Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing he saw was darkness.

The first thing he felt was pain.

The first thing he smelled was blood.

When Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, all he could think was, “Where am I?” He wasn’t sure how he came to be on a cold, dirty floor that stank of blood and sweat, his long hair loose over his face and an itchy, ragged robe on his body. He moved slowly across the floor like a wounded beast, too dazed to get up, and finally lay down and didn’t move.

Wondering how he had come to be there would be a natural response for anybody. For him, it was an even more pressing question, because until a few minutes before, he had been dead. Extremely dead. Having a body again — a living, breathing, very sore body — was something of a shock to him.

Then he heard a flurry of footsteps, and a door being kicked open.

“Playing dead, you bitch?”

Someone kicked him in the chest, and it was even more painful than he would have thought it was. A dull, throbbing pain blossomed over his heart, and he grabbed at it dazedly. Then another kick to the stomach that slammed him backwards into the floor, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He wheezed and coughed painfully, curling up to protect himself from another kick to the same area.

Who the hell was doing this to him? He was the Yiling Patriarch — terror of the cultivation world, the man whose necromantic powers had unleashed seas of blood and mountains of corpses. The charming and talented boy who had grown into a fiend. The depraved, deranged heretic who had turned his back on the orthodox ways of cultivation, crafting his own twisted version that enslaved the dead and slew the living.

… at least, that was how the world had seen him in the last year or so before his death. The truth had been a little more complicated, and much less exciting than the myths that the cultivation sects — especially the Jin clan — had spun around him. But he doubted that his final days had done more than cement his reputation in the eyes of everyone: a violent war unleashed on Nightless City, followed by his death from his own demonic cultivation. He could still remember the searing, maddening sensation of having not only his body but his soul shredded.

Another kick thudded against his back, making him shudder.

“You eat MY family’s rice—“ THUD “—you live in OUR home—“ THUD “—you spend OUR money—“ THUD “—and who cares if I take a few things of yours? I was the one who should have gone, not trash like you!”

If he had felt better, Wei Wuxian could have effortlessly caught the offending young man’s leg and sent him flying across the room. Maybe all the way through the window, if he was particularly angry. But his limbs felt weak and sluggish, and he was having trouble just keeping his head from swimming. Why was he so weak? What had happened?

… why was he alive again? He remembered dying very vividly, and he had definitely died…

His thoughts rattled in his head as a rather ugly face leaned down into his view, contorted by anger and spraying him with spit. “And you have the NERVE to go tattle to my mother about me taking your crap? Were you stupid enough to think she’d take your side against ME? That ANYBODY would take your side?”

Wei Wuxian didn’t know what to say. He had no idea who this person was or what they thought he had said or done. As he tried to sit up, two large servants came towards the abusive young man. One of them leered down at Wei Wuxian, and the demonic cultivator frowned, his brow crinkling as he tried to figure out what that expression meant.

“We smashed everything in here,” the other servant said briskly.

“It only took you a minute!”

“There wasn’t much left.”

The young man grinned unpleasantly down at Wei Wuxian, his greedy little pig-eyes glinting. “Tell on me again, bitch! Go ahead and try! You can lie there and play dead, but nobody gives a damn about you or these scraps of junk. You think you’re something special because a big-shot cultivation sect took you in for a couple years? They kicked you out the first chance they got!”

By now Wei Wuxian had hazily become aware that he had come back to life in someone else’s body. He wasn’t sure how, though — he had never possessed the body of a living person in all his time as a ghost. Besides, it didn’t feel like he was borrowing someone else’s flesh and bone. He felt as though this was the body he had been born into, even though there was no way it could be. Even demonic cultivation couldn’t have done anything to revive his original body.

That just left the question: whose life was he in now? Who was he now? And how had he come to be here? Whoever the owner of this body was, he had to be pretty miserable. Locked in a desolate building, abused by everyone, kicked out of a cultivation sect…

The young man aimed one final kick at him before storming out of the dilapidated building. “Don’t come out! I won’t have you embarrassing us!” he squawked over his shoulder. He slammed the door, and then muttered something to the servants that Wei Wuxian couldn’t make out.

Left alone, Wei Wuxian sat back against the wall, finally noticing the spell array that had been scrawled on the floor. Scrawled in still-wet blood. That would have been alarming enough, but the signs and spells in its boundaries were sinister in nature — ugly, twisted things that whispered of unholy sorcery. They were also spells that Wei Wuxian, having a great deal of experience with such magic, recognized immediately.

It was a ritual so dark and desolate that he had only ever heard of it happening in theory, hundreds of years ago. The caster would mutilate their body and use their own blood to draw the array, pulling a vicious ghost into their body to enact the vengeance they desired. The only problem was the price: the soul of the person who cast the spell would be completely destroyed, without even a scrap of their spirit left. It was a price so terrible that only the most desperate person would be willing to pay it.

Wei Wuxian was shivering slightly as he raised one of his hands, and surveyed the blood that had seeped into his sleeve. The four gashes in his arms weren’t bleeding now, but he knew they wouldn’t heal either — they would hold him to a contract that the caster had set. If he didn’t fulfill that contract and enact the caster’s vengeance, not only would the wounds stay open and fester… but he himself would be torn apart, both in body and in soul.

Then he saw the hand itself. It was small. His own hands in his old life hadn’t been big for a man’s, but these were smaller, with long slender fingers with tapering fingertips. They looked… they looked…

“Oh no,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Without a second thought, Wei Wuxian’s hand clamped on his chest. Rather than the smooth, flat expanse of a normal man’s chest, he felt something soft under his tattered, bloodstained robe. Soft, and round, and squashy under his questing fingers. He moved his hand to the side, and found another one on the other side of his chest.

“No,” he said out loud. His voice, though hoarse, was higher than his old one had been. “No no no no no…”

Temporarily forgetting about the gashes in his arms, he seized his sash, wrenched it off, and pulled open his robe. The thin, scratchy inner robe barely concealed anything — including the breasts on his chest. They were modest but high and well-shaped — the kind he had often liked to look at in various pornographic illustrations, though he had never seen any on an actual woman. It was just his rotten luck that the first breasts he had ever seen were on himself.

He quickly moved a hand down to grip his groin. As he had dreaded, a certain body part that he had once treasured was not there. Sure, any member he might have found wouldn’t strictly have been “his,” but it would have been better than not having one at all. He felt like dissolving into a puddle on the ground, maybe sobbing uncontrollably for a few hours as the reality of the situation sank in.

The person who had summoned him… was a woman.

“No, no, no!” he whispered again.

A small copper mirror was lying on the floor nearby, and Wei Wuxian frantically scrabbled towards it, peering desperately at himself. It took a moment for his brain to fully absorb the unfamiliar reflection he saw as his own. It was the pallid face of a young woman with loose, tangled hair tumbling around her face, chapped lips and wild crazed eyes, looking completely mad. As Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, so did those of the girl in the mirror. He turned his head, and the girl did the same. He stuck out his tongue, and the girl did the same.

The copper mirror fell from his fingers. For several minutes, Wei Wuxian sat silently on the floor, struggling to absorb what had just happened to him. Occasionally he felt dizzy and saw dark spots in front of his eyes, and it was only through force of will that he didn’t faint.

Finally, he picked up the mirror again, and studied his reflection again. At least if he had to be in a woman’s body, he reflected, it was at least a pretty one. Now that he had calmed down, he could see that his new face was elegantly pretty, with high cheekbones, long slender black eyes, a nose that he didn’t think was too bad, and full expressive lips. In his old life, he would have gladly flirted with a girl who looked like this — or, if she was in a situation like this one, tried to rescue her from her cruel relatives.

Then he frowned. There was something about his new face that looked slightly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen these features before. Especially since the girl would have been a small child when he died, so he probably had never met her in his old life. The only small child he had met in those last few years before his death had been Yuan.

Finally abandoning the mirror, Wei Wuxian ended up collecting scraps of paper that the girl had scrawled on and abandoned. It seemed to be some kind of long rambling letter to Wei Wuxian himself — or else she was simply raving.

Her name had been Mo Lian, the only child of the unloved second daughter of the wealthy Mo family. Mo Lian’s mother had caught the eye of a prominent cultivation sect leader when he was passing through the area, and a romance had ensued, during which she had borne a baby girl. But the sect leader had soon lost interest in his lover, and hadn’t seemed interested in the baby since she had turned out to be a girl. Within a few years, he simply stopped visiting.

Once the Mo family saw that their tie to the cultivation world had been lost, they vented their frustrations on Second Lady Mo and Mo Lian. Both were abused and trampled underfoot in almost every way by First Lady Mo, her husband and her bratty son. Even the servants joined in on the abuse, seeing that their mistress was pleased by it.

However, when Mo Lian was fourteen years old, she was unexpectedly summoned to the cultivation clan. The rumors were that she was going to be married to some prominent young master, especially since the only legitimate son of the clan had died a few years before. But it seemed that, despite her father’s contempt for women, she had received some training as a cultivator — before being cast out for reasons that she didn’t specify. All she described was that promises had been broken, someone she cared about had betrayed her, and she had learned things that others didn’t know.

Then something in her had snapped. Maybe it was the abuse from the Mo family, combined with the betrayal she described, but she had gone mad upon her return to the Mo manor.

To make matters even worse, her cousin Mo Ziyuan seemed to feel that, since she had been taught to cultivate rather than simply being married off, she had stolen some kind of opportunity from him. There was absolutely nothing to indicate that he had the potential to do so, but the Mo family were unswerving in their belief that he did — and they tormented Mo Lian constantly to punish her for her imagined crimes. Until, Wei Wuxian discerned, she had sacrificed her own soul to lash out at them.

Wei Wuxian slowly set down the papers, and ran his fingers through his hair. While he wasn’t sure who Mo Lian’s father had been, he could hazard a guess — it was probably Jin Guangshan, who had been rich, debauched, a prominent sect leader, and he didn’t think much of women even as he chased anything in a skirt. For those reasons, Wei Wuxian would have despised him even if Jin Guangshan hadn’t been trying to steal his Yin Tiger Amulet.

But still… where had she learned a ritual like this?

“… crazy bitch in there.”

“She cut up her arms and got blood all over the place — if that isn’t completely mad, I don’t know what is.”

The first servant chuckled. “Still… she isn’t bad looking.”

“No, she ain’t. If you cleaned her up and put some decent clothes on her, she’d be a pretty woman.”

“She would still be crazy, though. I’ve heard it’s better if the girl is crazy, though…”

The second servant laughed. It was an ugly, cruel sound. “Even better, if she’s crazy nobody will believe her afterwards.”

Hearing that sent a cold shudder through Wei Wuxian. He had always known that there were dangers with being a girl that a man was less likely to experience, but hearing that — about him — made him painfully aware of them. And unfortunately, Mo Lian’s spiritual power was so meager, and this body so weak, that he wasn’t sure he could fight them off.

And he was very much going to fight them with all his strength if it became necessary. Wei Wuxian wasn’t interested in men and never had been, no matter what his body looked like. Even if he did like men, he wouldn’t be interested in anyone as ugly as the servants he had seen before. If he were to be with a man, it would have to be someone incredibly graceful and beautiful… someone like… like…

For some reason, a figure robed all in white, with a glimmering silver-hilted sword, flashed through his head. Wei Wuxian frowned, and shook his head firmly.

The door was barred from the outside, and the only food around was pushed through a small flap in the door — some leftovers that were barely edible. Hours passed, and he sat quietly, gazing at the cuts in his arms. He didn’t know the specifics of the forbidden spell, which probably involved some kind of revenge against the Mo family. The question was, just how did was the revenge supposed to go?
If he had to guess — considering the terrible price that she had paid, and the fiendish reputation he had — he would guess that he was supposed to kill them all.

Wei Wuxian huddled against the door, staring at the empty, chipped dishes. He really didn’t want to do that. Yes, he had killed people in the past — a lot of people — but not like this. Most of them had been killed as part of the war against the Wens, and then his one-man war against the great cultivation sects when they had all turned against him. Not coldly calculating murder. Well, there had been Wen Chao and that despicable mistress of his, but that had been a special case.

But he had no choice in this case. If Mo Lian had decided she wanted Wei Wuxian to kill her family, then he had to do it. If he refused to do it, he would be completely destroyed by the backlash of the ritual — and this time, there wouldn’t be anything of him left.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian let his head fall back against the battered wooden door, and stared up at the ceiling. He was contemplating what to do next when he heard voices coming from the courtyard outside again — and thankfully, only one of them was one of the servants he had heard discussing his attractiveness before.

“… barely dare to go outside with all those walking corpses roaming around! Almost everyone in this town is hiding indoors.”

Despite his dismal mood, Wei Wuxian felt himself perk up slightly. Walking corpses were the least imposing and least dangerous of the undead creatures he could control with demonic cultivation. If one of the servants were to attack him, he could theoretically summon some of those walking corpses to frighten him off.

Of course, he could use a flute — whistling would only get him so far. He looked down at his hand, and wished that he still had Chenqing… it was probably in the treasure vault of some sect leader, a prize evil artifact owned by the evil Yiling Patriarch.

“As if you could protect me, A-Tong!” a girl’s voice said suddenly.

“Of course I could! Who else could?”

“Those cultivators who are arriving today! Everyone in the village is coming to see them — I hear they’re from a very rich, influential sect, and they’re going to get rid of every ghost or walking corpse for miles around. Madame Mo is receiving them right now—“

“Them? They’re nothing more than boys,” A-Tong sneered. "Not a single one of them is grown.”

“Well, they act like they are,” the woman said thoughtfully. “Some of them are very handsome. Anyway, I need to get into the main hall to serve him.”

That was enough to interest Wei Wuxian. He rose to his feet, brushed the dust from his bloodstained robes — and kicked the door as hard as he could. Fortunately, the bar on the door was as rickety as the door itself, and it snapped in half as the doors flew open.

A blast of sunlight nearly blinded Wei Wuxian, and for a moment he was forced to shield his eyes with one arm. As he did, both the servants let out screams of surprise — and it amused him that A-Tong had let out a scream just as high-pitched as the woman beside him. Without even looking at them, the former Yiling Patriarch charged across the courtyard, still shading his bleary eyes.

Then a bony hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back. “Where do you think you’re going, you crazy bitch?” A-Tong snarled.

“Where I fucking want!” Wei Wuxian snapped.

Without a moment of hesitation, he backhanded the servant hard enough to send him tumbling across the courtyard. The servant girl yelped and retreated immediately — probably to tell someone that the crazy girl was on a rampage — but Wei Wuxian didn’t really care. His footsteps felt lighter and quicker as he headed towards the main hall.

The hall and accompanying courtyard were practically bulging with people, which he assumed were villagers who had come to see the cultivators. Most of them looked like ordinary people — farmers, washerwomen, fathers boosting small children on their shoulders — and they were eagerly packed around the entrance to the hall. Wei Wuxian had to elbow and push his way past them.

A middle-aged woman in rich, luxurious robes was sitting at the far end of the room, lording it over everyone else with an air of grandeur. Near her was a rather ordinary, tired-looking man that Wei Wuxian assumed was her husband. Sitting behind them was the young man who had beaten him before, whom he assumed was Mo Ziyuan, looking slightly sour.

In front of them were several youths in their mid-teens, each with a sword slung on his back. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as he recognized their clothing — each one was clad in immaculate white, with a forehead ribbon embroidered with clouds. They were members of the Lan clan, even though they were only junior disciples. If the place was plagued by walking corpses, then it would be an easy mission for a group of young men.

Then a smile spread across his face. He could make use of this. If he were a man, he would have simply made a humiliating scene by pretending to be as crazy as everybody thought he was. But as a woman, he could make an entirely different kind of scene — and he might be able to make the Lan boys regard the Mo family in a very different light.

“… and we have some ties to a prominent cultivation sect,” the woman was saying importantly. “A member of our family spent some time there—“

A loud sob cut through her words, and caused every Lan youth to immediately turn around. A disheveled, blood-spattered young woman was standing in the middle of the room, her face hidden in her hands. She was crying piteously, and raised her face just long enough to cry out, “She’s talking about me!”

Madame Mo stared in disbelief at the sobbing young woman. “What is she doing out here?” she hissed at her husband.

Murmurs broke out among the crowd, sounding shocked and horrified. Wei Wuxian peeked between his fingers, and saw the Lan boys all looking at him with concern. He had been a little worried that he was laying it on too thick, but it seemed to be working — nothing caught the eye of a teenage boy like a pretty, crying girl that he could comfort and defend. Even if she was a little disheveled and bloodstained.

“Miss,” one of the boys said, coming closer. “Are you all right?”

But Mo Ziyuan elbowed his way past the young disciple, his face contorted into a mask of rage. “You crazy little bitch!” he snarled. “Get out of here before I—“

Wei Wuxian ducked behind one of the young cultivators, letting out a quiet little scream. Maybe he was laying it on a little thick. Still, he was pretty sure these young disciples could deal with someone like Mo Ziyuan — he, Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng could have each wiped the floor with the guy when they were the same age. He had the lumbering grace of a sick cow.

“You see?” he wailed, clutching at the disciple’s white robe. “First he steals from me — then he beat me — and now he’s trying to kill me!”

Mo Ziyuan lurched towards the disciple, throwing a clumsy punch at Wei Wuxian’s face. He was about to smack the young man off-balance when the Lan disciple caught Mo Ziyuan’s fist instead, holding it effortlessly in mid-air. “Young Master Mo,” he said in a calm, measured voice. “Please control yourself.”

Mo Ziyuan stumbled back a few steps, rubbing his fist. His face was scarlet with rage.

Madame Mo had risen to her feet, and descended into the middle of the confrontation as gracefully as she could manage. An uneasy smile was on her face. “You mustn’t pay too much attention to what my niece says,” she said in a deceptively pleasant voice. “I’m afraid she’s very… ill. She has delusions about being harmed by her family. My dear A-Yuan would never steal from her — only borrow things occasionally.”

“Then he should return them!” Wei Wuxian declared, stepping out into the open. He managed to squeeze out a few more tears, looking more than ever like a bullied maiden. “And — and he keeps coming to my room at all hours! He knows I’m too weak to fight him off!”

A gasp of delighted horror rippled through the crowd, which was exactly what Wei Wuxian had hoped would happen. Even if Mo Lian was considered a lunatic, which she almost certainly was, people would gladly believe a scandalous accusation about a spoiled young master that probably nobody actually liked. The more scandalous, the better — and the more internally gleeful Wei Wuxian was.

The Lan youth who had first spoken to him looked aghast at what he had heard. “Miss, do you mean…”

Madame Mo’s eyes bulged. “Ridiculous!” she spluttered. “How can you say such things? A-Yuan is your COUSIN!”

“I know that !” Wei Wuxian said. “But he doesn’t act like he does!”

Madame Mo stared daggers at Wei Wuxian, her thin fingers clenching and unclenching. She seemed to be realizing that her son’s extremely meager chances of impressing the Lan sect were dwindling by the minute, and the only thing she could do was get Mo Lian out of the way. She whirled and looked at her husband. “Get her back to her room,” she hissed, “and make sure someone keeps her in there until the cultivators have done their business.”

Before the husband could do anything, a hand clutched at Wei Wuxian’s robes and almost yanked him off his feet.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian only had a split second to react. Suddenly all he could see was Mo Ziyuan’s angry face and a fistful of his own robes being dragged forward. In his original body, he would have had no problem being punched by someone like Mo Ziyuan — he doubted the oaf could even hurt him — but he had no idea how fragile Mo Lian’s body was. In an instant, his instincts kicked in — one of his legs lashed out — and his knee caught Mo Ziyuan right in the crotch.

The next moment, Mo Ziyuan was writhing on the ground, his eyes bulging as he clutched at his injured parts. The Lan youth who had first spoken was snickering, but the one who had stopped Mo Ziyuan’s punch gave him a stern look, and he choked back his laughter.

Wei Wuxian smirked, looking down at Mo Ziyuan. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about hitting a helpless girl!”

Madame Mo uttered a shriek and dashed to her suffering son’s side, howling, “A-Yuan! A-Yuan!” at the top of her voice.

Behind Wei Wuxian, the crowd was whispering and murmuring, and he heard more than a few snickers at the young master Mo being kneed in his most sensitive region. The Lan disciples stepped back to a respectful distance, some of them looking dismayed at how badly the entire mission had gone awry. Their young leader looked like he had a headache.

Wei Wuxian looked slowly around at everyone around him, and decided to get out of the hall before Madame Mo noticed that he was still standing there. He had thoroughly humiliated the Mo family in front of both the Lan disciples and the townspeople — it would be months, if not years, before the locals stopped talking about the things he had artfully implied about Mo Ziyuan. The Lan disciples probably wouldn’t discuss it, though — they had at least three rules about not gossiping.

“Miss,” one of the boys started to say to him. “Are you—“

But Wei Wuxian darted out the door, elbowing his way past the townspeople. He couldn’t keep a grin off his face, which probably just made him look more deranged to them.

His heart was racing as he made his way into a spacious, empty courtyard. The only other people there were a couple of maids with armfuls of laundry — mostly wrinkled bedding — but they fled at the sight of him, wide-eyed and gasping.

“—did you hear? She actually hit A-Tong!” one of the girls squeaked as she scampered away. “She’s not safe to be around!”

Wei Wuxian snorted. It was just the same in this new life as it had been in the old one — everyone else could hurt him to their heart’s content, but the moment he retaliated, he was a monster beyond all imagination. Well, he didn’t plan to give them much chance to abuse him further. He had to get away from this dismal manor as quickly as he could — find somewhere to hide away until he could figure out what to do next—

… oh, right. The ritual. He touched his fingers to his wrist and — no, the gashes were still there, dull throbbing lines cut into his flesh. His heart sank. Apparently humiliating the Mo family wasn’t enough for Mo Lian’s revenge. Dammit. He was really going to have to kill them all, wasn’t he?

No, wait. First things first. First he had to protect himself.

It took some prowling around before Wei Wuxian found what he was looking for — a few stalks of rather sickly bamboo growing near the rear entrance, and some tools from a tiny side-building, where they had been left carelessly lying around. In almost no time, he had crafted a crude bamboo flute. It was no Chenqing — it wasn’t pretty, and it wouldn’t sound pretty, but it would get the job done.

Sitting cross-legged on the grass, Wei Wuxian felt a little better about his situation as he looked at the flute. If Mo Ziyuan, A-Tong or any of the others attacked him physically again — and he had no doubt they would, especially after he had kneed Mo Ziyuan in the crotch — then he could call on ghosts or fierce corpses to come defend him. The strongest man in the world couldn’t stand up against the Yiling Patriarch when he had an army of the dead on his side. Mo Ziyuan and A-Tong didn’t have a chance, no matter how weak his spiritual power and half-starved body were.

He put the flute to his lips and played a few experimental notes. They sounded a little wavery at first, but soon he was able to play a tune on it — his favorite tune, one he had used many times during the Sunshot Campaign and his subsequent war with the major sects. He wasn’t sure where he had heard the song first — probably at Lotus Pier, or maybe at Cloud Recesses. But something about it made him feel strangely safe, as if someone near him was watching over him.

He closed his eyes and lost himself in the song for a few precious minutes. At the same time, he reached out into the forests and streets that surrounded the Mo estate — feeling for dead things that lurked under the ground or walked under the sun, for ghosts lurking in dark, twisted places that brimmed with choking, icy resentful energy. They turned towards him, like flowers turning to the sun as they bloomed.

It made him feel powerful again. Strong again.

As the song ended, he slowly pulled the flute from his lips. His hands were trembling, for some reason — he couldn’t imagine why.

Then he heard voices coming over the roof — the voices of young men. It must be those Lan disciples, he thought, getting ready whatever spiritual devices were being used to entrap the walking corpses. At least, that was what he assumed they were here to do. The oldest of them — their leader — didn’t look older than sixteen, and they didn’t seem to have any immediate supervision from an older and more experienced cultivator. Such a group would only be given something simple and relatively easy like low-level walking corpses to deal with.

He slipped the flute into his sash, and slipped around one of the buildings, finding himself in a larger, well-manicured courtyard. The only ones around were the Lan disciples, who were placing large black banners on poles around the perimeter of the yard — and when he saw what was on them, Wei Wuxian burst out laughing.

They were Spirit Attraction Flags. His own devices.

All the sects were quick to denounce the evil, twisted ways of the Yiling Patriarch… but they apparently weren’t so virtuous that they wouldn’t make use of the spells and tools he devised. Even the Lan Sect were willing to use them — not just use them, but teach their use to their children as if they weren’t a product of demonic cultivation.

He was still laughing softly as he stripped the flag from one of the poles, and surveyed the spell drawn on the black cloth with bright red ink. It wasn’t as polished as one of his flags — he had spent months refining the strokes and symbols — and had probably been drawn by someone who had only done it a few times before. But it would do a decent job attracting every ghost, monster or walking corpse for the few miles surrounding it.

That was presumably the idea: set up a bunch of the flags, attract the evil creatures, and eradicate them once they were conveniently contained in a single courtyard. Simple, but effective.

“Give that back! It’s dangerous!”

He looked up sharply. One of the boys was rushing towards him, clutching his sheathed sword in one hand and the empty pole in the other. “Hand it over, now!” he barked.

Instinctively, Wei Wuxian hugged the flag to his body. “No, it’s mine!” he said shrilly.

The disciple looked visibly frustrated. He stabbed the pole into the ground and tried to grab the flag. “That’s going to attract dangerous things! Let go of it!”

“You let go!” Wei Wuxian retorted.

“Jingyi, let me talk to her,” a quiet voice said behind him.

It was the disciple who had protected him from Mo Ziyuan, the one who seemed to be the de facto leader of the group. Outwardly, he wasn’t any different from any of the other white-clad youths who ringed the courtyard, but there was something oddly calming and soothing about the way he spoke, and the calm steadiness of his dark eyes.

“Miss,” he said in that pleasant, calm voice. “That flag you’re holding is a very dangerous item — if you keep holding it, it will attract dangerous creatures to you. You could be very badly hurt, or even killed. Please give it back to me.”

Wei Wuxian looked down at the crumpled flag clutched in his hands, and sighed inwardly. If the youths were correctly copying the symbols needed for the flags, then he had no reason to stick around. “I don’t need this,” he declared loudly, tossing it to the ground. “I could do a better job myself!”

He left the courtyard as quickly as he could, hearing the laughter of a few of the disciples following him. It didn’t really matter — he would play the role of a madwoman for as long as he needed to, until he could find a way out of this nightmarish dilemma.

Chapter Text

With nowhere better to go, Wei Wuxian ended up retreating to the derelict building where Mo Lian had lived. It was dark, cold, smelled musty and the floor was still smeared with blood, but it was at least somewhere to hide from the Mo family for the evening.

He couldn’t think of anything to do while the Lan juniors were at work. Wei Wuxian was wide awake, as if he had only awoken in the middle of the afternoon, but he was also oddly tired out. Maybe it was a side-effect of the Self-Sacrificing Ritual. So he slumped in the corner of the dirty room, twirling his new flute absently between his fingers, and keeping his ears open for the sound of anyone approaching.

He also found something to do with his hair. Perhaps because of her insanity, Mo Lian had left her hair loose on her shoulders and back. At first, Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it. As a man, he had always styled his hair as simply as he could — usually just tied back with a ribbon — because anything more seemed like unnecessary fuss. He wasn’t sure how women did their hair — he had noticed women with pretty hair many times, but never had he really paid attention to how it got that way. So after a little experimentation, he simply tied it in a high ponytail with a bit of twine.

But as he sat in the corner by himself, he felt that there was something eerily wrong with the atmosphere around the Mo estate. It took him almost an hour to realize what it was — there was no sound. No one was walking outside the buildings. No one was speaking within earshot. The wind was still. There weren’t even any animal sounds — even the village outside didn’t seem to have any dogs barking in the distance.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and raised the nameless flute to his lips. The tune that came from it was a little wavery, but it was a lilting, slightly mournful song that seemed to mirror his mood. It reminded him of long-ago days of rain and fire, when he had lost his home, his golden core, and then nearly his life in the Burial Mounds.

He had been on his own then. He was on his own now.

The song wound its way through the night air like a silk ribbon blown in the wind. His eyes closed as he lost himself in the melody, thinking back on the days of his youth — days when the biggest problem he had was being sentenced to copy the three thousand Lan rules, or being caught picking lotus seeds from the lakes in Yunmeng. They seemed so distant from where he was now that they might as well have happened to a different person — and yet at the same time, he remembered them so vividly that they could have happened yesterday.

And unbidden, an image from those early years rose in his mind — Lan Zhan dressed all in flowing, immaculate white, his perfect features outlined by the moonlight, sternly upholding his clan’s laws even when there were no authority figures overseeing him. It had annoyed Wei Wuxian at the time, as well as triggering his instincts for causing mischief — but now he found his thoughts lingering on that first night when he had tried to smuggle Emperor’s Smile into Cloud Recesses, and Lan Zhan had stopped him. He even felt a little… was he feeling nostalgic?

BAM. The doors slammed open.

Wei Wuxian sat up sharply, a last shrill note coming from his flute. Three servants were standing in the doorway with lanterns, staring at him with wild eyes.

“There she is!” one of them said.

“Get her!” the second said. “She killed—“

Wei Wuxian immediately put his flute to his lips, and began to play. The melody was brittle, wild and incisive, like black-bladed knives flying through the air. And with it, the shadows all around him began to shift and twist into unholy shapes, creeping through the lamplight as if the small flickering flames had no power over them. Minor ghosts, nothing too powerful — but enough to frighten these idiots away.

He saw their faces blanch as they crept backwards, their eyes darting through the darkened room. Lanterns crashed to the floor from numb hands.

“She’s — she’s doing some kind of evil magic!” one of them stammered.

They lunged back out into the night, and over the sound of his own flute playing, Wei Wuxian heard their footsteps clattering away. His tune changed to something more controlled and forceful, like wind steadily blowing over the rooftop. The shadows retreated back to their places, with a sound like a sigh being released echoing through the room. He slowly lowered the flute, ready to start playing again if someone returned.

But no one did.

Then his brow furrowed. They had been about to accuse him of killing someone — meaning someone in the house had died. Probably someone pretty important, if the servants were running around trying to snatch up the local outcast.

As Wei Wuxian stepped out into the night air, he heard a long, high wail coming from elsewhere in the estate. By the time he arrived in the scene, it had dissolved into inconsolable sobs — all coming from Madame Mo, who was slumped in her seat, seemingly in a daze. Tears poured down her cheeks, mopped up by a servant girl. Dozens of servants and Mo relations were huddled around her, whispering fearfully and incredulously.

Lying on the floor in front of them was what looked like a bag of clothes, except for the head sticking out of one end. All around it, the Lan disciples were standing or kneeling awkwardly. In the torchlight, their faces looked ghastly pale, and Wei Wuxian could understand why. If they had messed up, then that error had just cost the life of a… well, not an innocent person, but a person who wouldn’t have died if they had done their job correctly.

Still, he doubted that they had been the ones responsible. The Lan Clan were scrupulous in their cultivation training, and he knew from experience that they wouldn’t send these youths into a situation that they couldn’t handle without an adult to oversee them. They were obnoxiously strict and repressed, but they weren’t careless or stupid.

He crept a little closer, and peered down at Mo Ziyuan’s corpse. If it hadn’t been wearing the same robes he had been wearing earlier, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have known it was the same person. Mo Lian’s cruel cousin was shriveled and fleshless, as if something had siphoned away all the muscle, fat and blood. He was barely more than a skeleton wrapped in grayish, dry skin.

Wei Wuxian’s brow crinkled. That had definitely not been done by some mere walking corpses. Something much, MUCH more powerful had killed Mo Ziyuan…

“Sizhui,” Lan Jingyi said faintly. “What about…”

The leader — Wei Wuxian assumed he was Lan Sizhui — examined the corpse’s face carefully. “He wasn’t even missing for a whole incense time when we found him. Whatever it is—“

Wei Wuxian came closer, frowning down at the corpse — only to see something glint out of the corner of his eye. Someone screamed just as he dodged out of the way. It was Madame Mo, her eyes wild and crazed, clutching a dagger in both hands.

Lan Sizhui leaped up and swiftly sent the dagger skittering across the floor with a wave of his hand. The woman turned on him, her face contorted with anger.

“She killed my son!” she howled, pointing directly at Wei Wuxian. “Let me kill her! I want revenge!”

Wei Wuxian spun lightly behind Lan Sizhui, and clung to the disciple’s sleeve. “I didn’t do anything to him!” he said loudly. “His death doesn’t have anything to do with me!”

“Nonsense!” Madame Mo bellowed.

“Ma’am,” Lan Sizhui interjected firmly, “this death clearly wasn’t the doing of any human being. It was some kind of evil—“

“It was her doing!” Madame Mo erupted, stabbing her finger in Wei Wuxian’s direction. “Her father is a cultivator! She must have learned all sorts of crooked tricks when—“

Wei Wuxian almost laughed out loud. The Mo family had clung to the tenuous connection to that cultivator for Mo Lian’s entire life, and had wanted Mo Ziyuan to become one. Now it was their excuse to blame the entire mess on him. Once again, nothing had changed in his new life — people found a way to blame him for anything that went wrong, even if whatever happened had nothing to do with him.

He crouched down beside Mo Ziyuan’s body, his keen eyes scanning over it for some clue — no matter how small — to explain what had happened to him and why. His eyes widened as he saw a corner of black cloth peeking from the inside of the dead man’s robes. His slim fingers grasped the corner and pulled at it, unwinding a flag carefully painted with red symbols and lines. One of the Spirit Attraction Flags.

“It’s your own damn fault,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

Chapter Text

It was abundantly clear to Wei Wuxian what had happened. He already knew Mo Ziyuan liked to steal miscellaneous cultivation items from his cousin, for whatever reason. He must have sneaked outdoors sometime during the evening, and seen the flags carefully arrayed around the courtyard. Coveting them, he had snatched one down from where it belonged — and thus turned himself into a walking target for everything that it attracted. Without the protections sewn into the Lan disciples’ robes, or the years of training, he would have been an easy target.

Lan Sizhui quickly took the flag from Wei Wuxian’s hands, his eyes widening. “This is why he died,“ he said quietly. “He must have taken it, and then — something came after him.”

“What? My A-Yuan would never do such a thing!” Madame Mo spluttered.

“Ma’am, we found the—“

“You! You were supposed to protect us from — from those things! It’s the whole reason you’re here! But you couldn’t even protect an innocent child like my A-Yuan!”

Wei Wuxian repressed a smile. Innocent child? Even if he hadn’t been an idiot and an abusive bully, Mo Ziyuan had been at least a few years older than any of the Lan disciples present. But the smile faded as he realized that none of them were going to respond — they were all silent as Madame Mo continued to rant and rave at them, even though Lan Jingyi looked like he was chewing on unspoken words. The Lan rules prohibited being rude to ordinary people, which meant that none of them would defend themselves.

So he did it for them. “Hey! Your son was how old — seventeen or eighteen? At that age he should know better than to to steal dangerous things. He certainly should be old enough to know what ‘stay out of the courtyard and don’t touch anything’ means, but he did it anyway. These cultivators came out here to help you and did everything they could — it’s not their fault your son was an idiot!”

Jingyi’s lips curled in a brief smile before he quickly quashed it. All of the teenage boys suddenly looked relieved — they might think Mo Lian was a lunatic, but it was still a relief to have someone defend them from their angry client.

Madame Mo’s face was crimson with rage, and she seemed to be trying to come up with something to say. Finally she whirled around and shoved her husband, who had been silent and pale behind her all this time. “Do something!” she bellowed.

The man’s face was strangely expressionless, but he shoved her back — hard enough to throw her to the floor. Then he stalked away, with the servant A-Tong following him closely.

Wei Wuxian turned back to the body, trying not to snicker under his breath. Normally he would have enjoyed seeing the Mo family turn on each other, but right now there was something lethal prowling through their estate, and more people would die if he didn’t figure it out — and quickly. The Lan disciples had been sent here on a simple, routine mission, and all of them were too young and inexperienced to deal with anything this vicious.

As he knelt down, his knee bumped the left side of Mo Ziyuan’s body — and he saw the sleeve falling flat to the ground. He frowned and rolled the sleeve back, revealing that the arm was gone. Completely gone. No blood, no teeth marks, no scraps of bone or muscle — it simply didn’t exist, right up to the shoulder.

And as he examined the corpse, Wei Wuxian saw something odd on his own body — one of the gashes had healed itself. As he stared at the smooth, unmarked skin on his wrist where an ugly wound had been an hour ago, he felt a jolt of delight. Apparently the curse was satisfied by the loosest definition of the word “kill.” Wei Wuxian had created the Spirit Attraction Flags, a Spirit Attraction Flag had attracted some malicious creature, and the malicious creature had killed Mo Ziyuan. He hadn’t actually killed the man, but the curse thought he had — and he was more than happy to let it think that.

Then, as he watched, another one of the wounds began to heal, his flesh drawing itself back together, and pale new skin forming over the raw gash. In a matter of seconds, the second gash was gone. His eyes widened.

“Someone just—“ he started to say.

But he was cut off by a piercing scream.

He rushed ahead of the crowd to a nearby courtyard, and saw two more bodies lying on the ground. One of them was almost identical to Mo Ziyuan’s — shriveled, gray-skinned and completely lifeless. Even more striking, the left arm had completely vanished. Even before he got a good look at the corpse’s robes, Wei Wuxian knew who it was.

“My husband!” Madame Mo shrieked. Then she dropped like a sack of rocks.

The other body was A-Tong, who still seemed to be alive — although his face was deathly pale and he seemed to be in shock. He stared into space as Lan Sizhui knelt down beside him.

"Did you see what did this?” he asked.

A-Tong didn’t make a sound — his jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth were bared. He shook his head furiously, as if he had been too frightened by what he had seen to ever speak another word. Wei Wuxian felt a stab of frustration — if the idiot had been scared silly by whatever he had seen, it was likely that more people were going to die because they didn’t know what they were up against.

Jingyi rushed out into the courtyard, his eyes wide and his breath coming in gasps. “I fired the signal,” he said desperately. “But there might not be anyone nearby — it could be an hour or more before a senior from our sect appears, and by then—“

“By then all these people could be dead,” Lan Sizhui said in a low voice, trying to keep anyone from hearing.

Wei Wuxian glanced over his shoulder at A-Tong being carried back into the hall, alongside the still-unconscious Madame Mo. The one good thing about this entire disastrous evening was that people seemed to have forgotten about “Mo Lian,” and even the Lan disciples hadn’t noticed yet that the local madwoman was acting and speaking with perfect rationality. He didn’t have the luxury of acting insane, considering the circumstances.

Suddenly another scream echoed through the night air. Wei Wuxian rushed back into the hall, and saw A-Tong sitting upright, his face still deathly pale and his eyes staring. Then his left hand grabbed his own throat, and began to squeeze with deadly force.

Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi immediately descended on the servant — one was pressing acupressure points while the other dug his fingers into A-Tong’s hand, trying to pry it loose with all his strength. But the fingers were like steel bands, and they only gripped tighter. A-Tong’s eyes bulged furiously, and his pale face started to turn blue around the lips.

CRACK!

The hand fell limply to his side, and A-Tong’s head suddenly sagged at an unnatural angle. The two Lan disciples stared in horror, their eyes wide and their lips parted.

“He’s dead!” the female servant from before shrieked. “A ghost did it! A ghost made him kill himself!”

Wei Wuxian felt an odd tingling in his unmarked wrist, and looked down just as another cut on his wrist slowly closed itself. Despite the direness of the situation, he couldn’t help but feel relief that there was only one gash left on his wrists.

But just as he was about to look up and examine A-Tong’s left arm, a blast of icy wind tore through the room, extinguishing the lanterns and ripping through the crowded room. Screams and scuffles could be heard through the darkness, almost drowning out the Lan disciples’ voices as they tried to keep people from running out of the building, and possibly bringing the vicious creature with them.

Something heavy crashed into Wei Wuxian, sending him sprawling on the floor — and as he struggled to get up, someone tripped over him, kicking him in the ribs as they did. Coughing, he crawled up against the wall, trying to make himself as small as possible so he could avoid anyone tripping over him or crashing into him.

He slipped a hand into his ragged robe, and pulled out the flute.

Chapter Text

An illumination talisman flared in the middle of the room, casting a slightly unearthly glow over the entire shadowy hall. Wei Wuxian raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden light, until they adjusted enough for him to see Sizhui standing behind it. His youthful face was grim and drawn, and once again Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but reflect that someone as young and inexperienced as him shouldn’t be dealing with a situation like this.

That was when he saw his own wrist. His smooth, unmarked wrist.

Ice spiked through his blood as he pulled both sleeves back to his elbows, and looked at the wrists. Four gashes had been there only an hour ago, and now there were none. None at all.

Mo Lian hadn’t left him with instructions about who to kill, but he had been able to deduce who she had wanted dead. A cut had vanished for each of the men who had died so far, because all of them had tormented her — maybe tried even more, in A-Tong’s case. But he couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t have reserved a great deal of hatred for her aunt, who ruled the entire estate and had hated both her and her mother. It didn’t take a genius to know that Madame Mo was represented by that last cut.

And if the cut was gone… that meant she had been killed by whatever the flag had attracted.

Wei Wuxian moved his flute towards his lips as he swiftly walked to where Madame Mo was. The older woman was sitting upright, her face the color of ice. His eyes flickered down to her left arm, and the hand at the end of it. The muscles of the arm were well-defined under the soft silk sleeve, and the fingers were long, powerful and calloused. Not the hand of a fine lady — it was the hand of a very strong man.

He let out a high, slightly unhinged-sounding laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Jingyi asked, flustered and irritable.

“Look at my aunt!” Wei Wuxian said, making himself sound delighted. “Her hands don’t match! Isn’t that funny?”

Lan Sizhui immediately whirled around, and stared down at the woman's left arm. His eyes widened, and his hand immediately pulled a talisman from his sleeve. “Jingyi!” he called.

The white-clad disciples flew through the shadowy room like owls swooping down on their prey, and seized Madame Mo. They grasped her arms and pinned her to the ground, even though she wasn’t really struggling. Lan Sizhui raised the hand with the talisman, ready to slap it down on the still-moving corpse —

— only for the left arm to twist and strike upwards like a snake about to bite him. The young man tried to dodge, but its nails grazed his face —

A piercing note cut through the night, as sharp and silvery as a bird’s song. Nothing was visible of Wei Wuxian except for the faint glint of his eyes, since he had stepped back into the shadows. But his song wound through the hall, stirring up the resentful energies that had been drawn into this estate — putting a kind of harness on the wild, frightening forces that had been drawn into this place.

The arm spasmed and thrashed, seemingly losing its focus on Sizhui. Wei Wuxian quickened the song that cascaded from his flute, winding it around the arm and trying to bend it to his will. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he played — if he could just make it obey him — just ensnare the dismembered arm with its shard of fractured soul —

But it didn’t. Tearing loose from Madame Mo’s body, it swiped at Lan Jingyi’s throat, and ended up grazing his shoulder instead as he lurched away. Suddenly green flames were licking the boy’s robe, and he pulled it from his body with a yelp.

“Try to trap it with your robes!” Lan Sizhui yelled.

The other disciples eagerly did as they were told, ripping their outer robes off and bundling them around the writhing arm. Symbols and words flared bright green against the white cloth, and flames began to burn brightly. Their robes had stopped the arm from attacking anyone else…

… but it wouldn’t last long. The protections sewn into the Lan robes weren’t strong enough to stop something that malicious for more than a few minutes. Still, it might be long enough for Wei Wuxian to destroy it once and for all — he just needed the right tools. His lips curled into a smile, and his eyes turned to the three one-armed corpses that lay strewn on the floor.

“Wake up, all of you,” he said in a low voice.

They shuddered. Their white eyes stared blankly into the distance. Finally, their withered, fleshless bodies rose from the ground and swayed onto their feet. Wei Wuxian’s voice and music had bound their souls to their ruined corpses, and all their hate — their rage — their fear of the demonic cultivator who was now their master — was there to fuel him.

“Rip the arm apart,” Wei Wuxian whispered, his smile widening.

Shrill cries and howls came from the three corpses as they leaped towards the arm, which had almost torn its way loose from the burned robes. The Lan disciples stumbled back, crying out in surprise. Suddenly there were undead creatures running amok through the estate — not the weak walking corpses they had easily subdued, but agile, furious, wild creatures with sharp teeth and long iron-hard nails.

At first, Wei Wuxian felt a sense of exultant delight — he hadn’t lost his touch for commanding the dead, and he was pretty sure nobody had been able to see him in all the commotion. But his smile faded as he saw the three corpses fight against the arm. It tore at them with razor-sharp nails, snapped their bones with its powerful grip — and as furiously as the Mo family fought, they weren’t going to win.

His eyes darted to the circle of teenage boys. They looked desperate, hopeless, and one of them looked like he was going to cry. Blood was streaming down Lan Sizhui’s face.

Wei Wuxian grimaced. He didn’t have a choice. He would have to risk exposing himself — if he didn’t, everybody here would die.

He lifted the flute to his lips and blew. He wasn’t even aware of the song he was playing, only that he needed to make the corpses even more frenzied — angrier — more vicious — resentful energy flowed around him like smoke from a wildfire, whirling through the room towards the arm —

And then a note rang out through the air, cutting through the flute’s song. It was a cold, clear note, like the icy wind of winter, flowing through the night — and even before he looked up, Wei Wuxian knew that it had come from a guqin. A particular guqin made of black wood.

“Hanguang-jun!” cried the youths, their voices overlapping.

A man was standing on the rooftop, poised and elegant, as if a frenzied battle of the undead weren’t happening just below him. His tall, slender form was bathed in the pale light of the moon and stars; it made his white robes shine as if glowing from within. The wind had begun to rise, and it blew back the long ends of an embroidered forehead ribbon from his face.

But the most striking thing about Lan Wangji — or Lan Zhan, as Wei Wuxian had always called him — was his face. He was the very picture of male beauty, with elegant bones and smooth clear skin, full lips and a thin straight nose. His eyes were striking, as pale and clear as a spring sky under fine dark brows, and Wei Wuxian knew from experience that those eyes could pierce a person like a hundred arrows.

And right now, they were fixed on him.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian slipped the flute into the back of his sash, and slowly began to back away. This was bad. He didn’t remember much about the last days of his life, but what he did remember was that things had gone badly — very badly. He needed to get out of the estate, now that his cuts were all healed.

But he couldn’t escape while Lan Zhan was staring directly at him.

Even worse, he had no idea what Lan Zhan was thinking. He had always shown almost no expression, even when Wei Wuxian had made him angry. He was the opposite of Jiang Cheng, really — Jiang Cheng showed every emotion clearly on his face, especially when he was angry about something. Even now, Lan Zhan’s face was as smooth and unmarred as new-fallen snow, and his eyes were as cool as an ice-rimmed stream.

A loud crack rang out, and Wei Wuxian’s attention was dragged back to the corpses he had been controlling. Madame Mo’s neck had just been snapped by the arm, causing her to fall twitching to the ground. Wei Wuxian’s hand tightened around his flute…

… only for more guqin notes to ripple through the courtyard, loud as thunder. Wei Wuxian could feel them vibrating in his bones, echoing in his ears.

The two remaining corpses looked up at the rooftop, and their distorted, gray faces looked as if they had seen something terrifying. Lan Zhan’s face was impassive as his hand swept over the guqin again, and the air shimmered with the power of his merest strum. The corpses shuddered, twisted, and collapsed to the ground with a loud crack.

Even more important, the guqin’s playing seemed to be influencing the arm. It wasn’t dead and still like the corpses, but it fell limply to the ground and lay there, twitching.

And as Lan Zhan played, Wei Wuxian could feel those pale, clear eyes fixed on him. His hands were playing a melody that destroyed the corpses and defanged the arm — playing with a power and skill that most cultivators could only fantasize about — but it was as if he weren’t paying full attention to what he was doing. His attention was riveted on Wei Wuxian, steady and unblinking.

He recognizes me, Wei Wuxian thought wildly.

Rationally, he knew it couldn’t be true — he was in a woman’s body now, a woman that Lan Zhan had probably never met before. And Lan Zhan hadn’t heard him speak or interacted with him at all. There was no way he could have recognized that Wei Wuxian’s soul was residing in that woman’s body — and he was devoutly grateful for that, because it would be too humiliating to have Lan Zhan know what had happened to him.

Which meant… Lan Zhan must be staring at him because of the demonic cultivation. He knew that Lan Zhan didn’t approve of it, from anybody — but especially not from him.

In his old life, Wei Wuxian had suffered Lan Zhan’s ceaseless worrying and nagging about abandoning his demonic cultivation and returning to orthodox cultivation. At times, he had wanted to break down and admit the truth to the solemn, staid man in the white robes. He had vowed that no one except him, Wen Ning and Wen Qing would ever know, but a part of him just wanted to tell Lan Zhan the raw, painful truth — that he would never be able to cultivate like him again.

But if any of the teenage disciples recognized that look, they gave no sign of it. Their faces lit up with relieved smiles.

“Hanguang-jun!” Lan Sizhui cried out.

“Hanguang-jun is here!” another boy wailed, rushing forward.

With a sweep of his sleeves, Lan Zhan swept his guqin into his qiankun pouch, and leaped down gracefully from the rooftops. His raven-colored hair swirled around him, carried by the night wind. He was immediately surrounded by the youths, who launched into rambling, clashing accounts of what had happened before he arrived.

He made a sharp gesture with one hand. “Contain the arm first,” he said in his low, melodious voice.

The youths obeyed, scattering back into a formation around the twitching arm. A golden array sprang out from their hands, spinning golden threads around the arm and pinning it to the ground. Lan Zhan had weakened it enough that it wouldn’t be able to cause trouble for some time, and the youths were knowledgeable enough to at least contain it in a pouch. Lan Zhan stood over them, his hand ready to summon his guqin at a moment's notice.

Wei Wuxian’s heart was racing like a frightened rabbit’s. He stepped back into the shadows of the half-darkened passage, moving as swiftly as he dared without making it obvious that he was fleeing. He had to find a way out of here — had to get as far away from the Mo estate as he could — he probably only had minutes before Lan Zhan finished with the arm and came after him —

Fortunately the cuts on his wrists were gone. Mo Lian's vengeance had been appeased, and he hadn't even had to kill anyone. If he could escape this place, find some kind of horse to steal, he could set out for parts unknown and start over as someone other than the Yiling Patriarch… or at least retreat from the world for a few days to figure out what to do next…

Then a hand clamped on the back of his robes.

Wei Wuxian almost whimpered. He recognized that steel-hard grip even without turning around. His bare feet almost slipped on the polished floor, but he managed to keep his balance.

“Wait,” a familiar deep voice said.

He tried to shrug off the tight grip on his robes, only for the hand to clutch the shoulder underneath. “Leave me alone!” he said in a deliberately childish voice. “I don’t talk to strangers!”

“Mn,” was all the voice said.

For a heart-stopping moment, Wei Wuxian stood unsteadily in place, held back by that iron grip. He was acutely aware that his rough-hewn flute was jammed into his sash, easily seen by Lan Zhan’s keen eyes. If he figured out that Wei Wuxian had been reborn, things could get very nasty for him… though Lan Zhan and everybody else would probably assume he had possessed this poor insane woman against her will, rather than being given her body voluntarily…

Slowly, almost against his will, he turned his head to look back at Lan Zhan. Even though he had seen one of the Twin Jades of Gusu only a minute ago, he felt as if he were seeing him for the first time.

For one thing, had Lan Zhan always towered over him like this? He had always been tall, but had he somehow gotten taller in the last thirteen years? Then Wei Wuxian belatedly remembered that he now had a woman’s body — and while Mo Lian had been a fairly tall woman, her body was still several inches shorter than Lan Zhan. It felt weird to look up at him from such a distance when they had practically looked eye to eye in his old body.

Lan Zhan’s face was as impassive as always, his pale eyes glimmering like the waters of Yunmeng in his handsome features. But strangely, those eyes didn’t look angry, or cold, or triumphant, or accusatory. He looked — maybe it was Wei Wuxian’s imagination — but he almost looked relieved, as if some great burden had just been lifted from his shoulders.

“Listen, I’m—“ Wei Wuxian started to say.

But Lan Zhan moved quicker than he could speak, sweeping the demonic cultivator up into his arms, with one arm behind Wei Wuxian’s back and the other behind his knees.

“W-wait, what are you doing?" Wei Wuxian said, dazed.

Lan Zhan’s only response was to walk swiftly back the way they had both come.

“You can’t do this to me! Put me down! What are you doing? Let me go!” Wei Wuxian cried. He was agonizingly aware that he sounded exactly like a frightened maiden, even though he hadn’t been trying to.

But Lan Zhan’s arms around him were like iron bands, even though he wasn’t holding him roughly or tightly. Wei Wuxian pushed against Lan Zhan’s firm chest as hard as he could, hard enough that it should have knocked the air from his lungs, but it didn't seem to have any effect. So he twisted his body and kicked furiously, trying to get the white-clad man to drop him. But Lan Zhan didn’t respond at all — he simply stared at Wei Wuxian as if studying something slightly odd, and walked even faster.

Once again, Wei Wuxian cursed Mo Lian’s miniscule spiritual energy. If she had left him a developed golden core, he could have hit Lan Zhan hard enough to actually make him let go. Well, maybe not… Lan Zhan had an indomitable will, and always had.

But he kept squirming and kicking as Lan Zhan carried him out into the night air, the wind blowing his long raven-colored hair and trailing ribbon back from his face. But as he was carried down the steps, Wei Wuxian momentarily stopped struggling. Something about the sight of Lan Zhan’s face, outlined in the pale light of the moon and stars, his eyes shimmering and gleaming, made him stop and stare.

“Hanguang-jun!” Lan Sizhui said eagerly, running toward them. “We’ve already—“ But then he looked at the disheveled, squirming woman in the older man’s arms. “What are you doing?”

“She’s coming with us,” Lan Zhan said calmly. “To Gusu.”

Chapter Text

Fortunately, they didn’t leave for Gusu right away.

Instead, Wei Wuxian was unwillingly dragged to a hotel on a nearby street, which the Lan clan had completely booked. It was already past the early hour when the Lan clan always went to bed for eight hours of uninterrupted sleep — and if he weren’t pretending to know nothing about the Lan clan, Wei Wuxian would have snidely asked about how many rules Lan Zhan and the youths were breaking by being out so late.

But he was starting to think that it wouldn’t have any effect on Lan Zhan. The tall, white-clad man walked beside him the entire way, keeping a firm hand on Wei Wuxian’s arm. He seemed to be unmoved by Wei Wuxian’s wails and demands to be let go — he simply pulled the demonic cultivator with him, his face impassive.

The young disciples followed them on every side, surrounding them and obediently doing whatever Lan Zhan said. It thoroughly irritated Wei Wuxian. He had put himself on the line to protect them from the dismembered arm — and had even exposed himself as a demonic cultivator in front of Hanguang-jun — and this was how they repaid him? Where was the gratitude?

“Don’t worry, Miss Mo,” Lan Sizhui said reassuringly as they approached the hotel. “Hanguang-jun is just trying to help you.”

“Help me with WHAT?” Wei Wuxian asked incredulously.

The hotel owner came out they approached, despite the lateness of the hour. He seemed to be thrilled that cultivators — and from one of the four great sects, no less — were staying at his humble hotel, and immediately bowed to Lan Zhan. “Hanguang-jun, welcome back! Is there anything you need at this — this hour?”

He stumbled slightly over his words as he saw that Lan Zhan’s hand was firmly locked on the arm of a woman who did not look as if she belonged with him — a dirty, disheveled woman in a tattered, bloodstained, very cheap robe.

“Another room,” Lan Zhan said calmly. “The one beside mine.”

It was a modest room, but it seemed wonderfully luxurious compared to Mo Lian’s derelict shack. Despite his annoyance at being dragged there, Wei Wuxian found himself enjoying the fact that everything was clean, warm and well-furnished — especially the fact that there was a large comfortable bed just waiting for him.

Servants arrived shortly with a wooden tub, and enough hot water to fill it. An older woman — Wei Wuxian suspected she was the hotel owner’s mother — also brought him a clean sleeping robe. “Hanguang-jun has already arranged everything,” she said reassuringly, “so you don’t need to worry.” She smiled in a motherly kind of way, and retreated from the room.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how long it had been since Mo Lian bathed, but the sight of steaming bathwater made him realize that he felt as if his skin was caked in a layer of grime, blood and sweat. So he stripped off his ruined robes and gingerly lowered himself into the tub. A faint moan escaped him as the warmth seeped into his skin and his bruised muscles.

As he washed, he took the opportunity to appraise his new body. He hadn’t gotten a proper look at it before, just a brief glimpse of his breasts. Which were, now that he had a chance to look at them, very nice — high and firm, neither too large nor too small. His build was slender — a little too thin, probably from being starved by the Mo family — with a narrow waist and wider hips, and his legs were fairly well-shaped.

There was a gentle knock at the door as Wei Wuxian was wrapping the clean robe around his still-damp body.

“Who is it?” he called.

“Food, ma’am!” a faint voice said.

A timid-looking female servant slipped in with a wooden tray that almost overflowed with various dishes. The spicy, rich smell rising from them made Wei Wuxian’s mouth water, and he was suddenly reminded that he hadn’t eaten anything all day except for a few mouthfuls of cold leftovers. There was also a large jar of wine, which was something he desperately needed after the past day.

“Thanks,” he said, flashing his most charming smile at the girl.

The girl looked at him a little critically. “Hanguang-jun ordered these for you,” she said. “He also said if you needed anything else, we should get it for you.”

Wei Wuxian perked up at the sound of that. “Anything?”

“Well, within reason,” the servant said, shrugging.

As the woman left, Wei Wuxian glanced back at the door leading out to the hall. What exactly was Lan Zhan planning by dragging him all the way back to Gusu? He had tried to drag Wei Wuxian there fourteen years ago — probably for punishment — but the demonic cultivator had refused to go with him. Maybe thirteen years after the death of the Yiling Patriarch, it was now standard protocol to capture and punish demonic cultivators.

But if Lan Zhan wanted to punish him, he had a funny way of doing it. He had placed him in a comfortable hotel room by himself, provided a hot bath, and ordered him food and wine. Lan Zhan, royal stick-in-the-mud, had ordered wine for him.

Speaking of which… the dull, hollow gnawing in Wei Wuxian’s stomach reminded that he had a tray of wine and hot food waiting for him. He dropped into a cross-legged on the floor and began eating and drinking as if he had been starved his entire life. The food was heavily spiced and had a great deal of meat, just the way he liked it. And while the wine was no Emperor’s Smile, it sent a warm rush through Wei Wuxian’s body, slowly easing the tension from his body.

He was so absorbed in his late dinner that he didn’t notice a tall shadow that could be faintly seen outside his door. It remained there for some time, listening, before moving back down the hall.

*

Wei Wuxian slowly opened his eyes, and for a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. He was lying on a comfortable bamboo bed, in a comfortable room that as now filled with morning sunlight. He hadn’t slept in such a room in a long time — he had spent most of the year or two before his death sleeping in a cave.

Slowly, he sat up and pushed his hair out of his face. Memories of the night before trickled back into his sleep-dazed brain, and he stared blearily down at the unfamiliar body he was now stuck in.

Right. Female body. Dismembered arm. Lan Zhan.

It all came flooding back into his mind — his bloody rebirth, the chaotic and violent events of the previous night, and the tall white-clad figure that had swept in and almost effortlessly put an end to it all. Before, of course, he had picked Wei Wuxian up like a sack of grain and carried him off. He sighed heavily and considered curling up and going back to sleep, just so he wouldn’t have to deal with what had happened for a little longer.

But then someone knocked on the door.

“Are you awake?” Sizhui’s voice called. “We are going to be leaving soon. Please come down as soon as possible.”

Wei Wuxian groaned and curled up under the sheet.

When he finally emerged, he saw that something had been placed on the table — meaning someone had come and gone from his room while he was fast asleep. It was a set of black robes, so neatly folded that he almost felt guilty unfolding them. White socks, and black boots. There was also a pristine, deep-red inner robe, and a wide red ribbon that had been carefully folded and placed on top.

Wei Wuxian carefully unfolded the clothing, feeling the finely-woven cloth slide between his fingertips. He could tell just by touching it that this was expensive clothing — not the sort of thing wasted on a lunatic in an ordinary town. Even though it was plainer and less ostentatious, it was of better quality than anything the wealthy Mo family had been wearing the day before. Had… had Lan Zhan bought him these clothes?

And it was all in the colors he had favored in his old life — black and red.

His heart began to race as he looked down at the black robes. Lan Zhan knew. He had to know. The question was, how did he know — and what was he going to do next?

Chapter Text

The entire town was buzzing with news of what had happened in the Mo estate — or at least, what they thought was happening. At least half the townspeople were gathered in front of the Mo estate’s gates, eagerly hoping to catch a glimpse of the carnage behind them, and the rest were discussing it as the cultivators went by.

“… ghost devoured their flesh, leaving behind nothing but bones…”

“I heard they all went mad and killed each other—“

“—blood and guts everywhere—it was like the Yiling Patriarch all over again—“

Wei Wuxian grimaced as he heard that from the local blacksmith, who was gossiping with a passing woman.

Then he glanced at the youths surrounding him, waiting to see if any of them reacted to the mention of the Yiling Patriarch. He knew that Lan Zhan had — probably — figured out who he really was, but he didn’t know if he had shared this information with the younger disciples. But none of them reacted. They seemed rather nervous in general, but not about Wei Wuxian.

There only seemed to be one riding animal for sale in the entire town, and that was an ill-tempered, picky donkey who refused to move until Lan Sizhui tempted it away with an apple. The donkey’s seller looked a little nervous at the sight of Wei Wuxian, and it took him a moment to realize that he must recognize his body as Mo Lian’s. He widened his eyes and giggled in a high, unhinged voice, and the man took a few steps back.

Then a pair of strong hands grasped his waist, and hoisted him off his feet. “Ah! Whoa!” Wei Wuxian squeaked.

But then he was placed — gently and carefully — on the donkey’s back, and as he looked back, he saw Lan Zhan gazing up at him impassively. The Lan cultivator’s hands held him steady for a moment longer as the donkey brayed and scuffed the ground. Wei Wuxian stared down at him in disbelief. Lan Zhan had once told him that he didn’t like to touch others, and he had only tolerated Wei Wuxian touching him when it was strictly necessary.

But if Lan Zhan was uncomfortable touching him, he gave no sign of it — his eyes were steady and clear. Those strong, slender hands lingered on Wei Wuxian’s sides a moment longer, as if Lan Zhan were reluctant to release him. Then he let go, and quickly picked up the donkey’s reins.

For some reason, Wei Wuxian felt a little breathless, and he found himself pressing a hand against his side. Lan Zhan must be really desperate to drag him back to Gusu if he was willing to lift up someone who had irritated him so much. He had even bought a donkey to speed up the journey, making sure that Wei Wuxian would come to imprisonment in Cloud Recesses no matter what.

Speaking of which…

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath and let out a heartfelt wail. “Don’t make me come with you! I don't want to go! I DON’T WANT…”

The various Lan teenagers looked at him in alarm as they left the town, and more than a few of the townspeople were left staring. But much to Wei Wuxian’s chagrin, not a single one of them made a move to help him — most of them actually looked the other way as he went by. Lan Sizhui placed a hand on his arm in a compassionate manner, but didn’t make any move to help him escape this situation.

And Lan Zhan continued walking steadily, leading the donkey to the gate of the town. If he was bothered by Wei Wuxian’s howls, he gave no sign of it.

*

The sun was setting when the troupe of white-clad Lan disciples stopped for the night. They were in the deep valley between several looming mountains, their tops wrapped in mist and their slopes green with spring trees. Streams trickled over smooth rocks and cascaded in delicate falls from the mountain slopes. White flowers bloomed amidst the grass and ferns, timidly raising their blooming heads in the damp air.

It was a beautiful place — in the twilight, it was almost as beautiful as parts of Cloud Recesses, which in Lan Wangji’s opinion was the most lovely place he had ever been. On this particular day, this forest seemed like paradise. Paradise, after thirteen years of torment.

Wei Ying had apparently tired himself out halfway through the day, though he still wailed and demanded to be let go whenever they passed someone else on the road. When he hadn’t been doing that, he tried to shock the young disciples by starting to undress in front of them, or giggled unnervingly to put them on edge.

Lan Wangji didn’t care. It didn't matter how annoying Wei Ying chose to be. He could have stabbed Lan Wangji through the heart, and he would have accepted it gladly — anything, as long as he knew the one he loved was safe and protected.

The last thirteen years had been full of pain. The agony of his loss had almost killed him at first, more so than even the discipline whip. He had lost his fated person — the only one, man or woman, who had ever stirred love and desire in him — and he knew he would never love another. There was no one for him but Wei Ying.

And after Wei Ying’s death, Lan Wangji had been left grasping for someone who wasn’t there, who would never be there again, and feeling as if someone had torn his heart open and left him to bleed to death. Over time, the immediacy of the pain had dulled, and he found things to do with his life — protect ordinary people, care for the child he had fostered — but the pain itself only never lost its intensity.

He had been reminded of Wei Ying in a thousand little ways, in every hour of every day. Seeing things that would have made him laugh, or tease, or flout the rules with a mischievous grin. The sight of someone drinking wine — especially Emperor’s Smile — or the smell of something spicy. The sound of a flute. A red ribbon. A rabbit. Lotuses. And sometimes he was simply left thinking about what Wei Ying would have thought, what he would have said, about some person or situation.

It had hurt. Every time. But he had clung to the pain. Those memories — those fragments of his presence — they were all Lan Wangji had left in a world that hated Wei Ying.

Until now.

He wasn’t sure what had happened exactly. He had been coming to the rescue of the teenage boys, knowing that something must have gone horribly, dramatically wrong if they had sent up the signal flare. As he approached, he heard a flute playing, and for a moment he had thought that some other cultivator must have come to the rescue. Someone who used a flute as their spiritual weapon.

But then he heard the song that the flute was playing. It was a song he had composed as a youth himself — it had been a way to channel his repressed feelings into music, to give shape to his love for Wei Ying when he couldn’t bear to confess it yet. Only one other person in the world had heard it — and if someone played that tune, it had to be him.

He hadn’t expected that the person playing it would be a woman. But he had recognized Wei Ying anyhow — the way he had moved, the way he had held the flute, the intense look on that unfamiliar face as he controlled those corpses. If there had been any shreds of doubt, they had been dashed when he caught up to Wei Ying afterwards, and seen the look on his face when he looked back at Lan Wangji. The person in front of him had known him, recognized him — and been shocked to see him.

He was certain. More certain than he had ever been of anything in his life. This woman was Wei Ying — alive once again, even if he didn’t know how.

For thirteen years, Lan Wangji had often thought about what he could have done differently in those final days of Wei Ying’s life. Maybe if he had spoken up, or helped Wei Ying sooner, he might have been able to save the man he loved from death.

Now Lan Wangji had a second chance to protect Wei Ying. He wasn’t going to waste it.

Chapter Text

Night fell, with a velvety purple-red sunset behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the encampment in the valley. The air was growing chillier and the wind fiercer, but the juniors had set up a few large campfires. Lan Sizhui had lit them with fire talismans, which would ensure that the fires would burn steadily through the night, and require little tending. But despite the fire, the chill still worked its way through their finely-woven robes.

Lan Wangji barely felt the cold. He barely felt any discomfort. He felt strangely light and whole, as he hadn’t been for a very long time… almost longer than he could remember.

Normally he would have stayed by the larger fireside with the boys, silently eating his food and making sure that they comported themselves as befitted their clan. But on this particular evening, he sat by a much smaller fire, which he had started himself. It was next to a large tree that hung over the heads of the man and woman sitting under it, as if trying to insulate them from any curious ears.

Wei Ying devoured his food as if he hadn’t eaten in years, even though Lan Wangji knew he had eaten earlier. It might be because of the body he now resided in, Lan Wangji reflected. According to Sizhui, the Mo family had been very abusive to Mo Lian, and he couldn’t help but notice how unhealthily thin Wei Ying’s new body was. He would need to make sure that was amended in Cloud Recesses, even if he had to cook the food with his own hands.

When Wei Ying finally put down his bowl, he took an odd sideways look at Lan Zhan. “Aren't you ashamed of yourself?” he asked.

Lan Wangji ate another mouthful of rice. He kept his eyes fixed on the fire, even though all he wanted to do was gaze at Wei Ying’s face.

“I always heard that Hanguang-jun was a noble gentleman. When word gets out that you’re kidnapping innocent women, what will people think of you?”

Lan Wangji swallowed his food, and set his bowl down. “What others think of me doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. He turned his head to gaze into Wei Ying’s eyes, inwardly whispering, You were the one who taught me that.

Without any false humility, Lan Wangji knew the reputation he had acquired over the past two decades was one that most other cultivators envied to the point of weeping blood. He was respected by all, admired by all, and even the ordinary people knew of him by name and praised his willingness to help them with no thought of money or fame. But if Wei Ying needed him — if the one he loved went up against the cultivation world again — he wouldn’t hesitate. He would throw everything away with no regrets.

And no matter what, he would stay by Wei Ying’s side.

That was the only thing that mattered. Lan Wangji didn’t care that Wei Ying didn’t love him. He didn’t care that his fated person — the one person he had ever loved and desired — had rejected him ruthlessly when Lan Wangji finally blurted out his feelings. He didn’t care that defending Wei Ying the last time had left him whipped half to death, imprisoned in his bed, his body brutally scarred for the rest of his life.

All he cared about was that Wei Ying was alive, and near him. He could be happy with that alone — just knowing he was safe. Just being near him as a friend. It was enough.

*

“What others think of me doesn’t matter.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what he had expected Lan Zhan to say, but it hadn’t been that. He said it so calmly and matter-of-factly, as if it were an obvious fact that didn’t need to be explained further.

He’s really changed in thirteen years, Wei Wuxian thought. It wasn’t that Lan Zhan had ever been swayed easily by others’ opinions — if he had, Wei Wuxian would probably have turned him into a rule-breaker long ago. But he had been so deeply indoctrinated by the Lan elders and their thousands of rules that he couldn’t help but be preoccupied by what others thought was right.

But his eyes were calm and steady in the firelight, looking into Wei Wuxian’s face without even a hint of unease. He really meant what he was saying. And maybe it was just Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but the firelight and the steadiness of that gaze seemed to soften that aloof, coldly handsome face. He had never seen Lan Zhan look that way before, only with that unmoving expression of stern disapproval and sometimes flickers of anger.

For a second, Wei Wuxian was caught in those pale, clear eyes, as if he had fallen into a pool of water where he didn’t need to breathe or swim. His lips parted slightly, but he couldn’t think of anything to say — even though he felt like he should. All he knew was that his heart was suddenly hammering against his ribs, as if it were trying to fight its way out.

“Lan Zhan,” he started to say, “you really…”

“Hanguang-jun!”

Lan Sizhui’s voice cut through the night like a knife. White robes flowed and fluttered as the juniors retreated from the fireside, and drew their swords. Instantly, Lan Zhan was on his feet, Bichen unsheathed in his hand, and his face cold and stern once again.

“We saw someone watching the camp!” Lan Jingyi said, pointing into the darkened trees around them.

Instantly, every muscle in Wei Wuxian’s body was as taut as a bowstring. He had had countless enemies before he died — basically the entire cultivation world had turned against him and vowed to see him dead. If even one of his enemies knew that he was alive again, he might not be able to escape alive. He had caused mass carnage during the Sunshot Campaign and the battle at Nightless City, but he had the Yin Tiger Tally in his hands at the time. He had destroyed it shortly before his death, maddened by grief and misery. Maybe he had done it because a part of him wanted to die.

Without that device, he was weaker and vulnerable. He was still powerful despite Mo Lian’s meager spiritual energy — the corpses he had controlled at the Mo estate had proved that — but if any of the major clans attacked him now, he would probably die. He couldn’t raise an army of the dead to defend against an army of the living.

Lan Zhan looked at him sharply, as if sensing his thoughts, then turned and leaped forward. He murmured something to Lan Sizhui, before vanishing into the darkness of the forest in a flash of white and silver.

Immediately Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi and a handful of the others rushed towards Wei Wuxian, forming a rough circle around him with their bodies. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, miss,” Sizhui said in his smooth, pleasant voice. “Hanguang-jun can handle whatever is lurking out there.”

“Are you sure about that?" Wei Wuxian said, trying to sound like he was close to tears.

In truth, he wasn’t particularly worried at all. Lan Zhan had been an unmatched prodigy ever since he was a boy, powerful and skilled. Wei Wuxian was sure that he could handle just about anything he came across, even by himself. Anything roaming through these woods was probably just a shambling corpse, or a small measuring snake, or some other creature that he could dispatch with a single wave of Bichen.

But then an unpleasant thought slipped into his head, like a worm chewing through an apple. That arm at the Mo estate hadn’t gotten there by a wild coincidence. Something that vicious and powerful would have caused far more mayhem in the town if it had been there all along, rather than just killing four people in a single house. These teenage boys wouldn’t have been sent to such a place alone if something that powerful was running amuck. Someone had deposited the arm there deliberately, knowing that it would cause chaos.

And what were the chances that such a thing would happen on the very day that the Yiling Patriarch was brought back to life?

No, that hadn’t been a coincidence. And that dismembered arm with its shard of soul couldn’t be the only body part that was out there. The various other parts would be seeking each other — and each one would be as vicious and powerful as the arm. If the person who left the arm there was following them, and if they had any more body parts, then even someone as powerful and skilled as Lan Zhan might not be able to stand against them…

His flute was in his hand before he even consciously thought about it.

Chapter Text

His flute filled the chilly, darkened woods, as if a songbird was challenging the night by singing after the sun was gone. It wound through the trees like a silver ribbon edged with black, causing dead, dark things to tremble in fear at this demonic cultivator’s approach. Wei Wuxian was sending his will out into the forest, questing for whatever might be out there — especially if it might be something that could harm Lan Zhan.

Go away, his song commanded. Get away from here. Don’t go near the man searching for you.

But fear curled inside him like smoke from a bonfire. That arm didn’t respond to his flute at all, even though it was most definitely a dead thing. All he had been able to do was unleash corpses fueled by hate and rage, and try to destroy it physically. And of course, that particular tactic hadn’t worked — it had taken Lan Zhan and his legendary guqin to subdue the arm, and that was only a temporary measure.

Maybe Lan Zhan could handle a person with more body parts. But Wei Wuxian wasn’t eager to have him take that chance. So he poured everything he had into the flute’s melody, commanding everything that lurked in the forest to avoid the man clad in white with the icy, crystalline sword. But he was still worried — still anxious about what might be waiting just outside of sight—

"What are you doing?” Lan Jingyi asked incredulously. “Don’t stir things up like before!”

Wei Wuxian ignored him. He could hear something now — something metallic, clinking in the distance, like chains — but it was starting to move further away as he shrilly commanded it to go —

Get away from Lan Zhan! Don’t come near him, get far from him! Go!

The clinking sounds vanished completely, leaving nothing but the warm pops and crackles of the fires to fill the still air. Wei Wuxian's heart was hammering against his ribs, and he slowly lowered his flute from his lips. Maybe he should push past the young disciples and go into the woods himself — in case Lan Zhan needed help. On the other hand, he didn’t like the idea of leaving a gaggle of young boys who had only been cultivating for a few years.

Before he could decide, a figure in white appeared among the trees, his flowing robes shimmering in the moonlight. Bichen glinted in Lan Zhan’s hand like a long shard of silver. His face looked as sternly impassive as it had when he ventured into the woods, although Wei Wuxian knew from experience that it wasn't a sign that nothing had been there.

“Hanguang-jun!” the boys cried out.

Lan Zhan smoothly sheathed Bichen as he approached the fires. “Something was there,” he said. “It fled.”

Wei Wuxian chewed on his lower lip. He really wanted to know what had caused the person lurking out there to flee — the powerful and skilled Hanguang-jun, or his order to get as far away from that man as possible. Either was possible, but it was probably better if the person who had been approaching was an ordinary living human. Maybe some little farmer or villager who had just been traveling and was attracted to the firelight.

At least it hadn't been someone with more vicious body parts, he told himself.

And now that he thought about it, he probably should have run out of the campsite when the teenage boys were the only ones between him and freedom. If he had surprised them, he would have been able to run away before Lan Zhan had a chance to come back. They were all stronger than him physically, but he might be fast enough to escape them… or maybe not. His body was still malnourished and had spent years hiding in a decrepit moldy shack, so Mo Lian probably hadn’t been the fittest young woman.

But strangely, the lost opportunity to escape didn’t upset him as much as he had thought it would. It should. It really should. Lan Zhan was dragging him back to Cloud Recesses, the most boring and strict place Wei Wuxian had been in either of his lives. And once he was there… well, he wasn’t sure what Lan Zhan would do, but he knew that he probably wouldn’t like it. He had been fiercely opposed to demonic cultivation a dozen years ago, and what other reason would he have to drag Wei Wuxian back there?

Nervously, he tucked his flute back into his sash as Lan Zhan approached. But Lan Zhan simply walked past him and sat down beside the fire once again, as if nothing had happened to disturb them. Wei Wuxian dropped onto the grass beside him, and stretched out his legs to warm his feet by the fire.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lan Zhan slip a hand into his qiankun pouch, feel around for a moment, and then withdraw a very familiar-looking object — a jar of wine.

Wei Wuxian's eyes widened in mingled disbelief and glee. Lan Zhan had been annoyingly steadfast about the Cloud Recesses rule about no alcohol being allowed, to the point of cracking down on the sublime Emperor’s Smile. What was the point of Gusu having a well-known, delicious liquor if the Lan Clan wouldn’t let you drink it? Yet now he was buying wine for himself. Had he started secretly drinking when away from Cloud Recesses?

But to Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Lan Zhan carefully placed the wine beside Wei Wuxian’s hand, and then picked up his own bowl and resumed eating. If he planned to drink any of the wine, he gave no sign of it.

Wei Wuxian didn’t need a more explicit invitation. He uncorked the jar and drank the wine without the need for a cup. It was smooth and rich, sending warmth creeping through his limbs as he swallowed. As he lowered the wine, a drop of wine clung to his lower lip, and he quickly stuck out his tongue to lick it up.

That was when he noticed that Lan Zhan was watching him with an intent, unwavering gaze. He grinned and raised the wine in one hand. “Do you want some, Hanguang-jun?”

Lan Zhan stared at him — and not at the wine — for a moment longer, and then turned back to his food.

*

That night, Lan Wangji did not sleep.

Normally he would have slept at the hour that all Lan disciples did, spent precisely eight hours peacefully slumbering, and risen before the sun. But on this particular night, he didn’t think it was wise. Not only did someone need to watch the fires, but there was someone lurking in the woods outside their camp who might be a foe. Better to let the youths sleep — they needed it, since they were so much younger, and much earlier in their cultivation.

Furthermore, Lan Wangji wasn’t comfortable leaving Wei Ying unattended during the night. He might still try to slip away, even though he would only be putting himself in more danger if he did.

In fact, Wei Ying didn’t fall asleep until long after the younger disciples had — for a few hours, he simply sprawled under the tree, playing with his flute. Lan Wangji also couldn’t help notice that even though his body was that of a beautiful young woman, Wei Ying still sat and lounged as he had in his life as a man, with his legs apart and languidly stretched on the grass. His face twitched slightly, as he reflected that he would have to talk to Wei Ying about sitting in a more appropriate pose.

But that would wait until later.

Lan Wangji glanced down at the black-clad figure curled up near him, his face peaceful and soft with sleep. Wei Ying only really looked this innocent when he slept, and the mischief and wildness slipped from his features. Once those qualities had bothered Lan Wangji, clashing with the unexpected feelings Wei Ying had stirred in him. The irrepressible youth had been everything he had been warned against, everything he had been told was bad and wrong and harmful. Yet at the same time, his vibrancy had been mesmerizing and infuriating in equal measure.

Now? Now he knew that Wei Ying wouldn’t be who he was without those qualities, even if they could be annoying. Lan Wangji didn’t want him any other way.

He didn’t even really care that Wei Ying no longer looked as he once had. For twenty years, Lan Wangji had seen and remembered Wei Ying as a man — beautiful and slender, but undeniably male in every way. Seeing him in an equally beautiful female body had been a rather significant shock at first. But the important thing was the same soul and the same teasing, mischievous, fiercely independent, vibrant personality. He had seen that familiar brightness in those unfamiliar eyes, and it was as if a missing part of his soul had suddenly reappeared.

Wei Ying murmured something and moved a little closer, pillowing his head on his folded arm.

Lan Wangji looked over at him, his eyes lingering on Wei Ying’s closed eyes, his full lips, his slender throat. Almost against his will, his hand moved to touch Wei Ying’s raven-colored hair. His fingers trembled slightly as the silken locks of hair slipped between them — and then withdrew sharply, as he pressed his hand against his body as if it had been burned.

He couldn’t allow himself to act like this. Wei Ying didn’t love him. He had made that very clear thirteen years ago. It was bad enough when Lan Wangji had lost control that one time and kissed Wei Ying in the woods — the one and only kiss in his entire life. It had been even more painful when, afterwards, he learned that it hadn’t been significant to Wei Ying — that it was only one of many kisses, and possibly more, that he had shared with others.

But still…

He slowly looked back at Wei Ying’s form, and leaned closer. “Wei Ying,” he whispered.

Wei Ying mumbled again… and then wrapped his arms around Lan Wangji’s thigh.

Lan Wangji’s body jerked, as if he had been struck by lightning. A ragged breath escaped from his throat as he looked down at the woman pressing her cheek against his leg.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered, still asleep.

Lan Wangji stopped breathing altogether.

“Mmm, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying mumbled, snuggling closer. “It’s early… let me sleep a little longer… that’s good…” He squirmed so that his head was pillowed against that firm thigh, arms still wrapped around it.

Lan Wangji looked down at the black-clad figure now clinging to him. His chest felt strangely tight. He knew that Wei Ying was only talking in his sleep — that the touch and the intimate murmurs didn’t mean anything. He was only dreaming, and anything could happen in dreams. When Wei Ying woke, nothing would be different from how it was before — either yesterday, or thirteen years before.

Still… Lan Wangji raised one slender hand, and settled it on the dark head resting on his white-clad thigh. Gently, he stroked Wei Ying’s hair, until the fire had burned itself to embers.

Chapter Text

Precisely eight hours after they had gone to sleep, the youths woke up. Almost all of them woke at the same time, as if a bell had rung to waken them — and the few who slept a minute or two longer were quickly woken by their friends. A lifetime of carefully regimented schedules meant that even when they were away from Cloud Recesses, the rhythm of their lives there precisely affected them.

The sun hadn’t yet risen, although the eastern sky was starting to turn a deep blue fringed with red. At the same time, the talismans controlling the fires had almost burned away, leaving piles of pale gray ashes and charred embers.

Lan Wangji watched quietly as the white-clad figures began to rise from the ground where they had slept. Then his pale eyes slowly turned down to the black-clad woman curled up beside him, head still resting on his leg. Wei Ying was still fast asleep, but his fingers still clung to the fine material of Lan Wangji’s robes, as if he were afraid to let go.

If it had only been the two of them, Lan Wangji would have been content to let Wei Ying stay there as long as he wanted. But he had responsibilities to the boys who were following him. The sooner they all returned to Cloud Recesses, the better — not just because of the undead arm in his spirit-trapping pouch, but for Wei Ying’s sake.

Gently, to avoid waking Wei Ying, he slid his hands under his old friend’s head and back, gently sliding him down to the soft grass. He felt a wrench in his chest at the sudden loss. Wei Ying made a faint noise of protest, and then curled up like a shrimp, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped across his stomach. He had always been late to rise when he had lived at Cloud Recesses, so it didn’t surprise Lan Wangji that he was reluctant to wake at the usual time.

“Hanguang-jun!”

Lan Wangji’s fingers brushed over the back of Wei Ying’s hand, as light as a breeze. With a last lingering look, he rose to his feet and straightened his white robes.

Lan Sizhui was directing the other boys in quenching the fires and packing their supplies. These boys had all been on Night Hunts before, and knew about the mundane details that were necessary for sleeping, eating, equipping themselves, but some of them still needed guidance. Lan Wangji had full confidence in Lan Sizhui’s organizational skills; the young man was wise beyond his years, and more capable than many older cultivators Lan Wangji knew.

As Lan Wangji approached, Sizhui came over to him. “Hanguang-jun, was there any sign of anyone nearby while we were asleep?” he asked.

“No," Lan Wangji said. Even with the distraction of Wei Ying, he had kept his ears open for the sound of chains.

Sizhui looked relieved, but the expression quickly faded into concern once again. “Hanguang-jun… about Mo Lian…”

Lan Wangji’s fingers gripped the side of his robe. He had some idea what Sizhui was going to say to him — the entire situation with Wei Ying would look very bad to anyone who didn’t know who Mo Lian really was.

Sizhui seemed to be struggling to express his concern in a respectful way. “Hanguang-jun… it just seems a little concerning that we’re bringing her with us when she doesn’t want it… I know she isn’t well, but I’m not sure what you’re going to do with her. And,” he added nervously, “I don’t think Zewu-jun and the elders will be happy when they find out what has happened.”

The same worries had gone through Lan Wangji’s head the previous day and two nights. He wasn’t sure why Wei Ying had struggled so much about being brought back to Gusu. The demonic cultivator hadn’t enjoyed Cloud Recesses when he was there before, but after everything that had happened… was it possible that Lan Wangji revealing his feelings had repulsed him so much that he didn’t want anything to do with him?

As for Lan Xichen, and their uncle… he knew that neither of them would be pleased, even without knowing that this woman was actually Wei Ying. His brother might keep him a secret, since Lan Xichen was the only one who knew how Lan Wangji felt about Wei Ying. But without knowing that, he wouldn’t be pleased at his brother dragging a madwoman home. Lan Qiren would be even less pleased.

He slowly turned towards the tree where Wei Ying had been sleeping only a moment before… and felt an icy chill. The black-clad woman was gone.

*

When Wei Wuxian awoke the next morning, he felt a strange sense of peace and satisfaction.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that way. After all, he had spent the entire chilly night sleeping on the ground, and while the grass he was lying on was fairly soft, it was no substitute for an actual bed, like the one he had slept in at the hotel. Even worse, the first thing he heard was the loud braying of the donkey and Lan Jingyi shouting at the animal.

But his body felt relaxed and warm, as if someone had been holding him lovingly. He couldn’t remember what he had dreamed about the night before, but he had the feeling that in that dream, someone had been touching him, gently and lovingly. He had felt safe and protected for the first time in a very, very long time — whether living or dead. Now that he had awoken, he felt slightly disappointed that the dream was over.

Wei Wuxian sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking around the campsite. Lan Zhan was some distance away, talking to Lan Sizhui in hushed tones…

… and suddenly Wei Wuxian remembered the last thing he had seen the night before. It had been Lan Zhan sitting before the fire, the elegant planes of his face warmly illuminated by the dancing flames. His pale eyes were usually like cool pools of water, patches of winter sky, but in the firelight they held something else that Wei Wuxian didn’t recognize. While his face was as expressionless as always, his eyes looked both relieved and a little sad.

As he stood up, Wei Wuxian glanced back towards the area where the rattling chains had been heard. The eastern sky was beginning to grow warmer and brighter, but the thick canopy of trees kept the forest as dark and forbidding as it had been during the night. He wandered closer to the edge of the clearing, clutching his flute in one hand, and stared out into the darkness. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but there was something out there.

And then he heard something in the distance, so faintly that he almost thought it was his imagination.

Chains clinking.

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian surged forward into the forest, trying to move lightly so that crunching leaves and twigs wouldn’t block out the sound. He could feel resentful energy churning somewhere ahead of him, and his first instinct was to lift his flute to his lips and draw whatever it was closer to him, so he could figure out what it was and why it had been lurking near their campsite the night before.

Then he saw the source of the sound — a dark figure walking amongst the trees with slow, hesitant, halting steps, as if the person was blind or half-asleep. Their head was bowed, as if they were staring at the ground. Even at a distance, Wei Wuxian could see that the person’s hair was unbound and hanging loose around their face, and that their clothing was dirty and tattered. Long, broken chains trailed behind them, slithering through the undergrowth like iron snakes.

Wei Wuxian ran closer, and peered through the veil of hair over the person’s face. He saw ice-pale skin with black cracks running up the sides of the neck, and a handsome, gentle face that he knew very well.

“Wen Ning?” he whispered.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Wei Wuxian forgot that he now had a woman’s body, and nobody from his old life — except apparently Lan Zhan — could recognize him. He expected Wen Ning to raise his head and look at him, perhaps smile and greet the Yiling Patriarch in the same fond, familiar manner he had in his previous life.

But while Wen Ning raised his head, there was no flicker of recognition in his features. His eyes were pupilless, featureless expanses of white, and his face was empty. He gave no sign that he recognized Wei Wuxian — or that he recognized that there was a person in front of him at all. He was about as aware as one of those shambling low-level corpses that the Lan youths had been sent to deal with. No, possibly less aware.

A chill ran through Wei Wuxian. Someone had done something to Wen Ning — something that had stolen away his mind.

Of course, that didn’t explain why he was there at all. The Wen Clan had been exterminated completely thirteen years ago — the few dozen living Wens had been massacred at the Burial Mounds, and Wen Ning and his sister Wen Qing had both been killed by the Jin Clan. Or at least, that was what Wei Wuxian had been told. If they hadn’t killed him for the second time — if they had kept him chained up for further study —

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. Were the Jin Clan trying to copy what he had done with Wen Ning? Trying to create a fierce corpse stronger than any other, able to think and respond… but under their direct control? If so… what was he doing here, in this place far from the Golden Carp Tower?

“Wen Ning,” he whispered. “Do you understand me? It’s Wei Wuxian!”

No reaction.

Frustrated, Wei Wuxian raised his flute to his lips, and began to play — a sharp but melancholy melody meant to stir up the corpses and ghosts who heard it. If anything could get through to Wen Ning, it would be the music of the man who had raised him into undeath.

His heart leapt as a strange expression crossed Wen Ning’s mask-like face — as if the flute melody had woken him from a very deep sleep, and he wanted to hear more of it. His face turned upward and towards Wei Wuxian, his brows drawing together. but his eyes were still white and blank. Something in the music had touched him enough for a reaction, but not enough to wake him — and no matter how fiercely Wei Wuxian played, Wen Ning didn’t seem to fully come to himself.

Wei Wuxian lowered the flute, and tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn't bring Wen Ning back to the campsite — he had no idea how Lan Zhan might react to the notorious Ghost General’s reappearance. Especially since Wen Ning probably had killed some Lan cultivators, so Lan Zhan might be holding a grudge against him.

… of course, Wei Wuxian had probably killed some Lan cultivators in the Battle of Nevernight. If Lan Zhan had held that against him, he probably would have been cut in half by Bichen two days ago. Still, Wei Wuxian couldn’t drag Wen Ning into Cloud Recesses. He might be able to masquerade as Mo Lian, but there was no hiding Wen Ning’s identity. There was no way Lan Qiren or the stuffy, pompous elders would allow a fierce corpse into their home.

He was still puzzling over what to do when he heard a voice coming from over the hill, echoing through the still morning air.

“— four hundred nets, scattered over the mountain. It should be impossible to for the soul-eating creature to escape.”

Another man replied, in a lower voice that Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite hear.

“Yes, Clan Leader. We’re all ready to cover Mount Dafan and make sure no one else has a chance to…”

Twigs snapped and leaves rustled, and Wei Wuxian realized with horror that someone was coming towards him. He whirled towards Wen Ning and began playing a quick, urgent melody. Find someplace else to hide for now — and keep far away from people!

He was worried that Wen Ning’s strange mindless state would mean that he wouldn’t move quickly — but when the song played, the fierce corpse immediately leaped to the treetops and vanished from sight. The sound of his rattling chains faded away, replaced by the swiftly approaching footsteps of… whoever was coming over the hill.

“You!”

Wei Wuxian flinched, and quickly slipped the flute behind his back. A boy — maybe fourteen years of age — was coming over the hill, with an ornate golden sword in one hand and a longbow in the other. The sword looked vaguely familiar to Wei Wuxian, but he couldn’t exactly place it. The boy also looked somehow familiar; he had finely-drawn features that were somewhat spoiled by the sour look on his face.

“What are you doing, lurking around our—“ The boy stopped abruptly as Wei Wuxian turned around. “Wait — you?”

“Me!” Wei Wuxian said. “Do we know each other?”

The boy scowled. Now that he was closer, Wei Wuxian could see that his rich clothing was ornamented with the Sparks Among Snow peony, a sign that he was a high-ranking member of the Jin Clan. Which, in Wei Wuxian’s experience, meant he was rich, spoiled and probably very rude. The last one was definitely the case.

“I heard you went nuts after my uncle threw you out,” he said sharply. “Did you go so crazy that you’ve forgotten everything?”

“Let’s say that’s exactly what’s happened,” Wei Wuxian said, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I think it’s more likely that you’re just playing stupid,” the boy said contemptuously. “After everything you tried, it’s not surprising that you’d want to pretend you weren't so... disgusting.”

“Yeah, after everything I… wait, what did I do that was disgusting?”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. Keep your distance from me and my family, you… you…” He seemed to be struggling to come up with an insult intense enough to convey his feelings.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what to think. It looked like this boy knew Mo Lian well enough to know precisely why the Jin Clan kicked her out — and he wasn’t sure what she had done that was “disgusting” enough to earn this level of contempt. She had spoken of betrayal in the notes she had left behind… had she perhaps been betrayed by someone who had ruined her reputation in her sect? Or had she really done something wrong and couldn’t bear to admit it?

“Are you listening to me?” the boy asked loudly.

Irritated spiked through Wei Wuxian, and he wheeled around to face the kid with his hands on his hips. “Yes, I was listening to you. I was just wondering what kind of mother teaches a brat like you to talk like that.”

He had expected the boy to get angry and splutter at him. He hadn’t expected the boy’s face to go a stark bone white, then turn an unpleasant shade of red. “You BITCH!” he snarled. The ornate sword was instantly unsheathed in his hand, glimmering gold with spiritual energy.

“Whoa!” Wei Wuxian said, holding up his hands.

The boy swung the sword at him, and a blazing golden glare lashed out towards Wei Wuxian. He automatically raised his arms to protect his face, closed his eyes…

… only for a streak of blue and silver to shoot past him, and shatter the glare with its crystalline blade. When Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, he saw Bichen lodged in the ground in front of him, glowing slightly as it dispersed the boy’s attack. Relief flooded through him, and he knew who was standing on the hill behind him before he even turned around.

“Who—“ the boy spluttered.

Then he saw the tall, white-clad man standing some distance behind Wei Wuxian, his face grave and stern like a disappointed god. He was silent, which somehow made him even more forbidding. The boy’s face blanched again, and he looked incredulously at Wei Wuxian before taking a few steps back, as if afraid that the terrifying Hanguang-jun might attack him outright if he stood too close to this peculiar woman.

“You? What are you doing with…?”

Lan Zhan extended one slender hand, and Bichen flew back to it like a bird back to its nest. The boy choked off his words.

“Lan Zhan!" Wei Wuxian called, a relieved smile crossing his face.

Lan Zhan swept down towards him like a gust of wintry wind, sheathing Bichen as he landed beside the black-clad woman. But though he had sheathed his sword, his long, slender fingers were still clutching Bichen’s hilt, so tightly that his knuckles were white. For a moment Wei Wuxian wondered if Lan Zhan was angry at him for wandering off.

But he didn’t seem to be. Almost immediately, Lan Zhan’s pale eyes turned to Wei Wuxian, slowly moving up and down his body, as if searching for some injury that the youth might have caused him. And for some reason, Wei Wuxian felt strangely embarrassed at the intensity of that gaze, and how thoroughly Lan Zhan was examining him.

When Lan Zhan seemed to be reassured that Wei Wuxian wasn’t hurt, he turned to face the Jin youth, his eyes suddenly full of frost and ice. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to — the youth was clearly afraid of him, and not able to look the tall man in the face.

Then Lan Zhan’s hand clamped around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. “Come,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian let himself be pulled back down the hill by Lan Zhan, struggling a little to keep up with the taller cultivator’s long strides. He had never thought that he would say this, but he was relieved that Lan Zhan had tracked him down — and he could only hope that they didn’t run into that rude youth again.

Chapter Text

As the two walked swiftly through the forest, Wei Wuxian’s mind was consumed by two things. One, he didn’t know where Wen Ning was, and wouldn’t have the opportunity to examine him before they left. Maybe he could summon Wen Ning later — but he had the uncomfortable feeling that Lan Zhan was going to keep an eagle eye on him at all times.

And of course, there was the confrontation with that youth from the Jin Clan. The Jin had despised him during his old life, first because he had refused to surrender the Yin Tiger Tally, and then… because of Jin Zixuan. Pretending to be Mo Lian was obviously a better option since they hadn’t tried to kill her — not that he knew of, anyway — but still not a great one. Especially since he couldn’t remember anything that Mo Lian had done, said or experienced when she was with the Jin Clan.

Could he really pretend that his madness had suppressed — or better, destroyed — his memories? If he could pull that off, it not only would allow him an easy explanation for why he didn’t remember anything, but maybe… just maybe… it might make people go a little easier on him. After all, it would be pretty nasty to bully a woman who couldn’t even remember why she was being bullied, right?

Wei Wuxian was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice that Lan Zhan had stopped until he bumped into the man’s shoulder. “Ah — Lan Zhan. What’s wrong?” he asked.

Lan Zhan slowly turned to face him, his chilly gaze fixed intently on Wei Wuxian’s face. “That boy,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “What about him?”

“He is Jin Ling.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian didn’t remember what the significance of the name was. Then it struck him like an armored fist to the stomach, driving all the air from his lungs. His hand, which had still been clutching Lan Zhan’s sleeve, spasmed into a fist.

Jin Ling. That boy was his senior sister’s child — Jiang Yanli’s beloved baby, who had only been an infant in arms when his parents had both died. And they had both died because of Wei Wuxian, just a few days apart. He hadn't meant for either of them to die — he would have rather died himself than let anything happen to Yanli — but the fact remained that they were only dead because of him.

And both their deaths had accelerated the downward spiral that his life had been locked in. The entire cultivation world had abhorred him before Jin Zixuan’s death, but they had truly decided to destroy him when that had happened. It had led directly to the massacre at the Burial Mounds and the battle at Nightless City — and a suspicious part of him couldn’t help but wonder if Jin Guangshan had been glad it had happened, since it gave him the chance to declare war on the powerful Yiling Patriarch, who had openly defied him in every way.

And when Jiang Yanli had died saving his life… he had simply gone mad. A world without his senior sister was just darkness and death, and that was what he had unleashed with the Yin Tiger Tally, almost on instinct. He didn’t remember anything of the hours that had followed, only a haze of blood, chaos, screams and resentful energy.

Wei Wuxian sank to his knees, his head spinning. It wasn’t enough that he had called Jin Ling a brat — he had brought up his mother, whom Jin Ling had never even really known. If the youth’s reaction was anything to go by, his parents’ loss had been a hard one for him.

Without hesitation, Wei Wuxian slapped himself with his free hand.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, his voice rising slightly.

“I’m an idiot,” Wei Wuxian muttered. He felt like the only thing keeping him from sinking through the forest floor was Lan Zhan’s hand, which was still gripping his wrist tightly.

He remained crouching for a few minutes more, remembering the rage in Jin Ling’s face at the crack about his mother. It made his stomach churn, and a part of him wanted to dash back to where he had encountered the boy and apologize — tell him that he hadn’t known, that he hadn’t meant it. Of course, Jin Ling wouldn’t believe it. After all, as a former member of the Jin Clan, Mo Lian would know what happened to his parents, so there was no pleading ignorance unless he could convince everyone he had lost his memories…

Then Wei Wuxian felt an arm behind his thighs, sweeping his kneeling legs out from under him and flipping him onto his back. Suddenly he found himself being carried in Lan Zhan’s arms, just like he had back in the Mo estate — the same way a groom would carry his bride, with one arm under his legs and the other behind his back.

Wei Wuxian didn't really like the position. It was a little emasculating, though not as emasculating as actually waking up with his member missing. It was also kind of embarrassing to be treated like this, when he was perfectly capable of walking on his own two feet.

“You don’t have to do this,” he protested. “I wasn’t going to run away.”

“Mn,” was all Lan Zhan said.

But the Lan cultivator made no move to put Wei Wuxian down. He simply walked swiftly and smoothly towards the campsite, his strong slender hands gripping Wei Wuxian’s thigh and side and his powerful arms cradling Wei Wuxian as if he weighed nothing. Pressed against Lan Zhan’s chest, Wei Wuxian could feel his heart pounding furiously — though he wasn’t sure why, since Lan Zhan wasn’t even running.

As they came into the campsite, Wei Wuxian twisted around in Lan Zhan’s arms, to get a better look at the youths who were all patiently waiting for their return. One hand clutched at the robes over Lan Zhan’s chest, not thinking about anything except shifting his position — but then he felt the motion press one soft, rounded breast against Lan Zhan’s fingers.

Suddenly the arms under him jerked violently, so much that he thought for a second that he was going to be dropped flat on his back. He flailed wildly, clutching at Lan Zhan’s spotless robes, and uttered a faint “Oh — ah!” Instead, he was quickly and somewhat clumsily placed back on his feet, and Lan Zhan quickly stepped back a few steps, clutching at the offending hand with the other, bowing his head over it.

He was so old-fashioned, Wei Wuxian thought with a hint of annoyance. The Lan Clan kept male and female disciples strictly separated — how any of them managed to fall in love and have lots of little Lan babies, he had no idea — which meant that Lan Zhan probably had never touched a female body before. No wonder he was panicking at touching a breast. Well, technically Wei Wuxian had never touched a breast either — not including the ones on his body now, which he had thoroughly inspected and fondled a few days before. But he knew he wouldn’t freak out like that if he did.

To his surprise, the Lan youths were not alone — a small gathering of people in homespun-looking clothing and straw shoes were speaking to Lan Sizhui. Some of them had spirit-capturing pouches and bundles of talismans, which identified them as cultivators, but they were wearing rougher, homespun robes and straw shoes. Probably rural cultivators who dealt with small-scale problems that larger clans wouldn’t bother with.

As the two adults came towards them, the various rural cultivators bowed quickly to Lan Zhan, bid Lan Sizhui farewell, and headed off down the road ahead.

“They’re headed to a Night Hunt on Mount Dafan," Lan Sizhui explained. “It’s a very important one, because apparently there is a soul-eating fiend that has been ravaging the nearby town. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it that anyone knows of — people simply lose their souls.”

“Are there any inconsistencies?” Lan Zhan asked.

“Well, they did mention one — a girl lost her soul right after her husband was killed. Then it somehow was returned, but she… wasn’t right in the head afterwards.” Lan Sizhui glanced delicately at Wei Wuxian, before adding, “Even worse, her father’s soul was taken after that, and he died soon after. So a Night Hunt has been organized to root it out.”

Lan Zhan bowed his head slightly, shadowing his pale eyes. He seemed lost in thought, with his face betraying no signs of what he was feeling. After a moment, he looked up again, and cast a look at Wei Wuxian. “We will investigate,” he said.

Chapter Text

It was an odd detail about Lan Wangji that he showed almost no emotion on his face. He didn’t actively try to maintain a stoic outer appearance — it was simply the way he was. No emotions showed themselves on his jade-pale, fine-boned features unless he was almost overwhelmed by his feelings. Those who knew him best — such as his brother — had learned to read the tiny details, but everyone else thought him cold. Aloof. Uncaring. Unfeeling.

But he did feel. He felt too much, sometimes.

And as he walked along the road that led to Mount Dafan, he could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest, like a bird throwing itself against the bars of a cage. It hadn’t done that in thirteen years. Not not since that last fateful night on the Burial Mounds, when he had told Wei Ying about his love for him.

He hadn’t meant to upset Wei Ying as much as he had by telling him about Jin Ling. In retrospect, he should have prepared him for the news rather than simply blurting it out. The look of shock and horror in those glimmering black eyes had wrenched at Lan Wangji’s heart — especially since he saw an echo of the grief that had sent Wei Ying into a maddened rampage at Nevernight. His senior sister had been the most beloved person in his life, and she had been slain in front of his eyes.

As if reminding him of that hadn’t been bad enough, Lan Wangji hadn’t meant to touch Wei Ying’s… body… in the way he had. In fact, he had been careful to keep his hands away from anything too intimate. But when Wei Ying had twisted around, one of his breasts had pressed against Lan Wangji’s hand — and it had been like he had been struck by a lightning bolt.

Lan Wangji had always been indifferent to women’s bodies. For that matter, he was indifferent to the bodies of all men other than Wei Ying. Until disciples from the Jiang sect had come to study at Cloud Recesses, when he was fifteen, he had simply believed that he was one of those people born without romantic love or physical desire. No one had ever made him feel anything, no matter how objectively beautiful they were.

But there had been something about that beautiful, lithe youth with the quicksilver tongue and the sparkling eyes that had ignited his desires. Even when Wei Ying was endlessly teasing him, infuriating him with pornography and alcohol. No matter how Lan Wangji fought against his feelings, no matter how fiercely he had tried to discipline himself, they burned away every barrier and boundary he had.

Wei Ying was the only one for him. The only one.

And now that Wei Ying had a woman’s body, Lan Wangji found his eyes tracing the slim contours of his waist, the soft swells of his hips and breasts, the delicate lines of his full lips. And … he couldn’t help but think about what that breast had felt like against his fingers, what it would feel like if he cupped it in his hand…

Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened around the donkey’s reins. It embarrassed him every time he caught himself accidentally looking at Wei Ying’s new body, especially since he knew it wasn’t right to think this way about someone who had made his rejection clear. When they returned to Cloud Recesses, he would spend a long, long time in the cold spring…

“Lan Zhan?”

Wei Ying's voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. Lan Wangji looked over his shoulder at the dark figure sitting on the donkey’s back.

A murmur ran through the juniors at the easy casualness Wei Ying exhibited when he spoke to Lan Wangji. Strangers almost invariably called him by the respectful sobriquet Hanguang-jun, and people who knew him well, like his brother and uncle, called him by the courtesy name Wangji. But this strange woman inexplicably called him by neither name. A person would think they had known each other all their lives and were closer than… well, very close. And yet, Hanguang-jun didn’t seem to mind.

Wei Ying was learning over the donkey’s neck, his long hair falling like a silken curtain over one shoulder. “Lan Zhan, what do you make of the soul-eating fiend on Mount Dafan?” he said.

“Not enough information,” Lan Wanji said.

“I know that,” Wei Ying said, tapping his flute against his knee. “But we already know one thing: this isn’t an ordinary soul-eating creature. They don’t return what they take.”

Lan Wangji contemplated the point for a moment, glad to have something to distract him from his own heated thoughts. Wei Ying was correct — he had never heard of a soul-eating creature that had returned a soul once it had been taken, nor did he have any idea why the creature would do such a thing. That was alarming, because aberrent behavior in supernatural creatures, ghosts and demons was usually a sign of greater danger.

It made things even worse that there were so many people on Mount Dafan. They had passed several groups of cultivators from many different sects and clans — most of them smaller, but some had worn the colors of larger ones like the Jiang sect. In fact, now that Lan Wangji thought about it, there were quite a few Jiang cultivators heading for Mount Dafan, but he hadn’t seen many Jin ones.

His jaw clenched. If Jin Ling was here with the Jiang cultivators, that probably meant that Jiang Cheng was nearby.

Lan Wangji despised Jiang Cheng, and had ever since he led the charge against Wei Ying at the Burial Mounds. It didn’t help that the thin-skinned, violent clan leader had been obsessively paranoid about Wei Ying in the years since. His lust for revenge hadn't been sated by Wei Ying’s death — he wanted suffering and despair as well as death. Whenever he encountered a demonic cultivator, or even someone he suspected of being a demonic cultivator, he dragged them back to Lotus Pier and tortured them half to death, insisting that the person was Wei Ying possessing a body.

Lan Wangji glanced at Wei Ying, and quietly regretted obtaining robes that resembled the ones he had worn in his old life. Despite the feminine appearance, Wei Ying still looked like himself — hair in the same high ponytail tied with a red ribbon, simple black-and-red robes, and that impish smile that promised torment for whomever he chose to tease. Even as a woman, Jiang Cheng would look at him and immediately think of Wei Ying — and that was all it would take.

“Wei Ying,” he said quietly. “I need to warn you—“

But he was interrupted by a bright golden flash of light from the woods nearby, near the bottom of the mountain's slopes. His hand immediately grasped Bichen’s icy hilt, ready to draw his blade if anything emerged from the woods. He was fairly sure that whatever was abroad would be no match for himself and Wei Ying, but still…

Behind him, he heard the youths muttering amongst themselves as they drew their own swords. Wei Ying looked back at them, then jumped down from the donkey’s back.

“Hanguang-jun?" Sizhui asked hesitantly.

And then the sound of voices came in the distance — faint at first, then howling with fear and despair.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as he sprang from the donkey’s back — and was almost immediately knocked forward as the irritable beast kicked at him. His hair felt like it was standing on end at the thought of what might have just happened — if people were screaming, that might mean that the soul-eating creature might have attacked. They might have only seconds to get to the people in the woods —

No. Now that he listened more carefully, he could hear voices cursing amidst the louder cries. And more than one voice calling, “Let us go!” They wouldn’t do that if something was sucking out and devouring their souls. It sounded more like a fight had broken out, or something was restraining them without hurting them.

But Lan Zhan had already seized his arm and leaped across the meadow to the edge of the woods, as airy and light as a silk scarf on the wind. The voices became louder as they landed on a gentle slope filled with thick-trunked trees, with sunlight dappling the grassy ground. There was no sign of any soul-eating creature around — or any other monster, for that matter.

Instead, there was a massive golden net up among the trees boughs, with several struggling people firmly trapped in it. Wei Wuxian sighed with relief. An immortal-binding net was expensive and very effective, but it wasn’t actually dangerous to the people who had been caught up in it. It was only dangerous if something — or someone — deadly came across the people when they were helpless. However, it was virtually impossible to free oneself from, unless a person had a powerful sword.

As if reading his thoughts, Lan Zhan unsheathed Bichen and sent it flying through the air. A streak of blue-silver light arced up to the net and sliced through the golden net’s fibers, sending several struggling figures to tumble to the ground. It moved almost faster than Wei Wuxian’s eyes could follow, and then smoothly flew back to Lan Zhan’s hand. He slid it back into its sheath as smoothly as it had left it.

There was something almost breathtaking about watching him, Wei Wuxian thought. Lan Zhan had always been a prodigy, well-known and well-regarded even as a fifteen-year-old. But as a grown man, he was the very image of a glorious immortal, with his elegant bearing and beautiful features. He effortlessly displayed the power, poise and skill that most cultivators could only dream about, and most could never even come close to matching.

The cultivators who had been rudely dropped to the ground scrambled and clambered up to their feet, before seeing who it was who had freed them.

“Hanguang-jun!” one of the women cried.

“Hanguang-jun saved us!” a man added.

They stammered out their gratitude to Lan Zhan, who stoically accepted their thanks without a word. Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to sidle into sight, his arms folded across his chest — which was a little less comfortable than it had been thirteen years ago.

“You’re here for the Night Hunt for the soul-eating creature?” he asked.

“That’s right,” an older man said, brushing grass from his sleeves. “It’s very challenging, so we’re hoping to get some notice if we can find it. But these nets are everywhere — we passed at least six or seven on the way here, some with people inside. We couldn’t free them, so we just — went on our way. Until this happened.”

Wei Wuxian felt a stab of irritation. Someone wealthy must be setting themselves up for an advantage in the Night Hunt — not because of skill or power, but simply by setting up as many traps as possible. And clearly they didn’t care if they took out competitors with the nets as well, or if those unfortunate people were unable to escape the soul-eating creature when night came around.

Lan Sizhui and the other junior Lan disciples approached as the other cultivators left. “Hanguang-jun!” Lan Jingyi called out. “That light, was it—“

Lan Zhan’s only response was for Bichen to soar out of his hand again, darting among the trees like a silver swallow — and then out of sight. Wei Wuxian kept waiting for the sword to come flying back to its master, but it didn’t. At least, it wasn’t right away. He had a pretty good idea what Bichen was doing at Lan Zhan’s command, and the thought made him smile.

He sidled over to the slashed golden net, and prodded it with the toe of his boot. “You know who set these up, don’t you, Lan Zhan?” he asked.

Lan Zhan looked at him impassively, and nodded once.

“Who is it?”

Lan Zhan’s pale eyes flickered slightly, and he glanced up at the thickly-forested slopes of Mount Dafan. Now that Wei Wuxian followed his gaze, he could see little flashes of icy blue light appearing amidst the heavy lower boughs of the trees — each one presumably leading to another fallen net. His eyes widened. Just how many nets had this person set up on he mountain? One would be ruinously expensive — but if Bichen’s flight was anything to go by, there were dozens set up all over the mountainside.

“Whoever it is, they have way too much money to throw around,” he muttered.

It took several minutes before Bichen returned, slicing through the air like a shard of ice before landing safely in Lan Zhan’s hand. He examined the transparent, shimmering blade for a moment, as if worried that slicing down that many nets might have dulled it. Then he carefully sheathed it once more, and turned to face Wei Wuxian.

“We should go,” he said in a low voice.

“Before the person who set up the nets shows up, you mean?” Wei Wuxian said.

“Mn.”

Maybe it was Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but he had the feeling that Lan Zhan wanted to get this entire investigation over as quickly as possible — and not just because of the nets. Did he really want to get Wei Wuxian back to Cloud Recesses that badly, now that he had trapped him after all these years? Or was it because of the dismembered arm in his spirit-trapping pouch? He wasn’t sure, and he was starting to feel uneasy about the fact that Cloud Recesses was looking more inviting than this place.

Then Lan Zhan was suddenly right in front of him, so close that Wei Wuxian could have touched him simply by raising his hand. The clean, strangely soothing scent of sandalwood filled the air around him. Those strikingly pale eyes seemed to pierce through him — and Wei Wuxian found that he couldn’t look away from them.

“Lan Zhan—“ he said, sounding a little wobbly.

“Be silent,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

And just as swiftly, he had turned around so that Wei Wuxian was facing the back of his neck — and the long, flowing ends of his ribbon, temptingly fluttering in the wind.

Wei Wuxian blinked in confusion, and poked Lan Zhan in the middle of the back. “Lan Zhan, what’s going on?” he said in a low voice. When the white-clad man said nothing, he poked again.

“Hanguang-jun,” one of the boys suddenly spoke up, “should we take Lady Mo away from here?”

“It’s too late,” Lan Zhan said.

“Too late?” Wei Wuxian said. “Too late for what?”

Then he heard footsteps, swift and steady, and the sound of expensive robes swishing over the grass. Several people — probably at least a dozen. Though he couldn’t see these new arrivals, from his vantage point he could clearly see the Lan youths, who immediately filed into two lines behind Lan Zhan. Judging by Lan Sizhui’s solemn expression, and Lan Jingyi’s rather sour one, they weren’t looking forward to this.

Wei Wuxian was about to step out from behind Lan Zhan when a tight, sharp voice cut through the quiet air.

“I suppose I should have expected Second Young Master Lan to be involved in this. You’re known for being ‘where the chaos is,’ after all.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, and his hand clutched at Lan Zhan’s sleeve. Out of all the people in the world, he had to run into someone whom he had known in his old life.

Jiang Cheng.

Chapter Text

Calm down, Wei Wuxian told himself. There was nothing to be frightened of. There was no possible way that Jiang Cheng could recognize him in his current body — it probably wouldn’t even occur to him that the woman with Lan Zhan could be his former martial brother. It wasn’t like Jiang Cheng knew about the sacrificial ritual — that sort of dark, forbidden magic was the sort of thing he abhorred, especially after he and Wei Wuxian had fallen out —

“I would have thought that an ordinary Night Hunt wouldn’t be of interest to you,” Jiang Cheng continued, a hint of a sneer in his voice. “Since you don’t care about the fame this would bring you.”

The only response from Lan Zhan was a frosty silence. He had always been quiet, and he was usually standoffish and cold — but the quiet that emanated from him now was almost aggressively icy. It was a silence that screamed, “I will not speak to you, or acknowledge you, or allow anything you say to provoke me. Go to hell.” Not, Wei Wuxian reflected, that he could imagine Lan Zhan saying “go to hell” out loud.

“Clan Leader Jiang,” Lan Sizhui said in a cordial tone, “Hanguang-jun came here out of concern for the attacks on the nearby village.”

“How very considerate of him,” Jiang Cheng snapped.

Lan Zhan turned his head imperceptibly, and lowered his eyelids slightly. Wei Wuxian had no idea what the gesture meant, but fortunately it seemed to mean something to Lan Sizhui.

“Huangang-jun does not intend to interfere in the Night Hunt unless circumstances demand it,” the boy said in the same calm, measured voice.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s more than enough that Second Young Master Lan is gracing us with his presence.”

The insult in Jiang Cheng’s words was more than obvious. Calling Lan Zhan “Second Young Master Lan” rather than his sobriquet made it sound as if he were talking about a mere youth — and the second-born one at that — rather than an experienced and powerful cultivator. It might have been an appropriate way to describe him when the two had first met at fifteen, but that had been almost twenty years in the past.

And there was something else in Jiang Cheng’s words that made Wei Wuxian’s blood run cold. It was the anger.

Granted, Jiang Cheng had always had a very short temper — in Wei Wuxian’s old life, Jiang Cheng had stabbed and strangled him at different times. Wei Wuxian remembered vividly that, even before his parents’ deaths, Jiang Cheng was always getting embarrassed or anxious, and it would end up spurting out as misplaced anger. Wei Wuxian himself had been the target of much of that anger, especially since he wasn’t a high-born person like Nie Huisang or Lan Zhan, but he had laughed it off as nothing to be worried about.

But the anger in Jiang Cheng’s voice now was something else — deeper, thicker, more rancid. It was anger that had spent years coagulating like a blood clot, constantly festering rather than rising and then ebbing away.

And Wei Wuxian had the uncomfortable feeling that it had something to do with him.

Almost without thinking, he pressed himself against the back of Lan Zhan’s body. Despite his slender, ethereal appearance, Lan Zhan felt solid and powerful, and up close, he suddenly seemed even taller than before. Wei Wuxian felt the strong muscles in Lan Zhan’s back stiffen at the unexpected touch, including — without his intention — those troublesome breasts pressing against the Lan cultivator’s shoulder blades. Wei Wuxian’s hand immediately gripped the taller man’s elbow before he could move away.

For a moment, he held his breath. Lan Zhan hated being touched — he actively avoided it, or at least he had thirteen years ago. Wei Wuxian would be lucky if Lan Zhan didn’t immediately shove him to the ground, or at least pull away from him —

But Lan Zhan didn’t move away from Wei Wuxian. His tall, slender body was completely motionless except for his breathing, and it felt unexpectedly warm. Wei Wuxian had only intended to get closer in order to avoid being seen by Jiang Cheng, but the feeling of being close to Lan Zhan was oddly exhilarating. His heart was racing like a rabbbit’s, and the scent of sandalwood seemed to be wafting around him. His fingers brushed against the back of Lan Zhan’s arm, while the other hand came to rest in the middle of his back —

“What are you hiding?”

Jiang Cheng’s voice cut through the air as sharply as Bichen just had. Wei Wuxian yelped, and his fingers clutched at Lan Zhan’s elbow.

Despite Jiang Cheng’s harsh tone, Lan Zhan didn’t move a muscle. None of the younger Lan disciples behind him said a word, but Wei Wuxian saw their eyes flicker towards him. Even though he couldn’t see Jiang Cheng, he knew that his martial brother was not going to be convinced that no one was standing behind Lan Zhan. Still clutching Lan Zhan’s sleeve, he crept out from behind him.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t really changed much in thirteen years. His purple clothing was a little more elegant than it had been, and his bearing was haughtier. But like Lan Zhan, he looked as if he hadn’t aged a day, and the anger simmering in his eyes wasn’t too different. Okay, it was more intense than before.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened as Wei Wuxian stepped out, and Wei Wuxian winced. Lan Zhan had obtained robes for him that looked a lot like the ones he had worn when he was a man, and his hair was bound back in the same fashion. There was no way Jiang Cheng could look at someone — even a woman — and not think about his former martial brother with clothing and hair like that.

“Who the hell is THAT?” Jiang Cheng snapped.

Wei Wuxian deliberately cowered behind Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Lan Zhan remained completely silent, as if unwilling to even acknowledge Jiang Cheng’s existence. The only thing that showed he was paying attention was his light eyes, which were warily watching the other man.

“This woman is traveling with us to Gusu,” Lan Sizhui said calmly. “She lost her family in an… incident, and Hanguang-jun is taking her in.”

“How generous of him,” Jiang Cheng said tightly.

“Just because YOU wouldn’t do it…” Lan Jingyi muttered.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes were as hard and bright as diamonds, but he didn’t seem to have heard the boy’s comment. Instead, he seemed to be focused on the dark figure behind Lan Zhan.

“You, woman!” he snapped. “Come out so I can see you clearly.”

“I won’t!” Wei Wuxian said loudly.

“You—“

“I want to stay with Hanguang-jun!” Wei Wuxian threw his arms around Lan Zhan from behind, digging his fingers into the airy light robe over his chest. “I don’t trust you. Stay away from me or I’ll scream.”

“She means it,” Lan Jingyi piped up.

Clearly irritated, Jiang Cheng took a step forward — and Lan Zhan suddenly reacted, stepping to the side to block Wei Wuxian’s body completely with his own. Bichen sprang an inch out of its sheath, its crystalline blade glimmering like ice in the sun. The message was clear without the powerful Hanguang-jun having to utter a word: Come any closer to her, and I’ll make you regret it.

Wei Wuxian clung even more tightly to Lan Zhan’s back, his cheek pressed against the ink-black curtain of hair, his breasts squashed uncomfortably against Lan Zhan’s lower ribs. One of his hands was clutching at the left side of Lan Zhan’s chest — and despite the Lan cultivator’s cool, unruffled demeanor, Wei Wuxian could feel a wild, powerful thumping against his fingers. Apparently Lan Zhan wasn’t as calm as he seemed. Was he afraid of Jiang Cheng, or had something upset him?

“Clan Leader!”

One of the Jiang disciples came running up, panting and clearly frightened. Jiang Cheng turned to face him. “What now?” He snapped.

“It’s the immortal-binding nets, sir! They’re slashed — all of them!”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened. “All four hundred?”

Four hundred? Wei Wuxian almost choked. What did he need four hundred nets to accomplish? Jiang Cheng had always been competitive, but this was ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was bad at Night Hunting either!

Jiang Cheng seemed to realize who was probably at fault for the nets, because he immediately shot a scathing look at Lan Zhan. His hand twitched, and Wei Wuxian flinched automatically. He could see Zidian’s ring on Jiang Cheng’s finger — he had barely ever taken it off after his mother gave it to him — and for one heartstopping moment, he had to wonder if Jiang Cheng’s rage was great enough for him to attack Lan Zhan, whom Wei Wuxian was confident he couldn’t beat.

Purple sparks seemed to dance on Jiang Cheng’s hand... and then died away. He seemed to have decided not to fight — not yet, anyway — and he turned and walked away without another word. The dozens of Jiang disciples followed him swiftly, without a look back at the white-clad Lan cultivators, or the black-clad woman clinging to Hanguang-jun as if he were the only thing keeping her from drowning.

With Jiang Cheng gone, Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and sighed in relief. That had been uncomfortably close — and even if the destruction of his nets had distracted Jiang Cheng, he probably would still be suspicious of a woman dressed in Wei Wuxian’s style. Maybe he should ask one of the youths if they had a spare white robe he could try on—

“Er, Lady Mo,” Lan Sizhui said in a polite voice. “Perhaps you could let Hanguang-jun go?”

Shock ran through Wei Wuxian as he realized he was still clinging to Lan Zhan, and he quickly released him. Strangely, he felt a little sad to do so — as if he had gotten used to holding that warm, firm body against himself. It had felt kind of… nice.

Lan Zhan turned around to face the juniors, his face as impassive as ever. “We’ll start investigating near here,” he said. “Look for caves.” Then he glanced down, and Bichen slid back into its sheath.

Wei Wuxian followed him as he began walking swiftly through the woods again. He looked as unruffled as he always did, as if nothing could touch him. But then Wei Wuxian remembered the pounding of his heart, fierce and powerful, and wondered what had happened that could have upset this pillar of ice in human form.

Chapter Text

Ever since he had met Wei Ying, Lan Wangji had tried to keep his desires under control.

In his younger years, he had spent countless hours soaking in the cold spring or standing on his hands to learn proper discipline over his carnal lusts. It was he way of his sect, remnants of Lan An’s youthful existence as a monk. But it had all been in vain. Not only had he lost control one time, kissing Wei Ying passionately when the other young man had been blindfolded, but his thoughts and dreams were still full of the beautiful young man. Nothing could quench his feelings.

… and Wei Ying’s rebirth had changed nothing.

When the demonic cultivator had pressed against him, locking his arms around Lan Wangji’s body, it had taken all of his self-control to not respond. He had stood there with his heart pounding, his blood burning in his veins, trying to focus on keeping Jiang Cheng away from Wei Ying. And yet all he wanted to do was turn around, crush that unfamiliar body into his arms, and kiss Wei Ying’s lips until he gasped for air.

Lan Wangji walked swiftly through the forests around Mount Dafan, with Wei Ying only a few steps behind him. His heart was still racing, but now it also felt a dull, heavy ache.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said breathlessly behind him. “Could you walk a little slower?”

Lan Wangji slowed his pace. He had forgotten that Wei Ying’s legs were shorter in this new body, and years of abuse and malnutrition had left him with less stamina. He still managed to chatter most of the time while they were walking — only the most devastating tragedies had robbed him of his voice. As annoying as it could be, Lan Wangji could have listened to him talk about nonsense all day long. It meant he was happy.

They took a break by a small stream, where Wei Ying knelt down on the mossy rocks to take a long, lingering drink. Lan Wangji watched him unblinkingly as Wei Ying gulped down the cool, clear water — the sparkle of the droplets on his lips, the sunlight reflecting on his rumpled dark hair, the smooth arc of his back as he bent down to the stream.

The dull ache in Lan Wanji’s heart grew even more intense. Wei Ying had always tormented him, from their very earliest days — teasing Lan Wangji had been one of his favorite occupations during his months at Cloud Recesses. With alcohol, with pornography, with constant jabs about how uptight, old-fashioned and fussy he was. It had taken him years to realize that Wei Ying didn’t mean any harm. Teasing was just a part of who he was, and he hadn’t done it with intent to hurt Lan Wangji’s feelings.

But it still hurt this time.

Thirteen years ago, Lan Wangji had poured out his feelings for Wei Ying in front of him. He wasn’t an eloquent man like his brother, with no gift for poetry or expression. When it came time to explain himself, he had struggled to tell Wei Ying how he felt with his sparse words. He had told Wei Ying bluntly and openly what he felt — that he loved him, that he had always loved him, and that his life would be barren and icy without him. He would fight the four clans, including his own — he would take him away from this bloodshed and chaos, find somewhere far away where they could be safe —

And Wei Ying had looked at him with red-rimmed, angry eyes, and snarled, “Get lost!”

There was no way that Wei Ying didn’t realize how it would affect Lan Wangji to… hold him… like that. To press their bodies tightly together and caress his chest, like a lover would. Why was he torturing Lan Wangji like this, mocking his love by acting as though he didn’t know how he felt? Did he think those feelings were funny somehow? That thirteen years of loss and pain were something to tease over?

It was cruel. Painful, and cruel.

And yet… Lan Wangji could endure it. He WOULD endure it. He would endure any pain, any humiliation, if he could see Wei Ying’s sparkling eyes, his smile like the warmest rays of the summer sun, and know he was safe and alive. He would rather be mocked and teased by Wei Ying’s side than live another moment without him. It sounded pitiful, but it was the way he felt.

*

Wei Wuxian still felt a jolt of unease whenever he looked at his reflection. Even though his mind consciously knew that this wasn’t his original body, it still came as a shock to him whenever he saw an unfamiliar woman’s face staring back at him. That face was gazing up at him from the streambed, rippling gently in the sunlight — but he still didn’t feel as if he fully recognized it.

He suddenly felt a stab of sorrow for the loss of his old body. His original body. It had been a good one — healthy, nimble, athletic, resilient and attractive enough that he had been ranked as the fourth most handsome young man in their entire society. Considering the ones above him had included Lan Zhan and his almost identical older brother Lan Xichen, it wasn’t that bad to be ranked fourth.

It was probably ungrateful of him to wish that Mo Lian had been a man. He was supremely lucky to have been given a second chance at life at all, and even luckier that he hadn’t actually had to kill anyone to earn that chance. Still… nobody could blame him for being unhappy that his body had so completely and drastically changed, could they? It would take time to get used to.

At least he had Lan Zhan.

The thought was so unexpected that he almost slipped off the rock he was perched on. Where had that come from? He had spent the previous two days wailing and trying to escape from Lan Zhan, who was dragging him to the last place — okay, one of the last places — that he wanted to go in the world. He should want to get as far away from the man as possible.

But instead, he couldn’t help but remember the warm, solid feeling of Lan Zhan’s body, and how nice it had felt to hang on to him. And even if he was dragging Wei Wuxian back to Gusu, he had also protected him from Jiang Cheng — and in Wei Wuxian’s current state, he needed all the help he could get. Mo Lian’s weak cultivation and malnourished body wouldn’t serve him well in a fight against someone as strong as Jiang Cheng.

“Lan Zhan—“ he started to say.

But then he caught a glimpse of something moving out of the corner of his eye, and sprang up. It was an old man dressed in rich funerary robes, blood trickling from a savage wound on the side of his head.

"My head…” he was moaning. “My head… it hurts…”

Wei Wuxian’s lips pressed together as he slowly rose to his feet. “Lan Zhan,” he called again.

The white-clad man was beside him almost instantly.

“That’s a ghost,” Wei Wuxian said grimly.

“Mn.”

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

Lan Zhan’s light eyes flickered over to the moaning ghost, his fingers brushing Bichen. “It has not been eaten,” he said in a low voice.

“Right,” Wei Wuxian said. An ordinary soul-eating creature would have emptied the entire area of ghosts long ago, especially since it had plagued the region for a while. Yet he could tell that this ghost was not a newly-dead one. He had probably been hanging around the mountain for months — a hapless, perfect meal for a soul-eating creature. Yet he was still roaming through the woods, moaning about his head.

A cold prickle ran down Wei Wuxian’s spine. When it came to Night hunting, anything that deviated from the norm was cause for concern, because it usually meant that it was something more powerful and unpredictable afoot. And if that was the case, then it wasn’t something that lesser cultivators or youths could handle. It might not be something that even Lan Zhan could handle alone.

“Let’s find the boys,” Wei Wuxian said grimly, walking back the way they had come. Lan Zhan followed just behind him, his hand on Bichen’s hilt.

Chapter Text

The sun was starting to sink into the west, and the sky was growing darker by the time Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan found the cave. It wasn’t hard to find — a large cavity in the side of the mountain, with a well-beaten path leading up to it. Clearly people came here frequently, probably from the nearby village. Several cultivators were already there, and among them Wei Wuxian could see the white-clothed figures of the young Lan disciples.

Fortunately, there was no sign of Jiang Cheng. A few Jiang cultivators, but not their leader. Wei Wuxian released a sigh of relief, though his hand was still fiercely clutching Lan Zhan’s sleeve.

“Hanguang-jun!”

Lan Sizhui broke away from a small cluster of his friends, and approached them quickly but gracefully. Wei Wuxian smiled a little as the boy began reporting to Lan Zhan. He seemed like a good kid — intelligent, kind to everyone, capable and earnest, upholding their countless rules without seeming as if he were condemning those who didn’t. If Lan Qiren showed off the Lan traditions at their worst — petty, pedantic and rigid — then this youth showed them at their best.

Lan Zhan inclined his head slightly, “Have you found any sign of the soul-eating creature?” he asked.

“No, nothing. Other cultivators have been hunting for it all day, but none of them have found any trace of it either. Some are becoming extremely frustrated, and a few doubt whether it’s even on Mount Dafan.”

Wei Wuxian chewed his lower lip. “Something is definitely here,” he said, glancing around. “Souls have been stolen in the area, and that doesn’t just happen without something sinister. The question is why it discriminates in what souls it takes, and what the pattern is.”

Lan Sizhui looked slightly confused, and stared at Wei Wuxian for a moment. Wei Wuxian was a little confused by the boy’s gaze, until he realized that he was acting perfectly sane after a few days of pretending to be mad. He had been so wrapped up in figuring out where the soul-stealing creature was that he had forgotten to keep up his act. Especially since he had spent the afternoon with Lan Zhan, who had already figured out who he was, and thus hadn’t had to keep up the act for a while.

Well, there wasn’t any helping it. He could try to think of an excuse for his suddenly-rational behavior later, after they had dealt with the problem at hand. Avoiding Lan Sizhui’s gaze, he glanced over at the mouth of the cave and hummed faintly under his breath.

Lan Zhan seemed to have noticed the dilemma he was in, because he swiftly interjected, “The soul-eating creature seems to only pursue the living. Gather the other disciples together, and do not take any unnecessary risks.”

“Yes, Hanguang-jun,” Lan Sizhui said respectfully.

As the boy left, Wei Wuxian sighed in relief. But as he glanced back at Lan Zhan, an odd thought crossed his mind — how had Lan Zhan recognized him? By all rights, he shouldn’t have, since he was in a new body. Yes, he was using a flute to perform demonic cultivation, but he knew that plenty of other people had adopted the same instrument in imitation of the Yiling Patriarch. That alone shouldn't have tipped Lan Zhan off.

“Lan Zhan,” he said in a low voice, stepping a little closer.

Lan Zhan looked at him expectantly.

“How did you know it was me? Back at the Mo estate?”

Lan Zhan’s pale eyes searched his face for a moment. Then he turned his head away slightly, clearly not intending to answer.

“Oh, come on,” Wei Wuxian coaxed. “You have to at least give me a hint.”

Lan Zhan shook his head, once.

“I must have done something that gave me away. Lan Zhan, please tell me what it is.”

“Think carefully.”

“I have! I don’t know what it is.” Wei Wuxian tugged at his loose sleeve, but Lan Zhan didn’t budge. “Lan Zhan, think of it this way — if I do whatever it is in front of someone else like Jiang Cheng, it might give me away.”

“It won’t,” Lan Zhan said with ironclad confidence.

Wei Wuxian frowned. He had done a few things with Lan Zhan that he hadn’t done with anyone else, like the killing of the Slaughter Xuanwu. But that didn’t have anything to do with his actions at the Mo household, and he couldn’t think of anything he might have done around the Lan cultivator that could have given him away. Lan Zhan had barely even seen Wei Wuxian in his new body before he descended on him and carried him off into the night.

Had Lan Zhan just made a lucky guess that happened to be correct? No, he wouldn’t abduct a random woman he hadn’t even spoken to for the miniscule chance that Wei Wuxian was possessing her. Not unless he had changed a great deal in the last thirteen years, anyway.

He glanced over his shoulder, and sighed. “Come on. Let’s see what’s inside the cave.”

The inside of the cave was dark and slightly musty, lit only by candles placed all around in hollows and protrusions. There was also a faint rotten sweetness in the air, as if something were decaying. It took Wei Wuxian’s eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness, and he stayed close to Lan Zhan’s side as they approached the back of the cave. Something very tall was looming over the humans who had ventured into the cave.

It was the figure of a woman, her arms and leg raised as if she were dancing. At least, that was what it looked like — it was a little crude and rough around the edges, as if the one sculpting it hadn’t actually finished yet. But the figure and face of a woman were unmistakable; it was just the details that needed to be added. Someone had placed a simple wooden altar in front of her, and offerings had been left there.

So she was a goddess, Wei Wuxian realized. Probably some kind of local deity that was worshiped by the people of the nearby village. He just wasn’t sure why she was worshiped in a dank cave like this, rather than having a proper shrine in the village itself.

“… natural formation,” one of the other cultivators was saying to another. “Someone stumbled across a rock that was shaped like a dancing woman, and they started worshiping it.”

“It does look a lot like a woman,” the other said contemplatively. “I’ve heard of other village gods that came from similar circumstances.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. So that explained why the statue was in this cave — it had formed here first, and the worship had sprung after that. He glanced up at the statue’s face, high above him and lit by flickering flames. She had a strange, unearthly smile, and though Wei Wuxian couldn’t put his finger on why, there was something about her serene air that made goosebumps run down his spine.

He glanced over at Lan Zhan, who was looking around the cavern at the various cultivators, as if worried about who might be present. Probably on the lookout for Jiang Cheng, who wouldn’t let a little thing like four hundred immortal-binding nets keep him from catching his prey. Wei Wuxian felt a flood of gratitude for Lan Zhan’s presence — encountering Jiang Cheng alone would probably get him killed. Or worse. But as long as he stayed close to Hanguang-jun…

“This is pathetic,” a voice said, echoing sharply through the cave.

Wei Wuxian stiffened, his hand clutching at Lan Zhan’s sleeve. He had only heard the voice once before, but it already sent a jab of fear through his chest. Jin Ling.

The youth was standing in the mouth of the cave, outlined by the reddish light of the setting sun. Wei Wuxian quickly ducked his head down and started to move sideways, into the shadows. But Lan Zhan moved more quickly, sweeping around him and placing himself between Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling. He was bigger than Wei Wuxian in every dimension now, and easily hid him from sight.

But Wei Wuxian couldn’t resist putting a hand on Lan Zhan’s elbow, and peering around him, just enough to see Jin Ling. He could see the resemblance now — he definitely resembled Jin Zixuan, and there were hints of Jiang Yanli’s looks in the mouth and nose. Unfortunately, he seemed to have inherited his father’s youthful arrogance — the arrogance that had put him at loggerheads with Wei Wuxian — and none of his mother’s gentleness and kindness. Of course, with someone like Jiang Cheng teaching him how to behave…

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “Who in the Jin Clan is—“

But his words cut off abruptly, as one of the cultivators who had been speaking before collapsed in a heap.

Chapter Text

The man fell to the ground without the slightest sign of life — he might as well have been a collection of rags and sticks in a sack. His head smacked against the small altar, knocking a decayed persimmon to the cave floor. Gasps and exclamations of shock rang out, and a few people ran from the cave.

Then someone in the crowd shouted, “His soul! Something took his soul!”

Fortunately, most of the people in the crowd were scuttling away from the fallen man, as if losing your soul was contagious. Wei Wuxian was able to get to him with little trouble, rolling the fallen man onto his back. The unfortunate cultivator’s eyes stared sightlessly upward, and his mouth was slack; he was still breathing, but shallowly.

Wei Wuxian felt someone settle beside him, and one strong, slender hand reached past him and touched the man’s wrist. He looked up sharply, watching Lan Zhan’s face as he studied the man’s qi. His face showed no obvious emotion, but his lips had thinned slightly, and his eyes were moving over the dead-looking face. Finally, he looked at Wei Wuxian, and shook his head.

“I can’t believe it,” Wei Wuxian muttered. “There wasn’t anything in this cave, or we would have noticed it. No evil creature like that would sneak into this cave when it’s full of cultivators.”

Unless…

Unless…

Unless it had been in the cave all along.

Pieces clicked together in Wei Wuxian’s head, and his eyes slowly rose to meet Lan Zhan’s. He couldn’t tell if the Lan cultivator was having the same thoughts he was — damn Lan Zhan’s stoic face! — but he needed to make sure Lan Zhan knew what they were up against. If he was right — if the statue was the culprit — then he needed to get as many people as possible away from —

“Lan Zhan,” he said in a low voice. “It’s not a fiend or a demon. It’s the goddess.”

Then someone scoffed loudly, and Wei Wuxian’s blood froze. Jin Ling.

“See? Praying to that thing doesn’t actually work. The gods have enough problems on their own without coming to help mortals with all their problems. He prayed and the soul-eater still got him.” The boy came closer, apparently not having noticed the identity of the two people crouched beside the soulless man. “If it worked, I’d just make this wish: I wish the soul-eater would—“

“Don’t!” Wei Wuxian screamed, leaping to his feet. “Don’t say it!”

“—appear in front of me now,” Jin Ling finished at the exact same time. Then his eyes widened. “You again!”

Murmurs broke out in the cave, echoing faintly all around Wei Wuxian like leaves in the wind. But they were broken by a loud grating sound coming from above them, like the sound of boulders scraping against each other. A chill prickled down Wei Wuxian’s spine. He could guess what that meant — the goddess had heard Jin Ling’s wish, she was revealing herself in front of him, and now she wanted the boy’s soul.

But she wouldn’t get it. Not if Wei Wuxian had anything to say about it.

He looked up just as the goddess’ upraised arms began to lower, making the same grinding, stony noises as before. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought that her face looked a little more defined, a little more detailed than it had before. But her expression hadn’t changed — it still had that unnervingly serene smile, as if bestowing blessings rather than stealing souls.

A blazing talisman flew from Wei Wuxian’s hand and slapped against the goddess, momentarily stalling her movements. They were too weak to make her stop for long, but it might give them — and Jin Ling — a few minutes’ head start.

“Everyone, get out!” he bellowed.

The other cultivators obeyed, a mass of bodies surging towards the mouth of the cave. Two more talismans flew through the air and attached themselves to the goddess’ smiling face, but Wei Wuxian could feel her pushing against his power — an oppressive, squeezing feeling, as if a brewing storm was blowing him back where he stood. He grimaced, his hands trembling as he reached for another one —

Suddenly Lan Zhan was sweeping past him like a winter wind, his airy white robes flowing around him. Bichen was unsheathed in his hand, glimmering in the candlelight with a cold light. His face almost shone as he leaped towards the statue — and for some reason, Wei Wuxian felt strangely breathless at the sight. If it hadn’t been for the life-threatening danger, he might have stopped to gaze at the sight of Hanguang-jun in all his glory—

Then a sword glare slashed through the air, striking the goddess squarely in the abdomen. She staggered back a few steps, that infurating smile still pasted on her face.

Then Lan Zhan looked over his shoulder. “Go!” he ordered.

Wei Wuxian’s head was swimming, and for a moment he stood as if he had been rooted to the ground. His first instinct should have been to flee the cave as Lan Zhan had ordered him to — but instead he wanted nothing more than to dive into the fight alongside him, to make sure he wasn’t facing down a god on his own —

Then an arrow struck the goddess in the face, squarely striking her eye.

Wei Wuxian whirled around. Jin Ling was standing in the cave’s mouth, his face as pale as bone. But he was holding his longbow in one hand, and was already holding another arrow in the other.

“What the hell are you DOING?” Wei Wuxian shouted. “Get out of here!”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Jin Ling shouted back.

“She’s coming for you! Get as far away from here as you can!”

“I can’t! My uncle—“

Another arrow flew into the statue’s face, narrowly missing Lan Zhan in its flight.

That was it. Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand there haplessly while his sister’s only child risked his life for nothing but empty pride. Jin Ling couldn’t be older than fourteen, and Wei Wuxian knew from experience that kids that age could be incredibly reckless. He didn’t care if Jin Ling despised him — he would drag him away from the goddess by the scruff of his neck if he had to.

He lunged at Jin Ling just as the boy fired a third arrow, and grabbed the collar of his robes. “Hey!” Jin Ling yelped as he was pulled off-balance.

“If you won’t leave on your own, you’re coming with me!” Wei Wuxian said through gritted teeth.

“Let me go, you crazy—“

They burst out into the twilight, Wei Wuxian grimly dragging Jin Ling like a sack of grain, and Jin Ling protesting and whacking Wei Wuxian with his longbow. “You can't treat me like this — my uncle won’t let you — crazy bitch — let me go!” he shouted.

Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth as the bow cracked against his head again. Jin Ling didn’t have the leverage to do any real damage, but Wei Wuxian still wasn’t in any hurry to damage the body he had been given. If he could just get Jin Ling to a safe distance, he could turn back and help Lan Zhan fight the goddess — even someone as strong as the famed Hanguang-jun might have trouble with that statue —

As if hearing his thoughts, something white went flying past him, skidding down the slope in a flurry of fine white cloth. Lan Zhan had somehow landed on his feet, but Wei Wuxian could see a bruise marring one perfect cheekbone and a splatter of blood on one of his sleeves.

Chapter Text

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouted.

The white-clothed man straightened up, an icily-gleaming Bichen still drawn in his hand. Despite the blood on his robes and the bruise on his face, he still looked composed and pristine. Wei Wuxian had only seen him truly disheveled when they had fought the Slaughter Xuanwu, which had also happened when Lan Zhan had hit his lowest point.

Today, he looked magnificent — powerful, elegant and poised. If they weren’t facing a violent statue-goddess tearing down the mountainside, Wei Wuxian would have simply stood there with his mouth open, watching Lan Zhan move. But the sight of blood made his heart lurch unpleasantly, and he found himself moving towards Lan Zhan without even thinking about it. How badly was he hurt?

“Lan Zhan, you’re bleeding—“ he said.

“It’s fine,” Lan Zhan said in a tight voice.

“It’s obviously NOT fine or you wouldn’t be bleeding. Let me take a look at it—“

He grabbed at Lan Zhan’s sleeve, and tried to peer at the arm underneath the torn fabric. He expected Lan Zhan to pull away from his grasp, to resist having Wei Wuxian fuss over him the way he had in the past — but to his surprise, the white-clothed man simply let him grasp his wounded arm without resistance. Those light eyes caught at Wei Wuxian’s gaze, intent and unblinking, and something surged through Wei Wuxian that he couldn’t identify — something warm and bright that almost drew a smile from him.

But then he heard voices all along the mountainside — bloodcurdling screams from further up the slope, and the sound of many feet coming from downslope. Lan Zhan’s head snapped around towards the source of the screams, and his lips pressed together tightly.

“Wei Ying,” he said so quietly that no one else could hear. “Go.”

Then he launched himself back up the slope.

“No,” Wei Wuxian whispered. He couldn’t let this happen — he wasn’t going to just run away while Lan Zhan was up against the goddess. If anything happened to him, then — then —

Jin Ling had apparently recovered from the indignity of having a woman drag him halfway down the mountain, and was now staring at Wei Wuxian with obvious outrage. “I don’t care if you are a woman — my uncle is going to break your legs for treating me this way!” he said indignantly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m really scared,” Wei Wuxian said irritably.

“You should be!”

Listen, kid, Wei Wuxian wanted to snap, I’ve fought your uncle before and he didn’t manage to break my legs then! He never bested me in anything, and I don’t plan to let him start now!

But he couldn’t blurt that out, because as far as everyone except Lan Zhan was concerned, Mo Lian had only encountered Jiang Cheng one time, and had never fought him. Besides, he had more important things to focus on than talking about Jiang Cheng with his nephew right now.

“Lady Mo!”

Wei Wuxian almost jumped out of his skin. Somehow, while he was distracted, the Lan juniors had come crowding up the mountain path. Most of them had their swords drawn already, and he could tell from their determined expressions that they were already planning to join Hanguang-jun in whatever battle he was currently fighting.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t let them do that. They were barely older than Jin Ling — they had only been cultivating for a few years, and none of them had a weapon even close to Bichen’s level. Yes, he hadn’t been much older than they were when he had first begun demonic cultivation and fought in the Sunshot Campaign. But that made him more acutely aware of how young and inexperienced they were, and how they didn’t deserve to deal with the hardships he and Lan Zhan had known.

“Lady Mo, where is Hanguang-jun?” Lan Sizhui asked breathlessly.

“Fighting,” Wei Wuxian said tightly. “Stay back with Jin Ling. I’m going to help Hanguang-jun!” With a final look at the teenage boys’ tense, wide-eyed faces, he turned away and sprinted back the way they had come, his heart pounding in his ears.

“But what can you do?” Lan Jingyi shouted after him.

“Something stupid!” Wei Wuxian shouted back.

As he ran, Wei Wuxian wished desperately that Mo Lian had been in slightly better condition. Being starved and locked away had left her body in a rather frail state, especially now that Wei Wuxian was running. He had seen female cultivators who could go toe-to-toe with male ones, such as Madame Yu, so he knew this wasn’t the effect of having a female body. He just wasn’t in the best shape.

At least the battle was a relatively easy one to find — more screams and shouts rang out as he approached. One of the screams cut off suddenly, followed by a thick, heavy thud. Wei Wuxian felt his blood freeze, and his steps faltered. What if something had happened to Lan Zhan? He had been struggling against the goddess — what if he had lost his soul?

He burst into a clearing ringed with thick, heavy trees at the foot of the mountain — and was faced with the towering figure of the goddess. Her smiling face was even clearer than than before, as if every soul devoured made her stronger. She was still dancing as she moved, but was moving faster than Wei Wuxian cared to contemplate. And clutched in each of her upraised hands was the struggling form of a cultivator. Other bodies were scattered on the ground, limp and motionless.

But to Wei Wuxian’s relief, none of those bodies was clad in white.

As if hearing his thoughts, a figure clothed in shimmering white robes sailed down from the tree branches, swinging Bichen in a wide arc. The goddess turned her smiling face towards him, just as the sword smashed through one of her stone fingers.

The remaining cultivators cheered at the sight, more out of a desperate need to believe that they had a chance of winning than out of actual rejoicing. Lan Zhan landed on the ground, a little heavily this time, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He was getting worn out, Wei Wuxian thought, and it wasn’t surprising. Spiritual attacks wouldn’t have any effect on a god — it was like trying to get rid of a flood by pouring water on it. That left only brute strength, and it might take hours or days for Lan Zhan to wear down the goddess enough to defeat her.

A slight smile curved Wei Wuxian’s lips. Well, if regular cultivation wouldn’t work… maybe demonic cultivation would.

He brought his flute to his lips and began to play. It was a sharp, wild melody, full of urgency and destructive intent. He hadn’t planned on doing this today — he had been hoping to keep himself better hidden — but there was no choice if he wanted to save Lan Zhan, Jin Ling and everyone else in the area.

Come here. Come here now, and destroy this statue!

The goddess turned her head towards him, that unnerving smile deepening as she heard the flute. Wei Wuxian took a step back, his playing becoming more frenetic as he called out — called out to the one person who might be able to stop this thing — one person who was stronger than any mere mortal could ever dream of being —

And then a clinking sound filled the air, loud enough that it could be heard easily over the shrill notes of Wei Wuxian’s flute. Lan Zhan didn’t turn away from the statue, but Wei Wuxian could see his back stiffen at the familiar sound.

Without warning, a dark shape hurtled out of the trees, still wrapped in long clattering chains. Wen Ning’s dark hair streamed behind him as he leaped towards the goddess. His face contorted with an artificial fury. With no hesitation he smashed straight through her leg, crushing it into dust and chunks of stone no larger than Wei Wuxian’s fist.

Chapter Text

The goddess swayed for a moment on her single remaining leg, as if she were trying to continue her dance. But Wen Ning crashed into her other leg like an angry child lunging through a paper screen, and her legless torso crashed to the ground with a thunderous boom. Dust and leaves blasted out from where she had fallen. The remaining cultivators exclaimed in shock — except for Lan Zhan, who was simply staring.

“The Ghost General!” one man shouted.

“It can’t be — they burned him to ashes!” another cried.

Wei Wuxian’s flute trilled as he sent forth another command: Smash her head to pieces!

He felt a pang of guilt about using Wen Ning when he wasn’t able to think for himself, but there was no other way. Wen Ning abruptly stopped, turned around, and seized a nearby boulder, hoisting it over his head as easily as a stuffed toy. Some of the cultivators made frightened noises and scuttled away, but Wen Ning ignored them all. He strode over to the stone goddess and began cracking the boulder down on her smiling face.

WHAM! Her nose was crushed to powder. WHAM! The smile was cracked and distorted. WHAM! An enormous crack formed through the middle of her head, just before it disintegrated into several pieces.

A thrill went through Wei Wuxian as the goddess’ thrashing body finally went still. He had actually managed to do it — he had killed a god, and saved Lan Zhan, Jin Ling, and a bunch of other people. Yet he kept playing furiously, urging the fierce corpse to keep smashing her until there was nothing left but pebbles. Better to be safe than sorry.

But as Wen Ning continued to batter the goddess, Wei Wuxian’s eyes inexorably slid over to Lan Zhan, and an uneasy feeling fluttered in his stomach. Lan Zhan was staring at him more intently than ever, his pale face as unreadable as ever, a little dust marring the dark expanse of his perfectly-arranged hair. Silently and smoothly, he sheathed Bichen, and walked over to Wei Wuxian’s side.

The melody of the flute faltered slightly. Wei Wuxian waited for Lan Zhan to do something — grab his arm, pull the flute from his lips, say something accusatory. He had always hated demonic cultivation, and had done everything in his power to stop Wei Wuxian from using it.

But Lan Zhan said nothing. He simply gazed at Wei Wuxian as he played.

By now, the statue had been pounded to rubble by Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian played a single soft note on his flute, before lowering it from his mouth. Immediately, Wen Ning dropped the boulder into the pile of pebbles and dust, and his arms fell limply to his side. The expression of anger on his chalk-white features faded into the same mournful blankness as before, and his pupil-less eyes stared blindly into the darkness of the valley below.

Wei Wuxian felt his stomach twist. He had spent a long time bringing Wen Ning’s consciousness back after he first raised the young man as a fierce corpse. Now it seemed he would have to do it again. But he wasn’t sure what someone could possibly have done to turn Wen Ning into this passive, blank-faced puppet. Was this some form of demonic cultivation that someone else had produced — something that he knew nothing of?

But as he took a step towards Wen Ning, he heard voices and footsteps approaching behind him.

“—can’t tell me what to do!” Jin Ling snapped.

“Hanguang-jun!” called Lan Sizhui.

Wei Wuxian was so dismayed he was about to spit blood. He had specifically told the boys to stay away. What if they had come traipsing up while the goddess statue was still rampaging around? One or more of them could have had their souls sucked out!

But before he could say anything, more cries rose up on every side — and this time, he could hear something much darker in their voices.

“Get the Ghost General!”

“The Chief Cultivator would pay handsomely for him!”

“Be careful — he’s not moving, but he’s still dangerous!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes glinted. Time passed, but the same things happened.

He lifted the flute to his lips and began to play again — an urgent melody that made Wen Ning look up sharply, as alert as he could be. His parted lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to say something.

Get out of here, and hide where no one can find you!

The fierce corpse turned and leaped off into the treetops, his rattling chains trailing behind him. The sun had set already, so his shadowy figure almost immediately vanished into the darkness. The cultivators around him let out cries of anger and frustration, and a few of them ran off into the dark forest in the general direction that the Ghost General had gone. But Wei Wuxian knew that they wouldn’t find him. Even if they could, he doubted any of them were strong enough to stop Wen Ning.

But one of the cultivators instead whirled around and stared directly at Wei Wuxian. “It was her!” he shouted. “That woman in black! She was controlling him!”

A murmur of unrest ran through the clearing, and Wei Wuxian grimaced. Considering that he and Wen Ning had just saved all their lives, it would have been logical for them to be at least a little grateful. But he had learned a long time ago that gratitude wasn’t common and often didn’t last long. He had been the one who tipped the balance in the Sunshot Campaign, allowing the four clans to defeat the Wen Clan — but none of that had meant anything to anyone when Jin Guangshan had decided he wanted the Yin Tiger Tally.

He kept his hand tightly wrapped around the flute, ready to start playing again if they decided to come at him. The cultivators were eyeing him warily and spreading out, holding their swords in uneasy hands. Demonic cultivators were unpredictable creatures; their power could be immense, but unstable and dangerous compared to more orthodox cultivation. If she could summon the Ghost General, she must be extremely reckless and powerful — not a good combination.

Wei Wuxian took a step back, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t help wondering if it might be a good idea for him to run. In dark clothing, in the night, he might be able to run away and hide somewhere until morning — at least until they got tired and left.

Then, Lan Zhan stepped in front of him, one hand on Bichen’s hilt, a veiled threat that if things escalated, he would be drawing his sword. He was as graceful and elegant as always, but Wei Wuxian could see his knuckles turning white.

“Hanguang-jun is protecting her?” one man muttered.

“Why would he do that? Wasn’t he the enemy of the Yiling Patriarch?” a woman said incredulously.

To Wei Wuxian’s surprise, the Lan juniors immediately ran up to flank Lan Zhan, forming a wall of bodies between the hostile cultivators and Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian had to repress a hysterical giggle at the absurdity of the situation. The Lan Clan had always been the one that approved of him the least, even before he developed demonic cultivation — yet now the perfect Lan cultivator was defending him, along with the next generation.

But the laugh died in his throat as something crashed into his back, sending lightning coursing through his nerves and knocking him to the ground.

Chapter Text

Even without looking back, Wei Wuxian knew exactly what had just struck him, and who had been wielding it.

He had been whipped by Zidian more times than he could count in his youth. Whenever Madame Yu was at Lotus Pier, she would take out her anger out on Wei Wuxian, sometimes for the most trivial of offenses. He had been whipped for stripping down in the peak of summer’s heat, for swimming when guests were expected, and once for “yawning too much.” The punishments had died when she had, but he still remembered the feeling of the lash crackling over his back.

He slammed into the ground, all the air rushing from his lungs. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, as he coughed and wheezed pitifully. The final indignity was that he had landed on his chest, and both of his breasts felt like someone had punched them.

"I knew it was you,” a furious voice said. Jiang Cheng.

Then strong hands suddenly flipped him onto his back, and Wei Wuxian found himself looking up into Lan Zhan’s face. He couldn’t say that Lan Zhan looked worried, exactly — but a crease had formed between his perfectly-shaped brows. His eyes searched Wei Wuxian’s face intently, even as his hands gripped his upper arms.

“Get up. It’s pathetic to see you on the ground like that,” Jiang Cheng snapped.

“Seriously? You attacked an unarmed woman from behind and you call ME pathetic?” Wei Wuxian coughed.

Before he could say anything more, he was hoisted up from the ground by Lan Zhan’s strong arms, and held against a firm, muscled chest. The scent of sandalwood flooded his senses, and without thinking he clutched at Lan Zhan’s robes with both fists. But unexpectedly Lan Zhan spun him around, and bent down to examine the spot on his back where the whip had struck him. Long, slender fingers probed at the still-stinging area between his shoulder blades.

That gave Wei Wuxian a chance to get a good look at Jiang Cheng’s face. His former martial brother was looking at him with undisguised loathing — Jiang Cheng had seemed angry before, but now there was something other than rage in his eyes. Triumph. A savage, wild kind of exultation, as if he had just hunted an elusive prey that no one else could bring down.

The clan leader glanced over at Jin Ling, who had been watching with his mouth hanging open. “Come here, Jin Ling,” he snapped.

The boy immediately went to his side, looking warily at Wei Wuxian, but also rather confused. Jiang Cheng flexed the hand that held Zidian, before looking back at Wei Wuxian’s face.

“I knew it was you… Wei Wuxian,” he said fiercely.

Wei Wuxian’s mouth was dry, but he managed to say, “You have the wrong person.”

“Do I?” Jiang Cheng jeered. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you because you look like — like that? Did you think I’d go easy on you if you possessed a woman?”

“Uncle,” Jin Ling said in a low voice. “Isn’t Zidian — when you whipped her —“

Wei Wuxian knew what he was trying to say. Zidian had the very useful ability to tear a ghost out of the body it possessed — and if he had been possessing Mo Lian’s body, then it would have sent him spinning out like a leaf in the wind. But Wei Wuxian hadn’t taken her body. She had freely given it to him, at the expense of her own soul — which meant the body was now truly his, as much as if he had been born in it.

The look of triumph drained from Jiang Cheng’s eyes. He looked down at Zidian with an expression of confusion, and clenched his fist. Then he looked up at Wei Wuxian with an incredulous expression on his features.

“Hah!” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms. “So you have proof that I’m not Wei Wuxian, and you still weren’t smart enough to—”

The purple lash whirled out towards his face —

— and the cold ripple of a guqin’s strings rang out. A pale blue force clashed with Zidian in mid-air, striking it hard enough to send the purple whip back towards its master. Jiang Cheng recalled it quickly, before lashing out with it a second time.

Dazed, Wei Wuxian looked to his right. Lan Zhan was standing grimly by his side, his guqin cradled in one arm. He effortlessly skimmed the fingers of his other hand across the strings, sending more waves of spiritual energy that easily countered Zidian’s attacks. The night sky was lit with shimmering waves of blue and crackling flashes of purple, as if some great battle was being waged down at the foot of the mountain.

Finally, Jiang Cheng pulled Zidian back into its ring. “Second Young Master Lan,” he said with barely-controlled fury, “why are you interfering?”

Lan Zhan’s face was as cold as an ice-encrusted river. His eyes glittered faintly in the moonlight, and his lips were firmly pressed together. As he always seemed to do with Jiang Cheng, he didn’t offer a single word of explanation, as if speaking to the man was beneath him. Wei Wuxian found himself wondering if he had always hated Jiang Cheng this much, or whether something had happened that made them despise each other.

“Clan Leader Jiang,” Lan Sizhui said in a steady, firm voice. “This woman is in the care of the Lan Clan. We’re escorting her to Gusu, and she is in Hanguang-jun’s care.”

“No, you’re not,” Jiang Cheng said tightly. “That is Wei Wuxian, and I’m taking him to to Lotus Pier.”

A strong hand clamped on Wei Wuxian’s elbow. Lan Zhan stepped in front of him; his guqin had been banished to his qiankun pouch, and now his other hand was on Bichen. When more purple electricity sparked around Jiang Cheng’s hand, the icy-bladed sword was drawn in the blink of an eye, and placed in front of Wei Wuxian. The message was clear: you will not bring this person with you.

Jiang Cheng clearly got the message, because his face darkened.

“Why do you think she’s Wei Wuxian?” Lan Jingyi asked, crossing his arms. “Because she played a flute? Lots of demonic cultivators imitate the Yiling Patriarch. It’s very common.”

“Clan Leader Jiang,” Lan Sizhui said, “Zidian just proved that this woman is not being possessed. Are you saying you believe Zidian can be fooled?”

“If anyone could, he could!” Jiang Cheng bellowed.

“That just means you can drag away whomever you like whenever you like, since you think anybody could be Wei Wuxian and there’s no way to prove otherwise!” Lan Jingyi said irritably.

Purple sparks danced around Jiang Cheng’s hand, and for a moment, Wei Wuxian was horrifyingly sure he was going to lash out at the young man. But Jiang Cheng apparently thought better of it, because his burning eyes flicked over to Lan Zhan. The Lan Clan were powerful and influential, especially since Lan Zhan’s elder brother was also the sworn brother of the Chief Cultivator, who also happened to be the head of the Jin Clan. Not only would attacking Lan Zhan and the brats around him be detrimental to the Jiang Clan, but it would put Jin Ling in an extremely awkward position.

“This isn’t over,” Jiang Cheng said at last. “You can’t hide behind him forever.”

Jiang Cheng’s gaze blazed through the darkness, and Wei Wuxian could almost feel his skin burning. He leaned closer to Lan Zhan, without even thinking about it — and suddenly felt a strong arm curve behind him, pulling him along as Lan Zhan began walking swiftly back towards the road. Wei Wuxian yelped in surprise and clung to his robes, thrown off balance, but Lan Zhan didn’t slow down.

Wei Wuxian felt vaguely relieved that the whole mystery of Dafan Mountain had been dealt with so quickly and decisively. But on the other hand, he had been exposed to the world as a demonic cultivator, and Jiang Cheng had figured out who he was. His former martial brother’s rage and hatred hadn’t subsided even after thirteen years — if anything, it had grown thicker and hotter. And when Jiang Cheng hated someone, truly hated them, almost nothing could keep him from hunting them down. The Sunshot Campaign had showed the world that.

Wei Wuxian would have to consider his next move very carefully.

Chapter Text

As far as Wei Wuxian could tell, Cloud Recesses hadn’t changed in almost twenty years.

That was an illusion. When the Wen Clan had decided to subjugate all the other great clans, they had burned down Cloud Recesses and killed Lan Zhan’s father. It had been rebuilt after the war, and as far as Wei Wuxian could tell, the rebuilt Cloud Recesses was identical to the old one. Well, except for the wall on which the countless rules were inscribed — it had even more rules than it had when Wei Wuxian had been there before. It made his head spin. How did Lan Zhan manage to remember those thousands of rules, let alone do anything while bound up in them?

With every step of the donkey towards Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian’s desire to leap off its back and run away grew stronger. Cloud Recesses represented everything he couldn’t stand in life — bland bitter food, no alcohol, no pornography, funereal clothes, countless rules, no hunting or fishing, and Lan Qiren.

“Hanguang-jun," he whined piteously. "I can’t stay in a place like this. I’ll just get into trouble if I do.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian wilted. He hadn’t had a single moment alone since he had first encountered Wen Ning. Even when he needed to relieve himself, someone was standing on the other side of a tree or bush from him. Therefore, he hadn’t had a chance to summon the Ghost General back to examine him more closely — and it looked like he wouldn’t get one. The Lan clan probably wouldn’t be very welcoming to a fierce corpse, no matter how docile he seemed to be.

They had left the area of Mount Dafan shortly after Lan Zhan had restored the souls of those attacked by the goddess. There were an awful lot of cultivators looking at Wei Wuxian — some nervously, some greedily — and he had been glad to get away from them. Of course, the fact that he hadn’t been left alone meant that he hadn’t had a chance to sneak off again, which he suspected was very deliberate on Lan Zhan’s part.

His eyes flickered to Lan Zhan’s left arm. His snowy sleeve was marred with dark brown bloodstains. There were no outward signs that he was in pain, but Wei Wuxian was fairly sure that he was — he had been avoiding using it unless necessary.

The white-paved path led up to a simple, elegant white-walled building with a dark-tiled room. In front of it were two men that Wei Wuxian recognized. One was Lan Zhan’s older brother, Lan Xichen, a pleasant man who came across as warm and pleasant as his brother seemed cold and distant. There was also Lan Qiren, whose cultivation meant that he looked too young to be the uncle of these grown men, but who nevertheless radiated the air of a fussy old man.

“Welcome back, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said, coming down the steps.

Lan Zhan returned the greeting stoically, and said something so quietly that Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear him.

But Lan Xichen looked over at Wei Wuxian, who was sitting miserably on the donkey’s back. “And… who is this, Wangji?”he asked.

“Mo Lian,” Lan Zhan said.

Lan Xichen frowned slightly. “A member of the family that Sizhui and the others were sent to assist?”

“Mn.”

“What is she doing here?”

Lan Zhan did not answer.

Lan Xichen looked over at Wei Wuxian for a moment, and Wei Wuxian made a point of looking as pitiful as he possibly could.

“Is she in some kind of danger?” Lan Xichen asked.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian hid his face in his hands and uttered a loud sob. “He took me here against my will!” he wailed, trying to sound as much like a wronged maiden as possible.

Between his fingers, he got a look at the expressions of the three men around him. Lan Zhan’s face had the same expression as before, and he didn’t look as if anything Wei Wuxian had said bothered him, but Lan Xichen’s had a look of dawning horror. He looked Wei Wuxian up and down, studying every detail, as if only seeing him for the first time.

As for Lan Qiren, his aghast face had gone so pale that it was almost greenish around the edges. His goatee trembled slightly. “Wangji!” he said in a tone of mingled horror and disapproval.

The youths all around Wei Wuxian looked a little disturbed. All of them had known “Mo Lian” wasn’t coming with them of her own free will, and some of them had trepidations of their own about Hanguang-jun dragging her along. But none of them had thought he might get in trouble over it — he was a paragon, a living legend. Sure, some of them had fathers and mothers who whispered about some terrible action he had taken in his teenage years, but that had been almost a decade and a half ago. They had thought that he would simply explain his reasons, whatever they were, and suddenly everything would make sense.

“I must speak with you about events at the Mo family’s manor,” Lan Zhan said stoically.

Lan Xichen seemed to gather his wits, and slowly turned to his brother. “And…. the woman?”

Lan Zhan turned to Lan Sizhui, his pale eyes shimmering like pools of lakewater. “Bring her to the Gentian House, and make sure she is comfortable,” he said. “I will come later.”

If it was even possible, Lan Qiren looked even more aghast. “Wangji!” he said in a sharp, reproving voice.

But Lan Xichen sighed heavily, and nodded once. “Do as my brother says. Show our guest every courtesy.”

Within a few minutes, Wei Wuxian found himself being led by Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi along a winding path on the edge of Cloud Recesses. They passed over a simple stone bridge over a fast-moving creek, which cascaded over smooth black stones and down the mountainside beyond. Tall, shady trees leaned over them, their arrow-straight trunks surrounded by thick leaves and needles, and sometimes white flowers edged with pink. All of Cloud Recesses was lovely to look at — despite his past experiences there, Wei Wuxian had to admit that — but this place was particularly tranquil.

Nestled among the trees was a small house, probably only large enough for one or two people. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and it had a delicate, quiet beauty. Unlike every other building in Cloud Recesses, it was painted a pale blue, a few shades lighter than the many gentians that swayed gently in the breeze around it. A small pond curved around the far end of the house, with a few lotuses floating on its dark-mirrored surface.

It wasn’t what Wei Wuxian had envisioned when he thought of being imprisoned at Cloud Recesses. This place looked like it had been crafted and arranged with the utmost care, for someone its creator had cherished. And yet, there was something sad and lonely about it, as if it were apart from the rest of Cloud Recesses.

The two teenagers awkwardly escorted Wei Wuxian into the house. It was only three rooms, but each one was exquisitely decorated, with paintings of willow and bamboo on the walls, jade incense-burners and curtains as thin and gauzy as a butterfly’s wings. It looked different from the other parts of Clouds Recesses that Wei Wuxian had seen, which tended to be elegant but somewhat ascetic in style — it was a little softer and more comfortable-looking.

"Please remain here, Lady Mo," Lan Sizhui said, looking a little embarrassed. “I’m sure Hanguang-jun…”

His voice trailed off, as he tried to come up with some ending to that sentence that wouldn't sound odd or insensitive. After all, the woman had been effectively abducted by Hanguang-jun — why would she be eager for him to come see her? Assuming that she was even kept here for long, and Zewu-jun didn’t make arrangements to send her somewhere else. Which he might — when he learned what his brother had done, he had looked horrified.

When the door closed, Wei Wuxian wandered over to the low desk and dropped onto the low wooden seat behind it. He wasn’t sure what to do next — a part of him wanted to scamper out the door as soon as the boys were out of sight. The house was pretty far from the front gates, but he had climbed over the walls and gates before — in fact, that was how he and Lan Zhan had first met. But then he remembered that a person needed a jade travel token to get in or out of Cloud Recesses. Dammit.

He leaned back on his arms and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn’t help but be curious about what Lan Zhan wanted him in Cloud Recesses for, and what the Lan cultivator had planned. It probably wouldn’t be something he would like...

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen liked to think that he understood his brother better than anyone else alive.

Not many people understood Wangji. For some reason, his face showed only the barest hints of what he was feeling, and only those who knew him best could tell what his emotions were. People thought he was cold, unfeeling and distant, but Xichen knew that his brother felt things — perhaps too intensely sometimes.

When Lan Wangji first brought Mo Lian into Cloud Recesses, he had looked happier than…. well, happier than Lan Xichen had seen him in thirteen years, ever since Wei Wuxian’s death. But as Wangji knelt across a table from his uncle and brother, his eyes were downcast, and his fingers were curled against his thighs. He looked as if he were waiting for a blow to fall, but his back was straight and unbowed.

Lan Qiren still looked rather queasy, and he hadn’t spoken a word to Wangji since they had entered Lan Xichen’s chambers. Just by looking at his uncle’s face, Lan Xichen knew what he was thinking: that history was repeating itself in the worst way possible.

Both Xichen and Wangji had spent their lives being reminded by their uncle of their parents’ tragic story. A clan leader who had fallen deeply in love with a woman who did not love him back, how she had killed a clan elder, and how he had wed her and imprisoned both her and himself as atonement. Lan Qiren had hammered it into their young, impressionable heads that the entire affair had been a senseless tragedy, and that they were to obey the rules flawlessly to avoid their father’s moral failings. Wangji had taken this expectation especially seriously, even though he had loved their parents and idolized their mother.

Lan Xichen listened silently as Wangji recounted, in his spare words, about the disaster at the Mo estate. Surprisingly, he mentioned little of the woman Mo Lian, except to say that she had played a flute in an effort to quell the venomous arm. Lan Xichen supposed she had made an insufficient effort to deal with the evil herself before Wangji showed up.

“Wangji,” he said quietly. "Did you abduct this woman?”

Wangji looked up at him with clear eyes. “Mn.”

Somehow, Lan Xichen hadn’t expected his brother to admit it so easily. But Wangji had always been willing to admit his misdeeds.

“We need to return her to her family,” Lan Xichen said firmly.

“We cannot,” Wangji said. “They are dead.”

“Surely not all—“

“They abused her for years. They starved, beat and imprisoned her.”

A little relief crept into Lan Xichen’s soul. At least it seemed that Wangji’s motivations were to help the woman — there was a vehemence in his words that was unmistakable.

But Lan Qiren slammed his hand against the desk. “This is shameful!” he shouted. “Such behavior — kidnapping a woman during a night hunt — bringing her back to Cloud Recesses like this —“

Lan Wanji’s fingers dug into his thighs, but there was no other outward sign that he was moved by his uncle’s anger.

Lan Qiren’s beard quivered as he tried to get his emotions under control. “I had thought that you knew better, and would not follow your father’s example,” he said tightly. He glanced over at Lan Xichen, then back to his other nephew. “Even after the… incident thirteen years ago, you found your way back to the right path. You have been an exemplary disciple — dutiful, dedicated, righteous. And now — now THIS!”

Wangji’s downturned face was like stone, but Lan Xichen could see the pain glimmering in his eyes. He knew that every word from Lan Qiren must be like a dagger through his little brother’s heart. Wangji had clashed in the past with their uncle, had disappointed him greatly through his actions with Wei Wuxian. There were things they would never agree on. But Lan Qiren had been the one to raise his nephews, and even if Wangji had chosen a path that he knew would anger and disappoint him, the responses would still hurt.

Lan Xichen placed a hand on his younger brother’s arm, and felt the muscles under his sleeve stiffen. “Why did you bring her back here?” he asked quietly. “Was it only because she had been abused?”

Wangji looked up at him, his expression guarded.

“Do you love her?”

Wangji stared at him for a moment longer, then lowered his eyes again, his long lashes brushing against his cheek.

“Do you want to marry her?”

His lack of an answer told Lan Xichen everything he needed to know. If his brother hadn’t loved Mo Lian, then he would have denied it immediately.

In a way, that made everything worse. Whether he meant to or not, Wangji was repeating the long-ago actions of their parents — a respected cultivator encountering a strange woman, falling in love with her, bringing her back to Cloud Recesses and shutting her in the Gentian House. Mo Lian might not have killed anyone, but the parallels were close enough to make Lan Xichen uneasy. The last thing he wanted was for Wangji to suffer as either of his parents had suffered… especially since he had suffered so much already.

And there was one other problem. Lan Xichen couldn’t help but notice Mo Lian’s attire — the black robes underlaid with red and the hair pulled back in a ponytail tied with a red ribbon. Not many people dressed like that. But Wei Wuxian had.

Thirteen years ago, Wangji had suffered a frightening breakdown one night, which had led to him drinking a bottle of Emperor’s Smile, rampaging through Cloud Recesses and branding his own chest. The loss of the demonic cultivator had nearly broken him, and for a while Xichen had been sure that he would never recover from the loss.

As Wangji slowly healed in seclusion, he had told Lan Xichen about Wei Wuxian — that the demonic cultivator had been his fated person, and that he would have done anything to save him. That Wei Wuxian had rejected him when they last met, but that he had tried to protect him anyhow. He had fought thirty-three Lan cultivators to defend the man he loved, and suffered thirty-three lashes from the discipline whip for his misdeeds. It was a miracle that he hadn’t died that day.

As far as Lan Xichen knew, Wangji had never told another soul about his love for Wei Wuxian. He suspected that Lan Qiren had guessed, but they had never spoken of it.

As the years went on, Lan Xichen had known that Wangji still grieved, but he thought that his brother had found some kind of peace. Now, with what had happened, he wondered if Wangji’s grief and pain had twisted his mind — what else could have happened, if he had kidnapped a woman in some strange imitation of their father, and dressed her like Wei Wuxian? Had the years of suffering caused him to finally snap?

“Brother,” Wangji said quietly.

Lan Xichen looked at his brother’s face, and saw desperation gleaming in his eyes.

“Do not send her away,” Wangji said. Intensity and passion threaded through his deep voice, in a way that Lan Xichen had not heard in years. “She is safe here, but she will not be if she leaves.”

Lan Xichen frowned. There was something else here that Wangji hadn’t told them — something about Mo Lian that he was keeping to himself. But if he was desperate enough to plead that she be kept here, it must be something important to him. Something important enough that he would risk a scandal in their sect, throw away everything he had accomplished over the past twenty years… and all for the sake of this strange woman. He was acting as he had back when… when…

When Wei Wuxian had been alive.

It wasn’t likely. Some would say it was almost impossible, since Wei Wuxian’s soul had seemingly been destroyed after his death. But if it was true — if Mo Lian wasn’t really who she seemed to be —

No, he couldn’t jump to conclusions. Just because Wangji was acting the same way he had with Wei Wuxian didn’t necessarily mean that this woman WAS Wei Wuxian. He would wait and see what unfolded between them, and study how the woman acted, how she spoke, and what she did. Wei Wuxian had had an irrepressible spirit in his first life, or at least that was how Lan Xichen remembered him. If Mo Lian truly was Wei Wuxian, he doubted the Yiling Patriarch would be able to play the weeping demure maiden for long.

“Mo Lian will stay here for the time being, Wangji,” he said gently. “We will make sure that nothing happens to her.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian yawned.

He wasn’t sure how many hours had passed since Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi had left him in the Gentian House, but it felt like ages had gone by. He had prowled through every corner of the house, wondering who it belonged to and why Lan Zhan had sent him here specifically. Was this some kind of pleasant prison set aside for any person the Lan Clan wanted to detain? No, he couldn’t believe that the Lans would dedicate this much effort and care for an ordinary prison. And the doors weren’t locked, either with a physical bar or with magic — he had tried them almost immediately, and they opened.

Wei Wuxian flirted briefly with the idea of trying to escape right now, when Lan Zhan was presumably being chastised by his stick-in-the-mud uncle and elder brother. If he could get his hands on a travel token, he could slip over the wall and escape to a nearby town. There were ones not too far away, charming little cities with friendly people and plenty of fine liquor. Then he could brainstorm over what to do with his new life.

Of course, he didn’t have a travel token, and getting one wouldn’t be easy when almost everyone in Cloud Recesses was stronger than him. Furthermore, he felt a little strange about making things complicated for Lan Zhan, after his old enemy had leaped in to protect him over and over. At least until he figured out if he was being held prisoner or not. Surely the Lan elders, as stuffy and repressed as they were, wouldn’t allow Lan Zhan to keep a strange woman here. They had a rule against promiscuity, after all, and another one about not pestering women.

So he prowled out into the garden outside, kicking idly at the grass around the carefully-manicured terrace. For a little while he contented himself with pitching pebbles into the pond with all his strength, where a heron glared at him angrily for disrupting its beautiful habitat. Even the animals in Cloud Recesses didn’t like him, he thought.

So Wei Wuxian dropped onto the grass beside the expanse of blue gentians, and let his head rest among the flowers. Their bittersweet scent surrounded him. He let himself daydream for a while, playing a slow, meandering tune on his flute, until…

“Wei Ying.”

He hadn’t heard Lan Zhan coming up the path. The white-clothed man was standing on the other side of the gentians, holding a wooden tray in one hand.

“Oh, it’s you,” Wei Wuxian said, resting his head on his fist. “What took you so long, Lan Zhan? I almost died of boredom out here.”

Lan Zhan looked down at him, then walked to the door. “Come. You need to eat.”

Wei Wuxian scrambled up and followed him into the house. He hadn’t eaten for several hours, and his stomach felt uncomfortably empty. Of course, the food in Cloud Recesses was notoriously unpleasant for anyone who hadn’t been raised on it, which was why Wei Wuxian had often spent his time there hunting pheasants in secret. But he was hungry enough that he would try to swallow the bitter leaves and bark anyway.

To his surprise, the bowl Lan Zhan placed on the desk was filled with a spicy-smelling pork dish — and a very generous portion at that. Beside it, a bowl of rice. He carefully placed the dishes on the desk, and then moved to the other side of the desk and neatly seated himself there. Apparently he wasn’t going to eat, but had brought the dish for Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Lan Zhan… isn’t something like this a violation of the rules?” he teased. “I thought meat wasn’t provided in Cloud Recesses.”

“Killing is prohibited in Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan said evenly. “This is from outside.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile widened as he sat down at the desk. Had Lan Zhan’s ironclad love of rules softened over the last thirteen years, or had Wei Wuxian actually succeeded in corrupting him, even a little? Either way, he wasn’t going to complain — the food smelled delicious, certainly more inviting than the bland, bitter vegetarian fare that was usually served in Cloud Recesses.

As he ate, Lan Zhan simply sat across the desk and gazed at him. And though he was busy eating, Wei Wuxian found himself looking back. Lan Zhan was striking to look at, and always had been — his jade-pale skin and white airy clothes, his ink-black hair, the dark lashes lining his light eyes. His features were elegant and perfectly-shaped, as if someone had deliberately sculpted an image of a perfect man. It wasn’t exactly hard to understand why he had been declared the second most handsome young man in the cultivation world, after his brother.

If only he’d smile sometimes, Wei Wuxian thought. He couldn’t remember seeing Lan Zhan smile. Ever. He was pretty sure he didn’t know how.

Lan Zhan watched him for a while, before slipping a hand into his sleeve. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as he pulled out a familiar-looking jar. He had only had it a few times when he was a teenager, but he would remember it anywhere — the luscious liquor of Gusu, Emperor’s Smile.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

Lan Zhan placed the jar in front of him, and then looked at him expectantly.

“Isn’t liquor forbidden in Cloud Recesses?” Wei Wuxian asked with a wide, wicked smile.

“Mn.”

There were no excuses, no explanations. Which wasn’t surprising — Lan Zhan had always been the kind of person to never make excuses for himself, even for things that weren’t his fault. He had violated the rules, and his clear, cool eyes showed no signs of shame or remorse.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said as he uncovered the Emperor’s Smile. “You’ve changed. What am I going to do to upset you? How am I supposed to tease you if you’re breaking rules now?”

Lan Zhan watched as he drank deeply from the jar. “My brother has said that you will stay in Cloud Recesses for the immediate future,” he said at last.

“Hmm? But I don’t want to stay.”

“You are safe here,” Lan Zhan said insistently.

Wei Wuxian rested his chin on his hand. “I’m not really in danger of being found, am I? It’s been thirteen years, and nobody would assume the Yiling Patriarch is a woman, would they? If they see a woman, they aren’t going to think, ‘That’s clearly the Yiling Patriarch! String him up!’”

“Jiang Wanyin would,” Lan Zhan said in a low voice. “He is… not merciful towards demonic cultivators.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile vanished. He had almost forgotten about Jiang Cheng’s viciousness towards him, and the festering rage in his eyes as he had looked at Wei Wuxian. He couldn’t have been sure — not from something as small as summoning a fierce corpse with a flute — but he would have tried to drag Wei Wuxian away if Lan Zhan hadn’t been there. As for what he would do then… Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure, but he knew from past experience that Jiang Cheng was willing to torture those he hated enough. And he definitely hated his former martial brother enough to do that.

“Is he the reason you want me to stay?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Zhan’s eyes flickered down. “He is not your only enemy.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Who else?”

“The Jin Clan has not forgotten the incident at Qiongqi Pass,” Lan Zhan said somberly. “Their power has spread in recent years.”

“How?”

“Watchtowers. Used to help those in remote places. Cultivators from all the major clans are involved, but the Jin Clan is the one that has spearheaded the building of these watchtowers.”

“Hm,” Wei Wuxian said, absentmindedly eating a piece of spicy pork. “A lot has happened while I was… dead.”

His eyes were fixed on the trees swaying in the wind outside the window. As a result, he didn’t notice the faint twitching of Lan Zhan’s slender fingers, or the shadow that briefly passed through his eyes. He folded his hands carefully on the desk, so that no tremor could be seen by Wei Wuxian. The demonic cultivator ate in silence for a few minutes more, before turning slowly to face the white-clothed man.

“Tell me the truth, Lan Zhan," he said severely.

Lan Zhan looked at him impassively, and slowly nodded once.

“You want me here for the same reason you wanted me here before, don’t you?” Wei Wuxian asked. “You want to change me, just like you did thirteen years ago. You don’t want me to use demonic cultivation — you want to make me cultivate the orthodox path, and you want to keep me a prisoner in Cloud Recesses until that happens.”

He rested his elbows on the desk, and leaned forward so that his face was only a few inches from Lan Zhan’s impassive, fair face. Then he waited for Lan Zhan to answer, knowing that he — probably — would never lie. The ironclad rules and high standards of the Lan Clan would never allow their prodigy to utter a lie, even to someone as reviled as Wei Wuxian.

Then again, he reminded himself, Lan Zhan had brought liquor into Cloud Recesses without even a hint of shame or self-punishment. He wasn’t as predictable as he had been thirteen years ago, when they had last clashed — let alone when they had first met. Back then, Lan Zhan was so easily upset that teasing him had practically become Wei Wuxian’s hobby during the boring days at Cloud Recesses. Even after that, he had found himself angering and upsetting Lan Zhan even when he didn't mean to — like that archery competition where he had accidentally pulled off Lan Zhan’s ribbon. He still wasn’t sure why he had been so upset about that.

But as Wei Wuxian leaned forward, Lan Wangji could say nothing. He could only focus on the dark depths of Wei Wuxian’s wide clear eyes, and the glistening of his full lips, so close that he could feel the demonic cultivator’s breath on his face. His breathing became slightly unsteady, and though his face was as cool and pale as always, a pink flush appeared on his ears.

“I do not… want you to continue with demonic cultivation,” he said at last. “But I am not going to try to change you.”

For a long moment, the two gazed into each other’s eyes. Lan Zhan was sitting straight and graceful, while Wei Wuxian was leaning across the desk, his hands planted on the polished wooden surface. His brow furrowed slightly, as he searched for some sign of deception in Lan Zhan’s face and eyes, but found nothing there. Either he had become an excellent liar, or he meant what he was saying.

Wei Wuxian sat back on his low seat, and sighed. “Well, fair enough,” he said, shrugging. “But I still don’t know why you want me here.” He took a long chug of Emperor’s Smile, feeling the warmth of it surging through his blood.

He wasn’t aware that Lan Wangji’s eyes were watching him intently, tracing over the smooth line of his throat as he tilted his head back, and the trickle of clear liquid over his lips. For a moment, Lan Wangji was fifteen years old again, watching a laughing youth with sparkling eyes under the moonlight… just before Wei Ying had sat down in front of him, and drunk an entire jar of liquor on the spot.

It had bespelled him at the time — and in a way, it had made him angrier than ever. Angry that he was so enraptured by someone who flew in the face of everything he had ever been taught.

Wei Wuxian put the jar down, and looked at Lan Zhan’s face. “You haven’t really told me the reason you want me here,” he said.

“Mn,” was all Lan Zhan said.

A wicked smile flickered around the corners of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. He leaned across the desk again, slithering over its polished wood. One slender hand reached out and caught a lock of Lan Zhan’s dark hair, twirling it around one of his fingers.

“Lan Zhan… do you want to keep me here because… you like looking at me in this body?” he said teasingly.

Lan Zhan stiffened. His eyes lowered until his lashes were brushing his cheek.

Wei Wuxian gave the lock of hair a light tug, and sat back with a merry laugh. “I’m just joking, Lan Zhan,” he said cheerfully. “No need to be upset.”

He knew perfectly well that Lan Zhan found him annoying and always had, even if he had seemingly softened up over the years. Man or woman, he would probably just be irritated by Wei Wuxian’s antics. Besides, Lan Zhan’s dedication to purity and discipline was more intense than his hallowed ancestor Lan An, who had actually been raised as a monk. He probably had never even looked at a woman, let alone touched one.

Lan Zhan looked at him sternly, and said nothing.

Wei Wuxian sat back against the wall, his legs sprawled in front of him. “Anyway, what about that arm?”

“My uncle and I will try to summon the soul of its owner,” Lan Zhan said. “In the meantime, it is being kept restrained in the Nether Room.”

“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian said thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s going to be as easy as anyone thinks.

*

Lan Wangji’s heart was hammering against his ribs as he left the Gentian House. It had been beating hard and fast ever since Wei Ying had played with his hair and smiled flirtatiously at him. All he had been able to do was stare at the floor and recite precepts in his mind. He was desperately trying not to think about pinning Wei Ying to the floor and tasting the Emperor’s Smile from his lips… seeing those wide glimmering eyes hazy with desire…

It didn’t mean anything. As Wei Ying had said afterwards, it had only been a joke — a cruel joke, but still only a joke. Wei Ying had always been a relentless flirt — every time he was around a pretty girl, he would compliment and flirt with her. When he had been studying at Cloud Recesses, he had tried to figure out where to find the female disciples on more than one occasion, and had to be kept away from them.

Lan Wangji hadn’t really approved of his flirtations, even later on. If Wei Ying didn’t have serious intentions towards a person, he reasoned, it was wrong to toy with their affections by pretending he did. What if someone took his intentions seriously, fell in love, and then had their heart broken when the flirting came to nothing? Wei Ying hadn't seemed to understand when Lan Wangji tried to explain it to him, believing that his flirtation was harmless.

Maybe it had been to the girls he had been with. But it wasn’t to Lan Wangji. He didn’t know how to flirt or give his heart lightly… nor did he want to know.

But that didn’t matter. The important thing was that Wei Ying seemed to be more inclined to stay in Cloud Recesses, now that Lan Wangji had stated that he wouldn't try to steer him away from demonic cultivation. He had still moaned about the food and being bored, but it had been with the unspoken assumption that he would be experiencing both the food and the boredom. That meant he was going to stay, at least a little while.

Besides, he didn’t have a travel token. Unless escorted from Cloud Recesses by a member of the Lan clan, Wei Ying couldn’t simply leave on a whim.

Once he had passed over the bridge, he paused and looked back at the Gentian House. Through the opened windows, he could see a slender figure robed in black, wandering into the bedroom. Wei Ying had always moved with a nimble, loose-limbed grace, and even though his body was now a woman’s, he was still recognizable in the way he held himself. Lan Wangji could have sat and watched him all day, but he had no doubt that Wei Ying wanted to be away from him right now.

A small white rabbit hopped over Lan Wangji’s foot, seemingly excited to see its master, and tumbling over its own oversized feet. With careful hands, he picked the rabbit up and cradled it against his chest.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian spent the next few days roaming through Cloud Recesses, treading through the same places that he had gone when he was a youth. It was almost surreal to consider that Cloud Recesses had burned down, because everything looked exactly as it had back then — the elegantly simple buildings with their white walls and black roofs, the stone-paved paths, the countless pools and waterfalls, the mist that coiled and wafted around the trees and stones on the mountainsides. Whoever had restored it to its former glory had done an exceptional job, he thought.

And as he walked, he found himself reminiscing about the things that happened there. The library was the place where he had managed to infuriate Lan Zhan by slipping pornography into his sutras. That far mountain was where he had hunted pheasants with Nie Huisang and Jiang Cheng on their day off. That building there was where he had had lessons under Lan Qiren, and had angered the man so much with his demonic cultivation ideas that he had thrown books at Wei Wuxian’s head and yelled at him to get out.

He found himself smiling as he wandered through, especially when he saw a flurry of young disciples from other sects — a new generation of students to be bored to sleep by Lan Qiren.

He also saw female cultivators as well. The Lan kept male and female disciples strictly segregated, which was why Wei Wuxian was very certain that Lan Zhan was still a virgin in his thirties. But as a woman, Wei Wuxian was allowed to mingle freely with the female Lan cultivators, some of whom seemed to be sympathetic to someone they had been told was insane, or at least a little screwy.

He was also able to confirm that all of them were quite good-looking, though the distinctive Lan brand of prettiness seemed to fit the male face better than the female one. They wore the same airy, light white robes that flowed around them like the mountain mists, although Wei Wuxian couldn’t help noticing that some of them had less-than-ascetic curves on display that even the Lan robes couldn’t hide. He felt a little jealous, eyeing his own modest breasts.

But since he was an adult guest, he also encountered a number of male Lan cultivators as well, though some of the older ones looked disdainful at the sight of this strange woman that Hanguang-jun had dragged home. He recognized some of the ones in their thirties from his teenage years, but couldn’t greet them as if he knew them — and even if he could, he doubted any of them would be happy to meet the Yiling Patriarch again.

He didn’t overhear any gossip — the Lan Clan had at least two rules about not gossiping — but he could certainly imagine what all of them were thinking when they saw him.

“I don’t know what Hanguang-jun was thinking, bringing a madwoman back to this place!”

“They say he visits her every day, alone! No one there to make sure nothing improper occurs.”

“Scandalous! I don’t know how Zewu-jun tolerates this behavior! I’m sure Hanguang-jun is keeping her as a mistress!”

He was pretty sure that that was what they were thinking, especially since Lan Zhan did visit him every day at the Gentian House. Alone. With dinner. No pretense or hiding what he was doing or where he was going. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure why — Lan Zhan mostly just sat there, watching him eat and listening to him talk, even though he periodically declared that “Food is to be taken in silence.”

“I’ve been talking while I ate for my entire life,” Wei Wuxian, waving his chopsticks around. “Do you really think I can stop now?”

“You did when you were here before.”

“That’s only because I didn’t have any choice. Besides, I spent most of the meals making faces instead.” Wei Wuxian smiled at him mischievously. “You could seal my mouth shut, but that would sort of defeat the point, wouldn’t it?”

“Mn.”

Lan Zhan would sometimes read a book while he spent time around Wei Wuxian, and sometimes he would scrutinize stacks of papers that he brought with him. When Wei Wuxian scrambled to see what they were, he saw that they were papers written in youthful handwriting. His own perfect calligraphy was reserved for the red marks and notes on the margins.

“So you aren’t just their senior on missions,” Wei Wuxian said, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re a full-fledged teacher now.”

“Mn.”

“Those poor kids. I guess it’s not surprising. You’ve always been the perfect Lan disciple, so who else would they want to be a role model?”

He didn’t notice the faint tremor that passed through Lan Zhan’s hand, and the imperfection of the character he had just written. What he did notice was the scent of sandalwood, clean and smooth, that wafted around Lan Zhan as if he had perfumed himself with it. Without thinking, Wei Wuxian inched closer to Lan Zhan. He didn’t know when it had happened, but he had started to really like the smell of sandalwood. It felt… soothing.

*

It was on the third day that Wei Wuxian encountered Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi again, along with several other boys who had been on the same mission.

He was sitting in the low boughs of a magnolia tree, with one black-booted leg hanging down. His flute was twirling between his fingers — it had taken him a little while to be able to do it with these unfamiliar hands, but he had only dropped it twice that morning. Most of the time, he played the flute, making sure to frequently make errors and stumble in the melodies he played. Even the least capable Lan had an excellent ear for music, and he didn't want anyone to become suspicious.

An hour or so ago, he had been playing when he saw several Lan cultivators go past — including Lan Zhan, who had noticed the flute melody and looked towards him. But before he could do more, Lan Qiren snapped at his nephew — Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear what he said — and seized his arm, pulling him up the path along with the rest. If he had known that the woman in the tree was actually the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian thought with a grin, Lan Qiren would probably have picked Lan Zhan up and carried him away bodily.

Now he saw the youths coming down the same path in the opposite directions, talking amongst themselves. Lan Sizhui slowed down as he saw the woman reclining against a tree trunk, just lowering a flute from her lips.

“Lady Mo,” he said respectfully. “You seem to be feeling well.”

“I’m bored out of my mind,” Wei Wuxian said frankly.

The boys looked at one another nervously. Wei Wuxian swung his legs down from the branch, and looked down at them frankly.

“Tell me, where was Lan Zhan going in such a hurry?” he asked.

Lan Sizhui seemed to consider for a moment whether he was allowed to tell this strange woman what she was asking, before announcing, “Hanguang-jun is taking part in the Soul Summoning ritual in the Nether Room. He and a number of seniors are trying to see who the arm belonged to, so it can be suppressed.”

“The arm that killed the — uh — my family?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Sizhui nodded.

Wei Wuxian frowned. He had never been in the Nether Room — it was strictly off-limits to younger cultivators, because of the dangerous nature of the things that happened inside. Of course, he had tried to look inside when he was a teenager, but had quickly discovered that it had no windows, and the doors could not be opened from the outside. Jiang Cheng had dragged him away before he could try to make someone inside let him in.

Then he noticed that Lan Sizhui looked rather anxious. The smooth brow under his ribbon was furrowed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “I’m sure Hanguang-jun can handle whatever comes up.”

“Of course he can!” Lan Jingyi said confidently.

“Hanguang-jun was the one who subdued the arm, after all,” Lan Sizhui added. But his hand was tugging awkwardly at his sleeve. “I was just… I can’t help but feel that the entire situation is our fault.”

“How so?” Wei Wuxian said, tilting his head.

“The arm only appeared after we set up our Spirit Attraction Flags,” Lan Sizhui said miserably. “It wasn’t in the Mo manor beforehand, or it would have caused deaths before that night. We must have accidentally attracted it, which means that the deaths — all of them were because of us.” He avoided looking Wei Wuxian in the eye, probably feeling guilty about the loss of Mo Lian’s family.

“That’s possible,” Wei Wuxian said, twirling his flute between his fingers. “But I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?” Lan Sizhui said faintly. “But—“

“Your Spirit Attraction Flags would only have drawn in evil things from a few miles away. If something that violent and resentful was in the area already, it would probably have killed people in that village before that night,” Wei Wuxian said, shrugging.

The boys all stared at him with wide eyes. Clearly that hadn’t occurred to any of them.

“So — what do you think happened?” Lan Sizhui asked.

“I can’t be sure,” Wei Wuxian said, looking upward as he thought. “But I think someone placed that arm on the premises deliberately.”

“Why would someone do that?” Lan Jingyi said incredulously.

“I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Lan Jingyi frowned and crossed his arms. “You’re not really crazy, are you?” he said in an accusatory tone.

Before Wei Wuxian could come up with some kind of answer, a bell began ringing furiously in the distance.

Chapter Text

Bells were not uncommon in Cloud Recesses, especially the deep, melodious tolling that signaled when it was time to sleep, or time to rise. But those bells rang out with a sense of serenity. This bell was louder, faster, more jarring to the ear — and it rang frantically, as if terrified of whatever was happening. It wasn’t hard to imagine where the sound was coming from.

“That’s the bell to the Nether Room!” one of the boys cried out.

Wei Wuxian leaped down from the tree, and was sprinting back up the path before he knew what he was doing. The clamor of the bell was starting to make his ears hurt, but he was determined to get to that building and find out what had happened. And… find out if Lan Zhan was all right. He had been part of the group who were going to suppress the arm, so if something had gone wrong —

“Lady Mo!” Lan Sizhui said behind him. “You shouldn’t be here! Hanguang-jun wouldn’t—“

“Why are you following me?” Wei Wuxian said, glancing over his shoulder.

“We’re not following you! We’re just going in the same direction!” Lan Jingyi retorted breathlessly.

They skidded to a halt in front of the most sinister-looking building in Cloud Recesses, forbidding and dark with no windows. The bell rang violently above them, and some of the boys covered their ears. But Wei Wuxian ignored the clamor and strode towards the black doors that were the only way in or out of the Nether Room.

“You can’t!” Lan Sizhui called. “They can only be opened from inside!”

As if on cue, the doors swung open and a young man staggered out, and they slammd shut again behind him. Blood was trickling from his eyes, his nose, his mouth and his ears, staining the pure white of his robe. He stared at them with crimson-rimmed eyes.

“We shouldn’t have done it—“ he choked. “It’s — it’s too strong—“

He crashed to the grass and lay like a dead thing, more blood gushing from his seven apertures. Several of the boys rushed over to him, and one began transferring spiritual energy into the wounded disciple.

Wei Wuxian glared at the now-closed doors, his hands clenching into fists. He could leave the injured in the hands of the juniors, especially since more help would be coming when other people heard the bell ringing. That meant he could focus on getting inside, and helping Lan Zhan with whatever had gone horribly wrong. Lan Zhan was probably still dealing with the problem as they spoke — he was too strong and skilled to be taken down, even by that stupid ghostly arm —

He was, right? He couldn’t be hurt, or —

“Open!” Wei Wuxian bellowed, throwing out a hand towards the black doors. Spells tore like old talismans and the black doors slammed open. Wei Wuxian sprinted inside, and heard them shut with a booming sound behind him.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the relative darkness, but he could feel the presence of the arm as soon as he stepped inside — a thick, oppressive storm of resentful energy, burning away at the corners of Wei Wuxian’s mind. He found himself looking at a large chamber with an expansive array in its center, but with bodies strewn over it, most of them bleeding the same way the man outside had been.

At the center of the array was a familiar sight — the arm, its veins bulging and its fingers curled into a fist, except for the index finger, which pointed fiercely at the sky. Resentful energy billowed from it like dark smoke from a fire, enough that a dull pain blossomed in Wei Wuxian’s chest and head. It was, if anything, even more venomous than it had been in the Mo estate.

His eyes slid to the far end of the chamber, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Lan Zhan was there, the only one still conscious. He was seated at one of the points of the array, with a guqin in his lap. His white robes and fair skin almost glowed in the dim light, and a shimmering melody wound around him even though his hands hadn’t touched the strings.

His light eyes fell on Wei Wuxian, and his hands began to dance lightly over the strings.

His heart racing, Wei Wuxian pulled the flute from his sash and began to play. He recognized the melody that was being played — it was “Evocation,” which was the tune used to draw forth the soul of a person who was dead. He joined in as the harmony, pouring his soul into supporting Lan Zhan. They could do it, he thought fiercely. The two of them had managed to take down the arm at the Mo estate, and he was sure that they could drag the ghost into the open. And once they did, he was confident he could make it obey…

But the minutes went by, and the arm writhed and clutched. Anxiety began to thread through Wei Wuxian’s heart — there was something horribly wrong if the ghost wasn’t appearing. There was one kind of soul that couldn’t be summoned by “Evocation” — the kind that had been torn to shreds. Something had happened to the owner of the arm — something so terrible that not only his body but his soul had been ripped apart.

The same thought seemed to have crossed Lan Zhan’s mind, because he suddenly changed the melody — now to one that would force the arm to lapse back into relative stillness and peace. Wei Wuxian changed the melody as well, winding the flute’s slightly rough notes around the guqin’s cool liquid sound. It was almost frightening how well their instruments played off each other, especially since it had been so many years since they had played with each other.

If Lan Zhan hadn’t known who he was, or if someone else in the room had been conscious, Wei Wuxian would have deliberately played badly to keep his identity from being too obvious. As it was, his eyes kept moving to Lan Qiren’s blood-spattered face occasionally, expecting the older man to wake up and cause a scene.

It took several minutes, but slowly the melody caused the angry arm to subside, as if the music were draining the rage from it. The bulging veins on its length vanished, and the tension slipped away from the muscles. Most importantly, the roiling storm of deadly resentful energy dissipated like mist in the summer sun, until it was merely a cold, seething presence in the center of the array. The guqin strings were stilled by the touch of a slender hand, and a flute was lowered from its owner’s lips.

“Not bad, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said with a shaky grin.

The doors flew open just then, and the juniors and other nearby disciples flooded into the Nether Room. Some had their swords at the ready, while others had instruments already out in their hands.

“Hanguang-jun!” several voices cried at once.

Lan Zhan had put away the guqin, and knelt at the side of his injured uncle, taking his pulse. Wei Wuxian squatted down beside him, wincing slightly at the blood still trickling from Lan Qiren’s eyes like tears, from his nose and his red-stained lips. He hadn’t seen resentful energy do something like this since the Sunshot Campaign — and even then, he had been the one who controlled it. The dead, dismembered man was terrifying in his rage and resentment, and Wei Wuxian could only imagine what had caused this.

“How is your uncle?” he asked, leaning closer.

Before Lan Zhan could answer, Lan Qiren’s blood-smeared eyes flew open. “You!” he croaked.

Startled, Wei Wuxian almost fell on his backside.

Lan Qiren’s eyes bulged as they saw Wei Wuxian beside his nephew. “You — get away from — go away —“ He gurgled faintly, and collapsed back to the floor again.

Several Lan cultivators were removed from the Nether Room, including Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian let out a sight of relief as the unconscious elder was taken out of sight. He supposed that Lan Qiren must have been teetering on the edge of consciousness, and had been dragged back by the realization that the black-clad temptress was dangerously close to his perfect nephew. He would have been even more upset if he had known who this woman really was.

Then he turned to Lan Zhan, who was now gazing at the arm. It had stopped moving, but it was still upright on its stump, pointing at one of the walls.

Chapter Text

“Well, at least we know where to look next,” Wei Wuxian said.

“How do you know that?” Lan Jingyi asked.

Wei Wuxian pointed at the arm, a small smile curling his lips. “It’s pointing to the northwest, towards Qinghe. It wasn’t before. That means that it is either pointing to the other parts of its body, or to the one that killed its owner.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, nodding slightly.

Excitement was starting to uncoil inside Wei Wuxian, and even without asking, he had an idea of what Lan Zhan was planning. The white-clad man looked as composed and poised as ever, like a statue carved out of snow and ice, even with blood on the floor around him and fallen disciples being carried out of the building. His face was slightly downturned towards the bound and suppressed arm, his eyes remote and hard to read.

“So you’re going to find the rest of the body,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms.

“Mn.”

“That’s great!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “Because you’re not leaving without me, darling!”

Before Lan Zhan could move away from him, he threw himself against the taller man, slipping both arms around his neck. The scent of sandalwood became even stronger as he pressed his lips against Lan Zhan’s cheek. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear a chorus of gasps from the disciples who were watching. Probably none of them could believe that this strange woman was being so forward with Hanguang-jun — actually grabbing him and kissing him without regard for his dignity.

The smell of sandalwood became even stronger up close, and he felt vaguely surprised at how smooth and soft Lan Zhan’s skin felt against his lips. Without meaning to, he let his mouth linger on Lan Zhan's face, and his arms tightened around the taller man’s neck. He also became acutely aware that his breasts were pressing against Lan Zhan’s chest. Oops. He hadn’t meant to do that.

But rather than push Wei Wuxian away the way he had back near Mount Dafan, Lan Zhan became very still. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

After a very awkward moment, Wei Wuxian released Lan Zhan and dropped back down. The younger disciples were watching with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and the older ones looked like they were ready to drag Wei Wuxian out of the building for treating Hanguang-jun the way he had. Wei Wuxian simply smiled brilliantly at them, utterly unashamed.

But Lan Zhan simply gazed down at him, with no sign of embarrassment or displeasure on his face. He wasn’t even flushed. “We leave first thing in the morning,” he said coolly.

“First thing… do you mean five in the morning?” Wei Wuxian asked hesitantly.

“Mn.”

“I can’t get up that early. How about four or five hours later?”

“We will leave first thing in the morning.”

“Lan Zhan!”

*

Lan Wangji walked swiftly to his uncle’s chambers as evening began to fall. He had spent an hour forcing the arm into a further state of rest with his guqin, until it lay limp and its resentful energy had faded away to almost nothing, and had safely placed it in a Spirit-Trapping Pouch. He would play “Rest” again in the morning before he left with Wei Ying, which should keep it from lashing out the way it had at the Mo estate.
Wei Ying…

He had gone back to the Gentian House, grumbling at the idea of waking up at the usual time in the morning. But he didn’t seem to mind the idea of tracking down the rest of the dismembered corpse and soul, and he didn’t seem to mind doing it alongside Lan Wangji.

… and that kiss.

Lan Wangji’s steps slowed. He raised his hand, tentatively brushed his fingertips over the spot on his cheek where Wei Ying had kissed him. It had shocked him as much as it had shocked all the disciples who had watched, though he hadn’t let it show as much as they had. He had almost asked Wei Ying why he had done it — but then he had seen that wide, mischievous smile on his face, and knew why he had done it. Kisses weren’t significant to him, and he had probably wanted to see Lan Wangji blush.

He took a deep, slightly shaky breath. Wei Ying’s lips had been very soft, and his breath had been sweet.

As Lan Wangji entered his uncle’s chambers, he saw several men clad in white circulating around the room with incense, instruments and bowls of broth. One familiar figure was kneeling by his bedside. Lan Xichen’s face was grim; he was holding Lan Qiren’s arm and feeling his pulse.

Their uncle’s face was pale and wan, although someone had thankfully cleaned the blood from his face, smoothed back his hair and dressed him in fresh, spotless robes. He looked as impeccably neat as he was when awake and aware. Still, the pallor of his face made Lan Wangji’s heart lurch — and for a moment, his mind was flooded of memories from his youth. Memories of when his father had died.

“How is he?” he asked quietly, kneeling beside his brother.

Lan Xichen carefully folded Lan Qiren’s hands over his chest. “Better now. Stable. What he needs now is rest and quiet.”

Some of the fear eased from Lan Wangji’s heart. His uncle’s hatred for Wei Ying was something he would never allow to sway him again, but Lan Qiren was still the man who had raised him.

Lan Xichen sat back, and sighed deeply. “What about the arm?” he asked quietly.

“Temporarily suppressed.”

“Only temporarily?”

“The soul is fragmented, and very violent. We must find the rest of the body and soul, and reunite them.” Lan Wangji frowned, his fingers digging into his thighs. “But its resentment is strong. Stronger than any I have seen before.”

Lan Xichen’s brows drew together. “I see. How did you suppress it if it was so formidable?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered imperceptibly. “I was helped by Mo Lian.”

His brother looked startled by this revelation, his darker eyes widening slightly. Then an odd, secretive smile touched his lips. “She must be more accomplished than she seemed at first glance,” he said quietly. “Several experienced disciples were badly injured by it, but she alone was able to assist you in restraining the arm.”

Lan Wangji said nothing. His nerves felt stretched taut by his brother’s scrutiny, and the possibility that he might figure out that Mo Lian was something more than “she” seemed. He couldn’t let that happen. He loved and trusted his brother, but he didn’t want anyone else to know that Wei Ying was alive again. Not unless it was truly necessary. Too many people, including the Lan clan elders, hated Wei Ying and would gladly have seen him dead. Though Lan Xichen knew how much his younger brother loved Wei Ying, it would make things uncomfortable for him if anyone realized Wei Ying was alive again.

Unfortunately, Lan Xichen was studying his face intently, his eyes searching Lan Wangji’s impassive face. “Is Mo Lian accompanying you on your mission, Wangji?” he said quietly.

Lan Wangji kept his eyes fixed on the polished dark floor.

“I see,” Lan Xichen said after a moment of silence. “I suppose it would be best if you departed before Uncle wakes, then.”

“Mn.”

Lan Xichen drew an unsteady breath. “Wangji… if I may… a little advice…”

Lan Wangji slowly looked up. His brother’s face was uneasy, as if he were forcing out words that he did not want to say.

“News of your… relationship with Mo Lian has been confined to Cloud Recesses thus far. No one has spoken of it outside our home, and for the time being, no one will. Some of the elders wish to punish you for violating the rule against promiscuity, as Mo Lian is not your wife, but I have… been able to convince them otherwise for the moment. However, I fear that if you travel together, there will be no hiding the nature of your relationship, and it may affect your reputation.

“Therefore, I would like to suggest… for your own sakes… that you may want to… marry Mo Lian before setting out on your journey.”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji’s lips moved soundlessly, echoing his brother’s words.

Thoughts flitted through his minds like birds at sunrise — memories of fantasies he had entertained for twenty years, of himself and Wei Ying. Even when Wei Ying was dead, he had sometimes let himself sink into those fantasies, during the night, to ever-so-briefly be in a world where he and his love were reunited and together. Sometimes he had even dared to imagine being married, living together in Cloud Recesses, Night-Hunting together, even adopting a child…

But the reality was much less idyllic. Wei Ying did not love him, and did not see Lan Wangji’s love as anything to take seriously. The fantasies were just that — fantasies.

“I cannot,” he said quietly.

“It can be arranged quickly, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said softly. “I would make the preparations myself. If you are both willing…”

“I would wed her if she were willing,” Lan Wangji said heavily. “She is not.”

Lan Xichen’s face softened with sympathy. “Are you sure, Wangji? Have you asked her?”

Lan Wangji’s hands clutched at his robes, squeezing the fine cloth between his fingers. The spot on his cheek where Wei Ying had kissed him tingled faintly. He knew that it wasn’t something he could easily bring up with Wei Ying, especially since he didn’t know how he would react to such a question. Would he be disgusted by the idea, since he might still only desire women? Would he laugh at the idea as ridiculous? Would he have contempt for Lan Wangji for asking for such a thing of him?

A piercing pain ran through his heart, as if someone had stuck it with a long pin. He knew what Lan Xichen thought — that he was following their father’s footsteps, falling in love with a strange woman and doing whatever was necessary to protect her from his clan, even at the expense of himself. The only difference was that Wei Ying did not have to wed Lan Wangji in order to save his own life, as Lan Wangji’s mother had with Qingheng-jun.

“I know her heart,” he said quietly. “She does not love me.”

Lan Xichen heaved a sigh, and placed a hand on Lan Wangji’s arm. “Still, consider the idea of speaking to her about it,” he said softly. “She would be protected and cared for as part of our clan, especially now that her own family is dead. And you might find some peace and happiness after all these years.”

Lan Wangji kept his eyes on the floor. “I will consider it,” he said.

*

Though he rested at the required hour that night, Lan Wangji did not sleep for several hours.

His mind was still preoccupied by thoughts of a slender dark shape in the Gentian House, of soft full lips pressed against his cheek, and of equally soft breasts pressed against his chest. And as he thought of those things, words from his brother floated through his head, promises that Wei Ying would be safe and protected if he wed Lan Wangji. He wouldn’t be unassailable — Lan Wangji’s mother had still been imprisoned, even though she was the clan leader’s wife — but it would be better than nothing.

No home. No family. The few Wen survivors were gone, wiped out years ago. No clan. Enemies on every side, including Jiang Cheng, who was like a vicious dog when his temper was roused. A reputation as the most malign, corrupt creature to ever live. Wei Ying had so little supporting him, and so much against him…

Lan Wangji fell into a fitful sleep, but woke precisely at the hour before sunrise, to the sound of a bell tolling in the distance. He rose almost automatically, dressing himself and arranging his hair as he did nearly every morning. His hands moved through their habitual motions without conscious thought, since his mind was too busy thinking of Wei Ying.

The sky was lightening in the east when he came to the Gentian House, and quietly slipped inside. The morning air was chilly, so he quickly slid the doors shut behind himself, and walked into the modestly-sized bedroom, with its beautiful murals and elaborately-carved wooden bed. His mother’s bedroom, where she had slept during the too-few years she had lived in Cloud Recesses.

Wei Ying was fast asleep in her bed, loose, rumpled black hair spread all around him. He was dressed in a thin white sleeping robe, and had kicked the blanket off of himself. His slender, shapely legs were bare, and one was hanging off the bed towards the floor. His arms were thrown outward, as if he had simply thrown himself backwards on the bed and fallen asleep in that position.

Lan Wangji knelt beside him, his gaze lingering on Wei Ying's sleeping face. He looked so peaceful and innocent when he slept, both words that no one would use for him when he was awake.

Then his brow suddenly wrinkled, and his lips twisted downward in a frown. “No…” he breathed, slowly moving his head.

Lan Wangji stiffened, and leaned closer.

Wei Ying’s fingers clutched at the sheet, his breaths suddenly coming faster. “No… dogs… I… shijie… no…”

Lan Wangji’s hand brushed over Wei Ying’s brow, smoothing back his loose hair. “Wei Ying,” he said softly. "Wake up.”

Wei Ying’s face crumpled slightly, as if he were going to cry, and his eyes squeezed even more firmly shut. Lan Wangji’s hands slid down to his thin shoulders, ready to shake him awake before his nightmare could cause him any more distress.

But suddenly the fear and misery drained from Wei Ying’s face, and his breathing began to slow. “Lan Zhan,” he breathed.

Lan Wangji went still, his heart racing in his chest. He watched as the beautiful woman in front of him grew peaceful once more, and slid back into quiet, formless dreams. The murmur of his name had been so faint that he had barely been able to hear it, and yet he was sure Wei Ying had said it. Was he awake enough to realize that Lan Wangji was near him?

“Wei Ying,” he repeated. “Wake up.”

Wei Ying’s eyes fluttered, then squeezed shut again. “Don’t, Lan Zhan,” he murmured. “I’m tired.”

Lan Wangji spent a half hour quietly trying to rouse Wei Ying from his sleep, and receiving only sleepy half-protests, followed by Wei Ying curling up like a shrimp to avoid being pulled out of bed. With a sigh, he pulled a book from his sleeve and began reading it by Wei Ying’s bedside, while the sky outside grew light and blue. The sound of a flute began to play somewhere nearby — probably some young disciple practicing his instrument — and it seemed almost in harmony with the songs of the birds in the trees outside.

It was the middle of the morning when Wei Ying finally woke up. He stirred against the sheets for a moment, stretched his arms over his head, and yawned. After rubbing his eyes with his fingers, he looked up at Lan Wangji with sleep-blurred eyes.

“Lan Zhan?” he said dubiously.

“Mn."

“What are you doing?”

Lan Wangji closed his book. “Waiting.”

Wei Ying looked a little confused for a moment. Then his eyes widened. “Right, right. This morning. Good thing I don’t have much to pack…”

He sprang out of the bed with no regard for modesty. Lan Wangji averted his eyes as the demonic cultivator dressed himself in fresh clothing, even though he desperately wanted to look. He had never desired a woman’s body before — only a man’s — and he itched to see more of its contours and curves now. It was unfamiliar territory to him, since he had never seen a woman in a state of undress, but it was something he desperately wanted to explore now.

“Wei Ying,” he said quietly.

“Hmm, what?”

“My brother has made a suggestion about the… journey.”

There was the sound of cloth sliding against cloth, and then a loud clatter as Wei Ying crept halfway under the bed in search of his boots. “What’s that?”

Lan Wangji felt his mouth going dry, but he forced himself to speak anyhow. “He believes that… for propriety’s sake… it would be unwise for us to travel together as we now are.”

“Propriety?” Wei Ying laughed. “What’s wrong with the way things are, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji’s stomach twisted into knots, but he kept his voice steady and even. “He also said that our clan could offer you protection and care that you would not find elsewhere, if…”

Wei Ying swept around him, tying back his long hair in a high ponytail. His face was bright and merry, and his cherry-colored lips were curved into an eager, charming smile. For a moment the new face seemed to be overlaid by the old, and Lan Wangji was gazing at a face that was both male and female, bright and beautiful, alight with interest. It made his heart clench.

Wei Ying dropped onto a cushion in front of Lan Wangji, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees. “And?” he prompted. “If?”

Lan Wangji steeled himself, closing his eyes as he spoke. “If you marry me.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, Wei Wuxian was too shocked to speak.

His first instinct was to blurt out a “no.” He had never really wanted to get married to anybody, partly because his interactions with girls had never really gotten past heavy flirting. Contrary to the rumors of the Yiling Patriarchs’s debauched habits and many captive concubines, he had never slept with anyone. He hadn’t even come close. He had only ever been kissed one time — and he had never even seen the girl’s face, before or after it had happened.

Sure, he had occasionally thought, in his teen years, about what a girl would have to be like for him to entertain thoughts of marriage. The requirements and personality had shifted with his moods, and the girl had always been oddly faceless, as if he hadn’t been able to figure out what precisely he wanted. But none of it had been serious — and after a few years, he had been thrown into the Burial Mounds, and all thoughts of romance had flown from his head as he created demonic cultivation, embarked on the Sunshot Campaign, and then turned against all the major clans.

Before he could say anything, Lan Zhan said in a low voice, “Nothing would be expected of you. I would demand nothing. You would still be free to do as you liked, but you would be protected.”

“I—“ Wei Wuxian said.

But then he remembered an important little detail: he was a woman now. He had no illusions about what it was like to be a woman in this world — they were at a disadvantage, and the world could often be crueler to them than it could be to men. As a child living in the streets, he had seen plenty of women dragged into lives of prostitution, unable to free themselves unless some wealthy man took a fancy to them and bought their freedom. He had seen women beaten by drunkards, girls pressed into marriage against their will.

He had more power than those women, even now — at least, as long as he had the ability to play his music. But he also had the entire cultivation world howling for his blood — and if someone powerful found out who he was, then they would kill him in the most unpleasant ways they could. Jiang Cheng and the Jin Clan would not have mercy for him just because he was a woman now. Some of them might have less than if he were a man.

His brow crinkled slightly as he thought about it. On the other hand… people probably wouldn’t suspect the wife of the upright, perfect, morally-correct Hanguang-jun of being the devious, depraved Yiling Patriarch. Nobody would expect Lan Zhan to have anything to do with him, which might diminish any suspicions before they had a chance to bloom. At the same time… he wasn’t sure why Lan Zhan would want to permanently tie himself to someone who had annoyed him for so long.

Wei Wuxian slowly leaned forward, studying Lan Zhan’s face with wide, unblinking eyes. The white-clad man’s eyes were fixed on the wall, and his pale features were impassive and stern. But a faint flush had appeared on his ears, and his slender hands were tightly clasped in his lap. His body was stiff and unbending, as if… almost as if he were nervous.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “Why are you asking this?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes lowered, and his lips parted. But no sound came from him, only a deep sigh.

“I mean, why would you want to marry me? What’s in this for you?”

Lan Zhan said nothing. A slight tremor ran through his clasped hands.

Wei Wuxian rested his chin on his hand. “I know you haven’t found a wife in all these years, probably because you’re so stuffy and rigid… but… do you really want to give up the chance?”

“I will not take someone else,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

Wei Wuxian smiled slightly. “Lan Zhan, I know I annoy the hell out of you, and I fit in at Cloud Recesses like a fish in the desert. You shouldn’t want to marry me just so things don’t look improper.”

Then again, he thought, that might be why Lan Zhan was offering marriage in the first place. The Lan Clan had a strict rule against promiscuity — not just sleeping with someone outside of marriage, but lesser things like pornography and kissing. To those stuffy old farts, Lan Zhan spending so much time around “Mo Lian” probably looked like an illicit affair, even though it was nothing of the sort. He would probably be punished for promiscuity if he didn’t marry Wei Wuxian, just because of gossip and presumptions. They probably would do even worse if he took Wei Wuxian out on a prolonged trip, with no one to oversee them.

Slowly, as if almost unwilling, Lan Zhan turned his head towards Wei Wuxian. His light eyes were unreadable, but there was something in their depths that Wei Wuxian couldn’t identify.

“I will not take someone else,” he repeated.

“I don’t know what that means.”

Lan Zhan’s eyelids lowered over those pale eyes, brushing lacy black lashes over his high cheekbones.

Wei Wuxian sat back, bracing his arms against the floor and staring off into space. He still wasn’t sure why Lan Zhan was proposing a marriage of convenience in the first place, unless he was really, really desperate to avoid being punished for promiscuity. Which didn’t seem like him, at all. He had always been willing to be punished for even the slightest wrongdoing, even if he wasn’t actually at fault.

It seemed like it would benefit Wei Wuxian, at least for the time being, but not Lan Zhan. He wasn’t sure why Lan Zhan would give up the chance to be with a person he loved, to marry them and have children, to protect someone he had been at odds with for most of their shared years. Maybe he had given up on love and romance after years of not finding a wife. Maybe, like Jiang Fengmian, he had fallen in love only to be rejected, and didn’t really want anyone else.

Still… maybe… since he seemed so insistent…

“I will inform my brother of your refusal,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

“Wait! I was just about to say yes!” Wei Wuxian said, dismayed.

Lan Zhan looked up at him sharply, his light eyes widening slightly. His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak again, but no sound came out.

Wei Wuxian leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. Normally Lan Zhan would have reprimanded him for “sitting incorrectly,” whatever that meant, but right now he looked too startled to say anything.

“I don’t know what you get out of a marriage of convenience,” Wei Wuxian said, rolling his flute between his hands. “I mean, you end up stuck with me, at least for now. You’re sacrificing getting to be with someone else or having kids. Meanwhile, I’m getting some protections from the Lan Clan, and from being associated with your good reputation.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said quietly. His eyes were downcast again, almost shyly.

“I still don’t know what you’re getting from it,” Wei Wuxian said. “But if you’re willing to, let’s do it.”

Lan Zhan looked up at him again, pinkness creeping into his ears. Then he nodded once. “I will inform my brother.”

Chapter Text

As soon as the door slid shut behind Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian immediately began to wonder what he had done. He hadn’t even had breakfast yet, and yet he had agreed to marry a man whom he had spent the better part of two decades annoying. A man who had never shown the slightest sliver of desire or romance, despite an ancestor who had apparently had plenty. A man… full stop. That in itself was enough of a shock.

Although he had to admit, if he had to marry a man, at least Lan Zhan was a beautiful one. He had never been able to fault even one of Lan Zhan’s physical features — only lament that he often looked so cold and unhappy, which tainted that beautiful face. He was also slender but strong, with broad shoulders and lean, powerful arms, and in the Sunshot Campaign, Wei Wuxian had seen firsthand how strong and graceful he was. Like a whirlwind all in white, Bichen glowing in his hand and deadly notes springing from the strings of his guqin Wangji.

A guest disciple brought him food not too long afterwards — probably ordered by Lan Zhan — but Wei Wuxian’s stomach felt like it contained a small, tenacious typhoon. All he could do was awkwardly pick at the food and try to choke down a little of it.

Why was he nervous? Why did he feel more anxious now that he had when Lan Zhan abducted him?

He chewed on a dumpling nervously for some time, turning the thought over and over in his mouth. He had never thought about what married life would look like for him — his life had been full of too much chaos for him to even consider it. As for a life with Lan Zhan… what exactly would that involve? Lan Zhan had said that he wouldn’t expect anything of Wei Wuxian… did that mean he didn’t expect any kind of intimacy?

Wei Wuxian jumped as the door slid open again, and Lan Zhan appeared in the doorway. His face showed nothing of what he was feeling, but… maybe it was Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but he moved a little less gracefully than he usually did. His eyes were still downcast, as if he weren’t comfortable meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

Lan Zhan said nothing until he had seated himself at the table, and folded his hands in his lap. “The wedding will take place in two days’ time,” he said quietly.

“Oh… okay,” Wei Wuxian said faintly.

Lan Zhan’s eyes moved up to meet his, and the jut of his throat bobbed.“Unless… you have decided otherwise,” he said in a low voice.

Feeling awkward again, Wei Wuxian plucked another dumpling from his plate and began nibbling it. “No, that’s not what I mean. I’m just not sure what you have in mind.”

Lan Zhan said nothing. His face and eyes were unreadable, as smooth and cool as the surface of a winter pond. If he was upset or discomfited, he wasn’t giving any sign.

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, before plunging ahead. “What do you expect me to be to you?” he asked.

Lan Zhan’s steady gaze did not waver. “Wei Ying.”

“Yes, what?”

Lan Zhan’s lips twitched slightly. “I expect you only… to be Wei Ying.”

A giggle escaped Wei Wuxian before he could stop it. He was suddenly reminded of Lan Zhan’s reaction when he had heard the name of Wei Wuxian’s sword. Obviously he had learned a few things in the past thirteen years!

“That’s funny,” he said, resting his cheek on his fist. “Considering you’re the only one who knows who I really am.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed.

Wei Wuxian felt his smile fading, as he studied Lan Zhan’s face. “What I mean is… if it’s a marriage of convenience… would you be all right with never fucking someone? Or would you fuck someone else and just not marry them?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes flashed. “I will be faithful.”

Wei Wuxian hadn’t been sure how Lan Zhan would react to the question — except to probably admonish him for his shameless crudeness — but he looked almost offended. Probably the lifetime under a rule that forbade promiscuity, which presumably included any kind of infidelity.

“I meant that—“ he started to say.

Lan Zhan’s fingers pressed into the soft, fine cloth of his white robes. “I will demand nothing of you,” he said stoically. “Nothing would happen that you did not desire.”

Wei Wuxian put down the chopsticks, and leaned across the table. There was something he was missing from this entire scenario. Lan Zhan was doing all this to give him some kind of protection from his enemies, but… he was sacrificing his chance at a normal relationship to do so. Why would he do that? Who would do something like that for someone who had once been their enemy?

Was… was he doing this at someone else’s behest? He had mentioned that his brother had suggested this marriage. Had Lan Xichen pushed him into this, out of the belief that his brother had been sleeping with “Mo Lian” and needed to marry her for decency’s sake? Did Lan Zhan actually want to marry him of his own free will, or was he simply doing what he was told?

“Lan Zhan," he said quietly. “Tell me honestly. Have you ever slept with anyone?”

Lan Zhan gazed at him silently, his expression unreadable. Then, he slowly shook his head.

“Then… why are you giving that up? You don’t even know what you’re missing.” Wei Wuxian jabbed at his own chest with one of the chopsticks. “I don’t even know what I would expect to happen, the way I am now. But in my old life, I never slept with anyone.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “Never…” he said softly.

“I was only even kissed once,” Wei Wuxian said with a sigh. “And I never even saw her face. She ran away before I could.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought that Lan Zhan’s fair skin had blanched even paler. He wasn’t sure why — it probably wasn’t that upsetting to find out that the Yiling Patriarch hadn’t been the depraved sex maniac that people had painted him as. Like all young men did, he had tried to seem more experienced with women than he had been, back when they were youths. But there was no reason for him to lie about it now.

“Anyway, my point is that you’ll be missing out on a lot. Don’t you want a real wife? Or kids? Isn’t that more important to you than whatever crazy things I get up to?”

Lan Zhan seemed to have regained his composure, and was now looking at him again with a measured gaze. “I resigned myself to never having a wife or children many years ago.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Why would you do that? Wouldn’t it be better to keep an open mind?”

“Mn.”

“I don’t understand you, Lan Zhan. You fought against me for years because of demonic cultivation, then you try to protect me. You’re willing to be in a marriage of convenience that doesn’t benefit you at all.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes drifted down to his own knees, as if he didn’t know where to look. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, before he said quietly, “I have made my choice, and I will abide by it. If Wei Ying is still willing, we will be married in two days.”

Chapter Text

The ceremony was brief and sparsely attended, which was not surprising considering how quickly it had been arranged. As far as Wei Wuxian could tell, it had only been planned a few days in advance.

Two Lan women showed on the morning of the wedding, bringing bridal robes with them — simple but elegant robes of crimson, with a hint of gold — and helped Wei Wuxian put them on. He felt a little awkward wearing clothing this fine, but he swallowed his discomfort. One of the women wanted to put makeup on his face that befitted a bride, but Wei Wuxian didn’t really like the idea, so they simply draped a filmy red veil over his head.

He was escorted to a large, light-filled hall, mostly filled by male Lan cultivators wearing the ribbon embroidered with rolling clouds. They looked eerily alike, gathered in the same place like that. The same robes, the same ribbons, the same stern expressions, and all were quite beautiful, though none of them were as handsome as Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian recognized a few faces in the crowd from his teenage years, but most of them were unfamiliar to him.

The most familiar was Lan Xichen, who smiled and took Wei Wuxian’s arm, guiding him through the room to where Lan Zhan was waiting. He seemed genuinely pleased that his brother was marrying, even though Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine why. He had only even known about “Mo Lian” for a few days! Was he worried that abducting a woman would sully his brother’s reputation, so he thought that the problem would go away if they married?

Lan Zhan was kneeling at the far end of the room, a stick of incense burning in front of him. He was also robed all in crimson, except for the white ribbon bound around his brow. His eyes were downcast, until his brother carefully helped Wei Wuxian kneel across from him. Then he looked up, intently staring at Wei Wuxian’s veiled face.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully.

“Do not be frivolous,” Lan Zhan admonished him.

Wei Wuxian glanced to the side as Lan Xichen sat down near him, smiling gently. Near Lan Zhan, Lan Sizhui was seating himself, looking more than a little uncertain and confused.

Someone in the hall was playing a guqin as the two made their bows. Two plaques for the dead had been placed nearby, and though Wei Wuxian couldn’t read them through his veil, he assumed they held the names of Lan Zhan’s mother and father. His father had died because of the Wen Clan when they were both teenagers, around the time the two youths had destroyed the Xuanwu of Slaughter. As for his mother, Wei Wuxian had never heard a word said about her. Maybe she had died when Lan Zhan was a baby, which might explain why nobody talked about her.

His own parents couldn’t be included in the second bow. Their names would betray his true identity — and he had no intention of bowing to Jin Guangshan. In any way. He would have to settle for Qingheng-jun and the unknown Madame Lan.

As they turned to one another, Wei Wuxian was a little stunned at how Lan Zhan was looking at him. His pale eyes were normally like patches of icy sky, but… maybe it was the veil, but they looked somehow more intense, more fiery. For some reason, Wei Wuxian’s heart began to beat faster as the two slowly bowed to one another.

It was over. It was done. They were actually married.

If he had gone back in time almost twenty years and told his younger teenage self that one day, he would be marrying the human block of ice known as Lan Wangji, that younger self would have laughed until his knees buckled. Of course, his younger self would also have probably been horrified by the revelation that he had died and ended up with a strange woman’s body instead of his own.

He slowly pushed himself up, and gazed at Lan Zhan. His new… husband… was gazing down at him again, lips parted. They had been the same height in Wei Wuxian’s previous life, but he was several inches shorter than Lan Zhan now, and his body was much thinner and less imposing. He felt suddenly very vulnerable, even though he knew Lan Wangji wasn’t the kind of person to physically intimidate a woman.

Then suddenly strong hands were on Wei Wuxian’s waist, and he was being lifted from the floor as effortlessly as if he were a small child. His hands clutched wildly at the front of Lan Zhan’s robes. “Hey!” he squeaked.

But Lan Zhan set him down firmly on his feet, and for a few seconds, his hands lingered on Wei Wuxian’s waist, smoothing the fine crimson silk against his body. Then he pulled them away abruptly, as if he had been burned, and his eyes flickered away from Wei Wuxian’s. He looked almost embarrassed, even though Wei Wuxian couldn’t imagine what he would feel embarrassed about.

His stomach clenched. Was Lan Zhan only marrying him because his brother had pushed him into it? That would explain why he had been acting so oddly ever since he had brought up the idea — and why he would suggest a marriage of convenience to someone who had annoyed him since their very first meeting. Wei Wuxian’s eyes moved swiftly to Lan Xichen, who was watching the two of them awkwardly interact with a serene expression.

“Sister,” he said gently. “I will have you escorted back to the Gentian House.”

Wei Wuxian twitched a little behind his veil. Normally, he knew, a woman who had just been married would be brought to the bridal chamber to wait for her groom. Then they would… consummate the union that night. But it was pretty far from night — it wasn’t even noon yet — and Lan Zhan had already indicated that he didn’t expect Wei Wuxian to sleep with him, or at least that he wouldn't demand it. What exactly was coming next?

The various Lan cultivators were eerily silent as they watched the bride and groom stand awkwardly before each other. Randomly, Wei Wuxian found himself wondering how many of the men before him were married, and what kind of lives they had with their own wives. Male and female Lan cultivators were kept strictly separate most of the time — how could you love someone and barely ever see them?

One of Lan Zhan’s hands pressed against his back, guiding him over to Lan Sizhui. The boy quickly stood up straight and alert, his eyes flickering from Lan Zhan’s face to Wei Wuxian’s veiled one.

“Hanguang-jun?” he asked.

“Please escort her back to the Gentian House,” Lan Zhan said in a low voice.

“I can walk back on my own,” Wei Wuxian said a little indignantly.

He almost immediately bumped into Lan Xichen and tripped on his wedding robe.

Wei Wuxian only removed his veil once Lan Sizhui had taken him out of the hall. He glanced over his shoulder as the doors were shut by two guest disciples, and saw several Lan men approaching Lan Zhan — probably expressing concern or giving congratulations. Possibly both at the same time. They probably were worried about Lan Zhan sullying the clan’s reputation with an unsuitable wife. If only they knew how unsuitable she really was.

Alone in the Gentian House, Wei Wuxian stripped off the crimson robe and slipped back on his usual black one. He didn’t possess anything other than a few items of spare clothing, which he had stowed in a qiankun pouch. He slipped his flute into the sash behind his back, and then glanced at himself in a polished brass mirror on the wall. He was slowly getting used to seeing a woman’s reflection, and no longer experienced a heart-stopping shock when he saw an unfamiliar face in the mirror.

Well, he didn’t look the part of a demure, blushing bride waiting for her adoring groom. He looked like his old self — only female now — and there was an impish smile on his lips that hadn’t been there for several days. If anyone had seen him, especially Lan Qiren, they would have assumed he was planning some kind of mischief.

Then the door opened, and Lan Zhan stepped inside, now clad all in his usual white robes.

“Ready to go?” Wei Wuxian said, twirling his flute.

Lan Zhan gazed at him for a moment, as if studying him from head to toe. His eyes traced over the silken hair pulled back in a ponytail, the sparkling dark eyes brimming with mischievous merriment, and the confident, rather masculine stance of the slim, gently curving body. Then he stepped back out the door.

“Mn,” he said quietly.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji watched as the slender, crimson-clad figure was led away by Sizhui. He could hear Wei Ying muttering as he almost tripped on a smooth paving-stone, apparently having trouble seeing through his veil. Then one of the guest disciples slid the door shut, blocking him from view.

For the next half hour, Lan Wangji kept his hands concealed in his sleeves, so no one would see them tremble. It was done. He and Wei Ying were married. A part of him hadn’t been quite able to believe that it would happen, had been sure that Wei Ying would get cold feet and pull out at the last second, and perhaps even try to escape Cloud Recesses.

But he hadn’t — and now they were married.

Now that the ceremony was over and the bride had been taken back to the Gentian House, Lan Wangji was greeted by various distant cousins that he had known all his life. They all expressed their gladness at his marriage. But there was an undercurrent of pity in their congratulations — they clearly didn’t think a bastard daughter of Jin Guangshan, and one thought to be mad at that, was good enough for Hanguang-jun. It didn’t matter to Lan Wangji — he suspected that if many of them knew Wei Ying’s true heritage, they wouldn’t think he was good enough either.

He also suspected that most of them, if not all, believed that Wei Ying was pregnant with his child, and this rushed marriage was a way of quickly covering up Lan Wangji’s scandalous behavior. It wasn’t an unreasonable supposition, he reluctantly admitted to himself. He might think the same if his brother had suddenly wed a woman he had only brought to Cloud Recesses a week ago.

His brother came over to him, and inclined his head. “Are you happy, Wangji?” he asked warmly.

Lan Wangji slowly nodded. His emotions were, truthfully, rather mixed — but when he thought that Wei Ying would be near him in the future, he felt a fierce, burning warmth that had been missing from his life for a long time. And he was looking forward to spending time with Wei Ying away from Cloud Recesses, where many eyes and ears monitored them. Gossip might be forbidden in his home, but Lan Wangji knew that it happened anyway.

“How is uncle?” he asked in a low voice.

Lan Xichen’s smile faltered. “Still unconscious, though his wounds are healing well. It would probably be best if you and… your new wife were gone when he awakes.”

Lan Wangji wholeheartedly agreed. His uncle would never have tolerated his nephew marrying what he thought of as a mad, corrupting seductress who had inspired him to follow his father’s example. By the time he woke and learned of what had happened, Lan Wangji expected to be safely in Qinghe, and hopefully his fury would have died down somewhat by the time they returned to Cloud Recesses.

Lan Sizhui reappeared just as Lan Wangji was about to leave, a slight blush on his cheeks. “Hanguang-jun,” he said earnestly. “Lady Mo… I mean, Mo Lian… er… your wife is waiting for you in the Gentian House.”

His cheeks flushed awkwardly at the thought of what he believed she was waiting for. A softness crept into Lan Wangji’s eyes as he turned towards the youth, who was the closest thing he had to a son. He remembered being that age, and how easily he had been embarrassed by the subject of what happened in people’s bedrooms.

“You did well, Sizhui,” he said warmly.

But the praise didn’t seem to ease the boy’s discomfort. Instead, he looked up anxiously at Lan Wangji. “Hanguang-jun… sir…”

“What is wrong?” Lan Wangji asked.

“It’s just… this is very sudden, isn’t it? You met Mo Lian less than two weeks ago and now… you’re marrying her. The way she came here was so… so strange. And ever since we arrived home, you’ve spent most of your time around her. You act like you’ve known her a long time, and that you know her really well, but…” The boy’s words tangled together, and for a moment he seemed to be struggling with what to say. Finally, he just said, “I mean no disrespect, Hanguang-jun. I simply don’t understand.”

Lan Wangji’s heart warmed towards the youth. Aside from his brother, Sizhui was probably the only one who did not have uncharitable thoughts towards “Mo Lian.” During the last thirteen years, the boy had been one of the few bright spots in Lan Wangji’s life, and he had found himself often being pulled out of darkness by the child’s innocent, earnest personality. He didn’t seem to remember any of his old life as Wen Yuan — only life at Cloud Recesses, with Lan Wangji as the closest thing he had to a father.

In fact, Lan Wangji knew that some of the elders suspected he was Yuan’s father. He had managed to claim Sizhui was the son of a third cousin once removed and his wife, both of whom had died during the battle at Nightless City, and thus the child was raised as a full-blooded member of the Lan clan. He had done his best to contribute to the boy’s upbringing as best he could, making sure he was loved and cared for, and taught to follow his conscience rather than allow himself to be swayed by others.

“That night at the Mo estate… was not my first meeting with Mo Lian,” he said slowly. “I knew her many years ago, when you were still very young. At that time, I knew that I wanted no one but her to be my wife.”

“Then you… you’ve known her for a long time?”

“Mn.”

The worry in Sizhui’s eyes faded somewhat at that not-lie, apparently out of relief that Hanguang-jun hadn’t just wedded a woman he barely knew. “Did anyone else know that you were in love with her?” he asked earnestly.

Lan Wangji lowered his eyes. “Only one other person. But I could not marry her then.”

“Why not? Was it her family?”

“She was… not there to be married at the time.” His heart clenched at the memory of Wei Ying’s wild-eyed face as he had snapped “Get lost!” with unimaginable venom. And after that, he had been gone. Body and soul.

Sizhui looked a little confused at the answer.

Lan Wangji’s face softened slightly. “Go. Your studies are waiting.”

In the Tranquility Room, he stripped off the groom’s robes and tossed them on his bed, before donning his usual pure white traveling robes. The qiankun pouch containing the arm was already waiting there with Bichen — he and Wei Ying had played “Rest” to it the night before, so it should be several hours before they needed to again. Without their music, it would regain its strength and ferocity, and burst out of the bag to wreak havoc once again. Even in a place like Cloud Recesses, with so many cultivators, it would cause many deaths before it was restrained again.

As he approached the Gentian House, his steps slowed. A wave of memories came over him of other days he had spent in this house — of seeing his mother when he had been a small child, too young and innocent to know why she never left her home. All he had known was that he loved her. And in the almost thirty years since her death, he had felt a stab of pain whenever he saw it.

Now Wei Ying was in that house. His presence filled the emptiness that had dwelled there for all that time.

Things would be different for them, Lan Wangji thought fiercely. He would never let Wei Ying be imprisoned the way his mother had been. And no matter what others thought he was doing, he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. He would not punish himself for the rest of his life for loving whom he loved.

Chapter Text

Two horses were waiting for them at the bottom of the endless steps that led to Cloud Recesses. Normally cultivators would have flown on their swords, which was easier, cleaner and substantially faster. However, Wei Wuxian hadn’t flown in years, even before his death, due to the loss of his golden core. He had no idea where his sword Suibian had ended up — probably in some clan leader’s vault as a valuable evil artifact of the Yiling Patriarch.

Even if he did have Suibian, he reflected, he still couldn’t have flown. Mo Lian’s spiritual energy was so weak that it would probably take at least a few years for him to cultivate enough power to fly on a sword. He had no idea why she had been so feeble — it wasn’t like she had had no potential. Maybe she just hadn’t applied herself, or maybe Jin Guangshan hadn’t bothered to have her taught well.

Technically, Lan Zhan could have flown them both on Bichen, but carrying two people such a long distance would put a strain on him. So they would take horses or walk.

Wei Wuxian chattered as they rode, the words freely flowing from him after a few weeks of having to restrict his words whenever he was outside the Gentian House. Now it was only him and Lan Zhan, without the possibility of others overhearing. He could relax, and just be himself — at least until they got to their destination.

“How is Nie Huisang?” Wei Wuxian asked, twirling his flute. “He probably hasn’t changed a lot in thirteen years.”

Lan Zhan’s face became grimmer.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asked, alarmed. “He isn’t dead, is he?”

“He is not,” Lan Zhan said. “He is now head of the Nie clan.”

“Nie Mingjue died?" Wei Wuxian exclaimed.

“Mn."

It had probably been a fight, Wei Wuxian concluded. Nie Mingjue had been a fierce, warlike man who lived for battle — he had never shown any interest in women, art, clothing, magic or anything else that didn't involve hacking at things with a saber. When Wei Wuxian had known him, he had also been in ridiculously good health and not very old, so he doubted that it had been illness that killed him.

Then again, the last big conflict had been the Sunshot Campaign. Back then, both Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen had become clan leaders at very young ages after their fathers were murdered. If Nie Mingjue had survived that vicious war, then it was hard to imagine that anyone could take him out easily. He frowned and nudged the horse to move closer to Lan Zhan’s. “So what happened to him?”

“He suffered a severe qi deviation,” Lan Zhan said.

As he explained it, the qi deviation had happened publicly and very violently. His temper had always been irascible, but he he gone completely out of control, injured or killed many people, and then vanished without a trace. Presumed dead — no one could have survived that qi deviation, and the bloody injuries it had left — he had been replaced by his younger brother.

Wei Wuxian winced. He remembered Nie Huisang well from his youth, and he had been a likable, tagalong person with an eye for art and ornamental fans… but he had never been scholarly or a capable fighter, and he didn’t have the earmarks of a potential leader. Maybe he had changed in that time.

Lan Zhan explained more about the changes that had come about in the cultivation world in the last thirteen years, such as the building of the watchtowers. It sounded like a good idea in theory to Wei Wuxian, although he doubted that the other clans had been happy about the expenditure of money and manpower in the years after the war against the Wen Clan had deprived them of both.

Furthermore, Jin Guangshan was dead. Wei Wuxian felt a thrill of satisfaction at the news, given what the man had done to him, to Wen Ning and the Wen refugees. Apparently he had died as he had lived, and the news had leaked out despite the Jin Clan's initial efforts to depict his death as a peaceful and dignified one. He had apparently hired a few dozen prostitutes to participate in an orgy with him, had taken a potion to enhance his sexual performance, and his heart had failed from the sheer strain. Lan Zhan looked disgusted just having to relay the sordid information, and Wei Wuxian teasingly asked if he wanted to stop and wash out his mouth.

Jin Guangshan had died with no legitimate close heirs — his only legitimate son Jin Zixuan had died at Wen Ning’s hands, as had his nephew Jin Zixun. Jin Ling had been the only legitimate heir, but he had been an orphaned toddler at the time. So the status had been handed to Jin Guangyao, the only one of Jin Guangshan's many illegitimate sons who had been recognized by his father.

Wei Wuxian frowned, and tapped his flute against his chin. Why had they summoned Mo Lian? he found himself wondering. Jin Guangshan had only thought women were good for one thing, so he wouldn’t have considered her as a potential heir. Besides, only one cultivation clan had ever had a female leader, and she had been both controversial and very long ago. He was missing a piece of the puzzle.

*

They stopped in a small city for the evening, taking a spacious room in a hotel that was fairly close to the center of town. Wei Wuxian tensed when he heard Lan Zhan order one room — but it turned out to be a larger room than the single ones, and clearly intended for a larger traveling party. There were three luxurious wooden beds in the spacious suite, and while it wasn’t as beautifully decorated as the Gentian House, it was comfortable and pleasant.

Wei Wuxian dropped onto one of the beds, with his arms and legs splayed out, and heaved a sigh. “Finally. I feel like my ass is about to break from riding for so long.”

“We only rode for seven hours,” Lan Zhan said, drinking his tea.

“It feels like days." Wei Wuxian rolled onto his stomach, and rested his chin on his hands. “My throat is parched after breathing in all that dust.”

“There is tea.”

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian slithered off the edge of the bed with his hands on the floor, sinuous and languid. He gazed impishly up at the impassive white-clad man, a clever smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. “Don't you know your wife better than that? You know I’m not thirsty for tea.”

He turned away just as Lan Zhan put down his teacup. Though his fair face was as pale as ever, a deep pinkish tinge had crept into his ears.

Lan Zhan left the rooms briefly, and returned with a tray of food and a jar of local wine. Most of the dishes were richly spiced and flavorful, and Lan Zhan seemed oddly insistent that Wei Wuxian eat as much as possible. He himself ate from only a couple of the dishes, which contained a great deal of green and not much spice or color. At least they weren’t the dismal bark-munching vegetarian fare that was fed to most of the people in Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian reflected. One of the dishes contained a small amount of chicken, the other had fish.

After dinner, they played “Rest” to the qiankun pouch, and this time Wei Wuxian felt something pushing insistently against him. The arm inside had a will that went beyond the fragment of soul lodged within it — it wanted to be reunited with its other body parts, just as its ripped-asunder soul wanted to be stitched back together. Maybe, he reflected, they could do so when they found the other parts. Then they would find out who this most vicious of fierce corpses was.

Before long, the sky had gone dark and the moon floated overhead like a lost candle. As he always did, Lan Zhan lay down in his bed with the grace of a dove descending on a branch. He folded his hands on his chest, and closed his eyes, as still and perfectly arranged as a statue.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian said, a little dismayed. “We’re not in Cloud Recesses anymore. You don't have to go to bed at exactly that time.”

He waited for his new husband to respond, but Lan Zhan remained as silent and still as a dead man. Wei Wuxian dropped down on the edge of his bed, and watched his face for any sign of awareness. He gently blew on Lan Zhan’s long-lashed eyes, tickled his perfect nose with a lock of Wei Wuxian’s hair, and whispered, “Lan-er-gege… are you listening?” into one slightly pink ear.

For a few minutes, Wei Wuxian crouched over Lan Zhan’s still body, his hands on either side of the stubbornly sleeping man’s head. Their chests were almost brushing together, and only a few inches separated their faces. Lan Zhan’s warm breath carried the faint smell of the tea he had drunk, mingling with his sandalwood scent. There was something alluringly pure about the smell, and Wei Wuxian lowered his face slightly to breathe more of it in.

“So I guess you’ll bring the Yiling Patriarch wine,” he said softly, “but not stay up past your bedtime.”

Then he felt a hand in the small of his back — and a finger tapped a particular spot. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as the lower half of his body tingled and went numb, and his legs collapsed bonelessly onto Lan Zhan’s. His arms trembled and collapsed as well, leaving his face mushed against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. He uttered a faint, complaining moan.

“You are going to bed,” Lan Zhan’s low voice said.

“Mmf!”

For one confusing moment, Wei Wuxian was sure that Lan Zhan was simply going to roll him over and place him beside him in bed. But instead, he found himself smoothly rolled onto his back and lifted in Lan Zhan’s arms, one arm under his numb legs and the other behind his back. The white-clad man strode across the room and carefully placed Wei Wuxian onto the other bed, removed his boots, and made sure that the blanket was securely wrapped around his limp body.

For a moment, Lan Zhan gazed wordlessly down at Wei Wuxian, the soft light glistening on his skin and hair. His eyes seemed suddenly very soft.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he returned to his own bed and lay down in the same position exactly. Wei Wuxian hadn’t witnessed it firsthand, but he had the feeling that Lan Zhan slept exactly like that every night.

Wei Wuxian stewed for a little while about this treatment. But in time, he found his eyes straying back to Lan Zhan’s face, lit by a beam of moonlight slipping in the window. This wasn’t how he would have imagined his wedding night would have gone, or who he had imagined he would be spending it with. Of course, Lan Zhan wasn’t going to do anything — he had already promised that he wouldn’t expect anything in bed from Wei Wuxian.

Not that Wei Wuxian had thought about it.

… all right, he had thought about it a little.

In truth, the thought had floated through his head a few times, especially since he had agreed to marry Lan Zhan. After all, married people usually slept together, so it was a little odd that he was so willing to not do so. Especially since Lan Zhan could have any girl he wanted with those looks — despite his often-cold expression — and Wei Wuxian knew that his new body was a beautiful one.

It made him wonder… what it would be like to sleep with Lan Zhan.

It was a thought that popped into his head almost without warning. Lan Zhan was so cold and remote, so bound up in rules and decorum, that Wei Wuxian had trouble imagining him unbending enough to fuck someone. Then again, until recently, he had had trouble imagining Lan Zhan being willing to buy him wine, or defend him against all odds. Or… marry him.

What kind of lover would Lan Zhan be? He had said that he had no experience, and Wei Wuxian knew he wasn’t willing to lie. Maybe he would be as cool and capable in that as he was in anything else, despite his inexperience. It was hard to imagine that he’d be very passionate, at least to Wei Wuxian. He hadn't really seen any indication that Lan Zhan could be passionate, or at least he couldn’t remember any.

Maybe Lan Zhan didn’t actually like the idea of fucking. Something that dirty, sweaty, undignified and uncontrolled might be disgusting to someone who seemed like the perfect untouchable immortal. He had certainly been opposed to it as a teenager, considering his reaction to some innocent erotica.

Despite his numb lower half, Wei Wuxian gazed at the ceiling for the next few hours, lost in thought. As far as he knew, Lan Zhan was asleep.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian woke the next morning to the sound of water lapping against wood. His first confused thought was that he was back at Lotus Pier, and had drowsed off while floating in one of the numerous small boats. But the surface under him was steady as a rock, and as he opened his eyes, he saw thin beams of morning sunlight glowing in the window. He was in a hotel room — a very nice one — and was lying in a bed.

His back hurt, though, and his legs felt slightly clumsy. Right, Lan Zhan had paralyzed him the night before when he had teased him too much. A sense of indignation flooded through him as he sat up and began rubbing his knees, looking around the room.

There was a large screen on the far side of the room, and he could see the silhouette of a large tub, and a man’s head and shoulders through it. Folded on a table beside it, with such precision that they barely even looked real, were a set of pure-white robes and a neatly folded forehead ribbon. Evidently Lan Zhan wanted to have a bath before they left for the day, and had taken advantage of Wei Wuxian still being asleep to do so.

Still, he didn’t need to paralyze me last night, Wei Wuxian thought irritably.

Of course, it could have been a lot worse. He would have been a lot more upset if anyone else had done that to him — and not just because of the indignity of it. He still remembered the bone-deep fear and vulnerability he had felt when he had been at the Mo estate, weaponless and defenseless, weak and alone. Even though he now had a flute and had regained some physical strength, he hadn’t forgotten what it felt like.

Yet he wasn’t afraid when Lan Zhan did it. Just annoyed.

As he swung his legs out of bed, there was a faint splashing, and Lan Zhan rose behind the half-concealing screen. His long, ink-black hair was slightly damp and rumpled, very different from its usual smooth neatness, and gathered over one shoulder. Without the severe line of the forehead ribbon, his face looked oddly softer than before. Droplets of water sparkled on his skin, from his face down to the defined muscles of his chest.

But then Wei Wuxian saw something else on that chest — a brand.

It was a type of brand he had been intimately familiar with in his old life, because he had had the exact same mark on his own chest. In exactly the same spot. How had Lan Zhan gotten one? Who would have been stupid enough to use one of the Wen branding irons on the mighty Hanguang-jun?

Just then, Lan Zhan saw him sitting up and staring, and quickly turned away behind the screen. But that only bared something else to Wei Wuxian’s searching eyes — something even more shocking. Ugly scars crisscrossed Lan Zhan’s back, shiny reddish-purple slashes against his pale skin. Lan Zhan’s body was like a work of art, and someone had defaced it with those wounds.

Even worse, those were not typical whip scars. Ordinary scars on a cultivator's body would fade easily. But those from the special discipline whip were uglier, deeper — and they would never fade.

Wei Wuxian’s breath seized in his chest. He rose to his feet, his discomfort forgotten. He took a few steps towards the screen, unable to look away from those hideous scars. What the hell had Lan Zhan done to earn all those strikes with the discipline whip? What COULD he have done? He was the perfect disciple of the strictest of the sects, and he had always been that way. Yet his clan had punished him so severely that it had probably almost killed him, and had left him scarred for life.

“Lan Zhan,” he said faintly.

Lan Zhan’s head was bowed as he dried himself off, but he inclined it slightly towards Wei Wuxian, as if listening.

“Lan Zhan… those scars…”

Lan Zhan quietly looked back at him, then pulled an inner robe around his damp body, hiding the scars from sight.

Wei Wuxian felt a burst of frustration. He darted behind the screen, and grasped Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Lan Zhan, who gave you those scars? What did you do?”

Something passed through Lan Zhan’s eyes like a cloud blown past the moon — something sad and remote.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers dug into the soft cloth, and the skin under it. He took a step closer, staring up with desperate eyes. “Lan Zhan, tell me what happened.”

Lan Zhan looked at him for a moment, as if studying his face. “You know what happened,” he said quietly. Then he plucked his forehead ribbon from the table, and tied it firmly around his head.

Those cryptic words haunted Wei Wuxian for the next few days, alongside the sight of the ugly scars. What exactly did Lan Zhan mean by that? Why would he know what had happened to inspire such obscene punishment? It must have happened sometime after he had died, because he didn’t recollect even the slightest hint of anything wrong that Lan Zhan had done. Certainly nothing worthy of punishment worse than kneeling.

The last thing he remembered of Lan Zhan before his death was fighting him in Nightless City. That entire battle was hazy in his memories after Jiang Yanli’s death — the next thing he had remembered, he was wandering through the Burial Mounds, wracked with misery and grief, too dazed to know where he had been or what he might have done.

What had happened that he should know about?

*

The arm continued to point the way, guiding them to the northwest — and at the same time, the strength of its reactions showed that they were coming close to at least one of the other body parts. After three days of travel, Lan Wangji was almost certain that they were being drawn towards Qinghe. It looked like they might encounter Nie Huisang after all, which he wasn’t particularly looking forward to. He hadn’t seen the man personally in a few years, but his brother had told him plenty about how Nie Huisang conducted business as a clan leader.

As they approached the gates of Qinghe, he cast a glance at Wei Ying. He had been uncharacteristically solemn and quiet for the past few days, as if something was troubling him. Now that Lan Wangji thought about it, it had been ever since Wei Ying had seen the scars on his back, which had seemed to disturb him greatly at the time.

He hadn't wanted Wei Ying to see them. Lan Wangji wasn't trying to make him feel guilty about the results of his own actions. He didn’t feel any shame over the discipline whip scars he had sustained — he would gladly do the same thing again, if he needed to — but he didn’t want Wei Ying to blame himself for what had happened. Once Wei Ying saw the scars, it wouldn’t be difficult for someone as intelligent as him to figure out the connection between the thirty-three seniors and the lashes on Lan Wangji’s back.

Or… so he had thought.

As the three days had passed, doubts had begun to creep into Lan Wangji’s mind. Wei Ying was acting as if he didn’t remember what Lan Wangji had done, even though it had happened right in front of him. When they had spoken of it, he had looked… confused.

Had… had he forgotten? No, that wasn’t possible — that night was engraved into Lan Wangji’s memory as if he had carved it there with Bichen. He knew that day and night had been infinitely worse for Wei Ying, with the death of his sister. How could he ever forget such things?

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said a little impatiently.

Lan Wangji was jolted out of his troubled thoughts, and looked over at Wei Ying in a little confusion. “What?”

“Any new updates from the arm?”

Lan Wangji looked down at the qiankun pouch tied to his belt, and brushed his fingers against it. “It is no longer pointing northwest.”

Wei Ying smiled brightly at that. “Then we’re in the right place.”

“Mn.”

“Too bad we have an entire city to search." He stretched his arms over his head, arching his back slightly, and Lan Wangji forced himself to look away. “Still, it shouldn’t be hard to sniff out some weird occurrances in the area, especially if you know where to look.”

“The Nie Clan?” Lan Wangji asked.

Wei Ying laughed, his eyes sparkling. “No way. The first ones to know about supernatural threats are the ordinary people in the street. Then, once we have some idea about what’s going on, we’ll see Nie Huisang and see what we can get out of him.”

Chapter Text

The streets of Qinghe were like those of most cities Wei Wuxian had been in — overflowing with stalls, carts, and swarming with street peddlers selling everything from hawthorn candy to children’s toys, cheap scarves to trinkets. Children scampered underfoot, playing and avoiding their scolding mothers. Voices rose above the general hubbub, crying out the names of their wares or the name of someone they were trying to get the attention of.

And of course, food. The delicious smells of countless street foods floated through the air, and Wei Wuxian felt his stomach gurgle and crumple in on itself. He hadn’t eaten since that morning.

“Lan Zhan,” he whined, tugging at the taller man’s sleeve. “I’m hungry.”

He expected Lan Zhan to shrug him off and tell him that they would eat later, but instead he pulled a small, exquisite money pouch from his robes and purchased a pair of mantou buns from one of the street stalls. But he didn't seem to be inclined to eat his own right away — he watched Wei Wuxian as he munched and walked through the crowd, his eyes bright and eagerly watching the hubbub around him.

Most of the peddlers seemed to be too intimidated by Lan Zhan to approach him, so they focused on the woman walking beside him. Quite a few of the middle-aged male shopkeepers flirted clumsily with Wei Wuxian, telling him how pretty and charming he was and trying to entice him to buy combs or makeup or jewelry. The female ones didn’t seem to do the same to Lan Zhan, he noticed — he probably looked too cold, distant and grim for them to dare speak to him that way.

“Hello, sweetheart!” one man shouted, leaning out in Wei Wuxian’s path. “Such a delicate flower! You’d look even more lovely with one of these ribbons—“

Wei Wuxian knew that he didn’t look like a delicate flower at the moment, since his mouth was full of food and he had some crumbs on his robes. But maybe he could pump the catcalling man for a little information by flirting back at him, with a few charmingly feminine giggles — it was as good a place to start as any. Then he could skip off with Lan Zhan and find somewhere to stay for the night.

But as he swallowed his food, the man’s grin vanished like morning dew in the sun, and his face became as white as chalk. His eyes were wide and terrified, as if he had just seen a particularly fearsome ghost.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian said, confused.

“Very sorry to trouble you, ma’am!” the man stammered, holding up his hands. “Have a lovely day!”

Wei Wuxian frowned, not sure what had caused the man to suddenly react that way.

He had no idea that behind him, Lan Wangji had fixed a piercing stare at the man, as if the ribbon-seller’s words had mortally affronted him. His eyes were like shards of gleaming ice. The ribbon-seller also couldn’t help noticing that the taller man was carrying an elegant silver sword that emanated cold like the fiercest winds of winter. He made no motion to draw or even touch it, but the fierceness of his gaze and the fact that he was armed was enough to frighten anyone who saw him.

Wei Wuxian's back was to Lan Zhan, and thus he didn’t see it. He simply murmured, “Weird,” and slipped his arm through Lan Zhan’s. Lan Zhan stiffened a little, but didn’t pull away. In fact, his arm tightened against his body, pulling Wei Wuxian’s hand closer.

Despite the odd encounter, Wei Wuxian’s spirits were high as they walked down the street. Some people looked at Lan Zhan as they passed by, but didn’t try to call out to him or sell him anything. That wasn’t surprising. Not only was he tall, handsome and dressed all in eye-catching white, most ordinary people thought that cultivators were glorious, exalted creatures. They were probably intimidated or dazzled by his presence.

A hint of bitterness crept into Wei Wuxian’s smile. If only they knew how petty, greedy and craven cultivators could be, if given a chance. He had seen the ugliness of the “respectable” gentry before he died — the lust for the power he had acquired, the willingness to abuse and kill innocents, the hypocritical denouncing of the very demonic arts that they had praised just a few years before. Cultivation didn’t change the core of what a human being was — people were weak and cruel, and if it meant going against the rich and powerful, most wouldn’t do it.

Except…

His eyes moved to the man walking at his side, the sunlight caressing his fine features. Even if they had clashed in his old life, Lan Zhan had never wanted his power, had never harmed the Wen refugees, had never submissively followed what Jin Guangshan had commanded of the less powerful clans. He and Wei Wuxian hadn’t always been on the same side, but he stood straight and tall in his convictions.

Was that why they had whipped him so terribly? Because he wouldn’t back down when others did? If they had —

“Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Wuxian immediately choked on his mantou. Lan Zhan immediately spun around and began whacking him on the back, until he finally managed to gasp a few breaths.

“W-what?” he wheezed.

Panic streaked through his brain. There was no way somebody could have recognized him… could they? Lan Zhan had, and he still didn’t know how, and Jiang Cheng had guessed, but… who else could have figured it out? He wasn’t even a man anymore! And he hadn’t even been to Qinghe for a long, long time!

“Portraits of the Yiling Patriarch!” the voice called loudly. “Five pennies for one, three for ten pennies! Fight evil with evil!”

The panic faded, to be replaced by irritation. It was a fake cultivator, dressed in cheap robes that resembled those of the Nie Clan, with a scraggly beard and shifty eyes. He was peddling sheets of paper, each one with a devilish creature crudely drawn on it. There were countless charlatans like him in every city, offering potions, cheap cosmetics and fake charms that might not do any harm, but they wouldn’t do any good either. As Wei Wuxian approached, he goggled in horror at the images on those papers — demonic figures with green skin, gnarled features, bulging eyes and hairy graceless bodies.

“That?” he snapped. “That’s the Yiling Patriarch?”

“Yes, young lady,” the fake cultivator said with what he thought was a charming smile. “How many would you like?”

“This is hideous!” Wei Wuxian said, unable to stop staring. “Why does he look that way?”

“Well, the Yiling Patriarch was a monster, a vile and loathsome man—“

“He was the fourth most handsome young master in the cultivation world!” Wei Wuxian almost shouted.

The man looked slightly taken aback. Then an oily smirk crept across his face. “Ah, so you’re one of THOSE young ladies,” he said with a wink.

“What young ladies?”

“One of the ones who longs after terrible dead men — murderers, thieves, demonic cultivators — and romanticizes them in her head. Gets crushes on them. Even if she’s got a perfectly good, hard-working man already.”

It took all of Wei Wuxian’s self-control to not jam the stack of fake charms down the man’s throat. It wasn’t bad enough that his name had been maligned and his reputation destroyed — they had to depict him as ugly too? And having his protests dismissed as the twisted crush of a young girl who just liked bad boys — that was infuriating. “Look, you—“ he started to say.

But his words were cut off as something swiftly swept past him, and the fake cultivator was suddenly sent flying.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian’s heart dropped like a stone.

At first, he hadn’t seen who had kicked the fake cultivator. But as the dust settled, he saw a teenage boy dressed in rich golden robes, with an ornate and elegant sword on his hip. As the boy turned around, Wei Wuxian saw a crimson dot between the boy’s eyebrows, and a white Sparks Amidst Snow embroidered on the front of his clothes. His dark eyes were flashing with mingled anger and disdain.

It was Jin Ling.

The fake cultivator scrambled to his feet, in a flurry of dust, pinwheels and crumpled drawings of the Yiling Patriarch. “You — why did you kick me?” he stammered.

“Why wouldn’t I kick you?” Jin Ling snapped. "I'll do the same to any other person else who dares to mention Wei Wuxian wherever I am. You’re lucky I don’t cut off your head too. You asked for it too, screaming his name up and down the street!”

Wei Wuxian wanted to groan. When Jin Ling had been a baby, he had been hopeful that the boy would take after his mother’s sweet, gentle personality. Instead, he seemed to have inherited the youthful arrogance of his father, and the rage issues of his uncle — all while being spoiled, belligerant and pushy, thinking he could just charge through a crowded marketplace and physically attack random people for the smallest possible reasons.

Just then, Jin Ling took a threatening step towards the fallen man. Wei Wuxian shouted, “Jin Ling, stop!”

Jin Ling stopped, and turned to face him. His lip curled slightly. “What are YOU doing here?” he demanded.

“I just eloped,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms.

“Get the hell out of here and don’t follow me.”

“I’m sorry, I must have missed the part where the Jin Clan owns Qinghe.”

Jin Ling scowled, then whistled loudly. Wei Wuxian frowned — he could do some limited demonic cultivation magic with whistling, but he hadn’t seen Jin Ling using any kind of instrument—

And then he heard the barking.

Ice flooded Wei Wuxian’s blood, and every muscle in his body suddenly stiffened into immobility. A mindless, nameless fear filled every part of him, the same one that had wracked him ever since he had been a small child taken in by the Jiang family. Dogs. He was terrified of dogs beyond reason, even if they were blind and deaf newborn puppies or hounds too old to chase him.

Then he saw it — a massive black dog running swiftly down the street. To his eyes it was as big as a donkey, with knifelike white fangs that could rip his flesh open in a second. An army of hostile cultivators, each brimming with spiritual power and holding a high-grade sword, wouldn’t have frightened him this much. As panic flooded him, he stumbled back a few steps —

“Lan Zhan!” he howled.

Suddenly a tall figure clad in ice-white robes was beside him, with a silver sword glimmering with blue light. Without thinking, Wei Wuxian tried to scramble up his body, his arms clinging to Lan Zhan’s chest and throat. His legs curled under Lan Zhan’s arms, pressing against his ribs. He felt Lan Zhan’s muscles stiffen under his robes, and a furious pounding under one of his clutching hands, right in the center of the Lan cultivator’s chest.

Lan Zhan didn’t like being touched, he remembered hazily. Probably having Wei Wuxian scramble up him like a squirrel scampering up a tree was more than he could tolerate. But Wei Wuxian was too terrified to let go — letting go would mean he was on the ground — with that spirit dog — that enormous, slavering beast with its gleaming teeth —

But the dog seemed strangely uneasy at the sight of the white-clad man towering over it — perhaps it was reflecting its master’s fear, since Jin Ling looked terrified now that Hanguang-jun was there. When Lan Zhan didn’t make a move, the boy apparently came to a decision, whirled around and whistled sharply once again. “Come on, Fairy!” he shouted.

Wei Wuxian didn’t have enough brain power to notice the ridiculous name, which normally would have gotten his attentio. His heart was hammering against his ribs as if it was demanding to get out, and his face was pressed against Lan Zhan’s hair. All he could see was Jin Ling and that damned dog disappearing into the crowd, and the people moving back behind them until they were gone from sight. The panic inside him began to ebb away like the tide going out, and suddenly he was able to breathe and think again…

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. “Let go.” There was a hint of strain in his voice, probably because he had been suffering through having Wei Wuxian hanging off him like that.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, lowering himself gingerly to the ground, and carefully smoothing Lan Zhan’s rumpled robes.

The quack cultivator had picked himself up and dusted his clothes off, and now rushed forward to grab Wei Wuxian’s hands. “Young miss, that was immensely courageous!” he gushed.

Including the part where I freaked out and hid behind Lan Zhan? Wei Wuxian wondered.

“As a token of my gratitude, please take these charmed images!” the man continued, cramming a stack of the illustrated papers into Wei Wuxian’s hands.

“Why would I want these?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Then how about some cosmetics? I have powder and rouge for sale here, I’ll give you some for free—“

“No thanks,” Wei Wuxian grumbled. “What we really need is information.”

“Information?” The man looked even more pleased by that. “I know everything important that happens in Qinghe. Ask away!”

Wei Wuxian cast a look at Lan Zhan, who was watching them with no expression whatsoever. He canted his head slightly, as if to say, Go ahead. You know what to say, so I’m not getting in your way.

“Okay,” he said, crossing his arms. “Have there been any weird occurrences lately that have caused any trouble? Especially disgusting or disturbing ones — like dismemberments or gruesome murders?”

The quack cultivator looked mildly disturbed. “You really are a young lady of dark tastes, aren’t you?” he said. “First the Yiling Patriarch, and then gruesome murders…”

Wei Wuxian scowled. “Just answer the question.”

“Well, not murders exactly,” the man said, scratching his head. “And not in Qinghe itself. But a few kilometers away, you’ll find the Xinglu Ridge — an evil place, nicknamed the Man-Eating Ridge.”

“I assume it’s called that because there is some man-eating creature there?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Yes! They say there’s a Man-Eating Fortress hidden in those woods, swarming with man-eating monsters of all kinds,” the quack cultivator said, clearly enjoying the story he was getting to tell. “Many people have run afoul of it, and they were so thoroughly eaten that not even bone crumbs remain afterwards. And not a single soul who has gone there has come back!”

“That IS terrifying,” Wei Wuxian said, pretending to shiver. “How did you find out about this?”

“What?”

“Well, if not a single person has ever come back, and there’s not a single trace of them left behind… how do you know they were eaten?”

“Someone must have seen it.”

“But you said that all intruders are eaten without exception? Who exactly brought back the story if everyone is eaten?”

The cultivator muttered something about young girls being too smart for their own good. “It’s what all the rumors say.”

And rumors are always true, huh? Wei Wuxian thought. He knew better than anyone that rumors were like poisonous weeds — nobody had to nurture them for them to spread and ruin someone’s life. The rumors about him had been almost uniformly wrong, but people had believed them anyway. Still, this Xinglu Ridge seemed like their best option to investigate. Maybe the owner of the arm had been torn apart by man-eating monsters.

“I have one more question,” he said. “Qinghe is still the domain of the Nie Clan, isn’t it? And this ridge is only a few kilometers away. Why haven’t they done anything about Xinglu Ridge if there is a Man Eating Fortress over there?”

The man snorted disdainfully. “If it were the Nie family of fifteen years ago, they would have wiped out that evil thing in a matter of days. No fussing, no ignoring the problem — just whoosh, all gone. Of course these days, they’re run by that Head-shaker, Nie Huisang.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. Lan Zhan had already told him about Nie Huisang’s ascension to leadership of his clan, but it didn’t feel entirely real. The Nie Huisang of his youthful experience — a nervous, slightly fluttery boy with a collection of ornamental fans — didn’t seem like someone who would ever be in charge of anything important. Yet because of his brother’s qi deviation, he was the one leading one of the four great clans.

“If he doesn’t know the answer,” the fake cultivator said, waving a hand dismissively, “he won’t say anything — and even if he does know, he won’t say anything because he’s afraid of what will happen. Put any pressure on him, and he’ll start wailing, ‘I don’t know! Don’t ask me, I don’t know!’ until you let up on him.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. “Great.”

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen was halfway through writing a letter to Jin Guangyao when he heard footsteps approaching from outside his chambers. He quickly set down his brush, feeling apprehension welling up inside him. If someone was approaching with such haste, then it could only mean two possible things — that Lan Qiren had awoken, or that he had died. Since his uncle had been slowly recovering over the past few days, he suspected it was the former.

There was a faint knock on the door.

“Come in,” Lan Xichen said quietly.

An outer disciple opened the door, and quickly bowed to the clan leader. “Pardon me for interrupting,” he said breathlessly. “I was told to tell you that your uncle has awoken. He is asking for you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Lan Xichen said, smiling.

But he felt a sense of dread as he approached his uncle’s chambers. Lan Qiren awakening meant the end of the brief peace he had enjoyed since his younger brother’ departure. His uncle would have to be informed about Wangji’s marriage, and he had no doubt that it would enrage him. Lan Qiren saw Mo Lian as a new incarnation of their mother, there only to ruin Wangji’s life as he believed Madame Lan had ruined his brother’s.

When Lan Xichen arrived, a few of the disciples who dedicated their time to medicine were just leaving. Lan Qiren was still lying in bed, his face pallid and drawn. “Xichen,” he said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen said, kneeling by his bedside. “How are you feeling?”

Lan Qiren briefly closed his eyes. “The arm,” he said. “What happened to it?”

“It was temporarily suppressed. Unfortunately, it has been too powerful to be eliminated just yet.”

Lan Qiren’s brows drew together. “I had no idea its resentment and evil would be so strong,” he muttered. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life — never! If I had known, we would have had double the protections — we would have called back our strongest cultivators to help suppress it —“

“It defeated a dozen skilled disciples, uncle,” Lan Xichen said soothingly. “I think that even increased numbers might not have stopped it.”

A pot of tea was placed on a table near him. Lan Xichen poured cups of tea for himself and his uncle, hoping to stave off the moment when he would have to tell him about Wangji’s marriage. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he had eaten something that had gone bad, but it hadn’t yet made him sick.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lan Qiren said suddenly, “Wangji — he was there. Is he hurt?”

“No, uncle. He was the only one there who was not harmed by the arm.”

Lan Qiren closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. He was the one who temporarily suppressed it?”

“Yes, uncle. With some help.”

Lan Qiren inched upwards in his bed, and gingerly sipped his tea. “Call him here, Xichen,” he said in a low voice. “I wish to speak to him.”

“I cannot do that, uncle.”

Lan Qiren’s lips tightened. “Why not?”

“He is gone. He left a few days ago for the northwest, to uncover the rest of the body.”

Lan Qiren’s hand trembled slightly as he set down his teacup. “He should not have gone alone."

"He is not alone,” Lan Xichen said slowly.

“Good. Good.” Lan Qiren smiled slightly and raised his cup to his lips again, his fine brows settling into smooth, straight lines. “It will do him good to spent some time reflecting on his actions, and…” His voice lowered into a growl, “spend some time away from that woman. Perhaps we could send her to Caiyi Town, have her hired as a servant in someone’s household. Or, if she is as mad as they say, arrange for her to be cared for far from here.”

Lan Xichen heaved a sigh and shook his head slightly. “I’m afraid that those are not an option now, uncle.”

Lan Qiren frowned, and his hand rose to stroke his goatee slightly, as he often did when he was thinking. “Why not? She cannot be kept in the Gentian House forever, and Wangji is already thought to have violated the rule against promiscuity. I do not know if he has, but many assumptions can be made when unchaperoned visits are made, especially to a woman of… low character.”

Lan Xichen flinched. He wasn’t sure what Mo Lian had done to earn his uncle’s contempt. Perhaps it was because she was a bastard, or because she was thought to be mad. Perhaps Lan Qiren had even noticed the resemblance to Wei Wuxian, though Lan Xichen knew his uncle had concluded that Wei Wuxian was completely destroyed. He and several Lan elders had attempted to summon his soul with Inquiry several times, and every time had failed.

Lan Xichen wasn’t so sure. If anyone could evade Inquiry even after death, it was Wei Wuxian — he had mastered an entirely new, dangerous method of cultivation, invented various rituals, talismans and devices, and had even created the Yin Tiger Tally. Such a person — a once-in-a-lifetime genius — was not always bound to the same restrictions as other people. He wasn’t completely sure that Mo Lian was Wei Wuxian, but he strongly suspected it.

For one thing, it was hard to imagine that Wangji would move on so completely. He had been devastated, broken by Wei Wuxian’s loss, and Lan Xichen knew from observing others — including his own father — that such loves came but once in a lifetime. Wangji’s heart had been so full of Wei Wuxian that it was baffling to imagine that he had given it so completely to this strange woman, if the two people were not one and the same.

But his uncle was still looking at him with his brows furrowed, waiting for an answer. So Lan Xichen took a long sip of the bitter tea, then set down his cup.

“Wangji has married Mo Lian,” he said quietly.

Lan Qiren simply stared at him expressionlessly, eyes wide, rimmed with red and seemingly uncomprehending. His hand still clutched the delicate teacup with its blue-and-white designs, but it began to tremble slightly, almost imperceptibly. For one moment, Lan Xichen dared to hope that Lan Qiren had taken the news relatively well, that Wangji’s marriage wouldn’t cause the uproar he had been anticipating for days.

Then Lan Qiren spat up a mouthful of blood.

“WHAT?” he roared.

The peace and tranquility of Cloud Recesses was ruptured by the clamor that followed. Several disciples came running at the sounds of shouting and violent coughing, and Lan Xichen stepped back and allowed them to channel spiritual energy into his uncle. One of them mopped the blood dripping from Lan Quiren’s lips as he coughed, while another picked up the fallen teacup that had shattered on the polished floorboards.

“How — could you — let — this happen?!” Lan Qiren wheezed.

“Wangji truly loves her, uncle,” Lan Xichen said, in his most soothing voice. “And she has proven very effective in helping him to suppress the arm. In fact, she is accompanying him now to restrain it while he looks for the rest of the body.”

His uncle glared at him with red-rimmed eyes.

Lan Xichen departed not long after, after being assured that Lan Qiren needed rest and quiet for his recovery. He doubted, however, that his uncle would readily find it after hearing that one of his nephews had wed a woman he considered beneath Wangji’s station, and was now traveling with her doing who-knew-what. Lan Qiren hadn’t been in such a rage over Wangji since Wei Wuxian had died, and Lan Xichen knew that he had considered his behavior then to be an aberration, to be punished and then quietly shut away.

He seated himself under a magnolia tree and pulled out Liebing, pressing the end of the white flute against his lips. His nerves were rattled, and he would need some time and quiet to calm them again. He rested his back against the thick, bark-encrusted trunk, and let a soft lilting melody flow from his lips and fingers.

As he played, Lan Xichen found himself thinking of his little brother. After all he had suffered, Wangji deserved happiness more than anyone — and if Mo Lian could give it to him, then Lan Xichen would do what he could to keep them together. Especially if Mo Lian was more than she appeared to be. Especially then.

Chapter Text

Xinglu Ridge was generously covered in heavy pine trees, spreading a sweet, spicy aroma in the cool air. The wind rustled the boughs full of green needles over their heads as Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan made their way through the area. They had ventured out to the suggested area as soon as they had finished speaking to the fake cultivator, not even stopping to obtain a hotel room first.

Of course, Wei Wuxian very much suspected that they wouldn’t find anything. Rumors of hauntings, monsters and yao beasts were much more common than the real thing. There didn’t seem to be any sign of actual trouble out here — no confirmed deaths, no names or dates. No sightings. No survivors. And no one had lifted a finger to investigate the entire affair, which probably meant that no cultivator from the Nie clan thought that it was worth fretting about.

What had probably happened was that one or two people had gone missing for one reason or another, and the residents of Qinghe had let the rumors spiral out of control. It was probably easier for some people to think that a monster had eaten their loved ones than to face the fact that they had run away.

Though, now that he thought about it, that might explain why Jin Ling was so far from home. He hadn’t captured the goddess statue, so now he was off seeking glory elsewhere, wherever a promising supernatural disturbance could be found. Wei Wuxian shivered, finding himself hoping that Jiang Cheng was back home in Lotus Pier, and that that dog kept far away from them.

“Wei Ying.”

Lan Zhan’s voice broke through Wei Wuxian’s thoughts. He had stopped walking, and was staring at a cluster of shambling figures on the road ahead. Walking corpses, Wei Wuxian saw with relief — no harm to either one of them, or anyone else. All they could do was stink and frighten off ordinary people.

And as soon as they saw Wei Wuxian, they immediately turned and began wobbling away, moaning faintly. Lan Zhan watched them go, having not even moved a finger towards Bichen or his guqin.

“Well, that was uneventful,” Wei Wuxian said, stretching his arms over his head.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian began walking towards the ridge, idly twirling his flute in one hand. “I was thinking that we would visit Nie Huisang if we don’t turn up anything in the Man-Eating Ridge. What do you think, Lan Zhan?”

“Do you think we could learn anything?” Lan Zhan asked, glancing at Wei Wuxian.

“Well, it doesn’t sound promising from what that guy said,” Wei Wuxian said, a wicked smile creeping over his face. “But I know something about him that most people probably don’t.”

Lan Zhan waited silently for him to elaborate.

“Well, when I knew him, he could never resist a pretty girl. If one flirted with him, he would spill everything he knew to her.” Wei Wuxian shook back his hair, and glanced down at his chest. Nie Huisang usually liked bustier girls, but he would have to do what he could with what he had. “So I bat my eyes at him, giggle at what he says even though it won’t be funny, and ask a few pointed questions. He’ll crumple.”

Wei Ying was facing the path ahead of him, and didn’t see Lan Wangji suddenly avert his face, as if he couldn’t bear for his expression to be seen. His shoulders tensed sharply, and his eyes fell to the ground. He could feel jealousy boiling under his skin at the thought of Wei Ying flirting with Nie Huisang — or anyone else, for that matter. The sight of that ribbon-seller trying to charm Wei Ying earlier in the day had filled him with a searing anger before he could try to hide it.

He knew that Wei Ying had never shown any interest in other men, at least when Lan Wangji was around him. He had only flirted with girls, which he had done with obvious relish. But still, the thought of him trying to… to seduce information out of Nie Huisang! It made his blood boil.

Once again, a doubt passed through Lan Wangji’s mind, like a small rodent scurrying through the grass. Wei Ying was bouncing cheerfully by his side, his silken hair stirred by the breeze, his black robe clinging to his form. He didn’t look the way he did when he teased Lan Wangji — whenever he teased, he made sure to look at the person in question, waiting gleefully for their outraged reaction. But as he had said those words, his eyes had been on the forest path ahead of them.

It made him wonder… again… did Wei Ying not remember the confession he had made thirteen years ago?

If he didn’t — if he had somehow forgotten — then that meant he didn’t know how Lan Wangji felt about him. He didn’t remember those two brutal words he had lashed out with on that fateful night. It meant that he was not trying to torment Lan Wangji every time he kissed his face, played with his hair or crawled on top of him in bed. He was just teasing him, thinking that he didn't care and would just be annoyed.

A heavy feeling settled in Lan Wangji’s chest. Even if he had forgotten, that knowledge didn’t change anything, though. Even if he didn’t remember what he had heard or said or seen, Wei Ying had made himself very, very clear after the Battle of Nightless City. His feelings wouldn’t have changed — he still didn’t love or want Lan Wangji. That knowledge clawed at his heart, pulling open old wounds.

And yet…

And yet when he looked at Wei Ying, his face bright and full of life, gracefully moving over the grass with light feet, that wounded heart couldn’t help but sing. He had been without Wei Ying for so long that just the sight of him alive — happy — free — was enough to push the sorrow from his mind. Just being near him was almost intoxicating for Lan Wangji, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply bask in Wei Ying’s presence, and forget about the troubles of the present.

Then another desire surged inside him — the desire to push Wei Ying to the grass, and hungrily kiss him. Or more than that. Much, much more… things he had only dared to dream of for almost twenty years… wild, heated, filthy things…

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said suddenly.

Lan Wangji blinked, and his steps faltered as he was pulled back to the present. “Mn?”

Wei Ying’s face had gone deathly pale. “Did you hear that?”

As if answering him, a distant howl echoed through the air. If it was possible, Wei Ying’s face became even paler, and his hands clutched at Lan Wangji’s sleeve. He had the same stark, petrified expression that he had displayed when confronted by Jin Ling’s spirit dog, and his body language suggested that he might be planning to climb Lan Wangji like a tree again.

“I n-n-need to h-h-hide,” he whispered wildly. “Where is it?! The d-d-dog — where is it?!”

Lan Wangji gazed off into the woods, listening to the distant sound of howls and barks. It wasn’t anywhere that close — it must be barking and howling at the top of its voice to be so audible. “Not near. It is Jin Ling’s spirit dog, if I am not mistaken.”

Wei Ying was crouching down around Lan Wangji’s side, his hands still clutching at his sleeve. “J-J-Jin Ling?” he whispered. “H-h-he’s near here?”

“If the dog is howling,” Lan Wangji said tightly, “he may have encountered something unsavory.”

Wei Ying looked faintly green, but he stood up shakily, still clinging to Lan Wangji like a vine to a tree. “O-okay,” he mumbled. “W-w-we should ch-check it out and m-m-make sure he’s all r-r-right.”

Lan Wangji had to force himself to focus on the dog howling, and not on the supple, warm body pressed against him, and the hands clutching at him so tightly. “Wei Ying," he said in a low voice. “You need to let go.”

But Wei Ying didn’t let go. He clung to Lan Wangji as they set out in the direction of the dog, jerking violently every time there was a fresh round of howls or barks. Lan Wangji had never seen Wei Ying like this before — he had seen him angry, miserable, grief-stricken and even occasionally afraid… but never this afraid. What had happened to him to make him so afraid of dogs that hearing one at a distance made him turn bone-white and almost collapse?

As they moved, Lan Wangji realized that even though they were walking in a straight line, the distance to the dog always seemed to be changing — sometimes near, sometimes far. It wasn’t a natural occurrence, since the dog didn’t seem to be running around the woods.

“A m-m-maze array,” Wei Ying stammered, apparently having had the same thought.

He raised a trembling hand and threw a talisman at the air in front of them — and as it burned away to ashes, the air shimmered as if an invisible wall was breaking down before them. It might have stymied cultivators who were very young and inexperienced, or not very powerful, but the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun were both skilled enough that the array posed no great obstacle.

The dog’s barking was even louder with the array removed, and Wei Ying shuddered against Lan Wangji, his footsteps becoming erratic and dragging. Lan Wangji’s heart was racing as if he had just run ten miles, but he couldn’t allow this to continue. Wei Ying was suffering terribly, but he was also determined to make sure Jin Ling was all right. He slipped one arm behind Wei Ying’s knees, and the other behind his back, and swept him completely off his feet.

“Hey!” Wei Ying yelped. “Y-you don’t need to do that!”

But he didn’t protest or struggle too much as Lan Wangji carried him swiftly through the forests. In fact, he seemed a little calmer now that he was being hugged, and he wrapped his arms tightly around Lan Wangji’s neck. In his old life, Wei Ying had been about the same height as Lan Wangji, though of a slightly slimmer build. Now, in his new body, he felt almost unnaturally light and delicate in Lan Wangji’s arms.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian would never have admitted it, but being carried by Lan Zhan helped his fear.

He was still wracked with bone-crushing fear every time that hellish creature barked or howled, and all he wanted to do was curl up and whimper into his knees. But the feeling of strong arms around him, holding him up, made his fears recede just a little. He wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and held him tightly, hoping that he didn’t make the man carrying him pass out.

With the maze array removed, he could hear the dog’s barking getting louder and louder with every passing step. It took all his strength to peek back over his shoulder — and he was rewarded with the sight of a large, dark creature leaping and running around in the grass and ferns, barking furiously as if its head was on fire. There wasn’t the slightest sign of Jin Ling, except for the fact that his dog was there.

Instead, there was something else — stone bunkers made of pale stones, shaped like overturned bowls, rising from the ground. Wei Wuxian had been half inclined to dismiss the rumors of Xinglu Ridge as being nothing more than local folklore, but it seemed that they had some basis in reality. There really was a “fortress” outside Qinghe, which obviously wasn’t abandoned if someone was erecting arrays arond it.

On the other hand, Wei Wuxian mused, someone had gone to a fair amount of effort to keep it from being discovered. The maze array would only keep people out, not let them in. And this close to Qinghe, it would be impossible for locals to not encounter it if the array hadn’t done its job. So if it was “man-eating,” or contained something that was, why had someone tried to—?

Then the dog leaped at them.

Wei Wuxian’s thoughts shattered like a dropped jar of wine, and he clutched Lan Zhan like a snake trying to strangle its prey. “LAN ZHAN!” he yelped.

“I am here!” Lan Zhan said loudly, lifting Wei Wuxian a little higher.

The dog’s teeth were bared as it dashed towards Lan Zhan’s legs. Wei Wuxian’s brain nearly exploded from fear, as if lightning was shattering his mind, and he was about to start furiously kicking in its direction when it sank its teeth… into Lan Zhan’s flowing white robe. Then it began backing towards the bunkers, pulling at the robes until Lan Zhan had no choice but to follow it swiftly, still holding Wei Wuxian in his arms. His face was strained, but his grip on Wei Wuxian’s body didn’t loosen.

When the dog finally released its grip on Lan Zhan’s robe, they were standing on the other side of the fortress. There were no doors anywhere that Wei Wuxian could see, but there was a hole — a rough hole large enough for a grown man to walk through, surrounded by shattered stones. Someone had broken through it recently, using a first-grade spiritual weapon — and with the way the dog was acting, Wei Wuxian knew that weapon had been Jin Ling’s.

Lan Zhan carried him over to the hole. Bichen slid out of its sheath, illuminating the hole with a pale blue light.

“Th-th-the d-d-dog,” Wei Wuxian stammered.

But the dog showed no signs of following them. It clearly wanted to, as it paced in front of the fortress — but some unseen force seemed to be keeping it out.

Wei Wuxian felt his breathing and heartbeat slow as he realized that that it couldn't follow them inside. "Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

Lan Zhan didn’t answer or look at him. But Wei Wuxian could feel his heart pounding, hard and fast, like a drum vibrating against Wei Wuxian’s chest. Was Lan Zhan afraid of dogs too?

His hand slipped down from Lan Zhan’s broad shoulder, to the left side of his chest. Through the fine material of those white robes, Wei Wuxian could feel the heavy thumping against his fingers, and the sharp rise and fall of his breathing. There was something soothing — something reassuring about feeling that. Despite his unearthly beauty, Lan Zhan felt very solid and alive, and after thirteen years of being dead, Wei Wuxian suddenly wanted to cling to that with all his strength…

Then his eyes drifted up. Lan Zhan’s full lips were slightly parted, as if he were going to say something, and his eyes were fixed intently on Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian felt something stir inside his chest, and his hands tightened on Lan Zhan’s robes — and suddenly he felt —

Then a sharp bark made him jerk, almost falling out of Lan Zhan’s arms. “Jin Ling!” he gasped.

A wave of shame came over him. He had almost forgotten about his nephew being in this place — and if the dog’s reaction was any indication, he was probably in trouble. Spirit dogs were much more intelligent and perceptive than the average canine. If something serious happened to Jin Ling — to his sister’s beloved child — he would never forgive himself.

Lan Zhan placed him smoothly on his feet, and fully drew Bichen. The cold blue light emanating from it cut through the darkness, illuminating the icy interior of the bunker. It was as silent and lifeless as a grave, even though they hadn’t seen any indication that it was one. For that matter, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure why else someone would create a place like this and carefully make sure that nobody would interfere with it…

Then he stumbled, clutching at his head. Voices were echoing all around him — whispering, indistinct voices that flooded into his mind like spring meltwater flowing down a river. He didn’t recognize any of them, and he couldn’t make out anything they were saying. Only voices.

What WAS this place? It didn’t feel like it was full of ghosts… not exactly…

At last, after passing through some empty stone chambers, the two came across a room with a coffin. Pitch black, smooth as polished jade, placed directly in the middle 0f the chamber. Wei Wuxian patted the top of it, feeling his spirits lift a little. Could the rest of the body — or at least another part of it — be inside this coffin?

Or… Jin Ling?

Lan Zhan looked at him, then swept his hand down at the coffin, sending the lid flying off. As it yawned open in front of them, Wei Wuxian felt the voices all around him growing louder and more frenetic. He was well-acquainted with coffins and everything that could be found inside them — he had dug up hundreds, maybe thousands during the Sunshot Campaign, and nothing in them could shock him.

Or at least, he had thought that. As he peered into the pitch-blackness of the coffin, he saw something that didn’t really belong in it — a saber. It shone brightly in Bichen’s glow, reflecting light in white flashes against the sides of the coffin. It didn’t look as if it had been placed with a body there — rather, it was arranged as if it was the rightful occupant of the coffin.

“Weird,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

They closed the coffin again and ventured into the other chambers of the bunker. Now that they knew what to expect, Wei Wuxian had no hesitation in confirming what was inside — each had a saber, carefully placed within a coffin large enough for a human. He had never seen anything like in, in those months of digging up graves — what kind of person buried weapons in elaborate burial chambers, then made sure nobody would disturb them? These sabers had plenty of killing intent, but…

What worried him much more was that he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Jin Ling. As they reached the last room with the last coffin, there was no sign that the boy had been in here — which was even more alarming than if he had left behind a shredded piece of cloth or a pool of blood. If it weren’t for the dog outside, Wei Wuxian might have thought that he had also found the sabers, and left in disgust already.

Lan Zhan carefully set his guqin on the coffin, and began to play. After a few notes, he raised his hands from the strings — and they vibrated without him touching them. Wei Wuxian recognized the song — it was “Inquiry,” a special melody from the Lan Clan that allowed a person to communicate with the dead, especially dead whose identity was unknown. It was something that had always interested Wei Wuxian, but he had never been able to learn guqin language.

He leaned across the coffin and hovered over the guqin. “Ask them about this place — like why it exists and who built it.”

Lan Zhan strummed a few notes, and received a reply. “Do not know,” he said.

“What?”

“The person said, do not know.”

Then he played another melodious round, and the guqin responded with the same notes.

“What do they not know?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“What killed them.”

“Ask who killed them.”

It received the same response. Wei Wuxian was starting to feel frustrated — some dead people were more informed than others, but he had rarely met one that was as unaware as this one.

“Okay, let’s ask them about Jin Ling,” he said. “Ask if there is a boy in his teens who came inside this place.”

This time, a different note played.

“Yes, there is,” Lan Zhan said.

“Where did he go?”

“He did not leave.”

A cold prickle ran down Wei Wuxian’s spine. Lan Zhan’s lips were pressed tightly together as he played several more notes in quick succession, and then listened as more notes played by themselves.

“What did you ask?” Wei Wuxian asked anxiously.

“His age. His home city.” Lan Zhan’s face was faintly worried as he looked up. “Thirteen. Lanling."

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian’s heart almost stood still. “Jin Ling,” he whispered.

His sister’s son was… dead? No, he couldn’t be — it wasn’t right — he was too young for this to happen — but as he struggled to convince himself of that, he remembered that he had only been six or seven years old than Jin Ling when he had died. Am arrogant young boy in his early teens, charging into an unknown place without anyone to back him up was a prime possibility for an early death — even Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian hadn’t been strong enough to deal with something like this as teenagers —

His hands clamped on Lan Zhan’s arm, digging his fingers into his white sleeve. “Lan Zhan,” he said intently. “Ask him where he is. Exactly! The exact spot!”

Lan Zhan swiftly obeyed. A long series of notes flowed from the guqin, and his brow crinkled slightly. “Face the Southeast, and walk one step with every note that plays. When the notes cease, you will have found him.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach was roiling with dread and anxiety. If he found Jin Ling dead — he didn’t want to think about that, but if he did —

He took a step with every note of the guqin. His eyes raked the shadowy stone walls around him, seeking even the slightest hint of Jin Ling. But there was nothing. Spirits communicating through Inquiry couldn’t lie, or he would have assumed that some ghost was toying with them by pretending to be Jin Ling. With every step, he became more confused — there was nothing in front of him but a stone wall!

“He’s… inside it?” he whispered.

Lan Zhan stood up swiftly, with Bichen glowing coldly in his hand. Wei Wuxian moved back several steps, and watched anxiously as he he sliced through the pale gray stones, shattering and splintering them. Then both of them began tearing the broken stones from the wall with both hands — and found themselves clawing at thick, dark earth on the other side.

As if this place wasn’t weird enough already, Wei Wuxian thought frantically, there was an inner wall and an outer wall, with a thick layer of dirt in between them. How the hell had Jin Ling gotten himself stuck inside there? What force had pulled him through a solid wall, leaving no hint that he had ever been in there? Wei Wuxian knew plenty of strange, sometimes sinister defense spells, but nothing like this.

Finally his fingers tore the dirt away from a pale, youthful face with tightly shut eyes, and for a moment his heart stopped. Then Jin Ling sucked in a raw, coughing breath, like someone who had just been rescuscitated after drowning, and Wei Wuxian’s heart resumed its normal rhythm. He was alive. He must have been on the very brink of death if Inquiry was able to communicate with him, but he hadn't quite crossed that border.

“Let’s get him out in the open air,” Wei Wuxian gasped as Lan Zhan scraped more dirt from Jin Ling’s body.

But as they pulled him loose, Wei Wuxian saw something else in the dirt behind him. Bones. White bones. Bones still loosely connected together in what was undoubtedly a human skeleton. He pulled a few more bricks loose, and found himself looking at a second skeleton — no, a third — crammed into the dirt behind the wall. He didn’t have to look further to know that the walls were crammed with skeletons and corpses.

Then something bumped into Wei Wuxian — and to his shock, it was Jin Ling. The boy’s eyes were still tightly shut, but he moved with slow, deliberate movements, very different from the nimble quickness he had displayed on Mount Dafan. It was as if he were drugged… or hypnotized. As Wei Wuxian watched in astonishment, the boy stepped back into the torn-open wall, and stood quietly where they had found him.

“Help me get him back out!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, seizing the boy’s arm.

Lan Zhan heaved Jin Ling loose from the wall, and fortunately the boy didn't struggle. Wei Wuxian could only hope that the boy hadn't suffered some kind of spiritual damage.

As Lan Zhan dragged the insensate Jin Ling back the way they had come, Wei Wuxian heard a sudden eruption of barking. The dog had been silent ever since they had ventured into the bunker proper — but now it was making a racket that made Wei Wuxian’s knees tremble. It went against all his instincts to run TOWARDS a barking dog, but Lan Zhan had sped up unexpectedly, and Wei Wuxian was forced to run a few steps behind him, his face chalk-white and his hands shaking.

They burst back out into the daylight — and icy sweat broke out all over Wei Wuxian's body. The dog wasn't just barking. It was growling a deep gutteral growl, long white fangs bared in a furious snarl. It looked swiftly at Lan Zhan and came towards him — then dropped something from its mouth at his feet. It was a torn piece of cloth.

“Someone is there," Lan Zhan said grimly.

With a sweep of his arm, he laid Jin Ling on the grass, still filthy and unconscious from his adventure in the tomb. Wei Wuxian dropped on his knees beside the boy and checked his pulse again — faint, but steady.

“I’ll stay here with Jin Ling,” he said, looking up at Lan Zhan. “Go on!”

“I know who this person is,” Lan Zhan said, staring intently at him.

“So do I,” Wei Wuxian said. “The sooner you drag him here, the sooner we’ll get answers. Go on!”

But Lan Zhan still hesitated, looking down at Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling. “You cannot carry him back to Qinghe,” he said at last.

That much was true, Wei Wuxian could tell. Jin Ling was almost as large as he was, and just by repositioning the boy on the grass, he could tell that he no longer had the upper body strength to drag Jin Ling very far.

“Then we’ll stay right here,” Wei Wuxian said impatiently.

Lan Zhan looked around, his face grim, as if expecting something or someone to come out of hiding.

“Don’t worry about me,” Wei Wuxian said with a strained grin. “If I need to defend myself, I’ll use this.” He pointed at the golden sword still firmly strapped to Jin Ling’s side.

Apparently mollified, Lan Zhan nodded once, his gaze lingering on Wei Wuxian’s face for a moment. Then he turned and swept away swiftly — and Wei Wuxian realized that a certain dark, terrifying shape was prowling around the area, staring at him with pale, glittering eyes. Fear spiked through him, and it was all he could do to not spring to his feet and sprint after Lan Zhan.

“Wait! Take the dog with you!” Wei Wuxian yelled. “TAKE THE DOG WITH YOU, LAN ZHAN!”

Lan Zhan stopped and looked back at the dog. “Come,” he said sternly.

The dog glanced back at its supine master, and then raced over to Lan Zhan’s side. Wei Wuxian sagged in relief as they vanished into the forest, his heart still racing like that of a frightened rabbit. Why did Jin Ling have to have a pet dog, of all animals? Maybe Jiang Cheng had told him that Wei Wuxian was petrified of dogs, and he had gotten the dog just so he could unleash it on the Yiling Patriarch if they ever met.

He took a shuddering breath and began looking over Jin Ling. The boy’s rich, fine clothing was caked in black dirt, and even more of it had gotten into his hair and smeared his face. He’d need three or four baths to get clean, Wei Wuxian reflected, but his misadventure hadn’t left any cuts or wounds on his body — at least, none that Wei Wuxian could find. He checked the boy’s arms, pulled his robes open to check his chest and stomach, and then began rolling up Jin Ling’s pants legs to examine his legs.

Then he saw it — a dark, purplish bruise on one of Jin Ling’s shins. Even without examining it further, Wei Wuxian could tell it was a curse mark — a sign that he had run afoul of something dark and twisted. And if the mark spread, then something would come for him.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian grimaced. The mark was active — he could almost see it spreading in front of him, up to the boy’s knee. And for someone like Jin Ling, young and inexperienced, there was no chance he could withstand the outcome of having that curse mark. Jiang Cheng might be able to, but Wei Wuxian had no idea if he was even nearby — and even if he was, Jin Ling seemed eager to prove himself. He might not even tell his uncle about the mark until it was too late.

Well, there was only one thing to do.

Wei Wuxian pressed the fingers of one hand to the mark, and the fingers of the other to his own body. Transferring it only took a moment, and sent a tingling sensation down his own leg. As he watched, the darkened spot on Jin Ling’s leg began to fade, until there was nothing but smooth, clear, unmarked skin. He released a heavy sigh of relief. Whatever the curse mark might attract, it wouldn’t harm his sister’s son now.

Then Jin Ling jerked sharply, his limbs stiffening, and then sat up. He looked around wildly for a moment, eyes wide, and Wei Wuxian could almost perfectly guess what he was thinking.

“Where am I? What happened?” Jin Ling blurted out. Then he saw the woman crouched in front of his bare legs, and his eyes widened even further. “You!” he squeaked.

“Me!” Wei Wuxian said, sitting back cross-legged on the grass.

“Wh-what did you do to me?” Jin Ling clutched at his loosened robes, and gawked in horror at his untied belt. Then he scuttled backwards from Wei Wuxian, looking as if he was about to die from sheer horror. “You — you —“

“Me, me,” Wei Wuxian repeated, smiling.

“You — you’re shameless! Disgusting! It wasn’t bad enought that you tried to — back in Lanling — how dare you —“

“Calm down, already,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. “I was just checking you for wounds, to make sure you weren’t hurt by your little adventure in there. It’s not — what you think.”

He wasn’t even sure why Jin Ling’s mind had so quickly gone to the idea that Wei Wuxian was trying to molest him. Mo Lian had been his aunt, after all. Sure, she was a bastard, but she was still the half-sister to his father Jin Zixuan. Just what had she done in Lanling that was so terrible that Jin Ling immediately assumed the worst about “Mo Lian”?

“Shut up! I know what you’re like!” Jin Ling raged, pressing himself against the trunk of a nearby tree. His hands were clumsily trying to pull his robes back into place and fasten his belt, but they were shaking hard enough that he seemed to be having trouble. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he was shaking from the outrage of being manhandled by his aunt, or whether he was still weak from almost dying in the bunker.

“Let me help—“ Wei Wuxian started to say.

“Stay back!” Jin Ling yelped. “Where’s my dog? Where’s Fairy?”

“It went off with… hold on,” Wei Wuxian said, his eyes widening. “You named your dog ‘Fairy’?”

“Of course that’s her name,” Jin Ling retorted. “What else would it be?”

I don’t know, something with a little dignity, Wei Wuxian thought. The boy had obviously learned how to name things from Jiang Cheng, who had named his dogs in the same fashion when he was a child. He had thought that Jiang Cheng would have grown out of it, but apparently not.

Jin Ling had somehow managed to fasten his robes and cover his legs decently, despite his hands shaking. As he stood up, he spluttered, “I — I guess you saved me from dying back there, so I won’t kill you for — for trying what you did. But don’t come near me in the future.”

Before Wei Wuxian could think of anything to say, a tall figure clad all in white swept out of the fir trees on the other side of the clearing. Lan Zhan was still clutching the torn piece of cloth in one hand, and his face was grim. Jin Ling tensed automatically at the sight of him, and for a moment Wei Wuxian thought that he was going to hide behind the nearest tree in hopes that Hanguang-jun wouldn’t notice him.

“What are you still doing with him?” Jin Ling said incredulously.

“What do you mean?” Wei Wuxian said with a wide grin. He scrambled to his feet and skipped over to Lan Zhan. “Isn’t it normal for a husband and wife to spend time together?”

Jin Ling goggled at him in disbelief. “You’re married?”

“Yep!” Wei Wuxian leaned against Lan Zhan’s chest, and planted a light kiss on his chin. As he expected, there was no change in expression at all. “We were married a few days ago at Cloud Recesses. What’s the matter? Don’t you think I’m pretty enough to get a handsome husband like Hanguang-jun?” He traced a finger lightly over the V-shaped collar of Lan Zhan’s robes, just barely brushing against the skin under it.

Wei Wuxian didn’t notice Lan Zhan’s eyes turning down towards him, watching his smile and the merriment dancing in his eyes. A faint softness appeared on the edges of his stern face.

“You can’t be married —“ Jin Ling said, sounding appalled. “If he knew…”

“He knows everything about me,” Wei Wuxian said confidently.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan assented.

Jin Ling had seemingly forgotten his outrage in favor of total confusion. There was something slightly pitiful about the way he kept looking from Wei Wuxian’s smiling face to Lan Zhan’s impassive one, apparently having forgotten his previous fear of the white-clothed man. The mere thought of the noble, upright, elegant and imposing Hanguang-jun being voluntarily married to Mo Lian seemed to be more than he could understand.

Just then, a black shape darted out of the forest and eagerly ran towards Jin Ling, barking all the way. A cold sweat broke out over Wei Wuxian's body, and he swiftly put Lan Zhan between himself and the dog. To his relief, Lan Zhan reached out, blocking the distance between Wei Wuxian and the dog with his arm. Wei Wuxian peeked around his white sleeve, his trembling fingers digging into Lan Zhan’s powerfully muscled upper arm.

“Fairy!” Jin Ling exclaimed.

He threw a last disbelieving look at the two in front of him, then broke into a run in the direction of Qinghe. Fairy, seemingly delighted to have her master returned to her, cavorted around him as he left the clearing.

When the sound of barking had faded away, Wei Wuxian breathed a sigh of relief, and stepped out from behind Lan Zhan. “What the HELL did Mo Lian do?” he said incredulously. “Did she behead somebody? Declare her love stark naked?”

“I do not know,” Lan Zhan said.

“I’m not surprised,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms. “I doubt Jin Guangyao wants all the family scandals aired out in front of other clans.”

Wei Wuxian was used to people thinking that he was a deviant and a maniac — the cultivation world had spread rumors that he kidnapped and defiled virgins in dark rituals, and regularly terrorized Yiling with armies of fierce corpses who killed indiscriminately. Neither was even remotely close to being true — he hadn’t done anything to the people of Yiling, and he had neither kidnapped nor defiled a single virgin — but people had chosen to believe the worst about someone they hated. The truth wasn’t even a consideration.

Wei Wuxian had always assumed that those rumors stemmed from Jin Guangshan. Knowing what he did about the man’s appetites and ambitions, the rumors probably reflected Jin Guangshan’s own desires. He had had an insatiable lust for women, and he had done everything in his power to get his hands on the Yin Tiger Tally, whose only purpose was to control the dead.

“Well, whatever it is,” he said, glancing after Jin Ling, “it can’t be worse than what people already say about me.”

Lan Zhan tilted his head, his light eyes unblinking.

Wei Wuxian took a few steps towards Qinghe — only to stumble and crash down to his hands and knees. A prickling numbness spread up past his knee, followed by a sensation of coldness clinging to his skin. Before he could get up, Lan Zhan was on his knees beside him, his hands gripping Wei Wuxian's waist.

“Wait, no! Don’t! I don’t need—” Wei Wuxian said.

But those strong hands flipped him onto his back on the long grass, then began pushing his robe up to his upper thighs. A slightly hysterical giggle escaped Wei Wuxian — if anyone came across them like this, they would probably think they had stumbled across a lustful cultivator ravishing a struggling maiden.

“Lan Zhan, you’re so forceful!” he said with a grin. “Where was this passion on our wedding night?”

Lan Zhan ignored him, instead focusing on pulling the loose pants underneath past Wei Wuxian’s knee. The curse mark was larger than it had been on Jin Ling’s leg, and it had spread up towards his lower thigh. Wei Wuxian’s smile faded as he surveyed the purplish-black discoloration. The curse mark was powerful, and whatever had made it must have been incredibly malevolent — which didn’t really bode well.

Lan Zhan looked up at him with a hint of frustration. “I was only gone a short time.”

“I can get into trouble in any amount of time,” Wei Wuxian said. But his grin was a little strained.

Lan Zhan’s gaze lingered on his bare leg for a moment longer, then turned away sharply. “Jin Ling?” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian sat up, and peered down at the curse mark. “He must have gotten it when he was in the wall,” he said, pulling his pant leg back down. “He’s only a kid. He wouldn’t be a match for whatever came after him because of it.” As he smoothed down his robes, he smiled bewitchingly at Lan Zhan. “Of course, I can’t really deal with something like that myself right now. Fortunately I have Hanguang-jun to help me out when that happens.”

Lan Zhan didn’t look back at him until his legs were properly covered once again — and when he did, it was to pick him up once again, lifting him as easily as he would a child. If Wei Wuxian had still been a man, he might have protested being carried by Lan Zhan, even if his leg was currently afflicted and it was a few kilometers back to Qinghe. But somehow, he didn’t mind as much in a woman’s body.

“Let’s get to a hotel,” he said, waving his flute idly. “It’s been a long day.”

“Mn.”

Chapter Text

It was starting to get dark by the time they reached Qinghe, and the streets were a little less busy. Still, there were enough people to notice the tall man clad all in white, effortlessly carrying a black-clothed woman in his arms. It was even more noticeable because the woman seemed to be almost too comfortable being carried by the man — she was waving a bamboo flute around and chattering to him.

“… should get Nie Huisang first thing in the morning,” Wei Wuxian said, letting his head rest on Lan Zhan’s broad shoulder. “He has a lot of explaining to do after everything we saw today.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed.

“Whatever it is, he’s in over his head,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his affected leg over the good one. “He was in over his head even when we were Cloud Recesses, and that was before he had to run anything.”

He admittedly hadn’t seen Nie Huisang for some time, even before he had died. His older brother Nie Mingjue had been deeply opposed to Wei Wuxian freeing the Wen refugees, so it wasn’t as if the young man could have visited his old classmate in the Burial Mounds. But Nie Huisang probably hadn’t changed that much in the last fifteen years — which meant he had no idea what to do in a crisis. The “Head-Shaker” moniker didn’t exactly bode well.

Well, Wei Wuxian reflected, they would head over to his residence in the morning, barge in even if he tried to avoid them, and then he would flirt relentlessly until Nie Huisang explained precisely what the hell was going on. It wasn’t his best plan, but it would have to do. He just had to hope that his new body was enough to Nie Huisang’s tastes.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said contemplatively, looking up at the sky. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened imperceptibly, but his footsteps didn’t falter. “Mn,” he said at last, not looking at Wei Wuxian.

But then they turned down another street, one lined with warmly-lit restaurants and stately hotels. The air was subtly perfumed by the smell of food and incense, and Wei Wuxian sniffed the air eagerly to try to pick up everything that they passed. He smelled something spicy, and also the scent of meat and vegetables cooking somewhere nearby. The incense… eh, he could take it or leave it. It wasn’t as pleasant as Lan Zhan’s sandalwood scent.

Once again, he had to admit that it was… kind of nice being held by Lan Zhan. After a day of hair-raising adventures — and that stupid dog — it felt good just to have someone hold him against themselves, as if silently assuring him that he was safe. He hadn’t felt that way in a very, very long time, even before he had died. He rested against Lan Zhan’s shoulder and chest, releasing a soft sigh that brushed against the man’s throat.

Then his blood chilled. Voices floated down a side street — familiar voices.

“… I didn’t get this way on purpose!” Jin Ling exclaimed. “I had an accident outside the city.”

“How ridiculous,” a sharp, angry voice retorted. “Parading around covered in filth. Where did you go?”

Jiang Cheng. Why did it have to be Jiang Cheng?

Wei Wuxian groaned inwardly, and wondered if he could hide behind Lan Zhan again. Lan Zhan had clearly heard it too, because his steps quickened, trying to pass by the street before Jiang Cheng had a chance to see them.

“I was looking for the man-eating creatures but I didn’t find anything,” Jin Ling said sulkily. “Just some walking corpses, and I fell down a riverbank.”

A little relief went through Wei Wuxian. At least Jin Ling wasn’t ratting them out. Maybe he was too embarrassed to admit he had been rescued by “Mo Lian” and Lan Zhan, and was simply assuming — rightly — that the subject would never be raised by either of them with Jiang Cheng. Or, maybe having witnessed the clash between them on Mount Dafan, he thought that things would quickly spiral out of control if Jiang Cheng knew they were nearby.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered against the side of Lan Zhan’s throat. “Let’s—“

But his words died in his mouth as Jiang Cheng charged out of a nearby restaurant, as if Wei Wuxian’s presence had drawn him out. His eyes widened at the sight of the two — the Lan cultivator that he despised, and the madwoman he suspected of being Wei Wuxian curled up in his arms. Wei Wuxian saw his fist clench, which might be a precursor to lashing out with Zidian, and considering how intense his rage had become over the years, he might be reckless enough to do it.

Jin Ling appeared behind him, his face in a sulky scowl that dissolved into dismay as he saw Wei Wuxian. And behind him were a dozen Jiang disciples clad in purple and blue, all waiting for Jiang Cheng to say or do something.

“You again!” Jiang Cheng snapped.

Wei Wuxian shrank against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, pressing a delicate hand to his lips. “Hanguang-jun, it’s that scary man again!” he cried piteously.

Jiang Cheng’s eyes flashed, and his lips pressed together.

If Lan Zhan was in any way uncomfortable with what had transpired, he gave no sign of it. His eyes were like piercing pale blades. He shifted Wei Wuxian higher in his arms, as if saying, She is with me, and you will not touch her.

“What are you doing here?” Jiang Cheng snarled. “Didn’t the two of you cause enough trouble last time?”

“Shut up! We can come to Qinghe if we like,” Wei Wuxian said tearfully.

Rage flashed over Jiang Cheng’s face, and purple sparks flickered around his hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you,” he said menacingly. “You can’t fool me by clinging to Lan Wangji’s robes.”

“Darling, take me away from here,” Wei Wuxian wailed shamelessly. “He’s scaring me!”

Another emotion crossed Jiang Cheng’s face — confusion. “Darling?”

Wei Wuxian hid his face against Lan Zhan’s hair, hiding the grin that was playing around the corners of his mouth. It was almost worth running into Jiang Cheng to see his utter bewilderment.

Then he heard something that turned his blood to ice and caused his muscles to go rigid. A faint whine came from in front of them, and a large dark shape slipped past Jin Ling, watching Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan with inquisitive pale eyes. Fairy.

Wei Wuxian felt the blood drain from his face. His fingers dug into Lan Zhan’s shoulder, until he could feel every bone and muscle sharply outlined under his skin. Don’t freak out, he desperately told himself. If he lost himself to his fear, Jiang Cheng would know for sure that it was him — he was one of the only people who knew that the Yiling Patriarch was deathly afraid of dogs, and if someone he already suspected was to start screaming and trying to escape…

Lan Zhan seemed to know what he was thinking, because his powerful arms tightened around Wei Wuxian, and lifted him slightly higher against his chest. Without a glance back at Jiang Cheng, he strode past the group, as if the sect leader was below his notice.

But as they moved past, Wei Wuxian caught a glimpse of Jiang Cheng's face. His eyes were glittering with a strange light, as if he had just found a rare prey in one of those immortal-binding nets — and they were fixed on the strange woman in Lan Zhan’s arms. A new uneasiness crept into Wei Wuxian’s soul. Jiang Cheng probably wasn’t completely certain, or he would have been willing to fight Lan Zhan, but his suspicions had probably strengthened at seeing “Mo Lian” shrink from a dog.

And he felt something else — it hurt. Jiang Cheng and he had been like brothers in their youth. Even if Jiang Cheng had been cranky and prone to anger, he had still cared about Wei Wuxian and been close to him. And Wei Wuxian — though he never wanted Jiang Cheng to know — had sacrificed his golden core so that Jiang Cheng would be able to continue his life as a cultivator and sect leader. Now Jiang Cheng hated him as fiercely as he had ever hated the Wen sect… maybe even more so.

He huddled down against Lan Zhan, averting his eyes until Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling were safely out of sight. Right now he needed rest and sleep, and they could deal with the rest of the man-eating fortress problem in the morning.

“Are you well?” Lan Zhan asked quietly.

“I guess,” Wei Wuxian mumbled against his shoulder.

Lan Zhan strode into the inn without putting Wei Wuxian down, attracting some odd looks from male patrons and some dewy-eyed looks from female ones. As they approached their room, Wei Wuxian started to say, “You should put me down now, Lan Zhan, or you—“

But Lan Zhan’s hands tightened around him — and he kicked open the door.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian yelped out loud in surprise. Lan Zhan did everything gracefully and smoothly — kicking doors open was too crude and brutal for such a man. But he had done it anyway, and it didn’t take Wei Wuxian long to see exactly why he had done it.

Inside, a figure was sitting at the table, clutching an expensive fan in nervous hands. As the doors slammed open, he leaped to his feet and stammered, “I don’t know! I don’t know! I really don’t know!”

Wei Wuxian sighed and smiled at the sight. Nie Huisang’s cultivation had never been very strong — he formed a golden core years after his peers — but he looked more or less the same as he had when Wei Wuxian had last seen him. He was dressed a little more richly than before, as befitted the leader of a major sect, but his pleasant, anxious face was much the same. He looked like someone who lived his life in a constant state of worry, and who could be bullied without much effort.

Lan Zhan carried Wei Wuxian into the room and sat down with him at the table opposite Nie Huisang. He didn't seem interested in speaking further to the sect leader, but simply looked at Wei Wuxian expectantly.

"We know if was you out near the Man-eating Fortress," Wei Wuxian said.

"It wasn’t!"

Lan Zhan pulled a scrap of richly-embroidered fabric from his sleeve. Nie Huisang flinched.

This was Wei Wuxian’s cue. He leaned across the table, pushing his arm under his breasts to make them as prominent as he could. His robe wasn't very revealing, but he would have to do what he could. He smiled flirtatiously, lowering his lashes slightly, and was rewarded with a confused blink from Nie Huisang.

"We know there are three levels of defense to that place," Wei Wuxian purred. "The rumors meant to keep people out of those woods, the walking corpses that will frighten off the curious, and the maze array that only a powerful cultivator could get through. In any other place, such a fortress would be a mystery — but just a few kilometers out of Qinghe, practically on your front doorstep? There’s no way the Nie sect wouldn't have heard of it — and that means it belongs to them.”

To his chagrin, Nie Huisang didn't look at all attracted or even flustered by the flirting — he looked outright terrified. Wei Wuxian drew back a little, a small frown crossing his lips, and he quickly examined his flirting to see what he had done wrong. He had never had any problems flirting as a man, but he seemed to be terrible at it as a woman. Had he been too obvious about what he was doing? Were his breasts not large enough?

He didn't realize that behind him, Lan Wangji was staring intently at Nie Huisang. His beautiful features were set in a grim mask, as if he were about to go into a fight. His light eyes, usually calm and cool, were flickering with a faint crimson light, and one of his slender hands was curled into a fist. If anyone else had been there to see, they might have thought he was about to strike the man across the table, if it weren’t for the woman between them.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and rested his chin on his hand. “Well, the cultivation world isn't going to turn a blind eye to this if you really are dabbling in something that leads to a Man-eating Fortress. It would be better if you explained yourself now, rather than waiting for everything to blow up in your face.”

"It's not a Man-eating Fortress," Nie Huisang said miserably. “It’s a — an ancestral grave.”

“We didn't see a single dead body in those coffins — just in the walls. The coffins all held sabers.” Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Did the fortress eat all those people?”

Nie Huisang looked almost distraught at this revelation. He looked anxiously first at Wei Wuxian — seemingly intimidated by this unfamiliar woman who seemed to have figured out so much — before turning to Lan Zhan. “I — I’m begging you, Hanguang-jun. Your older brother and my older brother were sworn brothers before. For the sake of my family, please — please promise that you and your lady friend won't tell anyone. I swear it's not harmful like she’s suggesting.”

Lan Zhan looked stern, but slowly nodded.

"All right,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning forward again. “If it isn’t a Man-Eating Fortress, then has it eaten anyone?”

Nie Huisang grimaced. “Well… once. But it wasn’t my family’s fault, and it was a long time ago. After I became the sect leader, I… I exaggerated the rumors so people would stay at a safe distance.”

“Explain,” Lan Zhan said sternly.

Nie Huisang began nervously fanning himself, his eyes moving between the tall well-mannered man and the odd woman. “You know that the Nie Clan only uses sabers as a weapon. It's a tradition that dates back to our founder, since he was a butcher and used to chopping things up, unlike the other clans. Our method of cultivation causes those sabers to have… very strong killing intent and resentment.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Wouldn’t that influence the people who carry them?”

“It does. Almost all of my family’s heads have suffered mood problems, and then died violently after qi deviations,” Nie Huisang said moodily. He fell silent for the moment, an unhappy, contemplative look crossing his face. “And it gets worse when they do die, because they can’t restrain the sabers’ bloodthirst and resentment anymore.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows rose. “Doesn’t that sound like demonic cultivation?”

“No! No, it isn’t!” Nie Huisang said quickly. “The sabers don’t want to do anything to living people — they just want to eliminate ghosts and other nefarious creatures. But when they have nothing to do, they cause trouble among the family.”

“Why not give them new masters?”

"They won’t recognize more than one master,” Nie Huisang said morosely. “The sixth leader of my clan came up with a solution — bury the sabers in coffins, and surround them with hundreds of dead bodies about to turn into fierce corpses.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, and he swiftly looked back at Lan Zhan.

“Not ones we killed! We never killed anyone for that!” Nie Huisang said hastily. “We carefully seek out promising candidates from all over the territory — sometimes people are glad to get rid of them, in the case of bandits and murderers, and sometimes we buy them for a lot of money. Every single corpse in that fortress was obtained in an aboveboard manner.”

Wei Wuxian was starting to get an idea about what the almost-fierce-corpses were for. He tapped a finger lightly on the tip of his nose. “So the saber spirits are able to repress the imminent transformation of the corpses, and in turn are allowed to unleash their aggression towards a target. Is that how it works?”

“Yes!” Nie Huisang said with relief.

“Then why did the grave devour someone?”

“It was an accident… sort of. Grave-robbers had heard about an impressive tomb outside Qinghe and wanted to plunder it for treasure. They managed to break inside, but ended up triggering the transformation of a dozen corpses inside. They managed to kill the fierce corpses, but without a dozen more bodies to keep the saber spirits under control, the tomb… devoured them to keep the numbers correct. That was when the hall out on Xinglu Ridge was built, and we started placing the corpses inside the walls.

“And that Jin boy… he must have blown up a body when he blew a hole open in the wall. That must be why he was pulled inside by the bunker. I couldn’t do anything about it because suddenly his dog started trying to rip my leg off.” He looked pleadingly at Lan Zhan. “Hanguang-jun,” he said piteously. “You — and this lady —“

“My wife,” Lan Zhan said stiffly.

“I’ve told you everything, I swear! I haven’t held back a single detail. Please, don’t tell anyone about this — an accident like this won’t happen again.”

Nie Huisang continued begging them as he ducked out of the room, shutting the doors behind him. His footsteps pattered away into silence, leaving only the two sitting quietly in their hotel room.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and sat back — only to feel something warm and solid right behind him. Strong, slender legs moved under him, shifting him slightly against the chest against his back, and a strange thrill fluttered through his body. He twisted around, only to find Lan Zhan gazing down at him. He had been so wrapped up in Nie Huisang’s story that he hadn’t noticed that he had been sitting in Lan Zhan’s lap.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji had listened to every word of Nie Huisang’s story.

It took all of his willpower and his dedication as a cultivator, because all he wanted to pay attention to was the fact that Wei Ying was sitting in his lap. That warm, slender shape, pressed against his thighs and the front of his body, made his blood surge in his veins, and for a moment he thought that he was going to lose control of himself and push Wei Ying down on the table.

But he didn't.

It was just as well, because Wei Ying didn't even seem to be consciously aware of where he was sitting. When he looked around in confusion, then back at Lan Wangji’s face, there was genuine surprise in his dark eyes. Then something else crept into his face — merriment and mischief, along with a smile brighter and more blinding than the sun at noon.

Lan Wangji knew that it meant he was about to be teased, but he didn’t care. Anything to see that smile.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said, poking lightly at Lan Wangji’s nose. “Are you cold? If you wanted to cuddle, you just had to ask.”

If it were that easy, Lan Wangji would have asked long ago. He simply gazed down at Wei Ying’ new face, taking in the planes of his cheekbones, the dark eyes shaded by long lashes, the smiling full lips that glistened slightly in the lamplight. He knew his own face didn’t show how he felt, and Wei Ying had never had the slightest inkling of how he felt. He had always thought him stiff, dull and passionless, with no idea of the storms that raged in his heart.

Now Wei Ying's back was pressed to his chest, and he felt that there was no way that he couldn't feel Lan Wangji’s heart pounding at being this close to him. His greatest worry was that, being pressed against him, Wei Ying would feel something else stirring to life beneath and behind him from the close contact. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move from Lan Wangji’s lap… if he stayed there much longer, Lan Wangji’s own body might betray him completely…

Crash!

Lan Wangji’s nerves were instantly afire with more than desire. Wei Ying stumbled up to his feet, looking around wildly. “What was that?”

It only took a moment for them to see what had caused the crash. The qiankun pouch holding the arm had suddenly lurched sideways, causing a cup to crash to the floor and shatter. Now it was thrashing and jumping around on the table as if it might tear itself to shreds at any moment. Lan Wangji’s stomach leaped into his throat — if they didn’t stop it now, the thing might get loose again and wreak havoc —

He pulled his guqin across his legs and began to play “Rest,” his fingers summoning the song without him needing to think about it. Wei Ying had played it with him every time after the arm’s initial capture, but still, his heart stuttered as a flute’s notes joined the ones he was playing. The same song, but more quicksilver and elusive, dancing around the flowing cold notes of the guqin like butterflies in the wind.

His heart clenched… and yet he felt a smile touching the corner of his lips. He had missed this. He had missed it so much. For more than thirteen years.

But then the qiankun pouch seemed to swell and inflate, as if the arm inside had been so enraged that it was about to burst out. As if on instinct, Lan Wangji’s hand swept over the seven strings in front of him, and a cascade of thundering notes poured from his guqin, tearing through the chaos and resentment that billowed forth from the pouch. It seemed to deflate and grow stiller, but he kept playing — and Wei Ying’s flute wound through his own music, like a silver bird flying through the windswept trees.

When they both stopped, Lan Wangji breathed a sigh of relief. That had been close — too close for comfort.

“Something’s changed,” Wei Ying said, slipping his flute back into his belt. “It hasn’t been that agitated for days.”

Only one thing had changed in the last day or so, and Lan Wangji didn’t like the implication of what that meant.

“It is reacting to something on your person,” he said in a low voice.

Wei Ying stared at him for a moment, before glancing down at his own leg. “The curse mark? But that means…” His eyes widened. “It means that another part of the body is in that fortress.”

“Mn.”

*

Wei Wuxian woke with a gasp.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was — only that he had woken hours before he usually did. A fine mist of sweat clung to his skin under his sleeping robe, and he was breathing hard, as if he had been exerting himself. And though he was awake now, the dream he had just woken from was vivid in his mind — more real than the dim room around him…

All he could remember was bare skin sliding over his own, strong hands gripping his hips, harsh gasps that were as exquisite as the finest music, soft full lips kissing and sucking at his throat, and the feeling of something thick, long and hard moving inside his body. He had writhed mindlessly with the pleasure that arced through him like bolts of lightning, and hadn’t been able to do anything more than arch his back and spread his legs wider.

But none of that was as striking as the knowledge of who had been fucking him in his dream. It had been Lan Zhan. He felt a little dizzy as he remembered seeing that beautiful, pale face looking down at him with fierce, gleaming eyes.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s deep, soft voice had whispered. That had been the only thing he had said in the dream. “Wei Ying.”

The weirdest part of the dream was that… he wasn’t entirely sure whether he had been in his old body or his new one. Sometimes he had definitely been female… but at other times he had felt the familiar sensations and arousal of his male body. He had seemed to shift between them as Lan Zhan fucked him, but Lan Zhan hadn’t seemed to notice at all. He had just kept kissing him fiercely, whispering his name in a way that made goosebumps rise on Wei Wuxian’s skin…

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian looked sharply over at the other side of the room. Lan Zhan was awake, sitting at the table with his white robes impeccably arranged around him, and his forehead ribbon neatly tied over his smooth hair. He looked cool and calm, like a man sculpted out of snow and ice, not at all the way he had looked in the dream. And he was gazing directly at the woman in the bed.

Then a horrifying thought crossed Wei Wuxian’s mind. Had Lan Zhan… heard him?

Had he moaned during his dream?

Had he… said Lan Zhan’s name?

He had made plenty of noise in his dream as Lan Zhan fucked him, but… he couldn’t remember if he had ever said Lan Zhan’s name. Even if he hadn’t, he didn’t want to imagine the real Lan Zhan hearing him gasping and moaning wantonly and seeing him writhe in his bed. Not just because of a dream.

Wei Wuxian sat up in bed, running his fingers through his disheveled hair, and quickly pulled his parted legs together. At that moment, Lan Zhan rose to his feet and came to Wei Wuxian’s bedside, his face as maddeningly stoic as always — no indication of what he might have heard, or what he thought of it.

“We should leave for the sword tombs before Nie Huisang has a chance to repair them,” he said soberly.

“Right, right, that,” Wei Wuxian said nervously. “I’ll just take a quick bath. I was a little warm last night.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan’s dark lashes lowered to his cheek, and he turned around. “I will bring food.”

As he hastily washed himself — including his curse-marked leg, which was almost entirely black-and-purple now — Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop thinking about the dream. Just what had caused him to imagine himself being fucked by Lan Zhan? He had had plenty of erotic dreams over his previous life, like any young man with a healthy interest in pornography. In fact, at some times during his youth, they had made up almost every dream he had. But he’d never had an erotic dream about another man.

Yet he had dreamt it so vividly that he could remember the feeling of Lan Zhan’s sweat-slicked skin from the dream, see his light eyes filled with fire, feel his power between Wei Wuxian’s legs. Was this sudden change because he had a woman’s body now, and had somehow inherited Mo Lian’s tastes? Or was it because he had sat in his lap — even playfully — the night before?

Wei Wuxian was still lost in his thoughts as Lan Zhan returned with some food for them both. He quickly dried himself behind a screen. As he slipped into his robes, he dared to glance sideways at the tall, white-clothed figure seating himself at the table, with his gaze decorously fixed on the window in front of him. Lan Zhan had always been objectively beautiful — fine-boned, almost delicate features, smooth skin, and a lean muscled body that moved with almost inhuman grace.

His only flaw had always been his slightly sour expression, as if he was being forced to speak to people he didn’t particularly like. But Wei Wuxian found that he noticed that expression less and less, and paid more attention to his rich, low voice, his slender hands, those light eyes like patches of wintry sky. Even if Lan Zhan was boring and old-fashioned, there was something about him that made Wei Wuxian want to be close to him.

Chapter Text

The Man-Eating Fortress looked much the way it had the day before, except that thankfully there was no barking dog circling it this time. Wei Wuxian felt his muscles relax as he and Lan Zhan approached it. Jin Ling must have been frightened by his encounter with the place that had almost eaten him — or else Jiang Cheng wouldn’t allow him to come back.

“Someone else is here,” Lan Zhan said.

"How do you know?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Zhan pointed at the hole blasted into the side of the dome. The broken, shattered stones had been carefully swept out of the way, leaving only a thin layer of white dust on the ground.

As it had the day before, Bichen’s icy glow allowed them to see where they were going. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help glancing at Lan Zhan’s face in the icy light. It made his skin look even paler, his lashes and hair even darker, and his eyes shine like twin flames. He looked like the perfect, untouchable immortal, as if someone had carved him out of a man-sized block of jade.

And then his dream came flooding back into his mind — that same face covered in a sheen of sweat, the long smooth hair in disarray, the eyes blazing just a few inches from his face, fiercer and more fiery than Wei Wuxian had ever seen them before. He shivered suddenly at the memory, and an unfamiliar thrill that ran through his body.

"Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked quietly.

“It's nothing,” Wei Wuxian said hastily. “Let's get going.”

They moved more quickly this time, ignoring the side chambers and their coffins, since they knew where they were headed. As they approached the end chamber, Wei Wuxian heard the sound of stones scraping and low grunts from men. It seemed that Nie Huisang was not wasting time in restoring the sword tombs to their balanced state. That was too bad for him, because they would have to tear out everything he had done, and probably more.

Indeed, the first thing that Wei Wuxian saw in that final chamber was Nie Huisang, wearing fresh un-torn robes and fanning himself furiously. In front of him, several workers were laying the last fresh stones in the hole that they had left in the wall the day before. The smell of newly-laid mortar filled the air, along with the scent of the dark dirt that the corpses were buried in on the other side of the wall.

“Excellent job, excellent,” Nie Huisang said, smiling and closing his fan. “All of you—“

Wei Wuxian tapped him on the shoulder, and smiled when he turned around. Nie Huisang’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of the two people behind him, and he stammered, “Oh, it’s… Hanguang-jun and … and his wife.” For some reason he sounded a little bewildered by that. “I don’t think we were properly introduced. Er, what are you doing here?”

“We forgot something in this place,” Wei Wuxian said sweetly.

“Well, if you just give me a moment, I can help you find—“

“Boys!” Wei Wuxian sang out. “Stand back from that wall. Hanguang-jun is about to make a mess!”

The workmen quickly scuttled away from the area they had just repaired, their eyes wide and panicked. Nie Huisang’s eyes widened even further as he realized what was about to happen. “No, don’t—“

Blue slashes ripped through the air and exploded the newly-laid stones and mortar, with fragments of shattered white stone flying in every direction. Wei Wuxian threw an arm up to shield his face, only lowering it when Bichen’s glare had died down again. Then he glanced over at the hole Lan Zhan had just torn through the wall. This one was even bigger than the last one, opening up almost the entire expanse, and many of the corpses hidden in the dirt behind it had tumbled out.

“Never mind the skeletons,” Wei Wuxian said, coughing and waving his hand. “We only need the ones that still have flesh. Boys, come help me with this. I can’t lift all these heavy bodies by myself.”

The workmen seemed a little dazed that this strange woman was bossing them around, but they obeyed, dragging out the corpses that hadn’t rotted away to the naked bones. They were both men and women, of all ages, some rich and some poor — all they had in common was that they were dead, and smeared with dirt from being buried in the wall. Yet, Wei Wuxian knew, one of these corpses had something different about it.

“Well, let me get started,” he said, squatting down beside the nearest body, a burly man wearing peasant clothes, and began fumbling with his pants.

Nie Huisang looked like he was about to cry with frustration — but when he saw what Wei Wuxian was doing, his face turned chalk-white. “Wait — what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “I’m taking his pants off.”

The workers looked appalled at the sight. It was bad enough that this strange woman was making them haul around corpses that could turn fierce at any moment. But desecrating the corpses like this — in such a shameless, inappropriate way — what was wrong with her? And what exactly was she planning to do after she took off their pants? Nie Huisang looked equally appalled, clearly wondering what kind of woman Hanguang-jun had chosen to marry.

Wei Wuxian was just about to yank down the pants when he felt something cold tap his arm. It was Bichen, icy and crystalline. Lan Zhan was standing next to him, looking down with his usual stern expression.

“I will do it,” he said.

“You never let me have any fun,” Wei Wuxian grinned at him.

Lan Zhan’s expression didn’t flicker as he stepped to the side of the corpse, and slit the side of the dead man’s pants with the tip of his sword, exposing an expanse of unmarred grayish skin. Then he cut another slit on the opposing side, and shook his head. This man’s legs belonged to him. After that, Hanguang-jun wandered down the line of dead bodies, cutting neat, careful slashes in their clothing around the front of the thigh and hip. Wei Wuxian followed him closely, peering down at each one with a pensive expression.

With every corpse that Lan Zhan exposed, Wei Wuxian got more nervous. They were going to run out of bodies soon, and there was no sign of the one that had cursed Jin Ling. The leg — or legs — had to be here somewhere, and it couldn't have been too far from where Jin Ling had been buried. His own leg itched from the curse mark, as if it could sense the presence of the thing that had cursed it.

But even if they found the leg or legs, it left the question of who would go to such ridiculous lengths to hide them. And why. Dismembering the body was a hideous act, and scattering the parts showed a malice, cruelty, a searing hatred… and that made Wei Wuxian uneasy. He had been cruel in his youth too, to Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao, but that had been war. Retribution for the countless innocent lives they had destroyed.

This… this was something else.

Suddenly Lan Zhan stopped, his sword tip still touching the dead man in front of him.

“Is that the one?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian knelt and ripped the slit that Lan Zhan had just carved into the man’s clothing. There was no denying it — both legs had been sewn onto the torso with small, neat, almost invisible stitches, just below the pelvis and hipbones. The skin was a slightly different shade from the torso above it — not enough that a casual glance might have seen it, but enough that seen together, they were different.

Removing the legs from the corpse took less time than expected, and Lan Zhan had a qiankun pouch prepared to receive them. Wei Wuxian breathed a sigh of relief when the pouch was closed, and Lan Zhan slipped it onto his belt. That had been both easier and harder than expected, but at least the legs hadn’t caused the same kind of mayhem that the arm had done. Maybe they had the sabers to thank for that…

“So you have what you came for?” Nie Huisang piped up nervously. “You don't have any more business here?”

“Nope,” Wei Wuxian said, standing up and dusting himself off. “We only needed the legs from that corpse.”

Nie Huisang’s brow crinkled in confusion. "Why would someone cut the legs off a corpse and sew a different corpse’s legs on?” he asked.

Wei Wuxian shrugged. “Hopefully we’ll find out.”

Nie Huisang seemed relieved when they left, and Wei Wuxian wasn’t surprised — not only did he have to find a new corpse to replace the one that they had removed the legs from, but now he had to order all new supplies, and the workmen would have to rebuild the entire wall. As far as his old friend was concerned, Hanguang-jun and his weird wife were probably more trouble than they were worth.

As they walked back to Qinghe, Wei Wuxian stretched his arms over his head, and skipped ahead of Lan Zhan. “Well, we found the legs. That leaves at most three more pieces — the head, the body, the other arm.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan murmured. His eyes flickered down to Wei Wuxian’s lower body, encircled by the black-and-red robes. “Check the curse mark.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Lan Zhan, you want me to undress right here? In the open?”

A flush crept through Lan Zhan’s ears. “At the inn.”

Chapter Text

The next morning, Lan Wanji was jolted by a bloodcurdling scream.

As he always did, he rose four hours before Wei Ying did, before the sun had even risen. After dressing himself, he settled down beside the table with a book, and patiently waited for the morning peace to be fractured by Wei Ying. From anyone else, he would find it infuriating, and once he had felt the same way about Wei Ying — but now, he actually looked forward to it.

But the scream tore through the morning peace like a blade. The book fell from Lan Wangji’s hands, and he was on his feet and racing to Wei Ying’s bed in only a few seconds. His heart felt as if it was going to burst out of his chest.

Wei Ying was sitting up, with the blanket thrown back to show his entire body. He was clad only in a thin sleeping robe, with his arms and legs splayed out indecorously across the bed. His face was white as the robe and overflowing with terror, and he looked up desperately at Lan Wangji, his breasts heaving with wild, frantic breathing.

Between his thighs was a large bloodstain.

Lan Wangji’s heart nearly stopped. An icy terror flooded through him as he rushed to the side of Wei Ying’s bed. Was this some kind of effect of the curse mark that was still stubbornly clinging to Wei Ying’s leg? Had something gone horribly wrong with his new body, causing him to hemorrhage? Or was his demonic cultivation harming him in some new and unexpected way, now that he was in Mo Lian’s weakened body?

This couldn’t be happening — he had lost his love once before, and it had destroyed him — he couldn’t lose Wei Ying again, not when he had finally come back —

“What happened?” Lan Wangji said, his voice taut and tense.

“I don’t know!” Wei Ying said, his eyes wide with panic. “I just woke up and I was bleeding from my…” He pressed a trembling hand between his legs, as if he could staunch the bleeding. His voice quavered a little. “Am I dying? I feel like I might be dying. This is — I’ve never bled like this! Not even when Jiang Cheng stabbed me…”

Lan Wangji’s lips pressed together, and his hand gripped the headboard of the bed so tightly that it felt like it would splinter beneath his fingers. No. He wouldn’t let this happen.

“I will find a doctor,” he said, rising and moving swiftly towards the door.

He was already formulating a plan in his mind. He would go immediately to Nie Huisang, who was sure to have some kind of accomplished physician serving the Nie Sect. Their old classmate was probably still sore about the entire situation the previous day at the sword tomb, but Lan Wangji doubted he would vindictively withhold medical care from Wei Ying for that reason. Besides, he relied deeply on Lan Xichen, along with Jin Guangyao, for the day-to-day running of his clan, since Nie Mingjue had been sworn brothers with both of them. He wouldn’t risk alienating Lan Xichen by letting his sister-in-law suffer.

Lan Wangji threw open the door and nearly stepped through — only to be surprised by a small, stout figure standing on the other side of the door. The woman’s round face was lined with a few wrinkles and lines that showed her age, along with streaks of gray in her hair. Behind her was the inn’s owner, who looked panicked.

“Hanguang-jun, sir, I heard a scream—“ the older woman started to say.

Then her eyes fell on Wei Ying, still awkwardly splayed on the bed, and the red stain between his legs. Then she placed a hand on Lan Wangji’s arm. “Just wait outside, sir. I will make sure she’s all right. I have plenty of experience with this.”

Somehow Lan Wangji found himself standing in the hall outside, his heart pounding like a drum. Lan rules forbade eavesdropping, but that no longer mattered to him. He could hear the woman murmuring to Wei Ying inside the room, but not what she was saying. Occasionally Wei Ying’s raised voice could be heard replying to her, but not what he was saying to the woman — only that he sounded nervous.

Lan Wangji’s hands trembled, and he clutched at his own long sleeves to give his fingers something to do. He wasn’t sure what the older woman meant by “I have experience with this” — that meant that it was possible that it had nothing to do with the curse mark. Was it some kind of sickness or injury that happened to women that he had never heard of?

Or… could Mo Lian have been pregnant when Wei Ying gained her body? They had only been near each other for a few weeks — and the people of the Mo household had been cruel enough that someone might have abused her in more than one way —

“Don’t worry, sir,” the innkeeper said in a nervous yet kind voice. “My mother knows all about… women’s things. You know, the sort of things we men don’t know much about. No matter what’s wrong with your wife, she’ll sort it out.”

The door opened slightly, and the old woman stuck her face out and beckoned to the innkeeper. She whispered some instructions to him, and he turned red, flushed and quickly hastened away. The woman shut the door again. A few minutes later, the innkeeper returned with a wooden box in his arms, which he passed through to the old woman, just before she firmly shut the doors again.

Left in the hallway with the innkeeper again, Lan Wangji itched to rip the doors open, burst inside, demand to know what was happening to Wei Ying. He could cautiously guess that Wei Ying was probably not dying, or the responses to the old woman’s words would probably have been much louder and more frenzied. But something had obviously gone horribly wrong if he was bleeding so unexpectedly, without even a wound to explain it…

It felt as though hours passed before the doors parted and the old woman slipped out, looking a little tired. As she saw Lan Wangji, she smiled and came forward, patting his wrist.

“Everything’s all right now Your wife just needs a little rest after all her excitement,” she said kindly.

“What is wrong with — her?” Lan Wangji said tightly.

“Wrong? Nothing is wrong,” the old woman said.

Lan Wangji stared at her, uncomprehending. How could she say nothing was wrong?

“I thought at first that she might have lost a baby,” the old woman continued, not noticing his perturbation. “It happens too often in the early months, even for young healthy women. But she said she was definitely not pregnant, and she seemed very sure about it.”

A flood of thoughts rushed through Lan Wangji’s head, ranging from relief to confusion. For a moment he struggled to sort through them, trying to sort them into some kind of order. He felt as if the countless thoughts were clogging his mind on his way to his mouth, so that he wanted to ask a thousand things all at once, but couldn’t seem to get the correct words to come out of his mouth.

After long seconds of struggling, he managed to ask, “How… can nothing be wrong?… She bled…”

The woman gave him a pitying look. “You haven’t been married long, have you?” she said with a smile. “If a woman’s not pregnant, then that happens every month.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened imperceptibly.

“Of course, she acted a little strange,” the older woman said, a contemplative expression coming over her face. “The poor girl didn’t seem to understand what was happening to her, and I had to explain it the same way I would to a child. She should have about ten years’ experience, but she was completely confused.”

“She… has lost some of her memories,” Lan Wangji said quietly.

The older woman pressed a hand to her face. “Oh, the poor child. Was it the same thing that caused her leg to be so bruised?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “I’ve left her some supplies belonging to my daughter-in-law, and showed her how to use them. I’ll send up one of the servants to collect and wash her robe and sheets.”

Lan Wangji quietly paid the woman for her help and the “supplies,” generously enough that they felt compelled to thank him. He still felt a little dazed as the woman and her son left him, promising to be at his disposal if he needed any further help. As they left, he leaned against the wall beside his room’s door, breathing a little unsteadily.

He felt slightly embarrassed at his own ignorance about women. It was true that he had very little close experience with women, and not just his lack of romantic experience. He had never had a sister, or other close female relatives. His mother had died when he was still a young child, too young to even know what her death meant, and Qingheng-jun had never even thought about remarrying.

The Lan sect kept male and female cultivators separated, with a few exceptions. Throughout his younger years, he had been kept apart from the female Lan cultivators, both the inner and outer disciples. And while he now interacted with some of the younger female disciples, it was always in the role of a teacher and a senior. They would never talk about such matters to an older man, especially one with his reputation.

At least, he reflected, he didn’t seem to be alone in his ignorance. Wei Ying had been equally shocked and confused, and he had grown up with Jiang Yanli. Evidently she had never told her little brother about such things.

When he reentered the room, he found Wei Ying fully dressed in his black robes, sitting stiffly at the table with his hands on his stomach. His face was still unpleasantly pallid, but no longer as starkly terrified. “I feel awful,” he grumbled.

Lan Wangji sat down beside him. “Do you need to lie down?”

“No, I need to stop having blood coming out of me,” Wei Ying said, rubbing his stomach as if it pained him. “Lan Zhan, how do women tolerate this EVERY MONTH?”

“I do not know,” Lan Wangji answered honestly.

Wei Ying groaned, and let his head quietly sink to the tabletop. Lan Wangji hesitated, not sure whether it would help or hurt, before settling a hand gently on Wei Ying’s back.

“Do you wish to delay our departure for a few days?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Wei Ying mumbled.

Chapter Text

For the next few days, Wei Wuxian stayed inside the hotel room, uneasy with the idea of going outside. The innkeeper’s mother assured him kindly that he could do practically anything he usually did while he menstruated, but he wasn’t really comfortable with it. He couldn’t control the flow of the blood in any way, and he didn’t want to end up in the expanse between cities with his body completely out of control.

And it wasn’t just the blood itself. His lower abdomen ached — sometimes a dull throb, and sometimes cramps. His breasts ached. He felt overheated and sweaty. And he found himself on the verge of tears more than once, which alarmed him almost as much as the blood. He had always been a naturally happy person — even during his time living in the Burial Mounds with the Wen refugees, he had still been able to smile, no matter how grim his life felt. Yet now he had to hold back tears for no reason at all.

Now that he looked back and thought about it, his sister had sometimes had a few days each month when she didn’t feel well and had looked queasy. She had always been delicate, so he had assumed that she simply had a stomach bug. She had never told him anything else.

“Lan Zhan,” he said on the second day.

Lan Zhan put down the book he was reading, and waited expectantly.

“You don’t have to hang around me right now,” Wei Wuxian said, resting his cheek on his hand. “If you’d rather go out somewhere and do something else—“

“I will stay here,” Lan Zhan responded stoically.

They played “Rest” to the legs and arm every night, which twitched towards each other, as if yearning to be reunited with one another. But without a trunk for the limbs to attach to, there wasn’t any way for that to happen. Of course, Wei Wuxian reflected grimly, it might not be a good idea for those body parts to reunite anyway. A single arm had been powerful enough to kill multiple people at the Mo estate and injure even more at Cloud Recesses. What kind of monstrous fierce corpse would result when all the pieces were reunited?

He brought the subject up with Lan Zhan, who simply gazed back at him intently. “What other solution is there?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian said, peering down at the twitching limbs. “I’ve never seen anything like it. If the pieces were reunited, it might… it might be substantially more powerful.”

Lan Zhan’s brows lifted slightly. “Might?”

Wei Wuxian poked at one of the legs. “Lan Zhan, do you have any idea how many of the things the Yiling Patriarch said was just me talking out of my ass? Most of the things I came up with were just ideas from things I observed or made up myself. This thing — back in those days, I could have written a whole book about what I think these body parts are doing.”

Lan Zhan’s light eyes flickered. “Your writings… what did you do with them?”

“Nothing. They were just lying on the floor in random places when I died. I don’t know what happened to them.” Wei Wuxian rested his chin on his folded arms. “Maybe they’re still there.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers slowly glided over the strings, as if he were trying to pull something insubstantial from them. A few soft notes trickled from the guqin, and Wei Wuxian suddenly shivered. He could feel those notes like featherlight, chilly touches down his back, slipping softly over his skin like scraps of cloth. He glanced up at Lan Zhan’s face, and the dark lashes against his fair cheeks as he watched the guqin’s strings vibrate.

There was something strangely hypnotic about his face as he played — and yet all Wei Wuxian wanted to do was make Lan Zhan look up. Look at him, with those strange, distant eyes. And… he wasn’t sure what he wanted after that… he wanted… he wanted…

Then, just as quickly as he had started, Lan Zhan stopped, and the bell-clear notes flowing from his fingers ceased.

“Wei Ying,” he said.

The spell seeme to shatter, dissolving into silence like snowflakes falling into a running stream. Wei Wuxian blinked. “Hmm? What?”

Lan Zhan’s lips moved for a few seconds before he spoke. “How… did you come to have Mo Lian’s body?” he asked quietly.

Wei Wuxian’s brows drew together. Now that he thought about it, he never actually had explained to Lan Zhan how he came to be in this unfortunate woman’s body in the first place. As far as Lan Zhan knew, he had simply popped up out of nowhere, with no explanation for the body he now had — and considering that he had been dead for thirteen years, the obvious answers didn’t look particularly good. He probably thought at first that Wei Wuxian had simply possessed Mo Lian.

Of course, he had also seen Wei Wuxian struck squarely by Zidian a few days later — and it was well-known that Zidian would unfailingly tear a possessing ghost from the body. Wei Wuxian smiled a little. It had probably been bothering Lan Zhan for days, not knowing how a dead person could be resurrected so completely in someone else’s body.

“Well, it wasn’t really my doing,” he said, twirling his flute between his fingers. “It was hers. She performed a very old, very nasty ritual that summoned me into her living body, so I could get revenge on her behalf.”

Lan Zhan looked up at him at last, his eyes and his face still unreadable. “And her soul?”

“Gone. Destroyed. That’s the price of the spell.”

Lan Zhan seemed to take a moment to digest this new information, his eyes moving slightly as he thought. Finally, he said quietly, “What did she summon you to do?”

Wei Wuxian sighed. “Kill her relatives.”

There was another long pause.

“I didn’t do it,” Wei Wuxian added hastily. “They died because of the arm, after it was attracted by the Spirit Attraction Flags. Apparently the spell was satisfied by that. I’ll have you know I’m completely innocent, like a man who forged a sword that someone else used for murder.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said. Maybe it was Wei Wuxian’s imaginiation, but he thought his shoulders seemed to relax a little. “When Zidian struck you…”

“It didn’t work because Zidian only expels ghosts that possess others’ bodies,” Wei Wuxian said, tapping his own chest. “But because Mo Lian gave me this body, I’m not possessing it. It’s really mine, as if I had been born with it.” He looked down at his chest, and brushed a hand over one of his breasts. “Even though I obviously wasn’t.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes traced from his face to the contours of his new body, with the intent expression Wei Wuxian had once seen on his face when he was studying some theoretical problem in their classes. “Is it uncomfortable?” he asked at last.

“You should ask me again in a few days,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his breasts absently. “If you mean in general, then… not really. I just keep forgetting that this isn’t the same body I’m used to, and it has… parts… I didn’t have before. And other parts are missing.”

Lan Zhan’s ears went slightly pink, but he said nothing.

*

On the third day, Wei Wuxian decided that they would leave the next morning. They had already wasted a few days hanging around Qinghe, because of his damned bleeding and cramps, which had thankfully subsided after a few days. They hadn’t stopped entirely, but he was fairly certain he could travel safely. At least until next month.

The arm had been pointing towards the southwest with firm determination, which hopefully meant that they would be able to find the next piece before too long. Wei Wuxian tried to lure Lan Zhan into betting against him about what they would find next — arm, trunk or head — but Lan Zhan firmly refused to be pulled in.

“Gambling is not permitted,” he stated.

“We’re not in Cloud Recesses,” Wei Wuxian whined, rolling on his back. “You don’t have to be so stiff, Lan Zhan.”

“You do not have money,” Lan Zhan pointed out.

“So I’ll take some of yours and bet it against you.”

He pounced on Lan Zhan across the table, half-sitting on one of his thighs and slipping a hand inside his robes for his money pouch. Lan Zhan simply sat there and let Wei Wuxian happily rummage around inside his clothes, until his wife’s fingers closed around the tiny money pouch and pulled it out.

But it felt a little weird to Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan had always been prudish and reserved — even when he had been badly wounded, he had refused to let any of his clothing be stripped off. Yet now he was steadfastly refusing to get embarrassed or flustered by Wei Wuxian’s behavior — he acted as if it were perfectly normal for Wei Wuxian to paw at him like that. He would not be provoked, even when Wei Wuxian was sure he would.

Well, that was no fun. Feeling a little annoyed, he stuffed the money pouch back where it had come from, and slouched back in his own seat.

Lan Zhan left soon afterwards, for some errand that he seemed uninclined to elaborate on. Wei Wuxian was left to flop onto his bed and contemplate the cities in the direction they were being pointed. It was a good thing that the arm acted like the needle of a compass, or else they would never have been able to track down the legs, torso, other arm and head.

Even then, they had been extraordinarily lucky that a brash teenager had been trying to prove himself. If Jin Ling hadn’t gone snooping around, he wouldn’t have gotten the curse mark, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have transferred it to himself, and the arm wouldn’t have reacted to it. Wei Wuxian just hoped that their luck continued to nudge them in the right direction, preferably with fewer curse marks. At least the one on his leg had started to dissipate around the edges rather than spreading.

Suddenly there was a thunderous knock on the door, almost rattling it out of the wall.

Wei Wuxian scrambled up onto his knees on the bed, his fingers closed around his nameless flute. “Who’s there?” he called.

No answer — only another heavy knock.

Wei Wuxian raised his voice, letting a little sweetness seep into his tone. “Oh, Hanguang-jun, there’s someone at the door. Won’t you get it?”

There was a brief pause — and then the door flew open.

Chapter Text

“Jin Ling?” Wei Wuxian gasped.

The boy was breathing hard, as if he had been running. Unlike when Wei Wuxian had last seen him, Jin Ling’s hair and rich golden clothing were impeccably clean and neat, but his face was slightly flushed. For a moment he stared at the woman kneeling on the bed, then looked around wildly at every corner of the room.

“We need to leave!” he said insistently.

“Leave? What for?”

“Don’t waste time by asking stupid questions!” Jin Ling spluttered. “A Jiang disciple spotted Hanguang-jun leaving this hotel, and he went to fetch my uncle to come get you.”

Ice speared through Wei Wuxian’s heart, and he immediately sprang off the bed. If Jiang Cheng came for him while Lan Zhan was away, he wouldn’t be able to fight him off — and since he didn’t know where Lan Zhan was, he couldn’t run out to find him. He wasn’t sure what Jiang Cheng would do if he found him. Maybe kill him. Maybe worse. He had always been quick to anger, but there was a deep-rooted viciousness in him now — and even if he had any doubts that “Mo Lian” was Wei Wuxian, he wouldn’t let them stop him —

“Come on!” Jin Ling ordered, pointing out the door. “He’ll be here any minute!”

Almost on instinct, Wei Wuxian sprang towards the door and rushed out into the hall. Jin Ling scampered ahead of him, leading him down a back corridor and past a handful of other rooms, where a narrow stair led down to a dark hall. It wasn’t a part of the hotel that Wei Wuxian had seen before — he and Lan Zhan had come the other way, from the front street. It was probably used to haul trash and other refuse so that the guests wouldn’t see it.

An unsettling thought flitted through Wei Wuxian’s head — that this was all a trap, and that Jin Ling was leading him straight into Jiang Cheng’s hands. After all, Jiang Cheng was probably the closest thing the boy had to a father, and some youthful rebellion and brashness wasn’t the same thing as actual disloyalty. But he dismissed the idea — if Jiang Cheng knew where he was, there was no reason to lure Wei Wuxian elsewhere when he could simply burst in and drag him away.

As they reached the foot of the stairs, Wei Wuxian heard raised voices down a narrow side-hall. It must have been connected to the front of the building, where the hotel owner and his guests greeted new arrivals —

“— sorry, sir, but there’s no one of that description here,” the hotel owner’s voice quavered.

Wei Wuxian’s steps slowed, and he peered down the hall. At the end of it, he could see the owner, with his rough homespun clothing and hunched shoulders. He looked as if he were cringing back from something.

“I don’t believe you. Get out of my way, or you’ll regret it.”

The familiar voice stabbed him like a poisoned needle. Jiang Cheng stepped into view, taller and more imposing than the hotel owner, his face rigid. And though Wei Wuxian wasn’t close enough to see his eyes, he knew what they would look like — darkly simmering with rage just waiting to lash out. He had seen those eyes before, when Jiang Cheng had nearly strangled him…

… he had glimpsed them when the two had fought over Wen Ning, splitting Wei Wuxian from the Jiang clan forever.

… and then again, as their sister had died. Darker and hotter than ever before.

A cold, tight sensation gripped Wei Wuxian’s chest, and his feet seemed to root themselves to the floor. All he could think of was a single panicked thought: where was Lan Zhan?

The hotel owner moved to try to block Jiang Cheng, only for the taller man to shove him roughly out of the way with little visible effort, causing the owner to crumple against the wall. Wei Wuxian felt a spike of anger through his fear — Jiang Cheng was much stronger than the ordinary man, and was using that greater strength, skill and wealth to push him around. All for the unforgivable crime of not handing over one of his guests for torture, death, or both at once.

“Go through every room and find her,” Jiang Cheng called to disciples just out of view.

A hand grasped Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and yanked him backwards. “Come on, what are you looking at?” Jin Ling hissed.

Jolted from his reverie, Wei Wuxian swallowed his panic and darted after Jin Ling out a back door, into a narrow side-street with the backs of other buildings — mostly other inns and restaurants — facing them. The two ran some way down the road before stopping near a crowded marketplace, swarming with people selling everything from buns to ribbons, from jewelry to charms. Children raced by, clutching kite strings and stuffed toys.

Wei Wuxian was breathing hard, and bent over to rest his hands on his knees. It would be easy for him to simply blend into the crowd and find someplace to hide until Lan Zhan returned or Jiang Cheng left. He looked over at Jin Ling, who was standing twitchily a short distance away. He glanced around nervously, as if afraid that Jiang Cheng would spring out of a nearby doorway and find him.

“Why are you doing this?” Wei Wuxian said breathlessly.

“Because you saved me the other day,” Jin Ling said impatiently. "Now we’re even.” He glanced around again. “I’m not doing this because I care about you. I still think you’re — you’re depraved and disgusting.”

That seemed a little harsh to Wei Wuxian, but to be fair, he still didn’t know much about Mo Lian’s history with the Jin sect. Of course, Jin Ling might just be parroting things that he had heard other people saying, and might not actually know anything himself. Wei Wuxian knew better than anyone else how quickly unfounded rumors could be accepted as unadulterated fact.

“Besides,” Jin Ling added, “my uncle is convinced that you’re Wei Wuxian. He’s obsessed with him, even though he’s been dead for thirteen years. I’ve seen you before at Golden Carp Tower, years ago — I know you’re not Wei Wuxian, even if you do cultivate on the demonic path now.”

If only you knew, Wei Wuxian thought.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Jin Ling scoffed, “Don’t thank me. I told you, I’m doing this because you saved me before.”

Wei Wuxian smiled slightly, tucking a strand of loose hair behind his ear. “The two most important things you can say to someone are ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you.’ One day, you’ll say them to someone with tears in your eyes.”

“Ridiculous,” Jin Ling said sharply.

“I’m sorry.”

That made Jin Ling blink, and look back over his shoulder at Wei Wuxian. “Sorry for what?” he said hesitantly.

“I’m sorry for what I said back on Mount Dafan,” Wei Wuxian said soberly. “About your mother.”

It had been gnawing on the corner of his mind ever since he had first encountered Jin Ling, and been told by Lan Zhan that the angry youth was none other than his sister’s son. His nephew in every way but blood. The baby born to his beloved sister and the man she loved — and he had been orphaned, however unintentionally, because of Wei Wuxian. The least he could do was apologize for hurting him with careless words.

Jin Ling clearly had not expected that, because he looked at a loss for what to do or say next. His dark eyes darted across the street, as if he didn’t know where to look. One hand clutched the hilt of his sword, almost as if it were a talisman.

“It’s not important,” he said finally. “I’m used to people saying things like that. They’re idiots — I’m not any less than anyone else just because I don’t have parents.”

A pang struck at Wei Wuxian’s heart. For a moment, he thought of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan as they had been thirteen years ago, only weeks before his death. How different would Jin Ling be if they had been there, with their love and guidance, their protection and care? Jiang Cheng’s brittle anger had driven the boy to recklessness and short-tempered pride. He hadn’t cared for Jin Zixuan, even after he married Wei Wuxian’s sister, but he couldn’t believe that Jiang Yanli’s tenderness and gentleness wouldn’t have affected her son.

“Jin Ling,” he started to say. “I—“

But suddenly a scream arose from the end of the street — back the way they had come, at the front of the inn. A blast of icy light, blue and purple, blazed up above the rooftops.

Chapter Text

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispered.

Ice rippled through his blood as he turned back towards the hotel. No sooner had the blast of light faded than another one rose to take its place, brighter and fiercer than before. It was the light of two powerful spiritual weapons clashing against each other, and Wei Wuxian recognized the distinctive presence of both of them.

Desperately, he launched into a sprint down the street, dodging past fleeing locals who were dodging around carts and kiosks. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he got there — Jiang Cheng wasn’t going to publicly back down from Lan Zhan now that their distaste for each other had descended into violence. Wei Wuxian could stop the fight himself, but only with demonic cultivation. For someone as weak in spiritual power as Mo Lian had been, stepping between two top-ranked cultivators would be suicide. But using demonic cultivation would only make things worse—

“Where are you going?” Jin Ling howled. “I just got you out of there!”

“I have to find my husband!” Wei Wuxian shouted back.

Though some of the locals were rushing away from the fight, many others were still huddled in the street, watching with wide eyes. And as he approached, Wei Wuxian could see why — Lan Zhan was standing in the middle of the street, his white robes shining and Bichen emanating icy light. His face had a stark, almost fierce look, and his light eyes had a reddish gleam that hinted that he might be about to lose control.

He looked magnificent, like an exquisite god come down to earth. Wei Wuxian had never seen him like this before, and it almost took his breath away.

Jiang Cheng was standing in front of the inn, with half a dozen disciples unconscious around him — presumably knocked out with a little effort from Lan Zhan. While Jiang Cheng wasn’t as superb in appearance as Lan Zhan, he was still intimidating — a pillar of barely-restrained rage, with the crackling purple length of Zidian coiling around him like a snake. To someone less powerful than his foe, an attack from that whip would be devastating.

“Aren’t you afraid that your pristine reputation will take a hit, Second Young Master Lan?” Jiang Cheng sneered. “Fighting in the middle of Qinghe’s streets without thought for common people, huh?”

He was wrong, Wei Wuxian thought. Lan Zhan was standing with his back to those common people, ready to deflect or absorb any attacks that might fly towards them. Jiang Cheng was the one putting them at risk by lashing out in their general direction.

Lan Zhan’s eyes glinted. “Where is she?” he said in a low, tense voice.

“You think I know?” Jiang Cheng snarled.

“Where. Is. She?”

“If I knew,” Jiang Cheng snapped, “I wouldn’t be here wasting time with you. Apparently she sneaked out behind your back.”

“You came here for her,” Lan Zhan continued unyieldingly.

“I didn’t deny that. You should thank me, considering what she really—“

Bichen flew out towards him like a streak of blue-white light, and Jiang Cheng was barely able to fend it off with a coiling blow from Zidian. The sword flew back to Lan Zhan’s hand, along with a blast of icy air like a winter storm. His long inky hair flowed back over his shoulders, and his light eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng’s face with blistering intensity — Jiang Cheng raised the crackling, hissing Zidian again with fire in his eyes —

Wei Wuxian couldn’t stand there watching anymore. He squirmed between two beefy men, and almost stumbled into the open. “Lan Zhan!” he called out. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan began to turn just as Wei Wuxian flew towards him, slamming against his body with an inelegant thud. Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms tightly around Lan Zhan’s chest, pressed his head against his husband’s shoulder, and gazed up at him. Lan Zhan couldn’t look back at him very well from that angle, but what Wei Wuxian could see of his face was faintly tinged with relief. His breaths were a little ragged, as if he had been running.

A murmur ran through the crowd around them — surprise, and more than a little delight. Which was exactly what Wei Wuxian had been counting on. Watching a fight was wonderful enough, but no human being would pass up the opportunity to see a little interpersonal drama. And Wei Wuxian knew exactly how to deliver something juicy and scandalous to them.

“You!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “So you came crawling back, did you? I’d have thought you were too—“

“Clan leader Jiang!” Wei Wuxian said in a loud, trembling voice. “Please stop pursuing me!”

Jiang Cheng looked as if he had been unexpectedly slapped.

And behind Wei Wuxian, he could hear a chorus of gasps and scandalized murmurs, especially from the women watching the entire drama unfold. He kept his face in a tragic, on-the-verge-of-shedding-very-pretty-tears expression. Jiang Cheng was easily embarrassed and always had been, and once it was triggered, it was nearly impossible for him to come back from.

“You haven’t left me alone ever since we met,” Wei Wuxian said, pressing his cheek against Lan Zhan’s collarbone. “But I simply can’t come with you. I’m in love with Hanguang-jun, and now I’m his wife!”

He felt Lan Zhan stiffen against him, and for a moment he thought he would say, “Frivolous!” Or something like that. But he remained steadfastly quiet — and Wei Wuxian realized that Lan Zhan’s free hand was gripping his waist tightly, as if afraid Wei Wuxian would slip away again if he let go.

Jiang Cheng’s face turned bone-white, and then slightly puce around the edges. “That’s — I’m not — don’t be ridiculous!”

“Can you deny that you’ve been following me?” Wei Wuxian cried out dramatically. “You sent people to chase me in this hotel when my husband was away!”

Jiang Cheng grimaced, his eyes blazing with anger. But then there was a flash of purple light, and Zidian vanished into the ring on his finger. For a moment longer he stood there, his eyes burning holes into Wei Wuxian's back as he clung to Lan Zhan. Then he turned sharply, his purple robes swirling around him, and strode away down the street. Pedestrians scuttled out of his way, keeping their distance in case he decided to lash out.

Lan Zhan's head turned slightly, his eyes warily watching Jiang Cheng's retreating figure. His arm was wrapped tightly around Wei Wuxian’s waist, almost pulling him off his feet. Wei Wuxian’s fingers clung to Lan Zhan’s robes, clutched at his chest and shoulder, and his breath caught as Lan Zhan bent his head lower, and a whisper was breathed against the side of his face.

“Wei Ying. Are you all right?”

It was soft enough that no one else could hear the name of the Yiling Patriarch — and to the people surrounding them, it would look like a devoted lover whispering sweet nothings into the ear of his wife.

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian whispered back just as quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw two young men clad in the Nie clan’s colors, each one with a saber, who had been watching the heated confrontation. They hadn’t gotten involved — probably because they had no chance of stopping such powerful cultivators — but they had been watching the entire time.

That would probably be even more galling to Jiang Cheng, he reflected. Those two men would invariably report back to Nie Huisang that Jiang Cheng had been stalking Hanguang-jun’s newly-wedded wife, and a fight had broken out between the men because of that stalking. Before nightfall, the entire Nie sect would probably know about Jiang Cheng’s behavior. And because of the high rank of both men involved, the news would spread like a bad cold throughout the cultivation world that Jiang Cheng was fanatically chasing Hanguang-jun’s wife, even to the point of invading a hotel to capture her while her husband was away.

“Jiang Cheng won’t be happy when news about this gets out,” he said, trying to smile. “People will think he’s some sort of frustrated lunatic.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied. His face was still tight and stark with anger, and his hand was gripping Wei Wuxian’s side. “We are leaving immediately. We cannot wait until the morning.”

“Agreed,” Wei Wuxian said.

Chapter Text

For the next few days, Lan Wangji barely left Wei Ying’s side.

Internally, he harshly chastised himself for having been careless enough to leave Wei Ying alone when he knew that Jiang Cheng was nearby. If Jin Ling hadn’t warned him, then Wei Ying would have been dragged back to Lotus Pier — and Lan Wangji might not find out where he had gone until it was far, far too late. He had heard ugly rumors of what happened in that place when Jiang Cheng encountered a demonic cultivator, and in Wei Ying’s weakened state, he wouldn’t have lasted long.

When he had returned to the hotel and seen Jiang Cheng, he had nearly gone mad. All he could think of was the one he loved, suffering and alone. Lan Wangji had drawn Bichen almost without thinking, ready to fight the furious clan leader to the death if it would save Wei Ying from torture and death. Over the past thirteen years, how many times had he thought that he would gladly have died himself if Wei Ying would have lived instead? Thousands. Perhaps millions.

But before the fight could escalate, Wei Ying had stumbled out of the crowd — alive, whole and free, his eyes wide and glimmering and his ink-dark hair flying around him. He had thrown himself against Lan Wangji, clinging to him as if he really were a frightened young bride seeking refuge from someone who frightened him. But the part of Wei Ying’s act that had struck him to the core was a single sentence:

“I’m in love with Hanguang-jun, and now I’m his wife!”

Well, part of it was true. But the part that was a lie had slipped so easily and smoothly from Wei Ying’s lips — as easily as if it had been the truth. And though he knew it was a lie, Lan Wangji’s heart had thrilled at the sound of those words.

As they left Qinghe, his eyes were fixed on Wei Ying’s profile. Despite the close call, he seemed to be in good spirits, spinning his flute in his fingers. “I was lucky you showed up when you did,” he said with a smile. “If you had showed up any later, I probably would have gone running through the streets of Qinghe and not gone back for hours.”

“Mn.”

“Where did you go, anyway? I was lonely without you,” Wei Ying said playfully.

Lan Wangji’s ears reddened slightly, but he simply slipped a hand into his sleeve and withdrew a simple square bag made of fine red cloth. Wei Ying peered inside at the contents. “Tea?” he asked.

“For cramps,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Ying stared at him for a moment, before a radiant smile spread across his face. “You’re too good to me, Lan Zhan.”

At the sight of that bright unrestrained smile, those shining eyes, warmth flooded through Lan Wangji’s body, and for the moment it was like the clouds had parted to let sunlight flow over him. It sustained him more than any food and drink could, for the few days that they traveled southwest to the city of Yueyang.

Fortunately, Wei Ying’s bleeding had completely stopped by the time they arrived in Yueyang, so he stashed away the remaining tea for the next month. Lan Wangji was more concerned with the curse mark that still marred Wei Ying’s leg — he hadn’t seen it himself since they had obtained the legs, but Wei Ying had confirmed that it was still there. It had shrunk a little, he informed Lan Wangji, but he doubted it would be gone until they found more of the body.

“A little?” Lan Wangji asked. “How much?”

Wei Ying grinned at him mischievously. “Do you want me to strip off and show you, Hanguang-jun?”

Lan Wangji felt his heart skip a beat. He lowered his eyes. “Not in the street.”

Wei Ying laughed — his laughter was like silver bells thrashing in the wind. That laughter had always been maddeningly enchanting, whether from a man or a woman. But as his laughter faded away, there was still a bright smile on his face.

“Hanguang-jun, I’ve been thinking about the whole situation with our friend’s body parts. Do you think that the person who threw the arm into the Mo household is the same one who hid the legs?”

“They are different,” Lan Wangji said with quiet confidence.

“Exactly what I thought. Whoever went to all the trouble of sewing those legs onto a corpse earmarked to be put in those walls didn’t want them found — they took extra pains to make sure that nobody would know where they were. On the other hand, throwing a resentful arm into a household crawling with young Lan cultivators guarantees that it will not only be found, but taken back to their home.” Wei Wuxian tapped his own cheek with his flute. “The question remains, though — who was this corpse, and why was he so important that two different people, or groups, are conspiring to use his body parts?”

His eyes were distant and slowly moving across the busy street, lost in thoughts of this mystery they found themselves entangled in. Lan Wangji watched his face avidly, enjoying the sight — Wei Ying had always had a quick, nimble mind that regularly ventured outside of normal, orthodox paths. Confronted by a puzzle, he would try to tease it into revealing its secrets.

“And we can narrow down the suspects even further,” Wei Ying was adding contemplatively, “because most people wouldn’t know about who was doing these things.”

“In what way?”

“Well, the Nie clan’s practices are a closely-hidden secret, aren’t they? Nie Huisang only told us because he didn’t have any choice, and because we had already uncovered the bodies in the walls. At the same time, the one who provided the arm was aware in advance of the Lan clan’s movements at the Mo estate, which I assume your clan doesn’t advertise to just anyone.”

“They do not.”

“So it must be someone who is very well-informed, and has access to both clans. That leaves us with just one question.”

“Which is?”

Wei Ying leaned closer, his eyes sparkling. “How did you recognize me?”

“Figure it out.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for DAYS, Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying whined. “Was it the flute? Was it that I was using a flute?”

“No.”

Lan Wangji felt a spark of annoyance that Wei Ying hadn’t figured it out yet. He hadn’t forgotten the song Lan Wangji had played for him so long ago — in fact, he had played it multiple times in the past few weeks, often when Lan Wangji was drifting off to sleep. But he didn’t seem to remember where it had come from, or who had played it to him.

It took a while before Wei Ying changed the subject, but Lan Wangji could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he was not going to give it up. “I’m not familiar with Yueyang — I don’t think I’ve ever been here before. So I’ll let Hanguang-jun take the lead in the inquiries,” he said airily, twirling his flute. “Is that all right with you?”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji started to turn away.

“Where are you going?”

“To ask the cultivation clan who lives in the city.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Wei Ying grabbed Lan Wangji’s arm, pressing it tightly against his body. “Lan Zhan, you can’t just come up and ask them outright like that. They won’t tell you anything useful.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re an outsider, Hanguang-jun. Either they’ll see you as an interloper who’s meddling in their business, or they’ll be embarrassed by the fact that they can’t handle the situation themselves. Or maybe both at the same time. Either way, just asking them outright is a huge mistake.” He smiled charmingly, brightly, the same way he did when he flirted. “Whatever would you do if I weren’t here, Hanguang-jun?”

Lan Wangji felt his annoyance drain away, replaced by a warmth and softness that suffused his entire body. He wanted to clasp Wei Ying in his arms — not for any particular reason, but just an overwhelming desire to have him close, to feel that warm body pressed against his own. Even though he knew it wasn’t welcome, he wanted to be close to his love — his wife. Just to be reminded that Wei Ying was alive again, and Lan Wangji would never let harm befall him again.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian had started drinking at a young age — he had first tasted wine shortly after he had been taken in by Jiang Fengmian, and had loved it. And despite the best efforts of Wen Qing in the last year of his life, he had enjoyed drinking in all the years that had followed. Most of the time, it had been a celebration of being alive, relishing the enjoyment that came with it. Occasionally, it had been a way to numb the pain of his losses and the pain of his months in the Burial Mounds.

And in his years of drinking, he had observed that taverns were excellent places to get information. Alcohol loosened the tongue and dissolved the inhibitions, meaning that people were more likely to talk freely. Taverns were social places where people could discuss local events with one another. And the waiters soaked up everything they heard from their patrons, which made them very useful sources.

“Trust me,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, dragging Lan Zhan along by his arm. “If there’s anything wrong in Yueyang, we’ll find out about it here.”

Lan Zhan looked at him dubiously. Reading his face wasn’t easy, but Wei Wuxian could tell me was thinking, You’re just here for the wine.

Voices floated through the street, on air perfumed by the smell of wine. Wei Wuxian’s smile widened as they ventured into the district, and he felt a familiar excitement welling up inside him. It had been a very long time since he had been in a place like this, even before he had died — during his second stay in the Burial Mounds, he hadn’t had the money or freedom to go out drinking whenever he felt like it. Even though he had never been to Yueyang before, he felt at home.

A swarm of waiters came pouring out of the nearby taverns, each one extolling the virtues of the liquor in their establishment, and a few were holding samples. But as the two passed down the street, the various waiters looked at them with odd expressions, almost as if they were intimidated by Lan Zhan’s immaculate bearing and appearance, and couldn’t quite bring themselves to hawk liquor to such an exalted, imposing figure.

Wei Wuxian selected a waiter at random, plucked the cup from one waiter’s hand, and downed it in one gulp. “Very good!” he said.

“You have excellent taste, ma’am!” the waiter said quickly. “It’s smooth and full-bodied, with a hint of plums!”

“I’m sold. Darling, let’s go inside,” Wei Wuxian said.

Lan Zhan followed him silently, slipping his hand into his robe and pulling out his money pouch. When the waiter had seated them at a table inside, Wei Wuxian rested his elbows on the table and leaned across to gaze at Lan Zhan. “Are you going to have any, husband?”

Lan Zhan looked back at him impassively.

“Right,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “Three jugs for me!”

The waiter did a double take, but obediently brought out three jugs of wine. Wei Wuxian drank half of one in fairly short order, enjoying the warmth flooding through his body. Lan Zhan didn’t know what he was missing out on, he thought. He had probably never drunk wine in his life.

He spent some time talking with the waiter, who seemed eager to talk to a paying customer, even though he seemed to be surprised that a woman was drinking that much. “Most grown men can’t even stand after one jug,” he said as Wei Wuxian took another gulp. “If you had been a man, I would have offered to change my surname to yours if you could still stand after a whole jug.”

“There’s still time for that,” Wei Wuxian said with a sly grin. “We’ll see whether my husband has to carry me out of here. But I’m here for more than wine.”

“Anything else I can bring you and your husband, ma’am?”

“Yes. Can you tell us about any strange occurrences around here?”

“Strange?”

“Hauntings. Dismemberments. Disturbed graves. Anything like that?”

The waiter’s eyes widened. “Are you… what do you and your husband do? Are you prominent cultivators? Especially your husband — we don’t normally see someone so — so —“

“Beautiful?” Wei Wuxian supplied.

His face was turned away from Lan Wangji, and so he didn’t see the light eyes suddenly rise to look at him, and a pair of full lips parting slightly. Lan Wangji gazed at Wei Ying for a moment, his heart suddenly beating a little faster than before at the sound of that word. Then he quickly looked down at his knees, but his heart continued its heady pace.

“Strange happenings, hmm?” the waiter said, gazing off into space. “Well, there is one place nearby that is very strange, but it’s old news — it must have happened ten years back. It’s a few kilometers outside of Yueyang, a beautifully-built mansion where an entire clan, the Chang clan, was slaughtered! They were frightened to death.”

Lan Zhan looked up sharply, and something kindled in his eyes.

“How did the local cultivation clan handle the problem?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“They couldn’t,” the waiter said, his voice growing more excited with every word. “They were the ones who died! And nobody else has moved into the area, so we just don’t have any cultivators in Yueyang.”

Wei Wuxian felt a stab of shock. He had never heard of any such clan before, which probably meant that they hadn’t been very large or prominent. But still, it would have probably made waves for a whole clan — even a relatively humble one — to be completely wiped out. Especially since it must have been some kind of malevolent ghost or some other such creature.

The waiter recounted the rumors of the night the Chang family had been killed — a massive sound of banging on the door from inside the mansion, followed by the discovery of over fifty people dead the next morning. The doors had been barred, so no one could get inside to help — and the people of Yueyang had been reluctant to do so anyway, because they figured that if the Chang family couldn’t handle the situation, then surely ordinary people couldn’t—

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the tavern owner bawled. “What are you doing, babbling about dead people instead of—“

“FIVE MORE JUGS!” Wei Wuxian said, throwing his arm up in the air.

Lan Zhan silently extracted a large sum of money from his pouch, and the owner responded with sparkling eyes and a wide smile. “All right, you,” he addressed the waiter, “tell them everything they want to hear. Don’t move until you do!”

As Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan listened intently, the waiter continued his story of the Chang mansion and the ghostly happenings that still continued to that day — that if a person passed the house, they could hear the family thrashing in their coffins. Even the family head Chang Ping, who had been out when the horror befell his clan, was killed a few years later in an even more gruesome manner… but the waiter suddenly stopped speaking.

“What happened?” Wei Wuxian prompted. “How did he die?”

“I — don’t know if I should explain in front of a lady,” the waiter said nervously. “I mean, it was very, very unpleasant…”

“Trust me,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning against the table, “I can take it. I’m not as delicate as I look.” He took another hearty swig of wine.

The waiter seemed uneasy still, but he quietly said, “He was killed by lingchi — you know, carving someone up thousands of times until they’re nothing left but bones!” He glanced nervously at Lan Zhan, as if he thought the silent cultivator might punish him for sullying his wife’s ears with such talk. “Everybody thinks that they were set up by another cultivation sect — and it makes sense. How could they not be able to escape otherwise? I’ve only heard gossip about it — none of us ordinary folks know for sure what happened.

“I mean, you should know better than us, ma’am — you would know what cultivation sects or clans have against each other, right? But there were some rumors about someone who might have killed them all…”

Wei Wuxian perked up. “Really? Who?”

“Someone called the Yiling Patriarch.”

Wei Wuxian immediately choked on the liquor, and Lan Zhan began thumping him fiercely on the back until he stopped coughing. “Wh-what?” He wheezed.

“I don’t know much about him, ma’am,” the waiter said, nodding sagely. “I believe his name was Wei Wuqian, and whenever people speak about him, they always sound frightened. He did all sorts of hideous things, so why not kill the Chang family, right?”

Wei Wuxian wanted to laugh and groan at the same time. It was happening again — everybody blamed him for things that hadn’t been his fault. He had never been in Yueyang before, and he had never killed a single person through lingchi. Even if he had, he had been safely dead ten years ago, and he hadn’t murdered a single time in his existence as a ghost, let alone wiping out an entire clan for no reason.

Chapter Text

Before he could say anything, Lan Zhan said quietly, “We are leaving.”

Wei Wuxian swiftly looked over at his husband. Lan Zhan’s face was as unreadable as ever, but he knew that he wanted to tell Wei Wuxian something, away from the too-absorbant ears of this waiter and his coworkers.

“All right, darling,” he said, before turning back to the waiter. “We’re going to leave the wine here, all right? We’ll be back to get the rest later. It’s all paid for, right?”

“Yes, ma’am!” the waiter said eagerly. “We’ll stay open until you return for the rest of your wine, don’t worry!” His eyes widened with excitement. “Are you and your husband going to the Chang mansion, ma’am? Are you going to… actually go inside? That’s so brave of you — I’ve lived in Yueyang all my life and I’ve never dared to go near it.”

“We’re just going to take a look,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling.

To his surprise, the young waiter suddenly flushed and smiled in response… only for him to suddenly freeze like a frightened deer. His eyes were fixed on something behind Wei Wuxian. “Uh, ma’am, good luck to you — good evening to you and your — your noble husband,” he said nervously. Then he quickly bustled away.

Wei Wuxian turned back to Lan Zhan, who was standing in the doorway with a forbidding look on his face, his eyes like shards of piercing ice. “What’s with that look?” he asked as they stepped out into the street. “Is it because I ordered so much wine?”

Lan Zhan didn’t say anything — he simply walked down the street without acknowledging anyone else, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. Maybe it was Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but he thought he saw Lan Zhan’s jaw clenching.

“You should have let me ask him more questions,” he piped up. “I could have thought of five or six more about the slaughter of the Chang clan.”

“I recalled that I have heard news and rumors of the Chang clan’s destruction already,” Lan Zhan replied. “There is more known among cultivation clans than among the locals of Yueyang.”

“It wasn’t me,” Wei Wuxian said a little nervously. “I know my memory is bad, but I would remember killing an entire clan.”

“It was not you.”

A rueful smile lifted the corners of Wei Wuxian’s lips. “You have no idea how nice it is to hear somebody say that,” he mumbled. “You’re the only one who doesn’t think I’m a maniac responsible for every bad thing that happens…”

Lan Zhan’s steps slowed, and his eyes slipped over to Wei Wuxian’s face. “It is… connected to you, though,” he said quietly.

As they walked from the borders of Yueyang, Lan Zhan began to explain the events of a decade before — how a young man named Xiao Xingchen had come down from the distant mountain of Baoshan-sanren, only one year after Wei Wuxian’s death. He had been gentle but steadfast, noble in bearing and immensely talented and powerful. He rejected no one who needed his help, no matter what their station. And though all the major cultivation clans had sought him out, he had politely turned them all down, hoping to form a new sect with his closest friend, Song Lan.

When the Chang clan was all but wiped out, Xiao Xingchen had agreed to find the truth for Chang Ping of what had happened to his family — and he had done so.

The murderer, he found, had been a youth named Xue Yang — a sweet-faced boy with an unparalleled vicious streak. For some reason, he had a deep grudge against Chang Ping’s late father that had prompted him to slaughter the entire sect. Wei Wuxian frowned at the thought — he had killed people before, but this was a cold-blooded, pre-planned murder of every man, woman and child in the clan, right down to the last of their servants. If he wanted revenge, then why not simply revenge himself on Chang Ping and be done with it?

Xiao Xingchen had managed to track down and capture Xue Yang, before dragging him back to Golden Carp Tower and revealing him before everyone there. There, he had laid out his case before all the major clans — and nearly all of them had agreed with him that Xue Yang should be executed without mercy.

“Nearly all?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Who was stupid enough to be on his side?”

“The Jin Clan of Lanling,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened slightly. That didn’t make any sense — according to Lan Zhan, Xue Yang had been little more than a street thug. The Jin Clan was the wealthiest and most powerful clan, now that the Wen Clan had been destroyed. What reason would they have had to defend an ordinary psycho like Xue Yang?

“It was because of the Yin Tiger Tally,” Lan Zhan added.

“What?” Wei Wuxian whispered. “But I destroyed half of it — the other half should just be useless iron now.”

Lan Zhan’s face grew grimmer, and he slowly turned to face Wei Wuxian. “He found a way to reconstruct the other half. It is not as strong as the original, but still too powerful.”

Ice flooded through Wei Wuxian’s blood, and his steps slowed to a stumble. The Yin Tiger Tally had been powerful — too powerful for any person to hold, including himself. It had caused such mass destruction and death when he used it that he had thrown himself into destroying it after his sister’s death. He had only managed to destroy half of it before his own death, but he had been confident that what remained was dead, useless, inert.

Jin Guangshan had been the last person in the world that should have the Yin Tiger Tally — and also the person who coveted it most. Xue Yang must have been a blessing to him — a brilliant young demonic cultivator who was able to reverse-engineer a second half to replace the one that Wei Wuxian had destroyed. Perhaps the Chang family’s deaths hadn’t been just because of revenge, but for experimental purposes…

“Are you all right?” Lan Zhan said in a low voice, moving closer.

Wei Wuxian clutched at Lan Zhan’s robes blindly, his mind still buzzing with the dreadful news. He had been so sure that the tally was permanently destroyed — but it turned out that it had been brought back to a kind of half-life. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked faintly.

Lan Zhan lowered his long dark lashes, and one slender hand rose to rest on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, a gentle weight that was somehow comforting. “There was nothing you could do about it,” he said.

He continued with the description of what had happened when Xiao Xingchen dragged Xue Yang to Golden Carp Tower — the stalwart young cultivator had refused to hand Xue Yang over to be protected by Jin Guangshan. Their stalemate had been interrupted by Nie Mingjue, who had heard of the confrontation and had charged in to demand justice for the Chang clan, even if he had to execute Xue Yang on the spot with his own saber.

Jin Guangshan had been publicly humiliated by Nie Mingjue’s display, and had been forced to concede. Yet as soon as Nie Mingjue was gone, he had simply put Xue Yang in a dungeon and chosen to imprison rather than execute him. Nie Mingjue, once he learned of this, was enraged by the news and had tried to interfere again. But before long, he had suffered his fatal qi deviation and died.

With the pesky clan leader gone, the Jin Clan had quietly exerted pressure on Chang Ping, until he recanted his story and stated that Xue Yang was not responsible for his family’s death. Xue Yang was free to work for the Jin Clan, and to revenge himself on his new enemy… though rather than directly attacking Xiao Xingchen, he had instead focused his energy on his friend Song Lan. He had wiped out Song Lan’s home at Baixue Temple, and blinded the man.

Xiao Xingchen had gone above and beyond for his wounded friend, carrying him to Baoshan-sanren’s mountain and begging her to heal him. He had restored Song Lan’s vision in the most terrible way possible — by pulling out his own eyes, so that they could replace Song Lan’s blinded ones. Afterwards, he had left the mountain, and had seemingly vanished from the world.

“Were you there when all this happened?” Wei Wuxian asked curiously.

Lan Zhan head bowed slightly. “I was not,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “But you…”

He was about to say that Lan Zhan was not the sort of person who would let this kind of corruption and injustice run rampant. But then he saw a slight stiffness in the way Lan Zhan was walking, and was reminded of those hideous scars criss-crossing his back. It might have taken years for him to recover from those wounds — meaning that when all this had been happening, he might have still been indisposed in Cloud Recesses.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said quietly, “those scars…”

Lan Zhan’s back stiffened. “It is nothing,” he said.

“It’s not nothing. I’ve never even heard of someone receiving that many lashes with the discipline whip.”

Lan Zhan said nothing, but one hand crossed his torso and rubbed absently at his side, on the edge of the scars. He looked down at Wei Wuxian with a steady, unwavering gaze, and something odd slipped over his eyes — a softness that Wei Wuxian had never seen before. His heart seemed to throb in his chest at the sight, and he suddenly felt the impulse to touch Lan Zhan’s usually-icy face.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “I—“

But he was interrupted by a violent banging sound.

Chapter Text

The Chang mansion was as dead as its inhabitants, dark and derelict, like a bare skull whose flesh and eyes had rotted away. Yet as the two cultivators approached, the air was filled with the sound of banging — as if someone was slamming a door open and shut without ceasing. Even worse, it was happening many times over, with every buried Chang seemingly beating on the lids of their coffins, even though they were firmly buried in the ground.

Wei Wuxian’s heart was racing as they approached the cemetary, but not because of the banging. He could already see that someone had beaten them to the location — one of the graves had been dug up, leaving two mounds of fresh dirt piled around the hole in the ground. And the sound of a shovel meeting packed dirt was coming from the hole.

His eyes widened, and he swiftly looked at Lan Zhan. The night was dark, but there was just enough light from the stars and moon that they could see each other’s faces. Lan Zhan gazed back at him silently, before placing a hand on his arm and pulling him to the ceremonial gateway, in deep shadows that hid them both from sight. Both of them crouched in the darkness, their breathing almost silent.

At first, all of Wei Wuxian’s attention was fixed on the mysterious gravedigger. His eyesight was keen enough that he could make out faint movement in the hole, and the sound of faint scraping and heavy breaths floated towards them on the night breeze. Whoever it was, they were in a hurry — but what could they possibly need from someone dead for the past ten years?

… unless it was another resentful body part.

But as Wei Wuxian turned the thought over in his head, he suddenly became aware that he was crouching very close to Lan Zhan. His husband’s hand was still firmly holding Wei Wuxian’s forearm, and his skin was warm where Lan Zhan touched him. But Wei Wuxian didn’t have the slightest inclination to pull away — if anything, he wanted to lean in closer, feel that firm, muscular body under those funereal robes.

His eyes traced Lan Zhan’s features in the shadows, and he could make out the elegant curve of his throat, the finely-shaped features that nearly every woman admired from afar, the smooth unblemished skin… and those slightly parted lips. Lan Zhan always gave off the impression of icy, ascetic remoteness and detachment, but those soft, sensual lips looked like they belonged to someone of overwhelming passion.

Wei Wuxian wondered what they tasted like.

He had always been someone who knew what he wanted, and this awareness had been creeping up on him for days. More than once he had found himself thinking about what Lan Zhan would be like as a lover, both in bed and out of it. He had found himself thinking about what life would be like when they had finished their current quest and returned to Cloud Recesses — after all, he was still Lan Zhan’s wife. And he often found himself transfixed by how beautiful Lan Zhan was, ignoring the often-grim expression on that lovely face.

Of course, it was something of a surprise. He had never thought about a man this way before. Sure, he had flirted with half the girls in Yunmeng, but the only flirtations with men had been since his rebirth — and none of those were going to go anywhere. His tastes had always been aimed squarely at beautiful maidens.

But Lan Zhan was different… he was so… so…

Then the slender fingers wrapped around his arm squeezed suddenly, and Wei Wuxian flinched. His thoughts crumbled away, back into the awareness of the present — and the dark figure climbing out of the open grave.

Or rather, figures. The darkness wasn’t quite complete enough to hide that the shape coming out of the grave was a living person with a dead one slung over their back. At least, Wei Wuxian presumed that the person was dead, given the way their limbs and head drooped like wilted flowers.

Just then, the person turned around and saw them.At least, his face was turned in their direction — but Wei Wuxian couldn’t see his expression. His face was obscured by a heavy, smoky black fog.

“Lan—“ Wei Wuxian started to say.

But Lan Zhan was already sweeping through the cemetary like an icy gust of wind, his blade unsheathed and blazing blue. But the gravedigger was equally fast, summoning a sword covered by the same thick haze as his face, so that Wei Wuxian couldn’t see any of the details of it. Not that he could see much anyway — the gravedigger was already clashing with Lan Zhan, their sword glares blazing through the night like strikes of lightning.

But then Wei Wuxian realized something alarming — the gravedigger was deflecting Lan Zhan’s sword with too much ease, too much familiarity. Those were the movements of someone who knew a great deal about Lan Zhan’s sword techniques, and how to counter them. Even with a dead body draped over his shoulder, forcing him to stand and move oddly, the gravedigger was proving to be a dangerous foe.

Lan Zhan called Bichen back to his hand, a blue-silver blur that pierced the night air. His face was grim and tinged with icy ferocity, and Wei Wuxian could tell at a glance that his mind was furiously thinking of moves and techniques that the gravedigger might not have predicted—

— only for the gravedigger to suddenly turn and dart towards Wei Wuxian.

It made sense, in a cowardly kind of way, Wei Wuxian reflected. He was at a disadvantage against Lan Zhan, so he chose to attack Hanguang-jun’s seemingly-weaker companion. Maybe he planned to take a seemingly helpless woman hostage, assuming that Lan Zhan wouldn’t attack if the gravedigger had his wife.

A smile curled the corners of Wei Wuxian’s mouth. This person didn’t know who he was messing with.

His flute was already in his hand, and it took only a heartbeat to lift it to his lips and utter a piercing note. The sound drove down into the hard-packed earth under their feet, sliding into the thrashing corpses and giving them strength and power enough to tear up from their coffins. Bones and rotting flesh erupted from the ground, grasping with tattered fingers at the legs of the gravedigger, slithering up his body like bony snakes.

This would reduce most people to gibbering, terrified shrieks. But the gravedigger seemed disdainful of the demonic cultivation, and indeed of the corpses trying to keep him from moving. With a blast of spiritual energy, he sent the skeletal arms flying in every direction.

Unfortunately for him, he also sent the body on his back flying as well.

The person with the obscured face seemed to realize his mistake just as Lan Zhan leaped over to the body, Bichen shining in his hand. His head turned from the man he couldn’t beat to the woman playing the flute, and whipped something out of his robes — and even in the dim light, Wei Wuxian recognized it as a transportation talisman. Before either could react, the enemy vanished in a blaze of blue light.

Wei Wuxian played the restless Changs back into their coffins, sending bones scuttling down into the earth. Then with a sigh, he lowered his flute. “Well, we can’t get him now — he could be hundreds of kilometers away.”

“Mn,” said Lan Zhan, still crouching over the corpse.

“Let’s see what we have. Or who.”

Wei Wuxian had expected a fairly fresh corpse, perhaps one hidden among the older graves, given that it hadn’t rotted away to bones in the last ten years. But when he peered down at the head, he felt a wave of disbelief pass through him. It was a bag filled with cotton, torn open through the violence of the fight — and it popped right off as he pulled at it.

“A fake corpse?” he exclaimed. “Who would bury a fake corpse, let alone fight with someone else over it?”

But Lan Zhan pressed his hands over the arm and torso — and said quietly, “The torso is real. Only the head and limbs are fake.”

They tore the false limbs and rotten clothing from the body, revealing the headless, limbless torso of a well-built man. Just by looking, Wei Wuxian could tell that it was a match for the legs and arm that they had stashed away, with the same skin tone and matching severed limbs. It was a solid, well-built torso with well-defined muscles of the abdomen, back and chest, matching the athletic build of the legs and arm.

“You realize what this means, right?” Wei Wuxian said.

“Mn.”

“Whoever killed and dismembered this man has found out that we’re hunting for his body parts, and they’re trying to get ahead of us.” Wei Wuxian tapped a finger against the motionless torso. “Of course, now we have to figure out who that guy was. His cultivation was strong if he could use a transportation talisman, and he must be someone significant if he went to the trouble of hiding not just his face, but his sword as well.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes slowly went to Bichen, still unsheathed in his hand.

“And he’s familiar with your clan’s sword techniques,” Wei Wuxian added. “Did you recognize him as… anyone in particular?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said steadily.

Wei Wuxian smiled a little at the firmness of the answer. Lan Zhan would never lie about something that important, even if he had to point the finger at someone close to him, like his brother. Even if he didn’t know that Lan Zhan was telling him the truth, his gaze did not waver when he answered the question, and his voice was even.

Wei Wuxian poked the torso with his toe. “Someone familiar with Lan techniques, but not a Lan… that makes things more complex.”

Chapter Text

“You didn’t tell me one thing,” Wei Ying said contemplatively, drinking another cup of wine.

Lan Wangji gazed silently across the table. They had returned to the tavern to pick up the remaining jugs of wine, and had settled back into the seats they had occupied earlier in the day. The torso had been carefully subdued and packed away into another specially-prepared qiankun pouch, which Lan Wangji had tucked away with the legs and arm.

Wei Ying rested his head on his hand. “What happened to Chang Ping?” he said.

Lan Wangji’s heart fell at the question. He did not like to dwell on this part of the story — it was perhaps the most tragic aspect of the entire bloody affair. “Some years after the case was closed, Chang Ping and his remaining kin were killed through lingchi. Chang Ping’s eyes had also been removed. By this time, Xue Yang had disappeared completely, so no one knew whether he was involved in the affair. But…” His eyes lowered slightly, and his fingers curled inward to press into his palms. “The weapon used to kill them through lingchi… was Xiao Xingchen’s sword, Shanghua.”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened, and his cup of wine seemed to have been forgotten. “He killed them?”

“We do not know. He is still missing.”

“Has someone tried soul-summoning?”

“Yes. Nothing resulted.”

Wei Ying’s face took on that contemplative expression that always seemed to appear when he thought of his old life or his death. “It’s not a perfect technique, though.”

Lan Wangji knew this better than anyone. He had tried to summon Wei Ying’s soul more times than he could count over the years, hoping against hope that it hadn’t been dispersed. Every time, his heart had broken anew… and yet he had tried again. And again. And again.

“So what do you think, Hanguang-jun?” Wei Ying’s eyes were as bright as stars, undimmed by the alcohol he had been drinking. “Everybody must think that Xiao Xingchen got revenge on Chang Ping, don’t they? What do you think happened?”

“I do not know the full story. I cannot say,” Lan Wangji said quietly.

Wei Ying gulped down the rest of his cup, then wiped the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know what happened either. I could guess that people probably thought that Xiao Xingchen was responsible because… well, Chang Ping’s eyes were removed, and Xiao Xingchen removed his own eyes. But it doesn’t sound like him to…” He sighed, and set down the cup.

Lan Wangji waited for him to speak further, as the waiter brought them two dishes of peanuts. Suddenly a charming smile crossed Wei Ying’s face, aimed directly at Lan Wangji. “Never mind. I don’t have an opinion either, since we know so few facts.”

Then one slender hand reached across the table, and rubbed a finger over Lan Wangji’s thumb. “Hanguang-jun, you ordered me so many jugs of wine tonight. I was only ordering five, but you bought me five more. Even I can’t finish all of this by myself. Why don’t you have some with me?”

Lan Wangji’s heart throbbed. “Yes.”

Wei Ying’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Hanguang-jun, you’ve changed a lot, haven’t you? Back in the old days you penalized me for sneaking just a little booze into Cloud Recesses, and now you’re willing to drink it yourself!”

The truth was that Lan Wangji didn’t really want to drink. He had tasted alcohol but once in his life, and he hadn’t enjoyed it — he had only drunk it because he had been grasping at anything, anything at all, that connected him to Wei Ying. But he was willing to drink again, if Wei Ying asked to do it with him. Especially when Wei Ying looked at him with those intoxicating dark eyes, his face open and bright.

Wei Ying began pouring the liquor into a bowl. “I have to see how a proper and upright Lan, an abstainer from drink all his life, can hold his wine,” he said with a mischievous smile. “How many bowls until you fall over?”

Lan Wangji picked up the bowl, steeled himself, and drank it all in one gulp. It had an unpleasant sharpness on his tongue, and burned slightly going down his throat — more or less just as he remembered the Emperor’s Smile. Wei Ying was watching him eagerly, as if the sight of Lan Wangji drinking was something he had been waiting for his entire life. Both of them.

For a moment, Lan Wangji didn’t feel any different. Then a strange, soothing warmth seemed to flood through his limbs, washing over him like the water of a warm bath. And with it came a wave of drowsiness… his head felt heavy… Wei Ying’s face seemed to be floating in a blurry haze… he would put his head down for just a moment… just a moment…

*

Wei Wuxian had known that Lan Zhan couldn’t outdrink him. Someone who probably hadn’t drunk anything alcoholic in his entire life wouldn’t be a match for someone who could drink multiple jugs without showing any signs of drunkenness. He figured that Lan Zhan would be able to drink maybe half a jug before he embarrassed himself. But not only was he a supreme lightweight… he had fallen asleep immediately. Instead of crying, or laughing, or being unable to walk… he had simply gone to sleep, still looking as perfect and unruffled as he always did.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and shouted, “Waiter!”

The owner of the tavern was eagerly willing to lend out the friendly waiter, obviously hoping that the lady who had purchased so much wine would return to buy even more wine the next day. The waiter seemed a little worried about carrying the sleeping Lan Zhan, especially since Lan Zhan had glared at him earlier in the evening, but he obediently hauled the unconscious cultivator to a nearby inn.

Wei Wuxian managed to extract Lan Zhan’s money pouch, and paid for a room. The waiter managed to drag Lan Zhan, who was still firmly asleep, into the room and place him on the bed.

“Do you need anything else, ma’am?” he asked a little breathlessly.

“Nope,” Wei Wuxian said, gazing down at Lan Zhan’s face. “I think we have everything we need.”

He paid the waiter generously for helping him, and once the man had left, he settled beside the bed and looked at Lan Zhan’s sleeping form. Even after he had been dragged and dumped on the bed, he still looked strangely perfect — the slight disarray of his smooth hair and immaculate clothing looked as if it had been artfully arranged. His beautiful face was peaceful and soft in the moonlight, as if he had no worries, no thousands of rules to hold him back.

His chest lightly rose and fell with every breath, and Wei Wuxian could feel every sweet-smelling breath as it rose from his lips. He touched a finger to those lips, gently traced their shape, brushed over their petal-soft skin. He wanted to lean down and kiss those lips — to see if Lan Zhan wasn’t too drunk to kiss him back.

But he wasn’t going to. Not yet.

Wei Wuxian smiled softly as he leaned down close to Lan Zhan’s face. “I want you awake when I kiss you, Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

He removed Lan Zhan’s boots, and carefully tucked him in for the night. There wasn’t the slightest sign of waking — no groans, no intakes of breath, no movement. He would probably sleep like a log until the next morning, probably later than his usual waking hour, Wei Wuxian reflected, and then wake up with a headache.

But, he thought with a sudden lift of his mood, that did allow him to do something he had been thinking about for days. He couldn't do it during the day, when the streets were full of people, and Lan Zhan was usually glued to his side in the evenings. Besides, after his run-in with Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan was determined not to leave him alone for even a second — which meant this might be his only opportunity to summon Wen Ning.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what Lan Zhan’s reaction to Wen Ning would be. He hadn’t said a word about the fierce corpse’s appearance at Mount Dafan, thanks to Jiang Cheng’s interference. As a result, Wei Wuxian couldn’t risk Wen Ning appearing in front of Lan Zhan. Lan cultivators had died at Wen Ning’s hands in the past, and he might hold a grudge against Wen Ning even if he didn’t have one against Wei Wuxian.

The street outside the inn was empty, lightly sprinkled with rain, with only the muted lights of surrounding inns illuminating it. No one was out and about, except for the black-clad woman who was playing a haunting tune on a bamboo flute. Wei Wuxian’s slender fingers slowed their dance across the holes in the flute, then stilled as he lowered it from his lips.

Then he heard it — the chains clinking.

Chapter Text

Wen Ning looked as he had the last time Wei Wuxian had seen him — wrapped in broken chains, tattered black robes, stark white skin fringed by black veins, and white eyes with no pupils. As before, he showed no signs of awareness of where he was, of who was in front of him — he simply walked up to where Wei Wuxian was, and then stood silently in place.

Wei Wuxian bit his lip, and began slowly walking in a circle around Wen Ning. There were no obvious signs of tampering — no talismans, no visible wounds — but the Jin Clan had clearly done something to him. The broken chains around him must have been constructed specifically to restrain this strongest of fierce corpses, since Wen Ning could shatter ordinary shackles without a thought.

Now that he saw Wen Ning, Wei Wuxian looked back on his own past self’s naivete. How could he have ever thought that Jin Guangshan and the other clan leaders would destroy Wen Ning? They wanted him as a weapon — a pet fierce corpse who could defeat hundreds of cultivators without breaking a sweat. Especially if they could figure out how to reproduce the measures Wei Wuxian had taken to make him what he was. All they needed to do, he thought grimly, was destroy his consciousness somehow, make him obedient and mindless — but hopefully not permanently.

The question was how they had done it. No talismans. The chains themselves couldn’t have done it. Maybe… maybe in his brain…

Wei Wuxian raised his hands and passed them through Wen Ning’s hair, feeling over his scalp with careful fingers. After a few minutes, he felt something small and knobby embedded in the right side of his head — and then another one in the other side. He dug his fingers around the alien objects, and carefully pulled.

They were nails — long, thin and finely-carved with strange patterns.

As they came out, Wen Ning’s body trembled, and his features twisted slightly. He didn’t seem to be any more aware of his surroundings, but the removal of the nails seemed to cause him pain. The chains around him clinked and scraped across the ground as he trembled. Wei Wuxian clutched at his arm to keep him from moving further.

“Okay, it’s okay,” he murmured. “I can deal with the chains now… I just need a spiritual sword…”

As far as he knew, the only such weapon in Yueyang was Bichen, which he had carefully laid beside Lan Zhan’s bed with his boots. Still, he didn’t feel right sneaking Lan Zhan’s sword away from him. It wasn’t stealing — he was going to return it as soon as Wen Ning was free — but it still felt like he was doing something wrong by taking it. Still, Wen Ning needed to be freed from his chains…

“Stay here,” he whispered. “I’ll be right—“

But as Wei Wuxian turned, he froze in place, and fear prickled over his scalp. Lan Zhan was standing behind him, wreathed in moonlight, like a statue carved out of ice and frost. His beautiful face was set in a cold mask, and his eyes were like patches of wintry sky. Even in the dark street, Wei Wuxian could clearly see that he was upset — even angry — and his gaze was firmly latched onto Wen Ning…

“Hanguang-jun…” Wei Wuxian said nervously.

Lan Zhan didn’t say anything. If anything, his face became even colder.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach flipped over as he tried to think of something to do — anything to defuse the situation between Lan Zhan and Wen Ning. Was Lan Zhan angry with him? Was he going to fight Wen Ning? It would be disastrous if he did — Wen Ning wasn’t in his right mind, but he was still explosively violent when even slightly provoked — if Lan Zhan challenged him recklessly, he might get hurt…

“Hanguang-jun, let me explain,” he said quickly. “I was just…”

“No,” Lan Zhan said sharply.

Crap. He WAS angry. His chilly eyes were looking right past Wei Wuxian, at Wen Ning’s ice-pale face and empty white eyes. Wei Wuxian desperately searched his mind for some way — any way — to defuse Lan Zhan’s anger, but he had only ever stoked Lan Zhan’s anger, never made it diminish. He knew a thousand ways to infuriate the exalted Hanguang-jun, even if some of them didn’t work anymore, but no way to calm him down when something enraged him.

Then Lan Zhan stepped forward, with the sheathed Bichen clutched in one white-knuckled hand. Wen Ning didn’t move a muscle — if he was aware of Lan Zhan’s presence, he gave no sign of it.

So Wei Wuxian did the only thing he could think of — he darted in between the two men, blocking Lan Zhan with his own body. “Lan Zhan, just wait a minute for me to — OOF!”

Lan Zhan hadn’t been able to stop in time, and stumbled slightly. Wei Wuxian’s chest was struck by Lan Zhan’s firm, muscled torso — not hard enough to hurt, but enough for Wei Wuxian to be thrown off-balance. His arms windmilled furiously as he stumbled back —
— only for a pair of strong hands to grip his waist, and pull him back upright. Wei Wuxian clutched desperately at Lan Zhan, his fingers clutching at the broad shoulders in front of him. But instead of standing up properly, he stumbled forward and crashed against Lan Zhan again, clutching at the light, airy robes that adorned his body. His heart was bouncing around his chest like a child’s ball, and all he could think about was distracting Lan Zhan from his current upset.

And he could only think of one way to do that. His hands clutched at Lan Zhan’s shoulders, pulling himself up to meet that beautiful, cold face. In an instant, Wei Wuxian had captured Lan Zhan’s lips in an energetic, slightly sloppy kiss.

For an awkward moment, Lan Zhan didn’t respond — his lips were stiff and unyielding, and he didn’t move a muscle. Apprehension crept into Wei Wuxian’s mind. Had he made a horrible mistake? Was kissing him just going to upset Lan Zhan further rather than calming him down… or worse, would it drive a wedge between them? His mind darted furiously between different ideas — he could claim that he was only joking, or that he was just putting on an act —

But then suddenly powerful arms were wrapped around him, almost lifting Wei Wuxian off his feet. And those unyielding lips were returning the kiss with a fierce, almost desperate intensity, sending little arcs of lightning darting through Wei Wuxian’s nerves. He moaned a little into Lan Zhan’s mouth, wanting to tell him to keep on kissing — until morning, if he needed to — and laced his arms behind Lan Zhan’s neck.

Then he felt a tongue sliding into his mouth, past lips slightly swollen by forceful kisses, and a shock ran through him. Where had Lan Zhan learned how to kiss like this? Wei Wuxian had assumed that he would have to take the lead — Lan Zhan had been so sheltered and restricted by those thousands of rules that Wei Wuxian was fairly sure this was his first kiss. Yet he was already amazing at this — forceful, sensual, and shockingly erotic in the way his mouth moved against Wei Wuxian’s.

He tangled his fingers in Lan Zhan’s hair, brushed his fingers against the nape of his neck. In return, he felt one of Lan Zhan’s hands gripping his hip, and sliding inward to cup his ass. Wei Wuxian's eyes widened at the feeling of those strong fingers gripping his backside. Was this a dream? Was this the famously cold, upright Hanguang-jun, kissing and groping his wife in the middle of a street?

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan’s lips were scorching, and Wei Wuxian had the strange impression that he would be leaving burn marks on his wife’s skin. But he didn’t want it to stop — if anything, he grasped Lan Zhan’s sash and pulled their bodies closer together. “Hanguang-jun… I had no idea you were like this…”

Lan Zhan’s only response was to seal his lips with another fierce kiss.

Then the sound of chains clinking rang out.

Wei Wuxian had almost forgotten that Wen Ning was there, in the heat of the kiss with Lan Zhan. His only coherent thought was wondering if Lan Zhan was going to push him to the ground and ravish him right there. He wouldn’t have minded. But when he heard those chains, he froze — and felt Lan Zhan do the same. The lean, powerful body pressed against his own became rigid, and their mouths parted, as Lan Zhan seemed to remember that Wen Ning was standing just a few feet away.

Wei Wuxian quickly looked at Wen Ning's forlorn, downturned features, and then back to Lan Zhan. The cold, angry expression had come back to Lan Zhan’s face, and Wei Wuxian’s heart dropped.

"Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian whispered. "Are you—“

Suddenly Lan Zhan’s left arm tightened around Wei Wuxian’s waist, swinging him away from Wen Ning. His feet were still an inch or two off the ground, so he couldn’t get any leverage —

“Ah — no, Lan Zhan —" Wei Wuxian yelped, clawing at his shoulder

But Lan Zhan’s right arm swung out and smashed into Wen Ning’s chest, directly in the middle. Wen Ning was sent skidding back several paces, his loose hair hanging in curtains around his face. His features were still blank, slightly sad-looking, and showed no sign that he had registered that Lan Zhan had struck him.

“Go away!” Lan Zhan said.

His voice sounded… odd. He usually sounded measured and elegant, even when he was irritated. But now he sounded… strangely childish, like a little boy who was being bothered by something, and was on the verge of throwing a tantrum about it. Jiang Cheng had sounded a lot like that when Wei Wuxian had come to live with the Jiang family, when he had commanded his new martial brother to go away.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, and he looked up and down Lan Zhan’s entire body. He looked elegant, neat and perfectly-composed… except that his boots were on the wrong feet.

“Lan Zhan… are you drunk?” he demanded.

“No,” Lan Zhan said firmly.

“Yes, you are.”

He didn’t look any different from how he did when he was sober, and there was no wobbling or unsteadiness in his movements. His face wasn’t flushed, and his eyes looked clear and steady. It was only his actions that showed he was drunk — like the piercing glare he was now aiming at Wen Ning, like daggers carved out of solid ice.

Then he lashed out again, smacking Wen Ning hard enough to make the fierce corpse stagger back. Fortunately he didn’t seem to be able to hit with all of his considerable strength — or Wen Ning was just tough enough that the strike couldn’t really hurt him. “Go away!” Lan Zhan repeated with even greater emphasis, sounding even more upset.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach started to hurt from holding in laughter. Having removed the nails, he couldn’t do more for Wen Ning right now. Lan Zhan had Bichen tucked under his arm, and he doubted he could convince the drunk man to let him use his prized sword for Wen Ning’s benefit. Which meant that it would be best if he separated them as quickly as possible.

He slipped his flute from behind him and began playing, the notes cutting through the quiet of night — only for the flute to be plucked out of his hands by Lan Zhan, who clutched it tightly between his own hands.

“Come on, give it back,” Wei Wuxian said, holding out his hand.

“No.”

“Lan Zhan—“

“You will not play for him!”

Finally, he said something other than “no” or “go away.” Wei Wuxian sighed, looking at Lan Zhan’s moonlit face and unhappy, plaintive eyes, and wondered why he was being so difficult. It couldn’t be that he was holding a grudge against Wen Ning for those long-dead Lan cultivators, could it? He would have attacked with Bichen if that were the case, and not hesitated to slice the fierce corpse apart, but instead he smacked Wen Ning around and told him to go away.

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian said, placing a hand on Lan Zhan’s smooth, cool cheek. “I’ll play it for you instead, all right? Nobody else. Just you. Will that make you happy?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan turned his face a little towards the hand, and lowered his eyelids. Wei Wuxian could feel Lan Zhan’s long lashes brushing against the skin of his palm, as softly as a butterfly’s wing. But his hands were still firmly gripping the flute, as if he didn’t trust Wei Wuxian to not break his word and play for Wen Ning.

Turning sharply back towards Wen Ning, Wei Wuxian curled his tongue and uttered a few piercing whistles. “Get out of Yueyang and find a safe place to hide yourself,” he commanded. “Make sure nobody sees you.”

Wen Ning had looked slightly pitiful before, and that plaintive air only increased as he was commanded to leave once more. But he obeyed, turning and shuffled out of sight, his chains dragging behind him and clinking with every step.

That left only Lan Zhan — drunk and far more lustful than Wei Wuxian had ever dreamed he could be. He had always been the perfect Lan, and since their founder had been a monk who had only loved one person in his life, that meant no dalliances, no indulgence, nothing but perfect unruffled uprightness. But get a little alcohol in him, Wei Wuxian thought, and he kissed as if he had been doing it all his life.

In fact, if Wei Wuxian wasn’t mistaken, Lan Zhan was creeping closer to him, his face downturned towards his wife’s. He looked as if he very much wanted to get back to what Wen Ning had interrupted, and there was a kind of peculiar innocence in the way he was so openly staring at the demonic cultivator. Wei Wuxian stepped a little closer to him, a smile wreathing his lips — he couldn’t resist having a little fun with Lan Zhan, now that his inhibitions were down.

“Let’s get back to our room, huh?” Wei Wuxian said, playing with the ends of his ribbon.

Lan Zhan seemed perfectly amenable to this idea, and even returned Wei Wuxian’s flute. He didn’t wobble or veer off course as they walked back into the hotel — to the inkeeper and the other guests, it probably looked as if he were stone-cold sober. Just a cultivator and his wife, out for a nightly stroll… not long after he had to be carried into his room, drunk and unconscious.

And now that they were alone, he seemed much more pliant. After closing the door, Wei Wuxian pushed him lightly onto the bed, and Lan Zhan simply sat down and gazed up at him with clear, shining eyes. He didn’t protest as Wei Wuxian knelt between his feet and began tugging off his boots.

“You're in a much better mood now,” Wei Wuxian observed with a grin.

“Mn.”

“Did you like me kissing you?”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian tossed the boots aside and bounced up onto the bed beside Lan Zhan, a mischievous smile on his lips. “In exchange, are you going to do what I say?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said soberly.

“Are you going to answer any question I ask you?”

“Mn.” His gaze was steady and unruffled, as if he were answering questions in a classroom.

Wei Wuxian felt a thrill at the idea. Lan Zhan was a naturally closed-lipped person — he didn’t talk much even at the best of times, in direct contrast to Wei Wuxian’s natural ebullience and energetic chatter. Wei Wuxian could engage with almost anyone and wind his words around them, while Lan Zhan would speak sparingly and quickly. The idea of getting him to answer questions — even silly ones — was incredibly enticing.

Chapter Text

With a sly smile dancing around his lips, Wei Wuxian propped a leg on the bed, and slightly bent at the waist to lean in close to Lan Zhan. He could smell the faint perfume of the wine on his breath mingling with the sandalwood scent. It was intoxicating — he almost felt a little lightheaded, and the urge to kiss Lan Zhan started bubbling up inside him.

“All right, let’s start with something simple,” he said in a low voice. “Is this the first time you’ve been drunk?”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t been expecting that answer — he had assumed that without his corrupting influence, Lan Zhan would have spent the last thirteen years virtuously sober and untouched by such disgraceful things. Then again… those scars on his back showed that something had happened. Something much worse than drinking a cup of wine.

But Lan Zhan’s eyes were still clear and unblinking, like the cold spring back at Cloud Recesses. If the question had bothered him, he gave no sign of it.

“All right,” Wei Wuxian said. “Do you like rabbits?”

“Yes.”

“Have you violated rules?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like kissing me?”

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian had already known the answer to that, but it still gave him a thrill to hear the blunt affirmation. Even if, he reflected, Lan Zhan would probably be humiliated in the morning when he realized what he had done and said.

A part of him desperately wanted to ask two questions that had been plaguing him for days — how Lan Zhan had recognized him so quickly, and how he had gotten those scars. But he felt that there was an unspoken border over which he should not cross. Those scars were something Lan Zhan was apparently unwilling to talk about, and taking advantage of him when he was drunk would be too much.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” Wei Wuxian said softly.

“Yes.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips quirked into a smile. “Maybe in the morning,” he said. “When you’re sober.”

Lan Zhan’s eyelids lowered slightly. He looked slightly disappointed; apparently he had hoped to resume the kissing much sooner.

Wei Wuxian clutched at his arm, hoping to distract him. “What do you think of Jiang Cheng?”

Lan Zhan frowned, his nose wrinkling slightly. “Humph.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop grinning. “And Wen Ning?”

Lan Zhan’s look of displeasure faded somewhat, into indifference. “Meh.”

Wei Wuxian leaned closer, smiling and pointing at himself. “And…?”

Lan Zhan’s expression of indifference shifted once again, and his eyes seemed to gleam in the faint moonlit room. “Mine,” he said in a low voice.

That one word — and the fiercely luminous eyes that went with it — sent shivers rolling through Wei Wuxian’s body. He hadn’t really thought about what Lan Zhan might think of them being married, except in terms of what he would be giving up. Giving up a real wife, or children, or a life like other people’s — giving up his freedom to find those things, in order to live alongside someone who had annoyed him as a youth.

But that word… no, Lan Zhan couldn’t mean that, could he? Kissing was one thing, especially when you were drunk. Some people didn’t care if the person they kissed was a man or a woman, as long as they were drunk enough. But saying that Wei Wuxian was his would mean something else — it would mean that he took their marriage very seriously. The memory of Lan Zhan sternly saying, “I will not take someone else” flitted through his head like a butterfly across a stream.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lan Zhan placed his hand over Wei Wuxian’s, clutching it so tightly that his fingers were squashed together. “Mine,” he repeated, a faint throb in his voice.

“Right, right,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling a little. “I’m yours.”

“Mn.” Something in Lan Zhan’s eyes seemed to shimmer. His gaze was as fierce as a flame, and Wei Wuxian felt it burning through him to his very core. If he had been standing, he suspected his weakened knees would have buckled from the intensity of that gaze. It was the same heat, the same fervor that had burned him during their kiss, an unwavering ferocity that his usual cool, restrained exterior hid completely.

Wei Wuxian licked his dry lips, and his voice came out a little shakily. “Lan Zhan… how did you recognize me? Why… are you helping me like this?”

Lan Zhan whispered something, so softly that even close to him, Wei Wuxian couldn’t make out what he had said.

“What did you say?” he whispered. “Lan Zhan—“

But as he leaned closer, he felt a hand slip around his waist — and tap a familiar spot on his back. Instantly, tingling sensations swept down his pelvis and legs, and his upper body collapsed like a rag doll against Lan Zhan’s chest. “Lan Zhan — what the hell — I wasn’t even —“ he spluttered.

The next moment, strong arms were lifting him up, and then lowering him down to the bed. Lan Zhan’s firm body loomed over him, his face clouded by shadows. Wei Wuxian’s back thumped lightly down against the bed, his head resting against a cushion, and he felt Lan Zhan’s hands slide over his sides.

A moment of panic streaked through him. Had Lan Zhan decided that he wanted more than mere kissing tonight — that maybe he wanted to fuck Wei Wuxian instead? He had promised that he wouldn’t expect anything in bed, but — he was drunk! His inhibitions were gone, he had said he wanted to kiss him more — and if he decided that he wanted more than that, Wei Wuxian wouldn’t be able to fend him off —

But his panic subsided as Lan Zhan straightened, and his hands slid gently from Wei Wuxian’s body. “It’s time to rest,” he said quietly.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said plaintively. “But I’m not tired!”

Lan Zhan removed his outer robe without the slightest hint of modesty, and carefully lay down alongside Wei Wuxian. With extreme care, he pulled a blanket over both their bodies and tucked the corners around Wei Wuxian’s body with careful hands that didn’t betray the slightest hint of drunkenness. Was he sober? Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure — but even if he wasn’t, that Lan punctuality and love of schedules was powerful enough to overcome even an evening of being drunk.

Wei Wuxian began wriggling furiously, trying to turn to look at his husband. “Lan Zhan,” he said, “you never answered my question.”

“Mn.”

“Don’t ‘mn’ me! Can’t we rest and talk at the same time?”

“No.”

“Lan Zhan, I can get another room downstairs — we don’t have to squish into a bed intended for just one person.”

There was silence from the other side of the bed.

Wei Wuxian made an exasperated sound.“Now I know why your clan doesn’t let anyone drink,” he said. “First you get drunk after just one bowl of wine, and then you push Wen Ning around and make me go to bed with you. If other Lan clan member is as bad as you, then—“

A hand slipped over his mouth, muffling his voice. “Shh,” Lan Zhan said softly. “Rest.”

Wei Wuxian was so frustrated that he felt like his chest was going to explode. He could barely move, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was lie at Lan Zhan’s side and wait exactly eight hours for his husband to wake from his slumber. As someone who habitually went to sleep about four hours later than Lan Zhan, and woke up four hours later, it was infuriating to be forced to lie there, silent and still.

Then, he felt the body beside him shifting, and hands pulling him against a warm, solid chest and abdomen. The arms around him were powerful and insistent, but still somehow gentle, as if Lan Zhan were rearranging Wei Wuxian’s body with the utmost care. Wei Wuxian’s cheek was pressed against the curve of Lan Zhan’s shoulder and collarbone, and the smell of sandalwood that clung to his skin and clothing seemed to wrap around them both.

“Rest,” Lan Zhan repeated, his lips only an inch from Wei Wuxian’s ear.

“Like I have a choice,” Wei Wuxian mumbled against his throat.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian didn’t sleep all night, even though he had to admit that the slow, steady rhythm of Lan Zhan’s breathing was very soothing. Lan Zhan kept him firmly pressed against his body, Wei Wuxian’s arms and legs draped loosely over his own. He felt as though Lan Zhan was holding him like a child’s toy, something to comfort him and hold the darkness away.

The numbness and tingling in his legs faded as the darkened eastern sky outside was tinged with pale pink. He wasn’t sure how Lan Zhan managed to manipulate his body so that the effect lasted precisely until it was time for him to wake up, but it seemed to work.

With a grunt, he squirmed out of Lan Zhan’s arms and pulled off his outer robe. He was used to sleeping in a thin sleeping robe, not in his full attire, and he felt sticky and over-warm. Cool air washed over his skin as he tossed the robe to the floor, and stretched out his arms.

Then he turned his attention back to Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian didn’t often get a chance to see him sleeping — Lan Zhan always woke hours before he did, and they slept in separate beds at night. At least, they usually did. His husband’s face looked even more beautiful in the faint morning light, with just a touch of color over the pale features that looked like they had been carved out of jade. His long black hair flowed around his head, shining and smooth.

Wei Wuxian quickly untied Lan Zhan’s sash and began slipping his inner robe halfway down his chest, exposing an expanse of smooth skin over strong muscles. He didn’t meant anything too bad — just a little mischief by stripping Lan Zhan while he slept.

But as the thin cloth slipped from his chest, Wei Wuxian’s hands slowed. The brand on Lan Zhan’s chest shone a dull red against his pale skin, just as it had done for Wei Wuxian in his old life. His fingertips traced the scar, catching on the thickened, raised flesh that would mar Lan Zhan’s body for the rest of his life. And when he glanced down at Lan Zhan’s torso, he saw the edges of the whip scars on the backs of his shoulders and sides.

This was wrong. Lan Zhan had tried to hide his scars before, so he obviously didn’t want Wei Wuxian seeing his naked body. Maybe he was self-conscious about them, or ashamed of them. Whatever the reason, exposing them felt like a violation of Lan Zhan’s privacy. He started to pull the robes back over Lan Zhan’s bare chest.

And just then, Lan Zhan’s eyes opened.

*

When Lan Wangji awoke, the first thing he saw was Wei Ying.

His confused, jumbled mind couldn’t remember how he had ended up in bed, or anything that had happened after he had drunk that bowl of wine. He remembered feeling sleepy, and then… nothing. Just a hazy blur and a patch of emptiness that stretched until he had woken in an unfamiliar bed.

And Wei Ying…

Wei Ying was sitting on his bare stomach, clutching Lan Wangji’s inner robes in his hands. His slender legs were spread, straddling Lan Wangji’s abdomen without the slightest hint of modesty or shame. His own inner robe was disarrayed and rumpled, as if someone had been tearing at it — his sash was carelessly knotted, and the upper part of the robe was was loose, half-revealing his breasts.

For a moment, Lan Wangji was transfixed by the sight — without thinking, his senses drank in the sight of Wei Ying half-naked and straddling him. His suddenly-awake brain feverishly wondered if this was a dream, because this was the sort of thing that had haunted his dreams for almost twenty years.

Then panic streaked through him.

What had he done last night? He had promised Wei Ying that he would not expect anything carnal from him — that he would never pressure him into sating Lan Wangji’s lusts. Yet he was in a bed now — with Wei Ying — and from the look of Wei Ying’s tousled hair and loosened robe, something more than sleep had happened —

“I — you —“ he whispered.

Wei Ying pressed a hand to his lips. “Hanguang-jun, last night you were — so forceful —“

“Last night—“ Lan Wangji said dazedly.

His panic was immediately replaced by horror. Had he been so drunk last night that he had… forced himself on Wei Ying? Had he done something so unspeakable to the person he loved most in the world — to the one who was his whole universe, his reason for life itself? His desire for Wei Ying was as strong as it had ever been, and… if his inhibitions had been lost…

Then Wei Ying burst out into a raucous belly laugh, and rolled lightly off of Lan Wangji, sprawling across the bed in a tangle of slender limbs. “Lan Zhan, no need to look so upset!” he said lightly, his eyes sparkling like jewels. “Don’t worry, all you did was drag me into bed and fall asleep.”

Lan Wangji stared at him, shock rippling through him. His thoughts felt like fractured bits of pottery shattering to dust as they struck the ground. He stared up at Wei Ying with wide eyes, unable to form any words.

Slowly, Wei Ying’s smile faded. “You really don’t remember anything about last night?” he asked.

Lan Wangji’s dry lips parted and closed a few times. “What…” he said faintly, “should I remember?”

He wasn’t sure whether to anticipate or dread the answer. His heart was thudding ferociously against his ribs, and he was unsure whether he wanted to know what he had said — what he had done — when he was drunk. He might have admitted how he felt again, shown it to Wei Ying in a thousand different ways, and been rejected once again.

Lan Wangji had only been drunk once before in his life, and had only seen and heard the aftermath of it when he came back to his senses. According to his brother, he had torn through Cloud Recesses in a desperate fury, searching for a flute that was simply not there. Or rather, he thought, he had been searching for the bright soul that had played that black flute, believing that he would never find it again.

It was also the night he had branded his own chest. He didn’t remember using one of the captured Wen branding irons on himself. But when he had come to his senses, the mark had been burned into his skin, a wordless reminder of Wei Ying over his heart. That had alarmed his brother even more than his rampage the night before, even though Lan Wangji had never harmed himself again after that night.

Wei Ying simply gazed at him for a moment longer, his eyes open and bright, and yet impossible to read. Then his lips curved in a slightly wry smile. “It’s nothing. Nothing happened.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers clutched at the sheets. “Wei Ying—“

But he was interrupted by the sound of pottery shattering, as if the wine jugs and bowls on the table had simply exploded. Lan Wangji looked around in confusion, his mind still struggling to adapt to the shock of the last few minutes. But Wei Ying’s eyes widened in shock, and he tumbled off the bed and began rooting through his fallen robe.

That was when Lan Wangji remembered the dismembered body parts in their pouches. They hadn’t played “Rest” to those resentful limbs and torso the night before — Lan Wangji had been too intoxicated, and Wei Ying… well, he still wasn’t sure what Wei Ying had been doing, but he had probably been distracted somehow.

He slid out of the bed on numb feet, and tried to gather his wits. He and Wei Ying had to subdue the resentment first — that was the most important thing — and he could figure out what had happened the previous night after that.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian drank often, but didn’t often get drunk — and when he did, he still usually remembered most of what happened when he was drunk. So it came as something of a surprise that Lan Zhan had forgotten everything that had happened after he drank the wine. He didn’t seem to remember a single scrap of the events that followed. On the one hand, that was a blessing. It meant that Wei Wuxian didn’t have to explain Wen Ning’s presence, since as far as Lan Zhan was concerned, the fierce corpse had never been there.

On the other hand, it meant that he didn’t remember the kiss.

And Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a little discouraged by that. Lan Zhan’s embrace had been so intense, so fierce, so heated that it made his knees weak to think about it even hours later. To think that he just… didn’t remember… it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

But Wei Wuxian pushed those thoughts out of his head for now. The evil-sealing qiankun pouches were slowly opening under the pressure of the resentful body parts inside them — one holding an arm, one the legs, and the third the torso. They wanted to be reunited, and they would let nothing stand in their way unless forced to be docile.

Despite his obvious confusion, Lan Zhan took out his guqin and played alongside Wei Wuxian. The limbs and torso twitched and writhed with boiling, dark resentment until the third rendition of “Rest,” when they finally lapsed into stillness and quiescence. Wei Wuxian breathed a sigh of relief as he put away his flute, and looked over at Lan Zhan to see how the esteemed Hanguang-jun was, now that he was fully awake and had spent the last half hour playing his guqin.

Lan Zhan’s face was more composed now, but his brows were still drawn together as if he were pained by something. His posture was perfect, but he had made a few wrong notes when playing, which was very unlike him. He had always been perfect in his scholarship, his musical skills, and everything else that Lan Qiren could grade.

Was it really upsetting him that much to think that they might have slept together — REALLY slept together — the night before?

Wei Wuxian sighed again, and bent to gather the body parts and stuff them back in their qiankun pouches. Then his eyebrows raised. “Our buddy must have trained a lot when he was alive!”

The legs and arms were bare — the result of being severed and, in the case of the legs, sewn onto another torso — but the funeral garb on the torso had fallen open to reveal the body underneath. It was a body that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have minded having: narrow waist, broad shoulders, with toned abdominal and pectoral muscles from countless hours of training.

Wei Wuxian gave the abs a light smack, then looked at Lan Zhan with a smile. “He must have trained like crazy every day. You could bounce stones off those abs, couldn’t you?”

Lan Zhan looked displeased by this — probably, Wei Wuxian thought, because he was treating a corpse with such casual irreverence. He couldn’t help it, though. When you had dug up thousands of corpses and used them as your soldiers, it was hard to treat them with much reverence. The Lan cultivator picked up the body parts and stuffed them back into their qiankun pouches, knotting them firmly to prevent another untimely escape.

As he did, Wei Wuxian’s eyes slowly roamed over Lan Zhan’s body. He had only seen his husband’s unclothed body once since their marriage, and then only briefly. But now that he thought about it, Lan Zhan’s body was a pretty good one too — the same narrow waist and broad shoulders, and Wei Wuxian knew that he had plenty of muscle as well. He was a little more slender than the dead man, though, which Wei Wuxian found more appealing than the solid-looking, powerful torso in the qiankun pouch. He wouldn’t have minded seeing that body again, without a screen getting in the way…

Then he noticed Lan Zhan looking at him, in an odd sideways manner, as if he didn’t want to be noticed looking at his wife, but couldn’t resist. His lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to speak but didn’t dare.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Are you still worried about last night?”

Lan Zhan quickly averted his eyes, as if ashamed to be caught wondering.

“Hanguang-jun, you’re worrying about nothing,’” Wei Wuxian said lightly, hoping that Lan Zhan didn’t notice that he wasn’t denying that something had happened. “You mainly talked about things.”

Lan Zhan’s head snapped around, and the jut of his throat bobbed. “Things?”

Wei Wuxian grinned at him. “You said that you like…”

Lan Zhan’s body went rigid.

“… rabbits.”

Lan Zhan stared at him for a moment longer, but quickly turned away.

Wei Wuxian darted closer to him, close enough to press a hand to his shoulder. He felt the muscles under his hand tensing, and almost expected Lan Zhan to shake him off. “You don’t need to be self-conscious. I like rabbits too — especially roasted. Just kidding,” he added, when Lan Zhan shot him a piercing look. “But I guess I know why there are so many rabbits at Cloud Recesses now, even though there were only a few back when we were teens.”

There was a slightly awkward feeling in the air now, and Lan Zhan still hadn’t turned around to face him. Wei Wuxian found the words spilling out of him like water from a burst dam. “So… erm, you must be feeling bad after last night. Drink some water and lie down for a little while, and I’ll get breakfast for us both, okay?”

*

Wei Wuxian spent the next hour or so waiting in the street, eating his breakfast and lost in thought. A few things caught his attention — for instance, some children were playing at the Sunshot Campaign, even though it had been long over by the time they were born. But for the most part, his thoughts were tangled in the events of the previous night, particularly the part where he had kissed — and been kissed by — Lan Zhan.

What should he do now? He hadn’t considered the possibility that in the morning, Lan Zhan would remember nothing. It was a good thing it hadn’t gone farther, he thought uneasily, or Lan Zhan would really have been upset. Maybe he was horrified that he had violated their rule against consuming alcohol. Maybe there was some other rule against sexual promiscuity that he thought he had violated while he was drunk, which Wei Wuxian had forgotten.

But we’re married, Wei Wuxian thought. Even the Lan Clan wasn’t so strict as to forbid married people from kissing or fucking, were they?

He was laughing softly at the idea when Lan Zhan came down, looking impeccable and unruffled as ever. If he had a headache or dry mouth because of his indulgence the night before, there was no sign of it in his bearing. But when Wei Wuxian sprang up to meet him, a strange unease rippled over his eyes.

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian said, an easy smile crossing his lips. “Let’s get you breakfast—“

Lan Zhan looked as if he hadn’t even heard him. His eyelids briefly lowered, before he reluctantly dragged his light eyes to meet Wei Wuxian’s. “Wei Ying…” he said in a low, slightly unsteady voice.

“Yes?”

“What did I do last night?”

I kissed you. And you kissed me back, like it was our last night on earth, Wei Wuxian wanted to reply. The words were flickering on his tongue, begging to be uttered. For an instant, he almost did, imagining Lan Zhan’s face when told that he was a magnificent kisser, and that he wouldn’t have minded much if Lan Zhan pushed him up against a wall and had his way with him.

A flurry of heated images flooded through Wei Wuxian’s head, and his lips suddenly felt very dry. “Um… not much,” he said quickly. “You just acted a little odd, but nothing too extreme. You certainly didn’t do anything that isn’t allowed.”

Lan Zhan gave him that odd sideways look again, his long lashes shadowing his light eyes. Not for the first time, Wei Wuxian wished that Lan Zhan had a face that showed even a little of what he thought, when he wasn’t annoyed or angry. At least, he thought, Lan Zhan didn’t seem to be angry at him right now, even if he was obviously shaken or disturbed by waking up in bed with Wei Wuxian.

He sighed, and quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, I have some thoughts on the Chang mansion and the torso. I think that the banging of the Chang corpses in their coffins was because of the torso being dug up. Do you?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.

“So it isn’t ordinary revenge. The dismembered body parts have been planted in places with potentially violent corpses, in hopes that they will keep each other in check. Like in the sword tomb. So when the torso was removed, the Chang family began banging on their coffins again.” Wei Wuxian touched a finger to his chin, his eyes staring at nothing as he thought. “Whoever did this is connected to the Nie Clan and the Lan Clan, and probably very powerful or influential. Or both.”

Lan Zhan’s lips thinned slightly. “There are only a small number of people who would fit that description,” he said in a low voice.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but notice that tension had crept into Lan Zhan’s body, and a line had appeared between his brows. He was probably thinking that his own brother might be a suspect, even though he had denied the possibility the night before — he was the clan leader of the Lan sect, and had been sworn brothers with Nie Mingjue before his death. Even if he was sure that the man they had fought the night before wasn’t his brother, he had too much integrity to deny that his brother might be implicated.

As they left Yueyang, Wei Wuxian slipped his arm through Lan Zhan’s, his fingers clinging to the soft, silky cloth of Lan Zhan’s sleeve. Lan Zhan’s arm moved slightly closer to his body, but it didn’t seem like he was trying to move away from Wei Wuxian, since he didn’t try to shake off the hand. The warmth of his body seemed to gently radiate into Wei Wuxian’s hand, and he found himself clutching the arm even tighter as they walked out towards the southwest.

Last night, he thought, had changed everything. He would have to think very carefully about his next steps as they traveled, and figure out the best way to approach Lan Zhan now that he was sober. His skittish behavior that morning wasn’t exactly encouraging, but there had been no doubt about how ardent he had been the night before. The memory of his strong hands and soft lips still burned vividly in Wei Wuxian’s mind, his lips, and down his back to his ass.

On the journey to the southwest, he would come up with some kind of plan. Operation: Seduce Hanguang-jun. All he needed was the right moment.

Chapter Text

But Wei Wuxian didn’t have the chance to put his plans into effect immediately. For the next two days, they traveled through lush forests and valleys, over rivers and past small villages and the occasional city. Wei Wuxian found himself talking easily to Lan Zhan about the case they were investigating, offering theories and observations. Lan Zhan spent most of these conversations murmuring “Mn” and occasionally offering his own observations. It seemed very civil and companionable.

But on the inside, Wei Wuxian was itching with impatience.

Now that he had figured out what he wanted, he wanted to seize it with both hands. A part of him wanted to simply blurt out his feelings to the man beside him, and body-tackle him behind the nearest bush. Even if it was only more kissing, he loved the idea of being in Hanguang-jun’s powerful arms, his mouth plundered by those full, scorching lips.

The question was how he would go about this. He had plenty of experience in flirting, but it had always been light, casual flirting — charming girls with compliments, tiny trinkets and a bright smile. He had never tried to sleep with any of them, though, or even kiss them, even though he was fairly sure he could have done either. None of it had actually been intended to go any further than smiles and flirtation, because none of those girls had stirred his feelings the way Lan Zhan had.

But obviously, those tactics wouldn’t work on Hanguang-jun. Compliments seemed to bounce right off him, and as far as Wei Wuxian knew, he was unaffected by smiles or clever wordplay. He didn’t really approve of flirting at all, actually. He had chastised Wei Wuxian before for flirting, apparently believing that someone would take his flirtations seriously. It would take a pretty brave person to flirt with Lan Zhan, he reflected, and an even more remarkable person to succeed at it.

That just left the question of what he COULD do to let Lan Zhan know how interested he was.

How much he liked him.

How much he wanted him.

How grateful he was for Lan Zhan’s kindness towards him.

How the lurking shadows of his tumultuous past, and the poisoned needles of old pains, didn’t seem to bother him when Lan Zhan was nearby. He was a naturally happy person… but even the happiest person could feel pain. The happiness he felt around Lan Zhan felt different. Deeper. More rooted in something strong and powerful.

So as they traveled, Wei Wuxian ran through different ideas in his head. He was pretty sure that playing coy would only work if Lan Zhan was the one pursuing him, rather than the other way around. Besides, he had never been a coy or shy person — he had always been bright and ebullient, and pretending to be otherwise would just feel wrong when he was trying to express his true feelings.

He could try moving from flirting straight into out-and-out seduction, but he wasn’t convinced that that wouldn’t make Lan Zhan just say, “Shameless!” Especially since he had reacted so strongly to waking up in bed with Wei Wuxian, and obviously coming to the conclusion that they had been fucking — he hadn’t just been confused, but also panicked and shocked, as if they had done something wrong.

He glanced over at Lan Zhan as they traveled, his eyes tracing over his perfect profile. Against the dark backdrop of leaves and tree trunks, his face shone in the fading light as if he were glowing from inside. His features — his clean jaw, his full lips, his thin straight nose, his elegantly-shaped eyes — were so perfectly-made that he looked as if he had been sculpted by a god, rather than born like a mere flesh-and-blood mortal. The wind teased at his hair and blew it back from his neck, as if the air itself wanted to touch him, but he simply kept moving ahead.

Wei Wuxian’s lips curved into a smile, and he shook his head slightly. The only approach he could think of was the direct one — but he couldn’t simply plunk his feelings into Lan Zhan’s lap out of the blue. “Hanguang-jun, pass the rice. Also, I think I’m falling in love with you, especially after you kissed me silly the other evening. Are you going to finish that?”

No, the time and place had to be right.

He was pulled from his thoughts by another gust of wind, this one colder and fiercer than the ones before it. The sky overhead was swelling downward with thick, lumpy gray clouds; they roiled in the wind, restlessly sweeping towards the mountains. The distant sky was even darker, and small flashes of light occasionally sparked in the clouds there.

“Looks like a storm is blowing in,” Wei Wuxian said loudly, squinting against the wind.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied. "We should find shelter.”

“We should probably head off the road towards the mountains. There might be some caves there.”

It was probably their best bet for not getting drenched, Wei Wuxian reflected. There weren’t any villages or cities near enough that they could get there before the storm broke, and while he wasn’t averse to water — he had spent years in the lakes of Lotus Cove — he didn’t like the idea of being soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone when he was fully-clothed. Especially against his will.

They moved through the woods, leaves and twigs crunching under their feet, as the sky rumbled overhead. Wei Wuxian found himself walking as close to Lan Zhan as he could, with one hand on his flute and the other clutching Lan Zhan’s sleeve. After Mount Dafan, he was a little wary of whatever might be lurking in mountain caves, even if these mountains very likely did not have a malicious god.

Then he spotted something among the trees that did not have a natural shape — a small building, almost a shack. “Lan Zhan! Look there!” he said, pointing.

Lan Zhan seemed to have seen it at the same time that Wei Wuxian had spoken, because his steps veered off in that direction. “We will ask for shelter until the rain is over,” he said.

But before they reached the house, Wei Wuxian realized that there was no one to ask. The small wooden house was abandoned, and not in the best of shape — the shutters were hanging loosely from the windows, and one whole wall had been torn out or simply fallen apart. Heaps of dead leaves and fallen branches lay around it, and clinging vines had crept up the remaining three walls and over the mossy roof. It looked pretty rough, Wei Wuxian reflected, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he had slept in less appealing places.

A few fat raindrops fell on his face and shoulders as they walked inside, and looked around the gloomy interior. The floor creaked but did not crack under their feet, even when Wei Wuxian stamped on it. “Looks like the boards haven’t rotted,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I just hope the roof isn’t full of holes.”

With a sweep of his white robes, Lan Zhan strode past him and picked up some scraps of wood that had been left in the corner, as well as a handful of dried leaves. Then he gracefully sat down at the hearth and began arranging the wood and leaves into a pile. With a wave of his hand, flames sprang up and began licking at the dry wood and leaves, sending warm light flickering through the darkened house.

Wei Wuxian dropped down by his side, crossing his legs and holding his hands in front of the fire. He could hear the raindrops pattering on the roof, but thankfully there didn’t seem to be too many leaks. “Nice work, Hanguang-jun. At least we won’t freeze tonight,” he said cheerfully.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

But the heat of the fire wasn’t the one that Wei Wuxian felt most strongly. He could feel Lan Zhan just beside him, warmth radiating from him in a way that made Wei Wuxian’s skin tingle. He wanted to turn towards that warmth and wrap his arms around it, let Lan Zhan hold him back and kiss him until the warmth was all around him.

He gazed at Lan Zhan’s face, his eyes downturned as he stoked the flames. This might be it, he thought. This might be the right moment.

Chapter Text

The rain didn’t stop in the next few hours — if anything, it intensified. The raindrops pattered down, sounding as if hundreds of tiny feet were stamping on the roof. Thunder crashed overhead, and flashes of white light regularly lit up the windows.

Lan Wangji bent over the pot that he had set on the fire, waiting silently for the food to finish cooking. Fortunately for them both, Wei Ying had reminded him to buy supplies before they left Yueyang, so they hadn’t gone hungry for the past few days. Especially Wei Ying, Lan Wangji thought, looking at the dark figure rooting around in the far corner. His body was much weaker than Lan Wangji’s because of his diminished spiritual energy, and he couldn’t go without food for as long.

He felt uneasy, but not because of the storm. There was something odd about Wei Ying's behavior, and it had lasted for the last few days — ever since they left Yueyang. He had been talkative as he always was, cheerful and mischievous — but there were times when he seemed to be lost in thought. He hadn’t been acting like that since…

… since the night they had ended up in bed together.

Lan Wangji’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. More than ever, he wanted to know what he had said or done that night. Wei Ying had repeatedly denied that anything happened between them in that bed, but ever since, he had been acting strangely. Sometimes Wei Ying stared at Lan Wangji when he didn’t know Lan Wangji was aware of it, as if he were studying him and thinking deeply about something.

Suddenly, Wei Ying was next to him, his arms piled with broken boards. “Here, I found some more wood!”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji acknowledged, patting the floor beside him. “Put it here.”

But Wei Ying placed it directly behind him, and sat down beside Lan Wangji instead. As he leaned over towards the pot, his raven-colored hair slipped over his shoulder, and a faint rosiness appeared on his high-boned cheeks. He looked maddeningly alluring, and it took all of Lan Wangji’s self-control to not seize him right there and then, grip those slender shoulders and pin him down as he ravished Wei Ying’s luscious mouth…

“It smells good,” Wei Ying said approvingly. “Lots of spice, right?”

“Mn.”

Honestly, it wasn’t to Lan Wangji’s taste. He didn’t like spicy food, but he knew that Wei Ying did — in their youth, he had lamented the bland and bitter vegetarian food that the Lan Clan subsisted on. So as a youth Lan Wangji had learned recipes and cuisines that included a great deal of spice, just in case this day arrived. Even when he hadn’t been reconciled to his feelings, something in him had ordered him to learn.

He would eat the food even if it burned his tongue and lips, which he knew it would. It would be worth the discomfort to see Wei Ying’s eyes sparkle, and his lips curve in that familiar bright smile. He stirred the contents of the pot, studying it critically to see whether it was done —

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Ying said suddenly. “Are you cold?”

“I am not.”

In truth, he felt almost feverish. Wei Ying was so maddeningly close to him, close enough that Lan Wangji could put his arms around him with only a slight change in position. His skin felt like it was radiating more heat than the fire.

“I am,” Wei Ying said, pouting a little. “This rain is freezing, and the walls aren’t keeping the heat in. Would you—”

“Stay close to the fire,” Lan Wangji said in a low voice.

He rose to his feet and went to the spot where he had already arranged their bedding, a respectable distance apart. The thicker of the two blankets had already been folded on Wei Ying’s bedding, but he picked it up and carried it back to the fireside. Then he draped it over Wei Ying’s shoulders, forcing his hands not to tremble as they brushed over Wei Ying’s back, his throat, his arms. He couldn’t let his self-control slip… not again…

“Oh,” Wei Ying said, sounding a little dismayed. “Thanks…”

He clutched at the edges of the blanket and wrapped it around himself, gazing up at Lan Wangji as the taller man sat down again. He was unusually quiet as they ate their dinner, both of them gazing out into the dark forest being drenched by rain. Lightning flickered over the treetops, so quickly that Lan Wangji barely saw it, and thunder crashed as if boulders were being rained down on them from above.

He didn’t know what to say or do next.

*

This wasn’t working.

Wei Wuxian had tried to get Lan Zhan’s attention multiple times during the past few hours. He had sat as close as he could without actually sitting in the man’s lap. He had arranged his legs in the most pleasing manner he could. He had pretended to be cold, planning to cuddle up to Lan Zhan as he cooked — only for him to pop up, fetch a blanket and wrap it around him as if he were a little child.

He had been watching Lan Zhan’s reactions closely for some sign that he had noticed his wife’s attempts to interest him. But there was no sign that Lan Zhan was affected by any of it. His face didn’t show the slightest hint of a blush, and he didn’t show any of the confusion or surprise he had shown when he had woken in bed with Wei Wuxian. If anything, he seemed even more distant, as if lost in his own thoughts.

Not for the first time, he wished that he knew what was going on behind that beautiful, impassive face. Had Lan Zhan not noticed his attempts to attract his attention? Or had his husband noticed what he was trying to do, and he simply didn’t want to respond?

Oh no, Hanguang-jun, Wei Wuxian thought. You’re not going to leave your wife neglected like this.

He let the blanket slip from his shoulder as he reached behind Lan Zhan, and picked up a chunk of fairly dry firewood. As he leaned over, he arched his back slightly, felt one of his breasts press against Lan Zhan’s arm. Lan Zhan had responded to his breasts before — he had almost dropped Wei Wuxian before because of them — and it was time he put them to good use.

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened slightly at the touch, and the firelight flickered in their depths like patches of sunlight. His fingers curled into his palms. “Wei Ying?” he said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still cold?”

“A little. Don’t get up — just stay where you are.”

Wei Wuxian wrapped his hand around Lan Zhan’s upper arm, and let his cheek rest against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. He felt muscles tensing against his face, growing hard like iron bands under his fingers, but Lan Zhan didn’t move any part of his body. Wei Wuxian’s heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest, and he felt as though the heat of Lan Zhan’s body was seeping into his blood.

Respond to me, he silently willed. Say something. Do something.

But Lan Zhan simply gazed out into the darkened woods outside, with Bichen lying beside his other hand. Though Wei Wuxian couldn’t see it, there was a shimmer of something wild and frenetic gleaming in his eyes, something he was barely keeping leashed inside him. His lips moved quietly, as if speaking words that he couldn’t bear to say aloud.

Fuck it, Wei Wuxian thought. He had tried to be subtle, and it didn’t seem to be working at all. It was time for him to be direct. Blatant, even.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, louder this time.

Lan Zhan turned his head slightly, the faint redness in his eyes almost invisible in the firelight. “What is it?”

This was it — he was putting everything on the line for this. Wei Wuxian rose to his feet, letting the blanket slide from his body into a heap on the floor. His eyes gazed down at Lan Zhan’s as the seated man looked at him, confusion slipping over his impassive face. Lan Zhan looked almost vulnerable like this, Wei Wuxian thought, and normally he would have been tempted to tease him until he was properly infuriated.

But not this time. Not the usual way, anyway.

He slowly descended until he was sitting in Lan Zhan’s lap, straddling his muscled thighs, their chests so close that he could feel the every breath, every rise and fall of his husband’s chest. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he could feel Lan Zhan’s heart pounding against him, as powerful as the thunder that rolled outside.

“This time,” Wei Wuxian said with a smile, “you’re stone-cold sober.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened. “Wei Ying —“

But he was silenced by Wei Wuxian’s mouth.

Chapter Text

Thunder crashed outside, and lightning seared through the darkened sky. Wei Wuxian felt as if it had struck him as their lips met, blazing through his body with the heat of the sun. He leaned forward to kiss Lan Zhan harder — pressed their bodies more tightly together, letting himself mold to the unbending, unyielding form in front of him. And though he was used to it being the other way around, he slipped his tongue into Lan Zhan’s warm, wet mouth.

For a moment, Lan Zhan was as stiff as a board. His body was rigid against Wei Wuxian’s, and his mouth didn’t move, even with Wei Wuxian kissing him with renewed fervor. His eyes were wide and sightless, as if the kiss had shocked him out of his senses.

“Mmf!” Wei Wuxian moaned against Lan Zhan’s lips. He meant to say “move!”, but couldn’t bring himself to break the kiss.

Then he felt something he had been hoping for — the feeling of strong hands sliding up over his spread thighs, over the curve of his ass, before gripping his hips in an iron grasp. He couldn’t help wiggling his hips a little against Lan Zhan’s hands, and felt Lan Zhan’s fingers clutch even more tightly to his pelvis, as if he were saying Oh no, you’re not getting away from me now. Wei Wuxian crowed internally, pressing himself harder against his husband, grinding against him.

And he felt Lan Zhan’s lips and tongue stirring to life against his, kissing him back with the same wild energy that he had had when he was drunk. A little clumsier this time, as if he were still dazed by the fact that he was being kissed at all — but Wei Wuxian would gladly take it. He wanted everything Lan Zhan had to offer him — every part of him —

Lan Zhan broke the kiss just then, taking a ragged breath. “Wei… Ying…” he whispered.

“I like you,” Wei Wuxian said breathlessly.

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened further, glimmering in the shadow that his wife cast.

“I really like you, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian continued, gripping Lan Zhan’s shoulders as tightly as Lan Zhan was gripping his hips. “I think — I think I love you. It feels nuts because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, but… I want you with me in every way. I want to sleep with you every single day. I’ve been thinking about nothing else for the past few days, and I — I —“

“Then… my promise…” Lan Zhan said haltingly.

Wei Wuxian laughed, and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth. “You said that you wouldn’t expect anything that I didn’t want, right? Well, this is what I want. You are what I want.”

Lan Zhan’s lips parted and moved, but no sound came from them. He looked as if he was in a daze, with his hair slightly rumpled from the vigorous kiss, though his forehead ribbon was still perfectly centered. Wei Wuxian’s eyes slowly roamed over that beautiful, impassive face, watching for the slightest flicker of a response. But except for the iron-hard grip on his hips, Lan Zhan gave no sign that he had heard.

Unease began to creep into Wei Wuxian’s soul, and his fingers loosened slightly on Lan Zhan’s broad shoulders. “Unless,” he said quietly, “you don’t feel the same — mmph!”

And then Lan Zhan was holding him tightly, as if afraid that he would stand up and slip away, and kissing him with a fiery ferocity that Wei Wuxian had never known he was capable of. He felt like sparks were cascading down his spine and flooding through his body, with every beat of his heart — and every beat of Lan Zhan’s. It took a few minutes before his brain cleared enough to register that something about this embrace was intoxicatingly familiar.

No, he thought hazily, it wasn’t just that they had kissed the other night, as vividly as that lived in his memory. It was another memory… a memory from long ago, of strong hands pinning him against a tree, and a mouth hungrily kissing him with a fervor that made his knees weak. He had been blindfolded at the time, but the smell of plants and earth had surrounded him then, and everything had been dark because he was blindfolded…

His eyes widened, and he tore his lips from Lan Zhan’s. "It was you!” he gasped.

Lan Zhan was breathing hard, looking at Wei Wuxian with confusion in his eyes. “Me?” he whispered.

“At Mount Baifeng — after the Sunshot Campaign — someone kissed me there — it was you!”

If he had had any doubts at that moment, then Lan Zhan’s reaction would have dispelled them. He made no effort to deny it — he simply bowed his head, as if waiting for a blow to fall.

“I always thought it was a girl who had a crush on me, but was ashamed to let anyone know,” Wei Wuxian said breathlessly. Though now that he thought about it, that “girl” had been strong enough to overpower him, and tall enough to kiss him from slightly above. He probably would have noticed any amazonian girl at Mount Baifeng like that.

And if Lan Zhan had kissed him back then… in his old life… then that meant…

“Lan Zhan… you wanted me even back then? When I was a man?”

Lan Zhan’s throat bobbed. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian clutched at Lan Zhan’s shoulder, his mind reeling at the realization. He had thought that this was a recent attraction, based on the fact that he now had the body of an attractive young woman. Yet Lan Zhan had felt this way… for most of the time they had known each other… both when he was a man and a woman…

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “You… you…”

“It was wrong,” Lan Zhan said in a low voice. “I was… wrong… I should not have—”

“Are you kidding?” Wei Wuxian said, a giddy smile spreading across his face. “You should have ripped off the blindfold so I could see you before you did it. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing — but it would have been even better if I could have seen you.”

Lan Zhan looked up sharply, his light eyes wide and gleaming in the firelight. Wei Wuxian touched a fingertip to his pale lower lip, running it along the curve of his husband’s mouth, a mischievous smile slipping over his own lips. Then he clasped his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and sank into another long, lingering kiss with him, wishing he could make up for those lost years.

He felt like he was floating, and yet his body felt as if it were rooted to the world through the pressure, warmth and wetness of Lan Zhan’s mouth, and the powerful hands clutching at his hips and waist. But, he thought hazily, they couldn’t do nothing but kiss all evening — and given Lan Zhan’s death grip on his body, he knew that his husband wanted more as well. He had been waiting a long time, and it would be unfair to keep him waiting any longer.

As he pulled back, he felt Lan Zhan’s teeth catch at his lower lip. “Easy!” he whispered. “Hang on a minute.”

He could feel his hands shaking a little as he began untying his sash, and let his outer robe slither down his body into a heap on the rough-hewn floor. Lan Zhan’s eyes were burning like embers in his fair face, and he hadn’t blinked once since Wei Wuxian began to disrobe. Wei Wuxian grinned at him as he began to pull off his crimson inner robe — he loved having the respected, esteemed Hanguang-jun look at him with such naked desire, as if he couldn’t wait to pin him down and fuck him senseless.

He heard Lan Zhan’s breath catch as the robe parted, exposing an expanse of pale skin, and his eyes slowly moved from Wei Wuxian’s flat stomach to his well-shaped breasts.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispered, sounding strained. “I—“

“Let me,” Wei Wuxian said, reaching for his sash.

Despite the situation, his hands were steady and smooth as he stripped off Lan Zhan’s robes, baring that tall, slender, muscled body to the firelight. He let himself drink in the sight of Lan Zhan’s form, roaming from the pulse beating in the hollow of his throat to his smooth chest, from his taut abdominal muscles down to his—

— and his thoughts shattered as suddenly Wei Wuxian was flat on his back on the rough wooden floor. Lan Zhan loomed over him, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. His eyes were reddened with the strain, and a tremor passed through his body as his hands gripped Wei Wuxian’s thighs.

“You want me?” Wei Wuxian whispered. “Then take me.”

Chapter Text

The fire had dwindled down to a smoldering glow by the time Lan Zhan lapsed into an exhausted slumber. The thunder had diminished slightly in intensity, but the rain on the roof of the dilapidated hut still pattered down with considerable force. Outside, the tree branches swayed in the wind,

Wei Wuxian had no idea how long they had been fucking, but he knew it had been hours. He lay in an exhausted heap, entangled in Lan Zhan’s arms, so close that his face was resting against the side of Lan Zhan’s throat. His skin and hair were still damp with sweat, and he felt as if his leg muscles were made out of limp noodles.

How had he ever thought that Lan Zhan wasn’t passionate? How? That night, Lan Zhan had seemingly lost all vestiges of his self-control. Under that calm, even icy exterior was a boiling volcano — and once it was unleashed, Wei Wuxian found that he couldn’t do anything except hang onto his husband and endure the wild, powerful fucking that followed. He could feel bruises blooming all along his body where Lan Zhan had gripped him to keep him still as he drove into Wei Wuxian’s body, and a dull soreness lingering between his legs.

Not that he was complaining. There had been something intoxicating for Wei Wuxian about watching Lan Zhan lose his composure on top of him, his hair and face wetted with sweat, his eyes like burning stars. He was so beautiful, so wild and unrestrained, so unlike the pristine Hanguang-jun of earlier that day, that Wei Wuxian felt almost giddy watching him.

Of course, he thought with a wince, there had been a few small problems along the way. When Lan Zhan had first entered his body, Wei Wuxian had felt a sudden sharp pain inside him, as if something had torn. Without meaning to, he let out a faint, “Ah!”

Lan Zhan stopped, his face tense with the effort of holding himself back. “What’s wrong?” he said in a low voice.

“Nothing, nothing,” Wei Wuxian said. “Don’t — don’t stop!”

“Wei Ying—“

“It’s just… well, we know now that Mo Lian was a virgin.” He laughed a little — and then gasped as Lan Zhan gritted his teeth and slid the rest of the way in.

Even then, it had still taken him a little while to get used to the feeling of Lan Zhan inside him, and the sensations of body parts he was wildly unfamiliar with. He had spent most of his existence as a man, and in his teenage years he had consumed enough pornography to fill a small library. Whenever he had thought about or fantasized about fucking, it had always been from the perspective of a man. The thought of what a woman felt or experienced… that was something he had never even imagined before.

So as his body writhed and arched, his mind kept insisting, No, you’re supposed to feel this way, not that way! That part of you that doesn’t exist anymore is supposed to be aroused! He had to close his eyes and focus on what felt good — to remind himself that this was his body now, forever. And he wanted this. However it turned out, no matter what kind of body he had, he wanted this with Lan Zhan.

As if reading his thoughts, Lan Zhan set out on a fierce, forceful rhythm that made the floorboards under Wei Wuxian’s body creak and groan, as if they were going to give way under the man’s onslaught. Wei Wuxian’s mind was spinning as he clung to Lan Zhan — was this really the chilly, prim person he had known for all these years?

At least he knew now why Lan Zhan had wanted to marry him, he thought almost deliriously, clutching at his husband’s arms. Lan Zhan had loved him for all those years — throughout the last years of his life, and all of his death. Now that he was back, Hanguang-jun must have been determined not to let him escape a second time, and had seized his opportunity.

Well, Wei Wuxian didn’t mind. He didn’t mind at all.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian had said exultantly at one point. “You should have told me how you felt years ago! You could have had me as both a man and a woman!”

Lan Zhan seemed to lose his rhythm for a moment, his fingers digging into Wei Wuxian’s sides. “Don’t — speak of that!” he said breathlessly.

“Why not? I know I didn’t see you this way back when you first kissed me, but you were so good that I went weak at the knees. If you had said something, I would have come around. We could have found an unoccupied part of Mount Baifeng and I would have let you do whatever you wanted to me! You could have — ah, not so fast!”

Wei Wuxian loosely draped his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, pulling his husband’s face closer to his own. Lan Zhan’s eyes widened, gazing down at him. Wei Wuxian smiled seductively, his voice lowering. “Or there was always the Gentian House. We never did anything, but we could have. Everyone in Cloud Recesses assumed you were fucking me there anyway, so what would have been the harm in doing it for real?”

But then he felt one of the thick, smooth scars just below the back of Lan Zhan’s neck. Rather than loosen his grip, he tightened it, gently caressing the ruined flesh with his fingertips, and raised his lips to Lan Zhan’s ear.

“I love you — so damn much, Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

Lan Zhan had responded by holding him even tighter and fucking him even harder, until tears sprang to Wei Wuxian’s eyes and he found himself breathlessly babbling in his husband’s ear. Later, he didn’t even remember what he had said, only Lan Zhan’s voice whispering, “Shameless!” in his own ear, and biting the side of his neck.

And Lan Zhan’s stamina was awe-inspiring. When they bothed reached their climaxes, almost at the same moment, Wei Wuxian thought that Lan Zhan would rest for the remainder of the night. After all, he had been fucking his wife with the ferocity of a man who had been starving for months. But after just a short break, he was fucking Wei Wuxian again, even more energetically than before.

It was only after their third round that Lan Zhan seemed to be too tired to go on. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, lying bonelessly as Lan Zhan slid out of him, and then wrapped him in a pair of strong, firm arms. Sweat was trickling over his skin, mingling with his wife’s.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispered. “Wei Ying…”

“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian said equally breathlessly, running his fingers through his husband’s damp hair.

But when he opened his eyes, he nearly stopped breathing altogether. The firelight was dim, but enough of it fell on Lan Zhan’s face that Wei Wuxian could see it clearly. His usually impassive face had softened subtly, and his lips were curving slightly upward, making his eyes shine and shimmer like streamwater in the spring sunlight.

Lan Wangji, the icy and distant Hanguang-jun, was smiling.

The smile clung to his lips as his eyelids drifted shut. Wei Wuxian couldn’t take his eyes off it — it was like a second moon had arisen in the sky, something luminous and impossible that was too beautiful to describe. It faded as his face relaxed, leaving a faint ache in Wei Wuxian’s heart. But, he reminded himself, now he knew just how happy Lan Zhan truly was, after all these painful, lonely years.

One thing that hadn’t changed when Lan Zhan fell asleep: he was still holding Wei Wuxian tightly, so tightly that he couldn’t move from his husband’s encircling arms. Not that he wanted to. He could have stayed there for days, feeling Lan Zhan’s chest rise and fall with every breath, feeling his heart beating steadily against Wei Wuxian’s ribs.

It seemed as though nothing outside the circle of firelight was real, he thought. The dismembered body parts — the mysterious man with the obscured face — Wen Ning — all of them seemed to fade away into mist. There was only Lan Zhan beside him. Everything else could wait until the morning.

Wei Wuxian smiled, and snuggled his head against the curve of Lan Zhan’s shoulder. This was where he belonged. Man or woman. This was where he had always been destined to be.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji woke at the usual hour of the morning — and immediately, his first thought was that he was still dreaming.

Still half-asleep, he gazed down at the slender figure lying tangled in his arms. Wei Ying was naked as a newborn child, his body pressed close to Lan Wangji’s, their legs still intertwined together, and his rumpled head cradled against Lan Wangji’s shoulder. He was snoring very softly, and as the man holding him shifted, he mumbled something and snuggled against Lan Wangji’s throat.

Lan Wangji’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to pound. This couldn’t be real.

And then memories of the night before flooded back into Lan Wangji’s mind. Memories of Wei Ying suddenly leaping in his lap, kissing him, and confessing that he loved him. Memories of pinning Wei Ying to the floor and rutting furiously into him — of scalding-hot flesh slick with sweat, the feeling of Wei Ying’s legs tightly wrapped around him, and the sound of his love’s raw gasps and loud, ecstatic moans.

He had been dreaming about Wei Ying ever since he had been fifteen years old — in fact, since the fateful night they had first met. He had been confused and disturbed by the dreams when they first began — he had been innocent enough then that he hadn’t even known how two men could be intimate. All he had known was that no amount of meditation or soaking in the cold spring would banish the feverish dreams from his mind.

And with those dreams had come other fantasies, filled with his other greatest desire — to hear Wei Ying say he loved him. To know that the storm of painful, confusing emotions in his heart was shared by the one he loved. He had tried to deny it for so long, had told himself that it was wrong, that it was impossible, that he could never love someone as lawless, reckless, wild and untamed as Wei Ying. By the time he had realized that he could — and he did — it had been too late for either of them.

… at least, until the night before.

Slowly, Lan Wangji realized that this was not a dream. He could feel every knot and rough edge in the boards under his body, and warm sunlight was filtering through the trees outside to shine on both of them. The smell of pine needles, damp earth and grass filled the air, as if the forest outside had been washed clean while they had slept. Everything felt new and pure, without the violence and turmoil that had filled the skies the night before.

Wei Ying mumbled something, and threw an arm over Lan Wangji’s body. “… mmph, Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “Not hungry. ’S all right.”

Lan Wangji’s heart swelled, and he gently moved his hand in circles on Wei Ying’s bare back. He looked beautiful in the morning light — it caressed his smiling lips, his long lashes, the fine planes of his face. This was a sight from some of his dreams — Wei Ying sleeping in his arms, completely his, after a passionate night together. It had been something he had only dared to fantasize about, in the dark of the night when no one else could see him.

Yet it had happened. Wei Ying… loved him.

More memories of the night before crept into his mind, blown in like so many autumn leaves. At one point, he had almost seen and heard Wei Ying with his old appearance, as if he were shifting between male and female, the old body and the new. It would probably have been offputting for most people… but Lan Wangji hadn’t cared. The most important part of Wei Ying was the same, and he didn’t care what body it was in.

As carefully as he dared, he carefully gathered Wei Ying up in his arms, and carefully placed him on the bedding that had been laid out in the corner. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t moved to the bedding rather than the floor the night before — in the heat of the moment, it simply hadn’t occurred to him to do anything like change locations. But he didn’t want Wei Ying to be uncomfortable on the naked floorboards when he awoke.

Then, with careful tenderness, he draped one of the blankets over Wei Ying. He stirred but showed no signs of waking, though he mumbled something about chicken. Lan Wangji watched him sleep for a while, feeling as if the sight of Wei Ying could sustain him instead of food or drink. He touched his fingers to Wei Ying’s face, and gently brushed away a stray lock of unruly hair.

If it was possible, Lan Wangji would have chosen to ignore the outside world and stay in the shack for a little bit longer — just a few more days. A few more days of peace and solitude, miles from other humans. No one but himself and Wei Ying, wrapped up in their little idyll. No conspiracy, no one who hated Wei Ying, no disapproving clan elders. Just the two of them, needing to do nothing but love one another.

But he knew that they couldn’t. The mission they were on was too vital, too dangerous, to allow themselves the luxury of even a few precious days. Delay might mean they would lose the chance of recovering the remaining arm and head, and that they might not be able to find out who had led to this dead man’s murder.

As gently as he could, Lan Wangji touched his lips to Wei Ying’s forehead, and smoothed his hair back from his face. They would have time. Together. Nothing in this world would separate them now, even if he had to go to war with the entire cultivation world.

*

When Wei Wuxian woke up, the first thing that he noticed was that Lan Zhan wasn’t there. He had fallen asleep with powerful arms holding him, and now they were gone. Half-asleep, he stretched out his arms to see if his husband had simply rolled away to one side or the other, but all he found was soft bedding and blankets. Soft bedding and blankets? He was pretty sure that he had fallen asleep on the bare floor… where was Lan Zhan?

He sat up and blearily looked around the shack. The fire had died, leaving a pile of charred logs and a pile of grey ashes. The missing wall allowed sunlight to flood most of the building, including the remains of the fire where they had fucked the night before. It looked like a beautiful day outside — shards of the blue sky could be seen through the trees overhead, and a cool breeze was blowing across the grass.

“Lan Zhan?” he called out.

He scrambled out of the bedding, and then winced. There was a dull soreness between his legs. Not quite deep enough to be real pain, but enough to remind him that the esteemed, elegant and unworldly Hanguang-jun had fucked him deeply and thoroughly the night before. Just the thought sent a thrill through him, and spread a grin across his face.

His legs felt wobbly as well, and it took him a little while to circle around the house, gathering his discarded garments and pulling his inner robe over his naked body. He squashed his remaining garments into a bundle around his flute, hugging it to his chest as he walked barefoot out into the forest. Pine needles pricked his toes and brushed the arches of his feet, and stray leaves fluttered past his disheveled hair.

“Lan Zhan?” he called out again.

Then he heard something nearby — water. Water rushing over a waterfall, a steady rushing sound that grew louder as he approached. He had heard the same sound countless times near Lotus Pier, usually close to the mountains, where streams reached the lakes and ponds. Some instinct told Wei Wuxian to walk towards the waterfall — and at the same time, one hand slipped down to untie the sash loosely tied around his waist.

The waterfall was a fairly large one, cascading down at the foot of the mountain, pouring lightly from one green-mossed rock to the next before spilling down into the crystalline pool below. White foam and bright droplets sparkled in the sunlight. A scattering of lotuses floated in it, little spots of white and green against the darkened water, as if reminding Wei Wuxian of those few happy years he had spent in Yunmeng.

And Lan Zhan was standing in the middle of the pool.

Chapter Text

The sight of him took Wei Wuxian’s breath away and made his heart pound like a drum. The pool was only as deep as Lan Zhan’s hips, allowing droplets of sparkling water to cling to his taut abdominals and leanly muscled arms. His long, ink-black hair was dripping from the cascading waterfall, clinging to his broad shoulders and back. His fair face was raised upward towards the shafts of sunlight that shimmered through the trees, his eyes closed as he washed himself in the falling water.

He was so beautiful that he hardly even seemed real, as if a god had brought life to a divine statue that someone had, for some reason, carved stark naked. And having experienced what that body could do the night before, Wei Wuxian wanted to wade into the water and wrap himself around it.

“Lan Zhan!” he sang out.

Lan Zhan turned to look at him, wiping at the water trickling into his eyes. Without the severe line of his forehead ribbon, his face looked softer and younger. “Wei Ying?” he said softly.

Wei Wuxian forced his smiling lips into a pout. “Hanguang-jun, you left your wife all alone. That’s so unfair of you!”

Without waiting for an an answer, he dropped his clothes and flute on a flat rock nearby, and began stripping the thin, wrinkled inner robe from his body. He winced slightly as he stepped into the water, feeling the icy water lapping around his calves. Goosebumps stood out sharply on his skin, rippling up and down his body.

It was almost as cold as the cold spring back in Cloud Recesses — even almost twenty years and a death later, Wei Wuxian still vividly remembered how icy those waters were. How Lan Zhan could stand to sit in water this cold was beyond him, especially since he had been doing it for years. The water at Lotus Pier’s lakes wasn’t warm by any stretch of the imagination, but it hadn't been THAT cold.

He sloshed forward through the pool, his feet slipping a little on the wet, mossy rocks, and tangling with the lotus roots that hung under the water. The light spray of the waterfall fell all around him, lightly bedewing his skin and hair as he approached Lan Zhan. An eager smile crossed his lips, and his eyes sparkled with laughter in the morning light —

— and then he tripped.

He didn’t quite fall forward, but he did stumble on the rocks that made up the floor of the pool. Before he could fully right himself, he was suddenly surrounded by strong, powerful arms, and pressed against a firmly muscled chest. The smell of sandalwood was muted by the smell of the lotuses and fresh forest air, but it was still there, clinging to Lan Zhan as tenaciously as the droplets of water.

“I wish you'd waited until I woke up,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice muffled by Lan Zhan's chest. “We could have bathed together."

“You were tired,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian felt slender fingers running through his damp hair. As a response, he slyly ran his fingers over Lan Zhan’s left nipple, which was pebbled and hard from the cold. “If you’re going to be naked, you can wake me up anytime,” he purred.

Lan Zhan’s ears flushed.

But then Wei Wuxian’s smile faded, and his hand clenched into a fist. He could feel something else on Lan Zhan’s chest — small ridges and dots of scarred flesh, just deep enough to mar the perfect, smooth skin. The Wen Clan had perfected their branding irons so that the pattern would show up starkly and perfectly on the victim’s skin, and anyone who looked would know immediately who had inflicted the burns upon them.

He drew back a little, brushing his fingertips over the brand, as if he could wipe it away and leave Lan Zhan unscarred by his lonely past. Their new life, their second chance, shouldn’t be stained by such things, he thought fiercely.

“Was this because of me?” Wei Wuxian said quietly.

Lan Zhan gazed down at him soberly. He looked so beautifully disheveled, with the water dripping from his hair and his forehead ribbon nowhere to be seen.

“I was drunk,” he said quietly.

“So you branded yourself?”

“I wanted you near me.” Lan Zhan’s hand slipped to Wei Wuxian’s cheek. “You were gone. I didn’t have anything else of you.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers pressed against the brand. He wanted to tell Lan Zhan that he still shouldn’t have done it— he shouldn’t have hurt himself like that, no matter what happened. But the words died in his mouth as he gazed up into Lan Zhan’s clear, shining eyes. He couldn’t even imagine how lonely and anguished Lan Zhan had been then, if the only way he could find comfort was to pick up a red-hot branding iron and burn his own flesh in imitation of the man he loved.

With no words he could say, he lowered his face to the brand, and kissed it. The tip of his tongue traced the delicate scars and the cool skin, flicking against them. Lan Zhan drew in a shuddering breath, and his hands tightened on Wei Wuxian’s back.

“Are you going to tell me,” Wei Wuxian whispered, “where the other scars came from?”

Lan Zhan gazed down at him expressionlessly, and shook his head.

“Really?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian rested his head on Lan Zhan’s bare shoulder. “You’ve already told me so much, Hanguang-jun. What’s one more thing?”

But Lan Zhan was unwilling to say more. He instead insisted that Wei Wuxian wash himself in the waterfall, even though it was just as icy as the pool it fed into. Wei Wuxian reluctantly agreed — they didn’t have a proper bathtub in this place, and both of them had been pretty sticky and sweaty after the previous night’s activities. Still, the water made his teeth chatter and his skin tighten into goosebumps. It cascaded down his spine and breasts, soaked his hair and skin, and half-blinded him by spraying into his eyes.

The only thing that made it tolerable was the solid, warm body pressed against his back, as if Lan Zhan were making up for his earlier absence by touching Wei Wuxian constantly as he bathed. His hands kept sliding over Wei Wuxian’s sides and stomach, almost hesitantly. It felt like an echo of the powerful grip Lan Zhan had kept on his body the night before, as if he were unsure of himself now. Then his fingers slipped upwards, grazing against the rounded underside of one of Wei Wuxian’s breasts.

Wei Wuxian smiled at the hesitance. It was almost cute, like a teenage boy just feeling up a girl for the first time. Especially since Lan Zhan had almost lost his composure before when he accidentally touched a breast. He probably hadn’t even thought about breasts in all these years, since he only had known Wei Wuxian as a man.

“Hanguang-jun,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Do you like these?”

He seized one of Lan Zhan’s hands and guided it up to cup his breast. The slender fingers jerked in surprise at first, before hesitantly brushing up to touch the soft mound.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said at last.

“Then why don’t you touch them?” Wei Wuxian said. “They’re all yours.”

He had thoroughly examined his breasts not long after he obtained them, and had gotten used to these strange new parts on his chest. But it was an entirely different sensation to be touched by someone else. Wei Wuxian felt warmth flooding through his chilled body as Lan Zhan’s fingers gently kneaded his breasts, exploring with hesitant hands over this unfamiliar territory. His husband seemed to gain confidence as time went on — his fingers pressed against the soft flesh, gently prodded his nipples and rolled them between his fingertips. Lan Zhan’s warm breath wafted over the side of Wei Wuxian’s throat, as he leaned forward with his arms around his wife’s torso.

They had plenty of time, Wei Wuxian thought with a smile. They could lie down beside the forest pool, and he could let Lan Zhan explore his body as much as he wanted…

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “Why don't we—“

But then something loudly cracked nearby — a crack so loud that Wei Wuxian let out a yelp of dismay. Lan Zhan’s hands tightened on his breasts, then suddenly released him.

“Crap,” Wei Wuxian said, clinging to his husband’s arm. “We forgot to play for them last night, didn’t we?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan said in a low voice. “Do you have your flute?”

Wei Wuxian was already sloshing his way back to the shore. Of all the times for those body parts to interrupt them! He had just been about to suggest that Lan Zhan fuck him by the forest pool, now that the faint soreness between his legs had been soothed by the cold water. Now they had to spent the next half hour playing “Rest” for the resentful remains of a dismembered man.

But things would be different once they had reunited the dismembered man’s parts, and found some way to resolve his overwhelming resentment. Then he would go back to Cloud Recesses with Lan Zhan, find some isolated spot on the mountain, and spent the next few weeks letting his husband do whatever he wanted.

Chapter Text

They left not long after finishing “Rest.” As soon as the guqin strings stilled, Lan Zhan gracefully rose and began putting his clothes back on. “We should go,” he said in a low voice. “We still have some distance to go, and we have no idea what our enemy is planning to do to obtain the other arm and the head.”

Wei Wuxian sighed heavily. “You’re right, Hanguang-jun. If it weren’t for that man, I’d say we should just spend a few days here to… ‘recover’ from everything we’ve experienced.” He smiled up at Lan Zhan, and was rewarded by a faint pinkness in Lan Zhan’s ears.

As Lan Zhan stowed away the bedding and blankets, Wei Wuxian looked around the derelict shack. He felt a strange kind of fondness for the place, even if it looked like it was going to collapse — it had been the place where he and Lan Zhan had finally explored their feelings for one another, when he had realized that Lan Zhan had loved him for many, many years, and where they had acted on that love. Losing your virginity in a shack with holes in the roof and a missing wall didn’t sound particularly romantic, Wei Wuxian reflected, especially if it hadn’t even been in a bed. But it had been romantic, in a wild, unleashed kind of way.

He looked over at Lan Zhan as the man straightened up, and his face softened. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought Lan Zhan looked different this morning. With his smooth hair perfectly arranged and his elegant white robes, he looked once again the part of a coolly pristine immortal. But to Wei Wuxian’s eyes, he looked somehow lighter and happier, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Lan Zhan gazed across the ruined cabin for a moment, before saying, “Let us go.”

They spent the next few hours traveling swiftly in the direction that the arm had pointed, and the miles flowed away under them as they traveled. And after a few days of awkward secrets and quiet patches, Wei Wuxian allowed his thoughts to flow freely in front of Lan Zhan. There wasn’t any reason to hold back anymore, he thought giddily, since he didn’t have anything to worry about.

“I still can’t believe you were in love with me then,” Wei Wuxian said, twirling his flute.

Lan Zhan glanced towards him, and the tips of his ears turned slightly pink. His eyes briefly met Wei Wuxian’s, light and shining as the sky, before he quickly looked away.

“Are you shy?” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, delighted. “Lan Zhan, after last night I wouldn’t have believed it.” It had been a few days since he had teased Lan Zhan properly, and even with the flush of finding out how Lan Zhan had truly felt about him, he couldn’t resist messing with him just a little.

He leaned closer and bumped his shoulder against Lan Zhan’s, beaming up at his husband’s downturned face. “Lan Zhan, it really was a surprise to me. Until you kissed me — I mean, I kissed you — I didn't realize that you wanted me before, back when I was a man. It never occurred to me that you were interested in men—“

“I’m not,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “But you said—“

“I love Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said. “No other man.”

“Well, that isn’t too shocking,” Wei Wuxian said thoughtfully. “You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, Lan Zhan. But were there any girls you—”

“No other woman,” Lan Zhan clarified. “Only Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian’s steps slowed to a stumble, and finally he stood still. Shock was darting through his body like dragonflies flitting over the lakes in Yunmeng. Lan Zhan couldn’t mean what he was implying, could he? “Not one person?” he said blankly. “Lan Zhan, are you saying you haven’t been attracted to anyone else at all? Not in all these years?”

Lan Zhan stopped some paces ahead of him, and turned around slowly until they were looking at one another. His face was as expressionless as always, but there was a softness in his eyes, and around the corners of his lips, that seemed brighter and sweeter than any smile could be.

“Not one,” he said quietly. “Only Wei Ying.”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian was struck dumb. He thought of Lan Zhan’s entire life so far — all the things he must have seen, all the people he must have met, the war they had fought and the countless deeds that had made the mighty Hanguang-jun famous. And yet, in all that time, he said that he had only ever loved one person. Only ever wanted one person. And even if Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure that Lan Zhan wouldn’t lie, the piercing clarity of his eyes told him that it was completely true.

Then he felt warmth flooding through his body, as if Lan Zhan had unstoppered some fountain of affection inside him. It was every person's fantasy, he supposed, to be the only love of someone else — to be the only one they had ever wanted, or would ever want. But he had never thought that it actually happened. Most people, even if they only loved one person, at least found someone else appealing.

Yet… Lan Zhan didn’t.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling broadly at him. “Tell me honestly. You’ve really never watched a pretty girl and been attracted to her?”

Lan Zhan gazed at him thoughtfully, then lowered his gaze to Wei Wuxian’s legs.

“Other than me, I mean,” Wei Wuxian added.

Lan Zhan raised his eyes again. “Never,” he said firmly.

That just left one more question, one that had been lingering on the edges of Wei Wuxian’s mind ever since the last night, when Lan Zhan had finally confirmed how he felt. He moved a few steps closer, close enough that he could smell the sandalwood perfuming Lan Zhan’s skin and clothes, close enough that he could practically drown in those light, clear eyes, clear and bright as pools of crystalline water in the morning sun.

“Lan Zhan,” he said quietly, “how long have you felt this way about me?”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened, then slowly lowered to the ground, as if he were embarrassed by the answer. His lips parted, closed, then parted again as he seemed to be trying to find a way to speak. Finally, he said quietly, “When you first brought Emperor’s Smile into Cloud Recesses.”

“When I—“ Wei Wuxian stared at him. “Lan Zhan, that was the first time we met!”

“Mn.”

“You — you’ve been in love with me since that night?”

“Mn.” Pinkness crept into Lan Zhan’s ears, and his eyes darted to the side, as if the thought of his youthful self was embarrassing to him.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t hold back a burst of laughter. “Lan Zhan, I thought you hated me back then. You certainly acted like it. I can’t entirely blame you, though. I was pretty terrible.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers clutched at Bichen’s scabbard. “I… hated that you made me… feel that way,” he said, the words emerging with difficulty. “I did not want to. You were… all the things I had been told to avoid. I spent years fighting it, trying to make myself not…”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t surprised. Lan Zhan had been raised in an environment of monklike strictness, according to the endless rules and codes of the Lan Clan. And as a youth, he had been even stricter — humorless, rigid, sour, always on the lookout for someone having fun so he could quash it and have them punished. In other words, the perfect person for Wei Wuxian to tease without mercy, which was exactly what he had done.

But now that Wei Wuxian looked back on it, it must have been torment for Lan Zhan back then. In the first blush of young love… with someone who was his complete opposite in almost every way, and a man to boot. Someone who flouted rules without even thinking about it, infuriated his uncle, tricked him into breaking a rule himself and being punished for it. It must have been a nightmare for him back then.

He was suddenly reminded of the day when, after they had both been beaten, he had found Lan Zhan soaking in the cold spring. At the time, he hadn’t seen Lan Zhan with any kind of desire — so he had flung off his clothes and approached the other boy, completely naked, touching and sitting near him without a hint of shame or modesty. As far as he was concerned then, it was no different from bathing with Jiang Cheng or Nie Huisang.

No matter how cold the water had been, it must have been torment for Lan Zhan, he reflected. If the previous night and that morning had been any indication, he must have been on the verge of seizing Wei Wuxian and doing… whatever it was men did with one another. He had never seen any cut-sleeve pornography, so he wasn't clear on the details.

He slipped his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, pulling him closer until their faces were only a breath apart. The tall man’s eyes widened slightly, and his body swayed forward to meet Wei Wuxian’s.

“Is that the reason you never told me how you felt?” Wei Wuxian whispered.

He felt a tremor pass through Lan Zhan’s body, just before strong hands grasped his waist, and a heated, hungry mouth closed over his own. It was only several hours later that he realized that Lan Zhan hadn’t answered him.

Chapter Text

If Wei Wuxian had been disappointed by the interruption of their amorous explorations under the waterfall, he wasn’t disappointed in the nights that followed. After playing “Rest” for the body parts that evening, as the sun was going down, he playfully pounced on Lan Zhan, winding himself against him like a cat seeking attention.

The next thing he knew, he was pressed against the rough trunk of a tree, his hands pinned over his head by one of Lan Zhan’s. As his husband leaned close, he slowly parted his knees, twined his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist, inviting him in. He grinned eagerly at Lan Zhan’s stern face and burning eyes, and whispered, “Are you going to have your way with me? Because it would be terribly shameful for the esteemed Hanguang-jun to — mmph!”

The next few hours were spent relentlessly fucking, and if Wei Wuxian had had any doubts about whether their first night together was a fluke, the second, third and fourth nights dispelled them. Lan Zhan’s stamina was almost awe-inspiring, and he focused on Wei Wuxian with an intensity that was almost frightening. It was as if he were trying to fuck him so hard that the experience would spread backwards through those lonely years.

“Lan-er-gege — you remember what I said on our first night?” Wei Wuxian gasped one night.

Lan Zhan’s face was buried in his throat, but he raised his head when he heard that. Sweat glistened on his features. “What?”

“That I — I wanted to sleep with you every night! Do you — remember that? Ngh!” Wei Wuxian writhed up against him, making a noise between a groan and a gasp.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, not even faltering in his rhythm.

“Can you — forget I said that? This every day — might kill me.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes gleamed. “I will not!”

“You won’t?” Wei Wuxian squeaked, his fingers clutching at Lan Zhan’s bare back. “But you — you never said ‘no’ to me before!”

A faint smile crossed Lan Zhan’s lips and the sight sent a thrill through Wei Wuxian’s fevered heart. “Every day,” he said quietly, “means every day.”

And he clearly meant it. Passionately. Of course, Wei Wuxian didn’t mind it as much as he had made it sound — he very much enjoyed the rough, almost wild fucking that seemed to be Lan Zhan’s standard way of doing it. He especially loved the stark contrast to the chilly, refined, controlled Hanguang-jun that everyone else saw; only he was allowed to see Lan Zhan in all his glorious ferocity.

It didn’t hurt that Lan Zhan was, he had discovered, very well endowed — significantly larger than Wei Wuxian had been in his previous life.

But perhaps he liked best the tenderness afterwards. Lan Zhan held him tightly, as if afraid someone would steal him away, and rubbed his back in slow circles. Any bruises or abrasians would be gently caressed and tended to. Kisses would be bestowed. And Lan Zhan seemed to want to sleep with Wei Wuxian draped over him like a blanket, with arms and legs wrapped around Lan Zhan’s body, and head tucked against his chest. It took a few nights for Wei Wuxian to get used to it, but he soon found it comforting to lie on top of Lan Zhan as he slept, bathed in his sandalwood scent and listening to the steady thumping of his heart.

When he was like this, it was easy to forget the shadows of the past, and the fact that virtually everybody except Lan Zhan still hated and feared him. In Lan Zhan’s arms, it just didn’t seem to matter anymore.

*

The village was a small one, and at a glance Wei Wuxian could see that it was entirely occupied by poor farmers. Mud huts with thatched roofs, a wide but poorly-maintained road that split into thirds, and unruly chickens running wild throughout the entire place.

Wei Wuxian stopped at the fork in the road, and frowned. Two of the branching roads were well-trammeled and free of weeds, meaning that they were used often — probably both by travelers and by the farmers. The third was faded with disuse and littered with weeds that hadn’t been bent or broken. Nobody used that road, or at least, nobody had used it lately. There was a stone marker sitting beside that third road, but it was so badly damaged that Wei Wuxian couldn’t make out the characters. He was fairly certain that the second one was “city,” but the first one was so chipped and cracked that it could have been any one of dozens of words.

“That is the direction the arm is pointing,” Lan Zhan said, pointing down the third road.

“Of course it is,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to ask the locals.”

He soon spotted a number of women who were feeding the chickens and talking amongst themselves. Lan Zhan started to move toward them, but Wei Wuxian quickly held up a hand.

“They’ll be nervous around a strange man,” he said. “Especially a strange man who’s also a wealthy cultivator. They’ll be more likely to talk to another woman.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said. He went back to the marker, and folded his arms.

The women were all ages — young, old and in-between — and all were dressed in homespun garments. Some of them looked a little apprehensive as a strange woman strode towards them, leaving a strange man clad all in pristine white on the road. Once it became obvious that the man did not intend to follow her, they all seemed to relax a little.

But as Wei Wuxian approached them, he felt a sudden stab of apprehension. He had had plenty of experience charming women during his youth — a bright smile, some compliments, some light flirting, and a warm assurance that he had nothing but honorable respect for them. It had never been hard for him to get them to talk to him — they had always loved him, his charm, his bright personality, his ready smiles, his handsome face.

But how exactly was he supposed to get information out of them as a woman?

Sure, he had talked to some of Lan Zhan’s female relatives back at Cloud Recesses, but he had spent half of those conversations pretending to be insane. He hadn’t needed any information from the Lan women, so he had simply stood there, giggling and playing with his hair and pretending that he wasn’t listening to every word they said. Some of them had been very kind and sympathetic to the strange crazy woman, while a few others had treated him as if he had a contagious disease. But he hadn’t had any attempts at talking to women… like a woman.

Well, he thought, he would just have to do his best, and hope that it wasn’t too obvious that he had only been female for a few weeks. He could still smile and try to be charming without flirting, couldn’t he?

“Hello!” Wei Wuxian called out, walking swiftly towards the women. “Hello, ladies! I mean — I was wondering if you could help me with directions.”

“Directions?” an older woman asked.

“There’s not really anything near here,” a young girl with a wispy voice said timidly.

“Really?” Wei Wuxian said, tilting his head. “There are three roads leading out of this town.”

“Well, they don’t lead to anything nearby. I mean, anything people should go towards,” a middle-aged woman with strong cheekbones.

Wei Wuxian perked up, a bright smile flashing across his face. “Really? I really could use some advice about where to go, and you ladies obviously know all about the region. Please, I really could use advice!”

The woman whispered amongst themselves, and one motherly-looking woman with gray-streaked hair and a round smiling face came forward. “Well, my dear, that depends on what you’re looking for.”

“We think we’re supposed to go on that third road — the one covered in weeds. But the marker is so torn-up that we can’t see what the place is called.”

A ripple of unease ran through the crowd of women, and the motherly-looking woman’s smile flickered. As if spooked by the questions, the chickens squawked loudly and scuttled away, flapping their wings.

“Well,” the motherly-looking woman said, “that’s probably somewhere you don’t want to go, my dear. That’s Yi City.”

“Yi City?”

“Yi for ‘Yizhuang’ — for a mortuary,” the motherly woman said soberly. “It’s a bad place — a place with a lot of death. People don’t live long in that city, and the specialties are all about funerary things — coffins, joss paper, effigies. Nobody from ‘round here goes to that place, and people from there don’t leave unless they have to.”

“We haven’t seen anyone from that place in years,” the timid-voiced girl piped up. “They just stopped turning up, even to deliver goods. We think they must have had a plague or something.”

Wei Wuxian tapped his lip with his finger, his eyes sliding over to the abandoned road with its carpet of weeds. If the head or the other arm were located in Yi City — which the arm’s pointing seemed to indicate — it might have wrought havoc on Yi City, since there were no large cultivation clans near this place. If the place was naturally thick with resentment and death, one of those vicious body parts could have done horrifying things to the city’s residents… and with Yi City being so isolated, nobody had seen it…

“Who is that man?” a voice suddenly said.

Wei Wuxian looked up. The woman who had spoken was about the same age Mo Lian had been, with a lusciously voluptuous figure that her homespun robes couldn’t hide. She was gazing across the meadow at Lan Zhan, who was standing on the road with his piercing eyes watching Wei Wuxian.

“Oh, that’s my — my husband,” Wei Wuxian said quickly.

The woman pouted a little. “Oh. He’s married.”

Wei Wuxian smirked a little. His mind was immediately conjuring up the vision of this woman trying to attract Lan Zhan with her sensual body, and being greeted with cold indifference.

“He’s so very handsome,” the motherly woman said, smiling. “Have you been married long, my dear?”

“Only a few weeks.”

“Then you surely don’t want to go to Yi City,” the woman with strong cheekbones said. “You should find somewhere romantic and beautiful to spend time together. Soon you’ll have children and more responsibilities, and you might not have time for each other.”

“Mmm,” Wei Wuxian murmured absently. “Have you heard any rumors about anything bad in Yi City? Something that possesses or kills people?”

The women all shook their heads nervously and murmured denials. Some of them looked very nervous at the thought, as if they thought that something evil might creep down the road from Yi City if this strange woman spoke of it. The motherly woman made another earnest attempt to convince Wei Wuxian to head down a different road with his husband, but Wei Wuxian thanked her with a bright smile and bid the women farewell.

Chapter Text

Even before they entered Yi City, Wei Wuxian could tell that it was a bad place.

The road was wider and less covered with weeds as they approached, but it was also choked with a thick, ominous fog. And aside from the weeds and fog, it was empty — which seemed unlikely for a city that had anyone living in it. There was always someone coming and going in a living city, or one with more than a handful of people dwelling in it. But as they approached the peeling, decrepit gates and graffiti-scrawled walls of Yi City, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan hadn’t seen a single person.

They paused before the half-open gates, and Wei Wuxian bit his lip. This place reeked of evil, of resentment, of something rotten and festering that had dragged everyone inside into death. Normally, Wei Wuxian might have blamed the oppressive, harmful landscape, or thought that maybe the city’s ill luck and ill health might have finally reached its natural conclusion. But the arm had pointed to this place.

If one or more body parts had run amuck in Yi City, then it seemed that no one had been able to stop them. Goosebumps prickled down Wei Wuxian’s spine, and his hand automatically went to his flute.

As if in answer, the city gate slowly creaked open, just wide enough for a few people walking alongside each other to slip inside. Wei Wuxian glanced swiftly at Lan Zhan, and found that his husband was already looking at him grimly. They silently moved closer together, and Wei Wuxian felt a hand settle in the middle of his back as they stepped into the city.

Contrary to what one would expect, the fog was even thicker and more concealing inside the city walls, almost hiding the buildings on either side from view. As they wandered deeper into the city, the fog became thicker and thicker, roiling with evil. Even more sinister, there wasn’t a sound to be heard — no human voices calling out, no dogs… nothing.

Wei Wuxian drew closer to Lan Zhan, feeling that hand on his back clutching tightly at his belt, as if afraid that he would be snatched away. He slipped a hand under Lan Zhan’s elbow, a silent assurance that he was still there, even if they couldn’t see each other’s faces. If they stayed close enough, nothing could come between them, he thought.

Then he heard something in the fog — footsteps.

They moved faster than either could turn around, and as Wei Wuxian looked behind himself, he caught a glimpse of a slender figure moving through the fog. Something sharp rang out — a loud tapping — and then it was gone.

“Did you catch that?” he asked.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said. “Footsteps and a bamboo pole.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flitted back to the expanse of fog where the figure had disappeared. A bamboo pole might usually imply that someone was lame or elderly, but that person had run nimbly. Even worse, Wei Wuxian was fairly sure that the person who had brushed by them was probably not a living one — places like Yi City were usually rife with ghosts and fierce corpses. If they were still alive, then they were either very lucky — since they had survived this long — or very unlucky — because they were lost in a dead city.

“Should we follow?” Wei Wuxian asked.

But before Lan Zhan could say anything, voices floated through the fog, along with the un-rhythmic footsteps of several people walking in a disorganized manner. Maybe, he thought, this place wasn’t as dead as it looked. If some people had survived despite the cold, thick fog and the lack of outside traffic, then perhaps—

But no, he couldn’t be certain unless he checked. Fierce corpses might still move in a way that could be mistaken for living people. He pulled out a yin-burning talisman and flipped it towards the footsteps, waiting to see whether it would burst into colorful flames or not. But instead of a magical fire, sword glares blazed through the murky fog, in a whole array of colors. No, these were definitely not fierce corpses or ghosts — each sword was a spiritual weapon.

A streak of silver-and-blue-light swept past Wei Wuxian, darting through the air and blocking every sword glare with effortless ease. As Bichen defended them, Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s lean body moving behind him, and the hand on his belt slid around to encircle his waist. He wasn’t sure if the gesture was affectionate or possessive, and honestly, he didn’t care.

When all the sword glares had been deflected, Bichen flew back into its sheath. At the same time, a voice cut through the fog like a blade.

“— definitely trying to kill us—“

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. “Jin Ling?”

“Who’s there?” Jin Ling’s voice called suspiciously.

Then another familiar voice rose from the fog: “Lady Mo? Is that you?”

Wei Wuxian charged forward, with Lan Zhan only a step or two behind him. “Sizhui? What are you doing in this place?”

“We’re lost. Lady M… I mean, is Hanguang-jun with you?” Sizhui asked eagerly.

“Yes, he definitely is,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing the hand on his waist.

The youths stampeded towards them, their faces shining with eagerness as they came into Wei Wuxian’s view. Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui were at the front of the herd, with Lan Jingyi just a step behind them. The other boys were dressed in the garb of other clans — probably from clans that were respected and well-off, but not as large or impressive as the Lan or Jin clans.

Jin Ling was regarding him with his usual mixture of impatience and distaste, while Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi were respectfully waiting on Hanguang-jun to tell them what to do. But the other boys were staring intently at him, in a way that made Wei Wuxian nervous. He hadn’t met these boys before, but they were already suspicious of him?

Then one of them broke into an awkward smile, while another’s face flushed a bright red, and a third one began straightening his robes and standing a little taller. Oh. So that was the reason. Well, they were youths, after all. It was normal for them to get a little silly around a pretty woman.

“You were all being pretty reckless,” Wei Wuxian said, putting his hand on his hip. “I could have been cut to ribbons just now if Hanguang-jun wasn’t here to protect me. As for regular people—“

“There aren’t any!” Jin Ling burst out. “The entire city is deserted.”

“At least, we haven’t seen any,” Lan Sizhui said.

Wei Wuxian looked around at the fog-shrouded street. “What are you all even doing in a hellish place like this? Especially with nobody older and more experienced to back you up?”

Lan Sizhui sighed. “Well, the truth is—“

Then he fell silent — and a sharp tapping noise came from the fog. It was the same sound of bamboo striking stone and hard-packed earth. Wei Wuxian's ears pricked up as he tried to figure out where the person making the sound was — at first it seemed like it was just behind the boys, and then it was suddenly behind Lan Zhan. Far away, and near again. It moved more swiftly than any human could possibly travel — swiftly enough that no one could catch the person.

The boys began spinning around, swords in their hands, their faces panicked and wild. “It’s that — that sound again!” one boy stammered.

Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s arm tighten around his waist, and saw his husband looking around with a grim expression. Then he looked back to the juniors, and called out, “Put away your swords and stay close to each other! No, put them away — the way you’re going right now, you’re just going to end up stabbing each other!”

Some of the juniors obeyed, their faces a stark white as they looked fearfully out into the fog. Looking at them now, Wei Wuxian was vividly reminded of Night Hunts in his own youth. When he had met Lan Zhan, they had both been about the same age as these boys. Back then, he had known he was inexperienced and not yet knowledgeable about everything, but had been confident in his own abilities, and had been aware that he was much brighter and more skilled than most of his peers.

But looking at the youths now, he was struck by how painfully young and frightened they were. They had no idea what to do. Who the hell had let them go to Yi City without someone older and more experienced to make sure they didn't run into trouble?

Chapter Text

“Someone’s been following us ever since we came into this city,” Lan Jingyi said, visibly irritated.

“We keep seeing a small figure running past us in the fog, and then tapping with a bamboo stick,” Lan Sizhui added earnestly. “We haven’t been able to catch up to them, and we don’t know where they’ll show up next.”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “How long has this been going on?”

“Ever since we arrived — half an incense time.”

“Only half…” Wei Wuxian’s voice trailed off, and he quickly looked back over his shoulder. Lan Zhan was standing there, his stomach pressed against Wei Wuxian’s back, looking even more ethereal in the thick coiling fog. “Hanguang-jun, how long have WE been here?”

“Approximately one incense time,” Lan Zhan replied.

“So we’ve been in the city longer than you have, yet we just got here and you managed to get ahead of us and then double back.”

“We didn’t double back,” Lan Jingyi said, frustrated. “We went in a straight line down this street.”

Unease crept through Wei Wuxian, like a snake slithering through the grass. Had someone set up an array to make sure nobody could leave the city once they entered? And if they had… why would they do something like this? If the city was as dead as it seemed to be, there would be no benefit in trapping people inside it. It might mean that there WAS someone else in the city, someone watching from a distance.

And that someone might be the reason Yi City was dead.

Wei Wuxian sighed, absently stroking Lan Zhan’s hand. “Has anyone tried to fly above the fog with a sword?”

“I did,” Lan Sizhui said forlornly. “It felt like I had flown up all the way into the sky, but I had barely risen at all. Even worse, there were… things flying around in the air.”

“Things?”

“Shadows. I wasn’t sure that I could handle them, especially by myself, so I came back down.”

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if I had brought Fairy with me,” Jin Ling groused, crossing his arms. “It’s all the fault of your stupid donkey!”

Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi launched into a spirited battle of words over whether the donkey or the dog was in the right, and which one had the stupider name. The other boys watched anxiously, before glancing out into the fog around them. Wei Wuxian was distracted from the confrontation by the face that Lan Zhan was holding him even tighter than before, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

Suddenly both Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi were silent, except for some faint noises, as if someone had pressed a cloth over their mouths. Wei Wuxian frowned. “Are you guys still there?” he called.

More noises from all around, each one muffled and wordless.

“They were loud,” Lan Zhan said in a cool voice.

Wei Wuxian grinned up at him. He had been subject to the silencing charm of the Lan clan in the past, and it seemed that Lan Zhan had gotten even better at it in the last thirteen years, if he could silence a dozen boys all at the same time.

Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi were both making furious noises at each other, even with their lips sealed. Wei Wuxian was about to tell them to stop when he heard something — footsteps.

Unlike the juniors in front of him, these footsteps were hesitant, slow, without rhythm. It was as if the ones walking were struggling to do so… and the noise was coming from all around them. Wei Wuxian stared into the thick fog, his eyes straining to see through the wall of white on every side. And then he smelled it — the thick, gag-inducing stench of decay. They were surrounded by walking corpses.

He relaxed as he realized that they weren’t in any real danger — but he hear the youths making panicked noises around him, and scuttling around in the fog. They weren’t so young or inexperienced that ordinary walking corpses could be a danger to them, but having so many of them turn up and surround them — in a dead, seemingly cursed city wreathed with fog — would be an unnerving experience even for an experienced cultivator.

Wei Wuxian pursed his lips and let out a soft whistle, compelling the walking corpses to be gone. He heard the footsteps around him slow and stumble, as the command took effect — only for them to suddenly lurch forward, moving more quickly through the fog.

“What?” Wei Wuxian said, his brow wrinkling. “But I—“

Bichen sliced through the fog like a falling star, its blue glare shining through even the thick fog of Yi City as it spun around the crowd of youths. The corpses were sliced in half at the waist, falling in pieces to the ground and lying there motionless. Then it swept towards Lan Zhan and slipped back into its scabbard.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathed, so softly that only the two of them could hear it.

Wei Wuxian clutched at his husband’s arm. He felt like his blood had turned to ice. This didn’t seem possible. These walking corpses had been slow, rotted, mindless and clumsy, nothing special like Wen Ning. Just the sight of him should frighten them away — and if that wasn’t enough, they should flee at the slightest show of his power. He terrified such creatures. Yet they not only hadn't tried to escape him — they had become more aggressive. It didn’t make sense.

Wait… it did.

But only… only if they were being controlled by the Yin Tiger Tally.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “We have a serious problem. Someone here in Yi City is using these corpses against us deliberately — and I don’t think I can stop them, because they have—“

But then a scream arose from the youths. Lan Zhan must have released them from the silencing spell, Wei Wuxian thought as he whipped around, just as Bichen sliced through the fog once again. Its glare briefly illuminated a large figure that had lurched out of the fog, looming over the boys. Then the sword sliced through it as easily as it would slice through paper — and instead of a wet meaty sound, it made an odd popping. Then a new round of cries arose.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped, and he rushed forward into the fog, leaving Lan Zhan behind. If one of those boys had been hurt — “What’s wrong? What did it do?” he called out.

There was a loud spitting noise. “There was something in that corpse,” Lan Jingyi sputtered. “Some kind of powder.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. He had a pretty good idea of what that powder contained, and what it could do to the living who were unlucky enough to inhale it. The corpse itself had been a trap — and if someone had thought to set a trap like that, they weren’t just dangerous, but devious. He pressed a hand to his mouth, and shouted between his fingers, “Get away from that corpse! Hold your breath!”

He heard scuttling footsteps coming from somewhere ahead in the fog. At the same time, he felt a solid body moving just behind him, and a hand gripping his arm. Despite the dire situation, he felt a little comforted by the presence of his husband.

“If these kids weren’t here,” he whispered, “I’d drag you into the nearest shop for a few hours and do some very un-Lan-like things to you.”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer. Wei Wuxian sighed. Maybe he was annoyed.

Wei Wuxian turned back in the direction of the youths. “Lan Jingyi, come over to me and let me check you over!”

“I can’t see you, and your voice seems like it’s coming from everywhere,” Lan Jingyi complained. “Where are you?”

“Okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian said. He turned to Lan Zhan, and said loudly, “Hanguang-jun, draw your sword. Kids, come over to the light when he does.”

He expected the blue glow to appear beside him, illuminating Lan Zhan’s face as it cut through the fog. But the familiar icy glow suddenly sprang up several steps away, blurred by the fog but not completely obscured. Wei Wuxian stared in disbelief, and fear suddenly crawled down his spine like so many centipedes. If Lan Zhan was over there… who was standing behind him, holding his arm?

Chapter Text

Instinctively, Wei Wuxian spun around and rammed his fist into the chest of the person behind him. His skin was crawling at the thought that someone other than Lan Zhan had been touching him in the fog, and he hadn’t been aware of it. But when his fist struck the man’s chest, he twisted sideways, and Wei Wuxian was left staring at a billowing mass of black smoke where his face should be.

Suddenly an iron-solid arm was wrapped around him, jerking him off his feet, and a hand grasped the pouch hanging from his belt… only for the strings binding it shut to snap like twigs, and the screaming voices of angry ghosts suddenly filled the air. The youths’ voices also rose in cries of fear and horror, apparently startled by the shrieking spirits making their appearance on the scene.

“Nice try,” Wei Wuxian panted. “You grabbed my spirit-trapping pouch instead!”

He still couldn’t see the man’s face, but he had the feeling that he was angry. That unfamiliar hand tightened around his throat, fingers digging into the flesh of his throat — his feet scraped uselessly at the ground, unable to get any leverage — all he could do was pummel his elbows into the man’s stomach with all his strength, and hope that was enough to make him pause. Sure enough, the fingers loosened —

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouted hoarsely. “It’s the graverobber! I need some—“

Then he was slammed into the ground, so hard that it knocked the wind out of his lungs. There was the sound of a sword being unsheathed nearby — a blade enveloped in black smoke — and swept through the roiling, resentful spirits. They were sent into confusion, howling and spinning through the air.

Then a swathe of blue light cut through the fog overhead — followed by the sound of steel crashing against steel, and the whisper of robes swishing as Lan Zhan swooped down like a bird of prey. Even though he couldn’t see him, Wei Wuxian felt a rush of relief at the thought that Lan Zhan had found him, and started to scrabble across the ground so he wouldn’t get in the way of the fight.

But the relief drained away as he realized that unlike at the graveyard, Lan Zhan was at a disadvantage here. Bichen’s icy glow would let the graverobber see exactly where his blade was at all times, while the graverobber’s own sword was hidden behind a veil of dark smoke. Lan Zhan was illuminating himself, surrounding himself with light, while the graverobber was shrouded in darkness, almost invisible to Lan Zhan’s eyes. Even a swordsman as impressive as Lan Zhan might lose under these circumstances. And finally, Lan Zhan was surrounded by people he didn’t want to hurt by accident, while the graverobber either wanted them harmed or didn’t care.

A strong hand grasped Wei Wuxian’s elbow, and for a moment he thought it was Lan Zhan — but no, Bichen was still slicing through the fog.

“Lady Mo!” Lan Sizhui panted, hauling him up to his feet.

Wei Wuxian scurried out of the range of the fight, with Lan Sizhui gripping his arm with one hand and stretching the other arm across his back. He glanced back at where Lan Zhan was, and saw that Bichen’s slashes and whirls were further away now — and moving even further as he watched. Lan Zhan was leading the fight away from Wei Wuxian and the boys, so that he could fight without holding back out of fear that he would hurt someone.

Which just left them alone, in the fog. With walking corpses roaming around. And some unknown enemy that might be using a rebuilt Yin Tiger Tally. Great.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and shook himself. He had to focus on the more immediate problem right now., which was the boys that had been left in his care. After all, he was the only adult here, and all of these kids were too young and inexperienced to get themselves out of the mess they were currently in. And since Lan Zhan wasn’t here—

“Okay, everyone huddle around me,” he ordered.

The boys obeyed — some a little too eagerly. He placed a slender hand on each of their foreheads, and then ordered, “Stick out your tongues, all of you. Say ahh!”

The boys did as he said, and some of them — Lan Jingyi and a few others that were also feverish — had a dark stain on their tongues. It was exactly as Wei Wuxian had thought.

“Congratulations,” he said, dusting off his hands. “You’ve got corpse poisoning!”

“What do you mean, ‘congratulations?’” Jin Ling demanded.

“It’s something interesting you can tell your grandkids one day,” Wei Wuxian said. “Of course, we have to cure you first.”

“Do you have the antidote, Lady Mo?” Lan Sizhui asked anxiously.

Wei Wuxian did not — he hadn’t had to worry about corpse poisoning since he had developed demonic cultivation. No walking corpse would dare to scratch or bite him, and he had been traveling for weeks with Lan Zhan, who was also too formidable for them to cause trouble for. And normally, a group of budding cultivators wouldn’t have been infected either, since each of them had a spiritual sword and a fair amount of training. But with that trap — the powder —

“All right,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “All of you listen. You want to be cured, right?”

They all nodded emphatically.

“Then do exactly what I say and pay attention to every word. Every one of you.”

“But—“ Jin Ling started to say.

“Every one,” Wei Wuxian said, raising a finger.

Most of the boys agreed immediately, and the few that didn’t agreed after a few seconds of consideration. None of them except the Lan youths and Jin Ling knew who he was, but he supposed that he had some authority over them by proxy, since he was obviously very close to Hanguang-jun. Most of the boys probably didn’t even know they were married — talking about Hanguang-jun’s shameful marriage would probably count as gossip to the Lan boys.

On the other hand, he wasn’t sure if the boys would obey a woman as easily as they did a man. Especially if they hadn’t been partly raised by a woman as strong and terrifying as Madam Yu. It was probably a good thing that they were all scared enough to immediately follow whatever responsible adult — when had he become one of THOSE? — was nearby and telling them what to do.

“All right, the ones who aren’t poisoned are going to carry the poisoned ones,” he ordered. “Keep the head and heart elevated—“

“I don’t need to be carried,” Lan Jingyi objected.

“Didn’t I just say that you had to do what I said?” Wei Wuxian said impatiently. “The more you move, the faster the corpse poison will reach your heart — and when that happens, I won’t be able to do anything.”

Jingyi reluctantly allowed himself to be picked up by one of the unpoisoned boys. Once all of them were hoisted up on someone’s back, Wei Wuxian peered through the mist at the dark, looming shapes of buildings on every side of them. “Okay,” he said steadily. “We can’t get out of the city to find what we need, so we’ll have to find it in one of these houses. Start knocking on doors and don’t stop until one of them opens.”

“Are you insane —“ Jin Ling started to say, before choking back the question. “Never mind. But it’s dangerous enough out in these streets — it could be even worse if we go into a confined space. There are walking corpses out here — something even worse might be in there!”

Wei Wuxian turned around just in time to see anxiety ripple through the youths’ faces. Several of them looked around anxiously, as if they might spot something fearsome in the houses that surrounded them. They needed to be assured that this path was the right one, he reflected.

“Well, that’s true,” he said, crossing his arms. “There could be something worse in the houses… or there might not. Having been poisoned, things can’t get much worse, though. So keep close to each other, and follow me.”

Chapter Text

None of the houses that they knocked at seemed to be occupied. Jin Ling hammered his fist on each one’s door, and received only stifling silence. But when he suggested breaking down the door, Wei Wuxian immediately said, “No, we need a house with people in it. We’ll keep knocking until we find a house with somebody inside.”

“Why? We need to find a house to get inside if we’re going to cure them, right?!” Jin Ling burst out furiously.

“An empty house won’t have what we need in it,” Wei Wuxian said sternly. “Keep knocking.”

“Yes, Mom… I mean, Lady Mo!” one of the boys blurted out.

His heart was in his throat as the boys shuffled from door to door, knocking at each one. He just hoped that someone in this dead city was still in their home, hiding from the horrors outside. If they weren’t, then finding glutinous rice might be a difficult task — and without glutinous rice, those kids were doomed. That wasn’t going to happen, he told himself. They would find something that could cure the corpse powder, and he would find someplace where they could regroup and figure out what to do next. Then he and Lan Zhan—

Then Wei Wuxian’s stomach clenched. That was right. Lan Zhan wasn’t with him.

He glanced over his shoulder at the thick, impenetrable fog that flooded the street, straining his eyes for some hint of blue light. They hadn’t seen or heard Lan Zhan for several minutes, ever since he had drawn their attacker away. Given the amount of noise the boys were generating, shuffling around and banging on doors, that could only mean that he couldn’t rejoin them because he was still fighting.

You’re being stupid, he told himself. Lan Zhan had been an outstanding swordsman even when he had just been a boy, and his cultivation was very high. Even with a handicap like limited vision or the enemy knowing his sword style, he was more than capable of dealing with this graverobber. He wouldn’t get hurt, even if the enemy was skilled and powerful. It was just unthinkable… wasn’t it?

Then a firm hand settled on his shoulder. “Lady Mo.”

Wei Wuxian turned around, startled. Lan Sizhui was standing behind him, his face solemn. “Sorry?” he said faintly.

“You don’t have to worry about Hanguang-jun,” the youth said with an encouraging smile. “He’s probably more concerned that you keep yourself out of danger while he’s protecting us. He’ll be all right.”

“Of course he will!” Wei Wuxian said, a little nervously. “I’m not worried!”

And then an unpleasant thought crossed his mind. Someone in this city was using the Yin Tiger Tally, or something of similar power and intent. But he suspected that the one carrying it was not the graverobber that Lan Zhan was fighting. With the Yin Tiger Tally, a person could summon an army of the dead to serve him mindlessly — and that stranger had scuffled with him in the street and fought Lan Zhan with a sword. And when he had tried to retrieve the torso previously, he hadn’t commanded the dead all around him to bring it to him.

No. He didn’t have it. Which meant some other person was using it from a distance, and watching them. That person might be watching them all right now — from anywhere — and they wouldn’t know it. That only left one question — was the person with the Yin Tiger Tally in league with the man with the smoke concealing his face? Or had they just been spectacularly unlucky, to encounter two enemies at once?

He pressed his lips together. He wished Lan Zhan was there for several reasons, and that included having someone to talk to about his deductions. He couldn’t tell the youths about what he had figured out — it would send them into a panic when they needed it least.

“Is anyone in there?” Lan Sizhui’s voice rang out through the fog, pulling Wei Wuxian back to the present.

And then the door in front of them opened — barely more than a slit, but wide enough for Wei Wuxian to see darkness inside. The boys scuttled back slightly, eyes wide.

Lan Sizhui asked quietly, “Are you the owner of this shop?”

There was a long pause, and then a hoarse voice murmured, “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian stepped in front of Sizhui, pasting a soothing smile on his face and speaking in low, pleasant tones. “Hello, ma’am. We’re some travelers who are lost in the fog, and some of us have become very tired from walking about. Would you let us rest in your store?”

He had to wait another minute before the hoarse voice replied, “This isn’t the place to rest.”

“But all the other houses and shops near here are empty,” Wei Wuxian said in the same pleasant voice. “You’re the only person we’ve come across.” Aside from the corpses, he thought.

There was another long pause, and then the door opened slightly more. There was a woman inside, her face slack and expressionless. It was hard to tell how old she was — her messy, stringy hair was white, and she was huddled over as if something was weighing on her shoulders. Yet her skin wasn’t too wrinkled, or at least it didn’t look that way in the fog and darkness.

Wei Wuxian quietly slipped his foot into the doorway, ready to block it if the person inside tried to slam it shut again, and shifted towards the door so that it looked like he was simply coming towards it. If the woman refused to let them in, he would kick the door down and pay her back for the damage afterwards. Assuming she wasn’t too far gone to accept money. There was something horribly wrong about the slackness of her face, the emptiness of her dark eyes.

But the woman didn’t seem to notice his foot. She simply moved away, letting them step inside. The boys slowly turned to look at Wei Wuxian, their youthful faces filled with fear and apprehension — as if they were all silently pleading with him to tell them not to go inside. Wei Wuxian stepped into the darkened shop, his eyes darting around the space for a sign of anything sinister that might be lurking there. The boys followed him, a few of them carrying the poisoned ones, and as the last one stepped inside, the old woman shut the door firmly behind them.

Wei Wuxian could barely see anything in the darkness — just a few outlines from the light that was creeping through holes in the walls. He squinted through the darkness, and crept closer to the shapes —

— only for a small oil lamp to suddenly flare up behind him. Then Lan Sizhui let out a faint squeak of fear, and the boys scuttled back several steps, clutching at each other in their fear.There were dozens of shapes hanging over them — human-shaped bodies, but strangely pallid and staring down at them with unblinking, white eyes.

“Relax,” Wei Wuxian said to the youths. “They’re only paper effigies. Funerary goods. Nothing to be scared of.”

He circled around the room, surveying the paper effigies, and then glanced back at the boys. They seemed to have calmed down somewhat, now that they knew that the place wasn’t full of more corpses — and a few of them looked embarrassed now. Probably, Wei Wuxian thought, it was that they had shown such bloodcurdling fear in front of a pretty woman.

He turned back to the old woman, who seemed to be flinching at the oil lamp’s faint light. “I’m sorry to bother you, auntie, but these kids need some food after being out so long. May I use your kitchen?”

“Whatever,” the old woman said, turning away from him and scurrying into the next room. “Help yourselves.” Then she slammed the door shut.

No, that woman was definitely not all right, Wei Wuxian thought. But he couldn’t worry about that now. The old woman didn’t seem to be dangerous, though, so unless she showed some signs of aggression, he would leave her alone for now. The most important thing was finding the glutinous rice — and he just hoped that she had it.

Chapter Text

The kitchen stank. The air reeked of rotten meat, as if someone or something large had died in some dark, moldy corner and no one had ever removed the body. After years of dealing with corpses of all kinds, Wei Wuxian had more or less become immune to the stench of decay, but he had to admit that in this confined space, it was unpleasant.

Behind him, Sizhui gagged violently, pressing a hand to his mouth. Jin Ling simply sprang back out of the room, waving a hand in front of his face. “What a stink! Why are we wasting time in here instead of making a cure?”

“Perfect timing,” Wei Wuxian said, poking around in various jars and pots. “Come help me with this.”

“I’m not helping! Especially not in a place that stinks like this.”

“Then call in someone who will help, Young Mistress Jin. We don’t need people underfoot—”

“How dare you call me that!”

There was suddenly a flurry of footsteps outside, and four other boys rushed into the room. Jin Ling had to rush out of the doorway to avoid being trampled by them, and his irritated expression only intensified.

The four boys approached Wei Wuxian eagerly, their eyes bright — and then their faces turned pale, with faint greenish tinges to their skin. Still, they approached him with determined expressions, while a sulky Jin Ling followed them with a handkerchief pressed over his afflicted nose.

“Can we help you, Lady Mo?” one of the boys asked.

“You absolutely can,” Wei Wuxian said, a smile crossing his face. “Try to take shallow breaths. Hold on — I think the smell is coming from here—“

More of the stench rolled out as he opened a wooden box, enough to make his eyes water. Inside were a few pieces of rotten meat that had probably once been a chicken and a lump of pork, but which were now green, oozing and covered in wriggling maggots. He quickly shut the box again, and heaved it into Jin Ling’s arms before the boy could protest.

“Take this outside quickly, and dump it out where we can’t smell it,” Wei Wuxian said, wiping his hands absently on his thighs.

Jin Ling almost retched, but he darted out the door in a cloud of stench, still clutching the reeking box. As he vanished to the front of the building, Wei Wuxian heard several disgusted cries from the boys that had remained in the other room. “Why are you bringing that thing in here?” Lan Jingyi shouted. “Get it outside! I already felt sick, and you’re making it worse!”

Wei Wuxian turned around, and saw that Lan Sizhui was diligently cleaning the stovetop. The other four boys had apparently decided to pitch in on the cleaning without even being asked, even though Wei Wuxian was fairly sure that none of them had cleaned anything before in their lives. Still, he wasn’t going to complain about their help, especially when they were so eager to give it. Two of the boys had already drawn water and started wiping off the table, while the third had grabbed a nearby broom and was charging around the room in a cloud of dust.

The fourth boy looked around a little anxiously, and then approached Wei Wuxian with his eyes slightly lowered. “Lady Mo,” he said shyly. “What should I do?”

“Those pots are a little dusty. They could use a wash,” Wei Wuxian said. “What’s your name?”

“Ouyang Zizhen,” the boy said with new eagerness, and a faint flush on his cheeks.

Inwardly, Wei Wuxian sighed. He would need to find a way to keep this boy’s crush from getting out of control. He didn’t want to hurt him, though — if he had learned anything from Lan Zhan in recent days, it was that a teenage boy’s heart could be as delicate as any maiden’s.

Wei Wuxian continued poking through the kitchen, until he stumbled across what he was looking for — a box full of glutinous rice, which was thankfully free of dust and pests. He should be able to make enough congee to cure all of the afflicted boys, and they would still have enough to treat a few more people if they were also hit with the corpse powder. At least they knew what to avoid now.

Ouyang Zizhen had just finished scrubbing the dust from a large pot, which he eagerly held out for inspection. “Great job,” Wei Wuxian said, pouring rice into the pot and then upending some fresh water into it. “Now we can cook.”

*

Without being too obvious about it, Lan Sizhui kept an eye on Mo Lian.

Hanguang-jun had left the group without saying a word to his wife or his ward. But Lan Sizhui was fairly certain that he knew what his guardian would want him to do. Lan Wangji had been very protective of Mo Lian during the brief time she had been with him, and that had probably not changed in the last few weeks. With him gone, that left Lan Sizhui to watch over her, and make sure nothing happened to her.

Hanguang-jun wasn’t his father — his parents had died when he was very little, he had been told — but Lan Sizhui knew that the man had taken special care of him ever since he had been little. He had been six years old when Lan Wangji came out of seclusion, and he still remembered being led out to meet that tall, imposing figure in immaculate white. He had been shy and nervous at first, until he realized that Lan Wangji wasn’t really a frightening person, once you got to know him.

In the years since, Lan Wangji had often spent time with Lan Sizhui even when he wasn’t teaching him or taking him on Night Hunts. He still remembered the day when Lan Wangji had buried him in a pile of wriggling, soft rabbits, his eyes softening as the boy giggled and squirmed, and the rabbits nibbled the vegetables in his hands. He wasn’t sure why Lan Wangji had taken such an interest in him, but he was grateful for it.

He glanced over in Mo Lian’s direction. She had a number of small bowls and jars in front of her, and was liberally pouring red powders and dried peppers into the pot. A burst of spicy-smelling steam rose from it, and she mumbled something that sounded pleased.

Lan Sizhui wasn’t sure exactly was going on with her, though. She had acted as if she was insane when they first met, and had sporadically continued during the days they had traveled to Cloud Recesses. But after the severed arm had caused mayhem there, she acted as if she was perfectly well mentally, and now… now she acted like an entirely different person, commanding the boys with the surety of an experienced cultivator. Maybe getting her away from her abusive family really had helped her, he thought. Being on the road with Hanguang-jun seemed to have really made her a different person…

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Lan Sizhui quickly turned around. It was Ouyang Zizhen, whose face had been flushed ever since he came into the room.

“What’s wrong?” Lan Sizhui asked.

“Not so loud! It’s about Lady Mo,” Ouyang Zizhen said in a hushed voice.

Lan Sizhui stiffened. “What about her?”

“You seem like you know something about her. Can you tell me who she is, where she comes from? She seems very knowledgeable but I’ve never heard of her before,” Ouyang Zizhen said eagerly.

Lan Sizhui was silent for a moment, taking in Ouyang Zizhen’s shining eyes and flushed cheeks. So, that was the reason. He hadn’t been paying attention when Ouyang Zizhen and the other three boys had come into the kitchen, but now all four were huddling around him, anxiously awaiting some kind of answer about Mo Lian.

He had to nip this in the bud before they got any ideas about the beautiful woman who was currently pouring a whole bowl of paprika into the pot. Hanguang-jun wouldn’t be pleased if he came back and found a bunch of teenage boys sniffing around his new wife.

“Why is she traveling around with Hanguang-jun?” one of the other boys asked.

“Is she a friend of his?” another one asked hopefully.

Lan Sizhui leaned back slightly. “No, she’s not,” he said firmly. “She’s his wife.”

All four of them stared at him in disbelief, their dark eyes widening at this news. Then some of them looked back at Mo Lian as she stood at the shadowy far end of the kitchen, surrounded by a halo of spicy-smelling steam.

“Wife?” one of the boys asked dazedly.

“Hanguang-jun is MARRIED?” Ouyang Zizhen asked, looking as if someone had slapped him in the face.

“I didn’t hear anything about that!” another boy said, sounding slightly offended. “We would have heard something as major as Hanguang-jun getting married, wouldn’t we?” He glanced around at the others, as if appealing for some kind of sense.

“It only happened a few weeks ago,” Lan Sizhui said quietly. “It was very sudden.”

“Does that mean she’s…” The first boy glanced over his shoulder at Mo Lian, and lowered his voice. “Pregnant?”

“That’s gossip, and it’s against my sect’s rules,” Lan Sizhui said firmly. The truth was that he didn’t know, but it seemed like a likely scenario, given how quickly the marriage had been arranged. He had decided not to think about the possibility unless Hanguang-jun told him one way or another.

“I guess it makes sense,” the fourth boy said slowly. “Traveling around like this wouldn’t be appropriate if they weren’t married, would it?”

A few of the other youths sighed, and all of them looked crestfallen. Lan Sizhui felt a stab of sympathy for them, but he knew it was probably better for them to know now, than to risk displeasing Lan Wangji by crushing on his wife later.

Chapter Text

The fog was thicker than any of the mists that veiled Cloud Recesses, even during the colder winter months. It seemed to seep everywhere in this dead city, blanketing every building until Lan Wangji could barely see even buildings that were an arms-length ahead of him. The only thing that seemed to cut through the murky fog was Bichen’s glow — and that was a problem, since his enemy could see his sword as easily as he could.

He silently sheathed the sword, extinguishing its pale blue light, but ready to draw it again at a moment’s notice. He lightly leaped up onto the low rooftop of a nearby building. Wind was blowing through the streets, swirling the fog around him but never thinning or dispelling it. If anything, it seemed to be thickening.

Lan Wangji’s lips pressed together. He had spent a lifetime honing his senses until they were as keen as Bichen’s blade. Especially his sight and hearing. Though it went against every instinct, he closed his eyes.

At first, all he heard was the whistling of the wind over the rooftops. Then he heard other sounds — the slow, stumbling steps of the walking corpses, the faint hollow thuds of their bodies colliding with walls, carts, other corpses. They sounded aimless, unaware. If anything was controlling them or augmenting their aggressions, it seemed to have stopped for the moment.

Lan Wangji took a deep breath. Perhaps the man he had been fighting had retreated for now. Or maybe… maybe he had doubled back when Lan Wangji couldn’t see him…

Icy fear spiked through him. If the man had left the area, he could only be heading back towards Wei Ying, Lan Sizhui and the other youths. Wei Ying was at a disadvantage right now — he had no sword, his cultivation was weak, and for some reason his demonic cultivation didn’t seem to be affecting the corpses around them. Lan Wangji had faith that Lan Sizhui would defend Wei Ying with everything he had — but he was only sixteen. His swordsmanship was nowhere near as adept as the man Lan Wangji had been fighting — and he very much doubted that any of the other youths was any more skilled.

Just as he turned to go, he heard other footsteps in the fog. Lighter, quicker, smoother, moving with decisive direction. A living person’s footsteps.

There you are, he thought.

He opened his eyes and silently leaped down into the fog, ready to send Bichen soaring across the streets at a moment’s notice. Not just yet, though. He had to be closer before he revealed his presence. Closer. Not close enough yet.

Lan Wangji moved swiftly and silently through the fog, his heart racing as he listened for more footsteps. And as his piercing eyes searched through the fog, he felt something spiking up inside him — the same searing, consuming rage towards the man he was pursuing, rage that could have burned down the entirety of Yi City if he could have transformed it into flames. He would have wanted to hunt down the man even if he hadn’t touched Wei Ying, but that… that had made it personal.

The other men who had flirted with Wei Ying had filled him with jealousy, but this was much more intense. Not only had the man touched Wei Ying — touched him, when only Lan Wangji should be able to — but he had struck him to the ground. Their enemy might have even been planning to kill Wei Ying with that smoke-clouded blade, if Lan Wangji hadn’t been able to intervene in time.

He wasn’t sure whether the dead man filled with corpse powder had been a trap by the graverobber, though. His cultivation was high, but he didn’t seem to be very creative in his endeavours — not enough to fill a whole city with fog and turn its residents into walking corpses. Nor, Lan Wangji reflected, did he seem to have any special affinity for the dead, like Wei Ying did. No, someone else was pulling those strings, someone with immense cleverness and no compassion or heart whatsoever.

That only increased his unease. If someone else was abroad in Yi City, that meant that Wei Ying and the boys were targets. He needed to finish the graverobber quickly and get back to them.

He was about to unsheathe Bichen when he heard more swift footsteps — this time behind him. They pattered quickly through the fog, paired with the sound of the bamboo cane tapping the ground.

Unsure, Lan Wangji turned towards them. They sounded like the footsteps of a living person, with purpose and direction, not the shuffling stumbling steps of a walking corpse. But no — they were too quick sometimes, and…. there… he could hear them coming from another direction than they had been a few seconds before. No living human could move so quickly. It was probably a ghost, he thought.

But if it was a ghost, it didn’t seem to be an immediate threat to anyone. More a nuisance. It hadn’t harmed any of the youths before his and Wei Ying’s arrival, merely unnerved them with its presence. No, he didn’t have cause to chase after it when there were far more immediate threats — threats that were very much alive.

The only problem was that the bamboo cane made it difficult to differentiate the footsteps in the fog. Lan Wangji closed his eyes again, a line appearing between his furrowed brows, as he tried to separate the two sounds — yes — he could hear the graverobber moving not too far away, trying to keep his footsteps from making too much noise. But Lan Wangji could still hear the faint scuffing of boots on the packed earth, the whisper of cloth brushing against some object, heavy breaths —

His eyes flew open.

The glare of another sword sliced through the fog — just as Bichen flew from its sheath and blocked it effortlessly. The glowing blade sliced forward through the murk, guided by Lan Wangji’s will even though he couldn’t see his target.

His heart was racing as the sound of steel clamoring against steel rang out, a sharp icy sound that seemed to cut through the thick, heavy silence. There were only a few times in his life when he had been so intensely desperate to stop an enemy. One of those times had been the night when he had fought his own clan to save an exhausted Wei Ying from death, knowing that the outcome would probably be his own.

The man with the smoke hiding his face knew how to defend against the Lan sword techniques, as if he knew them well. Was Lan Wangji fighting his own again? Was this man someone he knew?

It wasn’t his brother. It couldn’t be.

And yet… and yet… there were only a few people it could be. Someone with strong cultivation — someone who knew the Nie and Lan clans intimately — someone who was well-known enough that he would need to hide his face and sword. This vicious, murderous man who had scattered a dismembered corpse across different regions… he couldn’t possibly be Lan Xichen. And yet, there were few other people whom it could be.

… no. He would not let himself think such a thing.

Lan Wangji ruthlessly pushed the thought out of his head, and raised his hand to summon Bichen back to his hand. The blade sliced through the fog as it flew back to him, and he saw a dark stain on its edge. As he surveyed the crimson drops dripping from the tip, he heard harsh breaths coming from somewhere nearby — and footsteps, growing steadily fainter.

Gritting his teeth, Lan Wangji plunged forward into the fog.

Chapter Text

Jin Ling came back in not long after, his face still faintly green and his nose wrinkled. He was scrubbing his hands with a handkerchief, as if trying to expunge the last traces of rotten meat and its stink from himself.

Not for the first time, Wei Wuxian found himself sighing, remembering another haughty Jin boy of about the same age who had once gotten into a fistfight with him. Why couldn’t Jin Ling have inherited the personality of his humble, sweet-natured mother? Although, if he had been even partially raised by Jiang Cheng, that probably was never going to happen.

Jin Ling came closer to the stove, and his eyes widened as he looked down into the pot. “Is that congee?” he asked incredulously.

“Yep.”

Jin Ling stared at him in clear irritation, and then threw his handkerchief onn the ground. “What the hell are you wasting time with THAT for?” he demanded. “I thought you were making a cure!”

“I am,” Wei Wuxian said calmly, lifting a spoonful of the congee. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s bland and watery.”

“Well, you won’t be having any.”

Jin Ling bristled like an angry cat. “Why not? I did my part by getting rid of the stink, and I don’t even get any congee.

Wei Wuxian had to fight the urge to give Jin Ling a smack with his spoon. Not one that would really hurt — just enough to show the boy that he was misbehaving and warn him off. “You already said you didn’t want any. And even if you did, the congee is only for the people who’ve been poisoned.”

“Congee isn’t going to fix anything!”

“Of course it will. Glutinous rice is a folk remedy for corpse powder — it will purify and neutralize the poison. We could have just rubbed it on if they were bitten or scratched, but since they breathed it in, congee is the best solution.”

“That’s why you wanted a house with someone in it,” Lan Sizhui said, rushing over to the stove a little breathlessly. “Because only an occupied house would have glutinous rice, right?”

Wei Wuxian smiled. “Exactly.” He felt a sudden surge of fondness for this bright young Lan — he was calm, quick to action and clever, but more importantly, he was also kind by nature. No wonder Lan Zhan had taken this duckling under his wing.

But… there was something oddly familiar about his face and eyes, as if they had met somewhere before, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t exactly place it. He had a bad memory in general, and that included the ability to completely forget people sometimes. Ah well, he was probably related to some other Lan that Wei Wuxian had met at Cloud Recesses, and that was where the resemblance came from.

His thoughts were disrupted suddenly by Jin Ling’s piercing voice. “The rice is probably bad anyway. This kitchen looked like nobody had cooked anything in it for months and months. What has that old woman been eating all this time, if she wasn’t eating meat or rice?”

“It’s possible,” Wei Wuxian said, tasting the congee, “that she doesn’t need to eat.”

Jin Ling blanched.

Lan Sizhui glanced at the door, as if afraid that the old woman was listening to them. “But she’s still breathing,” he said softly. “How’s that possible?”

Wei Wuxian glanced over at their faces, and decided to keep that information to himself for now. It would only scare them if they knew the things that could happen in places like this, especially with their friends and relatives poisoned in the very next room. He could explain more later, once they were safer. “Speaking of which,” he said, “how did all of you end up in this city, of all places? I don’t believe for a second that it just was a coincidence, especially since this place is effectively dead.”

The boys looked at each other, and the four others who were diligently cleaning slowed down as they watched and listened. “All of us,” Jin Ling said in an unexpectedly serious voice, “were chasing something. I left Qinghe after you got away from my uncle — I was afraid he would figure out I helped you out of that hotel.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes gleamed. “What were you chasing?”

“We don’t know exactly,” Lan Sizhui said. “It hasn’t shown itself, so we don’t know if it’s a person or a ghost, or what they might be working for.”

Jin Ling blurted out the story after that — about how his dog had started barking while he was trying to sleep at an inn. The next morning he found a black cat, killed and nailed over his door, with a pool of blood puddling underneath it. His voice quavered a little as he recounted it, and his eyes stared intently at the air in front of him as he relived it. That had really scared him, Wei Wuxian reflected, because he was fairly sure that Jin Ling was not the sort of person to admit when he was frightened.

“I would have dismissed it as a prank if it had only happened once,” Jin Ling added after finishing his story. “But I changed inns several times, and changed rooms in the inns even more often. Dead cats kept ending up wherever I went. So I started investigating.”

“Something similar happened to us,” Lan Sizhui said with revulsion in his voice. “We were Night Hunting in Langye, and a dead cat turned up in our food. Jingyi spent all night being sick. We thought it was a disgusting prank too, but when we checked into another inn, another dead cat turned up — and another, and another —“ He grimaced. “We ran into Young Master Jin in Yueyang, found out the same thing was happening to him, and ended up bumping into some other clan heirs who were also being targeted. We ended up coming to this region and… a huntsman in a nearby village directed us to this place. That was when we encountered you and Hanguang-jun, Lady Mo.”

“All of you encountered dead cats?” Wei Wuxian said, turning to the other four boys.

They all nodded furiously, their faces suddenly pale and frightened.

Wei Wuxian chewed his lip as he thought, stirring the congee furiously without really thinking about it. It seemed that whoever had caused the boys to come here hadn’t really hurt them — the person had only frightened them. This person might not have even meant to lure them to Yi City at first, since it might have simply sent the boys fleeing home rather than inspiring them to uncover what was really going on.

Still, he didn’t like it. They had been led into a dangerous place without foreknowledge of anything that might be waiting for them, and no adults to guide them. They had also departed from Yueyang, which he and Lan Zhan had just left. Had the boys been specifically guided to meet up with him and Lan Zhan, for some reason known only to the one who was conspiring against them? What did they want the boys there for?

And that didn’t even tackle the subject of the Yin Tiger Tally. The thought that someone might have reconstructed the half that he had destroyed made his blood run cold. He hadn’t known that anyone in the world had the knowledge or the skill to do that, but evidently someone had. Even worse, that person was in Yi City right now, and he or she seemed to be antagonistic towards all of them. It also wasn’t much of a leap to think that that person was also the reason Yi City was a dead city filled with traps and wandering corpses.

That just left one question: was this malevolent person the one who had lured them to Yi City, or had someone else sent them here BECAUSE the city had died? No, actually there was a second question: how were the body parts linked to all this?

Chapter Text

The boys who had been poisoned looked even more ill when Wei Wuxian and Lan Sizhui brought in bowls of congee. Their faces were starkly pallid, with a hint of gray, their eyes looked dull, and they were weakly leaning against the walls rather than standing upright. It was a good thing they had found everything they needed in this place, Wei Wuxian reflected. Things might have become much worse if they hadn’t.

“All right, boys,” he called out. “Eat your congee. Every last bit.”

As soon as they were given their bowls, all of the afflicted youths took a desperate first bite. Then their pallid faces suddenly flushed bright red, and tears began to pour from their bloodshot eyes.

“Is this — crap — poison?!” Lan Jingyi spluttered.

Wei Wuxian frowned, his brows drawing together. “Poison? Of course not.”

“Th-then — why is it so — spicy?” another boy wheezed, his breaths coming in harsh gasps.

“I’ve never had such spicy congee in my life!” Lan Jingyi groaned, scrubbing a finger over his tongue. “It’s horrible — I feel like my tongue is burning off!”

Wei Wuxian looked from one flushed, tearstained face to the next, feeling confusion welling up in him. He knew that he had a tendency to spice the food he cooked without being fully aware of it — every time he did, the results tended to be so spicy that even Jiang Cheng gagged and threw it at him. But he hadn’t meant to make the congee spicy. Sure, he had thrown a little spice in there so it wouldn’t be so bland and watery, but…

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lan Sizhui lick the spoon he had used to lade the congee into the bowls. The boy’s pale face flushed as well, and he began coughing discreetly into his fist. A strange expression crossed his features, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was tasting, and a far-away look entered his eyes.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about the spiciness. It’s good for you, okay? It’ll make you sweat more, and that will get more of the poison out of your systems. You want to be cured, right?”

Mumbled assent from all of the poisoned boys.

“Then eat the congee. Don’t leave any behind, and you’ll be fine afterwards.”

The boys glanced at each other, and visibly steeled themselves. The last thing they wanted was to look weak and picky in front of a beautiful woman, especially when she had cooked the food they were eating. Mo Lian was looking at them expectantly, waiting for them to eat the rest of her congee. With grim expressions, they began eating once again, their faces growing redder with every bite, and sweat breaking out on their skin.

It took several moments for the boys to swallow all of the spicy congee, often pausing to gasp for breath or guzzle water straight from a bucket. When the last spoonful had been swallowed, Lan Jingyi sat back heavily, letting his tongue hang out of his reddened mouth and moaning loudly. “That was torture,” he wailed.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Wei Wuxian said. “Hanguang-jun grew up on the same bland food you did, but he can eat all sorts of spicy things.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong about that — Lady Mo,” Lan Sizhui said breathlessly. “He never eats spicy food, even when he’s away from Gusu.”

“He doesn’t?” Wei Wuxian asked, confused. “But he’s made spicy food for me. And when we were younger, he…”

His words trailed off as he thought back to the few shared meals he had had with Lan Zhan. His husband had cooked or ordered plenty of spicy food on all those occasions, but … now that he stopped and thought about it, he couldn’t remember Lan Zhan eating from any of those dishes, or at least not eating very much. Had Lan Zhan been eating food he disliked just because Wei Wuxian liked it? Why had he—

“Lady Mo,” Lan Sizhui said in a hushed voice.

Wei Wuxian blinked. “Hmm?”

“The door — where that old woman went — it just opened.”

A chill seemed to roll through the room, and the boys closest to the door scuttled away from it, pressing themselves against the far wall. Wei Wuxian rose and dusted himself off, before slowly approaching the door.

He could feel all of the boys watching him fearfully, and as he glanced back, he saw that many of them were clutching their swords in white-knuckled hands. Ouyang Zizhen, whose face was as pale as paper, stepped forward and said with a faint stammer, “L-lady Mo — I mean, Lady Lan — I’ll come with you, j-just in case the old woman is v-violent.”

“I’ll come too,” Lan Sizhui said firmly. “Hanguang-jun would want me to make sure—“

“Boys,” Wei Wuxian said with a smile. “There’s no reason to be worried. I’m pretty sure she’s not dangerous.”

“But just in case—“ Lan Sizhui began to say.

Wei Wuxian held up a hand. “You can wait in the doorway. If anything happens, you’ll be close by.”

He stepped into the darkened room and waited for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the lightlessness. The faint light from outside illuminated the huddled form of the old woman sitting at a table, her clouded eyes staring intently at her hands. There was an embroidery frame in her lap, and her hands were stiffly pressed together, moving in little slow jerks.

Wei Wuxian squinted through the darkness, and finally saw what the woman was focusing on — a thread and a needle. Her hands were too stiff from rigor mortis to properly thread it without help, and he now realized that while she appeared older, the spots on her face were not from advanced age, but rather from the grip of death. She was a living corpse, still breathing and somewhat aware, but already irrevocably crossed over the border into death. There was no saving her.

“Let me handle that, granny,” he said quietly, plucking the needle and thread from her fingers. He threaded it easily, even in the dim light, and then carefully placed it back in her hands.

Lan Sizhui and Ouyang Zizhen were lurking just outside the door, anxiously watching. As Wei Wuxian stepped back out, Lan Sizhui hurriedly shut the door again, and they both moved away from it, as if afraid that the old woman would lurch out and start strangling someone. But there was no sound from inside, as if the old woman was already in a tomb.

“Relax,” Wei Wuxian said. “She’s not going to harm anyone.”

“Is the old bag alive or dead?” Jin Ling asked.

“Don’t call her an old bag. It’s rude,” Wei Wuxian said sternly. “And the answer is yes. She’s both. She’s a living corpse.”

If the boys had been pale before, their faces were as white as the Lan robes now. They glanced at one another fearfully. “What’s a living corpse?” Lan Sizhui asked quietly. “We’ve never been taught about such a thing.”

“It means she’s technically still alive, but she has the characteristics of a corpse. She’s breathing, which only the living do — but everything else about her is effectively dead.”

“That sounds crazy,” Jin Ling grumbled. “How can there be such a thing, when none of us have heard of it before?”

“That’s because it’s rare to encounter one. Living corpses don’t usually happen naturally, the way the walking corpses do. They’re usually made by someone who wants a perfect puppet in a corpse — someone who will obey without question, won’t think for himself, and will move swiftly and nimbly.”

“That was started by Wei Wuxian, wasn’t it?” one boy timidly asked.

A murmur of agreement ran through the room, and Jin Ling’s face hardened into a cold mask of displeasure. Wei Wuxian sighed and let his shoulders sag. He hadn’t even been responsible for living corpses in the past — whoever had done this was obviously going off in their own direction.

“Wei Wuxian sort of started it by making Wen Ning — the Ghost General — into a thinking conscious corpse with immense strength and power. But other people tried to imitate him and create their own Wen Nings, but they didn’t have the skill to do it. So since they couldn’t make the dead obey them, they decided to instead turn the living into living corpses.” He glanced over at the door. “She doesn’t realize she’s already dead, though. We should leave her in peace.”

The boys glanced at one another again, except for Jin Ling. His dark eyes were fixed intently on Wei Wuxian, and his lips were tightly pressed together. “Wei Wuxian was a monster,” he said in a fierce, seething voice. “A deviant. Nobody should want anything to do with him or his heretical cultivation. I can’t imagine why Hanguang-jun is married to someone who’s involved in that kind of sick stuff.”

“Hanguang-jun is very different from what many people think he is,” Wei Wuxian said with a charming smile. “Trust me.”

But inwardly, he sighed. The hatred in Jin Ling’s heart had been nurtured ever since he could walk by Jiang Cheng and the Jin Clan, and if Jin Ling ever figured out who he was, he would probably stab him on the spot. And even though the boy could be infuriating, the thought that his sister’s child hated him with such a passion sent a pang through his heart.

Chapter Text

Suddenly a sharp, crisp sound cut through the air. Tak! Tak! Tak! Wei Wuxian’s ears pricked up, and his head turned towards the door and the boarded-up window. It was the sound of the bamboo stick again, meaning that whoever — or whatever — had been following the boys had caught up to the group. Almost as one, the boys pressed against the outer wall scuttled back towards the inner side of the house, since apparently they were more afraid of whatever was out there than the old woman.

Of course, Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure whether that was a good thing, a bad thing, or just a harmless distraction that would neither harm nor help them. Whatever the person with the bamboo stick was, they didn’t seem to have actually done anything except frighten the boys by making that tapping sound. But as someone who had faced all sorts of horrifying supernatural creatures, Wei Wuxian knew that things weren’t always as they seemed.

He turned to face the boys. “Stay quiet,” he mouthed at them.

Faces pale, they all nodded.

He slipped silently to the window, and peered at the crack between the boards. There was nothing but dense, unmoving white outside the window — and just as Wei Wuxian was about to withdraw, the white suddenly did. It was a pair of white eyes, staring unblinkingly through the crack as if trying to find out what they were doing inside. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad sign. One thing it did confirm was that the person the eyes belonged to had a distinct interest in them, and wasn’t just running around the mist frightening whoever showed up.

A grin started twitching around the corners of his lips, before he quickly quashed it. Yeah, the situation was serious and the boys were spooked, but… that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun.

“Amazing,” he said, letting awe creep into his voice. “Wow…”

“What?” Jin Ling whispered. “What is it?”

“Shush! I’m trying to look!”

“Move over!” Jin Ling demanded. “I want to see it.”

“Me too!” another one of the boys burst out.

“I do too!” Ouyang Zizhen blurted.

“You really want to see it?” Wei Wuxian said, looking over his shoulder, forming his face into a mask of disappointment.

He stepped aside, and allowed Jin Ling to sidle over to the window. The boy peered through the crack between the boards, staring intently out into the mist. Then suddenly he stiffened, and shot a piercing look at Wei Wuxian — mingled outrage and disgust at how his despised aunt had tricked him.

Wei Wuxian pressed a hand over his mouth, trying not to snicker too hard. “Isn’t it cool?” he asked.

Jin Ling grimaced and stepped back, crossing his arms. “Maybe it’s interesting to you, but I’ve seen things much more impressive than THAT.“

Wei Wuxian could feel his insides vibrating with the desire to laugh. He wouldn’t have done any of this if the person out there meant them any harm — but it was a good idea to give them a little scare to keep them on their toes. He watched as Lan Sizhui crept up to the window and peered outside — then jumped back with a faint “Ah!”

“Scary, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian asked, crossing his arms.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lan Sizhui said a little breathlessly.

“That’s good,” Wei Wuxian said, finally letting a smirk creep out onto his lips. “Learning to deal with fear is an essential part of your training. The less scared you are by frightening things, the more effective you’ll be as cultivators — and so you should take every opportunity to make yourself braver.”

“People can’t do that,” Jin Ling groused. “People are born brave or cowardly.”

“That’s stupid,” Wei Wuxian said, waving a hand. “What, were you facing down yao beasts and ghosts as soon as you learned to walk? Being brave is like flying on a sword — it’s something you can learn with time and practice.” He pointed at the boarded-up window. “Now’s the time for you to do something interesting — look at what’s out there, and notice all the details. The fine points. Things that might tell you a lot. And at the same time, keep your nerves steady.”

Jin Ling stared at him. “What do YOU know about it? My uncle kicked you out before you even came close to—“

“Life experience,” Wei Wuxian said grandly, “counts for a lot. Line up, boys, each of you is going to take a look.”

He watched as the boys reluctantly lined up and peered out into the darkened, foggy street, each one with the expression of someone encountering some creature that might eat their face. Still, none of them grumbled openly — probably not wanting to seem too afraid in front of a woman, especially one who seemed to know more about what was going on than they did.

As the last boy moved away from the window, Wei Wuxian clapped his hands together. “All right — Jin Ling, you were first. Tell us what you saw.”

“Female. Short. Skinny. White eyes. Holding a bamboo stick.”

“She’s only as tall as my chest,” Lan Sizhui added. “Her clothing is dirty and ragged, so she may be a beggar — and if her eyes are white, she may have been blind even when she was alive.”

Ouyang Zizhen looked like he wanted to say something, but his face flushed instead, and he quickly looked away from Wei Wuxian. His crush was kind of adorable, Wei Wuxian thought indulgently, but he would have to be careful not to accidentally encourage it. Lan Zhan would probably be upset if any of the boys got the wrong idea.

“I don’t think so,” another boy added. “Blind people walk slowly and carefully because they don’t want to run into things, but that girl outside runs around like a deer. I’m not sure why, if her eyes are all white, though.”

“Let’s ask her,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully.

“Wait, what?” Lan Jingyi yelped.

Wei Wuxian flung the door open and stood in the doorway, though he could feel the boys gathering behind him and peering around his body. The ghostly girl outside seemed to be shocked by the suddenness of this gesture — perhaps, since the boys had been terrified of her, she thought that they would just keep running whenever she was near. She raised her bamboo pole, ready to whack anyone who came close enough. Blood trickled from her stark white eyes like thick dark tears.

“No need for that,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully. “You’ve been following these boys ever since they came to Yi City, right? Is there some reason why?”

The girl turned her head towards Wei Wuxian, an agitated expression on her heart-shaped face. She made a faint moaning sound without words, gesturing with her hands in a wild, almost frantic manner. Wei Wuxian felt his heart drop, as he realized what was probably wrong here.

“Can you talk?” Jin Ling called.

The girl’s face twisted slightly, and she opened her mouth. Even in the darkness of night, Wei Wuxian could see that her tongue had been torn out completely, leaving her unable to say a word. He grimaced. Whoever had done this had been exceptionally cruel — it was bad enough that the poor girl was blind, but to also render her mute…

The girl began scraping at the dust in front of the house with her stick, but none of the things she drew seemed to make any sense — and since she was blind, some of the figures overlapped and ran into each other. She seemed to be getting progressively more frustrated at her inability to communicate with others, and Wei Wuxian could only guess at what she was trying to say. One little stick figure had a sword and a line around his head… Lan Zhan?

“That person there,” he said quickly, “is he—“

But the girl abruptly stopped her sketching, and raised her head. Somewhere in the disrance, at the far of the street, came the sound of footsteps.

She looked at Wei Wuxian with her blind, bloodied eyes, and an expression of anguish came over her features. Then, without warning, she disappeared into thin air.

Chapter Text

“Back up! Back up!” Wei Wuxian cried.

The boys scurried backwards as he took a few steps back into the house, and slammed the door shut. Then he pressed himself against it, peering through the cracks in the boards at the street outside. Then something solid and warm pressed against the back of his shoulder — and another something against his side.

“Hey!” he hissed.

He looked to his right to find Lan Jingyi crouching beside him, peering intently through another thin crack in the door. Jin Ling was on his other side, and other boys were kneeling on the floor to peer through the same cracks. They were practically stacked on each other, so each one could see what was happening outside. Ouyang Zizhen and Lan Sizhui were peering through the boarded-up window, their faces filled with mingled hope and fear.

Wei Wuxian knew how they felt. His first thought was that Lan Zhan was returning — that he had killed or incapacitated the graverobber, and now he was returning. Obviously things wouldn’t be magically all right if Lan Zhan got back to him, but it felt that way.

But no… the footsteps were too erratic, too wild. They belonged to a desperate man, and it was hard to imagine Hanguang-jun moving in such an inelegant and uncontrolled manner. Wei Wuxian had seen and heard him move quickly, and he did so quietly and with a smooth swiftness. Maybe… maybe it was the man with the black smoke around his face. Wei Wuxian still had the qiankun pouches firmly attached to his belt, which meant that the man would probably be back to snatch them if he could.

His heart clenched. If the man was coming back this way… what had happened to Lan Zhan? No, he couldn’t think like that. Lan Zhan was all right. He hadn’t become the legendary figure he now was by being easily beaten, even by someone with high cultivation and impressive sword skills…

Then a figure raced out into the street. It wasn’t Lan Zhan, and it wasn’t the graverobber. It was a man he had never seen before — youthful, face exposed, dressed all in black, with a sword also swathed in black cloth. He moved quickly, but not so quickly that a flood of walking corpses — or rather, running corpses — weren’t right behind him.

So, somebody else had stumbled into Yi City, Wei Wuxian thought grimly. The poor man probably had no idea what was going on.

He drew his flute almost without thinking, and bent backwards slightly at the waist so he could lift it to his lips. The melody that spilled out of it was sharp and decisive, cutting through the night air and twisting around the walking corpses. Normally, it would have tied them in its command: Stop what you’re doing! Leave that man alone!

For a moment, they slowed. Then, as if something had snapped, they lunged toward him again, their stiff faces and white eyes making them look even more eerie. Wei Wuxian stuffed his flute back in his belt, and grimaced. Whoever was using the Yin Tiger Tally was still exerting their will against him — and with that in someone’s hands, even the most talented and powerful demonic cultivator couldn’t stop them. He knew that from experience. He had made blood flow like rivers when he had used it.

The man in the street drew his sword, turning the bright blade to gleam in the darkness like a sliver of the moon. He slashed through a number of walking corpses, and for a single moment Wei Wuxian thought that he might be able to successfully fight them off —

— until a cloud of black-red powder erupted from one corpse.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped. The corpse powder slammed into the man’s face, swirled around him in a cloud — and as he tried to fight off a fresh wave of corpses, more powder erupted from them — he was gasping, choking, stumbling...

“He won’t make it on his own,” Wei Wuxian said tightly. “We’ll have to save him.”

“How can you do that?” Jin Ling said. “Anybody who goes out there will be poisoned just like him, or those corpses will rip you apart.”

“Especially since your flute isn’t working right now, Lady Mo,” Lan Sizhui whispered, worried. “Hanguang-jun isn’t here to help. You shouldn’t go out—”

“Well, I’ll have to send someone else out,” Wei Wuxian said.

The boys looked at each other in confusion — and a little bit of fear — as Wei Wuxian detached himself from the door. He wandered through the darkened room, looking at the humanlike shapes of the paper effigies. He couldn’t use just any ones, though — he needed the right ones. His eyes darted through the shadows, tracing quickly over the eerily lifelike figures. He could still hear the sound of slashing and gasping from outside, making his heart race as he tried to find the right candidates…

Then he saw them — two girls with almost identical forms, with matching clothes, hair and makeup. Their faces were set in charming smiles that looked somehow sinister in the shadowy light, and their blank white eyes stared at him. “These will do,” he said quietly. “Sizhui, take out your sword.”

The boy obeyed, and Wei Wuxian jabbed the tip of his finger on the sword’s blade. Swiftly, he dabbed dots of blood on the paper girls’ eyes, and whispered a quick spell.

A blast of wind seemed to pass through the room, and the boys shielded their faces and clutched at their swords. Wei Wuxian was the only one who didn’t flinch — his eyes were bright and almost triumphant as he watched the paper dolls come to life. Dust sifted down from their bodies as they began to move, first stiffly and then fluidly. Their eyes rolled and twirled around the darkened room. And most unnervingly, high melodious giggles filled the room.

“All right, girls,” Wei Wuxian said, courteously inclining his head to them. “Go out there and bring any living person you find into this building. Destroy the dead without mercy.” He raised his hand and twisted it in the air — and the door opened with a slam. The two paper dolls flew out into the street, laughing like madwomen the entire way.

As he turned around, Wei Wuxian found that all the boys were staring at him with wide eyes and open mouths. He had expected them to look a little frightened, but most of them looked… impressed. Almost awed. They had obviously never seen anything like the spell he had just performed, or known that someone could turn lifeless paper effigies into deadly weapons. There was no spell for it for orthodox cultivators, and none would even think of summoning and controlling such things.

Most of them were either pampered little heirs, Wei Wuxian reflected, or had been raised in proper, upright sects like the Lan. They had probably never even encountered a demonic cultivator before, and had simply been told that they were wicked, twisted creatures.

“Disgusting,” Jin Ling muttered. “You’re not even ashamed of yourself!”

“Don’t talk to Lady Lan like that!” Ouyang Zizhen burst out.

“I'll talk to her however I want!” Jin Ling erupted, turning to face the other clan heir. “She used to be part of my sect!”

“Well, she’s part of the Lan sect now that she’s married Hanguang-jun,” Lan Jingyi snapped. “So don’t think you can speak to her that way!”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel flattered that some of the boys were jumping in to defend him, especially after he had just flagrantly and openly used demonic tricks in front of them. Of course, he didn’t want them to gang up on Jin Ling — the boy had been raised by Jiang Cheng to hate demonic cultivators, and he was probably feeling confused and conflicted right now. He was only a kid, after all.

Just then, the paper twins swept back into the room, holding up the form of the black-clad man between them. He was drooping as if he were too exhausted or sick to go on any longer, but the paper arms held him up firmly and pulled him forward no matter how his feet dragged. And now that Wei Wuxian could see him more closely, he saw that the man had a wide white ribbon wound around his eyes, completely covering them from sight. Blind.

What were the odds that he would run into two blind people in the course of a single half hour? They had to be pretty small.

“It’s okay now,” Wei Wuxian said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. “You’re safe in here, at least for the moment.”

The man turned his head towards the sound of the voice, and his brows drew together slightly. “A woman?” he said faintly.

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said. “I assume you’ve met one before.”

The man laughed a little. “My apologies. I simply wasn’t expecting a young lady to be abroad in this… ghostly city.”

“Well, there are a lot of unexpected things about this place,” Wei Wuxian said.

Chapter Text

The blind man kept his head slightly inclined towards Wei Wuxian, as if he were listening carefully to this strange woman above everyone else in the room. He coughed a few times, his lips stained with the red-black powder that was, Wei Wuxian was pretty sure, going to kill him. He had inhaled a great deal more than any of the boys had, and he suspected that no amount of glutinous rice could repair the damage. His skin was already tinged with it.

The man leaned on a nearby table, and set his cloth-wrapped sword down. The cloth slipped slightly, and revealed an exceptionally beautiful scabbard of delicately-wrought bronze, through which a shimmering, silvery sword with the purity of newly-frozen ice could be seen. Wei Wuxian had seen some lovely swords in his time — Bichen was probably top-ranked among them, as far as he was concerned — but this one was something special.

Then he saw Lan Jingyi, who was staring at the sword with bulging eyes. As the boy’s lips parted to speak, Wei Wuxian slapped a hand over his mouth, pressing it tightly enough that nothing but a faint “mm!” could come out. Lan Jingyi’s eyes flew over to Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Keep quiet,” Wei Wuxian silently mouthed to the boys.

They all nodded, eyes wide. Then Lan Jingyi raised his finger to the dusty tabletop and quickly traced out a name: Shanghua.

Wei Wuxian frowned for a moment. The name didn’t really ring a bell… no, wait… yes, it did. Lan Zhan had said that name when he recounted the story of Xiao Xingchen not too long ago. That sword had belonged to the famed young cultivator… and had been used to inflict lingchi on an innocent man after he disappeared. Xiao Xingchen, who had blinded himself to help his friend.

Wei Wuxian’s heart began to pound furiously as he let go of Lan Jingyi’s mouth, and slowly turned to face the blindfolded man. Blind. Shanghua. He looked about the right age to be Xiao Xingchen. There wasn’t anyone else this person could be, was there?

Unless…

The man coughed slightly into his fist, and used his other hand to fumble for Shanghua. “Thank you for the rescue, ma’am. But I should go,” he said hoarsely.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Wei Wuxian said firmly. “You have severe corpse poisoning.”

Xiao Xingchen bowed his head slightly. “I see,” he murmured.

“We can help you!” one of the boys blurted out. “We still have some glutinous rice, right?”

“It wouldn’t be enough,” Wei Wuxian said. “You boys only got a small amount of the corpse powder. He inhaled a lot more.”

Xiao Xingchen sighed. The reddish-black tinge to his skin had become more pronounced. “I should go. This city is crawling with the dead, and I may be able to slay a few more before I become… one of them. Either way, I am a danger to yourself, ma’am, and the young masters here. I ask you, please, to leave this city as quickly as you can, and do not return.” His fingers were trembling slightly against his scabbard.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered over those hands, and the sword they held. Xiao Xingchen seemed at first glance to be an innocuous man with noble intentions, just as his reputation would suggest. He had been fighting off the walking corpses, which suggested that he was not in league with the one who was controlling them. He only seemed to be concerned about the well-being of others, not of himself, even though he had been poisoned.

But… if Xiao Xingchen was still in possession of Shanghua, then that meant he had presumably had it when Chang Ping had been tortured to death. Wei Wuxian felt a chill prickle down his spine at the thought. Unless there was more to the story than they knew, the man in front of them might be a cold-blooded murderer.

“Second Madam Lan,” one of the boys said nervously. “There’s… those paper effigies are laughing again.”

Lan Jingyi peered through a crack in the door, and gasped. “There's a… a lot out there," he said in a slightly wavering voice.

“Define ‘a lot,’” Wei Wuxian said.

“Hundreds! At least! They’re packed out there, and it looks like even more are showing up! It must be half the population of Yi City!”

Wei Wuxian’s lips pressed together. He had been hoping that the effigies could keep the worst of the walking corpses at bay, but it sounded like their unknown enemy was summoning as many of them as possible to surround the house. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn’t have had much trouble. Walking corpses normally fled in fear before him, sensing his power over the dead, and they were typically slow enough that the boys’ swords could have easily cut them down. But not only were these walking corpses acting abnormally, but someone had booby-trapped them.

Xiao Xingchen took a step towards the door, and Wei Wuxian could practically read his mind. He was going to slip outside and defend the rest of them from the walking corpses for as long as possible, until his poisoning overtook him. But he stumbled slightly and fell to one knee, a reddish hue flooding over his otherwise pallid face.

“Pick him up and lean him against the wall,” Wei Wuxian ordered.

As two of the boys obeyed, he turned to face the boys, grabbed Lan Jingyi’s sword, and pressed his fingertip against the tip. Blood trickled from his finger.

“Are you going to use the same spell?” Lan Jingyi said. “Here, use some of my blood!”

“Second Madam Lan,” Ouyang Zizhen called out, “you can use mine too!”

Several boys crowded forward, holding out their arms with shining eyes and eager faces.

Wei Wuxian laughed ruefully. “I don’t need more blood, kids. I need blank talismans. Do you have any?”

Their faces fell.

“Okay. Do you have any that have already been drawn?”

Lan Sizhui produced a number of them, his face eagerly bright at being able to help. Wei Wuxian delicately selected one of them and skimmed his bleeding fingertip to the paper. The boys’ eyes widened as the symbols and words drawn on the talisman shimmered crimson, flashed — and completely changed, just before the talisman burned to ashes. They slithered from Wei Wuxian’s palm like tiny dust devils, whirling into every corner of the room and vanishing into the faces of the effigies here…

Wei Wuxian released a sigh of relief. It seemed that their unknown enemy hadn’t yet figured out what he was doing with the effigies. If he or she was able to interfere with the paper figures, then Wei Wuxian and the boys would be done for — but it seemed that he wasn’t doing that just yet.

Not for the first time, he wished desperately that Lan Zhan was with him. The situation wouldn’t be any better if he were, since he couldn’t fight off the corpses in such numbers without being poisoned as well. But Wei Wuxian wanted to see him, feel him, hear his low quiet voice… and know that he was all right, that he wasn’t collapsed and breathing poison in some remote corner of Yi City. Or worse. The thought made his blood feel like ice.

But he couldn’t think about that now. The dozens of paper effigies were stirring to life around him, their bodies rustling as they shuffled around. The boys shrank back against the outer wall, huddling together as if afraid of coming too close to the effigies.

“All of you, hold your breath and cover your mouth and nose,” Wei Wuxian ordered.

The boys obeyed, their eyes wide and unblinking.

The door slammed open, and the faint sweetness of corpse poison could be detected in the air. A stream of paper people flew out into the night air, their garments fluttering like fallen kites. When the door slammed shut again, Wei Wuxian listened in the silence that followed — and he could hear the faint thuds, slashes and whooshes of effigies hacking and slicing their way through the walking corpses. They wouldn’t tire, they couldn’t be poisoned, and they couldn’t feel pain.

That just left Xiao Xingchen. Wei Wuxian slowly turned to look at the poisoned man, who was sitting feebly on the cold stone floor, his back to the wall.

Chapter Text

Xiao Xingchen raised his face towards Wei Wuxian, his pallid skin looking almost dead except for its purplish-black tinge. “That young master,” he said feebly, “called you Second Madame Lan. Am I correct in thinking that you are from the Lan Clan of Gusu?”

“Yes, I guess so,” Wei Wuxian said, squatting down in front of him.

“Ah. I do want to ask why a young woman of your stature would find yourself in a desolate place such as this.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips quirked into a smile. He wasn't sure exactly what his stature in the Lan Clan was, since he knew that Lan Qiren and the elders were probably absolutely livid that the perfect Hanguang-jun had married a crazy bastard of Jin Guangshan’s. They might have been willing to tolerate a mere concubine instead of a full wife… although now that he thought about it, he had never heard of any concubines in the Lan sect. Maybe they weren’t allowed.

“My husband and I were traveling, and we heard about trouble in the area, so we came to investigate,” he half-lied smoothly.

“But—“ Lan Jingyi started to say, only to choke off his words when Lan Sizhui elbowed him in the side.

Xiao Xingchen’s head inclined ever so slightly, as if he were listening to the boy’s outburst. When it became clear that no one was going to say anything more, he said softly, “I see. Is your husband here now?”

An uneasy feeling stole over Wei Wuxian, and for a moment he considered lying about it, saying that Lan Zhan was just in the next room. But, he reflected, that would be easily disproven if Xiao Xingchen simply asked to talk to him. Better to just admit the truth. “Hanguang-jun should be back any minute now,” he said.

Xiao Xingchen’s chin lowered slightly, and his fingers moved lightly over the scabbard. There was something slightly odd about his left hand, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t put his finger on it — aside from the fact that he was wearing gloves. Wei Wuxian had never seen someone wear gloves when handling a sword before, and he had seen a considerable number of people who had trained with swords. Not one had worn gloves, even in icy weather.

“Your husband did not make a wise choice,” Xiao Xingchen said at last. “Almost anything could happen to a young woman left alone in a place like this, without someone to protect her. All it would take was one scoundrel…”

“She’s not alone!” Ouyang Zizhen said vehemently.

“Shut up!” Jin Ling hissed.

“I appreciate the concern,” Wei Wuxian said. “But I’m not completely defenseless even without my husband.”

Xiao Xingchen sighed. “Yes, I think I know why. You used the Final Eyes Summoning, didn’t you?”

“I knew enough to give it a try,” Wei Wuxian said demurely.

“I’m surprised that the wife of a Lan cultivator has chosen such an unorthodox path. Those who follow it are at constant risk from the spirits they employ, and… if one is not both careful and skilful, they may suffer the same fate as the Yiling Patriarch himself. His end was a tragic one, and surely he knew this path better than any other. If I may be so bold, you might want to consider cultivating your husband’s path instead.”

Wei Wuxian repressed a sigh. First Lan Zhan thirteen years ago, and now Xiao Xingchen — always people trying to convince him to go to Gusu and cultivate the conventional ways. At least that was an option for him now, when it hadn’t been before. Still, it was kind of Xiao Xingchen to advise him like that, concerned for a stranger’s welfare when he himself was half-dead from corpse poisoning.

He rose and took the last bowl of congee from the table, and reached for one of Xiao Xingchen’s hands. Oddly, the man flinched and pulled his left hand away, as if it pained him. Wei Wuxian frowned, and instead pushed the bowl into his right hand. “This glutinous congee might help your condition, but I’m not sure if it will. I will warn you, it doesn’t taste very good. Do you want to try it?”

“If it will help, I will,” Xiao Xingchen said courteously.

Wei Wuxian watched a little anxiously as the man spooned the congee into his mouth. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? The kids were probably just being picky over something that tasted a little different from what they were used to.

Xiao Xingchen lowered his head a little as he ate another spoonful, and pressed a hand to his mouth. “Thank you,” he murmured. “You’re very kind. Although — if I had to eat this every day — I might take my chances with the corpse powder.“

Wei Wuxian sighed.

Then Lan Jingyi’s voice rang out like a bell: “Second Madame! They’re dead! The effigies killed them all!”

Xiao Xingchen spoke up faintly, “Don’t open the door yet. It’s not safe. We don’t know if there might be another wave of corpses coming this way.”

“Finish the congee,” Wei Wuxian said, standing up. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take a look outside.”

He peered through the crack in the door. The brightly-painted paper effigies were still sweeping up and down the street, vigilantly keeping an eye on everything that twitched or tried to move. Meanwhile, every corpse had been cut to ribbons and lay in chunks and severed limbs on the ground. Corpse powder had exploded into clouds in various places, swirling in the breeze as it slowly settled down to the dust. In another fifteen minutes or so, Wei Wuxian thought, it would probably be safe to go outside.

But unease crept through him again as he peered through the white fog. There was still no sign of Lan Zhan out there. He knew that his husband could deal with walking corpses even at a safe distance — Bichen could slice through dozens of them in a matter of seconds — but the fact that he had been gone for so long made Wei Wuxian uncomfortable. They hadn’t been separated for this long at any time since they left Cloud Recesses, and he knew that Lan Zhan didn’t want to leave him, especially during such a dangerous time.

If the boys weren’t depending on him — and now the poisoned Xiao Xingchen — he would have ventured out into the night to find Lan Zhan. But they WERE depending on him. These kids would all be dead, or worse, if he hadn’t taken them under his wing. And with someone else watching them from the shadows, he couldn’t leave them even in a house by themselves —

Then he heard a footstep on the roof.

It was just overhead, a tap on the roof tiles so faint that it might have gone unnoticed — and then another tap, towards the middle of the roof. Wei Wuxian’s hair immediately stood on end.

Xiao Xingchen’s head shot up, and if he cried out, “There’s someone on the roof!”

“Back against the walls!” Wei Wuxian shouted.

The boys scuttled back against the walls… just as the roof over their heads split open, sending shattered tiles and splintered wood falling to the floor below. A tall, slender figure dressed all in black stood above them, before plunging down into the house below.

Wei Wuxian's first wild thought was that the man with the smoke on his face had come back, since that man had been dressed in black as well. But then he saw that this man, dressed in black Daoist robes, had his handsome face fully exposed. His skin was as pale as ice, except for faint traces of black veins on his throat, and he was clutching a finely-made sword in one hand, with the casual ease of a master swordsman.

But what chilled Wei Wuxian was the blank white eyes. Eyes like Wen Ning’s. The eyes of a fierce corpse who was being controlled.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian barely had enough time to wonder Who is this guy? before the man in black swung around, sweeping his sword at Jin Ling. The boy barely managed to fend off the blow, and Wei Wuxian suspected that if he hadn’t been wielding a powerful spiritual weapon, the attack might have cut right through the blade. The fierce corpse barely paused before launching into his next attack —

— only for Shanghua to suddenly sweep upwards, knocking the blade sideways. Another boy yelped and almost fell over as it nearly struck him instead.

“Stay — back!” Xiao Xingchen coughed, stumbling to one knee.

Wei Wuxian’s heart was hammering as he pulled his flute loose from his belt, and played a sharp note that cut through the noise and dust. Normally, a fierce corpse would be nothing for the Yiling Patriarch to control — but everything about his demonic cultivation seemed to be screwed up in this place. This fierce corpse clearly had retained every scrap of his skill as a fighter — and right now, with Xiao Xingchen half-dead and Wei Wuxian armed only with that flute, there was no one who could effectively fight him off.

As the note sounded, the man in black suddenly slowed, his footsteps faltering. His expressionless face and blank eyes seemed to become slightly softer… only to suddenly snap back into their previous icy hardness.

It was exactly what Wei Wuxian had feared. Someone was controlling him.

“Stay back, all of you!” he shouted to the boys.

So he changed the tune, reaching out into the night with his music. He might not be able to control the fierce corpse, but he could still control the paper effigies — and if he summoned enough of them, perhaps he would be able to restrain the fierce corpse —

With the whisper of paper against tile, several effigies appeared in the hole overhead — whispering, rustling, darting faster than an human could move. The flute uttered another piercing note, and the paper dolls swooped down like birds of prey — only for the fierce corpse to effortlessly slash them into pieces. His free hand pulled out a Daoist whisk, slashing the paper bodies with it and leaving nothing but tiny shreds wherever it struck.

Wei Wuxian could feel perspiration breaking out on his face as he played, summoning more of the paper people. This was bad. The fierce corpse was strong — maybe as strong and agile as Wen Ning — and if he was able to subdue the effigies this easily, they would run out in no time. He had to summon more of them — all at once — faster —

His flute melody grew faster and faster as more effigies poured into the room, flinging themselves at the swordsman. One benefit of the paper effigies, Wei Wuxian reflected, was that they didn’t have any fear. Or pain. The fierce corpse slashed and stabbed at them with both hands, tearing their limbs and slicing through their heads. But even with pieces missing, they continued fighting as fanatically as ever, clinging to him and dragging his limbs down.

But he was only immobilized when a quartet of Yin Musclemen — taller, stronger, heavier and more powerful than the other paper effigies — pinned him to the ground. He struggled violently, trying to tear his arms or legs loose, but the four paper people crushed him to the floor.

“Second Madame Lan,” one of the boys said in a quavering voice, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian said, releasing a sigh. “Keep a safe distance.”

He came closer to examine the fierce corpse, his eyes slowly raking over the struggling, jerking body. One thing caught his attention — a flap of cloth that had torn, exposing ice-white skin underneath… and a small, black-red gash. Directly over the heart. Someone had stabbed him there — it was probably what had killed him.

Of course, that didn’t explain everything. Most fierce corpses weren’t as perfect as Wen Ning and this man. If he was anything like Wen Ning, then he should have the ability to speak… and… wait…

Wei Wuxian quickly moved up to the man’s head. Black blood was trickling from the corners of his mouth, and faint hollow grunts issued from his throat. He pressed one hand to the man’s forehead, holding his head in place, and pulled his jaw down with the other. Where there should have been a tongue behind his black-stained bottom teeth, there was only a bloody void. Someone had cut or pulled out his tongue, just like the girl outside.

Had the two of them lost their tongues to the same person?

And then there were those eyes — white, terrifying eyes. The same as Wen Ning’s had been when he was under the control of those nails. There seemed to be a lot of people with similar traits — blind eyes, missing tongues — so it didn’t seem unlikely that this man might be controlled by nails as well. Wei Wuxian slipped his hands through the man’s thick hair, slowly feeling over his scalp.

“Second Madame Lan,” Ouyang Zizhen asked tremulously, “what are you doing?”

“Seeing if he’s being controlled by someone,” Wei Wuxian grunted. “Ah! There they are…”

Two small metal lumps appeared under his fingers, jutting from the back of the man’s skull. His first instinct was to pull them loose… but he hesitated. Better to find out what this man’s intentions were first. Not every fierce corpse would be as amiable as Wen Ning, especially since this man had been a formidable fighter even before he died.

Of course, there was a problem: the missing tongue. Wei Wuxian was skilled at getting the dead to do what he wanted, but he wasn’t quite as adept at getting information from them. If he were, then he wouldn’t have had trouble finding out what the ghost girl from before had been trying to tell him. If only Lan Zhan was here, and he could ask the man through Inquiry… theoretically, there was no reason it couldn’t work on a fierce corpse…

Wait.

“Boys!” Wei Wuxian said suddenly, standing up. “Specifically, Lan boys.”

The cluster of white-robed boys stepped forward, eyes wide as they waited for this unpredictable woman to tell them what to do.

“I don’t know when Hanguang-jun will be back,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms. “So I need to know — do any of you know how to play ‘Inquiry’?”

Lan Sizhui hesitantly raised his hand.

“Will Inquiry work on a fierce corpse?” Lan Jingyi asked.

“We won’t know unless we try,” Wei Wuxian said. “I don’t really understand guqin language myself.”

Sizhui seated himself near the pinned fierce corpse, and produced a shining guqin from his qiankun pouch, which he laid across his lap. There was something about his posture and the position of his hands that made Wei Wuxian’s mind fly back to the bunker in the woods, and Lan Zhan’s elegant bearing as he played Inquiry.

Maybe Lan Zhan had taught his young relative in the proper use of a guqin, Wei Wuxian thought, and some of his technique had rubbed off on the boy. He wasn’t sure exactly what the relationship between them was, but Lan Zhan seemed to be closer to Lan Sizhui than to the other boys. He had even been there at their wedding along with Lan Xichen, looking somewhat nervous and concerned.

I have to remember to ask Lan Zhan about him later, Wei Wuxian thought.

Chapter Text

“What should I ask him?” Lan Sizhui asked, sounding a little nervous.

Wei Wuxian looked down at the pinned man, his brows knitting together.“Let’s go for the obvious first question. What’s his name?”

Lan Sizhui played a few soft notes, and was answered by a few sharp ones. He gasped softly.

“What? What’s wrong?” Lan Jingyi said a little nervously.

“His name is… Song Lan.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. He had heard that name only recently, so it was still fresh in his mind. Lan Zhan had explained that Song Lan was the close friend of Xiao Xingchen — so close that when Song Lan had been blinded, Xiao Xingchen carried him back to his old master, and tore out his own eyes so that Song Lan could see again.

He swiftly looked over towards Xiao Xingchen. The man had lapsed back into unconsciousness sometime during the fight, and was now lying insensate on the floor, clutching Shanghua in both gloved. Obviously he was completely unconscious, or he would have reacted to the sound of that name. Did Xiao Xingchen have any idea of what had become of his friend — that he had been stabbed through the heart and was now a fierce corpse?

Wei Wuxian could only imagine what that would feel like, and how it would devastate him if he didn’t know already. Better not to let him know, at least not yet. Good thing he was unconscious.

“All right,” Wei Wuxian said, looking back at Lan Sizhui. “Ask who killed him.”

Lan Sizhui obediently played the question. There was a long silence that followed — so long that Wei Wuxian started to wonder if Song Lan was just refusing to answer for some reason.

But then the strings were plucked by invisible fingers… and Lan Sizhui blanched. “He… he says it was… Xiao Xingchen,” he said in a low voice.

“What?” Jin Ling said incredulously. “That can’t be right. Maybe he lied.”

“He can’t lie,” Lan Sizhui said faintly.

“Well, then you played it wrong. Or you heard it wrong.”

“You don’t know anything about guqin language, so shut up,” Lan Jingyi said sharply. Then he looked swiftly at the man crumpled on the floor, and bit his lip. “We heard a lot of things about Xiao Xingchen, and he… didn’t sound like the kind of person who’d kill his best friend, even if they fell out. Why would he do that?”

“Good question,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

His mind was racing through the different jumbled pieces of this case, like a shattered jug that had to be put back together. Lan Jingyi was right — the Xiao Xingchen they had met didn’t seem like the sort of person who would stab his friend through the heart, especially a friend he had loved enough to sacrifice his eyes for. It just didn’t make sense. It would be as if, after giving his golden core to Jiang Cheng, he had stabbed his martial brother in the heart.

And yet… and yet there was the nagging presence of the story Lan Zhan had told him, about Chang Ping’s demise. Xiao Xingchen had Shanghua, and Shanghua had been used to torture a man to death in the most gruesome way imaginable. There was something missing from the equation — something that just didn’t fit with the other pieces when talking about Xiao Xingchen…

Unless… unless… no, that couldn’t be. Could it?

“Ask him one more question,” he said quietly. “Ask who is controlling him.”

Lan Sizhui’s fingers trembled slightly before they alighted onto the guqin strings, played a brief string of notes. This time, there was no hesitation in the reply.

“The one… behind you,” he said faintly.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, and he spun around. Dammit, I knew I should have trusted my instincts, he thought furiously.

Xiao Xingchen was sitting up languidly, smiling brightly at them all — and with his left hand, he snapped his fingers. As if the simple sound had fueled Song Lan, he seemed to erupt into a flurry of mindless violence, whipping his sword and whisk through the paper bodies of the Yin Musclemen. In only a few seconds, he was upright again, the tip of his cold sword brushing against Wei Wuxian’s throat. The whisk, bristling like steel threads, was aimed at the boys.

“Second Madame Lan!” one of the boys cried.

Most of them immediately drew their swords, but Wei Wuxian held up a hand as quickly as he could. “Don’t, any of you,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “He’s too good a swordsman.”

“But there are a bunch of us, and only one of him!” Jin Ling protested.

“And even with numbers, you’re no match for him,” Wei Wuxian said tightly. “Don’t move. You’ll only make things worse.”

“On the contrary, Second Madame Lan,” Xiao Xingchen said with a hint of mockery. “I want them to get out of this house. You and I have things to discuss.”

Wei Wuxian tried to keep his breathing steady, even as he was faced by Song Lan’s dead white eyes, steely face and unwavering blade. He might have been able to get away before he had sacrificed his golden core, but his new body’s cultivation was too weak for that. Even if it hadn’t been, he had the children to think about — they were hostages as much as he was, and Xiao Xingchen might not feel it was necessary to keep them alive if Wei Wuxian caused trouble.

“It’s okay, boys,” he said steadily. “The corpse powder has settled down to the ground by now, so move around slowly and don’t stir it up. Wait outside.”

The boys clearly didn’t want to leave him, but Song Lan’s body language made it clear that they were to leave, or else. Wei Wuxian tried to smile encouragingly as they filed out into the foggy street, but his stomach was churning with anxiety. He didn’t know what was coming next, what exactly Xiao Xingchen was planning to do with him — but the sharp-toothed, almost giddy smile on his face didn’t promise anything good.

His eyes flitted over to Lan Sizhui, as the white-robed boy approached the open door. His face was worried, like all the others, but it showed a kind of calm seriousness that made him look more mature than his peers. He paused and looked back, as if waiting for instructions.

“Look after them, Sizhui,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “Out of all of them, you have the most maturity and common sense.”

Lan Sizhui nodded solemnly. “I’ll do my best.”

“There’s no reason to be scared.”

Sizhui’s eyes were steady and bright. “I’m not scared, Second Lady Lan.” He smiled a little. “After today, I can see why Hanguang-jun wanted to marry you.” Then the boy stepped outside, and the door slammed shut behind him.

Laughter rang out, bell-like but uncomfortably piercing. Xiao Xingchen was grinning at Wei Wuxian as he popped a pill into his mouth. “So very touching, I might start crying,” he said.

“Glad I could entertain you,” Wei Wuxian said dryly. “Though I don’t know why you want me to talk to you.”

Xiao Xingchen’s voice became mocking. “Don’t you?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged. “I’m just the bride of a cultivator. Nobody special.” His eyes fixed on the blindfolded man, as if he could stare past the ribbon to the empty eye sockets behind it. “Not like you. That was a magnificent act you put on for all of us, playing the suffering hero who defends others selflessly.”

“Not as impressive an act as yours,” Xiao Xingchen purred. “Bride of a cultivator? Pleased to meet you, Yiling Patriarch.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian kept his face blank, not giving him any sign that he was either wrong or right. Internally, his heart was racing like a frightened bird’s, and even though Xiao Xingchen’s eyes were covered, he felt like the other man was staring through him.

Xiao Xingchen skimmed his fingers over the hilt of Shanghua, and his grin widened. “You must have been really, really desperate,” he said, inclining his head. “Out of all the bodies you could have possessed, you chose to possess the body of a woman. It’s a pretty good disguise, though. Nobody would have assumed that Wei Wuxian, the terror of the cultivation world, would have ended up in a girl’s body. Unless you secretly like it.”

“Do you have a point you’re trying to get to?” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms.

“Oh, I’m just wondering why someone as powerful as you is going undercover as a bitch,” Xiao Xingchen said airily.

That was the final nail in the coffin. Wei Wuxian had suspected it for a while now, but he knew for a fact now that this man was not truly Xiao Xingchen. There were too many things about him that didn’t add up — particularly the fact that Wei Wuxian had never heard of any person who changed as completely and drastically as this man supposedly had for so little reason. He didn’t even speak as a cultivator who had spent his youth on an immortal’s secret mountain — he sounded like a street thug.

And now that he thought about it, the only actual evidence that this man was Xiao Xingchen was that he had Shanghua, and his eyes were covered with a bandage. Nobody had even checked whether he had his eyes or not. No one in their group had ever seen Xiao Xingchen in the flesh — even if Lan Zhan were there, he couldn’t confirm whether this man was who he said he was.

Of course, it didn’t explain why Song Lan had said that Xiao Xingchen killed him. He, unlike everyone else, presumably knew what his closest friend looked like.

One step at a time, Wei Wuxian thought, keeping his eyes fixed on the stranger in front of him. He had a pretty good idea who this man really was, but not why he would seek out the Yiling Patriarch. He seemed to be doing pretty well, creating more self-aware fierce corpses, controlling them with nails, and reconstructing the Yin Tiger Tally.

“I take it you didn’t tell any of them who you are,” the man said. “You probably didn’t even tell your ‘husband,’ respected asshole that he is. I doubt that Hanguang-jun would want anything to do with someone as disreputable as we two are.” He grinned. “I didn’t expose you, even though I could have.”

“You’re so considerate,” Wei Wuxian said dryly. “I take it that besides Song Lan, you’re controlling all the other corpses in Yi City?”

“Naturally.” The blindfolded man sounded so proud of himself. “I knew from the time you entered the city that you were different from all the rest of those fools. I suspected you might be the Yiling Patriarch, but I had to make sure for myself. Even after I heard you were a woman.”

“And… why is that? Did you just want to meet me?”

“No, I have a small favor I want to ask you. Something only you can do.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows raised slightly as the man drew a spirit-trapping pouch from his robes. He felt reluctant to get any closer to him — it was like being in the room with a poisonous viper that might decide to strike at any given moment. And while he might have felt a little more comfortable if he had still had a male body, having a female one made him acutely aware that if this man attacked him, he wouldn’t be able to fight him on even footing.

Despite having his eyes obscured, the man seemed to sense what Wei Wuxian was thinking. He flashed that smile again, with his sharp canines glinting in the candlelight, as he set the pouch on the table, and made a gesture indicating that Wei Wuxian should pick it up.

Wei Wuxian sidled over to the table, keeping his eyes on the man, and plucked the pouch from the table. Immediately, he felt what was in it — a human soul, so ragged and torn that it barely hung together at all. It was like a torn, worn piece of paper that had been ripped to pieces — a harsh gust of wind or splash of water could dissolve it into nothing. He had only seen a few souls so wrecked.

He felt a sudden pang of sympathy. The person whose soul was in the pouch had suffered horribly to end up in such a state — and he could only imagine what they had felt. They had probably killed themselves, or else had despaired completely before they died. He knew the agony of being ripped apart in spirit, too torn and ravaged to be touched by any of the attempts to summon his soul.

“Who was this?” he said quietly.

“That’s not important,” the man said.

“It’s shattered. I don’t think you could put this together even with glue.”

“I know I can’t. That's why I want you to do it.”

Wei Wuxian looked down at the pouch again. “There’s too little of the soul here for me to piece together. Even if there was, this person was in horrific pain when they died — not just physical, but spiritual. They probably killed themselves, and have no desire to live again. I can’t make it any stronger, or give it a reason to continue existing—”

Suddenly the man’s hand was locked around his throat, choking off the words spilling from Wei Wuxian’s lips. He clutched at the man’s wrist with his free hand, digging his fingertips into the man’s wrist, but he wasn’t able to pull it loose from his neck. It was as if the man’s muscles were made of steel.

The man’s breath wafted past his face as he spoke quietly, “I don’t care. You have to help him. You don't have a choice.” His fingers tightened, and Wei Wuxian felt like he could feel his neck bones creaking, and his larynx threatening to buckle. “Don’t forget you still have all those innocent kids waiting just outside. Anything could happen to them out there, and I know that would be very upsetting to you.”

His words were threatening, but there was a peculiar kind of childlike sweetness to his voice, and a strange sense of intimacy. It was as if he were speaking to someone he cared about a great deal as he threatened to choke the breath from them. It made Wei Wuxian’s skin crawl, and he found himself wondering how he could have ever thought this person was the Xiao Xingchen he had been told about.

“I’m surprised — you need my help,” he rasped. “You’ve already — more than proven yourself — a talented demonic cultivator — Xue Yang.”

He had been counting on surprise to loosen the man’s fingers — and when it happened, he tore himself out of Xue Yang’s grasp, crashing back against the table with a harsh gasp. He might be able to scamper out of reach if Xue Yang reached for him again — and if the boys weren’t waiting for him outside, he would have sprinted out into the fog at top speed. But if Song Lan was half as fast as Wen Ning, there was no way he or the boys could escape him…

Xue Yang stood silently for a moment, his lips momentarily turned down. Then they unexpectedly turned up again, as his hand rose to pull the cloth from his face. Two perfectly intact eyes gleamed as brightly as chips of obsidian, giving his handsome face a charming, almost childlike appearance. Xue Yang might have been endearing, Wei Wuxian thought, if he hadn’t been holding him by the throat a moment before.

“Tell me honestly. What gave me away?” Xue Yang asked.

“There were too many things about you that didn’t make sense,” Wei Wuxian said hoarsely, rubbing his throat. “But the big one was when Song Lan answered who had killed him, and who was controlling him. He didn’t say the same thing both times — meaning that the one behind me was not Xiao Xingchen.”

Xue Yang giggled, as if Wei Wuxian’s deductions had entertained him. “Whoops. Well, I know you wouldn’t have kept me around if I didn’t pretend to be Xiao Xingchen. Those rich brats probably have heard my name, even if you hadn’t.”

“Well, you’re an excellent actor. I almost bought it.”

“Oh, I’m nothing compared to someone I know,” Xue Yang said, a dimpled smile crossing his lips. “He acts almost every moment of every day, and everyone believes he’s nothing but kind and noble. It’s pretty sickening.” But then his smile faded. “Anyway, we’ve talked about me long enough. You need to fix this.”

“I can’t. I told you—“

“Don’t be stupid.” He took a step forward.

“You’ve already done some very impressive work,” Wei Wuxian said, taking a step back. “You made those nails in Song Lan and Wen Ning’s heads, didn’t you? I haven’t heard of any demonic cultivators that could come up with something that creative. And you rebuilt the Yin Tiger Tally after I destroyed half of it—“

“It’s not enough,” Xue Yang said intensely, a hint of a giggle trickling back into his voice. “I couldn’t make something like the Yin Tiger Tally by myself. Only you could. You are the only one who can do it. And you CAN do it. So you WILL do it.”

Despite the chilliness of the air, Wei Wuxian felt sweat springing up on the back of his neck. There was something in Xue Yang’s speech that sounded like a child who had been thwarted, but still had confidence that his mother and father could fix whatever had gone wrong. And there was something else that unnerved Wei Wuxian even more than his childishness… a hint of steely madness.

Just as he was trying to summon up something to say, something hammered against the door.

Wei Wuxian’s heart flew up into his throat. “Lan Zhan? Be careful, he’s—”

And then the door shattered.

Chapter Text

Cold wind blasted into the room, along with curling patches of fog from the street outside. Wei Wuxian threw an arm up to shield his eyes, but he caught a glimpse of the clothing of the man in the doorway. Black. Not white. His heart sank, and for a moment all he could think of was that the graverobber had come back and was helping Xue Yang—

But then the figure sprang into the room, and Wei Wuxian saw his face. It was as pale as snow, with black veins snaking over his neck and jaw. Chains wrapped around him like clinging vines. Wen Ning.

Wei Wuxian’s spirits immediately jolted back up. He had played a summoning to Wen Ning earlier in the evening, while he had been trying to fend off the walking corpses. But he hadn't known how long it would take for the fierce corpse to reach Yi City — and he certainly hadn’t known if he would show up in just the nick of time. Not that he was complaining now that Wen Ning had appeared.

But before he could say anything, Song Lan leaped forward with his whisk and longsword in his hands. Wen Ning deflected the blows almost more swiftly than the eye could follow — and the two fierce corpses became a blur of flying metal, black robes and ice-pale skin.

"Take the fight outside!” Wei Wuxian shouted. “Subdue him, but don’t kill him — and don’t let him or any other corpses harm the living!”

Wen Ning’s masklike face didn’t change, but he immediately flung himself back out the half-ruined wall, dragging Song Lan with him. The sword clashed with the chains, only to be tangled in them like an oar wrapped in river weeds. The two fierce corpses hammered each other with the ferocity of wild animals, and if they had been attacking mere mortals, they would have turned their enemy into a smear of red on the wall.

Wei Wuxian raced out into the foggy street, and watched the two dark shapes clash in the middle of the street. Xue Yang darted out into the open behind him, his eyes shining and his lips lifted in a smile.

“So, which one will win, huh?” the thug asked.

“Wen Ning will,” Wei Wuxian said confidently. Song Lan was a dangerous swordsman, but he wasn’t as experienced as Wen Ning was.

“He was annoyingly loyal,” Xue Yang said thoughtfully. “No matter how many nails I put in his head, he wouldn’t do as I ordered.” His eyes slid over to Wei Wuxian’s face, and his vulpine smile widened. “I don’t like it when I’m not obeyed.”

Wei Wuxian caught a glimpse of steel out of the corner of his eye, and barely dodged as a blade slithered past his stomach. Xue Yang had lunged toward him, eyes glittering, that same smile on his face. He looked as if he were enjoying himself immensely, as if he were going to burst out laughing at any moment.

“Is that any way to treat a lady?” Wei Wuxian called out.

“A thug like me doesn’t meet ladies,” Xue Yang replied cheerfully. “It’s not like you’re really one, huh? You’re a fake!”

Wei Wuxian dodged another blow, skidding out into the street. “You got me there,“ he said breathlessly. “But I really don’t want to fight you!”

Xue Yang laughed out loud, his eyes shimmering in the fog. “You don’t have a choice, do you? It’s not like anyone’s going to fight for you — those kids are too green to be able to do anything, and I have your Hanguang-jun fighting a few hundred—“

A streak of silver and blue slashed between them, cutting through the fog like a piercing beam of moonlight. It nearly knocked Xue Yang’s sword from his hand, and he leaped backwards as Bichen sliced back where it had come from. Even with the distance between them, Wei Wuxian could see that the smile had evaporated from his face, replaced by alarm.

And then Lan Zhan was descending from the rooftops, his white robes shining in the dim light, his sword gleaming in his hand. He looked more furious than Wei Wuxian had ever seen him before, with his face locked in a cold mask of rage. He landed lightly in front of Wei Wuxian, and immediately stepped in front of him, his back pressed against Wei Wuxian’s chest.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian whispered, gripping his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan’s voice sounded strained.

“Be careful. That’s Xue Yang — he’s the one who’s—“

And suddenly swords were clashing again, bright sparks flying between Bichen and Xue Yang’s sword. Then the demonic cultivator slipped Shanghua into his left hand, and yanked something out of his sleeve — a long, sleek sword with a dark cast to its blade. If Shanghua shone with a frosty beauty, then this other sword seemed to ooze with icy darkness more piercing than the night sky above them.

Xue Yang’s lips curved into a smile again as he thrust the dark sword at Lan Zhan, and it was quickly deflected by a swipe from Bichen — only for Shanghua to slash at him from the other side. Lan Zhan’s mouth pressed into a line as he fended off attacks as swiftly as they came — Wei Wuxian knew that a lesser swordsman would probably have been overwhelmed by an enemy who dual-wielded longswords the way Xue Yang was.

“What an honor, to spar with the legendary Hanguang-jun,” Xue Yang said mockingly. The demonic cultivator jabbed at Lan Zhan again with a mocking laugh, the wind blowing at his hair and his black robe.

“Hide,” Lan Zhan said tightly. And then he swept after Xue Yang.

“Be careful!” Wei Wuxian blurted.

The only thing he really wanted to do was follow Lan Zhan, to stay as close as possible to him. Xue Yang was every bit as dangerous as the stories told, and after all the fighting Lan Zhan had done this evening, he might be tired while Xue Yang was still pretty fresh.

But, he told himself, he shouldn’t do that, no matter how much he craved being near Lan Zhan right now. After all, Xue Yang was only attacking because he wanted to drag Wei Wuxian away and force him to fix that shattered soul. If Wei Wuxian was close to the fight, then he would just end up distracting Lan Zhan from beating the shit out of Xue Yang, and dividing his attention.

He heard a loud crash from nearby, and the thud of a solid body smashing into a wall. That had to be Wen Ning and Song Lan, who could spend the rest of the night fighting each other without needing a break. He just wondered how long it would take before one of them ended up the victor.

“Second Madame!”

Wei Wuxian turned towards the voice, and saw a row of pale faces peeking out of a nearby shop’s windows. Lan Jingyi was waving furiously, as if afraid that he wouldn’t see them.

“Oh, there you all are,” Wei Wuxian called out.

“Come on in!” one of the other boys called out. “You’ll be safe in here!”

Wei Wuxian very much doubted that anywhere in Yi City was really “safe,” but it was better than standing in the street waiting for the fights to stop. Besides, he could look after the kids while Lan Zhan took care of Xue Yang. He briskly walked over to the door and was ushered in by Lan Sizhui, who looked deeply relieved that Hanguang-jun’s beloved wife was still alive and all in one piece.

“Second Madame,” he said a little anxiously. “Are you hurt? Did Xiao Xingchen do anything to you?”

“No, he didn't do anything to me,” Wei Wuxian said with a hint of fondness. “And he’s not really Xiao Xingchen. I’ll explain later.”

The other boys clustered around close, eyes wide. They were all obviously still frightened, but some of them were smiling eagerly, as if their mothers and fathers had just swooped in to assure them that everything would be all right. A few of them were peering out into the dark street outside, but most of them seemed to think that they should stay as close to Second Madame Lan as they possibly could.

It was a strange feeling for Wei Wuxian — he didn’t think that he would ever get used to the feeling of other people looking up to him. Both good and bad, he reflected, since Xue Yang seemed to see him as his senior. It was something of a relief to be around the kids again, rather than with the maniac who thought he could do anything. Saying no to Xue Yang, he suspected, was not a healthy thing to do.

“Second Madame Lan,” one of the boys asked a little timidly. “Is Xiao… is that man coming here?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said, glancing at the window. “Hanguang-jun will make sure of that.”

Chapter Text

White-hot rage had ignited inside Lan Wangji’s heart.

He knew that he should have kept close to Wei Ying and the boys rather than chasing the graverobber into the maze of Yi City’s streets and rooftops. The man had somehow eluded him, vanishing just when Lan Wangji thought that he had cornered him. When he found that he could not find the man, he had doubled back immediately, afraid that his enemy would target Wei Ying again once he was no longer being pursued.

What he had found seemed to confirm his worst fears — he had found a strange man in black, threatening Wei Ying with a sword. For one blinding moment, Lan Wangji had been terrified that he wouldn’t get there in time — that he would lose Wei Ying again, just when the one he loved was completely his in every way.

And with that terror had come rage.

Obviously, he had assumed at first that the man in black he had been chasing was the one he was facing now, even though Xue Yang’s face and swords were bare of concealment. But as he deflected one blow after another, and struck at Xue Yang’s head, he knew that they weren’t the same person. The graverobber had fought with a style reminiscent of the Lan sword techniques, but there was no trace of that in Xue Yang’s fighting. Furthermore, the graverobber had discipline in his fighting style, while Xue Yang was skilled, but also wild and unpredictable.

Lan Wangji sliced Bichen towards Xue Yang, forcing back the two swords that were independently slashing at him. It was more difficult than a single sword, obviously, but he had fought off multiple opponents many times during the Sunshot Campaign. Xue Yang was a talented swordsman, but even with two swords striking independently, Lan Wangji knew that he would be able to defeat him. He just needed the right opening.

Xue Yang sprang back, his eyes glittering in the dark. “I’m surprised that the great Hanguang-jun has come to this place with someone as disreputable as that woman!” he said a little breathlessly.

He lashed out immediately, probably thinking that his words would throw Lan Wangji off his game. But the fury burning inside Lan Wangji left no room for new indignation. Steel clashed against steel, cold sparks flew in the dark.

“I mean, imagine someone as fucking respected as you, with a demonic cultivator for a wife. What would your clan think?”

Lan Wangji’s lips pressed together, and he kept sternly silent. Despite the light, mocking tone of Xue Yang’s words, each one held a poisoned edge. He thought that they would get under Lan Wangji’s skin, burrow into his thoughts and distract him at a crucial moment. He thought that sowing doubts about Wei Ying would be easy.

How wrong Xue Yang was. It had been more than ten years since Lan Wangji had grappled with the question of what was wrong or right — of how he could love a man that the entire world said was corrupt, vile, evil in every way. He couldn’t believe that Wei Ying was evil… and yet, everything he had ever been taught, everyone he knew, told him otherwise. Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that still guided him to this day: if he could not trust rules and laws to be the right thing to do, he would follow his love for Wei Ying. It was the only constant, the one shining thing that guided him through storms and darkness.

What other people thought — what they believed — didn’t matter to Lan Wangji anymore. Not even his clan. His reputation meant nothing. He would let the world hate him as much as it hated Wei Ying, as long as it meant his fated person was safe and happy, and he had a clear conscience.

Shanghua cut a snow-white arc through the darkness, only to be sent flying back as it struck Bichen’s blade. Sparks briefly ignited in the air, lighting Lan Wangji’s grim face and piercing eyes, followed by a thrust from Jiangzai. Xue Yang was still in shadow, but Lan Wangji could tell that he was grinning.

“I have some bad news for you,” Xue Yang continued in an oddly gleeful manner. “She isn’t what you think she is.”

CLANG! Bichen sliced through the fog like a bolt of blue lightning. There was no hesitation in Lan Wangji’s movements, only the fierce concentration of a man who was looking for any possible opening. Xue Yang using two swords made it more complicated to find weakness in his movements… but he was sure to slip up…

Xue Yang’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, staring intently at Lan Wangji’s face.

“You already know,” he said softly. The mocking malice in his voice had momentarily evaporated. “You know who she really is.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes blazed. He would not speak a word to Xue Yang unless he had to — the man was below his contempt, after all the crimes he had committed, and the way he had threatened Wei Ying.

A piercing laugh rang out, and Xue Yang’s eyes lit up and sparkled. “That’s pretty rich,” he chortled. “So respectable and impressive — such a paragon of virtue — and you’re fucking the Yiling Patriarch! What a fucking hypocrite!”

CLANG! Bichen crashed into Shanghua like a wave striking the shore — a silver flash whirled through the air, high over their heads — and Bichen streaked back to Lan Wangji’s hand, as cold and piercing as his eyes. He raised his other hand and easily caught Shanghua as it spun down towards him, his gaze still fixed on Xue Yang.

He had never encountered Shanghua before, but Lan Wangji thought that he could feel something of its spirit now that his hand held it. There were the lingering echoes of anguish — anguish that it had been wielded by someone as corrupt and cruel as Xue Yang, used to commit hideous, bloody acts that its true owner would never have condoned. The feeling faded as Lan Wangji’s fingers gripped it, to be replaced by a sense of… relief.

Xue Yang’s eyes were wide with shock at suddenly losing the sword. Then his face convulsed with rage. "Give that back!” he snarled.

“You are not worthy of it,” Lan Wangji said tightly.

He slid Shanghua behind his back, Xue Yang lashed out again, but this strike was different — less controlled, more emotional. Dark, stormy qi flowed from his remaining blade, Jiangzai. Something unfamiliar crept into his sparkling eyes — a glint of fury that was as wild and uncontrolled as a lightning strike.

This was different from his previous behavior, and Lan Wangji wasn’t sure what it meant. It was certainly strange for Xue Yang to be so fiercely attached to a sword that wasn’t his own, and which had belonged to a man he must have hated with all his soul. Certainly, they had been opposites — and if Shanghua was in Xue Yang’s hands, Lan Wangji could only assume that the lingchi had been at his hands and not Xiao Xingchen’s.

… yet being deprived of the sword was if he had had something precious torn away from him.

But Lan Wangji had no chance to reflect further on Xue Yang’s odd behavior. The demonic cultivator pressed his free hand to his chest, clutching at something under his robes — and the sound of countless shuffling footsteps reached Lan Wangji’s ears. The sound of dozens — even hundreds — of dead feet moving relentlessly towards their potential victims.

“Think you can protect her now?” Xue Yang sneered. “Or those little brats?”

Ice speared through Lan Wangji’s heart, and for a split second he considered leaving Xue Yang behind and finding Wei Ying and the boys. Protecting them from any further attacks.

But… no, if he did that, then Xue Yang would be free to continue sending wave after wave of walking corpses, while safely hidden away somewhere where Lan Wangji might not be able to find him again. And if he found himself pitted against an endless army of corpses, many of them filled with corpse powder, he would lose one way or another. No matter how powerful and skilled he was, Lan Wangji knew that he couldn’t fight them off from all directions forever…

No. He had to keep Xue Yang occupied. No matter how desperately he wanted to go find Wei Ying… and that meant…

Swiftly, he moved Bichen into his left hand, and plunged his right into his qiankun pouch. His fingers gripped smooth, polished wood, and he drew his guqin smoothly out, swinging it out at his side so that it was facing the street behind him. Without looking, a fierce strum of his hand sent a shock wave blasting down the street.

Chapter Text

With the boys huddled around the window, Wei Wuxian had to stick his head out the door to see what Lan Zhan was doing, but he could guess what it was from the thunderous sound of guqin strings being strummed. The blast was strong enough to splinter wood and send the walking corpses flying backwards, immobilized and broken.

“Wow!” Jin Ling exclaimed, sounding both awed and afraid.

“Of course!” Lan Jingyi burst out proudly. “Hanguang-jun is better than anyone else in a fight, even if he doesn’t always show it. Nobody can stand up to him!” He turned eagerly to Wei Wuxian. “Aren’t you proud of him, Second Madame?”

“Me? Yes, of course,” Wei Wuxian said, a little distracted.

He wasn’t lying. Lan Zhan’s abilities were truly a sight to behold — he had never seen somebody who was successfully fighting with swords even as he also launched an attack on those approaching from another direction. Only the most impressive swordsmen could divide their attention in such a way, while still being deadly in a fight and having strength enough to use his guqin so effectively..

Still, it made Wei Wuxian’s stomach clench with anxiety. More walking corpses were coming this way, no matter how many Lan Zhan cut down. He couldn’t keep this up forever. The only way he knew to pacify Xue Yang was impossible — and even if it weren’t, Wei Wuxian doubted that he would allow Lan Zhan and the boys to simply leave unharmed. Best case scenario, he would hold them hostage. Worst case scenario, he would try to kill them all.

Wei Wuxian looked over at the boys huddled around the window, watching the fight with wide eyes. They were all depending on him and Lan Zhan to get them home safely, but there didn’t seem any way to—

TAK. TAK. TAK.

The crisp, sharp crack of the bamboo pole cut through Wei Wuxian’s thoughts. He turned towards the sound, his ears perking up. “That girl,” he said softly.

That was it. That young girl ghost might have answers that they desperately needed right now. She had been herding the boys through Yi City’s fogs, trying to push them out of the city before harm could befall them. And when Wei Wuxian had confronted her, she had tried to warn them all about… something. The poor girl hadn’t been able to communicate without her tongue or the ability to write, but she had clearly been agitated by whatever she was trying to warn them about.

And when Xue Yang had approached, she had vanished without a trace. It didn’t take a genius to discern that she was afraid of him, but not so afraid that she wouldn’t try to help people avoid him. Did she know what had happened to the real Xiao Xingchen? Or anything about the Yin Tiger Tally?

“Follow her!” Wei Wuxian said loudly.

The boys turned their heads towards him, eyes filled with confusion. “Follow her… why?” Lan Jingyi asked.

“She knows more than she can communicate,” Wei Wuxian said grimly. “She’s afraid of Xue Yang, but she still tried to get you out of the city safely. If I can find out what she knows—”

“Xue Yang?” Jin Ling said disbelievingly. “Who’s Xue Yang? I thought that was Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan!”

“We’ve never seen Xiao Xingchen,” Wei Wuxian said, waving a hand impatiently. “That blindfolded man was Xue Yang — I’ll explain who he is to you later. Come on!”

He darted out into the darkened, foggy street, but paused outside so that the boys could catch up to him. They moved as a group, their faces grim but determined, hands on their swords.

“You shouldn’t be so eager to go!” Lan Jingyi yelled.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Why not?”

“Your husband is fighting out there! You should be more worried about him! Shouldn’t you be crying and throwing yourself out there to try to shield him from harm, or playing your flute to try to help him? And he would tell you that you should leave for somewhere safe, and you would cry back, ‘No, my darling, I would never leave you!’ And then he would—“

“Stop!” Wei Wuxian cried, waving his arms furiously. “Do we really seem like that kind of couple? Do I seem like I'd run out there and distract Hanguang-jun with lovey-dovey words and — and things like that?”

“I.. guess not,” Lan Jingyi said, sounding disappointed.

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath. “Hanguang-jun can handle everything that’s going on back there. I’m going to do what I can to help him by finding out what that girl knows. Maybe something she knows can help us stop Xue Yang.”

He thought he heard a little tremor in his voice, and hoped none of the boys had heard it. The truth was, his stomach was twisting and flip-flopping every time he heard the guqin’s strings, every time he heard blades clashing against each other. Some selfish part of him wished that he and Lan Zhan had chosen to wait a few days longer in that shack in the woods, fucking each other’s brains out and letting the world handle its own problems for a little longer. Then again, he reminded himself, these boys would definitely be dead if they had shown up any later.

He forged ahead into the fog, through the winding maze of dark buildings. His ears were perpetually listening for the sound of that bamboo stick; she seemed to be darting just ahead of him. Finally the sound stopped — just as a single building rose out of the fog ahead of the group, wreathed in shreds of mist.

“Let me go first,” Wei Wuxian said, holding up a hand.

“Are you sure, Second Madame Lan?” Ouyang Zizhen asked anxiously.

Wei Wuxian nodded absently, as he moved forward towards the door. He stepped over the high threshold, looking around as the boys followed him into the darkened room. “Watch your step — it’s high,” he said.

He whipped out an illumination talisman, lighting the darkened room with a flickering golden light. Several black coffins were placed all around the room, along with an altar encrusted with dust. Straw was strewn on the floor, crunching under Wei Wuxian’s boots as he wandered through the place. It was a charitable mortuary, he realized — a place for unclaimed bodies, bodies that might turn into fierce corpses, or bodies that were awaiting burial. The entire building had an aura of sadness that had nothing to do with the deadness of Yi City around it. It was a place of endings and loss.

Suddenly Lan Sizhui gasped, and Wei Wuxian turned to see the girl sitting atop one of the coffins. Her blind eyes stared at them, little dribbles of blood trickling from their corners like tears. More blood stained her lips, left over from when her tongue had been cut out — Wei Wuxian was more than sure it had been Xue Yang.

Impatiently, she sprang down and began crouching by the coffin, furiously making lifting gestures at it. Her motions were frantic, as if she were desperate for someone — anyone — to look inside. Her delicate face turned to Wei Wuxian, crumpling slightly as she silently pleaded with him to help her.

“Is it… her body?” Lan Jingyi asked.

“Perhaps she wants us to give her a burial?” Lan Sizhui said hopefully. “Perhaps she can’t move on?”

Wei Wuxian nodded, moving to the side of the coffin. “It might be, but we’ll have to see. Sizhui, Jingyi, help me with the lid. The rest of you stand back. There might be another trap inside.”

But he suspected that there wasn’t. The girl hadn’t shown a scrap of malice towards any of them, and he doubted she would lead them into one of Xue Yang’s traps. When the boys lifted the lid and pushed it aside, Wei Wuxian stepped to the coffin side, and peered inside.

Inside was the form of a handsome young man, dressed all in white Daoist robes. He had been placed in a careful, respectful position, his hands folded neatly over his whisk, his clothing neatly arranged around him. His face was gentle and fine-boned, and Wei Wuxian had the feeling that the man’s nature had matched his face. The one ill note in his appearance was that wide bandages covered the upper half of his face, where once there had been a pair of eyes… but no longer.

“Is that…” Jin Ling asked faintly.

“The real Xiao Xingchen,” Wei Wuxian said soberly.

Chapter Text

The ghost girl felt with her hands over the edge of the coffin, and settled her thin fingers over the dead man’s face. As she touched the bandages covering his empty eye sockets, her face crumpled, as if she were going to cry. Thin streams of blood trickled from her own white eyes, and her lips moved soundlessly as if she were lamenting what she had found.

Wei Wuxian watched her soberly. He wasn’t sure who this girl had been, but Xiao Xingchen had clearly meant a lot to her, and she was afraid of Xue Yang. Whatever had transpired between the three of them was probably the reason she was lingering on even after her death, trying to save whomever wandered into this miserable city.

“Should I play Inquiry again, Second Madame?” Lan Sizhui said quietly.

Wei Wuxian shook his head, not taking his eyes from the girl. “Whatever she has to tell us is… obviously very complicated. Inquiry might not be able to garner all the details she has to communicate.”

Lan Sizhui’s face fell slightly. The girl’s face was bowed, as more blood trickled from her eyes, and she began impotently hitting the ground with her stick.

“Then what can we do?” Lan Jingyi asked.

Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’m going to try Empathy.”

Jin Ling’s eyes widened. “That’s crazy! Empathy is way too dangerous — if she decided to take over your body—“

“Hanguang-jun wouldn’t want you to—“ Lan Sizhui started to say.

“I know the risks, and I can handle them,” Wei Wuxian said firmly. “We don’t have time to play Inquiry and get all the answers we need — Hanguang-jun is still fighting, and we need to help him as quickly as possible. Empathy will let me see everything she’s experienced all at once.” He swung around and looked intently at Jin Ling. “I need you to be the Monitor, Jin Ling.”

Jin Ling gawped at him, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Me? You want ME to help you do this?”

“You have your bell from the Jiang Clan, don’t you?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Jin Ling still looked disbelieving, but he pulled out a small silver bell. Wei Wuxian plucked it from his fingers, and started to hand it to Lan Sizhui — only for Jin Ling to snatch it back. “I’ll do it,” he said, grimacing.

“Just the kind of capricious mood I’d expect from Young Mistress Jin,” Lan Jingyi said mockingly.

“Shut up, you—“

“Both of you, quiet,” Wei Wuxian said sternly, turning back to Jin Ling. “The silver bell will be the signal for me to come out of the trance.”

His heart was racing as he turned back to the blind girl. She had heard everything they were saying, and was facing him with a plaintive look on her pallid face. No matter how confident he sounded, there was a risk to this — even for someone who was practically an expert, like the Yiling Patriarch. But if it helped him understand what had happened in Yi City, it would be worth the risk. Hopefully.

“Enter,” he said loudly.

The girl darted forward with inhuman speed, and Wei Wuxian felt a cold rush, like a blast of icy wind, slipping into his body. He staggered back against the nearest coffin, feeling hands from all sides grabbing him as he began to slide down to the ground. Then the charitable mortuary — the concerned voices chattering all around him — began to fade away into darkness —

— and Wei Wuxian opened his eyes again. A harsh gasp escaped him, and his hands clenched into fists. The bell was jingling in his ear, as cold and bright as new-fallen snow.

For a moment, the echoes of A-Qing’s memories lingered in his mind and body. His eyes stung and burned, and he felt a slicing pain on his tongue. He sat up sharply, pressing his hand to his lips, and his head spun so sharply that he nearly fell back down to the floor. Instead he huddled forward, staring at nothing as he waited for the dizziness to pass —

“Second Madame Lan!” a voice called in his ear. “Second Madame Lan! Are you all right?”

“She didn’t go stupid, did she?” Lan Jingyi asked anxiously.

“If something bad happened to her, Hanguang-jun is going to kill us!” one Lan boy lamented.

“I told you this was dangerous!” Jin Ling shouted, still jingling the bell.

His eyes were still blurred and his head was spinning, but Wei Wuxian reached up and grasped the coffin, pulling himself up to his feet. Hands gripped his arms and shoulders, trying to lift and steady him

“I’m all right,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice a little slurred. “I just need a minute — I’m dizzy — ”

His eyes fell on Xiao Xingchen’s peaceful form, and he felt a wrench in his heart. His mother’s younger martial brother — even if they had never met — had been a kind, pure and just soul, giving up his eyes for his friend and then dedicating himself to eliminating evil and protecting others all alone. And as thanks, he had come to such a wretched end. Like a poisonous clinging vine strangling a sapling, Xue Yang had ruined him, deceived him, and shattered his very soul.

At least he knew now whose soul Xue Yang wanted him to piece back together. He probably thought that with the soul repaired, he could force Xiao Xingchen into being his mindless fierce corpse servant.

Then Wei Wuxian looked over at A-Qing, who was huddled near the head of the coffin. She was staring at him with her blind white eyes, her lips moving silently as if she were pleading with him. She might be a rough, wild little urchin with nimble fingers and a foul tongue, but she had a good heart. Even after Xue Yang had blinded her, cut out her tongue and tortured her to death, she still lingered in this world to try to save others from him, and to protect Xiao Xingchen’s body.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “You did very well. I’ll take it from here, A-Qing.”

Her response was to lift her bamboo stick, and swing it fiercely as if holding a sword. Her delicate little face was grimly set in an aggressive, grim expression, as if she were able to stab Xue Yang herself.

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She nodded curtly, and moved to the doorway. Wei Wuxian followed her to the foggy doorway, and paused in front of it. The boys were already following her like ducklings filing after their mother, their youthful faces simultaneously confused and grim. They all clearly thought that they were going to be heading back into combat — and that was the last thing that Wei Wuxian wanted for any of them. They didn’t deserve to encounter someone as vile as Xue Yang.

Wei Wuxian held up a hand to block them. “Hold up. I want you all to stay here,” he said quietly. “This place is safe as long as Hanguang-jun is fighting Xue Yang — maybe the only safe place in the entire city. The walking corpses won’t enter this mortuary. So hunker down here, and I’ll come back for you when it’s over, okay?”

“Why? Why are we being left behind?” Jin Ling said, frustrated.

“What did you see through Empathy?” Lan Jingyi said eagerly.

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “It’s… a very long story. I’ll tell you afterwards, all of it.” He turned to Lan Sizhui, who looked very pale and anxious. “Sizhui, you’re in charge until Hanguang-jun and I get back. Understand?”

Lan Sizhui nodded.

“That’s not fair!” Jin Ling burst out. “You have to tell us at least SOME of it!”

“Well, here’s the short version,” Wei Wuxian said. His jaw tightened, and he looked away from the boys, so they wouldn’t see what was roiling in his eyes. “Xue Yang needs to die.”

He flung the door open and plunged into the fog outside, slamming the door shut behind him. Then there was only the fog-wrapped streets of Yi City, and the piercing tapping of a bamboo stick ahead of him.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian ran half-blinded through the fog, following the relentless tapping of the bamboo stick. Even blinded, A-Qing knew these streets like the back of her hand, and he couldn’t do anything but trust that she was leading him in the right direction. His heart was racing as fast as his feet, and he kept his ears open for the sound of swords striking one another.

Lan Zhan, he repeated silently as he ran. Lan Zhan… be all right…

He had been worried but fairly confident before he had seen A-Qing’s memories, knowing that Lan Zhan was a peerless swordsman. But Song Lan was also a superb swordsman, and Xue Yang had turned him into a fierce corpse and was still manipulating him even now. Miserable thoughts flitted through his head — images of Lan Zhan with blood trickling from his eyes and lips, like A-Qing —

And then the crisp clang of steel cut through the fog, almost blotting out the sound of the bamboo stick. Two shapes were sweeping through the dark street, swiping at one another — one encased in a halo of blue light, the other reeking of dark qi. Bichen was moving more swiftly and with greater surety; Wei Wuxian felt a swell of pride at his husband’s skill. Jiangzai was moving more wildly, erratically, with a kind of vicious ferocity that chilled the blood, but it was barely able to fend Bichen off.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathed.

He immediately knew that that had been a mistake. Jiangzai suddenly darted away through the fog, a sharp dark shape that hurtled towards Wei Wuxian like an arrow. He stumbled back a few steps, a gasp escaping his lips, and tried to dodge away from Jiangzai’s tip — but the blade followed him, angling and shifting so that it was always angled towards the woman below — he flinched, his eyes closing automatically as the dark blade shot towards him as swiftly as a bolt of lightning—

— only for it to stop a mere millimeter from the flesh of his throat. He could almost feel its keen edge brushing his skin, its dark qi buzzing against him like a swarm of hornets —

“Careful, Hanguang-jun,” Xue Yang’s mocking voice called out. “If you try anything, I’ll open up her throat.”

Wei Wuxian drew in a ragged breath, and cautiously opened his eyes. Jiangzai was hovering in front of him, trembling slightly as if it were filled with bloodlust — and if he moved, it would slice through his throat. He shifted back slightly, to see what Xue Yang would do. The blade followed him, and its trembling became more pronounced, as if it couldn’t wait to cut his throat. Wei Wuxian st0pped moving altogether, keeping every muscle as rigid as he could.

Every spiritual weapon had its own soul, so to speak, which usually reflected the soul of its master. Jiangzai seemed to be one such sword, Wei Wuxian reflected darkly.

Bichen’s cool glow darted back into the depths of the fog, wrapped in wisps of mist, and then didn’t emerge again. Wei Wuxian grimaced, and glanced over at the spot where he suspected Lan Zhan was standing. He couldn’t see his husband’s face, but he thought he could hear harsh breaths coming from somewhere in that area.

Then a low voice cut through the fog. “Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan,” he called out. “Don’t let him—“

The tip of the sword prodded against his throat. He felt a sharp pain as the skin was pierced, and a drop of hot blood trickling down into his collar.

“Careful, Yiling Patriarch,” Xue Yang called out. “If you make a commotion, my sword might slip.” He sounded positively gleeful, in a way that put Wei Wuxian’s teeth on edge.

“If you want a favor from a lady,” Wei Wuxian grunted, “it doesn’t help to treat her like this.”

Xue Yang laughed. “Calling you a ‘lady’ is pretty amusing.”

A black-clad figure appeared in the fog, slowly ambling closer with a bright smile on his lips and a dark, glittering fire in his eyes. Xue Yang stopped some distance away and surveyed the sight of his sword holding the Yiling Patriarch hostage. Wei Wuxian couldn’t do anything except stare bleakly at Jiangzai, then turn his eyes back to where he knew Lan Zhan was standing.

He could only imagine what his husband was thinking and feeling now.

*

Lan Wangji felt as if someone had torn open his chest and gripped his beating heart in cold, remorseless fingers.

When Jiangzai had suddenly darted away from Bichen, he thought that he had Xue Yang on the run. The demonic cultivator had barely been fending him off for the last hour, especially with Wei Ying and the children out of the way. It was only a matter of time before Lan Wangji struck a winning blow, or Xue Yang was forced to run — and once he was on the run, Lan Wangji would be able to drive him into a corner.

But then he heard Wei Ying’s voice, and his body had gone icy.

He could see Wei Ying now, very faintly — a dark shape motionless in the fog, with that accursed Jiangzai pointed at his neck. His hands were trembling on Bichen’s hilt, and he could barely keep his breathing under control. Normally he might be able to intercept Jiangzai before Xue Yang could react, knocking the sword aside with his own and attacking the demonic cultivator before he could recall his blade.

But… he couldn’t risk it. Not this time. Wei Ying was his whole world — everything that made his heart beat and his soul live. He couldn’t let Xue Yang have him, knowing what a monster he was. If he lost Wei Ying — again — after all these years — just when they had found each other and loved one another —

Xue Yang’s voice rang out. “Now be a good lover and stay back, Hanguang-jun. I don’t want to hurt the bitch — not fatally, anyway — but I’ll do it if you try anything more with that sword of yours.”

“Don’t worry about me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying called out, his voice strained.

Lan Wangji remained completely still. His heart felt as though it was trying to batter its way past his ribs. His knuckles were white as he clutched Bichen.

“He should worry about you,” Xue Yang jeered. “I’m taking you with me, and you’re going to do that little favor for me. You’ve done plenty of things in your life that nobody else could do, so what’s one more?”

“You’re asking me to build a house without bricks or wood,” Wei Wuxian said tightly. “I couldn’t force it back into one piece again—“

Xue Yang raised his hand, and Wei Wuxian grunted faintly, as if the sword had pricked him. Lan Wangji’s hand spasmed on his sword’s hilt. He didn’t know what Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian were talking about, just that Wei Ying said it was impossible and Xue Yang refused to believe him. Maybe it had something to do with the Yin Tiger Tally — he wasn’t sure what other things Wei Ying might be needed for. But there was a strange desperation in Xue Yang’s voice when he spoke that made Lan Wangji even more afraid, because a desperate man would be much more vicious in attaining his goals.

Lan Wangji took a deep, shuddering breath, and silently took a step.

“Keep your distance,” Xue Yang warned him ominously. “I can do all sorts of things to her without killing her, and if I do, it’ll be all YOUR fault. She doesn’t need her legs for demonic cultivation, for instance. It’d also keep her from running away…”

Lan Wangji froze in place. Impotent rage boiled up inside him, and all he could think of was killing Xue Yang for threatening his wife. He wanted nothing more than to sever Xue Yang’s head from his body, leave him rotting in the streets of the city he had killed, and eliminate his corrupt soul. He wanted there to be nothing left of the man who was threatening his love.

— and then something hurtled past him, through the air, towards Wei Ying.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian barely had time to register that something large and dark was flying towards him before it had slammed into Jiangzai. He felt the tip of the blade scrape against his throat as it was forcibly sent flying away into the fog, but suddenly he was no longer being held hostage by Xue Yang's vicious blade. He hurled himself back into the mist, taking several steps away from the man until neither could see the other—

“Fuck!” Xue Yang howled. “Fuck!”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t see what was happening — but Bichen’s cold light flashed through the fog, slicing towards where Xue Yang had just been standing. A streak of darkness flew up to meet it, and the sound of metal striking metal rang out like a bell. Lan Zhan was attacking with renewed fury, his moves quicker and more vicious than they had been before. Xue Yang was barely able to fend him off.

Wei Wuxian breathed a sigh of relief, and touched his throat. Fortunately it was only a scratch and a few drops of blood.

That just left the question of who — or what — had saved him.

He stumbled warily through the fog in the direction that the flying person had gone, hearing the faint sound of struggling somewhere ahead. Skin on skin, cloth flapping, something scraping and sliding over the packed dirt. Then he saw it: a dark, writhing mass larger than any one person, rocking and twisting on the ground as if it were trying to eat itself.

It was only when Wei Wuxian came a little closer that he saw, with relief, that it was only two fierce corpses trying to wring each other’s necks. Wen Ning was pinning Song Lan to the ground, and Song Lan was fighting back furiously, his teeth bared. He was still under Xue Yang’s control, but Wei Wuxian had no doubt that if he weren’t, he would be on the same side as him and Lan Zhan.

“Wen Ning!” Wei Wuxian shouted. “Flip him over and hold him down!”

Wen Ning immediately obeyed, seizing Song Lan’s shoulders and twisting him onto his stomach. Song Lan pushed furiously against the ground, but he wasn’t strong enough to keep Wen Ning from pinning him. Wei Wuxian knelt down beside his head and started feeling around in his hair — feeling for two little metal nubs jutting out of his skull. When his fingertips closed on them, he pulled them slowly.

Song Lan went limp as soon as the nails were removed, collapsing to the ground and lying still. His eyes were still wide open, but he might as well have been unconscious. Wei Wuxian frowned at the two nails, smeared with black blood, in his hand. He wasn’t sure if Wen Ning had come back to himself just yet, but removing the nails should free Song Lan.

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

Wei Wuxian’s heart almost stopped at the enraged bellow coming from Xue Yang. He sounded as if the most precious thing in the world had been stolen from him.

“Give it back!” Xue Yang howled. “Give it to me NOW!”

“Give you what?” Wei Wuxian shouted. “You mean Shanghua? You drove the man who owned it to his death, and you have the nerve to demand it?”

Xue Yang laughed derisively. “What do you know, you stupid bitch!”

The cold fog around Wei Wuxian felt as if it was growing thinner. His heart was racing, and he knew this was probably a stupid tactic, but the more he could get Xue Yang to talk, the easier it would be for Lan Zhan to find him. “You can laugh, but that won’t bring back Xiao Xingchen’s soul, you know. It doesn’t matter how much you want him back.”

“Hah! As if I wanted that — as if I wanted him back!”

“Oh?” Wei Wuxian said with a hint of mockery. “Then why did you ask me to piece his soul back together? You wouldn’t accept that it wasn’t possible, even for me. You practically begged me.”

“Shut UP, bitch.” Venom had flooded back into Xue Yang’s voice, as if he wanted to lash out at the person he had previously asked for help. “I could kill you right now — no, I’ll wait until I raise him as a fierce corpse, and then I’ll force HIM to kill you — you and those brats —“

“He really got under your skin, didn’t he?” Wei Wuxian called. “The noble, righteous Daoist who only wanted to protect others and eradicate evil. And once he found out who you really were, and knew the things you had done, he was repelled.”

Xue Yang growled softly. He was getting angrier and angrier, Wei Wuxian could tell even without seeing his face. Xiao Xingchen seemed to be some kind of sore point for him — including the fact that he had rejected Xue Yang completely when he realized who his companion truly was. Had that… hurt Xue Yang? He had seemed devastated when he wasn’t able to turn Xiao Xingchen into a fierce corpse, and that didn’t seem like a response to losing a hated enemy.

Had Xue Yang… become fond of Xiao Xingchen? Or as fond as someone as twisted as him could become of someone who was his complete opposite?

The more Wei Wuxian thought about it, the more sense it made. Protestations aside, Xue Yang’s desperation to piece together Xiao Xingchen’s soul didn’t feel like seeking revenge. If he had truly hated Xiao Xingchen, wouldn’t the shattering of his soul have elicited a laugh and a “serves him right”? Instead of a desperate quest for the one person he believed could put Xiao Xingchen back together, even if it pitted him against the renowned and deadly Hanguang-jun?

Of course, that made him even more dangerous. Xue Yang was a dangerous psychopath in the first place — both in mind and in body. But if he was fighting for something important to him, if he was desperate… well, there might not be any lengths he might not go to.

Wei Wuxian released a shaky breath. Then he heard an almost silent footfall in the fog, and relief flooded through him. Lan Zhan was getting closer to Xue Yang — which meant that Wei Wuxian had to keep the man talking so Lan Zhan could home in on him.

“Tell me,” he called out, “was he the reason you waited so long to kill Chang Ping? You let him live for years, unmolested, probably thinking that you had died or gone elsewhere. Instead, you were with Xiao Xingchen, pretending to be his friend. And then you turned up and killed Chang Ping with lingchi — the punishment of a sinner — and even more noticeable, you gouged out his eyes.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Xue Yang bellowed. “I wanted him dead! I wanted revenge!”

“But you didn’t want revenge for yourself anymore, did you?” Wei Wuxian shot back, each word like an arrow finding its mark. “You wanted revenge because Chang Ping and his family had set Xiao Xingchen on that path! If it hadn’t been for Chang Ping’s family, Xiao Xingchen wouldn’t have gotten involved, and wouldn’t been blinded — and he wouldn’t have died. At least, that’s what you were thinking, right?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“After all, you used Shanghua to kill him!” Wei Wuxian shouted through the fog. “Did it seem like poetic justice to you? Using his sword to get revenge — on the man you blamed for his death?” He grimaced. “If you want revenge on the man who blinded him, who ruined him, who drove him to his death — you should have killed yourself.”

Xue Yang let out a wild, mad laugh — and two tiny streaks of black darted through the air at Wei Wuxian’s face. Before he could react, an ice-pale fist was suddenly in front of him, clutching the projectiles tightly. Wen Ning’s face was solemn as he turned back towards Wei Wuxian, opening his fingers to reveal two of those black nails.

Wei Wuxian had no idea what effect those nails would have on a living person, but he had no intention of finding out. Or maybe, he thought, Xue Yang had simply been throwing the first sharp things he found at Wei Wuxian’s face, not caring what he did as long as it hurt the person who was taunting him. It certainly confirmed Wei Wuxian’s suspicions — if Xue Yang hadn’t felt some kind of twisted liking for Xiao Xingchen, he wouldn’t have been that enraged.

But now he had another problem. Xue Yang had gone silent — the only sign of his presence was the telltale clash of his Jiangzai with Bichen. If Lan Zhan could just hear him talking a little longer —

“Was enslaving Song Lan another form of revenge?” he called out. “Revenge on the man who got Xiao Xingchen’s eyes? Revenge on the man who left him alone in the world?”

But there was only silence.

“Afraid to answer? Ashamed, maybe? No, you couldn’t feel that.”

More silence, heavy and cold as the fog. Wei Wuxian grimaced. It seemed that Xue Yang had figured out that he was being baited, and was keeping silent. Still, Wei Wuxian felt like he could feel his malevolence radiating through the fog, coming from everywhere and nowhere. He was elusive, like a tricky ghost — and without sound to follow, Lan Zhan wouldn’t be able to find him —

Tak-tak-tak!

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. A-Qing’s stick was tapping furiously in the fog, louder than it had ever been before — and it was moving from place to place. Almost as if she were chasing someone…

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouted. “Attack wherever you hear that sound!”

Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he FELT Bichen surging through the air, stabbing into the space where Xue Yang had just been. A faint growl came from somewhere in the fog — just before the tapping changed locations. Wei Wuxian saw a glimpse of blue light as Bichen attacked once more — the tapping changed locations — Bichen moved even more swiftly, cutting through the coiling fog —

“Little blind girl,” Xue Yang said mockingly. “Aren’t you scared that I’ll catch you and crush you like a bug?”

She WAS afraid, Wei Wuxian knew. She had been lurking in this place for however long it had been since her death, avoiding Xue Yang wherever he popped up. She had fled before when he turned up, but now she was staying close to him, desperately making noise in the only way she could. She was hoping Lan Zhan could finally kill Xue Yang, and avenge her and Xiao Xingchen.

And her fears weren’t unfounded. Xue Yang was obviously brilliant at demonic cultivation; manipulating and utilizing ghosts was a core part of that path. It also meant that a troublesome ghost could suffer a fate worse than death —

And then a bloodcurdling, animalistic screech echoed through the air.

“A-Qing!” Wei Wuxian shouted.

He lunged towards the scream, fumbling at his belt for a spirit-trapping pouch. The same way he could feel a thunderstorm building in the air, he could feel A-Qing’s presence — feel her fragment like a scrap of paper shredded in the wind. Even without looking, he knew that Xue Yang had thrown a particularly vicious talisman at her. She was flickering like a ghost fire, tearing apart and unable to do more than scream piteously.

Xue Yang was there — a dark, menacing figure — but Wei Wuxian ignored him, diving towards the ghost with his hand outstretched. Most of the pieces of her fractured soul were immediately drawn inside, but some still fluttered in the air and ground nearby like disoriented moths —

Then there was a thick, wet slicing sound.

Automatically, Wei Wuxian looked up at Xue Yang. Bichen was buried in his chest, the tip jutting out of his back. Blood was pouring down the pristine silver blade. Xue Yang’s breathing was labored, and his eyes were as wide as they could open, as if he was completely shocked by the fact that someone had been able to mortally wound him.

“You got him, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian shouted in delight.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied.

Xue Yang coughed a splatter of blood that dyed his lips and chin crimson. Then something dark and glittering came into his eyes — and he lunged through the mist on failing legs. His voice was raw with rage and pain as he screamed, “Give him back!”

Wei Wuxian’s hands were deftly guiding those broken soul fragments into the spirit-trapping pouch. But he heard another slash of Bichen’s blade, the wet heavy sound of flesh and bone being cut — and a loud thud as a severed arm fell to the ground. The smell of blood had been there before, but now it seemed to surround them as completely as the fog.

As his fingers slipped the last fragments into the pouch, Wei Wuxian finally allowed himself to look up. Xue Yang was kneeling feebly on the ground, blood pouring from where his arm had been attached. More blood poured from the holes in his chest and back, puddling around his knees. At just a glance, he could tell that Xue Yang was dying.

Lan Zhan strode through the mist towards them, with the glinting Bichen already back in his hand. His beautiful face was cold and stern.

Wei Wuxian slowly stood up, his hands clutching the spirit-trapping pouch tightly. He had never seen Lan Zhan like this before — sure, they had both killed plenty of people in the war, but he hadn’t seen Lan Zhan like this in cold single combat. He could tell just by looking at his husband’s face that he was going to cut off Xue Yang’s head. A feeling of savage satisfaction filled him — after everything Xue Yang had done, the countless people he had tortured and killed, he deserved nothing less than to be killed by someone like Lan Zhan.

— and then blue flames erupted around Xue Yang’s body.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. A transportation talisman? No, Xue Yang couldn’t possibly have activated that himself — he was almost dead, bleeding out! His spiritual power must have been virtually at nil — and even if he could escape, it wasn’t like he could simply escape his injuries. That meant that the talisman had to be the work of—

“Lan Zhan!” he called out. “He’s going to—“

But it was already too late. The flames evaporated into nothingness, leaving nothing but a puddle of crimson blood that slowly seeped into the dirt. Lan Zhan was gazing down at it impassively, his light eyes tracing over the spot where Xue Yang had last been. He touched Bichen’s tip to the ground, as if checking to make sure the man couldn’t have sunk down into the sodden dirt.

Wei Wuxian sighed. ”The gravedigger?”

“He was wounded,” Lan Zhan said in a low voice. “I caught up to him a few times, but he escaped me.”

“Well,” Wei Wuxian said, scratching his head. “That was a disaster. We lost Xue Yang.”

“He was already dying.”

“I know. But Xue Yang would never have let the Yin Tiger Tally out of his possession, especially with enemies like us in the city. He would have kept it close at all times, especially since he needed to send a small army of fierce corpses after us. That means that when the gravedigger took Xue Yang away, he also snatched away the Tally.” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “And that was probably on purpose. Maybe he knew Xue Yang and they were working together, or maybe he just knew Xue Yang had it. Either way, we lost it — and now the gravedigger has it.”

Lan Zhan seemed to contemplate that for a moment as he sheathed Bichen. “I found the arm,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t realized how tense he had been until he heard those words, and his body immediately relaxed. “Hanguang-jun is truly impressive,” he said warmly, smiling. “Running around Yi City, fighting the gravedigger and who-knows-how-many fierce corpses, and you still had the presence of mind to get the thing we came here for! I almost forgot that we came here for another body part!”

Lan Zhan strode towards him, his eyes unblinkingly fixed on Wei Wuxian’s face. He stopped only a whisper away, one of his hands clasping around Wei Wuxian’s upper arm, their faces close enough to touch. Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s thumb pass under his chin, gently tip his face upward with a gesture of his hand… and then slip down to his throat.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what Lan Zhan was doing, until a little sting reminded him. “It’s just a scratch,” he said quietly.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan murmured. He was leaning closer, and his warm breath washed over Wei Wuxian’s throat.

A thoroughly-enjoyable shiver ran through Wei Wuxian’s body. “No, seriously. You don’t need to be worried. It doesn’t even really—“

And then that gentle but forceful hand was on the back of his neck, pulling him forward into a fierce kiss. It felt like the first rush of wine into his blood, a heady, intoxicating feeling — and he eagerly kissed Lan Zhan back, feeling his husband’s tongue sliding into his mouth and entwining with his own. Lan Zhan’s other arm curled around his waist, crushing their bodies together as if he never wanted to let go.

And he could feel Lan Zhan’s heart pounding against his breast — a fast, steady rhythm that betrayed the man’s emotions more than his face ever would. He melted into Lan Zhan’s embrace, and for a moment, he let himself forget about the blood, the fog, the terrible crimes that had been committed all around them. There was only Lan Zhan, kissing him as if the world would end if he let go.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian almost complained when Lan Zhan’s lips parted from his — only to feel them on his exposed throat, his tongue caressing the cut on his skin. It probably should have hurt, but all Wei Wuxian felt was a pleasant shudder rocking his body, and his breath catching in his lungs. He let his head tilt back to let Lan Zhan have beter access, feeling his lips suck at the soft flesh of his throat…

“WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOING?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped open, and his foot immediately slipped on the blood pooling around his boots. Immediately Lan Zhan’s arms tightened around him, his warm scented breath brushing over Wei Wuxian’s face as he held him closely. The familiar scent of sandalwood was wrapped all around Wei Wuxian like a comforting blanket, along with the feeling of slender, strong hands gripping him tightly.

Feeling a sudden surge of dread, Wei Wuxian slowly turned towards the direction of that shout. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he already knew what was waiting for them there…

“Hanguang-jun?”

“Second Madame Lan?”

Several youths were standing in a row, watching them like a bunch of curious kittens. Most of them were staring with unblinking eyes, though a few were averting their gaze in embarrassment. Most of them also had flushed cheeks and their mouths were hanging open. The only one who didn’t look shocked or embarrassed was Jin Ling, who was goggling in disbelief… and maybe a little outrage.

Wei Wuxian stared back at them for a moment, then felt a giggle ripple through his body. He had never been in this position, since his parents had died when he was only a small child. But he imagined that for these youths, finding them vigorously kissing in a pool of blood was a little like walking in on your parents fucking. Especially since they revered Hanguang-jun so highly — they probably didn’t think someone as pristine and perfect as him would ever do such a thing.

Lan Sizhui cleared his throat. His cheeks were red, and his eyes skittered nervously over the ground. “Hanguang-jun… Second Madame… we didn’t see much. The fog is too thick.”

“Did you see what he was doing?” Lan Jingyi whispered. “He was sucking on her—“

“Shh!” Ouyang Zizhen hissed, looking deeply embarrassed.

Wei Wuxian could feel himself shaking with repressed laughter. He lightly tapped his fingers against Lan Zhan’s chest. “Hanguang-jun,” he whispered, “I think we might have to wait a little longer for this, until the children aren’t around.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, reluctantly letting go of his wife.

Wei Wuxian smoothed his robes and took a deep breath. “Sizhui, what are you all doing out here? I told you to stay in the charitable mortuary, didn’t I?” he said with an attempt at sternnness.

“We did,” Lan Sizhui said earnestly. “But someone else came in.”

“That fierce corpse!” one of the other boys burst out.

Wei Wuxian drew in a sharp breath, and looked around. No sign of Wen Ning — but he hadn’t told him to go to the charitable mortuary either —

“That — what’s his name — Song Lan!” Jin Ling said loudly.

Relief flooded through Wei Wuxian at hearing that name. He must have come to his senses, he reflected, if he hadn’t done anything to defend Xue Yang, and hadn’t done anything to the boys. As for Wen Ning, he must have slipped away when nobody was looking, which was probably for the best. The less the boys knew about what was going on, the better.

Song Lan was indeed in the charitable mortuary, beside the coffin in which Xiao Xingchen lay. His black robes and long dark hair made him look like a shadow in the dim light. As Wei Wuxian stepped into the charitable mortuary, the man turned slightly towards them, his deathly-white face almost painful in its sadness.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw Lan Zhan’s hand firmly gripping Bichen’s hilt, ready to attack if Song Lan made a suspicious move. He quickly placed his smaller hand over his husband’s, and silently shook his head. He isn’t dangerous. You don’t need to do that, his steady gaze said. Lan Zhan nodded once and let his hand slip to his side.

“This is Song Lan,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “Daozhang, this is Hanguang-jun.”

Song Lan turned around completely, and looked at them with steady, mournful black eyes. Xiao Xingchen’s eyes, Wei Wuxian thought with a wrench. The last and greatest gift his friend had given him, which had ultimately cost Xiao Xingchen his life when he encountered Xue Yang.
“You don’t know me or my husband,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “But I… was shown what happened to you, and to your friend.”

He felt Lan Zhan’s hand clasp around his wrist, raise his hand and place something in it. A slightly dusty spirit-trapping pouch — the same one that Xue Yang had had on his person, the same one that he had handed to Wei Wuxian once before. The one that held Xiao Xingchen’s fragmented soul. So that was what Xue Yang had meant by “give him back,” Wei Wuxian reflected.

He grasped the other spirit-trapping pouch and held them out to Song Lan. “This one holds Xiao Xingchen’s soul,” he said quietly, “and this one holds A-Qing’s soul. Both of them have been very badly shattered, so badly that they’re barely hanging onto existence. But that… doesn’t necessarily mean they are beyond hope.”

Song Lan’s eyes shimmered, and if he were still alive, Wei Wuxian suspected that he might have shed tears. Instead, he extended his hands and gently took both of the pouches in his palms, cradling them like two tiny babies fast asleep. The pain in his eyes was almost overwhelming, but he kept the pouches steady.

“With care and time,” Wei Wuxian said quietly, “perhaps one day they can be freed and pass on.”

Song Lan nodded slightly.

“What should be done with the body?”

Song Lan transferred A-Qing’s pouch to his left hand, and drew his sword. With a whirl of his blade, he sketched words on the dusty floor: I will cremate it. Protect his soul. When he awakens, I will tell him I am sorry, and it was not his fault.

Wei Wuxian swiftly drew a talisman, but made no motion to use it himself. It wasn’t his place, he knew. Instead, he handed it to Song Lan, who sent it towards Xiao Xingchen’s body. Blue flames rose from the peaceful corpse, turning everything it touched to a soft white ash. Bones, flesh and white robes were all turned to dust.

As Song Lan turned back to the door, Lan Zhan silently pulled Shanghua from his side, and handed it to the fierce corpse. Though Hanguang-jun didn’t say a word, the message was clear — This belongs with you — and a look of gratitude came over Song Lan’s face. It was, Wei Wuxian thought, as if Xiao Xingchen would be fighting alongside him as he used Shanghua with his own hands.

Song Lan accompanied them to the city gates. The young boys seemed somewhat unnerved by him — especially since he was clearly dead — but the calm demeanor of Hanguang-jun and Second Madame Lan seemed to reasssure them that nothing was wrong. As they reached the gates, Song Lan raised his hand in farewell, and walked off into the distance, a lonely figure with two swords at his side.

Wei Wuxian felt a pang as he watched the man go. It wasn’t enough that Xue Yang had killed so many — he had ruined their lives, torn them away from those who loved them. They could only hope that one day, with love and care, Xiao Xingchen would awaken in his pouch and know that Song Lan was there for him again. One day, they might be fully reunited.

He looked up at Lan Zhan’s expressionless face, and felt a rush of gratitude. No matter what Xue Yang had done, Wei Wuxian still had his white-clad, righteous cultivator, and they had… well, he wasn’t sure what kind of future they would have, but at least he knew they would have it together. He rose on his toes and pressed his lips to the corner of Lan Zhan’s mouth.

“I’m glad I have you,” he whispered against Lan Zhan’s cheek.

He knew they couldn’t be too affectionate with a dozen youths watching them, but he felt Lan Zhan’s hand settle against his back, pressing their bodies together.

Chapter Text

As they began walking, the boys began pestering Wei Ying to tell them about what he had seen during Empathy with A-Qing. Normally, Lan Wangji might have silenced them, but he also desperately wanted to know what had happened during the hours he had been fighting.

So Wei Ying recounted all of A-Qing’s experiences, feeling a tug at his heart when he remembered what had become of her. The boys scurried around him with wide eyes, listening with increasingly horrified faces as they learned of Xue Yang’s cruel deceptions, the bloodshed he had tricked Xiao Xingchen into, his terrible duel with Song Lan, and the fates of Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing when Xue Yang’s true identity was uncovered. Lan Wangji listened as well, Wei Ying’s words painting over all the blank spaces in the story until everything seemed complete.

His fingers clenched around Bichen, and his lips pressed tightly together. The more he heard, the more he regretted that Xue Yang’s suffering had been so brief. No amount of suffering in one’s life could justify the monstrous things he had done to others - entire clans wiped out, a city’s populace murdered to give him an army of the dead, and the twisted games he had played with Xiao Xingchen. Lan Wangji could only be glad that Xue Yang was dead — no one could have survived the blood loss he had suffered, or the grievous wounds.

Soon they arrived at the small, scrubby farm village that he and Wei Ying had visited the previous day. As Wei Ying concluded his story, Lan Wangji heard sniffling coming from several boys behind him. A moment later, Lan Jingyi burst into noisy, heaving sobs. That wasn’t a surprise — Lan Wangji knew the juniors he mentored very well, and Jingyi’s blunt, sometimes abrasive manner hid a surprisingly sensitive personality.

“How can — hic — something like that happen?” Lan Jingyi wailed.

Normally, Lan Wangji would have reproved the boy for making such a clamor. But after the night they had all endured, and the story they had just heard, he decided to let Lan Jingyi be.

Jin Ling, on the other hand, was snarling at the road ahead of him, his hands bunched into fists. “I wish Fairy had been with us,” he said through gritted teeth. “I would have fed Xue Yang to her, alive!”

Lan Wangji felt Wei Ying shudder next to him at the mention of being eaten alive by a dog. Silently, he slipped his hand around his wife’s.

The tearful youths decided to burn some joss paper when they reached the village, which made Lan Wangji a little uncomfortable. He hadn’t burned paper money for Wei Ying during their thirteen years apart. He hadn’t been able to bear the idea, as if it would be the final acknowledgement that the man he loved was truly dead and gone.

So he quietly led Wei Ying some distance away, to a spot where they couldn’t be easily heard. “We have everything but the head,” he said quietly.

“I just hope that finding the head isn’t as difficult as finding that second arm,” Wei Ying said, sighing. “Last night took a lot out of me.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed.

Wei Ying smiled at him, rested an arm on his shoulder and leaned against him. “What am I saying? You’re probably a thousand times more tired than I am, since you spent all night fighting, Hanguang-jun.”

Truthfully, Lan Wangji wasn’t as tired as Wei Ying thought. Wei Ying being more tired than he was was probably because Mo Lian’s cultivation had been rudimentary, lower even than the boys traveling with them. When they had some time and peace to themselves, he thought, he would help Wei Ying cultivate again. He had done it before, and had been brilliantly talented — Lan Wangji had no doubt that Wei Ying would probably only need a few years to catch up to where he had been when they were younger.

But before he could declare that he wasn’t tired, Wei Ying’s smile widened into a wicked grin, and he leaned close enough to brush his cheek against Lan Wangji’s throat. “After all,” he purred, “it would be a shame if Hanguang-jun was too tired to fuck me senseless later.”

Lan Wangji hadn’t been innocent enough to be shocked by such words in a long time, the way he had been when he first met Wei Ying. Rather than shock, a hot electricity surged through his blood. His first thought was to drag Wei Ying behind the nearest farmhouse, tear those black robes open, and take him right there against the wall. He wanted to hear Wei Ying moan, wanted to feel Wei Ying’s body hot and welcoming around him.

He ran his thumb over the plane of Wei Ying’s cheekbone, tilting his face upward so that their eyes met. Those liquid dark eyes were full of mischief and smiles, that brightness that had made Wei Ying so enchanting since their very first meeting. He hadn’t realized how much he loved that mercurial, infuriating personality until it was lost to him, as everything seemed to conspire to pull the man he loved far away from him and tear him apart.

“Mn. Later,” he said quietly.

“But for now we have to be responsible and mature,” Wei Ying said, glancing over at the boys. “At least until we can get to civilization and find a nice inn with thick walls.”

“Hey! What the hell are you kids doing, burning money in front of my house? That’s bad luck!”

Both of them immediately looked over at the spot where the boys were gathered. A grizzled villager with a bow on his back had just appeared, and was standing in the front of the house defensively, his stocky legs widely-spaced as if he was expecting a fight.

“We’re so sorry, sir!” Lan Sizhui said quickly, bowing in front of the man. “We didn’t know it was unlucky! We would never try to bring bad luck to you!”

The other boys murmured agreement, all of them looking deeply ashamed of themselves. Lan Wangji felt a faint glow of approval for Sizhui — the boy had natural leadership qualities, and he set a good example for those who followed in his footsteps. Some of these boys were clan heirs, young and inexperienced and treated like nobility, so it was good that they were willing to humble themselves when they had done wrong.

“You! Lady, are these your kids?” the villager shouted.

“Do I look old enough to have kids this age?” Wei Ying called back, putting his hands on his hips. “And how many do you think I could have at once? There’s more than a dozen!”

Despite the man’s disrespectful tone, Lan Wangji had to stifle his amusement at the question.

Lan Sizhui, looking very contrite, asked quietly, “Please, sir — you said this was your house?”

“Of course it’s my house. Who else’s would it be?”

“I don’t — it’s just —“ Sizhui said hesitantly. “Last time we were here, a different huntsman was in front of this house.”

The villager scoffed. “There ain’t another huntsman around here, kid.”

“There was then!” Lan Jingyi said quickly. “We didn’t get a good look at him, because he was wearing a lot of clothes up around his neck and face, and he had a hat. But he was sitting in front of your house repairing a bow. He gave us directions to Yi City.”

A chill seeped through Lan Wangji’s blood, and he quickly looked at Wei Ying. Wei Ying’s usually smiling face was solemn as well, and his fine brows were knitted together. The boys hadn’t mentioned this before — but it cast a very different light on their arrival in Yi City. The cat-killings had been sinister but not a direct attempt on their lives. But the idea that someone had sent them straight into Xue Yang’s hands—

But before he could speak, the villager scoffed. “There’s no hunter but me around this place. He was probably a spiteful ghost that wanted you to get killed in Yi City. Nothing good happens in that hellhole.”

The man turned and stormed into his house, leaving the boys looking at each other in confusion. Wei Ying darted into the midst of their circle, his eyes piercing as he looked at each of their faces. “You should have told us about that before,” he said sternly.

“We sort of… forgot,” Lan Jingyi said awkwardly.

“We’re sorry, Mom… I mean, Second Madame Lan,” another boy piped up.

“You don’t need to be sorry. Just be careful,” Wei Ying said, raising a hand. “Someone deliberately steered you into Yi City — someone in disguise, which means they may have worried that you would recognize them.”

Lan Wangji lowered his eyes slightly, and his fingers clutched at the edge of his sleeve. Once again, their findings seemed to point at someone prominent and powerful at the heart of this conspiracy — or worse, more than one such person, since two opposing forces seemed to be tugging at them. Whoever this person was, he thought grimly, they were monstrous enough to send innocent children to die at the hands of a fiend like Xue Yang — or at the very least, to be threatened with death if no one successfully intervened.

“I don’t get it,” Lan Jingyi said.

“I don’t understand either,” Lan Sizhui said hesitantly. “Why would someone go to all that trouble because of us? Killing the cats, impersonating the huntsman—”

Wei Ying crossed his arms, and cast a sweeping look around at the boys. “We can’t know the reason you were lured there, but the fact that you were all targeted suggests that someone may make another attempt on all of you. If anything else suspicious happens, don’t try to handle it on your own. I know, you want to prove that you can handle whatever comes your way, but you need to ask your families if anything else happens. They can protect you far better, especially if they work together.” He glanced back the way they had come, the shadowy road that led to Yi City. “If Hanguang-jun and I hadn’t come to Yi City when we did, you might not have made it out alive.”

Chapter Text

The boys were quiet at first as they walked, apparently disturbed by the thought that someone had deliberately lured them into danger. But by the time they arrived at the nearest city, they were chattering amongst themselves energetically, speculating who among their families’ enemies could possibly be doing this. The only one who didn’t was Lan Sizhui, who solemnly walked behind Lan Zhan with a troubled look on his young face.

Wei Wuxian suspected that they were all wrong. The enemies that they spoke of were mostly small fry, not powerful or influential enough. Besides, what were the chances that all of their different clans had the same enemy at the same time? To Wei Wuxian's knowledge, that had happened only once in the cultivation world, and that was the Wen clan. And the boys didn’t realize that there were two forces at odds with each other, one determined to reclaim the body and one determined to unearth it.

No, he suspected that the boys were merely being moved around by more powerful hands — just as the Lan youths had been back at the Mo estate. That meant, as uncomfortable as it made him, that they probably had been intended as bait for himself and Lan Zhan.

Wei Wuxian glanced over at Lan Zhan, whose eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but whose hand was firmly locked over his own. He couldn't bring up his suspicions until they got to an inn, and locked themselves away in a private room. Assuming they didn’t get distracted by other things, that was.

The sky was growing darker when they arrived in the nearest city. Wei Wuxian was lost in his own thoughts until he heard a harsh, wild honking — not one of happiness, but of demanding to be fed. It was the very same spotted donkey that Lan Zhan had bought to transport him back to Cloud Recesses. It brayed loudly again as Lan Jingyi produced an apple from his sleeve.

“We couldn’t leave it in Cloud Recesses, Hanguang-jun,” Lan Sizhui said apologetically. "It was making too much noise — nobody could study when it was there.”

“Doesn’t it have a name?” Wei Wuxian asked, patting its head.

“No, nobody’s given it one. It’s the only donkey at Cloud Recesses, so everybody just said ‘the donkey.’”

“Little Apple.”

“What?”

“I’m calling it ‘Little Apple,’” Wei Wuxian said with satisfaction. “It likes apples, after all.”

“That’s a stupid name,” Jin Ling said.

“Better than naming your fat dog ‘Fairy,’” Lan Jingyi retorted.

“Fairy’s not fat! She’s just—”

A round of joyous barking rang out as a large black shape hurtled down the street. Wei Wuxian went rigid. Ice flooded his blood, and all rational thoughts exploded out of his head. “Lan Zhan!” he yelped, clutching at his husband’s arm.

The next thing he knew, he had been swept up in those arms, high above the ground, with one curved behind his back and the other under his legs. He wrapped his own arms tightly around Lan Zhan’s neck and shoulder, and buried his face in his husband’s throat. The hand that rested on his back began to gently rub circles there, even as Wei Wuxian’s breath tore out of his lungs in raw gasps.

“Jin Ling!” Ouyang Zizhen’s voice rang out. “Keep that dog far away, okay? It’s frightening Second Madame Lan!”

“She hasn’t got anything to worry about,” Jin Ling groused.

Still, he was frightened enough of Lan Zhan that he kept his dog some distance from the two as they walked into the nearest inn. “Tie them both,” Lan Zhan said over his shoulder. “It’s time to eat. Sizhui, lead them into the downstairs dining room.”

“Yes, Hanguang-jun,” the boy said eagerly.

Lan Zhan cast a stern look at all the boys there. His light eyes glared briefly at Ouyang Zizhen, before he turned around and swept into the restaurant.

Wei Wuxian relaxed slightly as he heard the sound of footsteps on floorboards, and Fairy’s barking started to fade away. Still, he didn’t make a move to make Lan Zhan put him down. It felt good to have those strong, warm arms holding him tightly, even when they weren’t in bed — it felt like the first days he had come to Lotus Pier, and it had truly sunk in that he had a home. Somewhere he belonged.

He turned his head as Lan Zhan began walking up a flight of stairs, with a waiter holding a laden tray moving just ahead of them. As the waiter smoothly placed the dishes on the table, Lan Zhan placed Wei Wuxian on a seat at one side of the square table, then seated himself at the other end.

It was only when he took a bite of the food that Wei Wuxian realized how ravenous he truly was — his stomach felt like it was collapsing in on itself. He hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day’s lunch, and he had spent all day walking and all night running. So he let himself eat as much as he could — the spicy food made his mouth burn and tingle pleasantly, and the wine was mellow and bright.

Lan Zhan ate decorously from the few non-spicy dishes that he had ordered, looking coolly perfect and mannerly the entire time. It was strange, Wei Wuxian thought, that he could look like an immaculate paragon most of the time, giving off the impression of purity so intense that it would burn like ice. And yet, a word from Wei Wuxian could strip all that away, turn him into a ravenous, burning, ferocious lover who could barely be satisfied after hours of fucking. Was that what trying to live up to thousands of rules did to a person?

Wei Wuxian rested his chin on his hand, and gazed at his husband. Lan Zhan was quietly eating a dish that seemed to be mostly green leaves. He hadn’t said anything about Wen Ning appearing in Yi City. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a good look… or maybe he just hadn’t brought it up because the boys had been around them all day.

Either way, Wei Wuxian needed some time away from his husband to summon Wen Ning and find out what was going on with him. Song Lan had recovered his mind only minutes after the nails were removed — didn’t that mean that after all these days, Wen Ning should be back to his old self too? He had to confirm it for himself… but Lan Zhan had reacted pretty badly to Wen Ning when he was drunk, which meant he probably still held a grudge against the fierce corpse.

He smiled slightly. Normally he might get Lan Zhan drunk so he would sleep for awhile, but tonight he needed his husband sober. He’d just need to do it in the dead of night —

Just then, there was a loud thud outside.

In a swirl of white robes, Lan Zhan was on his feet, with Bichen half-unsheathed in his hand.

“What are y—“ Wei Wuxian started to say.

But a chunk of chicken slipped to the back of his throat, and he was suddenly hacking and coughing, pressing a hand to his lips. Lan Zhan was instantly on his knees beside his wife, patting Wei Wuxian’s back with increasing strength. His face was still stoic, but Wei Wuxian caught a glimpse of worry in his eyes.

“Wei Ying,” he said in a low voice. “Wei Ying…”

Tears sprang to Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he finally managed to cough the half-chewed chicken back into his mouth. Wordlessly, he pointed at the window, still trying to get his breath back. “Go look,” he wheezed. “I’m fine!”

Lan Zhan seemed reluctant to leave him behind, even for a moment. But he rose and went to the nearest window, opening the slats just wide enough to peer through. He stared through them, his face steely and immovable.

“Who is it?” Wei Wuxian said, wiping his eyes.

“They are gone,” Lan Zhan said grimly.

Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet and peered through the window as well. The window faced an expanse of forest, with thick branches wreathed in shadows. The trees swayed slightly in the chilly breeze, creaking faintly, their leaves rustling like a thousand moths’ wings. Wei Wuxian’s eyes flickered across the shifting shadows, searching for some sign of someone having fled into them. But there was nothing, as far as he could see.

“We’ll have to be careful, Hanguang-jun,” he said quietly. “It looks like someone followed us from Yi City.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan move closer to him, and a hand sliding protectively across his back and around his shoulder. He could feel every slender finger pressing against him through the cloth of his robe, curling around his shoulder, as if reassuring himself that Wei Wuxian was still there. Wei Wuxian smiled softly, and raised a hand to slide his fingers between Lan Zhan’s, skin whispering against skin —

Then a dish was loudly smashed.

“What the hell did you just say?” Jin Ling’s voice floated up from below.

“We were discussing Xue Yang, weren’t we?” Lan Sizhui’s calmer, more measured voice said.

“Yes, we WERE!” Jin Ling snapped. “We were talking about how Xue Yang was an inhuman scumbag who deserved a bloody violent death — but you had to say what you said about Wei Ying! He was even worse!”

A familiar pang pierced Wei Wuxian’s heart. He was used to other people hating him like that — he had been reviled long before he died, and his reputation as a monster had only grown over the years. And he had received plenty of scorn from Jin Ling already, even if that scorn was actually aimed at Mo Lian. But there was something more piercing and painful about hearing his sister’s son express hatred for him.

The fingers on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder tightened imperceptibly. He glanced up at Lan Zhan’s face, and saw that his features had gone rigid with anger. It was subtle, but it was enough for him to see how angry his husband was at what he was hearing.

“All Sizhui said was that demonic cultivators might not all be like Xue Yang or Wei Wuxian,” Lan Jingyi said irritably. “Stop yelling at him!”

“Demonic cultivators are a plague to be wiped out!” Jin Ling continued ranting. “All of them should be put to death as painfully as possible!”

“You’re wrong!” one of the other boys burst out.

There was a loud thud, as if someone had stamped his foot. “What is that?” Jin Ling said threateningly.

“You heard him!” Lan Jingyi shouted. “Second Madame uses demonic cultivation, and she saved all our lives!”

“You don’t know the first thing about her!” Jin Ling blustered. “You don’t know the things she did before Hanguang-jun found her! And you, Lan Yuan — you sound like you don’t think Wei Wuxian deserved what happened to him! After all the things he did, you don’t think he was that bad, or maybe you’re crazy enough to actually think he was innocent!”

That seemed to be the last straw. Lan Zhan’s hand slipped from Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, and his snow-white robes swirled around him as he strode out of the room and onto the stairs. His face was coldly, unflinchingly angry, in a way that Wei Wuxian had seen plenty of times when they were younger. He listened to Lan Zhan’s footsteps as he descended, and as he vanished down the stairs, the voices of the youths down below suddenly died away.

“We’re sorry, Hanguang-jun,” Lan Sizhui said quietly. “We were just talking — we didn’t mean to disturb you and Second Madame.”

Wei Wuxian listened for some kind of response from Jin Ling, but was greeted by more silence. He stifled a smile. None of the boys seemed to be willing to say another word with Hanguang-jun staring icily at them — and they probably didn’t even realize the real reason he was so angry. They must have thought that they had angered him that much merely by yelling during his dinner with his wife.

“We won’t cause any more noise,” Lan Sizhui continued in the same meek voice. “We remember the rule against clamor.”

A round of murmured agreement came from the other boys, including ones that weren’t Lans. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think he heard Jin Ling’s voice amongst them.

A moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs again. Lan Zhan rose gracefully up into the room, looking haughty and icy as he always had. His snow-pale skin sharply contrasted with his ink-black hair, and his piercingly light eyes glimmered in the faint light. He looked beautiful — there was no other word for it. It was an almost unearthly beauty, making him the very picture of a unworldly immortal.

Of course, Wei Wuxian thought with a wicked grin, that ethereal-looking man had some very carnal desires whenever the two of them were alone. And after that passionate embrace in Yi City, both of them were probably feeling a little unfulfilled right now. They would have to take care of that as soon as they got to someplace with a comfortable bed.

“Did Hanguang-jun defend his wife’s honor?” Wei Wuxian murmured, looping his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied agreeably, right before accepting his love’s kiss.

The rest of dinner passed in relative quiet, except for Wei Wuxian chattering about the cleanup of Yi City and how the Lan Clan shouldn’t shoulder all the expense themselves. Lan Zhan nodded serenely and uttered the occasional “Mn,” his eyes fixed on Wei Wuxian’s face as he ate. As for the teenagers below them, there was no more shouting — only subdued murmurs with an undercurrent of worry. Hanguang-jun must have really glared them into submission, Wei Wuxian thought with a grin.

The boys were still fairly subdued when they left the restaurant, following Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian like a line of ducklings following their mother. They cheered up considerably when they were led to the nearest hotel, which fortunately had more than enough room for all of them. And Wei Wuxian felt a rush of relief as the hotel owner enthusiastically confirmed that he had more than enough rooms.

“If somebody sketchy is skulking around, I don’t want the boys too far away from us,” he whispered in Lan Zhan’s ear.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed.

Wei Wuxian sighed and stretched a little as he watched the boys scurrying up the stairs, chattering amongst themselves about how relieved they were to be getting baths and beds. As he set foot on the stairs, he realized that Lan Zhan was no longer at his side. He was instead across the front hallway, speaking with Lan Sizhui in low, hushed voices. Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear what the two of them were saying to one another, but the boy was nodding intently, eyes wide, looking worried about something.

After a moment of speaking, Lan Sizhui scampered up the stairs. “Good night, Second Madame,” he said with a warm smile that made his eyes shine.

“Good night,” Wei Wuxian called after him.

He felt Lan Zhan’s hand settle in the small of his back as they ascended the stairs. “What were you talking to Sizhui about?” he asked in a low voice.

“The figure outside the tavern,” Lan Zhan replied quietly. “I told him to be on his guard.”

“Good idea. Come to think of it, we should have told all of them.” Wei Wuxian sighed.

The hotel owner assured them that they were being given the largest room in the entire hotel, and someone had already brought up a large tub of steaming water so that they could bathe. Wei Wuxian brightened as soon as he saw it — after the events of Yi City, his skin felt like it was covered in a thin layer of sweat and grime, and the thought of being freshly washed was wildly alluring. He immediately began pulling at his own sash.

“Lan Zhan,” he sang out. “Come on, undress already. The tub’s big enough for both of us.”

“It is not,” Lan Zhan said.

“It is if I sit in your lap. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Lan Zhan’s ears began to turn pink. “Mn.”

Wei Wuxian watched with growing satisfaction as his husband began to disrobe — he didn’t think he would ever get tired of seeing Lan Zhan’s narrow waist and hips, his sleek flat abdomen, his broad shoulders, the lean but powerful muscles of his long legs and his strong arms. He had never felt desire for another man before, and even now, he couldn’t imagine wanting a man other than Lan Zhan. But then again, he had never felt desire for anyone, man or women, like he felt for Lan Zhan.

He slipped behind Lan Zhan, sliding his hands over the man’s bare back and under his silken black hair. He could feel the scars, ridged and ropy, the only flaw on his beautiful husband’s body.

“Lan Zhan, I have a question that may sound a little strange,” he said quietly.

Lan Zhan turned towards him, his hands slipping under the curve of Wei Wuxian’s ass. “What do you want to know?” he said in a low voice.

“What’s your relationship with Sizhui?”

A strange look came over Lan Zhan’s stoic face, as if something uncomfortable had been asked.

Wei Wuxian plunged ahead, “You seem to be closer with him than you are with the other boys, and he was the only younger Lan at our wedding.” He laughed a little nervously. “If I didn’t know that I was your first time, I would wonder if he was your son.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes flickered slightly, before rising to meet Wei Wuxian’s. “He is an orphan,” he said quietly. “I have tried to do what I could for him over the past thirteen years.”

Wei Wuxian rested his head against Lan Zhan’s chest, his cheek brushing the small ridges of the brand, and closed his eyes. He knew how hard the life of an orphan could be — he had been far luckier than someone like Xue Yang had been. He had been nine when Jiang Fengmian had taken him in and cared for him, which meant he had spent years eating scraps and sleeping in the cold. If Lan Zhan had made even one orphan’s life easier…

“Once, he was known by another clan’s name.” Lan Zhan’s deep voice seemed to echo through his flesh and bones.

“Really?” Wei Wuxian murmured. “Which one?”

“Wen. Wen Yuan.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, Wei Wuxian didn’t fully absorb what had been said to him. The name floated through his head like a feather on the wind, and he felt nothing but a mild curiosity and what clan would abandon an orphaned child to be adopted by the Lans instead… and then it crashed into him, driving the breath from his lungs. His eyes flew open, and his fingers convulsively clutched at Lan Zhan’s scarred back.

Wen Yuan.

Wen. Yuan.

He raised his head from Lan Zhan’s chest and looked up at him with bewildered eyes. Lan Zhan gazed back at him solemnly, and one of his hands began gently rubbing circles on Wei Wuxian’s lower back.

“Wen Yuan…” Wei Wuxian breathed. “Lan… Yuan… Wen Yuan…” He clutched at Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Lan Zhan… is it the same…”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said quietly. His light eyes were calm and clear, like the surface of a lake in Yunmeng.

It was a name that Wei Wuxian had suspected he would never hear again — the name of the toddler who had clung to him when he lived for a year in the Burial Mounds. The little boy whom he had planted in the dirt with promises that it would grow him brothers and sisters. A small, shining bright spot in an overwise bleak, painful period in his life, when the entire world seemed like it had turned on him like a venomous snake.

And when he had last seen Wen Yuan, he had been slipping the sniffling toddler into a hollow tree, and warning him grimly to stay quiet, no matter what he heard or saw. At the time, he had bleakly thought that it wouldn’t matter — the countless bloodthirsty cultivators who wanted the Wen refugees dead wouldn’t spare a small child, and he doubted that they would miss the giant hole in a tree. But it might give A-Yuan a few more precious hours of life, if Wei Wuxian failed to drive back the invading forces.

He had failed. He had failed all of them. He had died, from the spiritual backlash. And so, he had thought that the toddler was dead, along with his kin.

Tears pricked the corners of Wei Wuxian’s eyes — and yet he couldn’t keep a trembling smile from his lips. “Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “It was you… you… you did this?”

“Mn.”

“How? When?”

A strange look briefly passed over Lan Zhan’s features, before fading away into his usual stoic expression. “When I heard that you had… died…” he said with some difficulty, “I went to the Burial Mounds. I wanted to know for myself, and… find some trace of you left behind.” The hands gripping Wei Wuxian’s hips and ass clutched a little tighter, as if he were afraid that he would lose his love a second time if he didn’t hold on hard enough. “I found nothing of you. They had even looted your possessions and taken them all away.”

“But you found A-Yuan…”

“Mn.”

Rather than answering right away, Lan Zhan suddenly rose to his feet, lifting Wei Wuxian easily in his arms with that terrifying Lan upper body strength. A moment later, he slid into the steaming water of the tub, and Wei Wuxian felt himself settling into Lan Zhan’s lap, exactly as he had offered to do before. Normally he would have wiggled around and stroked at Lan Zhan’s enormous manhood, wantonly trying to get his husband aroused as quickly as possible so they could fuck in the bathtub before the water cooled. But at this moment, all he wanted was more explanations.

Water lapped against Lan Zhan’s chest as he settled back against the tub, with Wei Wuxian’s slighter body resting against him. “He was hidden in a tree,” Lan Zhan said softly. “He hadn’t eaten or drunk in a few days. He was feverish.”

“So you took him back to Cloud Recesses.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan closed his eyes for a moment, as if reliving something unpleasant. “I did not disclose where he came from.”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t surprised. Even in the Lan clan, which prided itself on not holding grudges, there were doubtlessly people who still hated the Wen clan. The Wens had, after all, burned Cloud Recesses to the ground and killed Lan Zhan’s father, Qingheng-jun, and that had happened only fifteen years before. The clan elders in particular might not have shown much compassion towards a child of Wen blood, no matter how innocent he might be.

“So you adopted him,” he said eagerly, pressing a hand to Lan Zhan’s cheek.

His light eyes opened, something unreadable in their depths. “I did not.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile faded slightly. “Why not?”

“I… was not considered fit to do so.” Lan Zhan’s lips thinned slightly as he spoke. “The elders believed my behavior to be… too erratic for me to be safely entrusted with a young child. Especially one that they believed to be a blood member of our clan.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him, confusion flooding his mind. That didn’t make any sense. Lan Zhan had always been the opposite of erratic — even in the midst of battle, he had always been composed and steadfast. As far as Wei Wuxian knew, he hadn’t had an erratic day in his life. So what the hell had happened to make the clan elders decide that Hanguang-jun, the perfect Lan disciple, wasn’t good enough to adopt and raise a Lan toddler? They had let Lan Qiren raise his nephews, the heirs to the entire sect, and he was a hidebound old fart who lived in fear that somewhere, someone might be having fun.

“I could not have adopted him even if I had been considered fit,” Lan Zhan said, a trace of bitterness creeping into his voice. “For the next three years, I was… in seclusion. I could not have cared for him during that time. He was given to others to raise for those years.” His broad shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if he felt that this failure was weighing him down.

Wei Wuxian leaned closer, his warm wet breasts sliding against Lan Zhan’s chest. “And after three years?” he said quietly.

“I was permitted to be his guardian,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “I taught him his lessons. I taught him the guqin. I made sure he was treated well by others. I gave him his courtesy name. When he was old enough to night-hunt, I brought him with me.”

There was a faint but discernible tightness in Lan Zhan’s voice as he spoke. His face was as smooth and expressionless as ever, his light eyes downcast on the water. But there was something almost painfully sad about the way he held himself, as if the past were pressing down on him and old loneliness was surfacing. It was a glimpse — only a glimpse — of how alone Lan Zhan had been for those years.

Wei Wuxian wrapped his arms around his husband’s wet shoulders, twining his fingers in his loose, rumpled hair. He moved his lips to Lan Zhan’s ear. “You did everything you could,” he said quietly. “There are fathers who do a helluva lot less for their sons than you did for him. I can tell by watching the two of you how much he looks up to you.”

The two of them lay in each other’s arms for a little while after that, wrapped in silence. Wei Wuxian felt strangely comforted by the sensation of lying on Lan Zhan’s dampened chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat and the steadiness of his breathing. Some of the tension had slipped out of Lan Zhan’s body after Wei Wuxian spoke to him about A-Yuan — about Sizhui — but there was still a faint air of sadness about him.

Finally, Wei Wuxian raised his head, and looked into his husband’s eyes. “Does he remember me?” he said quietly.

“He does not. He does not remember anything before his arrival in Cloud Recesses. He believes that he was born into my clan.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, and rested his cheek against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. A wry smile appeared on his lips. “That’s probably a good thing,” he said quietly. “If he remembered me, it would mean he remembered… everyone else at the Burial Mounds, and he would remember what happened to them.” He sighed. “He has a good life now, and he seems happy. And he’s grown up into a smart, capable young man, thanks to Hanguang-jun.”

But he couldn’t deny that it hurt a little to think that Lan Sizhui — Wen Yuan — had completely forgotten him. The little boy had followed the Yiling Patriarch around the Burial Mounds and Yiling, his eyes bright and his little face eager. That child had vanished into the strict, hushed, white-robed world of the Lans, and now it was all he had ever known. He didn’t remember a wasteland where his family had toiled to stay alive, or a black-robed demonic cultivator who had played with him once upon a time.

Wei Wuxian pressed his lips to one of Lan Zhan’s nipples, which was pebbled and hard from the cold air. His warm breath washed over it, and he heard Lan Zhan’s breath hitch at the sensation. Wei Wuxian moved his lips upward to brush them against his collarbone, and ran his tongue over the damp, smooth skin there. Then he slowly raised his face to Lan Zhan’s, their lips only a whisper apart.

“And because you saved A-Yuan back then, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian whispered with a wicked smile, “you can fuck me as hard as you want, for as long as you want. All night, if you feel like it. You can do whatever you want to me.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened.

And the next thing Wei Wuxian knew, he was on his back on the bed, still dripping wet, with Lan Zhan on top of him.

Chapter Text

Lan Sizhui couldn’t sleep.

He lay quietly in his bed, staring at the ceiling of his hotel room with thoughtful eyes. He could hear the faint sound of Jingyi snoring in the other bed across the room, and reflected that his best friend never had any trouble falling asleep.

Lan Sizhui, on the other hand, had struggled with sleep ever since he had been a small child. When he was little, he had been plagued by horrible nightmares. He couldn’t remember exactly what the nightmares were about, only that he was somewhere small and dark, and he could hear screaming and smell blood and fire. On many nights, he had woken with scalding tears pouring down his face, sobbing and screaming without fully understanding why. All he had known was that he was terrified for his life.

And on many of those nights, a tall figure clad all in white had come into his room. Lan Wangji had never once reprimanded him for breaking the rule against clamor, or for disrupting others’ sleep during the hours designated for rest. He hadn’t said anything at all. He had simply picked up the sobbing boy and held him gently, patting his back until his sobs subsided into hiccups, and finally into silence as he fell asleep again. Somehow the horrors in his dreams had faded when Hanguang-jun — the closest thing he had to a father — was there for him.

Thankfully, he had stopped having the nightmares years ago. He still wasn’t sure what had inspired them, though when he had told one of the older children about it, the boy had airily said, “Oh, that must be the Battle of Nightless City. I heard your parents were killed there by Wei Wuxian, before Hanguang-jun found you and brought you back here.”

Lan Sizhui rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. At first, he thought his restlessness was due to the harrowing events they had just experienced in Yi City — it had only been a day since their encounter with Xue Yang, after all. Anyone would have been disturbed by the story of poor Miss A-Qing and Xiao Xingchen, as well as the hardships that befell poor Song Lan. He could only imagine how unpleasant the experience must have been for Second Madame Lan, since she had to actually live through it.

But eventually, he reflected that no, it wasn’t the events of Yi City. Something else was nagging at him, keeping him awake long after the hour he should have been fast asleep.

Maybe it was Second Madame Lan.

She was a strange person. When he had first encountered her, Mo Lian had acted like a madwoman, and she had continued to act that way on the journey back. More than once, Lan Sizhui and his friends had had to keep her from ripping her clothes off or running off into the woods. He hadn’t been sure what Hanguang-jun planned to do once they got home.

But once she was at Cloud Recesses, she seemed to turn into a new person — capable, knowledgeable and not even a little crazy. In Yi City, she had seemed as reliable and resilient as Hanguang-jun himself, not at all fragile or insane. Maybe she had been driven mad by the abuse of her family, Lan Sizhui thought, and Hanguang-jun’s love and care had cured her. Was that how it could work?

And… there was something else. An odd, nagging feeling of familiarity.

He was sure he had never met her before the mission at the Mo estate. Yet there was something about the confident way she spoke, the way she walked, the look on her face that seemed… familiar. He had been told that she had only ever been with the Jin sect, never the Lan sect — but maybe during her time there, she had visited Cloud Recesses when he was little?

As he thought about it, there was a faint thump from outside.

Immediately, he was wide awake, and his heart was hammering his ribs. His hand closed on his sword, ready to draw it if someone tried to get inside. Hanguang-jun had warned him that someone had been outside the restaurant earlier, but he hadn’t gotten a look at who it was. If they had followed the party to the hotel —

No, he needed to wake up Hanguang-jun and tell him what was going on. Lan Sizhui swung his legs out of bed and began swiftly heading towards the door —

And then there was another thump — a much louder one.

“Ah! Lan Zhan, don’t bite me there!”

Second Madame Lan’s voice was faint, but clear enough that Lan Sizhui could hear her clearly. Then there was another thump. And another one. Followed by a very loud moan… two more thumps… another moan… a muffled cry of “Hanguang-jun, harder!”…

Lan Sizhui felt as if his cheeks were on fire. He dove back into his bed, dropping his sword on the floor beside it, and pulled the covers over his head. It muffled the sound of thumping and moaning from next door somewhat, though not so much that the louder cries couldn’t be heard. If only he could sleep soundly like Jingyi.

*

What happened that night was less like fucking and more like being caught in a force of nature. Every thrust was so powerful that Wei Wuxian felt like he was about to be thrown from the bed, except that Lan Zhan’s powerful, searing-hot arms were holding him tightly in place. Pleasure surged through him every time, leaving him trembling and writhing in desperation for more, spreading his legs further in wanton invitation.

“Ah! Lan Zhan, you have to — ah! — tell me where you learned — mm! — faster — a little faster — that’s right — mngh! — how to fuck me like this — I can’t believe you — ngh! — went berserk back then when I showed you — some erotica! You’re beautiful — you’re powerful — and you’re fucking spectacular in bed — even without a lot of experience — ah!”

“Don’t — be so loud!” Lan Zhan said through gritted teeth. “The boys—“

“They should all be fast asleep by now,” Wei Wuxian said. He stuck out his tongue to lick a drop of sweat that was trickling down his husband’s face.

Afterwards, they lay entangled together, arms and legs draped around one another, their bare bodies drenched in sweat. Wei Wuxian felt as if he had been worn to a rag by the fierce fucking and the earthshaking climaxes he had experienced. But he couldn’t bring himself to sleep just yet. He was too fascinated by the sight of Lan Zhan’s light, slightly glazed eyes, and the strands of stray hair that had fallen across his beautiful face.

“You really were tired,” Wei Wuxian teased, tracing a finger over his husband’s jaw. “Normally you go for four rounds before you’ll give me mercy, not two.”

Lan Zhan responded by nuzzling against him, his breath washing over Wei Wuxian’s throat. “Mn.”

After another few minutes, Wei Wuxian felt that lithe, muscular body relax completely, his breathing becoming deep and regular. He brushed his lips over Lan Zhan’s, gently running his fingers through his husband’s rumpled loose hair. Then he pulled the blanket over them both, and draping his arms around his husband’s neck.

An idle thought floated through his head — that once this whole situation with the dismembered corpse was over, they would probably be heading back to Cloud Recesses. As a teenager, he would have done almost anything to avoid being there — the bad food and endless rules had been smothering. And back then, Lan Zhan had been rigid, boring and unyielding — exactly the kind of person that Wei Wuxian had wanted to avoid.

When had Lan Zhan become the person who made him so happy?

And even Cloud Recesses didn’t sound so bad now. Sure, the food was still bad, and the rules even more numerous. But it was also where his husband lived, and the thought of dwelling there together was a pleasant one. It would be even nicer if they were somewhere out in the countryside, just the two of them. But the most important thing was that they were together, wherever they found themselves.

Of course, Lan Qiren was probably having a stroke, he thought with a wicked smile. His precious, perfect nephew had been seduced and deflowered by a mad bastard of Jin Guangshan’s, which meant poor Lan Zhan was probably going to get an earful when they got back—

There was a knock at the window shutters.

Wei Wuxian sat up sharply, his eyes widening. After a few seconds, a polite second knock sounded.

It sounded like someone wanted to come in… but wasn’t being very pushy about it, so it probably wasn’t the graverobber. Wei Wuxian carefully extracted himself from Lan Zhan’s arms, scooped his robes off the floor and quickly wrapped them around his naked body. Then he wrenched open the shutters, and a gust of cold wind blew his hair back from his face.

The man outside was standing on the roof outside, and his ice-white skin stood in stark contrast to his black hair, clothing, and eyes. It was Wen Ning.

Chapter Text

Wen Ning looked much as he had in Yi City, except for one detail — his eyes were no longer deathly white. His black pupils were visible, solemnly staring back at Wei Wuxian the way they had thirteen years ago, back in the Burial Mounds. He was standing on the first floor’s roof just outside the room, so that his upper body was framed in the window.

Wei Wuxian stared at him for a moment, then quickly glanced back at Lan Zhan. His husband was still fast asleep, with the blanket draped over his body and pulled almost up to his chin. But he might wake up at any moment, especially if he felt that Wei Wuxian wasn’t beside him. Sure, he had been drunk when he hit Wen Ning, but he might still react badly to finding him outside their bedroom.

“Hold on,” he whispered, opening the shutters wider.

The moon glowed in the darkened sky, surrounded by icily glittering stars. The black outlines of the trees danced in the wind, and Wei Wuxian shuddered as that wind brushed his exposed hands and throat. All he wanted was to crawl back into bed beside his husband’s warm body, but he had to talk about things with Wen Ning first. Especially if he had regained his mind at last. He was probably horribly confused.

“Wen Ning,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Young Master,” Wen Ning replied in an equally quiet voice.

“How long have you been out here?”

Wen Ning’s gaze immediately dropped to Wei Wuxian’s feet, as if he weren’t able to bring himself to meet his eyes. “Ever since you arrived here.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened in shock. “Then you — do you mean you SAW—?”

“No!” Wen Ning said quickly. “I didn’t see any of it.”

Wei Wuxian almost relaxed… until he realized that Wen Ning obviously knew what “it” was.

“I did… hear… some of it,” Wen Ning said haltingly. If a fierce corpse could blush, his face would probably have been bright red.

Wei Wuxian pressed a hand over his eyes, groaning internally. “Some of it… like what?”

“Well, there was a lot of moaning and… and thumping… and a lot of grunting, and… and I…”

“Spit it out.”

“I heard you telling Hanguang-jun to put it deeper inside you, and — talking about what a great swordsman he was, and…“

“All right, enough,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms. It was bad enough that Wen Ning had apparently heard the entire evening’s events — he had apparently been sitting on the roof outside their window, politely waiting for them to finish fucking before he tried to talk to Wei Wuxian. It could have been worse, though, he reflected. Normally Lan Zhan would probably have been going for another two hours.

“I wasn’t trying to listen,” Wen Ning said, sounding miserable. “But after the restaurant, I wasn’t sure…”

“That was you?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Yes,” Wen Ning said plaintively. “I… only just regained my senses this evening, and the first thing I remember seeing is you and Lan Wangji leading a group of young boys into the city. So I… I followed you here.” His ink-black brows pulled together into a slight frown. “Young Master…”

“Yes?”

“Why… are you a woman now? What happened?”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth twitched into a grin. Of course, if Wen Ning didn’t remember anything from the past thirteen years, he wouldn’t have known why the Yiling Patriarch now had the body of a young woman. It was kind of a bewildering change if someone didn’t know the history behind it. “It’s a long, weird story. The short version is that I died.”

“I heard that some years ago,” Wen Ning said softly. “They said that Sect Leader Jiang… he stormed the Burial Mounds and killed you. And the others… at the Burial Mounds… they’re all dead too…”

Wei Wuxian’s smile faded, and he placed a comforting hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder. “All except one,” he said quietly.

Wen Ning raised his head suddenly, his pitch-black eyes suddenly sparking with interest. “Who?”

“A-Yuan. Lan Zhan rescued him from the Burial Mounds. They didn’t find him where I hid him, and he’s been raised as a member of the Lan sect for all these years.”

Wen Ning’s pale lips moved for a second before he managed to utter, “Does he… remember anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Wei Wuxian said, regret tinging his voice. “Lan Zhan says he doesn’t remember anything before he woke up at Cloud Recesses. But he’s happy and healthy, and Lan Zhan’s made sure he knows everything a good cultivator should know. He’s a natural leader, respectful and smart and kind-natured.”

Wen Ning’s lips ever so slightly turned up in a faint smile. “Well… that’s one piece of good news,” he said quietly. “Even if he doesn’t remember, at least one person survived.”

But there was still a deep, mournful darkness in his lightless eyes, as if the good news of Lan Sizhui’s — Wen Yuan’s — survival couldn’t quite lift his spirits. Everything he had heard was misery and loss, Wei Wuxian thought. His sister was dead. His remaining kin had been massacred. And the man who had raised him as a fierce corpse had been killed as well, only to be brought back with an unfamiliar face and body. All that, and because of the Jin Clan’s corrupt machinations, Wen Ning had lost years of consciousness to those damned skull-piercing nails.

“You heard wrong about one other thing, though,” he added. “Jiang Cheng didn’t kill me. I was torn apart by spiritual backlash before anyone could kill me.” He poked himself in the breast. “Then just a month or two ago, a demonic cultivator named Mo Lian summoned me into her body, at the expense of her soul. So… this is my new body. I would have preferred a male one, but in my position you can’t be picky.”

“Oh,” Wen Ning said faintly. He looked up and down Wei Wuxian’s body, as if he wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeing. “And… Lan Wangji?”

Right. When Wen Ning had last seen him, he and Lan Zhan had been… not really friends or adversaries. And Wei Wuxian had still been blissfully ignorant that Lan Zhan was madly in love with him, thinking that the white-clad youth had turned his back on him, along with the rest of the world. Though now that he looked back on those days, he found that a lot of his attention had been taken up by Lan Zhan, even though he believed that Lan Zhan despised him.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “You must be pretty confused about that. The long and short of it is… we’re married. It started out as just a way to not get him in trouble with his family, and have some protection for me, but… well, you heard how it’s ended up. I guess we’re properly married in every way now.”

Wen Ning just said, “Oh” in a small voice. Wei Wuxian supposed that it didn’t come as a huge shock to him, after listening to the two of them fuck for the past two hours. The fierce corpse seemed to ponder this development for a moment, before looking back to Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Do you love him?” he asked, sounding worried.

Wei Wuxian’s face and eyes softened into a smile, and he glanced back at the half-open window. “Yeah. I do. I’m not sure exactly when and how it happened, but… I can’t imagine being away from him now. I don’t know why, but just being around him makes me happy.”

He glanced back through the window, smiling fondly… and then stiffened. Lan Zhan had rolled onto his side, with an arm stretched over the empty part of the bed where Wei Wuxian had been lying. His eyes were still closed, but his brow was slightly furrowed. He might wake up at any moment, and find Wei Wuxian out on the roof with Wen Ning. Why did that sound so much like they were doing something wrong?!

“I need to get back inside before he wakes up,” Wei Wuxian whispered. “You should find a safe place to hide — and rest. You’ve been doing a lot in the last few weeks, and you should be able to rest for awhile.”

“Yes, Young Master,” Wen Ning said, glancing a little nervously at the window.

“And you should probably keep a safe distance at night from now on,” Wei Wuxian said, swinging a leg in the window. “And in the morning. And sometimes in the afternoon, if we’re in the mood.”

Wen Ning nodded solemnly, then leaped down from the rooftop and vanished into the dark, windblown trees. Wei Wuxian watched him go, and felt a pang in his chest for the fierce corpse. Wen Ning had never done anything wrong of his own volition— and yet so much misfortune had flooded into his life, stealing away his life, his clan, his sister, and any ties to anyone except Wei Wuxian himself. At least, Wei Wuxian thought, I have Lan Zhan.

Cold air washed over Wei Wuxian as he slipped out of his dusty, rumpled robes, and he practically dove under the covers. Lan Zhan’s warm skin felt like it was blazing hot against Wei Wuxian’s chilled flesh, and his husband’s brow furrowed at the sudden coldness. His eyes opened ever so slightly, looking down at the disheveled woman curled up against him under the bedcovers.

“I had to go outside for a minute,” Wei Wuxian moaned. He burrowed against Lan Zhan’s chest like a small animal. “Hanguang-jun, I’m so cold. Warm me up, please!”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan murmured, wrapping his arms around Wei Wuxian.

Chapter Text

As he did every morning, Lan Wangji woke before dawn, at the appointed hour that all Lan disciples did. Normally he would have risen from his bed and gotten ready for the day, but on this morning he chose to lie there for a while longer. After all, while the younger Lan disciples would be waking at the same time he had, the boys from other clans would probably sleep for another two or three hours.

He looked down at the head poking out of the blankets, and his eyes softened. Wei Ying was still fast asleep, nestled against his chest and wrapped tightly in his arms. One of his legs was draped over Lan Wangji’s own, and as he stirred, that leg slowly curled around his thigh, pulling them closer together. “Cold… Lan Zhan… hold me,” Wei Ying mumbled.

That settled it. Lan Wangji would stay in bed for a while longer.

He rested his cheek against the top of Wei Ying’s head, and thought about the discussion they had had the night before — of how Wei Ying’s eyes had lit up when he learned that Wen Yuan had survived the massacre at the Burial Mounds. A fierce, wild joy had blossomed in Lan Wangji’s heart at the sight… but the pain of old scars came along with it. Both the scars on his back, and the scars that Wei Ying’s loss had left on his soul.

The events of that day were burned into his memory, as the Wen brand had burned into his flesh. When news reached Cloud Recesses of the successful attack on the Burial Mounds, Lan Wangji had been in bed. Lying on his stomach, barely able to move because of the raw wounds that crisscrossed his back. He thought his heart had already been broken when Wei Ying snarled at him to “Get lost!”

He had thought wrong.

His brother had been the one to tell him. He had quietly slipped into Lan Wangji’s chamber like a shadow, his face creased with anticipated pain. “Wangji,” he said softly.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji murmured.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” Lan Xichen said quietly. His brother had been able to deduce what nobody else seemed to know — that his brother’s heart belonged to Wei Ying, completely.

Dread flooded into Lan Wangji’s heart. There was only one thing that would make his brother speak so — it couldn’t be —

“There was an attack on the Burial Mounds yesterday, led by Clan Leader Jiang. Wei Wuxian… he was killed.”

For a moment, the words hung in the air between them like a puff of mist. Then Lan Wangji’s entire body stiffened, as if in rebellion against the words that he couldn’t bear to hear — and pain slashed through him as if he were being stabbed by a knife. But he bore the agony. He gritted his teeth, feeling sweat beading on his face as he slid his legs underneath him, pushing himself onto his knees.

“Wangji!” Lan Xichen was immediately on his knees beside Lan Wangji, his hands hovering helplessly over his brother’s bloodied, bandaged back. “You can’t get up now. You need to stay in bed — you need to heal —“

“No,” Lan Wangji said through his teeth.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said softly. “I understand. I know that you want to go there. But there’s nothing you can do now. Even if you could — you’re so badly injured that there’s no way you would be able to make it there!”

“I — must — go!” Lan Wangji said doggedly. The pain was almost unbearable, white-hot and throbbing with every beat of his heart. The pain he had willingly accepted because it meant Wei Ying would live on… and now, he was gone. Gone. Gone forever.

In that instant, the future ahead of Lan Wangji seemed to stretch out before him, desolate and lightless as the Burial Mounds themselves. He wanted to scream until his throat was raw, claw at the floor under him until his fingers were bloody, fling himself into whatever dark void would let him reunite with his beloved. But he focused only on forcing his shaking legs to carry him across the room, to where his clothing and Bichen were neatly arranged on a table.

Then a terrible thought occurred to him — the thought of what they would do to Wei Ying now that he was dead. They had hated him so completely that they would not hesitate to desecrate his corpse as well.

“Where… is his body?” he rasped.

“There was no body,” Lan Xichen said quietly. “From eyewitness accounts, it sounds like he was torn apart by spiritual backlash.”

That was both a relief and a torment. Relief because it meant that they could not defile Wei Ying after his death. A torment, because it meant there was nothing left for Lan Wangji to bury.

His hands trembled violently as he donned his white robe, and he could feel some of the scabbed wounds on his back had torn open. Crimson bloomed on his pure white robe like summer flowers. But he no longer cared. He didn’t need to lie still and heal any longer. All he cared about was forcing his broken body to get to the Burial Mounds, and then… and then… he wasn’t thinking about what came next. None of it mattered.

His shoulder spasmed as he tried to pull the robe over his back, forcing a raw, gasping breath from his lungs. But as he steeled himself to try again, gentle hands grasped the cloth and gently pulled it around his body. “Let me, Wangji,” his brother said quietly.

As he mounted Bichen and flew into the stormy gray sky, Lan Wangji felt dizzy and sick — though he suspected it had nothing to do with blood loss or pain. He later had little memory of the journey to the Burial Mounds, only the sight of the endless desolation stretching below him as he arrived. The entire area was a place of death and loss, filled with resentment and choking in miasma. The only oasis of life there had been the one Wei Ying had created — and now everyone there was dead. Jiang Cheng and his fellows wouldn’t have left a single one of them alive.

Lan Wangji was trembling as he stepped off his sword, and summoned it back into its sheath. The makeshift site had been ransacked, and the rough tents and small huts erected by the Wen people had been torn apart. Dark stains were splattered on the dirt, still stinking of blood. The only structure still standing was Wei Ying’s cave — a yawning pit of darkness and silence, except for the hollow song of the wind.

The interior was dark, and Lan Wangji had to partly draw Bichen to illuminate it. They had clearly looted Wei Ying’s possessions — everything that might have been valuable had been removed. His bed had been torn to shreds, and the only things left were a few broken brushes and some dirty, ripped pieces of paper. A bitter, hollow pain formed in Lan Wangji’s heart. They had hated and feared him for his demonic cultivation, yet they hadn’t hesitated to profit from the things he created.

He wandered through the desolate, dead settlement for a long time, his steps dragging every time he tried to hurry. His muscles simply refused to do what his mind told them to do.

“Wei… Ying…” he breathed.

Some small, desperate part of him was hoping that the impossible would happen — that Wei Ying would appear in front of him, laughing and bright-eyed, and tell him that he had faked his death. But as his steps slowed to a halt, there was nothing, only more blood and broken wood, the smell of bones and the sound of the wind.

At last, his trembling legs wouldn’t carry him any further. Lan Wangji sank to his knees, and placed his guqin across them. His breath seemed to stick in his throat as his fingers played Inquiry, almost of their own accord. He had to know — know whether anything was left of the man he loved more than life itself. Even if it was just his soul.

Are you there, Wei Ying?

He stared down at the strings, waiting for one of them to be plucked. But nothing happened.

He played again. Where are you, Wei Ying?

Again, the strings were painfully silent. He played more questions, casting out his melodies to the countless spirits that lingered in this forsaken place, both new and old. But there was no trace of Wei Wuxian among them. None of them whispered anything of what had happened to his spirit. It was if he had never been there in the first place.

It was then that something broke inside Lan Wangji, the last fragments of his hopes. Scalding hot tears trickled from his eyes. He hadn’t cried since his father had died, and before that, since his mother had died. Many people wouldn’t have believed that he was capable of shedding tears.

Maybe he shouldn’t return to Gusu, he thought bleakly, looking around the rocky slopes, the twisted blackened trees, the gray forbidding sky. He doubted he had the strength to do so, having expended so much energy on making it to the Burial Mounds. No one would come here to find him, and he doubted anyone would mourn him now besides his brother. All he wanted was to lie on the cold ground and close his eyes, let the pain consume him…

… and then he heard a sob.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji froze, his heart racing at the unexpected sound. Then he looked around wildly, searching for a sign of someone else. It sounded like a child, or perhaps a young woman — and as he stumbled to his feet, he heard another sob, and a hiccup. Had someone survived the massacre? If someone had survived, he had to get them to safety…

It took him just a minute or so to zero in on the sound of weeping — one of the twisted, dead trees near him, with an enormous hole in its trunk. Lan Wangji crouched beside it, his despair momentarily put to the side.

“Who is there?” he said softly.

Small fingers curled around the edge of the hole. Slowly, so as not to frighten the child, Lan Wangji slipped his hands into the tree and lifted a small figure wrapped in tattered, bloodstained homespun clothes. He shuddered as pain lanced across his shoulders and back at the weight in his arms, but he forced himself not to grimace.

He recognized the child immediately — Wen Yuan, the little boy who had accompanied Wei Ying into Yiling. Lan Wangji had been dismayed when the boy first encountered him, since people had assumed he was the boy’s father. Wei Ying had confused him further by claiming that he had given birth to A-Yuan. But he had been charmed by little A-Yuan’s forthrightness, and had bought him toys from a nearby vendor.

But now, the little boy was covered in ashes and dirt from head to toe, and there was a splash of blood on the front of his clothes. His tearstained face was bright red, and his eyes were bright with fever. Even though the air in the Burial Mounds was cold, Lan Wangji could feel burning heat radiating from the toddler’s body. He snuffled faintly, clutching at Lan Wangji’s thin white robes, and looked up at him with a dazed expression.

“Rich-gege?” A-Yuan said faintly.

Lan Wangji felt a lump forming in his throat. “Mn.”

More fat tears trickled down A-Yuan’s round cheeks. “Where’s Xian-gege? He put me… in the tree… he said be quiet…”

Lan Wangji felt his heart clench at the child’s rambling words, and clutched him close to his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response, even if A-Yuan had been well enough to understand his words. He pressed a hand to the little boy’s back, as A-Yuan snuffled against his chest, staining the white cloth with tears, mucus and dust. The child Wei Ying had tried so hard to save, even as Jiang Cheng and others came charging in to murder him.

Bichen flew from his sheath, and hovered a few inches above the ground. Trembling slightly, Lan Wangji stepped onto his sword, and willed it to fly away from the Burial Mounds. Wind whipped his hair and robe as they rose into the air, and the bloodstained campsite below began to shrink below them. One tiny hand clutched at Lan Wangji’s sleeve, and he cradled the tiny figure in his arms.

He didn’t know how long he would be able to remain conscious… but, no… he had to. Had to stay conscious long enough to reach Cloud Recesses. A-Yuan needed a doctor, and there was no one else who could — or would — save this child now. His fever-bright eyes were almost closed now, as if he were drifting into unconsciousness, but his tiny hands still clutched tightly at Lan Wangji’s robe.

I will save him, Wei Ying, Lan Wangji quietly vowed.

They soared over sharp mountains, sprawling cities and shimmering lakes and rivers. Bichen trembled under Lan Wangji’s feet as he approached Gusu, but he kept himself aloft through sheer force of will. Dizziness began to rise in his head as he approached the mist-wrapped peaks of Cloud Recesses, but he simply clutched the child in his arms against his chest. White buildings with dark roofs slowly emerged from the mist and the spreading trees, with tiny white-clad figures walking amongst them.

Several disciples rushed out of the medical ward as he landed nearby, their faces full of worry. “Hanguang-jun!” one of them cried. “Where did you—“

One of Lan Wangji’s knees gave way under him, and he half-collapsed onto the grass, holding himself up with Bichen’s sheath. His head swam as white robes and boots appeared all around him, but he simply said tightly, “The boy — take the boy. He has a fever.”

A-Yuan moaned a little, and another tear trickled down his cheek.

“Wait — where is this child from?” one of the doctors said, startled.

“Take him and treat him, now,” Lan Wangji said with cold grimness.

One of the doctors carefully took the little limp form from Lan Wangji’s arms and carried him inside, with a few of his fellows. They were already muttering amongst themselves about lowering his fever. But three or four doctors remained around Lan Wangji, visibly alarmed at his weakness. It was only when one of them told him that he learned that his blood had dyed the entire back of his robe crimson.

That night, as Wen Yuan had struggled against his fever, Lan Wangji drank the Emperor’s Smile liquor, branded his chest and went on a drunken rampage through Cloud Recesses in search of a black bamboo flute. Like his later experience with alcohol, he remembered nothing of that night except for the taste of the liquor. But the searing pain over his heart told him what he had done.

Lan Wangji expected punishment for his actions, but to his surprise, his uncle decided that he had suffered enough. But when he told Lan Qiren that he was going to adopt Wen Yuan — having told everyone that he was the orphaned child of a distant relative — his uncle bluntly told him in no uncertain terms that that would not happen. His erratic behavior over the past few months had shocked the clan elders, most notably turning his sword on Lan disciples to save a monster like Wei Wuxian. Someone who could act so bizarrely could not be trusted with the well-being of a Lan child.

It had been a bitter moment for Lan Wangji, but he had quietly vowed that even if he was not allowed to be Lan Yuan’s father officially, he would be one in all but name. The child would always have him to depend on, no matter what happened in his life.

But no sooner had he made this vow than his strength failed him. For the next few years, he was understood to be in seclusion, repenting of the wrongdoing that had led to his lashing. But the truth was that he was rarely able to stir from his bed, his body weakened and wounded until he could barely move. It left him with many long, cold hours to contemplate what he had lost — and what had never been his in the first place.

His brother had visited him regularly during his recovery, listening to him speak of his love for Wei Ying, his pain, his regrets. Lan Xichen was the only one he trusted with such knowledge, since his brother had been his only confidante since they had both been small. Besides, he knew that no one else would sympathize with someone who loved someone the entire world hated.

And when Lan Wangji had finally been able to leave the Tranquility Room, three years later, he was greeted by Lan Xichen and a small boy with white robes and an embroidered forehead ribbon. Lan Yuan had looked up at him shyly, his small hands clasped together and his face earnest. Lan Xichen gave him a gentle push, sending him a few steps closer to Lan Wangji.

“Hanguang-jun?” the boy said in a small voice.

Lan Wangji gazed down at that small face, and felt something wrench in his heart. At last, he quietly said, “Mn,” and held out his hand.

*

Lan Wangji opened his eyes, emerging from a sea of memories that had momentarily swamped him. For many years, those memories had reopened his wounds whenever he thought of them — the most agonizing days of his life, when his broken heart had been torn into pieces. The one small relief had been the knowledge that he had rescued the child that Wei Ying had saved, and that he would be cared for and safe.

But on this morning, the pain felt as if it had faded. It was still there, embedded in his memory, but it had lost its immediacy. Because Wei Ying was alive. Alive, and with him now.

He rested his cheek against the top of Wei Ying’s head. He had woken the night before while Wei Ying was speaking to Wen Ning, though Wei Ying hadn’t realized that. He had seen his wife wrapped in rumpled, disheveled robes, standing on the rooftop with his hair blowing in the wind. Wei Ying was speaking in hushed tones to the fierce corpse — and even though Lan Wangji knew it was wrong of him, jealousy flooded through him at this secret conference.

Then he had heard Wen Ning ask, “Do you love him?”

A smile had lifted the corners of Wei Ying’s mouth, and Lan Wangji had closed his eyes just as the demonic cultivator had turned towards him. His voice had been soft and fond as he said, “Yeah. I do. I’m not sure exactly when and how it happened, but… I can’t imagine being away from him now. I don’t know why, but just being around him makes me happy.”

A faint smile touched Lan Wangji’s lips at the memory, and he held Wei Ying even more tightly.

He had never disbelieved Wei Ying after he said he loved him, on their first night together. He had been confused and incredulous at first, still painfully remembering when he had first confessed his feelings, only to be told to “get lost.” But heated kisses and their beautiful, wild intimacy had convinced him that Wei Ying really did love him. And now, it thrilled him to hear Wei Ying affirm it to someone else, when he didn’t realize that Lan Wangji could hear him.

Wei Ying stirred against him, and snuggled against his bare chest. Then he mumbled, “Mm… Lan Zhan… mmph… kids… gimme a minute…”

Lan Wangji pulled the blanket over Wei Ying’s bare back, and settled his wife against his heart. They still had a few hours to themselves.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian still felt a little wobbly when he woke that morning, and there was a pleasantly pervasive ache between his legs. Telling Lan Zhan he could fuck him as hard as he wanted had probably been a mistake, considering how ridiculously strong he was, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He might complain a little in the moment, but he loved the feeling.

After a quick bath and a fresh change of clothes, he went downstairs with Lan Zhan. The boys were all sitting at tables already, eating their breakfasts. Several of them looked up eagerly when the two adults came down the stairs, but some of the others seemed suddenly very interested in their food. Their faces were also oddly flushed, and they cast only furtive glances at the couple as they sat down at another table.

Wei Wuxian scratched his head. Maybe he should have been a little quieter last night. When he and Lan Zhan had fucked before, they had been off in the boonies with nobody else around.

“I don’t know why everyone isn’t talking about it,” Jin Ling’s voice floated across the room. “It’s disgraceful how long the two of them were fighting last night. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she was shouting for hours!”

Lan Sizhui immediately choked on his drink. Lan Jingyi immediately slapped him on the back.

After eating, the group moved to the city gates, and the boys began to reluctantly part ways. They all eagerly pledged to stay in touch, meeting during symposiums and Night Hunts, and writing to each other during the off-season. It was rather touching, Wei Wuxian thought, how the crisis in Yi City had bonded these youths together, especially since some of them would be heading their own sects one day. Although you couldn’t count on a crisis or problem to forge friendships, he reflected. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng had fought on the same side during the Sunshot Campaign, and they had only ever tolerated each other at best.

He turned to see Jin Ling having an argument with Lan Jingyi, and quickly swooped in to Jin Ling’s side. “I need to have a little conversation with my nephew,” he said with a smile.

Jin Ling looked like he wanted to say something scathing, but Wei Wuxian pulled him away to a safe distance, where they couldn’t be overheard. “Hopefully your uncle will have simmered down by the time you get back,” he said, crossing his arms. “From now on, you shouldn’t go rushing off on Night Hunts on your own, okay? It’s not safe.”

“I know it’s not safe!” Jin Ling said impatiently. “But I need to — I need to —“

“Need to what?” Wei Wuxian said. “Distinguish yourself?”

“Yes!”

“But you’re only in your teens. Nobody could expect you to do so much at such a young age. Have any of the others done anything like that?” Wei Wuxian waved an arm at the other boys.

“No,” Jin Ling muttered.

“Why are you so eager, then?”

“My uncles were only in their teens when they became famous,” Jin Ling said. “And my dad too.”

“Well, that was different, wasn’t it? I mean, back then the Wen Clan was wiping out whole clans and crippling others. Everybody old enough to fight with a sword was pulled into it, even if you were far too young to be in a war. You’re lucky to have been born into such a peaceful time, when kids your age are able to just live your lives and grow up normally!”

“You don’t know how it is!” Jin Ling burst out. “You don’t know the things they say about me…” He choked off his words, and seemed to gather himself. “Even that damned Wei Ying managed to do something impressive in his teens. He killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter, didn’t he? I should be able to do at least that much!”

“No, I d — I’m pretty sure that Lan Zhan did that,” Wei Wuxian quickly corrected himself.

Jin Ling looked at him shrewdly, and then glanced a little nervously at where Lan Zhan was standing. “I don’t understand what’s going on with you,” he said a little stiffly. “I really don’t understand why one of the most eligible, fawned-over men in the world would marry someone like you, or how you got him to do it. But since he’s married you, be a decent wife to him and don’t go running off after other men — especially not in my sect!”

Wei Wuxian stared at him blankly. “What?”

“Don’t give me that innocent look. I know the things you did back when you were in my sect. Just don’t chase men from my families or I’ll — I’ll make you regret it!”

Wei Wuxian tried to keep his confusion off his face. He still wasn’t sure what Mo Lian had done when she was in the Jin Sect — but it sounded like she had been chasing after men. Yet, that wouldn’t have gotten her kicked out, would it? The various sects undeniably favored men, as seen by the fact that only one had ever had a female leader. But being promiscuous might earn her disdain, perhaps a reprimand… not being cast out to madness and abuse.

No, not even promiscuity. Mo Lian had been a virgin, as Wei Wuxian could personally attest. So what had happened that would make Jin Ling think he would chase men other than Lan Zhan?

But there was no way he could ask what had happened. Not just because Jin Ling would be suspicious if he was completely clueless about Mo Lian’s apparently-notorious past, but because he might mention that peculiar fact to Jiang Cheng. So far, Jiang Cheng had no real evidence that “Mo Lian” was actually Wei Wuxian, but he would probably seize any odd facts that Jin Ling might mention to him.

Jin Ling seemed to think that he had had the last word in the conversation, because then he turned and whistled. “Fairy!” he called.

“You could have given me some warning!” Wei Wuxian shouted, breaking into a sprint.

He raced to Lan Zhan’s side, and immediately was wrapped in a pair of white-sleeved arms. He buried his face in Lan Zhan’s shoulder, smelling the distinctive smell of sandwood and clean skin. Trembling, he clung to Lan Zhan with arms and legs both, until the barking had faded away into silence, and his shaking began to subside. Then he felt a slightly smaller hand touch the back of his shoulder.

“Second Madame,” Lan Sizhui said gently. “The dog is gone.”

“I’ll stay here a little longer,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice muffled by Lan Zhan’s robes.

Lan Zhan ended up picking him up and gently plopping him onto Little Apple’s back. As the line of white-clad junior disciples followed him out onto the road, Lan Jingyi piped up, “Hanguang-jun, where are we heading next?”

“To Cloud Recesses,” Lan Zhan said. He was walking elegantly alongside the spotted donkey, head high and back straight, and Wei Wuxian felt a warm thrill at the sight. He slid his hand down the donkey’s neck to twine his fingers with Lan Zhan’s, who responded by clutching them fiercely. “I must consult with my brother.”

“Zewu-jun isn’t there right now,” Lan Sizhui said quickly. “He’s at a Night Hunt in Tan Prefecture.”

“We will join him immediately,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian sighed. He supposed that it was a good idea to inform Lan Xichen of all the things that had been happening during their journey, and start arrangements with various clans to clean up Yi City. Still, he couldn’t shake the uneasy thought that someone recognizable and connected to the Lan Clan was after them. And with only one body part left — the head, and thus the dead man’s identity — that someone must be getting desperate.

Wei Wuxian pulled out his flute and began to play a familiar lilting melody, which floated among the trees as they passed. He didn’t notice Lan Zhan’s sudden intake of breath, or the subtle look he cast at his wife. All he did notice was one slim hand moving from the donkey’s bridle to Wei Wuxian’s thigh, rubbing it slowly and firmly.

Wei Wuxian grinned at him. This was the point where, if they hadn’t had a flock of teenagers following them, Lan Zhan would have dragged him off into the woods, thrown him on a pile of leaves and moss, and made him scream. But since a bunch of impressionable youths were following them, they would have to behave themselves. At least until they found an inn that evening.

Chapter Text

Lan Sizhui threw a few more withered branches on the fire. It crackled and snapped, sending sparks dancing up into the night air like floating lanterns. Then he glanced around the derelict garden in which they had set up their camp — the garden of the Damsel of Annual Blossoms, though the lady herself was very much not in evidence. He had related the story of her to his peers when they first came there, including the tale of how she had been driven into a frenzy by Wei Wuxian’s impish behavior and his determination to see her face.

“Sounds like Wei Wuxian could annoy the ladies as well as charm them,” Second Madame Lan had said with a grin. She leaned on Hanguang-jun’s shoulder, looking at him with sparkling eyes.

Lan Sizhui had always liked that story about Wei Wuxian. All the sects told horror stories about the things he had done, and what a mad, depraved monster he had been. He was responsible for the Battle in Nightless City, for the destruction of the Jiang Sect, for the evil path of demonic cultivation. But that story made him feel more like a real person — someone who was funny and mischievous and determined, but who didn’t really mean any harm.

Right now, Second Madame Lan was sprawled rather inelegantly by the fire, her legs stretched out across the grass and withered leaves. She didn’t really act like any woman Lan Sizhui had ever met before. Admittedly, he didn’t have much experience with girls, having been raised apart from them. He hated to think something so discourteous, but she wasn’t very feminine.

Of course, he quickly thought, that didn’t make her any less impressive as a person. She had seemed like a crazy person when they first met, but now she was quick-witted, reliable and knowledgeable. He had wondered before why Hanguang-jun loved her so much, and now he had figured it out.

“Where did Lan Zhan go?” she asked, glancing around the dark garden. The other youths were sitting near the campfire as well, and a few of them were exploring the overgrown bushes and dead flowerbeds.

“I’m not sure,” Lan Sizhui said. Another odd thing about her was that she was the only one who called Lan Wangji by his birth name. Even his own brother called him by his courtesy name. “He said he would be back soon.”

Second Madame Lan pouted a little, and sat back with her arms braced against the ground.

“Why don’t you sit a little closer to the fire?” Lan Sizhui suggested gently. “I’m sure Hanguang-jun won’t be long.”

He just hoped that if they went off together, they used some silencing talismans. The thought of what they had done a few nights before still made his cheeks burn with embarrassment. Most of what Lan Sizhui knew about sex was things he had heard from older guest disciples — he had no experience with it himself, didn’t know much about the subject, and the other night was the first time he had ever been close to other people’s lovemaking.

But it wasn’t as if they had done anything wrong, he told himself. They were married, after all. It was only to be expected. That was what married people did, though they were usually quieter about it in the Lan sect. And before they got married, both of them had been alone for a very long time — Mo Lian had been a prisoner of her abusive family, and Hanguang-jun hadn’t been in love with anyone else, as far as Lan Sizhui knew. They deserved to be happy with each other.

That didn’t mean that Lan Sizhui wanted to hear it. And to be fair, they had been a lot more discreet the past few nights. Still, at the rate they were going, Second Madame Lan was going to be pregnant in no time… and Lan Qiren would have a stroke when that happened…

“Sizhui,” Second Madame Lan said suddenly, leaning forward. “Tell me about Hanguang-jun.”

Lan Sizhui stared at her in confusion. She was his wife, after all — shouldn’t she know him pretty well by now?

“I mean, tell me about how he’s looked after you,” Second Madame Lan sad, resting her chin on her folded knee. “He takes special care of you, doesn’t he? As if you were his son?”

Lan Sizhui’s eyes widened. The Lan sect forbade all gossip, whether about people in the sect or outside of it. But some rumors nevertheless had floated around about Lan Wangji’s special care for one of the children — that the toddler he had carried into Cloud Recesses was his secret bastard son. Lan Sizhui had made sure to ignore those rumors steadfastly, but the last thing he wanted was for them to upset Hanguang-jun’s new wife. And he definitely didn’t want her to start disliking him because of it.

“I’m — I’m not his son!” Lan Sizhui said quickly. “Hanguang-jun has never been like that! He doesn’t have any children at all yet! He wouldn’t—”

Her face split into a bright smile, and she burst into peals of laughter. “Don’t worry, don’t worry! I know he’s not actually your father. But he’s always taken care of you, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, he has,” Lan Sizhui said, relieved. “I… I was told that he brought me to Cloud Recesses when I was very little, although I didn’t see him for a few years.”

Her smile faded slightly. “Did he ever say why?”

“Zewu-jun said he was in seclusion, but he didn’t say why.”

“Hm.” Second Madame Lan rested her chin on her knee, staring into the fire. Her dark eyes gleamed in the light. “And when he left seclusion?”

Lan Sizhui looked down at his hands, suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious. “He didn’t… exactly take care of me. Not every day. But he made sure that everything that happened with me was the way he wanted it. He tutored me personally sometimes, especially teaching me the guqin. When some students from other sects tried to bully me, he scared them into leaving me alone. And when we went on Night Hunts, he always made sure I was with him.”

And then another memory came into his mind — the memory of lying on the long, cool grass on a sunny day, giggling as warm balls of fur, ears and feet tumbled over him. Lan Wangji loomed over him, his face calm and stoic, as he piled more rabbits onto the little boy. Maybe it had been Lan Sizhui’s imagination, but he thought his guardian’s eyes looked softer and happier than they usually did.

He smiled a little. “And he took me to play with his rabbits,” he said softly. “I don’t think he took any of the other children to see them. He liked to spend time with me and the rabbits whenever he was in Cloud Recesses, and he even taught me how to take care of them when he wasn’t there.“

Second Madame Lan looked at him for a moment, and there was something odd about her eyes. Maybe it was just the firelight, but they looked a little shinier than before, as if they were were full of tears. She was still smiling, but it looked less like she was laughing and more like she was thinking of something beautiful from the past that now made her sad.

“Did I say something wrong?” Lan Sizhui said hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to—“

But his words cut off as suddenly she was right in front of him, hugging him so tightly that he could barely breathe, pinning his arms to his sides. For a moment, he was too stunned to respond, not sure what he had said or done that had caused her to want to hug him. All he had done was say that Hanguang-jun had brought him to play with the rabbits — had that really affected her so much?

And more than confusion and surprise… there was something strangely familiar about the way she hugged him. For a split second, he felt like he was being enfolded in strong arms that held him as if he weighed nothing, in a place that was dark, wild and strange. And he trusted the person who was holding him to keep him safe. It was only a half-formed flicker, like a dream he had forgotten when he had awoken.

“Did I say something wrong?” he said faintly.

“Wrong? Of course not.” Second Madame Lan reluctantly released him, and sat back on the grass next to the fire. Her face was bathed in golden light from the flames, and her eyes were sparkling now.

“Th—then why did you…?”

“I can do that, can’t I? Hanguang-jun is almost like your father, and he’s my husband, so that makes me almost like your mother! Can’t a mother hug her child?”

Lan Sizhui started to point out that Second Madame Lan was probably less than ten years older than he was, far too young to be his mother, but something made him hold his tongue. He didn’t know this woman very well — he had only been around her for a few weeks, in total — but at the same time he felt as if he knew her almost as well as he knew Lan Wangji. And yet… how could he know her?

“Second Madame,” he said quietly. “Before the… the incident in your old home… did we ever…”

But then a branch snapped, making all the boys jump. It was followed by heavy footfalls, crushing the dry leaves and withered flowers. If it was Hanguang-jun, Lan Sizhui thought, he must be in a bad mood to be stomping through the garden like that.

But then Second Madame Lan sprang lightly to her feet, looking at the dark figure coming towards them. It was walking in the shadow of some leafless, withered trees, coming towards the fire… until it suddenly stopped, as if watching them from afar. Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat, and Lan Sizhui drew closer to her in concern. Then he saw what had alarmed her.

The figure approaching them had no head.

Chapter Text

The dismembered body parts had reassembled themselves.

Tension thrummed through Wei Wuxian’s body as he saw the headless figure looming in the darkness. Whoever this man had been in life, he had been enormous — with a head, he would be easily several inches taller than Lan Zhan, who was one of the tallest men Wei Wuxian had personally known. His body was also very muscular, the physique of someone who had trained and honed himself to the edge of perfection.

And Wei Wuxian could see an awful lot of that body — the corpse had been clad in some kind of funeral clothing, but some of it had rotted or tattered. A nervous giggle almost escaped him as he wondered if Lan Zhan would be jealous that his wife was getting an eyeful of this unknown man’s body. Not that he had anything to be jealous of — Wei Wuxian much preferred Lan Zhan’s leaner, more elegant body.

But the laugh died in his throat as the corpse took a step towards the fire. Just a single arm had been enough to take out a dozen skilled Lan cultivators — how much stronger was the entire body, excluding the head?

The youths sprang to their feet, and their hands immediately went to their swords. Immediately, Wei Wuxian held out a hand toward them, a silent command to be still and silent.

The headless man seemed to be lost in contemplation. Then he raised one hand to touch the clean slice at his neck, feeling for the head that should have been there. His other hand rose to search for the head as well, groping with calloused, slightly dirty fingers. When he found nothing, he lashed out at a nearby tree, his fist smashing a wide crack in its bole.

Wait… if it had no head, and therefore no eyes or ears… that meant there wasn’t any reason to be quiet. They could sing a song mocking it, and the dead man wouldn’t know.

“What is it?” Lan Jingyi said faintly.

“Your clan has been neglecting your education,” Wei Wuxian said firmly. “Otherwise you would know that he’s a corpse — a very powerful one.”

“It’s your clan now, too!” Lan Jingyi retorted.

Before Wei Wuxian could come up with a suitable reply, Lan Sizhui whispered, “Second Madame… shouldn’t we keep quieter? So he won’t hear us?”

“He doesn’t have a head, so he doesn’t have any ears,” Wei Wuxian said confidently. “Or at least, he doesn’t have them right now. He can’t hear us no matter how loud we are. Give a yell and see if he—“

Lan Jingyi let out a full-throated roar that would have easily gotten him reprimanded at Cloud Recesses. But as he began to shout again, the corpse suddenly swerved towards him, lurching through the long grass with heavy footsteps. His muscled arms lifted themselves, as if groping for something that he thought might be in front of him.

Lan Jingyi blanched. “Y-you said he couldn’t hear us!” he blurted out.

“He can’t!” Wei Wuxian shouted across the fire.

The juniors watched nervously as the figure took another step towards them — and not the shouting woman across from them.

“See? He doesn’t respond to my voice! He can sense the heat of the fire!” Wei Wuxian said, scurrying around the fire. “And he can sense that there are a bunch of male living humans around him — and he’s attracted to all that yang energy! He can sense you even without eyes and ears!”

“What do we do?” one boy asked almost tearfully.

“Extinguish the fire and then move in different directions! It should confuse him!”

His heart was racing as he watched the headless man approach. He was probably in the least danger of anyone there — women were stronger in yin energy — but he still wasn’t fond of the idea of letting that very strong, very dangerous corpse get any closer to him. Especially since the headless man might decide that, male or female, a head was a head and worth tearing off and trying on like a new hat.

One of the boys overturned a jug of drinking water over the campfire, and they began to scamper off in random directions, looking over their shoulders. Even in the dimmer moonlight, Wei Wuxian could see the fear on their baby-faces. He backed away slightly from the moving corpse, trying to keep a safe distance between them while also keeping an eye on the boys as they scattered. The corpse slowed down, seeming not to know where to go next. The lack of heat and concentrated yang energy might disorient the corpse, make him lose focus, but if he decided to pursue someone —

As if reading Wei Wuxian’s mind, the corpse suddenly swerved towards one of the boys. The youth’s face blanched, and he began to scurry away with faint noises of fear.

“Dammit!” Wei Wuxian muttered. He stooped, fumbled around for a small rock, and pitched it with all his strength at the corpse’s shoulder. The headless corpse paused where he was. His powerful shoulders tensed, apparently with anger, and he began to stomp towards Wei Wuxian.

Lan Sizhui suddenly stopped moving, his face full of horror. “Second Madame—“

“Don’t come closer!” Wei Wuxian called out.

He took three careful steps to the side. The headless corpse didn’t seem to detect the movement, and simply walked in a straight line to where Wei Wuxian had been a moment before. He had gone several more steps before he raised its arms to grope at the air in front of himself, apparently having figured out that the rock-thrower had moved out of his way.

“You need to keep moving — but not fast!" Wei Wuxian called. “He’ll be able to feel the air moving if you move too quickly, but if you move slowly and steadily, he won’t feel it at all.”

“What happens if he catches us?” Lan Jingyi asked.

Wei Wuxian took a few more steps to the side as a large hand moved a little too close. “He’ll pull off your head. He’s searching for his own, so he wants to try on every head he comes across, just in case it’s the right one.”

A few of the youths made exclaimations of disgust, but all of them immediately began moving slowly and deliberately around the garden, trying to keep as much distance as possible between themselves and the headless corpse. Wei Wuxian could see their faces in the moonlight, their wide frightened eyes flicking between him and the headless corpse. “That’s it,” he called out. "No running — just move smoothly and at a slow pace. He’s not running.”

Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure what they could do in the long-term. They could evade the headless corpse for awhile simply by following this tactic, but the man’s cultivation had been very strong, and he had possessed a nasty temper. Eventually, the resentment coiling in his reunited body might drive him to attack one of them more decisively — and Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure if he could stop him. Not without help.

“Everybody start yelling for Hanguang-jun!” he shouted. “Hanguang-jun! HANGUANG-JUN!”

The boys glanced at one another, and began yelling in piercing voices as they moved among the flowerbeds and trees. They sounded desperate, wild and frantic, but thankfully it didn’t make them any more a target than whispering would have. The darkened garden was awash in howling voices, all shouting for the same person.

Then a sound cut through the night — the sound of guqin strings. It was joined by the low, mellifluous sound of a xiao, flowing through the darkened trees like a cool evening breeze.

Wei Wuxian’s heart lifted at the sound of the two instruments. He would have recognized that guqin anywhere, and he also knew the sound of that xiao — Lan Zhan had brought his older brother to help them deal with the headless corpse. He turned just as two tall, slender figures clad all in white stepped out of the shadows, one with a black guqin and one with a white flute. They were almost as identical as twins, save for the instruments and the gentle smile that usually graced Lan Xichen’s face.

But on this occasion, he gasped and took a step backwards at the sight of a headless corpse menacing the juniors. Lan Zhan’s face was grim as he drew Bichen, illuminating the dark garden with icy light — just in time for the man to make a strange, choppy slashing motion, as if he were bringing something down on someone standing in front of him, though his hands were empty.

But as Lan Zhan lunged forward, the headless man snatched the sword from his hand. Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped open at the sight — he had never seen anyone capable of wresting Lan Zhan’s sword from his fingers. Just who the hell WAS this guy? He must have been a legend when he was alive… which narrowed down the people he could have been considerably.

But Lan Zhan wasn’t weaponless — he still had his guqin. With a sharp motion of his hand, he sent a slashing wave of sound hurtling towards the headless corpse — and Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to join in with his flute.

It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but Lan Xichen’s features looked as if he had gone very pale. He stared at the headless body with an indefinable expression, his fingers clutching at his xiao, Liebing. Finally, he seemed to remember what was going on, and began to play it with a forceful tone to match Lan Zhan’s and Wei Wuxian’s.

Chapter Text

The headless corpse’s motions slowed, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure why it was. Perhaps the attack from three cultivators’ musical weapons was slowing him down, but there was almost something thoughtful about the way he paused. He almost looked as if he were listening — except, Wei Wuxian reminded himself, he had no ears. Bichen fell from his hand, bouncing off the thick grass around his bare feet.

Then dark lines began to snake around the man’s arms and thighs. Wounds. The resentment that had knitted his flesh back together was dwindling. The entire headless body trembled violently, the tattered funeral robes shredding further around the taut muscles. Wei Wuxian played a piercing note that entwined with Lan Zhan’s icily flowing guqin, with Lan Xichen’s xiao moaning under them, as if it were mourning.

The headless man shook one last time — and then fell apart.

The three instruments fell silent, leaving only the sound of wind rustling grass and dried leaves. Wei Wuxian lowered the flute from his lips, and hesitantly walked closer to the dismembered body, watching for any sign that the parts were about to reunite. But they remained limp and lifeless, as cold as the light that shone from Bichen.

Then a flurry of youthful voices erupted from the garden all around them, as several white-clothed figures inched closer towards the corpse.

“Hanguang-jun!”

“Hanguang-jun! Zewu-jun!”

“That was amazing!”

“Is it — is it dead again? Did you kill it?”

Both brothers stepped forward, their hands still on their instruments in case the corpse had not been sufficiently quelled. Wei Wuxian had expected Lan Xichen to say something reassuring to the boys, perhaps with his gentle smile. But he was staring down at the corpse with a strange expression, as if someone he had thought was dead had just slapped him.

“Stay back,” Lan Zhan ordered the boys. They all immediately stopped their approach, and whispered amongst themselves.

Wei Wuxian squatted down beside the fallen body parts, and prodded one muscular arm with a stick. When it didn’t move, he prodded the exposed abdomen, which had lost almost all of its ragged clothing. The flesh was stiff with rigor mortis. The skin was dead-white with a tinge of gray. Still, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t feel comfortable until they were all safely stuffed into separate qiankun pouches — and he and Lan Zhan would have to make sure not to forget to play music for them again.

He heard Lan Zhan commanding the teenagers to go to sleep elsewhere, followed by Sizhui obediently herding his peers to a different part of the garden. Then he felt strong hands grasping his shoulders and pulling him back up to his feet — and then Lan Zhan turned him around sharply. His face was starkly displeased, his eyes like shards of ice.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what had upset his husband. "What's wrong? I was just looking at…”

Then he realized what he had been looking at. The ragged clothing on the corpse had been mostly shredded by his little outing, leaving his torso almost bare. Including his genitals.

It hadn’t occurred to Wei Wuxian to avoid looking at them, because once someone was dead, he had no interest in them THAT WAY. Only the most disgusting rumors had suggested that the Yiling Patriarch used fierce corpses for his own pleasure. But after being told that he had defiled countless virgins and kept them entrapped in his palace, he had given up on expecting any kind of justice or accuracy from those who hated him.

A wicked smile spread across Wei Wuxian’s face. He leaned close to whisper coyly, “Hanguang-jun, are you jealous because I saw a naked man other than you? I’ve seen that before, you know. I used to have one of them myself.” He lightly touched his lips to Lan Zhan’s ear, as lightly as a butterfly’s wing. “Besides, I only want yours.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan murmured. He drew a number of qiankun pouches out of his sleeve, and gracefully knelt down to stuff the body parts back into them.

But Lan Xichen suddenly spoke up for the first time. “Wangji, please wait… let me see him.” His face was shadowed by his bowed head, but Wei Wuxian could see that his pallid features were twisted as if he were in pain.

Wei Wuxian’s smile faded somewhat as Lan Xichen knelt down beside his brother, and looked over the dismembered body. It was now abundently clear who this mysterious dead man was, just by Lan Xichen’s reaction and the way he had mimed the use of a saber. A man of immense stature, strength and powerful cultivation would be a memorable enough figure on his own. His bad temper was another clue. But then there was the use of a saber, a weapon mostly associated with the Nie Clan.

And Wei Wuxian could see the recognition in Lan Xichen’s eyes. “This is Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-zun, isn’t it?” he said in a low voice.

Lan Xichen nodded. He had been sworn brothers with Nie Mingjue in the years after the Sunshot Campaign, so it was hardly surprising that he would recognize the man’s body and fighting style, even without a head.

Wei Wuxian sat down cross-legged beside the body, his eyes keen and piercing. “I assume Hanguang-jun told you the things we encountered on our travels, including the man masked with smoke who constantly fought us for the body parts.”

“He did,” Lan Xichen said quietly. He looked as if he very much did not want to think about it.

“Then you know that this man was very knowledgeable about the Lan Clan’s sword techniques, and also very knowledgeable about the innermost secrets of the Nie Clan.” Wei Wuxian rested his cheek on his fist, his face unusually sober He didn’t want to hurt Lan Xichen with these revelations, but the sooner the truth came to light, the better. “He also must have had a personal connection to Nie Mingjue, to kill him, desecrate his body and scatter the pieces across—“

“It isn’t him,” Lan Xichen said immediately. “It can’t have been.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, and rubbed his head. He could understand why Lan Xichen would be reluctant to admit that Jin Guangyao was the one who had done all this. The two of them were also sworn brothers, and Jin Guangyao had also been sworn brothers with Nie Mingjue. The bond between the three men had become the stuff of legend, and even after Nie Mingjue’s death, the friendship between Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao was well-known.

As if reading Wei Wuxian's thoughts, Lan Xichen said, “I have been conferring with him every day this past month, planning the Grand Symposium next month. He simply did not have the time available to sneak away and encounter the two of you without anyone noticing.”

Lan Zhan looked at his brother soberly, and lowered his eyes slightly. Wei Wuxian thought he could understand what his husband was feeling — he still thought Jin Guangyao was guilty, but didn’t want his brother to feel the pain of betrayal.

“The gravedigger used a transportation talisman,” Wei Wuxian said.

“It takes a great deal of spiritual power to use one of those even once. But I accompanied him during a Night Hunt recently, and he seemed to have no such loss.”

“He may have sent someone else in his stead,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

His brother shook his head, as if trying to quietly shake off the suspicions of those around him. “I know that many people believe… certain things about him and the things he has done in the past. But I know what I have seen in the many years I have known him. I do not believe he could do such things.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. He couldn’t blame Lan Xichen for not wanting to believe such things about his friend, especially a friend who had climbed so high from so low, and who seemed to treat others with such kindness and humility. In truth, was it that different from how Lan Zhan had believed in him all these years? People had hated him — still hated him — but his husband hadn’t been willing to let their stories and vicious rumors turn him against Wei Wuxian.

Lan Zhan’s brow creased slightly, and Wei Wuxian had the feeling that he was thinking the same thing. Without thinking, he crouched down beside his husband, and twined his arm through Lan Zhan’s, letting his fingers trail over his wrist.

Lan Xichen rose and turned away. “We should head for the inn where I am staying. If I am not mistaken, there should be room enough for us all.”

Chapter Text

After a few days of camping in the woods, it was something of a relief to reach an inn. It was a large, fairly luxurious one on the outskirts of the nearest city, and the hotel owner was all too happy to welcome more members of the renowned Lan Sect. The teenagers clustered in the dining room, eating a rather late dinner before they would be required to turn in. Despite the horrifying specter they had seen earlier, their eyes were bright and they chattered happily amongst themselves.

Wei Wuxian ate alongside them, but he couldn’t help keeping an eye on his husband and brother-in-law. After consuming a bland white-and-green dish, Lan Zhan had followed Lan Xichen out into the moonlight. They were still out there even now, two tall pillars of snow-white clothing and long black hair crowned with glimmering silver. They had been talking for nearly half an hour, and the longer they were out there, the more Wei Wuxian wanted to know what Lan Xichen was saying to his brother.

He hadn’t realized he was staring until Lan Sizhui asked softly, “Second Madame? Is something wrong?”

“What? Hmm? No, of course not,” Wei Wuxian said quickly.

He quickly gobbled down the rest of his dinner, took a long refreshing swallow of wine, and left the rest for Jingyi and the other boys to secretly sneak sips from. The cold night air made his face tingle as he walked towards his husband, his ears already pricked to hear whatever the Twin Jades were saying to one another.

“… and I believe you will witness this yourself, Wangji,” Lan Xichen was saying, gently but firmly.

Lan Zhan’s face was grim, and for a moment it looked as if he was going to say something more. But they both saw Wei Wuxian approaching them, and his face relaxed subtly.

Lan Xichen smiled gently. “Hello, sister. Wangji and I were just discussing plans for next month’s Grand Symposium.”

“Grand Symposium?” Wei Wuxian asked blankly. It didn’t sound like something that Lan Zhan would be interested in — he had never been one for conferences or official gatherings. That had always been Lan Xichen’s forte, especially since he was much more at ease speaking to others, as one would expect of a clan leader.

“A large conference at Golden Carp Tower in one month’s time,” Lan Xichen explained. “Jin Guangyao has been planning it for several months, and I have been assisting him in whatever ways I can.”

Wei Wuxian cast a glance at Lan Zhan, who was staring fixedly at the side of his brother’s head. He had an idea of where this might be going.

Lan Xichen bowed his head slightly, and his slender fingers fidgeted at one of his sleeves, as if he were uneasy with what he was saying. “Even though I do not believe that Jin Guangyao is the man you are seeking,” he said quietly, “I will give you and Wangji the opportunity to prove it one way or another, to establish his innocence or guilt. In one month’s time, I will be attending the Symposium, and I would like both of you to accompany me there. You would be able to investigate more thoroughly there during the Symposium, and perhaps... perhaps you might be convinced of his innocence."

Wei Wuxian considered the idea. He had been to Golden Carp Tower before, in his old life, but he had never really enjoyed being there. Part of it was that he had loathed most of the Jin family. Jin Guangshan had done nothing but slander and scheme against him, hungry for the Yin Tiger Tally’s power. Jin Zixuan had irritated him since boyhood, although he had to admit that he had improved in the last year of his life, due to the influence of Jiang Yanli. And there was that obnoxious other guy, whatsisname, who had suffered the Hundred Holes curse…

Now, it felt a little like walking into a monster’s open mouth. Until Jiang Cheng had turned against him completely, the Jin Clan had led the charge against the monstrous, depraved Yiling Patriarch and his demonic ways. Even if they now believed he was dead, it seemed like a bad idea to willingly deliver himself to people who had destroyed him for not submitting to them. And, he reminded himself grimly, people who had employed Xue Yang and imprisoned Wen Ning.

On the other hand… it might also lead them to Nie Mingjue’s head. Lan Xichen was convinced that his friend was as innocent in this affair as a newborn babe, but the evidence was still stacked against Jin Guangyao. If the head was hidden anywhere in the world, it would be somewhere in Golden Carp Tower.

Lan Xichen seemed to misinterpret this silence, because he added kindly, “If you are worried about Clan Leader Jiang, I can promise you that he will not be able to cause any trouble while you are there. It would not be tolerated.”

“Worried? Why would I be worried?” Wei Wuxian said quickly, alarmed.

Lan Xichen’s lips twitched into a smile, and he looked slightly embarrassed. “Nie Huisang often needs my assistance in dealing with matters in his clan. He informed me a week ago of the… confrontation that took place between Wangji and Clan Leader Jiang.”

“Oh… oh, that,” Wei Wuxian said, relaxing. “Isn’t that gossip?”

“On the contrary,” Lan Xichen said, glancing back at his brother. “As the leader of a sect, it’s important for me to know how my younger brother is interacting with clan leaders.” He sighed, and his lips twitched. “But I must admit, everyone in our sect is now aware that Clan Leader Jiang brazenly attempted to abduct the newly-wedded wife of Hanguang-jun from her chambers because he was driven mad with desire. And when he could not find her, he fought Hanguang-jun in the street. Our uncle… was beside himself at this news.”

Wei Wuxian quickly pressed a hand to his face, trying to hold back the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. If everyone in the Lan Clan knew what had happened — despite their rule against gossip — then it was certain that everyone from every other clan also had heard the same. It was just a toss-up whether Jiang Cheng was consumed by embarrassment or anger right now… although one frequently led to the other. Either way, it would be interesting to see if he turned up for the Symposium in a month’s time.

Once he had wrestled his face into a serious expression, Wei Wuxian looked over at Lan Zhan, who was gazing at him solemnly. Without a word, his husband nodded once.

Wei Wuxian smiled slightly. “Well, I guess we’ll be going to Golden Carp Tower in a month,” he said matter-of-factly. “As long as Hanguang-jun can defend me from Jiang Cheng.” He batted his eyelashes at Lan Zhan, who made no reply.

Lan Xichen looked at his younger brother with a smile for a moment, as if he had seen something that pleased him greatly. “Then it's settled. We will have a month to prepare for the Symposium.”

“A month,” Wei Wuxian agreed absent-mindedly. His mind was already awash in ideas for what he could do to ferret out Jin Guangyao’s secrets — as the head of his clan, he presumably had a hefty number. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy to find something as small as a human head in the entire palatial home of the Jin clan. The dismembered arm wasn’t precise enough to tell him exactly where the damned thing was, so he would have to find a way to shadow Jin Guangyao for a little while…

“Sister,” Lan Xichen said, interrupting his thoughts. “If I may, I would like to speak to you privately.”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “What? Um, sure.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes slid to his brother, and then back to his wife. His face was as smooth and cold as polished jade. Wei Wuxian was getting better at telling what he was thinking, but sometimes he still had to guess — and in this case, he suspected that his husband was uneasy about leaving him alone with someone who didn’t know who “Mo Lian” was. Even his own brother.

Wei Wuxian rose up on his toes and pressed a brief but fierce kiss on those soft, full lips. “Just go up to our room, darling,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be up in just a minute, okay?”

He felt Lan Zhan's hand briefly press against the small of his back, pulling him back into the kiss, as if he had forgotten that Lan Xichen was standing there watching them. Wei Wuxian let the intoxicating embrace linger for a moment longer, wishing he could simply stand there and indulge in the sweet taste of Lan Zhan’s lips. But there was something a little weird about having his brother stand there watching them, so he reluctantly pulled back. They could get back to this upstairs afterwards, he thought with a smile.

He watched as Lan Zhan glided into the inn again, before turning back to Lan Xichen. The clan leader was also gazing after his little brother, but as Lan Zhan disappeared into the building, he turned back to Wei Wuxian. “I’m very glad to see Wangji looking so happy with you,” he said quietly.

How could he tell when Lan Zhan looked happy? Was it the kissing?

“In fact, I have not seen Wangji so happy in many, many years,” Lan Xichen continued serenely. “He has struggled a great deal over the last fifteen years or so, and so to see him relaxed and fulfilled is a gift, Young Master Wei. I was hoping that this journey with you would have that effect on him, and I am grateful to you for your care for Wangji.”

“It’s nothing,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. In truth, he hadn’t done much for Lan Zhan besides love him and let himself be loved — Lan Zhan had done most of the fighting and—

Then his thoughts froze in his head, and words died on his tongue.

Lan Xichen had just called him by his actual name.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian slowly turned to look at Lan Xichen, who was observing him with an unusually grave expression, his eyes watching the demonic cultivator carefully. He was pretty sure that he couldn’t feign innocence in this — his reaction had just given away that he was Wei Wuxian. He couldn’t freeze up, look at Lan Xichen oddly, and then smile and say, “Wei Wuxian? Who’s that?”

Well, it could be worse — he could have encountered Jiang Cheng again. He smiled ruefully and brushed a lock of hair back from his face. “How long have you known?” he asked.

“Only this evening,” Lan Xichen said. “But I… suspected it for the past several weeks, ever since you arrived in Cloud Recesses.”

“Hm. I guess I should have acted crazier.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Xichen said. He looked much sterner than he had when Lan Zhan was present, though Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure why. “Tonight you very much acted like your old self, despite your female body. If I didn’t look at you, I could have almost thought that nothing had changed.”

The sect leader clasped his hands and began to walk slowly around the moonlit lawn, his eyes moving across the stars overhead. There was something very deliberate about the way he moved and spoke — and something more uncomfortable than how he had spoken in Lan Zhan’s presence. He had waited until his brother was gone to unveil this side of himself, and it was making Wei Wuxian uneasy.

“He knows already,” Wei Wuxian said at last. “I didn’t deceive him about who I was.”

“I know that,” Lan Xichen said somberly. “Like our father, Wangji is one of those people who loves only once, and with his whole heart. For him to mourn you all these years and then very suddenly give his heart to another… that would simply be impossible for him.” A hint of sadness crossed his face, as if the mention of his father had prodded an old scar. “Therefore, even though I do not know how it happened, I had to assume that you had somehow found your way back, and Wangji had found you.”

It was strangely unnerving to think that someone had unraveled all the deceptions that Wei Wuxian had woven around himself since his resurrection. Yet, it sort of made sense. There were few people in the world who knew Lan Zhan as well as his brother, so… it wasn’t too surprising that Lan Xichen would have seen what his brother was truly feeling. Especially when Wei Wuxian had been blind to it…

“Is that why you suggested the marriage?” Wei Wuxian asked in a low voice.

“Yes. I hoped that it would help Wangji to have the one he loved close to him, even if he did not have your love.”

“But that isn’t what happened," Wei Wuxian said quickly.

“Yes, I have observed. I will not ask how close you have become — but I have observed that you seem to have grown closer in the recent weeks. However, that brings me to another concern. I may have made a terrible mistake in suggesting that Wangji marry you.”

Wei Wuxian’s brows rose slightly.

Lan Xichen’s fingers clutched at his own sleeve, so tightly that it looked as if it were going to tear. “My interest is in Wangji’s happiness, and… you must know by now that your affection makes him very happy. And yet… I find myself unsure whether you are truly returning his feelings, or whether you feel it necessary as part of your marriage. Or, worse, whether you find it amusing.”

Wei Wuxian stared at him blankly. “What?”

Was Lan Xichen suggesting that he was... toying with Lan Zhan's affections? Messing with him for fun, as if his feelings were some kind of joke? Or that he was letting Lan Zhan fuck him to maintain a loveless marriage for his own benefit? Either way, he couldn’t imagine why Lan Xichen would assume something like that. Sure, he had only been interested in girls before Lan Zhan, never a man — but that didn’t make how he felt now any less intense. Any less right. Any less astonishingly real.

“Why… would you think that?” he said quietly. “Why do you think I would do that to him?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes moved to Wei Wuxian’s face, steady and clear. “Because I know you do not love him.”

An icy wind blew through the veranda, and it felt like it had seeped into Wei Wuxian’s blood. He felt as if Lan Xichen had punched him hard enough to drive the air from his lungs, even though the other man had never even raised his voice.

“That’s not true,” he said fiercely. “I do love him.”

“Then why did you reject him so cruelly?”

Wei Wuxian stared blankly at his brother-in-law. There was no hint of deception on Lan Xichen’s face, and he had spoken the words cleanly and smoothly as a knife sliding between someone's ribs. “I never did that,” he said, shaking his head. “I never—“

“You did. When he told you his feelings.”

Wei Wuxian felt faintly dizzy, even though he couldn’t exactly explain why.“But that — he only told me how he felt a few weeks ago. I told him how I felt, and he…”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened, gleaming like dark lake water. “A few weeks?” he said faintly. “He told you thirteen years ago. I was there.”

The sensation of dizziness became more intense, and his breaths were coming in short, sharp burst. Wei Wuxian’s fingers were so tightly curled into fists that his nails were cutting into his palms. “I don’t — I don’t remember that happening,” he said faintly. “I can’t… I didn’t…”

“You don’t remember?” Lan Xichen said, and a hint of anger came into his voice. “How could your forget what happened that night — what Wangji did to save you?”

“That night…” Wei Wuxian breathed. “What — what night? What did he do?”

He had never seen Lan Xichen look truly angry before. Nowhere near as angry as someone like Jiang Cheng or Jin Ling, of course. But there was an incredulous heat in his eyes, and his smooth, ribbon-adorned brow was creased with displeasure. “It happened after the battle of Nightless City. When all combatants were nearly exhausted, Wangji fought his way to you and carried you away on Bichen. He had burned through almost all of his spiritual power, and his body was wounded and exhausted. Still, he would not let you be killed or taken by your enemies, even though you had unleashed a bloodbath the likes of which none had ever seen before.”

Lan Xichen seated himself on a nearby bench, and was quiet for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I led a few dozen cultivators in pursuit, and we caught up to the two of you near the Burial Mounds. Even though he had nothing to spare, Wangji was transferring spiritual energy to you. As he did so, he was speaking to you — too low to be heard. I saw his face, though, and I knew the kind of things he was confessing to you.

“But you spurned him. No matter what he said, you only slapped his hand away and snarled at him to ‘get lost!’ He was heartbroken — I saw it on his face — but he would not leave you.”

Wei Wuxian clutched at the trunk of a nearby tree, with the horrible feeling that his knees would buckle if he didn’t support himself somehow. “I don’t — I don’t remember any of that,” he said thickly.

His memories of that night — that battle — were still a maelstrom of horrors. Something inside him had broken with Jiang Yanli’s death, a death that had only happened because of him. The Yin Tiger Tally’s power had swelled across the city, unleashing a wave of the dead that had torn through the living like a wildfire. He didn’t remember anything but the raw, blinding grief and anger that had ravaged him, the smell of blood, smoke and rotted flesh… and when he had come to his senses, he was back in the Burial Mounds. Wandering, lost, tears streaming down his cheeks until he felt like he had wept a bloody, hollow space where his heart had once been.

And Lan Zhan… he had been there… he had said…

His voice sounded strange and far away. “What… did he do?”

Lan Xichen’s eyes were as piercing as blades. “Wangji saw us approach, and so he turned his sword on his seniors. Even in his weakened state, he was able to defend you against dozens of Lan disciples — and he badly wounded thirty-three men before he was able to escape with you on Bichen.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers dug into the tree bark, as a horrible thought came floating through his head. “Thirty-three…”

“Why do you think he has those scars?” Lan Xichen said fiercely. “If he weren’t the heir to the sect, he might have been sentenced to death. Instead, he was condemned to be lashed with the discipline whip, once for every man he wounded.” He took a shaking breath. “I… was the one who was called on to punish him with my own hands. He suffered those wounds without a moan or a cry — all for you.

“And even suffering those wounds, he dragged himself to the Burial Mounds when he heard of your death. It was a miracle that he didn’t die on the journey, or from grief in the days that followed. Everyone believes that he was in seclusion for the next three years after… but in truth, it took that long for his body to recover.”

Lan Xichen fell silent, as if he had run out of things to say. His hands were gripping the edge of the bench, and his head was slightly bowed. He was breathing hard, as if he had been running.

Wei Wuxian rested his forehead against the tree. All he could think of was Lan Zhan’s face as he was told to “get lost” by the man he loved — and then the vision of him kneeling half-naked before his brother, the whip cutting into his back and carving bloody gashes that wouldn’t heal for three more years. Thirty-three of them. He pressed a hand to his mouth, feeling his breaths rattling between his fingers. He felt sick. He felt dizzy.

“I need to talk to him,” he said faintly.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian tore back into the hotel like a whirlwind. All he wanted to do was find Lan Zhan, and tell him again that he loved him — that he was sorry for everything — that he had been out of his mind on that night thirteen years ago, and he hadn’t remembered a thing. That from now on, he would never forget anything of their time together — not a single moment. All of it. He would remember all of it!

He barely recalled the trip upstairs afterwards, only that he was banging on the door of the only room that had light seeping around the door. “Lan Zhan!” he shouted. “Lan ZHAN! I need to talk to you!”

The door immediately flew open, and Lan Zhan was standing there, his face stern. “Wei Ying, what is—“ he began to say.

Wei Wuxian dove into his chest like a cat pouncing on its prey. The impact of his body drove Lan Zhan back a few steps, back into the room. Wei Wuxian’s face was buried in his throat, and he inhaled the smell of sandalwood and clean skin. Lan Zhan felt so solid and warm against him that all he wanted to do was stay pressed against his husband for the rest of the night, telling him how much he loved him. That he would never toy with his feelings.

Strong, lean arms slowly wrapped around him, lifting him gently from his feet. “Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan murmured, his deep voice vibrating through his chest.

“You know I love you, right?” Wei Wuxian babbled, looking up at him plaintively. “That this — all of this — the two of us — is real, right? I’m not just with you because I think it will keep you with me. I love you, and I want to be with you from now on, no matter what happens. You believe me, right?”

Lan Zhan gazed down at Wei Wuxian’s pleading face, and his light eyes softened subtly. “Mn,” he murmured.

Wei Wuxian twined his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, pulling him down into a fierce, heated kiss that sent fire streaming through his blood. Lan Zhan’s powerful arms swept him off his feet and carried him into the room, their bodies tightly pressed together. This was usually the prelude to some energetic fucking. Normally, Wei Wuxian would have been happily untying his sash and letting his robes slide off his body, offering it to Lan Zhan.

But tonight, he had something else to do first.

Without escaping the kiss, his hands fumbled at Lan Zhan’s belt, and then pulled forcefully at his thin, snow=white robes, parting them down the front of his body. His husband showed no resistance at all — he seemed perfectly happy to have Wei Wuxian paw at his clothing, peeling it away until he was wearing nothing but a loose pair of pants. By now he was sitting on the edge of their bed, gazing at his wife with burning eyes as Wei Wuxian straddled his hips.

Normally this position would have been an open invitation to fuck him senseless. And sure, Wei Wuxian was all in favor of that… once they had talked. He slipped his hands around Lan Zhan’s sides, sliding them back until his fingers brushed the thick, brutal scars crisscrossing his back. At that moment, the arousal seemed to temporarily drain from Lan Zhan’s eyes, and his face lowered slightly.

“Wei Ying—” he began to say.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me why you had these?” Wei Wuxian asked. His fingers slowly ran up the scar, as it crept to Lan Zhan’s shoulder blade.

Lan Zhan gazed at him soberly, then brushed his fingers against Wei Wuxian’s cheekbone. For a moment he said nothing, before he said quietly, “I did not want you to feel indebted.”

“Indebted?” Wei Wuxian laughed bitterly. “It’s my fault that happened.”

Every one of those thirty-three scars had been cut into Lan Zhan’s flesh because of him. He had suffered agony and heartbreak because of the man he loved, even before the backlash had killed Wei Wuxian — and Wei Wuxian had been completely unaware of what had happened. Even after he had come back to life, he had been blithely ignorant of what Lan Zhan had endured. Even after seeing the scars, and learning how long he had been loved.

The scars. How had he not figured it out? Lan Zhan was the kind of person who never did anything wrong — yet he had been whipped until he was barely able to move. Even if he couldn’t remember the confession of love, what could earn that kind of punishment for a great sect heir other than defending the Yiling Patriarch? Or worse, loving him?

Lan Zhan’s face looked almost achingly beautiful — his smooth skin, his high cheekbones, the graceful cascade of his ink-black hair. “It was my own choice, not yours,” he said quietly. “I would do the same again if you needed it, a hundred times, but the blame is not yours.”

Wei Wuxian clutched at Lan Zhan as tightly as he could, wrapping his arms and legs around his husband, burying his face against the side of Lan Zhan’s throat. “I didn’t remember what happened that night,” he said, his voice muffled. “Any of it.”

He felt Lan Zhan’s arms tighten around him, pulling their bodies into a tighter embrace, and his breath stirred Wei Wuxian’s hair. Without waiting for a reply, he plunged ahead, “I don’t remember anything I heard or saw, after you took me away from the battle. I must have been out of my mind — I must have been insane at the time. I just know — if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have said what I said. Never.” His voice wavered. “I would never have tried to hurt you. I wouldn’t have let you fight alone for me.”

“Wei Ying—“

“And when I teased you, when we were just married, I didn’t know you loved me then. I thought you were just—“

His words were silenced as Lan Zhan’s lips were suddenly on his, tongue surging into his mouth, and his husband had twisted around to press him down on the bed. Wei Wuxian’s legs were already twined around him, open to Lan Zhan’s desire, and he could feel his husband’s skin blazing hot as it only did when they were about to fuck. Lan Zhan was a man of few words but powerful actions, and the best way he knew to show that none of that mattered was with his body.

“Wait!” Wei Wuxian blurted out.

Lan Zhan drew back a little, his face strained at having to hold himself back. “Wait?”

Wei Wuxian tore off his own robes as quickly as he could, and pulled out a talisman from the inside. With a flick of his hand, he sent it flying towards the wall, where it shimmered against the wooden boards. “That way, your brother and the boys won’t hear us all night,” Wei Wuxian panted.

He opened his mouth to another kiss, and eagerly parted his legs as Lan Zhan slid into him. Lan Xichen didn’t understand that this was real, he thought. All of it. It was the most real thing in Wei Wuxian’s entire world — it all revolved around Lan Zhan. So much had changed in just a few weeks since they had married… or maybe these feelings had been there for a long time, and he just hadn’t realized what they were until the marriage, when the thought of loving Lan Zhan had been planted in his head.

Now, there was nothing that would separate them. No clan or its leader would be able to come between them, no matter how much Lan Qiren raged or Lan Xichen believed that he was just toying with Lan Zhan’s feelings. And this time, he thought deliriously as Lan Zhan bit his slender throat, if it came down to fighting, then Lan Zhan wouldn’t be fighting by himself. And he would never, ever allow his husband to be punished again. Not for anything. Never.

A few hours later, they lay entangled together on the bed, sticky and panting and unwilling to part their bodies. Wei Wuxian could still feel Lan Zhan inside him, an exhilarating feeling of fullness that he wanted to cling to for as long as he could. He pressed his lips against his husband’s, then snuggled against his chest and breathed in the smell of sandalwood and musk.

“What happens next?” he murmured.

Lan Zhan looked down at him, his brow slightly creased.

“I mean, where do we go in the morning? We have a month before the Symposium, after all.”

“We must return home.” Lan Zhan’s hand trailed up Wei Wuxian’s spine, slipping under his hair to rest between his shoulder blades.

Wei Wuxian sighed, pressing his cheek against Lan Zhan’s throat. “Can’t we just keep wandering around for another few weeks? Just the two of us?”

“I must report everything that has happened, and my brother will begin coordination between various clans to clean up Yi City,” Lan Zhan said softly. “The body parts will also be safest in Cloud Recesses, where strangers cannot come and go as they please.”

“Mm. That’s true,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “I’m just thinking about what’s going to happen when we go back there. Your uncle is probably awake again, and throwing a tantrum about you ruining your life with me.”

“Mn.”

“Is there any way we can avoid that?”

“No. It must be endured.” A shadow seemed to fall across his eyes, as if he were reminded of something unpleasant. “But we were formally and officially wedded, with the approval of my brother. He could not do anything to disrupt that now.”

Wei Wuxian’s soft smile faded slightly. “Your brother thinks he made a mistake now,” he said quietly. “He believes I don’t really love you. I’m not sure how I can prove I do.”

“He will learn in time,” Lan Zhan said, stroking his back.

Chapter Text

The group arrived at Cloud Recesses a few days later, just as night was beginning to fall. The sky in the west was a deep, velvety purple, with a thin stripe of golden clouds just below it. Stars were already appearing in the sky above them like little sparks of ice-white fire. Despite the fading light, the flowing white robes of the Lan cultivators seemed to almost glow as they approached the stone steps.

Wei Wuxian had ridden much of the distance on Little Apple, but he felt a sense of relief that they had finally reached… well, he supposed it was “home” now. It was weird to think of Cloud Recesses as his home. Even during his time in the Burial Mounds, he had only ever thought of Lotus Pier as “home.” It was the first place where he had ever really belonged, even if it had been rocky with Jiang Cheng and Madame Yu at first.

“Finally!” Lan Jingyi said, stretching his arms over his head.

Lan Zhan tugged at Little Apple’s reins, and the donkey let out a loud honking bray, before reluctantly heading up the slope.

The black shadows of the trees hung over the wide steps up the mountain slope, but Wei Wuxian could still see the wall of rules carved on the walls that led to Cloud Recesses. He shivered a little at the sheer number of them — even more than when he had been a kid. Most of them were etched into his memory after he had copied them countless times, but… he wouldn’t have to memorize the new ones just because he had married into the clan, right? Right?

As they reached the top, many white-robed disciples came forward to formally greet Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan. Lan Xichen graciously spoke to some of them, but Lan Zhan simply came over to the donkey and grasped Wei Wuxian’s waist.

“It’s nearly time to sleep, Wangji,” Lan Xichen said. “Do you want to speak to Uncle before that?”

“Woop!” Wei Wuxian yelped as Lan Zhan lifted him effortlessly from the donkey’s back.

“No. We will meet tomorrow morning,” Lan Zhan said.

Lan Xichen nodded slightly. While he didn’t have the stone-faced sternness that Lan Zhan did, Wei Wuxian found himself wondering what his new brother-in-law was thinking. Lan Xichen hadn’t spoken a word about what had passed between them at the hotel, or the things he had said about how he believed Wei Wuxian did not love his brother. He had been perfectly polite and pleasant, but Wei Wuxian suspected the clan leader was still skeptical about him.

Well, lying wasn’t the most horrible thing that Wei Wuxian had been accused of. But in an odd way, it stung. Maybe it was because the thing he was being accused of was against the person he loved. The idea of Lan Zhan’s pain, in body and in spirit, was like having someone dig a dull knife into his heart, then root around with it. It hurt, even to imagine. Seeing him happy and content, even without a smile, was something almost exultantly blissful and joyous — even if they were just eating together, or talking, or playing their duets to the body parts.

He would never do anything to disrupt that happiness. Lan Zhan deserved the best Wei Wuxian could give him, especially when they had had so many stumbling blocks in the way.

With these thoughts stirring in his head, Wei Wuxian was still wide awake by the time he and Lan Zhan arrived at the Tranquility Room. He had only been here once before, right after their wedding. Even though everyone at Cloud Recesses had believed that they were fucking, there had been at least the pretense of propriety in not allowing Wei Wuxian to stay in Lan Zhan’s chambers until it would no longer violate the rules.

The chambers were scented heavily with sandalwood incense, and everything was tidy and neatly-arranged. Even the papers lying on Lan Zhan’s table had been carefully stacked, and were parallel to the edge of the table. Wei Wuxian looked around, wondering if Lan Zhan would have a problem with his messier way of existing. During his life in the Burial Mounds, he had spent weeks scribbling his inventions, thoughts and knowledge into countless papers and books, and then tossed them away to be forgotten about.

Lan Zhan gracefully seated himself, and placed his guqin on a table of dark wood that, from the dimensions, had been specifically designed for it. Wei Wuxian dropped onto the floor in front of him, kneeling on the floor and resting his elbows on the table. Just for added spectacle, he slowly swayed his ass back and forth, watching as Lan Zhan’s eyes slightly moved with his motions.

“Do you want food, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked quietly.

“Right now, I could use a drink,” Wei Wuxian said, heaving a sigh. “I guess I’ll have to go to the nearest city tomorrow to get one, though.”

Lan Zhan gazed at him a moment longer, then rose swiftly and went to a particular spot on the floor. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as he opened a small door in the floorboards, so carefully concealed that he hadn’t seen it until it was opened. His eyes widened further as Lan Zhan pulled two, familiar-looking small glazed jugs from the floor, carefully replaced the door, and then placed them in front of his wife.

Then a wicked smile spread across Wei Wuxian’s lips. “Lan Zhan… you’re breaking rules again. Who would have known that you were secretly indulging in Emperor’s Smile?”

“I was not,” Lan Zhan said, painstakingly pouring the liquor into a cup.

“But then why would you—“

“For you,” Lan Zhan said firmly. He looked at Wei Wuxian’s face a moment longer, as if caressing it with his eyes, and then held out the cup.

Wei Wuxian downed it in a single gulp, and the taste was as good as it had been when he had been a teenager. Better, maybe. He smiled brightly at his husband. The light lightly brushed over Lan Zhan’s beautiful features, making his eyes shine like the moon over Lotus Pier’s lakes. The last time Wei Wuxian had seen him look like that was on their… well, it was what he considered their wedding night, even if it had taken a few weeks to get there.

Speaking of which… now that they were alone, with a jug of wine… “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said softly, “have a drink with me.”

Lan Zhan blinked.

“You were so cute the last time you got drunk — well, not the part where you paralyzed me and put me to bed, but the part where you were just thinking about kissing me. I want to see it again.”

He brushed the full cup against Lan Zhan’s cheek. Long, slender fingers plucked it from his hand, and Lan Zhan contemplated its depths for a moment, before swallowing the contents. For a moment, his eyes watched Wei Wuxian steadily… and then his eyelids drifted down like leaves falling from a tree branch.

Wei Wuxian slipped around the table and wrapped his arms around Lan Zhan as his husband sagged forward, gently steering him into Wei Wuxian’s arms. It was a little awkward — despite his slim, graceful form, Lan Zhan was pretty heavy when he was asleep — but Wei Wuxian managed to settle Lan Zhan against him, head resting on his shoulder. Then he gently caressed his husband’s peaceful face, letting his fingers tangle in Lan Zhan’s smooth dark hair.

If this was anything like last time, he would sleep for a little while, and then wake up adorably and amusingly drunk. Wei Wuxian had imbibed wine with countless others in his teenage years, but he had never seen someone who reacted to it quite like Lan Zhan did. There were ones who cried, laughed, vomited, got angry, became amorous, and even a few who tried to do things like dive off of rooftops. But he had never seen one who seemed to maintain his dignity, eloquence and composure, while still acting oddly.

He watched Lan Zhan’s peaceful face for several minutes, feeling an overwhelming sense of affection welling up inside him. Just when he started to wonder if his husband was simply going to sleep the rest of the night, his long-lashed eyelids fluttered, and then opened. He raised his head, gazing at the woman holding him as if he was beholding the rarest treasure in the world, something so valuable he couldn’t bear to let it go.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said with a smile. “How’s my handsome husband?”

Lan Zhan seemed to consider this question for a moment. Then he slid himself back a few feet, surveying Wei Wuxian with no expression on his face.

“Is something wrong?” Wei Wuxian asked, a little dismayed. “You’re a little—“

Lan Zhan lunged forward so suddenly that Wei Wuxian didn’t have time to react — he simply fell back against the wall, feeling the weight of his husband press against him. Just as he was about to ask what he was doing, Lan Zhan ducked his head down, and buried his face between Wei Wuxian’s breasts. His black robe had already been loosened when they sat down to drink, so there was very little standing in Hanguang-jun’s way.

For a moment, Wei Wuxian was too surprised to react. He had gotten used to having these fleshy objects attached to his chest, to the point where he didn’t even really notice them unless he was lying on his stomach. But looking down at Lan Zhan lying contentedly with his face buried in them…

“You really like those, don’t you?” Wei Wuxian said, smiling.

“Mn,” came the muffled reply from his chest.

Wei Wuxian stroked Lan Zhan’s hair, barely able to hold back his laughter. Lan Zhan was fairly forthright about his desires when he was sober, once he had been convinced that Wei Wuxian loved him back. But diving into the Yiling Patriarch’s cleavage and just... staying there… that was definitely something new. He acted like he would like to simply crawl into Wei Wuxian’s clothing and stay there forever, between his breasts.

After a while, Lan Zhan slowly raised his head and sat back, his hair slightly rumpled from Wei Wuxian pawing at it. His forehead ribbon was, somehow, still perfectly straight, and his face was still as coldly perfect and pale as always. He gazed at Wei Wuxian’s face with a contemplative air, as if he were thinking deeply about something complex and introspective — and Wei Wuxian might have thought that he was, if Lan Zhan’s hands weren’t stroking and gently kneading his breasts.

He smiled, and arched his back a little to let his husband touch him more. “What do you want to do next?” he cooed.

Lan Zhan frowned slightly. Then he suddenly slid his hands under Wei Wuxian’s body, with one arm under his knees and the other behind his back. Wei Wuxian yelped in alarm at suddenly being picked up, and clutched at Lan Zhan’s flowing robes. But his husband merely held him tighter, swept through the room to the door, and kicked it open.

Chapter Text

The cold night air flowed over Wei Wuxian’s face and half-exposed chest. The dark shapes of trees rose against the starry sky, and moonlight flooded the meadow. For a moment, he thought its pale light had painted the grass white — and then he realized that the bunches of grass were moving. Balls of white fur, almost glowing under the moon.

Wei Wuxian clutched at Lan Zhan’s robes, looking around for anybody who might see Hanguang-jun running around drunk after everyone was supposed to safely be in bed. Fortunately, nobody seemed to be around, but if someone did see them… “Lan Zhan, where are you taking me?” he whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan stepped out into the night, his gaze unwaveringly on something ahead of him.

Wait, where were they going? Did Lan Zhan want to take him out somewhere to fuck? Wei Wuxian’s mind immediately flipped through all the places he remembered in Cloud Recesses, and which one of them would be the best place for a drunken Hanguang-jun to have his way with his wife. Wei Wuxian didn’t object to fucking outdoors — they had done it countless times over the past few weeks, and every time had been astounding. But was it really the best idea in Cloud Recesses, where someone could hear and find them?

Or… was he planning something else? A chill ran through Wei Wuxian’s body that had nothing to do with his open robes or the night air. Lan Xichen had talked about going to see Lan Qiren after their return. He wasn’t going to do that, was he? It wouldn’t look good if Lan Zhan showed up on his uncle’s doorstep, completely drunk and carrying the half-dressed wife his uncle hated.

“Lan Zhan, maybe we should go back to bed,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. “We could do something new and fun. You could tie me up if you want. Wouldn’t you like that?”

But Lan Zhan didn’t slow down. He strode across the meadow under the moonlight — and then stopped. Carefully, he knelt down and placed Wei Wuxian down on the long cool grass, as if he were placing him on the most comfortable of beds. Wei Wuxian was just about to ask what he was doing when Lan Zhan patted his cheek fondly — and then deposited something small, warm and furry on his chest.

“Huh? Is that a rabbit?” Wei Wuxian said, startled.

The snow-white rabbit sniffed at him with its velvety nose, its big black eyes blinking down at him.

“Lan Zhan, is this your rabbit?” Wei Wuxian called.

His husband’s response was to carefully place another rabbit on his stomach, and then another one was placed over his throat. Rabbit after rabbit was piled on him, warm wriggling creatures that seemed baffled by the presence of this strange person that their master was introducing them to. Some of them scrambled off with their oversized feet, while others seemed to decide that it was better to just cuddle up to this strange person and enjoy the warmth.

Laughter began to bubble up in Wei Wuxian’s stomach, and only some of it was from the fur tickling him. He had seen plenty of these little white rabbits during a few weeks ago in Cloud Recesses, but he had had no idea that Lan Zhan was so well-acquainted with the little fuzzballs. To think, that Cloud Recesses didn’t allow pets. And yet Hanguang-jun had dozens of rabbits that came hopping right up to him and let him handle them however he liked!

“Lan Zhan — Lan Zhan — are some of these the rabbits I gave you back when we were kids?” he said, as one small ball of fur tumbled over his ear. “I can’t remember if they were boys, girls, or one of each. Did they have babies?”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer, just kept piling more rabbits on Wei Wuxian’s stomach. His face softened imperceptibly as Wei Wuxian laughed again.

Then Wei Wuxian grabbed tbe front of his husband’s robes, and pulled himself up to kiss him. He loved Lan Zhan all the time, but right now he felt like he couldn’t hold it in — like he would explode if he didn’t do something to show how much he loved him. The warm, sweet taste of Lan Zhan’s lips — with the faint mellow tang of Emperor’s Smile — was intoxicating, and he just wanted to indulge in it for as long as he could.

Lan Zhan’s hands gripped his waist tightly, and balls of white fur scrambled away in alarm as the two humans began rolling in the grass. Wei Wuxian’s thoughts seemed to scatter as quickly as the rabbits — he couldn’t bring himself to care about someone finding them or hearing them. If someone stumbled across him being fucked by Lan Zhan, let them find out! He didn’t remember any rules forbidding it — they were married, after all —

Then he almost laughed out loud as a velvety nose poked itself into his ear, curious about what these strange giant creatures were doing. Lan Zhan drew back, looking mildly annoyed at the interruption.

“Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said breathlessly. “The rabbit surprised me.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said sternly.

Before he knew it, Wei Wuxian was in Lan Zhan’s arms again, and his husband was carrying him effortlessly back into the Tranquility Room, away from the distracting furballs. Lan Zhan’s face was pressed against Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he could feel lips sucking and teeth nibbling at the soft skin there. “We can play with the rabbits in the morning, after you talk with your uncle,” he said a little breathlessly. “I didn’t know what I was starting when I brought you those rabbits when we were fifteen. I thought you would just dump them in the back hills if you weren’t willing to eat them —“

“You gave them to me,” Lan Zhan said reprovingly.

Wei Wuxian laughed, rumpling his husband’s hair. “Is that why you kept them? Because of me?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan murmured, his face still buried in Wei Wuxian’s throat. Then he raised his face, looking at his love with luminous eyes.

Before he had known about Lan Zhan’s feelings, Wei Wuxian would have teased him mercilessly about such a thing. But now, he could only remember what a little shit he had been when he left those rabbits with Lan Zhan. He hadn’t had the faintest idea that Lan Zhan loved him — he just thought he was a boring stick-in-the-mud whom he could tease. And despite his mocking, the other boy had kept the rabbits for all these years, just because the boy he loved had given them to him. He had been infuriated and conflicted… but he had still kept them.

“You’re just too good to me, Lan Zhan,” he said softly, brushing his hand against the side of his husband’s face.

Lan Zhan set him down on the edge of his bed, and began swiftly removing Wei Wuxian’s robes. Wei Wuxian shivered a little as the chilly air struck his bare skin, but focused on getting Lan Zhan’s clothes off as well. He had seen Lan Zhan naked many times by now, but the sight of his body still took Wei Wuxian’s breath away. And he could tell, as the robes pooled around Lan Zhan’s feet, that his husband was very, very interested in what he saw.

He started to trail a hand downward towards Lan Zhan’s groin, intending to tease him a little until he pinned Wei Wuxian down and fucked him. But suddenly Lan Zhan’s hands were on his wrists, holding them firmly.

“What? What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian said, dismayed.

Lan Zhan pressed him back against the bed, swiftly grasping both wrists ine one larger hand. Wei Wuxian barely had time to respond with a surprised yelp before he felt something tighten around his hands — something thin and strong. Something that most definitely wasn’t Lan Zhan’s hands — his husband was sitting back on the bed now, surveying Wei Wuxian with an air of general satisfaction.

"What did you just do?” Wei Wuxian said, looking up.

That was when he realized that Lan Zhan wasn’t wearing his embroidered forehead ribbon. It was tied securely around Wei Wuxian’s wrists, binding them to the bed. He tugged at it, expecting the delicate-looking, airy ribbon to come loose — but the material turned out to be a lot stronger than it looked, and it was tied in a tight knot.

He sighed. Well, he had offered to let Lan Zhan tie him up, hadn’t he? Evidently he had heard that part of the conversation. He was just shocked that Lan Zhan had used the forehead ribbon to do it. He had been so upset when Wei Wuxian touched it when they were teenagers — and now he was using it to tie him up so he could fuck him?

“Lan Zhan, what are you doing?” Wei Wuxian said, wriggling a little.

Lan Zhan gave him a long searching look, then lifted one of Wei Wuxian’s legs and slid between them.

“I know you’re doing that!” Wei Wuxian said, tugging at the ribbon again. “But this ribbon — you were so upset when I touched it before. And now you’re using it like this? Are you still drunk?”

“No,” Lan Zhan said firmly.

“Then why are you doing this?”

Lan Zhan gazed at him again, then lowered his lips to Wei Wuxian’s nipple. A jolt of pleasure surged through him like a lightning bolt, and his legs scrabbled against Lan Zhan’s thighs.

“Okay, okay,” Wei Wuxian said breathlessly. “I’m not complaining!” A wicked smile spread across his lips. “I’m completely helpless before the mighty Hanguang-jun. What are you going to do next?”

Chapter Text

When Lan Wangji woke the next morning, it took a moment for him to remember that he had been drinking the night before. He didn’t remember what had happened for at least part of the evening — but he did remember tying Wei Ying to his bed. No, not his bed. Their bed, now. From now on, this was no longer the lonely quarters where he sought solitude. It was a home for them both.

He raised his head to look at Wei Ying beside him. His wife was splayed across the bed beside him, wrists tangled in a loosened forehead ribbon. Wei Ying was fast asleep still — and would be for four more hours, if Lan Wangji’s experience was anything to go by — but a soft smile was on his lips. He looked like he was having a sweet dream even now.

Lan Wangji lay quietly in his bed for a while longer, gazing at Wei Ying as he slept. He felt like a man who had spent years wracked with burning thirst who had finally been given a drink of cool, sweet water. Every moment with Wei Ying seemed to fill his soul and heal the cracks and scars that had formed over thirteen years alone. He wished that, in defiance of the rules, he could simply lie in their bed and watch Wei Ying sleep.

But he couldn’t. He had been quietly dreading the inevitable meeting with his uncle ever since they had left Cloud Recesses, knowing that when his uncle woke, he would know about the marriage. He would do his duty to his clan by going to that meeting and enduring his uncle's disapproval — but he would not allow himself to be pushed around. No matter what Lan Qiren said, Wei Ying belonged to him, and he belonged to Wei Ying.

He reluctantly slipped out of their bed, extracted his forehead ribbon from Wei Ying’s hands, and made his way down to the cold spring. Despite the chill in the air, he was able to soak his body in the icy water without much discomfort. It also soothed away some of the unease that still clung to his mind like dust to a traveler’s shoes.

Lan Wangji had spent countless hours in the cold spring as a youth, trying in vain to clear away his lustful thoughts about Wei Ying. The spring was supposed to help calm the mind, but it had never been strong enough to dampen his feelings. Still, he thought, it should be enough to keep his mind unclouded for the hour or two when he conferred with his uncle. He needed to be calm and strong, to show his uncle dutiful respect without giving way to any of his pressure about Wei Ying.

After leaving the icy spring, he donned fresh clothing and arranged his hair, before walking swiftly to his uncle’s chambers. Aside from babies and toddlers, Wei Ying was probably the only one in Cloud Recesses who was still asleep. Lan Wangji’s uncle and brother would have been awake for at least half an hour, and probably would have already eaten their breakfast, even though the pale sun was just peeking over the horizon beyond the far mountains.

He hesitated before the door, then raised his fist to knock quietly.

“Come in, Wangji,” his uncle’s familiar voice said.

Lan Wangji felt unease tightening his stomach as he stepped into the room. Lan Xichen was already there, poised and warmly smiling, sitting at his uncle’s table with a cup of tea in one hand. Lan Qiren, in contrast, could not have looked grimmer if he had just announced his own execution. His mouth was pinched into a disapproving frown, and the brow under his ribbon was crinkled with displeasure.

“Sit down,” Lan Qiren ordered.

Lan Wangji obeyed, his heart thudding dully against his ribs. It had been many years since he had blindly obeyed his uncle’s commands, and they both knew it. Yet he still found himself feeling anxious.

Lan Qiren gave him a long, piercing look, and drank deeply from his own tea. Only then did he utter a low, “You know how disappointed I am, Wangji.”

“Yes, uncle,” Lan Wangji said quietly.

“Since the day you were born, I have done my utmost to make sure that you would live a life in accordance with the greatest principles of our clan,” Lan Qiren said. Despite his measured tones, there was unmistakable sound of anger in his voice. “I have always sought to ensure that you would not follow your father’s example. His life was ruined by the woman he married, and I was determined that yours would not be the same.”

Lan Wangji’s jaw clenched at the mention of his mother, but he stayed his tongue. His uncle had hated the late Madame Lan ever since his brother had gone into seclusion, where he had remained until the day he died. Qingheng-jun had been a ghostly presence in the lives of his two sons, who had been torn from his wife’s arms on the day of their births. And ever since Lan Wangji had been old enough to understand, Lan Qiren had made it clear that his mother was the worst thing that had ever happened to his father, and that her supposed crime had been unforgivable. What his uncle truly could not forgive her for, Lan Wangji knew, was that she had ensnared Qingheng-jun, and that he had retreated from the world as a form of self-punishment for what she had done.

“My wife,” he said quietly, “has committed no wrong.”

Lan Qiren started to say something, then pressed his lips together tightly. Lan Wangji’s knew he couldn’t deny that the new Second Madame Lan had not actually done anything wrong, besides be considered unsuitable for a man of his birth. Of course, he thought, they would never believe in his innocence if they knew he was actually Wei Ying. But if Lan Wangji had anything to say about it, they would never find that out.

Lan Qiren sighed, and fixed piercing dark eyes on his nephew. “Any woman,” he said quietly, “from any cultivation clan would be proud to marry the heir to the Lan Sect. You could have had your choice of anyone. Why this one woman in particular?”

Lan Wangji raised his face, his eyes steady and clear. “She is my wife,” he said quietly. “The only one I love. The only one I will ever love.”

His uncle’s face blanched visibly, hearing an echo of his own brother’s words on Lan Wangji’s lips. But Lan Wangji kept his pale, gleaming gaze unwaveringly on his uncle, unwilling to show the slightest hint of uncertainty or weakness. His uncle had to be forced to know he would not forsake or imprison Wei Ying, no matter what pressure was brought to bear. Neither his uncle nor the other clan elders could sway him.

For the next hour, Lan Wangji only heard small snatches of his uncle’s words. Lan Qiren went on for a considerable amount of time about the things expected of the clan’s heir, from how he conducted himself to the necessity of producing more heirs who could carry on the family line. Lan Wangji had heard it all many times over his lifetime, and he doubted that Lan Qiren would have added anything new to the speech. One thing that did penetrate his attention was the awareness that his uncle was angry and frustrated, as if Lan Wangji had gone out of his way to defy his wishes.

When Lan Qiren paused for breath, Lan Xichen carefully put down his cup. “Wangji is no longer a child, Uncle,” he said quietly. “I may have urged him to take this step, but it was his own decision to marry Mo Lian. He did not make this choice lightly or recklessly. And truly, having seen the depth of his feelings, I have never seen him in love before her.” His eyes briefly flickered to his brother’s face, with something hidden in their depths.

“Not even —“ Lan Qiren started to say.

But he bit off his words in mid-sentence, and turned away sharply. Lan Wangji’s fingers clutched at his sleeves, and for a moment he thought that his uncle was going to say “Wei Wuxian.” It wouldn’t be impossible for Lan Qiren to have figured that out, considering all Lan Wangji had suffered for Wei Ying’s sake thirteen years ago. Sometimes, he had wondered if his uncle knew of his hopeless love, but Lan Qiren had never said anything about it one way or another. Perhaps he had thought that since Wei Ying was safely dead, there was no reason to reopen old wounds.

Finally, the uncle said tightly, “It isn’t simply about love, Wangji. Someone… unsuitable… can ruin your life. I simply want what is best for you.”

“I understand, Uncle,” Lan Wangji said quietly.

Lan Qiren let out a heavy sigh. It was clear from his expression that he thought his nephew very much did not understand.

Lan Xichen coughed softly. “Uncle, Wangji has been on a long journey for the past several weeks, and has been dealing with a variety of enemies. Wouldn’t you agree that it would be best for him to have some rest and quiet? Perhaps in a day or two, we could meet again with him and his new wife, and discuss the future in more detail with them.”

Lan Qiren looked as if he would rather eat the elegant books piled in front of him. But it seemed that he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more about his nephew’s shameful marriage, because he nodded once and made a dismissive gesture. Lan Wangji politely excused himself from both his uncle and his elder brother, and made his way back into the brightly sunlit, chilly autumn morning.

The Tranquility Room was still living up to its name by the time he returned. Wei Ying was still fast asleep, sprawled sideways across their bed, the blanket slipping down from his bare breasts to his stomach, one leg trailing out across the floor. Lan Wangji thought about trying to wake him up, but instead decided to gently ease his body back onto the bed, and tuck the blanket up around his chin. Wei Ying snuffled a little and stirred as Lan Wangji effortlessly lifted him, but settled back down as soon as he was on the bed again.

Then his slender fingers clutched at Lan Wangji's sleeve. “Don’t go,” Wei Ying whispered. “Lan Zhan…”

The faintest smile touched Lan Wangji’s lips, and he settled himself by the side of their bed, entwining his fingers with Wei Ying’s. He almost regretted getting up to meet his uncle now, rather than waiting until Wei Ying was awake. For a moment, he considered stripping off his clothes again, and slipping back under the covers again, so Wei Ying would never even know he had left.

But just then, his love opened eyes still hazy with sleep, and gazed blearily at Lan Wangji’s face. “Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying mumbled. “What are you doing up so early?”

It wasn’t early — the sun had been up for over an hour — but Lan Wangji didn't point that out. He simply leaned in and captured Wei Ying’s lips, and held him so tightly that both of them could barely breathe.

Chapter Text

The anticipated meeting took place two days later. Wei Wuxian didn’t feel even slightly nervous, which only seemed to make Lan Zhan seem even more uncomfortable. He emphasized several times that Lan Qiren was already badly disposed towards “Mo Lian,” and believed that their marriage was a massive mistake that would ruin Lan Zhan’s life.

“So you’re saying, don’t take my clothes off at the dinner table?” Wei Wuxian teased.

“Wei Ying…”

Wei Wuxian laughed, and slid across to kiss his husband, curling up in his lap. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Even if I really want to be bad. I’ll be the perfect little wife, so he can’t bother you about me anymore, okay?”

He wasn’t sure exactly what was worrying Lan Zhan so much. Lan Qiren had no idea that he was actually Wei Wuxian, someone he had disliked heartily even before he had come up with demonic cultivation and turned his back on the various clans. Shouldn’t he get a clean slate now that he was “Mo Lian”? He disliked him for entirely different reasons now — because he was an evil conniving whore who had stolen Lan Qiren’s precious perfect nephew away. Or something like that.

Either way, he was going to behave. His first impulse was to shave Lan Qiren’s beard while he was asleep, but he wasn’t going to do that. Not again. He probably would have done it when he was young, feckless and thought that Lan Zhan was a boring fuddy-duddy who hated him. Back then, mischief and rule-breaking had only caused trouble for him. Now, it would cause trouble for Lan Zhan as well.

Either way, he didn't really care about Lan Qiren thought about him, but Lan Zhan obviously did. Even though Lan Zhan was no longer the perfect rule-bound Lan, his uncle had raised him for his entire life. Lan Qiren was a fussy, hidebound, stuffy, irritating relic who stifled joy wherever he found it… but that didn’t mean that Lan Zhan didn’t still love him, and that it wouldn’t hurt him if his uncle hated his new wife. So for Lan Zhan’s sake, Wei Wuxian would keep himself under control.

He tried to look as demure as possible when Lan Zhan led him into his uncle’s chambers for the long-awaited dinner. It was a little hard with Lan Xichen already waiting for them there, knowing that his brother-in-law already knew that he wasn’t who he claimed to be. But if Lan Xichen were going to rat him out, he presumably would have done it already — and if that happened, Lan Qiren would have erupted.

Instead, his new uncle-in-law grimly seated himself at the table, and after a moment of hesitation, Wei Wuxian sat down opposite him, with one of the Twin Jades on either side. Lan Zhan’s face was as smooth and expressionless as ever, but there was tension in his elegant hands and the lines of his broad shoulders. Wei Wuxian wanted to lean across the table and kiss him until he calmed down, but he suspected that would displease Lan Qiren. The man would probably be horrified to know that the two of them fucked.

He tried not to sigh as the food was placed on the table. It was typical Cloud Recesses fare — vegetarian food with a lot of green leaves and not much flavor except a pervasive medicinal bitterness. And no spice. Nothing spicy at all. He hadn’t liked it as a teenager — it was the reason he had secretly sneaked out to catch fish and birds — and he doubted that it had become any more delicious in the years since. And of course, not a drop of wine. Water in every cup.

Lan Qiren looked across the table at him sternly, as if he had already done something wrong. “Has Wangji explained the rules to you?” he asked.

Not the new ones. The old ones were still burned into Wei Wuxian’s brain. He lowered his eyes a little and shook his head.

“Hmph,” Lan Qiren said, sounding as if that was a personal failing of Wei Wuxian’s. “In our clan, we take food in silence.”

In other words, don’t talk during dinner. That had always been one of Wei Wuxian’s least favorite rules, and one that Lan Zhan didn’t ever enforce when they ate alone or away from Cloud Recesses. At Lotus Pier, mealtimes had been informal and friendly, with plenty of chatter and laughter — even Madame Yu in a habitually bad mood hadn’t been able to fully kill the experience for Wei Wuxian. He sighed, and resigned himself to only using his mouth for food for a while.

He drank the bland, slightly bitter soup, swallowing it with only a slight twitch of his facial muscles. But to his surprise, he ended up hungrily eating the green leaves — he suspected they were some kind of cabbage — as if he had been starving. It was like they had triggered some kind of craving that he hadn’t known he was having. He hadn’t even realized how fast he was eating until Lan Zhan silently picked up one of the dishes and deposited more cabbage into his bowl.

Maybe living in Cloud Recesses was affecting him already, Wei Wuxian thought. He was actually starting to crave the food!

Lan Qiren ate more slowly, and when Wei Wuxian looked up, he realized that his new uncle-in-law had been staring at him for quite some time. Lan Zhan appeared to be decorously keeping his eyes on his plate, but Wei Wuxian caught him glancing up in a way that could barely be detected. And Lan Xichen glided through the meal as if there were no tension in the air at all — as if they were just a happy family enjoying a dinner together. It made Wei Wuxian wonder whether Lan Zhan had ever had a happy meal with his parents. He knew next to nothing about Qingheng-jun, and even less about Madame Lan, but he couldn’t imagine putting his own children into Lan Qiren’s hands if there was any choice.

As they finished the meal, a pair of disciples slipped into the room and removed all of the dishes. Wei Wuxian slipped a hand over his stomach — even though he was full, for some reason he still wanted more cabbage. It was weird. Maybe he would talk to Lan Zhan about getting more later—

“You seemed very hungry, Sister-in-law,” Lan Xichen said with a smile.

“My family never fed me much,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to sound pitiable. “Hanguang-jun has been very good to me.”

Then Lan Qiren cleared his throat, and Wei Wuxian looked up sharply. The older man looked even more stern than he had before they ate. “Your marriage was extremely hasty,” he said, again sounding as if he were accusing Wei Wuxian of something.

Yeah, because we were trying to do it before you could wake up and cause trouble, Wei Wuxian thought. Like you’re doing now.

“Because of that, I suspect Wangji did not explain to you the duties and responsibilities of your new position.”

Wei Wuxian glanced over at Lan Zhan, who was gazing at him impassively. Even with his improved ability to read his husband’s emotions, there were still times when he couldn’t tell what the hell he was thinking. Either way, the words “duties and responsibilities” made laughter suddenly quake in his insides — he had never been good at those things in his old life, and the thought of Lan Qiren of all people awarding important Lan duties to the Yiling Patriarch… the living embodiment of everything he despised… it was just too funny.

The old man was still yammering on, but Wei Wuxian was having some difficulty keeping track of what he was saying. Just like his lectures, it was pretty tedious — and since he wasn’t surrounded by dozens of other people, he couldn’t doze off or doodle on some paper. He wondered if he could get out of listening to the rest of it by pretending to be sick —

“… and you must always keep in mind that you are now representative of the Lan Sect,” Lan Qiren was saying severely. “Do you understand what is expected of you, as the wife of the clan’s heir?”

Wei Wuxian looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, and smiled. “No.”

Lan Qiren made an exasperated sound.

It wasn’t a lie. The truth was, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what the highest-ranking woman of a sect was supposed to do. Most of his knowledge came from Madame Yu, and she hadn’t really had any defined responsibilities in the Jiang sect. She had more or less done whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted to do it, and ignored whatever she didn’t want to do. Often she would take off on Night Hunts for months at a time, leaving her husband, Jiang Cheng and the disciples to handle things in her absence.

Lan Xichen was hiding his mouth behind his sleeve, and even when he showed his face, Wei Wuxian could see the corners of his mouth twitching. “I will make sure that she will know what she needs to do, Uncle,” he said quietly. “She’s still getting used to life in Cloud Recesses — remember that she has spent most of her marriage traveling with Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian threw his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck, and rested his head against his husband’s shoulder. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought that he felt Lan Zhan’s heart racing at their closeness — and then a strong arm circled around him. He smiled up brightly at his husband’s face, and was rewarded by a slight softening of those pale, shining eyes.

“May we leave, Uncle?” Lan Zhan said quietly.

Lan Qiren was visibly gritting his teeth, but he made a dismissive gesture.

Wei Wuxian managed to restrain himself until they reached the door — and then he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled himself up to Lan Zhan’s face and kissed him hard, tasting a familiar sweetness on his lips that hadn’t come from any of the food. A strong hand gripped his waist, pulling them closer together as they moved out of his uncle’s chambers, while the other hand tangled in his hair and pushed him deeper into the kiss.

Lan Xichen watched the two of them leave with a faint smile on his lips — they hadn’t parted even to say goodbye, or even to look where they were going. “It seems that our new Second Madame Lan will be fulfilling her duties sooner rather than later,” he said in a low voice.

Lan Qiren huffed with irritation.

Chapter Text

The next month passed by fairly peacefully. In fact, it was so peaceful that at times, Wei Wuxian started to wonder when the symposium would finally start.

Lan Xichen didn’t seem to be in any hurry to introduce him to the “duties and responsibilities” of being the clan heir’s wife. Perhaps he felt bad about sending them on a mission directly after their wedding, because he more or less left his sister-in-law to his own devices. Lan Qiren also didn’t bother him much — presumably he had decided that his new niece-in-law was dumb but harmless enough.

Lan Zhan had a few things he needed to do — he taught some classes to younger disciples, graded papers, and took the juniors on a few small missions to neighboring towns. Water ghouls, some pesky ghosts bothering some farmers, and a monster that had come down from a mountain to plague a village. None of these missions took long — usually a few hours — and all were easy enough that the boys could handle them.

That left plenty of time for the couple to spend together. After the sometimes-harrowing experiences of their journey, it was pleasant to be able to relax at Cloud Recesses. Even in his teens, Wei Wuxian had had to admit that the place was beautiful, and it had some wonderful things in it like the library — especially when he was allowed to lose himself in the rare books, rather than doing endless copywork. And now that he was with Lan Zhan rather than dodging his disapproval, it was infinitely better.

They spent long afternoons exploring the hills around Cloud Recesses, rediscovering places that Wei Wuxian had been when he was a youth. Little hollows hidden from sight, cascading waterfalls and languid rivers, and shaded groves that hid them from sight. They spent a whole morning in one of those little hollows, frightening away animals and doing things that would make Lan Qiren faint.

Lan Zhan also insisted that Wei Wuxian cultivate, and oversaw the meditations. Mo Lian hadn’t even developed a golden core before she had handed off her body to Wei Wuxian — he hadn’t been this weak in spiritual power since he was twelve years old, not including the years after he donated his core to Jiang Cheng. It was a little frustrating, but he could feel plenty of improvement after only a few weeks. He would probably be able to form a new core in another year or so.

“You should use the cold spring,” Lan Zhan told him solemnly. “It can be used for cultivation purposes.”

“Too cold. Only if you come there with me,” Wei Wuxian said with a shiver.

They both decided that he would forgo the cold spring, since they doubted that he would be able to focus on cultivation with a nude Lan Zhan in the water with him.

But though he still had demonic cultivation at his fingertips, Wei Wuxian had to admit that it was nice to regain something he had believed was lost forever. He didn’t regret giving Jiang Cheng his golden core, even now. Even though Jiang Cheng hated him now, he knew that his former martial brother would never have survived the loss of his own core. Now he had a second chance — and while it was annoying to have to cultivate again from the beginning, he knew that he could turn Mo Lian’s meager spiritual powers into something astonishing.

They often saw Lan Sizhui around Cloud Recesses, coming out of his classes, going in and out of the library, and spending time with his friends. Wei Wuxian felt his heart soar every time he saw the youth. A part of him still hurt that Sizhui didn’t seem to remember anything about him — but then again, why would he, when he had an entirely different body now? It was more important that Sizhui was happy, healthy and had a bright future ahead of him, untouched by the shadows of the past.

But even if Lan Sizhui didn’t recognize him, his eyes brightened whenever he saw Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian approaching. “Hanguang-jun! Second Madame!” he usually said with a smile.

He also often came by near the Tranquility Room to help care for the rabbits, which seemed to be almost as fond of him as they were of Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian seated himself under a tree and watched with a smile as the two of them fed Lan Zhan’s pets. For a moment he saw them as they had once been — Lan Zhan looking much the same, but less sure of himself, and Sizhui a sprightly little boy who had believed that he could grow siblings if he was planted in a garden.

Wei Wuxian sighed. He just wished that he had been there to see the two of them as Sizhui grew up.

Lan Zhan must have seen him watching them, because the next time Sizhui came to visit, he had a tray of food waiting for the three of them. “Hanguang-jun thinks of everything, doesn’t he?” Wei Wuxian said, waiting until the tray was safely on the ground before he pounced. The three of them spent the afternoon in the sunny meadow, with rabbits bouncing around and watching eagerly for someone to drop something edible on the ground.

“Second Madame,” Sizhui asked as they finished eating, “I have a — a small question.”

“Go ahead,” Wei Wuxian said.

“You seem to know so many things — in Yi City, it seemed like there wasn’t anything you didn’t know,” Sizhui said earnestly. “How did you learn these things, since before Hanguang-jun brought you here, you were… not in the best place?”

Wei Wuxian almost choked on a soup dumpling, and Lan Zhan had to vigorously pat his back before he stopped coughing. He hadn’t really thought about what to say in this situation — about why Mo Lian, a timid and abused young woman who had been practically imprisoned by her family, had so much knowledge at her fingertips. He had just acted as himself, using the knowledge he had amassed in his short first life.

He feigned coughing for a few seconds more, before saying innocently, “I picked up some things when I was with the Jin Clan — things that most people don’t know, but a few people wrote down.”

“Like Wei Wuxian?” Lan Sizhui asked.

Wei Wuxian had another dumpling halfway to his mouth when he heard his own name. The dumpling plopped back into the soup. “What?”

Lan Zhan didn’t move, but his body tensed.

“I know Wei Wuxian documented and came up with a lot of things regarding ghosts and walking corpses,” Lan Sizhui said. “I thought that you might have read some of the things he left behind. Especially since you… you’re a… you practice demonic cultivation.”

“Something like that,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling vaguely. “He wrote down a lot of things, and I guess they must have picked those books up when he died. A lot of what he wrote was bullshit, though.” He tilted his head. “What do you think of Wei Wuxian?”

A frown crossed Lan Sizhui’s face, but it wasn’t a disapproving smile. It was more the expression of someone encountering a puzzle that stymied them. “I don’t know. I mean, he died when I was only a few years old, so everything I know about him is from other people. Everybody says he was evil and cruel and depraved — that he was a monster — but I just…” He bit his lip. “I just have trouble believing he was as bad as everyone says he was.”

Wei Wuxian realized that his fingernails were digging into his palms, and forced his fingers to uncurl. He could feel a pleasant ache blossoming inside his chest, along with an overwhelming desire to hug the boy in front of him until his arms gave out. Even if he didn’t remember him consciously, some part of Wen Yuan still remembered the man who had played with him all those years ago. Remembered that he wasn’t the monster that everyone said.

Lan Sizhui’s brows were knitting together, and his words were oddly slow. “It just feels false. And Hanguang-jun —“ He straightened up, and looked at Lan Zhan. “—he always told me to never blindly believe what other people say about a person.”

Wei Wuxian laughed out loud, and threw his arms around Lan Zhan’s shoulder, resting his chin against his husband’s throat. “Hanguang-jun raised you right,” he said half-teasingly. “He raised you to think.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.

And on almost every day that passed, they fucked. Long, sweaty, rapturous hours in each other’s arms, fucking furiously while Wei Wuxian unashamedly cried out and moaned loudly enough to be heard outside. Lan Qiren’s dwelling was nearby, and Wei Wuxian was more than happy to make his new uncle-in-law uncomfortable by letting him know that his perfect, precious nephew was fucking his wife hard.

It wasn’t much of a change — they had fucked at least once a day on the road. But now that they were safely in Cloud Recesses, without having to worry about beating the graverobber to the stolen body parts, they could spend more time in bed. Returning home hadn’t diminished Lan Zhan’s ardor at all — if anything, it had intensified it. Some mornings, Wei Wuxian actually found it difficult to walk.

And they spent a great deal of time learning what they liked. Wei Wuxian couldn’t be sure — Lan Zhan refused to say one way or the other — but he was fairly sure that his husband had been researching what they could do in bed. He himself had learned a few things: Lan Zhan liked biting, he loved the sound of Wei Wuxian’s moans, he was more than willing to tie his wife up, and he was willing to try just about any position at least once.

Wei Wuxian was game for trying almost anything… except one thing. He flatly refused to be spanked. Just the thought filled him with humiliation, even if he knew Lan Zhan didn’t mean it that way.

Of course, there were a few problems. For one thing, Wei Wuxian began to feel oddly queasy sometimes in the morning. He had frightened a few of the disciples by running outside wearing only his sleep robe one morning, right before throwing up over a flowerbed. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this — at first he thought his body, with its weak cultivation, might have picked up a minor illness.

Perhaps it had something to do with all the vegetables, he thought. For some reason, that odd craving for cabbage hadn’t diminished — if anything, it had expanded to other leafy green vegetables. Sometimes he couldn’t even wait for them to be cooked. One evening he found himself gnawing on a stalk of raw bok choy while Lan Zhan was preparing dinner. His husband cooked him whatever he wanted — vegetable or meat, or any combination of the two.

And that was how the next month passed.

Chapter Text

“I’m going to throw up,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

He stuffed a change of clothes into his qiankun pouch, and looked around the Tranquility Room. Clothes and cultivation tools like talismans were basically all he needed to bring with him — most of what he required would be provided by the Jin Clan during the symposium. It was a funny thought. The Jin Clan would be providing food, housing and whatever else the Yiling Patriarch needed, and they had no idea.

Of course, he would have found it funnier if he wasn’t feeling queasy, like he was almost every morning. Since he was at least a year from being able to fly on a sword by himself, he would be riding Bichen with Lan Zhan. He wasn’t looking forward to that — it wouldn’t be good if Lan Zhan arrived at Golden Carp Tower covered in vomit. It certainly wouldn’t be a good omen for their mission there.

The two of them had been secretly planning their infiltration of Jin Guangyao’s chambers for almost a month, and Wei Wuxian was pretty sure that they had come up with the perfect idea. He would transfer his soul into.a paper doll and infiltrate the man’s rooms, and try to find that severed head. There probably wasn’t anyplace else that it would be stored — something that important and filled with resentment would have to be kept close to Jin Guangyao, to minimize the chances of some random person finding it. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hide the head of Nie Mingjue.

Secret compartments, hidden doors — there was doubtlessly some way of hiding that elusive head. Wei Wuxian just had to figure out where it was, and how it could be opened, without getting caught. The risks were high, since damage to his paper body would translate to his soul. But if they could finally reunite the body parts of Nie Mingjue — and resolve the matter of who had killed him — then it was worth the risk.

The door opened, and Lan Zhan stepped inside, with something folded under his arm. “Wei Ying?” he said quietly.

“I’m ready,” Wei Wuxian said. “Well, I’m almost ready. I have the feeling I’ve forgotten something, but I can’t remember what it was. It was something important.”

“I have something for you,” Lan Zhan said.

“What’s that?”

Lan Zhan took the item under his arm, and held it out with both hands. It was a Lan robe, pure white and airy, with the lightest blue trim. He shook it out so that it flowed down to the floor, shining faintly in the sunlight.

“Me? Wear that?” Wei Wuxian said.

“It would not appear proper if my wife did not wear the robes of my clan at an official function,” Lan Zhan said firmly.

Wei Wuxian heaved a sigh. They still looked like funeral robes to him, even if he had gotten used to how good they looked on Lan Zhan. But he supposed it would look suspicious if Hanguang-jun’s new wife came to the Symposium looking like somebody who HADN’T married into the clan. And considering that “Mo Lian” was coming into the Symposium with a bad reputation with the Jin Clan, he probably could use all the support from the Lan Clan that he could get.

He stripped off his usual black robe, and slipped on the white one. Lan Zhan watched him intently, his pale eyes roaming up and down Wei Wuxian’s body. Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought that his husband looked kind of happy that he was dressed in Lan robes. He took a few steps closer and brushed his slender fingers against the curve of Wei Wuxian’s hip, up towards his waist as he tied a white belt around it.

“I’m not wearing this all the time, just so you know,” Wei Wuxian said half-teasingly. “When we get home, I’m going back to wearing black.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.

“But I could put it on at night sometimes, if you like. Of course, you’ll just have to take it off me again,” Wei Wuxian purred.

Lan Xichen was waiting for them outside, the very picture of a dignified clan leader on his way to an official function. His snowy white robes were more elegant and ornate than the ones he usually wore, and his handsome, gentle-looking face was set in a serene smile. If he was still feeling doubts and resentments about Wei Wuxian’s intentions towards his brother, he gave no sign of it as they approached him.

Wei Wuxian had only told him the roughest outline of what he and Lan Zhan had planned for that evening. Lan Xichen knew that they would be searching for Nie Mingjue’s head at Golden Carp Tower, and had requested to be left ignorant about the details. He wasn’t entirely comfortable with spying on his sworn brother, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny his younger brother and sister-in-law the opportunity to investigate if there was even a slight chance that Jin Guangyao was guilty.

Still, he professed total trust in his sworn brother, whenever the subject came up. Lan Xichen genuinely believed that this was some kind of misunderstanding, and that Jin Guangyao was innocent.

Wei Wuxian felt a kind of squirming discomfort when that happened. He didn’t bear any kind of ill will towards Jin Guangyao, and he certainly had no desire to see Lan Xichen hurt by this kind of devasting discovery. But at the same time, he couldn’t think of any other person who could be the guilty one. And if they discounted Jin Guangyao… well, they would have no idea what to do or where to look next. They didn’t really have any suspects except the Jin clan leader.

“Are you feeling any better, Young Master Wei?” Lan Xichen asked.

“Not really, but I think I can make it to Golden Carp Tower,” Wei Wuxian said.

But as they soared into the skies over Cloud Recesses, his stomach began to rebel. Wei Wuxian squeezed his eyes shut, pressed his cheek against Lan Zhan’s shoulder blade, and tried to breathe deeply through his mouth. It didn’t help that he hadn’t flown on a sword since… well, since his previous life, before he had lost his golden core. That was a long time, even if he had been dead for a large part of it.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked over the sound of the wind.

“If I throw up on you,” Wei Wuxian said, clutching his husband’s chest from behind, “then I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

But somehow, he managed to keep it together until they stopped to rest, halfway through the journey. He staggered a few steps away from Bichen before he lost control, bent over and vomited everything he had eaten that morning. He felt cool, slender hands pass over the sides of his head, pulling back his hair so it wasn’t soiled, and then one of those hands began rubbing circles on his back. It was a gentle, soothing gesture, and he was miserably grateful for it.

As he finally stood back up, wiping his mouth, Lan Xichen came closer, looking concerned. “Lianfang-zun has several excellent doctors employed at Golden Carp Tower,” he said gently. “Perhaps you should visit one during our visit, before you do any… investigating.”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian said, feeling distinctly greenish. “I’ll do that.”

Lan Xichen gave him a long, searching look that he wasn’t sure how to interpret, then smiled indulgently.

Wei Wuxian managed to make it the rest of the way to Golden Carp Tower without vomiting again — possibly because there was nothing left in his stomach to puke. Either way, he was feeling better by the time they arrived at their destination — at least, physically. He was able to look across the rooftops of Lanling as they approached their destination, and felt a painful wrench in his stomach. Mo Lian had clearly had painful memories of this place, but Wei Wuxian had his own. For one thing, this was where his sister had lived out the last months of her life. And the last time he had been here, he had been sneaking in to see her — and saw her before her husband’s coffin. The husband who had only died because he lost control.

He must have tightened his grip on Lan Zhan, because his husband glanced over his shoulder. “Wei Ying?” he said softly.

“Nothing,” Wei Wuxian said, sighing. “It’s nothing.”

They began descending down towards the kilometer-long carriage path, and Wei Wuxian peered over Lan Zhan’s shoulder at the expanse of ostentatious wealth squatting in the heart of the city. This might be the biggest challenge he had yet faced since he had been reincarnated — getting through the Symposium without someone figuring out there was something weird about Mo Lian. Well, weirder than she had already been. Especially since there were a lot of people in Golden Carp Tower who knew a lot more about her past than he did.

Oh well. The biggest priority was finding Nie Mingjue’s head — and he had the distinct hunch that every moment brought him and Lan Zhan closer to it. And if Jin Guangyao was the one who had killed him, then there were some ugly secrets about to be released.

Chapter Text

The Jin Clan had always been obnoxiously ostentatious — from the Sparks Amidst Snow symbol on their robes to placing their home in the heart of a city. They never passed up an opportunity to remind people that they were wealthy and powerful, Wei Wuxian reflected, and the avenue that their guests were traveling was no exception. Even though every visitor to the Symposium — except him — could travel via sword, the Jin Clan insisted on transporting them to Golden Carp Tower in ornate carriages. This avenue was only opened for events like the Symposium, and it was lined with murals and reliefs depicting the illustrious members of the clan and their great deeds. It was very different from the laid-back, friendly entry to Lotus Pier, or the wall of rules that greeted people to Cloud Recesses.

It didn’t seem to bother Lan Xichen though — he was smiling at the reliefs as their carriage passed down the avenue. Wei Wuxian leaned against Lan Zhan, and glanced up at his husband’s face. Unlike his brother, Lan Zhan didn’t look as if he were enjoying himself. He looked somber and intent, probably thinking about their plans for that evening. The plan itself hadn’t appealed to him — he didn’t like the idea of Wei Wuxian putting himself in harm’s way like that — but he had agreed to it.

Wei Wuxian twined his fingers between Lan Zhan’s. Normally he would have kissed his husband — nothing too intense, since his brother was there — but he wanted to rinse his mouth out before he did that.

A sect disciple directed them up a long flight of stairs to the palce itself, surrounded by countless peonies. Wei Wuxian glanced around at the clans entering the square, both large and small — he recognized some of them, but not others. The Su Clan of Moling, for example, wasn’t one that he had seen before, so perhaps they were relatively new. The Nie Clan was also there, although he didn’t see any evidence of Nie Huaisang.

And then a voice called out, “Jiang Clan of Yunmeng!”

Lan Zhan’s hand gripped Wei Wuxian’s arm, and drew him closer, even though Jiang Cheng presumably wouldn’t dare to attack him at the Symposium. Attacking Hanguang-jun’s wife was bad enough — doing so at a conference without provocation would be a scandal he would never recover from. Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t still lose his head and lash out with Zidian — he had always had a hot head.

Heads turned, and a ripple of murmurs danced through the square as Jiang Cheng stalked in. He was followed by a quiet column of Jiang disciples, all of them looking alarmed as they saw Wei Wuxian standing with the Lan brothers. Whispers floated through the air like moths around a light.

“— must be her next to Lan Wangji—“

“— didn't believe it was really true, that he’d gotten married—“

“—wouldn’t dare to fight here of all places, would they?”

“Look at Clan Leader Jiang’s face! You can tell he’s in love!”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure who they were actually looking at, because Jiang Cheng most definitely did not look like a man in love. In fact, he looked like he had just bitten into something sour, because the whispers were easily loud enough for him to have heard them. His skin was also taking on a distinctly reddish hue, whether it was from anger, embarrassment, or a combination of both emotions. In Wei Wuxian’s opinion, it was probably both.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t afraid of Jiang Cheng — he knew Lan Zhan was more than capable of fending his former martial brother off. Even Zidian could be deflected by Bichen. But he couldn’t resist ducking behind his husband and burying his face in Lan Zhan’s flowing sleeve, as if he were trying to hide from something terrifying. He knew from personal experience that nothing made men want to be valiant protectors like a pretty woman cowering in fear.

Sure enough, the murmurs became louder, the onlookers more restless. Jiang Cheng glared around the square, but it only quelled a few of the whispers; those whom he couldn’t see clearly continued chattering.

“Look at the poor girl, she’s terrified—“

“— tried to carry her off already —“

“— must be true, or he wouldn’t be so upset —“

Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to snarl. But instead, he turned away from the gossiping onlookers and stalked towards Wei Wuxian and the Lan brothers. Stiffly, he greeted them. “Zewu-jun, Hanguang-jun,” he said curtly.

Lan Xichen nodded politely. “Sect Leader Jiang.”

“I didn’t know that Hanguang-jun was coming to this Symposium. He never sees fit to grace us with his presence normally.” Jiang Cheng’s eyes slid over to Wei Wuxian, who was peeping over Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “And I see you’ve brought your wife with you. I’m surprised, since neither of you have brought other family with you before. I’m honestly curious about this peerless woman who is magnificent enough to attract the attention of the great Hanguang-jun. Who is she?”

The sarcasm was biting and burning enough to make Wei Wuxian’s skin tingle, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes were like black coals. But Lan Zhan was firmly planted in front of him, his face as cold as a slab of ice. He showed no sign of answering Jiang Cheng’s question, but Wei Wuxian could feel the tension in every muscle of his body, like guqin strings about to snap. His fingers tightened on Lan Zhan’s elbow.

“Hubby, don’t let him come near me!” Wei Wuxian said piteously.

Just then, a mellifluous voice cut through the tension. “Why, Second Brother — you didn’t tell me that you were bringing Wangji with you to Symposium!”

All heads turned towards the voice — Jin Guangyao, the Chief Cultivator and leader of the Jin Clan. His handsome face and pleasant, gentle smile seemed to dispel the hate and tautness that hung over the square, and a number of the cultivators present quickly retreated to their own groups, though they glanced back with interest to see if there would be any further fighting over this mystery woman.

Jiang Cheng’s features stiffened, and he fell silent. Wei Wuxian wasn’t surprised — he had probably reached his limit of how much embarrassment he could tolerate. Only his anger towards Wei Wuxian had kept him sniping at Lan Zhan, even with the eyes of everyone on him. But provoking others in front of the Chief Cultivator wasn’t a wise idea, even if they did share a nephew. That nephew was standing directly behind him, looking deeply anxious.

“Uncle,“ Jin Ling started to say, “I can explain—”

“Oh, am I your uncle?” Jiang Cheng said with withering sarcasm.

Jin Guangyao’s smile took on a sympathetic edge. “Sect Leader Jiang, don’t be too hard on Jin Ling. He knows he was in the wrong to run off as he did, and he’s been very worried about your disapproval. He’s barely eaten these past few days because he’s been so anxious.”

“Anxious?” Jiang Cheng said darkly. “If I weren’t so busy, I’d…” He stopped abruptly, and stalked away.

Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen greeted each other warmly, almost as warmly as if they had been blood brothers. Lan Zhan showed him courtesy, but nothing more than that. But as Jin Guangyao’s eyes moved to Wei Wuxian’s face, Wei Wuxian flashed him a charming smile, the kind he had learned was most effective on men — and maybe it was his imagination, but he thought the Chief Cultivator’s habitual smile froze for a split second.

Jin Ling, on the other hand, looked completely appalled. “You! What are you doing here?” he said, pointing at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian looked at him with melting eyes, and rested his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Why shouldn’t I be here? Is it that weird for a wife to accompany her husband?”

“Jin Ling, remember your manners,” Jin Guangyao said gently. Then he turned to Lan Xichen again. “Second Brother, I’m amazed. I had heard the rumors that Lan Wangji had recently taken a concubine—“

“Wife,” Lan Zhan said curtly.

“Of course — my mistake. I had heard the rumors but had dismissed them out of hand, since everything they said seemed so unlike him. But rest assured, I will make arrangements for both of them to be given chambers here. There is more than enough for everyone at Golden Carp Tower, no matter who they might be.”

“But — but she’s—“ Jin Ling spluttered.

Jin Guangyao gave his head a fond pat, before leading them all out of the square. Except for a split second of hesitation, Jin Guangyao hadn’t really reacted to the sight of him, but that didn’t mean anything — he was well known for his diplomatic skills, and it would be very unlike him to react the way Jin Ling had. Both of them obviously knew something about Mo Lian, Wei Wuxian thought, and he had the feeling that he was going to find out what it was sooner rather than later.

Chapter Text

Pageantry Hall was lavishly decorated, in a way that suggested not only that no expense had been spared, but that every detail had been lovingly attended to. Even the beautiful maids that were lined on either side, smiling and fresh-faced, were dressed and accessorized in exactly the same way, with green jade on their fingers, throats and wrists. Even their curvaceous bodies were similar.

In his old life, Wei Wuxian might have stopped to flirt with a few of the pretty maids. He had been deemed the fourth most attractive youth in their society at one time — and the only one of the top five who wasn’t an heir to a major sect. So he had loved making girls smile and giggle, and had been practically an expert in his teens. But it had never gone any further than flirting and a few pretty trinkets, and no girl had captivated him enough to pursue anything more serious. He had always assumed that he would fall in love one day, and spending time with pretty girls in the meantime harmed no one.

But things were different now. Now he had Lan Zhan, and he knew with fierce, immovable certainty that he didn’t want anyone else. Man or woman. Being with anyone else was complete unthinkable. Flirting with anyone other than his husband just didn’t seem like fun anymore, especially since such flirtations would probably just upset Lan Zhan. Besides, he thought with a grin, he wasn’t that handsome youth anymore. A few of the maids would be happy to be flirted with by a pretty woman, but most of them would definitely not.

Wei Wuxian was seated at a small sandalwood table beside Lan Zhan’s, and took the opportunity to admire his husband’s cool, composed face, his straight back, and his elegant hands. Only he had felt the strong grip of those hands, the weight of that beautiful body, been kissed and bitten by that unsmiling mouth, and been fucked to threadbare exhaustion by the icily perfect Hanguang-jun. In that moment, he wanted to lean over and kiss Lan Zhan in a very public way, showing that they belonged to one another. He wanted to shout out loud that this was HIS husband, nobody else’s, and there was no one better in the world.

“Hanguang-jun,” he whispered. “After dinner, we should go find somewhere… private…”

Lan Zhan’s face softened. “Mn.”

But then Wei Wuxian noticed something odd. A lot of the maids were looking at him out of the corner of their eyes — not glaring exactly, but it wasn’t a friendly look. One of them approached and poured wine into Wei Wuxian’s cup, but she seemed uneasy, and she retreated as quickly as possible.

Wei Wuxian leaned over towards Lan Zhan, as if he were whispering sweet nothings into his eat. “Lan Zhan, stay close to me, all right? If we run into someone who knew Mo Lian well, I won’t know the right thing to say, and I’ll have to play crazy again. I don’t want to embarrass you.’

“As long as you do not provoke others,” Lan Zhan replied equally softly.

Wei Wuxian grinned at him. “I’ll try, darling.” He landed a light kiss on one smooth, pale cheek, and Lan Zhan’s ear grew pink.

He sat back at his own table just as Jin Guangyao came into the hall, with a richly-dressed woman on his arm. Wei Wuxian hadn’t seen her before, but he knew who she must be, thanks to Lan Zhan’s descriptions before. She was Qin Su, Jin Guangyao’s beloved wife, who had fallen madly in love with him when he rescued her during the Sunshot Campaign. Their relationship was considered wildly romantic — not only had she been determined to marry the man she loved, regardless of his birth, but Jin Guangyao had been steadfastly faithful to her throughout their marriage. She was arguably the most envied woman in all the sects.

Wei Wuxian didn’t feel the slightest pang of jealousy. It was a sweet story, but he knew his own was better. He had never heard of someone who loved as deeply and faithfully as Lan Zhan had. Even after his beloved died. Even when he believed that his love would never be reciprocated. He had never desired anyone else, and never wavered even when the world had turned against Wei Wuxian. And against all odds, they had found each other again.

Just as he was about to turn to Lan Zhan again, Qin Su suddenly looked straight at him, her eyes wide. Her steps faltered, and her fingers tugged at her husband’s sleeve. Jin Guangyao slowed as well, and leaned close to her to whisper something else into her ear. Qin Su glanced at Wei Wuxian one more time, before they swept past to their seats at the far end of the Pageantry Hall.

Well, that had been weird. Wei Wuxian hadn’t been able to hear what they were saying to one another above the music, but… maybe the reason that Mo Lian had been cast out of the Jin Sect was that she had angered Qin Su somehow. He doubted that there would be any diplomatic way to throw him out of the proceedings now, since he was married to the sect heir of the Lan, but… it was interesting. He should probably avoid Qin Su in future, certainly until he knew why she had reacted as she had.

And he had a more pressing issue to deal with: he was starving.

His nausea from earlier had faded, and right now all he could think about was the fact that he hadn’t eaten since that morning. Plus, he had puked all of that up. He wasn’t sure why his stomach had been so uneasy these past few weeks — he had vacillated wildly between hunger and nausea. He was fairly certain it was nothing serious, just a stomach bug that had stubbornly refused to go away. Or maybe it was just the sudden addition of so many vegetables to his diet. So he had rejected suggestions by both Lan brothers that he go to the doctors at Cloud Recesses.

It was only when things had gotten really bad on the journey to Lanling that he reconsidered his decision. Maybe he was really sick. Despite his month of progress, his cultivation was still pretty rudimentary, and that meant his body was weak against things like illness and injury. Besides, Mo Lian had suffered years of starvation and abuse — it wouldn’t be surprising that she could get sick easily.

Wei Wuxian felt a spurt of relief as servants carried food into the hall, and set it in front of every person there — although the one carrying the food, like the maid earlier, gave him a strange sideways look. He didn’t really care — he just grinned at the servant, then dove into his food. It had to be admitted: the Jin Clan served excellent food at all times, and their wine was very good too.

Wei Wuxian didn’t pay much attention to people other than his husband during the meal; Lan Zhan was eating with the air of someone who doesn’t particularly want to be there, but was enduring it anyway. It wasn’t that surprising, since normally he didn’t come to events like this. Lan Xichen appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, especially when he had the opportunity to speak to Jin Guangyao.

The one person who didn’t seem to be enjoying himself — aside from Lan Zhan — was Jin Ling. He was seated near his uncle and aunt, just below them, as befitted the heir. Throughout the meal, he kept shooting glares at Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian merely smiled and waved cheekily at him. That inevitably made the boy huff angrily, and turn back to his meal, until he found himself glaring again.

The banquet eventually dispersed, and servants began leading various cultivators to their assigned chambers. Wei Wuxian slid from his own table to Lan Zhan’s, and rested his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Everybody here is looking at me weirdly,” he whispered.

“I have noticed,” Lan Zhan said.

“Did you see Qin Su’s reaction when she saw me?”

“Mn.”

“I think I’ll go do some snoop—“

But then a loud cry rang out through the Pageantry Hall, and a figure dashed past them. “Third brother!” a familiar voice wailed piteously. “Something’s gone wrong! I need your help!”

Wei Wuxian tried to stifle a laugh as he recognized the slight, unimpressive figure of Nie Huaisang. His old schoolmate had almost tackled Jin Guangyao off his feet, nearly knocked off his hat, and was hanging off him like a clinging vine. Even from this distance, he could smell the liquor that Nie Huaisang had obviously been drinking — that was presumably the reason he had the nerve to come in here and cause a massive scene during the Symposium.

“I don’t know what to do!” the drunk sect leader was wailing. “Please, help me just once more! I won’t ask again!”

Jin Guangyao was patting Nie Huaisang’s back with the air of an exasperated father dealing with a very foolish child. “But I helped you with your last problem—“

“This is a NEW problem! Even worse than the last one!” Nie Huaisang lamented, digging his fingers into Jin Guangyao’s robes. “I wanna die!”

Jin Guangyao managed to herd the sobbing Nie Huaisang out the door, somehow acquiring the help of Lan Xichen on the way. Wei Wuxian sighed. His brother’s death really had been the worst thing possible for Nie Huaisang — not just because had lost an older sibling whom he loved, but because it thrust him into a position of authority that he clearly wasn’t ready to deal with. Needing regular help from two other sect leaders on minor problems just made him look weak and pathetic.

“I’m going to go snoop around and see what I can find,” Wei Wuxian said softly, looking up at Lan Zhan. “Maybe I’ll find a doctor and talk to them about my stomach.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’m more likely to discover what happened with Mo Lian if you’re not there. They probably wouldn’t dare to badmouth me in front of my powerful husband.”

He slipped out of the Pageantry Hall and into the wide, scarlet-carpeted hallways of Golden Carp Tower. A few people passed him — servants, some of the cultivator guests enjoying a walk after their dinner, a few of the children — but for the most part, nobody was there to see the disgraced Mo Lian back in her former clan’s home. It shouldn’t take that long to find somebody who would tell him what was—

“Mo Lian.”

Wei Wuxian paused in mid-step, and glanced back at the doorway he had just passed. A woman dressed in elegant, ornate robes, her hair fringed with silver beads, was standing there, watching him with piercing eyes.

Qin Su.

Chapter Text

“I—“ Wei Wuxian started to say, but then realized he had no idea what he should say.

Qin Su was a very pretty woman, and her face had a kind of natural innocence that men found very appealing. But right now, she looked stern and solemn, as if she were facing someone who had done something appalling and she didn’t approve of it. Which, Wei Wuxian reflected, she might think she was doing — as Jin Guangyao’s wife, she probably knew everything about why he kicked out Mo Lian.

And something about her face… seemed oddly familiar. Wei Wuxian couldn’t place where he had seen it before, since he hadn’t met her before this, but he knew that he had seen it somewhere before…

“I wanted to speak to you, as one woman to another,” Qin Su said, stepping out into the hallway.

“Oh — all right,” Wei Wuxian said.

Qin Su studied his face for a moment, before saying quietly, “You shouldn’t be here. You should never have come back to Golden Carp Tower.”

I could have guessed that from all the weird looks, Wei Wuxian thought. But he didn’t say anything outwardly — Mo Lian had been much, much more timid than he was, and he needed Qin Su to keep talking by thinking that this was her sister-in-law.

Qin Su’s dark eyes wavered a little, before fixing on his face once again. “Now that you’re Hanguang-jun’s wife, you should focus on being faithful and loving to him. He deserves that much. Most people would not receive such a second chance, but you have. You should have stayed in Gusu to wait for him rather than returning here.”

Second chance? Wei Wuxian could feel an almost palpable itching to know what she was talking about — what horrible transgression Mo Lian had committed. It was trembling on the tip of his tongue to ask her, to just claim that his madness had robbed him of his memories, but he kept his mouth shut. For now.

Qin Su seemed to interpret his silence as some kind of assent. “You must know that it’s wrong. I understand that my husband was very kind to you during your time here, and he took a great interest in your education. My father-in-law also believed you were making great progress before his death — he once said you were immensely useful.”

Wei Wuxian’s brow creased. That didn’t sound like Jin Guangshan at all. The man had had no respect for women of any age or social standing, from prostitutes to the wives of wealthy cultivators. Granted, he didn’t respect most men either — he had been obscenely arrogant — but no woman, no matter how accomplished or intimidating, would be treated with respect. He had thought that women had only two reasons to exist — to be fucked by him, and to produce legitimate heirs for him.

So why would he have brought Mo Lian to Golden Carp Tower, when he had no use for any daughter of his? Or expected her to be… “useful”… when her cultivation was so weak that she hadn’t even formed a golden core?

There was only one reason he could think of for why Jin Guangshan would have gone to the trouble of bringing a bastard daughter to Golden Carp Tower. Mo Lian had been a demonic cultivator, and Jin Guangshan had been deeply interested in making Wei Wuxian’s accomplishments work for him. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have kidnapped and imprisoned Wen Ning, and he wouldn’t have gotten Xue Yang to work for him doing who-knew-what hideous experiments.

So it wasn’t too hard to imagine that, after spiritual backlash had killed Wei Wuxian, Jin Guangshan had used Mo Lian to practice demonic cultivation… because she was expendable. There was no need to teach her conventional cultivation, which explained her lack of a golden core by her mid-twenties. If Mo Lian had died as Wei Wuxian had, then her asshole of a father hadn’t lost anything important or useful to him — he could just scoop up another bastard and use them instead.

It was a loathsome way to treat any person, and Wei Wuxian felt a pang of pity for Mo Lian. Abused by her family, used and discarded by her other family… and he still didn’t know why they had kicked her out.

Then Qin Su’s voice cut through his thoughts. “But you must know that your behavior was… wrong. Very wrong. It was unnatural. It was… was depraved.” Her voice quavered a little, as if just thinking about it disturbed her. “I understand that my husband is a very kind and generous man, and you must have seen those qualities yourself. But to have such feelings about your own brother, to approach him as a… a lover… is… simply horrible.”

Shock echoed through Wei Wuxian’s nerves. His mouth dropped open for a split second, before he quickly closed it again. But he couldn’t stop staring at Qin Su’s anxious face with wide eyes.

So that explained a lot. Mo Lian hadn’t just been tossed out because her usefulness had been used up. She had fallen in love with Jin Guangyao — her own half-brother — and had apparently showed her feelings for him in some way. Probably a pretty open way, since every servant in Golden Carp Tower seemed to be well-informed about what transgression she had committed. Even Jin Ling, who had probably been too young to be told about such things otherwise, knew exactly what Mo Lian had done to be kicked out.

No wonder the clan had thrown her out — she had never been anything other than a disposable tool to them in the first place. At the same time, they must have clamped down on any information about Mo Lian, making sure that nobody outside of the sect would find out about one of Jin Guangshan’s bastards having an incestuous attraction to her half brother… who had became the Chief Cultivator.

“You don’t understand!” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “It’s — not like that anymore. I only love Hanguang-jun now. I don’t want your husband.”

Qin Su’s face clearly showed that she didn’t believe him. “Then why would you come back here?”

Because I want to prove that your husband is a murderer, Wei Wuxian thought. But he simply blurted out, “To show everyone that now that I’m not the same as before. I only want Hanguang-jun, I swear.”

But as he spoke, his stomach chose that moment to start churning uncomfortably, and nausea flowed up his throat. He quickly pressed a hand to his belly, hunching over slightly.

Seemingly not noticing his discomfort — or maybe thinking that he was just nervous — Qin Su stared at him searchingly for a moment. “It would be better if you went back to Gusu tomorrow morning,” she said at last. “I will arrange transportation back to Cloud Recesses for you, if you are willing. If you truly only love Hanguang-jun, then it would be better not to stir up talk about him during the Symposium.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to say that he couldn’t — if he didn’t find anything tonight, he would have to infiltrate Jin Guangyao’s quarters the next night, or the next. He wouldn’t say that, obviously. He would probably have to say something piteous-sounding, like “I can’t be apart from Hanguang-jun!” Which he could, even though he didn't really want to.

But all words flew out of his head as hot vomit flooded up his throat. He barely managed to lurch out a nearby door into a lavishly-arranged courtyard before puking violently on the pristine paving-stones, huddling forward with his hands on his belly. Only when his stomach was empty did the retching stop, and he managed to stand up again, a faint sheen of sweat on his face. Dammit. He really needed to do something about this…

He turned around, resting a hand on his now-empty stomach. Qin Su stepped out after him, her smooth brow creased with concern. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Wei Wuxian said, sounding more wobbly than he wanted to.

“How far along are you?”

Wei Wuxian stared at her blankly. “How far what?”

“The baby.”

“What baby?”

Qin Su looked mildly annoyed. “When I was pregnant with my son, I had a great deal of trouble keeping food down. It wasn’t until halfway that my stomach settled down.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile a little. “That’s not possible — I can’t be pregnant. I’m not — I’m a —“

Then a chill pulsed through his blood, spreading through his entire body. He stared dumbly at Qin Su for a moment, not sure what to say or do. He couldn’t be sure that he WASN’T pregnant… not now that he thought about it…

Chapter Text

Before Wei Wuxian had time to recover from the shock, Qin Su dragged him to an unobtrusive corner of Golden Carp Tower. Like every part of the palace, it was richly-decorated with polished and carved woods, gold and ornate murals, but it had tightly-shuttered windows, presumably to protect the privacy of anybody in the sect who came to the doctor for help. Qin Su knocked on the door, before opening it and stepping inside.

Wei Wuxian’s mind was still whirling with half-coherent denials of what was happening to him. This wasn’t possible, his brain screamed at him. He couldn’t be pregnant — it was just not possible. How could he be pregnant? He had been born a man — bearing a child was simply something he shouldn’t have been able to do —

But a small, shrill voice in his head kept shouting that yes, he could bear a child. This wasn’t the body he had been born in — as opposed to the old one that couldn’t get pregnant — and Mo Lian’s body had, as far as he knew, a working womb. Which meant the potential for pregnancy. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

The head doctor turned out to be an older woman with steely-gray hair and a stern face. She was sorting various herbs and powders into small boxes as the two women came into her chambers, but she quickly stood up and bowed at the sight of Qin Su. “Are you feeling unwell, madam?” she asked.

“It's not me,” Qin Su said, gesturing at Wei Wuxian. “She may be pregnant. We wanted you to check.”

Wei Wuxian waved rather feebly.

The doctor looked at Wei Wuxian for a moment, with an expression rather than Lan Qiren’s — a responsible older person seeing a younger troublemaker. “Sit,” she commanded, pointing at a chair.

Despite the wild, chaotic thoughts swirling in Wei Wuxian’s brain, he couldn’t help but smile a little at the doctor’s brisk manner. She made him think of an older Wen Qing, if she had lived long enough to become a crotchety middle-aged lady. What would Wen Qing think if she could see him now? Probably tell him that he was an idiot for fucking Lan Zhan and not realizing that he could get pregnant from it.

He sat down heavily on the seat, feeling his nerves starting to act up, since he wasn’t sure exactly what to expect for the confirmation of a pregnancy, but the thought made him nervous. Was the doctor going to check… inside him? He could only think of one way for her to do that, and he… didn’t really like the idea. He wasn’t even used to these new body parts, and he didn’t really feel comfortable having anyone except Lan Zhan see him like that. On the other hand, he really needed to know if he was pregnant, as soon as possible. It could change everything.

The older woman sat down in front of him, and held out her hand. “Your arm,” she ordered.

Wei Wuxian held out his arm, and the woman swiftly turned it over and peeled up his sleeve. She pressed her fingers against his wrist, monitoring his pulse. Then she reached her other hand to Wei Wuxian’s lower belly, a faint glow emanating from her fingertips as she passed them over his stomach. He thought he felt a wisp of warmth stirring inside him, as if she were transferring spiritual energy into his body — only for her to suddenly pull her hands back.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said briskly. “You’re pregnant. Not very far along, but it’s definitely there.”

All the air seemed to leave Wei Wuxian’s lungs, as if someone had just punched him violently in the stomach. He stared dumbly at the doctor, his mind spinning with denials and confusion. Pregnant. He was pregnant. He couldn’t be pregnant — but he was — Lan Zhan — baby — what the hell was he going to do now?

“Make sure you get enough rest and don’t overexert yourself,” the doctor said, sorting through some boxes on her table. “Don’t drink any alcohol. It can hurt the baby.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to whimper.

As he stepped out of the doctor’s chambers, Qin Su put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” she said softly. “You look very pale.”

“Fine, fine,” Wei Wuxian mumbled numbly. “It’s just… a surprise.”

“You should tell Hanguang-jun. I’m sure he’ll be very pleased.”

Later, he didn’t remember leaving the doctor’s office or parting from Qin Su, but he found himself sitting in a different courtyard, clutching a small box of ginger tea to his chest. He didn't even remember what the tea was for — just that the doctor had given it to him, and commanded him to come back to her if his morning sickness didn’t improve soon. His fingers clutched so tightly at the box that the wood creaked.

Stupid.

How had he been so stupid?

He should have known that this could happen. Obviously he knew how babies were made — he had known about sex for as long as he could remember. Of course, pregnancy hadn’t come up in any of the pornography he had perused when he was a teenager, but he knew what could very well happen when a man and a woman fucked each other. Even if the woman had the soul of a man… as long as the parts were right…

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t menstruated in the last month. The old woman had told him that young women usually bled every month unless they were pregnant… and he definitely hadn’t done that in the last month. He had just completely forgotten what she had said, since he had only done that one time.

Wei Wuxian slapped his forehead, and slumped forward. He and Lan Zhan had been fucking almost every day since that night in the shack. Sometimes they did it more than once a day, if they were feeling amorous. And when they had, Lan Zhan had come inside him every single time. Wei Wuxian loved the feeling of that liquid heat filling him from the inside, a tangible reminder of his husband’s love and desire for him.

How the hell had he managed to not think about what could happen?

He thought he had adjusted to his new life in his female body, but there had been some part of his mind that still clung to the thought of himself as male. A blind spot where his knowledge and common sense just… hadn’t appeared. After all, he had always thought of pregnancy as something that happened to other people. When he had been young, he had imagined that it was something his one-day wife would undergo. Not him!

And he suspected Lan Zhan had the same blind spot. He had known Wei Wuxian as a man, fallen in love with him as a man, and didn’t seem to care whether he was a man or a woman now. He had probably decided years ago that he wasn’t going to have children, because the only person he loved was a man — and dead — so it simply hadn’t crossed his mind that fucking Wei Wuxian could get him pregnant.

His breath was coming in quick, panicked pants. One shaking hand slipped down to press against his stomach. Baby. There was a baby inside him. Only a tiny one, formless and probably barely visible, but… it was there. He felt a momentary spurt of panic at the thought of something living inside him. It felt strange, unnatural.

Wasn’t having a baby supposed to be a happy thing? Why did he feel so overwhelmed?

Then a strange thought slipped through his mind. Suddenly he saw a tiny baby cradled in his arms. A baby with Lan Zhan’s fine features and light eyes, a dusting of fine ink-black on his head, one tiny hand clutching at Wei Wuxian’s fingers. The baby felt weak and wobbly and fragile, and all he could think of was holding him carefully so he wouldn’t squeeze him too tightly. His heart beat a little faster at the thought, at the thought of a child he would bear. Lan Zhan’s child.

And just as quickly, the image was replaced by another — that child in Lan Zhan’s arms, his husband gazing down at the small face with a faint, soft smile on his lips. It was an almost painfully beautiful scene, the thought of Lan Zhan being that happy over something after all he had suffered, after all the loneliness and sorrow. Not just that they were together again, but that they had made something else.

Was that how it would be? He hadn’t thought at first what Lan Zhan’s reaction to becoming a father would be, but… the thought of being with one another, with a child they had conceived together… it didn’t sound so bad. Especially since he had no doubt that Lan Zhan would be as good at being a father as he was good at everything else.

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?”

Wei Wuxian started, his fantasies of Lan Zhan holding their baby melting away like mist in the morning sun. He would recognize that voice anywhere — Jin Ling.

The boy was standing nearby, a look of confusion on his face. It made him look strangely younger than his usually cranky expressions did — most of the time, he seemed to be trying to act like a younger version of Jiang Cheng, which wasn’t a nice look for anyone. If he could have told him anything, Wei Wuxian would have told him to ease up and enjoy his life more, rather than obsessing on distinguishing himself so early. There would be plenty of time for that when he was older.

“Are you crying?” Jin Ling asked.

“No, I’m not,” Wei Wuxian said. But he became acutely aware that there were a couple of wet lines on his cheeks, which he quickly wiped at with his fingers. What the hell? He shouldn’t be crying this easily. Was this because he was pregnant?

“You are,” Jin Ling said. “Your eyes and nose are red.”

“I’m not crying,” Wei Wuxian said firmly. “I’m just sitting here thinking about — about things.”

Jin Ling looked a little uncomfortable at the sight of a woman crying, even though he hadn’t been the inspiration for her tears. He averted his eyes for a moment as Wei Wuxian rubbed away any traces of moisture from his eyes. Then he seemed to remember something, and irritation crossed his face again. “Were you crying because someone told you off? Well, you deserve it.”

“Is that any way to talk to me?” Wei Wuxian said, more amused than offended. “We were on such good terms after Yi City — everybody was getting along well. Why are you suddenly mad at me again?”

“I told you specifically not to come here.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Jin Ling’s nose wrinkled. “Well, I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I did tell you not to chase after men from my sect, and that’s the same thing. I bet that’s what happened — even though you’re married to Hanguang-jun, you tried to get close to my little uncle again, and weren’t allowed to, and that’s why you’re crying. It’s disgraceful.”

Wei Wuxian groaned, and rested his forehead on his hand. This day had been enough of a disaster without Jin Ling getting the wrong idea about everything. “Like I told your aunt, I’m not interested in your uncle at all. I only want Hanguang-jun now.”

Jin Ling's face showed that he very much did not believe this. He crossed his arms, pouting slightly. “Then why are you crying?” he demanded.

“None of your business,” Wei Wuxian said. “It’s something between me and Hanguang-jun.”

His emotions were still a stew of incomprehensible conflict, with that vision of Lan Zhan holding a baby floating in the center of them. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do next — probably hunt down his husband and blurt out that he was going to have their child. Then, depending on Lan Zhan’s reaction, he could spend the next few hours freaking out over the thought of a fully-grown infant somehow coming out of his body.

One thing he did know is that he wasn’t ready for anyone other than Lan Zhan to know. Although, he thought with a wince, Jin Ling would probably know the news before too much time had elapsed. He had been in too much shock after the pregnancy was confirmed to ask Qin Su not to tell anyone, so there was a very good chance she was going to tell her husband and nephew. He didn’t know enough about her to discern how gossipy she could be — for all knew, the entire Symposium might know before nightfall that Mo Lian was pregnant with Hanguang-jun’s child. Wouldn’t that be great!

Wei Wuxian looked up at the teenage boy again, and sighed. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Jin Ling said sullenly.

But just then, youthful voices rang out from elsewhere, along with the sound of pattering footsteps. Then a cluster of teenage boys — all Jin Ling’s age or a little older — came bursting out into the courtyard, and circled around Jin Ling and the bench Wei Wuxian was sitting on. Their leader was taller and more muscular than Jin Ling, the kind of kid that — in Wei Wuxian’s experience — thought that his birth and his muscles made him worthy to push other people around.

The leader smirked unpleasantly at Jin Ling, before his eyes slid to Wei Wuxian. “Seriously?” he said with a nasty chuckle. “I didn’t believe what they said, but it’s true.”

“Get lost, Jin Chan,” Jin Ling said, frowning. “This doesn’t concern you.”

Jin Chan laughed. “It doesn’t concern me? What I do doesn’t concern you! I just wanted to know if what they said was true, and Mo Lian had the nerve to show herself.”

“Leave her alone!” Jin Ling snapped.

“Leave her alone? A disgraceful bitch like her? She’s lucky she’s a woman — if she were a man, I’d beat the hell out of her.”

“Didn’t you hear who she came with?” Jin Ling said angrily. “She’s married to Hanguang-jun now. Are you willing to get him mad at you by treating his wife badly?”

Wei Wuxian batted his eyes innocently at the boys. Jin Chan’s smirk faded, and a look of dismay fluttered across the face of each boy there. Some of them looked at one another, as if unsure what to do next — evidently torn between fear of Hanguang-jun and unwillingness to stray from their leader’s commands. It would be a very brave — or more likely, very stupid — teenager who wasn’t intimidated by Lan Wangji, and thought he could attack the man’s wife without some serious repercussions.

Finally, Jin Chan turned towards Jin Ling, his face curling into a sneer. “Why are you protecting her, Jin Ling? She was harassing Lianfang-zun for months, shamelessly! And now she’s come back to bug him again, even though she’s got a husband of her own now!”

“Why won’t anyone believe that I’m not interested in Lianfang-zun?” Wei Wuxian said a little plaintively.

“What’s it got to do with you?” Jin Ling retorted, ignoring the question. “She’s a member of the Lan sect now, so you can’t just treat her the way you want!”

“He’s right,” Wei Wuxian piped up. “I’m Zewu-jun’s sister-in-law now, and his sworn brother wouldn’t like it if you guys were mean to me!”

Jin Chan grimaced, and seemed to think for a moment about whether Wei Wuxian was right. Instead, his simmering gaze turned to Jin Ling — and in a matter of seconds, the two angry teenagers were bellowing at one another, too chaotically for Wei Wuxian to understand. Not that he was focusing on that. He tensed slightly as he glanced around at the seven other boys, who were moving closer, preparing to gang up on Jin Ling at a moment’s notice. He was a feisty kid, but one against eight were bad odds…

Then the boys were fighting Jin Ling — and Wei Wuxian could see at a glance that his nephew being outnumbered wasn’t the only problem. It was abundantly clear from how he fought that no one had ever taught him how. There was no cleverness in his moves, no judicious use of spiritual energy or acupoints, no using his enemy’s own flaws against them. Whatever Jiang Cheng and Jin Guangyao were teaching him, they weren’t doing a good job of it and they weren’t doing anything to protect him from the bullies.

Well, if he needed an uncle to teach him…

Like a breeze flowing through the trees, Wei Wuxian slipped behind Jin Ling, and seized his wrist in an iron grip. He sent a spike of his meager spiritual power into a particular acupoint, and Jin Ling immediately yelped in mingled pain and outrage, stumbling down to his knees. “Bitch!” he shouted. “What are you doing? I was trying to—”

“Do you know how it’s done?” Wei Wuxian said.

Jin Chan glanced around at his friends, seemingly confused. Then he pointed at Wei Wuxian and shouted, “Get her!”

"Watch this!” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, releasing Jin Ling.

As the nearest boy lunged at him, Wei deftly caught his wrist and performed the same move, twisting his wrist and sending pain lancing through his arm. The boy wailed as he crashed into the ground — and Jin Ling’s eyes widened in shock and delight. Within a few seconds, he was on his feet again, and had seized the arm of another attacker — and then the boy let out a howl and fell to his knees.

The remaining boys were falling back now, warily staring at Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian with suspicious eyes. Jin Chan’s face was bright red with outrage at this sudden switch in positions. “What the hell are you doing?” He bellowed at Wei Wuxian. “You’re a GIRL!”

“You only just noticed?” Wei Wuxian said with a grin.

A sneer twisted Jin Chan’s lip, and then he turned and began to run. “Come on, guys — Jin Ling, next time I see you, you’re dead!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Wei Wuxian released the boy he had been holding to the ground, and the teary-eyed teenager scrambled to his feet and ran away, clutching at his painful arm. Jin Ling did the same, and laughed exultantly as the last of his bullies scampered out of sight. “How do you like that, Jin Chan?” he bellowed after them. “Running away like a scared chicken!”

“Good job,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arm.

Jin Ling turned back to Wei Wuxian, with an odd expression in his eyes. It almost looked like… respect. “Where did you learn that move? I’ve never seen it before…”

“Hanguang-jun taught me,” Wei Wuxian lied smoothly.

“He taught you? But you’re a…” Jin Ling started to say, before falling silent.

“A woman?” Wei Wuxian prompted. “That shouldn’t make a difference, should it? Sure, I’m not nearly as strong as Hanguang-jun is, but that move was about being smart and not brute strength.” He sat back down on the bench, and stretched his arms over his head. “Did you know that the Lan Sect once had a female leader, Lan Yi?”

“Um, I heard something about that,” Jin Ling said hesitantly.

“Well, she came up with their most dangerous technique. Nobody with any brains would say that she wasn’t deadly just because she was a woman.”

“I guess not,” Jin Ling said slowly.

“You shouldn’t use that trick all the time, though. If you do, they’ll get wise to it and find ways to counter or avoid it. I can teach you some other moves, though.” Wei Wuxian felt a warm thrill at the thought. He had missed out on so much of Jin Ling’s life, when at its beginning, all he had wanted was to see his little nephew in his sister’s arms. If he could have had the chance, if things had turned out better, he could have made Jin Ling’s life a lot easier.

Jin Ling frowned. “What are you saying? My little uncle tries to tell me not to get in fights and to get along with others, but you’re trying to get me to fight them?”

“Well, your little uncle’s advice isn’t really helping you,” Wei Wuxian pointed out. “You can’t always choose whether you’re going to get in a fight or not. Sometimes people decide they’re going to fight you, and you can’t just tell them you won’t.”

“I… I guess not.”

“Trust me, you should beat up the Jin Chans of the world while you can. When you’re older, you’ll have to get along with them even though you just want to clobber them. Trust me, I punched some people I loathed in my teens,” Wei Wuxian said enthusiastically. Of course, one of those people had been Jin Ling’s father, but there was no reason to bring that up.

Jin Ling stared at him. “You really… really did change your mind about my little uncle, didn’t you?” he said faintly.

“Most definitely. Hanguang-jun is the only man I want or that I’ll ever want, and I don’t want to be apart from him. We—“

Then the words died in Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and his heart began to race like a frightened rabbit darting through the grass. With the arrival of Jin Chan and his friends, he had almost forgotten about the pregnancy — which was a pretty impressive accomplishment, considering that his entire life had just been upended by a few earthshattering words. A few words that told him something terrifying and yet strangely enticing, something that was entirely alien to his life.

He stood up and brushed himself off. It was time to go find Lan Zhan.

Chapter Text

Despite not being expected, Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian had been granted spacious and luxurous quarters not far from Lan Xichen’s. Wei Wuxian managed to obtain directions from a servant, forgot half of them, and needed them repeated back to him again. After accidentally barging into a few of the wrong rooms, it was something of a relief when he got to the chambers, and threw the doors wide open.

“Lan Zhan!” he called out.

Two tall figures dressed all in white were seated decorously in the chamber, drinking cups of tea. Wei Wuxian almost sprang towards Lan Zhan — and immediately found himself encircled in a pair of strong, powerful arms. He buried his face against his husband’s throat, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and clean cloth. “I have to talk to you,” he whispered against Lan Zhan’s skin.

Lan Xichen smiled slightly and rose to his feet. “I should go now,” he said quietly. “I know that you must have some preparations to make for tonight, and I do not want to get in your way.”

That wasn’t strictly true, Wei Wuxian knew — it was more that his brother-in-law didn’t want to know what they were doing, and he didn’t want to take an active part in this mission. He still believed in Jin Guangyao’s innocence, no matter how much evidence pointed his way, but was willing to let his brother and Wei Wuxian try to prove their suspicions. That meant he would probably spend the evening either alone in his own chamber, or socializing with other high-ranked cultivators. If they were really lucky, maybe he would distract Jin Guangyao.

… or maybe he just didn't want to sit there and watch the two of them cuddle. That was also possible. Of course, if Lan Qiren had been there, Wei Wuxian would simply have hopped into Lan Zhan’s lap and stayed there for the rest of the evening.

“Brother,” Lan Zhan said, his voice vibrating through Wei Wuxian’s face. “We will be careful.”

Lan Xichen nodded soberly, and slipped out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Wei Wuxian snuggled against Lan Zhan’s chest, and felt his husband’s arms tightening around him, his fingers pressing against Wei Wuxian’s back to pull him deeper into their embrace. Despite all the chaos and uncertainty of the past few hours, he felt safe here — secure, at home. He touched his lips against the jut of Lan Zhan’s throat, gently traced his tongue over the hollow below it.

“I do not like this,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

“You want me to kiss you somewhere else?” Wei Wuxian said coyly. “I can think of a few places.”

Lan Zhan lowered his face, his light eyes serious and solemn. “Wei Ying… this plan is dangerous. If we could find another way—“

“Oh, you’re getting cold feet?” Wei Wuxian said, resting his cheek against Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

Lan Zhan’s long, dark eyelashes settled down against his cheek, brushing against Wei Wuxian’s hair. His lips looked infuriatingly soft and sweet, and the smell of sandalwood perfumed his long ink-black hair. Wei Wuxian felt a smile crossing his lips as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips against his husband’s faintly-flushed earlobe.

“Hanguang-jun, there’s something I have to tell you. I…”

But then an uncomfortable thought slipped through his head, and the words died on his tongue. Lan Zhan was already uncomfortable with letting him go off alone to spy on Jin Guangyao, especially knowing how dangerous their enemies were. And the paper doll spell they had been planning to use wasn’t one without its own dangers. Even the slightest damage to the paper body would damage his own soul inside it — he could end up in a coma, or even die from it.

Wei Wuxian knew he wouldn’t, though. He had done it before, and he was skilled at maneuvering around in that paper body without being noticed. Jin Guangyao wouldn’t expect a slip of paper to be spying on him or infiltrating his own personal chambers.

But if Lan Zhan knew he was pregnant with their child, he would be even more insistent that they scrap the mission. The problem was that they might never have another chance like this one — being in the heart of Golden Carp Tower with a perfectly good excuse to be there, with Jin Guangyao distracted by countless guests. Well, they might have another chance someday, but it would probably be a long time. If Wei Wuxian didn’t go out tonight, then they might never find Nie Mingjue’s head. And it wasn’t safe to have all those body parts, boiling with resentment and inhuman strength, searching for their head without any way to find it.

No, he could handle this. He would tell Lan Zhan he was pregnant, of course. Just in a few hours, after he had dealt with everything in Jin Guangyao’s rooms. A few hours wouldn’t make any difference, would it? He had been pregnant for weeks now, if the constant puking was anything to go by — a few hours more was nothing. In and out, find the head, and then tell Hanguang-jun that he was going to be a father.

Wei Wuxian pulled back a little, landing a soft kiss on Lan Zhan’s jaw, and said softly, “Actually, I’ll tell you later. But there is one interesting thing I learned when I ran into Qin Su.”

Lan Zhan’s brow creased slightly.

Wei Wuxian spilled everything he had learned about Mo Lian and her departure from Golden Carp Tower, although he left the vomiting in front of Qin Su out of his story. Then he followed it up with his suspicions about why Jin Guangshan had brought her there in the first place. Lan Zhan said nothing, but listened intently and nodded slightly every few minutes. His exquisite face grew sterner as the explanation went on, and Wei Wuxian had the feeling that his husband found the idea of such a cruel, uncaring father as loathsome as he did.

“… and they must have worked hard to make sure Mo Lian’s crush on her brother didn’t become public knowledge,” Wei Wuxian finished. “Even your brother didn’t know why she was kicked out, right?”

“He did not,” Lan Zhan said.

“Well, there you have it,” Wei Wuxian said.

He sank down beside the table, placing his qiankun pouch on it. But he hesitated to actually open it, unconsciously putting a hand on his stomach. His imagination suddenly ran wild for a moment, making him think of what he would look like in another six or seven months — when it was swollen with Lan Zhan’s child. What would it be like to feel a living baby squirming around and kicking inside him? How would he cope with actually giving birth?

“Are you ill?” Lan Zhan’s deep voice asked.

“Am I what?” Wei Wuxian asked, still half in his thoughts.

“You are touching your stomach. Are you feeling ill?”

“Me? No, not right now,” Wei Wuxian said, quickly withdrawing his hand. “Let’s get started.”

But another unpleasant realization crossed his mind as he opened his qiankun pouch. A part of their plan would have to be modified — it probably wasn’t safe to use the paper doll technique he had been planning. Or maybe it was. He wasn’t sure, which was the important thing. It hadn’t been designed for use on a pregnant woman, and he wasn’t sure what kind of effect it might have on the baby. Better safe than sorry.

“I’m going to have to use a different technique than the one we planned,” he said, pulling a blank talisman out of his bag.

Lan Zhan looked mildly disturbed by this. “What technique?”

“It’s something I was working on in the months before my death,” Wei Wuxian said, carefully inking a spell on the paper. “It works... sometimes. I haven’t worked out all the problems in it, so sometimes it fluctuates.”

Lan Zhan was looking even more disturbed by now. “Wei Ying… what does it do?”

Wei Wuxian grinned at his husband. “It makes me invisible.”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came from them. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting Wei Ying to say, but it hadn’t been that.

Though it wasn’t exactly surprising. Wei Ying had always been brilliant, for as long as Lan Wangji had known him. He had created spells that cultivators decades older than him couldn’t have dreamed of, and invented devices that the sects had stolen from his cave and used for their own ends. And of course, he had developed his own form of cultivation, one that had fascinated and frightened the entire cultivation world. It was dark, wrong and incredibly dangerous — it had taken Wei Ying’s life — but the genius involved in creating it was undeniable.

Lan Wangji gracefully sat down beside Wei Ying, watching his wife’s face for any sign that he had been joking. But there wasn’t one. Wei Ying was smiling, but it was the smile he had when he came across something that intrigued him, that excited his interests. He could almost see Wei Ying’s brain racing as he dashed symbols over the talisman with slender fingers.

“Well, not really invisible,” Wei Ying continued. “It’s more that it makes people not see me, so it’s sort of the same thing.”

Lan Wangji placed his hand firmly on Wei Ying’s wrist, feeling the faint pulse under his fingertips, the delicate bones of his arm. “You said it was — unreliable.”

“Yeah. It works most of the time, but sometimes it sort of putters out and makes me visible again. I didn’t have time to work out the details before I died, so it’s kind of a risk.” He frowned. “And it just makes sure I won’t be seen. I still have substance, so a person can still hear me or touch me. I’ll just have to be careful to keep people from noticing I’m there.”

The more Lan Wangji heard, the worse it sounded. The paper doll gambit was enough of a problem, putting Wei Ying at risk if the delicate paper was damaged. But walking into Jin Guangyao’s personal chambers in his own body, shielded only by a talisman that could fail at any time. And if it did fail, he would be completely exposed — there would be no question of who had made their way in.

“You should not go,” he said firmly.

Wei Ying raised his head and looked “Lan Zhan,” he said, “we’ve been planning this for a month. We have to find that head.” He smiled brightly. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

Lan Wangji gazed into those sparkling black eyes, and felt a familiar painful wrench in his heart. The past few months had been something he had only dared to dream of for almost twenty years — Wei Ying alive, and loving him as as he was loved — and a part of him never wanted to risk that. His sense of duty and responsibility told him that he needed to find that head, so Nie Mingjue’s resentful, fragmented soul could finally be laid to rest. He had spent his adult life dealing with such spirits and fierce corpses, and this one — this one was Lan Xichen’s sworn brother as well. It was something that had to be done.

But he hated that Wei Ying was going into danger alone, and Lan Wangji could do nothing but wait for him to return.

And there was something else that bothered Lan Wangji. He had the odd, creeping feeling that Wei Ying was keeping something a secret from him. No, it was more than a feeling — he had started to tell Lan Wangji something, only to go silent, and then abruptly change the subject. Had Wei Ying heard or seen something that had led him to change their plans? And if he had indeed seen or heard something important enough that it changed his mind… why wouldn’t he tell Lan Wangji?

“Wei Ying—“ he started to say.

“Finished,” Wei Ying said with satisfaction. He rose to his feet and slapped the talisman to his chest — and suddenly, there was no one there.

*

There was no way for Wei Wuxian to know whether the talisman had worked. When he looked down, he saw his own body as clearly as ever, with the talisman fluttering against his breasts. Which meant he would have to rely on Lan Zhan to tell him if he had actually become invisible to other people. He smiled brightly at his husband.

“So, Hanguang-jun,” he said, “did it work? Can you see me?”

Lan Zhan stood up, staring directly at where he was standing. His face looked slightly strained, as if he were enduring something unpleasant, and his eyes slowly roamed across Wei Wuxian’s face and body. Then, in a quiet, steady voice, he replied, “No. I cannot.”

Wei Wuxian breathed a sigh of relief, and then grinned. He brushed a feather-light touch against Lan Zhan’s hand, only for his husband to seize his wrist. “Oop! You got me, Hanguang-jun,” he said teasingly.

“Do not be frivolous,” Lan Zhan said reprovingly.

“Lan Zhan, you’ve known me for how long?” Wei Wuxian leaned forward so that his breath caressed Lan Zhan’s face.

The next thing he knew, Lan Zhan’s other hand was in the small of his back, pulling him forward into a fierce, hungry kiss that sent Wei Wuxian’s blood surging hot in his veins. Ignoring the talisman crinkling between their bodies, he gave himself over to the kiss completely, letting his husband’s strong arms encircle him tightly. Even though Lan Zhan couldn’t see him, his strong hands roamed over his body, exploring the unseen contours. If Wei Wuxian hadn’t been planning to infiltrate Fragrance Palace, he would have thrown himself onto the bed and spread his legs.

“Hanguang-jun,” he whispered as his husband’s lips slid down to his throat, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think that you were trying to delay me from going.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian gave Lan Zhan’s flushed earlobe a lick, before whispering, “Well, I need to get going. The sooner I get to Fragrance Palace, the sooner I can come back, and the sooner you can fuck me until I can’t walk.”

And I can tell you that I’m pregnant, too, he added mentally. He wasn’t sure whether that would be a turnoff for Lan Zhan, though. He might be too shocked to want to fuck.

Every muscle and tendon in his body ached to stay in Lan Zhan’s arms, but he extricated himself and slipped over to the door. He opened it a crack, peeking out into the hallway to make sure nobody was there to see the door opening and closing itself. Then he slipped out of the chambers, running as quietly as he could through the hallways of Golden Carp Tower. He only slowed when about to turn a corner, just in case someone was approaching, so he wouldn’t crash into them.

His heart was already racing at the thought of what he was doing, and how badly everything could go wrong if he messed this up. Especially since the entire Jin sect thought that he was madly in love with Jin Guangyao — being found in his personal chambers with no good reason to be there would be a major scandal. Wei Wuxian didn’t care about that part, but he knew that it would make everyone think less of Lan Zhan, and make their entire mission that much harder.

That was when he heard a soft footfall behind him, and the soft swish of light, airy robes.

“Lan Zhan?” he whispered, without turning around. “Are you following me?”

“Mn.”

“You can’t follow me into Fragrance Palace. Only one of us can go. Even if I made another talisman for you, having two of us blundering around in there, unable to see each other, would mean we’d be sure to be discovered.”

“Mn. I will wait for you.” There was a deep warmth in those words, an echo of how he had waited for all those years. Wei Wuxian had never wanted to kiss his husband more than he did now, and the only thing that kept him from doing so was the knowledge that if he stopped, Lan Zhan would run into him at full speed.

They passed Blooming Garden on their way, a guest house that Nie Huaisang was apparently staying at. Their old classmate was still very drunk, sobbing and wailing at the top of his voice. Lan Xichen was standing beside him, patting his back and speaking in a soothing manner, despite the wailing sect leader hanging off his sleeve. Nie Huaisang’s other hand was clutching Jin Guangyao’s sleeve, and the ever-diplomatic Jin sect leader was gently and pleasantly talking to him, while trying unsuccessfully to extricate himself.

Wei Wuxian mentally thanked Nie Huaisang for having his meltdown when he had. He had been drunkenly wailing for a few hours now, and he showed no signs of letting go of either man. The less time Jin Guangyao spent in Fragrance Palace, the better his chances of finding the head quickly became. “I wonder if he's ever going to wear himself out,” he said in a low voice.

“It would be unfortunate if he did,” Lan Zhan replied.

They slowed as they approached a particularly magnificent palace, whose roof tiles and pillars shimmered with gold even in the twilight. In the middle of day, it must have been blinding. It wasn’t surprising that the leaders of the Jin sect had slept in this palace for countless generations — the Jin Clan loved to show off, and if the previous ones had been like Jin Guangshan, they wanted to be seen living as grandly as an emperor.

Unfortunately, the palace was also heavily guarded — many, many cultivators in Sparks Amidst Snow uniforms were patrolling it, their keen eyes watching the darkness for some sign of intruders. Some of them stopped and stared when they saw an unfamiliar man clad all in white, but relaxed when they recognized Lan Zhan. He might not be close to Jin Guangyao, Wei Wuxian knew, but they probably figured that as the brother of Jin Guangyao’s sworn brother, he wasn’t someone to worry about. Still, they wouldn’t let him in without permission… but at least they wouldn’t be on guard.

“This is where we part ways, Hanguang-jun,” he whispered. “Wait for me out here.”

“Do not hesitate to call for me if you run into trouble,” Lan Zhan said grimly, bowing his head so the guards couldn’t see his mouth moving.

“I won’t.” Wei Wuxian landed a firm, smacking kiss on Lan Zhan’s lips, and then sprinted towards Fragrance Palace.

Chapter Text

Even when wrapped in invisibility, getting into the palace was more difficult than Wei Wuxian had foreseen. The guards swarming around the place constantly forced him to dance around and flatten himself against the walls, hoping that none of them bumped into him. And of course, he had to get inside without them noticing a door opening and closing by itself. He might have to wait until Jin Guangyao got back and sneak in behind him, he thought.

But then he stumbled across the most beautiful thing in the world: an open window. It wasn’t open very wide, but it was enough that he was able to climb inside and land lightly on the floor below. As his boots struck the floor, he froze in a crouch, his heart racing. He waited for some sign that he had been heard — that the alarm was about to be raised — but there was nothing. Just the faint rustle of robes as someone passed outside. Good. Hopefully getting inside would be the biggest obstacle.

The interior of the palace was no less luxurious than the exterior — long gauzy curtains, a large comfortable-looking bed, and rooms filled with polished, ornate furniture. Incense wafted through the room, filling it with the smell of orchids. It wasn’t an unpleasant smell, but Wei Wuxian much preferred sandalwood incense, like what Lan Zhan burned back in the Tranquility Room. It had seemingly soaked into his husband’s clothes and skin, and he found it reassuring and calming.

He roamed silently through the room, looking for any sign of something that could contain the head — a box or chest, some hint of a hidden door or removable floorboard. Anyplace where a severed head could be concealed. This was an old place that belonged to wealthy sect leaders — they had plenty to hide, and it would be easy to pay somebody to create a cunningly-hidden spot for their secrets.

But there didn’t seem to be anything suspicious. There were no secret panels or floorboards that he could find, and if Jin Guangyao had secret documents or items, they weren’t stashed in his bedroom. It would be pretty frustrating if there was nothing hidden here, and they had to start searching from scratch. Golden Carp Tower was ridiculously huge, and Wei Wuxian wasn’t familiar enough with the place to know where Jin Guangyao might have hidden his treasures.

Then something caught his eye — an envelope tucked under an agate paperweight on the polished jade tabletop. He went towards it immediately. It probably had nothing to do with his search, but his curiosity wouldn’t let him leave it alone. Carefully, he slid the paperweight to the side and pulled the letter out of the envelope.

Just then, a door opened somewhere nearby.

Instantly every hair on Wei Wuxian’s body stood on end, and he stuffed the letter inside his robes without seeing what was written on it. Then making sure that his feet were as quiet as possible, he took a few careful steps backward, behind one of the gilded pillars, his heart racing. A figure slipped in one of the side doors to the sleeping palace…

But it wasn’t Jin Guangyao. It was Qin Su.

That wasn’t surprising — after all, why wouldn’t Jin Guangyao’s wife be in his bedroom, after all? But she looked very different from the poised, elegant woman that Wei Wuxian had seen earlier that afternoon. Her face was ghastly pale and bloodless, and her eyes seemed enormous. She clutched at the wall as she walked into the room; her body seemed wobbly, as if she might fall to the ground at any moment. Wei Wuxian frowned. Was she sick? She had looked perfectly healthy a few hours ago, but now she looked as if she was going to faint.

Then her eyes alighted on the agate paperweight — and she froze, like a deer spotted by a hunter.

“Where is it?” she whispered.

Wei Wuxian pressed himself against the wall, acutely aware of the folded paper inside his robes. He hadn’t known that the letter was hers — that made it even less likely that it was something important to him. But it was too late to put it back now — taking it out of his robes would make it visible again, and she would notice if it suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Of course, it also piqued his curiosity. Was the letter the reason she looked so sick and wobbly? What could it say that would have that effect on her? Maybe she had found a love letter from or to Jin Guangyao. He was well-known to be devoted to her, never taking any concubines or mistresses even though she hadn’t borne him a second child. If he did secretly have a mistress, then she might have been hit hard —

Qin Su snatched up the paperweight and looked under it, then began looking at the floor around the table. Her eyes were wide and wild, and she crouched down so that she could look underneath the table. “Where is it? Where is it?” she repeated desperately.

“Where is what, A-Su?”

Wei Wuxian froze at the same moment as Qin Su, at the sound of that smooth, pleasant voice. He peeked out from behind the pillar, just enough that he could see Jin Guangyao standing in the doorway, a warm smile on his lips. The Jin sect leader didn’t even look rumpled after dealing with Nie Huaisang’s breakdown, and there was no sign of dismay or suspicion on his face. He looked as if he were inquiring about what kind of wine his wife was drinking.

“What are you looking for?” he asked quietly. Maybe it was Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but he thought there was something slightly sinister about the way he asked it.

Qin Su scrambled to her feet and drew back. Her face was contorted into a fearful mask, as if an enemy was confronting her instead of her own husband. She said nothing, but her lips trembled slightly.

“A-Su,” Jin Guangyao said softly, “if you’ve lost something important, surely I could help you find it.”

“No!” Qin Su blurted out.

She huddled in on herself, as if she were trying to escape his gaze. Despite himself, Wei Wuxian took a step closer, trying to see Jin Guangyao’s expression. He looked as gentle and pleasant as ever; anyone looking at him would think that such a man could never harm anyone… no, more importantly, WOULD never harm anyone. Nobody would assume that he could have done something like murder a friend and dismember his body and soul.

But Wei Wuxian knew that that was an illusion. One of the many things Lan Zhan had told him on the road was that when Jin Guangyao’s son Jin Rusong had been murdered, he had retaliated against the clan in question. They had been completely wiped out — every man, woman and child. Lan Zhan’s face didn’t show much emotion, but it had looked grim and cold as he spoke. It was clear that he didn’t agree with Jin Guangyao’s actions at all, even if the cultivation world considered it a fair punishment for murdering the Chief Cultivator’s child.

Now that he thought about it, it wasn’t that different from what Xue Yang had done, was it? Xue Yang’s injury had been far less than the killing of Jin Rusong… but still, both men had each wiped out a clan in a brutal manner for revenge. Every member of that clan Jin Guangyao had destroyed had been someone’s child too. Some had been children themselves, even younger than little Jin Rusong.

Unthinkingly, Wei Wuxian’s hand slipped up to his lower stomach. What would Lan Zhan do if something happened to their child? He knew that Lan Zhan wouldn’t act as Jin Guangyao had — he would never hurt innocent people, no matter what clan they belonged to — but Wei Wuxian knew that the retaliation would be swift and terrible.

Jin Guangyao came further into the room, a sympathetic look crossing his face. “A-Su, you look like you’re ill. What’s wrong? Surely I can help you.”

Qin Su’s eyes flickered down towards the paperweight, and her fingers clutched at her sleeves. “I… I met someone today, and they… gave me a letter. A letter that told me… things about you and I.”

Jin Guangyao laughed softly. “Really? A-Su, surely you don’t believe anything people tell you, after all these years!”

“This person wouldn’t lie to me!” Qin Su said adamantly.

Jin Guangyao’s smile didn’t diminish. “Then, A-Su, what did they say to you that upset you so much? If you tell me, I can set your mind at ease.”

Chapter Text

There was nothing explicitly threatening or sinister about Jin Guangyao’s expression or tone — he was the very image of a concerned, loving husband who only wanted to soothe his wife’s fears. But something about it rang false to Wei Wuxian. It didn’t feel real. More like a carefully-crafted performance. He couldn’t imagine Lan Zhan acting in such a way if Wei Wuxian were upset — there wasn’t a deceptive or inattentive bone in Lan Zhan’s body, especially not for the one he loved.

And it didn’t seem to having the desired effect. Qin Su seemed to grow even more agitated at being asked, her eyes filling with tears and her hands tearing restlessly at her sleeves. “The letter — you must have it, so you can see what it says for yourself. I left it here, and now it’s gone—“

“A-Su,” Jin Guangyao said quietly, “I haven’t been here since this morning. I haven’t taken any letter from you.”

“That can’t be,” Qin Su said desperately. “If someone took it, they… they’ll know… they’ll know what… that person told me…”

Wei Wuxian leaned forward slightly, still pressed against the pillar, his breath catching in his throat. More than ever, he wanted to pull out the letter and read what it said — to find out what Qin Su was so upset about. Whatever it was, it must be cataclysmic for her. But he couldn’t read it, not while they were here. He could only hope that she would tell Jin Guangyao quickly, before he exploded from the suspense.

“You haven’t told me what this person you trust so much has said to you, A-Su,” Jin Guangyao said softly. “If you tell me, perhaps I can reassure you.”

He reached out for Qin Su’s hands, but she snatched them away, pressing them against her body. Her lips, which were as pale as paper, moved soundlessly for a few seconds. “This person... they told me that my mother visited you before she died. She told you… about your father and… and... what he did to her. And about me…” She swallowed convulsively, clutching at her stomach as if she were going to vomit. “Tell me it’s not true!”

A strange shadow passed over Jin Guangyao’s eyes, even though his smile did not waver. “It isn’t true, A-Su. None of it.”

“I don’t — I don’t believe you!” Her voice became shrill and desperate; her eyes were wild and frantic. “I can’t… I can’t believe you. Not after… not when… after finding out you’re — you’re my —” She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if she were struggling not to vomit, and huddled forward as a bout of retching seized her. Tears were streaming down her face.

He was what? What? What had Jin Guangshan done in the past, and what did it have to do with Qin Su? By now, Wei Wuxian was ready to start tearing out his own hair, utterly desperate to know what she was talking about. He wasn’t used to sitting silently in a corner, not moving or speaking. He had always been someone who made himself seen and heard, and this was driving him slowly insane.

Jin Guangyao’s gaze wavered slightly. “You say that this person told you in the form of a letter?” he said softly. “And you’ve lost it?”

“Is that all you care about?” Qin Su said desperately. “You’re — you’re a monster — you’re cold-blooded — I can’t — I can’t believe — what you’ve done to me—“

“A-Su,” Jin Guangyao said gently, “you and I have always had a good marriage — a relationship built on respect and trust. I’ve always cared for you, and I have always appreciated the way you have treated me. It’s truly hurtful that you think so little of me, that I would lie to you about such things.”

Qin Su sobbed as if someone was tearing at her heart. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” she said plaintively. “You’ve destroyed my entire life!”

Wei Wuxian chewed on his lip. He had previously guessed that this letter held something about an extramarital affair — that would be devastating to someone as pampered and beloved at Qin Su, especially since her husband was well-known to be faithful to her. But her responses seemed too excessive for something as ordinary as infidelity. And it had something to do with Jin Guangshan, who had been dead for years. What the hell was so bad that she believed that her life had been destroyed?

“A-Su… you weren’t upset about anything until you saw this mysterious letter,” Jin Guangyao said soothingly. “Your life is exactly the same as it was yesterday — you are safe and cherished, the mistress of Lanling’s crown jewel. Doesn’t that mean it doesn’t truly matter? That we can go on exactly the way we are?”

Qin Su stared at him, her face so pale that Wei Wuxian thought she might faint. “Tell me… tell me honestly… how A-Song died,” she said faintly. “Tell me who really killed him.”

It took a moment for Wei Wuxian to realize that “A-Song” was probably Jin Rusong… and another for the implication of Qin Su’s words to fully sink in. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as he realized what she was saying — was she suggesting that Jin Guangyao had killed his own son? Killing his sworn brother was a heinous enough crime, especially considering what he had done to Nie Mingjue’s body. But his son… his son had only been an innocent child, probably no older than six or seven. He couldn’t have possibly done anything to make his father want to kill him.

Once again, a vision passed through his mind of holding a tiny baby in his arms, a baby with Lan Zhan’s eyes and beautiful face. The thought of harming his own child — or any child, for that matter, but especially his own flesh and blood — was something he couldn’t even comprehend. If Qin Su’s suspicions were correct…

That accusation was enough to drive away Jin Guangyao’s smile, and a hurt expression settled across his features. “A-Song? You know what happened to him. He was murdered, and I avenged him as quickly as I could. Why would you ever ask?”

“I don’t know,” Qin Su said, trembling a little. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

Jin Guangyao took a step toward her, his eyes filled with fatigue and sorrow. “A-Su, listen to yourself. Whatever could you be thinking? A-Song was my son — our only child. Whatever would I have done to him? You’re becoming agitated because of someone too cowardly to show themselves, and can only communicate through a letter. Do you really trust this person more than me?”

Qin Su’s trembling grew even more intense. “I’m afraid BECAUSE he was your son! Our son! If you could do what you did to me, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!”

Jin Guangyao reached a hand towards Qin Su, but she shrank away from his touch. “A-Su, don’t become hysterical. Just tell me who spoke to you today, and who gave you this letter.”

“Why?” Her voice was high and tremulous, and her hands were pulling at her immaculately-arranged hair. “What are you going to do?”

“If this person knows,” Jin Guangyao said in a deeply reasonable-sounding voice, “then they can write more letters. To more people, not just to you. Are you ready for the entire world to see the truth?” His voice became softer and kinder. “Just tell me who contacted you. Please, A-Su.”

Wei Wuxian was almost bouncing in place with desperation. A part of him wanted to know who had spoken to Qin Su — it couldn’t just be anybody, though. Qin Su might be naive, but the wife of the Chief Cultivator wouldn’t be so gullible as to blindly believe anyone but her nearest and dearest — especially if this disclosure turned her against her husband of more than a decade. And he was itching to know what this heinous crime must have been. It must have something truly abhorrent, something much worse than the ordinary crimes that a powerful sect leader might commit…

But on the other hand, Qin Su revealing the name of the informant would be a disaster. Jin Guangyao would kill the person immediately, probably in a way that couldn’t be easily traced to him. And then he might kill Qin Su to keep her silent. If he could kill his son, his wife wasn’t safe. If he would just leave her here — imprison her, maybe — then Wei Wuxian could spirit her away, maybe to safety. She might not trust Mo Lian, but she might be willing to come quietly if she thought Hanguang-jun could keep her safe.

But Qin Su shook her head fiercely, and began retching again. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but hope that she would stop soon — he didn’t want to end up imitating her while he was supposed to be invisible.

Jin Guangyao’s face filled with sorrow. “A-Su, my dear,” he said. “I had no choice but to do as I did. I planned to keep you in the dark for the rest of our lives, to make sure that you were not burdened by this knowledge. Obviously that will never happen now. But you must consider what will happen — what others will think of you, if this person were to tell others what they know…” His voice grew lower, quieter. “But I can protect you from all that, if you will just tell me who they are.”

“Get away from me!” Qin Su half-gagged, half sobbed. “I wish I’d never met you! Why did you — why did you ever come close to me? Did you want to ruin my life?”

Jin Guangyao fell silent for a moment, before saying quietly, “You won’t believe me now, but when we first met, my heart truly loved you. You never spoke badly of my mother or my history, and I will always be truly thankful for you.”

Qin Su was quivering and leaning against a pillar, her breath coming in little gasps, her eyes filled with tears. But she seemed to have calmed a little bit, as if Jin Guangyao’s words had soothed her a little. Wei Wuxian bit his lip. She couldn’t let herself be taken in by this man — if she let him sway her, Wei Wuxian might never have the chance to get her away —

“But you must know one thing,” Jin Guangyao said calmly. “Even if no one had murdered A-Song, he would still have needed to die. If he had grown up, everyone would have known.” He sounded matter-of-fact and serene, as if he were telling his wife that the sky was blue and water was wet.

Even though he had thought that Jin Guangyao was responsible for his son’s death, Wei Wuxian felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. What kind of monster said something like that about their own child? And what the hell did he mean, “he would still have needed to die”? How could he have said that about his son? A chill burrowed under Wei Wuxian’s skin, and he quickly pressed a hand against his stomach.

Chapter Text

Qin Su straightened up just then, a wild light in her eyes, wisps of her elaborately-styled hair hanging around her face. Her hand slapped across her husband’s face so quickly that Wei Wuxian barely saw it, leaving a stark red mark on his pale cheek. He didn’t show any shock — or any reaction at all, really. He accepted the strike calmly and serenely, barely moving a muscle, and gazed at her with sorrowful eyes.

Wei Wuxian didn’t trust that sorrowful expression. The man had said that his son had needed to die, and his only stated regret towards Qin Su wasn’t “I’m sorry I did whatever I did” but “I’m sorry you found out.” Lan Zhan would never have said such a thing to Wei Wuxian — either about their child, or the deceptions he would never utter in the first place.

“You’re a monster,” Qin Su quavered. “A madman. You’re sick. I wish I had never met you!”

Jin Guangyao shook his head gravely. “Will you truly not tell me who it was?”

Qin Su’s lips trembled. “Why? So you can kill them too so they can’t tell anyone?”

A sympathetic expression crossed Jin Guangyao’s face, as if his wife had said something pitiable. “My poor wife,” he said gently. “Your illness has affected your mind, my dear. Your beloved father is on retreat for the moment, but when he returns, I will send you off to stay with him for awhile. You love your father a great deal… and in the meantime, you should rest. I’ll explain your unfortunate absence to the guests.”

Qin Su’s tearful eyes widened with sudden fear.

Wei Wuxian’s entire body went cold. There was something deeply chilling about the way he had simply switched from speaking calmly about his son’s murder and this mysterious crime he had committed… to treating the devastated woman as if she were crazed and delusional. He could almost hear Jin Guangyao smoothly telling Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng and the other guests that poor Qin Su had suddenly taken ill, and thus would be recusing herself from the Symposium — and all the while, she was either dead or imprisoned.

Wei Wuxian’s body tensed, ready to run forward and interfere if Jin Guanyao tried to hurt his wife. He hadn’t brought any weapon except his flute with him — but his invisibility would give him at least a momentary advantage in a fight. If he could even knock the man down for a minute, he had a chance to grab Qin Su and drag her outside…

But Jin Guangyao moved too quickly, darting forward just as Qin Su began beating her fists against him. His hand brushed a spot in the middle of her back — and she collapsed against him like a broken doll.

“And once you’re resting, A-Su,” he said with that same chilling false affection, “I’ll discover who took that missing letter.” He didn’t have to state what he planned to do when he found them.

Qin Su’s head drooped over his shoulder like a wilting flower. Wei Wuxian could see her face — she was alive and conscious, her eyes were wide and tearful, and her face was crumpled. Wei Wuxian moved after the couple as swiftly and silently as he could, wondering if he was strong enough to grab Qin Su and carry her away fast enough to escape her husband. In his old body? No problem. But Qin Su was almost as large as he was, and he didn’t have Lan Zhan’s upper body strength.

But Jin Guangyao didn’t take her towards a door, as Wei Wuxian had expected. Instead, he swept through some gauze curtains towards a bronze floor mirror, and pressed his hand against it. Instead of flattening against solid metal, his fingers passed easily through it, and a faint glow shimmered across the rippling surface. Without hesitation — meaning he had done this many times before — he stepped through the mirror, pulling his wife with him.

Heedlessly, Wei Wuxian scampered forward and grasped Qin Su’s trailing sleeve. Jin Guangyao wouldn’t have a secret entrance that just anybody could use, he knew — which meant he had to get through now or not at all. He was only a few inches behind the sect leader, trying not to accidentally kick him in the heels or breathe on the back of his neck…

As he passed through the mirror, he found himself in a darkened chamber, but lamps on either side lit themselves as Jin Guangyao’s presence was detected. They illuminated shelves on either side — shelves that were full of neatly-organized scrolls and books, weapons, odd artifacts, and what looked like torture devices. Wei Wuxian’s lips tightened. During the Sunshot Campaign, Jin Guangyao had served as a double agent who both served and undermined Wen Ruohan — and he had achieved his high status in the Wen Clan by having a unique talent for devising and carrying out torture. It seemed like most people had either forgotten the things he had done, or excused it.

What the hell did he have planned for Qin Su?

Just then, Jin Guangyao stopped abruptly, and turned around. Wei Wuxian’s heart leaped into his throat — had the man heard him walking, or felt him breathing, or just somehow sensed the presence of someone unseen behind him? He pressed a hand over his mouth and nose, forcing himself to hold his breath. Dammit, he thought, in this hidden chamber he couldn’t scream for Lan Zhan. His husband had no way to get to him.

Jin Guangyao’s calm, penetrating eyes slowly roamed over the space behind him — and he leaned closer to Wei Wuxian, peering into the darkness. Wei Wuxian resisted the urge to take a few steps back, knowing that Jin Guangyao would hear his feet on the floor. Was the man going to SMELL him? At this range, he probably could!

But instead, Jin Guangyao seemed to relax slightly, and turned away. Wei Wuxian tried to exhale as quietly as he could, before drawing in a lungful of the slightly stale, performed air. It looked like he was in the clear… for the moment, at least.

Then he spotted something on the other end of the room, directly in front of Jin Guangyao and Qin Su. It was a black iron table the size of a bed, cold and hard — and it had what looked suspiciously like splatters of dried blood staining its sides and surface. Jin Guangyao was placing Qin Su on it, so gently and tenderly that he might as well have been tucking her into her own bed. He brushed tendrils of loose hair from her tearstained face, smiling at her in a way that Wei Wuxian found unnerving.

“You can rest here for the next few days,” he said affectionately. “The Symposium means that Golden Carp Tower will only grow more crowded tomorrow and the day after. When you’ve calmed down and told me who gave you the letter, I will unseal your meridians and bring you back out of here.”

Wei Wuxian felt his skin crawling. Still, it sounded like he was going to leave her alone — and once he left, Wei Wuxian could unseal her meridians and usher her out of the room. And then… well, he wasn’t sure what he would do next, because he still couldn’t read the fucking letter to find out what Jin Guangyao wanted to keep a secret so badly.

He felt a pang of compassion for Qin Su. She had believed her husband was a good man who loved her, and had all that belief stripped away in just a few hours. Not like Lan Zhan. For almost twenty years, he had loved Wei Wuxian so much that he had turned Bichen against his own clan. Lan Zhan loved him more than rules, more than lifelong obedience, more than anything. And unlike Jin Guangyao, his heart and soul were truly good and pure. Wei Wuxian had seen that time and again, and he would stake his life on it.

He glanced over his shoulder at the mirror again, thinking of Lan Zhan waiting outside Fragrance Palace. Lan Zhan was probably worried out of his mind right now.

Then something caught his eye. It was a shelf that had been cordoned off with a black curtain. Ugly red spells had been scrawled on the black cloth — and Wei Wuxian could tell at a glance that they were powerful ones, meant to contain insane amounts of resentful energy. Something was inside that drape — something that Jin Guangyao wanted sealed at all costs.

Something like… the severed head of Nie Mingjue?

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian drifted closer to the shelves, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible. As he came towards them, his eyes were drawn to the odd, seemingly random variety of items on the shelves — right below the drape was a collection of neatly stacked books, and an equally neat collection of papers. His eyes flicked over to where Jin Guangyao was standing — the man was facing away from him, so he wouldn’t see if Wei Wuxian did something with them…

He grasped the cover of one book between thumb and forefinger, and gently opened it. The breath rushed out of his lungs as he recognized the handwriting. There were stains and smears in spots where the books had been damaged, but it was undeniably his handwriting. In fact, by a twisted coincidence, that page contained a description of the resurrection ritual that Mo Lian had used to pull his soul into her body.

He had written who-knew-how-many volumes of the things he had learned and devised during his time in the Burial Mounds, scrawling his knowledge into books that he then tossed aside as he began pouring his thoughts into another. He had left a bunch of them lying around his cave. And like everything else he had made, the people who had attacked the Burial Mounds had taken them either as trophies or as spells or tools they could exploit for their own ends, like his Spirit Attraction Flags. Crooked path indeed.

At least he knew now how Mo Lian had learned of that spell. She must have studied these books of demonic cultivation during her time here, instead of cultivating the typical way. Jin Guangyao wouldn’t have let just anyone read secret books of forbidden magic, even if he had discarded his sister as soon as she became a nuisance.

As he carefully lowered the book’s cover, he glanced at the paper lying alongside the stack of books. That was even odder — it was a property deed. The papers and books didn’t seem to have any kind of order or logic to their arrangement, except whatever Jin Guangyao had in his head. Even odder, it wasn’t anywhere near Lanling. It was in Yunping City, in Yunmeng. It wasn’t surprising that the head of the Jin Clan would own real estate, but why was it held in a secret treasure room? Was there something special about that property?

Just then, he heard a soft footfall near him. Jin Guangyao was coming closer, his demeanor as unruffled and smooth as ever — but there was a faint hint of something else there. A hardness that he didn’t usually allow to show on his face — but believing himself to be alone, he could allow to leak out into the open. He was staring at the black drape, and raised a hand to part it.

“Was it you who was watching me?” he said quietly.

From where he was standing, Wei Wuxian couldn’t see what was inside, so he started to drift behind Jin Guangyao so he could peer over the man’s shoulder. He didn't dare to get too close, though — if he was too close, Jin Guangyao would hear and feel his breathing, and might accidentally brush against him.

He had known what was probably inside, but it still was bone-chilling to see it. It was undeniably Nie Mingjue’s severed head — horribly pale with death, with the face locked in a fierce, intense expression. It was obvious that Chifeng-zun had died in a state of great anger or pain — which wasn’t surprising, considering what a fiery, unstoppable force he had been in his life. The opposite of his little brother, really. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but wonder if he had already been dead when he was dismembered, or whether he had been slain on that iron table.

Even more striking, his face was covered in spells and talismans. Jin Guangyao had painstakingly made sure that Nie Mingjue’s ears, eyes and mouth had all been sealed, so that even in death nothing could be detected. That explained why the rest of his body hadn’t gone to find his head — with the seals on it, his body couldn’t find it.

Jin Guangyao let the curtain fall again, apparently deciding that the severed head was not going to give him any more trouble. Then he swiftly moved back to Qin Su’s side, and began speaking quiet, soothing words.

“A-Su, give what I’ve said some thought,” he murmured. “We can continue with our life as it was — there’s no need for anyone to know. You can be the mistress of Lanling’s crown jewel, the wife of the Chief Cultivator, for the rest of your life. You need not suffer the scorn of everyone knowing…”

Qin Su simply lay there, her face pallid, staring bleakly at the ceiling.

Wei Wuxian chewed the inside of his cheek, and silently moved closer to the shelf. He needed Jin Guangyao to leave, so he could free Qin Su and grab the head. Of course, the head was practically reeking of resentful energy, as deeply and intensely as the rest of the dismembered body. He would need to handle it carefully…

… wait. The resentful energy couldn’t affect his baby, could it?

He had no idea. He had made up demonic cultivation without having to worry about what it might do to an unborn baby, and female cultivators usually didn’t deal with anything that dangerous when they were pregnant. Well, maybe Madame Yu had. He couldn’t imagine her letting something like pregnancy stop her from what she wanted to do. Anyway, he would need to be careful, just in case.

Maybe… maybe he could unravel the seal on the head, allowing the body to come seeking it. Then he could focus on getting himself — and hopefully Qin Su — out of the room and to safety. Slipping a hand into the drape, he parted it just enough that he could see the glaring face of Nie Mingjue on the other side, and touched a fingertip to the seal on his forehead. A buzzing, warm sensation prickled over his hand as the inked symbols burned and writhed.

But then he sensed something — the broken soul of Nie Mingjue was stirring, now that the seal was weakened and someone living was touching the fierce corpse’s skin.

And just like that, Wei Wuxian knew that he had blundered. Empathy crashed into him with the force of a gale, dragging him into the dead man’s memories with all the ferocity that Nie Mingjue had possessed in life. His hand clutched at the dead man’s face, his body froze in place. The breath in his lungs seemed to freeze — he was spinning down into the darkness, into the past — and it had happened at the absolute worst time—

*

— only for him to open his eyes again, a cold sweat on his skin.

Wei Wuxian had seen it all — Nie Mingjue’s entire history with Jin Guangyao, even back in the days when he had been Meng Yao. It explained so many things about Chifeng-zun’s death that had been a mystery, including why Jin Guangyao would murder and dismember his own sworn brother. He must have hated Nie Mingjue for wanting him to face justice for his crimes, since the man’s morals had been as hard as iron and just as unyielding. Over the years, Jin Guangyao had planned Nie Mingjue’s demise somehow — Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how, since the qi deviation had cut off his memories abruptly — but his hatred had been so intense that death hadn’t been enough to satisfy him. He had dismembered his sworn brother, torn his soul asunder, and hidden his body parts across multiple cities.

What kind of person did that?

Wei Wuxian drew his hand back as if he had been burned, and pressed his shaking fingers to his lips. He felt a little woozy and disoriented from the sudden Empathy, but fortunately it didn’t seem to have taken very long… or else someone might have bumped into him…

… and then he turned around. Jin Guangyao was staring straight at him, his customary pleasant smile on his lips, as if he were greeting more guests to Golden Carp Tower. Immediately, Wei Wuxian’s blood turned to ice.

Jin Guangyao could see him.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian stared at Jin Guangyao for a moment, his mind and his heart racing at a hundred miles an hour. The man was smiling at him pleasantly, as if they had simply bumped into each other at a banquet and were exchanging small talk. That was the most unnerving part of it all — the fact that he didn’t even look angry or disturbed.

And then, as silently and swiftly as a snake striking, his sword Henshing was drawn in his hand. Wei Wuxian had never fought him directly, but he knew of the sword’s reputation — flexible, easily hidden, seemingly soft and harmless… but capable of tearing sword blades and flesh to shreds with ruthless decisiveness. It was a lot like its master. Nobody would know how vicious it was just by looking.

“Mo Lian,” Jin Guangyao said pleasantly. “You have made a grave mistake.”

Then he lashed out with the sword. Wei Wuxian dodged aside as the blade sliced past his ear, and he was pretty sure he had lost a few stray hairs to Henshing’s edge. He barely had time to rebalance himself before the blade changed direction, swiping towards his throat and missing it by a whisper. It slashed and whirled around him like a steel viper, constantly trying to coil around an arm, a wrist, a throat so its master could rip it to shreds.

Then Jin Guangyao’s smiling lips twisted slightly, and he swiped down towards Wei Wuxian’s waist — down to his lower abdomen. The tip of the blade grazed along below his belt, and only leaping back kept him from being stabbed there.

He knows! Wei Wuxian thought wildly. Somehow Jin Guangyao knew he was pregnant — dammit, Qin Su must have told him before she had that conversation with the mystery person! Fuck!

As he spun aside, Wei Wuxian caught a glimpse of something on one of the shelves — a sword encrusted with dust. But the dust wasn’t so thick that he couldn’t recognize it, because once, long ago, it had been almost as attached to him as his right arm. Suibian. That was one thing of his that had clearly been taken just as a trophy, since while it was a powerful spiritual weapon, it had nothing to do with demonic cultivation and wouldn’t give any kind of knowledge or power to people who took it.

He had stopped carrying it after he had lost his golden core — he could no longer fly on it, and trying to fight with it would betray his secret. Everyone had thought he was a rude, arrogant little shithead who cared nothing for common courtesy, and he had kept his mouth shut because he didn't want anyone to know. Especially not Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng probably wouldn’t have put the pieces together even if he knew, but Wei Wuxian took no chances. What was more, carrying Suibian had hurt him — it was a constant reminder of what he had given up and would never have again.

As Jin Guangyao swiped at his abdomen again, his sword sweeping through the air, Wei Wuxian saw an opening. He raised his leg to kick the man in the shoulder as hard as he could, and was rewarded with the sight of Jin Guangyao crashing backwards against one of his shelves. With his opponent temporarily immobilized, he seized Suibian and unsheathed it smoothly. It felt natural in his hand, as if he had never even stopped using it. Like an old friend who remembered him, and was greeting him warmly.

He pointed the sword directly at Jin Guangyao, who was just standing up from where he had fallen against the shelves. The Jin leader automatically raised a hand to straighten his hat, the smile gone from his lips. But then his gaze fell on Wei Wuxian holding Suibian, and he seemed to freeze. Shock rippled across his face, his eyes widened and dilated, and for a moment he didn’t seem to be able to attack.

“You,” he breathed. “You — you’re —“

Then he seemed to regain his equilibrium, and Henshing twisted outward to clasp itself around Suibian’s blade. But Wei Wuxian yanked it free before his sword could be damaged, and struck a sharp blow with the scabbard that made the flexible blade curl in the opposite direction. Breathing hard, he lashed out at Henshing’s hilt, and Jin Guangyao was forced to let go or lose a few fingers — but Henshing flew towards him and clashed with Suibian, almost wrenching it from Wei Wuxian’s hand.

Wei Wuxian grimaced, fending off Henshing’s blows. One way or another, he had to end this — he had to get back to Lan Zhan, get help from him and Lan Xichen — get others to come back to this room, help Qin Su and recover the head —

A talisman flew towards him like a hawk descending on its prey — Wei Wuxian managed to slice it in half just as it was dissolving into a mass of flames, but the heat drove him back a few steps. He was closer to the mirror now — but he had to walk back towards it while fighting off Henshing and keeping an eye on Jin Guangyao at the same time. The Jin leader was already pulling out another talisman and raising his hand, a strange expression on his normally-amiable face.

Just then, Wei Wuxian felt his back against the cool, flowing metal of the mirror — and with a jump backwards, he lurched against it. Jin Guangyao flung another flaming talisman towards him, spiralling around the serpentine silver shape of Henshing, flames blossoming all around him — and for a moment, Wei Wuxian thought that he would be burned before he had a chance to get away — Henshing sliced through the air towards him, twisting and whirling towards his face — and he leaped back, through the hidden doorway —

— and then he was back in Jin Guangyao’s sleeping chamber.

He wasted no time sprinting back to the window he had first entered, and leaping lightly through it onto the veranda outside. He heard the sound of voices crying out in surprise at seeing this white-clad woman bounding out of the Chief Cultivator’s bedroom, possibly because some of them recognized him as Mo Lian. But even if they did, they were distant enough that he doubted they could catch up to him now. Even if they did, he still was clutching Suibian and its scabbard.

“Lan Zhan!” he bellowed at the top of his voice.

A tall figure in white appeared in front of him, moving just as quickly — and suddenly Wei Wuxian was enveloped in a pair of strong arms and the scent of sandalwood. Even though he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet, he could feel his body relaxing just at being close to Lan Zhan. He could feel his husband’s heart pounding furiously against him, and could only think, He must have been worried about me.

“Wei Ying,” a voice whispered in his ear. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m not," Wei Wuxian said quickly. “But we have to act quickly — Jin Guangyao has a hidden doorway in his mirror, and it leads to a treasure room where he’s keeping his wife. She learned some kind of horrifying secret about him from a — no, I’ll tell you later what it is!. He’s also hidden Nie Mingjue’s head there. If we don’t get inside fast, he'll have time to hide them both!”

Lan Zhan nodded once. “We will find them.”

By now, the courtyard was half-full of people. Wei Wuxian could hear Jiang Cheng’s voice sharply calling through the night as he demanded to know what was going on. Nie Huaisang was calling out, “What happened? Who’s died? Did somebody get into the Symposium who shouldn’t be here?” He still sounded a little tremulous, but far more sober and focused than he had sounded earlier in the day. Apparently having a crisis had distracted him from his own woes.

And Jin Ling’s voice rose above the general hubbub. “Where’s my little uncle? What’s happening?” he shouted, charging through the crowd.

And Lan Xichen had come in with Nie Huaisang, his face full of worry that something had gone dramatically wrong — though Wei Wuxian had to wonder who he was worried most about. The Lan clan leader’s eyes alighted on the white-clad figures of Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian hurrying back towards Fragrance Palace, with his new in-law holding an unsheathed sword. He hurried towards them, keeping some distance between himself and the other curious individuals.

“Wangji... young master Wei… what has happened?” he asked anxiously.

“He’s got the head,” Wei Wuxian said grimly. “He has it in a secret—“

But before he could finish, the doors of Fragrance Palace parted and Jin Guangyao stepped out into the open. He looked pale but dignified, and there was a hint of sorrow in his face as he looked out across the courtyard. His eyes alighted on Wei Wuxian, and he recoiled slightly, as if he had seen something absolutely terrifying. He was a good actor, Wei Wuxian had to give him that. He always knew the best response for any situation.

“Everyone, please step away from that — that woman beside Hanguang-jun,” he called out, his voice ringing with authority. “That woman is not who she seems. She is Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch.”

Chapter Text

An icy silence fell over the courtyard, as if nobody could believe their ears.

Wei Wuxian stood as if rooted to the spot. His fingers, still clutching Suibian, were white-knuckled with shock. How the hell did Jin Guangyao know his true identity? He hadn’t done or said anything to betray who he really was during their fight, had he? And except for Jiang Cheng, nobody here had even suspected that Mo Lian was more than she appeared to be…

He heard the sound of swords being drawn all around the courtyard, but it seemed to be more out of instinctive reaction than any kind of actual thought. Some of the cultivators seemed to be thrown into a panic just by the mention of Wei Wuxian’s name, while others seemed to be baffled by this sudden accusation of a woman who seemed to have been harmless, even victimized by Sect Leader Jiang.

“Are you sure?” one cultivator called out. “Wei Wuxian was a man, after all. He was considered one of the most accomplished men of his generation at one time.”

“He might have been desperate enough to possess a woman’s body,” retorted a nearby man clad in white. Lan Zhan had pointed him out earlier as Su She, the leader of the Moling Su clan — and while his face had been impassive at the time, there had been clear distaste in his voice.

Jiang Cheng was at the forefront of the crowd, his eyes blazing like dark coals. Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell if he was feeling angry, triumphant, or some combination of the two — maybe he was just angry that Lianfang-zun had been the one to uncover Wei Wuxian’s true identity. His white-knuckled hand was clenched into a fist, with purple sparks dancing along his fingers, but he hadn’t actually unleashed Zidian.

“It WOULD be the perfect disguise,” one man said a little dubiously. “Nobody would think to look for him as a woman, would they?”

“And nobody would ever dream of suspecting the concubine or wife of the esteemed Hanguang-jun,” Su She added, a note of bitter sarcasm creeping into his words. “Who would ever question a woman that he deemed worthy? What better hiding place is there?”

Wei Wuxian frowned. What exactly had he done to irritate this man so much? He had a wretched memory, but there was nothing about Su She that seemed familiar to him — yet the man seemed to have some kind of grudge against both him and Lan Zhan. If they survived this, he told himself, he would have to ask Lan Zhan what was going on with this Su She.

Su She turned towards Jin Guangyao, before looking back at the other clan leaders. There was a kind of pleased, almost gleeful distaste on his features. “Even a woman like Mo Lian might be a useful hiding place, if Hanguang-jun vouched for her.” He smirked at Wei Wuxian, before shifting his gaze to Lan Zhan’s cold, stiff face. “If any of you are unaware, she was cast out of the Jin Clan for… improper behavior. Towards her own brother, Lianfang-zun. It’s hard to imagine why Hanguang-jun would become so enamored with such a woman, even if he didn’t know that she was secretly Wei Wuxian.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers tightened on Bichen’s scabbard, until his knuckles stood out white under his skin. He had shifted his body between Wei Wuxian and the drawn swords of the Jin Clan,

“Please, everyone be calm.”

A deep voice seemed to fill the entire courtyard, even though it was still quiet and measured. A taller, more elegant figure in white stepped to the forefront of the crowd. Lan Xichen’s face was set in its usual gentle, soft lines, but there was some tension around his mouth. He paused briefly in front of Su She, as if measuring the other clan leader with his eyes, before approaching Jin Guangyao.

“Third Brother, I don’t entirely understand why you are saying this,” he said, folding his hands “My sister-in-law has experienced some struggles, it is true. But I am not sure why you would believe her to be the Yiling Patriarch.”

“That’s right!” Wei Wuxian said, adding a tremor to his voice.

Jin Guangyao shook his head, as if overcome with regret and sorrow. “Zewu-jun, no one is more shocked than I am. But the evidence is undeniable.”

“Evidence?” Lan Zhan said stonily.

“Please, everyone note the sword she is holding,” Jin Guangyao said, graciously waving a hand towards Wei Wuxian. “That was a spiritual weapon of Wei Wuxian’s — and after his death, it was found that it had sealed itself. No one, no matter how strong or powerful, could draw it except Wei Wuxian himself. Yet, you will all see that she is holding it, unsheathed.”

Wei Wuxian felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. He looked down at Suibian, which was glinting in the warm light of the lamps held by the guards. So that was why Jin Guangyao had reacted as he had when Wei Wuxian had drawn his sword. He had given himself away without even realizing it — and he couldn’t think of any way to get them to believe that he wasn’t Wei Wuxian. His mind cranked through a thousand lies in the space of a few minutes, but none of them explained why he would be able to draw that sword. Dammit, think of something, think…

“Little Uncle!” Jin Ling said suddenly, running past Jiang Cheng. “She can’t be Wei Wuxian! I saw the proof with my own eyes.”

Murmurs rippled through the courtyard, and some of the swords faltered a little. Wei Wuxian felt his heart lift a little, but he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Even if he could convince them that he wasn’t who he really was, he still had to convince them that Chifeng-zun’s head and Qin Su were both imprisoned in that hidden treasure room.

Jin Ling looked back to Jiang Cheng. “You remember back at Mount Dafan, Uncle? You whipped her with Zidian then, and nothing happened. If she had been Wei Wuxian, he would have been pulled out of her body.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw worked a little, as if he were chewing on unsaid words. “That’s true,” he said roughly.

“A-Ling,” Jin Guangyao said gently. “Didn’t you also say that she summoned Wen Ning at the same time?”

Jin Ling’s face paled, and he quickly looked at Wei Wuxian. Clashing emotions seemed to be warring inside him — he had been seeking reassurance that Mo Lian was what she seemed, no more and no less. Wei Wuxian felt a stab of pity at the boy’s confusion. He wished… he didn’t know what he could do, but he just wanted to explain himself to Jin Ling in his own words. Let him hear how things had truly been, rather than whatever hateful propaganda he had been fed since infancy…

Then Jin Guangyao’s voice cut through the night air like a knife. “I’m afraid, A-Ling, that there is another explanation for Zidian not expelling Wei Wuxian from Mo Lian's body. When she lived here, she studied many manuscripts written by the Yiling Patriarch, including one dedicated to a particular practice called ‘Sacrifice.’ The one who casts this spell pays a terrible price — their own soul is destroyed, and their body is given over to the malevolent ghost that they summon. Because it is a sacrifice and not a possession, Zidian would not be able to drive the ghost out of its new body.”

Wei Wuxian felt his skin go ice-cold. His fingers clutched spasmodically at his sword’s hilt. Dammit, Jin Guangyao had figured it out — he must have memorized every manuscript he had written to be able to mention that spell at a moment’s notice. The Jin Sect’s leader had an expression of sorrow and dismay on his features, as if mourning Mo Lian’s demise, but his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on Wei Wuxian like a cat watching a bird.

Jiang Cheng was staring at him as if he had sprouted a second head, as if he couldn’t quite believe that his suspicions had been correct. All around him, other cultivators were murmuring amongst themselves, becoming more agitated with every word.

“If that’s the case…”

“If the girl did that, then she really could be Wei Wuxian!”

“To think we came so close to the Yiling Patriarch…”

Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s hand tighten on his waist, pulling their bodies more tightly against one another. His face was like a tundra, cold and fierce and stark, his pale eyes flickering from one frightened face to another, from one gleaming sword to another. He looked as if he would gladly take on a small army — and Wei Wuxian knew that he would, because he had fought his own clan when exhausted and near collapse. Bichen slid easily from its scabbard, a silent, icy threat to anyone who dared to come any closer.

This was wrong. He couldn’t let Lan Zhan be dragged down with him in this situation. Wei Wuxian might be able to fight his way out, though the odds weren’t really in his favor… but if Lan Zhan went with him, everyone would know that he had deliberately colluded with the Yiling Patriarch. And if the assembled might of the cultivation world turned against them, even Hanguang-jun might not be able to emerge triumphant.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers dug into Lan Zhan’s arm. “Lan Zhan, don’t let them know the truth,” he whispered.

Lan Zhan looked at him, eyes wide.

“They can think that I tricked you. That you had no idea who I really was. If you leave here with me — fight for me — then your reputation is ruined.”

Lan Zhan gazed at him a moment longer — and then Wei Wuxian was crushed against him, being hungrily and passionately kissed. Despite their situarion, a heated thrill surged through Wei Wuxian’s body. It was Lan Zhan not only reaffirming that he loved him — it was showing it in front of their entire world that he knew, that he didn’t care, that he loved Wei Wuxian in whatever form he had, and nobody could come between them. The rest of them could go to hell.

Then a half dozen sword glares blazed through the night — only to crash into Bichen’s icy, transparent blade. Lan Zhan’s face was stony as he unleashed a powerful attack of his own, sending Jin cultivators sprawling and leaving a massive blasted gouge in the stone pavement. Wei Wuxian raised Suibian and deftly fended off more attacks as the two of them fought their way through the crowd, his heart pounding like a drum. It felt like another sword was swiping at him every time he moved, a tangle of gleaming blades and whirling glares that he blocked and slashed away.

From all around were cries of pain and fear — cries that the Yiling Patriarch should be killed immediately, without mercy. But he could feel Lan Zhan at his back, as immovable and impregnable as a fortress.

Somehow they managed to fight their way through the crowd, down to the front steps of Golden Carp Tower. Lan Zhan’s hand was tightly grasping Wei Wuxian’s arm as they moved down as swiftly as they could. Wei Wuxian’s heart began to rise at the realization that they were almost out — if they could just get out of Golden Carp Tower, then they could escape on Bichen. Where they would escape to, he didn’t know, but —

— and then a figure clad all in white, with Sparks Amidst Snow on his chest, stepped in front of them. Jin Ling’s face was flushed and his hair disheveled. And he looked angry — angry and confused — like a child who has just had everything he believed turned on its head.

“You’re Wei Ying?” he said loudly. “Wei Wuxian?”

Wei Wuxian clenched his fists, and stepped to the side. “Jin Ling, I can explain better later — right now —“

“All this time, you were Wei Wuxian?” the boy said shrilly.

And before Wei Wuxian could answer, he felt something cold pierce his abdomen — and looked down to see the blade of Jin Ling’s sword embedded in it.

Chapter Text

Blood trickled from Wei Wuxian’s lips. He felt as if the sword had thrust all the air from his lungs, and drained the strength from his limbs. Jin Ling withdrew the crimson-smeared blade almost immediately, his youthful face transforming into a mask of confusion, as if he couldn’t even believe what he had just done. Wei Wuxian stumbled back a few steps, crashing into Lan Zhan’s chest, and pressed his hands to his belly. A dark red stain spread across the middle of his pure-white robe.

All he could think was, Baby… baby… is it dead? Did he kill it? His mind felt numb and confused, and the thought of the baby — Lan Zhan’s baby — being struck by that sword crowded out every other thought and sensation.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered. “I…”

Suddenly strong arms were sweeping him off his feet, cradling him against a firm chest. He clutched at Lan Zhan’s robes with a bloodstained hand, his head swimming. Vaguely, he was aware of his husband mounting Bichen, and the fact that the blood flowing from his abdomen was staining his husband’s snow-white robes. Blood… blood… was it only his blood, or was it their child’s blood as well?

In his old life, he would have been able to tolerate an injury like this better. Not because he was a woman now — he knew how strong and enduring women could be — but because Mo Lian’s body wasn’t used to this kind of injury. She had been abused by her family, but she hadn’t been weathered by warfare and life in the Burial Mounds. He had even been stabbed before in the same spot, by Jiang Cheng. But where he had been able to shrug it off and stuff his intestines back into his body, he was on the verge of fainting now.

Wind was whipping past them, and Wei Wuxian became aware that they were flying far above Lanling now. He looked up blearily at Lan Zhan’s profile, outlined by starlight -- and his husband looked down at him, his eyes filled with anger and worry. “Wei Ying,” he said softly. "I am here.”

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian said with a feeble smile. “I’m not going anywhere…”

“Mn…”

Wei Wuxian rested his head against Lan Zhan’s chest, and noticed that his husband’s breathing was harsh and uneven. “It’s so strange,” he mumbled. “Back when everyone praised me… you were the only one who told me what I was doing was wrong. Now everyone wants me dead — and you’re the only one who wants to protect me.”

He felt a pang as he remembered Jin Ling’s face back in Golden Carp Tower, and how hard he had tried to convince himself that his crazy aunt wasn’t who Jin Guangyao said she was. The boy had looked so upset at finding out he was Wei Wuxian, even if he had spent most of their relationship disliking him. He was sure — absolutely sure — that Jin Ling would never, ever have stabbed him if he had known about the baby…

… the baby…

His mind sank into the darkness, into old memories, into the depths of a fierce and bloody war that had stripped away mercy and laughter from his heart for a time. And it had pitted him against Lan Zhan, who had consistently wanted to bring him to Gusu and restore him to what he had been… back then, he had thought that it was just a perfect, orthodox disciple of Lan Qiren cracking down on a heretic. But now, he drowsily realized that it had been something else… that Lan Zhan had wanted to see him restored to his old self, to someone who no longer commanded the dead and wrought gruesome revenge on his enemies.

*

“Lan Zhan….”

The whisper of his husband’s name floated from his lips as he slowly awoke, drifting back to wakefulness. He could feel cool fingers caressing his face, and turned towards them, brushing his lips against Lan Zhan’s fingertips. Still half locked in his dreams, he kissed them, then grasped his husband’s sleeve and held his arm tightly. “I’m sorry…” he breathed. “Don’t be mad…”

Lan Zhan’s sweet breath washed over his face. “I am not angry.”

You would be if you knew, Wei Wuxian thought with a painful wrench.

It all came flooding back — the disastrous end to his mission in Golden Carp Tower, the revelation of his true identity in front of the entire world, and Jin Ling stabbing him. And most importantly, the child in his womb. Lan Zhan’s child. Icy cold threaded through his blood as he remembered the feeling of the sword piercing his abdomen, and the mounting horror of realizing that it might have killed their baby. He hadn't even had enough time to figure out how he felt about being pregnant… and now he might never be able to.

He slowly opened his eyes, and looked blearily around the room. It was their bedroom back in Cloud Recesses, full of muted light and elegant, tidy furnishings that fitted Lan Zhan’s tastes. He was in their bed, in his own sleeping robes. Familiar-smelling incense was burning nearby, filling the air with the scent of sandalwood. And Lan Zhan was sitting beside him, his hands gentle as they touched Wei Wuxian’s face and hair.

“Wei Ying,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian moved a trembling hand down to the sore spot on his abdomen, which had been bandaged. Lan Zhan’s eyes followed it, and he gently said, “Be careful of your wound. It is still healing.”

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Wei Wuxian said a little shakily. The truth was, he was trying to gauge whether the sword had killed their child, or whether there was a chance the baby might have survived. The stab had been a deep one, even though it had been slightly off to the side. How deep inside him was the womb? He was pretty sure it was right in the midline of the belly, but how far back? Was it in front or behind the intestines? Suihua had gone through him at an angle, not directly through the front…

He hadn’t been very far along in his pregnancy as well, no more than a couple months at most. That was when he and Lan Zhan had first started sleeping together. His stomach hadn’t even grown yet — he was pretty sure that happened at maybe five or six months. Could the sword have simply… missed the womb, since the baby was still so small?

“Lan Zhan,” he said faintly. “How long was I unconscious?”

“Four days,” Lan Zhan said. His face was still mostly expressionless, but the gentleness of his hands showed his concern.

Wei Wuxian licked his dry lips. “And while I was unconscious, did I…” He groped for the right words to say. “Did my body do anything?”

Did I bleed? Does it even work like that when a pregnancy is lost this early?

Lan Zhan looked mildly confused, but shook his head.

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes for a moment, sliding his hand over his bandaged stomach under the covers. If he could find a doctor — one that wouldn’t report to Jin Guangyao or any of his other countless enemies — he could find out if he was still pregnant. There were excellent doctors in Cloud Recesses, but they might know by now that Second Madame Lan was actually Wei Wuxian. Worse, they might report to Lan Qiren, who would mobilize the entire clan against them.

And he couldn’t tell Lan Zhan the truth — not right now. If he told Lan Zhan now, and then found that he had lost the baby, it would devastate his husband. Furthermore, he couldn’t be sure what Lan Zhan’s response might be. He had been upset enough at Wei Wuxian being stabbed by Jin Ling. What might be do if he found that the boy had slaughtered their child, even if it had been done unknowingly?

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian took a shaky breath as he sat up, his abdominal muscles twinging at the sudden motion. Lan Zhan slipped a hand behind his back to help him, and Wei Wuxian quickly looped an arm around his husband’s shoulder to pull himself up. Guilt burrowed through him, and for a moment he was almost tempted to blurt out the truth to Lan Zhan. He ought to know — but the thought of his pain if they lost the baby —

I’ll find a doctor, he vowed quietly. I’ll find out if the baby is all right. Maybe Wen Ning could help me — he used to be his sister's assistant, and he even helped her transfer my golden core. Maybe he knows something about pregnancy… even if it’s just being able to detect one.

As he sat up, Lan Zhan seated himself on the bed once again, and pulled something from his belt — Suibian. He placed it carefully across Wei Wuxian’s knees, as if he were putting a rabbit in his lap. “Here. You were holding it when we left Golden Carp Tower,” he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian looked down at Suibian, feeling a complicated mixture of emotions stirring inside him. Had it really sealed itself? It was a rare thing to happen — not unheard-of, but unusual enough that it wouldn’t have occurred to him that it might have happened. It hadn’t happened with Suihua. It was just his luck that Suibian would have chosen to refuse everyone except its master, even after Wei Wuxian had first left it behind, and then had died.

“Try to draw it,” he said, holding it back towards Lan Zhan.

His husband grasped the hilt and pulled. It didn’t budge. He pulled again, his arm muscles straining, but the blade remained stubbornly lodged in the scabbard. That proved it, Wei Wuxian thought. He had never met a living person with more arm strength than Lan Zhan — if he couldn’t budge it, then nobody could. Jin Guangyao probably wouldn’t have come up with an easily disproven lie to accuse him, especially since others would probably have known whether Wei Wuxian’s sword had sealed itself or not.

“I guess it recognizes me even in my new body,” he said with a sigh.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied soberly.

Wei Wuxian leaned forward, letting his body rest against Lan Zhan’s larger, sturdier one. It felt like everything had fallen apart, just when they had been so close to their goal — not just finding Chifeng-zun’s head, but being able to find some kind of peace together. The last month had been, except for the vomiting, wonderfully idyllic. To someone who had spent his late teenage years scrabbling in the Burial Mounds and fighting the Wen Clan, that kind of peace was a rare and beautiful thing.

Now that peace had been snatched away from them with cold, clawed hands. Everybody knew, or soon would know, that Hanguang-jun’s new wife was actually the hated and feared Yiling Patriarch, arisen from the dead and probably back for horrible revenge. Rivers of blood would flow, armies of the dead would slay the living, and all that. And by kissing him in front of everyone, Lan Zhan had let everyone know that he was complicit in whatever Wei Wuxian was doing.

Not to mention that Jin Guangyao’s position was even more impregnable now. He had already been nigh-untouchable, since he was the Chief Cultivator, head of the richest and most powerful of the great sects, and respected — outwardly, at least — by all. Now everyone would believe that Wei Wuxian had tried to kill him, and probably they were all grateful and glad that he had exposed this threat. If only he had learned what Jin Guangyao’s secret was — had learned what Qin Su had read in that letter…

… the letter…

Wei Wuxian stiffened against Lan Zhan’s chest, and his fingers clutched at his husband’s robes. “Lan Zhan!” he gasped. “My robes — you didn’t throw them away, did you?”

“I did not,” Lan Zhan said.

“Where are they?”

Lan Zhan rose from the bed and went into the next room, bringing back a ripped white robe that had been partially dyed brown with dried blood, with the undergarments still lying inside it. Wei Wuxian snatched it from his hands and feverishly felt around inside the garment. It had to still be there! If it had fallen out during the journey to Cloud Recesses, they would never find it now… and after everything that had happened, they needed to know what was so terrible that Jin Guangyao would kill to conceal it.

But his fingers closed on the rather creased paper, and he felt a spurt of relief. The envelope was lightly spattered with his blood, but not much of it had soaked into the letter inside.

Lan Zhan gazed at him with curiosity. “Wei Ying, what is this?” he asked.

“A letter to Qin Su,” Wei Wuxian said. “Someone told her something about Jin Guangyao — something so terrible that it completely turned her against him. She was accusing him of killing their son and destroying her life. She was almost hysterical. I stole the letter before he could destroy it, but I didn’t have a chance to take it out and read it before.”

He slipped out the letter and opened it. The handwriting inside was very precise and careful — he couldn’t tell by looking whether it had been written by a man or woman, young or old, rich or poor. A few spots of blood had soaked into the paper, but not anywhere where it could obscure the text. He held his breath, and started reading.

I regret that I must write this letter to you and destroy your happiness. However, I find that I cannot keep silent any longer, knowing what I know about your marriage and your husband.

Many years ago, Qin Cangye and Madam Qin were visiting Jin Guangshan in Lanling, and Jin Guangshan desired your mother, though she was faithful to her husband. One night, he drank too much wine and forced himself on her, despite her best efforts to escape. You were born nine months later. She never told her husband the truth about your parentage, out of fear and shame.

But she did tell one person. When she heard about your impending marriage, she hastened to speak to Jin Guangyao in the fervent belief that he would not only cancel the wedding, but keep her secret. She said that he had been shaken by what she had to tell him, and reassured her that her daughter would not be disgraced by the truth ever being revealed. She believed that he would quietly cancel the wedding, and that you would be heartbroken, but would find love with someone who was not her brother.

When she heard that your wedding was proceeding as planned, she was devastated. Others believed that she was depressed because she believed Jin Guangyao to be beneath you, but the truth was that she was horrified that you would be marrying your own half-brother. Before she died, she confided everything to me, out of the need for someone to know what had happened to her, and the terrible fate that had befallen you.

I know that this letter has found you twelve years too late. However, you must know the truth about the man whom you have married.

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t been that. This… this was… now he understood why Qin Su had spiralled into a miserable, sickened state, and why she had believed her husband — her brother — to be capable of any action, no matter how vile. He had known that she was his sister by blood even before the wedding, and yet he had gone ahead with the marriage anyway. Even worse, they had had a child together — and that child had been condemned to die from the beginning, because of his father’s and grandfather’s sins. And Qin Su…

Wei Wuxian looked up at Lan Zhan, who had been watching him silently as he read. “This doesn’t count as gossip, right?” he joked weakly.

“I do not know,” Lan Zhan replied soberly.

Wei Wuxian handed him the letter, and watched quietly as his husband read it. When Lan Zhan was finished, he quietly folded the letter again and set it down on the bedcovers. Though there was no external sign that he was shaken by what he had read, Wei Wuxian was starting to learn the tiny expressions and signs that indicated how his husband felt.

He felt a pang of pity for Qin Su, as he watched Lan Zhan’s long dark lashes brush against his pale cheek. She had believed that her husband was a good, kind man who loved her, but Wei Wuxian had the real article. Lan Zhan had been willing to follow him through their whole long lives, unloved and unacknowledged, just so that Wei Wuxian would be safe and cared-for. He would never have done something so hideous to the one he loved, even if it meant that they would never be together.

Wei Wuxian took a long breath, and picked up the letter again. “We need to tell your brother about this,” he said quietly.

From just outside the room, a low, pleasant voice said, “Tell me what?”

Chapter Text

The doors opened, and the tall, white-clad figure of Lan Xichen came inside. His face was grave, but he didn’t seem to be angry or accusatory in any way.

Wei Wuxian sighed. He knew that Lan Xichen wasn’t a threat — the fact that they had been in Cloud Recesses for days, apparently, meant that he presumably had known that they were there. Yet he hadn’t been handed over to the Jin to be imprisoned or, more likely, have his throat slit while he slept. Besides, Lan Zhan would never allow someone to hurt Wei Wuxian — not even his own brother.

“I thought you might want to know that all the sects have seen Chifeng-zun’s headless body,” Lan Xichen said quietly. “They now know what has happened to him, and the body has been placed in Huaisang’s custody.” He sighed. “It is also being watched by others I can trust.”

“And Jin Guangyao?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Xichen pursed his lips slightly. “He has stated that he will uncover the facts about Elder Brother’s demise, but I believe that the sudden resurfacing of Wei Wuxian has distracted the sects.” His eyes slowly shifted to his brother’s face, and his shoulders slumped slightly. “At present, most of them have been alerted to the fact that the Yiling Patriarch is alive once more, and has escaped with Lan Wangji. Who is also his lover.”

If the destruction of his reputation bothered Lan Zhan, he gave no outward sign of it. He simply rose to his feet, and looked between his wife and his brother as he waited for one of them to speak.

“What about Qin Su?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Xichen looked mildly perturbed. “No one has seen her since the banquet five days ago. Lianfang-zun has stated that she was taken suddenly ill, and is recovering in solitude.”

“That’s a lie,” Wei Wuxian said firmly. “He’s keeping her a prisoner until she tells him who gave her this letter.”

He held out the bloodstained missive to Lan Xichen, who took it gingerly. He unfolded it and began reading the contents with no expression on his face, which made him look eerily like Lan Zhan. Then a crease formed between his brows, and his eyes widened slightly as he progressed across the page. Wei Wuxian could almost guess what part of the letter he was reading at any moment, just based on his reactions.

It took several minutes before he refolded the paper and set it down on the table; Wei Wuxian suspected he had also read the contents multiple times, reluctant or unwilling to believe what it said about his sworn brother. Then he fixed his gaze on Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan, his brows still drawn together. “Wangji… Young Master Wei… where did you obtain this letter from?”

“From Fragrance Palace,” Wei Wuxian said. “Qin Su had left it there after reading it.”

“I see,” Lan Xichen said softly. “And who gave it to her?”

“I don’t know. Jin Guangyao was trying to force her to tell him, but she refused to answer. She knew he would kill whoever had sent it.”

Lan Xichen frowned slightly at the last sentence, but his face smoothed out once again as he looked at his brother. “A letter from an unknown source of unknown trustworthiness… relating crimes that were only revealed to that unknown source from a woman who is now dead and cannot confirm the story… and there is no way otherwise to determine whether the story is true or not.” His voice was gentle, but it was clear from his tone that he did not believe the story.

Wei Wuxian felt his heart sinking. He had thought that Lan Xichen would have been convinced by the letter that, at the very least, Jin Guangyao was not the person he pretended to be. But it looked like he was choosing to give his sworn brother the benefit of the doubt, rather than investigating further into Qin Su’s sudden disappearance. This wasn’t good.

“Jin Guangyao,” Lan Xichen continued, with the tone of a kind but reproving parent, “is an influential man with a background that many hold against him, through no fault of his own. There have been countless rumors about him over the years, allegations made about things he had supposedly done. None of them ever gained traction or provided convincing evidence, and so I do not believe them blindly.”

“Qin Su believed that letter,” Wei Wuxian pointed out. “If there were so many unfounded rumors, and it hadn’t come from someone she trusted, she wouldn’t have believed it, would she?”

Lan Xichen looked a little uneasy at that point.

“Brother,” Lan Zhan said quietly, “he is also hiding Chifeng-zun’s head. Wei Ying saw it.”

“Where is it?” Lan Xichen said.

“A hidden treasure room in the Fragrance Palace. It’s also where he imprisoned Qin Su.”

Lan Xichen frowned. He looked as if he were struggling between two incompatible ideas. Wei Wuxian couldn’t exactly blame him, though — Jin Guangyao was a superb actor, able to deceive even his nearest and dearest for many years. Qin Su had been taken in, and so had Nie Mingjue at one time. Lan Xichen had seen only the good in him for all these years, and it was undoubtedly hard to believe that his closest friend and sworn brother was a monster. Especially when the one making the accusations — and the only witness to these dealings — was the Yiling Patriarch, whose only claim to legitimacy was through Zewu-jun’s brother.

That was probably the only thing that kept him from siding solidly with Jin Guangyao — the fear that he would alienate Lan Zhan if he explicitly called his sister/brother-in-law a liar. As if sharing his thoughts, Lan Zhan sat down beside him and clasped his hands over one of Wei Wuxian’s, even as he looked up at his brother’s face. Without words, the gesture said, I trust him and believe him, and nothing will sway me.

Lan Xichen looked back at the letter, and sighed heavily. “I will not take sides against Jin Guangyao just yet. I would need more evidence — including the evidence of my own eyes, or Wangji’s — to sacrifice my trust in my sworn brother, after so many years of trusting and relying upon one another.” He turned to Wei Wuxian, and smiled wryly. “Young Master Wei… Wangji’s judgment tells him that he can trust whatever you say. My judgment, however, tells me that Jin Guangyao is not guilty of these crimes.”

Lan Zhan’s fingers tightened around Wei Wuxian, and for a moment Wei Wuxian thought he might jump up and start arguing. He quickly interjected, “Sect Leader Lan, will you give us the opportunity to prove what I have said?”

“Of course,” Lan Xichen said. “There is no need for worry while you are here. I am not taking anyone’s side just yet. I will tell no one where you are, nor will I side with either you or Jin Guangyao until the truth of — these matters —“ He glanced again at the letter, and his brow creased. “—is revealed. If I were doing either such thing, then I would not have allowed Wangji to bring you back here, and helped him with your wounds.”

Then a strange expression crossed Lan Xichen’s face, and he glanced down at Wei Wuxian’s belly, which was still hidden by his sleeping robe. “Speaking of which… how do you feel, Young Master Wei?” he asked quietly.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t been expecting that question, and a knot of nervousness formed in his stomach. Had Lan Xichen figured out about the baby, especially after Wei Wuxian’s nausea over the last few weeks? Not to mention that he was a confidante of Jin Guangyao, and Jin Guangyao had found out about the pregnancy almost immediately. Maybe, after Jin Ling had stabbed him, Jin Guangyao had assumed that he had miscarried and had spoken of it to Jin Guangyao.

“I’m fine,” he said, pressing a hand to where he had been stabbed. Except for a slight ache, he did feel fine. Physically, anyway.

Lan Xichen nodded slightly, worry evident on his features. His eyes lingered for a moment on Wei Wuxian’s stomach, before moving to his brother. Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Zhan as well, and found that his husband was already gazing intently at him — meaning he hadn’t noticed the look that his brother was giving him. Wei Wuxian leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss on his lips, before turning back to Lan Xichen.

“When I was in the treasure chamber,” he said, “I came into contact with the resentful energy clustered around Chifeng-zun’s head. I ended up… seeing some things from his past. Wouldn’t that prove that I had found the head?”

“It would certainly prove that you found the head,” Lan Xichen said in a measured voice, “but not necessarily where or when you came across it.”

Lan Zhan’s jaw tightened.

“Fair enough,” Wei Wuxian said. “But I noticed in the Empathy memories that Chifeng-zun’s qi deviation seemed to be exacerbated by something. A song of purification that was played for him.”

Lan Xichen’s smile took on a slightly pitying quality. “Young Master Wei, you can be assured that the song Jin Guangyao played for Nie Mingjue did not cause his death. I taught it to him myself, and he was diligent in its use.”

“If that’s the case,” Wei Wuxian asked, “would you be so kind as to listen to me play it, and see if anything is wrong with the melody?”

Without being asked, Lan Zhan pulled the bamboo flute from his robes, and placed it in Wei Wuxian’s hands. He put the flute to his lips, closed his eyes, and recalled the melody that Jin Guangyao had played in Nie Mingjue’s memories — a cool, soft, soothing melody, complicated and intricate, that brought to mind peace and tranquility within and without. Then he began to play.

Chapter Text

There was something that Wei Ying wasn’t telling him.

That thought had been clinging to Lan Wangji’s mind ever since Wei Ying’s infiltration of the Fragrance Palace. Most people probably wouldn’t noticed that his behavior was slightly odd — most people thought he was a little odd anyway. But after all these years, Lan Wangji had learned the ebb and flow of Wei Ying’s emotions. They could be unpredictable, along with his sense of humor, but Lan Wangji could always sense their genuineness. And… Wei Ying had held something back when they were in the chambers at Golden Carp Tower.

For the past few days, Lan Wangji hadn’t thought much about what that “something” might be. He had been more concerned with staying by Wei Ying’s bedside, pouring medicines down his throat and trying to coax him back to consciousness. But now that he was awake again, Lan Wangji still detected something subtly off about his love’s behavior.

He trusted Wei Ying more deeply than any person in the world. More deeply even than his brother. He didn’t like the idea of Wei Ying keeping secrets from him — mainly because he knew that his wife/husband sometimes didn’t keep his own well-being at the forefront of his thoughts. The infiltration of Jin Guangyao’s chambers had been a prime example of that.

And, selfishly, it caused him deep, gnawing pain to think that Wei Ying… might not feel that he could tell Lan Wangji anything and everything. But he wouldn’t pressure Wei Ying to reveal whatever he was keeping to himself. He would wait until Wei Ying wanted to reveal it himself…

As Wei Ying began to play the melody, Lan Wangji forced himself to push back those thoughts, and focused instead on the sounds emanating from the flute. It took only a short time for him to identify the tune — it was a purifying piece known as “Cleansing,” which he had learned many years ago. In fact, he had learned it in hopes that he could play it for Wei Ying. That was when he had been desperate to bring Wei Ying back to Gusu, so he could convince him of the folly and danger of his demonic cultivation, and purify his heart.

Even to this day, Lan Wangji still didn’t know why Wei Ying had turned his back so completely on conventional cultivation. He had always been brilliant and talented, especially for one so unconventional — so heretical — in his thinking. Why had he thrown away those impressive skills for darker, more dangerous ones? He had never breathed a word about his reasons — only that he didn’t appreciate Lan Wangji sticking his nose in his business.

Focus. Think. Listen.

The memories Wei Ying had seen in Empathy had given him a flawless rendition of “Cleansing” — he played every note perfectly, as well as Lan Xichen or Lan Wangji themselves could play it. Lan Xichen stood silently with his eyes closed, listening approvingly to the tune…

… and then something went wrong. It was subtle, but a part of the melody went astray — although it would take a trained ear to notice the segment of the song that had been performed wrong. Lan Xichen’s brows drew together slightly at the error, but he did not interrupt Wei Ying to tell him of his mistake. The brothers remained silent as the flute’s melody seemed to right itself, and became perfect once again until Wei Ying pulled the flute from his lips.

The demonic cultivator looked at them both with wide eyes. “Is it the piece you taught Jin Guangyao?” he asked.

“Yes,” Lan Xichen said, opening his eyes. “It is called ‘Cleansing,’ and is used to purify and calm the mind. The affliction of Nie Mingjue’s was such that he would benefit from Cleansing being played to him regularly.”

Wei Ying frowned, and tapped the side of his face with his flute. “Cleansing,” he repeated. “I’ve never heard that one before. Why haven’t I heard of it before?”

“It is difficult to learn it,” Lan Wangji said quietly. “It takes a great deal of dedication.”

Lan Xichen briefly looked at his little brother, and Lan Wangji knew that they were both thinking the same thing — that such a difficult piece would only be learned if there was someone who desperately needed its effects. That was why Lan Wangji had spent weeks ceaselessly studying and practicing until his fingers nearly bled.

“Was it you, Sect Leader Lan, or Jin Guangyao who decided that the piece should be played for Nie Mingjue?” Wei Ying asked.

“It was Jin Guangyao. He volunteered to play it for him as often as needed.”

The quiet pride in Lan Xichen’s voice made Lan Wangji’s heart sink a little. His brother doubtlessly thought that playing “Cleansing” for Nie Mingjue was proof enough that he had never done anything violent towards his sworn brother. After all, if he had wanted to harm Nie Mingjue, why would he have spent so many hours learning and performing the piece, whose only purpose was to calm and purify the man’s troubled spirit? It seemed like a heavy piece of evidence against their accusations.

“If it’s so hard to play and not well-known,” Wei Ying said pensively, “why did he choose that particular piece?”

“I told him of it,” Lan Xichen said calmly. “While it is difficult to master, it is also enormously effective.” He smiled slightly. “You played it quite well, Young Master Wei, except for that one passage.”

“One passage?” Wei Ying said slowly, his brows drawing together. “I played part of it wrong?”

“There was a part in the middle,” Lan Wangji said softly, “that was played incorrectly.”

He expected Wei Ying to look downcast at this news — but instead, his dark eyes brightened like stars. “No, I didn’t,” he said with a dawning smile. “I played every note exactly the way Jin Guangyao did in those memories. Not a single note I played was wrong — unless he was the one who played it wrong.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes clouded with dismay and confusion. “That… isn’t possible. I taught him the piece myself.”

An ugly suspicion was uncoiling in Lan Wangji’s mind, like foul-smelling smoke wafting through the air. All three of them were well-versed in the songs played in the cultivation world, and the effects that they could have. A song played incorrectly might be ineffectual… or worse, might have unintended effects that could be detrimental to the listener. If “Cleansing” had been changed in some subtle way… what had it done to Nie Mingjue?

“I agree, it isn’t possible,” Wei Ying said. “Or rather, I don’t believe he misremembered it by accident. He did it intentionally.” He raised the flute to his lips. “I’m going to play it again. Listen to the part that was wrong.”

Lan Wangji obeyed, listening to every note Wei Ying played. As before, the song strayed in the second section, still melodious but somehow… wrong. Not discordant. But wrong. As if the incorrect notes were twanging Lan Wangji’s nerves, though he wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the incorrect passage, or whether it was simply the fact that it was wrong that bothered him. When Wei Ying began to segue back into the correct melody, Lan Wangji opened his eyes and said, “Stop.”

Wei Ying stopped, an enchanting smile crossing his lips. Lan Wangji felt his heart contract at the sight — he would never become tired of seeing it.

“The incorrect section,” Lan Xichen said in a strange voice, “was the part you just played.”

“It didn’t sound wrong to me,” Wei Ying said. “It didn’t stick out as being a different piece.”

“Nevertheless,” Lan Xichen said, “the part that you played is not a part of ‘Cleansing.’ Both of us have committed the song to memory, and there is no mistaking its foreignness.”

He lapsed into silence, his brow furrowed. Lan Wangji was close to his elder brother and always had been, and he could almost read Xichen’s thoughts even now. There was no way that this had been an innocent error on Jin Guangyao’s part — a wrong note here, a mistaken passage there, those could be excused as human error. But this strange melody had been painstakingly woven into the fabric of “Cleansing,” polished and worked so that only a person who had already memorized the piece could pick out that it had been altered. It was deliberate, and there was no way to frame it as anything else.

And the implications were even more unpleasant for Lan Xichen’s faith in his friend, Lan Wangji thought. There were only two possible reasons to alter Cleansing in this way. Either it had been changed to make the song ineffective in its intended purposes… or it had been changed to have a deleterious effect. Either way, it had been intended to harm Nie Mingjue.

The pain visible on his brother’s face struck Lan Wangji to the heart. He had known that the revelation of Jin Guangyao’s wrongdoing would hurt his elder brother badly. He had had great faith that there was some kind of misunderstanding, that perhaps suspicion was being cast on Jin Guangyao from the actual perpetrator. Lan Wangji wanted to protect his brother from that pain… but at the same time, he couldn’t allow the lies, the murders, the protection of the Xue Yangs of the world to go unpunished.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian slipped into the other bedroom to change into his usual black robes. The white ones Lan Zhan had given him before were beyond saving, and everybody knew that he was Wei Wuxian anyway, so there was no point in trying to disguise himself. His hands were shaking a little as he pulled the belt around his waist, and he found his fingers lingering on his lower belly, where the doctor had examined him.

Lan Xichen had told him and Lan Zhan to follow him to the library. It was obvious from his demeanor that he was shaken by the discoveries they had made. They were going to set out for the library as soon as Wei Wuxian was decently dressed — it was after hai time, meaning that virtually everyone in Cloud Recesses would be safely tucked into bed. They certainly wouldn’t expect their sect leader, his brother and the Yiling Patriarch to wander through the place after hours.

His thoughts should really be focused entirely on bringing down Jin Guangyao, especially now that they had evidence that convinced Lan Xichen. But like iron filings to a magnet, Wei Wuxian’s thoughts kept turning back to the pregnancy. He felt almost painfully guilty that he was thinking about anything other than the baby right now, especially since Lan Zhan was still in the dark about what had happened.

“I have to tell him,” he mumbled.

But he felt himself balk at the thought of Lan Zhan’s eyes if he found out that they had conceived a child, and that Jin Ling had killed it. His husband had suffered so much, for so many years. Just when he had finally gotten what he had yearned for — love and marriage to Wei Wuxian — this had to happen. The thought of inflicting more pain on him was something that Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate.

Obviously they hadn’t discussed the possibility of children, and not just because of that blind spot about what could happen with a functioning womb. They had entered this marriage believing that they wouldn’t be fucking one another, that it would simply be a way to give Wei Wuxian some measure of safety. And when passion had overtaken them, it had been too new, too intoxicating to think about the possibilities.

But… even if Lan Zhan hadn’t said as much… Wei Wuxian guessed that he probably wanted to be a father. He’d done a good job with Sizhui, even if he hadn’t been allowed to adopt him formally. With a child of his own… one that the Lan elders couldn’t deny him…

“Wei Ying?” a low voice came through the door. “Are you all right?”

“Yes!” Wei Wuxian said quickly, rushing back to the door and throwing it open. “I’m fantastic. Let’s go.”

Lan Zhan looked solemnly at him, before putting an arm around him and sweeping him out into the night. The air was bitingly cold and smelled of impending snow. The grass rustled as small white balls of fur hopped curiously towards the three humans, their small velvety noses twitching. It reminded Wei Wuxian of that very passionate night when Lan Zhan had introduced him to the rabbits. Had their baby been conceived on that night? Or their first night beside the fire in the rotting cabin? There were so many potential times that his head was swimming.

Lan Zhan’s arm was still wrapped around him, and Wei Wuxian leaned against his husband’s side as they walked. He wasn’t entirely sure what Lan Zhan was feeling right now, as his face wasn’t betraying his emotions. But the hand on his waist was possessively clutching at him, as if afraid someone would try to take Wei Wuxian away again. Which, Wei Wuxian thought, was a very real danger — ninety-nine percent of the cultivation world would happily see him dead, and Jin Ling had tried to kill him.

Lan Xichen was walking a few steps ahead of them, holding a small lamp to light their way. His steps were smooth and graceful, but slightly hesitant, as if he weren’t fully thinking about where he was going. Probably thinking about Jin Guangyao, trying to find a way in which his sworn brother could possibly be innocent of all this.

“Sect Leader Lan,” Wei Wuxian said in a low voice. “Did any doctors in Cloud Recesses look after me while I was unconscious, or was it only you and Lan Zhan?”

“Unfortunately, we could not consult any true doctors,” Lan Xichen said. “If we had brought a doctor to your room, they would have probably alerted my uncle and the clan elders. However, I did bring medicine to speed your healing, and Wangji tended you constantly.”

No doctors. Well, that would make it harder to confirm what, if anything, had happened to the baby. Still… his eyes drifted over to Lan Zhan’s elegant profile, and something wrenched inside him. I’ll tell him. I just need to find the right moment to tell him.

They reached the library pavilion quickly, and if Wei Wuxian hadn’t known otherwise, he would have assumed that nothing had ever happened to it. It had been burned down when they were teenagers, when the Wen clan invaded Cloud Recesses, killing Qingheng-jun and forcing Lan Xichen to run with their valuable library texts. But somehow they had built it back to look exactly the same, down to the last detail — even the plants outside looked like they had when Wei Wuxian had last been there.

Inside, Lan Xichen swiftly went to a particular bookcase and exposed a wooden panel. It slid aside soundlessly, revealing a darkened stairway that wound down into the ground, like the entrance to a secret cave. Wei Wuxian glanced briefly at Lan Zhan, who motioned him to follow and stepped into the darkened passageway. The only light was the lamp held by Lan Xichen, and the walls smelled of dry, slightly dusty stone.

The Room of Forbidden Books turned out to be a large underground room hewn into the stone of the mountain. Countless bookshelves were neatly organized, with dusty books neatly arranged on their shelves. Wei Wuxian had never seen — or even heard of — this room before, but the level of secrecy used to hide it from anyone outisde the sect suggested that everything within it was very important.

Lan Zhan sat down at a single desk, and began to swiftly write the musical score that had been inserted into Cleansing.

“We will each scrutinize as many books as possible,” Lan Xichen said, neatly piling up several books in his arms and carrying them to the desk. “If the song in question is here, we will discover it.”

The night wound on, dark and quiet, as all three pored over the dusty texts, comparing each line of music to the copies that Lan Zhan had composed from memory. Wei Wuxian rested his head on his fist as he flipped through the pages of one of the innumerable books, wondering if the answer was even here. There was still a stack of books to flip through, but it was steadily shrinking as he and the brothers flipped through the contents.

And if they didn’t find it… well, that would be a problem. It didn’t seem likely that there was musical magic that the Lan sect had never even heard of, did it? They were the experts on the matter. Could Jin Guangyao have composed his own magical song to be incorporated into Cleansing? Wei Wuxian certainly hoped not, because if he had, they would have a difficult time telling what the song did exactly. The existing songs in these books had been experimented with and documented extensively over countless years. To find out what the effects of a new song were, they would have to play it repeatedly to someone over many weeks, maybe months, and just hope that person didn’t have a qi deviation…

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustling of papers. His husband had been sitting straight and composed across the desk, studying one of the books that Wei Wuxian hadn’t gotten to yet. His beautiful face had been gently illuminated by the lamp, and his eyes swiftly danced across the pages as he turned them. Then, suddenly, he set the book down.

“This is it,” Lan Zhan said.

Chapter Text

“You found it?” Wei Wuxian said, almost dropping the book he had been flipping through.

He peered over Lan Zhan’s shoulder at the score on the pages, comparing it to the fragment of music that had been copied down. Wait. That wasn't right. It wasn’t the same tune. “Lan Zhan, are you sure? It doesn’t look like the same song.”

“It is not the same fragment,” Lan Zhan said calmly. “Look at the two pages, and how they flow together.”

His hand slipped around Wei Wuxian’s waist, drawing his wife against the front of his body, and settling him down on his thighs. His chest pressed against Wei Wuxian’s back, and through the cool, smooth robes of the Lan Sect, Wei Wuxian could feel the heat of his body radiating. Lan Zhan’s sweet breath washed against the nape of Wei Wuxian’s neck, sending delicious shivers through his body.

“What do you see, Wangji?” Lan Xichen asked.

Right. They weren’t alone. He forced himself to look at the pages instead, studying the progression of the two pages…. except that there was no progression. One song began, and a different one ended, but there was nothing to actually connect them together. Wei Wuxial delicately probed between the two pages with his fingertips, but found nothing left of the pages — or even pages — that had been painstakingly removed. He closed the book, and examned the title. “Collection of Spirit Turmoil? What’s that?”

“A collection of songs from Dongying,” Lan Zhan said.

“Never heard of it.”

Lan Xichen picked up the book gingerly, and examined its contents. “It was written by a Lan disciple who spent several years in Dongying, collecting songs of… a harmful nature. If spiritual energy were used when playing these songs, they would cause — as the title suggests — turmoil of the spirit. It can have deleterious effects of various kinds -- its music can cause a person to wither, lose their senses, fill them with rage. The very powerful could even kill with it.”

Excitement flooded through Wei Wuxian. That sounded like the very kind of text they had been looking for — something harmful and wicked that could corrupt the beneficial Cleansing song. “Is there a song that can agitate a person’s spirit, agitate their spiritual energy, or make them irritable?”

Lan Xichen slowly nodded. “Yes.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes wandered across the empty bookshelves as he continue, “But Jin Guangyao wouldn’t kill anyone in such an obvious manner. That would be too easily traced to him, and people might suspect him. But if he played that song for three months, it might act like a poison — slowly affecting him little by little, driving him to a qi deviation. Isn’t that right?”

Lan Xichen’s hands were clenched, his knuckles white. “It could, yes,” he murmured.

“He must have removed the page from Collection of Spirit Turmoil so that he could copy it at leisure… no, he could have remembered it. He wanted to remove the evidence, in case someone figured out what he was doing. Chifeng-zun knew the basic form of the melody from listening to you play it, Sect Leader Lan, but not its intricacies — so Jin Guangyao was forced to combine those songs together, putting his spiritual energy into the section that had been inserted into Cleansing while putting almost nothing into the parts that would have calmed Chifeng-zun’s spirit. Nie Mingjue wouldn’t have realized what was happening to him.”

Lan Xichen’s brow was furrowed, and his lips were slightly twisted, as if he were tasting something bitter. “It isn’t possible. Jin Guangyao has never seen this room, nor has been told of it. He could never…”

“During the Sunshot Campaign,” Wei Wuxian said in a low voice, “he was an undercover agent, and a very successful one. Qishan was full of Wen Ruohan’s secrets, and he uncovered every vital one, memorized them, and relayed them to Golden Carp Tower for you and others to use against the Wen Clan. He’s very intelligent, and very resourceful. You know that better than anybody. Finding this room and infiltrating it would be child’s play for him, wouldn’t it?”

The silence that settled over the shadowy room was heavy enough to choke a person. Lan Xichen’s face showed the emotions warring inside him, struggling with the thought that his closest friend — save his brother — could be so brutal. Wei Wuxian’s hand slipped down to his stomach, as he remembered Jin Guangyao stabbing towards his abdomen as soon as he saw him there. It wasn’t enough to just kill “Mo Lian” for trespassing — the man had tried to kill his baby first.

“I… need to test this,” Lan Xichen finally said. “If I can prove that your deductions are correct, that this melody could have driven Nie Mingjue to a qi deviation… then… I would…” He looked down at the score Lan Zhan had written. “I am going to test it on myself.”

“What?” Wei Wuxian said.

“Brother!” Lan Zhan said, sounding disturbed.

Lan Xichen sank down beside the desk, pain creasing his face. “I have known Jin Guangyao for many years now,” he said quietly. “I have known different sides of him than you have, or most people. I have admired him for his loyalty, his kindness, his sense of duty, and his dedication towards helping others. I have always thought that those who denounced him were either resentful because of his natural intelligence and gifts, or looked down upon him for his illegitimacy. I believed that I knew him better than anyone else, except perhaps his wife.”

Even his wife didn’t know the real him, Wei Wuxian thought. Once she had found out what he had done, Qin Su had been repulsed by him, and had believed him capable of anything. He wasn’t sure how many people had seen the true face of Jin Guangyao — but he knew that probably all of them were dead now. If Lan Xichen had had even an inkling of what he was really like, his own life might have been lost like Nie Mingjue’s.

“And now,” Lan Xichen continued, a faint tremor in his voice, “you ask me to believe that not only has everything he has said and done was a lie, but that he killed one of his sworn brothers. And I helped him, even unwillingly. I must know for myself that what you say is true beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that there is no other possible explanation.”

Wei Wuxian resisted the urge to roll his eyes and groan. His deductions were the only ones that made sense. Even if he hadn’t seen what he had seen in Golden Carp Tower — the memories, Qin Su, the severed head — there was no possible innocent explanation for Jin Guangyao doing what he had done. He had sneaked into a secret room in Cloud Recesses, stolen a page from a dangerous book, and resculpted one of those deadly songs into part of Cleansing. Why would he have changed such an effective purification song if he hadn’t had bad intentions?

And there was also the letter — a letter with such a horrifying secret that it was worth killing over. Lan Xichen seemed to be clinging to the idea that the letter was just a lie from some anonymous enemy. Wei Wuxian felt a pang of sympathy for the man — he was obviously in pain from what he had been shown. But he clung like a drowning man to the shreds of his belief in Jin Guangyao, even when all evidence was against him.

He glanced over at Lan Zhan as they rose back into the main library pavilion, and walked back out into the glittering starlight. His husband was watching Lan Xichen, and there was an unhappy tension in his beautiful face. The two of them had always been close, despite being so different in temperament — and it must be hurting Lan Zhan to see his brother so upset, even if he knew the truth about Jin Guangyao.

As they ventured into the night, Lan Zhan slowed down, and glanced down one of the paths. “Should I see Uncle?” he asked quietly.

Lan Xichen sighed. “He hasn’t yet been told what happened at Golden Carp Tower. Visit him now, while you have the opportunity. I will take Young Master Wei to the Gentian House.”

Lan Zhan nodded solemnly, and his slender fingers entwined with Wei Wuxian’s, lingering for a moment before slipping away. He didn’t say anything, but the touch held a promise that s0on they would be alone together again. Before his husband could leave, Wei Wuxian threw an arm around his husband’s neck, rising up to hungrily kiss him — just long enough, without making things too awkward with Lan Xichen.

The sect leader was quiet as he led Wei Wuxian back to the Gentian House, along the wide white-stone paths that threaded all throughout Cloud Recesses. Since Wei Wuxian was left to stare at Lan Xichen’s back, he began to uncomfortably wonder if his brother-in-law was angry at him for bringing Jin Guangyao’s crimes to the light. It wouldn’t be entirely rational, but people often weren’t — and it wasn’t as if Lan Xichen hadn’t already been angry with him for breaking Lan Zhan’s heart in the past.

As they approached the cottage and the dancing gentians around it, Lan Xichen’s steps slowed. He gazed up at the little house for a moment, before turning to Wei Wuxian with a look of muted sorrow in his eyes. “Young Master Wei… do you know what this house once was?”

“Well, I stayed here when I first got to Cloud Recesses,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Yes, you did. And it is because of its history that your arrival was… so upsetting.”

“Why is that?”

Lan Xichen lowered his eyes to the gentians, and let out a soft sigh. “This was my mother's house, during her life here.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked at the house with mingled feelings of curiosity and confusion. He had heard of Madame Lan in passing in the past, both from Lan disciples and from curious people from other sects. She had been the wife of Qingheng-jun, the mother of their two sons, and technically the mistress of the family. But virtually everyone who spoke of her mentioned that she was completely unseen — she was never present at family functions, and she took no part in running Cloud Recesses. If she hadn’t borne the two heirs to the clan, people might have questioned if she even existed.

But since she had produced the Twin Jades of Gusu, the rumors instead asked why she was never seen, unlike Madame Yu or Madam Jin, who were among the most prominent women in the cultivation world. Most of the people who had spoken about her said that she had been very ill, requiring her to remain in her bed. By the time Wei Wuxian had come to Cloud Recesses, she had been dead for almost a decade.

If she had lived in an entirely different house from Qingheng-jun… did that mean that they hadn't gotten along? Wei Wuxian had seen what a marriage between incompatible people looked like, and he suspected Jiang Fengmian would have welcomed a separate residence from Madame Yu. He felt gratitude wash through him at the knowledge that he would never suffer that fate. It had taken some time for him and Lan Zhan to fit together, but now, he found that he had never been more compatible with someone.

Lan Xichen glanced down among the gentians. A rabbit was nibbling on a leaf there, its snow-white fur gleaming in the lamplight. “As you probably remember,” he said quietly, “my father was in seclusion throughout the year, every year, since before I was born. He paid no attention to the outside world, leaving the running of the Lan Clan to my uncle.”

“I knew that,” Wei Wuxian said. “I didn’t know why, though.”

“It was… because of his love for my mother. And the fact that he had imprisoned her.”

It took a moment for Wei Wuxian to fully absorb what he was hearing. Then he slowly turned back to the little house, taking in its beauty and delicate construction — while also noticing that it was set far, far away from the rest of Cloud Recesses’ buildings.

“My parents met,” Lan Xichen said softly, “on my father’s return from a Night Hunt, just outside of Gusu. My father fell in love with her immediately and completely, with all his heart and soul. Unfortunately, she did not love him in return.” Lan Xichen’s face grew somber. “And shortly afterwards, she killed one of the clan elders.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, but no sounds came out. This was a story he couldn’t even have imagined — especially the mother of the Twin Jades. “Why… did she do that?”

“I have never been told,” Lan Xichen said quietly. “By the time I was old enough to know what she had done, she was already gone, and I could not ask her.”

Wei Wuxian had to bite his tongue to keep from asking more about it. It wasn’t his business — well, maybe it was, because he was now a member of the Lan Clan by marriage — and he knew it would be inappropriate to press for any further information. “What happened then?”

“Needless to say, my father was deeply upset by this development. But he made his choice quickly, after some turmoil. He brought my mother to Cloud Recesses and married her, without telling anyone or seeking approval from the clan elders. By doing so, he saved her life — he stated that she was the only woman he would ever marry, and that anyone who sought to harm her would have him to deal with.”

The entire story was starting to have a familiar ring to Wei Wuxian’s ears. Not the actual events of the story, but the tale of a love so strong and impassable that a man went up against everyone he knew to protect the one he loved. Qingheng-jun had shielded his wife with his status, Lan Zhan had protected Wei Wuxian with his sword and his body. It was painfully, wrenchingly romantic, in a way that made Wei Wuxian feel suddenly sad for the long-dead clan leader.

“After that,” Lan Xichen continued, “he shut her in this house, to live out the remainder of her life. Having done that, he went to another remote house, and shut himself inside, to spend his life in seclusion and atone for having married a woman who had committed a crime against his clan and family.” He gently rubbed a gentian flower between his fingertips. “Obviously his seclusion was… not complete, since a few years later, I was born. A few years after that, Wangji was. But for the most part, they were apart.

“When we were born, we were immediately removed from our mother’s care, and given to others to raise — most notably by my uncle. My uncle… despised my mother. He blamed her for my father’s seclusion, and so he made sure that we were raised with the greatest attentiveness to rules and precepts, and that no tolerance of disobedience or rule-breaking would be allowed.”

Wei Wuxian’s hand strayed down to his stomach again, as he looked up at the little cottage. He felt a sudden pang of sympathy for that unknown, unseen woman who had once dwelled there — hated for actions that, for all anyone knew, might have been justified, kept a prisoner by the man who loved her more than anything. He couldn’t help but imagine her in this place, pregnant and alone, knowing that her babies would be ripped from her arms as soon as she gave birth.

And then he thought of Lan Zhan as he had been when they first met — a cold, fiercely strict adherent to his clan’s ways, who would rather be beaten himself than allow someone else to get away with breaking a rule. Exemplary. Unbending. And inside, a lonely little boy who thought that he had to be perfect — a role model — to avoid his absent father’s fate. A child who had never felt safe on his father’s knee, who had never been cradled by his mother’s warm arms.

Wei Wuxian didn’t remember much of his own parents, since they had died when he was very young. But he remembered enough to know that he had had, however briefly, more than Lan Zhan.

“Did you…” he said quietly, before clearing his throat and saying, “Did you ever see her again?”

“Once a month, we were permitted a few precious hours with her,” Lan Xichen said, his eyes far away. “She never complained, and she never asked about studies or rules or anything our uncle taught us. Wangji never said it in words, but both of us waited all month for our day with Mother. We both loved her more than words could say.

“But then, when Wangji was only six, our uncle told us that we didn’t need to come here anymore. She was gone. He… didn’t understand what Uncle meant. He kept coming back, waiting for her to let him in, no matter how Uncle scolded him. Even after he learned what death was… he kept returning to this place.”

Wei Wuxian turned back to the veranda. He had no idea what Madame Lan had looked like, but for a moment he could almost see her, hugging a tiny Lan Zhan in her arms, treasuring the moments she had with her child. When that warmth and love had left Lan Zhan’s life, he thought, it must have left an emptiness in his soul that nothing could fill. No wonder he had kept returning, no matter what he was told.

“Now,” Lan Xichen said quietly, “I think you understand why my uncle has been so resistant to you, even without knowing you were the Yiling Patriarch.”

A cold gust of wind made the gentians dance around their feet. “He thought history was repeating itself,” Wei Wuxian said quietly.

Lan Xichen gazed at him with a hint of sadness. “He did. He still does, even if you did not commit any deed against our clan. He believes that you will ruin Wangji’s life… and needless to say, when news reaches him of who you truly are, he will be convinced that he was right.”

Except for the wind blowing through the trees and rustling the gentians, there was only silence. Wei Wuxian could only think of the moment when Lan Zhan had kissed him in front of half the cultivation world, destroying his reputation as a righteous, noble cultivator in a matter of seconds. Once news reached his uncle of what had happened, he might no longer be able to live in the clan where he had spent his entire life.

It looked an awful lot like he had ruined Lan Zhan’s life… especially considering what had happened thirteen years ago. He knew that Lan Zhan had freely made every choice that had led him here, but he still hated how much his husband was in danger of losing, As We Wuxian thought, his hand crept back to his stomach, idly stroking it with gentle fingers.

“But that isn’t the reason I wanted to speak to you, Young Master Wei,” Lan Xichen said suddenly.

“It wasn’t?” Wei Wuxian said.

“No. I wanted to ask you… why you have not yet told Wangji.”

Chapter Text

Even without Lan Xichen saying what he was talking about, Wei Wuxian knew that he was talking about the pregnancy. A part of him had been expecting a question like that for most of the evening, ever since he had seen Lan Xichen gaze at his stomach — but it still gave him an uneasy jolt to hear the actual words. His brother-in-law gazed at him with an odd, inscrutable expression that reminded him of Lan Zhan.

“How long have you known?” Wei Wuxian said at last.

“Not long. I first started suspecting around the time we left for Golden Carp Tower, when I first heard that you had been vomiting. For most people, I would have thought that you were sick from nervousness — but I know you well enough to know that that was not the case. It would take far more dire circumstances for you to be that nervous.” Lan Xichen sighed, and slowly ran his fingers along Liebing’s length.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I… incorrectly believed that you and Wangji knew what was happening, and simply had not told anyone yet. I understand most women take a few months to tell anyone, even their family, in case they lose their child early on. I thought that you were simply waiting to inform me of your pregnancy.”

“Oh.” Wei Wuxian felt a squirming sense of unease at the thought that his brother-in-law had figured out that he was pregnant before he or Lan Zhan had. They really had been blind.

“That is why I suggested you go to the doctors in Golden Carp Tower — that they could give you something to alleviate your symptoms.” Lan Xichen briefly passed a hand over his forehead, as if he were fending off a headache. “Then, after you and Wangji escaped, Jin Guangyao confided in me about your encounter with Qin Su — how she had deduced that you were pregnant, and how you had reacted when a doctor confirmed it. That was when I realized… that somehow you and Wangji hadn’t figured it out.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, and slowly ran his fingertips over his still-flat stomach. “In my defense, I’m not used to thinking about pregnancy as a possibility, and neither is Lan Zhan. I always thought of bearing children as something that my future wife would do — not me. I guess I developed a kind of blind spot about the things my new body could do, especially since I’ve only had it a few months.”

Lan Xichen smiled wryly. “I understand. Wangji has also spent the better part of twenty years thinking of you as a man, and… if I am not mistaken, some part of him still thinks of you that way. Who you are, what your heart contains, matters more in his love for you than the shape of your body. So perhaps that is why he hasn’t deduced yet that he has fathered a child.” The sect leader sighed, and sank onto a nearby bench, as if the events of that night had exhausted him. “Since Wangji has said nothing about your pregnancy over the past few days, I can only assume that… for some reason, you haven’t told him yet.”

A cold, clenching sensation twisted Wei Wuxian’s stomach. “If it’s still there. I don’t know if it’s still there.”

Lan Xichen’s smile dissipated like mist in the sunlight. “Yes, I know. Jin Guangyao seemed to think it likely that your child was killed by Jin Ling.” His eyes lowered. “If it is any comfort to you, Jin Ling was horrified when Lianfang-zun mentioned that you were pregnant. I am confident that he would never have harmed you if he knew an innocent baby might be hurt.”

Wei Wuxian smiled a little bleakly. “That helps a little. I didn’t think he would have done that, but… it’s comforting to hear it.”

Lan Xichen glanced down at the white xiao in his hands, slowly turning it over between his fingers. “I blame myself partly for what happened,” he said quietly.

“In what way?”

Lan Xichen’s pale brow furrowed, and his lips twisted slightly. “As I said, I believed you knew that you were pregnant, and that you were simply waiting for the right time to tell our clan about the impending birth of a new heir. But even suspecting that, I chose to remain ignorant about your plans at Golden Carp Tower, because it made me… uncomfortable to contemplate these actions against my sworn brother. Perhaps naively, I believed that you would simply investigate the many locked rooms of Golden Carp Tower — I didn’t realize that you would go so far as to infiltrate Fragrance Palace. If I had… allowed myself to learn what you had planned, I would have spoken up. I would have told you that you should not risk your child in such a venture.”

I shouldn’t have, Wei Wuxian thought, pain threading through his heart. I was cocky. Overconfident. I thought that everything would go smoothly, and never that things would turn out this way. Because of his recklessness, he might never hold Lan Zhan’s child in his arms — and now that he might have lost that chance, it felt like someone had scooped out the inside of his chest.

It took several minutes before he realized that Lan Xichen was staring at his face intently, as if trying to read his thoughts. The sect leader lowered his eyes, and a slight, strained smile crossed his lips. “If it helps, I do not believe you have lost your child. I was not there during much of your recovery, but Wangji was. He mentioned nothing that could have been a miscarriage. You will need to ask him about what happened during your recovery — or what didn't happen.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened.

Lan Xichen rose to his feet and lightly dusted off his white robe; in contrast to its usual pristine appearance, it looked slightly rumpled and grimy, and his hair was slightly disheveled. “I’m afraid that I am not knowledgeable about medical matters… especially those regarding pregnancy… to be able to tell you anything. But either way,” Lan Xichen said firmly, “you should tell Wangji what has happened. He should have been the first to know.”

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian said. “I should have told him right away. I’ll tell him tonight, as soon as he gets back.”

“Very well,” Lan Xichen said. Maybe it was Wei Wuxian’s imagination, but he didn’t look terribly convinced.

Wei Wuxian bid him good night, and sat on the bench, tapping his foot lightly on one of the white paving stones. He gazed off into the waving trees and bushes, waiting for a tall figure clad all in white to glide out of the darkness. Now that he had made up his mind to tell Lan Zhan immediately, he was itching to do it — especially since Lan Xichen suspected that he hadn’t lost his baby. Four days was a long time, but presumably Lan Zhan would have told his brother if Wei Wuxian had started bleeding from between his legs. Or would he have assumed it was just more menstruation?

He absently rubbed his lower belly, roughly where his womb was located, and tried to envision what his baby might look like. The doctor had said that he was only two months pregnant at most, probably less than that, and he knew that the baby was impossibly tiny and unformed at this stage. Did it have a heartbeat right now? Could it hear its parents when they spoke? How long before he could feel it kicking?

“Wei Ying.”

He looked up as Lan Zhan glided up the path towards the Gentian House, as cool and bright as a shaft of moonlight. Wei Wuxian sprang to his feet and sprinted towards him, and a few seconds later he was tightly wrapped in powerful arms. Lan Zhan’s head bowed to bury his face in Wei Wuxian’s hair, and he felt those perfectly-formed, full lips press a fierce kiss on the top of his head, before moving down to capture his own lips.

The next thing he knew, they were inside the house, and Lan Zhan’s strong hands were deftly and swiftly stripping the robes from his body. Wei Wuxian did his best to return the favor, fumbling with Lan Zhan’s belt and trying to peel back his white outer robe. His husband faltered slightly as his fingers brushed the spot where Suihua had stabbed Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian just smiled at him.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, okay?” He peeled off the bandage from his stomach, and was rewarded by the sight of only pale, unmarred skin. The Lan Clan’s medicine was second to none, even for something as serious as a stabbing.

Lan Zhan’s eyes lingered on the expanse of Wei Wuxian’s bare stomach, overhung by rosy-tipped breasts. His breath seemed to stutter for a moment, one hand hand gently brushed over the place where the wound had been, before he pulled away the disheveled robes with more than a hint of roughness. Wei Wuxian slid into his lap, straddling his thighs, and pulled his husband back into another ravenous kiss. All he wanted to do now was forget the whole last week and have Lan Zhan fuck him for the rest of the night. He wanted his husband inside him, scalding and forceful, filling him to bursting.

But he had something to do first.

“Lan Zhan,” he murmured against his husband’s lips. “Lan Zhan… there’s something I have to tell you.”

His husband drew back slightly, a hint of redness in his eyes. “Are you in pain?”

“No, it’s not that.” Wei Wuxian took a deep, steadying breath, and looped his arms around his husband’s neck. “I’m… I might be… a little pregnant.”

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan didn’t react for several seconds — he simply gazed at Wei Wuxian’s face with those striking eyes, as if he hadn’t heard a word. Then his eyes widened imperceptibly, his lips parted, and a strange confused look crossed his features. Wei Wuxian could almost perfectly guess what his thoughts were, because he had experienced the same thoughts when Qin Su had first brought up his pregnancy. What? You can’t possibly be pregnant — you’re a man, after all… wait a minute… now that I think about it…

“Pregnant,” Lan Zhan said at last.

“Pregnant,” Wei Wuxian repeated, smiling a little nervously at him. He could feel the strong, rhythmic beat of Lan Zhan’s heart against his own chest. “You know, what they call it when someone has a tiny person inside their body. Even in the Lan Clan, you must have heard about it.”

Lan Zhan gazed at him a moment longer, his eyes shimmering. “Then… you are going to bear a child?”

“I don’t know,” Wei Wuxian said, his smile fading. “I definitely was back in Golden Carp Tower, but after Jin Ling stabbed me — I don’t know if he killed it by accident. He didn’t mean to, I know that much, so don’t be too angry at him. He’s just a—“

“You didn’t bleed,” Lan Zhan said.

“What?”

“While you were unconscious. You did not bleed. The child is still inside you.” There was a faint waver in Lan Zhan’s voice, and his heart was pounding even more powerfully than before.

A wave of relief washed over Wei Wuxian, and he nearly slumped over in Lan Zhan’s arms. If Lan Zhan hadn’t seen any evidence of a miscarriage, then there hadn’t been one — and he would never lie about it, not to the one he loved most. That meant the sword must have missed his womb, and the wounds and blood loss hadn’t been enough to hurt the baby. The child inside him — Lan Zhan’s child — was still alive, and hopefully unharmed by everything that had happened.

Lan Zhan still looked as if he were in shock from the revelation, his eyes wide and glimmering as he looked from Wei Wuxian’s face to his still-flat belly, and then back again.

Still a little giddy with relief, Wei Wuxian grinned, and leaned into his husband’s embrace. “It’s very impressive that Hanguang-jun managed to knock me up so quickly, isn’t it? We’ve only been sleeping together about two months, and already I’m pregnant. Of course, considering how you fuck me all the time, almost every day, I guess it would be surprising if you hadn’t.”

But his smile faded slightly as he looked down again, and touched his fingertips to his belly. It was still strange to think of something alive and growing inside him — something that would swell his stomach in the months to come, drawing on his body and spiritual energy to sustain itself, until it would somehow come out of him. A part of his mind still rebelled against the idea, telling him that it simply wasn’t possible because he had been born without a womb.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan said in a low voice.

Wei Wuxian looked up and smiled again. “Yeah?”

“Are you… not glad?”

“I am glad,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “Right now I’m just… a little freaked out by the idea of actually being pregnant. And giving birth. I mean, in six or seven months I’m going to have to squeeze something huge out of my body, and I’m REALLY not looking forward to that. All I know is it’s going to hurt a lot, and I’m not sure how women do it without ripping open.”

He rested his cheek on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. His husband’s hands were gently moving up and down his back, stroking his bare skin with the utmost care. He wasn’t entirely sure why — maybe Lan Zhan thought he was upset about the pregnancy, and was trying to comfort him. It wasn’t anything that simple. He wasn’t eagerly anticipating the discomforts of having a baby, but all that seemed to melt away when he thought about actually holding that child, looking into its eyes, seeing Lan Zhan cradling it.

“I’m being honest, Hanguang-jun,” he said, raising his head and gazing intently at Lan Zhan’s face. “I really do want this baby. I couldn’t imagine having anyone else’s baby like this, but yours — that’s different. I’ll have a hundred babies for you.” He wrinkled his nose. “Of course, I can’t drink wine for another seven months.”

Lan Zhan said nothing, but his arms tightened around Wei Wuxian — and suddenly he was kissing him ravenously, their tongue entwined in Wei Wuxian’s mouth, his hands clutching at Wei Wuxian’s body as if afraid that he would slip away. As Wei Wuxian kissed him back, he felt something wet trickling down the side of his face and disappearing into his loose hair. He dug his fingers into Lan Zhan’s back, and curled his legs around his husband’s pelvis…

… only for Lan Zhan to suddenly break off the kiss. Wei Wuxian gasped, his breasts heaving as he looked up into his husband’s face. Lan Zhan looked as if he had bitten into something slightly sour — not exactly what Wei Wuxian had expected after being told that he was going to be a father.

Lan Zhan gazed at him a moment longer, his light eyes searching Wei Wuxian’s features. “Why did you not tell me in Golden Carp Tower?” he asked quietly.

Wei Wuxian winced. This was something he hadn’t wanted to discuss, just because there was no good reason. He had been reckless, not only with his own life but with his child’s — and that child had nearly paid the price for his recklessness. “It’s incredibly stupid, but… I thought that you would cancel the mission if I told you I was pregnant. I was still going to tell you — I promise I was — but I was going to tell you afterwards.”

Lan Zhan’s brow furrowed slightly, and his lips compressed. “You endangered our child?”

“I promise I won’t do anything dangerous like that again, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “If I do, you can tie me up until the baby’s born. I won’t even complain if you do.”

“Mn. I would do that.”

Wei Wuxian leaned forward and kissed Lan Zhan, just deeply enough to taste his lips. “In fact,” he murmured, “I’d enjoy it if you did. I mean, I’ve loved it every time you tied me up in the last month. You could just tie me to the bed, open my legs and do all sorts of things to me, for months and months…”

Something large, burning hot and iron-hard pressing against his thigh let Wei Wuxian know that Lan Zhan very much liked the idea of what he was suggesting. Slender but powerful hands pulled the last scraps of clothing from his body, then slid under his ass to lift him from the floor as if he weighed nothing. As Lan Zhan carried him towards the bed, Wei Wuxian kissed him as hard as he could, hard enough that his lips were going numb. Tomorrow things would get complicated enough, but right now, they had the run of the Gentian House to themselves.

"If I wasn’t already pregnant,” he laughed against his husband’s lips, “I’d tell you to put a baby in me now.”

Lan Zhan immediately pressed him down on the bed. “Shameless!"

They spent the next few hours entangled in each other, fucking passionately. Their sweat-slicked bodies clung to one another, moving rhythmically to the sound of Wei Wuxian’s moans and cries. As always, Lan Zhan remained quiet except for his harsh, deep breathing, his eyes burning like stars in the night sky outside. He also didn’t seem to have lost any of his enthusiasm because of the pregnancy. If anything, he was fucking Wei Wuxian even harder than he usually did.

After Lan Zhan had wrung powerful climaxes from both their bodies, Wei Wuxian slumped bonelessly against Lan Zhan’s chest. His husband was still firmly inside him, filling him completely, and he loved the feeling. “Hanguang-jun, you’re going to kill me all over again if you treat me like that every night,” he murmured drowsily.

He had meant it as a joke, but he felt Lan Zhan’s arms tighten around him. Feeling a warm rush of affection welling up inside him, Wei Wuxian stroked Lan Zhan’s sweat-dampened hair and kissed the hollow of his throat. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan,” he murmured. “You know what I’m like. I’m just talking nonsense. I’m not going anywhere — especially not with everything I have now.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said softly. His breath stirred Wei Wuxian’s rumpled hair.

“I wonder if the baby can hear us when we fuck,” Wei Wuxian said thoughtfully. “It’s still pretty small, so maybe it doesn’t have ears yet. Does it feel what happens when you fuck me? Or when I come? The doctor didn’t say not to fuck while I was pregnant, so probably not, but —“

“Wei Ying.”

“Yeah?”

Lan Zhan shifted him slightly upwards, so that he could gaze into Wei Wuxian’s eyes. He always looked grave and stern, but in the soft lamplight, somehow his light eyes looked even more intense than they usually did.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “I will never let them punish you.”

Wei Wuxian smiled, and curled a lock of Lan Zhan’s hair around his finger. “I know. ”

Lan Zhan’s hands trembled slightly on Wei Wuxian’s body, and his heart began to beat a little faster. “And I will never allow them to take our child from you,” he said quietly. “I would fight to the end to prevent it.”

His deep voice was soft, yet there was a thrum of iron-hard determination behind it. It made Wei Wuxian’s heart swell suddenly, as if love for his husband was so abundant that it was leaking out. Lan Zhan didn’t know that Wei Wuxian knew about his mother’s life at Cloud Recesses, but it was obviously on his mind. Perhaps the connection between Wei Wuxian and his mother had always been in his mind, or perhaps it had been spending the night in her house and thinking about what she had suffered.

Or maybe it had also been about talking to his uncle. Wei Wuxian had no doubt that if he could, Lan Qiren would snatch away his baby as soon as he gave birth, so his child could be raised as a proper Lan. If he had believed that Madame Lan should barely see her children, then the clan elder would fight tooth and nail to keep the Yiling Patriarch away from his child.

And Wei Wuxian would be damned if that happened.

“Me too,” Wei Wuxian murmured, wriggling closer to his husband. “Both Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch will fight whoever they need to fight, to make sure their baby never has to grow up without them.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.

Chapter Text

As he usually did, Lan Wangji woke long before Wei Ying did. He hadn’t slept much over the past several days — after the stabbing, he had spent every moment watching over Wei Ying, administering the Lan Clan’s medicines, and playing melodies of healing and rest. Even last night, he had only slept a few hours before awakening at the usual time, when all members of his sect typically awoke.

But he wasn’t tired. If anything, he felt exhilarated, as if new strength and energy had been poured into him, until every fiber in his body was thrumming with it. He had only felt this way once before in his life — that exquisite night when Wei Ying had told him that he loved him. Moments when a piercing transcendent happiness eclipsed everything else in the world, painful or tragic, past and present.

Lan Wangji looked down at the sleeping figure in his arms, rumpled head resting against his shoulder. Wei Ying was snoring softly, his arms and legs clasped tightly around his husband even in sleep. A tiny, soft smile touched Lan Wangji’s lips, so slight that anyone who saw it might have thought it was their imagination, as the icy, remote Hanguang-jun was said never to smile.

Pregnant. Wei Ying was pregnant.

It seemed like a miracle, even though Lan Wangji knew logically that it was only natural. It was something he had never believed he would have with Wei Ying — because he had fallen in love with another man, and then because that man did not love him in return. As a youth, when he had reluctantly accepted that he would never love someone other than Wei Ying, he had concluded that he would never have children of his own. It had simply become an impossibility.

That was probably why he hadn’t recognized the signs — the nausea, the craving of unusual foods. Lan Wangji had never lived with a pregnant woman, and had spent much of his life in Cloud Recesses segregated from women. While he had known that Mo Lian was a woman capable of bearing children, it was as if that fact had ceased to be relevant once her body was Wei Ying’s. The belief that he would never have children was so firmly entrenched in his brain that he had never considered the possibility.

And now everything had changed.

The joy inside him was so powerful, so all-consuming that he hadn’t even been able to be fully angry at Wei Ying for risking both his own life and their child’s. Though, he reflected, if Wei Ying was too reckless again, he might take Wei Ying up on his offer to be tied up until their child was born. Wei Ying had always acted heedlessly, but now he had more than just his own life to consider — he had to consider their child’s and Lan Wangji’s.

Of course, their lives were more dangerous now than ever, since the entire cultivation world wanted Wei Ying’s blood — and few of them, if any, would hesitate just because of an innocent unborn child. Many would probably insist that the child would be as corrupt and evil as they claimed Wei Ying was, and that its sacrifice would be no loss. Their baby was so small that Wei Ying’s pregnancy wasn’t even visible, yet already its life was full of peril.

And Lan Wangji wasn’t entirely sure what they could do next. His brother could only keep the news about Wei Ying away from Lan Qiren for so long, and when that happened, Cloud Recesses would no longer be a safe hiding place for them. But wherever they went, and whatever happened next, he would fight to his last breath to protect both Wei Ying and their child. At least, he thought, they had uncovered Jin Guangyao’s scheme, and Lan Xichen was reluctantly willing to consider the possibility that his closest friend was Nie Mingjue’s murderer. If they could prove it somehow…

Wei Ying murmured something and nestled closer to Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan… anoth’r one…” he mumbled.

Lan Wangji pushed aside thoughts of their uncertain future, and tightened his arms around Wei Ying. After a few more incoherent mumbles, his husband/wife settled back into a peaceful sleep, nuzzling against him for warmth.

Pregnant.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes for a moment, imagining what he wanted — a baby with Wei Ying’s sparkling eyes and bright smile. In Wei Ying’s arms, reaching tiny hands to grasp Lan Wangji's fingers. Tiny, wobbling and weak, yet with limitless potential that Lan Wangji would make sure was allowed to flourish. He didn’t have much experience with very little babies — the youngest he had ever cared for was Sizhui when he was little…

With that thought, the vision changed to one a little further in the future, of a grinning Wei Ying holding a tiny boy of two or three in his lap — a tiny boy with white robes and a forehead ribbon embroidered with rolling clouds. The child’s image fuzzed a little, and was replaced by a little girl of the same age, dressed in the same robes and ribbon. There was no telling what their child was at this stage — Lan Wangji had heard of many folk methods that supposedly could predict a baby’s sex, but all of them had always seemed unlikely to him. It didn’t matter, either way. Whatever the baby was, boy or girl, Lan Wangji only cared that he or she was healthy, happy and whole.

He glanced around the room, remembering the familiar sight of his mother in this room. She had always been smiling when he saw her, teasing him, holding him, stroking his hair, kissing his head. She had never betrayed the loneliness, resentment and unhappiness that she must have felt to her young sons. He didn’t know what she would have thought of her son falling in love with the Yiling Patriarch, but he liked to think that she would have understood. And he had no doubt that she would have been overjoyed to hear of her grandchild.

Lan Qiren, on the other hand…

Lan Wangji’s smile faded. His uncle was still ignorant that his new niece-in-law was actually Wei Wuxian, whom he had heartily disliked even when he was just a bright-eyed, troublemaking teenage student. When he inevitably found out that not only had Lan Wangji thrown his lot in with Wei Ying, but gotten him pregnant… well, he could only imagine the uproar that would fill Cloud Recesses, despite the rule against clamor.

His face hardened, and his arms clutched Wei Ying more tightly. Wei Ying snuffled faintly, and settled back into his dreams.

Lan Wangji had no doubt that his uncle would want to take their child away, as he had been taken from his mother almost as soon as he had been born. Lan Qiren wouldn’t consider either of them a fit parent for a Lan child, which he would doubtlessly want to raise in the same strict, unyielding manner that his nephews had been raised. Devoted to their studies, wrapped up in the ironbound rules that must be obeyed at all costs, unwilling to associate with someone who lived their life outside such rules.

Lan Wangji wouldn’t allow that. He loved his uncle, but he would fight whomever he needed to fight, even turn Bichen against his own clan for the second time, if it meant keeping his child with Wei Ying and himself. He would not allow his child to grow up as he had, with only the briefest moments with his parents. It was a cold, hard life, especially when he had lost those precious hours every month with his mother. Their child would have both of them at all times, no matter what. He or she would never know that loneliness.

He glanced at the window, seeing the sky growing rosy outside. In the distance, he could hear the bell that rang at the hour for waking, just in case someone overslept. It had no effect on Wei Ying, though — he was still fast asleep, and probably would stay that way for a few more hours.

Lan Wangji slipped out from under the blankets, and draped them carefully around Wei Ying’s naked body. Then he swiftly dressed himself, straightened and retied his ribbon, and arranged his hair. They would need to confer with his brother about what to do next. Hopefully hours of sleep and thought had swayed Lan Xichen into seeing the matter in the right light. If not… well, Lan Wangji was confident that they could find something that would convince him that Jin Guangyao was not worthy of his trust. He had the letter Wei Ying had stolen in his robes, with its revolting revelations about Jin Guangyao’s incestuous marriage.

As he turned back towards Wei Ying, he felt something suddenly grow warm inside his sleeve. It was the jade token that allowed him entry into and exit from Cloud Recesses, allowed him to withdraw money, and various other functions. And one of its purposes was to alert him when someone came into Cloud Recesses unpermitted.

Someone from outside had just arrived.

Chapter Text

The house was small and simple, but it didn’t lack for any actual comforts — it was warm, bright, and smelled good. It sat in the shadow of an unknown mountain, shaded by tall, imposing trees. A fast-moving stream flowed nearby, with a small footbridge built to allow the people who lived there to cross peacefully. Some distance away, a small field had been tilled and planted, with tender little shoots springing up out of the dark soil.

Lan Zhan was seated at the loom when Wei Wuxian opened the door. The loom moved of its own accord, swiftly weaving fine blue cloth with a rhythmic swish and clatter. His husband’s hands were occupied with other things — one hand held an open book, and the other was cradling what looked like a bundle of cloth against his chest.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian sang out. He dropped a small basket on the table, smiling brightly. “I caught four fish today, and it’s barely even noon. I probably could have caught more, but it was getting so hot I decided to come home. How is he?”

“Sleeping,” Lan Zhan said, shifting the bundle against his body.

“That’s my fault,” Wei Wuxian said, brushing grass from his robe. “I was so noisy last night that I woke him up.”

“It is not,” Lan Zhan said. “He always sleeps at this hour.”

“Babies need lots of sleep, I guess. Food and sleep,” Wei Wuxian said, coming over towards his husband and child. He reached out a hand to pull a fold of cloth from the baby’s head, so he could see the infant’s face — only for Lan Zhan to interrupt him with a forceful, “Wei Ying!”

Wei Wuxian’s hand paused in mid-air — only for the modest house, the loom, the baby to all dissolve into nothingness around him. When the world snapped back into crisp reality, the only thing that was still there was Lan Zhan’s face, looming over him. He was gently but firmly jostling Wei Wuxian’s bare shoulder, just hard enough to wake him from a sound sleep.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Zhan said in a quiet but urgent voice. “Wei Ying, wake up!”

Wei Wuxian stared blearily at him for a few seconds, then yawned and tugged clumsily at Lan Zhan’s sleeve. “Mmm, Lan Zhan, it’s too early,” he whined drowsily. “Come back to bed.”

“I cannot,” Lan Zhan said forcefully. He held out his hand, with something cupped in his palm.

Wei Wuxian blinked, and sat up sharply in bed, the covers slipping from his breasts and sliding into his lap. He had learned about the jade token the Lan Clan used back when he was a teenager — their main function was to let disciples come and go freely, without causing alarm. But for the higher-ranked members of the clan — like Lan Zhan — it also served as an early warning system, letting them know when someone unsanctioned trespassed in Cloud Recesses. If Lan Zhan had woken him like that, it meant that someone unknown had just arrived.

Wei Wuxian scrambled out of bed and pulled back on the clothes that Lan Zhan had scattered the night before. “Do you know who it is?” he asked breathlessly.

“I believe so,” Lan Zhan said grimly.

Wei Wuxian yawned again as he followed his husband out into the cold morning, with the sun’s warmth just spilling over the misty mountaintops. The intruder wasn’t just any person, he deduced, or Lan Zhan would have kept them both concealed in the Gentian House. He hadn’t said who he suspected the intruder of being, but considering his alert, grim expression, Wei Wuxian could guess who it was. Jin Guangyao.

Pity. That dream had been so pleasant — just a charming domestic scene of the two of them and their baby, living peacefully away from all the problems and dangers of the cultivation world. Of course, the way things were going right now, that dream might become a reality if they needed to flee and find somewhere to live away from the rest of the world. If Wei Wuxian had the time and freedom to do so, he might have sat back and fantasized about it a little longer. But he didn’t.

Lan Zhan swiftly and silently led him to a pleasant-looking residence — like most buildings in Cloud Recesses, it was pretty in an ascetic kind of way, but not ostentatious. Bamboo grew all around it, like a natural forest that half-hid it from view, and a sign over the courtyard told them that it was the Wintry Room — the designated residence of the Lan family head. Lan Zhan had brought Wei Wuxian straight to his brother’s home, which only strengthened his belief that it was Jin Guangyao they were dealing with.

Lan Xichen was sitting calmly in the room. Unlike the night before, there was nothing in his bearing or appearance to indicate that he was upset by the revelations that had been made — his hair, robes and ribbon were as smooth and unruffled as still water on a windless day. As they came in, he nodded to Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian glanced between them as Lan Zhan seemed to understand the wordless communication, nodding once — and then pulling Wei Wuxian behind a large screen.

Wei Wuxian watched as his husband gracefully sat down, close enough to the screen that they couldn’t be seen behind it, and quickly plunked down and crossed his legs. Then he glanced down at Lan Zhan’s long, slender legs under his robes, and ran a hand along his husband’s thigh. He felt muscles tense under the fine white fabric, but Lan Zhan’s face was as stoic as ever, as if his wife/husband wasn’t touching him.

“Hanguang-jun, are you ignoring me?” Wei Wuxian whispered.

Suddenly strong hands seized his waist, and pulled him into Lan Zhan’s lap. Wei Wuxian smiled contentedly as he settled between his husband’s thighs, and let his back rest comfortably against Lan Zhan’s chest. They wouldn’t get too frisky — after all, Lan Xichen was there — but he still wanted to be close to Lan Zhan as possible. Besides, his brother couldn’t see them with this screen in the way…

“Behave,” Lan Zhan said, so quietly that it could barely be heard.

Wei Wuxian gave him an exaggerated pout, before relaxing once more in his husband’s arms. He could feel long, slender fingers stroking his belly absently, as if Hanguang-jun couldn’t wait to hold his firstborn. That made Wei Wuxian smile — he had thought before that Lan Zhan would probably want to be a father, but it was pleasant to know how happy it seemed to be making him.

Then he heard the door open, and light, measured footsteps came into the room, followed by the rustle of cloth as someone sat down. Then there was the faint scrape of jade sliding over the tabletop. Wei Wuxian had an idea what had been placed there.

“Why are you doing this?” Lan Xichen asked quietly.

“I’m returning this to you,” Jin Guangyao’s voice said softly. “This travel token has allowed me to enter Cloud Recesses for all these years, without fail. However it no longer seems to be working, so I am giving it back to its owner.”

Wei Wuxian’s fingers tightened on Lan Zhan’s wrist. It wasn’t surprising that, after so many years of friendship, Lan Xichen would have given a travel token to his sworn brother, allowing Jin Guangyao to come and go freely from Cloud Recesses. He had probably thought there was no harm in it. If the token no longer worked, then that likely meant that Lan Xichen had somehow revoked the privileges of that particular token. To Wei Wuxian, that seemed like a good sign — it meant that he no longer fully trusted Jin Guangyao.

Though Jin Guangyao sounded as friendly and diplomatic as always, the silence that followed was stiff and chilly. Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth — Lan Xichen was not doing a good job of pretending that nothing was wrong.

Finally, Lan Xichen asked, “What is the purpose of your visit today?”

“It’s regarding the whereabouts of Hanguang-jun and the Yiling Patriarch. Neither one has been seen or heard from since that night, and obviously everyone is very eager to discover where they have fled to. Many clans… believe that Cloud Recesses needs to be thoroughly searched, since a high-ranking member of the Lan Clan was protecting — and married to — the Yiling Patriarch.” Jin Guangyao sounded sympathetic, and Wei Wuxian could almost envision the kind, gentle expression on his face.

But he also remembered that same expression as Jin Guangyao had paralyzed and kidnapped Qin Su, pretending to be concerned with the devastated woman’s condition. And he remembered the seconds when Jin Guangyao had stabbed at his abdomen, coldly trying to kill his baby purely out of cruelty.

“Some of the clans have voiced their discontent about my unwillingness to let them into Cloud Recesses to search,” Jin Guangyao continued. Without being obvious, he gave off the impression of someone self-sacrificial and long-suffering. “If you would allow me to, I could bring a small number of men into Cloud Recesses, just to put their minds at ease.”

Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s body behind him grow tense, and his heartbeat grew faster. He patted his husband’s arm soothingly — both of them knew that there was no way that Lan Xichen would allow Jin Guangyao free access to Cloud Recesses now, especially while they were hiding there. The knowledge that he had infiltrated hidden, secret rooms in Cloud Recesses and stolen the secrets there was clearly weighing on Lan Xichen.

After another odd, awkward silence, Jin Guangyao’s voice quietly said, “What is wrong, Second Brother?”

Chapter Text

“Nothing is wrong,” Lan Xichen said, in a voice that indicated that something was very wrong.

“Is it Wangji?” Jin Guangyao’s voice was soothingly sympathetic. “I understand your concern, Second Brother, but I believe that he hasn’t gone past the point of no return. It is still unknown whether he knew that Mo Lian was actually Wei Wuxian… and even if he did, it may not be his fault. It’s well known that after the Sunshot Campaign, Wei Wuxian was able to use his diabolical powers to abduct and seduce many young women. Who is to say that he could not do the same to a man, in order to hide in plain sight?”

Yeah, it’s well-known because your rapist father made it up, based on the things he wanted to do, Wei Wuxian thought, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of these accusations. I spent my time in the Burial Mounds sleeping by myself in the cold, and I was a virgin until a few months ago.

“That is, if Wangji is even aware of his own actions,” Jin Guangyao continued, sounding regretful. “The Yiling Patriarch may have bewitched his mind. Certainly someone who has spent a lifetime showing himself to be honorable and above reproach would never genuinely fall in love with a person like Wei Wuxian, unless some dark powers were used to force him to do so.”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes and slumped back against Lan Zhan’s chest, wondering how bullshit Jin Guangyao could recite before Lan Xichen said something to interrupt him. The idea that he could — or would — control Lan Zhan’s mind to seduce him was laughable. All it had taken was a firelit admission of love and some passionate kissing to seduce the mighty Hanguang-jun — and he had been an extremely willing participant in the earthshattering fucking that came afterwards. And every day that had followed, for that matter.

He felt Lan Zhan’s arms tighten around him, and quickly landed a quick but strong kiss on his husband’s mouth. It seemed to be annoying Lan Zhan to hear him being slandered by Jin Guangyao as a conniving mind-controlling rapist. For somebody who referred to Lan Zhan as “Wangji,” in the same familiar fashion as his own brother, Jin Guangyao didn’t seem to know him very well at all, Wei Wuxian thought with a smirk.

“Don’t let it trouble you, Second Brother,” Jin Guangyao said gently. “When the time comes, I’ll make sure that everyone listens to what you have to say about Wangji.”

“When what time comes?” Lan Xichen said, sounding mildly disturbed.

“When the Burial Mounds have been purged.”

There was another pause. Wei Wuxian sat up stiffly in Lan Zhan’s lap, his fingers digging into his husband’s arm. That didn’t make any sense at all — as far as he knew, nobody had lived in the Burial Mounds since the Wen refugees had been murdered thirteen years ago.

Lan Xichen seemed just as confused. “I don’t understand.”

“In the past few days, there have been some… unpleasant developments in Moling, Lanling, Yunmeng, and other cities. Graves have been disturbed, and corpses have gone missing without a trace, in ways that haven’t been seen since the Sunshot Campaign. All evidence points to a small army of corpses moving towards Yiling — and considering Wei Wuxian’s history with the region, it isn’t hard to imagine that she is bringing them to the Burial Mounds.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. That was so far off the mark that it was almost astonishing — that meant they were focusing on entirely the wrong place. And Lan Xichen would know this, since he also knew that Wei Wuxian had been firmly unconscious until the night before. He certainly hadn’t been scampering from place to place, stealing corpses and amassing an army that must have required the Yin Tiger Tally to control. What the hell was Jin Guangyao playing at? It couldn’t have been to entrap Wei Wuxian, since Jin Guangyao knew perfectly well that there was no one in the Burial Mounds to entrap, so… was he using fear of Wei Wuxian to distract them from someone or something else?

“Why would he do that?” Lan Xichen slowly asked.

“I don’t think any of us understand the way the Yiling Patriarch’s mind works,” Jin Guangyao said. “We think that she may have the Yin Tiger Tally once again, or that she is creating some kind of malevolent array.”

“Even after being stabbed by Jin Ling?”

“In Wei Wuxian’s old life, he wasn’t slowed down by greater injuries than those. Of course, losing a pregnancy unexpectedly may have weakened her somewhat, which means that we must strike quickly.”

Nice try, Wei Wuxian thought, feeling Lan Zhan absently rubbing his belly.

“If I may, Second Brother,” Jin Guangyao said in a slightly softer voice, “I am sorry for the loss of your niece or nephew.”

Liar, Wei Wuxian thought. He had known that the baby was Lan Xichen’s niece or nephew when he tried to stab Wei Wuxian in the stomach. He just hadn’t planned for Wei Wuxian to live much longer than his child.

“Thank you,” Lan Xichen said a little stiffly.

“A few other clans have come to Golden Carp Tower to discuss the attack on the Burial Mounds. Are you coming as well?”

Lan Xichen seemed to consider it for a moment, before saying in a quiet, steady voice, “I will. Wait for me in the Elegance Room, and I will join you shortly for the journey to Golden Carp Tower. I just need to put a few things in order first.” He paused for a second, before saying quietly, “Is Qin Su still unwell?”

“Unfortunately, she is,” Jin Guangyao said, sounding very unhappy. “My doctors are unable to diagnose her malady, but with care, I am sure she will soon recover.”

A chill rippled over Wei Wuxian’s skin. They couldn’t even be sure that Qin Su was alive at this point — not knowing what she knew about her brother/husband. Jin Guangyao might be imprisoning her in the hopes that she would break down and keep the whole thing a secret… but he might also cut his losses, kill her, and pretend that she had died of some mystery illness.

As if something had occurred to him, Jin Guangyao said suddenly, “I wonder if her illness has something to do with Wei Wuxian. My wife encountered her earlier in the same day, and even discovered her pregnancy. And after their meeting, Qin Su became ill in body and mind. That could not be a coincidence, I think.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Xichen said quietly.

Lan Zhan’s hands tightened around Wei Wuxian’s waist. Wei Wuxian himself wanted to laugh and scoff at the same time — Jin Guangyao really was an expert at twisting and manipulating people. The worst was that his lie was rooted in the actual facts — and to people who didn’t know what had actually happened, Qin Su’s sudden illness and her meeting with Wei Wuxian would look like they were connected. Smart. Insidious.

There was the rustle of cloth, and the sound of footsteps moving out onto the veranda. As they faded away, Wei Wuxian found that he was holding his breath, and Lan Zhan was clutching him tightly against his chest, hard enough that he could barely move a muscle. He stroked his fingers along the back of Lan Zhan’s hand, until his husband’s tense muscles relaxed, and Wei Wuxian sank back into his lap with a groan.

When Jin Guangyao was gone, Lan Xichen swiftly moved behind the screen. If he was in any way bothered by the sign of Wei Wuxian reclining in his younger brother’s lap, he gave no sign of it. “I am going to Golden Carp Tower, to see if I can find more,” he said in a low voice. “Wangji, you must hasten to the Burial Mounds and see what is going on there.”

“I’m going too,” Wei Wuxian said quickly.

“You are not,” Lan Zhan said firmly. “You are pregnant. Our child—“

“Our child isn’t safe here either,” Wei Wuxian said, scrambling out of his husband’s lap and kneeling on the polished floor, so he could face him. “Lan Zhan, once somebody finds out I’m hiding here, the entire Lan sect will turn on me — and it’ll be even worse if you and your brother aren’t here. I don’t think your uncle will even believe that I’m pregnant; he’d probably think it was a ploy to save my own skin.” He glanced over at the closed door. “I don’t think Jin Guangyao was lying about the other clans wanting to search Cloud Recesses either. If I had to flee and somehow got out alive, they’d be waiting for me.”

“They are traveling to the Burial Mounds to kill you,” Lan Zhan said tightly. “Going there would only make that easier.”

“I’m safer with you there than by myself here. I know Hanguang-jun would never let anything happen to me and our baby,” Wei Wuxian replied. He smiled bewitchingly, and landed a kiss on Lan Zhan’s stiff lips. “And you’re safer with me than you are alone, especially with fierce corpses roaming around the place. I know the Burial Mounds better than anyone else, anyway — I’m pretty confident I could hide us both if I needed to.”

A heavy, tense silence fell over the Wintry Room. Lan Zhan’s jaw was set, but he didn’t seem to be able to think of a rebuttal to Wei Wuxian’s points. His hands were clenched into fists and pressed against his thighs. Just by looking at him, Wei Wuxian could tell that he was going to spend the rest of his pregnancy tied to Lan Zhan’s bed.

It wasn’t as if he was eager to take himself into more danger. The previous night, he had believed that his baby might be dead — it had probably been a near miss, too. If he could be sure that his unborn child would be safe, he would gladly sit in the Gentian House and wait for Lan Zhan… but without his husband or Lan Xichen there, he would be living in what was essentially a small city filled with enemies, with no one he could rely on. The cultivation world believed that he was almost godlike in power, but the truth was that he couldn’t fight the entire Lan sect alone.

There was no safe haven outside Cloud Recesses where he could hide, no allies he could depend on. All he had was Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan still looked as if he were struggling to come up with some kind of reason that Wei Wuxian would be safer in Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen took a step toward them, and cleared his throat quietly. “Young Master Wei has a point, Wangji,” he said. “It isn’t ideal for him to accompany you to the Burial Mounds. If his identity hadn’t been revealed, I would agree that Cloud Recesses would be the safest place.”

Lan Zhan looked up sharply, his striking eyes impossible to read. Wei Wuxian wound his fingers around one of his husband’s balled fists, until the slender fingers relaxed enough to twine together.

“But staying here won’t be safe either when our uncle learns the truth,” Lan Xichen continued gently. “You have traveled extensively in the past few months, and the two of you were formidable together. I think that he would indeed be safer with you than here alone.”

“Brother—“ Lan Zhan said.

“I know that you only want to keep your child safe, Wangji. I want that too. But Young Master Wei should stay close to you in that case.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes lowered to the floor in front of him, his dark lashes brushing against his cheek. His fingers closed around Wei Wuxian’s, firmly but gently, as if he were holding one of his little rabbits. Slowly and reluctantly, he nodded.

Wei Wuxian leaned forward and planted another kiss on Lan Zhan’s lips. “I think that was our first argument since we got married,” he said with a grin.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng had spent the last thirteen years imagining when — not if — his former martial brother would return.

Somehow he had never doubted that Wei Wuxian would return from the dead. He had always been infuriatingly good at everything — better than anyone except fellow prodigies like Lan Wangji. Even impossible things seemed to become possible when he tackled them — and by shining so brightly, he had made everyone around him look dim and dull. If any person in the world could be torn to shreds and yet come back to life, it was him.

And it had happened.

Jiang Cheng sat fidgeting in his quarters at Golden Carp Tower, wishing he was back at Lotus Pier. He didn’t like this place — or more precisely, he didn’t like Jin Guangyao. He didn’t like many people, especially since his sister had died and Wei Wuxian had turned his back on them all. He got along with the man all right, since they shared a nephew, but his diplomacy and his smiles got under Jiang Cheng’s skin.

But the man had revealed what Jiang Cheng hadn’t been able to — that the strange woman hanging around Lan Wangji was in fact Wei Wuxian. Just as he’d suspected.

He must have been truly desperate, Jiang Cheng thought, to be willing to live again in the body of a woman. In his youth, Wei Wuxian had gloried in his masculinity — he had excelled in every art and practice that an accomplished man could perform, and he flirted with every pretty girl that he came across. Jiang Cheng had always found that irritating and yet fascinating, that a man would know how to charm women without being a debauched lecher like Jin Guangshan. Just another thing he was fucking perfect at.

Not only did he have a woman’s body now — and was taking advantage of his new status — but he was apparently getting fucked by Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng found the idea… bizarre, and frankly kind of disgusting. What the hell was Wei Wuxian thinking? Maybe he had been so weakened by his death and rebirth that he was willing to do anything to save his skin. It wasn’t exactly being a cut-sleeve, considering his body, but still…

It didn’t even make sense. Lan Wangji hadn’t even liked Wei Wuxian all throughout their previous life — he had criticized him all throughout the Sunshot Campaign over his demonic cultivation. Before that, Wei Wuxian had tormented him with all sorts of annoyances whenever they saw each other — smuggling liquor, slipping pornography into his books, touching his precious ribbon, all sorts of things. People had absolutely despised Wei Wuxian for far less than he had done to Lan Wangji. So why the hell would he agree to marry Wei Wuxian?

And it wasn’t like Wei Wuxian had ever shown interest in Lan Wangji. He’d only ever flirted with girls, never with boys — Jiang Cheng had seen it countless times. Even in the ugly rumors that had popped up over the years, the innocent virgins he had ravished were only female, never male.

Although…. he had always talked a lot about that precious Second Young Master Lan. Even when they weren’t at Cloud Recesses. He had even gone out of his way to want to help Lan Wangji after the Wen attacked his home, when he should have been focusing all his energy on helping HIS own sect. Maybe getting to be Lan Wangji’s whining, shrinking-violet wife was something that appealed to him.

Gah.

It all gave Jiang Cheng a headache.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. In the turmoil that had followed their escape, Jiang Cheng had gone looking for Jin Ling. He found his nephew sitting in one of the many courtyards of Golden Carp Tower. His face had been as white as snow, as stark and sickly-looking as if he had been ill for weeks. He was still clutching Suihua in one shaking hand — and the tip of the sword was red with blood.

“What are you sitting out here for?” Jiang Cheng snapped at his nephew. “Are you a little kid who needs to be told to get inside? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jin Ling only seemed to half hear him. He glanced down at his sword, and his chin trembled. “I stabbed him.”

“Stabbed who?”

“Wei Wuxian.”

A shock radiated through Jiang Cheng’s body, an echo of his youth when Wei Wuxian had been his closest friend — his only friend. Then his sister’s face floated before him, her last moments — and he clamped down on that feeling with fierce, brittle determination, and stared down at the bloodstained sword. He was happy that had happened. Happy. Maybe Wei Wuxian was dead now, and Jin Ling had finally gotten revenge for his murdered parents. It was the least that fucker deserved…

“Good,” he said roughly. “Why the hell are you upset?”

“Pregnant.”

“What?”

Jin Ling’s eyes were wide and expressionless. “He was — pregnant.”

It took a moment for the words to fully sink into Jiang Cheng’s brain. For the moment, the name “Wei Wuxian” and the word “pregnant” simply did not connect, as if they had nothing to do with one another. He always thought they might — that Wei Wuxian’s flirting would lead to some girl inconveniently getting pregnant.

But he… but they…

Pregnant.

Then Jiang Cheng’s mind seemed to stutter and halt, as the name and the word finally linked together inside his head. That couldn’t possibly be what Jin Ling meant. It was ridiculous. That couldn’t happen, and his mind felt like it was whirling like a storm. Wei Wuxian was male — he had always been male — him being pregnant wasn’t — he couldn’t —

“I —“ he said faintly. “It — he —“

For a moment, he saw the face of a young Wei Wuxian, as he had been — a bright youth laughing, carefree, popping lotus seeds into his mouth. Then the vision shifted into a woman dressed all in black, her hair tied back into a high ponytail, her eyes laughing and dancing as she — he — hid behind Lan Wangji’s arm and pretended to be on the verge of tears. They were one and the same — which meant that his former martial brother was…

Jiang Cheng felt as if his brain had just crashed into a wall. He pressed his lips together, and felt a spike of hot, thorny anger at Wei Wuxian — he wasn’t sure exactly what for, but it was definitely there. It wasn’t enough for him to turn into a woman, and get fucked by Lan Wangji — he had to get knocked up by him too? Didn’t he have any shame at all? Any dignity as a man? It was disgusting, absolutely disgusting.

“I didn’t know,” Jin Ling said suddenly. His face twisted, as if he were going to cry. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had known. I didn’t mean to…”

“What are you blubbering about?” Jiang Cheng snapped, his anger welling back into his voice like blood bubbling from a wound. “You didn’t do anything wrong. After everything he’s done, he couldn’t expect mercy from anyone. That baby would have turned out wrong, just like him — just more worthless trash who destroys everyone around him —“

The words leaped out of his mouth before he could think about them. Jin Ling looked up sharply, his face etched with shock and horror. Then he looked down at his bloodstained sword again, a splatter of reddish-brown against the white blade. “I didn’t mean to,” he repeated.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t known how to respond to his nephew’s distress, which had only stoked his anger. Even now, it simmered and bubbled inside him like so much lava, and it found only one outlet: the thought of Wei Wuxian. All of this was his fault. Everything. Nothing bad would have happened if he had just minded his own business and kept to the sect he owed everything to. If he had just been loyal instead of messing around with Lan Wangji and trying to save the last shreds of the Wen Clan, pretending he was some kind of noble hero, he would still be in Lotus Pier, drinking and laughing and supporting the leader he had promised to be the right-hand man to.

Wei Wuxian had promised. He had broken that promise, and for what? A few scraggly elders and children that nobody would miss anyway? For the prissy, haughty Lan Wangji? Yanli had died because of him, and then he had followed her a few months later just as Jiang Cheng had finally trapped him — leaving Jiang Cheng with nothing but his rage and grief, with no way to channel it. He had searched the dark crevices of their society for some shred of Wei Wuxian so he could get some kind of revenge for his betrayals.

And now Wei Wuxian was alive again — out of all the people who had died, why was HE the one who got the second chance at life? Why would anyone bring him back to life? Jiang Cheng’s father and mother, Yanli, Jin Zixuan — they were all still dead because of him. Yet he came back to life as if nothing had happened — female now, but still alive.

It was unfair. So unfair.

Even the knowledge that Wei Wuxian had probably lost a child couldn’t dissolve those feelings of rage and betrayal. It would never have happened if he had just stuck to his own sect and let others — especially Lan Wangji — deal with their own problems. It was his own fault.

There was a faint knock at the door.

“What?” Jiang Cheng snarled.

“Sect Leader Jiang, Sect Leader Lan has just arrived with the Chief Cultivator,” a muffled voice said. “Once Sect Leader Jin is ready, we will be departing for the Burial Mounds.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Just a minute.”

Chapter Text

The sun was shining brightly through a veil of clouds as they left Cloud Recesses. Rabbits followed them from Little Apple’s meadow to the main gates — round white balls of fur with eyes like scarlet jewels, eagerly tumbling and scrambling around Lan Wangji’s feet as they walked. He moved carefully to avoid stepping on them, until they could follow him no further — the barrier around Cloud Recesses kept them in.

Wei Ying had been mercilessly teasing one of the rabbits on the journey to the gates. Nothing could keep his spirits down for long — nothing but the worst experiences of his life, Lan Wangji had seen. He released the rabbit as they slipped onto one of the smaller, less-used paths out of Cloud Recesses, leading the donkey down the narrower road until they were out of sight of Lan disciples. The fewer people who saw them go, the better.

Two small figures appeared in the sky as they left, soaring in the direction of Lanling — and though Lan Wangji couldn’t see them clearly, he knew that they were Jin Guangyao and his brother. Unease crept through him, like smoke from a brewing fire. Jin Guangyao was not trustworthy, and extremely dangerous. Even those closest to him were not safe — and while he had not harmed Lan Xichen directly in all these years, there was no telling whether he would do so if he realized the other clan leader knew the truth about him.

Of course, he thought, glancing at Wei Ying, there were other things he had to worry about as well. Wei Ying had promised not to be reckless, not to put their unborn child at risk. But Lan Wangji knew that their lives were perilous enough right now that he might not be able to keep that promise, especially in the place where various clans were converging. Yet, at the same time, he knew that Wei Ying and his brother were right — while Cloud Recesses was his home, it was also not a place they could hide for long.

“Lan Zhan, my stomach hurts,” Wei Ying whined behind him.

Alarm threaded through Lan Wangji. “We will stop so that you may rest.”

“I don’t need to rest,” Wei Ying said. He smiled wickedly, his eyes sparkling like dark gems. “I’ll just ride the donkey. But I need a little help so I don’t pull my wound open.”

They both knew that it was a lie, Lan Wangji reflected. His wound was fully healed without even so much as a scar — if it hadn’t been, they wouldn’t have been able to make love so vigorously the night before. Wei Ying would definitely have let him know if he had experienced any discomfort. But… there didn’t seem to be any harm in his request — he had ridden the donkey before, and Lan Wangji was more than strong enough to lift him.

He wrapped his arms around Wei Ying’s body, making sure not to touch the place where the wound had been, and carefully lifted him off of his feet. Wei Ying’s arms wound around his neck and shoulders, his soft lips grazing Lan Wangji’s cheek. He turned his face to kiss them as he lifted Wei Ying onto the donkey’s back, savoring the feeling of his husband/wife’s slender, warm form in his arms.

When the kiss ended — several minutes later — Wei Ying straightened up on the donkey’s back, an enchanting smile on his lips. “I love you so damn much, Lan Zhan,” he said warmly, stroking the side of his husband’s face.

Lan Wangji simply gazed back at him, his eyes drinking in the sight of Wei Ying’s smile. He loved Wei Ying more than he could ever express in his limited words. Even if he had his brother’s gift for speaking to others, he doubted he could ever describe how deeply-rooted that love was in his soul, how it filled every vein and sinew of his body, how Wei Ying’s presence seemed to suffuse every thought he had. The sight of him happy — even for just a moment, over something small and inconsequential — was like a soothing balm for Lan Wangji’s soul.

And the words “I love you”… he had been waiting more than a lifetime to hear them. He had spent his teenage years fighting against a love he had believed was wrong… and when he realized that there were things more important than rules and obedience, it had been too late.

That smile clung to Wei Ying’s lips as they continued, and Lan Wangji found himself gazing up at his face as they traveled. Wei Ying seemed to be thinking about something, and as he did, one hand slipped up to rub his stomach. “Lan Zhan,” he said suddenly.

“Yes?” Lan Wangji asked.

“When our baby is born — when it’s a little older, when it can walk — how are you going to carry it around?”

Lan Wangji frowned slightly. He didn’t really understand the question — how many ways were there to carry babies? “How should I carry it?”

“Can you carry the baby so it’s sitting on your shoulders?”

“If you want.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure why, but this answer made Wei Ying’s face light up even more, as if Lan Wangji had just given him something that he very much wanted. The luminous brightness of his eyes and smile made Lan Wangji’s heart swell — and for a moment he could barely believe his own good fortune. He had believed for so long that he would never have Wei Ying’s love — or more than brief moments of infuriation mingled with aching yearning. To be loved by that bright, elusive soul… it was something he had only dreamed about.

And to be having a child together… that was more than he had even dreamed.

If Wei Ying was at all nervous about their journey, he gave no sign of it — he seemed to simply be enjoying traveling with Lan Wangji once again. He began playing his bamboo flute not long after, and though there was no spiritual energy behind the first few notes, Lan Wangji felt his spirit lift. Like others in his clan, he knew a great deal about music — magical and not — and Wei Ying had a gift for the flute.

Then he recognized the melody. It was “Wangxian.”

He had never played the song for anyone but Wei Ying, and certainly never told anyone about its title. It had been crafted as a plaintive, forbidden expression of longing when he was a teenager — wanting to be one with the beautiful, enchanting, infuriating boy who haunted his thoughts and dreams. It was only in private, away from his uncle’s disapproval, that he had been able to express those feelings — not to the one he loved, but through his guqin.

Just as quickly as he had begun the song, Wei Ying stopped. “Lan Zhan!” he said excitedly.

“Wei Ying?”

“What was the name of the song you sang to me back at the Xuanwu of Slaughter’s cave? I was sick, and you hummed a song for me.”

Lan Wangji gazed at Wei Ying’s face, which looked luminous and pale in the moonlight. “Why do you ask?”

“I think — I think that was how you recognized me, wasn’t it?”

Lan Wangji lowered his eyes slightly, his heart thudding furiously against his ribs. “Mn.”

Wei Ying let out an overjoyed peal of laughter, his eyes sparkling. “I knew it! Who composed that song?”

“I did.”

“You did?” Wei Ying’s eyes widened. “I thought it was some secret Lan song — maybe a healing song — and you didn’t let outsiders hear it. But you really composed it?”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying’s brows knit together. “So… if it was your song, and you knew it was me when you heard it… does that mean no one else has heard it?”

Lan Wangji felt a deep, powerful throb in his chest. “No one else.”

Wei Ying looked even more delighted by this revelation. He slid from Little Apple’s back, landing lightly in front of Lan Wangji, and placed both hands on his chest as he gazed into his husband’s face. It was a gesture that was achingly intimate, especially with the proximity of Wei Ying’s lips. It sent arousal flooding through Lan Wangji’s body, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to push Wei Ying onto the grass beside the road, bare his body in the moonlight, and push as deeply inside him as he could.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said in a low voice, “what did you call it?”

Lan Wangji gazed into those intoxicatingly deep, dark eyes. “‘Wangxian,’” he said quietly.

The cool, soft night wind blew a few strands of Wei Ying’s hair across his face. For a moment, he said nothing — and then a giddy, ecstatic smile crossed his face, and another peal of laughter escaped him. “Lan Zhan — you were thinking about me that much back then? You named it after both of us — and you never sang it or played it for anyone else? You romantic!”

Lan Wangji couldn’t really think of anything to say in response to Wei Ying’s teasing. He had known that that would happen — even if Wei Ying loved him now, he still had a trickster’s merry, teasing personality. So he decided to say nothing — he simply grasped Wei Ying by the waist, pulling his love roughly against him. Wei Ying grinned up at him, more maddeningly tempting than ever.

The next thing he knew, they were kissing — hot, wild kisses that left Lan Wangji ravenous for more, plundering Wei Ying’s sweet mouth without restraint. Dimly he was aware of Wei Ying’s hands pulling at the front of his robes — and then sliding inside, pressing chilled fingers against Lan Wangji’s feverish skin. Lan Wangji returned the favor, swiftly and precisely stripping away Wei Ying’s belt, and peeling away the robes to reveal the slender body inside. A harsh, trembling breath escaped him.

Little Apple watched with mild annoyance as they stumbled to the side of the road, and disappeared behind the long grass. Deciding that they would be busy for awhile, it began searching for any tender plants to nibble.

Chapter Text

Golden Carp Tower rose from the heart of Lanling, like a precious jewel embedded in a stone. Normally, Lan Xichen would have relaxed as Shuoyue swooped down towards the front gates, knowing that he was welcome at any time of the day or night. That was how it had been ever since Jin Guangyao had taken up the mantle of the Jin Clan’s leadership — his closest friend in the world had become a regular visitor.

But the air was subtly different from how it had been during the beginning of the Grand Symposium, less than a week ago. Back then, the general atmosphere had been celebratory, dignified, a display of wealth and hospitality that no other sect could rival. It had welcomed those who came to the palace as honored guests, and offered them every luxury and comfort that its master could devise.

Now, however, there was an air of darkness and tension around the place. Lan Xichen could see that many cultivators were patrolling down below with their swords at the ready. They moved with urgency, as if trying to cover as much ground as they possibly could. Archers were standing ready at certain strategic points, ready to shoot anyone flying into the palace if they weren’t recognized as a friend.

“We’ve had to increase security,” Jin Guangyao said quietly, “in case the Yiling Patriarch attempts anything.”

“Very wise,” Lan Xichen said, hoping that he sounded convincing.

He was not used to consciously misleading people — at most, he hid how he felt from them out of courtesy, such as his prior anger at Wei Wuxian for seemingly playing with his brother’s heart. Lying was… something else, something he had been raised strictly not to do. But he could not betray that he knew perfectly well that the Yiling Patriarch was not coming to Lanling, and that Wei Wuxian was not at all responsible for the grave-robbings happening all across the land. If he did, Jin Guangyao would know that he had been in communication with Wei Wuxian.

He already felt guilty about lying to his sworn brother, even though he had caught Jin Guangyao in multiple lies. But his mind kept trying to explain away the discrepancies in his story — tried to find ways in which his closest friend could have simply made mistakes, misinterpreted innocent things as something sinister or wrong. Tried to interpret the way things were turning out, so that he wouldn’t have to turn on his sworn brother.

… and then he remembered the missing page. He had no proof that Jin Guangyao had stolen the page, and yet… he had had free access to Cloud Recesses. And Wei Wuxian had played the altered melody from memory, before he had even known of the existence of the book it came from. Either Wei Wuxian had concocted a scheme so ridiculously complicated that it boggled Lan Xichen’s mind to contemplate it… or his sworn brother was guilty.

But he didn’t want to believe it. He would give Jin Guangyao every opportunity to prove himself innocent.

Shuoyue touched down on the ground, before swooping up and sliding into Lan Xichen’s scabbard. He silently followed Jin Guangyao through the courtyards and halls of Golden Carp Tower, his thoughts churning in his head. What could he say to discern the truth? His questions needed to sound natural, and also be subtle enough that their probing nature wouldn’t be easily discerned.

One thing he did notice was that there were a lot of non-Jin cultivators still there, their faces grim and their bearing tense. And he recognized a number of clan leaders, often huddled together and talking in hushed tones. Apprehension flickered to life inside Lan Xichen’s heart, and he found himself moving a little faster to catch up to Jin Guangyao. “A-Yao, are all of these people preparing to go to the Burial Mounds?” he said quietly.

“Yes, indeed,” Jin Guangyao said pleasantly. “Most have not even left since the Symposium was cancelled. Instead, they have summoned more people from their sects, so that a second siege can be arranged.”

Lan Xichen had already known that they were planning that, but it still sent a chill through his body. Wangji and Wei Wuxian were headed in that direction, and though they would arrive before the siege, their quest was still perilous. What reason would someone have to provoke an attack on the Burial Mounds, when there was no one living there now and Wei Wuxian had not been there since his death? Was it all a distraction, smoke and mirrors?

“I hope that you will accompany us with a number of Lan Sect disciples,” Jin Guangyao said, looking concerned.

“I suppose so,” Lan Xichen said. “If you feel it’s necessary.”

Jin Guangyao looked mildly astonished. “Surely you believe that it is necessary, don’t you? The Yiling Patriarch visited a massacre on every clan thirteen years ago. She’s vicious, ruthless and cannot be reasoned with — and if we are to have any hope of stopping her, then we must act quickly and decisively, with as many people as we have.” He placed a gentle hand on Lan Xichen’s shoulder. “And the sooner she is destroyed, the more likely we are to free Wangji from her clutches.”

Lan Xichen repressed a wry smile. He knew that there was nothing Wangji wanted less than to be “freed” from Wei Wuxian. He had never seen his little brother happier than he had been since the two of them had returned to Cloud Recesses a little over a month ago. He had given them space for most of those weeks, but every time he saw his brother, he had marveled at how happy he looked just to be married to his fated person. And that morning, when he had first come to the Wintry Room, Wangji had looked almost radiant with joy. Without even asking him, Lan Xichen knew that Wei Wuxian had kept his word and told Wangji about the pregnancy.

“I will summon some disciples from Cloud Recesses,” he said agreeably. If nothing else, he reflected, accompanying the others to the Burial Mounds might make it easier to run interference for Wangji.

A familiar figure walked by him, casting a rather sour look at him. Lan Xichen only caught a glimpse of the man’s face, but he recognized it — Su She, of the Moling Su clan. Jin Guangyao smiled pleasantly at him, and murmured, “It’s good to see you, Minshan.”

Su She greeted him with a smile in return, but his face became wintry as he saw Lan Xichen. For his part, Lan Xichen felt the same. Though he would never be impolitic enough to say so, he knew the Su clan’s reputation as a blatant and inferior copy of the Lan sect. The clan leader himself, once a peripheral disciple of the Lan sect, had copied many of Wangji’s traits and techniques, though the results were far less impressive. He even carried a black guqin, just like Wangji.

As the other two men briefly conversed, Lan Xichen sighed. He had more important things to think about than the Su clan. Once he sent word to Cloud Recesses, there would be no way to hide the truth from his uncle any longer. He would just have to uncover the truth quickly, so that he could decide what the best course to take would be. And then, just hope that the truth coming to light would exonerate the innocent somehow.

And then… he would have to come up with some kind of solution regarding Wei Wuxian. The cultivation world would not stand for one of the major sects allowing the Yiling Patriarch to live within its boundaries. Not as things stood now. Lan Xichen couldn’t think of a way to convince them that the bloodthirsty master of death wasn’t seeking revenge against them — he seemed content just to be with Wangji. And without the Yin Tiger Tally, he didn’t even have the apocalyptic power that he had demonstrated thirteen years ago.

Other sect leaders were gravitating towards Jin Guangyao now, still chattering amongst themselves. Lan Xichen saw familiar faces amongst them, including Jiang Wanyin. He looked irritable as always, but there was an odd tension in his face that wasn’t usually there. He was glancing around the room, as if scanning for someone who wasn’t there.

“A-Yao,” Lan Xichen whispered. “Where is Jin Ling?”

“I’m afraid he has slipped out on his own,” Jin Guangyao said regretfully. “I haven’t been able to track him down.”

Lan Xichen’s eyes widened, and his lips parted. Before he had gone back to Cloud Recesses to find his brother, Jin Guangyao had told him about Wei Wuxian’s pregnancy. Jin Ling had been there, his sword still stained crimson with blood — and the boy’s face had drained of color when he heard about the baby. Now that he thought about it, it had been… very unkind of his sworn brother to let Jin Ling know that he had just seemingly killed an innocent unborn child, even if he hadn’t meant to.

For a moment, thoughts of the things he had seen over the last day swirled in his head. The letter Wei Wuxian had stolen, accusing A-Yao of knowingly marrying his own sister. The missing page from the book. The melody of “Cleansing,” cunningly corrupted and supposedly reworked to drive Nie Mingjue past the border of bloodstained madness. None of them conclusive in their own right… but they formed a disturbing pattern.

Chapter Text

They spent a few hours fucking by the roadside in the moonlight, Wei Wuxian breathlessly chattering as Lan Wangji plunged into him wildly. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Lan Zhan,” he said exultantly, looking up at the shadowed face over him. “I love seeing your face while you fuck me. I love seeing your eyes when you come inside me — ah! — ngh! — don't bite me so hard there — go a little easier, Lan-er-gege!”

“If you want it — easier,” Lan Zhan grunted, “then don’t speak like that!”

“Why? Does my mouth make you angry? Or…” Wei Wuxian purred, “does it make you want to fuck me even more? Do you like how I feel inside when you — ah!”

Lan Zhan’s hands gripped his hips as he drove even deeper. “You’re — shameless!”

Wei Wuxian laughed, throwing his head back. “Does it turn you on even more to know you fucked a baby into me?”

This was the best feeling in the world, as far as Wei Wuxian was concerned. He loved the feeling of Lan Zhan’s hands gripping his body, the sweat-slicked expanse of his husband’s abdomen and chest heaving with harsh breaths, the feeling of pushing and pulling inside Wei Wuxian’s body. Nobody else who knew Hanguang-jun, Wei Wuxian thought exultantly, would ever have thought he was this unrestrained in bed. Until they had actually slept together, he had assumed that Lan Zhan would be cold and passionless.

They slumbered in the grass for a few hours, naked and entwined with each other. The night air caressed their bare skin, making Wei Wuxian shiver and snuggle harder against his husband. Lan Zhan tucked Wei Wuxian’s head under his chin and held him tightly. Though he didn’t say a word — he usually didn’t unless Wei Wuxian spoke to him first — there was a comforting familiarity to his silence. His deep, steady breathing was strangely soothing, and Wei Wuxian soon drowsed off in his arms.

When he woke up, the first thing that he noticed was that Lan Zhan was still beside him, though he was now fully dressed. His husband was sitting cross-legged on the grass, with his guqin laid across his lap. His fingers were gently plucking “Wangxian” from the strings, the familiar melody rippling like a brook just before it tumbled into a waterfall. Wei Wuxian smiled sleepily, and thought about pulling out his flute to duet with his husband…

… only for his stomach to suddenly lurch.

He barely managed to stand up and throw off the blanket before the vomiting started again. He hunched over with one hand on his stomach, miserably waiting for his stomach to empty out. Then he felt a hand drawing back his hair from his face so that it wouldn’t get splattered. At the same time, another hand gently rubbed circles on his back, as if to say “there, there, it’ll be okay. Just let it all out.”

“I hate this,” he gasped when the puking finally stopped.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said sympathetically.

“But I guess it’s a good thing,” Wei Wuxian said, wiping his mouth on his wrist. “I wouldn’t still be throwing up if I weren’t still pregnant, right? I guess that proves the baby is okay.”

Lan Zhan’s face softened faintly. Wei Wuxian would have kissed him, if his mouth hadn’t been so disgusting.

They were back on the road before long, passing rice paddies, fields and stretches of forest. The landscapes looked so tranquil and pleasant that it was easy to forget that they were being hunted by the entire cultivation world. Easier still to forget that they were headed to the most forsaken place that Wei Wuxian had ever lived, with the entire cultivation world preparing to converge there to find him.

In fact, if Lan Xichen hadn’t just set out for Golden Carp Tower to investigate further, Wei Wuxian would have toyed with the idea of disappearing, at least for a few months. Maybe until after the baby was born. The dream from a few days ago was still lingering in his mind, with its simple, warm domesticity. The idea of living far from the schemes and politics of the great sects, with only his husband and baby, was an attractive one. Just let the cultivation world deal with its own messes for awhile. They could find a little house on a mountain somewhere, he could spend his pregnancy peacefully there…

Yet as much as he liked the idea, he knew they couldn’t. If Jin Guangyao had already been exposed for what he truly was, and Lan Xichen wasn’t imperiling himself with his sworn brother, then he might have brought up the idea to Lan Zhan. But he hadn’t been exposed, and Lan Xichen was risking himself. So they would stick with their original plan to go to the Burial Mounds, and… deal with whatever came next.

He glanced to the side as they passed a small farm. Three people were in front of it, dressed in rough, well-worn clothing — a young man, a young woman, and a small child fast asleep in the wife’s arms. He didn’t look any older than three or four — a year or two older than A-Yuan had been when Wei Wuxian had first known him.

… and he couldn’t help but wonder what Lan Sizhui would think when he heard about the pregnancy. That he would have something akin to a baby brother or sister. Of course, when he found that out, he would also learn that the pregnant woman bearing Hanguang-jun’s child was the Yiling Patriarch, and who knew what he would think then? He was more kindly disposed towards Wei Wuxian than many people, but still… he didn’t remember…

The two adults were speaking with one another, and a snatch of conversation floated across the road. “… Yiling Patriarch…”

Wei Wuxian froze, and clutched at Lan Zhan’s hand. He stopped immediately, pulling on Little Apple’s reins, and the donkey stopped with a bray of protest.

“… always heard about him growing up,” the woman was saying. “Everyone said, ‘If you’re bad, the Yiling Patriarch will catch you and feed you to his ghosts!’ When I was older, I thought he was just a scary story to keep children from misbehaving — but it turns out he was real. And he’s come back to life somehow.” She shivered, and hugged her son a little tighter.

“I thought about him as soon as the grave-digging started,” her husband said. “Everyone’s talking about him now.”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. He couldn’t really blame anyone for associating him with violated graves and missing corpses. During the Sunshot Campaign, he had dug up entire Wen graveyards and turned their dead into an army of fierce corpses — and every time another Wen soldier or cultivator died, he would ensnare them with Chenqing and turn them into another fierce corpse, sent forth to slaughter their own kith and kin. Now that he looked back on it, his methods had been uncharacteristically brutal and cruel, even for someone in the midst of a war where almost anything was allowed.

But at the time, he was seen as a hero. Lan Zhan had been the only one who criticized him for his use of corpses and resentful energy. At the time, he had thought that Lan Zhan was too stuck-up and rule-bound to understand what was necessary. He had believed that Lan Zhan despised him anyway, and he hadn’t realized until recently how much the thought of being disliked by Lan Zhan had bothered him. He hadn’t realized that for all Lan Zhan’s criticisms of him, he had loved him all the same.

“I heard some rumors about him that didn’t sound very likely,” the young man said suddenly.

“Like what?”

“It’s unbelievable, but some of the rumors say that he’s not a man anymore. That he’s a woman now. I don’t really see how it’s possible for that to happen.”

“Well, he came back to life,” the wife said. “That seems just as impossible, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe. It doesn’t really matter if he’s a man or a woman, though. I remember that even ordinary folks were terrified of him back then. The stories I overheard about him were bloodchilling — the things he did. He’s a madman, a monster who even turned against his own flesh and blood, and being a woman won’t change what he is.”

Wei Wuxian flinched. That wasn’t technically true — he didn’t have blood ties to the Jiang Sect, and his only kin had died when he was only the age of that little boy. He glanced down at his still-flat stomach. The only flesh-and-blood relation he had in this world was the tiny baby inside him. And when everything was said and done, the only person in the world who still really believed in him was Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan looked up at him, then tugged on the donkey’s reins. When they had left behind the farm, he said quietly, “Wei Ying… they do not know you.”

Wei Wuxian smiled ruefully at him. “I know. It just isn’t pleasant to know that everybody hates you.”

One of Lan Zhan’s hands clasped over Wei Wuxian’s. “I do not.” His eyes were wide, serene and unblinking; no one who saw him could have believed he was anything but sincere.

Wei Wuxian laughed at the massive understatement, and intertwined his fingers with his husband’s. “Well, you’re the one whose opinion I care about, Hanguang-jun,” he said playfully. “If you still like me, I know I can’t be that bad.”

Lan Zhan regarded him solemnly, as if contemplating what — if anything — he was going to say next.

But just then, Wei Wuxian noticed something out of the corner of his eye — a dark shape darting among the trees like a shadow. For a moment, he almost alerted Lan Zhan to something following them at a distance, so quietly and unobtrusively that he almost hadn’t noticed it. But then he recognized it — the quick, inhumanly strong movements, the swiftness, the way it moved. He could have died and come back to life a dozen times, and he would have recognized that figure.

Wen Ning.

He had barely identified the fierce corpse than something pale and cold blew past him like a wintry wind, gleaming silver in the daylight. Bichen had just soared through the woods, toward Wen Ning.

Chapter Text

“Lan Zhan, don’t!” Wei Wuxian bellowed. “Call it back!”

There was a split second of hesitation, and then Bichen arced back towards them like a shard of moonlight and ice. Its hilt smoothly slipped back into Lan Zhan’s hand, but he didn’t seem inclined to sheath it. His keen eyes stared intently into the woods, ready to unleash his sword again. Wei Wuxian realized that he had spent too long staring into the woods — it had drawn Lan Zhan’s attention, and he had mistaken Wen Ning for a threat.

Wei Wuxian jumped down from Little Apple’s back, and shouted into the woods, “Wen Ning! Come on out!”

A black-clad figure with stark white skin stepped out of the shadows, looking somewhat abashed. Wen Ning’s clothing looked a little more worn than it had the last time, his hair a little wilder, but otherwise he looked the same as he had the last time that Wei Wuxian had seen him, which… wow, had it been all those weeks ago? He supposed he had been spending most of his time in Cloud Recesses, which Wen Ning couldn’t enter without a token — and the Lan Clan would probably rather drink themselves under the table rather than give a fierce corpse free entrance.

“You’ve been following us?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Wen Ning nodded, looking a little embarrassed. “Ever since you left Cloud Recesses.”

“Does that mean you’ve been waiting outside for the last month?”

“Um, yes.” Wen Ning’s dark eyes glanced over to Lan Zhan, and he quickly smoothed his rumpled hair, as if afraid he would be reprimanded for untidiness.

Wei Wuxian glanced over at his husband. He was pretty sure that Lan Zhan didn’t care how scruffy Wen Ning looked right now — he looked irritated that the fierce corpse was so close to his pregnant wife. Maybe he was worried that Wen Ning would go berserk and harm Wei Wuxian and the baby — but he didn’t have anything to worry about. Wei Wuxian was confident in his own abilities.

He plunked an arm on Wen Ning’s shoulder, and leaned over. “I actually wanted to ask you for some help with something. You used to help your sister with her medical practice, didn’t you?”

“Um, yes,” Wen Ning said, looking a little apprehensive.

“Did you ever check on a pregnancy?”

“… sort of. I was present when she did examinations, but I didn’t do them myself,” Wen Ning said. Then his eyes widened. “Wait… you mean you’re…”

“Pretty sure, yeah,” Wei Wuxian said. “But I suffered an injury to my stomach, so I want to make sure the baby is okay.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh,” Wen Ning said slowly. His brow wrinkled slightly, and he looked as if he were still processing the new information. “Well, that’s… that’s not very surprising, I guess. I just need to get used to the idea of you… being pregnant, Young Master Wei.”

“Trust me, you’re not the only one,” Wei Wuxian said with a cheeky grin. Then his smile vanished, as the phrase “not very surprising” floated through his head. The last time he had seen Wen Ning, he had been waiting outside and Lan Zhan’s room while they fucked for hours. And if he had been following them ever since they left Cloud Recesses… including the previous night…

Wen Ning must have guessed what he was thinking, because he quickly raised his hands. “I wan’t watching, I swear! I turned the other way the whole time. And I was so far away that I couldn’t hear much either!”

There were times when Wei Wuxian was glad he had been born with very little capacity for shame, and this was one of those times. Someone else would have been writhing in agony at the thought of Wen Ning sitting in the bushes, listening to them fuck. Again. But he just felt the overwhelming desire to laugh at how awkward the whole idea was — not to mention the pressing need to find some way to notify Wen Ning when he and Lan Zhan needed some time alone together. Maybe some kind of signal so he could retreat to a safe distance.

Lan Zhan did not look pleased to know that someone had witnessed, even from a distance, their tryst by the roadside. He looked even less pleased at the idea of Wen Ning examining Wei Wuxian, even to confirm that their child was still alive. Wei Wuxian had seen flashes of jealousy from time to time — now that he looked back on it, he had seen them even before he had become aware that Lan Zhan loved him. But this was Wen Ning. He was like a younger cousin, not someone who could be competition.

Then Wei Wuxian’s eye fell to Wen Ning’s hand. It had a dark crimson streak just under his thumb, starkly standing out against his chalk-white skin. “Wen Ning,” he said quietly. “Is that—“

“Blood,” Lan Zhan said curtly.

Now that Wei Wuxian thought about it, he could smell the odor of blood all around Wen Ning. The fierce corpse didn’t look as if he had been harmed — Wei Wuxian would probably have noticed if he had — but he quickly attempted to wipe away the blood.

“It’s not blood!” Wen Ning said immediately. “Or actually… well, yes, it’s blood. But don’t worry, it’s not from living people.”

He led them into the woods, to a number of fresh graves, and a pit that someone had dug beside a large pile of body parts. The corpses were still animated — Wei Wuxian could see their eyes rolling, their teeth grinding, their hands clenching — but Wen Ning had torn them apart so that they could no longer move under their own power. Their dismembered limbs trembled and clutched, but they could no longer go more than an inch or two. And since they were piled up with countless other twitching limbs, heads and torsos, any movement was countered by the spasmodic movements of other body parts.

“Nice work,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms.

“I had to, or they would have hurt people,” Wen Ning said. “There have been corpses like this by the road ever since you left Cloud Recesses. In fact, I had to stop a few of them last night, or they would have interrupted…” He stopped abruptly, and looked down at his feet. If he were still alive, Wei Wuxian suspected his face would have turned bright red.

And despite Lan Zhan’s slightly sour expression, Wei Wuxian was quite grateful for Wen Ning’s intervention. It would have put a nasty damper on a very enjoyable night of fucking to have walking corpses attack them — and while he knew that he and Lan Zhan could have certainly destroyed the corpses while stark naked and very aroused, the whole incident would have been very distracting. Probably just as well that Wen Ning had taken care of everything for them.

“How long have you been following us?” Wei Wuxian asked. “Since we left Cloud Recesses?”

“Longer,” Lan Zhan said bluntly. “He helped us escape from the sects outside Golden Carp Tower. But I had not seen him since then.”

“I thought I should keep my distance,” Wen Ning said ruefully.

Wei Wuxian uncrossed his arms and sighed. “Well, now that we’ve all met up, we should see about burying these bodies.”

“You will not,” Lan Zhan said firmly. “You are pregnant.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t dig. It just means I’m more likely to…”

Just then, the stench of decayed flesh seemed to get dramatically stronger, filling Wei Wuxian’s nose. The smell of decay had never bothered him in the past — by the time he had joined the Sunshot Campaign, he was pretty used to the smell of corpses, and he became even more numb to the stench as time went on. He had spent his days surrounded by the dead, ranging from the freshly-slain to masses of bone held together by ragged scraps of flesh. No problem. It was just another smell.

… or it had been, until now. He barely made it across the clearing and behind a tree before the violent vomiting began. The sound of his retching and the splatter of his stomach’s contents drowned out the sound of squishing flesh and grinding teeth.

“Young Master Lan,” Wen Ning said quickly. “I’ll handle the bodies. I’m very fast. You should make sure that he’s all right.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, before following Wei Wuxian across the clearing.

Chapter Text

By the time Wei Wuxian finally stopped puking, Wen Ning had already finished burying the still-moving corpse body parts. He apologized the entire time he did so, as if the corpses in question could understand him and accept his regrets over tearing them to pieces and burying them. That was Wen Ning, Wei Wuxian reflected. Simultaneously one of the most dangerous, and kindest, people that he had ever met.

“Are you feeling any better, Young Master Wei?” Wen Ning asked as he approached him.

“A little,” Wei Wuxian said, wiping his lips and straightening up. Lan Zhan’s hand had been firmly placed on his back the whole time, rubbing comforting circles against his spine.

“If it’s any comfort,” Wen Ning said cheerfully, “I’ve heard that feeling sick is actually a good thing.”

“Obviously by somebody who was never pregnant,” Wei Wuxian said dryly.

“No, I mean that it’s a good sign. It means that you and the baby are healthy.”

“Oh, okay,” Wei Wuxian said, a smile crossing his lips. “Then you think I haven’t lost it?”

Wen Ning looked as if he wanted to blush, even though he couldn’t anymore. “I can take a look at you and… well, I probably could tell if you’re still pregnant. But I think that if you were going to lose the baby from a stab wound, it would have happened by now. And you would know it had happened.”

“Well, that settles it,” Wei Wuxian said with a grin. “Examine me.”

Wen Ning glanced around at the fresh graves, and then a little hesitantly at Lan Zhan. The white-clad man’s face had become as frosty as a winter night, and his eyes were like shards of ice. His slender hand was gripping Wei Wuxian’s arm possessively, as if angered just by the idea of another man examining his love’s body. And yet, there was a hint of uncertainty there as well — if Wei Wuxian wasn’t mistaken, Lan Zhan wanted to be certain of their baby’s life as badly as he did.

“Now?” Wen Ning asked.

“No better time.”

Still looking uneasy, Wen Ning instructed Wei Wuxian to sit on top of a stump nearby, back as straight as an arrow’s shaft. Then the fierce corpse knelt in front of him, unfastening Wei Wuxian’s belt with an apologetic mumble of, “I’ll be as fast as I can, Young Master Wei.”

“Don’t rush it,” Wei Wuxian said. “Take as much time as you need.”

He repressed a shiver as Wen Ning’s cold fingers parted his robe below the waist, and probed at his lower stomach. Then he heard a hissed intake of breath from nearby, and looked up at Lan Zhan. His husband was staring intently at Wen Ning, his lips pressed tightly together and his fingers white-knuckled and clenched, as if waiting for the fierce corpse to do something too transgressive or uncomfortable.

Despite his discomfort, Wei Wuxian grinned at him with a mixture of affection and teasing. Lan Zhan had nothing to be jealous of — this was Wen Ning, after all — but he was anyway. And somehow it was very charming, and alluring, to see him getting jealous. It made Wei Wuxian want to tease him, while at the same time assuring him that Wei Wuxian didn’t want anyone else but him — that he would never have anything to worry about.

“Hanguang-jun,” he said, still smiling, “does it bother you that much that another man is rooting around in my clothes?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said curtly.

“Well, later on you can give me an examination yourself. And I don’t mind if it’s very, very thorough.”

Wen Ning cleared his throat. “Can you show me where you were stabbed?”

Wei Wuxian touched a fingertip to his stomach, and drew it along the narrow line where Suihua had cut him. “Right here.”

Wen Ning’s cold fingers were on his stomach, and suddenly he pulled them back. “Finished,” he said, turning away.

Wei Wuxian quickly pulled his robes closed again and refastened his belt. “And?”

“Well,” Wen Ning said a little nervously, “I’ve confirmed that Young Master Wei is… still pregnant. What’s more, judging by where the wound was, it wouldn’t have struck your womb.”

A rush of elation ran through Wei Wuxian. As he stood up and turned to Lan Zhan, he patted his stomach, and turned his smile towards his solemn-faced husband. “You hear that, Lan Zhan? The baby is okay.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said. His hand slipped around Wei Wuxian’s waist, and pulled him closer. “If you are careful.”

“No more recklessness. I promise,” Wei Wuxians said fervently. “Remember, you can tie me up.”

Wen Ning looked a little confused by that remark.

But Wei Wuxian simply beamed at his husband, watching as Lan Zhan’s eyes softened slightly, and feeling his strong hands holding him — them — close. He meant what he had said — he wasn’t going to risk their child in any way if he could possibly avoid it. Almost losing it had been devastating, and even though they still didn’t know what the future held, he knew that it would involve a baby. Their baby, born of their love for each other, conceived from a passion that even death couldn’t quell.

*

Now that he had revealed himself, Wen Ning accompanied them openly on the journey to the Burial Mounds. Lan Zhan didn’t seem entirely happy with this development — Wei Wuxian suspected that he had been looking forward to spending time alone together on the road, especially at night. But he was civil enough to Wen Ning, and made no more attempts to stab him with Bichen. They simply walked on opposite sides of Little Apple, with Wei Wuxian riding between them.

Wei Wuxian had to admit he was a little disappointed too, especially since there was no nice way to ask Wen Ning to keep his distance for a few hours so they could fuck. So for the next few days, he and Lan Zhan settled for sleeping beside each other, kissing passionately and groping one another underneath a blanket. Wen Ning politely pretended to be deaf and ignored the sounds of kissing and heavy breathing as he sat by the fire, and gazed off into the darkness that surrounded them.

And now that he had more time with his thoughts, Wei Wuxian found that his thoughts kept shifting back to Jiang Yanli. His senior sister hadn’t been able to see him during her pregnancy, so he didn’t know anything about what she had gone through. And after she had given birth to Jin Ling… well, he had barely been able to speak to her before she had died. There had been so many things he had wanted to say — he wanted to say how sorry he was that things had gone so horribly wrong, that he never meant for Jin Zixuan to die, that he had never wanted to hurt anyone. She had died never hearing any of those things from him, perhaps believing that he had been responsible for horrible acts that the rest of the world condemned.

And what would she think of him now, if she had lived? He believed staunchly that she would have accepted her Xianxian no matter what his body looked like. But it would probably have taken her a little while to get used to the fact that he has a woman’s body now — that her little brother was not only very different in his second life, but that he was now pregnant with a child of his own.

As he thought, her voice seemed to echo in his mind, a sweet soft voice that brought an ache to his heart. “Xianxian… don’t be afraid. Everything is going to be all right for you. Your baby is going to be beautiful — beautiful and smart and strong.”

He smiled a little at those words. He knew it would be all those things — after all, wouldn’t he and Lan Zhan be expected to produce an exceptional baby? Good looks were pretty much guaranteed with Lan Zhan as the father, both of had been prodigies, and he couldn’t imagine that their baby wouldn’t take after its father in strength as well.

His hand slipped up to touch his stomach. Maybe she would reincarnate as his baby, he thought. Then he could make it all up to her somehow.

Chapter Text

Yiling wasn’t that different from how Wei Wuxian remembered it — a little larger, with some new buildings and some old ones torn down, but mostly the same. He even recognized some of the faces that passed them in the street, although obviously they had more lines and wrinkles. He hopped down from Little Apple to chat for awhile with the street vendors, while Lan Zhan patiently waited for him to finish.

Wen Ning, being somewhat more conspicuous-looking, had parted from them as they entered Yiling. But Wei Wuxian knew he wouldn’t be far away, and would probably be skirting around the town towards the Burial Mounds.

“Do you remember this place?” Wei Wuxian asked as they left the area.

“Yes,” Lan Zhan replied.

“You have a better memory than I do, but I do remember what happened here. We bumped into each other, and I was going to treat you to a meal — but I ended up having to run out, and you paid it instead.”

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian glanced around at the distant houses, set some distance back from the road. It would be nice to live in a place like this, he thought — not too many people, pretty scenery, rivers and mountains. “Hanguang-jun… answer me this. Do you plan to retreat when you retire?”

Lan Zhan gazed up at him.

“Have you even thought about what you’ll do when you retire?” Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Zhan’s eyes shimmered faintly. “I have not.”

“Never?”

“What I wanted to do in retirement… was not something I could have. So I did not think about it.” Lan Zhan’s hand, holding the reins, drifted back to caress Wei Wuxian’s thigh. A warm thrill ran through Wei Wuxian’s body at the intimate touch, and he slipped his fingers over his husband’s, guiding it higher and inward, letting it brush against his inner thigh.

He couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if they retreated from the cultivation world, just as they had in his dream. They would build a house — a large house, with plenty of room to grow. After all, this baby probably wouldn’t be the last one, would it? They fucked almost every day, and if it happened once, it would probably happen at least a few times more. At the rate they were going, they would have their own clan of little Lans in no time.

They could raise their children away from the politics and the backstabbing of the cultivation world, teaching them how to cultivate in more tranquil surroundings, and leading them out to destroy evil. Lan Zhan would cook them meals every day — Wei Wuxian knew that his own cooking was bad enough that even Jiang Cheng couldn’t stomach it — and handle the household finances. Wei Wuxian had never been terribly good with money, so it would be best if his husband handled those tasks.

His mind flitted back to his dream — Lan Zhan weaving and holding their baby, while Wei Wuxian fished and farmed. That dream had felt so good, so natural, so idyllic. Just them and their little one. Or little ones. And if they ever felt it necessary, or they got tired of living away from the world, they could simply return to it once again.

A smile curved Wei Wuxian’s lips, and for several minutes he let himself sink into that fantasy. “Lan Zhan,” he said in a low voice, “have you ever thought about living away from everyone and everything when you retire — just you, and me, and the baby?”

Lan Zhan’s steps slowed for a moment, as if he were considering the idea thoroughly. The sun brushed over his elegant features, outlining them with golden light and making his eyes shine. “Is that… what you want?” he asked quietly.

“Maybe, someday,” Wei Wuxian said, letting his faraway eyes drift back to the trees. “Or maybe sooner, if things get out of control and we end up needing to flee the cultivation world. I had a dream back in Cloud Recesses that we were living in a house out in the middle of nowhere. I was coming back from fishing, and you were weaving and looking after our baby. That sounds really nice, doesn’t it?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said quietly. His fingers twined with Wei Wuxian’s, resting on the bristling donkey mane.

Now that he had talked about his own dream, curiosity began to stir in Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan had been in love with him since he was fifteen years old — Wei Wuxian must have had a starring role in some of his dreams. “What about you?” he asked with a hint of mischief. “What do we do in your dreams, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan did not answer. He kept his eyes firmly on the road ahead, as if the question had never even reached his ears.

“Come on, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian whined, leaning over towards his husband. “That’s not fair. I told you what my dream about us was — now it’s your turn. Come on, what is it? I must have been in at least some of them, right? So what was going on in them?”

But his husband steadfastly refused to say anything about the contents of his dreams, no matter how much Wei Wuxian pleaded, coaxed and begged to know what they were. His beautiful, fine-featured face betrayed nothing of what he might be feeling or thinking, as usual — but Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but notice the pink flush that spread over his ears.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the Burial Mounds. That place too had not changed much in the last thirteen years — it was still a place of lingering death and choking resentful energy, built on thousands of corpses left to molder and decay.

It brought back troubling memories for Wei Wuxian. He had lived in this place twice in his first life, and both of them had been among the worst times of his life. He had almost starved the first time, driven to desperation that had given birth to his own brand of cultivation. Those dark days weren’t ones he thought about often, because in retrospect, they had been ones where his happy, carefree nature had twisted and darkened into something almost unrecognizable. And of course, he had led the Wen refugees here, helping them hide and survive in the one place where they would be left alone.

He had died there. So had all of the Wen.

No, he reminded himself, not all. Lan Sizhui — Wen Yuan — was alive and thriving, all because of Lan Zhan. He had spent some time with the kid in the last month, and it was amazing how far he had come — how much he had learned, how respectful but forthright he was, how well he lived up to most of those Lan precepts without being rigid or judgmental like Lan Qiren. And there had been a few moments when a motion or an expression reminded him of that bright-eyed little toddler back in the Burial Mounds, such as wrinkling his nose or smiling.

Lan Zhan had done a good job looking after him, even if he hadn’t been able to raise him directly, Wei Wuxian reflected. Lan Sizhui could have starved to death, been consumed by resentment or been eaten by monstrous beasts, but instead he had been given a home, friends, and a bright new life to pursue. He only wished that he had been there with Lan Zhan during that time — that he could have been there to see the little child grow up into a youth. And he wished that the Wen people who had died could have at least known that the smallest of their clan would survive, and see what little A-Yuan had become.

Wei Wuxian glanced down at Lan Zhan, who was walking swiftly at Little Apple’s side. Heading into the Burial Mounds when all his enemies were planning to converge there should have made him very nervous — but somehow, having Lan Zhan there made him feel as if everything would be all right. Death hadn’t been able to keep them apart — why would he think that anything else would have the power to stop them?

“Lan Zhan,” he said softly.

His husband looked up at him with those strikingly lovely eyes, the breeze rippling through his ink-black hair. “Yes?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to say your name,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling broadly at him. Then the smile faded slightly. “And… I guess I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. And thank you.”

Lan Zhan’s lips parted slightly.

Wei Wuxian plunged ahead, “You suffered so much because of me — because you keep protecting me from everyone else. Back thirteen years ago, you were whipped because of me, and you were disgraced in your own clan. Now your reputation is in tatters, and everyone is hunting for us both because of me.” He sighed. “You’ve lost so much and done so much for me, and I…”

Lan Zhan’s hand slipped around Wei Wuxian’s, his skin cool and silken-soft. “Between you and I,” he said quietly, his voice as low and soft as new spring grass, “there is no need for ‘I’m sorry.’ Or ‘thank you.’”

Wei Wuxian felt something in his heart twist and unfold — both with a twinge of pain and a warm, light sensation, as if an old, twisted weed had been pulled from his heart. There was so much unsaid in Lan Zhan’s words. They were few, and they were forthright and simple. But it told him so much, so eloquently. Lan Zhan didn’t regret what he had done, either thirteen years ago or at Golden Carp Tower and ever since. And he didn’t want Wei Wuxian to feel that he owed him anything out of gratitude or guilt.

Wei Wuxian’s fingers lightly linked together with his husband’s. “Can I thank you,” he said, “for putting up with my nonsense for all those years?”

Lan Zhan didn’t answer in words, but the kiss that followed told Wei Wuxian everything he needed to know.

Chapter Text

A few days had passed, and Lan Xichen was starting to feel anxious.

He hadn’t received word from Wangji and Wei Wuxian — it wouldn’t have been prudent, under the circumstances — and he was starting to wonder if it was a mistake to have sent them to the Burial Mounds. A small army of cultivators was setting out the next morning towards Yiling, determined to kill Wei Wuxian, and pray that he stayed dead this time.

Lan Qiren had also flown to Golden Carp Tower, accompanying the many Lan cultivators who had been summoned there. He had wanted to know what had caused this sudden demand from his nephew, and what kind of developments necessitated a sudden summoning of so many disciples to Lanling. So Lan Xichen had reluctantly been forced to tell his uncle what had happened several days before, and the reason that Wangji and his wife had been conspicuously absent for a while.

His uncle’s reactions had been something to behold. Lan Qiren had turned as white as a sheet when he heard that Wei Wuxian had come back to life, and had managed to get married to Lan Wangji and infiltrate Cloud Recesses. He turned green when he was informed that, when this was revealed, Wangji had made it abundantly clear that he knew his wife’s identity, and fought his way out alongside Wei Wuxian before flying off on Bichen with him. And he turned a deep purplish-red when Jin Guangyao had mentioned in his presence that Wei Wuxian had also been pregnant with Wangji’s child at the time.

Lan Xichen had spent nearly a day trying to calm his uncle down, and had only succeeded somewhat. Lan Qiren was still fuming that his nephew had been seduced by the Yiling Patriarch, and had seemingly thrown away his entire life. Lan Xichen had argued that they didn’t know the complexities of what was going on, but his uncle refused to be convinced.

The rest of the time, he had been searching Golden Carp Tower with purpose. Jin Guangyao allowed him free rein of the place, and he was too busy to insist on accompanying him wherever he went. And so, Lan Xichen had decided to try to find Qin Su — if she was ill, as Jin Guangyao said, then he could try to heal her with music. And if she wasn’t ill, but was a prisoner as Wei Wuxian had declared…

But when he went to her chambers, they were conspicuously empty. The windows were shut tight and dark, and the doors were locked. He listened intently, for a single footfall or breath from inside — and heard nothing. Not even the servants were inside, let alone Qin Su herself. He managed to open one of the windows and peered inside, where he was greeted with the rich, luxurious trappings of the mistress of the Jin Clan… but no sign of the woman herself. Or of anyone, really. A fine layer of dust had settled on the shining floor, with no footprints to be seen.

That wasn’t the last place he had checked either. He had ventured into all the unoccupied guest rooms, the doctors’ chambers, and every place where he could imagine Qin Su being hidden away. And then, he searched places that he couldn’t imagine her being hidden in, like the storerooms, the library, and the more secluded, private gardens. Still nothing.

Lan Xichen managed to broach the subject with Jin Guangyao, and his friend’s smile became rather strained. “She has worsened, I’m afraid. I have moved her to more comfortable, secluded surroundings,” he said regretfully.

“Perhaps I could ease her mind with Cleansing,” Lan Xichen suggested.

If the mention of that song bothered Jin Guangyao, he gave no sign of it. He was every inch the devoted, sorrowful husband. He gently demurred, saying that he had already played it for her, but it had somehow only made her more agitated.

And yet… in those few days, Lan Xichen thought that he saw a strange tension in his sworn brother. When Jin Guangyao didn’t know that Lan Xichen was watching him, there was an almost… frantic air to his motions, and his expression showed his strain. What was more suspicious was that he did not seen inclined to visit Qin Su, wherever he had her. That seemed… out of character for a husband as famously devoted as he was, if his wife was so indisposed. If it had been Lan Xichen’s wife who was ill, then even an event as large as this one could not have kept him from her side.

And of course… the ugly story contained in that letter crept back into his head. The statement that Qin Su was actually Jin Guangyao’s sister as well as his wife. Every time he thought of the woman, he thought of that accusation — of something so disgusting that he could hardly bear to even think about it. If it was true — if Jin Guangyao had knowingly married his own half-sister… well, Lan Xichen didn’t know what he would do about it.

On the cold, pale dawn of the fateful day, Lan Xichen woke with a feeling of piercing unease. Wei Wuxian had been pretty confident in his ability to hide from the forthcoming siege if necessary — and if anyone could elude them, it was him and Wangji. But with so many people unleashed at the Burial Mounds, his brother and the Yiling Patriarch would be woefully outnumbered.

It had taken some days to organize the clan leaders and gather as many cultivators as possible. Perhaps, if Wangji and Wei Wuxian had already gotten to the place and left again, they would simply miss each other. Of course, that was assuming that there was nothing there to find. And since someone was purposefully drawing people towards the Burial Mounds — someone who was very definitely not Wei Wuxian — that seemed unlikely.

He dressed himself and headed out into the many passages and halls of Golden Carp Tower. Though most of the cultivators who weren’t from the Lan Clan were still fast asleep — or sleeplessly anticipating battle with the Yiling Patriarch — Lan Xichen found Jin Guangyao already awake and dressed. His sworn brother looked pale and anxious, seated behind a desk and swiftly writing impeccable characters on a sheet of paper.

“Ah, Second Brother,” Jin Guangyao said warmly. “Are you ready to leave?”

“I will be soon,” Lan Xichen said. Unease trickled through him, and he had to force his hands not to clench. “A-Yao…”

Jin Guangyao’s smile faded slightly, and he carefully placed his brush on the desk. “Is something wrong?”

“Is there anything… you need to tell me? Anything troubling you right now, or any secret that might be exposed? If you told me…”

The words seemed to stick in his throat. He couldn’t truthfully say that he would understand, that he wouldn’t turn against his sworn brother if he knew. Because killing and dismembering Chifeng-zun… marrying his own sister and imprisoning her… being responsible for the horrors that had been visited upon an entire city… those were things he could not bring himself to support or understand. And that was why he was hoping so desperately that it hurt, hoping that Jin Guangyao would dispel the rumors with a few earnest, comforting words. He always knew what to say.

Say it, he thought. Say something that will help. Say something that will let me believe you.

Jin Guangyao’s eyes widened, taking on the aspect of an innocent child. “Second Brother, I don’t know what you mean by that. I’m troubled, yes, by my dear wife’s illness and the reappearance of Wei Wuxian. But nothing other than that.” An odd shadow seemed to pass through those widened eyes, and they slowly ran their gaze over Lan Xichen’s features. “Have you… perhaps read something unflattering about me?”

Lan Xichen’s stomach clenched with sudden nervousness. Did he mean the letter? The letter that Wei Wuxian had stolen? If he thought that Lan Xichen meant that letter, did that mean that he believed he had been in contact with Wei Wuxian, and had learned that way? Finding out the truth depended on him keeping those secrets — and if he had slipped and accidentally given himself away —

“Read something?” Lan Xichen said slowly. “Do you mean anything in particular?”

A look of pain crossed Jin Guangyao’s face. “A particularly poisonous rumor was sent to my wife — something so disgusting that I cannot bear to even repeat it. I don’t know who sent it to her, or why. But the letter in question went missing before I knew about it, and I fear what might happen if someone maliciously spread the rumor within it. A-Su is in a fragile state, and I cannot bear to imagine how such rumors being spread might affect her…”

It sounded so plausible. It was so close to what Wei Wuxian had said happened — except that it painted the words in it as nothing but a vicious rumor, rather than a dreadful secret worth killing for. Lan Xichen’s mind swam, as if he were drowning on the inside. His heart felt as if it were tearing itself asunder, between what he feared was true and what he wanted desperately to believe. How could he know what was true?

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen could feel Jin Guangyao’s gaze fixed upon him, and desperately wanted to speak, to dispel his suspicions. But what could he say? A lifetime of training had left him woefully unable to lie, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak the truth. To do so would be to betray Wangji. And yet… even if he wished to lie, he couldn’t think of any good excuses for his questions.

“I know that you’ve been wandering through different parts of Golden Carp Tower over the past few days,” Jin Guangyao said softly. “Second Brother, if you told me what you’re looking for, perhaps I could help you find it.”

Dismay stabbed through Lan Xichen, and once more he couldn’t think of what to say. He had made sure nobody was there when he went searching for Qin Su… or at least, he thought he had. He had never had to worry about being watched at Golden Carp Tower before — he had always come and gone wherever he pleased without restriction. Except for the hiddenmost parts of the palace, he was free to move where he liked. Or… he thought that he was.

Just then, the white-clad figure of Lan Qiren swept into the hall. His eyes fiercely glinted like shards of obsidian. “There you are, Xichen!” he said.

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen said, feeling a surge of unexpected relief. Normally his uncle’s stormy expression might have boded badly for him, but his sudden arrival got the clan leader out of an awkward interaction.

“Master Lan,” Jin Guangyao said cordially, his smile becoming more relaxed. “Is something wrong?”

“I must speak to my nephew privately, on matters of clan business,” Lan Qiren said, nodding respectfully towards the Chief Cultivator.

Lan Xichen followed his uncle to the far end of the hall and onto the veranda outside, his heart racing like that of one of Wangji’s rabbits. He would have to come up with some explanation for Jin Guangyao for his investigations, but his uncle’s interruption had given him a few minutes of grace. Lan Qiren’s interruptions were usually unwelcome — especially in the last few days, when he had been raging about Wei Wuxian seducing Wangji and even infiltrating Cloud Recesses.

“Is something wrong, Uncle?” he asked quietly.

Lan Qiren’s face tightened into an expression of displeasure. “It’s about Wangji, Xichen,” he said in a low voice. “You must try to reason with him. Make him see that his actions fly in the face of every rule, every stricture, everything his life has been built on.”

Lan Xichen winced slightly. “I think that he knows, Uncle.”

“He cannot know. Defending Wei Wuxian thirteen years ago against his own clan — that was a terrible act, but he has spent thirteen years building himself into the most distinguished of cultivators. To throw it all away—“

For Wei Wuxian and their unborn child, Lan Xichen thought, Wangji would throw away everything he ever had or ever would have. He would let the entire world spit on him and grind him into the dust if it meant they were safe and happy.

It was something that his uncle — who, as far as he knew, had never been in love — couldn’t understand about Wangji, and never had. The kind of love that had possessed his brother was something he simply didn’t have inside him. Lan Qiren had probably figured out thirteen years ago that Wangji was in love with Wei Wuxian, but the death of the demonic cultivator had put an end to that. As time went on, their uncle seemed to have chalked up Wangji’s bloody rebellion after the battle to callow, youthful foolishness, and decided that he would behave himself from then on.

“He might have felt some kind of responsibility because Wei Wuxian was found to be carrying his child,” Lan Qiren continued. “Misguided, but more forgivable. Since that is no longer an issue—“

“I’m not sure about that, Uncle,” Lan Xichen said quietly. “We don’t actually know whether Wei Wuxian miscarried the baby.”

Lan Qiren’s lips pressed together tightly. It was obvious that that wasn’t something he wanted to consider.

But before he could say anything, there was a cry from inside the hall and the sound of wood smashing. Icy fear speared through Lan Xichen, filling every vein in an instant. He would have recognized that voice anywhere — none other than Jin Guangyao — he had been alone in the hall, with no one else there — had someone else come in while Lan Xichen was away? He turned and swiftly ran into the hall.

At the far end, the desk had been smashed, and the ink splattered in a dark puddle on the polished wooden floor. Papers scattered across the bright crimson-and-gold rug. A crumpled figure lay among the broken pieces of the desk, dressed in his impeccable Sparks Amidst Snow robes — except that now the embroidered peony’s pattern was marred by a spreading stain of blood. A small, plain-handled knife was lying on the floor beside him, its blade stained with crimson blood.

*

Old memories came into Wei Wuxian’s mind as he and Lan Zhan approached the wall. He had seen this place so many times in the past — the leafless, coal-black trees, the stormy overcast sky, the nine-foot-tall wall that was inscribed with so many spells that it practically hummed with them. It was hard to believe that this had once been his home — hell, that it had ever been ANYONE’s home, once upon a time. It was so deeply inhospitable, such a cold and cruel place that reeked of death.

He glanced down at Lan Zhan. What would things have been like, he thought, if he and Lan Zhan had gotten together before he had rescued the remaining Wen people? If, on Mount Baifeng, he had realized that Lan Zhan was the firm-bodied, sweet-lipped person who had kissed him passionately until his legs were weak? If the two of them had stolen away for the rest of the hunt, and made love on the mountainside for the rest of the day? If Wei Wuxian had accepted and returned those long-simmering feelings that Lan Zhan had hidden from him?

How might everything have been different?

For one thing, he wouldn’t have been alone in the Burial Mounds. Lan Zhan’s current actions showed that he would have stoically accompanied Wei Wuxian into exile. He would have had someone strong, who loved him more than life itself, who would have spent their days supporting him, loving him, caring for him without minding the poverty or rejection they would have suffered. It would have given his days in the Burial Mounds some sweetness and freedom.

Maybe… maybe with him by Wei Wuxian’s side, things might have turned out differently. Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli might not have died. Lan Zhan wouldn’t have received those lash marks on his back. Maybe the innocents of the Wen Clan wouldn’t have died, and the Siege wouldn’t have happened in the first place. If Lan Zhan had been there, maybe Wei Wuxian would never have died in the first place.

… or maybe things wouldn’t have changed. The cultivation world would have come to kill the people in the Burial Mounds sooner or later — if not because of their hatred of the Wen, then to seize the Yin Tiger Tally. If Lan Zhan had been with him then, he would have fought relentlessly, defending Wei Wuxian and the innocents they were protecting. And for siding with the corrupt, evil Yiling Patriarch against Jin Guangshan’s decrees, none of the sects would have been willing to let him live.

No, it was just as well that Lan Zhan hadn’t been his husband back then, Wei Wuxian thought. Even if it had been painful for him, that delay meant that they had a future ahead of them.

As they approached the wall, Wei Wuxian’s feelings of unease stirred and grew thicker. Not only had part of the wall been broken down, but stone statues of beasts that guarded the way had been broken. Decapitated. They hadn’t been there in Wei Wuxian’s day, but he recognized what they were — they could suppress and eradicate evil, being artfully crafted and very expensive. Probably put there by the Jin. And now all of them were broken. Not a good sign, especially now.

Wen Ning appeared out of the mist like a ghost, his dark head held low and his shoulders slumped. He was staring at one of the broken statues, and though his face had little expression, Wei Wuxian could feel the sadness rolling off him in waves.

“What’s wrong?” he called.

Wen Ning squatted down beside the statue, and touched below the base. It was a short tree stump — and as Wei Wuxian came closer, he saw that three other stumps jutted out of the grass around it. All three of them were burned and charred — and since the stumps and trees nearby showed no signs of fire, that meant that someone had burned them deliberately. Wei Wuxian’s heart sank as he put the pieces together.

“My sister,” Wen Ning said quietly.

Wei Wuxian sighed. That was what he had been afraid of. He placed a hand on Wen Ning’s shoulder, wishing that he could do something more. Wen Qing had deserved so much better than she had gotten — all she had ever done was try to help others, and how had she been repaid for it?

Then he glanced at the mountain before him, the wind whipping his long hair around him. There were countless dead in this place, buried beneath the ground in almost every place — they were as numerous as stones, as widely spread-out as tree roots. To someone who could hear them, speak to them, they were a chorus of haunted whispers drifting down in the wind. They knew what had happened, even after death.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian dropped to one knee and murmured a few words to the countless dead lying below him. They knew him — they had known him ever since his first time lost in the Burial Mounds, when he first began exerting his power over death and resentment. There was perhaps no place in the world where he had more to draw on than this place, the ancient battlefield where the Wen had dumped endless bodies until it became a place haunted by darkness.

A skeletal arm burrowed its way out of the black soil, clutching at the air as if searching for something. Without hesitation, Wei Wuxian clasped the hand in his fingers, and whispered more words to the dead man below the ground. Wisps of the person’s identity floated through Wei Wuxian’s mind, a glimpse of what had been. He had once been a talented cultivator from a now-extinct clan, who had been slain and buried here after coming into conflict with Wen soldiers.

I am here, Master, the dead man said.

Wei Wuxian smiled. Good. Tell me who broke down this wall.

Men. Many living men. They brought others into the Burial Mounds, people they had captured.

Wei Wuxian’s brow furrowed. Others? How many?

Many. Over one hundred. The ones who broke down the wall left.

And the prisoners they brought with them?

They did not return. They are still alive at the summit.

Good. How long ago did this happen?

The spirit paused, as if thinking. In the last few days.

He didn’t seem to have much more to say, so Wei Wuxian dismissed him, and watched as the arm snaked back into the dirt and disappeared.

Wei Wuxian dusted himself off as he stood up. He briefly described what the cultivator had said, then glanced back at the enormous rift in the wall. “The people who were captured… I don’t know what they were kidnapped for. But I’m pretty sure they’re not locals. If over a hundred people were kidnapped from the area, Yiling would be on alert for whoever had done it. But it was business as usual for them.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, glancing up at the peak.

As they walked deeper into the gloom, Wei Wuxian glanced around. A few dozen cottages, small and roughly-made, poked out of the mist that wreathed the ground. Some had been burned, while others had been deliberately smashed open. Yet more had seemingly succumbed to the ravages of time and neglect, their roofs collapsing and their walls rotting away. In a strange way, it made the Burial Mounds feel even more forsaken, because it showed that people had lived there once… but they had all died.

Wen Ning slowed and stopped in front of one of the houses. His stiff face showed little emotion, but his slumped shoulders and heavy steps showed his feelings clearly. He paused in front of one house, gazing inside with unblinking eyes. If Wei Wuxian’s memory served him, that house had once been Wen Ning’s, once he had awakened as the then-only fierce corpse with a functioning mind.

Wei Wuxian felt a little stab of mingled guilt and pity. He and Wen Ning had both awoken to renewed existence after thirteen years, but Wei Wuxian had been lucky. He had Lan Zhan, and in another half a year he would have a baby. Wen Ning had lost his home and the last remnants of his clan, except for a boy who did not know him and had grown up in another clan’s care. Where could he go after this, except following Wei Wuxian forlornly?

Then he saw something moving in one of the houses. “Lan Zhan!” he said sharply.

Bichen was already drawn, glowing with a faint blue light. The figure in that house turned and lurched towards them with unsteady steps, its arms swinging limply in front of it. Its face had partly rotted away, with decayed, crumbling lips exposing broken teeth. Its eyes rolled, white and pupil-less, in a ghastly gray face. Probably one of the many corpses that had been drawn to the Burial Mounds from other parts of the countryside.

Swiftly, Wei Wuxian clapped his hands. The sharp, crisp sound didn’t affect the corpse at all — it was as if he had done nothing.

“Too bad,” he sighed. He glanced at Lan Zhan, who was standing in front of him, his face coldly intense. He didn’t really understand demonic cultivation very well, Wei Wuxian knew, so he quickly added, “It’s first come, first served. I can’t control corpses being manipulated by the Yin Tiger Tally, and whoever has it can’t manipulate corpses that I control.”

“I see,” Lan Zhan said tightly.

“So it’s proof that this corpse—“

Wen Ning leaped forward and effortlessly tore the corpse’s head from its body, causing a splurt of dark blood.

“—is being controlled, and isn’t here by coincidence,” Wei Wuxian finished.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied.

As if triggered by Wen Ning’s actions, faint groans and growls began to rise all around them. More dark shapes came into view — some lurched out of other ruined houses, while others appeared out of the thick mist around them. Each one was dressed in burial attire — rich and poor, old and young — and even before he saw their decayed, corpse-pale faces, Wei Wuxian knew that they were all very, very dead. There were only about four dozen of them, but Wei Wuxian knew that there must be more lying in wait around the mountainside, their dead eyes and ears alert for some sign of interlopers.

“Sorry, everyone,” he called out cheerily. “We don’t have time to play with you today.” He spun to face Lan Zhan and Wen Ning. “Head up the mountain, as quickly as you can.”

He felt Lan Zhan’s strong arm circle his waist, almost whisking him off his feet as they raced up the mountain together. Wen Ning brought up the rear, his footsteps thudding behind them.

But as they ran, Wei Wuxian heard more growls and moans from the woods around them — more dark, ragged shapes rising from the jagged stones and skeletal trees, or darting across open spaces through the mist. The cold air burned in his lungs, and he found himself wondering who exactly was at the summit of the mountain that Jin Guangyao was so desperate to hide. Over a hundred people — alive, but imprisoned — with hundreds of corpses standing guard over the paths below —

Lan Zhan slashed through the corpses with a fierce, cold expression on his face, and Wen Ning didn’t hesitate to leap forward and tear their limbs and heads from their bodies in spurts of blackened blood and splatters of dead organs and blood vessels. Wei Wuxian kept behind Lan Zhan, and he felt a thrill every time his husband’s sword glare knocked back the corpses. Lan Zhan was a force to be reckoned with, and he suspected that even Jin Guangyao had no idea how much he could do.

They reached the top a few hours later, leaving a trail of twitching, often ripped-up corpses sprawled on the path. Wei Wuxian sighed and stretched his arms over his head — only for Lan Zhan to pull something out of the qiankun pouch at his waist. It was Suibian, which Wei Wuxian had dropped when he started puking last time.

“For defense,” he said simply.

Wei Wuxian smiled a little feebly. “I’m a little rusty at using a sword,” he said. “After all, I hadn’t used it in the last few years of my life, and it’s been thirteen years since then.”

Lan Zhan’s face didn’t change expression at all. He simply waited for him to take the sword, his eyes fixed on his wife’s face.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and took the sword. “Okay, that’s not the reason,” he said. “It’s not because I’m a woman, though. It’s because my spiritual energy is so weak in this body that I couldn’t use the sword any better than any random person you came across. Flute yes, sword no. Maybe after a year or two of cultivation, huh?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said firmly. The meaning was clear: I will make sure you are able to use this sword again.

Wei Wuxian batted his eyelashes and smiled in what he hoped was a seductive manner. “So until I’m strong enough, mighty Hanguang-jun will have to protect his poor helpless wife.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan’s cool fingers brushed against Wei Wuxian’s cheek, and a softness crept into his eyes.

But the flirting faded as they approached the Demon-Quelling Cave. Its gaping mouth was as black as a bottomless pit, and the wind moaned faintly as it blew across the cave. Even to someone who hadn’t heard the rumors of Wei Wuxian’s many crimes committed there — the countless murders, the dark and bloody rituals, the curses unleashed on his most hated enemies — the cave would have looked incredibly sinister. A fitting place for the Yiling Patriarch, people would have thought it.

And there were faint voices coming from inside it.

Somehow, it didn’t seem like a surprise that the kidnappers would stick their captives inside, Wei Wuxian thought with a sigh. Presumably it would be with the idea that Wei Wuxian must have done it, since he was clearly back in the Burial Mounds and clearly calling corpses from all around. No one would question it — after all, he was a maniac capable of doing absolutely anything.

“… shouldn’t have stabbed her only one time. Either you should have kept stabbing her, or you should have chopped off her head!”

Chapter Text

It was a young voice — probably someone no older than Jin Ling — and it echoed through the cavern inside. Wei Wuxian crept closer to the wall, and peered through one of the holes that led into the main chamber, which was large enough for a few people to walk through without encumbrance. Wen Ning and Lan Zhan followed him, and as they walked, Lan Zhan’s eyes flitted across the darkness in the deeper parts of the cavern. Keeping an eye out for the ones who had caused all this mayhem.

Normally, over a hundred young boys would have been crowding one another, but the Demon-Quelling Cave was far larger than they were. If the boys hadn’t been tightly and securely bound with Immortal-Binding Ropes, they could have spread out some throughout the cave — but they were tightly and securely bound. Most of them huddled gloomily on the floor, their young faces frightened and anxious as they tried to squirm their way out of their bonds. None of them were older then nineteen or twenty, and most were substantially younger.

And as he stepped into the cavern, he saw their robes and swords more clearly. Their clothing was pretty high-quality, and their swords — hanging uselessly at their belts — were high-grade spiritual weapons, every one of them. These kids were probably the heirs to various cultivation clans, or promising, high-ranked young disciples of those clans like Lan Sizhui. Speaking of whom — Wei Wuxian craned his neck, looking for familiar white robes…

The only one who seemed to be talking was the boy who had spoken before, who was dressed in a Sparks Amidst Snow robe. Wei Wuxian frowned as he tried to remember why the kid sounded familiar —

“— should be embarrassed how weak you are. You couldn’t even kill her, even though the Yiling Patriarch is just a woman now. She wasn’t even summoning any corpses or using her sword. And you still didn’t manage to kill her! Pathetic!”

— oh yeah, he was Jin Chan. That brat who had been bullying Jin Ling back in Golden Carp Tower with his little band of followers. He reminded Wei Wuxian of someone else, but he couldn’t exactly place who it was.

And now that he looked around, Wei Wuxian could see familiar faces all around Jin Chan. Sitting right beside him was Jin Ling, whose face was sour, sullen and cold, and his lips almost seemed to be trembling with the effort of not saying what was on his mind. On the other side were Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, their white robes rumpled, but somehow untouched by the grime of the cave floor. Jingyi’s face was creased with misery and he was hunched over, while Sizhui was still sitting up straight and seemingly trying to mediate.

“‘Just a woman?’” Jin Ling finally snapped. “That’s a funny thing to say. Has your wrist healed from what Wei Wuxian did to it?”

An ugly flush came over Jin Chan’s face. “She only got the best of me because I wasn’t expecting it! Next time, I’ll be ready!”

“What kind of answer is that?” Lan Jingyi demanded. “Isn’t the whole point of fighting that you do things your enemy can’t predict?"

Wei Wuxian leaned against the stone wall, feeling a grin stealing across his face. Jin Chan was all bluster and no skill — and like those who were all bluster, he believed he was a lot more skilled than he was, even if he was too afraid to take on Jin Ling without a gang.

“If I had been there,” Jin Chan went on sneeringly, “I would have kept stabbing her until there was no way she could survive.”

“Even with Hanguang-jun standing next to her?” Jin Ling fired back.

Jin Chan faltered for a moment. Boasting about killing the Yiling Patriarch was one thing — Wei Wuxian had been safely dead for most of his life. But Hanguang-jun had been very alive — and very frightening — for as long as all these boys could remember. If he had attacked Lan Zhan’s wife that viciously right next to him, Wei Wuxian thought with a grin, he wouldn’t get away with it that easily, even if he was only a kid.

Lan Jingyi slumped over in his ropes, as if he wanted to crumple over onto the floor. “They left days ago. Why did they even bring us to this place if they’re just going to let us starve? I’d rather they just killed us right away, if it was quick.”

“I know exactly what they’re going to do,” Jin Chan said viciously. “They brought us here because Wei Wuxian ordered them to. She’s going to either starve us to death or perform evil rituals on us, turning us into corpses she can use to attack our parents! That’s what she did to the Wen dogs in the war! She’s disgusting — inhuman!”

“Just shut up already!” Jin Ling snarled. “We know you’re full of shit!”

“What did you say to me?” Jin Chan bellowed.

“I said shut up!” Jin Ling shouted even louder. “I’ve been listening to you yapping for days now, and I can’t stand it anymore! Your mouth isn’t going to break these ropes, so you might as well shut up—“

In a matter of seconds, the Jin boys present were a mass of seething elbows, knees and heads, writhing around in their bonds and trying to kick, bite and headbutt one another. Jin Ling was putting up an admirable fight, and he was more than a match for Jin Chan, who yowled and scrabbled like the little coward he was. Unfortunately, a number of Jin Chan’s friends were nearby, and they began toppling over and worming across the cold stone floor towards Jin Ling, banging him with their elbows and knees.

And they weren’t the only ones. The Lan boys were being pulled into the fray, even though Lan Sizhui was loudly admonishing them to “calm down — stop fighting — this isn’t going to help!” Lan Jingyi, on the other hand, was enthusiastically kicking one of Jin Chan’s friends, yelling something about them being cowards for ganging up on someone. Finally, Lan Sizhui seemed to give in and joined in the furious kicking and headbutting, managing to knee one of Jin Chan’s friends in the face.

Well, it was about time they got involved, before somebody got a bloody nose, or worse. Wei Wuxian stepped into the main chamber, clapped his hands sharply, and the crisp sound echoed through the cavern.

“Kids!” he sang out. “Enough fighting. Behave yourselves, or you won’t get any dinner!”

Countless heads turned towards him, their eyes widening at the three figures that had just stepped into view — the black-clad figure of a woman grinning at them, a tall chilly-faced man clad all in immaculate white, and a corpse with ice-pale skin and black cracks snaking up his neck. Every one of them knew Lan Zhan by sight — if they hadn’t seen him in person, they had probably seen Lan Xichen and knew that the two of them were almost identical. Wen Ning’s appearance was so well-publicized that they could tell who the Ghost General was just by looking. As for Wei Wuxian himself, he reflected, even the ones who didn’t know him by sight probably could guess who the black-clad woman next to Hanguang-jun was.

Most of the boys looked absolutely terrified, probably convinced that Wei Wuxian was going to slit all their throats on the spot. The ones nearest to him began wriggling away frantically as Wei Wuxian took a few more steps forward; the Immortal Binding Ropes kept them from being able to move much. Tears sprang to the eyes of more than one. Was he really that scary? Wei Wuxian wondered. Some of these kids had met him already, and he hadn’t done anything to them in Yi City.

The Lan boys had a very different reaction. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi managed to right themselves and sit upright, and their faces lit up like campfires. “It’s Hanguang-jun!” Lan Sizhui said, delighted.

“Hanguang-jun!” Lan Jingyi yelled, as if afraid that Lan Zhan couldn’t see or hear them.

“Why are you so happy?” Jin Chan snarled. “He’s here with HER! He helped her get away from justice, and now he’s going to help her kill us!”

“No, he isn’t!” Lan Sizhui said steadfastly. “Hanguang-jun would never do such a thing!”

Despite the situation, Wei Wuxian felt a warm rush at the earnestness in the boy’s face. Even with everyone telling him that Lan Zhan was married to a monster, he and Lan Jingyi seemed to be holding fast to their faith in their mentor. They had followed him for so many years, and seen him do so much good, that they would probably need some kind of solid, irrefutable proof before they would believe that he had truly turned his back on them.

Jin Ling simply stared at the slender black-clad figure, his face a battleground of misery and fear. He was probably worried about what the evil Yiling Patriarch would do to him for killing his baby, Wei Wuxian thought. If he were as deeply, bloodthirstily malevolent as everyone had always told these kids, he probably would have hurt Jin Ling for stabbing him in the first place, let alone while he was pregnant.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian sighed. Well, he couldn’t leave the kids tied up like this, especially if they had been here for a few days. Poor kids must be absolutely terrified after all this time — even though he was the cause of most of their panic. The ravening corpses roaming around outside must be pretty terrifying too… though again, they thought that was all his work. He looked from one petrified face to the next, including the faces of boys who had previously admired him for saving them.

Then he drew Suibian, and held it out towards Wen Ning. Without hesitation, the Ghost General took it, and strode into the main chamber.

The boys around him paled until they were almost as colorless as the dead man, and their eyes widened in wholesale panic. Wei Wuxian wanted to assure them that Wen Ning would cut off his own hands before he even dreamed of harming innocent people, but he was pretty sure that anything he said would just make them even more scared than before. It was time for deeds, not words.

“The Ghost General!” one boy squeaked. “He’s going to—to—“

“He’s going to kill us all!” another wailed, his eyes full of tears.

“She — he — just gave the Ghost General his sword! Her sword!” a third boy said tremulously. “He’s gonna — I can’t —“

Wen Ning moved through the cavern like a shadow, approaching the tangle of disheveled Jin boys. Jin Ling looked around in a panic as Wen Ning came towards him, and cringed back as Suibian was raised — slashed downward — and left the Immortal-Binding Ropes in pieces all around him. He blinked in confusion, looking at his own unbloodied, unsevered arms and legs, and quickly looked over his torso for signs of damage.

Wen Ning moved expressionlessly to Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi, who flinched but did not cry out as he sliced the ropes from their bodies. Then they scrambled to their feet, stumbling a little after sitting so long, and ran towards Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian. If either of them were afraid of him, Wei Wuxian reflected, then they didn’t show any of it. They seemed to be confident that no matter who was there or what happened, Lan Zhan would take care of the situation for them. Good kids.

“Second Madame Lan — I mean, Wei Wuxian — Senior Wei —“ Lan Sizhui stumbled, as if not sure what to say. “What should I call you?”

“‘Senior Wei’ works,” Wei Wuxian said with a grin. “Though I won’t complain about being called ‘Second Madame Lan’ if you forget.’”

“Senior Wei… you’re not the one who captured us, right? You’re here to save us with Hanguang-jun, aren’t you?” His eyes were bright and trusting, as if there was no doubt whatsoever as to Wei Wuxian’s benevolent intentions — even though every other person in this cavern was terrified of him.

Warmth flooded through Wei Wuxian, as he looked into the boy’s eyes. For a moment, he was reminded of a tiny child who had looked trustingly at him and held his hand, knowing nothing of the horrors he was accused of. The child he had tucked into the trunk of a rotted old tree, to give him a few more minutes of life. That boy had known the real him, not the monster others claimed he was — and even if Lan Sizhui didn’t remember consciously, some part of him knew that Wei Wuxian would never harm him.

He reached out a hand and rumpled Lan Sizhui’s hair, and felt even more affectionate when the boy didn’t flinch or draw back. “Of course it wasn’t me. I’m too poor to hire people.”

Lan Sizhui nodded earnestly. “I know you’re very poor. If it weren’t for Hanguang-jun…”

Wei Wuxian smiled ruefully. It hurt a little to admit that that was true, but then, it had been true when Sizhui was little too. “Okay, let’s not talk about that.”

He glanced around at the other heirs, many of whom had now been freed by Wen Ning. As soon as their ropes had been cut, they scuttled away from the fierce corpse, as if afraid that he would change his mind and start slicing them instead of the ropes. When he moved away to the next bound teenager, their eyes would inevitably move to Wei Wuxian — and despite two of their number standing in front of him, smiling and earnest, they were terrified. This pretty young woman was the Yiling Patriarch, the bloodthirsty monster who had supposedly killed thousands of cultivators back when the heirs were only toddlers. As much as they wanted to run away from him, they had seen and heard countless dead on the slopes outside, which meant they would definitely be overwhelmed and killed if they ran outside!

… then doubt began to creep in. Why was Wei Wuxian setting them free if he wanted to kill them, as Jin Chan had been saying? Why had he sent the Ghost General to free them? Why would he hire ordinary cultivators to kidnap and imprison the sect heirs and young disciples, rather than simply using an army of the dead? And why would Hanguang-jun, the most righteous cultivator that ever was, ally himself to someone this terrible?

Wei Wuxian glanced back just as Lan Zhan slipped an arm around him, and snuggled against his broad, warm chest. “Tell us everything,” he said to the boys. “Do you know who kidnapped you?”

“No,” Lan Jingyi piped up. “Their faces were covered in black smoke. We couldn’t see anything about what they looked like.”

“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian said, idly pulling at Lan Zhan’s sleeve. “Any ambushes I should know about?”

“I don’t think so, Senior Wei,” Lan Sizhui said earnestly. “They just tied us up and left us here, and we haven’t seen or heard anything of them since they left. They seemed like they were just leaving us here to die…”

Wei Wuxian was about to ask more questions, when he sensed someone standing behind him. He looked over his shoulder, and found Jin Ling standing there. The boy’s face was still absolutely miserable, and his fists were clenching and unclenching. He seemed to be having trouble raising his eyes above Wei Wuxian’s knees, and Wei Wuxian was pretty sure he saw some moisture gathering in the corners of the boy’s eyes.

In a whirl of white robes, Lan Zhan was suddenly between them, his body a shield between his love and the boy who had stabbed him. One of his arms stretched back to grip Wei Wuxian’s arm, pressing their bodies together. The other was holding Bichen, cold and shining, held at an angle in front of him. The message was clear: You will not touch him or our child. I would allow myself to be run through before I let you hurt either of them.

And just as quickly, Lan Sizhui was in front of Lan Zhan, his arms spread wide. Distress was flowering in his dark eyes. “Young Master Jin,” he said in a calm, soothing voice. “You’re not going to try to hurt him again, are you?”

Wei Wuxian slipped his arm out of Lan Zhan’s grip, and deftly stepped out from behind his husband and Lan Sizhui. “Are you trying to make a human pyramid? Let me talk to him. He won’t do it again. Don’t worry.”

“Wei Ying—“ Lan Zhan started to say.

Wei Wuxian caught Lan Zhan’s free hand and pressed his lips to those cool, smooth fingertips, then brushed them against his husband’s soft lips. “Trust me on this. I’m not taking any unnecessary risks, okay?”

Even without Jin Ling saying anything, Wei Wuxian could see misery etched into every line of his face. He had seen the boy unhappy before, but nothing like this — nothing like believing he had killed a baby. Even if he hadn’t learned about the pregnancy, Wei Wuxian suspected that Jin Ling would have been unhappy anyway. He had probably been imagining what he’d do to Wei Wuxian if they ever met for his entire life — and actually doing it hadn’t made him happy or satisfied. It hadn’t brought back his parents, or erased the pain of his life without them.

Jin Ling seemed to flinch at hearing his voice, but he slowly raised his eyes to somewhere around Wei Wuxian’s left shoulder. His lips moved for a few seconds before he managed to say something. “I didn’t mean to,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t think it would…”

“I know you didn’t,” Wei Wuxian said.

“If I had known… I wouldn’t have…”

“Well, as long as you don’t do it again,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms and smiling. “You’re not the kind of person who would try to hurt an unborn baby, no matter how much you hated someone.”

Lan Sizhui drew in a sharp breath. “A what?”

“You were pregnant? With a BABY?” Lan Jingyi blurted out.

“Yep! And it’s still in here!” Wei Wuxian pointed at his belly with both hands. “No permanent harm done! I’m still pregnant!”

Jin Ling had been staring at his feet, looking queasy as other people heard what he had done. Probably thinking again about the horrible burden of having killed an innocent baby, even if it was the Yiling Patriarch’s child. But upon hearing Wei Wuxian’s words, he looked up sharply, seemingly forgetting his prior discomfort. “What?” he said faintly.

“The baby’s not dead. Your sword missed it,” Wei Wuxian said, grinning cheerfully at him. “You don’t have to feel guilty about anything. Just don’t stab me again, okay? Lan Zhan’s still upset about the last time.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian had only meant for Jin Ling and the Lan boys to know what he was talking about, but in a vast echoing cave, his voice rang out as clearly as a bell. Many of the boys who had been in Yi City looked intensely confused, and more than a little sad that the woman they had tried to impress was not only the Yiling Patriarch, but now pregnant. Some of them were just goggling in disbelief, as if they couldn’t wrap their minds around it.

“Then… I didn’t…” Jin Ling stammered. His face was flushed, and there was an almost plaintive tone to his voice.

“Nope, you didn’t. Good thing, too,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his belly ostentatiously. “After all, the baby is going to be your cousin, isn’t it? You need to set a good example.”

He watched as Jin Ling’s face cycled between confusion, relief and a little bit of embarrassment. Despite his obvious regret about almost killing the child, he obviously didn’t want to be seen as shaken and vulnerable by the other boys his age — especially not with Jin Chan and his friends nearby. Other juniors around him were whispering amongst themselves — and only some of them were talking about Jin Ling.

“—it’s Hanguang-jun’s baby?”

“It must be. Look at how close they’re standing. And Hanguang-jun turned on the entire cultivation world because of it, right?”

“No, I think he would have even if they weren’t having a baby,” Ouyang Zizhen said a little wistfully. “You should have seen them in Yi City.”

“It’s weird,” another boy muttered. “I never thought of the Yiling Patriarch as… somebody who would want to have children. I was always told that he killed children and turned them into fierce corpses.”

“Yeah, he’s not anything like I was told he is,” a third, whom Wei Wuxian vaguely recalled from Yi City. “Not just because he’s a woman now. In Yi City he was… really nice. Like a cross between a teacher and a big brother who wants you to learn to take care of yourself. He wasn’t
scary, and he saved all of us from being torn apart or poisoned.”

“It must have been a trick,” one of the Jin boys snapped. “He’s very intelligent. He must have been trying to lull you all into a false sense of security.”

“I don’t think so,” the boy who had spoken before said dubiously. “I mean, a really bad person couldn’t keep the act up forever, could they? We were with him and Hanguang-jun for days and days, and there wasn’t a single hint of anything bad.”

Jin Chan snorted. “You’re all so gullible. D’you think she would have become as notorious as she is without being a fiend? She’s probably going to turn that baby into a fierce corpse as soon as it’s born, or use its blood for some kind of dark ritual.”

Wei Wuxian smirked at the boy’s dark imagination — using babies for dark rituals was exactly the sort of thing he had been accused of by all the different sects, merely because of how abominable it was. The only way to make it even more abominable? Accuse him of using his own baby. “That doesn’t make any sense. If I wanted to do that,” he called out, “wouldn’t I steal someone else’s baby instead of getting pregnant and going through nine months of discomfort? It sounds like a lot of work.”

A scattered ripple of laughter went through the cavern. Some of the heirs still looked wary, even shocked at the thing Wei Wuxian had said, but many of them seemed to see the logic in it. An ugly flush covered Jin Chan’s cheeks, and he was visibly gritting his teeth. Wei Wuxian had the feeling that he still felt humiliated at how easily the Yiling Patriarch had defeated him before, and only the common knowledge of his evil had salved that particular burn.

Wei Wuxian seized Lan Zhan’s hand, and pressed it against his stomach. “It’s a lot more likely that I just want to have Hanguang-jun’s baby, isn’t it?” he said with a grin. “Especially since I’ve never hurt a single baby in my life, and I don’t plan to start.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan murmured, pressing his other hand against Wei Wuxian’s back, and pulling his beloved closer to his body. He usually wasn’t so demonstrative in front of other people, but he seemed to feel it necessary to remind everyone that Wei Wuxian was his.

Most of the heirs and disciples still kept a safe distance from the two of them, but some of them — all from the Yi City incident, such as young Ouyang Zizhen — came closer. They still looked hesitant, as if they weren’t a hundred percent sure that Wei Wuxian was on their side, but they were willing to think that maybe he was. And in an odd way, the news of his pregnancy seemed to have somehow humanized him in their eyes.

Lan Sizhui smiled at them, and the brightness in his eyes showed that he was genuinely happy. “Hanguang-jun, Senior Wei — congratulations. I’m glad that you’re having a child together.”

“Aww, thanks,” Wei Wuxian said, throwing an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “You know I’m going to be relying on you for babysitting, though. Right? I wouldn’t trust just anybody with my baby.”

Memories rushed back of Sizhui as he had been all those years ago — his round face with its chubby cheeks, bright eyes and infectious smile, and that eager little baby voice as he chattered. Even then, he had been obedient to Lan Zhan, which had frustrated Wei Wuxian a little at the time. But hey, Sizhui — Wen Yuan — had grown up into the kind of person that every Lan should be, rather than a narrow-minded fussy coot like Lan Qiren.

And maybe it was sentimental, but Wei Wuxian wanted Lan Sizhui around his baby. He hadn’t been there to see the boy grow up, or been remembered by him in any significant way. But he could make sure that Sizhui was there with his own baby. He was the closest thing the baby would have to a big brother, after all — Wei Wuxian liked the idea of them being close to one another, even if they weren’t properly siblings. He knew that such bonds didn’t require a blood tie. Jiang Yanli had been as much his sister as any blood relative could have ever been.

And he felt a warm glow as Lan Sizhui’s eyes sparkled at the idea. “I’d be honored, Second Madame — I mean, Senior Wei,” he said.
“I want to help too,” Lan Jingyi piped up.

“You may,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

Wei Wuxian rubbed Lan Zhan’s hand over his stomach, grinning at the feeling of long, slender fingers clinging to his waist. If they hadn’t been surrounded by dozens of impressionable teenagers — and Wen Ning — he would have wrapped his legs around Lan Zhan’s waist to reenact their baby’s conception, right there in the Demon-Quelling Cave. That was probably what Lan Zhan had wanted during his last visit here, years ago.

Just then, Wen Ning strode through the cavern towards them. The teenagers immediately scurried out of the way, alarmed and unnerved by the proximity of not only a dead man, but one with Wen Ning’s fearsome reputation. Time and rumor had obscured Wen Ning’s true personality, Wei Wuxian thought. Nobody would ever think that he had been a timid, sweet-natured boy from a lesser branch of the Wen Sect — to everyone, he was the fearsome Ghost General, who could rampage through whole armies and tear out the hearts of the innocent.

“They’re all free now, Young Master Wei,” Wen Ning said, holding out Suibian.

“Are any of them hurt?” Wei Wuxian said, sheathing his sword.

“A few of them have scrapes or cuts, but nothing too bad,” Wen Ning said. “They’re more frightened than hurt.”

Then his pitch-black eyes shifted to the youth standing near Wei Wuxian. Wen Ning’s facial muscles were too stiff to betray much through his expression, but Wei Wuxian detected a faint hint of melancholy in his body language, and the way his gaze lingered on Sizhui’s face. Maybe he was seeing some trace of the little child he had once been, Wei Wuxian thought, or perhaps he saw a resemblance to his long-dead kin.

He glanced at Lan Sizhui, not sure how the boy would react to such scrutiny. It probably was pretty terrifying, coming from a fierce corpse that everyone had been terrified of since he was a toddler. But strangely, Sizhui looked less frightened and more… mildly perturbed. His ribbon-crossed forehead crinkled slightly, and a distant look drifted into his clear, steady eyes.

Then Lan Jingyi suddenly darted in front of his friend, his face pale. “What do you think you’re doing?” he said sharply. “He hasn’t done anything to you or Senior Wei! Just back away!”

“Jingyi, it’s all right,” Lan Sizhui said quickly.

But Wen Ning quickly shifted his gaze away, and quietly walked around Wei Wuxian to a shadowed corner of the cave. The teenagers quickly scurried out of his way — all of them except Lan Sizhui. Wei Wuxian couldn’t see any trace of fear or caution in the boy’s face or body language. Instead, he looked… thoughtful, and a little confused, as if he were struggling to remember a long-forgotten song.

Something flickered to life inside Wei Wuxian’s mind — and with it came a sudden flurry of excitement. Was the boy once known as Wen Yuan starting to remember something of his old life?

Chapter Text

Everything was going according to plan.

A small army of cultivators, from the heads of major sects to ordinary disciples, had set out at midday for the Burial Mounds. They had been eager to take Wei Wuxian’s life for the second time already, but upon the attempted murder of the Chief Cultivator, their anxiety had turned to rage. As his servants had borne him away, Jin Guangyao had heard countless enraged voices calling for the demonic cultivator’s blood, outraged that the authority of their society had been so shamelessly attacked.

Jin Guangyao had been lying in his bed for many hours, his wound carefully bandaged. His doctors had been instructed to inform everyone — especially Lan Xichen — that the Chief Cultivator’s condition was grave, and his survival was not assured. In truth, the wound was superficial — it had missed anything vital, and it had bled more than it had actually injured. In another few days, he would be completely recovered.

A faint smile touched Jin Guangyao’s pale lips, and he shifted under the covers in his bed. It would never be considered that Wei Wuxian might not have done this, even though assassination had never been his way. Jin Guangshan had done such a superb job of turning the cultivation world against Wei Wuxian that they would blame her for anything and everything. Jin Guangyao hadn’t even needed to lie about what had happened. Their minds had simply concluded that Wei Wuxian must have been seeking revenge, especially since she was already being blamed for Qin Su’s infirmity.

Although, he reflected, he had fanned the flames in advance by revealing to select clan leaders that Wei Wuxian had been pregnant at the time she was stabbed. “She may be even angrier because of it,” he had said sorrowfully, glancing at the nearest door. “Even the most terrible of beasts will mourn the loss of her child, and it might make her revenge even more terrible.” Their tendency towards gossip would ensure that everyone would know about the pregnancy within a day.

Jin Guangyao’s smile faded away. Wei Wuxian. Even when he had been dead, the man — or woman — had been a thorn in his side. When he was alive, he arrogantly refused to hand over the Yin Tiger Tally, defying the Jin Clan to defend a few worthless Wen. And when he had died and taken half of the Tally with him, Jin Guangyao had spent years trying to reconstruct it. Trying to reconstruct something that the arrogant little fool should have handed over in the first place.

With any luck, Wei Wuxian would soon be dead. And at the same time, the leadership of nearly every clan would be wiped out — and with them, the possibility of his secrets being exposed. If he needed to sacrifice them all to save himself, then so be it. The one blackmailing him was probably among their number, and destroying the clans’ leadership would rob that unknown person of his power.

Jin Guangyao opened his eyes as soft footsteps sounded in the doorway, and the sound of fine, soft cloth whispering. Lan Xichen’s face looked tense as he entered the palatial bedroom, with Liebing held between his slender fingers. “A-Yao?” he said quietly.

“Second Brother,” Jin Guangyao said faintly, making sure his smile looked sufficiently sickly. “Have they left?”

“Yes. I’m staying here to make sure that your wound doesn’t worsen. My uncle will lead the Lan disciples in my stead.” There was a definite strain in his voice, marring the usual serenity and soft kindness.

“I’m sorry,” Jin Guangyao lied softly. “I know how worried you are about Wangji.”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes, and lowered his head slightly.

Jin Guangyao felt some compassion for his sworn brother. While he personally had never loved his half-brother, and it had been very agreeable that he had died when he had, he knew that Lan Xichen loved Lan Wangji dearly. Staying behind rather than trying to reason with Wangji was clearly something that troubled him, but he had been determined to protect and heal his closest friend despite that.

Then again… he had been acting rather oddly in recent days. His oddly reticent behavior. His prowling. The probing, awkward questions he had been asking. Lan Xichen might be becoming suspicious, which made Jin Guangyao worried. He wouldn’t allow Lan Xichen to come to any harm — but it might become necessary to restrict him, in order to keep him from finding out anything he shouldn’t know. It would be unfortunate if he were to lose Wangji, but the man had thrown his lot in with Wei Wuxian.

“I’m sure your uncle will be able to make Wangji see reason,” Jin Guangyao said quietly.

In truth, he knew that the opposite was likely. Jin Guangyao had known for some time that Lan Wangji had loved Wei Wuxian — it had been fairly obvious to anyone who knew, as he did, what Lan Wangji had been punished for thirteen years ago. He loved Wei Wuxian enough to go up against the entire cultivation world — not once, but twice — and fight his own clan to defend her. Wei Wuxian was his world, his life, the core of his soul.

And Jin Guangyao hated that.

Maybe it was because the revelation of their marriage had come as his own marriage to Qin Su had imploded, but he loathed Wei Wuxian even more than before. He hadn’t been allowed to love his wife without shame and fear of discovery, once he knew that she was actually his sister. And even before he discovered that “Mo Lian” was actually Wei Wuxian, a seething jealousy had curdled in him. Even after discovering that she was Wei Wuxian, Jin Guangyao had hated him for being given that love, that affection, that bottomless well of adoration from the seemingly untouchable Lan Wangji… while he had been entrapped into a perverse, unspeakable marriage that would ruin him if the world learned about it.

And the pregnancy had made him hate Wei Wuxian even more. Jin Guangyao had never been able to look at his own child without the voice whispering in the back of his mind that his little boy had needed to die, that his very life was unnatural. And yet Wei Wuxian had conceived the child of a man who worshiped the ground she walked on, a child untouched by terrible secrets. Who was Wei Wuxian to deserve a blessing like that, after everything she had done?

His hands clenched under the covers, but he kept his face smooth and serene. The wound in his chest throbbed, even though he had made sure that it didn’t strike anything essential. “Second Brother… has there been any sign of the assassin?” he asked in a feeble voice.

“None,” Lan Xichen said tightly. “Every person was identified before they departed for the Burial Mounds, and every man and woman was accounted for. There were no strangers, and no one was missing. Otherwise, Golden Carp Tower has been locked down, and no one has left it.”

“I see,” Jin Guangyao said faintly.

“Did you… see what the assassin looked like?”

“I didn’t. He was so fast, and his face was covered.” Jin Guangyao sighed, and let his eyes drift shut. “Wei Wuxian truly is ruthless. She must have wanted revenge for the night when I revealed her true identity, and so she sent someone to kill me.”

A strange expression crossed Lan Xichen’s face, as if he had just stepped on a thorn. “That must be the case, since I don’t know of anyone else who might want to kill you,” he said quietly. “Although… when he hated someone and wanted to kill them during the Sunshot Campaign, he managed it through demonic cultivation rather than through the use of assassins. Wangji… told me some of the things he did to his enemies, and they were… unpleasant, but also highly unconventional.”

Jin Guangyao felt a flutter of anxiety at his sworn brother’s words. Perhaps he had overstepped himself, suggesting that Wei Wuxian would use anything as mundane as mortal assassins. “It’s impossible to know the mind of a creature like Wei Wuxian,” he said in a measured voice. “Her unpredictability was part of her effectiveness. Perhaps, since she is summoning corpses from all across the land, she is conserving her strength for that venture rather than using it against a single insignificant target.”

“Perhaps,” Lan Xichen said quietly. A mild smile crossed his lips. “There is no telling, unfortunately.”

There was nothing overtly suspicious in the way he spoke; he had always spoken with a gentle, pleasant cadence. Yet Jin Guangyao felt concern stirring inside him. Lan Xichen’s behavior had been odd ever since he had returned to Cloud Recesses, and not all of it could be explained by the sudden defection of his younger brother. He seemed as though he was troubled by something internal and more locked in his thoughts than the problems that he was currently dealing with.

Could Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have… contacted him?

If anyone else showed such suspicious behavior, Jin Guangyao might have quietly arranged for an “accident” to befall them. Especially now, when his position depended on the deaths of everyone who ventured out to the Burial Mounds. If Su Minshan did as he was supposed to do, then every clan except the Jin and Lan clans would lose their head and top disciples, and oftentimes their young heirs and disciples. It was the perfect opportunity to rid oneself of enemies, without anyone noticing.

But this was Lan Xichen. He would never suffer any harm if Jin Guangyao had anything to say about it.

Of course… it might become necessary to restrain and imprison him, much as he had Qin Su. Not permanently, of course. Just until backup plans could be set into motion — or until the cultivation world had a chance to be cleansed of anyone who might be a danger to Jin Guangyao. He would be shocked and horrified by Wei Wuxian’s brutality, of course — after all, there could be no doubt that she was the one who had done this…

The door opened, and a servant in simple robes slipped in. The man deferentially bowed to Lan Xichen before holding out an envelope. Jin Guangyao’s eyes widened slightly. This particular man was one of his followers who knew his more brutal side — he was one of those enforcers who quietly eliminated threats in ways that could not be easily tracked or traced. If he was daring to show himself in front of the Lan clan leader, then something terrible must have happened.

He tore open the envelope, and unfolded the paper inside. His eyes widened at the brief, piercingly simple message.

Clan Leader,

Your wife has vanished. We do not know how.

Chapter Text

Jin Guangyao’s heart froze at those words. Qin Su was gone. Escaped? Kidnapped?

It didn’t matter. If she was outside his control, then she could expose him. Not more than any other person — Su Minshan knew more about his plans than any other person alive — but enough to ruin him. And once they knew that one unforgivable sin, they would ferret out more of them — the Yin Tiger Tally, Xue Yang, the clans he had eliminated, his son’s suspicious death — and he would have nowhere to hide then.

Then his blood ran even colder, as if ice water was flowing through his veins. He had been seeking that letter she had misplaced — in fact, he hadn’t allowed anyone to leave Golden Carp Tower while his men combed the place for any suspicious missives. When it was found, he would quietly kill whomever had seen the contents, and destroy it to keep his secret. Except for his most trusted servants and Lan Xichen, he had not allowed anyone to enter Fragrance Palace, just in case the letter had slipped somewhere unobtrusive and might be found while cleaning.

But now that he thought about it… Wei Wuxian had hidden in Fragrance Palace around the time the letter had gone missing. Apparently invisible, unseen and able to penetrate the hidden chambers that Jin Guangyao had revealed to nobody except Xue Yang. Had the demonic cultivator stolen it? It would explain why she had been there in the first place, and why the letter had vanished from where Qin Su had left it.

Then again… who would believe her? She was a monster hated by all, and it was now common knowledge that she had tried to kill the Chief Cultivator. Slandering him would be a small thing, and nobody would believe the lies that spilled from her seemingly poisonous tongue. Even if she showed someone the letter, it would be easily dismissed as a foul rumor created to hurt him. He could even dismiss it as something written by Wei Wuxian herself.

But… Qin Su’s disappearance cast a very different light on the matter. She would probably rather die than allow the world to know of her shame, but if someone did know… if someone did find out from HER… then it would be over. She was well-born and well-married, the most exalted and respected lady of the cultivation world. If she admitted that her husband had knowingly married his own half-sister, then there would be no one would doubt her.

Jin Guangyao clenched his fists on the note, crumpling it between his fingers. He should have killed Qin Su before, quietly and painlessly. But he had clung to the hope that he could convince her to carry on their sham of a marriage out of self-preservation and self-interest, that the status and comfort of her life would convince her to bury what she knew. And of course, he had hoped not to have to harm the woman who had gone to such lengths to love him, who had never chastised him for his illegitimacy or his mother’s profession. That had been a mistake.

He should have killed her. If he found her now, he would make sure that she died immediately. Not cruelly — not after the kindness and respect she had always shown him. But as A-Song had needed to die, so did Qin Su.

“A-Yao?” Lan Xichen said, concerned. “What is wrong?”

Jin Guangyao forced his face into a rueful smile, soft and inoffensive. “My wife’s condition has worsened, I’m afraid,” he said quietly.

His one hope was that Su Minshan would successfully carry out their scheme, and the cultivation world would be left in shambles, with only Jin Guangyao and his sworn brother to pick up the pieces. His enemy had to be one of the men or women who had set out for the Burial Mounds. That way, with the world in chaos, no one would pay attention as his men scoured the entire city for some hint of Qin Su. Her death would be just another horror visited upon them by Wei Wuxian, and he would grieve for a long time, but bravely continue to dominate their world.

Things had to turn out that way. They had to.

*

Normally, the news that Qin Su was in a bad way would have alarmed Lan Xichen. He wasn’t as close to her as he was to Jin Guangyao, but he knew her well and respected her deeply, and they had seen one another frequently at Golden Carp Tower ever since her marriage. But to his shame, he felt his heart leap at the chance to find out where she was, and have an excuse to see her.

His fingers slipped around Liebing, the cool jade familiar and smooth against his skin. “A-Yao, you’re in no shape to see her now,” he said firmly. “If you permit me, I will see to her condition and try to help her.”

At those words, Lan Xichen felt a sharp pang of guilt again, as if a thorn had lodged in his heart. He hoped that the guilt didn’t show in his eyes or face — Jin Guangyao was a very perceptive man, able to easily ascertain the feelings and motives of those around him. It was what had made him such an effective clan leader — it was at least part of the reason he had risen so far, despite the prejudice against his origin as the son of a prostitute. It was something Lan Xichen had always admired about him.

Jin Guangyao shook his head sadly. “In her current state, it might make her worse, Second Brother,” he said softly. “My poor A-Su…”

He looked so convincing. So tragically hurt. The pallor of his lips and high-boned cheeks, and the hint of tears in the corners of his eyes, and the vulnerable way he lay in his vast bed. Lan Xichen felt another jab of guilt, as if he were bullying someone on his deathbed. Even though he knew that he had not put any pressure on Jin Guangyao, he felt as though his hidden thoughts had transgressed against his sworn brother…

There was a whisper of fabric and muffled footsteps. “Sect Leader Lan,” a deferential voice said.

Lan Xichen glanced up. It was a doctor he didn’t know — one of several he had seen over the last day or so. The man had an ordinary kind of face that contrasted against his ornate robes. The one discordant note was a scar bisecting his eyebrow and cheek, as if someone had slashed down the side of his face — an odd look for a doctor to have, in Lan Xichen’s experience.

The man looked at him solemnly, and said quietly, “I am here to examine the Chief Cultivator. We do not want his condition to worsen.”

“Of course not,” Lan Xichen said quickly.

As the doors slid shut behind him, he leaned against the wall, with Liebing still clutched in his fist. Guilt speared through him like thin, rusty blades. A part of him longed to go back into the room and tell Jin Guangyao everything and hear the reassuring reasons for these falsehoods, discrepancies, mistakes. Maybe some days before, he might have done just that — that was how deep his faith in his sworn brother had run. But now… he couldn’t. There were too many discrepancies, too many lies, too many things that couldn’t be explained some other way.

And yet…

And yet someone had tried to kill Jin Guangyao, only hours before. There had been a few attempts on his life over the years — and of course, the attack that had killed poor little Jin Rusong — but none had come close to actually harming him. It was an act guaranteed to invoke the wrath of the entire cultivation world — trying to kill the Chief Cultivator was the ultimate act of arrogance and cruelty.

Lan Xichen rubbed his eyes. He knew that it hadn’t been Wei Wuxian who had done this. Even if he believed that Wei Wuxian was the sort of person to assassinate Jin Guangyao like that — especially in such a simple and crude manner — he knew that Wangji would never permit it. Had someone decided to take advantage of the Yiling Patriarch’s return, in the hopes that Jin Guangyao’s death would be pinned on Wei Wuxian? After all, right now every sin or crime would be laid at Wei Wuxian’s feet, rather than being examined for who might have done it.

Which just left the question of exactly who had tried to kill Jin Guangyao. Wei Wuxian and Wangji had told him of someone pulling strings behind the scenes, a puppeteer who had sparked off the discovery of Nie Mingjue’s arm. But neither of them had discerned who it might be. The clues were too few and too far between. Had that person perhaps gotten tired of waiting for others to enact his will, and had taken action on his own?

He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that nothing seemed certain anymore.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji knew that it didn’t show on his face, but inside him was a storm of both anger and relief.

Young cultivators often struck out on journeys of their own, sometimes for weeks at a time — that was how Jin Ling, Lan Sizhui and the other boys had ended up in Yi City. The downside was that if something befell them, such as being entrapped by a malicious individual like Xue Yang, they might not be able to escape it on their own. That included a mysterious kidnapping by an unknown person — though Lan Wangji suspected it was Jin Guangyao again — which no clan appeared to have noticed yet.

Lan Wangji’s lips thinned. He had no doubt that Lan Xichen would have told him if something untoward had happened to Sizhui and his other students. They had probably only been missing a few days, and in all the confusion, everyone had simply assumed that the boys had gone off on missions or Night Hunts. Not just kidnapped, but left to potentially starve to death if nobody came into the Demon-Quelling Cave.

And that angered him. These boys had been under his care, and he had carefully taught them over the years in a way that he hoped was better than his own formation. Taught them to think outside the box, to question what they were told, to judge by what was right and not by what society told them was right. He had watched their trusting faces and bright eyes for much of their lives, and had tried his hardest to teach what he knew.

Especially Sizhui. The relief came from knowing that no permanent harm had been done, and that the boys were all safe — at least for now.

If Wei Ying seemed disturbed by any of this, he gave no sign of it — he simply put his hands on his hips, and surveyed the cave. “Okay, kids. We’re all heading out,” he called.

Lan Wangji slipped his hand around Wei Ying’s elbow, pulling him closer as they began to leave. It would be better, he thought, if they weren’t in such a confined space when the assembled clans arrived. They probably wouldn’t attack while their children were inside… but if they didn’t know the children were there, they might attack anyway, and hurt some of them. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of being backed into a corner.

The Lan disciples, Ouyang Zizhen and most of the others from Yi City nodded and eagerly began following them towards the exit. Then Lan Sizhui — who was at the front of the group — suddenly slowed and stopped, a frown on his lips. “What’s wrong?” Lan Jingyi called out impatiently. “What do you wanna do, sit here until you starve?”

“Are you nuts?” one boy called out. “There are walking corpses out there!”

“Hundreds, at least,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully.

“You’re just trying to get us all killed!” the boy wailed.

Wen Ning took a step closer to Wei Ying, and Lan Wangji felt his entire body tighten at the closeness. It didn’t entirely make sense — he knew Wei Ying loved him, had seen it in his smile and sparkling eyes. He had felt it in his core as Wei Ying’s body quivered, wet and searingly hot around him, and Lan Wangji had known pure, aching happiness. He had nothing to be jealous of… and yet, when he was reminded of the close bond between Wei Ying and Wen Ning, jealousy spiked inside him like jagged thorns.

“I’ll clear out as many as I can,” Wen Ning said in a low voice.

Wei Ying nodded, and the fierce corpse vanished out of the front of the cave as quickly as he had come.

Lan Sizhui turned to the uneasy boys gathered before him, and his voice rose enough to echo through the cavern. “We’re all armed, so we can fight our way through the corpses if we need to. Staying in here won’t be any safer — they might swarm inside, and you would be trapped with no way to get out. Follow us!”

A smile crossed Wei Ying’s lips, and Lan Wangji knew what had caused it. Sizhui was an intelligent youth, and he had natural leadership qualities that needed to be encouraged to flower. In another life, where things had turned out differently, they might have been able to raise him together — but even in this one, he was proud of the young man that Sizhui had grown into.

Lan Wangji watched as several other boys followed Sizhui — first was Jingyi and his other students, then boys from other clans, the first being Ouyang Zizhen. Several of the boys looked a little awkward as they passed by Wei Ying. Most boys that age were entranced by pretty women — Lan Wangji had observed it in many guest disciples. It had to be a disquieting event to be intrigued by a beautiful, intelligent woman, only to discover that she was not only a man’s soul in a woman’s body, but was the Yiling Patriarch.

More and more boys broke away from the rear of the cave and scuttled past, keeping as much distance between themselves and Wei Ying as possible. As the last of them vanished into the front of the cave, Wei Ying glanced up at Lan Wangji’s face, and smiled that bewitchingly mischievous smile. His slender fingers slipped behind Lan Wangji’s head, and he felt them playing with the ends of his flowing ribbon.

“If there weren’t a bunch of corpses outside,” Wei Ying purred, “I’d tell all the kids to wait outside for a few hours, so Mommy and Daddy can have some private time… together. It’s been what — four days since we fucked? I’m feeling a little lonely, Lan-er-gege.”

Hearing the phrase “Lan-er-gege” was enough to send hot, wild desire surging through Lan Wangji’s blood, so quickly that he was almost breathless. Almost without thinking, he pressed Wei Ying up against the cold stone wall, their bodies tightly wound around each other. Before Wei Ying could utter another word, Lan Wangji hungrily kissed that sweet, warm, nonsense-spewing mouth. His hands gripped Wei Ying’s backside, sliding him up the wall until their faces were at the same level. Then one moved up to the folds of Wei Wuxian’s robe, slid inside to roughly caress a soft breast and its hard nipple…

A voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Sizhui and the others were all waiting outside, but they could wait a few minutes — just a few minutes —

Then something crashed into the cave wall.

The sound of cracking stone broke apart their kiss prematurely, and Lan Wangji almost growled at the sudden loss. But he swept out to the front of the cave, with Wei Ying still glued to his side and almost matching his longer stride. Bichen sprang from its scabbard, gleaming with a pale blue light that illuminated the darkened cave.

It was Wen Ning, who was embedded in a roughly man-shaped hole in the stone wall. The teenagers were staring at him in horror, obviously petrified of whatever could smash the Ghost General around like a doll. Lan Wangji was rather curious to know what had happened as well — he had seen himself that Wen Ning was virtually unstoppable compared to the other corpses on this mountain

Then he saw a familiar figure standing at the mouth of the cave — a man dressed in purple, with a shimmering, sizzling coil of spiritual energy pooling around his feet. His face was as stormy and cold as a winter blizzard, and splotches of dark blood spattered his robes, though it wasn’t immediately obvious if it was his own blood, or whether he had killed someone on the way up the mountain.

Lan Wangji felt his stomach clench, and his hand tightened on Wei Ying’s elbow. Jiang Wanyin wasn’t the person he wanted to see least right now, but he was in the top ten. Especially with Wei Ying here, and his former martial brother able to unleash his rage and hatred in violence at last.

“Uncle!” Jin Ling shouted.

Jiang Wanyin turned his dark eyes to his nephew, and his lips pressed into a line. “Come here. Now.”

Jin Ling glanced around. He looked both relieved and a little frightened, as if afraid that Jiang Wanyin would use Zidian on him next. But more than that, he looked rather… confused.

Then Jiang Wanyin’s eyes shifted to Wei Ying’s face, and a faint curl came into his lip, as if he were seeing something he found disgusting.

A cold, blistering anger rose up inside Lan Wangji at the sight of the man’s face, which he had last seen in the chaos at Golden Carp Tower. He had heard the horror stories of what Jiang Wanyin had done to demonic cultivators for the past thirteen years, all in pursuit of his former martial brother. He hated Wei Ying — and he probably hated him even more now that his identity was confirmed, rather than merely suspicion.

He wasn’t entirely sure what Wei Ying’s thoughts were upon seeing Jiang Wanyin. But his face was uncharacteristically grave, with no trace of his usual merriment. His slender hand was locked tightly around Lan Wangji’s elbow, and Lan Wangji suspected his wife had no idea that he was doing it.

Then he saw movement among the trees — and it wasn’t the shambling movements of the corpses. Living figures appeared in the mist between the black, leafless trees. More of them appeared with every passing minute, slowly drifting forward, with blood spattering their robes and some ugly cuts and bruises on their exposed skin. Their faces were grim and cold-eyed, as if none of them had ever shown mercy to anyone in their lives. They certainly wouldn’t start now, he thought grimly.

Dozens emerged from the blackened forest, striding forwards towards the cave. Their numbers swelled as the minutes went by, growing to the hundreds — and finally into the thousands. Such a force had not been seen since the Battle of Nightless City, when one man had unleashed a show of horrific power that none had seen before or since.

The entire cultivation world had come to fight Wei Ying.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Wei Wuxian wasn’t surprised. After all, he had known that countless cultivators were converging on the Burial Mounds to find and kill him — it was just bad luck that they happened to arrive just as he and Lan Zhan were sending the kids outside, making it obvious that someone was inside the cave. And it was even worse luck that the person at the front of the crowd was Jiang Cheng, who had Zidian crackling in his hand, ready to lash out at anyone he hated. Which was probably Wei Wuxian, if his past behavior was anything to do by.

Wei Wuxian sighed, and rested his hand on Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Hanguang-jun, things are about to get nasty.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan’s arm tightened around him, and Bichen slid a little further out of its sheath.

More cultivators were still streaming up the mountainside. Their robes — splattered with blood and mud — were in every color, from the pure snow-white to deepest black. In between were graceful shades of blue, green, red, yellow and orange. Wei Wuxian squinted into the outside of the cave, seeing the flashes of purple that signaled the Jiang sect — though he didn’t recognize any of the faces of the disciples there. Then again, most of the disciples he had known well had died at the Wen Clan’s hands.

The only one there who didn’t look grimly determined was Nie Huaisang. He was clutching a fan in his right hand rather than a saber, and was fanning himself nervously as he approached the cave. It made a smile cross Wei Wuxian’s face — this wasteland of death and resentment wasn’t the kind of place where his old classmate would go if he could possibly avoid it. He was surprised Nie Huaisang had come along at all.

“Dad!” Ouyang Zizhen suddenly cried out.

“Mom!” another boy wailed.

“Big brother!” a third yelled, racing out the yawning cave mouth.

Wei Wuxian smiled as the kids raced out into the vast, tightly-packed crowd, shouting for their mothers, fathers and siblings. Some of them immediately wrapped their arms around their children, overjoyed that their offspring had survived an encounter with the Yiling Patriarch. But others didn’t really show much reaction at all — they seemed more interested in targeting Wei Wuxian than in confirming whether their heirs were still wound-free and in one piece.

“That fiend!” one man raged. “Kidnapping our children and imprisoning them in his cave! Wei Wuxian has no scruples.”

Then a stately figure clad all in funereal white came through the crowd, his face set in a grim mask. He looked, if it was possible, even more angry and stern than the many clan leaders who surrounded him. At the sight of Lan Qiren, Wei Wuxian felt Lan Zhan’s hand press against the small of his back, pulling him closer, even as his body tensed under his white robes.

Lan Qiren’s lips tightened as he saw his nephew with his arm around Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian wasn’t surprised by his reaction. “Wangji,” the older man called out.

Lan Zhan didn’t move a single muscle. “Uncle,” he replied quietly.

But he made no move to say or do anything more — only a dutiful acknowledgement of his uncle’s presence, and nothing more. Wei Wuxian glanced from his emotionless face to his uncle’s grim one, as he waited for one of them to say something more. The message was clear to everyone who knew whose these people were — Hanguang-jun bore no ill will towards his clan, but he was unshakably on Wei Wuxian’s side.

Lan Qiren’s face hardened into a mask of disapproval, and it seemed for a moment like he was about to say something more — probably blustering at his nephew for violating hundreds of rules all at once. With a mischievous smile, Wei Wuxian took the opportunity to trail his fingertips lightly down Lan Zhan’s chest, and brush his lips against his husband’s well-defined jaw. It had the desired effect — Lan Qiren looked as if he were about to qi deviate on the spot at the blatant display of intimacy.

And he wasn’t the only one. A woman stormed to the front of the crowd, her white robes and face disheveled. Her eyes were full of tears, as if she had been personally betrayed. Wei Wuxian couldn’t remember who she was, and judging by Lan Zhan’s lack of reaction, he probably didn’t know her either.

But the woman raised her head and called out, “Hanguang-jun, what happened to you?” Her voice was trembling. “How could you do this?”

How could he do what? Wei Wuxian wanted to call back. This was who Lan Zhan had been all along! People just hadn’t known him well enough to realize!

“You were always the noblest of men, but now… I don’t recognize you. Years ago, you defied the Yiling Patriarch — and now you’re in his bed and doing his bidding! How could you let yourself be seduced by someone this evil, to the point where you would fight us?”

Lan Zhan was as still as a statue, his eyes slowly moving over the crowds. He gave no sign that he had heard the woman’s rant.

“Maybe you didn’t know Hanguang-jun as well as you thought you did,” Wei Wuxian said.

“I clearly didn’t!” the woman said fiercely. “He’s not worthy of the respect he’s been given if he doesn’t even care!”

“On the contrary… I’ve never respected him more,” Wei Wuxian said, twirling a lock of his husband’s ink-black hair around his finger.

Lan Zhan lowered his light gaze to Wei Wuxian’s face, drinking in the cheeky smile and bright eyes, and the shadow of a smile almost touched his lips. But this wasn’t the time, as much as Wei Wuxian liked the idea of making his uncle-in-law uncomfortable. He would have plenty of time to make Lan Qiren squirm by kissing and groping Lan Zhan later.

Instead, he glanced around at the sea of grim faces before him, their hair and bloodstained robes stirred by the cold breeze. Some of the faces were unfamiliar — but he vaguely remembered others from thirteen years ago. They had looked at him the same way back then, with hate and fear glittering in their eyes. They had tried to kill him, after months of crafting the excuses needed, the image of him as a monster who needed to be put down. They hadn’t killed him back then, and they wouldn’t kill him now. Especially not when he had Lan Zhan and Wen Ning on his side.

“So, everybody seems to have come here,” he said in a conversational tone. “I’m not sure why everyone decided to come for a visit.”

“Don’t you?” Jiang Cheng said coldly.

“No, I don’t,” Wei Wuxian said, leaning against Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

His former martial brother’s cheek twitched a little at the sight, but he didn’t say anything about it. Zidian sparked and writhed around his fingers, ready to lash out again, but he seemed to be restraining himself for the moment. Lan Zhan’s hand, still planted firmly in the small of Wei Wuxian’s back, slipped around his waist.

“Don’t you have any shame?” Jiang Cheng finally said through gritted teeth.

“Not much. And about what?”

“Acting that way — draping yourself all over him —“

A figure dressed all in white stepped to the forefront of a crowd, with a black guqin slung over his shoulder. Wei Wuxian frowned slightly — the man seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place his face. Maybe it was just that white robes and a black guqin looked a little like those Lan Zhan had… but this man completely lacked that indefinable grace, power and poise that Lan Zhan naturally had. And of course, he wasn’t anywhere near as beautiful.

“We wouldn’t have had to come here,” the man said coolly, “if the Yiling Patriarch hadn’t summoned corpses from all across the countryside and taken the young masters of every clan hostage. You did it so very publicly and obviously. How could we not come for you?”

It was only when he spoke that Wei Wuxian finally remembered who the man was — it was Su She of the Moling Su clan, who had spoken out against him back at Golden Carp Tower. He seemed to have a grudge against Lan Zhan and himself, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t entirely sure why that was. He hadn’t gotten around to asking Lan Zhan why it was — but he could tell from Lan Zhan’s icy eyes and thinned lips that the dislike was mutual.

“I’ll have you know,” Wei Wuxian called out, “that I didn’t take anyone hostage. In fact, we had just freed all these boys before you arrived, and we were planning to escort them back to Yiling.”

Su She’s lip twisted in a bitter smile. And he wasn’t the only one — countless voices scoffed in mingled disgust and disbelief, while others called out in outrage that Wei Wuxian would utter such a shameless lie. Some of them almost seemed more offended that he dared to deny accusations than they had been over the boys’ abductions.

“Of course it was you!” one older cultivator said sternly. “They were brought to your lair in the Burial Mounds — who else would have done that?”

“As if anyone else would do something so despicable!” one woman shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw Jiang Cheng quickly looking to Jin Ling, who was still lurking in the cave mouth. The boy looked as if he had swallowed something hot and was struggling not to let other people notice his discomfort. He avoided looking at Wei Wuxian, but he also didn’t seem to quite be able to meet his uncle’s gaze, and he made no motion to join him.

“Were you so enraged by losing your child that you decided to kill ours as revenge?” one cultivator called out.

“I didn’t lose anything,” Wei Wuxian said with a grin, placing a hand on his lower belly. “My baby’s alive and well, thanks.”

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian hadn’t exactly known what the reaction would be to hearing about his pregnancy, especially since news of it had already spread to everybody. Some of the people there looked confused; others muttered amongst themselves, as if they couldn’t believe it; still others looked nervous at the idea. Maybe they thought the Yiling Patriarch would birth someone even worse than he was, or maybe a few of them were uncomfortable with the idea of killing a pregnant woman. Or, more likely, they were imagining what the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun would do to them if anyone harmed their child.

And maybe it was his imagination, but he thought that some of the cultivators had… other reactions. Some of the male ones were staring at him unblinkingly, their cheeks a little flushed; a few of them were muttering amongst themselves. And more than one female cultivator was looking rather sour at the sight of Lan Zhan’s arms tightly wrapped around the woman clad all in black. Maybe some of them had had designs on Lan Zhan themselves, he thought with a little glee.

The strongest reaction came from Lan Qiren — his eyes widened and his face paled until it was as white as his ribbon. Wei Wuxian had never seen someone faint from shock before, but he imagined for a moment that his uncle-in-law was going to do that. The demonic cultivator smirked and patted his stomach again, just to rub it in. This is your nephew’s legitimate child inside me, and it’s not going anywhere. If Zewu-jun doesn’t have any kids of his own, one day…

“We’re going to help with babysitting!” Lan Jingyi said cheerfully.

“Hanguang-jun is allowing us to assist Senior Wei with their child,” Lan Sizhui said more sedately.

Lan Qiren scowled at them. “Be silent.”

But the oddest reaction came from Jiang Cheng, who was standing not too far away. Zidian had retracted back into his ring, probably because he wasn’t thinking about whipping anyone for the moment. He looked simultaneously repulsed and fascinated, as if he were staring at something that he couldn’t quite believe existed, but which was also so twisted and wrong that it offended his senses.

Well, Wei Wuxian could sort of understand that. Jiang Cheng had known him for most of his life as a man — a man in body and soul, adept in the arts and disciplines that men excelled in, and happy in being a man. It had been enough of a shock to find out that his onetime martial brother had a woman’s body now — it was probably an even bigger shock to hear that Wei Wuxian was pregnant now. Happily married to Lan Zhan, happily getting fucked senseless by Lan Zhan, and happily pregnant by Lan Zhan. All from a man who had once been his closest friend.

Speaking of people who had learned his secret… the fact that Lan Qiren was in charge of the Lan division meant that Lan Xichen was not here. That wasn’t a good sign — it had been a risk for the Lan clan leader to head to Golden Carp Tower and try to investigate. Whatever he had found, he would have been here if he was able…

“I’m curious,” Wei Wuxian called out, glancing over the crowd. “I can’t help but notice that there are a few faces missing from your ranks. Very important ones, considering the occasion. Where are Lianfang-zun and Zewu-jun?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Su She snapped. “An assassin stabbed Lianfang-zun at Golden Carp Tower, nearly killing him. An assassin you doubtlessly sent! And Zewu-jun is making sure he doesn’t die from his wounds.”

Wei Wuxian laughed out loud. “An assassin I sent? Since when have I ever hired assassins instead of doing things myself? And with what money?”

But his laughter faded as it sank in what was happening, and he quickly glanced up at Lan Zhan’s stony face. Lan Xichen might have been able to talk the crowd down, or at least mediate between Wei Wuxian and the crowd baying for his blood. But that oh-so-convenient assassination attempt had stripped them of their one ally, when they needed him most… and if any harm had come to Lan Zhan’s brother while he was alone with Jin Guangyao…

A familiar voice spoke up amidst the crowd — Ouyang Zizhen, who was standing anxiously next to his father. “Dad… I don’t think he was the one who kidnapped us… and I don’t think he tried to kill Lianfang-zun either. He saved all our lives in Yi City, and he rescued us less than an hour ago too…”

Murmurs rose from the other young boys who had sided with him in the cave, agreeing that Wei Wuxian didn’t seem like he had been the one to do all this. It was an unexpectedly bold move, Wei Wuxian had to admit — these boys challenging their elders on a subject that everyone seemed to be in agreement with. They were really good kids.

“Shut up!” his father snapped. “You’re only a child. You don’t understand these things. Do you have any idea who that is?”

“He knows,” Lan Jingyi called out defiantly. “That’s why he said what he said. How well do YOU really know Wei Wuxian?”

Voices rose in protest at the idea that Wei Wuxian could be anything but the monster they had painted him as. The only one who seemed to be silent was Jiang Cheng, still simmering some distance away. His eyes were locked on Wei Wuxian, who was comfortably wrapped in one of Lan Zhan’s arms. Jiang Cheng’s face still had the same bitterly unhappy, mildly disgusted expression — as if his former martial brother had personally offended him somehow.

Then a cultivator — an older man with graying hair — stormed forward and glared up at the woman dressed in black. “Do you remember me?” he shouted.

“Nope,” Wei Wuxian said. “Should I?”

“If you had any decency, you would!” the man snapped. “My leg remembers you!”

He lifted his robe and stuck out his leg, and many people nearby gasped rather theatrically. Below the knee, his leg was made out of wood. The man grimaced, before dropping the robe once again.

“You may think that we’ll go easy on you because you’re a woman now, or because you’re pregnant,” he called out defiantly. “But I, Yi Weichun, am only one of the people you maimed or killed back at Nightless City — and we will have justice, regardless of what you look like!”

“I’ll bet she conceived that child just to avoid retribution, the whore!” another person said resentfully.

“No, it was because of all the fucking,” Wei Wuxian replied honestly.

Lan Qiren blanched a light, delicate green. Lan Jingyi suddenly vibrated with suppressed laughter, only to be gently elbowed by Lan Sizhui. A few scattered laughs rang out, apparently because some of the people had been caught unawares by the answer; Nie Huaisang in particular dove behind his fluttering fan, his shoulders shaking violently, and didn’t emerge for several seconds. Most of the cultivators present seemed to be a little confused at the turn the conversation had taken, and some of them seemed to be getting upset that Wei Wuxian had disarmed one of them so expertly.

Then a young cultivator with bright eyes and a fresh face stepped forward. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and was probably younger. “Wei Wuxian!” he called out. “You killed both of my parents at Nightless City, but I imagine you don’t bother to remember them either.”

Wei Wuxian sighed. It wasn’t that he intentionally forgot the people he had fought and killed back in that battle. It was that the Battle of Nightless City — and everything that had come after his sister’s death— had faded to a hazy blur of pain and darkness in his mind. Even now, he still didn’t remember Lan Zhan rescuing him or defending him against his clan, and that was actually something he wanted to remember.

“I suppose even though you have your own child now,” the man said scornfully, “you don’t feel any remorse for orphaning others’ children. But I will not forgive or forget what you have done.”

Before Wei Wuxian could think of an answer, a tall, thin man stepped to the forefront as well. He looked stern and haughty, and his eyes were fixed intently on Wei Wuxian.

The demonic cultivator sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “Let me guess. I maimed you too?”

The man shook his head once.

“Killed your family? Your parents?”

“No.”

“Then why do YOU want to kill me, then?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“I have joined all these fine people in order to show you that a man — or woman — who goes against the entire world deserves universal condemnation. No matter how many times you come back to life, no matter what your body looks like, we will send you back to your tomb for the sake of justice!”

Cheers erupted like poisonous pustules, ringing out through the dank air. That was obviously what the rest of the crowd had been waiting for — someone to put into words what they were all thinking and feeling. The man — whom someone addressed as Sect Leader Yao — seemed pleased by the sudden praise and adulation, and his eyes practically glowed with satisfaction as he stepped back.

Wei Wuxian grimaced. There was nothing he could do to convince someone like that that he wasn’t a threat, or that he wasn’t the worst person to ever exist. To people like Yao, there was no such thing as right or wrong, nothing about being fair or kind or doing what a person felt was the right thing to do. It was about following what other people said was right or wrong, and upholding what they believed was the right thing to do. And if they believed you should be cruel, or unfair, or hurt those who had no way of defending themselves… well, that was just what the world had determined.

To someone like Sect Leader Yao, Wei Wuxian was something more primally dangerous than just a maimer of legs or a killer of parents. He was a disruption to society itself, a chaotic force that upended everything Yao believed in and supported. The world didn’t need to be changed to fit what was right — the ones who went against it simply needed to be crushed underfoot, for no reason other than that the world said they were wrong.

Chapter Text

Sect Leader Yao’s outburst seemed to embolden the people gathered at the Burial Mounds. More voices cried out accusations of deaths he had supposedly caused, although for all Wei Wuxian knew, he was being accused of things he had never done. Some faces were twisted by renewed anger, while others lit up with the glee of the violently righteous. And a familiar string of words fell from many lips as the minutes went by:

“Evil will not be tolerated!”

And that was probably the scariest part of the entire venture, Wei Wuxian reflected. This was not about protecting themselves or their loved ones — no, they had left those excuses behind. They were now on the warpath against a moral evil — which of course meant that they themselves were the righteous, virtuous champions of goodness and justice. They were probably anticipating that they would be written about in the history books for having killed the Yiling Patriarch, not once but twice — for having upheld justice, and made sure that the threat to their world was eliminated. Nothing was more addictive and alluring than believing oneself to be a good person. And nothing inspired greater destructive fervor.

The arm around Wei Wuxian’s waist tightened, pulling him closer to Lan Zhan’s body. His husband’s beautiful face had been quiet and expressionless throughout most of this encounter, but now a stormy expression crept into his eyes, and his full lips pressed together. His other hand rested on Bichen’s hilt, ready to draw it completely if anyone made a motion towards his beloved.

“They look just like they did back then, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian whispered. “Back at Nightless City.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said tightly.

Yi Weichun’s voice rang out above the mob’s voices, with the triumphant ring of someone on the winning side. “You owe a blood debt of three thousand deaths — even if you died a million times, you couldn’t repay it!”

“Three thousand?” Wei Wuxian called back. “There were three thousand people there, and some did die, but there were an awful lot of people who didn’t. All the clan leaders, the best disciples — did every person die despite their presence? Did I kill you?”

Yi Weichun’s face flushed an ugly red. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I just don’t want to be blamed for committing crimes that I didn’t commit,” Wei Wuxian said, shrugging. “I obviously didn’t kill all three thousand people, so why should I get blamed for all of them?”

“You — you’re despicable!” one cultivator called out, outraged.

“You’ve committed every crime imaginable!” another snarled.

Wei Wuxian grinned at them. “No, there are definitely crimes I haven’t committed. For one thing, I didn’t murder Chifeng-zun, cut up his body and spread the pieces across the countryside, did I?”

Nie Huaisang lowered his fan slightly, his eyes wide and his lower lip between his teeth. He glanced up at Wei Wuxian questioningly, as if anticipating something more.

“I also didn’t marry my own sister under false pretenses, like Jin Guangyao did,” Wei Wuxian continued. He glanced up at Lan Zhan’s face, and affectionately brushed his hand along his husband’s high cheekbone. “I only want Hanguang-jun, and I know for a fact that he isn’t my brother.”

A ripple of shock and horror ran through the crowd, and many of those present seemed to be speechless. Wei Wuxian guessed that none of them had guessed that he could utter an accusation even more shocking and vile than the ones they had been lobbing at him for years and years. Although, the only reason they hadn’t accused him of fucking his sister was probably because he hadn’t had any blood sisters.

He glanced over at Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling, who hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in a long time. Jiang Cheng was staring at him with a peculiar, constipated expression on his face. And Jin Ling… Wei Wuxian almost felt a pang of guilt at seeing Jin Ling’s face. The boy looked as if someone had punched him in the stomach, punched him in the nose, and then left him too dazed to speak or move.

Well, it wasn’t surprising. To Wei Wuxian, Jin Guangyao was virtually a stranger. To the rest of the world, he was the Chief Cultivator. To Jin Ling, he was one of the two men who had raised him since infancy; Qin Su had probably been the closest thing he had to a mother, and he had probably been close to their dead son. Finding out that his little uncle was not only a murderer, but had incestuously married his own sister… well, it had to be a nasty blow for the poor kid.

“You dare — you DARE speak so of the Chief Cultivator!” Sect Leader Yao blustered.

“Of course I dare. It’s the truth,” Wei Wuxian said casually. “Qin Su is — or was, if he’s killed her by now — his half-sister by blood. Why do you think nobody’s seen her since the Symposium, huh? She found out the truth from some unknown person, and she confronted him about it. Let me guess: she’s suddenly fallen ill?”

“Because you’ve cast a curse on her!” Su She said contemptuously.

“Why would I put a curse on a woman I didn’t even know, who I had no reason to harm?” Wei Wuxian said.

“Who knows why you do anything?!” a woman cried out shrilly. “I’m glad I don’t understand the things you do! You don’t need reasons!” She glared at her husband beside her, who was staring rather glassily at Wei Wuxian.

“On the contrary,” Wei Wuxian said, resting his head against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “Most of the things I do have a pretty clear reason behind them. Take the kidnapping of the kids — what reason would I have to kidnap them and tie them up here, then let them go?”

“I—I—“ the woman sputtered. “You were just trying to lure us here with the children!”

“Then why release them? Besides, you were all coming here anyway — why would I need to lure you?”

Some of the cultivators present still seemed to be shocked speechless at the accusation Wei Wuxian had made. Perhaps it was the accusation itself that had shocked them, or maybe it was amazement that even the Yiling Patriarch would be so brazen as to accuse the Chief Cultivator of such an unspeakable act. Although Wei Wuxian had the feeling that some of them were titillated by the sheer nastiness of the accusation — even if they didn’t seriously consider it, they loved that it had been uttered, because they could get months of gossip from it.

But now they were stirring uneasily, looking at one another as they failed to come up with answers to the questions Wei Wuxian kept throwing out. He felt a little flutter of satisfaction at their obvious unease — he was poking holes in their arguments, and they didn’t like that. He wasn’t going to change their minds with anything he did or said, but at least he could puncture their stories.

“And finally,” Wei Wuxian called out, “I wasn’t animating and manipulating all those corpses you were fighting on the way up the mountain. Hell, the three of us were fighting them all day.”

Su She laughed with more than a hint of mockery. “I had no idea that you were so humble, Yiling Patriarch. Who else would ever be able to control so many animated corpses, if not you?”

“I’m hardly the only person who could do it,” Wei Wuxian said, shrugging. “As long as the person had the Yin Tiger Tally, they could control thousands.”

Su She’s lip twisted into a sneer. “You’re the one who made it, didn’t you? Who does it belong with if not you?”

“Oh, I’m not sure who rebuilt it, exactly. But if I had to guess, it would be the clan that demanded it after the Sunshot Campaign, and has been obsessed with it for all these years. It’s like Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian said, glancing over at the silent fierce corpse. He touched a finger to his chin, as if lost in thought. “Don’t you remember back then? I seem to recall that a certain powerful clan called for the death of the Ghost General, and even said that they had burned him to ashes. Yet for some reason… they didn’t. Instead, they imprisoned him for thirteen years and experimented on him to try to control him. I wonder…”

He watched as the many hostile cultivators began to waver, uncertainty creeping into countless eyes and faces. Some of them looked at one another, murmuring amongst themselves — and more than a few looked over at the Jin disciples who were present. The older Jin disciples were stubbornly holding their heads high, but the younger Jin disciples were looking around in confusion. They had probably never heard any of this before — either about the Yin Tiger Tally or Wen Ning.

“You’re just trying to turn us against one another!” Su She snapped. “Stop it!”

“It’s weird how defensive you are of someone else’s clan — in particular, Jin Guangyao,” Wei Wuxian said. “Why is that?”

But before Su She could respond, the mist-wrapped trees began to sway and rustle, as if thousands of hands parted their branches. Wei Wuxian’s mocking smile left his lips, and his eyes moved to the slow below. It sounded like more fierce corpses were on the way.

Chapter Text

The sound of moans and growls, a discordant chorus of dead voices, rose from the forest.

And in other circumstances, Lan Wangji would have leaped to the forefront of the battle, with Wei Ying beside him as they battled back the dead. But as things were, he stayed standing where he was, with his arms around Wei Ying’s slender body, and Bichen half-unsheathed and ready to fly out in an attack if needed. He could feel his love’s heart beating furiously against his sternum, between those luscious breasts that were distractingly rubbing against him.

He wasn’t needed, under the circumstances. If it had only been the teenage boys who were present, he would certainly have fought the fierce corpses along with Wen Ning, while Wei Ying led the young ones to fight from the rear. But the thousands of cultivators before them included clan leaders, elders, elite disciples, and countless other capable people who could easily take down fierce corpses. Especially in such numbers.

And as a wave of filthy, half-rotted corpses swarmed out of the trees, many of the cultivators turned away from the Demon-Quelling Cave, and began lashing out. Sword glares cut through decayed limbs, and the Lan cultivators present played piercing notes from flutes, guqins and various other instruments, which tore through the murky air as effectively as any blade.

But roughly half of the people present remained facing the cave mouth, swords drawn and faces grim. Lan Wangji’s muscles tensed, and he pulled Wei Ying even closer to him. There was panic in some of their eyes — the kind of panic of cornered animals confronted by a sword.

“I’m not doing anything,” Wei Ying called out, sounding annoyed. “See? Not playing my flute, not holding the Yin Tiger Tally. Both my hands are on Hanguang-jun’s ass!”

They were, and Lan Wangji wouldn’t have moved them for the world, even with hundreds of people watching them. He looked down at Wei Ying’s beautiful, clear face with those sparkling eyes, as if light was shining from inside him.

“Wei Ying… was it wise to tell them everything?” he said quietly.

“It seemed like a good idea,” Wei Ying whispered. “Even if they don’t believe me now, they’ll at least wonder — and a few won’t be able to resist digging deeper.”

“And Qin Su?”

“I don’t think Qin Su is still alive now. Since she found out the truth, she was a threat to Jin Guangyao — even if he convinced her to keep quiet, she still could let the secret slip. Nobody’s seen her since that night, and he’s already put out the story of a diabolical curse. If he hasn’t killed her yet, he will soon — and at least somebody might check on her this way.”

Lan Wangji thought it over for a moment, before murmuring, “Mn.” If Wei Ying was wrong, Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if Qin Su would care to live any longer. He didn’t know her well enough to have a good grasp of her personality, having only met her in passing and heard of her from his brother. But if Wei Ying was correct and her husband/brother had killed her… well, there would be justice for what he had done to her. They would see to that.

He glanced at the nearby figure in purple, who was at the center of a whirlwind of crackling lightning. Jiang Wanyin lashed out at fierce corpses all around with barely a sign of effort, as if his spiritual weapon was passing through thin air instead of rotted flesh. His face was still firmly and fiercely locked in a scowl — and as he looked up, his eyes briefly glanced at Lan Wangji and Wei Ying, standing in one another’s arms.

Then he turned his gaze to Jin Ling. The boy had been standing silently for some time, his lips pale and his eyes slightly unfocused. “Jin Ling!” Jiang Wanyin bellowed. “Get over here or I’ll break your legs!”

Lan Wangji’s lips thinned slightly. Jin Ling was the man’s only living close kin — and a child, to boot. Treating him that way so casually was cruelty — never in his darkest moments would he have ever dreamed of addressing Sizhui in such a way. But Jin Ling didn’t even flinch — or react at all, really. He simply glanced between Wei Ying and his uncle, the same numb shock in his eyes and face. Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if it was the shock of hearing what his uncle had done, or whether he was simply numb to Jiang Wanyin’s threats after a lifetime of hearing them.

Then Lan Wangji noticed something: a few drops of dark crimson blood dripping from Jiang Wanyin’s nose. It might not have been unusual for someone else — they were in the midst of a heated battle, after all — but none of the fierce corpses had come close enough to the clan leader to injure him. Which only meant that it must be some kind of internal disorder — a sickness, or perhaps —

As if sensing Lan Wangji’s half-finished thoughts, Zidian suddenly sparked — and then faded away, returning to the man’s finger as a silver ring. Jiang Wanyin stared down at his hand in amazement and shock.

“What the hell?” he muttered, wiping red from his face.

“Uncle!” Jin Ling called out desperately.

Then one of the many cultivators menacing Wei Ying with his sword cried out — blood was dripping from his nose as well. Then the woman who had previously denounced Wei Ying began to bleed from her nose as well, before coughing up blood. One by one, more and more of them began to bleed — just thin dribbles of dark liquid, but enough to signify that something was very wrong. And that wrong thing was spreading.

“She’s doing this!” one cultivator cried out. “She’s killing us!”

“I am not!” Wei Ying said. “What do you even think I’m doing? I’m just standing here, and if you’ll notice, I’m not playing my flute!”

“If it’s not you,” one of the cultivators snuffled, “then who could do this?”

Lan Wangji’s hands tightened around Wei Ying’s waist, shifting him slightly back towards the cave. A frightened crowd was like a pack of wounded animals — they might decide to kill Wei Ying to alleviate whatever was happening to them. Wei Ying was strong, always had been, but his last encounter with this many foes had nearly killed him. He would have died then, exhausted, if Lan Wangji hadn’t spirited him away.

On the other side of the vast crowd, the sword glares that had been tearing through the corpses were suddenly dimmed… and then they vanished. The songs the Lan Clan and Su Clan were playing were still audible — but now they were less crisp and clear, more muffled. Just by hearing them, Lan Wangji could tell that there was no spiritual power invested in them. Without spiritual power, they were nothing but the twanging of strings and the blowing of flutes.

Lan Wangji felt a chill run up his spine. It would be unusual for one person to lose their spiritual powers — but he had the horrible, sinking feeling that something had afflicted everyone who had come up the mountain. At the same time, at the worst possible moment. This was no coincidence, but he didn’t know how it was possible.

And then new cries rang out through the air, over the sound of swords striking flesh and bone, and the scurrying of footsteps.

“My spiritual powers!”

“They’re gone! I can’t — my sword —“

“Help me! I can’t use my spiritual weapon—help me—“

Lan Wangji turned towards that last voice, and Bichen shot out of its scabbard like a blade of grass in the wind. It slashed through a corpse that was just laying its rotten hands on a cowering man, practically tearing the decaying flesh from its bones. Then he sent it slashing through a pair of other corpses that a young cultivator — only a few years older than Sizhui — was about to be ravaged by. Then more — and more — a sea of gray, grasping fingers and shriveled eyes, countless hands tearing at the cultivators now helpless before them —

Lan Wangji felt a faint perspiration break out on his forehead as Bichen continued its destructive flight. Even if he tirelessly cut down the dead, more of them kept coming. He couldn’t save every one of the people being attacked, any more than he could hold up a mountain alone.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian turned as Lan Zhan swung his black guqin down from his shoulder, and sent a violent note blasting outwards. It looked like whatever was affecting the cultivators who had just arrived wasn’t affecting the two of them, he thought. He glanced over at Jin Ling, and then at Sizhui — the two boys’ faces were clean and free of blood. So it wasn’t affecting people who hadn’t come up the slope just now.

Weird. Curious.

A dark swell of corpses surged just then, and Wei Wuxian did the only thing he could against dead bodies controlled by someone else. He pulled out talismans and hurled them with both hands, blasting back the corpses that they touched — some crumbled away completely, while others were left twitching on the ground like dying insects. But they were trampled underfoot by more corpses — it seemed like Jin Guangyao had summoned every person who had died in the last thirteen years, to amass these numbers.

And Wen Ning leaped into the fray, a silent black streak that battered his way through the corpses with an unearthly strength none of them could dream of matching. Some of the cultivators he passed by panicked and began shrieking, “Ghost General! GHOST GENERAL!” Their swords flashed like shards of moonlight as they slashed at him frantically, but he didn’t make a sound. His ice-pale face was as still as a mask.

Then a figure all in white came out into the open, and pointed back at the yawning cave mouth. “Quick, everybody!” Lan Sizhui shouted. “Into the cave! There’s an array there — we can fix it up and it might hold off the fierce corpses for awhile!”

Despite the disastrous situation, Wei Wuxian smiled. That kid really had turned out all right.

Several cultivators immediately ran to the cave mouth, their eyes wild and their clothing disheveled and streaked with blood. But a familiar figure rose above them all, his eyes fixed on Wei Wuxian.

“Don’t go inside! There must be a trap in that cave — she’s just trying to lure us inside!” Su She shouted.

Wei Wuxian swung his arm in a wide arc, sending dozens of talismans streaking through the air. “Don’t be ridiculous!” he called out. “If you stay out here, you’ll definitely die! Go inside, and you might at least buy a little extra time before you die!”

The assembled cultivators looked at one another, eyes wide. Wei Wuxian could almost hear them thinking: If we go onside, we’d be walking right into a poisonous spider’s web — but if we stay out here, we’ll be torn to shreds! Do we take a chance with Wei Wuxian? They looked even more terrified now that he had spoken, now that they knew that he actually wanted them to go inside the Demon-Quelling Cave.

He threw a few more talismans, and called out, “Clan Leader Su, why are you so eager for everyone to die out here?”

Su She’s face twisted, as if he had bitten into something sour.

But then a familiar figure came racing up towards Wei Wuxian, his hair and robes disheveled. It was Nie Huaisang, who looked practically distraught at the chaos all around him. A few steps behind him were a group of grim-faced Nie disciples, all of whom looked wary of Wei Wuxian, but they seemed to be less hostile than many of the others. At the very least, they weren’t fighting him or refusing to save themselves out of fear of him.

The timid clan leader called over his shoulder, “Are you guys going to come in or not? I’m going in! Everybody inside! Go, go, go!” He began shooing the Nie disciples into the vast cave mouth, and then raced in himself, with his accompanying bodyguards running interference behind him!

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but grin. Nie Huaisang had a natural instinct for self-preservation — and when confronted by an army of murderous corpses and his possibly-evil former schoolmate, he chose the option that seemed less definitely dangerous.

Then more voices rose from the crowds outside — young voices, ringing through the chaos like bells.

“Dad, we need to go inside! Trust me, there’s no trap there — I was just inside! No traps!” Ouyang Zizhen shouted.

“He’s right,” another boy called out. “Mom, she didn’t do anything in there except free us!”

“Uncle!” Jin Ling howled. “Come inside, please!”

Wei Wuxian had lost track of Jiang Cheng in all the chaos — until a figure dressed in purple and splattered in dark crimson tore through the horde. He was swinging Sandu in wide, slashing arcs — but the sword didn’t have the distinctive glare of a weapon imbued with spiritual power. In Jiang Cheng’s hands right now, it was just a piece of sharp metal.

“SHUT UP!” the clan leader bellowed.

Wei Wuxian was just about to yell at him to stop being so selfish — Jin Ling only had him left, now that the truth about Jin Guangyao had come to light. The poor kid didn’t have enough people on his side in the first place. But then fresh gouts of blood streamed from Jiang Cheng’s nose and mouth, staining his robes almost black in the front. Before Wei Wuxian could think of what to say next, Jin Ling lunged down towards his uncle and began dragging him back towards the cave.

“Let me go!” Jiang Cheng shouted.

But Jin Ling just grimaced and kept dragging his exhausted, spiritually-drained uncle towards the cave. The Jiang disciples seemed to be unsure what to do at first — they were busy fending off the corpses on one hand, and their leader was essentially being kidnapped on the other. After a moment, they began streaming into the cave like ants swarming into a hill.

“Uncle!”

Another voice rose above the sounds of battle — Lan Zhan’s. He hadn’t stopped playing his guqin for even a second, but his eyes were now fixed on a familiar man clad in white. The immaculate Lan robes were now stained with blood and dirt — but above that, Lan Qiren’s face was as fiercely sour as ever. Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell what his uncle-in-law was thinking, but the man was probably debating whether death or admitting defeat and going into Wei Wuxian’s lair was the worse fate.

Don’t be stubborn! Wei Wuxian wanted to shout. Lan Zhan wants you alive! Just get inside the fucking cave!

Lan Qiren’s face twisted slightly, even though he steadfastly refused to look directly at his nephew. An ugly spurt of anger rose inside Wei Wuxian. Lan Zhan was doing everything he could to protect everyone, even though most of the people present had come to kill them both. And now, even as Lan Zhan fought overwhelming odds against a whole army, his uncle didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge his presence.

He’ll be lucky if I even let him see my baby, he thought fiercely.
Finally, Lan Qiren signaled to the Lan and Jin disciples, and they streamed into the cave mouth as quickly as their feet would carry them. Many of them glared at Wei Wuxian as they passed — especially the Jin ones — but he didn’t care. As long as people were going into the cave — the array inside was big enough to protect them all, once it had been repaired. A lot of them were scumbags, sure. But they didn’t deserve to die.

And once he had room to think, Wei Wuxian could devote himself to the question of just how the entire cultivation world had suddenly lost their powers. He was pretty sure that Jin Guangyao was responsible for this somehow — which showed he was much more dangerous, and desperate, than Wei Wuxian had ever dreamed. Killing a few inconvenient clans or killing a sect leader or two was one thing. This was wiping out virtually everyone in the cultivation world in a single move.

Then the smaller clans broke away from the fray, one by one — groups of disciples and clan leaders, with bleeding noses and mouths, their swords darkened by dirt and dead blood.

Wei Wuxian stood at the top of the steps and watched them all go inside. Most of them acted like they were trying to ignore him, but the ones who passed closest to him seemed to flinch and try to move further away, as if afraid he would reach out and do something to them. But there were a few bright spots — young faces that turned towards him with eager smiles, and something in their eyes that he hadn’t expected to be there. Trust. They had spent all their lives being told of the horrible Yiling Patriarch, but were thinking for themselves now that they had met him.

Maybe there’s some hope for the next generation, Wei Wuxian thought. Even if he had probably inspired confused feelings in some of the boys.

Lan Zhan’s guqin slashed across the countless dead bodies down below, only for a fresh wave to surge up towards the cave. There was only one group of cultivators left — the Su clan. They were stubbornly staying out in the open rather than retreating into the cave, trying and failing to defend themselves against countless rotted bodies flinging themselves forward. As far as Wei Wuxian could see, they weren’t even considering going inside.

“Nice job, Sect Leader Su,” Wei Wuxian called, his voice threaded with mockery. “I guess you’ve decided to stay out here instead of going in my nice little cave? Okay. But without your spiritual powers, aren’t you all just going to die?”

Su She glared at him, and Wei Wuxian met his gaze with a smirk. All around the sect leader, his disciples wavered, and the demonic cultivator could see in their eyes that they desperately wanted to get into the cave, but didn’t dare do so without their leader’s command. If Su She didn’t send them in, Wei Wuxian thought, then he was a rotten sect leader, not valuing the lives of his disciples over his own pride.
Finally, Su She made a sharp gesture at the cave mouth. “Go in!”

As the Su disciples raced inside, Wei Wuxian turned to Lan Zhan. His husband had just gracefully risen to his feet and was lifting his guqin up onto his back. His white robes swirled in the wind around him, along with his black hair and the trailing tails of his forehead ribbon. His face was stern as he looked out at the corpses approaching from every side, but he didn’t show even a glimmer of fear.

“Nice job, Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian said, landing a light kiss on his husband’s lips. “You managed to do more than a whole army.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan’s eyes softened slightly, and his hand slipped up into the small of Wei Wuxian’s back.

Under normal circumstances, Wei Wuxian would have gone in for a longer, more involved kiss just then. But it didn’t seem wise to do it out in the open.“Should we go inside and sort out the mess that Jin Guangyao’s made for us?”

Chapter Text

The cave echoed with murmurs and hushed voices, a hollow whisper that reminded Wei Wuxian of wind blowing through the trees. They seemed to have calmed down a little upon entering the cave, but as Wei Wuxian stepped down into their midst, fear rippled through the hundreds of people present. They scuttled away from him like insects, some of them feebly holding up their swords in a toothless threat.

Lan Qiren had seemingly taken charge of the situation — he was just raising his bleeding hand from the array on the floor. Weakened and broken as it was, the blood had restored it for the moment. Wei Wuxian glanced back at the cave mouth, and saw a barely perceptible shimmer in the air where it had sealed itself off from the corpses outside. Lan Qiren might be a stuffy, rule-obsessed old coot, but he was still very talented and powerful, Wei Wuxian thought.

But as he saw them approach, he rose and blocked their way, as if he were going to fight them both. Wei Wuxian stopped short and looked over at Lan Zhan. His husband’s jaw was tense, and his eyes were slowly moving.

“What’s that for?” Wei Wuxian said.

“You will not destroy the array!” Lan Qiren said fervently.

“Why would I urge everybody to come in here, where it’s a little safer, then wreck the thing that’s keeping them safe?”

Lan Qiren’s face flushed. “You —“ he choked, but seemingly couldn’t think of anything more to say. Finally, he said tightly, “To think that you were accepted into our clan — if I had known —“ The older man fell silent again, but the words lingered in the air like a bad smell.

“Uncle,” Lan Zhan said quietly. One of his hands was clutching Wei Wuxian’s wrist, as if he were drawing strength from having him near.

Lan Qiren steadfastly avoided looking at his pupil, as if he couldn’t bear to acknowledge the nephew whom he had raised and taught for his entire life. Instead, he turned his gaze back to Wei Wuxian, his face composed into an icy mask. “Tell me what you want,” he ordered.

Wei Wuxian leaned against Lan Zhan, letting his cheek rest against his husband’s throat. Then he sat down on the steps, unconsciously sitting in the same way he would have as a man — legs loose and apart, arms bracing behind him. “Me? Nothing much. But I think it’d be a good idea to talk, don’t you?”

“Talk? As if we have anything to talk to you about!” Yi Weichun shouted. “You shamelessly not only come back to life, but you come back as a — a — a temptress who pretends not to be the cause of all this chaos!”

Wei Wuxian smiled mischievously at him, letting his head rest against his shoulder so that his long black ponytail cascaded against his cheek. His eyes sparkled like water in the noon sun. “Am I tempting you?” he purred.

Several male cultivators immediately averted their eyes, while others seemed unwilling to look away. A blotchy flush covered Yi Weichun’s cheeks, and he quickly began to stammer, “Don’t be absurd — I never — I would never — you’re trying to confuse us! The point is, we have nothing to talk about!”

Wei Wuxian’s smile widened. Under less dire circumstances, he could have easily spent another hour making the cultivators uncomfortable with his female body. Lan Qiren alone looked like he was going to suffer a qi deviation whenever he saw Wei Wuxian stroke or kiss his nephew — and the reaction seemed to be even worse when Lan Zhan reciprocated these affections. The other men seemed to be torn between finding Wei Wuxian repellent for who they thought he was, and attractive because of his new body. And of course, plenty of women were still glaring at him for reasons that had nothing to do with the Yiling Patriarch.

Wei Wuxian rested his elbow on his knee, contemplatively looking at the crowd around him. “Are you sure? Are you saying you’re not curious why every single person who just turned up lost their powers? I don’t believe that. In fact, I’m a little curious myself.”

“It was obviously you who did it!” one cultivator called out.

“Don’t be absurd. I couldn’t possibly affect every single person who tramped up here, especially without someone like Master Lan or Sect Leader Jiang noticing.”

Yi Weichun snorted. “A likely story.”

“No, he’s making sense,” Nie Huaisang said quickly.

Several people from other clans glared in his direction, and a few rebellious mutters scurried through the cave. If he hadn’t been born into the exalted station he had, Wei Wuxian suspected that a lot of people there would be telling him to shut the hell up.

“Which just leaves the question of how it happened. You probably didn’t all sit down to a meal together before you left to kill me, so it likely isn’t poison,” Wei Wuxian continued.

“It’s not poison — I’m sure of it,” Lan Sizhui said quickly. “Any poison that could suddenly and completely block spiritual power would be well-known, very expensive and very sought-after.”

“Hanguang-jun, give that boy a perfect grade!” Wei Wuxian whooped.

Lan Qiren’s lips pressed tightly together.

Several cultivators were being examined by doctors; their miserable faces were starkly pale, as if they had suddenly lost a great deal of blood. Actually, they probably felt it was worse — the body would naturally replenish blood, but a lost or damaged core would never come back. A cultivator who lost their spiritual powers would effectively be a cripple, no more strong or capable or long-lived than an ordinary person. It was the worst nightmare of every disciple — for some, it was a fate worse than death.

Wei Wuxian knew, because both he and Jiang Cheng had faced that nightmare. He knew what it was to face a future without that power that so many took for granted. One of his hands moved up to touch his abdomen — not the unborn child this time, but the nebulous space where a golden core would be if Mo Lian had ever managed to form one. Lan Zhan had already told him sternly that he would make sure Wei Wuxian cultivated a golden core again soon. During the month at Cloud Recesses, he had insisted on Wei Wuxian meditating when he wasn’t fucking him senseless. Dual cultivation certainly had its benefits.

The doctors huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, after several minutes, one of them announced, “This condition will only be temporary, everyone — your core is completely intact.”

Jiang Cheng took a handkerchief from Jin Ling and wiped the blood from his unhealthily pale face. For a moment, he looked incredibly relieved, and Wei Wuxian knew why. Jiang Cheng had lived for a time without a core, and had felt that his life was effectively over. Especially since there was no way for him to gain a new one.

“If it’s only temporary, how long will it be before my powers return?” he called out impatiently.

The doctors looked at one another anxiously. “At least… four hours, Sect Leader Jiang.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened, and his handsome face twisted into a scowl. “FOUR HOURS?” he thundered.

The words echoed through the cave, as if a dozen voices were repeating them over and over. As Wei Wuxian watched, the faces of those around him paled even further, as the reality of their situation sank in. It probably looked worse than hopeless, being trapped in the Demon-Quelling Cave for a minimum of four hours, with hundreds — maybe thousands — of fierce corpses barely held out by the damaged array. It could fail at any moment, and then they would be trapped.

And of course, they were all petrified of him. Wei Wuxian heaved a sigh, and rested his head against Lan Zhan’s long leg. He hadn’t done a single thing to any of them — not today, anyway, and certainly not in anything but self-defense but they probably expected him to leap up and slash their throats with no warning. Countless wary, frightened eyes turned his way, and whispers began to flutter through the cave like so many moths.

Chapter Text

“Why are you all looking at me?” Wei Wuxian said, absently stroking Lan Zhan’s thigh. “I already said I didn’t do any of this. If I wanted to hurt any of you, wouldn’t I have done it already? Hanguang-jun and I both have our spiritual power right now. Don’t we, Hanguang-jun?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said pensively.

“The only other ones here that still have it are the kids that somebody dragged up here a few days ago. You know, your heirs and disciples. And while they’re all pretty well-taught — especially the ones tutored by Hanguang-jun — do you think any of them could stop me if I decided I wanted to kill you?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“You heard that!” someone shouted shrilly. “She said she’s going to kill us!”

“That’s not what he said at all!” Lan Jingyi shouted back.

Su She moved toward him, contempt radiating from his eyes, as if he were nobly facing down a disgusting creature. “We already know that you’re going to kill us all while we’re helpless! It’s exactly the sort of thing you would do. Don’t think we’ll beg for your mercy, either.”

“And… I’ve forgotten… you are… who exactly?” Wei Wuxian said with fake contemplation.

Su She’s face flushed red, and he took an aggressive step forward.

Wei Wuxian feigned a look of doe-eyed hurt, and placed a hand over his stomach. “Are you bullying a pregnant woman?” he whined. “How unspeakably cruel! Think of Hanguang-jun’s baby.”

He rested his cheek against Lan Zhan’s leg, before looking around at the ring of faces nearby with barely-restrained glee. Several of the men looked very uncomfortable, especially Lan Qiren — he looked a little nauseous at the idea of the Yiling Patriarch bearing his nephew’s child. Su She simply looked irritated and contemptuous — he obviously had been planning to take the lead, and instead Wei Wuxian was undermining him.

But before he could think of anything more to say, Lan Jingyi burst out, “If it isn’t poison, what is it?”

Wei Wuxian looked thoughtful, and crossed his legs in a very unfeminine manner, with his ankle resting on the opposite knee. “That’s the question, isn’t it? There’s no reason we know of. All of you must have encountered something or done something when you were coming here that the rest of us didn’t. Hanguang-jun and I didn’t come up the mountain from the same direction, and the kids arrived a few days before us. Everybody think about what you did on the way here — was there something all of you did?”

“Could it be that we all drank water? I don’t remember if we drank water,” Nie Huaisang piped up.

“Of course not,” someone else snapped. “The water on this place is probably tainted!”

“Well, how about the fog?” Nie Huaisang said.

“It can’t be that,” Jin Ling said quickly. “We were up on this mountain breathing it for two days before you showed up, and we’re all fine.”

Wei Wuxian chewed his lip, contemplating the possibilities. He couldn’t think of a way to make thousands of people all experience the same immediate loss — there was no way Jin Guangyao could have poisoned the food of every single person, could he? That would have been a Herculean effort. No. They hadn’t drunk water… it wasn’t the fog… he and Lan Zhan had all fought the fierce corpses…

Then a piercing voice cut through his thoughts. “Enough of this. Why are any of you letting her talk? She’s a treacherous bitch — our enemy — and you’re letting her worm into your—“

Su She’s words stopped abruptly, and his eyes suddenly bulged in surprise. He pressed a hand to his throat, as if the words he wanted to say were clogging up in there.

Wei Wuxian grinned. He could recognize the signs of the Lan silence spell, having been subject to it himself when he was younger. He glanced up at Lan Zhan, who was standing with perfect poise and dignity, as if he hadn’t actually done anything worth noting. His husband gazed down at him, his guqin held in his hands, the picture of Lan propriety.

Several sect disciples rushed over to Su She’s side, shouting and desperately trying to help their sect leader. But their voices were also silenced suddenly and decisively, except for a faint choking noise from behind their own lips. A few of the Lan juniors, including Lan Jingyi, snickered amongst themselves, until silenced by a look from Lan Qiren. But by looking at their sparkling eyes, Wei Wuxian could tell that they wanted to keep laughing and maybe poke at the silenced Su disciples.

One man called out, “Wow, just what we would expect of the Yiling Patriarch! Silencing anyone who speaks out against you! Are you afraid to take us on yourself, that you need Lan Wangji to do it for you?”

“Well, Sect Leader Su WAS insulting his wife,” Nie Huaisang pointed out.

A germ of an idea crept into Wei Wuxian’s mind. Despite their numbers, the people here were scared to death of him — it was the reason they needed such numbers, since they weren’t at all confident of being able to subdue the Yiling Patriarch with anything less than an army. Yet Sect Leader Su had been trying to provoke him constantly… and that strange reluctance to let others enter the cave… could it possibly be that…

“You know, it’s weird,” he said thoughtfully. “Sect Leader Su isn’t acting like the rest of you, is he? He seemed very eager for everyone who had lost their spiritual power to stay out of this cave and fight to certain death out there. And he’s very, very reluctant to let me ask any questions about WHY this happened to all of you. An actual ally would not only want to save as many lives as possible, but he’d be very interested in finding out why his powers have been temporarily blocked.”

Countless faces were suddenly filled with confusion, and many of them turned to look at one another, to see if anyone else had an idea why Su She would act in such a way. Some seemed a little lost in thought. Wei Wuxian cheered on the inside — maybe he was making their sluggish brains start to think about what was going on instead of just following whoever happened to be at the front of the pack.

Lan Qiren was very decidedly not allowing his gaze to move towards Su She or the Su disciples. In fact, now that Wei Wuxian thought about it, except for a few youths who were stealing glances, all of the Lan disciples were steadfastly ignoring the Su clan, as if they were beneath their notice. The only one who had acknowledged their presence was Lan Zhan — and that was just so he could seal their hostile mouths.

“Hanguang-jun, is it my imagination or is there some tension between the Lan clan and Su clan?” Wei Wuxian asked, idly running his fingers down the black guqin.

Lan Jingyi piped up, “Of course there is. Their leader is—“

Lan Sizhui pounced on him, slapping a hand over his mouth. Then, in a low voice, he murmured, “Senior Wei — the two clans don’t get along because Sect Leader Su was formerly a sect disciple of the Lan clan. Not a blood one related to us, but someone from Moling who joined the sect as a child. Later on, he left our sect and created his own, but their techniques and cultivation styles are… well, they’re pretty similar.” The boy looked pained at having to say something so impolitic.

Wei Wuxian glanced over at Su She, whose face was flushed from embarrassment, rage and the effort of trying to speak. Now that he thought about it, those white robes were very similar to the style that the Lan disciples wore… and he had a seven-string black guqin, just like Lan Zhan. I guess he didn’t have a lot of imagination, Wei Wuxian thought. The man couldn’t think of anything except just copying the distinctive style of his old sect.

A struggling Lan Jingyi managed to peel Lan Sizhui’s hand away from his lips, and erupted, “That’s not all, Senior Wei. He’s… obsessed with Hanguang-jun — okay, I won’t talk as loud, Sizhui!” He continued in the exact same voice, “He tries to copy everything that Hanguang-jun does — the clothes, the guqin, even the way he sits and walks. He gets angry and defensive if you mention this fact or compare him to Hanguang-jun at all, but if you ask me, he’s nothing but a cheap copy.”

Wei Wuxian stared in disbelief, before looking at Lan Zhan’s face. He had no doubt that his husband had already known all this, probably for years, and had definitely picked up all the suspicious similarities between himself and Su She. But even now, Lan Zhan haughtily stared ahead, as if the knowledge that a man had been shamelessly copying everything about him wasn’t worth his interest. Then again, it really wasn’t. There was only one Hanguang-jun, no substitution possible.

And if it wasn’t his imagination, Lan Qiren had heard Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi’s entire contributions without doing anything. He wasn’t far away, and Jingyi’s voice in particular hadn’t been moderated in any way. Yet the stuffy elder hadn’t even acknowledged the youths speaking so disrespectfully about another clan leader. I guess he doesn’t mind gossip about people he doesn’t like, Wei Wuxian thought with a grin.

“I bet after this, he gets a demonic cultivator wife who wears black,” Lan Jingyi added.

Chapter Text

Su She had clearly heard everything they had said, and his face was growing redder with unexpressed rage. For a moment, his face twisted and convulsed as if he were struggling to force something up his throat — and then his mouth tore open with a splatter of blood. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. He had never seen someone break the silence spell before — it looked pretty painful to do so.

“Look at the Lan Clan,” Su She said, his voice sounding oddly hoarse, as if he had strained his throat. “Distinguished and dignified, so very righteous and noble. Yet they allow their children to show such disrespect, and keep the company of a monster like Wei Wuxian!”

“Don’t let her poisonous words affect you!” Sect Leader Ouyang said fiercely. “First she tried to claim that the Chief Cultivator had committed unspeakable crimes, and now she tries to undermine our unity.”

“Our unity is already broken,” Su She said ominously. “After all, aren’t the Lan disciples here all on Wei Wuxian’s side? None of them attacked her, and some of them seem very friendly with her. After all, she’s pregnant with a Lan child — or at least, she’s convinced Hanguang-jun it’s a Lan child — so maybe that’s why they—“

Lan Zhan took a single step towards Su She. His face was still elegantly stern, but his eyes had blazed like branches struck by lightning. Bichen slid an inch out of its sheath — and though he didn’t move any further towards Su She, the sect leader moved back quickly, his flushed face paling. The disciples around him all huddled around their leader, as if they expected Lan Zhan to lunge forward and strike him dead.

It wasn’t surprising, Wei Wuxian thought. They had accused him of keeping harems of kidnapped young women, molesting them in mysterious depraved rituals. Why would they stop the accusations just because he was a woman now? It would’ve been more surprising if they HADN’T questioned his baby’s paternity, considering what they thought of him.

But Lan Zhan wasn’t the only one to react to that accusation. Lan Jingyi’s outraged voice called out, “Do you hear what he’s saying about Senior Wei and Hanguang-jun’s child? He must be tired of living!”

“We’ve all seen how much they love each other,” Ouyang Zizhen agreed. His face flushed a little, as if he were remembering something that embarrassed him. “There’s no way that baby isn’t his!”

“Of course it’s his,” Wei Wuxian said, rubbing his stomach. “Would I have the baby of anyone less than Hanguang-jun? I don’t think so! Although some of you men probably wish I would.”

He grinned as horror flashed over the faces of the men around him, and they began protesting a little too much that they would never even think of such a thing. Until the hubbub died down, he slipped his hand in Lan Zhan’s and twined their fingers together, receiving a look that still had the embers of anger against Su She burning in it. It made him look even more deliciously passionate. Maybe I’ll rile him up with that when we’re alone together, and let him put that anger to work, Wei Wuxian thought mischievously.

Some of the older Lan disciples seemed to feel that things were getting out of hand. One of them, a tall narrow-faced man with stern eyes, spoke up sharply, “You may no longer be a part of the Lan Clan, but you must still speak with respect.”

One of the Su disciples scoffed, “Our sect leader left the Lan a long time ago. Besides, do the Lan deserve any respect if the Yiling Patriarch is among their number? Our leader stands strong against her!”

“This seems like it’s getting nasty,” Wei Wuxian whispered.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied.

The tension between the two clans seemed to be stretching to a breaking point, as the disciples of both began to shout at one another — accusing, sneering, denying, or just shouting. Wei Wuxian was only able to make out the general gist of the interactions. It sounded like the Lan disciples despised Su She and his sect for effectively copying them in every way, and the Su disciples saw the Lan as arrogant and conceited. And this were obviously not opinions that were only among the younger disciples — Lan Qiren remained stolidly silent throughout the whole argument, when a single word or gesture from him would have silenced every Lan disciple present.

Wei Wuxian just sat back and enjoyed the spectacle. It was a bit of a relief to have his attackers turning on one another rather than focusing on him, especially when the majority of these people didn’t have an actual reason to hate him. He leaned against Lan Zhan, feeling a strong arm twine around his waist and pull him close into a warm, powerful embrace. In return, Wei Wuxian slipped a hand behind Lan Zhan’s back, catching the soft, delicate ends of his forehead ribbon between his fingertips.

Su She wasn’t even one percent of the man Hanguang-jun was, and he never would be, Wei Wuxian thought. Even if he weren’t a nasty little sneak who seemed to be trying to get them all killed.

“Your sect leader owes everything he has to the Lan Clan! What would he be if he hadn’t been a guest disciple at Cloud Recesses?” one Lan disciple shouted.

“There are plenty of disciples in the Lan sect,” a Su disciple yelled back. “I don’t see any of them starting their own clan! You’re so arrogant you think nobody could succeed without you!”

“Hah! Us, arrogant?” another Lan disciple interjected contemptuously. “Your clan couldn’t even play the evil-repelling songs correctly as we came up the mountain! You made so many mistakes, it was hard to even listen to!”

Something clicked in Wei Wuxian’s head, and his hand suddenly clutched at Lan Zhan’s back. Songs. Songs that were supposed to do one thing, but did something else instead. It was a tactic that had worked for Jin Guangyao in the past, so it wouldn’t be too surprising he would use the same approach again. Especially since nobody would notice the deviations except for the Lan Clan — and they disliked the Su Clan so fiercely that they would just shrug off those “mistakes” as ineptitude rather than a malicious spell.

“It wasn’t food or water that caused this,” he called out. “It’s something much more sinister.”

His voice cut through the tangle of warring voices, and both sides fell silent as they turned back towards him. They had probably half-forgotten that they were there to destroy him, he thought with a smirk. That was how much they couldn’t stand each other.

“You’ve figured it out?” Lan Sizhui said hopefully.

“Yes, I have. There’s one other thing you guys did on the trip here,” Wei Wuxian said, raising a finger. “You killed walking corpses.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” one man sneered. “That doesn’t cause any ill effects. I’ve cut down hundreds of walking corpses in the past, and it never affected me before.”

“Was it corpse powder, like back in Yi City?” Ouyang Zizhen said excitedly. “Or some kind of fluid?”

“Nothing like that happened!” his father said quickly.

Wei Wuxian smiled a little at the abashed look on the kid’s face. “Oh no, it wasn’t the corpses themselves. They’re pretty ordinary walking corpses. It was what YOU guys were doing.”

He watched confusion blossom on dozens of faces, from the young teens to the elders like Lan Qiren. Brows furrowed, eyes began to wander as the brains behind them began to work — no matter how painfully slow it was in some cases — and he could almost see what they were running back in their heads. Every corpse they had cut down, and what had been happening when that occurred.

Feeling an odd sense of glee, he turned to Lan Qiren. “Uncle-in-law,” he said in an artificially maidenly tone, “I have a few questions about our clan.”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji had spent the last half an hour struggling with his own deepest instincts — the ferocious urge to violently throttle every last man in this cavern who looked at Wei Ying with lust in his eyes.

Not all of them felt that way — thankfully for Lan Wangji, Lan Qiren remained coldly immune to his niece-in-law’s charms — but far too many of them were gazing at Wei Ying too long and too deeply. He recognized the looks, because he had been looking at Wei Ying like that ever since he was fifteen years old. He tried to push his jealousy aside for the children like Ouyang Zizhen, whose attraction was so obvious that even Wei Ying had noticed it. But these men — these men hated him and lusted after him in equal measure, and it made Lan Wangji seethe.

But he had to clamp down on those jealous feelings. This wasn’t the time or place — not when he had thousands of people to protect, and only Wei Ying, Wen Ning and a handful of young, inexperienced boys to assist him. If the dead began flooding into this cavern, he would need to fight them off — and at the same time, make sure that no one got too close to Wei Ying and their child. Deprived of spiritual energy or not, the people around them were still armed and dangerous if they were able to surprise them — and in the confusion, they might seize the opportunity to kill the Yiling Patriarch.

He tensed slightly as Wei Ying turned to his uncle, a familiar mischievous smile flowering on his lips. He knew that look — it meant that Wei Ying was about to do something to annoy someone. And judging by Lan Qiren’s constipated expression, the fact that Wei Wuxian was looking at him was enough to begin the process. Well, there was no helping that, Lan Wangji reflected. Wei Ying was tied to him — and through him, the Lan clan — irrevocably now; nothing in the world would convince them to part.

“Tell me, Uncle-in-law,” Wei Ying said in a faux-demure voice. “I have a few questions about our clan.”

At the words “our clan,” Lan Qiren flinched slightly, and his face paled slightly. “Why do you ask me?” he said in a flat voice. “Why not ask your — husband? He knows everything about the Lan Clan that you might want to know.” There was a slight hesitance in using the word “husband,” as if he had hoped that by not using the word, the marriage wouldn’t be real.

Wei Ying smiled radiantly at him. “I just wanted to be respectful to the clan elders,” he said demurely. “We are family, after all.”

Lan Qiren visibly gritted his teeth.

Then Wei Ying turned around in a swirl of black robes, and sauntered over to Lan Wangji. He felt his heartbeat thundering against his ribs as Wei Ying looked up at him. One slender finger traced from his bottom lip down to his upper chest, just where the outer robe folded respectably to hide his inner robes. It was only a brief gesture, but it sent fire flooding through Lan Wangji’s body, and he found himself wishing that the cave had no one but the two of them in it.

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Ying said with a smile. “If I’m not mistaken, the Su Clan of Moling were a sort of offshoot or breakaway from the Lan Clan of Gusu, correct?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“And unless I’m mistaken, they based what they did on the Lan Clan. The clothes, the instruments, the musical cultivation — everything.”

“Mn.”

Su She’s face flushed, and the disciples around him looked impotently furious. Lan Wangji tensed slightly, keeping the man in his peripheral vision.

Wei Ying draped an arm over his husband’s shoulder, and though he didn’t lower his voice, he leaned in a little more intimately. His voice lowered, becoming more velvety and sensuous. “And that includes the music they use — their secret techniques, which are most commonly played on the guqin. So does the Su Clan have predominantly guqin players?”

Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered over to the Su disciples. Several of them were holding guqins. “They do.”

“But Su She… well, he’s not as talented in playing the guqin as the best disciples of the Lan Clan,” Wei Ying said. He didn’t mention Lan Wangji specifically, but his husband knew that he was thinking it — especially after what Lan Jingyi had said about Su She’s imitation of him.

“He is not,” Lan Wangji said curtly.

“So he and his disciples probably make the same errors, because they all base their playing on his?”

Lan Wangji’s fingers tightened around Bichen’s scabbard. A suspicion had been flowering in his mind about Su She’s involvement — that having found one method of murder, Jin Guangyao would use the same method more than once, when he had the opportunity to utilize music. It was insidious, if true — a perversion of his clan’s techniques and finely-honed spells, sneaked out of Cloud Recesses without knowledge of anyone there.

And if he knew Wei Ying’s suspicions correctly, it showed that Jin Guangyao’s murderousness was beyond anything Lan Wangji had imagined. The scope of it… he hadn’t simply killed a hated enemy, or quietly expunged a clan or two. This was a crippling blow to almost their entire society — the deaths of every leader, along with many of their disciples, including innocent children who had been thrown into this cave as bait. His knuckles whitened as he thought about it — and a new, sharper disgust for Su She welled up inside his chest.

“Yes,” he said at last.

Wei Ying smiled brightly, but his voice remained as steady as ever. “Then if they were to play a song — say, the Eradication Tone — as they came up the mountainside, the Lan Clan probably wouldn’t see anything suspicious about the discrepancies, would they? They would assume that the Su Clan had bad technique, and maybe Su She didn’t remember the score very well. They wouldn’t assume there was anything sinister about it, right?”

The cultivators all around him were wide-eyed and silent, as if transfixed by the conversation — as if they had forgotten their goal in coming here. But Lan Wangji could see that Su She looked furious, clutching at his sword with a white-knuckled hand, his eyes blazing with anger. But it wasn’t the anger of a man unjustly accused — it was the rage of a cornered animal biting at anything that came near it.
Lan Wangji slowly turned his eyes back to his wife’s face. “Correct,” he said.

Wei Ying grinned at him — and then stepped aside with a graceful sweep of his arm, catching the tip of a sword between his slender fingers. Bichen sprang out of its scabbard without Lan Wangji even thinking consciously about it — only a surge of scalding, spiky anger at the man who had attacked his beloved so brazenly. He didn’t lash out — not yet, since Wei Ying had the situation under control. But if he hadn’t — if Su She was an immediate threat — Lan Wangji would slice off his arm without a second thought.

But if Wei Ying was expending any effort, he didn’t show any sign of it. After all, Lan Wangji thought, even a person with weak spiritual power was far stronger than one with none at all — and if Su She used his own power, he would betray himself.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Ying said with a smirk. “You can’t really hurt me without your spiritual power, right? It would be pretty strange if you were the only one who still had it.”

“I’ve had enough of your little hints and insinuations!” Su She snarled.

“I was being too subtle, I guess,” Wei Ying said, with the tip of Su She’s sword still trembling between his fingertips. “I thought I was being pretty clear, but I guess I need to lay it out as obviously as possible. You are the reason that the people here have lost their spiritual energy. While everybody was fighting corpses as they came up the mountain, you were supposed to be playing evil-repelling music on your guqin. But the song you played had been painstakingly changed so that it would temporarily deprive a person of their spiritual power if they heard it for long enough. You were an enemy in their midst all along!”

“Liar!” Su She roared, his face flushing.

“What am I lying about? I’m sure the Lan Clan can testify that you played the song incorrectly all the way up the mountain,” Wei Ying said airily.

A ripple of assent went through the nearby Lan cultivators, especially the ones with guqins. Lan Wangji felt a warm rush of relief as he looked around at the faces around them. The various cultivators around him didn’t look friendly, but the confusion and suspicion in their faces seemed to be aimed more at Su She than at Wei Ying. And he couldn’t help but notice that none of them had denounced anything Wei Ying had said so far — before they had claimed that everything he said was a lie, but now they seemed rapt.

“Obviously one man alone couldn’t have the spiritual power to affect a thousand people,” Wei Ying continued with a smile. “That’s why you had all your clan members playing exactly like you did, putting all their spiritual power behind those altered notes. And the Lan Clan simply assumed that you were incompetent, and said nothing because they thought it was harmless.”

“You mean that someone can use music for evil?” Nie Huaisang called out.

Wei Ying swiftly turned the sword aside, and put his hands on his hips. “Of course you can, just like you can use talismans to attract or repel evil. In Cloud Recesses, there’s a hidden volume of songs from Dongying, which can have harmful — even deadly — effects on those who hear them.”

Su She’s fingers were clutching his sword so tightly that his knucklebones stood out against his skin. “Assuming that she’s even telling the truth,” he shouted, “I never had access to the Room of Forbidden Books when I was at Cloud Recesses — and certainly not recently!” A cruel, strained smile crossed his lips. “But on the other hand, you seem to know a great deal about these evil songs, don’t you? Who would have a better opportunity to see that room — a rival clan leader, or the wife of Hanguang-jun?”

“Don’t be stupid. I never had the opportunity to play any music for any of you — and even if I did, even I couldn’t affect a thousand people,” Wei Ying said airily.

Chapter Text

“Don’t listen to her!” Su She said, glancing outward at the murmuring crowd. “She’d be the last person to admit that she’s the one responsible for all this! She’s trying to trick you with these fantastical stories about me sneaking into the Room of Forbidden Books—“

“I never said it was you who did that,” Wei Wuxian said innocently.

He felt an inner squeal of glee as Su She’s expression became even more volatile, as if he were about to lash out. “You just said—“ he snarled.

“I said you used the song, but I never said you were the one who actually cut it out of the book and sneaked it out of Cloud Recesses. No, all that would have to be done by someone who could come and go in Cloud Recesses without notice — someone who always had permission, someone who wouldn’t look suspicious snooping around in someone else’s home because he’s always visiting.”

A ripple of uneasy whispers ran through the cave. Wei Wuxian couldn’t hear most of them, but his ears caught murmured mentions of “Liangfan-zun.” At least he didn’t have to spell that part out for them. The close friendship between Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen was well-known throughout the cultivation world, so there was only really one person who could have come to the library unnoticed to unearth the Lan Clan’s deepest secrets.

Su She’s eyes glinted like the tips of swords. “You — you dare!” he sputtered.

“It’s a pretty clever plan, I have to admit,” Wei Wuxian said, smiling. “You and Lianfang-zun kidnapped all these kids and left them on the mountaintop, probably to further cripple the clans when everything went wrong. Lianfang-zun manipulates these walking corpses at a distance, so they’ll attack just at the right time — and meanwhile, you make sure that every person on this mission loses their spiritual power. Only two conspirators, and yet between the two of you, you can wipe out the leaders of every single clan!”

He glanced out at the faces staring at him, filled with confusion and a dawning dismay. “And of course, nobody would ever suspect either of you. It happened in the Burial Mounds, so of course the Yiling Patriarch would be the one who did it, right? Nobody would ever believe me when I said I didn’t unleash fierce corpses on the people trying to kill me, would they? Maybe I would save Lianfang-zun some trouble and kill them myself — but if I chose not to, he would have a ready-made army of the dead standing by.”

With that, Wei Wuxian felt like he had just thrown off a very heavy bomb into the middle of the cave. The effects seemed to be no less shocking — the eyes and faces staring at him were full of shock at these accusations, yet it seemed to be making sense to them as well. He felt Lan Zhan’s hand slip protectively around his waist, his other hand still resting on the partly-unsheathed Bichen.

If Wei Wuxian had had any doubts, the fury on Su She’s face would have swept away those doubts. The man looked as if Wei Wuxian had just insulted his mother, spat in his face and then muddied his robes for good measure. “What would we gain from killing all these people?” he snarled. “And what need has Lianfang-zun to gain more power? He’s the Chief Cultivator — and how dare you sully his name with these foul accusations!”

“Then prove it,” Wei Wuxian said sharply, crossing his arms.

“You dare—“

“Play the melody you played as you came up the mountainside. Right here, right now. I’m sure all the Lan cultivators who heard you would notice if you played anything differently — and now that they know what to look for, they could easily ferret out the altered parts of the music.”

Su She’s gaze could have burned a hole through solid stone. His sword was trembling slightly in his hand.Wei Wuxian had the feeling that if Lan Zhan wasn’t distractingly pressed against his back and ass, with Bichen on full display, Su She would have made another attempt at killing him. The man’s disciples looked confused and slightly alarmed, especially since many of the surrounding clans were subtly drawing away from them.

Wei Wuxian felt an excitement that felt entirely new and exhilarating — after so many years of others baying for his blood, they were actually listening to him. Hearing what he had to say, even when it turned them against the most powerful man in their society. But he couldn’t get complacent — he had to nail down the accusations with something more concrete, to keep them from being swayed back to their previous allegiances. Most people were infuriatingly fickle.

“Well, if you won’t do that,” he called out, “then I have something else to show my dear uncle-in-law.”

Su She’s brow crinkled slightly. “What?”

Wei Wuxian grinned at him, and pulled a few sheets of paper from the depths of his robe. The music on those sheets was an altered melody, true — but it was the one that he had seen in Nie Mingjue’s Empathy. Lan Zhan had written it down when Wei Wuxian played it for Lan Xichen, and Wei Wuxian had snatched the papers up before they left again — just in case he needed more evidence of Jin Guangyao’s wrongdoing.

It was a bluff and a gamble, but he was confident that it wouldn’t fail him. Su She looked like he was balancing on the tip of a sword right now — having his whole treacherous scheme exposed in front of a thousand people had made him desperate and frantic. The only thing that was keeping him together was the belief that Wei Wuxian couldn’t prove anything that he was saying, and that he could simply declare that the Yiling Patriarch was a liar. One little push… one little push, and he would expose himself.

“I happened to pick these up at the secret room in Fragrance Palace when I was there — the pages from that sinister book that were torn out. Jin Guangyao had them filed away, but I found them. And I bet that if my uncle-in-law takes a good long look at it, he’ll recognize parts of the song you played on the way up the mountain.”

Like everyone else there, Lan Qiren had been watching Wei Wuxian intently, with the occasional cold stare at Su She whenever the occasion arose. Now he looked up with a slightly perturbed expression, gazing at the two pages held in Wei Wuxian’s hands. He was clearly too curious about what those pages might reveal to be standoffish.

“A likely story,” Su She said sneeringly. “You could just have scribbled any old nonsense and are trying to pass it off as something incriminating!”

“Oh, come on,” Wei Wuxian said, putting a hand on his hip. “Do you really think I would carry around random sheets of paper just in case I came across someone to use them against? Teacher Lan, take a look at this and tell me what you see.”

He held out the papers towards Lan Qiren. The elder hesitated for a moment, and stretched out his hand to receive them. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw Su She’s face blanch white. A sly smile crossed his lips — one that he deliberately allowed to be seen. Just another nudge…

“Stop! It’s a trap!” Su She shouted.

In the space of a second, he darted forward, his hand reaching for Wei Wuxian’s wrist. There was panic in his eyes — a flash of fear that he couldn’t hide behind the blustering facade of his refusals.

Got you, Wei Wuxian thought.

But before Su She could touch him, a cold blue sword-glare ripped through the air towards him — Lan Zhan had reacted almost instantaneously to the sight of an armed enemy approaching Wei Wuxian. Reflexively, Su She raised his own sword — and another glare blazed forth as Lan Zhan’s crashed into the blade. Wei Wuxian’s smile widened at the sight. He could always rely on his husband when things went wrong — or right.

Gasps rang out from everyone around at the sight, and both Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi immediately unsheathed their swords, ready to join in the fight if they were needed, even though they were too young and inexperienced to fight a clan leader. Blocking that sword glare was something that could only be done with abundant spiritual energy. Su She’s face grew even paler, and he quickly glanced around at the faces watching him.

Wei Wuxian mockingly assumed a shocked expression. “Clan Leader Su, I’m so surprised. Everyone else who came here with you has lost their spiritual power completely — and yet somehow, you’ve still got yours. If you haven’t done anything wrong… then why would that happen?”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji felt a warm thrill of pride at Wei Ying’s cleverness. He wasn’t sure what was on those papers — certainly not the melody he claimed they had, since Wei Ying would surely have shown it to Lan Wangji if he had had such a thing. But his love had easily run circles around Su She — and by extension, Jin Guangyao — by entrapping the man into revealing that he had spiritual energy in abundance. An innocent man would never have tried to grab those pieces of paper… and he had never believed Su She to be an innocent man in the first place.

Wei Ying truly was cleverer than anyone Lan Wangji had ever known.

And now, the faces all around them — from Lan Qiren to the young boys — were staring in astonishment and horror as they realized that everything Wei Ying had said was true. In his hand, Bichen blazed with cold fury, ready to unleash another sword glare if Su She made another move towards Wei Ying — he was desperate, and cornered animals were likely to bite anyone or anything that came too close.

“You tricked me, you — you treacherous bitch!” Su She snarled.

“Yep, I sure did,” Wei Ying said cheerfully. “And everybody saw what you did.”

Su She’s face had been as pale as paper before, but now it darkened with rage. Lan Wangji didn’t give him a chance to regroup — or worse, try to hurt Wei Ying now that he was within reach. Like a hawk descending on its prey, Lan Wangji swept over towards Su She, and Bichen clashed once again with the clan leader’s sword. He staggered back a few steps, and Lan Wangji lashed out immediately, driving him further back.

He could see loathing and fear in Su She’s eyes at the onslaught. Lan Wangji had never paid enough attention to the man to gauge his feelings on… well, anything. But in that moment he could tell that despite the ways Su She had copied him, he also hated him with a passion. Lan Wangji didn’t particularly care that the man hated him — he just didn’t know why, since he had never directly clashed with him until recently.

He had to drive Su She back from Wei Ying and his uncle, he thought with cold fury. Once he had him far from everyone else, Lan Wangji could disarm him — subdue him physically — that would give Wei Ying and Lan Qiren the opportunity to interrogate him at their leisure —

Their swords clashed with a blaze of blinding light, and Su She took another staggering step backwards. All around them, others watched as Lan Wangji relentlessly pushed him back, Bichen shining in his hand like a glowing shard of ice. Then something happened — Su She’s eyes flicked downward, and Lan Wangji’s followed them.

Su She was standing on the edge of the array. The fragile, aged array that Lan Qiren had only just patched together with his own blood.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying bellowed. “Look out! He’s going to—“

Lan Wangji realized what was about to happen half a second too late — Su She grimaced, before letting crimson drops of blood fall to the filthy stone floor. The cultivators who were close enough to see this let out gasps and cries of horror — clearly, even if they had realized that Su She was an enemy, they hadn’t fully believed that he would get them all killed just out of spite.

Lan Wangji’s heart almost stopped. Without hesitation, he swiped the tip of Bichen’s blade across his hand, and bright red blood welled against the pale skin of his palm. Pain bloomed in his hand, but he simply gritted his teeth. He dropped to his knees and began trying to patch the damaged array back together — tried to lace his spiritual energy through his dripping blood, arrange it in a way that would keep the failing magical construct from finally crumbling away.

He knew he was leaving himself wide open for an attack from Su She, but he couldn’t focus on that now — he had to keep the dead outside from attacking. If he didn’t get the array repaired, then the barrier would fall apart — and countless helpless people would be killed. If he could just keep it working for a few more hours… just long enough for the others to regain their spiritual power…

But as he crouched there, painting symbols and lines with his bloodstained fingers, Lan Wangji saw it out of the corner of his eye. A blaze of blue flames — and Su She’s body vanished in a burst of smoke and fire. Lan Wangji had only seen one other person use a Transportation Talisman in recent memory — and it had been that mysterious man with his face cloaked in smoke. The one that fought with Lan sword techniques.

It all made sense.

He heard Wei Ying’s footsteps clattering across the stone floor towards him, as he continued trying to link together the fragmenting parts of the array. But he could feel it crumbling under the disrupting influence of Su She’s blood — it was like feeling old, rotten guqin strings stretching just before they snapped. They might have only minutes before it failed completely — and it was going to fail, no matter what he did.

He felt a slender hand gripping his shoulder. “How bad is it?” Wei Ying asked.

Lan Wangji took a shuddering breath. “I cannot repair it.”

“Then stop trying. If there’s nothing you can do, that’s it.” Wei Ying seized his hand and wiped off the blood and filth with his own hands. Lan Wangji winced as his fingers brushed the open cut on his palm, and then again as Wei Ying wrapped a torn scrap of cloth around it as a makeshift bandage. Wei Ying’s brows were furrowed, and his lips were pressed tightly together at the sight of the cut. It was a small thing, but the tenderness of it made Lan Wangji’s heart swell.

Confusion had broken out throughout the cavern, and the raised voices became shriller and more piercing with panic. Lan Wangji grimaced slightly, his mind scrambling for some answer — something that might be able to allow them to escape, or hide, or even just survive a little longer. He gazed at Wei Ying’s face, waiting to see if he had any ideas. And if he wasn’t mistaken, Wei Ying was thinking of something. He looked as if he were turning ideas over in his head, but didn’t really like the options available.

Then he saw a blur of motion, a wild pair of eyes, a glinting sword — and Lan Wangji pushed Wei Ying aside, even as he slammed his hand into the blade as it swung. Yi Weichun was slammed down on his backside, looking too gobsmacked to say a word. Then he raised his blade again, his face convulsed with hatred and his hands trembling.

Wei Ying dusted himself off. “What was that about?”

“You!” Yi Weichun snapped. “I don’t believe any of it! You were lying about everything!”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes. “Seriously? Didn’t you see Su She run away when he was confronted? What more proof do you need?”

“Shut up, whore! Everything you say is a lie!” Yi Weichun bellowed. “I’ll never believe you! No matter how many men you seduce!”

A white-hot, searing anger was burning inside Lan Wangji’s chest as he looked down at the man, an anger that could burn anything it touched to a fine ash. He had spent thirteen years listening to the hatred people had for Wei Ying, all the slander and lies and cruel stories that they had concocted to make him sound like the most monstrous creature to ever walk the earth. Slander, lies, cruel stories concocted by people like Yi Weichun. It had been agony at times, knowing that he couldn’t protect the man he loved in life or in death.

Now Wei Ying had proven that the man they honored and revered was a monster who had wed his sister and tried to murder them all. And yet this fool tried to murder him — both him and their unborn child — because he was so blinded by hatred that he couldn’t bear to admit that Wei Ying wasn’t the cause of his troubles. Everything had to be Wei Ying’s fault, even when it wasn’t. Even when crimes were proven to be someone else’s, the Yiling Patriarch still had to pay.

Yi Weichun started to scramble up to his knees, still clutching his sword in white-knuckled hands. “And you!” he shouted, his maddened, red-rimmed eyes switching to Lan Wangji. “You’re almost as despicable — you betrayed us all! You never truly believed in the tenets of your clan, if you threw them aside to bed a monster like her!”

Lan Wangji remained silent. The words meant nothing — nothing at all, as if the man was trying to knock him down by pelting him with feathers. He didn’t care if they insulted him, maligned him, abused him. It meant nothing. He simply did not care, and he hadn’t for a very long time. But trying to murder Wei Ying in front of him — that was something he would never tolerate.

And doing it now, when everyone knew Wei Ying was pregnant…

He took a single step forward, and Yi Weichun wavered. The man clearly thought he had gone too far in his insults, and his dark eyes widened with fear as Lan Wangji loomed over him. “You can’t — your reputation —“ he quavered.

Bichen sliced through the dark, murky air with its piercing purity.

Chapter Text

If Lan Zhan had been any other person, Wei Wuxian would have thought he was going to kill Yi Weichun on the spot. Slice him right in half with Bichen, as an example to the others. Looming over the man with his sword in hand, and his eyes as cold and stinging as a winter wind, he looked almost like a vengeful deity about to strike a mortal down.

Bichen slashed through the air, down towards Yi Weichun — and Yi Weichun’s blade was cut through. It clattered to the ground loudly, and the cowering man was left staring at a broken hilt in his hand. Lan Zhan had disarmed him completely, without even harming a hair on his head. Wei Wuxian felt a sudden rush of delight and pride in his husband’s prowess… and if they didn’t have fierce corpses ravening outside, he would have been more than a little aroused.

“You—“ Yi Weichun gasped. “You—“

“You will not harm him,” Lan Zhan said icily. “You will not touch him. Try again, and that will be your hands.”

Yi Weichun scrambled to his feet, and scuttled back into the crowd. He looked as if he had not only seen a ghost, but had it torture him while screaming his name for three or four days. He cast a final outraged — but fearful — look at Wei Wuxian before slipping out of sight, probably to tell his friends how wronged he was by the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang-jun.

Wei Wuxian wound one of his arms under Lan Zhan’s, letting his fingers trail sensuously down his husband’s chest. “Nice job, Hanguang-jun,” he said with a smile. “As always, you’re the best. I don’t need anyone else to protect me when you’re here.”

Lan Zhan turned to face him, their faces close enough that Wei Wuxian could smell his sweet, warm breath. His light, bright eyes seemed to shimmer slightly in Bichen’s light. “Mn.”

Damn, that was attractive. Wei Wuxian wanted nothing more than to kiss Lan Zhan in that moment, to feel those strong hands gripping his body as his husband plundered his mouth for the next incense time or two. Anywhere else, any other time, he would let Lan Zhan drag him to some isolated corner of the Demon-Quelling Cave, and fuck him until his legs were too weak to hold him. He knew from experience that Lan Zhan could do it too.

But there wasn’t any time. As they gazed at one another, panicked voices rang out through the echoing cavern, over the grunts and snarls from outside. “The array’s broken!” one man cried shrilly.

Other voices echoed the same sentiments, growing more panicked and frantic with every passing minute. And at the mouth of the cave, fierce corpses surged inside, their hair and clothing filthy and ragged, their white eyes staring mindlessly at those they wanted to kill. The stench of decay rolled ahead of them, as if to further terrify the helpless cultivators inside. It hadn’t even been close to four hours, and they wouldn’t have even a drop of spiritual power for a long time.

“Wen Ning—“ Wei Wuxian started to say.

But then a dark figure darted to the front of the cave. Wen Ning tore through the fierce corpses with dizzying strength, tearing through them as if they were paper and sending even more slamming into the walls. But with every corpse he threw aside or tore apart, two or three more swarmed into the cave — and there were even more outside. Fighting by himself wouldn’t get the job done.

Wei Wuxian felt his spirits sink even further. He and Lan Zhan could kill plenty of them, but not enough. And not fast enough to get all these people to safety. He had one idea for how to get the fierce corpses to leave all the cultivators alone, but… well, if he tried that and they survived, Lan Zhan would tie him up for the remainder of his pregnancy.

“Let’s get moving, Hanguang-jun,” he said grimly. “We have a lot of work to do.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said.

They virtually flew across the cave to help Wen Ning stem the tide of fierce corpses, landing lightly near him and immediately hacking their way through another swarm of the bone-pale, growling dead. Bichen was already out in Lan Zhan’s hand, and Wei Wuxian quickly pulled out Suibian. He felt a little apprehension — it had been so long since he actually used the sword. He hadn’t fought with one since he had been a teenager, when Lotus Cove had fallen to the Wen.

And even more concerning, he still didn’t have much spiritual power, despite the constant cultivation under Lan Zhan’s scrutiny. He wouldn’t be nearly as dangerous as his husband in a fight, even if he was still more dangerous than most of the other adults here. After wavering for a moment, he sheathed the sword again and pulled out his flute — even if he couldn’t control the fierce corpses attacking them, he could use the the boundless resentful energy flowing through the place, and bolster Wen Ning.

One nice thing about this new body, he thought — it was nimble. He spun and dodged easily from the withered hands and gnashing yellowed teeth, even though there were seemingly countless corpses coming towards him. But he always kept close to the tall figure clothed all in white with his crystalline sword, often pressing his back against Lan Zhan’s as he played. Somehow, with that solid, strong body pressed against his back, it felt like nothing could possibly touch them. Resentful energy coiled and swirled around him, screaming with the ghosts who lingered on this deathly mountain.

Sorry about this, he thought to the tiny life inside his belly. I know I didn’t want to put you in danger again — even though I guess you’ve always been in danger because you’re inside me. But you’ll never be safe unless we get out of here alive, and find a way to keep the cultivation world from killing your parents—

Then he caught a glimpse of several more figures dressed in white — all of them shorter than Lan Zhan — followed by ones in other colors as well. All of them were the youths that had been imprisoned there, who still had their spiritual powers — some looked eager, some looked scared, but all of them looked determined. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi were leading the charge, hacking and slicing at corpses as if they had been doing it all their lives.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian called out. “The kids are coming to help us!”

Normally, he wouldn’t have wanted — or allowed — the teen boys to be involved in something this deadly. Not until they were a little older and more experienced, and he and Lan Zhan had had some time to educate them on the best ways to deal with dangerous fierce corpses. But with their parents helpless and no one else who could fight, those teenage boys might be the only thing between everyone else and a very unpleasant death.

“Stay close to Senior Wei!” Lan Sizhui called out to one of the other Lan disciples. “We can’t let him or the baby get hurt!”

Wei Wuxian wanted to yell that he wasn’t that fragile even if he was pregnant, and they should focus on keeping themselves alive, but a fresh wave of corpses came surging into the cave and drew away everyone’s attention. Two of the Lan boys stationed themselves nearby; their hands were shaking a little as they brandished their swords and slashed down more fierce corpses. Dark blood and rotted flesh splattered their pure white robes, along with the smell of rot and filth.

Just then, more figures dressed in white lunged out into the battle — it was Lan Qiren and a number of Lan cultivators. Even at a distance, Wei Wuxian could see perspiration on the Lan elder’s forehead, and the faint tremor as he raised his sword. Without spiritual energy, everything would be much harder for every one of them — but they were carving through corpses nevertheless, with Lan Qiren fiercely leaping between the worst of the enemy and the young boys.

I never knew he had that kind of guts! Wei Wuxian marveled. I always thought he was just a boring stick-in-the-mud scholar who hated fun! But he’s actually really good with a sword!

As he played, his eyes strayed over to the other adults, many of whom were effectively helpless. Most of them couldn’t rise to their feet, and the ones that could weren’t able to do much more than that. Jiang Cheng was in their number — he was swaying on his feet, propped up on his sword Sandu, his starkly pale face and bloodspattered clothing making him look like a casualty. But as the corpses approached, he began swinging clumsily at them, his eyes blazing with anger that no loss of spiritual power could quell.

It had to be said: few people were more determined than Jiang Cheng.

Chapter Text

The chaos around him was more than Wei Wuxian could keep track of — except for the solid presence of Lan Zhan at his back, and the whirling glimmer of Bichen as it slashed through everything it touched. It was like they were standing in the eye of a particularly nasty storm. He saw flashes of familiar faces on every side — Wen Ning ripping corpses off of Jiang Cheng — the Lan juniors tearing through a particularly large corpse that had just lunged through the cave — Jin Ling, his face blotchy and wild, ignoring his uncle’s bellows — Ouyang Zizhen, who had a nasty, bloody cut on his cheek but was fighting diligently nonetheless —

How many corpses had Jin Guangyao brought to this place? The army of the dead seemed to be endless — he must have gotten every person in the entire country who had died in the last few months, and sent them here. Wei Wuxian had lost track of how many corpses had flooded into this place and been cut down, torn to pieces.

It seemed like an eternity before the flow died down to a trickle. Blood pooled almost deep enough to submerge people’s ankles, and the slashed or torn body parts were heaped so high that Wei Wuxian could have practically touched the ceiling if he had climbed them. His breath was coming in raw, harsh gasps, and he could feel Lan Zhan tremble slightly as he reached back to clutch at Wei Wuxian’s arm.

Both of them were encrusted in filth and gore. Blood and other, less pleasant bodily fluids had soaked into their robes, staining Lan Zhan’s immaculately white clothing and encrusting his boots. Wei Wuxian had never seen his husband looking anywhere near this dirty — at worst, he had seen a few smudges or some small bloodstains. There was even blood matting his long, silky hair.

“Hanguang-jun,” Wei Wuxian teased weakly. “You’re absolutely filthy right now. I’m pretty sure you’ve violated at least three rules, being like that.”

“You are dirty too,” Lan Zhan replied.

“Yeah, I think I’ll have to burn these robes,” Wei Wuxian said, looking down at his body.

Then his stomach twisted uncomfortably, as the stench of the rotting bodies seemed to surge into his nose, filled his lungs. Wei Wuxian clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to hold it back — but then he pulled the hand away as he bent over and began puking violently. Again. One of Lan Zhan’s hands pressed against his back, rubbing comforting circles against his spine — but he had the feeling that Lan Zhan was keeping an eye on the crowd to make sure nobody took advantage of his momentary weakness.

“Ugh,” one female cultivator said weakly. “I remember that part.”

The sour stench on top of the smell of rot only made Wei Wuxian retch harder, until he was left gagging wildly with nothing left in his stomach to throw up. Eventually he was able to stand up again, shivering a little and swallowing hard, a thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead and tears in the corners of his eyes. Fucking nausea. This wasn’t the time to be puking.

Can’t you give me a break? he pleaded with the baby.

Then he glanced around at the people around them. Everyone else who had been fighting was just as filthy, if not even filthier. Many had collapsed due to exhaustion, especially the ones who had fought despite not having their spiritual energy. Lan Qiren was crumpled against a rock some distance away, his eyes closed and his chest heaving. Jiang Cheng was somehow holding himself upright, leaning heavily on Sandu. His eyes were gleaming with an almost unnatural fire, as if he were drawing strength from some unholy source to keep his body going.

The various young boys were perhaps in the best condition, but they were even filthier than Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian were. They were gasping, swaying on their feet, and their gore-spattered faces were painfully pale. Jin Ling was stumbling back towards Jiang Cheng — only for his uncle to strike his face, hard enough to send him sprawling on the bloody ground.

“You stupid brat!” Jiang Cheng snarled. “You think you can just ignore me?” Then he stumbled and collapsed, as if the smack had taken everything out of him.

Wei Wuxian grimaced. That poor kid. Maybe it was being pregnant, but he suddenly had the overwhelming urge to backhand Jiang Cheng for smacking around his only nephew — Jiang Yanli’s child. The kid had a hard enough life right now. He was bullied, he was an orphan, his little uncle had turned out to be an incestuous murderer who had just tried to kill him, along with everyone else. The last thing he needed was more cruelty.

Lan Zhan’s fingers, already tightly wrapped around Bichen, clenched even tighter. Then his other hand, streaked with blood and wrapped in a filthy rough bandage, slipped around his spouse’s waist. Wei Wuxian had the distinct feeling that Lan Zhan was thinking about what he would do if someone did something like that to their child. They probably wouldn’t live long enough to hit the child a second time.

“Is it over?” a quavering voice asked.

In all the commotion, Wei Wuxian had completely forgotten that Nie Huaisang was in the crowd. By some miracle, the man was not only still alive and in one piece, but he wasn’t even that dirty. Probably because he was firmly ensconced in a small circle of exhausted Nie cultivators. Tears were rolling down his face, and he was fanning himself with furious energy.

“It’s over, isn't it?” he said joyously. “I can’t believe I survived! Thank heavens! We’re all going to live!”

It was too soon to say, in Wei Wuxian’s opinion. He certainly hoped that the onslaught was over, but they shouldn’t underestimate Jin Guangyao while he had the Yin Tiger Tally in his hands. Still, the man couldn’t have raised any more corpses than he already had, could he? How many people died across the countryside in the last few months?

He wanted to groan and slump to the floor along with the many exhausted cultivators, but didn’t. He was practically hip-deep in dead, dismembered bodies leaking blood and other fluids, and he already had enough disgusting things smeared on his body. He didn’t mind Lan Zhan getting him dirty — they had spent enough time on the mountainside behind Cloud Recesses to do that in various ways — but this kind of filthiness wasn’t nearly as much fun.

Then suddenly Lan Zhan dashed away from him, with Bichen sliding back into its scabbard. “Uncle!” he called.

Wei Wuxian turned around just as Lan Qiren clumsily settled himself down on the floor, clutching at his chest. His face was unhealthily pallid, and he had just coughed a fresh gout of blood onto his beard and the front of his stained robes. Lan Zhan knelt beside his uncle and immediately took his pulse. His face was shadowed, but Wei Wuxian could see the pain and concern in his husband’s eyes.

Well, it wasn’t surprising. Lan Qiren had brought him up — even if Lan Zhan had disobeyed him now, it didn’t mean he didn’t love his uncle. Wei Wuxian wandered closer to his husband and uncle-in-law, keeping his mouth shut despite the temptation to point out to Lan Qiren, Hey, uncle-in-law, it looks like we’re fighting on the same side now, huh? What do you think we should name the baby when it’s born? You think it’s a boy or a girl? There would be plenty of time to needle his uncle-in-law later, when Lan Zhan wasn’t worried and Lan Qiren wasn’t weakened.

Lan Zhan raised his hand to begin transferring spiritual energy to his uncle, only for Lan Qiren to block him with his own hand. “Don’t,” he rasped. “My own spiritual power hasn’t returned — giving me yours would just weaken you.”

Then his bloodshot eyes slipped sideways to Wei Wuxian, who was rocking on his heels and absentmindedly rubbing his stomach. The older man’s lips thinned, but saying anything more about Wei Wuxian or the baby seemed to require too much energy from him. He closed his eyes, exhaled tremulously, and seemed to leave the outside world behind.

Lan Zhan was left kneeling beside his uncle, looking as if he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands. Wei Wuxian felt a spike of indignation at his husband’s obvious discomfort — Lan Zhan had just slaughtered more fierce corpses than anyone else in the cave, until his robes were crimson and black with blood. And yet his uncle was barely willing to speak to him, because Lan Qiren disapproved of his nephew marrying, fucking, impregnating and escaping with Wei Wuxian.

But Lan Zhan simply stood up and straightened his stained robes. Even covered in filth and blood, he was so beautiful and elegant that Wei Wuxian found himself distracted by it. Honestly, everyone else looked like they had been dragged through a battlefield, but Lan Zhan still carried himself as if nothing could touch him. Put him back in white robes and a clean ribbon, wash out his hair, Wei Wuxian thought, and he would look as if nothing could touch him.

“Look after the injured,” Lan Zhan ordered the Lan cultivators sternly. “Check for casualties.”

The other Lan cultivators obeyed immediately, rather than hesitating the way Wei Wuxian would have expected. Lan Qiren was right there, but he might as well have been unconscious for the amount of attention he was paying. Still, Lan Zhan had had a lot of authority among the Lan cultivators ever since he was young, Wei Wuxian knew. Even though he had been disgraced in the clan’s eyes right now, they still obeyed him in a crisis.

Then he heard something — something other than the sound of the Lan cultivators scurrying around, the groans of the wounded, the loud gasps of the people who had fought. Something that didn’t echo through the cavern, but rather was carried in on the wind from outside. It was a sound that he had heard twice in the last few hours — the sound of countless feet treading heavily on the dead branches and dry grass outside. Swish-swish, crack-crack-crack.

Crap, Wei Wuxian thought. Another wave of fierce corpses was coming.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji knew from experience that he had far more endurance than most other people — he could fight for hours and he could remain awake without rest for longer than even other cultivators. And, of course, he was able to make love to Wei Ying for hours into the night with barely a break — his spouse was sometimes reduced to begging for mercy, though at least half the time he wouldn’t want Lan Wangji to actually stop.

So while most others — even the teenage boys, who had youth and vigor on their side — were collapsing from exhaustion, he was only mildly fatigued. Still, he couldn’t relax. He had kept an eye on everyone as Wei Ying vomited — just in case someone tried to hurt him again. Yi Weichun appeared to be keeping to the rear of the crowd, out of fear that Lan Wangji would notice him again and cut off his arm.

He glanced over at Wei Ying, and his stomach dropped. A strange, intense look had come over Wei Ying’s features — and it wasn’t a happy expression. His wife raised a finger for silence, and said “Quiet!” loudly.

Despite who had uttered the order, the cultivators obeyed. Even Lan Qiren opened his eyes, stirring from his meditation, and listened.
Lan Wangji’s ears were sharp enough to hear the rustling of dead grass outside — and then the sound of that grass being crushed. Crushed under swiftly-moving feet. Feet that did not tire or falter… though some of them dragged, as if the muscles that pulled at them were rotting away. Long years of experience — including a few in the Sunshot Campaign, where Wei Ying had torn through Wen defenses with the dead — told him precisely what those sounds were.

“It’s a second wave,” Wei Ying said, as if confirming his thoughts. “More of them will be here in just a few minutes.”

Some anguished cries rang out from the crowd, from those who could barely move. The teenagers, despite their fatigue, scrambled to their feet and looked to Lan Wangji and Wei Ying with worried eyes. And yet, amidst the fear, there was a layer of trust there — trust that the two of them would find some way to save everyone, despite the overwhelming odds they were facing. Even the ones who weren’t from the Lan Clan, and thus hadn’t been under Lan Wangji’s direct tutelage, seemed confident that the two of them would do something to save everyone.

For fifteen long years, Lan Wangji had heard people insult and curse Wei Ying whenever he was mentioned, and had been forced to bear it. Their opinions held no weight with him, but it had been difficult to hear the words anyway, tossed around with casual venom. Seeing these future clan leaders recognizing his true quality — and looking to him with the respect he deserved — caused warmth to seep into Lan Wangji’s heart.

“I really didn’t want to do this,” Wei Ying said with a sigh.

Lan Wangji turned just as his spouse stripped off his bloodsoaked, filthy black robe in just a few motions, leaving him standing in a snowy-white inner robe that was only stained in a few places.

Lan Wangji’s lips thinned, and a searing blast of jealousy speared through him like a dagger. Despite some shocked gasps — mostly from displeased-looking women — many of the male cultivators were staring at the partially-disrobed Wei Ying with desire glinting in their eyes. A few of them — he noticed Yi Weichun in their number — averted their faces with expressions of abject horror, as if they thought the Yiling Patriarch was actively trying to seduce them with his wicked, wanton ways.

And the boys… well, most of them were staring with flushed cheeks, as if they were mesmerized by the sight and didn’t even realize what they were doing. Others, including Sizhui and Jingyi, seemed to have the presence of mind to turn away, though they looked either wide-eyed or slightly embarrassed rather than disgusted to have a beautiful woman standing before them in a state of undress.

Lan Wangji’s hands itched to grab the filthy robe and pull it back onto Wei Ying’s body, but his wife seemed to be casually unaware of how many people were staring at him. He seemed more focused on exposing that white under-robe — and Lan Wangji wasn’t particularly sure why Wei Ying had done that. Unless… wait, he couldn’t possibly…

Then Wei Ying swiped his fingertip against Bichen’s tip, and bright red blood welled up from his finger. Swiftly, he began drawing words and symbols on his own body — and it took only a few seconds before Lan Wangji realized what he was drawing. He was sketching the spells for the Spirit Attraction Flags onto his robe. Once completed, that spell would immediately draw every moving corpse for miles around — and some other dead things, perhaps — straight towards Wei Ying. He would be bait. A target.

Lan Wangji’s heart began to pound. No. He wouldn’t allow this. Wei Ying had promised that he wouldn’t put himself in peril again while he was pregnant, especially so soon after their child had almost died. Perhaps he had simply meant it as a joke, but Lan Wangji took the promise very seriously.

His hand flew out and clamped tightly on Wei Ying’s wrist. “No.”

Wei Ying looked up at him in confusion. “What?”

“You will not.”

“Lan Zhan, if I can just distract them for a little while, the others can get away and out of the Burial Mounds.” He smiled brilliantly, as if nothing was wrong with his plan. “I can leave you and Wen Ning in charge of killing the corpses. I know you can—“

“You will not,” Lan Wangji repeated sternly.

“Lan Zhan, we don’t have time to argue,” Wei Ying said impatiently. “They’ll be here any minute.”

“You promised,” Lan Wangji said. If there was ever a time to stand his ground and be stubborn with Wei Ying, it was now.

A conflicted look came over Wei Ying’s face, as his confident smile faded away. “Lan Zhan, I don’t want to put the baby in danger — I don’t enjoy putting myself in danger either — but it’s the only way I can distract all the fierce corpses out there. There’s nobody else who could—“

Lan Wangji’s eyes flashed, and he kept his hand firmly clamped around Wei Ying’s wrist. He swiftly sheathed Bichen, and used his other hand to pull his sodden, stained robed from his own body, letting them fall in a foul-smelling heap around his blood-spattered white boots. His inner robes, thankfully, hadn’t been as badly befouled, and most of his inner robe’s upper portion wasn’t stained. Then, in a single swift motion, he drew Wei Ying’s bloodied finger to his chest. “Here,” he said firmly.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened.

Lan Wangji kept his face set in a stern mask, as he waited for his spouse to start drawing the spell on him. There was no way that he could allow Wei Ying to take that kind of risk when he was pregnant. Lan Wangji was confident in his abilities to kill countless fierce corpses — he could take on an army if he needed to do so. But he couldn’t guarantee that he could stop every single dead thing that swarmed the old encampment. Better that he distract them himself while he fought — it might be easier that way.

“Come on, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. “I can’t do that — I know that you can fight off that many corpses, but if you’re the target, they’ll all just try to overwhelm you—“

“I can,” Lan Wangji said fiercely. “I will.”

He felt Wei Ying’s wrist tremble slightly in his grip, as blood trickled down his outstretched fingers. A few crimson drops fell onto Lan Wangji’s wrist, and stains bloomed like poppies on his inner robe’s sleeve.

Then footsteps rang out as two familiar figures rushed close to them, their youthful faces upturned. Sizhui looked somewhat apprehensive, but his features were set in a stern, determined expression, one that Lan Wangji had seen before when the boy stood fast against one of his seniors. “Senior Wei — Hanguang-jun won’t be fighting by himself. We’re coming to help.”

Chapter Text

Even before Su She arrived, Jin Guangyao knew that things were not going well.

The Yin Tiger Tally burned cold in his hand, as if he had left the thing outside in an icy cold night. He grimaced and gripped it even more tightly, pushing his will through it to the countless fierce corpses he had sent racing towards the Burial Mounds. They were more numerous than any amount of the dead he had ever controlled before, or that anyone had controlled with the Tally other than Wei Wuxian. And though he couldn’t directly SEE what they were doing, he could feel some measure of what was happening with them as they swarmed the Burial Mounds like ants.

And that was what concerned him.

He gritted his teeth. They should have easily killed the cultivators waiting there — Su She’s expertly-rewritten music would have robbed them of their powers and their strength at a critical juncture. There might be a few people who didn’t hear the music, such as Lan Wangji, but that presumed he would be willing to save the people who wanted his lover dead. The children he had placed there was bait certainly wouldn’t be of much use — they were probably too frightened and inexperienced to do anything.

And yet… he could feel that many of the corpses — every single one he had sent to attack — had been slashed to pieces, reduced to scraps of flesh and bone too small to move on their own.

His fingers dug into the device's iron shape, until his skin felt as if it were on fire. Damn it. Wei Wuxian had to be somehow responsible for this. She must have done something to destroy them — even though the Tally should have given Jin Guangyao more power than he had at this juncture. He wasn’t sure what the demonic cultivator could have done, just that she had been annoyingly hard to deal with ever since she had joined forces with Lan Wangji…

Jin Guangyao looked down at the deceptively-delicate-looking Tally. Not for the first time, he cursed Wei Wuxian for not simply surrendering the thing fifteen years ago, when Jin Guangshan had commanded him to do so. Rebuilding the lost half had taken many, many years and a great deal of trial and error, and the resulting device was… imperfect. It was still powerful, but not as effortlessly so as the original had been… the carnage that Wei Wuxian had unleashed had been —

“Sect Leader!”

He stiffened at the sound. For a moment he thought that some servant had dared to come into Fragrance Palace, even though he had given strict instructions that nobody — including Lan Xichen — was to be allowed entry. Then he saw who it was.

Su She.

“Minshan?” Jin Guangyao said quietly. “What happened?”

Su She’s hands were shaking as he sheathed his sword. His hair was rumpled, and blood had spattered the front of his white robes, with traces on his lips as well. “They know, Sect Leader,” he said in a low, slightly unsteady voice.

Jin Guangyao felt his breath seize in his chest. “How can they know? Did Lan Qiren recognize the melody?”

“Not Lan Qiren. Wei Wuxian figured it out — somehow. They kept letting her talk and talk and talk, and she worked out that we had altered the melody of the evil-repelling songs.”

“But the songs were still played?”

“They were. Everyone there lost their spiritual powers except for myself, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. And the children,” Su She added almost as an afterthought. He grimaced. “If I had known what Lan Wangji was going to do, I would have played it within his earshot!”

Jin Guangyao looked down at the tally wrapped in his fingers, and fear stirred inside him like a waking serpent. “But how could she have figured it out? Wei Wuxian uses a flute as her spiritual weapon, but she doesn’t have any special knowledge of Lan music. Anyone who wasn’t a Lan would probably not even notice that the song had been changed.”

“That’s another problem, Sect Leader,” Su She said anxiously. “She also knew about the book that you took the pages from — and she knew what we did with Nie Mingjue’s body. She told everyone there.”

Ice water seemed to flood Jin Guangyao’s blood. “Did they believe her?”

“Some didn’t — but too many seemed to be believing her by the end.” Su She’s face blanched slightly, as if he had just remembered something horrible. “And she said something else. She said — she told them about your wife.”

Jin Guangyao felt as if his heart had stopped beating, even though he knew that it hadn’t. His entire body felt as if it had frozen in place, and all he could feel was the Yin Tiger Tally’s edges digging painfully into the skin of his fingers. His mind whirled with the fragmented remains of things he had been thinking for twelve long years — the bone-chilling imagining of what would happen if his deepest, darkest secret was revealed to the world.

That thought had haunted him since Madame Qin had told him the truth about his wife’s birth, and he had never truly had a peaceful moment in all that time. Someone knew — someone who wanted to destroy him utterly — and now that Wei Wuxian had revealed it to the cultivation world — even if people didn’t believe her fully — if even one person believed it, or even half-believed it — then he was going to —

No. No. This changed nothing.

Jin Guangyao had already known that someone out there knew his secrets — it was the reason he had decided to wipe out the clan leaders and top disciples. He would still do that, just more decisively than before. Not a single one of them would live to breathe what they had heard from Wei Wuxian, from the elders to the youngest of the heirs. It was a pity, but it was what he had to do to save himself.

He forced himself to breathe normally, despite the blood trickling from his fingers. “Thank you, Minshan,” he said in his usual pleasant voice, despite a hint of strain. “It is a shame that they discovered our plans, but it simply makes their deaths even more necessary.”

Su She had been watching his face anxiously, as if afraid that the Chief Cultivator might punish him for being exposed. He let out a small sigh of relief, and his shoulders slumped. “Do you think they’ve been killed by now?” he asked hopefully. “There was an array on the floor that was keeping the corpses out, but I disrupted it.”

“I’m not sure how many have died,” Jin Guangyao said, staring down at the Yin Tiger Tally clutched in his hand. “But I do know that they have been fighting back.”

Su She’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a breath. “Lan Wangji had his spiritual powers,” he said, contempt seeping into his voice. “He must be the one who did that.”

“No doubt,” Jin Guangyao said.

He had previously hoped not to have to harm Lan Wangji too much, knowing what pain his loss would cause his older brother. Lan Xichen was fiercely attached to his younger brother, despite Wangji’s distasteful connection to Wei Wuxian, and having him killed would no doubt cause Lan Xichen a great deal of distress. Jin Guangyao supposed that he would feel the same in Lan Xichen’s place… but in his own, he had never felt love or even affection for his half-brother.

For his own part, he felt that it was a shame that he would need to kill Jin Ling. The boy could be an annoyance with his bad temper and stubbornness, especially with Jiang Wanyin’s influence, but Jin Guangyao had some affection for him nevertheless. Still, the boy was needed as bait at the Burial Mounds, and now that he had heard what Wei Wuxian had to say… well, it was a shame. But he would do whatever he needed to do to.

It wasn’t by his choice. It was the fault of his blackmailer.

With a wavering breath, Jin Guangyao raised the Yin Tiger Tally, and felt its dark power swelling around him, flowing through him as he reached out to those other corpses in the Burial Mounds. It seized their mindless souls and filled them with one thought, one compulsion, one command that would override anything else that their rudimentary intelligences could concoct.

Kill every living person in the Burial Mounds. Kill everything that lives. Leave none alive.

Chapter Text

“Absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian said quickly. “Hanguang-jun and I will—“

He stopped short, and looked back at Lan Zhan. His husband was looking at him with grim determination, still holding Wei Wuxian’s bleeding finger close to his chest. He didn’t say another word, but he didn’t have to — Wei Wuxian could practically hear him saying, You promised you wouldn’t put our child in danger. Not after last time.

“Okay, okay,” he said, patting Lan Zhan’s cheek with his free hand. “I won’t draw the spell on myself. But I’m not leaving you behind to deal with all this by yourself.” He pressed his lips against Lan Zhan’s warmer, full ones, just long enough to silently signal that he loved him more than life itself. “Even if I wanted to go with them, I wouldn’t last a minute before someone would be trying to stab me.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said. His face said clearly that he wasn’t happy with the idea of Wei Wuxian remaining in the midst of a cataclysmic battle between him and an army of corpses. But he couldn’t argue that leaving would be any safer — it was just a question of which army was putting him and their child in danger.

“We’re going to help,” Lan Jingyi interjected fiercely.

Lan Sizhui took a step up towards them, his young face shining with determination. He looked a little like Lan Zhan with that expression, Wei Wuxian thought. If he hadn’t known either of them, he might have thought they were father and son.

“Senior Wei,” Sizhui said in a measured voice. “We’re here to help Hanguang-jun while he’s fighting. We’ll protect you and the baby, no matter what.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Wei Wuxian protested. “With this spell, the only one the corpses will attack is Hanguang-jun. He—“

“Then we’ll help him,” Lan Jingyi said excitedly.

“I’ll help too!” Ouyang Zizhen shouted above the murmuring crowd.

“And me!” another boy called out, sounding nervous but determined. “We’ve all killed lots of fierce corpses now. Not as many as Hanguang-jun, but we’re able to — to help.“

Wei Wuxian sighed heavily. When had the boys become so pushy about trying to get themselves killed? “Kids, you’re needed to escort your elders down out of the Burial Mounds,” he called. “Remember, you have the spiritual power right now, and they don’t. Hanguang-jun and I can handle this on our own — let the grown-ups deal with this.”

“We’re not ALL needed,” Sizhui said firmly. “There are enough Lan disciples with spiritual power to help Teacher Lan and the others back down the mountain. Jingyi and I can be spared to help Hanguang-jun and the Ghost General — even if it’s just a little.”

Wei Wuxian sighed again. These boys shouldn’t get involved in all of this. Not just because he had faith that, even with a target painted on his chest, Lan Zhan could handle that many fierce corpses with Wei Wuxian’s help. But also because… they were kids. Not even as old as Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan had been when they were thrown into the Sunshot Campaign, and looking back on that, Wei Wuxian was shocked at how much had been put on the shoulders of youths barely old enough to know what they were doing.

Suddenly he felt a warm, slightly squishy impulse — he wasn’t sure where it came from — to reach out and pat the youths on the cheeks. Maybe being pregnant was affecting his emotions, because that didn’t seem like him. “You can help us the best by getting Teacher Lan out of here safely,” he said in a low voice, “and getting yourselves someplace safe. Hanguang-jun and I don’t want to see you guys getting hurt, okay?”

Both of them looked disappointed at hearing that, and he couldn’t blame them. The crowd before them suddenly rumbled with murmurs, and Wei Wuxian realized for the first time that except for the boys volunteering to fight, it had been more or less silent all this time. Watching them, waiting to find out what was going on. Even Lan Qiren, whose sour expression hadn’t shifted in the slightest, was watching them with interest… until Wei Wuxian’s gaze fell on him, and he quickly looked away.

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, and began swiftly drawing the spell on Lan Zhan’s chest. He still didn’t feel right about doing this — it was going to make fighting harder for Lan Zhan if every enemy was coming straight at him, instead of having him defend someone else. But he also knew that Lan Zhan would, if necessary, rip the inner robe off his female body to make sure that his pregnant wife wasn’t the target of a thousand grasping skeletal hands. After they had nearly lost the baby, his husband wasn’t taking any chances.

The sound of the dead outside grew louder as he sketched, as if they were ravening for the people inside. When Wei Wuxian finished, drawing back his bloodstained finger, he saw that Wen Ning had drawn closer to the two teenagers. Now that he looked at them so close to one another, there was a slight resemblance between Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui — not quite enough that a casual look would see it, but if somebody knew the truth… well, the resemblance was definitely there.

He turned to the crowd, and called out, “Hanguang-jun and I are going to lure the corpses to the Blood Pool as soon as they break in. They should all rush towards the target—“ He planted a hand on Lan Zhan’s chest. “—and ignore all of you. So don’t try to get involved in the fighting. Just get out of here.”

“Are you sure we can’t help?” Ouyang Zizhen called out. “If we had more Spirit Attraction flags, then surely—“

“No,” Lan Zhan said sharply. “One is enough.”

“One is definitely enough,” Wei Wuxian said.

He knew that he ought to feel anxious about what was coming, but now that it was about to come, he felt a strange kind of peace. If anyone in the world could stop the onslaught of corpses, it was Lan Zhan and himself. They might be able to save thousands of lives from Jin Guangyao today, as long as they could hold out long enough. They could do this, together… as long as somebody like Jiang Cheng didn’t screw things up.

He leaned against Lan Zhan, resting his cheek against his husband’s collarbone, his skin brushing against the soft fabric of the white inner robe. For a few seconds, the noise and fear of the world around them seemed to ebb, leaving them in a quiet little bubble that was just large enough for the two of them. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes as he felt Lan Zhan’s hand resting in the small of his back, and he whispered, “Ready, Lan Zhan?”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan’s voice rumbled through his chest.

Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and turned towards the cave entrance. “Well, let’s get started.”

Just then, the barrier shattered in a flash of light, and cries rang out from many of the people present. Roars and howls rang out through the cavern, and the ragged, half-rotted forms appeared in the cave mouth. Despite what Wei Wuxian had said before, many of the cultivators drew their swords. Dammit, were they going to try to fight even when told to get away to save their own lives?

But Wei Wuxian didn’t have any time to stop and yell at them. “Wen Ning!” he shouted. “Open a path for them!”

Wen Ning immediately stiffened, the black cracks on his neck spreading like cracks in pottery, threading up over his face. His eyes grew terrifyingly dark, and he ripped through the fierce corpses in front of him as if they were paper dolls. They streamed in like ants swarming over a fallen dish of food, and the only force against them was a single figure clothed in black, his hands tearing through rotted flesh and brittle bone.

But Wen Ning was only one man. Fierce corpse. Whatever. It was like trying to dam a river with a single rock, so that water could flow in the opposite direction. Corpses flooded in — and every dull, piercing eye immediately fixed on Lan Wangji’s blood-scrawled robe. Hoarse, wild voices roared, and countless feet pounded the stone floor as they charged.

“Let’s go!” Wei Wuxian shouted.

He seized Lan Zhan’s wrist and began running back towards the Blood Pool, his heart racing faster than his feet. His husband matched his pace, his face grim and Bichen already gleaming in his hand — and when corpses caught up to them, the sword swept out like a silver swallow, slicing bodies in half and smoothly slashing off limbs and heads,

But Bichen was just one sword, and even though Lan Zhan was as fast as lightning, the silver flashing wasn’t moving fast enough to cut them all down. They were advancing, little by little — and as Wei Wuxian glanced up, he saw perspiration breaking out on Lan Zhan’s brow. Dammit, Wei Wuxian thought desperately. If only he could use Suibian like that — but without a few more years of cultivation, his sword couldn’t do anything special at his bidding.

He grimaced, stuck a hand in his sleeve, and pulled out a handful of talismans. These would have to do for the moment. They blazed with bright crimson fire as he sent them flying towards the fierce corpses — they burst into flames as they clung to dead faces, burning rotting flesh and bone into cinders.

But for every corpse they brought down, three more swarmed past it. The circle of open space around the two of them was growing smaller.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian sent a handful of talismans flying at the corpses in front of him, kicked another one from the side, and spared a glance at the far end of the cave. A lot of people had evacuated, but many were still crumpled on the floor, trembling, their faces ghastly pale — and a handful were standing with swords in hand, slashing wildly at the corpses as they swarmed past.

And the kids — the kids were still there.

They were clustered at the far end of the cavern, their swords glimmering with spiritual energy, their faces torn between fear and determination. Lan Sizhui seemed to be their unofficial leader, and he was fighting his way deeper into the cavern, despite what Wei Wuxian had ordered him to do. Dammit, what kind of boy doesn’t listen to his mother? Wei Wuxian thought desperately, wishing that the juniors had just listened to him and gotten to safety.

“Wen Ning!” he bellowed. “Get them out!”

The fierce corpse paused in his fighting, and grasped the arms of Lan Jingyi and Lan Sizhui, as if he were about to sling them over his shoulders and charge out of the cave. But Lan Sizhui seemed to be speaking to Wen Ning — and whatever he said, it made the fierce corpse suddenly stop and release them both. Wei Wuxian cursed under his breath. Dammit! Was nobody listening to him today?

But he didn’t have time to shout again — more grasping rotted fingers clutched at them, more howling mouths came hurtling towards Lan Zhan. His husband’s face was as sternly impassive as ever, but Wei Wuxian had learned to spot the signs of strain on his face — the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the tightening of his jaw and mouth. He was cutting down fierce corpses by the dozens every minute, but they were creeping closer, crawling and leaping over heaps of dismembered body parts, puddles of gore and fluids.

And Wei Wuxian would be damned if he let them get closer.

He flung talismans as fast as his hands would move, flames erupting from every one as it clung to the ravening corpses. But they kept coming — all of them — irresistibly attracted to the spell painted on Lan Zhan’s chest. For each one that fell to the ground, two or three more swarmed forward, only to be swatted down by more talismans or slashed in half by Bichen.

Thoughts whirled in his head like leaves in a hurricane. Dammit. They weren’t going to make it — there were too many — and as his hands slipped back into his sleeves, his fingers closed on nothing. Nothing at all. He had run out of fucking talismans, just when he needed them most — when Lan Zhan needed them the most —

— and something crimson tore through the corpses in front of him, ripping them apart as effortlessly as Wen Ning. It was another fierce corpse — skeletal and monstrous, but instead of lunging at Lan Zhan, it was tearing through other fierce corpses. And it was dripping with what looked like blood, as if it had just waded out of the Blood Pool. Wait, was that what had happened?

That’s weird, Wei Wuxian thought. I wasn’t playing my flute… and I didn’t do anything to summon or control any other corpses! Who the hell is that, and where the hell did they come from?

The other fierce corpses actually slowed their assault, no longer fixated on the spell on Lan Zhan’s chest. They seemed almost perplexed and a little afraid of the crimson-dripping newcomer, circling around the pile of twitching, dark-blooded body parts. But the bloody fierce corpse didn’t seem inclined to join them at all — it stood apart, not controlled or attracted by any spells or the Yin Tiger Tally.

Even stranger, the fierce corpse was staring straight at Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan with its hollowed, withered eye sockets. Not from interest in the spell on Lan Zhan’s chest, but… as if… as if it knew them. Recognized them. As if it had seen them before. A suspicion began to uncoil like smoke in Wei Wuxian’s mind — if it had come out of the Blood Pool… then maybe it was…

“Wei Ying, stand back,” Lan Zhan said, clutching Bichen’s hilt.

Wei Wuxian clasped his hand around Lan Zhan’s wrist, his arm trembling slightly at trying to hold back his husband. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Wait… I think I know who that is…”

Lan Zhan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he let his arm sink downwards, though he didn’t loosen his grip on Bichen.

The bloody fierce corpse let out an earsplitting howl — it echoed through the cavern as if dozens of voices were calling on one another. Before the echoes had faded, it let out a second, shriller shriek. Wei Wuxian flinched; it felt as if the sound was burrowing into his ears and tunneling through his brain, but he didn’t dare to try to block out the sound. Not right now. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that shriek was a call — a way to summon more of its kind —

And if he was right about the fierce corpse’s identity… things had just completely changed.

He turned to the Blood Pool, his heart racing like that of one of Lan Zhan’s rabbits. The crimson surface had been still and mirrorlike a few minutes before, but now he could see ripples — bubbles — and then the surface swelled upwards as something solid pushed through it — a hand, nothing more than bones with a little flesh attached —

Another hideous, older fierce corpse rose from the Blood Pool.

Like the first, it looked directly at Wei Wuxian. He felt a sudden wrench of sadness at the sight — it seemed like they knew who he was, even in his new body. Even after all this time, they remembered him.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan whispered.

“Don’t worry,” Wei Wuxian said, squeezing his husband’s wrist reassuringly. “They’d never hurt me.”

He felt the muscles in Lan Zhan’s arm relax slightly at that reassurance, but his keen eyes were still intently watching the pool as more withered shapes began to rise, blood dripping from them as if they had been bathing in slaughter. More bone-chilling howls rose from their ravaged throats as they swarmed out into the main cave. Most of them barely seemed to notice the living — they were more focused on their fellow dead.

Wen Ning had paused in his fighting as well, his eyes fixed on the bloody corpses. He didn’t make a sound — he didn’t even need to breathe — but Wei Wuxian could only imagine the things that were going through his head. All of them had been people he had known and loved, and all of them had died here.

They moved as one, with no defined leader or anyone controlling them. The bloody corpses tore into the regular ones with a ferocity that Wei Wuxian had never seen before — they shrieked and howled as they tore dead limbs from their sockets, clawed apart rotting flesh, wrenched heads loose from bodies. The corpses’ black blood flooded the floor, mingling with the bright red blood dripping from these new, more ferocious corpses.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach suddenly clenched, as he remembered something about these fierce corpses. The Wen survivors had died in the hands of many of the men and women in or just outside this cave now — a brutal, bloody massacre that had ended, apparently, with their bodies being flung into the Blood Pool. If they carried any desire for vengeance against those men and women, they might turn on the living people next…

But the bloody corpses didn’t do that. They focused entirely on the enemy fierce corpses, tearing through them as if they were ripping through paper and mist. He felt Lan Zhan relaxing slightly next to him as he saw that the murdered Wens weren’t taking their revenge against the ones who had killed them — if anything, those good, kind people were saving their murderers from dying as well…

And as Wei Wuxian watched, one smaller bloody corpse broke away from the crowd, stumping towards the group of young boys who were watching the carnage with wide eyes. Two of them immediately brandished swords in trembling hands, but couldn’t seem to work up the nerve to get closer. The bloody corpse didn’t even seem to notice them — it was heading straight for Lan Sizhui. It swayed in front of him for a moment, looking at him with its plaintive, withered, eyeless face — and then raised a hand towards him.

Granny.

Wei Wuxian felt a lump rising in his throat as he thought of the kind old woman who had cared for Sizhui until her untimely death. His parents had apparently died in the purge of the Wen Clan, and she had cherished him as much as if he had been her own grandchild. Maybe he had been — Wei Wuxian had never asked. And it seemed that even after thirteen years, she recognized her little boy, even if he didn’t remember her now…

Or did he?

Chapter Text

The look on Lan Sizhui’s face was strange — he looked as if he was seeing something he couldn’t quite believe, as if something inside him had stirred at the sight of the corpse, but he was struggling with it. Wei Wuxian found himself silently cheering, Go on, A-Yuan! Remember who she is! I know she doesn’t look like herself anymore, but she remembers you even after death!

He glanced at Lan Zhan, who hadn’t spoken a word in the last few minutes. His husband was staring straight at Sizhui, his hand tightly clenched around Bichen’s hilt. Wei Wuxian leaned against him, brushing his fingers against his husband’s blood-spattered hair. “Don’t worry about him, Hanguang-jun,” he said quietly. “She would rip off her own head before she would let any harm come to him.”

Lan Zhan looked at him, and though his expression hadn’t changed, Wei Wuxian knew that he had figured out who these fierce corpses were. Lan Zhan hadn’t been there when the Wen refugees were killed — he would never have let innocent people be slaughtered — but he knew who had died in this place. What other corpses would rise to come to the aid of Lan Sizhui and Wei Wuxian without being bidden to do so?

As if hearing Wei Wuxian’s words, Granny suddenly flung herself at a fresh wave of fierce corpses, her clawed, fleshless hands tearing through flesh and bone as swiftly as the sharpest sword. Lan Sizhui stood rooted to the spot behind her, watching her with wide, almost unseeing eyes. He didn’t show even a trace of the fear that the other boys showed when she came near — on some level, Wei Wuxian knew, he knew that the old woman would never hurt him.

Someone else was tearing through the enemy corpses as well — Wen Ning. Wei Wuxian could hear him shouting to the bloody corpses, over and over as he fought, but none of them replied. None of them COULD reply. Their words had been drowned with their bodies in the Blood Pool, or surely Granny would have said something to Lan Sizhui — they could fight for their last living relation and their steadfast defender, and nothing more.

The battle between the bloody corpses and Jin Guangyao’s lasted far less time than the first battle had — a brief but gruesome dance of torn and rotted flesh, black blood and earsplitting screeches. The living stood silently in place, watching with wide eyes as they saw something that none of them had seen before — no, something that no one had seen before. Wei Wuxian found himself wondering if they had figured out who these crimson-dripping corpses were — the older cultivators certainly had figured it out, but did the younger ones now fully realize what their parents, seniors and elders had done to these helpless, unarmed Wen people?

He felt bile rising in the back of his throat at the stench of death that filled the cavern like floodwater, but managed to keep himself from puking up his guts. Those bloody corpses deserved to have him watch every minute of their fight, even if he was pregnant and the baby didn’t like the smell of rot. He pressed a hand to his mouth and swallowed furiously, feeling Lan Zhan’s hand clamped protectively on his elbow.

And as the last attacking fierce corpse was ripped to shreds like a piece of paper, an eerie silence settled over the cavern. There was only Wen Ning and the bloody corpses, standing atop the torn, twitching remains of their enemies. It looked like it should have been horrifying, and it probably was to other people, Wei Wuxian thought. The bloody corpses were all hideous — bits of decayed flesh clinging to skeletons, gaping dark mouths and eyeless sockets, each one dripping with the liquid of the Blood Pool.

And yet… and yet…

Maybe it was because he was pregnant, but Wei Wuxian felt tears trembling in his eyes. He had known all these people — had saved them personally from the Jin Clan — had lived amongst them, drunk their wine, played with their child, and had sacrificed everything he had to keep them safe. And he still hadn’t been able to protect them in the end. The cultivators had swarmed this place in great numbers, butchered them, and tossed their bodies into the Blood Pool.

Wen Ning was still in their midst, his voice trembling as he murmured, “Granny… all of you… it’s really you? You’ve been here all along?”

If any living person had doubted who these people were, then the Ghost General’s questions would probably have put those doubts to rest, Wei Wuxian thought.

They turned their withered, grotesque faces towards him, and began to slowly hobble towards him and Lan Zhan — not aggressively, but as if seeing an old friend across a crowded room. For a moment, Wei Wuxian saw them as they had been — smiling faces, kind eyes, worn clothing and hands calloused by countless hours of manual labor. He hadn’t been able to save them, but they had still turned up to save him instead.

He bowed to them deeply, and said quietly, “Thank you. All of you.” His voice trembled and croaked a little.

Lan Zhan glanced around at the swaying crimson figures. Then he bowed as well.

As Wei Wuxian straightened, he saw the corpses bowing in response — clumsy and awkward, as if their decayed bodies weren’t used to the motion. They gazed at him a moment longer, and for a brief second, Wei Wuxian had the feeling that they were smiling at him, even though their gnarled, skull-like faces couldn’t show it.

And then he thought he heard something — a whisper so faint that he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t his imagination. Goodbye.

And then, as if on cue, the corpses fell to the ground, their bones dissolving into little piles of red dust. Wei Wuxian’s heart wrenched in his chest as he saw them die for the second time — the final time — but a part of him was glad that they had remained in this world long enough to see Lan Sizhui. Long enough for proper farewells, and to show the boys who had been tiny toddlers at the time who they had truly been. Maybe they would find peace now.

Wen Ning fell to his knees, scooping handfuls of the ash from the ground. His masklike face showed little of his emotions, but the clumsy, wild motions of his hands betrayed how grief-stricken and anguished he was. Wei Wuxian took a step forward to offer him something other than his tattered robes to store those ashes — only for Lan Jingyi to move to the fierce corpse’s side, offering him an emptied sachet.

“Use this!” he said urgently.

Wen Ning gazed up at him in confusion — only for the other boys to empty their sachet bags as well, and thrust them at the fierce corpse, chattering offers for help gathering the ashes into those bags. The only one who didn’t offer to help was Jin Ling, who was staring at Wen Ning with his face twisted in discomfort, as if something sharp was jabbing him in the back.

“Everybody, start gathering the ashes up! The Ghost General can’t do it all on his own!” Lan Jingyi said loudly.

“Don’t!” Wei Wuxian called out. “You might get corpse poisoning — and I don’t have any glutinous rice with me right now!”

Several of the boys blanched, but they still held out their bags to Wen Ning, who continued scooping up the blood-colored ashes with his cupped hands. Maybe he could bury them somewhere, Wei Wuxian thought. They hadn’t received the dignity of a proper funeral before, but maybe they would have a chance after their second, final death.

He glanced at Lan Zhan, who was gazing impassively at Lan Sizhui. The boy was bending near Wen Ning, regardless of the possibility of corpse poisoning. Now that they were standing beside one another, the resemblance was unmistakeable. Probably nobody would see it if they didn’t already know — one of them was clad entirely in the pure white and forehead ribbon of the Lan Clan, and the other was a fierce corpse. But as Wei Wuxian did know, he couldn’t help but see the kinship between them.

And now he had to wonder… how much would Sizhui figure out, after Granny had reached out to him? None of the Wen corpses had done that to anyone else, so he and everyone who had seen it must be wondering why one of them stopped fighting and came over to one of the boys. He didn’t remember anything of those days, but… could old memories be stirred up by an encounter like that?

Like I’m one to talk, Wei Wuxian thought. I still don’t remember Lan Zhan confessing his feelings to me… and maybe I shouldn’t. That means I’d just remember hurting him.

He felt Lan Zhan’s arm slip around him protectively, his slender fingers resting against Wei Wuxian’s side. He snuggled against Lan Zhan’s side, and trailed a hand over his husband’s chest. “Well, Hanguang-jun, I don’t think things turned out too badly, did they?”

“It is not over yet,” Lan Zhan said in a low voice.

No, it wasn’t. Wei Wuxian sighed, glancing over the many faces still gazing at him from all the far end of the cave. Some were frightened, some were angry, and some simply looked embarrassed at having had their grand, heroic mission fall into complete disarray. And he couldn’t help but notice that some of the boys were staring at their fathers with open displeasure on their young faces. Maybe they had known that their fathers had killed Wen cultivators, but seeing those fifty-odd corpses — butchered and thrown into the Blood Pool — seemed to have made more of an impression. It was one thing to kill enemies on the battlefield… it was quite another to use greater numbers to slaughter noncombatants.

Some of the others, including Lan Sizhui, looked up with eager smiles on their faces. “Senior Wei,” he said eagerly. “Hanguang-jun… Ghost General… thank you for all—“

“Thank you?” A cold voice pierced the quiet, interrupting the boy. “What are you thanking HER for?”

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji’s heart hardened, and his muscles tensed as the voice pierced through the gloomy cave. It would have been too much to ask, apparently, that Wei Ying saving everyone present would have defused the hate they all felt for him, or at least made them think twice. As he watched, a lone figure broke through the crowd and came towards them. His fingers tightened on Bichen’s chilly hilt, ready to draw it at the slightest provocation.

It was Fang Mengchen, the young cultivator who had said that Wei Ying had killed his parents. His face was icy and hard, and resentment was simmering in his eyes — he had obviously come on this journey to see Wei Ying killed, hopefully painfully, and was angered that no one was now moving against the demonic cultivator.

No one except Fang Mengchen spoke, and Lan Wangji saw the others casting uneasy glances at one another, unsure what to do or say next. Since none of the others seemed aggressive, he turned his attention back to Fang Mengchen, watching the man narrowly as he approached. The boys scattered nearby looked confused and uneasy, but some of them immediately came closer, as if they wanted to get between Fang Mengchen and Wei Ying.

Wei Ying waved the boys aside, his eyes still fixed on Fang Mengchen’s face.

“Do you really think a few good deeds can erase all the blood you’ve spilled? The bottomless debt you owe?” Fang Mengchen shouted, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.

Lan Wangji’s teeth clenched, and Bichen slid an inch out of its scabbard. But the man shouting at Wei Ying didn’t even seem to realize that Lan Wangji was there, as if his world had narrowed to the black-clad woman standing in front of him. Wei Ying himself was looking grim, and Lan Wangji could only imagine what thoughts were going through his mind.

“Wei Wuxian slaughtered my parents thirteen years ago!” Fang Mengchen called out, turning back to the crowd. “Why would any of you act like he’s a hero just because he did one or two good things? Do you really intend to just FORGET his crimes against all of us — against common decency? Do my parents even count against him?” He swung back around to glare at Wei Ying, his eyes blazing with dark fire. “Or do you just feel bad about attacking someone who is pregnant? As if that child absolves him — or her — of those past deaths!”

“I know it doesn’t,” Wei Ying said loudly. “I don’t expect anyone to forgive or forget just because I’m having a baby. But I can tell you this: the baby is innocent of everything.”

“So were my parents!” Fang Mengchen shouted.

Lan Wangji’s hand clenched on Bichen, but he felt Wei Ying’s warm, slender fingers pressed against his own. Don’t worry, the touch seemed to say. I’ll handle this myself.

“I don’t know what you want,” Wei Ying called out.

Fang Mengchen drew back slightly, his grim, angry expression faltering slightly. “What I want?”

“As far as I can tell, the only thing that you want is to see me die a horrible death so you can satisfy your hate for me. But it isn’t like I got away scot-free, did I?” Wei Ying said, his voice echoing through the cavern. “I was torn to shreds the last time, and it’s only luck that I’m alive again now. I didn’t have a family to lose, did I? Because my parents died long ago, and I didn’t even have their ashes afterwards.”

“You do now!” Fang Mengchen snapped. “You’re married to Lan Wangji and you’re having a child!”

“So what, you want to kill them both so everything would be fair?” Wei Ying said fiercely.

Lan Wangji felt a sudden surge of mingled amusement and grim anger. Amusement at the idea that Fang Mengchen would have a chance of killing him — and anger at the thought of him killing their baby. He doubted the man would have the courage to do either, but the hatred against Wei Ying was so strong in some that there were people who might try to stab him again, just to deprive them of their child.

Fang Mengchen seemed not to have any kind of solid argument against Wei Ying, only the expression of his vengeful rage. His face was a mask of fury as he shouted, “It doesn’t matter! No matter what you do, I will never forgive you for the murders of my parents! And I’ll never forget, like some of these others are doing!”

“I don’t expect forgiveness.” Wei Ying’s voice rang out as sharply as a whip cracking. “And I don’t expect you to forget, because I haven’t forgotten the things that happened that night either.”

Well, that was partly right. Lan Wangji glanced over at his wife, and gently rubbed his thumb over the back of Wei Ying’s hand. Wei Ying probably remembered most of that terrible day, the blood and horror and the death of his sister. But he didn’t remember Lan Wangji spiriting him away on Bichen at the end of the battle, or what his husband had said to him a few hours later. “Maybe my mind just couldn’t take it, and it just… I dunno, bottled it all up,” Wei Ying had said some days ago.

Well, it didn’t matter to Lan Wangji, even if Wei Ying never remembered that night. The only important thing was that Wei Ying had learned of his feelings later, and returned them passionately — that the rejection of that night hadn’t been the end. What mattered now was the future they had together, not the shadows of their past. He moved a step closer to Wei Ying, and slipped his left hand around his love’s waist, drawing that slender body closer to himself.

And he watched. Watched Fang Mengchen’s face as a storm of emotions seemed to be warring in him — his rage was mingled with misery and confusion, before giving way to a look of painful frustration. Lan Wangji wasn’t particularly concerned with how he was feeling, but he supposed that Fang Mengchen was torn between the knowledge that he had only survived because of the people — the person — he hated most, as well as facing someone he had ever only known as a faceless, mindless horror.

Then the young man turned and stormed away, leaving a chilly, awkward silence behind him. He had probably spoken for many in the crowd, Lan Wangji thought. He had to at least admit that Fang Mengchen had more courage than many of them — he had actually spoken up against Wei Ying to his face, probably believing that either Wei Ying or Lan Wangji might attack him. Most of the others didn’t have the spine to do so, especially not as individuals rather than as a ravening mob.

“Are we safe?” a familiar voice piped up. “There aren’t more of them coming, right?”

Lan Wangji sighed imperceptibly. Nie Huaisang, again. The heavens alone knew how he had managed to live this long — not just in this siege, but in life in general. Still, he didn’t seem to have any ill will towards Wei Ying, and had even shown some willingness to trust the demonic cultivator. That alone made Lan Wangji feel somewhat positively inclined towards him.

The timid-looking clan leader came out to the forefront, and looked around at the mountains of body parts and the collapsed cultivators. “Can we leave, then? I mean, obviously nobody is going to be fighting for the rest of the day, and we all nearly got killed. Can we just go home?”

That seemed to stir the crowds, and one woman said loudly, “It must have been four hours, right? We should have our spiritual powers back!”

It hadn’t been even nearly four hours, Lan Wangji thought. It might not have even been one.

Lan Qiren, near the front of the crowd, looked exhausted, with blood spattering the immaculate white of his robes. He had actually been fighting despite the loss of his spiritual powers, which took far more out of a person than fighting with those powers. It was a sign of his strength and skill that he was still able to move.

Lan Qiren glanced up at his nephew for a moment, then turned away.

A part of Lan Wangji ached to go to his uncle and try to explain. He wasn’t good with words, and never had been. That had always been his brother’s strength, smoothing over rough situations with his gentle manner and eloquent words. But he still loved Lan Qiren, the man who had brought him up, and he wished that Lan Qiren could understand that for him, there was no question of who he would love and follow. He didn’t have a choice. He had fought his love for Wei Ying in his youth rather than embracing it, and it was one of the greatest regrets of his life.

Lan Qiren had never loved another person as his brother had, as his nephew had. So he had no idea what it was like to find someone else the new focus of his entire life. To crave their smile, their laughter, their passionate embrace. To find that nothing in the world mattered but their life and happiness — and without them, life was achingly empty and hollow.

Lan Qiren couldn’t understand. But Lan Wangji wanted him to.

Chapter Text

Jin Guangyao’s hand spasmed, and the Yin Tiger Tally fell with a loud thunk to the floor. “No,” he whispered.

A cold sweat had broken out all over his body as he felt the last of the fierce corpses being torn into chunks of twitching, rotted meat. Every single corpse. Every single corpse he had raised over the past week — every last fierce corpse he had raised and sent across the countryside — every corpse he had unleashed with the force of his will and sent against the army of weakened cultivators —

— gone. All of them.

“Clan Leader!”

He stared into space, his heart racing like that of a frightened animal. Dimly, he felt Su She’s fingers grasping his upper arm and shaking him gently, trying to get through to him, but he was too enveloped in the dawning horror of what had just happened. Everything he had been planning was falling into ruins — everything he had in the world was now poised on the tip of a very sharp blade.

How the hell had that happened? They had been weakened by Su She’s music — there shouldn’t have been enough functioning cultivators to destroy the onslaught of fierce corpses. Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have been able to summon enough corpses of her own to defend from them, and she wasn’t able to control a fierce corpse that someone else had claimed first. What the hell had Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji done to defeat thousands of fierce corpses — driven by the Yin Tiger Tally, no less?

His entire body felt numb from the shock, and there was a faint ringing in his ears. It felt as if the roof was falling in on him, and yet the entire world seemed to be full of silence. “It’s over, Minshan,” Jin Guangyao whispered. “They’ve won.”

“That’s good, isn't it, Clan Leader?” Su She said eagerly, his voice seeming to come from very far away.

Jin Guangyao’s brows knit at that confusing answer… until his mind caught up to what Su She had meant. He must have thought that “they” were the fierce corpses he had been controlling, not Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. “No,” he said quietly. “The other cultivators triumphed. My army of corpses — they’ve been destroyed.”

Su She’s face blanched. “All of them?”

“Every last one,” Jin Guangyao said heavily. He reached down to pick up the Yin Tiger Tally, clutching it between his cold fingers.

Su She sucked in a quavering breath. His fingers were clutching the edge of the bed, hard enough to almost splinter the polished dark wood. “How many of the cultivators were killed by them?” he said desperately. “Do you know?”

“No. I have no idea. But if every last corpse was destroyed — and so quickly — then many of them must have survived. Lan Wangji alone couldn’t have taken down an entire army. I don’t know — I don’t know what happened.”

Still half in a daze, he rose from his bed and donned his robes, his mind racing to deduce what he should do next. His options had narrowed drastically in the last few minutes. An unknown number of cultivators were doubtlessly setting back out for civilization, and if they even slightly believed Wei Wuxian, they knew that the attack on them had been coordinated by Jin Guangyao. And according to Su Minshan, they now knew the truth about Jin Guangyao’s marriage… at the same time that his wife had vanished without a trace. They knew everything.

It wasn’t fair.

He had spent the better part of twenty years working his way from the bottom to the top — from the ignominy of being a prostitute’s son, the unacknowledged son of a clan leader, to dominating not only the Jin sect but the cultivation world as the Chief Cultivator. He had used his intelligence — intelligence his father and brothers had never possessed — to maneuver his way through the tangled paths of power, as well as his willingness to ruthlessly cut down anyone who blocked his way. He had earned his position. He had forced them all to respect and admire him.

And now that was all gone. In the space of a few days, everything he had built was reduced to rubble. It wasn’t fair.

There was only one thing he could do now. He had laid out the plans for an escape many years before, just in case something like this happened. True, he had never really expected to put that plan into action — he had believed that his plans had been sufficiently subtle, his position and power enough to quash any threats. But he had known that there was a possibility that he would need to escape one day, and so he had planned the entire endeavor in advance.

He would have to abandon everything in this country — his home, his position, the power he had amassed — and flee to Dongying. Obviously he would take what portable wealth the Jin Clan had with him, to ensure his comfort and survival in exile. As a foreigner, he doubted that he could achieve the kind of exalted position he had enjoyed in Dongying, but at least he would be alive and free.

His usually smiling lips twisted slightly as he placed his gauze cap on his head. Damn Mo Lian for summoning Wei Wuxian into her body! If she hadn’t done that, then none of this would have come to light. The demonic cultivator’s sneaking, prying and spying had destroyed everything that Jin Guangyao had done over the past decade and a half.

No… no, someone else had also known, and they had been the one to blackmail him. Perhaps they had also been responsible for Qin Su’s disappearance. Was this mysterious person in league with Wei Wuxian? Maybe he or she was — maybe the two of them had secretly colluded together to bring about his downfall — maybe — maybe —

It didn’t matter. What mattered now was getting to Dongying with his most trusted men… and he couldn’t do that until he retrieved her. His mother.

“Come with me, Minshan,” he said briskly.

Su She nodded. His face was pallid but determined, and Jin Guangyao could tell that he had confidence in the Chief Cultivator’s ability to plan ahead and think on his feet. The man admired him like he admired no other — the opposite of his seething, envious hatred for Lan Wangji.

Su She would have to flee to Dongying as well, of course. The plan had been that he would survive the onslaught that killed every other person in the Burial Mounds, and bring a harrowing tale back to the outside world. Then, as one of the few remaining clan leaders left, he would continue to lead the Su Clan of Moling, and they would be in a position to rise to greater importance, despite the necessary loss of several disciples. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had ruined that, and now he had no choice but to abandon his home.

Several of his men were waiting outside, guarding the place so that no one could enter without his express permission. They were speaking quietly to one another, but stopped and approached him as he strode out of Fragrance Palace. They were among his most trusted servants — the ones he reserved for business he didn’t want associated with the Jin Clan’s public affairs. Each of them was as ruthless as Xue Yang, though not as brilliant or as erratic.

“Make ready to leave,” Jin Guangyao said, his habitual smile missing from his lips.

“What reasons should we give to those still here, Chief Cultivator?” the leader asked. He was a whip-thin man with a cruel mouth and a scar over one eye, though he spoke in a decorous and respectful manner.

“No reasons are necessary. Simply act.”

Several of the men scattered immediately, knowing precisely what to obtain for their employer. Jin Guangyao would probably be able to leave Golden Carp Tower within a few hours, venturing out to Yunping City. They would have to do so unobtrusively — Jiang Wanyin might be among those who had survived, and he would no doubt be on the lookout for anyone who might be Jin Guangyao.

On the other hand, no one had any reason to know that he was going to Yunping City. No one knew what — or rather, whom — he had hidden in that Guanyin temple, which was staffed with more of his ruthlessly loyal men. If he kept a low profile and extracted the coffin during the night, he might be able to go unnoticed by any vengeful cultivators. And then there was nothing to keep him in this land…

His thoughts broke as a familiar figure robed all in white appeared on a nearby veranda. Lan Xichen’s brow was slightly creased with confusion, and his lips parted slightly as he looked across the courtyard. “A-Yao?” he called out as he approached. “Are you all right? I thought you weren’t able to rise from your bed.”

Ah yes, Lan Xichen. Jin Guangyao had arranged the faked assassination attempt partly to keep his dearest friend from being among the dead — but that meant that he was also in the way now. If Lan Xichen had been anyone else, Jin Guangyao would simply have ordered his men to kill him, quickly and silently. But Lan Xichen was different.

Swords were drawn all around. His friend’s clear eyes clouded slightly with confusion and suspicion, before widening as he realized what was happening.

“It seems that that things have changed drastically, Zewu-jun,” he said pleasantly, allowing his habitual smile to drift back to his face. “I’m afraid you won’t be returning to Cloud Recesses right away. Now, if you don’t mind, would you seal your spiritual energy?”

Chapter Text

The clan leaders — and Lan Qiren — were muttering amongst themselves, loudly enough that Wei Wuxian could clearly hear everything they said. The cultivators only had a fraction of their spiritual power back; it would probably be several hours before they were back at full strength. Until then, they would be weak and exhausted — especially Jiang Cheng, who looked ghastly-pale and was barely propping himself up with Sandu.

“… should find somewhere safe to recover and regain our strength and our powers,” Sect Leader Yao was saying to Lan Qiren. “After that, we can safely fly to our own cities… but first, someplace we can recover.”

“Do you mean Lotus Pier?” Wei Wuxian called out.

Lan Qiren looked at him warily, as if he thought that Wei Wuxian was planning something sinister with that information. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought I might come too,” Wei Wuxian said, crossing his arms. His breasts felt a little tender.

He felt Lan Zhan’s hand tighten on his side, and responded by slipping his hand into the small of his husband’s back. It probably wasn’t the best time for him to grope Lan Zhan’s ass in front of his uncle, but it was certainly a tempting thing to do, especially if Lan Qiren didn’t even know what they were doing right in front of him. Wei Wuxian bit his own lip to suppress a smile as his fingers dipped lower and grasped the firm, smooth swell there.

Lan Qiren’s eyes grew more piercing. “Why do you want that?” he said sharply.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Wei Wuxian said, shrugging. “It’s a pretty place and the food is excellent.”

“You think we would associate with you?” Sect Leader Yao said, sounding appalled. “You may have done something good — one good thing only! — but you still are the scourge of our society!”

“Don’t flatter me too much,” Wei Wuxian said, rolling his eyes. “Nobody has to be near me except Hanguang-jun, if you’re that worried about it. But at the moment, we’re on the same side, aren’t we?”

“No!” Sect Leader Yao blurted out, his face blanching.

“We’re not? But you’re the enemy of Jin Guangyao, who has the Yin Tiger Tally in his hands right this moment. Can you deal with someone who has that kind of power?”

He didn’t look to look directly at the various men around him to know that they would all be anxious and dismayed at this question. Instead of looking at them, he gazed up at Lan Zhan’s profile, while his wandering hand continued to caress and squeeze his husband’s very firm ass. He couldn’t help but gleefully think about Lan Qiren’s horror if he knew what his new niece-in-law was doing.

Somehow, Lan Zhan looked as elegant and beautiful as ever, even though he was dressed in a bloodstained inner robe, and had splashes of more blood and dirt on his usually-immaculate, coldly-exquisite face. But there was a faint sign of displeasure and strain around his lips and jaw as he looked towards his uncle.

“Uncle,” he said quietly, “is there any news about my elder brother?”

Lan Qiren’s lips thinned, and for a moment it seemed as if he were not going to answer his nephew’s question. “There is not,” he said at last.

That wasn’t a good sign. Lan Xichen had been left behind to look after Jin Guangyao — and now Jin Guangyao knew that not only had he been exposed, but his enemies had survived the battle. He would be like a cornered animal, ready to lash out with deadly claws at anyone who came near him. He would probably try to kill whomever stood in his way, or even had the potential to do so. And if Jin Guangyao was ruthless enough to kill his own son to protect himself, he could certainly harm Lan Xichen.

Unthinkingly, Wei Wuxian pressed his free hand to his stomach, and glanced over at where Sizhui was sitting. He tried to imagine what kind of man could sacrifice a little child — especially his own — to protect his reputation. But it simply wasn’t something he could wrap his mind around. How old had that poor kid been — six or seven? Who could even think about hurting someone that small?

He sighed. As much as Wei Wuxian wanted to mess with his uncle-in-law, now wasn’t the time. “Teacher Lan,” he said loudly. “I know you don’t like me, and don’t like that Lan Zhan is married to me. But at least let him help with whatever you’re planning. Zewu-jun is his brother, after all.”

Lan Qiren’s lips thinned, and he looked at his nephew with conflicting emotions in his eyes. He was obviously disappointed — so disappointed he had been treating Lan Zhan as if he were practically a stranger — and angry, but he couldn’t exactly blame Lan Zhan for being concerned about Lan Xichen. Finally he said rather heavily, “Very well. If you must.”

Lan Zhan bowed to his uncle, as impeccably as if there were no bad blood between them. Wei Wuxian quickly did the same.

But when he straightened, he saw that most of the people present were no longer looking at them — they were looking at Jiang Cheng. It made sense, Wei Wuxian thought. Lan Qiren was the lead clan elder of the Lan Clan present, and he was allowing them to come. Nie Huaisang’s opinion didn’t really matter to anyone, so they didn’t bother asking. That left just one leader of a major clan present — and it so happened that he was also the one who ruled over Lotus Pier.

That was a pretty big obstacle, Wei Wuxian reflected. His former martial brother had been hating him relentlessly for thirteen years — and they hadn’t exactly been on the best terms before Jiang Yanli’s death. Having Wei Wuxian there for any reason other than torture and death was probably the last thing that Jiang Cheng wanted, especially in the mood that he was currently in.

Jiang Cheng had seemingly been ignoring the rest of them, trying to get some kind of consistent spiritual power running through Zidian. Sometimes it was only a silver ring on his finger; other times, it surged to life briefly as a long coil of purple electricity. Finally he looked up at Wei Wuxian, anger flickering in his eyes like flashes of lightning.

“You actually DARE to come to Lotus Pier?” he snapped.

Wei Wuxian braced himself for more blistering words to be flung his way. Jiang Cheng’s tongue was sharp at the best of times, and when he was really angry, he would lash out with whatever would hurt his target the most. When they were boys, he had often exploded at other disciples when they had done something to annoy or embarrass him, and Wei Wuxian often had had to step in to smooth things over with a laugh.

Sure, he had been the target of Jiang Cheng’s tongue more than once, but he had learned early on to allow the words to flow off him like raindrops on a duck’s feathers. He hadn’t taken any of it to heart, and he knew that Jiang Cheng didn’t mean any actual harm by anything he said. But now… well, things were different now.

But to his surprise, Jiang Cheng simply went back to fiddling with Zidian, apparently having said everything he intended to say. Scorn and anger, but not enough to lash out or even forbid Wei Wuxian from returning to the place that had once been his home. Wei Wuxian blinked. That was… actually kind of surprising.

Well, no point in dwelling on it. He turned to Lan Zhan with a radiant smile. “Lan Zhan, I guess I’m finally taking you back to Lotus Pier. When we have the time, I’ll show you around.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

Wei Wuxian lightly brushed a finger over one of Lan Zhan’s cheekbones, his lips uptilting into a bewitching smile. “It only took what, nineteen years to finally get you to visit? Imagine all the stuff we could have gotten up to if you had come home with me back then.”

Lan Qiren looked slightly ill at the idea.

The two of them moved almost as one to mingle with the others in the crowd. Most of the adults gave Wei Wuxian a wide berth, as if afraid that this might turn out to be an elaborate trick, which wasn’t surprising. He doubted any of them would ever come to like or trust him, after almost a decade and a half of bad blood. They were all so wedded to their hatred of him that they couldn’t bear to let go of it. Even if they weren’t, to admit that maybe he wasn’t so bad would be to admit that maybe he had been in the right to save the Wen refugees… and if they admitted that, they might have to admit that they were in the wrong to kill those same people.

Well, he didn’t care. The person who knew him best and loved him best knew who he really was, he thought affectionately, winding a lock of Lan Zhan’s hair around his finger. So did Wen Ning, and Lan Sizhui, and the small number of other people who knew him as more than the monstrous Yiling Patriarch.

As if on cue, the younger cultivators came scurrying towards him, their faces alight with eagerness. Except for Jin Chan and his friends, who were still looking sour and haughty, almost all of them acted as if they had just seen a long-lost friend. Even though he didn’t know some of them very well, Wei Wuxian felt a smile spreading over his lips.

“Senior Wei!” Ouyang Zizhen said eagerly. “I’ll get you a fresh robe, since your old one was destroyed!”

“No need,” Wei Wuxian said briskly. “I’ll change when we get to Lotus Pier.”

“Senior Wei,” another boy called out. “You were amazing back there—“

“—didn’t know about the Wen corpses—“

“—some more talismans if you need them—“

“—is the baby okay, Senior Wei?”

“Don’t talk to her!” one clan leader barked. “A-Meng, even if we’re on the same side, don’t forget she killed your great-uncle—“

Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure which kid he was speaking to, but whichever boy it was, he seemed to be ignoring the calls from his elders. Maybe they had come to their own conclusions about what had happened thirteen years ago, after seeing the fifty-odd Wen corpses rise to protect Wei Wuxian. Maybe they were rethinking what their fathers, mothers and uncles had done back then.

Maybe there was some hope for the future of these clans.

Chapter Text