Halls of Regret

Consciousness returns to him in small fits and starts, tickling his brain and then slipping away when he tries to grasp it. He tries anyway because there’s something he should know, something that needs to be taken care of but he doesn’t know what.

He feels a hard, cold surface under his cheek and stale air that tickles his throat. His head throbs. 

He pushes himself to sit up and barely has time to hiss in pain when darkness surges and swallows him back under.

***

The next time he wakes, he blinks his bleary eyes against the bleak dimness of the room. He’s on the floor and it’s so cold it burns his skin, the chill leaking from the stone floor and through his thin robe. The air is dry and feels raw in his throat, leaving behind an acrid taste of sulfur and ash.

Where the hell is he?

Careful, minding the pulsing pain in his temples, he turns his head and tries to take up the room: grey floor, grey walls, grey ceiling—none of it yields any information about where he is or how he got here. 

He licks his cracked lips, shuddering at the taste of chalky residue.

His arms tremble when he gingerly pushes himself to sit up. The grey room spins around him and he closes his eyes for a moment to stave off the nausea—it doesn’t really help with the dizziness, though—and feels unreasonably proud when he doesn’t throw up.

But—why would he feel like that?

The pain he distantly remembers from the previous day (hour? Moment? Life?) ebbs and flows, throbs through him in bright flashes of agony but he breathes through it, straightens his spine, lets his hands fall on his knees. It feels natural, to breathe like that. Almost as if he’s done it thousands of times already. (Has he? Why?)

A small scraping sound on his left makes his eyes fly open and he zeroes in on the sound, concentrates on it with his—

With his—

His—

His breath catches and he grabs the thin robe, claws at the frayed fabric on his front with his hands.

This is wrong! This—he shouldn’t feel like this! Not anymore!

(…anymore? Why?)

He tries to reach, both in and out and it doesn’t work why doesn’t it work what doesn’t work what is he trying to do he doesn’t know he doesn’t understand he—

***

He wakes up on a hard, cold floor, so cold it burns his skin. His mouth is dry and his head throbs in sync with his heart.

He has no idea how he got here.

What did he do? What brought him to this place?

Why does he feel like a part of him has been carved out?

Panic licks its way up his spine, cold tendrils wrapping around him like a vice and it makes him flinch because he doesn’t want to—not again—not this—

Where is he why is he alone why does he feel so empty—

A sound from the other side of the room cuts his spiraling thoughts short and he scoots back, curls into himself as the door opens. (Was there a door previously? He doesn’t know.) It reveals a shape, someone cloaked in dark robes that make them stand out against a dim background. They move without moving, in the doorway first and then right in front of him next, their robe barely disturbing the dust on the floor.

They make an amused sound. ”Good. You’re awake,” they say in a hoarse voice that is neither male nor female, not old or young. 

”Wh—” he tries to say but his throat is as dry as his mouth and his question stutters to a halt in a barrier of ash and bitterness.

”Where are you?” Cloak says. ”Why? Does it matter?” They crouch as if peering into his eyes although he doesn’t know why he thinks that. Their cloak has a deep hood that covers their face, leaving visible only the vague shape of a smirking mouth.

”This is…hm. Justice? Fate? What you deserve?” A chuckle. ”It doesn’t matter. This is where you belong, Yiling Laozu.”

The name slices through his brain like a whip and makes him hiss.

”Welcome,” Cloak purrs, ”to Halls of Regret.”

The meeting was dragging. Lan Wangji had an intense desire to either pinch the base of his nose, rub his temples, or just plain scream. He took a deliberate breath instead.

”Is there still something you would like to be added to the preliminary document, Sect Leader Jiang?” he asked in his blandest voice, trying to keep the vivid daydream of strangling Jiang Wanyin with his sash as a daydream and not reality.

Jiang Wanyin tilted his head and looked at the papers on the table with barely held-back contempt. ”I see you completely failed to mention the Qiantang River junction,” he sneered.

”It is included in the mention of the Ezhou area,” Lan Wangji gritted through his teeth.

”I would like to see it written out.”

”I will see to it,” Lan Wangji said. ”Now, if—”

The door into his study slammed open with such force it rattled in its hinges, making both him and Jiang Wanyin startle and reach for their swords, relaxing only a little when a group of juniors barged in. Lan Wangji opened his mouth to reprimand them for their unbecoming behavior but hesitated when he saw the fear in their eyes.

”Excellency!” the foremost junior—Lan Xin if Lan Wangji’s memory served him right—cried out, holding a smudged piece of paper. ”Excellency! You need to—the note—!”

”I wasn’t aware juniors are free to barge in as they please nowadays,” Jiang Wanyin said dryly, side-eyeing the flushed, terrified juniors with sharp eyes.

Lan Wangji ignored him. ”What is it?” he asked the junior instead, holding out his hand for the slip of paper. It was thin, ripped from the corner, ink partially leaked through the thinnest place.

The junior looked like he was about to burst into tears as he shoved the paper into Lan Wangji’s hand. ”This disciple apologizes for reading the note! We found it lying open on the path leading to the gates! It—” he choked up, slapping hands over his mouth.

Lan Wangji nodded, took the note, and froze.

”What is it?” Jiang Wanyin snapped, immediately zeroing in on the terror Lan Wangji was trying and clearly failing to hide.

”Is this real?” Lan Wangji asked, still staring at the note. Despite his wish, the words didn’t change.

Another junior answered. ”We tested it against resentful energy, curses, and other tampering,” she said quietly. ”We also investigated the woods but found nothing, no leads, no trace of resentful energy, no stealth talismans. And—” she paused and added in a near-whisper, ”—this was delivered with it.”

Something red appeared in his field of vision. Lan Wangji raised his head, dreading what he was about to see but unable to keep his eyes from straying to the familiar, beloved red.

A hair ribbon.

A red hair ribbon.

Something clawed at his throat and he forced it down, pushed it ruthlessly away. Not here, not now, he would not break—

”What the fuck is it!” Jiang Wanyin snarled, jumping up and stomping next to Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji, unable to answer, merely held out the letter for him to read.

Jiang Wanyin hissed and then swore so viciously that the juniors flinched. 

”We’re sorry—” one of them started but Lan Wangji stopped them with a raised hand.

”This is not your fault,” Lan Wangji whispered, still staring at the note.

The words stayed the same. They were the same which meant this was true and—

A hand gripped his shoulder, painfully enough to leave bruises. The pain jerked him from his desperation and he closed his eyes, took a long, deliberate breath, held it for a moment, and then slowly let it out.

The words on the paper, smudged and haphazardly scrawled in cheap ink, said:

’Wei Wuxian will pay for the things he’s done. He will know regret before he dies. Don’t bother trying to find him because he is already lost to you.’

Someone had Wei Ying.

Someone. Had. Taken. Wei. Ying.

Lan Wangji was going to settle for no less than tearing down the pillars of the earth to find him and bring him home.

”Good morning, Yiling Laozu,” Cloak says. ”Or is it?”

”Is it what?” he asks slowly.

”Morning. Or good, for that matter.”

He glances around, takes in the dim grey light that looks exactly the same as yesterday—or…was it yesterday? Is he living the same day but only later?

”It is good—at least if you ask me,” Cloak continues.

”Why?”

”Well, because you’re here!” There’s a smile in that voice, something that sounds like genuine happiness leaking from under the shade of the hood.

He—Laozu? Is that his name?—can’t hold back a sardonic snort. ”Happy to be of service,” he says dryly.

”I’m so glad to hear that,” Cloak says. ”I’ve been planning this for quite some time, you know? All of this—” they spread their arms wide as if to encompass the dreary room, ”—was designed specifically for you.”

”It seems a bit drab.”

Cloak hums. ”Well, you shouldn’t judge a manor by the entrance only,” they say condescendingly. ”This is just the antechamber, a resting stop so to speak.”

Laozu feels like he’s been led to a trap but he asks anyway. ”A resting stop from what?”

Cloak claps their hands together, making the fabric flutter. ”I’m so happy you asked! Now, look here!” They step a bit to the side and swipe dramatically with their hand. ”In here, you can see two doors. The doors themselves aren’t anything much, it’s where they lead!”

An expectant pause.

Laozu sighs and obediently asks, ”Where do they lead?”

Cloak leans forward, giving out an air of giddy expectation. ”Exactly where you deserve!” 

His lack of reaction seems to irritate them as they huff and straighten up. ”I truly expected you to be more into this. Now that I think of it, I’m not sure why,” they mutter. ”So much for a genius of an unparalleled skill.”

Feeling his headache swelling behind his eyes again, Laozu rubs a hand over his face and leans his head against the wall. ”That’s not very much to go on with, you know? Just saying ’exactly where I deserve.’ It tells nothing of the door’s function, whether or not we’re dealing with a curse or a talisman, let alone what I’m supposed to do.” He shakes his head. ”Or why.”

”Why?” Cloak snaps. ”Why?” he repeats in a hiss. ”Because that’s what you deserve!”

”Yes, but what does that even mean?”

Cloak scoffs. ”You’ll see soon enough.”

Laozu opens his mouth and then snaps it closed as Cloak raises a hand. ”You only need to choose a door—either door—and walk through.”

He tilts his head to look at the doors, then looks back at Cloak. ”What if I don’t want to?”

Something about Cloak’s demeanor tells him they are smiling. ”Then I will choose for you.” They snap their fingers and suddenly Laozu’s hands push him to stand up and take a couple of wobbling steps. He yelps—or tries to but his jaw is gritted and no sound comes through.

(He’s been muted. It’s annoying and amusing and fondly exasperating and it makes no sense.)

”You see, I don’t need your cooperation,” Cloak says patiently. ”But it’ll be more fun if you make the choice yourself!” 

They release him and he flops on the floor like a bundle of wet laundry.

”And now,” Cloak says. ”Get up and choose a door.”

He fights back a hiss of frustration and struggles to his knees and then to stand up, and slowly limps across the room.

The doors are completely unremarkable: there’s a brown wooden door with a pale blue silk see-through drape covering the windows, and a door made from thin, almost white planks and no fabric. For some reason, the latter feels cold.

He chooses the brown one.

The temple was beautiful, he had to give Sect Leader that. Despite its humble origins and understated appearance, Sect Leader had managed to make the temple’s interior a sight to behold. Soft fabrics lined the walls along with candelabras and lanterns, and the statue of Guanyin was an awe-inspiring sight in the middle of the room, almost glowing in the beam of sunlight artfully arranged to fall on her face and chest. Almost a pity the building would need to be razed to the ground later as per Sect Leader’s orders. Despite its original purpose, it would be too dangerous to be left standing when they were done. 

From the corner of his eye, he spied a black shape move and he turned to look at the pair leaning on one of the pillars and his lip curled. Hanguang-jun and Yiling Laozu, side by side, black and white. A short distance away from them, the useless excuse of a sect leader, the Head-Shaker, lay in an unconscious heap like the joke he was. Near him, hugging his sword on his chest, sat the future sect leader Jin, a proud and arrogant boy who carried all his male relatives’ bad personality traits and none of the commendable ones. Too brash, too loud, too proud—that boy would be in trouble with his sect’s Elders sooner rather than later—he’d spent way too much time in Yunmeng and it showed.

Su Minshan straightened his robe, holding back a wince when the silk of his underrobe dragged over the rebound curse eating away at his chest. It was a painful, annoying nuisance but also a welcome reminder of his proud sacrifice—he was more than happy to help Sect Leader in any way he could. For everything he’d done for Minshan, for all the faith he’d ever had in him, it was the least he could do.

No one had ever treated him like Sect Leader and for that, a minor physical discomfort was a small price to pay. 

Back when he was an outer disciple in Gusu, no one bothered to recognize him as one of the prodigies of his generation. It didn’t matter whether he excelled in his studies or that he knew the rules inside out, all the elders cared about was the Twin Jades. It was a bitter drought to drink and a choking disappointment he felt toward the sect he’d dedicated years of his life. And for what? To be tossed aside like something not worth their time, to be denied safety when the Wen dogs came, expected to die like a lowly servant for a cruel master who never treated him fairly.

Everyone knew he should’ve been rewarded with the forehead ribbon! Not only would it have saved his life, he’d earned it with his ceaseless hard work. But no, the Elders ignored him and his contributions, never giving what he was duly owed. Instead, he was mocked and ridiculed and chased out, leaving behind disciples far less accomplished than him who then were lauded and congratulated. 

What a joke!

Or perhaps the key was the mindless adoration of Hanguang-jun. It seemed like half of the sect worshiped the ground he walked on, as if he was a peerless immortal beyond mistakes and wrongdoings. If only the Elders who sneered at him could see and know what Minshan now knew! If only they had witnessed the despicable and depraved things their shining Hanguang-jun had said and done! If only they were willing to listen—but no.

Hanguang-jun… he seethed in his mind. The Lan sect rules forbade needless pride, haughtiness, and believing yourself better than others, and yet no one was doing anything about Hanguang-jun who flaunted his so-called unparalleled skills with no regard for others. Minshan had requested several audiences with both Lan Qiren and the Lan Elders to point out Hanguang-jun’s transgressions but he never got his voice heard. What a bunch of hypocrites, the whole of Gusu Lan! 

And now he was here, sitting beside the accursed Yiling Laozu, still in his pristine whites and looking like other people weren’t fit to even be in his presence.

Minshan wanted to yell that he had fought Hanguang-jun several times to a draw, even pushed him on the defensive on a couple of occasions, and still had enough spiritual energy to power up a transportation talisman afterward! Not to mention his skills with musical cultivation—he’d been able to distract Yiling Laozu and wrench control from him not once but twice! Shouldn’t that count for something?

And yet, there he sat, thinking he was better than everyone else, thinking Minshan was a nobody not worth his time, thinking Minshan was nothing.

Minshan took a deep breath and forced his rage under control again. No matter what Hanguang-jun thought, right now he was just as powerless as his brother was, both Twin Jades brought to the ground like mundane people while a common man with the humblest of backgrounds had risen to his rightful place in their stead.

Meeting Sect Leader had been a stroke of luck. Back then, he’d just been Jin Guangshan’s son, rising rapidly through the ranks to the position he rightfully was due but despite his own difficulties, he’d still had time to be the rock in Minshan’s life, lending a shoulder to lean on and offering gentle encouragement when needed. Minshan snuck a glance at Sect Leader, allowing himself a moment to drink him in. He didn’t have any romantic aspirations—he wasn’t a cutsleeve!—his devotion was purely for the man he’d learned to trust like a wise older brother or even, if he was feeling bold, as his zhiji. The scars Minshan carried on his chest weren’t anything like the scars Hanguang-jun bore (although he’d been beyond giddy to learn the great and infallible Hanguang-jun had been both whipped for his insolence and self-mutilated himself in his perverted love for a man who was way better off dead) but the parallels were there with or without Minshan’s permission.

His silent contemplation was broken when Yiling Laozu started taunting him and Minshan in his foolishness allowed himself to be drawn into an argument. He should’ve known by now that it wouldn’t end well—the man was notoriously glib and disrespectful, trying to goad everyone to participate in the same mind games as he. Also, losing his temper now that Sect Leader needed him was unbecoming but Minshan just couldn’t help it. If Yiling Laozu wanted death, Minshan would give him death.

He drew his sword, ready to advance when a commotion from outside stopped him. Frowning, he turned to face the doors and hurried towards it—

—The next thing he knew, he was flying through the air as a purple whip burst through the doors, smashing the wood to splinters. He landed hard, holding his chest and coughing up blood as Sect Leader Jiang stomped in. 

Wait—what was he doing here? 

Although it probably shouldn’t come as a surprise, considering how co-dependent Sandu Shengshou and Yiling Laozu had been since young age. Sect Leader’s nephew cried out in joy—as if Sandu Shengshou’s appearance would make any difference to Sect Leader and Minghsan’s plans—and then cried out again as his stupid dog came charging in.

Minshan wasn’t a coward. He was many things and he wasn’t ashamed to admit he’d made some questionable choices in his youth but cowardice had never been one of them. But he could admit that facing the fury of a spiritual dog obeying its master in distress was a fearsome sight. Minshan made the tactical decision to run to draw the dog away from the temple—he’d rather not kill it right in front of Sect Leader. He’d gifted the dog to the brat and was, sadly, fond of the animal.

He had every intention to kill the wretched thing as soon as possible but the cursed dog was truly the brat’s pet, too spineless to face him in a fight but snapping at him from here and there and the shadows instead. He chased it as far as he dared and then returned to the temple, annoyed and sweaty. 

”Did you kill it?” Sect Leader asked.

Minshan bowed his head. ”No, Sect Leader, I did not. This dog…it’s spineless! When it has help, it’s ferocious like a wild beast but when it’s alone, it runs like a coward.” He huffed in frustration and opened his mouth and only then realized who was sitting in an undignified heap behind Sect Leader.

Ha. Not so high and mighty anymore, that Sect Leader Jiang. He was pale and sweaty and shaking, trying desperately to grapple with something that looked a lot like qi-deviation. He had several bloody gashes on his chest, a true sign of how he had been bested.

Served him right, Minshan thought vindictively.

An excited shout from the back of the temple cut his thoughts short and, without a word, he hurried after Sect Leader, leaving Sect Leader Jiang to nurse his well-earned injury. The monks were in good process of digging up the coffin hidden in the ground and Minshan felt Sect Leader’s excitement as his own—right up until a foul stench burst from the digging site and they recoiled as a green miasma spread and inflicted the monks with a curse that ate away their skin and bones. Minshan tried to yank Sect Leader out of the danger but he was too slow and the curse attacked Sect Leader, latching on his hand like poison. It made him stagger away from the coffin and back to where their pitiful captives sat waiting.

”Sect Leader! Sect Leader, are you alright?” 

Even in his agony, Sect Leader’s voice was gentle. ”I’m fine, Minshan,” he said through the pain. ”You saved me there. Thank you.” He reached into his belt and dug out a small bottle of qi-replenishing pills and Minshan helped him swallow a couple. 

Zewu-jun uttered some inane words of mock concern but Minshan ignored him as Sect Leader choked, holding out his reddened and swelling hand, ”Minshan…quickly…wrap something tightly around the wrist to slow the poison…” 

He’d barely tightened the bandage when Sect Leader hurried back to the coffin. All the monks lay dead, their skin blistered and boiled in horrible ways, and the terrible smell lingered in the air. 

Minshan gritted his teeth and pushed away the lid, revealing the body of the late Chifeng-zun. 

He—

Minshan didn’t understand. 

This…he was quite sure this wasn’t the body they were supposed to dig up? When Sect Leader faltered, pale as a ghost and trembling like a leaf, Minshan realized the body had been a shock to him as well. 

And then both Zewu-jun and Yiling Laozu started mocking Sect Leader as if they didn’t see the turmoil he was in! Minshan whirled around, ready to confront the despicable demon with his sword on his throat and make him reveal his wicked tricks—

Yiling Laozu gave him a condescending look. ”Look. I don’t mean to be humble but if I did pull some tricks, your Sect Leader would’ve lost more than just one arm.” And then he turned his attention fully to Sect Leader with a lazy ease.

”But isn’t it curious indeed how all of this is coming to light now?” he continued mockingly. ”It’s almost like it was planned, don’t you think?” He pursed his lips and raised a brow, sneering at Sect Leader. ”Has it occurred to you that while you might be the mantis who got the cicada, there’s an oriole stalking you from the shadows?” He leaned forward as his eyes shined red. ”Perhaps that oriole isn’t even human!” he hissed and then cackled.

Next to him, Hanguang-jun looked as cold and disdainful as ever. It made Minshan’s blood boil and he yearned to silence them both for good but then Sect Leader called for him and ordered him to tie them up and be ready to depart as soon as he was done purging the poison from his body. Sect Leader was even caring enough to give medicine to Minshan to treat his injuries, and as he turned, his robes stretched open just enough for the scars in his chest to show. 

A chorus of sharp gasps made him look up and it took him embarrassingly long to realize just what they were staring at.

”You!” Yiling Laozu gasped as if he had any right to outrage. ”It was you all along!”

Next to the other pillar, the useless Head-Shaker looked from him to Yiling Laozu with his mouth hanging open, a stupefied look on his face. 

His stupid, careless action had now put Sect Leader in an even more compromised position as Zewu-jun started to question him, and then Sandu Shengshou attacked him with vitriol and lies, calling him names. And Minshan…just couldn’t take it anymore.

”You people,” he sneered. ”You call yourself righteous and noble individuals—but that’s all because you reincarnated into a good family! What makes you qualified to look down on others?”

Yiling Laozu rolled his eyes and threw a look at Hanguang-jun.

”Aren’t outsider branch disciples like me not human as well?” Minshan demanded. ”If I had the ability to protect myself, why shouldn’t I do that? And then, should I be treated like falling leaves that need to be swept by your Lan clan and get kicked out just like that?”

Hanguang-jun didn’t even bother meeting his eyes. ”You would,” he said, sounding bored. ”Gusu Lan will not keep traitors.”

”Hanguang-jun,” Minshan spat. ”Oh, that high-and-mighty attitude of yours...I can’t stand it! A small mistake and you won’t ever forgive me—as if I was a lower being from birth.” He fell silent and breathed for a moment before turning and gazing at Sect Leader. ”Other than Sect Leader, which one of you has shown me any respect at all?” He turned back to stare them down. ”Let me tell you: anyone as arrogant as Jin Zixun? I’m not waiting for respect, I’ll kill them as they come. I’ll kill every single one of them!”

His heart was beating wildly at his proclamation as he loomed over the sitting pair of despicable individuals, ready to leave it at that when suddenly—

Yiling Laozu started to laugh.

”What are you laughing about?” Minshan demanded.

Yiling Laozu shook his head. ”Nothing,” he chuckled, closing his eyes. ”I just never thought that…all those people, everyone you’ve harmed? All because of…this? Petty jealousy and inferiority complex?” He went on, trying to paint himself as the victim, only for Sect Leader to set him straight. 

”You are the one with a short life!” Sandu Shengshou raged, trying to draw Sect Leader’s attention from Yiling Laozu, and not even a bit cowed when Minshan pulled a sword on his throat. These people…they really didn’t know when to stop, did they?

Sect Leader Jiang sneered. ”You son of a prostitute—you bear no shame as long as you can climb up the ladder!”

To Minshan’s bewilderment, Sect Leader pushed him roughly aside as he stalked toward Sandu Shengshou. ”Oh, Sect Leader Jiang…you’re only upset because you found out the truth about your core!” he said with a sigh. ”If pushing all the blame on me makes you feel better, by all means, feel free to do so. Just…remember that a very big part of what happened to your brother was because of you.” 

The way Sect Leader explained the post-Sunshot Campaign politics to Sandu Shengshou made Minshan’s heart swell with pride. Sect Leader was so well-spoken, so patient in his explanation that even a hothead like Sect Leader Jiang was bound to understand what had happened and why. To think, he scoffed to himself, that it was possible to be a sect leader with such a weak grasp of how people worked.

”If your attitude was just a bit better,” Sect Leader said, kneeling in front of Sandu Shengshou. ”If you weren’t that bitter, if you just bothered to show support, if you showed that your bond was unbreakable…” he shook his head. ”Things wouldn’t have become what they were, hm?”

Even then, even at that moment, Yiling Laozu couldn’t let Sect Leader be. He mocked and needled him, and even tried to scare him by telling him that Chifeng-zun would come back to haunt him.

And then—a whistle. 

The resentful energy surged, dancing with ghosts of women as Yiling Laozu made them attack Sect Leader. Minshan ached to act but he was hesitant to do anything to avoid a backslash—resentful energy was volatile, even when the wielder was the grandmaster of the path.  

”Yiling Laozu is truly Yiling Laozu,” Sect Leader sneered at the smirking man after banishing the ghosts Yiling Laozu had conjured up. ”Not even needing Chenqing to control resentful energy.”

And then the unthinkable happened: in a move Minshan was too slow to block, Zewu-jun drew his sword and pressed the blade on Sect Leader’s throat. Minshan acted on instinct and drew his sword to attack Yiling Laozu to make him stop but in a flash, there was a flutter of white robes and then the sound of something clattering to the floor, and then unbearable agony hit him as his sword fell from his nerveless hand, clattering onto the ground, broken in two. 

Cursed! 

Cursed Hanguang-jun had regained his spiritual powers even faster than Zewu-jun, and now he’d severed the tendons on Minshan’s sword hand, rendering him a cripple. Eyes burning with hate, he watched Hanguang-jun haughtily cut the ropes Minshan had only moments ago tied, and gripped his wrist as it bled sluggishly, dripping red blood on the shards of his sword.

What followed was despicable.

Minshan’s heart ached at the humiliation Sect Leader was forced to go through. Kneeling in front of the high-and-mighty Zewu-jun, begging him to see reason, crying without a care for his appearance as if it would make even a bit of difference. Under Zewu-jun’s relentless pressure, Sect Leader was forced to confess, to expose everything he’d done to ensure his own safety and the safety of the whole Jin sect, how he’d acted out of desperation as he took his nephew hostage. (Minshan knew Sect Leader would never really hurt young Jin Ling but apparently, the others were ready to believe anything they wanted.)

Minshan tried to help out but Zewu-jun stopped him before he could make it to Sect Leader, with Yiling Laozu going as far as trying to threaten Sect Leader with Minshan’s safety as if he wasn’t willing to sacrifice himself to ensure Sect Leader’s safety. But even that was for naught as suddenly the cursed Ghost General was there, hanging on to Chifeng-zun’s saber, charging straight to Sect Leader and—

—And then Sect Leader was screaming and his left arm—the poisoned one—was cut off! Minshan gaped, horrified, as Hanguang-jun calmly sheathed his sword. He’d truly shown his true nature, maiming a man already humiliated and kicked down. How despicable! And now everyone just watched smugly as Sect Leader was going into shock.

”Help him! He needs help!” Minshan screamed, hurrying to him, holding him and supporting Sect Leader’s fall as he keeled over.

Twin Jades—the so-called gentry, the righteous cultivators of Great Sects—ignored his pleading and turned their backs as they started to play. They merely observed how the possessed Ghost General advanced on them as Minshan tried to drag himself and Sect Leader into safety. And suddenly, Yiling Laozu’s ghost flute was there and he was playing it, commanding Baxia with an ease Minshan could only dream of as he backed toward the coffin, dragging Ghost General and the saber spirit with him.

Minshan dragged his focus back to Sect Leader shivering in his arms. 

”Please, try to breathe, Sect Leader,” he murmured, trying to do what little he could to help him. There was so much blood and Sect Leader was so pale it made Minshan’s heart clench. This couldn’t be the end, couldn’t! Sect Leader was so young and so talented, he had so much ahead of him still!

Behind him, the useless Nie Leader shuffled around, whimpering and whining about something completely irrelevant, and Minshan swirled around to berate him, somehow ending with—no—how was he holding his broken sword and Sect Leader Nie screaming holding his thigh, screaming, screaming, screaming…there was so much screaming and confusion and Minshan didn’t—what had happened? He was sure he hadn’t picked up his sword but he couldn’t be sure, and what if Sect Leader Nie had done it to himself—he must have, it wasn’t Minshan!—

—Baxia hurtled across the temple like a demon and Minshan barely had time to look up before the full force of Chifeng-zun’s resentment slammed into him. He flew back and slammed on his face to the ground, chest cleaved in two. 

The pain was unbearable.

Even more terrible was the burning cold that radiated from the saber.

”Sect Leader…” he croaked, not even sure what he was begging for.

The last thing he saw was Sect Leader’s remaining hand reaching out to him.

His last thought was, ”Sect Leader, I never had the chance to tell yo—”

Lan Wangji was seething. Quietly, in the privacy of his own mind, but seething anyway.

”I’m not sure if this is anything to worry about,” Uncle said with a pinched look. ”Even if this letter was genuine—”

”Are you sure you want to finish that sentence?” Jiang Wanyin said in a low voice. 

Uncle’s eyes turned stormy. ”Wei Wuxian is—”

”Still a member of my sect,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted. ”I wouldn’t tell you to abandon a member of your sect, Teacher Lan. I would like the same courtesy extended to the Jiang sect.”

Uncle looked like he wanted to roll his eyes but refrained. ”Wangji—” he started, then sighed. ”There’s no talking you out of this, is there?”

Lan Wangji didn’t bother with a reply, choosing to read the note again. It yielded no additional information.

Uncle sighed. ”Very well. I will talk to Xichen.” He opened his mouth once more and then closed it again, shook his head, and left.

Jiang Wanyin paced the room like a caged tiger. Lan Wangji wanted to tell him to stop but he also wanted to yell him to get lost, tear something to pieces, and cry. He chose to do none of those things, taking a deep breath instead.

”Do you have any clue of where he is?” Jiang Wanyin asked.

”The last time he wrote, he said he was in Pingzhou, heading west.” That had been three weeks ago—not an uncommonly long time but in the light of the note, anything could’ve happened during that time. Wei Ying could be anywhere.

”Nothing more specific?” Jiang Wanyin snapped. ”I thought you’d—”

When he didn’t continue, Lan Wangji gave him an icy look. ”You thought I would…what?”

Jiang Wanyin rolled his eyes. ”I thought you’d know where he is at all times.”

Lan Wangji kept himself from flinching by sheer force of his will. ”I am not his keeper,” he said in a carefully even tone. ”Wei Ying is free to roam and go where he will.”

”That’s not— for fuck’s sake.” Jiang Wanyin rubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly tired beyond his years. ”Considering how you both are, I expected more.” He let out a huff. ”Not sure why.”

”And how are we both, if I may ask?”

Jiang Wanyin gave him a look that was part incredulous, part frustrated. ”Disgustingly in love with each other!” he exclaimed. ”I can’t believe you let each other from your sights.”

Something painful thumped inside his chest and something about it must’ve somehow shown on his face because Jiang Wanyin paused and said, ”Wait. No fucking way.”

Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes.

”No fucking way you both— How is this even possible? How can you BOTH be so stupid and blind? I mean, he’s always been an idiot but you!”

”If you have nothing else to say but insults, I suggest you leave,” Lan Wangji said through his teeth.

But Jiang Wanyin merely shook his head in wonder. ”How can you not see it? He’s been obsessed with you since we were teenagers, and it hasn’t actually gotten any better since he…came back.” His voice faltered momentarily. 

Lan Wangji felt a pang of satisfaction at the evidence that the great Sandu Shengshou wasn’t as unaffected by his shixiong’s death and resurrection as he often wanted others to believe. It didn’t mean that he appreciated the man invading his personal space as he was doing now.

”Wei Wuxian loves you, Lan Wangji,” Jiang Wanyin said slowly, leaning forward. ”He’s in love with you. But he’s also fucking incapable of wrapping his head around the fact that people care about him for who he is, not for what he can do.”

Lan Wangji tilted his head. ”I thought you hated him.”

”Of course I hate him!” Jiang Wanyin exploded. ”He mutilated himself for me without asking me first and then went on like everything was normal! He turned his back on me and left because he didn’t believe I’d help him! He left me alone to cope with the sect and losing a-jie—” He choked up and swirled around, shoulders hunched to cover up his emotional state.

”And yet, you killed him.”

If Lan Wangji was a lesser man—a lesser cultivator—he would’ve reeled back at the sight of Jiang Wanyin’s face twisted with rage. ”I hit the rock,” he hissed. ”I wasn’t the one who let go, Hanguang-jun.”

What?

Jiang Wanyin stabbed a finger at him and even though it didn’t touch him, Lan Wangji felt like it shattered him.

”You let him fall and yet you are the one he talks to, you’re the one he turns to, this fucking place is the place he chose to shelter in instead of coming home!”

”I—didn’t—” There wasn’t enough air in the room. ”I didn’t let go—” he said. ”I didn’t. I tried to—”  He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to force back the nightmare vision that had followed him for over a decade.

”I tried to pull him up,” he whispered. 

”I tried to save him. And I failed.”

He comes to with a bitten-off shout, clawing at his chest. It feels like it’s been crushed, flattened and gored through with a saber brimming with resentful energy. His mind swims with agony and regret and lost opportunities as his body strains toward that one person who ever believed in him—

And then he realizes he’s alone. 

In a dim room with a cold, cold floor that burns his skin through the threadbare robes he’s wearing.

”Fuck,” he whispers.

What the hell was that? 

And who?

Almost absently, he pats his hands on his chest, registering his cuts and bruises and other damages, and then stops short as he realizes his chest is intact with no massive wound.

(There should be a scar on his lower dantian.

There isn’t.

He doesn’t know why this makes him so upset.)

•••

”How did it feel?” Cloak asks from the shadows.

”Why do you ask?”

Cloak lets out a small hum. ”Curiosity, I guess.”

Laozu sits up, hiding a wince when the move pulls his stiff muscles. ”Then why don’t you try out yourself?” he asks. ”Or are you too scared to try?”

Cloak snorts. ”Don’t try to goad me, Yiling Laozu, it won’t work. As I said, these halls—these rooms—were designed for you. Especially for you. Of course I’m interested in your experience!”

”Riveting,” he says dryly. ”Shook me to pieces, so to say.” 

A part of him croons at the thought of poking at Cloak, trying to get a rise out of them, make them react—anything to make them more approachable (more human?), while another part of him feels like this is exactly what he’d usually do. Pester people until they explode.

(Lan Zhan! Look at me!)

”How very hilarious of you,” Cloak sneers. ”And how very like you, setting yourself above everyone else, thinking yourself better than others—”

”Wait, when did I—”

”But I’m sure even the great Yiling Laozu is capable of learning.”

He sighs. ”Honestly. I guarantee you my cooperation would be far more rewarding with some basic information like where I am and why!”

There’s a sound like sleeves being snapped back and then Cloak glides out of the shadowy corner to hover over him. ”But it wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining,” they whisper. ”Most of the fun comes from simply watching you flounder.”

He isn’t sure what to say so he says nothing, merely watches as Cloak leans back and tilts their head. He can feel their gaze on his skin like an oily whisper of a touch and he suppresses a flinch.

He’s not sure what his face does but whatever it is, it makes Cloak huff. ”How disappointing,” they murmur. ”Oh, well. Perhaps the next time will be more entertaining.”

He glances at the doors on the side—one black with a white streak in the middle and one white with black splatters…when did they change colors?—and when he looks back at Cloak, they are gone.

With nothing better to do, Laozu lies down on the floor, closes his eyes, and starts to think.

•••

”Good Morning!” Cloak says, startling him from his thoughts.

”You only just left—” he starts and then snaps his mouth shut. 

Cloak pauses. ”Did I? Are you sure?” Their voice sounds genuinely curious but by now Laozu knows nothing about them is what it seems.

”Yes,” he still says, just to see how Cloak reacts.

”Interesting,” Cloak says. ”Now, have you chosen a door yet?”

He sits slowly up to lean his back against the wall. ”Was I supposed to?”

Cloak sighs like he’s being purposefully obtuse. ”Of course you were,” they say. ”Each morning, you choose a door and walk through. That’s the deal.”

Laozu frowns. ”But…is it really morning? Also, I don’t remember striking a deal like that.”

”What’s your name?” Cloak asks suddenly.

”What?”

Cloak holds their hands in front of them in a position that seems achingly familiar. ”I asked, what’s your name?” Cloak repeats, slower this time. ”See, you don’t remember. If you can’t even remember your own name, how could you remember a deal you made?” They spread their arms to encompass the whole room. ”So I’m remembering for you.”

”How gracious of you,” Laozu says, offering a mocking bow from where he sits.

”I’m benevolent like that,” Cloak says. ”Now! The door, if you please!”

He bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile and pushes to stand up. The ground suddenly seems like very far away and he sways slightly, reaching out to support himself on the wall. ”What’s the difference between them?” he asks, pointing at the doors.

”Does it matter?” Cloak asks, sounding bored.

”Curiosity, I guess,” Laozu says, echoing Cloak’s own words back at them.

They hiss. ”The other leads to a good man who did some terrible things. The other leads to a terrible man who did some good things. Now,” their voice turns into a snarl. ”Pick a door!”

”Fine,” Laozu huffs and stands up, walks to the doors, and crosses his arms on his chest. ”Hmm…” he muses, pursing his lips.

”Oh, please,” Cloak says. ”What’s taking so long?”

Laozu cocks his head. He can’t sense anything (the part of him that senses and commands and reaches out is still sealed and it’s tearing at his mind somewhere deep, deep inside of him) but something about the black door makes him shy away. So he steps to the white door and turns to give Cloak a raised brow.

”Well? What are you waiting for?” Cloak snorts.

Laozu rolls his eyes, turns, takes a deep breath, and opens the door.

Wonder.

Perhaps that’s what had always defined Xingchen’s life. 

Back when he was a child living on the streets of Shangqiu, when the cold and heat and rain beat down on his slight frame, he never lost the sense of wonder. Rain splattered on the small puddles, making droplets of water jump and dance in the air, falling back down, making more drops dance. Hot summer days shimmered on the horizon like a veil, conjuring fantastical shapes and colors that twirled and soared in the distance. Frost grew flowers of delicate shapes and angles in every blade of grass and crept over water like fragile glass.

And people! For as long as Xingchen could remember, he’d been fascinated by people. Their frowns and smiles and gait and the way their voices tilted when they were sad or happy or content. 

There was so much to wonder about and love and embrace that sometimes it felt like Xingchen was too small to fully grasp it all.

(Of course, there were also endless spans of time when hunger gnawed his insides and thirst cracked his lips and parched his throat, when annoyed street vendors kicked him instead of tossing him a stale bun from the previous day’s batch. But even that couldn’t fully squash his enthusiasm to learn and live and love and see.)

When he was nine or so, he met the most fascinating human he’d so far encountered. She was short and compact and moved like the cats Xingchen liked to observe, wading across the market with an effortless ease that made it seem like the other shoppers bent out of her way. She was dressed in white robes embroidered with light grey and blue, and they rippled around her like the wispy clouds Xichen sometimes saw in the sky. She was obviously important because of her bearing and the way she held her head high and because she had a sword in her hand but…it was something else, too.

So, Xingchen wiped his hands on his pants, walked up to her, and said, “Hi!”

And that was that.

•••

Of course, Xingchen’s name wasn’t Xingchen back then but he decided his name before didn’t matter. He had a new name now, a new home (or a home), a new Master to learn from. He’d had friends before–he’d always had friends, even on the streets–but now he had a family. It made something warm bloom in his chest and his skin tingle with pleasure, and his smile was so wide it almost hurt.

“Master Baoshan, why do we live on the mountain?” he asked one day. They were sitting on a boulder and watching as the grass moved in the wind, rippling like a living thing. High above them, a flock of birds flew in lazy circles. Xingchen trailed their route with his eyes, trying to decipher if it had a pattern.

“Mostly because I don’t want to deal with other people,” his master replied curtly. “Nothing good comes from trying to meddle with other people’s lives and choices.” Her tone was dark but when Xingchen looked at her, there was a bottomless well of sadness in her eyes.

“What if I want to leave and explore the world?”

“Of course you can,” she said calmly. “But you won’t be coming back.”

“How so?”

Master Baoshan sighed. “If you stay on my mountain, I can guarantee your safety and let you study and cultivate in peace. If you choose to leave…well. I can’t guarantee anything. The disciples who choose to leave choose to leave me behind for good.”

“Oh.” Xingchen frowned. That sounded very lonely, being always the one left behind. 

“Just to make it absolutely clear: I’m not trying to keep you here. I know you have a curious mind and endless fascination for everything you see and encounter, and keeping you here when you want to see the world would be cruel.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it and tell me the conclusion. And when you leave, don’t leave in the night like a thief sneaking out.”

“Yes, Master!” Xingchen said with a nod.

As time went on, Master Baoshan’s small selection of disciples grew. It wasn’t a big family–just a handful of children–but it was tightly knit. Even despite their differences and the difficulties they’d been through, they trusted each other. Cangse was wild and wilful, full of mischief and pranks. Feiliu-gege was all concentrated, quiet intensity that he directed fully on his sword skills and meditation, his goal–immortality–always shining brightly and guiding his way. Chengling had a sweet smile and laughter like a donkey’s bray, and A-Hui…well. A-Hui was A-Hui. Xingchen wasn’t sure why Master Baoshan had taken A-Hui in but it must’ve been for a good reason.

With time and practice, Xingchen’s skills evolved. He grew fast and agile, his sword dance precise and sharp but it wasn’t until Master Baoshan presented him with a sword that he felt complete. White scabbard adorned with silver flower filigree and a shimmering tassel, a bright blade emanating a cool whisper of justice. He was just as enamored and fascinated by this new extension to his cultivation as he was by everything else. Shuanghua was a bright presence in his mind, guiding his hand and honing his focus until Master Baoshan gave him a smile and a nod.

That was a good day and it made him laugh with joy he’d never felt before.

••• 

When Cangse decided to leave the mountain, Master Baoshan’s mood soured. She tried to hide it, of course, but by then Xingchen had been with her for quite some time and he’d learned to interpret her moods. Oh, she didn’t try to hide her displeasure but it didn’t take long for Xingchen to understand that she wasn’t angry because Cangse left. She was afraid. That itself was mind-boggling–Xingchen had honestly thought few things could phase Master Baoshan and none could make her afraid but as it turned out, her disciple leaving was one such thing. 

“Are you afraid she’s going to die out there?” Xingchen asked two weeks after his shijie’s departure.

“No,” Master Baoshan said curtly.

“Then what? You told me yourself that we’re always free to leave.” He didn’t mean to sound accusing but it came out like that and he winced.

Fortunately, Master Baoshan didn’t seem to notice his rudeness. “It’s not–” she started, then huffed and shook her head. “She’s the second one to leave,” she finally said in a low voice. “The first one…” her hand clenched on her sword. “I hunted him down myself after he turned to the dark path.”

“Oh,” Xingchen said. “I’m sure shijie won’t–”

“Of course she won’t,” Master Baoshan interrupted. “Excuse me.” She turned sharply and walked down the path to their small settlement nestled in the crook of a valley, hidden from sight by powerful talismans. Xingchen watched her until she disappeared from view and then turned to gaze across the wide planes in front of him.

Master Baoshan’s Celestial Mountain wasn’t the tallest mountain in the area. It was rather modest, shying away from curious eyes and leaving the stage for more majestic mountains. It was a quiet, happy place, and Xingchen felt lucky–even blessed–to call it home. However, he couldn’t deny that he understood the reason Cangse left. Their mountain, despite the size, was still just one mountain, and after living there for most of his life…well. Xingchen couldn’t deny that it was starting to feel a bit cooped. Despite his endless curiosity and fascination with nature's wonders, there were only so many blades of grass and so many nesting birds to observe. And, more honestly, there weren’t people to help.

And that was the crux of it.

As much as Xingchen loved his little family, he also yearned to rove the cultivation world and help people. It was his duty as a cultivator. He wanted to travel, move from village to village, from settlement to settlement, and help out where help was needed. It was an aching need burning under his skin, a need to move, a need to act, a need to make a difference. 

“I’m sorry,” he said to Master Baoshan on the eve of his departure. “I want to stay but I want to be out there even more.”

Master Baoshan let out a long breath and closed her eyes. “I know,” she finally said softly. “I’ve known since Cangse left. Just like her, you have a need to go, and just like her, I won’t force you to stay.

He wanted to leave, so he did, and he didn’t look back.

•••

During his travels, he slowly started gathering fame–not that he realized it before it was pointed out to him. People started calling him Daozhang and it made him embarrassed for a good while until he decided to give up protesting and accepted his nickname with a soft laugh. Shuanghua developed a skill to detect and direct him toward resentful energy and corpses to the point that got Xingchen wondering if his blade had developed sentience.

Things changed with Zizhen, although it took him a moment to realize how. They first met soon after Xingchen had left the mountain; on a night hunt where a group of Baixue Temple’s disciples battled against a vicious yao, and after observing a moment, Xingchen joined the fight, lending strength and distraction as the disciples finished the yao off.

“Thank you for the assistance,” a serious young man in black robes said, offering him a respectful bow. “Your swordplay and skills are very good indeed.”

“Thank you!” Xingchen replied with a small laugh. “I usually work alone, so this was a welcome learning experience for me.”

They parted that day but a couple of months later they met again, then again, and again, until they realized that they’d traveled together for weeks and neither had the inclination to change that. Zizhen’s stoic and stable presence grounded something in Xingchen, and their cultivation styles complimented each other. As time went by, the Cultivation world started to call Xingchen “bright moon and gentle breeze” and Zizhen “distant snow and cold frost,” and it was both a source of pride and offered endless amusement on Zizhen’s grumpily reluctant agreement.

•••

If only life had stayed like that.

If only the Fates had let them be.

But then Xue Yang happened and…well. 

•••

There was wonder, later, though. Of course there was because to wonder was Xingchen’s nature.

There was wonder in how he learned to navigate the world without his eyes.

There was wonder in how people’s attitudes and behavior changed simply because they thought that with his eyes, Xingchen had also lost his wits. 

There was wonder realizing that despite his blindness, he still could cultivate, he still could work, he still could help.

(He had hope for one more wonder: to reunite with Zizhen, even for a moment.)

•••

He ran into the little thief by accident. One moment he was walking at a steady pace, going where his sword guided him, and the next he felt deft fingers pluck his money pouch from his sleeve. He hid a smile and tilted his head just so to focus on the light steps and soft tapping of a…cane? Interesting. 

The young lady seemed more offended by the rudeness of the man she’d robbed than actually repenting her actions, and even though Xingchen couldn’t condone her actions, there was something soothing in her bubbly and bright demeanor. She chattered brightly, talking about anything and everything, flitting here and there almost like she was dancing. It was surprisingly adept for a blind girl but Xingchen held his tongue. If she was pretending, she had her reasons, and he wasn’t privy to them just because she’d decided to tag along.

”Big Blind, what do you do for a living?” A-Qing asked on the second day of their shared journey.

”I’m a rogue cultivator—someone who travels around and helps people in need.”

A-Qing let out a doubtful snort. ”And how do you make sure people don’t take advantage of you? How can you be kind to everyone?”

Xingchen smiled and cocked his head. ”And what’s the alternative? Be suspicious of everyone I meet?”

”Absolutely!” A-Qing said, sounding like she thought Xingchen was being purposefully obtuse. It made him laugh and the action stretched his mouth wide and made his eyelids crunch under the bandage. The sensation was strange—almost uncomfortable—and Xingchen allowed himself a moment to remember the lines on Zizhen’s face on those rare moments he smiled.

He’d always been such a serious one, his Song Lan.

”Why are you sad?” A-Qing suddenly asked.

Xingchen frowned, curious. ”What made you think I’m sad?”

”You made a sad noise,” she retorted and then made a poor imitation of a forlorn sigh. 

Xingchen had absolutely not let out any kind of noise but instead of pointing that out, he shrugged. ”I merely thought about a friend I had. We’ve been apart for a long time now but not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.”

”Well, you probably should go see him, then!” A-Qing suggested.

Xingchen wanted to say that it wasn’t so easy. What he’d done to Zizhen without his permission—what he’d said to Xingchen when he found out…those weren’t things easily overcome. Zizhen’s absence was a hollow ache in his chest that went far beyond the discomfort of his missing eyes. Being blind he could handle—it was Zizhen’s anger he was finding more difficult to bear. 

”You’re doing it again,” A-Qing said flatly.

”My apologies, little lady,” Xingchen said and bowed. ”What can this humble one do to alleviate the displeasure so cruelly served upon you?”

A-Qing laughed and that made Xingchen feel lighter, too.

•••

They were on their way to nowhere in particular when A-Qing let out a startled gasp, alerting Xingchen that something was wrong. Shuanghua didn’t react so it wasn’t a fierce corpse or any particular concentration of resentful energy, but he approached her position carefully anyway. Only a couple of steps forward and he could smell blood and hear labored breathing, and that sealed it. He handed Shuanghua to A-Qing and carefully picked up the injured man, determined to carry him where help and shelter were available.

In the end, help was just him and A-Qing, and the shelter turned out to be an abandoned house in an abandoned small town that smelled of dust and old, forgotten things. The house was surprisingly well stocked for things to use as bandages and Xingchen dedicated the better part of the day to clean up and dress the strangers’ wounds. He had deep gashes on his torso, a broken arm, and a fractured shin. It almost seemed like he’d been in a fight but Xingchen decided not to pry. The stranger would tell him later if he so chose.

The stranger woke up some hours after XIngchen had finished treating him, panting harshly. ”Where am I? Who the hell are you?” he growled.

Xingchen held up his hands. ”You are safe, friend. My companion and I found you injured in a ditch and I carried you here. Your wounds have been treated but there were many, and it will take some time for you to fully heal. What comes to where we are, we…” he shrugged. ”Both I and my companion are blind and therefore cannot tell you the name of this place. But it’s safe, that much I can tell you.”

”Friend…” the stranger mused. ”I don’t think I’ve ever been called anyone’s friend. I like it.”

Xingchen laughed softly. ”I can keep calling you friend if you’d like. A-Qing calls me Big Blind but you can call me Xingchen.”

There was a moment of silence and then the stranger said, ”That sounds good. Yeah. Big Blind, Little Blind, and their friend.” There was an odd undercurrent in his voice but if he’d never had friends, it really shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.

”Good,” Xingchen echoed.

After that, life settled. The small house they’d chosen as their home was more than roomy enough for them and it had a nice walled-off yard in front of the house. His friend told them it was a carpenter’s house which explained the amount of linen and planks but he supposed it was also a good thing. The house was old and run-down and in sore need of reparations, and the available planks came in handy. His friend fixed the roof and some bigger cracks in the walls and helped to haggle with the nearby town market vendors who tried to take advantage of Xingchen and A-Qing’s blindness.

The area was also surprisingly good night hunting grounds. Some tragedy had happened during the Sunshot Campaign, leaving the area riddled with fierce corpses. Xingchen was lucky that Shuanghua helped him to identify them before they could harm civilians, and even though it was a thankless job—as most rogue cultivator work was—he felt deeply satisfied for a work well done. Admittedly, they were weak fierce corpses but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be dangerous.

All in all, life was good. 

And if Xingchen’s steps sometimes faltered due to the spasming heartache for Zizhen…well. That was his problem.

•••

It all came crashing down one day when Shuanghua alerted him of a fierce corpse attack. It was closer than most—practically on their front porch—and he rushed, letting his sword lead the way. It was again a weak corpse so it took almost no time at all to dispose of it, but it still made him fret over his friend.

”Aiyah, I’m fine,” his friend said even though he was trembling. ”I was just taken by surprise. Thank you for coming to help me.”

”Of course,” Xingchen said, giving him a reassuring smile. ”I’m glad you are alright.”

And then—

—A-Qing—

—It was Xue Yang—

”Was it fun to deceive me?” Xingchen cried out in anguish. ”I helped you! These people had done nothing to you! Why did you make me kill them?”

”Why?” Xue Yang hissed, vitriol dripping from his mouth. ”Because you ruined my fun. You and him, acting all high and mighty as if I didn’t deserve revenge for what was done to me!”

”Fifty lives for a finger?” Xingchen demanded. ”And the Baixue Temple massacre? Why would you do something that horrible?!”

The man he’d thought a friend hissed. ”And why did you meddle with things that are none of your concern, Xiao Xingchen?” he spat. ”You think yourself so high and mighty and yet, it was your hand—your sword that took the dozens of innocent lives who came to you for help.” He cackled. ”How does that make you feel?”

”Stop—be quiet!” Xingchen cried. ”Stop, stop, stop!” He charged forward, intent on ending Xue Yang’s life for good this time and—

—Shuanghua met a familiar blade.

”No,” Xingchen breathed, horrified as he fell on his knees. ”No…please. No!”

Fuxue held Shuanghua at bay and its familiar presence reverberated down Xingchen’s arm, making him tremble.

Xue Yang started to giggle. ”You killed him yourself,” he sniggered. ”How’s that for justice and righteousness?”

”No,” Xingchen whispered. He felt hot, sticky tears on his cheeks and smelled blood, and there was ringing in his ears and Zizhen was dead and—

Something shattered within him

Feeling numb to his very soul, Xiao Xingchen raised Shuanghua and with one, smooth move, slit his own throat.

He’d killed so many, taken so many innocent lives. 

He’d killed the friend he’d never stopped loving even if he no longer loved him.

His death was meaningless but at least it would stop his foolish life where he’d thought he could make a difference.

In the end, that had to count for something.

It had to.

Right?

”Hanguang-jun!” Sizhui’s voice brimmed with worry as he hurried down the path as fast as the rules would allow. Behind him, Wen Qionglin followed, looking apologetic.

”Sizhui,” Lan Wangji greeted him, not quite managing to control the hitch in his voice.

”We came as soon as I got your note,” Sizhui said. ”Father, what happened to Senior Wei?”

”Someone kidnapped him,” Jiang Wanyin said curtly as he walked in. 

It still rubbed Lan Wangji wrong, having him invade his spaces so freely, but he couldn’t deny the fact that Jiang Wanyin cared. In his own, aggressive, hostile way, he still cared about Wei Ying. And Wei Ying still loved his brother, which was the main reason Lan Wangji tolerated the man.

That and the fact that he might’ve judged him wrong for all these years.

Sizhui startled and swirled around, performing a perfect bow. ”Sect Leader Jiang. Apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

Jiang Wanyin waved his hand, his usual scowl firmly in place. His eyes darted to the side where Wen Qionglin was trying to melt into the shadows and offered a curt nod. 

”Wait—kidnapped?” Sizhui said, eyes going wide. 

Lan Wangji handed him the note and waited patiently as Sizhui read it, then closed his eyes as he directed a small amount of spiritual energy into it, going through the protocol as he was instructed. His inspection yielded nothing, of course. None had, so far.

”Is this all? The only note that has arrived?” Sizhui asked, handing the note back to Lan Wangji.

He nodded. ”It was delivered to us—or left for us to find—three days ago. Nothing has been either seen or delivered since.”

”Was there anything with it?” Sizhui asked. ”A proof that it’s really him?”

”His hair ribbon.”

The look in Sizhui’s eyes was too much and he averted his eyes.

Three days.

Three days since Lan Xin had delivered him the note. Three days since he’d personally investigated the area where the note and ribbon had been found, lying innocently on the path for anyone to find. He’d roved the woods, played Inquiry, tested the foliage against tampering and talismans, and found nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

Just like the disciples who had searched the woods immediately after spotting the note had found nothing.

Just like Jiang Wanyin and Uncle and Brother and—

Sizhui’s hand on his arm jolted him from his spiraling thoughts, bringing him back to the brightly lit office, back to the room where Wei Ying was not.

”May I see t-the ribbon?” Wen Qionglin asked hesitantly. ”If it’s his—t-there should be traces o-of him I can detect.”

”How?” Jiang Wanyin snapped.

Wen Qionglin bowed to him. ”S-sect Leader Jiang, Master Wei and I are b-bound together. Even through t-the control Xue Y-yang had over me, I c-could feel it w-when he came b-back.”

”Can you feel him now, Unc—Ghost General?” Sizhui asked.

Wen Qionglin closed his eyes and grew eerily still, tilting his head slightly as if he were a bird. Then he frowned. ”No.”

Lan Wangji faltered. He couldn’t go through this again—to have Wei Ying back only to lose him again was unthinkable. ’NO!’ he wanted to scream but his throat had locked up against any sound, only the ragged breaths that his body forced him to take.

”But—” Wen Qionglin said with a frown.

”But what?” Lan Wangji blurted. 

”It’s…”

”Here,” Lan Wangji said, taking out the ribbon he’d cradled next to his heart for the past three days and pressed it into Wen Qionglin’s hand. ”Can you feel him through this?”

When Wen Qionglin opened his eyes, they were black. ”He is still there,” he said, his voice sounding like it was coming far away. ”I can’t reach him, nor can I feel him as I’m used to. It’s like there’s a wall—no, a screen between us. Almost like he’s been cut off from everything and everyone.” He blinked several times and his eyes cleared. ”I’m sorry, H-hanguang-jun,” he said and offered the ribbon back with a bow.

Lan Wangji clasped his hand. ”Thank you, Wen Qionglin. This is more than we knew before.”

”Can you feel where he is?” Jiang Wanyin asked. ”Like, the direction?”

Wen Qionglin shook his head. ”Unfortunately not, S-sect Leader Jiang.”

”What about his flute? Can you feel that?”

If he were able, Wen Qionglin would’ve made a face. ”No. Chenqing is d-different from m-me. It’s a piece of the B-burial Mounds Master Wei is c-carrying around while I a-am…” he shrugged. ”I g-guess part of m-my soul is tied to M-Master Wei’s.”

Jiang Wanyin scowled. ”So, what’s next?”

Lan Wangji went to tuck the ribbon back next to his heart and then changed his mind. If Jiang Wanyin was right—if Wei Ying truly returned his feelings—he wanted to wear his ribbon openly. He wasn’t ashamed of his love and would carry its mark (Wei Ying’s claim in him) openly and with pride. So, he carefully wrapped the ribbon around his wrist where his sleeve would hide it when his hands were down but where it would be easily visible for anyone to see when he moved.

It was the same hand, the same place where, in another lifetime, he’d bound Wei Ying and himself together in the eyes of his clan, approved by his ancestor.

When he was done, he raised his head to see Sizhui’s widened eyes, Jiang Wanyin’s narrow-eyed gaze, and the barely-there smile on Wen Qionglin’s face. 

”I think I know where to look next,” he said, a new resolve in his heart. ”I will leave as soon as I have debriefed Uncle and Brother.”

”If you think I’m letting you go anywhere alone, think again,” Jiang Wanyin said flatly.

He shot him a look from the corner of his eye. ”Fine. We will leave as soon as I have debriefed Uncle and Brother.”

”Father—” Sizhui exclaimed, then pinched his lips together, a blush on his face.

”Are you fit to travel?”

Sizhui nodded. ”And I can take Wen Qionglin too!”

Lan Wangji shook his head. ”You flew you both here. I’ll take Wen Qionglin.”

”And I’ll take myself—can we hurry the fuck along?” Jiang Wanyin said.

Lan Wangji ignored him, running a fast calculation of how long it would take them to reach Qinghe. 

Wei Ying was alive and Lan Wangji was going to save him. 

He would not fail him this time.

He coughs and gasps and gulps air like a drowning man, hands flying to his throat. He’s expecting blood but there’s nothing—his throat is as smooth and whole as ever, no sign of a wide cut that drowned out his life’s blood. 

He lets himself flop back and lands on the ground with a thud that drives the air out of his lungs. He isn’t dead, he isn’t lying in darkness on hard-packed sand in front of a house, one hand gripping the sword he used to kill so many, the other reaching out for the man he always thought as the other half of his soul—his zhiji, his confidant.

Laozu brings his hands on his face and rubs the heels of his palms over his eyes, making bright spots dance in his field of vision and a flash of pain bloom as he applies more pressure. 

He might be alive and well—for whatever definition of well—but the heart-wrenching sadness…that stays.

”Fuck,” he whispers. ”Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

He lets out a shuddering breath and, keeping an arm over his eyes to keep himself in the literal dark, thinks back on what he just went through. 

What had Cloak said before he entered the door? ’A good man who did some terrible things or a terrible man who did some good things?’ This man—Xingchen—had to be the previous, unless Cloak’s definition of terrible was drastically different from what Laozu would come up with. 

Was there a lesson to be learned? If there was, what is it? That the intentions don’t matter, only the results? That even good men do terrible things when they don’t know better? That blind men can be deceived? That being too soft-hearted is a weakness?

He tries to comb through his experience and approach it rationally but no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts circle back to the crushing, unbearable, soul-rendering regret and grief Xingchen had felt when he died. Something about it resonates within him in ways he cannot name and it makes him unreasonably angry.

He should know how this feels.

He should be able to name all of this, to call out the feelings and names and everything Xingchen’s story evoked in him.

And he can’t because his words have been locked away, hidden from him.

He growls and tries to reach back for the flashes of happiness he felt—no, Xingchen felt—but it’s all tainted by the feeling of impending doom.

He keeps trying anyway.

•••

”Good morning!” Cloak says cheerfully.

Laozu doesn’t bother answering. He still feels bruised and tender to his very soul and the idea of enduring his captor’s gloating doesn’t feel in the least bit appealing.

”My, aren’t you grumpy today,” they murmur. ”What did you learn during your adventure?”

”As if you didn’t already know,” Laozu mutters.

Cloak hums. ”Why would I ask you if I already knew?” They sigh. ”Remember, these experiences are built specifically for you. Hence, they are special, for you.”

A silence falls. Cloak doesn’t move, doesn’t let out a sound, and after another moment of silence, Laozu lowers his arm to peek at them. They stand partially in the shadows, hands behind their back, hood firmly in place.

”Did you want something?” Laozu asks slowly.

”I already asked, remember?”

”Is that what this is? A learning experience?” Laozu asks and sits up, tilts his head. ”Is this a test—a puzzle I’m required to solve?”

”Your question implies there’s a way out,” Cloak says, sounding amused. ”Which, I assure you, there isn’t.”

”Then what’s the point?” he exclaims, throwing his hands wide. ”Why do I have to choose a door and experience someone’s gruesome death?”

Cloak hisses. ”If you have to ask that, you haven’t learned anything yet!” they spit out. ”It means you haven’t been listening!”

He scoffs and looks away from Cloak. ”It would be easier to listen if there was something worth listening to. Right now, it all sounds like the ravings of a lunatic.”

”Ravings?” Cloak asks in a low, dangerous voice. ”If it’s raving you want, that can be arranged.”

Laozu rolls his eyes. This person, so easy to provoke. All you need is a bit of needling and they start frothing in the mouth. 

(Lan Wangji! Lan er-ge! Er-gege! Lan Zhan! Look at me!)

”Am I boring you?” Cloak asks. ”Then, by all means, pick a door.”

Laozu bites his lip to stave off his burst of annoyance. He would’ve loved to stay for a moment, to rest and perhaps eat something (although he isn’t hungry?) but now his own impatience has pushed him to choose another door.

Another death.

”Pick. A. Door,” Cloak growls.

”Fine!” he snaps and stands up, stretching his back this way and that way, feeling a flash of satisfaction when Cloak lets out an irritated huff. 

The doors are greyish green this time. Sturdy, no-nonsense, perfectly identical. He walks closer and reaches out a hand, almost but not quite touching. There’s nothing, no difference in the feel or temperature or anything. 

For lack of anything better, he shrugs and picks the door on the right. 

Nie Mingjue was many things but he wasn’t a simpleton. Oh, he knew that’s what people liked to think of him; poor too-young Sect Leader Nie, burdened with a too-soft little brother and leading a sect of butchers and brutes, hacking his way through life until the violence of the Nie way caught up with him and drove him to qi-deviation and death.

That wasn’t a rosy view of the future.

But he never had a need for rosy views of the future. He knew what he was and what he wasn’t and that was enough for him.

Nie Mingjue was a creature of simple things but that didn’t make him an idiot. Far from it.

Back in the day, when he’d carried Father’s mutilated body back from the night hunt, Mingjue had known something was wrong. His father’s saber had shattered in a way that shouldn’t have been possible for a Nie saber, and its spirit had had a malicious taint to it that none of their saber masters had so far encountered. To him—and mostly everyone else—it had been glaringly obvious that Wen Ruohan had sabotaged his father’s saber but to what end? Had Wen Ruohan had his megalomaniac tendencies even back then, reaching for immortality and ultimate rule over the whole cultivation world?

But those thoughts would come later. Back then, Mingjue was a gangly teenager scared out of his wits as he watched Father froth in the mouth and strain against his restraints in throes of increasingly violent qi-deviation that not even their best healers could stave off. They tried sealing off his spiritual energy but that only increased the convulsions as the tainted saber spirit’s resentful energy was given free roam throughout his body.

Mingjue sat vigil by Father’s sickbed, clenching his hands into fists to hide their trembling, and wondered how much time he himself had left.

•••

After, when Father had been buried and his shattered saber sealed into the Ancestral Tombs, Mingjue knelt in front of his parents’ memorial tablets and tried to grapple his thoughts under control. He had a sect to lead and a little brother to raise, and apart from Nie Zonghui, he wasn’t sure who to trust. No, that wasn’t quite right—he knew he could count on his sect and the men his Father had led before him but counting on someone was different from trust. To Mingjue, trust meant being vulnerable, and after what happened to Father…

Vulnerability was dangerous so Mingjue decided not to be vulnerable.

His decision came to test when he met Xichen. Emphasis on Xichen, because even though Mingjue and Xichen had met when they were children—they were the heirs of their respective sects after all—they were too different back then, living two very different lives with two very different priorities. This didn’t mean Mingjue didn’t enjoy Xichen’s company, on the contrary. Xichen, even when he was young, was easy to share space with, something about his calm demeanor also calmed Mingjue. But it wasn’t until they met the first time after Mingjue had taken office that he realized just how much Xichen had grown up.

And, perhaps, how much he himself had grown up.

It was in some inane cultivation conference in Lanling. Mingjue despised all cultivation conferences by principle but the place made it somehow even worse. Sect Leader Jin was a lecherous man who preyed on young people either too dazzled by his status or too afraid to say no (or both), his wife was a bitter woman with a pinched look on his face, and his son was too arrogant for the actual skills he had. Lanling cultivation conferences concentrated too much on wine and laughter and not enough on cultivation, and since that was the only thing that interested Mingjue, he was…well. Bored didn’t quite cover it.

”This is rather tedious,” a soft voice murmured next to him. He glanced to his side from the corner of his eye and saw a young man in white robes and a silvery forehead ribbon, a cup in his hand and a polite smile on his face, seemingly listening to Sect Leader Yao pontificating about one thing or the other.

”Lan Xichen?” 

Xichen’s inclined his head slightly. ”Mingjue. It’s been a while. My apologies for not being there for you when your father passed.”

”Ah,” Mingjue said ducking his head. ”It’s—um.” He cleared his throat. ”Thank you,” he said, downing the wine from his cup. A servant hurried to fill it, then turned to Xichen who shook his head slightly, indicating he was in no need of a refill.

”I thought alcohol was prohibited in your sect?” Mingjue asked in a low voice.

”We’re not in Gusu right now,” Xichen said and after a moment, he added, ”And I burn out the alcohol with my core as soon as the wine reaches my stomach.”

”That sounds like a terrible waste,” Mingjue said.

”Mn,” Xichen hummed with a trace of a smile playing on the corner of his mouth.

They stayed quiet for a moment until Sect Leader Yao’s droning became too much to bear. 

”How are things in Gusu?” Mingjue asked.

”Stable,” Xichen said, inclining his head slightly to the side where the Lan section sat. ”Uncle is still taking care of most inter-sect business although he’s been trying to include me more as of late.” The implied, ’…and that’s why I’m here,’ was glaringly obvious. ”Wangji is…well. Wangji is Wangji.” He sighed. ”I hope the upcoming guest lecture will help him to make some friends.”

Mingjue raised a skeptical brow. To call Lan Wangji cold and unapproachable was to put it mildly and he highly doubted he’d gain any acquaintances during the guest lecture, let alone actual friends. ”Your brother is still as studious as ever, I take it?” he said instead.

Xichen smiled, slightly exasperated. ”Wangji takes his studies extremely seriously, yes. It would do him good to realize there is life outside of books.”

”I envy you,” Mingjue said wryly. ”I’d be overjoyed if Huaisang bothered to take a look at a book. The only texts he reads are—” he paused, suddenly conscious of who he was talking to. ”—uh, are of…intimate nature,” he finally finished, utterly mortified.

”Ah,” Xichen said delicately. ”I see.” He paused, then added, ”And how are things in Qinghe? Have you found a solution to the iron issue yet?”

Mingjue saw the change of topic as the save it was and latched on, grateful beyond words, pouring out his frustration over the subpar iron the Qinghe mines had produced lately, and the problems it created to not only their saber production but also everyday common people problems like nails, pans, and horseshoes.

Over time, their tentative talks during meetings expanded to long letters and a deep friendship that meant to Mingjue far more than he was quite able to put into words. Xichen was a gentle presence in his life, unyielding like the sea with hidden depths and the capability of destruction if provoked. During the time when he finally grappled his sect (and his life) into order, Xichen was the light in the dark, a dear friend that kept him sane, and—in the privacy of his mind—also something far, far more precious he didn’t quite dare to admit even to himself.

Xichen made him want to be vulnerable, and for the first time in his life, the thought of being vulnerable didn’t feel frightening.

•••

By the time Huaisang enrolled in the Gusu guest lecture for the third time, Mingjue was almost ready to give up—not that he’d ever say it aloud to his little brother because Huaisang would take that as permission to fuck off to dance with the birds or something. But he packed his flighty, slender, fragile brother to go, reminded him to take his saber, and pretended not to see either the bird cage or the porn A-Sang squirreled away in his luggage. What he didn’t know wouldn’t drive him to qi-deviation, so he closed his eyes and sighed instead.

”Please try not to drive Lan Qiren to insanity this time,” he said as he tightened Huaisang’s collar and ran his fingers over the braids gathered on top of Huaisang’s head. 

”But da-ge—!”

”If you pass the tests, I’ll buy you a bird.”

Huaisang drew back with a gasp, eyes wide and mouth agape. ”Da-ge! Are you sick? Do you have a fever? An impending qi-deviation? I should stay home and observe—”

”Get out, you brat,” Mingjue grumbled as he hoisted Huaisang onto his horse and slapped the mare on the rump to get it moving. He watched as Huaisang rode off, his affronted squeal turning into laughter at something Meng Yao commented.

”What?” he barked at Zonghui’s knowing look.

”Nothing, Sect Leader,” Zonghui said innocently.  

He harrumphed and then stomped off to the training grounds, figuring beating up a couple of training dummies would probably lift his mood.

It wasn’t that he wanted his little brother to be something else than he was but…sometimes he wished Huaisang would take basic cultivation even a bit more seriously. And sometimes he wished Huaisang was born into some other sect than the Nie.

It was a thought he’d beaten himself over for more nights than he was willing to count.

Did it make him a terrible big brother to admit his little brother—the Sect Heir—was nearly useless? It probably did. But then again, it didn’t because he had the future of the Nie to consider: the sad, grim truth of their cultivation style was that he’d probably die young, just like his father and his father before him. Mingjue was an exceptionally strong cultivator and his strength was also what would seal his fate, leaving Huaisang to fend for the sect (and himself). He wanted to shield his didi from the harshness of the world but at the same time, he also needed to make sure Huaisang would survive when Mingjue’s cultivation style would inevitably catch up with him.

He knew he was harsh and demanding. He knew he was gruff and aggressive. He also knew that the thought of Huaisang alone scared the shit out of him.

”How is he holding up?” he asked Meng Yao when he returned from Gusu.

Meng Yao gave him a small smile that barely made his dimples visible. ”By the time I took my leave, our Young Master was busy making friends,” he said.

”More like lazying off,” Mingjue muttered.

Meng Yao made the face that meant he wanted to both laugh and roll his eyes but that only came out as a small quirk of his lips. Then he sobered and said, ”Sect Leader, the Wen sent a group of disciples.”

”The Wen? They’ve never bothered so far.”

”I don’t think they were invited,” Meng Yao said carefully. ”They interrupted the welcoming ceremony and caused an altercation. Swords were drawn but Zewu-jun swiftly and efficiently dissolved the incident.”

Mingjue gave his deputy a sharp look. There was a kind of wonder in Meng Yao’s eyes, the kind Xichen very often roused in other people without even realizing. Mingjue shouldn’t have been surprised but to his dismay, it still took him slightly aback. He wasn’t sure why—despite being his deputy, Meng Yao was his own man and more than free to direct his affections where he wanted. Mingjue shouldn’t feel slighted just because those affections weren’t directed at him. (The fact that he’d been meticulously careful to let anything slip ever since he’d realized he was attracted to his deputy wasn’t an issue. There was a massive power imbalance at play here and considering Meng Yao’s background, it was the one line Mingjue absolutely refused to cross.)

He shook his head to get his mind under control. ”Did you detect any suspicious activity on your way back?” 

”No,” Meng Yao said. ”But I have a feeling this isn’t a random move. They’re preparing for something.”

•••

In general, Mingjue wasn’t one for regret. It was an exercise in futility, a waste of time and mental energy. What was done was done and there was no way to change it. Reminiscing and regret would only serve in gathering resentfulness and help one stew in bitterness, so he’d rather not.

But later, much later—when it was practically too late—he’d sometimes wonder if he could’ve changed things if he’d only reacted differently.

If they’d been more assertive about the Yin Iron when the pieces started to resurface, would it have made a difference?

If he’d chosen to listen to Meng Yao and trusted him instead of driving him away, would he have stayed by Mingjue’s side?

If Xichen had trusted him with the identity of his informant, would their sworn brotherhood have been a true brotherhood instead of a twisted thing poisoned by bitterness and suspicion?

If Mingjue hadn’t been so consumed by righteous anger, would A-Yao have turned into the snake he was?

If regret made a difference…

But it didn’t.

Mingjue had made his choices just like everyone else, and now he had to live with them.

•••

What was the beginning of the end?

Was it the Venerated Triad ceremony? Or was it the terrible expedition to the Nie Ancestral Tomb? Or was it the moment Father’s saber shattered?

Mingjue didn’t know anymore and he wasn’t sure he had anyone to ask.

•••

He didn’t want to take Huaisang with him to the Ancestral Tombs but Zonghui told him bluntly that it was time. Huaisang was old enough to learn the truth about their sabers and if he was to lead the sect after Mingjue, he needed to start learning how to control them. Or, if he wasn’t able to himself, he’d need trustworthy people to help.

”Why have you been so grumpy lately, da-ge?” Huaisang whined the evening before they were about to head out. ”Is Baxia giving you grief? Or do you need to get laid?”

”Huaisang!” he barked, feeling his blood surge. 

”What?” Huaisang asked, sounding genuinely affronted. ”I’m asking reasonable questions!”

”If anything is bothering me, it’s your laziness,” Mingjue growled. ”When was the last time you practiced your forms?”

”Are you just venting out your frustrations at me right now?” Huaisang asked with a narrow-eyed look. ”Should I play for you?”

Play. Mingjue wanted to snort but held off—mostly for Huaisang’s sake. For some reason, he took his little flute tunes very seriously. Meng—Jin Guangyao had gifted him the small flute to help out soothing Mingjue’s mind for the times when neither he nor Xichen were available. Mingjue was completely tone deaf so to him the flute was about as enjoyable as Huaisang’s captive birds or the kitchen maid’s colicky baby—they all tended to give him a headache. But he endured them because both Xichen and Huaisang felt they would be good for him and—

His feelings about Jin Guangyao aside, he could admit that making Huaisang and Xichen happy made him feel a bit better about himself.

So, he heaved out a breath, sat down, and said, ”Fine. But only for an incense stick’s time. I still have things to do tonight.”

”Yes, da-ge!” Huaisang chirped, his smile audible in his voice.

The playing didn’t really make his mood better but peeking at Huaisang’s face as he played…well. That never failed to lift his mood.

•••

The trip was a disaster.

Plain and simple.

For a long time afterward, Mingjue was unable to even think about it without descending into despair and a mood so black he wanted to kill something.

He should’ve known better.

He should’ve gone alone.

He should’ve left Huaisang home.

He should’ve—

He should’ve—

He gritted his teeth so hard he felt something break and clenched his hands into fists to avoid punching through the wall. Part of him expected Zonghui to distract him as he always did, and then he remembered that Zonghui would never distract him from anything. 

Because Zonghui was dead.

Zonghui and the whole night hunt party, apart from Huaisang and Mingjue himself, was dead and it was all his fault.

A knock on the door.

”Da-ge?” Huaisang’s voice called out, hesitant and afraid. ”Da-ge, please, answer me.”

”Go away, Huaisang,” he growled. 

”But da-ge—”

”GO. AWAY!” he roared and whirled around, slamming his fist on the doorframe. 

Huaisang was silent after that.

•••

Being a Nie cultivator meant being a fatalist. Dying by qi-deviation was inevitable, and there was only so much one could do to prolong it.

So, when Mingjue stormed the Golden Koi Tower and demanded Jin Guangyao an answer for the location of that despicable vermin Xue Yang and why was he still alive when Mingjue especially wanted him dead, he didn’t pay much attention to the roiling rage in his blood. It was the new normal and what he’d come to expect—somehow Jin Guangyao managed to get under his skin and needle him with his perfect poise and dimples Mingjue had once in his life found endearing. Now, though, they only managed to irritate him even more.

And then the snake revealed his true skin.

He spun elaborate words that shone and sparkled and felt slippery and glib, making it sound like he hadn’t had a choice in his life. It was blatantly false—Mingjue would’ve helped him back when he still was Meng Yao, when he wasn’t yet bathing in the blood of the people inconveniently on his way. But Meng Yao had made his choice.

And his choice hadn’t been Mingjue.

”To accomplish great things, sometimes sacrifices must be made,” Jin Guangyao said airily, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Mingjue should have known.

He should’ve known but the betrayal still stung, whispering in the back of his brain, pouring poison into his mind.  He wanted to shake Jin Guangyao until he dropped the opulent golden adornments and that stupid hat, until there was nothing left but the Meng Yao he’d once known, all the while knowing it was impossible. The man he’d once shared part of his life—the man he would’ve learned to love if things had gone differently—was no longer there. Perhaps he’d never been there.

Perhaps the Meng Yao Mingjue had known was just another mask, another mirage that dissipated when touched. 

Perhaps this was where Mingjue’s life had been leading him all along.

When he felt the first meridian burst, it was almost a relief. He’d been waiting for this for years, trying to anticipate it and prepare for it, and to have the moment finally at hand…well. He let it wash over him, surrendered to the red haze, and charged at yet another shimmering mirage of a mocking smile.

Another meridian burst, forcing him to his knees. Then another, and another, and he vomited blood on the golden tiles glinting in the dim light of the lanterns and distant stars.

”DA-GE!”

He raised his head and, through blood and tears, saw Huaisang’s wide and scared eyes, saw him struggle against Jin Guangyao’s hold, saw him open his mouth to an agonized scream. 

He saw the smirk on Jin Guangyao’s face and the rage in him rose again, drowning the remaining thoughts under a tidal wave of hatred born of betrayal and he charged—only for his legs to give out.

And then the only thing that remained was red, red, red.

”Wei Wuxian is missing?” Nie Huaisang said, sounding genuinely confused.

Lan Wangji watched him. There was a reason he hadn’t announced their arrival in advance: Nie Huaisang had managed to fool the entire cultivation world into believing his Head Shaker act while machinating a revenge campaign that spanned for almost a decade. He truly was the oriole preying on a mantis.

But now…

Jiang Wanyin snorted, echoing Lan Wangji’s thoughts. ”You honestly want us to believe you know nothing?”

”But I really don’t know!” Nie Huaisang snapped, glaring at them over his closed fan. Lan Wangji was fully aware that it was by choice—Nie Huaisang knew that both Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin knew him well enough by now to know that when he wanted to hide, he’d cover his face.

Or. Well. Perhaps that’s what he wanted them to think.

Not for the first time, Lan Wangji ached for Wei Ying. He’d never had the right mindset for political games and even though neither had Wei Ying, his quick and agile mind was able to keep up with the ever-changing currents of someone with a quicksilver mind like Nie Huaisang. Lan Wangji on the other hand, had always had a hard time understanding the hints and subtext. They gave him a headache.

”Please, Sect Leader Nie,” Sizhui interjected smoothly. ”Hanguang-jun and Sect Leader Jiang are worried and so am I. Is there anything you could tell us? Strange happenings or odd rumors? Anything at all?”

Nie Huaisang groaned. ”I guess…”

”Honestly, Nie Huaisang—how is it possible you don’t know anything?” Jiang Wanyin asked, visibly annoyed. ”Pingzhou is East of Qinghe and he was on his way here!”

Something about Nie Huaisang’s demeanor changed and suddenly he didn’t look like an empty-headed boy. ”As strange as you might find it, Sect Leader Jiang, I actually care about my friend. If you think I’m taking his disappearance lightly, you might want to think again. Not everything is as it seems—and definitely not as you’d decide it to be based on your own wishes.”

”Oh, really?” Jiang Wanyin said coldly.

Nie Huaisang didn’t say anything, merely let his mouth curl into a small smile that made something cold shiver down Lan Wangji’s spine. He couldn’t claim he and Huaisang were friends—they were way too different for that—but they were age mates, and had spent quite some time together back when Brother and Nie Mingjue had been close. He didn’t remember ever seeing that expression on his face.

What had brought it there? Losing his brother? Learning about Jin Guangyao’s betrayal? Learning whatever he’d needed to learn and twisting into whatever he’d needed to be to uncover the truth and bring justice to his da-ge?

What would’ve Lan Wangji been willing to do if Jin Guangyao had murdered Brother?

”May I see the note?” Nie Huaisang asked, jolting him from his thoughts.

He handed the note over, taking a careful look at Nie Huaisang’s face as he read it.

”Hm…interesting,” he murmured, tracing a finger along the lines Lan Wangji knew by heart by now. ”Pingzhou, you said?”

”Mn. That’s where he said he was when he sent the last letter. He said he was going to head west. I believe he was planning on eventually visiting you.” Lan Wangji swallowed and added, ”It’s been almost four weeks now.”

”I have contacts in Anping,” Nie Huaisang said with a slight frown. ”None of them have informed me of his whereabouts.”

”Do you usually keep an eye on your old friends?” Jiang Wanyin asked with a raised brow.

”When they were labeled as the greatest threat of the Cultivation world and hunted like an animal, yes,” Nie Huaisang shot back, snapping his fan open. ”And I’m not the one in this room who wanted him dead in the first place.”

”You—!” Jiang Wanyin hissed and curled his hand into a fist, making Zidian crackle.

”Excuse me, what did you mean by interesting?” Sizhui asked, making a small movement that set him in between Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin. ”Did you figure out something about the note we didn’t understand?”

Nie Huaisang took a deep breath, fanned himself a couple of times, and then closed his fan. ”Yes. It’s… the way some of these characters are written. I’m a collector of interesting texts and most of them have been written by people who, perhaps, have not received a higher education.”

”Meaning?” Jiang Wanyin bit out.

”Meaning that, well.” Nie Huaisang set the note on the table and pointed. ”For example, here, the way they wrote ’regret’—I’ve only ever seen it written like that by scribes who are from Tanchen.”

Jiang Wanyin let out a frustrated sound. ”Yes, but what does it mean?” 

”It means that I now have something to tell my contact!” Nie Huaisang snapped. Jiang Wanyin opened his mouth to retort but Nie Huaisang turned slightly, ignoring him, and looked at Lan Wangji instead.

”I know you’re eager to be on your way immediately but you should stay for the night. Rest so that you can continue east tomorrow with at least some of your strength replenished.”

Lan Wangji wanted to protest but he couldn’t deny he was both mentally and physically exhausted—and if he was feeling it, Sizhui must be even more so. Resigned, he met Nie Huaisang’s eyes and nodded.

”Excellent! I have rooms and food prepared for you all. Lan Sizhui, Wen Qionglin can stay in your room if he’s hesitant to have his own—yes, I know he’s been trying to hide in the sparse bush near the gates,” he said dryly. ”Please, let him know that he’s always welcome in the Unclean Realm.”

Sizhui, visibly taken aback, bowed his thanks.

Lan Wangji gently declined Sizhui’s invitation for tea, having suddenly a craving for solitude. He knew Sizhui could read the worry on his face but he didn’t need to see the panic clawing right under Lan Wangji’s skin. So, he took a bath, ate a meal that was clearly prepared with the Gusu palate in mind, and chose a calming tea infusion from the offered samples to brew a pot. 

Then he sat down and tried to calm his mind by playing his and Wei Ying’s song. 

(It didn’t work very well but for a moment, he was able to imagine a dizi, playing along with him. )

The scream bounces off the hard walls, echoing around the dim, grey room in a dizzying spiral until it fades away, leaving behind only deafening silence.

He draws breath, forces it through his clenched teeth and down a throat that should be screamed raw but only throbs with residual pain instead. It constricts his lungs and he heaves and he fights the nauseating urge to throw up until his body stops resisting and accepts the air. It makes him cough and then he has to lie down for a moment to avoid passing out but little by little, bit by agonizing bit, he wrestles his body under his control, into his again.

What the fuck had that been?

Many of the faces he’d seen had been familiar. Some had only roused a passing sense of familiarity, while others make his chest ache even now with a desperate kind of longing. The rage and betrayal, those also feel familiar to the point of the red haze that obscured his—Mingjue’s—vision and made him want to tear everything and everyone into shreds. 

But what does it mean?

He sits down, arranges his limbs into the meditation position, and closes his eyes. 

Fact: he’s trapped and held hostage in an unknown place.

Fact: his captor knows who he is.

Fact: he’s forced to relive other people’s deaths because…he’s supposed to learn from them? No, that doesn’t seem right…more like he’s been taught a lesson. But of what? He puts that question aside for later.

Fact: the death he just lived, Nie Mingjue, was the one whose corpse and saber attacked the first man whose death he experienced. It might or might not be important, and he puts that question, too, aside for later.

Fact: with three deaths down, he keeps seeing the same people. Sometimes they’re young, sometimes they’re old. So, either all these deaths are connected or they have something (or someone) in common.

Fact: he doesn’t feel hungry.

That makes him pause and open his eyes.

Strange.

He should feel at least some bodily needs by now but since he’s neither hungry, thirsty, nor tired, it means that he’s dead. Or, if not dead, this is all happening in his mind.

(What a clever curse! Lan Zhan, this is interesting!)

With a sudden impulse, he bites his finger to draw blood. The flash of pain is sharp but dulls quickly as blood swells on the wound, pearling into a perfect, bright red dot on his fingertip. He narrows his eyes and makes a quick motion in the air guided purely by muscle memory, and the glowing shape hovers briefly in the air in front of him before dissipating like fog.

When he glances at his fingertip, it’s whole again with no sign of an injury, bite mark or otherwise.

Interesting…

He looks up and takes in the room with greater detail than previously. The room itself is as dim as it has been each time he’s been awake (or conscious), the floor and walls bare apart from two doors on the side. The corners are shrouded in shadows (making them perfect hiding spots), and there are no windows to offer light or a way out. The only doors in the room are the pair he needs to choose from.

The doors have changed again, now being soft dove grey and bone white with window panes covered with a pale linen cloth. There’s nothing else; no markings, no adornments, nothing. Plain wooden doors, that’s all.

”Eager for the next adventure?” Cloak says from his side.

”Could I have some tea?” he asks.

”Why?”

He shrugs. ”Or if you don’t have tea, wine is also fine.”

(Gusu’s Emperor’s Smile is the best wine in the world!)

Cloak snorts. ”I’m not serving you wine.”

”Why not?” he asks. ”Isn’t that what you do to guests?”

”You are not a guest,” Cloak says flatly. ”You are here to le—”

”Learn a lesson, yes, you’ve told me,” he interrupts. ”I’m still trying to figure out what the hell that even means.”

”Isn’t Yiling Laozu supposed to be a genius?” Cloak sneers.

He cocks his head. ”I don’t know, is he?”

Cloak lets out a sharp noise and flicks his sleeves back with an irritated snap. Something about the gesture makes him want to giggle and he grins, somehow expecting to see an annoyed face with a goatee trembling with fury.

It’s a disappointment when all he sees is a hood shielding the face in darkness.

How boring.

”Are you quite done?” Cloak snaps. ”Or do you still feel like playing games?”

He decides to raise a brow and wait, curious to see how long it will take for Cloak to grow impatient and hurry things along. Turns out, he doesn’t have to wait for too long before Cloak tsks and says, ”I’d expect you to know the procedure already. Pick a door, Yiling Laozu.”

(That’s not my name.)

With a theatrical sigh, he heaves up and walks to the doors, peers at them with his hands behind his back. Apart from the color, they look exactly the same, and he can’t see anything special on their surface, either. He makes a show of smelling each of them just to see what Cloak would do and then grins at the growl he hears.

”Yes, yes, you are such a comedian,” Cloak says, sounding bored. ”Just pick the door and walk through.”

The man who is and also isn’t Yiling Laozu, whatever it might mean, shrugs, reaches out for the white door, and pushes it open.

Mo Xuanyu didn’t remember a time when he wasn’t aware of being different. The knowledge had just always been there, a sense of this was who he was. Aunt Mo hated his mother, the sky was blue, Xuanyu was a cutsleeve. Nothing new about it.

But the realization of when he’d first realized Mother’s family hated her…that was a bit harder to pinpoint.

Perhaps it had started way back when the man who would then force himself on Xuanyu’s mother arrived; a cultivator clad in gold and white, with a pompous name and even more pompous manners. Xuanyu had once witnessed Aunt Mo spewing filth and vitriol on Mother who had tried to defend herself, only to be struck across the face with a smack that made Xuanyu wince in his hiding place.

Or perhaps it had started when Xuanyu had started showing interest in things Mo Ziyuan had never bothered to properly learn, and when he’d learned to read and write and count at a faster pace than other children in the Mo estate.

Or perhaps it had truly solidified when Xuanyu had been summoned to Jinlintai to be a real cultivator. Mother had been so proud of him back then. ”A-Yu,” she’d said with a teary smile. ”My bright, bright boy.” Mother hadn’t been proud of many things, including but not limited to her own background and the house they lived in but Xuanyu’s good fortune had brought light into her eyes and a smile on her lips.

They’d both believed that Jinlintai would be their way out of the Mo manor. Xuanyu was to impress his Father—perhaps even get recognized—and help Mother escape her increasingly hostile childhood home. He’d been willing to do exactly that: willing to work hard, study and learn new things, and prove to his Father that he was worthy of each and every morsel of attention he was granted.

Much good that did.

•••

It took him perhaps a month to realize he’d never find refuge in Jinlintai. Golden Koi Tower was beautiful and cold and inviting only to those it could suck dry and exploit and then discard like broken pottery or an empty cup, useless and used up. But still, he tried—oh, he tried so so very hard.

Too hard, it turned out.

The thing was, desperation is so very easy to spot, and desperate people are even easier to exploit.

And Xuanyu, even though he’d had naivety beaten out of him as a child, was too stupid to believe the pretty stories his half-brother told him. 

Instead of proper cultivation manuals, Xuanyu was presented with demonic cultivation texts.

Instead of the way of the sword, Xuanyu was taught the way of the dizi.

Instead of meditating to strengthen his core and his grasp on spiritual energy, he was made to grapple with resentful energy and learn to manipulate it. 

The cost was…

Well.

The payment itself wasn’t due until way, way later, when Xuanyu didn’t even realize his time to pay had come. But there, in the moment, he reveled in learning about this new power, this silky smooth, whispering strength that slithered down his skin, leaving goose pimples in its wake. This whole new world, hidden in the ramblings of a supposed madman left scattered over several journal fragments, in charts and calculations, in obscure drawings that drew him in and left him with a pounding headache and the taste of blood in his mouth for days.

It was excruciating. 

It was exhilarating.

The downside of all this was that he had to learn by proxy from someone who made the supposed rambling madman seem like a very sane person. 

Xue Yang was both terrifying and interesting and there lay the root of his dangerousness. He was a manipulating, calculating, sadistic sociopath who still managed to make their ”lessons” interesting enough that Xuanyu always came back for more. Always. No matter how chilling the lecture, no matter how deranged the experiment, it was thrilling and interesting and addictive, and Xuanyu wasn’t sure whether he hated Xue Yang or himself more for it. 

And then, of course, there was Jin Guangyao. His half-brother. The man Xuanyu thought he could trust to know how it was to grow up despised, the man he thought he could go to if (and when) things got too rough and too much. Turned out, his half-brother was yet another lying liar dressed in gold and white. The only thing that separated him from their Father was that where Jin Guangshan was loud and boisterous and cruel, Jin Guangyao was smooth and gentle, and he always dressed his cruelty in silk and satin to hide it from proper people.

But people like Xue Yang and Xuanyu knew. And they learned to read it and anticipate it.

Sometimes Xuanyu wondered how things might’ve turned out if he enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering as much as Xue Yang did. Would he have been promoted and trusted more if he’d made it clear he got his enjoyment from skinning people alive, from making them tear their own eyes out with the whispers from resentful energy, from stuffing their lungs so full of resentful energy that there was no more space for air. 

But he didn’t.

For Xuanyu, resentful energy was a fascinating study subject. The way it was formed and how it gathered, how it seemed to be alive at times, depending on where it was formed and how, and how it seemed to have a mind of its own. He wanted to understand the notes left behind by a master whose name he wasn’t worthy of knowing, wanted to read more of the theory and speculations of how to implement resentful energy in arrays and talismans. He wanted to learn more and more and more and—

He wasn’t allowed to.

It made him bitter and, well, resentful.

Or perhaps his downfall was simply his curiosity. See, even from a young age, Xuanyu had been chronically unable to leave well and alone, to turn his back when something piqued his interest. His focus turned to that one thing he then concentrated on, the one thing he wanted to learn all about. It didn’t matter if it was the mechanics of a butterfly’s wing, the complicated construction of an array, or the similar mannerisms of people who should have nothing in common.

Like Jin Guangyao, Maiden Qin, and Xuanyu himself.

Should he really be blamed for his curiosity? Should he be blamed for his shock of revelation when he realized they had the same dimples? Should he be blamed when he started devising a talisman that could track lineages?

Should he?

Apparently, yes.

And that was Xuanyu’s true downfall.

Not him being a cutsleeve—although that was a very easy thing to blame when the more unsavory things couldn’t see the light of day. He was accused of harassing Jin Guangyao, his own half-brother, called a lunatic and a madman, and all because he questioned who the graceful Lianfang-zun was married to.

But who was the gentry more inclined to believe—the new Chief Cultivator or a scorned cutsleeve who painted his face? He was ruthlessly silenced, beaten, and thrown out of Golden Koi Tower faster than he could process, sent home shamed and spat on.

And all that so the soft-voiced Sect Leader Jin could keep fucking his own sister.

•••

Back in the Mo manor, things took quickly a turn for the worse. If life had been unpleasant before Xuanyu’s time in Jinlintai, it now became nigh unbearable. Mother took her own life after the humiliation became too much to bear, no matter that Xuanyu told her none of it was true. Oh, Xuanyu was a cutsleeve, that part was absolutely correct, but he hadn’t been behaving improperly toward his own half-brother. He might be a bit strange and he might cut his sleeve but he wasn’t incestuous—that was the other brother’s choice.

But it mattered not one bit.

•••

The fateful meeting happened shortly after his banishment from Jinlintai. 

It was a sunny day, one of those where you could bathe in sunlight and feel warm only to shiver violently when a cloud glided in front of the sun, throwing everything in chilly shadows. Xuanyu was taking a walk by the river, trying to come to terms with the loss of his mother and the increasing, casual cruelty from her family. It wasn’t going well, a fact he tried to purge from his system by screaming murder at a flock of geese and obliterating a small bush with a burst of resentful energy. It left him wrung out and panting, and not particularly in a better mood.

“Oh, my,” a voice murmured from behind him. “Did I catch you at a bad moment?”

Xuanyu whirled around, a snarl on his face and tears in his eyes, ready to attack whoever was mocking him.

Except that he wasn’t. Mocking, that was.

Of course Xuanyu had noticed him before–because who wouldn’t have, what with his soft looks and slight frame–but he wasn’t someone Xuanyu would’ve ever dared to approach. And now, those beautiful, wide eyes watched him sharply over the brim of a deceptively simple-looking fan, tracking his every move. 

“My apologies, Sect Leader Nie,” Xuanyu said and bowed stiffly. “I didn’t realize you were there.”

“Oh, no, no, no need to apologize! I’m the one who invaded your space!” He looked around, taking in the scar on the ground where the bush had been only moments earlier. “Sometimes aggression helps with things you cannot change,” he murmured and then immediately added, “Or that’s what I’ve heard, I really wouldn’t know myself.”

“Mn,” Xuanyu said. He felt awkward, standing there in his threadbare, worn clothes so thoroughly stained they’d turned from white to dull grey. He shifted from one foot to the other, feeling strangely under scrutiny.

“I’ve heard you have a keen mind, Young Master Mo,” Sect Leader Nie said. “Is that correct?”

He shrugged and muttered a sullen, “I guess.” 

“That’s a wonderful thing to hear. A keen mind and a pair of sharp eyes go a long way in this life.”

Xuanyu snorted before he managed to stop himself and then cringed slightly, expecting a blow.

“Oh, you don’t agree?”

Xuanyu shrugged again. “They might take some people a long way,” he said. “But not everyone.”

Sect Leader Nie hummed and fanned himself lazily. “Are you interested in cultivation then?”

Xuanyu wanted to roll his eyes. As if his humiliating expulsion from Jinlintai wasn’t common gossip everywhere. A disgraced cutsleeve bastard who thought himself better than he actually was, thrown out before he even had the chance to dive into the really interesting stuff.

“Would you like to read a manual I have with me? It’s incredibly dull so I’ve been meaning to get rid of it. Might as well give it to you.”

“And what would you want in return?” Xuanyu asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Me? Oh, nothing!” Sect Leader Nie said, hiding behind his fan. “I just find it incredibly stupid how intelligent people are shunned simply based on their interests.”

…that didn’t sound like he was talking about Xuanyu. 

Something about this whole interaction felt off but Xuanyu couldn’t put his finger on it. The timing or Sect Leader Nie’s convenient extra cultivation manual or how he knew the exactly right words to pique Xuanyu’s interest.

But the temptation of learning more was just too big to resist, so after a moment of hesitation, Xuanyu nodded. “Yes, I’d like to read anything you might no longer have a need for,” he said.

“Wonderful!” Sect Leader Nie said, sounding genuinely happy. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a stained scroll, brushed his fingers over it in a strangely affectionate way, and handed it to Xuanyu. “Here you go. Do take good care of it.” 

Then he turned and walked away, fanning himself lazily.

•••

After that, Xuanyu received a package at uneven intervals. (Xuanyu never quite managed to find out just how Sect Leader Nie managed that. The Mo manor wasn’t a great house but it had security and someone ought to have seen a person deliver a package.) Sometimes it was a stack of loose papers, sometimes it was a bound manuscript. It didn’t take him long to realize how even though they seemed completely unrelated, they had one thing in common: each and every manual had something to do with either resentful energy or Yiling Laozu—who, apparently, was the madman whose scribbles Xuanyu had studied in Lanling. Except that he wasn’t really a madman but a genius and an inventor which, admittedly, to some people meant the same.

That made him pause.

What did Sect Leader Nie want from him? The Nie sect had a recurring problem with resentment and qi-deviations, so that could be the reason why Sect Leader Nie wanted to rid himself of the manuals. But on the other hand, it seemed like he was not-so-subtly nudging Xuanyu into a certain direction, to a certain path, and he didn’t understand why.

And then, one fateful day when he was too deeply concentrated on a fascinating theory of refining resentful energy, Mo Ziyuan and his band of bullies walked in on him before he had the chance to hide the manuals. They tore the manuals from him, soiled the papers, and spat on his notes. They defiled his humble room, cackling as they went, calling him names and kicking him at every chance they got. Xuanyu was powerless to do anything else but take it, seething with helpless fury in the privacy of his mind.

Two days after that, the journal arrived.

It was leather-bound and stained just like the previous ones but something about it was different. Perhaps it was the slight chill it emanated or the smell of copper. Perhaps it was the clumsy drawings Xuanyu spotted on some pages, depicting flowers or rocks or clouds, clearly drawn by a small child.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was, beyond any doubt, a personal journal written by Yiling Laozu.

Perhaps it was the spell written out.

The spell that made Xuanyu stop and think.

It would later occur to him that perhaps he’d been a pawn all along but by that time, he no longer gave a fuck.

And now, he was finally ready.

•••

Mo Xuanyu let his eyes close for a moment as he breathed in. It had been a long few months and he felt drained to his pitiful core—the one he’d been so proud of before everything had gone to shit. Now it sputtered in his chest, offering its last attempts to keep him going against the odds Xuanyu himself had set.

It was almost time.

The ritual was meant to take place in the early morning, barely past sunrise. It was a complicated one, consisting of a multi-layered array and a selection of talismans his benefactor had made sure he’d memorize. 

(”You have to be absolutely sure,” Sect Leader Nie had said, tilting his head curiously like a small bird, as if he wondered whether Xuanyu would really go through with it. He’d stopped by and surprised the hell out of Xuanyu why had been washing his bloodied robe at the pond a short distance from the Mo manor, wearing only his underpants.

”I know,” Xuanyu had scowled at him. ”You don’t need to treat me like a child.”

He had let a small, cold smile touch his lips before covering half of his face with a fan. ”Oh, trust me,” he’d said. ”This is definitely not the way I’d treat a child.”)

Now, the deep gashes in his wrists were still bleeding sluggishly, feeding the main array component as he stood in the center of it. It drank up his life, greedy and thirsty, draining his strength but not his conviction. Xuanyu could already feel the fuzziness reaching out for him, pale grey fingers of death stroking his skin and tugging at his hair, equally eager to grab him for good.

Fine.

The knife seemed to sparkle when the first light of the sun touched its wickedly curved edge, and it felt like it almost vibrated in his hold.

”Mo Ziyuan,” he said as the sharp edge opened yet another gash into his arm, adding a bloody line to the array.

”Uncle Mo.” Another line.

”A-Tong.”

”Aunt Mo,” he hissed with a sneer, and flecks of spittle and blood landed on the array.

And finally, he whispered, ”Jing Guangyao,” adding the last line to the array.

Blood dribbled down his cheek as he bared his teeth in a facsimile of a grin, and he took a look around the room he’d called home for the past years. Talismans danced in the air around him, fluttering in the nonexistent breeze, their slight shadows playing on the walls covered in bloody sigils.

It was familiar and reassuring.

He wondered what Yiling Laozu would feel the first time he saw the place. Assuming the ritual worked, of course.

Xuanyu coughed, spraying blood on his robes and on the array. Luckily for him, this was one of those designs that couldn’t be disturbed with a bit of spittle and blood, not when the main lines were drawn in the proper order and already partially powered up. All the array needed now was the final push.

Gingerly, he lowered himself down and arranged his trembling legs into the lotus position. The tattered journal—his most beloved possession—he placed on his lap before picking up the knife again. He gritted his teeth and quickly reopened the partially congealed wounds on his wrists before pressing the blade on his throat.

”Yiling Laozu,” he said in a low, steady voice. ”Wei Wuxian. I hereby summon you.”

And with that, he cut his throat.

His blood didn’t spray out, there was too little left for that. Instead, it flowed down his chest, warm and sticky, filling his nose with the cloying scent of copper and salt. He felt a wave of nausea and bitter coldness envelop him but it was hard to say whether it was death’s embrace or the summoning spell taking hold and twisting the fabric of reality to yank back Yiling Laozu’s soul.

Mo Xuanyu gritted his teeth and with the sheer power of his will, tilted his head back to open the wound wider.

The last thing in his mind before darkness claimed him was, Fuck you. Fuck you all to hell.

They departed early in the morning. Lan Wangji barely got any sleep, too consumed by worry and terror, and he felt unreasonably irritable when Jiang Wanyin dithered with his breakfast. Logically, he knew they had to eat to replenish the energy they spent the previous days but his heart was screaming at him, urging him to go already, to leave and find Wei Ying because Wei Ying was somewhere out there and he needed Lan Wangji.

”Father,” Sizhui murmured and touched his arm.

With a conscious force of his will, Lan Wangji forced himself to calm down and brushed his knuckles once along Sizhui’s cheek, then smoothed a finger along his forehead ribbon. Sizhui’s lashes trembled as he closed his eyes for a split moment before he opened them again with renewed resolve.

”We will find him, Father,” he said. 

”Mn,” Lan Wangji said. That was all he was capable of without his breath catching or his words getting stuck.

”We have money and talisman paper—” he heard Nie Huaisang’s voice from around the corner. ”Not that I’d expect to need it in this company but it never hurts to be prepared—and—oh! Here you are!”

”Sect Leader Nie,” Sizhui greeted him with a perfect bow. ”Are you…coming with us?”

It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, what with the way Nie Huaisang was dressed. There was something around his eyes, a tightness Lan Wangji didn’t remember seeing after the events of Guanyin Temple. 

”Absolutely fucking not,” Jiang Wanyin snapped. 

Lan Wangji agreed with the sentiment, if not the words.

”And why not?” Nie Huaisang asked coolly. ”Do you know where you are going? Do you know whom to ask? Do you know how to ask?” He raised a brow. ”Trust me, Sect Leader Jiang, as formidable as Zidian is, I guarantee you that none of my informants are willing to talk to you if you start waving that whip around.”

Jiang Wanyin bared his teeth. ”You are going to slow us—”

”Again, Sect Leader Jiang,” Nie Huaisang interrupted. ”Do you know where you are going?” He fell silent, clearly expectant. When no answer came, he said, ”I thought so,” and snapped his fan open.

”Where to first?” Lan Wangji asked, unwilling to listen to more snapping.

”Ah, we’ll start from Anping.”

Lan Wangji hummed and nodded slowly. ”That’s where Wei Ying was most likely headed.”

”Yes, and also because it’s the biggest town around. If anyone has seen anything or anyone, they’ll end up there. Or someone who knows them ends up there.” Nie Huaisang shrugged. ”And if no one’s seen anything, we’ll head East toward Pingzhou.”

That was good enough for Lan Wangji.

•••

It was cold this far north and it was steadily growing colder. Lan Wangji couldn’t shy away from wondering if Wei Ying—wherever he was—was safe and warm, if he had enough to eat and enough blankets during the night. He yearned to hold him in his arms—even if it was just to support him. He knew his own mind and his own feelings and he’d hoped—

He pushed those thoughts aside. There was no point in dreaming before Wei Ying was safe.

Next to him, Jiang Wanyin flew with grim determination and a stubborn scowl on his face. Was it possible Lan Wangji had misunderstood Wei Ying’s brother so thoroughly? ’I wasn’t the one who let go,’ Jiang Wanyin had said—had he thought all this time that Lan Wangji had dropped Wei Ying? How dare he!

…then again, Lan Wangji had thought he’d known Jiang Wanyin killed Wei Ying even though that hadn’t happened.

Jiang Wanyin caught him looking, glared at him from the corner of his eye, and pushed a bit more power into his sword.

Lan Wangji pressed his lips tighter together and did the same, pushing his sword just a fraction in front of Jiang Wanyin’s. 

He might have been mistaken about Jiang Wanyin but that didn’t mean he had to forgive him.

•••

Anping was a busy town with a typical Qinghe air of no-nonsense and it had no time for gawking Southern cultivators. Nie Huaisang’s ride—because he really was so weak that he couldn’t ride his own saber—vanished without a trace only to appear from the other side of the marketplace, waving them along. 

”Nie Jian is the best at finding good inns,” Nie Huaisang murmured from behind his fan. ”That’s why I always take her with me. Well, that and she’s such a reliable ride.”

The inn was nothing fancy; a clean and humble place with a small selection of tables in the common room and a set of stairs leading to the second floor and bedrooms. The proprietor took one look at them, barely raised a brow at Wen Qionglin, and led them to a table in a nook, away from the prying eyes. 

”What can I get you?” she asked bluntly.

Nie Huaisang rattled away an order Lan Wangji had no interest in and then proceeded to ask about local events and happenings around the town. Lan Wangji ducked his head and concentrated on his breathing. From Wei Ying, he knew this kind of chatter was one of the easiest ways to gather information but the knowledge did nothing to the frustration simmering within him. He wanted to be out there, searching for Wei Ying and not spending time at an inn!

After a humble and hurried lunch, they split up: Nie Huaisang went with Jiang Wanyin and Lan Wangji took Sizhui, while Nie Jian went to run errands for her sect leader. Wen Qionglin followed Lan Wangji and Sizhui for some time before taking off.

”I w-want to go and take a l-look,” he said before leaving, tilting his head like a bird. ”There’s s-something…”

”Can you feel him?” Lan Wangji asked, unable to hold back his hope.

Wen Qionglin shook his head. ”No,” he said and frowned. ”B-but there’s something e-else.”

Lan Wangji gripped his shoulder. ”Be careful,” he said.

”Mn.” 

He followed Wen Qionglin with his eyes until he vanished into the crowd, and when he turned to glance at Sizhui, he was humbled by the compassion in his eyes.

”We will find him, Father,” Sizhui said again, repeating his words from the morning.

”We will find him and bring him home.”

•••

It was late and Lan Wangji had finally fallen into uneasy sleep as a noise from the window woke him. He was up in a flash, Bichen ready in his hand as Wen Qionglin clambered in. He was filthy, his robes partially torn and his hair filled with leaves but there was a triumphant look in his eyes.

”Hanguang-jun!” he said in a low voice. ”I think I found him!”

Wei Wuxian.

Wei. Wuxian.

Yiling Laozu. Wei Wuxian.

He lies on the floor and stares at the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

He has a name now—his name. His name is Wei Wuxian.

Something about him settles.

His name is Wei Wuxian. His title is—was—still is?—Yiling Laozu. 

He was hated by many.

Sounds about right.

•••

Nothing precedes Cloak’s appearance. First, there’s nothing, and then there they stand, clad in dark robes with a deep hood obscuring their face.

”Good morning!” they say, just like always they’ve come to see him.

Wei Wuxian shoots them a look from the corner of his eye. If he’s dead—or if all of this is happening in his mind because of a curse or something—is Cloak real? Could he trap them here? Could he kill them? Hm. That’s something to think about later.

”And how is Yiling Laozu feeling this day?”

”Hungry,” Wei Wuxian says.

Cloak snorts. ”And what would you like me to do about it? Serve you a feast?”

Wei Wuxian shrugs. ”I wouldn’t say no to a bowl of stew.” When Cloak says nothing, he cocks his head. ”What’s your favorite food?” he asks. ”I like to eat anything but if pressed, I’d say I like to opt for the more delicate tastes. Vegetable soup with tofu is one of my all-time favorites.”

(But this food is so bland, Lan Zhan! It’s boring!)

Cloak lets out an irritable sound. ”I’m not here for culinary talks,” they say.

”We can have at least a bit of time to talk, hm?” He sits up and scoots back to lean against the cold wall. ”Now, tell me: what’s your favorite food?”

”Stewed chicken or sweet and sour carp,” Cloak finally says through their teeth. 

”Oh,” Wei Wuxian says and lets his face drop into a pout. ”I think those are too spicy for me. What about wine? Could you recommend me your favorite? We could compare notes and tastes—”

”Stop that! You’re not getting out of here so there’s no point in this idle chatter,” Cloak snaps.

”Doesn’t mean we can’t talk,” Wei Wuxian mutters. ”Besides, you can learn a lot about a person based on what they eat!”

”I don’t want to get to know you,” Cloak says flatly. ”I’m here to—”

”To do what, exactly?” Wei Wuxian interrupts. ”So far you’ve only hovered menacingly, threatened me with a good time, and dragged me on my feet. So…what is it that you really do?”

”I’m here to supervise you.”

Wei Wuxian snorted. ”Why? You’ve repeatedly stated that I cannot escape and you’ve shown me you can control me. You watch me pick a door and walk through, and for all I know, you watch from the shadows as I emerge back from wherever your creepy door takes me. That still doesn’t tell me fuck all of what’s your purpose here. Or mine, for that matter.”

”Why are you so adamant on idle chit-chat? Do you think it will somehow save you? Or that I’d be stupid enough to listen?”

”Mostly, I’m just bored,” Wei Wuxian says and tilts his head to gaze at the ceiling.

When he glances to the side, Cloak is gone again.

•••

So…

This Cloak person is real. They are reactive enough to carry a conversation like a normal person which means…not much, actually. Wei Wuxian’s imagination would definitely be able to conjure up an elaborate ghost-like Cloak seems to be, which means he cannot use them as a means to decipher whether or not they’re inside his post-death mind or if this is a curse or a nightmare. However, something is glaringly obvious:

First: anyone who spent even half a day with him would know Wei Wuxian loves his spices. So, Cloak might know Yiling Laozu but they definitely don’t know Wei Wuxian.

Second: Cloak is—or was—part of the gentry. Both sweet and sour carp and stewed chicken are expensive and take time to prepare, which means that either someone prepared it for Cloak or they are a brave servant who used to sneak a bite. Also, by naming their favorite food, Cloak revealed where they either were born or where they spent a lot of time.

It points him to the Qilu area. Back during some unbearable visit to Lanling, they had been served both sweet and sour carp and stewed chicken that apparently took a whole day to prepare—not that he really could understand why a dish would require that long to cook. It had been okay. Sweet and savory and so tender the meat fell from the bones—but it hadn’t been as good as shijie’s soup.

Anyway.

The next question is, what is Wei Wuxian going to do with the information?

•••

”If you’re quite done with salivating over the food you’ll never eat again, how about doing your job and picking a door?” Cloak says sourly the next time they appear.

Wei Wuxian glances at the wall where the doors are and takes in the crimson color. They’re almost identical, adorned with small flames that lick up from the sides and floor, almost as if they’re about to consume the door. There’s something achingly familiar about it which…yeah, is something he’s come to expect by now.

”Well?” Cloak says.

”Don’t rush me,” Wei Wuxian says almost absent-mindedly as he crosses his arms on his chest and contemplates the doors. It’s mostly for the show; he’s pretty sure that at this point, it won’t really matter which door he chooses. He’s going to live someone else’s tragic life and then experience their death, and wake up again back in this cold room, feeling like his heart was both bleeding and already shattered.

He slowly walks closer and trails a finger along the grain of the wood, tracing a pattern he can almost but not quite see. The first door yields no particular feeling but when his finger touches the second door, a shock runs through him. It’s not painful—it’s more like seeing someone he thought was long gone (lost) and he yearns to chase the feeling.

He’s almost positive it doesn’t mean him any harm.

There’s no need or point in announcing his choice so without further ado, he grabs the handle and pushes the door open.

There were times when Wen Qing wished she’d had a choice. Nothing much—she wasn’t one to dream of unattainable things—just a chance to choose differently.

She wasn’t sure what that choice could’ve been, considering who she was.

Ever since she was a child, she’d known the path her life would take. Ever since she realized Mother’s illness wasn’t from natural causes or that Father would never come back from visiting his cousin in Nightless City. With the flat certainty all women under powerful men’s power share, she knew her life would be dictated for her from there on: She would be allowed to study medicine simply because her reputation was spreading already and because she’d already written a study piece on resentful energy, not because she was free to choose to follow in her branch’s cultivation path. She would be allowed to be the leader of her branch family, but in name only.

She would be allowed her branch family.

She would be allowed her brother.

If there was nothing to choose from, was it really a choice?

•••

In some other life, she would’ve enjoyed herself immensely in the Cloud Recesses. Her heart wept bitter tears at the sight of the select few medical volumes the Lan healers allowed her to read but she didn’t show it. There was no point in missing things that were not in her grasp. She was in Gusu to do a job and she would do that.

She would’ve done exactly that if it hadn’t been for Wei Wuxian.

(Quite a few things in her life followed that exact pattern: she would’ve, if it hadn’t been for Wei Wuxian.)

Yunmeng Jiang’s First Disciple was bright, bold, arrogant, and unabashedly kind. He was annoying and loud and made Wen Qing’s blood boil and her fingers itch for her needles. She prided herself on the fact that she never knocked Wei Wuxian out in Gusu. 

”We’re not here to make friends, A-Ning!” she chided, exasperated, when her silly, softhearted little brother told her about the wild tales Wei Wuxian had regaled him with. 

”I know, jie,” A-Ning said and hung his head. ”H-he’s just so…” His voice trailed out into a whisper. ”…nice.”

Wen Qing wanted to scream or perhaps shake him. In another life, she might have had the chance to tighten A-Ning’s topknot, kiss his cheek, and tell him to have fun with his new friend but in this life, neither of them had the luxury. Wen Chao was still loitering around Caiyi town and with him was the Dire Owl who would relay everything it saw to its masters. One mistake would cost Wen Qing her family, and that wasn’t a price she was willing to pay.

So, she sighed, smoothed A-Ning’s hair into place, and said nothing. 

Of course, Wen Qing wasn’t innocent herself. She told A-Ning to not make friends but somehow ended up sharing tea with Jiang Yanli, being teased by Wei Wuxian, and stared at by Jiang Wanyin. She wanted nothing of that because she didn’t want to know what it would feel like to have friends.

Knowing would make her want and she couldn’t afford that.

•••

It would’ve been easier if one of Yin Iron pieces wasn’t in the Cloud Recesses. Sadly, it was. 

And sadly, Wen Qing’s skills with resentful energy also told her when it came out of hiding. Unsurprising, because Yin Iron had a mind of its own, and the pieces Wen Ruohan was manipulating were calling out for the other pieces. Yin Iron wanted to be whole again, and that meant trouble.

She chose to be purposefully unhelpful and to do the absolute minimum required of her—a petty and pitiful show of malicious compliance that in the end made barely a difference. But to her, it meant that at least she tried. 

And yet, the Cloud Recesses burned and Lotus Pier was razed to the ground, and all she had to defend herself with was misdirection, a handful of forced rests, and a pouch of medicinal herbs.

What a sad price for human lives lost.

And yet. 

Uncle Ruohan trusted her and gave her ample funds to conduct her research. He heeded her advice and let her treat him for his impending qi-deviation. If it hadn’t been for her family under house arrest and the not-subtle-at-all threat on A-Ning’s life, Wen Qing could’ve enjoyed his time in Nightless City. But like this, her days were filled with low-level terror and the feeling of panic clawing at her mind.

•••

Was it a terrible thing to say that war was a welcome respite?

Perhaps it was. Perhaps Wen Qing was already such a terrible person that one poorly worded sentence here or there wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

Be as it may, wartime was easier on her than the relative peace had been. Almost two months after the farce of the Dusk Creek Mountain hunt, she was granted the leadership of the Yiling outpost. It was a small place with a walled-off manor and adjacent buildings, more than enough peace and quiet for her to keep up with her studies and writing out her theories. There were reports to write, of course, but she ran a tight ship and after the hassle of the first couple of months, things settled down.

Was it terrible to say she enjoyed her time in the Yiling supervisory office?

Perhaps she just was a terrible person.

•••

She’d been the commander of the outpost for a whole three days when she realized A-Ning was gone. She panicked at first—naturally! She was a big sister, after all—but when she realized that some of her medicine bottles on the shelves in her office were disturbed, something within her went cold. She checked all the bottles and jars and found a significant shortage of qi-replenishing pills, strong sedatives, and painkillers.

”Oh, A-Ning,” she whispered, horrified. ”What have you done?!”

It wasn’t hard to figure out where he’d gone. Ever since the Lan guest lecture, A-Ning had been fascinated by Wei Wuxian, looking up to the other teen like he was the best thing in the whole world. And Wen Qing could understand it: the boy was aesthetically pleasing and clearly a genius, and as he’d demonstrated in Gusu, under the annoying posturing and hare-brained antics, he had a warm heart and kindness many didn’t show outside their own immediate family. But Wei Wuxian had kindness to spare and he wasn’t shy about it. And now that Lotus Pier had fallen, the Sect Leader and his wife killed, and the heirs missing, it was glaringly obvious where A-Ning would be heading.

”Fuck,” she growled under her breath. 

At least the guards she had with her were the ones she’d known for years. She’d helped them when they’d been sick, delivered several guards’ babies, and tended their ailing elderly relatives. She hoped they’d be more inclined to be loyal to her and keep her safe than rat her out…but at the same time, she knew this was the Wen, she shouldn’t place any weight on hoping or gratitude.

And yet, she did.

After a week of nerve-wracking acting that everything was perfectly fine, she finally heard the telltale sound of hooves and the creaking of a carriage, and she had to bite her lip bloody to keep herself from tearing outside and berating A-Ning for a good while before hugging him so hard his ribs would crack. Instead, she walked out calmly and stood under the hood of her office’s porch, her hands gently poised together, an unimpressed look on her face.

”Jie, please…they need help!” A-Ning said, eyes wide and imploring, shamelessly using his knowledge of what that look did to her to his advantage. ”They have nowhere else to go. Sect Leader Jiang—” he paused, glancing around.

”Close the gate and get inside,” she snapped, beckoning at him sharply. The sooner she got the missing Jiang trio under her roof and away from the open, the better. 

”You can’t stay here,” she said under her breath to Wei Wuxian who hovered next to his brother and collapsed sister. 

”I know,” he said. ”But—is there something we can do? That I can do? Anything?”

”His core was melted by Wen Zhuliu,” Wen Qing said flatly. ”All I can do is to repair the surface damage, and that’s it.” She closed her eyes and sighed. ”I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. ”No, I get it. Thank you.”

His gratitude grated at her, bothering her like a hangnail that caught on everything if she wasn’t careful. She pressed her lips together in a tight line and brewed medicine for the weak and coughing Jiang Yanli and forced qi-strengthening pills past Jiang Wanyin’s lax lips even though she knew the previous would need rest and peace that was nowhere to be found and the latter…well. The less was said about Jiang Wanyin’s condition, the better.

When Wei Wuxian returned from his pheasant-hunting trip with not a pheasant but an actual person, Wen Qing wanted to throw her arms up and groan. Instead, she let out a very carefully controlled huff of breath and examined Song Zizhen’s eyes. The surgery was done somewhat crudely—it was glaringly obvious the one who performed the act was no doctor—but it had been successful. Song Zizhen’s eyes had been poisoned and mutilated but he’d gained his sight back due to a devoted friend.

(Wen Qing just couldn’t understand why in the name of all heavens Xiao Xingchen had gifted Song Zizhen both his eyes. That had just transferred the blindness from one man to the other. Why hadn’t he gifted him one eye? That way they both would’ve lost an eye, keeping the other. They could’ve worn matching eye patches! But no. Unneeded sacrifice and heroics. Men, she scoffed. So impractical.)

She would later wonder what would’ve happened if Wei Wuxian hadn’t stumbled upon Song Zizhen’s prone body. Would he have come up with the idea of a golden core transfer without Xiao Xingchen’s sacrifice inspiring him? If not, would the Sunshot Campaign have been won or lost? 

Would she have still lost her family?

•••

Ever since she knew she wanted to be a doctor, she knew she wanted to heal people. She wanted to be a doctor, to make a difference. 

She never imagined she’d be treating her sadistic sect leader for the negative effects of resentful energy. She never imagined she’d have to drug someone who had been nothing but unflinchingly kind to her and her brother. She never imagined that by reaching out into someone’s stomach, she would be able to touch (rip, force out, violate) a golden core.

If asked, she couldn’t have formed the words to describe how it felt to hold Wei Wuxian’s core in her hand. It was bright, pulsating, nearly incorporeal, and holding it felt like holding a handful of mist and lava from the Nightless City’s volcano. She could sense its distress at being torn from its cocoon and the confusion when she pushed it into a body it didn’t belong in. After, Wei Wuxian’s now-unconscious body felt like a corpse as she briskly stitched him back together, holding back tears as she went, cursing this unbelievable, unbearable, wonderful young man who was willing to do so much, give so much, because he thought he had a life debt to pay.

Something about his dedication reminded her so much of A-Ning that it made her shiver. It also made her wonder just how far would her little brother be willing to go to keep her safe.

She forced herself to stop wondering lest she got sick all over Wei Wuxian’s mutilated body.

•••

After, she and A-Ning returned to her office where she cleaned her tools with meticulous precision, boiled the needles and knives, burned the cloth rags she’d used, and used a cleaning talisman for a good measure before packing everything up. She felt A-Ning’s eyes on her almost the whole time, brimming with anxiety and the need to ask questions but he also knew her well and kept his mouth shut.

Finally, she lowered her hands to her lap and sighed. ”You know we can’t,” she said without looking at A-Ning. ”It’s too dangerous.”

”I know, jie,” A-Ning said eagerly. ”And it’s not that…I just…”

She got up, walked to him, and knelt in front of him. ”I know,” she said, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek. ”I wish things were different but they aren’t, and this is the reality we now live in.” The smile she offered him was a thin, wobbly thing that didn’t fool him even a bit.

”Jie—” A-Ning started but she shook her head. He looked at her for a long time then, searching her eyes for what, she didn’t know. Finally, he sighed and nodded.

•••

Seven days after the core transfer, Wen Chao’s troops marched into the Yiling Supervisory Office.

•••

In a twisted, mocking way, ending up in the prison felt almost like a relief: her rank was high enough that she was left alone and not raped like other female prisoners, and she got a respite from treating Wen Ruohan’s increasingly paranoid outbursts of unhinged violence. 

If it wasn’t for the way A-Ning was being treated, she could’ve almost enjoyed the experience. 

When the final battle was fought and lost, an eerie silence settled over the prison compound. She braced herself for the inevitability of being found and the cruelties that would almost certainly follow. Nevertheless, she somehow wasn’t prepared for Jiang Wan—Sect Leader Jiang in his resplendent robes and grim face to march in and open the doors. 

She was taken aback when he offered her the comb, offered to take responsibility for her and A-Ning, offered a chance for a new life away from the horrors that were promised to all Wen remnants. For the briefest of moments, she was tempted. She was tempted to pick up the comb, set in on her hair, and support A-Ning as they bowed down to their new sect leader. 

Oh, to forget the carnage and violence, to be able to practice medicine again… 

…And then she thought of Popo, of Uncle Four, of her cousin and little A-Hui who was about to be a big sister, and leaving them behind while running to safety, and…she just couldn’t. 

She was glad he understood her reasoning. It gave her permission to respect him instead of just hating him.

(That would come later.)

What followed was a time she’d rather forget. The prison camps, the casual cruelty the Jin soldiers dealt left and right, the hacking cough her cousin developed right after giving birth, the way her frail body was carelessly tossed into a growing pile of forgotten casualties that were no longer considered human.

She managed to escape.

She managed to find Wei Wuxian.

She managed to convince him to find A-Ning but she didn’t mean for him to grow dark with shadows and dread, and kill every Jin soldier in the camp shrouded in resentful energy with hatred burning red in his eyes.

She never thought he’d manage to bring back A-Ning.

She never—

Well.

There were many things Wen Qing didn’t think of happening and yet, they did.

•••

In hindsight, it told a lot about her and her life that she considered her two years in the Burial Mounds some of her happiest. Yes, they were dirt poor, and yes, she was constantly both starving and nerve-wrackingly worried about Popo and A-Yuan and A-Ning and Wei Wuxian, but she still counted all that as the lesser evil compared to her life in Nightless City.

Poverty and hunger were manageable when you were with the people you love.

The worry over an elderly relative’s arthritis was easier to carry than the worry of getting your whole family branch tortured and killed because you didn’t smile just quite right. 

It was harrowing but it was more than just existing. It was life.

It was bound to go up in flames.

•••

There were so many things she wanted to say to Wei Wuxian. 

Thank you for everything you did and I’m sorry it was all for nothing. Thank you for putting your life on the line and estranging yourself from your family to save the wretched remnants of mine. Thank you for giving us two years of happiness in this world ravaged by war. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I’m sorry. 

Words that meant everything and nothing at all.

”I’m sorry,” she said as she paralyzed Wei Wuxian and lowered him onto the fur-covered slab of rock he called his bed. 

”Don’t do this, don’t you dare, please, please—” Wei Wuxian begged, tears streaming from his eyes as he struggled in vain against the acupuncture locks she’d set in place.

She flicked in the last needle that would render him unconscious for three days and whispered, ”And thank you.”

Next to her, A-Ning looked devastated, Jin Zixuan’s blood still clinging to his knuckles and his sleeves. Outside the cave, her family stood in silence, fully aware of what she and A-Ning were about to do to keep them safe. They understood and she loved them so much she had no words to convey it.

And it was still for nothing.

•••

She was forced to watch as the Jin dragged her family to the galleys and hung them from the wall of Nightless City like trophies. 

She was forced to watch as Jin Guangshan’s pet psychopath pushed nails into A-Ning’s skull, making him shudder and convulse and then grow so still it made her heart break. 

She was forced to endure Jin Guangshan raping her over and over again and then turning her to his cronies until there was nothing left of her but a hollowed-out husk of a person.

She endured it all because it meant Wei Wuxian would be safe.

She endured because she hadn’t seen A-Yuan’s small body among the bodies of her family.

She endured because it was the only way to cling to at least some semblance of self-respect.

She endured it because she was Wen Qing, the rightful heir of Qishan Wen, and the personal physician of Wen Ruohan.

And if they thought a little bit of torture and rape and burning alive would break her, they would be wrong.

The compound looked abandoned. Overgrown bushes and trees grew thick and impenetrable around a ramshackle house and a thick smell of decay hovered over everything. The house was dark but there was a presence, a malicious intent that lurked and seemed to stare at them from across the overgrown yard.

”I don’t like this,” Jiang Wanyin gritted between his teeth.

”L-let me go first,” Wen Qionglin said. ”If there’s t-trouble—”

”And what if that malicious presence is a trap spun of resentful energy?” Jiang Wanyin hissed.

”I can—” Wen Qionglin started but fell silent when Lan Wangji raised a hand.

”I’m not willing to risk you without further investigation,” he said in a low voice. ”I will go and—”

”Stand out like a beacon in your clothes,” Jiang Wanyin snapped. ”Don’t be an idiot.”

”What about Inquiry?” Sizhui asked.

”And what would you do? Charge in waving Zidian like a madman?” Lan Wangji asked coldly.

Jiang Wanyin snorted. ”Obviously not—”

Their bickering halted when they heard a thin, reedy bamboo flute play.

”What?” Nie Huaisang said, lowering his flute. ”Don’t stop on my account, I’m just trying to figure out what’s out there.”

”You know demonic cultivation?” Jiang Wanyin asked, suspicious.

”No,” Nie Huaisang said. ”I know enough to recognize threads and where they lead, that’s all. I’m no Yiling Laozu.” He lifted the flute back to his lips and played a short tune, paused, and played it again.

Lan Wangji realized he was using it to probe the compound, a bit like some animals used clicks and other sounds to navigate their way in darkness. He wasn’t able to decipher what exactly Nie Huaisang was doing but he looked confident enough that he decided he knew what he was doing.

”Come,” he said after a moment, inclining his head tensely. ”I have a way in. There’s…something that might try to grab us but I’m trying to distract it.”

They followed him, stepping carefully exactly where Nie Huaisang’s boots had been, and slowly made their way into the house. It was just as dilapidated from the inside as it was from the outside: a thick sheet of dust covered the surfaces and the smell of decay hung heavy in the air, and if it wasn’t for the footprints on the floor, they would’ve thought they were in no luck.

But there were footprints and they led on through the house and out of the back door—and then they vanished.

Lan Wangji wanted to scream. He’d thought—

Wei Ying—

Before he had the chance to despair, Wen Qionglin gripped his arm. ”There!” he whispered, pointing at a partially crumbled shed on the other side of the yard. ”I think I can feel him!”

And that’s when the spirits attacked.

•••

If asked later, Lan Wangji couldn’t have explained what happened. He remembered fighting and screaming and Zidian’s flashes and Nie Huaisang’s shrill flute accompanying Sizhui’s qin, and Bichen sending wave after wave of pure energy to flatten whatever tried to come at them, and right next to him, Wen Qionglin keeping him safe as he raced to the shed.

There, on a crude pallet on the ground, lay Wei Ying, pale and emaciated but gloriously, undeniably breathing, hands on his sides and his black flute on his belt.

Lan Wangji didn’t stop to think, he grabbed Wei Ying into his arms, jumped on Bichen, and sped upward. From above, the compound was a seething, writhing pit of resentment, lashing out and trying to yank them back in. 

”RUN!” he bellowed as he summoned Wangji and moved Wei Ying to his other arm. He waited until he saw the others flee the site and then poured all his rage and fear into one, concentrated chord. It slammed down, discordant and beyond ugly, and tore to pieces the pit of resentment, the house and the shed, and a better part of the ground, turning everything into a massive cloud of dust and debris.

And then, it was silent.

Until—

”What the FUCK was that?” screamed Jiang Wanyin from somewhere below.

”That was the Chord Assassination,” Sizhui said slowly as he emerged from the settling dust. ”Although…” He looked at Lan Wangji. ”I’ve never seen it wreck that much destruction.”

Lan Wangji didn’t have the energy for answers right now. He vanished his guqin almost as an afterthought and turned all his attention to Wei Ying, now securely back in both his arms, head lolling against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He was pale and cold and still and he looked like he was dead but he wasn’t—

”Father, we should get away from this place,” Sizhui said, yanking his spiraling thoughts into the clear.

”Mn,” he said, barely able to tear his gaze from Wei Ying to look around. 

Next to him flew Jiang Wanyin, his furious scowl firmly in place and fully covered in dust while somehow, Nie Huaisang was hovering preciously on his saber in completely clean robes. Sizhui’s left sleeve was muddy and he had a gash on his right cheek but he was otherwise unharmed. 

”Nie Jian got Wen Qionglin into safety,” Nie Huaisang said at the same time as Wen Qionglin called, ”D-don’t worry about me, H-hanguang-jun! Get Master Wei t-to safety, I’ll s-see you at the inn!”

”Go,” Sizhui said. ”I’ll follow you with Uncle Ni—I mean, Ghost General and Sect Leader Nie.”

Jiang Wanyin sighed. ”Look, kid. I’ve known who you are since the moment Lan Wangji suddenly had a mysterious son,” he said, sounding tired. ”You can call him whatever you like, just be careful. We don’t know what else might be lurking down there.”

Impatient, Lan Wangji shared a grim look with Jiang Wanyin, then he nodded at Sizhui and sped toward Anping.

”Oh, no,” he whispers as he opens his eyes to the now-familiar cold room. ”Oh, Wen Qing…”

He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes until he sees bright spots dancing in his eyes, then rubs his eyes until the spots multiply and go mad, bursting into multi-colored specks that fill his whole field of vision. When it starts to hurt too much, he curls his fingers into claws and pushes his hands up to grip his hair. He has an impulse to yank it until he tears something but he staves the thought off, seeing with his mind’s eye a delicate woman with a spine of steel giving him an unimpressed look.

Wen Qing.

”Fuck,” Wei Wuxian breathes.

Something about this experience feels different. Perhaps because he’d known Wen Qing better? Because he’d lived with her and her family for almost two years? Or…is it something else? He has a nagging feeling something has changed but he has no clue what. His fingers itch to start making notes but he has no paper, let alone ink and brushes, and he has some serious doubts about whether or not the notes he takes would even be there when he comes back from the room he visits.

So, better to keep it in his head for the time being.

Something moves in the periphery of his vision and he turns his head.

”Good morning,” Cloak says pleasantly.

”Oh. It’s you again,” Wei Wuxian says dryly. ”Doesn’t it get old to repeat the same things over and over again?”

Cloak stays silent for long enough that he turns to his side to give him a narrow-eyed look. They’re still clad in a dark robe with a hood that covers their facial features, and the cut and material of their robes give no hint of either their age or their gender.

”So, what now?” Wei Wuxian asks when Cloak still says nothing.

”We’ve been over this, Yiling Laozu,” Cloak says, sounding tired. ”You pick a door. You open the door. You walk through. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

Hmm…

”No.”

”No?” Cloak snorts. ”Then I’ll choose for you.”

Wei Wuxian braces himself for the repeat experience of being forced to his feet and yanked toward the doors but…nothing happens. 

Wait.

He narrows his eyes, then asks, ”Where am I?”

”Where are you?” Cloak says. ”Why? Does it matter?” They crouch as if to peer into his eyes even though their hood only shows a smirking mouth. ”This is…hm. Justice? Fate? What you deserve?” A chuckle. ”It doesn’t matter. This is where you belong, Yiling Laozu.”

”You’ve already said that,” Wei Wuxian says slowly.

Cloak stays silent.

”What is this place? Why am I here? What is the point of all this?”

”I’ve been planning this for quite some time, you know?” Cloak says and spreads their arms. ”All of this was designed specifically for you.”

”Yeah, see, I’m starting to have second thoughts about this,” Wei Wuxian says conversationally and stands up. ”Why won’t you join me for an adventure?”

Nothing.

Cloak stands still, hands clasped in their sleeves, hood firmly in place to shield their face. 

Something is definitely different.

Wei Wuxian taps his nose a couple of times and starts to slowly walk around Cloak. They look human enough but that itself doesn’t mean anything. They could be a demon or a yao or pretty much anything, depending on whether this is a figment of his imagination (in death) or an elaborate curse. If it’s the latter, he should be able to break it eventually but that might take some time. If it’s the former…well. If he’s dead, it doesn’t really matter, does it?

He stops right behind Cloak and yanks the hood off, expecting any kind of retaliation but there’s nothing. Cloak’s form ripples in place for a moment, then they turn and the hood is back on.

”Good morning,” they say pleasantly.

”Well. Fuck,” Wei Wuxian murmurs.

•••

Turns out, Cloak can no longer force him to do anything. They can just stand there and pontificate but they can neither yank his body around nor make him pick a door. They repeat the same sentences over and over, almost like they’ve been designed to do so. It gets very old very soon.

By the seventh ’good morning,’ Wei Wuxian groans, bites his finger out of impulse, and slams Cloak with a talisman that throws them against the far wall. He fully expects them to just bounce back which is why he’s very surprised when Cloak shimmers and then just fades away.

”Oh,” he says. He looks at his finger and squeezes it a bit to make a new blood drop swell, and then looks again at the far wall. Not even a smear remains of the mystery person who had been the light of his days (nights?) in this place but he’s pretty sure he won’t be missing them. 

So, he can change things. He couldn’t before but he can, now.

What changed?

Just to make sure, he pats himself down to feel if he has any lingering injuries but apart from his throbbing finger, he’s fine. As usual, his visit to the other realm (living through Wen Qing’s death) left no physical signs even though he can recall the sensation of his skin starting to bubble and peel when flames licked through it to reach muscle and bone. It had been an intensely uncomfortable experience and he’d rather not think about it.

Instead, he sits down and starts to think.

If he was able to get rid of Cloak, that must mean something in the outside world has drastically changed. That could also mean that he should be able to break from this…what had Cloak called this place? Halls of Regret? Whatever, he should be able to blast his way out, right?

If only it was that simple.

Two doors. Two ways out and into someone’s life and death Wei Wuxian isn’t that enthusiastic to experience. Then back here to stare at the same walls and a new set of doors to experience yet another death.

If this is a curse, it’s one of the strongest and most elaborate he’s ever encountered.

(It has to be a curse. He isn’t willing to accept he’s dead, not when he just got a second chance.)

”What the fuck am I supposed to do now?” he mutters after yet another failed experiment to tear down the walls. 

The doors, a sturdy set of wooden doors, feel almost mocking.

”I must be going mad,” he sighs. ”Oh, whatever.”

He stands up, walks to the doors, and takes the one on the left.

Wen Ruohan had never been a pleasant man. Wen Nuan had never liked him, not when he was still a boy and definitely not when he grew up. Sadly, being the sect leader’s distant cousin several times removed wasn’t a position from where she could freely make her opinion known, so she swallowed down her disdain and concentrated on living her life.

And it was a good life. Hard, at times, but still good.

Their small community at the Dafan village was a tightly knit family of about sixty people; aunties and cousins and nephews and nieces making a life together, raising children together, and taking care of the elderly together. Wen Nuan had moved there after meeting her husband—they’d been barely sixteen at the time, young and carefree and stupidly in love with each other’s bright smiles and sparkling eyes. When A-Rong had asked to court her, she’d said yes immediately, only realizing in hindsight that perhaps she should’ve consulted her parents beforehand. 

(Luckily, her parents said yes.)

•••

Living quite a distance away from the Nightless City helped somewhat but it didn’t save Wen Nuan from her bloodline. Yes, they were removed enough from the politicking and scheming—also things she had zero interest in—but that distance was easily covered on a sword.

”Cousin!” Wen Ruohan bellowed as he descended from the skies.

”Sect Leader,” Wen Nuan said, bowing respectfully.

Wen Ruohan waved her salute away and sheathed his sword, nodding at his escort to do the same. ”None of that, A-Nuan! We’re family, aren’t we?”

”Yes, Sect Leader,” she replied. She hadn’t forgotten about the young farmer whom Wen Ruohan had flogged when he hadn’t bowed deep enough.

”So. What have you been doing here?” Wen Ruohan asked. He clasped his hands behind his back and started strolling along the main road that ran through the village, looking left and right as if he were genuinely curious about the place.

”We grow medicinal herbs and vegetables,” she said. ”We’re farmers and healers, Sect Leader.”

”That sounds like a waste,” he muttered, tilting his head at the small orchard next to Wen Ping’s house. ”Do you have wine? The normal kind, not medicinal.”

”I think we do, Sect Leader,” Wen Nuan said. ”I will fetch it at once.”

Wen Ruohan let out a short huff that echoed the haughty curl of his lip. 

Wen Nuan ducked her head to keep her own expression hidden as she hurried to Wen Yin’s house. Her neighbor had been very interested in brewing his own wine for some time now, and his experiments had so far been successful. She didn’t even bother trying to cover her relief when this batch of fruit wine was also a success.

••• 

Wen Ruohan stayed for three days. He walked around the village, talked to most of the people, and expressed quite an interest in the statue in the caves behind the village. It was an old deity, once a mere rock that had slowly gained the face of a young maiden as time passed, and who now was their…well. Not their guardian but a sort of local legend. Not many knew about her and even fewer came around to see her.

Wen Nuan had never liked it. There was something strange about it, a chill that made shivers run down her spine. But she’d never been one to judge and she wasn’t about to start now. If people wanted to bring her flowers and wine and incense, well, who was she to say no?

”It has power,” Wen Ruohan said, downing his tea and slamming the cup on the table with so much force it cracked and declared, ”I’m going to spend the night in the cave.”

Wen Nuan stifled a grimace. First, that cup had been one of her favorites and now it was ruined and second, Sect Leader Wen spending the night in that cave wouldn’t mean anything good. There was nothing she could do about either of those things, so she cleaned up the spilled tea and asked her sect leader if he’d like another blanket. 

•••

Two weeks after Wen Ruohan returned to Nightless City, the statue came alive. The small group of cultivators he’d left behind subdued it quickly and spoke to no one about what had happened before they rushed back to the Nightless City. The only reason Wen Nuan knew about it all was because she’d been resting her back, leaning on a small boulder as the cultivators passed her by, talking in hushed tones.

It left a sour taste in her mouth and made her even more suspicious of their sect leader’s plans.

•••

As time went by, Wen Nuan forgot about her suspicions. She and A-Rong expanded their house to accommodate first their growing family and then the children A-Rong started to teach. ”If the Dafan Wen are to keep with the tradition of being among the best healers in the Cultivation World, they need to start early,” he said to Wen Nuan who merely rolled her eyes, fully aware of A-Rong’s deep love for teaching.

Their children grew up; Chanwu and Heping moved away but their second daughter, Lingye, stayed, curious and quick-minded and with an intense yearning to learn. She prospered under the village healer’s tutelage, gaining a reputation as one of the brightest medical minds of her generation. Wen Nuan’s heart swelled with pride but even more with the joy of seeing her daughter use her knowledge and skills for others.

Sometimes she wondered what her life would’ve been like if Wen Ruohan had either been a normal sect leader or killed early.

•••

When she got the letter informing her of A-Rong’s death, she could scarcely believe it.

”How could this have happened?” she whispered to Wen Yin, gripping the letter so tightly it crumpled. ”He was just supposed to visit! A-Rong has never been in a fight—he wouldn’t pick one just for fun!”

”I don’t know,” Wen Yin said, clasping her hand. ”But I have a feeling this might not have been an accident,” he said in a low voice.

’What do you mean?’ Wen Nuan wanted to ask but she didn’t dare. She didn’t want to think closer about what it would mean that Wen Ruohan would sabotage Sect Leader Nie’s saber and kill off his own cousin’s husband. She didn’t want to admit that her husband had been killed because of what he was, not because of who he was.

In the coming years, Wen Ruohan’s relatives died one by one. An uncle there, a cousin here, a whole family near Qinglin. Chanwu and her husband died in a mudslide on their way to Dafan, Heping and the man he’d chosen to be his life partner and whom Wen Nuan had never had the chance to meet died of food poisoning all the way over in Jianglin. If it hadn’t been for Lingye and the child she was carrying, Wen Nuan would’ve shattered.

Little A-Qing was full of fury and indignation from the moment she was born, and she and her precious little brother A-Ning were the lights of Wen Nuan’s life even when her world was about to drown under despair. The Heavenly Maiden came alive again when A-Ning was four, devouring Lingye and her husband’s souls and nearly sucking out A-Ning’s as well. When Ruohan’s men managed to suppress the statue—again—but what was left for Wen Nuan in the aftermath was bittersweet memories and a desperate determination to keep her grandchildren alive.

•••

A-Qing’s fate was to be as brilliant as her mother, surpassing her skills when she was barely 14. Wen Nuan both wanted to beam with pride and hide her from sight because she knew that if word got out, Wen Ruohan would take interest and if he got his claws on Wen Nuan’s precious grandchildren, he’d ruin them.

Which he nearly did.

Wen Nuan didn’t want to think about what ifs and what abouts. She knew how close she’d come to losing everything, and she held on to what she had left with tooth and nail. For now, both A-Qing and A-Ning were alive and that was enough, even if they were far away from her, and Wen Nuan lived for the letters A-Ning sent her from Nightless City, from Yiling, from Gusu of all places. 

On the year the Heavenly Maiden statue broke free, a distant cousin returned from Hedong and started a family, shining some hope into her days. It had been a hard year. in hindsight, Wen Nuan couldn’t say if it was the statue’s influence that made the whole village morose and melancholy but it definitely didn’t help things. It felt like nothing at all to fall into that foggy nowhere space where only the drive for a warm human body was the only thing that mattered. If it hadn’t been for the brilliant boys that came to rescue, she didn’t know what they would’ve done or where they would’ve ended in. They rescued her village and sealed the Heavenly Maiden back with stronger talismans than she’d so far ever seen.

”Thank you, thank you so much!” Wen Nuan cried, clutching the boy in black so hard her knuckles went white.

”Aiyah, it was nothing! Thank you for the wine!” the boy said, sounding both embarrassed and pleased. His blush made his cheeks radiant and the boy in blue looked like he couldn’t tear his gaze away. 

Their infatuation with each other made her chest feel lighter. Young love had the effect of making things brighter and more hopeful, and she basked in the feeling she felt like she hadn’t felt in a lifetime.

It would be the last time in a long, long while she’d feel light.

•••

History is written by winners and by men. 

Wen Ruohan tried to bend the Cultivation world under his heel but failed, and in the aftermath, the small, mundane communities were the ones that took the hardest hits. The Dafan villagers were torn from their homes and marched through scorched land, ridiculed and pushed around until their robes were torn and their knees bled. They were abused and mocked, pushed into pens like animals, and thrown into camps that were more like storages than suitable spaces for humans to live in.

History would state that Wen Ruohan was a tyrant and all Wen descendants were his accomplices.

History would state that the Wen remnants were provided with housing, food, water, and clothes.

History would state that what happened on the Qiongqi Path was an unprovoked attack.

History would state that Wei Wuxian was building himself a new sect. Or an army.

History would state that the Wen remnants deserved everything that followed.

History would be wrong.

•••

If someone told Wen Nuan she’d live relatively happily at the Burial Mounds, she would’ve claimed them insane. But there she was; rescued from a prison camp by a brilliant, broken, wonderful young man and whisked away into the swirling maelstrom of resentful energy, discarded bones, and ghosts that no longer remember what it meant to be dead. They built up a community: they built homes and repaired partially crumbled walls and roofs, they plowed the bitter soil of the Burial Mounds and coaxed it to yield sustenance, they gathered around a humble fire and shared meal and water (as they didn’t have money for tea). In the middle of it all, her A-Qing was thriving in a way she’d never had the chance to do under Wen Ruohan’s thumb, and perhaps the biggest reason for that was that she no longer had to fear for A-Ning’s safety.

Or, at least not in the way she’d been afraid earlier. Because earlier, A-Ning had been a sweet boy who never meant anyone harm. Now, he was a sentient fierce corpse, unflinchingly loyal and devoted to Wei Wuxian, and infinitely more dangerous because of that. Wen Nuan knew that. A-Qing knew that. The rest of the adult Wen knew that. The only ones who didn’t seem to quite grasp it were Wei Wuxian and A-Ning.

And speaking of Wei Wuxian…

At first, Wen Nuan would’ve been more than pleased to have Wei Wuxian as A-Qing’s husband. In truth, she was just as pleased to have him as an additional grandson, and his young man, the illustrious Hanguang-jun, was another additional grandson. The boys complement each other and treated them all with such respect and warmth that it brought tears to her eyes. Their regard and love for each other was blindingly obvious and they extended all that warmth to small A-Yuan as well, a sure way to make the whole community fall in love with them. Even in the dim, dreadful days on Burial Mounds, both Wei Wuxian and Hanguang-jun always had a smile for A-Yuan, and Hanguang-jun bought him more toys than was in any world reasonable for a toddler. 

And yet, something kept Wei Wuxian from allowing himself to fully fall in love—or perhaps more like being fully in love. Perhaps it was that he thought that as a demonic cultivator, he’d never be accepted. Or perhaps it was because he felt his lack of core made him unworthy. Neither was true but Wei Wuxian’s inability to believe he was wanted paired with Hanguang-jun’s hideous inability to form words was a heartbreaking combination.

”Does he truly not see?” Wen Nuan asked one day after watching Wei Wuxian sigh and curl into himself before flinging himself bodily into designing new talismans.

A-Qing tsked and shook her head. ”I’m not sure if he actually is that oblivious or has some misguided belief that he has to claim to be. Now, Popo, drink this and tell me if it helps.” She held out a bowl of greenish-brown sludge she called medicine and waited expectantly until Wen Nuan forced it down.

Wen Nuan hummed but her eyes followed Wei Wuxian as he threw A-Yuan in the air and caught him with hands that were so sure despite the obvious malnutrition that left him weak and shaking.

He deserved so much more than they were able to give.

She hoped it would still be, if not enough, at least not too little.

•••

Disaster always hits hardest on those who don’t deserve it.

It did this time, too.

Wei Wuxian’s heartbreaking wails echoed from his cave, bouncing from one wall to the other, flickering as they hit a ghost. He screamed like a wounded man about to face his execution and perhaps in a way, he was just that. They all knew what it meant when A-Ning carried the stricken, shattered man back from the ambush, blood drying on his fist and robes. They all knew that the time they’d so brazenly stolen had run its course, and the short moment of respite and peace had come to an end.

Wen Nuan didn’t consider herself a fierce woman but at the moment when they witnessed A-Qing and A-Ning walking down to the edge of the Burial Mounds, she felt fierce. Fierce love for this ragtag family of hers, fierce pride of her grandchildren, fierce anger at people who were eager to judge but wouldn’t face justice themselves.

And yet, fierceness granted her nothing. 

In the end, she was forced to watch her A-Qing humiliated and on her knees, watching the remnants of her family strung up one by one to decorate the walls of the Nightless City like cheap ornaments.

And yet, Wen Nuan knew that given the choice, she would still choose to walk down the same path with her family.

Wei Ying was here. 

Wei Ying was right here but he wasn’t waking up.

Lan Wangji collapsed on his knees next to the bed where Wei Ying’s thin body lay and held the slender wrist in his hands. It was limp and cool and the soot left dark marks on his white robes and Lan Wangji didn’t care, because Wei Ying wasn’t waking up!

”What’s wrong with him?” Jiang Wanyin demanded, stalking forward. He poked at Wei Ying’s leg, frowning when he got no reaction back.

”I don’t know,” Lan Wangji whispered, never taking his eyes off Wei Ying. He drank up his delicate features; the way his brows were just slightly furrowed, how his lashes fanned over his cheekbones, how his pale lips were lax, revealing the small beauty mark under his lip.

Jiang Wanyin scowled. ”Thanks to your trick there, I’m filthy. I’m taking the first bath.”

Lan Wangji barely noticed Jiang Wanyin leave the room as he closed his eyes and started transferring Wei Ying a small trace of spiritual energy. It moved sluggishly through his veins, pooling in his fledgling core, and trying its best to help nourish his poor body.

Lan Wangji’s heart ached to hear the familiar huff and laughter or even a wan ’Aiyah, Lan Zhan, I’m fine’ but there was nothing.

It terrified him.

”You turn,” Jiang Wanyin said gruffly as he entered the room and made his way to Wei Ying. His face was rubbed red and his unadorned hair hung limp and wet, painting his spare robes with dark lines from where the water seeped into the fabric. He didn’t look particularly refreshed.

Lan Wangji ignored him.

”Lan Wangji,” Jiang Wanyin growled. ”Go wash up. You’ll feel better after.”

”I—”

”You stink and you’re covered in dust. Go take a fucking bath, Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Wangji shot him an irritated look but he couldn’t deny that Jiang Wanyin was right. With a final brush of fingers on the back of Wei Ying’s hand, he pushed himself to stand. ”Don’t leave him alone,” he said stiffly.

Jiang Wanyin rolled his eyes and didn’t bother replying.

His bath was a hurried affair but even though he didn’t want to be away from Wei Ying’s side, over three decades of conditioning meant that he washed up with meticulous care, making sure he was clean before putting on a fresh set of robes. (To his dismay, Jiang Wanyin was right; Lan Wangji did feel slightly better.) He took a moment to run his spiritual energy through his meridians, checking his aches and bruises with practiced ease. He had a cut above his left knee, his right shoulder was sprained, and something weird was happening with his left little toe, all minor inconveniences barely worth his time. He directed a small sliver of spiritual energy to each place, easing the meager amount of pain and urging the tissue to heal faster.

When he was about to slide open the door to his chamber, a soft murmuring made him pause. 

”—such an asshole,” Jiang Wanyin hissed. 

Lan Wangji drew a breath, ready to barge in and remove him with extreme prejudice but something made him wait. 

”Don’t you dare die on me now! Not when I just got you back.” There was a wet quality in Jiang Wanyin’s voice, something subdued under his usual aggression.

Lan Wangji shelved the comment into the back of his mind for later scrutiny and entered the room, pointedly ignoring Jiang Wanyin to give him a chance to compose himself.

He cleared his throat. ”Is he still—”

Jiang Wanyin nodded. ”No change,” he said and moved out of the way to let Lan Wangji sit next to Wei Ying again. 

It wasn’t until he took Wei Ying’s hand again that he realized it was clean—in fact, Wei Ying was clean and in a clean, dark purple robe. He shot a narrow-eyed glare at Jiang Wanyin who rolled his eyes.

”Oh, please,” he sneered. ”We’ve bathed and swum together since we were boys. His skinny ass has nothing I haven’t seen before. Besides, who else was going to bathe him—you? You aren’t married yet.”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth to retort when his brain caught up with what Jiang Wanyin had said. ’Yet.’ Something about his expression must’ve belied his bewilderment when Jiang Wanyin huffed, unbearably smug, and sat at the table.

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth and concentrated all his focus back on Wei Ying.

After a moment of silence, Jiang Wanyin said, ”We shouldn’t stay here.”

Lan Wangji agreed. ”Where then? Qinghe—”

”No,” Jiang Wanyin interrupted. ”Lotus Pier is—”

”Wei Ying will not come to Lotus Pier,” Lan Wangji interrupted with more vehemence than he actually meant.

Jiang Wanyin rolled his eyes. ”Would you shut the fuck up and listen? Nie Huaisang might be an old friend but I don’t trust him. Lotus Pier is too far and if this is an elaborate curse, we’re not the experts on that. Besides, he wouldn’t want to come anyway.” He drew breath as if to steel himself, looked Lan Wangji straight in the eye, and said, ”He should be in the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Wangji blinked. That—that was unexpected. 

”Don’t bother acting surprised. He’s always chosen you over me.”

That was blatantly untrue. ”He gave you his core.”

Jiang Wanyin gritted his jaw so hard Lan Wangji could hear his teeth grind. ”I never asked him to do that.”

”And yet, he did,” Lan Wangji said softly and brushed his thumb over Wei Ying’s skin. ”Because that’s what he is.”

”Stupid, self-sacrificing idiot,” Jiang Wanyin muttered under his breath.

Lan Wangji pretended not to hear him. Instead, he kept his gaze on Wei Ying, wondering where he was and what he was going through. Was he asleep? Was he dreaming? What was he dreaming about?

He hoped it was something pleasant.

He had a sinking feeling it was the exact opposite.

”Sizhui should fly ahead,” Jiang Wanyin said after a moment. 

Lan Wangji glanced at him and then looked at Wei Ying again. ”And what would you be doing?”

”I’ll take Wen Ni—Qionglin and we’ll accompany you.”

Lan Wangji frowned. ”Why would that be necessary?”

Jiang Wanyin sighed as if he thought Lan Wangji was being obtuse on purpose. ”Sizhui will be faster alone, especially if I give him some of my qi-replenishing pills. You can’t fight if you’re carrying him,” he said, nodding at Wei Ying. ”And if someone was to attack, well.” Zidian sparked in his finger, casting a dancing purple shadow on his face.

”Let them try.”

•••

Sizhui was, understandably less than happy about the decision to send him ahead but he understood why. 

”I will fly as fast as I can!” he said, eyes shining with determination and jaw set in a familiar, stubborn grit. He’d said his goodbyes to Wen Qionglin earlier and he’d meditated next to Wei Ying for an hour after waking up. 

”No, you will fly as fast and safe as you can,” Jiang Wanyin snapped. He handed Sizhui a small sachet and said, ”Take one every fourth hour. Be careful.” He gripped Sizhui’s shoulder once and then turned to repack his qiankun pouch.

Sizhui turned his wide, slightly startled eyes at Lan Wangji who nodded. He brushed a finger along Sizhui’s forehead ribbon and cupped his cheek. ”Fly safe. Take no unnecessary risks. We will be fine.”

”Yes, Father!”

Sizhui bowed to him and Jiang Wanyin, and then set off. 

”He’s a good kid,” Jiang Wanyin said.

”Mn.”

Shortly after Sizhui’s departure, a soft knock on the door announced Nie Huaisang. He had his ubiquitous fan in front of his face but above its rim, his eyes were dark with fury.

”I’m going to stay here for a while,” he said. ”Some things have come to light that I need to investigate because this time, it seems I truly don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

”Anything we need to know?” Jiang Wanyin asked.

”I’m not sure. I don’t think so but I could also be wrong.” Nie Huaisang fluttered his fan as his eyes darted around the room and settled on Wei Ying. ”He looks better.”

”He looks clean,” Jiang Wanyin said flatly.

”As I said,” Nie Huaisang said. He turned to Lan Wangji. ”I have supplies for you and a letter for your brother, in case he wants to read it.” With that, he handed over a small, beautifully embroidered pouch that weighed enough to be a very high-quality qiankun pouch. ”You should leave while the weather is still good,” he said, tilting his head in a way that suggested he wasn’t actually talking about the weather.

”Until next time,” Lan Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang bowed and left. 

In a strange way, it felt like an ending.

Well, that was strange, Wei Wuxian thinks as he breathes through the phantom feeling of being strangled and gasping for air and trashing in the noose. He doesn’t bother getting up, just lays on his back with his eyes closed, one hand splayed next to him and the other holding onto his throat lightly. His pulse is still jumping under his fingers, a maniacal, panicked thing, fluttering madly even though he was never in any kind of real danger.

Bodies. So weird.

”Wen Nuan,” he says aloud, testing the name. He never knew her name—she was always just Popo for the whole settlement. Learning her name makes her more real somehow.

”Wen Nuan,” he says again, slower, softer, rolling the syllables on his tongue. It’s a good name, warm and reliable, like a hug she sometimes gave him even though they all knew about his aversion to touch.

She never really cared.

Perhaps she knew—like grannies and aunties tend to know—how touch-starved he was back then; flitting from one moment to the next, craving closeness and shying away from it at the same time, clutching A-Yuan close as if a toddler could help to stave off his nightmares. The Wen remnants respected him, were fond of him in their own way, but they didn’t feel the need to have him as one of their own. 

He wonders if Popo knew just how much her hugs meant to him.

He pushes himself to kneel up and then kowtows. ”I don’t know if you can hear me,” he says. ”But this Wei Ying wants to offer his humblest, deepest, sincerest gratitude for the love and patience you showed, Popo. This one will do his very best to get out of this place so that he can light you incense and burn paper money for you and your family.”

He stays in the bow until his back starts to ache and then straightens up slowly, gingerly like an old man.

The room is shrouded in its usual dim light, the pale walls bare and the floor cold, and Cloak nowhere to be seen. 

Wei Wuxian sincerely hopes they will stay that way. 

•••

It hits him some time later when he’s halfway through simple sword forms.

The first three deaths—Su She, Xiao Xingchen, and Nie Mingjue—were all deaths he’d personally witnessed, either by actually being there or through empathy. He knows how they all died. 

He hadn’t known how Wen Qing died or how Wen Popo died. Or, well, he’d known—Lan Zhan had told him—but he hadn’t been there. There was no way Wei Wuxian could’ve known all those things about those two women.

So how did he know? 

And was all that true?

What had Cloak said…that Wei Wuxian is here to learn regret? Regret about what? And for what purpose?

He keeps going through the sword forms as he mulls over the questions, flowing fluently from one form to the next with the ease of years of practice drilled into him. The exercise makes him sweat and his heart pound and he revels in the signs that his body is still capable of sweating, capable of being pushed to its limits, of being physically exhausted.

Only when he’s trembling so much he can barely stay standing, he allows himself to sit down and lean against the wall, arranging his limbs into the meditation pose. His encounter with Cloak had already hinted that things have changed but he’s still just a bit apprehensive as he closes his eyes and reaches inside of him. The relief he feels when he senses his fledgling core is like a wave and he can’t—and doesn’t really even bother to—hold back a shuddering, sob-like sigh.

It doesn’t mean he feels normal yet. His core is still sluggish and his meridians withered, reminding him of how he’d felt after the Xuanwu cave, starving himself and depleting his core for almost a week. So…does that mean he’s been starved now as well, in the outside world? 

He frowns, tries to reach back and remember what he’d been doing before he woke up in the Halls of Regret for the first time. It’s hazy and foggy as if seen through a veil but he gets flashes of an inn, someone dressed in nondescript robes, a hand on his wrist…and then, nothing.

Huh.

He was kidnapped? Drugged or cursed and taken somewhere? Or was he cursed only after he’d been taken? 

He shakes his head. It doesn’t really matter—the most important thing right now is to figure out what changed and how he’ll make it out.

The first question is the easiest: something changed because he’s no longer under his kidnapper’s influence. Either they’re dead, they’d left, or someone saved him. (He hopes it’s the latter because that would mean he’s most likely safe now.) Whatever it is, it seems to be the reason he was able to defeat Cloak and now reach his core. It doesn’t explain what he experienced through Wen Qing and Wen Popo’s eyes but he decides to take it astride for now.

He tilts his head a bit and sends out a small sliver of spiritual energy, probing the walls and the ceiling, testing if they’re as solid as they seem. It yields little to no results; a sense of solid rock with the tiniest bit of give. It’s so minuscule that Wei Wuxian could just as easily have imagined it but he tucks the information away anyway. 

”But if I could live through something I’ve never witnessed in the first place… I wonder what would be next.”

He turns to face the doors and—

”Oh shit,” he mutters.

There’s only one door. 

It’s a plain yet delicate screen door with fabric covering the windows.

Purple fabric.

…Fuck.

The thing about love—

The thing about it is that it’s both a strength and a weakness. Love can make you withstand anything and love can shatter you into shards that can never be pieced back together. And no matter how much it hurts, you’ll end up longing for it anyway.

Or at least that’s what it was for Jiang Yanli.

Father didn’t understand what love was and Mother considered it a weakness best pruned out, a liability that could endanger your whole life. To A-Cheng, love was competition and a reward, something to be earned and coveted. And A-Xian… well. A-Xian thought love was for others who deserved it, others who were not him.

Yanli was determined to make a change. Mother and Father were already beyond help but if she could make a difference for her brothers, she would grab the chance with eager hands.

•••

Ever since she was a child, she’d known she was a disappointment. The first of Yunmeng Jiang’s next generation, born two months early, weak as a kitten with a pale constitution to go. She would later learn that Mother’s cold demeanor was more about her disappointment in herself, not necessarily Yanli, but by the time she understood what it meant, she’d already internalized Mother’s views. 

Her mother was a proud, strong woman, a descendant of Meishan Yu, formidable in battle of wits and physical powers both. She wielded Zidian like it was the other half of her soul and she had high hopes for her firstborn. When it became clear Yanli would never have what it took to wield her mother’s signature weapon, Mother grew bitter and even sharper of tongue, lashing out at everyone who dared to cross her path. (It would later occur to Yanli that Mother’s ire wasn’t necessarily about Yanli being all but useless but more about Mother being forced to share Father’s bed until she produced a legitimate heir.)

A-Cheng made things better for a while. He was a temperamental boy, so very much like Mother it made Father turn away from him more and more as he grew up. Yanli wanted to shake Father and tell him to just look, look at that bright, proud, shining boy that is your heir, just look and hold him, isn’t he wonderful and strong, aren’t you proud? But she was just Yanli, soft and weak and gentle, and he didn’t have it in her to disrespect her Father.

”Stand up straight!” Mother snapped at them both as she walked by but her eyes slid over Yanli, dismissing her like she dismissed furniture or the wall. ”Don’t slouch. You’re the heir of Yunmeng Jiang, act like it!”

”Yes, Mother,” A-Cheng said, struggling to over-extend his small spine into the heights their mother expected of him and that he would never reach.

She gave them a cool look, pinched her lips together, and glided away, Yinzhu and Jinzhu at her heel.

”Mother is scary,” A-Cheng said in an almost whisper, ducking his head.

”Don’t say that A-Cheng,” Yanli soothed. ”Mother is strict because she knows you will do great things when you grow up. She’s just making sure you’ll be up to the task!”

”Really?”

Yanli smiled and nodded. ”Of course. Now, how about we head to the kitchen and see if there’s any buns left from the breakfast?”

A-Cheng of five years was very easy to distract with smiles and food.

•••

Despite Mother’s nature, Yanli had never been afraid of her. Mother was who she was and Yanli understood that reconciling with how Yanli had turned out was bound to make her bitter. She smiled and said, ”Yes, Mother,” when she received one of her stinging lectures but never really took any of it to heart.

Until A-Xian arrived and she learned what it was like to fear for someone instead of being afraid of someone.

”How dare you bring that…that thing into my house!” Mother hissed with such hate it made Yanli flinch back behind the corner. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but Mother’s voice stopped her in her tracks and she was frozen in place, eyes wide and mouth partially open in shock.

”My Lady,” Father said, sounding annoyed. ”This is my house. If I want to bring in the son of my dearest friend, I’m more than within my rights to do so.”

”He’s the son of a servant and a homeless trollop who stole him away from his duties and contract,” Mother sneered. 

”Don’t talk about them like that!”

”Like what?” Mother mocked. ”Wei Changze was a servant bound to this house and he ran away. Cangse Sanren was a rogue cultivator who flaunted her free spirit in front of everyone, completely at ease to flirt with anyone and everyone. I’m glad they’re dead!”

”Yu Ziyuan!” Father snapped.

”Jiang Fengmian!” Mother screamed back. ”Tell me, am I wrong? Your so-called best friend abandoned his sworn post to go gallivanting around and now you expect me to welcome their spawn under my roof with open arms? A thieving street rat with no manners and even less promise?”

There was a pause and the sound of steps, then another pause. ”He already has a core,” Father said calmly. Then he opened the door and walked away, in the opposite direction of Yanli, who was still pressed against the wall, a hand on her mouth.

A split moment later, she heard a scream of rage and something heavy hitting the wall and then breaking into a thousand pieces.

•••

At thirteen, Yanli couldn’t claim to be an expert on the matters of the heart but she knew her parents’ marriage wasn’t a love match. It was a political union in which Meishan Yu gained a foothold in one of the major sects and Yunmeng Jiang gained a powerful wife for their sect leader. Sadly, Mother and Father’s compatibility was next to nothing which resulted in…well. Yunmeng Jiang wasn’t a united household but a bickering couple not afraid to air their dirty laundry in front of everyone. 

She sometimes wondered if things would’ve been different if she’d been a better daughter. Then she looked at Mother, snapping at everyone and throwing barbs in every direction, and thought, No, I don’t think so.

•••

Her betrothal to Jin Zixuan had been decided before her birth. It was something that had always been there: the sky was blue, Mother’s ring sparked when she was angry, and Yanli was betrothed to the Jin sect heir. She tried her best to make him feel comfortable and welcome but he rebuked her attempts by either rolling his eyes, coldly declining, and on one, memorable occasion, telling her straight-up that he was never going to get married or if he was it wouldn’t be to her, so Yanli should just take the sweets to somewhere else. 

She cried after that one, and then she had to endure Mother’s exasperated lecture on how crying over a boy was beyond ridiculous and Yanli should just be grateful because Jin Zixuan was a fine young man and besides, Madam Jin liked her so she shouldn’t upset her future mother-in-law.

”Yes, Mother,” Yanli whispered, wiped her eyes, and plastered on a tremulous smile. 

Her brothers, all of precious eight years old at the time, promised to beat Jin Zixuan up (A-Xian) and push him into the lake (A-Cheng), and then held her hands and wiped her face and were so thoroughly concerned about her that she couldn’t stay sad. 

”You don’t need to do that,” she said, hugging them close. 

”Of course we do!” A-Xian exclaimed.

”He made you cry,” A-Cheng muttered darkly. ”He doesn’t deserve to be betrothed to you anyway.”

In the end, Jin Zixuan’s visit ended with a rash due to some unholy concoction spread into his robes and a ”kick me, I’m stupid” note plastered on his back that apparently stayed on for two days. Neither boy ever admitted who did which but it was A-Xian who ended up whipped for it.

It was just one time of many.

At first, Yanli had wondered why A-Xian decided to act out when all it earned him was punishment. Wouldn’t it be easier for him to behave? And then she remembered that even in the beginning, right after Father had brought him home, A-Xian had behaved. He’d been quiet and meek and obedient, and Mother had still punished him. Later, when he’d learned his way around Lotus Pier and all the nooks and crannies and the people who made everything work, he’d grown bolder and louder, and the punishments had stayed. It didn’t take him long to realize he could shift the blame from A-Cheng onto himself and after that, hardly a week went by without either whipping or kneeling in the Ancestral Hall.

Yanli’s heart ached each time.

Sometimes she wished Father had never brought A-Xian home; that someone else had found him and offered him a life where he wasn’t constantly reminded of his shortcomings and character failures, even when there were none. And then she thought how her and A-Cheng’s lives would’ve been without A-Xian’s bright smile and mischievous eyes and she was shamefully, selfishly glad of the way things were.

•••

Cultivation was out of her reach but perfecting other skills was still available. Where others practiced sword forms, Yanli practiced brewing broth and mincing healing herbs into poultices. While her age mates learned to soar above the Pier and dive into the lake to catch fish with bare hands, she learned to keep books and memorized trading routes and contacts from Meishan to Ezhou. Instead of talismans, she learned lullabies, instead of meditation, she ran the kitchen. She enjoyed it all and beamed at the praises and proud nods the senior servants sent her way.

Unsurprisingly, her parents didn’t understand. 

”We have people for that,” Father said, confused. ”Why would you want to do that yourself?”

”Useless,” Mother snapped. ”Firstborn of the sect, lowering herself to do a servant’s job.”

But Father, she wanted to say, what if something happens and there’s no one to do that? Mother, aren’t we all servants of the sect?

But because she was just Yanli, she ducked her head, ashamed, and wished she was someone her parents could be proud of. 

•••

When it was time for her brothers to attend the Gusu guest lecture, she fought harder than ever before to be allowed to go with them. In the end, Father relented when she said she could help to keep A-Xian in line, and Mother finally said yes when Yanli reminded her that it was also the year when Jin Zixuan would be in attendance.

”Try to make a better impression this time,” Mother snapped as they were about to set off. ”It really shouldn’t be that hard.”

”Yes, Mother,” she said with a small smile, seeing from the corner of her eye how her brothers were nearly vibrating with enthusiasm to be off already.

(And when they reached Caiyi town…well. She didn’t really want to dwell on the circumstances in which she and her betrothed met for the first time in years.)

Despite the rather rocky start, she found herself enjoying her time in Gusu. It was colder and more austere than home—then again, most places were—but she enjoyed the peace and quiet and the lessons themselves. And, to her surprise, she found a friend.

Had someone told her she’d befriend Wen Ruohan’s personal physician, she wouldn’t have known what to think. But Wen Qing was a delightful, sharp-witted, and even sharper-tongued woman who suffered no fools and loved her little brother fiercely. When the thin, cold air got the best of her, Yanli ended up being on the receiving end of a stinging lecture delivered in dry tones and eye rolls that left her giggling.

”I wish I’d met you earlier,” she said with a smile and touched Wen Qing’s hand.

Something about her expression shuttered and she turned to busy herself with gathering up her tools. ”I—” she started, then paused, pressing her lips together. ”In some other world, I would’ve been honored to consider you a friend,” she then said carefully.

Ah.

”I understand,” Yanli said. 

And then A-Xian and A-Cheng busted in, all vibrant energy and loud voices, and she lost herself in the familiar soothing sounds and fond amusement, and only remembered to spare a look at Wen Qing when she turned to take one last look around before leaving. There was a sort of quiet yearning in her eyes, a fleeting flicker of emotion, and then it was gone. And so was she.

•••

Later, Yanli would wonder how things would’ve turned out if she had made different choices.

If only she’d told Zixuan in no uncertain terms that he was free to feel however he liked but that Yanli hadn’t chosen this, either.

If only she’d punched Zixuan herself.

If only she’d encouraged A-Xian to talk to Second Young Master Lan instead of just needling him, and if Second Young Master Lan would’ve confronted his feelings instead of hiding his confusion and longing behind anger.

If only…

But she was just Yanli and so she stood back as A-Xian, fuelled by indignant fury, punched Zixuan for disrespecting her. She watched how A-Xian turned to Lan Wangji like the flower to the sun and how the Second Jade ignored him only to drink up his features when A-Xian wasn’t watching.

She traveled home and wondered how Gusu, despite the colder climate, was still warmer than the chilly atmosphere of home.

(And later, she would nearly drown under her guilt for not appreciating her home more when she still had it.)

•••

So many tragedies, so many losses, so many tears, so many cold nights when terror and pain nearly suffocated her. In the mornings, she woke up only to remember that Lotus Pier was gone, Father and Mother were dead, A-Cheng had lost his core, and A-Xian had been whipped nearly to death. She was alone and afraid in the Unclean Realm. She gave herself a moment to scream into her pillow, one sound of pure rage and frustration before she got up, donned her simple robes and tied up her hair, and made her way to the field hospital. She drowned herself in her work so that the exhaustion would drag her under when the night came and grant her at least a few hours of fitful sleep.

She worked so that she wouldn’t have to think that she might be the only one left.

And then A-Cheng came back, healthy and stronger than ever, glowing with renewed purpose, and Yanli felt like she could breathe a little easier.

And then, three months later, A-Cheng came back with an A-Xian who reminded her so much of her A-Xian but who wasn’t—there was something terribly wrong about him, a darkness clutching at him and tearing at his very soul, but she pushed her worries aside because A-Xian was finally home and she would tear to pieces anyone who dared to come after her brothers.

(She would have to.

She dearly, dearly wished she had been better at it.)

She agreed to marry Zixuan anyway, mostly because she felt it was the only way to ensure the Jiang survived. 

She traveled to Yiling to show A-Xian her wedding robes to remind him that he was still her brother, still her family, and asked him to give her firstborn a courtesy name. 

She invited A-Xian to A-Ling’s 100-day celebration.

•••

She never believed A-Xian wanted to hurt her. Never. A-Xian was many things—playful, mischievous, sometimes even mean—but he was never cruel, not to those he loved. So, when she got the news that Zixuan had been attacked and dozens of Jin and Lan cultivators were dead because of her little brother, she refused to condemn him. Her grief was tearing her in two, one half reaching for the mother of her husband, the other for her little brother. She was drowning under it, barely keeping her head above the murky depths of despair, and seeing A-Xian’s agonized eyes when he snuck to see her only added to her grief.

When the Golden Koi Tower went quiet after a couple of days, she thought the whole Jinlintai was mourning with her. It wasn’t until she thought to ask where everyone was that she learned of the pledge conference. 

They were marching against A-Xian.

They were using her husband’s death to attack A-Xian.

She couldn’t—

She’d already lost so much! She couldn’t lose him, too!

That was the urgent need pulling her forward. Not my little brother, not him, too, please! She left A-Ling with his nanny and pushed her barely recovered core to its humble limits as she flew to the Nightless City, only to see chaos and mayhem, people trying to attack A-Xian, and resentful energy pouring out and sneaking around like a writhing, many-headed vengeful dragon. 

And in the middle of all of it, A-Xian, pale and thin and tortured, eyes red and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Near him but never quite reaching, a figure in white, desperately trying to keep him safe.

”A-Xian!” Yanli screamed. ”A-Xian, please!”

”Shijie?”

”A-Xian!”

It was madness. Men with swords, faces twisted in snarls, mouths frothing, eyes wide with greed. She dodged as best as she could, darting left and right, stumbling into bodies and swords, slipping on the blood coagulating on the cracked stones. She saw a flicker of white, there and then gone again; and heard the shrill sound of a flute on this side—no, on that side; screaming and yelling, and laughing and—

”JIE!”

She whirled around and saw A-Cheng, rushing to her, and she sagged with relief—

Burning agony lashed down her spine, threw her sprawling on the ground and she gasped, her whole frame going rigid with pain. She scrambled, rolled, crawled away, nearly lashed out with her nails before she realized that A-Cheng had caught her.

”What the hell are you doing here?” A-Cheng hissed, terrified.

”I couldn’t—” she whispered. ”Not him. Not him, too. A-Cheng, please—”

And then A-Xian was there, kneeling in front of her and trembling with fear and fatigue. ”Shijie—” he started and stopped when she cupped his face.

”A-Xian, my dear didi,” she breathed. ”You need to wake up.”

”Shijie…I’m tired,” A-Xian whispered. ”I’m so tired.”

”I know. But Xianxian needs to wake up now.” She smiled and brushed a thumb over his cheek and then she saw the cultivator behind him raising his sword. 

She didn’t need to think. She couldn’t lose yet another one she loved—she refused to lose more people she loved. She shoved A-Xian aside and took the sword meant for him, felt it cut through her chest and burn away all air in her lungs. It withdrew and with it came blood, so much blood, so so much—

”NO!” A-Cheng screamed.

In front of her, A-Xian was frozen in shock, eyes wide and face slack with incomprehension.

”Xian…xian, come back,” Yanli forced through the blood bubbling on her lips. ”Wei Wuxian…You have to wake up or I’ll break your legs!”

And then, only darkness.

The only time Lan Wangji had felt the flight home was longer had been when he’d returned from the Burial Mounds, bleeding and feverish, carrying an unconscious A-Yuan into safety. Unlike then, the Lan Wangji of now could’ve pushed for more speed but he understood the need for caution; Wei Ying was fragile and needed special care, especially when the winds turned colder and Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy wasn’t quite enough to shield him in the air. So, they took breaks and rested for the nights wherever Jiang Wanyin deemed it to be safe, always under Wen Qionglin’s watchful eyes. 

Two days out of Gusu, they met with a group of juniors with Sizhui, Jingyi, and Jin Ling at the front. They formed a guard perimeter around them and the rest of the journey was spent in the questionable comfort of listening to Jiang Wanyin bark at Jin Ling and having more people who wanted to see Wei Ying safe.

Uncle and Brother were waiting for them at the gates, the first wearing the customary displeased frown Wei Ying always seemed to draw forth, the latter looking tired and worn but determined in a way Lan Wangji hadn’t seen in a while.

”Where to?” Brother asked when Lan Wangji guided Bichen down.

”Jingshi,” he replied, ignoring Uncle’s huff.

Brother nodded. ”I’ll send for more blankets and a meal. Lan Jiayi has been notified, she’ll come by shortly.” He touched Lan Wangji’s shoulder and said, ”Go.”

•••

Lan Wangji would be lying if he claimed he’d never dreamt of having Wei Ying in his bed. But this wasn’t the way he wanted it to happen.

Wei Ying was pale and drawn against the soft white sheets, his dark hair fanning around his head. It was unbound now but Lan Wangji thought about running his fingers through it, combing out the snarls and twists, and tying it with one of the deep red hair ties he’d bought for Wei Ying. Would it be presumptuous of him to do so? Perhaps. But he was having a hard time holding himself back now that Wei Ying was finally home.

”Don’t stare at him like that when I’m around,” Jiang Wanyin muttered. ”It’s indecent.”

”You don’t have to be here,” Lan Wangji said. He knew he sounded petty but he also didn’t care. 

”As if I could leave,” Jiang Wanyin snorted. ”How the fuck do you think I’d be able to face my sister if I did that? Besides…” he paused for a moment and bit his lip, looking momentarily very much like Wei Ying. ”I have an idea.”

Lan Wangji raised a brow.

”Oh, fuck you, Hanguang-jun,” Jiang Wanyin said, sounding almost amused. ”No, I was thinking…if this is a curse and if he’s trapped inside his own head…wouldn’t it be useful to know what’s in there? It might give us something to work with—something to help him out from here.”

”You are talking about Empathy,” Lan Wangji said slowly.

Jiang Wanyin wasn’t looking at him. ”It’s always been his thing but he taught it to me back when…well. I’m not saying I’m an expert but I know how it works,” he added, sounding defensive.

”Do it,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Wanyin shot him a startled look, then it morphed into grim determination and he nodded. ”I’d like to have A-Ling here, he can draw me out if needed. Your focus should be on him.” He inclined his head at Wei Ying.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji said. He wasn’t too happy about letting into his home yet another person who had stabbed Wei Ying but again, Wei Ying would want him here. ”Anything else you need?”

He shook his head. ”No. Just holding his hand should be enough.”

Lan Wangji nodded. ”A moment,” he said and walked to the door.

Ever since they’d arrived, a junior or three had found an excuse to patrol the area. Lan Wangji knew Uncle disapproved but he found it almost endearing, and in a time like this, they were also useful.

”Lan Xin,” he called. ”Please fetch Sect Leader Jin, he is needed. If he is with Sizhui and Jingyi, they can come too.”

”Yes, Hanguang-jun!” Lan Xin said and rushed off.

It didn’t take long for the young men to arrive; Jin Ling running and Sizhui and Jingyi at a slightly more sedate pace. 

”Is he alright? Jiujiu!” Jin Ling yelled as he wrenched the door open.

”Stop yelling!” Jiang Wanyin barked. ”That’s unbecoming of a sect leader.”

”You yell all the time,” Jin Ling pointed out, crossing his arms on his chest. ”So why can’t I?”

Sizhui cleared his throat and nudged at Jingyi who snapped his mouth shut. ”You sent for us, Father?” he asked.

”Yes,” Lan Wangji said and inclined his head at Jiang Wanyin. 

”I’m going to perform Empathy,” Jiang Wanyin said gruffly. ”And I need you to keep me tethered,” he added, pointing at Jin Ling.

”Empathy? Again? Why are you both like this?!” Jin Ling exclaimed (quieter than earlier), but he still took his place at the foot of the bed, holding his Jiang Clarity bell in his hand and a stubborn set on his jaw.

Watching Jiang Wanyin descend into Empathy was uneventful. He sat in lotus position next to the bed, one hand on his knee and the other holding Wei Ying’s wrist, and closed his eyes. There was nothing else to do but watch and wait, a task that was clearly taking its toll on the young Sect Leader Jin. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood, then made a face at the taste in his mouth, but never let his eyes stray from Jiang Wanyin.

After an indeterminable time, Jiang Wanyin gasped and his face twisted in a mask of grief.

”Jiujiu?” Jin Ling asked softly.

”Wait,” Lan Wangji said, touching gently at Jin Ling’s fist holding the Clarity bell.

”But—”

”Wait,” Sizhui echoed, gripping Jin Ling’s shoulder.

Wei Ying looked exactly the same, with no sign of pain or discomfort even when Jiang Wanyin let out a soft sound and then tears started streaming down his cheeks.

”JIUJIU!” Jin Ling yelled and rang the bell before Lan Wangji had the chance to stop him. When he didn’t immediately open his eyes, Jin Ling shook the bell over and over until the shrill sound hurt Lan Wangji’s head.

But it worked. Jiang Wanyin let out a shuddering breath and then muttered a wet, ”Fuck.” 

When he opened his eyes, he looked straight at Jin Ling. ”She loved you so much,” he said. 

”What?” Jin Ling yelped, bewildered.

Jiang Wanyin shook his head, closed his eyes, and ducked his head. ”She loved us all so much—so much more than we deserved. But that’s how she was.”

”Who?” Jin Ling asked. ”Jiujiu, you’re making no sense!”

Lan Wangji suddenly knew exactly who Jiang Wanyin was talking about. ”Your mother,” he said softly. ”Jiang Yanli. You saw Jiang Yanli, didn’t you?”

”No,” Jiang Wanyin said. ”I didn’t see her. I was her. And so was Wei Wuxian.”

”SHIJIE!”

The scream echoes around the room, bouncing from wall to ceiling to floor to wall, reverberating through him in an agonized plea.

Wei Wuxian curls on his side on the cold, cold floor, and starts to cry.

(He doesn’t see dark shadows crawl out from the corners or how the walls ripple.)

•••

It’s hard to claim to be unloved after living through the memories of someone who claims (claimed) to love him fully, without reservations or expectations other than to be happy. Previously, Wei Wuxian could say he knew how shijie felt about him but now he knows. For a long, long time, he merely lies on the floor, ignores the chill, and basks in the residual warmth he felt in shijie’s mind. He thinks back to how she’d seen him; first as a small boy barely daring to believe he now had a place to call home, then as a cocky young Head Disciple, always ready for a prank or ten, showing off on the training fields, and diving into the lake like fish in human form.

She’d been so proud of him, of the inventions he’d made and the leaps and bounds his core developed, courtesy by hours and hours of kneeling in the Ancestral Hall with nothing else to do but meditate. She’d watched him from afar, brimming with so much love that even now it makes him squirm.

And she’d had so much love for everyone! For Uncle Jiang and Madam Yu, despite their flaws; for Jiang Cheng, for her shidimei, for everyone who made Lotus Pier alive, from cooks to maids to fishermen to innkeepers. 

”Shijie, Xianxian misses you so much,” he whispers into the still air, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, and lets out a shuddering breath.

Even in her final moments, she’d been thinking about him—about Wei Wuxian. How—it doesn’t make any sense! Why would she waste her last moments on him when she had a whole baby to think about?

And why would she do that in the first place? What the hell had she been doing on the battlefield! She’d been a new mother mourning for the father of her son, she had no business in being in the middle of the chaos and mayhem.

And yet, she’d chosen to be there.

That’s perhaps the hardest thing for him to accept, despite feeling her emotions and living through her decisions; that she would set aside her obligations as a mother to save Wei Wuxian’s worthless, broken self. She’d pushed him aside and took a sword to her chest, sacrificed herself to give him a chance to live (and then he’d gone and thrown it all away anyway). 

”Shijie, why?” he sighs. ”Why would you choose me? I never asked you to save me.”

An insistent voice in the back of his head that sounds a lot like Jiang Cheng snaps that Jiang Cheng never asked him to sacrifice his golden core, either, and he still chose to do it. Isn’t it just a bit hypocritical to complain about her when you did the exact same thing?

He hisses and shakes his head. It was different—Wei Wuxian didn’t offer his life to the enemy on a plate! He had a plan, he was always going to live after the transfer! Admittedly, said plan had never been a good one and it had been shot to the seven hells when Wen Chao caught him but…anyway. A plan! Had she had a plan? No!

His inner Jiang Cheng snorts and he can practically feel him rolling his eyes—and isn’t that a wild thought, having an inner Jiang Cheng commenting on his life choices?

Ah, Jiang Cheng…

Wei Wuxian…You have to wake up or I’ll break your legs!

He freezes and then lets his hands flop to his side. That—she’d said that—he’d said that when he’d been living through shijie’s memories and—she never said that! Ever! That was always—

”No fucking way,” he breathes. ”Jiang Cheng?”

Why would he be in one of Wei Wuxian’s worst nightmares come to life? Or, no, he had been there but he’d been cradling shijie’s limp form when she’d been ran through, and he’d been screaming and screaming and definitely not saying anything about waking up and breaking his legs— 

Unless…

No. That should be impossible. Wei Wuxian is…wherever he is, stuffed in some liminal cursed place, and Jiang Cheng is probably at home on Lotus Pier. 

With a sharp, annoyed sound, he sits up. The room looks as it always does; bare, grey, cold, with the customary two closed doors waiting for him. This time, they’re gold and gold, pretty much identical. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where they’ll lead: up to now, each new death he’d lived through had happened earlier, almost like he’d been moving backward in time. The only golden death before shijie had been…

”Perfect,” he mutters sourly. 

Despite not being very fond of the Peacock, he has no desire to actually live through his death. But what if Jiang Cheng is waiting for him on the other side of these visions or nightmares or whatever they’re supposed to be? What if he tries to talk to him again? Wei Wuxian is willing to take the risk of diving into Jin fucking Zixuan’s head for that.

Hm.

But what if…?

Out of curiosity, he pushes himself to sit up, closes his eyes, and reaches out. At first, the space he’s in feels just as barren as it has so far but then he brushes against something that vibrates with the resentful energy that always resides in him. He frowns and puts a bit more pressure on it, concentrating his efforts on that one spot. It stretches slightly, almost like a dough before it suddenly gives way and he topples forward, swaying in place. There’s an emptiness almost like a gaping maw that latches on him and tries to suck him away and into the abyss and he hisses, reels back, slamming it with a talisman out of pure instinct.

And then, as suddenly as it appeared, the maw disappears, leaving him panting and more than a bit terrified.

Okay, then.

He swallows and grits his teeth, eyeing the doors with trepidation. Who’s to say they don’t try to lead him straight into the abyss that’s lounging on the other side of the wall? As much as the repeated dying sucks, he’d rather live someone else’s death than step into the fathomless void trying to beckon him.

But.

Hm.

What if he didn’t try to push as much and tried to worm just a slight tendril of resentful energy through the proverbial gaping maw’s teeth?

Perhaps he’ll try that out after the Peacock is dead.

He eyes the doors, hops up, and walks closer. There really is no difference but when he brings his hands to the touching distance and hovers them over the doors’ surfaces, it’s his right that makes him feel like he wants to wipe his hand on his robes or perhaps burn it to get it clean again.

So that’s a solid nope.

He chooses the left side and walks through.

Not like this, Jin Zixuan thought as he stared at the fist protruding from his chest. Not like this, please. We didn’t get enough time!

There was chaos around him, yelling disciples left and right and on the cliff looking down at the pass, but all he was able to think was—

”A-Li…”

•••

There were many things Zixuan regretted in his life, way more than he was willing to admit out loud. The first, of course, was being so rude to his future wife when she’d done nothing to deserve that. He’d been an immature, frustrated boy who had for the first time faced a situation he couldn’t buy his way out of, and he’d turned that frustration on Jiang Yanli. She’d always been nothing but courteous and gentle, always with a soft smile and encouraging words. And what had he done? Ridiculed her, belittled her, sneered at her.

The fact was that he’d been an insecure boy intimidated by her and her close relationship with her brothers.

Zixuan had a lot of siblings but none he actually knew. The closest thing he had for a friend was Mianmian and even she was cautious when they weren’t alone. What Jiang Yanli had with her brothers made Zixuan flush with a feeling he didn’t want to name (it was jealousy, plain and simple), and he resolved that with a sneer.

How very unbecoming of a future husband and sect leader.

”You are going to marry her one day,” Mother snapped more times than he cared to count. ”The least you could do is to show some basic manners.”

”Yes, Mother,” he muttered, sullen and scowling, and then spent the rest of the day sulking (unless Mianmian kicked his ass and made him feel a bit better).

Sometimes Zixuan wondered if he wanted to get married at all. His only experiences of it were his own parents and Sect Leader Jiang and his wife, and neither relationship was anything to look up to. Father was proud and vain and cruel and so callous with his affairs that half of Lanling laughed at him and the other half schemed to figure out a way to profit from it.

Not getting married would solve a lot of things. He could just concentrate on night hunting, reading, and riding, and let other people worry about stuff like running the sect or producing an heir. (Then he realized that after him, the most likely Sect Heir would be his cousin, and…that just wouldn’t do.)

So, he resigned to his fate but decided that no one could force him to like the situation.

So, he didn’t.

•••

He wished he was braver.

He wished he was big and strong like Nie Mingjue because that would make others listen to him.

He wished he was eloquent and gentle like Lan Xichen because then he wouldn’t be so tongue-tied around other people, terrified they would realize he didn’t understand anything and knew even less.

He wished he had a temper like Jiang Wanyin or the irreverent cockiness of Wei Wuxian because perhaps then he might’ve had the courage to call out his Father for his depraved behavior.

He even wished he was cold like Lan Wangji or soft and giggling like Nie Huaisang—something, anything to be something else than he was because being him was near unbearable.

Jinlintai was a golden cage and Jin Zixuan was the prized bird of paradise, showcasing everyone the wealth of Lanling Jin.

He hated it.

•••

When his brother was recognized and granted a new name (that was an insult and a joke wrapped in a pretty package), Zixuan hoped things would change. He hoped he’d get a brother he could trust, a brother he could lean on and whom to support, someone who would help him through the administrative nightmare that was being a sect leader. But it soon became clear that Guangyao wasn’t his brother, he was Father’s little lackey, eager to please and more eager to do whatever it took to have Father’s approval.

”He’s had a hard life, A-Xuan,” A-Li said during one of her visits. She had graciously accepted his clumsy (stupid, not good, quite terrible) courting and they were again betrothed to be married. ”To people like you and me, his actions might seem excessive. But to people like him…well. They’re perfectly reasonable, and a small price to pay for security and a place in the family.”

Zixuan fought down a blush. He knew whom A-Li was referring to: her adopted brother, currently hiding away in the Yiling Burial Mounds of all places! Why on earth would he choose to go there of all places? He’d wanted to ask her if Wei Wuxian was quite sane but then he remembered the way she had flayed Zixun at the Phoenix Mountain crowd hunt after Zixun had disrespected her dear A-Xian. Jiang Yanli was fiercely protective of her brothers and to dismiss either of them was to invite her ire. It might seem like nothing but…Zixuan had already seen the ways she managed people and how everyone from Mother to the lowest servant seemed to fold to her will and gentle smiles. His fiancee was a force to be reckoned with and Zixuan had learned too much to step into an amateurish trap like that.

”Ah,” he said instead. ”You’re right, of course.”

A-Li gave him a dazzling smile that left him a bit light-headed and he had to concentrate very hard on his steps to avoid stumbling and falling on his face.

That would’ve been terrible.

•••

Back during the Cloud Recesses guest lecture, Zixuan hadn’t really paid attention to Jiang Yanli. Well, naturally their less than auspicious meeting in Caiyi colored his whole stay but…what was he supposed to do? He hadn’t known the Jiang party was already in the inn! He was irritable and sweaty and hungry, and had witnessed yet another embarrassing fight between Father and Mother when one of Father’s dalliances had produced a child. Again. So, when he ordered Jin Bao to rent out an inn to get some peace and quiet, he didn’t really bother thinking about possible other guests. And when he realized the mistake, Jiang Yanli’s eyes were already downcast and gleaming with tears and Wei Wuxian was ready to go to war. 

Zixuan wasn’t used to being challenged and he certainly wasn’t used to being treated like dirt under someone’s boots. Wei Wuxian’s attitude rankled him and made him prickly, even more determined to ignore them and get them out of the inn. How dare a son of a servant make Zixuan feel like a lowly worm! 

He found the Jiang sect lecture invitation later, dropped under a small table and forgotten in the siblings’ hurry to leave. For the shortest of moments, he contemplated burning it—that would teach them!—but then he hurriedly handed it over to Mianmian to make sure she took it to the innkeeper for the inevitable picking up. The knowledge that he’d thrown Jiang Yanli out and had been more than ready to make her sleep outside made something slimy and bitter turn in his stomach.

He didn’t like the way he was but he didn’t know how to be different either, and it frustrated him to no end.

•••

Losing Mianmian was one of the most painful things ever happened to him. Even though Mother had never quite accepted her—a no-name nobody from a small village and a woman for that matter—she’d grown to be Zixuan’s only true friend. She mocked him mercilessly in private and didn’t hesitate to beat the shit out of him on the training fields, laughing as she did it and laughing as she helped him up and brushed the sand off his robes.

”Look at you, high and mighty Sect Heir Jin,” she tutted. ”Dusty and dirty like a commoner. It’s a good look on you!”

”Mianmian!” he hissed, glancing surreptitiously around.

”What?” she asked with a raised brow. ”Or do you mean you’re too good for dust and dirt?”

She was wonderful and he let her down.

His whole sect let her down.

Sometimes, Zixuan wondered what it was about Wei Wuxian that evoked such devotion and faith in other people. Was it his skills with his sword or his undeniable genius in talismans? Or his sharp tongue that didn’t give a shit about who he offended or how? Or, according to A-Li, his good heart and the need for justice?

When Mianmian threw down her sect robes and stomped out, Zixuan had a fervent wish that he could walk out as well. He had a sinking feeling that his father was up to no good—was in fact up to terrible things—and because Zixuan was too soft, too awkward, too sheltered, there was nothing he could do but watch with quiet fury as his father and his sycophants laughed at Mianmian’s retreating back.

How dared they!

How dare they disrespect her like that, considering she had more backbone than most of the laughing men combined!

How dare they? 

Oh, they dared because they knew that no one would open their mouth to contradict Sect Leader Jin, now holding the title of Chief Cultivator.

It was only one of the times when Jin Zixuan was ashamed to be his father’s son.

•••

Fatherhood had never really crossed his mind. He had known since he was old enough to understand what was said to him, that as the Sect Heir, his biggest duty would be to one day produce an heir. Naturally, he didn’t really understand it further than that: bringing a new human being into the world was an abstract, something that merely happened. Granted, he’d later understand that perhaps his own father wasn’t the best example to look for guidance but what else was he supposed to do?

After meeting Jiang Yanli for the first time, he vaguely thought that they would someday be parents, and that was that.

After his father gave him a grand speech that mostly consisted of lewd advice and disrespecting all women, including but not limited to Mother, Zixuan tried fervently not to think about anything related to babymaking.

It wasn’t until he saw A-Li working at the field hospital, trembling with exhaustion and grey with anxiety that he started to think about what ifs and how abouts. And even then it was something he did in the privacy of his own mind because their betrothal had been called off, he had no right to think about her in any way.

But it truly didn’t register to him until he carefully pressed a hand on A-Li’s rounded stomach that he was going to be a father. That realization hit him like the punch Wei Wuxian had given him when he’d made A-Li cry (he was belatedly grateful for that because he earned that punch and so much more), and he couldn’t hold back a small sob.

”A-Xuan?” A-Li asked, ducking her head a bit.

”It’s…you are pregnant!”

She let out a small chuckle. ”So it would seem. I’m glad you finally realized.” She was making fun of him but it was alright. It made her smile, and he was willing to be ridiculed if it kept the smile on her face.

”But—” he said, splaying his fingers wider. Her bump was still so small that his hand spanned almost the entirety of it and it boggled his mind. ”There is a whole human inside of you,” he whispered, leaning closer. ”Ten fingers! And ten toes!”

”When you say it like that, it sounds disturbing,” A-Li said.

”But—a baby!”

”Are you feeling alright?” Now she sounded worried and that wouldn’t do. 

Zixuan went on his knees in front of her and held her hands in his, bent his head to kiss her knuckles. ”I want to be a good father,” he said seriously.

She leaned down a bit and cupped his cheek. ”I’m sure you will be.”

”No—you don’t—” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead on her knees for a moment, trying to find the right words to explain just how much he wanted this—all of this—to work. ”I want to be a good father,” he repeated in a hushed voice. ”I want to protect you and our children. I want to make you proud. I want them to be proud that I’m their father.” He looked up and said with all the conviction he could summon, ”I don’t ever, ever want to put you or my children into a situation where you need to doubt my dedication to you. Ever.”

Oh, no.

No.

No no, now A-Li had a hand on her mouth and she had tears streaming down her cheeks, and Zixuan was a terrible husband!

He must’ve said it aloud because A-Li laughed through her tears, gripped Zixuan’s clammy hand in hers, and wiped her tears with her other hand. ”Oh, A-Xuan,” she sighed, through tears and a brilliant smile. ”I know you will be a wonderful father.” His disbelief—how could she know that?—was palpable enough for her to lift his hand to her cheek and press her hand on his. ”I know you will be because you already are worried if you will be enough. That means you care.” She turned her head to press a kiss on the palm of his hand and then blushed as if the act was somehow daring. 

Zixuan swallowed and blinked a couple of times. He couldn’t fathom how he had at some point thought her plain because she was radiant and his eyes burned when he looked upon her. 

”I love you,” he blurted and then cringed because that was a stupid thing to spring on her just like that, even though he’d said it before, he was sure of it—

”And I love you,” she whispered, eyes twinkling like stars.

•••

”I’m afraid something has happened,” Guangyao said, holding his pose apologetic and deferential.

”What?” Zixuan asked, then looked around. ”Where’s Zixun?”

Guangyao’s face twisted into a careful grimace. ”I’m afraid there’s been an—” he sighed. ”Something upset Cousin and he sped to the Qiongqi Pass. I have a feeling he wasn’t quite in his right mind.” He twisted his hands, looking imploringly at Zixuan. 

Something cold lodged into his chest. ”You think he’s going to confront Wei Wuxian?”

Guangyao inclined his head.

Zixuan wanted to swear. Something had been bugging Zixun for weeks now and he’d grown increasingly irritable, so much so that even Father had snapped at him during one dinner. If he was that erratic and went to meet up with Wei Wuxian when he was on his way to A-Ling’s 100-day celebration…

”I better get there before things get out of hand,” he sighed.

”Yes…that might be a good idea,” Guangyao said.

”Could you please tell my wife I’ve gone to meet up with his brother? She might worry if I don’t get right back.”

”Of course, Zixuan-ge,” Guangyao said and bowed, throwing his face into shadow.

Zixuan swore under his breath as he drew Shuanghua and sped toward East. Something wasn’t right but he couldn’t put his finger on it, couldn’t quite grapple the unease brewing under his sternum. He was the one who had invited Wei Wuxian and he’d made it perfectly clear to everyone at Jinlintai that he also expected Wei Wuxian to be there. He’d even asked Lan Wangji to deliver the invitation because he was positive that whatever intense, convoluted relationship those two had, Wei Wuxian would accept the invitation if Hanguang-jun was the one giving it to him.

He pushed more power into his sword, a sense of impending doom weighing down on him.

When he finally arrived, his heart sank. Disciples in golden Jin robes and white Lan robes crowded the hill, shooting arrows at Wei Wuxian, standing alone in the pass.

Zixuan snarled as he landed, fury speeding his steps. ”Zixun!” he bellowed. ”What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

And then everything went terribly wrong.

•••

The moment Zixuan realized he’d fallen helplessly in love was when he watched Jiang Yanli draw up her petite frame, look down on his stupid cousin, and flay him with perfect poise and decorum. He could see her trembling and he recognized the slightly wild look in her eyes from the countless soldiers he’d met during the Sunshot Campaign, terrified but still pressing on.

She’s wonderful, he thought, staring at her. She’s wonderful and I don’t deserve her.

(He would belatedly realize this was perhaps one of the very few things he and Wei Wuxian agreed on.)

After she’d made Zixun run away with his proverbial tail between his legs, she’d looked at him and—

He didn’t know what to do.

He couldn’t even speak to her properly, blurting out his confession and then running like a little boy, leaving Mother yelling after him. He was sure he’d hear about his stupidity later on but he just—

She was wonderful and he was just Zixuan, the golden boy of Lanling Jin, and compared to her, he was nothing. What was he supposed to do?

So he ran, not realizing that running was futile.

Whether he was willing to admit it or not, Jiang Yanli already had his heart.

•••

Not like this, Jin Zixuan thought as he stared at the fist protruding from his chest. Not like this, please. A-Li, I’m sorry!

Chaos erupted around him, screams and panicked yelling crashing over him like a wave, but all he was able to think was—

”Wei Wuxian, wake up!”

There were too many people in the Jingshi and Lan Wangji couldn’t breathe.

He sat next to Wei Ying’s bed—his own bed—holding on to Wei Ying’s hand, eyes strained on his still face. There was no change, there hadn’t been after the sudden rush of resentful energy that surged from Wei Ying shortly after Jiang Wanyin had emerged from the Empathy. It had taken them all by surprise (or perhaps not Wen Qionglin) but it had vanished faster than they’d been able to react. It had sparked a frenzy of activity and now, Uncle and Jiang Wanyin were arguing, young Sect Leader Jin was sulking next to Sizhui and Jingyi, Wen Qionglin tried to hang back and not attract any attention, and Brother…

Lan Wangji blinked when he met Brother’s compassionate eyes. It’s been a while since he’d last seen something sparking in them, let alone Brother taking a stance. 

He tried clearing his throat once, then a second time, and was clearly about to try the third time when a piercing whistle made them all flinch.

”Ah. Thank you, Jingyi,” Brother said. 

”For the last time, no,” Jiang Wanyin snarled at Uncle. ”You will not purge my brother from resentful energy when that might be the only thing he has to reach us.”

”It attacked—”

Jiang Wanyin hissed, interrupting Uncle. ”I experienced my sister’s death. If—and I dare say when—Wei Wuxian experienced the same, it’s no wonder he reacted the way he did. Losing Yanli was what drove him to the cliff, to—” his voice caught and he gritted his jaw. 

”The Cloud Recesses—” Uncle said in a sharp voice, only to be interrupted again.

”Is not Wei Wuxian’s home,” Jiang Wanyin said coldly. ”And this house is not yours.”

It was incredibly rude but at the same time, Lan Wangji was helplessly grateful to Sect Leader Jiang for saying aloud what he couldn’t.

He was spared from answering when Wen Qionglin gasped out a startled, ”Master Wei?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes snapped back to Wei Ying’s hands and then he turned so fast he felt dizzy. Wen Qionglin’s eyes were wide and he was staring at his outstretched hand where the faintest strand of resentful energy danced across his palm before it dissipated like fog. His eyes jumped to meet Lan Wangji’s and he nodded once.

”It was him?” Brother asked softly.

”Mn,” Wen Qionglin said. He looked at Lan Wangji, took a hesitant step forward. ”M-may I?” he asked.

Lan Wangji nodded and moved slightly back, observing carefully as Wen Qionglin went on his knees, took Wei Ying’s limp hand in his, and bent down to press his forehead on the back of Wei Ying’s hand. It looked a lot like praying and Lan Wangji averted his gaze, wishing to give him a moment of privacy.

After a tense moment, Wen Qionglin said in a soft voice, ”I can feel him. He’s…trapped? I think?”

”The curse.”

”Mn.”

”He’s always been annoyingly good at breaking curses,” Jiang Wanyin said. ”Can you see if he’s…awake, or normal, or…whatever. Or is he in the vision, living someone’s death again?”

Wen Qionglin frowned and tilted his head slightly, then he slumped as much as his corpse frame allowed. ”He’s…no. It changed. I think he might be in a v-vision again.”

”Well,” Jiang Wanyin said briskly. ”Time for round two then, I guess.”

•••

Lan Wangji was tired beyond physical exhaustion. He felt bruised to the soul but he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d been so happy to have Wei Ying back after sixteen years of desperate longing and wishing for his own death so that he could be reborn with Wei Ying. Leaving him after the Guanyin Temple had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done but despite Jiang Wanyin’s sneering, he honestly believed the separation would be good for them. Wei Ying needed a chance to settle into his skin and roam the lands, and Lan Wangji needed to start to dismantle the Chief Cultivator post. It was an unhealthy amount of power for one individual, of which the last three occupants were an excellent example.

And yet, his days felt colder and his nights longer when Wei Ying wasn’t by his side. He yearned for his zhiji, to have him near—even if Wei Ying never returned his feelings, the knowledge that he was safe and cared for would be enough.

To have Wei Ying in his home now, like this, felt like the cruelest twist of fate.

He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and let the moonlight wash over his face. There was a strange feeling bubbling under his skin; part an intense need to cry, part rage that threatened to boil over. 

Who did this? Who hated Wei Ying so much that they couldn’t leave him be even after his reputation had been cleared? Who enjoyed cruel mind games and torture to come up with something like this?

”Wangji.”

He didn’t turn around, didn’t do much else than tilt his head just so, knowing that even with the rift grown between them, Brother was still the one who knew him best.

”Give him time,” Brother said softly. ”He will break this curse.”

”I know,” he said. He didn’t say: ’I know Wei Ying will break the curse but I’m scared of what will be left of him, after. I don’t know if I’ll be able to live without him again,’ but he had a feeling Brother heard him anyway.

They shared a silence for some time, Lan Wangji breathing in moonlight with his eyes closed, and Brother standing so close he could feel his warmth through his robes.

Further from the house, next to the gate, Jiang Wanyin and Jin Ling were talking. Apparently this time, Wei Wuxian had lived through Jin Zixuan’s death, and Jiang Wanyin had witnessed it with him. He’d emerged from the Empathy with his lips pressed together in a tight line and a solemn look at his nephew. ”Your father was an idiot and an asshole,” Jiang Wanyin had said. ”But he adored your mother and the only thing he loved more than her was you.”

Jin Ling had opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before slamming out of Jingshi in a storm cloud of conflicting emotions, and with a sigh, Jiang Wanyin followed him. Lan Wangji had been silently relieved they were out of the house and left him in peace.

He didn’t want to think about whose deaths Wei Ying was still to experience.

”Urk.”

Wei Wuxian makes a face and lets out a disgusted sound.

He knew what he’d face when he opened the golden door but still…did he really have to start liking Jin Zixuan now? Really? Fine, he’d been good to shijie in the end and his feelings about fatherhood were almost embarrassingly sweet but…he was the Peacock! It’s Wei Wuxian’s sacred duty as the little brother to dislike him!

”I can’t believe I actually like him,” he says aloud. ”Not much. But still.”

The room is silent and offers no commentary on his observations which, fine. It would be disturbing to get any at this point. Which reminds him…

”So, I guess you were there, Jiang Cheng?” Because Jin Zixuan had never used that particular tone of voice with him, but from Jiang Cheng, it was given.

He stands up and stretches, wincing at the series of pops from his spine. It makes no sense for his spine to lock up if this all is actually happening inside his own mind but he congratulates the caster for the realism. That’s some good curse design.

He cocks his head and gives the room a narrow-eyed once-over. The doors have turned purple which will be a whole new bag of enjoyment in a moment, and the now-familiar dim light reveals absolutely nothing. As usual. He glances at his robes and his other hand goes to his hair, checking that—yep, it’s the hair ribbon. Well then. He unclasps his belt and with only a bit of difficulty, rips out the belt buckle. He needs something to write with and since blood isn’t actually an option, a belt buckle will do.

Out of curiosity, directs a small amount of spiritual energy to the buckle to bend it enough to make it crack and is pleasantly surprised when his core responds immediately and the buckle snaps neatly in half. That means that whatever was separating him from both his core and resentful energy, is fully gone now. And since his core feels stronger, it’s more than likely that someone has been channeling him spiritual energy.

Emboldened, he closes his eyes and pushes, careful to use only spiritual energy to avoid inviting the void from his first attempt. The walls—or whatever is posing as the walls—bend slightly, stretching outwards like bellows, but not really letting him through. If Lan Zhan was with him, he probably could blast through the walls with sheer force of will, but sadly the core in Wei Wuxian’s new body is not as powerful. 

”I wonder…” he muses aloud and switches to resentful energy. It answers his call with the eagerness and playfulness he’s grown accustomed to and he runs it across his knuckles before he turns it into a small tendril and directs it toward the wall. He’s extremely careful to let it just wiggle and dance instead of pushing, and is rewarded with something achingly familiar, beloved. 

With a grin, he wraps the tendril around that beloved thing and tugs.

Hello, Lan Zhan!

He doesn’t feel anything in return but while it’s disappointing, he isn’t exactly surprised. If Lan Zhan could reach him from the outside, he would’ve done it already. For now, he’s happy to be able to at least announce himself and let Lan Zhan know he’s alright.

That done, he opens his eyes, takes a deep breath, and picks up the broken belt buckle.

Time to get to work.

•••

It’s strange to work without the worry of getting tired or hungry. On the one hand, it’s a relief because it means he can become fully absorbed and concentrate on his talisman design, on the other hand…well. It’s boring. The last time he really had the chance to do this was when he was in the Cloud Recesses, after the Guanyin Temple and everything that had come to light. He’d stayed for a couple of weeks with Lan Zhan, encroaching on his space and shamelessly spreading his belongings across Lan Zhan’s pristine home.

It had been really nice.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. ”If you can’t figure this out, you won’t get back to Lan Zhan,” he mutters to himself, chewing his lip.

He’s used the wall opposite the doors to draw up some rudimentary talismans, free association to let his mind wander and get a hang of the problem. The wall is made from something that might have once wanted to resemble some kind of clay but now it feels brittle and bendy at the same time. The belt buckle draws easily on it, leaving behind clear markings that seem to stay on—at least for now. Wei Wuxian will just have to wait and see if the design is still there when the purple doors spit him out when they’re done with him.

(He hopes his notes will be waiting for him.)

So far, he has three preliminary ideas and a handful of other potentials he might test out later. But these three are what he’s focusing on right now: one talisman for home, one for peace, and one for permanence. Of course they’re far more elaborate than just that, they’re just working titles. The one for home has parts of a homing beacon he’d scribbled up when he’d been fourteen, parts of the Cloud Recesses, and something he intensely associates with Lan Zhan. For peace, he shamelessly picks something from Lan Qiren’s teachings, and permanence… well, that one still needs quite a lot of work.

After an indeterminable time, when he runs into a creative wall (Ha!), he lets out a long billow of air and walks backward to get a better look at what he’s come up with so far. He’s pretty sure that if he manages to make the designs flow into one, single talisman—he doesn’t have a name for it yet—and power it up, he should be able to break out from this prison.

It’s just a matter of time—

Deep in his thoughts, he takes yet another step back and with a yelp, falls into darkness as the purple door behind his back springs open and sucks him in.

She was fourteen the first time she met him, in the dense woods near the Western border of Meishan. She’d been sent out alone, namely as a punishment but she knew better. It had been Mother’s way to give her some time to cool down after yet another disastrous matchmaking attempt. There had been news of a low-level yaoguai and Mother thought that would prove an excellent way for her to both let out some frustration and practice her new weapon.

Zidian was gorgeous and uppity, trying its hardest to resist her. Too bad she was her mother’s daughter and by the time the yaoguai was defeated, she’d whipped (ha) the ring into submission.

And that’s when he made himself known.

”That was impressive,” a low, slightly hoarse voice said from the other side of the clearing.

She whirled around to face a young cultivator in robes that belonged to no sect, hair done in a neat, no-nonsense bun. He was holding both himself and his sword with effortless confidence that made something bristle within her.

”Who are you?” she snapped, Zidian crackling in her finger, ready to defend her now. ”What are you doing in these woods, preying on a defenseless maiden?”

The man’s impassive face rippled with something that might’ve been amusement. ”You are hardly defenseless, young mistress.”

”That’s right,” she hissed. ”So don’t even try—”

The man leaped forward with surprising speed, almost landing a strike. She parried and ducked out of the way, dancing to the side as she let Zidian unfurl. It was an exhilarating exercise and made her feel alive in a way she’d never felt before. Perhaps it was because she didn’t know who the rogue cultivator was. Perhaps it was because he clearly didn’t care about who she was. Perhaps it was because she could lose herself in their dance and not think about anything that had made her so furious.

It ended interminable time later when the rogue cultivator used his bigger bulk to push her against a tree and nailed her sword into the trunk with his own.

”It seems like I won,” he said, his breath hot on her face.

”Barely,” she panted back. 

They both knew she could get out with a flick of her wrist but she…didn’t feel like it. His frame was strong and muscular and felt so very warm through their robes.

When he ducked his head to kiss her, she didn’t turn away. Instead, she met him eagerly, taking the kiss as yet another fight to be won, and leaned onto the touch with an eagerness Mother would’ve gotten her whipped for. His mouth was hot against hers, his tongue insistent, and the small sound he let out made her tremble and a familiar wet/hot feeling spread from between her legs. She had touched herself—of course she had—but this thrill was something she’d never managed on her own. 

How would it feel if he took me now? She wondered, at the same time fully aware that she’d rather kill herself than let him get that far.

And then he drew back, lips red and shining and bright, blushing spots on his cheeks.

”Thank you for the fight, young mistress,” he said as he saluted, and then he was gone.

It took her a moment to collect herself and return home and even longer to forget how the firm body had made her feel.

••• 

The second time they met, she was nineteen and about to be married to a weak man disguised as a noble and powerful cultivator, the young leader of a prominent sect. At least Mother was marrying her off to a sect that didn’t scorn strong women (she would rather give up her cultivation than marry a Lan), but this man hadn’t even been able to stand against her for half an incense stick! She didn’t know what she’d done to offend Mother so much that she’d humiliate her so.

She snarled, fully aware of and ignoring the pitying look Jinzhu and Yinzhu shared behind her back. They’d let her hack and whip out her fury at the fierce corpses, letting out all the pent-up frustration she’d gathered over the years. Matchmakers were said to be good at their work but she just couldn’t fathom how they’d decided she and her husband-to-be would be good to each other. 

They were supposed to lead a sect together. She was quite sure they couldn’t even lead a tea ceremony together, let alone a life.

When she was finally spent and trembling, she was feeling only slightly better. Her anger was still sizzling under her skin, making her twitchy and snappish. Her maids didn’t deserve her temper but they bore it with unflinching loyalty that told her just how well they understood her. They accompanied her up the stairs of the modest inn, ordered her bathwater, and bathed her without complaint. She didn’t feel like going downstairs to eat so Yinzhu brought the dinner up, seasoned with her favorite spices, and served it with a jar of wine she enjoyed. 

It still wasn’t enough—the restlessness itched within her still, so she decided to take a walk outside. She opened her door at the exact moment when the door opposite her room opened and—

It was him.

He was older but she recognized him immediately; the dark eyes on his seemingly impassive face, the wide shoulders, and the power that thrummed within him. He was dressed in black this time with a leather glove on his right hand and half of his hair up, the rest falling down his back in a silky stream of black.

”Young mistress,” he saluted with a small quirk of his lips and—

If questioned later, she’d say she had no idea what possessed her to do what she did. ”Stay,” she said over her shoulder to Jinzhu while never taking her eyes from him, and stepped forward, forcing him to back up until they were in his room. Without looking, she drew up a privacy talisman and slammed it behind her back with her right hand while reaching behind his neck with her left, yanking him into a kiss.

It was almost as she remembered. Almost, but not quite. So, she drew back slightly and looked at him, raising a challenging brow.

He didn’t say anything, merely looked at her for a long time before nodding slowly.

She knew what she was doing, of course she did. She was Meishan Yu so, despite having no personal experience as of yet, she was well-versed in all matters of intimate relations. She knew the different ways to please and be pleased, the herbs to both help to start a pregnancy and end it, and the ones to help to cleanse herself after a night with a lover. 

She lost herself in him, lost her sense of time and place, let herself forget what had made her so angry. When he finally fell asleep, spent and well served, she let out a long breath and untangled herself from his arms, slipped into her underrobe, and tapped a short code on the doorframe. A split moment later, Jinzhu opened the door just enough to let her out and they crossed the hallway into her room like a pair of shadows. She drank the bitter tea Yinzhu handed her, sat in the bath made of a particular selection of herbs, and leaned her head back as Jinzhu combed her hair.

In the morning when they took their leave, the room on the other side of the hallway was already empty.

•••

It was an accident, the third time they crossed paths. Or perhaps it was fate? No, she didn’t believe in anything as fickle as fate. 

Coincidence. Yes. That was acceptable.

Her marriage had turned out to be the farce she’d expected from the moment she learned about it. They were too different, too volatile, too…everything. She occupied a part of Lotus Pier her husband never set foot in and tried to build up a life she could stand. It wasn’t easy but she was stubborn. If her husband refused to respect her as his wife and the Lady of Lotus Pier, then he should at least fear her for what she was capable of. 

He gave her a daughter.

She resented him for it because that meant she would have to suffer his touch until she bore a son. And it was suffering, compared to—

Sometimes she hated him for teaching her how it felt to come undone.

When Yanli was three, she was on the market, taking some time off from the fragile, vulnerable thing that was the daughter she was afraid would break if her tone took a too-sharp edge. She wasn’t even looking for anything, just walking and rifling through ribbons and earrings eager vendors tried to sell her, and when she glanced up from the surprisingly delicate spun silver pendant, he was leaning against a building, half shrouded in shadows. But she knew him, of course she did, how could she not? When his eyes burned like low embers, when his gaze traveled down her frame boldly like he had the right, when she felt the pull between them like a string drawn taut.

She drew breath and half-turned only to meet Yinzhu’s knowing eyes, and then her maid was already weaving her way across the marketplace. She held her head high and continued on, refusing to feel shame for what she was about to do. There was nothing to be ashamed of, not with the rampant rumors about her husband who coveted a woman who had refused him and chosen another, not with the gossip about the parentage of the child said woman was carrying.

Her husband refused to do anything about the rumors.

She refused to be ashamed to take what she considered hers.

She entered a private room of her preferred teahouse and then followed Jinzhu through a hidden passageway into an abandoned house. He was already waiting for her and she barely bothered to wait for the door to close after her maids when she fell into his arms.

”Make me forget who I am,” she said, shedding her sect robes and tearing at his clothes that bore the motif of the sect he’d pledged his allegiance to. She didn’t want to think about sects or allegiances, not now, not for the short reprieve his touch would grant her.

Later, she would wake up alone, cleaned up and carefully wrapped into her underrobes, but for now, she kissed him with a sense of impending doom and pretended, for a moment, that everything was fine.

Later, she would refuse the tea Jinzhu brewed for her and love her maids for the compassion and understanding in their eyes.

Later, she would invite her husband to her bed only once to have a legitimate reason for her swelling belly.

Later, she would watch her son and think, If only…

•••

Over the years, she heard rumors of a man with terrible power, of cold eyes and colder demeanor, of cruel indifference. She wondered if any of them were true or if she was the only one who ever saw the man under layers and layers of duty and obligation.

Over the years, she watched as her husband doted on a boy who by all accounts was not his own and ignored the boy who by all accounts was, and grew bitter as the children saw what her husband pretended (not) to be. She grew to resent her husband but she never even once considered resenting him. 

He had given her a gift and she would never disrespect him for it.

•••

The final time they met, they stared at each other across the Grand Hall of Lotus Pier as the blood of the Wen she’d cut down slowly seeped into the floorboards.

”Wen Zhuliu,” she said coldly.

He inclined his head. ”Violet Spider,” he said.

If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she would’ve said his eyes were emotionless. But oh, she did. She knew how his eyes looked when he took her, when he touched her with tenderness no one would’ve ever associated with someone of his reputation. Behind the cold veneer hid pain he didn’t dare to show, not when the Wen wench hung from his sleeve, not when he was a dog obeying his master for reasons she’d never quite understood.

”Kill her!” Wang Lingjiao screamed. ”Wen Zhuliu, kill her!”

She pretended to see a flash of regret in his eyes before he attacked.

The first time they met, a lifetime ago, they’d been flirting, feeling each other out. Now, though? This fight was brutal—they were both immensely stronger and far more ruthless than back when they were children. He was fighting for his master but she was fighting for her children. For Yanli who was fragile and soft and beautiful in a way the world wanted to ruin; for A-Cheng who was prickly and impressionable, and so very much like her. And fine, she was even fighting for Wei Wuxian who, despite everything, had proven to be brilliant and dedicated and who loved her children with a devotion that reminded her of her maids. Wei Wuxian whom she despised and loathed because he was a walking reminder of her own transgressions she refused to regret, but who was her best bet to make sure the Jiang sect survived.

The fight was brutal but neither of them was quite serious until she saw the emergency flare and she knew she’d run out of time.

She disabled him with a burst of power and speed that left him gasping, and then she grabbed her boys and ran. They had to live—they needed to live, and they needed to be away from Lotus Pier for her to do what she had to do. They cried; A-Cheng was still too attached and not quite grasping his responsibilities as the Sect Heir and Wei Wuxian was a soft-hearted fool. 

For a single, fleeting, painfully brilliant moment, she let herself be a mother. It was too little and too late and it would never be enough, and then she wrapped Zidian around them, poured most of her spiritual power into the command to keep her children safe. She pushed the boat on its way and slammed it with a talisman that would take them to safety.

The late evening wind carried the smell of smoke and grief over the cries of her children, and she allowed herself a moment of bitterness, of lost hopes and dreams. And then she wiped her face, steeled herself, and turned.

Lotus Pier was burning and it was time for her mistress to burn with it.

She fought until she could no longer see properly. She fought until her core sputtered and failed, until she saw her maids being stabbed in the back. She fought, at all times keenly aware of the dark, intense eyes that followed her every move.

She fought until the main gates burst open and her husband flew in, robes billowing around him and eyes burning with purpose. For a short, glorious moment, she thought they would live after all—and then that hope was torn to shreds when Fengmian stopped, coughed blood, and slowly ducked his head to look at the sword protruding from his chest.

Backstabbing. Always with the backstabbing.

As Fengmian dropped to his knees, swayed, and keeled over into a pool of his own blood, Yu Ziyuan raised her head and screamed at the unyielding sky above. She screamed out her fury and disappointment, the things she never had the chance to have. She screamed as she lowered her head to meet Zhuliu’s sad eyes across the yard.

Neither of them wanted things to end like this.

They both knew it would always end like this.

She held her head high and looked him straight in the eyes as she plunged her dagger—a gift from Fengmian after A-Cheng was born—into her heart. She held her gaze, defiant, proud, and when he closed his eyes, she knew he understood.

Of course he understood.

They were the same.

Zhiji.

She shuddered and let go of the dagger, crawled over to her husband and twined their fingers together so that even though they never quite knew how to live together, they could at least die together.

Because even though her heart had never belonged to this place, Lotus Pier was her duty and her life.

Her heart, though…

That had been doomed one bright summer day in the woods of Meishan.

Jiang Wanyin gasped out of Empathy and scrambled to his feet.

”Jiujiu?” Jin Ling said, reaching out a hand.

”Don’t touch me!” Jiang Wanyin snapped. 

”Wha—”

Jiang Wanyin turned away from him with a snarled, ” Don’t ,” and headed to the door on unsteady feet.

”JIUJIU!”

”Wait,” Sizhui said, grasping Jin Ling’s arm. ”He must’ve seen something that shook him.”

”But—”

Jingyi huffed and crossed his arms on his chest. ”If he’s crying, do you really want to see that?” 

Lan Wangji thought that was a very good question. However, the last time he’d seen Jiang Wanyin that shaken had been when he’d found out the truth about his core. If this was a revelation of similar magnitude, Lan Wangji found himself surprisingly reluctant to leave him alone.

He took Wei Ying’s hand and held it for a moment. There was nothing—before this session of Empathy, Lan Wangji had felt a searingly familiar series of tugs at the side of his forehead ribbon. He hadn’t been able to hide his wide-eyed shock but he had turned away to hide his tears, fervently grateful that Jiang Wanyin drew the attention to himself to give Lan Wangji a moment to compose himself. 

Perhaps it was payback from when Lan Wangji had done the same to him after they’d found Wei Ying.

He looked up and met Brother’s eyes, inclined his head slightly to the direction where Jiang Wanyin had gone. Brother nodded and took out Liebing, and Lan Wangji let the familiar notes of Rest accompany him out.

Jiang Wanyin was leaning on the railing overlooking the pond, shoulders hitched up, heaving breaths like he’d been running. Or fighting. Lan Wangji walked up and stopped next to him, saying nothing.

”My mother—” Jiang Wanyin gritted out and then stopped. His arms were trembling with the force he was gripping the railing.

When he didn’t continue, Lan Wangji tilted his head back slightly, looking over the bamboo forest. ”This house belonged to my mother,” he said. ”She was confined in here for the time she was alive.”

”Confi—” Jiang Wanyin started, then snapped his mouth shut.

”My father married my mother after she killed her teacher—a Lan elder.”

Jiang Wanyin was silent for a moment before he huffed, ”That’s fucked up.”

”Mn.”

”If these visions are true—and I have no reason to believe otherwise—then…” Jiang Wanyin choked up, cleared his throat. ”Then I have just learned that I am not a Jiang.”

Lan Wangji blinked and turned to look at him. Jiang Wanyin was staring into the pond, his jaw gritted so tightly the clenching muscles were clearly visible. After a moment of silence, he let out a bark of humorless laughter and added in a low voice, ”I wonder if he realized who he mutilated when he burned out my core.”

For a moment, Lan Wangji didn’t say a thing. He thought about his brother, about their mother, about the tragedy their existence was. ”Brother and I,” he finally said slowly, ”We share similar facial features because we have the same mother.” He turned his head slightly, angling his body toward the Jingshi and the soft sounds of Brother’s xiao. ”The one named as our father was that in name only. Everything we learned, we learned from Mother and Uncle.”

Jiang Wanyin stayed quiet but his grip from the railing eased slightly until he let out a harsh breath.

From the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji saw the door open, spilling out golden light from the lanterns, and Lin Jing making his way across the deck.

”Go,” Jiang Wanyin said without turning. ”I need to talk to him anyway.” Lan Wangji had barely taken two steps when he added, ”…thank you.”

”There is no need to thank me,” Lan Wangji said.

•••

”He looks peaceful,” Uncle said from the doorway.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji said without turning. He wasn’t sure why Uncle was here—he hadn’t been back since he’d had what was basically a screaming match with Jiang Wanyin—but after his talk with the visibly shaken Wanyin, Lan Wangji felt more compassionate about him. He hadn’t been lying: to Brother and him, Uncle was their father in all but name, and despite his shortcomings, he’d always meant well.

”I have a proposition,” Uncle said. His voice was stiff and words clipped and careful in a way Lan Wangji hadn’t heard since he was whipped. When Uncle didn’t continue, Lan Wangji raised his head and turned to give him a questioning look. 

”I would like to play Inquiry.”

For a split moment, Lan Wangji was stunned breathless and then he said icily, ”Wei Ying isn’t dead. How dare you—”

Uncle raised a placating hand. ”Wangji, that isn’t what I mean.” He took a breath, stepped forward, and asked, ”May I?” 

’No, you may not!’ he wanted to snarl but Uncle stood still, holding his hand out, waiting. ”Fine,” he finally ground out, mulishly ignoring Uncle’s nod of thanks.

He knelt next to Wei Ying, took his wrist, and concentrated for a moment. ”He is alive. His core is stable and his spiritual energy is at the level it was before his kidnapping.” He paused and an annoyed frown rippled across his brow. ”And his level of resentful energy is where it usually is.”

Briefly, Lan Wangji wondered just how Uncle knew Wei Ying’s spiritual and resentful energy levels but he pushed it out of his mind. ”Then why…?”

With a sigh, Uncle set Wei Ying’s hand back on the bed. ”For some reason, this curse keeps him alive so that he can live through other people’s lives and deaths—especially deaths. Through Empathy, Jiang Wanyin saw—or experienced—the deaths of Jiang Yanli, Jin Zixuan, and Madam Yu. Wei Wuxian witnessed the first two when they happened. From what he’s told you, he did not see how Madam Yu died.”

Something cold gripped Lan Wangji and his hand clenched, nearly ripping his robe. ”What are you saying, Uncle?”

”I might be wrong,” he started slowly. ”But I think there might be someone—or something—influencing him. With your permission, I would like to investigate further.”

YES! Lan Wangji wanted to shout but he restrained himself. ”You should also ask Jiang Wanyin.”

Uncle’s brows shot up.

”We have…reached an understanding,” Lan Wangji said stiffly. 

”Very well,” Uncle said, still looking surprised.

•••

At some other time, it would’ve been interesting to observe the way Uncle played Inquiry. Even though the music was the same, the level of skill, the sharpness of the questions, and the amount of spiritual energy varied depending on the person playing. Even though they were skilled, the Twin Jades (and especially Lan Wangji himself) were blunt-force instruments who were able to push through with the sheer power of their cores. Uncle, though, was significantly less powerful, but what he lacked in brunt force, he more than made up in logic and argument skills. In short, he was able to pose his questions just so that the spirits wanted to answer instead of being forced to answer.

At some other time, Lan Wangji would’ve been fascinated.

Now, he was mainly terrified.

Uncle’s qin was old and powerful in its own right, and as its strings chimed, the sound reverberated through the Jingshi. He played out the standard opening chords and then deviated from the norm. Instead of asking Who are you? he asked, May we speak?

For a moment, the strings were still.

And then, a playful cadenza rippled across the space like laughter. It was, somehow, unbearably familiar and completely alien, and—

Could it be real? What were the odds—

Perhaps Lan Wangji was dreaming? Or hallucinating? He looked at Brother who shared his incredulous look.

Jingyi’s words shook him back from his spiraling thoughts. ”Did—I’m sorry, have I—there must be something very wrong with my Inquiry lessons,” Jingyi said in a slightly strangled voice as his bewildered eyes glanced from Uncle to Brother to Lan Wangji and back to Uncle.

”There is nothing wrong with your Inquiry lessons,” Uncle said and sighed. 

”Well?” Jiang Wanyin barked. ”Did it work? Who is it? What did they say?”

”They—” Sizhui started, then his eyes darted to Lan Wangji and then to Uncle who nodded. ”They said, ’I thought you would never ask. I was getting ready to shave your beard off—again.’ ”

For a good while, Wei Wuxian merely sprawls on his back, staring into the ceiling with unseeing eyes.

That—

He really doesn’t think he should’ve seen that—

”Ffffuuuck,” he breathes out.

He has so many questions and also he wants to scrub his brain clean and perhaps even gouge out his eyes because he did not need to see that!

But also—

The dull throbbing in his chest might be a residual ache from the dagger Madam Yu had plunged into her chest—or it could be just the horrible, overwhelming sorrow for things she was never allowed to have.

How terrible to meet your zhiji only to be forced on the opposite sides?

How terrible to find solace and warmth and love in each other’s arms only to be torn apart?

How terrible to choose death while the other watched, heartbreak so evident in his eyes?

…how terrible indeed.

He squeezes his eyes closed to stave off tears that threaten to spill but it does nothing to the pain. 

After everything that happened between them, Wei Wuxian never thought he’d feel for Madam Yu. He had feared her and respected her and, yes, resented her a little as well, but he’d never in his life felt like this. There had been so much passion and love trapped inside of her but no viable way to let it out, and it had all twisted up into one giant thorny ball of complicated emotions that turned her prickly and mean with bitterness.

Making up his mind, he scrambles up on his knees and bows deep. ”I know you neither want nor need my compassion, Madam Yu,” he says, ”but you still have it. I hope that in your next life, you will be born free to find your zhiji and live the life you deserve.” He stays down for a long, long time and then straightens up, letting out a long breath.

Okay, next—

”Oh, fuck. Jiang Cheng!”

***

He decides it’s better to push aside all thoughts of Madam Yu and Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng witnessing his mother’s doomed love life. That way lies madness and he has enough experience to know better. Instead, he concentrates his efforts on his talismans.

To his ultimate relief, the designs he scratched on the walls before his last trip through the door are still there which supports his theory of the room being preserved in time and the doors acting as portals between his subconscious and…the souls? Echoes of past lives? Hm. Anyway, those shadows whose deaths he witnesses. To support as stable a construction as that requires a tremendous amount of spiritual energy and would take a huge toll on the cultivator. Unless…

”Mn. Of course,” he murmurs as he taps his fingers against each other in a rhythmic staccato. ”A person’s life energy would be sufficient.” Then he huffs and shakes his head. ”What is it with people and using their life energies on arrays to ensnare me? Do they still hate me so much?” He doesn’t bother asking why because he knows why.

Lan Zhan would protest, of course.

Ah, Lan Zhan…

He shakes himself a little. There’s no use in getting lost in memories of Lan Zhan’s luminous beauty, not when he still has a curse to break. So, he rolls his shoulder, cracks his knuckles, and gets back to work. Returning to the room restored his clothes back to their usual look which means he has to break his belt buckle again. It snaps easily in half again and he purses his lips as he narrows his eyes at the designs on the wall.

They’re almost finished, almost, but not quite. There are a couple of radicals he needs to shift—the anchor for peace needs another stabilizing element and he begrudgingly thinks that home would actually work better if he added just a sliver of Lotus Pier in. It’s the permanence that keeps giving him grief because even though he feels the answer is right there, he can’t quite grasp it. It really shouldn’t be that hard—he’s been designing talismans for fun since he was ten! Figuring this out should be clear as day!

…and then he snorts.

Of course.

”Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he chuckles. ”If only you knew how slow your Wei Ying can be at times…”

Because permanence isn’t a place—at least not for him. For people like Lan Qiren or Jiang Cheng, permanence would mean their home, their Sect Seat, the spot where they ground themselves. But for Wei Wuxian? 

Permanence isn’t a place, it’s a state of being. It’s how he defines himself and who he anchors himself to, not where. (Honestly, it’s so simple he feels a bit stupid.)

He can’t help a small smile tugging at his lips as he adds the character for light because of course that’s what was missing—the one who knows his heart best, the other half of his soul, his zhiji—and it makes the three talisman designs flow into one, bigger array. He doesn’t have a name for it but he also doesn’t think he needs a name. It’s enough he knows what it’s for.

The doors have changed again and now they’re purple-black-white and delicate turquoise and white. They seem familiar in a distant way that feels like a memory of a dream, something he might’ve once seen but that he cannot name. They feel almost the same but something about the turquoise door makes him want to curl up and put his head on someone’s lap—a bit like he did with shijie.

They feel like safety and love.

”Oh,” he breathes.

Because he knows what these doors are and to whom they belong. 

He desperately doesn’t want to enter either of them and yet he knows he has to. If he is to leave this place, if he is to return to Lan Zhan, he has to watch his parents die.

Somehow, he also knows this will be the last time—the last death. Either he finds his way home now or…

He swallows and takes a deep breath. ”I don’t know if there’s anyone out there,” he says softly. ”But if it’s not too much of a bother, I’d really appreciate the help.”

Then he turns and bites into his fingers to make blood flow, tugs his robes open, and starts to paint the talisman array into his chest. He’s not sure it will work but it’s the only way to bring the array into the dream world with him. His blood is warm and sticky and the talisman is crude with shaky lines but as long as it works, the aesthetics is secondary. 

When he’s done, he takes a deep breath and wipes his fingers clean on his pants. Then he turns to face the doors.

”Alright,” he says, squares his shoulders, and walks to the turquoise and white door. ”Hold on, Lan Zhan,” he whispers. ”I’m coming home.”

He reaches out a hand, opens the door, and walks through.

***

(As the door closes behind Wei Wuxian, the room starts to gradually brighten until it’s burning white and hot like the sun. When the light finally dissipates, only emptiness remains.)

”Are you sure he’ll be alright?” Changze asked, glancing back again.

Cangse rolled her eyes. ”He’ll be fine! It’s not the first time he’s waited for us at an inn and it won’t be the last. He has a lot of food and water and the room is warded and paid until the end of the week.” She smiled at her husband. ”Stop worrying!”

He ducked his head and huffed. ”You’re right, as always. I just…” he shrugged, a helpless small move that conveyed more than words.

”I know,” she said and squeezed his hand. ”Let’s go.”

They were headed to the Burial Mounds, a seething mass of resentful energy and nameless horrors partially buried under the restless soil. Yiling, the small town sitting right next to the Burial Mounds, had been swamped under the nearly continuous attacks. Even though the residents were used to living under the shadow of perpetual gloom, this was something else.

Something new.

Cangse Sanren shot a quick look at her husband. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around the fact that she was married and a mother now. She, the free-spirited, unbound, untamed rogue cultivator who enjoyed challenging pompous men and beating them in their own games. She, who years and years ago had sworn to her Grandmaster that she would never fall in love and definitely never get married, let alone have children.

Oh, but Baoshan would laugh herself sick if she saw her now.

Thinking of Baoshan made her miss her shidi. ”When we’re done with this, we should reach out to Xingchen,” she said, tugging at her husband’s sleeve. ”The last time we met, he’d run into this serious man from the Baixue Temple and was very taken with him.”

Changze quirked a brow. ”Xingchen? Taken with a serious cultivator? Your Xingchen?”

”Aiyah, you,” she huffed, slapping at his arm with her sleeve. ”I know you think Xingchen is all laughter and easy smiles but he has hidden depths!”

”Mm-hmm.”

”I’m serious, husband!”

”I didn’t contradict you, wife,” he said calmly but the twinkling in his eyes belied his words.

She sighed and shook her head, fighting to keep the smile from her lips.

Six years now. It had been six lovely, glorious years with her Changze, and she couldn’t wait to see what the future had in store for them. 

•••

They’d met for the first time when Cangse had been battling a small horde of fierce corpses—albeit they’d been so clumsy they hardly earned the moniker—when someone in dark purple robes had suddenly stepped in and disposed of two corpses that had been reaching for her back and another in dark blue robes blasted a sword glare at the advancing three. The help had been unnecessary as she had a couple of nasty talismans ready to be used just for an occasion like this but it wasn’t like she was going to drive away extra swords.

”Thank you for the help,” she said, inclining her head. When she straightened, her eyes met with the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

”It was our duty and pleasure to help,” the man in purple robes said from the side. ”May I ask who you are? I’d say it’s dangerous for a single maiden to travel alone but it’s more than obvious you can take care of yourself.”

She glanced at him, traced her eyes over the robes, took in the color and motifs and the guan, and bowed. ”Rogue cultivator Cangse Sanren greets Sect Leader Jiang.”

”Sanren…” Sect Leader Jiang mused after returning her bow. ”You wouldn’t be related to the famous immortal Baoshan Sanren?”

”We have crossed paths, yes,” she said, eyes darting to the man in blue robes making his way next to Sect Leader Jiang. 

”Oh, my apologies!” Sect Leader Jiang hurried to say, turning slightly. ”This is my right-hand man, our Head Disciple, Wei Changze.” 

After another round of greetings and bows, Sect Leader Jiang insisted on escorting Cangse back to the inn where she was staying. She didn’t need the escort but she found herself drawn to the calm Head Disciple Wei, and to her delight, saw his eyes flickering to her more often than not. 

”Would you like to share dinner with us?” Sect Leader Jiang asked when she was about to ascend the stairs to her room.

She turned to give him a long look. ”I don’t think that would be appropriate, Sect Leader,” she said slowly.

”Oh! I didn’t mean to imply—”

”Goodnight, Sect Leader Jiang, Head Disciple Wei,” she said over Sect Leader Jiang’s spluttering, turned, and retired for the night.

In the following morning, she’d barely risen and made her way down for breakfast, when someone stopped next to her table. She looked up and saw Head Disciple Wei, greeting her with a deep bow.

”Good morning, Rogue Cultivator Sanren,” he said in a low, pleasant voice.

”Good morning to you, too,” she said with a wry smile. ”Is your Sect Leader awake already?”

Head Disciple Wei shook his head. ”He tends to sleep late when he can and I tend to indulge him.”

”How noble of you,” she said drolly.

”It’s less about nobility and more about having the morning for myself,” Head Disciple Wei said dryly. ”But that wasn’t—” He paused for a moment, searching for words. ”I would like to offer an apology for my Sect Leader’s words last night. He was quite flustered after you retired and worried that you might think he proposed to you. Which he didn’t.”

Cangse raised a brow. ”Did he send you to tell me that?”

A small smile quirked his lips. ”Absolutely not. He’d be mortified if he knew I was here talking to you.”

”Ah,” she said, then raised her cup. ”Apology accepted, then, and no offense taken.”

”I’m glad to hear that,” Head Disciple Wei said and bowed way lower than her station required. ”Good day to you, Cangse Sanren.”

Oh, we’re calling each other by our names then? she thought and let herself smile fully. ”Good day to you, too, Wei Changze. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

•••

It took them a year to meet again, and by then, Sect Leader Jiang was married to the Violet Spider and they had their firstborn on the way. Cangse was traveling from Runan to Ezhou when she met with a group of Jiang cultivators escorting a carriage. She stepped aside and bowed, waiting patiently for them to pass, when a familiar voice called out her name and a man in dark blue robes with a purple lotus motif running down his chest hopped down from a saddle.

”Head Disciple Wei,” she replied. ”It has been a while.”

”It has indeed. How have you been?”

”You know, hunting monsters, saving people, the usual,” she said with a small smile. It was surprisingly easy to smile at him, she found.

He chuckled. ”Sounds like you have been having fun—”

”Wei Changze! Why have we stopped?” someone called sharply. ”Is there a problem?”

Cangse leaned slightly to the side and saw the curtain drawn to the side and a furious, beautiful woman staring at them with narrowed eyes.

”My apologies, Madam Yu,” Wei Changze said calmly. ”I merely took the liberty to greet an old friend.”

Cangse stepped around Wei Changze and bowed deep. ”Rogue Cultivator Cangse Sanren greets the Lady of Lotus Pier. May I offer congratulations on the arrival of Sect Heir Jiang?”

Madam Yu’s lips pressed together in a tight line and she gave her an unimpressed look before letting the curtain fall closed again.

”Prickly, is she?” Cangse whispered.

”I have been told that pregnancy is hard,” Wei Changze said with a completely straight face. Then he bowed and turned to mount his horse again.

Cangse wore a small smile for the next two days and was only slightly annoyed at herself about it.

•••

After the fifth similar chance encounter, Cangse marched to Wei Changze’s table at the inn they both just happened to have a room in, sat down, and said, ”Do you want to bed me or befriend me? I’m not sure what your goal here is.”

To his credit, Wei Changze didn’t choke on his tea. He set his cup on the table, directed her a level look, and said, ”I could bed you?”

”Really,” she said flatly.

For a moment, Wei Changze’s face was a picture of polite bafflement, and then the corner of his mouth twitched and he chuckled. ”My apologies. I just had to try. No,” he said, serious again. ”My goal is to talk to you and spend time with you whenever we meet—but only if you allow me.” He shrugged. ”I enjoy your company and your wit and…I have a feeling you might enjoy my company as well?”

”Fine,” she admitted, slightly offended when she folded so easily. ”But what about your sect?”

Wei Changze frowned. ”What about it?” 

”Doesn’t your Sect Leader get a say if you want to court someone?”

Wei Changze blinked several times. ”I—I wasn’t aware we were talking about…courting?”

”Aish, isn’t that where this conversation is heading anyway?”

”I don’t know—is it?” Wei Changze asked, sounding somewhat helpless.

Cangse leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. ”How about…” she started slowly, ”You take me to bed and I’ll give you my verdict after?”

”I—what?” Wei Changze asked, sounding faint.

She reached out to press a hand on his forehead. ”Are you feeling alright? No fever?”

”No, I’m. Yes.”

He looked adorable, flushing and flustered, but there was also a certain determination in his eyes that appealed to her, and he didn’t seem too taken aback by her assertiveness.

”Coming?” she asked, standing up and holding out her hand.

”Yes,” he replied, taking her hand. His hand was big and warm and his grip was sure; not too hard but sure, confident. He followed her up the stairs and into her room, closed the door behind them, activated a powerful privacy talisman, and said, ”And so will you.”

(Three months later, they were married and A-Ying was growing inside of her. She wasn’t quite sure how to break the news to her Grandmaster.)

•••

They never really contemplated the idea of settling down, even when that would’ve been the smartest thing to do with a child. Changze’s break from Yunmeng Jiang hadn’t been the most amicable which meant that they couldn’t just settle down on a Jiang-affiliated minor sect land without causing them undue trouble. The Jin were too friendly with the Jiang (and also disgusting), the Wen were absolutely out of the question, and even though Cangse hand enjoyed driving Lan Qiren into minor qi-deviation when she’d visited the Cloud Recesses, they both knew Gusu wouldn’t be the right place for them. The Nie…hm…perhaps.

The honest truth was, however, that they both enjoyed the freedom to roam and choose their daily chores by the weather and their mood. Changze had tried the belonging-to-a-sect thing and while he’d enjoyed his time and his responsibilities, he hadn’t enjoyed the strife between Sect Leader Jiang and his wife. Having a child hadn’t exactly improved their relationship and Changze hadn’t been eager to stay and see where it would go.

And their life like this was good! They had their qiankun packs, their donkey, and each other, and between them, their skill sets were more than enough to guarantee them a decent living. In addition to night-hunting, they could do small house repairs, bookkeeping, teaching, talisman work, warding, and basic healing arts. All in all, they felt they were more than well off.

When A-Ying turned four, more and more rumors about the Burial Mounds started to emerge. They ignored them at first—Yiling was uncomfortably close to Yunmeng and technically fell under its jurisdiction, not that Yunmeng Jiang (or any other sect) had been eager to claim responsibility. That’s how things tended to be with sects: the major sects were too preoccupied with their power struggles as posturing and the minor sects were busy trying to figure out which major sect would be their best bet to get a bit more recognition. The common people fell through the cracks, just trying to live their lives and raise their children into adulthood.

Those cracks were what rogue cultivators like them (and also Xingchen) tried to fill up. 

”And why would that interest a family like you?” the innkeeper had asked bluntly, suspicious eyes taking them in.

”We’re cultivators,” Changze said politely. (They’d long ago agreed that he would do the talking. Cangse had no patience for it.) ”We aren’t a part of a sect, we’re here just to help.”

”Why would your help make any difference when the big ones can’t?”

Changze inclined his head. ”Perhaps we see things from the common man’s perspective. We’re not interested in what the great sects think.”

The innkeeper huffed but motioned them in. ”A room, a bath, and food, I suppose?” she asked. 

”Yes, please,” Changze said, lifting up A-Ying who was falling asleep on his feet. ”Our son will stay behind and we’ll collect him when we get back. We will pay for a week of food and room in advance.”

The innkeeper narrowed her eyes. ”And if you don’t come back?”

”We will,” Cangse said.

•••

”I think it’s over the bend?” 

Cangse squinted and tried to focus on the bend of the path. It was late Fall but the air felt stifling and thick, making it hard to breathe even for people with their cultivation level. 

”We should take a break,” she said, her voice subdued in the oppressive air.

”Mn.”

The bend revealed yet another vista of desolation; fog hanging low over blackened earth and shrouding the sparse trees into strangely shaped cloaks that seemed to move erratically in the still air. Cangse sat down on a fallen log, testing it first with his foot in case it was rotten through. She took a sip from her gourd and ate a handful of nuts Changze handed her.

”What do you think?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly as he chewed, looking around with a frown. ”I’m not sure. There’s a lot of resentment here but that could just be the massacres, fuelled by—if the gossip is right—by the unfortunates the Wen throw in. But—” he paused and sighed. ”Where’s the monster the stories talk about? There’s supposed to be something big and scary and deadly and…”

”Mn.”

She wiped her fingers on her robes—a move that prompted a fondly exasperated huff from her husband—and closed her eyes. Detecting and tracking resentful energy had been a trick her Grandmaster had taught her years ago, and it had proven useful during countless night-hunts. 

This time, though…

She frowned and tilted her head, trying to follow a strangely elusive feeling, then felt triumphant as she finally managed to snag a hold of its proverbial tail.

”Gotcha—”

”CANGSE!”

Her eyes flew open and she barely had time to dive to the side as a massive bulk of seething resentment barged straight at her, smashing into the log she’d been sitting on. It dispersed as soon as it hit the log, leaving them bewildered and gasping for breath.

”What the fuck was that?” she hissed circling slowly back to Changze, her sword in her hand. They settled into their familiar back-to-back stance, drawing strength from each other.

”I don’t know,” Changze said in a low voice. ”But it was fast.”

The words had barely left his mouth when the monster—or whatever it was—re-emerged on the other side of the small clearing and attacked again. They moved as one, controlled and deadly, talismans at the ready and their swords pointed, but as soon as they made contact, the entity vanished again like smoke into the wind.

”I don’t like this,” Cangse muttered.

Changze let out an agreeing sound—and then the monster was upon them again.

It soon became devastatingly clear that whatever they’d encountered was stronger, faster, and more cunning than them. Nothing they tried worked for long, and whatever hit they managed to land was brushed away almost instantly as the mass regrouped and attacked again. It also became clear it was driving them deeper into the Burial Mounds and all their attempts to disengage were snubbed.

”Run!” Changze yelled at her at one point. ”I’ll hold it back. You have to get to A-Ying!”

And Cangse tried. By the gods, she tried. She tried to fly out only to be yanked back. She tried to distract the monster but it grabbed her before she managed to take five steps. Talismans, spells, swords—nothing worked.

”A-Ying,” she breathed aloud, suddenly realizing neither of them would get out of here alive.

The monster let out a screech that sounded eerily like a laugh, wrapped a rope of smoke and pain around Changze’s middle, and threw him against a boulder with a sickening sound.

He did not get up again.

”NO!” Cangse screamed. She sprinted forward and almost reached him when something cold and terrible and wrong slithered around her neck and yanked.

And—

Everything stopped.

It was quiet. The writhing mass of resentment hung in the air motionless and the broken body of her husband lay silent on the ground, a splatter of blood frozen mid-drip. The air was heavy with fog and the impending sense of foreboding, and it was so quiet.

Slowly, carefully, she jerked herself around, feeling her head dangle at an odd angle. What—

”The talisman,” she said.

…what?

Something burned at her chest. She lurched slightly to get a look but her robes were torn and bloody and if there was something that would burn, she had no clue. And yet, she brought her hand to her face and brushed at the blood there, then pressed her hand on her chest. 

Across the clearing stood a shape in bright white robes, shining like a beacon in a storm.

”A-Ying,” Cangse said softly.

”Wei Ying. You have to wake up.”

The shape in white reached out a hand, beckoning at him. Cangse couldn’t see their face but she knew they were beautiful and bright and good.

”Wei Ying,” she said, but the sound came from the shape. 

”Wei Ying. Come back.”

”Wei Ying.”

”I am here—”

Her chest burned and her fingers burned with it and—

Considering everything that had happened, was the ghost of Wei Ying’s mother really too fantastical to be true?

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure. But he knew that he was willing to do anything, try anything to bring Wei Ying back.

So you are his Lan Zhan, Cangse Sanren’s ghost said through Inquiry, her voice playing out in a way that made Uncle pinch at the base of his nose. You are cute.

Lan Wangji bowed deep and stayed in the bow until a sound that reminded a clicking of a tongue made him straighten up. Then he approached the qin and, after making sure Uncle gave permission to touch his instrument, started to play.

Do you know where he is?

Inside an elaborate curse that he’ll break soon. Hopefully. Or if he doesn’t I’m going to be so disappointed in him.

How are you here?

Someone played Chord Assassination with enough force to tear apart the veil separating our realms and I decided to take a peek, she said, emphasizing the notes for ”someone.” Lan Wangji ignored both her tone and the look Brother threw at him as he translated her notes into words for Jiang Wanyin and Jin Ling’s benefit.

Have you been influencing Wei Ying’s visions?

Yes and no. As far as I can understand, the curse picked the first deaths. I didn’t even become aware of it—or him—until I was wrenched free.

Why have you been influencing Wei Ying’s visions?

Because he deserves to know that he is and has been loved. 

Lan Wangji had to stop for a moment there to compose himself before he was able to continue.

How can we save him?

For a moment, the qin was silent, as if Cangse Sanren was gathering her thoughts. And then, a barrage of notes played out so fast he was having a hard time following the rush.

When he is like this, I can’t influence his mind or steer his thoughts as I can to some degree when he’s in what you call his visions. I can skim his consciousness, however, which is how I knew he had made contact with you. He knows you are out there. He knows Jiang Wanyin lived with him at least some of the deaths. And he has been working to wake up. The problem is, he needs to do that while he is in the vision.

There was a pause and then Jiang Wanyin said slowly, ”You mean he has to break the curse while he’s actively dying as someone else?”

Yes. Hopefully, A-Ying has figured out the way to carry his talismans into the vision. He needs to walk through that last door which will be my death. I’m sorry he has to experience it but it’s the only way. I can pause the curse on the moment of my death and then it’s up to him and one of you.

”One of us?” Jiang Wanyin repeated. ”What—oh. Empathy.” He frowned and shook his head. ”But Empathy is passive. We cannot change anything, we can only observe.”

Usually, yes. Except that you have managed to push something through the connection, thus making A-Ying aware that he isn’t alone. 

Lan Wangji’s hands trembled when he played out the most important question. 

Tell me what to do.

•••

”Wangji, are you—”

”Yes,” he said without looking at Brother. He was prepared. He knew what he had to do and how to do it. 

”Don’t lose yourself,” Jiang Wanyin said tersely. He stood by the wall, hands crossed on his chest, Zidian sparking in his finger. He was visibly displeased about not being the one to bring Wei Ying back but…Lan Wangji couldn’t. He had to—he needed to be the one to do this.

Because if he was lost in the curse, he would be lost with Wei Ying.

And if Wei Ying didn’t make it, Lan Wangji wouldn’t want to keep on going anyway.

He closed his eyes, held on to Wei Ying’s hand, and let his consciousness sink into his.

He opened his eyes into a storm of resentful energy. A quick look around told him he was in the Burial Mounds, but it wasn’t the Burial Mounds of the Wen refugees’ settlement days. No, this was the Burial Mounds of old; untamed, wild, unhinged, deranged. It raged free and unrestrained, the resentful energy tearing into two young cultivators who fought valiantly but who were hopelessly outmatched. 

Lan Wangji walked closer, creating a small bubble of still air into the storm. He could see pieces of Wei Ying in his parents; Wei Changze’s eyes, Cangse Sanren’s mouth, his build and her agility. They fought well and as one, and it tore at his heart to understand there was nothing he could do to make a difference. Not to this.

When the resentful energy threw Wei Changze into a rock and he didn’t get up, Lan Wangji knew it was time. He centered himself, gathered his will and love and determination into a cloak around himself, and waited until Cangse Sanren’s scream was cut short when a rope of resentment curled around her neck and broke it.

And then everything stopped.

NOW!

Lan Wangji let his core flare as bright as he could and shaped his spiritual energy into a rope, pouring out his devotion and holding out a hand—the rope—his love. Across the clearing, Cangse Sanren’s body turned, twitching and clumsy like a paper doll.

”Wei Ying,” he said together with Cangse Sanren. ”Wei Ying. Come back.”

The doll tilted its head and jerkily raised a hand to its bloody face and then smeared that blood into its chest. 

Something impossibly bright lit up, reaching back to Lan Wangji and his rope.

”Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji pleaded, pushing more, more, everything, everything for Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying Wei Ying Wei Yingweiyingweiying—

—He gasped and opened his eyes, looking wildly around the Jingshi.

”Father—?”

”Did it work—?”

”Wangji—?”

He ignored the clamor around him and let go of Wei Ying’s hand, leaned over him to cup his face. He was breathing slowly, peacefully, and he was still asleep.

Lan Wangji let out a breath that came out as a sob.

”Wei Ying—”

He pressed their foreheads together and whispered, ”Please. Wei Ying, come home. I am here. Please come back to me.”

For a moment, nothing.

And then, slowly like a small butterfly’s wings on a cold morning, Wei Ying’s lashes fluttered.

Wei Wuxian opens his eyes and for a moment, sees nothing but light.

It’s different, not the harsh dimness of the room he always returned to after his vision of dying a gruesome death, but soft, bright, pure, with late afternoon sun making the tiny dust motes dance in the air in front of him. 

He draws breath and nearly chokes at the familiar scent of sandalwood tickling at his nose.

Something—no, someone shifts next to him.

”Wei Ying?”

He blinks, tries to banish the slight grittiness rasping under his eyelids, and turns his head. The movement makes the room spin around him and he concentrates on breathing, feeling his body where it is, the mattress under him, and the weight of the blanket over him.

Sitting on the bed, hovering over him, is Lan Zhan. He looks wan and tired and his eyes are red-rimmed as they search Wei Wuxian’s face, but as soon as their eyes meet, Lan Zhan’s face softens.

”L-lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says—or he tries to but his voice comes out in an embarrassing, raspy croak that prompts a fit of coughing.

Lan Zhan doesn’t say a word as he gently helps him to sit up and then maneuvers him to lean on his chest, holding a small cup of water. The small sip of cool, clear liquid feels divine sliding into his mouth and down his throat and he lets out a greedy sound, wanting more.

”Careful,” Lan Zhan murmurs.

”I can’t believe I’m this happy to drink plain water,” Wei Wuxian says, exhausted after downing that one small cup in several tiny sips. He’s trembling in Lan Zhan’s arms, perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from plain relief, feeling unbearably grateful.

Without a word, Lan Zhan gathers up the blanket and wraps it around them.

Wei Wuxian hums, contented, and slips back into sleep with Lan Zhan’s steady heartbeat in his ear.

•••

”—been sleeping for a fucking month already!”

”You can either yell or be here. These options are mutually exclusive and it is the only choice you’ll get.”

”Oh, fuck you, Lan Wangji.”

It’s that tone of voice that drags him back to consciousness: Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan throwing petty insults at each other with relative ease. It sounds highly improbable but it seems to be true, so what other option does he have but open his eyes again?

”Excuse you,” he rasps out. ”I was too busy dying to get enough actual sleep.”

”That’s not a thing you should be proud of,” Jiang Cheng says flatly. ”Also, your dreams suck.”

Wei Wuxian turns his head and grins tiredly at his brother. He looks good—as he always does, the weirdo—and even though his scowl is firmly in place, there’s a certain relief playing around his eyes. 

”How long…?” he asks.

”At least four weeks,” Lan Zhan says. 

”Oh.”

”How the fuck did you even end up in that shithole anyway?” Jiang Cheng asks. ”We had to fly all the way to Qinghe and then to Anping to be even able to track you down.”

Wei Wuxian frowns. ”I met someone. I think. I was on my way to Qinghe to pester Nie Huaisang and…” his voice trails away as he tries to grasp the flashes of memories and make some sense of them.

”We think someone drugged you and then smuggled you away,” Lan Zhan says quietly. ”Nie Huaisang is still investigating.”

”Huh.”

”Wen Ni—Qionglin was able to track you, don’t ask me how,” Jiang Cheng says. ”Your connection to both resentful energy and your core was somehow sealed until your Hanguang-jun decided to blow the shed on top of us.”

”I told you to run,” Lan Zhan says mildly.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. ”Yeah, half a breath before you incinerated the area!”

”Wait—” Wei Wuxian says. ”First of all, ’incinerated’? Second…why are you like this?” he asks pointing a finger between Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng.

”We had a talk,” Jiang Cheng deadpans.

”Mn.”

Wei Wuxian tucks the information away for later (because what the fuck?) and instead says, ”So, that must’ve been why the dreams changed.”

Lan Zhan’s hand twitches in his. ”How many—” he starts and then swallows, stays still for a moment until he merely says, ”Wei Ying,” in an agonized whisper.

”Lan Zhan, I’m fine,” he says.

”Yeah, sure,” Jiang Cheng says and narrows his eyes. ”How many times did you die?”

”Technically I didn’t—” he starts and stops at Jiang Cheng’s raised brow. ”Ten,” he amends with a sigh. ”Su She, Xiao Xingchen, Nie Mingjue, Mo Xuanyu, Wen Qing, Granny Wen, shijie, the peacock, Madam Yu, and…” his voice hitches.

”Your mother,” Lan Zhan adds. ”We know.”

”How?”

”Your mother’s ghost contacted us via Inquiry,” Lan Zhan says and adds, ”I’ll explain later.”

Lan Zhan glances at Jiang Cheng who clenches his jaw and scowls at something on the opposite wall. ”And before that, Empathy,” he says. ”And don’t even bother lecturing me about how dangerous it is, mister I-performed-empathy-on-Nie-Mingjue’s-decapitated-head-in-paperman-form,” Jiang Cheng snaps. ”It was the only way we could figure out what was going on in your head.”

Something cold settles on Wei Wuxian’s stomach. He’d guessed as much but hearing Jiang Cheng confirming it made it real. ”Which ones did you see?” he asks slowly.

”A-jie, the peacock, and…” Jiang Cheng pauses. ”Mother.”

”Jiang Cheng—”

”Don’t,” he says tightly, holding himself coiled like a bow ready to release. ”I don’t want to talk about it.”

Wei Wuxian opens his mouth and then starts when Lan Zhan gently squeezes his wrist and shakes his head. ”Alright. Whatever you want, A-Cheng,” he meekly says instead.

Jiang Cheng nods, scowl still firmly in place. ”If you feel like it, I’ll get A-Ling. He’s been pacing a hole into the floor of his rooms because he’s worried about you or something.” He turns without waiting for an answer and prowls out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

Slightly bemused, Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan. ”What happened between the two of you?” he demands. ”You let him snap at me without threatening him even a bit.” Lan Zhan raises an unimpressed brow, making him grin. ”Okay, you threatened him a bit.”

Lan Zhan drops his gaze to where he’s still holding onto Wei Wuxian’s wrist. ”It turned out,” he starts slowly. ”That there was a…misunderstanding.” He swallows, and even though he stays absolutely still, it somehow seems that he draws up his shoulders to make himself appear smaller. ”I believed he stabbed you,” he says. ”And he believed I let go—that I let you fall.” His voice turns into a hoarse whisper. ”We were both wrong, weren’t we?”

When he raises his head to look straight at Wei Wuxian, his eyes are filled with so much pain it makes his breath hitch and tears gather in his eyes. ”Yes,” he says, closing his eyes to escape whatever expression was blooming on Lan Zhan’s face. ”I’m sorry.”

Lan Zhan gently lifts Wei Wuxian’s hand in his, presses it on his cheek, on the skin wet with tears. ”There’s no need for sorries and thank yous between us.” There’s a soft rustle and then Lan Zhan’s forehead leans gently against Wei Wuxian’s.

”Lan Zhan,” he whispers.

They share the silence for a moment, breathing together. He can feel the slightest of tremors running through Lan Zhan and he aches for everything this wonderful man has been through because he believes in Wei Wuxian—more than he believes in himself.

Eventually—too soon—there’s a loud banging on the door. 

”Are you decent?” Jin Ling yells. ”Jiujiu said you were probably going to be gross, so don’t! I’m coming in!” But he takes his time, fumbling at the door and making a ruckus entering, and by the time he peeks around the partition, they’ve had more than enough time to pull themselves together and sit side by side.

For a moment, Jin Ling just stands there, eyes narrowed, and looking so much like both shijie and Jiang Cheng that Wei Wuxian is finding it hard to breathe. Then he opens his mouth, closes it, and finally blurts,” Jiujiu said my father was an asshole.”

Wei Wuxian lets out a small sound that’s part laugh and part sob. ”Your father was a snob and an asshole but he was a pretty decent cultivator, and after he got his act together, he adored your mom.”

”Jin Zixuan was a brave man who overcame his upbringing. He would’ve made a fine sect leader,” Lan Zhan adds. It’s equally surprising to both Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling who gapes at him for a moment before snapping his mouth shut. 

Wei Wuxian reins in his reaction. ”He built your mom a lotus pond and he was ridiculously into being a dad. He wanted to be a father you could be proud of, and he wanted you to have a lot of siblings so that you’d never be as lonely as he’d been.” He pauses and then adds, softly, ”I’m sorry.”

”It wasn’t your fault,” Jin Ling grumbles. 

”Doesn’t mean I’m not sorry.”

Jin Ling scowls and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking like a child. Wei Wuxian glances at Lan Zhan and then huffs, holding out a hand. ”Come here.”

”What for?” Jin Ling asks.

”Aiyah, so suspicious! I just want to hug my nephew.”

Lan Zhan moves slightly out of the way and, after a moment of visible hesitation, Jin Ling finally crosses the distance with hurried steps and plops down next to Wei Wuxian. He wraps the boy—because that’s what he is, a boy!—into a tight hug and ignores the indignant yelp, squeezes until Jin Ling relaxes and hugs him back.

•••

Wei Wuxian is up and taking his first wobbling steps with Lan Zhan’s support and under Jin Ling’s scowly hovering when Sizhui arrives. He has a minor meltdown and then Wei Wuxian has his arms full of another distraught boy, burying his face into his chest. He’s too preoccupied with him to notice Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen until Lan Xichen clears his throat.

”I’m glad to see you awake, Young Master Wei,” he says, looking tired but not as fragile as the last time Wei Wuxian was in the Cloud Recesses. ”Wangji has been very worried.”

”Brother,” Lan Zhan says.

”I’m sorry to have caused trouble, Zewu-jun,” Wei Wuxian says, tries to bow, and sways.

”Wei Ying—!”

”Da-jiu—!”

”Wei-gege—!”

”Ah, haha, oops?” he says, now safely tucked next to Lan Zhan, his arm securely wrapped around his waist.

Across the room, Jiang Cheng’s face goes stormy. ”Yeah, no, as soon as you can stay upright without fainting, we’re leaving. You’re coming with me to Lotus Pier.”

”What?”

Lan Zhan’s hand spasms, drawing Wei Wuxian closer. ”Jiang Wanyin,” he says in a low, dangerous tone.

”Don’t even fucking start, Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng snaps. ”I told you in Anping that you’re not married yet. I’m taking my brother home and you can come and get him, with proper courting gifts.” Zidian sparks as he jabs a finger in their direction. ”And no, your forehead ribbon doesn’t count.”

”What?” Wei Wuxian says again, and this time his voice goes up, slightly hysterical, because what?

”Fine,” Lan Zhan says because apparently he’s lost his mind.

”Lan Zhan—”

”And Sizhui, you should come, too,” Jiang Cheng continues, barreling over Wei Wuxian.

Sizhui, bless his heart, looks only slightly apprehensive. ”Thank you for the invitation, Sect Leader Jiang,” he says with a bow.

Jiang Cheng lets out a grumpy sound. ”If we’re doing this, then you should just call me shushu,” he says, not quite looking at Sizhui. ”And—”

”I’m coming too, jiujiu,” Jin Ling says.

”I wouldn’t expect otherwise—”

”If Sizhui’s going, then I’m going as well,” Jingyi exclaims from the door. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure when he arrived or who fetched him. Next to him stands Wen Ning, eyes on Wei Wuxian, shining with happiness. 

Jiang Cheng closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. ”Of course you are,” he says dryly. ”How about you invite the Ouyang boy along? The more the merrier.”

”Yes!” Jingyi shouts.

”Who else? Wen Ning? Zewu-jun? Lan Qiren?”

Wen Ning inclines his head but Lan Xichen smiles, ducking his head a bit. ”Thank you for the offer, Sect Leader Jiang, but I think I’m needed here. And I believe Uncle would like to meditate on our recent guest a bit more.”

”Your mother’s ghost threatened to shave Teacher Lan’s beard off,” Jingyi announces gleefully, and—

Somehow that tips him over.

Wei Wuxian turns to bury his face into Lan Zhan’s neck and starts to laugh. It’s a bit hysterical and a lot relieved, and he relishes the feeling of tucking himself close and Lan Zhan’s arms holding him. He feels more than hears Lan Zhan saying his name, and raises his head, looking at his handsome, beloved face, and smiles.

”I’m fine, Lan Zhan,” he whispers. ”I’m home.”

For a moment, Lan Zhan merely watches him, tracks his eyes across his face, and then he leans in and kisses him. It’s not a surprise but somehow it still feels like it, Lan Zhan’s warm, dry lips pressing against his, the flutter of his lashes against Wei Wuxian’s cheek, the thundering of his pulse under Wei Wuxian’s palm when he wraps his arms around his neck.

He hears Sizhui letting out a strangled sound, Jingyi’s gasp, Jin Ling’s spluttering, and Jiang Cheng’s outraged, ”Lan Wangji! YOU ARE NOT MARRIED YET!” and smiles, smiles, smiles into the kiss.

It was a very good day to wake up.