The spell hits them out of nowhere.
One moment Lan Wangji is cutting into Wen Ruohan’s puppets with Bichen, and the next moment he’s drowning under the screams of a thousand tormented souls and there’s an unbelievable, mind-wrenching agony of missing an integral part of himself. He stumbles, falls on his knees as Wei Ying’s flute falls silent and—it’s in his hand? Wei Ying’s flute is in his hand and it has fallen silent because he isn’t—Wei Ying isn’t—
”Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanyin’s voice cuts through the agony like his whip. ”What are you playing at?”
”I—”
Jiang Wanyin’s sword slashes in a wide, vicious arc as he stops next to Lan Wangji. ”Stand up, idiot!” he hisses and yanks Lan Wangji up roughly.
”I—” Lan Wangji tries again and then whirls around when he hears Brother’s agonized shout.
”Wangji!”
A short distance away, a cultivator in bright white robes has staggered to his hands and knees, head bent and black hair fallen in front of his face in a curtain that shields him from prying eyes. As Lan Wangji watches, Brother hurries next to him, grips his shoulder, and bends down to talk to him. And—
The cultivator in white recoils and whips his head around and Lan Wangji is suddenly facing his own, terrified face.
”Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji says. He sounds wrong because it’s not him, it’s Wei Ying but—Wei Ying has never sounded so flat and emotionless.
”What the fuck,” Jiang Wanyin snarls.
They beat back the puppets. Barely.
After, Jiang Wanyin is seething as he snaps out question after question Lan Wangji cannot answer—both because he doesn’t know the answers and because he has no core, where is his core—where is Wei Ying’s core, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei—
He refuses to see a healer until Wei Ying is by his side. He says it’s because it would be a waste of time to try and figure out the spell or curse or whatever this is with half of it missing but in reality, he has a sinking feeling this is the secret Wei Ying has been guarding.
Why had Wei Ying abandoned the straight path? Because it was no longer available for him.
Such a simple answer.
Terrifying.
Lan Wangji swallows against the bile in his throat and staggers out of his—Wei Ying’s—tent. He needs to find Wei Ying. He needs to make sure Wei Ying is safe and he needs to apologize. He needs to—he needs to make Wei Ying understand that now more than ever Lan Wangji is adamant to stay by his side.
If this is what Wei Ying needs to do, then Lan Wangji will guard him and keep him safe.
”Wangji?” Brother says quietly, appearing by his side like a shadow.
”Mn.”
Brother closes his eyes for a brief moment and lets out a soft huff of breath. He looks tired but so do they all, golden core or not. The weary exhaustion grinding down on Lan Wangji’s borrowed bones makes his breath hitch and his stiff movements don’t go unnoticed but he flinches back as Brother reaches out for him. There is a possibility Brother would detect Wei Ying’s lack of core if he touched Lan Wangji, and that’s a risk he doesn’t dare to take.
”Have you seen Wei Ying?” he asks instead, focusing his eyes just slightly over Brother’s left shoulder.
Brother’s lips tighten into a line but he lets the matter lie. ”I saw him head out to the brook behind the Yueyang Chang tents. Wangji—”
Then Brother pauses, shakes his head slightly, and takes a step to the side to let him pass.
Wei Ying stands knee-deep in the brook, oblivious to the chilling water dragging at the white robes. His shoulders hitch up when he hears Lan Wangji approach but he doesn’t turn around.
For a moment, Lan Wangji just watches him. What happened to him—how did he lose his core? When? Why hadn’t he told anyone? How does he make it through a grueling day after a grueling day without the support of his spiritual power when even Lan Wangji feels tired to his very core?
Not for the first time, he tries to circulate nonexistent spiritual energy through Wei Ying’s meridians, only to draw up nothing and stumble to cleanly cut pathways. How cold has Wei Ying been lately? How hungry? How much pain has he endured since—since he lost his core?
Why didn’t he tell Lan Wangji?
He opens his mouth to call out to Wei Ying but Wei Ying interrupts him without turning around.
”So. Now you know.”
For the lack of a better answer, Lan Wangji hums.
Wei Ying lets out a harsh bark of a laugh that would sound completely wrong even in his own voice, let alone in Lan Wangji’s. ”No point in dragging me back to Gusu now, is there? You must think I’m such a disgrace—”
”No—”
”—but then again, isn’t punishing heretical cultivators exactly what Gusu Lan stands for?” Wei Ying continues as if he doesn’t hear him. ”Lock me up and throw away the key, use me as the monster in the dark to make sure juniors behave themselves.”
It pains him to hear Wei Ying talk like that. Lan Wangji considers him his zhiji—doesn’t Wei Ying know that? He has truly failed him if Wei Ying thinks Lan Wangji wants to lock him up, seal him in a small room and contain his brightness?
”Wei Ying, no,” Lan Wangji interrupts. He wades into the brook, gritting his teeth against the biting cold that attacks his legs, licking up his shins until his skin goes numb.
”But if you think that’ll be easy—” Wei Ying growls as he turns to face him.
Lan Wangji’s breath catches. The naked fear in Wei Ying’s eyes—in his own eyes—is something he’s never seen before and he fervently wishes he never has to see again. ”No,” he says again and walks closer, heart aching as Wei Ying flinches back.
”Not to punish,” Lan Wangji says earnestly. ”Not to lock up. Never. Not Wei Ying.” Slowly, like he’s approaching a wounded animal, he raises his hand. ”To keep safe,” he says. ”To heal. To protect.” He swallows and in a sudden burst of bravery, brushes the Lan forehead ribbon still in its proper place. ”To—”
”What?” Wei Ying whispers. ”But you don’t even—I thought you—” He grabs Lan Wangji’s wrist in an iron grip, clearly forgetting he’s now in a body with a functioning core, and searches his eyes with a slightly hysterical look. ”Lan Zhan—what are you saying?”
Lan Wangji raises his other hand and dares to press it gently against Wei Ying’s cheek. ”Core or no core,” he says. ”Wei Ying is Wei Ying.”
”It’s not that simple.”
Lan Wangji disagrees but holds his tongue for now. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Wei Ying’s, lets them breathe the same air for a moment. The numbness in his legs has shifted to a grinding ache that creeps up his thighs and drags its claws into his pelvis, and yet, he’s unwilling to move.
The switch back is as sudden as the original change: one moment Lan Wangji is unbearably cold and in agonizing pain and the next, he’s back in his own body, and his spiritual energy surges like a river, chasing back the lingering ghost of his torment.
Wei Ying goes stiff with a barely-there gasp, and Lan Wangji thinks, Oh no.
He ignores Wei Ying’s startled yelp as he picks him up and starts walking.
”Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying hisses. ”What are you doing? I’m not some delicate maiden you can just carry around!”
”True,” Lan Wangji says calmly and tightens his hold.
”Then let me down!”
”It’s true that you are not a maiden,” Lan Wangji continues, ignoring the bewildered looks of the cultivators they pass. But you are delicate, he doesn’t say. You are delicate and precious and fragile in your tenacity, unbelievably strong and yet so brittle I fear you’ll break when I’m not there to shield you.
”This is stupid,” Wei Ying mutters through blue-tinted lips as he tries to suppress a shiver. ”You shouldn’t do this—what will people think—your reputation—”
”What people think is irrelevant,” Lan Wangji says and frowns as he deliberates between tents and then heads toward the Lan section. His tent is closer than Wei Ying’s and he isn’t going to question the urgent need to have Wei Ying in his space.
”Zewu-jun—”
”Brother knows.”
Wei Ying lets out a small sound of frustration and drops his head against Lan Wangji’s shoulder and his sigh trails along Lan Wangji’s neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Wei Ying sways slightly when Lan Wangji sets him down and his eyes, as he frowns at the interior of the tent, are hazy. ”Where are we?” he asks. ”Wait—this isn’t my tent.”
”No,” Lan Wangji replies. ”Strip.” When Wei Ying lets out a bewildered squawk, he sighs. ”You are cold and your robes are drenched.” He hands Wei Ying clean underwear and gently pushes him behind the screen. ”You need to be dry and warm.”
He keeps an ear on Wei Ying as he strips off his wet robes and changes into dry spares and then sends for extra blankets. He wishes he remembered more about how to treat non-cultivators against cold. Dry, warm, liquids…was there something else?
A soft noise behind him makes him turn around and he forces himself not to react. Wei Ying stands there in thin white pants and undershirt—in Lan Wangji’s clothes—looking young and vulnerable and beautiful. ”Ah, Lan Zhan,” he says sheepishly and bites his lip, ducks his head. The shirt is slightly too big for him and Lan Wangji feels his ears grow hot at the sight of a partially revealed collarbone.
”Drink,” he says and hands Wei Ying a cup of water, then turns to prepare the bed to avoid staring at Wei Ying’s throat as he swallows. ”Rest,” he says next.
”In your bed?” Wei Ying asks, voice climbing high with bewilderment.
Lan Wangji looks pointedly at the packed earth floor.
”Aiyah. Fine,” Wei Ying grumbles as he stomps to the bed and petulantly settles on his back. ”But don’t blame me if people draw their own conclusions!” he adds.
”What people think is irrelevant,” Lan Wangji says again as he wills his body under control and settles on the bed next to Wei Ying, and draws the blankets over them. ”You are cold,” he says when Wei Ying turns to give him an incredulous look.
”I’m not—”
”Wei Ying,” he says softly. ”I know.”
Wei Ying sets his jaw. ”I can take care of myself,” he says stiffly.
”You don’t have to,” Lan Wangji says. He steels himself, turns to face Wei Ying fully. ”It would be my honor to stand by your side if you allow me,” he says. ”And if you don’t, I’ll stand behind you or in front of you, wherever I can best protect you.”
Wei Ying blinks, shakes his head. ”Why would you—Lan Zhan!”
He brushes a lock of hair from Wei Ying’s cheek. ”Because it’s Wei Ying.” I would do anything to keep you safe.
”You—” Wei Ying starts.
He sighs. ”Rest now,” he says and, bolder than he thought he’d ever dare to be, tugs Wei Ying against his chest. He folds easily, settles down with his cheek against Lan Wangji’s heart and hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder, and in mere moments, he’s asleep.
Wei Ying.
Asleep in his arms.
Lan Wangji closes his eyes against the tide of emotion that threatens to drown him and presses his nose on Wei Ying’s hair, drawing in the lingering smell of ash and blood and sweat, and underneath, the faint bitter tang of resentful energy that follows anywhere Wei Ying goes. He will have to come up with a combination of the most effective healing songs to help with the residual resentment clinging to Wei Ying but that is a matter of tomorrow.
He presses his vow to protect his zhiji on his hair, a dry, chaste kiss that’s more a fleeting touch of lips than a proper kiss.
Today, right now, Lan Wangji lets himself just be.
Here.
With Wei Ying.