn of his wrist back then, but finds he cannot.

Wei Ying’s foot nudges against Lan Wangji’s shin. “Lan Zhan! So undisciplined! Aren’t you going to do any work?”

At least now Wei Ying speaks to him, unlike during the war. Though Lan Wangji is not convinced Wei Ying might not still speak even if he were alone. Likely it is not Lan Wangji himself that is drawing out this speech. Either way, it has been so long since he last heard Wei Ying speak in anything other than evasions and anger, that he can’t help but soak up the experience.

As usual, Wei Ying expects little from Lan Wangji in response. Truthfully, many of the wondrous flights of fancy Wei Ying’s mind takes do not make complete sense to Lan Wangji, but he is still able to ask questions from time to time, to point out a flaw in logic or a missing element.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says in response, “so smart! So logical!”

He feels his ears heat, and tries to remind himself of the general frivolousness of Wei Ying’s words. How often he speaks mindlessly without any real intent.

Having Wei Ying this close is a blessing and an agony. At minimum, Lan Zhan can be certain that he is safe, stuck as they are with each other every moment of the day. That he will not again disappear and slip out of reach. 

It is an unrighteous thought, sprung from the darkest part of himself that wants to keep Wei Ying close always.

Across the table, Wei Ying sighs, resting his chin in his hand as he turns another page.

Around them, the rebuilding continues.

One day about a week after their arrival to the Cloud Recesses, Wei Ying doesn’t get out of bed. Refuses to, in fact.

Lan Wangji looks down at the lump that is Wei Ying buried under his covers and is uncertain what to do. Pulling the blankets away or manhandling him to the table for breakfast both seem impolite.

“Wei Ying,” he says, repeating himself for lack of any other viable option for dealing with the situation. “It is time to wake.”

He only receives an incoherent grumble and no movement from Wei Ying in response.  

In truth, this bit of true misbehavior brings Lan Wangji a strange sort of relief. Yet it also leaves Lan Wangji with little idea of what to do.

Eventually, Wei Ying’s face appears, hair standing up in reaction to the quick retreat of the blanket. “Lan Zhan. I can’t. If I have to spend another day eating your bland food and getting glared at by your elders, I am going to lose my mind.”

Rather than angering Lan Wangji, hearing Wei Ying complain so clearly eases his worries. It is at least, he supposes, Wei Ying acting like himself. His old self. The one from before.

“We can continue our work in the Jingshi,” he offers. Texts can be sent for. It will only be a minor inconvenience.

Wei Ying does not seem appeased. “And how is that any better? You’ll still be glaring at me and the food will still be awful.”

“What do you suggest?” Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Ying perks up, clearly surprised to be asked. He sits up. “Let’s go to Caiyi!”

A ridiculous suggestion. There is far too much work to be done. It would be incredibly unwise, a waste of time and resources.

And yet, there Wei Ying sits, hair a mess, robes rumpled, and somehow bright. Hopeful.

Lan Wangji feels his resolve slip.

Wei Ying jumps up. “That isn’t a no!” he says, gesturing at Lan Wangji’s face. “Come on, Lan Zhan. What’s one day off? Maybe something brilliant will occur to me on the walk. Exercise is good for the mind and body!”

Lan Wangji somehow manages not to roll his eyes. As if Wei Ying cares for anything more than amusing himself.

Wei Ying gives a triumphant sound and reaches for his clothing, as if he knows he can head down the mountain and Lan Wangji will have no choice but to follow. And not entirely just because of the curse.

Lan Wangji does not bring up the subject of flying on their swords, so they fall into step next to each other to walk down the mountain. The further they get, the more alive Wei Ying seems to become, darting forward and falling behind in turn, like a kite surging in the wind. He always ends up back at Lan Wangji’s side before long, discussing whatever has caught his attention.

Lan Wangji remembers, for a moment, another walk by Wei Ying’s side. Heading down this path towards Biling Lake to investigate water ghouls. Wei Ying’s quicksilver mind, body just as restless, just as close. The way every movement felt like a threat.

How ill-equipped he’d been, to withstand Wei Ying’s brightness. He is little better now, but able to hide it at least. He is able to maintain his composure and not lash out in childish ways. Able to put the proper word to the alarming thud of his heart.

So even if he is not able to entirely mitigate the hurt of Wei Ying being so obviously relieved to be away from the Cloud Recesses, he is able to at least put it aside.

Wei Ying had not chosen to come to the Cloud Recesses. This short break to go down to Caiyi might be ill-advised, but it is at least Wei Ying’s choice.

In time, houses start to build up around them, growing closer and closer together until the streets and canals of the town come into view.

It is still not as it was, nearly four years since the Waterbourne Abyss appeared and disrupted trade. The Lan Sect has done what they can to keep it properly suppressed, but unable to do any more than that, with the burning of the Cloud Recesses and the subsequent war stretching their resources thin.

It is an unpleasant ache, to see the way the monster’s presence has settled over the town. There have been few deaths and there is little risk in truth, but that has not kept the fisherman from hesitating to go out on the lake, or for the traders to choose easier routes to travel down. It is difficult, as always, to accurately calculate the impact of the war itself–crops not being planted, people being displaced, trade systems broken–and the impact of the beast. Perhaps both conspire together, instigating the slow death of a menaced town right here in the shadow of the Cloud Recesses.

It feels shameful that ones so close could suffer like this, though proximity to a great sect is little measure of deserving such a fate. No one should have to live thusly.

At the first open stall, Wei Ying walks up and immediately begins a conversation with the saleswoman. In no time at all, he has somehow talked himself into a small sample of fruit. So sets the pattern for the day, Wei Ying striding from place to place, looking over the wares and buying nothing, for all he comes away with something more often than not.

It is clear that Wei Ying’s brightness brings the townspeople temporary joy, and it is not a solution to any of the larger issues at hand, but it is something. Perhaps the break in monotony is enough. Perhaps it will be enough for Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji trails a few steps behind, not wishing to impinge on Wei Ying’s adventure, and slips coins into the hands of the stall owners as they pass.

By the time they have reached the central canal, Wei Ying has eaten more food than he normally would at any meal. There are still things he avoids, Lan Wangji can’t help but notice, but his appetite does seem improved.

How carefree he is with these strangers, people who do not know who–or what–he is, as if that anonymity is something to be treasured. Lan Wangji has visited this town his entire life and knows these people well and yet still struggles to engage in any talk not necessary to solve issues or complete a transaction. It is Wei Ying who is greeted as if an old friend.

It is possible, Lan Wangji supposes, that they still remember the visiting disciple from years past, that the memory of him is not indelible to Lan Wangji alone. It is nothing to feel protective of, this distant precious memory, nor covetous, and yet the sour feeling is still there.

Reaching the end of the row, Wei Ying turns back to Lan Wangji, holding something up towards him. It appears to be a small bite of a sweet rice cake.

“Tell me, Lan Zhan,” he says, waving the morsel around. Lan Wangji’s eyes are caught, watching it against his will. Wei Ying leans in closer, something conspiratorial in his eyes, warmth in his lips, and Lan Wangji finds himself helpless in the face of Wei Ying’s charm being turned on him, like Lan Wangji is part of this adventure after all, like a brief glimpse of who he was before. Even if never really with him.

“You secretly have a sweet tooth, don’t you?” Wei Ying says.

Lan Wangji has no time to consider his answer to this guess that is far too close to the truth because Wei Ying is pressing even closer, fingers lifted near Lan Wangji’s mouth, offering the treat. As if it is something for the taking.

Lan Wangji is frozen, stuck between pulling away in shock and the tantalizing lure of leaning closer. Of fitting his lips around the treat, the chance of brushing against the tips of Wei Ying’s sugared fingers, each sweeter than the last.

It feels like Lan Wangji has rocketed out of his body, as if he is looking down upon a village from high above on his sword, separate and detached from the lives of other people. But underneath, perhaps, wanting to be a part of it. Wondering what that must be like. To be wanted.

Could he? Could he, just this once, reach out and…have? No matter how foolish or dangerous?

Lan Wangji can imagine it now, leaning the slightest bit closer, jaw loosening as if to actually open in acceptance, but instead Wei Ying pulls back sharply, his smile dimming.

“Ha. Sorry, Lan Zhan. I didn’t mean…” He lets out another staccato laugh and turns his back, darting away towards a different cart, the treat disappearing with the turn as if it never existed.

Lan Wangji is left feeling cold and foolish, both for what he wanted and what he was unable to take.

There is a restaurant that Wei Ying remembers being fond of when he was last here, and Lan Wangji buys him lunch there, watching him cover everything in chili oil and eat with great gusto. Another reminder of Wei Ying’s acute misery in the Cloud Recesses, the way even the company of strangers is preferred to Lan Wangji’s.

After lunch, they follow the canal back towards the mountain. At the base of one of the curving bridges, a man on a barge is selling white bottles Lan Wangji has seen before in the moonlight.

Wei Ying smiles at the man the same way he has greeted everyone here, but he’s also reaching for his money pouch, giving a sly glance back over his shoulder towards Lan Wangji.

He should not allow it. Yet something keeps his mouth shut, his eyes off to the side as if it can absolve him of seeing it. No one could possibly believe it, Wei Ying least of all. But Lan Wangji does not wish to fight. Does not wish to lose what little of Wei Ying’s reflected joy he has had today.

And so he says nothing, walking up and over the bridge without stopping.

Wei Ying comes back to his side, nearly bouncing, his shoulder nudging into Lan Wangji’s.

He stays close, even as his chatter slowly quiets and dies completely by the time they reach the gates.

They return to the Jingshi.

Lan Wangji wakes to the phantom ache of a broken leg, of blood on his tongue and smoke in his lungs, head automatically turning to seek out Wei Ying.

He is here, he is here.

The bed is empty.

Tightness sweeps up Lan Wangji’s throat, pulse fluttering with panic, but then he notices the front door is open to the night air, the shadow of a figure on the steps thrown up against the screen.

Lan Wangji breathes carefully and feels the curse loosen its hold before it fully takes shape. He tries to relax back into sleep, not wishing to impose on Wei Ying, to interfere with what might be his only chance at solitude. Yet it prickles under his skin, threatening to become something more. He cannot pretend it is the curse that compels him up and off his bed, pulling an outer robe around his shoulders.

Wei Ying sits on the porch, three empty wine jars tumbled on their sides down the stairs by his feet. He does not appear to notice Lan Wangji’s presence, hand wrapped around the neck of a fourth jar as he stares up at the bamboo silhouetted against a dark sky. The stillest Lan Wangji has perhaps ever seen him.

He thinks of the time he came upon Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin, and Nie Huaisang drunk in the student dorms. The way they could not hide their smiles, snorting laughs hidden in sleeves, lying in a tangle on the bed as if it were not beneath their dignity to wrestle in such a manner. As if the very air were suffused with joy.

This is…not that.

Wei Ying appears to be not simply drunk, but…melancholy. Miserable to be here, perhaps.

Lan Wangji takes another step forward, his foot pressing gently against the wood to make it creak.

“Oh, fuck, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, twisting around to look at him and swaying alarmingly. “I didn’t think. Did the curse—?”

“It did not,” Lan Wangji says, mastering the impulse to reach out and steady Wei Ying. “I am well.”

Wei Ying peers up at him, eyes squinting. “Are you lying to me, Lan Zhan?”

“Lying is—”

“Forbidden. Yes, yes,” Wei Ying says.

“As is interrupting,” Lan Wangji says with some asperity. He is not at his best when his sleep is interrupted.

But rather than being affronted, Wei Ying merely laughs—something hollow and high before he takes another long drink.

Whatever relief the drink is supposed to bring does not seem to have arrived. There are dark smudges under Wei Ying’s eyes, his body held tightly as if in pain even as he finishes the fourth jar.

“Might I…” Lan Wangji hesitates. It is unlike him. A weakness. Choose a path and step down it steadily. “When you are ready, might I play for you?”

“Lan Zhan,” he says, a warning there.

Lan Wangji shakes his head, forestalling any misunderstanding. “Just something to help you sleep.”

Anger tightens Wei Ying’s jaw as he looks away, taking a deliberate, long swallow of liquor. Meant as a provocation, likely.

“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says, turning to go. “I will not bother you again.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Lan Zhan,” he says, catching his sleeve. “I don’t want music. Okay? But could you maybe just...”

Lan Wangji waits, heart thundering at the feel of Wei Ying’s fingers brushing against his wrist. The way the curse loosens, a tightness dropping away that he had not even been conscious of. Like this too is something it wants.

Wei Ying looks away, other hand tightening around the bottle. “Sit here with me for a bit?”

Lan Wangji is breathless at the request, some deep yearning yawning wide open in his chest at Wei Ying asking for his company. Desiring it.

He does not usually drink alone, Lan Wangji considers, thinking of Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang, of a tavern full of strangers listening to music together. Of a moonlit rooftop.

He thinks of Wei Ying holding out a treat towards him, Lan Wangji too stiff to accept.

Lan Wangji must again take too long to answer because Wei Ying abruptly lets go, leaving Lan Wangji feeling adrift.

“No, that’s stupid,” Wei Ying says with a cracked smile. “You’re tired and I’m drunk and I can’t imagine you’d want to—”

Lan Wangji finds a way to unstick his body, to step forward. “I will stay.”

This, at least, he can do. He can be here.

Wei Ying stares up at him, eyes wide and something softening his mouth, almost a tremble. “So accommodating, Ji-xiong,” he teases, an insincere smile wiping everything else away. Asking not to be looked past. 

Just like their evening on the roof in Qinghe so long ago, Lan Wangji aches to ask, to push. To ask Wei Ying about his cultivation. This path he is insisting on taking. The damage it is clearly causing him.

He forces himself to merely sit.

After a moment, Wei Ying lists into his side and stays there, as if Lan Wangji’s stiff posture is not off-putting, and, in the moment, it is so much. More than he could ever hope for.

Lan Wangji leans back into the touch, just the slightest pressure, and watches the night sky with Wei Ying.

Wei Ying’s temper is short and sharp the next day, full of hidden edges that catch unexpectedly. He eats even more poorly than usual, and squints at the texts in the library as if his head is hurting him. He looks sickly. He does not speak to Lan Wangji. Certainly does not sit near nor touch nor offer anything to Lan Wangji. 

As if he is unwanted again, as if any cun of progress between them has been erased entirely.

Lan Wangji’s mood turns sour as well. He cannot help but think of the bottles, the alcohol. Why had he allowed Wei Ying to bring them back? Why had he looked the other way, when it just harmed Wei Ying? He should have stopped him. He should have cared enough to be stern instead of endlessly indulging him. Caring more for Wei Ying liking Lan Wangji than for doing what is right.

He has been weak. He needs to refocus.

The next morning before Wei Ying wakes, Lan Wangji dresses quietly and retrieves three bamboo rods from under his bed. He walks out into the yard that is still dim with the predawn hour, leaving the door open behind him. He breathes through the tightness in his wrist as he kneels on the stones with his back deliberately to the door.  

He kneels there for hours as the sun slowly rises, reminding himself of the rules, of the intentions behind them. Examining his own faulty choices and their consequences. The pain of having Wei Ying out of sight is just one more layer of deserved punishment.

It is not yet the hour for breakfast when Lan Wangji unexpectedly hears the sound of Wei Ying stepping out onto the porch behind him. He has risen early.

“What are you doing?” Wei Ying asks, a black blur moving into the edge of Lan Wangji’s periphery.

As it is rather obvious, Lan Wangji doesn’t respond.

Wei Ying walks further into sight, stretching his hands up over his head as he slouches down onto the ground in front of Lan Wangji. “Seriously, Lan Zhan,” he says. “What’s going on? Why are you out here?”

In general, Lan Wangji does not justify himself. Both because he is not skilled in doing so, and because it constitutes unnecessary speech. His actions have always spoken for him, rooted in righteousness and therefore needing no justification.

“This isn’t about the alcohol, is it?” Wei Ying says, clearly meant as a joke.

Something in Lan Wangji’s expression must give him away.

“What?” Wei Ying says, sounding alarmed. He sits up, looking around the empty garden as if expecting elders to poke up out of the shrubbery. “Did someone see us?”

A wrongdoing need not be observed to cause harm. The act itself is enough.

Realization dawns over Wei Ying’s face, as always seeing most when Lan Wangji would least prefer it. “Lan Zhan! If no one even saw us, why are you here? Are you really punishing yourself? Or did you tell your uncle and ask to be set a punishment? Should I prepare myself for the bastinado as well?”

Lan Wangji clenches his jaw, refusing to be provoked.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying presses. “Do you really hate yourself for it this much? Being lenient with me for once?”

“Punishment isn’t hate,” he grinds out, unable to stop himself.

Wei Ying scoffs. “Really? Could have fooled me.”

Lan Wangji frowns. That is wrong. So fundamentally untrue that he can’t help but respond, like correcting a misguided student in lessons. “Punishment is care.”

Wei Ying laughs, something unpleasant in the tenor of it. He sprawls back on his elbows, watching Lan Wangji. “Care?” he sneers. “How’s that?”

This is a nonsensical conversation, too ridiculous to deserve words. And yet Wei Ying is here, watching him expectantly, a spark in his eye, even if it is born of scorn.

Lan Wangji takes a moment, correcting his posture, trying to line it all up in his head. “Correction without potential for improvement is meaningless. To offer correction is to show one is believed worthy of it. To provide opportunity for reflection and a path forward to greater virtue. If one were incapable of growth, what would be the purpose?”

Wei Ying’s eyebrows have climbed up his forehead in apparent astonishment. Lan Wangji feels a low burn of embarrassment in his throat for having let his words get away from him.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice taking on an edge of mockery. “Who said punishment has any other purpose than to punish? To keep people in check. Contained.” He looks down at his feet, lips twitching into a carefree smile that feels anything but. “To remind them of their place.”

That is all wrong. So dreadfully wrong that at first Lan Wangji can’t even think for it.

Control, yes. As in self-regulation. Control of thoughts, emotions, actions. But not to be controlled. Not by others. Correction is the path to controlling oneself. It is liberation. What Wei Ying is saying is the antithesis of this.

Lan Wangji’s breathing falters, everything feeling off-kilter. Is this how Wei Ying saw his punishments here? As mindless attempts to control him? To make him be less? He casts his mind back over his times overseeing Wei Ying’s punishment during the lectures. The way it never seemed to stick. It felt an insult at the time, this refusal to accept the opportunity for growth, to refuse to live up to his not inconsiderable potential and talent. Wei Ying could be so much.

And yet isn’t he still? a slippery voice in the back of his mind asks. Isn’t he perhaps one of the most powerful cultivators alive today? Power derived from a path that is morally wrong. Yet how much of that path has he utilized while he has been here? How much harm has he caused?

Lan Wangji is losing focus. He must use this time for its intended purpose. The gentle burn in his arms, the pressure in his knees. A physical reminder of the ways in which he hopes to be better. To be good and righteous. To see the path in front of him clearly and without doubt.

Wei Ying gives him very little room for calm. “I’m curious,” he says, arms crossed behind his head and a thin blade of grass between his lips. “If what you say is true, what happens when someone is beyond improvement? Or not worthy of it?”

Lan Wangji continues to kneel, feeling the pull of the weight of the rods in his arms, the steady width of his knees below him. There is a trap here he does not quite yet see. He should not engage in such meaningless chatter, and yet it is Wei Ying speaking to him and he finds he cannot turn away. “If one were truly beyond improvement, then suppression would be more appropriate.”

Wei Ying sits up, tossing the grass to the side. His hand goes to his waist, clutching at his robes. “Locking them away?”

Ah, and there it is, the ground opening up under Lan Wangji’s feet. The snap of a trap. For a moment his equilibrium is gone, nausea threatening. His mother’s face flashing in his memory.

“If necessary,” he says, letting the rules speak for him. He cannot allow room for anything else.

Simple tenets meditated upon his entire life. Memorized. Enacted. The steady ground under his feet.

“Why not elimination?” Wei Ying asks, almost flippant.

Lan Wangji forgets himself, turning his head sharply to meet Wei Ying’s gaze. “You speak of execution.”

Wei Ying just shrugs. “No killing in the Cloud Recesses, huh? But what exactly did we just spend the last few years doing?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. To bring war into talk of discipline and self-improvement feels disingenuous. Deliberately obtuse. They are separate things. Separated by necessity. Are they not?

Wei Ying picks up a stick, poking aimlessly at the rocks. “How exactly do you decide when a living being is beyond saving, I wonder?”

No life is beyond saving, Lan Wangji longs to say.

And yet, how many have died by Lan Wangji’s hand? Not just souls he has been forced to eliminate, but living lives ended.

The noise threatens to rise in his head again.

He breathes in sharply through his nose. He must focus. Not allow Wei Ying to drive him off-kilter yet again.

He resumes his pose.

Wei Ying is quiet for a time, just long enough for Lan Wangji to feel this might be the end of it. But as always, Wei Ying allows him no peace.

“So what care is this punishment showing you, Lan Zhan?”

Back on safer ground at least. “The opportunity to reflect on the impact of my actions.”

“Which is what? How did looking the other way while I snuck in wine hurt anyone?”

Lan Wangji wonders if Wei Ying can possibly be this willfully obtuse. “It harmed you .”

Wei Ying looks thrown by that. “How exactly did that harm me?”

“I allowed you to bring alcohol back to the Cloud Recesses, which allowed you to drink until you were unwell.” To abuse it until he was melancholy. To escape rather than reflect or improve or heal. “This does not demonstrate care for my—” He pauses, trying to find a word accurate and yet safe enough. “Guest.”

Wei Ying tilts his head to the side. “So my actions are your fault. Is that it? My role in these choices is meaningless.”

Lan Wangji presses his lips together in annoyance. Wei Ying is being deliberately provoking, playing at obtuseness, twisting his words in ridiculous ways and Lan Wangji will not play into it. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan, what a heavy burden to carry when I am so often wrong! You’ll never find a moment off your poor, bruised knees!”

Ridiculous. Absurd. Nonsense. Lan Wangji is not entirely certain he is describing Wei Ying, and not himself, for finding this outlandish teasing almost comforting, familiar. Almost longing for it.

Foolish.

Wei Ying pulls the flute from his belt, twisting it between his slender fingers. He stares down at it, contemplative. “And this? Is this your fault too?”

Another trap, a jolt straight down his body.

Yes, Lan Wangji yearns to say. Yes, that too. Because righteous action should be enough. Offering guidance, patience, and correction. Not just ignoring it or happily using him as all others have done. As nothing more than a means to an end. It should be enough to keep to the correct path and serve as a model for Wei Ying to follow back. To come back.

All the things he has been told his entire life are key to the path of virtue. And yet he has failed. Time and time again.

Somewhere in his thoughts or actions or intentions, he has failed. Lan Wangji needs correction. If he could just see it—

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice soft and chiding.

Lan Wangji does not wince—that is not something he does—but he feels it to the root of his core. Fixing his posture, he firmly pushes down the shame that threatens to swamp him.

Wei Ying is still watching him with eyes that see far too much. “You still believe me worthy of correction?”

Lan Wangji’s heart stutters in his chest.

A harsh laugh echoes across the yard. “No, never mind. Please don’t answer that.” Wei Ying gets to his feet, fleeing whatever has happened here. As far as he is able with this tether between them.

“Wei Ying has always been worthy,” Lan Wangji says. “And always will be.”

He does not turn his head to see if Wei Ying hears.

They spend the next morning in the library. When Wei Ying begins to twitch and rumble about, Lan Wangji stands, collects the pertinent texts, and walks back to the pavilion outside his home so that Wei Ying can pace and mutter to his heart’s content. Wei Ying follows without comment, and Lan Wangji is still not sure if this lingering quiet since their discussion–argument? Is that what that was?–the previous day is a punishment or not. It feels like one.

Some hours after lunch, Xichen steps through the gate, finally home again after spending a week putting battlefields to rest in Qinghe. Lan Wangji feels a beat of guilt that he has been unable to do his part, leaving the work to his brother alone.

Yet Xichen approaches with a welcome smile, greeting Wei Ying before crossing the garden to sit across from Lan Wangji.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji says, looking his brother over for any signs of exhaustion and finding none. “You are well?”

“I am,” he says, glancing over the papers and texts. “Any progress here?”

Lan Wangji merely returns to looking at the text in front of him.

“I see,” Xichen says. “Your health has remained unaffected at least?”

Lan Wangji nods.

Xichen glances across the yard to where Wei Ying is pacing up and down the boards of the Jingshi’s deck, tapping his flute against his shoulder as he reads from a text, the cover folded back improperly.

Lan Wangji takes a breath and lets it go.

“It is good that having Wei-gongzi near has been helpful,” Xichen observes. 

Lan Wangji returns his eyes to his text.

“May I help?” Xichen offers and pulls a text towards himself when Lan Wangji indicates one with a gesture.

“Something is bothering you, Wangji,” Xichen observes, voice mild.

There is. He is still not certain he is ready to speak of it.

Wei Ying is close enough to be easily seen, but far enough to be out of earshot. They have worked this out to an artform at this point. There will perhaps be no better opportunity for this conversation. 

Xichen still doesn’t rush him, waiting patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

Eventually, Lan Wangji is able to decide exactly what he wants to ask. “If one cannot see correction as love, but only as hate, what purpose does punishment serve?”

Xichen’s eyebrows lift. The question is not quite impertinent, but they were not raised to question the basic assumptions of their elders. It is not seemly to do so, and Lan Wangji feels the burn of shame. For asking it. For feeling unmoored enough to allow himself to think it, to linger on it.

Xichen does not chastise him. He has always allowed Lan Wangji this—a safe place to be a brother, not a disciple. To be imperfect. “None, if taken in such a way. I would wonder if the punishment perhaps was not designed correctly? Was it somehow disproportionate?”

Lan Wangji nods, having considered that as well. “What if all punishment feels vindictive, no matter how measured or articulated?”

Xichen blinks, leaning slightly back in his seat as he considers, and this is one more reason Lan Wangji loves his brother. He will always consider what Lan Wangji has to say as if it is something worthy of contemplation. “I would ask why it feels that way? What in the past makes that seem true?”

Lan Wangji thinks back to Wei Ying’s face as he spoke of punishment, of the rumors that reached even his ears about the goings-on of Lotus Pier.

Punishment without love is simply abuse. Violence. Pain in order to cause pain.

Who said punishment has any other purpose than to punish? To keep people in check. Contained. To remind them of their place.

Lan Wangji feels a quiver building in his stomach.

“Because one does not understand their worth?” Xichen proposes.

A horrible thought, especially in concert with Wei Ying. So carefree, so certain of his own abilities. So certain of his choices. Could it be possible? That he does not see his own worth?

And yet even if that were true, to not correct is to be indifferent. An absence of care. The answer cannot be to simply allow bad behavior to continue. To allow harm without recourse. “Then how does one demonstrate care?” he asks, a near entreaty for some guidance from his brother.

Xichen turns and looks directly at Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji tries his best not to let heat rise in his skin at having been so transparent.

“There are other ways to demonstrate care,” Xichen says, voice kind and careful. “Can you not think of any?”

For a moment, Lan Wangji can think of none at all.

He knows how his uncle shows care—steady, explicable rules and clear correction. How his brother shows care—with endless patience and warmth. He has always modeled his uncle himself, not being equipped in the ways of interaction in which Xichen excels so strongly. But his Uncle’s ways are not welcomed by Wei Ying.

“How do those who care for him treat him?” Xichen asks, clearly seeing Lan Wangji’s fumbling.

This at least gives Lan Wangji something to consider. He thinks of Wei Ying’s siblings.

Jiang Wanyin demonstrates a total lack of discipline or control over his brother, which seems to only ever hurt them both. Lan Wangji will not yell and threaten and wrestle with Wei Ying, the very idea preposterous, even as a strange heat rises in his skin at the thought of Wei Ying scrabbling against him. The thought of holding Wei Ying down, to just make him be still and listen.

He quickly turns his mind to Jiang Yanli. He does not know her well, has seen her interact with Wei Ying a mere handful of times. But he has heard Wei Ying extol her virtues, including her apparently amazing soup.

Frankly, that is as opaque and baffling as Jiang Wanyin’s behavior.

“You have given me much to think on,” Lan Wangji says, signaling to his brother that he has carried this conversation as far as he can at the moment.

Xichen smiles, gently touching his arm, and lets that be the end of it.

The next morning, Lan Wangji meditates on his conversation with Xichen. The winding path of his thoughts provides no greater clarity by the time there is a soft knock at the door, signaling the arrival of a disciple with their breakfasts.

He rises to his feet to collect the trays. He pauses there, looking down at the two portions of food. Food Wei Ying despises. Yet this is the food they have been provided with.

Do not be picky.  

Do not waste food.

He cannot help but think of Jiang Yanli again. The pleasure Wei Ying finds in her food. Is that…care?

Even if it is, Lan Wangji cannot cook for Wei Ying. He does not have the ability and he cannot be parted from Wei Ying long enough to do it in any case. He should also not indulge Wei Ying’s pickiness. He should eat the food perfectly designed for him. To bring him health. To support his cultivation.

Or it should, were Wei Ying’s cultivation not so confusing. Dangerous.

Impulsively, Lan Wangji calls out to the disciple disappearing down the path, bidding him to return.

“Hanguang-jun,” the young man says, bowing in greeting. “I am sorry, have we made a mistake with your breakfast tray?”

“No,” Lan Wangji manages, pushing past the embarrassment of so much attention, the discomfort of stepping outside established routines. “I apologize for delaying you.”

The disciple bows. “Not at all, Hanguang-jun.” He stands patiently and waits for Lan Wangji to speak.

Something has been formulating in his mind, hooked on a thought like a leaf swirling in an eddy.

The menu at the Cloud Recesses is specially designed to augment and support strong cultivation. It is rich in yin to offer balance and harmony to their qi. Everyone eats the same. Yet he has seen how Wei Ying merely picks at his meals and how vigorously he partook in Caiyi.

Before the unsettling conversations with Wei Ying and Xichen, Lan Wangji would not have thought to bend in this particular way. To take into account Wei Ying’s preferences. His health would be more important. Not wasting food or being picky would be more important as moral imperatives.

And yet, is Wei Ying healthy? Would it make him feel more welcome to have something else? Would he eat more?

He thinks again of Wei Ying’s wrists, poking out from under the edge of his sleeves.

When one is ill, it is a given that regimens and meals will be adapted to specific needs. Food is not alcohol, after all. Not something that must be abstained from.

Yet Lan Wangji cannot ask for something different entirely to be made, nor is he able to excuse the frivolousness of sending for food from Caiyi. But there is a third option. The yin-rich food served to all cultivators would not be appropriate to the young who have not yet formed strong cores. They are fed a more balanced meal meant to help develop growth of the body as well as spirit.

There is warming congee with chicken and onions, sprinkled with peanuts. Soy milk. Water greens with fermented tofu. Filling and rich for young growing bodies.

He remembers them well from his own childhood.

Making his decision, Lan Wangji draws himself up and gestures at the tray. “In addition to my own normal meal,” he says carefully, “please provide one portion of the children’s breakfast.”

The disciple is disciplined enough not to look surprised, though Lan Wangji still feels nearly a spectacle all the same.

The disciple nods, picking up one of the trays. “Of course, Hanguang-jun. I will bring it immediately.”

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji says.

“What’s this?” Wei Ying asks, frowning down at the children’s fare when he finally comes to the table.

Lan Wangji takes a bite of his own breakfast, freeing himself from any obligation of replying. He does not quite know how to justify the choice he has made. Not to himself and certainly not to Wei Ying.

Wei Ying huffs, half annoyed, half amused, but doesn’t bother to push for an answer he knows he will not receive. Instead, he pulls his bowls towards himself and begins to eat. His first bite is tentative, but then his next more eager.

Lan Wangji watches from the corner of his eye, something pressing and warm building behind his sternum at the sight of Wei Ying eating, if not with quite as much pleasure as in Caiyi, at least with less distaste. He still does not finish all of his bowls, but there is less food left and Wei Ying himself seems more contented.

It was not a difficult thing, in the end, to make this small change. The discomfort of making the unusual request is nothing in the face of Wei Ying’s greater contentment, his greater health.

More unexpected is the way the thing in Lan Wangji’s chest threatens to widen, pushing against his ribs. He has cared for Wei Ying. This is good. This is right. It is not punishment and enforcement of rules, and that still leaves him feeling a little unsteady, but he has tried something different, and the world has not ended.

Perhaps he can understand the great emphasis put on Jiang Yanli and her soups. (Though he is still not certain of the necessity of violence over Jin Zixuan’s insult of it. But…perhaps.)

Lan Wangji finishes his own breakfast as he considers the viability of snacks.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian pushes away another text with a sound of frustration, one of them tumbling to the floor. He’s starting to feel like he’s read every text on curses in this entire damn library. If an answer exists, it’s not here. Maybe it burned.

He glances out of the corner of his eye to see if he’s going to get told off by Lan Zhan for not treating the texts with enough care, or for sitting in an undignified manner, but no, there’s no reaction. Instead, there is a small bowl of boiled peanuts on the desk that had not been there the last time Wei Wuxian looked.

He glares down at the little bowl but scoops up a small handful and tosses it back into his mouth all the same, the novelty of eating in the library too much to resist.

Chewing mulishly, he flops forward on the table, chest and head flat on the surface, arms out at an angle from his head. He keeps his gaze trained on Lan Zhan the entire time.

Nothing.

Lan Zhan ignoring him is nothing new, of course. But Wei Wuxian’s ability to break through his placidity shouldn’t be discounted either. Never let it be said that Wei Wuxian is a quitter. Loudly ripping a piece of paper full of useless notes, he carefully and theatrically folds it into a tight little diamond shape.

Still not so much as a glance in his direction.

Pressing the little diamond so it’s upright on the table under his pointer finger, Wei Wuxian uses his other hand to flick it, flooding the small paper with a bit of energy, sending it flying across the room right at Lan Zhan’s face.

Lan Zhan smoothly intercepts it without so much as lifting his head, proving, at least, that he is paying attention to Wei Wuxian. That should be gratifying. Instead, it’s just annoying.

Because it means he sees the misbehavior perfectly well. He just isn’t doing anything about it.

The knowledge settles heavily in Wei Wuxian’s stomach.

After another half hour of Wei Wuxian flopping around and crunching on the bowl of peanuts as obnoxiously as possible, Lan Zhan decides they should take a break. He pulls his usual shit, just getting up and leaving and assuming Wei Wuxian will follow.

This time he stays. He will not be bullied like this!

He lasts about one minute, until he starts to think about Lan Zhan with that tightness around his lips, the way he will never admit when he’s in discomfort or pain, the stupid man.

He lets out a loud sound of annoyance, and at least that earns him some glares from some of the other Lan in the library. At least they care.

Lan Zhan hasn’t gone far, Wei Wuxian easily catching up to him outside. He grumbles loudly about rude people just walking off without any warning, and Lan Zhan seems to ignore that too, but Wei Wuxian can see the way his posture slowly becomes less rigid. 

After a short stroll around the paths that seems to serve little purpose other than letting Wei Wuxian scuff his feet and scandalize a few passing disciples, they return to the Mingshi for another diagnostic session. Lan-daifu is there. They discover nothing new, of course; just confirm that the curse is still there, that Lan Zhan (thankfully) hasn’t gotten any worse.

Apparently being around Wei Wuxian every waking and sleeping moment is good for Lan Zhan’s health. He’d make some crack about it being bad for Lan Zhan’s mental state, but the man seems to be cultivating a new level of patience. Someday he’ll no doubt use it to ascend a mountain somewhere and Wei Wuxian hopes Lan Zhan will remember his contribution to his greatness.

At family dinner, Wei Wuxian is served different dishes as has become the norm the last few days. He prefers them, yes. But that is beside the point. He doesn’t understand what Lan Zhan is doing. Lan Xichen seems to have accepted it with nothing more than an elegantly arched eyebrow at his younger brother that Lan Zhan rather rudely ignored. Lan Qiren, on the other hand, had scowled so suddenly that it sent his ridiculous beard twitching. But even he didn’t say anything.

And tonight, just to rub salt in the wound, Lan Zhan pulls out a small crock from his sleeve, placing it in front of Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian frowns down at it, wanting to refuse to even look at it. But his curiosity cannot be contained, so he lifts the little lid to see what is inside.

It’s chili oil. In the Cloud Recesses.

Really good chili oil, from the smell of it.  

What the hell is happening.

Wei Wuxian has no idea what is going on, only that he does not like it. Not one little bit.

He takes the crock, noticing the way Lan Qiren’s mouth twitches with displeasure, and takes great joy in putting an insane amount of chili oil, even by his own standards, all over his food. He’s gonna pay for it later, but it’s worth it to get rid of this weird squirmy feeling in his chest.

Again, Lan Zhan says nothing, not so much as sending a disapproving glance in his direction. Not even a smug one. Nothing. No reaction at all. Like this is just a normal thing and not a sign that Lan Zhan is clearly suffering a qi deviation of some kind.

This will not stand.

Wei Wuxian, not knowing what the hell is going on but being very skilled at finding a way to get a reaction during an uncomfortable meal when he needs to, speaks through the entire dinner, a rambling monologue of absolute nonsense, more than once talking through a mouthful of food. In general, he is the worst sort of dinner guest imaginable. For the Lan specifically, surely enough to be worthy of a beating or two.

Lan Qiren’s face becomes redder and redder by the moment. Lan Xichen just looks wide-eyed between Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan, but, of course, says nothing. So polite! So accommodating.

Lan Zhan eats completely undisturbed.

What. The. Fuck.

The meal ends, opening the time for the staid ‘how was your day’ conversations of the small family unit. No one says a word about Wei Wuxian’s behavior. Not a single assigned line of writing. Not a single bastinado threatened.

Wei Wuxian slumps back and remains mulishly silent as they talk about small bits of sect business. He marvels at their pleasantness. It’s so boring.

He wonders what they’re like when there is no one watching. When it’s just the three of them. Does Lan Qiren simply lecture the brothers? What must it have been like to be a kid growing up with meals like this? There must have been…more to this.

Clearly, it’s made them all unstable and make no sense at all.

Finally, they head back to the Jingshi for an evening of yet more sitting in boring silence.

Wei Wuxian flops down into his designated seat. He glances at the items strewn across the table, but doesn’t reach for any of them. He’s frustrated with his notes. He’s frustrated with the curse. He’s frustrated with Lan Zhan sitting calmly on the other side reading a text with his perfect posture.

He considers climbing into Lan Zhan’s lap. Just to see what he’d do, of course. He tells himself he just wants to know where the limits are, but maybe he’s really just waiting for Lan Zhan to follow through.

Wei Ying has always been worthy.

That’s what Lan Zhan had said, nearly a week ago now. A conversation that doesn’t feel finished. A fight held in stasis mid-argument.

It feels like it happens this way a lot with them, a conversation continuing after a pause, even if it’s been days.

Punishment is care.

Wei Wuxian has never heard such complete bullshit in his entire life. What kind of nonsense has Lan Zhan had programmed into his head? He always knew the Lan sect was mad, but to have convinced Lan Zhan that getting beat with a stick is a sign of affection is just beyond the pale. No wonder he so willingly knelt down next to Wei Wuxian to take a beating that time he got him drunk. Of course, Lan Zhan probably thought letting Wei Wuxian trick him into drinking was some great moral failing on his own part.

The entire thing is irritating. Granted, everything is irritating right now, but this is really settling in under his skin. It makes him angry. Makes him want to push. To wreck something.

Maybe even just to see what Lan Zhan would do about it. Ignore it? Make him write the rules?

Because if Lan Zhan really thinks he’s worthy of correction, why hasn’t he tried? If his cultivation is such a huge moral failing, and against the path of righteousness or whatever, why has there been no discussion of punishment? It’s not like he wants to be punished, or would ever submit himself to it anyway, but it seems to contradict everything Lan Zhan said. He’s been here for weeks with the possibility hanging over his head like a waiting scythe.

Because it was a lie. He does see you as beyond saving.

Maybe Wei Wuxian just wants it over with, already.

“You haven’t asked me about it,” he says, voice almost accusing.

Lan Zhan makes a soft hum in response, but doesn’t look up. Still not fucking looking at him.

Wei Wuxian smacks his hand down the table and, at last, Lan Zhan bothers to look up.  

Wei Wuxian tilts his head towards Chenqing, leaning on the corner of the table. “My cultivation.”

Lan Zhan looks at the flute for a moment, his body going very still, even as displeasure pinches his features. He then looks away. “You do not like it when I ask about your cultivation.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a rough huff of disbelief. “When has that ever stopped you?”

Something in Lan Zhan’s jaw seems to jump, a quick, tense little motion that Wei Wuxian almost doesn’t catch. But Lan Zhan still doesn’t say anything. Just more proof, he supposes.

“That’s what I thought,” Wei Wuxian says with a huff. “Beyond redemption already, huh?” He shifts his weight as if to get up, one palm on the table.  

“What right would I have to question you?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Wuxian slumps back to the floor, pretty stunned to hear Lan Zhan speak, let alone say that. “What right? I dunno, your moral imperative? Lan superiority? Beat the world into goodness?” He’s being cruel and mean, but he can’t bring himself to stop. He needs to understand what this all means.

Lan Zhan absorbs it with barely a wince. “You are not here by choice,” he says to his hands.  

Wei Wuxian pauses, settling back on his heels. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Lan Zhan’s lips part on a breath, a bare ripple in the stillness of his posture. “You have not accepted my help. You have not chosen to be here.” It sounds almost like a sutra the way he says it, like often repeated words. Lan Zhan looks to the side, something strange happening to the line of his throat. “You have not chosen my…companionship. Of this I am well aware.”

Wei Wuxian is thrown by that. The way Lan Zhan won’t meet his eyes. He’d thought Lan Zhan had looked so righteous and disapproving these last few months. Like some vengeful, sanctimonious immortal. But here, with his hair down and his outer layer removed, in the quiet candlelight, he just looks young, and scared, and very sad, really.

There is a loose, terrifying quiver building in Wei Wuxian’s stomach, the very thing he’s been hoping the anger could cover, or smother, or just make easier to ignore. Something that could get beat out of him if he managed to get the Lans angry enough at him. Something that’s been there a while, only getting wider and wider. A feeling that makes letting Lan Zhan look like that untenable. No one should have the right to make Lan Zhan look like that. Not even him.

“I will honor your choices,” Lan Zhan finishes, rising to his feet with his perfect grace. Retreating. As far as either of them can these days.

You have not chosen my companionship.

How ridiculous! As if Wei Wuxian is the one who doesn’t want to be friends. As if Lan Zhan is the one reaching for something he can’t have. It’s so backwards. So wrong.

And yet, how many times has Lan Zhan sought him out this last year, only for Wei Wuxian to drive him away as fast as possible?

That was necessary. And that wasn’t friendship. That was punishment. Lan Zhan was coming after him to highlight yet again all the ways Wei Wuxian is a disappointment. He doesn’t get to play it this way.

Only then he hears it again. Lan Zhan’s voice, low and firm with conviction. Punishment is care.

What a complete mind fuck, Wei Wuxian thinks, everything cracking and twisting just enough to make everything he thought he understood feel unstable.

Lan Zhan starts to walk away and Wei Wuxian suddenly can’t stand to see him go, like he’s the one with a curse chained around his throat.

“When we were younger,” Wei Wuxian blurts, and Lan Zhan pauses next to the edge of the privacy screen. Still not looking at him, but clearly listening. “I wanted nothing more in the world than to be your friend. Even if you clearly didn’t want to be mine. But for a while there, I thought maybe I’d managed it. Worn you down. I saw you as my zhiji.” The one who knows him best. Who sees him. His equal. He lets out a shaky laugh for what a young fool he’d been. For the fool he still is, maybe. “Impossible now, I know, but—”

“I still am,” Lan Zhan says, speaking across him. And then because he apparently hasn’t punched Wei Wuxian in the face enough: “I will always be.”

Lan Zhan makes a devastating moment of direct eye contact before seeming to remember himself, eyes once more on the floor.

The air in the Jingshi feels thick, heavy like a Yunmeng summer, and it hits Wei Wuxian all at once how much he wants that, wishes it could be true. So fucking much. He wishes he could believe Lan Zhan could do anything other than hate him. Anything more than tolerate him, thanks to a curse.

“Goodnight, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says and then disappears behind the screen.

Wei Wuxian sits for a long time, notes and texts completely forgotten.

Wei Wuxian wakes the next morning, head turning to take in Lan Zhan’s neatly made bed, and the breakfast waiting on the table. The better breakfast. The one that started showing up with no explanation.  

Up to this point, it had felt like some kind of psychological warfare, Lan Zhan actually giving in to Wei Wuxian’s demands. Why would Lan Zhan do that?

But he can see now that that isn’t it. This isn’t Lan Zhan telling him punishment is care and then immediately letting him get away with everything just to prove how little he cares. Lan Zhan would never do something like that.

No. It’s something even worse.

You have not chosen to be here. You have not chosen my companionship.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t even think it’s guilt, really. Lan Zhan wouldn’t do something out of guilt. He only does what is right. And if he were ever wrong, which Wei Wuxian can’t actually imagine, he would merely change his behavior. Do some punishment, reflect on it, train twice as hard. Do it perfect the next time. 

Despite finding Lan Zhan kneeling on the stones because of the liquor, though, this doesn’t feel like that either. He imagines that would look more like Lan Zhan enforcing every small rule on Wei Wuxian just out of principle.

He doesn’t even think Lan Zhan is ignoring all the misbehavior because they don’t have time for Wei Wuxian to sit in punishment all day when there is a curse to be cured. Lan Zhan, putting his own well-being ahead of righteousness? Never.

It only leaves one real option and it’s the one Wei Wuxian likes least. Fuck, he’d much rather be angry about the Lan clan and their rigid self-righteousness than what he’s left with here.

Lan Zhan is being kind.

Look, he knows Lan Zhan never turns down someone in need. He doesn’t give a shit how high-profile a hunt is, or how much fame and glory it will bring him. That could be chalked up to his deep sense of honor, but Wei Wuxian has suspected the truth for much longer, wondering how so few people seem to see it.

Then again, maybe they’ve never seen Lan Zhan smile at a drawing of rabbits.

Underneath all that ice-cold perfection and rigidity, Lan Zhan is a deeply kind person. Not nice, of course. Nothing as shallow and meaningless as nice. He can be as bitchy as anyone else when the moment calls for it, but never out of malice.

Because Lan Zhan is kind.

It’s devastating. Wei Wuxian really wishes he could go back to pretending he didn’t know that.

Dragging himself out of bed, Wei Wuxian gets up and eats the better breakfast, the one with actual flavor that doesn’t make his stomach turn or leave his mind feeling cloudier than usual. It’s still not great, but it’s certainly a thousand times better than the medicinal slop Lan Zhan eats without complaint every morning.

Lan Zhan is quiet, which of course he is, but feels a little more distant. Embarrassed, maybe? Sad? Like their discussion—argument?—from last night is still lingering in the air.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know and really wishes he didn’t care.

He’s here to find a cure and get out of the Cloud Recesses before they try to exorcize him. He needs to get home to his siblings to make sure they’re safe.

Get home and find a way to hide everything.

He blows out a breath. Fuck, he wishes he were still pissed off. That felt safer somehow.

Midway through the morning, Wei Wuxian finds another possible talisman for breaking a curse that has some small things in common with Lan Zhan’s.

“Can I?” he asks, holding it up.

Lan Zhan nods, not even asking what it is. Too trusting. Especially considering the type of pranks Wei Wuxian has pulled on him before. Considering how awful he was all day yesterday.

But just because he doesn’t ask doesn’t mean Wei Wuxian can’t tell him anyway. Lan Zhan’s silence has never stopped him before. “This one is for another proximity curse, so it might work. Poor guy got cursed to never be away from water. Imagine having to live in the bath. Or with one finger in a teacup at all times. Could be worse, right, Lan Zhan?”

Maybe he’d prefer that though. He could just live in the cold spring.

Lan Zhan blinks up at him and sits patiently, waiting.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. “Okay. It says this talisman was designed to break the tie between the guy and water, but it isn’t specific to water. I looked. So it might dissolve the proximity aspect?”

Unraveling the curse piece by piece might be the only way to work this, since they’ve exhausted the library without finding the exact curse. Now they are working through the specific aspects of the curse – the proximity trigger, the loneliness, the shape and location of the curse mark.

They really do seem to be getting down to the final dregs.

“There’s really nothing in here that should hurt you though,” he continues.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, face turned away. “I trust you.”

Fuck, Wei Wuxian thinks, there it is. Something more painful than a round with the bastinado.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and moves around to stand behind Lan Zhan. Shifting his hair to the side, he presses the talisman to the back of his shoulder. “Ready?”

Lan Zhan nods his head.

Sending a small dribble of energy into the talisman—thank heavens he still has enough naturally occurring qi to do this one tiny act—it lights up, flaring brightly before disappearing.

He steps around, looking at Lan Zhan’s face. “You feel okay?”

Lan Zhan inclines his head. “I feel nothing to be concerned about.”

He looks at Lan Zhan another long moment. It’s not like he’s one to lie, but if these weeks together have taught him anything, it’s that Lan Zhan is definitely one to downplay or deflect his own needs.

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian says, not seeing any immediate signs of trouble, but not really trusting it either. “Let’s see your wrist.”

Lan Zhan lifts his hand, letting the long, flowing sleeve fall back.

“Shit,” Wei Wuxian says as the curse mark is uncovered. It doesn’t look different at all, just as stark against Lan Zhan’s pale skin as ever.

Wei Wuxian sits back down, looking over the century-old night-hunt report he got the talisman from. It really isn’t the same curse, so he shouldn’t be surprised. Still.

He looks back up at Lan Zhan. “Okay, so it didn’t get rid of the curse, but I suppose it could have modified it?”

Lan Zhan nods. “We can go to the Mingshi.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. “Or I can step outside for a moment and you can try being honest about your symptoms for once.”

He swears Lan Zhan actually looks embarrassed. “I would not lie,” he says stiffly.

“Uh-huh,” Wei Wuxian says.

“I will be upfront,” Lan Zhan says.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, giving him a smile. “I’m trusting you, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn,” he says, his hand twitching against his knee.

Okay, yeah, a minute outside sounds like a good idea all around. Wei Wuxian gets up and walks to the door, feeling Lan Zhan’s gaze on his back as he goes. Opening the door, he steps outside, closing it behind him.

He walks to the gate and then back, trying not to rush or think about Lan Zhan back in the house, possibly in pain.

His fingers still fumble a bit as he pushes the door back open. “Well?” he asks, striding quickly to Lan Zhan’s side.

He is curled ever so slightly towards the table, his eyes fastened onto Wei Wuxian like a hungry kid staring at a free meal. “It feels similar to how it did before,” he says, voice tight.  

Wei Wuxian slumps down with a giant sigh. “Yeah, I was afraid of that.” He drags the book back towards himself. “No matter. I’ll find something else.”

Lan Zhan nods jerkily, his posture perfect, but shoulders tense.

Stretching his hands high above his head, Wei Wuxian makes a giant show of lying himself flat over the table. “But first I need a nap. I’m so tired, Lan Zhan,” he says, whining and making himself as pathetic as possible.

In his sprawl, he makes sure that his hand lands up against Lan Zhan’s forearm, offering the touch without making him ask for it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Lan Zhan’s posture relax under the touch.

Silly, stubborn Lan Zhan.

Late that afternoon, Lan Xichen comes to find them in the library. Lan Zhan immediately stands and greets his brother, but Wei Wuxian just wiggles his fingers at him in the most annoying way possible, still not quite ready to stop being a terror for anyone who isn’t Lan Zhan. There’s nothing saying Lan Xichen couldn’t decide to beat him with a stick after all. It would be a relief, really. Safer.

Lan Xichen ignores him.

“Wangji, I know you are working hard and I hate to ask you to complete any additional duties at this time.” Lan Xichen gives Lan Zhan a sweeping look, as close to fussing as Wei Wuxian has ever seen a Lan get.

“I am in good health, Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan says, and it’s great to see that even he can find his sibling annoying at times.

“And I am glad for it,” Lan Xichen says, smiling at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan suffers this affectionate assault with amazing forbearance. “What do you need,” Lan Zhan says—very nearly rude! Lan Zhan! So impatient with your elder brother’s well-meaning coddling!

The smile falls from Lan Xichen’s face. “Would you be able to come to the infirmary to play this evening?”

Lan Zhan stiffens, his gaze sliding towards Wei Wuxian.

Why is he looking at him like that?

Oh, right. Because he’d have to go too. And it’s not like he’s been particularly open to Lan Zhan playing music for him. But this isn’t for him, right? No one’s trying to exorcize Wei Wuxian.

“Is someone sick?” Wei Wuxian asks, just to clarify.

Lan Xichen folds his hands in front of him. “This war was full of many horrors, whose grip does not always let go with the end of hostilities.”

A very pretty way of saying the war fucked up a lot of people.

“Wangji is our greatest musical prodigy. There are scores that help balance shen. It will help ease their sleep and their spirits.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow. He’s pretty sure Lan Zhan didn’t put Lan Xichen up to this, but he’s not putting it past Lan Xichen that this is a punishment for Wei Wuxian in some round about way. Act like a gremlin at dinner and get forced to listen to calming music.

Joke’s on them. It won’t work anyway.

It still feels better than Lan Xichen doing nothing at all in response to his shitty behavior. He prefers the punishment he can see to the looming promise of the unknown.

He decides not to make an ass of himself for once and just give Lan Zhan a break. He shrugs, which is as close to agreement as he can get himself at the moment.

“We are still quite short-handed,” Lan Xichen says, as if suspecting further pressure is needed.

“Of course, Xiongzhang,” Lan Zhan acquiesces with a slight bow of his head. “We will attend to this.”  

And so after dinner—during which the chili oil once again appeared and Wei Wuxian mostly behaved himself, not that it stopped Lan Qiren from looking twitchy as hell anytime Wei Wuxian so much as took a deep breath—Wei Wuxian follows Lan Zhan to the infirmary.

The main building is mostly empty, and they merely pass through on the way to a long, low-roofed building filled with cots separated with thin partitions, occupied by disciples still recovering from lingering injuries. Another group of more able-bodied people sit in meditation in front of a low platform. Probably where Lan Zhan is supposed to sit.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian looks over at Lan Zhan, not realizing he’d come to a stop in the doorway.

“Right, yeah, of course,” Wei Wuxian says, his heart suddenly pounding double-time. He hooks a finger back over his shoulder towards the porch. “You’ll be okay if I hang right there?”

Lan Zhan silently tracks the distance between the platform and the porch. A straight line of sight. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Wei Wuxian really doesn’t want to stay in here, but he’s also not going to let Lan Zhan get away with any more martyr shit.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan insists. “I will be fine.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, aware that he’s fussing, but whatever. Lan Zhan has not proven to always be forthcoming. “You’d better tell me immediately if you feel anything at all, though.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, just turns and walks to the head of the room. Wei Wuxian settles on the stairs outside, glancing back over his shoulder to confirm that Lan Zhan will be able to see him. Content that he can, Wei Wuxian slumps back against the railing, stretching his legs out along the step and tipping his face up to see the stars.

You couldn’t see stars in Nightless City. It was kind of creepy. And not just because it reminded him of the way you can’t see stars in the Burial Mounds either. It crawls over his skin, the reminder, and he shoves it down hard, focusing instead on the sharp clarity of the sky over the Cloud Recesses.

Behind him, Lan Zhan starts to play. It’s not Clarity, but still something clearly designed to be soothing. The air is thick with it, and Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Zhan’s power even all the way out here. For anyone other than Lan Zhan, he might accuse them of showing off. But Lan Zhan is probably just trying to be effective. Or he’s just relentlessly badass.

They had been really well matched, once upon a time. That particular thought really wants to fester, but it’s like the music won’t let it. Almost like Lan Zhan is there, his shoulder warm and solid against him, holding Wei Wuxian up as he drunkenly lists against him. I will stay.

The amulet protests the spiritual energy flooding the air, Wei Wuxian’s body giving a sudden twinge. He closes his eyes and breathes through it, focusing on the music almost against his will. It gets easier as long moments pass. Moves from uncomfortable to disorienting and finally something else entirely—something much more dangerous.

Wei Wuxian jerks upright, eyes flying open as someone touches his shoulder.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, pulling his hand back.

“What? Huh? Done already?” Wei Wuxian asks, dragging a hand over his face. Everything feels a little out of focus, fuzzy around the edges.

“It has been over an hour.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says. He tries to look anything but unsettled. It hadn’t felt nearly that long. “It must have been so boring I fell asleep!” He hops up to his feet, head swimming slightly, but locking his knees to hide it. He suddenly feels fucking exhausted.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says.

“Hm?” Wei Wuxian says, distracted by the general weirdness in his body, the fuzziness of his brain.

“For allowing me to play for them.”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sure.” Wei Wuxian glances back towards the building. “They’re okay?”

“They are doing as well as they can,” Lan Zhan says, calm and steady. “No one could ask for more of them.”

No. He supposes not. But it’s just like Lan Zhan to actually say it.

It turns out it’s almost as hard to stop fighting a war as it is to fight one in the first place.

Feeling his brain finally rebooting, Wei Wuxian reaches out and tugs Lan Zhan’s sleeve, looking him over for any signs that the curse had bothered him.

Lan Zhan merely blinks back at him, looking soft and tired.

“Let’s go back, yeah?” Wei Wuxian says, voice wanting to match the softness.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan agrees.

They walk back, side by side in silence.

After that, Wei Wuxian doubles down on working for a solution. Look, it’s time to stop puttering about. This curse needs to be solved yesterday. He’s actually sleeping pretty well for once, and his focus is good. It’s time to knock this thing out.

He just can’t…stay here much longer.

As he spends more and more time with Lan Zhan, it just feels more and more imperative that he get out of here as soon as possible. Sure, maybe he isn’t braced for punishment and imprisonment every moment anymore, but this is worse.  

He’s never spent this much time with Lan Zhan, really. Probably not since they were stuck in the cave, and he’d been delirious and unconscious for at least half of that.

All told, Lan Zhan doesn’t make a terrible roommate. It’s almost the worst part.

Look, Wei Wuxian is well aware of the snacks. He gets what’s going on with the music. He’s not stupid. Still, it’s all somehow being done in a way that doesn’t piss him off. It should. But somehow… Even the music thing isn’t making him mad, even though they go back nearly every night. Which is strange considering everything else is really annoying all the time.

It’s not like he can get mad at Lan Zhan for helping the Lan disciples with their nightmares. He saw plenty of it during the war. He gets it. And the chili oil and the snacks, well, that’s nice. It breaks rules! And Lan Zhan is not only letting him get away with it, but enabling it! So that’s something, at least. Some upside to this extended sentence at the Cloud Recesses.

Everything is upside down and that’s the real problem. What if he let himself get used to it?

Nope. Best to get this curse lifted as soon as possible so he can get out of here. Get away from Lan Zhan’s dangerous sincerity.

He figures out four more possible talismans, each really beginning to stretch credibility at this point, but so long as they don’t hurt Lan Zhan, he’s willing to try anything.

The first three are complete duds. But this last one, he’s got a good feeling about it. And not just because he is literally out of options after this one.

One last talisman.

“Okay, Lan Zhan. This is it. I can feel it.”

Lan Zhan gives him an unimpressed look and turns his back, as close to agreement as he’ll get.

Wei Wuxian applies the talisman to Lan Zhan’s shoulder, takes a deep breath, and activates it.

Nothing. It does nothing at all.  

“Fuck.”

Time for a new plan.

The first part of the plan is Wei Wuxian spending a whole day rolling around in despair.

“I’m taking the day off, Lan Zhan,” he announces from his bed the next morning.

There’s probably no chance Lan Zhan will let him go down to Caiyi again. And definitely not to get super drunk. But he also absolutely refuses to go to the library or sit through family dinner today.

For the most part, Lan Zhan just lets Wei Wuxian laze around, doing sect work when he’s not making snacks magically appear. But he also seems to sense the moment Wei Wuxian starts to go out of his mind with boredom, and drags him out of the Jingshi. Probably hoping to preserve his home from getting blown up or something.

Only instead of the infirmary or the library or even the Hanshi, Lan Zhan leads him out into the back hills. Apparently no longer quite so forbidden to him! He smiles fondly, thinking of how many times Lan Zhan had to come drag him out of the area during the lectures.

Today, Lan Zhan just lets Wei Wuxian throw rocks into the pool at the base of the waterfall while he quietly practices the guqin without any energy infusing it. On the walk back, Lan Zhan even deigns to stop when Wei Wuxian spots rabbits still hanging about where they’d been the last time he was here.

“You let them stay!”

“They choose to stay,” Lan Zhan says, and Wei Wuxian freezes for a moment.

You have not chosen to be here.

Lan Zhan leans down to pick up a rabbit that has hopped over to chew on the hem of his robe. Cradling the tiny ball of fluff carefully in his hands, Lan Zhan lifts it up so they are face to face. “Do not,” he says in his deeply serious voice, staring the rabbit straight in the eye and Wei Wuxian nearly dies on the spot.

This, this right here, may make all the weeks stuck here worth it all on its own.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian teases, leaning his shoulder into Lan Zhan’s. “Lan Yi-zongzhu would be so pleased to know her descendants are looking out for them. That you like them so much.”

Lan Zhan’s ears are turning pink.

Nope. Wei Wuxian is not going to survive this. This curse has to be broken. Like yesterday.

One day of moping behind him, Wei Wuxian doubles down on finding a solution.

There is an answer. There has to be. He just has to find it.

He drags Lan Zhan to the library immediately after breakfast. He ignores the texts on curses altogether and starts reading about arrays, and frankly anything else that catches his eye. They still have two juniors assigned to assist them, but Wei Wuxian isn’t sitting around letting someone else bring him things any longer.

So instead they trail along behind him, giving him wide-eyed looks of confusion as Wei Wuxian hands off text after text into their waiting hands.

In the afternoon, Lan Xichen arrives to check in on them. Wei Wuxian wonders if news of the unusual goings on in the library managed to reach him in the Hanshi.

“Good afternoon, Wei-gongzi,” he says, perfectly polite even as he peers down at the texts and papers on Wei Wuxian’s desk. “What are you working on now?”

“Creating an array,” Wei Wuxian says. Though at the moment it’s really little more than the spark of the idea. But it’s still an idea!  

Lan Xichen looks mildly perturbed, looking over at Lan Zhan as if hoping he will explain this to him. Lan Zhan merely turns a page in his book, seeming unwilling to get in the middle of it. “For what purpose?” Lan Xichen is forced to ask.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Look. This is either a new curse no one’s seen before or the knowledge has been lost.” He doesn’t mean to rub salt in the wound of the Lan sect’s losses or whatever, but it’s time to face facts.

“Surely there is still something—” Lan Xichen tries to say, looking back towards the books.

“I’ve read everything you have,” Wei Wuxian says. “There isn’t anything here.”

“Everything?” Lan Xichen echoes, looking dubious.

Wei Wuxian wants to be offended by that, but it’s not like he actually tried to learn much last time he was here, far too focused on play and finding the next forbidden thing to do for fun. Far too busy trying to get Lan Zhan’s attention. The most impossible thing of all.

Sometimes he wants to cuff his younger self for being so obnoxious. Or for being so blind to what he had.

That little asshole, he thinks with a fond sigh.

“It’s time to think outside the box.”

Lan Xichen looks alarmed, and Wei Wuxian fights not to roll his eyes. “I’m not going to use the amulet or my wicked tricks on him.” That wouldn’t work anyway. Unless…

No. They won’t let him even think about it, let alone try something on Lan Zhan. Plus he’s not willing to risk hurting Lan Zhan. He’s going to have to come up with a different approach.

“Then what are you proposing? What is outside the box?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “A lot! So many things. Maybe fight the curse with a curse.”

Lan Xichen tilts his head to the side, a little like a bird.

“Like,” Wei Wuxian says, casting about for any plausible example. “What if we cursed Lan Zhan to forget me?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says, voice tight as he grabs at his wrist. Like the curse mark flared just in reaction to the very suggestion.

“Okay, no,” Wei Wuxian says, reaching out and touching Lan Zhan’s shoulder, giving him that moment of contact to recover.

Lan Zhan relaxes.

It’s still wild, the way Lan Zhan reacts to that now. But sitting in front of Lan Xichen is hardly the time to think about it.

Wei Wuxian presses on. “It might be too risky anyway. We don’t really know the exact nature of the curse. And instead of breaking it, we might trigger it. Forgetting I exist might be the same as making me disappear, or me dying, or whatever.”

Lan Zhan sucks in another sharp breath. Hm, yeah. Joking about dying probably isn’t too appreciated right now. Wei Wuxian pats Lan Zhan’s shoulder again.

“We could see if a paperman counts as me being here. Or I could try to transfer the curse to myself. I can’t get too far away from me, now can I?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says again, even more firmly.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian complains. This is not the time to be unreasonably rigid.

Lan Zhan meets his eyes, something flinty in his gaze. “I will not inflict you with a curse just to save myself. I refuse.”

Well then. That’s that, he supposes. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. If Wei Wuxian transferred the curse, he’d just be immediately cursed to stay near the person closest to him, which would be Lan Zhan by default since they’d have to be close to transfer the curse. They might be able to sneak another person in between them, but who else could that be? Some random disciple? Lan Xichen? Lan Qiren?

No, no. If Wei Wuxian has to be cursed to hang out with someone for all eternity, he’d vastly prefer it to be Lan Zhan anyway. Poor Lan Zhan.

Of course, transferring it could also dissipate the curse immediately. It seems to find Lan Zhan’s golden core tasty for whatever reason. Which makes it possible Wei Wuxian actually did get cursed too and it just starved. Though he’s never heard of a curse that feeds on qi, so that seems pretty unlikely. Curses thrive off of resentment. In that case, Wei Wuxian might be an endless feast for it. Which could mean it would kill him immediately. Though, with the amulet, he might be able to kick its ass first.

That’s a lot of ifs.

Figuring out why exactly Wei Wuxian didn’t get cursed while Lan Zhan did might help clear up a lot of possibilities. But all he has right now is speculation.

They might just have to put that idea off to the side for an emergency. Always good to have a backup plan, even if it’s one that will probably end up killing Wei Wuxian.

He shrugs. Lots of things try to kill him all the time. The curse can just get in line.

Lan Zhan is still staring at Wei Wuxian. Really more of a glare.

“What?” he asks.

“You will not,” Lan Zhan says sternly, like Wei Wuxian is another bunny chewing on his robes.

Oh, right. Transferring the curse. “Of course not,” he says, waving a hand. “I have way better ideas anyway.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow, as if he’s noticed it wasn’t really a promise not to transfer the curse.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to, okay?” Lan Zhan would probably try to hold on to the curse out of pure stubbornness anyway.

Lan Zhan seems to finally relax at that, though the little wrinkle in his forehead that is actually a severe frown hasn’t faded.

Wei Wuxian turns back to his notes. “The possibilities are endless anyway. But mostly, I think we’re just going to need to create our own array to draw it out and neutralize it.”

With all the work Wei Wuxian’s done, and all the separate approaches he’s tried, he feels like he knows this curse inside out, for all it continues to elude him. It shouldn’t be that big a deal to design something specifically for it.

He looks up to find Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen regarding him with matching looks of mild confusion, like he’s said something outlandish.

“Look,” Wei Wuxian says. “The ghost is liberated, but it’s also clearly the origin of the curse. Meaning all that’s left is her resentment. Resentment is mindless. It can never tell us what it wants. It doesn’t want anything, really, except for other people to suffer. It can’t be appeased.”

“But there is no separating resentment from the spirit it is tied to. Unmoored resentment dissipates,” Lan Xichen says.

“Yes, normally it does. Eventually.” But not if it manages to infect another being and corrupt it. Or is directed to. But Wei Wuxian is not opening that debate right now. “But not while there is anything left to tie itself to. In this case the curse, I suppose.”

“Can we just try to dissipate it?” Lan Xichen asks, like they haven’t tried and failed to do just that more than once.

“Not really, not until we deal with whatever tether is keeping it anchored,” Wei Wuxian says. It’s not like Lan Zhan is flooded with resentment most of the time.

“Its tether to what? As you said, the ghost is liberated.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, knowing this is the crux of this particular unsolvable riddle. “Whatever is feeding it, I guess. That has to be what is keeping it rooted. Otherwise it would dissipate, wouldn’t it? So we just need to cut that tie. Simple!”

Lan Xichen lets out a sound that is almost a huff. “Very simple.”

Wow, is that sarcasm? From a Lan brother? The Cloud Recesses just insists on becoming more interesting by the day!  

Wei Wuxian pats a hand on the stack of papers on the table. “With the designs for all the talismans we’ve tried out, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to come up with something.”

Lan Xichen still doesn’t look convinced, but when he glances over at his brother, Lan Zhan just nods his head, clearly content to believe Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian lowers his head and reminds himself once again that he really needs to get out of here.

Chapter Text

Lan Qiren is not accustomed to being summarily summoned. He is even less used to being summoned by an outsider. Especially not one who is a delinquent, a demonic cultivator who is still nearly a boy.

The unmitigated gall of the man. Has he no understanding of propriety at all?

When Lan Qiren forces himself to be fair, he has to admit that Wei Wuxian’s greatest sins since arriving here have been more juvenile than demonic, but no less disruptive. Lan Qiren has yet to eat a meal without reliving the horror of Wei Wuxian’s endless prattle brazenly spoken through a mouth full of food. Though such an occasion has not been repeated, he still cannot help but tense in anticipation of it at each and every meal he is forced to endure in his presence.

So, no. Lan Qiren is not disposed to be gracious when a stammering junior arrives to inform him that “Wei-qianbei” is requesting Lan Qiren’s presence in a little-used training hall—one of the few to survive the fire by virtue of being so far on the outskirts of the Cloud Recesses.

“Excuse me?” Lan Qiren demands in hopes that he has heard the message wrong.

“F-forgive me, Lan-xiansheng,” the junior says, bowing again as if that will help. “Wei-qianbei—”

Lan Qiren waves off the rest of the message, not caring to hear it repeated. It brings horror enough to hear “Wei-qianbei” spoken by a Lan disciple. He must concede that Wei Wuxian is certainly a junior no longer, but neither is he in a position to advise or serve as an example to students!

He dismisses the disciple, pretending not to see the relief in the boy’s body language at being able to escape. This younger generation has been asked to endure much and adapt quickly for the better of their sect and he cannot find it in himself to look down upon lingering nerves.

Lan Qiren breathes a moment to regain his temper. He considers ignoring Wei Wuxian’s demand, but as gratifying as that might be, it likely invites disaster. Resigning himself to actually answering the summons for fear that Wei Wuxian may do something abhorrent if he is not there to stop it, he exits his office and heads towards the indicated location.

He is not pleased to find his path converging with Xichen’s as he passes the dining hall.

Lan Qiren flips his sleeves back as they fall into step next to one another, his only concession to the annoyance pulsing in his chest. In an attempt to center himself, he takes a moment to admire Xichen’s calm, their comfortable familiarity with each other, but with an eye out for any correction or guidance he might provide his nephew.

He has grown into an admirable man, as both his nephews have, and will make a fine sect leader. Lan Qiren will see to it.

“May I infer that you have been summoned as well?” Lan Qiren asks through a tight jaw.

Xichen nods, seeming amused. “Indeed I was.”

Lan Qiren allows himself a sound of disapproval. Who does Wei Wuxian think he is to order the sect leader around like a servant!

“I am sure Wei-gongzi has good reason,” Xichen says.

Lan Qiren is not. It would have been easy enough to discuss anything of import at dinner. Wei Wuxian had been particularly quiet the night before. Wangji had more than once needed to touch Wei Wuxian’s arm in order to get him to resume eating. He repeatedly lost track of the simple task, instead staring off into space. Each time, Wei Wuxian had shaken himself awake in response, given Wangji an impertinent nod, and then shoved a far-too-large portion of his horrific so-called food—that Wangji insists on enabling—into his mouth before promptly losing focus again, his knee bouncing erratically enough to shake the table.

At least he had not spoken and had kept his mouth mercifully closed.

“I admit I am curious to see what Wei-gongzi may have come up with,” Xichen says. “His ideas have been…unexpectedly thought-provoking.”

That, they have always been. For the worse!

Lan Qiren has, of course, heard of Wei Wuxian’s latest arrogant folly in somehow thinking he will be able to create a new array to cure a curse the entirety of the Lan knowledge has somehow failed to thus far address. The sheer conceit of the man!

At least Xichen has been able to confirm that Wei Wuxian has not used any of his disgusting tricks in his research, apparently holding to his promise not to use demonic cultivation while residing in the Cloud Recesses—as if that is any sort of a concession worth celebrating. A surprising bit of compliance from a man known to take great joy in being a troublemaker.

It at least saves Lan Qiren himself from having to be in close proximity to Wei Wuxian. Xichen seems to think his health would not hold up to it. Impertinent, but possibly true.

They are nearly to the training hall when Lan Yunxia joins them as well. “I was sent for,” she informs them with a bow.

If this is somehow meant to be a comfort, that Wei Wuxian has sent for a healer as well, it does not achieve its ends. Just what is he doing that he thinks they should all be there? Lan Qiren’s steps increase with his dread.

Xichen enters the training hall in front of them.  

Inside, they find Wei Wuxian moving around what looks like a large array painted on the floor. The man himself is a mess, sleeves pushed up and hair in disarray. Wangji sits nearby, perfectly in order as always, watching Wei Wuxian closely.

“You’ve completed it,” Xichen says, sounding surprised.

Wei Wuxian looks up at them, face flushed with heat. “You’re here!” he says, as if he had not demanded they come. “Yes, I did. I figured the last part out during dinner last night. It took most of the night to get it totally nailed down, but yes! It’s definitely done.”

Done. He has supposedly not only come up with a theoretical idea for an array to address the situation, but also created it. And written it on the floor!

Wei Wuxian gestures at Lan Yunxia. “Daifu. Could you just do a quick check of Lan Zhan, make sure he’s up for it?”

“Wei Ying,” Wangji says, very nearly a complaint.

Lan Qiren merely glances over at Wangji to add his interest to this development, and Wangji nods his head in compliance, submitting himself to Lan Yunxia’s examination with becoming grace.

While that happens, Lan Qiren forces himself to walk carefully around the array drawn on the floor. It is surprisingly clear and simple to read in comparison to Wei Wuxian’s usual slapdash writing.

He looks and looks, and yet can see no obvious flaws. It is, in fact, quite possibly brilliant. His brow furrows and he carefully circles around the array again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Wei Wuxian bouncing on his toes like a child. Ignoring that, Lan Qiren completes a third, even more thorough circuit.

It is quite possible it will actually work.

He is at once furious over the achievement—in no small part because of Wei Wuxian’s continued refusal to apply himself and his talents in more measured and considered ways through the vital opportunities offered him at no small inconvenience to others—and pleased by the idea of Wangji finally being free of the curse. Which would also mean Wei Wuxian no longer residing at the Cloud Recesses. It is a trying moment all around.  

Lan Qiren focuses on the essential task at hand. “You are planning to use this on Wangji?”

“That’s why you’re here,” Wei Wuxian says without so much as a by your leave. “I need two people to power it up, and I figured you two would want to be here for it to make sure it gets done right.”

Lan Qiren frowns. Of course he would wish to be here for it. But it also seems uncharacteristic of Wei Wuxian to leave such a task to others when he might use it to show off yet again. “You are not powering it yourself?”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian’s expression seems to stutter. He recovers quickly though, waving his papers obnoxiously. “Oh, no. I can watch much better from back here.” He glances over at Wangji, something seeming to pass between them. “It’s fine, Lan Zhan! I’m sure no one wants my evil energy anywhere near you anyway.” He gives Wangji a grin seemingly designed to goad and annoy. “Come on, Lan Zhan. Aren’t you ready to finally be free of me?”

If Wangji does not look as enthused as he should at the prospect, it is likely due to the curse’s influence. Wangji gracefully gets to his feet and moves towards the middle of the array, careful not to disturb any part of it.

Xichen moves closer to Lan Qiren’s side, near enough to not be overheard by others. “Are you sure, Uncle?”

Lan Qiren cuts him a look. He has strength enough for this. Wei Wuxian is, unfortunately, correct. He would leave this task to no other.

Xichen subsides, but glances at Lan Yunxia. Her sharp eyes catch Lan Qiren, looking him over, and he feels the certainty of another health check happening in his near future. He will submit to it, as always.

Wei Wuxian directs them on where to kneel and to the specific places on the array to apply their qi, giving them detailed, concise directions on how much energy to use. He then checks in with Lan Yunxia and looks over the array one last time against a drawing in his hand. Very thorough, to his credit.

“Okay!” he eventually decides, hands on his hips. “Looks good. We’re good to go.” He looks over at Wangji, his voice going softer, quiet. “You okay, Lan Zhan?”

Wangji meets his gaze, nodding. “Yes, Wei Ying,” he says, a strangely superfluous use of words. By his side, his hands have curled into fists.

Lan Qiren pushes it from his mind and returns his attention to the array and the task before them. Freeing Wangji from this must be the priority.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says once he is content that everyone is in place. “Power it up.”

Lan Qiren concentrates on releasing the smooth flow of his qi into the lines of the array, watching it light up line by line, snaking across the floor towards where Wangji stands in the center.

Just past him, Lan Qiren is aware of Wei Wuxian’s restless movement as he closely watches their progress.

The energy reaches Wangji, a thin bubble of light building up and over him.

It has barely coalesced when Wei Wuxian’s movements become more distracting. 

“Something’s wrong,” Wei Wuxian mutters. And then louder. “Something’s wrong! Stop!”

There is enough panic in Wei Wuxian’s voice that Lan Qiren complies immediately, even as his energy jolts at the sudden reversal. Wei Wuxian frantically runs forward, dragging his foot across the outer ring, disrupting the lingering energy from Xichen and Lan Qiren.

The array powers down, and now Lan Qiren can see Wangji more clearly. Blood drips from his nose, a few drops from his eyes. He is still standing, and yet does not seem completely conscious, and then he begins to fall.

“Wangji!” Xichen shouts, the fear in his voice echoing the pounding in Lan Qiren’s heart as he gets to his feet.

Wei Wuxian is already there, lurching forward to clutch at Wangji. He just manages to keep Wangji’s head from hitting the ground as they both fall. Wangji’s entire body twitches, blood now dripping from his ears, and heavens, is he—?

Lan Yunxia is there only a moment later, hands moving quickly over Wangji’s body. “He is going into qi deviation,” she says, brutally calm. “Give him energy, now. A slow, steady stream.”

Wei Wuxian looks down at Wangji cradled to his chest but makes no move to comply .

“Now!” Lan Yunxia snaps.

“I can’t,” Wei Wuxian whispers, quiet enough that Lan Qiren assumes he has misheard him.

“Wei-gongzi—” she demands.

“I can’t!” Wei Wuxian shouts back, face lifting, expression full of horror.

Xichen strides forward, pulling Wangji from Wei Wuxian’s grasp. Cool blue energy flows between them as Lan Yunxia pulls open Wangji’s robes, placing needles along his central meridians.

“Clarity, Lan-xiansheng.”

Lan Qiren does not allow himself even a moment to flounder, to remind her that she has told him to minimize his playing, not when it is Wangji’s life on the line. He pulls his qin free with a swipe of his hand and settles down to play the familiar notes. Far too familiar.

He is only partially aware of Wei Wuxian, sprawled back on his hands, staring at Wangji with blatant fear. Lan Yunxia bumps into him as she seeks more room to attend to Wangji, and Wei Wuxian crawls backwards, wedging himself back against the wall, eyes never leaving Wangji.

Lan Qiren gives him no more attention, all his focus on settling down with his qin, on the energy he puts into the notes, allowing no space for mistakes. He plays and plays, feeling the pull on his energy but giving it no mind, until Lan Yunxia finally tells him to stop.

“He is stable enough to move now, Lan-xiansheng,” she says gently.

He nods, still reluctant to pull his hands away, but knowing he must stop. He looks at Wangji. He has stopped twitching, now completely still, and it is unclear if he is being kept unconscious on purpose, or if he is simply insensible. His face is so pale under the streaks of blood drying on his skin.

Xichen reaches out, using a cloth to carefully wipe Wangji’s face clean. Wangji would not enjoy being untidy like this.

Two other attendants from the healing wards have arrived, the two of them lifting Wangji gently onto a stretcher. Lan Yunxia stays close to Wangji, one hand on his wrist monitoring his qi.

She glances back over her shoulder. It takes a moment for Lan Qiren to remember that they cannot leave without Wei Wuxian. After all this, there is still the curse.

Xichen approaches Wei Wuxian where he still sits wedged into the corner of the room, arms wrapped around himself. “Wei-gongzi.”  

Wei Wuxian flinches as if someone has shouted. He looks up at Xichen. “What?” he asks.

“Will you come?”

Wei Wuxian blinks.

“We are moving Wangji to the infirmary.”

It seems to take Wei Wuxian a moment to understand what this has to do with him, gaze unfocused as if he has taken a hit to the head.

But then he catches up quickly. “Right,” he says, jumping to his feet. “Of course.” He moves to follow after Wangji’s prone form laid out on a stretcher.

Lan Qiren glances at the ruined array one last time and turns to follow.

Wei Wuxian sits in the corner of the infirmary, tucked up as small as he can make himself, trying to just keep everything contained. The healers work around him, stabilizing Lan Zhan’s qi. It’s been a while now. Probably. He can’t be sure.

The blood has stopped dripping out of Lan Zhan’s nose and ears though, and the doctors are moving with slow, meticulous gestures. No one seems panicked. That’s good.

They all ignore Wei Wuxian. 

They probably think he did this on purpose. That he’d do this just to get himself free.  

He wouldn’t. He would never —

He remembers the feel of Lan Zhan’s body in his arms, blood slick on his face, and being absolutely sure he was watching Lan Zhan die.

It still thunders away in his chest, his limbs twitching to go. To do. He would run, if he could. He would try to get as far away from Lan Zhan as possible.

You’ve destroyed him.

He presses his hands to his ears, but that’s never done anything before and it doesn’t help now either.

He was trying to help. He was trying to cure him. He would never hurt Lan Zhan. Not even to defend himself. Not even if Lan Zhan decided to kill him. Because if it were Lan Zhan…. If Lan Zhan ever decides Wei Wuxian is too far gone, that he deserves it, then it will only be because it’s true.

The array shouldn’t have done this. There’s no reason—

He just doesn’t understand where he went wrong. Why it didn’t work. The theory was sound. It should have worked. Of course, the stupid curse shouldn’t be acting the way it is anyway. It makes no sense! With the ghost liberated, the resentment feeding the curse should dissipate when Wei Wuxian is near. It should have starved long ago. But it hasn’t. It’s stronger than ever and will not let Lan Zhan go.

You bring ruin to everything you touch.

No. No. It’s not him. He didn’t—

Unless.

Is Wei Wuxian the one feeding the curse? Is it even possible that in some bizarre confluence of events, Lan Zhan has found himself with a small curse that ties him to Wei Wuxian, the one person flooded with resentment and carrying a tool that can likely never be depleted?

Did he do this?

Maybe Wei Wuxian should let the Lan elders cleanse him after all. Hide the amulet away somewhere and let the Lan elders play and play and play until he’s shiny and new. Even if it kills him, which he can’t imagine it wouldn’t. But it would be enough, right? To set Lan Zhan free?

The amulet punishes him for the thought, for the weakness of giving in. Of giving up.

But the amulet and the voices can do as they like. It’s nothing compared to seeing Lan Zhan lying there, limp and lifeless.

He’s so still. Not the kind of solid patience Wei Wuxian is used to. There’s nothing really quiet about Lan Zhan, after all, if you really know him. His stillness is always a promise of more, a calm before action. A steadiness wrapped carefully around coiled potential. His presence is so loud for all he rarely speaks and can sit as still as a mountain. But like a mountain there is riotous life underneath. Woven into every cun of space.

Wei Wuxian knew, of course he did, how much it has always meant that Lan Zhan is in the world somewhere, being his steady, perfect self. That no matter what happens, that is at least one truth. One right, good thing in the world. He had just not known with quite this certainty.

The thought of something happening to Lan Zhan no longer seems ridiculous and unfathomable, instead only horrifyingly possible. Especially if he stays anywhere near Wei Wuxian.

You will ruin him in the end. Like everything else.

It’s full dark by the time everyone else leaves. He thinks Lan Xichen might have said something to Wei Wuxian on his way out, but he didn’t hear it, too caught up in his thoughts, in the scream of the amulet and his endless worry over what had gone wrong.

But Lan Zhan must be okay now, right? If everyone is willing to leave? No one would leave Lan Zhan on his own to suffer. It wouldn’t be right.

There’s no one left to tell him off for it, so Wei Wuxian scoots closer to sit at the side of Lan Zhan’s bed. Reaching out, he takes Lan Zhan’s hand in his. Just in case the curse needs soothing, just in case it might make anything in Lan Zhan ease. Just to let him know someone is here. He doesn’t have to be lonely.

It’s a little for Wei Wuxian too, maybe. Just to feel the warmth of his skin. No one knows, do they, just how warm Lan Zhan is? He looks so cold and untouchable. But he’s warm, really. And not just in comparison to Wei Wuxian’s perpetual chill.

He’s going to be fine. Wei Wuxian knows this. But it’s dark and he’s alone and the voices are getting louder and louder.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, voice hoarse in the dark night. “I just need you to be okay, alright? The world needs Hanguang-Jun. I’ll find a way to set you free. And if I can’t, well, there are much worse fates than getting to bother you all day. I’ll keep you on your toes. It’s good for you.” He leans forward. “You can even punish me. I’ll write as many lines as you like. Just come back, okay?”

Lan Zhan, as usual, says nothing in return.

Wei Wuxian wakes in the morning to the sound of the door sliding open. He’d fallen asleep slouched on the floor next to Lan Zhan’s bed. Foolish, maybe, but the last thing Lan Zhan needs is to deal with the curse triggering on top of everything else.

Still, his back is in agony as he sits up, cracking his neck. Only when he sees Lan Qiren standing in the doorway does he pull his hand from Lan Zhan’s. Glancing over, he finds Lan Zhan still soft in sleep. Or more accurately unconsciousness.

Lan Qiren crosses the room, and Wei Wuxian scoots back to give him room.

Lan Qiren checks Lan Zhan and then without looking up says, “Have you eaten?”

He can only be talking to Wei Wuxian. Turning his head, he notices for the first time two trays on a table near the door. Both untouched. Someone must have brought him dinner the night before. He hadn’t noticed. “I have not, Lan-xiansheng.”

“Hm,” he says, the tiny sound full of judgment as usual. With a flick of his wrist, he indicates the breakfast tray. It’s the same breakfast food Lan Zhan has been supplying him with.

Wei Wuxian has no idea why that makes pressure rise behind his eyes.

“Do not waste others’ time,” Lan Qiren says when he doesn’t immediately move to eat.

Wei Wuxian complies, mostly because he doesn’t have the energy to fight.

A few doctors come in, checking Lan Zhan’s qi and doing something with needles and a little medicine under his tongue. He thinks how much Lan Zhan would hate it, being moved around and touched like this.

The doctors seem pretty calm though. And not just in a the-Lan-are-boring way but a nothing-is-alarming-right-now way. That’s good.

There’s also some noise from the room outside, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t really care enough to pay it any mind.

When Wei Wuxian has eaten as much as he can, pushing away his half-finished bowls, Lan Qiren says, “Come.”

Wei Wuxian rises to his feet, looking over at Lan Zhan one last time, making sure he’ll still be in line of sight if he follows Lan Qiren into the main room.

Right outside there’s a small crowd of Lan elders arranged in tight rows of tables squeezed into the small space of the main room of the infirmary. He would be surprised to see them all here, but there can be only one reason, right? They’re here to judge Wei Wuxian. At long last. As they’ve always wanted. The only reason it’s here in this strange space is out of consideration for Lan Zhan.  

They’ve come to him because they won’t risk Lan Zhan, even when he’s unconscious. At least they have proper care of their precious Second Jade. As he deserves.

That care will ensure they at least are not here to kill Wei Wuxian. At least not yet, he imagines. As they have established, they can do a great deal to Wei Wuxian without it harming Lan Zhan. Anything short of death is probably on the table.

He could fight his way out. Could hold his own against every man here— do it, use us, let the blood flow, do not let them diminish you, WEI WUXIAN! —but he won’t.

He won’t.

At least they’re already in the infirmary.

Looking out at the room of grim-faced elders, Wei Wuxian steps into the room and drops to his knees.

Lan Qiren turns to look back at him, a frown on his face.

“So what’s it to be?” Wei Wuxian asks. He may not have any intention of fighting this, but he sure as hell isn’t going to thank them for it either. “Bastinados? Discipline whip?”

Just knowing what is coming often makes it easier to handle.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren barks out, sounding annoyed and exasperated, and it’s nice to know he still has it, the ability to make the old goat lose his temper. “What exactly do you think is happening here?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs, wondering if they’ll let him take off his outer robe at least. He doesn’t have so many clothes that he can let it get shredded. “Well, it’s the Cloud Recesses. I would assume punishment.”

Punishment is care, he hears Lan Zhan’s voice say in his head. He buries that away as deep as he can.

Lan Qiren sighs, shoving a sheath of papers towards him. “I had a disciple collect these for you.”

Wei Wuxian looks at them, wondering for a brief moment if he’s just going to be set to lines, but the papers are very familiar to him, covered in his own writing. His notes and theories on the array he used.

“Please begin by explaining your process of developing the array. What specifically did you hope it would achieve?”

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, still not following.

Lan Qiren shakes the papers, pushing them towards Wei Wuxian again. “What did you hope to achieve?”

What did he hope to achieve? Meaning did he plan to nearly kill Lan Zhan?

“I would never hurt Lan Zhan on purpose,” he says, voice harsh. They can accuse him of a lot, but never that.  

Lan Qiren seems taken aback. “No one said that you did, Wei-gongzi.”

“Really?” he says, laughing humorlessly, hand going to Chenqing at his waist. He still remembers Lan Qiren demanding he give it up.  

Lan Qiren hasn’t stopped frowning at him, like Wei Wuxian is somehow the one not making any sense. He visibly seems to rein in his annoyance. “Wei Wuxian. In the Cloud Recesses when an accident occurs, an inquest is held to determine what mistakes were made as well as what may be learned for future areas of inquiry.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks again, blinking at the rows of stuffy elders, all of them with their hands tucked into their sleeves, eyes intent on the proceedings.

Look. Wei Wuxian knows he didn’t exactly get a lot of sleep last night, or the night before, for that matter. He gets that his muscles are still burning with the amulet’s displeasure and that makes it kind of hard to think. But he’s still convinced he’s not the one making no sense here.

Lan Qiren flips his sleeves back, his equivalent of a kid throwing a fit. “How can one learn if one does not take the time to study their mistakes?” he snaps.

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says, looking down at his papers again. In the past when one of his experiments went awry, he mostly just got a beating and was told never to speak of whatever it was ever again, not if he didn’t want to kneel in the ancestral hall for all time.

This is…different.

Then again, the Lan are a bunch of stuffy scholars. Maybe they want to know the full scope of all his mistakes so they can make sure not to miss any reason to punish him. That makes sense too, he supposes.

He finally takes the papers.

“I was looking for a way to dissipate the tether keeping the curse in place,” he starts. When no one yells at him or says anything at all, he keeps going. Frankly, it’s nicer to have something to focus on than Lan Zhan’s still form in the bed behind him.

After a while, he notices a younger disciple frantically taking notes. The poor kid looks like he’s struggling to keep up. Like what Wei Wuxian is saying is worth recording. They’ll have to get it right, he supposes, all the things he messed up.

“Which text?” an elder asks at one point when Wei Wuxian mentions a theory he’d read about.  

“Uh…” Wei Wuxian says, tapping his nose, trying to remember what he’d just said. “Blue cover? Middle shelf near the window at the back?” He doesn’t remember titles for shit. When it becomes clear he isn’t going to be helpful at all from this angle, they wait while a pair of young disciples disappear only to arrive back with the stacks of texts from the Jingshi and the one from his desk at the library.

“Great, yeah.” Wei Wuxian leans over and pulls one out. “This is the one that mentioned the concept of the proximity tether.” He grabs another one. “This one had a successful severing of a similar, but different curse. And this one mentioned the fundamentals of resentment anchors in instances of curses. And this one I picked up by accident. It’s really about gardening? But there was a section about ordering crops and seasonal rotations that made me think about the placement of radicals in a completely different way.”

He takes a breath, happening to glance up at Lan Qiren to find him staring at him. He looks almost…surprised? Maybe? Or possibly in pain. Hell if Wei Wuxian knows. It isn’t quite as fun as him staring in fury, but still exciting to get a reaction.

Wei Wuxian continues on, starting to be almost amused by the way the scribe struggles to keep up, the faces the elders make every time he tugs out another text, the way Lan Qiren has started looking more and more constipated.

Wei Wuxian has the strange sensation of keeping them all hostage as he rambles and they are forced to listen. It’s wild.

It would be really funny if this weren’t all about Lan Zhan’s life.

Eventually, he peters off, having answered some pointed questions. They break for lunch.

Wei Wuxian eats sitting next to Lan Zhan. His color looks a little better, he thinks. When is he going to wake up? This would all suck a little less if he had Lan Zhan there too.

Then again, maybe he doesn’t need Lan Zhan listening in on all of Wei Wuxian’s fuck-ups. Lan Zhan doesn’t need any more reasons to disapprove of him, really.

After lunch, everyone reappears, sinking back into their tight rows of desks. A lot of them are carrying scrolls and texts now, and a gaggle of juniors sit along one wall grinding ink and preparing paper.

Still no sign of a discipline whip, but the day is young.

Wei Wuxian deliberately stretches his back and makes a bit of a scene before moving forward to kneel once again.

Lan Qiren stops him with a glare, gesturing impatiently towards a cushion near the door, off to the side but within view of Lan Zhan.

Okay, Wei Wuxian thinks, moving to take the indicated spot.

They all sit in a terrible awkward silence for a while, with just the sound of ink-grinding and paper being shuffled. And then finally someone stands, one of those elders who could be forty or four hundred.

He clears his throat and begins. “The tradition of using arrays in the resolution of curses is one first established during the reign of…”

Blah, blah, blah.

Wei Wuxian tunes him out almost immediately.

Wow. This guy’s voice is somehow even more boring than Lan Qiren’s. Is he…giving a lecture? Is Wei Wuxian going to get lectured to death? Is that the plan? Is this his punishment? Torture by boredom? Maybe more effective than they realize.

At the same time, no one is even looking at Wei Wuxian. He may as well not exist.

At some point the guy finishes, a few other elders nodding in agreement, but not all of them. He sits. There is another awkward silence.

And then another elder stands up.

What the hell.

Elder number two starts talking and his voice drones just as much, but something in what he says catches Wei Wuxian’s attention long enough for him to tune in.

At first, Wei Wuxian can’t quite believe it, but as the nodders start to frown and different elders start to nod, it becomes clear that Wei Wuxian is listening to the politest, most bland and scholarly ‘excuse me but you are wrong and possibly stupid, moron’ that he’s ever heard.

Can this possibly be happening? Almost on instinct, Wei Wuxian turns back to look at Lan Zhan, wanting his reaction to this development.

The smile slides off Wei Wuxian’s face. Right. Of course.

Lan Zhan still hasn’t moved.

A third elder stands and talks, and then a fourth that makes a really interesting point. Or at least something that sparks something in Wei Wuxian’s head. He looks around, catching the attention of one of the juniors. He mimes his request for something to write with. The kid eventually gets it and brings over paper, ink, and a brush. Apparently the condemned won’t be refused study materials. Sweet.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a desk, but he’s more than capable of leaning over and scribbling on the floor before the thought escapes him.

His hip is mad as hell after about five minutes, but whatever. He ignores it as he usually does. Just like he ignores the clear huff of annoyance Lan Qiren sends in his direction.

The group of elders spends all afternoon discussing and debating. Someone actually raises their voice above a morose drone at one point! It’s very exciting!

Wei Wuxian splits his attention between listening, scribbling ideas about other things down, and occasionally tuning them all out entirely to just stare at Lan Zhan for a break.

He’s still breathing, at least.

The elders are circling towards something that Wei Wuxian himself can’t quite see yet, something he assumes isn’t particularly important, but it’s still surprisingly interesting to hear the debate, even if half of these people are boring as blank paper. Or just plain wrong. That’s fun, not just the idea of a Lan elder being wrong, but the way the other elders are perfectly happy to call them out in the most cutting ways while still being polite. It’s actually kind of terrifying!

They exhaust themselves eventually. They stop pontificating and politely arguing. They drink tea.

And then the really old one stands and declares, “The array is theoretically sound.”

There are a lot of head nods and even some sounds of agreement.

“But it didn’t work,” Wei Wuxian blurts out, feeling the need to point it out and still so terribly confused about what is happening here. Why must Lans always be so confusing? “It almost killed Hanguang-Jun.”

Something he probably shouldn’t be reminding them of, but it’s an important point!

The snarky second elder locks eyes with Wei Wuxian and he fears for his life for a moment, really.

“Yes,” he agrees. “Because of your fundamental misassumption.”

“My fundamental misassumption?” Wei Wuxian echoes.

“As to the nature of the curse anchor.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. The curse mark is probably the least murky part of this whole thing. The ghost is the origin. The curse mark is the anchor. It’s the tether that they are trying to figure out. The confusing mystery. The array was meant to dissolve the tether. Which would in hand destabilize the anchor, allowing the curse to dissipate. They’d even said it was theoretically sound.

But all they’d managed to destabilize was Lan Zhan’s core!

Wait. 

“His golden core,” Wei Wuxian breathes, the realization coming suddenly, all the various pieces and questions and conversations stringing together into the answer.

“Yes,” the elder says.

Not just spread there, not just infesting it or attacking it. But anchored there.

Lan Qiren nods. “Meaning that in attempting to dispel the curse, the array inadvertently attempted instead to disrupt Wangji’s core.”

Wei Wuxian curses, realizing just how much worse it could have been if they hadn’t stopped as fast as they had.

“Language,” Lan Qiren snaps.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have attention left to even react to that bit of nonsense.

The curse is anchored to Lan Zhan’s golden core.

His brilliant, powerful golden core. That would be enough to power the curse for all eternity! 

How is that even possible? But there is no other explanation, and thirty-six stuffy Lan elders seem to agree.

And if it is true, could that be an explanation for why Wei Wuxian wasn’t cursed too? If the curse anchors itself in a golden core, it wouldn’t have found Wei Wuxian particularly tasty. What might have happened then if Wei Wuxian really had tried to transfer the curse to himself? Would he have sent Lan Zhan into qi deviation, and maybe done it with no one nearby to help?

He shudders at the thought.

Of course, it’s just as possible Wei Wuxian lacks some other element the curse was seeking. Maybe Lan Zhan was just more tempting. Who wouldn’t find him more tempting?

Either way, the issue of his missing core is not relevant enough to be shared. Wei Wuxian’s empty dantian is hardly important. He can’t let it be. Still, he files it away to ponder further at some time when he isn’t surrounded by dozens of Lan elders who would probably take great joy in exploiting the weakness.

“It could still work, with other similar curses,” an elder says. “It could be very useful.”  

“It should be documented,” another jumps in.

“And investigated thoroughly before it is used or taught.”

“It belongs to the Jiang Clan, does it not?”

“It was developed here with our resources.”

The elders descend into another discussion then, but they are finally saved by the dinner bell, the elders obediently getting up even as they continue to quietly debate in groups of two or three.

None of them even so much as look at Wei Wuxian.

“Wait,” he says, looking around in confusion. “What about my punishment?”

Most of the elders ignore him, but the really old one stops, looking down at Wei Wuxian, Lan Qiren hovering half a step behind.

“Certainly,” the elder says. “What specifically shall we punish you for, Wei-gongzi?”

He blinks, something hot like annoyance and anger building in his stomach at the man’s tone, and at the entire confusing day, frankly. Gesturing back towards Lan Zhan impatiently, he says, “I dunno. Nearly killing Hanguang-Jun?”

“Ah,” the elder says. “So you intended to kill him?”

“Of course not,” Wei Wuxian snaps. “But what does that matter?”

The elder considers him, apparently refusing to be rushed, and sure, that’s kind of cute when Lan Zhan does it, but here it’s just annoying as hell.

“Your attempt expands our knowledge,” the elder finally says. “And without it, we may not have learned the true nature of the curse.”

That knowledge hasn’t cured Lan Zhan, so Wei Wuxian doesn’t exactly call it a win.

“Your main error, Wei Wuxian,” he continues, “was in not consulting your seniors for clarity and guidance. No one can work in complete isolation. Let others help see what you have overlooked.”

Wei Wuxian has no idea what to do with that, equally nonplussed and kinda pissed off. He should probably say something provoking just to remind them he is not their junior to rebuke nor reform. He also thinks of the long afternoon and how this elder listened to others speak against him with calm equilibrium.

So instead, Wei Wuxian finds it in himself to bow his head and say with only slight disgruntlement, “This one thanks his senior for their wisdom.”

Lan Qiren lets out a sound that is pretty close to derisive. Lan Qiren! Being impolite! What the hell is even happening?

“As for your punishment, for as long as you reside in the Cloud Recesses, you will attend the council once a week to present a summary of your recent research.”

Oh, shit. More afternoons like this? Wei Wuxian is half horrified and half something else he absolutely refuses to admit. “You’re sure you can’t just hit me with a stick a few hundred times instead?”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren scolds, the elder leaving without another word. Wei Wuxian thinks the guy was secretly amused though. Like, deep down.

When Lan Qiren doesn’t leave too, Wei Wuxian is pretty sure he’s about to get another lecture. Lan Qiren’s lectures are surely more torture than the average person can withstand. But Lan Qiren simply returns to Lan Zhan’s side, looking him over with careful hands and more curt affection than Wei Wuxian would have expected of him.

Despite it being dinner hour, Lan Qiren sinks down with his qin and plays Clarity for Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian winces through it, the energy clashing against the resentment in his meridians. It’s for Lan Zhan. He can endure it. No matter how much it makes everything worse.

When he’s finally done, Lan Qiren rises and leaves, pausing only long enough to say, “Eat your dinner, Wei Wuxian.” Barely even a scold.

With that, he goes away.

Wei Wuxian sits another moment, letting the agitation in his body settle. When he can get up, he most certainly doesn’t eat. Not just for the joy of not listening to Lan Qiren. But also because of the inescapable feeling that he’s been away from Lan Zhan too long as it is. Like somehow he’s the one with a curse.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. He isn’t hungry anyway. And for now, maybe he can just sit here with Lan Zhan.

Yeah. That’s what he’s going to do.

Settling down next to bed, he takes Lan Zhan’s hand back into his. Just in case.

He doesn’t let go.

Lan Xichen spends his evening listening to Uncle report on the findings of the inquest and then complain about Wei Wuxian in a way that seems more unsettled than usual. He will have to keep an eye on that in case this is a sign of something more serious in connection to his uncle’s health.

After his uncle finishes and they share a few more quiet moments together, Lan Qiren excuses himself, and Lan Xichen is finally free to check on Wangji before he sleeps. To reassure himself of his brother’s well-being.

It is comforting to know that the doctors are certain of his recovery, even if the curse still remains in place. And yet, qi deviations are serious conditions. The most frightening aspect being that they leave a permanent destabilization. Nothing too horrendous, but one that can build and build. Once one experiences one near qi-deviation, it makes it far easier to experience it again.

He does not like that Wangji will now be at higher risk, no matter how small. It is a specter that already haunts too many of those he loves.

For now, they are all well, Lan Xichen reminds himself. Or on their way to being so.

When he arrives at the infirmary, he greets the doctors and briefly looks in on a disciple who suffered a minor injury while on a night hunt. He is pleased to see his recovery has been swift, and communicates as much to the slightly flustered patient. Lan Xichen supposes it is not quite a normal occurrence to have one’s sect leader visit them in the infirmary.

Leaving him to his recovery, Lan Xichen moves to the more private room his brother is occupying. Wei Wuxian is still there, of course, and once again sitting on the floor by Wangji’s bed. As he has been every time Lan Xichen has managed to find a moment to visit. It does not look particularly comfortable.

Wei Wuxian has one elbow up on the edge as he holds Wangji’s hand. Perhaps a precaution against the curse but there is also little reason to think the curse might trigger. Yet here he still sits. As he apparently had all night as well.

It is strange to see someone touching Wangji so casually. This physical closeness was there between them before as well, not just now while Wangji is unconscious. Wei Wuxian continually enters his brother’s space. Even more surprising is the way Wangji lets him. Perhaps to assuage the curse, but Lan Xichen suspects not in entirety.

Lan Xichen has spent the last decade watching the pocket of space around his brother only grow and grow. Most people in their clan are solicitous of Wangji, make space for his preferences no matter how unusual. But he has never seen someone act with his brother as Wei Wuxian does. Apparently not seeing Wangji as someone to be accommodated out of respect nor as someone to be avoided out of awe, but rather as someone worthy of being known, of being around, of being taken exactly as he is. Not excusing Wangji or deferring to him, but rather pressing close, relentless in his refusal to be put off.

It is exactly what Lan Xichen had hoped for as he watched them first meet as teenagers, why he had nudged Wangji towards Wei Wuxian as best he could without making Wangji simply dig his heels in out of stubbornness. It had been a relief, a strange sort of joy, to see his brother both challenged and engaged in such a way when before he only seemed to express indifference.

Wei Wuxian is far from that carefree boy now. But neither, Lan Xichen is forced to admit, is Wei Wuxian completely unrecognizable anymore. At least in this. The way he slips into place next to Wangji like it’s somewhere anyone would be happy to be. His solicitous care of Wangji’s health and feelings has been visible since the first moment the curse was discovered.

Not that Lan Xichen can be pleased to see them tied together. Nor can he even believe there is nothing here to be concerned about. Wei Wuxian is still wild and frightening at times. There is still so much unknown about this person Wei Wuxian has become, and what unseen threats he may pose to Wangji.

And yet here he sits. Holding his little brother’s hand.

Lan Xichen steps into the room.

“Your uncle filled you in?” Wei Wuxian says without turning his head from Wangji. He sounds tired, worn. And yet somehow on edge.

“I have heard the inquest’s conclusions,” he confirms.  

Wei Wuxian lets out a huff. “I feel so stupid. I hadn’t considered—I mean, who could have known? I wouldn’t—” He breaks off, taking a breath that isn’t entirely steady. “I never meant to hurt him.” 

Lan Xichen believes that to be true. He also knows that sometimes intentions have very little impact on the harm caused.

With clear reluctance, Wei Wuxian gets to his feet, seeming clumsy from having sat in the same position for so long. He carefully places Wangji’s hand back on his chest. He turns towards the table where a long-ignored dinner sits untouched. Wei Wuxian lowers himself to the table with his back to Lan Xichen.

Giving Lan Xichen space to visit with his brother as unobserved as possible, he supposes. Another unexpected kindness. Or perhaps not so unexpected.

Lan Xichen sits at Wangji’s side. He does not take his hand. Indeed, he cannot remember the last time he was allowed it. He does briefly check the flow of Wangji’s qi, relieved to find it much improved. He will likely wake soon.

Retrieving his xiao, he plays three rounds of Clarity, helping to strengthen the flow of Wangj’s qi and clear any lingering resentment impeding its flow. Behind him, there is the rough scrape of table legs as Wei Wuxian shifts, but otherwise stays silent.

This task completed, Lan Xichen allows himself to indulge by placing a hand on Wangji’s shoulder, feeling the slow steady shift of his breathing. So comforted, Lan Xichen returns his attention to the silent man behind him. 

“Have you considered yet, Wei-gongzi, that this curse is unbreakable?” Lan Xichen says, wondering if anyone has realized the implications of the inquest’s discovery. The rather long-term implications.

It doesn’t seem to be doing Lan Wangji any active harm, at least. But it is inconvenient.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t turn, but his posture stiffens, his chopsticks clicking as he sets them down. Perhaps it has already occurred to him. “Meaning what? That we just accept this?”

“We may have no other choice.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says, his hand pressing into his chest and something strange happening to his voice. “So I spend the rest of my life freaking out that if something happens to me it will hurt Lan Zhan?” 

Lan Xichen frowns, this not having been the expected objection to the situation. “What exactly do you imagine happening to you, Wei-gongzi?”

All at once, Wei Wuxian comes furiously to life, surging to his feet and turning, his entire body vibrating with energy. “A lot of things! Many things!”

It is true that the last years have been one endless trial after another, but the jianghu is at peace now. One would not know that to look at Wei Wuxian’s face, the way he clutches at his flute in one hand and his side with the other, face drawn in hard, painful lines.

His breathing is coming out in great, bellowing rushes, his eyes losing focus as if he is seeing something far beyond this room. Or this time.

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says, moving closer. Wei Wuxian doesn’t seem to hear, his breathing only going faster, his hands spasming.

Lan Xichen has seen this before, with some of the disciples he and Wangji play for when they have the time. Has seen horrible memories prey upon their mind and hearts as if they are happening now and not in the past. Has seen them lash out.

He has also seen, firsthand, what kind of power Wei Wuxian is capable of wielding.

Still, he cannot help but reach out to touch his arm in comfort.

Wei Wuxian wrenches away, flute lifting as if on instinct, sending the table clattering into the wall. 

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says again, glancing over at Wangji. “No harm will come to you.” Slowly, he lifts his xiao.

A doctor steps in, having heard the commotion. His eyes widen with alarm that is quite reasonable.

Smoke is now rising from Wei Wuxian’s body, resentment sheeting off of him. Lan Xichen can feel it in the air, thick and awful. He darts a glance at Wangji, lying helpless on the bed. So far, the resentment does not seem to be going anywhere near him.

But for how long will Wei Wuxian be able to distinguish friend and foe? Is he able to now?  

“Calming music,” the doctor says, a bare whisper just for Lan Xichen’s ears.

Lan Xichen brings the xiao to his lips and starts to play. Not the song he played for Wangji earlier, but rather the one they play for the others in the infirmary. Something to calm the mind, balance shen.

Wei Wuxian jerks in response, but only steps back, not attacking. “No,” he mumbles. “Don’t do that.” He keeps stepping back, flute stretched in front of him as if in defense, until his back hits against the wall. “I need it,” he says. “Don’t.”

Lan Xichen gradually adds more and more power to the music, braced at any moment to switch tactics if Wei Wuxian should become violent. To be honest, he seems mostly pained and afraid, braced for attack, but pain and violence are not always two separate things.

He is very relieved to see that Wei Wuxian’s breathing begins to slow, bit by bit as he continues to play. His eyes are the first to come back into focus, darting around as if in confusion, like one surprised to wake up and not find themselves on the battlefield they were remembering.

“What?” he asks.

Lan Xichen does not pause in his playing. Wei Wuxian looks at him in confusion, but doesn’t protest, and then his eyes move to Wangji. His hand lifts, as if reaching for him, and only then seems to notice the resentment still rising from his body. His eyes widen.

With a grimace, he shifts his hand, palm turned up and fingers spreading. He does not appear to do anything in particular, and yet something clearly shifts, like a trap snapping shut. The resentment in the room rushes back, absorbing into Wei Wuxian’s body like arrows hitting their mark.

Wei Wuxian grunts under the impact, but otherwise remains resolute. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking over at Wangji, breaths still hitching. “I’m sorry.”

Lan Xichen locks eyes with the doctor long enough to indicate that he should check on Wangji, and then keeps playing. The room feels miraculously clear of resentment, considering, and yet he wants to continue to ensure Wei Wuxian’s calm if he can.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t tell him to stop, instead slowly lowering himself into lotus pose, one hand still pressed to his side as if in pain. He remains motionless but watches the doctor move to Wangji’s side.

“Hanguang-Jun is unharmed,” the doctor confirms.

Even more tension seems to leave Wei Wuxian then, his hand finally releasing the flute to let it rest on the floor. His eyes close. Concentrating on the music, Lan Xichen can only hope.

By the time Wei Wuxian’s breathing has calmed, Uncle has arrived as well, no doubt informed by another one of the doctors of the incident.  

Uncle’s mouth opens as if to demand an explanation, but snaps shut when he sees Wei Wuxian. He looks to Lan Xichen instead.

When the song meets its natural conclusion, Lan Xichen lowers his xiao, watching Wei Wuxian a long moment for any negative reaction. Wei Wuxian remains in meditation.

Lan Xichen addresses his uncle. “We were discussing the fact that the curse may be unbreakable. Wei-gongzi grew…upset.”

Uncle does not comment, but neither does he look pleased. Lan Xichen wonders what he would think if he revealed that Wei Wuxian seemed more concerned for the risk to Wangji than his own inconvenience. The sheer terror Wei Wuxian had demonstrated over something unspoken.

Uncle checks on Wangji, another doctor moving into the space to light calming incense.

Eventually, Wei Wuxian lets out a long breath and opens his eyes. They are once again clear, if not also fatigued as he squints slightly as if against pain in his head. “I just stay here forever, then?” he asks, hands clenching on his knees. “Don’t get me wrong. I will. Of course, I will. It’s just…you can’t want that. He can’t want that.”

It is likely not an ideal situation for any of them, Lan Xichen knows. But for Wangji’s health, they will all do what they must to make it work.

Wei Wuxian lets out a huff, spreading his palms face up in front of him as if once again reaching for resentment to pull back into himself. “I even broke my promise. I didn’t mean to, but—” He looks up at them with a smile that seems more haunted than wry. “We all know I’ve already been kicked out of here for less.”

For less than losing emotional control and nearly using resentment in the Cloud Recesses? Yes, punching Jin Zixuan might be seen as less dangerous. Though Lan Xichen finds he does not like the way Wei Wuxian seems resigned to being banished. How readily he was prepared to be punished at the inquest.

He can’t help but think of Wangji’s words. 

If one cannot see correction as love, but only as hate, what purpose does punishment serve?

Wei Wuxian shifts out of lotus pose with another grimace, and moves to kneel back by Lan Zhan’s bed.

Lan Xichen takes a careful breath, not at all certain how to approach this. “Jiang-zongzhu would certainly not agree with you staying here forever either,” he offers. Something lighter perhaps, than potential banishment. Than Wei Wuxian’s questionable past. His questionable future.

Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow at him, like his clan leader’s interests are the last thing on his mind.

“We have been in correspondence,” Lan Xichen says. It has been a strange experience to say the least. “His succession ceremony will be held next month.”

It would only be appropriate for Wei Wuxian to be in Lotus Pier for the event. Which he would already know if he had been in correspondence with Jiang Wanyin. From what Lan Xichen has heard, it does not seem that he has. Just another mystery.

Lan Xichen looks at his uncle. After a long moment, Uncle blows out a breath, giving a curt nod in agreement.

“Once he is well, Wangji will accompany you to Lotus Pier,” Lan Xichen says. It is the only clear solution. Even if it is horrifying to think of sending Wangji off with Wei Wuxian, not knowing when or if he will lose control like this again.

Wangji is strong, he reminds himself.  

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, clearly not expecting it. At some point, his hand has made its way back to the edge of Wangji’s bed, nearly brushing his arm.

“We have inconvenienced Yunmeng Jiang in keeping you here. If there is nothing left to be done, it would be right to let you visit your family.”

Wei Wuxian darts a glance at Uncle, and apparently not seeing any disagreement, eventually nods. He still looks confused, though perhaps just dazed. “I suppose there could be something in the library there.”

Uncle looks dubious at the idea but is of course polite enough not to say so.

It seems Wei Wuxian has not, after all, accepted that this curse is unbreakable. Perhaps that is best considering his reaction.

“There is also always the chance that it will wear off on its own,” Lan Xichen says, trying to cling to whatever optimism is left to them.

Equally improbable, but for now it is all they have.  

Lan Zhan wakes the next morning exactly on schedule, as if it were any other morning and he hasn’t been unconscious for two days after almost dying.

Wei Wuxian is the only one there to see it. Well, not see it so much, as he’s still fast asleep when Lan Zhan tugs on his hand and says, “Wei Ying,” in a voice rough with disuse.

Wei Wuxian sits up fast enough that he almost falls over, his entire back and hip screaming at him in protest. Ugh. He really feels like shit.

Lan Zhan’s firm grip on his hand manages to keep him mostly upright.

“Lan Zhan. You’re awake.” He shakes his head, trying to shrug off the lingering fuzziness of sleep. Or maybe from his embarrassing little freak out last night. His mind skitters away from that as fast as possible.

“Lan Zhan,” he says again. “You’re really awake. How do you feel?”

Lan Zhan does that thing where he stops and thinks, like he’s taking the question very seriously, and the relief of Lan Zhan being awake and mostly his normal self is so all encompassing that Wei Wuxian feels kind of stupid with it. Should he go get someone? A doctor? Let Lan Zhan’s family know? He should probably be doing something.

Instead, he sits and watches Lan Zhan think, maybe a little slower than normal, but the guy’s been through a lot, so…fair. Wei Wuxian is struck with a strange selfishness in not wanting anyone else to be here quite yet.

Having a lot of other people around wouldn’t make it any easier for Lan Zhan as he tries to figure out what to say anyway.

“I am fatigued,” Lan Zhan finally cobbles together. “My energy seems weak. But I am not in pain.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, patting the back of Lan Zhan’s hand that’s still clasped in his. “Okay. That’s good. Well, not good , but no pain is good.” Wei Wuxian pauses, taking a deep breath and looking up at Lan Zhan. “Do you remember what happened?”

Lan Zhan’s brow furrows, and maybe this isn’t fair, just bombarding him like this.

“We attempted your array design.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling the guilt of it all over again. His stupid design.

Lan Zhan’s hand shifts in his, and Wei Wuxian realizes he is looking at his wrist, trying to see if the curse mark is still there.

“It didn’t work,” Wei Wuxian says. “It sent you into qi deviation.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen. “Wei Ying,” he says.

Wei Wuxian pulls his hands away from Lan Zhan, hiding his face in them. “I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan.”

“It is not Wei Ying’s fault,” Lan Zhan says, not sounding anywhere near as pissed as he should.

Wei Wuxian drops his hands in exasperation. “How can you say that? You don’t even know what happened!”

“Then tell me what happened,” Lan Zhan says, patient like he’s talking to a hysterical baby disciple. But he also blinks kinda slowly, like he’s having a hard time staying alert, and Wei Wuxian is such an asshole.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter right now. What matters is you feeling better.” He needs to get a doctor. He should have done that right away. “I’ll call someone.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, a full-on wrinkle between his brows now. “Are you well?”

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, forcing himself to his feet with a false show of ease and energy. “I’m not the one who almost died, okay? Stop being ridiculous. That’s my thing.”

He forces himself to walk to the door, poking his head out just far enough to catch the eye of one of the attendants out there.

It’s not long until a whole gaggle of doctors show up. He really only recognizes one of them.

The one from the trip back from Nightless City. Lan Yun-something or other? He should really learn her name one of these days.

“Hanguang-Jun,” she says. “I am pleased to see you awake. How do you feel?”

Lan Zhan has to go through the whole song and dance again, this time accompanied by poking and prodding that he’s perfectly obedient about, even if a little grumpy.  

They’re doing the whole acupuncture thing when the road-trip-doctor crosses over to stand in front of Wei Wuxian where he’s trying to be out of the way, but still in Lan Zhan’s eyeline. She gives him an appraising look, like she’d quite like to examine him as well and he has no idea why.

“Uh, hi?” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and tucking his hands in lest she get any sneaky ideas.

“How are you feeling this morning, Wei-gongzi?” she asks, hands folded in front of her stomach.

“Fine,” he says.

She doesn’t look like she particularly believes him. Which, fair.

Her voice lowers, quiet enough not to carry to the other side of the room. “It’s not unusual to experience muscle pain or fatigue after an acute episode of disrupted shen .”

Oh. Right. That ‘episode’. What a nice way to put ‘you freaked out like a baby and nearly killed us all.’

He remembers it, the way his body had been convinced it was dying. The way the amulet reacted to it. And if he died…

Have you considered yet that this curse is unbreakable?

It thunders in his ears again. Lan Zhan can’t be attached to him for all time. He just can’t . It isn’t safe.

He thinks of the things he has already lived through—and then stops, deliberately. No thinking about that. Especially not thinking about any of that hurting Lan Zhan. That Wei Wuxian’s death would mean Lan Zhan’s death.

It’s terrifying.

No, he tells himself, willing his hands to relax, forcing his breathing calm. It should be fine. He just needs to be careful. Needs to think things through. He’ll just…not die. Which, frankly, seems like the one thing Wei Wuxian really sucks at anyway. Dying. Or staying dead. Whatever.

Fuck.

There will be a way to end this curse. One way or the other. He just has to…find a way to keep it all together until then. That’s all. It’s not forever . Nothing is ever forever.

The doctor has apparently been watching him through all of his internal freak-outs, but doesn’t seem concerned he’s about to turn them all into puppets or whatever. She does offer him tea for the pain he’s supposedly feeling.

He has no idea if any of this traditional stuff will work on him anymore, not having a great grasp of medicine as a field even before he became a walking disaster. He just knows that some things seem not to work at all anymore, while other things really fucking hurt in new ways. So it’s up in the air which way this will go.

But Lan Zhan is looking over their way now, and it’s possible that’s just a normal ‘the curse needs me to check in that you’re here’ kind of a thing, but it actually reads a little closer to ‘something is concerning me’, so Wei Wuxian takes the damn tea and drinks it.

It tastes horrible, but doesn’t immediately do anything awful besides that, and he decides to believe it makes the pounding in his head a little softer.

The doctors finally leave after that. Wei Wuxian dozes when Lan Zhan does, between visits from Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, finally letting himself get bullied onto a cot for the night rather than sitting on the floor.

Lan Zhan gets his hands on the inquest report the next day and goes pretty quiet after that. Well, more quiet than usual, which is saying a lot. He doesn’t say anything one way or the other about the idea of going to Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian doesn’t push. He isn’t exactly excited to hear Lan Zhan’s thoughts on how horrible it will be, having Wei Wuxian messing up his life all the time. 

It just hangs there, the idea of this being the rest of their lives. What, six months here, six months in Lotus Pier? Talk about ruining Lan Zhan’s marriageability. Here, lovely lady, please marry Lan Zhan and here’s his live-in demonic cultivator roommate. Don’t mind him!

The very idea makes something in Wei Wuxian’s stomach sour and sulky. No. There still has to be a way. This can’t just be it.

Therefore, it won’t. He’s done far more impossible things.

After three days of rest that Lan Zhan seems to find really annoying but of course puts up with, and another trip through the Mingshi, he is released from the infirmary. He still isn’t allowed to do much, but he’s at least agreed to go to Lotus Pier. He didn’t even react to the whole ‘Wei Wuxian getting himself kicked out of the Cloud Recesses again’ situation.  

Of course, Lan Zhan hasn’t said much of anything, really. He’s still super quiet, like he’s working up to saying something. Something Wei Wuxian is getting more and more certain he does not want to hear. It’s one thing to know a thing, after all, but another to have to hear it said out loud where it can’t be as easily ignored anymore.

After breakfast their first morning back in the Jingshi, Lan Zhan finds his words.

“On our way to Lotus Pier,” he says, passing Wei Wuxian a piece of paper. “I thought we might be able to see to this. If you wish.”

Wei Wuxian looks down at the paper, not really sure where this is going. It’s a request from a village in eastern Qishan who has been dealing with something weird happening in a nearby forest. No deaths, which is great. But they aren’t getting a lot of sleep.

A night hunt. 

Part of Wei Wuxian is ready to hop up from the table and head there right now. Make himself somewhat useful at last. Get away from all the nonsense of the Cloud Recesses.

But then there is also the far too fresh memory of Lan Zhan lying in the infirmary, of him nearly dying in Wei Wuxian’s arms.

He breathes through the panic that wants to crawl up his throat.  

“Would that be safe?” Wei Wuxian says.

Off the top of his head, he can think of a dozen ways it could go wrong. Even something as simple as them somehow getting split up or one of them dragged off by a spirit. Lan Zhan would get hit bad with the curse even in a simple situation like that. They might have to tie themselves together just to be safe!

Lan Zhan has the temerity to not look worried at all. “It is perhaps a risk,” he concedes. “But as we do not have a solution at hand, the risk must be taken.”

Meaning Lan Zhan will not use this curse as an excuse to shirk his duties. He will hold to his promises. The promises of a cultivator.

God, Wei Wuxian wants that. He wants it so much. But it doesn’t seem possible.

“I won’t use my sword,” Wei Wuxian forces himself to point out. Not as an apology, but more a challenge. Something absolutely not up for debate. “Meaning I’ll only have my dirty tricks.”

This, here, he knows, is the glaring issue. The thing that will bring this enticing fantasy crashing down.

Sure enough, Lan Zhan does not look happy as he considers that, a silent war going on behind his eyes. Doubtless the urge to demand, yet again, that Wei Wuxian pick up the sword path once more. That he cease being so arrogant as to think this path offers him greater power. He knows how Lan Zhan feels about exceptions.

There has never been an exception.

Only now Wei Wuxian has to be the exception. His life is now Lan Zhan’s life. And he has no other path. He will be the exception.

Of course, Lan Zhan doesn’t need to know any of that. He just has to decide how miserable he’ll make them both if they actually try to do this.

Wei Wuxian waits him out.

The storm in Lan Zhan’s eyes eventually retreats, as if he’s made a decision, or deliberately set it aside.

Here it comes.

“We will be outside the Cloud Recesses,” is what Lan Zhan says.  

Wei Wuxian blinks. What does that have to do with anything?

He waits for more, but Lan Zhan has that air of having said the perfect amount and only a moron won’t understand his point.

Wei Wuxian is not a moron, but it still takes him a moment to track where Lan Zhan is going with this. Wei Wuxian promised not to use unorthodox methods in the Cloud Recesses. And they won’t be in the Cloud Recesses when they night hunt. Like Wei Wuxian breaking his promise is the issue here?

“Lan Zhan,” he says, unsettled and annoyed by this unexpected turn.

“If you are unable to night hunt…” Lan Zhan says, leaving the sentence unfinished like a complete demon.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrow. “Are you…goading me, Lan Zhan?”

All he gets in return is a blank look, like Lan Zhan is completely above such a thing, but Wei Wuxian still can’t get past the feeling that he’s being manipulated into something, that Lan Zhan knows exactly what he is doing. It’s equally infuriating and…something else he isn’t going to think about.

But, fine. If Lan Zhan wants to get a chance to be disgusted up close again and ruin—

Ruin what? This strange routine they’ve developed where they just ignore everything that is wrong? The pretending is nice. He’ll admit that. Them being together in this bizarro domestic dance is weird as fuck, but also nice. But it won’t last. And he’s bored out of his mind. A night hunt sounds like just the thing. Something new to entertain his brain and also something that will probably break this agonizing routine so he can finally stop thinking about how nice it all is.

Get things back to normal, or something. Whatever.

Besides, the seal would like that too. Some chance to do something. But he tries not to think about that. He has to be more careful. This isn’t just his own life on the line. He’s not planning on using it on a simple night hunt anyway. Or ever again if he can help it. It’s only ever been his job to keep it safe, to keep it from hurting anyone.

“Okay, Lan Zhan,” he agrees. “Let’s go night hunting.”

It’s time to leave the Cloud Recesses behind.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji tightens his grip on Bichen as Wei Ying leans dangerously far over the edge of the boat carrying them down river. After a moment, Wei Ying releases one hand from the hold he has on the prow, pointing at something as their wide-eyed captain nods along looking equally charmed and bemused.

Wei Ying tends to have that effect on people.

They are one week from the Cloud Recesses. The first morning was spent in Caiyi ‘collecting essential supplies,’ as Wei Ying had put it. This mostly seemed to consist of wandering the markets and Wei Ying breathing a sigh of relief as one might after leaving a dungeon.

Lan Wangji tries not to feel too much about that. It is right for Wei Ying to find pleasure where he may. Lan Wangji is no longer a sheltered teen unable to take any dislike of his home as anything other than deep insult. Stillness, after all, has never become Wei Ying. Neither would captivity, no matter how well-designed.

So Lan Wangji does not take offense at Wei Ying’s clear joy in leaving the Cloud Recesses behind. There is ample reward to be found in the way his smiles have returned, even if not quite matching the brilliance of their youth. His laughter is still largely absent, but he is certainly more at ease, and never more so than when he chats with new people, opening like a flower when he is welcomed or able to help.

What this might say about Lan Wangji’s own unwanted company does not matter. He instead lets it firm his resolve. He will not give up on being able to free Wei Ying from the curse, no matter the setbacks or dead ends they seem to have met. In the meantime, he will do all he can to ensure Wei Ying enjoys his life as unencumbered as possible.

Lan Wangji has found unexpected, quiet joy in Wei Ying’s rising spirits, but also in providing what small measures of care he can. Wei Ying is able to pick his own food now, but Lan Wangji can see to his other comforts. Cozy inns at the end of the day, warm baths, snacks on the road, and chili oil never far from reach.

The one thing he never supplies is wine. But neither does he stop Wei Ying from finding pleasure in a cup or two at the end of the day. So far, it has not gone beyond that. It is another sign, perhaps, that it is only the Cloud Recesses that Wei Ying sought refuge from in too much drink.

It is Lan Wangji himself that has reason to worry about the temptations of excess. He spends his morning meditations carefully managing the widening warmth his daily care of Wei Ying’s needs evokes in him, the way it feels like something slowly unfurling and at risk of becoming uncontrollably ravenous in appetite. Surely it is unrighteous, the way part of him starts to long to be the one to provide everything for Wei Ying. The only one to provide for Wei Ying.

It frightens him. Is this an urge to possess? To control? To own?

He shudders at the thought, placing strong limits on himself and regarding the warm pleasure in the simple service with great distrust. He is at war within himself, between mitigating the harm this curse has brought to Wei Ying and moderating his own shameful impulses.

And yet, Wei Ying is happier.

Lan Wangji is happier as well, at the moment in no small part thanks to their departure from Moling at last. Their journey by horseback through the region should have taken no more than two days at most. It had instead stretched into nearly a week as they stopped time and again to deal with minor hauntings and a few larger infestations clearly created through negligence.

Such things are common in areas empty of cultivators. Yet there are cultivators enough in Moling that they seem to be coalescing into a nascent local sect. Despite their presence, the area is shoddily kept. It does not speak well of the supposed sect’s potential. Which only made more sense when it became clear that Su Minshan, of all people, is in a position to lead them. From what little Lan Wangji has observed of the cultivators, there is something lacking in the quality of their fundamental techniques even as they are gallingly close to Gusu Lan approaches.

It is vexing.

Lan Wangji perhaps did not hide his displeasure as well as he should, or Wei Ying simply knows him well enough to see through his impassive façade, because Wei Ying took one look at his face and laughed.  

“Oh, Lan Zhan,” he said, hand briefly pressing to his shoulder. “Please don’t ever change.”

Instead of saying something about the imperative of change—that no one could ever hope or indeed wish to stay the same for the length of their days—Lan Wangji simply felt warmth spread through his body.

He spent an extra hour that evening in meditation.

But now they are here, on a boat heading out of Moling and westward into the southern edge of Qishan. Lan Wangji has already written to his brother of the Moling situation, so he is free to no longer think of it. Instead, he stretches his mind towards the next leg of their journey.

The Runan area has been beset by restless spirits in the wake of the war. Some of the villages under threat are the same ones they passed through on their return from Nightless City. They will now be able to take the time to settle the villages they once had to overlook.

It is perhaps reckless to risk night hunts while cursed, but while Lan Wangji has no faith at all in Wei Ying’s sense of self-preservation, he does have faith that Wei Ying would never carelessly bring harm to Lan Wangji. He will take care with his own life, even if just to preserve Lan Wangji’s. In that, he has certainty and takes some comfort in it.

It is still hard to think of, that Wei Ying would have no care for his own well-being if it weren’t so closely tied to Lan Wangji’s own, but for now he will take it as a boon. Just as the gift of this time together on the road is to be cherished as well.

Or, at the moment, their time together on a boat.

Two hours later, they dock at a small village in Qishan proper. Wei Ying has managed not to fall overboard, so Lan Wangji is well pleased. They continue the rest of the way on foot, heading in the general direction of the specific night hunt Lan Wangji claimed for them before leaving the Cloud Recesses.

Nearly every village or farmstead they pass through has some small unaddressed need, and without discussion, they always stop to render aid. Lan Wangji is content to follow Wei Ying’s lead in this.

Thus far, Wei Ying has primarily relied on talismans and seals, and the occasional use of Chenqing. For all these still clearly utilize his unconventional methods, ones far from the orthodox path, Lan Wangji has seen no sign of the amulet, no use of resentment to disturb or compel the dead.

Wei Ying’s sword remains absent.

Wei Ying had seemed hesitant at first to even use Chenqing until the first time they stopped so that Lan Wangji could lay the ground to rest. Wei Ying joined in, flute winding perfectly into the spaces left by Lan Wangji’s notes. After that, Wei Ying did not hesitate to play with him.

Playing together remains one of Lan Wangji’s greatest joys, no matter the lingering internal conflict he feels over it.

Even this trip is not something Wei Ying has chosen. He must remember that.

As they travel through Runan, Wei Ying continues to amuse himself by coming up with ideas to fix the curse. They do seem to be more speculations for personal entertainment rather than born out of desperation. Especially as they become sillier and sillier over time, Wei Ying often tipping himself over into giggles.

Lan Wangji loves him.

With a tight breath, Lan Wangji pulls the wayward thought back, tucking it away very deep where it can be safe.

At the end of the second week on the road, they come to the village who wrote Gusu Lan for aid. In the end it is a simple matter. The source of the disturbance is an abandoned shrine in the woods. The villagers had unknowingly cleared trees sacred to the spirit residing there.

They are able to calm the spirit, cleanse the pooling resentment, and guide the villagers in reconsecrating the shrine and planting new trees in honor of the spirit.

It is perhaps one of the only hunts of their trip so far that was not directly related back to damage from the war. The sense of bringing the people and the land and the spirits back into equilibrium is a calming one. As if it sets something back to rights inside Lan Wangji as well.

With the task completed, Lan Wangji expects that they will turn south towards Lotus Pier. Yet the next morning, Wei Ying rises and continues along their previous path, away from Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji follows without question.

It is in a town two days to the north that they first hear about the beast.  

It begins as whispers of an unknown something terrorizing small villages. Always the next one over, as is the way with rumors and stories of this kind, always the friend of a distant family member. Always the details magnified and warped by the retelling. The rumor is not an isolated one, however. Once they have heard of it in enough different teahouses, it becomes hard to ignore.

“Shall we give it a try, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asks.

The need of the menaced villages to the north for help would be reason enough to say yes. Yet the simple truth is that Lan Wangji has no desire to say ‘no’ to more time spent walking the world with Wei Ying. Each day is a reminder of how well they work together when they are not at odds with one another. That this is still perhaps possible.

Wei Ying also doesn’t seem particularly concerned that it leads them towards Lanling rather than Lotus Pier. Lan Wangji expected him to be more eager to return home. But then Wei Ying has always been willing to go out of his way to help others.

Lan Wangji’s chest burns with it.

Wei Ying leans in closer, as if trying to convince Lan Wangji. “After the Tulu Xuanwu, this should be easy!” He smiles up at Lan Wangji, cocky and beguiling, and Lan Wangji is hopeless against it.

“Mn,” he agrees.

Wei Ying pumps his fist in the air. “Yes!”

They continue north, Lan Wangji caught in the wake of Wei Ying’s excitement.

To the north, the landscape grows stark. They occasionally pass through broad open areas that clearly once used to be a flourishing trade route, only now abandoned. The area seems to have been hard-hit during the war, most farmsteads abandoned and villages empty.

The few populated villages they do encounter seem incredibly wary of outsiders and cultivators in particular, most of them for once impervious to Wei Ying’s charms as he attempts to ingratiate himself to them. Even without the villagers’ cooperation, they still often find issues such as walking corpses and water sources tainted with resentment, tasks easily completed.

While grateful, even this service does nothing to make the villagers any less mistrustful.

Wei Ying shrugs it off. “Who could blame them, really?”

Lan Wangji is forced to consider what circumstances these particular people may have faced, squeezed between Wen Ruohan and the front line of an army raised to defeat him.

Upon reflection, he finds their wariness understandable as well.

As they get closer to the origin of the rumors, they also begin to find signs that cultivators have recently been through the area, despite the plethora of low-level, easily remedied disturbances that still abound. For instance, the tattered remains of a spirit net found in the trees. It becomes a more common sight as they continue north.  

Wei Ying frowns up at the golden threads hanging from a tree a short distance from where they just dealt with two walking corpses. It’s curious, both that something so expensive might be easily abandoned and left behind, and that someone who had such tools at their behest would not have sensed the walking corpses.

“It’s almost like they’re cherry-picking creatures,” Wei Ying says, mind quick to find patterns as always. “And just capturing the more valuable ones.”

Even the idea that creatures have value outside of something to be dealt with as part of the charge of cultivators is confusing to Lan Wangji. He is not naïve. He understands that the defeat of high-level creatures is considered a feat to be measured against others, no matter how repellent he finds it. Such things are assigned value for many reasons. But to leave the smaller issues unaddressed to fester is true folly. To do so in the name of some perceived value is unrighteous.

Not to mention, the use of spirit nets could point to the capturing and containing of creatures not for liberation or suppression, but instead for other more mundane uses. Such captured creatures could be destined for teaching opportunities, it being far safer to bring creatures to untested juniors rather than trying to find examples in the wild. The collection of creatures at the scale they have witnessed is more likely for hunting events. For sport. Like the upcoming one at Phoenix Mountain being held by the Lanling Jin.

“Pompous peacocks,” Wei Ying grumbles, clearly having reached the same conclusion. “Do you think they’re just too lazy to bother with the smaller prey? Or are they leaving them to fester on purpose?”

Lan Wangji blinks in momentary surprise, this not having occurred to him as a possibility. It seems an inexcusably dark take on the situation. Who could ever be that negligent?

They carry on, further and further north, dealing with the small creatures left behind as they go. The villagers seem thankful, but still wary. The reports of deaths and sightings of a large beast continue to be told, a few surviving refugees from further outlying areas sharing their tales.

It is hard to tell, at times, what is an area abandoned after the war, or one more recently driven out by the beast.

They are not quite a morning’s walk from the closest village when they finally catch up to the group of cultivators whose trail they have been following. They are Jin cultivators, in the end. There are perhaps a dozen of them, each dressed in gaudy golden robes hardly appropriate for a night hunt.

Wei Ying makes a derisive sound, no doubt of a similar mind, but it quickly turns to a sucked in breath as they move close enough to see what the Jin cultivators are doing. They are all facing the trees, most of them with their swords drawn.

In front of them are nearly a dozen more men, only these are in worn robes that might have once been fine, but are now worn and faded from too many washes. They are a dull pink, and it takes Lan Wangji a moment to recognize them as having once been Wen red.

Wen prisoners.

Among them are men young enough to perhaps still be called boys, and at least one old enough to either be very old or very weak in cultivation. There are others whose posture has begun to stoop with age. Or perhaps due to something else entirely, Lan Wangji considers as he continues to observe them. Not one among them holds a sword, some clutching what might be farming implements, but nothing more.

Jin Zixun stands out in front, sword drawn, pointing it at a Wen cultivator standing in front of the others.

It is Wen Qionglin. His head is lowered, ropes wrapped around his upper torso, even as he spreads his hands out as wide as if in defense of the others behind him.

“You’ll do as I say!” Jin Zixun snarls, his usual unpleasant self.

“What the hell is going on here?” Wei Ying snaps, striding forward.

Lan Wangji quickens his step to keep up.

“Where did you come from?” Jin Zixun says, spinning around to look at them.

Wei Ying pushes past him, careless of the bared sword in Jin Zixun’s hand. He walks up to Wen Qionglin, carefully touching his shoulders. “Wen Ning?”

“W-w-wei-gongzi,” Wen Qionglin stammers in response, his face lighting up as he looks at Wei Ying. “Are you well?”

Wei Ying lets out a harsh breath. “Am I—? Wen Ning. Are you okay?”

“Excuse me,” Jin Zixun says, clearly not liking to be ignored. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Lan Wangji moves to stand between Jin Zixun and Wei Ying’s unprotected back.

Wei Ying reaches out to touch what looks like a black flag with red writing on it that has been strapped to Wen Qionglin’s chest. “What’s this?” Wei Ying demands.

When Wen Qionglin merely lowers his face, Wei Ying turns to address Jin Zixun. “What is this,” he bites out again.

“What does it look like?” Jin Zixun sneers back.

“It looks like my design,” Wei Ying says, something dangerous in his voice. “It looks like you’re using it to turn unarmed people into fucking bait.”

Jin Zixun lifts his sword, pointing it at Wei Ying. “How dare you—”

His sword meets Bichen’s scabbard. “Lower your weapon,” Lan Wangji says, taking a step forward and forcing Jin Zixun back.

Wei Ying seems unperturbed to have been almost attacked. “Is this how the Jin clan collects creatures for their stupid crowd hunts? By forcing unarmed prisoners to stand in where you are too much of a coward to do so yourself? Is Lanling Jin truly so spineless and without talent?”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says back over his shoulder, not wanting Wei Ying to provoke them into a battle that will do nothing to help Wei Ying’s reputation.

Wei Ying is undeterred. He points over at a collection of prisoners nearest to the trees. “Are those even cultivators?”

Jin Zixun recovers some of his misplaced bravado. “How is that any business of yours, Wei Wuxian? The Wen-dogs are under our supervision. We can do as we like to them.”

Which they clearly have. Lan Wangji cannot help but notice that more than one of the Wen prisoners have bruises on their faces, looking emaciated and wan.

“You little piece of—” Wei Ying says, swelling with rage and one hand going to his side as if to pull Chenqing.

More than one of the Jin cultivators take a step back in fear, hands going to their swords.

This is quickly getting out of hand.  

“W-w-wei-gongzi,” Wen Qionglin says. At first it seems this might be an attempt to defuse the situation, but instead his entire body stiffens. “There’s something. Something is—”

His eyes go white, rolling back into his head before he falls to the ground. Wei Ying grabs for him, eyes widening with alarm as Wen Qionglin begins to seize, his frame twitching and shaking as if pulled by invisible strings.

“Wen Ning!” Wei Ying exclaims, patting down his chest and ripping the flag free, flinging it away.

Jin Zixun laughs, his compatriots joining in a moment later, as if this is amusing and not horrifying. “Ha! There you go, Wei Wuxian! A gift. You’re good with corpses, right?”

Wei Ying looks up at him, killing rage in his eyes.  

Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to stop this, how to make sense of all that is happening. Before he has a chance to do anything, two of the Wen prisoners closest to the trees start to scream.

“What—” Jin Zixun says, turning.

There is the unmistakable spray of blood, as one of the prisoners is attacked. The rest scatter, revealing a yao that looks like it once must have been a hunting bird. It tears at the fallen man’s throat, monstrous beak picking at the exposed flesh.

Lan Wangji leaps over the heads of the other Wens, slashing Bichen out to behead the beast. Its corpse hits the ground with a thud, Lan Wangji sparing just enough attention to glance down at the Wen prisoner.

He is dead.  

Anticipatory stillness settles over the clearing, the only disturbance the low sounds of sobs and shuffling feet of the prisoners as they look down in horror at their fallen clansmen. Lan Wangji holds himself at the ready, stretching out his senses.

“Is that it?” Jin Zixun sneers. “What a waste of time!”

Lan Wangji does not lower his sword, nor take his eyes away from the forest. Further back, the trees begin to shift and tremble. The air itself seems to thicken, sharp and metallic on Lan Wangji’s tongue.

From behind him, Wei Ying curses. “Lan Zhan!” he yells in warning, but Lan Wangji does not need it.

The Jins have lured something far larger than a simple yao.

The bushes rustle, louder and louder with the movement of many, many creatures, and a moment later dozens of animal yao break out from the trees. The clearing descends into chaos.

Lan Wangji strikes down as many as he can, trying to keep himself in front of the unarmed prisoners, who will not stand a chance against such beasts. Wei Ying is by his side in only a matter of moments, talismans flying and Chenqing held in his hand.

A few Jin disciples step in to help as well, to their limited credit.

“Don’t just kill them all,” Jin Zixun yells from somewhere much further back. “We need to capture them!”

Lan Wangji ignores the nonsensical order, not hesitating to kill the yao as quickly as he can. They seem endless.

He glances at Wei Ying out of the corner of his eye, checking that he is still there, that he is still well. Wei Ying sends out a seal, the power of it thrumming through Lan Wangji, the fluid strength of Wei Ying’s body.

Lan Wangji lifts Bichen, stepping out and spinning, eliminating two more yao.

Finally, the rest of the Jin cultivators regroup enough to join in the fight. With a dozen of them, they are able to provide enough support that they may just all survive the catastrophe they have brought down on them all. Just when it seems they might be able to turn the tide, an enormous form materializes from the shadows. It is so large that at first Lan Wangji’s mind cannot make sense of it.

“What is that?” a nearby Jin cultivator says, panicking and letting the line of defense falter. “What the hell is that?!”

“What do you see?” Jin Zixun says, leaping closer to get a look.

The shadow looms closer, the very air thick and charged as despair settles down over the clearing. 

“A bat king,” Wei Ying breathes.

The Jin cultivators hoped to draw in something larger. They have succeeded far beyond their pitiful hopes. A bat king, one strong enough to have control over lesser beasts it has infested with resentment. The amount of dead it would have needed to feast on to manifest this form—massive and festooned with no less than what appears to be eight wings—would have been tremendous. Its very existence speaks of a neglect born of far more than the Sunshot campaign and its results. Is it born of Wen Ruohan’s years of neglect or somehow something even worse?

Lan Wangji thinks of Wei Ying’s earlier words— left to fester on purpose. That the Jin sect might do such a thing just to make it easier to find prey for their meaningless hunts felt absurd. And yet Wen Ruohan proved to be willing to do anything to increase the resentment in the world, and thus his own horrifying power.

There is no time to wonder at its origins.

The beast is nearly as tall as the trees, stretching at greater height than a three-layered pagoda. At its feet swarm more and more lesser beast yao. Enough that an army of cultivators might struggle to survive.

What has the Jin sect done?

“What the fuck!” Jin Zixun screams.

The smaller yao, the minions of the king, continue to swarm in uncountable numbers. At least two of the Wen prisoners are overwhelmed, a third caught far too close to the bat king. He is slashed open, chin to groin with a single violent swipe from the bat king’s claws.

There is screaming and chaos. Lan Wangji materializes his guqin and beats back as many of the minions as he can, the red stream of Wei Ying’s magic already impacting here and there as well as he flings talismans and uses himself as a shield for Wen Qionglin and the one clansman still holding his unconscious form.

It leaves only the two of them and the half a dozen Jin disciples to fight such an onslaught. Far too few.

One of the Jin disciples is injured and another loses their sword, depleting their numbers even further.  

Jin Zixun falls behind his few remaining men. “Forget it! We have to get out of here!”  

“What about the Wen-dogs?” one of the Jin cultivators shouts back.

The Wen prisoners have scattered, trying to get away from the minion yao and out of reach of the bat king.

“Just leave them!” Jin Zixun says, his hand pressed to a bloody wound on his arm. “I’m not dying for them!”  

And with that, the Jin cultivators climb on their swords with their wounded and abandon the fight.

“Fucking cowards,” Wei Ying shouts after them, darting forward to stun a minion about to attack another prisoner.

The Jins’ abrupt retreat without ensuring evacuation of the innocent is indeed dishonorable. Yet there are even greater things at risk here. Left unchecked, this beast will likely wipe out the village just a short distance behind them. There would be no hope for it at all. And it was the Jin sect that lured it here, abandoning them all to their fate.

What can two cultivators and a dozen unarmed prisoners do against such a beast?

Lan Wangji looks around, his fingers never stilling on the qin as he continues to send out blow after blow. This does little more than earn them some small space, a sliver of time. It is not a solution. He tries to find a way to keep the Wens safe, to get Wei Ying and Wen Qionglin free.

He doesn’t see a way. Perhaps with the Jin cultivators, they might have devised a way. It no longer matters.

Lan Wangji fights his way to Wei Ying’s side.

“Cover me?” Wei Ying asks, and even in the chaos, Lan Wangji can hear the uncertainty there.

He cuts a glance at him to see that Wei Ying has taken out his flute.

Lan Wangji puts away his qin, pulling Bichen instead. Without another word needed between them, he steps forward to keep the area around Wei Ying clear while he lifts his flute, the horribly beautiful, haunting music rising in the air.

Nearby, the closest minions jerk to a halt. The music’s speed increases, and then they are turning and fighting against their brethren, succumbing to Wei Ying’s will.

Lan Wangji is momentarily freed up to focus his attention on the king. It still hovers in the distance, apparently content to direct its minions. Lan Wangji presses forward, seeking any point of weakness he can find. He furiously attacks, a lucky early strike slicing off one of the wings, but there are seven more that continue on unabated, the bat king more enraged than harmed by the blow.

The bat king comes after Lan Wangji with ruthless focus.

Using every skill he has ever learned with economical precision, Lan Wangji is still only able to keep himself alive, and at times, barely that. He is but a gnat worrying a buffalo.

Around him, the remaining minion-yao are all under Wei Ying’s control. The music shifts again, and the minions swarm towards the bat king. Thus distracted, Lan Wangji is able to make a few more strikes, but it is still not enough.

They have done well to survive this long, to have beat back as much of the attack as they have. But it will never be enough to take down the beast. They are in a stalemate, and Lan Wangji can feel himself tiring. Retreat is the only option, the only hope of any of them surviving, of them regrouping in order to call in reinforcements and evacuate the village.

On the other side of the clearing, Wei Ying spins in the air, his hands dancing in the air before slamming down hard into the earth, a repelling ward flooding into life. It earns them precious few moments to strategize, the few surviving prisoners scurrying to hide out of reach.

“I cannot carry you both,” Lan Wangji calls out, knowing already that Wei Ying would not abandon the few other Wens still alive even if Lan Wangji could manage to carry both Wei Ying and Wen Qionglin away on his sword.

“I know,” Wei Ying calls back, resigned and yet somehow certain. Settled.

Time seems to slow as Wei Ying holds his position, one knee in the dirt, his hand still pressed flat to the earth. The wind of the spell lifts the hair from his face like a dance, and then, between one breath and the next, Wei Ying slowly lifts his eyes to meet Lan Wangji’s.

No, Lan Wangji instinctively thinks, knowing this look on his zhiji’s face, feeling it deep down into his bones. No.

Lan Zhan, what method can we take now to escape? 

With unwavering determination carved into every plane of his face, Wei Ying reaches into his robes and pulls out a heavily warded pouch. So heavily and brilliantly warded, that Lan Wangji has felt nothing of it these long weeks spent by Wei Ying’s side. So much closeness, and yet it has always been lurking there between them.

“Wei Ying,” he says, somewhere between an invective and a plea.

Wei Ying opens the pouch. The horrible power of the yin tiger seal crawls out across the land like a tangible shadow, Lan Wangji’s core shuddering in reaction.

The last of the minions under Wei Ying’s thrall fall to the bat king, and there is no more time to debate. With an unholy roar, the bat king is upon them.

Two black comets of resentment circle and sweep above Wei Ying’s head as he lifts his flute once more. Resentment leeches up out of the land and the amulet, turning into tangible forces that strike out like munitions from a catapult, impacting the bat king. It lets out a grunt in response, stumbling back a few steps.  

It is pummeled again and again as Wei Ying walks forward, each step slow but determined, as if pushing through the thickest mud.

Lan Wangji pulls Bichen, light spilling across the clearing, throwing Wei Ying’s face into stark contrast.

Wei Ying, he thinks in one moment of weakness, and then resolutely turns his attention to the beast. There is no going back. They will survive here together, or they will die. He is content with that.

Lan Wangji lashes out with Bichen, weaving in and out between the beast’s attacks and the pulsing thuds of the resentment, trying to find any opening in which to strike. He spends most of his energy merely dodging and retreating. He manages one slice through the leathery web of a wing, another hanging bent from an attack from Wei Ying’s resentment, but it does little to slow the beast.

At best they are simply harrying the creature enough to keep it from the unprotected Wen prisoners. If they had unlimited time, they might wear the bat king down with their small, inconsequential attacks. But they do not have unlimited time or energy.

Lan Wangji is beginning to tire, barely avoiding the next sweep of claws aimed at his chest, the fabric of his sleeve catching and tearing.

The call of the flute shifts, something shrill and inescapable, and the bat king screams and writhes under it. It does not fall, not somehow instantly defeated, but it does slow. Not defeated, but held in thrall. Wounded, weakened.

A quick glance back confirms that blood is already dripping from Wei Ying’s nose as he struggles to hold it, even with the fathomless power of the amulet.

It is only a chance, a small opening, but it is enough. Lan Wangji lets his energy flow and pool into Bichen until the blade is almost too bright to look at.

Pushing up off the ground, he drives his body upwards. His foot hits the trunk of a tree and propels him higher, another branch, the edge of a wing, propelling himself higher and higher to the heights of the heavens. It is likely the most reckless move he has ever made, overextending himself completely on the simple promise of Wei Ying’s cultivation catching him, the notes cradling and buoying him.

He knows it is wrong, but there is such beauty in it, the way in the moment there is only the two of them—lightness and darkness, the solid brutal cold of resentment and the sunbright burn of Lan Wangji’s energy. All brought to bear on a beast who has plagued the world, built power from base cruelty.

Lan Wangji leaps.

Bichen thunders down like a bolt from above, every bit of energy Lan Wangji has left driven into the blade as it sinks nearly hilt deep into the vulnerable space between the highest leathery pair of wings. His qi tears down through the bat king’s body, cracking bones and tearing viscera.

The bat king screams. Screams in mindless, animal pain as it is torn from within by Lan Wangji’s energy, and from the outside by Wei Ying’s.

With the very last bit of energy he has remaining, Lan Wangji twists the sword, ensuring it is a killing blow.

The beast shakes and thrashes, and Lan Wangji holds on with the last strength he has, spent and empty as they both plummet towards the earth.

The bat king collapses, the ground shaking with it, and Lan Wangji somehow finds the coordination to roll free, to soften his fall as he lands, crouched low, Bichen hanging bloody and dull in his hand.

There is a moment of such resounding silence, that Lan Wangji feels struck down as well, swallowed by emptiness. 

He sucks in great wrenching breaths, his vision spotty and swimming, unconsciousness dragging at him. He can’t give in. He needs to see. He needs to know. 

He can’t hear anything anymore, the flute gone silent as well.

Where is Wei Ying? Where is he? Has he–

Arm shaking under the dragging weight of his exhausted body, Lan Wangji lifts his head, eyes straining and searching through the unnatural gloom of what had been a sunny day. His nose burns with the smell of ash and sulfur, resentment a cold sear against his skin. 

Where is—

There, just on the other side of the shuddering, oozing corpse of the bat king. Wei Ying stands, panting hard, two twin comets of resentment circling his head. He leans over, hands braced on his knees, fist white where it grips around his flute.

Slowly, Wei Ying lifts his face, blood dripping down over pale skin. “Lan Zhan?” he asks, uncertain.

Somewhere, someone is whimpering, the trees rattling with broken branches, the beast groaning out its last bit of life, the yin tiger seal swooping hypnotically in the air. Lan Wangji meets Wei Ying’s gaze, stares back at his beloved—still here, still breathing–and in the moment everything else falls away.

“Wei Ying,” he manages, as if there have never been any other words in existence.

There is only them.

There is much to be done, in the moments after. None of which Lan Wangji has the energy to do.

The Jin cultivators do not return, and Lan Wangji cannot help but feel that is likely for the best.

Wei Ying stumbles to kneel at Wen Qionglin’s side, pressing his fingers to his wrist to check for a pulse.

“He breathes,” the older prisoner assures him.

Wei Ying nods, closing his eyes in relief.

Lan Wangji makes his way to Wei Ying’s side. He kneels as slowly as he can, trying to cover that it is more a fall than a controlled descent. He reaches out, pulling back one of Wen Qionglin’s eyelids. His eyes are still white, no iris or pupil visible. He sucks in a breath.

“He had part of his cognition snatched as a kid,” Wei Ying says. “It’s what makes him so susceptible to it.” He glances up at Lan Wangji. “Like at Biling Lake? Do you remember?”

Lan Wangji does. He remembers Wei Ying nearly losing his own life trying to save Wen Qionglin. Trying to save Su Minshan as well, who ended up betraying Lan Wangji’s clan to the Wen sect and is now on his way to being an absurdly subpar sect leader.

His heart thunders at the memory of reaching for Wei Ying as he fell in the waterborne abyss and not being sure if he would make it in time. The curse shoots up his arm, and Lan Wangji fights hard to keep any sound from emerging, having no defenses left to cushion it.

Next to him—so near, right here and near and okay—Wei Ying makes a soft sound. Lan Wangji opens his eyes, angry at himself for showing any weakness, but Wei Ying isn’t looking at him. He’s instead reaching out to a small embroidered sachet that is attached to Wen Qionglin’s waist.

“I made this for him, after Biling Lake. To help protect him. I didn’t know he’d kept it.” Wei Ying shakes his head. For a moment, he seems to stop breathing, his eyes closing as he grabs tight to his chest.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says softly, trying to draw him back from whatever has pulled him away, whatever dark thoughts are trying to claim him.

Around them, the few surviving Wen prisoners are gathering. Only four, other than Wen Qionglin, have survived the attack. How many more had fallen in night hunts before this, used as bait?

Wei Ying is also looking at them, taking in their injuries, both new and old. “And this, Lan Zhan?” he whispers, voice shaking with fatigue, or perhaps rage. “Is this punishment? Care?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t have an answer for him. He is afraid, in that moment, of what Wei Ying might do. Of what he is capable of doing. The rage that seems to burn in him. How much of it is his and how much is the resentment he insists on wielding for the benefit of others always at a cost to himself? That damnable amulet that keeps saving Lan Wangji’s life?

Lan Wangji doesn’t know if Wei Ying’s rage is because of the resentment he has wielded, or if it is all anger at the injustice. He has never known. And yet, is that true? Wei Ying is righteous. Always has been.

Wei Ying does not seem to expect an answer, instead lifting his head. “Are any of you Wen Ning’s kin?” he asks.

The oldest one looks up from where he is still clutching Wen Qionglin. “Three of us. Though I am closest.”

“You are his elder,” Wei Ying says.

He nods. “As close as he has left.”

“Are you a doctor then?”

He shakes his head. “No. Though my wife and son were healers.”

The past tense lands hard in the clearing. For a moment, Wei Ying seems to swell, and in the shadows it is hard to see what is a play of light and what is resentment.

In the silence, Lan Wangji pulls his first-aid kit from his supplies, handing it over to the Wen elder.

He nods his thanks and sets about seeing to his kin.

“Is there anything useful for medicine that can be taken from the yao corpses?” Wei Ying asks.

The elder glances over towards the enormous corpse of the bat king. “No, gongzi. Not without a lot of refining, and likely not even then. They are too corrupted.”

Wei Ying nods. “That’s what I thought.” With a weary breath, Wei Ying pushes to his feet and stalks back towards the corpses.

Lan Wangji follows, locking his knees against the weakness in his legs.

Dozens and dozens of lesser yao corpses litter the area, the huge mass that is the bat king at the center. They have already begun to fester, oozing black viscous blood into the earth. The smell makes Lan Wangji’s eyes water, his depleted core quailing under the thick layer of resentment that has yet to dissipate.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks as Wei Ying continues to stare at the corpses.

“We can’t just leave them.”

No, they cannot. The corpses will continue to poison the land and any other animals or yao that feed off of them, even ghosts or wandering corpses. They cannot simply be left. It might be possible to burn them as they are, but it risks the spirits of the original animals. If they are still there somehow under all the corruption, they would need to be cleansed enough to be liberated.

It is a greater task than the two of them alone would be able to do. Especially now with them both so depleted.

“The Jins might come back,” Wei Ying mutters.

This is not, Lan Wangji knows, hope that the Jins might help them with the task, but something else entirely. While there is nothing of medicinal value to be found, such things can still be used for trophies or sold as folk remedies with no true benefit.

A horrific accusation, and yet Lan Wangji has nothing to say in their defense. Their actions here have already spoken for them.

They have no choice but to burn the corpses. Rather than reaching for fire talismans, however, Wei Ying instead once again reaches for the amulet.

Before Lan Wangji can question what he is doing, Wei Ying plays a shrill series of notes on Chenqing, pulling in and gathering up all the resentment left in the clearing. The notes go on and on as the corpses around them writhe and then collapse, shrinking closer to their non-monstrous sizes.  

They are left in a clearing full of animal corpses but with a writhing mass of resentment hovering in the sky.

With one last glance, Wei Ying’s shoulders straighten. He takes a careful breath, closes his eyes, and plays.

The resentment swells and then pulls rapidly back into the amulet, disappearing into the metal. It is Wei Ying who winces as if hit by the impact. The last of the resentment disappears into the amulet, and Wei Ying’s knees bend as if no longer having the strength to hold him.  

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, catching him with an arm around his waist. He nearly falls himself under the impact, but forces himself to hold steady.  

Wei Ying does not lose consciousness, calling the amulet back to him with a shrill whistle and tucking it back away in the pouch. Lan Wangji wants to ask if that is safe. Wants to ask what he just did, at what cost to himself.

He can say none of it, watching as Wei Ying swipes at his nose.

“Can you play yet?” Wei Ying asks.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He is far too depleted.

Wei Ying nods and pulls out some paper to write preservation talismans. Lan Wangji takes them from him, sending them off over to the corpses himself. Wei Ying has done more than enough.

In the following silence as Wei Ying and Lan Wangji lean into each other out of exhaustion, the few surviving prisoners go out and collect the bodies of their fallen clansmen, laying them carefully side by side.

“We’ll bury them in the morning,” Wei Ying says, handing more talismans to Lan Wangji.

Task completed, they walk back towards where Wen Qionglin still lies, but Wei Ying stops on the way, leaning over to pick something up from the ground. Lan Wangji peers down at it, realizing it is what is left of the lure flag, trampled and torn by passing feet.

“I suppose everyone hates unorthodox cultivation until the moment it benefits them,” Wei Ying observes darkly.

Lan Wangji does not want to admit to the hypocrisy, but he is also unable to deny it either. Was his own clan any different? Allowing Wei Ying to save them all from Wen Ruohan, and yet condemning him after? It is an unfilial, unrighteous thought.

And yet, is Lan Wangji himself not guilty of this too, his own life so recently saved by Wei Ying?

It harms Wei Ying, and yet Wei Ying still never hesitates when it will save lives. But what the Jin sect has done with Wei Ying’s invention here, perverting it in such a way, that is unconscionable.

Back at Wen Qionglin’s side, Wei Ying stoops as if to pick him up, but Lan Wangji pushes him gently out of the way, taking the young man in his own arms instead.

Wei Ying doesn’t protest, which likely means he is just as exhausted.  

They walk as far from the clearing as they are able, and set up camp.

The Wen prisoners have followed them, but remain hovering nearby, giving each other looks.

“It’s probably safest to stay together tonight,” Wei Ying says to them. “But you aren’t our prisoners, and we don’t know if the Jins will come back.”

Lan Wangji can see, in that moment, that Wei Ying will be letting the Wen prisoners go. That he will fight anyone who would try to take them back. Perhaps even Lan Wangji himself.

It is clear that these men have been beaten. Perhaps they had tried to run before. Resisted the Jin authority. Refused to work.

There are any number of ways a prisoner might earn punishment.

Lan Wangji does not believe any of them did. He’d seen how scared they were. Heard the cruel laughter of Jin Zixun and his brethren. Both today and before.

He remembers still, that day he watched the Jin disciples shoot fleeing prisoners in the back. The woman in the woods, so afraid, so terrified that she nearly smothered her own child.

Lan Wangji had thought they would be protected, held in Jin custody. The clans had said they would be. Xichen would not have agreed otherwise, would he? He tries not to think of that woman and her child, thin and terrified. Terrorized.

It had seemed a mistake at the time.  

Or had believing that simply made it easier to ignore?

The prisoners slowly move closer, clearly having made their choice. Trusting Wei Ying.

Wei Ying nods. “For now, let’s see what food we have on hand.”

Wei Ying’s hands shake as he works to start a fire. Lan Wangji himself is no better, but it does not make it any less worrisome.

They cook what they have on hand, more than enough for two, but far less for six. Wei Ying gives away most of the food, including his own. It is clear the Wen prisoners need it, but so does Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji puts half of his own portion back into Wei Ying’s bowl. When Wei Ying would protest, he just gives him a look to make it clear that if he gives this food away as well, Lan Wangji will just keep giving him half of his own until there is nothing left.

Wei Ying subsides, apparently not willing to let Lan Wangji go without.

They set up the tent for Wen Ning and his elder, keeping the blankets for themselves when it becomes clear that the Wens at least have some type of basic equipment on them. No food or money, but a few thin blankets. It does not stop one of their nicer blankets being passed over as well.

Lan Wangji does not protest. He will keep Wei Ying warm if needed, the thought of keeping him close a comfort in the moment. At every moment.

Lan Wangji and Wei Ying settle down on makeshift pallets next to each other.

Lan Wangji’s body feels heavy, as if his muscles are made of lead, blood thick like mud. He is not certain he has ever been this tired. Except maybe in the cave at Muxi. His eyes fly open at the thought, desperately searching for any sign of Wei Ying.

He is still there, only the slimmest space between them, his face relaxed in sleep. He is not feverish this time. He is not near death. He is here. He is here.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and sleeps.

He wakes some unmeasured amount of time later. It is very dark, the moon having set and the fire burned down to mere embers. He is not certain at first what has woken him.

Across from him, just within reach, he can just make out the shape of Wei Ying. He is shaking.

It is not that cold of an evening, barely brisk, and yet if Wei Ying is cold... Lan Wangji grasps his own blanket to pass over. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps, sounding distressed.

Lan Wangji reaches out for him, touching his shoulder. “Wei Ying? Are you cold?”

Wei Ying shakes his head, but he also doesn’t stop trembling. He clutches at Lan Wangji’s hand in both of his. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan. I’m sorry.”

Lan Wangji frowns, not at all certain what is happening. “Wei Ying has nothing to apologize for.”

“That’s not true at all,” Wei Ying says, fingers clutching and twitching. “The bat king…defeating it, just the two of us. That was impossible, wasn’t it?”

“Not impossible,” Lan Wangji points out, since they clearly achieved it.

But not without Wei Ying using the amulet. Is that what he is apologizing for? That should be a good thing, yet the thought of it settles strangely in Lan Wangji’s stomach.

Lan Wangji didn’t like it, certainly. But he is equally certain they probably would not have survived without it.

“Don’t you see?” Wei Ying asks, intent and upset, his hands spasming around Lan Wangji’s. “I knew I could die. I knew it would mean you died too.”

Wei Ying looks at him as if pleading for forgiveness, as if Lan Wangji himself would not make the choice to die to protect the innocent, to bring peace to the land. As if he has not made that choice every day he has walked the path of a cultivator.

Wei Ying would not save himself, nor even Lan Wangji, if it meant letting the innocent suffer. If it meant letting a beast like that ravage the countryside. He would not flee nor expect someone else someday to take care of it, let it be the burden of others. To let it fester.

Lan Wangji knows this truth in his bones.

For all Wei Ying has felt far away this past year, for all his path has felt divergent and dangerous, here they have always been walking together. Always will.

He meets Wei Ying’s gaze, holds it there, willing him to see. To understand . That Lan Wangji is here by choice, even if Wei Ying is not. That he would choose to be here always, out in the world by Wei Ying’s side. No matter anything else, no matter the continued risk, whatever end he might meet, it is all he would need to be content.

“Wei Ying,” he says, voice slow with everything unsaid, weighed down by his bone-deep exhaustion. “It was my promise as well.”

It is oblique, far too oblique, he knows. Wei Ying’s memory is fickle, willfully spotty, and Lan Wangji has been unable to articulate the connection. How much weight and importance the pledge they made together under the lanterns has in his life, something he does not even know if Wei Ying remembers, for all Lan Wangji believes Wei Ying lives by it daily.

Lan Wangji wants to say more, yearns to, but does not know how.

And yet, something shifts in Wei Ying’s expression, something meaning enough to him in those paltry words for an understanding to hit.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, and it is answer enough. It has always been.  

They fall back asleep, hands clutched in the space between.

In the morning, their energy recovered somewhat, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying return to the clearing.

Lan Wangji still sits and plays Cleansing, trying to ensure that nothing will remain to cling to the souls of the dead prisoners or the animals. There is remarkably little resentment considering the events that played out the day before. Whatever it is that Wei Ying did, it was effective. Lan Wangji is simply unsure of the cost.

Nearby, Wei Ying helps the Wen dig graves for their kinsmen, and Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying stop and wince, a hand pressing to his side.

Lan Wangji does not stop playing but is not pleased to see this sign of pain. Was Wei Ying injured in the fight?

After a moment, Wei Ying rights himself, and returns to digging.

Lan Wangji switches to Rest and he can feel the spirits of the Wen and the maligned animals release from this world.

They burn the animal corpses with the help of some of Wei Ying’s talismans. First, Wei Ying cuts five nails from the bat’s claws, whispering thanks, and putting them in his pocket. They watch the corpses burn side by side.

Try as he may, Lan Wangji sees no further sign of Wei Ying being injured. His temper, however, seems brittle, drawn thin.

When the work of putting the souls and the land to rest is completed, the six of them stand in the clearing, Wen Qionglin’s body lying in the shade of the trees nearby. The Wens no longer seem afraid of them, but they do seem nervous of what comes next.

“I’m taking Wen Ning back to Lotus Pier,” Wei Ying declares, not a request nor even an entreaty but a solid fact. “Any of you are welcome to come as well, but the decision is yours.”

The Wens confer quietly with each other, but their decisions do not take long to be made.

“The two of us are going to go back to the camp,” one of the men says. “We have family there. We don’t know… We don’t know what might happen to them.”

Going back will open them to further harm, but the choice to return to their families is not something that can be argued against.

“Where is the camp?” Wei Ying says.

“Qiongqi pass,” he says.

That is at least two days from here by foot. It will be difficult for them.

“And the rest of you?” Wei Ying asks.

“I will stay with Wen Ning,” the oldest of them says. “I won’t leave him on his own.”

My wife and son were healers, he had said the day before. As in past tense. He has no family to return to.

Wei Ying nods. “You can definitely come to Lotus Pier. We’ll get him the help he needs.”

That only leaves one man. He seems the most nervous.

“And you?” Wei Ying asks.

“I don’t have any family left,” he says. His chin lifts, his hands tightening. “I’m not going back there.”

He looks like he expects a fight, but Wei Ying merely nods and starts patting around his robes as if looking for something.

Lan Wangji remembers that day out in the woods with the Wen woman and her child. The path Wei Ying had offered them. A path away from the camps Lan Wangji had been certain would offer protection.

He forces himself to look into the faces of these brutalized and starved men. To not look away.

Reaching into his sleeve, he pulls out his money pouch, handing it to Wei Ying. Clearly, he is the one better trusted in this situation.

Wei Ying looks at him with wide eyes. “Lan Zhan? Are you sure?”

“Mn,” he says, withdrawing his hand and leaving the money in Wei Ying’s care. It is all he has on him, but Wei Ying will know what is best.

Wei Ying looks into the pouch, weighing the available funds. He bites his lower lip as he considers and Lan Wangji forces himself to not become inappropriately distracted.

“Well,” Wei Ying says after some internal deliberation. “We’ll need to get a cart for Wen Ning.” He pulls out a reasonable amount of money for such an expenditure, yet seems reluctant to even do that.

There is perhaps one thing Lan Wangji cannot trust Wei Ying to do.

Lan Wangji leans over and plucks two smaller pieces of silver from the pouch. “Food for Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying complains, but without any true heat. Wei Ying pulls another small amount of money for their use and then hands over the much more substantial amount towards the Wens. “Split this up as you need. To get you back to the camps, and you somewhere far away from here.”

“Gongzi,” they protest, even as it is clear that it is necessary. That it is needed.

“Take it,” Wei Ying says, dropping it into their hands.

Splitting their remaining supplies between the groups, they part ways. The Wen men stand together, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying moving further away to offer them privacy. They say their farewells, messages and gestures of affection passing between them.

Lan Wangji holds the weight of Wen Qionglin in his arms, far too insubstantial for a man of his size. He will carry him to the nearest village where they will acquire a cart and animal. It will take them four days by cart to reach Lotus Pier if they minimize their stops.

When they arrive in Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji will detail the entire event to his brother in a letter, including a copy of the lure flag. He will speak of what the Jin sect did here. What they did in Nightless City, something he had forgotten to relay in the confusion with the curse. He will make sure this is all known.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says from his side as Wen Qionglin’s elder joins them. “Let’s go.”

Lan Wangji watches the Wen prisoners split off, disappearing into the trees in two different directions.

This will be remedied.

Lan Wangji turns and follows Wei Ying out onto the path.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng isn’t exactly super happy to see them when they get to Lotus Pier.

Granted, they’ve gotten here a little later than they were supposed to, and they’ve also brought an unconscious Wen Ning with them so… It’s kind of hard to blame him for that? But it’s also far from a warm welcome.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t mind. Lan Zhan seems startled by it though.

“You’ve stolen Wen Ning from the camps,” Jiang Cheng yells, face turning a little red. He looks tired. “Do you have any idea what trouble that will cause?”

It’s not just Wen Ning. There’s also Wen Ning’s uncle Wen-shushu, or so he asked to be called. Wei Wuxian decides not to point that out right now.

“I didn’t steal him. Jin Zixun specifically handed him over to me. No one from the Jin sect is going to complain.” Even if just because Jin Zixun probably thinks they’re all dead. But, whatever. No one is going to come looking, is the point.

He turns to Lan Zhan for support. “Right?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, still looking a little overwhelmed by Jiang Cheng’s everything and possibly still uncertain just what happened with Jin Zixun. It was kind of a lot all at once, what with the lure flags and the Wen prisoners and the bat king trying to kill them all.

“Lan Zhan took down a bat king,” Wei Wuxian adds because it might distract Jiang Cheng. But mostly because Lan Zhan deserves to have people know how badass he is. A bat king! And that’s when he’s already taken down the Xuanwu of Slaughter. People should be writing, like, poems about him or something. It was pretty freaking amazing to see.

“Wei Ying was instrumental in the fight,” Lan Zhan says because he’s a menace.

For some reason, Jiang Cheng doesn’t seem impressed. “I do not have fucking time to deal with this, Wei Wuxian. The succession ceremony is in three days. You were supposed to be here weeks ago!”

Right. They may have possibly spent more time on the road than they were supposed to.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says, smiling as he puts his hands on his hips. “I’m here now!”

Just as Jiang Cheng looks like he might actually murder Wei Wuxian, Shijie arrives, picking the perfect moment as always.

“A-Xian,” she says, sweeping in with a smile, like she sensed her brothers fighting from all the way across the Pier. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Wei Wuxian can’t help lighting up as he sees her. It’s been so long. “Shijie! How are you? Jiang Cheng hasn’t been making you do too much has he?”

Jiang Cheng glares at him.

Shijie takes Wei Wuxian’s hands in hers, looking him over. “Are you well?”

“It was horrible, Shijie,” he says, giving his most exaggerated pout. “The Cloud Recesses is so boring! And the food is awful.” He glances over to see how Lan Zhan reacts to that. He seems pretty content to ignore Wei Wuxian’s antics. Tragic.

Shijie swats him lightly on the arm. “A-Xian, don’t be naughty,” she scolds, even as her eyes are still bright. She turns to Lan Zhan. “Hanguang-Jun,” she says with a perfect bow. “Please forgive me for not greeting you properly.”

Lan Zhan bows back. “Jiang-guniang. Please think nothing of it.”

“We are honored to have you visiting us,” she says, as if they aren’t all perfectly aware it isn’t exactly a visit. “I have had a guest room made ready for you.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s famous jianghu-wide for his shamelessness, but somehow this brings heat to his face. It’s not like they haven’t spent multiple nights in a tent together totally alone! “We’ll actually need to share?”

“What?” Jiang Cheng says, looking scandalized. “The curse is that sensitive?”

“I would be fine,” Lan Zhan says, eyes lowered, maybe a little flustered too.

“You would not!” Wei Wuxian protests. Sure, Lan Zhan would survive the night, but he’d be uncomfortable, and probably super cranky the next day. Wei Wuxian isn’t going to let him suffer like that just for something as stupid as shame. “We’re sharing. It’s what we did in the Cloud Recesses.” Granted, Lan Zhan had a whole house, not a single room in a larger wing like Wei Wuxian has.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes go wide, as if he can’t imagine Lan Qiren allowing it.

“Hm,” Shijie says, pushing past all the awkwardness because she’s the best. “Your room is a bit small for two.”

Wei Wuxian nods. It’s a bummer to finally be home and not get to be in his own space, but it’s fine. “The guest room is probably nicer anyway.”

“Wei Ying should not be inconvenienced,” Lan Zhan says. “Your room will suffice.”

“Lan Zhan!” he complains, but Lan Zhan seems unmoved.

Shijie makes the decision for them. “Very well. I will have a second bed set up in your room, A-Xian. We could use the extra guest room for our arriving guests.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, not having thought of that. “Well, in that case.”

None of other great clans will send representatives, as the succession of a new clan leader is an internal matter, not to mention that it would be unseemly to have an inter-clan event while the official mourning period has barely ended. But all of the local subsidiary clans and local non-cultivation leaders will be in attendance. It’s still a lot of people.

Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Zhan’s sleeve. “Well, for now, we’ll go make sure Wen Ning is settled in!”

He thinks he can actually hear Jiang Cheng’s teeth grinding together as he leaves. Jiang Cheng should really work on that, or he’s going to be a toothless old man before thirty!

They had dropped Wen Ning off in the infirmary first thing upon getting here, leaving Wen-shushu with him. It’s probably been long enough that the healers will have given them both a once over.

Wei Wuxian pulls Lan Zhan across Lotus Pier. “Don’t look too closely, Lan Zhan,” he says. “I’ll give you a tour later, so don’t ruin it!”

Lan Zhan lets out a soft huff, but obediently lowers his gaze.

When they get to the infirmary, there are two disciples standing guard outside, like one old man and an unconscious cultivator are a threat. Wei Wuxian supposes it’s too much to hope that Jiang Cheng wouldn’t want them guarded. He gets it, he really does. But it also doesn’t exactly back up the promise he made to them that they wouldn’t be prisoners here.

Inside, Wen-shushu is sitting at a table eating, so that’s good at least. Wen Ning is still unconscious, lying on a bed.

It’s not exactly a good sign that Wen Ning hasn’t woken up yet. But this also isn’t that dissimilar from what happened with the waterborne abyss. He’d been unconscious for a few days then too, but Wen Qing had managed to bring him back. Of course, they don’t have Wen Qing.

Zhang-daifu, when Wei Wuxian checks in with him, does not seem very optimistic. “He has no spiritual cognition. We can keep his body alive, but there is no recovery from something like this.”

“It’s not gone-gone,” Wei Wuxian protests. At most it’s kinda…subsumed or something. Or like, hiding. Which is fair. The bat king had been terrifying enough even if one doesn’t have a spiritual injury.

Look, most of the doctors Wei Wuxian grew up with died in the fall of Lotus Pier. After, he hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time recruiting or dealing with new people during the Sunshot campaign, being busier trying not to let the amulet drive him insane and making sure no one had any reason to suspect anything about his core. He hasn’t been here since, either, stuck in the Cloud Recesses.

All of which is to say, he doesn’t know Zhang-daifu. And Zhang-daifu certainly doesn’t know Wei Wuxian.

“I’ll figure something out,” Wei Wuxian says, having no idea how, but certain that he must. It doesn’t matter if it’s never been done before, or they don’t know if they can. It should be done, and that is all that matters.

If he’s going to be a member of the Jiang, Zhang-daifu better figure that out quick.

Lan Zhan says nothing as he stands within reach, just as always. Doesn’t chastise Wei Wuxian for making promises he isn’t sure he can keep. Wei Wuxian knows that doesn’t mean approval or anything. Lan Zhan’s been a little distracted himself, the last few days.

Wei Wuxian pats Wen Ning’s hand. “I’ll make you another sachet, okay? A better one.” He has the bat claws from the cleansed yao. Those should be pretty powerful. But that will only matter if Wen Ning wakes up again.

Checking in with Wen-shushu, they make sure he has all he needs, before Wei Wuxian leads Lan Zhan back out of the infirmary. He should probably go back to see if Jiang Cheng wants to yell at him some more.

“Let’s go to the library,” Wei Wuxian decides instead.

It’s a way smaller than the one in the Cloud Recesses, and far more focused on the practical day-to-day information needed to run a sect and conduct night hunts. Wei Wuxian also hasn’t spent much time here. Unlike the Lan, Jiang punishments were more likely to be spent in the ancestral shrine or taking hits out in the training yard. Any time Wei Wuxian might have spent here outside of lessons would have been seen as slacking off from his duties. So he’s kind of curious, to be honest, just what sort of stuff might be hiding away in here.

“You look for anything that might help with the curse and I’ll look for things to help with Wen Ning’s spiritual cognition?” Wei Wuxian suggests.

Lan Zhan nods. “If there is time before dinner, I would also like to write to my brother.”

“Right, of course.”

That would probably be the dozenth letter Lan Zhan has sent his brother since they left. Not all just night hunt reports either, as far as Wei Wuxian can tell. But more like Lan Zhan just knows his brother would like to hear from him.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t sent a single letter while he was in the Cloud Recesses. He’d like to say he was just too busy, but to be honest, he’s just not much of a correspondent. Never has been. What would there be to say?

Dear Jiang Cheng. Lan Zhan’s still cursed. The food here still sucks. No one’s managed to beat me with a stick yet. Still using the ghost path!

He’s curious what Lan Zhan’s letters look like. They’ve never sent each other a letter. Not that there would be reason to, considering Lan Zhan spent most of their early acquaintance doing his best to ignore Wei Wuxian’s very existence. And after, with the indoctrination and the burning of the Cloud Recesses and everything else…well, when would there have been time?

He takes a moment amusing himself thinking how boring Lan Zhan’s letters must be. All ritualized greetings and the bare minimum facts deemed necessary. No flair or amusement to be found.

Wei Wuxian, he is convinced, would be an amazing letter writer if he actually had the impulse to try or anyone to write to. Lan Zhan has no idea what he missed out on, not wanting to be friends.

Well, Lan Zhan’s here now. Weirdly enough.

Okay. The library. Time to focus on fixing Wen Ning.

By the time they leave two hours later, Wei Wuxian has a couple texts pulled out to read, and Lan Zhan’s picked some night-hunt reports that might have involved curses. Not exactly huge finds, but it’s something.

With a little more time left before dinner—eaten at a much more reasonable hour here—Wei Wuxian leads Lan Zhan to his room. It’s not strictly in the family wing, but it’s close, and not too near the other disciples’ living quarters.

Wei Wuxian is buzzing with it, walking Lan Zhan through these familiar halls. Part of him is wondering what Lan Zhan’s thinking and the rest of him is trying not to remember the last time he was here, to not think of how distant a lot of this feels now. Like he isn’t the same person who lived here before, like he isn’t the one who spent the happiest years of his life in these halls.

At least the happiest he can remember. He’s pretty sure he’d probably been happy with his parents.

They finally make it to his quarters, and Wei Wuxian lets Lan Zhan in first. When he follows, he can see a second bed has been added, and even an extra privacy screen. That’s good.

He almost automatically reaches out to the sword rest by the door before he realizes what the hell he’s doing. It’s been years at this point. Why would he—?

Being back here is messing with his head. He tells himself it’s just having Lan Zhan here. It’s weird, after all, having him in his space. Lan Zhan surely felt a bit weird having Wei Wuxian in his house too. But it also feels like an old dream or the meeting of two unconnected parts of Wei Wuxian’s life. Worse though, since Lotus Pier already feels like something disconnected from himself.

He tries not to squirm as Lan Zhan looks around the room.

“I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” Wei Wuxian says, the formulaic, stupid words slipping free before he can stop them. Look, he’s rattled, okay?

Lan Zhan gives him a strange look but doesn’t roast him for it or anything. Instead, he politely inclines his head and then waits to be directed to which bed will be his.

“Right, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. “Here. This one. I’ll be over there!” He points stupidly at the bed under the window.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says, which only makes it all worse somehow. Why are they being so polite?

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, patting at the back of his hair like he might find his coolness hiding back there. “You wanted to write a letter. Here, you can use this table.” He glances around, trying to remember where he last stuck his writing stuff. He rifles through a few cabinets, each opening on some forgotten memory, some foggy remembrance that somehow feels less real than the whispered tales of the dead in his brain.

He finally manages to pull out everything they need while Lan Zhan quietly puts his things in place near his bed. Lan Zhan settles into writing to his brother and Wei Wuxian keeps himself occupied by reading one of the books he pulled from the library.

It’s okay. This is fine.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says a long while later.  

He looks up, mind mostly on the puzzle of Wen Ning’s missing consciousness. “Yeah?”

“May I include a sketch of the lure flag in my letter to my brother?”

Wei Wuxian blinks. “You’re asking my permission?”

“It is Wei Ying’s invention,” Lan Zhan says, like that has any bearing on anything at all.

Wei Wuxian scoffs. “Yeah. Sure. Because that definitely kept the Jins from using it.”

Lan Zhan’s face very nearly twitches. He clearly doesn’t appreciate being compared to a Jin. But he also holds still, staring at Wei Wuxian, like he really isn’t going to write a thing about it until Wei Wuxian says it’s okay.

“Lan Zhan,” he draws out. “Sure. Of course. At least I know the Lan sect will never use it.” No matter how useful it might be. Or how many lives it could save, used correctly.

It’s not demonic cultivation. It’s not even part of the ghost path. But it also isn’t orthodox. Orthodox practices aren’t just old or widely accepted, they also very carefully only interact with the dead in very prescriptive ways. It is one thing to liberate a creature, to suppress or eliminate it. Drawing creatures towards a particular position is just a little too close to manipulation. Like choosing the time and place of a confrontation is tantamount to deliberately creating resentment through the murder of living beings.

Nuance is apparently lost on the cultivation world.

But neither can Wei Wuxian deny that the way the Jin assholes used his invention—using living beings as bait—was far closer to the evil intentions no doubt feared. Sure, Wei Wuxian had even done something similar to Wen Chao. But that was war. It was necessary. And Wen Chao was far from innocent.

How is collecting prey for a meaningless social event necessary ?

As with all forms of cultivation, intention matters. And not even the Lan sect and their three thousand rules can ensure that orthodox cultivation is only ever used for good. Take the fucking Jin sect for example.

Lan Zhan eventually wraps up his letter to his brother and then they both head over to the main hall.

Dinner goes okay. Jiang Cheng is still mad, and Lan Zhan doesn’t say a word, of course. The food is great, as expected, even if he still has to avoid some of it. Which sucks, but not as much as getting sick at the table would. Shijie makes all of it completely worthwhile, but it’s still strange to look up and see her here. Sitting at this table and Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu not being here. Lan Zhan being here instead.

It's fine! Of course it might take a minute to settle in. The last time he was in Lotus Pier everything was completely different. But it’s okay. This will be fine too. Things change all the time.

They spend about an hour after dinner talking through all the tedious details of the ceremony and related events, but then Jiang Cheng grudgingly asks about the bat king. Wei Wuxian distracts himself from everything else by talking about how Lan Zhan managed to kill it. He has to make it a bit cleaner and less dangerous-sounding than it actually was, with Shijie sitting there, and he can’t say a lot about how beat up the Wen prisoners were, but he still makes it clear how much the Jin sect sucks. That part he will not hold back.

Lan Zhan breaks in just long enough to point out things Wei Wuxian did during the fight as well, and Wei Wuxian feels all hot and stupid, but no amount of glaring or complaining gets him to stop.

Neither of them mentions the amulet.

“It sounds like you make a very good team,” Shijie says at the end, and why is everyone punishing Wei Wuxian tonight?

Jiang Cheng looks even more annoyed than he had. “So it’s just Lotus Pier that you refuse to make yourself of use to, then, is it?”

There’s a horrible awkward silence then, about Wei Wuxian having been gone all these weeks.

Stupid Lan Zhan makes it worse by saying in that painfully sincere way of his, “I apologize. Please allow me to be of service to Yunmeng Jiang in any way I can while I am here in recompense, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng looks like he wants to lash out over that but is constrained by way of not pissing off the heir to another major clan, leaving him to just swell with impotent rage.

That’ll be fun when it finally breaks. Wei Wuxian will have to find a way to make sure it only lands on him and not Lan Zhan.

They all make it out of dinner in one piece. Wei Wuxian reads a bit more before bed, but he’s actually pretty tired, so he gets into bed not too much later than Lan Zhan.

He has a vicious nightmare that wakes him in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know if it’s being back here, the memories waiting to strike or if this is still some remnant of being forced to use the amulet again. Probably both. Maybe neither.

Either way, knowing the answer would hardly make them stop, so what’s the point wondering why?

Turning on his side, he looks over at the solid lines of Lan Zhan’s body as he sleeps in his perfect Lan sleep pose. The sound of his breathing is soft in the room, barely audible over the shift and groan of the piers and the slap of water.

Those sounds used to be really comforting, but with the dreams still fresh in his mind, they sound a little too close to the groans of the dead, to the impact of fists on flesh.

Wei Wuxian kind of wishes Lan Zhan snored.

He forces himself to turn onto his back. No staring at Lan Zhan in the dark. That’s creepy.

You’re home, he tells himself as he looks up at the ceiling. This is home. The one place you wanted to be more than anywhere else. The place you should have been this whole time, not stuck in the Cloud Recesses.  

He considers it for a moment, returning directly to Lotus Pier from Nightless City, what that would have been like. Thinks of long nights in here on his own without Lan Zhan sleeping nearby. He’d have been fine. Of course, he would have been. But this is also better. Not being totally alone.

And maybe he’d been wrong earlier. Maybe the weirdest part of having Lan Zhan here is that it isn’t weird. It’s nice, really.

He’s not always going to be here, Wei Wuxian, he reminds himself. Someday this curse will get cured or will finally fade and Lan Zhan will be gone. You have no right to get used to it.

After all, just because you want something really bad never means you get to keep it.

The first couple days in Lotus Pier pass quickly, Wei Wuxian’s time split between checking on Wen Ning and doing whatever Shijie tells him to do in order to prepare for the ceremony. Fortunately, those are pretty easy tasks to do. Things like standing still while final measurements are taken for his new robes, carrying things from this room to that room, and tasting various foods and wines for final opinions. All well within Wei Wuxian’s current abilities.

There’s no time at all for the things he might ordinarily be asked to do that he has no way to do anymore. So that’s good.

Lan Zhan is a good sport about it all, just following Wei Wuxian from place to place. He still wakes up long before Wei Wuxian in order to enjoy some morning meditation in peace. But he is also clearly trying to give Wei Wuxian some time with his siblings without intruding, usually sitting nearby, but out of earshot, reading through night-hunt reports he gets from the library. One time Wei Wuxian notices him reading a history of Yunmeng Jiang.

It’s like a little visiting lecture in reverse! Only they don’t have very many elders left to teach anyone anything. 

Nothing of the Wen occupation of Lotus Pier is visible anymore. All the sun emblems have been removed, the bloodstains scrubbed away, the final rites held. It’s the emptiness of the place that lingers. The town is only half-occupied, and where once roaming crowds of juniors filled the training halls there is now more silence than should be allowed. There’s only a small handful of elders left, most recalled from retirement to fill in the empty spaces.

In many ways it feels like the exact opposite of the Cloud Recesses. It was only half rebuilt and smelling of new wood and newly glazed tiles, but with the youngest and eldest generations still mostly intact. They faced the same fatalities in the war as anyone except the Jin sect did. But it is only the Jiang sect who lost their population down to the smallest child. Hardly a fair trade for a collection of buildings, no matter how beautiful.

But it is what it is, and Wei Wuxian does his best not to think of it, not just because it sucks, but because it really makes the amulet harder to keep under control.

We got revenge for them, he reminds it. Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu and that Wang nobody already met their horrible ends. Lotus Pier has been avenged.

But that just means there is nowhere to direct this red-hot rage burning in his bones.

It has to be because of the bat king. The amulet hadn’t been quiet in the Cloud Recesses exactly, but it hadn’t been anything like this either.

In the evenings, Wei Wuxian moans and groans and makes as much of a scene as he can to cover up how necessary the time spent meditating with Lan Zhan actually is. The Lan temperament exercises he’d used in the Burial Mounds are still often the best thing in helping keep it under wraps. It’s still better to make it look like Wei Wuxian is far more resistant than he is. Even if just to keep Lan Zhan on his toes.

He even half considers asking Lan Zhan to play some of that calming music from the infirmary, but knows he can’t risk it. That doesn’t really do anything to the amulet anyway. Just helps him relax enough to sleep. Sleep might make it easier to do what he needs to, but it’s still a luxury, really.

All he needs to do is just…

Do what? Make it through the next few days? And then what?

Nope. He is not thinking about that. Like always, he just needs to get through now. Everything else will sort itself out.

Soon enough, it’s the day before the ceremony. Meaning it’s time to visit the family shrine. Tomorrow is for celebrating the future of Lotus Pier. Today is for remembering their losses.

Lan Zhan sits just outside the doors, attempting to give them privacy.

Wei Wuxian kneels next to his siblings and says goodbye to Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu.

The succession ceremony is absolutely beautiful, as it should be.

The ranks of disciples, both survivors and new recruits pulled together through Jiang Cheng’s pure stubbornness and general badass aura, line up in the central courtyard to make their pledges.

Wei Wuxian stands in his new fancy robes just off to the side, watching Jiang Cheng up on the steps with Shijie just slightly back and off to the side from him, the sect leader’s stalwart supporter.

Lan Zhan had looked a little confused when Wei Wuxian had led him over here. Wei Wuxian doesn’t feel like explaining that this is just the way things are at Lotus Pier. The way they’ve always been. Like the black and red Wei Wuxian wears, the clarity bell at his waist but not the slightest splash of purple. The way he’s part of it, of course, but also not quite.

Also, it’s not like there is anywhere else for Lan Zhan to stand. It’s a bit awkward all around.  Technically it’s out of turn, having someone external to the sect here for this. But it’s not like they have a choice. Lan Zhan is, as always, a perfect guest at least.

Lan Zhan busted out a fancier set of robes for the occasion too. Not white this time, probably because that wouldn’t exactly be auspicious, but instead a light blue with one of those fancy lace overcoat things. It looks good. Of course, Lan Zhan always looks good, but it’s also kind of fun to see him all fussy and beautiful with the long flowing sleeves and his perfect posture. Somehow funnier now that he gets to see Lan Zhan dressed down for bed and just last week Lan Zhan had blood and dirt rubbed into his robes after kicking a monster’s ass. Funnier that it’s Lan Zhan in Lotus Pier. Where everything is loud and chaotic and Lan Zhan is still just his steady self.

Lan Zhan slides him a look, a mild scold like in the old days when Wei Wuxian wouldn’t pay attention in lecture, and Wei Wuxian realizes he’s let himself get distracted.  

In the courtyard, all the disciples have settled into their perfect little rows, looking up at Jiang Cheng on the steps in front of the Sword Test Hall.

If only Jiang Fengmian could have seen this. Seen what a great fucking sect leader Jiang Cheng is. All of the things Wei Wuxian never could have been. It makes everything worth it, every single moment, to see his brother exactly where he’s meant to be. Even if it also means Wei Wuxian will never be as he promised he would be.

He’ll figure it out. Find a way to be here, to help Jiang Cheng. But also never let him find out. Never let him suspect. Wei Wuxian will figure it out.

After the ceremony, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan walk over to join Jiang Cheng when there is a break in local leaders giving him congratulations.

Lan Zhan bows perfectly to Jiang Cheng. “Congratulations, Jiang-zongzhu. The Jiang sect will thrive under your leadership. The Lan sect looks forward to continuing our friendship and forging deep connections.”

It’s formulaic enough to risk being stale and offensive, but no one could look at Lan Zhan and not see the perfect elegance and sincerity of it. No one can probably even tell how much Lan Zhan hates talking in front of people like this.

Wei Wuxian is a little surprised to realize that he’s able to tell that Lan Zhan is pretty nervous about it.

He smiles fondly. Stodgy, perfect, silly Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian, of course, throws propriety to the wind and immediately makes sure to show Jiang Cheng that sect leader or not, he’ll always be his shidi. He gives him a big hug, messing his hair up on purpose.

Jiang Cheng swats him away and threatens to drown him in the lake.

Pretty much exactly as it should be.

The party goes on late into the night, wine flowing long after the delicious food is cleared away. There’s even some fireworks out over the water and people out in boats to appreciate them. Wei Wuxian drinks far more than he should, but everyone’s having such a great time, he’s hardly the only one. It only feels fitting. This isn’t the Cloud Recesses after all!

Lan Zhan doesn’t seem all that amused when Wei Wuxian points this out to him, but whatever. Lan Zhan also doesn’t pull the cup from Wei Wuxian’s hand. Only time will tell if Lan Zhan ends up on his knees about it.

The thought buzzes strangely through Wei Wuxian’s entire body for some reason, forcing a strange half-strangled laugh out his throat as he thinks about Lan Zhan on his knees.

Okay, wow, that’s not— Ha! What an outrageous thought. He’s really had a lot to drink. 

He holds up his bottle, keeping his eyes on it rather than looking at Lan Zhan, his continual shadow in those nice fancy blue robes. “I invented this, you know. Did I ever tell you that? There’s really only one way to really drink it properly though.”

He grabs Lan Zhan’s beautiful, trailing sleeve and pulls him out of the crowded courtyard. Shijie’s already long since gone to bed, so there’s no reason to stay.

The paths are all lit by lanterns, people scattered about. Laughter rises up from near the disciples’ dorms, and Wei Wuxian grins, remembering evenings like this from back before.

His smile threatens to slip a moment later as other memories intrude, but he doesn’t let it. He keeps dragging Lan Zhan along with him, ignoring the softly chiding, “Wei Ying,” when he’s forced to lightly jog to keep up.

“Not much further,” he promises, then takes a sharp turn, deciding he can’t face the pier he and his shidi used to swim off of on hot days. Madam Yu’s favorite pavilion is also off-limits. He finally pulls them along to the pier old Tang brings his morning catch to. Or used to, at least.

There aren’t any lanterns here, just the light of the nearly full moon rippling across the water. It’s choked with lotus plants. Clearly no one is using this pier anymore.

Wei Wuxian gets down on his knees, almost losing his balance for a moment before righting himself with a laugh. Setting his bottle of wine carefully aside, he lowers himself down onto his stomach and reaches out for a nearby leaf.

“Wei Ying,” he hears again, and it’s like another mouthful of wine, hearing that voice here among the smell of lotus and mud and algae. The creak and splash of piers and frogs.

Lan Zhan must stoop down too, because Wei Wuxian feels the warmth of his hand on his calf.

“I won’t fall in,” Wei Wuxian says with a giggle, and okay, maybe he would, he thinks as he almost tips forward. Steadied by Lan Zhan’s hand, he shimmies out further and plucks a wide lotus leaf. “Got it! Pull me back!”

Lan Zhan looks pretty exasperated by the time Wei Wuxian wiggles his way back up onto the pier. Wei Wuxian pats him on the shoulder in thanks.

Dropping down on the wood planks to sit like a cobbler, he waves Lan Zhan closer. After a pause where he seems to consider his options, Lan Zhan gracefully lowers himself, but not without the Lan Zhan equivalent of a sigh. His fancy robes settle around him on the wood, and this close in the moonlight, Wei Wuxian can just make out the slight sheen of sweat on Lan Zhan’s perfect stupid face.

The heat has just barely started to let go of its summer swelter, so it’s perfectly normal, but it’s also funny to think of Lan Zhan being less than perfect. Struggling just a little bit in the heat. Wei Wuxian doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable or anything, but there’s something soft about Lan Zhan being less than perfect. Just being human. Getting hit with curses and sweating a little bit in the heat. It makes him feel closer.

“Like this,” Wei Wuxian says, wrapping the leaf into a cone shape. He pours wine into the lotus leaf cup. “The real way to experience it.” He glances over at Lan Zhan. “I’d offer some to you, but the last thing I need is you running off. The curse would not like that!”

Lan Zhan shakes his head, but doesn’t look away from Wei Wuxian, looking down at the cup in curiosity.

Wei Wuxian tips his head back, letting the wine slide down into his waiting mouth. Delicious.

When he looks up, Lan Zhan is still watching him, somehow feeling closer than ever.

Wei Wuxian licks his lips clean of wine. In just a few more weeks, it will be time for the harvest festival. They’ll be harvesting the last of the fresh lotus seeds, and it’s the best time for lotus root.

He wonders if Lan Zhan will like lotus seeds.

It floods him, for a moment, that when he was just a dumb teenager at the Cloud Recesses that time, this is all he would have wanted. Lan Zhan here, with him, seeing Lotus Pier.

That was before, of course.

Wei Wuxian blinks, his eyelids feeling heavy. “Too bad you never got to see it before, Lan Zhan,” he says, voice slower than he expects. “Before I got it all destroyed.”

Lan Zhan makes a small sound.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “It’s late. Time for little Lans to go to sleep, surely.”

Lan Zhan takes his elbow, helping him to his feet. And if Wei Wuxian leans his weight into him a little, it’s no one’s business but his own.

Wei Wuxian wakes the next day with a terrible headache.

Ugh. He can still handle his liquor, for the most part, but this is definitely new. He used to be able to bounce right back up, stuff his face with some spicy noodles, jump in the lake, and he’d be back to normal. But this…this is nothing like that.

So apparently it isn’t just Emperor’s Smile that makes him feel like walking death the next morning. Or maybe he just feels like walking death on any given day, and the hangover makes him feel like cold, week-old death. And like it will take a week to get over it.

It’s like the pain he’s grown used to living with is just a little closer, a little sharper. And the voices, well, they’re more pointed than usual. Or maybe Wei Wuxian is just more miserable and willing to listen.

You’re useless, Wei Wuxian. A waste.

They could at least try to come up with something new to say, he grumbles to himself.

When he rolls out of bed, it’s to find Lan Zhan already dressed back in his simple day robes and perfectly put together, sitting reading a book at his table. Not looking at all like Wei Wuxian dragged him around the pier until late into the night.

“Lan Zhan,” he groans, stretching his arms over his head and trying to ignore the sharp throb of pain in his back as something pops. “This is your fault. You should have stopped me. You definitely deserve to go kneel in the ancestral hall and think about how you failed your good friend Wei Ying. For shame.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t so much as look his way, instead turning a page, managing to exude an air of complete indifference.

Oh, Lan Zhan, he thinks, never change.

On the table is a covered bowl.

Lan Zhan notices him looking at it, pushing it carefully towards him. “Jiang-guniang brought food this morning.”

Wei Wuxian glances out the window, realizing how late it is. He hasn’t slept that soundly in a while, even if he doesn’t feel particularly rested. Lan Zhan must have been up for hours and hours already.

He still feels awful, but nothing can be that bad when there is Shijie’s food to eat.

The entire Pier feels quiet and sluggish the rest of the day, all the disciples being given time off training to nurse their headaches. Jiang Cheng spends the day entertaining the local village heads and sub-sects of Yunmeng. Wei Wuxian leaves that to him and Shijie, knowing he would only make things worse by being there. Not to mention it might be really awkward trying to explain Lan Zhan’s presence.

The next day though, Jiang Cheng’s leniency is at an end. The disciples are back in training, and Jiang Cheng has Wei Wuxian, and by extension Lan Zhan, dragged into the Sword Hall.

He isn’t sitting on the Lotus Throne when they get there, which is good because Wei Wuxian would have spent the rest of their lives mocking him for it if he had.

Shijie is here too, which is nice, though she seems to be just getting ready to leave. Wei Wuxian waves at her before walking further into the room with loose-limbed exaggeration.

“Jiang Cheng,” he whines. “Why did you have to drag us here? I’m tired.”

He actually hadn’t slept well last night, kept up with nightmares again. He thinks back to the oblivion brought by the wine the night before with longing, even with the hangover as a consequence.

Jiang Cheng is not amused, already pissed about something, and it takes him glaring at Lan Zhan for Wei Wuxian to realize he’s feeling prickly about Lan Zhan being here for their super serious sect business meeting. All the more reason just to skip it all together in Wei Wuxian’s opinion.

“Does he always have to be here?” Jiang Cheng complains a moment later, jerking his chin towards Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes at his rudeness. “Yes, Jiang Cheng. He has to always be here. You know that.”

Jiang Cheng is not soothed, flipping his important sect leader cape thingy back and then striding away. “My office. Now.”

Wei Wuxian gives Lan Zhan a long-suffering look over his shoulder and then follows Jiang Cheng.

He’s waiting by the door, and when Wei Wuxian gets close enough, he grabs him by the elbow, bodily pulling him into the room. He shuts the door with Lan Zhan still only halfway across the room. With Jiang Cheng dragging him with a firm grip on him, there isn’t much Wei Wuxian can do about it, not having the power to match Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang Cheng!” he shouts instead, slapping at his arm.

“What?” Jiang Cheng demands, pulling him to the table in the middle of the room.

“Let go!” Wei Wuxian says, wanting to tug his arm free but not wanting to give away how weak he is. But, shit, Lan Zhan.

“Calm down,” Jiang Cheng says. “It’s not like the guy can’t handle a minute away from you. He said he would be fine a whole night on his own.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head, starting to get really angry. “That’s not the way this works!”

Jiang Cheng finally lets go, and Wei Wuxian races back across the room, ripping the door open.  

Lan Zhan has dropped down to one knee in the middle of the room, a hand pressed into his chest. Shijie hovers nearby, hands twisted in her robes as if afraid to make contact.

“Lan-er-gongzi?” she’s asking.

Wei Wuxian runs over to him, almost skidding into him in his haste to kneel next to him. “Hey, Lan Zhan, I’m here. It’s okay, it’s okay.” He touches his wrists, his elbows, finally clasping his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Lan Zhan lets out a shaky breath, listing into him. “I am fine.”

He clearly isn’t, but that’s neither here nor there. Wei Wuxian glares back over his shoulder at his brother. “Jiang Cheng, what the fuck. You knew about the curse!”

He looks slightly chastised, staring at Lan Zhan in surprise. “I didn’t know it would do that!”

“What, you thought I was just hanging about the Cloud Recesses for fun?”

Jiang Cheng throws his hands up in exasperation. “Well, I don’t know! It’s not like you’ve told me anything. And it’s hardly the first time you’ve run off to chase after Lan-er-gongzi! Or shirked your duty to Lotus Pier!”

Wei Wuxian pointedly ignores all of that, focusing instead on Lan Zhan. He presses up into Lan Zhan’s space, letting go of him to take his hands with both of his instead. He sits there as Lan Zhan’s posture gradually straightens.

“I apologize,” he says, clearly embarrassed and that’s another reason to be mad at Jiang Cheng.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Shijie says, which is nice, because maybe Lan Zhan will actually listen to her. “I’m sure A-Cheng is the one who will apologize.”

Jiang Cheng scowls, clearly not pleased by the idea, but hardly willing to go against Shijie. “I apologize. I did not realize the curse was that sensitive.”

Lan Zhan shakes his head. “I was merely caught off guard.”

Which, yeah, Wei Wuxian is too, to be honest. That was a little more of an intense reaction than he would have expected from less than a minute out of each other’s sight. Then again, no one’s ever grabbed Wei Wuxian and hid him out of sight before either. Their separations, when they happen, are always very planned.

Lan Zhan gets up, unobtrusively straightening his robes and then putting one fist behind his back as if to make up for the lapse with doubly perfect posture or something.

Jiang Cheng awkwardly gestures through to his office, deliberately including Lan Zhan this time. “We can meet in here.”

After giving Jiang Cheng one more warning look, Shijie goes back to her work, leaving the three of them alone.

Okay, so Jiang Cheng is right. It is awkward to have these conversations in front of someone from outside the sect. But Wei Wuxian has been doing the same thing in the Cloud Recesses. They just have to live with being up in each other’s business.

Lan Zhan, for his part, offers to sit off to the side, but that’s dumb, as they all know he can still hear perfectly well. It’s kind of big of him to be so accommodating considering what Jiang Cheng just did to him.

Maybe Jiang Cheng is feeling a little guilty too, because he just gestures for Lan Zhan to sit with them at the table with minimum gruffness.

They get served tea and awesome little lotus seed cakes, which might make this meeting worth the other sucky parts, except he could just as easily buy them down on the market piers with Lan Zhan. Far, far from here.

Wei Wuxian sighs, resigning himself to just getting through whatever it is Jiang Cheng wants to talk about.

It turns out to mostly be a ‘general state of the sect’ type talk. Jiang Cheng fills him in on the number of disciples they’ve recruited, mostly the untrained children of parents desperate to have a better life for their kids. Life is pretty rough in the countryside still, which it must be for them to be willing to risk sending their kids to a cultivation sect after what happened to Lotus Pier. So Lotus Pier is taking in any kid with any potential, which will be great for Lotus Pier in the long run, but for now just means a lot of people who need training. With most of their previous teachers dead, they are incredibly short-handed, leaving barely enough disciples left over to deal with night hunt requests. Especially if they want to keep any sort of numbers here at Lotus Pier for defense.

“What about older unaffiliated cultivators?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Rogue cultivators have always been a thing, and with the war there are only more of them, as a lot of the smaller sects no longer exist. He knows some unaffiliated cultivators already joined the Jiang sect during the Sunshot campaign. Are there more they could draw from that wouldn’t need so much immediate training?  

“A few,” Jiang Cheng says, looking shifty. He sighs, deeply annoyed. “I had to turn most of them away.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. “What? Why?”

Jiang Cheng looks at Lan Zhan again and then down at his notes, eventually bursting out, “Because they only came here because they wanted to be trained in demonic cultivation, okay?”

“Absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian says, viscerally put off by the thought of anyone picking that up. Especially when there are other paths available. Sure, he’s learned some things that would be pretty useful for anyone. But that’s not the point. The last thing they need is people excited by the prospect of playing around in Wen Ruohan’s sandbox.

Jiang Cheng has the gall to look relieved, like he thought what? That Wei Wuxian wants to build himself a demonic army? What the fuck.

“Anyway,” Jiang Cheng pushes on, giving Lan Zhan another nervous look like he expects a lecture on orthodoxy or something. “I’ll need you assessing and training the little ones on archery and sword forms. I’ll find someone else for core formation.”

Wei Wuxian knows that’s only because he is notoriously bad at meditation, but it stings nonetheless. “Jiang Cheng—” he starts to hedge, knowing he can’t do any of it.

“I would be happy to assist in any way I can,” Lan Zhan says.

“I thought you weren’t listening,” Jiang Cheng snaps, probably mostly pissed off because of the Lan reputation for core development and knowing he can’t turn this down.

Lan Zhan doesn’t respond, but Wei Wuxian can read it on his face anyway, it would be impossible not to hear you, Sect Leader Jiang. 

Wei Wuxian bites back an inappropriate snort. Jiang Cheng seems to sense it, glaring at Wei Wuxian before driving straight on past the awkward point. He clearly does not want to take Lan Zhan up on the offer, no matter how enticing.

“I appreciate your offer, Lan-er-gongzi. But it would hardly be appropriate.”

Lan Zhan blinks, but rather than deferring, presses on. “Gusu Lan has inconvenienced Yunmeng Jiang by taking away their head disciple for such an extended period of time. It would only be right to do what I can to reduce that burden.”

Something in the way he says that seems to make Jiang Cheng pause. Wei Wuxian supposes Lan Zhan made it sound not so much as if the Jiang sect is weak and needs help, but that the Gusu Lan are in the wrong and owe a debt.

If there is one thing the Jiang clan has always understood, it’s debts.

“In that case, Yunmeng Jiang accepts your assistance, Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng says, all formal and polite like a real sect leader. Wild.

Wei Wuxian weighs his chances of arguing his way out of the archery and sword-forms practices, but decides he’ll have to find some other way to get out of it later. He figures if he skips out on it long enough, someone else will have to do it, and maybe Jiang Cheng will just stop asking out of sheer annoyance. It could happen.  

With that settled, things manage to take a turn for the worse when Jiang Cheng pulls out the accounting books.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t bother to hold back a groan. Support with financial stuff is well within the expected duties of a head disciple, but Wei Wuxian has always been terrible at it, not to mention better suited to teaching. They usually leave this stuff to Shijie, who is very good at it.

“Jiang Cheng,” he whines.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jiang Cheng snaps, in a way that says Wei Wuxian is definitely stuck with having this conversation.

Giving Lan Zhan a few more shifty looks, Jiang Cheng seems to resign himself to talking about money in front of him. He briefly goes over the terms of the loan the Jin Guangshan extended to them after the war.  

“It’s not enough,” Jiang Cheng says, looking embarrassed but resolute.

“Wait,” Wei Wuxian says, peering down at the numbers. He drags the book over. “That is way less than they extended to the Lan sect!” 

Lan Zhan gives him a look at that, but he ignores it. They are all up in each other’s business now and he’ll have to deal with it.

Jiang Cheng sighs. “I suspected as much, but it sucks to hear it confirmed. It’s possible it’s because of the sworn brotherhood, or because we are so small and couldn’t contribute as many forces as the other Great Sects…” 

“Bullshit,” Wei Wuxian bursts out.

“Without Yunmeng Jiang,” Lan Zhan says, “Wen Ruohan would not have been defeated.”

“Nice to hear someone else acknowledge it,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. He sighs, rubbing at his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I’m wondering if it has more to do with A-jie.”

Wei Wuxian turns sharply to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“If we don’t have enough funds to rebuild, it makes A-jie’s bride price look that much more necessary.”

Wei Wuxian is going to burn Jinlintai to the ground. “Does Shijie know?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I don’t want her to feel pressured.”

It also explains why Jiang Cheng is coming to him with the books and not her.

“Fuck.”

Lan Zhan has that little crease between his brows that means he’s frowning severely. Wei Wuxian doesn’t expect him to know too much about betrothals and all that, but it’s comforting at least to see that someone else can tell how messed up this is.

Really, what isn’t beneath the Jin sect these days?

Jiang Cheng finishes up with some basic duty-roster stuff that Wei Wuxian is more than capable of helping with, which is a nice place to finish the meeting.

Jiang Cheng actually looks more relaxed, by the end. “It’s going to be a lot easier with you back here now,” he says, and it’s really only half a grumble.

Wei Wuxian can only hope that somehow ends up being true.

For the next week Wei Wuxian avoids his duties as best he can. Jiang Cheng makes snide comments at dinner each night that are clearly meant to be digs at Wei Wuxian being useless, but he also doesn’t come right out and say it, so it’s still something they can both pretend about. Unfortunately, he doubts it will last. As Jiang Cheng gets more used to Lan Zhan being there, there is less politeness for Wei Wuxian to hide behind.

Lan Zhan refuses to slack off at all, of course. So Wei Wuxian gets dragged off to the children’s morning meditation sessions. Which, besides being really early in the morning, are way more adorable than he would have expected.

Lan Zhan is so serious and endlessly patient and as soon as the kids stop being terrified of him, they all clearly fall madly in love with him. They sit with their perfect little posture, only occasionally cracking an eye open to look to Lan Zhan for his approval. The only thing Wei Wuxian has ever seen that is more adorable was Lan Zhan with his rabbits.

Wei Wuxian mostly lounges around nearby, pretending to be asleep. Once Lan Zhan has frowned his disapproval enough, Wei Wuxian pretends to drag himself into meditation against his will. He uses the rest of the session to focus on keeping the amulet under control.

His anger at the Jin sect and his regular nightmares are not making it any easier, a low level of rage seeming to simmer under his skin at all times.

The meditation, annoyingly enough, does help. He just has to make sure Lan Zhan doesn’t realize what he’s doing, or why. Or even worse, Jiang Cheng, who knows perfectly well that Wei Wuxian has never been much of a meditator and would get suspicious real fast.

After class, the cute little disciples scamper off and Wei Wuxian drags Lan Zhan into town, claiming that he hasn’t gotten a chance to show any of it to him yet. He brushes off Lan Zhan’s concern for the archery and sword classes.

“Oh, no problem,” Wei Wuxian says. “I can show you around a bit more. You haven’t even gotten to see town yet! And then I need to go see Wen Ning.”

When he’s not visiting Wen Ning, who so far shows absolutely no change—still very much alive and still very much without any of his spiritual cognition—Wei Wuxian goes back to the library. He figures Lan Zhan can’t complain too much about them studying!

He makes a new sachet for Wen Ning, this one even more powerful, and slips it into his hand. He doesn’t think it will do too much, but it’s better than nothing. He remembers giving the first one to Wen Qing, how prickly she’d been about it. But she’d also apparently let Wen Ning keep it, considering he’d still had it on him even long after the war. Not that it was able to help much in the end.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t think about that too much though, because the sheer rage he feels at what has happened to sweet, kind, brave Wen Ning makes the amulet want to destroy the Jin sect members one by one. Which they are obviously not going to do! So Wei Wuxian doesn’t think about it.

He manages to carve out a bit more time by visiting and hanging out with Shijie. It’s not like anyone could blame him for wanting to see her!

He hasn’t seen her in ages after all, and spending time with her is when he is closest to feeling normal again. Whatever that is. It never lasts though, is the thing. It’s like he always wants to see her, but then the moment he’s actually with her, part of him wants to squirm away and escape. Like he’s afraid she’ll see too much if he stops moving.

She and Lan Zhan get along well, though, which is a big bonus. They are both kind and super polite, but he can tell Shijie likes him. He can also tell that Lan Zhan finds her easy to be around, once he gets over his initial stiffness. This is probably the most time Lan Zhan has ever spent with a woman from another sect before, so it’s understandable, if not low-key hilarious.

It makes Wei Wuxian want to laugh and somehow get up in Lan Zhan’s space all at once.

Another good thing is that Lan Zhan doesn’t have too many episodes of the curse after the time Jiang Cheng was all rude and awful, but Wei Wuxian is also careful to keep close most of the time just in case. He grabs his arm or tugs on his sleeves when they’re out in town. It’s probably way more crowded with people than Lan Zhan is used to after all. It would suck if he got lost or something.

Wei Wuxian will keep holding on just in case.

But visiting Shijie and taking Lan Zhan on tours can only get him out of his duties for so long. Even the library fails him far quicker than he would like, and he can’t help but think how much easier it would be to just run around and slack off if Lan Zhan weren’t here to frown at him all the time. It feels too much like Lan Zhan might be able to see what is really going on.

Wei Wuxian starts to be plagued by the thought that he might have to deliberately make Lan Zhan think very poorly of him in order to get away with it. Why should he care if he does? It’s not like Lan Zhan thinks all that highly of him as it is, right?

I saw you as my zhiji.

I still am. I always will be.

Fuck. That’s not— He can’t—

He’ll just have to find a way to make it all work. Get a handle on the nightmares, hold Jiang Cheng at bay, figure out how to fool Lan Zhan, keep the amulet under control, and find a way to be useful that doesn’t open him up to conversations he really doesn’t want to have.

Easy. No problem.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says, catching sight of Jiang Cheng heading their way. He tugs on Lan Zhan’s sleeve, pulling him in the opposite direction. “You’ve been reading all those Yunmeng history books. So boring! Let me show you one of the oldest temples in the area. We’ll have to take a boat. It’ll be great!”

Lan Zhan frowns at him but doesn’t shake him off, and that’s the only opening Wei Wuxian needs to escape Jiang Cheng.

It’ll be fine. Everything is absolutely going to be fine.

Chapter Text

It is strange here, in Lotus Pier.

There is great beauty to be found in this place that raised Wei Ying. Lan Wangji can see echoes of everything that Wei Ying is in each shift of water, each glorious sunrise over the lakes, each flicker of green and pink lotus on the water like a flirtatious promise.

Nothing seems to stay the same from moment to moment with the flow of water and the shift of the sun and moon. Even the weather is tempestuous and ever-changing, storms building fast and passing just as quickly.

The heat is near stifling and yet seems to slow no one around him. Lan Wangji quietly reduces his layers and feels near-exposed for days and days, even as the Jiang disciples run around in even fewer layers, free with the way they strip off during a fight, jump barely clothed into the lake in search of relief.

Lan Wangji focuses on regulating his temperature and adjusting as best he can. It takes him a few days to realize that the promise of cooling rain is only a temporary reprieve that brings even greater humidity in its passing, the sun breaking through the clouds and hitting upon the gathered puddles. Lan Wangji imagines this must be what a steamed bun feels like.

The early mornings are particularly beautiful. Wei Ying’s quarters have a tidy porch off the back with a partially obstructed view of a small lake. Lan Wangji can leave the door open behind him and sit outside as Wei Ying sleeps insensibly on. It is indeed the one time of day that Lan Wangji can easily predict where Wei Ying will be and where he will stay. He sleeps in even later here than he had in the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji does not know how much of that is his restless nights and how much is merely in defense of the heat not dissipating until well after midnight.

Either way, Lan Wangji uses these quiet hours to find peace within himself. It is the only time he is truly alone all day. The pre-dawn breeze across the water is cooling, and he is able to build himself up to facing another day in Lotus Pier.

When he is outside the Cloud Recesses, it often feels as if there are secret sets of rules that everyone else but him seems to understand. The variety of unspoken ways of being and interacting that are found in the world are not only confusing to Lan Wangji, but often feel well outside his ability to mimic. It is certainly true in Lotus Pier as well.

The Jiang work hard and are dedicated, that cannot be ignored. But like the weather and waters around them, they seem to flow with some unspoken rhythm, the training schedule never the same day to day, nor even by day of the week. Perhaps it is dictated by the weather or some other measurement. He is not certain. He is only grateful that the task he has been set with meets with predictable regularity. Or perhaps they have adapted to him and his set ways as easily as they adapt to any other rising storm.

It at once explains a great deal about the way Wei Ying is and yet nothing at all–as confusing as everything else here.

Wei Ying was unmistakably happy to return home. Those first few days were a delirious whirlwind of Wei Ying’s joy at being back with his siblings. Since their arrival, Wei Ying has taken Lan Wangji down every well-loved path and pier, sharing endless stories of his childhood. Lan Wangji has eaten a greater variety of snacks and sweets and soups than he has likely ever experienced before in the entirety of his life.

Yet, with each story shared, each treat charmed out of a vendor, there is something sharper right underneath, like the spike in humidity lurking behind each relieving shower.

Wei Ying would likely not be pleased to know it, but Lan Wangji is well aware of the nightmares that have been visiting him each night. He is aware, perhaps even more than Wei Ying, just how many times a day Wei Ying reaches for the place in his robes where the amulet slumbers.

Having seen the amulet during the fight with the bat king, Lan Wangji is now ever aware of its presence for all that he cannot sense it. It lurks in the background of every interaction, every slip of Wei Ying’s temper.

Wei Ying does not completely settle even in the company of his siblings. It has been a shock, in many ways, to see firsthand how Wei Ying fits in at Lotus Pier, and the ways he does not. The way his rooms are not in the family area, but neither are they in the wing with the disciples. It seems at once a mark of special status and yet indicates a separateness. Much like the way he stood to the side of the succession ceremony, neither a family member nor a disciple taking an oath. Dressed not in Yunmeng purple, yet at the beck and call of his sect leader.

Not that Jiang Wanyin seems to have much control over Wei Ying. Each family dinner has become fraught, with Jiang Wanyin complaining about Wei Ying’s lazy disregard of his duties.  Yet beneath the boisterous threats of bodily harm, there is no true order given, no consequences for non-compliance. Wei Ying pouts and simpers and distracts with provoking words that redirect, yet only create new things to fight about rather than bringing calm.

Jiang Yanli looks on, mildly scolding them both from time to time, but mostly smiling at them and soothing their rough spots with food and attention.

Lan Wangji does not know what to make of it. The way this feels at once like something the three of them have enacted a thousand times and yet also as if it is all one moment away from breaking. Lan Wangji cannot know how much of that is his own discomfort with the tenor of their interactions, the way it is challenging to find his feet in this place. Cannot know how much is because Lan Wangji sticks out like an ill-fitting piece of joint work and how much is because of something else lurking just beneath.

Wei Ying remains the biggest point of confusion. He is, undoubtedly, neglecting his duties. He is not leading archery practices. He is not drilling the disciples in sword forms. Suibian is still entirely absent. It is difficult to witness, knowing as Lan Wangji does the pride Wei Ying once held in his swordwork; knowing that, besides Lan Wangji’s brother, Wei Ying is one of the only people to truly challenge him. It is difficult to see Wei Ying, who took such joy in his skill, who once held off Lan Wangji’s fury-fueled attacks without so much as unsheathing his sword, now not even willing to even carry his sword, let alone use it. 

Lan Wangji still, after all these years, finds it hard to accept that Wei Ying would abandon it for a path that seems to do little more than give him nightmares and make his brother yell at him. Except that it also gave him the power to break Wen Ruohan’s hold on his army and saved them both from a bat king. The sword path would not have saved them.

It reminds Lan Wangji that this is not the first legendary creature they have fought together. Lan Wangji wants to say, He had been powerful enough before ! And yet when he considers it, lets his memories linger, he is forced to see with greater clarity just what Wei Ying had done in that cave in Muxi so many years ago, back before so much else. Wei Ying had used the wretched sword from the xuanwu, his body wreathed in resentment and then, somehow, every sword and arrow from the bottom of the lake had driven up into the Xuanwu’s neck. Lan Wangji had done little more than hold the beast in place as Wei Ying struck it down. It had not been the sword path that had saved them then, either.

These are thoughts along a well-worn groove in Lan Wangji’s mind. He tries his best not to tread down it endlessly, but it is difficult to avoid; too easy to slip into. Something feels wrong and yet refuses to be as simple as it should be, an easy question of right and wrong. Lan Wangji’s inability to see it clearly eats at him day by day.

He is supposed to know Wei Ying. Being here in his home, the place that has made him the cultivator he is, should unlock truths, not obscure them further.

But perhaps in this, Wei Ying is the most himself as ever, leading Lan Wangji on a merry chase and leaving him ill-equipped to either keep up or to stop following.

Lan Wangji enjoys overseeing the core formation class for the youngest Jiang disciples.

At this age, children can struggle with stillness. Jiang children are no different in this respect than the ones in the Cloud Recesses. There is something settling about taking the young, sleepy children, twitchy with the energy of a newly born day and leading them through a series of stretches and movements meant to make them aware of their bodies, the way they flow and connect, how there is no mind and body, but rather one unified self. It always seems at first that there will be no settling, that the uncoordinated mass of movement will never come together. Yet Lan Wangji is patient, and once their bodies are warmed and centered, they sit, Lan Wangji taking them through a series of exercises for feeling and visualizing the vital flow of energy through their little bodies. Eventually they slip into it, their breathing careful and smooth, bodies at last letting go of the scattered distraction. It is pleasing to see them give themselves this gift of calm and strength, to embrace these practices that offer such potential and peace.

He does not want them always this way, stuck in this motionless stance, but it is meaningful, perhaps even more so here than in the Cloud Recesses, to offer these young ones a moment of quiet and calm before they are swept back up into the ceaseless movement of Lotus Pier.

Lan Wangji has just finished bringing the children out of their meditation when the usual routine is disrupted entirely. A swarm of slightly older juniors flood into the space where they have no business being. They are far from quiet, made only louder by the colorful variety of kites they each clutch, fluttering in the wind of their haste, as riotous and free as everything else here.

They do not approach Lan Wangji, nor bother the youngest who are now whispering to each other and glancing at Lan Wangji as if to gauge his reaction. The kite-wielding juniors instead descend upon Wei Ying where he also sits in lotus pose—and why he still insists on pretending he is unwilling to meditate each morning, Lan Wangji does not know. But he does not wish to draw attention, in fear that Wei Ying might stop.

Wei Ying’s eyes fly open as the juniors surround him with a clatter of “Dashixiong! Look at my kite! You’re taking us shooting, right? Dashixiong!”

There is a moment where Wei Ying merely looks overwhelmed or perhaps something else, the fleeting expression there and gone before it can be caught, chased away by a quick smile. “Aiya, such a ruckus! Who allowed you wild animals in here?”

One of the smallest pushes forward to put his kite in front of Wei Ying. “Is it good, dashixiong?”

Wei Ying looks down at the kite, reaching out with careful fingers. He touches the boy’s cheek. “It’s a very good kite,” he confirms.

The boy’s face flushes with pleasure.

“Then you’ll take us?” an older one says. “You’ll take us shooting?”

The crowd of disciples looks up at Wei Ying with wide, pleading eyes. He appears caught out but is perhaps unable to say no to such hope. “Alright, alright,” he concedes, “stop with the faces already! We’ll go shooting.”

The children cheer.

Just past Wei Ying and his crowd of children, Lan Wangji can see Jiang Wanyin standing in the entrance to the courtyard, arms crossed over his chest as he watches. He catches Lan Wangji’s eye. The two stare at each other, Jiang Wanyin looking pleased with himself. With a huff, he turns to go.

It appears Jiang Wanyin has found a new approach to getting Wei Ying to attend his duties. One that seems to have been particularly effective.

Lan Wangji speaks to his class, praising their performance and offering a few specific improvements to consider before dismissing them. They file out, still half-distracted by the children crowded around Wei Ying, but many stopping to cheerfully thank Lan Wangji on their way past.

Over the top of the children’s head, Wei Ying looks at Lan Wangji. “Hey, Lan Zhan, you ready to see the pride of Yunmeng Jiang? These are sect-secrets, so it’s a good thing you’re so trustworthy!” He turns to the children. “You’d better try your best. Hanguang-Jun will be watching.”

Some of them turn to look at Lan Wangji with wide eyes.

None of the children have outright asked what Lan Wangji is doing here, why he is always at Wei Wuxian’s side. While Lan Wangji does not engage in gossip, he is at least cognizant of how unstoppable it can be. He is not certain what explanations have become popular. That he and Wei Ying are close friends or a well-matched pair of cultivators—something almost like Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen. He tells himself it does not matter. Whatever they might see is not the truth of it.

The kite-wielding children spill out of the courtyard, leaving Lan Wangji and Wei Ying to follow in their wake.

Wei Ying still watches them with a troubled expression.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji inquires.

Wei Ying shakes himself as if waking from a daydream. “Ha. What? Oh, don’t mind me.”

They walk out on the paths, leaving Lotus Pier behind. The juniors’ spirits only become more jubilant, many of them looking back at the two of them with bright smiles and very unsubtle whispers.

“Guess no one told them what a demon I am, huh?” Wei Ying mutters at one point.

Lan Wangji frowns. Does Wei Ying believe the children should be afraid of him? He understands that none of these children are the ones Wei Ying would have trained before the war, that they are almost entirely new recruits. For what little time Wei Ying has spent with them, they still seem equally in awe of Wei Ying and eager for his attention.

Lan Wangji clasps his hands behind his back, pulling his posture up and perfect. “Perhaps they have heard that their dashixiong is the best in all things.”

Wei Ying lets out a very pleasing gasp, turning sharply to look at Lan Wangji. “Save me some face, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying complains. “Even I was never so arrogant as to claim such a thing.”

Lan Wangji gives him a dubious look, certain he had heard him say nearly those exact words more than once when they were in the lectures together.

Wei Ying makes a clucking sound with his tongue but doesn’t deny it. “That was then, Lan Zhan. There’s no use in remembering silly things like that so well. Things change.” He turns his attention back to the path in front of them, to the disorderly throng of juniors. “We can never control that.”

No, Lan Wangji thinks. They cannot control that. No matter how much they might wish to.

They arrive at their destination, a row of bluffs overlooking a slow stream meandering towards the largest waterway in the region. The Jiang disciples set up with bows and arrows in careful lines that communicate far more efficiency and care than one might expect from their behavior on the journey here.

Wei Ying puts them through the paces of safety checks and posture corrections with the ease of old habit. This, Lan Wangji cannot help but think, is what he expected of Wei Ying in Lotus Pier, his clear joy in the face of young disciples. He seems to grow more and more comfortable as he spends time with them.

Only once Wei Ying is confident of their abilities are half of the juniors charged with putting their kites in the air. They use talismans to get them to height, though the natural occurrence of wind ensures they move with some spontaneity, upping the difficulty of the shot.

It would take tremendous skill to hit such targets with reliability, an excellent mix of skill, strength, concentration, and cultivation. Lan Wangji is not certain his own skill with a bow would stand up to it.

Hitting a kite is not a certainty among the juniors either. Far more arrows miss than hit. When any of them manage it, there is great fanfare and supportive celebration from the others. It is loud and warm and unlike anything Lan Wangji himself experienced as a junior.

The juniors eventually switch, the shooters becoming the flyers and vice versa. By the end of another session, there are three kites left. They have flown far enough that they are well outside the reach of the juniors.

“Dashixiong,” they eventually cry. “It’s impossible!”

“Tsk,” Wei Ying says, dismissing their complaints as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you Jiang disciples or not?”

A few of the eldest make a few more valiant attempts, their peers offering advice and encouragement. The kites still remain well out of range. The juniors soon change tactics.

“Dashixiong!” they say, giving each other sly glances. “It’s really impossible. No one could make that shot.”

Wei Ying happily plays into it, clearly enjoying himself. “What? Anyone could do that. They could do it blind!”

“Then perhaps Wei Ying should demonstrate,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying turns to him with delight. “Only if you lend me your headband, Lan Zhan!”

“Shameless,” Lan Wangji chides, equally for Wei Ying’s thoughtless request and for the flood of images Lan Wangji’s mind provides of situations in which Wei Ying might claim his ribbon.

Wei Ying laughs, and it is the most beautiful sound Lan Wangji has ever heard. Unwrapping one of the guards holding his sleeves close to his wrist, Wei Ying ties the black cloth around his eyes. He holds his hand out, and a junior passes him a bow.

Wei Ying reaches into a barrel for three arrows, notching all three at once. He stands a moment, chin lifted as if listening to something, perhaps spreading his senses across the clearing. With a careful breath, he lifts the bow, turns in a full reckless circle and then releases the arrows without pausing. They soar upward into the sky, hitting all three kites square in the center, causing them to tumble down to the earth.

The juniors erupt into a frenzy of cheers, jumping up and down in excitement. “Did you see that? Dashixiong really is the best! I can’t believe that! I want to shoot like that!”

Wei Ying pulls the wrap from his eyes, turning to Lan Wangji with a smirk on his face. “Not bad, eh, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji wants to kiss him with a fierceness that threatens to eclipse all else. Wants to smother that arrogant smirk with his mouth, to feel Wei Ying’s power pressing against his own.

“Only three?” Lan Wangji finds the wherewithal to say, just in hopes of seeing Wei Ying’s reaction.

“Lan Zhan!” he says through his grin of delight. “I’d ask you to do better, but we’re all out of kites.”

“Unfortunate,” Lan Wangji answers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying says.

The juniors eventually settle, one of the older ones saying, “Okay! It’s time to collect our arrows.”

Wei Ying, who was still smiling at Lan Wangji, turns his head sharply. “No,” he says, voice overly loud.

The juniors all stop what they are doing, looking at Wei Ying in confusion.   

“Dashixiong?” one of the elder juniors questions.

Wei Ying blinks, covering poorly with a laugh and a smile that sits like a fake porcelain mask over his features. “Your poor Senior needs the exercise. You all go to lunch. I’ll do it.”

The children seem confused by this, but do not question, giving Wei Ying strange looks as they file out, bowing politely to Lan Wangji as they pass.

Wei Ying watches them go, his posture tense and eyes hooded.

“Let’s go,” Wei Ying says, and turns to go.

When they make it to the clearing on the other side of the stream, there are arrows littered across the ground, various kites pinned to earth and trees and bush. It is quite a lot to pick up that would have been much faster with the children to help. It is easy to imagine, the cheer and chaos of the children running through the grass and trees, boosting each other up to reach.

Instead, the meadow is quiet and still, disturbed only by the flutter of the kites in the soft breeze off the water.

Wei Ying stands a few steps ahead of Lan Wangji, himself unnaturally still. Chenqing is gripped in one hand. Lan Wangji cannot see his face, only the stiffness of his profile, the way his knuckles press white from the pressure of his grip.

Lan Wangji struggles against the whiplash of Wei Ying’s shifting moods, uncertain where to step or what to say.

“Wei Ying?” he asks.

He is offered no response.

Lan Wangji looks around again. It is beautiful, like many areas around Lotus Pier are, yet if he pauses and allows his senses to open, to stretch out, there is clearly something here. A thin layer of resentment like the echo of a memory.

Across from them, directly in Wei Ying’s line of sight, is a particularly large kite. It has caught on a leafy branch of a wide-trunked tree, one small tear in the bottom corner where an arrow passed through. It is brightly painted, perhaps meant to be a one-eyed monster, the orange of the design bright against the blue sky. It seems to be what is capturing Wei Ying’s attention.

Returning his gaze to Wei Ying, Lan Wangji realizes that he is shaking, resentment rising off him as if steam from a teacup.

“Wei Ying,” he says, alarmed.

The arrows littering the ground near Lan Wangji’s feet start to shiver. He steps back in alarm, every arrow in the clearing rattling with unseen energy. Shadows slide along the ground, twining in and out of the grasses, crawling as if alive.

As a one, all of the arrows rise, quivering in the air until, with a sharp burst of movement, they all shoot forward across the clearing. Wei Ying’s hair lifts as they pass by him, far too close for comfort. Lan Wangji has to spin quickly to one side to avoid the few errant arrows on the ground behind him as they pass, knocking another aside with Bichen.

Lan Wangji turns his head at the sound of the arrows hitting a target. They have all hit the one-eyed kite, pinning it to the tree. It is so thick with the arrows of a dozen enthusiastic juniors that the design is no longer visible, thin shreds of paper fluttering to the ground.

Wei Ying stands, his shoulders heaving, but posture unmoved.

This blatant show of power eclipses the earlier feat completely, and yet there is no mischief here, no casual showing off. This is something else entirely.

Wei Ying takes a noisy breath, his fingers spreading out as if to relieve them of pain. The shadows in the meadow dissipate, clearing clouds banishing the darkness.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again.

Wei Ying turns, his eyes trailing down over him. “Shit. Did you—you didn’t—”

“I am unharmed,” Lan Wangji says, realizing the source of his alarm.

Wei Ying nods his head. “Yeah. Good. Sorry, I—”

Lan Wangji looks at the kite and the cluster of arrows. They have sunken so deeply into the wood, it may be impossible to retrieve them.

“A kite, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice rough. “That’s the excuse they used to invade. A fucking kite.”

The Wen attack, Lan Wangji realizes. They had been here. With the children? Is this where it happened? Is this how it happened? Wei Ying has never spoken of it. No one here has. Lan Wangji has been able to feel it, that this place holds death and terror like a faded painting, but did not consider its origin.

“Wei Ying,” he starts to say, stomach clenching with grief, with the feeling that even as Wei Ying stands here, he is still slipping away.  

“No,” Wei Ying says, voice hard and brooking no argument. “This is not something we talk about.”

With that, he turns and paces out of the meadow, leaving the arrows embedded in the tree.

Having no choice, Lan Wangji turns and follows.

In the children’s class the next morning, Wei Ying does not sit and join in, not even after pretending he does not wish to. He instead lounges, yawning loudly. He seems at ease, or at least wishes to appear so, yet his eyes continually stray towards the courtyard entrance as if on alert. Perhaps wary of being ambushed by children again.

No one comes, and maybe Jiang Wanyin hopes that one class will have been enough to remind Wei Ying of how much he likes teaching. Lan Wangji is not as certain.

The morning class ends, Lan Wangji dismissing his students. By this point Wei Ying is pretending to be asleep, and so none of the children approach him, just giving him wide-eyed looks of interest as they pass.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying lets out an exaggerated snore.

He really is the most ridiculous man.

“Perhaps Wei Ying should return to his room if he is so tired. Or be seen in the infirmary.” His sleep had been particularly unsettled the night before, for all he tried to seem perfectly fine at dinner with his siblings.

Wei Ying opens one eye, peering up at him. “Are you fussing over me, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji does not rise to the bait.

Wei Ying hops up to his feet, movements exaggerated as if to cover for both the wince he tries to hide and the sly smile indicating Wei Ying has thought of some mischief to stir. Most likely at Lan Wangji’s expense. “You know, Lan Zhan. Maybe you’re right. The infirmary is a good idea.”

Lan Wangji is not foolish enough to believe this means Wei Ying is finally going to be open to asking for help with his sleep. Or any form of help at all.

“I’m sure Wen Qionglin will appreciate your visit,” Lan Wangji says, knowing the likely purpose of any infirmary visit.  

Wei Ying lets out a grumble of annoyance, his attempted humor at Lan Wangji’s expense stymied effectively. “So mean, Lan Zhan.”     

Lan Wangji does not allow his lips to twitch.

Wei Ying still bumps into his shoulder, half attack, half thoughtless stumble. “Smugness is unbecoming, Lan Zhan,” he scolds.

“Hm,” Lan Wangji replies.

When they leave the courtyard, Wei Ying does lead them towards the infirmary. Once there, Wei Ying fusses over Wen Qionglin, spends some time interrogating the doctor to little effect, and then sits and merely holds Wen Qionglin’s hand for a while as he chatters on about various topics from food to cultivation theory to activities they will do together when Wen Qionglin recovers.

There is a moment when Wei Ying falls quiet, expression darkening as he stares down at Wen Qionglin’s still face, still marred with a few bruises that have yet to fade.

After the visit, Wei Ying leads Lan Wangji out of Lotus Pier, putting to rest any last hope that Wei Ying might finally take up his classes. A few juniors call out to him in passing as they go, but Wei Ying doesn’t slow down at all, just waving to them and continuing on.

Wei Ying wanders the markets for hours, flirting outrageously with anyone he can, collecting free samples and tastes.

It is not very different from the way they have passed days here before, Wei Ying focused on chasing pleasures, showing Lan Wangji every corner of his home. And yet it is far from the same. Today, Lan Wangji can’t help but feel that something has shifted.

It is confirmed by the way Wei Ying does not slow down for a moment the next few days. The way he starts drinking more heavily in the evenings. The way he turns sharply every time a junior approaches him, a ready excuse for being elsewhere never far from his lips.

It somehow no longer feels as if Wei Ying is dragging Lan Wangji towards the next interesting thing, but rather like Wei Ying is ever moving away from everything around him, like a dog being chased by its own tail.

At their evening dinners, Wei Ying smiles at his sister and provokes Jiang Wanyin into having arguments that are about anything other than Wei Ying’s neglected duties, and on the surface it feels like any other dinner. Much like in the sunny archery meadow, Lan Wangji can feel the shadows shivering underneath. There is something dark in Wei Ying, something like a sharp edge willing to cut if one presses down too hard.

Lan Wangji had held some hope that perhaps Wei Ying’s siblings might somehow understand why this is happening or have some way to change it. He is disabused of such a notion rather quickly. Most things remain unspoken here at Lotus Pier. The Cloud Recesses is certainly no different, but it is somehow startling to find it here, in this place that seems to thrive on openness.

Perhaps it is the way of all families after all.

The one time Wei Ying wanders in to find Jiang Wanyin after an evening of drinking, the two nearly come to blows, Jiang Wanyin pushing Wei Ying. In his inebriated state, Wei Ying falls back to the floor, something haunted and startled in his expression as he lifts Chenqing as if against some unseen foe.

Wei Ying drinks three more bottles of wine that evening.

The drinking does not seem to help soothe Wei Ying’s sleep, as restless with nightmares as always. The only difference is that when he finally wakes in the morning, his temper is worse.

Lan Wangji grows used to staying up late with Wei Ying, doing his best to adapt even as he struggles.

It is near midnight one evening, Lan Wangji’s mind blurry with exhaustion as they sit in an out-of-the-way pavilion, when Wei Ying says, “I’ve been thinking about it. Punishment.”

Lan Wangji feels his stomach drop, as if his body is aware of an imminent fall his mind has not yet seen.

“Let me ask you this, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, sitting up and pinning Lan Wangji with a sharp gaze. “There’s a disciple who doesn’t answer when an elder asks him a question. How would you correct that?”

Lan Wangji does not often engage in hypotheticals, much preferring to focus on what is. He is even less comfortable with this topic, a conversation they have been having on and off for weeks now with no resolution. But perhaps even this is preferable to Wei Ying’s silence.

Lan Wangji gives the question due consideration. “More than likely, if there were no other behavioral issues, they would be told of the importance of speaking when spoken to by an elder.”

Wei Ying nods. “And if it happened again?”

It has rarely come to that, but Lan Wangji tries to imagine it. “They might be set to lines. To copy the salient rules.”

“And if the behavior continued still?” Wei Ying presses, looking intent. “More lines? And then after that? After a dozen times copying lines? Kneeling? Handstands? Bastinados?” He pauses. “Exile? Death?”

Lan Wangji does not answer, his unease growing with this litany of punishments. Exile would indeed only be for something far more treacherous than refusing to speak. As for death… He bites back saying something like Killing is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses , as he suspects it would only make Wei Ying angrier.

Because it is clear that he is very angry—his face an open book as always. Angry on behalf of some hypothetical student who never existed, and Lan Wangji does not understand why.

Wei Ying gestures with his wine bottle, liquid sloshing up over the lip and onto his hand. “And if after all that it turned out that the disciple had lost their tongue during a night hunt? That they’d had it cut out and hadn’t answered because they couldn’t? How did any of that punishment fix that?”

How would that even be possible? For someone to suffer such a grievous injury and for no one to know? Wei Ying is clearly thinking of something else, but Lan Wangji is unable to follow his meaning, feeling five steps behind as always.

Wei Ying carries on with his typical relentlessness. “And what about a child who wastes food by refusing to ever eat eggplant. But it turns out he’s deathly allergic.”

Wei Ying actually pauses long enough then for Lan Wangji to find his words, feeling off-kilter, as if he is the one who is drunk, as if the fumes in the air have been enough to throw everything sideways. “These are extreme examples,” he says, trying to keep frustration out of his voice. “No one would be punished for what is beyond their abilities.”

Is this truly how he sees the Lan sect? Is this how he saw his own punishment at their hand as a student? Were they truly asking him to become something he could not? Be someone he is not?

Lan Wangji thinks of what they hoped would happen in the face of Wei Ying’s many punishments. That he would learn to sit still, to be quiet, to not run or laugh, to answer only with what is expected.

Everything within Lan Wangji recoils at the thought, the sudden feeling that to do such a thing to Wei Ying would be to do violence to him. To kill some essential part of him.

It is a realization that leaves Lan Wangji feeling winded and unwell.

Wei Ying lets out an unkind laugh, bringing Lan Wangji’s wandering thoughts back to their conversation. “If you knew about it.”

Lan Wangji has to take a breath, to force himself to remember the context. The disciple with no tongue. The child with a deathly allergy. “Why would they not share this?”

“Why should they have to?” Wei Ying pushes back, still here, still relentless. Still so very much himself despite all the punishments. Despite all the drinking and the resentment. “Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe they didn’t have a fucking tongue.”

Lan Wangji is accustomed to the sensation of losing debates to Wei Ying. But it feels here, now, that he has lost something more than usual.

“You don’t always know everything, Lan Zhan,” he says, shoving to his feet. “And neither does Gusu Lan.”

Wei Ying paces away. Even drunk, he remembers the importance of not going far, instead dropping down to sit at the end of the closest pier. Lan Wangji stays at a distance, giving him the most space he can manage, feeling even this short distance give rise to a quiver in his stomach.

He wishes he could forget Wei Ying’s words, but knows that, as with everything about Wei Ying, he will collect them together and keep them safe and precious. Even when they confuse him.

Even when they hurt.

After that night, something shifts with Wei Ying.

He does not speak to his siblings, does not take any disciples out for training, does not visit Wen Qionglin. He does not even appear to work on talismans or arrays or things that might help Wen Qionglin or solve the curse.

It is another ill-fitting piece, the way Wei Ying is here, and how it differs from who he is in the Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji expected him to be happier, to be surrounded by friends and running from place to place. Maybe even, as much as it might pain Lan Wangji, for Wei Ying to be indulging himself in the beautiful ladies of Lotus Pier as he had so enthused about during their youth. Yet there is none of that. None of Wei Ying’s inventiveness either.

Instead he is dull and restless and completely unengaged.

Lan Wangji does not understand.

Walking through Lotus Pier after Lan Wangji’s class, quite a few disciples call out to Wei Ying or attempt to speak to them, but Wei Ying just waves them off with a falsely cheery, “Sorry, important business this morning!”

The important business at hand turns out to be an appointment with a wine tavern.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji starts to say, wanting to understand what is happening.

“Nope,” Wei Ying cuts across him. “This is not the Cloud Recesses and I am not one of your disciples. Stay if you want, but I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

With that, Wei Ying settles into a day of drinking. He seems to have no other ambition than to drink himself into oblivion. More than once, Lan Wangji considers saying something, considers asking what is wrong, but there is a wall of hot impatience surrounding Wei Ying that he fears to press against.  

This is not something we talk about.

Wei Ying has made himself clear.

Wei Ying passes the time between drinking with scribbling on pieces of paper, images failing to fully form, or by staring out over the water. From time to time, he watches Lan Wangji with a hard expression that Lan Wangji does not understand. It unsettles him. Nearly as much as the drinking, the false cheer.

They miss dinner, Wei Ying eating little of the food Lan Wangji buys for them.

Lan Wangji is bearing a nearly insensible Wei Ying back to their quarters some hours later when they come across Jiang Yanli waiting for them in the courtyard.

Lan Wangji feels caught out, though whether for the intimate hold he has on Wei Ying or for his inability to keep Wei Ying from this state, he cannot clearly identify. Both, perhaps.

Jiang Yanli moves closer, brushing Wei Ying’s hair back from his face with tenderness. She lets out a sigh. “Oh, A-Xian.”

“I apologize,” Lan Wangji says.

She shakes her head, taking Wei Ying’s other arm and falling into step with them on the way back to Wei Ying’s room. “Was he like this in the Cloud Recesses?” she asks.

Lan Wangji does not like the feeling of reporting on Wei Ying to his siblings. But he also cannot resist understanding how Jiang Yanli sees all of this. To know that he is not alone in his worry. “At times,” he admits. Something forces him to be honest. “Here, it has been worse.”

She looks sad. “He will get better,” she says. And maybe it’s just that the alternative is too much to consider. “It will be okay.”

Jiang Yanli is one of the few people Wei Ying seems to allow close, the one he adores above all others. Lan Wangji has watched them, these weeks at Lotus Pier, trying to understand. From what he can tell, she accepts Wei Ying entirely as he is, and happily ignores everything Wei Ying wishes her to ignore.

Lan Wangji does not think he can do that, does not think he can do this much longer, watch Wei Ying destroy himself.

Jiang Yanli helps Lan Wangji settle Wei Ying into his bed. “I’ll bring him something to eat in the morning,” she says, smoothing out Wei Ying’s covers.

Wei Ying will no doubt appreciate it. It also seems to solve nothing.

Jiang Yanli leaves, and Lan Wangji is readying himself for bed when Wei Ying rolls over on the bed. He frowns, palm pressing to his ear.  

“It’s so loud, Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, more asleep than awake.

Lotus Pier is as quiet as it ever gets, the constant hum of lapping water and sweeping winds and groaning wood planks. Ceaseless and vibrant, this place that nurtured Wei Ying. “What is?” he asks.

Wei Ying’s eyes squeeze shut tighter as if against bright light, the skin near his temples creasing and folding. He presses the heel of his hand hard against his forehead. “Just wish they’d let me sleep sometimes. I just want to sleep.”

Lan Wangji takes a few cautious steps closer, keeping his voice low. “Who?”

Wei Ying blinks, seemingly more awake as he looks up at Lan Wangji. He laughs, reaching out and pushing Lan Wangji away. “Ah, almost got me there. Are you being sneaky, Lan Zhan? Taking advantage of this poor, drunken man? So shameless.”

Lan Wangji retreats, but something makes him unwilling to walk away, to let another night pass in such a fashion. Sitting down, he pulls out his qin, resting it on his knees. He plucks out the opening notes of Calming, the score he plays for the disciples in the infirmary struggling with nightmares.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying mumbles. “I hate that that works. Almost as much as it does.”

Lan Wangji plays through a few more measures. “The amulet?” he finally dares to ask, still fearing to make everything worse, but desperate to know. To understand.

There is no reply. When Lan Wangji works up the nerve to glance over, to push for an answer, Wei Ying is asleep.

On the eighth morning after the events in the archery field, Wei Ying refuses to rise from bed.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, standing helplessly nearby.

Wei Ying rolls away towards the wall, pulling the covers up over his head. “No.”

“I have class,” Lan Wangji says in case he has forgotten.

“Then go,” Wei Ying snaps.

Lan Wangji blinks, at first not certain he has heard correctly.

For all that Wei Ying is dismissive of his own duties, he has been solicitous of Lan Wangji’s. Yes, he complains and hates to get out of bed and sits slumped on the ground disgracefully, but he attends. Since the day in the archery field he has not meditated, instead staring at the courtyard entrance as if in fear of being caught unawares again. But he still goes.

Long moments pass and it is clear that, on this day, Wei Ying will not attend.

Lan Wangji considers the conflict. The class he must teach. Wei Ying’s refusal to rise from bed.

It is time to go. So he turns and leaves.

Outside, Lan Wangji pauses by the door. It takes him a moment to realize he is waiting for Wei Ying to come, to run out after him as he has before when he’s had short bursts of temper such as this, to grumble and complain but still accompany Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying does not come.

That is fine, Lan Wangji tells himself even as there is a pulse of pain in his wrist. He walks away from the room, forcing his feet to keep moving.

It is…challenging. But not impossible. If Wei Ying wishes for time alone, he will provide it. But he will also honor his own duties and not give in to weakness.

Lan Wangji makes it to the courtyard, the pain sharp but manageable. Wei Ying has never wanted his company, never asked for all this closeness. Lan Wangji’s presence must be wearing on him.

Wei Ying deserves choice.

The children wait for him and are only slightly more restless than usual. That may be Lan Wangji’s influence. He is hopelessly distracted as the pain builds and builds. He does not let the children see the pain, tries to focus and not be a disappointment to them.

It is bearable in the beginning, the physical movement of the warming exercises providing distraction. It is less bearable when it is time to settle into meditation. He does not think he will be able to sit and not let his thoughts make everything worse. Wei Ying is not far, simply sleeping in. He is not himself right now, but he is also here. He does not wish to be near Lan Wangji, but he would not leave without him. Would not disappear again.

Lan Wangji tries very hard to believe it, but everything feels particularly tenuous this morning.

As he settles into lotus pose, talking the children through their first breathing exercises, he glances up in reaction to movement out of the corner of his eye.

Wei Ying steps into the courtyard, leaning against a railing right where Lan Wangji can easily see him. He looks haphazardly dressed, arms crossed over his chest and radiating displeasure, but he is here.

Lan Wangji feels the curse loosen its hold—relief from the pain, but not any of his confusion. It’s enough to make him stumble in his words. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and refocuses on the children, several of whom have opened one eye to look up at him as if in secret.

“I apologize,” he says, recentering himself. He glances once more at Wei Ying and then continues his instructions.

Wei Ying stays through the lesson, but does not approach, does not sit and join in, nor speak to any of the children.

Lan Wangji gathers himself as the children file out, uncertain if he should approach Wei Ying even as the compulsion to touch him, to confirm that he is real and here, shivers under his skin. When Lan Wangji stands, Wei Ying turns to leave.

Is Lan Wangji supposed to follow? Even a day before, despite all the drinking and silences and fraught arguments, he still would have been much more certain, would have known what is expected of him.

Part way down the path, Wei Ying stops, looking back over his shoulder and frowning at Lan Wangji. “Are you coming or what?”

As if Lan Wangji would ever make a different choice.

Wei Ying leads him out through the courtyards and twisting paths of Lotus Pier, speaking to no one and showing little interest in any of the activity around him. They do not walk side by side, rather Lan Wangji trailing a few steps behind. It is at once enough closeness to make his breathing ease, and yet a great widening distance stretching between them. It feels, strangely enough, like punishment. Only Lan Wangji does not know what behavior he is meant to remedy.

They leave Lotus Pier in this fashion, move into the surrounding town, but rather than visiting one of the wine houses, they go down to the docks where various boats are tied up, goods or people being unloaded from them.

Wei Ying speaks to a boat captain, Lan Wangji watching as they gesture to one another and Wei Ying passes over some money. He has purchased them passage on a boat. Wei Ying sits near the front and Lan Wangji settles near the rear, still uncertain but not wishing to crowd him.

They glide up the river. It is pleasant, the smooth flow of the early morning water, the breeze, the lap of water against the prow of the boat. There is rhythm here, a soft flow of life that under any other circumstance, Lan Wangji might find great beauty in. He tries to let it soothe him with minimal success.

Today there is only Wei Ying, posture tight and expression distant as he sits within sight but far, far out of reach. He says nothing, not even to the captain or any of the other passengers, including a young mother with a child that is mischievously glancing at Wei Ying’s flute and red ribbon fluttering in the wind, even now alluring and beautiful to all those around him.

They stay on the boat for three stops as other people climb on and off at various riverfront villages. At the fourth, a larger town than most, Wei Ying disembarks. They walk through the merchant stalls, Wei Ying not pausing to look at anything. Lan Wangji is unsurprised, if not disheartened, to be led directly to the largest wine house in town. It is barely past lunch at this point, but Wei Ying still walks straight up the proprietor. The man bows to them both, wide-eyed and clearly not used to cultivators in his shop.

Wei Ying passes over a pouch of money, requesting a private room and eight bottles of wine. He doesn’t order food or even tea for Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji is perfectly capable of ordering his own refreshment, of procuring whatever he needs, and yet this somehow feels like a deliberate act of meanness. It is unlike Wei Ying.

Wei Ying is led upstairs, and Lan Wangji stays behind, taking a few deep breaths and walking back outside to buy some food in the market. Wei Ying has not eaten today, and so much wine on an empty stomach can only make his health worse. He can survive a few more moments of discomfort if it means easing any of Wei Ying’s.

When he returns to the private room some time later— Wei Ying is here, he is here, sitting in this wine tavern where Lan Wangji knew he would be, Wei Ying is here —Wei Ying has already begun to drink. Not shocking considering the setting and the routine of the last few days, and yet it is startling because Wei Ying is no longer alone.

There is a woman sitting with him, nearly in his lap. It is not a beautiful lady of Yunmeng. Lan Wangji cannot be certain if that would be better or not.

This woman is easily recognizable as a resentful ghost of great power, the red of her wedding dress bright and glaring in the room. Women who die on the way to their weddings often make for the fiercest ghosts, being caught in death between families, belonging neither to their natal sect nor having been officially inducted into their spouse’s family. With no tether to the world, no place to appease them, they fester and rot, the resentment eating them until they know nothing of the world but rage. The teachings make it clear that these ghosts in particular are often far beyond saving, and sometimes too powerful to even be properly suppressed. It is the most common type to require elimination.

And yet here, Wei Ying has summoned one for…company? She sits pressed close to Wei Ying’s side, one of her arms draped over his shoulders, her long, blood-red nails bright against the black of Wei Ying’s robes where they caress over his chest.

Wei Ying has noticed Lan Wangji’s arrival, but rather than looking at him, he smiles up at the ghost. “She’s here to pour my wine, since Lan Zhan is too mean to do it.”

The ghost giggles, leaning forward to pour wine into Wei Ying’s cup. She holds it out to him, but he doesn’t take it.

“Jiejie,” he says with an exaggerated pout. “I’m too tired. Do it for me.”

She lifts the cup to his lips, tilting it up to let the liquid slide into Wei Ying’s mouth. It is obscene, it is wrong .

Lan Wangji stands frozen in the doorway. He should leave. He should not indulge this blasphemy, cannot imagine sitting and observing this, allowing it to happen. Wei Ying does not want him here.

There is every reason in the world to turn and walk away.

He cannot.

He is trapped by the curse and the way this somehow feels like theater, an act put on for some purpose Lan Wangji does not see. Perhaps that is just wishful thinking, but after all the weeks of kindness and conscientiousness Wei Ying has shown Lan Wangji, this does not feel real. It feels like the echoing nightmare of the cold distance of the Sunshot Campaign.

Which is real? Which is Wei Ying? Which is the act?

Wei Ying accepts another cup of wine from the ghost, his eyes sliding to the side as if to gauge Lan Wangji’s reaction.

He should go.

Stepping into the room, Lan Wangji pulls out the food he has purchased and places it on the table. “Wei Ying should eat,” he says, voice steady, but somehow small.  

He steps away without looking at Wei Ying, not towards the exit, but instead towards the row of windows lining the room. He sits near one of them and pulls out a text from his qiankun pouch. He settles into reading, leaving Wei Ying to his amusements, breathing through the turmoil in his heart.

It is good Wei Ying has found someone better able to keep him company, Lan Wangji tells himself.

The giggling and clinking of bottles continue for some time, Lan Wangji choosing to ignore it even as it settles hard and sour in his stomach. The afternoon passes in this manner, Lan Wangji feeling drawn tight like a bow about to snap.

Eventually Wei Ying asks the ghost to entertain him further, and she rises to her feet to dance. Lan Wangji can see the flutter of red out of the corner of his eye, something hard and hot in his stomach, to see such a creature put to such frivolous use.

It seems to go on and on and on.

“Wait,” Wei Ying says at one point, a bottle hitting the table with a hard thunk. “Stop.”

Lan Wangji glances up. Wei Ying is staring at the ghost. She stops dancing, her red robes settling around ankles. To Lan Wangji, she looks the same, but clearly something has shifted, Wei Ying seeing something he does not.

“Come here,” Wei Ying says, and it has nothing of flirtatiousness in it, his expression flat and intent.

The ghost crosses over to Wei Ying, her steps light and graceful, lips blood red out of a pale face. She kneels in front of Wei Ying and he reaches out, clasping her chin and tilting her face up, studying her intently.

For a horrible moment, Lan Wangji thinks he means to kiss her. But Wei Ying merely lets go of her and reaches for Chenqing.

“Let me do some of the entertaining,” Wei Ying says.

The ghost watches on, docile and waiting. Lan Wangji assumed this to be Wei Ying’s hold on her, but he is no longer certain. There is something strange in her energy, perhaps, and maybe this is what has caught Wei Ying’s sudden attention. Lan Wangji sets his book aside, focusing fully on the pair.

Wei Ying plays a series of notes like a query, like a request, and it feels like…like being offered a seat at a table after a long day, like a warm shoulder pressing close. Like a door opening.

The ghost shimmers, not becoming any less solid, but still becoming something different. She seems confused, brow furrowed.

Wei Ying lowers his flute, still staring into the ghost’s eyes. “There you are,” he murmurs. “After all this time.”

There what is, Lan Wangji wonders. The ghost has always been visible. What is Wei Ying seeing?

Wei Ying touches her face again. “Can you tell me who you are?”

The ghost frowns, eyes darting around as if looking for an answer. Much of the power of creatures such as this grows directly from their memories and spirit being consumed and corrupted by resentment. It would have been the cost, one that cannot be returned.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says without looking at him. “Would you mind?”

Every part of Lan Wangji’s education tells him it would be impossible to communicate with a ghost of this kind. He pulls out his qin.

“What is your name?” Lan Wangji says as he strums the notes.

The ghost turns and looks at him, her eyes intense and sharp. He can feel the threat she poses, the violence she is capable of. He should arm himself. He holds still, replaying the phrase slowly.

She pulls herself across the floor towards him, not slithering but rather almost childlike. When she is within reach, she looks at the strings and then back up at Lan Wangji’s face.

He plays the phrase once more, keeping the notes soft, somehow not wishing to command her, not wishing to overwhelm her with his power.

With a hesitant gesture, the ghost lifts her hand, sharp nails trailing down from her fingers. She carefully, slowly, strums a single note. She pulls her hand back, but doesn’t move away. She bites at her lip and then reaches for the strings again. She plucks the note, this time adding a second.

Yang Ai.

Lan Wangji looks up into the eyes of the ghost that should not be able to remember anything. “Yang Ai,” he says, speaking her name.

She sits back up, eyes wide. For a moment, her mouth moves, making the shapes but not the sounds of words. She looks back at Wei Ying, and he nods encouragingly at her. Bringing his flute up once more, he plays notes that seem to pull something away from the ghost, lift something from her.

“My name,” she says, speaking haltingly, “is Yang Ai.”

Her form shifts slowly as Wei Ying continues to play, nails shortening, face flushing warmer, makeup fading away. The red of her robes ripple and morph, giving way to a pale, mineral green as the music fades. There is a vicious slash across her throat, slowly dripping blood down over her chest.

“Yang-jie,” Wei Ying says, voice gentle.

The ghost turns, leaning towards Wei Ying as if drawn in.

“Do you want to tell us your story?” Wei Ying asks.

Her eyes once again travel around the room, turning inwards as if reaching for something very far away. Something that should be gone entirely.

And yet, the ghost begins to speak.

“They attacked the bridal train,” she says, as if not entirely certain herself. “I was on my way…my mother and sisters had…” She blinks. “I had sisters. I can’t…I’m not sure. What were their names?”

Wei Ying shifts up on his knees, shuffling closer to her and taking her hands. “Yang-jie, it’s okay. Do you remember anything else?”

She nods, fingers holding tight onto Wei Ying as she stares into his face. “It was supposed to look like it was just bandits after my dowry. But I could see. They were men from my betrothed’s family. They wanted the riches, but not the bride. Not a lowly daughter from a merchant family. They took and took and I…could do nothing. I couldn’t even remember.” Tears pour down the ghost’s cheeks. “I couldn’t remember.”

“It wasn’t right,” Wei Ying soothes. “You didn’t deserve that. It wasn’t fair at all.”

“I was so mad,” she says, her ghostly form swelling, the flashes of what she was before appearing in pieces—red sash, long fingernails, wailing, screaming mouth—before settling again. “I just wanted…just to be able to do something.”

Wei Ying nods. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I think it was probably a long time ago. I can’t promise you revenge on them.”

Yang Ai is quiet for a long spell, seeming deep in her thoughts. Eventually she slowly shakes her head. “I think, maybe…” She looks at Wei Ying with eyes glistening with tears, full of memories.

“There are enough torments in this world, aren’t there? I never meant to become another.”

Wei Ying rubs gently at her arm. “You saved a lot of people. You protected me. You helped make things better.” He smiles at her, his own eyes wet. “You’ve done enough. You don’t need to suffer anymore.”  

She nods, tears still falling unabated.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice choked.  

Lan Wangji lifts his hands to his qin once more, this time shifting into playing Rest.

Yang Ai turns her head towards him, listening. She does not struggle, her posture softening as she leans into the music as if being offered a great gift, as if something heavy has been taken from her at long last. She begins to fade.

She turns back to Wei Ying, touching his face. “A-Ying,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

And then she’s gone.

Lan Wangji finishes the song, letting the last of the notes echo and fade.

The sounds of the tavern below and people in the streets slowly filter back in. To Lan Wangji, none of it registers. He is too lost in what he has witnessed. Something he has been told is impossible.

Wei Ying’s methods—rooted in darkness and pain and evil and blasphemy and endlessly harmful to him—have just liberated a ghost every orthodox teaching says was beyond any help. A ghost that if Lan Wangji had come across on his own, he would have more than likely eliminated. A soul that would have been ripped from existence forever.

Yang Ai, a young woman wronged and abandoned, used as a weapon to enact revenge on Wei Ying’s enemies, and now moved on to another chance, hopefully a better chance.

Lan Wangji feels adrift, overwhelmed, and somehow more present in his body than he has ever felt before.

At the table, Wei Ying stares at the empty space Yang Ai left behind. He wipes at the tear that has escaped down over his cheek and reaches for the bottle on the table.

He looks anything but triumphant.

“I don’t want to be here anymore, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying murmurs as if in confession.

He finishes the rest of his wine in silence.

Despite Wei Ying’s words, he makes no move to leave the wine house and return to Lotus Pier, even as the sun sets and it grows dark.

Lan Wangji leaves only once, going downstairs to get more food and to send a boy to a nearby inn to secure a room.

When all the bottles are gone, Wei Ying allows Lan Wangji to help him to his feet, leading him out of the tavern. He is unsteady on his feet, and Lan Wangji wraps one arm around his waist to keep him safe.

“Who will pour my wine now, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says mournfully, lower lip pushing out in a tempting pout. “It’s too bad her betrothed’s family probably died generations ago. I should find their graves and dig them up. Serve them right. But Yang-jie would probably not like that. And you’d scold me, wouldn’t you, Lan Zhan?” He peers up at him. “Why aren’t you scolding me?”

“Wei Ying needs rest.”

Wei Ying huffs, unconvinced. “She was with me from the beginning, you know. And I just kind of forgot about her, didn’t I? I wonder how long…how long it’s been that she was finally ready. I should have paid attention, I just…there’s been so much.”

“Wei Ying is doing his best,” Lan Wangji says, and in that moment, he truly believes it. For all Wei Ying’s behavior has been frustrating and irreverent and foolish, for all that his ultimate aims elude understanding, Lan Wangji can see that he is trying so very hard.

Wei Ying snorts. “Wei Ying is fucking everything up.”

Lan Wangji tightens his hold on Wei Ying, feeling the way he curls into the hold.

Rest. They both need rest.

Tomorrow they will do their best to find answers.

When Wei Ying finally begins to stir the next morning, Lan Wangji goes down and orders a bath and breakfast.

It is calming, to provide these comforts to Wei Ying again as he had when they were on the road together, but it’s a selfish thought in the face of Wei Ying’s misery.

Once Wei Ying is dressed and fully awake, Lan Wangji expects to be led to another wine tavern. Instead, Wei Ying takes a deep breath and says, “We should probably go back.” He does not sound eager.

They should return. Lan Wangji has classes. Wei Ying’s siblings will wonder where they are. It is his home. Wei Ying should not look so unhappy to be returning to his home.

“Do you think,” Wei Ying says, somehow hesitant. “Do you think Jiang Cheng might have night hunts we could do for him?” He looks up at Lan Wangji as if expecting him to refuse, to disagree. To maybe say he doesn’t want to night hunt with Wei Ying. As if night-hunting with Wei Ying is not one of his greatest dreams.

“He might,” Lan Wangji says. “Is that what Wei Ying wishes to do?”

He shakes his head, wincing immediately in reaction, clearly miserable this morning. “Might be nice is all,” he murmurs.

Then they will do it.

Lan Wangji arranges their passage back to Lotus Pier. When they board, Lan Wangji sits first, allowing Wei Ying to decide where he wishes to be. Unlike their previous journey, Wei Ying sits directly next to Lan Wangji, their legs and sides pressed together.

It feels like an apology.

Wei Ying dozes most of the way. Lan Wangji sits very still, letting Wei Ying use him as a pillow. It is greatly preferable to the angry distance of their boat ride here.

It is afternoon by the time the boat docks in Lotus Pier.

On the pier, Wei Ying stops, sucking in a deep breath as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. As if returning home is not something he wants at all.

I don’t want to be here anymore, Lan Zhan.

It occurs to Lan Wangji that had not just been referring to the wine house.

“Let’s go,” Wei Ying says, and starts down the busy docks.

It is busy as always with vendors and merchants, people calling out to Wei Ying in greeting. He acknowledges them but does not pause. They pass by a few tight, dark alleyways stacked with crates.

“Wei Wuxian,” comes a voice from the darkness.

Lan Wangji turns his head, and a figure steps forward into the light just enough to be seen. Their small form is covered in a worn gray cloak, a large, oversized hood shading their face.

“Wei Wuxian,” the woman says again, face lifting to reveal large, desperate eyes looking out of a bruised and wan face. “Where is my brother?”

Wei Ying’s dullness seems to disappear all at once. He rushes forward, taking her arms in his hands, speaking softly to her.  

Wen Qing has come to Lotus Pier. 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is driving Jiang Cheng crazy.

Since he finally reappeared back at Lotus Pier, he basically treats it like an inn. He comes and goes as he pleases and never does a single thing he’s asked. He just fucks off with Lan Wangji. Taking him for boat rides or getting drunk in taverns or who the fuck knows.

And that’s before he shows up with Wen Qing in tow. Wen Qing. Who has run away from the camps in order to find her brother, which, yes, he can’t really argue with that. But it’s still fucking annoying as hell and not in the Jiang sect’s best interest to have her here! It’s a complete disaster, in fact!

She looks beat up and tired and half-starved and that has to be because she’s been running around unprotected, but he also still remembers what Wei Wuxian said about what happened back in Qishan with the bat king, and why does everything always have to go in the worst possible way for Jiang Cheng in particular? Why?

Wei Wuxian still doesn’t even seem to realize why Wen fucking Qing being here at Lotus Pier is not a good thing! 

“Wei Wuxian! It is possible the Jins wouldn’t care about Wen Ning, since they thought he was dead anyway. But you think I can keep Wen Qing here too without anyone finding out? She’s run away from the camps!”

Wei Wuxian’s expression goes dark and cold in the way it does sometimes that Jiang Cheng absolutely hates. “You mean the camps where they are using prisoners as lures for resentful creatures? Beating prisoners and experimenting on them? Starving them? Those camps?”

“Wei Wuxian,” he says through gritted teeth, loading every syllable with warning. Yunmeng Jiang is not in any position to go against Lanling Jin. Not even if they were digging up bodies and making their own demonic army. And certainly not for perhaps mistreating some fucking Wen.

Wei Wuxian thinks they should risk Lotus Pier for people who slaughtered their entire sect in the first place? Who hung his parents’ bodies from the rafters and burned his fucking core out of his body?

“We owe them,” Wei Wuxian rails, blind to all of that as usual. Blind to anything other than his own overinflated sense of righteousness. “Without them we all would have died, and your parents’ bodies—”

Jiang Cheng does not need to be reminded of any of this, and certainly not in front of Lan Wangji and Wen Qing. “You think I don’t know that? But you also think I’m supposed to risk our entire sect for two people? Two Wens?”

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says, voice low and full of censure, as if Jiang Cheng has fundamentally disappointed him in some way.

Well, fuck that. Excuse Jiang Cheng for actually having to consider fucking consequences for once!

“I am not risking this for them,” he says. 

“So, what, you’re just going to hand them over instead? Let the Jins kill them once they’ve decided they’ve been tortured enough?”

God damn it. God damn it all. Wei Wuxian really refuses to leave Jiang Cheng any ground at all to stand on. “And if I say yes, are you going to fuck off with them somewhere? Leave me to deal with your mess? And, what, drag your precious Lan Wangji along for the ride?”

Maybe the Lan sect would be willing to take them in. Maybe they feel strong enough to. Must be nice for them.

Wei Wuxian, for his part, looks over at Lan Wangji as if he’s somehow forgotten his constant, self-righteous shadow.

“It is possible there has been some misunderstanding,” Lan Wangji says, like he is at all welcome in this conversation. He’s also touching Wei Wuxian’s arm like he has any hope of controlling him and he’s technically helping Jiang Cheng’s case.

As if he wants his stupid help.

Jiang Cheng paces away, stepping up towards the throne and looking at it. He closes his eyes, feeling the weight of everything that is always fucking pressing down on him, that he’s always been left to hold up on his own over and over again. “Look. I can’t keep this from them. But I will go and see what they say about it.”

“Meaning what?” Wei Wuxian says, still hot and angry.

“Meaning I will fucking ask them if it’s okay to keep her here. Okay?”

“And if they say no?”

“Then they fucking say no. And we figure it out.”

Wei Wuxian glares back at him, fury seeming to radiate off him, and that means more than it used to.

Lan Wangji says his name quietly like that has any hope of doing anything.

Wei Wuxian paces away with a curse, expression softening as he approaches Wen Qing. “I’ll take you to see him, okay?” 

Wen Qing nods, all her attention on Wei Wuxian like he’s her fucking savior.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Jiang Cheng bites out. He points at Wei Wuxian. “Try to find a way to actually be useful while I’m gone, will you?”

Lan Wangji looks like he would gladly melt Jiang Cheng just with his glare, if he could.

Fuck that guy too.

Jiang Cheng’s temper somewhat cools by the time he gets to Lanling. He honestly should have just written a note or something, or sent a second-in-command if he had one he could trust to act in the best interest of Yunmeng Jiang for once in his fucking life.

Instead, here he is, showing up himself like a penitent kid, needing to find a way to get Jin Guangshan to agree to put a couple Wen prisoners under his supervision.

To be fair, Jiang Cheng does show up without an invitation or any advanced warning, but it’s still galling to be left to wait. It’s a nice room they put him in, of course, but it’s also one easily seen from what appears to be the busiest corridor in the entire fucking building. Meaning everyone gets to see first-hand the sect leader of Yunmeng Jiang sitting waiting to be let in like a wayward pet.

Once Jin Guangshan finally deigns to meet with him, he doesn’t even give Jiang Cheng the courtesy of a private conversation, instead dragging him into a hall crowded with Jin cultivators and courtiers and who the fuck else knows.

“Jiang Cheng,” Jin Guangshan greets him, not even getting up from his throne, happily speaking down to him like a kid instead of a peer. Still refusing to call him Jiang-zongzhu, despite his official succession to the position now. Not that it doesn’t feel weird to hear, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Asshole.

Jiang Cheng damn well returns the greeting as his equal though. He may be here to ask for something, but he isn’t going to grovel.

It’s only after he’s given a place to sit that he notices among the crowds of Jin cultivators and hangers-on and servants that Lan Xichen is here as well, sitting next to Jin Guangyao.

“Zewu-Jun,” he greets him. “I apologize for not greeting you properly.”

“Jiang-zongzhu,” Lan Xichen replies, perfectly polite of course, because, well, Lans. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

The guy looks like he might actually mean it. Jiang Cheng’s hosting his little brother right now, even if very unwillingly, so maybe Lan Xichen’s hoping to get some information or something.

“You must be here about the bat king,” Jin Guangshan says, shaking his head. “Most distressing!”

Yeah, the fact that something that dangerous was allowed to rise is disturbing alright, but not really what he’s here to talk about. “Yes,” Jiang Cheng says. “Most distressing, but that’s not really—”

“Zixun told us all about the incident,” Jin Guangshan says, various heads in the room nodding along in sycophantic agreement.  

“I hope his wound has healed,” Jiang Cheng can’t help but be petty enough to say. If there is any justice in the world, the asshole’s wound festered and he dropped dead.

Jin Guangshan’s smile in response seems predatory. “It has, it has! But to think such a thing happened to him because of others’ carelessness…” He shakes his head.

Others’ carelessness? That doesn’t sound right. From what Wei Wuxian said, Jin Zixun was pretty much a victim of his own stupidity.

“Others’ carelessness?” he ventures, even as he feels like he’s stepping into a trap.

“Yes, well, Wei Wuxian was there, was he not? Using his…disturbing cultivation. It’s hard to think of another way such a beast as a bat king might have come to be.”

Meaning Wei Wuxian, what, raised the bat king? Sicced it on Jin Zixun? Look, Wei Wuxian’s temper is unreliable at best and Jin Zixun is really fucking annoying, so it’s not like Jiang Cheng would put kicking Jin Zixun’s ass past Wei Wuxian. But he’s hardly creating monsters and setting them on the countryside!

“My understanding was that the beast was lured to the location,” Lan Xichen says, and thank heavens, Lan Wangji must have written to him about it. Small favors.

Jin Guangshan just keeps yapping on as if Lan Xichen hadn’t spoken at all. “However it came to be, it will surely have to be dealt with.”

Jiang Cheng frowns. “What do you mean? Hanguang-Jun and Wei Wuxian killed it.”

There’s a moment of dumbfounded silence in the room. It’s pretty satisfying. And then a moment later whispers break out across the room, his brother and Lan Wangji’s name spreading quickly through the space. Look, Jiang Cheng hasn’t been exactly gracious about it, but even he knows that killing something like that after already killing the tortoise of slaughter is a pretty big fucking deal. Cultivators’ reputations have been enshrined for all time for far less impressive feats. It’s irritating as hell, but Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s reputations should pretty much be unimpeachable at this point. If it weren’t for Wei Wuxian’s cultivation and background.

Jin Guangshan looks like he just sucked on a lemon as he takes in all the chatter. Well, if he hadn’t wanted an audience for this, he could have met Jiang Cheng with even a sliver more courtesy.

Jiang Cheng quickly suppresses the smirk on his face. Fuck. He’s here to ask for something. He can’t forget that.

“They defeated the bat king?” Jin Guangshan asks, clearly doubting. “Is there proof?”

“Proof?” Jiang Cheng echoes. Like did they take a fucking trophy? “They burned the corpses.”

Lan Xichen delicately clears his throat. “My brother wrote to me of this.”

Well, thank the heavens for that. Wei Wuxian’s reputation might be shot to shit, but people still seem to worship the ground Lan Wangji walks on, despite him being arguably the least pleasant person to ever live.

Okay, Jin Guangshan probably actually holds that title, but still.

If Lan Wangji’s stick-in-the-mud perfectionism can get them all through this, then it’s the least he can do for getting himself cursed and attached to Wei Wuxian. Everyone, after all, knows that Lan Wangji does not lie.

“Amazing,” Jin Guangyao says. “And where is Hanguang-Jun now?”

Lan Xichen gives Jiang Cheng a smile. “Jiang-zongzhu has most generously been hosting my brother for some weeks now.”

Jiang Cheng tries to give a friendly nod in response. The guy’s a pain in the ass, but it’s also not the worst thing to have another sect leader’s gratitude.

Jin Guangyao looks at Lan Xichen. “Hanguang-Jun is still in Lotus Pier?”

Lan Xichen gives a bland smile. “Yes. Wei Wuxian returned with us after Nightless City to the Cloud Recesses in hopes of a quiet place for reflection and recovery. Wangji later accompanied him home and has been visiting Lotus Pier. They have grown quite close as companions.”

It’s not like Jiang Cheng expects the Lan to advertise that Lan Wangji is cursed, and incredibly vulnerable because of it—or at least, would be if killing or harming Wei Wuxian didn’t seem impossible. He’s more likely to do himself a mischief these days, honestly. Fall down the stairs drunk and break his neck and kill the Second Jade of Lan and then where will Yunmeng Jiang be.

But anyway, Jiang Cheng didn’t expect them to be honest about that, but he’s still a little surprised by the way Lan Xichen is making it sound like they’re…redeeming Wei Wuxian or something. Taming the wild demonic cultivator.

Jiang Cheng resists the urge to snort at that, considering how useless Wei Wuxian is these days, and anything other than reformed.

Anyway, it’s nice to have the Lan sect on his side, even if for completely ridiculous reasons.

Of course, not a moment later, Jin Guangyao ruins all of that.

“Hm,” he says, looking up at Lan Xichen in a way that seems designed to make him appear smaller than he is. “Er-ge, doesn’t it concern you, having Wei-gongzi be near Lan Wangji? His cultivation…his amulet…” He shakes his head, leaving any specifics unsaid. “We have heard things here.”

Jiang Cheng suppresses a snort. Heard things, right. Whatever drivel Jin Zixun likely told them to cover his own ass.

Lan Xichen smiles, apparently undisturbed by the rumor. Which, yeah, Jiang Cheng thinks there was a rule or a hundred about that no doubt. “Wei Wuxian resided in the Cloud Recesses for over a month. He is as lively as ever, of course, but I have few concerns.”

‘Few concerns’ is not ‘no concerns’ and Jin Guangyao definitely notices that. Fuck.

“Wonderful,” Jin Guangyao says, though his father’s expression seems to exude anything but pleasure. “He has picked up his sword again, then, has he?” He says it like this is amazing news he knows everyone has been eager to hear. He turns to Jiang Cheng with a smile on his stupid face.

Jiang Cheng feels his stomach drop. He hasn’t so much as seen Suibian, let alone Wei Wuxian using it. Then again, he hasn’t seen Wei Wuxian do much of anything at all, so he’s not sure that matters. He definitely still isn’t carrying it around though.

“No,” he’s forced to admit.

“Ah,” Jin Guangyao says, face contorting with sympathy, like this confirms something.

Jin Guangshan certainly looks far less pissed off, which makes no sense at all. Nothing here ever does.

“There is still time,” Lan Xichen says. “He and Wangji have grown quite close. With his guidance, I have hope that Wei Wuxian will yet return to the path.”

“You must,” Jin Guangyao says, “to let it be your brother’s life on the line.”

Lan Xichen’s placid expression slips, just the tiniest bit.

Even Jiang Cheng has to admit that only an idiot wouldn’t be a least a little concerned, considering the things his brother can do, and they don’t even know what he’s been like these last few weeks. Not that Jiang Cheng would tell anyone about that even on pain of death. Frankly, it’s none of their fucking business.  

“I am actually very curious about these lure flags my brother told me about,” Lan Xichen says, apparently keen on changing the subject. “The ones Jin Zixun was using on the Wen prisoners.”

“I’m sure I don’t know anything about that,” Jin Guangshan says. “You know young people these days. They get into all sorts of mischief when you aren’t looking.”

So that’s the way he’s going to play it, like Jin Zixun is just off doing random shit that Jin Guangshan has no idea about. Typical. And yet every tiny damn thing Wei Wuxian does is definitely Jiang Cheng’s fault.

He hates this fucking place.

“Perhaps these lure flags could be discussed at the next discussion conference,” Lan Xichen says, even more firmly entrenching himself uninvited into the conversation. “I would be curious to learn more about them and the purpose to which they’ve been put.”

This sudden pressure does not seem to make Jin Guangshang any happier with what’s happening here, but maybe that can help Jiang Cheng squirm out from under all this, make his own request seem benign in comparison. Now doesn’t really seem like the time though.

Jiang Cheng sits through an over-the-top dinner, suffering multiple indignities and slights from Jin Guangshan that have him grinding his teeth in frustration. It’s not until the next afternoon that he finally gets a private audience with Jin Guangshan, the man apparently having learned his lesson yesterday. Jiang Cheng wonders just how far the story of Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and the bat king has already spread. And just whose version of events are dominating the conversation. He can guess.

Hopefully Lan Wangji’s reputation can be enough to mitigate the harm done to Yunmeng Jiang.

Once he’s sitting with Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao, Jiang Cheng explains about Jin Zixun leaving the mostly dead Wen Ning under Wei Wuxian’s supervision, making it sound far more formal than it certainly was. He also really stresses how mostly dead Wen Ning is. Only then does he tell them about Wen Qing showing up.

“I have her under guard, of course,” he says, if having two disciples stand outside the infirmary or tail her to the library counts as being under guard. “I thought I’d come to you and see what you prefer to happen, since the Wen remnants are under your charge.”

The last thing he needs is Jin Guangshan thinking he’s challenging his authority or whatever. He just kind of looks bored by the entire conversation, to be honest.

Jin Guangyao stands nearby, not welcome to the table, but still in the room, and he sure seems a lot more interested. “We appreciate you bringing this to us, Jiang-zongzhu,” he says with a polite bow and a smile.

“Look,” Jiang Cheng says. “I know you have a lot on your plate right now, things far more important than this. If it’s easier for Lanling Jin, I could keep Wen Qionglin and Wen Qing under supervision for you. Put them to work rebuilding Lotus Pier.”

Jin Guangyao opens his mouth to answer, but Jin Guangshan lifts a hand, cutting him off. Jin Guangyao immediately desists, stepping back and lowering his head.

Jin Guangshan smiles at Jiang Cheng in his oily, gross way that makes him feel like a mark and a five-year-old all at the same time. Fuck, he hates it here. How can A-Jie even consider living here?

“I suppose Lotus Pier, tragically, does require much more help. We could possibly spare that labor.”

Jin Guangyao looks like he’s really trying to catch his father’s eye, to tell him something, but Jin Guangshan completely ignores him.  

Jiang Cheng forces himself to bow, even as his teeth grind in annoyance at the implied insult to Yunmeng Jiang. “Lanling Jin is most generous.”

Jin Guangshan waves it away. “It is within our ability to give, Jiang Cheng,” he says. There’s a long pause that’s probably supposed to feel casual, but instead just lends weight to what he says next. “I assume this might lighten the load. Meaning Jiang Yanli will be able to join us at the hunt?”

Okay, Jiang Cheng is not willing to use his sister as a bartering chip, least of all for a couple of fucking Wens, but he also knows that she likely will want to come anyway. That she still has hopes for Jin Zixuan. So he might as well use that to get what he wants.

He has a sect to look after. He doesn’t get to do whatever the fuck he wants, unlike some people.

He bows, letting it go slightly lower just to seal the deal, no matter how gross it makes him feel.  “She would be honored.”

Only then does Jin Guangshan finally agree to allow Jiang Cheng to leave, with proper paperwork detailing the handful of Wens that are under his supervision.

He trades a few more pleasantries with Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen, Jin Guangshan seeming uninterested entirely, his full focus on drinking and grabbing at any servant that gets within reach.

Gross.

He’ll have to stay another night at least, not just to not be rude, but also to wait for the promised papers.

Wei Wuxian better appreciate this.

Wei Wuxian is really glad to have Wen Qing here. So glad.

Not only because Wen Ning clearly needs help that Wei Wuxian isn’t sure how to provide on his own, but also because it’s a great fucking distraction from everything else. Her presence combined with Jiang Cheng’s absence means he gets to actually relax for a moment. Or at least have something to distract him from the endless echoing thought that for the first time in his entire life, he doesn’t really want to be in Lotus Pier. It’s a realization he’s been ignoring as best he can, that maybe there really is no way for him to make this work. To keep his secrets and his family and his home.

Fuck it. He’s not thinking about it. Because if he does he’s going to need to get really, really drunk again and he’s still mad at teahouses in general right now.

Jiang Cheng is off begging the Jin sect for small favors and now Wen Qing is here. He can focus on Wen Ning and a backup plan for what happens if Jiang Cheng comes back and tells him Wen Ning and Wen Qing have to go back to the camps. Fuck, he has no idea what he would do, only that he’d do something . He’s not letting them go back.

Wei Wuxian might just fuck off somewhere with both of them, hide them all away, but there’s Lan Zhan to consider. And the fact that if anything happens to Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan would pay the price too. He can’t just run off or pick fights with whoever he wants.

Shit, maybe Lan Zhan would take them back to the Cloud Recesses? No. Probably not.

Lan Zhan is still here too, of course. At this point Wei Ying’s almost forgotten about it. Or not forgotten so much as Lan Zhan being right there is normal. It’s dangerous to forget that it’s very much not normal, especially now that Wen Qing is here and knows his secrets. It all feels very tenuous.

Once Wen Qing is rested up and finally certain enough of Wen Ning’s condition to actually look up and think about anything else, she only does so long enough to pin Wei Wuxian with an intense gaze. He gets the feeling she isn’t so much worried for his health as avidly curious about the long-term effects of the experimental procedure she invented. 

It makes him relax, inexplicably. The last thing he needs is someone hovering over him with worry. He’s already got Shijie and Lan Zhan for that.

Wen Qing looks past his shoulder, her eyes landing on Lan Zhan.

“Okay,” she says. “Why is Hanguang-Jun never more than five steps away from you? What aren’t you telling me?” She folds her hands over her stomach, demure but unbending. “Don’t think I have been too distracted to notice, Wei Wuxian.”

The curse is not so much a secret as something no one but Shijie, Jiang Cheng, and Lan Zhan’s family know about. Oh, and all the elders. Wei Wuxian looks over at Lan Zhan, lifting his eyebrows in question. It’s Lan Zhan’s curse, after all. And his safety. He isn’t going to share it if Lan Zhan doesn’t want him to.

Lan Zhan moves his gaze from Wei Wuxian to Wen Qing, as if considering. He then slowly nods.

“You sure?” Wei Wuxian presses.

Lan Zhan gives him a blank look and then turns back to his book, a clear dismissal of Wei Wuxian’s doubt. Wei Wuxian can’t stop grinning at him, still smiling as he turns back to Wen Qing.

His smile immediately slips away at her impatient expression. He laughs, dragging a hand down over the back of his head. “Yeah. Okay. So, Lan Zhan’s a little…cursed?”

Wen Qing’s posture straightens, her eyes darting back to Lan Zhan. Upon ascertaining that he’s not in the throes of dying or anything, she frowns at Wei Wuxian. “What kind of curse?”

“Yeah, that’s the thing? We haven’t really been able to figure it out? But whatever it is, it makes him really sick whenever he’s not near me. Like, he’s got to be able to see me?”

“That really is a curse,” Wen Qing mutters.

Lan Zhan pins Wen Qing with his most unimpressed look, but Wei Wuxian just laughs. “Right? Must be a toss up for him, which is worse, the curse or being near me!”

Wen Qing crosses the room. “I am no curse expert, but may I examine you, Lan-er-gongzi?”

So polite with him, Wei Wuxian notices with a huff.

Wen Qing hears it, elbowing him out of the way as she gestures at a nearby empty bed for Lan Zhan to sit on.

Lan Zhan, very used to this kind of manhandling, even if clearly still not comfortable with it, glances up at Wei Wuxian, almost as if checking that he’s still there rather than feeling embarrassed to expose his wrist in front of him.

Wen Qing carefully studies the curse mark wrapped around Lan Zhan’s wrist. Not any lighter or darker than when it first appeared, which would maybe be comforting if it didn’t just make it feel indelible.

“They look like vines,” Wen Qing murmurs.

It all swells up in Wei Wuxian’s throat, all the research and theories and questions, but he holds it back, curious to hear what a fresh pair of eyes might make of it. What someone of Wen Qing’s clear genius might say.

Working with her for a solution for Jiang Cheng’s burned out core hadn’t been remotely pleasant. He’d barely been cognizant of what he was doing and what was going on, but he remembers Wen Qing there by his side, reading through the texts with him. Debating various theories. Bullying him into eating and being completely unimpressed with any of his theatrics. She doesn’t let him get away with anything, but she also never let ‘that’s never been done before’ ever stop her.

The idea of getting to work with her on this is exciting. Sure, it’s still serious, Lan Zhan being the subject. But far less pressing than what had been going on with Jiang Cheng’s core.

“The curse’s origin?” she asks, brisk and efficient.

“A ghost,” Lan Zhan offers. “Liberated.”

Wen Qing’s eyebrow lifts. “But the curse is still here.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t say anything, of course, the answer far too obvious to need so much as a ‘mn.’

“What happens when Wei Wuxian isn’t near you?”

Lan Zhan blinks at her and Wei Wuxian waits with anticipation. It’s only occurring to him now, after all this time, that he’s never heard Lan Zhan describe it. They’ve only ever seen the symptoms from the outside. Wei Wuxian has only ever measured the pain or discomfort from the tightness of Lan Zhan’s shoulders or the tenseness around his eyes.

Predictably, Lan Zhan looks to Wei Wuxian to save him from the need to verbalize. Wei Wuxian is far too curious himself to do it.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, a gentle tease. “How can I explain how it feels for you?”

At that, Lan Zhan’s face contorts, just enough that Wei Wuxian is tempted to call it a pout. Fuck, Lan Zhan is going to kill him one of these days. Metaphorically, in this case. The literal event is still up for grabs as always.

“Just take your time,” he says, giving Wen Qing a pointed glare to remind her not to push.

Wen Qing gives him an indecipherable look, but settles back, managing to somehow ratchet back her usual impatience. It makes Wei Wuxian feel all soft, seeing someone else willing to give Lan Zhan what he needs.

Lan Zhan sits for a long time, long enough that Wei Wuxian would normally break down entirely just to fill the silence. Silence at Lotus Pier is never good—a coming storm, rising temper. Sure, Wei Wuxian’s nonsense rarely completely diverted anything, but it at least made things break faster, which was preferable to letting it grow bigger. Now is always a better time for consequences to show up rather than having them hang over him forever.

“At first,” Lan Zhan finally says, each word perfectly paced as if he is constructing the sentence word by word in his head and trying it out before letting them out into the world. “It is a tightness.” He gestures to his wrist, up his arm, and settling on his chest.

Wen Qing makes a small, acknowledging sound. She glances at Wei Wuxian as if expecting to be yelled at, but still opens her mouth to ask a question. “Does it happen all at once or slowly as time passes?”

Lan Zhan doesn’t seem spooked by the question, his head tilting to the side. “It is not always the same. Sometimes it is sharp and fast, and others it was a slow increase.”

“It was ?” Wen Qing zeroes in on.

Lan Zhan nods, something crossing his face that looks almost like embarrassment. Or guilt? “It began as the latter.”

“And now it’s more like the former? The onset is sharper than it was?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan says, glancing over at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian can no longer hold himself back. “It’s getting worse?” He’s known that Lan Zhan is not great at telling him when the curse triggers, but keeping this to himself—

“It is not,” Lan Zhan says, firm and immediate enough to stop Wei Wuxian from spiraling. “The onset is…somewhat sharper. But I have not experienced more severe symptoms since Wei Ying has kept near.”

“And what were the more severe symptoms?” Wen Qing asks. “And how long until they set in?”

“At first, I was apart from Wei Ying for nearly a full day. Within half a day, the tightness had become weakness. I felt very tired, with pain in my head. After that, I am uncertain.”

“You lost consciousness?” she asks.

Wei Wuxian nods. “By the time I made it back, it’d been, almost a day, I think? Lan Zhan was incredibly pale and still. His breathing was labored and slow.” A shudder works through him, thinking about it now. He’d been too focused on saving Lan Zhan’s life at the time to really let himself feel it, what it felt like to see Lan Zhan like that.

“Okay,” Wen Qing says. “But since that first time you have not felt it that severely again?”

Lan Zhan hesitates. “Wei Ying did leave one more time before we understood the nature of the curse.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, remembering. “And that wasn’t that long. Just an afternoon. But you also weren’t unconscious.”

Lan Zhan nods.

Wei Wuxian thinks about it. “We also spent the night apart for a few days when we were traveling. You looked really worn out.”

“Explain what happened then,” Wen Qing says.

Lan Zhan again pauses, as if hopeful Wei Wuxian might fill the empty space.

Wei Wuxian nearly sits on his hands to keep himself quiet.

“With Wei Ying out of sight at night, it was difficult to sleep.”

“Pain? Weakness?”

“Mn.”

“But with Wei Wuxian in sight, you do not feel these symptoms,” she says. 

Wei Wuxian expects Lan Zhan to easily confirm that, but he instead hesitates.

“Lan Zhan?” he asks.

Lan Zhan’s lips part, but no words immediately escape. His eyes slide to the side, the way they do sometimes when he seems on the edge of being overwhelmed, or if he is ashamed of something.

“There have been times,” he says to his hands, looking at neither of them. He wraps his fingers around the curse mark. “Where Wei Ying is nearby and in sight, and yet I still feel a sudden sharpness.”

“What? Lan Zhan, ” Wei Wuxian scolds. Why is this the first he’s hearing of this?

Wen Qing has the temerity to shush him. “Wei Wuxian,” she says. “Let him speak.”

He splutters at that rebuke, glaring hard at her.

Wen Qing ignores him. “Do you have any idea what might be causing these sudden spikes?”

“I believe,” Lan Zhan says, looking like every word is painful to extract, and it occurs to Wei Wuxian that he is mortified by this. Lan Zhan looks like he wants to curl in on himself in embarrassment. And yet his posture stays rigidly perfect, of course. “That if I allow my thoughts to be…unruly, it at times triggers the curse.”

His thoughts? Oh, Lan Zhan. For someone who prides himself on being in control at all times, that must be horrible for him. Wei Wuxian’s head is like a bag of cats at the best of times even before the amulet and the resentment flooding his body. But for Lan Zhan…that would be mortifying.

Wen Qing, when she speaks, is unaccountably gentle. The way she sometimes speaks to Wen Ning when she thinks no one can hear her. “And these thoughts are about Wei Wuxian no longer being near?”

Lan Zhan’s jaw tightens visibly. It takes a moment for him to jerk his head in agreement.

“Hm,” Wen Qing says. “It could be that the curse is adapting. Perhaps trying to find other ways to grow strong despite being denied whatever it is looking for.”

“Adapting?” Wei Wuxian says. “Curses don’t adapt. They aren’t alive.”

She gives him an arch look. “Do you have another explanation?”

He doesn’t, of course. “Well, no. But I’ve also only known about the curse acting this way for all of two minutes!”

Wen Qing makes a dismissive sound. “What have you tried to dispel it?”

Wei Wuxian huffs. “Only about ten-thousand talismans. I even designed a special array. All that did was nearly send him into qi deviation.”

“What?” she says, looking alarmed. She reaches forward, checking Lan Zhan’s meridians again. “Why?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Because the curse is anchored in his core?”

“Is that even possible?” Wen Qing asks, looking horrified.

Wei Wuxian throws his hands up. At this point, who even knows what’s possible. “There’s also the weirdness that we were both attacked by the ghost at the same time, but only Lan Zhan got cursed.”

Wen Qing spears Wei Wuxian with a look. “There must be some reason it attached to Hanguang-Jun and not you,” she says rather pointedly.

Right. Like his lack of a golden core? “Anyway,” Wei Wuxian says, pushing the fuck past that as quick as he can. “The point is, we’ve tried everything. Read every book in existence, it feels. So here we are! Roommates for life.”

“I can see why it might seem unbreakable,” Wen Qing says, looking thoughtful. Maybe she likes having something else to focus on too. “I have a few things I might look into.”

Wei Wuxian nods, grateful to have her here helping.  

Her eyes narrow as she looks at him a long moment, and then back at Lan Zhan. “Okay,” she says, voice once more sharp and impatient. “Your turn, idiot.”

“Wen Qing!” Wei Wuxian says. “I’m fine.”

“We should be certain, don’t you think? I’m sure Hanguang-jun would be relieved to hear if the man who his own life and health is tied to is also in good health.”

Lan Zhan gets up immediately, ceding the spot to Wei Wuxian and retreating to his book. He’s probably had his fill of being poked and prodded. He settles back on a chair, picking up a book as if to provide Wei Wuxian with the illusion of privacy, but for what Wen Qing likely wants to talk about, it won’t be enough.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines. “Save me some face at least. I don’t want you eavesdropping as she bullies me!”

“I can wait outside,” Lan Zhan offers, and that is not at all what Wei Wuxian is angling for. From what he knows now, he’d probably find Lan Zhan collapsed on the walkway outside. He already feels like shit enough for that one day he threw a fit and made Lan Zhan teach class without him. He is not doing that again.

Wen Qing sighs. “Put up a privacy spell. He won’t listen, but he’ll still be able to see you, more pity for him.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees, looking between them. “Wei Ying’s health is most important.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian complains again, pressing his hands to his face. It’s only about the curse, he reminds himself.

Moving into an empty room in the infirmary, Wei Wuxian puts up a talisman to muffle the sound traveling from one room to the other, despite the open door.

“Can you hear me?” he asks Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan doesn’t look up from his book.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says loudly. “First thing I’m going to do is catch and roast fifteen fluffy rabbits for dinner.”

He watches Lan Zhan, but there’s not so much as a twitch in his expression. Granted, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything with Lan Zhan.

“And then I’m gonna raise a hundred content, happy corpses and build an army!”

Wen Qing sighs. “Just sit on the damn bed.”

To her credit, she carefully moves so that her back is to Lan Zhan, blocking what she is doing to Wei Wuxian. She goes through the motions of checking his spiritual energy even though she already knows what she’s going to find, so maybe she’s at least on board with keeping things secret.

Her eyebrows both shoot up as she assesses his energy. “Wei Wuxian!”

“What?” She can’t possibly be surprised to find he has no core. If he remembers anything at all, it’s the feeling of her wrist-deep in his guts, no matter how much he’d prefer to forget.

“You’re flooded with resentment,” she hisses.

Wei Wuxian relaxes. “Oh. That. Uh, yes?” He would have assumed she’d heard something of his cultivation at this point.

“And this is normal?” she asks.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“How did this happen?” she asks, prodding him some more. Whatever she finds doesn’t seem to comfort her much.

“Look, I’m fine. It’s been like this for a very long time now. I’m getting by.”

“Getting by?” she repeats. “Are you mad?”

“Hey, I’m fine. I’ve been fine like this for a long while now. Can we focus on Lan Zhan?”

“What about him?” Wen Qing asks, clearly frustrated. “What does you being flooded with resentment have to do with Hanguang-Jun’s curse?”

“What if it’s me?” Wei Wuxian bursts out, the worries festering in him for weeks now. “It’s not exactly normal to be walking around with this much resentment. And Lan Zhan, one of the most powerful guys ever, gets struck down with some weeny curse? What if I’m the one feeding it what it wants?”

“Feeding it what it wants,” Wen Qing echoes. “As in resentment?”

It doesn’t make sense, he knows it doesn’t, but how can they be sure? “What if I’m actually hurting him by being near him?”

Wen Qing gives him a look very close to pity. “From what you said, it sounds like you’re helping him by being near. When you aren’t there, he gets much sicker because the curse gets stronger and floods him with resentment.”

He knows that. He does. “But—”

Wen Qing shakes her head. “If it were somehow possible that your cultivation affected the curse in that way, it would have made you even more susceptible to the curse. From what you’ve described, you were both hit by the ghost, but it didn’t take root in you. If it could be fed by your resentment, it would have killed you before you even managed to figure it out. Right?”

“I guess…” Wei Wuxian says, still hesitant.  

“It’s far more likely it just didn’t affect you because you have no core. But if you’d like to flood Hanguang-jun with resentment while I monitor the curse, we could do that.”

Wei Wuxian deflates. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”

“Probably a good idea,” Wen Qing agrees. “But why don’t we talk about your health for a moment.”

“Nah,” Wei Wuxian says, hopping down off the table. “Let’s not. What can we do to help Wen Ning?”

It’s a low blow, probably, but Wei Wuxian is happy to distract them both with anything else. He takes down the talisman too, just to make sure she won’t press on with this anymore.

Wen Qing gives him a sharp look but follows his lead. After all, if there is one thing they can both agree on, it’s that Wen Ning deserves help.

Until Jiang Cheng blows back into Lotus Pier like a cyclone of annoyance, there’s really nothing else to focus on.

They’ll figure it out.

“Wanna see the library?” he offers.

When Jiang Cheng gets back to Lotus Pier, he finds that Wei Wuxian has not up and disappeared with the Wen siblings. He tries to take some comfort from that but knows it likely has more to do with Wen Ning being unconscious, Wen Qing still looking like she might fall over in a strong wind, and Lan Wangji still following Wei Wuxian around like the world’s most stuck-up shadow than any particular loyalty to Jiang Cheng.

From Wei Wuxian’s behavior, it’s clear that Lotus Pier and Yunmeng Jiang don’t even show up on his list of reasons for doing anything at all.

“They can stay,” Jiang Cheng says, throwing the documents Wei Wuxian’s way.

“What? Really?” Wei Wuxian looks over the papers. “Jiang Cheng, this is amazing!” He grins up at Jiang Cheng.

He refuses to feel anything about that.

His gaze falls on Lan Wangji, still glued to Wei Wuxian’s side.

“Your brother wanted me to give this to you,” Jiang Cheng says, shoving a small package towards Lan Wangji.

He seems alarmed by the sudden movement, but does deign to reach forward and take it from him with a nod.

“Zewu-Jun was in Jinlintai?” Wei Wuxian asks, and Jiang Cheng can’t help but wonder if this is why Lan Wangji tolerates him as much as he does. Wei Wuxian talks enough that Lan Wangji probably never has to. Not even to ask after his own damn brother.

“Yes. He was helpful in getting Jin Guangshan to agree,” he concedes grudgingly.

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian says, looking over at Lan Wangji as if he’d been the one to go all the way to Lanling to arrange this.

“I wrote to Brother,” Lan Wangji says.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says, as if writing a letter is a big deal compared to going all that way and having to deal with Jin Guangshan in person.

“Get out of my office,” Jiang Cheng growls. He has days of tasks to get caught back up on now. And very little faith that Wei Wuxian did anything at all of importance while he was gone. “I have shit to do. And so do you!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen and he immediately starts to scuttle away, the way he always does when he’s trying to avoid his duties.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng says as Wei Wuxian finally goes to leave him in peace. “I also had to promise that A-Jie will attend the group hunt, so you’d better bow down and thank her too.”

Wei Wuxian scowls, suddenly looking like he’d rather fuck off and steal the Wen siblings than have to deal with any of the political realities of the situation.

“You’re in no place to complain! If she ends up marrying that asshole, it will be all your fault.”

Wei Wuxian squawks in outrage. “Couldn’t you have found a different way?” he has the temerity to ask.

“No, I fucking could not. Get out.”

Wei Wuxian finally leaves, still grumbling ungratefully under his breath. Lan Wangji trails out behind him after giving Jiang Cheng a bow that is the proper fucking thing to do when leaving the presence of a sect leader, but is also somehow the most irritating thing anyone has done ever.

Welcome home to your fucking circus, Jiang Cheng.

After Jiang Cheng returns, Wei Wuxian manages to squeeze out almost a full week researching stuff about Wen Ning and the curse with Wen Qing. He figures he can probably get three more days if he really pushes it. It’s been great.

They haven’t found anything, which isn’t super surprising, but is still kind of a bummer. It has at least given Wei Wuxian more time to hypothetically figure out what to do with himself, and that’s gift enough. Not that an answer to that problem has suddenly materialized either. But he still gets to hide out in the library and the infirmary and not even Lan Zhan can claim he’s being lazy. He’s very busy, really, and it’s really important stuff!

He tries to do some research into the idea of the curse actually adapting, but there isn’t much. There might be more on that particular angle back at the Cloud Recesses.

For now, he’s got days left where he won’t have to worry about dodging juniors or avoiding Jiang Cheng or keeping Shijie from worrying. That’s a lot!

Except Wen Qing does the absolutely unforgivable, and admits they are at a dead end. She says it out loud and everything, right where Lan Zhan can hear it! Meaning Lan Zhan will now have enough fodder to start seriously calling out Wei Wuxian’s bullshit instead of just giving him looks that are somehow both disappointed and confused at the same time.

“Wen Qing!” he protests.

“I’m not giving up,” she says. “But you can’t keep spending all your time here like this.”

“Of course I can!” Wei Wuxian says. “It’s important!”

“Wei Wuxian,” she says, sharp and unforgiving. “We both know this isn’t about helping Wen Ning.”

Wei Wuxian jerks, shooting Wen Qing a warning glare. “Of course it’s about Wen Ning.”

Wen Qing sighs, apparently thinking he’s too unreasonable to even debate with. “Just get out of here, will you? I don’t want to see you back here.”

She looks impatient enough that Wei Wuxian knows he can’t push it, not without her saying something else he won’t be able to cover up, or her sticking him with needles. “Fine,” he snaps, still very annoyed with her.

Lan Zhan goes out first after saying a perfectly polite farewell to Wen Qing.

Wei Wuxian moves to follow, but Wen Qing grabs his arm, holding him in place as Lan Zhan walks further away, just far enough to not overhear them.

“You can’t hope to keep this from them forever,” she says. 

“Wen Qing,” he hisses, hurt and panicked to hear her talking about this so starkly. 

She lowers her voice. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything, and I won’t. But you need to think about reality here. They’re going to notice eventually.”

Not if he can help it.

She softens then, as if trying for another approach. “They’re your family.”

On the walkway ahead, Lan Zhan has paused, far enough away not to intrude, but still looking back at them with something unreadable in his eyes.

“You can’t carry on like this, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing says relentlessly, more accurate and brutal than any of her needles have ever been. “And I think you know that.”

He sure as fuck doesn’t. He’s fine! Everything has been perfectly fine.

Wen Qing sighs. “Stop using me to hide behind, Wei Wuxian. I won’t be your excuse. So either tell them, or figure something else out.”

Wei Wuxian pulls his arm free from her grasp and walks away. Wen Qing doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.

She’ll see. They all will.

Wei Wuxian spends the next two days going over all of Lan Zhan’s notes from the Jiang night-hunt reports. Curing the damn curse has got to be the first step. If he can just get a little distance from Lan Zhan, surely he’ll be able to find some way to make being at Lotus Pier work. It has to be Lan Zhan that’s making it so impossible.

There’s nothing there. He tries five more talismans just in case, Lan Zhan being a sport about it, but watching him with that look again, like he’s some wounded puppy.

Jiang Cheng will barely speak to him and Shijie just watches him with sad eyes all the time. He can’t do what Jiang Cheng wants him to. He can’t just fuck off to the wine taverns. He can’t help Wen Qing. He can’t solve this fucking curse.

He can’t do anything!

Because the amulet is right, he is useless. All he does is ruin things.

Despite his best intentions, Wei Wuxian ends up back in the wine taverns again. He just needs it all to stop for a minute, needs to find a way to get a good night’s sleep, to get five fucking minutes alone.

Lan Zhan sits across the table from him, of course he fucking does, and Wei Wuxian wants to be mad at him, he really does. But this isn’t his fault. He’s being really great, considering. Sitting here in a wine tavern way past his bedtime and not even giving Wei Wuxian too much shit about it.

As much as it makes everything so much easier to believe that it’s Lan Zhan being here that’s making everything impossible, he knows that’s a lie. Lan Zhan, somehow, is the most bearable part of all of this.

It sneaks up on him then, the thought of just…walking away from it all. Lotus Pier. His duties. His debts. Just doing nothing ever again but night hunting with Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan didn’t seem opposed to it, when he’d brought it up before Wen Qing appeared.

What might that be like, just him and Lan Zhan, walking the world helping people together? It reminds him of when they met Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan years ago, the way Lan Zhan had looked after them with longing.

Impossible. He knows that. Yet the idea refuses to fade.

Maybe it’s time for a reminder that it’s only that. A dream. One completely out of reach.

“Has my temperament changed?” Wei Wuxian asks.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says immediately.

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian says, sitting back. “You didn’t even need to think about it there, did you?”

Lan Zhan turns to look at him. “You anger quickly. Your moods are mercurial. You can be…sharp.”

Wei Wuxian laughs because he doesn’t really know what else the fuck to do. “Sounds like someone really fun to be around.”

“And also no,” Lan Zhan continues.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, squinting up at him and wondering if he’s had more to drink than he thought.

“You are still kind. Compassionate. Clever.” A little wrinkle appears between Lan Zhan’s brows as if he is considering something particularly philosophically complex. “You are still Wei Ying.”

The words settle warm and squishy in Wei Wuxian’s chest and it takes a lot not to get up and flee or jump into the lake, just to get away from whatever it is Lan Zhan thinks he’s doing.

Lan Zhan lets out something that is the Lan Zhan equivalent of a sigh. He pins Wei Wuxian with one of his incredibly rare—thank heavens—direct bits of eye contact. “But I fear you will not always be.”

There has never been an exception.

Wei Wuxian looks down at his hand, feels the tremor in his bones, the heavy weight of the endlessly screaming voices, and can’t even find it in himself to argue.

Not knowing what the fuck to do with that, Wei Wuxian reaches for another jar.

Wei Wuxian is rather rudely awakened the next morning via bucket of lake water to the face.

“What the fuck!” he erupts, head pounding from all the wine he had the night before. He doesn’t actually remember getting back to his rooms.

Jiang Cheng is standing next to his bed, Lan Zhan only a few steps behind, looking like he’d just risen to his feet. He does not look happy with Jiang Cheng.

“What the hell, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, rubbing water out of his eyes.

“Get up and stop blowing off our meetings or I will drown you in the lake!”

“You just did!” Wei Wuxian yells back, flinging soaked hair back from his face.

Jiang Cheng passes his empty bucket back behind him, and a disciple scurries forward to take it and replace it with another bucket already full of water.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Zhan says, voice hard with warning.

“Don’t think I won’t dump it on you too,” Jiang Cheng says, not even looking in Lan Zhan’s direction.

“Fuck, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says, scrambling up to his feet. “I’m up, I’m up. Don’t threaten Lan Zhan. You’ll cause an inter-sect incident.”

“Good,” Jiang Cheng says. “In my office in an hour. If you’re not there, I’m sending A-Jie in. You understand?”

Wei Wuxian looks at him in alarm. “Okay, okay. Don’t drag Shijie into this.” The last thing she needs is more to worry about. “I’ll be there.”

He sucks it up and gets dressed and even eats a little just to make Lan Zhan stop looking at him like that. Making another escape to a wine tavern is tempting on too many levels. Maybe it’s been long enough that Wen Qing might not slam the door in his face if he showed up?

Yeah, probably not. Plus, he wouldn’t put it past Jiang Cheng to actually try to dump a bucket over Lan Zhan’s head. Okay, no. But Jiang Cheng might start to take this all out on Lan Zhan, and that’s just not okay.

Wei Wuxian just cannot escape the feeling that everything is relentlessly closing in on him.

You can’t carry on like this, Wei Wuxian.

Okay, no. He can do this.

He’s going to suck it up and go to one measly sect-business meeting. He only has to pretend to be useful for that long. And then he can find something somewhere else to keep himself occupied.

Jiang Cheng still manages to look both surprised and kind of pissed that Wei Wuxian actually shows up. Asshole.

It’s all sect-business stuff, as if Wei Wuxian has anything at all to contribute. Sure, he never has a shortage of opinions, but he’s also not super clear on what’s going on these days, and offering any solutions brings up the danger of being asked to implement said solutions, which he can’t. So, yeah. He’s been avoiding these meetings for a reason, after all. Today he obediently sits and listens, trying to provide anything at all, but it’s clear that Jiang Cheng is pissed and Wei Wuxian’s head is pounding, and what exactly does Jiang Cheng want from him?

It feels like it might somehow end up with both of them in the lake, or coming to blows anyway, when Lan Zhan abruptly speaks.

“I have received a letter from my brother.”

Lan Zhan gets a lot of letters from his brother, so Wei Wuxian isn’t quite sure why this is big sect-meeting news.

Jiang Cheng clearly doesn’t get it either but tries to be polite. “I hope Lan-zongzhu’s health is well.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widen a bit, as if this is more polite talk than he expected. “He is. I thank you.”

The two of them stare at each other another long moment. It would be fucking hilarious if Wei Wuxian weren’t squirming to get the hell out of here.

“I am needed at home,” Lan Zhan says.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, breath leaving him all at once. Lan Zhan needs to go back to the Cloud Recesses. Yeah, that would make sense. They’ve been in Lotus Pier almost as long as the time they spent in the Cloud Recesses. Like, they should probably be spending equal time, right? That would be fair.

Lan Zhan deserves to see his family and spend time at home. It’s only right!

It occurs to Wei Wuxian then that he is actually somehow relieved by the idea of hanging out in the Cloud Recesses. He immediately ties a giant rock to the bottom of that thought and pushes it off into the deepest fucking lake in his mind to never be thought of ever again.

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says.

He doesn’t exactly look happy, but neither does he look like he’s gonna pick a fight over it. It’s possible he’s relieved too. Politically, that probably makes everything a little easier, Jiang Cheng not really caring if Wei Wuxian is here or not. He won’t have to fight the Lan sect or anything.

There’s no reason for it to sting.

Jiang Cheng huffs and looks away. “Not like you’ve been helping anyway. Fine. Go.”

Nope. No reason for that to feel like anything at all, Wei Wuxian reminds himself.

Lan Zhan bows again. “Please let us know if there are any night hunts we could handle on your behalf on the way, Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says, waving Lan Zhan’s politeness away. “I’ve got a few things.”

Wei Wuxian sits quietly as Jiang Cheng flips through his files and pulls out some letters about various hauntings and tries very hard not to pay attention to the way it feels like a weight has been lifted from him.

Wei Wuxian is such an asshole, to feel relieved when there are things he needs to do here. There’s Shijie, and Wen Ning hasn’t been cured yet, and Jiang Cheng needs him, but all he can feel is fucking relief.

You can’t carry on like this, Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks.

He looks up, and apparently the meeting has ended, because both Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng are standing, looking down at him in confusion.

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, getting up. He can feel it, that he needs to fill this awkward moment with a complaint about how awful the Cloud Recesses is, how bad their food is, but he’s fresh out. “I guess I’ll go pack.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says, not quite looking at him. “You should go do that.”

You’re useless, Wei Wuxian. A waste.

At least he can go back to being a waste of space where no one cares. After all, no one in the Cloud Recesses expects anything from Wei Wuxian. They already think he’s a lost cause.

Maybe he is.

Chapter Text

The weeks on the road with Wei Ying are most pleasant.

They complete various small hunts, none very complex, but a few at least interesting enough to bring a shine back into Wei Ying’s eyes. It takes some time, but Wei Ying seems more at ease, more focused on the road. There are still moments where he seems to get caught in something, some dark thought or sharp change in his mood, but they are far less frequent than they had been during those fraught days at Lotus Pier.

They have not come across anything so dire as to require Wei Ying to utilize the amulet, and for this Lan Wangji is thankful.

They stop at an inn in the evening. They have been in Gusu for two days now. It will only be another day’s journey until they reach the Cloud Recesses, if they do not find any additional hunts.

As they are finishing their meal, Wei Ying is excited to find that a traveling storyteller is setting up for the evening.

“We can listen, right?” he asks.

Wei Ying is so bright and excited and so very far from the drunken sadness that has trailed him for so long. How can Lan Wangji possibly say no? Why would he ever wish to?

Wei Ying ordered wine with dinner. It does not seem like before, like in Lotus Pier or in the Cloud Recesses where the wine offered some kind of relief, or some way of making distance. Tonight it only makes him a little soft, smoother, his smiles and laughs lacking the edge they have taken on for so long.

It softens something in Lan Wangji in turn.

Lan Wangji nods his assent, and Wei Ying makes a little gesture of victory, before scooting around the table to sit next to Lan Wangji, offering a better view of the storyteller. Wei Ying grabs Lan Wangji’s arm, squeezing it in apparent thanks. Afterwards, he does not move away.

Lan Wangji has never heard popular tales, or at least never given them his attention. The only stories he knows are those of ancient precedent. Moral, didactic tales meant to edify. To instruct. Ideals to emulate, and lessons to learn where others perhaps failed, so as to avoid the same follies.

This story is nothing like that at all. It is a story of love and misunderstandings and jealousy and a curse broken by a kiss. It is absurd and not based in reality at all. Still, Wei Ying appears charmed.

Lan Wangji finds it difficult to focus, Wei Ying still gripping his arm.

After the storyteller finishes, Wei Ying laughs. “Ah, too bad it’s not a love curse, Lan Zhan. Then we could just fix it with a simple kiss!” He leans in closer, body soft with drink. “Should we try anyway, just in case?”

Lan Wangji is not certain how he manages not to vibrate apart into nothing at the very idea. “Ridiculous,” he manages to choke out.

Wei Ying merely laughs again, and claps loudly for the storyteller.

It lingers though, the idea of a kiss—the idea of having that, even if just in jest. Would that make it hurt more, knowing it wasn’t real, just some amusement for Wei Ying? Would that be better than never experiencing it at all? Lan Wangji is not certain.

They remain in the common area of the inn for some time more. Wei Ying gets up to share a jar of wine with the storyteller in gratitude. Lan Wangji ignores the loss.

It’s later, in their room, when Wei Ying presses close again. He’s loose-limbed and happy, perhaps having drunk a bit too much wine, but at least this time in joy and companionship.

“Hey, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, pulling at his sleeve.

Lan Wangji turns towards him, of course he does, and then Wei Ying is close, so very close, stumbling a bit and laughing. Lan Wangji reaches out to steady him, Wei Ying’s body colliding with his. For an endless moment, their chests press together.

Lan Wangji cannot breathe.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, trusting his weight to Lan Wangji’s grip as he pats at his chest. “Hey, just let me…”

Lan Wangji is a prey animal frozen in fright, unable to do anything other than stand there as Wei Ying leans in and then his lips are brushing against the edge of Lan Wangji’s mouth.

It’s only the most fleeting touch and yet seems to burn down into the most hidden depths of Lan Wangji’s being. He is drowning in sensation, the warmth and press, the way his body feels no longer like his own. He cannot breathe or think, not even as Wei Ying pulls away as quickly as he moved close. It takes Wei Ying grabbing Lan Wangji’s hand and clumsily shoving back his sleeve for the reason behind the kiss to register through his confusion.

The curse mark lies inked on Lan Wangji’s skin, no change visible whatsoever.

Lan Wangji is somehow startled to see it there still. Everything feels so fundamentally shifted, the sensation in his chest somehow the exact opposite of cold and pain. Not too little air, but somehow too much of it.

Wei Ying laughs then, pushing himself away from Lan Wangji. “Oh, well, worth a try,” he says, cheeks pink with wine and heat. “It’s not like we haven’t tried everything else!”

It all retreats like the ocean sucking its reaching waves back into itself, knocking Lan Wangji from his feet.

Yes. Of course. Just a test. One last far-fetched attempt to end this curse and escape. Nothing more.

What more could it ever be?

Lan Wangji turns away from Wei Ying, retreating to his evening routines, not looking at Wei Ying, even as his ears strain for every sound of his existence.

It is not that kind of curse.

By the time they reach the Cloud Recesses, it has been two weeks since they left Lotus Pier.

For Lan Wangji, it is a relief to walk through the gates of his home. Things have not been particularly strange or strained between them since the night they listened to the storyteller. Wei Ying seems very much himself. He does not even look horribly reluctant to arrive at the Cloud Recesses, but perhaps that is strange. Perhaps symptomatic of Wei Ying tiring of having no one but Lan Wangji for company. Perhaps it should be alarming.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath. Wei Ying may be acting normal, but Lan Wangji has not been himself, these last few days. His mind is a tempestuous thing. Things will surely make more sense here in the Cloud Recesses as they always have. He is pleased to see his brother and uncle. He is pleased to know exactly what is expected of him.

They have barely finished bathing away the dirt of the road and settling back in the Jingshi when Lan Yunxia sends for them, clearly intent on checking Lan Wangji’s health. It was pleasant not having quite so many people hovering over him in Lotus Pier, Lan Wangji must admit.

Still, he does not complain.

She completes a rudimentary check of his health before he is given permission to meet up with his brother in the Mingshi. They likely wish to confirm that the curse has not grown worse, or perhaps are optimistic enough to believe they might see signs of it weakening and dispelling over time.

“Wangji,” Xichen greets him. “It is good to have you home.”

Wangji nods in response, hoping his own relief is not quite so palpable.

“And Wei-gongzi,” Xichen says, turning to him. “I hope you had a pleasant visit home.”

“Yeah, it was great,” Wei Ying says easily. Apparently earnestly. Lan Wangji wonders how much of that is Wei Ying lying and how much is his refusal to ever remember anything accurately.

“I think someone was a little homesick though,” Wei Ying continues, moving as if to fling an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulders only to stop himself. He instead nudges their shoulders together and Lan Wangji forces himself to breathe through this assault.

“Oh, was he?” Xichen asks, looking delighted.

“Lotus Pier is very beautiful,” Lan Wangji says. “I am also happy to be home.”

Xichen smiles, but does not tease further, seeming pleased. “And the curse? Have you had any issues with it?”

“It remains unchanged,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying lets out a scoff. “Okay, yeah, but,” he says, clearly expecting Lan Wangji to have said something different.

Lan Wangji tries to glare him into silence, but it is too late. Or perhaps a hopeless task. Xichen has already picked up that there is more to be said.

“What?” Xichen asks, looking alarmed.

Wei Ying crosses his arms over his chest. “Lan Zhan finally admitted that the onset is sharper and quicker now, and that sometimes he even has symptoms when I am nearby.”

Xichen looks at him in distress. “Wangji,” he says, half scold, half fear.

“I am well,” Lan Wangji assures him.

Xichen remains unassured.

Lan Yunxia steps in. “Perhaps the diagnostic will help clarify the current state of the curse.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees, stepping into the array without complaint.

It is a particular kind of exposure, stepping in to the diagnostic and making his spiritual pathways visible to all looking. It is even sharper to have this objective measure of just how ill he is, how much he continues to lose the battle against this curse.

Xichen’s music fills the space, but offers no comfort.

The array comes to life, and while Lan Wangji cannot clearly see what it reveals, all he needs to see are the faces of those around him to know that it is not good. They do not even ask Wei Ying to leave in hopes of triggering the curse. Perhaps it is no longer needed.

“Damn,” Wei Ying says, arms crossed over his chest. “I mean, I suspected, but…damn.”

“It is far more advanced than when Hanguang-Jun left,” Lan Yunxia confirms.

Wei Ying steps forward, his eyes sliding down Lan Wangji’s body. “It’s not just more advanced. It’s doing something different. Wen Qing thought the curse might be adapting somehow. I don’t believe it. Curses aren’t alive. So how could it change?”

Lan Wangji, overwhelmed by the continued scrutiny, steps out of the array.

Wei Ying looks like he might object, but after taking a quick look at Lan Wangji’s face, he subsides. “I think it’s probably time to revisit the library.”

No one argues.

Family dinner is a relief. Uncle has clearly been informed of the development with the curse, but remains calm. On Lan Wangji’s part, he is not worried for himself. It is more a deep sense of being unsettled. That their questions threaten to uncover something new, something only more mortifying.

He pushes his unease aside and instead focuses on the comfort to be found in the return to his predictable routines.

Lan Wangji had not had time to arrange for Wei Ying’s meal, but he is pleased to see that the children’s dinner option has already been provided. Lan Wangji reaches into his sleeve and pulls out the bottle of chili oil he has taken to carrying, even if Wei Ying was often able to find it in the taverns they have stayed in on their journey.

Wei Ying stares at the food in front of him. It is certainly not as pleasing to him as what he ate at home or on the road, but Lan Wangji hopes it will still appeal enough for Wei Ying to eat. After a long moment, he lets out a breath and reaches for the crock.

Lan Wangji settles back to eat, taking pleasure in the company of his family, in a meal not heavily spiced with unspoken tensions and bursts of yelling, no matter how affectionate. Surely everything will be simpler now that they are back in the Cloud Recesses.

Wei Ying eats well enough, even if less than Lan Wangji would like.

The plates are cleared away and tea is poured.

Xichen smiles at them both. “Wangji, Wei-gongzi, it is a pleasure to have you back with us.” His eyes glitter with internal amusement. “It has been very quiet.”

Wei Ying lets out a huff. “I can only imagine.”

“I appreciated all your letters, Wangji. But I would love to hear of the bat king in greater detail. You were very…brief in your descriptions.”  

Lan Wangji has never had particular narrative prowess even in letter form, though his brevity was perhaps born more of an uncertainty of how to explain the event. Or perhaps more accurately, a hesitation to diminish the feeling of it being an event shared between himself and Wei Ying and no one else.

“It was truly an eight-winged bat king?” Uncle asks.

Lan Wangji nods. “Nearly the height of three stories. With three dozen minions under its control.”

“So many,” Xichen says, looking retroactively worried.

“It seems impossible that such a beast could have been allowed to rise,” Uncle says. “Though it is surely more evidence of Wen Ruohan’s unholy manipulations.”

Lan Wangji nods, having reached the same conclusion himself.

“Now that you are home,” Uncle continues, “I would ask you to spend some time detailing exactly how you approached dealing with the beast.”

“Yes, Uncle,” he says. Despite his selfish urge to keep it safe and close, he knows this to be the type of rare event that would be helpful to have documented.

“We will deploy disciples to settle the land,” Uncle says.

Next to him, Wei Ying frowns. “What do you mean?”

“The land can’t be left to fester, Wei Wuxian,” he says, clearly exasperated. “Please tell me you at least were able to set proper suppression in place.”

“Uncle,” Lan Wangji says. “The area was cleansed.”

Uncle sits back. “Oh, did I misunderstand? The Jin cultivators returned to the area? Or the Jiang sect provided support?”

“No,” Lan Wangji says. “Wei Ying and I were able to complete the task.”

Silence falls over the table.

“Just the two of you, Wangji?” Xichen asks. “What of the corpse?”

It is true that a corpse of that size would usually be far beyond the means of two cultivators to deal with. And yet. “The beasts were liberated.”

Xichen puts his cup down, face astonished.

“Impossible,” Uncle bursts out.

According to all they have been taught, yes, it should have been impossible. Lan Wangji suspects that if he had not seen it with his own eyes, he would likely be equally skeptical.  

Wei Ying lets out a very unsubtle snort of derision. “According to who?”

Xichen, meanwhile, is looking back and forth between Lan Wangji and Wei Ying, face falling into the expression that usually means he has perceived something about Lan Wangji that he would prefer to remain hidden.

“You were not very specific, Wangji, about how you managed to defeat such a beast.”

He had not been, and not simply because of the limitations of a letter. He still does not know what to think of what Wei Ying did that day; is still torn between knowing he should find it wrong and yet being unable to argue against the good it achieved. Lan Wangji has great confidence that no matter his means, Wei Ying is good. And yet for Lan Wangji’s entire life, he has firmly believed that no outcome can justify immoral means to get there.

He does not know how to say any of this to Xichen, to Uncle. He has not even spoken of it to Wei Ying.

“Really, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, and there is something tense about him now. Accusing. “You didn’t tell them?” As if Wei Ying had not himself chosen not to speak of his use of the amulet to his siblings either.

“I used the amulet,” Wei Ying says, seemingly at ease and yet watching the reaction of Lan Wangji’s family closely.

There is certainly reaction enough to be found. Uncle pulls up in clear displeasure while Xichen’s gaze trails down over Lan Wangji as if looking for any sign of injury.

“We would have likely perished had he not,” Lan Wangji says. It is true that Lan Wangji himself could have escaped, but only if he left all the rest to their deaths. He never would have done that and thus his own death would have been assured as well.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, leaning back on one hand and twirling Chenqing in the other. “Such a thing to say. Surely it’s better to die righteous than live immorally. Right, Xiansheng?”

It feels like Wei Ying is pushing on purpose, and it is so opposite to his behavior at Lotus Pier, the way he danced away from confrontation so relentlessly. Here he seems to be begging for it. Like he wishes to be found in the wrong.

It is not as if Wei Ying had not waited until they had no other options. If the Jin cultivators had not abandoned them, or if they had not had the Wen prisoners to protect, they likely would have had many more options. Still Wei Ying had waited until it seemed there would be no other way.

But will Uncle agree? Will he say they should have died?

“There were innocents,” Lan Wangji cannot stop himself from saying. If they had not stopped the beast there, how many more would have died? How much stronger could the beast and its minions have grown?

Uncle still has not answered.

“The beast and all the minions were truly liberated?” Xichen asks.

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says. “I liberated them myself.” But only after Wei Ying had done whatever he had done. For this, Lan Wangji has no explanation, looking instead to Wei Ying to explain.

A slow smile spreads across Wei Ying’s face, one Lan Wangji does not like at all. “Oh, I’m sure no one here wants to hear of my heterodox nonsense. I might get books thrown at my head!”

Heavy tension falls over the room as Uncle and Wei Ying regard each other.

Uncle looks away first. “I will send disciples.”

To confirm their story, likely. Or to see what the long-term effects of Wei Ying’s use of this spiritual tool on the area might have been.

“Lan Yunxia informed me that the curse has strengthened and new symptoms have appeared,” Uncle says.

At first this seems like a change in subject, a merciful reprieve, but it is clear to everyone what Uncle is implying. Did Lan Wangji’s exposure to Wei Ying’s methods somehow make it worse? It cannot be true, and yet Lan Wangji has no other ready explanation.  

The smile has slipped from Wei Ying’s face.

Soon after, they excuse themselves. It is nearing curfew.

“Well,” Wei Ying says as they walk along the paths. “It’s always good to have a reminder.”

Lan Wangji looks at Wei Ying in question, even as he is not certain he wishes to know.

“That demonic cultivators will never be welcome in the Cloud Recesses.” Wei Ying smirks then, striding forward with Chenqing twirling between his fingers, the picture of ease.

Every part of it a lie.

Wei Ying is very focused, the next few days, intent on trying to understand the behavior of the curse. It is not a very fruitful exploration.

“I haven’t found anything about a curse adapting!” he exclaims one evening after a day spent in the library. He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “I mean, it’s possible that your uncle is right. The only thing I can think of is the way that resentment affects beings over time. I mean, that might explain it, except the curse would have to be alive in order to be corrupted by resentment and it just can’t!”

Wei Ying sounds very much like he has taken Uncle’s accusation to heart, but is equally desperate to prove his cultivation is not hurting Lan Wangji. He longs to reassure him that being near Wei Ying could never bring harm to him.

Wei Ying sighs, sitting back on his hands. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. I’m going to have to seek out the guidance of my elders. Ugh!” He makes a face. “I suppose it’s time after all. Don’t want to shirk my punishment.”

Lan Wangji has heard of Wei Ying’s assigned punishment, that he must discuss his inventions with the elder council once a week. He is equally charmed by the idea and terrified of it. He neither wishes to see Wei Ying antagonize his elders nor for his elders to berate Wei Ying.

In the end, neither fear comes true.

Wei Ying presents his theories on the curse, the troubling notion of a curse growing stronger, somehow adapting. The elders ask questions. Wei Ying answers them, sometimes breaking off just to scribble ideas down on a sheet of paper. The elders clearly take note of Wei Ying’s particular brand of chaos, but seem willing to tolerate it for the most part.

All in all, they seem to be enjoying themselves. Even Wei Ying.

He is more relaxed after the session, his despair lessened, and his resolve increased. “Okay, yeah. I’m not admitting this to anyone else, Lan Zhan, but that was helpful.”

There is still…something about Wei Ying’s mood that afternoon that does not settle. He is quiet. It is not the quiet of Wei Ying absorbed in a puzzle, nor even Wei Ying preparing for some mischief. It doesn’t even feel like despair. But something is clearly weighing on Wei Ying.

After dinner, Xichen mentions that Wei Ying’s lure talisman might be discussed at the next cultivation conference. This is surely good news, both that Wei Ying is getting credit for his work and that the Jin sect’s use of it in such shameful ways might be brought to light.

“Oh, really,” Wei Ying says.

Xichen nods. “You may be asked to speak to its purpose.”

Uncle makes a sound of disapproval. “Such things should not be played with.”

Wei Ying freezes a moment and then nods. “Right. Of course. And what of the Wen prisoners? Is that going to be discussed at this conference?”

Xichen blinks, clearly taken aback. “What happened with the Wen prisoners is surely an internal matter. Whatever discipline Jin Zixun faces will be up to Jin-zongzhu.”

“You really believe that?” Wei Ying asks, incredulous.

Xichen frowns. “Why would I not?”

Wei Ying lets out a huff, nodding his head. “Right. So the Wen remnants deserve whatever the Jin sect feels like doing to them.”

“They are prisoners of war,” Uncle says.

“They are innocent!” Wei Ying shoots back.

Uncle takes a moment to breathe, clearly working to contain his temper. “Perhaps you should have considered that before inventing something that could be so easily used against the innocent.”

Wei Ying sways back as if hit. “Yes,” he sneers, “because the jiandao has never been used for evil.”

“Wei Wuxian!” Uncle thunders, hand slamming down on the table.

Lan Wangji sits in stunned silence, never having witnessed a family meal in the Cloud Recesses descend into such virulence. There are too many threads here, too many points made in opposition to each other, and yet none of them truly wrong.

Wei Ying’s heart is good. Lan Wangji knows this.

Uncle heaves in great breaths, Xichen reaching over to touch his arm in concern. “Shufu?” he asks.

Wei Ying subsides, sitting back on his heels. “Yeah, okay,” Wei Ying says. “Thanks for dinner.” With that, he gets up and leaves.

Lan Wangji looks between Wei Ying’s retreating back and his family. “Shufu. Xiongzhang,” he says. Tightness flares in his wrist.

“It’s all right, Wangji,” Xichen says, giving him a weak smile. “Go.”

Lan Wangji nods, getting to his feet and walking swiftly to catch up to Wei Ying. He’s come to a stop just outside, clearly waiting. He glances at Lan Wangji, eyes lingering on his hands, and it’s only then that Lan Wangji realizes he has a tight grip around the curse mark. He lets go immediately.

Wei Ying takes a deep breath and then turns and strides away toward the Jingshi.

They walk in silence, Lan Wangji spending the entire journey trying to think what to say. Once they are inside, all he can manage is, “Wei Ying.”

“Enough, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying snaps.

Lan Wangji recoils from the anger in his voice.

Wei Ying curses, dragging his hands through his hair. He steps back towards the doors as if he would storm out if he could. Or run up and down the docks or paddle out into the lake, drink lotus wine. None of which are available to him.

“I just need a minute,” he says. With another harsh curse, he retreats to his bedroom, snapping the screen shut.

Wei Ying is not so very far, merely a thin screen of paper and wood between them. Flimsy enough to be easily broken. Wei Ying deserves privacy.

Yet Wei Ying’s anger builds something much stronger between them—the ironclad clarity that Wei Ying would leave, if he only could. 

Lan Wangji feels the curse creep up without warning and the next thing he knows he is wheezing and shaking, dropping down to his knees.

He should call out to Wei Ying, feels it bubbling in his chest, but he will not. He will master this.

He must be weak enough to let out a sound at some point or Wei Ying merely comes back to check on him, because after an unmeasurable amount of time, Wei Ying is back, touching him, kneeling by his side.

“Lan Zhan!” he snaps. “You need to tell me when this happens!”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, trying to master his breathing. The pain doesn’t seem to lessen. Why isn’t it lessening? “I will not…impose on you.”

“Lan Zhan,” he scolds, letting out a sound of annoyance. “You aren’t imposing on me, you big stupid dummy.”

Yet he clearly is. “You are angry. With me. You should not have to. Do this.”

Warmth envelops Lan Wangji as Wei Ying sits down beside him and wraps an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

“I’m not angry with you, okay? I’m just…angry. People fight sometimes. It happens.”

Doubtless that is true. With other people. “We fight often.”

Wei Ying sighs, his forehead coming down to rest on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “Maybe I just wish I could be better for you, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Wangji has spent so much time wanting exactly that, for Wei Ying to get better, to come to his senses, to pick up the righteous path again. To be healthy. To be well. But to hear Wei Ying say it like that, to see the results of it, it feels cruel.

“Wei Ying does not need to change,” he says. “Wei Ying is good.”

Maybe it’s Lan Wangji who needs to be better. Maybe it always has been.

Wei Ying laughs. “We both know that’s not true.”

Lan Wangji tries not to cling to Wei Ying, to not touch what is not being offered of free will. But, oh, how he wants. He feels the horrifying press of tears over how much he wants and as much as he wishes to believe that is the curse alone, he knows it is not.

Wei Ying sighs. “I wish you could trust me enough to know I won’t leave, Lan Zhan. That I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He would not. Because he is good. Selfless. Unlike Lan Wangji.

But without this curse, Wei Ying would leave. He would be gone in a moment. As would be his right to do. To be free.

Despite Wei Ying being pressed against him, Lan Wangji feels the curse mark give another painful twinge. He can’t quite hide his wince, Wei Ying noticing.

He makes a soft humming sound. “It’s getting worse,” he says, voice full of worry.

It is. Lan Wangji has to admit the truth of it. He doesn’t know why. It feels like trying to hold on to water. The harder he tries to hold, the faster it slips through his fingers. The worse it gets.

Requiring only greater and greater closeness and intimacy.

It is unacceptable.

“I know you hate this, but just let me…” Wei Ying shifts so he is behind Lan Wangji, his arms wrapping around him. Wei Ying’s chest is a radiant warmth against Lan Wangji’s back.

The shock of it, the heat and closeness, knocks the air from Lan Wangji’s lungs. He cannot stop himself from gripping at Wei Ying’s hands where they cross over his chest. He cannot help thinking of a kiss in an inn, a laughing voice, worth a try, Lan Zhan!

He will let himself have this. Just for a moment, right now. Just a moment to pretend this could ever be his. And then he will let go. He will let go and find a way to set Wei Ying free. No matter the cost.

Thus far, Lan Wangji has allowed Wei Ying to drive their inquiries, to find some solution. It is just another burden Lan Wangji has put on Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji is no inventor, and he has used his skills in note-taking and research as best he could for support. But he has also avoided speaking of the curse’s effect on him, too embarrassed perhaps, or simply selfish. The one time he was finally forced to speak of it, their fundamental assumptions were undermined.

It is far past time to be honest with himself.

Something has changed in these months he was away. These weeks with Wei Ying on the road and in Lotus Pier. He does not know what. Wei Ying feels closer than ever and yet somehow more slippery.

It’s getting worse, Wei Ying had observed. Lan Wangji cannot deny that it is true. He is not in any greater danger of death, but the symptoms of the curse arrive more readily, and leave slower. Enough to make him think the trigger is not quite what they have always assumed.

If it were merely proximity to Wei Ying, then how would it be getting worse?

It brings everything into question, all of their assumptions.

What really happened in that clearing the day he was cursed? They’ve always assumed this was about the ghost’s loneliness. And she was lonely.

There must be some reason it attached to Hanguang-Jun and not you.

That oblique yet pointed comment from Wen Qing many weeks before has stuck with him. He still does not know what it means, only that it must be important.

It feels like the crux of the thing. Lan Wangji and Wei Ying were both hit by the ghost, both attacked with resentment, but only in Lan Wangji did it take root. Only in Lan Wangji is it slowly getting worse and worse.

If he is honest as he thinks back on that day, he was distracted. Shamefully so. He had not kept his emotions as regulated as he should have, as is necessary as a base protection in night hunting. Emotion breeds distraction, lowered defenses. Emotions make one vulnerable to resentment. Resentment is born, after all, of clinging too tightly. Of holding onto grudges or pain or attachments too hard.

So what really happened, in that moment when he was distracted?

With these questions at the front of his mind, Lan Wangji slips into deep meditation. He remembers a conversation by a cliff. About the yin iron, about Wen Ruohan. Wei Ying stiff and distant. Then the yelling. The Wen prisoners falling to Jin arrows in their backs, the gold-clad disciples laughing.

His mind wanders to Wen Qionglin and the lure flags, the cruel laughter of the Jin once more as Wen prisoners, thin and worn and bruised, were used as bait to collect beasts for a meaningless social hunt.

Anger claws up at his throat and he breathes it away, bringing his mind gently back to that day in the sun, with bodies strewn about in the dirt, the strings of his qin under his fingers. Wei Ying’s dizi meeting and soaring entwined with his own music. One commanding, the other entreating. Asking to be let in.

How distant Wei Ying had felt in those days. How unreachable. Face covered in shadows, expecting the worst from Lan Wangji as he helped that Wen woman and her child escape. How wrong it had felt at the time, or perhaps how simple Lan Wangji’s understanding of the world had truly been. Wei Ying, that day, had not been wild or unregulated or treasonous. He had seen a wrong and been willing to do anything to see it undone.

Wei Ying has been trying to live righteously, just as much as Lan Wangji tries to. Only without three thousand rules to tell him how.

Lan Wangji is getting lost in his thoughts again and forces himself to refocus. To remember Wei Ying in the farm clearing. The dead crops crunching underfoot. The thick rise of resentment as the ghost rose in anger and sadness. The moment of calm when it seemed the ghost would pass peacefully, that it was reaching for liberation.

Lan Wangji had been shocked by Wei Ying’s methods. Suspicious. But most of all, afraid. A dark, long path through a dense forest seemed to stretch ahead of Wei Ying. A path Lan Wangji could never hope to follow. Wei Ying so unwilling to step back onto the path they could walk together.

Wei Ying, Wei Ying, his heart had cried. The fear of loss so strong, so foundational. Come back. Please, beloved, come back.

It was then that the ghost struck, as Lan Wangji’s thoughts led his fingers to stumble. It was still so weak of an attack. Something that should have been easily brushed aside. That instead took deep root.

There is a reason emotional regulation is central to cultivation. There is a reason Lan Wangji himself has always needed to be twice as good as anyone else. It is not ego. It is not for his clan to have something to feel proud of. It has always been to keep Lan Wangji safe from himself, to keep others safe from him. In that moment, more than any other, he failed. Even worse, he failed Wei Ying. Failed to keep him safe from Lan Wangji.

The ghost need not still be alive. The curse need not have some source of resentment keeping it attached. It gets all it needs from Lan Wangji himself.

How obvious it seems now, and how sharp and expected that Wei Ying’s supposed evil would be the obvious root, the place for scrutiny. How sure they all were that this was something the demonic cultivator had done to his hated rival. When that proved unfounded, both aspersions on Wei Ying’s motivations and his very character, it was the ghost they focused on. The curse. The anchor. The tether.

Never Lan Wangji himself. Never his failings.

He would laugh, he thinks, if he were any other person. Another flaw perhaps. Emotion only capable of erupting in violence, in the greatest harm to those he loves most.

The first step in correction is honest reflection.

The next day, Lan Wangji settles himself on his knees in the courtyard. Wei Ying watches from a distance but does not ask. Doesn’t try to pry into what Lan Wangji might be punishing himself for now, the debate hopelessly stalled out between them. Or perhaps simply capitulated on Lan Wangji’s side. He does not wish to fight. He is so tired of fighting.

As he kneels, he once more reflects on that day at the house. The ghost. What he’d felt. What he’d been thinking.

With his meditations, he begins to get closer to the truth of what he has done. What this curse really is. He has not been honest about what he had been thinking when they were subduing the ghost that day. Not even with himself. Because he wanted Wei Ying to be trapped here with him.

It is not proximity. It is fear. That constant, fretting sea of feeling he has spent his entire life mastering. Not allowing it to control him or his actions. To ascend above it as a form of attachment. But never eliminated. Never controlling or containing.

So much endless fear.

And yet that still does not feel quite complete, a layer of dishonesty obscuring it still.

What do you fear, Lan Wangji?

Being a burden.

Closer.

Asking for too much. Being too much. A door shutting. A door never opening again.

Why? What would happen if you were?

Losing Wei Ying.

Almost.

Loving Wei Ying.

And there, the startling, unforgivable truth.

He had thought in that moment he was attacked, in that moment of lowered defenses, of how he loved Wei Ying, and what it would be to live a life loving Wei Ying and yet never being near. Never being understood.

Never loved back.

Because love itself is the curse. Has been from the beginning.

He wanted Wei Ying trapped here because he loves him. Because he loves him, and he felt only farther and farther away. 

It is his love that traps Wei Ying here. And every day he grows more used to Wei Ying’s presence, the way Wei Ying invades his home and his life, bringing brightness and color into his staid, predictable existence, Lan Wangji only loves him more.

And the curse demands more.

The curse is not adapting or changing. It is Lan Wangji warping it endlessly, powering it with his own desires.

So simple, so clear that it seems blatantly obvious. 

In the afternoon, Lan Wangji asks Wei Ying to go to the library. Once Wei Ying is engrossed enough in something to pay Lan Wangji little mind, he returns to the texts on curses, picking up ones he ignored the first time. Or did not give serious consideration to. 

It’s not like it’s a love curse!

He remembers the play, its simple embarrassing premise. Love as a curse.

There are no true love curses. No spell to put one under thrall. No curse that requires physical intimacy as the conditional price, no matter what popular tales might try to paint.

And yet, there are ways love can become a curse. He has always known this. Better than most.

He goes through the texts, this time with a narrower focus. Love curses. Not cursed to love, but love becoming a curse. Undirected, abandoned, alone, unworthy. Festering into resentment.

It takes nearly two days, but he eventually finds it. A curse of love twisted through resentment into a physical, spiritual manifestation, rooted in the golden core, and fed by emotion. Shaped and maintained by the accursed themselves. Never exactly the same.

How humiliating. How unjust of him. How weak.

It is good that Wei Ying is not affected.

It is only Lan Wangji who feels like the other walking away is a small death.

The curse has no set impact, no set mark, both of those things set by the afflicted, by their own particular weaknesses. Having parsed his emotions and thoughts during the moment of being cursed, Lan Wangji now knows very clearly why it has manifested as it has. And why they have been unable to break it. His own ceaseless, depthless love, rooted in his very core. He has held it there against every counter measure.

And Wei Ying, hit also by the curse, and yet not affected at all. As he wouldn’t be, of course.

If Lan Wangji needed any more evidence of Wei Ying’s indifference towards him—how any moment of closeness these last months was either imagined or simply born of Wei Ying’s innate kindness, the way he would care for anyone in need—it is this.

You did this. You did this to him.

It is sickening, and yet in some ways no surprise at all. What is love if not something so tumultuous and destructive that it demands to be hidden away just to mitigate the shame of it?

It seems he is his father’s son after all.

No worse for the part of him, despite everything, that would do anything to keep Wei Ying. But what, instead, is Lan Wangji willing to do to set Wei Ying free?

There is, of course, no simple solution presented in the case study. It merely details the curse, one that led to the death of the cursed, as it had been his dead lover he had been tethered to. A spirit they were able to find and liberate, not realizing it would leave the other to die a slow, lonely death before they discovered the true nature of the curse.

Lan Wangji has been lucky, in that the object of his obsession still lives, allowing him a sliver of hope enough to keep it at bay. Gifting him enough time to realize the true nature of the issue. Perhaps time enough to resolve it.

He owes Wei Ying a great deal, not the least of which is Lan Wangji’s very life. This chance to do better. To be better.

He tries to think of solutions as Wei Ying might. Can he curse himself to forget Wei Ying? The very idea makes him feel nauseated. There was a time that might have been all he wanted, to once again be who he was before Wei Ying blew into his life like an endless storm. But he also can no longer believe he was better, before.

Perhaps, instead, there is a way to stop loving Wei Ying? Can an emotion be severed? Cut out like diseased flesh?

Both seem too easy. A shortcut to dealing with the true origins of his shortcomings. Knowing Wei Ying is not a curse. Loving Wei Ying is not a curse either. Wei Ying is worthy of love. Of being loved. Admired. Cared for.

It is merely Lan Wangji’s way of loving that is a curse. Has he not spent his entire life trying to prune emotion? Not to erase or deny. But to restrain and keep from causing harm.

He can do it again. He must.

He is the thing that needs correction.

Lan Wangji experiments with his hypothesis. Waiting until Wei Ying is suitably distracted in the Jingshi, he walks outside as if to breathe the air on the porch.

Somehow, it is different, leaving when he knows he can turn back and find Wei Ying any time he pleases. That this is his own choice, not something being taken from him.

He steps down off the porch and onto the path.

He makes it all the way out through the archway without even the slightest twinge, the furthest apart they have been since they discovered the focus of the curse. He steps to the side, just out of sight of the house and sits.

He counts out to one hundred and then stands.

He walks back before Wei Ying can notice.

It’s one-sided, Wei Ying had first observed. That is even more true than either of them had realized. And perhaps that, painfully, is the solution to the issue as well.

Later that afternoon, Lan Wangji sits very close to Wei Ying, ignoring the way Wei Ying doesn’t question it anymore, as if Lan Wangji has a right to his space, to this place close at his side. He lets their knees and shoulders touch, just the slightest sensation. Wei Ying reaches out and pats his knee, almost absently, his attention not taken from the papers in front of him.

With Wei Ying so close, touching in multiple places, Lan Wangji forces himself to think about it, the way he fears things being between them. The coldness of Wei Ying’s features. The snap of his voice. Lan Wangji.

How do others know my heart and why should it be their concern?

Who do you think you are?

Lan Wangji’s breathing has quickened, not yet enough for Wei Ying to notice.

It is so easy to imagine, to see in his mind’s eye: Wei Ying pushing to his feet, face twisted with the same anger and cold distance he wore throughout the war. Aimed all directly at Lan Wangji. Earned by him. Deserved.

Wei Ying turning and walking away. Down the path, through the gates, and disappearing forever.

Sharp pain rips through Lan Wangji’s chest, and he can’t stop curling into the table with a low gasp.

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying says, voice soft and caring—something like a wish or a dream, or the echo of a ghost from across a great divide. Somehow less real than the imagined Wei Ying in his thoughts.

Fuck off, Lan Wangji.

Fingers—warm, rough, and slender—wrap around his wrist, pressing firm against the throbbing curse mark.

“Hey, hey,” Wei Ying says, close enough for his breath to flutter against Lan Wangji’s cheek, and now it is hard to know what is the curse and what is his own painful, relentless wanting. He is drowning in all of the things he has worked so hard to subsume. To master.

Do not be a burden on others.

Do not be ruled by desire.

Everything inside him wants to turn towards Wei Ying, iron to a lodestone, a flower towards the sun, the sea towards the shore. To curl into him and never climb back out again.

He straightens his spine, forces a deep breath. “I am well.”

Wei Ying hums quietly under his breath. “Have I ignored you too much today, Hanguang-jun? Neglected you terribly?” His fingers playfully tug at Lan Wangji’s hair. “Left everything too quiet and organized?”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji manages to say, hating himself for the warmth that blossoms from the meaningless teasing. Wei Ying is amusing himself with the only option left to him. Lan Wangji’s boring, stuffy, unwanted company. This was never a choice.

I have trapped you, he thinks, looking at Wei Ying’s fingers curled around his wrist.

How can he ever be forgiven?

It takes two more days to get everything in order, to complete the research necessary to undertake the task. Lan Wangji spends the last morning in meditation, examining each step of his plan to ensure none are driven by emotion, but rather facts. Justice.

He has lunch with Xichen in the garden, Wei Ying lounging out of earshot on the porch. He listens to his brother speak, settles into the comfort of his companionship. It is not a farewell, Lan Wangji tells himself. Not a contingency. He isn’t sure if this is a lie. The edges here, like everything else these last months, feel unclear.

He sits with uncle in the afternoon, the door open behind him and Wei Ying a dark shadow against the paper. He studies his uncle’s sturdy hands and economical gestures and tries to find strength in them.

He eats dinner alone with Wei Ying, listening to his chatter, his beautiful mind spooling out elegant chaos.

I will miss this, he thinks, seeing this time as the gift it has been and hating himself for it. He has no right to take joy in a thing stolen, a violence enacted.

Dinner finished, he sets aside his chopsticks, but does not rise to clear the plates.

“I believe this to be my fault,” Lan Wangji finds the words to say. 

“What?” Wei Ying says, distracted by a thought, perhaps, his eyes staring off out the window. The last of the evening light falls across his face, softening the shadows and burning his eyes amber.

“The curse,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying turns to look at him, already shaking his head, a small smile on his lips. “Lan Zhan. You hardly asked to be cursed.”

Which is true, but only part of it. “I empathized with her.”

Wei Ying frowns.

“The ghost,” Lan Wangji clarifies.

Wei Ying tilts his head, the way he does when he’s curious, delighted in some new thing, and Lan Wangji’s chest aches . Wei Ying only sees a complicated puzzle he’s still hungry to unravel, unaware what it will reveal about Lan Wangji. How inevitably it will show just how deeply his faults run. How unworthy Lan Wangji is. “In what way?”

Lan Wangji considers his answer, the safe way to explain it, trying to find any words at all. He wants to be able to explain, to provide the apology that Wei Ying deserves. But all he can manage is, “I know what it is to be solitary.” By choice, he always tried to believe. But he is not someone people wish to know. He never has been. It is a neutral fact. Nothing to feel about one way or the other.

Not until Wei Ying.

One of the only people who has ever bothered to try to be close to him. Even if it felt as if it was only in jest. Even worse than being ignored. Being offered something he hadn’t known he wanted, but in a way that was surely meant to highlight all his deficiencies.

And yet, Wei Ying has always seen him in a way no other ever has. In a way he would never wish another to.

That is no reason to hold him where he does not wish to be held. And it has been a long time since Wei Ying sought him out as he had before the war. An opportunity not properly cherished.

“I am sorry,” Lan Wangji says, the words not able to encompass the deep well of grief excavated in his chest. As always, it is not enough. Not the explanation it should be, the one Wei Ying deserves. His words are as weak and paltry as the rest of him.

Wei Ying smiles at him, kind and giving as always. Deeply generous to everyone around him. “Hey, I think you and I are pretty far past the need for ‘I’m sorry’. Besides, I’m happy to keep you company.”

If only that were true.

Wei Ying reaches out, touching Lan Zhan’s hand in what is likely meant to be comfort. “We will figure it out,” he says, smile kind and warm and all the worse for it.

The curse threatens to throb in protest, threatening to take his breath at the thought of this tether being severed.

No, Lan Wangji thinks. No longer. You have no right to it. To any of this.

In a last moment of weakness, he covers Wei Ying’s hand with his own, relishing the warmth, the closeness, the deep pleasure to be found in such casual touch. The tantalizing desire for more. He lets his thumb trail once up over the delicate bone of Wei Ying’s wrist, press into the flutter of his pulse. Wants to put his mouth there instead.

He feels Wei Ying tense under the touch, pull back slightly, and that is just one more answer Lan Wangji cannot ignore.

“Thank you, Wei Ying,” he says. For everything.

Wei Ying brushes him off with a sound of protest. “None of that.” He gives an exaggerated shudder. “You know how I feel about your thanks.”

Lan Wangji lets his hand linger a moment longer, memorizes it, and then finally pulls away.

The Cloud Recesses has fallen quiet, the darkness outside complete at this late hour. Exhaustion tugs at Lan Wangji, but he ignores it. When there has been no sound from Wei Ying’s room for nearly an hour, he rises from his bed.

It is time.

Lan Wangji picks up Bichen, his other belongings already packed away in his sleeve. He walks across the quiet room, eyes lingering briefly on the mess of papers strewn about the table. The second pair of shoes by the door. The two cups on the shelf waiting to be used.

Lan Wangji pulls a letter from his sleeve, placing it on top of a report detailing his reasoning to be found in the morning. His full confession of his shortcomings. His crime.

And then he takes one step out the door and then another.

It doesn’t hurt, not the way it does to see Wei Ying walk away. Not that it would matter if it did. He will do this regardless. He only needs to get far enough away before he can falter. Far enough not to be followed or brought back. To make sure this works.

No matter what the curse does to him, Wei Ying must be free.

Fortunately, there is no pain, no bodily weakness. Just a sort of hollowed out emptiness that he suspects will be his new companion in this life, if he is lucky. He will just need to grow accustomed to it.

Not stopping, he lets his steps take him down the path and out through the gate.

He starts down the mountain.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian rolls over with a groan. It feels like he’s slept overly long, body stiff from being in one position for too long. It’s a novel feeling these days to be sure. Peering up at the window, he notices how bright it is. Has Lan Zhan actually let him sleep in as long as he likes for once?

He holds back a huff of amusement. Maybe Lan Zhan did it just so he could give Wei Wuxian a deeply unimpressed look in return.

The Jingshi really is very quiet. Like, unusually quiet. Lan Zhan is a quiet guy, sure, but despite that, he also has a way of filling up a space, of feeling very present. Right now though, there’s really a lack of any noise at all. No clinking of porcelain or the soft flow of a brush, papers shuffling. No knock on the screen to tell Wei Wuxian he has important places to be.

With a frown, Wei Wuxian drags himself out of bed and into his clothes.

“Lan Zhan,” he whines as he wraps his belt in place. “How are you so quiet? Have you glared so hard at paper that it no longer dares to even rustle?”

He steps out around the privacy screen. The main table is empty of Lan Zhan, not set with breakfast, but rather still strewn with Wei Wuxian’s mess from the night before. Wei Wuxian glances out at the sky again to judge the height of the sun. There is no way Lan Zhan is still asleep.

Rubbing his eyes, Wei Wuxian steps over to look behind Lan Zhan’s privacy screen, only now noticing the unusualness of it being in place. “I’m coming around, Lan Zhan, so if you’re changing, you’d better say something now!”

He steps behind the screen.

Nothing.

Lan Zhan’s bed is neatly made.

The tub is similarly empty. As is the area around the small hearth.

Lan Zhan isn’t here.

Wei Wuxian stands dumbfounded for a moment at the strangeness of it, the way the silence presses against his ears like a solid thing, the emptiness of the space like an absence of air. The weirdness of being alone after so many months of constant companionship.

Then he remembers. Remembers why this can’t be.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps.

He circles the entire space again, this time at nearly a run, even checking his own alcove as if they could have somehow passed each other without noticing.

He slides open the front doors with shaking hands, footsteps loud on the planks of the porch as he stumbles out, nearly stepping in the breakfast trays.

“Lan Zhan!” he calls.

The covered pavilion is empty. The pond, empty. The garden, empty.

This isn’t right. It can’t be…

He circles the entire building.

Nothing.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, staring down at the untouched breakfast, hours old at this point.  

Wei Wuxian sets off at a dead run towards the Hanshi, eyes dragging down every path he crosses, heart stopping at the sight of every white robe that is not Lan Zhan.

“Zewu-Jun!” he starts shouting before he even gets to the door. He shoves it open without waiting for an invitation. “Zewu-Jun!”

Lan Xichen sits across from Lan Qiren, the two of them clearly in the middle of some sort of important sect discussion.

“Wei Wuxian, control yourself!” Lan Qiren scolds.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t even spare him a thought, looking instead at Lan Xichen, breath still heaving in his chest.

Lan Xichen automatically looks past Wei Wuxian, expression calm as he waits for his brother to appear, to explain Wei Wuxian’s excited interruption. Lan Xichen’s expression slowly morphs into something else as Lan Zhan arrival doesn’t come.

His eyes dart back to Wei Wuxian. “Wangji?”

“He’s gone!” Wei Wuxian nearly shouts, too much pressure in his chest and nowhere else for it to escape.  

“Gone?” Lan Xichen echoes, as if the concept is incomprehensible.

The two Lans are still just sitting there, staring at him. Like Lan Zhan isn’t gone. Like he isn’t under a curse that tries to kill him when Wei Wuxian isn’t in his direct line of sight, if it’s been more than a few hours since Wei Wuxian last crawled all over him.

Something inside him snaps. “We have to find him! Could someone have taken him? I mean, he can’t have just left, right? He has to know what would happen if he did!”  

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren finally get to their feet.

“What happened?” Lan Xichen says, coming to Wei Wuxian’s side as Lan Qiren brushes past, speaking to someone outside.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “I don’t know! Nothing! Everything seemed fine last night when we went to sleep. When I woke up, he was just gone.”

Except not. Lan Zhan had been a little weird at dinner. But he’s always a bit weird. That’s just Lan Zhan.

I believe this to be my fault.

What the fuck had that been about? He couldn’t possibly…

He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just leave . No matter how guilty he was feeling. That’s just stupid!

Lan Qiren returns. “I sent disciples to search the grounds.”

“I will check the Cold Pond,” Lan Xichen says. “It’s possible he just needed a little time to himself.”

They all try to ignore the ridiculousness of that.

“I’ll go to the library,” Wei Wuxian says instead, running back out the door, ignoring the scandalized looks of every disciple he pushes past. He even breaks into the Forbidden Chamber that he’s definitely not supposed to know about just in case Lan Zhan went to look for something and passed out, but there is no sign of him.

Nothing at all.

He runs back to the Hanshi, hoping the others have had better luck.

Lan Xichen looks up from where he is in deep discussion with Lan Qiren, shaking his head in answer.

Where the fuck is Lan Zhan?

He’s too logical and rule-bound to do something as stupid as leave on his own. And if he didn’t leave on his own did that mean—

Did someone? Would someone dare —

“If someone took him, I swear to the heavens I will…” Wei Wuxian can’t even finish. Can’t breathe, can’t see.

Rip. Tear. Destroy.

If someone brought harm to Lan Zhan—

“Wei Wuxian!” Lan Qiren barks. “Control yourself!”

He looks down and sees black smoke curling possessively around his arms, prodding him to action. He closes his eyes, dragging it back inside him, the sharp pain of it welcome. Grounding.

“Did it look like someone had taken him by force?” Lan Xichen asks, eyes wide with worry—but whether for Lan Zhan or because of Wei Wuxian is unclear.

Wei Wuxian thinks hard about it. He would have heard that, surely. He isn’t that deep of a sleeper, especially now. And Lan Zhan is just across the room. He’s even taken to leaving the door to his alcove open, wanting Lan Zhan to be able to easily see him if he needs to.

Wei Wuxian sucks in a breath, closing his eyes and picturing the Jingshi as he left it this morning. “No,” he says, thinking back. “Bichen wasn’t there. Or his guqin.”

If anything it looks like he left on his own.

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren share a look that seems to communicate something only understood by Lan.

“Could he have broken the curse?” Lan Xichen hazards.

Lan Qiren shakes his head. “He would inform us if he had.”

Wei Wuxian bounces on the balls of his feet. “Where should we check next? Should I go down to Caiyi?” It would take forever. He doesn’t have a sword. He doesn’t have a fucking sword. Why is he so fucking useless? He drags a hand up into his hair, tugging at it.

Lan Xichen is pale as he shakes his head. “You must stay here. Wherever Wangji is, it will save time to bring him directly to you.”

Because he will be sick. If not worse.  

It’s been too long. Far too long. If he’d left right after Wei Wuxian fell asleep, he could have been gone for over half a day at this point. They’ve been apart that long before, back at the very beginning, but not without putting Lan Zhan completely out of commission. And it’s been worse, lately, Lan Zhan seeming to have flares for no reason at all, even with Wei Wuxian pressed up all in his space.

“Okay, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, knowing that makes sense and still hating it with every fiber of his being. “Maybe I can…make a talisman. Something to take me directly to him. Wherever he is. Or track him. Fuck. I have no idea how to do that, but maybe…”

The Jin butterfly is able to find people. How does it work? Could he modify it in some way? He drops down at the desk, rifling through the objects there until he has the supplies he needs, ignoring everyone else around him.

No one tries to talk to him. There is food, at some point. He ignores it.

Eventually, he runs out of supplies and wants to refer to something from his notes, so he gets up and returns to the Jingshi.

Part of him is still stupid enough to hope to find Lan Zhan there, hair down at the end of the long day, food and chili sauce waiting for him.

The house is silent and empty, living up to its name.

Wei Wuxian blows out a breath and berates himself for being an idiot. Okay. He can figure this out. He can find a solution.

He’s leaning over the desk, grabbing the things he’ll need, when he notices the neatly folded piece of paper sitting in his usual spot.

Lan Zhan left a note.

He left a fucking note.

With shaking fingers, Wei Wuxian picks it up and opens it, blinking rapidly for a moment to bring the words into focus. It’s long. It’s really freaking long. Could Lan Zhan really have written this? He’d doubt it, except he knows that writing. Nearly as well as his own.

He takes a deep breath and starts to read.

Wei Ying-

With much thought and research, it is clear to me that I am correct in my hypothesis. I am responsible for what has happened. This curse is of my own making, therefore it must be broken by me as well. Yet I find I cannot go without attempting to explain myself to you as I have been unable to. I do not know if I shall see you again, but for all the time I have stolen from you, the indignities you have suffered on my behalf, you are owed this at least. I would have there be no misunderstandings between us, on this account at least. Or perhaps I am being selfish one last time.

I told you I am accustomed to solitude. What is harder to explain is how I never felt alone nor believed myself to be lonely. Until I met you, Wei Ying. It is fanciful and foolish to even think, let alone commit to ink, and yet I still feel like I was only half alive before we met. You tormented me relentlessly with your laughter and smiles, your nonsense and brilliance. You showed me a world I had not suspected existed. One that simultaneously terrified and entranced me. I was frozen by it, angered and unclear as to why I would allow myself to need so suddenly, so recklessly. I tried hard to cling to the hope that with your departure from the lectures, I might return once more to my ordered life. My regulated self. A childish notion that proved to be untrue. I was never again to be as I was, and I was only better for it, for all I could not see it at the time.

Those three months you were missing felt once more like a half-life, with nothing in me but the drive to find you, to make those responsible pay for what they had done to you. To protect you, the way I had already failed to. Finding you again, having you back at last, should have been a joy. Just to be near you and know you lived. Yet with each moment, each faulty, clumsy word I spoke, you only felt farther and farther away. I found I could not give you distance, no matter how much you clearly did not want me near. No matter how much you reviled me. I was like a mindless moth entranced by the burn of a dancing flame. The harder and more desperately I grasped, the more I lost you. Or perhaps lost the illusion that I had ever had any sort of claim on you at all. That you could ever see me as your zhiji as I have always seen you as mine.

I told you I empathized with the ghost, that day in Qishan. I felt her loneliness and despair at losing not just her life, but all those she loved and held dear. Her rage and resentment seemed to echo in my bones. Even with you by my side—still distant and cold, still angered by my very presence and every word, still changed and at risk to a path I do not understand—I felt in that moment the loneliness that would be mine evermore. Knowing that you would very soon return to your home and I would perhaps never see you again. Perhaps never have you in my life in any meaningful way, whether lost to your path or merely your own indifference towards me. Either way, it felt like a string slipping free from my grasp. I believe I thought, in that moment of despair as the ghost attacked us, as resentment flooded my core, of the brilliant binding spell you had created and used against me as we set out to search for the Yin Iron. The way you kept yourself tethered to me, wrist to wrist. How horrifying it had felt at the time, my fear of what you might see in me, that I wanted you that close. Closer even. That you would see how deeply I felt and laugh at me. Pull away and be forever out of reach, leaving me as nothing more than something to be mocked and pitied. Alone again and this time aware of it. Deserving of it. And yet that day in Qishan, I thought in that moment that if you were to cast it on me again, bind yourself to me, I would wish for it to never be lifted. That maybe as I could not run away from you then, you would not be able to run away from me now.

Wei Ying. I have wronged you in so many ways with my weaknesses and desires and stumbling words. I tried to keep what was never offered, and in the most appalling and underhanded way. I have allowed my hopes to become a trap. I do not think this is something for which I will ever be able to forgive myself and so have no expectations of forgiveness from you. I only wish for you to be free of all of this. Free of me. For you to go where you wish, and be as you are, as only Wei Ying could ever be. To me, that is more important than any discomfort I may face. Any risk. Any loneliness. I should have understood that from the beginning.

But, Wei Ying. My zhiji. My light. I understand now. Where I have gone wrong. Who I wish to be. You have always helped me to see that more clearly. See the ways I have let fear overcome me time and again. Fear of being wrong that leads me to do wrong. Fear of being too much that leads me to be not enough. And perhaps it is only in the certainty that I have already lost what I was foolish enough to try to retain that I can write these words to you. I cannot, after all, lose what I never had.

Wei Ying. I am no longer afraid.

So I will go. There is no need to try to find me or to wait for my return. Go back to your life. Live it well. Let me for once make the right choice for the right reasons, no matter the consequences. Let me for once take the correct action rather than stand quietly by.

Thank you for all you have done for me, and all you have shown me. I wish for nothing more in this life than your happiness.

-Lan Zhan

Wei Wuxian has no memory of sitting, of falling as his legs failed him. He just comes back to awareness sitting in the middle of the floor, and yet nothing feels real. Not the wood under his hip, not the air in his lungs.

The sense of surreality is not helped by the tactile reality of the paper in his hands. It is hardly plausible that such a devastating waterfall of words could ever come from the taciturn, terse Lan Wangji. That he could ever feel so deeply. That he could ever hide so much. And yet each word is so clearly Lan Zhan, rings so deeply of authenticity and sincerity.

Lan Zhan, oh, Lan Zhan.

When Wei Wuxian is able to get up, he walks back to the Hanshi, hardly aware of his feet moving, everything slow and buzzing and floating.

“Wei Wuxian?” Lan Xichen asks as he enters, Lan Qiren standing at his side.

Wordlessly, Wei Wuxian hands the letter to Lan Xichen.  

He can’t bring himself to watch as Lan Xichen reads his brother’s words, instead staring vaguely out the window. It’s so quiet here, disciples bare shadows against the paper screens as they pass, the sounds of birds and chimes distant and muted.

Once finished, Lan Xichen hands it to his uncle before standing for a long moment with his eyes closed. Wei Wuxian can only imagine the turmoil of feelings inside him. How he must loathe Wei Wuxian even more than he had already, with good reason.

Lan Zhan has very likely walked into death of his own free will in order to set Wei Wuxian free from some imagined prison. Did Lan Zhan really think…did Lan Zhan not see ? All this to save Wei Wuxian, who is very likely the demon everyone fears him being? How could Wei Wuxian ever be worth Lan Zhan’s life? How could anyone?

“I would have stayed,” Wei Wuxian says, voice barely a whisper, body still numb, detached. None of it making any sense. “I would have stayed forever.”

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “He would not have you this way.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a rough breath, pressure building behind his eyes. Lost to a path I do not understand. His hand moves to his flute, gripping tight. “Right. Of course not.”

The Wei Wuxian Lan Zhan might have once wanted—could that be true? Is that real ?—is long since dead. The moment his body fell into the Burial Mounds. Or maybe the moment Wen Qing’s knife made the first cut.

Maybe when Lotus Pier fell.

When exactly doesn’t matter so much. He’s already dead. It just hasn’t stuck yet.

He laughs, the sound bubbling up in his chest, uncaring of the astonished looks sent his way by the grieving family of his zhiji. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan.  

“It’s the funniest part of all of this,” Wei Wuxian finally manages to say, not looking at Lan Xichen, feeling unmoored, disconnected and floating wildly free. “I was never meant to survive the war. I never thought a moment past doing my part to end it. I knew I’d gone somewhere there was no coming back from. I’ve always known. And now I can only think how much better off everyone would have been if I’d just died when I was meant to.”

He gives Lan Xichen an empty, cracked smile and then turns to walk out the door. He moves across the Cloud Recesses, none of it feeling real, white figures stepping out of his way like insubstantial ghosts. Unimportant, because none of them are Lan Zhan.

Back in the Jingshi, he strips out of his layers and climbs into Lan Zhan’s bed, letting the hours stretch and pass between them like a tether refusing to break.

At first light, Lan Xichen rises and goes to Wangji’s home. He has not slept but managed to meditate for a few hours in the time before dawn. He found it difficult to turn his brain away from images of Wangji somewhere in pain, insensible and alone like he had been that first afternoon when they discovered the curse.

Such worrying does nothing to help the situation. But the idea of his baby brother facing this alone, feeling he has to face it alone, is as painful as it is unsurprising. When has Wangji ever allowed himself to need anything from anyone? He has always kept his thoughts and feelings close, hidden carefully under his surface, but Lan Xichen had at least found comfort in knowing his brother as few others do. But even this, Wangji had felt the need to keep from him.

The letter Wangji left for Wei Wuxian is tucked into his sleeve. Lan Xichen is here both to return it and to check on Wei Wuxian. To see Wei Wuxian so unsettled the night before, his voice raw and devastated, had barely made an impression at the time, Lan Xichen’s worry for Wangji’s disappearance far more pressing.

But he remembers the words all the same.

How much better off everyone would have been if I’d just died when I was meant to.

The words bring a chill to his skin, and not just because his brother’s life is still tied to Wei Wuxian’s.

When Lan Xichen arrives at the Jingshi, there is an untouched tray on the porch, sitting there with no Wangji to retrieve it. Lan Xichen looks down at it, feeling his chest clench with worry and sadness.

The door is slightly ajar. Lan Xichen isn’t sure what he’ll find when he goes inside. That Wei Wuxian has fled in the night, finally free of the Cloud Recesses at long last? Or that he will still be abed? He has certainly never made his dislike of early mornings secret.

Pushing open the door, Lan Xichen steps inside. He looks first to the extra bed they moved into the Jingshi for Wei Wuxian. It is empty.

“Wei-gongzi?”

“Here,” comes a groggy voice from the other side of the house.

Wei Wuxian sits at Wangji’s desk, a mess of crumpled papers and half-dried ink spread around him. Texts open to various pages sit in piles and tumble onto the floor. Wei Wuxian appears to have not changed since the day before, his robes pulled up and wrinkled across his knees as he slouches over the surface of the table, his hair half-falling out of its ribbon. 

“What are you doing?” Lan Xichen asks, curious. Wangji, he knows, will not be found unless he wishes to be found, and so this curse must be resolved by Wangji, as painful as the idea is.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t even look up from the talisman paper he’s frowning down at. “Teleportation talismans would be the obvious solution, but also…you know the Jin messenger butterfly? I wish I knew how those work. Just think how much easier things could be if we didn’t spend so much time hoarding techniques, it’s so stupid. But anyway, teleportation. So energy-costly. Hard to do. But if you could somehow know where to go. How to know where to go? How do the butterflies find their recipient? Why the fuck make them so obvious and sparkly? Anyway. Not important. But maybe the curse instead. Tracing the origins is thought to be impossible, and would just lead where anyway? Back to the farm? The grave? We know she was put to rest. It’s not tied to her. But Lan Zhan said he was thinking of binding, and it’s on his wrist and what if there is actually a tether? Something that can be traced?” He looks down at his own bare wrist, rubbing at it. “Wouldn’t it…I mean, maybe. But not if…”

Wei Wuxian finally seems to run out of steam then, grabbing another book up off the ground.

Lan Xichen blinks, not certain he followed even a fraction of what just poured out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. They have not even properly greeted one another. But perhaps that can be put aside. “Are you trying to find a way to locate Wangji?”

Wei Wuxian frowns up at him. “Of course. Didn’t I say? I know he won’t want to see me. I mean, that’s fine. I get it. But you could at least go check on him. Make sure he’s okay. Even if he’s right, and this curse isn’t about physical distance, but emotion, that doesn’t mean he’ll be able to control it. It isn’t safe .”

Lan Xichen takes another step, carefully avoiding a stack of texts and a pile of crumpled papers. Did these come from the library? It’s only been twelve hours since Wei Wuxian left the Hanshi. How could he have gotten them? “Not about physical distance?” he asks, trying to make sense of whatever is happening.

Wei Wuxian waves a distracted hand towards the table. “Oh, right. I found it last night. He left a fucking research report on his reasoning.” He shakes his head, staring off into the distance. “I swear, the next time I see him—” he breaks off. “Right. Anyway.”

Lan Xichen follows the gesture, finding a report in his brother’s precise calligraphy. He picks it up and reads it. Sure enough, it seems to be a report in the style that they often wrote for Uncle and their teachers as juniors. A summary of research, reasoning.

It should be comforting, to see how well-thought out Wangji’s departure was, but it just cuts deeper, Wangji doing this without telling anyone. How deep his shame seems to have run.

Lan Xichen wants to reach out and shake his brother, tell him that loving is not a curse. To not take so much on himself. Looking back, it is hard for him to know just when Wangji closed himself off so thoroughly. He has always been self-sufficient, but there was a time he allowed his hand to be held as he walked over uneven ground. A time he would climb into Xichen’s bed at night.

When had it changed?

Possibly when their mother died. Or maybe when Xichen grew old enough to stay with the other disciples and felt himself impatient with being his little brother’s entire world. Was it his fault?

By the time Lan Xichen knew to miss it, he was no longer certain how to reach out to Wangji in a way that did not seem to harm his pride, invalidate his self-sufficiency that he built all his foundations on.

Will he ever get the chance to find a way to fix that?

Lan Xichen pulls Wangji’s letter from his sleeve, holding it out to Wei Wuxian. “You left this behind.”  

Wei Wuxian’s expression does something complicated as he looks at the letter. For a moment, it seems he won’t take it, but eventually he reaches for it with both hands like it is a precious relic. His hands aren’t entirely steady.

“Have you slept?” Lan Xichen asks.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t answer, just putting the letter down perfectly parallel to the desk, with far more care than any of the priceless research texts piled haphazardly around him.

“He would not wish you to exhaust yourself,” Lan Xichen says.

Wei Wuxian’s expression hardens, his jaw tensing. “No offense, but if Lan Zhan wants to micromanage me, he can come back and do it in person. If you don’t have anything else, I really need to get back to this.”

Lan Xichen is rarely dismissed in such a fashion.

“He is not reckless,” Lan Xichen says, not certain which one of them he is trying to reassure.

Wei Wuxian lets out a huff. “Isn’t he though?”

Lan Xichen wants to say that Wangji would never risk his life. But Wangji would. He would. If he thought the cause just. Has he not already shown over and over again to what lengths he would go to for this man?

Lan Xichen can see that Wei Wuxian knows this as well. “I will leave you to it. Please let me know if you require additional resources.”

“Do you have any of Lan Zhan’s blood? That might…” He shakes his head. “Yeah, no. You probably don’t have that kind of thing just lying around. But if you have an unused Jin messenger talisman, I’d take that.”

Lan Xichen nods, knowing he has a few remaining from A-Yao. “I will have one delivered to you.” He does not say that the Jin sect would not take kindly to Wei Wuxian attempting to reverse engineer their proprietary magic. Lan Xichen is not certain he cares if it means getting to his brother sooner. “Let me know if you make any progress.”

Wen Wuxian nods, clearly no longer paying attention to Lan Xichen. Or anything else.

He makes a mental note to have another meal sent as well.

Lan Xichen turns for the door, only to be stopped by Wei Wuxian’s quiet words.

“I like it here.”

Lan Xichen turns back to find Wei Wuxian staring out the window behind the bed, one hand resting on Wangji’s letter.

“Don’t get me wrong. There are too many rules. Your food is awful. But it’s not like it was torture, being here with Lan Zhan. It was…nice.”

Shaking his head, Wei Wuxian goes back to his jumble of notes.

Lan Xichen stares a moment longer at the man that is his brother’s beloved and lets himself out.

Lan Qiren lifts a cup of tea to his face, breathing deeply of the fragrant steam. It does little to dispel the pain throbbing behind his eyes. He would likely be best served by a visit to the Cold Springs or prolonged meditation.

He has time for neither.

His worry for Wangji threatens his equilibrium and he cannot allow his thinking to be clouded. Wangji’s disappearance, as upsetting as it is, is not the only matter of importance. The stack of reports and correspondence on his desk are evidence enough of that.

Lan Qiren blames the pain in his head for the weakness of longing he feels for a moment, his gaze catching on the stack of research texts he has not found the time to indulge himself in. Has not properly had time to engage in such for decades now.

It is far too easy to allow oneself to build resentment over the things outside of their control. Resentment of a path derailed, an aspiration unfulfilled, an affection unreturned. Lan Qiren has seen it destroy people before. People he cared deeply for. He has made it the work of his life not to let it warp him nor to mar the lives of his nephews.

It is a blow, perhaps, to see it reborn, both in himself and in Wangji.

Foolish, foolish child.

There is a knock at the door. Lan Qiren sets his tea down. “Enter.”

Xichen walks in, greeting him. “Uncle.” He holds up a report. “Wangji left this behind as well.”

Lan Qiren accepts the report, feeling both relief and consternation at this sign that Wangji at least held to his training this far, even as he made this reckless, foolish decision. “Did you see Wei Wuxian?”

Xichen nods. “Yes, Uncle. He is working on a way to track Wangji.”

Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow. “Not packing to enjoy his new found freedom?”

“No. He seems…distressed. And determined.”

“Hmph,” Lan Qiren says, setting aside thoughts of Wei Wuxian to read Wangji’s report. It adheres perfectly to their protocols, showing careful reasoning and thorough research.  

Wangji points to a clear conclusion all without committing to the actual words. A curse not of proximity, as they had believed, but rather one fed by emotional attachment, by fear of loss. It is no doubt why Wangji felt the need to explain himself so intimately to Wei Wuxian. There is no hiding from this.

“A love curse,” Lan Qiren says, closing the report.  

Xichen lets out a careful breath. “Yes.”

The implications of the curse are undeniable. Irrefutable. It is no wonder Wangji chose to flee in the face of it.

“Wangji’s own core fought the dispelling of the curse, because part of him did not want the curse broken,” Lan Qiren says. 

“Yes.”

Lan Qiren sets the report down, rubbing at his temple and the tension throbbing there. “He will not be turned from this course.”

They both know he does not only mean Wangji’s chosen way of attempting to break the curse.

“No, Uncle,” Xichen says. “I do not believe he will.”

Wangji has chosen, and nothing will take him from this path, no matter how objectionable the person, how impossible the task. Just like his father before him. Except Wangji has chosen the most difficult path in the face of an injustice, and yet may just as surely be lost.

No. Lan Qiren will not lose his nephew to this. Nor will he be able to turn him from it. It is an untenable position, yet not one that can be ignored or avoided. Lan Qiren simply cannot wrap his mind around it, what makes Wangji so sure of this man. So attached.

“Wei Wuxian is not similarly affected,” Lan Qiren states.

“He is not.” Xichen pauses then, clearly deciding whether or not to say something. The nature of the curse allows none of them the courtesy of avoiding the topic, no matter how unseemly. “Wangji must have believed this as evidence of Wei Wuxian’s own lack of emotional attachment. Precipitating his departure.”

“Likely,” Lan Qiren agrees. He would not want to become their father. To trap with his love someone who could never love him back.

“I am not certain I agree with his conclusion,” Xichen says.

Lan Qiren hums in acknowledgement. There is doubtless other evidence, which if Wangji had come to them instead of acting so impulsively, they may have been able to discuss. For now, he is curious to hear what has stood out to Xichen. “Elaborate.”

“From what we have seen, Wei Wuxian does demonstrate an emotional attachment to Wangji in some form. I would say perhaps even a deep affection.”

Lan Qiren is mildly surprised by Xichen’s certainty of Wei Wuxian’s affections. The boy, for all his flaws, has been solicitous of Wangji’s health, willing to remain nearby, even to give up his spiritual tool, no matter how unwillingly. Whether that has bloomed into something like affection, or love, remains to be seen.

“Could that mean this is not the curse? That Wangji was incorrect in his identification?” Xichen asks, clearly confident enough in Wei Wuxian’s affection to be concerned.

That had not been one of Lan Qiren’s initial considerations, but Xichen’s claim opens up different avenues. “If your supposition of Wei Wuxian’s affections is true, it would leave us with three possibilities. One, that Wei Wuxian simply had better emotional control in the moment, and thus the curse could not take hold.”

They look at each other, and it is clear that neither of them hold much faith in Wei Wuxian’s emotional control. He has proven time and again to have a very weak grasp over his temper at any given time, and barely any at all when it comes to Wangji’s safety. More evidence, perhaps, that Wangji’s conclusion is erroneous.

Lan Qiren continues with the possibilities. “Two, that this is not the correct curse.”

It is a horrible possibility because of what it could mean for Wangji. Perhaps already dead somewhere. Alone. Afraid.

Xichen looks equally pained. “And the third?”

“That this is the curse, but that while Wei Wuxian does have an emotional attachment to Wangji, the curse did not take root in him for another, unknown reason. Perhaps in a way significant to our ultimate understanding of the curse’s behavior.”

“Could his cultivation have countered it? Eroded his temperament such that no emotional attachment is possible?”

Lan Qiren is aware that he is not the most objective when it comes to Wei Wuxian or demonic cultivation. “You have seen more of him than I, Xichen. What do you say of his temperament?”

Xichen considers the question. “He has changed. Even Wangji saw that.” He pauses. “Though perhaps no more than any of us have, having lived through a war.”

Lan Qiren turns to look out the window, struggling to settle his visceral reaction to Wei Wuxian and his cultivation. It is still something he cannot comprehend, choosing such a thing, purposely inviting in such corrosive destruction and immorality and for no more reason than a lark, than for greater power.

He lets out a careful breath, mastering the anger plucking at his equilibrium. Perhaps then this is the place to begin. “Let us set aside Wangji and the curse for a moment and turn our minds to a different question.”

Xichen nods in agreement, no doubt eager to focus on anything other than the various ways his brother’s life could even now be in danger.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren grits out. “I do not understand.” Neither Wangji’s affection for him, nor the man himself. And he needs to, if this is the person Wangji has tied himself to, if Wei Wuxian is to be the keeper of Wangji’s riotous, reckless heart.

Xichen looks at him in question.

“He is still here.”

“Yes,” Xichen confirms.

“Why has he not fled immediately upon being released?” It is what Wangji wanted, and what Lan Qiren expected.

“He fears for Wangji,” Xichen says. “That much is very clear.”  

Another point towards his supposed affections.

“I remember the day we discovered Wangji’s curse,” Xichen says. “We believed at the time Wei Wuxian might have been behind it because his name is all Wangji would say. When I went to retrieve Wei Wuxian, Jiang-zongzhu was not very receptive. Wei Wuxian seemed distant. But once I mentioned Wangji was in danger, he immediately stepped forward and offered to help, would not let Jiang-zongzhu say otherwise.”

Lan Qiren tugs gently on his beard, the sensation centering him as he organizes his thoughts into the key points. Wei Wuxian is an unknown entity that must be understood. While not completely unobjectionable, it is his cultivation that makes him most unacceptable. Lan Qiren feels he has little hope of parsing the emotions of such a man, but perhaps this he can at least try to fathom.

“What makes a young man of great pride and no small amount of skill set aside his sword? Take up a new and untested path he knew would condemn him?”

It had been startling, to hear Wei Wuxian admit so clearly that he understood the doomed nature of his path. That he is not pushing blindly forward in ignorance.

Xichen pauses, considering. “Arrogance? Thirst for power?”

“As I originally assumed. And yet I see little interest on his part in power.” Lan Qiren did not witness the events himself, but from what he has heard of both Wei Wuxian and his cursed tool, there is little stopping him from becoming the next Wen Ruohan, in having a much greater amount of influence in the cultivation world. He has instead spent the last few months helping Wangji and causing fairly minor mischief in the Cloud Recesses.

“Wei-gongzi has never seemed inclined towards…ambition,” Xichen says delicately.

Lan Qiren huffs. No. It is not that Wei Wuxian is without talent, nor a thirst for being the best. He would have needed to work hard for the skills he possesses. Yet he has little to no care for social advancement, nor political acumen. People’s opinions of him or his reputation seem to matter naught at all. Instead his actions seem more aligned towards curiosity and stubbornness. Frivolity. Being as reckless and provoking as possible. Running willfully through life. Though he is certainly no longer the cheerful, heedless youth he once was. And there is brilliance, it pains Lan Qiren to admit. A dazzling mind under his appalling behavior.

Perhaps that, more than anything, has brought out Lan Qiren’s ire. Brilliance, seemingly wasted.

And yet, who is he now? 

I can only think how much better off everyone would have been if I’d just died when I was meant to.

Those words have not sat well with Lan Qiren ever since he heard them spoken. If Wei Wuxian knew it was such a ruinous path, why did he insist on taking it? Why resign himself to it so fully? When he has so many other worthy talents?

Lan Qiren understands he is missing something and does not enjoy the sensation at all. Almost as if Wei Wuxian were once again a student under his care attempting to get away with some piece of misbehavior, some bending of the rules. Lan Qiren is inclined to dig it out and expose it to the light.

“What does it mean for a young man of great talent and no real ambition to seem so certain of his own demise? And resigned to it with apparent ease?”

It was the calm, unaffected way Wei Wuxian said it that was almost worse than the words themselves. And not just because his life is still currently tethered to his beloved nephew’s.

Xichen sits, carefully considering his answer as he has been taught. Lan Qiren feels a warmth of pride in his chest. “A path taken by necessity, with perhaps even noble intentions,” Xichen posits. “To win a war? To protect one’s family?”

Lan Qiren nods, marking another point in this curving path they are following. “Not ambitious, but…self-sacrificing.” He tries the thought on, attempting to wade through his inherent resistance to seeing Wei Wuxian in any sort of sympathetic light.

“I would believe it,” Xichen says. “From what I have seen of Wei-gongzi.”

Even Lan Qiren cannot argue against it. He has read the reports provided by Wangji of their travels together, the night hunts they undertook. Even the bat king. They both persisted in an unwinnable fight in order to save a village of innocents and a collection of injured Wen prisoners. Yet rarely has Lan Qiren heard either speak of it. Nor the tortoise of slaughter. If Wei Wuxian were truly arrogant and ambitious, surely he would brag about it more? Would he not demand accolades? A title, when Wangji has already claimed his own?

Instead, he has asked nothing at all for himself and only justice for those he perceives as innocent.

His nephew and his beloved seem aligned in this, their dedicated focus to helping the innocent without any interest in reward or fame.

Lan Qiren considers more of the events of the last few months, finding any places where the consideration snags against observed actions. For all his failings, it cannot be said that Wei Wuxian has not been solicitous of Wangji’s health and ways of being. That he has not given up his entire life to protect Wangji’s, and with very little complaint for it. Oh, he complains, but upon reflection it is all meaningless. Annoyance with food or rules or how boring the Cloud Recesses are.

It cannot be ignored that Wangji’s devotion has been met and matched with Wei Wuxian’s own brand of it. The dedicated lengths he has gone to find a cure, which at first seem only focused on being set free, but upon reflection were always centered on Wangji’s health. That Wei Wuxian’s only real objection to the curse being unbreakable was the threat to Wangji’s life.

What do you imagine happening to you?  

A great many things!

Not the words of a reckless man, but rather a man already resigned to a bad end.

“The array,” Lan Qiren says, mind catching on the event from a new angle.

Lan Xichen looks at him, brow furrowed. “Yes?”

“If he is truly so self-sacrificing, why would a man like that, with someone he cared for nearly succumbing to qi deviation, not offer his own qi to stabilize him?” 

I can’t, he had said, in the moment. Yelled, as if in agony himself as he held Wangji clutched to his chest.

Xichen raises an eyebrow, perhaps seeing that event in a new light as well. “And why have others power the array meant to save his life?” His own invention no less.

“To free Wangji from a curse of affection that takes root in one’s golden core,” Lan Qiren says, feeling something building, some understanding within reach at last.

“Which did not affect Wei-gongzi in turn, despite what appears to be deep affection on his part.”

Lan Qiren and Xichen’s gazes meet, their minds reaching the same conclusion.

“He has refused, time and again, any examination,” Xichen points out.

“His qi,” Lan Qiren concludes.

Xichen looks deeply troubled. “His qi is suppressed? His core damaged by the demonic path?”

“Perhaps.”

Or perhaps something even more unthinkable. But that would require far too much speculation when so many of their original postulations still lack solid proof. It is possible, after all, that this is the wrong curse. Or that Wei Wuxian truly lacks any affection at all for Wangji.

They fall into contemplative silence. Their thought experiment has taken them as far as it can today. Perhaps more observation and reflection will bring greater clarity.

“We will continue to watch him,” Lan Qiren says, “in hope that new information will reveal itself.”

Xichen nods. “What about Wangji?”

They could send word to the other sects, ask for any information or sightings of Wangji, but that would be to admit they don’t know where he is. Or to risk letting anyone know of the nature of the curse he is under. It could far too easily be used against him. The war ending does not mean they now live in certain times.

It feels, perhaps, as if they never will again.

“I believe, in this case, we must have faith in Wangji.”

Xichen visibly deflates but nods his acceptance. “Yes, Uncle.”

“Officially, Wangji is in seclusion.”

They both look at the research report, knowing they are not on the easy path, but it is the one they must walk.

Wangji has been gone for four days when a letter arrives.

Wei Wuxian has spent these days, as far as Lan Xichen can tell, working on a wide plethora of talismans to help locate Wangji. Lan Xichen has tried, to the best of his ability, to make sure that food is delivered to Wei Wuxian. To drop by and remind him of curfew, to little result. For Wangji’s sake if nothing else. He can’t say it has been very effective. He isn’t sure how Wangji found a way to manage Wei Wuxian, because it is clear that his habits are terrible. He looks worse each time Lan Xichen sees him.

He knows Uncle has also visited Wei Wuxian during that time as well. He is not entirely certain what Uncle is looking for in Wei Wuxian, what specific clues may help them solve the puzzle that is Wei Wuxian and his cultivation. Uncle has not spoken of it again, so Lan Xichen is not certain if he has found it or not.

Lan Xichen has just left Wei Wuxian, another tray barely touched next to his elbow as he continues to work on fantastical magics that might take lifetimes to solve, but he seems convinced he will master in a few days. Arrogance, many might say. Lan Xichen cannot deny there is some of that, certainly. But he also suspects something else. A rare genius, perhaps.

If nothing else, his determination seems another sign of his worry for Wangji. His dedication to finding a way to locate Wangji, to ensure his health. Along with the complete lack of anger on Wei Wuxian’s part in light of the confession Wangji gave him—of both his feelings and the unintentional part he played in maintaining the curse to trap him, it begins to paint a clearer picture.

Wangji’s letter, when Lan Xichen gets to the Hanshi to meet with Uncle, is delivered by a disciple.

Lan Xichen takes a breath, not allowing himself to rush Uncle as he carefully opens the missive. He reads it at a calm pace that Lan Xichen knows hides greater concern than he is letting be seen. His shoulders, by the end, have softened visibly.

Lan Xichen wants to take this as a good sign, but will not feel relief until he is able to read the words himself.

Uncle passes the document over.

At the sight of Wangji’s familiar script—still perfectly paced and spaced and betraying nothing of weakness or struggle—Lan Xichen feels a rush of relief.

He takes a measured breath and reads the words.

I apologize for whatever trouble I have caused. I am well.

My time away has confirmed the nature of the curse. It is not yet broken, but I do believe it is stable. My techniques have so far proven successful for staving off the worst of the side effects. Emotional and spiritual regulation, meditation, and musical cultivation have proven effective. When there are moments of reversal, I am able to use these techniques to satisfactory results. With a clear purpose ahead of me, I find I am able to keep my mind focused.

I am at this time uncertain of a timeline, or if the progress will remain steady, or what exposure to certain stimuli might mean for my recovery. Therefore, I will remain where I am until I can have clearer outcomes. Wangji apologizes for whatever inconvenience this causes and that Wangji is currently unable to fulfill his duties.

I will write again of my progress in five days’ time.

In great contrast to the poetic, confessional letter Wangji left for Wei Wuxian, this letter follows the format of a night-hunting report. Succinct, clear. Theory, timeline, and expected results. There is no mention of Wei Wuxian at all, even if ‘certain stimuli’ is clearly a detached way of referring to the locus of Wangji’s affections. Perhaps Wangji assumes Wei Wuxian to have already left the Cloud Recesses as he wished.

At the very least, the letter appears to confirm that it likely is the curse Wangji believes it to be. It is a love curse.

The sheer relief on Wei Wuxian’s face when they summon him, and the moment of something more tender as he looks upon Wangji’s words, seem answer enough to their other consideration.

His uncle agrees, to judge from the look on his face and the way his hand lifts to stroke his beard.

“Wei Wuxian,” Uncle says. “Why did you set aside the sword path?”

Wei Wuxian freezes, face still turned down towards Wangji’s words as if he can find some extra hidden meaning in them. Or as if he is unable to look away from this evidence that Wangji still breathes. Lan Xichen understands the impulse.

After a moment, Wei Wuxian takes a careful breath, his shoulders lowering. He doesn’t look up at either of them as he speaks. “Can we focus on what matters here? Figuring out what is wrong with Lan Zhan?”

Uncle is not derailed. “We know what is wrong. He has allowed himself to be cursed. With a love curse.”

Wei Wuxian flinches at Uncle’s bluntness. “I know. It’s pretty obvious. Otherwise he never would have written—” He breaks off. “I know,” he repeats more firmly.

“You must be angry,” Uncle says.

This actually causes Wei Wuxian to look up, confusion on his face. “What?”

“Wangji imposed on you in the most unforgivable way. It is right that he left.”

Wei Wuxian’s expression hardens. “Lan Zhan didn’t—” 

Uncle presses on. “It was only right that he do whatever he could to rectify his error. Doubly so when it became clear to him that his affections were unwanted, that you feel nothing for him in return.”

“That’s not—” Wei Wuxian tries to interrupt, looking flustered and lost.

Uncle gives him no quarter. “It is a simple enough thing, to admit you care nothing for him. It would merely confirm what we already know of your character. And the foolishness of Wangji’s.”

Lan Xichen blinks at his uncle’s uncharacteristically harsh language for Wangji. He is not entirely certain what Uncle is hoping to achieve or if there is something more troubling going on here. Should he perhaps send for Lan Yunxia?

Wei Wuxian frowns, hand tightening around his flute. “Lan Zhan is not a fool.”

Lan Xichen does not miss how readily Wei Wuxian defends Wangji while not even attempting to defend himself. Self-sacrificing, indeed.

Uncle huffs dismissively. “You would defend him after what he has done to you.”

“Lan Zhan didn’t do anything wrong,” Wei Wuxian insists.  

“Well,” Uncle says with a sigh, “perhaps if you had not led him along. Wangji has a soft heart, and you have been cruel. What would he think if he returned and found you still lingering?”

Wei Wuxian looks like he can’t quite keep up with the flow of the conversation, the speed of Uncle’s varying accusations, like he is watching some carefully constructed building slowly caving inwards. “I’m not—I didn’t—I only wanted—” He looks to Lan Xichen, almost pleading for something.   

“Then why are you still here?” Uncle demands.

“Because I need to know he’s okay!” Wei Wuxian shouts back, shaking the letter between them. “You think I can just go home and spend my days in the winehouses while he could be out there dying? I could help him!”

“You drove him from this place,” Uncle thunders back in response. “Did you not consider that if you left, he might be able to return, to suffer through this trial in the comfort of his home, with the support of his family?”

Wei Wuxian visibly wilts, as if trying to take up the smallest amount of room possible. He closes his eyes, breathing heavily out through his nose. After a few long moments, he nods. “Fine,” he says, pasting a smile on his face. “Fine. I’ll go. I’ll find a place to stay in Caiyi. And once I know he’s… I’ll leave. Okay? You’ll never have to see me again. And neither will he. I won’t—” He sighs. “I get it.”  

He pushes shakily to his feet.

“What exactly do you ‘get’?” Uncle asks.

Wei Wuxian looks down at the flute in his hand. “I know what I am. And what I’m not. Not anymore. I’m sure Lan Zhan will remember that too.” He looks once more down at the letter, and then with clear reluctance, forces himself to put it down on the table. “I only wish for him to be well.”

I wish for nothing more in this life than your happiness.

Wei Wuxian turns to leave.

Uncle finally desists, sitting back, clearly having found what he searched for so relentlessly. “I believe I have found a fundamental flaw in Wangji’s logic.”  

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, spinning back around, concern on his face, as if all else has been forgotten in the face of this, a possible threat to Wangji. “You don’t think it’s the right curse?”

Uncle shakes his head. “It is undeniably the right curse.”

He frowns. “Then what…?”

“You do care for him. A great deal.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, looking caught out before deliberately looking to the side as if to hide something. “You said it yourself, the curse’s behavior already proves that I do not.”  

It’s not a denial. It’s so very far from a denial.

Wei Wuxian bows. “I’ll take my leave.”

Uncle does not let him. “Let me ask you again, Wei Wuxian. Why did you set aside the sword path?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flash with anger, almost as if relieved to have more solid ground to stand on. “Obviously because my path offers me greater power. Why would I need a sword in the face of that?”

“So you have claimed,” Lan Qiren says. “And the real reason?”

There is a moment where Wei Wuxian seems unprepared to have his bluff called so bluntly. “What does it matter? I did. And I know what that makes of me, of what the world thinks of me. And the things it makes impossible.”

Like being able to love Wangji?

Uncle hums. “You have confirmed much for me today, Wei Wuxian. But there is one detail I cannot ascertain on my own.” He folds his hands calmly in his lap. “Did your cultivation path destroy your core, or is it the loss of it that drove you to your path?"

It takes a moment for his uncle’s words to make sense, but once they do, Lan Xichen sucks in a breath, looking at Uncle with wide eyes. Wei Wuxian’s golden core? They suspected some issue with his qi, but this… It is preposterous, is it not?

Yet his uncle seems calm. “It is the only explanation. For your actions. For the behavior of the curse. For not setting this path aside even when you know what it will cost you. What it will cost Wangji. I do not approve of you, but I can also see that you are not an ambitious person. Nor a malicious one. You are arrogant and short-sighted, but not, it seems, immoral.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a shaky laugh. “Such praise indeed.”

“True learning requires understanding that when no other explanation exists, one must look to the improbable.”

Wei Wuxian’s gaze goes sharp. “Careful, Xiansheng. That sounds almost progressive.”

For once, Uncle does not rise to the bait, seemingly settled in his mastery of the situation. Perhaps it was always the uncertainty of the endless battle between them as teacher and student that truly aggrieved his uncle, and not the battle itself. “It would be simple enough to confirm. I would have a doctor look you over.”

“I would have you not,” Wei Wuxian snaps.  

Uncle remains placid. “Need I remind you that your life and health are currently tied to that of my nephew’s?”

The look Wei Wuxian gives him is one of pure acid. “And these are the acts of a righteous gentleman?”

“For my loved ones, I would do much. I believe this may be, at last, something we share in common.”

Wei Wuxian looks at once dumbfounded and completely scandalized, a pink flush rising up his neck and across his cheeks. It is truly something, to see perhaps one of the most feared and dangerous men alive today look like little more than a love-struck boy.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren asks for a third time. “Why did you set aside the sword path?”

In a flash, the blushing boy is gone, something haggard in his expression. Worn. Tired. Ancient as the mountains. For a moment, Lan Xichen is certain he will not speak. That he will turn and leave.

Wei Wuxian seems to deflate, his chin lifting. “Because I can no longer walk it.”

“You have no golden core.”

Wei Wuxian closes his eyes. “I do not.”

“When did you lose it?”

“Before,” Wei Wuxian says, looking off to the side, something flat and lifeless in his eyes. “Before the war.”

Uncle absorbs this brutal detail with barely a ripple. Before. Before . Through the entirety of the war, Wei Wuxian fought and risked his life with no core to sustain him. Just his wicked path. Just the ghosts and the dead to stand for him.

“And so you took up the demonic path,” Uncle says.  

Wei Wuxian laughs, the sound scraped out like rocks against metal. “To survive getting thrown into the Burial Mounds? Yeah. I found a way to survive, to use resentment as energy. And maybe you’ll say I should have died instead, and maybe you’re even right. But we wouldn’t have won the war without me.”

Lan Xichen blanches. The Burial Mounds? To be thrown into the Burial Mounds, the horrors that must live in that forsaken place… But to have experienced it with no golden core. How had he possibly survived?

“No,” Uncle says, still looking like it costs him much to admit it. “We likely would not have.”

They, all of them, accepted Wei Wuxian’s path when it meant saving themselves from complete destruction at the hands of Wen Ruohan. A boy who had lost so much, only to pervert and destroy himself as his final act—not of hubris or ambition or willfulness, but sacrifice. To save his family and those he loved. Which, Lan Xichen is beginning to clearly see, includes his own dear brother.

“Now that you no longer have this to hide from us, will you allow our doctors to examine you?”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “For what reason?”

Uncle sits back, lifting his tea and taking a sip. “I would remind you that you are not being forced to remain here. You may leave at any time. My nephew risked much to give you that choice. But if you stay, I would offer the help of my sect, in honor of the love and care my nephew holds for you. And to ensure his own well-being.”

It seems to be the one argument Wei Wuxian cannot refute, wearily nodding. “I want your word.”

“On what?”

“That you will tell no one else about my core.”

“Wangji—” Lan Xichen starts to say, knowing his brother would want to know this, that it would make clear so many confusing things. At the very least, it would allow him to better know Wei Wuxian’s limits. They have night-hunted together for many weeks. Lan Xichen feels a retroactive beat of panic at the thought. Wei Wuxian is clearly not weak, but there are also many assumptions Wangji might make that could put either of them in danger.

“You, Zewu-Jun, the doctor,” Wei Wuxian interrupts, still looking at Uncle. “No one else. I want your word.”

“Agreed,” Uncle says.

Wei Wuxian turns to Lan Xichen then.

Lan Xichen does not understand this insistence, nor is he in a position to deny it. Not with what he is about to ask of Wei Wuxian.

He inclines his head, as much as he does not like making the promise. He does not wish to keep things from Wangji, even less when he knows it is something he would definitely want to know. But it is also not his secret to share.

Wei Wuxian relaxes, and Lan Xichen supposes he should be thankful that their word still seems to mean something to him. 

“I’ll go see Lan Yunxia,” Wei Wuxian says, bowing and escaping the room at last.

Once he is gone, Lan Xichen turns to his uncle with wide eyes. “The Burial Mounds?” he says, stricken.

Uncle seems equally unsettled. “If this is the path Wangji has chosen, we must do all we can to ensure its safety.”

Even after everything, it is a relief to realize that their uncle does not intend to stand in the way and is even willing to smooth the path.

“Yes, Uncle. Thank you, Uncle.”

He waves his hand. “While Wangji does what he must, we shall take care of matters here on his behalf. Sit. We have many plans to make.”

Lan Xichen sits across from his uncle and prepares himself to hear how they might help his brother find love.

It is early the next morning when Lan Yunxia appears to deliver her report on Wei Wuxian’s health.

“What have you found?” Uncle asks.

“To be blunt,” Lan Yunxia says, as is her usual fashion, “I do not see how Wei-gongzi is alive.” 

Lan Xichen sucks in a breath, knowing Lan Yunxia is not one to exaggerate.

“Explain,” Uncle says.  

“I have not seen a case of chronic malnourishment nor seen evidence of such extensive blunt trauma in all my years. His body is flooded with resentment. Perhaps understandably in light of all this, he is heavily sleep-deprived, similar to what I have seen with other disciples returning from Qishan.” The ones suffering nightmares and struggling with emotional regulation after their experience during the war, Lan Xichen knows she means.

“And his core?” Uncle asks. 

“Gone,” she confirms.

“Wen Zhuliu?”

A frown mars her face. “I would assume so, not knowing how else it might happen. As heavily steeped in resentment as he is, it is hard to be certain. But it does not seem to me that his meridians have been burned out. I cannot account for that.”

“But his core is definitely gone, not simply suppressed or weak.”

“Yes. It is completely absent.”

Lan Xichen looks at Uncle. “If he had indeed lost his core and then been left in the Burial Mounds…”

The doctor blanches. “That might begin to explain the extent of his condition, but not how he survived.”   

“Hm,” Uncle agrees. “What do you suggest, for treatment?”

“Short term? Sleep and regular, yang-rich meals. I will make up a schedule. They should be small meals, but more often than our set times. As you know, the food we serve in the Cloud Recesses is meant to help support strong yang cultivation. Eating the yin diet we focus on here is actively exasperating his health issues.”

Lan Xichen thinks of the way Wangji indulged Wei Wuxian with chili oil, with the children’s meals. How much was that actual indulgence and how much was Wei Wuxian trying to mitigate the harm of the food they have been supplying him with?

“In addition,” Lan Yunxia continues, “acupuncture. We need to address his chronic pain, which will in turn help with sleep and appetite.”

“What of his cultivation?”

She shakes her head. “That is beyond me.”

“Is it harming him?”

“I cannot see how it wouldn’t be, but I have no experience with this level of resentment, nor does our library provide information that might provide clarity. Perhaps in the Qishan library there might have been helpful texts. Without more information, I am afraid to go in blind.”

Uncle looks thoughtful. “Can he not simply be cleansed?”

She shakes her head. “I believe calming music aimed at balancing his shen would be more appropriate.”

“Are you suggesting that we simply allow him to remain flooded with resentment?” Uncle says, clearly not pleased by the notion.

Lan Yunxia remains unmoved. “As you know, cleansing is aimed at purifying qi. What would that mean for someone who’s body is so yang deficient yet so full of resentment? I don’t know how his body is running now as it is. I have no way of knowing what that might do to him. With such prolonged exposure and his health as it is, it is possible it could kill him outright. We could try to more incrementally enact change, but I would still feel better with another opinion.”

“Who could provide that?” Lan Xichen asks.

She looks over at him. “Not many who yet live. Though Wei-gongzi did once mention Wen Qing. I can only imagine the personal doctor of Wen Ruohan might have useful insight into such a condition.”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen confirms. “She currently resides in Yunmeng, under the supervision of Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Then I would ask that she be brought here. Her knowledge would be invaluable.”

“We will discuss it,” Uncle says before Lan Xichen can respond.

“Thank you,” she says, looking between them and clearly picking up on the fact that there is more at play here than Wei Wuxian’s health. “With her help, we might be able to more properly address the other injuries that are likely limiting Wei-gongzi’s mobility and definitely causing pain.”

“Yes,” Uncle says, hearing Lan Yunxia’s concerns but still not willing to immediately bend to them.

“Thank you, Lan-daifu,” Lan Xichen says. “I will keep you informed.”

Bowing, she leaves.

Lan Xichen sits down across from his uncle. “I will write to A-Yao about the books from Qishan.”

Uncle nods.

“And Jiang-zongzhu?” Lan Xichen asks.

Uncle gathers his thoughts. “Yes. Though it will be best to settle the other matters first.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Lan Xichen agrees. “I will see to it.”

Lan Xichen takes his dinner in the Jingshi with Wei Wuxian, bringing with him the new, specially designed meal from the kitchen.

It’s only been three days since Lan-daifu took over Wei Wuxian’s diet and medical care, but he already seems healthier. It’s horrible to think that they’ve been nearly poisoning him. Not out of malice, he reminds himself, but because Wei Wuxian felt the need to keep them in the dark. He allowed them to hurt him.

What kind of person does that? Allows themselves to be hurt? Did he truly believe them to be so inflexible that they would not make allowances for individual needs and health?

There had been whip marks on Wei Wuxian’s back as well, Lan Yunxia’s official report had revealed, likely ones from a spiritual weapon. There were various older scars as well.

He thinks of Wangji that afternoon so long ago, sitting outside in the pavilion asking about what it means for someone to see punishment only as violence.

In Wei Wuxian’s time in the Cloud Recesses, both times, he never seemed to fear punishment, nor did anything to avoid it. It had seemed so willful and arrogant at the time. But what if, instead, it was rather the behavior of one resigned to it? There had been rumors, from time to time, of how much the lady of Lotus Pier liked to punish the Head Disciple. Said in snide tones that seemed to take this as evidence of other, more harmful rumors. Lan Xichen is by necessity out in the world more than Wangji. While he does not put stock in rumors, he still cannot avoid hearing them.

Did Wei Wuxian truly think admitting he needed different food would just be met with indifference, or worse, punishment?

He can understand Wangji’s frustration. His complete confusion when thrown into Wei Wuxian’s space so suddenly. It is a world very different from their own that Wei Wuxian comes from.

“The doctor told you everything, I suppose,” Wei Wuxian says as he sits across from Lan Xichen.

He nods. “You are under our care.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a huff. “Is that what we’re calling it.”

Lan Xichen does not wish to get pulled into an argument, no matter how much Wei Wuxian seems focused on provoking one. “Wei-gongzi, may I remind you that you chose to stay, that you are still free to leave whenever you like.”

Displeasure flashes across Wei Wuxian’s face, but rather than arguing further, he begins eating his small meal. He receives eight of them per day now.

Wei Wuxian shifts in his seat, lounging off to one side. Not unusual for him, and yet before this, where Lan Xichen only saw a refusal to conform to etiquette, he now wonders if this is in deference to pain. It is truly remarkable how well Wei Wuxian hides his pain. Without Lan Yunxia’s report, he would have little reason to even suspect.

“If I may,” Lan Xichen says after Wei Wuxian finishes, “I wish to speak of the amulet.”

Outwardly, Wei Wuxian does not react. He merely sits, and perhaps the stillness of him is sign enough of his unease.

After a moment, he touches his hand to his side, and looks up at Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen follows the movement of his hand. Is that where he keeps it? Even with his senses carefully attuned, Lan Xichen can sense nothing of it. Neither the amulet nor the resentment carried within Wei Wuxian. That alone speaks to an impossible amount of control and power. How is such a thing even possible? He remembers how Nightless City had felt, even after the death of Wen Ruohan, the slick crawl of wrongness. Here, there is nothing.  

When Wei Wuxian reaches out, it is only to pour tea, his movements flawless and unrushed. It occurs to Lan Xichen that he has never before seen Wei Wuxian do this task. If he had to guess, he would not have expected it to be done with such perfection. Yet more evidence that Wei Wuxian is capable of conforming to protocol. He simply rarely chooses to.

“What do you want to know?” Wei Wuxian asks once he is finished.

“Can it be destroyed?” Lan Xichen asks, seeing no reason to prevaricate.

Wei Wuxian spins the delicate teacup in his hands, seemingly neither surprised nor upset by the question. “Hm. You mean like you destroyed the yin iron?”

Lan Xichen knows his exterior calm does not flicker, but internally he flinches hard. Does Wei Wuxian somehow know? Does he suspect? Or is he just wildly guessing?

Wei Wuxian lets out a huff as if Lan Xichen has revealed something. “I always thought it was weird that the greatest minds of past generations couldn’t manage to destroy it, but then it was achieved with such ease by some of the youngest sect leaders ever to hold the position. And while one of them was recovering from nearly dying to boot.” He looks up at Lan Xichen, expression challenging. “Then again, I was unconscious at the time, so what would I know?”

Far more than he should. Far more than is safe.

“You think you could have?” Lan Xichen asks, both answering and not.

Wei Wuxian gives him a slow smile, something of his old arrogance in the tilt of his chin. “Don’t really remember being asked. So I guess we’ll never know. Since the pieces were already destroyed.”

Lan Xichen chooses not to respond to that, feeling the conversation could escape his grasp far too easily. Oh, how this quicksilver, irreverent mind must push Wangji in such unexpected ways.  

Lan Xichen decides on a different approach. “Am I to understand that your amulet is yin iron?”

The tension that tightens Wei Wuxian’s shoulders is barely noticeable, but his expression gives much more away. “You mean did I steal it from Xue Yang?”

That is exactly the prevailing wisdom on the matter. Even A-Yao has said he assumes it must be true, and he would know better than most.

Wei Wuxian’s expression twists. “I can’t imagine when I would have had the time.” He taps a finger on his chin. “Maybe while Meng Yao was busy distracting everyone by killing the captain of the Nie guard and then throwing himself in front of a sword?”

The swipe finds unexpected ground, Lan Xichen’s hands tightening as he controls a burst of anger in his chest. “Do not engage in gossip. Do not speak behind others’ backs,” he lobs back in defense.

“Yes, yes,” Wei Wuxian says, waving a careless hand. “No gossiping. At least not about anyone in the position to claim prominence.” He grins. “Or maybe just anyone with good enough manners to make his humble origins forgivable.”  

Wei Wuxian is, undeniably, infuriating. He is also, equally, correct. Which is most of what makes it so infuriating. Though A-Yao can hardly claim prominence, even now. The whispers are quieter now, perhaps with his rise in position. As for Wei Wuxian, what haven’t people been willing to say about him? What hasn’t Lan Xichen been willing to believe about him? And why, because he walks a dark path? Or simply because he does not conform to proper manners?

Lan Xichen swallows, giving himself a moment to gather back up his equilibrium. “In the absence of information, people are often swayed by the loudest narrative.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding his head. “So I owe everyone the tiniest details of my business.”

Infuriating. He can see why Wangji might have met this man with such frustration and confusion, especially in their youth.

Lan Xichen attempts to bring the conversation back to the matter of importance. “Do you believe the amulet can be destroyed?”

Rather than shooting back with another scathing response, Wei Wuxian takes a slow breath that seems pained, one hand lifting to his chest but not quite touching. He spends a long moment looking out the window, deep in thought.

“Anything that can be made can be unmade,” he says.

“And would you be willing to?” Lan Xichen presses.

Wei Wuxian finishes off his cup of tea and gets up from the table. Crossing to a cupboard, he opens it to pull out a jar of wine. Uncorking it, he fills his cup and downs the contents.

He turns, looking at Lan Xichen as if expecting to be reprimanded. Wei Wuxian’s flagrant disregard of Gusu Lan principles is the least of Lan Xichen’s concerns at the moment. Besides which, he cannot help but think that this is meant as a deliberate attempt to derail the conversation. He will not be distracted.

“Would you?” he reiterates.

Wei Wuxian takes a long swig straight from the jar. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “Not so long as Yunmeng Jiang is vulnerable.”

That is not an objection to the destruction itself, and Lan Xichen cannot help but feel relief. It is possible, then, and not even something Wei Wuxian would never agree to. Just something that must be secured, and even something that can be secured through rather convenient means. He must be certain, however.

“No other objections?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian huffs, leaning back against the wall and cradling the bottle against his chest. “Such as what?”

“Because it would lose you power?” His only power, Lan Xichen cannot help but remember. Losing the amulet would likely leave him completely mundane in all ways. A commoner in ability, and not just in birth.

Wei Wuxian laughs. “Power to do what? Keeping my family and my sect safe is all that has ever mattered.”

Lan Xichen finds that he believes him. “And Wangji,” he dares to say, feeling the need to test out this one other fact.

Wei Wuxian looks away, but doesn’t deny it. “Lan Zhan hardly needs me or my wicked tricks to keep him safe.”

Yet Lan Xichen remembers those awful, panicked moments when no one knew where Wangji was, when Wei Wuxian feared someone might have taken Wangji against his will. The way power had risen up within Wei Wuxian like a solid wall, ready to tear the world apart in defense of Wangji.

It is not a particular comfort, knowing this unfathomable power would just as easily be put in defense of Wangji as it would for Yunmeng. Just because Wei Wuxian might do anything to keep Wangji safe does not mean his cultivation can’t hurt Wangji inadvertently. Whether physically or just by Wei Wuxian himself being slowly destroyed by it and Wangji being forced to watch.

To ensure the safety of Wei Wuxian and thus his brother’s own riotous heart, the amulet, he is sure, must be destroyed.

A path forward, at least.

“Lan-daifu would not be pleased to hear you are drinking,” Lan Xichen says, getting to his feet.

Wei Wuxian laughs. “What Lan-daifu doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

It likely hurts Wei Wuxian.

“I will play for you,” Lan Xichen says instead of arguing.

Wei Wuxian straightens up, looking embarrassed. “There’s really no need—”

Lan Xichen pulls out his xiao. The songs Lan Yunxia has prescribed should at least help with sleep and perhaps counter any of the more negative side effects of the alcohol on Wei Wuxian’s temperament.

“Lans,” Wei Wuxian complains under his breath. “So stubborn.”

Lan Xichen ignores it, too pleased to see Wei Wuxian put the bottle aside to settle into lotus pose to be offended on behalf of his clan.

Lan Xichen will do for Wei Wuxian what he can until Wangji returns. He’ll play music, and once he’s done, he will return to his uncle. They have much to discuss. And much to plan for.

This is Wangji’s path. They will ensure he can walk it in safety. Whatever it takes.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng is having a bad day.

All Wei Wuxian’s fault, as per usual. For no other reason would he be dragging his ass all the way to the fucking Cloud Recesses when he has ten thousand more important things to be doing, all because his brother keeps refusing to just. Fucking. Come. Home.

Would it kill him to just come home and stay put for once?

So here Jiang Cheng is at the Cloud Recesses, feeling like he’s dragging Wei Wuxian home from a late night at a wine house. Once again being forced to be the responsible one while Wei Wuxian just gets to fuck off and do whatever he pleases. Must be nice. 

All of which means he’s not exactly in a great mood when he gets to the gates of the Cloud Recesses. His collection of disciples are clearly all sharing amused looks with each other when they think he isn’t looking, and he’ll break their fucking legs too if he has to.

“I’m here to see Wei Wuxian,” he barks at the Lan disciples guarding the gates. Are they even old enough to have swords? For fuck’s sake.

He should see Lan Xichen first, for the sake of propriety if nothing else, but he is not letting Wei Wuxian have a moment to slip out of his grasp. Not today.

“Of course, Jiang-zongzhu,” they say, bowing perfectly, and at least there’s no nonsense about invitations. He refuses to feel nostalgic for those long-ago days of being stupid idiots and not knowing how good they had it at the time.

The disciples lead him to, of all places, the library pavilion. It’s still partially under construction, lacking the intricate final details that provide the veneer of elegance the Lan are so well known for. It would be a bit satisfying to see this imperfection if he didn’t know perfectly well where it came from.

Inside, a bevy of disciples are diligently copying texts, one spot of black among them. Wei Wuxian is sprawled at a desk, brow furrowed as he looks down at a scroll, brush twirling absently in his fingers. As Jiang Cheng suspected, there is no sign of Lan Wangji among the sea of white. He feels his temper snap .

“Why the fuck are letters from Hanguang-Jun arriving for you at Lotus Pier? Shouldn’t you still be attached at the hip?”

Every person in the room seems to jump at the explosion of sound, Wei Wuxian nearly falling over. Recovering quickly, Wei Wuxian grins up at him, looking happier than he has any right to, considering his extended sentence here. “Jiang Cheng!”

“Do not make me repeat myself,” he grinds out, far too close to causing a diplomatic incident.

“Lan Zhan sent me a letter?” Wei Wuxian asks, like that is the only salient detail of what Jiang Cheng said.

He flings the folded letter at Wei Wuxian’s head. “If the curse is broken, why are you still here?”

Wei Wuxian grabs for the letter, looking down at it with a really odd expression on his face that Jiang Cheng instantly doesn’t like. “It’s not broken,” he says, almost absently.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Lan Wangji is clearly not dead if he’s writing letters, but back in Lotus Pier even losing sight of Wei Wuxian for a minute had him falling to the ground like he’d taken a sword to the gut.

Before Wei Wuxian can answer, there is the sound of more people arriving behind him. “Jiang-zongzhu, how fortuitous that you are here.”

Jiang Cheng glances back over his shoulder to see Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen in the doorway. “Is it?” he asks, unable to stop the rude response. Sucking a deep breath, he forces himself to turn around to complete the formal greetings, bowing to them each in turn.

The ritualized salutations manage to bring his temper somewhat back under control.

“May we speak?” Lan Xichen asks with that calm voice and perfect smile that makes Jiang Cheng clench his jaw in annoyance.

“Of course,” he says, allowing himself to be led back out of the library once he is certain Wei Wuxian is coming too. He’s not letting that asshole out of his sight.

They settle in the sect leader’s office, the disciples delivering tea that is then duly served to the four of them. Normally he would hate this shit, but it is giving him a chance to breathe and calm down. Not at all mostly because he can see that his stupid brother isn’t dead or anything.

Whatever calm he has lasts about five seconds before Lan Xichen smiles and says, “We wish to speak to you of Wei-gongzi’s amulet.”

“What of it?” Jiang Cheng says, very aware there is no way it sounds anything less than hostile. He’s already tired as shit of people nudging and circling around it all while trying not to look like they are asking about it. At least Lan Xichen is being upfront about it, he supposes.

Lan Xichen’s placid expression doesn’t slip. “As we have had the honor of hosting your brother these past months, we felt we would be remiss not to at least mention it. As you are no doubt aware, your brother’s health is…” He pauses, clearly reaching for the proper word. “Fragile.”

Wei Wuxian immediately sits up from where he’s pointedly slouched at the table as if to maximize annoying Lan Qiren. He glares hard at Lan Xichen. “I’m fine,” he says, something almost like a threat there.  

“My brother says he’s fine,” Jiang Cheng says, always willing to take his brother’s side over a damn Lan’s. Only then he pauses, giving Wei Wuxian a long look. He is fine, isn’t he? He’d say otherwise. Fuck no, he wouldn’t. Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean, fragile?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen with betrayal. “Jiang Cheng!”

Everyone ignores him.

Lan Xichen places his hands calmly in his lap. “He has suffered much damage to his body and spiritual power. It is our belief that the amulet continues to erode his health. It would perhaps be best if it were destroyed.”  

What the hell has Jiang Cheng walked into? “And how is that the Lan sect’s concern?” Sure, Lan Xichen helped Jiang Cheng out with the whole Wen Qing and Wen Ning thing, but that doesn’t mean they are suddenly somehow close allies, or that the Lan sect has the right to meddle in Jiang business.

“I assure you,” Lan Xichen says, all calm and quiet, as if he weren’t brazenly trampling into other sects’ affairs, “we only have Wei-gongzi’s well-being in mind.”

Jiang Cheng snorts at that. “You mean my idiot brother got himself tied to Lan Wangji and you’re worried what it might do to him.”

Lan Xichen smiles. “My own brother’s health is always of concern to me. That is the providence of brothers, is it not?”

Jiang Cheng drinks the bitter, horrible tea as an excuse not to punch Lan Xichen in the face.

So, what? The amulet is hurting Wei Wuxian which means it’s hurting Lan Wangji too? Jiang Cheng looks Wei Wuxian over again. Sure, he doesn’t look great. He hasn’t really. Not since… But he’s also been stuck here for ages, probably starving to death with their awful food and suffocating under their ten thousand rules. Wei Wuxian did this to himself.

And yet… It’s not like he’d been the picture of health in Lotus Pier either.

“You agreed to this?” Jiang Cheng asks his brother.

Wei Wuxian immediately shakes his head. “I haven’t agreed to anything.” He sends another venomous glare at Lan Xichen, who seems unaffected.

Lan Qiren, for his part, is still just rigidly watching, as if waiting for his moment to jump in and assign them all lines. Fuck, is Jiang Cheng always going to see the old man as a teacher? Jiang Cheng is a clan leader now. What can Lan Qiren do to him?

“But you’d consider it,” Jiang Cheng says, wondering at the fact that Wei Wuxian is still even sitting here. Surely if he were completely opposed, he’d already have stalked off or said something to piss off Lan Qiren and get them kicked out. That’s what he’s good at, after all.

Instead, he’s still sitting there, occasionally glancing down at Lan Wangji’s letter like he keeps expecting it to disappear. What the fuck is happening here?  

Wei Wuxian finally lifts his chin. “Not if it weakens Yunmeng Jiang.”

That…is not what Jiang Cheng expected to hear. It’s the right thing to say though, something in his chest humming a bit in satisfaction at this sign that Wei Wuxian still knows where his loyalties lie at least.

At the same time, the damn amulet probably paints a bigger target on them, but that’s beside the point. He turns back to the Lan. “You heard my brother.”

Lan Xichen presses on, undeterred. He holds his hand out and his uncle passes him a text neatly bound in silk brocade boards. “In exchange for allowing us to research a way to destroy the amulet, Gusu Lan is willing to build a close alliance with Yunmeng Jiang. We have no interest in weakening either of our sects.”

That brings Jiang Cheng pause. As much as he’d love to tell them to fuck off, he does have a sect to run. They’re doing just fine. But it’s also not exactly easy. Not that he’s going to admit it to these assholes. “What kind of alliance?”

“Military support as needed, of course. But primarily in the form of mutual trade agreements.”

Trade agreements are way more enticing than military support. Sure, they’re still rather vulnerable right now as their rank of disciples is filling more slowly than he’d like, but no one seems to be looking for a fight, as they’re all too busy licking their own wounds. It’s more of an economic threat hanging over most of them, as the Jins sit in their gilded towers and slowly strangle them all with purse strings.

Lan Xichen slides the bound folio over to him. Jiang Cheng glances down at it. After a moment, he carefully picks it up. He makes them all sit and wait while he carefully reads through the entire thing, Wei Wuxian shifting with typical impatient curiosity, like he’d really like to read over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder but is far too aware of the setting to allow himself to do it.

Small miracles.

The trade agreements are…good. Very good. The sort that would benefit both sects sure, but also something Lotus Pier needs : a way to wiggle out from under the thumb of the Jin sect. It also clearly isn’t some on-the-fly suggestion, but a thorough document. Prepared in advance. Even though they couldn’t have known he was storming up here to get his brother.

He glances over at Wei Wuxian, but he looks just as surprised, something a bit wild in his eyes like he’s scrambling to catch up. Jiang Cheng is glad he’s not the only one.  

Is this a real offer? A power grab for Wei Wuxian’s amulet? But they said destroy, not own. If they can be trusted. Though even the idea of the Lan sect trying to take it for themselves is laughable considering the stink they’ve put up about his cultivation. They’re hardly going to pick up demonic cultivation.

Lan Xichen isn’t even done yet. “We had thought in addition, joint night-hunting. To build trust and mutually develop our disciples.”

What. The. Fuck.

Jiang Cheng thinks it all sounds too good to be true, honestly. This kind of thing isn’t usually done without a sworn brotherhood. And Jiang Cheng had clearly been left out of that. It had felt like a favor at the time, one less thing to stress about. Only now, stuck with trying to rebuild his clan practically by himself, does he realize what a disadvantage it put his sect at. The other three so tightly tied together, and Yunmeng Jiang by themselves. Isolated. Easily able to be bullied by Lanling.

At the same time, another sworn brotherhood tacked on right now would just be deemed strange rather than provide any real connection. Meaning there is something more at play here.  

Jiang Cheng sets the folio down, trying not to look like it’s a difficult thing to do. “And what are you proposing as to the nature of this alliance?”

Even if it can’t be a sworn brotherhood, something more than ratified accords will need to be made, a kind of lasting assurance born of long-term connection of rather intimate terms.

“A marriage,” Lan Qiren says, finally speaking up.

“A what?” Wei Wuxian squawks. 

Jiang Cheng takes a long moment, staring hard at the unmarried clan leader sitting across from him as he runs through the variables and possible configurations. He starts with the simple stuff. “Jiang Yanli’s betrothal to Jin Zixuan will likely soon be renewed, as is her decision.”

It’s a simple fact, not an accusation, and put out there mostly to clear the air. Not that he wouldn’t maybe prefer Lan Xichen as an in-law instead. Don’t get him wrong, the Lan sect is just as terrible as the Jin sect, only in different ways. Maybe slightly less infuriating? At least less likely to be lecherous assholes. But A-Jie clearly still has feelings for the damn peacock.

Lan Xichen smiles. “And we wish Jiang-guniang the greatest happiness in this union.”

“Alright,” Jiang Cheng says, mollified but still cautious.

There are only so many players available here, and last he checked, the Lan clan doesn’t have any marriageable daughters of high-enough rank to offer as wife to Jiang Cheng as sect leader, and the Jiang clan doesn’t either other than A-Jie. While cutsleeve marriages aren’t completely unheard of, Lan Xichen certainly isn’t going to marry another sect leader. And it couldn’t just be two random disciples. It would have to tie the inner clan members. Which only leaves…  

Jiang Cheng takes a careful breath. “With no disrespect, please know that if the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with marriage, me, and Hanguang-Jun, I am going to walk out of this room, no matter how enticing the trade agreement.”

Next to him, Wei Wuxian seems to choke on absolutely nothing. “Jiang Cheng!” he scolds, as if torn between pointing out the obvious fact that they would make each other miserable, and the need to remind him that anyone would be lucky to marry Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “I’m not insulting him, Wei Wuxian, so you can calm down.” If nothing else, Jiang Cheng will probably need to have a damn heir at some point. No matter how distasteful of an endeavor that might be.

Lan Xichen is still smiling with perfect politeness. “We were, in fact, proposing a betrothal between my brother and Wei-gongzi.”

And there’s the other shoe dropping.

What the fuck.

Wei Wuxian, if possible, looks even more horrified, stunned completely into silence. Mark the occasion, everyone, Jiang Cheng thinks acidly.

“What, suddenly he’s not good enough when it’s you?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

Wei Wuxian actually splutters, and if this weren’t so serious, Jiang Cheng might find that hilarious.

Wei Wuxian finally finds his words. “Are you out of your mind? Lan Zhan is too good for me. I’m a half-dead unorthodox cultivator, and he’s, he’s… Lan Zhan ! Hanguang-jun!” He looks around the room as if he’s the only one in his right mind.

Lan Xichen seems weirdly pleased by Wei Wuxian’s ridiculous outburst, but Lan Qiren just looks like he’d very much like to agree with Wei Wuxian’s point.

Okay, there is definitely a lot more going on here than Jiang Cheng is aware of, and he does not like it. Not one bit.

Jiang Cheng turns to Lan Xichen, bowing slightly. “If I might have a moment to discuss with my brother. ” He puts slight emphasis there, wanting them to remember this isn’t just a Head Disciple they’re trying to poach. He won’t be let go for cheap, even with Wei Wuxian trying to downplay himself. 

He fucking dares one of them to try to point out that Wei Wuxian was never officially adopted. He’s his brother. He’s not just going to sell him off.

But, fuck, he really wants those trade agreements. Maybe if they play nice enough they can find a way to make that work. With or without this completely insane concept of Wei Wuxian marrying Lan Wangji. Who isn’t even here.

Where the hell did this even come from?

“Yes, of course,” Lan Xichen says easily. “We can reconvene tomorrow?”

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng says, because he’s a fucking adult with manners and political skill, unlike his disaster of a brother. “You honor Yunmeng Jiang with your hospitality and your offer.”

Wei Wuxian blinks at him like he’s grown a second head, the idiot. Jiang Cheng elbows him hard in the side until his brother wakes up enough to offer an awkward bow of his own, his eyes still wide and wild.

The moment it’s no longer rude to do so, Jiang Cheng gets to his feet, grabbing his brother’s shoulder and dragging him out of the room after him, ignoring all his undignified spluttering.  

“Where are you staying?” he asks gruffly once they are outside, looking up and down the hallway as if to find a clue.

Wei Wuxian still looks a bit dazed, but eventually leads him off in a direction that certainly doesn’t hold the student dorms they’d stayed in ten thousand years ago, or the area where dignitaries are kept.

It’s not until he’s followed Wei Wuxian inside the house and looks around that he realizes what he’s seeing. “Please tell me this isn’t Lan Wangji’s house.”

“You know about the curse, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “Where else would I stay?”

There are two beds, at least. He still can’t believe Lan Qiren would allow this! “You can’t stay here anymore if you’re getting betrothed. Shit, you shouldn’t be staying here now!”

“I’m not getting betrothed!” Wei Wuxian says, something twisty and complicated happening to his face. He seems to wilt then. “Lan Zhan isn’t even here.”

Is Wei Wuxian…pining? Is this him sad that Lan Wangji isn’t here? After fucking months of being attached at the hip? Without a moment of privacy? And what has that even been like? Sour, cold Lan Wangji lingering right there all the time?

He frowns. How did they even make things like changing and bathing and—

Something awful occurs to Jiang Cheng as he thinks of how much time alone those two morons have spent the last four months, looking a lot different in the context of a potential betrothal. “Wait. This thing isn’t happening because…” His hands tighten to fists at his side. “Has Lan Wangji taken advantage of—”

“Oh my god, no!” Wei Wuxian practically screeches, face turning scarlet. “Lan Zhan would never—”

“Well, shit,” Jiang Cheng says, feeling his own neck heat. “How am I supposed to know? It’s not like you’ve really explained this curse or anything!”

“It’s not a sex curse, Jiang Cheng!”

Okay, yeah, he doesn’t have the patience to deal with any of that right now. He takes a breath, tugging his robes straight. “Are they full of shit?” he asks.

“What?” Wei Wuxian frowns. “I mean, it’s a terrible idea, but I don’t think they’re just like…messing with us.”

“Not the betrothal, Wei Wuxian,” he growls, willing himself to not strangle his brother. A half-dead unorthodox cultivator. Wei Wuxian is full of shit most of the time, but that’s what he called himself. Half-dead. “You’re sick?”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, and Jiang Cheng can already see the deflection coming his way.

“Don’t bullshit me, Wei Wuxian.”

He actually seems to deflate a bit, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. “Look, it’s not like the Burial Mounds are great for anyone’s health. But I’m fine!”

Jiang Cheng’s entire body freezes.

What. The. Fuck.

The Burial Mounds? The place his brother swore up and down he’d never been in? The rumor his brother had brushed off so quickly? He’d said distinctly that there was no way anyone could survive that place. That it would be impossible.

But where the hell else would someone get such creepy powers if not there? And when has something like impossible ever stopped Wei Wuxian? What had he said at the time, about a cave and an old manuscript? Had that actually been serious?

He looks his brother over again, really looks at him. He hates what he sees. “Wei Wuxian!” he very nearly shouts.

Wei Wuxian lifts his hands up in the air. “I’m fine, it’s fine! I swear!”

Jiang Cheng shoves him. Puts his hand up on his shoulder—bony and sharp under his palm—and pushes, putting his normal amount of energy into it for an ‘I’m slightly more than normally annoyed with Wei Wuxian and his stupid shit’ shove.

And Wei Wuxian just fucking crumples. Falls to the ground like someone drunk out of his mind. Like he’d done back at Lotus Pier. But he’s sober. Jiang Cheng knows he is. And why was it only in Lotus Pier that he felt the need to be drunk all day long? “Stop lying! Fuck. Were you ever going to say anything?”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t get up, just lies there, hand gripping his damn flute like the sword he hasn’t looked at in months. “It wasn’t important.”

“How the fuck is this not important?”

Wei Wuxian brushes his robes off with impatient hands, sitting up and finding his feet again. Methodically, without any of his usual bounce. Almost gingerly, as if avoiding a still-unhealed wound. But when would Wei Wuxian have suffered a new wound?

“We were trying to survive a war, Jiang Cheng,” he bites out.  

“And after? What’s your excuse then?”

“Rebuilding Lotus Pier is all that matters,” Wei Wuxian has the temerity to say, as if he’d helped at all. “You and Shijie being safe is all that matters!”

“And what the fuck about you? That doesn’t matter?”

“No!” he shouts. “No, it doesn’t fucking matter!”

Silence rings in the room.

“What the fuck, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng says, too floored by how wrong that is. How much Wei Wuxian looks like he means it. Doesn’t he know how much Jiang Cheng gave up for him? How much more he was willing to give to keep his brother safe? He wishes A-Jie were here. “If I go talk to the Lan doctor, what is she going to tell me?”

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Probably that I’m not worth selling off to Gusu Lan.”

Jiang Cheng turns abruptly away, pacing the length of Lan Wangji’s fucking ridiculous house with its pale colors and perfect minimalism. Just as cold and empty as the man. Through a partially open screen, he can see the other bed, clothes piled on the railing, a stack of books on the floor. Clearly where his brother has been living these last months. Playing house with Lan Wangji. 

Being hurt and away from them.

“Why couldn’t you just come home?” Jiang Cheng blurts out, unable to stop himself. “Why couldn’t you tell us? What do the fucking Lans have that we don’t?”

“It’s not like that, Jiang Cheng. I was just trying to help Lan Zhan, okay? And they just…meddled. It’s what the Lan sect does. Judge and meddle and tell everyone what to do and think all the time. Okay?”

“‘Help Lan Zhan. Help Lan Zhan.’ It’s always ‘help that guy.’ Fuck, just marry the bastard! Then you can be here to hold his hand for all eternity!”

“It’s not like that,” Wei Wuxian repeats, but it sounds an awful lot like ‘I’m fine, I’m fine’ when he’s perfectly well not!

Jiang Cheng scoffs, tired of his brother’s shit. “It isn’t? Look me in the face and tell me it’s not like that.” 

Wei Wuxian is decidedly not looking him in the face. “He could never—he shouldn’t—”

“I didn’t ask what Lan fucking Wangji should or shouldn’t do.” Jiang Cheng couldn’t care less what the hell Lan Wangji thinks about any of this, frankly. “I’m asking you. ”

Wei Wuxian is tellingly silent, the stubborn asshole.   

“Where the fuck is he anyway?” Jiang Cheng asks, remembering the reason he came all this way in the first place.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Off trying to break the curse.”

“So you really don’t need to be here anymore.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a heavy breath, his shoulders dropping. “I just… Look, it was my fault. All of it. And I wanted to make sure he was okay. That’s all.”

Jiang Cheng looks at him, wondering how Wei Wuxian can’t hear it. Can’t see that part of him probably loved being stuck here with Lan Wangji. Like it isn’t just being handed to him on a platter, him and his obsession.

But Jiang Cheng’s never known how to deal with any of this.

“Do you have any paper?” he asks.

Wei Wuxian gestures towards a desk.

Jiang Cheng folds himself down in front of the desk and puts all his aggravation into grinding enough ink to send off a brief missive.

I need you here. After a moment he adds, Bring Wen Qing.

He steps outside of Lan Wangji’s ridiculous house, finding two Jiang disciples standing nearby as they rightly should be. Far enough for privacy, but close enough to be of use.

“Hey, come here,” he says, grabbing one of them.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” the kid says, bowing.

Jiang Cheng waves it off impatiently. “I need you to fly back to Lotus Pier. Give this letter to my sister. Arrange for a dozen guards to accompany her back here as soon as possible. Got it?”

The kid’s chin lifts, looking proud to have such a task. “Yes, Jiang-zongzhu.”

Jiang Cheng ignores the stupid fondness in his chest for his ridiculous disciples. “Get out of here,” he says, giving him a shove.

After another slow breath, Jiang Cheng turns and walks back into Lan Wangji’s house.  

Jiang Cheng puts off Lan Xichen for four days, using any excuse he can think of, each more flimsy than the last. He’s too polite to call him on his bullshit. Or maybe the Lan sect just really wants this.

Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, splits his time between glaring at everyone and burying himself in books like a giant weirdo. Jiang Cheng is pretty sure Wei Wuxian managed to not learn a single fucking thing when he’d been here to actually study, and now, he’s suddenly book-obsessed? Wei Wuxian even spends an afternoon with the Lan elders having some sort of study session that Wei Wuxian brushes off as being his punishment for apparently almost killing Lan Wangji? Somehow?

But, yeah, marrying those two idiots to each other is somehow an amazing idea.

What the fuck.

While Jiang Cheng waits, he wanders in to talk to the Lan healers. They’re cagey as hell, but are at least willing to confirm that Wei Wuxian’s health is of concern.

Fuck.

A-Jie finally arrives in the afternoon of the fifth day. He tries not to look as relieved as he feels. The disciples must have pushed the boats to a ridiculous speed to get them here so quickly. He meets her at the gates, sending the retinue back down to Caiyi to find an inn. He hardly needs to bring a small army into the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Xichen appears too, greeting A-Jie properly and not all at like he’s surprised to see her here. He looks more pleased than anything.

Whatever.

Lan disciples show A-Jie and Wen Qing to guest rooms near Jiang Cheng’s—the one he hasn’t been using, not willing to let Wei Wuxian out of his sight even to sleep. He tries not to look too impatient, allowing them time to refresh themselves. Fortunately, A-Jie doesn’t take long, clearly just as eager to know what this is about.

Jiang Cheng pointedly asks Wen Qing if she’ll be comfortable in the rooms on her own for a while, and she takes the hint that he’d rather not have her along for this bit.

He must have been a bit ruder than he meant to be though because the moment they are alone, A-Jie is turning to him.

“A-Cheng,” she scolds.

He forces himself to take a breath, not willing to take any of this out on A-Jie. “You have no idea what I’ve been putting up with, A-Jie. It’s horrible.”

She frowns. “A-Xian—” she starts to say.

“He’s fine,” he says, more reflex than anything, only to wince a moment later when he realizes he’s technically lied to her. “More or less.”

A-Jie’s eyes widen.

“Just…wait. We’re going to see him.” He guides her across the Cloud Recesses, forcing himself to keep his pace reasonable.

A-Jie looks around them as they enter what are clearly the private homes of the inner clan members. “He’s still staying in Hanguang-Jun’s home?”

“Apparently,” Jiang Cheng says, annoyed all over again by every facet of this. “Even though he isn’t here.”

“Hanguang-Jun isn’t here?” she asks. “Oh! Did they break the curse?”

Jiang Cheng lets out a sigh. “Not yet, but apparently Lan Wangji is off somewhere dealing with it.”

A-Jie frowns, looking as confused by that as he is.

They find Wei Wuxian sitting inside surrounded by papers, cinnabar, and ink, like the total madman he clearly has become. Jiang Cheng swears he never used to be so obsessed with talismans and arrays. But what does he know. It’s not like Wei Wuxian deigns to use his damn sword anymore.

“Shijie!” Wei Wuxian says when he looks up, eyes wide.

He doesn’t waste any time scrambling to his feet, making the mess even worse. It’s a good thing Lan Wangji isn’t here, or he’d run his sword through Wei Wuxian and certainly not offer to marry him, judging from the disaster he’s made of the once pristine space. Jiang Cheng ignores the petty part of him that kind of takes amusement at the thought of Lan Wangji having to put up with Wei Wuxian’s shit for all eternity. It’s about time someone else had to deal with it. He’d better not give Wei Wuxian too much crap about it, though.

A-Jie and Wei Wuxian fall all over each other, Wei Wuxian letting her pet and fuss. It’s so dumb, but also nice to see. It always seems to start out this way these days, remembering when Wei Wuxian first came back to Lotus Pier with Lan Wangji and a half-dead Wen Ning in tow.

It never lasts, though.

Wei Wuxian looks over at Jiang Cheng in accusation, like he can’t believe he’d brought A-Jie all this way. As if it weren’t completely Wei Wuxian’s fault.  

“Clear this shit up,” Jiang Cheng says, waving a hand at the mess on and around the table. Where is A-Jie supposed to sit? “The three of us are going to talk about this. And then Wen Qing is going to look you over.”

“Wen Qing is here too?” Wei Wuxian asks, not fixing any of the papers until A-Jie moves like she’ll do it instead. Then Wei Wuxian sweeps in, making messy piles and putting them off to the side.

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng says. “Now sit.”

“How is Wen Ning?” Wei Wuxian asks, clearly ignoring him.   

“The same,” A-Jie says.

Wei Wuxian seems to deflate. “He still hasn’t woken up?”

“No,” she says, sounding sad, mostly on Wen Qing’s behalf, he imagines.

They let Wei Wuxian serve them tea, some bland blend that tastes faintly of grass. Jiang Cheng winces, setting his cup back down on the table.

A-Jie is the first to speak. “A-Cheng, A-Xian. What is going on?”

She looks worried now, and that’s not okay. Especially since they haven’t even gotten to the worrisome part yet.

“Zewu-Jun has approached us with a betrothal offer,” Jiang Cheng says, not seeing any reason to tiptoe around it.

A-Jie goes still, just enough for him to realize what she must be thinking.

“They want Wei Wuxian to marry Lan Wangji,” he quickly clarifies.  

“Oh!” she says, expression clearing as she turns to look at Wei Wuxian. “Oh, A-Xian. Really? Have you and Lan-er-gongzi finally—”

“No!” Wei Wuxian says, and somehow, the world’s most shameless man has the gall to flush like a maiden. What the fuck. “No, we haven’t—Shijie!”

A-Jie just smiles wider at Wei Wuxian, her whole face going soft at something she apparently sees there. Like she is more pleased than surprised.

Is Jiang Cheng really the only one blindsided by this?

Wei Wuxian does not smile back, looking away.

A-Jie frowns, eyes darting over to Jiang Cheng before going back to their brother. “Do you not want to marry him, A-Xian?”

Wei Wuxian gets up like he can’t handle sharing a table with them. “It’s not about what I want! Why does everyone keep going on about that?”

“Do you even know?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Wuxian frowns at him. “What?”

“Do you even know if you want it or not?”

Wei Wuxian gapes for a moment, like a fish snatched out of a lake.

“A-Xian,” A-Jie says again, with that perfect softness that plunges in like a knife.

“Of course, I don’t want it,” Wei Wuxian says, a beat too late. “I want to go back to Lotus Pier. I want…”

A-Jie shares a look with Jiang Cheng. He is so glad she’s here and he won’t have to deal with this on his own.

A-Jie reaches out and takes Wei Wuxian’s hand, urging him to take a seat again. “What is it that you really object to, A-Xian? Do you not feel that way about Lan-er-gongzi?”

Wei Wuxian only flushes darker and Jiang Cheng really hates his entire life right now.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” she says as he sits back down next to her, his hand still clasped between hers. “I’m sure Zewu-Jun would understand that.”

Wei Wuxian twitches, face contorting as if he’s imagining something particularly horrible. “That’s…not it,” he says, sounding like each word is being dragged out of his throat. He tries and fails to give a distracting laugh, to make this all seem silly and half like a joke they can all just brush past. “Who wouldn’t feel that way about Lan Zhan?”

Jiang Cheng refrains from pointing out that literally everyone else likely does not feel that way about Lan Wangji.

A-Jie, being the better person, merely smiles, clearly pleased, but still confused. She then presses on with her gentle assault that Jiang Cheng is wildly thankful not to be on the receiving end of for once. “A-Xian, if you care for him, if it’s not Lan-er-gongzi you object to, then is it marriage itself?”

Wei Wuxian goes very still, like a prey animal who has just caught a whiff of a wolf. He’s horribly hesitant once he starts to speak. “Isn’t that just… Tying two people together like that, isn’t that just asking them to make each other miserable?”

It lands painfully in the room, the unspoken specter of the parents they grew up watching tear each other apart.

“Has it been?” A-Jie asks, still so horribly gentle.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asks, clearly sensing a trap.

A-Jie pets his arm. “You’ve spent every moment together for months, tied more tightly than any married couple. Was it miserable?”

It’s there on his brother’s dumb face. He wasn’t. He wasn’t miserable at all.

“You do,” Jiang Cheng says, somewhat surprised despite himself. “You do want this.”

Wei Wuxian looks away. “I want Lotus Pier to be safe. I want you two to be safe. That’s what I want.” 

“And how does marrying Lan-er-gongzi get in the way of that?” A-Jie asks.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng says. “Maybe I make them send him to Lotus Pier.” He supposes he could live with that sanctimonious asshole underfoot if it means having his brother home. Lan Wangji has already proven to be more help than Wei Wuxian ever is.

There is something horribly like longing on Wei Wuxian’s face at the idea that makes Jiang Cheng want to punch someone. Repeatedly.

“Look,” Jiang Cheng says gruffly. “This agreement would strengthen Yunmeng Jiang. Far more than your amulet that everyone is half-terrified and half-covetous of. And it’s not like you’ve been of any use to Lotus Pier as is. These trade agreements alone could… It would help.”  

If, on top of everything, the damn amulet is hurting him the way the Lan seem to think it is…it isn’t even a question. Maybe once it’s out of the way, Wei Wuxian could help more. Could be more himself again. Maybe he’d even pick up his damn sword again.

Wei Wuxian crosses his arms like a petulant baby. “If selling me off is best for Yunmeng Jiang, who am I to disagree?” he says, voice almost lifeless.  

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “Stop it. If you don’t want this, then we walk. Okay?” 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t say anything in response.

“Here,” Jiang Cheng says, passing the contract over to A-Jie. “Tell me what you think.”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t even protest, just eyeing the document with an expression Jiang Cheng is stupidly tempted to call yearning.

“This seems very thorough,” A-Jie says once she finishes reading it. “And very generous. They clearly want this match very much.”

Wei Wuxian twitches.

“You don’t think the Lans are actually trying to grab the amulet for themselves, do you?” Jiang Cheng asks, just needing to check.

This change in topic seems to calm Wei Wuxian down a bit. “No. I can’t see them using it.”

Well, there’s that at least. But there is clearly also something else on Wei Wuxian’s mind. “What is it then?”

Wei Wuxian looks out the window, shaking his head. But his hand also lifts to wrap around his damn flute.  

His brother’s cultivation is something they’ve never really touched on, and Jiang Cheng feels a twist in his stomach, feeling off-kilter. The things his brother can do…they’re objectively terrifying. And fucking infuriating. Which pretty much sums up Wei Wuxian right there.

He looks over at A-Jie and she meets his gaze.

“Your cultivation,” he ventures. “You don’t want to give it up.”

Predictably, Wei Wuxian’s shoulders immediately lift up to his ears, every inch of his body rigid with indignation. A storm on the horizon. Once, it had been pranks and jokes and smiles covering everything up all the time. Now it’s just rage. But the lies and covering are all the same.

Actually sitting and looking, the damn Lans’ voices in his head—your brother isn’t well— he can see it now. “They were telling the truth, weren’t they. It hurts you.”  

Wei Wuxian seems to swell with yet more indignation before abruptly deflating. “It doesn’t matter,” he says again.

“A-Xian,” A-Jie says, hand to her chest, giving him the deeply worried look. The one neither of them can stand against.  

“Shijie, I’m fine.” Wei Wuxian winces, shooting Jiang Cheng a betrayed look that he’d had the audacity to set A-Jie on him. Jiang Cheng crosses his arms over his chest. He is more than comfortable with his choices.

“When I ask Wen Qing to look at you, will she agree?” Jiang Cheng asks.

A-Jie makes a sound of distress, not even waiting for Wei Wuxian’s response. Maybe she’s realizing why Jiang Cheng asked for Wen Qing to be brought in the first place. “A-Xian, you’re sick?”

“I’m not!” he says, panicking in the face of A-Jie’s upset.

She is not fooled. “A-Xian, if this is hurting you…”

“I can handle it,” he says, trying to distract them both with a stupid smile.  

“So Lan Xichen is lying?” Jiang Cheng snaps, daring him to lie to A-Jie.

Wei Wuxian glares at him.  

Technically Jiang Cheng could order Wei Wuxian to give the amulet up, as his sect leader. That’s all it should take. But he has no confidence that Wei Wuxian would actually follow the order. It’s one of the reasons he so rarely dares to give him orders in the first place.

A-Jie gets there first, grabbing both of Wei Wuxian’s hands. “Promise me, A-Xian. Promise me you’ll stop using it.” She shakes her head. “You don’t have to let the Lan destroy it or marry Hanguang-Jun. But just do this for me.”

This, it seems, is the one thing Wei Wuxian has no defense against. He closes his eyes, all the fight going out of him. When he opens his eyes again, he looks exhausted. For the first time, he looks just as sick as they say he is.

“Okay, Shijie,” he says, nodding. “Okay.”

Wei Wuxian lies in bed, staring into the dark ceiling of the Jingshi.

It’s hardly the first time sleep has eluded him, but tonight his thoughts are moving painfully slowly, circling and circling like an exhausted bird trying not to crash into the trees. It feels like he can’t quite take a full breath, like everything is balancing on the tip of an arrowhead, ready to plummet down on either side. Like if he lets himself actually have a single thought about anything at all, he’ll be completely doomed.

Jiang Cheng lets out a particularly loud snore across the room and Wei Wuxian closes his eyes, trying to find comfort in the familiar rumble, but Jiang Cheng is a big part of the problem right now, so it doesn’t work at all.

It’s all just too close, so much in danger of spilling out all at once.

The fucking Lans.

Sure, he got them to agree to not tell anyone about his core, but apparently he should have been more fucking specific and told them not to say anything about his health at all! Because now he has Jiang Cheng looking at him funny, and he’d stupidly admitted to the Burial Mounds thing when he wasn’t thinking straight, and Shijie’s looking all sad and asking him to make promises as if he hasn’t broken all the ones he already made to them long before this.

Fuck.

He really wishes Lan Zhan was here.

Wow, that stray thought does not help things at all. This is why he doesn’t want to think. Why finding some way to just cease existing sounds a lot safer all around. The damage is done, though, and the birds have all crash-landed and there’s nothing to do but think about it now.

Lan Zhan.

Jiang Cheng has refused to leave the Jingshi, clearly wanting to keep an eye on Wei Wuxian. Meaning he’d taken Wei Wuxian’s bed for himself and forced him into Lan Zhan’s with something like a dare in his expression.

Not that Wei Wuxian hadn’t been sleeping in it most nights anyway. It just feels even worse now, in context.

Marriage.

What the hell. He can’t even wrap his brain around it, no matter how many days it’s been since Lan Xichen dumped this on them. Wei Wuxian has never seen himself getting married. Sure, it was one of those things that might happen someday. Probably to some other Jiang disciple or some insignificant daughter of a local family. But only to have kids and maybe not even then, Madam Yu having made it pretty clear how she felt about the idea of more Weis running around. But he’d do it if asked!

So marrying was never anything he bothered to give real thought to, knowing it wouldn’t be his choice to make anyway. Even less so after he gave up his core.

He gave up a lot of things that day, really. The hazy idea of his own family…he’d barely ever had a grasp on that, and let go of it entirely after.

Even in his wildest imaginings, he would never consider marrying Lan Zhan.

He wants to laugh it off as ridiculous, but it hurts too much. He doesn’t want to think about why.

Sitting up, he gives up on sleep and lights a couple candles. Anything to save him from this line of thinking. He means to do some reading or research, but instead he finds himself pulling out Lan Zhan’s letter. Not the long one, the confusing essay that still makes it hard to breathe if he happens to think of it. Wei Wuxian hasn’t read that one again. Can’t really bring himself to.

No, tonight he pulls out the letter Jiang Cheng brought with him instead. It’s much, much shorter and far more formulaic. Most of it is just as boring as he would have guessed a letter from Lan Zhan would be. Elegant but terse. Lifeless.

Wei Wuxian forces himself to read the closing of the letter, to really let it sink in.

I will write again when the curse is eradicated completely.

Be in good in health.

-Lan Wangji

Wei Wuxian touches the characters of the signature, the tips of his fingers brushing the surface of the paper. Lan Wangji. The distant, impersonal tone of the letter doesn’t help with any of this. It makes Wei Wuxian feel like he must have imagined that other letter entirely.

Wei Ying. My zhiji. My light.

He blows out a pained breath. That had to have been the curse talking. It had to be. It makes sense! The curse is going away now. So Lan Zhan is getting back to normal. No more room to be confused by…whatever that all was.

He wonders what Lan Zhan would think of what his family is trying to do. Lan Zhan couldn’t possibly want that. Even if any of it had been real at some point, that isn’t now. That isn’t this Wei Wuxian, what’s left of him.

Wei Wuxian can only hope that Jiang Cheng is trying to find a polite way to say no, but Wei Wuxian can tell he’s really considering it. Considering agreeing to Wei Wuxian marrying Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan.

Marrying him.

It’s ridiculous and it will never happen.

Firmly putting an end to this useless train of thought, Wei Wuxian picks up a text in desperate hope of finding anything else at all to occupy his thoughts.

In the morning, Jiang Cheng drags Wei Wuxian to the infirmary. Not even Wei Wuxian’s best attempts at derailing and provoking help him escape Jiang Cheng’s insistence.

So unreasonable!

“Jiang Cheng,” he complains. “I’m too tired.”

“Then it’s a good thing there will be doctors to look you over.”

Wei Wuxian only desists his attempts to wiggle his way out of it when Jiang Cheng threatens to get Shijie. That is a dirty play. He’d be impressed if it weren’t so annoying.

Lan Yunxia is there when Jiang Cheng finally shoves Wei Wuxian inside.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” she greets, bowing. She gives Wei Wuxian a quick glance, clearly unimpressed with what she sees, like he might look as exhausted as he feels. “Wei-gongzi.”

He tugs his robes into slightly more presentable order. “Lan-daifu,” he grumbles.

Jiang Cheng gives her little more than a curt nod before rounding on Wei Wuxian. “No more hiding from this. Let the doctor look at you. I’ll go fetch Wen Qing.”

Lan Yunxia and Wei Wuxian are left standing awkwardly with each other. Or rather Wei Wuxian is awkward. Lan Yunxia manages to look perfectly at peace as she always does.

As far as doctors go, and Lans, for that matter, she’s not terrible. He’s never really had a problem with her, even when he was just working to avoid her, like he would do to anyone in her profession, really. But now she knows way more than she should and it makes his skin itch.

Wen Qing arrives soon after, not looking rushed or harried at all. But most importantly, she is on her own. “Jiang-zongzhu had other things to attend to,” she says.

More likely, she had made it perfectly clear that Jiang Cheng was not welcome. Wei Wuxian could kiss her.

Instead, he introduces the two. “Lan Yunxia, this is Wen Qing.”

They bow to each other, and if Lan Yunxia has any particular feelings about a Wen doctor being in the Cloud Recesses, she doesn’t show it.

“Wen-daifu,” she greets, affording Wen Qing better respect than her current standing probably demands, no longer a high-ranking member of a great sect, nor even a sword-carrying cultivator, but rather a prisoner out for a jaunt.

Something seems to relax slightly in Wen Qing’s posture in response. “Lan-daifu. Thank you for allowing me to consult on this case.”

“Your expertise is most welcome. This is an unusual case.”

Wen Qing almost smiles. “Wei Wuxian certainly is that.” She looks at Wei Wuxian, hands twitching as if she wants to examine him, but hesitant to do it in front of an audience.

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian says, looking around the room to make sure they are alone. “Right. Lan-daifu knows. You know, about me not having a core.”

Wen Qing’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

“Wen Qing! Don’t look at me like that,” he complains. “You’re the one who said I’d never be able to keep it quiet forever.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t think that meant you would actually be smart enough to ask for help.”

He snorts. “I didn’t. Lan Qiren bullied me into admitting it.”

Wen Qing shakes her head. “You’re a mess, Wei Wuxian.”

He doesn’t snap back something like ‘and whose fault is that?’ because first of all, it isn’t true, and second of all, she doesn’t deserve that for doing something he begged her to do.

“I still don’t regret it,” he says.

“I know you don’t,” she says, like somehow that’s part of the main reason she thinks he’s such a mess.

Turning back to Lan Yunxia, Wen Qing bows. “If you would be willing, I would appreciate hearing about Wei Wuxian’s current treatment plan.”

Lan Yunxia looks to Wei Wuxian, and it takes him a moment to realize she is waiting for him to give her permission to speak of it. Wild.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Go ahead. I don’t have any secrets from Wen Qing.”

Briskly nodding, Lan Yunxia gestures for Wen Qing to join her in looking at a series of reports. They talk through Lan Yunxia’s initial findings and treatments. Wei Wuxian mostly tunes it out, letting them do their doctor thing. Having to deal with the teas and acupuncture is bad enough; he doesn’t need to hear them talking about it.

At one point, Wen Qing spears Wei Wuxian with a speculative look and his self-preservation kicks back in long enough to start paying attention again.

“Good move with the diet change,” Wen Qing says. “I hadn’t thought about the food here.” She looks mad at herself. It’s not like anyone has used his kind of cultivation before, so Wei Wuxian thinks she should cut herself some slack. Even Wen Ruohan had the balance of resentment and a golden core going on.

Which also drove him completely insane, so…probably not a great comparison.

It’s Lan Yunxia that is actually brave enough to bring it up directly. “I have little experience with the sort of resentment present in Wei-gongzi’s body, nor his type of cultivation. It is my hope you might be able to provide greater guidance.”

It sits there a moment, the near-acknowledgement of where Wen Qing’s experience comes from.

Wen Qing lifts her chin. “Yes. I was tasked with my uncle’s health as he used the yin iron. I am familiar with the long-term effects of resentment on the body.” She stops, looking down at her hands as something like sorrow crosses her features. She quickly recovers, face once again implacable. “Though I cannot say I had great success in protecting his temperament despite my efforts.”

It strikes Wei Wuxian then, that Wen Ruohan had not just been her sect leader, not just the man who imprisoned her and used her brother’s life as a weiqi piece to maintain her obedience. He had also been her uncle at some point. A family member. Had there once been trust and affection there?

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian says, touching her shoulder, even if he’s a little scared it might get cut off for his efforts. “That wasn’t on you. This stuff…well, no surprise. It’s like they say, it’s dangerous and really hard to get a handle on. Once he decided to…there really wasn’t anything you could have done.”

Wen Qing sucks in a breath, her shoulders squaring as she takes a step back away from his touch. “Either way, I don’t plan on failing a second time, Wei Wuxian.” She gives him a flinty look. “You’ll need to tell me everything about your cultivation.”

Wei Wuxian looks over at Lan Yunxia, feeling a bit panicked at the thought of talking about any of this in front of her.

Lan Yunxia looks between them. “I will leave you to your examination, Wen-daifu. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist.”

With that, they are left on their own. Lans really can be decent sometimes.

Wen Qing sits down. “Okay,” she says. “Start with everything that happened the moment after you left us on the mountain.”

To Wen Qing’s credit, she sits rather impassively as Wei Wuxian tells a story that he still does his best never to think of, no matter how often they haunt his dreams.

It’s horrible, the way it somehow makes it all real, someone else knowing what happened. This isn’t the same as the Lans knowing he has no core and that he was in the Burial Mounds. That was terrible, yes, but they don’t know the details, and Wei Wuxian knows any story they have made up for themselves is nowhere near as bad as reality. There’s comfort in that, somehow.

But with Wen Qing, he doesn’t hold back, and now it’s all real. A real thing that happened, not something he can pretend away.

He hates it so much.

But once he starts, he can’t really stop, like blood gushing from an untended wound. With each new terrible thing he tells her that she doesn’t look away from, doesn’t cry over or gaze at him with pity, each time it doesn’t fundamentally change the way she looks at him or make her threaten him with needles…it’s also somehow like breathing again after a really long time.

She knows this all about him now and isn’t running away. Isn’t treating him differently. Doesn’t tell him he is overreacting or underreacting or anything at all, really, about what he did or didn’t do. What he should or shouldn’t have done. She just sits and takes it, like maybe this is her own punishment for the part she played.

She does hug him when he finally gets to the end. Just a firm, almost angry grab before she pushes him back away. “Idiot,” she breathes.

Wei Wuxian gives her a watery smile. “That’s me!”

She punches him in the arm and it’s strong and it hurts and it’s the greatest thing he’s felt in a long while.

Wen Qing turns away from him, collecting herself and when she manages to look at him again, she’s once again all business, hands on her hips.

“Okay. The way you talk about it, your cultivation and the amulet are not inexorably linked.”

“No,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling both strangely exposed and also kind of gratified to have someone finally notice the fucking difference. “I’ve only used the amulet twice.”

Wen Qing nods slowly, her mind clearly churning away at something. “One of those times being when you helped defeat my uncle?”

He nods. He’s never felt guilty about killing her family, not her uncle or her cousin or anyone else, but it still feels weird to be talking about it so directly.

“What happened after you did? What was the effect on you?”

“Nosebleed,” Wei Wuxian says, still so easily able to remember the feel of a hand tight around his throat. “Lost consciousness.”

Wen Qing’s eyes narrow. “For how long?”

“Three days,” he admits. Three days during which Lan Zhan apparently came and played for him. He squirms away from the thought.

“And the second time?” Wen Qing asks.

“Night hunt,” he says. “The bat king.”

The night hunt where her brother almost died and many of her clansmen did. This is a really fun conversation all around.

“Side effects?” Wen Qing asks, still brisk and efficient, clearly not willing to get weepy over any of it.

He shrugs. “I was tired, got a nosebleed, but that’s about it. I didn’t lose consciousness.” Sure, he may have almost fainted there a moment, but he didn’t! The bat king, after all, as horrific as it was, still couldn’t compare to Wen Ruohan’s army of demons and puppets.

“And what of your temperament?” Wen Qing asks.

Wei Wuxian winces, thinking back to the days and weeks following. He hadn’t exactly been at his best, he has to admit, but there had been a lot going on. Even Lan Zhan had noticed it though, the nightmares, his temperament.

You anger quickly. Your moods are mercurial. You can be…sharp.

“Not great,” he admits.

She nods. “Let me examine you again.”

He sits through yet another examination, letting her do as she likes. When she’s finally done, she sits down next to him on the bed.

“Look, I can’t speak to your cultivation without learning a lot more about it. But I can speak to the effects of the yin iron.”

“Okay,” he says, bracing himself for whatever it is she’s going to say.

“It will kill you,” she says, not pulling any punches. “It doesn’t draw from something you can just rest and rebuild like depleted qi. Its cost is far worse. It’s depleting your very essence. That is not something you can get back, in this life or the next. It’s why my uncle became what he did. In fact, I’d say the only reason you’re not in worse shape right now is because you haven’t used it very much, and never for the same purpose.”

Wei Wuxian isn’t an idiot. He knows that the amulet is pretty corrosive. He’s got a handle on it. But. “So this idea of destroying the amulet isn’t a terrible one then.”

Oh, the amulet sure thinks it’s a terrible idea, bending Wei Wuxian’s bones in the wrong direction just enough to remind him that it can. He fights back a wince, breathing deep and smacking the amulet back down into compliance.

Wei Wuxian is the one in charge here, not it.

The voices think that’s fucking hilarious.

“No,” Wen Qing says. “It’s not a bad idea at all. I’d say it’s essential, in fact. Unless you could put it somewhere and promise never to use it.”

He gives her a look. He would never be able to stay away from it, not if someone really needed him and it was the only way he could help.

“Yeah,” Wen Qing says with a sigh, clearly reading the answer there. “I didn’t think so.”

The idea of letting go of his ability to help is hard, but how many more times can he use it before he slips? It’s the worse threat, not that he might die, but that he might not die. That he might somehow slip into dangerous madness first, become the very demon they all think he is.

“So say we get rid of it somehow,” he says, ignoring the threats echoing in his head. “Then what?”

“Well, then we might be able to address your other health issues, if we could somehow control the levels of resentment in your system.”

“What would happen if they tried to cleanse me?” He thinks of every time he had to sit through the torture of someone playing Clarity near him. He suspects he already knows the answer.

“You’d probably die.”

Ah, Wen Qing. So straight to the point. He’s missed her.

Her brow furrows as she considers the problem. “It could possibly be done in smaller increments, but I still think without a golden core, you might always need some of the resentment just to keep yourself going.”

Wei Wuxian perks up at that. Both because it means he will at least have something, even if not the amulet. He could probably still be pretty useful just with his abilities to manipulate resentment and the musical cultivation he’s cobbled together. Nothing like what he has with the amulet, obviously. Maybe not even quite what he had with his core, but it’s something, at least.

More importantly, it’s going to be really helpful with a different problem altogether.

“Okay,” he says, turning to Wen Qing. “I need you to say that to Lan Xichen.”

If anything is going to change their minds, it will be that.

Wei Wuxian drags Wen Qing to the Hanshi, ignoring the two Lan disciples trailing behind them. Considering what happened the last time a Wen disciple set foot in the Cloud Recesses, he can’t really blame them.

Wei Wuxian taps impatiently at the Hanshi’s door, not waiting for a response before he goes right in.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing hisses.

He ignores her, catching her sleeve and pulling her along.

Lan Qiren is here too. That is really convenient. There is zero chance he is going to let a resentment-wielding unorthodox cultivator marry his perfect nephew. That is never going to happen.

“Hello!” he says, maybe sounding a little too enthused in his excitement.

“Wen-daifu,” Lan Xichen says. “Thank you again for traveling so far. I know Lan Yunxia greatly appreciates your guidance.”

Wen Qing rips her arm free from Wei Wuxian, bowing deeply. “Lan-zongzhu. Lan-xiansheng. Thank you for allowing me entrance into the Cloud Recesses. Please tell me of any way I can be of service.”

Wei Wuxian gives her a sideways look, not used to seeing her in her polite mode. She ignores him, but something in the clench of her jaw promises future retaliation.

“Have you had a chance to examine Wei-gongzi?”

She nods. “I have.” She glances over at Wei Wuxian, not angry this time, but rather asking him for something.

He nods. “Yeah. Sure. Go ahead and tell them.”

Wen Qing turns back to Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren. “I agree that the amulet is impacting Wei Wuxian’s health. He should stop using it by whatever means possible.”

They look pleased. Which, fine. Good. Great for Jiang Cheng and his trade agreements.

Wei Wuxian nudges Wen Qing and she gives him a sharp look, stepping away from him.

“That being said,” she continues, “it is also my opinion that Wei Wuxian will likely always need some level of his cultivation just to keep himself alive.”

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren share a look.

“His cultivation…” Lan Xichen says.

She nods. “His cultivation using resentment.”

Lan Qiren frowns, his beard sent twitching. A very good sign! “Are you saying that the resentment is in some way helping him?”

“I can’t say it’s helping,” Wen Qing says, “but it is keeping him alive despite the injuries he suffered. To be blunt, with the extent of his injuries, he should be dead.”

Great. Way to make Wei Wuxian sound like he’s a puppet or something. Whatever. The worse it sounds, the better it will be for Wei Wuxian’s goal, he supposes.

“So he will always on some level be using his cultivation,” Lan Xichen says carefully, like he’s waiting to be hit with a stick just for voicing it.

“Yup,” Wei Wuxian says, rocking forward on his toes. This is it. The thing that will push them too far and then Lan Zhan will be free of all this mess. His mess. “I guess this changes your plans a bit, but luckily it’s not too late.” He tries to look contrite, but probably doesn’t pull it off.

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren look at one another, some sort of debate taking place. After a moment, Lan Qiren looks away with a huff.

“No,” Lan Xichen says with a smile. “It is unexpected to be sure, and perhaps not ideal, but it does not change our resolve. We are content to continue with the alliance.”

“What,” Wei Wuxian says, voice flat.

Lan Xichen looks at Wen Qing. “We are pleased to have your expertise. It is a great relief to us that Wei Wuxian will have the best care.”

Wei Wuxian will not be ignored like this. “Why are you doing this?” he hisses, exhausted and frustrated beyond words.

Wen Qing glances between Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen. “If you would excuse me, Lan-zongzhu, I will meet with Lan Yunxia-daifu to complete our plan for Wei Wuxian’s care.”

Lan Xichen smiles at her. “Thank you, Wen-daifu.” He dismisses her.

Lan Qiren also stands, giving his nephew a look before striding out of the room without another word.

Once it is just the two of them, Lan Xichen rises. “You seem upset, Wei-gongzi.”

“Do I?” Wei Wuxian shoots back, pacing back and forth with tight, agitated strides. “How surprising!”  

“You are not pleased with this proposal, I take it.”

“Not pleased—” Wei Wuxian stops, throwing his hands up in the air out of sheer frustration. “Why would you do this to your brother? He worked hard enough to get rid of me and now you want to tie him to me for good?”

Lan Xichen sighs. “Did you even read my brother’s letter?”

Wei Wuxian knows he means the long, intimate one and he’s really regretting letting Lan Xichen read it, let alone Lan Qiren. What had he been thinking? Clearly, he’d been out of his mind.

“That was the curse talking,” he says between clenched teeth. Why is it so hard for everyone to understand that?

Lan Xichen looks at him like he’s insane. “Is that really what you believe?”

“You said it, it’s a love curse. I was just a convenient nearby friend.” Even friend seems like a stretch, and this is a conversation about Lan Zhan somehow wanting to marry him.

Lan Xichen closes his eyes as if pleading the heavens to provide him with patience. Apparently only once he finds it does he dare to speak again. “I believe, Wei-gongzi, that it would not have mattered if you were there that day or not. The result would likely be the same. You are the one he longs for.”

Wei Wuxian feels a laugh escape him, scraping out of his throat. “If that were true, then why did he leave? I must have made him miserable to risk this.” It’s the thing he has been too scared to put into words. Just how desperate must Lan Zhan have been?

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen says, sharp and almost scolding. “My brother is not your keeper and does not wish to be. He knows the only reason you came here was because of the curse.”

Wei Wuxian hates the way that makes it sound, even if he knows it’s true. He really never would have come here otherwise. But he also hadn’t really understood. Or maybe he would have said no for a different reason if he had. Punishment and imprisonment are one threat, the soft comfort and belonging to be felt in Lan Zhan’s home, at Lan Zhan’s side, is something else entirely. Something far more treacherous. More dangerous. 

Lan Xichen refuses to relent, ruthlessly pressing on. “You avoided and argued with him for months before this. Rebuffed him at every turn. How was he to know any different?”

“That wasn’t…” Wei Wuxian says, struggling to defend himself against this.

I found I could not give you distance, no matter how much you clearly did not want me near. No matter how much you reviled me.

Lan Zhan’s stupid letter continues to haunt him, and why is it only now that his memory doesn’t have the kindness to forget?

Wei Wuxian takes a deep, steadying breath. “Even if that were true. That Lan Zhan… Even if he… That’s not me.” He fans his fingers out, dragging his hands down in front of his body as if to encompass the entire broken mess. “It’s not this.” Lan Xichen had said it himself. He would not have you this way. “Why would you tie him to this? You heard Wen Qing!”

Lan Xichen takes a careful breath. “I asked you once if you were able to destroy the amulet. I suppose I should have asked a different question. Would you be willing to destroy it for Wangji? Would you destroy it to protect him from it, as well as to protect him from watching it destroy you?”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head over and over again, as if hoping to shake it all from his head. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I did. Even if you all somehow managed to cleanse me and exorcize me without it killing me. I can never be his equal. Not anymore.”

What is he without the amulet but a broken body and an empty dantian?

“I won’t tie him to me this way. I won’t be his burden.”

Lan Xichen gives Wei Wuxian a sad smile. “In all the time you have known Wangji, when has he ever allowed himself to be forced to do something he does not wish to do?”

Maybe Lan Zhan wouldn’t mind doing it, but he’d still be doing it for the wrong reasons. Duty. Service to his sect.

Wei Wuxian knows he would have married anyone Uncle Jiang told him to. Lan Zhan is even more dedicated and dutiful. But he’s also more stubborn , a voice in Wei Wuxian’s brain tries to butt in. He doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

“He deserves better,” Wei Wuxian says, because that is one thing he is absolutely certain of.

“You have no arguments on your own behalf, I notice.”

Wei Wuxian looks away, not having the capacity for coming up with a lie.

Lan Xichen sighs. “If, when he returns, Wangji does not wish for this, we will not require it of either of you. Is that sufficient?”

It will have to be.

After all, Wei Wuxian isn’t sure he’s strong enough to be the one to walk away from it.

At the end of the week, Jiang Cheng meets with Lan Xichen and formally accepts the proposal, contingent on Lan Wangji’s acceptance upon his return. They also knock out an alternative agreement that does not depend on the marriage, should such an event come to pass. Wei Wuxian insists upon it for some reason.

Seeing his brother so certain of rejection is a hard thing to stomach.

Wei Wuxian is subdued, abnormally quiet as the final pieces are hammered out.

When it’s done, Lan Xichen smiles. “I will inform the other great sects.”

It’s custom to let everyone else know, especially because that’s a large part of alliances, letting others know that you have each other’s backs. The specifics of the arrangement will still be kept private, but the Nie and Jin will at least know that the Lan and Jiang have forged a close tie and will stand with one another and that the amulet is no longer something to be worried about. He can only hope this helps with his dealings with Jin Guangshan.

Jiang Cheng collects his disciples and escorts A-jie and Wen Qing down to the gates. Wen Qing seems content with the Lan doctor’s ability to look after Wei Wuxian’s health. That will have to be good enough for Jiang Cheng too.

Wei Wuxian will stay behind to begin his work with the Lan scholars on figuring out how to destroy the amulet.

It’s hard to leave him here. But for the first time in a long while, Jiang Cheng at least has hope that maybe, at the end of it all, they’ll finally get their brother back.

It’s enough.

Chapter Text

So. This is really happening.

Wei Wuxian will just have to accept it. Nothing is going to make the Lans back out. The agreement is already signed. He’s going to destroy the amulet.

There’s something a little claustrophobic in the knowledge that he’s out of choices, but it also means he doesn’t really have anything left to lose. If it goes badly enough, they can still have Lan Zhan back out of the marriage and the trade agreements will be preserved. That’s good. He just has to hold up his end of the bargain and figure out some way to destroy the amulet. Preferably without getting himself or anyone else killed.

It burns for a moment, the panic that for once isn’t the amulet’s. What if someone did need him one day? What if the amulet would have been his only chance to save someone and he’d destroyed it? How is he supposed to live with that?

No, he tells himself. Even if that happens, he will just come up with a different solution. He will. Destroying the amulet is the right call. Putting it away somewhere just in case he may need it someday would never work. Even if he manages to keep away from it himself, sticking it away in some cave somewhere has proven to be a very ineffective way to keep dangerous keepsakes out of future generation’s hands.

The bottom line is that he just doesn’t trust anyone else to use it. He doesn’t trust anyone else to be able to resist using it.

Sure, the amulet is tied to him right now, but that doesn’t mean some future asshole couldn’t provide it with blood and promises enough to wrench away its loyalty, such as it is. Especially since Wei Wuxian hasn’t been giving it what it wants. Since he won’t.

He’s aware that the amulet isn’t loyal as much as it finds him useful. And now that he isn’t giving it what it wants, it’s been turning on him. He told himself he could handle it. That he wouldn’t let it hurt anyone but him. But he’ll lose that battle eventually. If these last few months have taught him anything, it’s that.

The war is over, Lotus Pier is on its way to being rebuilt. Jiang Cheng and Shijie are safe.

What more is there to fight for?

Doing this will keep everyone safe.

And if it makes all of this…what he’s been living with finally all stop, if he can finally, at last, rest, then maybe wanting that doesn’t make him a selfish asshole.

So, he’s going to destroy it. It’s what’s going to happen. Yet, if he’s going to destroy it, he’d like it to be in the service of something. He’d like it to mean something. To know that however he does it, it’s going to make some sort of difference.

Decision made, Wei Wuxian goes to get stabbed again that afternoon, as is custom far more times a week than he’d like.

“Could you please stop referring to it as stabbing?” Lan Yunxia asks, frustration at long last breaking her preternatural calm.

Wei Wuxian grins at her, happy to have gotten a reaction out of her. “Absolutely not.” Sure, annoying Lan Yunxia isn’t anywhere near as fun as teasing Lan Zhan—

Yeah, no, not thinking about that.

At dinner later that evening, which he is now somehow always eating with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, they show him another letter from Lan Zhan that arrived that afternoon.

Lan Xichen shakes his head when Wei Wuxian asks if there’s anything new in it, so it’s likely the same as the first couple of letters, letting them know that he is still okay, that he’s on the right track with breaking the curse, but that he won’t be back any time soon.

“Good,” Wei Wuxian says, not letting himself ask to read it. Frankly, he’s had enough of Lan Zhan’s letters.

They eat. Wei Wuxian’s able to finish everything, his appetite slowly having improved. There’s really nothing more annoying than having all the stuff prescribed by the Lan doctors actually working. It’s the worst, really.

After they finish eating, Wei Wuxian doesn’t waste any time getting straight to it, not having the patience for politeness or chatter. “Where are you keeping the yin iron pieces?”

There is a solid moment of silence, and Wei Wuxian is impressed by the way neither of them so much as twitch. It’s annoying too though.

“The yin iron pieces were destroyed at the end of the war,” Lan Qiren says, and it’s almost believable.

“Lying is forbidden,” he replies, not mad so much as frustrated. He’s had his every secret ripped open and spilled all over the ground and here they are, keeping this from him as if they have any right.

Lan Qiren opens his mouth, no doubt to yell, but Wei Wuxian makes sure he gets there first.

“Look, you’ve done a pretty impressive job. I can’t even sense it, which is really saying something. But I’m also not stupid. You don’t have a single elder powerful enough to sacrifice themselves to suppressing it. You don’t have many elders left as it is, and the library needs rebuilding, so you probably couldn’t sacrifice one like that anyway. So I have to ask myself, how else can they be doing it? Masking it so well and keeping it under control?”

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen might as well be statues, the way they sit frozen staring at him.

Wei Wuxian glances down at where Lan Qiren has his hands clenched in his lap. “You have a tremor in your hand, Lan-xiansheng. And both of your nephews fuss over you. I know you were injured during the attack on the Cloud Recesses, but so were a lot of people, including your nephews. So it seemed a little strange. Your injury could also be another reason you would not be strong enough to take the task on yourself despite your prodigious cultivation. If you forgive me saying so.” He tilts his head to the side. “Is it just a handful of you then? Or did you seriously somehow manage to create a suppression system that uses the energy of all of your remaining elders?”

They still don’t say anything, but they don’t need to. Lan Qiren looks annoyed enough that Wei Wuxian knows he’s gotten very close to the truth of it.

“Here’s the thing,” Wei Wuxian says, knowing he needs to level with them, as annoying as that is. “I can destroy the amulet. I’m not, like, entirely sure how yet, but it can definitely be done and I’m willing to do it. But if we destroy it, you are also destroying the best possible chance at actually ridding the world of the yin iron. You know someone will try to take it again someday. Someone will get ambitious or your elders will weaken, and we’ll just do this all over again.”

He looks back and forth between their faces. He could push further, but for once, he’s going to stop while he’s ahead. That was a lot he just threw at them and he’s beginning to suspect they may have actually put some spell on themselves, making it impossible to speak of it. Which is completely wild and he wants to know what that spell looks like and how it works immediately. He’ll have to wait, though, as much as he hates waiting.

“Just think about it. Have a little chat. You know where to find me.”

He gets up, bows, and heads back to the Jingshi.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to wait all that long, getting summoned to the Hanshi the next afternoon.

Lan Qiren seems more composed, if no less annoyed as he gestures for Wei Wuxian to sit. They remain like that, sitting in silence as the tea is poured before Lan Xichen dismisses the disciples, clearing the room.

Wei Wuxian tries not to bounce in anticipation as Lan Xichen places privacy talismans in place.

Lan Qiren speaks first. “You really believe it’s possible. Destroying the yin iron.”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian says. “Absolutely.”

It’s not a matter of how at this point, but rather which idea he’ll go with.  

“Explain,” Lan Qiren demands.  

“You first,” Wei Wuxian shoots back.

Lan Qiren, clearly annoyed, nods at Lan Xichen, giving him permission to speak.

Lan Xichen sets down his cup. “At first the yin iron seemed…depleted. It still proved indestructible, but whether with the passing of Wen Ruohan or perhaps whatever you had done to take control of the demons, the yin iron pieces appeared to no longer function or hold any power.”

Wei Wuxian nods, not all that surprised to hear it. The amulet had been pretty quiet there for a while too. He’d been foolish enough to hope it meant the same thing, but the yin iron wasn’t depleted so much as sated. Temporarily. “But that hasn’t proven true over time.”

“No,” Lan Xichen confirms, glancing at his uncle.  

“Are they still growing stronger?” Wei Wuxian asks. He knows how it can be, feeling like you have a handle on it, just for the iron to shift focus. He’d said that curses aren’t conscious, can’t adapt, but the yin iron, it certainly is. There is a consciousness there, even if only a rather animal one. That’s what makes it so dangerous.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren admits, and Wei Wuxian can see it there, the strain he’s been under.

Wei Wuxian nods, mind already churning away with the possibilities. “Do you have all three pieces here?”

“Only one,” Lan Xichen says.  

That’s interesting. “The other two?”

“Being held elsewhere,” Lan Xichen says.  

Wei Wuxian refrains from saying, Obviously. “Where?”

“We will not tell you that,” Lan Qiren snaps.  

Wei Wuxian smirks. He doesn’t need them to say it, really. They’ve got to be in Qinghe. Nothing else makes sense. Jiang Cheng doesn’t have any. He wouldn’t have been able to keep that from Wei Wuxian. The thought of the Jin sect having any just sits wrong with him. Would they be so desperate to look powerful with their stupid hunts and parties, and bug Jiang Cheng about the amulet if they knew there were pieces of yin iron laying around still? He has no idea, but he sure as hell hopes not. Though it’s possible that sworn brotherhood had more binding it together than it seemed.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says with a grin, unable to stop goading them at least a little. “We can see what we can do with the first piece. And if it works out, we can see if Chifeng-zun can be convinced to let you tell me.”

“What is your plan,” Lan Qiren says through gritted teeth.  

It still irks, having to explain himself to anyone, but he needs their cooperation to make this work. Plus, he has to admit, Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen aren’t so bad. Even the elders are helpful more often than not.

Shit, does that mean the punishment is actually working as intended? Making him better at asking his seniors for guidance? He plans on being pissed about that later, but right now he has other things to focus on.

The plan.

A plan the amulet is all on board with, which has the helpful side effect of keeping his mind clear. Though why the amulet likes the idea is pretty damn concerning all on its own.

“I use the amulet,” Wei Wuxian says.  

Lan Xichen shares an uneasy look with his uncle. “Which you believe will work why?”

Wei Wuxian spins his empty cup between his fingers, round and round and round it goes. “We know it’s stronger. It managed to counter Wen Ruohan’s three pieces when I took control of his puppets. I’m not entirely sure if that is because of how I refined it, or simply because of the different ways the yin pieces were stored.”

One glance at Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen makes it clear that he’s lost them already. Fine. Time for him to be the teacher, then. At least his information won’t be boring!

“The piece you had here was in isolation for centuries. The one in Dafan was in equilibrium for a long time, not getting up to anything too terrible—the piece in Tanzhou kept by the flower damsel, too. They haven’t been just sucking in resentment for centuries. They were all isolated.”

“And the amulet? It is yin iron?” Lan Qiren asks.

Right. This again.

Wei Wuxian glances at Lan Xichen. “Despite what people would claim, I did not take yin iron from Xue Yang. It must have been the Dafan piece he had on him, though Wen Ruohan giving it to him seems crazy. I don’t know.”

“Then where did your piece come from?” Lan Xichen asks.

Wei Wuxian takes a breath, still feeling reluctant to tell them even as he’s not entirely sure why. Is this resistance his or the amulet’s? Wow, he hates that. “I found it in the tulu xuanwu.”

Silence.

When he looks up, it’s to find both Lans staring at him in astonishment. On second thought, this is kind of fun, throwing them off this much. Making them eat their words.

Lan Xichen is the first to recover. “When you were in Muxi with Wangji?”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, like it’s no big deal. “It had been forged into a blade, and that blade was trapping the tulu xuanwu in place. I pulled it free and used it to help kill it.”

He wonders what Lan Zhan has or hasn’t told them about what happened there. Granted, a lot happened very quickly after, so there might not have been time.

“I can only assume it was placed there by Wen Mao since it’s in that territory. Maybe he thought it was the only way to protect the piece he was entrusted with. Maybe he couldn’t kill the beast, so he trapped it instead. I don’t know, really. But it did mean that that yin iron piece spent centuries inside the belly of a beast that had murdered thousands of people, who slaughtered entire cities. Not to mention the hundreds of dead in the cave itself from when Wen Mao tried to defeat it. Or anyone that’s tried since. And that was before I was thrown into the Burial Mounds with it. That piece has had almost unlimited access to resentment. It’s just a lot more powerful.”

For all Wen Ruohan had killed indiscriminately, even his brief reign could not be compared to a legendary beast or the Burial Mounds.

“And yet,” Lan Qiren says, “you somehow managed to control this piece with no core while you were in the Burial Mounds.” It’s clear he’s skeptical.

Wei Wuxian laughs, mostly because it’s the only safe thing to do when it comes to thinking about those days. It all twists in his stomach, the blood and the fall arrested, but not enough to stop the impact, bones snapping and bitter bile in his mouth from organs forced upwards. The very things he does his best never to think of. The screams of the dead, the pleas of his own heart.

Wei Ying.

Wei Wuxian shakes his head as if trying to dislodge the thoughts. It’s the past. It doesn’t matter anymore.

He clears his throat. “Control is a pretty strong word. It offered itself to me. Made a deal, so to speak. I had to give myself over to it, and in exchange, it would keep me alive. It didn’t promise me a way out or anything else…just the possibility of revenge. It kept me alive, hoping that it would get the chance to be out in the world again. That I could be a vehicle for its freedom.”

“You speak of it as if it has a will,” Lan Qiren says, having the decency to meet Wei Wuxian’s gaze without an ounce of pity. It’s the only thing that makes this conversation bearable.

“It does,” Wei Wuxian confirms. “It has drive and purpose and an ability to influence and adapt. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to control if it were inert.” He holds Lan Qiren’s gaze. “You must be able to feel it, the way it’s searching for cracks, for weak spots, any way to get free. The way it works at your mind and spirit to see if it can warp you.”

Lan Qiren looks down, but doesn’t deny it.

Lan Xichen looks between them, the horror of someone who can only imagine the feel of the yin iron, not having felt it personally. He has no idea.

But Lan Qiren, he knows just how bad it is. Even Lan Zhan has an inkling from those weeks he carried one of the pieces around on him, hearing it whisper and push and lure.

Probably why he hates Wei Wuxian playing around with it, he realizes. Huh.

“And how have you kept it from warping you?” Lan Qiren asks.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I should thank you. Those Lan temperament exercises were a real life saver. I hope they’re helping you too.”

Lan Qiren looks away, clearly unwilling to admit to anything of his own struggle. “How would you use the amulet to destroy the other pieces?”

That’s the real crux of the issue. Wei Wuxian is pretty sure this is where the conversation gets a lot less pleasant. “Think of it like this, the amulet is almost like a golden core, a place able to contain and hold energy. Only it’s a nearly bottomless well. It has an almost limitless ability to absorb and hold resentment.”

“Are you suggesting that you will pull the resentment from the yin iron piece into the amulet?” Lan Xichen asks.

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Pretty much. If we can do it thoroughly enough, it should render the yin iron inert.”

Lan Qiren frowns. “Will that not just make the amulet even more powerful?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Wei Wuxian admits. “But, to be honest, it’s already powerful enough. A bit more power isn’t really going to make a difference.”

They look really uneasy. Which, fair. It’s not Wei Wuxian’s favorite idea either, but he knows it’s the only one they’re likely to entertain. Though maybe he should be worried they think this is all actually a trick. That Wei Wuxian doesn’t intend to destroy the amulet at all and is just trying to gain more power. He remembers Lan Xichen seeming pretty convinced he wouldn’t be willing to destroy the amulet because it would lose him power.

The thought settles sour in his stomach.

“Would that make it more difficult for you to control?” is what Lan Xichen actually ends up asking. “I am concerned for your health.”

Wei Wuxian blinks. Oh, right. “Uh. It might,” he’s forced to admit. “But there aren’t exactly that many alternatives. I mean, how effective is cleansing?”

He already knows the answer, but maybe if he lets them work through all the useless alternatives, they’ll be more willing to accept some of his more unorthodox ideas.

Unlikely.

Lan Xichen shakes his head. “Even if we were to bring every trained disciple capable of musical cultivation, it would not be enough to counter the resentment of such an object.”

Not to mention it would take too long. Resentment isn’t inert, even when suppressed. Left to its own devices, it spreads and grows. It would be like scooping water out of a pond during a rainstorm. Suppression can ice it over, but even that only lasts for so long.

Spring always comes eventually.

“But it could do some,” Wei Wuxian says.

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian nods. “I could also probably work out a way to trap some of the resentment temporarily, hold it in a way that your cultivators can dispel it over time. But we’d have to be really careful, keep it isolated. I assume you’ve got the piece in the Cold Pond Cave. That might be isolated enough to keep the resentment from interacting with anything it can corrupt. Though you’d have to keep an eye on it. It wouldn’t be more work than you’re doing now. And it wouldn’t be forever.”

Better to use that time and energy to get rid of it entirely rather than just holding a line destined to eventually fail. Even the very waters and rocks themselves will be corrupted if left exposed long enough.

“Even with all that,” Lan Qiren points out, “it would still leave more resentment than we can handle.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. “But it would also reduce how much resentment I need to pull into the amulet, if you’re worried about that.”

Lan Qiren lets out a heavy breath, clearly deeply in thought.

He hasn’t reacted all too terribly, all things considered. Wei Wuxian wonders if they might be open to other ideas. He might as well at least try, he supposes.

“I could also,” he ventures, giving them a wary glance, “use some of the resentment to power arrays and some protective wards, to make it even safer. Ease the burden a bit.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes snap back to Wei Wuxian, looking like someone just put chili oil in his congee.

Wei Wuxian puts his hands up. “It’s just a suggestion. No throwing things at my head about it, please.”

“It is immoral,” Lan Qiren bites out.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Resentment is not sentient. It’s not alive.” The yin iron might have a consciousness of some sort, but resentment is just energy. Nothing more, nothing less.

Lan Qiren clearly doesn’t agree. “It is indistinguishable from the once-living souls that produce it!” 

That is not strictly true, but that’s hardly the argument Wei Wuxian wants to have right now, not if he wants to get his chance at the yin iron. “And if given the chance, what would you do to the souls trapped in the yin iron?”

Eliminate them, Wei Wuxian knows. By all traditional measures, those souls are beyond liberation, far too eroded and mired in resentment to ever remember who they are or what they want. Though he can imagine most of them probably want to have not been horrifically murdered by Xue Chonghai. Since they can’t provide revenge against him, it’s hardly helpful.

“You would eliminate them,” Wei Wuxian says, refusing to let them take some moral high ground here. “You will eliminate them, given the chance. So what’s the difference?”

“The difference is that one approach respects the autonomy of those souls, despite the horrific need of putting the needs of the living above their individual pain! The difference is in not using them as no more than a mundane tool for personal gain!”

Wei Wuxian can’t even be mad to hear Lan Qiren yelling at him about this. It’s completely unsurprising. There’s no point fighting with someone whose mind will never shift. So he doesn’t.

He looks at Lan Xichen instead. “At what point does it become immoral to ignore a solution that might save many lives? Is it more moral to sacrifice those that can be saved in the name of those who cannot? I do not claim to be a great scholar of morality. What does the great Gusu Lan say to this?”

Lan Qiren only looks more outraged, his beard quivering. His hands, Wei Wuxian notes, are shaking again. Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed quite so hard.

Lan Xichen is watching his uncle as well, pouring him another cup of tea. They sit in silence as he drinks it. Lan Xichen reaches out to touch Lan Qiren’s sleeve, getting a jerky nod in response.

Lan Xichen looks out the window. A few disciples pass by, too young to even have swords. “I wonder, at times,” he says, voice soft and gaze distant, “if all we are ever able to do is hold disaster off just long enough for it to be the problem of a future generation.”

Lan Qiren closes his eyes as if in pain.

Lan Xichen refocuses on Wei Wuxian. “How do we remove resentment from the world rather than simply shift it from one location to another?”

The only answer Wei Wuxian can offer is one he knows they don’t want to hear. You use it up. Turn it into something else.

“We have time,” Wei Wuxian says instead. “I’m not going to be ready to try until after the curse is broken anyway. That’s still top priority.”

He doesn’t know if they hear the unspoken there, that Wei Wuxian won’t even try until there’s no chance of Lan Zhan getting hurt. Besides, Wei Wuxian would really like to see Lan Zhan at least one more time. Just in case.

For all his faults, Lan Qiren, unfortunately, has never been stupid. “You will continue with your check-ins with Lan Yunxia,” he says, voice hard. “If you follow her directions and she clears it, you may consider attempting to drain the yin iron.”

Wei Wuxian straightens up.

“You are correct that it would be immoral to destroy the amulet without at least considering the ways it may help rid other great evils from the world. But that does not mean we ourselves must become immoral.”

Right. Message received. Work within the bounds of orthodoxy as much as possible. “Okay,” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Qiren pins him with an unrelenting stare, as if to somehow imprint the importance of his words into Wei Wuxian’s mind. Or as if he doesn’t trust Wei Wuxian to stick to his word, which…all he’s doing is promising to try!

Lan Qiren huffs, looking away. “You will also meet with the elder council twice a week to discuss options and gain approval. You will do nothing without their guidance.”

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian says. “I can do that.”

“Then it is settled.” Lan Qiren says. He gets to his feet. “If you will excuse me, I have duties to attend.”

Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen both bow, watching the older man leave the Hanshi.

“This is not easy for him,” Lan Xichen says.

“I know,” Wei Wuxian says. It’s actually a miracle he’s managed to bend as much as he has. That’s not even taking into account the strain of suppressing the yin iron. Or the idea of Wei Wuxian marrying into the Lan clan.

Wei Wuxian shakes himself free of that thought, also getting to his feet. “I’ll get to work.”

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Xichen calls out, stopping Wei Wuxian. “I would remind you that your well-being is precious to many. Do try not to be reckless with it.”

Wei Wuxian gives him a jaunty salute. “You know me!”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen says. “I am beginning to know you quite well. Which is why I worry.” He tilts his head as if in a small bow of entreaty. “Please indulge this elder brother.”

The familiarity of that has Wei Wuxian’s cheeks heating. “Zewu-Jun,” he says with a bow, half an agreement and half a way to reassert some distance there. They aren’t family.

With a wave of his hand, Lan Xichen dismisses him.  

Lan Wangji wakes and Wei Wuxian is not there.

This is not new. For the majority of his life this has been his usual way of waking. It was only a few short months that he experienced anything different. It should not hold such sway on his sense of normality, and yet it does all the same.   

Then again, perhaps it is no surprise at all. Lan Wangji’s affection is greedy. It always has been. Never satisfied with the time he had with his loved ones, how much of their attention, their closeness. He has only ever wanted more.

Even with Xichen. He remembers when Xichen became of an age to start building friendships with other disciples, spending more time separate from the family. Lan Wangji had hated it, hated these other people taking his brother away from him, taking up his time and attention. It swirled rotten and bitter in his stomach, making him scowl at all who came near. It was only once Lan Wangji saw how happy it made his brother to be with others that he found a way to swallow the bitter jealousy. If it made Xichen happy, it could not be bad, surely. Lan Wangji did his best to remember that.

It should be enough, after all, to know that those he loves are happy. Whether Lan Wangji is there to see it or not. Whether he is loved in return.

His thoughts turn to Wei Yi—

Lan Wangji stops, breathes deeply, and redirects.

Wei Wuxian. His thoughts return to Wei Wuxian.

Lan Wangji had assumed, in those treacherous early days away from the Cloud Recesses, that he would need to train his thoughts away from Wei Wuxian, to purge him completely from his thoughts. Such a tactic only made things worse, threatened to send him over the edge into the abyss.

In the end, forgetting Wei Wuxian was not the path forward. It was instead a matter of the ways he allowed himself to think of Wei Wuxian. Not of him walking away, of leaving Lan Wangji, but rather of Wei Wuxian walking through Caiyi, Wei Wuxian taking great joy in listening to musicians or storytellers in an inn, closing his eyes with pleasure as he eats radiantly red food. Wei Wuxian in Lotus Pier, rowing a boat and eating fresh lotus seeds. Wei Wuxian on the hunt, graceful and focused as he pacifies a creature to help a village.

Not thoughts of loss, but only thoughts of what Wei Wuxian would gain.

This is the Wei Wuxian he thinks of now, the Wei Wuxian he uses to remind himself of what he is doing out here far from the protections of his home. What he seeks to achieve in his exile. Wei Wuxian, free and unencumbered, joyful in the world.

It is what he uses to calm the panic when it threatens to rise, to keep the fear from growing in power.

There is only one goal in Lan Wangji’s heart, and it is Wei Wuxian’s happiness.

For that, he can endure anything. He can overcome.

It is what allows him, over the weeks of his exile, to build a careful practice of meditation and targeted application of musical cultivation. This is the combination of techniques he uses to snip one clinging thread at a time, untwisting and releasing like a tightly woven hemp rope fraying over time.

It is tedious and at times feels impossible, and yet Lan Wangji persists, undoing the ties he himself has built, digging the rottenness out to wither in the sun.

As his control increases, he is able to spend time doing small hunts for nearby commoners.

It is perhaps a risk, both because it might draw attention to himself and his location, and because he cannot be certain what exposure to resentment might do to the curse. No greater a risk than leaving the Cloud Recesses and Wei Wuxian behind, and just as rooted in who Lan Wangji wishes to be, the kind of man he aspires to be.

He will do this duty at least.

Sometimes, in the late evening, Lan Wangji is weak enough to consider how angry Wei Wuxian must have been when he realized Lan Wangji’s culpability. It is an unproductive direction for his thoughts to take. Wei Wuxian is entitled to whatever emotions feel right to him. The problem has never been how Wei Wuxian feels about Lan Wangji, but only how Lan Wangji feels for him.

Closing his eyes, he sees the chaotic, happy, free Wei Wuxian in his mind again, feels the warmth flood his chest, and finds the will to keep breathing and moving, refusing to let the cold fingers of the curse invade his heart.

It is still over a month until he at last feels confident enough in his control, in the careful work of ripping out every stitch he put into place with his frenzied hold on a festering fear, to consider returning to the Cloud Recesses.

Part of him wishes to stay out here, far from everything he knows, forever. To lose himself in the work of supporting the common people. Penance perhaps, but more likely a way to run away from what he has done. From facing Uncle and the shattered remains of his duty and routines now that the truth has so ruthlessly been put on display for all to see.

He will not be a coward. He will face what has done in all ways.

When he is certain of his control, he writes to Xichen to inform him that he intends to return to the Cloud Recesses in five days’ time. The days of travel will give Lan Wangji time to prepare, as well as provide space for Uncle and the elders to decide what response Lan Wangji’s actions deserve.

He sends the letter and now it is done, an ending within reach. A series of events set in motion. Inescapable.

Lan Wangji sets off for home, not allowing anything to slow his steps as he covers the distance, retraces the path he fled down in shame weeks before.

At the gate to the Cloud Recesses, he waits. He does not need to wait long.

It is hard to look at Xichen when he arrives. Difficult, as Lan Wangji feels filled with shame and put horribly on display. Yet he does it, holds his brother’s gaze and looks head on at his own weaknesses.

“Didi,” Xichen says, an address he has not used in years. Too afraid of bruising Lan Wangji’s pride, no doubt. What little pride he has left deserves the bruising. “I am pleased to see you well.”

Lan Wangji nods, unable to speak past the habitual block in his throat.

“The curse?” Xichen asks, eyes darting to Lan Wangji’s wrist in question.

Lan Wangji takes a breath. “The array.”

Xichen looks at him sharply. “Wangji. That array nearly killed you.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. He’s ready to survive it now. His own core won’t fight it, and his fear will not trip it. He might even be able to see Wei Wuxian again. Some day. Even if from afar. At least he hopes.

“That the array affected me in such a manner was my fault,” Lan Wangji says, ruthlessly baring his faults to his brother. What use is there anymore in trying to hide it? “It will not happen again.”

He will not allow it to.

“Is that what you have been doing?” Xichen asks. “Preparing yourself for the array?”

Lan Wangji nods his head, painfully aware that even after all of this, it is still Wei Wuxian’s genius that will set him free. Set them both free. It is right.

“Are you certain?” Xichen asks.

Lan Wangji thinks again of Wei Wuxian, feet swinging as he sits at the end of a pier with a lotus leaf curved in his palms. “I am.”

Walking across the Cloud Recesses, Lan Wangji feels ruthlessly on display, even as Xichen explains that most people have believed him to be in seclusion—a small subterfuge meant to save them all face. Lan Wangji does not let his eyes search the grounds as he passes through them, refuses to brace himself against the flutter of black and red. There is no point. There will be nothing to see.

They arrive at the infirmary.

Lan Yunxia examines Lan Wangji as Xichen excuses himself to oversee the creation of the array in the next room. They will do it here, to be close to help if it should be needed.

It will not be needed.

Once Lan Yunxia is assured of Lan Wangji’s health, completed in brisk enough of a manner to be a rebuke that Lan Wangji accepts as if another deserved lash, Lan Wangji is led into the next room. The array has been carefully reconstructed, a small group of elders there to observe and consult.

Lan Wangji greets them politely and then steps into the center of the array when he is told to.

Xichen still seems worried, but does not hesitate to step into position to power the array. “Ready?”

Lan Wangji takes a moment to center his thoughts, to remember the core truths he has built everything around these last empty weeks. “Yes,” he confirms.

One of the elders steps up across from Xichen, and with a nod between them, they both begin to power the array.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes as the energy of the array rises up around him, pressing close, thundering through his flesh.

It is not a threat, this power enclosing him. It does not seek to take from him, nor diminish him. There is nothing here being stolen. This is only Wei Wuxian’s power, his genius. A product of his brilliant, infuriating mind.

Lan Wangji can see him in his mind, hair messy, posture atrocious, but eyes bright as he says, I have an idea for an array!

Wei Ying, he thinks.

For a moment, he wants to cling, to hold tight, but he instead lets the thread slip free of his fingers, pull out of his reach. It dissipates into nothing, out of reach forever.

And it is done.

The array powers down, people speaking and moving around him. Lan Wangji can feel, without even looking at his wrist, that his skin will be blank and empty, just as the rest of him.

“Wangji?” Xichen asks, concerned.

“I am well,” Lan Wangji forces himself to say. “It is gone.”

Xichen reaches for Lan Wangji’s arm, pushing back his sleeve. “It is,” he confirms, saving Lan Wangji from the need to look. “Amazing.”

Lan Wangji nods. “I will write a report on my technique,” he says, knowing his duty to add to their knowledge, to face this bright exposure without flinching.

“Not today you won’t,” Lan Yunxia says, shooing Xichen aside and taking his wrist in her hands. Her energy flows through his body as she checks for any residual traces of the curse. She will not find any. Eventually appeased, she lets him go. “You will stay the night and rest.”

Lan Wangji does not bother arguing that he is not fatigued in the slightest. There is no point. He should be observed after all, even if just for the accuracy of the medical account. It is only when it becomes clear that Xichen intends to stay as well that Lan Wangji voices his protest.

Xichen is unmoved. “You will indulge this elder brother. He has spent too many nights worrying.”

Lan Wangji feels another burst of shame and does not raise further objections.

Lan Wangji rests as best he can, the steady breathing of his brother nearby a small comfort, and yet wrong in its cadence. Beloved, certainly, and yet not quite right.

Lifting his arm, Lan Wangji looks at his wrist in the dim light, fingers drawing across the pale, unmarked skin. As if it never was.

And yet everything is changed. He is changed.

The next morning, he rises, allows Lan Yunxia to examine him again and then presents himself to Uncle.

Lan Wangji kneels, bowing low. “Wangji requests punishment for his transgressions.”

Uncle makes a sound Lan Wangji has not heard since he was younger and far less disciplined—one of exasperation. “Punishment is for reflection and learning. Has this time away not given you both?”

Lan Wangji does not answer.

His uncle lets out an impatient huff. “If you are to be punished, let it be for acting independently, for not valuing the input of your elders.”

Lan Wangji bows again in acceptance. “Yes, Uncle.” He rises to his feet. “I shall go into seclusion.”

Brother and Uncle do not look pleased, but neither do they protest.

“Take what time you need,” Xichen says, touching his arm again. It is strange, but not unwelcome, though Lan Wangji wishes it were not accompanied by such a feeling of shame, that he is only being treated this way because he has proven himself to be weak.

It is an uncharitable thought.  

Lan Wangji returns to his home and finds it empty. He had known it would be, of course. But it is still…unpleasant.

The second bed has been removed, the alcove once again home only to trunks with winter wear and the desk that had been displaced by Wei Wuxian’s arrival. It feels, in many ways, as if his home has been reset to the time before the war. As if none of it ever happened.

There is not a single item left to speak of Wei Wuxian’s habitation here. Had he left the same day as Lan Wangji’s disappearance? Waited only moments, hours to grab his freedom?

Lan Wangji can only hope so. Can only hope Wei Wuxian is home and free and taking care of himself. That he is not simply living in the wine taverns again—

Lan Wangji cuts himself off, knowing it is not his business. He has no claim to any part of Wei Wuxian and never has.

His home is quiet, and ordered, and empty. As it is meant to be.

His family respects his seclusion. It will not be of long duration, as Lan Wangji is aware it is on some level an indulgence. But also necessary, for him to reflect, to feel he has made penance for the decision he is supposed to feel repentant of—his hasty departure without permission. He doubts seclusion will bring him to repent of it and yet, the attempt must be made.

Most honestly, what Lan Wangji is really doing is mourning. He is giving himself time to grieve. For a thing he never held in the first place. Such weakness.

At the end of the first week, Xichen comes to visit.

It is within Lan Wangji’s rights to turn him away. He does not, far too aware of what his disappearance might have done to his brother. Perhaps Xichen is here to remind him of his duties, to put an end to this selfish isolation.

His brother instead does another alarming thing and takes Lan Wangji’s hand in his. “It has not been difficult, coming back here?” he asks, fingers warm around his.

A strange question. Just because something is difficult does not mean it should not be done.

“The curse has not made a reappearance?” Xichen clarifies.

“It has not,” Lan Wangji confirms. It will not.  

Xichen nods, but does not seem appeased. “It’s just…you have not spoken of Wei Wuxian. Not even once.”

Lan Wangji does not let himself outwardly react to the name, his mind automatically wandering the well-worn path of Wei Wuxian and his freedom. His joy. Far from here. “What could I presume to say?”

Xichen makes a soft sound of neither agreement nor disagreement. “Would you find it difficult, to see him again?”

“Irrelevant.” It is unlikely Lan Wangji will have reason to see Wei Wuxian again. And even less likely that Wei Wuxian would want to. He must be very angry, as would be his right.

Xichen looks distinctly uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable.

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji says, this time very nearly accusatory. He does not appreciate feeling that his brother is holding something back from him, treating him delicately like a broken thing.

“You have not asked after him,” Xichen says.  

Lan Wangji feels himself straightening, as if his posture had not already been correct in every way, tension making his spine rigid. He assumed there was no reason to ask after Wei Ying, that he had left and never written him back, and there was no reason to think the breaking of the curse might affect him in any way—

“He is well, Wangji,” Xichen says, fingers warm around his wrist. “I did not mean to make you worry.”

Lan Wangji looks away, letting his focus settle on a shelf in the corner, forcing himself to keep his breathing even. Such a small test and a failure already.

“However,” Xichen says. “You should also know that he did not depart from the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Wangji’s chest seems to fill with a strange, pressing weakness. “He is still here?” he asks, near a whisper.

“Yes,” Xichen confirms, voice gentle.  

“Why?” he asks, the word sticking, wanting to break into pieces like shards in his throat. “Why would he linger?”

“He was concerned for your health.”

“He need not be,” he forces out.

“And yet…” Xichen says with a small smile.

Lan Wangji wants to ask where he is but cannot bring himself to.

“We were not certain how you might respond to his presence. He asked to be given somewhere remote to stay, where you would not accidentally come across him, so that he could be sure not to disturb you.”

Xichen has still not said where.

There is only one place that could serve this need and also make Xichen so reluctant to say it.

“You put him in Mother’s house,” Lan Wangji says, chest burning, throat closed to any additional words, everything of these last months settling heavy and inescapable upon him.

It hadn’t mattered. After everything, after all he sought to avoid, all the ways he sought to be better, Wei Ying still ended up there. Trapped. Lan Wangji has still failed in every possible way.

“Didi,” Xichen says, leaning closer.

Lan Wangji cannot help but flinch, every part of him feeling raw and ripped open.

Xichen pulls back, allowing the space even as pain hides in his eyes. “Wei Wuxian chose to stay. He was not forced. He asked if he could stay until we knew you were okay.”

Yet Lan Wangji has been free of the curse for a week already. Why would he still be here? Why?

He is not being told everything.

Xichen sighs. “There is something Uncle and I would speak to you of.” He looks around the room. “When you are ready.”

With that, Xichen departs, leaving Lan Wangji standing among the shards of his intentions, skin flayed open.

He has failed.

The next morning, Lan Wangji presents himself to Uncle in his study. Xichen is there as well, buzzing with a strange excitement even as he looks at Lan Wangji with concern.

The incongruous nature of his brother’s emotions only unsettles Lan Wangji further.

Uncle retrieves a document bound in brocade-covered boards—an official clan document of great import to judge from its appearance.

Lan Wangji takes it when it is presented, heart pounding in his chest as he opens the cover to read. The words are clear enough, rigidly formal and yet no less incomprehensible for it. It is an agreement between Yunmeng Jiang and Gusu Lan to create open lanes of trade and mutual support in exchange for the destruction of the Yin Hu Fu, Wei Wuxian’s spiritual tool.

All bound together with a marriage.

Here, at last, the reason for Wei Wuxian’s continued presence in the Cloud Recesses. The explanation for how he ended up trapped in Lan Wangji’s mother’s prison. Freed of one trap only to be ensnared in another.

Rage floods Lan Wangji’s throat.

He thinks of how worried Wei Yi—Wei Wuxian and his brother were about Jiang Yanli feeling trapped by the economic needs of her sect, that she might feel obligated to accept marriage with Jin Zixuan against her own wishes. And here, the exact same thing is being done to Wei Wuxian.

“Why would you do this,” Lan Wangji says, voice hoarse with hurt and anger and confusion.

“Wangji,” Xichen says. “It is clear how you feel for Wuxian. Is this not a good thing?”

As if that matters at all. As if Lan Wangji’s feelings are anything to be acknowledged, let alone acted upon in such a manner.

“How is he not supposed to feel forced, when it will benefit his sect?” This is well beyond questioning his elders. At the moment Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to care.

Xichen remains calm, soft. As if approaching an injured wild animal. Perhaps he is. Lan Wangji feels wild. Unmoored.

“We did this to make the marriage possible, Wangji. To help Wuxian with his cultivation challenges. You know we have no ambition towards the amulet.”

All the more reason. So much manipulation layered upon itself with nothing but a selfish desire as its foundation.

Wei Wuxian would want to help his sect, of course. Would do as his sect leader would ask. Even if it meant being trapped here.

Even if it meant being trapped with Lan Wangji.

“Unacceptable,” Lan Wangji says, hands turned to fists against his thighs.

“Wangji,” Uncle rebukes, probably not appreciating Lan Wangji’s tone.

Lan Wangji doesn’t particularly care. “Has the agreement already been signed?”

Is it already too late?

Brother and Uncle look at one another.

“We have provisionally agreed to the accords,” Uncle says.  

Lan Wangji’s heart trips, his attention latching on to whatever escape may still exist. “Provisional on what?”

Xichen very much looks like he does not want to say.

Lan Wangji pins him with his gaze, refusing to budge.

“Your acceptance of the betrothal,” Xichen says.  

Uncle nods. “Wei Wuxian argued most virulently that this decision not be made without you. That you would have the final say on the nature of the alliance.”

Lan Wangji feels his shoulders lower, relief flooding his chest. Yes, of course Wei Wuxian would find a way to leave room for righteousness to take precedence. It is so very like him.

“Wangji,” Xichen says, sounding alarmed. “At least speak with Wei Wuxian first.”

Yes, perhaps Lan Wangji owes Wei Wuxian that at the very least.

The walk to his mother’s house is familiar and all the more painful for it. Lan Wangji’s earlier discomfort with being seen or judged by others as he moved through the ground feels small and petty in comparison.

He stops at the gate, taking a breath before moving into the forecourt. The doors to the house are thrown wide, movement visible just beyond the threshold. For a moment, Lan Wangji cannot understand where and when he is.

There is a gasp and a thump from inside. A moment later, Wei Wuxian appears. He looks good. Well-rested, healthier, cheeks less sunken.

How well he has done in Lan Wangji’s absence.  

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cries out, hopping down the steps and running towards Lan Wangji with a bright smile on his face, only to stop a few paces away.

“Are you okay? Are you really okay?” Wei Wuxian peers closely at him, as if looking for some outward sign. “Is it okay that I’m…” He gestures a hand between them as if to trace the connection, the tie that is no longer there.

Lan Wangji stays where he is, overwhelmed by the blessing and curse that is seeing Wei Wuxian again. While he already knew the curse to be eradicated, he is still satisfied not to feel anything more than the usual morass of emotions Wei Wuxian has always conjured in him. Longing. Want. Confusion. But no physical pain. No drain on his core. “I am well.”

With that reassurance, Wei Wuxian comes closer still, reaching out and shoving Lan Wangji, both hands firm against his shoulders.

Lan Wangji blinks at the assault, easily able to keep his equilibrium.

“Do you have any idea how much you worried everyone?” Wei Wuxian nearly shouts. “I know your uncle and brother are far too polite to do more than frown slightly at you, but I am perfectly capable of yelling at you! How dare you scare us all like that! What do you have to say for yourself? And don’t tell me that was a logical risk or some bullshit. We both know that it wasn’t!”

He pushes again, and Lan Wangji takes a defensive step back, lifting Bichen slightly in front of himself. “Wei Y—” He catches himself. Breathes. Redirects. “Wei Wuxian.” He wants to take it back the moment he says it, but he can’t. He can’t . He is barely holding to his promises as is. Is barely keeping himself from reaching out and touching Wei Wuxian, from never leaving his side again. To think of such a thing as husbands.

He doesn’t deserve to. He doesn’t deserve any of it.  

Wei Wuxian flinches, looking as if someone has struck him. It quickly disappears though, behind a false smile. The expression was there just long enough for Lan Wangji to understand that he’s done something wrong. That he has found some new way to hurt Wei Wuxian. But not to understand how or why.

All the more reason for the careful distance. This reminder to himself. He brings nothing but harm to Wei Wuxian.

“Right,” Wei Wuxian says, taking a step back and widening the distance between them, pulling his hands back into his own chest. He studies Lan Wangji’s face, seeming to find some kind of answer there. “Right, of course.”

Silence falls between them, Lan Wangji too afraid to say something else wrong to try to correct whatever misstep he’s made.  

“You know, I told them. That it had to be the curse. That you’d never…” Wei Wuxian breaks off with a laugh. “I told them.” He glances up at Lan Wangji, a fleeting smile on his face. “Must have been a shock to you when they told you. But it’s okay. We don’t have to—” He stops, takes a breath and then pushes on. “Do you think maybe they’d still do the trade agreements in exchange for the amulet? I think Jiang Cheng could use them. And then it wouldn’t be a total waste.” He nods, as if to himself. “Yeah. That would be better anyway.”

Lan Wangji fights the urge to step forward, to touch Wei Wuxian, biting physically down on his tongue to keep his name from emerging, and how has he never before realized how much of his conversations with Wei Wuxian are nothing more than variations on those two precious syllables on his tongue?

Of course he wants Wei Wuxian to get everything he wants. All without having to be tied down. Without giving everything up just for Lan Wangji’s weak whims. He would never trap him like that. He must know.

But maybe he doesn’t, considering everything. Considering what Lan Wangji has already done to him. Maybe Wei Wuxian deserves to hear the words.

“I have told them that I would not have agreed to this, had I been here.”

Wei Wuxian takes another step back, nodding his head. He isn’t looking at Lan Wangji anymore, letting out a laugh that almost sounds like the wind being punched out of him. “Of course not.”

“I will ask them to make arrangements for the alliance without it.” Lan Wangji will make sure Wei Wuxian has everything he wants. Anything he needs. He will do this for Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian nods. “Sure. Yup. Sounds good.”

They stand together another long moment, the quiet thick and uncomfortable between them and Lan Wangji despairs that this will be all they ever have now. Distance and awkwardness. Because of him. Because of what he’s done.

Wei Wuxian laughs again, something sharp and quickly gone like an arrow. “I’ll just…” He gestures back at the cottage behind him. “I was sort of in the middle of something, so.” He plants his hands on his hips, giving Lan Wangji a smile even as he looks somewhere past his shoulder.

Lan Wangji hates the idea of Wei Wuxian going back into that house, of all places. Wonders what that must feel like to him. How empty and dusty and quiet. Does he have any chili oil? Extra blankets? Enough talisman paper? He goes through it prodigiously fast. Did someone else notice? Did someone else offer?

The thought presses tight on Lan Wangji’s throat. He takes a breath and finds words to say, “Do you have everything that you need?”

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says immediately, as if not even giving it any true thought. “What more could I need?”

Lan Wangji can only nod in response, taking Wei Wuxian at his word. With the boundaries between them now, there is no way for him to look for a lie.

Wei Wuxian turns and walks back into Lan Wangji’s mother’s prison, sliding the doors shut behind him.

Lan Wangji remains standing in the yard, feeling cold and frozen through, as if standing in the middle of a blizzard that has long since dissipated.

Once he can, he returns to the Hanshi, settling across the table from his brother.

“The trade agreements in exchange for the amulet,” Lan Wangji says.

“And the marriage?” Xichen asks.

Lan Wangji does not look up from the table. “Will not be necessary.”

“You spoke with him?” Xichen asks.

Lan Wangji assumes that is self-evident and so doesn’t say anything in response.  

“And he agreed to this.” Xichen sounds confused.

Lan Wangji can only nod in confirmation.

“Wangji—”

This is not a conversation he wishes to have. He rises and bows. “Please tell me what I can contribute to the process. For now, I will return to seclusion.”

He gets up and leaves, returning to his empty house. 

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian is not heartbroken.

He would have had to actually believe any of this was true in the first place to be heartbroken by the reality he already knew was there. He would have had to be stupid enough to hope, to think that maybe, just maybe he could for once—

Nope. Wei Wuxian is not that stupid and therefore he is not heartbroken.

The fucking amulet can moan on about how unloveable he is and how undeserving and how broken and useless all it likes, but it’s nothing Wei Wuxian doesn’t already know, so it can just shut the fuck up and save its energy for more important things.

He isn’t heartbroken.

Like he’d said to Lan Zhan, this is actually much better, really.

The chances of him actually surviving the cleansing of the yin iron and then destroying the amulet are pretty small, after all, and now he doesn’t have to feel anything at all about leaving a grieving Lan Zhan behind.

He nearly laughs at the thought, but it doesn’t feel quite fair.

He knows Lan Zhan cares about him, in his very Lan Zhan way. He doesn’t doubt that—shut up, you stupid piece of metal—and even if he did, the curse would have required some level of affection at least. Sure, Lan Zhan doesn’t exactly have a ton of friends. He’ll probably be sad about Wei Wuxian dying, that he hadn’t been able to stop it somehow. He’ll probably even mourn him. Maybe he’ll burn a little paper money if he’s feeling really fancy.

Wei Wuxian likes knowing that Lan Zhan will more than likely still be able to find someone to actually, really, you know, marry. Someone he could love, not just be friendly with. Maybe someone to have little Lan babies with.

It’s a good thought, Lan Zhan holding a little baby the way he holds the bunnies. Being all stiff and serious, but with the most gentle hands and the softest eyes. And he’d have people around him. Someone who gets how great Lan Zhan is, someone who can protect him from awkward conversations or things getting too quiet or too ordered or being lonely. Lan Zhan needs someone to drag him out of his complacency sometimes, make him bend a bit. To help him get mad and feel things, make him let out that sharp, dry sense of humor of his in response.

Yeah. Someday someone will appreciate all of that about Lan Zhan, like he deserves. And he’ll be happy.

Wei Wuxian’s glad. He’s glad to know that.

He isn’t heartbroken. 

You can’t break a heart that never really existed in the first place. Soft things like that never survive the Burial Mounds.

Lan Xichen comes that evening. Wei Wuxian’s glad he hasn’t had to go to family dinner in a while. That might be awkward. Lan Xichen still comes every evening though, to play the music Lan-daifu has prescribed.

On some level, Wei Wuxian knows Lan Xichen has been doing it personally as some sort of bonding between them, because of who Wei Wuxian might have become to his little brother.

There’s no need for any of that anymore.

“I’m sure there’s someone else who can do this,” Wei Wuxian says as he lets him in. “You’re the sect leader. You’ve got to have much more important things to do.”

“Nothing is more important than your health,” Lan Xichen says with a familiar stubbornness that tells Wei Wuxian there is little point in arguing.

“Sure, right,” Wei Wuxian says. “You need me strong enough to keep up my end of the bargain, after all!”

Lan Xichen frowns. “That is not what I—”

Wei Wuxian rudely cuts across him, not wanting to hear it. “Now that curse is broken, I’m ready to start cleansing the first piece.”

For a moment Lan Xichen looks like he might push, but probably is nowhere near rude enough to do it. He instead nods. “I will arrange it.”

“Great,” Wei Wuxian says, dropping down into lotus pose and closing his eyes. Might as well get this over with.

It isn’t long until xiao music starts to fill the space. Wei Wuxian does his best to let go of everything else, concentrating on the way the music quiets the voices, even if temporarily.

When they’re done, Lan Xichen doesn’t leave, rather sitting down across from Wei Wuxian uninvited. Perhaps Wei Wuxian underestimated his willingness to be rude. Fuck. He could make a scene, he knows, drive Lan Xichen off with some untenable shamelessness, but to be honest, his heart really isn’t in it. Sighing, he pours tea for Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen accepts a cup from Wei Wuxian. “Did you tell my brother? About your core?”

“What?” Wei Wuxian says, nearly fumbling his own cup. “No. Of course not.” He tries to put an easy smile on his face, like none of this hurts. Like none of it matters in the least. “The last thing I need is him feeling pity for me. Just leave it. He’s made himself clear.”

By some miracle, Lan Xichen doesn’t press the point, but he doesn’t get up and leave either, so Wei Wuxian’s not celebrating yet.

“I have been thinking,” Lan Xichen says, “about our earlier conversation.”

Wei Wuxian has no idea what conversation that might be, but hopes it’s something safe like the amulet or the yin iron.

Lan Xichen continues. “That in the absence of information, we sometimes create narratives about others that are not always correct, and can be, at times, quite harmful.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, not sure at all where this is going. If Lan Xichen is going to try to pry more of Wei Wuxian’s life out of him, this is not going to be pretty. How much more of himself could he possibly rip out and pour onto the floor for the damn Lans to paw through?

“In light of that, I wonder if you would be willing to hear something of my own story.”  

Somehow, this is even worse. Wei Wuxian has a feeling that whatever Lan Xichen is about to say is not something he wants to hear.

“There’s no need for that,” Wei Wuxian says. We don’t need to know one another, he doesn’t say. We’re never going to be anything to each other.

“I would ask you to indulge me.”

What the fuck can Wei Wuxian really say to that? Reluctantly, he nods.

Lan Xichen gives him a polite smile of thanks and then carefully puts down his cup. “Has Wangji spoken to you of our parents?”

Wei Wuxian blinks, this not being the direction he expected the conversation to go in. “Uh, no. Not really.” He thinks back to that time he got Lan Zhan drunk—ugh, what an asshole he’d been to poor Lan Zhan. “Just…he mentioned once that he didn’t have a mother. That’s all.”

Lan Xichen looks down, expression fond, but sad. “I’m not surprised. It’s never easy for Wangji to speak of the things closest to his heart.”

Wei Wuxian wants to take a page out of Lan Xichen’s book and close his eyes. Anything other than having to think about this. He’s not sure he’s up for it right now. Maybe in a hundred years or so. Maybe then he could survive it.  

“Zewu-Jun…” he says weakly.

Lan Xichen shakes his head, giving him a small smile like an apology. He also doesn’t relent. “She was a rogue cultivator, our mother. It is said our father fell in love with her the first time he saw her.”

It’s a strange sort of torture, hearing this. Wei Wuxian tries to pretend it’s just some tavern story, a tale told over a campfire. Something distant and wholly unconnected to anything real. “A typical romance,” Wei Wuxian forces himself to say, as if none of this is touching him.

Lan Xichen opens his mouth, closes it. He swallows and then says, “She did not love him in return.”

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian says, feeling that like a stab in his chest.

Lan Xichen nods, looking around the house. “Even more, there was an altercation in which she killed one of my father’s teachers. I do not know why.”

Okay, maybe not so typical then. Wei Wuxian is not having an easy time wrapping his brain around this. Their mother…a murderer. It’s hard to believe.

“Our father brought her back to the Cloud Recesses, married her, and put himself between her and anyone who would harm her. Told the elders that she was the one woman he would love all his life.”

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian says, having no idea Lans could be so ballsy. “Um. He must have really loved her.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t agree or disagree with that, instead looking around the room. “He built this house for her, where she was locked away. Kept safe, but never allowed to set foot outside. He then built himself a different house on the other side of the Cloud Recesses where he entered seclusion in repentance for the rest of his life.”

Well, shit. That would explain why no one ever saw the sect leader. Even growing up, Wei Wuxian knew that Lan Qiren served as sect leader in all ways that mattered as Lan Xichen grew up, but no one seemed to know why Qingheng-Jun had isolated himself. It’s a sordid, salacious story, so he can understand why the Lan sect clearly didn’t want it spread around as common knowledge. A murder, a forced marriage. Two prisons on the grounds of the Cloud Recesses. Children born of a scandalous union.

What it would have meant for Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan to grow up under the weight of rumors would definitely be reason enough to keep it all quiet. Children don’t deserve that.   

“Do you think he was right to have done this?” Lan Xichen asks.

Wei Wuxian sits back, not expecting to be asked his opinion, as if it might have any bearing or value. He thinks about it. Their father likely saved their mother from a death sentence, and if he hadn’t, there wouldn’t be a Lan Xichen or a Lan Zhan. That doesn’t even bear consideration.

And yet…

He looks around the house, thinking of how torturous that must have been for their mother, spending her life locked in here. Yet for their father, was the only other option to watch one he loved die?

Wei Wuxian likes to think there must have been another option, some other way.

“I don’t know,” he says.  

Lan Xichen hums, clearly not having expected anything else. “We were allowed to visit her once a month.” He smiles then, something fond. “Wangji looked forward to it very much, though he never spoke of it. She was warm, our mother. She smiled and teased Wangji.” His smile fades. “One day when we were still young, Uncle told us there was no longer any need to visit. Wangji still came every month without fail. He would kneel outside and wait for our mother to open the door. Even once he realized what it meant, that she was really gone, even when Uncle scolded and punished him, Wangji never stopped. Never stopped waiting.”

Lan Xichen looks up to meet Wei Wuxian’s gaze like he’s searching for something. Wei Wuxian has no idea what his own expression might be giving away. 

“Wangji has always been stubborn,” Lan Xichen says, smile fond and pained all at once.

Yes. This Wei Wuxian knows very well.  

Lan Xichen finishes his tea and Wei Wuxian fumbles forward to refill it.

Lan Xichen accepts the fresh cup from him. “I believe you may have misunderstood me when I said Wangji would not have you like this. I was not speaking of your cultivation or your core or even your behavior.”

Wei Wuxian does not want to hear anymore. It’s already too much. He doesn’t want it. The need to flee rises up in his chest, his body tensing for flight, but he’s frozen by this terrible story, by the thought of little Lan Zhan waiting for his dead mother to come back.

“Wangji’s devotion is unwavering,” Lan Xichen says. “He would never allow the one he loves to be caged. Not by our sect. Not by marriage. And most of all, not by his own desires.”

Wei Wuxian wants him to stop talking. Lan Xichen doesn’t.

“I wonder, Wei-gongzi, if you can understand why having you trapped here by the curse was particularly difficult for Wangji. And to find that it was in fact a curse fed by his affections…”

Wei Wuxian winces. He always knew the curse to be a special brand of torture for Lan Zhan. For being tied to Wei Wuxian, he always assumed. For the forced closeness, the lack of solitude, the touching. But to know about this, to know what a constant bruise it would be to see someone he cared about trapped. To feel he had become his father.

Their conversation from so many weeks before sounds entirely different now. 

You have not chosen my…companionship.

Lan Xichen shifts, lifting his arms in a quick bow of appreciation that has Wei Wuxian’s skin crawling. “I thank you for hearing me,” he says. “I will leave you to your rest.”

Wei Wuxian probably says something in response, hopefully polite enough, but he can’t be sure.

He’s alone again. Almost automatically, he gets ready for bed, each mundane task changed in the context of his surroundings.

This house. This is where she lived. Where Lan Zhan visited her for those few precious hours.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t quite know what to feel about it all. Wanting to find that small boy, kneeling in the snow, and hug him tight. Wanting to find grown Lan Zhan and shake him with frustration for not understanding.

It’s an excuse, the amulet whispers. Just an excuse. He doesn’t want you.

“Shut up,” he tells it.

Climbing into bed, he tries to sleep, determined to put it all from his mind.

Lan Wangji spends another week in seclusion.

He cannot help but feel that he is hiding, but he also needs the time to recover. From his anger, yes, but also the tumult of seeing Wei Wuxian again. There is no risk of the curse returning; that is not a concern. Yet Lan Wangji’s very skin feels thin, porous, as if the slightest breeze would bring him agony. If he were to attempt to night hunt in such a state, he would surely bring only greater disaster upon himself.

His discipline is in tatters. He owes it to his sect and the careful education he has been gifted with to find his equilibrium again, to be the cultivator those around him rely upon. So he takes the additional week, no matter what it reveals about him and his weaknesses, and meditates and copies the rules and tries his very best to bring his battered defenses back into place, to rebuild his calm.

At the end of the week, Xichen summons him. It will be the first test of his resolve and he is determined not to fail it no matter how many challenges it presents.  

The Jiang party has arrived to sign the final documents. It would be impolite for Lan Wangji to be absent, so he will go. He will go and prove to his family that he can still be of use, can still be trusted.

Lan Wangji dresses carefully, each layer feeling like a thin coating of armor, a binding holding him upright. The familiarity is calming. By the time he steps outside, he feels prepared.

He joins Xichen in the Yashi, kneeling off to the side in preparation to greet the arriving party. They do not have to wait long, Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli arriving soon after. Neither sect have retainers present, which is perhaps a sign of the intimate nature of the alliance. Still, it is unusual.

They all move through the formal greetings before settling for refreshments. Lan Wangji finds himself distracted by the retreat of the servants, the closing of the doors after them. Another departure from protocol that Lan Wangji cannot make sense of. More pressing is the fact that clearly no one expects anyone else to join them.  

Wei Wuxian is not here.

It is probably for the best.

“The curse is really finally gone?” Jiang Wanyin asks after the pleasantries have been observed.

“It is,” Xichen confirms.

Jiang Yanli smiles at Lan Wangji with real warmth. “We’re so glad to see you in good health, Hanguang-Jun, and that our worst fears did not come to pass.”

Lan Wangji has the sense of being mildly admonished and can only nod his head in response.

“So,” Jiang Wanyin says, eyes moving around the room as if bringing attention to the unusualness of this meeting as well. “Shall we get this done?”

Xichen nods. “First, there are some developments that we should discuss.”

Jiang Wanyin’s posture goes defensive. “Are there now.”

Xichen does not seem put off by his prickliness. “I am afraid before we move any further, I must inform you that the yin iron pieces taken from Wen Ruohan were not, in fact, destroyed at the end of the war.”

Lan Wangji blinks in surprise, the intimacy of the meeting thrown in new light. Not so much intimate as secretive.

"What," Jiang Wanyin says through gritted teeth.

He does not appear pleased to realize he has been kept in the dark about such an important thing. Lan Wangji is not pleased either. Why had this been kept from him?

“It was not done with intent to exclude,” Xichen says, “but rather to ensure such a conflict would not come to pass again.”

This seems to assuage Jiang Wanyin not at all.

Xichen lifts his arms and bows low. Too low.

Uncle lets out a hiss of displeasure.

Xichen holds the position. “For my decisions that have been poorly made, and the impacts they have on Yunmeng Jiang, I apologize.” From his language and gestures, it is clear that it is not the Lan sect apologizing, but Xichen himself.

Jiang Wanyin’s face flushes red, clearly flustered as he nearly topples himself in his rushed attempt to get Xichen to rise out of the bow. While it does not make Jiang Wanyin look particularly dignified, it does achieve the impossible of raising himself slightly in Lan Wangji’s estimation.

“Knock it off,” Jiang Wanyin says gruffly as he pulls Xichen up. “Yunmeng Jiang accepts your apology. It was a difficult time and there were no easy choices.”

“Thank you,” Xichen says. “It is my hope that our sects may share such burdens openly with each other in the generations to come.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Wanyin says. “Me too.”

Back in his own seat, Jiang Wanyin tugs on his clothing, clearly trying to make them all forget his earlier fumbling.

“So, how does the yin iron change our plans?” Jiang Wanyin asks.

“Wei Wuxian believes the amulet has the ability to destroy the yin iron pieces,” Xichen says.

Lan Wangji can’t help but turn his head, looking at his brother sharply. How much has he missed while he was gone, while he was hiding away in seclusion? He takes a careful breath, struggling not to let such considerations distract him.

Jiang Wanyin lets out a soft scoff. “You mean you want Wei Wuxian to do it for you.”

“Yes,” Xichen says without flinching.  

“Is that safe?” Jiang Wanyin says, asking the question Lan Wangji himself cannot, but desperately wants to.

“Wei Wuxian has been working closely with our elders to devise the safest approach. But it would be a lie to say it is without risk.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow. “And Wei Wuxian agreed to this?”

Xichen nods. “It was at his insistence. He believes that the amulet is the only way the yin iron can be destroyed. That to destroy the amulet without at least attempting this would be negligent at best, and immoral at worst.”

Jiang Wanyin sighs. “That sounds exactly like something that idiot would say.” He turns his head, glancing at his sister. She has sat quietly though this conversation, as Lan Wangji has, but her expression is loud with concern.

Jiang Wanyin nods as if in agreement with some unspoken thing Jiang Yanli has communicated. “Wen Qing will examine Wei Wuxian and give me her thoughts on this and Wei Wuxian’s health first before we decide anything.”

Xichen nods. “Of course.”

Jiang Wanyin rubs a hand over his face before giving Xichen a frank look. “I don’t like being left in the dark, Zewu-Jun. Any other enormous lies that the Lan sect would like to confess to before we continue?”

Lan Wangji is curious about that as well, but when he looks at Xichen, his brother is already looking back. It takes a moment, in his distraction, for Lan Wangji to realize what Xichen is looking for. Some sign that Lan Wangji has changed his mind.

He has not.

Xichen’s shoulders drop, turning back to Jiang Wanyin. “There is only one other small modification. We propose to go ahead with the alliance without the marriage.”

Jiang Wanyin somehow manages to look even more outraged. “What do you mean, no marriage?” he bites out, fists clenching.

Jiang Yanli places a hand on his arm. “Can you explain this change to us, please?”

“Is he trying to wiggle his way back out of it again?” Jiang Wanyin says, looking around as if to locate Wei Wuxian. “I’ll knock some sense back into him.”

“No need,” Lan Wangji says, knowing it is his time to speak. He and Jiang Wanyin have been on the same side of a battle before, and Lan Wangji has perhaps not tried to understand him as much as should, but knows there is love between the brothers, even as incomprehensible as it is to him. “I requested the change.”

Jiang Wanyin rounds on him. “You?”

Lan Wangji nods, wanting it clear that Wei Wuxian has not gone against his sect leader’s command.

Jiang Yanli makes a soft sound, almost like distress. Lan Wangji looks at her in concern.

“You told him you wouldn’t marry him?” Jiang Wanyin demands, face flushing alarmingly.

Lan Wangji turns back to him, nodding.

Jiang Wanyin shoves to his feet, Zidian sparking at his wrist. “Outside,” he snarls.

Lan Wangji looks at Xichen in confusion, hoping for some explanation for this sudden riotous animosity. Xichen merely looks pained, but unsurprised.

“You,” Jiang Wanyin says again, jabbing a finger in Lan Wangji’s direction. “Outside. Now.”

Xichen nods at Lan Wangji, encouraging him to go. 

Lan Wangji rises to his feet and follows Jiang Wanyin, no matter how much he would rather just ignore him. These trade agreements seem to mean a great deal to Wei Wuxian. He’ll do what he must to see them done, even if it means putting up with Jiang Wanyin’s temper tantrums.

Once outside, Jiang Wanyin turns on him immediately, jabbing a finger into Lan Wangji’s chest. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Lan Wangji, unprepared for quite this level of animosity, only manages with great effort to resist grabbing the offending finger and snapping it.  

“You icy motherfucker,” Jiang Wanyin continues, “if I didn’t need those trade agreements, I would gut you where you stand. You think you’re so high and mighty? Too good for Wei Wuxian?”

That is not at all what this is about, but Lan Wangji finds himself unable and unwilling to justify himself to Jiang Wanyin of all people.

“After everything you’ve done to him,” Jiang Wanyin snarls.  

As if Lan Wangji is not painfully aware of just what he’s done to Wei Wuxian. Which is exactly why he is not going to marry him. Not going to let himself think of the small thrill the very idea gave him before he’d forced himself to ruthlessly shut that down. This is not about Lan Wangji’s feelings. This is about Wei Wuxian’s freedom. His bright, beautiful, aggravating chaos never being stifled.

Jiang Wanyin seems to grow even more enraged in the face of Lan Wangji’s silence. He is no longer yelling, but rather speaking furtively, almost softly if not for the razor-sharp edge to each word. “Do you have any fucking idea how rarely he actually admits to wanting anything? Oh, he’ll whine and demand and make an ass of himself, but the only thing he’ll ever admit to wanting is fucking soup because he knows he has a reasonable chance of getting it. Because A-Jie will indulge him in that way no matter what. I bet he still even expects her to take that back from him some day. But now, he actually wants something enough to embarrass himself by admitting it, and you just fucking drop him like he’s an unwanted curse.”

Lan Wangji’s heart lurches in his chest. What? That’s not—why is he making it sound like—

Jiang Wanyin leans back, arms folding over his chest, giving Lan Wangji a look of utter contempt. “I don’t understand what the fuck he sees in you. You should be very lucky I have a sect to run. Because if it was up to me alone…”

Jiang Yanli steps outside then. She doesn’t chastise Jiang Wanyin—it would not be right for her to do so, his status as sect leader overruling any seniority she might have on him in years—but merely touches his arm. He seems to deflate nonetheless.

“Yeah,” he agrees to some unspoken statement. “I’ll go in and make our excuses.”

He moves past Lan Wangji into the Yashi, allowing his shoulder to rudely collide with Lan Wangji’s as he passes.

Lan Wangji is left reeling, feeling like he might sway under the light-headed confusion in his mind if his body weren’t frozen solid.

Jiang Yanli turns to regard Lan Wangji, arms lifting in salute, the exact required angle and not the tiniest bit more. Very close to rude, if one were so inclined to interpret it as such. “This one apologizes for Jiang-zongzhu. We are very protective of our brother.” She lifts her head, face soft but eyes sharp. “I can only hope there has been some misunderstanding.”

She smiles, and for all it is pleasant on the surface, it seems lined with steel.

Lan Wangji feels his head nod in response, an autonomic response requiring no input from him. He is aware that she leaves, but not much else.

Lan Wangji doesn’t understand. He does not understand, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs.

Xichen comes to find him eventually, merely standing by his side. For once there is no comfort to be found in it. Nor in the silence surrounding them, choking him.

Everything is swimming and unstable, the world having a sense of unreality to it. When he can, he turns to his brother, desperate for some explanation. 

His brother isn’t looking at him.

Wei Ying wanted this? That can’t be right. None of this can be right. Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli must have misunderstood their brother.

In his mind’s eye, Lan Wangji sees the look on Wei Ying’s face when he told him he never would have agreed to this marriage, the punched-out sound he’d tried to cover with a stretched-thin smile.

It can’t be.

Lan Wangji does not understand.

The agreement has finally been signed. Wei Wuxian knows it has only because Jiang Cheng comes out to gruffly inform him of it, giving the Gentian House—Lan Zhan’s beloved dead mother’s prison—a look of displeasure. He’s pissed off, but clearly trying to hide it.

Shijie also brings Wei Wuxian soup, sitting with him and fussing and petting him, and that’s all he needs to know they’ve been filled in on the whole no-marriage thing, too.

“Get this done and then come home where you belong,” Jiang Cheng orders rather than mentioning it, his affection hard and blundering and comfortingly familiar for it.

Wei Wuxian forces himself to smile, lifting his fingers up to his forehead in promise.

Wei Wuxian still isn’t sure which is worse, that he might be making another promise he’ll only break, or the thought of returning to Lotus Pier and knowing in his bones that it will never work. That it never could have. He will never be able to be what Jiang Cheng needs.

If everything actually works out with the yin iron and he goes home, maybe he’ll just spend as much time as he can night-hunting. It will probably get pretty lonely, but it’s still better than the alternative. A few short happy days with his siblings and then back out into the world before things can get horrible again.

It could work.

Jiang Cheng’s brought Wen Qing with him again, so Wei Wuxian submits himself to an examination after Jiang Cheng wanders off to do more sect leader-y stuff. Shijie excuses herself as well, giving them privacy.

Wen Qing checks him over. When she’s done, she nods. “The changes have been good for you.”

He can feel it too, as much as he hates to admit it. The food has helped, and the acupuncture and the music. It’s going to suck giving it up again when he goes back to Lotus Pier.

“What exactly is happening tomorrow?” she asks, clearly having picked up on the general mood if not the specifics. There’s no reason for her to know after all.

“They never destroyed the yin iron,” he says.

Wen Qing doesn’t look particularly surprised, though whether that’s because she considers the feat impossible or just knows people are far too greedy to let go of potential power, he doesn’t know. She’s sure seen a lot of people at their absolute worst in her life.

“So you’re going to give it a try,” she surmises.

He nods.

“Using the amulet.”

“Yup.”

“You know the cost of using it,” she says.

“Yeah.”

She sighs but doesn’t try to talk him out of it. If anyone knows first-hand the dangers of the yin iron existing, it’s her.

“I’ll go talk to Lan Yunxia,” she says, “let her know what we should prepare for.”

Wei Wuxian grabs her forearm, giving it a squeeze. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She lets out a long breath, looking at him that way she does when she knows he’s doing something that will hurt him, but has no hope of stopping him. “I wish I could say the same, Wei Wuxian.”

And then he’s left on his own. He’s probably supposed to be using this time for last minute preparation, but he knows what he’s doing, and it will likely end up being more about adapting in the moment anyway, no matter how much the Lan elders are trying to over-plan everything. It will be what it will be. There is one last thing to be done, however. One thing he is not willing to leave to fate. It’s just too important.

He leaves the Gentian House and heads towards the family quarters.

It’s predictable, Wei Wuxian supposes, that when he gets to the Jingshi, it’s to find Lan Zhan kneeling out on the stones. He has three bamboo sticks balanced on his outstretched palms. It looks like he’s been there for a while.

Punishing himself. Just like for Wei Wuxian’s drinking all those months ago. This time, all Wei Wuxian can see is little baby Lan Zhan, kneeling in the snow. What door is he waiting to open now? 

When they were younger, Wei Wuxian always saw Lan Zhan as this stiff, rule-loving statue, but he can’t unsee it now, how much is bubbling underneath. How much those high walls around him aren’t inflexibility as much as defense. A solid bulwark holding back a torrent of feeling and fears.

Let me for once make the right choice for the right reasons, no matter the consequences.

The thought of Lan Zhan afraid of something, maybe even afraid of himself, has long since broken apart any lingering hurt or annoyance over the situation that Wei Wuxian might have tried to cling to.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, voice coming out far softer than he intends.

Lan Zhan still manages to flinch without moving much, just a slight tightening of his arms.

At first, it seems Lan Zhan will ignore him, but eventually he takes a longer than normal breath, his throat bobbing. He opens his eyes, taking in Wei Wuxian out of the corner of his eye. Having tracked his presence, Lan Zhan looks down at the ground.

“Another night drinking in town, Lan Zhan? I’m offended you didn’t take me with you.” The joke doesn’t really land, but then again, he didn’t think it would.

Wei Wuxian steps further into the garden. “Have you heard?” he asks. “What’s happening tomorrow?” Lan Zhan’s been in seclusion this whole time as far as Wei Wuxian has heard, but he had to have sat through some of the meetings or Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have been quite so pissed at him.

Lan Zhan’s hands clench around the bamboo, his arms not dipping at all under the weight. “Mn,” he confirms.

Wei Wuxian nods, doing his best to heft a smile on his face. “Not many things more impossible than destroying something already said to be destroyed!”

Lan Zhan frowns, in his very Lan Zhan way, and Wei Wuxian takes this as evidence that Lan Zhan himself had no idea the destruction of the yin iron had been a lie. A lie told to him by his own brother.

Wei Wuxian rubs at his nose, clearing his throat. “I was hoping…” He trails off, finding it difficult to say, now that he’s here.

It’s only in the face of his protracted silence that Lan Zhan finally turns his head, looking at Wei Wuxian straight on.

And, wow, that is still a lot. Always has been, no matter how hard he’s tried to pretend otherwise.

Wei Wuxian sucks in a breath, forcing his posture loose and casual. It’s no big deal, after all. One way or the other. And just because Lan Xichen came and told him a bedtime story…

“Are you going to be there?” he asks, reaching for disaffection, like he couldn’t give a shit either way. He’s dubious of his success. He really can’t imagine trying this without Lan Zhan there.

Lan Zhan doesn’t answer immediately, doing that thing Wei Wuxian still isn’t sure is simply taking three breaths before doing anything, or if he’s just trying to find words. A mark of enforced patience, or an inner struggle.

He really wants to be able to know.

“Does Wei Ying wish for me to be there?”

The question is careful, even for Lan Zhan. Like someone attempting to walk through a field without brushing up against a single strand of grass.

Oh, Lan Zhan.

“Wei Ying does,” he says.

Lan Zhan looks down again, clearly struggling with something.

Wei Wuxian waits until he can’t stand to anymore. Moving closer, he reaches out and takes the bamboo poles from Lan Zhan’s hands. They clench a moment on empty air, but he doesn’t protest, his arms slowly lowering.

Wei Wuxian sits down across from him on the front steps, balancing the poles on his knees. “You can say anything to me, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan sits back on his heels, posture still rigidly perfect as his fists come to rest on his thighs. Ready to resume his punishment at any moment. “The yin iron,” he says, as if expecting to be yelled at for even mentioning it. “Destroying it will be dangerous for you.”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.” There really isn’t any point in lying about it. Not here.

Lan Zhan is not pleased by that answer to judge from the frown on his face.

“Just another reason you should be there, right?” Wei Wuxian says.

Lan Zhan tilts his head, his silence tinged with confusion.

Wei Wuxian takes a breath and decides he may as well just say the truth for once. Try it on for size. “I know you’ll always have my back.” 

Hasn’t Lan Zhan proven that over and over again already?

Lan Zhan looks up at him, something like painful hope in his eyes. It hurts, the way it always has, how much Lan Zhan wants to help. How much he has from the very beginning.

Wei Wuxian smiles at him, canting his head towards the empty space next to him on the steps in invitation.

After another long moment of consideration, Lan Zhan rises, lowering himself gingerly next to Wei Wuxian on the porch, leaving a safe distance between. Not uncomfortable to be near, but not wanting to take too much.

Wei Wuxian wanted to believe, he really did, that Lan Xichen’s story was just that, some wishful thinking, but looking at Lan Zhan with it in mind, it makes so many things look completely different. The way maybe the curse didn’t force Lan Zhan to do things he was uncomfortable with, but rather gave him permission to do the very things he always longed to allow himself.

They sit for a while, light shifting to shadows, a chill rising in the air. Wei Wuxian hates the thought that if he leaves, Lan Zhan will go back to kneeling.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what you’re punishing yourself for,” Wei Wuxian says.  

Lan Zhan is predictably silent, something in the angle of his jaw speaking to an immovable stubbornness. Which could either mean he finds the answer stupidly obvious or that he’s too embarrassed to speak of it. Maybe both.

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says. “I didn’t think so.”

Lifting the bamboo poles, he hefts the weight of them. It isn’t much, just lifting them once, but holding them up for hours and hours would really take some stubborn concentration. Wei Wuxian kind of wants to chuck them into the pond but he knows they would just float anyway. He lowers them back down.  

“Could you promise me something?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Zhan’s head turns towards him, like he can’t believe Wei Wuxian is actually asking for something.

“I know you’ve got this whole…thing with punishment. I get it. I mean, I’ll probably never agree with you or anything. But I get it. I just wish…” He blows out a breath, trying to work out what he really wants to say. “Just try not to punish yourself for other people’s mistakes, will you?”

It’s still right there, their previous conversation, about Wei Wuxian’s mistakes being Lan Zhan’s fault somehow. But today he also means Lan Zhan’s parents. The decisions Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren made on his behalf. The last painful yearning of a suffering ghost. None of those are Lan Zhan’s fault. He shouldn’t have to carry their debts.

He looks over at Lan Zhan, who is staring down at his fists clenched in his lap. Wei Wuxian’s not trying to hurt him, even if sometimes it feels like that’s all he ever does, but someone needs to say this to him, and he doubts any of his family ever would.

“I don’t like it,” Wei Wuxian says, trying to keep his voice light. “It isn’t fair to my zhiji.”

Lan Zhan sucks in a breath, turning to look at Wei Wuxian with so much swimming in his eyes, a tumble of hope and pain and fear, that Wei Wuxian can’t help but wonder if all the punishment is really about building calluses, beating hard walls into place.

Wei Wuxian stands, placing his hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

Lan Zhan tenses under the touch, but doesn’t pull away, or lean into it. Wei Wuxian can guess which one he is fighting against, but still can’t be sure how much of that is wishful thinking, a dream out of reach.

“At least think about it?” Wei Wuxian asks, knowing it’s not fair to make Lan Zhan promise something he might be destined to fail at.

Lan Zhan’s chin dips in a small nod, and that’s more than enough for now.

Wei Wuxian holds out the bamboo poles, letting Lan Zhan take them back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lan Zhan.”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says, and this time, it does sound like a promise.

When Wei Wuxian stops at the gate to look back, Lan Zhan is still sitting on the steps, one hand lifted to cover the spot where Wei Wuxian’s hand had been. Not to brush the touch away, but maybe to hold it close.

Wei Wuxian turns and walks away.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji does not return to kneeling after Wei Ying departs.

He should. It would be proper, to finish what he began in earnest. He finds he cannot. It is almost as if the phantom weight of Wei Ying’s hand on his shoulder keeps him in place, the hard wood of the steps solid under his feet and thighs. He feels hyper aware of his body in a way that is new. Untested.

Try not to punish yourself for other people’s mistakes.

Is that what Wei Ying thinks he is doing? Lan Wangji cannot dictate the actions of others. He knows this. His own discipline is all that is within his control. To reach for more is an act of folly. One cannot make the world as they would wish by will alone. No matter how tempting.

Punishment is an acknowledgement of this, of the ability and capacity for change of self. For the ways in which being his best self is the only path to a righteous world.

Still. Changing himself will not change his father. It will not rewrite the past. Nor bring back those lost.

He knows this.

Doesn’t he?

Lan Wangji has failings enough of his own without taking on those of others around him.

It is still a tug in his breastbone, the urge to take back up his punishment, to retreat back into seclusion. With honesty, he can acknowledge that kneeling today was less punishment perfectly designed to teach and edify than a blatant attempt to keep from returning to the Gentian House, to beg on his knees for forgiveness from Wei Ying. He could not risk it, after all.

He is not supposed to remake his mistakes. He is supposed to learn from them. His love has done enough damage to Wei Wuxian. What else is there to do but deny it?

Yet how tantalized he has been by it these last days, the merest thought that Wei Wuxian could ever want to say yes. Of what that life could be. Drawn in by the memories of the quiet comforts of those months together he had not allowed himself to enjoy. Wei Wuxian’s closeness. His hand warm against his wrist. Wei Ying’s body wrapped around his own, chest warm against his back. Clumsy lips brushing near his.

Stolen things. Stolen.

Wei Ying’s agreement to the marriage had to be because of the trade agreements, the help it would provide to the Jiang sect. But then why were Wei Ying’s siblings so angered when the material benefits have already been agreed upon?

Why speak of Wei Ying’s want?

All Wei Ying has ever wanted is Lan Wangji’s absence. A gift he can give, no matter how it tears him apart, because he will not be selfish about this. He will not. He will not allow his love to become a weapon, prison walls.

That is why he kneels. Why he works relentlessly to improve himself. To not become his father.

And yet, Wei Ying had been the one to seek him out today. Wei Ying had come to him and asked for his help.

Wei Ying does not seem to hate him. Hate has never come easily to Wei Ying, even perhaps when there is every reason for it.

Wei Ying had not seemed angry either.  

Perhaps, Lan Wangji’s mind whispers, that is because the Jiang siblings were wrong. Wei Ying is not angry because there is no reason to be angry.

It is very tempting to accept that explanation, even if just to ease Lan Wangji’s own culpability, but there is another truth to be seen here, one that cannot be ignored.

Who is better at hiding hurts than Wei Ying?

Amindst such murkiness, one thing is clear: Wei Ying had come to the Jingshi, had sought Lan Wangji out. Wei Ying asked for his help.

That is simple. A truth that makes Lan Wangji’s path ahead once again clear and uncomplicated.

Lan Wangji will never allow his weaknesses to get in the way of helping Wei Ying. Never again.

Rising from the steps, he puts the bamboo poles away.

In the morning, Lan Wangji rises early and leaves his seclusion.

While still quiet and sedate, there is an air of anticipation and focus in the Cloud Recesses this morning that is greater than usual. As if the mountains themselves are aware of the importance of what will be attempted today.

Wei Ying will destroy the yin iron.

Lan Wangji’s extended seclusion has already provided the time to settle his emotions over the revelation of the continued existence of the yin iron shards, the lies told to him by his brother and uncle. He is not a child to sulk or be thrown by the necessity of falsehoods in the face of so much death and destruction. Though he still could not help but wonder if he had not been deemed worthy to help, to share this burden.

It is a selfish, petulant thought. He has been trusted with enough. Wei Ying has trusted him with this now. That is all that matters.

I know you’ll always have my back.

It is a precious burden he will do whatever he can to carry.

As Lan Wangji nears the Mingshi, activity only increases. Due to its primary function as a place to examine volatile and powerful entities, the Mingshi is set away from other buildings in a small dip at the base of two mountains, a place of geomantic significance. Today, however, a cluster of temporary pavilions have been set up in the surrounding clearings and courtyards.

Two of them appear to be medical tents where Lan Yunxia and her apprentices are arranging supplies in their typical orderly fashion. It seems preparations have been made for all outcomes, all done while Lan Wangji spent his days hiding selfishly in his home.

It is good that such care is being shown for Wei Ying’s well-being, but it also worries Lan Wangji that such diligence is deemed necessary. He has seen Wei Ying give himself over to the awful power of the amulet too many times. The blood and his loss of consciousness.

Lan Wangji’s hands tighten in the folds of his sleeves.

Lan Yunxia acknowledges Lan Wangji with a nod as he nears, and he stops to bow to his senior.

The third pavilion shades a small collection of low tables. Here is where Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing sit, attended by a pair of juniors. He surmises that this means neither of them have been granted access to the Mingshi, yet both still wished to be as near as possible. Understandable on both counts.

Lan Wangji pauses as he passes by the pavilion, acknowledging both occupants with a polite bow.

Neither woman is impolite, but neither do they hide their coolness, their disapproval of him. Lan Wangji deserves that and more if their presumptions are somehow true.

Can it be true?

He sets the thought aside. It is unhelpful and potentially distracting. He must focus on the task at hand.

Collecting himself, he climbs the steps and enters the Mingshi, for once not the focus of study himself. As much as he dislikes being the center of attention, he would wish for that over Wei Ying being put in danger.

Inside, Uncle, Xichen, two elders, and a dozen of the senior disciples most accomplished in musical cultivation are all gathered. Many are studying the floor.

Following their gaze, Lan Wangji sees the red lines of an intricate array, or perhaps, more accurately, arrays within arrays. The formation is incredibly complicated. There are elements that are familiar and areas that are not, none of it creating a pattern Lan Wangji is able to make sense of. There are…rivers of a sort, lines of fluid text radiating outward towards eight points, each terminating at the base of a large piece of jade. Each rises vertically from the ground, carved in such a way as to have a hollow circle down the middle, but with the exterior edges coming to points, like a circle within a square. At the square outer corners, faces are carved, notches and geomantic shapes, as well as finely rendered characters. Powerful grounding forms, Lan Wangji can guess from their shape, but divines little else as to their function.  

The interior of the array is unusual as well, by nature of having two loci. The first locus sits under the diagnostic bell where Lan Wangji himself has stood while being studied for the curse. The second balances perfectly on the other side. At the center of this space stands Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji feels his breath catch at the sight of his zhiji.

Wei Ying stands with his hands on his hips, studying the array, eyes bright and curious. Under that, he seems tired, still. It is early in the day for him, Lan Wangji knows, though this also seems the kind of event that might keep Wei Ying up at night in anticipation. Had he slept at all the night before?

It irritates him, the not knowing.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

The overly loud voice pulls Lan Wangji from his musings.

Turning, he finds Jiang Wanyin’s snarling glare fixed on him from where he stands on the other side of the room.

It seems the Jiang sect leader has strong-armed his way into one of the most private areas of the Cloud Recesses. With a handful of Jiang disciples as well. As strange as it feels, as off-putting as it is to have him here, it is appropriate in light of the new alliance between the two sects.

At Jiang Wanyin’s rude bellow, Wei Ying looks up from where he is studying the array. “Lan Zhan!” he says, leaping gracefully out of the array. He runs up behind Jiang Wanyin, patting his hand on his shoulder in a way that seems to be both consoling and holding Jiang Wanyin back from violence. “Hey, knock it off. I asked him to come.”

Wei Ying bumps his hip into Jiang Wanyin’s, jostling him. 

“Why would you do that,” Jiang Wanyin grumbles, scowling and shoving Wei Ying away in retaliation. 

Wei Ying dances out of Jiang Wanyin’s reach, crossing over to stand in front of Lan Wangji.

“Lan Zhan,” he says gently as if in fear of spooking a small creature. “You’re here.”

Lan Wangji nods, looking for any sign that he is unwanted, that Wei Ying’s request had been in jest or since regretted.

Wei Ying smiles, nudging Lan Wangji’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Lan Wangji can only nod again, thickness rising in his throat. “How may I assist?”

“So eager!” Wei Ying crows, his silly, easy manner settling the unease in Lan Wangji’s stomach. “Make sure Lan-xiansheng puts you in the rotation, okay?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says.

“Great,” Wei Ying replies, hand returning to the same shoulder he touched yesterday, revisiting conquered territory. Wei Ying’s fingers squeeze, pressing tighter.

After a moment that threatens to stretch on into forever, Wei Ying shakes his head as if rousing from a daydream, letting out a laugh. “Okay, yeah. Let’s get this done!”

Wei Ying lets go, Lan Wangji’s body threatening to rise up into the rafters at the loss of weight. Lan Wangji forces himself to cross the room to join his uncle. He passes Jiang Wanyin on the way, collecting another glare for his trouble, but at least without any physical assault accompanying it.

Lan Wangji greets his uncle and then moves to stand next to his brother. Xichen glances very unsubtly between Lan Wangji and Wei Ying, a question there.

Xichen and Uncle have pressed Lan Wangji not at all on the topic of Wei Ying or the betrothal, though he is not unaware that they would prefer to. Their restraint might be out of respect for what must be his obvious floundering, but more likely due to their familiarity with the way this sort of pressure has only ever made Lan Wangji twice as set in his convictions in response. He has ever been a wall of surety. Just like the one their rules are carved into. Unwavering. Certain. Steadfast. 

Except when it comes to Wei Ying. He has leveled every fortification. Undermined every stalwart belief. Remade Lan Wangji until he is unrecognizable to himself.

Made him less, he wants to claim, but cannot. Ruined him—but he cannot even think it for the lie it clearly is.

Any reduction in righteousness is Lan Wangji’s own failing, not Wei Ying’s.

He bows to his brother. “Please tell me how I may help.”

Lan Wangji is placed with the other musicians lining the walls of the building well outside of reach of the array, and just beyond the ring of jade receptacles he has come to understand are meant to serve as resentment sinks. As Wei Ying draws resentment out of the yin iron piece,  the musicians are to dispel and cleanse as much as they can, the jade objects absorbing whatever remains. The resentment in the jade will be stored and eventually cleansed when they have more time and energy.

Lan Wangji looks again at the array. There are protections and backup redundancies, but even with those it is not enough to explain the complexity of the formation. Lan Wangji does not ask, but observes carefully.

Once everyone is in place to Uncle’s satisfaction, he reaches for the carefully warded box sitting at the head of the room. He opens the lid.

There are a few quickly stifled gasps as the malevolent aura of the yin iron spreads across the room. Likely there are those present who have never experienced the yin iron themselves. Lan Wangji feels it crawl across his skin, the way it wants to slip into his mind, to whisper and manipulate. He remembers the heaviness of carrying it all those years ago. His fear that he would not be strong enough to fulfill his task. That he might succumb to it.

He had not been alone though. Even then, Wei Ying had been by his side.

A sharp whistle rips through the silence, Lan Wangji blinking himself back into the present. In response to Wei Ying’s command, the yin iron shard rises from the box. With another short command, it floats across the room to hover over the palm of Wei Ying’s outstretched hand. For a moment, Wei Ying looks down at it, head tilting to the side as if studying it. Or perhaps as if listening. He smirks, whistling again and pushing the shard towards the bronze bell. The shard settles with seeming ease over the first locus of the array.

Wei Ying’s control looks easy, fluid. Lan Wangji knows there is nothing of ease to be found here.

Wei Ying leaps into his own place in the other locus of the array. Still smirking slightly at some joke apparent to only him, Wei Ying pulls Chenqing from his belt with a frivolous flourish, twisting it endlessly in his fingers before bringing the flute to his lips.

There, he pauses, eyes meeting Lan Wangji’s for the beat of a breath.

Lan Wangji is not certain what Wei Ying is looking for, but does his best to look steady and calm. I am here.

Wei Ying’s lips curve up into a quick smile and then he breathes in and begins to play.

The trill of the tripping notes lights the array one ring at a time, flowing from the center outwards from Wei Ying and the yin iron shard.

Lan Wangji waits for more notes, for more parts of the array to come to life, to perhaps provide more information as to their purpose, yet it does not come. Large portions remain inert. Additionally, Wei Ying has not brought out his amulet.

Lan Wangji frowns.

Wei Ying shifts into playing a lilting melody that is in turns beseeching and coy. Resentment starts to leak out of the yin iron shard in response. At first a shapeless, billowing cloud. As it expands, the black smoke is pulled in eight directions, looking like flax twisting into rope, thinner and thinner as the river formations of the arrays light at last.

When the thin streams of resentment reach the edges of the array, the musicians are given direction to begin playing Cleansing.

Lan Wangji plays, carefully restraining his power as he has been instructed. The musicians were told to play for longevity rather than strength, as they will be expected to play for hours at a time. It requires very little focus from Lan Wangji, and so he studies the yin iron and the jade receptacles connected to it by the river formations. They seem to be absorbing some small amount of resentment already. Interesting.

Then he turns his attention to Wei Ying, studying him as he plays.

Lan Wangji knows what Wei Ying on a night-hunt looks like, what Wei Ying on the cusp of a brilliant idea looks like. Wei Ying on the edge of something he’s not even sure is possible, yet eager to find out anyway.

He also knows what a bored Wei Ying looks like. That is what he sees in front of him.

For an hour, this continues, resentment slowly being drawn from the yin iron, the musicians cleansing what they can, and the jade absorbing what they cannot. Uncle is the one to call Wei Ying to a halt.

Wei Ying stops playing without complaint. Lan Wangji and the other musicians continue playing until the last of the drawn-out resentment is dealt with. By the time they are done, the jade receptacles have burned black perhaps a quarter of the way up their bodies.

The elders gather to study the jade pieces and discuss the progress of the last two hours. Wei Ying is sent out to be examined by Lan Yunxia, which he does, but not without whining and complaining and making a spectacle of himself. Lan Wangji restrains himself from doing something ridiculous like smiling.

Xichen sees through him. “It is good that you’re here, Wangji.”

“Hm,” he says rather than something more ungrateful, not particularly caring for his brother’s well-meaning meddling.

The musicians are sent out to rest and refresh themselves, some of the younger disciples rotated out as they reach the limits of their playing power. When Lan Wangji exits the Mingshi, he scans the courtyard, eyes settling on Wei Ying where he sits with his sister, eating a small meal.

It is not meal time. Yet it is good to see Wei Ying eating. Taking care of himself. Perhaps his sister has cooked. He has always found her food and company superior to others.

After a period of rest and analysis of the success of the morning session, they start again. The same process is repeated four more times over the course of the day with a longer break for lunch. At the end of the day, the yin iron shard is once more shut away in the box and returned to the cold pond cave.

Wei Ying looks over the array, speaks with the elders. Calmly, not pushing.

The elders look like they will spend the evening hours discussing what can be learned from today and what progress has been made.

Very little, Lan Wangji imagines. None of this makes sense.

Could it be that Wei Ying doesn’t care if they make progress or not?  

Lan Wangji looks again at the intricate inventions around him. No. Wei Ying would wish to rid the world of this great evil and has clearly gone to great lengths to do so.

Is he merely humoring the elders? Giving way to their conservative, methodical approach? Heeding their counsel in this matter?

Perhaps that is all it is, he tells himself.

The second day passes much as the first, in exception to Lan Wangji’s growing confusion.

In the afternoon, when they stop for a prolonged break, Lan Wangji waits for Wei Ying to be checked out by the healers and to eat a small meal, once again not at the proper time, and yet seemingly welcomed by Wei Ying. Even expected. He is too far for Lan Wangji to see what exactly he is eating. But it is of no matter. Wei Ying’s nutrition is not central to Lan Wangji’s interest at the moment.

Lan Wangji approaches Wei Ying where he stands with his brother. Not ideal, but there is little time left.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, smiling in welcome.

Jiang Wanyin sighs and walks away without saying anything at all. As much a boon as his quick absence.

“So,” Wei Ying says. “Having fun?”

Lan Wangji slides him a look.

Wei Ying laughs. “Okay, okay. Don’t tell me you’re bored! Lan-xiansheng’s perfect disciple?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue like a disapproving auntie. “For shame!”

Lan Wangji pushes past Wei Ying’s whimsy. “These approaches are very orthodox,” he observes. Conservative. Not at all what he would expect of Wei Ying and his approach to problem solving.

“Yup!” Wei Ying says, bouncing up on his toes.

“It will not work,” Lan Wangji points out, frustration driving him to state the blatantly obvious. If the yin iron could be destroyed this way, he has no doubt his ancestors would have done it long before.

Wei Ying waves it away with a laugh. “Yeah, well, try telling Lan-xiangsheng that.”

Yes, Lan Wangji can easily believe his uncle would not be open to some of the approaches Wei Ying might suggest, but Wei Ying has never let that stop him before. It makes no sense that he would allow it now.

There is only one explanation that Lan Wangji can think of, one that began to plague him the night before. “Does Wei Ying truly wish to destroy the amulet?”

Wei Ying’s smile slips. “I said I would, Lan Zhan.”

That is not an answer.

“But does Wei Ying wish to,” he presses.

“Of course I do,” Wei Ying says. He gestures back towards the Mingshi and the incredibly complicated array housed within. “That didn’t exactly create itself!”

Which certainly speaks to ability and dedication, but not want.

Lan Wangji waits for Wei Ying to say something more, to provide additional clues.

Wei Ying remains stubbornly silent, clearly seeking to avoid the conversation he does not wish to have. Lan Wangji rarely pushes when he does this, which means it can only be Wei Ying’s specific aim. It’s usually quite successful as a tactic, after all, as Lan Wangji has always depended on Wei Ying to direct their conversations, to take on the bulk of the burden of moving them forward.

Not today. It is too important.

“The trade agreements are quite good,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying tenses strangely, a small jolt through his body. “Uh, yeah,” he says, rubbing at his nose. “Jiang Cheng’s pretty excited about them.”

All the more reason. Does Wei Ying not see that?

Apparently not, as he does not carry the conversation any further.

Lan Wangji feels himself growing frustrated. “In Lotus Pier,” he says, unnerved by the sheer frankness of what he is about to say, “Wei Ying and Jiang-zongzhu seemed quite concerned that Jiang-guniang might feel pressured to marry Jin Zixuan if she were to know of the financial situation.”

Wei Ying pulls a face, the sort he often makes when reminded of the existence of the Jin sect. “Well, yeah. Which is why we didn’t tell her.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says with great emphasis. “The trade agreements are quite good.”

“I know,” Wei Ying says. “Why are you on about—” He cuts off mid-sentence as his mind apparently catches up. He turns to Lan Wangji with shock-widened eyes. “Lan Zhan! That’s not the same at all!”

Wei Ying is giving up his spiritual tool, one he cared about enough to abandon the sword path entirely for. A tool he has refused to denounce or put aside no matter how much pressure he received or how much it has harmed him. This is no small thing.

“Is it not?” Lan Wangji says, refusing to let this go.

“Lan Zhan! You think I’d agree to destroy the amulet just so Jiang Cheng can make some money? I’m not so dutiful!” 

Lan Wangji narrows his eyes, not well-pleased to hear Wei Ying disparage himself as a distraction tactic. “Wei Ying is good,” he says.

Wei Ying blinks, momentarily struck silent as his cheeks warm becomingly. “Really, Lan Zhan. No one is pressuring me. This is a decision I made.”

Lan Wangji is not sure he can believe him.

Wei Ying makes a sound of exasperation. Glancing around, he reaches out and takes Lan Wangji’s arm. “Hey, come here,” he says, pulling him off to the side where they will be unobserved.

Lan Wangji tries not to be distracted unduly by the clutch of Wei Ying’s fingers around his bicep.

Wei Ying pulls him to a stop under the protection of a magnolia tree.

“What is this really about, Lan Zhan? I thought you, of all people, would want me to get rid of it. Are you telling me not to?”

“No,” he says.

Lan Wangji cannot deny that he would be very happy to see Wei Ying free of resentment, to once more pick up his sword, to walk the wide, bright path of cultivation, but he will not dictate to Wei Ying what his life should look like. That is the promise he has made himself, one he will hold to, even if he fails to keep every other.

“No?” Wei Ying echoes when Lan Wangji adds nothing else. “Lan Zhan.”

He sounds frustrated.

That is not Lan Wangji’s intention. Though perhaps, as always, he has failed to make his intentions clear.

Lan Wangji looks at a branch just past Wei Ying’s shoulder. He swallows, having nothing left to offer but the truth. “I wish for Wei Ying to be happy,” he says. “But I also wish for him to be free.”

He cannot bring himself to look at Wei Ying’s face, not even as silence stretches between them.

There is movement out of the corner of Lan Wangji’s eye, as if Wei Ying has dragged a hand over his face in frustration.

Lan Wangji is truly not trying to be difficult.

Wei Ying moves closer, turning so they are directly in front of each other. His voice, when he speaks, is soft. Calm. “I know, Lan Zhan. I know you do. You’ve made that very clear.” Wei Ying breaks off with a soft laugh, almost fond. “Or at least clear for you. You’re lucky I’m getting so much better at speaking Lan Zhan.”

They are standing very close now, heads lowered together. Lan Wangji gets caught a moment, thinking about what this might look like to someone passing by. How wrong they would be in their assumptions.  

“The truth is, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, voice quiet. Tired. “It’s getting harder to control.”

Lan Wangji shifts his gaze to Wei Ying’s face, alarm straightening his spine as he searches for any sign of strain or illness. Wei Ying has never admitted such a thing before. How bad must it be?

“Hey,” Wei Ying says, reaching for Lan Wangji’s sleeve, jiggling his arm. “None of that. I do have it under control. I could keep doing it. But if I don’t need to, if there are other ways to keep Lotus Pier safe…it might be best to just let it go. Okay?”

Lan Wangji studies Wei Ying’s face, looking for any lie, as if he might somehow be any better at detecting them now than he ever has been before.

“Believe me,” Wei Ying says, smiling at him. Not quite the smile he uses to beguile a shopkeeper into giving him a free sample, but rather something softer, something closer.

Lan Wangji does not know how to push any further, how to dig for the truth without running the risk of cracking himself wide open, pouring himself out over the stones. “If Wei Ying is certain,” he says, still feeling very uncertain himself.  

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” Wei Ying says, swinging Lan Wangji’s arm in emphasis. He slides up even closer to Lan Wangji. “I’m curious though, Lan Zhan, what would you do if I wasn’t, hm?” He tilts his head, peering up at Lan Wangji somehow, despite the similarity of their heights. “What is Lan-er-gongzi going to do? Rip up the agreements? Argue with his elders? Sneak me out of the Cloud Recesses? Run away with me to the unnamed lands?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees, entranced. If Wei Ying asked it of him, he would see it done. Anything.

Wei Ying squawks in response. “ Mn? You say ‘Mn’? Lan Zhan, get control of yourself, you crazy rebel.” He bumps their shoulders together. “I suppose it is a good thing that I am okay with these agreements then, or who knows what chaos you might cause. ‘Mn,’ really.”

Wei Ying’s sheer, ridiculous audacity is a balm to Lan Wangji’s anxiety.

Wei Ying is apparently pleased with whatever he sees in Lan Wangji’s face as he rolls back on his heels, posture relaxing. “It’ll be a relief, won’t it? Knowing the yin iron is finally gone.”

“It would be good to know such harm cannot happen again,” Lan Wangji agrees.

He smiles up at Lan Wangji. “I’m glad I get to do it with you, Lan Zhan. We can just add it to our list of amazing feats! What can we possibly try next? Will we have to overturn the Heavens themselves?”

“No.”

Wei Ying laughs. “Okay, okay. We’ll keep our eyes on things a little closer to home then, shall we?”

Home.

Lan Wangji should ask. He has already dared so much today and Wei Ying is standing so very close. How much more greedy would it really be at this point, to ask if Wei Ying truly wanted the marriage as well? If it is not just the trade agreements and the destruction of the amulet he willingly embraced? How much more did he want?

Wei Ying is still smiling up at him.

Lan Wangji could ask and even if the answer breaks what little is left intact of his heart, surely it would be better to simply know?

He could ask.

“Wei Wuxian!”

Jiang Wanyin appears through the branches, grabbing his brother’s arm. “What the hell are you doing? A-Jie’s looking for you.”

Wei Ying is dragged away, giving Lan Wangji an apologetic smile back over his shoulder.

Lan Wangji watches him walk away, questions stranded unasked.

Okay. So here’s the thing.

Wei Wuxian has behaved himself for two whole days. Two! He thinks that’s pretty impressive, all things told.

Two whole days of pulling a dribble of resentment out of the yin iron and letting the Lan disciples dispel it. Two days of the jade receptacles slowly filling with an overflow of resentment when orthodox techniques can’t even handle that much. Two days of sneakily taking what little threads he could and pulling them into the amulet when no one’s paying attention. It’s barely enough to keep the amulet content, and has probably made barely any dent on the yin iron at all.

Lan Zhan was right after all; this won’t work. It was wildly gratifying to have Lan Zhan see it so clearly, even if the conversation only got more uncomfortable from there. Really, Lan Zhan’s brand of sincerity has got to be against a rule or two somewhere. It’s too mean, really!

The only benefit to this whole farce is that two days is probably long enough to convince people that Wei Wuxian is going to follow the plan, and has the added benefit of giving Lan Qiren plenty of time to realize this plan is dumb. Okay, maybe two days won’t be enough for that one, but it can’t hurt.

They’re basically getting nowhere.

Look, it’s day three now and even Lan Zhan is visibly bored. A man who has spent his entire life listening to lectures from Lan Qiren. Before today, Wei Wuxian would have said Lan Zhan actually looking bored wasn’t even possible.

Behold the miracle of fucking around and wasting everyone’s time!

Wei Wuxian might throw a fit or something, pick a debate with Lan Qiren again just to have something interesting to do, but he also knows he won’t have to. Two days is enough time for a lot of things to happen, and he knows they won’t be able to hold this pattern for long.

It’s the yin iron, after all.

Even Lan Yi, unmitigated badass that she was, couldn’t make the yin iron bend to her will.

Sure enough, it’s early afternoon when the first inklings of yin iron mischief makes itself known. Fortunately, Wei Wuxian has been more than ready for this.

From the corner of his eye, he sees an abrupt change to the graceful movement of one of the Lan disciple’s hands on the guqin. At first, it’s just that. A change in posture, a small break, but it’s enough. Not a minute later, the guy’s face lifts with a jerk, staring straight at the yin iron.

This is what Wei Wuxian has been waiting for. They’ve pushed this as far as they can risk.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian calls out. There is a reason, after all, he asked Jiang Cheng to be here through all this, and it sure as hell wasn’t just to watch the world’s most boring concert.

Jiang Cheng moves immediately, launching himself at the possessed Lan disciple lifting his sword in preparation to slash the disciple in front of him, his milky white eyes trained on the yin iron.

“Sneaky fucker,” Wei Wuxian mutters, scanning the rest of the disciples in the room. He knew the yin iron’s docility these last few days could only have been an act. He knows the way it flows and creeps and ferrets out any weaknesses. All it took, after all, was one disciple distracted enough, or perhaps undisciplined enough to have any tiny thread of resentment, any secret deep wish or petty flaw. Given enough time, the seductive whisper of the yin iron could turn anyone.

The other disciples look startled, but to their credit, they do not stop playing, still fruitlessly trying to cleanse away resentment. It’s like toweling off your face while standing under a waterfall.

Jiang Cheng manages to wrestle the possessed Lan disciple outside, and Wei Wuxian lets himself stop thinking about it. Jiang Cheng and the doctors can handle that. He’s still got a cranky bit of metal to deal with in here.

Wei Wuxian plays a few notes, confirming for himself that the array is holding. He risks a glance over at Lan Qiren, who looks disconcerted to see one of his precious Lan disciples lose his composure.

Really though, it’s time to stop fucking around.

Wei Wuxian reaches for the pouch at his waist. “Okay,” he says. “Playtime is over.”

Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren share startled looks, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t care less. There is only one person in this room whose reaction matters at all.

Lan Zhan is already looking back at Wei Wuxian when he turns his head enough to see him. Lan Zhan’s back is perfectly straight, both arms lifted and moving across the strings with sturdy power.

Wei Wuxian tilts his head slightly, just enough to say, You with me?

If Lan Zhan thinks this is a terrible idea, he’s the only one Wei Wuxian might listen to. But he also knows that this is the only right play. Lan Zhan knows exactly what this shit is capable of, and what it costs them all just to keep it contained. After all this playing with it, there’s no pulling back. There never was going to be.

Very clearly, his eyes never leaving Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan nods. Just the tiniest dip of his chin, but there is no hesitance. Do what you must.

I am here.

Wei Wuxian feels warmth flare in his chest, like a solid wall beating back all the sharp coldness that is never far. He smiles at Lan Zhan, feeling like his entire heart is probably oozing out, but not able to care much at the moment. With one last look at Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian turns back to face the yin iron.

“Sorry, Xiansheng,” he says. “Time to do this my way.”

Without waiting for a reaction from any of the elders, Wei Wuxian lifts Chenqing to lips and starts to play. The first few notes trip the outer two rings of the array, two enormous wards rising, one inside the other like a bubble inside a bubble. The outer layer goes up around the edges of the Mingshi, an extra layer of protection in case this goes horribly wrong—Shijie is just outside and he will not let her be harmed—and the other arching up from the inner ring of the array, keeping just Wei Wuxian and the yin iron inside together.

Only one of them is coming back out.  

They are the most powerful protections he’s ever designed, and energy-greedy as all hell. Fortunately, energy is not something Wei Wuxian runs the risk of running out of right now. In fact, using energy up is the whole damn point. With another note, the amulet rises out of its pouch, circling above Wei Wuxian’s head in gleeful anticipation.

The tune of the flute shifts with Wei Wuxian’s intention and he’s no longer carefully urging a small trickle of resentment free from the yin iron, but reaching out with greedy hands and wrenching it away, ripping open an irrigation dam and letting the waters tear through the paddies, sweeping everything else away. It’s an avalanche, an uncontrollable flood, and Wei Wuxian grabs hold of it and drives it through the amulet and out into the wards.

He feels every hair on his body lift as the power floods the space, wind whipping his hair, robes twisting around his ankles. He feels, in the moment, completely untouchable, as if he could bend the entire world to his will. If he wanted it, he could have it. He could have anything.

Fortunately, he’s never much cared for people bowing at his feet.

A quick check confirms that the jade receptacles, over the last two days slowly turning black from the bottom up as they filtered and contained any excess resentment, have burned completely black in a matter of moments. Very cool, and something to think about later, but not at all important now. Their usefulness has met its limit.

Wei Wuxian drains the yin iron piece fast, dragging and pulling, stealing its energy away, in the probably fruitless hope that he can empty it completely before it recovers enough to fight back. It has no choice but to fight back, after all. There’s no more time for whispering and skulking about or trying to lure some weak heart to feel stupid enough to think they can take the power of the yin iron for their own, only to be used by it in turn.

At first, the yin iron tries to resist, to pull back and keep its power, to perhaps pull Wei Wuxian and the amulet into it. It can try, but it will fail. The yin iron shard is just far too outclassed.

Above Wei Wuxian’s head, the amulet screams its pleasure—at the threat, at the power it can gain, at the violence. These two pieces who were once part of a whole, who should long to be together, can now only see each other as enemies. Only one of them can survive this. Wei Wuxian has seen to that.

It will not be the yin iron.  

The turn, when it happens, happens quick.

The bronze bell over the yin iron clangs with a discordant groan as a crack the width of a fist ruptures up the body of the bell. The yin iron is done being contained. 

Instead of resisting Wei Wuxian, instead of trying to hold fast to its resentment, the power of the yin iron suddenly gushes out as a flood, a solid wall of resentment tearing straight for Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying!”

There is just enough time to put everything into three sharp screeches of the flute, giving the amulet enough free rein to meet the rage of the yin iron as it sees fit.

The resentment hits.

Thick roils of resentment arch and encircle Wei Wuxian like a shield, the world going black and quiet, the amulet wrapping its power around Wei Wuxian.  

Wei Wuxian continues to play.

You want a challenge? You want to destroy something? Here you go.

The amulet goes on attack, formless comets of resentment pouring out to meet the thundering attacks of the yin iron, hitting the floor and then coalescing. A body here, an arm, a leg, eyes in a screaming face, hair streaming outward like blades. The souls trapped in the amulet, the yin iron shard, caught and tortured and debased for centuries.

The ghosts attack. 

Wei Wuxian plays and plays, directing the ghosts to fight the yin iron, the formless agony and rage of it.

You can stop it, he tells the ghosts. You have the control. You have the right to destroy what destroyed you.

The cloud of resentment clears just enough for Wei Wuxian to see that the wards are definitely holding. He shunts more power into the wards, dragging the resentment away from the yin iron, weakening it further.

Just on the other side of the ward, there is a line of people now all on their feet, watching in horror. It’s not like they can do anything from out there, or that Wei Wuxian has the extra breath to reassure them that this is all according to plan. More or less.

Okay, he’s kind of winging it here, but that was always the plan. So.

He does take a moment to find Lan Zhan through the haze, holding his gaze and giving him a nod to let him know that Wei Wuxian has got this. He does.

He turns his attention back to the ghosts tearing apart the defenses of the yin iron, more and more resentment pouring out, used up in the offense or dragged away into the arrays, or gulped up greedily by the amulet.

It is practically singing in gleeful hunger.

Wei Wuxian has no idea how long he plays, for how long the endless battle rages on and on, before something shifts. Just the slightest sensation. Not so much the weakening of the yin iron, no, not yet. But something else Wei Wuxian has felt before. 

It takes a few more phrases of playing for the memory to settle and he knows where he’s felt this before. With the bat king minions and Yang Ai.

He stops playing only long enough to say, “Lan Zhan.”

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan says in response, immediate and unwavering.

“Play Rest.”

The other disciples look surprised at the request. It had already been decided among the elders that liberation would be impossible for the trapped souls so warped by the yin iron as to become nothing but resentment poisoning the world.

None of that matters.

Lan Zhan sits and begins to play immediately. This time, he’s not holding back, but unleashing everything he has. It is a wall of power that Wei Ying closes his eyes against a moment, swaying on his feet.

It’s not all of them, but some of the souls, their resentment depleted or at least cleared enough for them to remember themselves, to feel once again some semblance of control, are able to hear Lan Zhan’s call. Souls that otherwise might have remained suppressed for eternity.

They let go.

More ghosts crawl out to take their place, more restless, abused dead to always, always take their place. But as each new ghost manifests, others let go.

“Don’t stop,” Wei Wuxian gasps.

No one is playing Cleansing anymore, haven’t been for a while now, which means the resentment is pooling and building thick in the air.

Wei Wuxian continues to pull in as much of it as he can, uses it to shore up the wards and power the attacks of the amulet against the souls pouring out and raging in forced protection of the yin iron. It’s too much. It’s way too much, but they are also so close, Wei Wuxian can feel it.

Give it to me. Give me your resentment. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. And you don’t deserve to be trapped by it. Give it to me. Let us make it so no one suffers this again.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right.

The ghosts moan and scream at him, not wanting his platitudes but lured in by them as well. By the promise. They strike out with the last of their rage and fear. Wei Wuxian meets them with every last dredge of power he has, drawing deep from the amulet, ignoring the cold burn of it, the agony.

The area is so thick with resentment as to seem like being stuck in a cloud of smoke. He can hear the music but see little else.

This is not what you were meant to be.

The yin iron screams in response.

Wei Wuxian pulls and fights and plays and plays and plays and then—hours, years, lifetimes in—the gentlest, tiniest shift. A fragile thread somewhere fraying, pulling tight, and snapping at long last.

Light cuts through the darkness, and for a moment Wei Wuxian thinks it’s Lan Zhan, Hanguang-Jun, coming through the murk for him, but it’s not.

It’s the yin iron, silver bright, like the moon, only brighter, sharper.

The iron, almost too bright to look at, starts to sing, high chiming harmonics like a series of pure bells being struck.

It is the most horrible, beautiful thing Wei Wuxian has ever heard.

Around him, he can see the dazzled expressions of the Lan disciples as they stare up at the yin iron, revealed in its true form at last.

Wei Wuxian’s grasp on the resentment slips, no longer having an endless supply to pull from. Beneath his feet, the array fizzles out and dies, the two pieces of the amulet dropping back into Wei Wuxian’s outstretched hand. Without looking, he stuffs them back into the pouch at his waist, feeling the sleepy contentment of the victorious metal.

The yin iron, still floating under the broken bell, circles slowly, pulsing with light.

“Don’t stop, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, barely registering the sound of Rest under the growing noise of the yin iron.

Lan Zhan keeps playing, his power thundering through the room, a moment later the support of the xiao joining, and then another qin and another. Wei Wuxian lifts his flute and plays along with the Lan disciples.

The iron shard gets brighter and brighter and brighter, the room washed of all color as the harmonic chime grows and grows in the space, something otherworldly and immortal. Too big, too bright to comprehend.

It feels like the most beautiful liberation, the metal singing with the brightest, sweetest note before it gently starts to flake away. It brings tears to his eyes, and he can see that he is not the only one so affected.

The yin iron dissolves, piece by piece until there is nothing but light.

It’s beautiful. Dark storm clouds dissipating to reveal sparkling sunlight. It washes over all of them, the light piercing and warm and ripping something away. Wei Wuxian gasps, the darkness in him shuddering.

The light eventually dims, bringing them all back to the muddy, earthly world.

Wei Wuxian feels his legs buckle, fatigue sweeping him like being pushed off a sword at height. He falls to his knees, palms hitting the wooden floor scarred with the ferocity of the battle. He coughs, blood splattering.

Huh, he thinks. Good thing they don’t need the array anymore.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan yells from somewhere, near and hopelessly far.

Wei Wuxian falls, the cool darkness embracing him, welcoming him home.

Chapter Text

Waiting outside the Mingshi is not easy.

For most of the morning, there is no sign that this day will proceed any differently than the previous two. That is to say, uneventfully and ultimately unsuccessfully. Wen Qing glances at Jiang Yanli where she sits across the table from her. Outwardly, she is calm, reading from a text. How much progress she is actually making, Wen Qing cannot say. It is not particularly seemly or wise for her to be out here, as she is neither a strong cultivator nor a healer, but with both her brothers inside, no one has been able to convince her otherwise.

Wen Qing can relate. She would much rather be back in Lotus Pier with A-Ning. Or better yet, back in Dafan. Surely there she could find a way to help A-Ning. If she is allowing herself wishes, then perhaps she would wish that they could have never left Dafan at all, that Wen Ruohan had never come to their village to steal the yin iron, that none of this had ever happened.

She is not so impractical as to linger on useless wishes. It has all happened and she must find a way to fix what is still fixable and let go of what is not. Building goodwill with the Jiang sect by keeping Jiang Yanli company and being on hand to help with Wei Wuxian’s health will hopefully do that, no matter how much she’d rather be back with A-Ning.

It is mercenary, perhaps, but she doesn’t have the luxury of her integrity. It feels like she hasn’t in a long time.

And so she sits and waits for a chance to be of use. To be indispensable.

It would be easier to bear, she thinks, if she could help in the healer’s pavilion. That at least feels like it would be closer to maybe getting her hands on the medical texts in the Lan library that could contain information to help A-Ning. Did the Lan sect end up with the spoils of the Wen library, in the end? It would make sense if they did.

It’s galling, no longer having access to the knowledge of her ancestors. To need to beg and grovel for the boon of access.  

And yet what did Uncle do to Lan knowledge first?

It is a useless game she refuses to play. She did not burn down the Lan library. But neither did she stop it.

“More tea?” Wen Qing offers Jiang Yanli instead, knowing her role perfectly well, the importance of the careful balance of invisible and helpful.

Jiang Yanli looks up, face pale and showing strain from three days’ worry. Her health will certainly be impacted with many more days of this. “Hm? Oh, no, thank you.” She smiles and leans back in her seat, stretching her back. “Any more and I might float away.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Wen Qing says.

Jiang Yanli closes her book, giving Wen Qing a look that is unexpectedly penetrating. “You do not need to keep me company, if you would rather help the healers.”

Wen Qing shakes her head, scolding herself for letting anything of her impatience show. “It wouldn’t be appropriate,” she demurs. The Lan healers have let her consult on Wei Wuxian’s case, mostly in deference to her knowledge of her Uncle’s use of resentment and Wei Wuxian’s missing core. No doubt that privilege would be snatched away immediately if they knew what role she played in taking that core from him in the first place.

Yet if she had not done the core transfer, what claim would she have had to Wei Wuxian’s help when she needed it most? He probably would have helped anyway, a voice whispers in her mind. His feeling of indebtedness to her for doing one of the most awful things she could think to do to a person has never made any sense.

She takes advantage of it anyway. She will take advantage of anything and anyone she needs to in order to see her brother safe and well.

Wen Qing is brought back from her pointless ruminations abruptly. The illusion of this being yet another boring day with nothing to pass the time shatters as the door to the Mingshi slams open, Jiang Cheng and two of his disciples exiting with a struggling Lan disciple wrapped up tight in Zidian between them.

The quiet courtyard erupts into movement.

Jiang Yanli jumps to her feet with a gasp. “A-Cheng. What’s happened?”

Jiang Cheng grimaces as the healers approach the struggling Lan disciple. “Possessed,” he grunts.

Yes, Wen Qing can see that he is. The man twitches with suppressed rage, face jerking back and forth unnaturally, his eyes gone milky white. He snarls and snaps at those around him, black lines climbing up his throat like vines, and for a moment Wen Qing’s mind threatens to throw her back into her uncle’s throne room, the threats and torments to be found there.

She is not there. Neither her uncle nor that cursed place exist any longer. The yin iron has outlasted them all.

Foolish, to think it could ever be destroyed. To ever hope.

The possessed disciple is immobilized with needles and bindings and taken into the enclosed pavilion.

Wen Qing has more experience with such matters than she could ever want, but no one asks for her help and so she forces herself to sit back down with Jiang Yanli. Playing at being a genteel lady fits no more ill than any other mask she has been forced to wear these last years.

Across from her, Jiang Cheng speaks quietly to Jiang Yanli, checking on her health, no doubt. Content that things are under control and his sister is well, Jiang Cheng turns to reenter the Mingshi with his men, but before he can, an enormous ward erupts around the entire building.

“What the fuck?” Jiang Cheng exclaims. Darting forward, he bangs the hilt of his sword against the ward only to wince back. He shakes out his hand, flexing his fingers.

Wen Qing tracks the movement. Likely not broken, but simply stung. No long term tissue damage.

“What is that asshole up to?” Jiang Cheng says.

Wen Qing pushes back the warring sensations of fear over the yin iron breaking free and the even more treacherous hope that somehow, Wei Wuxian is doing it. He is destroying the yin iron.

Impossible.

Ah, Wen Qing, she imagines him saying. Nothing is impossible.

He is a menace, even in her mind.

Jiang Cheng paces uselessly in front of the sealed doors until Jiang Yanli calls him over to join them at the table. So now it is the three of them waiting. Jiang Cheng is as impatient as Wen Qing with the waiting, even if she is far better at keeping it from being visible. It’s almost comforting to have someone outwardly expressing everything bubbling inside her, even if she would never dare to risk such a thing.

They each stare at the building, completely encased in a ward powerful enough to tingle across Wen Qing’s skin even at this distance. From the outside, there is no sign of what might be going on inside. No one else exits, no more possessed disciples are brought out to be treated. Perhaps a good sign, but it could just as easily mean that everyone left inside are all possessed. They won’t know until the ward falls.

The hours drip past, Jiang Cheng alternating between grumbling about Wei Wuxian under his breath and pacing uselessly in front of the Mingshi steps. The pain in his hand does little to stop him from knocking his hilt against the ward again. Wen Qing estimates he can do this three more times before risking permanent damage.

Healers leave the pavilion and return with different supplies.

The tea sits undrunk.

The only warning of a change is the slow build of something Wen Qing is hard pressed to name, some energy like a soft rumble in the earth, static rising on her skin. She glances over at Jiang Cheng. He is already frowning and staring into the middle distance.

He signals to his men, but before any of them can even approach, the ward collapses all at once. Not a moment behind is a wall of blinding light racing outward like a giant bubble. There is barely time to brace themselves, for Jiang Cheng to do anything more than fling himself in front of Jiang Yanli before it hits.

The light passes through them, a soft heat, a spiritual heaviness that is almost stifling, but accompanied with a sound that might be music and yet would be impossible to describe, to use earthly words to define what is so clearly of another realm. It feels like her mother’s arms and her brother’s smile and the horrific lure of hope.

It feels like death.

As it passes, it seems to peel something away from her, some second layer of skin, or grime, leaving her raw and open.

All too soon it is gone, Wen Qing gasping at the unknown phenomenon’s retreat.

Jiang Yanli is crying softly, Jiang Cheng pressing one hand to his chest.

“A-Jie,” he says, a near gasp.

Shaking off the feelings still crawling under her skin, Wen Qing stands on shaking legs, reaching out for Jiang Yanli. She quickly and quietly examines Jiang Yanli.

“She is well,” she says. With a glance, she can confirm that Jiang Cheng does not have any interest in being similarly checked.

He nods jerkily at her and then turns back for the Mingshi, running up the steps. The doors open at last, a flood of people in and out. No one seems to be injured. Wen Qing stays at Jiang Yanli’s side, holding her elbow to make sure she won’t stumble.

It is Lan Wangji who carries Wei Wuxian out of the Mingshi.

Wei Wuxian’s head is carefully cradled to Lan Wangji’s shoulder, but his hands and feet swing free, obvious signs that he is not conscious. They swing to and fro as Lan Wangji strides down the steps as if they aren’t even there, heading straight for the medical pavilion, Jiang Cheng yelling something only a few steps behind.

Lan Yunxia rushes to Lan Wangji’s side, reaching out to feel for any breath. With a nod, she gestures for Lan Wangji to follow her. As she turns, she catches Wen Qing’s eye.

“Jiang-guniang,” Wen Qing says, searching for the right thing to say, forcing herself to stand still when all she wants to do is rush after them.

Jiang Yanli is already nodding, pushing Wen Qing away. “Go, please. Help A-Xian.”

Wen Qing pauses only long enough to settle Jiang Yanli back in her seat and then follows after Lan Yunxia.

Jiang Cheng has been stopped at the entrance by a healer, Zidian sparking at his wrist. Wen Qing catches his eye as she passes by him. He holds her gaze, an order in there like a notched arrow, a buried threat. Make sure my damn brother survives, it says.

Wen Qing is used to being given impossible tasks. She nods once at him and then ducks into the covered pavilion. She passes by the only other occupied bed. It is the possessed disciple. No one seems to be giving him any attention at all. As she passes the bed, he turns and looks at her. His eyes are no longer milky white, but rather dark and focused. Human.

Wen Qing feels her heart lurch. How did he—but, no. There is no time for that.

“Set him down here,” Lan Yunxia tells Lan Wangji, gesturing at an empty bed.

Wen Qing catches up just in time to watch Lan Wangji carefully set Wei Wuxian down on the bed. When he steps back, clearly reluctant, it’s only then that they see the blood. The entire front of Lan Wangji’s once-pristine white robes are stained red.

Lan Yunxia reaches towards Lan Wangji as he stares down in what even on him looks like actual horror. “I am unharmed,” he says, voice strangled. He turns and looks at Wei Wuxian, hands flexing as if considering picking him up again. “Wei Ying.”

“Leave,” Lan Yunxia says, turning immediately for Wei Wuxian, not even pausing to make sure Lan Wangji follows her instruction.

For a moment, Wen Qing thinks Lan Wangji might argue. There is no longer a curse tying them together, and this is a healing space. He will only get in the way.

“He will be well,” Lan Yunxia says. “Leave us to it.”

Lan Wangji gives Wei Wuxian one last agonized look and then turns to leave.

There is the cut-off sound of raised voices as Jiang Cheng no doubt catches sight of Lan Wangji’s bloody robes as he leaves, but no one forces their way into the pavilion.

Wen Qing pushes the others far from her mind, focusing her attention solely on Wei Wuxian. He is limp, his skin pale against the black of his robes. She itches to reach for him, but forces herself to allow Lan Yunxia to assess him first, hands running over his meridians, checking pulse points. The Lan doctor’s eyebrows jerk upwards at whatever she finds. This is the most uncontrolled expression Wen Qing has ever seen on the woman’s face, so she darts forward to take Wei Wuxian’s other wrist, no longer caring in the least of overstepping.

She is prepared to find a maelstrom of resentment. She knows what he was planning on doing and has enough experience to know the likely result, had been near her uncle as he was slowly subsumed under madness. Her own eyebrows nearly lift at what she finds.

Wei Wuxian isn’t full of resentment. She knows what he was attempting, knows the huge swaths of resentment he would have drawn upon to achieve it. Yet while there is still resentment in his body, far more than any other living cultivator would ever have, it is far less than when he began this morning, not more, perhaps even a full quarter less.

“What?” Wen Qing says. “How is this possible?”

Lan Yunxia shakes her head, continuing her assessment from the other side of the bed. “We must locate the source of the blood.”

Working in tandem, they remove Wei Wuxian’s bracers and his belt, peeling back layer after layer. With each one, Wen Qing is prepared to find a grievous wound as the source. What they find instead is perhaps worse: a body battered by numerous traumas.

Wen Qing silently catalogues each one as they are revealed.

A bite mark high on one thigh seeping blood, far too obviously from a human mouth. There are at least six more on various parts of his body. Arms. Legs. Torso.

On his chest is a mostly healed burn mark Wen Qing can identify as the work of Wang Lingjiao back in Muxi that she had already seen, the day she performed the surgery. Only now there is an oozing vertical mark dragged through it, as if someone ripped it open with a blunt object. That must have happened after. After he lost his core.

When they roll him to pull the robes free, they discover not just the faded whip scars visible previously, but fresh wounds beading with clear, fresh blood. The work of Zidian, no doubt. But when?

Most of these wounds, Wen Qing can quickly catalog as having happened before the Sunshot campaign. All at least a year if not two old. Some of them, she can’t help but realize, must have been fresh when he came to her at the Yiling supervisory office. Might have been on his body when she cut him open. She had not thoroughly examined him at the time. She should have.

No matter when inflicted, each wound now oozes as if fresh and not years old. It’s as if every wound on Wei Wuxian’s body has reopened all at once. Or not all, as the burn mark is healed more or less. And the deeper wounds she is aware of, like the broken bones, are still unchanged from the last time she checked him.

Wen Qing intellectually understood that the resentment, rather than healing Wei Wuxian, was holding his wounds in a sort of stasis, even hiding them from view. It seems now that stasis has for some reason come to an end, but only for some of the injuries. Could this be connected to the decreased levels of resentment in his system?

It’s on the soft, vulnerable flesh of Wei Wuxian’s stomach that they uncover a straight surgical line never fully healed. A cut made only days before Wei Wuxian was thrown to the Burial Mounds.

This one, Wen Qing knows the exact the origins of. Intimately.

Lan Yunxia lingers over the wound. “This was careful work,” she says.

It is at once a simple observation, a statement of fact and so much more. Wen Qing feels her heart thundering in her chest.

As she meets Lan Yunxia’s gaze across Wei Wuxian’s body, she reminds herself that she has faced down much more terrifying things than a Lan doctor with unprovable suppositions.

“His meridians are intact,” Lan Yunxia continues, even as she wipes at the wound on his chest, dabbing at the oozing blood. “Not burned out. It must have been challenging, to not damage them.”

Wen Qing freezes, unable to move, to breathe. For a moment, she considers running. She has never indulged that instinct before and will not start now. “He begged me,” she says, as if that is any excuse, any reason to have done what she did.  

Lan Yunxia makes no further comment, neither condemning nor absolving her.

“I destroyed my notes,” Wen Qing rushes to say, uncertain why she feels the need to say it. “I promised myself I would never do it again, nor allow anyone else to discover how.”

Lan Yunxia nods. “There are many who might take advantage of such a thing.”

Wen Qing closes her eyes, forcing herself to refocus on the patient. She hasn’t been kicked out yet, so she should do what she can for Wei Wuxian. “I believe the resentment has been keeping him in some sort of stasis,” she says. “With the reduction in resentment in his system, the most superficial of injuries seem to have resurfaced.”

Lan Yunxia agrees.  

Wen Qing fears what lies deeper under the lingering layers of resentment. Fears what it will mean, if he should try this again with the other pieces of the yin iron remaining.

While the receding of some of the resentment means these wounds can now heal, they will have to heal on their own time with no help from a healthy core. No help from anything at all. He is little more than a commoner at this point, except for the extra resources at their disposal.

There is a choice to be made. The path towards cleansing with the uncertainties of if he will survive it, but also a chance to heal. Minimally, she will demand he refrain from cultivating with resentment until these wounds are fully healed. And then, perhaps, it would not matter if he were to flood himself with resentment once more. She doesn’t know.

She silently assists Lan Yunxia clean and dress the wounds, settling in to watch them over the next weeks.

Wen Qing will do right by Wei Wuxian. The best that she can.

Lan Qiren stands in the Mingshi, a pure white jade receptacle cradled in his palms.  

It is quiet now, the room empty of anyone but him. It is hard to grasp that not so long ago, this was the site of a great battle. Battles leave scars, echoes, and most of all, lingering contamination. Death and fear and pain and anger all leave their imprint, waiting to infect and grow.

Yet here, there are no scars nor echoes. Inexplicably enough, there is no resentment. Not just in the room itself and the earth below, but in his own mind. Lan Qiren had quite forgotten just how quiet one’s own mind can be when not haunted with the creeping call of evil fighting to be set free. He has lived with the yin iron nibbling at his edges for months now, ever since the fall of Wen Ruohan. He had not contained the metal alone, but rather in concert with a select group of elders. Still they struggled under its effects.

Wei Wuxian has labored for years with the weight of an even more powerful object entirely on his own. And all without the centering warmth and power of a golden core.

By all rights, the evil should have consumed him. There have been signs of unease—his brittle temper, the handful of times he has lost his control of the resentment in moments of fear or rage—yet once again, Wei Wuxian has also achieved something impossible right here in this very room, removing evil from the world and liberating innocents.

Lan Qiren does not understand it.

He looks down at the jade receptacle in his hands, turning the lustrous white jade over in his hands. It is a brilliant concept, if not slightly disturbing, the very idea of storing resentment far too close to what was done to the yin iron for his comfort. The receptacle had been teeming with resentment when they began his morning, having spent two days soaking up the energy sheeting off the yin iron piece. He had seen that clearly. Yet now the jade is cool and whole in his hands, not even the slightest slick of resentment remaining in the stone. It has been scrubbed away, much like Lan Qiren himself feels scrubbed clean from the inside out.

The Cloud Recesses is carefully warded and often cleansed to ensure that it is clear of the taint of resentment, not allowing it to interfere with the cultivation practiced by the disciples here, and most of all the young who are still forming their pathways and practices and are thus particularly vulnerable to corruptions. And yet, the resentment captured by the receptacles had to have gone somewhere. It was going to be the work of months, if not years, to cleanse them.

There is no way to explain this beyond the yin iron itself. Or perhaps more accurately the celestial metal that had been corrupted into the yin iron. The liberation of the celestial metal, so long corrupted and trapped and now set free. The light that fell upon the space.

What, exactly, did Wei Wuxian do?

He does not know what to think of it.

The door to the Minghshi slides open behind Lan Qiren and a moment later Lan Yunxia comes to stand next to him. She lifts a hand in request.

“Wei Wuxian,” he says instead of complying.

“Stable,” Lan Yunxia says. She extends her hand again.

Withholding a sigh, Lan Qiren holds out his arm, letting her check his qi.

Her energy flows through his meridians, searching, diagnosing. At this point, she is quite familiar with the thrum of energy in his body, having been in charge of closely monitoring the health of all of those working together to suppress the yin iron. The yin iron piece that is finally no longer.

Lan Yunxia must be able to feel it.  

It is not just the lifting of the burden of keeping the yin iron piece suppressed. It is a total lack of any residual resentment. He has been cleansed, and yet no Lan played for him.

Lan Yunxia looks down at the jade in his hands. “What happened?”

“The yin iron is liberated,” he informs her.

“Liberated?” she asks, shock audible in her voice. It is shocking, after all. “Not destroyed?”

He nods. He still finds it difficult to believe himself. “What of Wei Wuxian?”

“He primarily suffers from exhaustion,” she says. “The levels of resentment in his system are also reduced.”

“But not eradicated?”

“No. And fortunate too.”

Lan Qiren turns to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“Wen Qing suspected that the resentment was holding Wei-gongzi’s injuries in a sort of stasis. With the removal of some of the resentment, injuries have surfaced. They are all superficial for the most part, all inflicted, I am to understand, in the days and weeks leading up to the creation of his cultivation path.”

Lan Qiren frowns. “What should be done?”

“Wei-gongzi needs time to heal. Most of the wounds are superficial, but without a golden core, he will heal at a much reduced rate. Until the wounds are fully healed, he should also refrain from exposing himself to additional resentment.”

That may prove a particular challenge.

“I worry, though,” Lan Yunxia continues, eyes on the jade in Lan Qiren’s hand, “what more severe injuries might be waiting underneath the remaining resentment. If he were to be further cleansed…”

Then it will be dangerous, continuing on this path. One Wei Wuxian may not be able to survive.

I was never meant to survive the war.

Lan Qiren would wonder if Wei Wuxian is aware of the risk, but he most certainly is. It helps put many other things in perspective. Things that are unimportant in the face of current events, and yet matter no less for it.

Wei Wuxian, after all, has pushed Wangji on the topic of marriage not at all. Perhaps beyond whatever nonsensical misunderstandings currently separate them, this is truly why.

It is unacceptable.

“Do what you can to prepare for what might happen if he liberates the other pieces of yin iron,” Lan Qiren says. “His life must be preserved.”

Lan Yunxia bows and retreats, leaving Lan Qiren alone in the quiet of the Mingshi.

The elders are unsettled; that much is easily deduced by Lan Qiren. Inside the council chamber, they are gathered into small groups, talking about what happened. There is much to discuss.

A few elders seem most upset that Wei Wuxian went against their plans. Lan Qiren is less surprised by this.

He lifts his hand, calling the group to order. “If we may begin.”

With some grumbling, the elders settle into their seats. As only some of the elders were present to witness the event, they begin with allowing them to stand and give their version of what happened.

“Liberated. Not eliminated,” Lan Changkang, the eldest among them, says.

The witnessing elders nod, even as they share glances, as if to ensure they are not making such a radical claim on their own.

“How was this possible?” Lan Changkang asks.

Lan Qiren himself stands, bowing his head. “If I may share another report, unrelated to the yin iron liberation, but perhaps relevant to our considerations today.”

Lan Changkang nods, giving him leave to address the congregation.

“As many of you know, Wangji and Wei-gongzi also defeated a bat king on their travels some months back.”

Various elders nod, glancing again at each other, clearly unsettled by this unprecedented event as well, still left unexplained in any satisfying manner.

“I sent disciples to the area,” Lan Qiren reminds them, “to take care of any residual resentment and to ensure that the corpses had been properly disposed of.” He gestures to a stack of reports on a nearby table. “They returned, reporting to me that the area is completely free of any lingering malice and that the corpses had indeed been properly addressed. It is as Wangji and Wei-gongzi claimed.”

“Just the two of them?” an elder asks, clearly disbelieving.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren says, even as it pains him. It is unprecedented and he cannot account for it and his lack of understanding settles ill in his stomach. The only variable here is Wei Wuxian’s accursed cultivation.

After a polite knock, a disciple enters, bowing and then moving to Lan Qiren’s side. Lan Qiren turns to him, offering him his ear.

“Xiansheng,” the disciple says quietly behind his raised hand. “Hanguang-jun is outside.”

Of course he is.

Lan Qiren takes a careful breath, bowing to the elders. “Wangji is outside and wishes to address the council.”

Lan Changkang looks to the elders on either side, seeking accord. “We will allow it,” he says.  

Lan Qiren nods, glancing over at the disciple. “Send him in.”

The doors open, Wangji walking into the room and bowing deeply, every move measured and graceful. Outwardly perfect in all ways. He kneels at the front of the room, not in apology but in supplication. He is silently asking for permission to address his elders.

“What have you come to say to us, Wangji?” Lan Changkang asks.

“I wish to speak of Wei Ying’s cultivation,” he says, voice firm, but calm.  

The elders break out into murmurs. Lan Changkang silences them with a look. “You may.”

“I have four times now witnessed Wei Ying liberate a being I would have said was beyond reach. The ghost who cursed me. The bat king and his minions. The ghost of an angry bride.” He lifts his gaze. “The yin iron.”

Lan Changkang nods. “We have heard of the bat king. Tell of us the bride.”

Wangji inclines his head, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “I first saw Wei Ying summon an angry ghost—a woman murdered on her wedding day—in order to set her against Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao.”

There are rumbles of discontent in the room. By all accounts, it was a most brutal revenge. Yet it was war. None of them can deny Wei Wuxian’s right and even duty to end those men’s lives. As always, it is the manner of doing so that is the struggle.

Wangji continues, outwardly undisturbed by the reaction. “I next saw him summon this ghost again many years later in Yunmeng.”

“For what purpose?” Lan Changkang asks. They were, after all, in a time of peace at that time. Justice had already been served.

Wangji pauses, clearly unhappy but likely unwilling to edit out an unsavory truth. “To pour his wine,” he admits, eyes lowering.

The elders hiss with displeasure.

Wangji does not defend the blasphemy of the act. Lan Qiren had not expected it but is relieved all the same that Wangji has not allowed himself to be blinded to the faults of his beloved at least that far.

Once the ripple of reaction has subsided, Wangji continues his recitation. “It was at this time Wei Ying appeared to notice something about the ghost. I could not say what. He then used some form of musical cultivation.”

“Musical cultivation,” one of the elders scoffs.

“What else may it be called?” Lan Wangji asks, not quite impertinent, but close enough.

The elder subsides but does not look content.

“And what was the effect of this…music?” Lan Changkang asks.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. “It was beyond my perception. But after, upon his request, I played Inquiry. The ghost was able to respond and remember her name.”

Shocked gasps echo through the chamber, Lan Qiren feeling equal discomfort echo in his own chest.

“Wei Ying again used his music and the ghost came fully back to herself, able to speak with her own voice of her death. Even her appearance changed. I played Rest, and she did not resist. She was fully liberated.” Wangji lifts his chin, looking almost defiant now. “It was the same with the ghost that cursed me, and with the corpses of the bat king and its minions. All liberated after Wei Ying’s use of musical cultivation.”

“Impossible,” one of the elders murmurs.

Lan Wangji nods. “So I too believed before I held witness to it.” He looks around the room, not allowing any of them to escape his gaze. “As many of you have now held witness to. Wei Ying’s cultivation allowed us to liberate not just the beings trapped in the yin iron, but the iron itself. I ask the elders, is this an indefensible act, or a great service? Was this an act of demonic cultivation or something else?”

There is challenge there enough to push the statement far past politeness, yet Lan Qiren cannot find it in himself to scold his nephew.

“You seem to have an answer to that question already in your heart, Wangji,” Lan Changkang says.

Wangji takes a breath. “I would suggest that Wei Ying’s cultivation is not demonic. I have never seen him control the living, only ever the dead. He returns the soul’s agency. Though he cannot fulfill their specific wishes nor lay to rest their grievances, he can allow them to use their power. Without his direction, the souls would merely cause more pain and damage, increasing resentment and further trapping themselves. Wei Ying’s methods allow the spirits to use their energy towards righteous ends. It would seem this brings them back to themselves enough to open the path to liberation.”

Lan Qiren can see his elders are stunned by this postulation. As they should be. If true, it upends many of their basic precepts, or at the very least demands that they look at them again from a slightly different angle.

Not very long ago, even suggesting such a thing would have sent Wangji into a rage. Yet here he sits, openly defending Wei Wuxian.

Wangji lowers his gaze, hands resting on his thighs. “Wei Ying is not perfect. I cannot say that I fully understand his cultivation or that I do not have concerns, particularly about the possible cost for the practitioner. And yet, I would never doubt the righteousness of Wei Ying’s intentions.”

Wangji bows carefully down over his knees, clearly having said what he wishes to.

“Thank you, Wangji,” Lan Qiren says, dismissing him.

Wangji rises and smoothly leaves the room, looking completely unruffled.  

The council room erupts into chaos in his wake.

“Ouch,” is the first thing Wei Wuxian says.

He’s not exactly sure what is going on, but the pain lancing his body? Yeah, he’s pretty clear on that.

“You finally awake?” asks a nearby voice, irritated and gruff enough to be familiar.

Wei Wuxian cracks one eye open to see Jiang Cheng sitting by his bed, because, yes, he’s apparently in the infirmary again. “I dunno,” he admits. “Maybe?”

Jiang Cheng smacks him lightly on the arm. “Well, this sure as hell isn’t a dream.”

“A nightmare, maybe,” Wei Wuxian grumbles.

“Fuck you too,” Jiang Cheng grumbles back as he steps forward to help Wei Wuxian sit up.

He feels kinda weird. Not too awful, actually, but definitely a bit strange. And, wow, really itchy . He reaches for his chest, feeling the cushion of bandages as he digs his fingers in across the area in search of relief.

“No scratching,” Wen Qing says, sweeping into the room. Where the hell had she come from? It’s like she can sense medical misbehavior from across the complex.

Wei Wuxian eyes the steaming cup in her hand. Whatever’s in it is bound to be thick and bitter and definitely not something he wants to drink. “You know,” Wei Wuxian says, shifting to swing his legs out of bed. “I feel perfectly fine.”

“Nice try,” Wen Qing says. “I’ve hidden your clothes.”

He looks down and it’s only then that he realizes he’s wearing a white underrobe and nothing else. He pulls his bare leg back up under the quilt.

“Wen Qing!” he gasps. “Undressing a man while he’s unconscious. How mercenary.”

“You were covered in blood, asshole,” Jiang Cheng offers.

Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose in distaste. “Ah. Fun.”

“No, not fun at all,” Wen Qing says, and brings over a tray of needles.

Jiang Cheng blanches at the sight, and Wei Wuxian grabs his arm. “Jiang Cheng. Save me.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs him off. “You do stupid things, you get to deal with the consequences.”

Wei Wuxian flops back on the bed, hand to his brow, ignoring the unexpectedly sharp pain in his back. “Forsaken! Abandoned by all those I hold dear!”

Wen Qing ignores him, turning to Jiang Cheng. “You want to be here for this?”

“Not even a little, no.”

Wei Wuxian lowers his arm, watching Jiang Cheng make his escape. “Wait. Is everyone else okay? Shijie?”

Jiang Cheng sighs. “No one else got hurt. Just you, as always.”

“Lan Zhan?” he presses.

Jiang Cheng scoffs. “So what if he did?”

Wei Wuxian frowns, looking over at Wen Qing. He may be half naked, but he will get out of this bed and walk across the entire Cloud Recesses if he has to.

“Hanguang-Jun wasn’t injured,” Wen Qing says. “Even the possessed disciple fully recovered.”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian asks, swinging back around to look at her. Now that is interesting. “Fascinating. I mean, good, obviously, but also very weird!”

“I’m going,” Jiang Cheng announces, never having the proper level of interest in weird things.

“Hey, hey. Jiang Cheng.”

“What,” he snaps, hand on the door.

“Just…” Wei Wuxian gnaws on his cheek. “Lay off Lan Zhan, will you?”

“I absolutely will not,” he snaps back, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian chastises, torn between feeling stupidly warm over Jiang Cheng’s anger on his behalf and not wanting Lan Zhan to have to shoulder any of that misplaced anger while Wei Wuxian isn’t around to redirect it. Lan Zhan doesn’t deserve any of that.

Jiang Cheng looks away, clearly refusing to budge.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “It’s just…not what you think, okay? So lay off. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“I’ll be the one to decide what he deserves,” Jiang Cheng declares and then sweeps out like the dramatic badass he is.

Wei Wuxian resigns himself to trying again some other day. Hopefully the two of them won’t kill each other in the meantime.

“So,” Wei Wuxian says, turning to Wen Qing now that they’re alone. “What’s the damage?”

Mercifully, she sets the needles aside. “Not at all what we expected.”

“The needles?” he asks, hopefully.

She shakes her head. “You don’t need them.”

“Oh, thank the heavens.” He frowns over at the tray. Then why did she bring them? Is she tricking him? Or… Wei Wuxian lets out a bark of laughter. “Just trying to get rid of him, then?”

“Yes,” she says. “But you still need to drink this.” She shoves the ominously steaming cup in his face.

Making a big show of it, he complains endlessly but eventually chugs down the vile concoction. Ugh, the absolute worst.

“Okay,” he says, handing off the empty cup. “Okay. Does that mean I can go now?”

Instead of agreeing, Wen Qing steps closer, reaching out and dragging his robe down over his shoulder. He’s ready to blush and stammer over her forwardness, except then he sees the white bandage wrapped around his bicep.

“What?” he asks.

Wen Qing carefully unwinds the bandage, clearing away the thick gross poultice to reveal a bite from a fierce corpse. A fresh bite from the look of it. There definitely had not been fierce corpses in the Mingshi, of that he is very certain!

“A-ha-ha,” Wei Wuxian almost automatically laughs, like somehow treating it as nothing of importance will make the memories stay far, far away.

Wen Qing spears him with one of her no bullshit glares, like the theater of it all is not welcome.

Wei Wuxian looks back down at the bite. He actually has no memory of getting it. He isn’t really surprised to see it either, because maybe he doesn’t remember getting this specific one, he certainly remembers the situation. Sitting still enough, he can feel more elsewhere on his body.

“Why is it so…juicy?” he asks, reaching out to poke at it.

Wen Qing slaps his hand away. “As best we can tell, when the yin iron was liberated, it had a cleansing effect on everything around it.”

“Really? Wow, that’s…” He’d say unexpected, but it’s not like this event has precedent or anything, so everything is unexpected! It also makes a strange sort of sense though. A…balancing, of sorts. That brings something Wen Qing said back to the front of his mind. “Wait, is that what happened to the possessed guy?” There’d been hundreds of cultivators made into puppets during the war that they hadn’t been able to cure, the energy and time required just impossible to provide. He’d been pretty sure the guy would be doomed.

“Likely,” Wen Qing says.

“He’s really going to be okay?”

Wen Qing softens. “Yes. He’s just spiritually depleted and may take some time to rebuild his strength. Otherwise, he’s fine.”

“Good, good,” Wei Wuxian says, wanting to think more on that, but frankly too depleted himself to bother at the moment.

Wen Qing cleans the bite wound, packing it with medicine before re-wrapping it in a clean bandage. It’s at least stopped itching, which can’t be said for the other places on his body.

“Can you feel it?” Wen Qing asks when she finishes.

“Feel it?” he echoes, even as he becomes aware of it. He feels…weak, yes. And still itchy. But also slightly…lighter? Clearer? “Did it…do something to me too?”

“It cleansed you,” she says.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen, hand automatically going to his waist where the amulet should be. He remembers Wen Qing being pretty clear that cleansing him would be a death sentence. He’s noticeably not dead. But also—he closes his eyes and breathes deeply—noticeably not empty of resentment. He can still feel it: the sharp cold, the coiled potential, the thrumming power and promise of violence. The voices.

It's also just a bit more distant, as if it’s been set back just the smallest increment. It feels like a deep breath.

He opens his eyes, looking up at Wen Qing.

She lifts her hands. “Don’t look at me for answers. You continue to be a medical impossibility.”

He grins at her. “You know me!”

She sighs. “To my daily dismay.” She picks up more supplies and turns to the burn on his chest, changing the bandages there as well. “If I had to guess,” she says eventually, and Wei Wuxian knew she wouldn’t be able to resist at least guessing! “The resentment has receded enough to open up the wounds it was…plugging up, for lack of a better way to describe it.”

He imagines himself a dam with a thousand holes in it, the resentment like so many fingers holding it in place. “Is that why I itch?”

Wen Qing sighs. “It’s called healing, Wei Wuxian. I continue to be alarmed that this rather common sensation is so foreign to you. If you scratch, you will open your wounds again. They will heal, but you should avoid cultivation or using the amulet again until they do or you might just have to start over again. And you only have so much blood.”

Wei Wuxian winces. “That bad?”

“Hanguang-Jun’s robes were soaked .”

Wei Wuxian sits up, wincing when it pulls at his back. “What? Why? When?”

Wen Qing puts her hands on her hips, and that’s not good either! “When he carried you out of the Mingshi and brought you for medical attention!”

“Oh. Ugh. Did he freak out? Poor Lan Zhan!”

“Yes,” Wen Qing saying, giving him a look. “Poor Hanguang-Jun.”

At least Wen Qing doesn’t seem too pissed off at Lan Zhan. He’s tempted to ask where he is, but he’s also not surprised at his absence.

I wish for Wei Ying to be happy, but I also wish for him to be free.

Ah, Lan Zhan. But that is a conversation for another day. In the future. If there is one. Right now he still has two pieces of the yin iron and the amulet to deal with. Speaking of…

“Where is the amulet?” he asks.

Wen Qing narrows her eyes at him.

“I’m not going to use it! I heard you. Itching bad, keep blood inside, no cultivation for a few weeks. I got the message!”

Apparently appeased, she crosses the room to open a small cupboard and pull out the warded pouch he keeps it in.

“Here,” she says, handing it off as if she’s scared to touch it. Which, fair.

Opening the pouch, Wei Wuxian reaches in and pulls out the two halves of the amulet. They sit dull and quiet in his palms. Looking closer, he sees something strange on one of them. A crack, running through the thickest part of one of them that had definitely not been there before. He runs his thumb over it, feeling the sharp edges. It’s small, maybe nothing to worry about, except the possibility it represents.

“You know what could happen if you do this again,” Wen Qing says.

“Yup,” Wei Wuxian says, putting the amulet away. It’s not even just once more, but twice.

Wen Qing takes a slow breath, gazing at Wei Wuxian but not saying a thing.

Sitting by A-Xian’s unconscious form for days waiting to see if he’ll wake is not something Jiang Yanli had ever wished to experience again. It threatens to throw her back into those tumultuous and challenging days at the end of the war, the strange mix of relief in the face of a victory that never felt certain nor even possible, and fear for the cost of that promised peace. At that point, Jiang Yanli had already lost home and parents to the violence, spent months and months watching those around her risk their lives and come back injured or perhaps not at all. She had not been certain she could survive losing one of her brothers too.

A-Xian survived. Even if she still suspects some larger cost just out of sight, tucked carefully away behind his smiles that are no longer quite as bright as they used to be. It hadn’t mattered so long as the three of them could be together. That is all that has ever mattered.  

A simple wish that feels never quite within reach. Never less so than when A-Xian puts himself at risk yet again, his limp form unmoving and worn in a bed she sits by and waits and waits for him to rise from.

A-Xian has finally woken, come back to them again after offering a great service to the world. He comes back to her. This is good. Yet it is A-Cheng who now slips out of her reach.

“You’re sure you want to stay?” A-Cheng asks as they stand together at the gates of the Cloud Recesses.

With A-Xian out of danger, A-Cheng must return to Lotus Pier. Sect Leaders do not get to hover over their brothers. Jiang Yanli is not so necessary to the daily running of Lotus Pier. She can’t be. From the youngest age, she always knew she was merely a guest, of sorts, borrowed from her future life.

That does not keep her from feeling torn between two places—Lotus Pier and the Cloud Recesses. It is a woman’s fate, one made familiar to her, and fortunately one she is well-practiced at tolerating.

Reaching out, she smooths A-Cheng’s collars flat, allowing herself the simple moment of coddling her little brother. “A-Xian should not be left alone,” she says.

A-Cheng glances back where the Lan clan’s inner members stand—Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji.

“Yeah,” A-Cheng agrees darkly, clearly not pleased to leave A-Xian to Lan care. “He asked me to go easy on him. Can you believe that?”

He can only mean Lan Wangji. “A-Xian has always found it easy to forgive.”

A-Cheng scoffs in gruff agreement, his anger at Lan Wangji burning long and hot. A-Xian may forgive easily, but A-Cheng’s enmity has always been indelible. It is probably best that he is needed back at Lotus Pier if the newly forged alliance is to be preserved, allowed to grow strong and familiar.

Jiang Yanli herself has not forgotten the slight to A-Xian. Yet she must hope that somewhere there is a base misunderstanding to be found and uncovered. No one deserves to have their hopes met with malice, nor indifference, A-Xian least of all. Perhaps her time here at the Cloud Recesses will provide greater clarity.

She must hope.

But to do that, she must let go of one of her brothers.

Stepping forward, Jiang Yanli hugs A-Cheng close.

The very fact that he allows it despite the group of disciples ranged behind him, not to mention the Lan family still watching, says that A-Cheng is still unsettled and uncertain of leaving.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, squeezing his hands and pulling back. “I will watch over A-Xian.”

A-Cheng snorts. “Good luck with that.” He glances back at Wen Qing where she stands with the disciples, as usual trying to appear as unobtrusive as possible in her simple grey robes.

Wen Qing will be returning with A-Cheng to Lotus Pier. A-Xian will not be attempting to destroy another piece of yin iron for another month at least while he recovers. Ostensibly, Wen Qing is not staying because she is A-Cheng’s prisoner to oversee. Yet Jiang Yanli suspects it is more to do with the books in the Lan library Wen Qing was able to access and her still ill younger brother back at Lotus Pier.

Understandable. Especially since that is why Jiang Yanli insists on staying behind herself. A-Xian should have family with him at this time more than any other.

A-Cheng and Wen Qing depart, Jiang Yanli returning to her rooms. She will rest a while and then return to sit with A-Xian.

One day, they will all be together again.

Jiang Yanli has just finished fixing her hair after her rest when there is a knock at her door. She opens it to find a Lan disciple waiting.

The disciple bows in greeting, her posture smooth and graceful. “Jiang-guniang. This one is Lan Meilin.”

Jiang Yanli glances at the two Jiang disciples near the entrance to her guesthouse. Left behind by A-Cheng to watch over her, she knows. Neither of them seem particularly alarmed. So it is not likely something else has happened with A-Xian or with A-Cheng.

“Yes, hello,” Jiang Yanli says, lowering her head in greeting. “How may I help you?”

The Lan disciple straightens up. “I was informed that you might wish access to the kitchens.”

Previously, Jiang Yanli managed to make one small meal for A-Xian in the minimal kitchen of the guesthouse, but a full kitchen would be so much better. “Oh, yes, thank you. That is kind of you.”

Lan Meilin bows again. “I would be happy to show you the way if this is a good time.”

“Yes, please,” Jiang Yanli says, following the woman down the path. One of the Jiang disciples unobtrusively falls in behind them. Jiang Yanli waves him back. She is in the Cloud Recesses. She hardly needs an escort. It doesn’t send a particularly flattering message to the Lan sect for her to go around guarded in the inner areas.

The Jiang disciple does not look happy, but does as she asks.

The kitchen, when they arrive, is large and well-organized and just as efficient as one might expect of the Lan. And very quiet. There are no songs and chatter. It makes her long for home, but adaptability is important. She must be able to make a home anywhere.

Lan Meilin gestures towards a table out of the way of the bustle. “If you could provide a list of the ingredients you require, we will make certain they are available to you.”

Jiang Yanli sits, writing a list. Mostly spices, but also some regional ingredients they may find difficult to locate in Gusu. The disciple promises to try at least.

Lan Meilin excuses herself, Jiang Yanli lingering a moment to speak to the head cook, making sure that she won’t be in their way if she comes back the next day. Reassured that there will be a place for her without it causing any undue chaos, she exits the kitchens.

She sets off for her guesthouse but manages to get turned around. She retraces her steps and fortunately sees Lan Meilin down one of the paths. Before Jiang Yanli can call out to her, she realizes who the disciple has stopped to speak with.

Lan Wangji stands with one hand tucked behind his back, listening intently as Lan Meilin speaks. Then she bows and holds out what Jiang Yanli realizes is the list she wrote. Lan Wangji takes it, nodding his head and then turning and walking away.

Jiang Yanli watches him go.

“Jiang-guniang,” Lan Meilin says, coming up to stand next to her. “Can I help you with anything else?”

Jiang Yanli smiles. “I fear I got turned around.”

Lan Meilin holds out a hand, indicating the correct direction. “Allow this one to escort you back.”

“Hm,” Jiang Yanli says. She stands another moment staring out in the direction Lan Wangji disappeared. “Thank you.”

She allows herself to be led away.

Every ingredient Jiang Yanli requested is in the kitchen the next morning when she arrives, all of them the highest quality possible. Even the ones she knew would be difficult if not impossible to find.

She looks at them, all carefully arranged, thinking of all they represent, and then begins to cook. It is a comforting pattern to fall into, allowing her mind a chance to rest and stop fretting. Most of the dishes she will begin this morning but won’t be ready until dinner. A young apprentice is assigned to assist her. She is very helpful, looking on with wide eyes as Jiang Yanli makes a variety of dishes the young girl has probably never seen before, let alone tasted.

Jiang Yanli sneaks small bites and sips to her when no one is looking.

It is a pleasant morning. Having finished the important prep work, Jiang Yanli gives the apprentice some instructions and leaves, thinking to do a few hours of correspondence and other tasks before visiting A-Xian and then returning to finish everything before the evening.

She pauses outside the kitchens, considering. Turning the opposite direction from where her guest chamber waits, she walks calmly towards the more central area of the Cloud Recesses, near the library and lecture halls and formal receiving rooms.

Disciples nod their heads and step out of her way as she passes, but no one questions her or tells her she is not allowed, and she does her best not to look lost so no one may offer to escort her. It is pleasant, after a morning in the kitchens, to stretch her legs.

She walks for quite a while until her patience pays off. She believes she is quite near the creche when she hears the sound of qin-playing by very young students. On a hunch, she lowers herself to sit on a bench at the base of a tree. The music is not particularly pleasing, but the shade is nice and the Cloud Recesses have always been restful, in their own way.

It is not long until the class of young students is dismissed, the children leaving in small groups of twos and threes. There are still many children here in the Cloud Recesses. What a gift.

Their teacher is the last to depart the room, and Jiang Yanli gets to her feet.

“Hanguang-Jun,” she calls out.  

Lan Wangji’s posture seems not to change at all as he catches sight of her, but she knows her sudden appearance must be unexpected.

Lan Wangji takes a few steps closer so they can speak without yelling across the space. He bows to her, elegant and perhaps overly polite. “Jiang-guniang.”

She nods her head in response. “I wanted to thank you for collecting the ingredients I needed.”

For a moment, he looks caught out, and it confirms her guess.

“You must have traveled a great distance to find them all. It is kind of you to go to such trouble.” She lifts her arms, giving him a brief bow.

He echoes the gesture immediately, still not looking directly at her. “There is no need for thanks.” He moves as if to continue walking past her.

“I believe there is,” she says, banking on politeness to keep him stuck in the conversation a little longer.

She might feel bad about employing such tactics, but she is still not able to quite make out Lan Wangji’s character and is determined to do so. She had thought she had the measure of it in Lotus Pier, but here, all that has been thrown once more into doubt. She saw his dedication and patience for A-Xian in Lotus Pier, but he still refused the marriage with unfeeling brutality. He has not once visited A-Xian in the infirmary as far as she can tell. And yet he also goes to great lengths to make sure she can cook for A-Xian. There is clearly some misunderstanding here, and she cannot be certain it is not her own.

“I also thank you for making sure I have access to the kitchen.” Another guess, but a well-placed one as he does not deny it.

Lan Wangji instead looks away. In anyone else, this might look like indifference, if not actual rudeness. She can’t help but feel that it is actually much closer to a squirm. Perhaps it is her elder-sister instincts, but she suspects that he is finding this conversation excruciating for some reason.

She is not willing to let this soften her. “I am curious why you would go to such lengths.”

Lan Wangji manages to look displeased by this. “It is only what is right,” he says. “Wei Ying should be comfortable. If you will excuse me—”

No, not quite yet, Jiang Yanli thinks. She steps across his path.

Lan Wangji steps back, startled, perhaps, to have her so near. “Jiang-guniang,” he says, almost a protest.

“Yet you have not come to see him. You don’t think your company would be a comfort for my brother?”

At his sides, Lan Wangji’s hands clench, nearly hidden by his sleeves. “No,” he says. Then he abruptly turns and walks away, right in the middle of their conversation!

Jiang Yanli stares after him in astonishment.

“Ah,” a voice says from behind her, followed by a polite cough.

Jiang Yanli turns to see Lan Xichen standing at the head of a nearby path. Had he been watching the interaction from nearby?

“Apologies for my brother,” he says.

“No need,” she says, bowing to the sect leader in greeting. “He has been most accommodating.” She turns, frowning after where Lan Wangji disappeared. It is still confusing.  

Lan Xichen smiles as he comes up to stand next to her. “I must admit he has done this since he was a child.” He sounds amused, fond with the warmth of a loving elder sibling. “He strives to always do his best. Sometimes that apparently means walking away before he can do anything impolitic. Or before he can reach his limit for discomfort.”

“I see,” Jiang Yanli says.

They stand in comfortable silence, chimes gentle in the breeze.

“It’s tempting, is it not?” Lan Xichen says, tucking his hands behind his back.

She turns to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“To meddle,” Lan Xichen says.

Jiang Yanli finds herself shocked a second time by a Lan brother this day, but when she looks, she finds no censure in Lan Xichen’s face, but rather a form of sympathy. “Indeed,” she agrees cautiously.

Lan Xichen lets out a soft sigh, looking off into the direction of his brother’s precipitous departure. “We must have faith, I believe, that all will be well.”

“Hm,” is all Jiang Yanli says in response.

Lan Xichen bows and politely excuses himself, perhaps trying to prove that at least one of the Jades of Lan knows how to properly behave. “I wish you a pleasant day, Jiang-guniang.”

Later that day, she brings food to A-Xian.

He looks at the food with pleasing eagerness, only to pause and turn to the doctor as if for permission. Jiang Yanli tries not to be unduly alarmed by that, the idea that she is perhaps not being told everything about A-Xian’s health.

Getting a nod from the doctor, A-Xian digs into the food. He eats well, much better than he had at Lotus Pier.

He smiles at her, eyes the warm little half-moons they are when he is trying to be his cutest. “So good, Shijie. I’m so lucky!” He frowns a moment later. “But when did you get all this? You didn’t go all the way down to Caiyi yourself, did you?”

She shakes her head. She has done her best not to bring up Lan Wangji to her brother, not wishing to see the particular type of antics he uses to cover up his worst hurts, and yet this is an opening she cannot pass up. “I believe Hanguang-Jun collected the ingredients.”

“Ah,” A-Xian says. “Did he?” His expression is soft, full of fond understanding, but not surprise. A bit melancholy, perhaps, but not hurt.

Interesting.

A-Xian shakes his head. “He must be feeling restless, going all the way to Caiyi! Too long without a night-hunt I suppose.” He smiles down at his bowl and eats a few more hearty bites.

“It was very kind of him,” Jiang Yanli says mildly.

“Of course!” A-Xian says. “It’s a great town, you know! The canals and the shops. So exciting!”

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli says, graciously allowing him to change the subject.

His brow furrows. “It just sucks that it’s been struggling so much these last years. Did you notice, when you arrived?”

Jiang Yanli nods. She certainly had. Living in the shadow of a waterborne abyss is no small thing. “I did hear that the Lan sect is preparing to drain the lake this spring. In a few more years’ time, the town might yet recover.”

“Right,” A-Xian says, but she can tell he’s stopped truly listening, his thoughts pulled far.

“A-Xian?”

“The waterborne abyss,” he says. His lower lip draws into his mouth in the way that never bodes well for the tranquility of the day. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of the waterborne abyss! How could I be so stupid?” He grabs her arm, shifting to swing his legs out of bed. “Shijie. I need to talk to Lan-xiansheng immediately.”

“No, you don’t,” the Lan doctor disagrees from across the room. “You will stay in that bed. We can send a message and he can visit when he is able.”

“But—!”

She gives him a stern look and he wilts back against the bed. “Fine. I suppose it’s not that pressing. But can I least have paper? Or is writing too strenuous for this feeble man?” He pouts up at the doctor.

The doctor is clearly unimpressed with A-Xian’s antics, but still capitulates. “One hour,” she says.

“This one is most grateful,” A-Xian says with a bow.

With a huff the doctor leaves.

“At least finish eating first,” Jiang Yanli says.

“Right!” A-Xian says, shoveling food in his mouth as he already starts to write.

Jiang Yanli is content to be forgotten by her little brother, instead sitting and taking quiet joy in the excited gleam lighting A-Xian’s eyes.

She allows herself hope.

“I was summoned?” Lan Qiren bites out as he enters the infirmary.

Wei Wuxian has a terrible habit of ordering people about without the slightest care for propriety. Lan Qiren adds it to his mental list of things that must be addressed if Wei Wuxian is to be here in any sort of permanent capacity.

“Xiansheng!” Wei Wuxian says, seemingly happy to see him.

Lan Qiren cannot think why he would be. “What is this about?”

Wei Wuxian sits up, almost immediately wincing, his mind perhaps filled with more excitement than his body is able to match. Foolish child.

“Sit back,” Lan Qiren orders, moving closer so the boy will not do something willfully ridiculous like trying to get out of bed.

“Okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian says, settling back. He reaches over his head and pulls a messy stack of paper into his lap. “Right. So.” He peers up at Lan Qiren. “You didn’t bring any texts with you by chance, did you? Any heavy ones?”

“I did not,” Lan Qiren says, far past wondering at the nonsensical leaps of this boy’s mind.

Wei Wuxian looks relieved. “Great. Okay. So. I think I can get rid of the waterborne abyss.”

Lan Qiren bites back a sigh. Why, Wangji, did it have to be Wei Wuxian? “The Lan Sect is handling the waterborne abyss.”

“Yes, yes,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’m sure you’d do a great job of it too, but it would take years. I can do it now.”

“Now?” Lan Qiren asks.

Wei Wuxian flaps a hand at him. “Okay, not this second. But, like, all at once. With no need to drain the lake!”

“That is impossible.”

Wei Wuxian grins up at him as if this is the best thing he could have said. “Xiangsheng, you know me better than that.”

Indeed, when has impossibility ever stopped Wei Wuxian, let alone common sense? “How would you do it?” Lan Qiren asks, having little faith that he will be able to avoid this discussion if Wei Wuxian is set on having it. Not to mention that as much as the very idea is preposterous, if there is a way to avoid the harm done to the people of Caiyi, he must at least ask after it.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says, suddenly seeming more hesitant. “You’re sure you don’t have any texts?”

Why is he obsessed with texts? “It is as you see,” Lan Qiren snaps, holding his hands wide. “Stop wasting my time.”

“Right, right,” Wei Wuxian says. He sucks in a breath, nodding to himself. And then he folds himself forward as far as he can, something approximating a kowtow. “Xiansheng,” he says. “This one asks to speak of unorthodox methods.”

Lan Qiren leans forward once again to get the ridiculous child to sit up and stop causing himself harm. “Stop that now,” he scolds. “Wangji already spoke to the elders of your cultivation. He posits that it is not demonic in nature. Can you speak to this?”

“Lan Zhan did?” Wei Wuxian asks, eyes wide.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren snaps, supposing it is too much to hope that Wei Wuxian would not be distracted by the mere mention of Wangji. He does very much have other things to attend to today!

“Right, right,” he says. “Um. It might be best to start at the beginning?”

Lan Qiren waves a hand in permission.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding. “So, resentment is created when a living being dies in such a way that they are unable to let go of their regrets and attachments, when their death is violent, and in the absence of proper respect and rites. It compounds upon itself, consuming the soul of the deceased, changing their natural energy to resentment. Given enough time or power, it will seek to spread its own misery, to destroy more lives to generate more resentment. This resentment can also infect the living—people become demons, animals and plants become yao, the inanimate imps. Run unchecked, it can spread like a disease across the land.”

Lan Qiren flips his hands back, trying to breathe through his visceral reaction to being lectured at by Wei Wuxian of all people. Wei Wuxian, for his part, sounds more like he is talking to himself than doing it to be annoying. It does little to help.

“Cultivators use their cultivation of naturally occurring qi to combat this spread.” He raises one finger as if counting off a point. “Liberation – through communication, the settling of grievances, a soul can be compelled to let go of their attachments, thus releasing the resentment which dissipates without a soul to attach itself to, and they pass into the next life.”

Wei Wuxian lifts a second finger. “In suppression, a cultivator uses their qi to contain resentful spirits so they can no longer act on the world. They are stuck forever, mired in resentment and losing more and more of themselves over time. Containment must be upkept with more energy over time and there is always a chance of it escaping the bounds and harming new beings, generating more resentment.”

He lifts a third finger. “In elimination, the soul itself is destroyed, which destroys the resentment’s tether to this world. Energy is used to destroy the soul, to tear apart and destroy the soul. Resentment can be dissipated after that.”

It is a proper recitation of the information, and one Lan Qiren would much preferred to have heard from a young Wei Wuxian attending the lectures. That is not at all what he was given at the time. He is forcibly reminded of a much younger Wei Wuxian standing proudly in his classroom, mischief in his eye.

How long ago it all feels.

At this point, Wei Wuxian hesitates, looking up at Lan Qiren as if asking permission.

Those days were very long ago indeed.

Lan Qiren flaps a hand at him, waving him to continue.

Wei Wuxian lifts a fourth finger. “Modao, in contrast, directs resentment to infest the living in order to create and control resentful beings. The demonic path actively creates more resentment and requires more and more energy to compel the obedience of the puppets and demons it creates. And, as Wen Qing has postulated, likely comes at the cost to the very essence of the demonic cultivator. Not their qi, but their jing.”

Wei Wuxian looks off into space now, and Lan Qiren has the very unwelcome thought that Wei Wuxian would make a passable teacher, if he weren’t spreading heresy with his every breath.

Wei Wuxian rolls his shoulders as if seeking relief from some unnamed pain. “Resentment doesn’t have a consciousness so much as a driving will. Its only will is to spread itself, to make other living beings feel the pain and rage the resentful beings are mired in. The idea that anyone could control it forever, no matter how much power they amassed, seems likely impossible. The resentment only allows itself to be used in order to get more of what it wants, and it seems inevitable that the wielder would eventually become a demon themselves. This is the path Wen Ruohan walked.”

It is good to hear Wei Wuxian speak so clearly on the dangers of the path at his feet, the folly he has welcomed on himself and those around him. He has at least learned that much.

He did not have a choice.

And yet what does choice matter in the face of morality? 

Wei Wuxian looks up at him, posture a bit wary, but with a provoking smile on his face. “I wish to speak of a fifth path, Grandmaster.”

The urge to throw a book at his insouciant head is very strong. He breathes through it. There are no other young impressionable minds to be corrupted in this space. Merely scholars speaking to expand their knowledge of the world. There is hope, as well, that somewhere in this conversation is the path forward for Wei Wuxian to abandon this evil once and for all, no matter what Wen Qing has claimed.

He nods his head in permission.

Lan Qiren does not miss the widening of Wei Wuxian’s eyes in surprise.

“The fifth path,” he prompts, feeling impatient, though whether with Wei Wuxian’s ridiculousness or the strange feeling of what might be…fondness? Can it truly be that? He resists the urge to shudder with distaste.

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Whatever attempt at a proper seat Wei Wuxian had held during his earlier recitations disappears entirely as he pulls one knee up, his flute twisting in his fingers. A complete disgrace.

“What I use is better called guidao. It is true that the ghost path uses resentment. Just like spiritual energy can be used to liberate, suppress, or eliminate souls, resentment can also be used to these ends.”

Lan Qiren narrows his eyes. “And what separates the demonic path from ghost path?”

Wei Wuxian points his flute at him as if in acknowledgement of a question well asked. “One seeks to increase resentment, the other to reduce it. One to control, and one to understand.”

An unexpected, if not tenuous, distinction. “And this is what you claim you did in the Mingshi?”

“Yes, and it’s what I am suggesting I do to liberate the last two yin iron pieces and the waterborne abyss at the same time.”

Impossible, Lan Qiren nearly says, catching himself. Wei Wuxian is looking pleased enough with himself without Lan Qiren giving him that opening to crow.

And yet, it must be impossible.

So I too believed before I held witness to it, Wangji said to the elders.

It is heresy to even listen to what Wei Wuxian has to say. It is dangerous.

I would never doubt the righteousness of Wei Ying’s intentions.

With a breath, Lan Qiren forces himself to sit by the table, reaching out to pour himself a centering cup of tea. “Explain your reasoning.”

From his bed, Wei Wuxian smiles brilliantly up at him and begins to speak.

Chapter Text

Three weeks.

They’re going to make Wei Wuxian wait three weeks until they even consider allowing him to attempt to cleanse the last two pieces of the yin iron, even though his idea is amazing and complete genius and definitely guaranteed to work! Probably.

He spends the first week not even being allowed to leave his bed, which is complete overkill in his opinion, but someone is going to have to send for Nie Mingjue anyway. It’s not like sect leaders particularly like getting summoned like that with very little explanation, so Lan Xichen will probably have to go in person and convince him and get him to come back, which will take time too. So it’s not a complete waste of time to lounge about in bed, even if his wounds are healing at a completely acceptable rate. Or so he assumes. After all, Wen Qing took the stitches out pretty quick and he hasn’t lost so much as a drop of blood in days!

They’re still going to make him wait three weeks.

Wei Wuxian plans to use the bulk of the required waiting time getting into fights with the elders by slowly breaking their brains with the basics of guidao, which they all still totally hate but can’t really reject outright without risking being immoral from inaction in the face of saving innocents and liberating resentful creatures.

It's going to be really fun, honestly.

The first thing Lan Qiren makes him do once everyone is finally content that he won’t keel over at any moment is write up a report about what happened with the bat king, exactly how he used his cultivation to defeat and liberate it. A night hunt report! Lan Qiren also wants a report about what happened with Yang Ai in the wine tavern, as if that had been a night hunt and not an embarrassing tantrum on Wei Wuxian’s part.

Wei Wuxian pretends to still be in too much pain to do homework and all that earns him is a senior disciple to act as a scribe. A senior, likely because Lan Qiren doesn’t want him corrupting any juniors with his heresy. Fortunately, Wei Wuxian has no shame and takes great delight in lounging in bed while he dictates his report to a disciple that is at least ten years his senior.

Somehow, all his rambles end up in a coherent, very well written report that Wei Wuxian more than suspects was actually edited and pulled into a final draft by Lan Zhan, the complete menace.

He’d defended Wei Wuxian and his cultivation in front of all his elders. Lan Zhan had.

He still hasn’t come by to see Wei Wuxian, at least not while he’s awake enough to know of it. Which, Wei Wuxian gets, he really does. It doesn’t even hurt so much as make him really sad on Lan Zhan’s behalf. His presence is somehow still everywhere around Wei Wuxian. In each conversation with the elders, in each meal brought to him by Shijie, each perfectly edited and compiled report.

It helps, all these signs that Lan Zhan is still here, even if just out of sight for now.

Of course, that absolutely won’t stop Wei Wuxian from seeking Lan Zhan out the very first moment he can. Meaning as soon as Lan-daifu finally lets him leave the infirmary. Until then, he’s content to wait and plan his approach. As it is, they would likely never cross paths.

Wei Wuxian hasn’t gone to a Lan family dinner since Lan Zhan came back from his ridiculous jaunt to break the curse. At first, he didn’t go because they weren’t sure how Lan Zhan might react with the curse and all, even if it was gone. After, once Wei Wuxian knew Lan Zhan could be around him without any pain, that the curse was well and truly gone, he still hadn’t gone back to the dinners. They were for family, right? And that definitely didn’t describe Wei Wuxian. The only reason he’d ever gone in the first place was because of the curse, and later only because of the misplaced idea that he might be marrying in.

Anyway, he doesn’t go to family dinner, is the point, and has no plans to even after he’s finally released from the infirmary, so that won’t be an easy way to see Lan Zhan. Other than not seeing Lan Zhan, it’s definitely a good thing in Wei Wuxian’s books. He doesn’t need more uncomfortable silent meals in his life! He has Shijie here anyway, to share his meals with. He’s lucky!

But he also isn’t going to let Lan Zhan keep avoiding him either. If Lan Zhan is scared of demanding too much of Wei Wuxian, he will happily be the one to refuse to have any boundaries. That’s always been a key part of their dynamic, after all, hasn’t it? It was just more important than Wei Wuxian ever could have understood at the time. Somehow, despite how it seemed, it wasn’t just Wei Wuxian being annoying after all, but something Lan Zhan needed from him. Wild.

Fortunately, being persistent and nosy and shameless is something Wei Wuxian has always excelled at, especially around Lan Zhan.

His very first night free of the infirmary, Wei Wuxian tromps over to the Jingshi—with no dizziness or weakness at all, thank you very much—and knocks on the door.

There is a soft murmur from the inside, Lan Zhan probably asking whoever’s at the door to wait a moment.

When Lan Zhan pulls open the door, Wei Wuxian can see that he’s already dressed down for the evening, his hair out of the elaborate guan, the fussy outer robe with its elegant little laces or gems or ribbons that Wei Wuxian suspects Lan Zhan secretly adores is also missing.

“Wei Ying,” he says, eyes widening slightly with alarm. “Is something—”

Wei Wuxian doesn’t let him finish, instead pushing past him inside. “I’m finally free, Lan Zhan!” he says, kicking off his shoes and slapping Chenqing down on the sword rest next to Bichen. He stretches his arms over his head as he crosses over to the main table like someone returning home after a long day. “I mean, I’m not supposed to run around and night hunt or anything, but I’m back in my rooms and don’t have to be prodded awake at all hours to be poked and drowned in medicine, so things are definitely looking up.”

He doesn’t let Lan Zhan get a word in as he starts moving around the house, collecting everything he needs to make tea. It’s completely shameless, barging in here like this, treating it like it’s his own house rather than acting anything like a guest. He’d be a little mortified if this weren’t a key part of his plan.

Lan Zhan is perfectly capable of throwing him out if he really wants to, after all. Wei Wuxian is banking on the fact that he doesn’t want to. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Lan Zhan watching him. He doesn’t look mad. If anything, he just looks a little more blank than usual. Maybe a little overwhelmed.

Wei Wuxian valiantly ignores the fondness welling up in his chest and pats the table. “Hey, come on. Sit down. You’re hurting my neck, making me look up at you like this.”

Lan Zhan folds himself down across the table from him, accepting a cup of tea without so much as an eyebrow twitch in reaction to being served in his own home.

Wei Wuxian sighs, leaning an elbow on the table, resting his temple against his fist. “I met with your elders again this afternoon. They are so stodgy! Like, at any moment one of them will just burst into a history lesson about precedence and foundational theory. Hideously boring. And their faces when I point out that maybe all those people had just been wrong about a few things! Wow. It’s amazing.” Wei Wuxian slides a look up at Lan Zhan. “They’re still nowhere near as fun as you though, Lan Zhan.”

Lan Zhan hides behind his cup, but Wei Wuxian can tell that he’s relieved. Relieved to have Wei Wuxian still brazenly pushing up into his space. That despite everything potentially weird and awkward here, they can still have this. Wei Wuxian will make sure of it.

“Tell me about your day, Lan Zhan. It had to be more exciting than mine!”

He spends the next hour coaxing words out of Lan Zhan, little nuggets of information about how he fills his days. It’s nice. Anyone would be lucky to have this at the end of their day.

Lan Zhan starts to look a little bleary-eyed after a while, still soft and content, but clearly sleepy.

“Alright, alright,” Wei Wuxian says, heaving himself to his feet. He’s a little tired too, he must admit. This is the most fun he’s had in a while! “Time for sleep. I’ll let you get to it.”

Lan Zhan gives an almost invisible start, as if he just remembered that Wei Wuxian isn’t staying here anymore. Wei Wuxian glances at Lan Zhan’s bed, but does not let his mind go there. Nope!

He does allow himself to reach out and squeeze Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Sleep well, Lan Zhan.”

He lingers long enough that Lan Zhan actually lifts his hand to cover Wei Wuxian’s, pressing gently. “Wei Ying as well.”

Wei Wuxian grins. “Ah, well, you know me, Lan Zhan.” He’ll try not to stay up too late.

“Hm,” Lan Zhan says, fingers tightening before he lets his hand drop.

Wei Wuxian forces himself to let go. “See you tomorrow, Lan Zhan,” he says, because he is absolutely going to do this again.  

He’s gonna come back. Every single night.

Lan Zhan seems to realize that’s what he means. “Tomorrow,” Lan Zhan agrees. He’s pleased, Wei Wuxian thinks.

Yup. This is good.

So far, all of Wei Wuxian’s plans are turning out great.

His plans for the yin iron are totally going to work, and that’s exciting and all, but he’s really more proud of how well things are going with Lan Zhan.

The evenings spent with Lan Zhan are great. They chat or sit and read in companionable silence or sometimes even play music. Those nights are particularly fun. Every night Wei Wuxian considers being brazen enough to just bully his way into staying the night, but never quite does because he’s here to spend time with Lan Zhan, to make sure Lan Zhan understands that he could never be too much for anyone, least of all Wei Wuxian. What he’s not here to do is accidentally make another promise he probably can’t keep.

So he’s careful too, for all he blunders up against every one of Lan Zhan’s self-imposed boundaries. It’s not like there could ever be such a thing as enough of Lan Zhan’s attention. Wei Wuxian’s always been greedy like that. And sure, he’s not going to stop going to Lan Zhan’s every evening, not while Lan Zhan still seems pretty happy with it. But he’s also not going to barge in and take more than that. Lan Zhan’s a quiet guy, after all, and probably needs some time to himself.

He’s curious too, maybe. If Lan Zhan might ever start to come to him too. If he might actually see that he’s welcome.

Wei Wuxian gets that Lan Zhan probably has zero interest in setting foot in the Gentian House again, so Wei Wuxian is careful to set himself up to spend some time in the library instead. That’s one of Lan Zhan’s favorite places, after all. They have some good memories here. Maybe Lan Zhan would be interested in having a few more to remember.

It takes a lot for Wei Wuxian not to grin like a complete fool when Lan Zhan finally wanders into the library. Like, he pretends he’s just returning a text or whatever, but he also approaches Wei Wuxian.

“Wei Ying,” he says, nodding at him. He doesn’t come too close and he doesn’t ask what Wei Wuxian is working on—a bit like a bird perched on a branch, ready to take flight any moment. But he’s here.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, gesturing at the papers strewn out all around him. “I have really outdone myself this time. I really have! You should come see and be impressed by my rare genius.”

He’s just spent the morning with the elders, and Elder Lan Kaizhi said something so unexpectedly interesting that Wei Wuxian’s head is still spinning. It’s a great idea,that he’s mad about it, but maybe that’s fair. He makes the elders pretty mad most days too, so maybe this is some kind of karma or something. Wei Wuxian still thinks the elders are making parts of this whole endeavor overly complicated, but it’s also better in more ways than he’s willing to admit. And, yes, safer too, probably. They seem pretty keen on that part specifically.

“What are you working on?” Lan Zhan says, taking a cautious step closer.

Wei Wuxian waves him over, tapping the draft of the array sitting in front of him. “Even the elders agree, Lan Zhan. They still hate it, of course, but they definitely agree that it will work!”

Lan Zhan takes Wei Wuxian’s nonsense in stride, as always, but still isn’t as close as Wei Wuxian would like.  

“Come here, come here,” Wei Wuxian says, patting at the space next to him.

Lan Zhan moves to stand next to the table, and Wei Wuxian reaches out for his sleeve and tugs him down so they are sitting side by side.

Lan Zhan lets out a small huff, probably at the indignity of being yanked at, but carefully settles himself, making sure his robes aren’t bunched or creased. It’s really not Wei Wuxian’s fault that Lan Zhan is so fun to annoy!

Wei Wuxian gestures at the paper again. He watches Lan Zhan as he studies it, his face all intent and serious and stupidly beautiful as always. Wei Wuxian sighs, propping his chin up on his palm as he shamelessly stares, not even trying to hide it at all. Lan Zhan is absolutely aware of it too, to judge from his blushy little ears. Too fucking cute, damn.

“This array is for the shoreline,” Lan Zhan says, eyes still stubbornly on the paper.

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian agrees, pulling out a map of the area and tapping at the appropriate spots. “In front of the lures.” He runs a finger along the tree line.

Lan Zhan leans in closer, his shoulder brushing Wei Wuxian’s. “They will require your music to work?”

He nods. “Yeah, to get them started at least, but if they work the way they’re supposed to, they will keep themselves going, drawing energy directly from the resentment of the creatures trapped inside.”

Lan Zhan nods, eyebrows drawing together as he thinks about that, probably wondering how the elders might have ever agreed to use the dead like that. “Until Rest is effective?”

Wei Wuxian grins, leaning into Lan Zhan’s shoulder. A little guidao in exchange for liberation. “That’s the plan!”

“And where will Wei Ying be situated?” Lan Zhan asks, gesturing at the map.

“Oh, yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, rubbing at his nose. “We’re still figuring some of that out. We’ll probably need barges for part of this.”

Lan Zhan seems deep in thought over something, eyes still studying the map.

Wei Wuxian reaches out, touching the back of Lan Zhan’s arm, fingers curling around his wrist. “Hey, Lan Zhan,” he says, waiting for him to turn and look at him, for the tension in his arm to soften. “Will you be there? It’ll have to be you, if we can liberate the iron pieces again like last time. I don’t trust it to be anyone but you.”

Lan Zhan has to be there. He’s the best, after all. 

Under his touch, Lan Zhan’s arm flexes, his fist tightening and then relaxing. Lan Zhan takes a careful breath. “I will always be wherever Wei Ying wishes me to be.”  

Wei Wuxian valiantly does not flop down over the table in response to that. That is way too much power for anyone to have over another person, Wei Wuxian can’t help but think.

Lan Zhan is still looking back at Wei Wuxian like he hasn’t said anything shattering or wildly shameless and Wei Wuxian is stuck staring, every other point of consideration dangerously close to slipping away entirely.

Somewhere nearby, someone clears their throat to get their attention.

Wei Wuxian nearly falls over in embarrassed surprise, but Lan Zhan just calmly looks up at the intruding disciple, not moving the tiniest bit further away from Wei Wuxian.

“Yes?” he says.  

The disciple bows to Lan Zhan. “Hanguang-Jun. Wei-gongzi. The Qinghe Nie party has arrived and is being escorted to the Yashi. Lan-zongzhu had asked for you both.”

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says, dismissing him.

“Well,” Wei Wuxian says, trying to drag back together the last shreds of his dignity. “Great! None of this was going to work if Chifeng-zun refused to come.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agrees, even as he remains sitting. It takes a moment for Wei Wuxian to realize that might have something to do with the grip Wei Wuxian still has on his arm.

Get it together, Wei Wuxian! he scolds himself.

Rather than letting go, Wei Wuxian brazens through, getting up and towing Lan Zhan up after him. “Let’s go.”

Lan Zhan follows after him, not saying a word of complaint the entire way. Wei Wuxian does eventually let go before entering the Yashi. He has some manners!

Good thing too, as they walk into a far more formal set-up than Wei Wuxian would have expected.

Nie Mingjue sits inside, someone who must be his second in command at another table to his side, with four more tables of disciples behind. Lan Xichen is at the head of the room, and the Nie party is balanced on the right side of the room by Lan Qiren and a collection of elders and trusted seniors.

This is not, it seems, a casual gathering. The somber mood of the room seems to confirm it.

There is only one empty table, just to the right of Lan Qiren. Clearly that is where Lan Zhan goes. But where is Wei Wuxian supposed to go? Should he stand? He glances around the room again, reminded somewhat reluctantly of the first time he spoke to the elder’s council. Is he supposed to kneel? Is this another interrogation?

He supposes he should have expected this.

Wei Wuxian bows as Lan Zhan does, greeting the various parties, following the formal etiquettes, even as Wei Wuxian burns to find a way to make a joke of all this. They need Nie Mingjue’s cooperation far too much to be able to risk making a scene.

Lan Zhan moves towards his seat, Wei Wuxian remaining behind.

Lan Zhan pauses, frowning as looks back at Wei Wuxian. Maybe the lack of a clear place for Wei Wuxian finally occurs to him, because his expression goes full stubborn mode. He returns to Wei Wuxian’s side, places his hand on his back—his lower back!—and propels Wei Wuxian towards the empty table on the Lan side.  

Wei Wuxian is too stunned to do more than comply as Lan Zhan makes him sit next to him at the table.

It’s a very small table!

Lan Qiren doesn’t so much as look in their direction, but Lan Xichen is definitely feeling very amused by it, judging from his expression.

Wei Wuxian feels warmth prickling the back of his neck. Lan Zhan truly is the shameless one!

Glancing over, Wei Wuxian can see Nie Mingjue watching this bit of theater with a look of mild astonishment. Frankly, Wei Wuxian doesn’t know if that is only because of the rumors of Hanguang-Jun’s great hatred of Wei Wuxian, or if it’s solely due to Lan Zhan’s uncharacteristic flaunting of protocol.

Either way, the rest of the greetings and tea-serving and mindless formulaic political talk happens without further incident, Wei Wuxian sitting still and quiet, but mostly out of sheer terror of what Lan Zhan might do if he doesn’t! At some point, enough ritual has apparently been observed, as Nie Mingjue makes a gesture and all the Nie disciples but his commander bow and leave the room. Most of the senior Lan disciples follow, closing the doors behind them.

Lan Qiren waves his hand, a bright burst of powerful qi erecting a privacy ward around the room. He really is impressive when he wants to be.

“So you think you can destroy the yin iron,” Nie Mingjue says without any further ado. His arms are folded over his chest as he lets off a wave of something almost like a killing intent. He’s terrifying, honestly. The amulet kind of hates him and also really really wants to fight him.

Wei Wuxian isn’t sure if he should be relieved or concerned by the abrupt return of the amulet’s aggression after its quiet napping the last couple weeks. Well, considering what he’s going to try to do, he should probably be relieved. Without the amulet, they would all be dead for sure. But it’s been nice, too, the quiet.

“Yup!” Wei Wuxan says.

Nie Mingjue does not appear impressed by his blasé answer. “And you think you can destroy the waterborne abyss while you’re at it.”

“Definitely,” Wei Wuxian says. He figures there’s at least a one in four chance that he gets eaten by the abyss instead, but it’s not like he’s going to admit that to anyone.

Nie Mingjue glances over at Lan Xichen. “Is this what was really behind the sudden alliance between the Lan and Jiang sects?”

Okay, so not an idiot then.

The particulars of such alliances are not often publicly shared. The alliance itself, yes, because that affects all the sects, and even the trade agreements, but the details of the exchange of property still remains private. Even if they could have mentioned Wei Wuxian handing over the amulet, the destruction of the yin iron could not be openly talked about, and likely wouldn’t have even been included in the settlement paperwork officially.  

“Yes,” Lan Xichen confirms.

Nie Mingjue’s gaze slides to Lan Zhan. “And the nature of this alliance? I saw no ceremonial announcements.”

Wei Wuxian, completely against his will, lets out an awkward laugh. “Ah,” he says, trying to cover. “What a thing to ask!”

Next to him, Lan Zhan has gone all stiff, and Wei Wuxian internally curses Nie Mingjue. Why did he have to stroll in here and ruin all his progress?

“Those details are still being negotiated,” Lan Xichen says, his smile mild and all the more dangerous for it.

Wei Wuxian is fairly certain his face is nowhere near thick enough for this. To cover, he lifts one knee, sprawling insouciantly as if he couldn’t care less. The relief in his hip is just a bonus, really.

“I see,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly not seeing at all, but who could blame him? It’s all very confusing, even for Wei Wuxian!

Nie Mingjue looks to Lan Xichen then, something unspoken seeming to pass between them.

Wei Wuxian takes the moment to study Nie Mingjue, not for the first time wondering exactly what hidden details might underlie the sworn brotherhood connecting the Venerated Triad. He wouldn’t be surprised to find out the yin iron was at the heart of that alliance as well. And yet…

Nie Mingjue is here. Jin Guangyao, notably, is not.

“So you’ve been suppressing the other pieces?” Wei Wuxian asks, figuring why the hell not at this point. It would surely mean something, that Nie Mingjue has two rather than splitting them equally between the three sworn brothers.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue says.

Interesting. Is it possible there is less trust among the sworn brothers than one would assume, or merely that the Jin would not be strong enough to handle a piece on their own? The Nie and Lan sects may have been far more decimated by the war than the Jin sect, but money doesn’t mean much when it comes to something like the yin iron. Not to mention, there’s the…whatever Nie Mingjue’s got going on that makes the amulet want to… What? Fight him? Or is it drawn to him?

Fuck if Wei Wuxian knows, but he sure as hell doesn’t like it.

Nie Mingjue looks at Lan Xichen. “You trust him, then?”

It occurs to Wei Wuxian that Nie Mingjue might have come here not so much because he’s already agreed, but rather because he is perfectly willing to get rid of witnesses if he needs to. Lan Zhan frowns, shifting closer to Wei Wuxian, so he thinks it’s maybe not a completely insane idea.

“The Lan sect stands in support of Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen confirms.

“Well then,” Nie Mingjue says, turning back to Wei Wuxian. “I suppose you’ll get a chance to prove it.” At his back, Baxia rattles, the air seeming to thicken with Nie Mingjue’s power. “But know that if this is a trick or an attempt to take the yin iron for yourself, I will act as needed, alliances be damned.” His hand slams down on the table.

The amulet rumbles against Wei Wuxian’s hip in response, even as Lan Zhan shifts as if thinking of shielding him from attack.

Yeah. This is going to be a lot of fun.  

He can’t wait.

It’s a logistical nightmare.

Three sects, two pieces of yin iron, a waterborne abyss, and the amulet, all with their own role to play, each requiring unique protections and backup plans. It’s a lot of moving parts.

Wei Wuxian is glad he’s in charge of absolutely none of it. He’s just the ideas man, after all. The Lan and Nie sects efficiently gather all the needed resources, but it’s Jiang Cheng who wrangles it all once he blows back into the Cloud Recesses, as if his excess annoyance is a source of energy. This is a guy who’s been planning the details of Shijie’s wedding since they were ten, after all. He’s more than capable.

Jiang Cheng’s always been great at getting shit done.

As the sect leaders spend endless meetings together working it all out, Wei Wuxian wonders if Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue are finally realizing how much they underutilized Jiang Cheng during the war. Though, to be fair, it’s not like they weren’t all scrambling to figure everything out at the time, or that Jiang Cheng had quite the confidence he has now. The Jiang sect had hardly seemed impressive on paper back then.

In the end, the barges are the easy part. The Lan sect have been using them to bind the abyss ever since they first discovered it. Not to mention the upkeep of the suppression protocols after. What a drag that would be, having to come out once a month with all their disciples and do this. It would have been nearly impossible during the war, and of course that was no doubt a large part of Wen Ruohan’s intention. The Lan sect is honorable enough to not neglect such a duty, even if they hadn’t been economically tied to Caiyi enough not to be able to let the town just get overrun. So they’d have to spare the manpower to maintain the seal. Every hour and person spent down there doing that was one less person available to fight the war.

Wen Ruohan really was a sneaky fucker.

They’ll have to undo the seal, of course. Wei Wuxian would feel bad about making the Lan sect unweave what has been so carefully maintained, but they need the abyss to be able to move freely for any of this to work.

Undoing it will be the easy part. It’s everything that follows that’s tricky. Wei Wuxian can’t just chuck the yin iron pieces into the lake and hope for the best. Neither can they hang a giant bronze bell up over the water to help with containment. Then again, they aren’t trying to play nice with the yin iron this time. There won’t be three days of slowly leaching away dribbles of energy. The fight is the entire point. It’s going to take every available Lan disciple with any musical cultivation training, in addition to every person brought by the Jiang and Nie sects. The Jiang sect is well-versed in cleansing waterways, after all. The Nie cultivators seem a little more unsettled by the idea of fighting out on the water, but there’s plenty of fight to be found on land as well.

No one’s gonna get left out.

All of this gets arranged by the sect leaders while Wei Wuxian keeps up his debates with the elders and makes minute improvements to the arrays and lure flags—when he isn’t eating with Shijie or hanging out with Lan Zhan. His days are really very full.

He even convinces Jiang Cheng to take a break long enough to go drinking with him in Caiyi one afternoon. It’s a lot of fun. Wen Qing scowls at them when they get back. She scolds Wei Wuxian and makes him stay another night in the infirmary as punishment. But Lan Zhan also comes and plays for him, so Wei Wuxian calls it a win overall.

It’s a really nice way to spend those three weeks. Not bad at all.

It’ll be enough.

The chosen day dawns damp and cold, the first promise of winter arriving early to the mountains of Gusu. A thick fog clings to the valleys, settling in low points and turning the trees into hovering silhouettes.

It begins to clear as they descend down to the lakeshore, thin fingers of mist rising and dancing across the lake’s surface.  

Lan Zhan falls into step next to Wei Wuxian as he walks the length of the shore, checking the eight arrays laid out side by side. Nearby in the water, five barges line the shore, already manned with Jiang and Lan disciples.

Only once Wei Wuxian and the elders have given the entire set-up another final check do the Nie disciples bring out a heavily warded chest supported on thick poles, no less than eight men tasked with carrying it. This is the first Wei Wuxian has seen of the yin iron pieces. The wards are pretty good, too. Wei Wuxian can barely sense the pieces. Though ‘barely’ isn’t the same as not feeling them at all. The amulet at his side gives a little shudder of anticipation, the voices in Wei Wuxian’s mind getting louder, a new chorus joining in.

He'd almost forgotten just how loud they can be.

“Can’t have been easy, keeping them under wraps,” Wei Wuxian says to Nie Mingjue as they both watch the chest ferried out to the barge furthest from the shore. That is where Wei Wuxian will be positioned. Nie Mingjue has demanded to be stationed there as well, no doubt to keep an eye on Wei Wuxian start to finish.

Nie Mingjue doesn’t dignify Wei Wuxian’s statement with a verbal response, but the killing intent he’s radiating gets stronger.

Wei Wuxian puts a hand to the amulet, pushing it back hard. They aren’t here to fight Nie Mingjue, nor recruit him.

The chest is placed and with that, everything is ready. An air of quiet expectation builds. Wei Wuxian glances over at Lan Zhan. He’s alert, but relaxed, that quietly focused way he gets right before a night hunt. Wei Wuxian can’t help smiling at him.

Lan Zhan turns his head, just enough to bring Wei Wuxian into his field of vision.

Yeah, Wei Wuxian thinks, his own nerves settling. This is definitely going to work. He’s glad Lan Zhan’s gonna be here.

A flare shoots up from the center of the lake, fractured reflections dancing on the surface of the water between bands of mist. The Lan spell binding the abyss has been lifted. It’s time to go.

“Flags,” Wei Wuxian calls out.

At the tree line, the lure flags are unfurled, the incantations activated by various Nie disciples.

“Mind giving me a lift?” Wei Wuxian asks, grinning over at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan unsheathes Bichen, the sword hovering just above the ground. Lan Zhan steps up and Wei Wuxian jumps up onto the blade in front of him, landing lightly on his toes and finding his balance. Lan Zhan places his hand on the small of Wei Wuxian’s back to steady him, the blade surging up under them, carrying them the short distance to the barge furthest out from shore.

Wei Wuxian hops down onto the wooden planks of the barge, Lan Zhan landing a moment later. Nie Mingjue joins the eight Nie disciples still flanking the chest containing the yin iron. They won’t need those yet. The first focus is the abyss.

Wei Wuxian moves to the railing, leaning out to look down at the water below. As the morning progresses, the mist is slowly starting to dissipate. It may end up being a lovely day.

“There,” Wei Wuxian says, pointing at the water.

Lan Zhan looks down at the dark form moving under the surface of the water, there and gone in a flash. Reaching into his sleeve, Lan Zhan lets off a second flare, giving warning to those on shore.

The water ghouls are coming.

The water churns as more and more of the ghouls pass, frenzied in their draw towards the power of the lure flags. Everyone tenses, waiting to see if the ghouls will be focused enough to pass by the people out on the water, these tempting living bodies just within reach and with little to protect them from such a mass of beasts. The barges rock with the passing turbulence, but nothing more than that.

“The lures are working,” Wei Wuxian murmurs.

Lan Zhan nods in agreement.  

The first ghouls drag themselves out onto dry land, their flesh bloated and torn and sloughing off in places, plant life and debris tangled up in the monstrous forms of the drowned victims twisted by resentment into this endless half-life. Wei Wuxian lifts his flute and begins to play, powering all eight arrays into life. It takes a bit more effort than Wei Wuxian would have liked this early in the fight, but it is what it is.

As the first ghouls pass into range of the arrays, they screech with rage, finding themselves pinned, unable to move towards the lures still pulling at them. The arrays keep them trapped; that’s one more piece of the plan falling into place.

Once he’s certain the arrays are working, Wei Wuxian shifts his music, instead reaching for the ghouls themselves. For a moment it is nearly overwhelming, there are so many. They crawl up over each other, a giant writhing mess. Wei Wuxian doesn’t need to control them though, as the lures pull them in and the arrays hold them trapped and suppressed. Wei Wuxian just needs to borrow a little energy from them, is all. It’s still a lot.

He breathes through the riot of voices clamoring in his head, the pull of them on his consciousness, the gleeful hum of the amulet, and continues to play. He reaches out, feeling the resentment infecting the ghouls, pulling and twisting the threads of power and carefully winding it into the lines of the arrays. It’s tricky work.

Sweat breaks out on his forehead as he strains to align them and start the flow of energy. He keeps playing, keeps pulling and pulling and pulling and twisting and sending the resentment back into the arrays.

Come on, come on, come on, he thinks.

When it finally clicks into place, Wei Wuxian sways with the abrupt relief, the sudden end to the draw upon his power.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, hand grabbing his elbow.

“I’m good!” Wei Wuxian says, giving himself one selfish moment to lean into Lan Zhan, to feel his warmth and strength. Then he straightens up, twisting Chenqing in his fingers with a flourish. “Look at that. It worked!”

Together, they watch the shore, the frothy horror of warped and ravaged bodies bloated from their time in the water pulling themselves up into the arrays, screaming and writhing with rage. But being held fast, their very rage and resentment being used to contain them. The only thing that could set them free is letting go of their resentment entirely.

Not all of the ghouls make it to the arrays, and those are cut down by Nie disciples, but it’s not enough of them to be alarming. It’s hard to calculate just how many water ghouls it takes for an abyss to form, only that it would be more than enough to overwhelm any force, no matter how big.  According to the surviving library texts, the last time a sect had to drain a lake to get rid of an abyss, there had been over five hundred bodies to bury and provide last rites for.

Some of the ghouls get stranded in the shallows, their bodies too decayed to make it all the way. They’ll have to be caught and dragged out, but that’s all been accounted for. The people on the other barges closer to shore and prepared to cast spirit binding nets once the flow of ghouls slows. It’s probably impossible to get them all, but they really only need to get enough to weaken the power of the abyss. To catch its attention.

“It’s working,” Wei Wuxian says. Even if everything else falls apart, the ghouls will at least be contained. They can at least be liberated. He hopes. 

There’s not much time to celebrate. Under their feet, the barge shudders as it swings out wide against the end of its ties. The waters of the lake tug at the barges, almost playful at first, sneakily reaching out, seeking to pull back what has been lost.

An abyss has no edges, no limits. It is at once everywhere and nowhere. There’s nothing to point a sword at, but there is also no place touched by water that it is safe. It is the water itself that is corrupted, every drop suspect, capable of carrying a sliver of the consciousness that has risen in the abyss. Which is exactly why exposing the lakebed to sunlight for years is necessary. The strongest concentration present in the middle of the lake is more about drawing more victims far from shore and any potential help than some idea of a heart to be attacked.

The water itself will fight back.

Around them, the water gets only more turbulent and it takes a moment for them to realize that the water is actually starting to recede from shore, sucking back into the middle of the lake.

The abyss is rising.

The receding water strands the writhing bodies of ghouls mired in the mud of the newly uncovered lakebed. The barges closest to shore thump awkwardly down against the sloping ground, disciples scrambling to reach out and steady themselves as they suddenly find themselves on land. Sword glares flash as some of the disciples recover enough to attack the floundering ghouls.

Wei Wuxian grabs the railing as their own barge sways against its ties. The water rushes past faster and faster, receding as if heralding a tidal wave in the aftermath of an earthquake. With a thump, the hull of the barge hits the ground.

“The chest,” Wei Wuxian says. It’s time to bring the yin iron into play.

Nie Mingjue wastes precious seconds staring at Wei Wuxian, still clearly doubting.

“Look!” one of the Nie disciples cries out, pointing towards the middle of the lake.

In the distance, a huge form looms in the mist, growing larger and larger.

It’s an enormous wave, two stories high, rushing towards them, intent on the shoreline. It’s likely to wipe them out, to add every life here to the abyss’s collection of trapped souls, but also to get back what has been taken from it. An abyss cannot survive without the souls it preys upon.

“Chifeng-zun,” Wei Wuxian shouts. This is not the time for hesitation. Too many lives are at risk.  

Nie Mingjue rips open the lid of the chest with an enraged roar.

The yin iron pieces surge out, clouds of resentment crawling out over the barge with them, blanketing everything. Wei Wuxian is vaguely aware of shouting and the sound of swords, but he has no time to wonder at it.

Here is the power he needs, the endless thrumming will to destroy, to own, to subsume.

Wei Wuxian opens the pouch at his waist, calling forth the amulet with Chengqing. Setting it into motion, he reaches out with his music for the yin iron.

They aren’t natural enemies, the yin iron and the abyss, but that is the work Wei Wuxian and the amulet will do. Command the sides to turn on each other. The yin iron should win, but be very depleted and then it will be the amulet’s turn. Or so they hope.

Around him, people cry out in alarm, the wave looming closer and closer. There is nowhere to hide from it, on water or land. It could wipe out the arrays and the lure flags, leaving them back where they started, only worse—with the bulk of the strength of three great sects wiped out.

“Wei Wuxian!” he hears Jiang Cheng scream out over the distance.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers fly over the dizi, lungs burning with effort, notes shrill and rising as he pulls and pulls and pulls, dragging resentment away from the yin iron. He feels the pulse of it throughout his entire body, tingling and throbbing from toes to fingers.

You think you are powerful? he asks the yin iron. Here is a thing that would destroy you. Will you let it?

Wei Wuxian waits as long as he possibly can and then bends his knees, pushing up and into the air. He turns in a quick spin, pulling the energy right in around himself, spinning it into motion. He pushes both hands out from his chest. Tucking his knees, he flips backwards, landing with a lunge on the deck of the barge, the hand not clutching Chenqing pressing flat against the wood.

Under his fingers, the last array sings into life, red lines of energy flowing from barge to barge to barge, connecting not one moment too soon. Just as the wave hits, an enormous wall of red light blooms straight up into the sky. The water slams into it.  

The sound it makes is almost deafening, the water seeming to come and come and come without end, battering against the ward. Wei Wuxian lifts Chenqing again, directing the resentment from the yin iron into the array, holding the wall firm as best he can, even as the very air around them seems to shimmer and shudder with the impact. Each recurrent wave is slightly smaller than the last; each impact weaker, like a receding tide or a passing storm.

They continue to batter against each other, the power of the yin iron and the abyss. The abyss screaming and yearning and reaching for the souls ripped away from it, for the souls yet to be taken. Thus separated from what gives it power, the abyss weakens quickly, the endless attack a last, desperate play for survival, burning through what little power it still has thrashing against the blunt attack of the yin iron.

Mine, mine, mine, the yin iron sings, trying to bring the abyss under its control, chipping away at its strength one tiny particle at a time. These souls will be ours.

Not if Wei Wuxian has anything to say about it. Getting to his feet, Wei Wuxian cuts off the supply of energy to the array, the ward thinning and collapsing, water flowing back towards the shore. He doesn’t stop playing, even as the water seeps back in, lifting the barges, Wei Wuxian keeping his knees bent and hips loose as the hull rolls under them.

Destroy it, Wei Wuxian orders the yin iron.

Black resentment pours out of the yin iron pieces, flowing out over the edge of the barge and down to the water, stretching, stretching, stretching.

Don’t let any trace survive. Only then will they be yours.

It’s reaching too far, overextending itself in the total obliteration of the abyss, but Wei Wuxian simply drives it on, refusing to let it stop, driving it forward and forward, draining as much resentment as he can, willing the yin iron too blind by rage to see it, too greedy.

At his side, he can feel the amulet strain under it as well. This is going to be close. Three great evils all fighting at once.

Wei Wuxian turns their rage and madness and need to own and control against their very own sense of self-preservation. Only one of you can survive.

A few remaining ghouls held in the thrall of the abyss rise and fight, but it is too little too late, Wei Wuxian turning the ghosts trapped in the yin iron against them, letting them tear each other apart.

It’s time.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t dare pause long enough in his playing to even say Lan Zhan’s name, but he’s there already, had never left in the first place. Lan Zhan’s music swells to life, calling the ghouls and ghosts to rest as they expend themselves, as the resentment starts to lose its hold. The abyss thrashes and weakens, and just as the coalescence of such a consciousness is made, it is pulled apart, like a slipped thread in a bolt of silk, a weft pulled free and leaving nothing behind but a tangle of threads.

Lan Zhan’s music is the signal the Lan disciples on the other barges are waiting for. Across the water, the combined power of the Lan clan playing Rest reaches out for the yin iron, echoing across the water.

The reaction of the yin iron this time is immediate. Still stretched out over the lake, it pulls back in a rush, turning on them.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t been quite sure what to expect. He didn’t know if the yin iron pieces somehow learn from each other, if something connects them enough to communicate what happened to the first piece. If maybe by extension they are weaker with the liberation of the first piece. Or, maybe, if part of these pieces yearn for what the other has already achieved.

Maybe what it learned instead, is the exact spot to fight back.