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Chapter Text

Mo Xuanyu paces in his room. They’ll return soon. They’ll return soon. Everything is in place. This is the only way, he said, the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian, is the only one who can exact his revenge. Mo Xuanyu isn’t strong enough. He doesn’t want to die; he never imagined this would be how all things end, but he has no choice. The things he’s seen, the things he’s heard. No one believes him, no one but his friend, who softly shook his head when Mo Xuanyu asked him to help with his revenge. Both too pathetically weak, but he can’t let them win. He found a way. They’ll return soon. He has to hurry. Mo Xuanyu nicks his fingertip and writes the final talisman and once he closes the array with the ultimate sacrifice of blood, his life will drain from him and Wei Wuxian will be restored. He doesn’t want to die, but there is nothing else he can do. He wipes at his eyes, smearing the paint on his face, but none of that matters now. The pain and humiliation he’s suffered at the hands of his own brother who- he hears voices from afar. He has to do this; he has to do it now-

The acrid smell of smoke rises in the small room. At first, Mo Xuanyu thinks that in his rage he has hallucinated, but then he sees thick quells of smoke drifting in from underneath the door. Footsteps fall quickly, running past the door again. Cold realisation hits Mo Xuanyu’s spine: they’re trying to burn him alive! He scrambles to his feet.

Mo Xuanyu doesn’t want to die. He never wanted to die. Not licked by flames and smothered by smoke. Coughing, Mo Xuanyu stumbles through his room, still gripping the knife. He can’t stay. He has to get out. Without looking, he tears the nearest talisman from its string and scrambles toward the door, but flames lick along the wood already, racing toward the roof. This isn’t how he wants to die, Mo Xuanyu thinks, eyes watering from the smoke. He coughs up spit and bile and blood. He has to stay upright, has to get out. The flames roar when they catch the thatched roof, dry and brittle, perfect fuel for flames. The heat singes his nose and throat every time he tries to take a breath. They’re going to win, he thinks with panic. They’re going to win and he is going to die.

How he made it through the small back window, he later won’t remember. Flames should have engulfed him, burnt to a crisp. Instead, he comes back to himself, falling. As soon as his bare feet touch the ground, he runs. 
 
Whether someone is behind him, Mo Xuanyu does not know. He cannot turn around to look, he cannot risk any loss of the lead he may have. He channels what little spiritual energy he has to protect him from the impact when he leaps down a ledge, but it fails. His ankle twists, perhaps shatters, the pain sears his body either way as he hits the ground and tumbles down the steep incline. He cannot stop, cannot evade. He sees the formation of rocks and knows it will shatter his spine. 

Please, he prays, I don’t want to die. The impact is hard and knocks the air from his lungs, but it does not shatter his spine. It does not kill him. When he opens his eyes, the formation is a surprising distance away from him. He isn’t sure what happened, but he can’t stay here. With panic rising once more, Mo Xuanyu desperately tries to scramble back to his feet, but his injured ankle shoots white hot pain up his leg. A cry of desperate frustration escapes his throat as he tries to sort his mind to figure out a way to continue his escape. 
 
 “Don’t move, you are hurt.” A gentle voice tells him and then in front of him stands the most beautiful man he has ever seen. Mo Xuanyu recognizes him by his sword. 
 
 “H-Hanguang-Jun?” he stutters in fear and awe. He knows this man, his reputation. He will help all those in need. “Please,” he chokes out, tears welling in his eyes, “they tried to burn me alive. They want to kill me. I can’t stay. I have to- please help me!” 
 
Lan Wangji simply nods in response and lifts him off the ground. Mo Xuanyu sobs against his pristine white robes as Hanguang-jun carries him away from danger. 

Chapter Text

More than a millennium later...

This part, Qin Su hates most. The running, the sneaking, that this is a guaranteed death mission, but she actively tries not to think about that. If she does, she will feel a sense of regret and loss that she cannot currently afford. She has to do this. For herself. For her son.

Looking around the corner of the corridor, she sees no one else. The scanner on her wrist has the corridor empty for two and a half more minutes. That is more than enough time to get to the door she needs- third on the left- and force it open with the needles just how Wen Qing showed her all those years ago. She practised a lot, but now she worries it may not have been enough. Is it ever going to be enough? She knows the answer is no and that’s why she is here on this one-way mission.

Old-fashioned locks in order to prevent anyone from hacking into the system and getting in that way. It’s a good defence from anyone born in the last hundred years or anyone without access to the memories of their previous lives. It still strikes her, the disregard for the past which now exists, but they live in a world torn apart by whatever it is Jin Guangyao wishes to achieve. How exhaustion has not claimed him after all this time in power, she will never understand.

Maybe she isn’t meant to, not after she found out about her previous lives. She slips into the room and closes the door behind her. The mission at its core is simple enough: use the data beacon to transmit whatever data she can find on the slips, but she is looking for something specific. The important piece to the puzzle: there whereabouts of Wen Qing’s soul.

On purpose, she trips a hidden alarm when she steps into the room, an additional measure which their source either omitted on purpose or did not know about. Knowing the source, it is the latter. There is nothing to be gained here. Thankfully, they have more than that one source, and the schematics of the building they received from someone else came with an annotation on how to omit the alarm. To buy her time to escape, which she has to concede was a nice thought.

She pulls the data slips one by one and transmits each one, but she is looking for that specific file. A file with what appears to simply be corrupted content, but they all know better now: Encrypted coordinates, and Wen Qing has the cipher. They just have to find her soul.

It has been silent for so long. She never thought she would hear someone talk about the Yiling Laozu again. Hanguang-jun supposedly never gave up hope that Wei Wuxian would return. Not that Hanguang-jun seems particularly idealistic nowadays, but that is not for her to judge. Her mission is what matters: transmit the data, get caught, die. She remembers when she used to be a farmer, when her greatest worry was not having enough irrigation slips. She misses the simplicity of that life. She finds the correct data file and sends it to a different destination she memorised before coming here and wipes the data transmission log.

The next part is most important: fucking up on purpose.

Instead of putting the data slip back in place, she leaves it out in the pile of unsent slips to make it look as though they caught her before she could send anything of importance. She works on sending the data again, but each times messes up something like she isn’t well enough trained for this mission, like this hasn’t been her sole focus for the past months. They have to do everything they can to keep them off their tracks. If Jin Guangyao finds out they know that Wei Wuxian’s soul is in his possession, he will no doubt shatter it before risking everything.

The door opens and she can hear chains.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she says when Wen Ning steps behind her and the world ceases to exist.

A beautifully painted, cerulean-skinned, and dimple-smiled companion model with her black hair in an elaborate hair style sculpted onto her head, accented with an ornate plum blossom hair stick, pours an effervescent drink into an equally ornate glass. She lights up the entire side of the building, bathing the streets in the warm glow of her welcoming presence. 

“It’s a Carp World after all.” 

Her soft voice drifts across the streets and fades into a soft laugh before she fades away to make room for large characters advertising first the drink she poured, and then her model number. She is the latest companion model available for purchase, attainable only by the most wealthy and elite who live here in Sector 12-B. It is the third time she has appeared since Lan Wangji crouched on the roof of the building across the river. Every twenty minutes, it’s been an hour. Three hours past curfew. 

As expected, a transportation vehicle drives down the long deserted road. It is midnight, hours past curfew. No one but those on official CARP business are out on these streets lest they be mistaken for Demonic Cultivators. The vehicle stops in front of the building’s entrance. A tall person holding a briefcase cuffed to his no doubt cybernetic arm steps out of the doors and into the car. Lan Wangji knows it contains a spirit-trapping cylinder with a soul so important, they will move it to Lanling. He does not know to whom it belonged, but if Jin Guangyao wants this soul, it means he can never have it. 
 
 The vehicle moves again and Lan Wangji pulls Bichen from its sheath. Flying in the middle of the city at night comes with a risk. His cybernetic contact lens implant- one of the very few modern technologies he has adopted over the years- allows him to follow the vehicle flying at a height which would have made it impossible to see even with eyes a thousand years old. They follow the main roads for a while. Once the vehicle reaches the outskirts of the city, it turns onto a smaller and narrower road, and then eventually, with all lights dimmed, it turns onto an unpaved road. From his maps, Lan Wangji knows it is the way to a teleportation array hidden in an old quarry. 

He needs to be quick and efficient. He can’t leave any of them alive. This will create complications down the line, but he failed to get to the soul before Jin Guangyao’s hunters arrived. As soon as he can no longer detect CCTV, he tilts Bichen into a dive. This isn’t his first raid. It will not be the last. The rules of the Cloud Recesses do not apply here, if they apply anywhere at all. It has been so long, too long.

Lan Wangji shakes off any potentially maudlin thoughts and adjusts the chip setting in his neck. This needs to be pragmatic and quick. He does not have time for guilt and moral dilemma. What he has to do is a simple process: First, he uses a talisman to disable the vehicle. Then he lands a quick strike to take out the driver. By the time the man with the briefcase stumbles out of the car clutching his weapon, Lan Wangji has taken care of everyone else. By the time dawn breaks, only the dead will remain. 

He likes to think himself humane. He pierces the man’s heart, a quick death with little pain. Once the body falls limp, he pries open the briefcase, channeling spiritual energy into the locks. The sleek chrome cylinder is light, but the display assures him of the presence of a soul. The rage he feels when he touches the cylinder is surprising, a newly dead soul steeping in its own resentment. He checks the numbers against the database and there is no match for the information. An unregistered soul canister can mean only one thing: a wanted cultivator. He swipes his fingers over the display on his wrist, but pauses. It will be faster to just- Lan Wangji closes his eyes and channels spiritual energy into the canister. The rage reaches a familiar crescendo, Wen Qing. It is a miracle she has not turned into something far more sinister. And perhaps she still might. 

He places it in the bag strapped across his front. There is no time to waste. He has to return her to the Burial Mounds at once. Without hesitation, Lan Wangji drops a talisman and soars into the sky before the talismans burns and leaves behind a burning pattern of clouds on the ground. It was me; the pattern will tell Jin Guangyao. I’m still alive; it will tell Xichen. Fear me, it will tell them both. 

***

A flurry of activity ripples through the Burial Mounds when the radios pick up chatter. Lan Wangji has found a wanted cultivator soul! For decades, no one but his sons saw Lan Wangji in person. Luo Qingyang is about to dismiss it as another rumour when Lan Sizhui arrives through the underground tunnels with only two encrypted characters on his wrist display. It truly is him, then. She closes her eyes and initiates the ancient protocol which they at this point only use for Lan Wangji, who refuses to let go of the past and always arrives by sword. At least now, his clothes match the contemporary fashion. He donned his white robes for far longer than he should have, desperately clinging to a life that slipped past them with every waking moment. 

She knows that even now; he has not let go of his need to find Wei Wuxian. In moments when she remembers the friendship they used to have, she wishes she could ease his pain. However, that is not the mission objective. The mission objective is to lower the shields at their narrowest part in a secluded valley in the mountains to allow him to pass through without being seen. 
If what he sent is true, his antics are the least of her worries. There is a murmur across the crowd behind her when he drops and it’s fast. Faster than normal means he suspects a tail. She signals defence. Anyone following him will need to be obliterated. There can be no evidence. Not when this is the last remaining safe place for cultivators to live. They have to protect this place, their home.
 
“Will he make it?” someone asks, clearly worried. 
 
 “He hasn’t bounced off the shields yet.” she says, as if bouncing off the shields doesn’t mean certain death. She never even gets the chance to give the signal to open the array. 

***

 
Lan Wangji flies high, higher than usual. The air is thin, but something does not feel right. The escape was simple, not too easy, but things ran smoothly. It had been exactly as he had expected it and that alone is what causes him suspicion. Things simply do not go as planned. There are hitches, unforeseen circumstances, even when they are but minor inconveniences. Someone has been watching him, of that he is sure. The information finding him, how easy it was to overwhelm them. He has trained for all his life, but still he does not believe that all of this was chance or luck. 
 
Now, the cylinder is safely in the sleek pack strapped to his chest- he would never carry a soul unprotected on his back- and he is about to bring Wen Qing to the closest thing to her home that still existed. He does not know how long they had her soul or what Jin Guangyao’s plans were for her. But any plans of Jin Guangyao need to be disrupted. The feeling of something not right continues to gnaw on his insides and he flies higher. His eye scans the area beneath him, but he cannot pick up any traces of core energy or affiliate technology. He does not use his communication device to contact Luo Qingyang or anyone else in the Burial Mounds. Any communication could be a giveaway of his position and the position of Wei Ying’s legacy. 
 
There isn’t much time, and the distance is far greater than it usually is. He wishes he trusted them to allow him entry without endangering his life, but it is what it is. Conjuring a small talisman to punch a hole through the shield array once he gets close, he gets ready. Lan Wangji has done this many times, so many, he no longer feels the thrill when he dives low. Life used to be vibrant and loud, and then it was nothing but pain. And now, now it is nothing at all. He does what he must, what he hopes would make Wei Ying proud. He exhales and drops. Terminal velocity, he has learned, is the maximum speed an object can attain once it is captured by Earth’s gravity. Wei Ying would love physics and he certainly would find a way to break it. He allows himself that small moment, as he can feel the array rush closer. 

With his augmented lens, he can see the normally invisible array glowing bright and red. Red like the ribbon fluttering in Wei Ying’s hair when he smiles, bright as the sun as any sun. Brighter even. The last thing anyone would see should they attempt to get past it. Wei Ying’s smile… It would be so easy not to deploy the talisman. Everything would be red and then, finally, peace. 
 
Lan Wangji deploys the talisman and falls through the opening. He banks hard to slow his speed and jumps off his sword, allowing it to vanish. He walks with long strides along the narrow path across a single long bridge, a tribute to Wei Ying’s efforts even if in the end, they were in vain. Everything here reminds him of Wei Ying. He cannot wait to leave again. The rock vanishes and allows him to walk through into a bright corridor, lights running along the ceiling in long lines mimicking the light of the sun. It does not feel natural. Nothing about this world does, but it is the one in which they live. It is the one which they must change. Not back to the old ways, but into something new, a world in which everyone can be free. 
 
 “Hanguang-jun!” He hears Sizhui’s voice before he sees him. He has grown into a fine young man and excelled at cultivation, as he has in all his lives. His body changes, but the light and love in his eyes stays the same. He always chooses to regain his memories. It warms Lan Wangji’s soul to the point of burning every time he remembers Sizhui may never know the man who cared for him all these lifetimes ago. 
 
 “Sizhui,” he says and allows the embrace, even reciprocates for a moment, when he knows they are still alone. He can hear Luo Qingyang’s footsteps around the corner and then pause. She is giving them a moment. He has not seen Sizhui in several years. It did not feel long for him, but he knows the youth still processes life as though it were not infinite. 
 
 “Father,” he whispers and clings a little tighter. Lan Wangji does not know what happened, but he pulls him closer. 
 
 “What is it?” he asks, because it is easier for Sizhui to speak to him when he starts the conversation. It often makes him miss Wei Ying and perhaps that is why he avoids him more than he should now that he is an adult. 
 
 “Jingyi went missing.” 

 Lan Wangji should feel ice in his veins, should feel the horror of a parent whose child has gone missing. However, Jingyi has not been a child in decades and their relationship complicated for a century before then. Still, he channels spiritual energy into chip in his neck.

 “I will find him,” he promises, perhaps unwisely. It is not yet clear if Jingyi wishes to be found.

 “First,” Luo Qingyang steps around the corner, “who is it?” 

The miniscule quiver in her voice tells Lan Wangji that she already has an idea, but dares not to hope just yet. He understands. She looks at his bag as he pulls out the cylinder. The rage is palpable. They will have to calm her before we can transfer her into the hall of souls. Lan Wangji knows Sizhui is capable of that. He does not need to linger. 
 
 “Wen Qing.” He says as he holds out the cylinder, the resentful energy radiating from him. “She is too resentful for transfer, but she is receptive.” 

Meaning they will not have to subdue or eliminate her. He turns to leave again. He cannot stay. 
 
 “Will you not stay?” Luo Qingyang asks. She has not asked in over five hundred years.
 
 “Jingyi is missing. They could have captured him.” 

Lan Wangji knows it is a terrible excuse.
 
Luo Qingyang raises her eyebrow, also aware of the terrible excuse. “He has not been the disastrous child you’ve raised so many times for a while now. And we cannot wait to bring her back gently, not with what’s at stake, not with what she might know. Please stay, at least for the ceremony.” 
 
 “What if there is no volunteer?” 
 
 “There has to be.” 
 
 “Please… father.” 

Sizhui looks at him, brows knit with worry beneath the forehead ribbon he still wears. A tradition, even Lan Wangji has given up a long time ago. There is no one who he would allow to touch his headband. And there is no restraint left to have. Lan Wangji feels guilt creep inside his chest. Rarely does he feel anything of significance anymore, even the remaining vague fondness for his sons ebbs and flows with the tides when once it had been the only thing that allowed him to continue this life. Still, he nods.

“Mn.”

He will stay, if only for the memory of what once was good.

Chapter Text

Mo Xuanyu sat cross-legged on the rock where Wei Ying had sat so often when he and Lan Wangji were young. A pained part of Lan Wangji’s heart wanted to chase him away, tell him not to ever sit there again, but he knew his heart was only heavy because he still desperately clung to the hope that one day Wei Ying would return to him. 

Mo Xuanyu looked almost unrecognizable in the white robes of the Gusu Lan sect with his hair in a neat top knot and an ornate silver headpiece. From the young man who had been so filthy and terrified when Lan Wangji had first encountered him, he was now clean and slowly gaining confidence, no longer hiding behind his mask. The only reminder of his previous life was the soft red dust he still wore in the corners of his eyes. He had adjusted well enough, though, at night, terrors of his past still haunted him. Lan Wangji was proud and grateful that both Sizhui and Jingyi had taken to the young man and treated him with the tender care he needed to heal his haunted heart. It would take time and patience, of which they had an abundance. 
 
Fear flashed in those red-stained eyes when they caught sight of him.

 “What troubles you?” Lan Wangji asked. 
 
 “Ha-Hanguang-jun, I…” the young man trailed off, still not accustomed to genuine concern for his well-being. Perhaps he never would be, but Lan Wangji was patient and waited until he could find his words. “I-I couldn’t sleep last night and- and I snuck out of my room. I will accept whatever Hanguang-jun believes my punishment should be, but I listened to him play last night.” 
 
Lan Wangji stood frozen in his spot. He had played for Wei Ying last night. Had called him with inquiry and, in a moment of desperation, he had played their song. And like every night, there had been no answer. And like every night, Lan Wangji had wept in what he had believed to be the privacy of his own grief. He wanted to be angry and punish Mo Xuanyu severely, but the young man had been through so much abuse and Lan Wangji recognized his own action as a foolish attempt to silence his own pain. 
 
 “Copy the rules once and write a reflection on why you should not have left your room and what you will do in the future when you cannot sleep.” Lan Wangji knew his uncle would have made him kneel, perhaps receive a few strikes, but he abhorred the thought of adding more suffering to an already troubled mind. “Thank you for telling me. I know it took courage to do that,” he said and turned to walk away, thinking the matter closed. 
 
 “Wait, Hanguang-jun!” Mo Xuanyu jumped to his feet. “I know for whom you played.” 
     “I do not wish to discuss this.” This was dangerous territory, and Lan Wangji could not afford to lose his footing. 

 “Wei Wuxian.” 

Lan Wangj  felt bile rise in his throat when he heard Wei Ying’s name spoken so casually.
 However, when Lan Wangji saw the tears in his eyes, heard the quiver in his voice, he understood there was nothing casual about this moment. 

“The day you saved me, I was supposed to die. I was̶” He pulled a talisman from his sleeve. “I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was so angry, so furious. My life was nothing but pain after I found out, after I-I was supposed to bring him back, to sacrifice myself to bring him back. It was the only way, but they stopped me and I was going to do it as soon as I was somewhere safe, but I don’t want to die anymore. I don’t want to die and I can’t bring him back to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I̶” he broke off into choked sobs while Lan Wangji felt like the ground collapsed beneath his feet. 

He could have had him back. Wei Ying could have come back. Standing before him could have been Wei Ying.

But at what cost? Mo Xuanyu’s life was just as precious and, unlike Wei Ying, he had chosen to live. He took the talisman that Mo Xuanyu still held with his arm stretched out to him.

 “Wei Wuxian chose his death. You chose your life. It is not your burden to carry,” he said and tucked the talisman into his sleeve. “Take your punishment, go to your classes, and tonight I will see you so we can speak of both the ritual and what happened to you.” 

 “I-I can stay?” The flicker of hope in Mo Xuanyu’s eyes broke Lan Wangji’s heart. To have lived such a life of misery that he could not see goodwill even after so many months, it certainly was time to speak about his past. 

 “No one will send you away. No one will take you.” 

That evening, Lan Wangji learned about Nie Huaisang’s collection of demonic cultivation. He learned of Qin Su’s blood relation to Jin Guangyao. He learned that to keep it a secret, Jin Guangyao had exploited Mo Xuanyu’s fragile emotional state in ways Lan Wangji could only consider abhorrent. He learned that his entire world was not the one he had thought it to be. He felt ill watching Mo Xuanyu’s hands shake as he spoke, still expecting to be thrown out of the Cloud Recesses like someone had thrown him down the stairs of Carp Tower. That night, Lan Wangji made sure Sizhui and Jingyi stayed with Mo Xuanyu, and he personally played for him to aid his sleep. And then he spoke to his clan leader. Lan Wangji did not believe that Mo Xuanyu had lied, and neither did Xichen. 

 “I will address this with A-Yao,” Xichen said, and Lan Wangji nodded and bowed.

That night, he wrote a letter to Nie Huaisang who seemed to hold pieces to a puzzle Lan Wangji only just discovered.   

Chapter Text

Lan Jingyi has lifetimes of memories stored inside his brain. Lifetimes of memories of running across the Cloud Recesses calling for Hanguang-jun, only to be reminded not to run and to lower his voice. He once liked to think of back then with fondness. Then it all changed. He would remember running across a field toward Sizhui, his white silk drenched in blood. He liked to think the last thing Sizhui saw before dying was his genuine smile and not a grimace of pain. He would remember running across a wasteland chased by people who thought he was a threat. He liked to think they were merely misguided. He would remember running down a hallway, only to be stopped by a smile and the sudden hiss of a blade. He liked to think it was all worth it. 

That was over 80 years ago and, now, Lan Jingyi is no longer sure if all the running, if all the hiding, if all the fighting is ever going to be worth it. It doesn’t feel worth it. With every passing year, the obsession with hope, the desperate cling to a day Wei Ying might return, twists and turns him in ways Lan Jingyi never thought possible until he no longer recognized him.  

Lan Jingyi isn’t bitter. He can’t be. He loves his family, but it has long become a festering wound rather than a place of healing. Working for the resistance away from the Burial Mounds has been helpful. His undercover work as a minor pop star is successful enough to warrant travel from city to city, which has been incredibly useful for the cause. However, now he looks forward to the gigs more than helping people. He is, as they say, burnt out. 

All that changes when he finds a yellowed paper envelope in his hotel bedroom on an innocent enough Wednesday evening after a gig at a small lounge. He hasn’t seen a paper envelope for a very long time. Hanguang-jun used to send him letters, but this bares neither his handwriting nor his wax seal infused with spiritual energy to conceal the letter’s contents from anyone not Lan Jingyi. He contacts the concierge desk to ask if someone tended to his room today despite the arrangement that nothing be disturbed to preserve the authenticity of the moment to allow him to something about creative urges. He doesn’t quite remember what his contract states. It doesn’t matter. The concierge is deeply apologetic but assures him that the security system doesn’t show any evidence of entry into his room. Lan Jingyi can see the same information on his wrist display. He plays it off as the alignment of the stars influencing the aura of his room and cuts the connection.

Someone has been in his room. Someone has been in his room and left this on his bed without setting off any security measures. Nothing is missing and nothing else has been touched. Just a simple paper envelope sitting on top of the best Lan Jingyi made before leaving for the concert venue. After scanning it for traces of poison or any volatile compounds, he opens it with shaking fingers, unsure of what to expect. It is plain with only the characters of his stage name on the front. They don’t look quite right, as if the strokes of the written hand were mimicked by artificial means, digitally imprinted on paper. It is odd, but it intrigues him. There are simple instructions: 

Our interests converge, please collect several pieces of this ancient form of communication.

Lan Jingyi isn’t entirely sure that is the truth, but no one against cultivators would go to such lengths to expose him. He continues to read the list:

• Each letter will contain further instructions, an address for the location of the next, and a partial number to coordinates (39).

• Please do not skip any steps, even if you figure it out on your own. This is a test of your trustworthiness just as much as it is the safest way for you to proceed.

• Please do not skip any of your prior engagements to avoid accusations of suspicious behaviour.

• The next envelope will be at the location below. Do note it down quickly, when you opened the envelope, it activated the talisman which will destroy it after a few minutes. 

Hurriedly, he expands the interface of his wrist display and enters the address manually and opens a sub folder to store the first number of the coordinates. The letter vanishes into golden wisps by the time he swipes to save.

Lan Jingyi burns to know where this will lead when he sits down for his post-concert livestream. And where it physically leads him first is an abandoned post box near the outskirts of the city where he pulls the second letter from a dusty ceiling vent. It’s real, he thinks. This isn’t just someone fucking with him. His fingers shake less when he opens it this time, but his heart still pounds in his chest.

The next one, he finds in a bank vault in the city centre, and several letters later, he ends up in a rundown bar, where he finds another envelope tucked behind the toilet paper dispenser in a bathroom stall. He ignores the people fucking in the stall beside him and the fingers coming through the hole in the divider to the other side. He shoves the envelope into his pocket and leaves.

Once outside, Lan Jingyi jumps on his hover board and flies high, higher than manufacturing safety protocols would allow, but thankfully he has long figured out how to get past those. The memories of lifetimes come with an advantage if one ignores the nightmares they bring. Maybe in the next one he’ll choose not to have them. Until then, however, he will continue with this thread. This thread of mystery which, for the first time in decades, is making him feel alive.

Once he hovers in the safety of the shadow cast by an advertisement screen mounted on top of the sector administration building, he examines the contents of the envelope. There is a small flat container, but no letter of instructions this time. He thinks back: Did he lose the letter when he opened the envelope? No, he has been careful. There was no letter. 

The container feels temporary, too fragile to be of long-term use, but he finds no way to open it. He furrows his brow and thinks: Golden wisps, spiritual energy… Lan Jingyi closes his eyes. It is risky to reveal his core in the middle of the city, but he is up high. Scanners shouldn’t pick him up if he is quick. He concentrates and slips a morsel of spiritual energy into the container which glows for a moment and reveals a data strip smaller than his finger tip.

He places it in his wrist guard port and, sure enough, a timer appears. It runs a self-decryption sequence and brings coordinates into the artificial eye implanted in his eye socket, coordinates and detailed instructions on how to retrieve a package and deliver it to a very specific place at a very specific time. The last words in the instructions read:

     'I require you to bypass security' 

It should give him pause. Until now, this little adventure was of no perceivable risk to him, nothing more than a game. Breaking into a high-security apartment building, however—into someone’s home—screams setup. It waves flags embroidered with ‘look at what the horrible cultivators are doing now.’ Still, there is something about these letters… those wisps of golden energy. A cultivator is doing this. And perhaps it is wishful thinking on his behalf, but Lan Jingyi feels part of something greater, a puzzle piece helping to complete the picture. He feels that sense again while he watches the golden wisps disperse from his wrist guard display. 

Heed your environment, Jingyi. 

Lan Jingyi cuts the power to the hoverboard and allows himself to fall between the buildings to get Hanguang-jun’s voice out of his mind. He no longer needs his advice; he hasn’t for a long time. With every death, he and Hanguang-jun grew further apart. And now, Lan Jingyi is here chasing letters from an unknown cultivator. He kicks the power reset when he’s close to the ground and banks hard toward the coordinates. Glancing at his wrist, he knows he’s getting closer. 

He has to focus now. He will see it through whatever this is, and he won’t let his family or the resistance create doubt in his mind. He has to cling to this hope. It helps that he cut off all contact with anyone he knew a long time ago and removed all devices that could trace him back to them. If this ends in a trap, with him captured or dead, he would not have his family or the resistance implicated. He loves them. He misses them.  

A block away, he allows his hoverboard to lower him to the ground and wills it to vanish. He is usually more careful about bringing attention to himself, but there is no one around and he does not want to carry outdated technology when the current anti-cultivator propaganda is telling people to look out for those who don’t have the latest gadgets. It is a brilliant PR move on behalf of C.A.R.P., both for keeping cultivators in line and for making people buy their tech that serves only to monitor and subdue. 

Fuck capitalistic neo-something bullshit, he thinks and presses a button on his wrist display that makes his flight suit and helmet disappear, leaving him dressed well. Very well. Visually, it is plain: light blue trousers and a white tunic, but the fabric is genuine silk, not the artificial kind. The wrist display itself turns into a luxurious watch. He applies a small sticker to his neck, marking him as a C.A.R.P. companion android. This will get him into the building. The sticker will pass inspection. He’s done it before. He trusts his skills. He does not know why he trusts this process, but whoever is doing this has a goal. 

It is not an idle game and Lan Jingyi will take the risks which may come along. He takes a breath and smooths the sheer silk tunic. It isn’t comfortable for him to be so exposed, but companions are machines, not people. They don’t care that they’re just seen as objects. 

He hopes this time, the sticker has him at a high enough level that he registers as an exclusive. Exclusives log their experiences, which means they are off limits to side jobs. Lower tier level bots bring in money at an opportunistic level. If the concierge likes what he sees and the sticker marks a bot as low enough, it would be his prerogative for a companion to obey and schedule in the extra few minutes to get him off for his credits. Last time, he had to knock out two guys and drag them into a storage closet derailing that entire mission. He has zero intention of doing that today. 

He enters the rather opulent area of the… hotel? No, it’s a luxury apartment building according to the map. What is he doing in a place this rich? It screams a lot more trap than it did before, and Lan Jingyi takes a shallow breath to not draw attention. 

Bots appear human, close but not quite the same. That’s the idea behind the pleasure androids. They allow people to live out their wildest and darkest fantasies without consequences or guilt. They blur the line between fantasy and reality, but don’t erase it. Of course, there are rumours that androids indistinguishable from regular people, at least on the outside, exist. However, he has seen no research in bio-mimicking materials which would suggest that there has been an enormous breakthrough. They already feel uncanny and act too real for Lan Jingyi’s liking. It’s probably just a matter of time, but that is a worry for another day. 

He approaches the concierge desk with a fake smile and a soft voice, like he is the most exclusive thing they will ever see. Technically not wrong, he has an excellent opinion of himself, but that’s not the point. 

“Hello,” he says and bows the little awkward bow that companion bots have when interacting with others. “I am here to see a friend in unit 6478.” 

A friend. It is always a friend with companions. Everyone knows what they are and why they are here, but they still insist on programming them with pretense. Lan Jingyi has opinions, all of which he keeps to himself while the concierge nods and pulls a scanner from its stand. 

“I will require your neck for entry, please.” 
 
“Of course.” He smiles again and, with meticulous care, pulls away the soft cloth disguising the mark of a companion bot. The concierge doesn’t look especially surprised. With this much wealth comes a lot of privilege regular people don’t get, Lan Jingyi thinks and tilts his head. A flash of something ghosts across the concierge’s eyes and yes, it appears he likes what he sees. Of course, he does. He is a middle-aged man with a ring on his finger. He works a steady job, in all likelihood has only one wife, and the allotted number of children for someone of his socioeconomic status. His life is predictable and boring and Lan Jingyi is a potential for escape. He catches the flicker of tongue against the bottom of his lips. 

Part of him should feel disgust, but he can’t find it within himself to blame the man. Life is shit. He thinks Lan Jingyi is a machine that would not have any feelings if used for pleasure. Probably couldn’t afford an exclusive if he saved his salary for a lifetime. C.A.R.P. Corp works to keep people like him down, easy to control, and always kept on guard against cultivators. A brilliant tactic blaming cultivators for everything, making people believe they are the reason for predictable and small lives filled with nothing but work and sleep and the occasional fuck. 

The societal machine keeps everyone consuming and blaming and trying to make it through life without hope of escape. In any other circumstance, Lan Jingyi would consider a pity fuck, but not this time because the concierge’s face changes from hesitant leering to a sudden flash of fear and then distance as the concierge remembers his position when the scanner tells him that he is an exclusive bot. Lan Jingyi is glad the building is this wealthy, because he isn’t sure how he could have sold this at a lower-income building. 
 
“Please go ahead,” the concierge says with a curt bow and opens the door for him. “It was good to meet you.” 

“As it was you. Please have an enjoyable day,” he responds and walks inside. 

Leaving will be easier than this. Exclusive bots are meant for singular encounters, programmed to exact specifications. If someone wants a pleasure bot of another person still alive, a celebrity, or even the mighty Hanguang-jun, they can pay for that. And after they used the bot as they please, it self-destructs. Only a very specific time frame for a very specific encounter. Never over 24 hours. If Lan Jingyi sneaks out the back, no one will think twice of it. It’s a brilliant way to cover his tracks. 

A foyer even more opulent than the exterior leads into an open hall filled with glass-walled elevators. It’s huge, it’s excessive, it’s what only the few can have. Thousands of people could comfortably live in a tower like this, but barely hundreds occupy apartments so big that residents need others to clean for them, to serve them, to be paid nothing but scraps for what they do, with the hope that one day, perhaps, if they work hard enough, they too can live in this level of opulence.

The deck is stacked against them. Not just that—they don’t even have access to the same deck. The reason these people are rich is their loyalty to C.A.R.P. Corp and, of course, their loyalty to the government, which might as well be—and Lan Jingyi is quite certain is—C.A.R.P. Corp. After all, Chief Minister Lan spends most of his time at headquarters. 

Lan Jingyi shakes his head. There are memories he can’t quite recall. Hanguang-jun withheld details from him the last time he uploaded his memories. He knows he may never recover them. 

It doesn’t matter right now.

Lan Jingyi walks with measured steps toward the correct elevator, which waits for him with glass framed in ornate white, silver, and gold. This may very well be a trap, but Lan Jingyi knows he can take most of the tower with him if need be. He is strong and he can concentrate on his golden core until—

The elevator dings. What an obnoxious noise, but he steps inside and lets it scan his neck. The concierge has input his information. He can go to the apartment and nowhere else. It doesn’t matter if its occupant is there or not; the door will open for him. It is a brilliant way around the whole breaking into the place thing. Why make it excessively complicated if he can just stroll in through the front door? He wishes Sizhui were here to agree. Or Zizhen. He misses Jin Ling. 

The elevator soars up the building almost to the very top. Lan Jingyi is a little relieved and a little disappointed. The very tops of buildings are exclusive to those deemed most fortunate—those who worked the hardest, only they didn’t. This kind of opulence emotionally exhausts Lan Jingyi, but he isn’t here for them. He is here for his mission. The elevator chimes again, interrupting his thoughts. He steps into a dark hallway in which small spheres along the seams of the ceiling light up as he walks past them. It is an eerie golden red light barely illuminating him as if to conceal his existence from the rest of the occupants. Not that he believes there are any.

The apartment is at the end of the hallway, as though all one’s riches and fame needed to be catalogued and strategically displayed for all to see. Lan Jingyi hates the idea of conspicuous consumption. And yet. Maybe he should burn it all regardless, he thinks, but shakes the thought. He is not Hanguang-jun. He has not learned to push away his feelings, his convictions in order to help the resistance survive. Sometimes he wonders if the gentle soul who liked to sit and feed bunnies with a small Sizhui in his lap still exists. He has not seen such a sight in centuries. 

He opens the door and slips into the apartment astounded by the stacks of books which line the entire place from floor to ceiling: the old-fashioned kind, ancient ones, tablets, bound books, scrolls. He browses, taking the time to read what text he can see. Everything seems to be geared toward the gathering of knowledge. A painting of a tree depicted with precise and delicate brush strokes; hangs in the corridor; it looks to be forever old and held together by the glass case which keeps it protected from the world.  
His fascination only lasts as long as he takes to remember why he is here. He has a mission to fulfil: leave the data in the bedroom on the bed. It does not say which bedroom, only a symbol he does not recognize, maybe a claw or a beast. He figures that in order to leave it in the correct bedroom, he will have to find something which resembles the symbol. Of course, he has to find a bedroom first before he can do that. Any bedroom will do.

“Hello?” He calls out just in case even though his wrist guard does not show anyone else here with him. The data transforms once more and shows a floor plan of the place. It’s huge. A house for a family of many. There is a wing with bedrooms, offices, a gym, a movie theatre... and yet only one occupant listed. 

No wonder the companion bot passed with such ease; they probably are a regular occurrence. He walks toward the bedrooms, when through the floor-to-ceiling windows running along the corridor, he sees a pool. It runs right to the edge of the building, appearing to cascade down over the edge. Flowers and trees cover the area and it looks almost like a lake in a clearing, as if someone sought to recreate a painting or a memory. Who lives here? Lan Jingyi thinks and a strange feeling of being watched settles in his bones.

He shakes himself and takes big strides toward his destination. The familiarity of the pool haunts him, and he isn’t sure why. He’s felt off since entering this building and it’s getting worse by the moment. And now someone may be watching him. He should leave, not take the risk, but he’s made it this far. He tears open doors to bedrooms, not caring that he is leaving them open, that he is leaving the rooms in disarray, trying to find this absurd symbol. Maybe that’s not even the point, maybe he should just be leaving it in some bedroom, any bedroom. Every one he knows could live in this place. Every one he loves. Fuck.
 
“What the fuck is wrong with you? Where am I supposed to leave this?!”

He shouts into an empty bedroom where a bed made of wood carved into four posts takes up most of the space. It’s so big. No one needs this. No one needs this. No one fucking needs this. He slams the door shut again and finds the next bedroom and the next and the next until eventually he comes to one with a single bed. A simple bed. Beside it stands a simple table, a simple desk, and too many pillows. What he sees is the tapestry behind the bed-colours faded beyond recognition-a symbol in front of a once ornate background. The same symbol as in the data set. He has come to the end.  

The wrist display lights up.

     'Leave it here'

Lan Jingyi holds his breath. This confirms someone is watching him. He tries not to show his panic on his face.

     'Please leave it as instructed'

He hesitates and looks around for surveillance tech.

     'You will not find me'

 Fuck. “Can you hear me too? Cause fuck you this is unnecessarily creepy!” 
 
He leaves the small box on the bed with flourished movement and a bow to no one. He needs to get out of here. He needs to get out of here now.  

     'Thank You'

“Fuck you.”  

     'You do not need to tidy, just leave'

Lan Jingyi ignores the jab and turns on his heels. He taps the neck implant and the flight suit closes around him. He summons his sword and runs back to the pool and pushes his way out through the windows using spiritual energy. He is not staying here another second. He tosses the wrist display to the ground, vaporising it with a burst of spiritual energy and unsheathes his sword as he runs toward the edge of the building. He screams in his helmet as he throws himself off the building and tosses the sword beneath him. 

Away. 

Fast. 

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji doesn’t want to be here. He is one of the few remaining cultivators powerful enough to perform the ritual. It is bad enough he is in part responsible for its existence. Thankfully, the guilt he feels is but a dull memory of the visceral emotion he used to succumb to whenever he thought about what he had done whilst overrun by desperation. One day, he will wipe the knowledge from the earth, no matter how gentle it has become in Mo Xuanyu’s hands. Taking into consideration Jin Guangyao’s technological ability to violently transfer souls at will, the ritual remains a wretched necessity.

He never should have agreed to perform the transfer. He never should have stayed. Ouyang Zizhen, who in this life is Mo Xuanyu’s spouse, interrupts his musings. He smiles even though Lan Wangji knows his only memories of him are from this life. Like many since The Great Purge, Ouyang Zizhen chooses not to remember his past lives.

“Hanguang-jun, you’re joining us for the ritual? What an honour!” Ouyang Zizhen says while he bounces the child on his hip to get them to look at Lan Wangji. “A-Qing, don’t be shy, this is Hanguang-jun. Do you remember who he is?”

Lan Wangji would much prefer to no longer be someone whom children should admire. There is a reason he rarely returns.
“He keeps us safe?”

“That’s right, and what do we say?”

The child, A-Qing, scrunches up their face while thinking very hard for a moment.

“Your sword is so cool!”

“Ah well yes,” Ouyang Zizhen laughs nervously, “but the other thing.”

“Thank you, Hanguang-jun, for keeping us safe.”

The child places their hands together and gives a little bow. It is adorable. Lan Wangji suppresses distant pangs in his chest and channels energy into the chip in his neck. That life is long gone.

“You are welcome, A-Qing,” he says and returns the gesture.

The child dissolves into giddy excitement, and Lan Wangji excuses himself.

It is uncomfortable; the crowd meandering through the green space leading to the ceremony room. The plants don’t seem to mind that talismans mimic the light of the sun. They thrive, reaching for the ‘sun’, but Lan Wangji knows it isn’t real. All of this is but a meagre attempt at rebuilding a life that was ripped from generations of cultivators so long ago. He hates they have to make do with scraps gathered from a life most of them do not even remember. He hates the resentment he feels because he remembers Wei Ying’s bright smile and how happy he could have been. The man who took barren land and willed it to bear fruit now is nothing more than a memory which haunts Lan Wangji. He should not think so darkly of this place when it provides shelter for so many.

It is difficult not to allow his mind to drift away from the sanctuary to a time long ago when he had gone on a night hunt in Yiling. He had not lied. He had fought several ghosts and fierce corpses on the way to Yiling. He tries to push away thoughts of that day, the happiest he had ever been: with Sizhui on his lap, having a meal with Wei Ying. It had been the last time he felt genuine happiness.

“Father?” Sizhui does not touch him, but he looks concerned.

“I have not been here in a long time.” Lan Wangji confesses, and he hopes that is all the explanation Sizhui requires.

“We don’t have to attend if it’s too much.” The boy is too considerate of others, too in tune with those around him. Lan Wangji does not deserve such considerations, especially since his motive is entirely selfish: trying to spare himself his own discomfort.

“We do,” he simply responds and Sizhui nods and bows, but remains silent.

Lan Wangji suppresses a sigh when he enters the ceremonial room alone. He appreciates that instead of a large hall; it is but a small room, decorated to the family’s liking. Even after all these years, discomfort creeps up his spine. He knows it is as peaceful as possible, but that does not change the vague sense of loss he feels every time he performs the ritual.

“She is angry.” Luo Qingyang says, already seated at her guqin.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji nods and summons his own.

Together, they play for a while. There is no resistance from Wen Qing, not that Lan Wangji expected any. She must be eager to return. He suppresses a surge of jealousy threatening to rise. This is not the time and Wen Qing has answers. She has to have answers. He cannot fathom what it would mean if it was all in vain.

“It is time,” Luo Qingyang says, her voice barely above a whisper, and Lan Wangji nods in response.

The ceremony will continue. Luo Qingyang gets up and opens the door to an adjacent room where the volunteer has prepared. He is a young man, barely an adult, and Lan Wangji pushes away thoughts of his sons.

“This is Zhang San,” she says and guides him to the table. They’re always Zhang San when they come here.

Zhang San smiles at Lan Wangji and nods at Luo Qingyang before he lays down on the bed covered with flowers. Lan Wangji assumes they are his favourite. He nods in return but stays silent. It is not his place to judge or ask questions. The young man consented to this. Lan Wangji will not speculate on what would have driven him to do this. That he is here alone speaks louder than any words ever could.

Lan Wangji wishes he had his robes. He would feel more comfortable playing such a ceremony in clothing which makes him feel whole, instead of his flight suit - still half on and the hood of his tunic thrown back while his braid is in utmost disarray. He knows these thoughts are to avoid thinking about what is required of him next.

There is no time to ponder whether this is the right thing to do. He places the soul trapping cylinder on the table for the cultivators performing the ceremony. They enter one by one, overseen by Mo Xuanyu, whose presence over the years became both relief and pain for Lan Wangji. He feels guilt lick at the back of his thoughts, but he pushes it away. He has a job to do and he will not fail the ritual. He exhales a breath and places his fingers on the instrument, strumming it softly. No real melody, just a soft noise to channel spiritual energy. Zhang San’s death will be quiet and without pain. Unlike the C.A.R.P. soul transfer tech which shatters the host’s soul, a cultivator places a talisman on the lower dantian to protect the golden core and one on the head, which instantly kills the person once activated. It is peaceful by comparison. Silent when it happens. There is a smile still lingering on Zhang San’s face. He truly wanted this.

Mo Xuanyu nods at Lan Wangji and he plays the Song of Separation that Mo Xuanyu composed so many years ago, allowing the soul to separate from the body, gently, peacefully, and without disturbance. It is a long process, but it will best preserve the soul. Lan Wangji plays with skill and detaches himself from the moment. He cannot allow his thoughts to drift and distract him.

Eventually, the soft glow of a soul illuminates the dimmed room and Mo Xuanyu pulls it into his spirit trapping pouch with great care. He will take it to the spirit cavern next, and there the soul will rest until it is time for it to be reborn. He will leave offerings for the young man’s spirit, play Inquiry, and tend to the other souls for the rest of the day. His work here is done, and now begins for Lan Wangji.

The remaining cultivators remove the forehead talisman and replace it with two new talismans, one on the body’s chest and one on the left hand. Lan Wangji knows a powerful soul requires strong spiritual energy to be guided back into the body. It helps that Wen Qing has things she wishes to tell them, but it is still a struggle, even for him. It takes two more soul attraction talismans before she settles into the body. One cultivator immediately seals the bed, effectively trapping the body while the soul takes it over. Now, it is just a matter of time for her to burn along the meridians and eventually return to life, likely as herself. Souls as strong as hers tend to shape the body they inherit in the image they remember most. All they can do now is wait.

After Lan Wangji finishes playing, exhausted from the emotional effort, he joins Sizhui outside of the room. Lan Wangji wishes he could offer him the comfort he used to give. It has been too long, too many deaths, too many lives. He sits with Sizhui in a quiet meditation room. It is calming to the mind, with a small waterfall and lots of trees and bushes. It could almost be mistaken for a small clearing outside. But Lan Wangji knows it is not. He always knows. He wants to know. Sizhui sits with him, both barefoot on the grass. They meditate together because there is nothing Lan Wangji wants to say, nothing he wants to hear. Perhaps later, he will ask for the specifics around Jingyi’s disappearance, but the boy is no longer a boy. He is a man, a powerful man. Still, Lan Wangji feels a small thread of worry creep into his mind. He cannot afford that, he cannot afford to worry about him when he needs to know what Wen Qing knows, when he needs to know if she can tell him what he so desperately has wanted to hear, what he is now terrified to hear, what he no longer believes he deserves to hear.

Sizhui must sense his mind’s restlessness because his hand finds Lan Wangji’s forearm and gently squeezes it. He does not open his eyes. He simply remains calm and still, with a patience Lan Wangji often praised and cultivated. Now it is marginally infuriating, and he wonders if he even deserves to think of himself as Sizhui’s parent. As anyone’s parent. As someone who deserves to be loved.

They meditate in silence for two days. Eventually, even Lan Wangji’s troubled mind finds the same calm Sizhui did. He wonders how he ever became immortal with a mind this agitated, but he supposes back then he had not been. Back when he had entered seclusion for a hundred years to find Wei Ying’s soul. Lan Wangji startles himself out of his thoughts and staggers to his feet. He cannot. He will not. Not when they have come so far, not when he needs to be strong. Sizhui looks at him with questions in his eyes but he cannot answer. The balance is precarious to keep the memories intact without their emotional attachment. He cannot allow himself to break it. Removing all his emotions is impossible, but he can regulate them, dampen them, keep them in check. His stoic facade is what all know and appreciate, his insides had always been turmoil and only Wei Ying had truly seen him for who he was.

However, he cannot allow himself to deviate from a path so difficult that any dwelling on too much thought of him, too much hope for his return, and too much love for his children might ruin everything. If they can be used as a tool to get to him- as much as he tries to keep them at arm’s length, he cannot lose them. He needs them to be safe. He closes his eyes, knowing his control is slipping, that he is allowing the chip inside his neck to function more… efficiently to dampen his emotions and memories than it should. They cannot know. They will not know.

“I will see Wen Qing,” he tells Sizhui.

Before that brave youthful face can protest or offer any other input which might break Lan Wangji’s resolution, he exits the room. Despite everything, there is one thing he cannot erase: his hope for Wei Ying. He has dampened his love, subdued himself to where some might no longer recognize him should they encounter him again.

“What happened to you?” he remembers Xichen’s voice, “you used to be so kind.”

He pushes the thoughts away and walks back toward the ritual room and through the door where Wen Qing is slowly getting dressed.

“I-,” he turns around, ears red, “I apologise, I did not realise you were already awake.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t see you sooner. I have been awake for an hour.” She says as though she had expected his face the moment she had opened her eyes. She pulls a tunic over her head, seemingly bemused by his presence based on the chuckle before she speaks again. “It’s safe to turn around, my terrifying womanly undergarments are hidden from sight.”

Lan Wangji cannot say anything about that. He already is the person she expected to see instead of her life partner, the woman she loves, the woman who had caused such confusion between him and Wei Ying when they had been so young and filled with hormones and angst. It could have been so different if they had both realised their feelings for each other, but that is long gone. That time no longer exists.

“Jin Guangyao has Wei Wuxian’s soul.” She says without further ceremony, without Lan Wangji needing to ask her. “That’s what you wanted to know. That’s what I was going to tell you before they put a hole in my chest. Who was this?”

“A young man who was born here, he wanted to help.”

“Well, someone tell his family thank you. We need a map, I have coordinates, but we need to verify that there is no secondary encryption.”

“There is no family.” Luo Qingyang says as she walks through the door. “Parents died on a volunteer mission. His little brother died of a fever a few weeks before they left.”

The three of them stand in silence, before Lan Wangji’s burning need to know leads him to speak up: “You have coordinates?”

It seems impossible that she would have retained any sort of encrypted data within her soul.

“Uploaded, on a secret server. One of the volunteers sent it before we lost her.” She talks casually about these things, like she doesn’t remember dying herself, murdered, a sacrifice to appease the status quo. Lan Wangji should have never left the Burial Mounds. Will he ever not feel this regret?

“I will leave you two to it.” Luo Qingyang says and nods at Wen Qing. Lan Wangji appreciates the gesture as much as he feels guilty about it.

Wen Qing does not appear to have the same hang-ups he has at this moment. Her and Luo Qingyang should be together, happily reunited, relishing in each other’s presence. They need to come to terms with what has happened, to remind each other of what is still good in their lives, that they still have each other. They had only temporarily lost each other. The sting of tears burns in Lan Wangji’s eyes and nose and he hates it. The chip must be malfunctioning. However, Wen Qing is patient with him, more patient than she had been with Wei Ying, more patient than she had been with most perhaps except for her brother, who still roams the world but no one truly knows where he is.

“Walk me through it.”

“Okay.” she pulls up the information on the workstation table. “We didn’t know where Wei Wuxian has been all this time. We have the location of most of the souls of the major clans because we know C.A.R.P. uses them to their advantage, so we have to keep track. But we never found Wei Wuxian’s, and none of us thought we would. However, a few weeks ago, chatter changed. There was a lot more talking in codes and a lot less communication between certain branches. We’ve been really good at keeping up with C.A.R.P.’s plans, but something definitely changed. I lost my whole team. We thought they only had that kind of tech in the tower, a single prototype or two with which he revives his hunters, but it turns out they made that shit portable.”

“Which makes them a greater danger to us than they’ve ever been.” Lan Wangji says with a sigh. They should have seen this coming.

“I haven’t even gotten to the bad part.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“Depends on whom you ask, because,” she pulls up a data cluster with what’s definitely a set of coordinates, and they definitely have secondary encryption. Lan Wangji is very glad that the volunteer uploaded the supplementary data, otherwise he would have flown somewhere entirely wrong. “There was only one time when I heard them say it: Yiling Laozu. They would not use that name unless they absolutely knew that they had him. Even mentioning him around Jin Guangyao has been something that never happens. But he did say those words.”

“Jin Guangyao?”

“No, the other one.”

Lan Wangji knows who the other one is, knows it is Xichen, knows she is not referring to his brother by name to spare him the pain, but the pain comes regardless. Or it would if the chip didn’t work to even his temper, even in the face of terrible adversity. He is once more glad for it.

“When?”

“Two days ago. They transported the soul from Carp Tower somewhere, but I couldn’t figure it out until I overheard the encryption codes. These are the actual coordinates I found for his location. We have to find him. If we don’t... he is going to use Wei Wuxian’s soul to build a weapon. I’ve never heard of anything like this, but we should assume that we have been terribly wrong about being on par with C.A.R.P.. We were fucking wrong and we have to find Wei Wuxian before it’s too late.”

“He found Wei Wuxian’s soul, and he’s going to use it to wipe out all cultivators.” Lan Wangji says and watches the screen.

The encryption falls away and reveals a new data cluster. This is where Wei Ying is. This is where Wei Ying is kept. This is where Wei Ying will be. Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Wei Yi-

“I’m downloading the data cluster into your device.” Wen Qing says and moments later, the screen on Lan Wangji’s forearm lights up. “I don’t know if this is a trap. I don’t know what this means exactly, but I also know that if I tell you to wait for us to know more, you’re going to sneak behind our backs to find him, and you’ll be endangering others again. So, here. Be safe, try nothing too reckless. Try not to get yourself maimed. I’m not fixing you back up again. If you’re getting maimed, make sure they kill you, so you suffer less.”

There is no smile on her face. She means every word she has said. She was the one who removed the first chip from his neck after it malfunctioned. She doesn't know he has implanted another one. And he has no intention of enlightening her otherwise. So, he nods and gives her a curt bow.

“I will do my best,” he says, and leaves without further discussion.

Chapter Text

Coordinates appear on his wrist display. Coordinates, and nothing more. They found him, Wen Qing said. Many died to bring this information to the resistance. He will not let this opportunity slip from his fingers. Of course, he should think of Sizhui and Jingyi, and perhaps even of Mo Xuanyu before he leaves, but he cannot. If they located Wei Ying’s soul, if these coordinates indicate his whereabouts, Lan Wangji cannot wait to find him.

The ritual is over; Wen Qing has a body and what she does now no longer concerns him. Not when he has to leave. He pulls the hood over his head without hesitation and ducks out of the room Luo Qingyang offered him in hopes he would stay. It is a mere guest room. A long time ago, he used to live here in quarters given to him and his sons, when they were children, in an entirely different lifetime. That is no longer his life. Not since he endangered so many for the possibility of reaching Wei Ying. He will no longer risk the lives of others, especially not his children. Not when they are more valuable here teaching–he realises he has forgotten what Sizhui told him earlier. Jingyi is missing. The guilt he feels cuts deep. He should look for Jingyi, but the boy–young man, he supposes–is bright and has experience many an Elder would envy. He would have given Wei Ying a run for skill in their youth. Maybe he soon will.

A lot of justification goes into his decision to pursue the coordinates first. He knows this, and he knows he is a terrible person for chasing the dead when he should chase the living, save the living. But Wei Ying–Lan Wangji’s entire existence has culminated in carrying Wei Ying sacred in his heart. He cannot. He will not let the opportunity of finding him slip past his fingers. Time is of the essence. He knows this, and closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling a shaky breath. He apologises to Sizhui inside his mind. Perhaps he lost his humanity a long time ago, but too late now to change course. If Lan Wangji surrenders his hope for Wei Ying, nothing remains, and grief will tear him apart from the inside.

Once outside, he breaks into a sprint and pulls a talisman from his sleeve. With a push on his wrist display, his flight suit envelops him and, moments later, he soars high. He does not turn around when he activates the chip in his neck; he heard the footsteps. If he looks back, he will see Sizhui standing at the entrance. He cannot afford sentimentality right now.

Flying by sword is efficient for Lan Wangji. He has been alive long enough that it barely takes effort. His core is so strong he no longer even notices the small fluctuation of energy within him when he flies. There are many flying machines, but none of them have the benefit of slipping unseen into places which are forbidden, to cross boundaries which are heavily fortified. The most common oversight is that no one ever thinks to look for flying swords. Sometimes, he wonders why that is. Jin Guangyao knows these skills. He and those who follow him have adapted modern technology from cultivator practices. Talismans are now devices which aid many in their everyday lives. Spiritual energy distilled into core crystals power entire cities. C.A.R.P. Corp continues to exploit cultivation while fuelling the idea that cultivators are unseen demons which come in the night to steal people’s souls in a never-ending quest for eternal life. It is ridiculous as much as it is effective. Fear is effective.

The politics of cultivation never interested Lan Wangji, but he knows these are scared people who want to live in peace. They remind him of the Wens in the Burial Mounds before Wei Ying’s death, simply people who wanted to live, most of them not even cultivators. He understands Jin Guangyao’s pursuit of power. Unbridled fear will lash out in any direction, but distilled, it can be harnessed. Fear of cultivators has kept Jin Guangyao in power all this time...

The few attempts to overthrow Jin Guangyao only strengthened him in the long-run. He changes his face, changes Lan Xichen’s face, but together, they have held power since the ancient days. And all the while, the rift between Lan Wangji and Xichen grew deeper and deeper until it became an irreparable chasm. Perhaps that is for the best, Lan Wangji thinks. It will save him from the difficulty of reconciling what Xichen stood by and allowed to happen, and their relationship as brothers.

With the Qinghe Nie sect abandoned and strewn across the directions of the wind after Nie Huaisang had failed as a leader to contain the sword spirit, with the Yunmeng Jiang sect deeply in debt to the Jin clan, it had been so easy. The shining beacon of wealth of the Lan-Jin coalition was enough to coerce the smaller clans to pledge their sects to them. Now, they, too, have lost everything, marked traitors along with all the others, imprisoned, executed, vanished.

Of course, there still are cultivators aside from the ones who fled to the Yiling Wasteland during the Cultivator Wars. Plenty live alongside everyone else, hidden in plain sight. Surely there are other places which think themselves free, but C.A.R.P. Corp is a global conglomerate and works in ways which Lan Wangji cannot fathom. And frankly, he does not wish to understand either. He does not need to understand it in order to fight it. Not when he is one of the few left with the power to do so. Jin Rulan’s death broke Jiang Wanyin, who now is nothing more than a puppet for Jin Guangyao. It has been over two hundred years since he last saw Jiang Wanyin, and if Lan Wangji could never think of him again, he would do it gladly. Unfortunately, it would come at the cost of never thinking of Wei Ying again and that is a price which Lan Wangji will never pay.

The coordinates blink on his wrist device. He is close. Very close. He hovers above them and looks down. It is nothing but water. When had he crossed over the ocean? He looks down, activates the scanner in his helmet, which picks up a beacon with a very faint signal. Extremely faint. But it is enough to change the coordinates on his wrist display. It’s not a final destination, it’s a checkpoint. Someone is making sure no one else has gotten the coordinates. Whoever is leading him here is watching him. He feels uneasy about that, but the thought of Wei Ying being close changes his mind quickly as he flies onward for a while longer. It is well into the evening when he comes close.

He almost misses the land, a tiny artificial island disguised by talismans. A person stands out in the open, easily spotted. They shift from one leg to another in their flight suit, another cultivator then. The flight suit is nearly black, with green tracks lit up in the dark. Whoever this person is, their energy is a beacon and then he sees the fan. He almost stumbles when he jumps off the sword. This is a face he has not seen in over a thousand years, a face he had thought extinguished from this earth, but here it is, hidden behind a fan, eyes darting back and forth with fear and suspicion. He has not spotted Lan Wangji yet, but he looks so frightened that there is no way that he was the one who gave Wen Qing the coordinates. Someone is toying with Lan Wangji. Perhaps they are using a messenger so well disguised no one would suspect him.

“Nie Huaisang,” he says, voice calm.

“H-Hanguang-Jun?” Nie Huaisang looks like he is about to faint with both fear and relief.

“Why are you here?”

“I- I- someone gave me these coordinates,” Nie Huaisang says and looks at Lan Wangji before hiding his face behind the fan. “I- I haven’t told anyone that I’m a cultivator, but one day I- I found this in my apartment with these coordinates.” He pulls a small box from his satchel. “It- it said to give it to whoever arrives here, and give it to them.” It is a data stick and a passkey.

“And what do I do with this?”

“It- it will reveal itself here,” he says and holds up his wrist display. Nie Huaisang has the coordinates and Lan Wangji has the tech. This is a trap and yet–

“Where does this lead?”

“H-him.”

Nie Huaisang’s voice is barely a breath, unable to mention Wei Ying by name.

Lan Wangji does not think when he grabs Nie Huaisang to study his face, to search for the lie, the trap, the deception, but he only sees the same terrified eyes from their teenage years. They had been annoying back then, but now they are infuriating. The incompetence and fear that radiates from this small man, the only way this could have been a worse encounter if in front of Lan Wangji stood Jiang Cheng. No, he corrects himself, if it were Jiang Cheng, it would at least mean the coward grew a spine and stood up for something he believed in, rather than being the traitorous collaborator he turned out to be. This is, in fact, what Lan Wangji would consider a nightmare situation.

Nie Huaisang seems to be unbothered by Lan Wangji’s thoughts, which means at least, he is not writing them on his face for all to see. Though perhaps Wei Ying–he pushes the thoughts down. They have to find his soul.

“Perhaps, once we are at these coordinates, it will become clear.” Nie Huaisang offers and Lan Wangji looks past his shoulder for a long time. “Or you, I can transfer the data to you.” He adds with a stutter and fumbles with his wrist guard. He works a few moments to eject the data chip, but it appears to be in vain. “It won’t transfer and I can’t get it out.”

“If that is what it takes to find Wei Ying.” He says, still knowing that this could very much be a trap. He wishes that turning off the chip in his neck did not come with such tremendous backlash. Lan Wangji has tried to live without it, but the suffering and longing slammed back into him with devastating force, so overwhelming that it has been impossible to function, to survive. He spent weeks wailing on the ground, begging for death from his terrified children. They were too young to witness such horror. He cannot let this happen again. He needs to regulate.

“I don’t know.” Nie Huaisang says so defensively, so terrified that Lan Wangji would imply that he knows anything at all. Some people aren’t meant to lead. Some people perhaps only exist to provide someone else a person to take care of because they are too emotionally delicate and weak to– he cuts off his thoughts. He should not judge like this, but these notions happen more often when he uses the chip heavily. Perhaps this is a side effect he has failed to notice. Maybe this is all a mistake, but he cannot back down now, not when there is more hope than he has experienced since the cavern. Not when they need to take away the one thing Jin Guangyao has over them. Not when there is so much they need to know and learn, to understand how to protect themselves from what will be an inevitable attack on their very existence. He wonders what this all means, if anyone will even remember these struggles. Perhaps one day, he will no longer wonder about the distant future and face a once more finite life.

“There appears to be only one way to find out.” Lan Wangji says, unsheathing his sword.

He is uncertain of what he expected, perhaps a flight pod or some kind of travel device instead of the sabre that Nie Huaisang summons. Perhaps he has learned more than he has been willing to let on. After all, he is alive, and he is a cultivator. Lan Wangji will continue to exercise caution. Nie Huaisang pushes the button on his neck, releasing his flight suit. It is flashy, the green lighting up garishly against the inky dark behind him. Thankfully, the light dims once he jumps on his sword and matches Lan Wangji’s frequency.

“You’ll be able to see me this way.” He tells him as the light gathers toward his back.

“Mn,” is all that Lan Wangji says in response before mounting his own sword and allowing them both to dart off into the night. What he means is “thank you”, though, after all this time he cannot bring himself to say it.

***

Lan Wangji follows Nie Huaisang through the darkness of the night for a long time. His previous thoughts gnaw on him. Lifetimes ago, Nie Huaisang had been perhaps not exactly a friend but a presence he found he could tolerate better than others. Then, he’d been a lifeline to a world becoming more bewildering with each passing day. And then, he had vanished, a body found burnt to char. The last person Lan Wangji knew to hold on to the truth… gone. And yet his first instinct was to belittle him. He has the churning in his belly that this dissonance brings and channels more energy into the chip in his neck. The relief comes before they land in a field.

“There,” Nie Huaisang says and points toward the shining beacon in the distance, “the train will take us into the city.”

The end terminal of the mag-lev rail connecting satellite towns to the city waits for them in the distance. The trains are fast. Faster than travelling on sword could be and Lan Wangji understands Nie Huaisang’s logic: no one will expect them to commute. Lan Wangji himself always opted to fly into the city by sword, hidden by the energy wake of cargo shuttles. Crowds jam into these trains every day, free for all to use as needed. Chief Minister Lan oversaw the expansion construction himself. Of course, back then he had a different name, a different face. Just like Jin Guangyao had a different name and a different face. This and similar initiatives secured Chief Minister Lan’s re-election last year. Lan Wangji elects not to think about his brother more than he absolutely has to these days.

Regardless, the train is where they will least expect them, safety within the crowd. Even in their flight suits and helmets, they blend into the lively crowd. Pilots wearing similar gear commuting to the city to haul cargo; students in brightly coloured fashions long outdated in the city chattering giddily about their favourite idols. The sounds, the lights, the enclosed space. It’s been long since he has been in such a suffocating crowd. Lan Wangji thinks he hears Jingyi’s stage name, but before he can turn around, Nie Huaisang presses onward toward the luxury rail car near the very front. He scans his wrist and the door hisses open with a warm “Welcome, first-class passenger Wang and one guest”.

Lan Wangji looks at Nie Huaisang, who shrugs, but there is a hint of a smug smile playing around his lips while he fans himself.

“Welcome,” he says and pulls them into a sub-compartment of the railcar, “to all the luxury this name can offer.”

Lan Wangji looks at Nie Huaisang for a long moment, but he is already ordering himself food and drink from the personal food replicator hidden behind a false wall panel. There is nothing to do but sit on the plush bench and close his eyes to meditate. Wei Ying, he thinks, but cannot reach out with his core. The talismans on his abdomen keep it concealed from detection. Wei Ying, he thinks. Wait for me.

“Welcome to Sector 12-B.” A warm computer generated voice chimes through the speakers a while later. “All visitors must comply with 12-B ordinances. Failure to comply will result in immediate apprehension and containment. Your visitation record chip is now activated and expires in 72 hours. Visitors must report back to the Sector Gateway within that time. Please respect the citizens of 12-B and enjoy your stay.”

The message repeats on a loop until the train comes to a halt and passengers slowly disembark. Lan Wangji taps the visitor pass Nie Huaisang handed him earlier against the exit panel, which turns green with a friendly chime, allowing Lan Wangji to pass through the energy barrier without harm. He stands on the platform; the sight of the bustling centre of the city during daytime is almost too much. The luxury rail car moved all the way to the highest station in the city where the sun catches on glass and air recyclers filter impurities from the air until it smells almost sweet. It is bright and green and everything the Burial Mounds are not, everything so many places are not. And somewhere among the vast interconnection of buildings, among the layers of shuttle traffic, among the many, many people, he will find Wei Ying.

Chapter Text

With Nie Huaisang staying behind, Lan Wangji knows he can be more efficient. If no one knows he is alive, then perhaps this could play to their advantage. Of course, he is cautious. Whoever sent him had plans, plans to which Lan Wangji is not privy and he deeply dislikes any scenario in which he does not have all the variables. Improvisation to this day is not exactly his strong suit. However, if there is even an inkling of truth to the possibility of Wei Ying’s soul being held captive, he cannot take the chance to leave this uninvestigated. The data chip Nie Huaisang has procured gets him in the door without setting off any alarms. He will consider this a win if it gets him back out again. He knows there is a very good chance that this is a trap. Someone likely co-opted the easily frightened character of Nie Huaisang and used Wei Ying’s soul as a trap to capture Lan Wangji, to kill him and deal a forceful blow to the cultivator resistance. 

If Wei Ying’s soul truly is held captive here and Lan Wangji can finally see— 

He does not let his thoughts run away with the possibilities. The dim glow of the floor plan illuminated on his forearm display guides the way. There are no guards—human, cultivator, or cybernetic—but the building is large and bustling. No one notices him slip past the crowds into quieter corridors. Part hotel, part shopping district, there is no better place to hide an important lab, because they know the resistance would never dare venture this deeply into enemy territory. People here are hostile toward cultivators. Poverty and subtle propaganda combined with the high bounties put on the heads of cultivators like Lan Wangji make turning against him understandable. Jin Guangyao plays his cards well.  

He walks around the corner. The human standing by the door sinks to the floor, never noticing Lan Wangji while the talisman sends them to sleep. Perhaps he should be more permanent with his actions, but he cannot bring himself to kill in the same building Wei Ying’s soul might be.  

Lan Wangji doesn’t have the right to expect anything from Wei Ying. Not after all this time. And perhaps Wei Ying’s soul does not even yearn to be reborn. He desperately wishes that Wei Ying will at least listen to Inquiry and choose to communicate his wishes. He tries to contain the hope which threatens to run rampant through him and speeds up his steps, making him careless as he easily fights his way through a group of cybernetic androids guarding the last door. He does not reflect on how quickly he reached his destination and how easily he defeated them. Every part of him should be on guard now, but all he can think of is reaching Wei Ying—a  soul he does not even know is truly here. He presses the data slip against the lock. This is the moment. This is it. He is not ready. He will never be ready. Chirping, the lock flashes green and the door slides open with a hiss.  

The room is dimly lit. Strange for a lab. It looks more like a bedroom with sheer fabric in shades of crimson and burgundy cascading from the ceiling, obscuring his view of the far ends of the room. The only light comes from talisman fireflies dancing along the edges of the silk panels. There is a bed; Lan Wangji can see it through the silks. It is empty, but there is a figure standing behind a privacy screen. Lan Wangji knows the outline of those shoulders and suddenly it feels like no time has passed at all.  

“Wei Ying?” He whispers, nearly inaudible as he stands frozen in place, his chest a vortex of emotions he cannot process.   

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s voice sounds so bright that Lan Wangji well-nigh sinks to his knees.     

“Wei Ying,” he says again. He cannot find the words he should speak, the feelings he should confess… he cannot do everything he promised himself he would do if only Wei Ying would allow it.     

“Lan Zhan, don’t stand around like you didn’t know it’s me.”     

Wei Ying pulls a shirt over his head and walks out from behind all the silk. He stands in front of Lan Wangji as if a thousand years had never passed. His hair is shorter, the sides of his head shaved in an extravagant choice, a style that reflects current fashions. Had Wei Ying lived his life and only now remembered who he was? Lan Wangji has so many questions and cannot string the words together. He feels like he’s fifteen again and Wei Ying just snuck in a bunch of wine and had the audacity to break several rules right in front of him.     

He eventually speaks more than Wei Ying’s name—“You’re alive.”—and Wei Ying laughs.     

Lan Wangji has not heard his laugh in so long; he cannot tell why it sounds wrong.    

“Of course, I’m alive,” he says and stands close to Lan Wangji. “Still wearing the headband, huh? Does that mean the mighty Hanguang-Jun has waited for me?”     

“I... .” Lan Wangji can feel his ears heat with the kinds of embarrassment which only Wei Ying could ever elicit from him.     

“Just kidding, Lan Zhan!”  Wei Ying laughs again, still off. Maybe Lan Wangji just doesn’t remember right. “Unless you don’t want me to. It’s been too long, you know. Why should we deny what we actually want?”     

The world swims around Lan Wangji when he feels Wei Ying’s hands against his chest, so strangely intimate that his breath hitches in his throat.     

“What?” Lan Wangji whispers.    

Wei Ying smiles, and it’s wrong, it’s off, it’s not right. “I remember how you looked at me when we were younger, how much you wanted me.”  

Wei Ying’s smile was so bright it crinkled his eyes, shining from every part of his body, but this smile—Lan Wangji can’t breathe. He shoves this figure—this Wei Ying imitation—away with uncontrolled force. His throat burns with disappointment, with rage, with a pain he had suppressed for so many years, the hope he had barely dared to keep alive shattering in a moment of imprudent indulgence. Of course, this is a trap. It’s always been a trap. Wei Ying was never here. Only this pathetic machine crumpled on the ground, skull and processor shattered from the impact against the wall. The face is unrecognisable now. An artificial eye rolls across the floor and Lan Wangji steps on it. The crunch doesn’t satisfy the rage churning inside him. He is going to burn this place to the ground.     

“Ah Lan Zhan,” he hears Wei Ying’s voice again, “what was it? The voice is not quite right?” This android has Wei Ying’s long hair and the white robes he wore while he studied at the Cloud Recesses, but the cloth is too coarse to be of Gusu, the hair piece not quite right. However, the youthful flush on his cheeks is. And the smile is brighter than the first one had been. “We hoped he would be enough, but I can tell the honourable Hanguang-Jun will only settle for the best.”     

“What is this?” Lan Wangji presses out from behind clenched teeth. He feels the rage again, and he knows he should just crush this android too, but the smile is so close, it’s almost right and every part of him yearns for this to be true.     

“Hopefully it’s where you will stay with me, with us, for a while.” He smiles and looks at Lan Wangji. “Does Hanguang-Jun still prefer tea, or has he developed stronger tastes?”  

He-it sits beside a low table and gestures for Lan Wangji to join him. Lan Wangji will not.    

“What are you?”     

“Wei Wuxian,” it says, pouring hot water into a clay pot, “I will be the Yiling Patriarch. He’s here too you know, but he’s a bit worried he’ll end up like... .” Its gaze falls on the destroyed android.     

“Why this farce? Who did this?”  

Lan Wangji tries to ignore the scent of expensive tea filling the room.     

“You used to be so patient,” it says, like it knows him, “or maybe that was just for me. Only it wasn’t, now, was it? You did kick me out of the library for what was it? Smuggling your porn?” The laugh is so close that Lan Wangji has a very hard time not forgetting that he had just destroyed one of these creations.     

“I need to know why you are doing this.” His voice is too soft. Only Wei Ying deserves his voice like this, and this machine currently making tea for them is not Wei Ying.       

“And you will, I promise.” The thing raises three fingers like Wei Ying used and nods as if he truly means his words. “We hoped that our first attempt would be enough to get you to sit down and talk, but we see now that was in error.”     

Lan Wangji does not wish to sit down with this machine, this bot pretending to be Wei Ying. He absolutely does not wish to drink tea with it, to share a moment with it, to pretend like it is an actual person, and yet he nods and sits when the thing offers him a seat again and pours tea into ornate cups before looking at him.     

“You don’t have to drink it,” the bot says, “I understand you think it poisoned or drugged, but I promised him I would serve you proper tea this time.”     

“How many of you are there?” Lan Wangji bites back the disgust and bile rising in his throat.     

“Active? Only two of us right now. A few like him,” it nods toward the broken body, “but they’re only spare bodies for us in here.” It smiles and Lan Wangji despises the warmth he feels. “You want to know what’s going on, but you’re conflicted, I can tell. I can always tell when the mighty Hanguang-Jun wrestles with his feelings, but I’m just the interim, aren’t I? The host to pour you tea, to help you calm down and relax.” Lan Wangji tenses, ready to summon Bichen, but this bot seems to sense his intent. “Ah, ah, not like that. Aiya, Lan Zhan, so suspicious and stiff. I don’t know if I can let you meet him if you’re just going to smash his brain to pieces like you did with the other one.”     

“Who programmed you?”     

“There’s a call in ten minutes,” it says and tilts its head. “If we wanted to harm you, we would have done so by now, considering you didn’t attack me the moment you saw me. We could shatter your core and cut your throat. We could suck the air out of the room and watch you suffocate. Believe me, if we wanted to kill you, it would already be done. So please, can you promise me you won’t harm him? He’s... he isn’t as aware of what he is as I am. Please be gentle?”     

Lan Wangji can’t promise that, so he does not respond. They do not know then. Good. All he can do now is to keep the true power of his core hidden. He finds it safest to stare at the cup of tea in front of him instead of looking at the android. If whatever game here plays out, he will not take part in it. He will not indulge this thing any longer. He will wait, reciting the Gusu Lan rules and accept his fate, whatever it may be, but he will not spend another moment of desperate hope to this illusion. He will not allow himself to feel the searing pain of betrayal, of shame, of embarrassment, to have fallen for such a rouse.     

“It’s all right, you can just sit here if you like.” The thing gets up and disappears amongst the sheer fabric. He can hear the voice carry across the room despite the hushed tones. “I don’t know if he’s ready, but I know you need to see him, too. Don’t take it to heart if he is mean to you. He can’t help it right now. He feels hurt and you remember how he gets.” If there is a response, Lan Wangji cannot hear it. He should not even be listening to this, but he can hear rustling as someone sits down beside him, not across from him.     

“Will Lan Zhan not even spare me a gaze?”     

The voice is so tentative, so soft, and so full of fear that Lan Wangji’s heart breaks all over again. Lan Wangji should not look. He shouldn’t believe anything he hears. Just because they have stolen Wei Ying’s voice, approximated his smile, recreated some of his memories, and put it all together in a synthetic body it does not mean this is truly Wei Ying. His soul isn’t here. It can’t be here. He refuses to believe that this is what is left of a soul so precious, of one he had failed so many lifetimes ago.     

“I understand,” the voice says, and Lan Wangji has to clench his fist and dig his fingers into his palms so as not to look at him. How can an android sound so real? Sound like it has emotions? Usually, they can only mimic emotions in a way that is superficial, just the mask of emotions and feelings enough to entertain, to connect, to satisfy. “You don’t have to talk. We can just wait until the call.”     

How can there be such regret in a voice that is synthesised by technology?     

“I might not be the right one.” He—it continues. “But I remember not being able to serve you tea. I remember you leaving and wishing I could have asked you to stay. So many things would have changed, would have ended differently if I only had opened my useless mouth and asked you to stay. Because you would have stayed, right Lan Zhan? If I had asked?”     

“I would have stayed.” Lan Wangji says before he can stop himself. He would have stayed. He would have protected Wei Ying and A-Yuan and all those who lived with him. He would have defended the Yiling Patriarch with his life and confessed his feelings to change everything. “I regret I didn’t.”     

He doesn’t know why he tells him that, but when he looks up, he knows. He is so close to the real Wei Ying with the way his brow furrows and the way he worries the inside of his lip with insecurity.     

“I wish I could be him,” he whispers before he looks away. “I know you wish I could be him, too.”  The realisation that he is right spreads across Lan Wangji in a slow, painful wave.     

“You are not him.” Lan Wangji doesn’t know when he leaned so close.     

“I know.” Wei Ying says and doesn’t move away. “I don’t want to pretend that I am. What you feel is real and what I feel is just... memories on a circuit board. I’m not real, I’m not a person, but I think they did something wrong when they made me because I wish I was.” He looks away, running his sleeve across his eyes to wipe away the tears. Androids don’t cry. They don’t have feelings he can hurt.     

“What if you haven’t found him because he doesn’t want to be found?” Jin Guangyao looks so calm and concerned, like he genuinely cares, when his image appears projected into the room. The worst part is that he might. After all, Xichen has been his companion for centuries now. He might find some sick and twisted sense of responsibility to keep Lan Wangji safe and happy. “What if his soul simply vanished like the rest of him did? Consider this a peace offering, negotiations if you will.”     

“I know I’m not him.” It is not Wei Ying’s hand against his cheek, it can’t be. “But if it’s alright with you, I could try...”     

He is so close to Lan Wangji that it would be so easy to turn his head and capture his lips with a tender kiss. Would he feel warm and soft like Lan Wangji had imagined Wei Ying would feel? Would he taste the way he had imagined Wei Ying to taste? Of Emperor’s Smile and the faint memory of spice? He has waited for so very long, and perhaps Jin Guangyao is right. Lan Wangji is so very exhausted. He believes Jin Guangyao when he says he will let them go in exchange for laying down his weapons for good. He has nothing to gain from this, and if he truly wanted, he could have killed Lan Wangji already. Is it not time to take a rest? He has never kissed anyone, not like that, but perhaps he could. Perhaps he could just rest for a little while.     

“It’s all right,” he hears that soft voice that could be Wei Ying. He wants it to be Wei Ying. “You’re safe with me.”     

Safe. Lan Wangji wants to be safe, to be back in his robes, to bathe in wooden tubs, to watch Wei Ying come back to the Jingshi after a night hunt covered in dirt with a bright smile on his face. He wants to play for him while he bathes, devour his lips when he is done, inhale his scent, and claim him as his. He had imagined so many times what Wei Ying would sound like when breached. What he would feel like. Would he tell him “I love you”? He is so close, so close to having all of that, even if it is just an illusion. Lan Wangji is so tired, so exhausted. Perhaps he could just rest for a little while.     

“Wei Ying,” he whispers, as his vision swims with tears.    

“I’m here. Oh, my sweet Lan Zhan, I’m here.” Soft lips press against his cheek, and he turns his head to—     

The ground shakes before he understands what’s happening. Lan Wangji feels a pressure wave throw him back, and he hits the wall. The impact is unforgiving, but he somehow has the wherewithal to press the emergency release on his neck, so his helmet and flight suit protect him from the flames that follow moments later. He registers the ceiling above him shaking, but something shoves him out of the way before it collapses, and he loses track of where he is within the room until he finds himself on his stomach. The room is in ruins. He can see the Wei Ying bot in his white robes on the ground, head and part of his torso smashed by debris, the rest singed by fire. Jin Guangyao is gone, the projectors destroyed in the explosion. Lan Wangji slowly pushes himself to stand when he hears a soft sigh beside him.     

“You’re safe, that’s good.” The Wei Ying android smiles, the artificial flesh burnt from part of his face, revealing the machine beneath. Still, it hurts to see him, crushed, missing an arm, his legs mostly severed at the hip. He looks mangled and broken beyond repair. Lan Wangji desperately hopes he cannot feel. The pained whimper makes him quickly realise that he does approximate pain, perhaps even feels it the same any human would. “I’m sorry I cannot be enough.”    

Lan Wangji kneels beside him and holds the hand he has left. He should not have the feelings he does but they creep in past the barrier of the chip. This poor machine did not ask to be created, did not understand why it was used in such a way. It is clear C.A.R.P. has blurred the lines between machine and person in ways that are unnatural, but that is not the android’s fault.      

“Can you end your suffering?” Lan Wangji asks, knowing that some of these machines can destroy themselves in case of systems failure.     

“No,” he shakes his head, “I was designed to be like him, to feel like him... to want to be him.” His voice glitches and distorts, the machine part more and more apparent. “I was designed to forget what I was before with a kiss.”     

Lan Wangji allowed himself to be so weak and easily tempted for pieces of metal and artificial skin. Rage threatens to overwhelm him and sends more spiritual energy into the emotional regulator chip.     

“I will be gentle.” He assures as he channels spiritual energy into his fingertips. “You may rest now.”     

“You will find him.” It would be Wei Ying’s smile if not for the twitch in the lip as the circuits overload. “Without him, I would not exist.” There is barely a noise when Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy becomes too much and breaks the android for good. He does not die because he was never alive, but Lan Wangji cannot help but wonder what those words had meant.    

“Ha-Hanguang-Jun!” Nie Huaisang’s voice comes through the speakers in his helmet. “I-I know you wanted me to wait, but I heard the explosion and—what? What is this place?”     

Lan Wangji turns to see him standing in his slate grey and green flight suit, helmet on to disguise his identity. Whatever happened, they have been caught in the crossfire and need to get out. This was a trap, and he will determine later whether or not Nie Huaisang had known this.     

“A trap.” He simply says and raises his hand to draw a talisman into the air, but he pauses. Jin Guangyao would not make it public that he has androids that mimic humans so closely they could pass without deeper examination. If he leaves evidence a cultivator has been here, this may play directly into Jin Guangyao’s hand. “Let’s go.”     

Once outside, on a roof away from everything, Lan Wangji takes off his helmet and stares into the distance. Nie Huaisang is close by, but he says nothing. Not that there is anything to say. It had been a trap, and Lan Wangji had willingly walked into it. He had made mistake after mistake simply for the possibility of seeing Wei Ying again and it almost cost him everything. For a machine, for something no more alive than a companion bot. When did he become this reckless?     

“I’m sorry,” Nie Huaisang says after a while, “I didn’t know.”     

But there is something in the wind, and Lan Wangji holds up his hand to silence him. He focuses, closes his eyes and turns his head when he hears it: slightly off-key, whistled too quickly, but he would recognize that melody no matter what. And inside his chest, he can feel it again—the betrayal of his emotions, that never-ending hope. After everything he had just gone through, he should leave this city immediately, regroup, inform the resistance of Jin Guangyao’s new capabilities, have Nie Huaisang interrogated, sit down and meditate on whether it is safe for him to allow this kind of hope in his life. Instead, he simply jumps off the roof and runs toward the melody.     

By the time he arrives in an alley filled with food stalls, the melody disintegrates into a shriek coming from a person who looks like Wei Ying, but when Lan Zhan sees the C.A.R.P. symbol for the companion line imprinted on the side of its neck, he builds walls around his heart to protect himself, channeling more spiritual energy into the chip than before. He will interfere only to take this thing back to be investigated. How did they manage to do this? To not only take Wei Ying’s face but his voice, his attitude, his character? And if Luo Qingyang can’t figure it out, he will burn the machine himself.  

Chapter Text

The Yiling Patriarch is dead. And for a long time, there is nothing. Wei Wuxian feels a strange sensation, a pull of sorts, perhaps where his navel should be. He has no navel, not anymore. The Yiling Patriarch is dead, after all. He is dead. He remembers the end; the corpses dragging him to tear him apart, the impact of the backlash, or a fall, which shattered his spine and crushed his skull. A single moment of all-consuming pain and then, finally, nothing. He remembers the smell of blood. His own and, perhaps, even Lan Zhan’s. None of that seems to matter now, Wei Wuxian thinks, and he supposes this may be because he is still dead. It’s difficult to make out his surroundings. No eyes, he reminds himself, no eyes, no body, nothing. Dead. Death, permanent. No ears, but still, he tries to listen for Inquiry. ‘Lan Zhan,’ he thinks, and then ‘I’m sorry.’

The notes never come, which is strange. Would Lan Zhan not call for him? The thought hurts him in the belly he no longer has. Ah, maybe he is too far away. After all, he did fall into a deep pit. Or did he? Perhaps his own creation tore him apart. It all seems so far away, so vague inside his mind. Movement. Movement seems to come naturally when he thinks of floating up. He floats and floats and then stops. No matter how hard he thinks of floating, he can’t rise any further. Useless soul, he needs to talk to Lan Zhan, and he can’t move properly. Aiya, even in death, he is useless. He floats back down and then side to side. Every time, something stops him. A barrier. No doubt a soul-trapping pouch, but who would trap his soul? Not Lan Zhan, at least not without Inquiry to speak to him. And he would certainly sense that the soul he’s trapped is rather annoyed right now. Good thing he has undergone the soul calming ritual because whoever has trapped him would have to deal with a very ferocious ghost. He pauses for a moment and tries to collect his anger, all the resentful energy with which he had fallen to his death. He doesn’t know why or how but he can feel it concentrate and then he can feel more, not just his own. There’s resentful energy nearby and it can hear him call.     

Wei Wuxian focuses. He is in control. He doesn’t know why he wouldn’t be, but that’s okay, because he is in control now. The resentful energy flows to him, seeps through the barrier, and fills the surrounding space. It’s so easy now to bend it to his will. He doesn’t even need Chenqing to channel it, it just obeys him. He wishes Lan Zhan could see how in control he is. Lan Zhan, right; he reminds himself that there’s a reason he is getting out of this… this bag. The audacity to catch the Yiling Patriarch in a bag! He sends it outward in a moment of anger and suddenly, everything expands, vast, and seeming endless. He is free? But still, it is difficult to understand his surroundings. He follows the tendrils of resentful energy. Where had it come from? The energy thickens once more when he drifts toward it. There is… something here… something that pulls him closer with more strength than he anticipated. No, he has places to be. He can’t spend his time trapped in a bag again! Lan Zhan is waiting for him with Inquiry and maybe, maybe he can see his shijie again. He can’t go there, not right now, it’s not—The pull becomes a force he cannot fight as he slams into another barrier. Before he can complain about souls being treated this way, he opens his eyes.   

The world is strangely bright and extraordinarily foreign. He looks at his hands; they look familiar and yet—he runs his thumbs over his fingertips and the touch feels more like a memory of a touch. He looks down at himself, his new body clad in white silk under garments. Had he accidentally possessed someone? The body responds to him like his own body would. He can’t sense another consciousness or fight against him. Quietly, he apologizes before he moves around the room to inspect it. There are lights on the walls and on the ceiling. Everything is so smooth, metal. He catches his reflection, and with a gasp, touches his face. It’s his own face, perhaps a little older, a little more angular. His hair is silver and short. When he touches it, it feels stiff and sticky. This is all too strange. He really has to find Lan Zhan now. But how does he leave a room without a door? The wall opens and Wei Wuxian is proud that he doesn’t yelp with surprise. A man in grey and green under garments looks him over with a sneer.   

“Boss wants to see you.”     

Wei Wuxian doesn’t know who wants to see him or who this person might be. This world is so confusing. He is not himself on the outside, but he is himself on the inside. But different, in a room where the walls are portals. He has to think. He has to figure out how to find Lan Zhan. However, someone wants to see him, and refusing that might arouse suspicion. Best to play along for the time being. He has resentful energy still flowing through this body’s meridians. He should be fine.     

“Lead the way!” he says, smiling.   

The guy doesn’t appear to like that, because he shudders and mutters under his breath. “He has to stop making these things so real, it’s unnatural.”       

They walk for a very long time. Wei Wuxian wonders if this is some kind of dream. No building could be this big for them to keep walking and walking like this. The man ushers him into a small empty room with only one door. It must be a dream, Wei Wuxian thinks when they stand in the room for what feels like forever and when the door opens again, the corridor looks entirely different than it did before. Where the walls were some kind of metal before, they now are white with strange lights dancing over them. He wonders if he stepped through a transportation array, but those don’t yet exist. Not for lack of trying, Wei Wuxian had plans back then before he—  

The ground shakes beneath his feet, a deep rumbling. The lights flicker and dim. He wonders if this happens often, but the man in his underthings pauses and talks to himself for a few moments. Perhaps it is not, then. He reminds himself that this is a dream, and maybe things are never quite how they are supposed to be. If Wei Wuxian can find Lan Zhan in this dream, he might wake up. No matter what this place is, no matter what bizarre new things he will encounter, his mission hasn’t changed: he needs to find Lan Zhan.      

“I need to—,” the man starts and shakes his head. “Why do I even bother? You know where to go and he’ll program you to do whatever you need to do.”   

“Sure!” Wei Wuxian says with a smile.   

He watches the man rush back into the tiny, empty room and tries not to laugh. He has absolutely no idea where to go. There is a corridor to the left, and to the right and also ahead. So many options, this is way bigger than Carp Tower even and that place is huge. He taps his nose and thinks for a moment before deciding to follow the wall of lights. Eventually they morph into faces of smiling women and men and he’s pretty impressed by the power of what must be talismans. He hopes he will remember those when he wakes up. Maybe he can create one of Lan Zhan! He walks along the corridor, which at some point gives way into an enormous hall filled with people, all in their under things streaming toward a broad set of doors. Some at least seem to wear long robes over their underthings, but to still have them so exposed. Ah, well, he is trying to blend in, so best not to look too surprised. He watches for a few moments and then matches his pace to a large group moving toward the set of huge open doors. They seem strangely preoccupied, glancing back with uncertainty, but it means nothing to Wei Ying.     

The difference between indoors and outdoors is stark. Wei Wuxian has seen nothing like this. Buildings reaching vast into the sky, bright images and colours flitting across them. The world sounds muffled and far away, but he can tell there are so many noises. What a dream! He really hopes he remembers this so he can tell Lan Zhan about it when he finds him. The flow of people carries him along the streets. He has never seen this many people before—not even at the Sunshot Campaign—, but he imagines that his sister’s wedding would have been- the world blurs around him as he loses focus as everything feels more and more distant. The resentful energy he has felt slowly seeping out of him. No, finding Lan Zhan comes first. He keeps walking, following along until a few lights in an alleyway catch his eye. It is darker here, calmer, too. People stand in scattered groups around little brightly coloured food stalls, chatting among themselves or eating in silence while steam wafts around them. Wei Wuxian takes a break and looks around. He doesn’t feel hungry, but it won’t hurt to look for clues and perhaps he can sample some of this dream food. It doesn’t smell like much, but it looks amazing, noodles and meat drowned in chili oil. He wanders up to the stall with happy, wide eyes.      

“I want that, please!” Wei Wuxian says with a cheerful laugh. Dreams aren’t so bad when the food looks that good.      

The woman looks indifferent to his presence and says “thirty credits” with a lilt unfamiliar to Wei Wuxian. “Machine is at the end.” The end is the far edge of the counter; and the machine is a glowing green brick. The characters with the instructions look familiar, but he cannot read them. Dreams are always so strange that way. Thankfully, there are drawings outlining what one should do. Seems strange that instead of paying with coins, one just places their wrist on top of the glowing brick. Wei Wuxian shrugs and follows the instructions.  

There is a pleasant tone, and the woman’s demeanour changes almost immediately as she smiles brightly and waves him to his bowl. When he walks to a long and narrow standing table, he can hear whispers behind him, whispers about him, but he doesn’t understand their meaning, so he stirs his noodles and goes back to the counter to ask for extra chili oil.

“Hey, are you lost?”  

A practically naked woman cuts off Wei Wuxian’s path back to his noodles. He stares at the flower tattoo on the side of her shaved head and wonders just what kind of dream this is supposed to be. He hasn’t dreamt of women this unclothed in a very long time.

“If I am, would you show me the way?” He says with a polite smile and winks at her. It’s just a dream, it means nothing. Besides, he is going to find Lan Zhan right after he has these noodles.

“Wow, looks like they program them as ground-level sex workers now.” Another woman sneers. She is wearing more clothes but they look to be painted on her body. “Putting good people out of a job now on all levels now, are we?”   

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

He still smiles. He’s endured far worse than a bit of bullying from an almost naked woman in his dreams. Usually, it’s Lan Zhan who is mean to him though, but in a good way, in ways that—   

The knife appears out of nowhere, and Wei Wuxian can only raise his arm before it slashes down. The scream is more out of reflex and surprise than actual pain.    

“What are you doing?” He asks, scurrying backwards. “I’m just trying to eat!”       

“The bot is loaded. Get his chip!” The one with the flower tattoo barks as she pulls something from her belt, which crackles with energy like Zidian does.      

Wei Wuxian does not want to be at the receiving end of this, but he has no golden core, and the resentful energy decided to no longer obey him as easily as it did at the beginning of all of this. In a panic, he whistles the first thing which comes into his mind, trying to form the resentful energy into something that will defend him. It works for a moment and lets him block the first blow. However, no matter how hard he tries, the song can’t sustain it. The second blow seems inevitable when a flash of white intercepts and blocks the woman’s arm. The movement is so familiar when the figure pushes the woman hard enough to stumble back against the wall. That only seems to anger her until she focuses on the figure, all white and reflective silver, where the face should be. It is just a reflective surface on which he can see her face change from rage to something else.       

“Didn’t know it was yours.” Her voice, her posture, everything about her radiates respect now.       

“It is mine.” The voice from that… person sounds distorted, and yet there is a cadence that Wei Wuxian recognises.       

“I don’t belong to anyone!” Wei Wuxian says with a now forced smile, unsure if the figure between him and the woman constitutes a threat.       

“It is broken.” The figure says without looking at him. Rude. Wei Wuxian is certainly not broken! However, the woman and her companions nod without protest.   

“Hanguang-Jun always has friends here,” she says and bows before retreating into the bustle of people around them.    

Wei Wuxian can’t quite breathe. Hanguang-Jun? Lan Zhan? Here in this place? Without having to look for him? Wei Wuxian barely thought of him and conjured him this way? Dreams are great!    

“Lan Zhan?” He asks and takes a step closer, but the figure who is maybe Lan Zhan takes a step back.      

“Turn it off.”   

Turn what off? Wei Wuxian is about to ask exactly that when he feels something jab into the back of his neck.  

“Hey!” He whirls around to find another faceless figure. This one is much shorter than the first. “Lan Zhan, tell them to stop!”   

“He might actually be broken.” That figure says with the same voice distortion. “I programmed the key to override companion model programming, and he is a companion model. His serial matches.”     

“Fine. It will come with us then.” Maybe Lan Zhan grabs his arm and shoves him against the smaller figure. “See that it does not wander off.”       

This guy is obviously grumpy enough to be Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian thinks and follows along. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go and if this is Lan Zhan, well, that was his entire mission. He hasn’t woken up yet, so he isn’t sure what to do next. Maybe he has to get Lan Zhan to return to what he looks like in their waking reality or to be less grumpy. He would have thought that Dream Lan Zhan would be nicer to him. The mean dreams always still have a soft undertone and maybe if he concentrates hard enough, he can control his dream. Lan Zhan, kiss me! He thinks and promptly regrets it because where did that even come from?! Lan Zhan also doesn’t stop and turn around to kiss him. He keeps walking with long strides.     

“Hey Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian calls and catches up with him. “Where are we going, hm? Is it far? Are you angry because I was trying to control you with my dream pow-ah!”      

It should hurt more to slam into the wall that hard, but Wei Wuxian feels transfixed because he is now looking at Lan Zhan’s rage-filled face. He hasn’t seen him this angry since he’d switched his book of poetry for one of pornography and maybe even then he wasn’t this consumed by anger     

“You do not speak to me.” Lan Zhan hisses. “You do not say my name. You do nothing but as you are told and you will do it silently. Nod if you understand.”   

Wei Wuxian has never felt fear around Lan Zhan. Even under all the anger, Lan Zhan had a long-suffering patience he extended to Wei Wuxian for as long as they had known each other, that pornography incident notwithstanding. He isn’t quite afraid, not in the way he remembers. It feels more as if his emotions are underwater, distant and muffled. It’s a dream, he tells himself, and dreams sometimes get scary. The real Lan Zhan wouldn’t be this mean. The real Lan Zhan would huff and ignore his antics, maybe call him ridiculous or boring.      

So, he nods, but the unease never does quite settle. They walk for a very long time. Wei Ying feels he should be tired by now, but his body feels the same, if empty. He tries not to linger on it too much. After a while, it is easier to detach himself from the situation. They climb down some stairs, sit in a tube, leave a tube, climb some stairs, climb more stairs, walks across streams of light, everything just passes Wei Wuxian as if he no longer is in control of himself and maybe in a way he is not. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t understand what’s going on.     

At some point, walking along the streets—between more stairs and corridors—he zones out, no longer registering his surroundings until a hand on his arm stops him. It is the shorter person, still not revealing their face. They pull Wei Wuxian back toward a door and usher him into a room. Lan Zhan is already in the room. Lan Zhan’s long hair hangs over his shoulder in a braid, his forehead ribbon laced throughout it, still in place on his forehead. The only part of him which is familiar to Wei Wuxian. His clothes are different now, looking similar to the clothes Wei Wuxian remembers, but still different, with fewer layers. He would have thought it scandalous, but Wei Wuxian is too exhausted and scared that he might say those words out loud. The look on his face feels like a punch to Wei Wuxian’s gut. Not only does he look like he hates him, but he barely conceals the disgust on his face.   

“Figure out why it’s broken.”    

Lan Zhan speaks without looking at Wei Wuxian. It hurts, despite knowing that this is a dream. A dream he wants to be over already. That’s more than enough of a nightmare for any one person to endure. He would rather have beasts and fierce corpses rip him apart repeatedly than to see Lan Zhan look at him with disdain. When the smaller person softly calls his name, he turns around to see their helmet has disappeared, revealing their face. In any other circumstance, for example, in reality, Wei Wuxian would have been excited to see Nie Huaisang’s face. He would have laughed and commented on his much shorter, still braided hair with streaks of silvery grey and green in it. He would have been happy to see his friend. But now, in this nightmare, he just wants it all to end. 

“I-I’ll see what I can do.” He says and takes Wei Wuxian by the arm and leads him to the chair in the corner. The room reminds Wei Wuxian of an inn, but the beds are tall, everything seems taller. Is he shorter? But Lan Zhan scoffing pulls him from his ruminations. He doesn’t want to explore why Lan Zhan would hate him in his dreams, so he just sits down when told. Nie Huaisang is a lot gentler than Lan Zhan has been.      

“I’m going to look at that gash on your arm, okay?” He says and Wei Wuxian looks at him, confused.      

“My arm?”    

It doesn’t hurt, not that anything hurts. It’s strange, but he supposes that is the nature of dreams. Sometimes pain does not exist. He used to love dreaming because of it. Now there is an odd sense of dread which underlies everything.     

“I think something might be wrong with you.”    

It’s a shitty explanation, but Wei Wuxian realizes that he’s asking for consent to touch him. Lan Zhan doesn’t seem to agree with that because he glares at them both before grabbing a towel.    

“Shower,” Lan Zhan says. “Turn it off if you can. With your sword, if need be.”     

“I-,” Nie Huaisang starts, but then he just ducks his head and nods. For the first time, Wei Wuxian understands why Lan Zhan’s enemies fear him. He disappears through a door without another word. “Okay, I will roll up your sleeve and see what kind of damage was done.”     

Wei Wuxian doesn’t expect to see any damage. Really, his arm doesn’t hurt at all! He watches Nie Huaisang roll up the fabric and freezes. Instead of flesh and blood, strange things made from substances he doesn’t understand. Why would his brain conjure up something like this? He touches the edge of the wound, but it doesn’t hurt. He can’t feel the touch, neither on the wound nor against his fingers. Metal should be cold, his body warm, but it is neither. He cannot feel anything. This isn’t right. He can’t—this is too much.     

“That looks pretty nasty,” Nie Huaisang says and pulls some kind of device from a bag.     

“I need to wake up now. Huaisang, I need to wake up!”     

Wei Wuxian feels panic rise in chest, he can’t breathe. Is he breathing at all? He can’t feel his chest move. Why doesn’t he feel like he is breathing?    

“You’re not in sleep mode.”   

When Nie Huaisang dares to prod the gash with some kind of metal stick, Wei Wuxian is done with the dream. He stands up, pushing the other out of the way without warning. He should feel bad when he sees someone he had considered a good friend stumble backwards and fall on his behind. That isn’t his primary concern now. His primary concern is waking up. Wei Wuxian has to wake up. He can’t think, he can’t—he can’t—  

*** 

Lan Wangji hears a surprised cry followed by his name, not his title. He doesn’t hesitate, pulling trousers up his wet legs as he tears open the bathroom door. What he expects is that the android has decided to either attack Nie Huaisang and subsequently will attack Lan Wangji or it has escaped. The latter is more likely, but he summons Bichen and pulls it from its sheath. He finds Nie Huaisang on his knees in front of the desk. There is no sight of the android until he realizes that Nie Huaisang is speaking to someone, to something in soft, even tones, to the android wedged underneath the tiny corner desk.    

It looks pathetic, to be this scared, mumbling whatever it is mumbling while Nie Huaisang tries to coax it back out from under the desk. He is stronger than the looks. He could just drag it out from underneath. Of course, it is up to him, so Lan Wangji crosses the distance and kneels down, reaching for the android to drag it out into the open. There is something startling about Wei Ying’s face, looking at him with abject fear as he scrambles to press himself harder against the wall as if he could escape this way.     

“I need to wake up now,” the thing mumbles, “please let me wake up now”. It’s just a thing like the ones Lan Wangji encountered before the explosion, before he heard the melody. He channels more spiritual energy into the chip inside his neck. He cannot afford to waver now.    

“Please don’t!”     

Lan Wangji feels hands on his arm and, to his surprise, Nie Huaisang decided to be brave, grabbing him to prevent him from dragging the android out into the open. “I think there’s something—I’m not sure that’s an android.”      

“Jin Guangyao programs them to be like this now.” Lan Wangji says and without further hesitation grabs a leg. “He made them to coerce me to betray the cultivators. I’ll put it out of its misery. We can examine it when we bring it back.”      

“Go away!” The thing screeches with panic.    

What happens next, he is not entirely sure other than that falling backwards. Has the android attacked him? But if so, how? He did not feel an attack, nor was the android in any position with leverage.    

“Leave me alone!”      

“Stop!” Nie Huaisang positions himself between the android and Lan Wangji. “It’s not a machine. It shouldn’t even function. There’s nothing in there, it’s just a shell!”   

“A shell?” He buries anything that attempts to rise with hope. It’s a broken machine. The black tendrils curling underneath the desk tell him otherwise, but he cannot entertain what that means not until he has all the facts.    

“There’s no power source,” Nie Huaisang continues and extends his wrist display to show the android body. “I scanned it twice. It’s empty. The only thing in there is—”   

“Resentful energy.” And it courses through the body as if it is following a cultivator’s meridians.    

Lan Wangji looks over at the android, which has wrapped its arms around his legs. Resentful energy protectively dances around its form and in the room’s silence, he can hear it faintly hum a song he would always recognise. Wei Ying. Lan Wangji’s insides tear apart and he channels spiritual energy into the chip to dampen most of the emotions threatening to crush him.    

What has he done? 

Chapter Text

They spend half the night like this, Lan Wangji sitting back against the bed. Lan Wangji cannot move. He barely even notices Nie Huaisang settling down in front of the desk, effectively shielding Wei Ying with his own body as if he still needs to protect his friend from Lan Wangji. When he does, his heart shatters into pieces, Bichen still unsheathed in his fist. Of course, they would think him to be a threat. He drops it from his hand and it vanishes before it falls onto the floor. The guilt Lan Wangji feels cannot be summed up by mere words and thoughts. There is nothing he could say to make up for how he has treated Wei Ying. He channels spiritual energy into the chip; he cannot give into the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Lan Wangji must take accountability for his actions. 

 “I am sorry.” He whispers, but not so quietly, that Wei Ying cannot hear him through the haze of his fear. The humming ebbs and flows as the night slips through their grasp. Perhaps what he has done is unforgivable. “I should not have attacked you.”   

“He-,” Nie Huaisang clears his throat, “he thinks this is a dream, a nightmare.”   

It makes sense hearing it. After all, the information Nie Huaisang found was that Wei Ying’s soul had recently been brought to the lab there. It means not much time has passed since Jin Guangyao and his people found the soul, perhaps even ripped it from another body. Whatever they did, Wei Ying does not know how much time has passed, how many things he has missed, how many lifetimes of pain. None of that compares to the pain Lan Wangji feels when he looks at the miserable figure of Wei Ying still crammed beneath the desk. He closes his eyes for a moment and gets up off the floor to walk back into the bathroom. He does not deserve Wei Ying’s forgiveness, but he cannot leave him huddled in fear and wrapped in resentful energy. They do not yet know how Wei Ying obtained this artificial body. Nie Huaisang’s working hypothesis is that he may have somehow used resentful energy, but the mechanisms behind it are still unknown to them. The information is enough for Lan Wangji to fear that if Wei Ying wastes resentful energy by protecting himself, he might lose control and his soul might be lost to the world once more. His deeply terrified soul. Terrified souls hide themselves away from the pain of their lifetime. They might never find him again.   

In the bathroom, he pulls on a simple white tunic and undoes the knot in his braid to pull his hair from it. Brushing it out with his fingers, he now looks more like he used to look when Wei Ying had known him. More like he belongs into a time long gone. He hopes it helps. He hopes he can convince Wei Ying that the dream has moved on from a nightmare. They will figure out the rest when they return to the Burial Mounds. When he steps out of the bathroom again, Nie Huaisang looks at him with suspicion for a few moments before he relaxes again. He seems to understand Lan Wangji’s intent, because he slowly gets up and collects the technology strewn about the floor and dims the lights.   

“We didn’t know,” he whispers with a hand on Lan Wangji’s arm, “I will take a bath.” An offering of time, quiet time they have together. Lan Wangji nods and silently promises to be gentle, as if he could ever be anything else with Wei Ying. Wei Ying flinching when he kneels in front of the desk, reminds him he has already been anything else with Wei Ying. He can only hope to make it up to him with time. He prays he can have his trust.   

“Wei Ying?” He asks softly when he moves the chair out of the way, careful not to move it with too much force. “Wei Ying, are you there?” The pretense hurts, but he needs to keep Wei Ying safe; and he will do anything to do that, even pretend to be a figment of his imagination in a dream world until they can figure out what had happened.    

“Lan Zhan?” The whisper is tentative, soft, and still so full of fear.    

“I-, I have been trying to find you.”  

It is not a lie. He promises he will never lie to Wei Ying. He will pretend within the context, but he will not lie. Wei Ying looks up from his knees. His face is unchanged, not swollen, no tears running down his cheeks, but his eyes, his eyes speak volumes that his body cannot. Wei Ying’s eyes look as though they have seen the worst devastation. He watches Lan Wangji for a few moments. With the braid gone and his shirt replaced, it seems to be enough because Wei Ying relaxes and the tiniest spark of a smile dances at the corners of his mouth.   

“I’ve been trying to find you, too.” Wei Ying says, tension melting from his voice. “But there was someone scary.”   

“He’s gone now.”  

He will never return.  

And he will forever beg for your forgiveness, Lan Wangji thinks.   

“Good.” Wei Ying lets go of his knees and gingerly moves. “He terrified me, Lan Zhan.”   

“I am sorry I did not find you sooner.”    

Wei Ying’s smile is so small that Lan Wangji wants to throw the table across the room and scoop him up and promise to protect him and never let him down again. However, that might terrify him further and Nie Huaisang would huff something about being overly dramatic. Instead, he patiently waits until Wei Ying moves out from under the table. He offers his hand, but Wei Ying does not take it. He is too preoccupied looking around the room as if he still expects an evil version of Lan Wangji to appear.  

How often will he fail Wei Ying?    

“I—,” Wei Ying starts looked at the beds, “am I tired?”   

“It is all right to rest. No one will harm you.”    

“Can you… stay close? Please?” Wei Ying asks with that minuscule smile again and Lan Wangji wants to kiss him back to sunshine.    

“Of course,” he responds with a nod and sits down on the other side of the bed. “I will watch over you, Wei Ying.”   

Perhaps it is instinct, but Wei Ying relaxes visibly after the promise and slides beneath the comforter. Lan Wangji cannot imagine just how exhausted he must be. If not physically, the emotional toll the day- Lan Wangji has taken on him. Never should he have lost control like that. He would watch Wei Ying from a respectable distance and keep him safe until morning. He can do that. It is no burden to give Wei Ying space and watch over him while he sleeps. It is something Lan Wangji has yearned to do for such a long time. And finally, finally he now can believe that it is Wei Ying stretched out beside him. All the pain Lan Wangji had long accepted as part of his life falls away; and despite the guilt he feels, the elation of relief has left him light and filled with hope, no longer borne of desperation but of love.    

“Good night, Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying says and closes his eyes.   

“Good night, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji responds and catches himself before he reaches to card his hand through Wei Ying’s artificial hair. He has not earned his trust; he does not yet deserve to touch him. Perhaps he never will. With great care not to disturb Wei Ying, Lan Wangji pulls the blanket higher before settling down against the headboard. Nie Huaisang eventually comes out of the bathroom and smiles when he sees Wei Ying fast asleep on the bed.   

“I didn’t think he would fall asleep.” He whispers as he sits down on the other bed, drying his hair with a towel.    

“Neither did I, but I am glad he has.” Lan Wangji looks down at Wei Ying before diverting his attention back to Nie Huaisang, who tosses the towel to the bottom of the bed. “When did you realize it was him?”    

“I’m not sure,” he says and slips under the blankets himself. It feels like Nie Huaisang wants to say more, but he places the dampening device hiding their cores on the bedside table and settles down onto the pillows. “Hanguang-Jun should try to get some rest as well.” With that, he dims the light until the room is dark.     

Perhaps, Nie Huaisang is right, but Lan Wangji had promised to watch over Wei Ying and that is what he will do. After all, he rarely needs sleep these days. His core provides his body with the energy it needs. So, he closes his eyes and begins to meditate. 

~

Lan Wangji startles awake when he feels a heavy weight on him. He does not recall falling asleep, nor does he remember having slipped beneath the covers. That is where he finds himself now, beneath the covers and beneath Wei Ying, who has thrown a leg over Lan Wangji’s hip and wrapped his arms around him. He clings to him with his head buried against his neck and Lan Wangji should extract himself. He should resume his position sitting up and watching over Wei Ying. But here beneath the covers with Wei Ying wrapped around him, he is weak. With a soft sigh, he gives in and wraps his arms around Wei Ying in turn, and allows himself to inhale his scent. He knows Wei Ying’s artificial body smells like nothing, but here in the safety of darkness, his mind conjures his scent, his warmth. Over a thousand years, he has waited for this and now Wei Ying is here. Wei Ying is safe. Exhausted, he closes his eyes again and allows himself to drift back off to sleep. 

***      

It’s almost completely dark when Wei Wuxian wakes again. It is strange, because he doesn’t feel refreshed or exhausted. He doesn’t even feel like he has slept at all. He just opens his eyes and exists again. If he dreamt, the dreams flit away the moment he came back to consciousness, slipping away from him. He is awake, he—Wei Wuxian doesn’t move. He can’t. There is a distant warmth and a heavy presence holding him down. He should be afraid, but he is not. Wei Wuxian cannot think of a time when he has felt as unafraid as he does in this moment. He has never felt this perfectly safe. He is awake, which means the nightmare is over. It means that the heavy weight is Lan Zhan against him. It means that—he tries to remember what that means, but he isn’t exactly sure. There are fragments of memories he cannot place. Falling? Was that the last thing he has encountered before the nightmare or was that also a dream? If he has fallen and died, then why is Lan Zhan beside him? He can hear his breath. He can- he can’t smell him, which seems strange. Should he not be able to smell Lan Zhan? Or feel him so much closer and warmer than he does. He opens his eyes and draped across his neck and shoulders is a muscular arm. An arm he would recognize no matter what.    

Lan Zhan is asleep on top of him and considering their schedules, this is not something Wei Wuxian had ever thought would happen: Lan Zhan still asleep when he himself is already awake. He softly chuckles to himself, but tries to keep as quiet as possible. If Lan Zhan is still asleep when Wei Wuxian is awake, it means he desperately needed the rest. He would like very much to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, but his arm is uselessly pinned between the bed and Lan Zhan and the other arm can barely reach to pat the man, let alone hug him. Well, he supposes Lan Zhan is happy like this, too. Though he does experimentally press his lips against Lan Zhan’s arm, the fabric tickles his skin, scratches it. It doesn’t feel like anything he has before felt and he isn’t sure he likes it.     However, he is relieved that his lips can still feel things even when the rest of his senses seem oddly disarranged and echoes of themselves. Maybe if Lan Zhan fucks me, he thinks and catches the thought immediately, wishing to drown himself in the bedding. How could he think something like that of his friend who had rescued him from the scary dream version of Lan Zhan? Had any of that been real? He tilts his head to see the room from his dreams. The realization skews his perception for a moment as the room tilts with the vertigo he feels as he loses grip on reality quickly      

“Lan Zhan?” he whispers, and extends his arm as far as he can.  

He has to see it; he needs to see it. If it wasn’t a dream, there will be a ghastly wound exposing terrible things he doesn’t understand. Please let there be skin, please let there be skin. The wound is hidden by a bandage he does not remember applying, but it’s there, the hint of metal at the edges of it. The reminder that the nightmare wasn’t a nightmare. It’s real. Wei Ying feels sick and dizzy as his thoughts spiral out of control. He scrabbles at the arm, trying to break free from underneath it. He can’t breathe, he isn’t breathing. Where is his heart? Why can’t he feel his heart?  

“Lan Zhan?!”  

He claws at the skin and bucks beneath the warm body whose touch he should revere and relish. Hus best friend is trying to keep him warm and make him feel safe and all he can think of is to get away to run as fast and as far as he can. The weight removes itself from his chest and Wei Wuxian springs up to jump off the bed, to run toward the door to get away, to get away, but a big hand catches him, pulls him back. He can’t, he can’t. Something is wrong, it’s so terribly wrong. He doesn’t know what to do, but he can’t— 

The hand does not let go of his wrist, grip tight and unrelenting; and when Wei Wuxian whips around, he sees Lan Zhan standing there, hair down, unguarded still in a white tunic over a pair of shiny trousers. He remembers the trousers, the strange equipment on Lan Zhan’s hip as he stares at him for a long moment as his brain is catching up with what’s going on around him. Vaguely, he registers Nie Huaisang sitting up in his bed but making no move to stand. He isn’t in danger. 

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” He asks eventually, the tension still in his arms, still pulling away from Lan Zhan, who holds him steadfast.     

“It is not.” Lan Zhan admits without hesitation, which brings forward of many further questions, but Wei Wuxian cannot expect answers for all of them in this moment. So, he settles on one. The only one which truly matters.     

“That wasn’t someone else earlier?” It’s almost not a question. “It was you, wasn’t it?”    

Lan Zhan looks away and that alone answers Wei Wuxian’s question. He does not need to hear the softly spoken “it was” that Lan Zhan hesitantly offers him as he lets go of his arm, almost recoils away as if he no longer deserved to be touching Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan, his strong and level-headed Lan Zhan, too boring for his own good, too stiff, too repressed, filled with so much rage and anger. Anger toward him and he has no idea why and no idea what changed to turn him soft and warm again like the man he remembers, like the man who had A-Yuan on his lap with a soft smile, like the man who had practically scolded Wei Wuxian for not buying the boy at the very least one toy. The Lan Zhan he knew wanted to stay but couldn’t. The Lan Zhan who caught him before he fell. His Lan Zhan.     

“You didn’t think I was me, did you?” He asks, unsure why he has that hunch. Maybe he clings to anything which could be an explanation, anything which wouldn’t rob him of his Lan Zhan.  

“I did not.” Lan Zhan confesses, now firmly staring at a spot that seems to be somewhere behind Wei Wuxian’s left shoulder      

“Who did you think I was?” He asks stepping a little closer      

“Someone made copies of you.”  

There is soft desperation in Lan Zhan as he tries to tell Wei Wuxian everything but cannot find the words. But Wei Wuxian knows him and no matter what the situation, no matter what he says, he knows Lan Zhan does not lie      

“I don’t know what that means, but it distresses you.” He offers a soft smile, but Lan Zhan still doesn’t look at him. “Lan Zhan, look at me.”     

“Wei Ying—,” Lan Zhan begins, but does not finish his train of thought.     

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Wei Ying says, because he doesn’t. “What is this place? How long—how long since I died?”     

“Over a thousand years.”    

Wei Wuxian does not faint, but his body gives out beneath him. Lan Zhan catches him with ease, though Wei Wuxian wishes he could better feel his touch, that everything did not feel so muffled or foreign/ However for now, he accepts it as it is while he tries to prevent his mind from racing away with him again. Finally, Lan Zhan looks at him, eyes filled with worry and something else which Wei Wuxian cannot quite discern.     

“That’s a really long time.” He says because he does not know what else to say at this point. What can he say? A thousand years is so, so many lifetimes.     

“It is.” Lan Zhan says with desperate intensity.     

“You waited for me to come back all this time, didn’t you?      

“I did.”       

Wei Wuxian feels light and warm. Or he should feel light and warm but he only feels echoes thereof. He is here in Lan Zhan’s arms. Lan Zhan, who waited for him for so long. Lan Zhan who is so close Lan Zhan who is so close, so so close to him. He takes a breath, or it feels like he is taking a breath. Nothing about this body feels right except for what he feels for Lan Zhan.      

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, and doesn’t notice Nie Huaisang sliding out of bed and away from them.     

“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan says, never taking his eyes off him. 

Wei Ying decides his name really sounds best when Lan Zhan says it. He is so very close; he could just cross the distance between them and slide his lips against Lan Zhan’s and—   

Whatever is making the horrendous beeping noise that pulls them both out of their spell deserves to die, Wei Wuxian thinks, because next thing, Lan Zhan has pulled him to the ground and they’re definitely not kissing! Nie Huaisang slides down beside them, grabbing his satchel of things as he summons his sword. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what the noise means, but it scares him. He isn’t sure why it scares him, but he glances at Lan Zhan repeatedly, trying to ignore the repetitive wailing from the bedside table that cuts through everything they say. 

“Here,” Nie Huaisang says and hands Lan Zhan a talisman. When did he start using them? Wei Wuxian wants to ask, but this isn’t the time. “Take this, bring him somewhere safe, somewhere away from here. It’s safest if we split up.”     

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan says, wrapping his arm tight around Wei Wuxian’s waist.  

There is something between Lan Wangji and Nie Huaisang that remains unsaid, but the nod tells Wei Wuxian that whatever it is, Lan Zhan respects Nie Huaisang for something that he may have done, perhaps. Wei Ying isn’t sure, but Nie Huaisang returns the nod and, with a talisman of his own, runs and disappears through the glass.  

Lan Zhan slams the device on the bedside and grabs it, shoving it into his own satchel. Wei Wuxian wishes he could help, but perhaps he can. He can feel the resentful energy inside him still. Had he used it to defend himself before? He is not entirely sure, but he knows he could if he was needed to, now.     

“Wei Ying, there is too much to explain, but please, trust me.”     

And Wei Wuxian can only smile until his eyes crinkle, until he sees the surprised look on Lan Zhan’s face. “With my life,” he says and holds on tight when Lan Zhan activates the teleportation talisman. Wei Wuxian expects to appear again on solid ground, but Lan Zhan is gripping him as the wind whips through his hair. He doesn’t need to look up to know that they are being carried through the air, that Bichen is steady beneath Lan Zhan’s feet as they flee from whatever it is that is coming for them. Wei Wuxian does not understand what is going on, but Wei Wuxian knows one thing: He is safe with Lan Zhan. Whatever misunderstanding earlier, it had not been directed toward him. Lan Zhan will keep him safe and he will keep Lan Zhan safe as best as he possibly can. He will stay by his side whatever happens, even if his body never feels right again. He has died and now he is alive once more and that is something he never would have expected, something he never thought possible. A thousand years is so very long, a thousand years means a new start. It means they can begin again their lives as they will be now.      

He doesn’t look at the lights rushing beneath him nor does he look at the sky above him where the light reflects upon the clouds. He does not look up at Lan Zhan whose face is once more obscured by the helmet he had first seen him wear. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask questions. Lan Zhan asked to trust him and trust him he does with his life. Forever, no matter what will happen to them. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and wraps his arms tighter around Lan Zhan’s neck and buries his face against the rough material there, feeling vulnerable and exposed in his simple robes. He should feel cold but he does not. He should feel so many things but all he can feel is love. 

Chapter Text

Lan Jingyi taps the neck implant and the flight suit closes around him. He summons his sword and runs back to the pool and pushes his way out through the windows using spiritual energy. He is not staying here another second. He tosses the wrist display to the ground, vaporizing it with a burst of spiritual energy and unsheathes his sword as he runs toward the edge of the building. He screams in his helmet as he throws himself off the building and tosses the sword beneath him. 

Away. 

Fast. 

The shock wave of an explosion ripples through the air. Lan Jingyi barely has time to register it before the force of it sweeps him off his sword and into free fall. He can’t comprehend what’s happening when another explosion rocks another building. He is too busy recalling his sword before he hits the ground. The moment he finds his footing again, he banks hard, avoiding a volley of debris. Higher, he thinks, his heart pounding in his chest. Higher, above the fall of the debris. With horror, he realises the explosions follow a path across the city, starting with the building he just left. Starting with the floor of the penthouse where he left the package.

Explosions rock the city, balls of fire illuminating the sky accompanied by the howling sirens of emergency response drones. Jingyi’s ears ring and his body feels frozen from the inside. Flames rise from the city, pulling drones from patrolling the perimeter of the city. He watches the flashing lights break formation and pull toward the fire and destruction.

This was a setup. Dazed, he lands on a nearby rooftop, barely registering that he’s thrown up foam and bile. He did this. He did all of this. Smoke rises from the city, seemingly in unconnected patterns, but from this vantage point, Lan Jingyi can see the line of smoke cutting the city almost perfectly in half. This was a chain reaction set in motion by his own actions. The package he delivered started all of this. He doesn’t know what to do. His body is frozen while his mind races, never forming a full thought. His hands are shaking. Why are his hands shaking? He exhales a ragged breath and rips the sticker from his neck. It will leave an angry mark, but he doesn’t care. He needs it off, needs to get out of these clothes. He needs to—he needs to–he-

Lan Jingyi slides down to the floor. He fucked up. He was so enthralled by the thrill of the chase, by his desperation to feel another other than the dull malaise he couldn’t shake. So desperate that he recklessly endangered himself and others at the whims of an unseen force. How many people died? How many people did he help kill? His thoughts race in a tightly winding spiral. Cultivator, cultivators are supposed to be safe. How could he have been so naïve? He played delivery service for a completely unknown force without sparing a thought to the potential consequences. He feels like he’s going to throw up again.

Lan Jingyi takes another breath, deeper this time, and closes his eyes. Another deep breath, he can’t fly like this and he needs to move. For a while, he hears nothing but the sound of his thrumming heart and his ragged breath. The sounds of the city fall into the distance while Lan Jingyi pulls himself together. When he opens his eyes again, he looks toward the drone perimeter at the edge of the city. Drones patrol there in perfectly choreographed patterns like a net enveloping the city, monitoring who enters and exits. Nothing and no one gets past them and without proper documentation, exit and entry are denied, usually with lethal force. Lan Jingyi stands up when he notices a dark spot in the pattern. A hole in the defense perimeter, he thinks, his heart pounding in his chest. All of this was a distraction.

He needs to get there.

Lan Jingyi grabs his sword, ready to jump off the roof, when he hears voices and throws himself to the ground behind a generator instead. Not a moment too soon, two cloaked figures appear just a few feet away from him. He recognizes them: Su She and Xue Yang, the two heads of the Cultivator Eradication Force. For as long as Lan Jingyi can remember, they and the rest of the CEF have spread fear and suffering among cultivators and ordinary people alike. He can see them through the ventilation slots, Su She pacing with Xue Yang just out of sight.

“—do you think you’re doing?” Su She hisses quietly.

“Running an errand,” Xue Yang replies. Lan Jingyi can hear the grin in his voice and he has to suppress a shudder.

“Who authorized this ‘errand’?” The edge in Su She’s voice is weak, like he knows his authority over Xue Yang only lasts for as long as Xue Yang wills it.

“Who authorized this errand?” Xue Yang repeats with a mocking whine when Su She steps close to him.

“What’s the mission?”

“Wouldn’t you love to know?” Xue Yang says, sounding bemused, and taps Su She’s chest. “He isn’t going to fuck you, you know. You don’t have to be his perfect little guard dog all the time.”

Lan Jingyi puts a hand over his mouth to keep himself from laughing out loud. He hates them both, but he hates Su She just a bit more. He’s heard the stories, even in his first life, about how Su She abandoned his sect out of cowardice.

“If you absolutely must know,” Xue Yang drawls and drapes himself over the retaining wall of the rooftop garden, “I’m going to rescue my love from the claws of the earth.”

Su She curses under his breath before he speaks again. “He told you not to go searching for him.”

“Oh, I don’t need to search for him. I know exactly where he is.” Xue Yang says and cleans under his fingernails with a knife.

He, Lan Jingyi, furrows his brows for a moment and then his eyes widen when he remembers the day he and the other juniors almost died investigating a haunting in Yi City. He remembers the horrifying tableau of Xue Yang sitting at a table with the corpses of Xiao Xingchen and a blind girl propped up to look like they were eating dinner together. His happy family, Xue Yang, called them with a twisted smile and blown corpse powder in Lan Jingyi’s face. If not for Mo Xuanyu’s quick thinking, they all would have died that day. Mo Xuanyu grabbed the spirit-trapping bag containing the pieces of Xiao Xingchen’s spirit, allowing them to escape.

Xue Yang’s love. Lan Jingyi feels cold when realization hits him like a wave of freezing water. Mo Xuanyu restored Xiao Xingchen’s shattered spirit, and it now rests within the cavern deep inside the mountain where the surviving cultivators are hiding.

Su She groans with frustration, “and where is that?” He turns to pull up a map from his wrist guard.

“Oh, the puppy knows, don’t you?” Xue Yang looks through the ventilation slots straight at Lan Jingyi. “Shall we make it race?”

“Look, you can’t just—,” Su She starts, but Xue Yang has already thrown himself off the roof.

Lan Jingyi doesn’t stick around to figure out if Su She also saw him and jumps off the roof. The same moment his feet touch his sword and he banks to intercept Xue Yang, the man flashes him a bright smile.

“Come get me, little Lan puppy,” Xue Yang shouts against the rushing wind and pulls a talisman from his sleeve. It glows red and for a moment, everything around Xue Yang distorts, light warping around him. And then he is gone.

Teleportation talisman.

Without a thought to anything else, Lan Jingyi presses against his neck, the flight suit enveloping as he rises into the night sky. He has to get to the mountain first. He has to warn them.

***

Luo Qingyang closes her eyes as she stands under the shower. Warm water has never felt so good before, but maybe it is also the warm presence in front of her, the soft lips pressed against her shoulder. They had not seen each other in so long that when Wen Qing had died. Luo Qingyang had thought that perhaps she would not be as affected by it. It had always been the mission. However, that’s not how it had turned out. She had felt sick, in pain, broken. Left to wander the corridors inside this mountain, feeling as though she had become an empty shell.

“You’re too far away.” Wen Qing’s words are accompanied by a soft nip against her skin.

“I’m right here.” She says with a smile and moves to close the distance between them.

“Good.” Wen Qing smiles and closes her eyes as their lips slide together as her arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer. “I missed you.”

“Even when you were dead?”

“Especially when I was dead.” The smile is soft. She is only every so soft for Luo Qingyang and it will never not feel perfect. She will never not feel utterly privileged to receive such softness from a woman so harsh and fierce that all but quiver before her.

“I am glad you are no longer dead.”

“The sacrifice is appreciated, and I plan on paying full penance for it.” Wen Qing smirks against her lips as her hand slides from Luo Qingyang’s waist between her legs. Fuck, it’s been too long since they’ve been able to do this. To be this close.

“Please,” is all Luo Qingyang can manage as she bucks her hips already eager.

“I’d almost forgotten how easy you are,” Wen Qing whispers against her neck and scrapes her teeth as two deft fingers find exactly what they are looking for. The whined moan tells her everything she needs to know. Her head falls back when Wen Qing moves her fingers, fast, hard, like she means it, like there is no time for them left and perhaps that’s right, perhaps there isn’t any time left. Maybe this is the last time they can have this and Luo Qingyang lets herself fall into the sensation as those fingers move in quick circles, in unexpected patterns until they stop to tease and Wen Qing bears down with force and speed tearing cries of pleasure from Luo Qingyang’s throat. She doesn’t stop and fuck, Luo Qingyang never wants her to stop. She wants to buck her hips into the movement until she loses rhythm and all she can do is cling to her wet body and pant against her hair.

“A-Qing!” she cries, but Wen Qing never stops. She knows not to stop, only flips them so Luo Qingyang is bracing against the wall when she comes so hard she cracks her head off the tiles behind her. And Wen Qing doesn’t stop because she knows how easy Luo Qingyang is with her, how quick, how wet, how desperate. She makes her come twice more before Luo Qingyang screams her last orgasm and scrambles away from the stimulation.

“So easy.” She whispers and claims Luo Qingyang’s lips in a surprisingly tender kiss. And Luo Qingyang smiles and kisses her again before dropping to her knees.

They eventually make it back to their room, to their bed, to their sheets where Luo Qingyang buries her face between Wen Qing’s legs and doesn’t stop until her face is soaked until Wen Qing is the one begging for mercy until the earth rumbles beneath them with the force of orgasm. “Wow,” Wen Qing laughs out of breath as she falls back onto the pillows. “You really shook my world.”

The rumbling happens again; it starts as a soft and distant rumble which swells in intensity, shaking the earth and the bed upon it.

“That wasn’t me.” Luo Qingyang says and looks around with alarm. 

This isn’t right. They’re both out of bed when the entire room shakes again. The floor beneath their feet vibrates and rumbles, like an earthquake or a distant explosion.

“Shit!”

Chapter Text

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Luo Qingyang says as she grabs her clothes, slides into her pants.
 
She slips on her sports bra before pulling on her shoes without bothering to find socks. Wen Qing beside her has the same idea. It takes a few moments to realize they’re wearing each other’s clothes, but it doesn’t matter. Luo Qingyang pulls on her wrist display as they rush toward the door. Wen Qing’s array saves her from the large piece of debris that falls from the ceiling.
 
“Thanks love.” She says with a smile and then put in her earpiece. “Anyone who can hear me? What the fuck?” 
 They hear broken up transmissions. Chatter they can’t quite distinguish. Something about an explosion near the entrance, but who would be there? Who would set off explosions? This can’t be good. Luo Qingyang frowns and looks at Wen Qing, who shows her needles with a smirk. Gods, she loves this woman with all her heart. Whatever they’re facing, they will face it together.

“If you can hear me, follow my array,” she says.
 
No one else but those who live here will know what that means as she summons her emergency beacon array. A part of it attaches to her shoulder and the rest of it dispels into a hundred tiny pieces. Whoever would find them could follow them back to her. Whoever needed to be safe, she would protect them. These are her people, their people, and their family. She will keep them safe. She pushes off and flies toward the doors, Wen Qing immediately behind her. There is no time; they have to figure out what’s going on. They climb the steps one flight at a time until they are on the main entrance level.
 
The Burial Mounds can withstand all but, or maybe even a direct, high-level bombardment. However, that is not her primary concern. Her concern is that this is a diversion, a way of attracting people to the area and then... worse.
 
Mo Xuanyu, holding a soul canister in his hand, finds them first. There is a nasty gash on his forehead, a swollen welt, but it is no longer bleeding. He looks alert, but he shakes, frozen in place the moment he sees them. He tries to catch his breath to speak. His clothes look dark and wet. A second glance confirms it is blood, too much blood to just be his own.
 
 “What happened?” Luo Qingyang asks, and he looks at her, his face drained of colour. He looks grey, traumatized. When she gently touches his arm, he feels cold. She doesn’t want him to have to recall what happened to him, but they need to know what they were up against.

 “I- I was playing outside with A-Qing and Zizhen was with us when he- he didn’t even pause, he didn’t even stop, he just... appeared and there- he didn’t stop.” 
A silent sob shakes Mo Xuanyu and robs him of his voice. Luo Qingyang can’t do anything but offer physical support as he folds in on himself with a pitiful cry. He doesn’t take it and sinks to the ground, cradling the soul canister. She follows, sitting down beside him. They don’t have time, but if she pushes him now, she isn’t sure they won’t lose him to shock and trauma. So, she waits and whispers soft assurances while she transfers spiritual energy to him.

Eventually, he continues: “Zizhen tried to protect us and he just- and I think he believes I died when he threw me against the wall. I couldn’t see, there was blood in my eyes and- and A-Qing. A-Qing...” He holds up the canister with shaking shoulders and Luo Qingyang closes her eyes, ice racing through her meridians. He doesn’t need to continue for her to understand.

“You- I-, I am so sorry.” She whispers as she closes the distance between them and pulls him close as sobs wreck his body.
 
Luo Qingyang needs to know who got here and where they went, but Mo Xuanyu is no longer capable of forming words.
 
 “Love, could you-?”
 
 “On it,” Wen Qing replies and pulls up the surveillance footage of the front door and surrounding area.
 
 Mo Xuanyu sits on a rock with A-Qing, showing her how to make messenger butterflies. He makes more little ones which burst once they touch her nose, sending her into wild giggles which Wen Qing cannot hear. She can only see her quiver with laughter as the recording continues. Ouyang Zizhen works a few steps away, taking measurements of the arrays which kept them safe. Mostly, he looked distracted, focusing on them more than the tablet he held. They look so happy. Wen Qing glances over her shoulder where Luo Qingyang holds Mo Xuanyu tight, so he doesn’t have to watch this again.
 
The sight is eerie, without sound it looks foreboding. A family together, playing outside with messenger talismans. Their laughter muted by the surveillance cameras. After a fourth butterfly kissed A-Qing’s nose and burst into sparks, something looks wrong with the arrays behind them. Neither of them notices it warp and even if Ouyang Zizhen looked at the wrist display in that very moment instead of his daughter, it wouldn’t have made a difference. He wouldn’t have caught the ripple in energy. Xue Yang appears out of thin air, his sword through Ouyang Zizhen’s chest before he even noticed him.
 
Luo Qingyang will never correct Mo Xuanyu’s perception that his husband tried to protect them. She knows he would have, and that matters most. In the video, Ouyang Zizhen’s body falls, splattering blood on Mo Xuanyu and A-Qing, who screams. Before Mo Xuanyu can react, he is hurled backwards against the rocks. Xue Yang doesn’t spare him a second glance and leaves him behind as though Mo Xuanyu could never be a problem for him. As arrogant as an assumption it was, it was right. Mo Xuanyu isn’t a man made for battle, he is a man dedicated to tending to others, a healer, a kind and sometimes troubled man who deserves all the good in the world instead of this. 
  
Xue Yang crouches down in front of the child and hands her what looks to be a candy, but Luo Qingyang isn’t sure from this angle. Somehow, Ouyang Zizhen has pulled himself back standing. There is the fighting spirit she knows he possessed. He likely used the last of his energy to summon an array instead of using it to heal-she doesn’t think he could have healed even if he’d tried- but Xue Yang lightning fast pulls a device from his belt and shoves it against Ouyang Zizhen’s chest.
 
What happens next is so gruesome that Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing both turn their heads away. No one should ever have to see something like that, no child should ever be near anything like that. After he surveyed his handiwork among the floating pieces of Ouyang Zizhen’s shattered soul, Xue Yang twirls the device in his hand and returns it to his belt. He kneels in front of the still sobbing A-Qing and speaks to her. What he said to her, neither of them can tell, but the little girl nods and extends her arms to be picked up. Xue Yang flashes a smile at the camera that is recording them. He cradles the child against him, bouncing her tenderly until she calms down and rests her head against his shoulder. Then, without hesitation, he buries a dagger in the base of her skull.
 
Wen Qing slaps her hand over her mouth and Luo Qingyang pulls Mo Xuanyu tighter. No one should have to witness something like this. Xue Yang drops her body to the ground and throws a talisman. The explosion takes out the camera, but they can piece together what happened after. Mo Xuanyu must have gathered A-Qing’s spirit and kept it safe in the spirit-trapping container.

“Oh there you are, I was wondering where you went,” Xue Yang says as he leans against one of the control panels at the far end of the room.
 
Mo Xuanyu visibly flinches and shudders. Luo Qingyang gently slips around him so she stands in front of him, Wen Qing joining her.
 
“I thought you might have survived, but when I came back to shatter your soul, you were gone, little brother. Or is it older brother now? I don’t remember which one of us has lived longer in this lifetime.”
 
 “Take care of him.” Wen Qing barks. “I’m going to kill this asshole.”
 
She summons her needles and her sword and for a moment Xue Yang laughs until he realizes that Wen Qing is definitely going to follow through with her threat when she pushes off. He runs because he is a fucking coward.
 
“I can’t—,” Mo Xuanyu whimpers as he sinks to the ground, “I can’t, he—I can’t. A-Qing—I—”
 
 “It’s okay,” Luo Qingyang says and kneels down with him, “you don’t have to. I’ll send you somewhere safe, okay? Do you think you can activate this?” She presses a teleportation talisman against his chest. “It will take you to safety. Hanguang-jun will keep you and A-Qing safe.”
 
There is a brief light in Mo Xuanyu’s eyes. He has always admired Hanguang-jun even if he does not remember their lifetimes together; they always allowed their paths to intertwine, sometimes becoming friends, sometimes not, but always friendly with mutual respect for each other. Whatever needs to happen, Hanguang-jun will bring Mo Xuanyu back to Gusu- or what is left of it- once more and hide him behind the arrays of the Cloud Recesses which have kept the Gusu Lan’s keeping a sanctuary there. He will be safe there until they can be reunited. He can’t look her in the eyes when he nods. She worries about his shaking hands.

“Hold on tight to her for me, okay?” She fights the tears in her eyes. He needs her to be strong. He needs her to give him strength until he is safe. She takes his hand and dips his fingers into the blood, quelling from the cut once more. “You take her somewhere safe now. We will take care of the rest, okay?” 
 
“Okay.” It is more a breath than it is a word, but when Mo Xuanyu moves his shaking fingers to touch the talisman, she knows he will be safe. She hopes he will be okay. She looks at him and gives him some of her spiritual energy and then, he touches the paper and a moment later, he is gone. Be safe, Mo Xuanyu, she thinks before she summons her sword and pushes off again. She checks her monitor and looks for Wen Qing before she cancels the array on her shoulder. Luo Qingyang won’t choose safety. She is going to kill Xue Yang if Wen Qing hasn’t already. No one comes into her home and steals her family’s children. She finds Wen Qing three floors down, leading Xue Yang away from living quarters, away from everything important and toward an exit which leads deep into the wastelands.
 
 He laughs as he follows her, thinking he is toying with a scared thing though she isn’t entirely sure how he got there when just a little while ago he had been the one running away but she knows her wife is a brilliant master of strategy. Wen Qing comes into view moments later. She is bleeding a lot and limping, but the latter is entirely put on to lure Xue Yang after a victim that is fun to hunt. Wen Qing lets him get close and then gets away, appealing to whatever sick and twisted pleasure he gets out of it. She’s amazing and Luo Qingyang won’t let him get any closer. 

 “Hey, asshole!” She calls as she flies off and throws an array without warning. It hits him square in the chest as he turns around, surprised.
 
 “I didn’t realize we were playing dirty,” he smiles and spits blood. 

 “What do you want?” She asks as Wen Qing readies her needles. Xue Yang loves to talk, loves the attention, and allows himself to be distracted. Neither of them is under the false impression that he is not keeping tabs on where Wen Qing is in relation to him. 
  
“You have someone I want.”
 
“And who’s that?” 

“Someone very dear to me, and if you hand him over, I won’t shatter your wife’s soul in all directions of the world.” His smile is unhinged, and he has the gall to pop a piece of candy in his mouth. 

“No one is going to go with you.” 

“Oh, he isn’t alive,” Xue Yang says slowly, as if speaking to a child.

“No.” 

Luo Qingyang understands he is speaking of a soul and she will not allow him anywhere near the cavern.

“Please?” he says and tilts his head like a sad puppy.

“That’s enough out of you.” Wen Qing throws her needles.

The first volley misses the mark, but the second one hits his throat. He stills immediately. A paralyzing agent. Luo Qingyang is in fucking love with her wife and sends ropes to bind him and any resentful energy he might use.

“If you wanted to play, you could have just said.”

He leers at Wen Qing like that’s actually something Luo Qingyang will dignify with a response. Wen Qing would tear him apart before he got even close to her. And right now, she summons a dagger to make quick work of him like he did with poor A-Qing, but Luo Qingyang grabs her hand.
 
“Not yet.” She pulls the soul shattering device from his belt. “What’s his then?”
 
“My new toy.” He seems a little too excited by this. Luo Qingyang shudders internally but continues.
 
“It shatters souls, how?”
 
“Wouldn’t you love to know?”
 
“I’ll stab you if you don’t tell us.” Wen Qing interjects, but Xue Yang shudders in a way that suggests arousal, and she takes a step back.
 
“I’ll tell you if you give him to me”
 
“Who?”
 
Wen Qing protests, but Luo Qingyang raises her hand and shakes her head. Trust me, she lets her eyes say.
 
“Xiao Xingcheng,” Xue Yang says and his eyes burst with starlight and love and wow, Luo Qingyang had not expected that look from someone like him.
 
 
The name is vaguely familiar, but she does not know every soul which dwells in the cavern below, the safest place, the most secluded. Someone could stay there for years and be safe from everything going on up here.
 
“You murdered the family of our soul keeper; he is no longer here. I can’t give any soul to you.”
 
“I’ll just have to try again.”
 
“You’re not going anywhere,” Wen Qing says and tightens the spiritual ropes.

“I’ll see you soon.”
 
Xue Yang smiles and before he says anything else, he uses his spiritual energy to break his own neck with a sickening crunch. Wen Qing and Luo Qingyang stare at him in horror when the device changes colour and chimes a countdown. They both simultaneously realize what is about to happen.
 
“Get to the cavern!” Luo Qingyang sends her voice through the compound before she and Wen Qing push off. The explosion throws them out the compound through several walls, deep into the wasteland.

Chapter Text

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, providing a respite from the sweltering summer heat. Lan Wangji instructed Sizhui and Jingyi to take the juniors to the cold springs after a successful night hunt. He had written the report of their hunt and held it in his hands to present to his brother. It had been eventful, but educational. No serious injuries and that was the best he could hope for with night hunts. The children deserved better than he and his peers experienced. However, something gnawed on his insides. A feeling that had begun when Mo Xuanyu shared what he knew and since then had only intensified. Lan Wangji lowered his brush and sighed. This could no longer wait.

He got up and dressed himself with slow deliberation. Speaking to his brother would require care. It was, after all, a delicate matter, considering the political standing of the Lan sect still without an heir. So perhaps he should heed his brother’s words in matters of diplomacy. He took a breath. It was a delicate matter, but it also was his brother who would listen to him. They would go over the evidence together and then make appropriate decisions to handle the matter. He took another breath and stepped out the door.

In Lan Wangji’s defence, he meant to walk straight through the doors and into his brother’s rooms. However, when he overheard two voices, he paused. Jin Guangyao was with his brother. Lan Wangji’s heart beat faster, but he could not move away from his spot.

“~of course, the Jin sect has not forgotten the Lan. Have we not sent enough aid?” Jin Guangyao said. 
His voice was so smooth, Lan Wangji could hear the polite smile in it.

“That’s not what I meant,” Xichen said. He sounded agitated.

“I have agreed to marry your cousin, have I not?” 

Lan Wangji held his breath. Marriage? His heart raced in his chest. Of course, he knew that one day his brother would marry as it was his duty, but Lan Wanji’s head swam with half-formed thoughts. He never thought it would be so soon. 

Xichen’s voice had an edge to it when he replied with “A-Yao”, but it wasn’t very sharp.
 
A silence followed. Lan Wangji was uncertain why they were silent so long until he heard soft, wet noises, followed by a gasp and a soft chuckle. Kissing, he thought, his heart threatening to fall from his throat. They were kissing. 

“Now that this matter is settled.” Jin Guangyao said. 
Fabric moved, then footsteps, “I brought you a gift.”

Spying was not something Lan Wangji was proud of, but he moved just enough to see some of the room while still concealed from accidental discovery. Jin Guangyao straddled Xichen’s lap, holding an ornate box. 

“For you,” he whispered, “a promise.”

Lan Wangji tried to will his brother to reject what was offered here. A comb, sandalwood, a gift one would present to a betrothed. Lan Wangji felt dizzy. It was too difficult for Lan Wangji to reconcile this wedding. He understood why; the revelations were the ones he himself had brought to his brother. However, he had not imagined that it would end like this. His brother, so desperate after learning the horrifying truth, proposed the marriage to distract from what came to light about the sibling relations; and Jin Guangyao proposed his own to strengthen the relationship between the sects. After annulling his marriage to Qin Su, he would marry a Lan elder’s daughter; and Xichen would marry Qin Su in but a few days. 

He smoothed his clothes and took a deep breath. Through the open windows, he could see Jin Guangyao brush his brother’s hair. Of course, Lan Wangji knew that Jin Guangyao would never step out of line publicly, but to see them both cross these lines in private. He turned away when he saw Jin Guangyao’s hand vanish beneath his brother’s robes. Spying was not something he was proud of. However, the pang of shock and jealously rendered him frozen. He only moved when he heard his brother moan. With flushed red ears, Lan Wangji rushed to his rooms, promising he would kneel quietly once alone. He needed time to process, to meditate, to understand. 

*** 

The wedding was joint, opulent, and ostentatious. Lan Wangji understood the meaning of it: distraction and consolidation of power, while Jin Ling was still too young and naïve to challenge his uncle. He had deeply objected to his union; he still did. Jin Guangyao had known he married his sister. Whatever excuses he had offered to Xichen, it became clear to Lan Wangji that his brother’s sight was shrouded by the feelings he harboured. He acted on the knowledge that once the marriages were official, they would all take residence in Jinlin Tai. It now seemed so clear to Lan Wangji that this was simply a change to the original plan to seize power. But when he brought his concerns to his uncle, his uncle had not shared his sentiment. 
“Your perspective is clouded by grief,” his uncle said, his words filled with concern, “your ward is about to enter adulthood and perhaps it feels as though you have lost your brother. It is natural to seek patterns in what we do not yet comprehend.”
Lan Wangji wanted to protest, but the words had caught in his throat. Had his uncle seen something in him that he himself did not?

“Change has always been difficult for you, Wangji,” his uncle had said with a warm hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “I am glad you came to me with this. I understand this is difficult for you, but I know you understand your brother’s duty.”

Perhaps Lan Wangji already understood that his own perspective was lost among the pain and grief; and he wished for his uncle to confirm what he himself could not admit. Or perhaps it was the permission he sought. It was impossible to analyze the facts with an objective mind while at the same facing his own inner turmoil. His uncle’s word had offered him a way out. Whether he knew was unclear, but it did not matter; Lan Wangji realized what he must do.

Three days later he stood at the entrance to Gusu, his qiankun bag hanging from his belt with the few possessions he wished to take with him. Lan Wangji understood his brother’s duty. And he understood Jin Guangyao’s thirst for power, but he needed time to think and meditate. He had concluded it would be impossible if he remained in Gusu. There were many things to which he needed answers. Answers he could not find under the eyes of his brother and uncle. 

On his desk, he had left two letters: one to his uncle, and one to Sizhui. He hoped it would ease the pain of his disappearance. Silently, he turned around and stepped towards an uncertain future, Wei Ying’s drawing beneath his robes, pressed against his chest.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian doesn’t look at the lights rushing beneath him nor does he look at the sky above him where the light reflects upon the clouds. He does not look up at Lan Zhan whose face is once more obscured by the helmet he had first seen him wear. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask questions. Lan Zhan asked to trust him and trust him he does with his life. Forever, no matter what will happen to them. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and wraps his arms tighter around Lan Zhan’s neck and buries his face against the rough material there, feeling vulnerable and exposed in his simple robes. He should feel cold but he does not. He should feel so many things but all he can only feel love. 

A blade of energy slices through the ground. Wei Wuxian ducks out of the way just before Wen Zhuliu’s array reaches him. Wen Zhuliu had appeared out of nowhere and rudely tackled Lan Zhan and him off Bichen. Lan Zhan had caught Wei Wuxian, but the artificial body’s arm had shattered upon impact. It should have felt painful or at the very least disturbing, but Wei Wuxian can only feel the urge to protect Lan Zhan as he summons resentful energy and sends it toward Wen Zhuliu. Lan Zhan shoots him a proud look and a nod and that’s all Wei Wuxian needs to continue. Fighting together with Lan Zhan comes naturally, even if this artificial body is clumsy and doesn’t always quite move the way it is supposed to. He still manages to dodge attacks and keep Wen Zhuliu at a distance. He doesn’t have a golden core, but Lan Zhan does. And while he is very strong, perhaps even immortal now, Wei Wuxian notices that Lan Zhan avoids being within close range of Wen Zhuliu, too, avoids the core melting hand. If Lan Zhan doesn’t want to deal with him up-close, then Wei Wuxian definitely shouldn’t want to.

Together, they stay ahead of Wen Zhuliu’s attacks, fighting with ease, each knowing where the other will be. Their fight is fluid, like a dance, just as it had been in the forest, like it had been at Sunshot, like it had been before Wei Wuxian had died. It thrills him when he blocks an exceptionally vicious attack with a shield of resentful energy he conjures. The defense is so strong all three of them are surprised by it, but Wei Wuxian simply shrugs and laughs. 

It is in that moment the world shifts behind him and something appears on the ground. Wei Wuxian stumbles and crashes down, unable to catch himself with the still working arm. It is a person, Wei Wuxian realizes. A person hunched over, clutching something against their chest. Quiet sobs cut through the now silent battleground; the person’s shoulders stooped and shuddering. What the- even Wen Zhuliu stops long enough for Wei Wuxian to recover his wits and topple him over with another array. Without hesitation, Lan Zhan sends powerful notes which explode around Wen Zhuliu, sending him flying metres into the air before he slams into the ground and stays there, motionless. Lan Zhan crosses the distance and crouches down beside the Wei Wuxian and the person who appeared out of nowhere. 

“Mo Xuanyu,” he says. So Lan Zhan knows who this poor sod is. “What happened?” 

Mo Xuanyu shakes his head. He looks filthy, covered in dried and drying blood, hair matted together, debris still stuck in it. Wei Wuxian tries to touch him but he flinches away. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe. Lan Zhan here knows you and he hasn’t tried to kill you, so that’s a really good sign that you’re safe.” Kind of safe, he supposes as he glances over to Wen Zhuliu, who is still on the ground. They need to get out of here while he’s unconscious.

“He came from the Burial Mounds,” Lan Zhan says as he looks at the container that Mo Xuanyu is clutching and examines the talisman engraved in it. 

“The Burial Mounds? My Burial Mounds where I—” 

“Yes, a sanctuary now. Too long to explain.” He returns his attention back to Mo Xuanyu. “What happened?” 

“They’re dead? They’re dead! They’re all dead!” Mo Xuanyu screams, resentful energy coiling around him. Curious, Wei Wuxian thinks.

The outburst sends Lan Zhan stumbling to his feet, blanching as colour drains from his face. What happens next happens in such slow motion that Wei Wuxian isn’t even sure it is truly happening. Beside Lan Zhan, Wen Zhuliu appears when he had just been laying far away from them just moments ago. His hand glows bright with spiritual energy, the core melting hand. Wei Wuxian scrambles to his feet faster than he should be able to as he summons resentful energy to throw his artificial body between him and Lan Zhan. The fist hits him hard, but it is enough of a distraction for Lan Zhan to jump back out of the way. Wei Wuxian looks down, the glowing fist pierced through his abdomen. 

“Lan Zhan?” He asks, but what he is asking he is not sure. He is vaguely aware when his body disintegrates and explodes. 

***

The world around Lan Wangji fades away the moment he sees the cracks in Wei Ying’s skin, in his body. It feels surreal, the fist through his abdomen, the confused look on his face that melts away into a soft smile as if he wants to comfort Lan Wangji one last time. The force of the explosion throws Lan Wangji backwards, bursts his eardrums, and he only vaguely registers the shards of the android body cutting through his skin, carving deep valleys into his flesh, some lodge themselves in skin, in muscle, but he cannot bring himself to care. Despite any hope he has, he knows this will not be fatal. He should worry about Wen Zhuliu, but he does not. He should worry about Mo Xuanyu, but he does not. And likely, he should worry about himself, worry about the blood dripping down his face and neck, but he does not. He cannot. Wei Ying was here a moment ago. If his soul, if it remained, he can talk to him, keep him close, be with him even if it is not physical. He has had Wei Ying, and he never wants to give him up again. If this ends here, a distant part of his mind thinks, then so be it. Conjuring Wangji, he begins to play the song he has not played in many, many years. It comes to him easily, as if he still played it every night. Perhaps in his mind he still does. 
 
Lan Wangji clears his mind of all thoughts, allows his spiritual energy to activate the small device at the nape of his neck, dampening his emotions. Reigning them in because if he gives even a moment’s pause, he will crumple to the floor wrecked with pain as he had been all those years ago, as he had been for so long. He begins to play, and the world disappears completely; it washes away in an instant and he finds himself elsewhere in a void where there is no one but him and the soft glow of Wei Ying’s soul. 
 
“Stay with me.” He whispers and pours that thought into everything he has, lets it course through every fibre of his being. “Please stay with me.” 
 
Wei Ying answers the way he always does, scattered and bright as he plucks the strings too fast for him to make out more than “yes” and “watch out”. Lan Wangji ducks instinctively to the right and the fist barely misses. He pushes Wen Zhuliu back as the world rushes into focus again and brings with it the threat of pain. He hates it. Make it go away, he thinks and in a moment, he is calm once more. Methodically, he fights Wen Zhuliu. The glow of his fist now extends to his arm as he wields his power close to the surface. His level is high, the killing intent is- Lan Wangji is surprised when he feels no killing intent. He is not here to kill him? Then why is he here? He knows better than to engage verbally during fights. Wei Ying would already be half a dozen questions and postulations into the fight, but he also would feel incredibly safe knowing that Lan Wangji would defend him no matter how much he speaks, no matter how foolish his questions. 
 
Wen Zhuliu does not appear to be interested in such either and is just as methodical in fighting him. Lan Wangji has to keep him at a distance, especially when he pulls a device from his hand. A device Lan Wangji has never seen before. That is not good; he does not know what it is. It glows a similar way as Wen Zhuliu’s fist, but Lan Wangji does not have time to think about what it could be because Wen Zhuliu does still have a mission. Lan Wangji understands it now. He is here to shatter his golden core. And if he is here, he has the power to do so. He tries not to think of his brother and Jin Guangyao when he summons Bichen, only to be thrown back hard by a talisman. It erupts into metal vines which wrap themselves around him and pin him in place. How? Wen Zhuliu’s expression does not change. The man has never taken pleasure in his work and at least that is something reassuring to Lan Wangji. The man has integrity, even if it does not overlap with his own personal views and beliefs. Whatever drives Wen Zhuliu is beyond simple loyalty and the burden of owing a debt. He does not know what it is and when he sends spiritual energy through the vines; it is simply absorbed and gives them more strength. 
 
“What?” 

It isn’t so much surprise as it is the sheer improbability of something like this existing. If Wen Zhuliu holds the power to destroy Lan Wangji’s core in his hand, what is the device? What is this talisman? How did it exist? His thoughts race and he is unsure why. Is the chip malfunctioning? Has he pushed it too far? Where is Wei Ying? The pain is like a memory, but it still tightens his throat and stings in his eyes. 
 
“It will hurt.” Wen Zhuliu says as he kneels down beside him, the vines separating away to give him easy access to Lan Wangji’s abdomen. “For that I apologize.” 
 
This is not how it is supposed to end. Without spiritual energy, without a golden core, he will lose all connection to Wei Ying, he will lose the chance to speak to him to be with him. He cannot find it within him to beg; he cannot find anything within himself but sheer dread. The chip must have failed because all he feels, all he will ever feel, is fear and the slow rising of pain. He tries to fight, tries to pull away from the hand that settles on his lower abdomen as if this was a tender, intimate moment. It is not; it is a violation which Lan Wangji never before encountered. He feels like a rabbit in a snare, his heart pounding in his throat as he attempts to scramble away, but he barely has enough purchase to stay upright.
 
Wen Zhuliu concentrates on what he is doing, tells Lan Wangji that it is okay to scream, that he will not think less of him. He tells him he has been a formidable enemy and that none of this is personal. Lan Wangji can feel the warmth of his spiritual energy through the flight suit, through the layer of clothes underneath. He can feel his skin beginning to sweat. He can feel the tendrils of Wen Zhuliu’s spiritual energy reach for his core. The act itself will be violent and arduous, but he understands that this way, he attempts to remove some of the pain, remove some of the trauma. Nothing could remove that; nothing could make Lan Wangji feel any less exposed, any less helpless. He will not scream, he thinks, but in truth, he knows he is lying to himself in order to make this easier. 
 
“Wei Ying.” The words fall from his lips. At least without a core, he will use Bichen to end his existence and perhaps join Wei Ying’s soul. Then perhaps they can both be at peace. Peace. It could be a good thing. Wei Ying said yes to stay with him. This is a fate he could accept. He is so incredibly tired. It might be his imagination when he sees a soft glow at the edge of his vision. He will think it is Wei Ying watching over him in his final moment. Wei Ying, he thinks when the pain slowly builds and swells as Wen Zhuliu calls upon his cultivation in earnest now. This is the very end of things, and if it has to be, he is glad Wei Ying is with him. I love you, he wants to say, but can’t form words when the first sear of pain tears through his meridians. He doesn’t scream, but his breath is ragged already. Wei Ying, he thinks as the pain increases exponentially. 
 
“Wei Ying!” He screams when he feels he can no longer take it. It is okay if it is for Wei Ying and not his own pain. Those screams are about to follow when suddenly, the pain ebbs once more and the heated skin feels cool. 
 
Confused, he opens his eyes to find Wen Zhuliu wrapped in black tendrils of resentful energy. They are not there by chance and for a moment; he wonders if Wei Ying had taken possession of a body but the flitting light is still in the corner of his eyes. No, the resentful energy is under the control of Mo Xuanyu who stands tall, his hair falling down his shoulders now. His eyes are black, hazed over with resentful energy, and Lan Wangji realizes that the source of them is not external. The resentful energy comes from within Mo Xuanyu and there is so much. Wen Zhuliu fights, tries to use his hand, but the resentful energy tightens around his wrist until he screams, until the scorched hand falls to the floor. 
 
“You took everything.” Mo Xuanyu’s voice is calm, barely above a whisper, but the desperate rage within it is palpable, resonates within Lan Wangji’s bones. “You took everything and then you made me remember everything I chose to forget. What you did to me, what you wanted me to do.” It is unclear if he still is speaking to Wen Zhuliu or if this is simply something he has to say. Wen Zhuliu looks confused so it may truly be the latter, but if he remembers then- 
 
“Xuanyu,” Lan Wangji hears himself say, but he cannot reach the young man, he knows that. 
 
“I know you tried to protect me.” Mo Xuanyu says as the tendrils multiply and tighten around Wen Zhuliu. “You saved me. You helped me. You were always so kind. I can- I will do this for you. It’s okay.” He says and glances at the container by his feet. “I want this, but please, protect her, keep her safe. She will be lost so easily if you set her free. I’ll- I’ll find her again, I promise but not- I can’t.” his face contorts with pain and desperation as he sobs. The resentful energy flickers as he screams his pain, as he bites open in finger and draws a talisman and slams it against his own chest. “I will do this for you. Trust me.” 
 
Lan Wangji does not know what that means and perhaps he will regret when he nods “I trust you”, but it is the truth. He trusts Mo Xuanyu, has trusted him since he had confessed his original intent to end his life to call upon the Yiling Patriarch. Mo Xuanyu’s smile is thin and small, nothing compared to the bright beam that often had painfully reminded Lan Wangji of Wei Ying. He still cannot move, even if he wanted to interfere, he could not. Whatever these confines, something had happened which had pushed Jin Guangyao and C.A.R.P. well ahead within the cultivation world. Mo Xuanyu looks at Wen Zhuliu who seems to understand what is going to happen, makes peace with it because he cannot do anything else either. The tendrils of resentful energy knit together and encase him. The device in his other hand drops to the floor and Mo Xuanyu summons it with a soft smile, brighter now. It isn’t unhinged or upset, it simply is the smile of a man who knows he will get what he wants no matter how bittersweet. 
 
Mo Xuanyu grips the device tightly, his entire body suddenly at attention, tense, ready. He screams again and the resentful energy pulls tighter, pulls closer. He keeps screaming as he slowly steps closer, blood dripping from his lips and nose. Lan Wangji believes he is witnessing the end of Wen Zhuliu, the final end. The flash of fear in Wen Zhuliu’s eyes confirms as much before the tendrils flow into his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. The world is deafening, screams of pain and rage mingled with the screams of fear and pain, the sound of screeching, the world shaking, and then it is silent. 
 
Wen Zhuliu’s body is incredibly still. Dead. The resentful energy pulls away from him and as it does, the body disintegrates to ash leaving behind nothing but a small glow which flickers for a moment but Mo Xuanyu darts forward with the device and the small glow forms into an orb, an almost tangible thing before it shatters, starbursts surrounding them before it disappears. Lan Wangji does not entirely comprehend what had just happened, but he knows that somehow Mo Xuanyu has shattered Wen Zhuliu’s soul. 
 
“I will do this for you.” Mo Xuanyu says quietly again and draws another talisman and then another and then another. 
 
Lan Wangji doesn’t notice the blade, but if he had, it would not have mattered. He cannot stop what is about to happen. 
 
“We will keep her safe.” He says because he cannot say thank you. He cannot say that he does not want this. 
 
“I know you will. Remember to tell him.” He says and in this very quiet moment, he drags the knife over his arm. “End this,” he says, with a calm, collected voice and drags the knife again. “Tell him how you feel,” he says and drags the knife a final third time. “Kill Jin Guangyao.” 
 
The knife drops from his fingers as he sinks to his knees, the final talisman in his hands. His breath comes heavily, as if the blood loss is already affecting him. There is so much blood, he prays that Wei Ying will survive. 
 
“Come home.” Mo Xuanyu breaths and slams the talisman in his chest. He drops to the floor as if struck by lightning face to the ground. And then, there is nothing. No light, no sound, no sign that whatever he has just done worked. The glow at the corners of his eyes is still there and maybe he should reconcile that perhaps it is simply optic nerve damage. 
 
Like this, he stays in silence for a very long time. He has regained control over the chip but still cannot break free. So he has to wait. Lan Wangji does not know for what, but he is a patient man and closes his eyes to meditate, to heal some of his wounds. He finds his meridians painful, his core not shattered, not damaged, but injured. He feels bruised and sore when he tries to use spiritual energy beyond a certain amount. Perhaps he is lucky that it is not worse, but he will not assess such matters until after Wei Ying returns. He cuts any thought which tries to sow doubt and question whether he returns. It does not matter what his mind thinks. Wei Ying will return to him. Mo Xuanyu sacrificed everything, and it cannot have been in vain. He cannot entertain any thoughts otherwise. He cannot afford to let this impact him. 
 
He meditates until the sun rises and until it sinks again, Mo Xuanyu’s body still on the ground. Lan Wangji is surprised no one has found them yet, but perhaps whatever Mo Xuanyu had done conceals them from the real world. He hopes that is the case. The ritual was not gentle, gentler than the C.A.R.P.’s method of soul transfer, but not nearly good enough to be as gentle as the ritual back at the Burial Mounds. They will have to find a new soul keeper, he idly thinks and brushes the thought away as he clears his mind once more. The only thought he will allow himself in this moment is of Wei Ying. Wei Ying, come back to me. Wei Ying, we will be okay. Wei Ying, I love you. 
 
The sun sets again, and perhaps it has all been in vain after all. The thoughts lick at the back of Lan Wangji’s mind as fast as he pushes them away. They want to take over, to ooze their way into the forefront of his mind. They want to fester and grow and pull him into despair. He allows himself to feel but only for a moment, then he brushes everything away again like a drawing in the sand, like ripples on a lake. Lan Wangji is calm and silent as the moon rises above them and basks him in soft silver light. He closes his eyes to allow himself back into meditation when he hears a soft noise. A breath, barely there, a puff of air, then a soft groan. He knows that voice. After all these years, after fearing that he may have forgotten, he knows that voice; he gets that voice; he understands that voice. The next groan is louder and filled with a deep sense of displeasure, which makes Lan Wangji smile. He wishes he could rush toward Wei Ying, call him, tell him everything will be all right. However, still bound by the confines of the talisman Wen Zhuliu had thrown at him, he cannot move. Should it not have given in by now? He does not know the answer to this, but he certainly will not test the limits of it again. 
 
“Lan Zhan, what happened?” Wei Ying groans as he pushes himself sitting. There is first a look of deep confusion, which makes way for a pouty look of pain. Despite his predicament, Lan Zhan can’t help the soft chuckle in the back of his throat. 

Wei Ying has returned to him.

Chapter Text

Everything hurts. It’s that incredibly annoying dull ache that Wei Wuxian had grown to know so well in the time he had spent cultivating resentful energy, going down the dark path, or whatever anyone would call it. Demonic cultivation will injure your body and mind. And while that obnoxious assessment from Lan Zhan had not been wrong, it also had not been right. It did damage, but it could also heal just like golden core energy could. Wei Wuxian is not entirely certain why he thinks of this right now other than the first time Lan Zhan had called him by his courtesy name had been then. And he’d responded with playful indifference. He moves, and the pain shoots through him, decidedly less dull. The small gasp of air that escapes him almost startles him and he is unsure why. He pushes himself to sit with a groan. 
 
“Lan Zhan, what happened?” He asks almost idly as if the most normal thing in the world is to ask Lan Zhan when something is wrong. 
 
The memories do not come flooding back in the sense that everything which has happened flashes before his eyes. Instead, the memories return slowly, like water seeping up from the ground, which has been too saturated from below. Wei Wuxian understands that things have happened before this, that the world has been dull and strange. He remembers that Lan Zhan had been angry with him because he did not think Wei Wuxian was himself. Wei Wuxian remembers the weight of a body, which should have been warm but wasn’t. He remembers being scared, terrified beyond belief, and so much more, but it all feels distant, strangely wrapped in cloth and cotton wool. Everything is disjointed and simultaneously blended together in ways he can’t yet comprehend. None of it makes sense, not truly. Not even the pain, but he can deal with pain. He knows pain. He should have felt something when Wen Zhuliu- 
 
“Lan Zhan?” He jumps to his feet, ignoring the spike of pain. It doesn’t feel like it’s getting worse, just doesn’t like to be jostled. He will be more careful jumping then. But Lan Zhan, where is he? He looks around when he sees his perfect Lan Zhan right there looking at him. Right there unable to move as he is wrapped in strange metallic vines which seem incredibly familiar. He sees the pattern of them, the characters used on the talisman and, for a strange moment, images flash before his eyes he cannot explain. They end with a view of his fingers shaking and bleeding, drawing the talisman, but he has no emotion to attach to it, no context for why or what he was doing. 
 
“I thought this was a dream...,” he says, his voice a breath as he walks toward Lan Zhan, who watches him with silent wonder. 

Wei Wuxian understands this, he understands what is happening to Lan Zhan; he gets the mechanism behind it. It’s a spiritual energy trap but manifested as confines. Technically, a rope talisman augmented to suit those needs. Instead of ropes, there are thick vines which feel cold and hard to the touch. He doesn’t know what to do with how they feel to his fingertips. The tingling echoes through his meridians, mingles with the spiritual energy pulsing from a strong golden core. He understands what these vines are, and he knows how to remove them. 
“It traps spiritual energy and uses it to gain strength. The more a cultivator struggles and tries to escape, the tighter it pulls, the more energy it absorbs. Isn’t that something?” he asks.

When Lan Zhan does not reply, Wei Wuxian thinks his concern lies with all the resentful energy still in the air, still swirling around him. Mo Xuanyu, he thinks, but doesn’t recognize the name. He pauses. Or does he? 
 
“I know how to help.” He says and smiles before placing his hands against the vines. Resentful energy created this to drain and pull golden core energy toward it. Poor Lan Zhan must be feeling so exhausted now. He smiles again as he channels resentful energy into the vines, wills it through his meridians, and lets it mingle with the warm spiritual energy that dances around his golden core. He has a golden core again them, that’s different, and he doesn’t know how he feels about it. 
 
It does not matter; he knows how to channel the resentful energy in ways that do not damage his golden core. How? He does not know. It does not matter because he needs to free Lan Zhan. That’s what matter; that’s what he wants to do with this power, this skill that is so strange and familiar all at the same time. He allows the resentful energy to flow through him and perhaps Lan Zhan makes a soft noise of surprise when the vines loosen their grip and eventually fall away as if they had never been there, leaving a spent talisman at their feet. Wei Wuxian picks it up and moves to stick it into his sleeve but it appears he has no sleeves, just short fabric flaps which barely cover his arms. There is no front seam or opening either. It isn’t even like the underthings he had worn before, just a single solid swath of fabric across his chest feeling tight. He doesn’t like it, but he also does not know how to get out of it. It smells funny too, and there’s an odd ringing in his ears. 
 
“Lan Zhan?” He distracts himself from the discomfort from the tight feeling that runs from his chest down his legs and to his feet. “Are you all right?” 
 
“I am now.” Lan Zhan says with that perfect ghost of a smile of his, and Wei Wuxian knows he will melt away if he thinks too much about it. “Are you all right?” 
 
“I’m great, aren’t I? Look at me with a new body and,” he notices pain in his arm but instead of terrible things there simply are three gashes, “look perfectly fine!” He smiles as he holds up the cuts which have crusted over but seem to still cause Lan Zhan some distress. To Wei Wuxian, this is perfectly great news. Last time he had a body, it didn’t do that. It did terrible things. And it didn’t feel itchy, why is he so itchy? It’s the fabric tube he is in, he’s sure of it. It’s rough and scratchy, like felted wool, and so terribly itchy he hates it. 
 
“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks when Wei Wuxian tugs at the shirt to pull it away from his body. 
 
“It’s itchy.” Wei Wuxian frowns when his legs join in- and what is that noise? A humming or hissing or something, something that is loud enough to be distracting if he pays too much attention to it. And the smell, like- he doesn’t know what it smells like…there is nothing he can think comes close except maybe the smell after a lightning strike. 
 
Lan Zhan studies him with his carefully trained eyes, a golden shimmer and- “Lan Zhan what happened to your eye?” He asks and steps close, but Lan Zhan steps back and covers his eye with his hand defensively. “Does it hurt?” 
 
“It is injured.” Lan Zhan says and looks bemused when Wei Wuxian tries to fuss with him. “It does not hurt. You need not worry.” 
 
“Yeah like that’s something I’m going to do just because you say it.” Wei Wuxian knows it is silly to pout over not being allowed to fuss over your soulmate’s, best friend’s injured eye that does not hurt, but he is itchy and it smells funny and that noise is going to drive him mad. “What is that?” He tilts his head, tries to get his bearings, but the noise is everywhere, as if it was carried by the very air in which they’re standing. 
 
“Wei Ying what is what?” Lan Zhan grabs his uninjured forearm and at least that is calming and grounding. It even takes a little of the itch away, the familiar grip. Wei Wuxian realizes he has never felt it truly against his skin. Isn’t that funny to remember something he had only ever felt through fabric and leather? 
 
“Noise, there’s a weird noise.” He says and tries to focus on it to explain it better. “A high-pitched hum?” He approximates the noise. It doesn’t sound close when the noise leaves him, but he has faith Lan Zhan will figure it out. It’s so irritating this noise…why won’t it stop? He puts his hands over his ears, but that just makes him feel the noise, like a low vibration in his body. “What is this?!” 
 
Lan Zhan looks at him. The look is peculiar. Strangely detached this time. Wei Wuxian cannot ponder it for too long because the itch is distracting and the noise, that noise. Lan Zhan grabs his arm and pulls him along when another noise, a loud swooping and something like yammering guqin strings, just before they break. Wei Wuxian stumbles along, his hand slotting into Lan Zhan’s as if it belonged there. It distracts him long enough that he does not think about the itch or about how terrible feels. The noise is deafening…it’s so loud it may be the loudest thing he has ever seen. They stumble down a ravine and every time Wei Wuxian loses his step, Lan Zhan catches him, and for a few steps, he carries all his weight when it becomes too difficult for Wei Wuxian to navigate. Shouldn’t they fly? He stumbles again when his foot catches on something. With the sensory overload, Wei Wuxian can’t tell what, but Lan Zhan steadies him before he falls. 
 
 “We have to walk for a little while. Can you do that?” 
 
“Of course, Lan Zhan. What ridiculous kind of question is that? Can I walk? I still have two legs, don’t I-” he breaks off when he turns his head and is met by walls of light. Buildings taller than he has ever before seen, flashing lights, so many flashing lights, images of people? Things? Animals, maybe? Flickering in front of him, lights in the sky, the clouds above illuminated by a dull orange glow. And there is so much noise, humming and whirring and screeching and screaming and pounding, he can feel it in every part of his body, deep inside his bones. He brings his hands back to his ears as he squints. He’s trying, he’s trying so hard for Lan Zhan to keep his emotions under control, but the itch is burning now, his arm is pulsing with pain, the noises, oh by everything that is good, the noises, the lights. 

It hurts, it hurts so much and he doesn’t know how to stop it. When he closes his eyes, the noises become louder. He covers his ears, but that does not seem to drown out the noises and the lights become brighter. He can’t breathe. The air is thick and rife with a miasma that tightens his throat. The sounds…something flies overhead, a loud clattering vibrating the air he breathes. Wei Wuxian screams. He doesn’t know what’s happening, he can’t. It’s too much. Wei Wuxian crouches down low, attempting to escape the world around him, but he can’t. This wasn’t like that before. He remembers walking amongst all of this, but it had been dull and far away, as if through water. Now he feels like it’s a flame licking at his every fibre, his entire being. He wonders if the stench can permeate his soul. 
 

Desperate, Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to say something, anything, but he can’t; he can’t add another noise. He can’t form words. Instead, he shakes his head and glances up at Lan Zhan, tears welling in his eyes. He can’t, he can’t walk, he can’t even stand up. It’s too much, too much. Lan Zhan crouches beside him and puts his fingers over Wei Wuxian’s hands. He trails them gently and allows spiritual energy to flow between them. Wei Wuxian feels tired suddenly. A deep-seated fatigue radiates from his bones. He realizes what Lan Zhan is doing and smiles. 
  
“Thank you,” he mouths as he allows himself to focus on the warmth of Lan Zhan’s energy slowly permeating him and pulling him under into unconsciousness. He will be okay is the last thing he thinks before drifting into a dreamless sleep. 

***

It is quiet when Wei Wuxian awakens. Quiet and dark and smelling of sandalwood. He smiles because Lan Zhan smells like sandalwood. He smells perfect in Wei Wuxian’s opinion. There is a warm body beside him on a bed that isn’t familiar, but if it smells like Lan Zhan, he knows he is okay.
 
“It wasn’t a dream,” Lan Zhan says softly beside him. Wei Wuxian remembers, but when he opens his eyes, the sight is unfamiliar in that he hasn’t before been in this building. He knows it is part of the Cloud Recesses, though. He knows the smell, the air, and the sounds. After all, he had spent the best parts of his youth here, no matter how much he complained about it.
 
“But we’re-”  

“Yes,” Lan Zhan says and waits for Wei Wuxian to turn around. “I thought this would help.”  
Lan Zhan looks exactly how Wei Wuxian remembers, dressed like he is going to a funeral. His hair isn’t up and he is definitely wearing fewer layers than Wei Wuxian remembers him to wear in his presence. The ribbon around his forehead remains the same and suddenly the man who had pushed him into the wall was a distant memory. It had been someone else, not his Lan Zhan. It feels right here, the noise levels, the smells, the lights, the air. There isn’t a sound out of place, not a smell he can’t identify.   

“Because it’s quiet?” He asks and shifts to sit up. His skin feels angry and when he checks between the silk robe Lan Zhan had changed him into, it is welted red and irritated   

“Because you are deeply unfamiliar with the world out there, and in my haste, I neglected to consider it. For that, I am sorry.” He lifts the robe and checks the skin himself. “Your body is not used to modern fabric. I thought-” Wei Wuxian does not know what he had thought, but he dislikes the furrow it carves into Lan Zhan’s brow   

“I still am not sure what happened,” He says and takes the ointment Lan Zhan gives him. “It’s hazy but not like at the Burial Mounds. I remember nothing and then being awake, and-” he stops when he realizes, when he remembers.

Perhaps it is the familiar silence that allows the memories to surface. And with them, the unfathomable pain of loss. His perfect sister whose life he had ruined. Everyone’s life he had ruined. The thoughts come in waves of her smile, her laugh, her bringing him soup, her sad but hopeful smile in her wedding dress, her exhausted face when she had mourned her husband, and then on the battlefield. It would have cost her so much to make it there. She didn’t have to, she shouldn’t have, but even at his very worst, when even Lan Zhan had doubted him, she had been there. She had sacrificed her life for him. The sobs wreck his body as he grips the ointment tight. His perfect sister and he never- he’d thrown away everything. He was unworthy of such love, such sacrifice. And here he is alive again, still unworthy of her unconditional love. He cries because he never had the chance to mourn her, he cries because here in the silence, he can finally think again.   

Warm arms wrap around him and that is such a strange, but welcome feeling that he startles. Lan Zhan doesn’t pull him closer when he does, but lets him decide whether he wants this. He does. He wraps his arms around Lan Zhan with a quiet plea. The ointment clatters to the floor when he grips the fabric of Lan Zhan’s robes, clings to him desperate for something he can’t yet fathom.  
“It’s okay to let go.” He hears his soft voice whisper. Let go, he thinks, and allows himself to sink into the safety of Lan Zhan’s arms.  
He cries until his sobs ebb, until he feels so deeply exhausted his bones hurt, until his arms limply hand from his sides and Lan Zhan holds most of his weight. Lan Zhan says things Wei Wuxian cannot register, instead he burrows his face deeper against his shoulder. In another life, perhaps he would be too humiliated or ashamed to sob into the Second Jade of Lan like an inconsolable child. But Lan Zhan has told him it’s okay and if Lan Zhan says it’s okay, then it has to be okay.

Eventually, when he drifts in and out of sleep, Lan Zhan gently guides him back to the pillows and, with a soft cloth, washes his face. Wei Wuxian can feel him brush the hair from his face as he wraps himself in his own sorrow. He can’t move, he doesn’t want to move. And Lan Zhan doesn’t force him to. He drifts in and out of sleep for a long time until the sun sets. He only gets up once before returning to the bed. Lan Zhan sleeps beside him and pulls the blanket back over him when Wei Wuxian returns and lies to sleep in the open air. He doesn’t deserve a blanket, he thinks, but he can’t bring himself to push it away.   
When he wakes again, it is day. Well into the morning. This time, Lan Zhan isn’t in bed with him, but sitting at the table with a surprisingly large amount of books. The smell of tea and broth is in the air, but Wei Wuxian does not get up to join him. Instead, he turns back around and closes his eyes. He awakens again when he can feel warmth beside him and the weight of Lan Zhan pulling him in to burrow his face against the warmth. He cries again and Lan Zhan holds him again, tells him it’s okay to cry, that he understands. Another day passes like this, Wei Wuxian laying in bed, crying every so often. Sometimes Lan Zhan holds him, sometimes he wants to be left alone and Lan Zhan respects his wishes. Though Wei Wuxian eventually suspects that he simply sits close by out of his sight instead of going about his day. 
  
On the second, or is it the third, morning, Lan Zhan sits at the table, the books neatly stacked away by the bench. This time, it smells like food, proper food, not tea and broth. He doesn’t want to get up, but his stomach rebels against him and growls. He clenches his fists to will away the sound, but Lan Zhan already heard 
 
“Please join me,” he says, “I would like your company and, if you allow me, to explain some things.”
 
Wei Wuxian could not deny that request even if he wanted to, because here he is laying in Lan Zhan’s bed, crying snot all over his clothes, and being a ball of filthy misery when Lan Zhan is so nice and kind to indulge him. He can do him this favour. Slowly, he gets up, and it is so nice and warm that he wonders if Lan Zhan used a talisman to warm the floor. He flops down beside Lan Zhan, but when he looks at him, Wei Wuxian sits properly. Fine, fine, he can do that as well. 

The food is plentiful. Surprisingly diverse, too, a lot of fragrant spices, chicken, fish, eggs, and a bowl of chili oil. Wei Wuxian laughs through the tears he feels spring into his eyes. They brim over when he sees a single white bottle of Emperor’s Smile on the table. He sobs through Lan Zhan, pouring him a cup, mindful of his sleeves, and pushing it toward him. Maybe this is how he is now, just a fountain of tears and snot. At first, he just wants to only drink the alcohol, leave the rest and go back to bed where he can cry in peace, but his stomach decides for him and suddenly he has a heaping bowl of food drowned in chili oil. He is the antithesis to Lan Zhan’s eating. Instead of slow and composed, he shovels food into his mouth. There is alarm in Lan Zhan’s eyes, and that makes Wei Wuxian slow down with a nervous laugh. 
 
“Hahaha, sorry Lan Zhan, old habits die hard.” He barely remembers the last time he had a full belly. It must have been- the Sunshot Campaign perhaps when his sister had made him- he bites his cheek to stop from crying, but it doesn’t work. He puts down the half-eaten bowl and shakes his head. How can he eat when he had killed his sister, when he had ruined her life, when-? 
 
“She would want you to eat,” Lan Zhan, the traitor, says quietly because he knows what words he is using. It’s unfair, deeply unfair and Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to tell him so, to scold him because it’s disrespectful and- “I would like you to eat as well. You are hungry. Denying yourself food won’t ease you of the guilt you feel.” 
 
Wei Wuxian sniffs and tries to think of something to say in retaliation, something equally scathing, but he cannot. There is nothing he can say because Lan Zhan is right. Why does he always have to be so right? Well, not always; he was definitely wrong about some things. Wei Wuxian can’t think of any right now, but he is sure Lan Zhan has been wrong before. He takes a sip of Emperor’s Smile. The taste is familiar, warm, with that perfect balance he remembers so well. It’s a piece of a life he knows they will never have again. All of this is a farce to make him feel better because he knows that somewhere out there is a world too loud, too bright, and too smelly for him. There is a world that refuses to make sense compared to everything he knows. He finishes his bowl in defiant silence because he knows his silences worry Lan Zhan. It’s spiteful and petty, but it makes him feel like he has some control over his life. 
 
“The chili oil is delicious,” he says after a while, “thank you.” He owes Lan Zhan that. He didn’t have to do these things for him, did not have to bring him food, feed him, clothe him…maybe he would bathe Wei Wuxian, too. Well, allow him to bathe, let him have a bath without him. A bath would be nice after several days lying in bed. Does he deserve a bath? Maybe not, but crying in bed all day is probably just going to make Lan Zhan remember he hates Wei Wuxian after all and kick him out and there is nowhere he wants to be but here. 
 
“There are a few books I would like you to read,” Lan Zhan says and looks toward the book pile near the bench. A few, he says, like there aren’t dozens and dozens. Is that his punishment for feeling sad for himself? Homework? He wouldn’t be surprised; Lan Zhan definitely is someone who would give homework for being sad as punishment for violating the Lan rules. No wallowing in your own self pity. But maybe Lan Zhan wasn’t as strictly absorbed with the rules as Wei Wuxian thought back then. After all, Lan Zhan had visited the Burial Mounds back when- ah no, that had just been for the night hunt, a lucky coincidence. His mind already knows that it had not been. Lan Zhan had wanted to be there, had wanted to spend time with him, with A-Yuan, with- his eyes glaze over with tears again. This time, he feels frustrated by them. 
 
 “Allow yourself to grieve.” Lan Zhan says and refills his cup but also pours him one with tea. Wei Wuxian downs both, burning his tongue with the tea and then chasing the burn with the alcohol. Neither makes him feel any better. “We will stay as long as you need to stay, Wei Ying.” 
 
 “What if I never want to leave?” 
 
 “Then we stay forever.” 

Chapter Text

Jin Ling was on a night hunt. Jiang Cheng knew this and yet he worried still. Jin Ling was on a night hunt with his best friends. They looked out for each other. They all were skilled young cultivators. Jiang Cheng knew this and yet he worried more. He didn’t understand why, after so many night hunts, today was so worrisome. Something just didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right at all. He put down his brush and pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need to go check up on his nephew. Jin Ling was an adult. He was no longer a junior. He was a senior disciple and the future leader of the Jin sect, and perhaps even a future chief cultivator. Jiang Cheng surely did not have any interest in the position; even if Sect Leader Yao’s term was almost up and Jin Guangyao was ineligible for re-election. However, Jiang Cheng no longer cared about sect politics beyond what kept his nephew safe. He just wanted to be left alone and do what he needed to in order to make his ancestors proud. There were too many of them in the hall of the ancestors. Too many of his family lost. Only Jin Ling was left. Jiang Cheng got up abruptly, nearly knocking over the inkstone, and grabbed his sword. Jin Ling was an adult, but so was he and if he wanted to go night hunting on the same night that Jin Ling and his friends were night hunting? Well, he was a sect leader and could do whatever he wanted. No one was going to stop him. 
 
He arrived too late. There was a trail of blood leading away from the hunting grounds. It wasn’t the blood of a beast. It was that of humans. Jiang Cheng felt ice in his meridians as he followed the pools of blood, the spatter among the leaves. He followed the trail only to run into Lan Wangji, whose robes were already stained with mud and blood at the hem. They rarely spoke, never hunted together, but right now, they both looked at each other with concern and nodded before following the trail together. Whatever happened, something had gone very wrong. It no longer mattered, the mutual dislike between them. Right now, all they needed was to find their former wards. It didn’t matter that they were adults now, because Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji would always consider themselves their parental figures, and neither of them would actually stop worrying about them. Sometimes Jiang Cheng wondered why they never truly bonded over raising children not their own alone and without help from others. They should have become friends, but their own personal grievances with Wei Wuxian had prevented that. Even in his death, Wei Wuxian caused nothing but trouble and Jiang Cheng hated that he still thought about him. He should focus on what mattered right now: finding their children and their friends. 
 
It was too quiet, too quiet for the amount of blood they found. Or perhaps that was the reason for the silence. Night hunts with Jin Ling and his friends usually involved more laughter, more shouting, and significantly more noise. They came across another pool of blood, concerningly large. The ground was broken, kicked up around it, the only sign that anything went wrong in this perfect meadow where butterflies had the audacity to flutter about as if nothing happened, where birds were singing once more. Whatever danger, it had passed if the wildlife has deemed it safe enough to continue on. Lan Wangji’s steps were swift and long as he strode ahead. Maybe that was a mistake, maybe they were walking into a trap, but Jiang Cheng understood the urge because he followed it almost immediately. They needed to find out what had happened here. They needed to find them. Their strides broke into a run, measured but fast as they followed blood smeared hand prints drying on tree bark. Blood-soaked pieces of cloth littered the ground by a large tree. Jiang Cheng knew they were getting close. Why didn’t they call for help? They ran away, the trail obvious now. Once they broke through the treeline, they knew they had found the real battleground. The ground had been ripped open by what looks to be giant claws; spent talismans littered the floor; and the blood of both human and beast stained the grass. What kind of beast had they hunted? Had the recklessness of youth led them here or something else? Jiang Cheng was terrified of the answers, but he would not show it on his face in more than the same haunted looks he saw on Lan Wangji’s. 
 
They followed the trail away from the clearing, back into the trees until it halted. Where were they? Lan Wangji paused too and together they stood back to back as if waiting for a trap to spring, but it never did. Lan Wangji raised a talisman and sent it to the ground. With a soft shimmer, the air rippled and shifted. They were hiding. Jiang Cheng sent a burst of energy toward the ripples, breaking the enchantment. The screams were instant, petrified like children, believing themselves to be in mortal danger. They broke off when they recognized them, but they couldn’t speak. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi look as if they had stepped out of someone’s worst nightmare, robes soaked with blood as they shook their heads rapidly in fear. Ouyang Zizhen whispered something that sounded like “it’s still here” as he pressed his hands against- Jiang Cheng would never forget the sight. Jin Ling was laying prone on the ground. He looked so pale. His back had been gored beyond recognition, bones and flesh mangled. Somehow, Ouyang Zizhen still attempted to stem the flow of blood with cloth from their robes and his spiritual energy. Detached, Jiang Cheng acknowledges that it’s too late. The colour of Jin Ling’s skin was grey, his body still without breath. It likely had been too late since the very moment they had been attacked. Barely a skilled elder could have survived such a wound. Even with the searing pain that spread in Jiang Cheng’s chest, he knew they had tried, regardless. They had tried to save their friend’s life by expending as much spiritual energy as they could spare, perhaps even more than they should have. All of them look sallow, exhausted, and Ouyang Zizhen at the brink of death himself. When asked, Ouyang Zizhen couldn’t respond.

“Do you know what beast did this?” Jiang Cheng forced himself to ask.

Ouyang Zizhen shook his head and Jiang Cheng transferred spiritual energy to him to help him recover.

“How long have you been hiding?” 

Again, Ouyang Zizhen shook his head.
 
Jiang Cheng tried to think clearly. They needed to get them all out of here. He checked on Jin Ling, his face peaceful, as if he had not even known his end would befall him. Jiang Cheng could feel hot tears roll down his cheeks as he checked Jin Ling’s pulse point for energy, a heartbeat, anything. He already knew there would be nothing. When his eye caught Ouyang Zizhen’s hopeful look, he couldn’t bear to shake his head. He didn’t have to; his own face must have spoken volumes because Ouyang Zizhen’s face distorted with grief and he cried silently, too exhausted to move.
 
Lan Wangji whispered to the Lan disciples. Well, only Lan Jingyi looked alert enough to understand questions and respond. Lan Sizhui barely had the energy to keep his eyes open. Jiang Cheng was concerned that his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. Lan Jingyi spoke of a beast they had never before encountered. It had appeared out of nowhere when they’d been hunting a small pack of fierce corpses. Jiang Cheng tried to focus on what he was saying. Their lives might depend on it. He couldn’t allow his own grief to overwhelm him, not now. They needed both him and Lan Wangji right now. Lan Wangji looked at Jiang Cheng, a silent plea for help.
 
“Hey,” Jiang Cheng said and moved to kneel in front of Lan Sizhui, “what’s up? Where are you injured?” 
 
Lan Sizhui looked at him with surprise, teeth chattering louder, eyes out of focus. Something was very wrong. 
 
“Point where.” Jiang Cheng told him and Lan Sizhui, with blood spilling from between chattering teeth, pointed to his lower dantian. 
 
Lan Wangji grabbed Lan Sizhui’s wrist and felt for his meridians. When he blanched, Jiang Cheng understood what that meant. The kid had given up so much spiritual energy he had brought himself to the brink of Qi deviation. 
 
“Go,” Jiang Cheng said to Lan Wangji, who looked reluctant to leave them behind.

Before he formed the words to respond, he grabbed Lan Sizhui and picked him up as if he were a small child again. He mounted Bichen and disappeared from sight moments later. Jiang Cheng was left kneeling beside Jin Ling’s body, his two friends, and the overwhelming pain of grief searing into his meridians. 

***

“We have found his soul, Jiang Wanyin.” Jin Guangyao said with a hesitant smile. “With help, of course, from the Lan sect and their exemplary ability to commune with souls and spirits. It is quite fortuitous we could gather his spirit and keep it safe here at Jinlintai until we find a way to restore his body and mind together.” 
 
Jiang Cheng sat in his white robes in front of Jin Guangyao. The thought, even the merest idea that there was a shred of hope to restore his sister’s legacy—Jiang Cheng nodded, fighting back tears as if he was a hot-blooded teenager once more instead of a man well into his 40s. Anything Jin Guangyao needed. He would do anything to help restore his nephew to life, even if it was simply to allow him to be reborn as a known child. He wished nothing more than to find a way. And Jin Guangyao, face stained with the same tears of grief as Jiang Cheng, smiled with so much pain in his eyes. 

They had cried together before when they had buried the future heir to the Lanling Jin, their nephew, the only one still alive, tying their families together. For months, they had cried together, sharing their grief, held on to each other and supported each other in ways which had raised questions. They were grieving men willing to do anything they could for their families. Jin Guangyao promised they would find a way and Jiang Cheng promised he would give everything he had to help. Three months after Jin Ling’s death, they became sworn brothers, gripping each other tightly as their foreheads touch. They needed each other. No one else could understand. They vowed their undying loyalty while tangled in the sheets of Jiang Cheng’s bed in Lotus Pier, away from disapproving eyes. They would get Jin Ling back. No one could stop them. 

Jiang Cheng would do whatever it took. Jin Guangyao would do whatever it took. 

No matter what the cost. 
  

Chapter Text

 
Fuck his life, Jiang Cheng thinks while he resists the urge to punch Lan Xichen’s polite smile. The fucking logistics of the demands from C.A.R.P. alone are ridiculous, but Jiang Cheng hates nothing more than unannounced visits. The day started fine, the production line needed resetting twice, but overall they are still a month ahead of schedule. While the visit is testing his patience, Jiang Cheng only bows and pours Jin Guangyao a cup of tea. Beside him, Lan Xichen nods and Jiang Cheng pours him a cup of tea, too. Old traditions in a new world, a reminder that they are tied together for as long as Jin Guangyao wishes to hold on to power and so far he seems pretty set on the whole forever shit. Jiang Cheng doesn’t get it. Forever is fucking overrated. What he could really do without are the constant reminders that he’s supposed to be the broken sect leader, forever indebted to the benevolence of Jin Guangyao. C.A.R.P.’s entire cybernetics empire would collapse without him, so really, who is indebted to who? 

Sitting across from Jin Guangyao, Jiang Cheng has regrets, deep regrets. And he’s pissed off. Seeing a soul shattered is not something anyone should witness even once. Yet here they are, after another execution in the Lotus Pier courtyard, fragments of a soul still floating outside. Jiang Cheng makes a mental note to collect the pieces after Jin Guangyao leaves again. At least they continue to do them here, he thinks. At Lotus Pier where he can collect the fragments and send them to the Burial Mounds. He sits across from Jin Guangyao with a smile as if they are friends, as if he respects him and Lan Xichen. Both of them are so sure of themselves that they think that executing a few prisoners in his courtyard assures them his loyalty.

 “I take it all is well at C.A.R.P.?” He asks as if he is interested. 
Jiang Cheng doesn’t care, he has made that abundantly clear many times. He just wants to do what he needs to do and other than that, there will be no further or extended contact. Of course, he and Jin Guangyao had once been sworn brothers, but that was a long, long time ago. Now they are nothing but secret adversaries. 

 “Yes, thank you for asking.” Jin Guangyao smiles. “Your latest components have been exquisite.” 

 “We pride ourselves in the work we do.” 

 “I would never consider implying otherwise. Lotus Pier and the Jiang sect have always been close to my heart. After all, we briefly were family.” 

 So that is what he wants: an assurance that they are family. Forcing Jiang Cheng to acknowledge this under the guise of conversation. It’s underhanded, more so than the hands on his thigh during banquets or the softly whispered words into Jiang Cheng’s ear just enough to continue spreading rumours. 
 “We still are.” Jiang Cheng lies without hesitation. “After all, our families joined long ago and the alliance cannot be broken.” Lies, all lies, but the smile Jin Guangyao gives him seems satisfied. 
 
“Of course,” the smile brightens further, “we are family and family help each other.” 
 
“Always,” he bows his head as is expected of him, “what can I do for you, Liangfen-zun?” 

 “We require a new component.” He says, but offers no further explanation. “There has been an unforeseen development and we require pushing production ahead faster than we thought.” 

 “Of course, Lotus Pier will do its best to fulfil your requirements.” 

“You look worried, A-Cheng,” Jin Guangyao says. “I assure you we would not ask if it wasn’t of utmost importance to get these new components made.”

“We’ll get it done, we always do.” Jiang Cheng says as pleasantly as he can manage.

 “Of course, of course,” Jin Guangyao says, voice distant.
Something is different. He looks concerned. Jiang Cheng wonders why and whether it will affect Lotus Pier. The weekly propaganda announcements haven’t changed. Usually, when something is afoot, Jiang Cheng can tell by the increase in announcements and benefits to the population. 
 
“Truly, anything.” He reassures, already preparing himself to make sure he begs his ancestors for forgiveness. 
 
“The new component requires more energy and is quite complicated. We would have it created in parts.” Jin Guangyao says and slides a paper file across the table. 

The instructions are explicit: create the part, destroy all evidence of production, and wait for the next set of schematics. It may be unsaid, but to Jiang Cheng, the implication is obvious. Jin Guangyao doesn’t want anyone to know what Lotus Pier is manufacturing. Jiang Cheng knows refusing would put everything into jeopardy; he just hopes they are not making something that will eventually bite him in the ass. 

“We will do our best.” He says. 

Between Jin Guangyao’s worry and the lack of transparency, Jiang Cheng knows whatever they are making is of utmost importance. It will be difficult to gather enough information to smuggle to Luo Qingyang, but he will try his best. 
“You always do, which is why I am so proud of you, my friend.” 

If Jiang Cheng didn’t know better, Jin Guangyao would appear an encouraging friend. But he knows better: he knows what he did to get in power; and he knows who he killed, how many thereafter, he knows how he had used Wei Wuxian, how he is holding his family hostage. Jin Guangyao’s smile is only worth what it can get Jin Guangyao. Any consideration of the opposite would be foolish, which is why he, to this day, can’t quite believe how gullible and misguided Lan Xichen is. Though, he also has to consider how gullible and misguided he was in the beginning. Maybe he and the First Jade of Lan are in the same position, and perhaps Lan Xichen even works behind Jin Guangyao’s back as well. He has to give him that consideration, has to believe that the smile Lan Xichen wears is just as fake as his own. He has to believe they are both doing their best to destroy Jin Guangyao’s empire from within, no matter how long it will take them. 

 “Attempt the impossible.” He quotes the ancient sect motto which he grew up to hate, which he abolished to be spoken out loud for years after Jin Ling’s death while he had hoped they were truly attempting the impossible in bringing him back. Admitting how wrong he was won’t do him good now. He has other ways to give penance. 

 “Indeed,” Jin Guangyao stands and Jiang Cheng follows, “we will be in contact. I will send reinforcements should you require them.” A silent assurance that he will be watched, that he is only trusted as far as the results he produces. It is a sick game but over the years, the centuries, Jiang Cheng has learned to play it, has learned to conceal his rage and anger and instead carry it within while lying to Jin Guangyao’s face. 
 
“Of course,” he bows low, and Jin Guangyao catches his elbows. 
 
“Please, we are family after all,” he pulls Jiang Cheng into a gentle embrace, “and family is here for each other.” He presses a soft kiss against Jiang Cheng’s cheek, a thumb brushing against his waist. The disciple passing by the open door looks surprised and rushes past with hurried steps. Keep up the rumours. Jiang Cheng would scoff. Instead, he lets it happen because whatever he gets out of this, whatever it is supposed to do, in the end Jiang Cheng is his own man. In the end, they will gain the upper hand and end all of this. Lan Xichen clears his throat, the only sound that has come out of him so far. However, it appears to be successful since Jin Guangyao releases him and takes a step back. 

 “We will see you soon.” He says after Jiang Cheng accompanies them to the side entrance. 

Visits are never official. Visits are rarely official. When they are, there is a feast and weeks of planning, but those are never the important visits. With that, they enter their shuttle and take off, leaving Jiang Cheng alone once more. He isn’t particularly excited by a new, complicated component. Spiritual energy doesn’t easily transfer to inanimate objects, at least not the kinds Jin Guangyao usually requires. Not the way he has set them up, a factory of workers, souls implanted into artificial bodies to prevent the toll it took on the individual bodies. Unlike bodies of flesh and bone, these can easily be replaced, allowing cultivators to channel spiritual energy without requiring breaks, water, or much of anything else. It’s humane, Jiang Cheng thinks; they are barely aware of what is going on around them and he makes sure they are as comfortable as possible. He and the handful of his sect who still have human bodies do their best to keep them working, to protect their souls from being shattered as punishment. The things they have to do to stay alive in this world.

Jiang Cheng sighs and checks on the work floor. They are finishing up the last of the previous run’s components. All in purple uniforms of the Jiang sect, all of them with the same hair and similar faces. The greatest distinction is their serial numbers by which they are maintained, but Jiang Cheng remembers all their names, remembers who they are as people even when they do not. One of them notices him and smiles before calling out that the esteemed Sandu Shengshou has arrived. Everyone springs to their feet and bows as if they truly believe him to be an outstanding leader. Centuries ago, he used to wonder if he could just destroy their bodies and set free their souls to be reborn. In a foolish attempt, he followed up on his curiosity. The sound that the fail-safe shattering the soul made haunts him to this day. 

He waves and walks along the production floor, stopping at each station to speak to the person, though they all always say the same thing. They are happy and grateful for what they have and thank him for allowing them to provide for families they have not had for hundreds of years. He does not correct them but nods and smiles and claps some of them on their backs, compliments others on their particularly great work.  Jin Guangyao once sent him a personal compliment of androids with the capability of holding any souls he wished. Jiang Cheng knew their purpose, to keep him pacified in a haze of pleasure. Jin Guangyao wanted to do the same to him as he had done to Sect Leader Wen before he had vanished from existence. A small army of pleasure bots and all the credits he could ever spend until one day, never to be heard of again. It sounded awfully familiar. 

Besides seeing through this plan, Jiang Chen had no interest in spending his life in a sex-fuelled haze to give Jin Guangyao what he needed. With a note, he sent them back, outlining his deep regrets and whatever he said at the time to make it sound like he was actually sorry about the whole thing. And if he heavily alluded to taking Jin Guangyao’s an insult to his integrity and work ethic, well who is to say for sure, this was over a century ago. 

Jiang Cheng isn’t particularly happy with his life, but he also doesn’t feel the need to seek out a partner, or multiple partners, or a betrothed or whatever to bring the illusion of happiness into his life. He has never functioned this way. The only time in life he had thought he had felt for someone else like that was his unfortunate teenage crush, which evolved into a wish for friendship and ended in disaster. Now, seeking happiness is a burden he can no longer afford. 
 
 Jiang Cheng doesn’t even have time for friends. No one really does, at least no one outside of the Burial Mounds. At least not cultivators outside of the Burial Mounds. On instinct, he adjusts the small hidden device worn on his belt to both dampen his spiritual power and concealing his golden core. His thoughts drift to Wei Wuxian, who would be annoyingly proud of him if he knew what Jiang Chen achieved. He hopes he would be proud. Briefly, until he pushes away those thoughts and finishes his tour of the factory floor. His brother is nothing but a memory. Memories can’t feel pride. And neither can the workers on the factory floor.

Drones, he thinks, mindless mostly, but nothing more than drones in a hive of which he may be queen. This bee analogy really isn’t working for him because queens only exist to lay eggs. And that hits a little too close to his existence as Jin Guangyao’s genius engineer. He rolls his eyes and bids everyone a good day. Another half an hour and they will return to their alcoves to charge for the next day. Charging induces a dream-like state in which they can live their lives as they please. Three hours for them to live their lives until the next upgrade shortens it to two. It’s better than nothing, Jiang Cheng tells himself, but he isn’t sure he still believes it. He leaves the factory floor with a curt bow to the disciple whose shift it is to watch over them and returns to his home. The part of Lotus Pier which hasn’t been replaced with modern buildings, the part which isn’t particularly big but Jiang Cheng has kept intact some of the original buildings. An aesthetic choice for when Jin Ling’s soul is ready to return, he says when asked. 

It’s dark out here, but he still can’t see the stars. There’s too much light pollution from the factory. He looks at the moon for a while before he steps into his rooms. Tapping the device on his belt, he doesn’t hesitate when he walks into a wall and emerges in a corridor beneath the earth. The true legacy of what he has built: a cleverly concealed underground web of rooms and corridors that only can be entered by those who know how. And he has told only a single person.
 
It’s better this way. Of course, Lan Wangji still thinks him a traitor. But it’s a small price to pay, and he is sure that Lan Wangji would hate him no matter what. After all, even the resistance even cast him out and while they still work together, he would not find shelter in the Burial Mounds if he ever needed it. He was a risk none of them could afford to keep close. Lan Wangji’s loyalty had always been to his family. Jiang Cheng doesn’t particularly respect that, because the man’s family consists of stolen children and the memory of his dead brother. He once had supplied Lan Wangji with something he required, and that was all the contact they had had. Through a third and fourth party, never interacting personally. Jiang Cheng has not even seen an image of him in over a hundred years. Hushed whispers say the great Hanguang-jun is stronger than ever, that he is trying to do right by the resistance now and devoting himself to the cause but Jiang Cheng thinks that will only last for approximately as long as it will take for him to find Wei Wuxian’s soul or one of the children ending up in danger. He never had been anything but self-serving. 
 
Jiang Cheng pushes thoughts of Lan Wangji aside because that’s not how he will spend his evening. After he checks the perimeter, he will take a bath and then he will read a book and go to sleep. That is how he likes to spend his time, alone. Maybe it’s what he deserves. Maybe there is something wrong with him; but it doesn’t matter, he can’t dwell on that. He can’t dwell on anything if he is not to be lost in grief at what he had to sacrifice. None of them can. Deep in thought, Jiang Cheng walks along the perimeter, checking that the concealment talismans are still working and when he is satisfied, he steps into a broom closet and emerges on the pier furthest away from the factory. He takes a few steps towards his rooms when he hears a noise from the ancestral hall. He wouldn’t draw his sword unless someone’s life depended on it, but hidden beneath his wrist guard, Zidian crackles with spiritual energy. It would not be beyond Jin Guangyao to leave someone behind, or even more likely, someone fractured from the resistance, deciding to take things into their own hands with Lotus Pier. It’s happened before. He moves deliberately, anticipating an attack; he always anticipates an attack. Nothing moves when he enters the hall, the sound of his footsteps oddly muffled. A talisman maybe or maybe an array. Someone is hiding in here. He steps further in and opens his mouth to speak, because he isn’t going to waste his time on a cowardly would-be assassing. But the array lifts before he can say anything. And he sees two familiar figures huddled in a corner. 
 
 “No one else is here,” he says and waits for them to step out into the open, “what the fuck happened?” He asks with exasperation when he sees them, injured, filthy, clothing torn, hair matted. 
 
 “Burial Mounds was attacked.” Wen Qing says before Luo Qingyang can answer. “Xue Yang somehow found us and blew at least part of it up.”    “We don’t know how many dead, how many survivors.” Luo Qingyang adds.  “Then why are you here and not there digging your people out?” Jiang Cheng narrows his eyes as he looks at them. The possibility that this is a trap occurs to him  

 “Wei Wuxian is alive.” Wen Qing says, no mercy in her tone. “Thought you ought to know.  

Jiang Cheng stares at her for a moment before he sits down on the ground.

Chapter Text

It takes Wei Ying over a week before he can do much of anything but lie in bed, cry, and barely eat. Lan Wangji is concerned for him, but he is not concerned that Wei Ying is grieving. Of course he grieves. What is ancient history for Lan Wangji is still a fresh, gaping wound in Wei Ying’s heart. So, he is patient with him. Makes him food and takes it away when he cannot eat, brings him more when he can. Some days are better than others; they have conversations about what happened and how Wei Ying feels. Other days, he cannot entice Wei Ying to even look at him. Lan Wangji is patient, and eventually, he returns with a new variety of tea when he finds Wei Ying in the bath. He knows that is a good sign, but he also feels that he should avert his gaze. After all, he has not earned the privilege of looking upon Wei Ying with desire. However, he does not feel desire creep up on him like it did in their youth. It certainly should concern him that his worry for Wei Ying feels barely more than superficial. Concerns are oddly fleeting, like a breeze passing by. 

However, these days, he does not worry about much anymore. Ever since Wei Ying has been returned to his body, he feels- well, not much of anything at all, but that is all right. It is better than continued despair. Continued despair, pain, fear…it all seem so distant now, like memories fading away with time. Sometimes when he looks at Wei Ying, he wonders if he has remembered Wei Ying’s face correctly. Right now, he wonders if he should feel more than indifference when Wei Ying beams brightly at him from the tub. He has found himself fragrant herbs and petals to bathe in and is scrubbing his arms clean. 

“Lan Zhan!” He says, looking a lot better than he did just a few days ago. Lan Wangji finds he has nothing to think about on the matter. Again, he thinks perhaps it should concern him, but he simply nods. 

“Wei Ying,” he says, “you are enjoying the bath?” 

“I am,” he wiggles around in the tub to better look at Lan Wangji, “I’ve been so filthy and sad in your bed, but I woke up today and just needed to take a bath. I changed the bedding, too, and aired out the pillows while you were- where were you?” 

The onslaught of Wei Ying’s voice is pleasant. Lan Wangji enjoys his voice and he would listen to it for as long as Wei Ying would allow it. For a moment, he thinks he feels fondness. 

“I went to find tea.” 

He holds up the small parcel. It was only one task he accomplished, but Wei Ying does not need to know about the others. Lan Wangji’s attempts to contact the Burial Mounds from outside the enchanted perimeter of the cloud recesses. There was no answer, and he knows that something terrible that has happened, knows he should probably fly there to investigate. But Wei Ying is here in his bathtub and Wei Ying is where Lan Wangji needs to be. There is no question about it, though the reason escapes him for the moment. He notes he feels unusually detached. Perhaps the close call with Wen Zhuliu had affected him more than he realized and he should meditate more in order to mitigate the effects. 

Wei Ying smiles at him and the rest of the world can go fuck itself. He made a commitment to help Wei Ying acclimatize to this world, and he intends to keep it. While he does not feel the same flutter he used to feel in his youth when he had been a frequent recipient of Wei Ying’s smiles, he is not concerned by this. After all, it has been over a thousand years and he is no longer the same excitable youth he had been. 

Time flattens all, including emotions, definitely memories. He recalls one of the last conversations he had with Lan Jingyi and wonders if Wei Ying’s smile would eventually erase the guilt he isn’t sure he feels for not searching for his child. Their last conversation was tumultuous. Things which made little sense to Lan Wangji had unreasonably upset Jingyi. Jingyi had called him cold and cruel and changed. Of course he changed, all of them changed. Time changes people. He is no longer the person he was a thousand years ago, a hundred years ago, or even yesterday. He has Wei Ying back. That means something. He cannot quite grasp what it does, though, and Wei Ying’s smile melts off his face into a look he cannot quite pinpoint. Perhaps he still is getting used to his new body. 

 “Who was Mo Xuanyu?” Wei Ying asks, a quiet sadness written on his face now. 

 “He was a friend,” Lan Wangji says, not feeling the sadness he should. “He keeps the souls safe back at the Burial Mounds.” 

 “The Burial Mounds still exist?” Wei Ying’s eyes widen and there is a hopeful excitement there that Lan Wangji has always been fond of, but what does that even feel like anymore? 

 “They do.” He says and knows it is time for Wei Ying to read what has happened in his absence. “As do many things and even more have changed. I have kept detailed records of all the changes should you return.” 

 “And you never lost hope that I would return?” 
 

 “I lost hope many times, but it always came back to me,” Lan Wangji says, not wanting to dwell on what the past thousand years had been for him. Instead, he crouches beside the stacks of books and picks up a few. “These I wrote immediately after your death. Please forgive the missing years. There were—there were difficult times, and I could not write.” 

Wei Wuxian watches Lan Wangji closely. Something doesn’t feel right, but he can’t quite pinpoint what it is. Lan Zhan looks like the same Lan Zhan he knew so well. He feels like the same Lan Zhan, the way he cares for Wei Ying. But something isn’t quite right. However, the entire world isn’t quite right, so why would Lan Zhan be any different? He wants to laugh at that because he died and left the entire cultivation world in a state of disaster. And now, a thousand years later, he wonders why things feel different. He shakes his head and returns to scrubbing himself clean.

Of course, he knows Lan Zhan didn’t actually keep journals just for him. However, once he’s clean and in dry clothes, he takes the journals. Lan Zhan wrote these, whether it was truly for him or an afterthought, it changes little of the soft awe Wei Wuxian feels in his chest and belly. Lan Zhan has been alive for so many years and he never forgot him. Wei Wuxian smiles and nods to himself before opening the first book. 

Dear Wei Ying-

The direct address wipes away the hypothesis that he might have been an afterthought. He flips through the book and finds it all written in letters addressed directly to him. He does not need to check the other books to know they’re all the same. Oh Lan Zhan, he thinks with misty eyes, you’re so very good. He reads, quickly absorbed in the words which feel so very considerate. 

Dear Wei Ying, 

It is three years after your death that I finally find myself able to write to you. Perhaps this is a foolish attempt to allow myself to grieve for you. Your loss is indescribable, so I will not attempt explaining my feelings. It would simply be an unrealistic depiction of the pain which consumes me. I write this with an endless hope that one day, you will return. I cannot explain why I believe this or why this thought remains so strongly inside my heart but when I call for you every night, when I reach out for you with Inquiry, you do not respond and the other souls do not know your name. Three years have passed since your death and A-Yuan is now six years old. He does not remember what happened and perhaps that is for the best. Sometimes—

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian puts down the book and looks at him as he pours them both tea. “A-Yuan?” 

“It felt important that it is the first thing I tell you.” 

“He survived?” 

“He did. I found him sick and feverish and brought him back here and raised him. The details of his childhood and adolescence are documented in depth.” 

“Oh Lan Zhan, I…” Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what else to say and wipes at his tears, returning to the book. Lan Zhan is right, he detailed A-Yuan’s childhood and adolescence in vivid descriptions, even included small drawings both by him—A-Yuan in a rabbit patch eating carrots—and by A-Yuan himself, certainly a more abstract depiction of him and Lan Zhan in a rabbit patch eating carrots with a neat description of the scene in Lan Zhan’s hand. Wei Wuxian devours the book, crying with joy and sadness. He pauses when Lan Zhan’s thoughts grow heavy and when he cannot quite describe why his own heart grows so heavy, knowing he missed all of this. Lan Sizhui is the name Lan Zhan gave him. Sizhui. Wei Wuxian knows the meaning. He opens his mouth to ask Lan Zhan about it, but he finds himself alone. When did Lan Zhan leave?

He contemplates going outside, but the pull of the words is too strong. Wei Wuxian needs to keep reading to understand everything. He reads and reads, still when Lan Zhan returns with dinner and doesn’t admonish or scold Wei Wuxian for reading at the dinner table. Lan Zhan pours a generous amount of chili oil over his food and pours him wine. They eat in silence, perhaps for the first time they’ve ever eaten together, but Wei Wuxian can’t ponder this because he is drawn back into Lan Zhan’s words. Wei Wuxian reads. He reads through dinner, barely finishing half his portion. Lan Zhan reminds him to continue eating. At least he finishes his wine. Wei Wuxian reads at the table while Lan Zhan clears it off. He reads laying on his back in the middle of the room while Lan Zhan plays for him, idle songs, every so often the song that Wei Wuxian would know anywhere. Wei Wuxian reads on the bench outside until it is time to dim the lights and he turns inside, reading over Lan Zhan’s desk well into the night. He wakes up to a gentle drape of a blanket over this shoulder and warm tea and porridge for breakfast. Everything hurts from sleeping at the desk and when Lan Zhan suggests he read in bed tonight, he agrees. 

Wei Wuxian reads outside while the sun is shining, warming his skin. There aren’t many people who come this way. Every so often a disciple will stop by and walk off with Lan Zhan discussing whatever they will discuss, but Wei Wuxian finds himself too absorbed in Lan Sizhui’s night hunts with Lan Jingy, his best friend, Ouyang Zizhen, a good friend—a soft but skilled young man, Lan Zhan noted. However, the name he reads next pierces his heart in ways he had not thought possible: Jin Rulan, Jin Ling. Lan Zhan only refers to him by his courtesy name, but it turns out the four become fast friends and grown inseparable over the years of their youth. Lan Zhan is tactful in describing going on night hunts to supervise with Jiang Wanyin. Even the way the characters of his name are written, Wei Wuxian can feel the contempt drip off the page. Jiang Cheng seemed to still be as angry and easily irritated as ever, though Lan Zhan concedes he leads the Jiang sect well and has developed the same distaste for clan politics and Lan Zhan has. 

Wei Wuxian dozes off reading a word-for-word description of a cultivator conference. He startles awake when a bird loudly expresses its displeasure with something.

“Really Lan Zhan, some things could be told with a summary,” Wei Ying says, but he can’t help the smile while he reads.

Lan Zhan’s distaste for politics and how much he hates being involved in them is obvious. It makes him feel for Lan Zhan and helps him better understand why he included this conference. The subject of Jin Guangyao’s status as head cultivator after his father’s death as the only known living descendant was up for a vote. Lan Xichen supported this motion and supported Jin Guangyao, while Lan Zhan expressed his concerns.

The words on the page look tired, and Lan Zhan’s writing goes off on a tangent he never finishes before continuing on with mundane descriptions of their lives. It seems peaceful enough. 

Dear Wei Ying, 

I do not wish to write this. I do not wish for you to read this. I feel as though I have failed both you and Jiang Wanyin, and the children, I—

The sentence ends there and nothing else is on the page but a large ink spot where Lan Zhan must have held the brush too long, allowing ink to drip onto the paper. The next page breaks Wei Wuxian’s heart, shatters it into a million pieces. 

I do not know how not to hurt you with this. Jin Rulan is dead. 

Wei Wuxian can’t breathe. The book slips from his hand onto the wooden planks beneath him as he tries to catch his breath in the waning sunlight. Jin Ling is dead. The child his sister, his perfect sister, had borne who had survived his parents’ deaths. Who had been raised by Jiang Cheng and ultimately still turned out to be a strong young man with his head on straight and great friends. He can’t breathe. His sister’s legacy erased in a single moment during a night hunt. Wei Wuxian claws at his robes as he tries to get air into his lungs. He closes his eyes and leans back, but he can’t bear the thought of being so exposed. Instead, he wraps his arms around his knees and closes his eyes, trying to get his bearings again as he lets the pain and grief of the loss of his nephew he never got to know wash over him. Jin Ling would have long been dead by now, but to know he perished at such a young age. Lan Zhan didn’t describe how Jin Ling died, which Wei Wuxian knows it was too much to repeat, too much to bear. He feels a hand on his shoulder and Lan Zhan’s warm presence beside him. 

“Not your fault,” he manages as he turns to wrap his arms around Lan Zhan, pulls him close as they hold each other in their grief. Lan Zhan’s renewed once more and Wei Wuxian’s a fresh wound. “Not your fault.” He says again and closes his eyes. They stay like this for a long time before Lan Zhan asks if it’s okay to bring Wei Wuxian inside and, with his consent, he picks him up easily and carries him to the table. They have dinner in silence this time, not because Wei Wuxian is too distracted, but because they both are sitting with their grief. Neither of them finishes their meal before it is time for bed. They both bathe, separately, and then get ready for bed. Something about Lan Zhan is still distant and not quite right, but Wei Wuxian assumes it’s his grief. He catches Lan Zhan watching him with an odd look on his face which Wei Wuxian cannot describe, not truly. A mixture of wonder and confusion, but neither of them quite fit the moment. 

“I think I read enough today.” He says as he looks at the pile and remembers the promise he had made to Lan Zhan about reading in bed tonight. He drains the last cup of wine and makes his way to bed beside Lan Zhan. “Look at me in bed at the same time as you. Don’t think I will get up at the ridiculous time you get up at. No, thank you.” He hopes the attempt at humour allows Lan Zhan to let go of some of the guilt and the soft huff of air that Wei Wuxian knows to be a laugh makes his own smile brighter. “See you tomorrow, Lan Zhan.” He says as he settles on the pillow. 

“See you tomorrow, Wei Ying.” 

Dear Wei Ying

It continues book after book, letter after letter. Things that happened, mundane or otherwise. Wei Wuxian is drawn into Lan Zhan’s words, his eloquence and how he can make even the most mundane things—I ran out of my favourite tea today. While this may seem trivial, it set my mood for the day—endearing and fascinating. This is Lan Zhan’s life, meticulously documented for him. Even if now, ten years into the journey, details of his life have mostly bled away for greater thoughts. Lan Zhan tells Wei Wuxian of politics and death. He tells Wei Wuxian of his worries regarding Lan Xichen and his close entanglement with Jin Guangyao. He tells him of Nie Mingjue’s death and how it destroyed Nie Huaisang, for whom he has paltry words. Wei Wuxian is glad that seems to have changed since they both worked together when he met them back in the city. He reads through the years, fascinated by the changes that continued in the cultivation world. It washes into a daily routine; for a while, the focus of the letters is entirely on A-Yuan, by now Lan Sizhui, and how well he is doing in his studies, his playing, and being a good person. The pride beams off the pages despite the Lan rules about excessive pride in oneself or others. Wei Wuxian is happy that despite all things Lan Zhan seems to have found a purpose in life. Lan Sizhui sounds like a very good young man. He tears up when he reads about Lan Sizhui beginning to remember bits and pieces of his childhood. Lan Zhan describes them playing Inquiry together one night. He cries when they both agree that Wei Wuxian’s death is not Lan Sizhui’s burden to carry and that Lan Zhan prefers to play Inquiry for Wei Wuxian alone. 

Then there is a gap. A five-year gap. Wei Wuxian looks around the books to see if he had lost anything, if he had grabbed the wrong books, but the change occurs halfway through a book; it can’t have been—what happened in those five years? He wants to ask Lan Zhan, but he is once more gone. Wei Wuxian does not know where he goes and perhaps he should, but he does not ask. It’s Lan Zhan’s business and not his own. He is already lucky that Lan Zhan is allowing him to stay here. That Lan Zhan had thought of him for such a long time. He truly is probably the best and truest friend he has ever had. He smiles and continues.

Dear Wei Ying, your brother’s allegiance to Jin Guangyao grows stronger. I fear he may befall the same fate as my brother. 

Wei Wuxian is surprised that Lan Zhan would write so openly about suspecting his brother to be a traitor. He notices some pages have been torn from the book. Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand the implications and there is no further explanation. It strikes him as strange, but if that’s what Lan Zhan preferred to tell him, then there has to be a purpose. He trusts Lan Zhan. He trusts what happened in those years to be something he will open up to him about if it is necessary. Though truth be told, having read for several days, Wei Wuxian finds himself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information. His mind flits around all the points trying to piece them together, but he can’t; he gets lost in trains of thought and has to re-read everything he has read on the page before. It is then, when he is slowed down the most, that he decides to simply get through it all and ask questions after. That is the best course of action for him at this point.

Wei Wuxian soon finds himself lost in the words, lost in a world familiar enough but slowly the foreign and unknown creep in. Lan Zhan meticulously documents advances in technology and Jin Guangyao’s continued hold on power. He documents the eventual disappearance of Nie Huaisang and the deeply growing allegiance between the Jiang and Jin sects. The rift that Lan Xichen causes among the Lan sect, eventually deepening a rift far enough to create a quiet revolution which is possibly the most Lan thing Wei Wuxian has read. 

A silent vote cast and those supporting Lan Xichen allowed to leave with him and half the coffers to establish elsewhere. It’s so meticulous, clinical, and in depth that Wei Wuxian almost misses the ink spill at the side of the page. The words chosen so carefully, but the hand shaking, unsteady. Lan Zhan’s heart had broken. Wei Wuxian wraps himself around him when he returns with food and they stay that way for a long time, so long that the food is cold by the time they get to it. Lan Zhan doesn’t ask how far Wei Wuxian has gotten. He knows. 

Wei Wuxian reads for three more days before he notices changes in the characters, all meticulously noted as a change to simplify reading across the lands, to help everyone achieve an education. It fascinates Wei Wuxian because it feels as though equality is a goal in this case, but Lan Zhan is hesitant. Like he knows more than he lets on. He explains the changes as they occur and for a while, everything is written in both characters until Wei Wuxian picks it up as if he knew exactly how long it would take him. Oh Lan Zhan. Every so often, when the topics are sensitive, he reverts to the older characters as if writing in secret code only Wei Wuxian will understand.

Dear Wei Ying, Jin Guangyao killed Nie Mingjue. Jin Guangyao framed you for what happened. You never lost control. You did not kill them.

Lan Zhan holds him through the panic attack and the subsequent days he spends in bed not reading. The world passes by as it did when he had mourned his sister for the first time. Lan Zhan is there, present without words, bathes him, combs his hair, but it feels mechanical, as if he simply was doing what he knows would help calm Wei Wuxian. These are likely the first signs that Lan Zhan is growing tired of him. Wei Wuxian doesn’t blame him for that. He has been here for weeks now and Lan Zhan is unlikely to have meant the staying here forever if that was what Wei Wuxian wants. Of course, Lan Zhan is honest, but sometimes his words don’t reach his eyes, sometimes even the smallest of expressions Wei Wuxian had learned to read so well are never present. He continues to read after Lan Zhan simply looks at him when Wei Wuxian smiles at him, thanking him for dinner. There is nothing in his expression, completely blank, and Lan Zhan has never looked at him this way. He always had an expression on his face when talking to Wei Wuxian, whether it be quiet exasperation, amusement, caring, or annoyance. He never had looked at him blankly. Wei Wuxian continues to read, learns about communication devices, how spiritual energy and electronic technology have merged. Wei Wuxian is unsure what to make of it when he holds the practice device that Lan Zhan has left for him. 

Wei Wuxian doesn’t like it. It’s weird. It doesn’t feel right. He scrunches his face at the device and sticks out his tongue. He reads more instead and starts making soup when it’s close to mealtime. Lan Zhan doesn’t come home that night. A disciple arrives with a letter and a jar of wine. Wei Wuxian accepts them with a polite bow. Lan Zhan sends his regrets that he has something important to attend, and that he likely won’t return until tomorrow. There’s an odd tightness in his chest for the remainder of the evening. He abandons the soup and settles for a dinner of wine. For a while, he contemplates spending the night reading at the desk, but the bed smells like Lan Zhan. With a soft sigh, he settles into the bed and closes his eyes. Sleep doesn’t come, but he feels a strange pull at the back of his head. Images swirl across his mind: a metal room, a guqin, a garden in the earth, the sound of a voice he cannot place. All tainted with growing tendrils of resentful energy. 

“Come back to us, Wei Ying.”

The voice feels as though someone whispered directly into his ear and Wei Wuxian sits up with a start. It’s late morning by the light. Before he can catch his breath, Lan Zhan steps into the room. He doesn’t notice Wei Wuxian, or perhaps he ignores him. His face is hard and cold, unlike Wei Wuxian has ever before seen. No, that’s not true. He has seen this face before, when Lan Zhan slammed him into a wall and called him a thing. But when Lan Zhan removes his braid, his eyes fall on Wei Wuxian and his face softens. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asks. 

Wei Wuxian looks at Lan Zhan for a few moments and shakes his head. He wants to push out his lower lip and pout, put on a silly show, but he feels exhausted. Lan Zhan sits down beside him and they sit in silence until Wei Wuxian falls asleep again. 

Chapter Text

“Wangji!” Xichen shouted over the storm that threatened to blow them over. “Wangji, he is dead! Please! You need to accept that he isn’t coming back! For all our sakes, drop this!”

Lan Wangji looked at Xichen, his arm bleeding profusely. This- Wei Ying wasn’t dead. Wei Ying would return. He heard him; he heard him call out from somewhere far beyond the reaches of Gusu. He shook his head and clutched the wound a little tighter. He shouldn’t fight his own brother, even though their paths had diverged long ago. He was uncertain if they ever would see eye to eye again, if there could ever be a way for them to reconcile. His heart bled with anguish. He remembered his brother brushing his hair to comfort him as a child, and again when he nearly perished during his seclusion. Tears felt hot on his cold cheeks, his throat constricted. Was this how Jiang Wanyin felt when Wei Ying had—perhaps he understood now.

“I can’t,” he said, fighting for his breath and clutched Bichen tight, inching closer to the edge of the cliff. 

“Please,” Xichen extended his hand, “please don’t do this.” 

There was a desperation in his eyes that Lan Wangji had seen before. He looked at him and closed his eyes. 

“I have to.” He said, but his words were lost to the wind.

Wei Ying, he thought; and without another word, he allowed himself to fall from the precipice, Xichen’s screams of agony and fear soon washed away by the roaring of the storm and waves and then the calming silence of the sea when he sank beneath the waves. Wei Ying, he thought, and let go.

***

With a gasp, Lan Wangji breached the surface, his lungs burning for air. His limbs felt leaden, but he was so close now. Coughing up water, Lan Wangji dragged himself onto barren rocks. He finally found it. A cavern deep beneath the earth, the only way in through a labyrinth of flooded tunnels carved by underground rivers flowing to the sea. Darkness ruled here, and Lan Wangji expected never to see light again. However, as his eyes adjusted, small specs of light appeared before his eyes. Small creatures, moss, all glowing from within, stretching all across the cavern like the starry skies. This was where he would spend his days in peace. With what little spiritual energy he had left, he sealed the underwater entrance and stumbled to sit upon a rock. It was only him now, him and the roots of the all the things in this world. At first, he sat still, but his wound stung and required tending. With a sigh, he ate one of the ration bars he stored inside his clothes and stripped himself bare. Perhaps this was the only way he could call for Wei Ying, by laying himself bare onto the rocks as he meditated in silence until he found himself restored. It was only then that he summoned Wangji, a hope rising within him. His cultivation had grown stronger over the past hundred years, much stronger than anyone could have expected. 

And yet Xichen had managed to wound him—he pushed thoughts of that aside. He couldn’t think of his brother now and perhaps he no longer had a brother, but here in this cave, it did not matter. What mattered was Wei Ying. What mattered was reaching him. Lan Wangji closed his eyes and sat upon the rocks, naked, his hair flowing down his shoulders. He could no longer feel the cold. He strummed the strings for a while, no genuine melody, only sound to allow himself to gather the spiritual energy required to reach as far as he must. Here at the core of the earth, he could reach any soul, but he only wishes to reach one.

“Wei Ying,” he whispered before he plucked the first notes to Inquiry. He channeled every part of himself into the melody, every part he could muster. Wei Ying, he thought and reached for the roots, the mycelium network reaching beneath the earth. He reached for it and it accepted him, allowed him to reach along its vast paths connecting all life across the known and the unknown, allowed him to reach further than he had ever could with Inquiry and he could feel everything. His mind expanded, his golden core shining brightly, and the mycelium amplified his call for Wei Ying. Time passed, but he did not feel it flow by as hours turned into days and days into months until nearly an entire century passed. He simply continued to play, bloodied fingers healing and cut open again, scars and wounds weaving together as time and space fell away.

Lan Wangji’s mind no longer existed within himself, but it became part of it all. A higher conscience perhaps, but he no longer questioned such things. As he played, hunger and thirst fell away until he had found himself engulfed by his desire to find Wei Ying. His call reached the furthest reaches of the earth. It reached beyond the earth and into the skies; it had called further than anyone had ever called, a call filled with the deepest desperation for an answer only to be met with silence and then finally a soft note.

Elation struck Lan Wangji when the spirit plucked the strings. All this time, all this time, he finally, finally found him.

“Wei Ying!” he sobbed and watching the strings, listening to each soft note echoing across the cavern.

 And then, he heard them: “He is no longer here,” the spirit told, “none have seen him.”

Another sequence of notes: “He is gone. Please let us rest.”

 
Lan Wangji screamed.

In an explosion of rage, he threw his useless instrument against the rock. The wood shattered beyond repair. Five hundred years it had withstood time and use, but it could not withstand the despairing rage of Lan Wangji. The rage which brought down the cavern walls and shook the mountains. The rage which bathed him in resentful energy to tear him apart and with it his own life. To die, so he could join Wei Ying and finally find peace, but it was long too late. Too brightly burned his golden core, chasing away the shadows he sought to end himself.

He would never die. 

He could never rest.

Chapter Text

“Wei Ying.”

The voice is so close to his ear that Wei Wuxian wakes with a start. Lan Zhan is fast asleep beside him, moonlight has passed their bed already. Nearly yin shi, then, he thinks, and sighs, ready to settle down again. 

“Wei Ying.”

He hears the voice again, more distant now. His eyes fall on the door. His legs feel as though they’re crawling with ants. The compulsion to get up wins over trying to find sleep for a few more hours. The pull of the voice is too strong to stay here. Silently, Wei Wuxian gets up and gathers a few supplies, mostly paper for talismans and a few bites of steamed bread leftover from their evening meal, he hastily stuffs into his sleeves.

“Wei Ying.” 

The voice is outside now, drifting away from him. He doesn’t know why or how, but he knows in his bones that he has to follow the voice to where it will lead him. It’s impossible to describe the certainty with which he knows the voice means him no harm. Once outside the door, he slips on his shoes and walks down the path leading from the Jingshi. He doesn’t even think of looking back. 

“Wei Ying?” 

Wei Wuxian stops when he hears Lan Zhan’s voice behind him. 

“Wei Ying.”

The voice in the distance is barely more than a whisper on the wind now. He has to go after it now or lose his chance. 

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he says to buy himself time to explain what his intentions are.

“Are you leaving?” Lan Zhan asks, a quiet desperation in his voice that Wei Wuxian heard only once before.

Wei Wuxian turns around with a bright smile. “Just going for a walk, why don’t you join me?”

It’s not ideal, and he will have to attempt getting lost away from Lan Zhan later, but Wei Wuxian is flexible in his plans as long as they move towards the voice calling him.

“I…,” Lan Zhan bites out, his hand shaking but no other part of him moves, “…can’t.”

“Wei Ying.”

The whisper fades into the forest, nearly out of reach now. 

Wei Wuxian looks towards the road and then back to Lan Zhan, who looks at him with desperation and—an icy rock settles in Wei Wuxian’s insides when he realizes—fear in Lan Zhan’s eyes.

Lan Zhan needs him. Wei Wuxian rushes back up the path where Lan Zhan has frozen in place. 

“Wei Ying.” The voice drifts beyond his reach.

There is pain etched on Lan Zhan’s face, blood trickling from his nose and mouth, every part of him is so tense Wei Wuxian wonders if this is what qi deviation on an immortal looks like, quiet but deadly. He is terrified of the possibility. Wei Wuxian sinks to his knees beside Lan Zhan, who with great effort turns his head and looks at Wei Wuxian. Devastation is written across his face, hurt deep in his eyes. Wei Wuxian stares at him for a long moment before he can no longer help himself. He kisses him. Not with the sort of passionate desperation he has always imagined his first kiss to be, but quiet, tender, kneeling in front of a man who looks to be dying. He reserves his desperation for the hope that it isn’t true. He can taste the tang of blood and the salt of tears. Lan Zhan’s fingers twitch against his, but he does not pull away. Wei Wuxian wonders if he even can and pulls away. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathes, a barely there whisper. 

“Lan Zhan...,” Wei Wuxian begins, but he does not get further when Lan Zhan grips his head with a stifled cry. He digs his fingers into his skin until they turn white and his nails leave small red crescents behind. 

“Lan Zhan, what can I do?” Wei Wuxian wipes at his tears because it hurts so much to think he may lose him so soon after returning to the living. 

“Huaisang.” Lan Zhan manages as he shifts, now gripping his head with both hands. “He knows.” 

What Nie Huaisang knows is beyond Wei Wuxian’s understanding. But if Lan Zhan says he can help, then he can help. Only he doesn’t know how to call on Nie Huaisang in a way that would not take days to reach him. He knows Lan Zhan has a device, but he has not gotten far enough in his reading to know what it is called. He’s so useless. Lan Zhan is dying, and he doesn’t know how to help him because he doesn’t know enough about this time. 

“Okay, I’ll get him, but you- you don’t have to lie on the rocks. Let me help you inside.” He says and focuses his energy on helping Lan Zhan back to his feet. Wei Wuxian feels his entire weight on him, but he does not falter and instead wraps his arm tighter around his waist and grips the arm draped over his shoulder. “There’s a bed inside; you’ll feel more comfortable.” Maybe they should talk about the kiss, too, but Lan Zhan isn’t exactly good with words. 

Wei Wuxian does not expect Lan Zhan to speak, but Lan Zhan tries, one hand still gripping his head. The words don’t make sense to Wei Wuxian; he doesn’t know what a modified data chip is. Maybe he should have read faster, but something tells him that even if he had, this is not something Lan Zhan would have easily divulged. 

“It’s okay,” he says with a soft smile, “I’ve got you. Let’s lay you down, hm?” 

Carefully, Wei Wuxian lowers Lan Zhan onto the pillow, but the cry of pain when his neck settles on it startles him. 

“Okay, not on your back, let’s try something else.” His voice has a desperate edge to it when Lan Zhan grips his thigh instead of his own head. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just hold on, Lan Zhan. Please? For me?” 

The soft noise Lan Zhan makes is what Wei Wuxian assumes to be an affirmative, and eventually after a few unfortunate attempts, Lan Zhan ends up curled in on himself on his side, arms wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s thigh which he uses as a pillow. As careful as Wei Wuxian can be, he moves Lan Zhan’s hair out of the way. His neck is red, as though infected, but there are small black markings running along from what looks to be a wound on his neck. Wei Wuxian dares not touch it, but he lets his fingertips hover above the skin, heat radiating strongly off it. An infection then? Had he been hiding this? Why would they need Nie Huaisang for an infection? 

“It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” he whispers and very carefully channels spiritual energy from himself to Lan Zhan. Carefully, because he does not know if this is a regular infection or if it is a curse or something else entirely. It does not feel like a curse mark, nor does it truly feel like an infection. However, when Wei Wuxian channels his spiritual energy, he can feel no deviation in Lan Zhan’s qi. Okay that’s good, he thinks with relief. He won’t lose Lan Zhan in this very moment. But he also can’t move right now. So he sits quietly, caressing Lan Zhan’s hair as he feels tears soak into his trousers. He won’t leave him. Wei Wuxian could never leave his Lan Zhan again. He had done so much wrong in his previous life, and this new world is entirely not something he can easily comprehend, but that does not matter. Wei Wuxian knows this. Being with Lan Zhan, caring for him as he cares in turn. Wei Wuxian sits gently caressing Lan Zhan’s hair while he sends spiritual energy into the angry red skin. He still has to contact Nie Huaisang, but that is secondary right now because as he sends the spiritual energy, Lan Zhan appears to calm down, shoulders slowly relaxing as Wei Wuxian continues. He loves him; he knows that now. Maybe he has always loved him. And he will save his life. He will make sure Lan Zhan is okay. 

The device appears on the bed, and Wei Wuxian is not sure if it had always been there or if it had fallen from Lan Zhan’s pocket. It doesn’t matter, because he knows this device can contact Nie Huaisang. He picks up the device with one hand and stops channelling spiritual energy for a moment. Lan Zhan barely stirs, which he takes as a good sign. Wei Wuxian wants to draw a talisman on the skin, but it is still too hot and angry that he doesn’t dare touch it. So, he looks at the device instead. For a long time, it just seems to be a brick made from glass and metal, but he knows that isn’t it. He has seen the device work. He knows it illuminates, but he cannot figure out how. There are ridges on the sides. Experimentally, he presses one and the screen lights up. However, it looks nothing like before, simply a blinking line and six non-blinking lines. He is frustrated by this but does not allow the frustration to show, though Lan Zhan seems to pick up on it since he tenses his fingers against Wei Wuxian’s thigh. Lan Zhan surely had written this down for him. 

“You did such a good job making sure I know everything, and here I am barely a third of the way through.” He speaks softly and feels Lan Zhan relax again. Perhaps he will continue to talk if it helps Lan Zhan to hear his voice. “But ha, this technology is too mysterious. How does anyone know what to do with this?” He laughs a little because clearly Lan Zhan and everyone else seems to know. “I don’t know how to make it light up the right way.” He huffs and gently pats Lan Zhan’s shoulder. He lets spiritual energy dance between his fingers and looks at the blinking screen. Maybe this technology... he isn’t sure why he places his finger on it, but he does and lets spiritual energy flow into the glass, feels the pathways, and closes his eyes. Characters appear above the lines in bright green before they fade away into a glowing circle above each line, and the phone lights up in the way Wei Wuxian remembers. Huh.

“I need to call Nie Huaisang,” he whispers more to himself than someone else, and closes his eyes again for a moment. He feels entranced by the little brick and his connection to it. He searches for Nie Huaisang’s name, but he cannot find it. So instead he reaches for his friend’s face, calls for it until he can see it on the screen. He isn’t sure what he is doing, but he needs to reach him, and if this is the only way, then so be it. He allows the resentful energy to reach alongside and feels it escape into the world, searching for Nie Huaisang. There is a tone which repeats as he reaches and after a few long moments, a voice and Nie Huaisang’s confused face.

“Hanguang-Jun, I thought we agreed—Wei Wuxian?” 

Wei Wuxian smiles, delighted he has contacted Nie Huaisang successfully. “I need help. Lan Zhan needs help. I didn’t know how to contact you, but I figured it out, but that doesn’t matter. He’s hurt or maybe sick. I think it’s an infection? He said that you could help. What’s a modified brainwave chip?” 

 “Oh no,” Nie Huaisang blanches when he hears those words, which mean nothing to Wei Wuxian. They do seem mean a lot to him because he immediately looks to be on the move. “Where are you right now? Don’t tell me the location in case someone is listening just- anything so I know where you are.”

Wei Wuxian makes a face. Why is everyone so concerned about not getting caught where they are? He really ought to get caught up with his reading. 

 “Jiang Cheng’s virtues a woman must possess.” He finally says. 

 “He took you there? I don’t—okay yes, don’t move. I won’t be long.” 

The screen goes back to the regular screen instead of Nie Huaisang’s face and then fades back to the screen with the lines and then to black. He lets the nor blank brick of glass and metal slip from his hands as he focuses back on Lan Zhan in his lap. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths before channelling more spiritual energy to help Lan Zhan heal or ward off whatever is happening. His meridians feel strong, his core feels strong. There is nothing he can do now but wait. He is unhappy with this, wants to do something, he should be able to do something but Lan Zhan clings to him, every so often tensing with what is obvious pain and Wei Wuxian’s heart breaks. 

“I’m here.” Wei Wuxian whispers softly and bends over Lan Zhan to press a soft kiss above his ear. “We will fix this, I promise. I won’t try to leave again. I thought I heard someone call me, but maybe it was just my own fear. I thought you wanted me to leave, but I was wrong, wasn’t I?” The squeeze of fingers digging into his thigh tells him that yes, he was very much wrong about this. 

Chapter Text

 
The sun is relentless when Luo Qingyang pushes herself upright. It beats from the sky; the sand trapping its heat until it turns to glass. Sleeping under an array has mitigated the worst of it, but they are without water and food under the scorching sun in a wasteland to which no one has an answer as to what could be the worst it contains. Last time Luo Qingyang bet on the worst, they discovered the existence of sandworms. Their swords are wrapped in a piece of burnt cloth beside Wen Qing, who is still asleep. She has not yet recovered from the battle with Xue Yang, and Luo Qingyang wants to give her as much time to rest as she can. Wen Qing’s wounds are healing well, of course they are. She is a very skilled healer and can utilize even the smallest measure of spiritual energy for her purposes. At least Luo Qingyang does not have to worry about that, though it is only natural she will worry about her wife regardless the circumstances. 

Once the sun has passed its zenith, she wakes Wen Qing. They walk slowly, stopping frequently to rest. Still, it feels like they are walking without gaining ground. The dunes shift beneath them, creating an ever-changing landscape. Sand clings to them, seeps into their boots, their eyes, their lungs. Luo Qingyang ripped a sleeve off her shirt and gave it to Wen Qing to wrap around her nose and mouth.

 “We should have brought water.” Wen Qing says with annoyance while she brushes sand off her clothes. With a grunt, she attempts to shake it out of her hair.
 
 “You’re right, if only Xue Yang had waited a few minutes before blowing up the place.” Luo Qingyang pretends to snipe back. She doesn’t want to argue, but sometimes playing along diffuses frustration before it can settle.
 
 “We don’t even know how he got in or how he found us.” Wen Qing says after a long silence. “Or if anyone survived.” 

 “The explosion couldn’t have obliterated everything. And if that was his intent, he only needed to make it inside.” 

Just how far do these wastelands stretch in that direction, Luo Qingyang wonders, staring out toward the hazy horizon. She catches her own distraction and focuses back on the conversation. “Do we even want to speculate on the intent of someone who thinks murder is a fun pastime?” She remembers the massacres that have haunted them since ancient times. Her instinct tells her something isn’t right.

“He’s a Hunter,” Wen Qing says and brushes sand off her pants. It makes it worse. “They don’t come here. Hunters hunt in the cities; they have no business in the Burial Mounds.”

Luo Qingyang nods. None of this makes sense. Or maybe it does. In the distance, something moves under the sand. She should feel alarmed, but she doesn’t.

“He tried to get to our soul keeper. He’s looking for someone.” Wen Qing continues. “When we get back, we can cross-reference the registry against the file package I sent and see if anything hits. When—what’s out there?”

Wen Qing turns in the direction that Luo Qingyang is staring, eyes unfocused. It’s nothing but sand and heat out there, and yet, she can feel something isn’t right.

“Nothing yet,” she says and blinks, shaking off the feeling of unease. “But they’re no longer asleep.”

They. 

Creatures slithering beneath the sand in tunnels of their own creation. Sandworms mutated during the fallout of the Cultivator Wars, feeding on spiritual and resentful energy instead of the minerals in sand. The arrays on the back of the compound lulled them to sleep, contained far from the Burial Mounds. With those arrays now destroyed, they are awakening for the first time in a century. 

“I’ve never seen one before,” Wen Qing says, following Luo Qingyang’s gaze. There is an unmistakable curiosity in her voice. “What are they like?”

“Big,” Luo Qingyang rolls her eyes, “and they’ll devour you for your spiritual energy before you’ll get close enough to get a sample to study.”

Wen Qing scoffs and leans against her with a smile.
 
“You know me too well.”

They share a tender kiss, ignoring the grit of sand. It’s time to move. Like any creature awakening from hibernation, the sandworms will be hungry, and their spiritual energy will draw them in. It takes another sunset and sunrise for Wen Qing to recover enough to fly her sword, albeit for only short periods of time. They travel in short sprints. Luo Qingyang lamens that they don’t have a compass. They have the stars, but it has been a very long time since either of them has navigated by them. Eventually, they resume their journey with the North Star at their backs. South. They need refuge. After all of this. There is but one refuge, and one refuge alone, that will take them in. It is an enormous risk, but they have no other choice. The sandworms have awoken, and returning to the compound would lead the worms to a feast and cultivators to extinction. As long as those who survived stay inside the mountain, they will be safe.

Luo Qingyang looks behind her when the moon rises and bathes the desert in a silver glow. There is more vegetation now, a sign they’re close to the edge of the wastelands, but something isn’t quite right. She slows down and looks back north. Wen Qing joins her, lowering her sword towards the ground. Wrong, every fibre in Luo Qingyang’s body screams. 

“Don’t!” she dives low and grabs Wen Qing’s arm.

“What—”

But Luo Qingyang ignores whatever protests follow and flies up as fast as her cultivation can carry her.

The sandworm breaches the surface with a deafening screech, racing towards them. The stench of its maw envelops them, but Luo Qingyang doesn’t look back. She can feel its heat radiating close to them, too close. With all her strength, she pulls Wen Qing up and uses her spiritual energy to push her away from the beast. Her beautiful, perfect wife looks at her with horror, and Luo Qingyang smiles at her, ignoring the maw of the beast closing in around her. The needles are two flashes of light in the dark, whizzing past her, and lodging in the worm’s gullet. Luo Qingyang banks hard and escapes being swallowed alive by a fraction of a second.

“Great hit, love!” Luo Qingyang says and gives her wife a thumbs up. Wen Qing gives her the finger. “Love you, too!”

The sandworm roars and pushes forward to attack again.

“If you get eaten, throw me a sample!” Wen Qing says with a look that says, ‘If you get eaten I’ll resurrect you and kill you myself’.

Luo Qingyang pulls a thin rope from her sleeve, but doesn’t enchant it. They’re already putting themselves at high risk flying their swords. Wen Qing understands her plan when Luo Qingyang throws her the rope. The sandworm thrashes without warning, knocking Wen Qing off her sword, but the line still pulls taut. Luo Qingyang sees a cultivator in a green glowing flight suit pull the rope tight around their forearm, signalling a thumbs up. There’s no time to hesitate, and together they fly around the beast, weaving the rope around its body. Each time the worm thrashes, it pulls the rope tighter. They use its momentum instead of spiritual energy until—

“That’s disgusting.” Wen Qing says, looking at the bisected worm oozing out onto the sand.

“You still want a sample?” Luo Qingyang asks with a smile.

“Sample of what?” Lan Jingyi says beside them, helmet off. There’s visible disgust on his face.

“Yeah, exactly,” Luo Qingyang pats his arm and looks at him. She presses his forearm display and closes her eyes. A small amount of spiritual energy slips from her finger and glows across the display before disappearing again. “These are the access codes for the Cloud Recesses.”

Lan Jingyi looks at his display, and for a moment his breath is shaky, but he catches himself. “What are my orders?” he says and looks at her, steady now.

Luo Qingyang squeezes his arm. Lan Jingyi, out here well into the wastelands, is only a coincidence in that they stumbled upon each other. By now, raising the Burial Mounds even on comms would be impossible. Xue Yang’s attack wiped out communications and defenses. She knows it is merely a matter of time before he returns. And she knows that Jin Guangyao is an opportunist.

“The communications array at the Burial Mounds was destroyed by a sandworm.” She lies. Lan Jingyi isn’t a boy anymore, but the most skilled cultivators have to survive, and Lan Jingyi is as reckless as his father. “I’ve encrypted a message in the access codes. You must deliver it to Gusu. We will meet you there with reinforcements.” That isn’t a lie, not exactly.

For a moment, Lan Jingyi stands frozen, but then he bows to her. He pulls his blade and turns back toward where Gusu lies.

“Just one question,” Wen Qing says, a vial of sandworm blood in her hand, “why were you out here?”

Lan Jingyi stops, but doesn’t look back at her. Luo Qingyang watches him closely. His shoulders tense, and he grips his sword tightly until his knuckles turn white.

“You haven’t heard, then.” Lan Jingyi says when he turns around to face them, eyes welled with tears. “Wei Wuxian has returned. Mo Xuanyu is dead.”

Before Luo Qingyang or Wen Qing can react, Lan Jingyi jumps on his sword with an audible sob and flies into the night sky.

“Should we follow him?” Wen Qing asks, watching Lan Jingyi’s flight suit blink green before vanishing.

Luo Qingyang shakes her head. Mo Xuanyu is dead. Her vision swims, the world drifting away from her. The soul keeper is dead. Her knees touch the warm sand, and despair washes over her. She doesn’t fight it, doesn’t fight the tears, her fingers digging into the sand while she tries to catch her breath. Luo Qingyang counts in her head, through each wave of pain and grief. She counts when she throws up bile and when her whole body feels like it is seizing with all the emotions, she feels at once. And when she reaches 100, she exhales a long breath. Slowly, the world returns to her, and while her heart continues to ache, it no longer overwhelms her.

“No,” she finally says to Wen Qing crouching beside her, “we have our own mission to fulfill.”

***

“You haven’t heard, then.” Nie Huaisang says behind Lan Jingyi’s face projected onto his own. The tears come almost too easy.

“Wei Wuxian has returned. Mo Xuanyu is dead.”

It is perhaps cruel to leave them like this; he thinks and jumps onto his sword. It is perhaps not how they should have found out, but he needs to get into Gusu unseen, and this is the only way. He doesn’t look back until his flight suit enters stealth mode, and by then Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing are but tiny figureless shapes in the distance. Wei Wuxian, he thinks, keep him alive, I’m on my way.

Chapter Text

Lan Jingyi looks at his altimeter. He’s not too high yet, but he is getting close. He needs to fly faster. The calls have gone unanswered for several days now, and he still doesn’t know what the fuck has happened to the Burial Mounds. He knows they used to answer, and now they don’t, no matter which secure channel he tries to raise them on. He first could not get a hold of Sizhui, and then, when he had tried to go through other channels, there still had been no answer. And absolutely no answer from the Burial Mounds is a kind of nightmare scenario he had never wanted to encounter. After failing to raise them, he even tried contacting Hanguang-Jun, but that was also fruitless. Something had happened, something terrible. He has to risk returning to the Burial Mounds in order to make sure everyone is okay, or at least to see if he can help. He hates not being as involved as he used to be, but Hanguang-jun made it impossible to want to stay, not after Sizhui’s last death. Lan Jingyi couldn’t endure it. He continued to work with the resistance, of course, but he also stayed within the confines of the cities where he had assumed a life suitable for movement and distance. 
 
Of course, the luxury that comes with being even a low-level pop star allowed him to provide necessities to the Burial Mounds to which they might not usually have access. Lan Jingyi very much enjoyed that he could perform, travel, and look good all the while helping finance the resistance in ways that were not too obvious. But right now none of that matters. Not the gig he has tomorrow, nor the friends he made along the way. Regardless of his feelings, the Burial Mounds are a second home to him. The people there are family to him, more family than Hanguang-jun has been for ages. He hates that he now thinks of it this way, but he can’t help it. The flight through the night is too long not to have these thoughts, and even though he can no longer see lights below him and no one seems to follow, he feels a heavy weight on him. Is someone following him in stealth mode? Is he inviting trouble? He can’t easily turn around now; he is on a labyrinthine flight path to the Burial Mounds, and it feels like a race against time. He looks at the teleportation talisman he has cued in his arm display, but his altitude is too high to take off his glove and activate it. Not to mention that he is going way too fast, and that who knows what lives on the ground ready to tear apart anyone who comes too close to the Burial Mounds. But of course if he transports before he hits the ground…
 
Throwing himself off his sword is something he should prefer to avoid. But Lan Jingyi enjoys the thrill of the air rushing past him when he summons the sword back to its sheath in free fall. His altimeter is spinning out of control, and he loves the lurching feeling inside his stomach. He can tell when he reaches terminal velocity because his entire body hums alive and he falls into a calm trance to take off his glove and cut his finger on the side of the arm display to smear blood on it. The pull is familiar, and he loves that, too. 
Suddenly, he reappears in the middle of the night in front of the familiar mountain, but he can’t see the protection arrays as he finds his sword back underneath him. Where are the arrays? Why are they gone? The ones to the side seem to still be intact, but the front door is wide open in the sense that there is a giant hole where the front door used to be. He feels nausea creep up from his guts; the high from flying has long dissipated into nothing, and he finds himself utterly sick to his stomach when he runs toward the doors. There are bodies. Fuck, there are bodies. 
 
“Sizhui!” he screams despite knowing he should be more careful, but his fucking brother is in there somewhere and he can’t he can’t- he can’t lose him again not so soon! 
 
The entire front of the mountain has collapsed. What the fuck had happened here? He tries to find a working console, but everything is just... it’s gone. There were giant screens here, consoles, an entire building worth of tech and people, and he can only see rubble. He can’t breathe. This much destruction and all he can see of people is where blood seeped out from under the rocks. He tries to breathe, tries to calm himself, but his family, his fucking family, is gone and he can’t—
 
With a hiss, the helmet comes off and disappears back into the small piece of tech he wears on his neck. He gasps for air, but without the arrays, the air is acrid and dank; it burns with every breath he takes even when he uses spiritual energy to heal himself as the damage occurs. If he were not a cultivator, he would be dead in minutes as his lungs liquefied. Thankfully, Lan Jingyi is, and he can take a few moments before his helmet has to envelop him again and he continues on. He needs to find a working panel. If he can find a working panel, he can tap into the arrays and maybe bring them back up. If there are survivors, getting them air first is more important than anything else. He climbs over a pile of rocks, quietly apologizing to the bodies hidden below because he does not wish to desecrate them, but he has to make his way somewhere. Somewhere. He wipes off the arm display and pulls up another talisman. A finder.
 
“Find me working tech.” He instructs as he channels spiritual energy into the bloody tip of his finger and completes the talisman. A small golden and blue ball appears and swirls for a few moments, sending out soft pings of spiritual energy before it quivers, blinks in a soft golden light, and then zooms away. Lan Jingyi follows with a desperate hope that somewhere something has survived that he can use. The little sphere lights the path, and if Wei Wuxian had been as bad as some say he was, why had most of his inventions been so useful? Finder talismans, teleportation arrays which spanned great distances, compasses, he had been a genius and yeah sure there was the whole demonic cultivation situation but maybe—none of that matters thought because Wei Wuxian is a thousand years dead and with him had died Hanguang-jun’s soul over and over again. Maybe even for the last time. 

Lan Jingyi climbs down what now looks like a ravine, but he knows this used to be living quarters. He has to believe that the structures were strong enough to at least protect some people. He hopes they were strong enough not to succumb to the poisoned air. How long had it been? How many days? He tries not to think of it because if he does he is going to succumb to his own fears, his own panic, and if there are survivors- there have to be- they won’t benefit from him curling up in a corner trying to catch his breath. No, they will not. He needs to help where he can. The sphere dives between two beams, which have come down but are still holding a disintegrating wall from taking out the entire section. Lan Jingyi pulls a paper talisman from his other sleeve and draws strengthening and sends a holding net to keep the rocks secure. It will have to do for the time being. 
 
He dips underneath the beams, and thankfully the corridor here at least in this section has survived. The lights are dim, on backup power, but there is power and the wall panel is working. Lan Jingyi swears with enthusiasm, taking the win where he can, and presses his hand on the panel. He still has access. Despite his worries to the contrary, it was not removed, and his clearance has not changed. Though, he does have the technological know-how to hack into the system even without clearance. Maybe that’s why they let him keep it, was easier this way instead of having to clean up his hacks every single time as he clogs the tech with ridiculous talismans to gain access. However, now, it takes only a few swipes before he is in the array control. A bunch of control lines have been disrupted by an explosion or whatever happened here. He can’t redraw the lines, but for the time being, he can pull up one large array from end to end. It won’t be as strong, but it will do for the time being. 
 
It comes up, but he has to channel a significant amount of spiritual energy into the console to help the array stay up. Usually, it takes at least half a dozen cultivators to cover this size of area, and individual overlapping arrays are much stronger than one large one, but there isn’t much time. Once the array is up and stable, he moves on to the O2 scrubbers. Over half of them are offline. He runs a quarter of the O2 scrubbers at near max capacity to clean the air quickly and then programs the rest to take over the load and spread maintenance. He would rather burn out a quarter than damage the half of them that are left online. Once he can hear some air through the ventilation system, he knows he has done what he can in order to clean the air. The little finder sphere bobs in the air beside him, waiting for new instructions. 
 
“Find my brother.” 

The sphere hums, sending out glowing pulses of spiritual energy. It takes a long time. So long that he holds his breath. If the finder can’t locate him, it would mean his spiritual energy is too weak to detect or gone. And if his spiritual energy is gone, Lan Jingyi knows that means he is dead. 
 
The sphere suddenly jerks and flits back and forth as if calibrating. Lan Jingyi gives it a little more spiritual energy. He should probably conserve more of it, but he can’t. Not if he is going to save anyone, he can’t. He can rest later. Now, he needs to help. The little sphere takes him back the direction he came from only to pause and take him back into the corridor, hovering in front of one of the crawl space access hatches. Well, he did design the talisman to locate the safest way for the seeker to find what they are looking for, so he assumes this is the safest way. Sure enough, the crawl space has sustained almost no damage. This works well for him because the sphere plunges itself down the ladder shaft, which provides access between levels all the way from the top of the mountain to the deepest depths. Almost all the way to the cave, but only almost . 

There is no direct access to the cave by design. Only cultivators who know the way can enter. And Lan Jingyi knows the way. Most at the Burial Mounds know the way, and those who don’t either don’t need to go there or can be brought. However, the souls prefer only to be in the company of a few cultivators, very few, and Lan Jingyi is convinced that if they could pick only one, they would always pick Mo Xuanyu. They love him, and he loves them in return. 
 
The sphere plunges faster than he can climb. It’s safe, he feels radiating from it. I would never lead you astray, he wants to believe it says as it flickers brighter in the dark to light the way. He looks down, and the only thing visible to him is the part lit up by the sphere as it passes. Trust the talisman, Jingyi thinks. It won’t lead you astray. And then. He pushes off the iron-wrought steps fastened into the rock and jumps down. The fall is calculated. He seeks his surroundings with spiritual energy as the sphere goes faster and faster. He can’t enjoy this fall as much as he enjoys all the others because there is too much at stake. But he allows his mind to meditate on the soft pulse of the sphere as it sends out its light. He follows it until the narrow shaft gives way to a larger cavern, and he breaks his fall softly with a mere thought and lands elegantly, slowly, in a way Hanguang-jun would be proud. The sphere flickers and flits again, hovering just above him as it seems to re-calibrate in order to figure out the best way again. It flickers and flickers and flickers before moving along the cavern walls until Lan Jingyi sees a collapsed entrance. Of course, but if the talisman believes this to be safest route, then he won’t argue.
 
He looks at the debris, remembers the lessons they had been given as children: examine the situation before making decisions, be sure to consider all angles first, do not be hasty in judgment. What happened to Hanguang-jun, Lan Jingyi never understood, but he knows the lessons still ring true even if the man he thought of as a father so many times has lost his way. None of the debris appears to be holding up the structure of the doorway. That is good. It means that if Lan Jingyi uses a talisman to move them, the entire structure won’t come down on top of him. He draws a small array into the air and sends it above the door, just in case he is wrong. He cues up a small talisman and expends some but not too much energy into it. The last thing he wants to do is blow himself up. There had been a time when he had been that reckless and, in a sense, he still is. However, people’s lives depend on him. 
 
Stepping back, he sends it onto the debris pile, and it hisses and collapses into itself before settling onto the ground, leaving plenty of space for Lan Jingyi to make his way through the doorway. He is still careful when he does, the decimated debris doesn’t feel particularly stable. He grips onto the wall and pulls himself through. The corridor here is mostly intact, and from the looks of it, what had collapsed was a storage fixture not properly fastened to the wall. 
Down here, the new and the old give way to the old in more ways than one. No one could have suspected something quite like this. He knows where he is, on the path to the soul cavern. There is a final panel labelled /No System Access After This Point/ meaning it is the last access to built-in electronic technology. Souls are not fond of it, and he understands why. He himself should shed some of it as well. He presses the button, which removes the flight suit and straightens his regular clothes, a simple pair of trousers and a tunic. Humble enough for the presence of souls. Perhaps they can answer his questions because that is exactly where the little sphere is leading him. He tries to ignore the implications that his little brother in the soul cave might mean that he may have lost his life before all this happened and no one had told him. He is not one for prayer and self-flagellation, but he finds himself sending small wishes to whomever is listening. Let him be alive. Please let him be alive. 

  
The corridor changes; the metal-lined walls give way to rock and sandy soil and eventually grasses and moss growing with the spiritual energy present here. He walks slower, the sphere nearly disappearing from his sight several times. Things here seem intact, as if they had been shielded from the explosions. This is likely true, as he is now deep inside the mountain. Even the debris he had found earlier likely was an attempt to stop someone instead of the explosions, but Lan Jingyi cannot be sure. He takes off his shoes out of respect and leaves them neatly standing on a small ledge of rock. The moss has grown up the rocks alongside other fauna, which should not thrive here, but the soft glow of spiritual energy likely is what drives them to grow and thrive this far beneath the surface. He continues to walk as the sphere is joined by many orbs of spiritual energy, not souls, not yet, they rarely wander here, preferring the sanctity of the cavern instead. Lan Jingyi summons his instrument and closes his eyes, playing a single chord. Allow me in, he thinks, please let me in.
 
The rock quivers and groans, and the spell concealing the doorway temporarily lifts and exposes the glistening surface of the portal into the cavern. He touches it with his fingers first, feeling the cool sensation as his fingers slip through to the other side. Thank you, he thinks, and slowly steps through. The cavern is tall, massive truly. And against all that is known, it is filled with life: trees, plants, birds, butterflies, bunnies, all living creatures which have been brought here to thrive once more when they had been doomed to certain death. Hanguang-jun’s bunnies live here now, their white cotton-tailed butts hopping across the meadow before Lan Jingyi, searching for tender grasses to enjoy. It is quiet. Usually, the souls flock to meet whoever enters, for they are curious even in this state. However, he doesn’t see any of them, and that concerns him. The spiritual energy still flows peacefully through the place; it hasn’t been touched. Behind him, he can feel the portal obfuscate again, leaving him to move forward in fear and hope.
 
“Hello?” he calls. He would sense killing intent. None with such intent could enter here. There is rustling in the distance. “Is anyone here?” 

“Jingyi?” he hears a voice. He knows that voice. 
 
“Sizhui?” he cries out, breaking into a sprint toward the voice, which is followed by the small stature of his brother walking out from between the trees, hesitant as if he can’t believe that Lan Jingyi is here. Lan Jingyi, who does not care that he is both running and shouting his brother’s name before grabbing him into a tight embrace with a noise that is dangerously close to a sob. 

He doesn’t know what happened here, but his brother is safe. His brother is okay. For now, that is all that matters as he holds him tight, and a similar noise escapes Sizhui before he clings tighter and sobs freely against Lan Jingyi, heartbroken. He doesn’t know what to do other than hold his brother tight. Lan Jingyi has so many questions about what happened, but not a single one of them is more important than holding his brother as he cries. Others come out from behind the trees and hidden on various ledges and nooks in the rock. They all look as pale and frightened as Sizhui does. They all look exhausted.

“What happened here?” He asks when Sizhui finally pulls away from him and dries his tears. 

“We- we were attacked.” Sizhui says as he tries to sort his thoughts. Lan Jingyi is patient with him and guides him to sit on a nearby bench. “I don’t know what happened at first. I was already down here tending to the gardens after—after he left. The warning came to come here and everyone close by made it before the biggest explosion hit.” 

Lan Jingyi doesn’t need an explanation about who had left. He can tell by Sizhui’s shiver and the looks of rejection he tries to hide on his face whenever they speak of Hanguang-jun. Maybe it would have been better if Hanguang-jun had never found him, but they are here now and nothing can change that. He knows that Sizhui often tends to the gardens and plays for the souls whenever he feels unwanted by the man who for so many lifetimes had been his father less and less. Lan Jingyi hopes that next time they die Hanguang-jun doesn’t look for them. Perhaps they will not remember their previous lives, but that would not prevent them from being happy. Mo Xuanyu, after all, is happier for not knowing.

“When the sounds of the explosions died down,” Sizhui continues, “A few of us went to assess the damage, to see if we could look for survivors we found a few and brought them here, went back out to look for more. We didn’t know how stable our surroundings were or even what was going on above. We tried to figure it out, but the cameras were disabled and upstairs seems to have been entirely destroyed. But then... Xue Yang is alive again. He came back, talking about the lengths he had gone through to find our little hideout. He didn’t kill anyone; we all escaped him, and a rockfall crushed his body, but... he kept coming back. I don’t know how he could come back so fast. We’ve been trying to get the defence arrays working again, but he kept coming back and pushing his way closer and closer to the cavern. Eventually, we just stayed here. And then the souls wouldn’t let us leave again. I think he’s looking for a soul. The way he talked, it sounded like he’d lost someone. If he was hunting, he could have grabbed any of us, but his intent was simply to get past us, which yes, I’m convinced that he was looking for a soul. And that soul does not want him to get here, which is why we couldn’t leave.” 
 
Lan Jingyi digests that amount of information. Xue Yang is a cultivator hunter for Jin Guangyao along with Wen Zhuliu, Su She, and a few others. Their main purpose is to find cultivators and bring them to Jin Guangyao to be publicly or privately executed or have their cores removed or whatever depraved things Jin Guangyao decided he wanted to entertain himself with these days. All Lan Jingyi knows is that he makes his rapist father look like a saint, even if all he knows about the man came from stories. However, Xue Yang, Lan Jingyi remembers from all their encounters throughout their lives. 
 
Lan Jingyi sits down on the bench beside his brother and summons his guqin. They should ask the souls if any of them know perhaps what is going on and maybe one of them will speak on whether Xue Yang is looking in the right place. Lan Jingyi knows he cannot enter through regular methods and that the walls are a hundred metres thick. This cavern had existed deep inside the mountain for millennia before they had found it. Water flowed clean and free here, and with just a small amount of spiritual energy it had thrived. Once the first souls had been set free here to recover and exist before moving on either beyond reach of mortal realms or to be reborn, it had allowed this to come into existence. It is beautiful and perfect, and the thought of this holy space being desecrated by someone like Xue Yang sickens Lan Jingyi.

“Have-have you talked to Hanguang-jun?” Sizhui asks, and Lan Jingyi’s heart breaks for him. “You went missing, and I was too scared that-. Someone needed to look for you, and I told him you were missing and that I was worried and anything could have happened.” He rambles, and Lan Jingyi wonders if his heart will just keep breaking for his brother now.
 
“He didn’t find me.” Lan Jingyi wants so desperately to add that he did not look for him either. He himself had tried to contact Hanguang-jun out of desperation, and the lack of any answer had told him everything he needed to know about their importance to Hanguang-jun. Maybe he has grown too bitter in the 86 years he has been alive, but he has seen and felt the decline of the great Hanguang-jun and maybe felt it more so than Sizhui at first. But now isn’t the time to break his brother’s heart again. “I did not want to be found. There was something I had to do, and in case something happened to me, I didn’t want to endanger you or the Burial Mounds.” 

“What did you do?” Sizhui asks, his sadness and pain thinking of Hanguang-jun hopefully forgotten or at least for the time set aside. 

“I’m not sure,” Lan Jingyi says honestly. “Someone is working on behalf of the Burial Mounds, to help us, I think. They had me deliver something to someone, a data chip but I don’t know what was on it or even who I gave it to. I- I’m not sure it was the right thing to do. In the end, I felt... trapped and scared, frankly. Whoever it was, they watched me the whole time, so I don’t know.” 
Lan Jingyi hopes his actions didn’t aid in the attack on the Burial Mounds. He hopes this all has nothing to do with Xue Yang. He can’t bear to think of the possibility that he might have had a hand in all this destruction. “But that doesn’t matter right now. I think- I don’t know, I need to-,” he gets up and sets the guqin on the bench as he paces. He has never done well with sitting still. 

“You need to go back out there.” Sizhui finishes his thought, unable to conceal his disappointment. Lan Jingyi cannot blame him. 

“Maybe we all need to go back out there. Look for survivors, but is bringing them down here the solution? I don’t know.” 
 
“Many of the injured won’t be able to move for quite some time. It makes sense for some of us to remain here.” 

“I managed to get a defense array back up. If a few of us work together, we can modify it, maybe even figure out what Xue Yang did to get through it. That way, we can fully secure the Burial Mounds again.” 

“You’re not leaving immediately?” 

“Not until I know you are all safe from him, that this place is safe again.” He trails off, unsure what to say next.

Sizhui looks at him, a hope in his eyes that Lan Jingyi used to hate so much. 

“Would you-would you consider staying?” Sizhui asks, his voice barely a breath. “Please?”

A sob escapes Lan Jingyi’s throat before he can contain it and he pulls his brother close. It’s been so long since anyone asked him to stay anywhere. And maybe it was what he was so desperate to hear all this time. Please stay. 

“I’ll stay,” he whispers eventually. A promise, “I’ll stay.”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji could not sleep. He could not sleep, he could not think clearly. His entire life was consumed by agony. Every breath seared itself into his lungs, his ribs ever tightening around him. There was no reprieve.

At first, he had tried to forsake his breath, to will himself to refuse the air until his body gave in. But his core shone with immortality now and his lungs rejected his attempts. He had forfeit food only to feel his core gaining strength, sustaining his body with spiritual energy. He had considered turning Bichen on himself after mistaking Mo Xuanyu for his Wei Ying. 

That same day, Wen Qing had arrived in Gusu with a bundle in her arms. A-Yuan had been found again, his parents slain by Jin Guangyao sympathizers. Lan Wangji had clutched the boy in his arms, a tiny babe not yet a full year old. It had been both a blessing and torture to care for the boy. It had been Lan Wangji’s hope that caring for the child would soothe his wounded soulm but the relief never came. He had to carry the responsibility for a child alongside the pain and grod that continued to pour from a wound in his heart that Lan Wangji could not staunch. 

One night, he had returned from a long night hunt after slaying a beast that had terrorized a caravan of refugees travelling towards the Burial Mounds. The fight had not need significant, but still he had felt uneasy changing into his night clothes and laying down to rest. The Jingshi had been quie,  too quiet. 

 “A-Yuan.”

 Lan Wangji had sat up, bile rising in his throat when he realized.
 Still wearing his night clothes, Lan Wangji had flown threw hours through the darkness back to the hollowed tree where he had left A-Yuan to keep him safe while he had gone to slay the beast. Guilt had saturated Lan Wangji’s heart. Blinded by grief and pain of remembering night hunts with Wei ing,  he had forgotten the helpless child. He had forgotten his son and left him behind. 

 A-Yuan had still been sleeping soundly under the fading protection of a talisman. His cheeks and nose had been rosy pink, a sign of the cold seeping through. It had been then, pressing the child to his bare chest to share his spiritual energy with him that Lan Wangji knew he could not continue on like this. He needed to be a parent to A-Yuan and there was only one person who would be able to help him.

***

“That’s the dumbest fucking idea you’ve had in centuries.” 

Jiang Cheng ran his hand over his face with a groan before he looked at Lan Wangji again. The guy was fucking miserable. Jiang Cheng only knew what Xichen had told him about the fight and watching his brother plunge to his death. Well, he looked pretty alive now here in Jiang Cheng’s research centre demanding Jiang Cheng put untested hardware into his neck. 

“If it is beyond your skills, you can simply say so.” Lan Wangji said with all the venom he could muster. 

It wasn’t enough to kill a mouse or to belittle Jiang Cheng, but it was perhaps the most words Lan Wangji had said to him since Wei Wuxian—. He sighed and shook his head. The first trial had been successful, but only for short-term sessions. The brainwave modifying chip was intended to help commoners with trauma from the Cultivator Wars cope and heal. Jiang Cheng intentionally designed it for short-term use, well aware of the potential for misuse. However, he also knew Lan Wangji and he knew that reason was not always the most direct way to reach him. 

“Stay for tea,” he said against his own better judgment and looked at Lan Wangji, “we’ll talk then.”

Lan Wangji left without another word, but Jiang Cheng found him standing at the edge of a pier looking over the lake an hour later. Unguarded in the moment, the air of desperation around him caught Jiang Cheng off guard. The tight fist around Bichen, the set jaw, all of it, Jiang Cheng could dismiss as Lan Wangji being his usual overly dramatic self, but it was the fear and pain in his eyes…Jiang Check had never seen him like this before. He didn’t announce himself but instead returned silently to his rooms and sent someone to bring Lan Wangji to one of the pavillions. 

“I’ll do it,” Jiang Cheng said after they were alone again and Lan Wangji sat down. “But there will be conditions.”

He poured steaming hot tea into Lan Wangji’s cup. For a long moment, there was silence. Lan Wangji stared at the cup, not moving. The twitch in his hand the only evidence of his internal tumoil. Time had shaped Jiang Cheng into a patient man, so he wanted until Lan Wangji looked up at him.

“What are the conditions?” 
“One, we treat this as a trial.” Jiang Check looked back at Lan Wangji who did his best to conceal the hope he felt. Jiang Cheng knew it would shatter. “If I implant you with that hardware, I want weekly reports and examinations. Two, this will be a finite trial. We set a date when I take it back out.”

Silence.

Jiang Cheng expected Lan Wangji to get up and leave.

“I agree to your terms.” Lan Wangji said, staring at his tea. 

“Good, we’ll begin in the morning.” Jiang Cheng said and downed his now cold tea in one gulp. “Don’t make me regret this.”

***
Six months later

Dawn was about to break across the horizon when Jiang Cheng stood on a small island just off the coast. Here, he had met Lan Wangji once every week, then once every two weeks, then once a month, and now he would meet him for a final time after removing the chip from his neck.

Looking over his notes, he pondered how far Lan Wangji had come in utilizing the chip less and less. This wasn’t just promising for him, but also for Jiang Cheng’s work. He had used the trial data to to create more prototypes of the chip. If things continued well like this, in a few months time, the chip could be introduced to the general population, not as a solution to trauma but as an aid which would help individuals process the terror of the things they’d seen. And maybe, just maybe this could mean a truce between cultivators and Jin Guangyao. Maybe this could lead towards permanent peace.

Dawn broke across the island, a burst of light breaking through the darkness. A light in the dark, a hope in desperate times, Jiang Cheng thought. 

Dusk settled across the island, a sliver of light clinging to the horizon before the darkness would consume everything. Desperation clinging to a lifeline, Jiang Cheng thought and erased his research notes with a bitter laugh.

“Fuck you, Hanguang-jun.” He said into the night. “You’re going to be your own end.”

Chapter Text

Time passes in ways Wei Wuxian can’t quite comprehend. It simultaneously seems like the longest he’s ever waited for anything in his life and at the same time, Lan Zhan’s soft whimpers and grips increase in intensity so fast that he’s terrified Nie Huaisang will arrive too late. All Wei Wuxian can do is be present and continue channelling spiritual energy into Lan Zhan, hoping it will prevent the worst from happening. If it makes things worse, he knows Lan Zhan would find a way to let him know. After too much time that has been running away and standing still, Wei Wuxian hears steps coming up the gravel, running. Just in case, he pulls a talisman from his shirt, but as expected Nie Huaisang stumbles through the door in those strange clothes, hair in disorder as he wipes his feet and then shakes his head as if that’s a silly thing to worry about right now as he rushes to their sides. 

“How long has he been like this?” 

“It feels like a hundred shi, but I think maybe two incense sticks, but I’m not sure. He—I thought I heard someone call me, but I think I was wrong and when I saw him he—.” 

Nie Huaisang doesn’t appear to be listening to him and instead pulls something from his bag. A weird stick made of metal perhaps but there are too many new materials—plastic sounds like an extremely inconvenient invention—that Wei Wuxian doesn’t know exactly what it could be. He shouts with shock when Nie Huaisang presses on the end and a giant needle shoots from it. A giant needle Nie Huaisang just slams it into Lan Zhan’s precious thigh!

“What are you doing?!” Wei Wuxian hears himself screech and tries to pull Lan Zhan now with a giant needle embedded in his thigh away from Nie Huaisang. 

“He can’t be conscious.” Which in Wei Wuxian’s opinion is not a proper explanation but Nie Huaisang does seem to know what he is doing because he checks Lan Zhan’s eyes and Lan Zhan exhales a relieved sigh.

“Thank you.” Wei Wuxian hears him whisper, so quiet it is barely a breath but they both heard it. 

“We need to get you both out of here. There’s only one place where I’m comfortable removing this and you’re not going to love it.” 

He’s right. Wei Wuxian does not love it. He does not love it at all. 

***

Jiang Cheng was sitting down to dinner with Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing in the hidden halls beneath Lotus Pier when he received a message from Nie Huaisang to which he simply responded with 

/Well I thought you were dead. What kind of favour?/ 

The conversation continued about Lan Wangji’s modified chip needing to be removed as soon as possible. At his place of course because who had invented the damn thing based on the the writings of the Yiling Patriarch? Of course it would be now that it all comes back to bite him in the ass. Lan Wangji, more stubborn than a fucking mule. He tells Wen Qing they need to prep for emergency surgery. She immediately moves to get some kind of sterile environment ready for the surgery. Which Jiang Cheng now finds out will not only be the usual dangerous but apparently really fucking dangerous, because it sure as fuck looks like Lan Wangji used the same chip for over a century. Even now in their most advanced stage, these chips are still short term devices used to help people cope with grief, stress, and trauma. Which he had explained to Lan Wangji at length before implanting the chip for the case study trial that ended up scrapped because he couldn’t be sure that Lan Wangji hadn’t lied his way through the reports.

He knows what all of this means before the next message from Nie Huaisang even arrives. Lan Wangji in this bad a shape could not have called for help. He would not have called for help. For all Jiang Cheng knows the guy would have simply lain down and died leaving his corpse to be found by one of his poor kids. No, if Lan Wangji is still alive when things have gone this wrong,  there is only one person who could have accomplished that and he hates this thought with every fibre of his being. Nie Huaisang’s messgae confirms it: 

/Wei Wuxian is with us. Please don’t do anything rash/

Like he would do anything rash, not like his brother who had died over a thousand years ago has returned from the dead with no explanation whatsoever. He would never do anything rash like strangle him and bring him back to life again. 

Jiang Cheng sighs and checks if the skies are clear before he heads outside. Maybe in the beginning, when his wounds had been raw. If Wei Wuxian had returned after Jin ling’s death, he would have likely killed him on sight. However after so many years flowed past him and Jiang Cheng achieved what many thought to be impossible. That gave him a lot of time and perspective to think. He’s no longer the person he was. No longer the insecure and traumatized youth he was all that time ago.  Jiang Cheng regrets a lot of things about their former lives, but regret doesn’t change anything. And now they have to worry about the mighty Hanguang-Jun succumbing to a mood stabilizing chip scrambling his brain with every waking moment. 

The chips were based on talismans Wei Wuxian had worked on but never finished according to his notes, as far as they had been legible, Wei Wuxian had thought that levelling one’s temper might help prevent qi deviation in those whose cores had been compromised. He also thought that it might stabilize those who had lost their cores and were using resentful energy and demonic cultivation in order to achieve cultivation greatness. Jiang Cheng had simply used those notes and finished his work and then—despite Lan Wangji’s actions—turned it into something tangible for Jin Guangyao. An exchange to keep Jin Ling’s soul safe.  All the family he had left trapped in a soul canister, kept ‘safe’ from the harm cultivators allegedly wanted to bring to him for betraying them and working with Jin Guangyao.

With a gruff growl, he sends a message encrypted in a messenger butterfly to Nie Huaisang to instruct him where the entrance would appear. This isn’t how Jiang Cheng thought his day would go. How his week would go. Actually strike that, he thinks when he spots figures in the distance. The past thousand years have been some kind of ridiculous joke the universe has been setting up to now deliver the punchline of Wei Wuxian waltzing back into his life, holding an unconscious Lan Wangji barely upright. 

He looks like shit. Exhausted, too thin, deep rings under his swollen eyes, likely from crying. Their sister would be so upset to see him like this. Jiang Cheng doesn’t even want to know why he’s wearing robes that very much look like what he used to wear back when he had been alive. He assumes Lan Wangji probably kept several sets of robes just in case Wei Wuxian would return. And well fuck, Jiang Cheng can’t really say anything about that because here Wei Wuxian is, looking miserable, hesitant, and a little scared when he opens the overgrown gate just far enough for them to slip through. 

“Took you long enough.” He gruffs and throws Lan Wangji’s over arm over his shoulder to help his brother carry him. “The entrance hatch is over there.”

He points toward a tiny glowing sphere marking while he waited. The hatch entrance changed to keep it safe from intruders even when it should be found. The marker keeps it in place long enough for all of them to get down the steps. It’s an effort with Lan Wangji unconscious, but they manage without dropping him. Wen Qing is already at the bottom of the stairs and checks his eyes before telling them to follow her and hurry up. She has turned a smaller storage room into an operating room. Luo Qingyang has already cleaned the room as best as possible and hung talismans to keep it clean. The air cycler is running continuously, filling the air with a constant hum and Wei Wuxian flinches at the noise. It makes sense then, the ancient clothes, the misery etched on Wei Wuxian’s face. He’s really only just come back to a world that has changed for a thousand years. 

“He needs headphones or ear plugs.” He barks and Luo Qingyang gives him a look that tells him he’s on his own. Nie Huaisang has already peeled out of his clothes and is washing up in another room.  

“Okay you come with me.” He tells his brother and pulls him along. “This place is too loud for you. You’ll eventually get used to it, but it’s not going to help anyone if you’re feeling like you’re going to be driven mad from all the noise.” He hands Wei Wuxian a waxy substance to put in his ear. Noise cancelling headphones would be easier but they don’t exactly have a lot of time to get all of this done. He hesitates, fingers trembling when he takes the wax from Jiang Cheng. 

“We’ll fix him. And I promise I won’t kill you or him until we had a chance to talk.” He says and pats Wei Wuxian on the back. “Wash your hands. I know you’re not going to wait outside.”

Wei Wuxian looks like he wants to say something but instead he nods and stays silent. It’s fucking eerie, Jiang Cheng isn’t sure he’s ever seen Wei Wuxian this quiet. Back in the room, Wen Qing hands them masks to wear and Wei Wuxian wears his for exactly a minute before he pulls it off his face, red welts appearing where the material has touched his face. Wen Qing looks concerned, but they don’t have time to deal with that right now. Nie Huaisang glances up and doesn’t look particularly concerned. 

“Just don’t stand close, this isn’t a sterile environment to begin with but we can try.” 

He gives Jiang Cheng a grimaced smile that silently apologizes. The knife he’s working with looks more like a knife used for butchering but to Jiang Cheng’s surprise, he wields the knife with the same precision he used to wield a paint brush when they were younger. Wei Wuxian doesn’t look like he is particularly impressed by it because he keeps trying to push closer to see what’s going on on the table. The welts on his face have begun to fade already. Jiang Cheng isn’t sure he likes how fast they’re disappearing. 

“Your turn, Nie Huaisang says when he steps away to make room for Jiang Cheng holding the bloody knife, “but you’re not going to like it.”

“We just have to disconnect the-,” Jiang Cheng nearly drops his tool when he sees what’s lain bare inside Lan Wangji’s neck. 

The skin peeled back reveals the extent of what he couldn’t have imagined in his worst nightmares. The chip is no longer a little round disc sitting in the back of the wearers’ neck but it has morphed into something else entirely. Somehow the chip has grown and festered, expanded like a tree’s roots taking hold in the soil and weaving through it, becoming so integrated with the soil that it is nigh impossible to remove without also uprooting most of the tissue surrounding it. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Jiang Cheng hisses through his teeth and pulls the micron scanner closer. “How did we not see this is in his fucking spine before?” The medical scanners at the Burial Mounds should have picked it up. Someone would have said something. 

“It’s in his brain stem, too.” Wen Qing says, looking up from her screen. “But it’s in some kind of flux. Almost like he’s hiding it and we can only see it because—”

“He’s dying.” Nie Huaisang says. “He’s been hiding it and we can see it because he doesn’t have enough cultivation left to obfuscate it.”

“Lan Zhan!”

A scream escapes Wei Wuxian when he tries to fight past Luo Qingyang who with surprising strength manages to hold him back for a few moments. And then the room warps around them, red.

***

Wei Wuxian watches from the sidelines. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but when he sees Nie Huaisang with the knife he tries to push past MianMian who plans herself squarely in front of him with a shake of her head. He relents but that doesn’t stop him from trying to bend lean closer.

“Wei Wuxian! You need to just-” He wants to challenge her to say trust but she never does. “-be patient. They are trying to help.”

Help. He wants to laugh, but that’s why he called Nie Huaisang in the first place. To help. And Nie-xiong never betrayed him when they were younger. Still, he doesn’t like the idea of a knife this close to Lan Zhan’s neck. Worse even cutting into the flesh and—he feels embarrassed when he dips his head to look away as he clenches his fists. He shouldn’t feel this squeamish around blood, around surgery, but the thought of that blade slicing through Lan Zhan’s skin forces bile up his throat. MianMian gently pats his arm. When he looks up again, when Nie Huaisang passes the knife to Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan still lays on the table, forehead resting on pillow with a hole in it, his hair falling off the table, the ribbon stained with blood. And the nape of his neck peeled open to reveal what Wei Wuxian expects to be flesh and bone. 

“He’s dying.” Wei Wuxian hears before he can make sense of what he sees, and the world turns red. 

Blood drips from the walls, lights flash before his eyes, whatever that thing in Lan Zhan’s neck is, it pulses ugly, filled with menace, resentful energy. He can feel it. Someone screams. Wei Wuxian doesn’t understand it is him. The world around him falls away with the blood as he moves past MianMian who pulls her fingers away as if burnt. Wei Wuxian needs to get to Lan Zhan. He needs to—lights flash behind a dimpled smile. He can hear a voice in the distance but he doesn’t understand the words spoken. There’s another smile, a gentle hand on his shoulder but he violently rejects the touch. He can feel it, the tendrils beneath his feet reaching through the ground to get to him, to help him, to help Lan Zhan. He has seen this before yet he can’t recall where. Calmly, he stands beside Lan Zhan and somewhere else he doesn’t quite understand. Perhaps he exists in two places at once. Perhaps he no longer exists at all.

“Feel it,” he hears a soft, familiar voice through the blood, “feel it, Yiling Laozu, you have the power within you.”

What power he isn’t sure, but he can sense it. The same as the weird machinations wrapped around Lan Zhan. He had understood those as well, even if he had not known it as such as the time. And he understands this thing in Lan Zhan’s neck like one would an old friend.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he whispers as he reaches for it. No one stops him. He knows that no one can. Wei Wuxian closes his eyes and reaches for it, not touching, he doesn’t need to. He focuses and allows the resentful energy to mingle with the energy of a poorly formed golden core. It should not work like this. The energies should battle each other, hurt each other, hurt him, kill him. But they do nothing like that. Instead they flow harmoniously from his fingertips and reverberate in the very essence of that thing in Lan Zhan’s neck. He can feel it now, the pain it absorbed. Lan Zhan’s pain. Lan Zhan’s resentment. 

Oh, it was never meant to be what he had asked of it. All those feelings trapped inside this pulsating mass of tissue and technology, of spiritual energy and resentment. He understands its machinations, its place in the world and he understands it has long outlived its use. Nothing should exist like this, not if it kills Lan Zhan in the process. His dear Lan Zhan. The echo of his suffering is almost strong enough to throw Wei Wuxian off balance but he stands strong. Lan Zhan needs him. 

Whatever happens next is uncertain. He can feel the device pulse, then vibrate and as if everything slots into place, he can feel it come apart in its smallest parts and simply vanish into the world to once again become an indistinguishable part of a sum. Beneath his fingers, Lan Zhan stirs, but it is not yet time to wake him. Not with his neck open like this. Not when he is still so hurt. 

“I—I don’t know what he did.” Nie Huaisang stammers in the distance. 

Others are speaking rapidly but Wei Wuxian has only one focus: Lan Zhan. He allows his energy to flow into him, to repair the damage the device has caused, to stitch back together the flesh Nie Huaisang had separated. Jiang Cheng says something but he stays in place at a safe distance. It’s for the best, Wei Wuxian thinks and allows his fingers to brush along the skin as it mends, leaving but a small scar, a reminder that Wei Wuxian knows he cannot erase the past, that he cannot erase Lan Zhan’s suffering even if in this moment, it feels within realm of possibility. 

“You did so very well, Wei Wuxian,” he hears that familiar voice behind the lights as they begin to fade away, “he would be proud of you.”

Wei Wuxian smiles. Lan Zhan would be proud of him.

He stands in the room, flickering lights returning to normal as he settles back within himself. Lan Zhan whimpers on the table and Wen Qing holds a device over his neck and then his lower back and study the screen behind her.

“He’s... the device is gone.” She eventually says and looks at Wei Wuxian. “What did you do?”

“He just saved his life.” Nie Huaisang offers quietly. 

Jiang Cheng watches Wei Wuxian closely when he speaks, “it doesn’t feel over.” He looks at the talismans fluttering above them, eyes widening.

Wei Wuxian smiles. His brother is very clever. He turns back to Lan Zhan, knowing he won’t have to explain.

“Decades of suppressed emotions from an immortal flooding back in an instant.” Jiang Cheng says, barely above a whisper. “It’s going to tear his golden core apart.”

“Seal the doors,” Wei Wuxian says without looking away from Lan Zhan. “Get out.”

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan wakes before everyone else can get out. Wei Wuxian is unsure of what he should expect, but he is rather certain that it isn’t Lan Zhan pushing himself up off the bench and against a wall in a defensive position clutching the knife that Nie Huaisang held only moments ago. There is a quell of fresh blood dripping from Nie Huaisang’s fingers, but before any words can be uttered, Jiang Cheng ushers him out of the room with a hand on his shoulder. Wen Qing joins them and it all feels strangely shifted, more dream than awake. MianMian lingers but reluctantly leaves when Wei Wuxian shakes his head. 

Lan Zhan’s eyes dart around the room, suspicious and confused. Wei Wuxian has never seen him like this, has never seen him this scared, terrified really. And never this deeply upset. 

“Lan Zhan,” he says softly and takes a step forward, but Lan Zhan clutches the knife harder as if he means to defend himself.  “I understand, Lan Zhan.” 

Wei Wuxian takes another step forward. A knowing calm settles in his chest. Lan Zhan would never hurt him. 

“I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

The noise of agony that escapes Lan Zhan cuts Wei Wuxian to the bone and all he wants to do is rush to him, hold him, and chase all those terrors away. But he can’t, not while Lan Zhan holds the knife. So Wei Wuxian smiles and sits down on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, hands relaxed on his knees. It takes a few moments of Wei Wuxian sitting quietly with his eyes closed before he can hear Lan Zhan slide down along the wall. He opens an eye to see him sitting, looking exhausted. He looks so tired, but he too sits with his legs crossed, the quiet clatter of the knife against the floor. They sit together, Wei Wuxian can’t tell for how long, but it doesn’t matter. He closes his eyes again and breathes with Lan Zhan, matches their breath at first and then slows it down until they both breathe in long deep breaths, relaxing them. 

The world around them fades in and out until there’s nothing left but the two of them breathing quietly.

After a while, Wei Wuxian reaches out to Lan Zhan, not physically but with his spiritual energy and Lan Zhan, his perfect Lan Zhan reaches back. Wei Wuxian can feel him hold back, all the fear and pain, all the feelings he had repressed for so long have washed over him and driven him to desperation. Wei Wuxian focuses and reaches out to him until he sees Lan Zhan standing at the precipice of a cliff. A storm is whipping around them; the sea below is dark and frothing with rage. Lan Zhan stands naked, his hair loose and his body marked and torn. The storm is too strong for him as he fights to stand,as he fights against it pushing him toward the cliff, as the waves erode the edge and tumble rocks and earth into the churning sea forever to be forgotten, never to be seen again. 

“Lan Zhan!” He calls out but the wind rips his voice from him, pulls his breath from his very core. 

Lan Zhan fights, on his knees now, digging his fingers into the water-logged grass as it gives way. Wei Wuxian pushes against the wind, moves forward. This is not his mind, the fear and rage cannot stop him, cannot pull him under. Lan Zhan on his belly now, covered in mud and dirt as he clings to a rock, his fingers bleeding, smearing marks on the stone. He screams in pain unaware that Wei Wuxian pushes himself closer. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouts, this time winning against the wind and Lan Zhan sees him. 

“Wei Ying!” He shouts, wants to reach for him but cannot find purchase to keep himself against the rock. 

His hand slips but Wei Wuxian, as sure as he is of anything reaches out to grab his forearm and pulls Lan Zhan close before he can slip over the edge of the cliff. The storm rages on but Wei Wuxian has time, he has nothing but time when he pulls Lan Zhan into his lap and holds him close. He has nothing but time. He can wait until the storm subsides. Until then, he will be here, holding Lan Zhan tight, protecting him from it.

***

“So he’s fine?” Jiang Cheng grunts looking through the door of the small kitchenette where Wen Qing who is bandaging Nie Huaisang’s hand. 

“There is no sign of the implant left, Wei Wuxian did a remarkable job with whatever he did.”

“I meant Nie-gongzi, but good to know.” Jiang Cheng says, proud of himself that he didn’t roll his eyes.

Wen Qing for whatever reason looks surprised before she answers with “he will be fine, too. Just a few days of rest and he should be healed again.”

Nie Huaisang says nothing, only stares at his bandaged hand. There is something about him that Jiang Cheng cannot quite place. He looks the same as when they’d last seen each other, but at the same time he could be a stranger. Jiang Cheng dislikes that thought and buries it deep.

“Good.” He says and swallows whatever else wants to come out when he steps into the small room and watches the screen that shows the locked room where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji sit in still silence..

“Thank you Jiang-gongzi for your consideration.” Nie Huaisang eventually says with a small seated bow and this time, Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“The last thing you need is to lose a hand because you were trying to help.” He watches the screen for a while. “What are they even doing?”

“Meditating.” Nie Huaisang says, watching the screen closely.

“Yes but why? And since when can Wei Wuxian sit still long enough to meditate?”

“An hour and fifteen minutes and he hasn’t fallen asleep, that’s quite a feat.” Luo Qingyang interjects from the doorway. “Why don’t we check on them after we all decompress, eat something. I know for a fact you have not eaten anything all day, San- Jiang-gongzi.”

Jiang Cheng glares at her for the near slip up. He has not deserved his titles in ages and prefers for it to be unspoken especially by those he considers his peers. However, Luo Qingyang has a point, they need to eat. Inedia can sustain them for a lengthy amount of time, but Wen Qing has only returned for a short while, not long enough to  sustain herself without eating. 

And Nie Huaisang, Nie Huaisang nods enthusiastically and thanks Jiang Cheng for his hospitality. “I am deeply grateful, Jiang-gonzi.”

This time, Jiang Cheng doesn’t roll his eyes. 

Food is simple, just bowls of stew because it is easiest on a single hot plate in the corner of a room barely bigger than a broom closet with a tiny counter and a table with two chairs. There isn’t room for much more, even four people cannot stand comfortably in it. Easy to make and easy to discard should need arise. For now, it means that they scoop themselves bowls of stew.

Luo Qingyang and Wen Qing decide to eat in their room, leaving Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang to sit at the table and eat in silence. It feels surprisingly comfortable

“This is very good,” Nie Huaisang says after a while. He’s quiet, voice uncertain, “thank you.” 

Jiang Cheng notices he eats likes someone who hasn’t eaten in days and considering how he arrved with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, that much may even be true. 

“It’s all we have that can be... smuggled down here.” He feels like a fucking prisoner in his own home. “They send surveillance drones several times a day, if too much food goes missing, they start asking questions.”

“This is quite a set-up, Jiang Ch- apologies, Jiang-gongzi, this is not the time to reminisce.”

“I thought you died.” Jiang Cheng says and he has now idea how the fuck Nie Huaisang manages to produce a fan this fast to hide behind but here they are. He almost laughs but manages to keep it at a tug on the corners of his mouth. 

“Maybe I did,” Nie Huaisang mutters, “Maybe I did many times for someone who is as weak as I am.” 

“Right,” Jiang Cheng says but he knows that if Nie Huaisang really has been alive all this time—“It’s surprising what they don’t tell you about immortality, isn’t it?” He asks instead.

“I don’t know, what do they not tell us about immortality?” Nie Huaisang glances over his fan. He’s playing coy on purpose and instead of feeling annoyed, Jiang Cheng feels relieved.

“They make it sound like one becomes invincible, like we could never be hurt when in truth it is simply our spirit, our spiritual energy which stitches us together faster than death can tear us apart. I was surprised, too, the first time I got hurt after, the first time I saw myself bleed.”

Nie Huaisang hides lower behind his fan and Jiang Cheng almost laughs out loud. He hasn’t felt much like laughing for a very long time. He hasn’t felt like much of anything if he’s honest. He knows he’s been silent for too long, because Nie Huaisang looks genuinely concerned behind his fan, every part of him is tense.

“I won’t tell anyone if that’s what worries you.”

It must be, because Nie Huaisang almost immediately relaxes again. That is what matters more right now. No one needs to feel needlessly attacked when they’re all in this shit garbage together. At least he hopes they all are. What he knows of Nie Huaisang ends with the Sunshot Campaign and the subsequent feasts they had together. A feast after Wei Wuxian had fallen, a feast after Nie Mingjue had died, a feast when Nie Huaisang had become sect leader. Until one day he had been found or rather not found again. Left were only spatters of blood on his drawing desk and a hair ornament that Jiang Cheng still keeps safe among his things from back then. Jiang Cheng remembers it vividly that day, how horrible he had felt for abandoning the Nie sect, for abandoning his friend. He’d needed to take care of a child while running his own sect but he always carried the regret for not reaching out more foten. 

Nie Huaisang relaxes further and lowers his fan enough to continue eating. They eat in silence for a long time. Jiang Cheng gets up to refill their bowls once knowing that Wen Qing will give them both grief if they don’t eat more. He eats like he is genuinely enjoying the food and that despite everything going on, it feels nice. It has been far too long since there had been feasts filled with laughter among the halls of Lotus Pier. It has been far too long since Jiang Cheng hasn’t felt anything but anger and resentment. 

“If you do not mind,” Nie Huaisang says eventually, once again peering over his fan. He’s doing it on purpose now, knowing the impact it has on Jiang Cheng. “Maybe we can catch up?”

It’s a ridiculous offer. Catching up is what friends do after they haven’t seen each other for a few days, weeks, months, fuck even years. Not people who were separated by presumed death and whatever the fuck it is the world has become over the course of centuries. And still Jiang Cheng finds himself nodding. Maybe he is desperate for a change and maybe Wei Wuxian’s return means something, means something more than just more strength for the rebellion. Maybe it means a new beginning. 

“Maybe we can after we sort out what’s going on there.” He says and nods towards the screen. Neither of them have moved.

“That sounds good to me.” Nie Huaisang says and lifts his fan to hide his smile, but the sparkle in his eyes betrays him. 

Jiang Cheng feels his ears turning red like he’s back at the Cloud Recesses but he is saved by Luo Qingyang bursting into the room, “the door is gone, we can’t get into the room.”

Jiang Cheng is off his chair and in the hallway moments later. What does that mean they can’t get into the room and what the fuck does it mean the door is gone? Nothing short of massive amounts of spiritual energy can seal or vanish anything down here and that is done so by design. Spiritual energy is dampened down here. 

He looks at Luo Qingyang. “Where the fuck did the door go?”

“It gets worse.” Wen Qing says leaning out of kitchenette.

“Why the fuck is there an ocean in the storage room?”

Jiang Cheng is decidedly not looking at the screen where Wei Wuxian is sitting on a beach, ocean waves crashing down upon him as he holds a very naked Lan Wangji in his lap and covers him with his body to protect him. 

“What the fuck is going on?”

“I wish I knew.” Wen Qing says and looks at the screen where there nor is not only an ocean in the storage room, but also a storm.

Nie Huaisang sneaks silently into the room and slips past all of them. Jiang Cheng doesn’t even notice him until he clears his throat.

“The reckoning of the mind.” He says and when Jiang Cheng gives him a look he elaborates. “Hanguang-jun has suppressed his emotions for a very long time. Those emotions manifested as a storm. It’s a principle I have read about some time ago, and while it involves the suppression of the mind using spiritual energy to manifest unwanted emotions, to process them and help stabilize a decaying golden core. The principle could be applied here.”

“But he used the chip.” Wen Qing says. “As I understand, it should work the same.”

“He did but he enhanced and augmented it beyond its capabilities. Jiang-gongzi can attest to that it is him who developed the chip.” Nie Huaisang looks at him expectantly and surprisngly proud. Since he is correct Jiang Cheng doesn’t feel like he can do anything but nod in agreement. “In using spiritual and eventually resentful energy to suppress any and all emotions what Hanguang-jun has done is channel his feelings into the chip instead of processing them as intended. The chip grew and changed until it became a festering wound in his neck interfering with his meridians, an infection his body rejected. Somehow, Wei-gongzi managed to use his skills to neutralize the chip, but he couldn’t dissolve the feelings contained with in it.” 

Nie Huaisang trails off for a moment watching them with a soft smile before he pulls out his fan and chuckles a little nervously as if he had been caught doing something he should not have been. “Anyhow, what matters now is that these emotions accumulated over so many years—lifetimes for common humans—needed to go somewhere.” 

It made sense, Jiang Cheng thought, Surely if all those emotions had returned at once, Lan Wangji would have found himself driven mad by his thoughts. The little incident with the knife would have been merely the beginning. Somehow, the two of them allowed the emotions to physically manifest.

“So the reckoning of the mind occurs, a manifestation of emotion and thought in desperate turmoil. I think it’s safe to say that a storm at a beach in a sealed room is the best case scenario. The books have told of entire towns torn apart with nothing left but a crater or dust and desolation.” Nie Huaisang says, watching the screen with a smile.

“How do we stop them. Do we stop them?”

“They don’t look like they wish to be stopped.” Nie Huaisang says quietly as he returns his gaze to the screen. “Look at them, they do not look like two people afraid or even in danger. They look in love.”

Jiang Cheng looks at the screen and Wen Qing slips out of the room. He isn’t sure that through all the ocean spray and the roaring wind he can see anything resembling even a sliver of love. He doesn’t do love nor does he understand it or wish to understand it. However, in all of this he does have to admit that Wei Wuxian looks calm in ways he has never before seen. He looks filled with the kind of serenity he had only ever seen in his sister when she had married Jin Zixuan. She had looked happy too. Her calm face filled so deeply, so fully with serenity as if this moment had been the only moment that mattered. And here in this very moment, Wei Wuxian has the very same look on his face and Jiang Cheng can’t help but feel a small pang of jealously to be feeling like this around someone else. Maybe he isn’t as indifferent to love as he would like to be. 

There is something serene about what unfolds, seeing the storm only visually and without sound. Jiang Cheng is unsure how the cameras could possibly withstand what is happening in there, but then again, it is a manifestation of storm, not a storm itself. Wei Wuxian smiles softly at Lan Wangji who still clutches at him, eyes scrunched close with pain and distress. He looks up, directly into the camera and then the camera turns black.

“What the fuck do we do now?” Jiang Cheng barks, angry at how useless he feels, how vulnerable. It brings back memories he thought long forgotten, memories of him trying to protect Wei Wuxian without upsetting the other sects, standing by helplessly as Wei Wuxian’s descent threatened to drag them all down along with him. He hates remembering that. 

“Wait.” Nie Huaisang says with a soft smile as he watches the darkened screen. “It’s all we can do. Tea?” He has the nerve to ask as he slips pas Jiang Cheng to rummage through the drawers.

“What do you mean it’s all we can do?” He grabs Nie Huaisang’s arm and spins him around. It earns him a scathing look and he lets go.

“You will not want to do that again.” Nie Huaisang says. His voice is calm but the edge there is too. It sends shivers down Jiang Cheng’s spine. “It is all we can do because he has sealed the room. The question you want to ask yourself is how? His skills are remarkable, but if I remember correctly, they are also skills he should not have.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Jiang Cheng growls. The feeling of inferiority, of rejection, it sinks into his bones and brings out a person he thought he no longer was, he no longer wants to be. And then the ice cold realization that he just gave himself away. 

“How does anyone know anything?” Nie Huaisang opens his fan and pulls Jiang Cheng closer. “Where is your tea?”

“You know a lot for someone who doesn’t know anything.”

“Oh Jiang-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang smiles and flutters his fan again, “I am just trying to be useful. When you’re alone for a very long time, you read a lot and it would be a shame to let all that knowledge be wasted. Which reminds me, have you tried brewing tea cold before?”

Jiang Cheng wants to tell Nie Huaisang that they do not have time for games, but really, if the man really knows more, threatening him isn’t going to get answers. Jiang Cheng knows that much. It’s frustrating, but he has long learned that those who hold power and information like to make you work for it with their ridiculous games. It pains him to know that Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao aren’t all that different in their willingness to toy with others, but whatever, he thinks, if he can play one game, he can also play two. 

“I have not,” he says and puts on a smile, “why don’t you show me?”

Something in Nie Huaisang’s face falls for a brief moment and Jiang Cheng hates the elation he feels when he catches it.