by the grace of the fire and the flames

To the East of Gusu’s coast, the sea is shallow and as peaceful as the sea can be. For the most part, that is because of the Reefs, a row of small islands stretching across the seabed like a pearl necklace from Dongying in the North to Liuqiu in the South. They keep the larger waves at bay and tame the more turbulent waters of the vast sea Beyond the Reefs.

People don’t go Beyond the Reefs. To the fishing vessels, the sea is too harsh and for cultivators, it’s just simply too far—the sea is untamed, wild, and unfathomable, a dangerous beast best left alone. If one would dare to take a ship there, one would see water as far as the eye could see, sometimes placid blue, sometimes green with white-peaked waves, sometimes raging grey with storms one would be lucky to escape alive.

Travel is easier inside the Reefs, fish is plenty, and the climate is beautiful.

There is no point in going Beyond the Reefs as there’s nothing to gain. 

The seabed is dark and calm, silent except for the echoes of singing whales far and away. The sound is hauntingly beautiful, both lonely and filled with the joy of traveling the endless sea with others of a kind. A lonely sea critter slowly crawls through the silt in the dark deep, unhurried and unbothered in the silence between the whale calls. It pauses when a tremor shakes the seabed, loosens up stones the currents have piled up during time, and makes them tumble and land softly on the bottom with a small puff of silt. There’s a moment of silence, then another tremor, and then the ocean floor ripples like it’s as liquid as the sea itself, and something starts to shine in the eternal darkness.

At first, it’s the thinnest sliver of light, as if someone cut through a thick canvas with a sharp dagger. It widens slightly—painfully slowly at first until it rips as if something is forcibly torn open with enough force to make the very earth writhe and convulse in pain. Unbearably bright, blue light spills from the tear like spilled wine into a space that hasn’t seen light in eons, shocking the sea critters into a mad panic and ushering them to hide and take cover wherever possible.

Something dark reaches out from the leaking wound on the seafloor, tentatively feeling around in this environment into where it’s pushing itself. It finds no resistance and pushes forward, solidifies and gains girth, turning from a strand into something more tangible. Silently, the darkness expands, stretches upward and onward until it’s fully through, landing on the seabed in an undignified heap. Behind it, the wound in the bottom of the sea pulses weakly, almost like it’s panting, drained after the birthing pains.

For a moment, nothing happens. 

Then the darkness shudders and stretches itself into something with four limbs, a tail, and a head with a pair of piercing black eyes and a wide mouth full of needle-sharp teeth. It opens its jaw and tastes the water, cocks its head almost like it’s listening to something, and takes in its surroundings with its new, improved senses.

It’s not an intelligent creature; it knows its purpose and little else, and after it has fulfilled its mission, it is to crawl back into the glowing tear on the seafloor.

After a moment of stillness, it starts to prowl forward with a slow, sinuous gait. Its claws tear at the sea floor, leaving behind deep gashes and skewered sea creatures that have no way to shield themselves from the sharp, cruel press of the creature’s talons. Gutted and lifeless, the butchered corpses sway gently in the current like a gruesome train or veil, ornaments of destruction so far unseen in the sea. 

The creature heads straight forward, feeling the pull of something far ahead. It promises heat and dark energy, exactly the things it’s supposed to find. It picks up speed, ignoring the sharp coral that cuts a deep gash into its flesh. The hurt is insignificant and causes the creature no harm. It continues on, leaving behind drops of blue, glowing substance that sink through the seawater and hiss and boil when they hit a starfish and coral. They eat through the tissue with ease, leaving behind a blackened smear and sickly-looking strands swaying limply from a blackened skeleton as the creature disappears into the darkness like a ghost.

On the seabed, the sluggishly bleeding tear spasms and contracts, drawing back into itself until it looks like a puckered, infected scar on the ocean floor. It quiets down, almost like it’s waiting for the creature to return from wherever it headed off.

That, or new creatures to push through and be born into the depth of the deep, dark ocean.

It is an undeniable, irrefutable fact that Lan Wangji absolutely loathes cultivation conferences. 

He despises the posturing, the perfumed masses speaking untruths and merely waiting for the chance to stab each other in the backs, exchanging empty pleasantries with calculating eyes and demure smiles. He isn’t sure why Brother insists on his attendance—it cannot be because the Lan don’t have anyone else to send or because of his contribution. Lan Wangji does the bare minimum: he bows and then he sits down, silent and avoiding eye contact, and refuses to talk, drink, or eat.

Sect Leader Yao’s pompous, droning voice drifts over and Lan Wangji keeps his face impassive against the need to roll his eyes or simply walk out. He wishes he could stop caring and do just that but something keeps him in his seat. 

Duty, most likely. Duty and the weight of the rules he’s steered his life so far.

He isn’t sure the rules are worth it.

”—And we should consider what to do with the Yiling Patriarch!” Yao Yongzheng concludes with a theatrical vibrato.

Ah. 

Duty, rules, and that.

”He hasn’t moved from Yiling in eleven months,” Jiang Wanyin says stonily.

Yao Yongzheng scoffs. ”And how would you know that?”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes are cold enough to freeze the Cold Springs in Gusu. ”He broke my arm when we last saw each other two years ago,” he says through gritted teeth. ”I’d like to tell him that it still aches when it rains but I haven’t gotten the chance because he hasn’t moved from Yiling in eleven months.”

Yao Yongzheng whirls around to face the other assembled sect representatives and opens his mouth.

”Gusu confirms,” Lan Wangji says. He might have been strictly forbidden to even night hunt near Yiling but this much he knows for certain.

”Well—” Yao Yongzheng exclaims. ”That’s just—everyone knows—”

Lan Wangji stares over his left shoulder without a word and after a moment of embarrassed sputtering, Yao Yongzheng falls silent.

”What?” Nie Huaisang peeps up. ”Who is this ’everyone’ because I certainly haven’t been told anything! But I’m just a silly boy—could the Honored Sect Leader perhaps clarify?” His eyes are wide and innocent as they peek over the rim of his fan, blinking guilelessly at Sect Leader Yao.

Sect Leader Ouyang tugs at Yao Yongzheng’s sleeve and hisses, ”Sit down.” 

The two sect leaders sit down with their heads bent close together, no doubt gossiping and making up outrageous claims.

”Sect Leader Yao raises a valid point,” Jin Guangshan says. His tone is overly concerned—as if he actually was genuinely concerned. ”There needs to be a neutral party monitoring the Burial Mounds so that we have the chance to prepare.” For what, he doesn’t say.

Claiming the Jin to be a neutral party is ridiculous but Lan Wangji keeps his silence. This is an old and well-worn argument, roused, if not in each conference, at least every third meeting of sects, and heavens only know how much scheming goes on behind the scenes. Lan Wangji gets a headache from a mere thought.

It’s been like this since Wei Ying took the Wen remnants from the Jin prison camps, marched them to the Burial Mounds, and raised a barrier around the place, sealing the refugees—and himself—in. After having a publicly aired falling-out with Jiang Wanyin, he hasn’t been seen or heard of in the cultivation world since. Lan Wangji would be willing to bet his forehead ribbon that the only thing that would probably lure him out would be Lady Jiang’s wedding to Jin Zixuan, were that ever to happen. There’s no force on earth or in the Heavens that would keep Lady Jiang from sharing her most joyous day with her brothers, one way or another.

However, as the engagement hasn’t been re-established, it’s unclear if the Yiling Patriarch will ever be seen again.

It’s been almost three years since the end of the Sunshot Campaign, two and a half years since Lan Wangji let him go in the rain, and he aches for Wei Ying every single day.

He spends the second and the third day of the conference in a similar mix of mind-numbing boredom and seething fury for Wei Ying. More inane phrases and promises are exchanged, more glib smiles and shrewd glances. 

He wonders if Wei Ying would let him through the barrier if he knelt in front of it and asked for his forgiveness.

Jin Guangshan is well on his pompous speech to wrap up the conference when the doors to the hall bang open. For a split moment, Lan Wangji is transferred back in time to the meeting Wei Ying crashed, and he can’t help how his heart thuds in his chest.

But it’s not Wei Ying.

No, it’s—

”Help!” the cultivator staggering in screams, dragging along someone who once must have been a human but who now is a partially burned carcass, clothes melted on him, dripping blood and viscera on the floor. As the cultivator calls out for help again, his voice breaks into a hysterical screech and he falls on his knees.

Brother is on his feet in a flash, hurrying to the men’s side. The kneeling man whimpers and shivers where he’s slumped, flinching when Brother gently takes his pulse. 

”Depleted to the brink of exhaustion,” Brother says and turns to the other person. ”We need healers, now!”

Jin Guangyao is already moving, directing the curious sect leaders to the side and ordering a servant to fetch healers, blankets, stretchers, and other necessities. On his throne, Jin Guangshan looks mostly annoyed.

”What…?” Brother whispers, tilting his head like he’s listening to something. ”Wangji—”

He stands up and walks to them and bends to take a closer look. There’s something horribly wrong with the carcass, aside from the obvious devastation of his body. It smells strange and whatever that happened to it makes him want to take a step back. It fills the back of his mind with a crawling sense of intense unease.

It takes him a moment to realize the person is muttering something in a wheezing tone. He leans closer but can’t quite grasp what he’s saying. Some of the words sound familiar but the intonation is wrong. 

”He’s from Dongying?” Jin Guangyao murmurs with what seems like genuine confusion and steps closer.

”Can you understand him?” Brother asks. He has two fingers on the person’s pulse point and a frown on his face—it’s obvious that whatever Brother is trying to do isn’t working. For a moment, Lan Wangji considers boosting Brother but decides against it. If Brother needs his help, he will ask.

”I—” Jin Guangyao shakes his head, looking at the person with a faintly disturbed look on his face. ”It doesn’t make any sense.”

”What do they say, A-Yao?”

Jin Guangyao lifts his head and says, ”They keep repeating, ’Monsters, monsters from the sea’.”

For a moment, everything is silent. 

Then Yao Yongzheng gasps, ”It must be the Yiling Patriarch doing his evil deeds!”

Lan Wangji wants to strangle him. 

”And how the fuck would you know that?” Jiang Wanyin snaps.

”Obviously—” Yao Yongzheng starts.

”Oh, I didn’t know Sect Leader Yao to be more proficient in the healing arts than Zewu-jun, able to diagnose a person from such a distance away!” Nie Huaisang interrupts, ignoring Nie Mingjue’s exasperated attempt to silence him. ”Do share your wisdom!”

Yao Yongzheng’s cheeks flush ugly red but he shuts his mouth which is everything Lan Wangji would ever wish from him.

”This—” Brother says and falls silent, narrows his eyes, and then he lets out a frustrated huff. ”I don’t know what this is. I’ve never encountered anything like this—it’s not resentful energy but it’s not not resentful energy, either.” He shakes his head. ”And the injuries on their person—I can’t even begin to imagine how and where they came from.”

A small commotion announces the arrival of a handful of healers hurrying to their side. The kneeling man is still swaying and shivering, unresponsive until a healer gently spreads a blanket over his shoulder, at which point he lets out a startled yell before keeling over. He’s carefully lifted on a stretcher and hurried away, leaving the elderly lady who goes to kneel next to her patient. Lan Wangji stands to move out of the way and takes a look at the assembled cultivators. They seem shocked, curious, bored, or annoyed, and on one occasion, sharply assessing over the rim of a pale grey fan adorned with cranes.

”Shit,” the healer whispers under her breath and then says, louder, ”We lost them. Their injuries were so extensive that it’s a wonder they made it even this far.” She wipes her hands on a light silken handkerchief and stands up. ”I need to do an autopsy to fully determine the extent of their injuries.”

”Before that,” Jin Guangyao interjects delicately. ”Er-ge, the Lan have a technique to interrogate the dead. Could the spirit be able to answer you even if they didn’t know our language when they were alive?”

Brother offers him a small smile. ”Yes. The qin language of the soul is universal. The language a person spoke while alive doesn’t matter.”

”Then…if it’s not too much of a bother—could we ask assistance from the Lan to learn what happened?”

”Of course,” Brother says warmly. ”Wangji?”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. He sits down, manifests his qin, and plays the opening of Inquiry.

Who are you?  

The spirit feels fragile, almost scattered. Its reply is hesitant and Brother gives him a worried look before he translates,  I’m Kyoyua.

Where are you from?

Dongying.

Do you know how you died?

For a moment, it’s silent. Then the reply rips along the strings, stretching and twanging them so hard that Lan Wangji fears they’ll snap.

Danger. Monsters. Monsters from the sea. It came. It’s huge. It’s terrible. It kills and kills and burns and kills and it can’t be stopped. Monsters. Monsters. Monsters monsters monstersmonstersmonsters—

Lan Wangji presses his palm on the strings to silence the frantic cacophony that drowns out Brother’s translation. You are safe here, he plays. There are no monsters here. They cannot get to you anymore. You are safe.

Not safe! The reply comes immediately. No one is safe! The monsters are coming and they will come and they have come and they kill and kill and kill and kill and— 

Three of his strings snap with enough force that one of them lashes a cut on his cheek.

Brother lets out a sound that’s part fear and part fury, whips out his xiao, and starts to play Rest with more aggression than Lan Wangji has ever heard. It takes a long, long time to placate the hysterical soul and when it’s finally done, he and Brother look at each other for a long time without a word.

Finally, Jin Guangyao clears his throat, discreetly motioning the servants to pick up the body and go along with the head healer. ”This conference might continue for a bit longer still, I dare to guess.”

Jin Guangshan harrumphs. ”Well. We can’t all just leave it at that now, can we?”

It might be that the new Chief Cultivator actually has some sense.

”This might still be Wei Wuxian’s doing, after all.”

Lan Wangji redacts all even marginally positive or neutral thoughts he’s ever had about Jin Guangshan.

Four days of fitful rest later, the man finally wakes up and appears in front of the sects to give his statement. He says he’s Zhoushan Zhao’s First Disciple Zhao Jiahao and that he’s the last surviving cultivator of an information-gathering mission—and his sect.

Shocked whispers fill the room as the gathered sect leaders take that in.

”We weren’t meant to fly that far,” Zhao Jiahao says, almost desperately. ”It’s not safe and it’s not sane, everyone knows that!”

”Please calm yourself, Young Master Zhao,” Brother says, touching him gently on the arm. ”Tell us what happened. Take your time.”

Zhao Jiahao swallows and nods, and takes a small sip of weak tea a servant pours him at Jin Guangyao’s discreet prompt.

”Has the news of strange sea creature deaths reached Gusu yet?” he asks in a whisper.

Brother shares a look with Lan Wangji. ”No. But Zhoushan is right by the sea. You’d get the news before us.”

Zhao Jiahao nods again, staring vacantly into his cup for a long while. On the side, Yao Yongzheng shifts and opens his mouth, only to cough when Nie Huaisang flicks his fan open and somehow manages to smack him in the face with it. The resulting flailing gives Zhao Jiahao a moment to gather himself and when the gathered cultivators’ attention is back on him, he looks more composed.

”The first time we realized something wasn’t quite right was when the dead whale washed ashore. Our fishermen had brought in less fish than usual but we only figured it was a leaner year. That happens every now and then and we didn’t think more of it. Not even a whale carcass is uncommon—the giants of the sea have their enemies and their lives end just like ours, and if the body doesn’t sink into the bottom of the sea, it washes up. But the signs of violence on that carcass…” he closes his eyes and shudders.

”It had massive wounds on its sides, from claws bigger than I have ever seen which was strange but not unheard of. Even the way the wounds were partially rotten wasn’t that strange—it happens when the carcass stays in the sea for long. It starts to decompose. But the damage—” he shakes his head. ”It was corroded and puckered almost like it had been melted somehow. It had some sticky, blue substance clinging to it and when I poked at it, it hissed and ate through the stick! Thank the Heavens I didn’t use my hand!

”Our sect leader decided we should investigate immediately. He thought about sending a missive to Gusu as the Lan are the nearest great sect but decided against it because he wanted to be sure of what he was reporting.”

”A wise decision,” Yao Yongzheng pontificates, drawing agreeing murmurs from around him. ”Alerting great sects for nothing is an embarrassment indeed.”

”Maybe so,” Zhao Jiahao says. ”Maybe my sect would still be alive if he had sent it.”

Yao Yongzheng’s self-congratulatory smile freezes.

”I took a dozen of our most skilled cultivators and set out. As you might know, the distance from Zhoushan to the Reefs is approximately the same as is from Zhoushan to Yunmeng or Lanling. Flying over land is taxing but doubly so over the sea. There were some fishermen out and we stopped every now and then to rest and ask if they’d seen anything strange happening at the sea. Most of them said there had been a lot less fish lately but that was it.

”We finally made it to the Reefs and decided to get a full night’s rest before continuing. In the morning, though, we saw a group of strangers heading our way—turned out that Dongying had sent their own people to investigate as well. Apparently, they also got their own strange whale carcass.”

”Do you understand their language?” Brother asks.

Zhao Jiahao shakes his head. ”No. One of the island dwellers spoke their language and with her help, we managed to work out a system to communicate. You know, signs and phrases to help out because we thought that there would be strength in numbers.”

”A wise decision,” Jin Guangyao says.

”Except that it didn’t help,” Zhao Jiahao says bitterly. ”We headed out as soon as we could because we didn’t really know what we were going to find. The Dongying people had with them a qiankun pouch of qi-replenishing pills which they shared with us—in fact, those pills are the reason I’m here now! I couldn’t have made it without them.

”We didn’t make it very far before we heard a strange growling and rumbling noise—almost like if one combined earthquake, landslide, and rainstorm together? Whatever it was, it was big. The sea was starting to froth on the other side so we decided to follow the signs and that’s when we found it.”

He stares blankly ahead for a moment before whispering, ”I have never seen anything like that. It was massive—as large as a fortress, with four limbs, a scaly hide like a lizard, a head like an arrow, and horns. Black, thick skin and black eyes and vicious rows of teeth. It was a nightmare come to life.

”Naturally, we tried to fight it but it was very hard because we were above the open ocean so we needed to be on our swords. Our sect doesn’t use other spiritual weapons—we don’t have any whips or musical instruments to aid without fighting. Our archers ran out of arrows very soon, not that they made any difference in the first place because the monster’s hide was scaly and thick, and the arrows just bounced off of it. 

”It roared and lunged at my fellow cultivators, snatching them out of the air as easily as one might swat a fly. Its claws did terrible things, ripping through strengthened robes, meat and bone, leaving my shidimei in torn, ragged pieces and bleeding out in the water. Spells did nothing. Talismans were useless. We were useless.” 

Zhao Jiahao falls silent, bitter and beaten. Lan Wangji glances around and sees his own horror and bewilderment mirrored in Brother’s eyes, fury rippling over Jiang Wanyin’s face, Jin Guangyao’s narrowed eyes, and Nie Mingjue’s barely held-back impatience. This foe is something they’ve never encountered before and from what they’re hearing, they don’t really want to.

”What about the energy signature?” Brother asks gently. ”Did you detect any spiritual or resentful energy?”

Zhao Jiahao looks up with blank eyes. ”No. Or not really—it didn’t feel like anything I’ve felt before. I’m sorry, Zewu-jun—”

Brother raises a hand. ”No need to apologize. You were in a perilous situation and fighting for your lives with an unknown entity. Please, do continue; what happened next?”

Zhao Jiahao rubs a hand over his face. ”It was Master Kyoyua, the man I brought back with me, who suggested we should pair up. It wasn’t a technique I’d ever used before—something to do with sharing the spiritual energy to create stronger spells than a single cultivator could sustain. A lot was lost in the clumsy translation so I don’t really understand the fine points but…the idea was that two cultivators shared their minds to create a multiplied spell that could be used for shielding and attacking both. 

”It worked, to some extent. Language wasn’t an obstacle in the mind-share because we understood each other’s thoughts. He was much more skilled with complicated spells while my strength was more on the physical side so…” he falls silent and makes a face, trying to find a way to explain an experience that clearly cannot be explained. ”We managed to tear a chunk off the monster’s side so that the others could attack it with swords. To our horror, however, the monster didn’t bleed red but its blood was blue, shimmering brightly in the growing dusk. It smelled horrendous but even more horrendous was what happened to whatever that got into contact with it.” He looks straight at Brother. ”It ate through everything it touched.”

Brother draws a sharp breath but says nothing. He doesn’t have to—they all saw what had happened to the other man, this Master Kyoyua Zhao Jiahao had dragged in. His flesh had been partially melted, partially scorched, and it had been a true miracle he’d stayed alive for as long as he had.

”At first, we attacked as we have been taught to attack, with arrows and harpoons, straight at the enemy,” Zhao Jiahao continues with a toneless voice. ”The swords did damage when thrust deep into the monster’s side but to thrust that deep meant its blood poured out and it corroded the blade and melted the flesh out of its wielder. We lost almost half of our people like that, and all the while the monster kept charging forward, toward the shore. Master Kyoyua was channeling my spiritual energy through the array he’d constructed but it was draining him and me, and it clearly wasn’t doing much to stop the monster. 

”When Master Kyoyua reached out to me and suggested sending his sword straight into the monster, I agreed, even if that meant I’d have to carry both of us on my sword. It worked. For a blessed, short moment, it worked—Kyoyua-san loaded the sword with as much spiritual energy as he was able and sent it into the gash on the monster’s side. It reared up and bellowed with pain before charging at us. I flew away from its path and saw others do as we had done. A dozen swords didn’t kill it, though.”

His voice grows hoarse and Jin Guangyao motions a servant to pour more tea. Zhao Jiahao drinks without looking at anyone.

”We were running out of strength and swords and time. We were almost at the Reefs but what would happen to the inhabitants if we drew the monster there? But did we have a choice?” He shakes his head. ”It took the choice out of our hands because suddenly it reared its head and charged past us heading straight to the Reefs. It came out of the water like a nightmare taken physical form and headed to the largest island. We didn’t understand why back then until we saw it heading toward the volcano and its noxious fumes. We don’t know why—perhaps they’re nourishing for the monster or something.

”We were happy to be on dry land again because it meant we could use the remaining swords to try and kill the monster. Master Kyoyua and I dipped into our shared reserves and managed to pin it in place for a moment so that our brave shidimei would have a chance to—” he pauses and closes his eyes. ”So many dead, so many lost lives, and the monster barely noticed us. And then I felt Master Kyoyua suggest something—I’m not sure what because his intention didn’t come across very clearly, but I think it had something to do with harnessing the energy from the sleeping volcano? Whatever it was, he managed to channel the energy into the array we were barely able to hold and we…” he swallows. ”We ripped its head off.”

A silence falls in the room, the gathered audience staring at the exhausted and defeated man with dumbfounded silence.

”But…isn’t that a good thing?” Nie Huaisang asks.

”Master Kyoyua was in front of me when it happened because he needed to see what he was doing,” Zhao Jiahao says in a brittle, hollow voice. ”He caught most of the monster’s blood as it sprayed, shielding me with his body. I’d never forget the way he screamed when his flesh melted and decomposed in front of my eyes. I fed him a handful of qi-replenishing pills to just keep him alive and wrapped him in my spare robe.” He swallows. ”It started to melt into him as soon it made contact with the blue blood.”

”You didn’t try to wash it off?” Yao Yongzheng demands.

Zhao Jiahao’s lips draw into a grimace. ”Some of my shidimei tried. The substance was sticky and latched on them, ruining their hands, too.”

Yao Yongzheng looks a bit green and asks no further questions.

”There were no resources on the island and Master Kyoyua needed help so I decided to fly us straight back home. Two Dongying cultivators were still alive and they gave us their qi-replenishing pills for the journey, and with my people, they promised to take care of the clean-up. Fortunately, the weather was good and I had no difficulties flying home as fast as I was able. I tried to feed Master Kyoyua some spiritual energy but his body was in a terrible shock and rejected the transfer. Or it might have been whatever was in the monster’s blood.

”However, when I reached home, I learned that there would be no help for us. The whale carcass was still mostly there but now it was horribly decomposed and looked sickened. There were bodies lying everywhere—young, old, women, children…commoners and cultivators alike. I tried calling out for help but the only one who answered was my sect leader. He looked sick and wan and he urged me to leave immediately because a disaster had struck our home and there was nothing but death for us—or for anyone. He told me there’s a big cultivation conference in Lanling and that I should fly here for aid. So I did.” 

He wilts, spent, breathing heavily like he’d been running and only now had the chance to stop. In a way, he had.

”What do you mean by a disaster?” Jiang Wanyin asks tightly.

”I don’t know,” Zhao Jiahao says. ”But I bet it has something to do with the monster.”

”If that is the case,” Lan Wangji says slowly, ”then it’s safe to assume that the cultivators left on the Reefs are also dead.”

”This needs to be investigated,” Brother says later in their rooms. He looks tired in a way that might even be visible to people other than Lan Wangji and Uncle, a weight on his shoulders and tightness around his eyes.

”This is not Wei Ying’s—” Lan Wangji starts, stopping when Brother raises a hand.

”Please,” he says, sounding exhausted. ”You don’t have to defend him to me.”

”Do I not?” Lan Wangji asks, looking him straight in the eye.

”Wangji—” Brother says, sounding sad, then he sighs. ”I need to write to Uncle. I know he has some contacts in Dongying who might be useful.”

Lan Wangji wants to send a letter to Wei Ying and he knows that Brother knows that. 

”Get some rest, Wangji. I have a feeling the next few weeks will be long.”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says and bids him goodnight.

He spends his evening meditating on how to plead his case in front of the sect leaders. He has a gut feeling that no matter what they find in the Reefs, Wei Ying’s insight will be priceless. Even if this monster wasn’t resentful in nature, Wei Ying’s mind is one of a kind, able to jump to strange conclusions and conjure talismans and arrays in a fly. Lan Wangji has never met (or heard about) anyone like Wei Ying before.

If they want to truly figure out whatever that has happened, they need Wei Ying.

The next few days are filled with arguing and planning but it’s mostly resolved that a small group of skilled cultivators will fly out to Zhoushan and from there to the Reefs to investigate. Lan Wangji is named as the leader of the team which is a surprise to absolutely no one. Nie Mingjue’s willingness to let Nie Huaisang come is. 

”I’m actually sending Zonghui,” Nie Mingjue tells Brother later with a thunderous scowl on his face, jerking his head at his head disciple standing behind him. ”Huaisang informed me that he’d either go with or without my blessing and if I wanted him to come back alive, his chances would be higher if he went with my permission.”

”His mind is sharp and he sees patterns others might not think about,” Lan Wangji says.

Nie Mingjue snorts at Brother’s disbelieving look. ”He’s good at getting out of the blame but I know exactly what he’s involved in. I just pretend not to. It’s easier that way.”

”Indeed,” Brother murmurs and pours Nie Mingjue more tea.

The others in the group are Yu Qiaolian, the new Jiang head disciple; Yao Meixiu, a surprisingly level-headed Yao head disciple; and Jin Zixuan. It’s just the six of them but as they’re more of a scout party than an attack force, a smaller number of people is better. They’ll be able to move faster and quieter. 

”Fly safe and stay safe, and bring honor to your sects,” Jin Guangshan intones as they’re sent off which would be hilarious if it wasn’t so embarrassing. 

They fly first to Zhoushan and Storm Peak, their sect residence. Zhao Jiahao hadn’t been cleared to join in but he provided them with a floor plan of the sect residence, a stack of detailed notes of who to search and what to look for, and a map of the sea with their usual fishing vessel routes.

It’s a fast flight as they all are skilled fliers (Nie Huaisang rides on Nie Zonghui’s saber) and waste no time in needless chatter. That said, they still need to rest and recuperate before continuing out to the sea, and they plan to do that in Storm Peak if it’s safe.

They smell it before they see it properly; a cloying, thick scent of rotting corpses. It brings an immediate flashback to the Sunshot Campaign and Lan Wangji knows he’s not the only one. He glances at Jin Zixuan and Nie Zonghui, and their grim looks tell him they are as intimately familiar with the smell as he is. They land carefully, automatically shifting into a formation that shields Nie Huaisang, but the place is eerily silent. There’s nothing—no flicker of spiritual or resentful energy, no movement, no sound, nothing. Just the nauseating smell of rot.

”Split up,” Lan Wangji says in a low voice. ”Jin Zixuan, Yao Meixiu, with me. Yu Qiaolian, you go with the Nie.”

”Wait,” Nie Huaisang says and waves his hand at Lan Wangji’s raised brow. ”Oh, I’m not protesting, I’m more than happy to go with someone from Meishan. I just—here,” he says, handing out scarves painted with unfamiliar designs. ”Wrap them around your nose and mouth,” Nie Huaisang says at Lan Wangji’s inquiring look. ”There might be a chance of corpse poisoning. Or there might be a chance of something else. If the monster’s blood can eat through spiritual swords, I don’t want to think about what else it could do.”

Lan Wangji nods. ”Good thinking,” he says and ties the scarf in place. It has a light herbal smell that helps to cover the rot. ”Let’s go.”

The streets are empty, making the hairs on his neck stand up. Storm Peak feels like a ghost town, only without the ghosts. They move fast, trying the doors and checking the courtyards, and eventually coming up with nothing. There are not even animals around. 

”This is weird,” Jin Zixuan says. ”Was this whole place abandoned? Why?”

”I don’t think so,” Yao Meixiu says slowly. ”Or if it was, everyone just stood up and left. The houses don’t look like people left in a hurry. It looks…”

”Planned,” Lan Wangji says. But why? According to Zhao Jiahao, his sect leader had said there was nothing but death and destruction waiting for them. If so, where was the proof? Where were the signs of violence and death—other than the smell of corpses permeating the whole area?

A purple sword glare shoots straight up from the direction where Yu Qiaolian and the Nie had walked. Lan Wangji, Jin Zixuan, and Yao Meixiu look at each other and turn as one, making their way toward the glare.

”What did you find?” Lan Wangji asks when they reach the grim-faced Yu Qiaolian. 

She’s standing in front of the sect leader’s residence with her hands crossed on her chest, Nie Zonghui standing a bit on the side with a green-faced Nie Huaisang. ”A letter,” she says.

”It’s even worse than I thought,” Nie Huaisang says. Before Lan Wangji has the chance to ask what he had thought, he continues. ”It’s the monster. But… I’m just going to read this.” He takes a breath and starts to read in a low, level voice.

”To whoever finds this letter,

If you came to look for the people of Zhoushan Zhao, I have sad tidings for you.

Our sect is no more.

Not long ago, a whale washed ashore from the sea. That is neither news nor a cause for alarm, it happens sometimes. If the animal is alive when it washes up, we kill it and might even use it for food and supplies.

This whale, however, was quite dead. It had long, nasty wounds on its side, festering gouges that were weeping blue, sticky substance. That substance, we found out, was corrosive. It was unlike anything we’d ever seen or heard of before. We sent people out to investigate what might have caused such a gruesome death on such a magnificent animal and meanwhile, decided to move the carcass and deal with it as we always do with other carcasses.

Before we had the chance to do that, something happened to the blue substance: out in the open, it started to dry and turned into a mist, not unlike corpse powder. We thought it would act like corpse powder and treated it as such, and decided to burn the whale carcass to take care of it properly.

We didn’t have the time.

Something about the mist, about the poison that was in it, turned some of my sect members into raving madmen while others turned sickly and drowned in the fluids in their lungs, frothing at the mouth and vomiting blue phlegm. It made no difference whether one was a cultivator or a commoner—or even a human—every living creature faced the same fate. The winds from the sea had pushed the mist all over the Zhoushan and by the time we understood what had happened, it was already too late; the mist also blocked our cultivation.

In under a week, our sect was gone, our people dead, our lands poisoned. My only hope is that the cultivators I sent out to investigate would have the chance to escape this tragedy and bring the news to the great sects.

Whatever this is, it’s deadly.

If you face it, it will kill you.

 

Yours, regretfully,

Zhao Tingfeng

Sect Leader of Zhoushan Zhao that no longer exists” 

Nie Huaisang lowers the letter and looks up at Lan Wangji, a quiet dread banked in his eyes. ”The exposure to its blood was enough?” he asks. ”To kill all of them?”

”It would seem so,” Lan Wangji says grimly. 

”I have two questions,” Yu Qiaolian says in the clipped tones that seem to be the Yu style. ”One: where did it come from, and two: is there going to be more?”

”Those are very good questions,” Nie Zonghui says. ”We’ll probably learn more tomorrow.”

Lan Wangji aches to push forward but he also knows that to do that would be foolish. They need to be well-rested to fly out into the sea, even if they know where they’re going and how long it will take them. The sea is an unknown and fickle variable that is hard to count in and yet he must.

”We will camp outside the compound,” he finally says. ”And head out early in the morning.”

They make their way carefully out of the sect residence and head toward the beach. On their way there they pass a giant pit with still partially smoking bodies.

Ah. That would explain where the Zhao sect’s bodies ended up.

The beach is a narrow sandy stretch between two sets of rocky cliffs. It’s dominated by the decomposing carcass of the whale, gruesome and disturbing. They give it a wide berth and head up to the cliff instead. Making the camp takes no time at all, their skills honed by the wartime—well, skills except those of Nie Huaisang who sits on the ground and starts to paint his fan. Where he got the brushes and the paint is beyond Lan Wangji but he thinks he recognizes several characters Nie Huaisang is meticulously painting—namely those of protection, endurance, and shielding. It seems like his old schoolmate is turning his fan into a weapon. 

Lan Wangji wonders if Nie Mingjue knows.

The sea is steel grey in the morning, promising a storm. Lan Wangji ponders for a good while whether or not he dares them to venture out but finally decides to continue even with the wind blowing from the sea. Flying against the wind will be exhausting but it will help carry them back to the dry land later. Or at least he hopes so.

”I don’t like this,” Nie Huaisang grumbles from behind the cover of Nie Zonghui’s back. ”This feels wrong. Something is wrong.”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees.

It takes them several hours to reach the Reefs, a time spent in tense vigilance, anxiousness curling tightly in Lan Wangji’s gut. The sea seems calm enough despite the color but there are dark clouds in the horizon, adding to his anxiety. 

”There’s no fish,” Yao Meixiu says at one point, frowning at the water under them.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. 

Gradually, the Reefs start to take shape in front of them, hazy on the horizon, the volcano rising up distinctively in the otherwise mostly flat island surface. They push forward, rising higher to survey the area first from a distance before landing. 

Everything looks as deserted as it did in Storm Peak.

”I can see the monster!” Nie Huaisang exclaims and points.

It lies on the ground, gruesome and imposing even with its head separated. Black, scaly skin, wickedly curved talons, a long tail, a gash on its side that looks black instead of blue. The head is as monstrous as the rest of it;  two rows of sharp fangs inside a jaw that looks like it could easily bite out a chunk of a house, black eyes staring dully into nothing. 

The area around it is blackened and looks sick, reminding Lan Wangji of the desolation at the Burial Mounds. And around it, lay people. Still, unmoving.

Dead.

”We have company,” Jin Zixuan suddenly says.

Lan Wangji looks up to see a small party of people flying on their swords, dressed in what he realizes is the Dongying style. The person in the front raises their hand and they stop, hovering in the air, waiting. 

Lan Wangji raises his hand in a solemn wave, grimly relieved when he gets a wave back, and steers Bichen carefully closer.

”Greetings,” he says formally. ”Do you understand our language?”

The person in the front is a tall woman with a streak of white in her hair and a scar curving along her left cheek. She stands on a slightly curved sword with a wickedly sharp edge, dressed in practical robes in muted colors. ”I do,” she says, inclining her head. ”I am Sensei Kabei Ishi of Kaihouin. We sent a group of our people out some while ago to investigate some strange things we’d encountered and grew worried when they didn’t come back.” She pauses and her eyes flicker to the monster below. ”I assume this is the reason?”

Her accent is thick but easy enough for Lan Wangji to understand. ”Mn. I am Lan Wangji, the head disciple of Gusu Lan.” He nods at his companions. ”With me are Jin Zixuan of Lanling Jin, Yu Qiaolian of Yunmeng Jiang, Yao Meixiu of Pingyang Yao, and Nie Huaisang and Nie Zonghui from Qinghe Nie. I believe I know what happened to your people.”

At her prompt, they descend, making their way into an area where they’ll be sheltered from the elements. At Nie Huaisang’s demand, they pick an area upwind from the monster and make camp, their tents on the one side of the fire, the Dongying people erecting theirs on the other side. They talk quietly amongst themselves, their language rapid and clipped at the same time. Lan Wangji thinks he recognizes a word here and a phrase there but he has no idea if the meaning is the same in their language as it is in Chinese. Kabei-sensei hadn’t offered their names to Lan Wangji but it’s understandable if none of them speaks Chinese. One of the young men drifts to Nie Huaisang whose cautious reserve turns into open curiosity when the young man shows him a fan with steel edges. Lan Wangji glances at Nie Zonghui who meets his eyes and nods, moving so that the two young men are in his line of sight.

Yao Meixiu crouches next to the fire and starts preparing dinner and next to him, Jin Zixuan starts to prepare tea with the air of someone who hasn’t much experience in preparing tea for himself or others. Last night, they’d decided to err on the side of caution and only made a small fire to make tea and ate packed ratios. Now, with more people present, a proper warm dinner, no matter how sparse, seems more prudent.

From the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji sees Yu Qiaolian incline her head at a hardened older Dongying cultivator and together they move out to patrol the area. She nods at Lan Wangji as they pass him and he sees her holding two of Nie Huaisang’s scarves in her hand.

Kabei-sensei listens attentively when Lan Wangji tells her what he knows. She closes her eyes when she hears about Master Kyoyua’s passing and stays silent for a long time after Lan Wangji finishes.

”Monsters from the sea, that’s what he said?” she finally asks.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. ”According to a person who knows your language, yes.” 

She lets out a considering hum, narrowing her eyes at the monster carcass. ”It seems unlikely it swam across the ocean.”

Lan Wangji inclines his head, trusting that this woman who lives on an island nation, knows more about the sea than him.

”So where…” her voice trails away as she turns, staring out into the sea. 

”From the bottom of the sea,” Lan Wangji says.

”Yes,” she agrees slowly. ”But did it come from the bottom or through the bottom?”

Lan Wangji blinks. Through? But—from where? And how?

Her eyes are hard and her lips pressed together in a tight line. After a moment, she lets out a sharp string of words that sound a lot like swearing and then adds, ”We need to contact Ryukyu—that’s Liuqiu in your language, I think? We have no idea what this is or if there will be more but we will need more people.”

”Liuqiu has no cultivators,” Lan Wangji says quietly. ”But they should be warned anyway.”

They take every precaution they can think of when they approach the monster carcass. Nie Huaisang shows the Dongying people his protective scarves and the young man with the fan hands out talismans that, when active, seem to form a protective bubble around the one holding it.

Lan Wangji can’t help thinking that Wei Ying would find them fascinating.

The monster is quite dead. They poke it with swords and spiritual energy to test out what happens, and the result is a resounding absolutely nothing. The people lying around are also quite dead but unlike the monster, they have no visible wounds. Instead, they lie there, crumpled, blue-black foam dried on their lips and blue tinge to their faces. Kabei-sensei identifies all her people except for Master Kyoyua who died back in Lanling, and Jin Zixuan grimly counts the number of people Zhao Jiahao said he’d left behind. 

A short while later, Yu Qiaolian and the Dongying cultivator return, their faces grim and eyes dark.

”They’re all dead,” she says curtly. ”Everyone. With blue-black foam on their lips like these people.”

”They had more direct contact with the blood,” Nie Huaisang says, tapping his folded fan on his cheek. ”Zhao Tingfeng said the blood on the whale carcass had turned into a mist and that had, directly or indirectly, caused his sect’s demise. Here we have a whole monster carcass with a lot more blood.” He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. ”Its blood must be highly toxic in every form.”

”We need to send envoys to Liuqiu,” Lan Wangji says. 

”Volunteers?” Kabei-sensei continues. Immediately, a young woman steps forward and salutes her. ”Akiko,” she says with a nod.

The young woman turns to Lan Wangji, bows, and says with a heavy accent, ”I talk Ryukyu language. I fast.”

Yu Qiaolian walks forward. ”After you, Hanguang-jun, I am the fastest of us. I will go. I also know some of the Liuqiu dialect, although I understand more than I speak.”

Kabei-sensei nods at Lan Wangji and looks at the women. ”Their biggest city is in the northern peak of their island. You should find the people in charge there. We will write you a letter, and as soon as we’re done, you should head out.”

The Dongying cultivators are fast and effective in their work and in no time they have sealed the monster within a barrier array. They use a specific talisman to move the bodies inside the same array and then add another sealing array. It’s beautiful work and Lan Wangji thinks again that Wei Ying would love to watch their work.

”Hanguang-jun, hm?” Kabei-sensei says in a low voice as she walks up to him. ”Even though we are divided by the sea, some tales from your country still manage to make their way to us, especially in the aftermath of the War of the Sects. A shining white beacon of hope is one of them.”

”And the others?” Lan Wangji asks. ”You said ’one of them.’ That implies more.”

Her mouth quirks. ”There’s the one shrouded in purple lightning. And one swathed in rage, wielding a saber most cultivators wouldn’t even dream of lifting.” She pauses before adding, ”And the one who walks in shadows but isn’t of the darkness.”

Lan Wangji doesn’t quite manage to stop the sharp breath that leaves him. Kabei-sensei, naturally, notices.

”Ah,” she says. ”Someone you know?”

Without thinking, Lan Wangji says softly, ”My—my other half.” He’s not sure what makes him confess so brazenly—perhaps the lack of judgment in Kabei-sensei’s voice. 

Or perhaps he just aches for Wei Ying.

She holds her hands behind her back and stands straight watching their people cleaning and sealing up the monster’s remains. ”I think it’s fitting,” she says calmly. ”Light and dark are just two parts of the same. They belong together—there’s no dark without light and no light without dark.” She inclines her head in an oddly formal way. ”I would be honored to meet them one day.”

Lan Wangji looks at her from the corner of his eye and thinks, Yes. Wei Ying would like to meet you, too. 

”Brother,

As we feared, the cultivators Zhao Jiahao left on the Reefs are dead. Zhao Tingfeng’s letter mentioned the blue residue turning into a noxious mist when it dried and it is only logical that its blood is even more toxic when the carcass is that of the monster than a torn whale.

On our way to the Reefs, we met with a group of cultivators from Dongying. They were investigating the disappearance of their people and found their grim answer scattered around the monster. Sensei Kabei Ishi, the head of Kaihouin, has started calling the monster Kaiju, which means a strange beast. I think it is a fitting name.

As per Kabei-sensei’s suggestion, we have sent envoys to Liuqiu. Your knowledge of them is wider than mine but if I remember correctly, they have kept to themselves and have not interacted much with the mainland. As far as we are aware, there are no cultivators in Liuqiu but Kabei-sensei accurately pointed out the irrelevance; they need to know regardless, if nothing else, then to prepare. But for what, I am unsure.

The Dongying people used a sealing array to secure the Kaiju carcass and talismans to move the dead. With Kabei-sensei’s permission, I have included examples of both in this letter. They might prove useful in the future.

Tomorrow, we shall head further out to investigate more. Kabei-sensei pointed out that it is unlikely the Kaiju swam across the ocean to get here which means it came from the bottom of the sea. I do not think I need to emphasize the importance of what that means.

I will send a letter when we return.

Lan Wangji”

Lan Wangji reads the letter through a couple of times before folding it into a neat rectangle and placing on it a spell that will only let Brother open the letter. He boosts the messenger talisman as much as he dares without setting it on fire to help it make its way across the sea and to Brother. 

That night, they share the fire and food and with the exception of Lan Wangji, wine. They take stock of their rations and make sure everyone has a medical kit, emergency talismans, and qi-replenishing pills. Rin-san,  the young man Nie Huaisang has struck a friendship with, hands out talismans that Kabei-sensei translates should make the body more buoyant, helping one survive if they fall from their swords. 

”That’s brilliant!” Nie Huaisang exclaims, beaming a smile at Rin-san who looks a bit star-struck. ”Wei-xiong would absolutely love these!”

”Wei-xiong?” Kabei-sensei asks.

”Oh,” Nie Huaisang says, hiding his face behind his fan. ”That’s Wei Wuxian, the one they call the Yiling Patriarch now. He was our schoolmate. A genius who could come up with spells and talismans on the fly!”

”The one you mentioned?” Kabei-sensei murmurs at Lan Wangji.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says without looking at her.

She hums and says nothing more, but before they retire to get a few hours of sleep, she approaches him. ”These are from Rin-san,” she says, handing him a stack of talismans. ”He was very taken with the idea of the Shadow Walker liking his talismans.”

”Thank you,” Lan Wangji says. 

He thinks Shadow Walker is a fitting name for Wei Ying.

They head out over placid water early in the morning, facing the rising sun. It feels strange, flying into the light to face a being of darkness.

”All marine life has fled,” Kabei-sensei says, her voice clipped. ”Whatever this Kaiju is, it’s undeniably toxic for all life, not just us.”

”What did it want?” Jin Zixuan asks. He’s been quiet the whole time but not in a frightened way. This is the Jin Zixuan Lan Wangji saw briefly during the war and earlier in the Xuanwu cave. Observing, pondering, intense. Wei Ying calls him a peacock but so far Lan Wangji hasn’t seen him preening. Instead, he’s been working: diligent, reserved, efficient.

Lan Wangji has a feeling that Wei Ying might have it wrong when it comes to Jin Zixuan. He isn’t sure he should let him know—probably not.

”It might not want anything,” Yao Meixiu says with a frown. ”It might be just a mindless beast. Or it might want to kill us all.”

Jin Zixuan falls silent for a moment, then says, ”You sound like you expect there to be more.”

Yao Meixiu harrumphs. ”Let’s just say that I hope for the best and assume the worst possible outcome.”

”A pessimist,” Nie Huaisang pipes up. Lan Wangji had wanted to leave him behind but Nie Huaisang hadn’t even dignified him with a reply, just marched to Nie Zonghui and stepped on his saber.

”A realist,” Kabei-sensei says, so quiet Lan Wangji barely hears her.

They fall silent and head out, scanning the still waters for a sign of anything unusual. Or just anything at all. And they see nothing.

Until one of the Dongying people shouts.

Lan Wangji whips his head around and Bichen turns sharply, accommodating his move. Far behind them, the water rises like a small tidal wave—or like something is moving under the surface. Something big.

Kabei-sensei barks out several sharp commands and her people fan out on each side of them, leaving her and Lan Wangji’s cultivators in the middle.

Not long after, the surface breaks and a head emerges. It’s massive, black, glistening in the early morning sun as light reflects off the water that runs down its skin. 

”Heavens, how big is it?” Yao Meixiu breathes as water churns around the emerging Kaiju. 

Even with the first Kaiju being beheaded, it’s obvious that this one is different. Its neck is longer and its head a different shape with a wider mouth and a ridge above its eyes. The skin looks the same—black leathery hide of scales that glisten dully. It moves straight forward, toward the Reefs, but Lan Wangji has a sinking feeling it’s not heading to the Reefs but to the mainland.

They close in in a loose formation, trying to figure out the scale and range of the thing, how it moves, how it might fight before it notices them. Lan Wangji feels like they’re like mosquitoes buzzing around a bear, small and insignificant enough that the beast doesn’t even bother noticing them.

But it does.

It pauses and turns faster than Lan Wangji thought it capable of, snatching a Dongying cultivator off the air and crunching them in its jaws with a sickening sound.

Kabei-sensei lets out an enraged scream and speeds forward, shouting orders in rapid succession. The Dongying cultivators form a circle around the Kaiju, far enough above it so that it can’t easily reach them, and cast a circle of binding talismans. It works for a moment and then the Kaiju pushes through them, breaking out of the talismans’ hold like they are little more than a nuisance.

They already know that arrows and swords do nothing against the thick, scaly hide and the only way to kill it is to get under its skin—literally. Lan Wangji sweeps out his qin and strums out a powerful chord that makes the Kaiju sway in place.

”Whatever that was, do it again!” Kabei-sensei yells.

He does and it does work—until it doesn’t. Something about the Kaiju, some innate ability perhaps, helps it to adapt to Lan Wangji’s attacks and repel them. It doesn’t feel like resentful energy and resentful energy shouldn’t be able to do that regardless. But whatever powers the Kaiju—whatever its own energy is—it’s adaptable and versatile enough to pose a serious problem.

Panting and already feeling the strain, Lan Wangji retreats to Kabei-sensei’s side. ”This won’t work for long,” he grits out. 

Behind her are Nie Zonghui and Nie Huaisang, keeping out of the way. Nie Huaisang’s eyes are sharp and dark as they dart from the Kaiju to the cultivators circling it, and he seems like he’s getting ready to pounce. He says something under his breath to Nie Zonghui and they move to the right, apparently to observe the battle from another angle. 

”Zhao Jiahao told us that Master Kyoyua did something to…combine their spiritual energies?” Lan Wangji says. 

”Hm. That might prove useful,” Kabei-sensei says. ”The technique is dangerous when applied without preparation and previous testing. It is not to be used lightly.”

The Kaiju roars and swipes several of her people off their swords and they land on the sea hard, mangled and bleeding. ”I do not think there is anything light in this situation,” Lan Wangji says flatly.

She closes her eyes and nods. ”Fine.” Then she takes a breath. ”Have you ever dual cultivated with anyone?”

Lan Wangji flinches like he’d been slapped. ”No.”

”It is like that except with our minds instead of our bodies. The participants will share their spiritual essences and while doing that, they’ll have access to each others’ minds. It is intimate and frightening, and poses a real threat of losing one’s very self.”

Lan Wangji swallows and despite himself, his thoughts turn to Wei Ying. ”But it could help?” he asks, wrenching his thoughts back to the situation at hand.

”It would give us enough power to overwhelm and end the Kaiju, provided we had a technique that would allow it.”

”Chord Assassination,” Lan Wangji hums.

She raises a brow. ”Whatever that is, if you think it could work, we should try it.”

They don’t have a peaceful place to practice—there’s just the open sea and the Reefs in the distance, and they can’t let the Kaiju reach the mainland. If they want to end this, this is where they need to do it.

Kabei-sensei flies right in front of Lan Wangji and carefully maneuvers them so that they’re close enough to touch. Then she raises her hands to her chest level, palms up. 

Lan Wangji mirrors her pose and after a last questioning look, Kabei-sensei presses their palms together. ”Now,” she says. ”Let your qi flow out and into me, and open your mind.”

It’s a struggle. It’s perhaps the hardest thing Lan Wangji has ever done in his life. Not the qi circulating, that’s a standard procedure that every disciple has to learn to help their fellow disciples in need but opening his mind? It feels violating and invasive. Terrifying.

Kabei-sensei’s qi is strong and fierce and it pours down his meridians like a river, lighting him up in a way he’s not quite comfortable feeling. His own qi travels along her meridians lightning-fast, easy and effortless like a fish swimming in a current.

Then a mind touches his and he recoils on instinct. This isn’t right, he thinks, reeling.

Let me in.

That’s not his own mind.

Hanguang-jun, Light-bringer. Let me in so that we can defeat this creature of darkness.

He takes a breath, braces himself, and opens his mind. There’s a sense of vertigo almost like he’s falling into himself and—

The sea around them vanishes and he finds himself in Mother’s house, watching her laugh as she tucks a lock of hair behind his ear—

He’s sitting at a table with his grandparents who smile at him with their whole hearts in their eyes—

He’s watching Brother’s smile dim at the news of Father’s death—

He slices a man’s throat open and snarls that no one will touch him without his permission—

He watches Wei Ying laughing, teasing, flying, and yearns—

He listens to condescending sneering at choosing an obscure Chinese technique instead of proper martial training—

He sees Wei Ying changed and is so, so afraid for him—

He holds the newborn baby of the woman he loves from afar and feels so much love his heart is about to burst—

He kills the Wen who try to get to Wei Ying—

He kills the man who killed his grandparents—

He flies he fights he learns he loves he yearns he kills he laughs he cries he kisses writes sleeps eats grins meditates studies lives lives lives lives—

He opens his eyes and the world is intertwined in red and blue. 

In front of him, Kabei-sensei’s eyes are shining with spiritual energy. 

She nods, and they turn as one. They don’t have to talk—as soon as one thinks of doing something, the other understands and moves to comply. Kabei-sensei draws a complicated talisman that flashes as bright as the sun and a dome of shimmering light grows around them.

Lan Wangji doesn’t reach for his qin. Kabei-sensei saw how he and Wei Ying killed the Xuanwu so she hands him a bundle of spiritually charged rope. It’s thin and strong and yields easily in his hands. It’s perfect.

While he prepares himself, she shouts orders to the others so that they distract the Kaiju while she and Lan Wangji attack from behind. With their combined strength and her cunning design, her shield should hold but they wish the Lan’s Chord Assassination would work with the Kaiju as well as it did with the Xuanwu.

The rope flies straight and true, guided by Lan Wangji’s intention. It wraps around the Kaiju’s throat and he yanks as they back up, forcing the Kaiju’s head up and its neck in an unwieldy angle. It screams and thrashes but the rope holds, flashing almost white every time Lan Wangji channels the Chord Assassination through it. Of course, this monster is far more agile than the old turtle so it manages to swivel around and swipe at the shield dome. The impact makes it flicker but it holds. 

Heavens, it holds.

The outside world narrows down to the bright line in his hand, and he loses his sense of time and place as he holds the rope and pours their combined strength through it. With each chord, the rope bites deeper into the Kaiju’s neck but it’s still taking too long to cut through. His hands split and start to bleed but he grits his teeth and holds on, channeling chord after chord into the rope. Kabei-sensei is a bright, furious presence in his mind and he’s vaguely aware of the other cultivators darting back and forth, trying to distract and annoy the Kaiju.

And then it happens.

The Kaiju manages to whirl faster than Lan Wangji and Kabei-sensei can anticipate, and the Kaiju’s front paw with its wickedly curved talons head straight to the bright, pulsing rope strangling it.

Kabei-sensei’s thoughts flash in his mind faster than he can comprehend and then she shoves him up, up, away, and flies straight in front of the talons. To his horror, Lan Wangji realizes she directed the shield dome over the rope, leaving herself vulnerable.

Thank you, Hanguang-jun. It was an honor.

Her voice rings in his mind a split moment before a gush of spiritual energy flows into him; the last of her strength given freely as a gift to end the fight. He feels his meridians burn as he directs it into the spiritual rope that starts to burn as well, scorching his hands. He doesn’t care. He pours it all, knowing that either he kills the Kaiju or dies here and it will all be for nothing, and it burns and burns and he screams and holds the rope tighter until, finally, it bites through the Kaiju’s scales and into muscle and bone and blood.

The monster lets out a bellow and then it keels over, its massive body landing with a mighty splash, creating a wave bigger than Lan Wangji has so far seen. The head plummets through the air, spraying blue blood that hits three unfortunate cultivators, one of them Yao Meixiu who throws himself in front of Nie Zonghui and Nie Huaisang to shield them.

And then. 

Silence.

Lan Wangji lets his hands hang limply as he stares at the scene in front of him. The sea surface is calming down, the depth here enough to cover up the scene of horror now that the Kaiju is down.

They won.

But at what cost?

Only seven of them make it back: Lan Wangji himself, Nie Zonghui and Nie Huaisang, Rin-san, Jin Zixuan, and Yu Qiaolian and Akiko-san, who meet them at Storm Peak. But they aren’t seven cultivators strong because Rin-san broke his leg when the Kaiju slapped him off his sword, Lan Wangji is so drained he barely makes it back to the mainland with the qi-replenishing pills. However, Jin Zixuan’s situation is by far the gravest. When Lan Wangji wrenched the Kaiju’s head off, Jin Zixuan was caught in the splatter of blood. He shielded his face with his hand which means he isn’t dead or blind but his left hand is ruined. 

”This doesn’t look good,” Yu Qiaolian says under her breath, hands crossed over her chest.

Nie Zonghui sits next to Jin Zixuan who leans against a boulder, white as a sheet with a slight blue tinge on his lips. He’s breathing through gritted teeth and visibly in so much pain it takes all his concentration not to scream. It’s clear that transferring spiritual energy doesn’t do anything. Nothing they’ve tried helps: painkillers, acupuncture, qi-replenishing pills, spiritual energy transfer, a tourniquet…short of knocking him out, they have nothing.

And what’s worse, the corrosion keeps spreading.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. 

Yu Qiaolian glances at him. ”You know what needs to be done. Unless you want him dead, that is.”

”Why would I—”

She tilts her head, fiddling with something in the crook of her elbow. A privacy talisman, glowing, active. ”He’s the only true-born son and current heir,” she says. He gives her a cold look and she shrugs, unbothered. ”If it were you, it’s what his father would think.”

”I am not Jin Guangshan,” he growls, furious.

Her lips quirk momentarily, amused. Then she grows serious again. ”If it’s amputated now, he might still keep his upper arm and it won’t affect his balance too much.” Without casting him another glance, she strides forward and kneels in front of Jin Zixuan.

”Do you want to live?” she asks.

His eyes are cloudy with pain. ”Yes,” he hisses. ”I—know. I—you have to—now—”

Next to him Nie Huaisang draws in a sharp breath and looks at Lan Wangji with wide eyes. ”But—”

”Jin Zixuan,” Yu Qiaolian says with an oddly heavy tone. ”Do you want me to cut off your arm?”

Nie Zonghui lets out a slow breath and draws back slightly, glancing at Lan Wangji. He doesn’t react.

Jin Zixuan swallows and closes his eyes. ”My hand is lost,” he forces out in a hoarse voice. ”I can feel the corrosion spreading. If it’s not cut, I will die.” He looks at Yu Qiaolian and then at Lan Wangji. ”I don’t want to die. Cut it.”

Yu Qiaolian looks at him for a moment, then nods. ”Hold him still,” she says but before Nie Zonghui can move, Lan Wangji steps forward and says, ”No need.”

He uses the body lock spell on Jin Zixuan and, ignoring the ache in his palms, turns his head away from the ruined hand. ”You are not alone,” he says, looking into Jin Zixuan’s wide, scared eyes.

Careful not to touch the soiled fabric, Yu Qiaolian uses spiritual energy to rip Jin Zixuan’s golden sleeve fully open and exposes the horrid sight of his left arm. It’s blue-black almost up to his elbow, flesh fallen off and most of the bones in his hand corroded away. It doesn’t smell like rot, instead it smells sharp and oily, not quite like anything Lan Wangji is familiar with.

”Do it,” Jin Zixuan whispers, still staring at Lan Wangji.

Yu Qiaolian draws out her dagger, a wickedly sharp Yu blade, and trails her finger along the edge. It lights up with a cold, pale indigo light and grows hot enough for Lan Wangji to feel it from Jin Zixuan’s other side. Without another word, she strikes down, bolstering the move with so much spiritual energy that the dagger slices through Jin Zixuan’s arm like it was a sliver of silk. He screams then, a pitiful, high-pitched noise of pure agony before passing out.

Lan Wangji is glad. Even though the dagger was hot enough to cauterize the wound as it cut through, they still need to strip Jin Zixuan from his stained robes and dress the stump.

Behind him, Nie Huaisang throws up.

It’s Yu Qiaolian who wakes him up so late it’s very early. ”Swords. Incoming,” she whispers, nodding at the horizon.

Something in Lan Wangji gives. Nie Huaisang had sent out an emergency missive with Lan Wangji’s seal after he’d pulled himself together but Lan Wangji hadn’t even realized how tense and on the edge he’d been until he senses Brother’s sword spirit reaching out to him.

”It is them,” he says.

”Mn,” she says, staring at the rapidly approaching specks of light.

Brother lands with an uncharacteristic stumble and nearly runs to Lan Wangji, gripping his arms hard enough to bruise. ”Are you alright? Wangji, when the missive was in Huaisang’s handwriting—”

Lan Wangji lets himself sag momentarily against Brother’s hold. ”I injured my hands but otherwise, I am unharmed, only tired. We lost one and Jin Zixuan—” He swallows, turning his head slightly at where Jin Zixuan is lying asleep, unmoving, his bandaged stump secured to his side with a talisman.

Other cultivators land moments after Brother. Nie Mingjue roars Nie Huaisang’s name even before his feet touch the sand and neither of them bothers to hide their tears as they hug. Jiang Wanyin prowls to Yu Qiaolian and Akiko-san who faces his fierce stare with squared shoulders and head held high. 

”Sect Leader Yao,” Nie Huaisang calls out as soon as the man lands. ”I am so very sorry to inform you that your head disciple, Yao Meixiu perished during the battle. He flew in front of Zonghui and me, shielding us from the corrosive effects of the monster’s toxic blood.” All three Nies bow to him. ”The Nie Sect is in your debt.”

Yao Yongzheng sputters, his glee at having the three highest members of a great sect bow down to him warring with his apparent genuine sorrow of losing his man. He draws Nie Huaisang out of his bow and offers overly flowery words of gratitude and pride that Lan Wangji isn’t interested in listening to.

The next moment, Jin Guangshan lands, followed closely by his wife and Jin Guangyao. ”My son!” he bellows. ”Where is my son?”

”He’s asleep,” Yu Qiaolian snaps. Then she decides to ignore Jin Guangshan in favor of talking to Madam Jin. ”There was nothing we could do, Aunt. He asked me to do it.” 

”Surely a doctor—” Jin Guangshan starts, haughtily, only to snap his mouth shut when Madam Jin lets out a sharp hiss.

Yu Qiaolian gives him a cool look. ”The best doctor of our generation is currently confined in the Burial Mounds and there was no time to get her,” she says flatly. ”I’m sure a rotten left hand is worth less than your heir’s life?”

Madam Jin ignores her husband’s sputtering and shoulders past him, heading to where Jin Zixuan is sleeping, looking like a corpse. Rin-san sits next to him with his leg in a split, fiddling with what looks like one of Nie Huaisang’s spare fans. He struggles to get up when he sees Madam Jin approaching but she merely makes an impatient move with her hand before dropping to her knees next to her son.

Lan Wangji turns his head to give her a modicum of privacy.

”Wangji, what happened?” Brother asks.

He opens his mouth, closes it, then blinks, suddenly exhausted to the bone.

”Perhaps some tea and blankets?” Jin Guangyao suggests. ”I don’t suppose you have had much chance to rest after you arrived and I think talking will be easier with a full stomach and warm blankets.”

”Yes, please, A-Yao,” Brother says.

Lan Wangji doesn’t know—and frankly, doesn’t really care—how much emergency rations, food, medicine, servants, and other essentials Jin Guangyao had packed or how he’s organizing things. He only knows that Brother leads him to the shade of a tent and sits him down while someone else takes charge. 

Jin Guangyao is very efficient—he used to be Nie Mingjue’s deputy, after all, and he’s very good at what he does. In no time at all, there’s simple but hearty soup simmering, refreshing and fortifying tea being served, vials of medicinal tonics being handed out, blankets wrapped around tired cultivators. Madam Jin is still next to Jin Zixuan with his head on her lap as she talks quietly with Yu Qiaolian; Nie Huaisang and Nie Zonghui listen seemingly intently at Yao Yongzheng while Nie Mingjue looks like he’d rather be anywhere but next to Jin Guangshan. Jiang Wanyin stands close to the water’s edge, hands crossed on his chest, scowling at the horizon. A bit to the side, Jin Guangyao is talking to Akiko-san, apparently in her own language.

Lan Wangji sips his tea and revels in the feeling of some warmth returning to his bones. He closes his eyes and starts to parse the events into categories, actions and consequences and sequences into neat lines, trying to make sense of what had happened, no matter how senseless it all seems.

After some time, Brother touches his shoulder lightly and Lan Wangji opens his eyes. Brother looks apologetic for interrupting him but inclines his head the barest amount, indicating that the others are waiting. 

Lan Wangji takes a breath and nods.

He starts with what they found in Storm Peak, covering the bare bones of Zhao Tingfeng’s letter in case Brother hadn’t told the others about it already. He continues with their flight over the sea, the ominous weather that seemed to roll from the East, and how they encountered Kabei-sensei and her people.

”So, they were also investigating?” Brother asks, even though Lan Wangji had covered this in his letter.

”Mn. Master Kyoyua, whom Zhao Jiahao brought back, was her disciple,” Lan Wangji says. ”She had fifteen cultivators with her and—” he pauses and looks up, his eyes flickering to Rin-san and Akiko-san. ”Only two remain.”

Jin Guangshan opens his mouth with a sneer but doesn’t have the chance to say anything as Nie Zonghui says, ”They were clearly prepared for battle—we were only supposed to gather information.”

”Of course,” Brother says. ”And it’s more than clear that none of you would’ve made it out alive if it wasn’t for them.”

”Where did the…what did Kabei-sensei call it—Kaiju? Where did it come from?” Jin Guangyao asks.

Lan Wangji shakes his head. ”We do not know. She said it was unlikely it had swam across the sea which would mean it came from the sea.”

”From the bottom of the sea,” Jin Guangyao mutters with a faint frown.

”But where? From an egg?” Yao Yongzheng exclaims. Someone snickers and Yao Yongzheng blushes bright red. 

Before he has the chance to defend himself, Nie Huaisang tsks. ”Too early to say. Might be an egg. Might be something else.” He looks lost in thought, frowning slightly.

”How did you manage to kill it?” Nie Mingjue asks, dragging his eyes from his brother. ”Your swords are still here so you didn’t send them into the…Kaiju’s guts.”

Lan Wangji glances at Brother and then at Jiang Wanyin, still with his back to them, gazing at the sea. ”It was a joint effort. Kabei-sensei used a shield array and I managed to cut its head off with Chord Assassination.”

Nie Mingjue frowns. ”How did you know it would work?”

”Because it had worked before,” Lan Wangji says and when several people look at him in confusion, he adds, ”That is how Wei Ying and I killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter.”

Jiang Wanyin flinches slightly at Wei Ying’s name but doesn’t turn. ”There will be more,” he says in a low growl. ”There’s already been two. There’s always more.”

The assembled cultivators share concerned looks but then Yao Yongzheng claps his hands together. ”But now there’s no need to worry! Hanguang-jun can teach us the Chord Assassination technique and we can fight them!”

”It’s not that simple,” Brother says. His pleasant, small smile is present and completely at odds with the cool look in his eyes. ”The Chord Assassination is one of the most demanding and difficult Lan techniques. And—” he continues with a raised voice when Yao Yongzheng opens his mouth. ”Mastering it requires years of advanced musical cultivation studies.” He smiles blandly. ”And it’s only ever taught to the heirs of the main family line.”

”Oh?” Nie Huaisang pipes up although it should be glaringly obvious who Brother is talking about. ”So…that means there’s three people who know it, then?”

Brother’s smile turns slightly more genuine. ”Yes. Myself, Wangji, and our Uncle.”

”That’s a pity,” Nie Mingjue rumbles. ”It sounds like a highly effective technique.”

Brother inclines his head. Neither he nor Lan Wangji bother pointing out that if not for the extenuating circumstances, the other sects wouldn’t even know about it.

”It’s not the only available technique,” Madam Jin suddenly says. She’s left Jin Zixuan sleeping next to Rin-san. ”The Yu might have several things that could help.”

Jin Guangshan clears his throat. ”Wife, I don’t think—”

”Be silent, Guangshan,” she snaps. ”Not thinking is exactly your problem.” She straightens her spine and looks at Brother, ignoring her sputtering husband. ”I might not be a Yu in name but I grew up as one. I will contact the Grandmothers for help.”

Brother inclines his head. ”Thank you, Madam Jin,” he says. ”That will be highly appreciated.”

But Lan Wangji shakes his head. ”It is not as simple,” he says slowly. ”The Dongying cultivators tried to hold the shielding arrays alone but they weren’t a match against the Kaiju’s strikes. My initial tries with Chord Assassination slowed it for mere moments before it recovered. It was not until Kabei-sensei and I combined our cultivation that we had the power to truly fight it.”

There’s a pause and then Jin Guangyao says carefully, ”By combining your cultivation you mean…?”

Lan Wangji looks him in the eye. ”Dual Cultivation.”

He isn’t surprised when the crowd erupts in gasps, whispers, and furious muttering, neither is he surprised by the sly looks Jin Guangshan shoots at him or the sputters of indecency from Yao Yongzheng.

”Dual— Wangji, how did you manage—”

He gives Brother a scathing look. ”Dual Cultivation is much more than the topic of spring books,” he says flatly. ”It is the act of joining minds and synchronizing your spiritual energy flows with and through each other until it flows as one.”

Nie Huaisang raises a hand. ”Do the partners need to be equally strong in cultivation?” he asks.

Lan Wangji pauses. ”I am not sure. From Kabei-sensei, I understood that the strain of holding such an extensive defensive array was too much for one mind, no matter how strong the cultivator was.” After the activation, sustaining the array was more about the skill than pure power. ”Why?”

”Oh, I was just wondering,” Nie Huaisang muses. ”If it’s more about the compatibility of minds instead of the level of cultivation, it would give us more leeway when thinking about whom to pair up.” He looks up, realizes everyone is staring at him, and hurries to say with a frantic waving of his hand, ”But I really don’t know, I was just talking nonsense.”

”Hm,” Nie Mingjue says, giving him a considering look that makes him blanch a little and draw back.

”That is something to think about, thank you, Huaisang,” Brother says. ”Was there anything else?”

”No resentful energy,” a faint voice rasps.

”A-Xuan!” Madam Jin gasps and whirls around. She stares for a moment at her son staggering to his feet and then runs to him, reaching out to support him. Curiously, Jin Guangyao is only a step behind her, giving no thought of keeping his robes clean.

Jin Zixuan is shivering and sickly pale by the time he reaches the circle and would topple over if it wasn’t for his mother and Jin Guangyao holding him up. He more collapses than sits and then takes a moment to even out his breathing as Jin Guangyao spreads a blanket over his shoulders with utmost care and then holds out a vial of tonic. When Madam Jin shoots him a sharp glare, Jin Guangyao gives her a bland smile. 

”It is the same tonic we have been giving to everyone. It wasn’t safe for Zixuan earlier but now that he’s awake…” he pauses for a moment and then continues. ”Mother, I will take a sip first,” and without waiting for her answer, he tilts his head back and lets a drop of thick, viscous fluid drop on his tongue. 

Nothing happens.

Madam Jin narrows her eyes, holds out her hand, and takes a careful sniff of the bottle before handing it to Jin Zixuan who drinks it down without hesitation. He sits a moment in silence with his eyes closed and right when his father looks close to erupt in annoyance, he lets out a long, slow breath.

”Thank you, A-Yao,” he says.

Lan Wangji blinks both at the diminutive and the way Jin Guangyao freezes momentarily before bowing with a smile. And then he stays standing next to Jin Zixuan.

Curious indeed.

”There was no resentful energy,” Jin Zixuan repeats. He grows bright red with everyone’s attention but sets his jaw stubbornly and continues, ”That thing is unlike anything we’ve faced before. It’s not a yao, not a gui, not a curse construction. When it turned and attacked us, there was no resentful energy. When its blood hit me, it felt like my flesh was set on fire but there still was no resentful energy.” He looks at Lan Wangji. ”There was something, some strange power or life force, but it definitely was not resentful energy.”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says.

Jin Zixuan looks at his mother. ”My core tried to fight the damage but it could do nothing. I could feel the poison from the Kaiju’s blue blood advancing, and if my arm wasn’t cut off, it would’ve surely reached my heart and killed me.” He turns to Yu Qiaolian and bows clumsily, almost keeling over. ”My thanks to Yu Qiaolian for saving my life.”

”Yes, thank you, cousin,” Madam Jin echoes.

Yu Qiaolian shrugs. ”I didn’t want you to die. You’re welcome.”

”What happened to the Kaiju after you killed it?” Nie Mingjue asks. ”Zhao Tingfeng mentioned something about the blood turning into a mist…?”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. ”That is what had happened in the Reefs. But that is only when the blood dries—the Kaiju we killed sank into the ocean.”

”If its blood is toxic to us, it would be safe to assume it’s toxic to everything living, including marine life,” Jin Guangyao says.

”There were no fish of any kind we could see,” Nie Zonghui says. ”No fish, no birds, nothing.”

They fall silent for a moment and Lan Wangji is hit with a wave of exhaustion. His hands still feel like they’re on fire and he feels drained, battered and bruised to his very soul, and all he wants is to lay down and sleep. But there’s so much to do and so much to figure out—it’s almost too much and for a moment he fiercely misses Mother. He doesn’t know what to do next or—

Brother grips his arm gently, just long enough for it to be on purpose instead of getting his attention in case his mind was drifting.

”I think that would be all for now,” Brother says. ”Please, get some rest, everyone. We have a lot of work to do.” He glances at Lan Wangji. ”Come,” he says, guiding him up without letting go of his shoulder. ”Rest, Wangji. You came dangerously close to draining yourself completely. We will talk later.”

He leads Lan Wangji to a freshly erected tent with a clean mattress and a blanket that smells like home. Lan Wangji is asleep before his head hits the pillow and will later think he dreamt of Brother tucking him in and the fleeting touch on his temple right above the forehead ribbon.

By the time Brother deems Lan Wangji recovered enough to let him out of the tent, it’s been two days and they’ve set a command center right there on Storm Peak. He doesn’t know (and doesn’t really care) how the fortress has been cleaned of the lingering Kaiju Blue, as the toxic blood and blood mist are now called, but the result is probably a compliment to Jin Guangyao’s skills. 

And speaking of Jin Guangyao, something has happened between him and his father, and Lan Wangji can’t quite figure it out. Perhaps Jin Guangyao realized the power dynamic between Jin Guangshan and Madam Jin underwent a major shift, perhaps he decided that his reputation would probably suffer if he tried to usurp his injured half-brother. Whatever it is, the result is that Madam Jin—or Bai Mingzhu, as she now insists to be called to everyone’s bewilderment—is now practically running the fort with Jin Guangyao, and Lan Wangji isn’t sure what to think about that.

At least Brother is thrilled about it.

Jin Guangshan has returned to Lanling with a promise to send more troops which might or might not be true (probably the latter). He dragged Yao Yongzheng with him and he in turn dragged Sect Leader Ouyang, and absolutely no one was sad to see them go. Yu Qiaolian was sent out to Meishan, carrying both Jiang Wanyin and Bai Mingzhu’s letters which isn’t a surprise, while Nie Mingjue has returned to Qinghe alone, which is. Apparently, Nie Huaisang flatly refused to go, claiming that he wanted to hash out ideas with Rin-san who was still unable to fly, so Nie Huaisang couldn’t possibly leave him alone. They still have no other common language except for painting fans.

As for Lan Wangji… 

”You want to go to the Burial Mounds,” Brother says when Lan Wangji seeks him out. He’s not asking, neither does he sound surprised.

”Mn. Wei Ying is a talisman genius.” He doesn’t bother mentioning that the Burial Mounds also houses the best doctor of their generation and Brother doesn’t bother pointing it out.

Brother takes a breath and closes his eyes for a moment before letting the air out in a long, careful flow. ”Do you know if he’d be willing to listen?”

”I will know when I try.”

Brother looks like he’d like to rub his hand over his face but he merely takes another deliberate breath and nods slowly. ”I don’t like the thought of you going alone.”

Lan Wangji refrains from rolling his eyes, if only barely. ”I will be fine,” he says calmly. ”The only other one Wei Ying might be willing to talk to is Nie Huaisang and he does not want to go.” He knows because he asked: Nie Huaisang declined with feeling but gave Lan Wangji a handful of Rin-san’s talisman designs to give to Wei Ying. ”To lure him in,” Nie Huaisang had said with exaggeratedly waggling eyebrows. 

”When do you want to leave?”

He feels a weight drop from his shoulders. ”Tomorrow morning,” he says, relieved.

Brother raises a brow, looking mildly amused. ”I knew you’d go with or without my permission. This is just preemptive damage control.”

Sometimes Brother really isn’t as funny as he thinks he is.

The next morning, Lan Wangji wakes up at his usual time, meditates for an hour, then does his morning ablutions with the ease borne of over a decade of routine. He eats a light breakfast, exchanges cordial nods with several people, and says his goodbyes to Brother.

”Take this,” Brother says, handing him a qiankun pouch.

Lan Wangji takes the pouch, tucks it into his sleeve before he bows, steps on Bichen, and takes his leave.

The ground turns into a blur underneath him, the rocky terrain of Zhoushan giving way to grassland and forests, rivers snaking in and out. He doesn’t pay it too much mind, though—while he isn’t in a desperate hurry, he isn’t sightseeing, either. He flies at a steady speed without pushing himself too much. 

He opens the qiankun pouch when he stops for the night and finds qi-replenishing pills, money, and several sets of spare robes. He reties the strings with care and sets the pouch aside. He has no need for it but perhaps Wei Ying might have a use for the contents.

It’s late afternoon when he lands on Yiling. The streets are not bustling but there’s a good amount of people around; farmers and sellers and parents with children, elderly folk sitting in the shade of the buildings and in the feeble light of the sun outside the teahouse. He looks around and takes in the almost normal feel of the place with the slightest undercurrent of resentful energy thrumming in the background.

It’s not as strong as he thought it would be. He is in no way surprised—this is where Wei Ying has set down roots, after all. 

He enters the teahouse, nods at the proprietor, and orders a pot of tea and lunch. There are other customers around, chatting amicably amongst themselves, talking about the weather, the crops, the Huo widow who apparently has an affair with the smith’s young apprentice, how scandalous! Lan Wangji concentrates on his food which is a lot richer and spicier than he’s used to.

”—and now they’re out there again,” one woman sighs as she walks in with two others. ”Poor young man, trying to sell those strange, pale radishes day in and day out.”

”Is that the one—?” another woman asks, curious.

”—the monster?” a third woman whispers.

Lan Wangji’s chopsticks freeze halfway to his mouth.

”He isn’t a monster,” the first woman says, impatient and annoyed. ”A-Fai, you really should know better than to listen to those high and mighty cultivators.”

”But—” the one called A-Fai says.

”No buts,” the first woman snaps. ”He is a perfectly nice young man who is having a hard time, that’s all.”

The second woman snorts. ”Well, A-Rong, why don’t you marry him if he’s so awesome,” she says, raising her brow.

A-Rong rolls her eyes. ”First of all, A-Bao, that boy is young enough to be my son, and second, I’m struggling with my actual children hard enough already. I just wish—” She falls silent as she shifts and her eyes meet Lan Wangji’s. Her friends pause at her reaction and also turn to look at whatever she’s looking at, and as a result, all three women stare at Lan Wangji with their eyes wide.

He lets out a small breath, then inclines his head and beckons slightly, hoping his awkward invitation doesn’t come across as too imperious.

A-Rong glances at her companions, then straightens her spine and walks to Lan Wangji. ”Good afternoon, Master cultivator. How may this one be of assistance?”

”I—you were talking about a man,” Lan Wangji says hesitantly. ”Where might he be?”

She gives him a narrowed look. ”He hasn’t done anything.”

He inclines his head. ”I know. I am here to ask for his help.” When she still looks dubious, he adds, ”I am his friend. I mean no harm for him or the people he is looking after.”

”Hmph,” A-Rong says. She looks at him for a good while before she says, ”He’s selling—or trying to sell—radishes in the Eastern corner of the market. He’s not very good at it.”

”Thank you,” Lan Wangji says. He stands up and bows, startling the women again. ”Please, allow me to pay for your lunch,” he says, motioning to the proprietor. The women protest but not too vigorously, and Lan Wangji is out of the teahouse as soon as he’s made sure the women have all the tea and desserts they could ever want in front of them.

The market is a bit more busy than the street, and Lan Wangji stops at the edge of it, looking around. It doesn’t take him long to locate the Eastern corner and he strides over, only to find the area empty of what he’s looking for. He looks around, taking in the dumpling stall, another vendor offering brushes and combs and other small household items, a cobbler, and someone selling talismans that Lan Wangji recognizes as counterfeit just by the wobbly lines. He knows his bright robes make him stand out like a beacon, giving someone trying to avoid being seen ample time to get away which…now that he thinks of it, probably was A-Rong’s goal all along.

With a small sigh, and charmed by the unknown woman’s willingness to do this small act of kindness for Wei Ying, he starts to stroll the market, trying to keep himself as unthreatening as possible while looking for a familiar man in familiar robes and familiar smile and—

And then, in the shadow of a building across from where A-Rong pointed him—

”Wei Ying.”

He’s lounging on the steps of what looks like an abandoned doctor’s office, leaning carelessly back on his elbows. His clothes are coarse and cheap-looking and his face gaunt as if he’s been starved, but his eyes are as beautiful as ever. Next to him, wearing a straw hat and half hiding behind a small cart filled with bone-white radishes is another young man with—are those fierce corpse veins on his neck?

”Lan Zhan!” 

Wei Ying’s voice snaps his gaze away from the young man (corpse?) and back to Wei Ying. He’s smiling but his eyes are hard, challenging.

”Wei Ying,” he says again. ”It is good to see you.”

Wei Ying raises a brow, his mouth drawing into a small smile that pulls at the beauty mark under his lower lip. ”Likewise, Lan Zhan.” He cocks his head. ”What are you doing here?”

”I came to see you.”

That makes Wei Ying pause. ”Little old me? What for?”

Lan Wangji takes a breath. ”I need your help.”

The slightly mocking light in Wei Ying’s eyes winks out. ”Lan Zhan, what’s wrong?” he asks, scrambling up. ”Did something happen? Are you alright?”

He blinks. ”I am fine. I misspoke—we need your help.”

Wei Ying pauses. ”We?” he echoes, slowly. ”Who’s we? And why?” A split moment later his eyes go wide. ”Is Jiang Cheng alright?”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, then closes it, casts a furtive glance around. ”Could we speak in private? This…I would be more comfortable if—”

Again Wei Ying’s eyes change, this time going cold. ”Whatever you want to say, you can say in front of Wen Ning.”

”Master Wei—” Wen Ning—ah. That would be Wen Qionglin, Wen Qing’s little brother.

”That is not—” Lan Wangji starts, then shakes his head, frustrated. ”I do not want to talk about this out in the open. Have you eaten?”

Wei Ying frowns, then glances at Wen Qionglin who shrugs, looking extremely timid. 

Wei Ying looks back at Lan Wangji. ”Fine.” 

They end up sitting in a wine house that’s dim even in midday. The tea is subpar but apparently, the wine is drinkable, not that Lan Wangji can say anything about that. He discreetly orders some meat-filled buns he then pushes closer to Wei Ying in a silent plea to eat something, please. He’s far too thin and it makes Lan Wangji’s heart ache.

”Monsters,” Wei Ying says with an incredulous look after Lan Wangji finishes his summary of the events.

”Mn.”

”From the sea.”

”Mn.”

”With blue, corrosive blood.”

”Mn.”

He leans back on his seat and gives Lan Wangji a quizzical look. ”Are you sure you haven’t just been cursed and having some kind of mass hallucination?”

Lan Wangji ignores the question. ”Nie Huaisang sent you these,” he says and hands out Rin-san’s talismans.

Wei Ying’s slight sneer turns into actual curiosity when he flips through the small selection Nie Huaisang had given Lan Wangji. ”What—no. Oh…yes, but—hm,” he mutters, biting at his lower lip slightly. It tugs at the mole and Lan Wangji resolutely averts his eyes, looking at Wen Qionglin instead.

Wen Qionglin who is a fierce corpse. Who has his consciousness. And intelligence. And speech.

”How is your brother?” Wen Qionglin asks in a soft voice. ”And your uncle?” 

”They are well,” Lan Wangji says, rules and courtesy kicking in and overriding the bewilderment of talking to a dead man. ”Uncle is at the Cloud Recesses and Brother is at Zhoushan.”

”I’ve never been at the sea,” Wen Qionglin says. ”They say it’s big.” There’s a quiet kind of yearning in his voice even though his face stays mostly emotionless.

”It is big,” Lan Wangji agrees. He falls silent as Wei Ying sits back slightly, hand on the talisman stack, his forefinger tapping lightly at an irregular rhythm. 

”So. Sea monsters,” he finally says conversationally.

”Yes. Kaiju, in the Dongying language,” Lan Wangji says. ”It means a strange beast.”

”Fitting, I suppose.” He falls silent again, staring out of the window, finger tapping away at the talisman stack. 

He wants to ask if Wei Ying has decided if he will come with Lan Wangji, if he will be there and help, if he will stand with Lan Wangji. But he doesn’t ask—he doesn’t have the right. After all, he didn’t stand with Wei Ying.

None of them did.

So, Lan Wangji pushes back his impatience and waits.

”If,” Wei Ying finally says. ”If I agree to help, what’s in it for us?”

”…Us?” Lan Wangji echoes.

”What if another Kaiju comes along and I die—what happens to the Wen?” He pauses, then adds, ”I’m assuming there will be more.”

Under the table, Lan Wangji’s hands clench into fists at the thought of Wei Ying dead. ”Jiang Wanyin was sure there would be more,” he amends.

”Ha, Jiang Cheng would be,” Wei Ying huffs, fond. 

”I cannot make promises for them,” Lan Wangji says slowly after a beat. ”But I will relay your concerns to Brother.”

”It’s not his word I’m worried about,” Wei Ying says. ”Although if it’s Madam Jin running the place…”

He falls silent again, a faraway look in his eyes. Next to him, Wen Qionglin is silent, observant, and unassuming.

”Well, you better come back with us,” Wei Ying finally says with a sigh. ”This isn’t a decision I can make on my own.”

”…Back?”

Wei Ying raises a brow. ”To the Burial Mounds.”

"Brother,

Wei Ying has agreed to talk but he is worried about the ramifications to the Wen remnants currently residing in the Burial Mounds, should something happen to him. I am now heading out to the Burial Mounds to talk with the Wen myself. I will write when I get back as messaging talismans will not penetrate Wei Ying’s wards.

- Lan Wangji"

It’s a slum.

That’s what comes to mind when Wei Ying leads him along the narrow, rocky path into the Burial Mounds proper. Wen Qionglin has gone ahead with the radish cart, presumably to warn the others that Lan Wangji has come alone and that there’s no need for alarm.

The others being a group of perhaps fifty people, most of them women and elderly, and a child.

A child. In the Burial Mounds.

Lan Wangji stares at the toddler clinging to Wen Qionglin’s leg, fingers in his mouth, a smear of soot on his cheek.

There is a child.

”-guang-jun?”

Lan Wangji rips his gaze away from the toddler’s wide eyes. ”My apologies,” he says.

”Hm,” Wen Qing says, looking unimpressed. ”I was saying, if you would follow me, Hanguang-jun? I’d offer tea but we don’t have any.”

”Wen Qing!” Wei Ying hisses.

”What? Don’t ask me to play a good hostess, Wei Wuxian! I’m not that fond of how you’re useful when there’s something big and terrible that needs killing and when it’s been dealt with, everyone wants you dead as thanks.” Her voice is sharp and the piercing look in her eyes makes Lan Wangji uncomfortable. 

Wei Ying opens his mouth. ”Well—”

”Don’t try to claim it isn’t true,” she huffs. ”You were revered until Wen Ruohan keeled over and then you turned into the biggest monster of the whole cultivation world. What’s stopping them from killing you the moment they don’t need you anymore?”

”I am,” The words are out of his mouth before Lan Wangji can even process them.

Wei Ying turns to look at him, confused. ”What?”

”I will not let anyone harm you,” Lan Wangji clarifies.

”Yes, but…what?”

”What happened to dragging him to Gusu to be punished?” Wen Qing asks.

”I—”

”Because Wei Wuxian is convinced that’s what you want to do.”

Lan Wangji looks at him, eyes wide and horrified. ”No!” he says. ”I—no! Wei Ying—” He pauses and takes a breath, trying to get his jumbling thoughts and words in order. ”Not to punish. Help. There are medical texts, manuals, musical scores, research—Wei Ying—” his words fail him again and he nearly growls out of pure frustration.

Wei Ying looks stupefied. He stares at Lan Wangji, then whirls to face Wen Qing, then turns back to Lan Wangji. ”I don’t—I don’t understand what’s happening?” he says.

Wen Qing pinches the bridge of her nose. ”A misunderstanding of epic proportions, it seems. Lan Wangji: Wei Wuxian thinks you condemn him for his cultivation and want to imprison him in Gusu; Wei Wuxian: your Hanguang-jun is worried about you and wants to help you to heal. There. Are we clear now?”

Lan Wangji feels sick. The mere implication of imprisoning Wei Ying in the Cloud Recesses…like Mother…never to leave, scorned and ignored—did Wei Ying really think he’d do that? Lan Wangji truly has failed if Wei Ying thinks he could ever be so cruel.

Someone shoves a cup into his hand. ”Drink it,” Wen Qing says and it must be the doctor in her voice that makes Lan Wangji obey without a second thought. Bitterness bursts on his tongue, halting his spiraling thoughts and he blinks several times, then coughs.

”Willow bark extract,” Wen Qing says dryly. ”You looked like you had a headache.”

”Thank you,” Lan Wangji says and doesn’t point out that cultivators rarely get headaches, and even if they did, medicine meant for common people wouldn’t work anyway. He has a feeling that really wasn’t the point here.

Wei Ying still looks like a rabbit caught in a snare but he hurries to sit down when Wen Qing casually flicks a needle out of her sleeve.

”So. A-Ning said something about sea monsters that are almost impossible to kill and that have corrosive, blue blood that stains everything it touches, doesn’t respond to usual medicine, and turns into toxic mist when it dries up,” she says tightly. ”That sounds like a cultivation world problem. I don’t quite understand why you would need Wei Wuxian since we no longer are welcome to be a part of the cultivation world nor want to be a part of it.”

Lan Wangji glances at Wei Ying, then focuses back on Wen Qing. ”If there are more—and we are assuming there will be more—we need every skilled cultivator available. According to Nie Huaisang, the man who made those talismans—” he inclines his head at the papers Wei Ying is fiddling with, ”—has some very interesting ideas, but he will not be enough. The shielding arrays we have now need to be refined and honed to be stronger and more adaptable, and right now there is no one who is able to come up with modifications like that.” He pauses and looks at Wei Ying. ”Except for you.”

Wen Qing still doesn’t look convinced. 

”We also need skilled medical experts,” Lan Wangji adds.

”Ah,” Wen Qing says. ”There it is.”

Wei Ying frowns. ”Wen Qing—”

”Shush,” she says without looking away from Lan Wangji. ”I want my people out of here,” she says. ”If you can take my family and grant them asylum in Gusu, then we can talk. If that’s not possible, I won’t help.” She sets her jaw. ”And neither will Wei Wuxian.”

”Wen Qing!” he says sharply.

”No!” she snaps with such vehemence that Wei Ying rears back, stunned. 

”I will not sit here and be a pawn and a bait and a punishment to make you do their bidding,” she says. ”I will not have A-Yuan be a whip to make you heel and behave. I will not put you in a situation where you will be driven to the ground because that’s the only way you can keep us alive. We will not be your yoke, Wei Wuxian, a tool to make you a slave!” Her voice rises into a shout in the end and there are tears in her eyes. ”We would rather die than be that! You have already given and given and given so much of yourself and I will not stand by and watch them take even more until there’s nothing left to give!”

Wei Ying looks stricken. ”Wen Qing—”

She barrels right over him, jabbing a finger at Lan Wangji. ”So you walk down that path, Hanguang-jun, and you message your brother and the other sect leaders and everyone else out there that if they want our help—if they want Wei Wuxian’s help, they will get it only if they free him from worrying about us. If they cannot guarantee our safety, there will be no help.” With that, she whirls around and marches into one of the hovels, banging the door closed behind her so hard that for a moment, Lan Wangji fears the humble building will collapse on her.

”Um,” Wen Qionglin says after a moment of awkward silence. 

”Auntie is angry,” A-Yuan whisper-shouts.

”Ah, haha, yeah,” Wei Ying says with a strained air. There’s still a slightly wild look in his eyes and his gaze flickers from Lan Wangji to where Wen Qing stormed off and back.

”I’ll go check in on her,” Wen Qionglin says. He stands up stiffly, hands A-Yuan over to Wei Ying, offers a hurried bow to Lan Wangji, and walks very fast after his sister.

Wei Ying moves the toddler slightly in the unconscious way that tells he’s done it many, many times. The sight makes Lan Wangji feel hot under his collar and he carefully tucks the feeling away.

”I think you’d better go, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says quietly, fiddling with a thread from the cuff of A-Yuan’s sleeve.

Lan Wangji’s heart gives a painful thud.

”To send that letter,” Wei Ying continues. ”I mean, it won’t do any harm, will it?”

”No,” Lan Wangji says. His tongue feels clumsy in his mouth with the emotional whiplash of the conversation, and it takes him a moment to realize his reply might be misunderstood. ”No, it will not do harm. I will go at once.” He stands up and turns, then pauses. ”The wards, will they let me back in?”

”Hm? Oh, yeah. Sure,” Wei Ying says, looking up. ”They’re keyed up to recognize you, so you can come back up after. I mean, if you want to. You don’t. Have. If you don’t want to.” Wei Ying’s cheeks go slightly red.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. ”I will return.”

Then he turns and starts to compose the letter in his head as he walks. He needs to explain the situation to Brother and inform him that he’ll be staying in Yiling for now. 

And then he has to do a lot of shopping.

"Wangji,

Thank you for letting me know you arrived safely. Young Master Wei and Doctor Wen pose serious questions and their concerns are valid. However, as I’m not in the Cloud Recesses at the moment, I need to contact Uncle and ask his opinion on how to present this request to the Elders. I fear that this current situation requires me to stay in Zhoushan for now which means I won’t be at home overseeing the relocation.

I must say that your account on the condition of the Burial Mounds settlement is disquieting, and the fact that there is a child present is even more worrying. This doesn’t add up with the information we had previously but I have to say I find myself wondering many things these days. 

We haven’t had any new attacks which is a relief. Rin-san and Akiko-san have contacted Kaihouin to inform them about the passing of Kabei-sensei and warn them about the Kaiju. Yu Qiaolian has sent a missive from Meishan with a promise to return with a couple of Yu cultivators, but who they are and what kind of spiritual devices they might bring with them is unknown as of yet.

Do let both Young Master Wei and Doctor Wen know that whether they agree or refuse, their decision will be honored.

- Xichen"

”You weren’t supposed to buy him more toys,” Wei Ying hisses.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says, feeling deeply satisfied when A-Yuan runs around with a new grass butterfly. His hair is clean and he’s wearing a new set of clothes, and the better and more nutritional meals have done wonders to his complexion in just over a week.

”Lan Zhan!”

”I never made that promise,” he says.

Wei Ying groans. ”You’re the worst,” he grumbles. 

”Mn.”

During his short time in the Burial Mounds, Lan Wangji has bought mostly food and tea and replenished Wen Qing’s dwindling stores of medicinal herbs, but he found himself utterly unable to resist a deep blue set of robes in A-Yuan’s size, a bright red ribbon, and a selection of toys. The robes and the toys are already in use, the ribbon is safely tucked away in Lan Wangji’s sleeve, in the same qiankun pouch as the set of spare robes. He hasn’t found the courage to give it to Wei Ying yet.

Perhaps tomorrow.

”Tea, Hanguang-jun?” Wen Qionglin asks.

”Mn. Thank you.” 

Wei Ying is watching him from the corner of his eye but he ignores him, knowing from experience that when Wei Ying is in a mood, he’ll talk sooner or later if Lan Wangji just waits and keeps ignoring him.

A moment later, when A-Yuan is happily sitting in a radish patch and conducting a complicated-looking choreography with his grass butterflies, Wei Ying clears his throat.

”Why are you doing this?” When Lan Wangji tilts his head and raises a brow, Wei Ying huffs and rolls his eyes. ”This!” he exclaims, waving his hand between the teapot, A-Yuan, and the small selection of filled buns on the table between them. ”You come here and then you don’t leave and you buy things like food and toys and you—you keep coming back!”

”Would you like me to go?” he asks quietly, dreading the answer.

”What? No!” Wei Ying yelps. ”I mean, if you want to but—” He blows out a breath that makes his bangs dance in front of his face. ”I don’t understand.”

Lan Wangji drops his gaze and clenches his hands, hoping the sharp feeling of nails pressing into his thighs will help him focus. ”I want to be here,” he finally says. ”To help.”

”And if we won’t help with the sea monsters?” Wei Ying asks.

”I still want to help.”

Wei Ying shakes his head and sighs. ”Lan Zhan… It’s not that simple.”

Lan Wangji wants to argue that it is exactly that simple but he isn’t sure how.

And he isn’t sure if his argument would be appreciated or accepted.

There has been a strange tension between them since Wen Qing’s explosion. Wei Ying is still prickly and suspicious but he often also watches Lan Wangji from the corner of his eye like there’s something very confusing about him. When Lan Wangji turns to face him, Wei Ying pretends he wasn’t looking and usually changes the topic or moves away. He still refuses to talk to Lan Wangji about his cultivation and Lan Wangji doesn’t push.

As long as Wei Ying allows him near, Lan Wangji will come back.

And if, for some reason, some day he makes Wei Ying turn away for good…

No, he refuses to think about that.

So, Lan Wangji rises early in the morning in Yiling’s better inn, eats a humble breakfast, and heads to the market. He buys fresh produce like bread and meat and herbs and vegetables, picks up some tea he thinks Wei Ying might like, and makes his way to the Burial Mounds. The track up to the settlement is familiar by now and more often than not, A-Yuan is waiting for him by the wards. He picks the child up and listens attentively to his babbling and the latest adventures of his grass butterflies.

He helps out in the radish patches, assists Fourth Uncle with the repairs, sits down to eat when Wen Popo orders and bemusedly endures her fussing, and after lunch, he returns to help out wherever he can. After dinner, he sits with A-Yuan and teaches him how to hold a brush or track hanzi in the thin soil with his finger, and then he returns to the inn and his lonely room. To silence.

And all the while he’s aware of Wei Ying watching him, confused.

"Wangji,

The elders aren’t happy with it but they will allow the Wen remnants to be relocated in Gusu for now—on the condition that none of them practices cultivation. If they submit themselves to examination and the sealing of their golden cores, they will be allowed to the back hills outside the Cloud Recesses’ wards. The elders have explicitly refused to grant Wen Qionglin entry, which I’m sure you already guessed. Uncle has dispatched trusted disciples to organize the relocation and you are free to leave as soon as you are satisfied with the proceedings.

When you arrive here, Young Master Wei, Doctor Wen, and Wen Qionglin will be formally under Gusu’s jurisdiction and protection. They will be required to swear an oath on arrival, and any infraction of mutually agreed rules will cause a punishment to you. This was not my wish but Sect Leader Jiang gave the impression that if only Young Master Wei was threatened with punishment, it wouldn’t necessarily have an effect on his behavior. This, I was told, would.

Let me know when you leave the Burial Mounds.

- Xichen"

Wei Ying says his sword is at Lotus Pier so Lan Wangji ends up flying with him, curling an arm around Wei Ying’s waist to keep him safe. He tells himself he feels completely normal about it and ignores the almost purring sense of satisfaction from Bichen. Wen Qing flies on her own and, after some arguing, Wen Qionglin follows them on foot. No one is exactly happy about it but even if Wen Qing was strong enough to carry them both, her low-quality replacement sword definitely wouldn’t be.

The journey back takes longer with company. They rest for the night in agreeable inns and Lan Wangji rents two rooms with windows to the back alley through where Wen Qionglin can sneak in. He pushes down the deep satisfaction brought by providing Wei Ying with a hot bath and a spicy meal and apparently his first rest in an actual bed after he fled to the Burial Mounds. Wei Ying complains loudly every night about going to bed at what he considers ”an indecent hour” but he’s clearly exhausted and out like a light when his head hits the pillow.

He still feels frighteningly thin under his robes and Lan Wangji yearns to wrap him in soft, padded robes and feed him until he no longer seems like he’s wasting away but he knows it’s not his place.

The red ribbon is still in his sleeve.

Near Tangxi, on the final leg of their journey, they’re hit with an unseasonably cold storm. It ambushes them from behind and rolls over them so suddenly that they’re soaked and chilled to the bone in no time. 

If Lan Wangji was alone, he’d push through and fly straight to Storm Peak but there’s no way Wen Qing could make it, and he’s growing increasingly worried about Wei Ying. He’s cold to the touch and shivering, and if Lan Wangji didn’t keep a tight hold around his waist, he might have fallen from the sword. The thought grips him with an unspeakable terror and makes him clench Wei Ying close hard enough for him to complain.

It’s been a while since Lan Wangji has seen a village, and by the time he spots a small cluster of houses huddled together, he’s almost given up hope. The place can barely be called a village and there’s only one, small guesthouse with a handful of rooms and a common room that apparently doubles as the village’s main gathering place. When they finally get to their rooms, Wei Ying’s lips have gained a worryingly blue tinge and his speech has started to slur. There are only small sitting bathtubs available that can barely accommodate Wei Ying’s long limbs but they make do with what they have. 

While Wen Qing helps Wei Ying bathe, Lan Wangji places several heating talismans under the blankets and prepares a pot of medicinal tea. He lets it steep while he changes quickly into dry robes, his core taking care of the lingering chills and aches. Behind the privacy screen, he hears the low murmur of voices and he pushes down the hot jealousy of Wen Qing seeing Wei Ying naked and vulnerable. Wen Qing is a doctor and clearly treats Wei Ying like an annoying little brother. There’s no need for him to feel jealous.

He selects Wei Ying dry robes from his own spares, takes out the new red ribbon and places it carefully on top of the robes, and refuses to think closer why. For Wen Qing, he sets out a women’s spare set from the qiankun pouch Brother gave him.

”—should tell him,” he hears Wen Qing say and pauses. Eavesdropping is forbidden but he can’t help himself.

Wei Ying’s reply is immediate. ”Leave it, Wen Qing,” he snaps but he doesn’t sound angry or annoyed. Instead, it’s like he’s…resigned? 

Wen Qing’s next comment comes in a low mutter but her frustration is audible even if the words aren’t.

Wei Ying is breathtakingly beautiful when he finally shambles from behind the privacy screen. The heat from the meager bath has brought color to his skin, making it rosy and luminous. His wet hair is braided neatly and it hangs over his shoulder, casting an alluring contrast to his collarbones peeking from under the flimsy bathrobe that’s open to reveal his chest. Lan Wangji feels his ears heat up and he turns, staring resolutely at the wall, all the while hyper-aware of Wei Ying moving behind him.

”Um,” Wei Ying says. ”Lan Zhan—this—”

”You have no spare robes,” he says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as strangled as he feels. ”Yours are soiled and in need of repair.”

Wei Ying hisses something at Wen Qing, then there’s a yelp that might or might not be due to Wen Qing finally losing her patience and stabbing him with a needle. Lan Wangji has seen it happen several times and he still isn’t sure whether to be amused, approving, or offended on Wei Ying’s behalf.

”Wei Wuxian says thank you,” Wen Qing says dryly. ”If there’s nothing else, I’ll head to my room to wait for A-Ning.”

”There is a set for you, too,” Lan Wangji says as he turns around, feeling slightly awkward. ”Brother sent them.”

Her lips twitch. ”Thank you, Hanguang-jun. I always carry a spare set with me but I guess that this time, the Lan robes might be needed.” She shoots a look at Wei Ying before heading to the door. Neither mentions the lack of white robes for her brother. 

”Drink,” Lan Wangji says, pouring him a cup of tea.

”Aish, I’d rather drink wine,” Wei Ying says, scrunching his nose. He looks devastating in Lan Wangji’s robes.

”Alcohol is not recommended when one has a cold,” Lan Wangji says and pushes the cup closer. ”Drink.”

Wei Ying blinks, scoffs, rolls his eyes. ”I don’t have a cold,” he snorts. ”Cultivators don’t get colds.”

Lan Wangji says nothing, merely waits. After a long, tense moment, Wei Ying picks up the cup and drinks, making a face at the taste. He says nothing when Lan Wangji pours him another cup and yet another before he nods and starts to arrange the humble offerings the half-asleep elderly woman taking care of the guesthouse had managed to put together. There’s no hot food but between pickled vegetables, dried fish, fruit, and filled buns, they won’t go to bed hungry.

”Aren’t you going to ask?” Wei Ying asks after he’s polished off four buns, all the fish, and most of the fruit. He twirls his teacup in his hand, concentrating on the swirls of the last dregs of tea on the bottom instead of looking at Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji chews, swallows, and sets his chopsticks down. ”Do you want me to?” he asks back with a calm he doesn’t actually feel. When Wei Ying shrugs and turns his head to gaze at the window, Lan Wangji sighs. ”I know your core is damaged,” he says quietly. ”You are too thin and way too cold than a cultivator of your level should ever get. Even with the thin resources you had on the Burial Mounds, you had nourishment. Not much but you had it. If your core was fine—” He stops. 

Wei Ying is so tense he’s almost vibrating.

”Was it Wen Zhuliu?”

Wei Ying’s jaw works for a moment as he fights to get himself under control. ”Yes,” he finally says in a low voice. 

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and shudders. He, just like each and every sect cultivator, has done the required core-sealing exercises. He’d hated every moment with a burning intensity, feeling both diminished and like something vital had been literally cut off. 

The exercise had been excruciating.

He can’t even imagine how it would feel to lose his cultivation for good.

He’s heard what happened to cultivators after they met Wen Zhuliu. He hasn’t met any because they’d taken their own lives soon after being violated so thoroughly. Wei Ying is the first and he’s been coping incredibly well. He’s been covering the truth of his core from everyone while listening to critique and vitriol about his chosen cultivation style—except that it’s never been a choice, has it? 

And Lan Wangji has been one of those haunting him.

”I am sorry,” he says, feeling bile rising in his throat.

”Lan Zhan—” Wei Ying says, sharp.

”No, please—let me—” He looks at Wei Ying, willing him to meet his eyes and dreading what he’ll see in return. ”I am sorry for my harsh words. If I had known—”

”But you didn’t,” Wei Ying snaps without looking at him. ”No one does except for Wen Qing and Wen Ning, and that’s how I’d like it to stay.”

”Of course,” Lan Wangji agrees immediately. ”Wei Ying, tell me what to do. Tell me how to help you.”

Finally, finally Wei Ying turns his head and cautiously meets his eyes, and the fear and doubt Lan Wangji sees in them make him want to travel back in time and have some very harsh words with his past self. Was it him who put that doubt in Wei Ying’s eyes? Were his words the reason Wei Ying feels he could not trust Lan Wangji? 

There and then, he swears to himself he’ll do everything in his power to change it. Even if Wei Ying will never again trust Lan Wangji, he will trust Wei Ying, and that will have to be enough.

He doesn’t know what Wei Ying sees in his eyes but something in him deflates. ”I’m tired, Lan Zhan,” he says, heaving a sigh. ”Can we talk about this later?”

”Mn,” he says and stands up, holding out his hand. ”Rest.” He hovers as Wei Ying makes his way to the bed, raising a brow when Wei Ying rolls his eyes and tuts at him fondly when he finds the bed warm with the talismans.

”You are something else, Lan Zhan,” he huffs, but Lan Wangji takes note of how tension leaks out of his frame in the warm cocoon of the pre-heated blankets.

”May I play to you?” he asks.

Wei Ying gives him a curious look. ”You never bothered asking before.”

He inclines his head. ”And for that, I apologize.”

Wei Ying rolls his eyes again and his cheeks grow red which is a fetching look on him. ”Yeah, yeah, you can play. Clarity and cleansing don’t really do much but I like your playing.”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. He clears out the dishes and manifests Wangji, plays out a couple of rounds of Clarity just to warm up before moving on to another mind-soothing melody from the Song of Clarity collection. It doesn’t take long for Wei Ying to nod off and Lan Wangji moves to other songs, old Gusu lullabies and folk songs he remembers Brother playing to him several years ago.

The last song, before he retires for the night, is the one he only ever plays for Wei Ying. He barely dares to look at him as his fingers pick the notes with easy familiarity, the composition both complete and lacking at the same time.

He knows how it should sound.

He wonders if Wei Ying would want to play it with him someday.

Brother is waiting for them when they land outside Storm Peak’s gates. He’s alone but Lan Wangji can feel dozens of eyes staring at them from the cover of the fortress walls.

”Wangji,” he says with a small smile, his brow twitching as he takes in Wei Ying’s robes that are not what he sent with Lan Wangji. ”I trust the journey went well?”

”There was a storm,” Lan Wangji says, ignoring his look. ”We were forced to stay the night in Tangxi.”

”Ah,” Brother says, before clearing his throat. ”Welcome to Zhoushan, Young Master Wei, Doctor Wen,” he says, then hesitating a moment before adding, ”Wen Qionglin.”

They exchange bows, then Brother steps slightly to the side so that they can walk into Storm Peak side by side. ”I got a word from Uncle. Your family is making good progress toward Gusu, Doctor Wen,” he says to Wen Qing. ”He expects them to arrive within a week and will contact me then.”

”Thank you,” Wen Qing says. Lan Wangji peeks at her from the corner of his eye and thinks he can detect a shiver running through her. He wonders how she must feel, walking into a fortress filled with people who want her and her family dead. She’s exceptional in keeping herself in control but that’s no wonder: one doesn’t achieve the position of Wen Ruohan’s personal doctor (let alone keep it) if one wasn’t able to control oneself.

”Has there been any new developments?” he asks. Next to him, Wei Ying perks up.

Brother shakes his head. ”No. We send out scouts every day but so far, they haven’t reported anything. It doesn’t really mean there isn’t a Kaiju coming but…” he makes a small movement that Lan Wangji interprets as a shrug. He isn’t sure when or where Brother learned to shrug and he isn’t particularly keen on finding out.

”So, sea monsters,” Wei Ying drawls.

Brother shoots him a tight smile. ”You will be thoroughly briefed as soon as we get the formalities out of the way. And speaking of which…” He glances at Lan Wangji. ”If you feel like it, we probably should proceed right away.”

Wei Ying and Wen Qing share a look, glance at Wen Qionglin trailing after them, and nod. ”Sure,” Wei Ying says. ”Lead the way, Zewu-jun.”

Brother leads the way to Storm Peak’s receiving hall, a spacious room with a domed ceiling and thick stone walls with narrow windows that look a lot like they were designed with shooting arrows in mind. It’s chilly and damp, something Lan Wangji associates with the closeness of the sea. It must be freezing in the winter. There’s a cadre of cultivators present—probably either invited over or they all came to witness the event to be able to gossip about it later—and they all stare at Wei Ying with judgment in their eyes. Wen Qing gets sneers and Wen Qionglin dark mutters and hisses of demons and abominations.

Brother clears his throat, effectively silencing the room. ”Fellow cultivators and sect leaders. As previously stated, Young Master Wei has kindly agreed to help us as long as his requirements—a sanctuary for the Dafan Wen—are met. In doing so, he has placed himself and his companions, Doctor Wen and Wen Qionglin, under the Lan protection and jurisdiction. In return, he and his companions will swear an oath to honor the rules we set up here. Should the oath be broken or the rules violated, punishment will be dealt with accordingly.” He pauses and gives Wei Ying a flat look. ”The one subjected to punishment will be Lan Wangji.”

Something furious and violent flashes across Wei Ying’s face as he hisses, ”Absolutely not!”

”Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says. 

He whirls to look at Lan Wangji and his eyes start to turn slightly red. ”You will not be our whipping boy, Lan Zhan!” he snaps. 

”May I suggest you first hear the rules you are to follow?” Brother asks, his tone indicating that this is, in fact, not a suggestion.

For a tense moment, Wei Ying stares darkly at Brother, then he grits through his teeth, ”Fine.”

Brother’s smile holds no warmth. ”One: you are ordered to listen to selected pieces from the Song of Clarity collection every day. What those pieces are will depend on the situation and you will have no say in the selection,” Brother says. ”Two: you are not allowed to fly out on your own without talking your plan through with at least two adult representatives of two different sects and convincing them on why you should be allowed to go through with your plan.” His lips twitch. ”And no, Wangji doesn’t count.”

Wei Ying’s eyes dart to where Jiang Wanyin is standing. His lip curls slightly before he turns his head, pointedly ignoring Wei Ying. Wei Ying doesn’t seem to mind. ”That’s all?” he asks, looking at Brother.

”That’s all,” Brother confirms.

”Hm. What about them?” he asks, jerking his chin at the Wen siblings.

”Doctor Wen will be assigned with the healers already present. Wen Qionglin will be asked to stay outside the fortress.”

”No,” Wei Ying says.

Brother raises a brow and his smile turns from cool to absolutely chilling. ”No?” 

”No,” Wei Ying repeats flatly. ”Wen Ning might be mostly dead but he’s still conscious and he has feelings. He is not a tool and he will not be tossed out like some discarded thing.”

Brother’s eyes flicker to Lan Wangji and then back to Wei Ying. ”What would you suggest?”

”Z-Zewu-jun?” Wen Qionglin says softly.

”Yes, Wen Qionglin?”

The sentient corpse bows deeply, his stiffness somewhat restricting his range of motion. ”If y-you allow it, I w-would like to help jie,” he says. ”S-she trained me t-to be her assistant.”

”Is that so?” Brother says, ignoring the furious whispers swelling in the room.

”Yes, Zewu-jun,” Wen Qing says and bows. ”If A-Ning could still fly, he would be a perfect Kaiju watcher as he doesn’t need to sleep. But as he can’t…well.” 

”And is that your condition to work with the healers?”

Wen Qing’s smile is as bland as her voice. ”You have a younger brother yourself, Zewu-jun. I feel like keeping the younger siblings safe is a congenital condition we older siblings all share.”

Brother hums but says nothing. Lan Wangji decides to take it as a good sign—at least it wasn’t an outright refusal.

The actual swearing-in is mostly for show. All sect leaders or sect representatives stand in the hall, watching as Wei Ying and the Wen siblings swear to respect the Lan authority and follow the rules—all two of them—set for them. Lan Wangji glances around and takes in the reactions, taking careful mental notes on those who look openly hostile.

When it’s done, Wen Qing smooths down her white Lan robes, folds her hands neatly in front of her, and says, ”Unless there’s something else, I would like to get straight to work. And I would like to start with Jin Zixuan.”

Lan Wangji escorts her and Wen Qionglin to Jin Zixuan’s room, and an un-subtle hand sign from Jiang Wanyin sends Yu Qiaolian after them. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving Wei Ying behind but he’s reasonably sure Brother will keep him safe. They are under Lan protection now, after all. And there’s the debriefing—Lan Wangji has told Wei Ying everything that happened but Brother will fill him in on everything else.

The healers, while suspicious of the surname Wen, are also ridiculously awed by the mere thought of working alongside the famous Wen Qing. She ignores their wide eyes and concentrates on Jin Zixuan, talks to him in a tight, clinical voice as she gently but efficiently unwraps the stump. It looks crude, the wound angry red and jagged despite the good work Yu Qiaolian did when she cut it. The stump shows no black tendrils which Wen Qing is visibly relieved about. She orders Jin Zixuan to perform several tests to assess the full extent of the damage: what is his range of motion and his current sense of balance; does he feel pressure or temperature changes and if he does, how he would describe the sensations; is there a phantom limb sensation; how his cut meridians cope with the invasive change and so on and so forth. The assessment takes the better part of the day and after, they all look as exhausted as Lan Wangji feels—all except for Wen Qing who’s almost vibrating with energy.

”You did a pretty good job with it,” she says to Yu Qiaolian. ”The cut was high enough and it’s clean. The stump could’ve been wrapped better but you were working with what you got and you were in a hurry. It hasn’t been too long yet for me to fix it. I’ll see to it as soon as possible. He also should get a prosthetic arm done at some point—it will be mostly cosmetic but it would help with his balance and help with his flying.” She turns to Jin Zixuan again. ”Are you in pain?”

Jin Zixuan shakes his head, slightly hunched over on the narrow bed, his torso bare and his robes pooled on his lap. ”Not really?”

”Define ’not really’,” Wen Qing says, looking unimpressed.

He sighs, irritated. ”Most days I don’t even notice it’s gone unless I try to grab something. But sometimes it feels like my whole arm is on fire, especially the places where the Kaiju Blue hit. I know it makes no sense because, well, it’s gone. That lasts for…” he shrugs, an exaggeratedly casual move. ”Some while and then it’s gone again.”

”Hm,” Wen Qing says. She flicks out her acupuncture needles and leans over Jin Zixuan who, to his credit, doesn’t try to flinch away but sits absolutely still as she starts to place them everywhere on his left side. It seems almost random at first but Lan Wangji is sure there’s a pattern, a suspicion that’s confirmed when she flicks the last needle in place and Jin Zixuan seizes up with a strangled cry and then goes limp with relief.

”Thought so,” she says with a satisfied nod. 

Lan Wangji tunes Wen Qing out as she turns to explain to the still slightly star-struck healers the process of blocking nerve pain and traumatized meridians. He knows the basics of acupuncture but he doubts he needs to concentrate on the specifics. When something like this happens again, the first thing is to stop the Kaiju Blue corrosion from spreading. He watches as Wen Qionglin helps Jin Zixuan to lie down on his right side, supports his position with a few carefully placed pillows, and sets coal heaters on both sides to keep him warm during his treatment. When he’s done, he retreats to stand by the wall like a silent sentinel awaiting his sister’s orders of what to do next.

Satisfied that everything is under control, Lan Wangji inclines his head at Yu Qiaolian and leaves the room.

He’s making his way back to the reception hall when Jiang Wanyin’s voice from behind the corner stops him.

”You!” Jiang Wanyin hisses. 

”Oh, hey, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says, a smile audible in his voice.

”Don’t you ’Oh, hey Jiang Cheng’ me,” Jiang Wanyin growls. ”What the fuck are you doing here?”

”Uh, helping? Apparently?”

”With what?” Jiang Wanyin snaps. ”Your fucking sword is still on Lotus Pier, you idiot. And those monsters aren’t made of resentful energy.”

”Yeah, I know!” Wei Ying says, his voice laced with glee and seemingly in no way perturbed by Jiang Wanyin’s aggressive tone. ”Huaisang sent me some really interesting talismans the Dongying cultivator had come up with, I’m gonna go and have a chat with him.”

Jiang Wanyin snorts. ”How? He doesn’t speak Chinese and you, as far as I’m aware, don’t speak the Dongying language.”

”I’ll have you know that the language of talismans is all we need,” Wei Ying declares in such a haughty tone that Lan Wangji can see his face pulled in an arrogant pose.

There’s a sound of scuffling and a grumbled, ”Oh, fuck you. You’re such an embarrassment.” There’s a moment of silence and then a softer, ”How are you holding up? You look like shit.”

”It is what it is, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying says levelly. ”But it’ll be better now that they’re in Gusu instead of the Burial Mounds! The Lan food might be tasteless and terrible, but at least they won’t starve!”

A snort. ”You say that like it’s a grand accomplishment,” Jiang Wanyin says dryly. He falls silent for a moment and then adds, subdued, ”Look, I’m sorry—”

”Don’t Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying interrupts, soft but firm. ”I know you couldn’t help us. That’s why I left.”

Lan Wangji blinks. Wei Ying left? But—hadn’t Jiang Wanyin cast him out? That’s how the story goes, that’s what they told everyone!

”My arm still aches,” Jiang Wanyin says. ”You didn’t have to break it from five places, you know.”

”Says he who stabbed me in the stomach,” Wei Ying quips back and—

What?  

The following insults Wei Ying and Jiang Wanyin throw at each other fade into a distant hum in Lan Wangji’s head because—

Wei Ying had broken Jiang Wanyin’s arm but—

Jiang Wanyin hadn’t thrown him out of the sect and—

They’d come up with this together? 

And, most importantly, Jiang Wanyin stabbed Wei Ying??

It’s suddenly quiet again, drawing Lan Wangji from his thoughts, and then Jiang Wanyin says, ”A-jie misses you.”

”I miss her too,” Wei Ying says in almost a whisper. Then he clears his throat and adds, ”And of course I miss my didi.”

”Who’s your didi?” Jiang Wanyin snaps but it sounds wet and there’s a suspicious sniffling sound they both (all) ignore.

A short moment later, Jiang Wanyin asks, ”Where are you staying?”

”Um…I—”

”Never mind. Of course you’re staying with your Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying lets out a hissing sound. ”Jiang Cheng! What—he’s not—It’s just because I’m his responsibility—”

”Ooo, you’re his responsibility,” Jiang Wanyin echoes in a mocking tone that ends in a yelp and more scuffling, and then it’s silent again.

”I’m glad you’re not dead,” Jiang Wanyin says. ”Try not to embarrass everyone. And by everyone, I mean me.” With that he starts to walk, ignoring Wei Ying’s sputtered protests. 

His steps head straight to Lan Wangji and he has no time to duck away from his direct line of sight. However, when Jiang Wanyin sees him, he merely raises a brow and throws an offhand, ”He’s your problem now, you’re welcome,” over his shoulder.

And then he’s gone, leaving Lan Wangji staring bewildered at his retreating back. 

He hears steps from behind him and then—

”Wha—oh. Hi, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying says, trying and mostly failing to sound nonchalant. ”I, uh.” He ducks his head and rubs his neck. ”I guess you heard some of that?”

”Mn,” he says. Wei Ying has such a strange relationship with his brother.

”Don’t think too much about it,” Wei Ying says, walking to him and bumping their shoulders together. ”Jiang Cheng is…well. That’s just how he is.”

”Mn.”

”Soo…talismans!” Wei Ying says with a slightly forced cheer. 

Lan Wangji doesn’t comment on the change of topic. Instead, he says, ”Food first.”

Wei Ying deflates. ”But—”

”Food first.”

”You’re no fun,” Wei Ying grumbles but follows behind Lan Wangji as they make their way to the large dining area, looking curiously around. Lan Wangji wonders when was the last time he was around such a large amount of food.

”Most sects brought their own cooks but Jin Guangyao has organized the kitchens to run smoothly,” Lan Wangji says. ”There will be more cultivators coming and the kitchen needs to accommodate a wide variety of requirements.”

Wei Ying grins. ”Like no spice for the Lan and the best foods for the Jiang?” 

”Yes,” Lan Wangji deadpans. 

Wei Ying’s delighted laugh makes him feel warm for the rest of the day.

The Dual Cultivation part is, understandably, met with quite a lot of suspicion. While all sects know the basics, it isn’t a practice commonly used. When it is, it’s usually a highly intimate act, reserved for cultivation partners in sexual encounters (or at least that’s what the Lan manuscripts say). The idea to use it solely to share resources is new—which is why Brother asked him to recount his Dual Cultivation experience, in detail, to everyone in attendance.

To say Lan Wangji is not thrilled to explain his experience to the gathered audience is a staggering understatement. He isn’t fond of speaking in public in the first place, let alone talking about something like this. But he knows the knowledge is important, and, well. He doesn’t really have a choice.

”You could just refuse, you know?” Wei Ying says from his desk. He’s twirling his brush like his flute, heaps of paper around him.

”No, I could not,” he says flatly.

Wei Ying sighs. ”No, I suppose not. It’s not in your nature to refuse to help, Lan Zhan.” There’s a small smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

Lan Wangji wonders how and where Wei Ying gained the knowledge of his nature. 

”Would it help if you talked it through with me?” Wei Ying asks. ”I could just do something and you could pretend you’re alone and talking to yourself.”

He doesn’t have it in him to tell Wei Ying that there’s no chance he could pretend not to be aware of Wei Ying. He also isn’t in the habit of talking to himself. Instead, he says, ”That might be helpful,” and ducks his head to dodge Wei Ying’s beaming smile.

”When Kabei-sensei initially suggested Dual Cultivation, I was…hesitant.” In truth, he was horrified. ”After she explained to me that it does not need to be of a sexual nature, I was more inclined to listen. She—” he pauses for a moment, thinking about how to explain what she’d done. ”She flew closer so that we were facing each other and held her hands out in front of her—like this.” He raises his hands level to his heart, palms facing Wei Ying. ”She waited until I was ready and standing like her before gently pressing her palms against mine.

”The first contact was just that: palms against each other. Then she pushed her spiritual energy outwards…hm. It was not unlike transferring spiritual energy but instead of surging straight into my core—or into the injured area, if she was helping an injured cultivator—she directed it into my meridians. I think I need to talk with Doctor Wen about this. It might resemble the way the diagnostic scan works.” He picks up a brush and writes down a handful of notes.

”Kabei-sensei told me to let my qi flow into her and to open my mind. And that, I think, will be the hardest struggle,” he says slowly. ”Every sect cultivator, and rogue cultivator with a mentor, I presume, has been taught to hold shields around their minds and wall it against malicious intent and resentful energy. Opening up like that requires trust at a level not many here will be comfortable with. Lowering the mental shield means one is vulnerable.”

Wei Ying hums. ”Would it be possible to alter the mental wall to allow a version of Dual Cultivation while still leaving enough barriers to shield one’s mind?” he wonders aloud. 

”I am not sure,” Lan Wangji says slowly. ”The way Kabei-sensei and I mirrored each other’s moves, the way we understood each other—I do not know if it is possible with walls in place.”

”Hm,” Wei Ying says. He purses his lips and scribbles down a few haphazard notes, then takes another paper and starts to sketch out something that looks like a talisman. 

Lan Wangji wonders what it would be like to experience Wei Ying’s mind like that. The thought feels daring and intimate in the shared space and he looks away, takes a moment to clear his thoughts, and then returns to his narration.

”The initial touch of another’s mind was—” he pauses. ”Repulsive is the only description that comes to mind but it might not be the same for everyone.”

”No, it probably would be,” Wei Ying says absent-mindedly, still sketching. ”We’re not supposed to hear other people’s thoughts in our minds or share our brains with anyone. So when it happens, it is repulsive and invasive, and I guess most people would love nothing more than to claw their own brains out through their ears.” He’s frowning at his talisman design and thus completely misses the look of horror Lan Wangji can’t quite keep from his face. 

Did that happen to you? he wants to ask. Wei Ying had been thrown into the Burial Mounds and now that Lan Wangji knows about his missing core— 

The Burial Mounds are intimidating and dangerous even to cultivators. It must have been excruciating to endure that place with a damaged or missing core. 

How did you cope with it? Are you still hearing voices?

Wei Ying looks up with a frown. ”Hm? Something wrong?”

Lan Wangji shakes his head, hurries to smooth away the worry and fear. ”So that is a thing to concentrate on. Compatibility, as Nie Huaisang said.”

”Huaisang?”

”Mn. He pointed out that if the pairs’ cultivation does not need to be equally strong, then it is more about the compatibility of minds instead of the level of cultivation.”

Wei Ying snickers. ”Ha. If Huaisang isn’t careful, he’s going to reveal just how smart he is, and then what’s going to happen to his carefully cultivated image of a lazy young master.”

”I think Nie Mingjue might already have an idea,” Lan Wangji says wryly.

”Nah, that’s just a big brother thing,” Wei Ying says, waving his hand. ”Older siblings always know when their little brothers are up to no good.” His grin wavers and melts into wistfulness. ”Shijie always knew.”

”She is a very smart woman,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying beams. ”The best!” he declares proudly, almost like he’s challenging Lan Wangji to disagree. As if he would—Lady Jiang might not be the applauded beauty of the cultivation world but she’s kind, perceptive, and more tenacious than her frailty lets on. Lan Wangji has no qualms to agree with Wei Ying.

”Anyway! You were talking about Dual Cultivation!” Wei Ying exclaims, eyes deceptively bright. He waggles a finger at Lan Wangji. ”Don’t try to change the subject, Lan Zhan!”

”My apologies,” he says solemnly and then basks in yet another moment of successfully making Wei Ying laugh.

”The first contact of minds was disconcerting. The world around us—the sea, the Kaiju, the other cultivators—all of that vanished and left us within our memories. I witnessed both my own and her memories and…I can only assume they were some of our most meaningful ones.” He pauses, thinking back. ”There was a strange kind of need to stay in the memory.”

”A good one?” Wei Ying asks softly.

”My mother.”

”Ah. I can understand why that would be compelling.” Wei Ying meets his eyes and there’s a yearning in them, wistfulness, longing. ”And I guess there lies a danger, too?”

Lan Wangji nods. The memory of Mother’s house had called out to him and urged him to stay, and the memory of Wei Ying dancing away on the roofs of the Cloud Recesses with a wide smile on his face had been almost unbearable to walk away from. But the sad (violent, violating) memories had had another kind of pull. They’d snared him like a lure, clutching and tearing at him, trying to yank him into the swirl of fury and anguish, and letting them go had been just as hard as walking away from Mother’s smile.

He picks up his brush and writes down another set of notes. He definitely needs to talk with Doctor Wen before he speaks to the other cultivators but perhaps a consultation with Brother wouldn’t be a bad idea either. He’s always been more attuned to the healing arts and has sat through several lessons meant for the Lan mind healers.

”So, what happened then?” Wei Ying asks. He’s abandoned all pretense of working and is now leaning his chin on his hand, looking attentively at Lan Wangji.

”We aligned,” Lan Wangji says. That’s the best description he can think of—at first they were out of step, almost like they were jostling with each other and then they weren’t. ”It truly felt like we were one. There was no need to speak or even look at each other: what one thought, the other thought as well. When Kabei-sensei thought about the dome shield array, I knew how to draw it and what it would do. When I thought about the Chord Assassination, she knew the structure and technique with me.

”We thought as one and we moved as one. Our spiritual energies were intertwined and visible—you might want to talk to Nie Huaisang about that if you are interested—and we were stronger together than separate individuals.” He cocks his head and thinks. ”Actually…I think the sum of our combined qi was vastly more than it should have been.” He writes down more notes to discuss with Doctor Wen.

”What about the end?” Wei Ying asks. ”When she died.”

”Hm,” Lan Wangji says, frowns, and writes down more notes. ”I knew what she was about to do and could prepare myself somewhat before she shoved all her remaining spiritual energy into me and pulled back mere moments before the Kaiju hit her.” He frowns, trying to parse through the chaotic mess the events had been. ”She said goodbye,” he says slowly. ”I was too preoccupied with the massive burst of energy to realize she was gone.” 

This…would be a problem. Clearly, Kabei-sensei had known exactly what to do and, being experienced enough, had known how to extract herself from the connection. Had they stayed fully connected, her death would probably have torn Lan Wangji’s mind to shreds.

”That needs to be practiced,” Wei Ying says.

”Mn.”

”You want to go pester Wen Qing right away?”

Lan Wangji frowns at his notes, glances up at Wei Ying, then back at his notes. ”Is it pestering when it is for a valid reason?”

Wei Ying grins. ”Trust me, it’s always pestering when I’m around.”

”I see your problem,” Wen Qing says, frowning at Lan Wangji’s notes. ”We need to not only find some way to figure out compatibility and how to step into Dual Cultivation mid-flight and during combat, but also how to sever the connection without a traumatic backslash.”

”Exciting, right?” Wei Ying asks, leaning closer, almost vibrating with excitement.

”I will stab you,” Wen Qing says without looking up from the notes. ”Now, sit down and stop pestering me.”

Wei Ying winks at Lan Wangji. ”I told you so,” he whispers and then yelps when a needle suddenly pins his sleeve to the desk. 

Lan Wangji saw Wen Qing neither look up nor move her hand. He is very impressed. He also sits down.

Wen Qing reads through his notes and then starts to reread them, this time while making her own notes in a notebook. Wei Ying sighs and fidgets for some time before Wen Qing pushes a stack of low-grade talisman paper and a brush at him and he quiets down to scribble. It looks like something they’ve done a lot. It’s comfortable. Familiar.

The medical rooms Wen Qing has been granted are quiet apart from the scribbling and Lan Wangji finds he quite likes the calm. He has nothing to do so he closes his eyes and starts to meditate. At some point, he’s distantly aware of careful steps moving around the room, a soft clink of porcelain and the scent of tea, and a quiet, ”Thank you, A-Ning,” and then it’s quiet again.

When Wen Qing finally lets out a long billow of breath, sets her brush down, and says, ”Well,” Lan Wangji opens his eyes to see that it’s already getting dark. Several lanterns have been lit around the room, Wen Qing has filled over half of her notebook, and Wei Ying has fallen asleep over his notes. He has an ink smudge on his cheek. Lan Wangji wants to kiss it.

Wen Qing clears her throat and raises a brow, looking disturbingly similar to Brother when he thinks he’s being funny. Lan Wangji refuses to react. Instead, he activates a privacy talisman and says in a low voice, ”I want to help him.”  

Wen Qing says nothing, merely looks at him.

Lan Wangji glances at Wei Ying. ”I know his core is damaged. I—” He pauses, tries again. ”I am not asking you to betray his trust and tell me his secrets. I only—” He swallows, looks at Wen Qing, and whispers, ”I do not want to lose him.”

She closes her eyes for a moment. ”You are already helping him,” she says. ”Food. Rest. Trust. Safety. Keep doing that. Don’t leave him alone.”

”I will not,” Lan Wangji swears.

She nods. Wei Ying scrunches his nose, about to wake up and she quickly flicks his forehead and his face goes slack. Before Lan Wangji can question her, she says in a low, intense voice, ”Do not let him use the Tally unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Then she flicks at Wei Ying’s forehead again, this time with a lot more intent, and snaps, ”Wei Wuxian! You’re drooling on my desk!”

It escalates very quickly into a half-screaming match and ends with Wen Qing brandishing her needles and driving them out. Before she closes the door on a snickering Wei Ying’s face, she gives Lan Wangji one last, pointed look.

It surprises absolutely no one that Wei Ying and Rin-san get along splendidly. They both have a sideways approach to talisman design and it takes about half a day for Lan Wangji to feel hopelessly lost. He sits back with Nie Huaisang and watches as Wei Ying and Rin-san fill the table with talisman designs, argue loudly in their own tongues, correct each other’s lines, and radiate excitement.

”Put your vinegar away,” Nie Huaisang murmurs on their third day. He’s bent over his fan, painting some of the new talisman designs on it with cinnabar.

Lan Wangji gives him a scathing look but it only makes him snicker. ”No, honestly, Wangji. There’s nothing you need to be jealous about; Rin-san is completely enamored with Yu Qiaolian—not that I understand why, she’s scary—and Wei Wuxian comes home to you each night.”

Lan Wangji’s brush slips, resulting in an unforgivable blotch in the middle of his letter to Uncle. He stares at it, appalled.

”Lan Zhan—wait, what happened?” Wei Ying asks, looking up from his papers. He frowns and comes over, stares at the ink blotch for a moment, and then turns to Nie Huaisang.

”I didn’t do anything!” Nie Huaisang says, hurriedly placing his brush on its stand and raising his hands. ”We were just talking! I don’t know what happened, I really don’t!”

Wei Ying bends down and leans over the desk, looming over Nie Huaisang. ”Really?” he asks in a silky, dark voice that makes something shiver down Lan Wangji’s spine.

”Wei-xiongggg…” Nie Huaisang whines. ”There’s no need for that! I’m not some creature to intimidate and anyway, I’m not Wangji—the sultry look just doesn’t work for me!”

In a flash, Wei Ying’s looming shatters into a startled sputtering. ”What—Work for—what?” he yelps.

From his workstation, Rin-san comments something in a dry voice.

Wei Ying turns to him, exasperated. ”I don’t understand—”

”He said, ’Stop trying to seduce your lover and get back to work’,” Jin Guangyao says from the door. ”I think,” he adds with a politely confused air. ”I might have misunderstood.” 

Next to Jin Guangyao, Brother’s mild smile is firmly in place but Lan Wangji sees the indulgent look in his eyes and hates it. He also hates how his ears heat up and how there are too many people in the room and how he doesn’t know how to tell Wei Ying that he would very much like to be seduced, please and thank you.

Wei Ying lets out a high-pitched noise, runs back to his desk, and proceeds to bury himself in the work for the rest of the day. It takes a long time for his blush to go down, mostly because every now and then, when he tries to glance at Lan Wangji without him noticing (he does), it comes back with a vengeance.

Lan Wangji also doesn’t know how to tell him he’s even more beautiful like this.

Between Brother’s insight on mind healing, Wei Ying and Rin-san’s talismans, Wen Qing’s expertise, and Lan Wangji’s experiences backed up with Akiko-san’s theoretical knowledge, they come up with a way to first determine compatibility and then safely test how to initiate and break the Dual Cultivation connection. The first compatibility tests are done in the receiving hall with Wei Ying’s pairing-up talisman, and the obvious goal is to find as many compatible pairs as possible, preferably a pair where one is physically more powerful and the other more analytically inclined.

”Brains and brawn,” Huaisang says cheerfully, earning himself eye-rolls and awkward mutters from around the room. Nie Mingjue gives his brother an unimpressed look that makes him only smile brighter and waggle his brows.

Nie Mingjue returned after a week away. It surprised no one because, according to Nie Huaisang, ”Da-ge gets so bored without a good fight.” He brings with him a mixed group of cultivators in nondescript robes; one part of his trip to Qinghe was to alert Nie Huaisang’s contacts to reach out to every rogue cultivator available and inform them of the situation. With so much of the cultivation world’s resources concentrated on Zhoushan, the areas the sect patrols usually take care of are now left with thinner coverage. 

As a result, some rogue cultivators answered the call literally, wanting to be a part of the biggest night hunt of all time.

Lan Wangji turns when Jin Zixuan calls out a bewildered, ”Mian Mian?!” and recognizes Luo Qingyang, the Jin disciple who seceded from the Jin (and for a very good reason).

”Zixuan!” she calls back and rushes to him, only to stop short with a horrified look. ”What the fuck happened to your arm?”

”A Kaiju,” Jin Zixuan says.

”Hm. Better an arm than a leg. Or your head,” she says in a no-nonsense tone. ”What’s going on here?”

”Testing for Dual Cultivation compatibility,” Jin Zixuan says and hurriedly adds when her brows shoot up, ”Uh, the, um, nonsexual kind. This is for sharing qi.”

”Really?” she asks. ”Who came up with it?”

”Ahem!” Wei Ying calls out, drawing everyone’s attention to him. 

”Right. I probably should’ve known,” Luo Qingyang says, rolling her eyes, and Lan Wangji isn’t sure whether to be amused or offended.

”So, basically, this indicates which of you have an affinity to and with each other,” Wei Ying says, holding up a talisman. ”It’s nothing much, just a way to sort of light up everyone’s qi and visualize their interaction with each other? It’s really interesting because—”

”Ah, my apologies, Young Master Wei,” Brother interrupts with a slightly strained smile. ”I’m afraid we don’t have time for the technical and theoretical explanations right now. Perhaps those who are interested in the talisman design can contact you later?”

”Oh, um, yeah. Sorry,” Wei Ying says sheepishly. He still (again) has ink smudges on his cheek and on the sleeve of his (Lan Wangji’s) white robe. Lan Wangji can’t quite understand how anyone might see him as dangerous.

”We would like to make it clear that this test is not a requirement to stay,” Brother says. ”You are still allowed—and encouraged—to fight. It just means that without the boost from Dual Cultivation, you will be more vulnerable.”

”How do we know it’ll be safe?” a cultivator in Yao robes yells.

Brother looks at Jin Guangyao who, while holding himself tensely, nods. ”We will demonstrate,” Brother says calmly. He holds out his hand and Wei Ying hands him two talismans; one for Brother and one for Jin Guangyao. They activate the talismans, hold them in one hand, and raise their free hands to their chest levels. Almost immediately, warm white light starts to glow in the space between their palms, growing so bright it’s almost blinding.

”The brighter the light, the stronger the compatibility,” Wei Ying says. ”No light means no compatibility. Now, that doesn’t mean that combining qi through Dual Cultivation isn’t possible, it’s just going to be really really hard. And uncomfortable.”

Brother and Jin Guangyao lower their hands and step away from each other. Brother’s eyes are bright and warm and there’s a blush on Jin Guangyao’s cheeks. He looks very pretty and very coy and Lan Wangji really doesn’t want to know what is going on between them. If Brother is happy, that’s all he needs to know.

He turns, accidentally making eye contact with a Moling Su cultivator who has a sneer on her face. Lan Wangji isn’t sure what makes her think she’s qualified to have that expression so he stares at her long enough that she grows a bit pale and shuffles out of his line of sight. 

Next to him, Wei Ying snorts.

When it’s time to stop stalling and proceed with the actual testing, Jin Guangyao is truly in his element: he clears up the moderate chaos and has everyone settled in no time, instructions dictated in a clear, precise voice, and a stack of Wei Ying’s talismans at the ready.

”Wei-xiong, Wei-xiong! Aren’t you going to join in?” Nie Huaisang asks, waving his talismans like it was a simple handkerchief.

Wei Ying opens his mouth but Lan Wangji beats him to it. ”Wei Ying is already paired,” he says flatly. Let them think about what they want.

”Aww,” Nie Huaisang says, so theatrically disappointed that half of the room snickers and the other half rolls their eyes. It also serves to lighten the mood which probably is what Nie Huaisang was aiming for.

”Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue sighs, exasperated.

”Wangji and Young Master Wei will monitor with A-Yao and I,” Brother says. ”We expect a lot of matches and every single one needs to be written down.” He hands Wei Ying and Lan Wangji a notebook and a brush each. ”Shall we begin?”

In the end, it’s very simple and straightforward which is no surprise to Lan Wangji. Wei Ying’s talismans might be complicated but they work exactly as they are meant to. In no time, dimmer and brighter lights emanate from dozens of pairs. Some pairs, like the Nie brothers, are obvious while some other pairs have everyone raise their brows. Jiang Wanyin matches brightly with Akiko-san and blazingly bright with Nie Huaisang, drawing a look of unholy glee on Wei Ying’s face. The only reason the situation doesn’t dissolve into throwing insults and punches around is because Jiang Wanyin’s back is to Wei Ying and he’s too busy trying to scowl his bewilderment away to worry about Wei Ying’s reaction.

When they’re done, Jin Guangyao smiles politely at everyone. ”Thank you for your patience and participation. We shall now compile the information and draw up lists of possible pairings.”

”You will, of course, have a say with whom you would be willing and comfortable to test the Dual Cultivation process,” Brother says. ”It will be private and closely monitored by Doctor Wen.” He pauses. ”You are, of course, fully free to test this out yourselves but if you decide to do that, we would appreciate at least some kind of warning so that we can be ready in case something goes wrong.”

”What could go wrong?” Nie Mingjue asks, hands crossed over his chest, and barks ”What?” when Nie Huaisang lets out an exasperated groan.

Brother smiles, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s theatrics. ”There is a chance of qi-deviation and either pulling your partner dry or draining yourself.” He raises a brow and takes a slow look around the hall. ”I would recommend not trying that.”

Nie Mingjue inclines his head. ”Wise words from Zewu-jun,” he says solemnly before his eyes flicker to Luo Qingyang and away again. Their match had been one of the brightest in the room.

Wei Ying’s eyebrows shoot up and he shares a sly look with Nie Huaisang.

”No,” Lan Wangji says.

”I didn’t say anything!” Wei Ying protests.

Lan Wangji looks at him without a word and a moment later, Wei Ying visibly deflates, muttering sullenly under his breath. 

Lan Wangji suppresses a smile and ignores the knowing look Nie Huaisang throws his way.

Brother and Jin Guangyao volunteer again to lead by example and submit themselves as Doctor Wen’s first test pair. They agree on Lan Wangji being present due to his experience and Wei Ying because of his ideas on shield arrays. They fall into Dual Cultivation so easily that Lan Wangji is absolutely certain they’ve practiced it alone, especially considering their seamless switch to manipulating their combined qi at Wen Qing’s command.

”Your combined level is astonishingly high,” she mutters as she circles them, careful not to disrupt their spiritual energy flow too much. ”Okay, drop out of sync when you’re ready.”

They practice entering and leaving the Dual Cultivation several times before Wen Qing makes them stop and circulate their qi alone for a moment. 

”You know what’s coming next,” she says bluntly. ”I’m going to sever your connection by force and we’ll see how it goes from there. Try not to lash out, please. If your reaction proves dangerous to yourself or the people present, I will knock you out.”

Jin Guangyao’s eyes flicker to Lan Wangji and Wei Ying and he visibly hesitates. 

”A-Yao, whatever happens in this room, stays within this room,” Brother says softly. ”You can trust them.”

For a moment, Jin Guangyao says nothing. Then he takes a deep breath and nods once. 

”Let’s proceed then,” Wen Qing says. 

Lan Wangji isn’t sure what to expect but almost as soon as Brother and Jin Guangyao align, Wen Qing flicks a needle into the base of Jin Guangyao’s skull. He drops like a sack of rice right into Wen Qionglin’s waiting arms as the combined qi implodes, making Lan Wangji’s ears pop.

Brother falls on his knees a mere moment after Jin Guangyao, eyes wide and wild, reaching out with a strangled sound. 

”A-Yao—A-YAO!”

”He’s fine, Zewu-jun,” Wen Qionglin says calmly, gently holding Jin Guangyao.

”Lan Xichen, snap out of it,” Wen Qing says sharply. ”Your qi is spiraling out of control.” She’s holding a set of needles, obviously ready to knock Brother out. 

With a visible effort, Brother heaves a breath, clenches his hands into fists, and pushes himself back up. It takes him a moment to regulate his breathing and for the sickly pallor recede from his cheeks but he manages, and then he looks almost like his normal self. Almost. But not quite.

”Tell me how you feel,” Wen Qing says.

”Can’t you—”

”No,” she says, sounding mildly apologetic. ”I need you to talk me through what happened first.”

Brother swallows, closes his eyes, and takes a couple of more deep breaths. ”It felt horrible,” he says in almost a whisper. ”He was in my mind and then he wasn’t—where his presence was, a dark void stared back at me, and when I tried to reach out for him, there was nothing—” He shudders.

Next to Lan Wangji, Wei Ying lets out a small sound of disquiet. Lan Wangji glances at him from the corner of his eye, takes in the widened eyes and the way Wei Ying’s posture hunches slightly forward. Wen Qing is fully concentrated on Brother so Lan Wangji braces himself and brushes Wei Ying’s hand. His mind blanks when Wei Ying grabs his hand and twines their fingers tightly together.

”Your connection was severed suddenly and violently,” Wen Qing says. ”Regulate your breathing and circulate your qi. Reach out for the frayed edges of the snapped connection and reel them in—”

Under Wen Qing’s calm instructions, Brother collects himself and backs away from the brink of qi deviation. When he’s feeling stable again, Wen Qing scans his meridians and his core and nods at Wen Qionglin. He gently pulls the needle off from Jin Guangyao’s neck and he wakes up with a gasp.

What follows is an emotional moment Lan Wangji feels uncomfortable to witness. 

”Ready for round two?” Wen Qing asks later, after Brother and Jin Guangyao have calmed down and drank some tea to ease their nerves.

”No,” Brother says grimly. ”But it needs to be done anyway.”

This time, Wen Qing lets them soak in their shared qi for a while before she tells Jin Guangyao to activate the shield array talisman Nie Huaisang and Rin-san have been modifying with Wei Ying’s help. It flickers to life with brilliant, shimmering light, and in no time Jin Guangyao has it moving like a clockwork, adding layers and shifting them around with ease that makes Wei Ying let out an approving sound.

Behind the pair, Wen Qing catches Lan Wangji’s eyes. He has a moment to brace himself and then Brother drops down, and just as happened with Jin Guangyao, Wen Qionglin is there to catch him.

The spiritual energy, however, doesn’t implode.

It explodes. 

In a flash, Lan Wangji whirls around and wraps Wei Ying in his arms, ignoring his startled squeak. All senior Lan cultivators’ outer robes are heavily embroidered with protective talismans, and he pushes more spiritual energy into them, turning it into an impenetrable shield. Around them, the frayed edges of the shield array flash past and slam into the walls. It feels like being in the middle of a storm and when it’s over, all that’s left is silence that seems to be vibrating with agony.

”What the fuck?” Wei Ying hisses, peeking over Lan Wangji’s shoulder. ”What the actual fuck was that?”

When Lan Wangji turns slightly, he sees Jin Guangyao on his knees, face twisted in a snarl. Wen Qionglin is holding his arms behind his back, keeping him from attacking Wen Qing. Brother is on the floor, still out cold.

”He’s fine, just unconscious,” Wen Qing says to Jin Guangyao. ”Calm down or I’ll sedate you.”

”If he’s hurt, I’ll kill you,” Jin Guangyao hisses with so much vitriol that Lan Wangji can’t suppress a flinch.

Wen Qing hums. ”Yes. I suppose you would. You definitely have the experience to follow through with that promise.”

”Jie—”

”Hush now, A-Ning,” she says mildly. 

Jin Guangyao bares his teeth, breathing heavily. Then he shudders and wilts in Wen Qionglin’s hold, hanging his head. It takes him quite long to look up again but instead of hatred, this time his eyes are filled with desperate hope. ”Is he truly alright?” he asks. ”Please, Doctor Wen, tell me he is alright. I—he was with me and then he was gone and—” he pauses.

Lan Wangji is almost sure he isn’t acting. He’s never seen Jin Guangyao lose his composure, lose himself like this. He’s always been careful to maintain a carefully cultivated image of a gentleman and this blatant display of aggression shatters that image completely.

”He’s perfectly alright,” Wen Qing says. ”Can you tell me anything more of how you felt right before you exploded?”

Jin Guangyao blinks. ”I—what?”

Wen Qing raises a brow and looks pointedly around. ”When I severed the connection, you lashed out. Violently.”

”That was actually cool,” Wei Ying says, stepping away from Lan Wangji’s protective embrace. ”But also, what the fuck?” He pauses and then adds, ”I bet I could modify that design into actual projectiles—”

”Not in my infirmary,” Wen Qing says as she eyes Jin Guangyao who’s staring at the battered and scorched walls, speechless with his mouth open in a blatant shock. ”Are you feeling less murderous now?”

”I—yes. My apologies, Doctor Wen.”

”It was an understandable reaction,” she says. ”And if nothing else, I’m sure we all rest more easily knowing how much he means to you.”

Without further ado, Wen Qing removes the needle from Brother’s neck and he wakes up with a gasp, immediately reaching for Jin Guangyao who scrambles into his lap. 

”A-Yao, I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re both fine,” Brother says, cradling Jin Guangyao’s face. Something about Jin Guangyao’s emotional distress must bleed through because Brother seals his lips over Jin Guangyao’s in an almost feral display of passion that makes Lan Wangji feel a bit nauseous.

Wei Ying lets out a high, embarrassed sound and grabs Lan Wangji’s hand, dragging him out. ”We don’t need to be here, no one needs to be here, we’ll be on our way, thanks Qing-jie, see you A-Ning, let’s go Lan Zhan what the fuck!”

A couple of weeks after Lan Wangji brought Wei Ying and the Wen siblings to Storm Peak, the next Kaiju attack happens.

It’s early morning and Lan Wangji is in the dining hall, gathering a selection of food for Wei Ying for whenever he finally wakes up. He tends to stay up late and sleep late, a routine Lan Wangji finds himself surprisingly comfortable working around. He likes to go to bed to the sound of Wei Ying scribbling down his notes and muttering at himself, and he revels in the mornings when he meditates in the silence across from Wei Ying’s relaxed, sleeping form before waking him up with a carefully selected breakfast. Today, he even has a bottle of chili oil for Wei Ying and he can barely keep down a satisfied curl of his lips.

And then, the doors slam open.

”Kaiju alert!” a cultivator in Nie colors yells. ”Kaiju alert!”

And just like that, the contentment is gone.

Brother stands up, outwardly calm but a pinched worry lines between his eyes. ”Black alert?” he asks.

The Nie cultivator nods. ”One black, no red yet.”

At Jin Guangyao’s suggestion, they set up a warning system where the first sighting results in a black flare, and when the Kaiju is seen on the move and heading towards the shore, they use red flares. It’s not foolproof but it’s better than nothing. 

”Thank you,” Brother says to the Nie cultivator who bows and hurries out of the dining hall. 

Brother shares a look with Lan Wangji, then straightens himself and the familiar mantle of a commander settles on his shoulders. ”Attention everyone!” he says, using a talisman that projects his voice throughout the whole Storm Peak. ”This is a black alert. A Kaiju has emerged. Everyone to their stations.”

Lan Wangji lets out a breath and leaves with his breakfast haul, hurrying to his and Wei Ying’s shared room. Grim-faced cultivators rush past him, some more wild-eyed than others, but they each move with determination. They have practiced this. They know where to go. And hopefully, they’ll come back alive.

In their room, Wei Ying is already up, tying up his robe. ”So it begins,” he says, eyes dark and his mouth set in a tense line. His fingers get tangled in his hair and he hisses, yanking at them. 

”Allow me,” Lan Wangji says, holding out a filled bun in exchange for his ribbon. It’s the red one Lan Wangji bought him—his old one went mysteriously missing after the storm in Tangxi and neither of them has been particularly invested in finding it.

”I’ll eat later—” Wei Ying starts, impatient but stops when Lan Wangji refuses to move from his way.

”Eat now,” Lan Wangji says, grips him by the shoulders, and gently turns him around.

Wei Ying huffs but acquiesces, and by the time Lan Wangji is done with his hair, he’s eaten two buns and grabs a third on the go.

Cultivators hurry to the middle courtyard from every corner of Storm Peak as they make their way to Brother standing on the small dais in the corner. He takes a long look at Lan Wangji’s handwork in Wei Ying’s hair but keeps his expression carefully bland and merely nods at them, focusing on the gathering cultivators.

Brother clears his throat, projecting his voice over the small crowd. ”A short moment ago, a black alert came through. As we’ve established, that means one sighting of one Kaiju who is behind the Reefs. We don’t yet know how big it is or what it looks like but we have practiced what to do when it arrives.

”Pair up. Make sure you have your first aid kits and emergency flares with you and a selection of the new shield array talismans. Make sure you also have Young Master Wei’s new version of stasis talismans with you in case of a Kaiju Blue contamination. Check your protective face scarves. Remember: don’t make reckless decisions, and look after each other.” His eyes sweep over the cultivators, sharp and assessing.

”The leading pair heading out is myself and Jin Guangyao with Sect Leader Jiang and Akiko-san as the backup pair. Wangji and Young Master Wei, and Nie Zonghui and Nie Huaisang will lead with talismans. Secondary and tertiary groups will be waiting and ready to go as previously discussed.”

Lan Wangji looks at the cultivators milling in the courtyard, a mixed crowd of different sects and backgrounds, some more disciplined than others. Despite the odds of everyone coming back unharmed, everyone seems willing and capable of fighting the oncoming threat.

His eyes meet Brother’s and they nod at each other. Without a word, they both draw their swords and step on them. Next to Brother, Jin Guangyao’s face is white but there’s a stubborn set on his shoulders as he steps on his sword. 

Wei Ying doesn’t say a word, just shoots him a mischievous grin and hops on Bichen like she’s his own and leans confidently back, trusting Lan Wangji to hold his weight. They rise rapidly and fly out, Brother and Jin Guangyao leading the way, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian on their other side, and the Nie pair on their other side, with a supporting crew of paired cultivators following them.

This is the first time they’re testing Dual Cultivation-based shield arrays in a fight. They have tested them extensively in a controlled environment but even a simulated fight is still play-acting. No matter how much they’ve trained, they still don’t yet know what will happen when they are put to the test.

They’ve barely moved out of the bay when a red flare lights up the sky.

The Kaiju is on its way to them.

He feels it when Brother and Jin Guangyao meld. It’s almost seamless; one moment it’s just Brother, the next moment there are two shining beacons radiating spiritual power. A bright flash, and a shimmering dome array appears, covering Brother and Jin Guangyao so that it seems almost like they’re standing inside a glowing bubble. Following their lead, half a dozen other bright bubbles pop into existence all around them. 

”Would you power this up for me?” Wei Ying asks Lan Wangji without looking at him, holding out a talisman that’s even more complicated than that of Jin Guangyao’s. Curious to see what it does, Lan Wangji floods it with his qi. There’s a whooshing sound, and a glittering construct of interconnected and multilayered arrays flickers to life. It’s white and pale blue, replicating the Lan colors, intertwined with fiery red that looks like flames.

”Yay!” Wei Ying whoops and shoots a grin over his shoulder. ”I gotta tell Rin-san that this worked! Or at least it didn’t collapse on activation so that’s a win!”

”What is it meant to do?” Lan Wangji asks, leaning closer so that his lips almost brush Wei Ying’s ear.

Wei Ying shivers slightly. ”It’s—ah, it’ll reflect the used amount of force back to the one dealing it,” he says. ”If it works and, more importantly, if it holds…well. That would be pretty fucking great, right?”

The idea sounds painfully simple—a shield that mirrors back what is thrown at it but the construct is anything but. He tries to make some sense of the layers and feels a throb behind his eyes. Once more it seems like Wei Ying has outdone himself.

The Kaiju, now visible when the seabed rises up, looks both the same and completely different from the previous one. The thick, black, scales are the same as are the sharp teeth and black eyes glittering with some kind of intelligence. But where the previous one had a long and bendy neck, this one’s is shorter with massive jaws. It has ridges around its neck and with a sinking feeling, Lan Wangji realizes that the Chord Assassination technique won’t work as it did the last time.

He nudges Bichen closer to Brother.

”I noticed,” Brother says. His eyes are shining with the power of the shared qi. ”But I think there is a possibility—see the gap under its jaw? There’s a crease that helps it to move its head. That’s a weak spot.”

Lan Wangji nods.

As Brother and Jin Guangyao move to get in position, the others start to swarm the Kaiju, trying to irritate it to stop and focus on them instead of heading straight to the mainland and Storm Peak. Spiritually charged arrows and harpoons do little to no damage but they manage to annoy the Kaiju enough that it tries to swat them out of the sky like they were flies.

A Yao-Ouyang pair is just a bit too slow to move out of the way and the Kaiju’s front paw smacks right into them—

—And the shield array holds.

The cultivators flail like the shield array was a ball kicked around but it holds. A small amount of tension leaks from Lan Wangji and he feels the answering relief in Wei Ying’s whooped ”Yess!”

After a lot of feinting and maneuvring, Brother and Jin Guangyao finally manage to dart around the Kaiju to wrap the spiritually enhanced, tightly woven cord around its neck. The Chord Assassination feels like a star exploding—it’s so much brighter and purer than what Lan Wangji had managed, and he’s viscerally reminded of just how powerful Brother actually is. Brother tends to keep his strength hidden more often than not but when he uses his full potential…

The Kaiju pauses and roars, shaking its head and yanking itself forward before it turns around and bares its massive teeth. It slashes at the milling cultivators, this time catching an unfortunate pair whose shield doesn’t hold. Its claws rip into and through the cultivators, spraying blood and viscera, drowning their screams under its roars.

Another pair falls, then another, and another, and all the while Brother holds on tight, drawing strength from his core and the Dual Cultivation. Jin Guangyao darts around him like a hummingbird, the layers on their shield array swirling and changing continuously as he adjusts it to cover them—and especially Brother—as fast as he can.

If the cord they use was something else, it would’ve snapped. But this one is a Lan spiritual cord, specifically made to channel spiritual energy in vast quantities, so instead of snapping, the Kaiju keeps dragging Brother along. It’s been gradually making its way closer to the mainland and as the water gets shallower, more of its physique is revealed. 

And specifically its tail. 

It’s an ugly thing, long and scaly with a cluster of wicked-looking spikes in the end. It sways from side to side before suddenly lashing out like it has a mind of its own, making a high, whistling sound as it cuts through the air. Brother and Jin Guangyao manage to dodge by only a hair’s breadth but another pair isn’t as lucky. The tail smashes right into them, shattering their shield array and killing both cultivators on impact.

”They won’t survive it if that hits them!” Wei Ying yells at him as the Kaiju turns with the clear intention of ending Brother and Jin Guangyao. ”We have to help!”

”Do you trust the shield?” Lan Wangji asks.

”Yes!” He glances at Lan Wangji and bites his lip. ”Look, I know the rules forbid me from doing anything reckless but, really? I’m almost sure this works and if it does, it’ll be a huge help! But we need your brother to stay alive!”

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says and pushes more power into Bichen, holding Wei Ying tighter as his hands move to manipulate the array until it’s swirling so fast Lan Wangji can no longer make out the individual layers or characters. 

From the corner of his eye he sees the tail approaching and behind it, Jiang Wanyin desperately speeds after it in a heroic but most likely futile attempt to hold it back with Zidian. He won’t make it, though, and Lan Wangji almost doesn’t make it either, throwing them in front of the tail at the last moment.

The Kaiju’s incredible power nearly knocks them off his sword but the array holds.

The array works.

The impact reverberates back from the shield array, tossing all cultivators here and there like leaves in a storm, and when it hits the sea, it raises a wall of water almost high enough to drench them all. The Kaiju screeches as its tail breaks and its lower jaw shatters, spraying Kaiju Blue around. 

The monster roars and writhes as Brother pushes more of himself into the Chord Assassination, the cord shining almost as brightly as Jiang Wanyin’s famed whip. And with a final, heaving wrench, the cord slips from around the Kaiju’s throat into the gaping wound where its jaw used to be, and with no protective scales in the way, it cuts through easily.

With a final, defiant scream and a mighty splash, the Kaiju is dead.

In Lan Wangji’s arms, Wei Ying whoops with feral joy and turns to look at him. There’s sweat on his brow and blood in his teeth and Lan Wangji loves, loves, loves him.

”Ha! That’ll teach it, right Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t reply.

He grabs Wei Ying’s neck and kisses him straight on his bloodied mouth.

Jin Guangyao’s organizing skills are as formidable at sea as they are on land. He reminds everyone to take their qi-replenishing pills, delegates uninjured cultivators to gather the bodies and bind them with a couple of Wei Ying’s binding talismans, and makes sure each and every cultivator contaminated by Kaiju Blue has at least one stasis talisman applied on the injury to keep the spreading corrosion under control. Even with the help of the Dongying cultivators’ light-as-air talismans (as Wei Ying named them), the trip back is a strain on the uninjured cultivators, meaning the journey back to Storm Peak takes time. And all the while Lan Wangji vacillates between elation and panic.

He kissed Wei Ying.

Wei Ying hadn’t pushed him off his sword so maybe he liked it?

But Wei Ying also hadn’t kissed back. Had he been frozen by fear or disgust?

Wei Ying had hugged him so clearly he doesn’t hate Lan Wangji.

Wei Ying is tense but leans into Lan Wangji’s hold, as trusting as ever. Is that because he wants to or because he has to—because Lan Wangji is his only way back from the sea?

Lan Wangji is holding Wei Ying in his arms and he never wants to let go.

Wei Ying’s thumb rubs almost absent-mindedly at Lan Wangji’s wrist and it’s slowly unraveling his control.

Lan Wangji is hard and he’s mortifyingly aware of how close their bodies are pressed together. He wants to clutch Wei Ying even closer, ruck up his robes, push into him, and stay there forever.

Wei Ying isn’t moving away. Does he welcome Lan Wangji’s advances? Or does he even realize how much Lan Wangji wants him?

When the coastline emerges from the dusk-dim horizon, Lan Wangji can’t quite help the slow breath of relief.

A crowd is waiting for them, ready to take over handling the corpses and taking care of the wounded. Most of them stumble when they step off their swords. Brother’s face is grey with exhaustion and the rest of them aren’t much better. 

”Everyone, get some rest,” Brother says, nearly swaying on his feet. ”We will have a meeting tomorrow after midday.” He turns to talk with Jin Zixuan while Jin Guangyao walks over to Madam Jin—ah, no, to Bai Mingzhu. Wen Qing takes one long look at Wei Ying who gives her a tired wave. She apparently deems that sufficient and hurries to look after the wounded.

Without a word, tension sparkling under his skin, Lan Wangji steers Wei Ying away from the courtyard and toward their room. There’s a communal bath available but luckily, everyone knows better than to expect Lan Wangji to bathe in public so there will be hot water available in their rooms. 

”I—um,” Wei Ying says when they reach their room. 

Lan Wangji slides the door shut behind him. He doesn’t quite dare to look him in the eye, hesitant to face whatever emotions flicker across Wei Ying’s face, so he clears his throat and says, ”Feel free to bathe first. Please.”

For a moment, Wei Ying doesn’t move. Then he lets out a small sigh and makes his way behind the privacy screen to undress. His soiled robes slap wetly on the floor—is it just Lan Wangji’s imagination or does it sound petulant? Or angry? A moment later there’s a sound of disturbed water and then a soft groan of pleasure that makes Lan Wangji’s breath catch and heat pool in his groin.

He shakes his head, pushes his errant (wishful, feverish) thoughts aside, and settles his mind with familiar routines. He gathers Wei Ying’s used robes with a murmured apology and sets them next to the door to be collected later, prepares tea for himself, and places a bottle of baijiu for Wei Ying. He knows to expect the soft knock on the door to receive a covered tray laden with simple but nourishing food; rice and fish stew and filled buns and broth and pickled vegetables, and a small jar of chilli paste that makes his mouth tingle just with its fiery red color. The heating talismans make sure the food will stay piping hot until they’re ready to eat but he still checks everything, just in case.

Hesitant steps behind him prompt him to turn to look and even though he knew what to expect, he wasn’t prepared. Wei Ying stands in the middle of the room in Lan Wangji’s silk underrobe, the fabric nearly translucent and indecently (gloriously) pressed against his damp skin. His hair is wet and the robe drinks the moisture up, hugging his frame. He’s still way too thin but it doesn’t diminish Lan Wangji’s want in the least.

”I—there wasn’t—” Wei Ying starts, then ducks his head, bites his lip, glances to the side. 

Lan Wangji swallows. His throat is dry and the swallow is a dry click so he tries again. He doesn’t dare to try speaking.

”Lan Zhan—” Wei Ying says. ”If—Look. I—” The words stumble out in stops and starts which is uncommon for him. Wei Ying is usually talkative and his words come easily, without a struggle. But not now.

Lan Wangji stands, finally trusting his legs to hold. He doesn’t know what to do—he knows what he wants to do but he doesn’t know if that would be welcome. Before today, he wouldn’t need to think, he would’ve simply walked to Wei Ying, wrapped another robe around him, scolded him for trying to catch a cold. But now—

Lan Wangji kissed him.

And that changes everything.

Wei Ying huffs out a small laugh that doesn’t sound happy at all. ”You don’t have to say anything,” he says, not meeting his eyes. ”It’s fine. We can just—” He shrugs slightly, his right shoulder rising a bit higher than his left. ”I understand.”

”What—” Lan Wangji says. ”What do you understand?” 

Wei Ying glances at him, a tiny, self-deprecating smile playing on the corner of his mouth. ”Thank fuck we aren’t dead, you know?” he says, averting his eyes again. ”Heat of the moment. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Realization hits him hard enough to make him gasp in a startled breath. Wei Ying thinks Lan Wangji regrets the kiss? He needs to make it absolutely, unquestionably, irrevocably clear to him that Lan Wangji does not. ”Mn. I am indeed glad we are not dead. And it was in the heat of the moment,” he says slowly. 

Wei Ying opens his mouth and then snaps it closed as Lan Wangji approaches him. He blinks and his eyes go a bit wide when Lan Wangji doesn’t stop at an appropriate distance but crowds right into his space, close enough that it would take only leaning in to kiss him again.

”The only thing I regret,” Lan Wangji says in a low voice, ”is that our first kiss tasted like blood.”

Wei Ying’s lips part slightly in a silent, Oh. 

”I would like to make amends,” Lan Wangji whispers. He leans closer slowly, carefully, giving Wei Ying ample time to move away if he so wishes.

Clearly, he does not.

Wei Ying’s lips are soft and warm under his, yielding, submissive—until he lets out a small, hungry sound and surges forward. They clash, eager and frantic and wanting and it’s both uncoordinated and glorious, and Lan Wangji hates it when he has to draw back to breathe.

”Do you really—?” Wei Ying says, clenching Lan Wangji’s lapels so hard his knuckles are white. ”You know what I am and you know—I’m not like you, I’m not your equal and I’ll never be again—I understand if you—”

Lan Wangji kisses him again to stop the frantic words pouring from Wei Ying’s mouth. He tries to voice his protests against Lan Wangji’s lips but he swallows them all up, coaxing his unnecessary protests to calm down until he’s warm and pliant in his arms.

”Yes,” Lan Wangji says when he lifts his head to end the kiss only to rest their foreheads together and close his eyes. ”I know what you are, Wei Ying. You are a man with a compassionate heart and a bright and smart and strong and righteous mind. You are and have always been my equal.” He pauses and adds with all the devotion he can pour from his heart, ”It has only ever been you, Wei Ying. It can only ever be you.”

”Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying gasps, sounding strangled. ”You can’t mean that.”

He raises his head and wipes at the tear streaks on Wei Ying’s cheeks with his thumbs. ”I can,” he says. ”And I do.”

”Lan Zhan—” Wei Ying says hesitantly. ”Aren’t you afraid that this—us—is impossible?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t know how to articulate that being afraid of them is the furthest thing in his mind. Instead, he says, ”No,” and ”You like the impossible,” and a moment later, ”Wei Ying, we can attempt the impossible together.”

For a moment, Wei Ying stares at him with unbelieving eyes before a brilliant smile stretches on his face. ”I can’t believe you just said that!” he cries. ”Lan Zhan! Quoting Yunmeng Jiang’s motto at me!”

Hiding his smile, he gently pushes the cackling Wei Ying to the table and says, ”Eat. I will wash up.”

Wei Ying’s snorts accompany him to the bath. The water is still warm and it makes his cheeks heat up when he thinks Wei Ying was here mere moments ago, naked. Perhaps later, he would agree to share a bath with Lan Wangji. He thinks of having Wei Ying’s nude body stretched in front of him in the bath, perhaps leaning against his chest, and then hisses when his cock fills so fast it almost hurts. And he then spends an agonizingly long moment meditating his erection away because it would be unseemly to walk around with it blatantly on display.

When he’s finally done with his bath (and his cock has gone down, thankfully), he dries up and puts on a clean robe. It’s soft cotton and not as clinging as Wei Ying’s silk robe but Wei Ying’s eyes rove along his body with appreciative air. He’s already eaten most of the fish stew and all but four buns and is now sipping his wine with a contented air. The remaining bits of rice in his bowl are bright red. Lan Wangji wonders if his lips would burn if they kissed now.

”I left you all the vegetables,” Wei Ying says with a magnanimous air and a twinkle in his eye.

Lan Wangji raises a brow. ”How very generous of you,” he says with a completely straight face and picks up his bowl with Wei Ying’s delighted laugh warming his chest.

Wei Ying chatters as Lan Wangji eats, talking through the battle, the flight patterns, the way Jin Guangyao altered the shield array on the go, and what changes he’ll make to their own array as soon as possible. It doesn’t take him long to flag and the third time he yawns in the middle of an explanation of how to tie shared qi into a semi-permanent talisman, Lan Wangji sets down his chopsticks.

”You are tired,” he says. 

”No I’m not!” Wei Ying retorts immediately and then looks dismayed when he yawns again. ”Fine. Maybe I am. But…I don’t want to go to bed, Lan Zhan, it’s lonely there!” His pout is exaggerated but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

Lan Wangji wants it gone.

”It will not be lonely with us both there,” he says, satisfied when Wei Ying blinks and then blushes slightly. ”Wei Ying, go to bed.”

He bites his lip, then nods, and darts a quick kiss on Lan Wangji’s cheek before leaving the table. 

Even though Lan Wangji tries to hurry—as much as his deeply ingrained habits allow him to hurry things like eating or his evening ablutions—by the time he approaches his bed, Wei Ying is already soundly asleep. The sight of him curled up in Lan Wangji’s bed, relaxed and trusting, makes something deeply possessive and satisfied settle in his chest. This is where Wei Ying belongs, in Lan Wangji’s bed, in Lan Wangji’s life. 

He moves quietly and slips under the covers, gathers his beloved in his arms, and falls asleep feeling happier than he’s ever been before.

He wakes up sweaty and suffocated under Wei Ying’s weight. His morning erection digs painfully into the crease of Wei Ying’s hip and his chest is damp from the drool dribbling from Wei Ying’s mouth but it’s his insistent bladder that forces him to move. Slightly disgruntled by how his own body betrays him so, he carefully moves Wei Ying to the side, unbearably fond when his nose scrunches up and he makes an unhappy sound. 

After relieving himself and rinsing his mouth, he makes his way back to the sleeping area and stops when he sees Wei Ying sitting up, looking vaguely confused.

”Wei Ying,” he says. ”You do not need to wake up yet.”

”No, I know, but—” he yawns and stretches, revealing his chest and the Wen brand as his robe slips down his shoulder. ”I need to,” he says, making a face and jerking his head to the side.

Lan Wangji huffs, amused. ”You can say you have to urinate. We Lan have bodily functions just like everyone else.”

”Scandalous!” Wei Ying gasps in mock outrage but he shuffles up and hurries off. 

Lan Wangji refuses to stare at the way the silk robe clings to him. Instead, he straightens up the bed and then sits down, slightly unsure of what to do next. He doesn’t want to presume and expect Wei Ying to return to do anything else but sleep but at the same time, he doesn’t also want to indicate he isn’t against it. Merely sitting and waiting seems foolish so in the end he closes his eyes and runs his spiritual energy through his meridians a couple of times.

The sound of steps shuffling in and stopping close to him prompts him to open his eyes. Wei Ying stands in almost touching distance, hands behind his back, head ducked, making him look almost coy.

”Morning, Lan Zhan,” he says, lips twitching almost like he’s holding back a smile.

”Good morning.” 

”I don’t—aish!” Wei Ying slaps his hands on his face. ”I don’t know what to do now!” he wails in a muffled voice. ”Lan Zhan, what have you done to me?”

”I believe I kissed you,” he replies, unbearably fond of this blushing Wei Ying. ”And then held you through the night.”

”It was really nice,” Wei Ying whispers. 

”Then I will do that every day.”

Wei Ying peeks through parted fingers. ”Every day?”

”Every day,” he promises.

”I’m going to hold you on to that,” Wei Ying says imperiously and adds, ”I haven’t gotten kisses today yet.”

”My apologies,” Lan Wangji says seriously and holds out his hand.

There’s something nervous and hesitant about Wei Ying when he takes Lan Wangji’s hand and steps into the space between his legs. It’s almost like he doesn’t quite believe he’s there—that Lan Wangji wants him, and that is another misconception that needs immediate rectification.

He lifts Wei Ying’s hand to his lips and kisses first his knuckles, then his wrist, feeling the racing pulse under his lips. Wei Ying lets out a sharp breath and sways forward, coming close enough so that Lan Wangji can slip his free hand under his robe and curl his fingers on his hip, thumb brushing at the bone stretching the skin. It draws a line of goosebumps in its wake, moving from his hip across his stomach and down his thighs. Lan Wangji licks his lips and presses his mouth there, on the soft skin of Wei Ying’s lower dantian, on top of a scar bisecting his middle. For a moment, he merely breathes, draws in Wei Ying’s scent and the soft sounds his stomach makes.

And then he opens his mouth and bites.

Wei Ying lets out a startled sound and sways. To keep him standing—or so Lan Wangji tells himself—he presses another soft kiss on Wei Ying’s palm and then places it on his shoulder and grips Wei Ying’s hips now with both hands. He feels frail, fragile, too thin, and Lan Wangji is quite certain he could almost span Wei Ying’s waist with his hands. Instead, he slides his hands back, feels the globes of Wei Ying’s ass and then the small of his back, the way his ribs extend as he draws a shuddering breath.

”Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers. 

Lan Wangji looks up, takes in the wide, dark eyes, parted lips, and the flush that spreads from the cheeks down his neck and to his chest, reaching the pebbled nipples. 

He kisses a nipple and Wei Ying moans. 

When he licks it, Wei Ying’s legs buckle.

”Wha—” Wei Ying pants as Lan Wangji lifts him up and sets him on his lap, his bare legs straddling Lan Wangji’s thighs. It brings them chest to chest, skin to skin, and the draw of Wei Ying’s cock against his makes him hiss.

”Oh—” Wei Ying says and swallows. ”This is. Wow. Okay.”

”Is it?” Lan Wangji asks.

”What?”

”Is it ’okay,’ as you said.”

Wei Ying blinks, then chuckles softly. ”Yes, Lan Zhan. This is most definitely very, very okay.”

”Good,” he says. ”That means I can do this.” And he yanks Wei Ying closer and claims his mouth. He feels reckless, feverish, on the edge, and he wants to grip Wei Ying close, devour him, fuck him, never let him go. He loses himself slightly and only comes up for air when he feels a tug in his hair.

”Oh, no, no no no, I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying gasps, sounding genuinely distressed. ”I didn’t mean—it was an accident, I swear!”

His forehead ribbon is in Wei Ying’s hand. The sacred ribbon that only family and fated one can touch—a ribbon that, in fact, willingly yields only to the family and fated one. Considering that Wei Ying has now removed it three times, it clearly has made its opinion clear.

Without a word, Lan Wangji takes the ribbon and carefully wraps it around Wei Ying’s right wrist. He looks on, bewildered, eyes darting from the ribbon to Lan Wangji and back. 

”It has always belonged to you,” he says softly.

There’s something fragile and wondering in Wei Ying’s eyes as he looks at his bound wrist. ”All this time?” he asks in a small voice.

”Mn.”

Wei Ying doesn’t reply but hugs him tightly. Slight tremors run through him and Lan Wangji hugs him back, tries to circulate as much spiritual energy as possible to turn himself into a furnace to keep him warm and comfortable.

”I really like you,” Wei Ying whispers after a long time, after he’s knitted his shattered pieces back together. ”I think you’re really really great, Lan Zhan.”

”Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, coaxing Wei Ying up so that he can look him in the eye and gathers up his courage to say aloud what his heart has felt for years now. ”My Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying lets out a groan and kisses him hard. ”You can’t just say things like that,” he pants as he comes up for air. ”My poor heart!” And then he dives back in, kisses him with something akin to desperation. Lan Wangji answers in kind and their kisses reignite the fire in him that had mellowed down to low embers for a while.

His hands clench, digging into Wei Ying’s hips and he bucks, grinding his and Lan Wangji’s cocks together. It draws a groan from them both and for a moment, they rut against each other like wild animals, sharing frantic kisses with no finesse. Then Lan Wangji trails his fingers down Wei Ying’s taint and presses the pads of his fingers against his entrance and—

Wei Ying’s back arches and shudders through a sudden release, eyes wide and unseeing and mouth dropped open. He’s breathtakingly beautiful and Lan Wangji drinks up each whimper, each shudder, each spurt of his spend staining their abdomens. When he finally slumps against Lan Wangji, he’s limp and sated, a warm, satisfied weight on his lap.

”You—” Wei Ying says, voice hoarse like he’d been screaming. He makes a noise of complaint and paws weakly at Lan Wangji’s chest, and it takes him a moment to understand Wei Ying wants him to lie down. He complies, mind still hazy with lust which is probably the reason it takes him a moment to realize what Wei Ying is about to do.

Which is to take him in hand.

He hisses at the contact, hips bucking up without his permission, nearly dislodging Wei Ying which would be unfortunate and, frankly, unforgivable. Wei Ying’s hold is too dry and too tight at first but that changes when he makes a contemplating sound and gathers his own spend to use as slick. The thought of Wei Ying’s release on his cock is unbearably erotic, making Lan Wangji spend nearly there and then, but he grits his teeth and holds on for a little longer—just—not yet—

He comes with a grunt, Wei Ying’s hand around his cock, his forehead ribbon around Wei Ying’s wrist, and Wei Ying’s wide, heated eyes locked into his. When the tremors subside and he’s able to do more than just pant, he yanks Wei Ying down into a kiss, unconcerned by the mess they’ve made.

”I want that in me next,” Wei Ying tells him, breathless and flushed, and then he has the audacity to giggle when Lan Wangji’s cock gives a feeble attempt of hardening again.

They set up several groups to brainstorm new talisman ideas and flight formations. Nie Huaisang and Rin-san lead the talisman group with Wei Ying, while Jiang Wanyin, Yu Qiaolian, and Nie Mingjue work out increasingly elaborate battle formations with Brother. In the background, Jin Zixuan has proven surprisingly good at running the fort with his mother. Apparently, when he’s actually put to work, he has a good head for numbers and logistics, a fact that seems to be the biggest surprise to Jin Zixuan himself. Lan Wangji wonders if this is the first time he’s been forced to apply himself. He doesn’t bother mentioning this to Wei Ying who still holds a grudge for how Jin Zixuan treated his sister during the war.

They try to plan for the next Kaiju attack but it’s challenging because they still don’t know what the monsters are, where they come from and why, and what they want. It’s become obvious they’re intelligent but for what purpose? They pour over maps of both land and sea, consult the texts in the Storm Peak’s library, consider old myths and legends, and draw a blank either way.

More people trickle in. Young but already famous rogue cultivators Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen appear in the following days after the latest battle and inform Brother that they’re ready to join the fight. They bring with them techniques Xiao Xingchen learned from his grandmaster Baoshan Sanren; another way to push qi forward without getting too close. Wei Ying is ecstatic to meet someone with ties to his mother, even if Xiao Xingchen apologizes he’s too young to remember her.

Uncle arrives with a handful of Lan seniors they can spare but frankly, it’s Uncle they need, not the seniors. They now have three cultivators who master the Chord Assassination technique and can use it in the battle, even though Uncle’s health is still fragile even years after the burning of the Cloud Recesses. Uncle matches with several cultivators in the Dual Cultivation compatibility test, most strongly with Bai Mingzhu. Both Lan Wangji and Brother are careful to keep all their reactions from their faces.

Nine days after the battle, Lan Wangji’s heart nearly stops when Wei Ying screeches and drops his tools before racing across the yard. His pulse calms down when he sees Wei Ying embrace a small woman in pale purple robes and then lift her up in his arms and spin her like she’s a toddler. Behind her, a small group of stern-faced women in deep indigo Yu robes look highly unimpressed.

Hiding his smile, Lan Wangji walks closer, enjoying the unbridled joy shining on Wei Ying’s face.

”Shijie!” Wei Ying repeats over and over. ”You’re here!”

”Put her down! She’s not a sack of turnips to throw around,” Jiang Wanyin barks, immediately contradicting his own words by picking her up himself.

”A-Cheng, A-Xian, calm down,” Lady Jiang giggles, breathless and rosy-cheeked after her brothers’ tender mercies. ”How have you been?”

”You saw me only a couple of weeks ago,” Jiang Wanyin says, rolling his eyes.

”Fine, then. How has my A-Xian been?” she asks, reaching up to flick Wei Ying’s nose with her finger.

”Oh, I’m always fine,” Wei Ying says, squirming with the pleasure of basking in his sister’s smile. ”Lan Zhan is taking very good care of me!”

Lady Jiang raises a brow and turns her eyes to Lan Wangji. ”Is that so?” she asks. ”In that case, my thanks to Second Young Master Lan.” 

She bows, a perfectly correct bow from a sister of a sect leader to a sect heir. It still makes Lan Wangji uncomfortable—she’s Wei Ying’s sister, she shouldn’t need to bow to him.

”Taking care of Wei Ying is a privilege and a pleasure,” he says, bowing deeper than he needs. When he straightens up, Wei Ying is blushing, Jiang Wanyin is rolling his eyes so hard it must hurt, and Lady Jiang—

Lady Jiang’s eyes are thoughtful.

Lan Wangji swallows.

”Would you kindly escort me to where Doctor Wen is, Second Young Master Lan, while my brothers get my cousins settled?” she asks. ”I have experience from the medical tents during the Sunshot Campaign and would like to offer my help if she has the need for it.” Her voice is pleasant and she’s smiling but something about her demeanor makes him want to straighten his spine. Behind her, Jiang Wanyin and Wei Ying share a wide-eyed look.

Lan Wangji nods and offers her his arm.

”A-Xian is precious to me,” she says quietly when they cross the yard. Her delicate fingers are light like a butterfly’s wings resting on his forearm.

Lan Wangji knows this—he was present when Lady Jiang calmly eviscerated Jin Zixun in front of an audience for insulting Wei Ying. ”Mn,” he says.

”I haven’t seen him smile like that in years,” she continues. ”I hope—” She pauses and turns to look him in the eye. ”I hope his change isn’t temporary.” 

”Lady Jiang,” Lan Wangji says, deadly serious. ”I almost lost Wei Ying once because of a failure in my own character. I will not allow that to happen again. I—” He takes a breath, braces himself. ”He is half of my heart and soul. For as long as he allows it, I will stand by his side.”

For a moment, she looks at him with a completely unreadable expression before it melts into a smile. ”I’m glad to hear that. My didi is fortunate to have such a devoted person to share his life with,” she says. 

He says nothing but inclines his head, feeling like he’s passed a test. 

Lady Jiang pats his wrist and turns slightly with a raised brow. ”What are you two doing?” she asks her brothers sheepishly lurking around the corner. ”I told you to help out my Yu cousins, not to sneak after Second Young Master Lan and I.”

Lan Wangji can’t deny that it’s amusing to see two grown, powerful men squirm when their sister scolds them. 

There’s a small, amused smile on her lips as she turns back to him and says, ”Shall we?”

On their way to meet Wen Qing, Lady Jiang tells him to call her by her name. The way it makes him feel reminds him of the way he felt with Mother, and the warmth in Lan Wangji’s chest stays with him for days.

Jiang Yanli slots into place with an ease that tells of the experience of running a household. She takes over the kitchen from Bai Mingzhu and Jin Guangyao and helps Wen Qing coordinate the hospital area. (”Wen Qing is a brilliant doctor but she’s shit at organizing anything,” Wei Ying whispers to him one day. ”But don’t tell her I said that!”) 

Lan Wangji doesn’t know what happened between Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan but it’s clear something did, as he now accompanies her everywhere. As a result, Wei Ying can’t even look his way without muttering something unsavory under his breath.

”It is her choice,” Lan Wangji reminds him one evening when they return from the dining hall. He would prefer to dine alone with Wei Ying but with Jiang Yanli now in Storm Peak, they often eat with her and Jiang Wanyin. Jin Zixuan is present more often than not, hence Wei Ying’s current scowling.

”Yes, but—why does it have to be him?”

”Jin Zixuan has shown great personal improvement ever since his injury,” he says calmly, picking up Wei Ying’s discarded robe from the floor. Before Wei Ying has the chance to comment, he adds, ”And no, you are not permitted to remove more of his limbs to see if he improves more.”

”You’re no fun,” Wei Ying pouts, crossing his arms on his chest and pursing his lips.

He steps close, wraps an arm around Wei Ying’s waist, and tilts his face up with a finger. ”Is that so?” he murmurs, raising a brow. 

It’s deeply satisfying to see how little it takes to render Wei Ying flushed and speechless. His arms sneak around Lan Wangji’s neck as he blinks at him, biting his lip in a way that’s both a genuine reaction and a conscious choice because he knows how it makes Lan Wangji breathless with want.

”I mean…er-gege could also be fun?” Wei Ying says.

”I could.”

”Will you be?”

Lan Wangji leans forward to nose the fuzzy hairs on Wei Ying’s cheek and grazes his teeth along the curve of his neck. ”I might,” he says in a low voice, drawing a soft gasp from Wei Ying. ”I might also be…mean, as you like to call it.”

Wei Ying whines and shudders, and that does it for Lan Wangji. He picks Wei Ying up and marches to the bed, claiming his mouth to a heated kiss.

This newfound ’meanness’ is one of Lan Wangji’s favorite things, and it amuses him to no end that Wei Ying would call it such when he’s radiating exhausted, sated pleasure when Lan Wangji is finally done. It’s just that Wei Ying is so very beautiful and so very responsive and so very, very easy to please that Lan Wangji can’t help himself. He peels Wei Ying out of his robes layer by layer and refuses to give in to his urging. There isn’t a sliver of skin he hasn’t kissed or a space he hasn’t explored with his cock or tongue or fingers. He’s brought Wei Ying to the peak more times than he can count and he’s ravenous to repeat it every day. Wei Ying is loud both in and out of bed and the more delicious sounds Lan Wangji can draw out, the more he enjoys. He adores every sigh and tremor and leak Wei Ying’s body produces, and he finds his sanctuary when he sinks into his heat.

Today, he makes Wei Ying come three times with his mouth and fingers before finally pushing in and allowing himself to chase his own release with near-feral greed. After, he stays in, enjoying the way Wei Ying ripples and twitches around him, cradling his softening cock in a sheath that belongs to Lan Wangji and Lan Wangji alone.

Sometimes, like now, it feels like there’s almost a fledgling of something, a shadow of a Dual Cultivation feedback trickling back into him. Lan Wangji wants to ask someone about it but as the only someone who he could ask is Wen Qing, he is hesitant—not because he doesn’t trust her but because she is something akin to a sister to Wei Ying. And Lan Wangji does not want to divulge the details of their lovemaking to the siblings of either of them.

So, he holds his tongue and wonders.

”I’m worried about how the Kaiju we fought was different from the one you encountered earlier, Wangji,” Brother says with a pinched look in his eyes. 

”Mn,” he says. ”It worries me, too. Almost like it adapted to what it encountered before.”

They are, again, gathered in the receiving hall, going through the facts they have. It’s frustratingly little as no new information is available. 

”If that’s true…” Jin Guangyao murmurs, eyeing the map spread in front of them. He doesn’t finish the thought but it’s clear they’re all thinking about the same thing: what will they face next?

”Has there been any word from Dongying or Liuqiu?” One of the Yu cultivators asks. Lan Wangji doesn’t recall any of them introducing themselves.

”No, Aunt,” Yu Qiaolian says. ”We left specific instructions and ready-charged talismans behind when Akiko-san and I went to alert Liuqiu. They were extremely suspicious of us and refused to share any information about what they might have. The island looked intact from above, though.”

The Yu auntie huffs. ”And Dongying?”

Jin Guangyao shakes his head. ”Not that I know of. Rin-san and Akiko-san haven’t told us of any correspondence, either.”

”And can we trust them?” another Yu cultivator asks with a sneer that reminds Lan Wangji of the late mistress of Yunmeng Jiang.

”I believe so, Madam,” Nie Huaisang says. Several people twitch like they’d forgotten he was in the room—a skill that, according to Wei Ying, Nie Huaisang has mastered for mischief purposes. Nie Huaisang’s smile is pleasant and sharp like a knife. ”They lost their leader and a lot of friends. They’ve expressed rage and grief and an intense need to get rid of these monsters. I can’t see why they would conceal something as essential as messages from Dongying.”

”Hm,” she says, sounding distrusting.

”We have to at least acknowledge the possibility that we are all that stands between the Kaiju and the end of everything we know,” Jin Guangyao says. ”As far as we know, cultivators never migrated to Liuqiu, and Dongying trusts more in traditional martial arts, talismans, and spells. Cultivation is a rarity mostly sneered at.”

”That’s depressing,” Nie Huaisang says. ”I don’t like that.”

”I don’t think any of us likes that,” Nie Mingjue says dryly.

”Aren’t we overlooking something?” Wei Ying asks. ”Because I started thinking—” (”That’s comforting,” Jiang Wanyin mutters) ”—As far as we know, Kaiju don’t respond to spiritual or resentful energy,” Wei Ying continues, ignoring him. ”We keep asking where they come from, what they want, what’s their plan. But do they even have one?”

Yao Yongzheng starts to sputter something about irrelevant and needless questions taking up everyone’s time but Wei Ying talks right over him. ”Do locusts have a plan?”

Silence.

”I’m sorry, what?” Brother asks, visibly bewildered.

”No, he’s right,” Nie Huaisang says slowly. ”Locust swarms arrive somewhere, consume everything they can, and move on.”

Lan Wangji stares at him and then looks at Brother, his own horror mirroring in his eyes. Is that what they’re going to face? A swarm of Kaiju?

”Sounds fun, right?” Wei Ying drawls. ”They might not see us as enemies but as a hindrance. They probably don’t give a fuck about us.”

”And if we don’t know where they come from…” Brother says grimly.

Nie Mingjue rubs a hand over his face. ”But what else can we do? It’s either fight them or be consumed.”

The eldest Yu cultivator sighs, sounding annoyed. ”There’s no point in wallowing. We have our strategies, training schedule, flight formations, contingency plans. Until we see the next—what did you call them, Kaiju? Until we see the next one, we don’t know what to expect. So, expect the worst, always.”

”That’s grim,” Wei Ying murmurs under his breath.

The Yu cultivator raises a brow. ”Grim but true.” She narrows her eyes and adds, ”I know who you are.”

Wei Ying’s expression hardens and his smile gains a cutting edge. ”Whatever you’ve heard, it’s all lies.”

She gives him an unimpressed huff. ”So you aren’t Baoshan Sanren’s martial grandson, a talisman genius, and one of the sharpest minds in your generation?” she asks. ”I didn’t think my niece would be such a lousy judge of character.”

”Your—”

”A-Li speaks highly of you,” she continues, straight over Wei Ying’s flustered words. ”Do not disappoint her.”

Wei Ying stares at her for a moment before drawing himself up and performing perhaps the most beautiful bow Lan Wangji has ever seen in his life. It also makes him think indecent thoughts so he averts his eyes, accidentally making eye contact with Brother, which— 

No. That’s actually worse.

Two days later, they finally get word from Dongying.

There had been an attack. A Kaiju had snuck behind their sentries and sprung out of the ocean too fast for them to do more than scramble out of its way. It had decimated Kaihouin on its way to one of their active volcanoes, but they’d managed to trap and kill it before it made it into the crater. The letter doesn’t elaborate on what the trap had been or how they’d killed the Kaiju, but that’s not what Lan Wangji is worried about.

It’s the volcano it had been aiming for.

”Resentful energy,” Brother says. ”The only volcano on that island that was steeping in resentful energy due to a yao infestation.” 

”And the only volcano like that here is in Qishan,” Jin Guangyao says. ”And if it doesn’t need a volcano…”

They all turn to look at Wei Ying. ”Yeah, no, over my dead body,” he says, baring his teeth in a facsimile of a smile.

”No dying,” Lan Wangji says sternly, twining their fingers together. 

On the other side of the table, Uncle frowns and his face turns sour but he doesn’t comment. Most (but not all) paired cultivators have started sexual relations, and for a good reason; sharing another’s mind and thoughts is an intimate act, and progressing the intimacy from mental level to physical is a natural continuation. The pairs come in all combinations and being a cutsleeve raises no brows anymore.

But perhaps Uncle has always held his nephews to a higher standard than others. That, or he’d wished their partners to be something else than a demonic cultivator and a son of a prostitute.

”Yes, yes, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, patting his chest absent-mindedly while staring at the map. ”So the Dongying Kaiju was a swimmer, right?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. ”The distance from Zhoushan to Qishan is quite big. A swimmer wouldn’t make sense.”

”Can they calculate distances?” Uncle asks.

Wei Ying shrugs. ”I have no clue. Perhaps it has the same technique as bats have?”

”A valid point,” Uncle says in a contemplative tone. ”Perhaps—”

He doesn’t make it further when they hear a shrill whistle from outside, signaling a Kaiju sight. Lan Wangji barely makes it out of the door when a cultivator nearly crashes down from the sky, screaming, ”Red Kaiju alert! RED, RED, RED!”

Red.

Instinctively, Lan Wangji’s head snaps up as he peers into the horizon.

A red flare lights up. Then another. And another.

The Kaiju is moving, and it’s moving fast.

Their near-constant training proves helpful as cultivators swarm into their stations. Bright white lights blink on and then off as the cultivator pairs initiate Dual Cultivation and meld their qi. They queue up in an orderly fashion to grab stacks of talismans and Nie Huaisang’s protective face scarves before heading to the walls to face the oncoming danger. Lan Wangji and Wei Ying move along with the others, stopping between Brother and Jin Guangyao and Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen.

Lan Wangji realizes the terrible truth at the same moment as Wei Ying mutters, ”It’s not a swimmer…it’s a flier!” He turns, bites into his finger, and draws up a talisman Lan Wangji has never seen before. The talisman flares bright red and it shimmers in the air in front of them, broadcasting Wei Ying’s voice so loud that it echoes through the whole fort.

”The Kaiju is in the air! It’s flying! Take cover!”  

”Oh, no,” Brother breathes, eyes momentarily wide and scared before he yanks his fear under and his field commander takes over. ”Jin Zixuan, get your mother. You know what to do,” he says without taking his eyes off of the dark spot on the horizon rapidly growing bigger. ”Yu Qiaolian, alert your aunties. And—” he pauses and takes a deep breath. ”Could someone please go to the infirmary and tell Doctor Wen that we might need her brother.”

”What’s Peacock going to do?” Wei Ying asks, leaning back slightly to see where Jin Zixuan hurries off. 

”Zixuan and Mother have been refining a simple but sturdy shield array for some while now,” Jin Guangyao says. ”They have placed anchor points all over the fort and will erect a dome array to protect the non-combatants.”

Wei Ying blinks. ”The Peacock?” he asks. ”Really?”

Jin Guangyao’s lips press together. ”Zixuan is a capable, strong, and skilled cultivator. He wasn’t the third on the most eligible bachelor’s list just for his heritage,” he says primly. ”He’s dedicated and thorough and has poured a great deal of his energy and time on this dome array.”

”Huh,” Wei Ying says.

”He’s protecting something precious to him,” Brother adds, not unkindly.

”His mom, yeah,” Wei Ying says. ”I get it.”

Brother shoots an exasperated look at Lan Wangji but in all honesty, he doesn’t know if Wei Ying is being purposefully obtuse or if he really doesn’t know that perhaps the biggest reason behind Jin Zixuan’s actions is that he wants to keep Jiang Yanli safe.

A sea of hushed muttering draws Lan Wangji’s attention from the approaching Kaiju. He glances back, in no way surprised to see Wen Qionglin hurrying to them. His face is almost expressionless as usual but there’s determination in his eyes as he reports to duty.

”Thank you for coming, Wen Qionglin,” Brother says. ”As you can see, the fight comes to us.”

”Yes, Zewu-jun,” Wen Qionglin says without a stutter.

Wei Ying bumps him with his shoulder. ”Aiyah, A-Ning, we’re going to fight a Kaiju together! That’ll be fun.”

If a fierce corpse could roll his eyes, Lan Wangji is quite sure that’s what Wen Qionglin would now do. Instead, he gives Wei Ying a bland look and a placid, ”I’m sure, Master Wei.”

Wei Ying cackles, the sound discordant in the sudden hush of the approaching Kaiju.

At first, the Kaiju is a black, uneven spot in the sky, the next moment it’s upon them like a grotesque, misshapen dragon with thick, bulky limbs and giant, leathery wings like a bat. It has a long neck covered in larger bony plates that move as it moves its neck. It looks like it has an armor on. 

”They’re evolving,” Lan Wangji says, staring at the monster descending upon them.

”I know,” Brother says grimly as he and Jin Guangyao move as one, rising to intercept the Kaiju. Wei Ying steps on Bichen and they follow, staying level with Brother.

”But…how?”  Lan Wangji asks.

Brother shakes his head. ”I have no idea. A shared mind where what one knows, everyone knows, perhaps—like the bees?”

”A hive mind?” Wei Ying asks. Something about his tone gives Lan Wangji a pause but there’s no time to stop asking him what he means.

”Perhaps,” Brother says, his focus already on the Kaiju. ”We need to get it down, and preferably not on top of the fort. Target the wings first!”

Wei Ying turns his head slightly and pecks a kiss on Lan Wangji’s cheek before drawing up the talisman he’d been modifying since the last fight. At Lan Wangji’s boost, it lights up with a whoosh that makes his ears pop, and a familiar, glittering array stretches over them. All around, similar arrays appear, making their flight formation look like a floating array of glowing spheres.

Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen veer to the right with a Yu-Ouyang pair, and two other cultivators paired with a Yu head to the left. Brother and Lan Wangji stay at the center, hoping to draw the Kaiju’s attention to them as the biggest threat, giving the others a chance to cripple it and drop it from the sky.

When it draws near, Lan Wangji’s heart sinks. It’s even bigger than the previous one and the way it moves tells him it controls its body perfectly. This airborne shape is as fast and agile as the marine shape, and the realization crushes whatever hope he held that it would be clumsy on land. With a grim determination, he pushes his dread away, concentrating on the fight. On the survival.

He doesn’t know how but apparently, the Yu cultivators are able to coordinate their actions even when they are on the opposite sides of the Kaiju and not in each others’ direct line of sight. Suddenly, bright flashes of light not unlike Jiang Wanyin’s Zidian light up around the creature and it flails as the leathery membranes of its wings are torn to shreds. It swerves erratically like a kite that’s lost its momentum, flapping vigorously to keep its altitude.

”It’s falling!”

”Steer away from the wings!” 

”Look out! Kaiju Blue!”

The flapping makes it hard to avoid splatters of Kaiju Blue that seem to slip through the weaker shield arrays. They were never meant to deflect everything, after all, just the teeth and talons and blunt force hits that would kill a cultivator in an instant. Lan Wangji takes a sharp left and then dips, dodging a splatter that flies their way. However, when it hits Wei Ying’s array, it sticks for a moment, then it starts to smoke, and then it bursts into flames.

Wei Ying’s joyous whoop reveals that, apparently, this was the planned result.

”It worked!” Wei Ying exclaims over his shoulder. ”Yes! Now I can start really working on it!”

Lan Wangji doesn’t ask what ”it” is. He’s merely glad they’re unharmed.

A couple of well-aimed hits later, the Kaiju falls from the sky with a roar and crashes down on the shore. Its massive body makes a dent in the soft ground and splashes water and sand and Kaiju Blue around. It’s hardly landed when it already whirls around and lets out a defiant roar.

From there, the details blur and, if asked later, Lan Wangji wouldn’t be able to give a detailed report of the fight. It’s both easier and harder to fight on land; easier because he has the full use of his sword and harder because of how the ground is soft under his feet and how he’s distracted by Wei Ying not being by his side. There are bright flashes from everywhere as they hit the Kaiju with spiritual energy; with swords and Chord Assassination and Yu whips and arrows… And yet, nothing seems to make a difference: the Kaiju is either too fast for their strikes to hit true or its scales are too thick for the Chord Assassination to have any real effect. 

”This isn’t working,” Wei Ying growls, frustrated, as he ducks and rolls away from another slash of the tail. This one doesn’t have spikes—instead, it’s as agile and fast as the Yu whips.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji grunts, parrying a swipe from a mutilated wing.

”Hm. What about—” He falls silent.

”Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji asks, sparing a glance to his side.

Wei Ying isn’t there.

Frantic, he looks around, jumping out of the tail’s way without really thinking about it. ”Wei Ying!” He can’t—not like this, please, not like this—

”Here!” 

Wei Ying stands a short distance away next to the oldest Yu cultivator. He’s holding a bow with an arrow nocked on but—the arrow…Lan Wangji strains to see it properly. It’s lit up with indigo light, telling it’s the Yu cultivator powering it up. Wei Ying draws and grows completely still as he concentrates on his shot. Lan Wangji is nearly vibrating with nerves as he waits for the arrow to fly. Just as Wei Ying releases the arrow, a tendril of swirling resentful energy leaps from him to the arrow, twining around it in tandem with the Yu cultivator’s qi. 

The arrow flies true and buries itself straight in the Kaiju’s left eye. Together, Wei Ying and the Yu cultivator do a hand seal and the Kaiju’s head explodes.

For a moment, everything is silent.

And then a cheer goes up.

”Wei Ying!” he says, hurrying to his side. ”What was that?”

His smile is wry. ”A lucky shot with some help from Aunt Yu here.”

”You know what I—”

Wei Ying’s eyes suddenly go wide and he yanks Lan Wangji to the side, right in time to get him off the line of the tail. Behind him, Brother isn’t as lucky: the tail whips him around like a doll and he lands badly, the sickening crunch too loud in Lan Wangji’s ears.

”NO!” he shouts, raising Bichen.

”Xichen!” Nie Mingjue yells.

”No, wait—” Wei Ying yells—

”EVERYONE DOWN!”

Lan Wangji isn’t sure whose voice shouts the command but he drops immediately, hitting the messy, soiled sand with a wet, dull thud.

In front of him, Brother lies in a mangled heap.

In front of Brother, Jin Guangyao—

The scream that rips from his mouth shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Lan Wangji was in the room during the test where Wen Qing severed their connection, he knows how Jin Guangyao would react if he thought Brother’s life was on the line. He was there. 

And yet, he isn’t prepared for the carnage Jin Guangyao unleashes.

The sound tears something in his ears, leaving behind a high, whining noise and a dull throb. The shield array Jin Guangyao has been maintaining contracts almost like it was drawing breath and then it explodes, raining shards of the array like projectiles—like small knives—around. They slash through the Kaiju, tear at its tail and legs, and splatter its blood everywhere. Yet somehow, uncomprehendingly, it scrambles up, trying to lunge its headless carcass at Jin Guangyao only to be stopped in its tracks when Jin Guangyao makes a slashing move with his hand and a beam of pure qi flies out. It cuts right into the Kaiju’s torso and guts it like a fish. It drags itself forward a step, and another, and yet another, trying almost compulsively to get to Jin Guangyao until it finally lets out a final hiss and slumps.

Almost at a touching distance from it, Jin Guangyao drops to his knees and then slowly keels over.

For a moment, it’s silent again. No one dares to cheer, not after what happened only moments earlier. Then a shape in black runs past him to Brother—oh, it’s Wen Qionglin—

”He’s alive!” Wen Qionglin shouts. ”Gravely injured but stable for now!” He shoots up a silver-colored flare to inform the fort that they can send the healers out and moves to check on Jin Guangyao. He lets out a startled hiss, taps at several points in his body in rapid succession, and looks at Nie Mingjue who, now that Brother is down, is the commander of the field.

”Qi-deviation,” he calls out urgently. ”He’s bleeding from his seven orifices. I—”

Nie Mingjue raises a hand, interrupting him. ”Take him. We’ll watch Xichen.”

Wen Qionglin nods, lifts Jin Guangyao in his arms like a weightless doll, and takes off in a run.

The healers arrive a short moment later and Nie Mingjue bluntly orders Lan Wangji to follow as they take Brother away. Lan Wangji doesn’t have it in him to offer token protests. He’s tired and worried and even though there’s a lot to take care of on the battle site, he’s piteously grateful he doesn’t need to stay. Wei Ying stays behind for a while to oversee the arrays sealing the Kaiju carcass and, with a tight expression, tells Lan Wangji that he’ll follow ”as soon as possible.” Knowing Wei Ying, it might be an incense stick later or the next day.

He selfishly wishes it’s the former.

When they arrive at the infirmary, Wen Qing is busy with Jin Guangyao. He looks like a hedgehog with his body full of needles, face pale as the snow and bleeding sluggishly from his nose and ears. There’s dried blood on his cheeks and Lan Wangji doesn’t like the look on Wen Qing’s face.

Brother has shattered his right shoulder, ribs, and arm. He also hit his head badly but the healers say he should be fine if he stays calm. They’re keeping him under for now which is a good thing—Lan Wangji doesn’t want to think what will happen to Brother if he loses Jin Guangyao.

Lan Wangji himself is unharmed if exhausted. After inquiring if he can be of assistance and firmly being ordered to stay out of the way, he sits next to Brother’s bed and feeds him a slow trickle of spiritual energy just to feel he’s doing something. Around him more patients arrive; some of them were exposed to Kaiju Blue and will need more or less radical procedures to save their lives even with the help of the stasis talismans. Thankfully, they’re mostly fingers and a couple of ears which will surely be a painful ordeal to treat and heal from but nothing as drastic as what happened to Jin Zixuan.

And then Wei Ying crashes in, yelling for Wen Qing. 

Behind him, Song Zichen hurries in, carrying an unconscious Xiao Xingchen in his arms. His head lolls limply and under the faint shimmer of the stasis talisman, a splash of Kaiju Blue stretches across his eyes.

Later, Lan Wangji will ask if it was his fault—if he was too wrapped up with first Brother and then with the worry of how Brother would react to Jin Guangyao’s condition; if he was too preoccupied with Xiao Xingchen’s terrible injury and Wen Qing’s near-miraculous treatment that peeled off his eyes but spared his life; if he got too caught up in the aftermath of fighting a Kaiju on their literal doorstep; if—

If.

If.

Somewhere in the back of his exhausted mind he has a nagging feeling there’s something wrong, that he’s missing some crucial clue, some reason for Wei Ying’s haunted eyes, some explanation for why he stays up late to scribble page after page of cramped notes on papers he then clumsily tries to hide from Lan Wangji.

”Did you know the Kaiju brains aren’t in their heads?” he says with a small, twisted smile on the day when the healers tried to lift Brother’s sedation only to put him back under when he became too distraught over Jin Guangyao to stay still.

”I did not,” Lan Wangji says. None of us did, he doesn’t add.

Wei Ying takes a long pull from his wine bottle. ”So all I managed to do was to make it mad,” he sneers. ”And your brother and Jin Guangyao paid the price.”

”Wei Ying—”

”I’m going out,” he says curtly and walks out with a slight hunch on his shoulders. He looks like the whole world is weighing down on his shoulders. 

Lan Wangji wants to draw him into his arms and tell him it wasn’t his fault and that no one blames him but he isn’t sure Wei Ying would welcome his touch when he’s like this. They are lovers now but this is the first time Lan Wangji sees Wei Ying as he was at his worst during the Sunshot Campaign; angry, brittle, haunted. It pulls at something in him, something equally fragile, at a man who is too afraid to act in case his action sparks an altercation he never meant to happen.

Later, Lan Wangji will call himself a coward.

He’s woken from a restless sleep with a violent banging on the door. Bichen leaps into his hand before he has the conscious thought to summon her and he’s on his feet and almost at the door when he realizes he’s alone. Wei Ying never came back from wherever he went.

With a cold dread, he yanks the rattling door open and barely manages to dodge Jiang Wanyin’s fist.

”Took you long enough,” he snarls. ”Get up. The idiot did something fucking stupid.”

Lan Wangji sways on his feet. ”Is he—”

”He’s alive,” Jiang Wanyin snaps. ”For now. And when he wakes up, I’m going to fucking kill him!” Then he frowns. ”Put some clothes on. We need to go.”

In a daze, Lan Wangji puts on his robe, ignoring how his sleeping robe wrinkles under the thicker fabric. He barely has the presence of mind to pull on his shoes and grab his forehead ribbon before hurrying back to Jiang Wanyin. He’s vibrating with tension, hands crossed on his chest, jaw gritted so hard Lan Wangji can hear the grinding.

”He’s in the infirmary,” Jiang Wanyin says curtly, jerks his head, and picks up his pace. ”Wen Qing is furious.”

That nearly takes Lan Wangji to his knees. An annoyed Wen Qing is an angry Wen Qing—when she’s furious, she’s, in fact, scared.

And if Wen Qing is scared—

Lan Wangji forces the thought out of his mind and concentrates on the corridor in front of him. Straight, then left, then through an archway, one flight of stairs up, then straight again, then right. He just needs to get there. Everything will be alright. He just needs to reach Wei Ying. All will be well when he has Wei Ying in his arms again.

It has to be.

They bang into the infirmary and then Lan Wangji’s knees do go out. He falls on the floor with a sob, eyes wide, terrified of the scene in front of him.

Wei Ying—

Wei Ying on the floor with his robe ripped open to his waist, spasming like a crude marionette. He’s sickly grey and his eyes have rolled back, and thick, dark blood bubbles from his nose and mouth. Wen Qionglin is on his knees next to his head, hovering his palms on Wei Ying’s temples, head bowed. He looks like he’s praying.

Wen Qing’s hands work in a blur. She inserts and moves her needles so fast Lan Wangji can’t follow if there’s a pattern to it. She’s hissing something inaudible under her breath—it sounds like swearing but it might as well be pleading, Lan Wangji doesn’t know, he doesn’t understand, Wei Ying is hurting—

”Lan Wangji!” Wen Qing snaps. ”Be ready to take a hold of his left ankle. Jiang Wanyin, be ready to take his right ankle. Do not touch him yet! Jiang Wanyin: when I say so—and only when I say so, start pushing spiritual energy into his meridians. Lan Wangji: be ready to draw it out.” She looks up long enough to see them comply, nods sharply, and moves more needles around.

”A-Ning,” she says.

”Ready,” Wen Qionglin says in a steady voice.

She raises her hands and holds up a finger at Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin’s direction. ”A-Ning, now.”

Black tendrils of resentful energy shoot out from Wen Qionglin’s palms and into Wei Ying’s head. He seizes up with a muffled sound, arches high so that only the back of his head and his heels touch the floor. It feels like forever before Wen Qing says, ”Stop!”

Wei Ying looks like a corpse.

”Wanyin, Wangji, now!”

Wei Ying’s ankle is cold as ice. There’s no pulse under Lan Wangji’s fingers. He swallows convulsively and hunches over his love, clutching his ankle in his hand like a lifeline. Next to him, Jiang Wanyin frowns and then winces and grunts as he forces his spiritual energy through Wei Ying’s meridians. 

At first, it doesn’t feel like much but when he feels the first touch of something moving, he nearly recoils. It feels tainted somehow, oily and foul, and out of instinct, he starts to treat it like resentful energy, channeling it into a condensed sphere.

There’s a commotion at the door and then Uncle’s startled, ”Wangji!”

He opens his eyes—he doesn’t know when he’d closed them—and grits out, ”Vanquish.”

”Mn,” Uncle says, and a split moment later, the familiar notes of Song of Vanquish start to chip away pieces of the tainted qi. The relief is immediate.

He loses count of how long they purge Wei Ying’s meridians. Jiang Wanyin is a grim presence on his side, Wen Qing’s needles have slowed down slightly, and Wen Qionglin is again hovering his hands next to Wei Ying’s temples. At some point, Jiang Yanli appears, dropping to her knees next to Wen Qionglin with a sob, hands reaching out to touch, but she flinches back when Wen Qing snaps, ”Not yet!” Lan Wangji is vaguely aware of Jin Zixuan and then other people filling the room but his focus is on Wei Ying.

It’s getting light when Wen Qing finally leans back slightly and lets her shoulders slump. ”I think he’s stable for now,” she says in a hoarse voice and rubs a hand over her face. ”I never want to do that again. As soon as he wakes up, I’m going to scream at him.”

She stands up and stumbles, her face white and dark smudges under her eyes. ”Lan Wangji, bring him here,” she says, motioning at him carefully like a granny. 

Wei Ying feels too light in his arms, like a bird with hollow bones and cut wings. He’s breathing slowly and his pulse is erratic and thready but he’s calm now. 

Right before Wen Qing slides the door shut, Lan Wangji hears Jiang Yanli ask, ”A-Cheng, what happened?”

”I found him at the beach,” Jiang Wanyin says. ”That fucking idiot performed Empathy on a fucking Kaiju.”

”Wangji,” Brother says with a fleeting touch on his shoulder. 

Lan Wangji doesn’t reply.

He hasn’t left Wei Ying’s side for four days, hasn’t looked away from his pale face with smudged eyes and chapped lips. He holds Wei Ying’s limp hand in his, keeps on a continuous, low trickle of spiritual energy and a gentle rubbing with his thumb on Wei Ying’s wrist. His veins are visible under the skin, delicate blue lines that carry the pulse of Wei Ying’s heartbeat, perhaps the only thing keeping Lan Wangji even remotely sane.

Four days.

They woke Brother up two days ago. Wen Qing said that the swelling in his brain had gone down and he was stable enough to be weaned off the sedation. Brother had stayed in the small room with Jin Guangyao but as soon as he made sure Jin Guangyao was safe and alive, he made his way to Lan Wangji.

”You should rest,” Brother says.

”I have slept here,” he says without looking at him.

Brother sighs. ”Let me paraphrase: go take a bath, Wangji. This is an order.”

A hot flash of hurt shoots through him and he looks up with a sharp retort on his lips. It dies in the face of Brother’s exhausted, compassionate look.

”You have neither bathed nor changed your robes,” Brother says gently. ”Be considerate of others.”

He blinks and glances down with a frown. His robes are rumpled, stained with blood and mud and sand from Wei Ying’s soiled robes, and whatever had been in Wei Ying’s hair. His hands are clean because he has been wiping Wei Ying’s face and neck with a warm towel daily but the rest of him…

”My apologies,” he says stiffly.

”No need,” Brother says quietly. ”I know how you feel.” His eyes dart to where Jin Guangyao rests, erasing whatever small doubt there might’ve been regarding their relationship.

”Go. I will watch over him.”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and nods. Then, disregarding Brother’s presence, he raises Wei Ying’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. ”I will be back shortly, Wei Ying,” he murmurs, then gently places the hand on Wei Ying’s stomach and tucks the soft blanket around him. When he turns, Brother is facing the wall, giving them a semblance of privacy.

He walks out of the infirmary with Liebing’s familiar, soothing sound drifting after him.

It’s a bright, beautiful day out. The sun is shining high above and he shields his eyes, partly annoyed by the glaring light after the dimness of the infirmary, partly unsettled by the audacity of the world moving on when Wei Ying lies unresponsive and unconscious, out of his reach. People, cultivators and commoners alike, bustle around on their errands and go on with their day training in the yard, carrying bundles of cloth, rice, arrows, and other necessities. Some of them nod and greet him, most don’t.

Their room feels barren and desolate without Wei Ying. He takes a quick, cold bath and washes up as fast as he’s able with the weight of a lifetime of rules on his back. He dons a new set of robes and fresh boots someone (Brother? Uncle?) had left waiting next to his bed and feels unreasonably annoyed when a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying drops from his shoulders. On his way out, he leaves his dirty robes by the door to be picked up later.

Jiang Wanyin is waiting for him when he opens the door and for a split moment, he contemplates shutting the door on his face. 

Jiang Wanyin raises a brow, indicating he knows exactly what Lan Wangji was thinking. ”So. His core,” he says conversationally through his teeth. 

Lan Wangji doesn’t deign that with a comment but starts walking, his need to be with Wei Ying greater than his need to be polite.

”You knew,” Jiang Wanyin says, following him.

He sighs. ”He did not tell me, if that worries you,” he says. ”I observed and made an educated guess.”

Jiang Wanyin snorts. ”Right,” he mutters under his breath, sounding bitter. ”That just means I’m fucking blind as well as stupid, doesn’t it?”

If Lan Wangji was a better person, he would come up with something to ease Jiang Wanyin’s mind. But he isn’t and so he doesn’t, and continues walking without a word. To his relief, Jiang Wanyin stays silent as well.

At their arrival, Brother gives him a tired smile and a shallow bow to Jiang Wanyin before he retreats back to Jin Guangyao’s side. Lan Wangji settles on his usual place next to Wei Ying and takes his hand. 

He can feel Jiang Wanyin’s eyes in his neck.

”You are going to marry him, right?”

Lan Wangji doesn’t look at him. ”If he would have me, yes. If not…” his voice trails away as he drinks in the beloved, pale features. ”I will not force him.”

They lapse into silence and after some time, Jiang Wanyin grows restless and stomps out, leaving Lan Wangji in blessed quiet.

”I would,” he whispers into the silence. ”If you would have me, I would marry you immediately,” he breathes, pressing his forehead on the back of Wei Ying’s hand. ”Please, Wei Ying…wake up.”

Wei Ying doesn’t react.

The next day, Wen Qing eases up Jin Guangyao’s sedation long enough for him to wake up for half a shichen. He’s frail and shaky but manages to drink a bit of water and broth with Brother’s help and insists on hearing what happened with the Kaiju and how the fort is holding up. Brother doesn’t tell him about Wei Ying. Wen Qing is reluctant to let him stay awake for longer but promises she’ll wake him up again the next day.

All this Lan Wangji hears from Brother as he refuses to leave Wei Ying’s side.

”Has there been any change?” Brother asks.

Lan Wangji shakes his head.

Brother doesn’t say anything more, merely grips his shoulder for a fleeting moment. Lan Wangji is glad he doesn’t offer to hug him—he isn’t sure he could hold himself together if he did.

”Have you tried reaching out to him?” Jiang Yanli asks softly. She’s sitting on Wei Ying’s bed, his head on her lap, her fingers gently teasing the tangles out of his hair.

Lan Wangji is tired. During the Sunshot Campaign, after Wen Ruohan’s death, Wei Ying was unconscious for three days and then he woke up. Now, it’s been a week.

”I have talked,” he says. It comes out stiffer than he actually meant but fortunately, Jiang Yanli doesn’t seem offended.

”And that’s good. It lets him know you’re here.” Her fingers start to braid Wei Ying’s hair, twisting his dark locks into elaborate braids almost of their own volition. ”But I was talking about the Dual Cultivation technique.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He doesn’t know if she knows—and if she doesn’t, would Wei Ying want her to know? 

She notices his hesitation. ”A-Cheng told me,” she says. ”He was—” Her voice hitches and she clears her throat, starts again. ”He was so different when he was found,” she says in a near whisper. ”He tried to hide it from me but I knew something was wrong.”

Lan Wangji glances up. She’s crying, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

”My Xianxian went through something terrible and suffered it alone. He flinched from me and I should’ve—” She gasps a breath. ”But I didn’t want to—I should’ve—”

”He would not have told you,” Lan Wangji says softly. ”To spare you from the pain.”

”It’s not his decision to do that!” she snaps, suddenly furious. ”I’m his elder sister. It’s not his place to shield me. I’m the one who should’ve—” She swallows. ”But I never did. I failed him so many times.”

”No,” Lan Wangji says, feeling a strange urge to make it absolutely clear to her. ”To Wei Ying, you are the most precious thing in the world. You and Jiang Wanyin. He loves you and wants to keep you safe.”

She gives him a smile full of tears. ”That’s what I’m afraid of.” She bends down to press a kiss on Wei Ying’s forehead. ”A-Xian loves deeply and cares so much for everyone. Except for himself. And that makes his love dangerous,” she adds in a whisper.

Something cold spreads in Lan Wangji’s gut. Jiang Yanli’s words hold a strange weight he can’t quite grasp and is dreading to ask. 

”My apologies,” Jiang Yanli says, wiping tears from her cheeks. ”I’m suddenly feeling quite tired.” She stands up and offers him a trembling smile. ”I’m so glad A-Xian has you.”

Lan Wangji stays deep in thought after she’s gone. He doesn’t question Jiang Yanli’s opinion on Wei Ying’s love, perhaps just the shape of it, because he can recognize parts of it. Dangerous, though…he isn’t sure about that.

”Wei Ying,” he says quietly, cradling the cold palm against his cheek. ”Would you respond if I…?”

He hadn’t offered before, not even when he sensed that there might be something that could reach back. Dual Cultivation isn’t possible between a cultivator and a commoner and asking would just seem cruel. But perhaps there’s something else he could try…

There was once a time when he and Wei Ying shared an intimate link between their minds, back when they were fighting the Xuanwu of Slaughter. The telepathy spell requires two (or more) willing, active participants and now that Wei Ying is unconscious, it’s more likely than not to fail. And yet, he can’t not try—if nothing else, perhaps he could help Wei Ying wake up again.

Gently, he reaches out with his hand and his spiritual energy and touches Wei Ying’s forehead with both. At first, there’s nothing, a dark veil or blank wall or a starless night gazing back at him. It feels strange, almost like it shouldn’t be there, like it didn’t belong with Wei Ying. Unsure, he retreats slightly and opens his eyes to look at Wei Ying.

He looks the same: pale face, dark bruises under his eyes, and slack, chapped lips. It feels very wrong to witness him like this; Wei Ying is the shape of laughter and sun and mischievous grins, not this husk of a man wasting away in a cot.

Determined, Lan Wangji tries again. Now that he knows what to expect, the blankness doesn’t faze him. He can distantly sense Wei Ying’s whirring thoughts behind the veil, fluttering and flickering with beloved familiarity. The frenetic energy Wei Ying usually expresses is muted, though, and he can’t say if it’s because of his unconsciousness or because of whatever he saw in the Empathy.

Wei Ying?

Wei Ying, wake up. I am waiting.

There’s no response in the fledgling mental link, nothing that indicates that Wei Ying can hear him. And yet, suddenly Wei Ying sits up and turns to stare at Lan Wangji with wide, startled eyes.

And then he promptly throws up on Lan Wangji’s lap.

”I can’t believe I puked all over you!” Wei Ying wails, hands on his face. ”And I can’t believe you want to be in the same room with me after that!”

Lan Wangji is in borrowed robes and without shoes and frankly, he doesn’t give a damn. Wei Ying is awake—weak and trembling, but awake. Smelling of vomit is a small price to pay for that.

”We all have our character flaws,” Wen Qing says, ruthlessly peeling his hands off his face. ”Stop that. Follow my finger…any lingering pains?” She scolds him the whole time through the examination, and when she deems him starved but otherwise unharmed, she starts to yell. Wei Ying bears it with a sheepish look—Lan Wangji presumes he’s comfortable with yelling as a show of care, considering who his brother is.

And speaking of brothers…

There’s a commotion on the door and both Jiang Wanyin and Jiang Yanli stumble in, winded and wide-eyed.

”A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli exclaims, rushing to his side and wrapping him in a tight embrace. ”A-Xian, what were you thinking?”

”You made a-jie cry,” Jiang Wanyin growls. ”I’m going to break your fucking legs for that. Right after I kill you for giving me your fucking core!”

Lan Wangji blinks. That—can’t be right. Can it? No—

Wei Ying’s sheepish smile freezes on his face. ”I—ah—”

”Don’t even fucking try,” Jiang Wanyin hisses. ”What are the odds that after you find a way to restore my core, you vanish and resurface three fucking months later wielding resentful energy and refusing to touch your sword? And then you just happen to have a new surgical scar on your stomach and no core? What the fuck, Wei Wuxian!” His voice rises into a shout in the end and Zidian sparkles brightly enough for electricity to dance along the whole length of his arm.

Jiang Wanyin’s reaction yanks Lan Wangji out of the shock of the revelation and he glances at the door, worried about the volume and spilling secrets that don’t belong to anyone outside this room (if they even belong to everyone in it). He barely catches Wen Qionglin slipping out before a privacy talisman slams on the door. He whirls around and meets Wen Qing’s sharp eyes.

”If you don’t stop shouting, I will remove you,” she snaps at Jiang Wanyin. ”He might be an idiot but he’s still my patient.”

”Wen Qing!” Wei Ying says, sounding mock-hurt.

”A-Xian, why?”

Jiang Yanli’s whisper catches Wei Ying’s attention and he turns back to face her slowly, reluctantly, like a dog that expects to be kicked. ”You didn’t see how he was,” he says, pleading. ”He was ready to lay down and die. I couldn’t let that happen, could I?” He clutches her hand in his and looks at Jiang Wanyin. ”You needed it more than I. I’m fine without it, right?”

”No,” Lan Wangji says quietly, desperate, terrified. ”You are not.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes are closed and he’s gritting his teeth so hard Lan Wangji can hear the grinding sound. His clenched fists tremble and twitch, sparks whirling around Zidian. ”When this is over,” he forces out in a strangled voice. ”If we survive this.” He takes a couple of deep breaths. ”Then we’re going to sit down and have a really fucking long conversation about what you said to my parents at the family shrine.”

Wei Ying goes sickly pale. ”J-Jiang Cheng—” he starts weakly but lets his voice fade away when Jiang Wanyin whirls around and marches out of the room. He wrenches the door open so hard it rips partially off its hinges, leaving Wen Qionglin staring after him with as shocked a face as a fierce corpse can express.

Wei Ying lets out a small choking sound. ”He hates me,” he whispers, staring forward with unseeing eyes.

”No, he doesn’t,” Jiang Yanli says. ”He’s angry and he’s hurt. And he’s horrified that you’d ever think he would welcome your sacrifice.” She leans in to cup Wei Ying’s cheek and brushes his tears off with her thumb. ”A-Xian is precious,” she says. ”A-Xian is not a tool or spare parts for the Jiang.”

”But—”

Jiang Yanli hushes him and smiles at him with so much sadness and love that it makes something painful clench in Lan Wangji’s chest. Wei Ying’s face twists and he lets out a sob, and then he falls into Jiang Yanli, buries his face into her skirt, holds onto her waist so hard he’s shaking, and cries.

Lan Wangji averts his gaze. He shouldn’t be witnessing this, this isn’t his place but he also can’t make himself leave. His eyes meet Wen Qing’s and she raises a brow, looking pointedly at the broken door. Thankful for being given something to do, he stands up and concentrates on fixing the door with Wen Qionglin while Wen Qing busies herself with cleaning up her acupuncture needles.

When Wei Ying’s sobs finally start to die down and his breathing evens out, Jiang Yanli says, ”Now. Tell shijie why you thought doing Empathy on a Kaiju was a good idea.”

It sounds preposterous. A portal into another world at the bottom of the sea, through which a swarm of monsters will pour at their leisure. They want to devour everything within their sight and exploit whatever that’s left.

And for some reason, they’re after volcanoes and resentful energy.

It sounds unbelievable. Ridiculous. 

It sounds like something easily brushed aside because no sane person would ever claim anything like that was going to happen.

”That’s not real!” Yao Yongzheng sputters, jabbing his finger in Wei Ying’s direction. ”That can’t be real! You are making this up!”

Lan Wangji isn’t sure why Yao Yongzheng is present. He’s so far yet to apply his own skills, merely sending his few remaining sect members to die. In his mind, someone refusing to fight has no say in what is to come.

”For what purpose?” Wei Ying asks tiredly.

”For whatever nefarious purpose you have!” Yao Yongzheng declares, triumphant. Around him several sycophants nod, eager in their hurry to align themselves with Pingyang Yao. In Lan Wangji’s mind, that makes them even more stupid.

”If I wanted to take over the cultivation world, I could’ve done it years ago,” Wei Ying says flatly. ”I wanted to be left alone to farm potatoes.”

”Radishes,” Wen Qing corrects.

”Yeah, see, you keep saying radishes even though we decided on the potatoes,” Wei Ying says.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. ”We didn’t decide anything. You can’t grow potatoes on the Burial Mounds. Radishes, though…”

Several people stare at them and share confused looks with an awkward air. Apparently, the idea of the terrifying Yiling Patriarch farming potatoes is something most people in attendance can’t wrap their minds around.

As said. Stupid.

Nie Mingjue’s furious scowl and a pointed clearing of throat shut the chatter up. ”If you wouldn’t mind, could you actually explain?” he says. ”Marching in to declare that there’s a glowing monster door at the bottom of the sea isn’t that convincing, mostly because we have no clue why it’s there or what the Kaiju even are.” 

”And just how did you figure that out?” Nie Huaisang adds.

Wei Ying’s eyes flicker momentarily to Lan Wangji, then he shrugs and turns to face the cultivators. ”They were getting better and better at adapting to our fighting style. There was a monster that Lan Zhan killed by strangling it with the Chord Assassination technique. The next Kaiju had a collar around its neck and a spiky hammer attached to its tail. After that, the next one had wings, a long neck, and an even longer, agile tail.” He shakes his head. ”They were—they are—evolving and we had no clue how. We didn’t see any hovering mini monsters taking notes, and neither did anyone sense spiritual energy of any kind at its moment of death. And yet, somehow, they knew.”

He inclines his head at Brother. ”Zewu-jun mentioned something about a shared consciousness and it made me wonder. There are animals that have that; a shared consciousness or a hive mind that allows everyone else to learn about what one individual learns. And, well. I thought that if we’re about to face our ultimate demise, at least I could learn what they are and where they come from.

”It worked.”

”Yes, but how?” Nie Huaisang insists.

”Ah…” Wei Wuxian says. ”I used Empathy.”

Several people gasp and more than a handful shoot him dark looks. ”You let a monster possess you?” a sneering voice calls out from the crowd. When the cultivators in front of them part, Lan Wangji sees who it is. His lip curls.

Wei Ying wiggles his fingers. ”Sort of but not really. It’s actually a lot more complicated than that.”

”So you don’t deny it?!”

Wei Ying cocks his head. ”I’m sorry but…who are you, exactly?”

”He is Su Minshan,” Lan Wangji says icily, not bothering to lower his voice. ”You saved his life back during the Gusu lectures when he directed his sword into the Waterborne Abyss and failed to recall it.”

Su Minshan’s face grows ugly red. ”You—”

”Anyway,” Wei Ying says, ignoring him. ”The point is: the portal works both ways but it needs a key. That key, unfortunately, is the Kaiju itself.”

”Meaning…?” Jiang Wanyin prompts.

”The portal recognizes the Kaiju as they move through. Merely trying to push through wouldn’t work because we’re not Kaiju. It wouldn’t permit us entry. But if we, say, adorn ourselves with Kaiju carcass…” 

”And why would we want to enter?” Nie Huaisang asks. ”Why would anyone want to enter?”

Wei Ying’s grin is sharp and deadly, all teeth and no humor. ”Because I want to blow it up.”

”How?” Brother asks softly.

Wei Ying turns slowly to face Brother and looks him plainly in the eye. ”The Yin Tiger Tally can store a hell of a lot of resentful energy. If one has the skill, one can command it.” His tone is flat and hard. ”And I have it.”

Lan Wangji feels cold.

He’d had a sinking feeling about where this was heading as soon as Wei Ying had mentioned the portal. 

Someone yells about abominations and evil plans to take over the world but Wei Ying merely stands still with a small, sardonic smile on his lips and arms behind his back, head tilted just slightly to the side so that he looks arrogant. But Lan Wangji sees how he’s clenching his fists nearly hidden in the wide sleeves of his borrowed Lan robes and how his eyes keep tracking the people who might come at him.

Lan Wangji wants to both kiss him senseless to let him know he isn’t alone and also silence everyone with extreme prejudice.

”He’s right,” the eldest Yu cultivator says in a no-nonsense tone that cuts through the chaos. ”The latest Kaiju was already difficult to deal with. If—and I dare say when—those things keep adapting, the next one might be something we can no longer defeat.”

Nie Mingjue grunts an affirmative. ”I’d rather go down fighting than watch as those monsters destroy everything we barely managed to save only a couple of years ago.”

Wei Ying’s carefully maintained, cocky look cracks slightly and Lan Wangji’s heart aches with the barest sliver of hope he can detect. Wei Ying has been ostracised for so long that it’s become second nature to him to always expect the worst and hope for nothing. To hear that his opinions are valued and what he says is valid—the bare minimum of peer support—seems to shake him.

”Aren’t we forgetting something very obvious?” a clear woman’s voice rings through the chatter, leaving behind a slightly uncomfortable silence. The crowd parts slightly, creating a clear line of sight from Lan Wangji and Wei Ying to where Luo Qingyang stands with her head high.

”And what would that be?” Wei Ying asks politely.

She steps forward and inclines her head. ”You said the portal works both ways,” she says.

”Yes.”

”And since we’re dealing with an entity that has a shared consciousness, I’m going to take a wild guess and say that Empathy also works both ways.”

Wei Ying’s smile is small and wry. ”Your guess would be correct.”

”So, they also know what you know,” she says slowly.

”If I were an average cultivator, that would be right,” Wei Ying says calmly. ”However, the resentful energy in my body acted as a kind of buffer, shielding most of my mind from them. But yes. They know we’re here. They know we know who and what they are. And they know I can figure out a way to kill them. But,” he raises a finger, ”before you start to scream how I now have doomed us all, I’d like to remind you that the Kaiju were going to slaughter everyone anyway.” He shrugs. ”Now we just know they’re coming.”

”So what if they know?” Su Minshan sneers. ”Or do you mean they feel violated by Wei Wuxian’s Empathy? Perhaps they should.”

Lan Wangji would very much like to roll his eyes except that Su Minshan isn’t worth the effort.

”No,” Luo Qingyang says slowly like she’s talking to a toddler. ”It means that whatever is coming out next, will be terrible. If they know we’ll be waiting, they’ll want to crush us once and for all.”

”There might be more than one Kaiju,” Brother says faintly.

”I’d bet on it if gambling wasn’t forbidden for you,” Wei Ying says. 

The conversation slowly dies down from there, everyone visibly disturbed by the idea of facing two or more Kaiju at the same time. Cultivators start to leave the room in small groups and from the corner of his eye, he sees Wei Ying slip out of the room. He’s about to follow when Jiang Wanyin catches him.

”Be on your guard,” he says tightly. ”He’s going to do something fucking stupid.”

”How would you know?” Lan Wangji asks, his attention diverted to Wei Ying’s receding form disappearing behind a corner.

Jiang Wanyin snorts. ”Because that’s what he is. He always does something fucking stupid because he thinks that’s what he has to do.” His angry words are in contradiction with the way his eyes track the cultivators and jump to Lan Wangji’s—and he suddenly realizes that Jiang Wanyin isn’t angry.

He’s terrified.

”Mn,” Lan Wangji says. ”I will keep that in mind.”

In the end, they say yes.

Of course they do.

When facing an unbeatable enemy able to adapt to everything they try, of course they’re willing to try something never heard before. Even if (or perhaps exactly because) it comes from the Yiling Patriarch. They don’t ask what he’s planning, trusting it will be something spectacular and terrifyingly effective. Not asking will also give them plausible deniability and the chance to attack him later on. It’s the Sunshot Campaign all over again and if Lan Wangji wasn’t worried sick he’d be furious. 

And for Lan Wangji…he doesn’t ask—not because he’s afraid of the answer. No. He’s afraid that Wei Ying won’t answer, that he would laugh and deflect and distract him with kisses, and then Lan Wangji would forget about his plan and only remember it when it was already too late.

Instead, he asks what Wei Ying needs. He presses his love on Wei Ying’s skin and pushes it inside of him, wraps it around him—tries everything he can to remind Wei Ying that he is loved, that he has a future, that he will be missed.

He isn’t sure it works.

Wei Ying tells Lan Wangji not to play Clarity or Cleansing to him. ”It doesn’t really work and you’d just waste the spiritual energy you really should be conserving,” he says, tucking a lock of Lan Wangji’s hair behind his ear. Lan Wangji shivers at the barely-there touch of his fingers.

”Besides,” Wei Ying adds, ”In case it did work, I need all the resentful energy I can gather. So I’m giving you some days off from your obligations.”

”You are not an obligation,” Lan Wangji says sharply. ”Playing for you is a privilege and a gift, not a chore.”

Wei Ying stares at him for a moment, then ducks his head with a small smile. ”Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan…” he murmurs. ”You really are too good.”

”I am the exact amount of good for Wei Ying,” he replies haughtily. 

Wei Ying’s laughter is both a welcome respite and a painful reminder of how many days it’s been since he heard it last.

Through Empathy, Wei Ying had somehow gleaned the most probable time for the next attack and the preparations have been furious. There are more cultivators, both Dual Cultivating pairs and single fighters, than in any previous altercation milling in the courtyard, waiting.

They all know that, for better or for worse, this will be the final fight.

Lan Wangji looks around and sees his solemn mood reflected in the grim faces of his fellow cultivators. As Jin Guangyao is explicitly prohibited from doing anything more strenuous than pouring tea, Brother had stated that he was willing to fly out alone. Jin Guangyao had flatly refused, and now Brother is standing next to Akiko-san, who hides her nerves behind a grim face. Nie Huaisang stands next to his brother, talking quietly, and behind them, Jiang Wanyin and Luo Qingyang wait. Rin-san’s face is white with both pain and trepidation but he hobbles determinately after Yu Qiaolian. A bit farther away, by the wall, Bai Mingzhu smooths Jin Zixuan’s lapels and trails her hands over his shoulders before turning to face Uncle. 

And so, so many more.

Lan Wangji takes a deep breath and looks at Wei Ying. He’s standing close enough for their sleeves to brush but it still feels like it’s too far away. On an impulse, he reaches out and grips a hold of his hand. It earns him a quick smile before Wei Ying turns back to scrutinize the gathered cultivators.

Then, a shout.

”Black alert!” 

A moment later,

”Black alert—a new black alert!”

Despite himself, Lan Wangji lets out a sharp breath. They were expecting this but the confirmation still makes him feel sick.

”So. They know,” Brother says grimly.

”Yeah,” Wei Ying says. ”And they want to put an end to it.” 

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes narrow and his voice comes out as a growl. ”Let them fucking try,” he says, Zidian crackling in his hand.

At Brother’s command, they take flight and form two arrowheads, Brother and Akiko-san heading the first and Nie Mingjue and Luo Qingyang the second. Uncle and Bai Mingzhu follow the Nie-Luo arrow, and Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang fly after Brother and Lan Wangji. Jin Guangyao had made a carefully curated plan of how to divide the paired and individual cultivators into even and effective fighting groups and everyone was to memorize it. Lan Wangji hopes they do.

They start to see red alerts as they fly out, and it doesn’t take long for them to see two flying Kaiju heading their way. They look like mythical dragons if those dragons had been perverted and twisted into demonic monsters instead of heavenly beings; they have long, sleek black bodies covered in matt scales with no vulnerable wings to tear to pieces. Beady eyes stare at them with malice, and blue, foamy saliva drips from their fanged mouths. It steams and boils as it hits the seawater.

Dual Cultivation shield array domes snap into place in bright flashes and the battle begins.

Lan Wangji directs Bichen around the Kaiju and flies forward with Jiang Wanyin and Nie Huaisang close behind. Jiang Wanyin had blatantly refused to let Lan Wangji and Wei Ying go on alone and, as Nie Huaisang is almost as clever with array layering as Wei Ying, they are a good backup. 

It’s still some ways ahead, Wei Ying says through the telepathic link. I can feel it.

Wei Ying has been quiet in the past days. His temper has grown shorter due to the resentful energy he’s been storing and condensing into the Tally. They spent the previous evening with Jiang Yanli and even though it had felt like a goodbye, her presence had soothed Wei Ying somewhat. 

Lan Wangji spares a glance behind, grimly satisfied when the two Kaiju are fully engaged in the fight. Purple and indigo lights flash around both monsters with an occasional familiar, pale blue of the Chord Assassination. 

He hopes he’ll live to see Brother and Uncle after all this is done.

Getting closer, Wei Ying says.

To Lan Wangji, nothing looks different about the sea in front of them. The surface is green-blue and dotted with small waves but nothing indicates that there’s a portal into another world hidden under the surface. He slows down and draws to a stop at Wei Ying’s direction, hovering in place.

”This is it?” Jiang Wanyin calls out. 

Next to him, Nie Huaisang looks uncharacteristically solemn. The shield array around them is one of the most complex Lan Wangji has so far seen, purple layers inlaid with grey, sparkling with occasional lightning-like flash. They seem to complement each other well.

”Yeah,” Wei Ying replies absent-mindedly. ”Now shush, I need to concentrate.”

Lan Wangji isn’t sure what he does—he feels the pressure as something immense builds and steals the air from around them. Bichen should be buckling under the weight of it but the sensation doesn’t transfer to the sword at all. 

Finally, Wei Ying’s shoulders sag and he nods. ”Okay,” he says. ”Next—”

Then he steps down from the sword and plummets down way faster than should be possible.

Thank you and I’m sorry, Wei Ying whispers right before he tries to cut the connection. 

In a flash, Lan Wangji latches onto the connection and holds on tight as he pushes power into Bichen and dives after him, Jiang Wanyin’s scream echoing behind him. Bichen speeds after Wei Ying like she, too, is furious about his decision—but also like she wants to show that she’s faster than any talisman Wei Ying can ever come up with.

And she is.

They reach him right before he hits the water and Lan Wangji’s arms wrap around Wei Ying the moment a new shied array snaps closed around them, and then they slip under the surface and speed toward the bottom. Wei Ying’s face is comically startled, eyes wide and mouth open in shock as he turns to look at Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji eases up on his grip on their telepathic connection. What? he asks, raising a brow. Did you really think I would not follow after you?

Wei Ying blinks, then huffs and shakes his head a bit. There’s no coming back from this, Lan Zhan, he warns. 

He gives him an exasperated look. Wei Ying, what gave you the impression I would ever be willing to live in a world without you?

He senses the protest hovering in their connection and to make his point clear, he nudges Wei Ying’s chin up slightly and kisses his forehead once, both as a promise and a reminder.

Wei Ying sags in his arms and for a moment, they take solace in the embrace. Too soon, he straightens up and warns, Brace yourself. This is probably going to hurt. A lot.

There’s a faint blue glow ahead, growing rapidly closer. Wei Ying’s talisman combined with Bichen’s speed has brought them to the portal way faster than either of them would’ve anticipated, and they feel each other’s trepidation and anxiety through their connection. But there’s determination, too, and the need to make things right.

What about the key? Lan Wangji asks.

Wei Ying shoots him a tight grin and digs up a qiankun pouch and a talisman. I have it right here, he says. But I’m afraid the pouch will be permanently ruined. 

I am sure we can live with the loss, Lan Wangji comments dryly. It makes Wei Ying roll his eyes and the tension on his shoulder eases a bit, which is exactly what Lan Wangji was aiming for.

Even though he’s watching carefully, he still doesn’t catch all the intricacies of the talisman Wei Ying paints in the air with resentful energy. It shimmers and flickers as it hovers in front of them, refusing to stay solid in a way that’s making Lan Wangji want to rub his eyes. Wei Ying stands poised on Bichen like he’s readying himself to jump which Lan Wangji isn’t going to allow, hence holding him tightly around his waist. As they draw closer and closer to the glowing rift, he turns to look at Lan Wangji over his shoulder.

I love you.

Then, holding the qiankun pouch by the bottom, he slams it through the talisman with its strings opened, pushing the talisman and whatever scavenged bits of the dead Kaiju he’d stored in the pouch into the wall of the shield array bubble. The array flickers and takes a sickly dark hue as something viscous and decidedly unpleasant flows from the pouch and spreads across the shield.

In front of them, the rift portal glows, pulsing in a rhythm he hadn’t noticed before.

Lan Wangji braces himself.

They fly in.

If asked later, Lan Wangji couldn’t be sure how to describe the experience. In some weird, deeply unsettling way the journey through the rift reminds him of a birth canal, a thought he can’t shove out of his mind fast enough. In his arms, Wei Ying is trembling—whether due to anxiety, fear, or pain, Lan Wangji isn’t sure—but he’s steady, holding his arm straight ahead like he’s steering their path. Under them, Bichen flies true, unwavering, as trustworthy as she’s been since the day Lan Wangji first picked her up.

There are swirling colors around them pulsing in an erratic rhythm that strains his eyes and makes his head throb but he ignores the discomfort and concentrates on keeping his breathing even and circulating his spiritual energy at a steady pace. The pressure around them ebbs and flows but he doesn’t let it distract him. His mission is to help Wei Ying. Everything else is irrelevant.

It feels like forever and no time at all before they emerge into a massive cavern filled with writhing shapes and more swirling colors, maddening combinations that escape reason and sanity. 

This is far enough, Wei Ying says in his mind. He sounds strained. Lan Wangji wonders how this space might feel to him without his golden core. Perhaps he’ll ask later if they survive this.

Hold steady. I need a bit of time. A pause, a slight hesitation. You might want to let go of me.

No, Lan Wangji says flatly. 

Lan Zhan—

I said no , Wei Ying. I am here with you. I am leaving with you or not at all.

A sensation not unlike exasperated—fond—hopelessly-in-love brushes his mind and he huffs, knowing Wei Ying will feel his answering exasperation in return. He still doesn’t understand why We Ying has so hard time believing him and why he’s so determined to do this on his own. If they survive this ordeal, he will dedicate the rest of his life to making Wei Ying understand how thoroughly he is loved. He makes sure to push that dedication through their bond because it would be unforgivable not to let Wei Ying know before he does…whatever he does.

With his free hand, Wei Ying takes the Tiger Tally from the pouch secured under his belt. It looks dull grey in the cacophony of swirling, luminescent colors, out of place. Then Wei Ying starts to whistle and resentful energy starts to leak out of it. 

At first, it looks like sand trickling from a cupped hand, then the trickle increases into a flood cascading from the Tally at an increasing pace. It turns from grey into glossy black as resentful energy swirls around them, leaving him and Wei Ying in the middle of it—in the eye of the storm. 

Wei Ying coughs and something wet drips on Lan Wangji’s hand. The whistling falters for a moment, making the resentful energy buzz like a swarm of angry bees, but with a shudder, Wei Ying wrenches it back under his control. He keeps pouring resentful energy out of the Tally, keeps spinning it around them, keeps pushing it to go faster and faster until it’s a hurricane, tearing at the hems of their robes and yanking at their hair.

Lan Zhan—the array. Take it—

He nods, lets his cheek brush against Wei Ying’s temple, and slowly reaches to take the Kaiju carcass pouch, careful to keep it pressed against the shield array. Lan Wangji grunts under the sudden pressure shift and the sheer alienness radiating from the substance covering the array. 

At the same time, Wei Ying holds the Tally out in his left hand, gripping the wrist with his right hand to keep it steady. Compress it, he orders. More.

Lan Wangji’s breath hisses as he realizes what Wei Ying wants him to do. Your hands, he protests. Wei Ying—

Do it!

Wei Ying’s voice snaps in his head like a whip and he obeys, his heart fighting against his actions. The shield array shrinks, drawing tighter and tighter around them until it almost touches the Tally. At the same time, Wei Ying draws the raging resentful energy back until it’s an almost solid black sphere around his hands.

Wei Ying, Lan Wangji pleads.

Wei Ying swallows and pushes the Tally—and his hand—through the shield array.

Several things happen at the same time:

The writhing shapes all freeze for a fraction of a moment and then turn to face them.

The resentful energy explodes from the Tally, spreading in ever-widening circles around them.

And Wei Ying starts to scream.

The shapes solidify and rush at them, trying to eliminate the threat to their home but Wei Ying’s resentful energy tears into them, ripping out chunks of their form or disintegrating them on the spot. And yet, more come, waves of them, in shapes and forms Lan Wangji hadn’t known to be possible to even imagine before this moment. 

Desperate and desperately determined, Lan Wangji tightens his hold on the shield array and curls his free arm around Wei Ying, grits his teeth against the increasing pressure and the strange sounds that somehow grind straight into his mind despite the fact that the only thing he really hears is Wei Ying’s screaming. He isn’t sure when Wei Ying draws breath—or if he does at all—but the scream goes on; a pained, tortured, soul-deep agony that’s been left festering for too long. 

He feels it when Wei Ying starts to shake and he holds on tighter.

He feels it when Wei Ying’s voice gives out but the screaming continues in his mind.

When the Tally starts to glow an unholy dark light in the middle of the swirling colors, Lan Wangji closes his eyes, somehow knowing what is about to happen and dreading it and desperate to do anything, anything, to get Wei Ying out of there alive.

Wei Ying goes taut and arches in his hold like a bow, his head tilting back on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth open in a scream that goes on in Lan Wangji’s head. 

Lan Wangji presses his face against Wei Ying’s neck and holds on.

The Tally explodes.

If what Wei Ying had been pouring out of the Tally before was a flood, this is more like an avalanche. It’s violent; the resentful energy keeps coming and coming in an unending, unyielding stream Lan Wangji can feel through the shield array. He looks up and sees the resentful energy spreading: it attaches itself to the oncoming shapes and spreads, almost like it’s jumping from one form to the next.

Like ink in water.

Like an infection.

Wei Ying’s hand is still outside the protective shield array, curled into a claw around an empty space. It looks dead, different from Jin Zixuan’s injured hand. Where Jin Zixuan’s flesh had rotted where it was, corroded with thick, dark lines creeping up his arm, Wei Ying’s hand is not a hand anymore. Instead of fingers, Wei Ying now has talons, black like obsidian, gleaming dully in the strange blue light of this alien place.

Wei Ying! Lan Wangji yells through their connection. There’s no response.

Wei Ying, stay with me, please, he chants as he pulls Wei Ying’s hand inside the shield array. It doesn’t want to budge and he isn’t sure if it’s the alien space that’s keeping a hold of it or the shield array that doesn’t want to let it in. As soon as the hand is inside the array, he curls it close to Wei Ying’s chest, carefully making sure not to separate the Kaiju carcass pouch from the array.

The cavern they’re in rumbles, a deep subvocal sound he can feel more than hear, and cracks like dark veins appear in the distance. Lan Wangji doesn’t know if the space they’re in is going to implode or explode and he isn’t inclined to find out. The rift they came through is still above them and, holding tightly onto Wei Ying, he pushes Bichen to move. It’s harder than before, perhaps because he’s exhausted, perhaps because the beings governing this space don’t want to let them leave. 

Lan Wangji will not allow that.

Wei Ying is a limp weight in his arms as he forces them up, up, up, toward the shining light that leads home. Bichen buckles under the pressure but holds, trying her hardest to obey Lan Wangji’s command. He can feel his core sputtering, the strain almost too much but he grits his teeth and pushes on. There are qi-replenishing pills in his sleeve but he can’t reach them while holding on to Wei Ying and pressing the Kaiju pouch against the array, and letting go of Wei Ying even for a moment is unthinkable. 

They’re halfway through the rift when it ripples and starts to slowly collapse in on itself.

Lan Wangji sees it.

He refuses to believe they can’t make it out.

He reaches deep within himself and pours out everything he has. It feels like dying and it feels like burning up and it feels like falling asleep but he can’t because he’s holding Wei Ying and he needs to get them out, he needs to get Wei Ying to safety he needs to—

The sudden change in pressure when Bichen pushes through the collapsing portal at the bottom of the sea is enough to throw Lan Wangji off her, and suddenly they are floating in the sea. Bichen’s glare winks out as she falls to the bottom and for a moment, Lan Wangji is gripped with intense panic that they are going to drown—and then he realizes the shield array bubble is still active. 

He lets the Kaiju carcass pouch drop from his trembling hand and reaches into his sleeve for the qi-replenishing pills. He takes two and with the boost of extra energy, ties Wei Ying against his chest with his sash. He fumbles momentarily as he tries to locate the signal flare, and then grits his teeth as he pushes it through the shield array bubble. The flare is bright in the darkness of the sea as it shoots up toward the surface.

Lan Wangji hopes it reaches the surface.

He hopes they’ll get rescued.

Shaking with exhaustion and with dark spots dancing in his eyes, he adds another layer to the shield array and anchors it to his core. And lastly, he wraps his forehead ribbon around Wei Ying’s right, healthy wrist.

Wei Ying, he says. You did it. The portal has collapsed.

There’s no reply.

Wei Ying. I love you.

Nothing.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and sinks into deep meditation.

Something brushes against his mind.

Something familiar. Something important.

Sleep. You are safe.

He sleeps.

When he slowly blinks his eyes open, he sees grey. It’s blurry, smudged, like something distantly glimpsed through swirling fog. He blinks again and the fog clears—not much but enough for him to realize he’s looking at a roof.

A stone roof.

”Wangji.”

A face swims into view. 

Brother. 

”You’re safe,” Brother says.

”Wei Ying?” he says—or tries to. His voice doesn’t obey him and his words come out in a hoarse whisper but the shape of them is familiar enough that Brother understands.

”He is here,” Brother says. When Lan Wangji opens his mouth to ask, no, demand more, Brother raises a hand. ”You are both alive and in Storm Peak. Rest, Wangji. We’ll talk more when you are better.”

He wants to argue, wants to protest, wants to stand up and search for Wei Ying but his eyes refuse to stay open and his mind succumbs back to sleep.

The next time he wakes, it’s dark. A little bit of light shimmers from his left and he turns his head, only mildly surprised when he actually manages to move it. There’s another bed next to him and in it, Wei Ying. He looks peaceful—not so much of a corpse as he did back after he performed Empathy on the Kaiju. Next to Wei Ying sits Jiang Yanli with a book on her lap, resting her chin in her hand. She’s asleep.

There’s too much distance between him and Wei Ying. Lan Wangji wants to touch him, to feel his pulse, to hold him close to know he’s here and not some mirage he imagined. He reaches out, reaches for Wei Ying even though he knows he’ll fail—the distance is simply too long and his arm so very, very heavy. It drops on the floor with a dull sound, startling Jiang Yanli awake.

”Wha—oh!” She rushes to Lan Wangji and gently lifts his hand back to the bed and tucks the blanket around him. ”I’m glad to see you awake, Wangji,” she says and glances behind her, at the bed where Wei Ying lies. ”He’s alive,” she says. ”He’s yet to wake up but—” she swallows, offering him an encouraging smile. ”It took him a week to wake up after the Empathy. It’s been four days now. Wen Qing says we need to be patient.”

Behind her, the door opens and Yu Qiaolian peeks inside. Her sharp eyes take in the room and its occupants before she closes the door again.

”There’s no sign of any Kaiju,” Jiang Yanli says. ”You did it. You saved us all.”

Lan Wangji shakes his head. The motion makes his head spin and nausea roil in his stomach. ”Wei Ying,” he whispers. ”Not I.”

She lets out a small tutting noise as she reaches to the side for a small cup. ”He couldn’t have made it without you,” she says sternly and supports him slightly so that he can take a careful sip of water. He feels embarrassed by it, by his own weakness, and tries to remind himself that she’s used to doing this, helping sick and injured, and not only because of her brothers. She served in the war, too.

The door slams open, admitting Jiang Wanyin. ”Took your time,” he grumbles. ”Do you have any idea how it felt to look at you fucking assholes dive into the sea and then wait for days for a sign—of any kind?”

Lan Wangji frowns. ”Days?”

”Yes, days,” Jiang Wanyin snaps. ”Why—wait. How long was it for you?”

”I am not sure,” he says slowly. ”It felt like an eternity but also…not?”

”Thanks, that didn’t help at all,” Jiang Wanyin says flatly. ”Any clue when this idiot will wake up?” he asks, jerking his head at Wei Ying.

”A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli chides, raising a brow.

Jiang Wanyin flushes, turns his head, sets his jaw. ”He’s an idiot because he was fucking stupid. Again.”

Jiang Yanli sighs and glances at the door where Yu Qiaolian stands looking highly unimpressed. ”Could you help A-Cheng with the bed?” 

”Yes,” she says at the same time as Jiang Wanyin says, ”What bed? Why?”

”This bed,” Jiang Yanli says, pointing at Wei Ying’s bed. ”We need to move it next to Wangji’s.”

”Why,” Jiang Wanyin says, suspicious.

”Because we either move A-Xian’s bed or commit ourselves to wrangling Second Young Master Lan back into his every time he falls on the floor as he tries to check in on him,” Jiang Yanli says.

Jiang Wanyin scowls at her for a moment and then deflates when she raises a brow. ”Creating problems even when unconscious,” he grumbles as he and Yu Qiaolian carefully move the bed right next to Lan Wangji’s. ”Typical.”

As soon as Wei Ying is close enough, Lan Wangji reaches out to hold his hand, anxious to know he’s truly there with him. The moment his hand wraps around Wei Ying’s wrist, a weight falls from his shoulders and he lets out a shuddering breath.

Wei Ying is alive. Under Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon, his pulse is thready and weak but it’s there, thrumming under Lan Wangji’s fingertips. It means Wei Ying lives and for now, that’s enough for Lan Wangji.

”Sleep now, A-Zhan,” Jiang Yanli whispers, spreading another blanket over them both, shielding their joined hands from the world and leaving them in the dark, warm and safe.

The next time Lan Wangji wakes up, it is to the joy and privilege of watching Wei Ying slowly fight his way into the waking world.

”L’n Zh’n,” he slurs, wincing at the dim light in the room as he forces one eye open a sliver. ”I ’ave a t’rible hangov’r.”

”Wei Ying,” he whispers back, ignoring the clatter at the door as someone bolts out of the room. He also ignores the aches and pains of his body and slowly crawls closer, over the hard edge of Wei Ying’s bed which is slightly higher than Lan Wangji’s, next to Wei Ying so that he can feel him close, his breath on his face, his warmth, him.

Wei Ying hisses as he turns to face Lan Wangji but he, too, seems unwilling to be parted, and then he is finally, again, in Lan Wangji’s arms. Where he belongs.

”Wei Ying,” he whispers again.

Wei Ying makes a questioning sound and then moves his head to take a look at him. ”Lan Zhan? What’s wrong?”

Nothing, he wants to say and then he realizes he can’t because it’s suddenly hard to breathe and he also seems to be shaking. Wei Ying says his name again and now he sounds worried and Lan Wangji knows he should say something, comfort him but he’s unable to because there isn’t enough air in the room but also he can’t let go of Wei Ying, cannot raise his head from Wei Ying’s neck where he’s pressing his face into and—

”I probably should’ve guessed this would happen,” Wen Qing sighs from the door.

”Wen Qing,” Wei Ying hisses. ”Help! Something’s wrong with Lan Zhan!”

”There’s nothing wrong with him except for his taste in men,” Wen Qing says dryly but takes his wrist anyway, sending a clinical, cool wave of spiritual energy down his meridians. 

”What?” 

”Wei Wuxian, you idiot,” Wen Qing snaps. ”You nearly blew yourself up in the alien realm and then he poured his core dry to bring you both out. If it hadn’t been for Jin Zixuan and both of your brothers, you would’ve died.” She taps Lan Wangji’s wrist twice. ”Do you need me to take out my needles?” she asks, sounding genuinely concerned instead of threatening. 

Lan Wangji manages to croak a weak, ”No.”

”Good. We are about to have a lot more company so I suggest you try getting yourself under control.”

”Mn.”

”Wen Qing, there’s no need to threaten Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says.

She scoffs. ”I’m not threatening anyone, I’m letting him know. You’ve been out for nearly a week—again—and a lot of people have been worried—again.” There’s a sound of running. ”You’re welcome,” she concludes.

The door slams open, admitting no less than seven people: Jiang Yanli and Jiang Wanyin, of course, followed closely by Brother, Uncle, Jin Zixun, Yu Qiaolian, and Nie Huaisang. 

Jiang Yanli promptly bursts into tears and flings herself on her knees next to Wei Ying’s bed, frantically touching his face, his hair, his injured arm (Lan Wangji is clutching the healthy hand and he has no intention of ever letting go). Jiang Wanyin scowls but his throat works in a way Lan Wangji knows means he’s swallowing back tears. Brother and Nie Huaisang are beaming, Jin Zixun hovers awkwardly, Uncle has a sour look on his face, and Yu Qiaolian looks mostly unimpressed. 

”A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli sobs, brushing his cheek over and over again. ”You have to be more careful! If not for yourself, then for Wangji and shijie!”

Jiang Wanyin opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind and sits on the bed instead, clinging to Wei Ying’s ankle with a white-knuckled grip. 

”Aww, were you worried, Chengcheng?” Wei Ying asks.

”Fuck you,” Jiang Wanyin hisses. Then he looks away and mutters, ”What do you think? Asshole.”

Wei Ying looks bewildered.

Brother clears his throat. ”I’m glad you’re finally awake, Young Master Wei,” he says with a smile. ”We have been very worried.” He looks at Lan Wangji who refuses to meet his eye.

”Yes,” Uncle says stiffly. 

”Um. Sorry?” Wei Ying says.

”How about you don’t apologize and try to not die instead?” Yu Qiaolian asks coolly. ”It would be less stressful for everyone, especially Wanyin.”

”Qiaolian,” Jiang Wanyin barks.

”What?” she snaps back. ”You have barely slept since those two were hauled out of the sea. Do you have any idea how stressful it is to me to watch you stressing yourself into an early grave?”

”Yeah, so how did we get out?” Wei Ying asks Brother, pointedly ignoring the bickering Jiang Wanyin and his First Disciple.

”That was a joint effort,” Brother says, looking at Jin Zixuan of all people. ”It turned out that Jin Zixuan had some very interesting suggestions for talisman expansion.”

”Huh?” Wei Ying says.

Jin Zixuan shrugs, looking uncomfortable. ”I had to do that a lot here in the fort,” he says. ”It was just a matter of adaptation.”

”You,” Wei Ying says. ”Adapted talismans.”

Jin Zixuan flushes. ”Is that so hard to believe?” he challenges. ”I’m not an imbecile, no matter what you think.”

”I never thought you were an imbecile, just an idiot,” Wei Ying says. 

Jin Zixuan’s jaw works and for a moment, Lan Wangji thinks he’s going to storm out of the room.

”Anyway, what talisman expansion?” Wei Ying asks. When Jin Zixuan gives him a suspicious look, he rolls his eyes. ”Look, you can’t expect me to buy it just like that because so far, you’ve never expressed any interest in talismans. Or was it just because you’re the golden heir of the Jin Sect and you never had to work for anything in your life?”

”A-Xian!” Jiang Yanli snaps.

Wei Ying blinks, startled, then hurries to meekly say, ”Sorry, shijie.” 

She looks at him with something hard in her eyes. ”It’s not me you have to apologize for, it’s Zixuan. None of us get to choose our parents but we get to choose how we use the skills we have.” She raises a brow and when Wei Ying stares at her with wide eyes, she looks at Jin Zixuan. ”The implementation of the expanded shielding array was very cleverly done. Thank you, Zixuan, for saving my little brother.”

After a moment of awkward silence, Wei Ying clears his throat. ”Thank you,” he says quietly. ”And sorry for being an ass.”

Jin Zixuan looks uncomfortable, glances from Wei Ying to Jiang Yanli, and then away with a flush on his cheeks. ”You’re welcome,” he says stiffly. 

There’s another moment of silence that Brother breaks with a delicate cough. 

”We saw your signal flare, Wangji,” he says. ”It helped us to locate where you were. The depth of the sea was a challenge but we managed to parse together talismans that could withstand the pressure of the sea—I’m sure Zixuan, Huaisang, and Rin-san would be delighted to share the sketches and design process with you at a later note, Young Master Wei.

”Whatever you’d done for the shield array bubble you had around you, proved trickier than getting you out of the sea. We had to place you inside another shield array because we weren’t sure how your shield would react when we tried to disable it. The best-case scenario was that it would merely cause some minor damage. The worst-case scenario…well. Let’s just say that we had Zixuan’s shield arrays meant for the fort at hand for a reason.”

”But it didn’t explode?” Wei Ying asks.

Brother shakes his head. ”No. You both were severely poisoned by resentful energy, though, and that has taken the better part of mine and Uncle’s resources.” He cocks his head. ”May I ask you, what happened to the Tiger Tally?”

Wei Ying gives him a thin smile. ”I blew it up.”

Brother blinks. ”You—oh.”

”Is that the reason behind the damage to your hand?” Uncle asks.

”Yes,” Wei Ying says, then adds, cheekily, ”That obviously means I’m too ugly to join the Lan, now. Having only pretty disciples is a rule, isn’t it?”

”Your face hasn’t changed,” Uncle says, in complete deadpan. ”And the injuries gained during a night-hunt wouldn’t matter anyway.” He looks uncommonly smug when Wei Ying is rendered speechless. ”Wangji, I’m glad to see you are better,” he says. ”Doctor Wen is truly brilliant and dedicated,” he says, inclines his head, and walks out.

Wei Ying turns to give Lan Wangji a wide-eyed stare. ”Did—Lan Zhan—did your uncle just call me pretty?” he asks in a whisper that sounds both delighted and horrified.

Lan Wangji hides his smile in Wei Ying’s hair and meets Brother’s eyes, seeing the understanding and acceptance he hoped for but didn’t quite dare to wish.

Jiang Wanyin is still holding Wei Ying’s ankle as he tells him he’s an embarrassment and Jiang Yanli chides her brothers without even bothering to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Nie Huaisang’s eyes are bright and delighted over the rim of his fan and Jin Zixuan still looks like he desperately wants to be somewhere else but also like the giggling Jiang Yanli is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Yu Qiaolian rolls her eyes and mutters something Lan Wangji doesn’t hear but there’s a small smile on the corner of her mouth when she takes her leave. Lan Wangji is quite sure she just plants herself on the other side of the door, making sure no one can disturb her Sect Leader’s family in this moment of happiness in the aftermath of a near-disaster.

Lan Wangji closes his eyes and holds his love, his Wei Ying, alive, alive, alive in his arms where he belongs.

It’s early morning but the kitchen staff is hard at work already, as usual. Granny Lan stands in front of the stove, slowly stirring a pot of congee. The old cook quirks a brow at him with a smile.

”The usual, A-Zhan?” 

”Yes.” Lan Wangji says, feeling warmed by her casual greeting. ”Thank you.”

She clicks her tongue. ”No need to thank me, A-Zhan,” she chides. ”The congee is almost ready. You know where the bowls and condiments are.”

Even though he knows the kitchens well, Lan Wangji wouldn’t dream of venturing in before getting Granny Lan’s permission. ”Mn,” he says and picks up two bowls for congee and another bowl that he fills with steamed tofu, scallions, fragrant mushrooms, and three eggs (he first takes two but at Granny Lan's frown, adds one more). There’s a small basket of buns waiting on the tray, radiating warmth even through the cloth covering them.

”I have a surprise for A-Ying,” she says, nodding at the side table. ”It arrived yesterday.”

The surprise is a small jar of something containing so much chili that Lan Wangji can smell it through the stopper. ”Thank you, Granny,” he says, unable to keep a small smile from his face. ”Wei Ying will appreciate this.”

She sniffs, going for a nonchalant air. ”It’s merely a payback for the talisman he gave me last week,” she says.

”Of course,” Lan Wangji says seriously.

She narrows her eyes and wags a finger at him. ”Don’t you start, A-Zhan,” she says.

”Mn.”

After loading the bowls full of piping hot, silky smooth congee, she shoos him from the kitchen with the usual reminder to ”make sure A-Ying eats enough, that boy is too thin!” Lan Wangji has heard the reminder every morning since their return weeks ago and it still makes his chest feel as warm as the first time. 

The Jingshi is silent when he returns with his full tray. Wei Ying is still asleep as is his habit and Lan Wangji is more than happy to let him sleep. The breakfast will keep under the stasis talisman, and he brews himself a pot of tea and starts to go through his correspondence. As Brother and Uncle deal with the more official sect correspondence, Lan Wangji’s letters tend to be more a personal kind.

There’s a rambling letter from Nie Huaisang, bemoaning how his da-ge doesn’t let him slack off anymore but forces him to work instead, what a tragedy, it’s terrible for his complexion, but also he’s having the time of his life expanding his intelligence network and will shortly take a trip to Gusu and Yunmeng. Lan Wangji rolls his eyes at the theatrics but writes a short reply where he promises to take a look at the library collection of adaptable wards that could be tailored to moving objects. It seems like Nie Huaisang is really going hard for his chosen form of cultivation, the war fans.

The next letter on the pile is from Sect Leader Yao, and Lan Wangji neither understands why it’s addressed to him nor has any inclination to read it. He moves it to the pile he’ll refer to Brother. Sect leaders should contact sect leaders, after all.

A short note from a village Lan Wangji visited the year before, informing him that this year’s floods claimed several lives and that they would appreciate his help if he finds time for it. He wonders if Wen Qionglin would like to accompany him and Wei Ying—he is a gentle soul and enjoys helping people. 

There’s also a short, carefully crafted letter from Akiko-san (her Chinese has truly improved a lot), telling him that she and Rin-san have settled on Lotus Pier for now and are taking some time to think about where to go from here. 

The familiar handwriting on the next, thick letter draws a smile on Lan Wangji’s face. He and Jiang Yanli have kept in touch after departing Storm Peak, and her letters are always a pleasure. 

”Wangji,

I hope everything is peaceful in the Cloud Recesses. I was so delighted to hear that the Wen remnants are well looked after and that little A-Yuan enjoys the company of other children. Being alone isn’t good for a child and from what you’ve told me about him, he seems like a delightful and bright boy. I have hopes to visit Gusu soon to meet him, although it really depends on how we get things wrapped up here.

I’m not sure if you’ve already heard but Xue Yang has been found. Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen caught him near the Qinghe border and executed him on sight. We are all very relieved by the news—hopefully, it means that the matter of the late Sect Leader Jin and Zixuan’s cousin's deaths can finally be put to rest.

Speaking of Zixuan, thank you for your advice in your last letter. I talked with him about it and he seemed grateful for your words. I encouraged him to write to you himself but it might take him some time. He’s terribly shy even though he wouldn’t dream of admitting it—”

Through her words, she makes Koi Tower sound far more pleasant than what Lan Wangji has ever experienced. Then again, the deaths of Jin Guangshan and Jin Zixun have probably done a lot to clean up the worst of the filth, and the hard work Zixuan and Jin Guangyao (and Jiang Yanli, even though no one says it aloud) have been doing for the past weeks are starting to bear fruit. There’s a lot of work to be done and while Lanling will never be fully free of scheming and backstabbing, it will hopefully be more bearable in the future.

Jiang Yanli doesn’t mention engagement but he assumes it won’t be long now. She practically lives in Koi Tower already, Jin Zixuan relies heavily on her opinions, and the rest of Koi Tower knows not to cross her.

As usual, Jiang Yanli has included a second letter wrapped within the pages addressed to Lan Wangji, and he sets it on the tray so that it leans on the chili jar where Wei Ying will easily see it. 

A soft knock interrupts him and, after making sure Wei Ying is still asleep, he makes his way to the door. He slides it open to see Brother standing at the edge of the patio with his back to him, gazing into the pond with the air of someone who isn’t really aware of what’s around him. 

Lan Wangji closes the door and walks to him, making sure his boots make a bit of noise to alert Brother to his presence.

Brother sighs and something in him sags. It’s the most forlorn Lan Wangji has seen him in a long while and it makes him uneasy.

”Brother,” he says. ”You are troubled.”

”I had a letter from A-Yao,” Brother says quietly.

Lan Wangji has no clue why Brother would feel the need to tell him this. Brother and Jin Guangyao send letters to each other almost daily so this is no news to anyone.

”He agrees that I should get married.”

Oh.

”But not to him.”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. He doesn’t know what to say. He would like to not know about this but now he does and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

”I know he is right, and yet…” Brother’s voice trails away. After a moment of silence, he shakes his head slightly and says, ”The elders are fully aware that you will marry Wei Wuxian or not marry at all. That means that as the sect leader, it’s my duty to marry and produce an heir.”

Lan Wangji feels terrible. ”I—”

”Don’t,” Brother interrupts with a small, pained smile. ”There’s no need to apologize for my status or your devotion to Wei Wuxian. It is what it is.” He takes a deep breath and lets it slowly out, straightening his back until he, once more, looks like the Brother Lan Wangji knows. ”The reason I came to see you was not this—or this wasn’t the whole reason. A-Yao suggested Lady Qin from Laoling Qin. She’s a gentle, kind woman and…” Brother pauses, then clears his throat before adding hesitantly, ”For some reason, A-Yao implied like she wouldn’t feel threatened by our… ah…close acquaintance.”

”That sounds promising,” Lan Wangji says carefully. He hopes Brother stops talking about this.

Something in Brother relaxes. ”You think so?” he asks, sounding uncharacteristically earnest.

Lan Wangji blinks. ”Did you think I would not approve?” he asks, confused. When Brother gives him a slightly sheepish look, he says, ”Brother, all I want is for you to be happy. If this is how you find happiness, then I will support your decision.”

”Thank you, Wangji,” Brother says, relieved. He looks like he’s about to say something else but Wei Ying’s muffled voice from inside the house draws a small smile on his face. ”We’ll talk later,” he says and touches him on the shoulder once as a thank you before taking his leave.

By the time Lan Wangji returns inside, Wei Ying has managed to sit up in bed. His (Lan Wangji’s) sleeping robe has slipped from his shoulder, revealing his chest and the necklace of love bites Lan Wangji has bitten on his skin. He knows that there are more bruises on his hips and in the small of his back, left by Lan Wangji’s mouth and fingers. The thought of Wei Ying’s skin carrying his claim under the layers makes him feel dangerously unrestrained even with his forehead ribbon on.

”Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying whines. ”You can’t give me that kind of a look first thing in the morning. I’m not even properly awake yet!”

”My apologies,” Lan Wangji says, not feeling apologetic at all. Wei Ying doesn’t mind being asleep or barely awake for their lovemaking—he has, in fact, stated that waking up to Lan Wangji taking his pleasure in him is one of his favorite ways to start the day.

Wei Ying gives him a sly look but it turns into a delighted grin the moment he sees the letter waiting for him on the tray. ”Oh, a letter from shijie!” he exclaims and scrambles up, stumbling when his feet get caught up in the blanket. 

As Wei Ying frees him from the blanket attack and starts to read Jiang Yanli’s letter, Lan Wangji prepares breakfast. He removes the stasis talisman from the tray and sets the bowls and basket on the table within easy reach, heaps Wei Ying’s bowl high with toppings, and opens the chili jar. The smell is pungent and strong enough to make his eyes water and he coughs, trying to clear his throat. The sound draws Wei Ying’s attention and he looks up, then zeroes in on the jar.

”Lan Zhan, what—where did this come from?”

”A surprise from Granny Lan,” he says in an almost normal voice.

”Oh,” Wei Ying breathes, a small shyly pleased smile on his face. He sets Jiang Yanli’s letter aside and pours a disturbing amount of deep crimson chili paste on his congee, making Lan Wangji’s stomach twinge in sympathy.

Wei Ying’s left hand with its ruined, dull black bones is on his lap, hidden in his sleeve. As far as they’ve been able to determine, despite its looks, it poses no threat to Wei Ying or anyone else. According to Wen Qing, they could probably remove the bones and leave Wei Ying with a clean stump but so far, Wei Ying has been unwilling to do so—in fact, he’s been unwilling to even discuss his hand at all. Lan Wangji doesn’t pressure him and levels anyone who dares to bring up the subject with a withering glare that very effectively silences everyone. (He’s very pleased with himself.)

”So, they finally got Xue Yang,” Wei Ying says when he’s polished off his congee and two eggs, and is munching on his fourth bun. ”Convenient, wasn’t it, having him go on a rampage and kill both Jin Guangshan and Jin whatshisface, only to turn up where Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen just happened to be traveling, eh?”

”Mn.”

Wei Ying grins sharply. ”Jin Guangyao is excellent at organizing things, isn’t he?”

Lan Wangji inclines his head. ”According to Brother, he’s been very helpful. And your sister says Jin Zixuan appreciates his help a lot.”

Wei Ying’s nose scrunches with distaste but he says nothing and takes a deep sip of tea. It’s progress, Lan Wangji thinks. 

For a fleeting moment, he considers telling Wei Ying about Brother’s visit and then decides against it. There’s no rush and he can broach the subject later. Instead, he asks, ”Do you want to visit the Wen today?”

”Oh, sure!” Wei Ying says. 

He helps Wei Ying with his robes and hair—not because he thinks Wei Ying is unable to do that himself but because it brings him deep satisfaction. (They had this conversation several times before Wei Ying finally believed him. Kissing and other manners of persuasion might have played a prominent role in the process.) Before they leave the Jingshi, Lan Wangji helps him with a glove made of soft, supple leather the color of honey. It fits over the ruined hand and black bones, making it less conspicuous and helping Wei Ying feel less self-conscious about it.

”I wonder if Fourth Uncle has perfected his fruit wine yet,” Wei Ying says with a wink. 

Lan Wangji sighs but says nothing. Alcohol is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses but the Wen settlement is technically not in the Cloud Recesses and frankly, he doesn’t feel like enforcing that particular rule with Wei Ying. 

In the back of his mind, a dour voice that sounds a lot like Uncle mutters something about not enforcing any rules when it’s about Wei Ying. 

Lan Wangji cheerfully ignores it.

Life in the cultivation world slowly starts to settle. The horrors of the Kaiju attacks brought people together both as sects and as individual cultivators in a way the Sunshot Campaign never did. The effects of Dual Cultivation and sharing minds can’t be as easily brushed off as the sect alliances, and no one pretends to be surprised by the multiple sworn siblings ceremonies and marriage proposals that spring up. The following months are filled with rebuilding homes, families, and friendships.

Lan Wangji receives another letter from Akiko-san where she tells him that she and Rin-san have decided to join Yunmeng Jiang. Kaihouin had been destroyed in the Kaiju attack and neither of them have a home to return to. ”Cultivation isn’t common in Dongying,” Akiko-san writes, ”There are other cultivators but no home. Lotus Pier feels like home. We like it here.” Lan Wangji is quite sure that Rin-san’s attempts to woo Yu Qiaolian have something to do with their decision. He wishes him luck. Rin-san will definitely need it.

In the Cloud Recesses, the elders are resigned to Wei Ying’s continuing presence. They would likely forget about the Wen altogether if it wasn’t for Wen Qing’s brilliance and Wen Qionglin’s aptitude as her assistant. Healers from other sects send queries for the chance to come learn from the renowned Doctor Wen and the elders are clearly tempted to start a lecture focusing on healing arts. Lan Wangji actually hopes they would—Wen Qing’s brilliance deserves to be recognized.

The former Madam Jin visits the Cloud Recesses, bringing with her the formal announcement of Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s engagement and a letter from Laoling Qin. She has a lengthy audience with Uncle and Lan Wangji very carefully doesn’t think about the look on Uncle’s face when she departs.

(”What if—” Wei Ying starts.

”No.”

”But—”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes. ”No. Please, Wei Ying.”

”You’re no fun,” he mutters.) 

The bunnies Wei Ying gifted Lan Wangji what feels like a lifetime ago, have claimed the back hills as their home. Wei Ying is delighted by it (and them). They try to visit the bunnies several times a week with A-Yuan who takes his role as the bunny caregiver very seriously. The sight of the little boy carefully feeding bunnies lettuce and carrot scraps adds to the warmth in Lan Wangji’s heart. Some days it feels so full he fears it would burst. Some days he still doesn’t quite dare to believe that he has this—Wei Ying in his home, safe and recovering; his family safe; the Wen safe and getting better; his friends (plural, for he has more than one now) safe and happy.

”Did you know that you’re unbearably beautiful when you’re smiling?” Wei Ying whispers, leaning against his side. His eyes are gentle with no hint of teasing, and the emotion shining from them takes Lan Wangji’s breath away. 

He darts a quick glance at A-Yuan and when he sees the boy is, fortunately, intensely focused on petting the bunnies, he leans to kiss Wei Ying. He hums, pleased, against Lan Wangji’s lips and when they draw apart, he leans his head on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

They sit in comfortable silence, unhurried, enjoying each other’s company, holding hands. Some time later, Lan Wangji sends a small sliver of spiritual energy into Wei Ying—he doesn’t need to think about it, it’s what he always does. Except that this time—

”Wei Ying—” he gasps. ”Your—”

”Hm?”

Lan Wangji sends a stronger burst of spiritual energy through his meridians and looks into Wei Ying’s startled, wide eyes as it pools into the fledgling core in his dantian. It’s tiny, barely there, but it’s there and—

”Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whisper-sobs. ”Is that really— Am I dreaming?” He’s clinging onto Lan Wangji’s arm with a grip that borders painful but Lan Wangji doesn’t care because Wei Ying has a core again.

With shaking fingers, he sends a message talisman to Brother to come and take A-Yuan because Wei Ying has a core again which means he no longer has to rely on resentful energy.

By the time Brother arrives, Wei Ying is laughing and crying at the same time, trying (and failing) to reassure A-Yuan that everything is fine, Xian-gege isn’t sick, nothing to worry about.

”Wangji?” Brother asks, stopping next to them with a worried look.

”Wei Ying—” he starts and then his throat closes up because Wei Ying has a core again.

Wei Ying shakes his head and wipes his cheeks, looks up at Brother with brimming eyes, and says in a wobbly voice, ”My core—I have a core. It’s really small and weak but—I have a core.” Then he bursts into tears again.

Brother blinks and opens his mouth, then blinks again. ”Ah. I see.” His eyes flicker to Lan Wangji with startled understanding but he doesn’t ask for which Lan Wangji is grateful. Instead, Brother kneels next to A-Yuan and says, ”Sometimes, when one gets very good news, it evokes such strong feelings that one might not know what to do about them.”

”Xian-gege got good news?” A-Yuan asks.

Wei Ying laughs through his tears. ”Very, very good,” he says. ”The best.”

A-Yuan thinks about that for a moment and then nods. ”Okay,” he says.

”Would you come with me, A-Yuan?” Brother says, holding out his hand to A-Yuan. ”Perhaps we could go and tell Doctor Wen the good news?” He gives Lan Wangji a questioning look. 

He nods. ”Thank you.”

Brother and A-Yuan are barely out of sight when Wei Ying scrambles into his lap and buries his face into the crook of Lan Wangji’s neck, holding onto him so hard he’s shaking. They embrace for a long while, overcome and overwhelmed. Wei Ying keeps whispering his disbelief and joy into Lan Wangji’s skin and he keeps circling spiritual energy through Wei Ying, needing the proof—needing the feel of Wei Ying’s new core to keep his calm.

It suddenly dawns on him that now that Wei Ying has a core again, they can Dual Cultivate for real—share their minds and bodies and spiritual energies, regardless of how small a trickle Wei Ying’s core is able to produce at this point. The thought hits him with such a visceral, pure want that he feels lightheaded.

”Lan Zhan? What’s wrong?” Wei Ying asks and raises his head to give Lan Wangji a concerned look. ”You went still and stopped breathing.” He tilts his head. ”What is it?”

Lan Wangji swallows around a suddenly dry throat, tries to get his mouth to obey. ”Wei Ying,” he croaks and then he has to stop.

”Yes?” Wei Ying says. He looks worried. That’s unacceptable.

”Your core,” Lan Wangji says. He’s never heard his own voice sound this deep before. ”Dual Cultivation.”

”Yeah?” Wei Ying says. ”What about Dual Cul—” His eyes go wide. ”Oh. That. Yes.”

”Yes?” Lan Wangji asks. It comes out as a growl.

Wei Ying kisses him, hard. ”Yes,” he breathes. ”Please.”

Without another word, Lan Wangji picks him up and hurries back to the Jingshi.

He has a plan now: first, he’s going to Dual Cultivate with Wei Ying; pour out all of himself—offer his essence, his core, his soul into the altar of his Wei Ying. 

Then he’s going to marry Wei Ying.

And then…

Then they’ll have the rest of their lives ahead of them.