”Wangji,” Xichen says tentatively, pressing his hand against the door frame.
No reply.
Ever since he was dragged away from Wei Wuxian’s crumpled form, Wangji has been stubbornly quiet. He stayed silent through the brutal whipping that would’ve killed a lesser cultivator and didn’t utter a word when Xichen carried him to the Jingshi and treated his wounds.
”Wangji,” Xichen repeats and lets out a sigh. He doesn’t want to intrude on his brother’s seclusion, but his news isn’t something he wishes to say from behind a closed door. So he slides the door open and steps in, turns to close the door, and then stands there for a moment, bracing himself.
”I’m sorry to disturb your recovery,” he says softly. ”But I wanted you to learn this from me instead of Uncle.”
Wangji doesn’t give any indication that he’s conscious.
Xichen turns to face the bed, takes in the barely breathing form of his brother. He feels a spike of incandescent fury at Wei Wuxian—how dare he play with Wangji like this, lead him on and then spur him when all he ever wanted to help; how dare he drag Xichen’s wonderful, serious, thoughtful brother down with him; how dare he make him hurt like this; how dare he? The man lying prone on the bed is a mangled shell of the brother Xichen has cherished his whole life, irrevocably altered by Wei Wuxian’s darkness.
How fortunate that it’s finally over now.
”Wangji. I just returned from the Burial Mounds,” Xichen says. ”Wei Wuxian is dead.”
A shiver runs through his brother, and then, with a pained groan, he turns his head. ”What?” Wangji croaks.
”Led by Sandu Shengshou, the sects laid siege on the Burial Mounds, and in the aftermath of the bloodbath, Wei Wuxian died from a spiritual backlash.” There’s no need to tell Wangji that Wei Wuxian was, in fact, torn to pieces by his own ghoulish creations. A fitting end—dabbling with demonic cultivation has a price, and Wei Wuxian has now paid it.
Wangji lets out a gasp and struggles to get up.
”What are you—no! Don’t move!” Xichen exclaims, hurrying to his side and trying in vain to push him back to the bed. ”There’s nothing left! Wangji!”
”I—need—”
”They’re dead!” Xichen snaps, holding him by the shoulders. ”Wei Wuxian and the few Wen that had stayed with him!” When Wangji keeps fighting his hold, he shakes him slightly, trying to make him see reason. ”We set the Burial Mounds on fire. It’s burning. Everything is burning. There’s nothing for you there.”
That makes Wangji stop. He sways slightly and then lifts his head slowly, finally meeting Xichen’s eyes, and it makes him flinch. There’s new coldness in Wangji’s eyes, and Xichen finds himself averting his gaze even though he isn’t sure exactly why.
”Leave,” Wangji says.
”Wangji—”
”LEAVE!”
The push comes as a surprise, and Xichen stumbles back, shocked by the violent outburst. ”Fine,” he says, placating, holding his palms up. ”I will leave you at peace. I’ll come to see you later.”
He walks away from the Jingshi with a heart heavy as lead but hoping against hope that Wangji will pull through. He has to—he’s Xichen’s didi and Xichen will make sure he’ll be alright.
He’s almost out of earshot when he hears a low, agonized wail so full of pain that he stops and whirls around to stare at the house with wide eyes. The sound goes on longer than should be humanly possible, and when it fades away, Xichen is left with a sour taste in his mouth and dread pooling in his gut.
He doesn’t go back, though.
Later, he will call himself a coward.
Later, he will blame himself for letting his brother down.
Later, he will stare at the Wall of Discipline only to see Wangji’s lifeless eyes staring into nothing, his blood seeping into the cracks on the floor, one hand holding Bichen and the other crushing a dried flower between clenched fingers. There was nothing to be done but to curse Wei Wuxian’s name for taking his brother away for good.
(Even later, far too late by all counts that matter, when the Yiling Patriarch comes back, Xichen will fall on his knees in front of Wei Wuxian who has no mercy for those who killed his Lan Zhan.
And Xichen will finally, belatedly, bitterly understand what he’d been part of.)