Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Cloud Recesses were burning.

Wangji crowded against the window of the car, staring upward in shock at the outline of the mountain and the peaks of fire pluming into the sky. Two equally powerful, awful thoughts beat through his brain as he stared at the fire, and they were tearing him in different directions. The first was consumed with the sight of his childhood home, the seat of his ancestors and all their traditions, delineated in fire above them.

The second was very much with his absent soulmate, who had taken a car bearing him in the opposite direction. The wrongness of it battered at the forefront of his consciousness. Wangji’s world was on fire, and Wei Ying wasn’t at his side.

“Young master,” the driver interrupted the frantic circle of his thoughts. “This is as far as I can go. I can’t take the road up into the hills.”

“I understand,” Wangji said. “Thank you.” He brought his phone out, paid, and disembarked from the car. He would go the rest of the way on foot.

As he ran up the Caiyi Town street toward the turn-off for the Cloud Recesses, though, Wangji’s mind was awash in despair. The fire was already crawling up through the brush and trees along the only road that led up the mountain to the compound. Even if he begged someone for buckets of water, even if he doused himself until he was soaking to the skin, any protective moisture would have long since evaporated before he even got close to the entrance gate of the Cloud Recesses. He had been cut off before he’d even gotten here.

Wangji clutched his phone and stood staring at the fire, frozen with indecision, hating himself. He hadn’t been fast enough. He hadn’t listened to Elder Brother, who warned him to stay away; or to Wei Ying, who advised him to leave the situation to the professionals. There were no firetrucks idling at the base of the mountain; even the firefighters had likely recognized the extent of the blaze to be a lost cause.

He had failed. He’d failed his uncle by not arriving sooner. And in coming here, he had also failed Wei Ying…

On the verge of closing his eyes and sinking to his knees, Wangji’s eyes snapped open when a familiar, hoarse voice cried out to him.

“Wangji! What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Uncle!” Wangji’s head jerked to the side.

The last street of Caiyi Town was lined with storefronts, a handful of cafes and shops, and Wangji had been running up the street itself to avoid the clusters of people who had stepped out onto the sidewalk to gape at the billowing fire on the mountain. He had ignored all of them, but his attention was yanked to one shop front in particular, a terrace with tables and chairs and a dozen people clustered around it.

Seated in a chair at one of those tables was Lan Qiren, haggard and sooty but alive. A man stood beside him with a water bottle, and a woman wearing a dust mask was seated beside him checking his pulse.

Wangji darted over to the street, leaning over the rail that separated him from the tables on the terrace. “Uncle! Are you all right?”

Lan Qiren was glaring at him. “Wangji! Explain yourself!”

Wangji gripped the railing in both hands, a fearsome scowl taking over his face. He knew their parting in Singapore hadn’t been on the best of terms; Lan Qiren had made a remark about making himself too much a spectacle together with his intended’s unseemly behavior. Wangji had shot back that he wouldn’t darken his uncle’s company with his presence, then, if it was undesired. The underlying guilt that followed him after that encounter had been a part of Wangji’s motivation to rush to the Cloud Recesses.

Lan Qiren lurched back and began to cough. It was a hoarse, terrible sound, and the man beside him pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over. The coughing spasm wracked him for several minutes.

Wangji vaulted the railing while he was still coughing. “Is he all right?” he asked the woman who had been taking his pulse.

She looked up at him from beneath neat black bangs, her eyes shielded behind wire-rimmed glasses, and nodded. “He inhaled smoke before he made it far enough down the mountain. There is an ambulance on the way.”

Lan Qiren gave one last hacking cough, dabbed at his mouth, and grabbed for the water beside him. He drank half the remainder before setting it down with force. “No ambulance, I told you,” he said irritably. “I’m not going to die from a little smoke. Wangji…”

Wangji reminded himself that his uncle was due filial piety, if nothing else.

“What are you doing here?” Lan Qiren continued. “You should not have come!”

“Uncle…I didn’t think you would make it out in time,” Wangji said. “Elder Brother said he would not be able to return. There wasn’t another car, and I thought…I thought you’d try to save the library, the relics—”

Lan Qiren waved an abrupt hand. “I am flattered by your concern, Wangji, but to rush over here thinking I would stay at the expense of my own life…ridiculous!”

Wangji flushed.

“Besides, the books are all backed up! There are copies of everything in storage.”

“How did you get down the mountain?” Wangji had been certain the only car that ever went in and out of the Cloud Recesses was Lan Xichen’s Audi.

Lan Qiren raised the handkerchief to his face and mumbled something.

“Uncle?” Wangji pressed. Part of his urgency had been the fear there was nothing to convey Uncle down the mountain.

“There was a moped in a back shed, I said,” Lan Qiren snapped. “It’s kept for emergencies.”

Wangji nodded, pulling in a slow breath. He folded his arms and looked over his shoulder at the fire on the mountain. Smoke was a thick haze upon the air. Soon it would blanket Caiyi Town itself. The firefighters would have to do something soon.

“Where is your…” Lan Qiren cut himself off. “Wangji? Where is young master Wuxian?”

Wangji turned back to his uncle, horror dawning within his heart.

Whether it was intentional or not, he—they—had been played. They had been separated without just cause.

“Uncle,” Wangji said slowly. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Lan Qiren’s face was pinched. “He is not here, is he.”

“No. When we received word of Cloud Recesses, we also became aware of attacks on the Jiangs at the same time,” Wangji said.

Lan Qiren looked heavenward. “It’s happening,” he muttered. He began to push himself up from his chair with slow, painful movements, and Wangji hovered next to him, offering his arm.

“Sir,” the woman protested. “Sir, please wait for the paramedics. I only have first-aid training, you must get checked out by professionals!”

Lan Qiren ignored her and took Wangji’s arm with a painfully strong grip. He gestured up the street. “Back to my moped. I was able to save a few things, at least, and one of them is yours.”

My guqin, Wangji wanted to say, but it was a stupid thought. No matter how precious his stringed instrument, however long it had been in the family, it was easy to replace.

They wove their way through the people packing the sidewalk gaping up at the fire. In the distance, Wangji heard sirens.

“Have to hurry,” Lan Qiren muttered. “Have to get out of here before that ambulance arrives.”

“Uncle, perhaps you should get checked out—” Wangji began.

“Wangji, listen to me,” Lan Qiren said abruptly. “Xichen and I have done you a disservice; we have ill-prepared you.”

“I do know what’s going on, Uncle,” Wangji said.

“Hm,” Lan Qiren said. “Not enough. Not the extent of it. But I expected you to go to someplace like Harvard, or Oxford, someplace overseas—”

This time, Wangji was the one to interrupt. “Not without Wei Ying.”

They stopped on the sidewalk as Lan Qiren’s hand became viselike. Wangji looked down at his uncle and realized for the first time how old he looked. The long hair, half-up, was streaked with more gray than he recalled. His beard was silvery. He looked tired, and he coughed into his sleeve.

“Wangji, I am proud of you for your filial devotion, but I am shocked you let that boy out of your sight.”

“I thought you would die if I didn’t get here first, Uncle.”

Lan Qiren nodded. “I’m not so old that I don’t have tricks up my own sleeve, Wangji. Keep that in mind. Now, listen to me.” He squeezed Wangji’s wrist. “You can’t trust any emergency services. Not paramedics, not the police, not even the firefighters… Do you see how long it’s taken them to respond to this? That is not happenstance, Wangji.”

“I understand, Uncle,” Wangji said.

“All of this”—Lan Qiren waved a hand at the burning mountain above them— “is a distraction. Xichen has already gone into hiding until emergency measures can be carried out. Come.” He drew Wangji along with surprising strength to the end of the block, where a dusty-looking moped with a sidecar and bulging saddlebags awaited.

Its heavily laden status let Wangji know that his uncle had, indeed, salvaged as much as he could before he’d departed the Cloud Recesses, likely to the point of inhaling more smoke than was good for him.

“What matters right now is that you are alive, and Xichen is alive and has all of Gusu Lan’s most valuable data and records, and that I am alive and taking the rest of our most important family heritage into hiding,” Lan Qiren continued. He released Wangji’s arm to rummage in the side car, coming up with a pouch and a phone that he shoved at him.

“Burner phone,” Wangji guessed. “And…?”

“Cash,” Lan Qiren said succinctly. “And two numbers written out for the other two burner phones.”

“You mean for me to go into hiding, as well,” Wangji said. The thought sat ill with him.

Lan Qiren gave him a stern look but bent over the sidecar again. He retrieved a long, thin bundle wrapped in white and tied with blue ribbon and thrust it toward him.

“This is Bichen,” Wangji said, dumbfounded. Out of everything that Uncle could have salvaged from the oncoming fire, he had taken Wangji’s sword?

“Take it,” Lan Qiren said gruffly. “You’re going to need it.”

Wangji automatically accepted the thin bundle as it was handed to him. “Uncle, you can’t mean for me to—” He couldn’t even finish the statement. Even though he’d been practicing sword forms since he was a child, and still did them regularly for exercise—weekends sparring with Wei Ying were a regular fixture—it had been for sport, not…not for real.

“This is war, Wangji,” Lan Qiren said shortly. “The police will not get involved, nor will they help you. You will need to do whatever it takes.”

“How useful is a sword?” Wangji wanted to know, but he was already slinging Bichen over his back by the blue strap attached to the covering. It was a comforting weight there, even though he’d never carried it outside the sword hall.

Lan Qiren’s mouth worked. “Act swiftly with the element of surprise, and you shall see.”

“If they have guns—” Wangji began.

“Deal with that as it comes; I don’t know, Wangji.” Lan Qiren lowered his head and put a hand to his brow. “Guns aren’t allowed in any of the provinces, so I would not expect his men to have more than batons or tasers, but it’s hard to say how far Wen Ruohan will go at this point. None of this should have happened.” He swept a hand to indicate the smoky landscape. They both looked up at the fire, still raging, and Wangji’s chest hurt as he thought of everything that was burning on the mountaintop. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life there, his mother’s cottage had still stood there; his brother’s Hanshi where they’d taken tea together; his Jingshi, where he’d first longed for Wei Ying…

“I must go,” Wangji said abruptly. He reached out and gripped Lan Qiren’s upper arm, and they regarded one another in surprise at the touch. Being with Wei Ying had made him more tactile, albeit with one specific person, and he was concerned for his uncle no matter how many reassurances he tried to provide. “Uncle. Be safe.”

“I will,” Lan Qiren said with a jerky nod. “You as well, Wangji. Xichen will call you when it’s safe to. He has the number.”

Wangji nodded. He hesitated. “I…I am going to find Wei Ying.”

Lan Qiren’s jaw went tight, but he nodded. His eyes were fierce. “Then, Wangji, find him fast.” What he’d left unsaid rang out loud and clear. Before it’s too late.

Wangji backed away, already planning. He would go back down the street and ask someone else to call a car. “Uncle.”

“Go now, Wangji!” Lan Qiren snapped.

Wangji’s eyes burned, but he understood. He was at a loss for words when it came to revealing the deepest currents of his heart.

He loped back through the crowd and trusted that his uncle could fend for himself, as he should have from the start. Panic bubbled up from his stomach as his thoughts returned to Wei Ying, going into an unknown situation with no one to back him up.

He had made the gravest of mistakes, and he could only hope to reach Lotus Pier in time before the worst happened.

Wuxian stared out the window with a knotted brow, face resting against one hand, as his mind raced over the knowns and the unknowns. He had his laptop, the latest scripts he was working on, but he was still just some nineteen-year-old kid even if he did have martial arts training. He didn’t know anything about the situation he was walking into.

“Pull up here, please,” Wuxian requested of his driver, before they’d reached the stretch of boulevard that curved around to the turn-off for the private lands of Lotus Pier.

“Young master, you sure? It’s over a mile…”

“I’m certain,” Wuxian stated. He needed to see the situation on the ground before he walked into a trap. Like Wanyin. Damn it, he’d failed Wanyin… If only he could have warned him sooner.

If only Wanyin had taken the whole situation with the care they’d warned him to. He remembered, even in his drowsy daze from that morning, Lan Zhan telling his brother at the door to take matters seriously, and Wanyin brushing it off as overreaction.

Wuxian paid, climbed out, and hitched his bag over his shoulder, heading up the side of the street with long, ground-eating strides. There was an internet cafe between his location and the turn for Lotus Pier, and if Wen Ning had taught him anything, he’d be able to figure out of there was anything related to the Jiang family on emergency circuits. He’d taken a tour of the Yunmeng regional emergency center when he and Wanyin had been kids, and he’d been impressed at the time at how much of it was computerized. He ought to be able to turn it to his advantage.

When Wuxian turned the corner, he wasn’t expecting to see the flaming wreck of a car. He skidded to a halt, gazing in wide-eyed horror at the twisted heap of metal that had been the family car, a vintage Rolls Royce that Uncle Fengmian took such pride in. For a small eternity, he could do nothing but stare at it. The entire hood of the car was pushed in at a steep angle, and the driver-side door was torn out, the frame of the car bent outward in jagged pieces that meant emergency services had had to shear it off. The cab was on fire.

Wuxian took a shuddering breath and forced himself to take a step forward, then another. The wreck of the car had been roped off, but there was a ring of spectators on the sidewalk. He walked toward them, low panic bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He had to get past the crowd. What if someone recognized him? He and Wanyin had frequented the entire block of shops near Lotus Pier since they were kids.

He gulped. Right then, he might as well be a kid for all of his usefulness.

As he drew even with the crowd, a hand clamped on his arm.

“What are you doing here, you stupid boy?” a familiar voice hissed in his ear.

Wuxian froze like a bird in a raptor’s grip. He glanced sidelong at Jinzhu. At least, he was fairly sure it was Jinzhu.

“Wanyin,” he said. “Was on the way.”

Jinzhu’s hand shifted down on his arm, braceleting his wrist, and she yanked him away from the crowd down the street.

“You were safe in Gusu, you idiot child,” she ranted.

“Then why did Madam Yu summon Wanyin home?” Wuxian challenged. He set his chin as she leveled a furious glare on him.

“Come with me,” Jinzhu demanded.

“My friend said that Wen Ruohan was moving on Lotus Pier tonight,” Wuxian said in a low tone as she hustled him up the sidewalk.

“You—” Jinzhu began, heated, and cut herself off until they had walked nearly half the block past the wreck of the Jiang Rolls Royce. “Wuxian. That was the move on Lotus Pier.”

Wuxian looked at her, feeling empty. “And did Wanyin ever arrive?”

Jinzhu frowned, then her eyes widened.

“Yeah,” Wuxian said wearily. “I tried calling him. I was on the call with Uncle Fengmian when…when it happened. Right after that, Wanyin’s number was out of service.”

“That’s not possible,” Jinzhu said.

“That’s what I told Lan Zhan.” Wuxian gave a hollow laugh. His chest ached. Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan… If Lan Zhan was with him, he might know what Wuxian actually ought to be doing. He should have stayed with Lan Zhan at all costs, but with Cloud Recesses on fire and his uncle’s life at stake, it had been an impossible choice for both of them.

Jinzhu’s brow lowered again. “Where is your soul mark partner?”

“The Cloud Recesses,” Wuxian began, and shook his head. He tried again. “The Cloud Recesses are on fire.”

Jinzhu gasped. Her nostrils flared. “It’s starting,” she said. She dragged Wuxian toward the curb.

“What—” Wuxian started.

A sleek black town car pulled up to the curb. It had tinted windows, but Jinzhu threw open the rear door, climbing in without hesitation and tugging Wuxian inside along with her. He pulled the door shut, settled his laptop on the floor of the car, and glanced into the rearview mirror. Yinzhu met his eyes before pulling the car into gear and doing a tight U-turn, driving in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” Wuxian demanded.

“The hospital,” Yinzhu replied. “We must secure it to ensure the safety of Master and Madam.”

Wuxian went cold all over. “Isn’t this enough? Would they actually make an attempt on them in the hospital?”

Jinzhu tossed him a cold look. “Don’t be naïve, boy.”

“Don’t call me boy,” Wuxian muttered. There wasn’t much she could do to sass him without Madam Yu Ziyuan’s backing.

“Wuxian thinks they’ve taken Wanyin,” Jinzhu said to Yinzhu, whose hands tightened on the wheel. She cursed softly.

“That must be so,” Yinzhu said. “If he arrived and Wanyin has not…” She fell silent.

“Wanyin is the only reason we lingered,” Jinzhu said. “Else we would have been at the hospital, by now.”

Wuxian nodded and settled back into the seat. “Why did Aunt Ziyuan call Wanyin home, but not me, then?” He thought he ought to be glad. He wondered what had happened to his brother, in the car. Had he been chloroformed? Had Wanyin realized he’d been taken, and fought? It made him sick to his stomach to think of it.

“You were with Lan Wangji,” Yinzhu said, tone judgmental. “Any countermeasures in place were extended to you, as his partner. Why on earth did you leave his side?”

“He had to go back home; the Cloud Recesses were on fire and he was worried his uncle…” Wuxian’s throat closed off. Sure, he and Lan Qiren weren’t on the best of terms, but that didn’t mean he wanted him to die. He was the only parental figure that Lan Zhan had left.

Yinzhu gave a disgusted sigh. “Well, Madam did not trust that Gusu’s countermeasures would be extended with equal effectiveness to Wanyin.”

“Why didn’t she send one of you two to come pick him up, then?” Wuxian challenged.

Both of Yu Ziyuan’s handmaidens were silent. He supposed it was their way of conceding the point.

They drove in silence the remainder of the way to the hospital. Wuxian was scared to ask for the status of Uncle Fengmian and Aunt Ziyuan. From the look of the car, the driver’s side had taken the greater share of the impact. There had been black skid marks on the pavement that meant the Rolls Royce had been pushed back with great force and speed.

Wuxian gnawed on a hangnail and tried to figure out his next move, but he was having trouble focusing.

At the hospital, Jinzhu and Yinzhu hustled him to the emergency counter like they were security guards preventing him from escaping. Jinzhu leaned over and spoke, low-voiced, with the woman in charge of admitting, who looked up at Wuxian.

“Is he family?” she demanded.

Yu Ziyuan’s handmaidens nodded in unison.

“We need to know if they have living wills,” she said primly. “If you want to see them now, I don’t recommend it. They are in intensive care, but stable.”

“We need to see them,” Jinzhu said. “Wuxian must make arrangements for the rest of the family. He will need to tell them.”

The woman—Wuxian was unclear on whether she was a clerk or nurse—gave a disapproving sniff but nodded. She gestured for a young person in scrubs to come over and they did. “Jiang, intensive care, just admitted.”

The person in scrubs nodded and set off, beckoning them to follow.

As they walked up the sterile white corridor to a berth on the left, Wuxian’s thoughts pounded with fear, concern, anxiety, and the desperate need to have Lan Zhan beside him. Wanyin made fun of him for having become so attached, so fast, but Wuxian truly felt more himself at his side. With Lan Zhan, he’d been free to be the person he truly was, not putting on any masks to fulfill the expectations that he was raised with.

Now he was seeing his adoptive parents in the hospital, and he had to put on another mask. He was scared, too, for the worst possible outcome. His mind kept drifting back to the mangled driver’s side.

It should be Wanyin next to him, the thought went through him like a shock. He wanted Lan Zhan, but it was Wanyin who should be walking through the hospital corridor, just as scared as he to turn the corner.

The intern drew aside a curtain and Wuxian found himself staring down at Jiang Fengmian’s battered face, half obscured by blood.

“Sorry, there hasn’t been time for a nurse to come by and clean him up,” the intern said. “I know it’s a shock.”

There was a bandage over Uncle Fengmian’s head that covered it like a cap, one side of it pulled low over his left eye. His face was an unhealthy whey color and was drawn in pained lines even in unconsciousness.

“Is he okay?” Wuxian asked, looking from Uncle Fengmian’s face to the beeping monitors beside him. They seemed fast and frantic, and he tried to recall what a healthy resting pulse rate would be.

“I should let a doctor talk to you about his status,” the intern demurred.

“Please, I need to know,” Wuxian begged. “Even if it’s only what little you know about it.”

The intern bit his lip and picked up a chart from the foot of the bed. “Well, he’s stable for now but headed into surgery. He’s sustained all kinds of trauma and he has a cracked skull and a broken leg. The doctor is worried about a brain bleed, but they’re waiting on the results of a scan that should be back soon. His heart stopped, but they got it started again quickly. However, he’s high risk right now. A lot will depend on the next twenty-four hours.”

A hoarse noise came from beyond the curtain past Uncle Fengmian’s bed.

Wuxian sucked in a startled little breath. The fear clawed deeper into him, a cage of thorns squeezing tight on his ribcage. “And Aunt Ziyuan?” he asked.

The hoarse sound behind the curtain became a wheeze.

The intern set the chart down and moved past Uncle Fengmian’s bed, drawing the curtain aside.

Even halfway across the room, the stark, terrifying expression on Yu Ziyuan’s face made Wuxian take a step back.

“You,” Yu Ziyuan breathed, her livid face a white flame, dark eyes locked on Wuxian. Her voice was a rusty rasp of ruined vocal cords. “What are you doing here? Where’s Wanyin?”

Wuxian could only stare, unable to look away, unable to answer.

“Madam,” Jinzhu said. “Young master Wanyin has not arrived. I am sorry.”

Yu Ziyuan tried to start up from the bed and fell back with a pained cry. Her left arm was bound up in a sling. The intern hustled over to her side.

“Madam, please remain in bed or I’ll need to get someone to sedate you,” the intern warned.

Yu Ziyuan glared over at him before transferring her ire to Wuxian. “How? Why?? How did you make it here, but not Wanyin? Why are you even here?” That last was all but a shriek, and Wuxian cringed back, his ears ringing again with the sound of her shouting out Fengmian from the moment of impact that he’d heard over the speakers.

“I, I’ll go,” he faltered, as the intern pleaded with Yu Ziyuan to calm down.

She batted the intern aside. “You stay right there,” she growled at Wuxian.

“I’m getting the charge nurse,” the intern decided, and hurried away.

Yinzhu moved across the room and picked up Yu Ziyuan’s chart. “Madam has a broken arm and strained vocal cords,” she said, and looked at Wuxian. “Make sure to tell Jiang Yanli.”

Another kind of weight dropped into the pit of Wuxian’s stomach. Shit. There was another thing he was responsible for; he would have to call Big Sis and let her know…what had happened.

“Wanyin,” Yu Ziyuan began, and started to choke.

Jinzhu moved to Yu Ziyuan’s side, picking up a tumbler of water and holding it up to her lips. Yu Ziyuan lifted a hand to grip her arm, knuckles standing out white, and murmured something to her while Jinzhu leaned in close.

Wuxian wanted nothing more than to flee, but he was rooted to the spot. She’d told him to stay, and he hadn’t been dismissed. Years of her orders and discipline kept him where he was for fear of a cataclysmic outcome.

Once Yu Ziyuan had taken a few careful sips of water, she settled back with Jinzhu’s help and leveled her glare on Wuxian again. “You shouldn’t even be here,” she accused. “Wanyin should be here.”

Wuxian gestured helplessly. “After the accident, I tried to call Wanyin, but—” He glanced toward Uncle Fengmian, his heart aching. Yu Ziyuan was going to be all right, but Uncle Fengmian was supposed to get surgery, and Jinzhu and Yinzhu thought the hospital staff might be compromised.

“He can’t help you now!” Yu Ziyuan said shrilly. “You shouldn’t even be here. Get out. Get out of my sight! Unless you go and find Wanyin, you don’t have the right to exist! He never should have taken you in, favoring you over his own son! What are we supposed to do now, if Wanyin is gone and you’re still here?”

Wuxian stumbled back. It was a direct hit. He looked at his chest, half expecting an arrow to be lodged there. Yu Ziyuan had never been so open in her contempt before.

“You think you’re so good?” Yu Ziyuan gave a bitter laugh. “Go and save my son, before they kill him! Otherwise, you’re worthless to me. You’ll never cross my door again.” She began to cough again, and Jinzhu offered more water. She waved it away, lifting her sleeve to cough into it, glaring so hard at Wuxian he thought he might die from it.

A masked woman with neat dark hair and a full gown over her chest and shoulders rounded the corner, looked at Yu Ziyuan coughing, and ordered them all out.

Wuxian stumbled into the hallway, lurched over to a bench along the opposite wall, and made it that far before his legs gave out. He had known ever since being taken to Lotus Pier that Yu Ziyuan resented him, thought he was supplanting her own son, but he had never realized her hatred went so deep.

For a moment all he could do was stare at the white paint of the opposite wall. His head was full of noise like a radio stuck between stations.

Jinzhu and Yinzhu stayed across the corridor, flanking the berth where Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan lay in critical condition. Wuxian regarded their expressionless faces for a long, wary moment before pulling his phone out.

He brought up his ‘Big Sis’ contact on his phone and stared at her photo, clenching his back teeth. How could he call her like this and tell her what had happened?

There was no one else to do it. How could he not?

He agonized for another moment. There was too much that he didn’t know. Did Yu Ziyuan’s handmaidens really think the hospital staff would be compromised, or that someone could slip in to finish off the job? And what about Wanyin? If he had been taken, who would receive the request for ransom—or would there even be one?

There were no answers no matter how long he mulled over it. He sighed, slouched against the hard wall behind him, and dialed Jiang Yanli’s number.

Wuxian counted his heartbeats while the dial tone droned in his ear. How was he going to tell her?

“A-Xian,” Yanli said in a warm greeting. “Did you get my picture?”

“What?” Wuxian’s voice cracked. Oh, right…Yanli had sent him a picture of her crab cakes and benedict that morning. An eternity ago, when he’d woken and his Lan Zhan had sat beside him and passed a tender hand through his hair.

Wuxian closed his eyes. Go and save my son, before they kill him! Otherwise, you’re worthless to me. He had his marching orders. And that was on top of owing Wanyin for letting him down in a life-altering way.

“A-Xian?” Yanli faltered. “What’s wrong?”

Even by his tone, as always, Yanli knew. There was no hiding from her—she was the only one. No…now there was Lan Zhan. But Lan Zhan… It might be a while before Wuxian could see him again.

“Big Sis…Uncle Fengmian and Aunt…Aunt…” He had a hard time attaching ‘Aunt’ and ‘Ziyuan’ right then.

“A-Xian. Tell me what’s happening.” Yanli’s voice was quiet steel.

Every detail came pouring out. Wuxian kept his tone low, very much aware he was in a hospital corridor. He reminded her about the summer the gentry families had met and let her know Nie Huaisang had become privy that the reason for it was to strategize against Wen Ruohan’s overreach. He told her about the call that Lan Zhan had taken where he’d learned that the Cloud Recesses was on fire. He let her know he’d tried calling Uncle Fengmian only to be on the line the moment a car wreck had landed the Jiangs in the hospital.

Yanli gasped softly at that, but it was when Wuxian told her he’d tried to reach Wanyin and found his phone disconnected, and that meant it was all but certain he’d been taken hostage by the Wens, that she began to cry. “A-Xian,” Yanli said. She sounded gutted. “A-Xian, don’t—”

The phone went silent, and for a wrenching second, Wuxian thought that something had happened to his sister.

“Wuxian?” It was Jin Zixuan’s voice. “What can I do?”

Wuxian straightened, his free hand forming a fist. The Jins were their in-laws now, and they had money.

“Uncle Fengmian is headed into surgery,” Wuxian said. “Jinzhu and Yinzhu seem to think there will be another attempt on him. Can you get protection here?”

“Yes,” Jin Zixuan replied, with the total certainty of wealth. “I’ll call my mother and arrange for some security to be sent at once. If you think the staff is compromised, we can arrange to have the Jiangs transferred to Lanling.”

“Please,” Wuxian managed. He’d never felt grateful to Jin Zixuan before, but if he made this happen and kept them safe, he’d kowtow on his own hands and knees before him.

He heard whispering, and Jin Zixuan said, “And how can I help with Wanyin’s situation?”

Wuxian clenched his jaw. This fell to him. “I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. He dug his fist into his thigh.

“Ah, then let me know what I can do, when it’s clear,” Jin Zixuan replied.

Wuxian was able to keep his mouth clamped shut against a bitter laugh. This was a situation where Jin Zixuan’s money would do more harm than good. The point wasn’t the ransom.

The point was doing as much damage as could be done. The Jiangs had survived, so surely Wanyin would either be used against them or neutralized.

Yu Ziyuan was right. This was on him. Wuxian had to act fast and levy every resource available to him.

“I’ll pass you over to Yinzhu, if you don’t mind, so that you can make arrangements,” Wuxian said to Jin Zixuan, who made an affirmative noise.

He stood from the bench and put his phone on mute for a second, switching over to his messages, opening up his Lan Wangji contact. He gazed at it with longing, wishing there were another way.

I love you. I’ll contact you when I can. He almost wrote, forgive me, but it sounded too much like goodbye.

With shaking fingers, he un-muted the phone and walked across the corridor.

Yinzhu turned suspicious eyes on Wuxian as he approached.

“Jin Zixuan,” he said by way of explanation. Her brows rose, but he took the phone. “He’s going to help.”

He went to Jinzhu once Yinzhu was speaking with Jin Zixuan on his phone, leaned in, and told her, “Once Yinzhu is done with the call, tell her to drop the phone in the trash.”

Jinzhu’s mouth tightened. “What are you going to do?”

Wuxian gave her a cold look in return. “Exactly what your mistress ordered me to.”

Chapter Text

“You can’t be here,” Wen Qing said, and tried to shut the door in his face. She was faster about it than he remembered, probably recalling last time he’d wedged his foot in the door.

Wuxian was feeling less than polite. The cold awareness of an unknown clock ticking down was thick in each beat of the pulse in his throat. He’d already had to come all the way here, back to her apartment near the University of Gusu, from Yunmeng and although it was a necessary trip, he felt like he was wasting time.

He slammed his hand against the front door. Wen Qing startled, glaring at him with all the fury her petite face could muster.

“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options,” Wuxian shot back. He raised his brows at her. “Let me in, unless you want someone to see Jiang Wuxian on your doorstep?”

Wen Qing blew out an angry breath but cracked the door open, stepping aside with barely enough room to let him squeeze past. “What is that?” she asked, nodding to the long, thin dark case slung over one shoulder.

Wuxian considered ignoring the question, given his plans. Then again, if he thought Wen Qing would give him up to Wen Ruohan’s people, he wouldn’t have come to begin with. “It’s my bow, Suibian.”

His intention had been to stop by Lotus Pier to check for attempted arson, with what had happened to the Cloud Recesses fresh in his mind. During his brief stop, though, he’d collected his bow Suibian, unsure what good it would do him but determined to do as little close-quarters fighting as possible. He wasn’t a small guy, but he was a slender one, and even daily sparring matches with Lan Zhan and Jiang Wanyin were no match for a professional.

“Whatever, what?” Wen Qing turned to frown at him.

Wuxian’s mouth tugged to one side, where on any other day he would have laughed. “No, that’s its name. Suibian.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “Do you have any idea what will happen if anyone finds out I was seen talking to you? Haven’t you heard of the Wen indoctrination camps?”

“Uh, no,” Wuxian admitted. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing they teach in Yunmeng provincial schools.”

Wen Qing gave a haughty sniff.

“I need to see Wen Ning,” Wuxian said, low and pleading. “I need his help.”

Her dark eyes blazed up at him, and she folded her arms tightly. “And just what makes you think you’re entitled to his help?”

“He’s been helping,” Wuxian shot back. “But right now, I’m here asking for it because I need to find my brother. They took him. And with his parents in the hospital, even if there was going to be a ransom, they’re in no condition to handle a payment. So Wanyin will probably be…”

He looked away from Wen Qing’s hard gaze. It didn’t matter, Wuxian thought bitterly. She had her own family to protect. Why bother looking like he was trying for sympathy by stating the obvious?

Her fingers took hold of the sleeve along her arm, and her knuckles went white.

“They’re going to kill him,” Wen Qing said.

Wuxian just looked at her. “Yeah, why wouldn’t they? The Jiangs survived the car wreck, but Wanyin is all they’ve got left to carry on the family name. I guess if they’d died, Wen Ruohan could have kept him as a puppet.” He grimaced. It sounded far-fetched when he said it out loud.

Wen Qing pressed her lips together. “No, you’re exactly right. That’s what Wen Ruohan would do. Wait here.” She pointed at a spot near the door.

Wuxian held his hands up and stayed rooted where he was. He looked around the flat. He had only gotten a glimpse before and couldn’t be sure, but the place looked significantly barer than it had been. It seemed like no one was living there. He thought he saw the side of a box peeking out from the hallway.

“Wen Ning is…?”

“Not here,” Wen Qing answered. “Stay there, Jiang Wuxian.” She headed past the counter that separated the living area from the kitchen and held up her phone to her ear.

After a long moment, she leaned over the counter. She lowered her phone and came back to him with a slip of paper that she shoved into his hand.

Wuxian glanced at it. It was a Yiling address, a town at the edge of Yunmeng. He wanted to sigh. He’d been from Gusu to Yunmeng and back again and his destination was inside Yunmeng; it was a lot of travel. The distance made the pit of his stomach ache. He hoped there was enough time.

“Do you know Wen Ning’s burner number?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Wuxian replied. He was terrible with events, most faces, and almost all names, but memorizing strings of numbers had never been an issue for him. Even though he’d left his phone with Yinzhu, he remembered the burner number Wen Ning had texted from that morning. How had it only been that morning? “Why, though?”

“Because you owe me, Wuxian,” Wen Qing hissed, her eyes blazing. “Wen Ning and I are heading out tonight, but even that might not be enough. Wen Ruohan’s people are everywhere in the provinces. This is what they’ve been gearing up for. And I am going to collect out of your hide, when everything goes to shit.”

Wuxian gave her a short nod and held the slip of paper up. “If this info is good, then I owe you whatever you need from me.” It was Wanyin’s life, if he was able to capitalize on the info in time.

Wen Qing eyed him warily. “Do you need me to call you a car?”

“No,” Wuxian replied. “I’m going to get far away from here before I flag down a random one.”

“Smart,” Wen Qing said. Her nostrils flared. “I hope you get to him in time.”

“Yeah,” Wuxian replied. “Me too.”

He made good on his word, walking a decent distance away from the Wen residence, or at least what had used to be their residence, before hailing a car. He was trying to use the burner phone he’d picked up as little as possible, just in case.

As the car took him back from Gusu to Yunmeng again, Wuxian tried to wrangle his thoughts into some semblance of a plan. He had arrows, a laptop, his wits, and basic martial arts training that he’d never actually used to harm a real person. He also had Lan Xichen’s assurance that he wouldn’t be prosecuted if he ended up having to use lethal force to protect himself, but how far did that extend?

He pulled out his phone and yearned to type Lan Zhan’s number, to call him; even just to text him to make sure that he was safe in Caiyi Town and that his uncle was alive. He had to turn his phone off and shove it in his pocket to keep himself safe from the urge. There was no point in going off the grid if he texted updates everywhere he went.

The driver dropped him off per his instructions three blocks away from the address Wen Qing had given him. It gave him some time to stretch his legs, attempt reconnaissance before he went in, and try to come up with a better idea than going through the back door with his bow in hand.

“Think, Wei Ying,” Wuxian gave himself a pep talk. He found an alley one street over from the Yiling supervisory office and got his laptop out. There were plenty of unsecured connections in the area, and he used one of those to get online.

The security for the Yiling supervisory office was a joke. Wuxian could only conclude that whoever had set it up had been overconfident or was underpaid and didn’t care. Given how much money the Wens had stretched out thin to have been pouring into their supervisory office ventures, spies, and the alleged mercenaries, Wuxian was willing to bet it was the second one.

“Hell, by this point they basically have to take over other provinces to stay afloat,” Wuxian murmured, remembering some financial information he’d tapped into when practicing some of the computer skills Wen Ning had taught him.

He cracked his knuckles, tapped into the security system, and accessed the building cameras.

When he cycled to a camera in a back room, Wuxian almost slammed his laptop shut. It was a shock. He forced himself to look closer.

The camera offered a clear view of Wanyin, slumped in a chair with his hands bound behind his back. His head lolled in the way that betokened unconsciousness, but he appeared otherwise unharmed.

Wuxian blew a short, angry breath, and his ideas of formulating some great plan dissolved at the reality of Wanyin two buildings over, still alive. He could all too easily imagine someone getting a phone call that very second, walking into the room, and snapping Wanyin’s neck, or something equally quick and final.

Shut the security system down, cut the power. Go in fast and put an arrow through someone’s eye if they came for Wanyin. Get his brother out the back, and they could hide somewhere safe until it was safe to get a car. He could use an emulator to call a car, at least, so he wouldn’t have to try and carry Wanyin very far.

Wanyin was shorter than Wuxian, but heavier, because he was stockier.

Urgency didn’t allow him to second-guess his plans.

Wuxian took his bow out of his case and readied it for use. He would have to leave his laptop in the alleyway and hope for the best. If worst came to worst, he had backups of the most important information on the flash drives in his pocket. He ran through one last spot check, reviewed the locations of the people in the building, took several deep breaths to psych himself up, and launched into action.

He shut the security system down first. It wouldn’t be noticed as quickly, and he found a backdoor to a panic button that was so ridiculously easy it would make Wen Ning laugh. Next, he cut the power, waiting an instant to make sure no generators kicked in, and stowed his laptop between a pair of bins.

Wuxian was up and moving, hugging the side of the building, sticking to shadows and blind spots as much as possible. He kept his bow fitted in his right hand, slammed through the back door, and oriented himself to his relative position in the low emergency lighting.

Someone was coming through the door from the front. Wuxian brought up an arrow and nocked it in the same movement without even thinking. The second he recognized the blazing-sun Wen logo on the uniform, he aimed and loosed it.

He had to clench his teeth when the man went down. Target practice, it’s just like target practice, Wuxian chanted in his head, trying not to think about it.

He turned to the right, to the door to the storage room where they were keeping Wanyin. He hesitated a moment longer to make sure no one else was coming through the door that led to the front of the supervisory office and then rushed the storage room.

It was near pitch black inside. Wuxian grabbed a knife he’d retrieved along with his bow and cut Wanyin’s bonds.

There, his great plan stalled. Getting an unconscious Wanyin out of the chair and upright, and keeping hold of his bow, was an impossible duality. He had to put the string over his shoulder and grab Wanyin’s arm, pulling him into an over-the-shoulder carry.

Wuxian grunted as he got both of Wanyin’s arms looped around him and leveraged his weight onto his back. “You never get to tell me I’m the biggest eater in the family again,” he told his unconscious brother, straightening his knees and lifting Wanyin out of the chair.

He brought his head up, and his blood froze as someone else barged through the door.

Wuxian was caught flat out. His bow was under his armpit, and his knife was sheathed in his pocket. Before he could even think to drop Wanyin and raise something to protect them, the man was bringing up a dark squared-off shape that was either a taser or a gun.

As Wuxian was praying for the taser option, because at least he could survive it even if it was point blank, the man dropped to the floor with a gurgle. As he fell, twitching, he revealed another man behind him, reed-thin and wearing dark clothes, jacket zipped nearly closed over a white shirt.

“What,” Wuxian uttered. He tightened his grasp on Wanyin as arms began to slide out from his grip. “The fuck.”

The man gave him a full smile, eyes all but disappearing into crescents, and it was neither the time nor place, but he was the prettiest man that Wuxian had ever met, outside of his own soul mark partner and said partner’s brother. He had very long dark hair half-bound up in a white ribbon.

“Not what,” the man corrected. “Who.” He thumbed a button on the taser in his hand, retracting the wires from the body at their feet.

Beyond him, there was movement in the darkened room, and Wuxian startled. “Look out!”

The man didn’t even turn around. “Song Lan, did you take care of them?”

“They’re all done for. Is this your martial sister’s kid?”

Wuxian’s eyes widened. Either that Song Lan was talking about Wanyin, or…

“Let’s get out of here, and I’ll explain,” the man said.

Wuxian had no choice but to nod and follow, hefting Wanyin up.

Once he got him outside of the storage room, the man gestured to his companion. “Song Lan, help young master Wuxian with Wanyin.”

“I don’t need any help,” Wuxian denied, hitching his brother up higher on his shoulders.

The man dissolved into another full smile. “I understand your caution, but we must move quickly, and Song Lan can carry Wanyin faster. Please.”

Wuxian hesitated, sizing up Song Lan, who returned his scrutiny with a calm dark gaze. He gave a short nod. “Then, I’m grateful for your help.” He looked to the other man. “And what shall I call you?”

“Xiao Xingchen,” the beautiful, smiling man said. “Let’s go.”

They left the supervisory offices behind them and retrieved Wuxian’s case with his laptop. Song Lan was strong, hoisting Wanyin easily onto his back and staying beside Wuxian as though knowing he had to keep him in his sight.

There were no sirens, but as they took shelter in a dark alley three streets over, a couple of cars sped toward the supervisory office faster than an emergency vehicle would have driven.

“Did they have guns?” Wuxian asked Xiao Xingchen, who shook his head.

“Batons and tasers,” Xiao Xingchen replied. “And some of them had a nasty little spray compound that we confiscated, I’ll give those to you.”

“Chemical spray?” Wuxian was alert. If he could use non-lethal means, it would be better than putting an arrow through someone’s eye. He shuddered.

“Yes.” Xiao Xingchen tugged his sleeve and drew him into the shadows of an awning. “Do not feel bad for acting decisively, Wuxian. If you’d been caught, your fate would have been the same as Wanyin’s, or worse. They would have kept you for leverage against young master Lan.”

“How do you know about me? Who are you?” Wuxian demanded. “And how did you even find me? I thought—”

He thought he’d been stealthy, covered his tracks. He’d ditched his phone. Was his laptop bugged?

“Ah,” Xiao Xingchen murmured. “A little further, if you will, please, Wuxian.”

They moved fast into the dark end of the alley, where a chain-link fence had been clipped. Xiao Xingchen held it aside for them to file through. Beyond was a parking lot. Song Lan carried Wanyin toward a black car with deeply tinted windows.

“We set out to find you as soon as we realized that Wen Ruohan had put his plans in motion,” Xiao Xingchen said. He gestured for Wuxian to climb into the back seat beside Wanyin.

Even at that, Wuxian hesitated, but he’d already put their lives into these men’s hands.

He got into the back and found a couple of thin spray containers being passed over the seat to him from Song Lan. Wuxian looked at them, but it was too dark to see any detail, so he tucked them into his pocket.

“I, Xiao Xingchen, am your mother’s martial brother,” Xiao Xingchen announced. “Cangse Sanren and I studied under Baoshan Sanren, who raised us both in the mountains.”

“I didn’t think that kind of thing happened these days,” Wuxian muttered.

“Ah, Baoshan Sanren is a very traditional kind of person,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I owed your mother a debt, which I now consider to be discharged.”

“You saved me,” Wuxian said. “You saved both of us. I went in unprepared with no plan. If you hadn’t shown up—”

“Let us not speak of it,” Xiao Xingchen replied. “Song Lan and I sought you out as soon as possible and tracked your movements from Yunmeng to Gusu and back again.”

“It was that easy?” Wuxian exclaimed in dismay.

Song Lan snorted. “We are that good.”

Wuxian opened his mouth, about to challenge that, but Xiao Xingchen spoke up.

“We have been keeping an eye on you since the past few summers,” he said. “Wen Ruohan’s activities have been of increasing concern. When we heard of the Cloud Recesses, we headed for you immediately, thinking that you and young master Lan would be at risk.”

Wuxian sat back, nodding. “All right…then you’ve been following me all day.” That perversely put him more at ease, because it meant all the dodging and all the care he’d taken to throw off someone trying to pick him up might not have been in vain. The Wen contingent hadn’t been expecting him, after all.

“More or less.” Xiao Xingchen smiled over the back of the seat at him. “You gave us trouble when you and young master Lan went in two separate directions, so Song Lan tracked him while I followed you.”

Wuxian slumped into his seat. “Lan Zhan, how…how is he? He’s okay?” He didn’t think Song Lan would be beside Xiao Xingchen unless that were the case. Or unless something had gone very wrong.

“He’s fine,” Song Lan spoke up. “His uncle is fine, as well. They have both gone to ground.”

“Oh,” Wuxian said softly. “Good, then.”

“He’s swapped phones,” Song Lan told him. “So if you were planning to contact him by that method, it won’t be possible.”

Wuxian nodded. He would expect nothing less, if Lan Zhan had gone into hiding. There were a couple of ways that he could try and make contact, but he knew he had to hold himself back for now.

He caught his breath. Had Lan Zhan received his last message? Knowing he’d ditched his phone for a burner, it was safe to assume not.

“Song Lan and I met up again in Gusu when we were assured young master Lan was taking appropriate measures,” Xiao Xingchen said. “What are your plans from here?”

Wuxian stared at Wanyin’s unconscious face. He shook himself free of his torpor and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping out a quick text to Wen Ning to let him know, via an emoji sequence, that he’d been successful in retrieving Wanyin.

“Going to get him to Yunmeng Regional, where his parents are,” Wuxian said.

“And then?” Xiao Xingchen prompted.

Wuxian had the feeling Xiao Xingchen didn’t particularly want to know the details but wanted to make certain that Wuxian had put some thought into it.

“There’s some things I want to try,” Wuxian said obliquely. “To put some spokes in Wen Ruohan’s wheels.”

Xiao Xingchen nodded. “All right. Do you have money?”

“Yes,” Wuxian replied. He’d pilfered his personal cache when he stopped by Lotus Pier to retrieve Suibian and his knife. How embarrassing would that be, not only to be saved by his mother’s martial brother, but to get money from him like he was a kid needing an allowance?

He settled back against the seat and looked at Wanyin again. If it had meant the difference between getting Wanyin to safety, then of course he’d have taken it.

“Can you drive us to Yunmeng Regional?” Wuxian asked. “Or I guess I can get out and get a car.”

“Not right now, you can’t,” Song Lan said. “They would be monitoring any calls for service in this area now that the supervisory office has gone down.”

“Makes sense.” Wuxian gnawed on a thumbnail, thoughts darting over his options.

“We’ll take you to Yunmeng Regional,” Xiao Xingchen assured him.

“After that, you’re on your own,” Song Lan said with a note of finality.

“Wait, you’re not going to help with…” Wuxian gestured helplessly. “Everything that’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Xiao Xingchen said. He bent an apologetic smile over the seat back. “I followed you today to repay my debt to Cangse Sanren. Now Song Lan and I are going out of country, before this gets worse.”

Wuxian made a noise in his throat.

“It is definitely getting worse,” Song Lan said with grim certainty.

Lan Wangji had not slept a full night in over a week.

Though he and Wei Ying had only been together for what most would consider a short time, it had reshaped Wangji’s world in subtle but fundamental ways. Before Wei Ying, he would have said he preferred to sleep alone. He’d also disliked being touched, even by his uncle and elder brother.

Once Wei Ying was a part of his life, Wangji had not slept a single night without him. He’d used to be a fitful sleeper, especially during the year prior to their reunion. He had resigned himself to waking up at least three times during the night, not from the pressures of bladder but the unease of his own mind. The very first night he and Wei Ying had slept curled together in Wangji’s dorm bed had been the first peaceful night in its entirety for a long time.

With Wei Ying, Wangji had also desired the touch of another person for the first time since that last press of his mother’s lips against his forehead before she’d vanished from his life forever.

In short, though Wangji’s co-existence with Wei Ying had been brief by any other measure, he could not sleep without him. He was restless; he craved Wei Ying’s touch.

Wangji had made straight for Lotus Pier after leaving his uncle, only to find the beautiful private estate abandoned and untouched. Operating on a hunch, he had taken himself to the closest hospital, where he had met up with one of Madam Jiang’s handmaidens, Jinzhu.

That was where Wangji discovered he was too late. He’d missed Wuxian by mere moments. And Jinzhu had not been forthcoming where Wuxian might have gone.

After that, he had ended up in a simple bed and breakfast in a rural town in Lanling, wary of going any place where the second son of the Lan family might be recognized. He moved around every day, never spending more than a few hours in any one place besides the sleeping quarters he chose each night. Even then, he was prepared at a moment’s notice to abandon his room. He pre-paid in cash, and if he caught a hint of recognition in a clerk’s eyes, he didn’t stay there.

Each day he’d spent in hiding in Lanling, he had tried a clandestine method to contact Wei Ying, but none of his cues had been picked up or responded to. They knew one another’s social media passwords, after all. He knew enough—Wen Ning had taught him enough—to use a VPN when he was accessing the network to send Wei Ying a private message.

Both of their accounts, and the small breadcrumbs that Wangji had strewn, had remained untouched. And each day the sense of anxiety, of having half his heart torn from him, built up to an unbearable pressure.

Wangji needed to do something. He refused to sit around and wait while Wei Ying was out there and he didn’t even know whether he was safe.

He was in the process of mapping out a covert route to Yunmeng, determined to tear up supervisory offices from top to bottom until he found some clue to Wei Ying’s whereabouts, when his burner phone rang.

Wangji blinked at his phone, and his heartbeat was a painful thud in his chest for four long rings as he grappled with whether to answer it. For over a week, that phone had remained silent.

He picked it up from the desk and thumbed it on, bringing it to his ear. His heart contracted painfully, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying, hoping it was him, even though there was almost no possible way that it could be.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen’s calm, assured voice spoke in his ear.

A part of the tightly furled anxiety clenched around his heart eased up. His brother sounded well, and soothing.

“Elder brother,” Wangji breathed, clutching the phone tighter. He wanted the next words to be, we have found young master Wuxian, but he knew they wouldn’t be.

“The first wave is over,” Lan Xichen said. “We have support of the Jin family, at last, and the gentry family members leading the opposition against Wen Ruohan are regrouping in Qinghe.”

“It’s safe to come out of hiding?” Wangji questioned.

“It is, conditionally,” Lan Xichen replied. “Every move that each of us make is accompanied with heavy security. The Wens have deployed mercenary forces at each and every one of those supervisory offices.”

“Wei Ying?” Wangji asked, closing his eyes.

Lan Xichen hesitated. “If he is not with you, then his location remains unknown.”

Wangji forced himself to take a breath, then another. He opened his eyes. Even in the act of pulling air into his lungs, he felt like he wasn’t getting enough. He couldn’t breathe.

Wei Ying was still missing. It was a double-edged sword.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, his voice soothing. “Wangji, if he had been taken, there would have been a ransom demand.”

Wangji dragged in a few more laborious breaths as the sense of that came through. He nodded, a useless gesture that his brother couldn’t see, and his hand tightened on his phone. “You are sure?”

“All the Wens have managed to do to Gusu Lan Group is burn down our home,” Lan Xichen said. “A place can be rebuilt. We are all safe, we scattered, Uncle kept back-up copies of our most important data and books. They have nothing on us.”

Wangji pulled in another slow breath, absorbing that. “Yes. If they had Wei Ying, they would want us to know.”

“Correct,” Lan Xichen said, his tone unbearably gentle. “Now, it’s time to come to Qinghe. I need you here with me.”

“Why Qinghe?” Wangji wondered, but he had his guesses.

“Mingjue has been building his home skyrise, Baxia, into a fortress over the past few years,” Lan Xichen replied. “It will serve as a defensible base for those of us who have been displaced, and it’s close enough to Qishan if any countermeasures end up being…militant in nature.”

“Uncle said that the authorities would not get involved,” Wangji said carefully.

“Mn, that’s correct. The Wen mercenaries appear to have free reign wherever they go.”

“Then, how should I get to Baxia?” Wangji had been careful in Lanling, because even though it had been the safest option, he knew there were Wen supervisory offices scattered through that province as well.

“I’ll send a handpicked security detail of Mingjue’s men to fetch you,” Lan Xichen said.

Wangji made a doubting noise in his throat.

“I’ll send Nie Huaisang with them if that will make you feel safer,” Lan Xichen added.

“That won’t be necessary,” Wangji said. “Do we need a security word?”

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said, then in a lower tone, “the type and color of flower outside Mother’s cottage.”

Wangji pulled in a slow breath at the sting of it, but of course it had to be something personal and obscure. “Fine,” he said.

“I’ll finish filling you in when you get here. Where shall the security detail pick you up?”

Wangji named a very public location at a square not far from the building where he’d spent the morning. Lan Xichen acknowledged, and they said their goodbyes.

He sat staring at the darkened surface of the phone in his hands. Wei Ying was still out there. It was a good sign, he tried to tell himself, and put aside an image of a pale, lifeless Wei Ying in an alley somewhere with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

In Lanling, he’d purchased a guqin case to hide Bichen and stow his few belongings so that he looked like a music student on his way from one obligation to another rather than the fugitive he was. It was flu season, so wearing a face mask in public didn’t make him any more conspicuous. The low dark cap he’d taken to tugging low over his eyes would have made Wei Ying laugh and flick the brim upward to be able to see him properly.

With a pang, Wangji stowed all his meager belongings and made his way to the designated pick-up point, hanging well back. He wanted to be sure he recognized the men before he approached the vehicle. He and his brother had spent enough time with the Nie family that he knew each of their staff by face, if not by name as well.

He checked his various accounts while he was waiting, without much hope. In theory, he understood the lack of contact.

In practice, it hurt. They had not set up an emergency drop. He had ditched his phone early and knew that Wei Ying had done the same. They should have had a plan in place. They should have been prepared for every eventuality; they should have…

They should have done a number of things, while there was still time.

He looked up from his phone when the biggest gunmetal-gray SUV he had ever seen pulled up across the square. It was blocky and Wangji had the impression it had been bulked up, like it could take a serious hit and drive away intact. He wondered if it was bulletproof, though from what he’d seen and read thus far, none of the Wen contingent was using guns. Yet. That could change.

The passenger door behind the driver side opened, and Nie Mingjue climbed out.

Though he’d assigned him the name ‘Peacebreaker’ in his own mind in the past, Wangji’s sense of relief upon seeing Nie Mingjue himself in person was so sharp and sudden it almost brought tears to his eyes. He recalled Nie Huaisang’s misery when he’d thought his brother and their entire legacy would be torn down. Huaisang had thought his brother would kill someone, and Nie Mingjue was physically capable of doing it with his bare hands.

That made him the perfect candidate to head up the security detail that Lan Xichen entrusted to retrieve his only brother.

Wangji picked up his guqin case and slung it over his shoulder, scanning the square for suspicious movement before he crossed. He even checked the rooftops, but no untoward gleam or flash caught his eye.

Nie Mingjue’s face was a study in relief when Wangji sidled up to the gunmetal SUV, tugging his cap up enough for him to get a good look at his eyes.

“Wangji,” he said, in an unusually subdued tone for him. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you. I’m supposed to ask you for a keyword.”

Wangji nodded. “As I am, you,” he said. “The phrase is ‘azure gentians.’”

Nie Mingjue inclined his head toward the SUV. “Get in.”

Wangji recognized all the men in the car as Mingjue’s most trusted household members: big, solid security types who had been with the Nie family for years. He buckled himself in and allowed himself to relax somewhat for the first time in days as they began the drive.

He actually managed to fall into a partial doze several times along the way. Nie Mingjue left him alone, well versed with his reticence. Given the current events, Wangji would have been amenable to conversation, but his awkwardness kept him from prompting Nie Mingjue for details.

Besides, Lan Xichen had promised to bring him up to speed.

In Qinghe, Baxia was a broad silver blade of a skyrise thrusting up toward the near-perpetually clouded sky. Although it towered over all the other buildings that clustered in its shadow, it was not an especially tall skyriser as far as those standards went. The Nie family of generations past had built up from a broad, solid base with defensibility in mind.

The garage was underground and equally secure. The security detail fell into step around Wangji as they headed for the elevator. Wangji supposed it was possible, even within Baxia, for something to occur.

Nie Mingjue escorted him to the Steel Forge, a lounge on one of the family-only floors of Baxia, and Wangji was barely through the door when three heads turned, and three men shot to their feet at his entrance. The nearest was Nie Huaisang, his delicate face awash with relief. He clutched an unopened fan in his hands.

The next was Lan Xichen, and he crossed the room in swift strides, one hand lifting to hover near Wangji’s arm. His usually tranquil face was drawn in lines of distress. “Wangji, I—”

Wangji shook his head, reaching up to take his brother’s hand in a brief clasp and draw him near for a tight embrace. “We are free and alive,” he said into his brother’s ear. “That is enough.”

Lan Xichen shook his head slightly. “If I had done more, sooner…”

Wangji released his brother and looked past him to the third person, who stood beside the couch with his arms folded tight across his front, eyes fixed on a point somewhere near Wangji but not directly on him. Wangji took an involuntary step forward.

“Where is Wei Ying?” Wangji demanded.

“Wangji—” Lan Xichen began, cautioning. Now he did touch Wangji, taking hold of his arm as though to calm him.

Or like he was preparing to hold him back.

“Wei Ying left me to help with the Jiangs’ accident and your disappearance,” Wangji snapped.

“Oh, that’s the crux of it, isn’t it?” Jiang Wanyin returned hotly. “That he left you, not that my parents nearly died; that I almost—”

“Shut up!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed in a rising octave, brandishing his fan at Jiang Wanyin. “Shut up, both of you! He is your brother, and your partner”—the fan jabbed in Lan Wangji’s direction—“and you both love him! And you’re going to have to learn to deal with the fact that you love him in different but very important ways! Now, figure it out fast because this bullshit posturing won’t get any of us anywhere!”

Beside Wangji, Lan Xichen put up his hand to cover his mouth.

Wangji gave his brother a small, sidelong glare of betrayal.

Jiang Wanyin pulled in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “You’re right,” he grated, as ungracious as possible, but the words were conciliatory.

Nie Huaisang glared at him in return, transferring his attention to Wangji, and his face crumbled in slow horror. “Oh…umm…Lan Wangji, with all due respect.”

“I was also unreasonable,” Wangji said stiffly. He faced Wanyin and inclined his head. “I apologize.” He knew that Wei Ying had only begun to smooth over the rift of the past few months, and if he were to take any steps to undo his love’s hard work while he was missing, it would be the most unacceptable form of sabotage.

Jiang Wanyin looked at him with that suspicious expression that Wangji was beginning to think was simply his resting facial configuration. “Yeah, well…I get it. I’m not any happier than you that he’s run off like this.”

Wangji composed several responses in his head for settling on the simplest and most concise. “What happened to him?”

Nie Huaisang gestured. “Sit, come sit, please. It’s better if we all form up a nice friendly circle, and I’m willing to bet Wangji hasn’t been any better about eating or drinking for the past week or so.”

Wangji wasn’t about to admit it, but it was true.

He settled between his brother and Nie Huaisang on the couch while Nie Mingjue called for refreshments. Wangji didn’t think his appetite would be any better even now that they were safe at Baxia, given their group was missing crucial people, including the one dearest to his heart.

His eyes met Wanyin’s. Wanyin’s mouth tightened and he looked away.

“I wasn’t conscious,” Wanyin said. There was a defensiveness to him that wasn’t a response to Wangji or any of the others but likely to his own self-blame. “He found me. I don’t know how. Then he dumped me on Jinzhu like a fucking sack of potatoes, told her he had something to take care of, and he disappeared!”

Wangji had to lean on his knees and take a breath. Then another. Tea was delivered to the table in front of him and he ignored it. Lan Xichen shifted beside him, a hand clenching near him on the couch, but he didn’t touch him. It was a good impulse; the only touch Wangji could bear in that moment would have been Wei Ying’s.

“You have no way to get in contact with him?” Wangji raised pleading eyes to Jiang Wanyin, who looked pained.

“If you don’t have a way to reach him, I certainly don’t.”

Wangji transferred his attention to Nie Huaisang, who was already shaking his head. “Wen Ning might, but I can’t get in touch with Wen Ning, either. He and his sister have disappeared.”

“Taken?” Nie Mingjue questioned.

Nie Huaisang raised his fan. “I…I think so. Wen Ning told me he’d let me know if he had to go into hiding, and he didn’t. I heard nothing at all. There were three different ways he said he could leave word, in descending order. I think one of Wen Ruohan’s indoctrination camps have them.”

“Another thing we’ll have to dismantle,” Nie Mingjue grunted.

Wangji retrieved his tea for something to do with his hands. He was still caught on Wei Ying’s prolonged absence.

How had he managed to retrieve Jiang Wanyin? Wen’s people seemed to be professionals, though Wangji hadn’t come up against any himself. To coordinate arson, attempted assassination, and a corporate takeover all in one day, as well as whatever attempt had been made on Lanling…there hadn’t been simply resources, planning, and money involved. It was unfathomable for Wei Ying to take on a cell of them himself.

Was he thinking that he could rescue Wen Ning and his sister too?

“Elder Brother,” Wangji said. “You promised a briefing.”

“So I did,” Lan Xichen agreed with a nod. He cleared his throat. “You’re probably wondering why I sent you and Uncle into hiding instead of bringing you here to Baxia to begin with.”

Wangji turned his teacup in his hands and gave a brief nod. Well, he was wondering it now that Lan Xichen had brought it up; at first, he had simply considered it a reasonable precaution for the three of them to go their separate ways. It was also why he’d hidden himself in Lanling after failing to find Wei Ying in Yunmeng, because no Wens would be looking for him there.

“Baxia has a great deal more staff than the Cloud Recesses,” Nie Mingjue said, his strong, rich voice dominating the room. “And, accordingly, we’ve been at greater risk of spies within the ranks. We stripped down services to the bare essentials to put aside all but the very most trustworthy staff for now. I needed to make this place safe, and in doing so, it could function as our base of operations.”

Wangji sipped at his tea at last. It had cooled below a temperature he preferred, but he was drinking more to occupy himself than out of any genuine desire.

“We had to ensure not only security for everyone to whom we needed to extend it, but we needed to connect with the Jin family to convince them of the severity of the situation.” Lan Xichen’s jaw went tight.

“Let me guess,” Jiang Wanyin put in. “They needed quite a bit of convincing, even with disasters going off in all three of their neighboring provinces.”

Lan Xichen inclined his head. “It is my understanding that Jin Zixuan was actually instrumental in convincing his family that action was not only necessary, but morally imperative.”

“That’s because the Jins have very little by way of morals,” Nie Huaisang muttered behind his fan.

Wangji looked around the lounge with a frown. “But there is no representative of Jin here.”

“They phone conference,” Nie Mingjue said. His lip curled, indicating what he thought of that.

Wangji nodded. That meant they understood the risks, after all. He offered, “Better a phone conference for someone like Jin Zixun, if he were to be their representative.”

Lan Xichen chuckled. “Well said, Wangji. I doubt that housing him would be a pleasant experience.”

“We do have the support of the Jin family, though?” Wangji wanted to be sure of that.

“Yes, they took Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan into their protection. Both of them have been transported to a small, upscale, and also very remote hospital for convalescence,” Lan Xichen said. “And so Jiang Wanyin here is our Jiang representative.”

Wangji sized up his future brother-in-law. He supposed the weight of that added responsibility was what he had to thank for Jiang Wanyin responding appropriately to Nie Huaisang’s criticisms.

“What’s next?” Wangji asked.

“Well, we’re still in regroup and recover mode,” Lan Xichen said.

“And Uncle?”

“He has a suite here, as well. He’s fine, Wangji. He spent most of his time in hiding in the bunker of an old professor acquaintance of his. He came out of it as irritable as ever, urging us to do whatever is necessary to fight back against the Wens,” Lan Xichen replied. “He has been coughing a great deal so I urged him to take his ease.”

Wangji looked to Nie Mingjue, who gave him a nod of affirmation.

“Now that we’re assured of everyone’s safety, we will begin planning countermeasures,” Nie Mingjue said. “I have a few ideas.”

“Not everyone’s,” Wangji said, sharp.

Lan Xichen closed his eyes and took a slow breath. “Not everyone is safe, yet,” he agreed. “However, until young master Wuxian realizes it’s safe to come to us, we can only hope he remains discreet in hiding for now.”

Wangji clenched his jaw. He could not stay safe in Baxia’s confines while Wei Ying was out there, somewhere. He would have to find a way to continue his search in a way that his brother would find acceptable.

“It is time to strike back, and make sure Wen Ruohan knows he’s gone too far.”

“This is war,” Wangji said, absorbing that fact.

Nie Huaisang snapped his fan with a flourish. “We’re calling it the Sunshot Campaign.”

Chapter Text

Wuxian was living on caffeine and desperation.

He had been on the move for nearly two weeks, he missed Lan Zhan desperately, he was sick of tracking down empty homes and flats to hunker down in every time he needed to move, and each sunset he got no closer to his objective was another day he feared that it had been put out of his reach forever.

After dropping Jiang Wanyin off with Jinzhu at the hospital, Wuxian had spent the night at a shabby genteel hostel. He couldn’t use the name Jiang, and using Lan was not only presumptive but no safer than that of his adopted family, so he’d checked in as Wei Wuxian.

Even then, he’d had to book it out of the window at midnight when movement on the security camera he’d tapped into had alerted him that Wen forces had boots on the ground even there.

Using any part of his name had been the mistake, he’d realized. After that, he used cash and completely fake names, but a young man of his description traveling alone was still suspect. That was when he’d gotten the idea to break into public spaces to crash, and when that seemed too risky, he shifted to using to vacant private homes. He always left a little cash to compensate for things he took.

He would have stayed at the hospital. He’d wanted to stay. At least until Jiang Wanyin woke up, and Wuxian could be assured that his brother was okay. After Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen had dropped him off, though, Wuxian’s burner phone lit up with Wen Ning’s emergency emoji sequence.

He and Wen Qing had been picked up while trying to get one of their old aunties to a safe house.

Wen Qing had delayed long enough to get Wuxian the information he needed, but she’d paid the ultimate price. So that was on his shoulders, too, and Wuxian couldn’t leave the situation as it was.

Wen Qing’s text after her brother’s emergency sequence had been blunt enough. This is my price: get my family out.

There had been nothing to follow that message.

Wuxian wanted a good night’s sleep. He wanted a hot meal again, after living off cold scraps from peoples’ fridges and vending machine food. Most of all, he wanted—he needed—Lan Zhan. Being without him was akin to missing one of his own limbs.

He knew everyone had ended up at Qinghe, in Nie Mingjue’s fortress skyscraper Baxia. Wuxian also knew that if he went there, he’d have no say in the agenda. Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, and the Jins to an extent, would be in charge. And there was no way they would greenlight the kind of action that Wuxian was planning. None of them would divert resources to save a handful of Wens.

“What the hell can you do with a laptop and a bow, Wuxian?” he muttered to himself. It was something he’d questioned himself on repeatedly since that first night he’d rescued Wanyin. It turned out he had been pretty effective with it, even if he’d ended up puking in a trash can outside the hospital later as he recalled the instant he’d put an arrow through a man’s eye.

“I’m glad you asked, Wuxian,” he answered himself, affecting a slightly lower tone. “Well, you can use the bow to do all sorts of things, including firing makeshift incendiaries. But the laptop…ah, the laptop…we’ll have to see.”

It was time to put all of Wen Ning’s training to use, and it was only fitting that it would be in service of Wen Ning’s rescue, after all.

Wuxian had been making use of everything he’d learned to create all kinds of scripts, and he’d taken his flash drives on the chance it could be of some use to him but also because he didn’t dare leave them behind. Anyone with any programming or coding experience would know what Wuxian’s scripts had been created to do.

One of them had already been launched against the Wens’ computer systems. He had full access any time he was at his computer with access to the network, and they were none the wiser.

By far Wuxian’s finest creation, though, was the Yin Tiger Code that he had created. If even Wen Ning knew what he’d finished working on over the past two weeks, he’d probably give him that reproachful look as though Wuxian had proposed roasting a kitten in front of him.

It’s illegal, Master Wuxian,” he remembered Wen Ning chiding him, and his own carefree response, “I’m sure Lan Zhan would bail me out.”

Running the Yin Tiger Code on Wen drones went above and beyond any of the kiddie script tricks he’d had planned. He had to make sure no one found him out.

He got up from his laptop where he’d been sitting for the past six hours with only cold noodles and a six-pack of milk coffee. His break-ins had become quick and efficient, but he was scared to so much as run a microwave for fear that the neighbors would report noise in the flat that was supposed to be vacant. As a result, he only picked up stuff he could cram into his mouth while it was cold.

Lan Zhan…Lan Zhan would definitely not approve of what Wuxian was about to do, but Wuxian was in a corner.

The Yin Tiger Code was the best tool in his arsenal, if he was going to spring the innocent Wens who’d been processed into the Qishan indoctrination camp. And he had found them, thanks to his clandestine grip on the Wens’ systems. Wuxian would not be going in underprepared, this time. No more risk of getting a taser to the face, even if he did have chemical spray as a non-lethal counter option.

There was a black-out curtain taped over the entire sliding glass door that led to the patio outside the flat where he had taken up residence for the day. He went over to it, twitching it aside to look down across the street.

After moving from one place to another, he had taken up a position in this particular flat so that he could run his test on the very first Yiling supervisory office that he’d hit.

It was close to dark, and the civilian staff had evacuated the building for the day. Wuxian was resigned to the fact that there would be casualties, but the intent was to keep it limited to the mercenaries.

Time to test fire his Yin Tiger Code.

He hurried back to his laptop, brought up the drone control interface that he’d broken into only days before at a different location, and cracked his knuckles. Wuxian stared at the screen for a moment. Was he really going to do this?

If he executed the script, there was no going back.

He cast his thoughts to the back room in that Yiling supervisory office, and the man who had come in there almost certainly with the intent to kill Wanyin. Wen Qing had agreed with as much.

Wuxian himself had caused the chain reaction that had landed Wen Qing and Wen Ning in the indoctrination center. He couldn’t let it stand. There were innocent people being swept up in the conflict that had nothing to do with any of the gentry families. No one else was going to help them.

He steadied himself, reached out, and set the Yin Tiger Code script in motion.

“Shit,” Wuxian muttered, as drone bays lit up one by one. He had full access to everything. The fact that the Wens even had so many drones was alarming. He was sure the only reason they hadn’t been deployed yet was that Wen Ruohan actually wanted assets on the ground remaining when he took over the provinces.

A drone had probably been involved in setting the mountain above Caiyi Town on fire.

Wuxian directed three deployments, locking them in for a course to Yiling.

The beauty of the Yin Tiger Code that he’d created was that once he executed the script, it couldn’t be shut down. And the Wen drones, once in motion, were independent of their berths. Even cutting server connection wouldn’t stop them.

He monitored the feeds, keeping an eye on the chatter in the Wen networks as he watched the drones’ trajectories. There was still some manual firing involved once these drones got close enough to their target.

“Just point and click,” he told himself, but the pit of his stomach was sour.

It seemed to take forever for the drones in flight. He thought, twice, that he would be sick as he watched the flight cams. He tried to keep an eye on the Wen networks lighting up, but the drones kept demanding his attention, if only because the weight of what he’d done kept pressing in on him. They were past Gusu. They were closing in on Yunmeng. They’d crossed that invisible border. They were narrowing in on Yiling…

It was time.

He swept the network with the trademark he’d decided on, plastering it absolutely everywhere that could display a message: monitors, tablets, Wen-issued phones.

Rain from heaven, courtesy of Yiling Laozu.

Wuxian glanced overhead, although there was no way he’d be able to hear the drones yet. He focused on his monitor, where the supervisory office wasn’t in sight yet on the drones’ long-distance cams. It would be soon, though, and he sat there in a sweat of anxiety, waiting.

It was the arrow loosed into motion. He couldn’t undo this flight.

He focused on camera one, which seemed closest. Wuxian had never possessed a habit of biting his nails, but he was tempted in that moment. He tracked the first drone’s progress, hand on his mouse. He had to be ready to release the payload; he knew there was a narrow window.

On the first camera, the Yiling supervisory office came into view.

Wuxian pointed and clicked.

He thought he could hear it above, a distant whine. He kept his focus on the second drone, and the third, aiming when their target sighting was close enough to allow it, then pointing and firing. Once the third missile was deployed, he jumped to his feet and hurried to the balcony, tearing aside the blackout curtain to survey the office building across the street. Overhead there was a high whistling noise, closing in fast.

The building lit up, and Wuxian stumbled back in shock. It exploded outward in front of his disbelieving eyes. As he was grappling with the magnitude of that, the second missile hit, cratering the front street corner of the building and spraying concrete shrapnel everywhere. Wuxian clutched at the door frame and shook, anticipating the third impact. It was louder, seemed closer, than all the others, and a pillar of dust and smoke erupted from the blast zone, obscuring his vision.

For a long time, there was nothing in Wuxian’s ears but ringing. He stood rooted to the spot, staring at the rubble and smoke and stray fires here and there that had been the Yiling supervisory office.

Then the screaming started.

As the dust cleared, Wuxian realized that the side of the residential building next door had been blown open in the explosions, too. All he could do was stare, numb, at the wreckage. People began to stream out of the building into the streets, yelling, shrieking.

“Shit,” Wuxian said aloud, his eyes moving helplessly over the growing crowd of people abandoning the building with its shattered side. “No, no, no! Fuck!”

He snatched up his face mask from the table beside his laptop and ran out of the flat, leaving everything behind but his phone. He would double back and retrieve his things later. Right now, he had to see—he had to help—because he’d done this.

It had not been the precision targeting that Wuxian expected.

He wasn’t the only one jostling elbows on the street, but he was one of the few who was actually making their way toward the building, which was starting to sag toward the side that had been shattered. Wuxian had no idea whether that meant it was going to collapse or not, but he couldn’t risk anyone remaining inside. There should have been sirens in the distance, but he was willing to bet they were awaiting word from the Wen people on the payroll as to whether they were allowed to launch immediate rescue.

Wuxian fought his way to the front of the crowd and realized in horror that the building was on fire, whether from backsplash of the three missile explosions or fire from the annihilated supervisory office spreading over. In the distance, thin, high crying reached his ears, the continuous wail of a child that couldn’t be silenced.

He looked around, ashamed and choking on the guilt. He had done this. He hadn’t realized the missiles might miss, that they might do collateral damage to a building beside them, alley separating the two or not.

The crying seemed to be coming from the alleyway.

Driven by his own self-loathing, Wuxian pushed forward, breaking free of the crowd to head for the alley. Hands clutched at him and some of the people around him cried out, telling him not to go, urging him to stay back. The building could collapse on that side, another warned.

Like he didn’t know, Wuxian thought bitterly. He was the cause.

He stumbled past a pile of rubble and nearly retched as he walked past bodies wearing Wen uniforms. Had any survived the initial blast? It didn’t seem possible. He dodged past a stray fire and flinched as debris clattered from overhead.

The thin crying continued in the alley behind both buildings.

Wuxian climbed over another pile of rubble and walked onto a scene of carnage.

There had been a car lot behind the supervisory office, he vaguely remembered. It had been separated from the alley by a chain-link fence. That fence had been pulled down by the weight of dozens of bodies, many of which were still lying across the collapsed chain link fence to tell the tale. They were covered in dust and ash from the explosion, but as he hurried forward with jerky steps, he could see blood streaking a temple here, spattered across a face over there.

Off to one side, sitting next to someone curled in a defensive position around him, was a crying boy. He was little, maybe four, and Wuxian ran toward him. He stooped beside the boy who stared up at him with wide, scared eyes and shut up as he got closer.

“It’s okay,” Wuxian tried, though he had the stomach-caving certainty that it would never be ‘okay’ in a sense for this child again. He reached down to check for a pulse in the neck of the woman cradled defensively around the boy. His fingers came away sticky with blood, and her skin was cooling.

He wanted to grimace, but the boy had his eyes locked on him. He’d stopped crying, but he still looked scared.

“Is this your mama?” Wuxian said softly, and the boy nodded, reaching a grimy fist toward his mouth.

Wuxian took hold of it with gentle care, acutely aware of the possibility of carcinogens. “I’m Wuxian,” he said, wiping his hand on his thigh without a care for his jeans and pointing toward his own face. “J—Wei Wuxian.” He still couldn’t use his family’s name, not while he was out doing this. Killing people.

The boy took in a breath, almost a gasp, and blinked. “Wen Yuan,” he said, and held up his free hand, thumb tucked in. “I’m four.”

“Where is your baba?” Wuxian asked quietly, afraid for the answer.

Wen Yuan hitched himself up, looked around the scattered bodies, and his eyes began to well up. “O-over there.” He pointed to the empty car lot. Some of the bodies were sprawled across deserted parking spots. “Car gone.”

“Your…car is gone?” Wuxian guessed.

Yuan nodded, looking up at him in confusion. “Bad men came,” he whispered. “Took cars.”

Wuxian wanted to groan as it hit him. The only people remaining in the supervisory office had been the night shift, the skeleton crew. There were still mercenaries, probably from the residential building itself—and they had gotten out fast and taken the cars of the innocent civilians that were only trying to get away. It might not have been the explosion that had killed them, but they were just as dead. Maybe not all of them had been so innocent, if they were Wens staffing the supervisory office, but Wuxian hadn’t wanted to take out the administrative staff.

He hadn’t wanted this.

“A-Yuan, huh?” Wuxian murmured back. In the distance, he could hear the sirens.

Wen Yuan’s hand clenched on his.

With that small gesture of trust, Wuxian’s decision was made for him. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said. “I’ll find a safe place for you, A-Yuan. I’ll find the rest of your family.”

“Mama and Baba?” A-Yuan’s head turned toward them.

Wuxian bit his lip. “They want you to be safe,” he said, his throat nearly closing on him, but he got the words out. He’d figure out how to explain it later. A-Yuan was around the same age Wuxian had been when he’d lost his parents.

He could barely remember them. He didn’t recall how they’d died. He only remembered the streets, afterward. He couldn’t let that happen to A-Yuan.

Especially not since he was the cause.

Wuxian skirted around to the far side of the building, the one free of debris. The easiest thing to do would be to walk into that crowd and put A-Yuan into an emergency worker’s arms and tell them the boy’s parents were lost.

He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t right. He needed to get Wen Qing and Wen Ning out of that indoctrination camp and put the boy’s fate in their hands. It was the right thing to do.

It was also the hardest possible option for Wuxian, but he had always doubled down on attempting the impossible.

Wen Yuan tugged on a lock of his hair. “Gege, I’m sad,” he said in his ear, then flopped his head against Wuxian’s neck.

With his free hand, Wuxian gingerly patted A-Yuan’s back. “I’m sorry, A-Yuan,” he said, his voice thick. Tears threatened at the corners of his eyes, but he couldn’t let them come. He had too much to do, and he didn’t deserve the relief of tears. “I’m sad, too. But I’ll try to make it better, okay?”

Somehow, if he could make it right for just one kid, Wuxian could pretend he wasn’t worthless for what he’d just done.

He didn’t deserve someone like Lan Wangji. Lan Zhan would have stopped him. He would have counseled him to find another way. Wuxian should have listened to the inner voice that warned him, and now, he had no right to be with the one person whose opinion mattered most.

The second morning of Lan Wangji’s stay at Baxia, he dropped into the seat right beside Nie Huaisang and fixed him with a stare before reaching for any of the generous array of breakfast that had been assembled for them in the communal lounge.

As with the Cloud Recesses, meals in the Steel Forge, which was evidently the Nie family lounge, were served thrice daily, and if one wanted to eat, one presented themselves at the table at the allotted times. Wangji appreciated the logic of it—it meant meals were tightly controlled and could be produced with minimal staff—and the routine, which was similar to the hours the Lan family dined when they were home at the Cloud Recesses.

Nie Huaisang glanced at him, did a double take, and brought up his fan, putting it up between them as a barrier. He shook his head. “I, I don’t know what you want—”

“I need to find Wei Ying,” Wangji said, quiet but intense.

From across the table, Jiang Wanyin’s face swiveled in their direction.

Wangji kept tight control over his facial expression. He managed to prevent his nostrils from flaring, though it was a near miss. There were two potential sources for Wanyin’s immediate attention: he wanted to help, or he wanted to be reasonable for the cause and would hinder.

“Huaisang,” Wangji said, his voice very soft. It was the first time he’d spoken Nie Huaisang’s given name by itself.

Nie Huaisang’s eyes flickered. “I don’t know what you think I can do,” he replied, just as softly. “Wen Ning was my computer guy. The best—really, only—way to track him down now would be to excel beyond Wen Ning at tracing a digital footprint. And to hear Elder Brother speak of it, Wuxian…does.”

“Does what?” Wanyin put in.

“He’s disappeared without a trace,” Nie Huaisang said. “Elder Brother has been trying to find him, too, Wangji. He hasn’t cast him aside. He took it to heart when you reminded him not everyone is safe. Only, it seems as though our friend Wuxian very much does not want to be found.”

“Why?” Wanyin demanded, making a frustrated gesture. “He has to know we’re in Baxia by now. He doesn’t think that’s safe enough?”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes peered out from over his fan. “Perhaps there’s still something driving him forward.”

Wangji kept his attention riveted on Nie Huaisang. “I just want to find him.” Huaisang had to know more than he was letting on. He’d been the first to uncover the truth that had brought the gentry families together, after all.

“Elder Brother is about to launch the offensive on the Wens,” Nie Huaisang said in a hedging manner.

Wangji, who knew him, could read between the lines. “You said tracking him down digitally was the best way; you didn’t say it was the only way.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “That’s right.”

Jiang Wanyin was leaning in, and Wangji wanted to say something, but he also wanted to preserve the shallow peace that had sprung up between then.

“Then, how?” Wangji pressed. He lowered his tone but dialed up the intensity. “Please.” He needed to find Wei Ying; he couldn’t sit around doing nothing. And there was nothing for him to do within Baxia. He wasn’t going to take his courses by correspondence; he couldn’t focus. Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen were heading up the planning and strategy, though Jiang Wanyin and Jin Zixuan were a nominal part of it.

Nie Huaisang tapped his fan to his chin. “Really, the best shot would be to get out there,” he replied. “I know that Elder Brother is putting people out in the field soon. Surely there will be cause for someone to head up relief efforts, as well.”

Wangji found himself exchanging a dismayed glance with Jiang Wanyin, and wasn’t sure what was more disconcerting—the suggestion, or the fact that they were in agreement over its lackluster nature.

Nie Huaisang responded with a huffy exhale. “Look, it’s a way to get out into the field. I didn’t promise it would appeal to your sense of self-importance.”

“That’s not—” Jiang Wanyin began hotly.

Nie Huaisang shook his head and brandished his fan at him. “It might not sound glamorous or fun, but it’s a way to interact with people who might have seen him, and it’s a way to get out there and get past my brother and yours.”

“Hm,” Wangji said.

Nie Huaisang fanned himself with a satisfied expression.

“He’s right,” Jiang Wanyin said.

Wangji cut him a glance as though to impart, I know. He saw no reason to say it aloud.

“Eat something,” Nie Huaisang urged. “You’re wasting away without Wuxian.”

Wangji frowned at him.

“He’s right,” said Lan Xichen’s voice from behind him. A broad hand patted the back of his chair. “I don’t like to see it, Wangji. You’ve gotten noticeably thinner since the last time I saw you. Please, eat a good meal.”

“We can train, afterward, in the salle,” Jiang Wanyin offered with stiff formality, and Wangji inclined his head, equally formal. It would do them both some good to keep skills sharp and burn off the nervous energy that fretting over Wei Ying generated.

“What news?” Wangji asked Lan Xichen as his brother slid into the chair on the opposite side of him.

Lan Xichen raised a brow and passed over a bowl of congee. Wangji’s mouth tightened, but he took it, spooning some stewed leeks, fried shredded carrot and shallot, and sesame braised beans into it, stirring briefly before beginning to eat. Lan Xichen had realized that Wangji needed a direct prod, and although Wangji disliked being treated like a child, he had noticed that his clothes hung looser on him than they had.

If he was going to get out there and search for Wei Ying, he had to at least stay in fit shape to do it.

There was some pork baozi on the table, which Nie Huaisang and Jiang Wanyin were laying into. There was also some kind of soup, and he tasted a spoonful before serving up a small bowl, relatively sure there was no animal product in it. He was glad, at least, that Lan Xichen didn’t chastise him for being a picky vegetarian when visiting others, as he had in the past. There were also some pickled vegetables he was sure were a congee accompaniment, but he served them up as a side and looked down at his food with a mournful expression.

Wei Ying would be complaining about the lack of spice.

“It’s not bland by any means,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, “but it’s not the same without him here bitching about your cook’s inability to use chilis.”

Nie Huaisang laughed, but there was a sad edge to it. “Even your Yunmeng levels of heat aren’t enough for him.”

Wangji bent his head over his food and focused on eating it in the most utilitarian manner possible. Right now, it was something to be consumed rather than enjoyed.

A glance at Lan Xichen showed him to be sitting back and regarding them. Uncle’s commandment of no phones during meals even outside of the Cloud Recesses had been suspended during the emergency, but they still observed it for the most part, barring notifications. They were also accustomed to the home rule of no speaking during meals, but it wasn’t practical to adhere to while they were guesting at others’ accommodations. That rule got modified to ‘no talking while chewing.’

Wangji swallowed his mouthful of congee and decided to try a diversionary tactic. “How is Uncle?”

Lan Xichen cast a cool look his way and laced his fingers together on the table. “He’s fine, Wangji. He was put out by that time spent in the bunker, and we thought he might develop a cold. The lingering cough bothers me, but he insists that it’s nothing.”

“He hasn’t joined us for meals,” Wangji pointed out, then shoved a large bite of congee in his mouth so that Lan Xichen had no grounds for complaint over forsaking his meal.

“He makes up a tray from the table and takes it back to his room,” Lan Xichen said, then took in a quick breath and averted his face.

Wangji narrowed his eyes slightly. That was an option?

“Don’t you dare,” Nie Huaisang said to him. “I need my college bros with me for moral support right now.”

Wangji responded with a small exhalation and continued eating. He supposed it was best if he wasn’t alone with his thoughts. At least, Wei Ying would urge him to seek the company of others if they couldn’t be together.

There were times when Wangji preferred to be alone and needed the solitude. However, he recognized that he was distressed without Wei Ying, and it was worse than the year they’d spent apart. He felt off balance, as though he’d gone for the next step of the staircase and found it missing.

Each day he woke up to that sickening swoop, the vertigo of displacement.

On the table, Lan Xichen’s phone gave a loud, clear chime, then another. And another. He snatched it up and looked it over. His brow clouded over, and he gasped.

“What is it?” Nie Huaisang demanded, fan fluttering.

“Lan Xichen?” Jiang Wanyin’s voice was sharp. He’d dropped the honorific at Lan Xichen’s urging, given he was acting as head of the Jiang family while his parents were incapacitated.

“There’s been an attack,” Lan Xichen said, but he was frowning in confusion, rather than dismay. Wangji was as adept at reading his brother’s smaller expressions as he was to him in turn.

“The Wens again?” Jiang Wanyin asked.

“No, it can’t be,” Lan Xichen whispered, frowning and bringing his phone closer as though squinting at it would show him something different.

“Elder Brother,” Wangji prompted with a tinge of urgency.

“A supervisory office in Yiling has been utterly annihilated,” Lan Xichen told them, looking up with a stunned expression.

“In Yiling?” Jiang Wanyin exclaimed, starting up from the table.

Wangji looked to his right and locked eyes with Huaisang.

Nie Mingjue burst into the Steel Forge, waving his phone. “That’s it, hope you got enough food, breakfast is cancelled,” he barked. “Xichen, Wanyin, I need you in the situation room immediately. This is all over the Wen networks; they couldn’t manage to keep it from us.”

“What is?” Jiang Wanyin asked.

Wangji clenched a fist.

“Three drones hit that supervisory office of theirs in Yiling, but it wasn’t us,” Nie Mingjue announced. “And a message posted across all their comms. ‘Rain from heaven, courtesy of Yiling Laozu.’”

“What’s a Yiling Laozu?” Nie Huaisang mumbled behind his fan, but his eyes were thoughtful on Wangji.

Lan Xichen stood, brushing a hand across the arm of Wangji’s chair. “I have to go.”

“Elder Brother.” Wangji shot from his seat, grasping at Lan Xichen’s sleeve, who looked down in surprise. “Let me go to Yiling.”

“What?” Lan Xichen exclaimed. “Wangji. No.”

“I can go to provide humanitarian aid,” Wangji said, picking up Nie Huaisang’s suggestion from earlier. “With as many of Brother Mingjue’s security as you like. I’m sure there are civilians that need supplies, emergency kits, food.”

Lan Xichen regarded him, and the conflict was large on his face. He wanted to keep Wangji there with him, where he knew he was safe. He also knew exactly why Wangji wanted to leave Qinghe for Yiling. “Wangji,” he started, full of doubt.

“Brother,” Wangji returned, intense. “I can do this much.” And if Wei Ying was in Yiling…

“All right,” Lan Xichen conceded with a slight sigh. “But you’ll have backup, Mingjue’s people. Do not shake them off.”

“I’m going with him,” Jiang Wanyin put in. When Wangji and his brother looked to him, his jaw was set and he had the air of a man expecting a fight. “It’s my people. Yiling is our responsibility. If Lan Wangji is going, I have to show my face.”

Nie Mingjue laughed, disrupting the tension. “The man has a point. I’ll go speak to my security detail. Xichen, join me in the situation room when you can.”

Lan Xichen nodded, while Wangji looked at Nie Huaisang. Jiang Wanyin seemed expectant as well.

“Oh, don’t look at me,” Nie Huaisang said hastily. “I’m not going. I’ll support you from here.”

Wangji transferred his attention back to Lan Xichen. “These countermeasures,” he said. “Were we going to start striking out at supervisory offices?”

Lan Xichen nodded. “Yes, but we’d planned on using non-lethal means.” He looked pained. “Whoever did this…it’s excessive. Surely there were casualties. I’ll look at the report.”

“Pass along what you can, please,” Jiang Wanyin requested. “I’m going to go pack a quick bag.”

Lan Xichen acknowledged him and focused on Wangji. “What makes you think it’s young master Wuxian?”

“I…don’t,” Wangji said very carefully. It was the slimmest of technicalities. Simply because he had a suspicion that Wei Ying might be behind the Yiling Laozu didn’t make it true.

Yet, Nie Huaisang had said his ability to conceal his digital footprint excelled even Wen Ning’s ability to track someone down. Wei Ying had been devoting more and more time to his computer science studies and had put his head together with Wen Ning at every opportunity after the wedding in Singapore.

“Doesn’t Yiling Laozu imply an older person?” Nie Huaisang asked, plying his fan and making Wangji grateful for his added misdirection.

“It would take a person very highly trained in advanced computer science to pull off such a feat,” Wangji said, meeting Lan Xichen’s eyes with earnest sincerity.

“So it would,” Lan Xichen replied, holding Wangji’s gaze.

One of them would have to break eye contact, sooner or later. Wangji assumed a pleasant, blank expression that had served him well through many a diatribe of Uncle’s. Lan Xichen shook his head.

“I have to join Mingjue. Wangji—please have a care,” he said. “And take Bichen.”

Wangji’s expression shifted into faint skepticism. “What if they have guns? This isn’t Ancient China.”

“Oh, they don’t have guns,” Nie Huaisang assured him, fanning himself. “In fact, you’d have the most lethal option; they have batons, chemical spray, and tasers. But they have body armor as well, so keep that in mind.”

Wangji nodded. “I shall return, then.”

Lan Xichen caught his arm before he could move off. “Wangji. This isn’t carte blanche to do as you like. Make sure to check in regularly, and let me know in advance if you change plans or take an alternate destination.”

Wangji gave him a slight smile and a nod. He’d done a poor job of disguising the fact that he was really leaving to go and find Wei Ying.

“I’ll notify Meng Yao to start coordinating emergency relief for Yiling,” Nie Huaisang said. “Get in touch with me before you leave, all right, Lan Wangji?”

Wangji nodded to Nie Huaisang and hesitated, but only for a second. “Call me Wangji,” he offered. After all, he and Huaisang would be brothers soon enough as well.

Nie Huaisang’s face lit up, and Wangji hoped he wouldn’t regret offering that layer of familiarity. “All right! Be careful, Wangji! Do your best and I’ll be here for you and Wanyin as your relay!”

Wangji nodded and departed for his room before Lan Xichen could change his mind. On his way, he considered notifying his uncle and decided it would be information better imparted by Lan Xichen, after Wangji had left.

He had the urgent, awful sensation behind his breastbone that whatever Wei Ying was going through out there, he shouldn’t be doing it on his own.

Chapter Text

“This is crazy,” Luo Qingyang said. “Wuxian, you can’t just show up like this and pawn a baby on someone.”

“A-Yuan is four!” Wuxian replied brightly, and A-Yuan brandished four little fingers at her, giving her a wide smile before tucking his head against Wuxian’s neck.

Luo Qingyang melted visibly, though she was still trying to pull her face into a stern expression.

“Wuxian, we barely know each other, you can’t just show up on my doorstep five minutes before curfew, asking me to take care of your…” She trailed off uncertainly as A-Yuan played with the red ribbon holding Wuxian’s hair half up.

“Son,” Wuxian supplied, wide-eyed. “I bore him with my own body. And that actually makes you the perfect candidate, MianMian; no one will think to look for him here.”

Luo Qingyang sighed and fixed him with a dubious stare. “This is a horrendous imposition,” she tried another tack. That might have worked on someone with any sense of shame.

“Ah, yes, sorry about that. Consider it repayment for getting that bouquet into your hands,” Wuxian told her with a grin. When she looked unamused, he continued, “I’ll make sure you get the fattest red envelope from me at your wedding.”

“Oh?” Luo Qingyang raised a brow. “With whose money?”

Ah, so MianMian remembered he was always broke. “Lan Wangji’s, of course,” Wuxian replied.

Her expression cleared. “Ah, right, I saw something about you two being soul mark partners. You were all over each other at Zixuan’s wedding.”

Wuxian nodded and gave her a bright smile.

Luo Qingyang sighed again, but he could see her resistance crumbling. “He is a cute little guy.”

“He is, and very easy,” Wuxian said, trying his best to sound encouraging. He patted A-Yuan’s tousled hair. He had broken into someplace on the way over to make sure they bathed and slept, but a life on the run was no place for a baby.

“I had cup noodles!” A-Yuan took his face out of Wuxian’s neck to announce. “Then more cup noodles!”

Luo Qingyang put her hands on her hips and glared at Wuxian.

“Hey!” Wuxian exclaimed. “I had a hard enough time getting here; you think balanced meals was the priority?”

“Ugh,” Luo Qingyang said. “You’re hopeless. Fine, hand him over, but this is only until the Wen situation blows over, you got that?”

“That’s the very idea,” Wuxian said, raising three fingers to his brow in a solemn salute. He leaned over to pass A-Yuan from his hip to Luo Qingyang’s arms and flinched as A-Yuan gave a sudden squall near his ear and clung to him with arms and legs.

“Gege, don’t wanna,” A-Yuan whimpered. “’M scared.”

“Ohh, A-Yuan, I know.” Wuxian’s heart twisted in his ribcage, and he patted A-Yuan’s back. Even in the short trek to Lanling, he’d noticed A-Yuan’s bright, chirpy nature, at least when he wasn’t asking about his parents. Was it possible to get attached to a kid so fast? Wuxian had never thought about being a parent before, aside from offhandedly promising to have five or so children with Lan Zhan, but if he had a kid, he wanted them to be like A-Yuan. “I know, I’m sorry, baby.” He bounced A-Yuan on his hip.

“Come inside,” Luo Qingyang said. Her eyes were kind and sorrowful.

Wuxian nodded, sidling through the door, which she pulled shut quickly behind him.

“Sorry,” he said. He patted A-Yuan’s back again, relieved that the little boy had raised his head to crane his neck around and survey Luo Qingyang’s flat. “If I had literally anyone else…but I can’t risk anyone finding him.”

“Wuxian, whose son is that?” Lui Qingyang asked, keeping her voice low.

“I’m Wen Yuan,” A-Yuan volunteered, pointing to himself. He raised his hand to display four fingers. “And I’m four.”

“Very good!” Luo Qingyang enthused. “A-Yuan, do you want to watch some television and have a snack?”

A-Yuan gave her distrustful eyes but appeared to be considering it.

Wuxian walked further into the flat, rocking A-Yuan on his hip and wondering how Lan Zhan would feel about becoming a parent right after college. He bit his lip. It was the Wens’ decision; at least, he would leave it up to Wen Qing. Surely there were other family members who would be delighted to take such a sweet, responsive boy into their home.

After Luo Qingyang bustled around getting a snack and Wuxian walked around showing A-Yuan that it was a quiet, clean place (unlike where they had been squatting for the past forty-eight hours), A-Yuan kicked his thigh and poked him in the ribs, squirming.

“Do you want down?” Wuxian asked, pretending to be surprised.

“En,” A-Yuan said with a nod.

“What do you say to Gege?” Wuxian prompted.

A-Yuan leaned close. “Gege, down please,” he whispered.

Wuxian set him down and tousled his hair even more than it had already been mussed. A-Yuan pouted up at him and raised a hand to try and smooth it down, and he was so cute that obviously Wuxian had to boop his nose for good measure.

They grinned at each other. A-Yuan peeled off for the television, and Wuxian hovered in the doorway to the kitchen.

“How did you find me, anyhow?” Luo Qingyang asked. “I don’t live with my parents while I’m in school.”

“Big Sis told me,” Wuxian said vaguely, hoping she’d accept it and not dig, because he had hacked into a bank database to find her current address and there was no way he was telling her that.

She nodded and passed by him with a plateful of sliced apples and a peeled tangerine. “Do you want to stay for a bit? Overnight on the couch maybe?”

“Ah, thanks, but I’d better go,” he said quietly. “Just…tell him I’ll be back, okay? As soon as I can. He won’t even be mad at me, MianMian. He’ll just get watery eyes and be sad. He…he still misses his parents and all of this…it’s been very impermanent.”

“Got it,” Luo Qingyang replied. She leveled a finger at him. “Don’t get caught doing anything stupid, Yuandao, and you come back for this boy or I’ll make you regret it for your next five incarnations.”

Wuxian blinked.

“And you owe me the biggest red envelope, bigger than any of the other guests,” Luo Qingyang added with ferocity.

Wuxian grinned at her and held up his hands. “No other gentry family will be able to compare to it, for generations to come.” He cackled. “Of course, you have to hook a guy to get married to, first!”

Luo Qingyang swatted at him in passing on her way to the couch across from the television. A-Yuan had already climbed up onto it after finding a show and was leaning on the arm kicking his heels.

Wuxian slipped out of the flat without saying goodbye to him. It hurt to do it, but it was impossible to finish what he’d started with A-Yuan dangling from his hip.

A-Yuan was now his best, and worst, reminder of the price of Wuxian’s actions. He would keep him firmly in mind to make sure he didn’t repeat his mistakes from Yiling.

Some internet research on the Wen network had given him an idea of A-Yuan’s family, at least. His father was Wen Ning and Wen Qing’s cousin, so they would be the ones entitled after all to figure out where A-Yuan should be raised.

It was near dark in the Lanling college town where he had tracked down Luo Qingyang and a little while past the curfew the provinces had imposed. Wuxian was at greater risk of getting picked up by Wen forces than emergency services, and their presence in Lanling seemed to be diminished from what he had seen so far.

In the interests of pursuing that thread, his plan for the night was to drop by the closest Lanling supervisory office for some reconnaissance, then hole up someplace before he initiated the next, riskiest part of his plan.

He was shooting his entire shot with the next strike. It was all or nothing.

If he were successful, Wen Qing and the others could walk out. Wuxian only hoped it wasn’t too late for them. He pictured the Granny that Wen Ning had mentioned fondly a few times, and it made him want to cry. How well would an older lady hold up in a place like an indoctrination camp?

The Lanling supervisory office was an old heritage magistrate’s office repurposed from ancient times. It was a beautiful building, rock landscaping out in front, standing on its own property with no buildings to either side.

Wuxian dawdled in the lee of the residential building across from it and considered his approach. He could land some incendiary arrows from the rooftop, but then it would be too risky to break into flat in the same building for the night.

He ought to leave it alone. Nie Mingjue’s network was a hell of a lot harder to break into, but he knew the man was launching an offensive against Wen outposts soon.

That was why Wuxian had to act first, before he lost his window. If he waited any longer, he’d risk too many peoples’ lives and he would be targeting friendlies to boot.

Wuxian pushed away from the wall, teeth fretting at his lip in what had become a nervous habit over the past couple of weeks. If he kept at it much longer, all Lan Zhan would have to kiss would be chapped, ripped up lips.

That was all right; he didn’t deserve Lan Zhan’s kisses.

Over the past couple of days, he had fantasized vividly about homecoming. He’d dreamed about returning to their college dorm room, like that was even possible. In the waking hours, he had imagined presenting himself at Baxia for entry. Each time in his mind’s eye, Lan Zhan had laid cold eyes upon him and told him “I can’t believe you, Wei Ying. Your actions have consequences,” and pulled aside his shirt to expose the blank patch of skin over his heart where his soul mark had been.

Whether sleeping or waking, he immediately pulled down his own collar to check his chest, cold sweat permeating his entire being. His soul mark was still there.

But Lan Zhan hadn’t found out what he’d done. Not yet.

“What’s this?” a voice drawled behind Wuxian and to his right. “Someone out after curfew. Zhou Zhuliu, I don’t think we should stand for this.”

Wuxian swung around, his heart hammering loud enough to send his pulse thundering through his ears. It had been a while since he’d been so careless—his first night out, probably.

He recognized two faces he’d seen on Wen network boards, and a shock of fright went down his spine. What the hell were they doing here in Lanling? How was he going to get out of this?

Wen Chao lifted his chin and prodded Wuxian’s shoulder with a heavy police issue baton. “What are you doing out here at night, kid?”

“W-waiting for my brother,” Wuxian lied, lowering his head and adopting an obsequious tone. “I, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here—”

“Loitering,” Wen Chao said, jabbing at his shoulder again and pushing him up against the concrete wall with the force of it.

Wuxian gritted his teeth and let himself be pushed, eyes darting back and forth between Wen Chao and the man behind and to his left. Zhou Zhuliu had been high up in Wen Ruohan’s organization for the past five or six years, supposedly abandoning his own family in furtherance of the greater Wen family goals. Wuxian had read of his martial prowess, and his ruthlessness. He didn’t appear to be armed.

“What’s the punishment for loitering, Zhou Zhuliu?” Wen Chou asked.

Wuxian bowed deep, half groveling over his knees. “I’m sorry,” he babbled. “So sorry, I’m just a humble student, hoping that my brother hasn’t also been caught out after curfew.”

“A fine,” Zhou Zhuliu replied. His voice was deep. “It’s five thousand yuan, I think.”

Wen Chao’s lip curled. “So boring,” he said.

“Sir,” Wuxian said faintly, bowing low. He couldn’t afford to put up resistance. Zhou Zhuliu would kill him on the spot. He entertained a fleeting thought of smashing his head against Wen Chao’s, gouging out an eye maybe, getting a hand on his knife, and that would be about as far as he’d get before Zhou Zhuliu clocked him.

All he could do was render himself as harmless as possible.

Wen Chao pulled out a silver device out of his pocket, brandishing it, rolling it between his knuckles. “Zhou Zhuliu, hold him against the wall.”

“Wh—” Wuxian managed, before a hand took hold of his shoulder and propelled him backward. His head hit the wall. He did his best to go limp and unresisting. Whatever it was, he counseled himself, he’d endure it. He had to survive. “I’ll pay you. Whatever cash I have on me, it’s yours.” If he groveled enough, surely he’d disgust them into leaving him alone.

Wen Chao leaned in, seizing the neck of his shirt and pulling it down.

Wuxian began to struggle, eyes widening, head snapping up. “No, please—” He couldn’t let Wen Chao get a look at his soul mark. If he saw Lan Zhan’s name, they would know. And he’d rather bite his own tongue through than be held ransom for the Lan family to submit to the Wens.

Wen Chao thumbed the base of the silver device in his hand, and one end of it began to glow red-hot. Up close, the end facing him had red wires coiled in a sun-patterned design, and Wuxian began to struggle in earnest. It was a lighter. “Hold still, peasant,” Wen Chao hissed.

Wuxian writhed, but Zhou Zhuliu held him in an unrelenting grip.

Wen Chao jammed the lighter forward against the hollow of Wuxian’s shoulder. The pain was searing and immediate, and he cried out, not bothering to try to mask his reaction. It fucking hurt.

His knees sagged.

Zhou Zhuliu released him, and Wuxian crumpled down against the pavement.

“I don’t care about your money,” Wen Chao said with soft contempt. “But that brand, you’ll carry that for the rest of your life.”

Wuxian hunched over himself, a hand coming up to his shoulder, cupping it defensively but not touching the skin. It hurt so bad there were tears leaking out the corner of his eyes; it was painful enough the throbbing, burning sensation was all he could focus on. He rocked back and forth in place.

“How pathetic,” Wen Chao said, sounding amused. “Well. Maybe your brother was picked up by the police, maybe not. Don’t come crawling to our offices for help, kid.”

Wuxian let a sob escape him, huddling in a non-threatening lump. They would go, they would leave him, and he’d be alive to hit back another day. That night. He’d annihilate the supervisory office, hopefully consume the both of them in its destruction, and set out with his plan to rain hell on the remaining Wen outposts.

“You can have my wallet,” Wuxian cried, bending until his forehead pressed pavement. “There’s not much, but whatever is in there is yours.”

Wen Chao scoffed audibly. “Disgusting,” he sniffed. He kicked Wuxian in the ribs, turned, and swept off.

Zhou Zhuliu stood there a moment longer, and Wuxian cowered, putting his arms over his head to make a show of how passive he was. It must have worked, because Zhou Zhuliu turned his back on him and followed Wen Chao.

The stink of burned flesh was right up in his nose. Wuxian clapped a hand over his mouth as his gorge rose. It smelled like charred pork.

As Wen Chao and Zhou Zhuliu walked away across the street that ran between the residential building, Wuxian turned to the side, pulled his mask down, and threw up. There wasn’t much, mostly fluid from his cup noodles and some bile and other matter. He didn’t have an emergency kit, no desensitizing gel, no antibiotic ointments. He curled in on his hurt and waited for Wen Chao and his lackey to get out of range.

Wuxian stayed there, huddled and unmoving, until he couldn’t see them anymore. He groaned and pushed himself to his feet, using the wall of the residential building to prop himself up. The pain was nauseating. It was the kind of thing he knew he ought to seek medical attention for, but he didn’t have that option. For long moments, all he could do was lean against the cool concrete at his back and struggle to pull in slow, even breaths. At first, he was hyperventilating, almost keening.

It hurt.

At the same time, all he could think was he deserved it. Through his own actions, people were dead. If this was karma, he’d reaped it from what he had done of his own will.

He hugged his waist and watched Wen Chao’s back receding as he sauntered into the heritage building. Wuxian’s glare was hateful. There was no reason for it. As far as Wen Chao was concerned, he was a masked nobody. If that was how he treated an average, anonymous person, Wuxian shuddered to think how he would have been dragged across the street and pilloried if Wen Chao had known who he was.

Wuxian’s decision was made for him. With the fresh burn seared into his chest, there was no way he was getting further than the building that night. He would have to find an empty flat and break into it, maybe find some antibiotic or burn cream, and he would initiate the next phase of his plan.

He stood on shaky legs and found the entrance to the building. There wasn’t anyone in the foyer. He surveyed the directory and compared it against the mail slots, flicking each of them with a finger. After so long on the run, Wuxian was an expert on judging which mail slots were stuffed full, meaning someone lived there but hadn’t been around to pick up their mail in long enough that it meant Wuxian could crash there for the night.

It didn’t even involve tapping into anyone’s home network; it was simple sleuthing. He tried to pinpoint a flat that would face the supervisory office and went up to that floor and picked the lock.

Wuxian lucked out on his first try.

He went straight for the bathroom, dropping his things on the couch on his way and tugging his shirt down to keep his burn exposed to the air instead of sticking to the fabric. The bathroom was still stocked up with basic emergency supplies, and he found a clear antibiotic cream. He examined the fresh burn wound and hissed.

It was below his collarbone, above his still-present blue soul mark, a radiating imprint of the Wen sun emblem. Wuxian clenched his teeth as he smeared it with a liberal dollop of antibiotic cream, enough to form a layer of sealant between his seared skin and the air. There was also an adhesive bandage that he set carefully over the wound, hissing as even the lightest pressure made the wound throb with sickening pain.

For long moments after he treated the wound, Wuxian gripped the sink and came to terms with the pain. He kicked the wall several times and swore, trying to keep it under his breath in case there were people living in the adjacent flat. He breathed in and out.

He deserved this, he reminded himself. It would scar. But he was alive, and wasn’t that more than the people who had died after his drone attack on the Yiling supervisory office?

Wuxian rummaged through the flat for something to eat. The best he could forage was tinned oysters and crackers and some pickled vegetables that he sniffed warily before giving them a try. He found a chili spice mix and made a makeshift meal, oysters on crackers with plenty of spice sprinkled on top, and took a plate over to the low table beside the couch, trying to pretend this was all normal.

The neighbor’s wireless was easy enough to hack into. He did it without much thought, cramming an oyster laden cracker into his mouth while browsing through Nie network information on his burner phone.

Wuxian’s eyes widened. Shit. If he was interpreting the code right, and he was pretty sure he was, the combined forces of the four gentry families were going to strike tomorrow.

“I’m not ready,” he said aloud, and his eyes widened as he looked over the map where he’d marked of all his planned attack locations.

It looked as though Wuxian and Brother Mingjue had the same idea: multiple coordinated simultaneous strikes. Wuxian was planning his strikes for tomorrow.

That meant the friendly forces could already be in position.

“Damn it,” Wuxian cursed. He had to warn them off; he had to buy a day’s worth of delays. And there was only one way to do it.

If he didn’t contact someone personally, they wouldn’t believe a message through other means.

Heart aching, Wuxian let himself do something he hadn’t in weeks, for fear his resolve would crumble. He logged into his social media account and checked his direct message inbox.

Sure enough, Lan Zhan had logged in and sent messages to him.

Wei Ying, are you well?

Wei Ying. I miss you.

Wei Ying, I am leaving Lanling and going to Baxia. Please, if you see this, join us there.

Wei Ying, I have a new phone. Here is the number.

Wei Ying. I cannot sleep without you. Please return to me.

Wuxian pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes filling with tears. “Not yet,” he said, and bit his lip. “I don’t deserve you. But if you still want me when you know…” He squared his shoulders. He had some things left to do, and he had to make sure none of their people would get hurt in the process.

He logged out of the account and dialed the new number that Lan Zhan had given him.

“Hello?” The low, mellow tone was guarded, but one hundred percent Lan Zhan.

Wuxian’s eyes filled with tears again and he took an unsteady breath, overwhelmed to actually hear him, even if only two syllables’ worth, after so long.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan exclaimed, and Wuxian gave a shaky laugh that he’d been recognized from a mere intake of breath.

“It’s me,” Wuxian confirmed.

“Where are you?” Lan Zhan asked.

“Lan Zhan ah,” Wuxian said fondly. “I can’t tell you that, yet.” He flinched as his chest wound twinged.

For painful moments, here and there, he’d thought he couldn’t let himself return at all. He was too compromised. He was the worst. But with Lan Zhan on the other end of the line, his voice warm and deep in his ear, Wuxian knew he was too weak to stay away. He would go back to him when he could and throw himself on his love’s mercy.

“Let me come to you,” Lan Zhan insisted. “If you won’t go to Baxia.”

“I want to, believe me, I do,” Wuxian said, scrubbing at one eye. “I need you to call Brother Mingjue for me and tell him something important. It’s critical.”

“I will,” Lan Zhan said right away. “What shall I tell him?”

“He needs to hold off for at least twenty-four hours,” Wuxian said. He looked down at his map. He’d pieced together a mental map from what he’d decoded from the Nie network, and there were too many points of overlap. “The Wen supervisory offices are getting hit tomorrow.” Rain from heaven, he almost said, but didn’t want to give himself away. Not even to Lan Zhan.

“Which ones?” Lan Zhan asked after a beat of silence.

“All of them,” Wuxian said softly.

“Wei Ying—”

“Goodbye, Lan Zhan; I love you,” Wuxian said hastily, and hung up before he lost his resolve and stayed on the line.

He would do what was necessary. He’d shoot the sun from the sky and get his friends out of imprisonment.

If it cost him another little piece of his soul, at least no one else would have to pay that price.

Lan Wangji woke, heart hammering in his ears, and blinked sleep disorientation from his eyes as he tried to puzzle out what had woken him. His phone vibrated under his hip and he pulled it loose, checking the time before the notifications. It was past three a.m.; there was no way it would be Wei Ying unless he hadn’t gone to sleep yet.

The reality of the past week caught up with him as he adjusted to consciousness.

After Wei Ying’s call out of the blue, Wangji had duly notified Brother Mingjue of the message to hold off on their assault for twenty-four hours. He had been dubious at first until Wangji had reminded him of the Yiling Laozu’s strike and how it had annihilated the supervisory office at that location.

“I don’t like having a wild card out there,” Nie Mingjue had grumbled, but he had gruffly thanked Wangji for passing the info along.

The next day had brought ‘rain from heaven’ that exposed the first drone attack for the test strike that it had been. Again, the Yiling Laozu claimed credit for the massive coordinated drone hits on most of the known supervisory office locations.

Wangji shifted up into a sitting position and opened his notifications. Two texts from Nie Huaisang.

After the coordinated attacks from Yiling Laozu, all that had been left for the alliance of gentry families had been to swoop in and pick up the pieces. The hits had been less devastating than the destruction of the Yiling office, and there were still plenty of Wen mercenaries to account for, but the mechanical precision of those strikes had been the decisive advantage Nie, Lan, Jiang, and Jin had needed in order to turn the tide. Wangji had left Yunmeng and Jiang Wanyin had stayed, taking charge of his people to oversee clean up and driving out the scattered Wen-controlled forces.

Wangji was trying to track down the Yiling Laozu without being obvious about it. Rumors from intercepted communications between the Wens’ people had led him back to Qinghe. Lan Xichen didn’t like him moving in any of the provinces on his own, but all available forces were centered on routing the Wen mercenaries.

just heard from Wen Ning

Wangji got out of bed and started getting dressed.

he said Wen Chao and Zhou Zhuliu are on their way to Dafan supervisory office bc they think Yiling Laozu is there

He was off and moving with Bichen by the time he got the third notification.

I wonder why he wanted me to know?

Wen Ning had only recently gotten back into touch with Nie Huaisang, and only through clandestine means. Wangji knew that meant he and his sister were still in hiding, but at least they weren’t being detained at some indoctrination camp anymore.

They were free, but Wei Ying hadn’t returned. Wangji’s heart hurt knowing he was still out there on his own. What more remained for him to do?

He knew Wei Ying had to be behind whatever means had freed Wen Ning and his sister. As to the method, he was trying to be incurious. He did know that Wei Ying had improved his computer skills, particularly in some less-legal methods Wen Ning had introduced him to, though he thought Wangji hadn’t noticed. He chose not to connect certain dots.

If Wei Ying wanted to tell him, he would.

In the meantime, if there was a possibility that Wei Ying was at Dafan, he would find out.

There was a rotating staff at Baxia that ensured certain functions were available at all hours during the crisis, and a driver for members of the gentry family was one. Wangji hastened down to the garage.

“It’s almost three-thirty a.m.,” Nie Zonghui said with a yawn, leaning against the wheel. “Is Lan Xichen okay with this?”

Wangji looked at him. “You can call him,” he offered. He wasn’t going to wait for Wen Chao and his lackey to get to Dafan first.

Nie Zonghui shook his head and shifted the car into gear. “You get to deal with it if you don’t have clearance.”

Wangji looked out the window, holding Bichen in a tight grip. “I could be chasing ghosts.”

“Ah, well, then good luck to your hunt.”

At such an early hour, the car sped through empty streets, and Nie Zonghui wasn’t shy about blowing through red lights if there was no oncoming traffic. Normally a drive from Baxia to Dafan would take a couple of hours; Nie Zonghui made it in a little over forty-five minutes.

“Do you need backup?” Nie Zonghui asked when they pulled up at the curb.

“Stay here,” Wangji replied. “This may be a false lead.” Knowing Wen Ning, he doubted it.

The Dafan office had been only lightly scorched by the rain from heaven of the week before. It would make a good waypoint for succor if Wen Chao and his protector were making their way back to Qishan. Part of the side of the building had been blown away on the east-facing street side, but it had already been boarded up, and the main structure of the building was intact.

Wangji wondered if it was Wen Chao tracking down the Yiling Laozu, or if the Yiling Laozu had actually laid a trap for the second son of the Wen family.

It was a good place for it. The city was close enough to Qishan that a Wen would perhaps be lulled by a false sense of impending safety.

He approached the building, sizing it up and considering seeking a side or rear door. This particular supervisory office was one of the largest he’d seen, taking up near an entire city block. He opted to go through the front door. He was no lockpick, so he simply kicked it open. If Brother Mingjue’s people had reclaimed the office, they could repair the door; if they hadn’t taken it yet, the loss of a door wouldn’t trouble them.

The immediate front of the building was a reception area. It was dark, and he didn’t want to trouble himself to locate the building lights. He pulled a torch out of his thigh pocket and flicked it on.

Once he passed through the reception area to a wider administrative room, there was movement. A shadowy figure startled up from a desk at the end of the first row, a head turning his way for a fraction of a second before the person bolted, making for the back of the office.

Wangji broke into a run as the shadowy figure took flight. Chairs were overturned as the person fled, and even a desk was thrown in his path. Wangji cleared all the obstacles with ease and caught up to the figure as they surged through the door. He swung Bichen in its sheath in a wide arc, aiming for the legs, and that was all it took. The person stumbled and Wangji was on them, unsheathing Bichen, surging forward and pinning them to the wall.

He brought his sword up to the person’s throat, thinking that if it was Zhou Zhuliu, he might make an exception to his resolve to stick to self-defense. The man had been murdering civilians, and they had just learned he’d been the one to crash Jiang Fengmian’s car, nearly killing him and his wife.

In the thin slice of torch that reflected off Bichen, Wei Ying’s face gazed back at him, wild-eyed.

Wangji drew back, horrified, lowering his blade. He’d had Bichen at his love’s throat.

Wei Ying started laughing, the sound hysterical at first. “Did you… Were you going to use a sword on me? Lan Zhan!”

Wangji sheathed his sword and let it drop, gathering Wei Ying into his arms and holding him so tightly that he squeaked.

“You hesitated,” Wei Ying said into his ear, still chuckling. “I was about to chemical spray you. My god, I’m so glad it’s you.”

“Wei Ying,” Wangji breathed. He held him and inhaled his familiar scent, dropped his face into Wei Ying’s neck.

Wei Ying’s arms came up around him almost tentatively after he tucked something into his pocket, probably the chemical spray he’d mentioned. “Ah, Lan Zhan. I missed you so much.”

Wangji couldn’t even say anything, too overwhelmed with emotion. He wanted to keep Wei Ying in his arms until he’d reached his fill of it but didn’t think that would be possible any time soon.

“How did you—no, you thought I was someone else. What brought you here?” Wei Ying asked.

“Wen Ning tipped me off,” Wangji said simply. “Where is Wen Chao? Zhou Zhuliu?” He drew back only enough to be able to regard Wei Ying’s face, with every intention of holding him closely again as soon as possible.

“Gone before I got here.” Wei Ying’s mouth twisted. “Ahh, I should have known Wen Ning ratted me out. He didn’t want me to go after Zhou Zhuliu.”

Wangji inhaled. “Wei Ying…”

“I know,” Wei Ying replied, and hugged him. “I should have come back sooner, I made you worry. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan. Ahh, I missed you.” He nuzzled his cheek against Wangji’s jawline.

Wangji embraced him back, one hand moving over his waist in a soothing gesture. He inhaled and thanked his lucky stars that Wen Ning had the sense to notify someone, if in a roundabout way.

“Come back with me,” Wangji said, securing his arms in a loose but possessive hold around Wei Ying, who went still against him. If Wei Ying was planning on remaining out here, then Wangji would follow. He wasn’t letting go of him now.

Wei Ying went still against him, and it sent a corresponding thrill of fear through Wangji. Wei Ying gave a small gasp and held him tighter. “Yes, sorry, yes, Lan Zhan, I didn’t mean to make you worry. Of course I’ll go with you.”

Wangji pulled in a slow, relieved breath. “Let’s get you to safety.” He shifted their positions, keeping Wei Ying within the circle of one arm. He guided him toward the front of the supervisory office where Nie Zonghui would be waiting.

Wei Ying sounded dull and completely unlike himself when he replied, “Such a place doesn’t exist anymore.”

The Nie car was still idling at the curb and drove them off once they were secured in the back seat. “Jiang Wuxian?” Nie Zonghui exclaimed.

Wangji tightened his hand on Wei Ying’s as he settled against his shoulder with a small, exhausted puff. “What’s left of him,” Wei Ying replied.

That seemed to give Nie Zonghui the hint, and the remainder of the drive was conducted in silence.

At first, Wangji was concerned at the complete lack of conversation from Wei Ying until he shifted enough to look at his face and realized that he’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. He was out fast, and Wangji knew it meant he hadn’t slept since the night before. In fact, he’d probably been existing on as little sleep as Wangji had.

He put his arm around Wei Ying’s waist, held his hand, and ached over the things that Wei Ying hadn’t yet told him. He hoped that he would share what he’d been through, but he wasn’t going to push him, either.

Wangji had his suspicions, and he’d already come to terms with what little he knew. It would be a matter of convincing Wei Ying of that.

When the car pulled to a stop in the garage, Wei Ying startled in his arms, head swinging up and bumping Wangji’s jaw. His eyes were hollow, hunted, and Wangji loosened his arm so that he wouldn’t feel confined. He gave a small, dry sob and burrowed against Wangji’s chest.

“It wasn’t a dream. Lan Zhan, it’s you. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Wangji confirmed. “Need to be carried?”

“No, I can walk.”

Wangji thanked Nie Zonghui, and Wei Ying stayed in the circle of his arm as they went upstairs; if someone else might see and think it was clingy, Wangji did not care. It was still early, though, and there were few people about. He tapped out a quick text to Nie Huaisang, one-handed, as they waited for the elevator to take them to the family level.

“Who are you messaging?” Wei Ying asked.

He was probably trying to sound nonchalant, but Wangji heard the undercurrent of suspicion and it made his heart hurt again. “Nie Huaisang,” he replied. Wei Ying had been on the run for weeks, and the fact that he’d remained undetected by both the gentry and Wen forces was nothing short of a miracle.

No, not a miracle—Wei Ying had worked hard at it. He would probably be anxious and wary of his surroundings for a while.

“I’m telling him I found you,” Wangji elaborated. He would have to make an effort to be a little more verbal with Wei Ying until he was at his ease.

Wei Ying nodded, the tension in his face easing. He slumped against Wangji, putting his head on his shoulder again. “Sorry, I must sound so paranoid.”

“No need for apologies,” Wangji said. He brought his hand up to stroke Wei Ying’s hair.

“I hope you don’t mind if I shower and crash for five or six hours,” Wei Ying mumbled. “I saw your message. That you can’t sleep without me. It’s the same for me, you know.”

“Ah, I am sorry,” Wangji said, meaning it.

Wei Ying tugged on a lock of his hair. “No need for apologies,” he returned, sounding sleepy. “Not between us.”

Wangji closed his eyes, leaning in as Wei Ying leaned against him in turn. His short-term mission was to ensure that Wei Ying remained unbothered for the next twenty-four hours.

“Oh,” Wei Ying said, hooking his fingers on Wangji’s shoulder and pushing himself up. “I should…should call Wanyin.”

“I’ll let him know,” Wangji said. “You should sleep.”

“Mn, I guess it is too early.”

His quarters in Baxia were spare but elegantly appointed; Wangji thought that Nie Huaisang’s aesthetic was behind it, because Brother Mingjue tended toward simple and utilitarian, as though he were actually a soldier. The predominant colors of the suite were light charcoal and a warm, bronzy gold; he had a sitting area, complete with television he hadn’t turned on and a desk to serve as a nominal work area. Beyond that was a bedroom with a large canopy bed and the entire outward-facing wall was a window that could be drawn with curtains.

Wangji drew them for Wei Ying, who sat at the foot of the bed and looked confused by his shoes until Wangji returned and helped him take them off.

“I’m so tired,” Wei Ying said, looking up at him with mournful eyes.

“I know,” Wangji replied. He touched the side of his face. “You should sleep, first.”

“But I’m so grimy,” Wei Ying complained. “I don’t want to dirty your sheets. You should make up a bed for me on the couch.”

“Ridiculous,” Wangji said shortly. He sat beside him on the bed and Wei Ying slumped against him, looking already half asleep. “You’ll sleep next to me. Sheets can be swapped and washed.”

“Oh, true,” Wei Ying mumbled. “Okay, then, if you don’t mind putting up with me.”

Wangji shook his head and stroked a hand down Wei Ying’s arm. “Wei Ying. You are no burden.”

Wei Ying remained where he was, tucked against him with his face half-hidden by his hair. He was silent for long enough that for a time, Wangji thought he’d fallen asleep again. He mumbled, low and full of regret, “Lan Zhan, I’ve done some horrible things.”

Wangji gave a slight nod. He’d suspected as much. “We can speak of it later,” he said quietly. Sleep deprivation wouldn’t make it any better. “I’m here with you.”

Apparently, it had been the right thing to say, because Wei Ying relaxed against him and he was out in seconds. Wangji waited longer, taking out his phone one-handed again and sending a message to Lan Xichen, and to Jiang Wanyin. His brother would tell Brother Mingjue so there was no cause to follow up there. After a moment of thought, he sent a message to Jiang Yanli, as well. He had become closer than he’d expected to with his prospective family in Wei Ying’s absence as they all pulled together.

Jiang Yanli: Lan Wangji?? This is real?
Lan Wangji: Yes. We’ve returned just now.
Jiang Yanli Oh, thank god. I’ve hardly slept since he didn’t come back with Wanyin. Can I talk to him? No, it’s probably too early…
Lan Wangji: He is sleeping. I will ask him to call later.

There was a pause, and the three dots that meant Jiang Yanli was typing. They stopped, started up again, stopped, and finally her message appeared.

Jiang Yanli: It’s enough that he’s safe. He can call me when he’s ready.

Once again, Wangji was struck by how completely Jiang Yanli understood her brother. He nodded and slipped the phone into his pocket after bidding her to take care. He adjusted Wei Ying on his shoulder and received a light snore in response. Wangji smiled, filled with disbelieving wonder. It had been weeks, but now Wei Ying was beside him again.

He picked him up and put him to bed, climbing in beside him when Wei Ying’s face screwed up in distress. Even in his sleep, Wei Ying cuddled up against him at once.

It was around the time that Wangji would normally rise for the day. For once, he stayed late abed. It had never been his custom to nap, but he, like Wei Ying, had not gotten good sleep for the duration they had been apart.

Wangji silenced his phone and allowed himself to relax with Wei Ying beside him. Before he managed to try and think what would come next, once Wei Ying woke, once the demands of the campaign were reasserted, he had fallen asleep as well.

Chapter Text

The room was still, dark, and lacking in ambient noise. There was no faint tinnitus of electronics nearby, and something confining was close around Wuxian’s waist. He sucked in a tense breath and prepared to struggle. As he laid unmoving, he sent a hand down stealthily to check and see if his dagger or chemical spray remained. Different scenarios darted through his mind to extricate himself and fight back.

He blinked in the dimness at Lan Zhan’s calm face, eyes blinking at him from close range.

Wuxian crumpled against him. It was Lan Zhan’s arm around him. Lan Zhan’s comforting sandalwood scent surrounded him once more.

“It’s me,” Lan Zhan said, low and soothing. “You’re here with me.”

Wuxian closed his eyes again and gave a tense sigh. “I’m really messed up,” he confessed.

Lan Wangji’s hand eased up and down on his back, soothing. “You’ve been through much.”

Wuxian shook his head and ducked in, hiding his face against Lan Zhan’s throat. “Lan Zhan. I did awful things. Unforgivable things.”

Lan Zhan’s hand never paused, continuing to make a slow, calming track up and down his back. “If you did what was required by circumstance, it is not necessarily an issue of forgiveness,” he said. “It becomes a matter of learning to live with what was required of you.”

Wuxian clutched at his shirt. “Was it?” he said, agonized. “Was any of it required? I made mistakes, Lan Zhan. People died. And it’s my fault.”

“Blame isn’t yours alone,” Lan Zhan said after a pause. “Even should you try to shoulder it, there are other responsible parties.”

Wuxian blew out a slow breath. Lan Zhan didn’t know the extent of what he’d done. “The Wens, you mean,” he said.

“Reparations are due,” Lan Zhan said. “It is the Wens who will be brought to account.” His hand stilled on Wuxian’s lower back.

Wuxian dropped his chin and nestled closer. “They were going to kill him,” he said suddenly. “They were going to kill Wanyin. I couldn’t… It wasn’t just what Yu Ziyuan said. He was my little brother, and all they had left. I had to, I—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. He didn’t say anything more, only held him.

“That’s not the only thing,” Wuxian said. He had to purge it from his conscience; he had to get it out. It was like lancing a boil, best done quickly, and once it was all spilled out and horrible Lan Zhan could tell him to leave if he needed to.

Lan Zhan’s grip on his waist tightened. “Tell me,” he urged.

“I…I was the one,” Wuxian said, stopped, and swallowed. He took a steadying breath and leaned back, lifting his face so that they were almost nose to nose. All he wanted to do was hide, but he had to see the impact of his confession.

Lan Zhan met his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows betokening concern but no recrimination.

Wuxian gave a small, sad smile. It would change. How could it not?

“I finished developing a code,” he said, and stopped. He swallowed harshly. “An unstoppable code. And I used the Yin Tiger Code to take control of the Wen drones.”

Lan Zhan responded with a small nod. “The rain from heaven.”

Wuxian’s mouth fell open. “You…you knew it was me?”

Lan Zhan tucked his chin in, gaze shifting to middle distance. “I…suspected,” he said. “I was not sure.”

Wuxian gripped at his shirt, his arm. “How can you sound so calm?” he demanded, voice hoarse. “How can you be okay with it? The casualties…”

Lan Zhan frowned. “Wuxian, the casualties were Wen mercenaries. They would have killed any of us.”

“But the civilians,” Wuxian whispered, seeing the bodies in his mind’s eye, the chain length fence brought down with the weight of the people who had tried to escape. “It’s my fault…”

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan sounded so calm, Wuxian wanted to rail at him, wanted to pummel his chest and shout.

How can you stand me? he wanted to shout. I can’t stand me. He clenched his hands into fists.

“I saw the report from Yiling,” Lan Zhan continued.

Wuxian squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop it. Stop sounding so reasonable,” he whispered.

“Those people were trampled and clubbed to death.” Lan Zhan was steady and merciless in his recounting. “That wasn’t you. That was the Wen mercenaries.”

“But it was my fault!” Wuxian burst out. “It was my fault they were in that situation; they were trying to get out, get to safety, and they died, and I as good as killed them myself!”

Lan Zhan gripped him hard; shook him a little. His eyes were fierce. “Wei Ying. You did not.”

“I might as well have,” Wuxian whispered. He slumped on the pillow and shook his head. A tear beaded against the corner of his eye and he took in a deep breath.

“If you are looking for blame,” Lan Zhan said, “I won’t assign it.”

Wuxian stared at him, and his face crumpled.

“If you want to make things right,” Lan Zhan said gently, oh-so gently, “there are other things you can do.”

With a sob, Wuxian surged forward, fitting himself against his partner, and was enfolded against him.

It wasn’t absolution, not quite, but it was what Wuxian had needed to hear.

He didn’t cry very much. His emotions were wrung dry by the confession. He nestled against Lan Zhan when he was done and looked up at the ceiling, drained. He was still tired, but he was also hungry, and definitely dirty. There was an overwhelming amount to do.

“You should shower,” Lan Zhan murmured at length, nudging him.

Wuxian scoffed. “Is that your way of saying that I smell, Lan Zhan?” He said it with half a smile, though. He wasn’t quite up for teasing, but he was moving in that direction, coming back from the abyss.

He had been so certain that Lan Zhan would reject him when he knew. He ought to have known he wasn’t giving his love, his soul mate, enough credit to understand Wuxian better than he’d fathomed himself.

“I like the way you smell,” Lan Zhan defended him at once.

Wuxian smirked and rolled his body against Lan Zhan’s, pushing him back unresisting onto the bed. He hovered over him, drank in the sight of him, and gripped his shirt in one hand before releasing it to stroke up along his neck and jaw. “That’s it, I definitely smell. I’m going to shower.” He hesitated.

Lan Zhan looked up at him, waiting. Whatever you want, his patient gaze said. Whatever you need.

Wuxian bent to kiss him, lips against Lan Zhan’s lips. He didn’t move to deepen it further, not yet. He needed a shower and plenty of toothpaste. His mouth probably tasted like stale energy drink and the worst of morning breath. He lifted up and cupped Lan Zhan’s cheek. “Shower with me?”

The slight crease appeared between Lan Zhan’s brows.

“Not for sexy reasons,” Wuxian hastened to say. He wasn’t up for that, and he knew that Lan Zhan took his cues from him. They had some emotional things to work out, first. Being close was enough.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said. “Of course.”

Wuxian expelled his breath in a low sigh and lowered himself on top of Lan Zhan, setting his head on his chest. “You’re too good,” he said. “Too good to me, Lan Zhan.”

“No better than you deserve,” Lan Zhan told him, hand settling at his waist again.

That was it; Wuxian’s eyes were prickling again. “Lan Zhan,” he huffed. “You have to warn me before saying things like that. My heart is fragile, I can’t take it.”

“Mn. I will warn you,” Lan Zhan acknowledged, and that time Wuxian’s puff of breath wanted to be laughter.

He sat up, his need to bathe beginning to overtake the need for closeness with his soulmate, began to take his shirt off, and stopped with his hands at the hem. Wuxian bit his lip and looked away.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan sat up beside him.

“I forgot,” he said, letting his hands drop away from his shirt. He hadn’t been pursuing Wen Chao and Zhou Zhuliu on their way back to Qishan out of revenge. No, after he had sprung Wen Ning and his family from that indoctrination camp, he’d found out Zhou Zhuliu had been the one behind the wheel for the attempt on Uncle Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan.

Even right up until Lan Zhan had found him, Wuxian wasn’t sure what he’d been planning to do. Chemical spray to the face, at the very least. He didn’t think he had it in him to kill a man up close and personal.

But he also hadn’t ever thought he would see his uncle lying in a hospital bed hanging onto his life by a thread. And Zhou Zhuliu had been responsible for that.

Lan Zhan touched his arm. “Something happened.”

Wuxian nodded and nerved himself. He pulled his shirt off in one motion, wincing as the fabric caught against his chest. The burn wasn’t fully healed, and he kept it taped up. He hadn’t been able to refresh the antibiotic cream as often as he’d wanted, so it would probably develop into a bad scar.

For this reveal, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Lan Zhan. He kept his hands fisted on his thighs as Lan Zhan’s fingers traced the edge of the bandage.

“May I?” Lan Zhan murmured, and Wuxian nodded.

He peeled it away with care, and the sharp intake of breath had Wuxian looking up to gauge his reaction.

“Who did this?” Lan Zhan whispered.

Wuxian had never seen Lan Zhan angry before. He was seeing it now. There was a cold, contained fury in him; if he’d ever thought before that he’d made Lan Zhan truly mad during that summer in Gusu, this would have corrected the impression. Lan Zhan’s hand was still gentle on him, though, as he held his shoulder and gazed at the sunburst Wen burn mark below his collarbone.

Almost, Wuxian didn’t want to say. He’d never that look on Lan Zhan’s face before; the intensity was scary. “Wen Chao,” he said. “He caught me after curfew. I was lucky.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes snapped up to his. “This? Lucky?”

Wuxian tucked his chin in. “If he’d pulled my shirt down further, he would have seen your name.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened.

“So, I felt lucky that all he and his guard dog did was rough me up,” Wuxian concluded.

“Let me get some burn cream,” Lan Zhan murmured. “But first, we should clean it.”

Wuxian nodded. They got up from the bed together. While Lan Zhan rummaged in the medicine cabinet, he shed his clothes, shoved them in the corner of the bathroom counter, and wondered if someone would let him stuff them in a trash fire. He would never wear those clothes again.

He propped himself on the edge of the counter while Lan Zhan wiped his wound down with infinite care; even that much still hurt, and he tried to suppress a hiss that escaped him. Lan Zhan slathered it liberally with ointment, looked at it critically, then leaned in to lift Wuxian’s chin with a finger.

“You didn’t want to show me,” Lan Zhan stated.

Wuxian met his eyes, his stomach sour even though he knew there was no reason for it.

“Wei Ying. Nothing could make you less beautiful in my eyes,” Lan Zhan told him.

Wuxian smiled a little. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said fondly. “It was less that than knowing how you’d get over the fact that I was hurt.”

“Of course,” Lan Zhan said tartly. “I wasn’t there.”

Wuxian caught his hand and held it to his cheek. “Let’s shower,” he said. It was over. Lan Zhan wouldn’t reject him, not that he ever should have thought so to begin with. He was ready to put it behind him, now.

Lan Zhan nodded, affixed a bandage over his burn with care, and began to strip.

Wuxian thought for sure he’d end up aroused when they climbed in the shower together, by virtue of naked proximity if nothing else. When he didn’t get even a little bit hard, he realized he was still too exhausted, too hungry, too emotionally wrung out to feel sexy. Lan Zhan didn’t seem to mind, helping him to soap up, turning him around and washing his hair, working conditioner through the length of it by finger-combing from his scalp to the ends. Wuxian closed his eyes and half-dozed and allowed himself to be cared for. The sensuous pleasure of being touched and handled would normally have had him twining around Lan Zhan, crowding him up against the wall and demanding shower sex.

Right then, it was about comfort, and Lan Zhan was adept at it. He rinsed him down, toweled him off, and led him back to the bed, promising fresh clothes.

“Stuff what came off me into the trash,” Wuxian mumbled. “I don’t want to see it again.”

Lan Zhan came back with a set of clothes, and Wuxian was touched to see he must have sent for both of their things from the dorms, because it was actually Wuxian’s own clothing. He would have liked borrowing something Lan Zhan had worn, of course, but his clothes would make him feel more like himself again. Lan Zhan also held his phone out wordlessly, and when Wuxian took it, he gave a mirthless laugh to see six missed calls from Wanyin and a text, I’m on my way. Tell him if he disappears again I’ll break his legs.

“Call him,” Lan Zhan suggested.

Wuxian pouted at him.

Lan Zhan bent and kissed him.

“Okay, okay,” Wuxian relented when Lan Zhan let him up for air. It had been mostly chaste, only a little bit of tongue. Very tame as far as their kisses went, but about the speed Wuxian was at.

He got dressed first, unwilling to have a conversation even over the phone with his brother in only a towel. Wuxian patted the bed beside him, pulled Lan Zhan’s arm around him, and sighed happily as he leaned back into an embrace he hadn’t been able to relax into for far too long. Only then did he return Wanyin’s call.

“He had better still be there,” Wanyin answered the phone without a greeting, his voice vibrating with fury.

“Relax,” Wuxian said. “It’s me.”

“Oh,” Wanyin uttered, his rant cut short. He managed to pack relief, exasperation, and a certain forlornness into his next two syllables. “Wuxian!”

“Are you on your way to lecture me in person?” Wuxian asked, tucking hair behind his ear and curling against Lan Zhan, who held him a bit tighter.

“Yes!” Wanyin exclaimed. “I’m driving there right now. It’s time to discuss the next phase with Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue, anyhow. And that Jin Zixun.”

“Ugh, he’s involved?” Wuxian wrinkled his entire face in distaste.

“Yeah, Jin Zixuan has been weighing in when he can, but he and Yanli are still out of the country, for which I’m grateful. Wait there, okay? You…you didn’t have to go this far, you know.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Wuxian said, his stomach twisting. Wanyin had better not thank him; he’d punch him next time he saw him.

“I don’t know what my mother said to you,” Wanyin said, his voice low. “But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. What you did—you shouldn’t have had to do that alone.”

“Ah,” Wuxian said, and wiped at his eye. “Seriously, Wanyin, forget it. It’s done. You’re okay, and that’s what matters.” He didn’t tell Wanyin he hadn’t been alone for that part—if not for Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan, he’d have become a statistic or hostage too. It was only later, after he’d gotten Wen Qing’s message, that he’d gone down a path impossible to follow.

Wanyin was silent for an instant. “We’re still going to talk,” he warned, and Wuxian chuckled a little, all but seeing the pugilistic raise of his chin.

“All right,” he said, picturing some yelling about how reckless he had been and jollying Wanyin into a better mood with some well-timed jokes.

“Okay. Then. See you soon,” Wanyin said. Wuxian acknowledged, and they hung up.

He tipped his head back and Lan Zhan angled to meet his eyes.

“He was worried,” Lan Zhan clarified. “We both were.”

“Yeah,” Wuxian said. He put his hand over Lan Zhan’s. “I hope you didn’t clash too much over it.”

“Nie Huaisang straightened us out,” Lan Zhan admitted in a low tone. “Our priority was you.”

“Oh.” Wuxian blinked. That was too much to process. Before he could start, his stomach clenched, made a truly pathetic noise, and he tipped his head up at Lan Zhan. “Tell me there’s real food here?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Lan Zhan said, getting to his feet. “Do you want to come with me?”

Wuxian hesitated. There was a certain allure in staying curled up in bed, holed up away from the rest of the world and any expectations upon him. At the same time, he didn’t want to leave Lan Zhan’s side. A trace of a smile appeared on his face. If Wanyin had thought he’d been overly clingy before, he was about to double down on it, at least for a little while.

He got up from the bed and took Lan Zhan’s hand. “I want to stay with you,” he declared.

Lan Zhan’s gaze softened ever so slightly, and he gave a short nod. “It’s around lunch time.” He hesitated. “There may be other people.”

Wuxian nodded. “That’s fine. I’m not…withdrawn. It’s not like that. I was worried mostly about what you would think of me.” Lan Zhan’s flawless brow creased, and Wuxian hastened to say, “I realize now it was foolish, but I was very much in my own head.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan began, stopped, and looked frustrated.

Wuxian brought Lan Zhan’s hand up to his lips. Maybe someday he’d be able to tell Lan Zhan about the worst dreams, the ones where he’d woken up thinking Lan Zhan had found him out and that his soul mark had disappeared. Not yet. He was still in partial disbelief that being here wasn’t a dream. “Let’s go eat,” he said. “I have one more thing I need to tell you…and show you.”

Lan Zhan’s brows rose.

“Oh,” Wuxian said, and squeezed Lan Zhan’s hand. “Don’t tell anyone about the Yin Tiger Code. Please?”

Lan Zhan’s lips parted. “I wouldn’t,” he replied. He frowned. “If you are worried about what Brother and the others will do, they will understand.”

“That’s not it,” Wuxian replied, though that might be partly it. “This isn’t over yet, Lan Zhan. We might still need it. And I don’t want it to get into anyone else’s hands.”

It was too dangerous. He’d destroy all his work before he let someone else get hold of the Yin Tiger Code.

Lan Zhan gave him a firm nod. “It’s your secret, Wei Ying. Therefore mine as well.”

Wangji was heaping a third serving into Wei Ying’s bowl, concerned over his weight loss since they had been separated, when Jiang Wanyin strode into the Steel Forge lounge. Wangji rose to his feet, putting a brief hand to Wei Ying’s shoulder to urge him to stay in place which he barely seemed to notice, mid-sentence with Nie Huaisang in an anecdote that involved a great deal of gesturing.

Both Nie Huaisang and Nie Mingjue had still been present at the table when Wangji and Wei Ying had left their room for lunch, and the brothers had given Wei Ying effusive greetings that made him light up with a pleased vivaciousness.

He had gone cold and quiet, though, when Nie Mingjue had mentioned casually that he wanted a report, or at least an accounting, of what Wei Ying had been up to over the past few weeks. At least Brother Mingjue had departed for the situation room before it could become too awkward.

Wangji was beyond relieved to have Wei Ying at his side, but he was under no illusion that simply being reunited would chase away the ghosts that lingered in his haunted eyes. The Wei Ying he had found was a different man from before they’d parted. He flinched at certain noises, checked the corners and located all potential exits in every new room he entered, made himself a little smaller at Wangji’s side than he had before. And there was one more thing he wanted to tell Wangji that he hadn’t mentioned yet. Sitting down to lunch with the Nie brothers, there had been no opportunity.

Right now, Wangji crossed the room with swift strides as Wanyin stretched his neck to look over Wangji’s shoulder, concern clouding his brow.

“He’s still here?” Wanyin asked.

Wangji wanted to retort that he wouldn’t let Wei Ying disappear again but counseled himself to understand the place of insecurity that Wanyin was coming from. His sister was out of the country, his parents were still hospitalized, and his brother had pulled off an impossible recovery before vanishing while he was still unconscious.

“Yes,” Wangji confirmed. He stepped in close, raising a hand in a gesture of caution, keeping his voice low. “Don’t push for details.”

Wanyin’s brow lowered further and his mouth thinned, but he nodded. He took a breath, nostrils flaring, and replied equally low, “Was it…bad, then?”

“He hasn’t said everything,” Wangji hedged. It was Wei Ying’s story to disclose. He couldn’t tell Wanyin about the self-loathing he’d seen on Wei Ying’s face, or how he had curled against him, looking certain that Wangji would push him away when he confessed to what he considered to be his war crimes. He could not relate how quiet Wei Ying had been when he’d taken him to shower, how he’d been so passive beneath his hands as he’d treated his wounds and bathed him and washed his hair.

There was a hollowness at the core of the Wei Ying who had returned to him, and Wangji could only hope he was enough to get him through it. He wanted to restore Wei Ying to himself again, but he might never again be the same carefree boy full of laughter who had been full of mischievous plans for the upcoming Donghzi Festival.

“Okay. Thank you.” Wanyin clapped his shoulder and moved past him, and Wangji tensed but controlled his instinct to recoil from the gesture.

They weren’t friends, but they might be able to become allies as far as Wei Ying’s well-being was concerned.

“Hey,” Wanyin said, stepping up beside the empty seat next to Wei Ying at the table. “Is there still some lunch for a latecomer?”

“Wanyin!” Wei Ying exclaimed, shooting to his feet.

Wangji returned to stand beside his seat, watching Wei Ying for signs of stress.

“You,” Wanyin growled at Wei Ying, moving toward him in such a way that Wangji thought he might strike him and was ready to intercede. Before he could, though, Wanyin caught him up in a rough hug. “How could you make Jiejie worry like that!”

“Jiejie, huh?” Wuxian said with a knowing chuckle. When he half turned upon being released, Wangji could see he was smiling, but his eyes were wet.

Wanyin stepped away and socked his shoulder, but in a light, controlled manner. Wangji sucked in a breath anyhow; he hadn’t told Wanyin that Wei Ying was wounded. “Yeah, you made her worry. You pissed me off!”

“Ah,” Wei Ying said. He turned away, tucking his chin in. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t think an apology is going to cut it!” Wanyin continued.

Wangji widened his eyes. He didn’t want to intercede between brothers, but apparently his simple warning hadn’t been enough.

“You’re going to make it up to me and to Lan Wangji by not leaving us behind, next time you have something important to take care of,” Wanyin continued. “Look. I don’t care what my mom said to you—No, you know what? I do care, because whatever it was—and Jinzhu wouldn’t say, so obviously it was that bad—she went too far. Whatever you thought you owed me, she doesn’t have the right to collect on it. And it’s not worth your life, or your wellbeing.”

Wei Ying gaped at Wanyin. He shook himself a little. His hand sought Wangji’s, and Wangji took it, holding fast. “Wanyin. I told you, don’t worry about what she said. They were going to kill you that night. If I hadn’t done something…” He trailed off. The ghosts were back in his hunted, purple-smudged eyes again.

“And I’m grateful for that,” Wanyin said. “But you disappeared right after. That’s why I’m pissed, Wuxian. You took it all on yourself, like we couldn’t have helped you. Like we wouldn’t have. Whatever it was—”

“Let’s get you some lunch,” Wei Ying said. “Before it gets cold.”

Wanyin eyed him a moment longer, the concern plain on his face, but he nodded and seated himself. He watched Wei Ying until both he and Wangji sat down too before reaching for the nearest platter. “Huaisang,” Wanyin said in belated greeting.

“Honestly!” Nie Huaisang said with a disgruntled noise. “It’s like I’m the leftovers.” He didn’t sound too put out, though, so they all ignored his complaint.

“You look skinny,” Wanyin commented, heaping rice and stir-fry into a bowl.

“Ah yes, it’s the new weight loss plan,” Wei Ying said dryly, pinching his ribs. “Nothing but vending machine and food scrounged out of abandoned fridges and cupboards. Super healthy, not to mention tasty. I don’t recommend it.”

“I’m sure Jiejie will make you all your favorites when she gets back,” Wanyin said, but he frowned.

“Ah, right, they were supposed to have been back from the honeymoon a couple of weeks ago, right?” Wei Ying said. “I mean, I’m glad she’s nowhere near the provinces right now, but did they extend their trip?”

Wanyin nodded. “Everyone decided it wasn’t safe for them to come back. That peacock is the heir apparent, after all, and Jiejie’s baby will be next in line.”

“Lanling seemed like it was pretty safe, when I was there,” Wei Ying commented, but raised his hand to his left collarbone and grimaced.

Wangji noted it. So the encounter with Wen Chao had happened in Lanling.

“When—” Wanyin began, and cut himself off.

Wei Ying regarded him with curiosity. “When was I there?”

Wanyin reached for some jiaozi. “You don’t have to say,” he muttered.

Wei Ying made a considering noise. “That kind of restraint isn’t like you, Wanyin.” He turned his attention to Wangji. “Which means Lan Zhan must have said something.”

“I made a recommendation,” Wangji replied placidly, reaching to pour more tea.

Wei Ying nodded, shifting in his chair. He blinked and rubbed at his nose. “Okay, well, since the three of you are here, and Wen Ning already knows, I may as well spill the news.”

Wangji blinked. It was rare the occasion when he had absolutely no idea what Wei Ying was going to say next, but he supposed it was good that he could keep surprising him. He and Wei Ying were still holding hands, and he squeezed it as Wei Ying pulled his burner phone out of his pocket. They would have to see about getting him a new one.

He pulled up a picture and held up his phone angled so that both Wangji and Wanyin could see the display. “This is A-Yuan,” he announced, showing them a sweet-faced little boy. He swiped with his thumb, and the next picture was a selfie with A-Yuan in his arms, his head ducked against Wei Ying’s neck as he gave the camera a shy grin.

That one gave Wangji a twinge, seeing the child tucked close and trusting to Wei Ying’s chest. “A-Yuan,” he repeated.

Nie Huaisang hurried around the table to get a look. “Wuxian, did you steal a baby?”

“I’m the biological parent,” Wei Ying proclaimed, sounding proud. “I bore him of my own body. Look what a sturdy guy he is!”

Wanyin was making fizzling noises and grasping at the air with his hands.

Wei Ying glanced sidelong at Wangji. “You’ll have to take responsibility,” he added, sounding nervous.

Wangji barely smiled. He could intuit in a glance what had happened, and the mention of Wen Ning solidified his impression. A-Yuan had been orphaned, and Wei Ying had taken him to safety. Wen Ning had tried to find close family relations, and likely there were none to take him in.

“I will take responsibility,” Wangji replied, and the flush of relief that dawned on Wei Ying’s face was worth it.

“You can’t just take a kid as yours!” Wanyin sputtered.

“Yes, I can,” Wei Ying said. “Lan Zhan just agreed to it.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Nie Huaisang demanded, fluttering behind them with his fan. “Are you really… I mean, obviously you didn’t bear a child, Wuxian, so what really happened?”

Wei Ying’s gaze dropped. “He’s an orphan,” he said quietly. “His parents died at the Yiling drone strike.”

Nie Huaisang gasped, and Wanyin made a soft, shocked noise.

“But that was weeks ago!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed.

“I took him to Lanling,” Wei Ying said, making a little face. “I wasn’t going to stay on the run with a little kid, Huaisang! Remember MianMian? I left him with her for a bit.” That last was addressed to Jiang Wanyin, who nodded.

Wangji increased the pressure of his fingers, slightly, and Wei Ying turned and gave him a smile.

“We can talk about it later,” he said to Wangji, “but I already asked Wen Ning, and he and Wen Qing said there’s really no one else. After I got them from Qishan to Gusu, I retrieved A-Yuan and they have him settled with his Granny Wen, but, well.” His shoulder dipped.

Granny couldn’t care for him long term, Wangji deduced.

“You did agree to have five children with me,” Wangji said to Wei Ying, who gave him a sparkling, brilliant smile.

“Wuxian, you really have been busy,” Wanyin said. “So that’s what it was? Breaking the Wens out of that indoctrination camp? Huaisang was right.”

Huaisang’s fan increased in pace. “It was an educated guess,” he said modestly.

“Um, yeah,” Wei Ying said, free hand rubbing the back of his head. “I took advantage of all that chaos after the coordinated assault on all the Wen offices. How did you guys manage that?”

Wangji could hear the false edge in Wei Ying’s voice, and from the look on Wanyin’s face, he heard it too. He didn’t dare check Huaisang’s reaction.

“We didn’t,” Wanyin said after a beat of silence. “It was the Yiling Laozu.”

“Right,” Wei Ying said, bringing his head up. “I saw that, I think. Wen Ning mentioned it.”

“Wuxian—” Nie Huaisang began, closing his fan with a snap.

“I know, we can conference call A-Yuan!” Wei Ying said, turning to Wangji with such bright hope on his face that Wangji was ready to promise him anything. “We can’t visit right now, but Wen Ning and I can set up a secure conference call.”

“Wuxian…” Jiang Wanyin began. He shook his head. “I should get to the situation room. We’re conferencing in with the Jins soon, and I need to talk to Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue.”

Wei Ying pushed his lower lip out. “You don’t want to meet your new nephew?”

Wanyin leveled a look at him for so long, Wangji was ready to step in and put a protective arm around Wei Ying, but all he did was tsk and shake his head at long last. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re serious,” Wanyin said at length. “You’re really going to one-up Jiejie like that, having a kid before she does? You two aren’t even married, yet.” He glanced at Wangji as though to say, ‘And you’re okay with this?’

Wangji gave him a steady look. If he and Wei Ying became responsible for the child, it was their business.

“All right, whatever,” Jiang Wanyin said. “I’ll see you for dinner?” He looked pointedly at his brother.

“Yes,” Wei Ying said. “I’m not going to disappear in the night, I swear.” He raised three fingers to his brow.

Jiang Wanyin sighed. “I’m not mad, Wuxian,” he told him. “So we’re clear. We were worried for you.”

Wei Ying nodded, but when he turned to Wangji, it was clear that the impact of that hadn’t been fully absorbed. Instead, he changed subjects again once Wanyin left the lounge.

“We don’t have to adopt A-Yuan,” he said, sidling right up to Wangji. “Or, if we decide we will, we don’t have to right away. Wen Ning says Granny’s okay to take care of him for now, but, you know.” He gestured vaguely.

“Let’s conference call.” Wangji picked up on his earlier suggestion. “You want to see him, don’t you?”

Wei Ying bit his lip and threw an arm around his neck. “I really do,” he confessed. “It’s not…it’s not just that I feel bad about what happened to him. He’s such a sweet, good, smart boy. And we do want kids, right?” He gave Wangji wide eyes.

“We do,” Wangji allowed. He wasn’t sure whether they would both want five children by the time they’d adopted a few.

“And it can take a few years to adopt a kid anyhow, so…is it too far-fetched?”

“Yes!” Nie Huaisang burst out.

Wangji glared across the table at him and he shrank back but continued regardless.

“You’re only nineteen, Wuxian,” Nie Huaisang continued. “You haven’t even graduated college yet. And you’re telling me no one else in his family tree can take care of him?”

“Oh, please,” Wei Ying replied, hanging even more closely around Wangji’s neck. Wangji put an arm around him in turn, settling his hand on Wei Ying’s hip. “If Wangji knocked me up, we’d still have a kid, and still wouldn’t have graduated college.”

Nie Huaisang did a double-take. “You can’t get pregnant, Wuxian.”

“Not for lack of trying!” Wei Ying cackled and tugged Wangji around, steering him away from the table. “Let’s go back to our room for this, Lan Zhan. Nie Huaisang does not deserve the cuteness of the presence that is A-Yuan.”

“I don’t want to have a phone conference with a baby, anyhow!” Nie Huaisang called after them.

“Your loss!” Wei Ying made a rude gesture over Wangji’s shoulder at him.

Wangji tightened his hand on Wei Ying’s hip.

To anyone else it would look like a snap decision, or as though he’d unconditionally supported Wei Ying’s impulses without a second thought. And it was true that Wangji preferred on the whole to process matters at his own pace, but there were some situations he could size up at a glance and make an immediate decision based on his principles.

As they returned to their suite, Wei Ying kept up a stream of nervous chatter, primarily involving the fact that they didn’t have to make any immediate decisions, A-Yuan would be safe with Granny for a while yet, but A-Yuan had seemed to accept him as his Gege without question.

“If someone else from his branch of the Wens turns up, then of course, I’d accept that, but…I just…I’ve been in that position. I don’t want him to be pawned off on someone who doesn’t want him.” Wei Ying fell silent, looking at the floor.

Wangji brought them to a stop outside of the door to their suite. “Wei Ying. I agree with you.”

Wei Ying blinked up at him, hopeful. “Really? I figured I’ve been assuming too much…”

“I want to get to know him too,” Wangji said quietly. “But if it’s as you say, I am sure I’ll feel the same way.”

The relief dawning on Wei Ying’s face made Wangji pull him closer in a quick hug.

“I also lost my parents,” Wangji said quietly. “Children deserve a steady home.”

Wei Ying nodded against his shoulder. “I…I thought we could get to know him, and…I don’t know if we’d want to initiate adoption proceedings before or after college, but…”

“I have one question,” Wangji said. “Do you want this because you feel responsible, or because you care for him?”

Wei Ying drew back to look at him. “I…probably both, I guess,” he faltered. “But I really like him, Lan Zhan. Already, he fits into a place in my heart. Even if we don’t adopt him, I’d still want to look after him as he grows up.”

Wangji nodded. That was the answer he was looking for. “Let’s call him.”

They settled together on the couch in the living area of the suite while Wei Ying tried to set up the call. He texted back and forth with Wen Ning until finally he made a noise of satisfaction.

“Wen Qing agreed, finally. Aiyoh! She’s so strict.”

“She’s protective of A-Yuan’s safety,” Wangji guessed.

Wei Ying pulled a face. “Yeah, but does she think that means I don’t consider it? I am very conscious of A-Yuan’s safety and wellbeing. Why, when I tried to put him in Granny Wen’s arms after trekking across three provinces and back, he clung to me and refused to let me go!”

Wangji had a plethora of questions, primarily how he had managed to free the Wens and how much danger he’d exposed himself to, but he was still determined to let Wei Ying set the pace as far as revelations were concerned. He leaned against Wei Ying’s shoulder and enjoyed his closeness as he set up the call.

A chubby oval face appeared on the screen, framed in dark hair pulled up at the crest of his head. “Hello?” the little boy said, and broke into a smile, spotting Wei Ying.

“A-Yuan! How are you?” Wei Ying crooned.

“Gege! Hi!” A-Yuan waved at him. He chirped, “Where are you?”

“I’m at Baxia, A-Yuan. It’s in Qinghe.”

“Where’s Qinghe?”

“It’s between Qishan and Gusu.” Before they could get embroiled in a geography lesson, Wei Ying pointed at Lan Wangji’s face beside him. “A-Yuan, meet Lan Zhan, Gege’s soulmate.”

“What’s a soulmate?”

“A soulmate is…a life partner, A-Yuan,” Wei Ying explained. “You had a mama and a baba, and you have a nainai and a yeye. I’m…your Xian-gege and this is Zhan-gege.”

“You’re going to confuse him,” Wen Qing’s voice said from off-screen. Her finger appeared at the corner of the frame. “Call this one Poor Gege, A-Yuan. This handsome one is Rich Gege.”

“Wen Qing!” Wei Ying protested, as A-Yuan giggled. “Don’t teach him that!”

“We ate from vending machines!” A-Yuan said, sounding delighted.

Wangji looked at his partner, whose ears were turning red. “Wei Ying,” he said, low and reproachful.

“Getting him to Lanling was the priority, Lan Zhan. I made sure we ate, but it’s not like I could fire up a wok for him!” Wei Ying said, but he was cringing.

Wangji shook his head subtly. The vision of Wei Ying firing up a wok was even more of a nightmare.

“Xian-gege, nainai read me a story!” A-Yuan proclaimed. He put his head to one side. “Will you tell me a story too?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” Wei Ying said, mirroring the gesture and putting his head to the side. “Have you heard the tale of Bamboo and the turtle?”

A-Yuan shook his head, widening his eyes.

Wei Ying launched into the tale. As he spun the story out, making expansive gestures, A-Yuan’s head began to droop to one side. Once he was fully leaning against someone’s shoulder, his eyes closed, the phone was plucked from his hand and the camera re-centered on Wen Qing’s petite, very serious face.

“You got him to sleep; it’s usually a lot harder to put him down for his nap,” Wen Qing said it like a commendation.

“Tell him I’ll finish the story next time?” Wei Ying requested.

“Of course,” Wen Qing replied.

“How is he?” Wei Ying asked in a soft tone.

“He misses you,” Wen Qing said matter-of-factly. She cocked her head at Wangji, narrowing her eyes. “Are you on board with this?”

“Yes,” Wangji replied. He wanted to get to know A-Yuan better, but he was already considering the logistics and the potential timeline. Wei Ying wriggled in the circle of his arm.

She sighed and shook her head. “All right, I don’t understand it, but if you’re both okay with it, he’s already really attached to Wuxian.”

“Children need stability,” Wangji said. “We will be able to provide that.”

Wen Qing looked doubtful. “We’ll see if you still feel that way when all of this is over. You’re still both teenagers, Lan Wangji.”

“Age is no true indicator of maturity,” Wangji replied, and Wen Qing snorted.

“That’s the damned truth.” She turned her attention back to Wei Ying. “We’ll let you go. Stay in touch.”

“Stay in touch,” Wei Ying echoed. “Stay safe.”

She nodded and ended the call.

Wei Ying sighed and nestled against Wangji’s shoulder, and Wangji reached up to stroke his hair.

“What do you think about the courtesy name, Sizhui?” Wangji asked.

“Oh,” Wei Ying replied, in a marveling tone.

“Written as ‘to cherish the memory of recollection.’”

Wei Ying slid both arms around him. “I think I love you, and it’s been too long since I’ve said so.”

Wangji smiled and closed his eyes. “I love you too.”

“Now let’s go to bed; it’s A-Xian’s naptime too,” Wei Ying declared.

They relocated to the bed together and Wangji slipped in beside Wei Ying, though he had no intention of sleeping. He’d meditate or check his phone for updates after his brother’s briefing with the other gentry family leadership. He didn’t want to sleep and overset his typical schedule. On the other hand, trying to cleave to Wei Ying’s sleep schedule might have some advantages.

Perhaps he, like Wanyin, was concerned that Wei Ying would disappear in the night.

“Don’t let me sleep through dinner,” Wei Ying admonished, kissing him.

“Mn,” Wangji assured him. He stroked Wei Ying’s hair and ran a thumb back and forth along his neck until he fell asleep in Wangji’s arms.

Wangji held him close and was grateful.

He ended up not checking his phone, too worried the faint light would rouse Wei Ying. The curtains were pulled to completely obscure the windows, which left the room dim enough for Wei Ying to have fallen asleep instantly. His soft, even breath against Wangji’s collarbone was immensely comforting. Wangji found himself falling into a meditation state measured by it.

It could have been minutes later—or hours later—when he surfaced from meditation, drawn by the slight jerk and tremble of Wei Ying in his arms. He shifted, bringing himself almost nose to nose with Wei Ying, whose eyes were wide. His breath came faster, and his pulse beat fast in his neck.

“You’re here with me,” Wangji murmured. “It’s not a dream.”

Wei Ying nodded, sighed low and long, and flowed up against him. “Lan Zhan.” His mouth sought Wangji’s neck.

The energy between them shifted, and Wangji ran his hand down Wei Ying’s side, settling on his hip.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying crooned his name, kissing his neck before burying his face there, stroking a hand over his front. “I missed you. You feel good.”

“I missed you,” Wangji replied softly. He rubbed his hand back and forth over the edge of Wei Ying’s pants where they cut across the line of his hip.

Wei Ying grew bolder, putting a leg over Wangji’s and rocking against him. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t exactly soft, either. “You don’t need to treat me like glass. I won’t break.” He lifted his face out of Wangji’s neck to give him a serious look.

“I’m not,” Lan Zhan protested, giving Wei Ying a subtle frown. “I’m letting you set the pace.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying looked stumped. He shook himself a little, his loose hair fanning out over his shoulders and part of it falling to cover Wangji’s chest, and bent to kiss him, rocking against his thigh. “Okay. I just want to make out and fool around a little bit, sound good?”

“Mn,” Wangji agreed, slipping his hand into Wei Ying’s pants. They were a little loose, he noted, and his whole hand slipped in easily. He cupped Wei Ying’s ass and held him nestled against his body as Wei Ying took his mouth, stroked the side of his face, and eased against his thigh with a quiet, eager murmur.

They laid together and kissed. Occasionally Wei Ying rocked against him a little faster before backing off, focusing on the kissing instead. At length, Wangji pulled him up until they were chest to chest, and Wei Ying sighed and straddled him, rubbing against his stomach as Wangji stroked his ass while they kissed. Wangji had the sense, as they continued in that manner, that the focus wasn’t coming; that they were centered on the closeness, the reconnection.

“Do you want to come?” Wangji murmured, as Wei Ying eased against him and kissed along his jaw toward his ear.

“Mm,” Wei Ying replied, thighs tightening to either side of him. “Is it too gross to just…come like this? I’m so comfy.”

Wangji stroked down his lower back and into the cleft of his ass exactly the way he knew Wei Ying liked and caressed him through the shiver that produced. “Clothes can be cleaned.”

“Yeah…then, yeah, just like this,” Wei Ying murmured, and sucked Wangji’s earlobe into his mouth. He rocked atop him a little faster, and Wangji drew his knees up enough to get some leverage. Wangji groaned low as Wei Ying shifted down enough to grind down on his trapped erection and give him the right amount of friction.

They kissed and rocked together until they came unraveled in tandem and kissed some more. Wei Ying dropped heavily onto his chest afterward, seeming like he’d fallen asleep, but he pushed himself upright in the next moment, bright-eyed and smiling and happier than Wangji had seen him since…since before.

“Shower together?” Wei Ying suggested. “I don’t want to be late for dinner.”

Wangji smiled with fondness up at him, helpless to correct the notion that would make them any more timely.

Chapter Text

“Real talk,” Nie Huaisang said, snapping his fan open and looking at Wuxian with a direct stare. “We need to strategize about the best way to deploy Yiling Laozu’s talents to flush out those last Wen mercenaries the gentry family’s forces are having trouble tracking down.”

Wuxian recoiled a little in his chair, forcing himself not to reach for Lan Zhan’s hand, which would be an immediate tell. “Wh-why are you looking at me?”

Nie Huaisang gave him a deeply disgusted look. “Please give me credit for having more than half a brain.”

Wuxian grimaced and turned to Wanyin, who was giving him the ‘cut the bullshit’ face. He didn’t bother to look at Lan Zhan, who already knew. “I guess the entire tower of Baxia knows, then?”

Nie Huaisang sniffed. “Now I know I’m being underestimated. Why would I disclose something like that?”

Wuxian covered his face but peeked through his fingers at Wanyin, who was nodding seriously.

“Nie Mingjue is pissed that there’s someone out there operating against the Wens and he can’t get them into his command center to align strategies,” Wanyin said.

“And you suspected it was me and didn’t tell him.” Wuxian gripped the edge of the table, overwhelmed. He was completely unworthy of such trust. As far as everyone knew, he’d disappeared. By all rights, they should each be pissed at him. Instead…

Wanyin glared at him. “Well, I assumed you had a good reason for not coming forward with it. Excuse me for not disclosing your secrets!”

Wuxian was so relieved, he gave a startled laugh. “I mean, yeah. I didn’t want the Wens to know. Your own people are still compromised.” He straightened and shot a pointed look at Nie Huaisang, who pulled a dismayed face but nodded.

“Hm, you’re not wrong, Wuxian,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I’m trying to handle that matter myself, because my brother is a raging bull with no subtlety as far as matters of intrigue are concerned.”

Wanyin snorted and Lan Zhan actually looked amused, at least to Wuxian’s discerning eye.

“Yeah, I mean, I would have put it differently, but…” Wuxian trailed off and hitched his chair closer to Lan Zhan’s at the Steel Forge table. He reached out and Lan Zhan took his hand, strong fingers reassuring him with that simple touch. “I’m not sure we should be talking about this here.”

“The Steel Forge is secure,” Nie Huaisang replied. “It’s swept five times a day, and then I go around and do it myself with the gadget Wen Ning left me with.”

Wuxian relaxed incrementally. “Then it’s probably all right,” he murmured. He cast a look around the lounge. “There’s no place for someone to be hiding behind a wall close enough to spy on us, either.”

Nie Huaisang snickered. “That’s a level of paranoia I hadn’t reached yet, thanks for that.”

Wuxian’s mouth pulled in a tight smile. He supposed his paranoia levels were through the roof. He didn’t know which had fed into it worse: being on the run constantly looking over his shoulder for a month, or being unable to sleep in more than fitful snatches for that month.

“It’s wise to be wary,” Lan Zhan spoke up.

“How do you know you still have a mole?” Wanyin asked with a frown. “Didn’t Nie Mingjue do a whole rage house-cleaning before we even got here?”

“Yes.” Nie Huaisang snapped his fan shut and leaned his pensive chin on a fist. “Some sensitive information has passed through. I fabricated it myself to test where it landed. But there were too many points of contact, so I still can’t narrow down who it was. I only know it’s someone who’s in the building who isn’t one of the gentry family.”

Wuxian looked around at the table and exhaled slowly. He figured he was lucky he’d arrived after all of that so there was no way he could be blamed. Jin Zixun seemed like the kind of person who’d try to pin plans gone awry on Wuxian. If he knew Wuxian was behind the Yiling Laozu, it would be even worse.

“Before that, though…I realized someone with the authority to overextend so many loans to the point it jeopardized the Unclean Realm would have to be someone high up in the Nie Group.” Nie Huaisang scowled, and it was the fiercest expression Wuxian had ever seen on him. “Someone in our family. I was going to ask Wen Ning to help me uncover them, but then, well…”

Wuxian nodded. “It kind of comes down to Wen Ning, actually.”

“What does?” Wanyin lifted his head from toying at the cuff of his sleeve.

Wuxian waved his free hand. “You want to figure out how the Yiling Laozu can flush out the Wen forces that are still in hiding,” he said. “And you need to track down that mole and shut them down.”

“Yeah,” Wanyin said. “Can’t you help with that?”

“My talents are rather specialized,” Wuxian said with a wry smile. “Though I’m touched by your faith in me. If you want someone who can do that level of data skimming and analysis, it’s got to be Wen Ning. He’s got the delicate touch; I’m still learning.”

Wanyin made a skeptical noise in his throat.

“What you’ve done in a few months is still beyond the capabilities of some of the programmers Elder Brother has had on payroll for a few years,” Nie Huaisang said.

“Stop, you’ll make me blush,” Wuxian said facetiously, splaying out his fingers to half-hide his face.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said in a low voice.

Wuxian shook his head. “I don’t have any false modesty about this, Lan Zhan. I can do some basic tracking and hacking, sure. And I’ve looked at what I’ve been able to, since I got back to Baxia. Most of the Wen forces pulled back to Qishan, or they deserted. There’s still some hardcore inner disciples left, though, and those are going to be the ones who are hard to flush out.”

He was a little warmer at their faith in him, but it wasn’t justified.

Nie Huaisang sighed, surveying them mournfully, chin still propped on his fist.

“Field trip?” Wanyin suggested.

“Ugh,” Nie Huaisang uttered by way of response. “I hated those even in provincial school, you know.”

Wanyin shifted to pin Wuxian with a dubious stare. “Do you even know where Wen Ning is, right now?”

Wuxian rolled his eyes. “No faith,” he lamented. “It’s like you have no faith in me whatsoever. Of course, I know where he is; I got them to that safehouse personally. Then I went back with A-Yuan. We owe MianMian the fattest red envelope anyone has ever seen, by the way.” He said that last in aside to Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan didn’t even change expression. “When will she marry?”

Wuxian waved a hand. “Someday,” he said vaguely. “She caught the bouquet, but I think she has to actually find someone to date first. I’m not going to rush her.”

“Can we leave Baxia?” Lan Zhan asked, and it took Wuxian a confused couple of seconds to realize that his partner was talking to Wanyin. Voluntarily.

Wanyin nodded. “There’s no ban on leaving,” he replied. “It’s just safer in here, given Wen Xu and Wen Chao are still at large, though intel places that loose cannon of theirs, Zhou Zhuliu, back at Nevernight.”

“And we’ll take Nie Zonghui,” Nie Huaisang added. “I can’t fight for shit.”

“All right,” Wanyin said, standing up.

“Wait, right now?” Nie Huaisang squeaked, snapping his fan open and plying it.

“Yeah.” Wanyin cocked his head. “You want to wait around and ask your brother for permission over dinner, maybe?”

“Uh, no. Nope. Indeed, I do not. Let’s go.”

Wuxian got up, checking in visually with Lan Zhan, who appeared unbothered by the prospect of leaving Baxia without notifying his brother. Or his uncle, who Wuxian had yet to see since he’d arrived at Baxia, and the both of them surely preferred it that way.

“Will we see A-Yuan?” Lan Zhan asked near his ear.

“Oh, I wish,” Wuxian said with a rueful smile. “No, A-Yuan is with Granny Wen in a different safe house now. Their Uncle Four wanted to be extra sure. He was in a campaign way back when he was our age, they said, so he’s very suspicious that some Wen forces could double back for the remnants.”

“That’s a reasonable fear,” Lan Zhan said. “From all that Brother has shared.”

Wuxian nodded. “The ones who are still out there are hardcore. ‘You’re with us, or against us.’ They think any Wens who are hiding outside Qishan and not sheltering them are the enemy.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw went tense. “We had best hurry.”

“What, you don’t think…” Wuxian trailed off, considering it. “They’re being careful, Lan Zhan. Wen Qing knows they’re more at risk because they helped us. She didn’t know how they found out, but…she thinks the person she asked about Wanyin might have turned her in, under duress.”

He steered Lan Zhan out of the lounge, calling to Wanyin that they’d meet them down in the garage.

“Why the detour?” Lan Zhan inquired.

Wuxian grimaced. “Gotta get a few things,” he hedged. He frowned. Why conceal it? He was still too used to hiding his thoughts, his every move. “I want to grab my knife and some chemical spray. Suibian will be useless, may as well leave that here.”

“I will take Bichen,” Lan Zhan said.

“Really?” Wuxian raised his brows. “Sure you don’t want one of my chemical sprays?”

“Give it to Wanyin,” Lan Zhan replied.

“Eh, I suppose you’re right.”

They reconvened down in the garage and climbed into a giant gunmetal-gray SUV with more seats than Wuxian had ever seen in a vehicle, besides a bus.

“Do I even need to ask if this is an approved operation?” a bronze-skinned man with an undercut asked from the driver’s seat, resting a half-gloved hand on the steering wheel.

“No, Nie Zonghui; just drive,” Nie Huaisang replied. He had taken the front passenger seat and tapped his fan against the dashboard.

Wuxian sized up the available seating: a bench seat across from the open sliding door and a pair of bucket seats all the way in the back. He gestured for Lan Zhan to take the position by the window on the bench, slid into the middle spot beside him, and looked at Wanyin.

“You guys aren’t gonna—” Wanyin began, his face trying to decide if he was uneasy or apprehensive.

“Oh, get in the car, Wanyin,” Wuxian snapped. This was still the same brother who’d asked him to keep his hands off Lan Zhan in public spaces, after all.

Wanyin still hesitated. “Just don’t…do anything,” he muttered, climbing into the SUV and pulling the door shut behind him.

Wuxian rolled his eyes. “I’m going to hold his hand, is that all right with you?” he asked, switching his sarcasm mode onto high.

Wanyin made a face. “Don’t, like, run it by me; just don’t say anything about it.”

“When this is over, you and I are going to have a conversation about actual, healthy affection between human adults, Wanyin.”

“Looking forward to it.” Wanyin’s sarcasm capacity wasn’t broken, after all.

The drive to Gusu wasn’t bad. Wuxian rested his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, toyed with the new phone one of Brother Mingjue’s people had procured for him to replace his burner, and went over possible next moves in his head the way he was sure Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue had been doing for days.

He understood why Nie Mingjue wanted to pin down the Yiling Laozu and enlist them to the cause. Still, Wuxian had a bad feeling about coming forward openly, and it extended beyond fear that someone would hold him accountable for all the deaths he’d caused.

The Wens had dismantled their own drone system, though, which had been part of Wuxian’s plan from the start. He’d gotten Wen Ruohan to amputate a limb for fear the rot would spread further. The Yiling Laozu had used his own assets against him, and so Wen Ruohan had taken the hard line and disabled all that expensive infrastructure to prevent any further deployments against Qishan.

Now all of it was scrap metal, and it couldn’t be used against Wuxian’s loved ones. The thought of Baxia being leveled to the ground had woken him in a cold sweat more than once until Wuxian had tapped into his backdoor access to the Wen network after the massive attack on all the supervisory offices and discovered all the drones were gone. Not just offline, but dismantled and unusable.

The remaining Wen forces were a problem, though, and Wuxian hoped he hadn’t overplayed Wen Ning’s abilities. It would get him and Wen Qing to the security of Baxia, though, and if there was any chance they’d still be targeted, that would ensure their safety.

“Wanyin, what news from the situation room?” Nie Huaisang asked, twisting around in his seat to face them. “Er, whatever you’re able to share, rather.”

“Not much,” Wanyin said, lowering his phone. “I mean there’s not much news, not that I can’t share. Jin Zixuan is really chafing to get back; he’s started to make plans about flying to Vietnam and driving up, if you can believe it.”

“Why not fly direct?” Lan Zhan asked. “Lanling has their own carrier.”

“Jin Zixun is making noises about how that could be sabotaged even on the Vietnam end, but if you ask me, he’s enjoying being the de facto lead for the Jin family during this crisis,” Wanyin explained. He scowled.

“Wait. Why isn’t Jin Guangshan taking care of matters himself?” Wuxian asked. “That’s not like him.” He glanced at Lan Zhan, who returned it with unusually solemn eyes.

Nie Huaisang caught his breath.

“Oh,” Wanyin uttered beside him. “Right. How would you know?”

“Know what?” Wuxian swung back to Lan Zhan, taking hold of his arm and gripping it hard.

“Your sister is fine,” Lan Zhan said right away, intuiting Wuxian’s worst fear. “It’s Jin Guangshan. He’s indisposed.” His hand covered Wuxian’s.

“Indisposed,” Nie Huaisang said with a sniff.

“That was the Wens’ attempt on the Jin family,” Wanyin said. He bumped Wuxian’s shoulder with his knuckles. “So Madam Jin is running the business end, for now, and she’s left her son and Jin Zixun in charge of the strategic and tactical stuff, and unfortunately Jin Zixuan is good at it but not always available. Jin Zixun is constantly around, and terrible.”

“I always had a feeling he’d be trouble,” Wuxian asserted. “But what’s this with Jin Guangshan? What happened? Who could get to him?”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes were bright with suppressed excitement, and he raised his closed fan to his face like that would hide it. To his right, Wanyin looked sour.

“All right, dish,” Wuxian said to Nie Huaisang. “Wanyin’s too upright to share the rumors, but you know something nasty.”

Nie Huaisang squirmed in his seat, fan thwacking the back of the headrest. “It’s so nasty!” he crowed. “The word is—and my source is reliable—that he was poisoned by a prostitute.”

Wuxian’s mouth fell open. To his left, Lan Zhan’s first micro-expression was disgust, then his attempt at blankness leaned more toward discomfort. To his right, Wanyin’s face twisted and settled into fixed distaste.

“Wow, that…” At first, Wuxian was honestly lost for words. “Was it lethal? Are they covering for him, or…?”

“It was close,” Wanyin said, jaw tight. “He’s lucky to be alive. He’s recovering in the same sanitarium where they relocated my parents, and security is super tight. It’s locked down even closer than Baxia.”

“Do I even want to know how the poison was transm—”

“No, you don’t,” Nie Huaisang interrupted. “It’ll give you nightmares.”

Wanyin shuddered.

Wuxian turned a curious look on him. “Now I kind of think not knowing is worse.” He eyed Wanyin, considering how best to pester him until he gave it up. Wanyin probably had to read a briefing or something.

Nie Huaisang sighed, and when he’d secured Wuxian’s attention again, he raised a finger and circled his lips in an ‘O.’

Wuxian’s eyes widened. He shuddered. “That’s disgusting,” he said. “But considering the target, pretty genius. Was that all they tried on Lanling?”

“Some corporate bullshit too, but Madam Jin squelched it under her heel,” Nie Huaisang said, sounding faintly admiring. “I wish she’d been able to work with Elder Brother and you and Brother Xichen, but, well, they want to keep their assets together just as much as everyone else.”

“That Jin Zixun,” Wuxian began to grumble, broke himself off, and shook his head. He leaned against Lan Zhan, who put a hand on his knee.

“Hopefully Jin Zixuan can return,” Lan Zhan said, quiet and firm.

“I understand him wanting to be as cautious as possible; it’s our sister and her baby at stake too,” Wanyin said. “But the back of the Wen movement is broken.”

“Overconfidence leads to defeat,” Lan Zhan said, shifting to make eye contact with him across Wuxian.

Wanyin nodded. “That’s true enough, and vigilance is still warranted. I still think Jin Zixuan is smart and cautious enough to get them both home safely, whatever other flaws he might possess.”

For Wuxian it was somewhat of an out-of-body experience. Lan Zhan was talking to Wanyin voluntarily. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened prior to the Sunshot Campaign. And Wanyin was actually interacting with Lan Zhan without tension or disdain. He wanted to crack a joke, but he didn’t dare. If they had managed a delicate equilibrium in his absence, he wanted to leave it alone and see if it would remain standing.

“What’s that address in Gusu?” Nie Zonghui called, and Wuxian leaned forward to tell him. “All right. Not too much longer, now.”

Wuxian settled against Lan Zhan’s shoulder again and looked at the heathery gray and purple underbrush and fringe of distant trees as they went past another river, admiring the Gusu scenery slipping by. Yunmeng had more of an urban feel, except in the areas like Lotus Pier that were situated around the lakes; or towns to be designed more touristy like Yunping. He didn’t dare speak up in admiration with Wanyin right beside him and able to hear it, but it was a beautiful province that his soulmate called home.

He had moved there for college, and he supposed he would never permanently leave it.

Wuxian’s eyes widened as a stray thought hit him that had somehow never crossed his mind before. Where would he spend his summer break?

Lan Zhan turned to him, a question on his face, sensing the tension in his body.

Wuxian shook his head minutely. “Later,” he murmured. Now was definitely not the time to bring that up; they had an entire crisis to navigate, first. But there was no question of being separated. That had been the case before, but it was unthinkable to Wuxian now. It would probably be months before Wuxian could let Lan Zhan out of his sight without getting deeply uneasy.

As it was, he was barely okay letting him go over to the next room without him. It was a problem of his own making, so he knew he deserved it; he’d have to endure it as best he could.

But wherever they went during breaks, they would go together. Even if it meant doubling up going back and forth for Lunar New Year.

The gunmetal gray SUV sped them through the sleepy outskirts of a Gusu town that Wuxian didn’t recognize, its welcome sign flashing by too fast for him to read. Nie Zonghui was a fast, efficient driver. He wove through traffic to a more populous area of town.

“Have the emergency services started getting involved again?” Wuxian wondered.

Wanyin gave him a sharp glance. “Why, do you think something’s going to happen?”

“I was just wondering,” Wuxian said, rubbing his nose. “If it’s the kind of thing they would respond to, if any of the Wens called for help.”

Wanyin’s jaw worked. “I hadn’t thought of that angle,” he admitted after a moment.

“It depends on province,” Lan Zhan said. “Elder Brother said the majority of hospitals were overwhelmed after the most recent round of the campaign.”

Wuxian winced.

“It was not only the Yiling Laozu’s strikes,” Lan Zhan hastened to say, his hand moving in a quick, soothing gesture on Wuxian’s leg. “The counter-ops following the strikes generated the most casualties.”

“It’s true,” Wanyin said, cocking his head to look Wuxian in the face. “I saw the reports. I shared info with Lan Wangji and with Huaisang. Those drone strikes were incredibly skillful, precision targeting. They blew open enough of those supervisory offices to make them damn near useless, but it was the fighting on the ground where things got ugly.”

Wuxian gave a tight nod, trying to get his breathing under control. His head was full of static again. Lan Zhan shifted his grip from his leg to slip an arm around him, his fingers seeking Wuxian’s hip and holding tight.

It had a calming effect, and he was able to regulate his breathing as he tried to distance himself from the thought of casualties. He couldn’t afford to freak out now.

“It’s one of the reasons Nie Mingjue is so upset,” Wanyin said, sounding equal parts sour and amused. “He wants someone with that much talent in his command center.”

Wuxian huffed. Not quite a laugh, but he lacked the capacity for it.

The SUV pulled up to a stop in front of a squat, nondescript row of English-style townhomes that had been built, from the look of them, during the brief craze for British architecture that had swept through the provinces a century prior before Chinese aesthetic regained its hold. The homes had a shabby genteel appearance, hardly safehouse material by any means.

Wanyin bailed out of the car like he was on fire, and Wuxian got out more carefully, making use of the handhold above the door in case his bout of light-headedness became inconvenient. Lan Zhan climbed out behind him with the grace of a cat, landing lightly on the pavement and carrying his sword one-handed. He didn’t reach for Wuxian’s arm like he half expected, letting him stand free instead.

Nie Huaisang opened his door and looked at them, fanning himself. “I’ll stay here with Nie Zonghui,” he said.

Wanyin gave a bitten-off exclamation, and Lan Zhan gestured.

“That’s fine,” Lan Zhan said.

Wanyin still looked ready to spit a hornet. “Why come all this way, if—”

“Wanyin,” Wuxian interrupted. “It’s better if we don’t freak out Wen Qing with too many faces. In fact, you should hang back and Lan Zhan will knock on the door.”

“Why him?” Wanyin asked. It wasn’t antagonistic, just curious.

“Because Wen Qing will shut the door in my face,” Wuxian said, mortally sure of it.

Wanyin frowned. “She doesn’t even know me.”

Wuxian scoffed. “Trust me. She knows you. She knew me on sight before we’d met. She has ways, Wanyin.”

“What, like Wen Ning’s camera roll?” Wanyin said drily behind him as they headed up the stairs.

Wuxian wanted to put a hand on Lan Zhan’s lower back as they went up, but that seemed too unbearably clingy even to him. He did crowd in close enough to touch his arm and shoulder as he got a good look at the door, and Lan Zhan half turned at the top of the steps, putting a finger to his lips.

The door was open by a hair’s breadth.

Wuxian responded with a curt nod, pulling out his chemical spray and passing one to Wanyin, who went on the alert as soon as he noticed.

Lan Zhan did not kick the door, nor did he attempt to ease it open. He put his fingertips to the edge and walked forward, pushing it lightly and walking all the way through until it was flush with the wall. Wuxian followed, the pit of his stomach clenching with the familiar first wave of his adrenaline response. His hand itched for Suibian, even if close quarters was no place for a bow. He pulled his knife out of his thigh pouch and put his thumb on the snap that would flick the guard on its sheath open.

“—don’t know how you thought you and your mongrel brother could get away with this, bitch, but it’s over now,” a voice said beyond the hallway.

Wuxian went tense from his face clear down to his toes. He froze behind Lan Zhan, and Wanyin bumped into his shoulder from behind. He grabbed Wuxian’s shoulder and gave it a warning squeeze.

Somehow, Wuxian got his feet to move again, even feeling like his muscles might break apart like spun glass. He didn’t want to walk into that next room. He didn’t want to see what was happening.

Most of all, he couldn’t come face to face with Wen Chao again.

There a was a low, feminine response with sullen, defiant undertones, and Wuxian pressed a hand to Lan Zhan’s shoulder, urgency bubbling up inside him. It was just like Wen Qing to try and get the last word in, to deny Wen Chao some measure of satisfaction.

Lan Zhan checked over his shoulder with them, and Wuxian gave a firm nod, knowing it was echoed by Wanyin. They couldn’t do nothing.

He wasn’t sure who took the first step. All of them rushed forward, and Wuxian thumbed the guard off his knife, pulling it free from the sheath. Pure adrenaline took over as they burst from the hallway into the living area beyond.

“That’s it, I’m not going to bother taking you back,” Wen Chao snarled in response to whatever Wen Qing had said. “I’ll finish you off right here—”

Wuxian struck out for the upraised hand, zeroing in on it as a threat. There was a black device in his hand, and the only thought that flashed through his head was the lighter that Wen Chao had used to sear a permanent scar into his flesh. He doubted that whatever was raised to strike Wen Qing would stop at a scar.

Lan Zhan was closer, and faster. Bichen was out of its scabbard with a rasp and glittered through the air.

Wen Chao’s strangled cry was one of surprise. He stumbled off to one side, the black device dropping from his hand as he clutched his arm to his chest. “What the fuck—” he blustered in outrage before looking at the three of them. He glared, his face full of hatred as he focused on Lan Zhan. “Lan Wangji. Why are you even here?”

Lan Zhan kept his sword at the ready. “Miss Wen. Are you all right?”

“My brother—” she began, dark eyes alarmed, gesturing for a back hall behind her.

Wuxian stooped to pluck Wen Chao’s black device from the floor. It appeared to be some kind of electric lash. At a press of the button, long electrified filaments would emerge. If tangled around someone’s limb, or neck, it could even deliver a continuous charge once activated. He regarded it in disgust; of course Wen Chao would use something like this.

He checked the hallway for a second time when Wen Qing drew his attention to it. He had already scoped it out unconsciously when they entered the room, accustomed to checking all corners and possible exits. Two figures were approaching up the hall. Wuxian went stiff, his thumb seeking out the trigger mechanism for the electric lash.

Zhou Zhuliu dragged Wen Ning up the hallway toward them with an arm across his throat. Wen Ning’s mild face was contorted in terror, the eyes of his whites rolling his eyes up scared.

“Don’t move, or I’ll snap his neck,” Zhou Zhuliu declared. He dragged Wen Ning into the room. “Young master, did they hurt you?”

Wen Chao drew himself up, still clutching his wounded arm. Wuxian had seen a line of red on the back of his wrist and hand but didn’t know how great the extent of the injury was. “Yes, you half-wit! That damn Lan Wangji all but took my hand off!”

Zhou Zhuliu’s jaw worked, but he said nothing to that.

“You’re not leaving here with him,” Wanyin spoke up from behind Wuxian. “We have more men outside.”

Wen Chao was surveying all of them and his gaze lit on Wuxian. “Wait, you…” he said, taking his hand away from his arm to point a shaking finger at him before clapping his hand back to his wounded arm again. “You’re that pathetic shithead from Lanling, the—”

“Shut up,” Wuxian said in sudden fury, shame and anger boiling through him in equal measure. He’d lowered his head and kowtowed while the man had branded him. Right then, all he wanted to do was snap the lash in Wen Chao’s sneering face. His eyes darted back to Wen Ning, whose expression was twisted in misery. He couldn’t risk his friend’s life.

“Yeah, the dumbass kid out after curfew,” Wen Chao concluded. A truly ugly smirk settled over his face. “How did that Wen mark settle in, huh? I bet it’s a beautiful scar—ah!” He jolted, head snapping back as Bichen’s scabbard swung up to hit his jaw.

“Do not!” Zhou Zhuliu thundered, taking a step forward, but even he faltered under the weight of Lan Wangji’s chilling glare.

From Wuxian’s vantage, seeing it from the side, he was startled by the kind of coldness he’d never seen from his love.

“You will not leave here with him,” Lan Zhan uttered, each word precise and terrifying.

Zhou Zhuliu sized them up. “You’re going to let me leave with him, and I’ll release him once we’re far enough. Wen Chao, secure Wen Qing.”

Wen Chao moved toward her, reaching with his left hand, and recoiled as she jabbed him with a long needle that flashed with the speed of her movement. He gave a cry and shrank away.

“Touch me again and I’ll stick it somewhere that will ensure you’ll never get an erection again,” Wen Qing said.

“Wen Chao. We have to go,” Zhou Zhuliu snapped. “This way. We’ll go out the back. Wen Ning is our hostage; they won’t dare attack either one of us as long as we have him.”

Wuxian’s eyes widened as Wen Chao moved toward the back hall, tossing a sneer over his shoulder. If they left with Wen Ning, he had the panicky certainty they would never see him alive again.

“No, you can’t—” Wen Qing exclaimed, lunging for Wen Chao.

He spun, elbowing her in the throat, and Wuxian and Lan Zhan sprang forward at the same time, moving in near unison. Wuxian went for Wen Chao to keep him from hurting Wen Qing any further.

Lan Zhan made a lunge across the room that would be exemplary in a sword hall. He sprang for Zhou Zhuliu, aiming for his neck around Wen Ning. Wuxian was well acquainted with his precision. He had no doubt Lan Wangji would strike his neck.

Wanyin barreled forward, blocking behind Lan Zhan so that Zhou Zhuliu’s only option was to retreat. He shoved Wen Ning away from him, hard, hurling him into Wanyin and sending them both to the floor. He yanked a heavy metal tonfa-style baton out of his belt and snapped his arm up, blocking Lan Zhan’s charge with a clang of steel on steel.

“Wen Chao!” Zhou Zhuliu snapped. “Now!”

Wen Chao stopped cradling his injured arm, and his hand raised. He threw a cloud of gray powder at Wuxian. Wuxian, already committed to a full-tilt press on Wen Chao, took the brunt of that powder to the face. He sputtered, wrenching himself back and reversing course, the handle of the electric lash slipping from his nerveless fingers.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan exclaimed, springing back from his engagement with Zhou Zhuliu.

Coughing, gagging a little, Wuxian sank against Lan Zhan, squeezing his eyes shut. They were streaming tears already; he had no idea what kind of powder or compound Wen Chao had thrown but it had to be caustic or poisonous. He was still able to see, albeit barely, as Wen Chao drew a knife from somewhere and struck out for Lan Zhan, who was half turned to shelter him with his body from any further attack.

“No!” Wuxian shouted, straightening and switching his knife to his dominant hand. He seized Lan Zhan’s shirt in his other fist and spun them to reverse their positions. He locked his elbow, and Wen Chao ran right onto his knife. He was so stunned, all he could do was look into Wen Chao’s shocked face.

Wen Chao stared at him, expression shifting from shock to puzzlement. His left hand came up to grasp the hilt over Wuxian’s hand, and Wuxian let go of his knife with a noise of disgust. He’d been wielding it sideways, and through his still-streaming, burning eyes, he could tell it had gone through the ribs.

“You—” Wen Chao rasped, clasping at the hilt. It was high on his upper left breast, close to the mid-line of his body.

“That’s an artery,” Wen Qing said, her voice eerily calm. “If you pull it out, you’re dead in seconds.”

He swung in her direction, his face twisting from confusion to vague anger. Wuxian wiped at his watering eyes, sickened and fascinated at the same time.

Zhou Zhuliu made an odd noise and stepped in, swinging his baton.

Wanyin charged him from the side, lashing out with a punch that rocked the man where he stood, catching him off guard. He whipped the chemical spray up and squirted it into his face at close range, sending him howling to his knees. The heavy tonfa baton clattered to the ground and Wanyin sprayed Zhou Zhuliu again for good measure.

“Wen Ning,” Lan Zhan said, his voice so steady it took Wuxian by surprise. “Go out the front door. Huaisang is there. Ask him for zip ties.”

Wuxian laughed, the sound startling in the sudden quiet.

Wen Ning gave a small, determined nod and scrambled to his feet, all but running out the front door.

“No,” Wen Chao said. His face contorted. Sweat stood out on his forehead like grease. “No, you w-won’t.” He bent with a tearing groan as Wuxian kept struggling to wipe tears away from his irritated eyes.

He watched in disbelief as Wen Chao raised the electric lash he’d picked up from the floor. “What in hell’s name—” Wuxian choked. What did he think he could do at this point? It was over.

Wen Qing stepped close to Wen Chao, leaning in near enough to embrace him, her lips near his ear. She put a hand to the knife stuck in his chest and yanked it out, dropping it to the floor.

Bright arterial blood sprayed out, gouts of it spurting from his chest once, twice, and Wen Chao fell like a stone, surprise the last emotion fixed on his face.

“That’s what I think of your offer, pig,” Wen Qing informed him as his eyes went flat and dull.

All Wuxian could do was blink at her. Lan Zhan turned him with gentle hands. He examined Wuxian’s face, using his thumbs to brush away the tears that were still spilling. He frowned.

“What could he have used?” Lan Zhan asked Wen Qing, who joined them with all the composure of royalty. She peered into Wuxian’s eyes, put a thumb to his temple, and checked his pulse.

“He’ll be fine,” Wen Qing said. “We’ll want to flush his eyes with filtered or boiled water as soon as possible, but his tears are clearing out most of the particles already.”

Zhou Zhuliu was making a low, wounded noise where Wanyin had dropped him. None of them had paid him any heed, but when he stiffened and began to convulse on the floor, Wen Qing abandoned Wuxian and hurried to Zhou Zhuliu’s side.

“Ah, fuck,” she muttered, and tipped him on his side. Foam bubbled from his open mouth as whistling breath wheezed from him and stopped. She shook her head and rose, turning her back on him.

“Poison?” Wanyin demanded, and Wen Qing responded with a curt nod.

“All Wen Ruohan’s closest men carry a lethal option, a detachable molar,” she replied. She pressed her lips together.

Wuxian couldn’t stop staring at Wen Chao’s dead face. Now that the adrenaline was fading, he was short of breath and leaned hard on Lan Zhan, who sheathed Bichen and put an arm around him.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan said in his ear, voice low.

“I’m fine,” Wuxian lied.

“It was self-defense,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “He struck first.”

Wuxian could only shake his head. Though he’d wielded a knife, Wuxian was faster and better; he could have disarmed him. He’d killed a man for threatening his partner. He’d wanted to do it—the lingering resentment from Wen Chao’s humiliation still burned in his gut. Even though the man was dead, he hated him.

It was poison in his system and he didn’t know how to get that out.

“You’d better come with us to Baxia,” Wuxian said to Wen Qing. “We’ve all got to get out of here now.”

On the return journey to Baxia, Lan Wangji finessed Wei Ying to the window seat of the SUV and slid in beside him, putting an arm around him once they were buckled in. Wei Ying didn’t say anything about it, which was most worrisome of all; he simply situated himself where Wangji put him, accepted the arm against his waist, and remained stiff in the circle of his arm.

Nie Zonghui produced a bottle of water that he claimed was filtered, and Wangji risked it to attempt rinsing Wei Ying’s eyes of the caustic substance that was still making his reddened eyes stream intermittent tears.

Wanyin spoke up on the return trip more than Wei Ying did, asking Wen Qing for details of the events leading up to when they had arrived, and prompting her for whatever information of value that she had on the Qishan Wens that remained staunchly opposed to the gentry families.

Wen Chao’s mission had been to secure Wen Qing and Wen Ning and bring them back, as Wen Ruohan still considered them to be valuable and knew that they could each be used as pressure on the other. The siblings were deeply invested in another’s wellbeing.

Wangji was glad his own resolve had not been tested to that point. If he and Lan Xichen were put in such a situation, he knew that Xichen would want him to get out at all costs.

He didn’t think he would be able to do that, for the sake of his own principles. If there was any chance he could save his brother by not leaving to spare himself, he would stay.

On the other hand, there was now Wei Ying to consider.

Wangji leaned in close to Wei Ying, turning his head and coming near to brushing his lips against Wei Ying’s temple, refraining by millimeters. Wei Ying looked up from the window with the ghost of a smile. The haunted, shuttered look had returned to his face.

It was something Wangji ached to address, but he knew that Wei Ying would not open up until they had achieved a modicum of privacy.

Wen Qing was forthright with them about what had occurred. She began with a crisp, succinct recounting of the imprisonment of the Wens who had been living outside of Qishan, a subject of great interest to all of them.

Wangji had wondered. It had seemed a poor use of resources during a time when the Wens were making a precarious push.

It turned out that it had been the simple ‘if you aren’t with us, you’re against us’ mentality. Wen Ruohan had ordered every Wen family blood member to be captured and taken to the camp, even the most distant of collateral branches. A higher priority had been placed on those that he deemed to be of potential use, such as Wen Qing with her medical degree. Wen Ning, her beloved brother, was taken as a threat against her trying to leave.

When Wen Qing began to cover the escape from the indoctrination camp, Wei Ying stirred for the first time in half an hour.

“Don’t,” he spoke up.

Wen Qing was silent for approximately a second, then blazed from the rear bucket seat, “You haven’t told them?”

“There’s no need,” Wei Ying said, sounding weary.

“You saved us,” Wen Ning said. “You saved everyone who was in that camp, Master Wuxian.”

“I’m not a master of anything,” Wei Ying said, shaking his head. “Don’t call me that.”

The silence from the back of the SUV was palpable.

“Well, I want to hear more,” Nie Huaisang said after an uncomfortably long interval.

Wen Qing said quietly, “I won’t speak further of it if you don’t want me to.”

Beside Wangji, Wei Ying’s mouth was a thin line. His body was tense in the half-circle of Wangji’s arm.

“What does it matter,” he said softly, and craned his neck to look at Wen Qing. “Fine. Say what you want.”

Wangji wanted badly to get a glimpse of Wen Qing’s face in that moment but didn’t dare to look away from Wei Ying for a second.

Wen Qing’s voice was tart when she continued. “Excuse me for being grateful for what you did for all of us, and wanting to make sure your closest friends know of it.”

“That’s not—” Wei Ying began, and cut himself off. He shook his head again, huffed softly, and tucked his head against Wangji in a gesture reminiscent of how he’d seen A-Yuan flop his head against Wei Ying’s collarbone. He had reached his limit, Wangji intuited.

“Wen Qing,” Wanyin said. “A summary is fine. Wuxian has been through a lot.”

“Drone strikes hammered the walls of the Wen indoctrination camp where we were being held,” Wen Qing said. “Through the smoke and the fire, Jiang Wuxian appeared, led us out, and put arrows into all of the opposition that would have cut us down before we escaped.”

Wuxian was tense in Wangji’s embrace again, and Wangji rubbed a soothing hand over his hip.

“He had a bus waiting for us outside the compound,” Wen Ning picked up the thread. “Uncle Four got behind the wheel and got all of us out of there. By then there was no one left to care that we’d escaped, because the compound was on fire.”

“After that, we returned to various safehouses and sympathetic people in a network of those friendly to Wens who opposed Wen Ruohan’s agenda,” Wen Qing finished. “We thought we were safe, but somehow Wen Chao tracked us down.”

“What did he want?” Nie Huaisang asked, fanning himself.

“In the end, I think he wanted to ensure we wouldn’t be helping his enemies,” Wen Qing said. “But Wen Chao said he would spare me in particular if I submitted to his advances.”

“That’s a poetic turn of phrase,” Nie Huaisang observed.

“I sanitized his offer for you,” Wen Qing said with a hint of acid.

“Ah, that’s fine, thank you,” Wanyin replied. “So it’s not that you had any intelligence on the family, but that they considered you valuable?”

Wen Qing said nothing for so long, Wangji wondered who else would break the silence. Eventually, she spoke up herself.

“My brother knows far more than they want him to,” she replied. “But I believe A-Ning has covered his tracks well. They won’t know how deeply he’s delved into the Wen networks.”

“We will need his expertise now,” Nie Huaisang said in an apologetic tone.

Wen Qing’s breath hissed inward, but it was Wen Ning who spoke up.

“You shall have it,” Wen Ning said firmly, and continued even after Wen Qing murmured something low and fierce to him that escaped Wangji’s ear. “You’ve saved our lives, twice over. Any help I can lend is yours.”

Once they arrived at Baxia, Wangji gave Wanyin a very significant look that he acknowledged with a deep scowl and a nod. He took Wei Ying directly upstairs to their room. Wei Ying was unresisting as Wangji took his shoes off for him, stripped him down, and took him straight into a hot shower.

It had been the right decision. Even under the hot spray, Wei Ying shivered in his arms and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Wangji bundled him up in a robe instead of his clothes, took him to bed, and sat him on the edge, holding his hands. Wei Ying only looked at him when Wangji kneeled in front of him and put himself on eye level.

“It’s not your fault,” Wangji said, and Wei Ying shrugged, trying to twitch his hands out of Wangji’s grasp, looking in a different direction. Wangji repositioned himself until he was in Wei Ying’s line of sight again. “Wei Ying. It’s not your fault.”

“How is it not my fault?” Wei Ying flared. It was the first intense emotion he’d expressed since his last confession to Wangji. “I was holding the knife, Lan Zhan! I wanted him dead!”

Wangji inhaled and chose his next words with care. “He also had a knife, Wei Ying.”

“He would have killed you!” Wei Ying recalled in a slightly hysterical voice. “I couldn’t… I just moved, Lan Zhan, I didn’t even think about it. I, I don’t even really know what I was thinking. I put my knife up—”

“It was self-defense,” Wangji said.

“I wanted him dead,” Wei Ying said, but at least he was meeting Wangji’s eyes. “How am I not responsible for that?”

“It was self-defense,” Wangji repeated. “If he hadn’t been moving in with intent to hurt me—to hurt you—then he would not have stabbed himself on your knife. But that didn’t kill him, Wei Ying.”

“No,” Wei Ying said, a semblance of sense crossing his face. “He…Wen Qing told him, if he took it out it had probably nicked an artery.”

“The knife couldn’t be removed, if it had cut the artery,” Wangji said quietly.

Wei Ying started to nod slowly. “Then Wen Qing pulled it out.”

Wangji assessed his love’s face and decided to drive home the point. “Did Wen Qing kill him? Is she responsible?”

“What? No!” Wei Ying exclaimed. “He ran onto the knife. He’s the one who—” His brow knit, and he stared into Wangji’s eyes, fully cognizant, mouth pulling down.

Wangji massaged one of his hands, thumb moving over the bridge of webbing between Wei Ying’s thumb and forefinger. “I know what you’re doing,” he accused.

“What am I doing?” Wangji asked equably.

“Convincing me Wen Chao’s death isn’t my fault,” Wei Ying said.

“Am I convincing you?” Wangji returned, cocking his head.

Wei Ying pulled in a slow breath. “I wanted him dead,” he said again.

“I too wanted him dead,” Wangji said. “Am I at fault?”

“No!” Wei Ying exclaimed, and made a little face at him. “Get up here, Lan Zhan, I don’t want you on the carpet when we’re fighting.”

“Are we fighting, then?” Wangji murmured. He squeezed Wei Ying’s hand.

Wei Ying gave him a tiny smile. It was barely more than the curve of his mouth, and it didn’t reach his eyes, but it was something. “I suppose not,” he allowed.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Wangji said, yet again. “Consider the alternative—”

Wei Ying shuddered and closed his eyes. “I can’t,” he said. “It’s unthinkable. I had to do something.”

Wangji rose from the carpet and seated himself beside Wei Ying, sliding a cautious arm around him. Wei Ying leaned into it.

“It is all right,” Wangji said slowly, “to be upset for what was required of you.”

Wei Ying nodded, brow still drawn.

“Unless you would have made different choices—”

“I wouldn’t!” Wei Ying exclaimed.

“—then there is nothing to regret,” Wangji concluded. “Yet the impact remains.”

Wei Ying pulled in a long, shuddering breath. “The impact remains,” he repeated. His hand twitched in Wangji’s, fingers curling around his. “I hear you, Lan Zhan.”

Wangji pulled him into his arms, stroked his hair, and breathed easier.

They were not called in for a briefing that afternoon or that evening. A normal meal was conducted in the Steel Forge lounge that afternoon; due to the planning for the final campaign against the Wens, Wanyin continued to remain in Baxia. Wei Ying sat in between Wangji and Wanyin and chatted animatedly with Wen Ning and Nie Huaisang across the table. Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue were present for the meal as well, and Wen Qing sat at a corner seat and scowled into the middle distance as she picked over her food.

There was an electric atmosphere to the meal that Wangji hadn’t encountered before. He supposed it was due to the imminent nature of plans coming together for the final push, plans that he expected his brother and the rest to share soon.

“Well, that’s quite the diplomatic incident you’ve handed us,” Lan Xichen said once Wanyin had completed a summary of their morning over the shared meal.

Nie Mingjue tilted his head back and roared with laughter. “Incident? This is a favor, Xichen, wrapped up in a neat Qishan-red bow. Wen Chao as good as killed himself, taking Wen Ruohan’s lackey with him for the shame of it, and if this doesn’t draw him out and cloud his judgment I could think of no better plan.”

“Ah, then it was entirely on purpose,” Nie Huaisang said quickly.

Nie Mingjue threw an annoyed glance at his younger brother. “You got lucky,” he said. “What if those two had brought a squadron?”

“We got lucky,” Jiang Wanyin agreed, his face drawn tight like a fist. “Wuxian, your eyes?”

“Fine,” Wuxian dismissed his concern with a wave. “Lan Zhan washed them out for me right away, and Wen Qing examined me before you reached the lounge.”

“Thank goodness,” Wanyin muttered. “It would be just like that disgusting piece of work to carry a compound that could blind someone.”

“It was caustic, with a capsaicin mix,” Wen Qing said. “I suspect Jiang Wuxian did well with it because he has a high tolerance for capsaicin.”

“Wait, seriously?” Wei Ying’s jaw hung open.

Wen Qing looked at him without a trace of humor. “A-Ning told me your spice tolerance was legendary; apparently, he wasn’t wrong. It served you well. Any of the others would likely have been incapacitated.”

“The fact that there were no casualties is truly a blessing,” Lan Xichen said, giving Wangji a significant look. “Considering we were given no word that you intended to conduct such an operation.”

“There was no operation,” Wangji objected.

“There was no intelligence of any kind that indicated the remaining Wen forces would be moving against the remnants of the Wen family that weren’t involved,” Wanyin spoke up. “We only wanted to speak with Wen Ning.”

“Ah, yes.” Nie Mingjue turned his attention to the mild-faced young man sifting his way through pickled vegetables. “My little brother tells me you’re very handy with a computer.”

Wen Ning looked up with wide eyes. “I have some reasonable proficiency.”

“There’s no need to be modest, Wen Ning,” Nie Huaisang said beside him, jabbing an elbow in his direction. “And now there’s really no need to hide your skills.”

Wen Ning looked thoughtful.

“We could really use your help,” Nie Mingjue said. “In terms of tracking down the remaining Wen forces, if that’s something you’re capable of, and to determine what Wen Ruohan may be planning next.”

“Mn,” Wen Ning responded. “The first one, I can promise some results. Tracing and analysis are some of my specialties. As to the second…I’m not sure.”

“Hell, I would take even the first and nothing else,” Nie Mingjue said. “As well as any educated guesses.”

“I can help with that, with access to whatever information you have,” Wen Qing said crisply. “My father and I had more exposure to Wen Ruohan than either of us wanted, for our family’s sake. I know how he operates. And he regarded me fondly, for whatever reason. I suppose because I was his only niece, and he valued my accomplishments.”

“Of course he did,” Nie Huaisang sniffed. “You’ve done better than his sons.”

Wangji wasn’t trying to tune out of the conversation, exactly, but he turned his attention to Wei Ying’s plate. He was ready to serve up more of the spicy pickled vegetables that he liked alongside his braised chili chicken, but Wei Ying had barely picked at his food. He nudged Wei Ying’s chopsticks with his own and received a wan smile in response.

Before he could devise a subtle method of encouraging Wei Ying to eat more, Meng Yao, the manager of affairs, hustled into the room with a strained, searching look to him. He caught sight of Nie Mingjue and made a straight line for him. Wangji had not seen much of him during their tenure at Baxia. Wangji guessed from some of the things that Lan Xichen had said that the man was working so much, he barely slept.

“Sir,” Meng Yao said, standing at attention beside Nie Mingjue’s chair.

“What’s the word?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Something urgent?” When Meng Yao hesitated, Lan Xichen spoke up.

“You can speak freely,” Lan Xichen said in a kind tone. “Everyone here has been vetted.”

Meng Yao’s face conveyed reserved dubiousness, but he forged onward. “We need you in the situation room, sir. We’ve received a message from Wen Ruohan.”

“What?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, starting up from his chair. Nie Mingjue rose too, his handsome face dark.

Wangji knew that Wen Ruohan had refused all attempts at communication from the start. He had gone no-contact, and the only intel that they had from Nevernight, his cloud-piercing skyrise, had been from the few Nie spies that had remained in place from before the campaign had commenced. Lan Xichen had commented in aside to Wangji that he had a small number of his own in place and had kept that knowledge to himself; it had paid off.

For Wen Ruohan to request communication now…

“He’s found out,” Nie Huaisang declared, snapping his fan out. “Emergency services will have recovered the bodies by now. Someone reported Wen Chao’s death to him.”

“Does he want to parley?” Nie Mingjue demanded.

Meng Yao gave them a troubled smile. “He will only speak to a head of a gentry family.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, tapping Wanyin’s shoulder on his way out of the Steel Forge. “Let’s go.”

Wanyin rose, looking grave.

“Keep your temper, Wanyin,” Wei Ying called, soft-voiced but enough to reach him.

Wangji expected Wanyin to look displeased at that reminder, but he only nodded, mouth tightening, and moved to follow Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue from the lounge.

Once they were gone, Meng Yao trailing after, Wangji shifted in his chair to turn his gaze toward Wen Qing with discretion. Beside him, Wei Ying had his chin propped on his hand, and he too had turned thoughtful eyes upon her.

Wen Qing’s mouth quirked. It was not quite a smile but an acknowledgment of everyone’s attention. Nie Huaisang was favoring her with a curious glance as well.

“It’s my strong feeling he’ll attempt to call a mediation conference.”

Wei Ying scoffed. “Mediation conference? Who would fall for that?”

“Think of it as an opportunity,” Wen Qing advised.

“More like a trap,” Wangji replied. Unease gripped him to his very core.

Chapter Text

There was no sun, no noise, and the temperature was neither hot nor cold, but Wuxian woke with a startle in the darkness, his heart beating so fast it thrummed across his skin. His brain was seared with twisted images of Wen Chao on his knees, groveling, his face welted red and peeling like a brand had been laid across it to the point the skin was sloughing off. In his mind’s eye, Wuxian saw himself reach down and shove the knife between Wen Chao’s ribs, and a wide grin stretched his face as Wen Chao begged and pled for his life. Lan Zhan had been there in the dream too, and he wrapped his fine-boned fingers around Wuxian’s. They pulled the knife out together.

Wuxian was awake, staring into Lan Zhan’s sleeping face. He was awake, he reminded himself. That scene still vivid in his brain hadn’t happened.

He hadn’t killed Wen Chao, not truly, but he couldn’t deny he had wanted to. He wouldn’t look away from the dark emotions of his heart.

Rolling to one side, he reached for his phone to check the time, and a hand closed gently over his arm.

“It’s early.” Lan Zhan’s voice was raspy with sleep, and Wuxian got an eye on the time before turning back to his love, giving him a little smile. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Lan Zhan fresh from sleep; he always woke up hours before Wuxian.

“Three a.m.,” Wuxian agreed.

Lan Zhan didn’t say anything, only stroked his cheek and looked sleepier than Wuxian had ever seen him.

After an interval of silence, measuring his slowly evened-out heartbeats, Wuxian confessed in a low whisper, “I had a nightmare.”

Lan Zhan nodded. “Want to tell me?”

Wuxian scrunched his face up. “No,” he said. Lan Zhan didn’t even blink. “But I will anyhow. I feel like I need to, if that makes sense. To purge it.”

“I understand,” Lan Zhan said, continuing to stroke his face.

Wuxian took a long, trembling breath and described his nightmare. He didn’t drag it out, relating the series of images in clipped, concise detail, and took comfort in the way Lan Zhan’s fingers never faltered as they moved across his cheek.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, when he’d finished. “After this is over…”

Wuxian had to stifle a small, disparaging noise. He knew objectively that the Sunshot Campaign had to end, one way or another. It was hard to believe in the moment.

“Would you consider seeing someone?” Lan Zhan concluded.

Wuxian scrubbed at his eye. “Huh? Like a therapist?”

Lan Zhan tucked his chin in—a small nod. A crease appeared between his brows.

The pit of Wuxian’s stomach ached. He wanted to say no; he was ready to deny he needed help. Lan Zhan is all I need, the words rose to his lips, and he swallowed them.

He’d killed people. They had been bad people. They had hurt innocent civilians and would have killed Wuxian himself, or the people that he loved. But the damage of that…it had torn him away from himself, a little bit at a time. And after Wen Ruohan’s request for the gentry families to attend his so-called mediation conference, Wuxian knew that his role in the campaign wasn’t over yet.

“I’ll consider it,” Wuxian said hoarsely. He closed his eyes.

Lan Zhan pulled him close and kissed him. “I hate to see you hurting. I want to help.”

“You are helping,” Wuxian insisted. “Just by being here, you’re helping me.”

Lan Zhan said nothing. He didn’t have to.

Wuxian knew his reactions to certain things weren’t normal anymore. He was hoping that with time and distance from what he’d done, returning to familiar people and faces, it would get better little by little. He had a set of instincts calibrated toward flight and stealth countermeasures. Once the Sunshot Campaign was over, truly over, he would be able to relax and live a normal life again.

“Can you sleep again?” Lan Zhan murmured. His hand was on Wuxian’s jaw, fingers curled, knuckles easing back and forth.

It was comfortable, and Wuxian was still tired. He gave a tiny nod. When they slept together back at the dorm, their typical configuration was Lan Zhan on his back and Wuxian curled up against him, an arm over his waist, a leg over his. They fit together on the narrow dorm bed. Here in the wide, big bed in the guest quarters of Baxia, Wuxian had been sprawling across Lan Zhan in stark contrast to the fetal ball he’d slept in when he had been on the run. And Lan Zhan had taken to sleeping on his side to face him, always keeping a hand on him.

“Mn,” Wuxian murmured. “Should get as much sleep as possible. Are we really doing this? Going to Nevernight, we’ll be walking into a trap.”

Lan Zhan nodded. “Without a doubt.”

Wuxian sighed, closed his eyes, and wiggled as close to Lan Zhan as possible without tipping him onto his back. He put his fingertips to Lan Zhan’s collarbone and counted his heartbeats, breathing in and out.

Before he reached twenty, he was out.

The next morning, Wuxian settled himself at his usual spot beside Lan Zhan in the Steel Forge and felt as though he’d gotten enough sleep—barely.

“This is a terrible idea,” Lan Qiren informed them all curtly from the head of the table.

Wuxian kept his head low and his hand in Lan Zhan’s, determined to keep his mouth shut for once. There were plenty of others to speak to the current situation, and it was the heads of the gentry families who had set their course of action. He couldn’t help but feel an odd pang of sympathy for Lan Qiren, though. The man looked terrible—like he’d aged a decade since the last time he’d seen him—and gave a deep, tearing cough into a handkerchief every now and again.

When Wuxian looked to Wen Qing across the table, she was frowning.

“It is a trap, without question,” Nie Mingjue agreed. “It’s also our best chance to end this.”

“By offering yourselves up as bait?” Lan Qiren snapped. “No, this is not acceptable! What did the Jin family say to this?”

“They’re fielding a sizable force, but it won’t arrive until after we’ve reached Nevernight for Wen Ruohan’s conference,” Lan Xichen said in calm, measured tones. “We will be the distraction.”

“And whose idea was that?” Lan Qiren challenged.

“Jin Zixuan’s,” Nie Mingjue replied. “If it was Jin Zixun’s, we would be having a very different conversation.”

“Xichen,” Lan Qiren said, directing the force of his ire to Lan Xichen. “I forbid—”

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen returned. Though he didn’t raise his voice, there was gentle steel in it, and Lan Qiren’s bushy brows climbed high. “It is not your place to forbid.”

Lan Qiren’s face began to turn red, and he brought up his handkerchief to cough again, waving off a glass of water offered by Nie Huaisang. “Hot water…get me a hot water,” he murmured, before restoring his fierce glare to Lan Xichen. “Then at least order Wangji to remain behind.”

Wuxian held in a small gasp. He couldn’t afford to attract attention to himself, but the shock of it was hard to hold in. He had been relying on the thought of Lan Zhan at his side during the upcoming encounter. Of course, it made perfect sense for him to exact such a command. Why put both of his only remaining nephews at risk? His fingers twitched in Lan Zhan’s grasp, and he tried to remove his hand only for Lan Zhan to hold him tighter.

“I cannot do that, either,” Lan Xichen said. His demeanor was apologetic, but his tone firm. “It is Wangji’s decision.”

Lan Qiren gravitated toward Lan Zhan, his face stern. “Wangji, you must stay.”

Even without the slight tension in Lan Zhan’s hand, the puff of breath that escaped him at Lan Qiren’s ultimatum would have clued anyone in. It was a very small but very irritated noise.

“Uncle. With utmost respect, I go where I am needed.”

Lan Qiren shook his head, beard quivering. “You can’t go.” The sternness had given way to a slight waver. “You can’t both go.”

“That’s enough,” Lan Xichen spoke up. “We must go over the last of the intelligence and be on our way.”

Wuxian had to speak up. He couldn’t be selfish; if Lan Zhan was only going for his sake, he had to make it clear. He leaned in and exerted pressure on Lan Zhan’s hand, drawing him close. “Lan Zhan…we’ll be okay. If Lan Qiren wants you to stay, then maybe you should.” It hurt him to say it. But Wanyin would be there, and Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen.

There was no safe place, anymore. He would be as safe beside them as he would in Baxia.

Lan Zhan replied with a slight headshake. “I won’t allow others to take on the risk.”

Wuxian subsided into his chair with a small sigh. He did give Lan Zhan’s fingers a squeeze, though, and was rewarded with a smile. When Lan Zhan’s mind was made up, there was no budging him from his chosen course. In this case, he had already decided on the right thing to do and would not flinch.

“Besides,” Lan Zhan added, in a tone barely loud enough for Wuxian alone to hear. “There will be fighting. I’m not without skill.”

Wuxian gazed at his side profile, a little heartbroken. That was something he would want to protect Lan Zhan against at all costs—what it meant to kill a man. He knew his heart without asking, though. Lan Zhan would spare him from any more of it if he could. He’d take it upon himself instead.

“—not sure what to make of Wen Ning’s discovery, but the information from this morning is consistent,” Nie Mingjue was saying as Wuxian tuned into his briefing. “All of the Wen forces that were still scattered throughout the provinces have returned to Qishan.”

“They’ve pulled back to Nevernight?” Wanyin exclaimed, looking to Wen Ning down the table, who gave a firm nod.

“How do you know?” Nie Huaisang asked curiously.

“All their mobiles have a tracking app,” Wen Ning said. “It’s a backdoor app designed by one of my cousins, who…who went to a camp and never came back.”

“So shortsighted,” Nie Mingjue said in disgust. “To bury such talent as though, purpose accomplished, no further great works could be produced.”

Wuxian slumped in his chair and fiddled with his phone. He was having a hard time paying attention, his concentration split between the scripts he had set in motion that morning, the photo his Big Sis had sent that looked as though she and Jin Zixuan had moved to a different hotel room, and the actual relevant points of the briefing when those popped up.

“What surprises might Wen Ruohan have in store?” Lan Xichen asked Wen Qing.

“You already know everything you need to,” Wen Qing replied. “He’s not subtle. His son is dead, he wants revenge, he’s trying to lure you into a trap, and you’re all being quite amiable by walking into the jaws of the tiger.”

“I’m planning on spoking the tiger’s jaw,” Nie Mingjue replied, slamming both hands on the table. “He wanted a war. He’s gotten it.”

“Wen Ning, would it be possible to get in touch with the Yiling Laozu?” Lan Xichen asked.

It took every bit of Wuxian’s effort not to react. He stared into the middle distance and stayed relaxed, toying with Lan Zhan’s hand, rubbing a thumb along the base of his palm.

Wen Ning blinked, nonplussed. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is,” he said with every evidence of sincerity.

“Oh, I thought…” Lan Xichen began, and paused. “My mistake.”

Wuxian laughed. “Not every hacker knows one another, Brother Xichen. It’s not like the movies,” he spoke up.

“Of course,” Lan Xichen said softly. “I was only thinking perhaps we could use some ‘rain from heaven’ when the time comes.”

Wuxian’s head bobbed in a nod as he tried to compose a reasonable response to that.

It was Wanyin who spoke up. “We can’t count on an outside element, an agent of chaos.”

Though it was a bit of a risk, Wuxian had to lift his free hand to conceal his smile. Nie Mingjue wasn’t looking his way, anyhow, and Lan Xichen didn’t have a good angle. Lan Qiren was frowning, but when wasn’t he?

“Our rain from heaven is the Jin reinforcements,” Wanyin continued, his voice stronger. “Though we’ll have to rely on our own strategically positioned forces.”

Wuxian couldn’t help it; he tuned out when Nie Mingjue started talking about specific placement of the Yunmeng and Nie forces that would be waiting in the wings. They had decided to take the Lan group’s people that Lan Xichen had brought from Caiyi Town as their ostensible escort. The issue of the Jin forces that Jin Zixuan had pledged was in the timing of it all. Although Jin Zixuan had been the one to make the promise, Jin Zixun was still the one coordinating people on the ground.

That had been the cause for more than their share of dismay as Wanyin and Wuxian took stock of the fact that Jin Zixuan was, all things considered, both a strategic and reliable person. Out of all the Jins involved, he was the one that they all wanted in charge of the Jin’s share of the campaign. They had both been forced to adjust their view of him on many levels.

Lan Zhan tugged on his hand and Wuxian resurfaced from thoughts of bringing his laptop with or trusting to the groundwork he had laid that morning after waking. He’d actually been able to get back to sleep in Lan Zhan’s arms, something he was continuously grateful for.

He looked up and everyone had gotten up from the table. Huaisang’s fan snapped shut as he leaned in to speak near Wen Ning’s ear. Wen Qing had gone straight for Lan Qiren, who was on his way out of the room, and she wasn’t touching him, but he was still attempting to bat her away. Lan Xichen’s eyes were tracking his uncle, and Nie Mingjue was speaking with Wanyin, gesturing as he made a forceful point.

“We’re getting ready to leave,” Lan Zhan said. He situated himself closer to Wuxian, his eyes missing nothing. “Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing,” Wuxian began, and corrected himself with a minute headshake. “I’m thinking about all of us going to Nevernight. Is it really going to be okay?”

Lan Zhan held his gaze. “Brother and everyone else have been over the plans several times, going over potential weaknesses, shifting to compensate. It won’t all depend on the arrival of the Jins. This is a solid plan, Wuxian.”

Wuxian nodded and kept Lan Zhan’s hand in his as they returned to their room.

There wasn’t much to get ready. The Nie forces had provided them with light body armor to put under their shirts. Wuxian’s knife had been lost in the fight at the Wen safehouse, but Nie Huaisang had procured him replacements. It might be paranoid, but he carried four now, stashed on his person in various places. He had chemical spray—one for each side pocket—a garrote that Wanyin had provided, and Suibian slung across his back with a quiver of arrows, some with normal steel-tipped heads, others with incendiary or explosive heads.

Given that Wen Ning had tracked the fact that all the Wen forces had returned to Nevernight, Wuxian did not expect them to make it out of the Nevernight garage before they were jumped. If there was an actual diplomatic envoy waiting to meet them, he would stand corrected and leave some of his toys in the car.

“At least they don’t have an EMP. Those damn things are too big to hide; we’d know about it.” Wuxian muttered as he met Lan Zhan at the door. Lan Zhan had only Bichen and a chemical spray for backup, much as Lan Xichen had urged him to expand his repertoire.

No one will be expecting a sword, was Lan Zhan’s simple retort, and there was no arguing that.

“Wei Ying. You can’t plan for everything,” Lan Zhan said, drawing him close.

“No, but I can try,” Wuxian retorted, giving his Lan Zhan an unimpressed look.

Lan Zhan hesitated. “When my brother asked for the Yiling Laozu, did you think he might know?”

Wuxian shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “I was surprised he asked. They got the report that the Wens trashed all of their drone infrastructure to prevent it from being used against them in a third strike.”

Lan Zhan studied his face. “You’re planning something.”

Wuxian bit his lip. “I am,” he admitted. “I don’t…I’m not sure if it’ll be necessary. But I wanted to put something out there that we could be one hundred percent certain Wen Ruohan won’t know about.”

“The spies, the people that Elder Brother has on the inside…do you think they’re compromised?” Lan Zhan asked.

“I worry that they have been, yeah,” Wuxian said. “But even worse than that…Wen Ning hasn’t found the mole yet. So I don’t know what’s gotten through, and what hasn’t. None of us do.”

Lan Zhan nodded. “We are as prepared as we can be.” He leaned in, simply sharing his nearness.

Wuxian stepped in, sliding an arm around Lan Zhan’s waist and bringing their bodies together, turning his face until his lips touched his love’s neck. “I’m scared,” he said. “I know we have to do this, but it still frightens me. If anything happens to you, I’ll die.” He was convinced, to the marrow of his bones, he wasn’t strong enough to survive that profound a loss.

“Nothing will happen to me,” Lan Zhan replied. “With you to watch my back, and Elder Brother and Brother Mingjue in front, we will prevail.”

Wuxian swallowed hard and nodded. He’d make sure of it personally, if it came to that.

Downstairs in the garage, everyone was wearing their light armor. Nie Mingjue had a pair of shock batons, which Wuxian was surprised to see. Lan Xichen stood beside him, shaking his head and making a curt gesture—he didn’t appear to be armed. Wanyin had opted for the electric lash he’d picked up from the floor of the safehouse, along with some knives that were hidden in boot sheaths, and undoubtedly a garrote or two somewhere.

Nie Zonghui was lounging in the garage against the reinforced gunmetal-gray SUV that had carried them to the safehouse. He was wearing a bulkier version of the light armor they all wore, but his were outside of his clothes rather than under. A pair of heavy, tinted goggles rested on his broad forehead. He gave them a nod. “We’re commencing the operation, then?”

“Not yet,” Nie Mingjue replied, and looked at Lan Xichen. “Xichen. Please.”

“I hate this,” Lan Xichen said. “I don’t agree.”

Nie Mingjue sighed, folding his arms. “Even if you don’t agree, please, honor the request.”

“Brother?” Lan Zhan put in.

Xichen sighed and his head turned. “Mingjue agrees with Uncle. He thinks one of us should stay behind, and he thinks it should be me. So that I can remain in the command center.”

Wuxian absorbed that. It made too much sense to be discounted, which was why he supposed Lan Xichen had been unable to reject it outright. However, it put him in the same terrible position Wuxian had narrowly avoided with Wangji—the soulmark partners would be separated during the worst of the conflict, creating the potential for only one of them to survive. He pressed his lips flat. It was a horrible, impossible choice.

“In case something goes wrong,” Nie Mingjue said, his tone terribly gentle, “there is no one I would trust more at the command center than your voice.”

“That’s not fair,” Lan Xichen objected, turning to him.

“And yet.” Nie Mingjue shrugged. “These are the demands of war, love.”

Lan Xichen’s shoulders slumped. “Then I will stay. Only because you need me to.”

Nie Mingjue responded with a curt nod. “Everybody in.” He hung back a moment longer as they climbed into the cars, and Wuxian saw him draw Lan Xichen into his arms before he got in.

They rode out, two SUVs in front of them and two behind them. Their vehicle was Nie Zonghui at the wheel, Nie Mingjue in the passenger seat, Wanyin and Meng Yao, on the middle bench, and Wuxian tucked beside Lan Zhan in the back. Meng Yao had come with to direct the Lan group’s forces.

“Xichen spoke with Lan Qiren one more time before we left,” Meng Yao said from the middle bench. “He’s going to try to urge Ouyang, Yao, and Meishan to commit forces to Qishan, but we can’t count on anything at such short notice. We’ll have to rely on our own and hope that Lanling Jin comes through if this is worse than expected.”

Wuxian leaned against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, looked out the window, and watched the scenery get more grim with each li. Qinghe wasn’t any great location for scenery, alternating between gray, rocky hills, sparse forest, and flat plains, but the trip into Qishan was lined with black basalt and forbidding peaks.

He sunk deeper into the bucket seat and dread built up in his gut. The only thing that kept him from completely losing it was the knowledge that the drones were disabled, so Wen Ruohan couldn’t take them out by that method.

Wen Ruohan’s seat of power was his skyrise, Nevernight, surrounded by the shining city spread out around it that had come to be known as Nightless City because even all through the night, its lights never went out. Nie Zonghui drove fast, pushing the limits, not slowing as they threaded a path through city centers. The vehicles fore and aft were speeding along and they all kept to the same pace. It was nearing dusk by the time the lights of Nightless City spread out like winking stars in a bowl of night in the rocky lee of a mountain range before them.

Wuxian found the hilt of a knife and put his hand on it for reassurance. Lan Zhan noticed the furtive movement and slid an arm around him, fingers settling on his hip, but even his nearness couldn’t lessen Wuxian’s tension. Inside his mind, Wuxian was returning to the place where he had dwelled for the past month, sliding into the headspace where he had been on the run, judging when to strike and when to retreat.

His instincts were screaming at him for them to retreat from this.

He kept his phone out in his hand once they approached the outskirts of the city. He had Wen Ning looking out for them as best he could from a distance, back at Baxia, but Wen Ruohan’s wonderfully paranoid network of CCTV cameras could only do so much. The streets were very empty, though it wasn’t dark out. Wuxian guessed that Wen Ruohan had instituted some kind of curfew or posted notice to clear everyone out. The claws of anxiety dug deeper into his stomach.

The line of SUVs sped down the main causeway unchecked.

Wuxian was looking at his phone again and a message from Wen Ning flashed on the screen when the blowout happened.

Two loud, hissing pops were loud as gunshots even in the cab of the SUV, and Nie Zonghui fought the wheel as the car slewed from side to side. The cars to the front and the back were struggling to remain upright, and at last Nie Zonghui wrestled the SUV to a stop halfway across a curb.

Wuxian’s eyes fixed, frantic, on his phone.

Get out of there now, Master Wuxian, they won’t even let you get to Nevernight. His forces are flooding the streets.

“Meng Yao!” Nie Mingjue snapped. “Get the rest of Nie forces here now!”

Meng Yao gave a tight nod and raised his phone.

Wuxian closed his eyes and brought up the app he’d made for this single-use purpose. He hit the panic button, fiddled with his phone a moment longer, and tucked his chin under. He’d been hoping not to do it, but Wen Ruohan had left them no choice.

“Get out of the car,” Nie Zonghui ordered, snapping open his own door. “We can’t be caught in it, if those mercenary forces are closing in.”

Wanyin was on the phone with Jinzhu, and he was last to leave the SUV as Wuxian climbed out with Lan Zhan right behind him.

“This is crazy,” Wanyin said. He grabbed Nie Mingjue’s arm. “Why engage us here, out where his people live?”

Nie Mingjue’s jaw was hard-set. “He never intended to let us reach Nevernight. Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we find some cars and get out of here?” Wuxian protested. “I heard from Wen Ning. It’s not just blowing the tires of our SUVs. He’s sending his people out to come and finish us off.”

“Then we press forward,” Nie Mingjue insisted. “He won’t expect us to hold course. Can you get Wen Ning to cut their CCTV?”

Wuxian nodded. That much, he could have done himself if he had access to a terminal, but his phone was no substitute.

“And find out how far out they are before he cuts it,” Wanyin added.

It was only seconds before Wen Ning replied, Done. You have fifteen minutes until the first wave.

It would be enough. Wuxian gave a nod, grim satisfaction taking hold. He reached for Lan Zhan’s belt loop, hooking a finger in it to keep them close. “Cameras are cut. But we should stay here. In fact, we should fall back a few blocks while we have the chance.”

“What for?” Nie Mingjue demanded.

Wuxian leveled a grim smile on him. “Rain from heaven.”

Meng Yao’s eyes narrowed. Nie Mingjue gave him a curt nod and gestured for the far side of the street, the direction they had come from. “Let’s go, everyone,” he barked. He raised an arm and pumped his hand urgently, directing Lan Xichen’s people to run back up the street. “Go, go, go!”

They went. They made it two blocks over and got behind a corner residential building before the whistle of the drone approach soared overhead. Wuxian had adjusted course before final deployment, drawing lines with his finger up and down the zoomed-in streets of Nightless City, the places where CCTV indicated the remaining Wen mercenary forces were converging on the downed SUVs.

The Wen drone infrastructure was dismantled, but the Lanling Jin and Qinghe Nie drone bays had remained operative, ripe for hacking.

They crouched against the wall and covered their ears as the explosions began to go off, one by one, and Lan Zhan pulled Wuxian against him. Wuxian buried his face in Lan Zhan’s neck and tried not to think about it, hoping like hell that none of the drones landed off-target. Most of all, he did his best to stifle the thought of what was happening out there. What he’d done. His last strike had been precision, as Wanyin had praised him for; this was a messy line of slaughter calculated to dazzle and deter.

Lan Zhan said near enough to his ear that he could hear him, “Your rain from heaven?”

Wuxian nodded.

Lan Zhan held him tighter.

Wuxian wanted to push him away; he wanted to bang his head against the wall. He jerked in Lan Zhan’s arm with the shock of each explosion. He shivered and huddled against his partner’s neck, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret a single one, because each hit meant less Wen forces to stand against the people he loved.

Each hit meant more deaths he was responsible for.

He kept his face hidden against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, wedged between him and the wall of the building, while Wanyin said, “Holy shit” loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Oh god, oh god, oh my god,” Meng Yao uttered in a low, continuous wail.

Wuxian stopped flinching once the silence spread. Lan Zhan kept a hand on his waist and Wuxian lifted his head, slow and tentative. He ought to know when it was over, but he himself wasn’t sure.

“Kind of wish I hadn’t cut that CCTV, now,” Nie Mingjue said. He continued in a growl, “Where are my fucking reinforcements?”

“Yours?” Wanyin growled. “Where are my Yunmeng people? They’ve always been reliable!”

“We should find some cars,” Meng Yao suggested.

“And get out of here?” Nie Zonghui asked.

“Hell no!” Nie Mingjue exclaimed. “We’re pushing forward and we’re taking that goddamn Nevernight!”

“With thirty-five men?” Meng Yao returned. “Mingjue, this is madness. We need to retreat. There are surely more Wen forces in the tower, even if those on the streets were eliminated.”

Wuxian pointed up the street. “We’d better worry about getting the vehicle situation sorted out, fast, because there’s lights coming our way.” He was out of tricks; there wouldn’t be a second drone sweep. It took a computer for him to set it up, even if all he needed for final deployment was mobile access.

They dashed down the side street, and headlights were upon their backs as the cars turned to follow. Within instants, three cars screeched up behind them as they peeled off to the side, dodging to sidewalks and pulling out weapons.

A dark-tinted window rolled down. Jin Zixuan stared out at them. “What are you all doing on foot?”

The Qinghe and Yunmeng reinforcements had not arrived, and Wangji had his suspicions about that, but with the row upon row of vehicles that Jin Zixuan had brought in from Lanling, they were making the push of Nie Mingjue’s dreams on Nevernight.

One whole vehicle had been cleared out for the six of them to ride with Jin Zixuan from amongst the Jins, and the remainder of their Lan forces had been divvied out across the rest of the vehicles.

Wangji was relieved, because it meant he didn’t need to assert his rights to remain beside Wei Ying.

The Lanling forces had set out mid-morning, they learned in brief from Jin Zixuan. He and Jiang Yanli had flown into Vietnam overnight, and Jin Zixuan had been driving non-stop ever since. Upon arriving at Carp Tower and discovering Jin Zixun didn’t plan on leaving until much later, he had taken command and set out with all the forces he could muster.

They swept through the streets and drove a circuitous route to get past the roads that had been torn up and shattered by drone shells. The resistance that most of them were tensed and waiting for did not materialize.

“They must have pulled back to Nevernight,” Wanyin guessed, hushed.

Wangji glanced at Wei Ying beside him, but he had shaken himself out of his earlier state. His gaze was shuttered, but not withdrawn.

“Can we tap back into the CCTV?” Nie Mingjue asked from the front.

“I’ll try,” Wei Ying replied, sounding dubious.

“I need to get some idea of what we’re driving into,” Nie Mingjue said.

Wangji scanned the darkening streets as they drove fast toward Nevernight. He was under no illusions they would get through without fighting. He’d do his best to keep himself between Wei Ying and any more difficult choices.

As they drove, Wanyin was on the phone with Jinzhu again, who claimed she’d received a message telling them to hold off for an hour. Nie Mingjue’s head jerked around, and he related that the Nie forces had been sent the same message, from what the lead had determined to be a spoofed source they had believed to be him at the time.

“I didn’t think Wen Ruohan still had someone of those skills remaining,” Wei Ying commented.

“Wen Ning is tracking it down, he says he can do it,” Wanyin spoke up. “It’ll just take some time.”

Ahead of them, Nevernight loomed, climbing far above visibility range from inside the SUV.

Wei Ying spoke up. “Wen Ning can’t get continuous feed, it got shut down, but he said the streets were clear and everyone pulled back into Nevernight. There aren’t that many remaining, he said.”

“Are our forces evenly matched?” Nie Mingjue wanted to know.

Wei Ying frowned. “It’s hard to say,” he said. “We don’t know how many he had in the building already. If it’s just what pulled back from the street, then we outnumber them.”

“Perfect.” Nie Mingjue smacked his fist into the other. “I’ll take those odds.”

“Mingjue,” Meng Yao cautioned. “We still have to be careful.”

“Of course we’ll be careful! With overwhelming force!”

“Ugh,” Wanyin said, after he’d hung up his phone. “You realize what this means, don’t you? Jin Zixuan is going to get all the credit for sweeping in as the cavalry.”

Nie Mingjue sniffed. “I don’t care who gets the most credit as long as we shut Wen Ruohan down for good.”

The fleet of vehicles drove up to the base of Nevernight and disembarked at the plaza surrounding it, by consensus. Wangji was expecting more tire spikes the closer they got but reasoned they must have kept it limited to a controlled outlying area where they knew Nie Mingjue and his escort would have to make their point of entry.

In falling back to Nevernight, they likely hadn’t had time to lay down those defenses.

“What’s the plan?” Meng Yao asked as they fanned out near the base of the skyrise.

Nie Mingjue gestured for Jin Zixuan, who had broken away for a moment to speak with his point men.

“We take it floor by floor. Slow, methodical. Eliminate the pockets of resistance; take prisoners where possible. I don’t want any unnecessary killing,” Nie Mingjue stated. “They’ve done enough of that. Our reinforcements are on the way; bring prisoners down to the garage level to bundle them off so they can be taken to detainment.”

“And Wen Ruohan?” Jin Zixuan asked, eyes keen.

“We capture him,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. “We’ll sort out what to do with Qishan later.”

“Be careful, everyone,” Wanyin put in with emphasis. “I don’t want to hear about any tragedies.” He looked straight at Wangji when he said it.

Wangji gave him a tiny nod of acknowledgment. He had no intention of dying heroically, though he would ensure that no further harm came to Wei Ying.

They entered Nevernight, Jin troops fanning out in front.

Resistance was immediate but weak. Jin Zixuan’s people swept the first floor and most of the Wen people fell back or fought hard. There were few surrenders. They began to ascend the tower floor by floor, and prisoners were taken down the elevator before Nie Mingjue commanded they stop using it, because it could be summoned by the other side just as easily.

It became interminable, climbing each floor only to perform a fast sweep and clear it, but many of the floors were empty. Wangji guessed they would meet more resistance as they neared whatever floor Wen Ruohan was on. They would be at it all night. Even though it was mostly Jins sweeping the floors, and they were the ones taking prisoners down and sending up replacements in their stead, it was a slow process.

“I don’t suppose that you could use one of these terminals and confirm what floor he’s on?” Nie Mingjue asked, gesturing to one of the computers of the office wing they were currently occupying.

Wei Ying scoffed and folded his arms. “I don’t need their network to tell you that. He’s going to be in his penthouse office.”

“There’s no chance he could have escaped already?” Jin Zixuan said with a sharp glance.

Wuxian shook his head. “There’s no helipad on the roof. And Wen Ning got hold of the building schematics. There’s no secret elevator or exit or anything like that. He was too arrogant to think in that direction, and I’m sure he never considered that all the gentry families would band together against him.”

“Not all,” Wanyin said over his shoulder.

Nie Mingjue responded with a shrug. “Enough to tip the scales.”

They continued climbing. Some blocks proceeded very quickly. The Yunmeng people had arrived and brought heat detectors, so that entire floors could be swept in seconds and they could proceed to the next, and the next.

“We’re going to have to force our way through a bottleneck,” Jin Zixuan realized, dismay on his face.

Wangji frowned. “Brother Mingjue, you have explosives?”

“Lan Wangji!” Meng Yao turned on him, aghast.

“Send up the elevators, with explosives,” Wangji suggested.

Mingjue roared with laughter and clapped the nearest person on the shoulder—it was Jiang Wanyin, who winced—before nodding. “As a diversion. I like it. Yes, I like it! My people are bringing the explosives. Then we’ll send men with battering rams through the two stairwell doors and go through swinging.”

They were getting closer and closer to the top, and they had a plan. Wangji steeled himself and remained close to Wei Ying’s side. Jiang Wanyin appeared of the same mind, positioning himself on Wei Ying’s other side. It was his greatest hope they would see very little actual fighting before they reached the penthouse floor.

It was a hope that was dashed when they reached the second to last floor. Jiang Wanyin’s people were scanning doors for heat signatures at each flight, and they detected a large number of bodies; it seemed the surprise had been saved for the floor adjacent to Wen Ruohan’s penthouse office rather than camping the floor where the man himself had to remain.

Nie Mingjue had payloads of explosives prepared and sent up. They wouldn’t be massive explosions, he explained; his people were precise from years of mining, and it would be enough to serve as distraction and nothing more while seeming much larger.

They waited in the stairwells, pressed to the walls opposing the elevator shafts. Four men crouched at the top, the handle of a battering ram clutched in their hands.

Wangji pressed Wei Ying to the wall and put an arm up, sheltering him.

“Lan Zhan, you don’t have to—” Wei Ying began, lifting his hands to grasp Wangji’s arm, but he closed his mouth when he got a look at Wangji’s face. He chuckled quietly, giving Wangji fond eyes.

The explosion wasn’t large, as promised, but it was loud, the reverb of it shattering the silence in the stairwell and making everyone wince and huddle in place. Before the echoes had faded, the battering ram was up and swinging through the door. The Jin forces ahead of them were pouring through, weapons out and swinging.

Nie Mingjue’s eyes flashed over his shoulder at them all. “While they’re clearing out that floor, we’re going up top.”

“Sir!” Meng Yao cried. “Is it advisable?”

“We’re doubling down on the element of surprise,” Nie Mingjue declared. “He’s thinking to tie up all our people, maybe even escape during the chaos. We go up!”

“We go up,” Wanyin echoed, and they charged up the stairwell.

They burst through the door to the top floor with no preamble, Nie Mingjue leading the charge. A detachment of the Lan people had stayed with them, Wangji noted; that had been part of the original plan all along. They had no idea how many people were at the very top.

Right through the door, they were attacked by a group of Wens with the same electric lash that Wangji recognized from Wen Chao, some of the others bearing steel batons. A man that Wangji thought might be Wen Xu tangled with Nie Mingjue at the forefront, shock baton against steel baton.

Lan forces fanned out around them, and they were in the thick of fighting. Wei Ying had his knives out, and Wanyin snapped his electric lash at the nearest Wen approaching, who tangled it with his metal baton and tried to jerk it out of his hand. A Wen roared and charged for Wei Ying, who raised an arm defensively toward the metal baton aimed at his head.

Wangji stepped forward, unsheathing Bichen and striking for the heart. Only Wei Ying had ever been able to match him touch for touch in the sword hall. He pulled his sword from between the man’s ribs and he crumpled to the floor without a sound.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying exclaimed, and threw his knife at him with a deft, quick movement.

Wangji held still, only turning when relief dawned in Wei Ying’s eyes. The man who had lifted an electric lash behind him went down with the knife through his throat. He turned back to Wei Ying with a tight nod and gripped his arm, urging them both forward.

The remaining Wens in the penthouse fought to the last man. Those who were fought to a standstill bit their poison teeth, writhed, and died.

At last, they stood before the imposing basalt-surfaced door that led to Wen Ruohan’s office suite. Wen Xu lay dead at Nie Mingjue’s feet, both his arms at odd angles, white foam crusted at his mouth.

“Nobody thinks he’s really going to surrender, right?” Wanyin muttered as Wangji gestured for two of the Lan men to pry the doors apart. There had been some scattered casualties on their side, but in the end, they had outnumbered the Wen forces. Wangji could see people that he knew tending to one another’s wounds. It was a relief, if a brief one.

Wen Ruohan was not in his office. There was a door left ajar in the glass wall behind a long, imposing slab of black desk.

Wangji could almost admire the sweeping view from the office. Below the skyrise, the lights of the city spread out like myriad stars seeded through a field of darkness. It was an incredible height, and a breathtaking scene under any other circumstances. He followed Nie Mingjue onto the terrace that wrapped the office and gripped Wei Ying’s arm tight with one hand, unwilling to separate from him for a second.

Wen Ruohan turned from the terrace railing. His long, dark hair was loose, and the wind toyed with the ends, making it flap in the breeze like a tattered flag.

Wangji glanced at his companions, ascertaining their positions. Wei Ying was to his right, gnawing at his lip, another knife in his hand. Beyond him stood Wanyin, jaw set, eyes glittering with anger.

Nie Mingjue was in the forefront, stalking toward Wen Ruohan with closed fists. The remaining Lan forces were behind them, fanned out in the office or administering to one another’s wounds.

“Ah, you’ve arrived,” Wen Ruohan said in a carrying baritone. He appeared eerily calm. His arms were cinched behind his back.

“It’s over, Wen Ruohan,” Nie Mingjue declared. “You can surrender quietly or we can do this the hard way.” He sounded as though he very much hoped Wen Ruohan would choose the latter option.

Wen Ruohan’s face cracked into a grim smile. “Is it?” He brought one arm out from behind his back and they all tensed, ready for an attack.

Wangji stepped in front of Wei Ying, who made a noise of protest.

Wen Ruohan brandished a thin metallic switch. His thumb was pressed into the button at the top, holding it down.

Wangji’s eyes widened.

Nie Mingjue held up his arm, waving them all off, and Wangji eased a step back, keeping his eyes trained on Wen Ruohan. Wei Ying was at his shoulder and he gasped.

“You know what this is,” Wen Ruohan said in dire tones. “A dead man’s switch. You’re going to let me walk out of here, or this whole building goes up.”

Wangji’s chest went tight. He reached back for Wei Ying only to have Wei Ying take his arm in a desperate grip.

“Wen Ruohan!” Nie Mingjue exclaimed, but he sputtered and fell silent, his entire body rigid.

“This is the end,” Wanyin said, measured and calm. “Whether you walk out of here or not, it’s over.”

Wen Ruohan gave a mad laugh, and his eyes were so wide they looked like they’d bulge out of his head. “Over? No, not after all my deep and careful plans. It will never be over.” He took a step toward them, brandishing the switch in his hand, and Wangji pushed Wei Ying back toward the door behind them. The others stepped back as well, wary.

“Move to the side!” Wen Ruohan barked, taking another step.

He looked insane, Wangji thought. The man’s nostrils were flared, rigid; his eyes continued to bulge as he advanced on them. And he was going to get away with it, he was going to walk out and leave the bodies of his broken and surrendered men behind him. Wangji’s teeth clenched.

If he could be sure he’d be fast enough, he would—

That thought remained unfinished as Meng Yao stole out from behind the sharp edge of the parapet that framed the office, darting toward Wen Ruohan on swift, silent feet. He crept up behind him and seized the dead man’s switch from behind, clamping Wen Ruohan’s thumb down.

“Meng Yao, be careful!” Nie Mingjue shouted, flinging out a hand. “The switch; the building is wired!”

Meng Yao nodded tightly and grappled with Wen Ruohan for control of the switch. The two of them stumbled backward together on the terrace, bodies twisting back and forth as Wen Ruohan snarled and fought with the fury of a man possessed.

Wangji remained frozen in place, Wei Ying clutching his arm and breathing harsh and low in his ear. One wrong move and the switch could slip and clatter free, and the entire building would blow.

The two men stumbled up against the railing to the terrace, and Meng Yao went for the switch with both hands, elbowing Wen Ruohan in the face. He stomped on his foot and ground it under a merciless heel before kneeing Wen Ruohan sharply in the balls. Wen Ruohan howled, and Meng Yao wrestled the dead man’s switch from him, holding it tight in his hand, thumb pressed so hard the knuckle was white.

Wen Ruohan bent at the waist over the hard line of the railing and grasped at Meng Yao’s shirt, snagging it in both hands as he toppled over the side.

“Meng Yao!” Nie Mingjue roared. He sprang forward, crossing the terrace so swiftly he appeared to be in flight. Wangji darted forward to assist; if his brother’s soulmate fell, he would never forgive himself They both seized Meng Yao, one at each arm, and his shirt ripped under scrabbling hands as Wen Ruohan plummeted from the railing with a shriek.

“I’ve got it,” Meng Yao said, panting. He held the switch up. “It’s here.”

Wangji sagged and Wei Ying hurried forward to put his arms around him. He was laughing, soft but hysterical.

“Does anyone know how to disarm this thing?” Meng Yao asked, eyes wide, the shine of sweat standing out on his forehead.

Jiang Wanyin gave a long, relieved exhale and Nie Mingjue threw an arm around him, grinning. “Of course. The bomb crew is downstairs. Good man, Meng Yao!”

“It’s over,” Wangji murmured.

Wei Ying made a soft noise near Wangji’s ear, and Wangji held his waist, closing his eyes in a brief, profoundly thankful moment.

He could take Wei Ying home at last.

Chapter Text

The soft morning light filtered through curtains and gave the suite an ethereal air. Once again, Wangji woke to a new place and collected his impressions of where he was. Wei Ying remained beside him, so it was all he’d want to ask for.

Their new location was a peaceful resort on the far shore of Biling Lake near home. Elder Brother had checked them in under fake names a couple of days after the events surrounding Nevernight. A great deal of work remained to be done, not to mention some kind of meaningful transition back into their regular lives, but Lan Xichen had sought respite for all of them for a short while longer.

Wangji laid quietly, breathing in tune with Wei Ying’s as his love slept on, head pillowed on his chest, mouth open and a wet spot forming on Wangji’s pectoral from the drool that Wei Ying would chide him for letting him drip onto him when he woke.

They hadn’t made love the first night they had checked in, too exhausted to do more than twine together and exchange a couple of loving kisses. Yesterday had been packed full from dawn until near midnight with meetings, follow up, phone calls, and Lan Xichen had also called upon a personal physician to ensure they were all fit.

Even Uncle had undergone an examination, which had confirmed Wen Qing’s informal diagnosis of pneumonia, and he was finally undergoing a long-delayed course of treatment.

Wangji shifted Wei Ying more securely in his arms and froze when their bodies fit together in such a way that he couldn’t fail to miss Wei Ying’s morning hard-on against his thigh. He had no intentions of initiating anything until he received loud and clear signals not only from Wei Ying’s mouth and eyes but from his body language as well.

Wei Ying stirred against him, murmured, and pressed into him, hips moving a couple of times before he settled into Wangji’s arm and side with a soft noise.

At least Wangji could be assured he wasn’t having nightmares.

He reached for the phone at his bedside and unlocked it one-handed, catching up to what he might have missed while they slept. On any other day, when Wangji woke at his typical hour, he would disengage himself from Wei Ying. His love slept soundly enough to keep sleeping through an avalanche. While Wei Ying remained in bed, Wangji would go about his normal routine of showering, studying, attending to his limited social media contacts, and working on composition if there was any time.

For over a month, there had been no ‘normal’ for them. And ever since Wei Ying had returned, it was split odds whether he would sleep through anything but the most minor disturbance or startle awake with a fierce, hunted look in his eyes.

There was nowhere Wangji needed to be, so he preferred to lie abed with Wei Ying until he woke naturally. They would go through their exercise routine together later, after breakfast.

It wasn’t only for Wei Ying’s sake that he laid there watching his face, harmonizing with his steady breaths. Wangji drew strength from waking every day with Wei Ying beside him. He hoped they would never be parted again.

He knew, now, that he would survive if they were. But it was not so much that they were more fragile apart as it was a matter of being stronger together.

Wangji still wished desperately that he could have been there for Wei Ying during the month they had been apart. He was here now, though, and he would ensure that Wei Ying got what he needed.

His phone bore a handful of notifications. Lan Xichen was inviting them to a group breakfast around nine-thirty, respecting the Yunmeng brothers’ tendency to rise late. Nie Huaisang had begun to send him memes on the daily, something that Wangji had trouble figuring out how to respond to until Wei Ying recommended emojis and nothing else, which turned out to be satisfactory for each of them. Jiang Yanli had begun corresponding with him, first for updates on Wei Ying’s mental status, and they had continued because they were getting along and exchanging recipes and music recommendations and ideas for future home-decoration schemes. Jiang Yanli had made a ‘mood board’ for him, though Wangji was still unsure what that was.

Nie Huaisang was at the same resort with them; Nie Mingjue was with Elder Brother for a brief stay. Everyone needed to rest and recharge. Jiang Wanyin had even been persuaded to join them for a brief sojourn before returning to Yunmeng to oversee the parts of its recovery that the Jiang family could attend to.

Wangji was hoping he and Wei Ying could re-establish contact with A-Yuan soon. He knew the little boy had to miss Wei Ying a great deal. It had been days since they’d been able to talk. The remaining Wens had returned to their pre-campaign homes, though Wen Qing had given up her lease on her place on campus so Wangji thought they had gone to stay with relatives while they sorted out their situation.

He swiped out quick, succinct responses to all of his outstanding notifications, sending an ‘Mn’ to Lan Xichen regarding breakfast and a 😳 to Nie Huaisang in response to the meme he’d sent the night before that was a callback to their hotpot dinner. His longest reply was to Jiang Yanli admiring the picture of the souffle pancakes she had shared from her breakfast and wondering how difficult it would be for him to make those for Wei Ying.

He remembered Wei Ying complaining about Western breakfasts, but he might like the souffle pancakes alongside bacon and eggs.

At around half past eight, Wei Ying snuffled against his neck, embraced him tightly, and woke up with a little shiver. Wangji set his phone aside and craned his neck to gauge his expression. Some mornings, Wei Ying woke with a need for immediate, tactile comfort.

Wei Ying blinked up at him with half-lidded eyes, and his lips curved in a wondering smile. “Mm, good morning.” His hand stroked over the red characters of his own name beside Wangji’s heart. It was a new habit of his upon waking.

Wangji gave him a small, pleased smile in exchange. Any morning Wei Ying woke up smiling again was a good one, so far as he was concerned.

Wei Ying’s eyes disappeared into crescents, and he stretched against Wangji’s side, spanning the length of him. He uttered a low, breathy grunt before settling against him, loose-limbed, one hand easing from Wangji’s ribs to his hip. He sighed. It was a long, contented sound.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

“Mn,” Wangji responded, unsure if it was prelude to a question or whether Wei Ying was simply saying his name. Either way, he was content.

“Wanna make out?” Wei Ying asked.

Wangji scanned his face again. Wei Ying looked relaxed, peaceful. A little horny. He wasn’t trying to reposition the hard-on wedged against Wangji’s hip.

…Maybe he looked more than a little bit horny.

“Mn,” Wangji replied, this one more eager.

Wei Ying chuckled, managing to sound smug and breathless before Wangji rolled onto his side and captured his mouth.

His mouth opened under Wangji’s, eager. They skipped straight past simple presses of their lips into trading slick, wet, open-mouthed kisses. Wei Ying pressed his tongue in first, crowding up against him with a low groan. When they paused for a second, Wei Ying rubbed his nose against Wangji’s.

“Missed this,” he murmured. “Missed you.”

“Wei Ying,” Wangji responded, aching, but Wei Ying wouldn’t let him say anything more, claiming his mouth again.

They made out in the filtered-warm light of the morning, and it felt like Wei Ying returning to him in another way. He was fully present, arching against Wangji, brushing curled toes against the tops of his feet, gasping as Wangji kissed down his jaw and found the spot behind his ear, dabbling his tongue there before latching on to leave a claiming bite. His arm tightened around Wangji’s waist, and he rocked his hips, pressing against him when they began exchanging kisses again.

His intentions were pretty obvious, but Wangji kept up the exchange of deep, thorough kisses, happy to do only that for an indefinite period, until Wei Ying pushed at his chest with a light hand and gasped, “Make love to me?”

Wangji nodded and kissed his cheekbone, trailing down to his jaw and along to his mouth. He brushed his lips over Wei Ying’s. It was the first time Wei Ying had asked in that way. Always before, he’d proposed a specific act, shyly at first, then with boldness as their familiarity with one another grew. After they’d begun certain things his invitation had been “fuck me,” giving Wangji a playful or searing look.

“Oh,” Wei Ying uttered against his mouth. “I, I don’t know if we have lube… I guess we don’t have to do that, we can do something else…”

“We have it,” Wangji assured him. It was a fully stocked resort, and he’d made sure they had some on hand in case the urge struck. Wangji had not held expectations, but he was a planner, after all.

Wei Ying plastered himself up against him with a small, excited shudder. “Good, good. I really want you in me, Lan Zhan.”

That gave Wangji an answering shudder, and like a sleeping dragon, his submerged desire sprang to life.

Wei Ying’s eyes went wide. “Lan Zhan!” His voice was hushed but playful. “You got so hard, right then! You’re poking my thigh.” He grinned and nestled closer, making it clear he was eager about it.

“Didn’t want anything unless you did too,” Wangji admitted. He eased against Wei Ying’s thigh, enjoying the friction.

“You suppressed your libido for me?” Wei Ying’s brows pushed together in a troubled frown.

“It suppressed itself,” Wangji replied easily. He stroked the side of Wei Ying’s face. “It’s fine, Wei Ying. I didn’t want anything you didn’t.” He wondered if it was part of what made them soulmates, or whether it happened because they were.

Wei Ying was quiet a moment, absorbing that. At last he kissed Wangji’s jaw, rubbed his cheek along it like a cat, and stretched to kiss him again. “You really are the only one for me,” he informed him.

“Mn,” Wangji responded, smiling to see the light in Wei Ying’s face when he regarded him.

Though they had both expressed the desire for more and they were already hard against one another, they resumed trading kisses and kept to that same slow-hot pace as before. Wei Ying’s hand strayed from his waist to his lower back. Wangji caressed his thigh below his rear and rubbed against him, enjoying the build-up of heat in his lower belly and the throb of his cock.

At last, Wei Ying sighed and rolled onto his back, pulling Wangji forcefully atop him. He flexed underneath him, legs parting for Wangji’s weight, and gave him a very direct stare.

“I want you in me,” he said, low and smoky. “And I don’t want a ton of prep. You can put as much lube as you want on your dick, though.”

Wangji tried not to frown. “Are you sure?”

“I really want to feel it,” Wei Ying assured him, reaching down between them to smooth a hand over Wangji’s hardening cock.

Wangji had to close his eyes and steady himself for a second, and Wei Ying helped not at all, rubbing his hand up and down the column of Wangji’s cock in his sleeping pants and lifting against him. He hooked his free arm around Wangji’s neck and stretched to kiss him, nipping at his lower lip.

“If it starts to hurt—”

Wei Ying gave a low chuckle. “It’s going to hurt, Lan Zhan, that’s kind of the point.” He nipped his lip again.

Wangji responded with a low growl, biting Wei Ying’s lip in turn and grinding down on him. Even if he wasn’t exactly surprised when Wei Ying moaned and pressed up into it, he was still somewhat concerned. “If it hurts too much,” he insisted, “you must say something.”

Wei Ying kissed him again and pouted a bit when Wangji kept giving him a serious look. He recognized that Wangji wouldn’t continue without agreement, wrinkled his nose, and nodded. “Okay. I’ll say ‘durian,’ how does that sound?”

Wangji considered it and nodded. He rested his full weight on Wei Ying and kissed him harder, giving him a biting, demanding kiss that Wei Ying opened up to, hands curving around Wangji to hold him tight as he arched up against him. When Wangji tasted blood, he drew back, blinking at the mark on Wei Ying’s lower lip. He bent his head and licked it, and Wei Ying’s tongue flicked out to press against his.

“More,” Wei Ying breathed. “Please, Lan Zhan. I need it.”

He had the sense that Wei Ying meant rough kisses as much as he meant rough sex and found himself surprised to discover how much he was into the idea. If someone saw the bite mark on Wei Ying’s lip, they would know it was him. He kissed him again, harder, thrusting down and answering Wei Ying’s moan with a low noise.

Wangji shifted up and off him to fetch the lube. While he laid hands on it, pulling it out of the bedside table, Wei Ying began to wriggle out of his clothing, keeping avid eyes on him. Wangji wasn’t wearing a shirt, only sleeping pants, so those were easy enough to peel off and set aside before he returned to Wei Ying.

“Oh, I really missed this,” Wei Ying declared, looking for an instant on the verge of tears as he reached up for Wangji and laced his fingers behind his neck. Wangji gazed down at him and set his hand beside the azure characters of his name inscribed on Wei Ying’s skin.

Wangji settled atop him again, indulging in more forceful, biting kisses. Wei Ying only moaned louder, hands pulling him closer, pressing up against him and it spurred Wangji on. He kissed harder, nibbling down into the mark he’d already made on Wei Ying’s lip until he gasped and made a pained noise. When Wangji tried to lift his head, though, Wei Ying’s mouth clung to his and he chased his lips.

That made Wangji huff softly and press back into the kiss again, parting Wei Ying’s lips with a forceful tongue. It earned him a pleased hum.

When they surfaced from the kiss at last, Wangji shifted off to the side to strip Wei Ying’s underwear from him, drawing them off his long, slender legs and tossing them aside. He bent to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s smooth knee.

“Lay back,” Wangji said. “I’ll finger you.”

When Wei Ying’s eyes narrowed, Wangji added, “Just enough for the head.”

That got Wei Ying to lay back with alacrity, drawing his knees up, his entire face glowing with love and trust.

Wangji absorbed it with keen responsibility. He would be as careful as Wei Ying would let him.

He watched Wei Ying’s face as he eased one finger into him. One was always easy; Wei Ying’s body was soft heat that welcomed further exploration. He pressed two into him not long after, and Wei Ying watched him with hooded eyes, biting down on his lip but passive for now.

Wangji stroked Wei Ying’s inner thigh with his free hand as he fingered him. Wei Ying’s inner thighs were soft, almost hairless by contrast to his legs from knee to ankle. A muscle jumped under Wangji’s hand at first before Wei Ying parted his legs wider, shifting his hips to open himself to Wangji’s touch even more.

The flash of desire burned through Wangji like a bolt of lightning. He was hungry, almost desperate, and glad that Wei Ying had demanded less prep as he got up on his knees and positioned himself, reaching for more lube. He squeezed out a generous amount into his palm and slicked his cock up.

“Yes, yes,” Wei Ying chanted as Wangji pushed his legs up, reaching to press the head of his cock in. “Nn…ahh!”

He made the most beautiful noise as Wangji joined their bodies, gritting his teeth against the immediate tight clench on his cock. His typical instinct would be to ease in, letting Wei Ying’s body adjust to him as they fit together.

Wangji hitched Wei Ying’s legs up, held his gaze, and breached him in one forceful thrust. Wei Ying shouted under him, tears standing out at the corners of his eyes, but his body yielded, and he arched up under him. His cock, when Wangji reached for it, stood proud and hard against his stomach. Without waiting for either of them to adjust to the penetration, Wangji did what his body urged and began to roll his hips, working himself in and out of Wei Ying’s fantastically tight heat.

Wei Ying wailed but met him stroke for stroke. Wangji lifted his legs higher and began to fuck into him in earnest, not holding back. And beneath him, Wei Ying made a series of choked, desperate noises, all of them affirmative and loving and some of them absolutely filthy.

“Ahh…yes…yes, Lan Zhan, you’re in me so deep, making me take your dick,” Wei Ying babbled.

Wangji groaned low and bent Wei Ying nearly in half to continue to fuck into him and claim his mouth at the same time. It was a stretch, but they managed a few sloppy kisses. He couldn’t get much purchase on Wei Ying’s slick mouth, and it slowed his strokes, so he backed off from kissing him and stuck his fingers between Wei Ying’s lips.

He made an indignant noise but sucked on Wangji’s fingers hard in the next instant, tongue pushing against the pads.

Wangji lost himself to the feel of driving his body into Wei Ying’s, gazing down at him, the heat building up all through him from groin to throat. He held Wei Ying’s leg a little higher, fucked into him harder, slower, and they both made noises at that. He switched up his pace a few times and found that fast and deep got the best responses, from Wei Ying writhing beneath him and his own body, tightening up like a screw left unturned too long. He pulled his fingers out of Wei Ying’s mouth and stroked his face with the back of his hand, a fleeting touch.

“Lan Zhan…Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying cried out, tossing his head and arching up, clamping down so tight on his cock.

Wangji groaned, reaching between them to touch Wei Ying’s cock. He was already coming, so he clasped it in his hand and formed a tunnel for him to push into as streaks of his come painted upward along his belly and ribs. He braced himself over Wei Ying and pulsed into him fast, losing control of his movements as his hips took control. All he could do was mindlessly fuck into Wei Ying, eyes devouring him as he laid spent and trembling below Wangji.

“Wei Ying,” Wangji uttered. He thrust a few more times as Wei Ying caressed his own body for him as though putting himself on display, whispering encouragement to come, come inside him, fill him up. He gazed down at him, eyes catching on the blue characters of his name high on Wei Ying’s chest before raising to connect with his needy, watchful brown eyes.

He had to squeeze his eyes shut as his orgasm rolled over him like a wave, unstoppable and vital as the tide, and all through it, he rocked into Wei Ying with successively gentler movements. Once he was spent, he lowered himself onto Wei Ying, letting his legs slide down.

With a pleased-sounding moan, Wei Ying wrapped his legs around him, arms sliding up to cinch tight around his neck. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, that was so good,” he murmured. “Exactly what I needed. I love you. Love you so much.”

Wangji settled his face against Wei Ying’s sweaty neck and jaw. “I love you,” he replied, his entire being resounding with it like a struck bell. He nuzzled his forehead against Wei Ying’s cheek. “It was good?” He hadn’t worried in the moment. All of Wei Ying’s responses while they were joined had been fervent.

“Yes.” Wei Ying nudged back against him with a breathless laugh. “So good, you have no idea. I loved it, Lan Zhan. Felt like you weren’t holding back.”

“I wasn’t,” Wangji admitted. The only thing that could have gotten him to slow down or stop at certain points would have been Wei Ying using the word they’d agreed on.

“Good,” Wei Ying purred. His hands stroked down Wangji’s back, and the hold of his legs loosened.

They shifted into a position more suitable for cuddling, and Wangji’s cock slipped out. Wei Ying made a small noise, and Wangji petted his hip.

“I know you can’t put it back in right away,” Wei Ying said. “But I want you to?”

“I can if you want,” Wangji replied, agreeable. He didn’t get oversensitive the way Wei Ying did after coming. “I just won’t get hard again for a while.”

“Oh.” Wei Ying arranged himself against his chest and kissed his chin. He slung a leg high over Wangji’s hip. “Then put it back in, please?”

Wangji’s lips twitched up. He reached down and pushed his softening cock back into Wei Ying’s slick hole and cupped his ass, holding him close so that he’d stay in even as he went totally soft.

Wei Ying made a contented noise and nestled against him, nudging against Wangji for kisses he was happy to provide.

“Oh,” Wangji recalled after a small, tender eternity of kisses. He bumped his forehead against Wei Ying’s, making him wrinkle his nose and smile. “Brother would like for us all to have breakfast. At nine-thirty.”

“What time is it?” Wei Ying asked, and whined a little when Wangji slipped out for good this time.

He had to get up from their comfortable entwined position to grab his phone. “We have half an hour.”

Wei Ying scrunched his face up. “Damn. Not enough time to ride you.”

Wangji closed his hand over Wei Ying’s wrist. “We can,” he said, very intent. “We can do that.” It didn’t take him long to get hard again; either of them, really.

That made Wei Ying grin and draw him in for a kiss. He patted Wangji’s pectoral. “Later, my love. I don’t want to be late for breakfast. I actually have an appetite!”

“Mn.” Wangji’s brows rose slightly. That was an occasion.

They had over half an hour to get ready, but it was just enough time. Their showers together had been so tame of late, Wangji made the mistake of agreeing to join Wei Ying on the pretext of saving time and water, and they did neither. He turned the water down cold at the end, making Wei Ying squeal and accuse him of being horrible, cruel, and merciless, but he was hugging his waist as he said so, and Wangji didn’t take it to heart.

As a direct result, they did manage to finish getting ready and dressed, presentable enough to join everyone in Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue’s suite for breakfast.

“So glad you could make it,” Nie Huaisang said archly from the far side of the table in the suite’s sitting room.

Wei Ying responded with an extremely mature raspberry and dragged Wangji to that side of the table, sitting in the middle seat beside him. He tended to favor seats that let him avoid putting his back to an open door ever since his return. That would leave all three of them facing Lan Qiren if he chose to attend breakfast, but some things couldn’t be helped.

“Have you heard from Wen Ning?” Nie Huaisang asked. “Usually he sends me memes night and day and I didn’t hear from him yesterday.”

Wei Ying inhaled and lifted his phone up with worried brows. “No, it was busy yesterday and I didn’t notice. But same; he always sends me snippets of things throughout the day.”

Jiang Wanyin entered, Nie Mingjue behind him. Brother Mingjue took his seat at one end of the table, and Jiang Wanyin sat himself at the opposite end beside Wangji, knowing that Lan Xichen would sit next to his fiancé.

“Morning,” Jiang Wangyin muttered, scrubbing at his jaw and looking far less awake than Wei Ying.

They were followed shortly after by Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren, who seated themselves across from them. A couple of hotel staff wheeled in immense trays of food and drink that they delivered to the table before withdrawing with discreet promptness.

Wangji reached for green tea and congee, waiting to see what Wei Ying piled onto his plate before adding any offerings. There were stewed vegetables and crispy shallots, and he added that to his congee with a scattering of marinated bean curd.

“Traditional Gusu cooking,” Wei Ying marveled, serving himself up generous portions. “I’ve actually missed it.”

Wangji looked up and caught his brother’s fond smile.

They fell silent while eating, the Lans by custom, the others likely by appetite. Jiang Wanyin would need to get through at least two cups of black coffee before he was fit for company, and Wei Ying was going through his chili oil-drizzled congee faster than Wangji had ever seen him eat. On the other side of him, Wangji saw Nie Huaisang furtively checking his phone from time to time, and Nie Mingjue was too busy making his way through his century egg congee to notice.

Uncle had to stop halfway through his meal to cough and down a mug of hot water but otherwise seemed no worse than before. Wangji eyed him every so often during the meal and was satisfied that his cough seemed better tended and less bothersome than earlier in the week.

He wanted to talk to his uncle in private, at some point. They had some things to work through, and Wangji was motivated to have that conversation without putting it off further. There were many things that were better served by waiting for their due time; resolving the tension between himself and Lan Qiren was no longer one of them.

Once they had finished breakfast and remained at the table sipping their respective drinks, Lan Xichen spoke up.

“I was hoping to begin reconstruction on the Cloud Recesses soon,” he said quietly. “We will all need to remain in alternative accommodations for a while, but I want to see our home restored at the earliest opportunity.”

Wangji tucked his chin under in a bare nod. He still had trouble imagining it, though he’d seen the mountain on fire with his own eyes. In his mind’s eye, the Jingshi still existed somewhere. The last time he’d been there, he had played for Wei Ying, drawn him down to the bed where he’d lain yearning for him the year before, showed him again through all the quiet corners where he had spent his youth.

“I agree,” Lan Qiren replied. “I would like to lead those efforts, Xichen.”

“Uncle, are you certain?”

Wangji paid heed to his brother’s minute expressions. Lan Xichen was somewhat concerned but receptive to the idea.

“Of course.” Lan Qiren’s beard twitched. “I want you to focus on what comes next, Xichen. With Wen Ruohan gone, we cannot afford for the power structure to become too imbalanced among the remaining gentry families.”

“That’s true, Uncle.” Lan Xichen shared a glance with Nie Mingjue beside him. “Mingjue and I have been discussing that.”

“Assert yourselves,” Lan Qiren urged. He bent a stern glance on Jiang Wanyin as well. “That goes for you too, young man.”

Jiang Wanyin gave a curt nod.

“That brings me to my next point of discussion,” Lan Xichen continued. “There will be a meeting of all the gentry families to come together and find a common path forward. The Jins have volunteered to host, at Lanling’s Carp Tower.”

Lan Qiren’s mug clacked harshly down onto the table. “You see? It’s already begun.”

“I fully agree, Uncle,” Lan Xichen said in his mild, disarming way. “I intend for us all to be present. Work on the reconstruction can begin afterward, unless you’re feeling unwell.”

“I will make it for this.” Lan Qiren drew himself up.

Lan Xichen nodded. “It will be over the weekend, but we’ll return to the resort afterward and discuss our own next steps.” His gaze turned to Wangji, pointed.

Wangji bowed his head. He intended to return to school with Wei Ying, but there would need to be arrangements and exceptions made to smooth their path.

The conversation turned to more mundane things, and Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue made an effort to draw Jiang Wanyin out regarding his position on various matters. Wangji glanced at Wei Ying, who favored him with a small, conspiratorial smile, and they excused themselves. Nie Huaisang shook his head and flapped his fan at them as though to shoo them out.

Wangji couldn’t help but smile as Wei Ying grasped his hand and drew him away from the table.

“We’re off to keep up our exercise regimen!” he said, giving the room a wave.

Behind them, Wangji thought he heard Jiang Wanyin mutter, “Is that what you’re calling it, now?”

Once the door to Lan Xichen’s suite shut behind them, Wei Ying picked up the pace, tugging him down the hallway with a bright laugh.

Wangji’s very atoms had to be exuding the love that kindled him from inside. He could only follow, tightening his hand on Wei Ying’s.

Inside their suite, Wei Ying didn’t draw him over to the bed, which he’d expected. Instead, he took him to the patio that offered fresh air and a view of the lake bathed in mid-morning light. They leaned, arms around one another, against the railing and gazed at the scene spread out below them. From the place where the resort was situated, Wangji couldn’t see the blackened hilltop of his childhood home, and he was glad for that.

“Mornings like this I feel like the world can be ours again,” Wei Ying murmured, putting his head against Wangji’s shoulder.

“Mn,” Wangji responded. “It will be, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying straightened, scrubbing at his cheek briefly, making Wangji worry he’d cried, but when he turned to face him, his eyes were cheerful.

Wangji drew a breath, struck by the sight of him all over again. He took Wei Ying’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“Wei Ying…” Wangji began. The words stuck in his throat. He was rarely made speechless, but he was in his feelings. Those emotions were urging him to give voice to what he’d planned to wait for, a few years yet.

Tilting his head, Wei Ying gave him a glimmering, happy smile. “Lan Zhan?”

Wangji drew him in and kissed him instead. Wei Ying seemed lit from within when they parted from it, his smile more luminous than the sun to Wangji.

“For a moment there, I wondered if you were about to propose to me,” Wei Ying said with a small chuckle.

Wangji put his arm around his waist, holding him tight. “Not yet,” he decided. “Wei Ying deserves the best proposal I can deliver.” He wanted to put thought and planning into it, even if the answer was a foregone conclusion.

“I’ll be happy with any proposal, really,” Wei Ying returned. He laid his head on Wangji’s shoulder. “Unless I get to it first, myself!”

Wangji could hear the impish grin in his voice, and he smiled fondly. He stroked Wei Ying’s hip with possessive fingers. “Earlier, you wanted to ride.” There was no need to be subtle.

Wei Ying’s head lifted. “Oh, yeah! It’s okay if we go back to bed, right? There’s nowhere we’re needed right now?”

“Mn,” Wangji confirmed, tugging him back into the bedroom.

Someone was pounding on the door.

They exchanged a startled glance, and Wei Ying broke away from him, sprinting across their suite. He checked the peephole as Wangji strode swiftly to join him, and dragged the door open to reveal Nie Huaisang, his face panicky, his phone raised and fluttering back and forth like one of his fans.

“Huaisang?” Wei Ying exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the Wens,” Nie Huaisang said, fidgeting so much that Wangji wanted to press his shoulders down to make him stand still. “The remaining Wens have been rounded up and imprisoned.”

“What?” Wei Ying exclaimed.

“Who did this?” Wangji demanded, thinking instantly of Wen Ning, not in the best of health, as well as the older, defenseless people that Wei Ying had helped to rescue from Wen Ruohan’s camp.

Nie Huaisang replied, anguished, “The Jin family.”

It was days later, they had all relocated to Carp Tower for the gentry family discussions, and the Wens remained imprisoned. It was a constant dark cloud over Wuxian’s psyche; he had already risked everything to free them, only for them to end up under another family’s thumb.

Wuxian paced back and forth like a caged tiger in the suite he and Wangji had been newly installed in at Carp Tower, striding back and forth. They had only just been shown to their quarters, and he was going to wear a strip into the carpet near the door. He was getting frantic. Wen Ning hadn’t been in the best health to begin with, and the thought of little A-Yuan in a jail cell was a constant sliver in his heart.

“Nie Huaisang said his contacts in Carp Tower don’t know anything about it,” Wuxian said, ticking off the facts on slender fingers. He had tapped into the Jin network to find out what he could, but the seizure of the Wen remnants had been kept offline—as though someone knew the Yiling Laozu might take a personal interest in the matter. “I haven’t been able to ask Big Sis, but I can’t imagine Jin Zixuan would be party to this no matter how he feels about the Wens.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied, frowning at his phone.

“I can’t let this happen, Lan Zhan—but I have no status, no power besides the threat of unleashing my drone scripts, which they don’t know about. Everyone wanted the Yiling Laozu’s help during the campaign, but I know that they were also talking about him being a wild card that they might not want on the loose,” Wuxian ranted. “So I’ve got no right to have any input into this matter, and because of that, Wen Ning…Wen Qing…Uncle Four…Granny, A-Yuan…they all might die.”

“You are Jiang Wuxian,” Lan Zhan said, standing up from the couch. He walked over to him and grasped him by the arms, halting his pacing.

“Not like that matters to the Jin family,” Wuxian muttered, holding himself still so that he wouldn’t jerk out of his partner’s grip. “The Jiangs are in a poor position right now, Lan Zhan. We’re completely beholden to the Jins for Uncle Fengmian’s life, Yu Ziyuan’s rehabilitation, Big Sis’s marriage—you know, I think Jin Zixuan is already sending support over to Yunmeng to help out with reconstruction. We have no status to stand up against them, and I have no leverage.”

Lan Zhan said nothing, his mouth compressing to a thin line.

“I can’t ask for shit as Jiang Wuxian,” Wuxian concluded with grim intensity. “And imagine me revealing myself as the Yiling Laozu only to threaten them. They’d rub me out like a stain on parchment the moment my back is turned.”

“I am the second son of Gusu Lan,” Lan Zhan said at last.

Wuxian frowned, not following. “But I’m not a Lan yet.”

“I can speak up for both of us on this matter,” Lan Zhan continued.

Wuxian shook his head, feeling hopeless. “It won’t be enough,” he said dully.

“If we get married and stand together on this matter…” Lan Zhan began.

Wuxian blinked at him, eyes wide. “Lan Zhan?” he whispered.

A knock sounded on the door. They gazed at one another an instant longer, and the knock came again, louder. Wuxian didn’t even know what his face was saying to Lan Zhan. He was desperate, surely, but this…it didn’t feel right.

“Wangji?” Lan Xichen’s soft voice asserted itself.

Wuxian was the one to back away, keeping his eyes fixed on Lan Zhan as he stumbled over to the nearby door. He had been expecting Jiang Yanli to find them first, but Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan were due to arrive from the sanitarium that day as well, and he supposed she’d been caught up in the preparations for them.

He opened the door and barely registered Lan Xichen walking through. He looked from Wuxian to his brother.

“What’s going on here?” he inquired, voice sharper than usual. Of course, trust Lan Xichen to intuit distress from Lan Zhan’s tightly controlled expression.

“Uh, Lan Zhan just asked me to marry him? I think?” Wuxian’s voice cracked slightly and he winced. “Lan Zhan—no, you can’t. This isn’t a proper proposal.”

“If we are wed, then your lot is mine, and I can assert Lan rules of engagement for the prisoners,” Lan Zhan said.

Wuxian shook his head, disbelieving.

“Wangji. Wuxian. Sit down, please,” Lan Xichen requested, gesturing to the nearby couch.

It was a reasonable request, even for Wuxian, full of jittery energy as he was. He walked over to Lan Zhan, took his hand, and led him to the couch, drawing him down beside him. Lan Xichen sat on the chair adjoining the couch and leaned on his knees, gazing at them with utmost seriousness.

“This isn’t a good reason to get married so young,” he stated. “Especially not in the wake of all that’s just happened. The two of you are likely still processing everything you’ve been through; especially you, Wuxian.”

Lan Zhan’s lips parted, and he looked as though he would say something, but Lan Xichen continued without giving him pause to speak.

“If you’re trying to convince me how serious you both are about this, then you have done so. Wangji, Wuxian…you have my support on this matter.”

Wuxian clung to Lan Zhan’s hand, overwhelmed. He had to lock down his emotions hard; no one had ever trusted him this much before, and he would cry if he didn’t get himself under control. Lan Zhan’s hand squeezed in his, tight but not painful.

He checked in with Lan Zhan, who gave him a brief nod, eyes glimmering.

“It is also the right thing to do,” Lan Zhan said in grave tones, accentuated by Lan Xichen’s nod.

“And someday, when you are both settled and graduated,” Lan Xichen continued firmly, “you will be ready for marriage. But for now, you’ve been through enough. Mingjue and I will take this on for you.”

Wuxian crumpled against Lan Zhan’s side, just about ready to faint with relief. “And we’ll adopt A-Yuan,” he murmured, bumping his head against Lan Zhan’s.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied, bringing his free hand up to stroke over Wuxian’s knuckles.

“A-Yuan?” Lan Xichen repeated, and Wuxian bit his lip.

He could hardly check in with his partner right then and ask why he hadn’t told Lan Xichen about A-Yuan, but now it was all on him to bring up their nascent idea of adoption. He suppressed a grimace. He didn’t want Lan Xichen scrutinizing this idea and telling them they were too young for this too.

When the tentative knock landed on the door before he could formulate an answer, Wuxian had never been more relieved to disentangle himself from Lan Zhan, leap up, and launch himself across the distance to the door. He knew that knock, and he’d been expecting this visitor sooner or later. He threw the door wide, and Jiang Yanli stood on the threshold, eyes wide.

“A-Xian!” she exclaimed.

“Big Sis,” Wuxian returned, sweeping her into an enthusiastic but very careful hug. She was leading with her baby bump, and it pressed high on his abdomen as they embraced. “Are you okay? Everything’s fine with the baby? The Jins are treating you well? I missed you so much!”

Jiang Yanli was laughing at him when he stepped back to look at her, cradling both of her hands. There were tears in the corners of her eyes and she looked like she wanted to pull him right back into the hug.

“Yes, I’m fine, the baby is doing great, Madam Jin has been nothing but hospitable, and I missed you too, A-Xian! You’re okay?” She disengaged a hand to reach up and touch his cheek.

“I’m well,” he replied, covering her hand with his. He couldn’t quite say he was fine, or okay, yet. But with Lan Zhan he was on the path to getting there. “Uncle and—” He still couldn’t bring himself to call Yu Ziyuan ‘Aunt’ again. He wondered if he ever would.

Jiang Yanli looked troubled. “They’re still at the sanitorium, A-Xian,” she replied. “We were hoping…but Baba isn’t ready to be moved yet after all, and Mama won’t leave without him. I think she likes bossing the nurses around.” She barely smiled.

“Ah…I’m sorry,” Wuxian said, awkward. He drew her into the suite where the Lan brothers had been congenially observing their reunion. “You remember Lan Xichen, and my…my Lan Zhan.” They weren’t fiancés, not yet, but boyfriend seemed too casual a term for the depth of their commitment.

“Yes. Of course.” Jiang Yanli gave them her smile and a traditional bow for each of them. “Thank you for taking care of my brother, Lan Xichen.”

“Ah. Would that I could have done more,” Lan Xichen murmured, getting to his feet. “Wangji, we’ll talk later. I’m going to discuss matters with Mingjue.”

Lan Zhan nodded, and Wuxian could read the thought off his face without the benefit of a micro-expression. He was thinking that ‘talk later’ also encompassed the little they had mentioned of A-Yuan.

Well, it wasn’t like anyone could tell them they couldn’t adopt a child when they turned twenty-one, and they would have the means, after all.

Jiang Yanli crossed over to Lan Zhan, standing beside him—he had also gotten up from the couch when his brother had—and taking his hand. “If you aren’t comfortable with a hug, now is the time to say so,” she warned him.

That caused a slight frown to cross Lan Zhan’s perfect face, and he tilted his head ever so slightly, but he didn’t deny her a hug. Jiang Yanli gathered him up in her arms and released a quiet sob.

“Thank you,” she said to Lan Zhan. “Thank you for being his anchor.”

Wuxian rubbed at the back of his head and wanted to look anywhere else, but Lan Zhan held his gaze.

When she released him from her fervent hug, Lan Zhan inclined his head.

“My everything is Wei Ying’s,” he said, voice low.

Jiang Yanli’s smile trembled around the edges. “Please be careful with such promises. Although I don’t expect we’ll be in so much peril now that this is all over.”

Wuxian’s eyes met Lan Zhan’s over her head. It wasn’t over, but he wasn’t sure how to let her know that her in-laws were now part of the problem. And it wasn’t fair of him to ask his sister to intercede on his behalf in matters that weren’t her concern—it would put unfair pressure on Jiang Yanli.

At the same time, he had to believe Jin Zixuan knew nothing of what had been done with the remaining Wens.

“Big Sis,” he began tentatively.

“Hm?” Jiang Yanli gave him inquisitive eyes.

“Has Jin Guangshan returned?” Lan Zhan interjected smoothly, and Wuxian gave his beloved a small, impressed chin lift. Not only had it been a good segue from a potentially uncomfortable conversation, it was an important piece of information.

“Oh.” Jiang Yanli’s smile dimmed, became more forced. “Yes. He’s been back for a few days.”

Wuxian exchanged another significant glance with Lan Zhan. His gut instincts told him it was Jin Zixun behind this latest power move, but with that knowledge, it was likely that it had Jin Guangshan’s backing. For what purpose, though, he couldn’t be sure.

What did the Jins have to gain by imprisoning members of the Wen family who had never sided with Wen Ruohan to begin with? Wuxian’s eyes narrowed in thought, then he had it. He caught Lan Zhan’s eyes again, a bolt of realization going through him like a shock.

“A-Xian? What is it?” Jiang Yanli asked, noticing his preoccupation.

“The old man strikes fast,” Wuxian said, smacking his fist into his opposing palm. “He wants to get them out of the way. He wants Qishan’s business interests for himself and thinks the Nies aren’t in a position to put up any resistance against him.”

Jiang Yanli put a hand on his arm. “A-Xian.” Her voice hardened. “What’s going on?”

“We should tell her,” Lan Zhan said, and Wuxian dropped his head with a sigh.

“All right, but let’s at least sit down with some tea,” Wuxian gave in.

They pulled up seats in the small sitting area in the bay window across from the living space, and Lan Zhan fetched them all tea from the kitchenette. It was a proper live-in suite; Wuxian knew he was supposed to be impressed by the luxury of it all, but being at the mercy of the Jins’ hospitality was an unpleasant crawl across his skin. He would feel better when they went back to the Gusu resort, which Lan Xichen had booked for them for the following week. Lan Zhan brought them a strong jasmine tea, and Wuxian sat with the cup cooling between his hands as he related the entire situation to Jiang Yanli, who nodded, gave him total concentration, and asked relevant questions.

“I see,” she said at last, cool as ice.

“I don’t think this is anything Jin Zixuan knows about,” Wuxian hastened to say.

“No, I would say not,” Jiang Yanli said, giving him a mildly reproachful look.

“Big Sis!” Wuxian exclaimed, clutching his heart. “I said I think he’s innocent! After all he’s done, well, clearly he’s the best of the lot.”

Jiang Yanli looked down, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “Yes, he definitely is.”

“Brother Xichen is going to stand with me for the Wens,” Wuxian continued, “and I think that means Brother Mingjue will as well, but—”

“Oh, A-Xian, it might be simpler than that,” Jiang Yanli said, lifting up a finger. “You’re coming to the opening host ceremonies, right?”

“Yes?” Wuxian replied with caution, trying to think what she was implying. He still had no idea where the Wens were being held, so it wasn’t like he could sneak out and free them while the Jin family was occupied.

A smile blossomed on her face, and once again Wuxian admired how pretty Jiang Yanli was when she let her vivaciousness shine through. His answering smile was pulled from him.

“The Jin family has a tradition,” she said, and leaned in with a conspiratorial expression. She crooked a finger. “Listen closely. You’ll only have one chance.”

When Jiang Yanli left the suite, distributing hugs between the two of them once more, Wuxian had a thread of hope in him, and it was also something he could do for himself without someone else’s support. Not that he begrudged Lan Zhan’s help, of course—or even that of Lan Xichen—but he preferred to stand on his own two feet. And if he couldn’t stand but could still crawl and do for himself, he’d do that too.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. He paused in the act of gathering the cups from their tea.

“Hmm?” Wuxian looked up from his introspection.

Lan Zhan hesitated. “Don’t tell Jiang Wanyin,” he said. “Not in advance.”

Wuxian pulled in a slow breath, nodding. “You’re right,” he said. “I hate to put him in a bad position, but it will actually be better if he doesn’t know. Then he can’t be accused of throwing his lot in with mine.” He turned a rueful smile on Lan Zhan.

“That’s not my implication,” Lan Zhan said with a slight frown.

“Oh.” Wuxian was a little surprised. He was able to intuit Lan Zhan’s thoughts very well, but this one had slipped past him. “What, then?”

“He might attempt intervention,” Lan Zhan explained himself.

Wuxian’s mouth rounded. He supposed it was true. It was also one way in which being married to Lan Zhan would benefit his plan, but even if both of them wanted that—and he knew they were on the same page of ‘not yet’—the likelihood of getting legally married before the hosting ceremony was nil. “Yeah, he…he’d feel forced to take responsibility for my actions, I guess.”

Lan Zhan took his hands and knelt before him. “What you want is only right, and just,” he said to him. “But you are right. Jiang Wanyin is in a disadvantaged position.”

“I just don’t want to put him in an even more difficult spot,” Wuxian whispered. “But I can’t do nothing.”

“I know,” Lan Zhan assured him. His gaze shifted, turned inward. “Wei Ying. You did the right thing.”

Wuxian wanted to cover his face. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Lan Zhan’s eyes were boring into his, and he couldn’t escape. “I…I did what anyone should have done.” He knew that Lan Zhan was talking not only about the strike on the supervisory offices but also about doubling back to spring the Wens in confinement out of that camp.

“But they wouldn’t have.” Lan Zhan’s amber-brown eyes remained steady on his. “That’s the difference.”

Wuxian could only grimace. He wanted to pull away; even Lan Zhan’s scrutiny was overwhelming. He was seen, and it was too intense. “We should get ready,” he said instead of trying to come up with a candid response. Lan Zhan already saw too much; he didn’t want to make him deal with Wuxian’s emotional mess.

Lan Zhan’s mouth flattened, but he rose to his feet, tugging Wuxian along with him.

They got ready, Lan Zhan brandishing suits from gods-knew-where. Wuxian had thought his remaining suits were stowed in his closet back at Lotus Pier and gave Lan Zhan narrow eyes. They were both custom tailored. He resolved not to ask whether Lan Zhan had made a suit for him to his measurements—he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Neither were the suits they had worn to the wedding. Lan Zhan’s was a sky blue with a crisp white shirt and a cloud-patterned tie in white and silver. It should have looked gaudy, but on him, it seemed the height of class.

Wuxian’s ought to have been in Jiang colors by rights, but it was a deep blue, almost indigo, and he supposed that indigo hue was a nod to his ties to the Jiang family. The blue signified his commitment to Lan Zhan, Wuxian thought, and he was satisfied. The dress shirt was a deep crimson that hearkened back to the colors of the robes that he’d worn during the summer he’d spent at the Cloud Recesses. He checked his appearance in the mirror as Lan Zhan affixed his red jade lotus hair stick. Wuxian met Lan Zhan’s eyes with a nod.

“We look good,” he said. He turned and Lan Zhan took his hand, kissing his knuckles.

Carp Tower had an immense conference hall on the first floor, the kind of place that corporations would book for conventions. It was done up in the Jin colors, impressive gold and white banners draping the front and sides of the hall. There was a white-draped dais at the front, but no table had been set up atop it as Wuxian had half expected.

The round tables had been set up as family tables. Wuxian recognized the purple and gold Jiang banner right away. There were tables for the Jins—the largest one, near the dais—the Lans, the Nies, even Yu, Ouyang, Yao, and Zhou. There was another he didn’t recognize. Wuxian stiffened.

He was being forced to make a choice.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, pained. Jiang Yanli was up front at the Jin table already, resplendent in a knee-length purple dress with an artful gold peony pattern. Jin Zixuan must have commissioned it for her.

Lan Zhan’s jaw was tight. “Jiang Wanyin cannot sit alone.”

“No, I know,” Wuxian said. He’d already recognized his dilemma. He would either be deprived of his emotional support Lan Zhan, or he would leave Jiang Wanyin alone at the Jiang table. It was worse because Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan hadn’t been released yet.

Wuxian couldn’t help but wonder if that had been as carefully arranged as everything else.

“We aren’t married yet,” Wuxian said, gritting his teeth under a smile and patting Lan Zhan’s hand. “I’ll see you soon.” He leaned in and kissed Lan Zhan’s cheek. He wasn’t that co-dependent, he told himself as they parted and he made his way to the table with the Jiang flag as its centerpiece.

“So good of you to come,” Wanyin greeted him with a sardonic undertone, but there was strain around his eyes and his mouth was all but flat, it was so taut.

Wuxian slid into the seat beside him and kicked his ankle. “Oh, shut up,” he said, trying to muster his usual carefree cheerfulness. “Has anyone given you shit yet?”

“Auntie Fangfang wanted to come sit with me, and Uncle Zhang said some passive-aggressive things about Dad not being here,” Wanyin said. He rubbed at a cheekbone. “You know, like nearly dying in a car accident isn’t good enough reason to still be recuperating after brain surgery and all.”

Wuxian scoffed. “I’m sure he said he’d be on his feet no more than two weeks later if it had been him.”

“Exactly.” Wanyin barely smiled.

Wuxian scanned the remaining tables. Whoever had drawn up the seating chart had done their best to disadvantage everyone but the Jins, and he had to somewhat admire the brain behind it. He didn’t think Jin Zixun was smart enough or politically savvy enough to have made arrangements to this level of detail, nor did he think Jin Guangshan was in a position to handle it. At the Jin table, Jin Guangshan was seated in a wheelchair instead of a banquet hall chair, and he looked decrepit and sallow. His wife was next to him looking sour, and Jin Zixuan was on his other side, visible only from the back, a splendid gold peony hairpiece keeping his hair up.

Old man Yao was the table nearest to their right, and he was in attendance with some of his family and household, none of whom Wuxian remembered. Beyond them was the Nie table, situated closer to the dais, and between Nie and Yao was the Ouyang table. The Lan family was past Ouyang, and Yu was beside Nie, closer to the dais. There was another table beside Lan that Wuxian didn’t recognize, and he frowned at their white and silver banner. He knew all the gentry devices, or so he’d thought. That table was flanked by the Zhou family device beyond it.

All the allied families had been broken up from one another by lesser gentry that weren’t the greatest of neighbors, Wuxian noted, with the exception of Jiang, who had been kept close by. He interpreted that as the hand behind the seating chart seeking to keep a tight leash on Jiang Wanyin after having been out in the field with Lan and Nie for so long.

Jin Zixun rose from the Jin table and made his way to the dais, drawing the eye of all present. There was a microphone in the center, and he spent a moment fumbling into it, blowing and tapping it and setting off a squeal of feedback that made everyone in the hall wince and cover their ears.

“Greetings,” Jin Zixun said, and cleared his throat. He was a terrible emcee, Wuxian thought, wondering why Jin Zixuan had let him take the lead. “As an opening host ceremony, we thought to engage in a friendly bout of archery amongst the families for those willing to participate.”

Wuxian’s brows rose, and he stared at Yanli’s smiling profile.

That was why Jin Zixuan wasn’t serving as emcee, and that was why Yanli had advised him to ask for the boon wagered against his martial prowess at the opening ceremony.

“Archery, really,” Wanyin muttered beside him, low and derisive.

Wuxian clapped his arm. “I’ve got this,” he said.

Wanyin sat up straighter with a nod. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Jin Zixuan took the stage as the white curtain framing the dais rose, revealing a deep-set stage with target stands placed on the far side. They stood against a backdrop that looked as though it was a traditional stage backdrop of a mountain slope.

“My cousin Jin Zixuan will set the standard,” Jin Zixun said with obvious pride.

Jin Zixuan gave a proud nod, taking a bow from a rack that stood beside the stage. He did a test draw before fitting an arrow, then took aim and went along the targets, placing an arrow neatly within or at the edge of each bull’s eye. One of them was dead center. Once he turned to face the audience, his face glowed with accomplishment, but he had eyes only for the Jin table.

For Yanli, Wuxian realized. He huffed softly. He might still not like the guy on a personal basis, exactly, but he couldn’t fault his valor or his devotion to Jiang Yanli.

“He’s good,” Wanyin said, low and begrudging.

Wuxian shot to his feet, clapping his shoulder. “I’m better,” he responded in a smug undertone.

Jin Zixun returned to the microphone. “We would like to open it up to the families—oh.” His voice fell flat.

Wuxian sent his hand up into the air. “I would like a turn!”

Even from a distance, he could see Jin Zixun’s nostrils flare and his jaw set. “Very well. Jiang Wuxian will take the stage.”

Wuxian beamed at him and headed for the stage—by way of the Lan table, first. He took his jacket off on the way, entrusting it to Lan Zhan’s care. “Lan Zhan,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice low, knowing some would be confused if they only knew him as ‘Wangji.’ “May I borrow your tie?”

Lan Zhan’s brow creased faintly, but he reached up to his throat, un-knotting his tie with a few deft movements of his shapely fingers. He passed it over, a question in his eyes.

Wuxian bent to press a kiss to his temple. “You’ll see,” he said. The kiss was for luck.

He took every other step on his way up the stage, making a beeline not for the rack of bows but straight for the microphone. “A word, please,” he said, taking the microphone stand in hand and blocking Jin Zixun with his elbow when the man tried to intercept him.

All eyes were upon him, alight with curiosity.

Wuxian summoned up a bright smile he didn’t feel. “Gracious Lanling Jin, thank you for having us. This is a fantastic opportunity, and before I shoot, I’d like to request a boon, if I might.”

Several people in the audience straightened, and at the Jin table, Jin Guangshan lifted his head, appearing somewhat more alert.

“A boon?” Jin Zixun asked scornfully. “What are your terms? Jin Zixuan hit the center of all his targets; how could you possibly better that?”

Wuxian’s grin widened. “I’m glad you asked!” He ignored Jin Zixun at his elbow and spoke right into the microphone. “I’ll hit all five targets dead center”—he had the audience’s attention now— “at the same time. While blindfolded.”

Jin Zixun gave a loud scoff and wrestled the microphone away from him. “You are welcome to make a fool of yourself.”

Wuxian loomed close enough to speak into the microphone’s pickup range. “Then if I succeed, Jin will grant my boon?”

In the audience, Jin Guangshan was laughing; it was a dreadful scrape of sound. “If he makes that shot, he can have what he likes, short of any financial assets.”

“Oh, I don’t need those,” Wuxian demurred. He strode over to select a bow. He tested the draw on all of them before choosing the best for his arm strength and range, selected five arrows, and checked to make sure the range had been cleared. Someone, probably one of Jins’ household staff, had cleared the targets of Jin Zixuan’s arrows.

He balanced the bow and arrows between his thighs as he took Lan Zhan’s tie and secured it around his eyes, knotting it behind his head and doing a slow turn to face the audience. A few scattered gasps and whispers reached his ears. He brought the bow up and fitted the five arrows to the string, and a slow smile warmed him as he thought of Lan Zhan’s unflinching gaze in the audience. It was the only regard he cared about right then.

Wuxian spun and oriented himself, visualizing the targets in his mind’s eye, drawing back with the bow on its side, and holding his breath until his positioning lined up with his recollection of the targets. He steadied himself, began to breathe out, and loosed his shot.

He held his breath again, until he heard the five simultaneous thunks.

There was a hushed beat of silence. Wuxian turned, bow in hand, his eyes still bound with Lan Zhan’s tie.

Thunderous applause filled the convention room in the next heartbeat, and Wuxian’s grin burst forth again. He unbound his eyes, holding Lan Zhan’s tie in his hand, and sized up the room. Even families that held no love for the Jiangs—the Yao family in particular—were clapping hard, their faces impressed. Lan Zhan’s jade-smooth countenance was a beacon of proud certainty. The Yu table was hooting and cheering—half of them loved him, just to spite Yu Ziyuan—and Wanyin was shaking his head but fighting a grin. Wuxian glanced over his shoulder, and his grin widened. He had, of course, gotten every single bull’s eye.

It was a shame the Qishan Wen competition would not be held next year, the thought flitted through his mind, and that strengthened his resolve. He strode back to the microphone, locking eyes with Jin Guangshan.

“A boon, if you will, Master Jin,” Wuxian said directly to Jin Guangshan.

The man drew himself up but nodded. “Let’s hear it.” His voice was raspy.

“I would like the remaining Wens to be freed from wherever they’ve been imprisoned,” Wuxian stated loud and clear. “They never took Wen Ruohan’s side. They were in hiding from him, and he imprisoned them in camps before that round of drone strikes against the supervisory offices allowed them to get freed. I personally know several of them and can vouch for them.”

He stepped back, doing his best not to strangle Lan Zhan’s fine white and blue tie in his fist.

Jin Guangshan’s face filled with brick-red color.

“What…what kind of a boon is that?” Jin Zixun sputtered beside him, reaching to grab the mic.

Nie Mingjue stood at his own table, and his voice rang out clear among the assembled. “It is a righteous boon,” he asserted. “Jiang Wuxian could have asked for something for his personal gain, but he seeks the safety of those in danger of being unjustly imprisoned for no crime worse than their name.”

Wuxian bowed his head and left the stage as the squabbling began. Old Man Yao spoke out first, irritably questioning whether the remaining Wens could be considered blameless. Lan Xichen spoke up in calm, measured tones, throwing in his support.

He stopped by the Lan table first, returning Lan Zhan’s tie to him. Lan Zhan reached up to grip his shirt collar and draw him down—not for a kiss, as Wuxian half expected, but to murmur into his ear.

“You did it perfectly,” Lan Zhan said into the shell of his ear, then nipped Wuxian’s earlobe before letting him go.

Wuxian straightened, his neck hot and his ears probably going scarlet. He wanted to clap a hand to his ear, but that would make him way too obvious.

Lan Zhan looked up at him. “Until later.” There was a promise in his eyes.

Wuxian’s smile spread slow and sure over his face. Lan Zhan might as well have been the only person in the room. “I’ll take you up on that.”

He returned to the Jiang table, keeping his suit jacket across his lap.

The archery targets remained abandoned as the room dissolved into the chaos of debate. Wuxian sat back, hung an arm over his chair, and managed to keep his grin in check as Lan Xichen made good on his word, speaking up in favor—and Wuxian had given him a solid foundation, the cause to press Jin Guangshan to make good on his word and honor the boon he’d granted.

“Wuxian, what the hell?” Wanyin hissed in his ear.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wuxian said, eyeing him. “Brother Xichen will take it the rest of the way. I didn’t want you to be put on the spot.”

“You didn’t think it might be worse if I didn’t know ahead of time?” Wanyin questioned, but he sat back and shook his head. “You shouldn’t always do everything on your own, you know. I…you know you’ve got more trustworthy people in your life than just Lan Wangji? Right?” He looked angry, but Wuxian could see the anguish in his eyes.

Wuxian blinked. “Um,” he said. It wasn’t a denial but Wanyin’s face shuttered.

“Whatever.”

Wuxian grimaced. He was going to have to follow up on that later. He and Wanyin were overdue for a one on one. Maybe they would actually talk to each other for a change of pace instead of just riling each other up. Still, he hadn’t meant it to insult Wanyin. He’d wanted to protect him—and apparently that had backfired.

The discussions continued around them, and Wuxian sat back and drank tea, wishing the tables had been served with some wine instead. He was wound up with victorious energy and nothing to do with it.

Lan Xichen offered to re-settle the Wens back to Gusu, promising that he would keep an eye on them. Nie Mingjue spoke up in support, and Jin Guangshan pounced, asking if he were willing to exchange the services of his head of household in order for him to feel comfortable honoring the boon.

“Meng…Meng Yao?” Nie Mingjue faltered, looking at his dimpled-smiling head of household, whose head was lowered demurely.

“I see great value in making room in my household for the one who foiled Wen Ruohan’s final plans,” Jin Guangshan declared grandly. “I would acknowledge him as one of my own sons.”

A gasp ricocheted from the Jin table; Wuxian’s head whipped around to see Madam Jin sagging against Jin Zixuan.

“If Meng Yao desires it,” Nie Mingjue said. His jaw was hard. “I would not gainsay his choice.”

Meng Yao dipped his head, looking humble and pleased.

Wuxian kept an eye on him as he got up and moved from the Nie table to the Jins.

Jin Guangshan gave a magnanimous gesture. “Then I see no need to deny granting the boon, so long as Master Lan will take responsibility for the Wens’…welfare.”

“I will take responsibility,” Lan Xichen said, loud and clear.

Wuxian bit his lip and kept his eye on Meng Yao, who was looking especially pleased even as he kept his head low.

“The next matter I would like to address—unless anyone else would like to shoot? Were we done shooting?” Jin Guangshan asked, looking around the room.

No one spoke up to volunteer. Only Lan Wangji would have the skill to follow that incredible shot, and he lacked the inclination.

Jin Zixun nodded and took the microphone in hand. He cleared his throat. “My uncle would like for us to work together to uncover the identity of the Yiling Laozu,” he said. “I’m sure we can all agree such a rogue element can only pose a danger to the gentry families, so long as they remain unknown to us.”

Wuxian kept calm disinterest fixed on his face. One problem stricken down, only for another to take its place. He supposed this would be his life from now on: a series of endless issues to troubleshoot, some cascading from the consequences of his own best intentions.

He looked across the conference room and locked eyes with Lan Zhan. I won’t do it alone, he wanted to promise. The consequences of his actions had put him in this corner, but he wouldn’t try to rely solely on himself to get out of it.

Wanyin touched his elbow. His face was stern with resolve, and Wuxian gave him a little nod. “We’ve got your back,” Wanyin said, so low there was no chance anyone but Wuxian could hear.

“I know,” Wuxian whispered. “Thanks, didi.”

Wanyin huffed but didn’t deny it.

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier unfolded before them as the car made its way up the drive, and Wangji tightened his arm around Wei Ying as his love made a soft noise beside him upon seeing the view.

Once again, they were on the move—this time making a weekend stop over at Lotus Pier at Jiang Wanyin’s invitation. Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan would be joining them as well, to welcome Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan home after their long stint at rehabilitation. It was stretching Wangji’s comfort levels with travel and new places, but Wei Ying had been so excited at the prospect of a brief stint at his childhood home before they returned to the Biling Lake resort that Wangji was unable to deny him. Wei Ying too deserved the comfort of familiar surroundings to reassure himself that their entire world had not been irrevocably altered.

Wangji had ensured that they stopped at a luxury store before leaving Lanling, at least, so that he would not be visiting empty-handed. Wei Ying had appeared impatient for them to reach Yunmeng but hadn’t even tried to suggest that they could show up without Wangji bringing a gift, even if Jiang Wanyin had complained it was unnecessary.

The discussions at Carp Tower had only lasted a couple of days. Certain matters had been postponed; by general accord, no one would be carving up Qishan territory any time soon. Lan Xichen had pledged to see if any of the remaining Wens were interested in taking charge, though privately Wangji suspected not. If any of Wen Qing’s relations had been interested in that kind of power, they would have been siding with Wen Ruohan to begin with. Moling Su had tried to volunteer to install themselves as regent, but both Nie Mingjue and Yu Zhangwei of Meishan had spoken out against that.

Both Wangji and his brother were wary of Moling Su, not a true gentry branch but one seeking to elevate themselves to that status. It seemed he and Lan Xichen weren’t the only ones of that mind.

The remaining Wens had been freed and sent on their way to Gusu before the discussions had concluded—something Lan Xichen had been adamant on seeing to before anyone left. Wangji had hovered over Wei Ying’s shoulder as he conference called Wen Ning to ensure their welfare, and it had been a relief to see the young man’s solemn face. Wen Ning had looked exhausted and pale but sound.

“Ahh, it’s too bad it’s the wrong season for lotus pods,” Wei Ying commented, nestling his head on Wangji’s shoulder. “We can still go out on the lake, though. It’s such an amazing sight to be out on the water at sunset.”

“You’ll want to be careful going on the water with this one,” Jiang Wanyin put in from the front seat. “He’s just as likely to lose an oar and set himself adrift until well after dark.”

Wei Ying stretched an arm out and smacked the back of his brother’s head. “That was one time,” he protested. “Besides, don’t you think Lan Zhan will take better charge of the oars than I would?”

“Hm, that’s true.”

Wangji settled back with Wei Ying against him and simply enjoyed the view.

The car dropped them off in a circle driveway that pulled up in front of a wooden gate surrounded by lush greenery. Wangji fetched the crate of tangerines from the trunk but not their luggage; Wanyin assured him all their things would be brought to the house.

Wei Ying hooked his arm through one of Wangji’s at the elbow and guided him up to the gate.

Beyond it, a stunning compound spread out before them, embraced by the sky and the lake beyond it. Wangji stood fixed on the spot for a few heartbeats, caught up in admiration. Wei Ying waited with patience beside him.

“See? Isn’t it beautiful?” Wei Ying murmured, and Wangji understood why Wei Ying had asked him repeatedly to come visit, beyond wanting his presence.

“It is,” Wangji murmured. Lotus Pier was every bit as striking as the Cloud Recesses, though in a very different way. That brought a pang to Wangji’s heart. He was glad that Uncle would begin overseeing reconstruction, but who knew how long it would be until it was complete? He doubted his brother would want to be married before the grounds were whole once more.

They headed in, and there was a brief scuffle beyond the door after they swapped shoes for house slippers as Wei Ying tried to direct him one way and Jiang Wanyin gestured in a different direction.

“Look, if you think Lan Zhan and I are rooming separately—” Wei Ying began in a heated tone.

Jiang Wanyin appeared to be gritting his teeth so hard it was probably putting his jaw in danger. “Heaven strike me down,” he said tightly. “No, I’m not under any false impression that putting you in different rooms would keep you apart either, although I have no doubt Mom would try it. So don’t let her hear about your arrangements.”

Wei Ying opened his mouth, lifted a finger, and shut his mouth with care.

“I was only trying to show Lan Wangji where he can leave the tangerines, unless you want to take the crate with you as well as him?”

Before they moved another step, Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan came through the gate as well, hand in hand. Jiang Yanli’s face lit up when she saw them, and she hurried over, pulling her husband along at her pace, though he let himself be drawn with a mild, accommodating expression.

“Oh, tangerines!” Jiang Yanli gushed. “What an excellent gift, Lan Wangji. Baba will enjoy peeling these.”

“How are they?” Wei Ying demanded.

“They’re on their way, you’ll see soon enough,” Jiang Yanli said with a wide smile. “We’ll gather for dinner in a couple of hours. Until then, settle in, everyone—I don’t want anyone to bother them when the aides are making sure they’re comfortable.”

Wei Ying nodded, tugging again on Wangji’s arm. “Did you want us to leave the tangerines in the Lakeview Room, Wanyin?”

“Us,” Wanyin repeated in a sarcastic tone. “Like you had anything to do with the procurement. Yeah, I figure Mom will want to have tea in the Lakeview Hall later.”

Wangji contemplated that as Wei Ying guided them along a walkway in the opposite direction from where he’d initially tried to take him. He was not looking forward to meeting Yu Ziyuan again, though she had been coolly polite on the occasions they had met in Singapore.

They left the crate of tangerines in the Lakeview Room, which as advertised had an absolutely gorgeous panoramic view of the lake beyond the compound. After a pause to admire the view, Wei Ying hustled him through the wide, open layout of Lotus Pier to the opposite side. His quarters turned out to be a large, well-appointed room with enormous windows shuttered by wooden blinds, and overall there was a spare, attractive décor style.

Wangji’s brows rose. He was impressed.

“Ah, it looks so bare,” Wei Ying said mournfully. “It looks like a monk is living here now that I’m gone. Someone must have been through and tidied up after I left for college.” He clutched at Wangji’s arm.

Wangji’s eye fell on the bed, a large dark wooden frame with a plush green mattress pushed up against the low wall beneath one huge window. He wondered if it would be too forward of him to tug Wei Ying over to the bed.

Jiang Yanli had promised them a couple of uninterrupted hours, after all.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, turning to him and putting his hands to Wangji’s hips with an unusually shy look. “I know you probably just want to rest and hang out and you’re probably at your limit after everywhere we’ve been and everything we’ve done over the past few days…” He trailed off and cocked his head to one side, buttoning his lip with his teeth, eyes inquisitive.

Wangji was especially weak to that face. “Wei Ying,” he said, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him closer. “I always want you. There is no scenario where I would say ‘no’ to intimacy with you.”

Wei Ying’s eyes went wide. “You really are perfect for me.” His eyes filled, and Wangji leaned in, cupping his face and pressing kisses to the outside corners of his eyes, taking his tears as Wei Ying hugged him.

“I love you, I love you,” Wei Ying chanted. He raised his face to Wangji’s kiss. At some point, he had grown another centimeter or so, putting them only two centimeters apart. His hands curved over Wangji’s waist, and he nuzzled the corner of his mouth. “What did I do in another life to be worthy of you?”

Wangji kissed him again. “Wei Ying.” He centered himself, giving his attention to the gravity of the moment. He needed to make sure that, without a doubt, Wei Ying heard and understood. “You are good. You are bright, and kind, and self-sacrificing.”

Wei Ying’s mouth dropped open. Before he could argue, Wangji pressed onward.

“You have no less than you deserve,” Wangji said, giving him a fierce look. “Understand that, and believe.”

Wei Ying’s eyes filled with tears again. He made a small noise, and Wangji gathered him even more closely into his arms. Wei Ying buried his face against his neck and pulled in a long, shuddering exhalation.

Wangji stroked his hair. “Wei Ying is good,” he repeated quietly, “and I love you.”

Wei Ying hiccupped and put a fist against his ribs, but he laughed against Wangji’s neck and kissed him there. “I love you too,” he said. “Just. Keep saying it, and I’ll believe it too.”

“I’ll keep saying it,” Wangji said equably.

Wei Ying chuckled again. He drew his face out of Wangji’s neck and met his unflinching gaze. “Now that you’ve made me laugh, cry, and said such incredibly romantic things to me, you’re legally obligated to take me to bed.”

“Is that so?” Wangji brought his hand up and traced the line of Wei Ying’s jaw with his thumb.

“Mm-hmm.” Wei Ying gave him earnest eyes. He squeaked as Wangji picked him up and carried him bridal-style over to the wide, low bed beside the window and curved one hand around his neck. “Aiyoh, am I dreaming? This has to be a dream come true.”

Wangji deposited him with care onto the bed and climbed on beside him, toeing off the house slippers he had donned past the archway of the front gate. He settled half-beside, half-atop Wei Ying, who smiled up at him with equal parts flirtatiousness and shy disbelief.

“This is no dream,” Wangji assured him, and leaned in for a kiss.

Wei Ying opened to it like a flower drinking in the sun. Wangji stroked along his side from ribs to waist, savoring the kiss, and the notion that they had nowhere to be. When they paused and Wangji lifted up to tug his shirt over his head, Wei Ying beamed at him.

“You’re in my bed,” he said softly. His face was alight.

Wangji nodded and dipped in for another kiss. The next time they separated, Wei Ying wriggled out of his shirt with small, eager noises and drew Wangji back down onto him for more kisses.

They had been spending plenty of time on kissing lately, even when there was no goal or leisure for anything beyond that. Wangji loved kissing. Before Wei Ying, he had never so much as imagined pressing his lips to another person’s, much less considered touching tongues. Such a thing was an intimacy he hadn’t seen a need for until he’d found the one who made his heart stir. He kissed Wei Ying with lips, nudged his lips apart, slipped his tongue inside and they touched tongues, seeking. It deepened, and Wei Ying tugged at him until Wangji shifted his weight to lie mostly atop him.

Wei Ying worked his pants open with an impatient hand and caressed his lower back on down to his ass, settling his hands there. Wangji gave a low groan into the kiss. He raised his head. “What would you like?” Wangji murmured.

Wei Ying’s face crinkled up into a smile again. “You’re in my bed,” he marveled again. “You have no idea how many times I imagined this. I can’t believe you’re here.” He cupped Wangji’s face in his hands and kissed his lips.

“What did you imagine?” Wangji pressed another kiss on him in turn. He was ready to promise Wei Ying whatever his heart desired. Wei Ying had been just as inexperienced as he had been, when they’d first gotten together—Wangji pictured Wei Ying lying in this very bed imagining lying side by side, trading kisses, maybe rubbing up against one another through thin sleeping pants or even bared to one another. He might have gotten as bold as fantasizing hand jobs. A shiver of desire frissoned through Wangji as he recalled his own fantasy of Wei Ying taking him in his mouth in his own bed, which he’d turned into reality for them both.

His cock was hard against Wei Ying’s hip when Wei Ying’s eyes fluttered and he replied, “You under me, as I sit on your cock and ride it for as long as I can, until I move until you can’t stand it anymore and roll me over and fuck me until we come so hard we can barely breathe.”

Wangji looked down on him and blinked. That was a great deal more explicit and detailed than he’d been expecting, and he was definitely up for it.

Wei Ying’s expression altered into chagrin. “Unless you wanted something else—”

Wangji interrupted him with a kiss. Then another. He parted Wei Ying’s lips with a third, thorough kiss before shifting up. “Anything Wei Ying wants,” he said with emphasis. There was no reason for Wei Ying to feel self-conscious about any of his desires.

His thought drifted back, briefly, to the rough sex they’d had in the resort hotel room. They had both enjoyed it, Wangji knew, and he wanted to explore that further…but he thought that could wait until they were settled back to a more routine lifestyle.

“Hmm, I think Lan Zhan wants me like that,” Wei Ying drawled when their lips parted.

Wangji nodded, not even bothering to disguise his eagerness. “Lube?”

“Are you going to open me up?” Wei Ying asked, giving him a coquettish look. He shifted underneath him, reaching for the space between the mattress and the bedframe and coming up with a partly rolled-up tube.

“Yes,” Wangji replied, taking it from him. He crooked a very particular look at Wei Ying. If Wei Ying was going to ride him for as long as he suspected, they were not going to skimp on the prep or the lube.

Wei Ying broke into a sunny smile and stretched up to kiss him one more time before moving off to the side, finessing his pants off and kicking them to the foot of the bed. Wangji was more methodical, setting the lube to one side of a pillow and sitting up, stripping off pants that he left folded over the baseboard, tucking his socks into the house slippers on the floor, and twisting around to take Wei Ying’s socks off too. Wei Ying giggled at him as Wangji bent to kiss one ankle, but it trailed off into breathy noises as Wangji’s hands went to his underwear and skimmed those down over his long legs.

“Oh,” Wei Ying said, breathless and strained. “Yes, please. On my back, or…?”

“Roll over,” Wangji decided, because he would see plenty of Wei Ying’s beautiful face when he was astride him, and it would be quicker and easier to finger him open if Wei Ying was on his stomach.

Wei Ying flipped over at once, reaching back helpfully to spread a cheek open, and Wangji’s breath caught at the sight. To his eyes, Wei Ying’s body was the most beautiful and never failed to impress him as such every time they were naked together. He stroked the other cheek, running a thumb up the soft, delicate-seeming skin, already warm though they had barely done anything.

Wangji reached for the lube and coated two fingers, knowing Wei Ying wouldn’t need only one for very long. He pressed in with no hesitation and savored the little moan Wei Ying gave him in response.

He worked him open for one finger as fast as expected and shifted to working two into him. Two was a little bit more of a stretch, but Wei Ying made wanton, eager noises when Wangji was able to slide them both inside.

“Love it…ah…when you finger me,” Wei Ying uttered, moving his hips in small circles as Wangji stroked inside of him. “I could do just this and be happy.”

Wangji bent and kissed Wei Ying’s nearest rear cheek, finger-fucking him more deeply to reward him for those words. He enjoyed fingering Wei Ying just as much, seeing how much he liked it, how responsive he was when Wangji found the places that lit him up from the inside. He especially treasured the times when they had the space and the privacy to do as much as they both wanted, nothing rushed. He wished he always had the time to take Wei Ying apart under his hands, let alone more.

He spent more time on two fingers than Wei Ying probably wanted, pushing them in and out until Wei Ying whined and shoved back on him but did not ask with words for more. It gave Wangji a sense of satisfaction, that he could pull this kind of reaction from his love but also that Wei Ying was so into it he let him continue at his own pace.

Finally, Wangji rewarded his uncharacteristic patience by dribbling a line of lube along his ring finger and inserting it alongside the other two. Perversely, he didn’t need to be as careful with the third as the second, and Wei Ying’s hole swallowed them up. Wangji gave vent to a low groan at the sight and lowered his head, biting the soft round of Wei Ying’s ass.

“Ahh!” Wei Ying jolted underneath him. “Do that again.”

Instinctively, Wangji understood he meant the bite, rather than the fingers. He worked them in slowly and complied, setting his teeth deliberately to the skin and biting down, sucking a mark into the pliant skin. Wei Ying shuddered under him.

“I’m so hard, ahh, I’m so hard, Lan Zhan; I could come right now.”

“You can come,” Wangji said, magnanimous. He was certain Wei Ying would ride him for long enough he could fuck him to a second, spectacular climax.

Wei Ying whimpered. Wangji kissed his rear and moved his fingers faster, more demanding. He bit down on the suck-mark he’d already created and reached down under his hip to pet his cock. Wei Ying moaned and gasped out something wordless, rutting against the bed as Wangji found his prostate and dragged his middle finger over it repeatedly.

With a wail, Wei Ying came in his hand, his hips rolling. He humped Wangji’s hand a few times before slumping, craning his head until he could regard Wangji with a flushed, satisfied face.

“Oh. Oh, that was good,” Wei Ying declared. Wangji withdrew his hand and petted his hip. He’d have to remember not to situate himself in the wet spot later when Wei Ying straddled him.

He kept fingering him open, though he backed off the prostate while Wei Ying came down from his orgasm. He was sure Wei Ying’s scenario hadn’t included this level of detailed prep—given it had been his mindset while he was still a virgin, he’d probably just imagined sitting in his lap rocking away to his heart’s content without considering the actual mechanics of penetration. But Wangji was big, and he wanted to make sure Wei Ying was comfortable before he seated himself.

They had been up to four fingers before, and Wangji worked him open to that point with patience and more lube until at last Wei Ying squirmed under him and reached back for his wrist.

“I want to sit on it,” Wei Ying demanded. “Lan Zhan. Please?”

“Of course,” Wangji murmured.

He had to get up and find a cloth to wipe his hand off, first, and returned with that and a dampened cloth, tipping Wei Ying onto his side to swipe at the messiest of the come that was drying across his belly. Wei Ying stole a kiss before patting the bed. He’d already propped a pillow for Wangji against the headboard. Wangji gave him a small kiss in exchange before seating himself.

He hadn’t touched his cock, and he didn’t need to. It had already swelled to full length while prepping Wei Ying and stroking him to his first orgasm. He smeared a palmful of lube over it before wiping his hand off again and settled into a seated position, which put his legs near to dangling across the width of the bed. It would be fine; he’d draw his knees up once Wei Ying was comfortable.

Wei Ying braced himself with a hand on his shoulder, his eyes bright with eagerness and perhaps a hint of mischief as he sank down toward Wangji’s thighs. “We don’t do it like this nearly often enough, Lan Zhan,” he commented.

“Mn,” Wangji agreed. “We can add it to the rotation.”

Wei Ying smirked. “The rotation—I like that.” The mirth smoothed away as he reached back to take the head of Wangji’s dick and guide it into the cleft of his ass. He got the head snug against his hole and sat down, letting his weight push Wangji’s cock into his body.

They both groaned as gravity joined them together. Wei Ying remained where he was for a moment, and Wangji stroked his waist and back, sensing the trembling in his thighs.

“So big,” Wei Ying gritted. “I always forget—like it’s not obvious, because I can see it—how big you are.”

Wangji stretched forth and gave his lip a little nip. Wei Ying startled, eyes flying open, but he only gasped and sat up by a short increment before settling back down. It barely moved Wangji’s dick inside him, but still felt good. Wei Ying was tight as usual around him. He wasn’t going to caution him to be careful; he was in control of the depth.

Wei Ying was sweating, and had probably been sweating since Wangji had gotten two fingers inside him. Wangji wanted to lick it off his entire body. He settled for stroking a hand over his sweat-sheened skin, passing it back and forth. He brought his hand up to Wei Ying’s soul mark, fingers dragging lightly across the characters before going higher, delicately hovering over the still painful-looking welt of the sunburst burn scar.

With a shudder, Wei Ying reached up to cover Wangji’s hand with his own, not to push him away but to hold him there. He braced himself with his other hand on Wangji’s shoulder and tensed his thighs, beginning to lift up just enough to drop back down again on his cock.

It was Wangji’s turn to shudder. Wei Ying was tight and hot around him, sheer perfection, and his movements dragged Wangji out and drew him back inside fast and hard. The last time they had done this, Wangji hadn’t lasted nearly as long as he’d wanted to.

Wei Ying rode him, his face and chest flushed, pausing every so often to lean in and work his lips open for a brief but thorough kiss. He’d lick along his bottom lip and cup his face and start up all over again, rocking steadily but with no urgency like he wanted to draw it out forever.

He was pacing himself; he wanted to make it last.

Wangji was only too happy to let him control the pace as Wei Ying rolled his hips and pressed his cock deep, licking his lips every so often. Wangji sat back and kept his hands settled at his waist, stroking down every so often to grip at a rear cheek. He was big enough they didn’t have to worry about him slipping out as Wei Ying rose and fell, leveraging his position and working his thighs to bounce on him until they were both exclaiming, breath coming faster. He backed off that to return to the slower, deep rolls of his hips and Wangji wanted to pull him close and kiss him, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt his rhythm.

“So good…Lan Zhan, you’re so good…” Wei Ying crooned, eyes half closed as he worked Wangji’s dick inside of him with subtle but demanding movements. He sped up a little, his breath keeping pace. Sweat shone along his temples, and a bead slid down the side of his neck.

“Wei Ying,” Wangji said. He flexed his fingers on Wei Ying’s waist and Wei Ying’s eyes opened fully. He started to bounce again, releasing little ‘ah, ah, ah’ noises, and the thread of Wangji’s restraint snapped.

He tightened his grip, holding onto Wei Ying and rolling him in bed until Wei Ying was beneath him, hair fanning out across the bedcovers, eyes startled wide and his legs twining over the small of his back. Wangji surged into him once, twice, fucking into him as deeply as he could go before settling into a faster, more shallow rhythm. Wei Ying arched up under him, his flush spreading down his neck along his collarbones.

“Lan Zhan!” he exclaimed, and Wangji couldn’t help but groan.

He set a faster pace than Wei Ying had, their bodies meeting with the smack of his urgency. Wei Ying began to moan continuously, which let Wangji know that he was getting close. He pushed up into Wangji’s thrusts, tightening down on him, and reached between them to stroke his cock.

Wangji kept himself braced over him with one hand, his other curving down past Wei Ying’s hip to seize his ass in a bruising grip. He fucked into him hard, and Wei Ying’s voice crackled into incoherence, his hand a blur against Wangji’s stomach. He relaxed, went boneless, his legs splaying outward to either side of Wangji.

He was so close, and he didn’t want to keep pumping into Wei Ying. They had been going for a while, and he was getting a little worried about chafing since they hadn’t reapplied any lube. He pressed down for a brief, biting kiss and withdrew, making Wei Ying whine and grab and his arms and demand for him to put it back in. Wangji ignored him, stroking his cock and gazing down at the satiated sprawl of Wei Ying on the bed below him.

With a cry, Wangji stiffened and began to come, aiming his release between Wei Ying’s thighs, spurt after spurt landing on his belly and spent cock. Wei Ying squirmed under him, stuck his tongue out, but continued to look so satisfied Wangji was sure he didn’t actually mind.

“Are you marking me with your come?” Wei Ying asked, sounding incredulous, but failing to look anything but delighted.

Wangji settled down beside him and was drawn into a sweaty half-embrace. He dropped a possessive hand onto Wei Ying’s belly and rubbed at the sticky result of their passion, mingled together on Wei Ying’s skin. “What if I am?”

Wei Ying chuckled near his ear. “I guess I think it’s hot,” he admitted. He kissed his jaw. “For now. It’s gonna be real gross in a few minutes.”

Wangji barely smirked. “I’ll clean it up before then.” As long as he didn’t fall asleep, he’d make sure to take care of it.

Wei Ying gave a long, contented sigh and cuddled up against him. “That was so good. Even better than I was dreaming. Think I’ll feel it for days.”

Somehow Wangji stopped himself from saying ‘good,’ though he did pause that thought and examine it. There was something very possessive in finding satisfaction with the notion Wei Ying would retain the bodily reminder of their lovemaking. He didn’t think it was anything troubling, but it was worth noting. He liked leaving love bites on Wei Ying as well, and there had been no complaints there.

He checked Wei Ying’s neck and pressed his finger against a new one that he must have created while they were making out.

“You might want to wear concealer,” Wangji murmured, pushing his finger in a little harder.

Wei Ying curled closer against him. “I don’t want to, but I will. Dinner with the parents.”

“Mn.” Wangji took a lock of hair between his fingers and toyed with it. He was fine with seeing Jiang Fengmian again, and hoped that he was recovering well, but he had reservations about seeing Yu Ziyuan. Even the little that Wei Ying had managed to relate about their hospital encounter had been too much for Wangji to forgive, and he knew Wei Ying had phrased everything with restrained care.

“We should shower,” Wei Ying said out of the blue, pushing himself up onto an elbow.

Wangji raised a brow.

“Together,” Wei Ying clarified. “I have an en-suite, and we have plenty of time.”

Both of Wangji’s brows raised. “Well, in that case…”

They showered together. They took their time. By the point they emerged at last, they were both water-wrinkled, but Wangji toweled off a Wei Ying who was all but glowing with satisfaction.

“There’s just no substitute for a good shower,” Wei Ying commented as he bustled around his room, picking out a traditional set of robes from a deep chest of drawers. He looked up from the chest with a frown. “Lan Zhan, sorry, did you want to borrow some robes? Normally we wear traditional robes at home too, but especially for Uncle and Yu Ziyuan’s return.”

Wangji noted that Wei Ying never called her ‘aunt’ anymore and had no intention of asking for the cause behind that shift. “I’ve brought a set,” he replied. He had thought they might wear them at Lanling Jin, but Western-style suits had been the trend for some reason.

Wei Ying’s eyes lit up. “Lan Zhan. You look so sexy in your robes I don’t know how I’m going to keep my hands off you.”

“Don’t,” Wangji replied, mouth quirking ever so slightly. “But be discreet.”

Wei Ying sighed and bit his lip. “I suppose I will have to control myself.”

They met in the Lakeview Room close to sunset after walking through most of the compound arm in arm for a quick, impromptu tour. “I’ll show you more of the grounds later,” Wei Ying told him. “And don’t listen to Wanyin and his lies; you’ll be safe with me on the lake.”

“I have no doubt,” Wangji said fondly. He was sure Wanyin must have been referring to an incident when Wei Ying was very young.

In the room with its panoramic view, sunset cast a purple and burnished gold glow throughout, and Jiang Yanli moved around from table to table, lighting candles. She straightened and gave them a lovely smile, gliding over to them to greet them each with a half hug and a kiss to their cheeks.

Wangji found he did not mind Jiang Yanli’s hugs, and she always took care to give him the opportunity to turn it down. Perhaps that was why he was comfortable with her.

“Baba is in a good mood, but Mama is a tiger,” Jiang Yanli whispered before breaking away from them to sit beside Jin Zixuan near the window.

They went directly to the bay window where Jiang Fengmian had been settled into a chair. A stripped-down mobile wheelchair was folded up behind it, and he looked up at them from peeling a tangerine. “A-Xian! And young master Lan Wangji.”

Wei Ying bent to give him a ginger hug that lasted until Jiang Fengmian awkwardly patted his hand.

“Ah, I must have given you an awful fright, A-Xian. Jinzhu said you saw the car. I’m so sorry,” Jiang Fengmian said.

“It’s nothing,” Wei Ying said, wiping resolutely at an eye. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Wangji bowed deeply once Jiang Fengmian’s attention turned to him. “Please, only Wangji is fine,” he said. Though they barely knew each other, they could already be considered close as family.

“Wangji.” Jiang Fengmian’s gaze sharpened. “Thank you for all that you’ve done.”

Wangji inclined his head. “I need no thanks.”

Yu Ziyuan gave a small ‘hmph’ as Wei Ying greeted her but said nothing besides an arch “Wuxian,” and to Wangji, greeted him as “Young Master Lan,” thanking him for the gift of the tangerines.

Wangji did not invite her to be more familiar.

Wei Ying guided Wangji to a low lavender settee decorated with scattered golden throw pillows on one side of the room. “That went well,” he murmured in Wangji’s ear, and Wangji managed to keep his expression level from long habit.

Jiang Wanyin was last to enter the sitting room, and he went straight to his parents, first going to Jiang Fengmian and embracing him as Wei Ying had, then to Yu Ziyuan and giving her a brief hug. She smoothed the line of his outer robe as he straightened.

“Yinzhu tells me that it’s thanks to you that Wanyin was safely restored to us,” Yu Ziyuan said across the room to Wei Ying.

As Jiang Wanyin turned away from his mother, his face clenched like a fist. He mouthed something to Wei Ying that Wangji did not quite understand.

“Yes,” Wei Ying said briefly, after a long silence and various thoughts flitted across his face.

“I am grateful,” Yu Ziyuan pronounced the words more stiffly than Wangji had ever heard in his life. Even his uncle would look less sour, he thought. She continued and any kernel of goodwill Wangji might have entertained evaporated with her next words. “I am not in favor of your risking the Jiang family at the Carp Tower discussions for a handful of questionable refugees, however.”

Wangji’s jaw tightened, and his legs tensed. Wei Ying clapped a hand to his, eyes darting to him, giving him a small headshake.

“Mother.” Jiang Yanli’s voice was colder than Wangji had ever heard it. “A-Xian did a credit to us in standing up against war crimes.”

“Don’t be naïve, Yanli,” Yu Ziyuan said, waving the manicured hand that was not in a cast. “There is a deeper level of politics in play, here.”

“You are correct, Madam Jiang,” Wangji spoke up. “Sweeping the Wens from the board creates more problems, not less.”

Yu Ziyuan turned an appraising eye on him. “Your brother spoke up for the Wens as well. Guaranteed their safety.”

“That is correct,” Wangji said, keeping his tone tight and controlled. Wei Ying’s hand squeezed on his, thumb stroking over his.

“Then they’re your problem now,” she said, apparently dismissing the matter, but her eyes moved from him to Wei Ying and back again, narrowing in a way that was unmistakable.

Wangji returned her look with icy calm. “It is no burden,” was all he had to say about that.

For the rest of his days, he would protect Wei Ying at all costs.

Later, after an early conclusion to dinner Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan withdrew declaring their limited recuperating energies to be spent. Wangji sat on the outside dock that circled the water, settled in between Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli, Jiang Wanyin to his other side, Jin Zixuan beyond them seated beside his wife and they watched the moonlight glimmer upon the water. Someone had fetched snacks and tea that they sipped at.

They kept the conversation light. Jiang Yanli put her head on Wei Ying’s shoulder and asked them what they would do next, and Wei Ying regaled her with a full description of the resort on the far shore of Biling Lake.

“…and the best part about it is the bed. The excellent, tall-person-length bed,” Wei Ying concluded, and Wanyin made gagging noises while Jiang Yanli lifted her head to laugh, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth.

Wei Ying chuckled too, before meeting Wangji’s eyes. “Then back to college,” he said. “Uncle will have to sign some things to get us forgiveness and a boatload of makeup work for our absence, but Brother Xichen already looked into it and said it’s all arranged but the paperwork.”

“A return to a normal life,” Wanyin said with evident relief.

Wangji did not miss the way Wei Ying’s expression sobered, or the slight tension of the fingers in his. They could return to a routine, he thought, but it would take more than that for their lives to normalize.

“Aiyoh, I missed this awful bed, which I hate so much!” Wuxian exclaiming, flinging himself across the tiny dorm room and doing a belly flop onto the low twin-sized bed. His shin dangled down because he couldn’t fit without bending his knees. The sheets smelled musty from disuse, but when he laid his head on the pillow, it smelled of Lan Wangji’s sandalwood soap. He smiled up at his partner as he toted more luggage through the door.

“Ah, good news, then,” Lan Zhan said, setting his suitcase down beside his desk. “Elder Brother has approved an on-campus flat for next semester.”

Wuxian sat up so fast his head spun. “Really?”

Lan Zhan actually smiled. “Really. I pled spinal health.”

“Good thinking,” Wuxian replied with a nod. “This bed is barely big enough for one tall boy, let alone two of us crammed together. I swear, I sleep half on you, half off the side of the bed.”

“It’s true,” Lan Zhan said, putting his head to the side in a gesture that made Wuxian give him a wide grin. “I have a gift.”

Wuxian gasped and jumped up from the bed as Lan Zhan pulled a box out of the zippered compartment of his suitcase. “You didn’t have to!” he exclaimed, crossing the room in a couple of strides. He pulled the remainder of their luggage inside and shut the door, something their roommates would surely appreciate. “A coming-home present? I don’t have anything.” He caught a hand at his nape.

Lan Zhan turned a smoldering look on him. “You are the present,” he replied.

“Lan Zhan!” Wuxian complained, lifting both hands to hide his face. “Honestly, I can’t handle it, you said it with such a sincere and sexy face. You have to at least let me brace myself, first.”

“Hmph,” Lan Zhan uttered softly, but his hand closed around one of Wuxian’s wrists, exposing him.

Wuxian gave him a rueful grin, ducking his head to give the side of Lan Zhan’s hand a quick kiss. “All right, I’ll accept it happily, then.” He lowered his other hand.

When Lan Zhan brought up a small jewelry box, Wuxian’s eyes went wide. He held his breath. Too soon, it’s too soon, went through his brain, and he responded cleverly with shut up, brain.

He took the box with a shaking hand and cracked it open. The moment he glimpsed the contents, a wavering smile broke out over his face.

Nestled in the velvet wedges within was an azure blue enamel pin with two characters stacked on top of one another. Lan Zhan.

“To prevent cutting shirts,” Lan Zhan told him, as Wuxian stood there with the box in his hand, eyes filling. He wasn’t going to cry. He was not going to cry.

“I can wear it over my heart,” Wuxian murmured. He blinked a couple of tears away and folded himself against Lan Zhan’s chest. In a playful tone, he accused, “You did this so I wouldn’t show off my nipples.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied with no hesitation. “For my eyes only.”

Wuxian laughed and kissed Lan Zhan’s throat. “No one ever believes me when I say how funny you are.”

“Mn, that’s Wei Ying’s only.”

Wuxian snickered. The moment he could bear to disentangle himself from Lan Zhan’s arms, he took his brand-new pin out of the box and leveled it over the characters beneath his shirt, pinning it in place. He looked down at it with a slightly watery smile before pulling Lan Zhan into a fervent kiss.

He set aside the jewelry box as a keepsake when they set about unpacking. Sometime soon, he would see about having a complementary crimson pin made for Lan Zhan with his own soul mark characters. And someday, further on, there would be a different kind of jewelry box in his future. He would look forward to it, while keeping the thought of that spark in his heart until then.

Dorm life was going to be odd to get back into after the past few weeks. Neither of them was used to being in so small a space and they bumped into one another repeatedly as they moved around, unpacking, each of them setting their opposing desks to rights. It was almost a relief to get a text from Nie Huaisang demanding a restoration of friends-dinner rights, suggesting the hot pot place where they had eaten before.

Lan Zhan nodded when Wuxian floated the idea. “Last night of freedom,” he said, pocketing his own phone.

“Ugh,” Wuxian said, draping himself across Lan Zhan’s side as they left the room. “We’re going to have to buckle down for a long time after this.” They had over a month’s work of assignments to make up, and even that much was generous on the part of the university.

They walked over to Wanyin’s, and Wuxian knocked on the door, which opened as fast as if Wanyin had been on his way out already. Wuxian attempted to stand up straight and disentangle himself from Lan Zhan.

Wanyin rolled his eyes. “Please,” he said. “Don’t try to spare my feelings.” His voice was dry.

“Oh.” Well, in that case. Wuxian attached himself to Lan Zhan’s side again, turning his face to try and make his smile a little more discreet. “Going out for hot pot? We can share a car.”

“Obviously,” Wanyin replied with another dramatic eyeroll. “I call shotgun.”

“That doesn’t even need to be stated,” Wuxian said with dignity. As if he would sit up front without Lan Zhan.

Wanyin gave them a crooked smile. “Then let’s go.”

They were ushered to the private room at the hot pot place again, and Wuxian spared a moment to wonder if it was because Nie Huaisang still feared spies or because he just wanted to party it up.

“You don’t really think there are still spies, do you?” Wanyin asked the moment they were through the door. Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning were already there, and Wen Ning shot to his feet upon seeing them.

Nie Huaisang tapped his chin with his fan in a thoughtful gesture.

“Master Wuxian,” Wen Ning said, stopping in front of them and bowing deeply.

Wuxian caught at his arms and lifted him out of the bow. “Wen Ning, that’s not necessary. Please.”

“Allow me,” Wen Ning said with a stubborn jerk of his chin. He repeated the bow for Lan Zhan. “Master Wangji.”

Lan Zhan inclined his head. “Wen Ning. It was only right.”

They arranged themselves around the table, and there was a great deal less fighting over the menu. Lan Zhan had already promised Wuxian an entire boat of chili sauce just for him, making Wanyin shake his head and Nie Huaisang wonder how on earth Lan Zhan could kiss him with his mild palate.

“Well, I could show you, but that would be rude,” Wuxian said with a grin, smoothing a proprietary hand over the pin on his chest.

“Nie Huaisang, are there spies?” Lan Zhan asked after they had put in their order.

Nie Huaisang raised his brows and gave a mild headshake. “We swept this room,” he said.

“But the Wens…” Wanyin began, scowling.

“Aren’t the only family with deep pockets and an interest in keeping their finger on the pulse,” Nie Huaisang replied, raising his fan to his lips in a shushing gesture. “So be advised, and stay on the defensive.”

Wanyin snorted. “I’m always on the defensive.”

Wuxian snickered behind his hand.

They put the banter on hold as the hot pot was delivered to the table, and they dished up their favorites. Wuxian made sure to serve some silken tofu over to Lan Zhan before taking plenty of thinly-sliced pork and trying not to think about where it came from. He was only mostly vegetarian, after all. He put his food in the bubbling medium-spicy broth, and the savory fragrance had him salivating.

Right then, he could cast his mind back and pretend nothing had happened. On some level, Wuxian knew he would have to deal with things, as Lan Zhan had advised, but he was setting it aside in favor of the normal life that Wanyin declared they had returned to. When he served up his food he sat and let it cool for a bit while monitoring Lan Zhan’s share and making sure he’d gotten all his food as well.

“Hey,” Wanyin said, serving his selection into the medium-spicy broth. “Did you ever find out who Unclean Realm’s mole was?”

Wuxian angled an eye at Wen Ning, who looked solemn. He nodded hesitantly. “I triple-checked the data scrape,” he said. “I knew it would be hard to believe.”

Nie Huaisang set his chopsticks down. “Who is it?”

Wen Ning lowered his head and gave him a sidelong grimace, as though apologizing in advance. “It was Meng Yao.”

Wuxian gasped, and Lan Zhan’s cabbage slipped from his chopsticks into the medium-spicy broth. Nie Huaisang jerked like he’d been physically slapped.

“Meng Yao?” Nie Huaisang gasped, shattered. “But he’s been in Brother’s service since I was a kid! Are you sure?”

Wen Ning gave a tentative nod belied by his firm tone. “People lie, but data doesn’t. He was very good at covering his tracks, but each loan led back to him, in the end.”

“Ahh, that’s no good,” Wuxian sighed, fetching the cabbage from the spicy broth and serving it into his own bowl. He dished more into the vegetarian broth for Lan Zhan. “But he’s the Jin’s problem now, isn’t he?”

“He requires continued scrutiny,” Lan Zhan put in with one of his subtle frowns.

“Agreed,” Wanyin said. “After that move Jin Guangshan tried to pull with the Wens, he can’t be trusted. And now he’s got someone like Meng Yao on his side?”

“He is now calling himself Jin Guangyao,” Wen Ning volunteered.

Wuxian rubbed his nose. “Huh. He even let him take the family name, huh?” It gave him a bad feeling.

Wanyin shook his head, looking uneasy. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it right now. But you’re right, Lan Wangji. We’ll need to keep an eye on him.”

Beside Wuxian, Lan Zhan pulled in the tiniest of inhalations, not big enough to be considered on the same scale as a sigh. “Call me Wangji,” he said.

Wanyin looked across Wuxian at him, not smiling. But he didn’t look antagonistic either. “Then I’m Wanyin to you.”

Wuxian ducked his head and devoted his mouth to stuffing food into it like his life depended on it.

When they returned home much later, replete with delicious hot pot and one another’s company, Wuxian tugged Lan Zhan into their room with an impatient hand after bidding his brother goodnight. Lan Zhan went to pin him up against the door, a particular gleam in his eye, and Wuxian held up a hand between them with a pleased laugh. He’d never get tired of Lan Zhan being ready for him, always. First, though, he had something to do.

“One minute—just one minute, then your present is all yours to unwrap,” Wuxian promised with another small chuckle.

Lan Zhan kissed his palm and released him, tranquil but curious.

Wuxian dug into his battered laptop case. It had been through the war—he would need a new one. Like the clothes from his month-long ordeal, he never wanted to see it again. In fact, he was considering punching the core of this laptop and scrapping it for a new one. Uncle Fengmian wouldn’t ask too many questions. He’d been through the war. He doubted Yu Ziyuan had told him much but had a feeling Wanyin and Big Sis had filled in some blanks.

He retrieved his flash drives and held them up for Lan Zhan’s scrutiny.

“Your scripts?” Lan Zhan guessed.

Wuxian nodded, putting them in Lan Zhan’s palm. “This is the Yin Tiger code that I used to hack and bot the drones,” he said. “Stay here.”

Lan Zhan gave a solemn nod, waiting as Wuxian turned to rummage in the depths of his closet where he kept the industrial-strength magnet that Wen Ning had advised him to get, for safekeeping.

“There are some things that can only be destroyed, once their usefulness is up,” Wuxian said. He held up the magnet and gave Lan Zhan a nod.

Lan Zhan pressed the flash drives to the heavy weight of the magnet. It took two hands for Wuxian to keep it upright for him. They adhered with a clack, the metal bits within fragile plastic casing attracted to the charge.

Wuxian was breathing easier already. It had weighed on him, hearing the gentry families talk about the Yiling Laozu like a tool each of them wanted at their exclusive disposal. One piece of what had made that shadow figure a reality would be gone.

He pried the flash drives off the magnet. Together, they pulled apart the casings. Wuxian put them on the tile floor and ground them underfoot.

“I never want anyone to find out who the Yiling Laozu is,” Wuxian said, low and fierce.

Lan Zhan gave a firm nod. “There is no need,” he replied.

With a shudder, Wuxian stepped into his arms. The campaign was over, the Yin Tiger Code was gone, and he and Lan Zhan had time. They could have what they needed from one another, and Wuxian could trust in a better tomorrow for now. And as they made their way forward, the only thing he’d fight for was to be sure they wouldn’t part from one another on terms they didn’t choose, ever again.

That was the fight worth standing ground for.