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Chapter Text

How had things gone so terribly wrong so quickly?

For a short while, probably more than he’d had any right to expect, Wei Wuxian had managed to feel like himself again. His clothing might have been rougher, and pockets certainly lighter, but sitting across from Lan Zhan sharing a meal without cross words or demands flying back and forth across the food…

But a short time had all he’d been allowed before being abruptly summoned back to reality.

Wen Ning screamed and lashed out, arms flying wide. Wei Wuxian gasped and tried to dart backwards, confounded by a large root lifted from out of the ground and catching the back of his ankle. He fell back, Wen Ning’s snarling face filling his vision. This couldn’t be happening. Wei Wuxian couldn’t let the resentment consume him. He scrabbled to grab his dizi where it had fallen beside him, bracing himself as Wen Ning struck down towards his face.

“Wei Ying!”

Lan Zhan flew forward, sliding Bichen in the space between Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning to create a wall between them. Wen Ning roared again and turned to throw himself bodily towards Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan barely managed to dodge out of his way before a plume of resentful energy struck his back. He stumbled forwards, barely managing to right himself before Wen Ning was upon him. Wen Ning punched out with both arms and caught Lan Zhan squarely in the chest. The blow sent him hurtling backwards, out of sight.

There came a low cry of pain.

Wei Wuxian yelled in denial. Not Lan Zhan. Not now. He dragged Chenqing to his lips and played a sudden, discordant note that filled the valley around them. He barely knew what he was doing, panic flooding his body and echoing into his music. Let Wen Ning be safe. Let him thrive. Let him return to his senses. Let him be free.

(Just not at the expense of Lan Zhan.)

A deafening crack filled the air. For a moment, Wei Wuxian worried it was his eardrums shattering, but the earth around him shook as well. Wen Ning staggered, nearly falling over with the force of the quake, but managed to regain his footing at the last moment. He staggered forwards again. Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet and once more brought his dizi to his lips.

Be still, he begged, Don’t let me be the reason Wen Qing loses you twice.

The music slowed Wen Ning’s steps. Wei Wuxian tried to coax him forward, easing the rage inside him. It worked for a moment. Only for a moment. Then he heard a choked cough and the sound of blood bubbling up through the lungs over where Lan Zhan had been thrown and his playing faltered.

Wen Ning lurched forward again. He only made it a short distance before another body robed in white joined the fray. Too small to be Lan Zhan; shorter even than Shijie. Their sword caught Wen Ning’s hands, the edge bracing against his palms and keeping them stalled in place. Wen Ning shoved at the blade and the cultivator skidded a few inches before planting her foot in the earth and bracing herself. Spiritual energy flared out around her as she prepared to strike.

“Don’t hurt him,” Wei Wuxian gasped. “I can help him.”

“Are you insane?” An ugly shade of skepticism coloured the raspy, feminine voice.

“Please.”

The cultivator looked over her shoulder, brow drawn in exasperation. “Seriously?” Without waiting for an answer, she pressed forward. With a blast of spiritual energy, she sent Wen Ning sailing through the air. He hit ground hard and left a gouge in the earth where he slid through the dirt. “All right. Whatever you’re going to do, gongzi, do it quickly.”

Wei Wuxian played, lungs straining with the effort. He poured every wish and desire for Wen Ning to calm himself into the sound; blackened and twisted qi curling up through him in a web that surrounded his friend.

Wen Ning eventually stilled upon the ground where he lay, twitching as though he wished to rise but trapped by invisible bonds.

The cultivator remained still in place, hand still clenched tight around her sword, a simple yet elegant blade which bore no sect heraldry. Neither did her robes or any decorations she wore openly. A rogue cultivator then? But one of impressive skill. Funny, as Head Disciple of YunmengJiang, Wei Wuxian been required to keep appraised of any notable rogue cultivators, but no matter how he racked his brain he could not identify her. Hopefully it didn’t turn out that she’d come here to kill him in the name of righteousness and simply got distracted by Wen Ning.

Then again, were that the case, she probably would have done a lot worse to Wen Ning than just standing over him and waiting on Wei Wuxian to act.

“Let me end its suffering,” she said.

“Don’t,” Wei Wuxian gasped. He grabbed her arm. She stared at the hand upon her, confounded by the audacity, but he refused to release her until she listened. “I can restore his cognition—he can be brought back. I just need a chance.”

Her lips pursed. “Fine.” She flicked her blade to clear it of any stains and then sheathed it. “Will he stay down long enough for us to look after your friend?”

Lan Zhan!

Wei Wuxian spun on his heel and charged towards where Lan Zhan had fallen. A second new person, a man taller than either Wei Wuxian or Lan Zhan, was knelt down next to him. Lan Zhan had been whipped into a sharp rock, his head bent at a terrible, unnatural angle.

“Lan Zhan.” He barely recognized his own voice. His legs gave out, weakness overcoming him, and he dropped to the ground. Blood had pooled around Lan Zhan’s ears and mouth. His breathing seemed shallow and weak. “Lan Zhan?”

“Wei—Wei—Wei—” Lan Zhan’s arm twitched at his side, but he otherwise did not move.

Panic began flooding its way through Wei Wuxian. He went to grab for Lan Zhan’s shoulder, only for the stranger to grab his wrist midair. Wei Wuxian looked at him with fury, black creeping into his vision, anger fuelled by the Yin Tiger Tally screaming at him to rend this person keeping him from Lan Zhan.

“We cannot move him,” the man said. His voice remained calm and unaffected, even though Wei Wuxian knew well enough his skin was cold enough to burn and his eyes must have been bloody with the force of his anger. “I assume his golden core is strong. It will heal the damage. But if we move him the wrong way then the damage may heal incorrectly and leave him paralyzed.”

The words snapped Wei Wuxian out of the darkness; something like that had happened to one of his shishus before he’d been born. Uncle Jiang talked about it all the time. Yes, he remembered now. Oh, Lan Zhan.

“I have a friend. A doctor,” he gasped.

“Go find them.”

He didn’t have to go far. The cultivator who’d helped him stood watch over Wen Ning, hand on her sword. And just beyond, at the entrance to the valley, a handful of the other Wen villagers, including Wen Qing, waiting on some sign to take action.

In his worry, he barely saw her. Wen Qing took note of his expression and broke free of the others to rush to his side.

“A-Ning—” She began.

“He’ll be fine,” Wei Wuxian said. “But—but—Lan Zhan.”

She nodded grimly and followed him back to where Lan Zhan had fallen. The second stranger had remained by his side, speaking to Lan Zhan in a low, comforting tone. Wen Qing took stock of the situation immediately.

“We will need to stabilize the neck before we move him,” Wen Qing said, all brusque efficiency in the way she always behaved in face of an emergency, with the one horrible exception. “Once he’s off the rock, I’ll help direct his spiritual energy to the right places. But we need to be careful in moving him.”

The man nodded. He shifted around to firmly place his palms on either side of Lan Zhan’s head, half-cupping his ears. “Gongzi,” he said gently, trying to catch Wei Wuxian’s gaze. Wei Wuxian’s attention shifted to him. “Come and help me.”

Wei Wuxian followed his instructions, though he nearly threw up when he tucked his hand beneath Lan Zhan’s neck and felt protruding bone. Together, Wen Qing helping to brace his back and side, they managed to shift him to flat ground.

Wen Qing went to work immediately. Despite what weeks of hunger and cold had robbed from her, she poured everything left into Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian stood uselessly to the side, wringing his hands. Wen Qing shifted around and placed her hand on Lan Zhan’s neck. With two efficient movements, there was an audible ‘pop’ and Lan Zhan’s choked cry of pain.

The sounds broke something inside him. Wei Wuxian swallowed back a scream and curled in on himself, the weight of everything threatening to bowl him over and send him spinning away into nothingness. How much more did he have to sacrifice? Wasn’t his family, his home, his golden core enough? Did he also have to give up Lan Zhan?

The insidious demands of the Seal threaded through him, screaming obscenities and terrors. It felt the worst at moments like these, when Wei Wuxian stood faced with everything he’d lost and had yet to lose. Resentful energy clung close to the surface, first from battling it back at their settlement and now that he’d had to reclaim control of Wen Ning. It screamed at him, reminding him of every failing and tempting him to use it to reclaim what should rightfully be his. He tried to shut away its call, but the nipping at his consciousness was becoming a vicious clawing and impossible to ignore.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Hey.” The man—who was he why was he even here didn’t he know wei wuxian was poison—reached for Wei Wuxian and took his shoulders. “You did so well.”

“No,” Wei Wuxian gasped.

“Yes. Your friend is obviously a very good doctor. He’ll be fine.” Broad, warm hands tried to squeeze warmth back into him. For long, selfish moments, Wei Wuxian wanted him to succeed. “He will survive You will survive.” A palm strayed from his shoulder to his chest. “Stay with me. Breathe. Long and slow.”

He obeyed the tone rather than the words. Slowly, air managed to find its way back into his lungs. Whenever he started to look back towards Wen Qing and Lan Zhan, and the darkness began rising again, the stranger recentred him.

Finally, his lungs remembered how to do their job. Wei Wuxian took in a long, shaky breath without feeling as though he wanted to die from it. With the exhale, finally breathed out the question, “Who are you?”

“I—” The man froze, terror flitting across his face. Wei Wuxian’s stomach lurched at the idea of losing this calm voice of authority to the same grip of feral animal panic still threatening to seize him. “I don’t know.”

His own anxiety began rising again, quickly tamped down when Wen Qing snapped out his name, wielding it with all the efficacy of a chain whip. They both turned to her, apparently equally desperate to be given some form of occupation to distract them from everything else.

“How is he?” the stranger asked.

“I’ve reset the bones. He will need to be placed in a healing sleep while his golden core repairs the damage,” Wen Qing said. “We can move him, but not far.” Not back to Gusu then. Wei Wuxian hated thinking about Lan Zhan waking up in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but what other options did they have now? “He needs to be completely immobilized before we move him,” Wen Qing stated. “Completely, do you understand? Everything except his heartbeat.”

He returned to Lan Zhan’s side and ripped his thumb open on his incisor to begin sketching out the most thorough stasis array he’d ever created directly onto Lan Zhan’s robes. The stranger came to kneel down beside him; it took Wei Wuxian a long moment to realize he was timing their breathing, deliberately slowing his own to stave off his panic, and doing so with such deliberately loud inhales and exhales that it was bringing Wei Wuxian into sync.

Once the array was completed, Wei Wuxian prepared to power it. He paused at the last minute.

“I need to redo this, or his lungs won’t work,” he said.

“Everything but his heartbeat,” Wen Qing repeated. “Someone else will need to breathe for him until we get him back to camp.”

There was. Not a chance. Wei Wuxian was going to allow anyone to pass air to Lan Zhan. But the stranger looked on the verge of volunteering and that was not happening while Wei Wuxian was still alive.

“Can it wait a moment? I need to check on Wen Ning first,” he said.

Wen Qing nodded. “It will just be while he’s moving. He’s stable for now.”

They rose together and left Lan Zhan in Wen Qing’s care. The stranger seemed calmer, now. He caught Wei Wuxian looking at him sidelong and ducked his head.

“Crises are footsteps,” he said.

“One at a time,” Wei Wuxian finished, offering up a fragile smile an earning one in return.

They drew closer to Wen Ning, the rogue cultivator still standing guard over him. She turned as they approach.

The stranger froze.

“Do you know her?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“I have never seen that woman before in my life,” he replied, “But I know that I love her.”

The cultivator flung herself forward. The stranger easily caught her in his arms and received a frantic, deep kiss for his efforts. Wei Wuxian turned abruptly away, blushing from his chest up. He waited until the sounds behind him became less… damp, then cautiously peered around again.

“Do you know who I am?” the cultivator asked the stranger.

“I know you. But I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

She sighed, a long trail of breath which ended with her blowing a small raspberry. She reluctantly pulled herself out of his arms and dropped back to the ground. Wei Wuxian hadn’t really noticed, in the heat of the fight, but she was a full head and shoulders shoulder than the stranger and barely came up to Wei Wuxian’s chin.

Wei Wuxian moved to Wen Ning to investigate the talismans fluttering in the wind around him. His head twitched, and Wei Wuxian prepared to react, when his eyes opened.

“W—Wei-gongzi?” he murmured.

“It talks,” the cultivator said, disbelief nearly choking out the words.

“His name in Wen Ning, courtesy Qionglin,” Wei Wuxian said. He grabbed Wen Ning’s arms. “He’s my friend.”

A pregnant pause followed his words. He veritably felt the stranger and the cultivator exchanging silent words behind his back.

“One step at a time,” the stranger said.

That… that sounded about right.

Wen Qing cried when he called her over to see Wen Ning. A single sob that she quickly buried under her usual ruthless efficiency. She gathered Wen Ning into a fierce embrace. He looked at her, blinking slowly. Confused, probably. Wei Wuxian didn’t know how much he remembered between being murdered in Qiongqi Pass and now. Something they’d need to address once they returned to the settlement and Lan Zhan was safe.

Wen Qing reluctantly released her brother and directed Wei Wuxian back to Lan Wangji’s side. Wei Wuxian approached, nerves alight like they hadn’t been since he’d seen Lan Zhan on the Cloud Recesses roof for the first time, robed in moonlight and severity.

This isn’t a kiss, he told himself strictly. This is a necessary medical procedure.

“Do you want me to do it?” Wen Qing asked.

“No!”

Everyone—Wen Qing, the cultivator, the stranger, even Wen Ning though his was admittedly more of an aura than an expression—looked at him with a terrible mishmash of compassion and pity.

Wen Qing recovered first. “Then activate the talisman and let’s get him moved. The sooner we have him somewhere safe, the sooner his golden core can start repairing the damage.”

Right. Necessary medical procedure. So Lan Zhan wouldn’t end up paralyzed.

He was unconscious anyway.

(Not better.)

He activated the talisman and pressed his mouth to Lan Zhan’s. It took him a moment to find the right rhythm to get air into his lungs, breathe out, take in air to pass to Lan Zhan, release into his mouth. The first few times it didn’t seem to do anything, but Lan Zhan’s chest moved just shallowly enough to reassure him.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

The uncles returned with a litter and carefully moved Lan Zhan onto it. Wei Wuxian stuck close, through every awkward movement and careful adjustment. Lan Zhan was stiff as a board when they moved him, muscles completely frozen.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

He barely remembered the trek back up to their settlement. All he remembered was the feeling of those shallow inhales and exhales, trying not to jostle Lan Zhan at all—even if the talisman would keep him steady—and the sound of voices around him.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Someone caught him when he nearly tripped on a rock, all his focus on Lan Zhan. Trusting they’d guide him, he closed his eyes to shut out the distractions around him.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

They stopped. Why had they stopped? Was there something wrong? He couldn’t pause those careful breaths!

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In—

“It’s all right,” Wen Qing said. A small hand touched his shoulder. “We’re here.”

He opened his eyes and looked around; they’d passed into the Demon Slaughtering Cave. He hadn’t even noticed the drop in temperature. He reluctantly pulled back, licking his lips and then mortified at himself for doing so. They’d settled Lan Zhan down onto his bed, pathetic as it was. He looked desperately out of place.

He broke the lines of the array. Wen Qing went back to work.

Wei Wuxian turned and realized with a start that one of their two new… friends? Had joined them. The cultivator stood across the room, closely studying his chaotic piles of notes with a thoughtful expression. The stranger was nowhere to be seen, but Wei Wuxian thought he heard his voice just outside the cave entrance.

“When did you lose your golden core?” she asked, barely sparing him a glance.

Wei Wuxian, bowled over by the combined power of the question, stress, and fear, hit the ground. His knees refused to hold him up. His entire body felt desperately weak. She didn’t move to help him, but remained in place, looking back and forth between him and his designs.

“How?” he croaked.

“This one,” she said, gesturing to one paper among many. “Combined with the way you fight. The use of your dizi. Him.”

Wei Wuxian glanced towards Wen Ning, standing close to Wen Qing, both hovering over Lan Zhan.

“In my experience, demonic cultivators aren’t invested in the wellbeing of others. Certainly not in restoring spiritual cognition to a. Well.” She rubbed the space between her eyes with the tip of her right forefinger, then dropped her arm to cross it over her chest, tucking her sword up against her breast. “There’s very few reasons a righteous man would turn to such arts.”

“You don’t know that I’m a righteous man,” Wei Wuxian protested, the words dragged out of him with the force of momentum from the past few hours.

“Evil men try to convince you of their righteousness, not protest its existence,” she hummed. She turned around quickly and jabbed two hard fingers into his lower stomach. Wei Wuxian nearly buckled with the pain. “Your lower dantian is obviously developed, and it shouldn’t be that tender.”

“I ask you to please refrain from putting another patient into my care,” Wen Qing said, fortunately still focused on Lan Zhan.

“He’s fine,” she said at the same time Wei Wuxian gasped out, “I’m fine.”

They looked at one another.

“Well?” she finally asked.

“During the war,” Wei Wuxian finally admitted, grateful Lan Zhan was unconscious.

Her eyes narrowed in thought. “The war,” she repeated. She shook her head. “This is so frustrating. All these missing memories, knowledge without context. My name, all gone. I might as well be a ghost.”

Wei Wuxian considered her closely. Something about her seemed familiar. Although he sometimes exaggerated his poor memory for faces, mostly in the name of exasperating bastards like Jin Zixuan’s pillock cousin, he genuinely did not recognize her. He wished he did, to give her something besides his thanks for helping with Wen Ning.

“I’ll help you if I can,” Wei Wuxian promised.

She considered him with a lifted eyebrow and then allowed her gaze to obviously circle the cave, starting and ending with the talismans she’d been examining earlier. He felt the beginnings of a shame-filled flush stir in his stomach, anger quick on its heels. The Seal gnawed at it like a beast looking to devour a morsel and make itself stronger.

“I believe you,” she finally said. “I suppose you’ll have to call me Ghost-jiejie in the meantime.”

The anger rushed out of him, leaving him dizzy and exhausted all at once. He stumbled and caught himself on the wall. Unlike the gentleman outside—they’d have to figure out a name for him as well—she did not rush to help him. She tensed, waiting, possibly to see if he’d fall again. When he straightened, she relaxed.

“Ghost-jiejie,” he repeated. She nodded. “All right.”

“All right,” she agreed.

Wei Ying!

If he could have moved, Lan Wangji would have screamed. Things that had plagued him were now dragged out of their shadowy senselessness and into stark light. Of course Wei Ying had turned to demonic cultivation after the loss of his golden core. Lan Wangji should have known. He should have understood. He’d been searching for a reasonable explanation for Wei Ying’s sudden slip into unorthodoxy since he’d found him tormenting Wen Chao.

Silent tears slipped out of the corner of his eyes, rolled down his cheeks and pooled in his ears. Wei Ying, who had sacrificed so much to save the Wen Remnants, who had turned to demonic cultivation to win the war, who had… who had breathed life into Lan Wangji’s lungs and kept him alive.

He should have had some measure of faith.

Wen Qing looked down at him and met his eyes. He blinked slowly in acknowledgement. He did not approve of her methods—she should not have kept him awake in order to force such knowledge upon him—but he would not begrudge her for it. Despite the blistering jealousy burning at the idea that he’d shared something so intimate with her and not with Lan Wangji, she’d arranged for him to learn. Wen Qing, he knew, had always been cannier than most of the others who had attended the Cloud Recesses lectures. She wanted him to know. This was the quickest avenue to ensuring it.

She slid a needle into the crown of his head.

Lan Wangji submitted himself to sleep.

The little boy—A-Yuan, who he could not look upon without feeling an irrational stab of unplaceable guilt—set them all to calling him ‘Mountain-gege.’ Whether because he stood at least half a head taller than the second tallest person in the settlement, or because he’d appeared out of the mountains, he could not tell. He accepted it all the same, finding it preferable to ‘Ghost-jiejie.’

Whom he did not remember, but knew he loved with every fibre in his body. A single glance forced his heart to expand past the boundaries of his chest, until he nearly felt breathless with it.

The woman in question emerged with Wei Wuxian, the latter’s eyes red with upset.

One of the uncles led them to a ramshackle lean-to near the far side of the settlement from the entrance to Wei Wuxian’s cave. Wise, Mountain thought, to keep them away from his fallen friend until they’d proven themselves.

Ghost ducked inside with few problems, but Mountain had to curl in on himself until he’d practically pressed his chin up to his knees before he managed to wiggle into the dubiously sturdy little shelter.

“They haven’t been here long,” he said. Besides the cave, the only real structures were made of half-rotted wood, old enough to barely resemble the skeletons of the buildings they might once have been.

“A month at most,” Ghost agreed. She looked at him, searching his face. “Wei Wuxian mentioned a war. Do you—?”

“Nothing.” He breathed out another welling upswing of panic. “But there are assumptions I’d say it’s safe to make. Everyone here except for Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji is called ‘Wen.’ The Burial Mounds would only ever be occupied in desperation. I assume that our hosts are the last remnants of the losing side.”

Ghost accepted his logic with a simple nod and began emptying the contents of the qiankun bags tucked into her sleeves. The first bag seemed apropos of a rogue cultivator: rations that would last a single person a week, a decent amount of money and simple jewelry, a single set of extra clothing that looked like it would fit her tiny frame.

The second bag proved much more interesting.

“That’s a Cloud Recesses entry token,” Mountain said, gesturing to a jade pendant. She poked through a few other odds and ends, small trinkets which she smiled over but did not seem overly interested in. She also, interestingly, unearthed a letter from the contents. Unaddressed, disappointingly. She sketched a character on the ground and confirmed the handwriting as her own.

“‘Dear Gege,’” she read aloud. She looked at him. “Not you, I don’t think. You feel younger than me. ‘Dear Gege, I didn’t realize things were so dire. We’ll come to you as soon as this nighthunt is finished.’” She turned it over. “That’s all.” She frowned. “Useless.”

“Not useless at all,” Mountain said. He tapped on the Lan entry token. “You’d agree that it’s fairly obvious you’re not a Lan cultivator, correct? Well, this implies that you’re a regular visitor to Cloud Recesses, and close enough with one of the senior members to be allowed free access. Potentially this ‘Gege’ you’ve written to, which may be a close friend instead of a brother.”

“So we’ll put it to our Lan Wangji to ask if anyone in Cloud Recesses has been missing us,” she said with a laugh. She sobered almost immediately. “Once he wakes.” Mountain frowned and she poked his side. He caught her hand and kissed her fingers with such easy movements that he had to assume it was a regular action on both their parts. “Obviously it would be both of us. I might not remember anything, but I know that for sure.”

He felt a pleased smile curl across his mouth and didn’t manage to banish it despite the need for practicality. “You don’t recognize anything else?” he asked.

“I suppose I travel light,” she grumbled. “You?”

He checked his own pockets and bags. “A few basics.” Needle and thread. A fire-starting kit. A book of poetry. A small carved wooden lion. Some more money. No weapons. He looked at his hands. Callouses covered his fingers, but not his palms. Apparently, he was no warrior. He could not say he regretted it. “There’s too much missing for this to be all we own. Even if we lived an itinerant life, we’d have more than a single change of clothing and some meagre rations.”

“They’ll be able to use the money, at least.” She sat back on her haunches, idly picking up the Lan entry token to toy with as she thought.

“Then you intend to stay?”

“For a while. Wei Wuxian… he’s a funny duck, isn’t he?” She smiled fondly, a vaguely sororal tug of lips. “They have almost nothing. Literally. And yet he’s already willing to throw everything he has left at helping us.” She shrugged. “We don’t have anything either, really, so I suppose it’s a fair trade.”

“I’m sorry I do not remember,” Mountain said, abashed.

“Hey.” She tucked her hand in between the curve of his jaw and where he had tried to duck his head down against his shoulder. She tilted his head up and caught his eyes. “I don’t either. Whatever happened to us, we’ll figure it out. And when we do, then we’ll know our next steps.” She cupped his cheek. “And in the meanwhile, we have each other.”

He turned his head and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. “I’m so glad.”

Ghost leaned forward, narrowly avoiding toppling into his lap as she tried to adjust her knees. With a decidedly undignified snort, she laughed at herself and then kissed him properly. Her lips felt achingly familiar, warm and a little chapped. He knew the shape of them. Knew that she liked it when he pulled back for just a moment to press another, quick kiss to the side of her mouth before allowing her to reel him back again. Knew she’d wait for a lifetime for him to open his mouth to let her in. Knew she’d breathe out a wonderful, pleased breath of delight when he did not make her wait at all.

When they pulled back from one another, she pressed her forehead against his collarbone. She fit perfectly in his arms.

“What do you remember about earlier?” he asked. “Not about our lives, but just this afternoon.”

“White,” she answered. “Just… white. And then music.” She tilted her head back to look at him. “You?”

“The same. And… fear. This terrible feeling I’ve forgotten something important.” He managed a wry smile. “Besides the obvious.”

“The obvious everything.” She sighed. “I’ll take Wei Wuxian back to where we met and see if we can’t figure out what happened to us.” She swallowed nervously and began gnawing on her lower lip with her right incisor, determined to bloody it until he used the pad of his thumb to tease the delicate skin out from between her lips. “I think… I fear,” her expression tensed further, “That it’s been a long time.”

He tightened his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her hair.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian spent half the night tossing and turning outside the cave, sacked out next to Uncle Four to give Lan Zhan some privacy, his mind a chaotic mess that flit from one thought to the next without pause. He kept circling back to certain, sickening worries: What if Lan Zhan never recovered? What if the two outsider he’d allowed into the settlement meant them all harm? If an absolute stranger had realized that he’d lost his golden core, how long before everyone else figured it out?

(What did it mean, if the people he loved never realized anything was wrong at all?)

Eventually he gave up and returned to the Demon Slaughtering Cave, half a thought of working on some talisman design to get his mind focused on something instead of letting it roam free.

He found Wen Qing sitting next to Lan Zhan, her hand on his wrist. He waited for her to finish her assessment.

“How is he?” Wei Wuxian croaked the very moment she settled Lan Zhan’s arm back on the bed. “Will he… will he walk again?”

Wen Qing regarded him with quiet understanding. He wasn’t really used to it; before she’d helped him transfer his golden core to Jiang Cheng, she’d been a picture of cool neutrality. Since they’d seen one another at their worst, he supposed there wasn’t any sense trying to hide anymore.

“His spine is healing well,” she said. “I’m directing his spiritual energy to the right places in order to properly address the damage. It will be painful, but he will recover.”

Wei Wuxian’s shoulders relaxed from their respective perches next to his ears. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Besides everything else you’ve done to help my family, you’ve brought A-Ning back to me,” Wen Qing said. “This is the least I can do to repay you.”

“You don’t need to repay me for anything,” Wei Wuxian protested. “You helped me with Jiang Cheng. This, all this, is less than I owe you.”

Wen Qing’s lips thinned into a small frown. “I don’t think you should thank me for that,” she finally said. She stood. “I’m going to get some sleep.”

She left him alone to watch the rise and fall of Lan Zhan’s chest. Regular and slow, rhythmic. Wei Wuxian fought it as his eyes grew heavy. All the same, he crossed to Lan Zhan’s side. Hesitant, despite being alone, he settled down next to the poor bed. Just for a moment to listen to Lan Zhan’s breathing.

He fell asleep between heartbeats.

Ghost-jiejie came to find him in the morning.

“I’d like to go back to where we met and see if we can find anything that might help Mountain and I with our memory loss,” she said.

Wei Wuxian cast a last look at Lan Zhan and then nodded.

He checked on Wen Ning before they left. Wen Qing stood by his side, keeping careful watch as other members of their family swarmed around him. Wen Ning’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a subtle widening of his eyes that, on anyone truly living, would have made him look practically agog with surprise. He barely managed to lift his hand in greeting when he spotted Wei Wuxian before another auntie slipped in to grab his cheeks and tut over how cold they felt.

Right, because he wasn’t technically alive. Because Wei Wuxian, despite his efforts, had only returned his spiritual cognition and utterly failed to bring him back to true life.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach sank and he abruptly turned away. “Let’s go.”

Ghost-jiejie frowned at him but allowed him to lead her down the path away from the settlement. He didn’t want to go back there, to the place where Lan Zhan had nearly lost his life, but if they had any hope of figuring out exactly where Ghost-jiejie and Mountain-xiong had come from, they needed to check the area.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before she obviously couldn’t take it any longer.

“Tell me about this war,” she said.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “It’s not a very pleasant story.”

She looked at him with a creased brow. Which. Fair. He supposed that went without saying. He kept it to the basics. The first signs that the Wen were plotting something. The fall of Cloud Recesses and Lotus Pier. (His voice only broke a little, and she nudged his side with her shoulder in silent support.) Their eventual defeat. He stopped short of mentioning the Yin Tiger Seal. Doubtless she’d hear all about it when she left the Burial Mounds and the world acquainted her with how Wei Wuxian, Demonic Cultivator, had used wicked tricks and evil techniques.

“Wen Ruohan,” she repeated once he’d finished the tale. Her eyes creased at the corners before smoothing out again and she huffed out an irritated breath. “There’s something there, I just can’t find it. It’s so frustrating. “I remember experiences. Parts of the life I’ve lived. But whenever I try to think about a specific person, even myself, it’s just a void.” She frowned. “I remembered leaving my sect. We were isolated. Cloistered. It was all I knew and I wanted to know everything. I remember my shizun giving me a handful of money and her best wishes. And then a long walk down a mountain path. But I don’t remember what she looked like, or the sound of her voice. I know I had many martial siblings, but not the smallest detail about any of them. Even myself.” She looked at her hands, fingers stretched out for a moment before she abruptly tightened them into fists. “I know how to circulate my spiritual energy and what it means to be a cultivator. I hate mustard greens. I love Mountain. And whenever I reach for those particulars to give myself context, they’re gone.” Her right fist rose to push up against her forehead. “And it feels like it should hurt. Because they’ve been stripped away. But all I feel is empty.”

Wei Wuxian’s chin dropped and he sucked his lower lip in beneath his right incisor. “When I was little, I lived on the streets of Yiling. There were dogs. A lot of dogs. Mean ones.” Hesitantly, he loosened the ties on his sleeve. “One morning one of the aunties I knew gave me a meat skewer. It was the most food I’d had in weeks and there was a dog who wanted it.”

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the stretch of scar tissue between his wrist and elbow. It had faded over the years, but it was easy to find the shiny, raised skin. “I don’t remember anything about it. One minute I was having a bite of meat, the next I was lying down in the alley, holding the ripped skin on my arm closed and my meat was gone.”

Wei Wuxian looked up and met her eyes. “Maybe there’s a reason you don’t remember anything. And maybe it’s good that you don’t.”

And maybe, he thought feeling vaguely ill, Wei Wuxian hadn’t been the only one the Wen had thrown into the Burial Mounds.

When they returned to the area, they scoured it, seeking out crevasses and breaks in the surrounding stone and any openings between the trees for some clue. Wei Wuxian finally found the array in a small alcove not far from where they’d first met, a fairly narrow passage between two rocks mostly obscured by its position. Wei Wuxian knelt to inspect it, Ghost-jiejie hovering at his elbow.

“I recognize the characters but not the style,” he admitted with a frown.

“I do. It’s used by ascended immortal cultivators.” Ghost-jiejie creased her brow and crossed her arms over her chest, resting her cheek against her sword’s hilt.

“How do you know that?”

Ghost-jiejie laughed ruefully. “Your guess is as good as mine, Didi.”

He started at the endearment but muscled through it. “From the looks of it, it was just supposed to tuck you away for a while.”

“Away?” she repeated. “Away where?”

“It reminds me of the enchantments placed on a qiankun pouch,” he explained.

“We got shoved into a pocket?” Ghost-jiejie said. For want of a better metaphor, Wei Wuxian nodded. She breathed out a gusty sigh. “And what about the memory loss, then?”

Good question. Wei Wuxian leaned over the array for a better look. Nothing really jumped out at him… there wasn’t a single thing about the array itself that should have caused them to lose their memories.

Except, “Look here.”

Something had settled flush against the ground in the middle of one of the characters. He carefully dug his fingers into the hard packed dirt and pulled out a long, thick tusk. Its serrated edges had driven it into the earth, but it must have snapped off whatever it belonged to.

“That thing is the length of my forearm,” Ghost-jiejie muttered with wide-eyed horror. “Shouldn’t it have completely destroyed the array?”

Wei Wuxian tapped the tusk against his chin as he puzzled it through. A broad grin slowly spread across his face. “It didn’t technically break the lines. It became part of the central radials.” He gestured to where he’d pulled it from the ground. “Look, because its so thick, there’s no damage to the line itself. It became part of the array. But because it wasn’t meant to be, it changed the whole construction of it. The outside of your pocket was stable, but the inside?” He squinted at the lines. “And look there. You were only supposed to be tucked away until the danger passed, but the presence of the tusk itself kept indicating that danger was close.”

He offered her the tusk and she took it with a thoughtful moue. After a moment, she grinned. “You’re very good at this,” Ghost-jiejie told him, “And I know just enough about talismans and arrays to know that I’m definitely not. But we could have been in there forever. Looks like Mountain and I owe you a pretty substantial debt, Didi.”

He shook his head. “Freeing you was an accident.”

“A happy one,” she protested, gently shoving his shoulder. He stumbled a bit, but caught himself with a half-laugh of surprise. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss your accomplishments! Accident or not, you freed us. That means something.”

“We’ve been in the Burial Mounds for weeks, now. If I’d known you were trapped, I’d have freed you earlier,” he told her.

“I don’t doubt it,” she said. “You like helping people, I think.”

“When I can.” Wei Wuxian heaved out a long breath. “Not that I’m much good at it.”

She tilted her head in consideration. “Is that what you really think?” She shifted the tilt towards her other shoulder, as though examining him through a different angle. “Or what you’ve been told?”

Pulled up short, Wei Wuxian swallowed back his response and straightened. “Let’s head back. I want to—” Check on Lan Zhan, “—Write down what we’ve found and see if we can piece together the rest of it.”

Ghost-jiejie nodded, apparently willing to let it slide, and followed him home.

Mountain set himself to collecting usable lumber while Wei Wuxian and Ghost were gone. The lean-to had been fine for a single night, he supposed, but he’d barely gotten any sleep with his knees raised to keep them inside the dubious protection of the structure, and while it was nice to have had Ghost-jiejie sleeping on his chest, he suspected that another night of it would render him completely useless.

He could not allow himself to be useless. The very idea filled him with an ugly sense of panic that he worried over.

The uncles around the settlement watched him until divining his intention. He caught snippets of conversation suggesting they wished to farm the area, and had been subsisting on dubiously grown fruits and whatever fish they could retrieve from the nearby stream. A harder life than they deserved, he decided, when two of the men came forward to offer him a hand in erecting a decent shelter.

Wen Ning approached him as well, hesitant in ways he didn’t feel should be chalked up to a challenge with mobility.

“I think I’m very strong now,” Wen Ning said, haltingly. Mountain nodded for him to continue. “I would like to help.” He frowned at his hands. “I think I may have broken things.”

Mountain refused to be the one who told him his role in Lan Wangji’s injuries. Instead, he set Wen Ning the task of holding two pieces of thick wood together so he could secure them in place.

They’d made decent progress by the time Ghost and Wei Wuxian returned, though he could already tell from their expression that there wasn’t a wealth of good news.

“Here,” Ghost said, shoving a serrated tusk into his hands. “A trophy and memento of our situation.”

He blinked at it. “What am I meant to do with this?” he asked.

Ghost shrugged. “Use it to cut branches?” She looked over their progress. “Don’t think this is going to stop me from cuddling up with you tonight.”

Wei Wuxian blushed and loudly stated his intentions to go look in on Lan Zhan. Ghost laughed after him, then winked at Mountain and offered to help with moving some of the larger pieces of lumber.

They’d put together a decent enough structure by the time night fell and they joined the Wen all crowded around the large fire in the middle of the encampment. Offerings were scant. Ghost emptied her qiankun pouch of the rations she’d been carrying; a generous amount of dried meat, fruit, and vegetables, a bag of nuts, clean water, a few small pieces of candy. The Wen looked at her as though she’d offered a feast.

“These are my favourites,” Wei Wuxian breathed, wide-eyed when he spotted the candies. “A-Yuan, come, come, come. Try this.”

Wen Qing, imminently practical, set herself the task of rationing them. Mountain found himself impressed by the efficiency and despairing over the necessity of it. He kept his thoughts to himself until later that evening, when he and Ghost retired to their humble little home.

“She’s trying to stretch rations for one person for a week to feed fifty for a month,” he murmured. “They won’t need to worry over being attacked if they starve to death first.”

Ghost curled around him, her body heat staving off the cool night air. When he shivered, she closed her eyes a moment. The feeling of spiritual power prickled up his arms, replaced quickly by suffusive warmth.

“Wei Wuxian said something about farming,” Ghost said, already half-asleep.

“This earth won’t yield enough for everyone here,” Mountain said. Not to mention the countless bodies buried nearby. He shuddered to think of what dangers might come hidden in the food yielded from corrupted land.

With Ghost pressed up against him instead of on top of him and his legs stretched out, he was far more comfortable than he’d been the night before.

He still stayed awake again for most of the night. This time, however, it was due to racing thoughts.

“Lady Wen.”

Wen Qing paused. No one had addressed her in such a manner in what felt like years. Mountain-xiong—he was younger than her, at least physically, and though he had a welcoming and pleasant way about him, Wen Qing had learned the value of caution where her affections were concerned—had an odd means of addressing her that did not extend to the others in the settlement.

She waited for him to catch her up. She’d been wringing her hands most of the afternoon over their dwindling supplies, silently hoping Wei Wuxian might come up with some sort of miracle that would deliver them a potable water source or a crop capable of being grown in the fallow earth upon which they stood. Radishes were the most likely thing to take to the soil, but it might be months before they had a viable crop and she knew firsthand the consequences of being denied proper nutrition. Already her family seemed to be shrinking, both in body and spirit. Cheeks appeared gaunter. Clothing tied and retied to keep it from falling away. Yes, the Burial Mounds might be more forgiving than the Jin camps, but only because the cruelty of the place was set inherent to its very nature, as opposed to being perpetrated by those in charge.

“Yes?” she asked once he reached her.

“May I have a few moments of your time?”

Mountain-xiong, she thought, would wait until she answered and more than likely accept it if she told him ‘no.’

She did not know what to make of these intruders to their makeshift home.

Wen Qing nodded and gestured for him to join her in the small shack she’d claimed as her own. The wood was mostly rotted, but the roof hadn’t caved in yet. Now that A-Ning had returned to her, he’d promised to help her with the necessary repairs once they scrimped the necessary tools together.

She wanted to offer him tea. Her mother would have despaired at the lack of common courtesy, even in extrema. Wen Qing missed her prudence and faithful counsel. Instead, she merely gestured for him to sit with her.

“I hope you will forgive me for taking liberties,” he began. Her back molars ground together, though she tried to keep her face from betraying the sudden swell of angry trepidation. Very little by way of happy conversation began with such words. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a piece of bark he’d smoothed out and turned it her way to show off the neat little rows of numbers he’d recorded. “The crop yields you’re anticipating are not capable of sustaining the settlement here. Further, the yields that Wei-xiong is counting on will not be produced within the first year. Possibly the first three.”

Anger won out over trepidation. “Mountain-xiong is good to tell me,” she said, voice frigid.

His shoulders hunched further. “Please, I do not mean to tell you something you already know,” he said. “Everyone here has been unfairly welcoming to Ghost and I, and I only wish to repay the kindness.”

Wen Qing pressed her lips together. Repay kindness? She wanted to dismiss it as falsehood, but his eyes were wide and sincere, despite him keeping his gaze lowered towards his knees. She muscled down the urge to reassure him and sidetrack whatever he wished to convey.

“Then I suppose you have solutions you believe Wei Wuxian and I have not considered?” After everything, years of deprivation, abuse fear, hopelessness, she could not keep the anger from her voice.

He lowered his voice and hunched his shoulders in a deliberate attempt to seem smaller. He bowed at the waist in a practiced movement. “Forgive me, Lady Wen, I would not dare.”

It struck her, suddenly, how similar he seemed to the men who had served at the feet of her uncle. Combined with the deference, he must have spent many years catering to someone of authority, a position into which he had now neatly slotted her. She did not get the same sense from Ghost. Indeed, given that the other woman had proved herself a powerful cultivator, it did raise questions. They did not behave as master and servant. Wen Qing hoped that once their memories were returned, it did not result in any unfortunate discoveries.

Her uncle routinely ignored the advice of his servants and advisors. Perhaps, had he listened, she would not be living in the Burial Mounds.

Wen Qing had a right to her anger. She deserved it. But Mountain-xiong did not.

“Do you have any suggestions, then?” Wen Qing asked, trying her best to keep her voice even.

Mountain-xiong slowly straightened. “I do, but I do not mean any disrespect in offering them.”

“Tell me.”

He produced another piece of heavy bark, this one inscribed with some basic illustrations which reminded her of Wei Wuxian doodling his way through the classes at Cloud Recesses, though she refused to smile over the memory. She found herself leaning forward to look at the drawings. The longer he spoke, the more compelling the idea: raised boxes filled with untainted soil gathered from outside the Burial Mounds, to be seeded with vegetables which did not require deep earth to support their roots.

“With proper care, there should be enough to feed everyone within two months, as opposed to my earlier estimate of nearly a year, and if everything is carefully managed then we should be able to preserve things into the winter.”

“We cannot use lumber from the trees here,” Wen Qing finally said. Mountain-xiong’s entire frame relaxed from the release of tension. “They will corrupt the soil.”

“Yes, we will need to buy wood from the town.”

Wen Qing frowned. With what money, then? They’d already sold everything of value Wei Wuxian had on his person when he’d liberated her family from the camp, and that had been barely enough for the meagre root vegetables they’d been determined to grow. Lumber, proper seeds, any sort of clothing, food or medicine felt as far out of their reach as the moon.

Perhaps noticing her hesitation, Mountian-xiong produced a small bundle of cloth for her inspection. Jewelry, and a generous amount of silver taels. More than enough to pay for the materials they needed and then some. With economy, this sort of money could last them well over a year. More, if they did indeed manage sustainable crops.

“We will not accept this,” she said.

“If Ghost and I are to live here, we would like to contribute to it,” he said.

“Why?” Wen Qing finally bit out. “This is what I do not understand. Why do you wish to be live in the Burial Mounds? I—” She stopped before the damning sentiment crossed her lips. She would rather be surrounded by her remaining family than anywhere else in the world. But how could she not help but wish they’d found some other place to hide?

“Where else would we go?” Mountain-xiong asked.

“No one knows you. You could go anywhere,” Wen Qing said.

“No one here knows us. Until we find a way to restore our memories, neither Ghost nor I wish to venture out into a world which might be filled with those who do know us and might seek to take advantage of our memory loss.” It was as good an explanation as any, she supposed. He regarded her with a kind look. “I have drawn the conclusion that the world is not terribly kind at the moment.”

“Assuming it ever was,” Wen Qing sighed.

Mountain-xiong joined Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning on the trip down to Yiling to collect the necessary material. Wei Wuxian kept half an eye on him during the trip down, watching his growing discomfort as they made their way to town.

Earlier that day, Wen Qing had drawn him and Popo aside to discuss the matter. “I’m willing to trust him,” she said. Her eyes hardened with the weight of past experiences and disappointments. “For now.”

“What about Ghost-jiejie?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“To be determined, but given that I don’t think there’s much chance of them parting, I will grant her some grace.” A second ‘for now’ sat pregnant in the air. She handed Wei Wuxian a small number of taels. “He knows what is needed.”

Wei Wuxian stopped by to see Lan Zhan before they left. There seemed to be a bit more colour in his face, now. Wei Wuxian hoped it was a good sign. He daringly stroked the back of Lan Zhan’s hand, just a single touch, and then escaped back out of the cave.

They brought along Wen Ning, both for extra pair of hands and because Wei Wuxian thought it might be good for him to be exposed to an environment outside the Burial Mounds. The resentful energy soaking the wood, air, water, and earth wasn’t good for any of them, really, but for Wen Ning specifically he feared it might make him more susceptible to forces capable of controlling the dead.

Wei Wuxian and Mountain-xiong wound their way through the market together, Wen Ning following along via the rooftop. Mountain-xiong proved himself a reasonably good haggler, though Wei Wuxian thought that his own time actually living in the back streets and alleys made him a bit more canny.

Or he had, right up until they reached the booth laden with soapstone carvings and the lone bunny caught his eye. He dodged away from Mountain-xiong’s side to examine it closer.

“Ah, gongzi has an excellent eye,” the merchant said with a broad smile. “That is one of my smaller pieces, but look at the fine details. The care and attention put into the nose itself should show its quality. Wouldn’t gongzi agree?”

Lan Zhan would love it, Wei Wuxian thought ruefully. He pressed his lips together, keenly aware of the money in his pocket, and the generosity Lan Zhan had so recently shown to him. Surely buying him a gift in return might be allowed? Wei Wuxian could forgo any large expenses for himself a while, right? He didn’t really need all that much. And he could reuse a lot of the things he had already.

“How much?”

The merchant named his price. Wei Wuxian winced at the cost, but it might make Lan Zhan happy.

“Not even a tenth that,” Mountain-xiong said, appearing at Wei Wuxian’s side.

“How can you say that, sir? It’s one of a kind! The artisan’s finest work.” Mountain-xiong appeared unmoved. “Just because you’re so much taller doesn’t mean you can bully a poor merchant into robbing himself!”

“It is because I am so much taller that I can see the other fifty copies behind you.” The merchant blanched. “My friend deserves a fair price, don’t you think?”

The merchant grumbled but reluctantly agreed. Wei Wuxian took the bunny with a grin and tucked it into his sleeve. He hadn’t given Lan Zhan a gift since… since ever, really. The drawing he’d done when they’d been students together had surely been a casualty of Lan Zhan’s anger when he’d destroyed the spring books.

(Wei Wuxian realized with a sinking feeling that he’d probably never be able to give Nie Huaisang a replacement. Even if he did get the Wen properly settled and safe and managed to return home afterwards, he doubted Chifeng-zun would allow him within a li of Nie Huaisang ever again.)

They’d nearly finished with their errands when Mountain-xiong froze. He close his eyes and inhaled through his nose.

“I know that smell,” he whispered.

Wei Wuxian sniffed the air. “Ah, it’s the tea made by one of the old aunties at the end of the block. She makes it with the weeds that grow near the river—”

Before he could finish, Mountain-xiong took off at a run. Wei Wuxian dogged his footsteps, Wen Ning bouncing from rooftop to rooftop to keep up. At first he thought Mountain-xiong might be heading for the tea stand, but he sharply cornered at the entrance to an alley which led him away from the market and towards the eastern streets.

He skidded to a halt once he reached the far edge of town. He stared at the empty lot before him.

“There…” He paused, eyes wide and wounded. “There used to be an inn here, didn’t there?”

Wei Wuxian took a moment to orient himself. Only a moment, though, before his stomach dropped and a familiar old hurt crept up from his lungs into his throat. “There did.” He moved to Mountain-xiong’s side. “It’s… it’s long gone now, Mountain-xiong,” Wei Wuxian said, “It burned down years ago.” He’d stood by, watching the men scrambling with buckets to save it, all useless. “The innkeeper… he wasn’t a good man.”

Mountain-xiong stared at the lot. His knees seemed to give out and he hit the ground, despite Wei Wuxian’s squawk and attempt to help him remain standing.

“There was an inn here,” he repeated, his voice absolutely wrecked. He spoke slowly, like each word was being scraped out of him and leaving bloody trails behind. “And I left something inside. I don’t remember what it was. How am I supposed to ever find it again?”

Wei Wuxian clasped Mountain-xiong’s shoulder and squeezed it tight.

Chapter Text

Four days had passed since Lan Zhan’s injury. Wen Qing had removed a few of the needles earlier that morning, but warned Wei Wuxian that he might not wake for another long while. Wei Wuxian was determined to be there when he did. If to explain the small soapstone bunny next to his head if nothing else. In the meantime, he’d taken to tinkering with a few ideas that might help Ghost-jiejie and Mountain-xiong restore their memories.

He’d lurched awake early that morning from a dream, inspired.

"You know, I never got the chance to meddle with the Jiang Clarity Bells," Wei Wuxian said aloud to Lan Zhan, still unconscious on the bed.

He'd wanted to, of course, just to watch the construction and see how they were made, the intricate arrays delicately smithed into tiny pieces of metal. There was only one family of artisans who made them, the secret passed down between generations.

"We were lucky," Shijie had said with Jiang Cheng during their initial clean up efforts, "That they live in town and weren't killed."

If anything about the whole terrible situation could be said to be lucky, Wei Wuxian supposed. He’d hugged Shijie's shoulders anyway.

This wasn't the first time he'd wished he'd been allowed to at least examine them more closely. He'd studied his own as close as he could, but without cracking open the metal to look at how the lines inside and outside connected, he'd never been able to truly figure them out.

He'd made the request, once to tinker with his to try and see how it was made. Uncle Jiang, usually calm to the point of placid, had been genuinely angry with him and forbidden it. You will not improve upon centuries of tradition, Wei Wuxian!

"Maybe," he continued, banishing the memory, "If I change the thickness of this line, it will..." His words wandered off. "Ha, I bet you're glad you're asleep, Lan Zhan. You never liked listening to my nonsense. Aiya, I wish I'd been allowed to keep my Clarity Bell, but I gave it to Jiang Cheng after our fight."

Had that... it had only been a week ago, hadn't it? He hoped Jiang Cheng's arm was healing.

"It was for the best," he said, making a note on another slip of bark about line thickness. "He wouldn't be able to really restore YunmengJiang with my reputation hanging around like bad air. He'll see that for himself eventually." He tweaked another character. "You know, if I..."

Later, though how long it passed he could not tell, the smell of something delicious caught his attention. He blinked owlishly upwards and found Wen Qing holding a bowl of stew under his nose.

"Have you been talking this entire time?" she asked.

Well, his throat hurt, so probably. But that didn't matter, because, "Is that real meat?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Mn. Your Ghost-jiejie went into town and picked up a few things."

He gobbled down the stew without much thought to flavour, though it probably was the best thing he'd tasted since leaving Koi Tower.

"I understand, you know," she said. She slid to Lan Zhan's side to examine him. "Now that Wen Ning is awake, you want something else to focus your attention on."

"That's... not..." It wasn't not it, he supposed.

"I asked her to pick me up a few things from the apothecary," Wen Qing continued. "And Senior Uncle has started carving the lines for a weiqi board into a flat stone he found. We all need something else to keep our attention instead of..." She waved a hand.

Wei Wuxian swallowed the last bite of stew, though it painfully tried to lodge itself in his throat. Bringing the Wen to the Burial Mounds had seemed like the best option. The only option, really. Where else had they been meant to go? But now that they were here, he wished he'd thought of something better, because unless the entire world spontaneously decided to change their collective minds, they were essentially trapped here. Possibly forever. He still entertained the occasional daydream about going home. That the Wen would only need him until they'd established themselves and then he'd be able to return to the life he'd left behind. He supposed that with Jiang Cheng formally removing him from the sect, though, that fantasy would have to be consigned to dreaming.

Wen Qing accepted his silence and wandered over to check Lan Zhan.

"How is he?" he asked.

"The same as he was yesterday," Wen Qing answered, regarding Lan Zhan closely with a thoughtful expression. "You should keep talking to him. It would probably help."

"It might annoy him into healing faster, you mean?" Wei Wuxian laughed. It sounded forced, even to his ears.

Wen Qing rolled her eyes, but fondly. "If that's what you think."

She collected his bowl and left him to his notes.

"Well, Lan Zhan, if it's good for you, then I suppose I'll have to keep it up," Wei Wuxian decided. "You know, if I do base this array on a Jiang Clarity Bell, that might mean any memories might disappear again once the target steps out of the array. I should add in some sort of anchor." He scribbled down a few ideas. After a moment of silence, he licked his lips to collect the last lingering taste of pork.

Lan Zhan, loyally, did not argue with him.

With such an excellent conversationalist as a partner, Wei Wuxian had a breakthrough a couple of days later.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! I think this is it!” He dashed over to the bed. Lan Zhan’s eyes were shut—Wen Qing swore it was normal—but his left leg twitched, which Wei Wuxian took as a good sign. “Look! I need to go find Ghost-jiejie.”

Ghost had found herself a place to meditate a short distance away from their settlement, a mostly flat stone that she’d turned into a perfectly flat stone with a few careful blows. He’d come to find her once or twice while meditating, mostly just to ramble at someone who could actually reply and didn’t look at him like an irritating bug buzzing around their head.

(Wen Ning would have been an excellent option, if Wei Wuxian still hadn’t felt the occasional stab of guilt whenever he look at him. Anyway, he was busy helping the uncles and Mountain-xiong erect their planting boxes. They hadn’t planted any of the seeds yet, but any day now everything would be ready.)

"Jiejie, I think I've figured it out."

Ghost opened her eyes, easily slipping from her meditation. “Good,” she said, rising. “I knew that you’d come to find me with good news today. And I might not know much about myself, but I know that I hate being wrong. "Let's go."

"That... that's it?" Wei Wuxian asked. Didn’t she want to know how he’d put it all together?

"As opposed to what? I won’t follow your line of thinking if you try to explain it to me. I just want to make sure you experiment on me instead of Mountain."

Fair enough.

He led her back into the cave so she could inspect the array he'd drawn on the ground.

"What's going to happen is that we're going to share memories," Wei Wuxian said. He took a seat on one side and gestured for her to sit across from him. "Starting simple. The array is going to call one of your formative memories and share it with me. That way if whatever is preventing you from remembering causes you to forget again, I'll be able to see some details."

"Formative?" Ghost repeated.

"Something that's really stood out to you."

"I know what formative means, Didi, I'm just not sure how it might be applied in this circumstance."

Wei Wuxian tilted his shoulders. "I figured something strong that resonates with you would give us the best insight." He pressed his lips together. "I've tried to use the characters to imply it should be something good, though." He had far, far too many terrible memories to want to share them with another person. Hopefully he'd arranged the array in such a way to make it clear.

"Sound thinking. But I'll also be seeing yours, won't I?"

Wei Wuxian nodded, though he couldn't help a nervous swallow. "I had to make it reciprocal to keep the lines symmetrical." And that was why he'd tried to make sure it drew upon a pleasant memory... all things considered, it seemed safer.

"Fair. I'll activate it," she said hastily, before he could bite open his finger. He frowned at her, vaguely irritated. She laughed and flapped her hand in a gesture he found oddly familiar. "Save your blood, Didi."

She raised her middle and pointer fingers to her forehead to channel some of her spiritual energy, and then pressed them down into the centre of the array.

L̸̨͔͚̼̹̦̤͎͕̙̣̤͒͒͊͒͂̅͛͜i̴̹͕͕̦̲̬̙̹̿̓̈́̈̌̎͝g̷͍̠̬̤̙͎͔͆̀͌̒̑͜h̷̬̖͔̟͖͙͖͓̳̎͌̎͆̒̈́̚̚ͅt̵͓͓͇̹͈̬͖͎͇͍̪͔̓̈́̈́̉́̓̾͆̓́̓͒̐͋

Wei Wuxian's entire experience expands outwards into white.

There is, for a moment, the feeling of weightlessness. Like he's been thrown down into the Burial Mounds yet again, resentful energy rising to catch him, but slowing his fall enough to break his bones instead of killing him. He hears someone whisper a name, there and gone in an instant, followed by a feeling of warmth and familiarity. His name, he knows, though he did not hear it. Said with love, he thinks. He loves the person speaking. He wants to call them 'Shixiong.'

White blankets him. He thinks that he’s aware of time passing, though he cannot say how much. He worries about the people he loves, all of them shadows, who flit out of his consciousness whenever he tries to focus upon them. He hopes these half-people are safe and cared for.

Suddenly he hears a single note of music, one he knows, and then he's standing in front of Wen Ning, still and silent on the ground. He sees himself as he knows himself arguing for the existence of a fierce corpse. He feels admiration for this sorry demonic cultivator who has given himself so fully to the life of another. He stands guard, waiting, knowing that he has the will to defy a heartfelt request if he needs to put this creature down.

And then he turns and sees Mountain-xiong, and his heart sings.

L̸̨͔͚̼̹̦̤͎͕̙̣̤͒͒͊͒͂̅͛͜i̴̹͕͕̦̲̬̙̹̿̓̈́̈̌̎͝g̷͍̠̬̤̙͎͔͆̀͌̒̑͜h̷̬̖͔̟͖͙͖͓̳̎͌̎͆̒̈́̚̚ͅt̵͓͓͇̹͈̬͖͎͇͍̪͔̓̈́̈́̉́̓̾͆̓́̓͒̐͋

“I think it worked,” Wei Wuxian said, coming back to himself.

Ghost-jiejie slowly opened her eyes, a counterpoint to the sly grin tilting up her mouth at both corners. “I agree.”

Instantly on guard, Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes at her. “Why?”

“I just think it’s very sweet that one of your most formative memories is meeting Lan Wangji on the walls of Cloud Recesses.”

Wei Wuxian shot to his feet, desperately casting his gaze towards Lan Zhan. Unconscious, fortunately. He started to heave out a breath of relief but grabbed his abdomen when the force of it tugged on his scar.

“Does he know you’re in love with him?”

“I’m not—!” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. His lips stuck on the words like the Lan silencing spell had been brought down upon him. Ghost-jiejie’s smile turned from sly to teasing. “Jiejie!”

“I may not remember much about how I won over your Mountain-xiong, but I obviously have some wherewithal when it comes to romance,” she began. Wei Wuxian clapped his hands over his ears, which merely prompted her to raise her voice, “Given that I’m relatively confident that we’re married—”

“You two are so shameless that if you’re not, then you’ll have to be the moment you get your memories back to avoid scandal.”

She cheerfully ignored him, “And as the foremost expert on being with someone who seems objectively better—”

“Please stop,” Wei Wuxian begged.

“–All I can say is that you need to dig in with both heels. I have a sneaking suspicion that love takes a lot of work.” A line appearing between her eyebrows and he slowly lowered his hands. She got that way, sometimes. He figured that it happened whenever she said something that might have conjured up some sort of memory and it immediately vanished. Mountain-xiong did the same thing. More than anything, he wanted to help them chase down those elusive memories and return those parts of themselves they’d lost.

Wei Wuxian chuckled, though it sounded wet and hollow to his own ears. “Loving Lan Zhan wouldn’t be hard work, but I’m never going to find out.”

“Why?” Ghost-jiejie laughed.

“Because it wouldn’t matter!” he finally snapped. Ghost-jiejie’s smile dissolved. He thought he heard Lan Zhan’s breath stutter, but when he took a second look he remained still and silent on the bed, eyes shut. His imagination, maybe, driven by the sudden surge of panic.

“What do you mean?” Ghost-jiejie asked, all levity bled from her tone, replaced by sorrow and the beginnings of understanding. She must know what he meant. He wondered if she just wanted to punish him for failing to recapture her memories and had decided to torture him over it, but chastised himself for even considering it. She called him her didi. She was not inherently cruel.

“I can’t be in love with Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said. His throat ached with the force of the words he couldn’t bring himself to speak into deafening quiet, right up until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Look around, Jiejie. This is all I have now. A cave, and a pool of blood and rot and nothing.” He wanted to sound angrier, but all that the words knocked loose from his chest was pain. “I gave it all up. All that’s left for us now is that, someday, the Stygian Tiger Seal takes over and Lan Zhan kills me.”

“Do you think he would?” Ghost-jiejie asked, her hand twitching towards her sword.

“I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else.” Wei Wuxian slumped back down to his knees. “He’s the only one I trust to do it right.”

“There’s no ‘doing it right’ in this instance, Didi,” Ghost-jiejie murmured. “I don’t know how you can think there is.”

“I can hear it, you know. Every day. Whispering to me. Telling me all the ways it can help me become stronger, and powerful enough to protect the people I love.” He waved towards Lan Zhan. “But how can I believe it, when it couldn’t save him from this?”

“Wen Qing says he’ll recover.”

“And what about next time something I’ve done ends up with him hurt? Or dead? What about Jiang Cheng and Shijie? Or A-Yuan? Wen Qing and Wen Ning? All the people who live here? You.” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I want to make sure they’re all safe and protected. And then…”

“And then what? You submit yourself to dying? I’ve known you for barely a week and I know that’s not you.” Ghost-jiejie grabbed for his hands. Wei Wuxian nearly pulled himself back out of her grasp but hesitated at the last moment. His hands were always cold these days; blocks of ice that barely remembered the feeling of warmth. Her own burned in comparison. For only a moment, he decided it might be okay to let her help him remember. “Listen to me, Didi. All of this, and what you’ve gone through, is terrible. But it doesn’t need to end with you dead.”

“There’s nothing else for us,” Wei Wuxian said. “If there ever was, it got cut out of me along with my golden core.”

Ghost-jiejie frowned. “Cut out…?”

Before she could press on, a rumble of commotion came from outside the cave. Desperate to be away from her sympathy and Lan Zhan’s steady breaths, Wei Wuxian jumped up and charged out to see what was going on, leaving both of them behind.

He skidded to a halt just outside the cave, where a group of the older Wen uncles had gathered around a large stone with a flat top, lines carved into a makeshift weiqi board. Senior Uncle Wen, Popo’s brother, sat across from Mountain-xiong, the two of them looking down at the board.

Shockingly, Mountain-xiong hadn’t been neatly defeated.

Even more shockingly, Wei Wuxian couldn’t tell who was winning. A-Yuan sat on Mountain-xiong’s lap, holding a small nutshell in his hand, one of the pieces Mountain-xiong had picked up to use against Senior Uncle Wen’s pebbles. With careful precision to avoid moving any of the pieces already in play, Senior Uncle Wen placed the last of his stones.

“A-Yuan,” Mountain-xiong said quietly, “Please put the nut right there.” He gestured to one of the last empty spaces. A-Yuan put the nutshell down as carefully as possible. Unlike Senior Uncle Wen, he did not manage to do so without shifting a few of the pieces surrounding the space.

Senior Uncle Wen stared at the board where Mountain-xiong had just played.

“Well,” Senior Uncle Wen finally said. Eased back onto his heels. “Well played, my boy.”

Not an emergency, then. Just a revelation. No one defeated Senior Uncle Wen at weiqi. No one living in the Burial Mounds could, and Wei Wuxian didn’t think many outside their little settlement had much of a chance either.

Ghost-jiejie appeared at his elbow, but Wei Wuxian hastily pulled away from her to go and console Senior Uncle Wen. Unnecessarily, as it turned out: he seemed delighted.

“I’m glad to meet another grandmaster,” Senior Uncle Wen said, clasping Mountain-xiong’s forearm. Mountain-xiong ducked his head and smiled, A-Yuan still balanced on his hip. “It has been many years since I’ve known the joy of uncertainty.”

“Thank you for the game, Wen-qianbei,” Mountain-xiong said.

As the other uncles swept Senior Uncle away, A-Yuan noticed Wei Wuxian’s approach and reached for him. Mountain-xiong looked at him with a kindly smile and handed A-Yuan over. He tucked his head into the crook of Wei Wuxian’s neck.

“Will you honour me with a game, Wei-xiong?”

“Ha, I wouldn’t dare, Mountain-xiong. There are no true grandmasters left in my generation,” Wei Wuxian said. He tapped A-Yuan nose to bring forth a giggle. “I think Lan Zhan’s uncle, Lan-xiansheng in Cloud Recesses, would be the closest thing.”

“I shall look forward to the opportunity to play him.”

“Ah, well. I hope you get the chance.” He swept A-Yuan off to go in search of something to occupy his thoughts and drag them from the mire through which they’d been dragged.

Ghost-jiejie watched him silently as he went.

Wei Wuxian tried to be quiet as possible sneaking into the Demon Slaughtering Cave that evening. He didn't want to disturb Lan Zhan while he was recovering, but he’d spent most of the day dodging Ghost-jiejie’s knowing eyes and now he needed his notes to figure out why the array hadn’t worked. Slipping in after Wen Qing said Lan Zhan was sleeping seemed like the safest bet.

But the moment he stepped foot in the cave, Lan Zhan's reedy voice caught him out.

"Wei Ying?"

"Ha, Lan Zhan, you're awake?" He slinked over to Lan Zhan's side, his guts twisting up with anxiety.

"Mn."

Wei Wuxian smiled, though it felt awkward even to him, and perched next to Lan Wangji's shoulder on the hard stone table. "How are you feeling?" Wei Wuxian winced at himself and resisted the urge to smack his own face at the inanity of the question. How was he feeling? Like there was a crown of needles in his head and his spine had been severed, probably.

"I am feeling nothing," Lan Zhan replied. He frowned. Or, at least, his eyes conveyed a frown. Wei Wuxian knew his expressions well enough to see the expression in his gaze though his features did not so much as twitch. "I am trying to move my fingers." Wei Wuxian shifted in case he'd been sitting on them, but no. Lan Zhan's hands rested at his side, immobile. "Are they moving?"

"No," Wei Wuxian admitted. He pursed his lips. "And, Lan Zhan, I don't think you should try to move. Just in case."

"Are... are they still there?"

Wei Wuxian would have rather his own fingers be ripped off than hear the fear in Lan Zhan's voice. "Oh, yes, Lan Zhan. You just can't feel them because of Wen Qing's needles." Wei Wuxian placed his hand atop Lan Zhan's. "Can you feel anything?"

"Warm," Lan Zhan said after a long moment.

Things were worse than Wei Wuxian thought; he knew how cold his hands were now. He tucked his fingers around Lan Zhan's, squeezing tight. He didn't imagine that Lan Zhan would feel it, but hopefully it would give them both some measure of comfort.

"Stay," Lan Zhan whispered.

"Ha, Lan Zhan, all you ever do is boss me around," Wei Wuxian said, forcing himself to laugh. He still shifted himself around to turn his perch into a real sit, which gave him a full view of the utter devastation writ upon Lan Zhan's face at his words. "Lan Zhan?"

"Wei Ying must do as he chooses," Lan Zhan said. "This Wangji cannot ask him to do anything more."

Wei Wuxian frowned. "Lan Zhan?"

"Too much has been demanded of Wei Ying already."

Cold suffused Wei Wuxian's guts.

Somehow... somehow, Lan Zhan knew. Wei Wuxian nearly yanked his hand back, stopping only when Lan Zhan's fingers twitched beneath his own. Or, maybe, Wei Wuxian just imagined them doing so. Whatever the case, he squeezed back as hard as he dared. And then, because he felt helpless to do anything else, he chuckled. It started as a quick chuckle and transformed itself into a full-body laugh that threatened to dissolve itself into sobs.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan called, tone bordering on desperate. It snapped Wei Wuxian back into himself. Right. Lan Zhan needed him. The rest could wait for later; nothing else mattered.

Wei Wuxian managed to take a staggeringly deep breath, his lungs rattling with the effort. :Do you hate me now, Lan Zhan?”

“How could I hate Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked, sounding lost. “Wei Ying has done and sacrificed much for this unworthy world.”

“That’s not true,” Wei Wuxian said. He wanted to pull away, but the idea of removing the only warmth Lan Zhan felt made him practically sick.

“This Wangji has been foolish. Blind. He has not seen Wei Ying’s suffering.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t take it. He threw his arm across Lan Zhan’s shoulders in order to hover above him, meeting his eyes. Lan Zhan looked back, steady.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said for want of anything else to say, his voice a bare whisper.

“Wei Ying should know that my most formative memories also involve him,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian swallowed the sudden lump sticking in his throat. “And I would not give these up for anything.”

Wei Wuxian searched his eyes for some deception. Lan Zhan was the most honest person he knew, but he couldn’t believe… No. There was no way. Lan Zhan wanted to drag him back to Cloud Recesses in order to punish him for his evils. He had to believe that because it was the only thing he was worth these days! The Seal had gone to great lengths to make sure he knew it!

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, calling him back to those mountains in the background on a moonlit night, seeing the fairy of Dafan Mountain and the gentle sway of the air around them, the dusty roads of Phoenix Mountain as they walked side by side.

Wei Wuxian only wanted to hear that voice forever, speaking his name.

“If I kiss you, you won’t feel it,” Wei Wuxian said.

“When I kiss you,” Lan Zhan promised him, “You will feel it echo into your next life.”

Wei Wuxian gasped, a choked little laugh of disbelief that swung joyfully out of him even as his cheeks heated. He dropped his head and nuzzled his nose against Lan Zhan’s.

“I’m going to hold you to it,” he told Lan Zhan’s shoulder.

“Mn.”

He kept his fingers wrapped around Lan Zhan’s, lying in peaceful stillness, until he matched his breathing to Lan Zhan’s and finally drifted off.

Chapter Text

When Wen Qing came in to check on Lan Wangji’s progress, her eyes softened to see Wei Wuxian cuddled up next to Lan Wangji on the bed. She wanted her friend to find some measure of happiness—he deserved it, possibly more than anyone she’d ever met in her life besides her brother—and while she hadn’t deliberately delayed necessary treatment for Lan Wangji, she had perhaps exaggerated the amount of time he’d spent unconscious. Lan Wangji, for his part, had done admirably in remaining silent. Doubtless there were some ridiculous rules his sect might cite about deception, but they mattered little when compared to Wei Wuxian’s happiness.

And if this somehow led to better circumstances for her people, well. She was a pragmatist at heart.

Some days, she still struggled to look at A-Ning. Partly because of the expressionlessness that kept his face all but frozen. Mostly, though, because she knew it was her fault. If she’d found him earlier—even only by a matter of hours—he might still be fully alive. She wanted to despise his new state of existence, but that would only lead her to hating Wei Wuxian and possibly Wen Ning himself. No. Much easier to resent her own failings; they’d already led her family into the depths of this terrible place, so she might as well tack on all her other shortcomings.

Instead of waking them, she slipped silently back out of the cave.

She passed Ghost leaning against the wall next to the cave entrance.

“Well?”

“They’ll be unavailable for the remainder of the day,” she said.

Ghost barked out one of her unattractive brays of laughter. “Good for them. Ah, I couldn’t be prouder if he was—” She stopped and shook her head. “Why did I—?” The skin between her brows creased, but she shrugged it off. “I’m going to go and tell Mountain.”

“Or you could show them some measure of respect and not speak of it,” Wen Qing said.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like me,” Ghost said.

Why, oh why, did she so frequently remind Wen Qing of Wei Wuxian at his most obnoxious? Before… everything, when he’d been little more than a brat determined to stick his nose in other people’s business and laugh off the consequences. She did not miss those days.

(She agonized over their loss, yes, but she did not miss them.)

“Tomorrow I am going to check on his progress,” Wen Qing said. “If I’m satisfied, then Hanguang-jun will be free to stand up and walk around.”

“That’s it?” Ghost asked. “He won’t need any special treatments?”

“Hanguang-jun has a remarkably strong golden core,” she said. “The purpose of this was to give his golden core a chance to heal the damage without risk of reinjury. If it’s healed, there may still be some residual weakness in the limbs from prolonged inactivity which will require some specific exercises to address and stretching to help reinforce the area.”

“Didi will be glad to hear it,” Ghost said.

Undoubtedly. What Wen Qing worried about was what Lan Wangji would do with his mobility returned. Because if he walked out of the Burial Mounds and left Wei Wuxian behind…

She’d ripped Wei Wuxian apart once and put him back together. She wasn’t sure how successful she’d be if Lan Wangji was the one doing the ripping.

The morning Wen Qing came to remove the needles from Lan Wangji’s neck, Wei Ying had to scare off quite the audience. The entire settlement seemed interested in whether not he would manage to stand again. Entertainment, Lan Wangji thought, must have been hard to come by. In the end, Wen Ning was sent to watch the entrance to the cave so Wei Ying could sit at his side.

Wen Qing started with taking his wrist. The feeling of her spiritual power, a warmth not unlike holding his hands close to a small fire, suffused his body. It sought out not only his own meridians but flooded out through him to every nook and cranny. Given it was the first sensation he’d experienced besides the interminable itch on his nose, he relished it.

“The damage is repaired,” she declared.

Wei Ying nearly slipped off the side of the bed with relief. Lan Wangji wished he could exhale out all the uncertainty and fear he’d experienced over the past week, contenting himself with a long blink.

“I’m going to begin removing the needles. If you feel any pain, any at all, you need to tell me immediately.”

She waited for his hum of acknowledgement before removing the first of the needles. In direct contrast to the previous warmth, ice flooded down from his neck and into his left arm, a thin line of frosty awareness.

“Wiggle your fingers,” she said. He tried. He felt the ones on the left respond. Had he been standing, he believed the relief would have hit him in much the same way it had hit Wei Ying.

“Would you like me to hold your hand, Lan Zhan?” Wei Ying asked.

“Mn.”

The feeling of Wei Ying’s skin against his own nearly knocked him back out. Wen Qing withdrew her needles one-by-one and dropped them into a nearby bowl of steaming water for cleaning, instructing him to move some new part of his body until a small pile of them sat next to his head and he’d confirmed mobility in all his extremities. His entire body tingled with chill. He had never felt more relieved to feel so poorly.

Once the last came loose, Lan Wangji’s entire body relaxed, released from the paralytic hold. He took a deep breath and gingerly moved his head.

“Good, let me see the full range of movement.”

He gingerly moved his head to the left and right, then tilted his chin up and down.

“Is it sore?” she asked.

“No, Wen-daifu,” Lan Wangji answered obediently. “Stiff,” he allowed a moment later.

“We’re going to help you sit up,” she said. She gestured to Wei Ying, who reluctantly released his hand. “And then I want you to engage your abdominal muscles and remain upright on your own.”

He nodded for the sheer joy of being able to move his head. They eased him upwards and then all hands left him. It took him a moment to orient himself and engage muscles which should have responded without effort, but when they removed their hands, he remained seated.

“Good,” Wen Qing said. It felt vaguely gratifying; Lady Wen did not impress him as being a person effusive with her compliments. “Now we stand.”

Standing felt significantly harder. His legs wobbled and pricked with a pins and needles feeling intense to the point of pain. But Wei Ying stood close to his side, pressed against him to brace him as his body remembered how to function properly. He refused to believe himself incapable, however, and while it took longer than he anticipated, he did finally manage to stand still and strong without assistance.

“Now I want to check range of movement,” Wen Qing said, walking him through the expected movements. “Take it very slowly.”

He diligently followed her directions, Wei Ying watching from nearby. The movements were not inherently uncomfortable. Indeed, had he not been recovering from injury he would have found them trivial. But he did notice a sluggishness to his movements.

Apparently satisfied, Wen Qing nodded brusquely. “Very good.”

“Hear that, Lan Zhan? ‘Very good!’ We’ll be sparring again in no time.” The moment the words left Wei Ying’s mouth, his face fell. “Or…”

“Yes, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said. Let him be in no doubt of it.

“While in recovery, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some gentle exercise,” Wen Qing said. “As long as you take it slow.”

Wei Ying lit up and scurried to collect Bichen from where he’d stood it up on his makeshift workspace in a place of honour. Suibian, Lan Wangji noted, had been buried beneath a pile of papers and refuse. Wei Ying made no effort to collect it, instead

They took it slowly. Agonizingly, as far as Lan Wangji was concerned, but it did not seem to diminish Wei Ying’s enthusiasm. After a few moments, their movements shifted to something familiar. It took him a moment to realize the carful weave of Wei Ying’s arms matched the movements of their first meeting in Cloud Recesses.

At some point, Ghost-jiejie drifted inside. He caught sight of her watching with intense scrutiny, marking his movements and how they reflected Wei Ying’s. He’d had less exposure to her and Mountain-xiong over his coalescence, but felt as though he did owe her for helping him understand Wei Ying better. If the cost was allowing her to indulge her curiosity…

Suddenly a pebble flew across the room and hit the back of Wei Ying’s knee. Wei Ying shouted in surprise and fell backwards. Lan Wangji lunged forward to catch him about the shoulders. They spun around, eyes locked as Lan Wangji steadied him. Once they’d gotten their footing beneath them, they remained pressed chest-to-chest, Wei Ying half bent over and looking up at Lan Wangji with lips slightly parted.

And then he turned an outraged glare towards Ghost-jiejie. She stood at the side of the room, barely containing her laughter.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, but I think Qing-er—” Wen Qing glowered at her, “—Probably wants something a little less rehearsed. Am I right?”

They looked towards Wen Qing, who sighed and reluctantly admitted, “She’s not incorrect.”

“Come on then,” she said. She drew her sword. “You can dance with Didi later.”

Lan Wangji met Wei Ying’s eyes and hoped his own conveyed a promise that her words were true. Wei Ying smiled brilliantly and reluctantly pulled himself out of Lan Wangji’s arms. He still scowled at Ghost-jiejie, but his mouth twitched in an effort not to smile and therefore Lan Wangji felt willing to allow the woman some grace.

Ghost-jiejie moved far differently than Wei Ying. Her foot movements seemed ill-suited to holding a short blade, but she moved her arms in a way that compensated for a style which should have put her off-balance.

They kept the pace slow and deliberate. True to her word, she aimed blows which required him to stretch muscles which had gone untended while sparring (dancing) with Wei Ying. While the length of her reach was noticeably shorter, she had a way of weaving herself around him which required him to respond with sharp movements which may have put him off-balance had this been a true fight. He adapted quickly, nonetheless, and quickly found himself anticipating her strikes. She seemed pleased, if surprised.

They paused when Wen Qing called a halt. Wei Ying grinned at him, brilliant and bright. An expression Lan Wangji had dearly missed. One he wanted to explore further, a low-banked heat growing in his stomach. Wei Ying must have seen it in his gaze. His smile fell away, a little, replaced by an intent stare and a slow drag of his canine over his lower lip.

“Tomorrow we’ll go a bit faster,” Wen Qing said, unnecessarily loudly. “And the day after—”

Whatever the day after might entail was lost to the sound of screaming from outside.

Apropos of her name, Ghost decided to haunt the entrance of the Demon Slaughtering Cave while Wen Qing worked with Lan Wangji. Wen Ning prevented anyone from going inside, but Ghost remained determined long after the others had dispersed in favour of finding other occupation.

“Just in case they need someone alive on hand to pass along spiritual energy,” she said. She looked at Wen Ning. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he stammered as she leaned up against the wall next to him.

Mountain gave her a stern look but she only winked at him in response. Resigned to her making some mischief, but confident Wen Qing would be equipped to handle it, Mountain turned to make his way to where some of the others were trying to figure out pollination minus pollinators. He paused when he spotted A-Yuan hovering nearby, staring mournfully at the cave entrance.

“A-Yuan?” He knelt and tilted his head to try and catch A-Yuan’s eyes.

“Xian-gege said he was busy,” A-Yuan sighed mournfully.

“Yes, he’s in there your Qing-jiejie. Do you remember how Rich-gege was hurt? Well, he’s almost all better now, but he’s going to need a little extra help from Qing-jiejie and Xian-gege.”

A-Yuan’s hands tightened around his grass butterfly, which seemed to have recently been used in service of exploring a mud puddle. “I could help too,” he said.

“You are very helpful,” Mountain told him. “But Rich-gege already has helpers. While your Xian-gege is busy, would you like to help me look for good pebbles? A few of the ones I’m using against Senior Uncle are too big.”

A-Yuan nodded quickly, setting his lips in a determined line. He clutched his butterfly in one hand and joined Mountain in the slow walk down towards the sad little creek near the outskirts of the settlement. Mountain had to hunch to keep his hand in A-Yuan’s grip.

Once they reached the creek bed, he helped A-Yuan roll up his cuffs.

“There are rules for playing in water. Do you know what they are?”

“Mn! Don’t walk too far away. Don’t let the water go up past my knees. Don’t drink it.” The water wasn’t potable—not without significant amounts of boiling—but dipping their toes in wouldn’t hurt.

“Exactly right. A-Yuan is so clever.”

They stepped out, A-Yuan gasping at the cold. The silty brown water hid the creek bed, they had to go in blind, plunging their hands into the mucky earth and pulling up whatever handfuls of rocks they could find.

“What about this one, Mountain-gege?” A-Yuan asked, holding up a small handful for inspection. “Or this one? Or this one?”

“All perfect,” Mountain told him.

A-Yuan grinned and placed them in a small pile on the side of the shore. After a moment, he placed his butterfly on top to stand guard. The rock pile grew, as did the size of the stones. A-Yuan began moving them closer to the water’s edge, carefully placing them one atop another until he’d created a small wall stretching into the stream. Water gathered up behind it and he nodded in satisfaction.

Mountain watched, enchanted, as A-Yuan shored up his wall with mud from the shore until he’d created a serviceable dam. He stuck a few sticks on top for decoration and then carefully balanced Straw Butterfly across them. Once completed, he nodded in satisfaction and turned to Mountain-xiong with a broad grin.

“Very good building,” Mountain-xiong said. “May it last a thousand years.”

A-Yuan laughed.

"I have all the stones I need.” All one of them, but A-Yuan had been sufficiently distracted. “Shall we go find Popo and see if she wants a snack?" Mountain asked.

A-Yuan lit up. "Snacks!" He gathered up Straw Butterfly and a couple of the pebbles closest to the shore. Non load-bearing ones.

Mountain tried not to think about how often he'd been denied, in case his heart broke a little more. With A-Yuan's hands full of butterfly and pebbles, respectively, he cheerfully submitted to Mountain hoisting him up into his arms.

Popo had set herself in a beam of sunlight near where they’d piled the rotting and ruined wood cleared out of the settlement, mending one of Second Auntie’s robes. She hummed a quiet little ditty beneath her breath. When she spotted them, she looked up and smiled, inviting them in with her warmth.

Behind her, a shambling corpse emerged from the trees in perfect silence, trudging forwards in her direction.

Mountain's heart flew skywards, terror suffusing his limbs. “A-Yuan,” he gasped out, “Stay here.” He placed the boy on the ground and grabbed up a chewed-up, half-decayed branch that had been set aside. It seemed close to falling apart in his hands.

He charged forward, unsure what he might do but needing to do something. He knew non-cultivators stood no chance against a fierce corpse, but what could he do with Popo in danger?

Eyes wide, Popo looked over her shoulder and screamed when she spotted the creature making its way towards her. She rose from her seat and tried to run, only for her knees to fail at the last moment. She hit the ground, crying out in pain when her hand slammed down onto a thorny log which impaled her through her palm.

Mountain reached the fierce corpse seconds before it reached Popo. He slammed the rotten wood into it; the branch did not so much splinter as disintegrate in his hands. Damp clumps of pulp exploded into the air around them and Mountain flinched to avoid them flying into his eyes.

When he opened them again, the corpse had stumbled its way towards him and reached out for his face with rotting fingers.

He flinched back and away again, preparing himself for pain and silently apologizing to Ghost for being unable to keep himself alive long enough to recover their memories.

Cold skin touched his neck for only a moment before a wash of incredible power flung the corpse back and away from him. Mountain’s eyes flew open. Ghost dropped down into the space the fierce corpse had occupied only seconds beforehand, her sword in hand. She’d send the corpse flying backwards with her power, a visible trail cut into the ground where it had skidded across the earth.

Mountain heaved in deep breaths, his heart still hammering in his chest, as she traced a talisman in the air and sent it spinning forward to trap the creature and bleed out its resentful energy into the ground around it, the earth already saturated with the decay. The corpse shrivelled away into dust and Mountain finally managed to breathe his way through his fear.

“You don’t do that!” Ghost snarled, whipping around to face him. “Do you understand me? You are not a cultivator. You do not get to throw yourself into fights you can’t win.”

“Popo—” Mountain began. He nearly choked on the word. “Popo!” He turned around towards where she’d fallen. Popo remained prone on the ground, cradling her injured hand.

“Ah, Xiao-Shan, I’m all right,” she murmured when he dropped down to check her over.

“We’re not done,” Ghost all but growled, the words half-catching in her throat before she choked them out. She was still glaring at him when Wei Wuxian, Wen Qing, and Lan Wangji all but flew into the clearing.

“I’m all right,” Popo insisted again as Wen Qing took her hand to inspect the damage.

Mountain stood up and backed away to give them space. He came shoulder-to-shoulder with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. The former placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What could I do?” Mountain asked.

Ghost looked back at him helplessly and then threw up her arms. With a wordless, angry shout she turned on her heel and marched in the direction from which the corpse had shambled.

“I’ll go with her,” Wei Wuxian offered. “I should try and figure out how that thing got through my wards anyway.”

Lan Wangji looked for all the world as though he wished to go along, but remained in place after a sharp look from Wen Qing.

“It is hard seeing the person you care for in danger and feel helpless to save them,” Lan Wangji said at length, once Wen Qing had ushered Popo back towards the settlement and Wei Wuxian had disappeared after Ghost.

Mountain nodded silently and retrieved A-Yuan.

Ghost and Wei Wuxian returned shortly before nightfall, just as the evening meal was being portioned out. Mountain had ceded A-Yuan to Popo for the meal. Fully expecting Ghost to ignore him, a silent punishment he likely deserved, he blinked in surprise when she came to a halt in front of him.

She nodded after a few silent moments and sat down beside him, opposite Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian dropped down on Lan Wangji’s other side.

“No sign of how it got through,” he said. “Ghost-jiejie helped me set up a few additional wards so that we’ll get some warning if the originals fail.”

One of the aunties dropped off a few bowls of food.

“Well,” Ghost said loudly, tone a facsimile of her usual cheer. “Now that you’re up and about, Xiao-Zhan, perhaps you could help us solve a riddle.” She retrieved the Cloud Recesses entry token from her sleeve and passed it over for his inspection. “I had this in my possession. Can you tell us who might have given it to me.”

Lan Wangji blinked at it in surprise. “It is an older style than those we currently use.” He studied it. “The placement of these beads, and their number, indicate it was given to you by a senior member of the sect, those positioned beneath clan leader.” His left eyebrow twitched, as close to a frown as Mountain suspected he came when in the company of casual acquaintances. “Considering its age, it might have come from one our elders, or a cousin of my father’s.” He paused and then amended, “Or my Shufu.”

“Well, that narrows it down at least,” Ghost said, accepting the token back with a smile of thanks. “When we have a second to seek out Xiao-Zhan’s uncle and see if he can steer us in the right direction.”

Wei Wuxian laughed and offered up an exaggerated grimace, “I hope you have better luck than I did, Ghost-jiejie, Lan-xiansheng hates me.”

“Wei Wuxian was a singularly challenging pupil,” Lan Wangji admitted.

“I’m sure I can win him over,” Ghost laughed.

Later that night, once the meal was over, Mountain found himself wondering if she’d want to stay with him overnight. And then wondered why he doubted her when she followed him. Had she given him some reason to, in their lost past?

As soon as they’d left the circle of warmth cast by the fire, the smile vanished from Ghost’s face. She kept pace with him, but did not engage in any of the casual touches to which he’d become accustomed.

She paused when they reached the entrance to their home. “I’m not sorry for being angry,” she said, voice tight with emotion. She refused to meet his eyes, gaze fixed on the ground. “Don’t do that again.”

Ghost still wouldn’t look at him. Mountain reached out and took her hand. Her elbow tensed, prepared to whip it back, but steeled herself at the last moment and him hold her.

“I do not wish to leave you,” Mountain said. “But could you still love me if I was other than myself?”

“We don’t even know ourselves,” Ghost protested, cracked open.

“You know yourself well enough that you won’t apologize for something you’re not sorry for,” Mountain said. “I know myself well enough to know now that if someone I love is in danger, I’ll do something rash. All of this, our essentials, they’re still there.” He pressed his hand to her chest. She clasped her fingers with his and squeezed tight, finally raising her head to look him in the eye.

Her lower lip quivered and he spotted the subtle dent in her cheek where she obviously bit down to stop it. She forced her next words out through a clenched jaw, voice fractured and miserable, “You’re all I have.”

He drew her into his arms and pressed his face into her hair.

Once Ghost and Mountain left, Wei Ying turned to Wen Qing. “Uh, Qing-jie, I wanted to ask.” He blushed very beautifully. Lan Wangji stared at his rosy cheeks, transfixed. “You said Lan Zhan was good to start sparring, but not too quickly?”

Wen Qing obviously tried and then abruptly failed at not rolling her eyes. "Nothing overly strenuous. And brace your neck if you feel anything tense or stretch to the point of pain."

Lan Wangji, eyes fixed on Wei Wuxian, nodded in understanding.

"Thanks, Qing-jie," Wei Wuxian said. Or may have said. Frankly, Lan Wangji was no longer listening. He’d made Wei Ying a promise the previous night and intended to keep it.

They retreated to the Demon Slaughter Cave together. While Lan Wangji was not excited at the prospect of returning to the flat surface passing for a bed upon which he’d spent the past week, the happy truth was that he’d be doing so in the company of his zhiji and it made the idea eminently more palatable.

“After tomorrow, Wen Qing will probably say it’s okay for you to leave,” Wei Ying mused, obviously trying to sound cheerful and missing by approximately a hundred li. “I suppose this means you’ll be returning to Cloud Recesses.”

“I will not,” Lan Wangji told him. “It would be in defiance of discipline five hundred and twenty-seven.”

Wei Ying frowned and blinked a few times. His frown deepened. “Isn’t that… something about not harming yourself?”

“Mn. ‘Do not bring harm to yourself, respect the life and body gifted by your parents.’”

“Then how…” Wei Ying trailed off.

“Leaving this place would cleave my heart in two.” Wei Ying’s frown shifted to something all together too surprised for Lan Wangji to stand. He took Wei Ying’s hand in his own. “Therefore, to respect the discipline in question, I must keep it whole by remaining at your side.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered.

Lan Wangji tightened his hold on Wei Ying’s hands, as though he could press assurance directly into his skin. Wei Ying hesitantly met his eyes, searching them for sincerity. Lan Wangji looked back, calm and unflappable.

“I think I’d like that kiss now,” Wei Ying said.

Lan Wangji obliged. And then again. Once more. Scorching, searching kisses; Lan Wangji wanted to impress himself on Wei Ying’s heart and create a home for himself within. Wei Ying’s mouth against his was gentle at first. Tentative. Permissive, almost, until Wei Ying’s breath caught in his throat and he wrapped his hands around Lan Wangji’s neck with achingly care and drew himself closer.

“Nothing overly strenuous,” Wei Ying gasped when they reluctantly pulled apart.

“I shall try to be gentle,” Lan Wangji lied.

Chapter Text

For Lan Qiren, life after the Sunshot Campaign had thankfully returned to a series of orderly routines and predictable days. He woke. Dressed. Meditated. Broke his fast. Met with the elders and provided necessary updates—though these, he would admit, had become increasingly shorter as his nephews had grown and the elders subsequently loosened his leash—then sat with a number of younger disciples to review their learnings.

Prior to the Sunshot Campaign, his chief and principle joy, once he found himself waking every morning to an empty house, was planning and preparing for the Guest Lectures. He spent time in self-reflection considering the successes and failures of various classes. Recently, he’d given substantial thought to the last classes; the memories brought forth a rueful nostalgia, combined with a less pleasant memory of arguing with a certain pupil. The class had been full, with requests for another to follow quickly in order to accommodate disciples who had been unable to attend.

With some measure of peace now returned to the world, he’d sent out letters of inquiry to the various sect leaders to gauge interest in a new session.

Xichen found him out the morning after he’d received the bulk of the replies.

“Shufu,” Xichen said, stepping into his study, “I am sorry to disturb you.”

“Your presence is not disturbing me so much as these letters,” Lan Qiren muttered. His nephew politely sat down and gestured for him to elaborate. He shuffled through the pile of messages. “I sent inquiries in hopes of revitalizing the guest lectures now the war is over, but it seems my efforts bear little fruit.”

“Surely there is not insufficient interest?”

Lan Qiren sighed. “If only that were the case. Instead, a lack of potential attendees. Each sect leader who has replied wishes they had disciples to send, but their ranks have been diminished. The remaining disciples are too old, or too young.” Xichen’s face fell, and Lan Qiren’s own lips turned down at the corners, though he resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. “A whole generation of young people wiped out before their time.”

How many lost in GusuLan, after all? First to the Wen assault and then to the frontlines of countless battles, falling to either the blades of the living or the grasping fingers of the dead, destined to join the ranks of the latter if felled by the former. Lan Qiren had seen little true battle during the Sunshot Campaign; with Wangji and Xichen at the frontlines, he had been relegated to the defense of Gusu, destined to lead GusuLan should his nephews fail to return. It would have been a mantle he would have hated to wear, despite the familiarity of it.

“What did you need?” he asked, dragging his thoughts out of the mire.

“I was wondering if Wangji had sent word to you about his night hunt?”

Lan Qiren frowned. “He has not.” An unsettling sense of dread crept up from his stomach towards his heart. “He did say it might be a lengthy venture.”

“Two weeks, he claimed, since he planned to do a tour of the outlying villages and check for any restless dead left behind by the war,” Xichen agreed. “But, Shufu, it’s been a two weeks and three days.”

For any other disciple, an additional three days would not have been overly concerning, easily explained away by unforeseen circumstances. For lengthy periods of travel with multiple locations, they did not worry before a week had passed at minimum. Any other disciple, however, did not have the gifts and strength of Wangji. On similar such hunts, he usually returned early. Being late, in and of itself based solely on his abilities, merited concern.

A sinking suspicion occurred. “Where was his first hunt to have taken place?”

Xichen had no true talent at lying. While he often prevaricated or hid his true thoughts behind a bland smile, he never had acquired the skills required to convincingly perpetrate deceit. Also, though few people likely looked for it, his chest up to his neck turned red when he tried.

He knew better than to try with Lan Qiren.

“Shufu, you must understand, he was very worried.”

Lan Qiren closed his eyes and rued the day Wei Wuxian had darkened their pathways. “Then he is in Yiling?”

“I do not wish to make such assumptions,” Xichen said, “But I would not be surprised. His plans did not take him far out of the way.”

Lan Qiren was going to make Wangji kneel with sticks across his arms for hours. He knew the dangers the Wei boy posed! And if the many calm explanations Lan Qiren had already offered did not suffice, then hopefully the memories of actual discipline would! As much as it galled to think of imposing such punishment on Wangji, what else was he meant to do now that all reasonable warnings had failed?

A memory of rasping laughter and kind eyes threatened to intrude upon his anger. He dismissed it with the same single-minded effort he’d applied innumerable times since Wei Wuxian had come to Cloud Recesses. If is own knees ached in sympathy, then it merely meant his own lessons had been well-learned.

“One more day,” Lan Qiren decided aloud, “Then the two of us will go to Yiling, and the Burial Mounds, and find out if your brother has made an unfortunate error in judgement.”

Xichen nodded. But he did not stand. He waited a few moments longer for Lan Qiren to meet his eyes.

Lan Qiren submitted himself to the authority of his sect leader. “Yes?”

“Shufu, do you think that, perhaps, there may be some explanation for Wei-gongzi’s actions?” Xichen’s forehead creased. “When I visited with him after the war, he did not seem the same man I knew when he attended the guest lectures.”

“War may break the strongest person,” Lan Qiren said. “But none of the others who returned from the battlefield turned to demonic cultivation to alleviate their pain. Whatever damage it has done to his heart and mind, I can very well believe it has changed him.”

Xichen still appeared troubled but nodded. “This nephew thanks Shufu for his wisdom.”

He left shortly thereafter, damning Lan Qiren to the company of his own thoughts.

Lan Qiren chose to eat alone that evening, a small dinner eaten in the deafening silence of his home. Again and again, his mind attempted to buffet him with memories, all ruthlessly pushed down. He’d had nearly two decades to hone the talent.

His dreams, however, disregarded the efficacy such mental exercises with ease bordering on cruelty. He fortunately did not remember them in their entirety, but into the waking world he brought the sound of a laugh, the whisper of a touch, and the staggering feeling of loss he’d long accepted as an invisible yoke around his neck.

In the morning, well before waking hour but reconciled himself to the loss of any further rest, Lan Qiren selfishly pried up the floorboard under which he’d hidden a host of small treasures. The contents were now predominantly keepsakes he’d acquired over the years raising the boys. He gently nudged a wooden practice xiao to the side and smiled at a simple drawing of a bunny. Beneath them, hidden from the view of every elder and servant, were items he’d long trained himself to ignore for fear of breaking every disciple around grief and pain.

His hand settled on an elegant hairpin styled to resemble a mountain range. He did not dare look at it at first. But he knew the shape and size of it, how it pricked his palm in what he might have described as a tickle had he been prone to flights of fancy. Lan Qiren refused to look at it. In his temptation, he fully shut his eyes.

Please, Lan Qiren thought, Give me the strength to stop failing him.

For he had failed up to this moment, hadn’t he? Failed to impress upon Wei Wuxian why the unorthodox path was dangerous and the damage it would do to him. He’d hoped (feared) that putting Wangji in charge of supervising him might help temper his ill-conceived impetuousness, but instead he’d watched as his nephew had softened towards him, despite all Wangji’s efforts to hide it. An eventuality he should have predicted. Another failing, that he’d passed on such inclinations.

Jiang Fengmian, when he’d come to Cloud Recesses to address the matter of Wei Wuxian’s fight with Jin Zixuan, had smiled so broadly over the matter that Lan Qiren had wanted nothing more than to draw his sword.

“Ah, Wei Ying is a naughty boy who has caused you many troubles.” His eyes, in Lan Qiren’s memory, had been insufferably pleased. “I take responsibility and apologize.” He’d gone on to say something about the nature of the Jiang clan to Jin Guangshan, an explanation and an excuse all at once that Lan Qiren barely heard. Wei Wuxian was a brilliant young man who had, in turn, been repeatedly punished over minor offenses and excused over major ones, as far as Lan Qiren could tell, an assessment he’d gleaned from snippets of overheard conversations and his own observations. Whatever he'd become, it had been in part because of Jiang Fengmian and his wife and Lan Qiren despised them for it.

Did Lan Qiren finally possess the chance and fortitude to help him now?

Wangji still had not returned.

In accordance with his daily practice, Lan Qiren went to report to the elders.

“Our faith in you has been ill-placed, Lan Qiren. Should Hanguang-jun continue to seek out and support wickedness, we will be forced to take necessary action to remind him of the duty he owes to this sect,” Lan Shuping stated.

“Through our good graces alone have we acted in accordance with your wishes to set aside the discipline whip," Lan Baitong continued.

“It is my failure,” Lan Qiren said.

“Then your punishment will be watching the consequences of it, should we be required to use it to reinforce the importance of righteousness,” Lan Shuping said.

Lan Qiren bowed low enough to hide his face and escaped as soon as he could to go in search of Xichen.

“It is absolutely imperative we find your brother, quickly,” he said.

Xichen frowned. “Is there—?”

“Quickly,” Lan Qiren repeated.

They left for Yiling that same hour. Lan Qiren had never been the fastest when travelling by sword; he told himself that a slower pace encouraged appreciation of his surroundings and internal reflection. Hoist, as it were, by his own petard.

They reached Yiling shortly before nightfall, too late to make their way to the Burial Mounds. Even in the daylight, Lan Qiren would worry over their well-being.

Obliged to take a room at the local inn, Xichen arranged for accommodations while Lan Qiren allowed one of the servers to show him to a table. Nearby, one of the village elders had set himself in a position of prominence, proselytizing over the evils of the so-called Yiling Patriarch. Lan Qiren listened, taking every accusation and speculation into himself like a dagger.

He began to twitch with every word. Xichen, unfortunately, took note.

“Let us retire, Shufu,” he said.

Lan Qiren nodded, already resigned to not sleeping that night.

Grave robbing. Corpse defamation. Wicked tricks. One of the villagers had mentioned that her child had gone missing, and while they’d been found safe and sound playing with one of the neighbours, everyone had agreed that it would not be beyond the Yiling Patriarch to have taken him. Lan Qiren tried and failed to calm his mind, but peace escaped him.

It should be him put to the whip instead of Wangji, if it came to it. Who else could be to blame? Had he never allowed himself to be—

Do not blame the past for failures in the present. Discipline six hundred and forty.

They left the inn before sunrise.

He had visited the Burial Mounds only once before, as a young disciple. His teacher had taken a group of them out to look upon its horrible majesty to impress upon them the importance of recognizing futility and accepting that some evils could not be put to rest. He recalled the words now and despaired over them.

There were signs that strong wards had been erected to keep out those with evil intent. Lan Qiren traced them to a single anchoring talisman nearby and examined it closely. Well-made, which he had expected, but not designed to harm those who dared to cross them, which he had not.

He traced a few sigils in the air and, with a flick of spiritual energy, temporarily dismissed the wards to allow him and Xichen to pass. They flickered back into place behind them. It wouldn’t do, he supposed, to leave them vulnerable if something should follow them inside.

It was a hard climb up muddied paths to reach the encampment. He kept a hand on his sword’s hilt, prepared at any moment to be attacked. Once the sounds of people reached him, he braced himself further and cast occasional glances to make sure Xichen remained at his side.

“A-Yao suggested that there had been several hundred Wen cultivators removed from the camp,” Xichen said. “It might be best if we kept to the trees until we locate Wangji.”

Lan Qiren deferred to the wisdom. He also, despite a feral, wrenching horror at the idea, wondered if they might be foiled in their attempts to remove Wangji. He would face down a hundred men to save his nephew’s life, but he privately admitted to himself that Wangji might not want to be saved.

Grief-stricken at the thought, they crept around what seemed to be the main body of the camp. He spotted a handful of people in threadbare clothes working to build what appeared to be raised boxes. Some appeared older than him. He kept a mental count, waiting to see Wen soldiers.

By the time he’d reached thirty-three, with the size of the encampment and raised structures, he’d begun to suspect that Lianfeng-zun and his father had not been forthcoming with the truth.

They reached the very edge of the camp and, consequently, the limits of the passable space between trees.

“I did not see Wangji,” Lan Qiren said.

“Nor did I,” Xichen said, sounding terribly troubled. “Shufu, this does not seem—”

Whatever it might not seem, Lan Qiren stopped listening. His heart pounded hard in his chest as his gaze settled upon a ghost. His heart ratcheted up in its beat, prepared to tear itself out of his chest. He stepped forward, quite helplessly, mouth opened in shock.

Shock quickly turned to pure, unmitigated rage.

How dare he.

How dare he?!

How dare this… this wicked man disinter his father for his own ends!

A moment later, the ghost of Wei Changze looked up and spotted him in the trees.

“Something’s been picking at the wards,” Wei Wuxian said early that morning.

“Sounds painful,” Ghost said idly, obviously distracted by watching A-Yuan carefully sorting out small bites of food while perched in Mountain’s lap. He’d been moving back and forth between Mountain, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian all morning. Mountain found it impossibly charming. “Do you think it has anything to do with the fierce corpse that attacked Popo and Mountain the other day?”

“It might be a bird,” Wei Wuxian said. This earned him a fair number of sceptical looks, Mountain’s among them. If he meant to put them all at ease, he’d failed utterly. Now everyone knew he was worrying over something.

A-Yuan offered Mountain a small bite of bitter greens. He obligingly accepted it with just his front teeth and let it stick out of his mouth, grinning around it and earning himself a delighted giggle.

“I shall go with Wei Ying to investigate,” Lan Wangji offered.

Ghost nodded. “My legs could use a stretch.”

“It would be good for Wen Ning and I to get insight into the ward set up as well,” Wen Qing said.

Wei Wuxian sighed, but through a pleased grin.

“Looks like you and I are going to take care of things here,” Mountain told A-Yuan.

The boy nodded decisively and offered him another mouthful of greens.

Mountain found the daily rhythm of the Burial Mounds settlement soothing in ways that made him wonder who he had been before the loss of his memories. Obviously he’d been interesting enough to draw Ghost’s attention, despite the fact that he truly enjoyed the minutiae of administration. He supposed, knowing that they had come together, he could save himself the agonies of worrying whether or not he was too boring for her. Too mundane. A mediocre human being who possessed neither golden core nor prestige. At the end of the day, she still tucked herself up against him in their cozy little shelter, wrapping herself around him to keep him warm through chilly nights, fitting into his arms in a way that spoke of their muscles retaining memories they’d lost.

He dropped A-Yuan off with Popo after breakfast to take quick stock of their remaining supplies and checking that they’d rationed correctly until the recently planted crops began yielding enough to sustain them all. After that, a quick visit to the first few boxes to look for any progress. They were still working on construction, but had held off on planting too much at once in case his scheme came to nothing.

Uncle Four called him over to try some of his newest creation, brewed with vegetable scraps.

Mountain coughed his way through the burn. “Potent,” he finally managed.

Uncle Four laughed. “Have another! Senior Uncle wants to try his luck at weiqi again and this might give him the best chance of winning.”

Belly slightly warmed, Mountain still won the game handily, though Senior Uncle Wen did manage to take slightly more territory than normal, a fact which everyone seemed to find highly entertaining.

He found Popo and A-Yuan again shortly before lunch.

“I am not as young as I was,” she admitted, cradling her swollen hands on her breasts. Her fingers were beginning to twist. He offered his own hands out to her, palms up, and gently massaged her joints when she placed her hands in his. Another task chocked full of familiarity for which he had no context. It seemed to alleviate some of the discomfort, however. “Ah, thank you, Xiao-Shan.”

He and A-Yuan left her napping and went to investigate A-Yuan’s reports of a frog. It ended up being a pile of damp leaves, but certainly one possessed of amphibian qualities.

“What does that mean?” A-Yuan demanded.

“It looks like a frog.”

“Then just say that, Mountain-gege.”

Mountain laughed and kissed the side of A-Yuan’s head.

The sound of his laugh nearly drowned out the staggered, choked out gasp from the nearby trees. He looked up, eyes widening at the sight of two Lan cultivators he did not recognize, one looking positively gutted and the other…

The other looked both incandescently furious and like the sight of a home on the horizon at the end of a long journey.

He said something insensible to A-Yuan, mind and heart racing, then bounded across the distance between them. The elder Lan disciple looked prepared to draw his sword, but only froze when Mountain grabbed the back of his neck and desperately pressed their lips together. He remained still for only a moment before kissing back with the desperation Mountain remembered from the moment when he first saw Ghost and wanted nothing more than to hold onto her and never let go.

A trembling hand came up to his chest, but instead of pushing him away, it rested above his heart, palm pressing hard against his skin. After a moment, it pulled away a buried itself in his robes, against his skin in the same place. It trailed down from Mountain’s chest to his arm to grab hold of his wrist and feel for his pulse. He pressed his fingers into Mountain’s skin, hard enough to bruise, before dragging his lips away with a gasp.

“You’re alive,” the Lan cultivator whispered. “How?”

“You know me?” Mountain asked. He cupped the man’s cheeks and kissed his forehead, a hard press of lips that seemed to nearly knock him off his feet.

The Lan disciple whipped back out of his reach to stare at him. They stared at one another, the disciple’s brow creasing with every moment. “A-Chang?”

Mountain wished that the name had been accompanied by some sudden flood or rush of memory. But all he could do was blink in mild confusion.

“Pardon us,” the other disciple said, voice shaky. He stepped forward and placed a hand on his companion’s arm. When he spoke again, his words were much more steady. “My name is Lan Xichen. This is my uncle, Lan Qiren. We’ve come to investigate the disappearance of my brother, Lan Wangji. Finding you here has caused my uncle some discomfort, it seems.”

“Why?” Mountain asked, eyes still locked on Lan Qiren.

“Because you’ve supposedly been dead for nearly twenty years,” Lan Qiren choked out, some of his earlier anger returning. “Where have you been?!”

“I feel this is a conversation best had in the presence of others,” Lan Xichen said. “Or, perhaps, in the absence of them?”

Mountain finally tore his gaze away from Lan Qiren. Many of the Wen had come to investigate, peering cautiously at their new visitors. A-Yuan, however, looked seconds away from tackling one or both of their guests, likely in an attempt to extort them for treats. Thank goodness for Popo.

“Please, where is Wangji? Before we do anything, I’d like some assurances of his well-being,” Lan Xichen said.

“He’s gone with Wei Wuxian and my wife to investigate a disturbance of the wards.”

Lan Qiren took a half-step backwards, as though reacting to a blow. “Your wife,” he croaked. “Xiao Jingfei is alive as well?”

Xiao Jingfei, Mountain tested the name by silently rolling it around in his mouth. Yes, it seemed to fit there.

“May I trouble you for my name as well?” Mountain asked.

“You,” Lan Qiren whispered, “Are Wei Changze, father of Wei Wuxian.”

Mountain—Wei Changze—suddenly understood Lan Qiren’s unsteady legs.

“Wei Ying’s wards are impressive,” Lan Zhan declared as they followed the trail of them along the borders of the settlement.

“He spent a full week setting them up,” Wen Qing said. She favoured Wei Wuxian with a tilted brow. “He barely slept.”

“Sleep is overrated,” Ghost-jiejie and Wei Wuxian said, practically in unison. She guffawed and nudged his arm with her elbow. Lan Zhan looked mildly disapproving, but Wei Wuxian felt pretty sure it was just about the sleep thing. They’d made promises to one another, whispered back and forth in the dark of night. Lan Zhan knew Wei Wuxian would hold to them.

They crested a hill that opened over a shallow valley that bordered the very western border of their settlement.

“Well,” Ghost-jiejie said, looking at the small mob of fierce corpses below, the lot of them clawing at the invisible barrier which stood in their way. “I’d guess that’s probably what’s causing the problem.”

Wen Qing rolled her eyes.

Wei Wuxian frowned. “I cleared this area,” he said. “The dead shouldn’t be able to rise from it again.”

Lan Zhan pulled out his guqin and Ghost-jiejie drew her sword. Wen Ning looked down at them, obviously troubled.

“A-Ning?” Wen Qing asked gently.

Before he could answer, one of the corpses broke past the wards. Wei Wuxian brought Chenqing to his lips and began to play, counterpoint to Lan Zhan launching immediately into Rest. Wen Ning and Ghost-jiejie leapt forward.

They were only outnumbered five to one, but there something drove these fierce corpses forward in ways that reminded Wei Wuxian of fighting off Wen Ruohan’s army. The anemic taste of the tenuous control Wen Ruohan had over his pieces of the Yin Iron.

Wen Ning broke through the approaching line fist-first, Ghost-jiejie quick on his heels to tackle the halved forces. She swept in with her sword drawn like a tidal wave crashing against the banks of an unsecured shore. Wei Wuxian kept up the steady cadence of his playing, slowing them down and making them more susceptible to Lan Zhan’s playing. One by one, the corpses slowed and fell, returning to the earth until finally only two remained.

Wen Ning struck one of them across the chest and sent it crashing into Ghost-jiejie’s sword. She caught it on the end and swung around, using it as a shield to block the grasping fingers of the second. Wen Ning jumped over her to pull it away.

Ghost had just pulled her sword free and kicked the fierce corpse back, pinning it in place for Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan to finalize its rest, when Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Mountain-xiong appeared alongside them.

They assessed the field for before Lan Qiren took a step forward.

“Xiao Jingfei!” Lan Qiren shouted.

It took Wei Wuxian a moment to process the words, parse them. Understand what he’d heard. Understand that when he’d shouted the name, Lan Qiren had been looking at Ghost-jiejie.

And once that moment passed, Chenqing immediately fell from Wei Wuxian’s suddenly frozen finger. He whipped around to look at Lan Qiren with gut-churning betrayal.

A pile of fierce corpses stretched across the field before them, one of them stuck on the end of her sword. It slumped down, robbed of resentful energy as Wangji played it to lasting peace.

“Xiao Jingfei!” Lan Qiren shouted.

She made no sign of hearing him. Or, more likely, like A-Chang she did not recognize her own name. Wen Qionglin dodged under the outstretched hands of the last fierce corpse, leaving Xiao Jingfei to sweep in with Tianbi and carve the ragged undead in twain.

Wei Wuxian, however… Wei Wuxian froze. Only for a moment before he slowly turned to regard Lan Qiren with wide, furious eyes.

“Why did you call her that?” he whispered into the sudden stillness. “Why did you call her that??” Wei Wuxian repeated. His hand clenched around his black dizi. “That’s my mother’s name. Lan Zhan, why… why did he call her that?”

“Because it is hers,” Lan Qiren stated. He could not bring himself to look away from her, not now or possibly ever. She stood straight, Tianbi in her hand, indominable as he remembered.

"Because—" Lan Qiren's voice came out shattered; small chips of words cracked through with emotion. "That is. Without a measure of doubt. Xiao Jingfei." She stared at him, eyes wide and haunted. "Stylized Cangse Sanren. Wife of Wei Changze." Lan Qiren closed his eyes and turned his head. "And yes, your mother."

"No," Wei Wuxian said. Black smoke began curling up around him, the air suffusing with cold. "No, she's not."

Xiao Jingfei looked at him, torn open. "Didi—"

"No!" All around him, the earth shuddered with his exhale. His hand tightened around his flute as tears welled in his red-rimmed eyes. "He's lying. He has to be!"

Xiao Jingfei looked back towards Lan Qiren, lost and helpless in ways she had never been in their youth. He ached to go to her and offer some sort of comfort, but the wicked power curling up around Wei Wuxian froze him in place with his terror of its power. Everything he'd heard and feared about the man standing before him now manifested in the creeping effects of his resentment and rage. Lan Qiren did not wish to draw his sword, but his very soul raged with the thought he might have to.

"Wei Ying."

Wangji stepped up to Wei Wuxian's side. He placed a hand upon his forearm and squeezed. All at once, whatever evils lurked within Wei Wuxian bled out of him, falling away and leaving him to crumple down to his knees. Wangji swept in and gathered Wei Wuxian into his arms, placing a desperate kiss to his temple. He whispered Wei Wuxian's given name into his temple again and again, each iteration bleeding some of the tension from him.

Lan Qiren finally raised his eyes towards Xiao Jingfei once more and found her staring back at him.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to say," she whispered, her words nearly swallowed by the oppressive air around them.

Wei Changze moved to her and grabbed her hands. Whatever had robbed their memories, it seemed, had not stolen away their devotion. They looked at one another with silent intensity before shifting their attention towards Wei Wuxian. He stared back at them, shoulders still heaving. How he ached to go to them. How heavy his chest felt with the weight of feelings he’d suppressed suddenly vying to escape.

How damned he was, still, for remaining in place.

“Shufu, it seems many things have been misunderstood,” Xichen said at his elbow. He smiled quite kindly. “I think it might be in everyone’s best interests to return to Cloud Recesses.”

“I will not leave my people,” Wen Qing stated.

“Forgive me, Wen-guniang,” Xichen said with a bow, “That I did not clarify that when I said ‘everyone’ I neglected to indicate that I meant the other members of your community. We have empty dormitories in which to house the sick and the weak.” He glanced towards Wen Qionglin, who had crept up to his sister’s side. “And all of those who might benefit from our help.”

“And where was this help before?” she pressed.

“Trapped behind walls of ignorance. Please, Wen-guniang. Allow me to attempt to remedy mistakes made in which I played a part.”

She stepped closer to began discussing particulars. The movement of a large number of people and their meagre possessions.

Lan Qiren barely heard a word.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, removing fifty-one common people, four cultivators (including a demonic cultivator), and a sentient fierce corpse, as well as their belongings, took some effort.

All of it made harder by the fact that her… her son wouldn’t look at her.

Zewu-jun—“please, Lan Xichen”—had worked with Uncle Four to coordinate efforts for the majority of the residents of their small settlement, hiring horses and wagons for their journey to Gusu. After he’d returned to the settlement to convey the arrangements, Lan Xichen made a very good show of not looking directly at her; something she noticed he’d maintained on the way back to Gusu. At length it was determined that a smaller party should set off ahead in order to prepare things. And, since that smaller party happened to include the more noticeable members of their settlement, it would hopefully make the journey for the others uneventful.

Before they left, while Wei Wuxian—their son! —was in the Demon Slaughtering Cave gathering his things and fishing something questionable out of the blood pool, Mountain—Wei Changze—came to find her at their small home. Xiao Jingfei—her name, apparently, though she did not know what to do with it and the considerable weight it carried—stared at the ugly assortment of ugly timber and rope with a sense of loss. It was, after all, the only home she’d ever known.

“It seems as though we’ve both become the subject of speculation all over again,” he said.

“Can you blame them?” They’d both gleaned scant details about Wei Wuxian’s life up until now, but she somehow doubted, given everything, that their absence in his life had yielded anything particularly positive.

“Lan Xichen has offered to carry Wen Ning. I could stay and help organize things here.”

“Please don’t,” she said, turning to him. “I—” She hated this, admitting to needing something and the ensuing feeling of being scraped open. “I need you.”

He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. “All right.”

In the end, it was determined that Popo and A-Yuan would accompany them as well; their fractured little family, all of whom apparently having lost the ability to look at one another.

Xiao Jingfei walked through the gates to Cloud Recesses with a narrow-eyed determination to find something familiar about it. She wasn’t optimistic of her chances, given that the only things familiar to her since being dragged out of her little white pocket had been Wei Changze and this Lan Qiren.

(Lan Qiren, Lan Qiren, Lan Qiren. She’d wanted to throw herself at him the same way she’d thrown herself at Wei Changze but the revelation that the man she’d called been affectionately calling ‘didi’ had truly been her son had shocked her into stillness long enough to keep her from acting.)

Thunder rumbled overhead, promising a vicious storm in the near future.

Wei Changze held her hand tightly, his grip practically bruising. Once or twice on the way, he’d tried to take A-Yuan from Wei Wuxian and been rebuffed. Wei Wuxian wouldn’t look at them, Lan Qiren wouldn't look away, and Xiao Jingfei didn’t know what to do with any of it save silently fume and wish for some measure of fucking context.

“If you’ll please,” Lan Xichen said, pausing at the head of their party. “The northern dormitories are the best repaired and will hopefully suit your needs. If you would follow me.”

“Wei Ying and A-Yuan will stay with me,” Lan Wangji stated, no room for argument.

When Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze turned to follow Popo, Wen Qing and Wen Ning, Lan Qiren coughed to draw their attention.

“There is an available guest house between my home and Wangji’s that I believe will suit you,” he said gruffly. He looked towards Lan Xichen. “The Songshi.”

Lan Xichen’s smile warmed to something more sad than polite. “Of course.”

Wei Wuxian followed Lan Wangji, head down and holding onto A-Yuan like a lifeline. Wei Changze looked after him with haunted eyes. All Xiao Jingfei could do was lean into his side in a subtle embrace.

Lan Qiren led them down unfamiliar but kempt paths lined with meticulously pruned trees.

“Did we stay here when we visited before?” Xiao Jingfei asked as the house came into view.

Lan Qiren shook his head. “No. No, you did not.”

They’d stayed with him, then.

It was a funny thing, knowing that she loved someone with no understanding of why. She’d found it easy to fall into Wei Changze’s arms, and effortless to discover all the ways she must have fallen in love with him the first time. Lan Qiren, though… there had to be more to him than the taciturn cast of his countenance. She couldn’t deny wanting to tease a smile or laugh out of him, but uncertainty held her back.

Maybe in defiance of that same uncertainty, Lan Qiren followed them into the house once they opened the doors. The interior was sparsely furnished, but comfortable. He set about lighting the two braziers to keep the evening air warm. Wei Changze wandered around the room, pausing when he found an aging weiqi board tucked into a corner. Even to her untrained eye, Xiao Jingfei figured it had seen better days; the wood was sun-faded, and the stones dusty.

“I understand you play weiqi?” Wei Changze asked with a gesture towards the board.

“I did,” Lan Qiren replied, pausing in his self-appointed task. “But my partner disappeared many years ago and has only now come home.” He pressed his lips together. “I fear I would be a poor opponent, this long out of practice.”

“I’d be honoured to offer myself as a potential partner, if you might be interested.”

Lan Qiren swallowed, inclined his head, and then stoked up the braziers. Once finished, he turned back to them, face a mask of stoicism that Xiao Jingfei recognized from the times she’d seen it on Lan Wangji at his most vulnerable, while looking at Ying-er… her son.

“I understand that there were limited luxuries in the Burial Mounds,” he said.

“To put it mildly,” Xiao Jingfei laughed. The sound, at least, elicited a small tilt to the corner of his mouth.

“Xichen will arrange for hot meals and baths to be delivered to our other guests. May I offer you any similar comforts?”

“Frankly, I’d commit violence for a decent jar of wine,” Xiao Jingfei said with a chuckle.

“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time,” Lan Qiren huffed. He collected himself again immediately, tucking the momentary show of humour back behind stoic walls. “Alcohol is prohibited in Cloud Recesses. But,” he added, “Given that I imagine you’ll be among company in breaking that particular rule, I will see what I can find for you.”

“Thanks, Gege.”

He looked stricken, but the words had come so naturally that she didn’t know what to do with the expression except hope it would go away on its own.

It also answered one of the questions they’d had since Wei Wuxian had brought them forth again. She reached into her qiankun pouch and rustled around the contents until she found the half-finished note within. She held it out to him. “This was supposed to be for you, wasn’t it? I don’t know why I never sent it.”

Lan Qiren gingerly took it from her hands and unrolled it. After only a moment’s consideration, he nodded. “Yes. I wrote for help with a situation regarding my sister-in-law.” Lan Qiren shook his head. “I imagine you thought you’d reach Cloud Recesses before any messenger you could have found in Yiling. We did not have much chance to correspond over the last years before you disappeared.”

“Why not?” Xiao Jingfei said. “I already think I’m not a fan of writing, but I probably could have been convinced. And from what I’ve seen, A-Chang here has lovely calligraphy.”

Each word cracked Lan Qiren open further. “The fault is mine. Let us hope we find a means of restoring your memories so you can appreciate how true that sentiment is.”

“It’s been, what, almost twenty years now?” Xiao Jingfei said.

“About that,” Lan Qiren said.

“I hope the situation with your sister-in-law resolved itself,” Wei Changze offered.

Lan Qiren’s breath caught. “It did, by and large.” He looked down and away. “I shall leave you.”

They watched him go. A quick glance at Wei Changze made her believe that, like her, the urge to call him back sat on the tip of his tongue. They remained silent, instead.

“Well, these are certainly the nicest rooms I remember living in,” Xiao Jingfei offered with a false laugh.

Wei Changze stood next to the neglected weiqi board, silently considering it.

The rain started only a few minutes later.

Wei Wuxian had never been in Lan Zhan’s house before. He’d tried to sneak glimpses in through the windows during the Guest Lectures, but had been foiled time and time again by Lan Zhan’s uncanny ability to figure out where he was at all times.

(A few things were probably going to be violently thrown into hindsight for him, but he decided that would be a problem for Future Wei Wuxian, who hopefully would be in a better headspace after coming to the realization that his parents were alive.)

The space was elegantly arranged and decorated. Even A-Yuan seemed in awe. All Wei Wuxian could see, however, was the look on Ghost-jiejie’s face when Lan Qiren had called her by name.

They hid from you, the Yin Iron whispered, insidious, in his thoughts. He felt it burn against his forearm where he’d hidden it in his sleeve. He’d checked many times before without finding a mark. This time he felt sure it would finally brand him, a permanent reminder of what he’d done. They never loved you. Don’t you want to make them pay for it? Shouldn’t they suffer for leaving you?

Another voice, one which sounded remarkably like Ghost-jiejie’s, scoffed at the idea. They showed up and they stayed, even when they didn’t have to. They laughed with you. Fought with you. Cared for you. Something trapped them in a bubble for almost twenty years, do you think they wanted to be in there?

The sound of rain hitting the roof pulled him out of his thoughts. The panic, the despair, remained in place. He needed to escape the house.

He whipped around, plastering a grin across his face.

“Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said, trying and probably failing to sound normal. “I think I might go for a walk.”

Lan Zhan cast a dubious look out the window, where the rain had moved seamlessly from droplets to sleet in a matter of moments. When his attention returned back to Wei Wuxian, worry had settled itself in his gaze.

Distract, distract, distract.

“A-Yuan, come here. Rich-gege needs your help!”

A-Yuan beamed and charged over from where he’d been entertaining himself with his meagre collection of toys—a collection Wei Wuxian promised himself he’d expand. Wei Wuxian neatly caught him around the waist and hoisted him into the air, earning a shrill giggle directed straight into his ear.

“This is very important, A-Yuan.” The boy nodded gravely. “You must sit next to Rich-gege and tell him every single story you know.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

A-Yuan’s mouth dropped open. “Every single one?”

“Mmhmm. And, if you run out before I’m back, you’ll have to make some up.”

A-Yuan’s mouth dropped open in delight and he nodded briskly. Without further prompting, A-Yuan set himself next to Lan Zhan’s hip and began reciting the story of a donkey and a tiger.

He felt Lan Zhan’s gaze focused upon him as he escaped out the door.

Disappointingly, an unfamiliar disciple delivered their dinner, along with a jar of wine and a bowl of lychee that Wei Changze descended upon with wide-eyed, rabid fervour.

Xiao Jingfei cracked the seal on the jar and took a single, slow sip. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sighed with indulgent joy. When she lowered the jar, she met Wei Changze’s heated gaze, his tongue drawing across his lips as though he could taste it on her mouth.

Or maybe it wasn’t the wine at all. They’d had to be discreet as possible in their little lean-to, after all. More than once in the past couple of weeks he’d had to place his broad hand against her mouth and…

She jumped at a sudden crack of lightning. And then something, maybe nothing but she somehow thought her instincts were up to the task of parsing between the two, caught her attention from outside.

“Wait here,” she ordered.

Wei Changze bowed. “I am at my lady’s service.”

“You will be,” she promised. When Wei Changze lifted his head, his gaze had noticeably darkened.

The nagging feeling drew her out onto the deck. It took her a moment to notice the figure knelt in the walkway leading to their door.

“Di—” No, not Didi, not anymore. “A-Xian?” she called the moment she recognized him. He looked back at her, lost. “Come in, you’re soaked through.”

Wei Wuxian stared at her, the scant light from behind her casting his face in a ghastly mask. “I used to dream about it, you know,” he finally choked out, his words half-drowned by the rain slamming into the ground around them. “You coming to find me in Lotus Pier and telling me it had all been a big joke. We laughed about it, and then you took me away. I had the dream so many times, but eventually I stopped seeing your faces. I didn’t… I didn’t remember what you looked like.” Wei Wuxian pressed his palms against his eyes. “I spent so long waiting for you to come back for me I forgot what you looked like.”

She’d caused this pain. And she couldn’t even remember why. He sat there in the rain, staring at her, until a crack of thunder overhead shook him out of his reverie. He slowly rose to his feet and stumbled forward.

Xiao Jingfei caught him before he fell. She took hold of his shoulders and lowered them both to the ground. They were soaked within minutes, the rain attempting to drown them both out as they spoke.

“I wish I knew why we left you and didn’t come back,” Xiao Jingfei said, water sluicing down her face. She wanted to say that once they figured it out, they’d find a way to make it up to him, but how could they? What a ridiculous, empty sentiment it would be. “Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t have been good enough, and I’m sorry.”

Wei Wuxian looked at her through his lashes. “Madam Yu once told me that anyone with sense would rather die than stay with me.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Xiao Jingfei said. “But I promise she was wrong.” She kissed his forehead, the rain-wet skin cold beneath her lips.

Wei Wuxian tentatively raised his arms to wrap them around her. Xiao Jingfei shifted her hold on him to hug him fiercely, as though she could hold him tight enough to keep them both from flying apart.

When he began shivering against her, Xiao Jingfei dragged him to his feet and tugged him back towards the house. Wei Changze met them at the door, blankets in hand. He wrapped Wei Wuxian in two of them, brusquely rubbing his palms up and down Wei Wuxian’s arms. Xiao Jingfei waited him out before tucking herself up against their son’s other side and drawing him into the house.

Wei Changze sat them both down and retreated to the small kitchen to make tea. Xiao Jingfei watched Wei Wuxian across the table, his head still hung.

“We both are so, so sorry,” Wei Changze said, stepping back into the main room. He settled the tea down on the table between them. “You have no idea.”

“Do you know what happens to abandoned kids in Yiling?” Wei Wuxian asked, staring at the tea in front of him without reaching for it. Xiao Jingfei grabbed Wei Changze’s hand. He held on for only a moment before his hands retreated into his sleeves to begin worrying at the hems. “The innkeeper—” He licked his lips and pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders. “He barely waited a day before kicking me out. He said that if you wanted me back, you’d come find me.”

“We would have,” Wei Changze vowed. Xiao Jingfei wondered if she’d ever heard him sound as serious before now; certainly she hadn’t since they’d been dragged out of the pocket array. “I promise you, we would have come back for you if we could have.”

Wei Wuxian coughed out a sad laugh, “I’m what you forgot in Yiling, aren’t I?”

“I suspect so,” Wei Changze said. “Given how my heart broke at the thought of never finding what I’d lost.”

Wei Wuxian pondered this in silence neither of them dared to break. “I believe you,” he finally decided. Xiao Jingfei wanted to heave out a breath of relief, but it caught in her throat at the last moment. It wasn’t forgiveness. Until they found out why they’d left him alone to the mercies of a place like Yiling, forgiveness would be utterly impossible. “This probably isn’t what you want to hear, and I know it’s about as unfilial as a person can be, but I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be able to think of you as my parents.”

He offered no apology for it. Good. Xiao Jingfei’s heart clenched with pain when she thought of him doing so. She sat down beside him and grabbed the open jar of wine. She took a small sip and then passed him the jar.

“Emperor’s Smile,” Wei Wuxian said with a small tug of his lips. He drained a good half of the remaining contents and then offered it to Wei Changze. Her husband shook his head, and Wei Wuxian passed it to her instead.

“Ah, so this was the liquor you tried to smuggle in,” she laughed. Her voice still sounded hoarse to her own ears, but she gamely ignored it. She took a sip instead. “I think it’s probably the best wine I’ve ever had.”

“How can you possibly know?” Wei Wuxian demanded, his tone as broken as hers. “You were raised by Baoshan Sanren.” For some reason, the name made her jolt in place, like the echo of fingers scraping down the back of her neck. “For all I know you’ve had wine prepared by the immortals themselves.”

“Well, Didi.” Neither of them argued the term. “Once I get my memories back, you can refine your brilliant little array and we can check for ourselves.”

Wei Wuxian, the brat, grinned at her and polished off the wine.

Wei Ying returned in the wee hours of the morning, his robes damp but his spirits lifted. Lan Wangji had fallen asleep at his desk, but felt vaguely aware of Wei Ying moving across the house and checking on A-Yuan before he woke to the feeling of a cool hand against his cheek.

“Come to bed, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered.

Too tired to obey without question, Lan Wangji allowed Wei Ying to draw him to his feet and lead him to bed. Wei Ying carefully undressed him, only hesitating over his forehead ribbon.

“Take it,” Lan Wangji insisted.

“Lan Zhan—”

“I mean to fulfill every promise I’ve made you.”

Wei Ying’s hands shook as he removed the ribbon, carefully folded it, and lay it down on the table next to Lan Zhan’s bed. Once he’d finished, he tucked Lan Wangji under his covers and then snuggled in next to him.

“I want to keep my promises too,” Wei Ying whispered in his ear. “Don’t let me break them, Lan Zhan. I couldn’t bear it.”

Lan Wangji turned his head to press a kiss to Wei Ying’s shoulder and fell asleep with his mouth against Wei Ying’s skin.

He woke early the next morning and found himself relegated to a small sliver of bed, Wei Ying having pushed him about to occupy the majority. He rose, dressed, checked on A-Yuan, similarly victorious in mattress-based conquest, but quicker to wake when Lan Wangji leaned over him.

“A-Die,” A-Yuan murmured.

Lan Wangji’s heart stuttered in his chest, more so when A-Yuan raised his arms. With infinite care, he pulled the boy up out of bed. One of the disciples, likely at his brother’s request, had provided him with robes befitting a child of GusuLan. A-Yuan submitted to having his hair brushed and the meticulous dressing expected of a disciple his age.

“Do I get a ribbon for my head?” he asked, pressing his palms against his forehead.

“Not yet,” Lan Wangji said. “But perhaps in the future.”

A-Yuan grinned and took his hand.

They went in search of his brother together to join him for the morning meal.

Xichen smiled with superb understanding when Lan Wangji entered the room. “I assume Wei-gongzi is still asleep?”

“Mn. Wei Ying was out late occupied with—” It still felt odd to refer to them as Wei Ying’s parents, especially given how he’d reacted to the knowledge, “Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren.”

“I am glad they are reconnecting.”

He sounded mildly envious. Lan Wangji supposed he understood the feeling; had he known wishing for his mother’s spontaneous resurrection might eventually bear fruit, he would have done so every waking moment since his fifth year. The thought felt unworthy the moment he had it.

They settled A-Yuan in with a small bowl of plain congee—the same breakfast to which the Wen would be treated until the worst effects of malnourishment were alleviated—and sat across from one another. Lan Wangji kept half an eye on A-Yuan as they ate in silence, pleased to see the young boy both eating and in possession of the manners Lan Wangji had attempted to instill during their first shared meal. Once his injuries had healed, there had been precious little time to spend with one another before his life in the Burial Mounds had been unexpectedly uprooted.

“Brother,” Lan Wangji said, once the meal concluded. “What is to be done with the Wen?”

Xichen had obviously already pondered upon the question; his answering eloquence indicated no small amount of prior consideration. “Ideally, we will repatriate them to Dafan Mountain. In the event that our allies protest this endeavour, there is a small village on our southern border which I feel would provide adequate accommodations, as well as fertile land for them to utilize. I have sent inquiries to a number of local merchants to extend some credit in order to allow them to acquire any necessities.” His lips pursed. “I will also be requesting several of our disciples to stay and monitor their progress for the first year of occupancy, in order to settle any concerns which might be brought to our attention from our peers.”

“That is not necessary,” Lan Wangji said.

“I agree. But others will not. Da-ge will not stand for this if he believes his concerns to be ignored and, Wangji, you must agree that there are legitimate concerns.”

Lan Wangji did not agree, but given that any objections were doomed to futility, he chosen not to speak of them. “And what of Wei Ying?”

“That may be a more challenging matter,” Xichen admitted.

“Why? The accusations against him are erroneous.”

“Some of them. But he offered great insult to our allies and has taken to walking an unorthodox path and rumours of a most insidious nature have sullied what remains of his good name. This puts him at odds with the world, and without the backing of YunmengJiang, he now has very few friends who might be relied upon to stand beside him.”

“I will stand with him,” Lan Wangji said. “And, Xiongzhang, it would be the righteous thing for you to do as well.”

Xichen’s brow furrowed, troubled. He stood to glide gracefully across the room, the closest he might ever come to pacing.

“I am trying to understand this,” he finally said. “And reconcile what A-Yao has said versus what I have perceived.”

Lan Wangji looked placidly back at him, hoping that his elder brother would appreciate his subtle scepticism; the truth of the Wen remnants’ plight was obvious when considered objectively. Lan Xichen pursed his lips.

“I shall meditate upon it. In the meantime, I believe we should focus on efforts on restoring the memories of Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze. I’m sure that once they have their full faculties restored, a solution to many other problems will follow,” Xichen said.

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows twitched towards one another, but halted halfway in their path. While doubtless the problems were best resolved one at a time, he did not care to think of Wei Ying continuing to be tormented by their failure to act while waiting for a solution which might never come. All the same, he trusted his brother’s wisdom.

He returned home with A-Yuan and found Wei Ying deep in thought, staring at a modified version of the array he’d used to try and retrieve Cangse Sanren’s memories.

“I think that if I adjust this a bit, it could work between people who have a shared past, instead of two strangers.” To his credit, Wei Ying did not choke, much, on the sentiment. “And I get the feeling your uncle knows my parents better than I thought.”

“Mn.” Lan Wangji plopped A-Yuan down with his grass butterfly to entertain him and then moved to sit next to Wei Ying. “I am sorry Shufu was not more forthcoming.”

“Hm? No, that’s… Uncle Jiang never talked about them, either. Too painful, I guess.” All the same, Wei Ying’s mouth tightened into an unhappy moue. “I’m not even sure if it will work. If they have any shared memories strong enough to make the array effective.”

Wei Ying’s hands shook. Lan Wangji gently took them in his own, unsurprised at how cool Wei Ying’s skin felt against his own. Wei Ying sighed, a gusty breath that blew across Lan Wangji’s knuckles and sent gooseflesh dancing up his forearm. He did not pull away, however, allowing his hands to slowly warm in the bounds of Lan Wangji’s touch.

“You returned late last night,” Lan Wangji said. My arms ached for you, he added silently.

Wei Ying allowed a small smile to curl the left corner of his mouth. He leaned over to kiss Lan Wangji’s hands. More gooseflesh followed. Lan Wangji believed this might become a concern.

“I spent most of the night talking with Mountain-xiong and Ghost-jiejie,” he said. Lan Wangji tilted his head, but waited for Wei Ying to continue at his own pace. Wei Ying drew one hand away and began shifting the array around to look at it from a different angle. Lan Wangji traced the lines with his gaze, marvelling in the brilliance of it.

“Perhaps we might try it ourselves,” he found himself saying. “To determine whether it will work.”

Wei Ying swung a grin on him. “Great idea, Lan Zhan!”

The grin evaporated and he picked up a brush, hurriedly adding a few additional characters. Ones that would allow him to control the memories he showed, Lan Wangji realized.

When he cast a curious look Wei Ying’s way, Wei Ying shook his head. “There are things I don’t want you to see.”

Lan Wangji’s heart broke at the thought of wherefores of Wei Ying’s secrets, but simply nodded and offered to take A-Yuan to his family in order to allow them some privacy.

By the time he returned, Wei Ying had already drawn a copy of the array on his floor, several more characters added and carefully positioned to allow Lan Wangji the opportunity to similarly protect his own memories.

“Seemed fair,” Wei Ying said with false cheer while Lan Wangji regarded the changes with a questioning eye. “And I thought your uncle might appreciate it.”

Undoubtedly. Shufu had always been protective of his privacy.

They settled across from one another. Lan Wangji rested his open palms atop his knees. He closed his eyes, took a few calm breaths, and waited for the array to work.

Nothing happened. He blinked his eyes open. Wei Ying’s thumb hovered in front of his lips.

“Ha, sorry, Lan Zhan. Ghost-jiejie has been telling me that I shouldn’t. I guess I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Lan Wangji felt his expression soften. He inclined his head, raised two fingers to channel his spiritual power, and fed it into the array.

Based on the changes, he did not expect Wei Ying to show him the same memories he had revealed to Cangse Sanren. Indeed, he found himself unsurprised when it turned out to be their time battling the Xuanwu of Slaughter, the memory abruptly cut off afterwards. This, to Lan Wangji, did not matter. What mattered was that he showed Wei Ying the memory pressed close to his heart.

The memories Wei Ying shared sang with his excitement, his fear, his relief that Lan Wangji fought at his side. Lan Wangji’s own recollections of their fight against the Xuanwu of Slaughter were less clear, fever and pain clouding over a usually sharp recall. Seeing it from Wei Ying’s perspective terrified him all over again with the uncertainty of their victory, despite knowing the outcome.

When the memory ended—abruptly, as he looked down at the blackened, twisted blade clutched in his hands, icy despite how cold his skin already felt—Lan Wangji returned to himself and found Wei Ying staring at him, eyes wide and wet.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered.

He had chosen a memory he hoped would put an end to all misunderstandings between them. Sitting at his guqin, trying to find a means of articulating his feelings for Wei Ying, all the love and hope and despair and worry and grief and passion and rule-breaking indecorousness, and finally strumming out the first few notes of Wangxian.

He had long wished for Wei Ying to understand him, but had until now lacked the ability to ensure it. Now, he thought, with Wei Ying looking at him in such a way, he might finally have managed it.

Wei Ying lurched across the scant distance between them, barrelling into Lan Wangji with loose-limbed desperation. Lan Wangji managed to brace himself in time to keep both of them from tumbling to the floor, relying on core strength when he could not help but wrap his arms around Wei Ying.

“Come with me,” Lan Wangji said, drawing Wei Ying to his feet. He looked rumpled. Not violently, but certainly in a way that suggested a certain amount of indecorousness. Lan Wangji found he quite liked it. He smoothed a few stray hairs away from Wei Ying’s face, then allowed his palm drift, cradling Wei Ying’s cheek.

Wei Ying grinned. “Anywhere.”

He drew Wei Ying across Cloud Recesses, to his uncle’s home. Shufu sat inside, a few books closed in front of him alongside a cup of tea which seemed to have long stopped steaming.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji greeted. He bowed, a gesture Wei Ying quickly copied. “Wei Ying and I intend to marry,” Lan Wangji stated.

Wei Ying jerked in his place beside him, head snapping around to look at Lan Wangji’s way. Lan Wangji did not know why he seemed surprised by this statement, it seemed perfectly logical to Lan Wangji, given everything.

Shufu looked at them. “May I recommend waiting until we have found a means of restoring the memories of Wei Wuxian’s parents before seeking their permission? Otherwise, it cannot truly be given.”

There seemed an odd dullness to his expression. Lan Wangji felt the skin between his eyebrows crease as concern pulled him back from the overwhelming joy of the moment.

“Of course,” Lan Wangji said. The crease turned to a frown. “Shufu? Are you well?”

Lan Qiren stood. “I will inform the elders,” he said, by way of answer.

He left them standing in his home, surrounded by the smell of incense intended to promote clarity of thought.

“Lan Zhan? I think we broke your uncle.”

The last time Lan Qiren had knelt before a group of elders in such a way, there had been more of them. A parliament of men who had been old before Lan Qiren’s father had become sect leader, their numbers diminished during the war and subsequent retirements. There had been twelve men the last time he’d knelt before them. Now there was Lan Shuping and two others flanking him, the same men who had had settled the same sneer upon him over twenty years ago. He felt once again like a useless youth come to appeal to their good natures.

He had more than two decades to reconcile himself to the fact that no such good natures existed.

“I am old enough now to know my own mind. I will support my nephew in this marriage, and our sect leader in his decision to offer sanctuary to the Dafan Wen,” Lan Qiren stated. His voice did not shake. Nor his hands. In fact, both seemed significantly stronger than he felt.

Lan Shuping scoffed. “You have not been in possession of your own mind since you were younger than Hanguang-jun. No. We will not allow Cloud Recesses to be thus polluted,” he continued, tone brokering no argument. “The former residents of the Burial Mounds will return there. Your ‘friends’ may once again disappear to obscurity. Hanguang-jun will retreat to secluded meditation until he has repented of his sins—” The sudden smell of gentians, one born of memory only, nearly choked the breath from Lan Qiren’s lungs, “—And you will submit yourself to disciplinary actions for allowing such depravity through our gates.”

“There is nothing left with which you may threaten me,” Lan Qiren told him. “My nephews are fully grown men and cannot be removed from my custody any longer. Their mother is dead and long past any suffering you might inflict upon her. I am an established educator among the other sects and my disappearance will invite speculation you will not wish to bring upon us. I have broken no disciplines which would invite the use of the discipline whip.”

Lan Shuping’s disdain fading to icy neutrality suggested the point was well made. “Perhaps it is Lan Qiren who needs to be removed to quieter pastures in order to meditate upon his failings.”

“I do not feel that my uncle is the one in need of private reflection.”

Lan Qiren turned back towards the door, startled. Xichen stood in the doorway, a polite smile on his face. He bowed shallowly to the gathered elders and moved to join Lan Qiren in kneeling before them.

“Zewu-jun,” Lan Shuping greeted.

“Distinguished council of elders. I believe in this case, you may refer to me as Lan-zongzhu.”

Lan Qiren’s stomach shivered, an anticipatory curl of emotion he fought not to reveal.

“Zongzhu,” Lan Shuping and his cohort obligingly greeted with lips pulled tight against their teeth.

“Your uncle has been labouring under the misunderstanding that certain transgressions will not be appropriately addressed,” Lan Shuping stated.

“The dignity of Cloud Recesses demands we take action,” agreed the man to his right.

“Indeed, action must be taken,” Xichen nodded.

The elders appeared satisfied. Obviously Lan Qiren had alone been party to those moments of temper in his nephew’s adolescence where he had smiled in the same manner all the while being the most belligerent, unobliging child ever to live on their mountain.

This, Lan Qiren realized, had come very shortly after Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze had disappeared from their lives.

“I am glad Zongzhu sees the wisdom of it,” Lan Shuping said, completely ignorant of the danger.

“Respected Elder Lan Shuping has often been considered a font of wisdom,” Xichen said. “And immeasurably important to GusuLan. He has often bemoaned his inability to focus on his own cultivation due to the demands on these abilities. Moving forward, Respected Elder Lan will himself be able to dedicate himself to his own needs and be comforted to know that he will no longer need to fear such interruptions.”

“What does Lan-zongzhu mean?” Lan Shuping asked.

“He will go, as have others before him, to the privacy offered by the homes erected towards the back of the mountain.”

Others, Lan Qiren thought. Yes, yes there had been others. Since the defeat of the Wen, shortly after Xichen’s ascension to sect leader. Not even a year ago, eight elders still remained to sit on this council after the end of the Sunshot Campaign. Five of them had, one after another, retreated to solitude, likely due to the strain left in the wake of the war.

“As for the other members of this distinguished gathering,” Xichen continued, “They will, of course, reflect on what they may do to advance the interests of GusuLan. Should they likewise require solitude, this humble sect leader will ensure adequate arrangements are made on their behalf.”

Silenced to a one, perhaps by shock, none of them argued. Xichen inclined his head politely and stood. It took Lan Qiren a long moment to realize his nephew was waiting for him to do the same. Once he rose, Xichen bowed again to the elders and all but glided from the room.

“Nephew,” Lan Qiren said when they’d moved far enough down the path to avoid being overheard. He tried to find words, but they fled from him like fleeting stars stars crossing the night sky.

Xichen searched his face with a piercing gaze.“You are of paramount importance to this sect,” he finally said. Lan Qiren had never known his nephew to be a liar, but he struggled to accept this as truth. “Now that Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze have returned, I hope your happiness is now close at hand.”

“It has never seemed further away,” Lan Qiren admitted, abashed. He lowered one hand, but the other remained clasped in Xichen’s grip.

“Then we will find a means of returning the memories of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze, and bring it back within reach.”

Lan Qiren’s stomach still twisted, outside of his control. He had done his best to make himself, as Xichen had claimed, a ‘paramount of importance.’ Not the perfect Lan, as coloured by association as the elders deemed him, but a reliable specimen of self-regulation and adherence to the disciplines. He had tried to raise two perfect disciples.

In this, he finally felt proud to admit, he had apparently failed.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t working.

No matter what Wei Wuxian tried, the end result was the same: the array wasn’t going to be able to anchor itself in memories that just weren’t there. Lan Zhan kept giving him reassuring glances and quiet words of encouragement, but it had been over a week since their arrival in Cloud Recesses and he wasn’t any closer to figuring it out.

“There is,” Lan Zhan said slowly, “An expert in array and talisman construction in Cloud Recesses.”

“Lan Zhan! You didn’t tell me! Who is it? Can I talk to them.”

Lan Zhan’s lips pressed together and nodded.

Less than an hour later, Wei Wuxian found himself seated across from Lan Qiren, biting his lower lip and wondering whether or not the implied endorsement he’d given to their nascent engagement would last through an actual conversation.

Lan Qiren looked tired, he thought after a long moment. He glanced at the untouched tea service sitting on the table between them and hesitated only a moment before pouring his old teacher a cup and sliding it across the table without a whisper of sound.

“That was well done,” Lan Qiren said. Wei Wuxian was used to hearing him yell. His quiet tone was disconcerting.

“Ha, Madam Yu had very exacting standards,” Wei Wuxian said. He poured one for himself. “I think that’s the first compliment Lan-xiansheng has ever given this former pupil.”

“Aloud,” Lan Qiren allowed. “I’ve often thought you brilliant, and then despaired over your insistence upon wasting your talents.”

Wei Wuxian pressed his lips together. “Oh.” He sipped his tea. “I thought you hated me.”

Lan Qiren sighed, a heave of breath, then stood. He did not pace the room, but he did step past their table, probably to hide whatever expression was on his face. “You are possibly one of the cleverest students to walk through the gates of Cloud Recesses.” Wei Wuxian wondered if it hurt Lan Qiren to admit it, then silently chastised himself for being ungenerous. “And you’ve used that brilliance to incite unnecessary arguments, present incendiary ideas, and have now used it to take the first steps down a path upon which only the evil have trodden before you.”

“Lan-xiansheng seems to have a very set view of me.”

“You spent nearly a year as my student. I’m sure you have an equally clear view of me.”

“I thought I did, until I found out you had history with my parents.” Lan Qiren’s shoulders stiffened. Wei Wuxian finished his tea and set the cup down with an audible thud. “Jiang-shushu never spoke about them. Not once. And all Madam Yu would tell me was that my mother—” He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. “And now I find out that there’s one more person who could have said something about them and didn’t.”

“Your Jiang-shushu—” Wei Wuxian couldn’t see it, but he heard how Lan Qiren’s mouth curled around the name as if it sat bitter on his tongue. “Could not have told you anything about them because he barely knew your mother and only ever saw your father as a servant and appendage to YunmengJiang.”

Wei Wuxian shot to his feet. “That’s not true. He always said my father was his right hand.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“Nothing! I already said, he didn’t like to talk about them.”

“Your father,” Lan Qiren said finally turning around, “Is the foremost weiqi player of his generation. he loves children, lychees, and your mother. He is an administrative genius and if given the opportunity, could have easily passed the imperial examination with the rank of Zhuangyuan. None of which Jiang Fengmian ever told you because he did not know. He only ever saw your father as a servant and nothing more, and it was the same with his father before him.”

Wei Wuxian took a shaky breath.

“And your mother was only ever a failed conquest who denied him. I’m surprised he even knew her true name.”

“He—” No, Wei Wuxian thought. No, he’d never said her name. He’d learned it from one of the old kitchen aunties after coming to Lotus Pier, before Madam Yu had forbidden the entire sect from speaking about her. "Then you—?"

“And I did not speak of them for the same reason some men and women came back from the Sunshot Campaign refusing to address their wounds.”

"Don't you think telling me about them would have gotten me to pay better attention?" Wei Wuxian demanded.

"Yes. And were I a more manipulative and conniving man I would have done just that. I would have held them over you and doled out small bits of information every time you showed improvement. But I am not that sort. I wanted you to live up to the potential I saw in you of your own accord, not because I had made you desperate to succeed." His lips twisted wryly; not a smile but not far off from one, either. The closest Wei Wuxian thought he’d ever seen on Lan Qiren’s face. “Not to mention that I would have had to account for it to your mother in my next life. And she is, as you’ve likely discovered, a formidable woman. Even with her memories absent.”

Wei Wuxian smiled a bit, but decided not to reiterate what he’d said to Ghost-jiejie their first night back. He… it wasn’t something he felt capable of dealing with. Not now, not yet, when neither Ghost-jiejie nor Mountain-xiong had their memories and couldn’t really be more to him than friends. Or whatever it was they were. The lines had started blurring long before Lan Qiren had called out his mother’s name.

“Thank you,” Wie Wuxian said. “For not.”

“I’m not a monster, Wei Wuxian. I have only ever wanted the best for my family, my sect, and my students. Including you.”

When he sat down again, Wei Wuxian carefully didn’t mention that his eyes were rimmed with red. Instead, he waited until Lan Qiren had emptied his cup and then refilled it.

“Thank you. Now, then. I do not imagine you came here to drudge up the past.”

(It was definitely not as past as Lan Qiren made it seem, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t about to say as much.)

“Lan Zhan let me know that you’re the one to talk to about arrays and talismans,” Wei Wuxian said. He pulled out a sheave of paper, all covered in notes and doodles. To Lan Qiren’s credit, he didn’t blink at it. “I’ve created at least twelve different versions of the array to try and restore their memories and none of them seem to work.”

Lan Qiren began paging through his notes, eyebrows climbing higher with every moment.

“Brilliant, as I said.” Lan Qiren paused over one Wei Wuxian had looked at and then discarded just the other night. “Have you considered the possibility that you’ve been too general with sourcing the memories?”

“General,” Wei Wuxian repeated at a whisper, “Of course. You can’t put an anchor down in deep waters.” He jumped to his feet. “Thank you, Lan-xiansheng.”

“Do you still intend to marry my nephew, Wei Wuxian?” Lan Qiren demanded.

Wei Wuxian nodded. Then, slowly, he began to smile. “Shufu.”

“Yes. Well. Off with you. Go be brilliant and loud elsewhere.”

Wei Wuxian took off, leaving the rest of the papers behind to litter Lan Qiren’s desk.

The rest of the Wen arrived three days later, a single cart carrying all their worldly possessions. Lan Xichen welcomed them through the gates and led them to the available dormitories.

“Of course, we are hoping to find you a more permanent home,” he said to Wen Qing. “But in the meantime, I trust this will suffice.”

She looked at him with shrewd consideration. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she said. “You stood by and allowed Jin Guangshan to shove my family into those camps. And before then, when we were prisoners of the Nie, you didn’t bother speaking out.”

Lan Xichen’s chin dropped. “It is my great shame that I did not take the time to verify the claims made against your people. I hope that you will accept my deepest apologies.”

He could tell she wished to snap at him, harsh words he likely deserved. But she looked at her family and remained silent instead. He wanted to reassure her that she would be well within her rights to do so, and he more than deserved it, but bit back his words as well. What would it help, after all, when they both knew what the silence between them meant.

Once the Wen were settled, he made his way to the Zhushi to check on the other new occupants of Cloud Recesses.

“To ensure you have everything you need for your present comfort,” he said after stepping into the room. Wei Wuxian had taken to some… alarming experimentation in the Jinshi, and with Wangji supervising to ensure that the rebuilding efforts Cloud Recesses had done in the wake of the Sunshot Campaign had not been in vain, Wei Changze was obligingly distracting A-Yuan.

“Very kind,” Wei Changze said. “Thank you.”

“You could tell your uncle to stop avoiding us,” Xiao Jingfei said.

“Alas, despite the authority of my position, I stop short of issuing orders of such a personal nature to my family members.” A policy which had apparently been to Wangji’s benefit, he added silently.

“I suppose I could sneak into his house,” she mused. A-Yuan handed her a the small cloth toy, one of many that had been acquired for him in the past few days, though Lan Xichen could not begin to guess where they had come from.

“I unfortunately cannot endorse such a plan, nor tell you that Shufu’s back window was damaged during the war and he has thusfar demurred when offers to repair it have been made in favour of areas of greater priority.”

Xiao Jingfei cackled and shook her finger at him. “You! I like you!”

Lan Xichen’s heart clenched in his chest. “I am pleased to hear it.”

He left them shortly thereafter, pleased by the gleam in Xiao Jingfei’s eyes.

Back home, he made a conscious effort to ignore the summons from Lan Shuping to account for their sudden increase in occupancy and instead turned to much pleasanter fare.

Or so he’d thought, until he unrolled the letter from A-Yao.

Er-ge,

I’m afraid I must trouble you to correct what I’m sure is a fabrication aimed at casting aspersions on your person. It has come to my father’s attention that certain people have suggested you have thrown your lot in with Wei Wuxian and those he assisted in escaping detention at Qiongqi Pass. Please give me your assurances that such things are merely rumours aimed at dragging your good name through the mud. I, of course, am completely confident that you would never move against your allies in such as way and have too much faith in your good sense to entertain such a notion for a moment.

My father’s temper has been appeased only by my insistence that you’ll confirm such rumours are false at the soonest opportunity.

Your dear friend,

Meng Jin Guangyao
Lianfang-zun

Lan Xichen frowned at the letter. He likely should have expected its arrival. Doubtless Da-ge would have words for him as well, though he doubted Nie Mingjue would put them into a letter when coming to his door and yelling at him in person would be so much more in character.

The trouble, he thought, wasn’t A-Yao, but the man into which Koi Tower was turning him. He’d seen glimpses of it before, but this letter all but screamed over its existence. A-Yao had a clever mind, but the clumsy attempted manipulation might as well have come from someone far stupider.

Would he have continued blindly supporting LanlingJin against Wei Wuxian, had he not suddenly found a reason to do otherwise?

He did not care to know.

A-Yao,

Come to Cloud Recesses and we will discuss this matter between us. I am confident that, in doing so, we will both be well served.

Yours,

Lan Xichen
Zewu-jun

He was unsurprised but disappointed when A-Yao did not respond.

When A-Xian summoned Xiao Jingfei and Lan Qiren to the Mingshi, they found him practically vibrating in place. He directed Xiao Jingfei and Lan Qiren to their respective places, talking through the adjustments he’d made to the array. Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji and Wei Changze joined them, and she suspected that Wen Qing was lurking nearby in case something went disastrously wrong.

“Shufu, you’ll want to conjure up a specific memory that stands out to you,” he said, brilliance shining through. “Ghost-jiejie, while you’re experiencing the memory he chooses to share, focus on whether or not anything feels familiar and chase down that feeling.”

“This is excellently done, Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said after studying the array for a few long moments.

“I’ve had the benefits of excellent teachers.”

Lan Qiren averted his eyes and knelt in the appropriate place.

“Make sure you think of something that makes me look good, Gege,” Xiao Jingfei ordered.

“You would have needed to provide me with a superior sample size in order to accomplish such a feat,” Lan Qiren snapped. He immediately clamped his mouth shut and dropped his chin to his chest, oblivious to Xiao Jingfei’s blinding ensuing grin. A shadow of what they must have been to one another, Xiao Jingfei thought. She ached for the memories of when such exchanges might have been familiar.

Xiao Jingfei provided the spiritual power to engage the array.

L̸̨͔͚̼̹̦̤͎͕̙̣̤͒͒͊͒͂̅͛͜i̴̹͕͕̦̲̬̙̹̿̓̈́̈̌̎͝g̷͍̠̬̤̙͎͔͆̀͌̒̑͜h̷̬̖͔̟͖͙͖͓̳̎͌̎͆̒̈́̚̚ͅt̵͓͓͇̹͈̬͖͎͇͍̪͔̓̈́̈́̉́̓̾͆̓́̓͒̐͋

Xiao Jingfei is watching a woman swaying back and forth with sliding hips, a newborn cradled in her right arm. This baby is her nephew, named ‘Huan’ and she loves him with such impossible intensity that she does not know how such an overwhelming amount of emotion can possibly be contained within a mortal body.

Perhaps because of this exhaustion, or the ghost of it, it takes her a moment to realize the woman in question is herself. She sees herself through another person’s eyes and wonders if her left eye has always been slightly larger than her right, and if she knows that there’s a bloodstain in the shape of a cloud on her sleeve.

She is tired. She has been up for nearly a day and a half with A-Huan resting on her chest, trying to soothe what she suspects is a desperate, primal desire for his mother. He is three weeks old and the elders have decided that he has spent enough time in his mother’s company.

“He’s beautiful, Gege,” her other self announces. “I think all babies look a bit like potatoes, but this one is definitely a lovely tuber.”

“I’ve been told he looks like me,” she says, sleepy enough to give her other self one of the openings to teasing she so loves without making her work for it.

“Like I said,” her other self laughs.

“Shameless,” Xiao Jingfei growls. Tries to growl, at least, before a jaw-cracking yawn interrupts her.

“Sleep,” her other self tells her. She crosses the scant distance between them and gently prods her to the bedroom. “I can be trusted with him for a few hours.”

She does not doubt it. She trusts Xiao Jingfei with everything she has been, is, and will ever be. All the same, “You don’t even like children.”

“I’ll like this one. I can tell.” She nuzzles A-Huan’s head. “You’ll be a good baby for your Auntie Xiao and let Shufu get some sleep, hmm?”

“Wake me if anything happens.”

“I promise to wake you the very moment he cries, poops, spits up, or makes a single sound I find distressing.”

She allows her other self to bully her into the nearby daybed, still bouncing A-Huan in her arms.

“Only a moment,” she says. Surely a moment will not be sufficient for Xiao Jingfei to corrupt her precious nephew with her joyful adherence to deviancy?

(And, if it is, she can think of worse fates.)

L̸̨͔͚̼̹̦̤͎͕̙̣̤͒͒͊͒͂̅͛͜i̴̹͕͕̦̲̬̙̹̿̓̈́̈̌̎͝g̷͍̠̬̤̙͎͔͆̀͌̒̑͜h̷̬̖͔̟͖͙͖͓̳̎͌̎͆̒̈́̚̚ͅt̵͓͓͇̹͈̬͖͎͇͍̪͔̓̈́̈́̉́̓̾͆̓́̓͒̐͋

“Which of you is A-Huan?” Xiao Jingfei demanded the moment the array’s power dwindled away.

The Lan Sect Leader raised his hand, a thoughtful curiosity in his gaze. “I am.”

“I held you while you were a baby,” she announced. He seemed unsurprised. “You were adorable. You’ve really grown into your chin.”

“I am… pleased to hear it,” Lan Xichen said.

“Xiao Jingfei,” Lan Qiren scolded. She laughed, though kept her wits about her enough to notice how the sound made Lan Qiren’s gaze soften, subtly enough that she wasn’t sure anyone else would mark it.

Well, no one except, “Do you remember anything first hand?” Wei Changze asked, also looking at Lan Qiren.

“Unfortunately no,” she sighed, though her smile remained. All this time, she’d worried that uncovering her memories wouldn’t be worth the trouble recovering them was proving to be. Now, though, she considered it with more anticipation. “Gege, what did you see?” Per A-Xian’s instructions, she’d focused on what she wanted Gege to see, instead of something she wanted to remember.

She’d wanted to remember the first time she met this Lan Qiren. What they had been to each other. Try to pave a way to figure out what they were to each other now.

“I saw only white,” Lan Qiren admitted. She wondered if he actually sounded as disappointed as she felt, or if she only imagined it. She supposed she’d have to get to know him better in order to figure it out.

A-Xian huffed in displeasure and began studying the array all over again.

Wei Changze made a point of checking in on the Wen uncles every day around the same time. Most of them had settled into the provided dormitories quite comfortably, and someone had found Senior Uncle Wen a weiqi board.

“It will be good to play on a proper board,” Senior Uncle Wen told him. Wei Changze agree, though felt he’d secretly miss the makeshift one they’d left behind in the Burial Mounds.

Apparently, Senior Uncle Wen felt the same way, as his opening move was made with a nutshell he’d secreted away. They played a single intense game which ended with Senior Uncle Wen the victor by a narrow margin and promises to meet again the next day for another match.

He ran into Lan Qiren on his way back to the home he and Xiao Jingfei were sharing.

“Have any decisions been made on what will happen with the Wen?” he asked, falling into easy step with the other man.

“After the war, Gusu found a number of villages abandoned, either because of the inhabitants had been murdered or they’d fled and not returned. I am hopeful one of these will suffice.”

“I seem to remember Lady Wen mentioning that had been the Jin’s proposal as well. I’m glad that they will see the promise fulfilled thanks more honourable hands.”

Lan Qiren hummed. “I can only hope we have the diplomatic acumen to gain the support of our allies.”

Wei Changze suspected this would be the sticking point; while he still lacked some context around the current political climate, even someone with a basic understanding would appreciate the challenge.

He felt a small curl of pleasure that Lan Qiren accompanied him back to the house he shared with Xiao-Fei. The weiqi board still sat, waiting for them. He suspected he knew who Lan Qiren’s last partner had been.

“Will you join me for a game? I’ve been recently humbled and would appreciate the chance to redeem myself.”

Lan Qiren looked at the board with an unreadable cast to his expression before nodding and seating himself at the table.

“I should not be surprised you took up the game again so quickly, though it’s a wonder you’ve found someone talented enough to beat you.” He waved off black and took the cup filled with white stones. “I certainly struggled to do so many times.”

“I feel I’ll be at a disadvantage, in that case, since you know my game well and I’ll need to relearn yours.”

A small smile, the first Wei Changze had seen on Lan Qiren’s face, tipped up the corners of his mouth. Frankly, painfully attractive. Wei Changze swallowed and did his best to focus on the board before him.

Xiao-Fei joined them about halfway through the game. She took a single, disinterested peek at the board and then contented herself with puttering around the house.

“A-Xian said there were few grandmasters left, excluding yourself and Senior Uncle Wen,” Wei Changze said, narrowly avoiding a cleverly laid trap. “I hope he exaggerated the lack, as he did credit to your skill.”

Lan Qiren’s forehead wrinkled. “The war robbed us of many talented young people, and those who followed in their footsteps will need time to refine their skills.” He placed a stone which, at first glance, made no sense. Only when considered as part of the much broader game did Wei Changze realize it might mean a second defeat of the day. He hurried to try and make up for it. “Lianfang-zun is, I think, the next up and coming grandmaster. At present, I believe he cares too much about looking clever to his opponent, rather than allowing himself to appear vulnerable in order to secure victory. A mistake easily rectified once he finds an opponent clever enough, in turn, to distract him.”

“I hope I one day have the pleasure of playing him then.”

Xiao-Fei slung herself down on the floor next to the board to watch the conclusion to the game.

“I think you and A-Chang should try A-Xian’s array,” she said once Lan Qiren had carved out a narrow victory.

Lan Qiren frowned at her, though not with any noticeable displeasure. “We have already established it does not work.”

“It works. It just doesn’t work the way we want it to because we don’t have significant memories to share.” She poked Wei Changze’s thigh. He grabbed her fingers and squeezed them. “It was nice seeing your memories of me. I think A-Chang would appreciate the same opportunity.”

Lan Qiren considered the proposal. “Very well.”

She whipped out a copy from her sleeve; hopefully one she’d taken with Wei Wuxian’s permission. It took only a few moments to set it up properly. Understandable, considering how often she’d seen A-Xian doing so firsthand.

“Ready?”

She barely waited for them to agree before activating it.

L̸̨͔͚̼̹̦̤͎͕̙̣̤͒͒͊͒͂̅͛͜i̴̹͕͕̦̲̬̙̹̿̓̈́̈̌̎͝g̷͍̠̬̤̙͎͔͆̀͌̒̑͜h̷̬̖͔̟͖͙͖͓̳̎͌̎͆̒̈́̚̚ͅt̵͓͓͇̹͈̬͖͎͇͍̪͔̓̈́̈́̉́̓̾͆̓́̓͒̐͋

There is a beautiful young man seated across from him, carefully studying a vast numbers of stones filling the weiqi board between them. It has been many years since he’s found an opponent who matched him for skill and interest. Xiongzhang only ever valued the former insofar as it gave him something to preen about, a skill to lord over his peers. Truly, for many years, he has suspected he could now handily defeat his brother. He has held back; his brother’s temper is volatile when his pride is injured.

A grin immediately stretches his face as the young man, A-Chang his heart sings, places his last stone.

He studies the board and nods. No need to concede; the victor is obvious.

The smile does not diminish for a moment as they amicably begin tucking the stones away. He realizes with a start that he very badly wants to kiss him and try to claim a small taste of that happiness.

L̸̨͔͚̼̹̦̤͎͕̙̣̤͒͒͊͒͂̅͛͜i̴̹͕͕̦̲̬̙̹̿̓̈́̈̌̎͝g̷͍̠̬̤̙͎͔͆̀͌̒̑͜h̷̬̖͔̟͖͙͖͓̳̎͌̎͆̒̈́̚̚ͅt̵͓͓͇̹͈̬͖͎͇͍̪͔̓̈́̈́̉́̓̾͆̓́̓͒̐͋

“Was that the first game we played?” Wei Changze asked once the memory faded.

Lan Qiren, startled to silence, sat dumbly for a moment before coughing. “No. It… it was the first time you allowed yourself to enjoy your victory, instead of feeling self-conscious about it. For many months after you left the service of YunmengJiang, you shied away from any true demonstration of skill.”

“Ah.” Wei Changze looked at the abandoned board and their half-finished game.

“And you?” Xiao-Fei asked. “Just white?”

“No. No, A-Ch— I was shown the moment he saw me again in the Burial Mounds. His. Joy. And.” Lan Qiren stood abruptly. “I must go.”

“But why?” Wei Changze asked. Lan Qiren frowned. “I wanted to share that memory so you know you have no need to avoid us. We may not remember our past together, but the feelings we’ve carried from it remain.”

“It is because you do not remember that past that you still believe I am worthy of that joy,” Lan Qiren said, turning towards the door. He paused before stepping outside. “Once your memories are restored, you’ll see how little I deserve it.”

Once he’d gone, Wei Changze looked back at the weiqi board.

“Well,” Xiao-Fei murmured. She wrapped her arm around Wei Changze’s waist and rested her chin against his shoulder. Even with both of them kneeling, she had to crane her neck slightly to reach it. “I’m glad we were on the same page at least.”

“I know my feelings for him are real,” Wei Changze said.

“Our feelings,” Xiao-Fei corrected.

“Our feelings. He needs to know it too. Even if we parted in anger—” Which felt increasingly likely, “—The love stayed.”

Xiao-Fei shifted her chin and kissed his shoulder.

Lan Wangji woke early to find Wei Ying still bent over the mass of scribblings he’d been agonizing over the night before. Dozens of creations discarded when they did not yield the result.

“Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying blinked owlishly up at him, dark circles settled beneath his eyes.

“I don’t think there’s any way to avoid it,” he admitted. He tossed down his calligraphy brush and buried his face in his hands, smudging both cheeks with ink. “If we want this to work I’m going to need a Jiang clarity bell.

“We need to talk to Jiang Cheng.”

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng arrived at Cloud Recesses two days after they'd dispatched the letter. He walked through the gates with his chin tilted back, as though daring anyone to question his presence. News of his arrival in Caiyi had preceded him by dint of a few loyal messengers watching the waterways, and Wei Wuxian had eagerly joined Lan Xichen and Lan Zhan at the gates to wait for him.

He looked exhausted, was the only thing Wei Wuxian could think, a silent observation quickly pursued by a wash of guilt. If he'd been in Lotus Pier, he'd've been able to help alleviate some of it. Or, he would have, maybe, before…

"Jiang Cheng!" he called, burying the thought as soon as it occurred. He'd built this house, he needed to live in it.

Jiang Cheng ignored him in favour of properly greeting Lan Xichen. "Zewu-jun, I understand that YunmengJiang is in a position to render you and your allies aid." He said the word 'allies' like he needed to speak around a mouthful of blood.

"Thank you for coming," Lan Xichen said. He gestured for Jiang Cheng to join him on the path leading to one of the smaller meeting rooms. "I know that this interrupts your ongoing efforts to recover from the war. I appreciate your taking the time."

"Well, when I heard that my—that Wei Wuxian was here, I figured he'd caused some sort of calamity that YunmengJiang would be responsible for."

Lan Zhan stiffened at Wei Wuxian's side and narrowed his eyes. Wei Wuxian placed a hand on his arm and offered a small, ineffective smile. The last thing he needed was the two of them fighting. That seemed highly counterproductive.

(And, deep down, the fact that Jiang Cheng would come at all if he thought Wei Wuxian had caused trouble instead of writing him off completely warmed him through and through.)

Lan Xichen waited until they'd installed themselves in the greeting room and offered refreshments before he continued, "I hope you will not find this request presumptuous, Jiang-zongzhu, but we would formally like to request the return of Wei Wuxian's clarity bell."
Of all the things Jiang Cheng had been anticipating, or whatever 'calamity' meant to him, this obviously hadn't occurred. He frowned, flicking a gaze towards Wei Wuxian for only a moment before returning his attention to Lan Xichen.

"Our clarity bells are sacred to our sect," he said. "Would you give back a forehead ribbon to someone who had abandoned your sect?"

Lan Xichen's brow creased, though he did take the time to consider the question. Long moments of insufferable silence passed, Wei Wuxian growing twitchier with every passing second until he could barely stand it anymore. The only time things got this quiet at Lotus Pier was in the horrible moments that existed between someone screwing up and Madam Yu discovering it. The drawdown before a crashing, destructive wave obliterated everything in its path, when everyone exchanged knowing looks and braced themselves for what was coming.

"Lan Zhan and I are getting married!" he blurted out, unable to contain himself any longer, desperate to say something—anything—to draw that terrible destruction forward and get it over with so they could begin rebuilding in the aftermath.

The entire room seemed to freeze.

Jiang Cheng's eyes closed for a moment. When they opened, his gaze had hardened. "Then I see even less reason to provide a clarity bell to someone soon to be married into another sect."

Wei Wuxian vividly remembered the core removal surgery and how Wen Qing's tiny hands had felt buried in his abdomen, directing his spiritual energy away from the area to prevent it from healing ahead of the extraction. The slow pull as she lifted it out and away from his body and leaving an aching, empty void before. This, he thought, seeing his brother's face hard and unyielding because he only knew how to be angry instead of hurt, felt worse.

"Jiang Cheng—" he whispered.

Jiang Cheng stood. "If that is all this sect leader can do for GusuLan, I'll take my leave."

Lan Xichen looked pained. Lan Zhan looked murderous. Jiang Cheng looked no way at all, which meant he'd gone beyond furious into the place where he'd needed to hide his feelings from everyone because he didn't want to burn down the entire world. Wei Wuxian felt helpless, unmoored. If Jiang Cheng left, now, that would be it. They'd never recover. He didn't want that!

Something about his desperation must have been obvious—to Lan Xichen, at least, though he doubted Lan Zhan would've missed it—because he stood.

"Please, Sandu-shengshou, I have drawn up a marriage contract for your review."

All eyes swung towards Lan Xichen. From his sleeve, he produced a carefully-rolled scroll that he presented with both hands. Jiang Cheng took it, eyes still narrowed.

"Why—" His voice broke and he had to cough his way through it, "—Why should I…" He looked at the scroll with profound longing. Wei Wuxian recognized the expression; he thought he'd probably worn it himself while in the Burial Mounds, especially when trying to figure out if he could get lotuses to grow. The wish for a return to how things had been. Back before the war, when they'd just been stupid kids

Jiang Cheng unrolled the first half with jerky, almost awkward movements.

"This contract is for my brother," he said. Not his Shixiong, Wei Ying thought with a sudden swell of emotion. "You... You..." He paused and read it again, inching more of it open.

"Yes. I felt the language, given that Wei Wuxian has officially left YunmengJiang, should be directed to his family."

Wei Wuxian couldn't help but cast his gaze towards Lan Zhan, his heart hammering hard in his chest. He clamped his hand down on Lan Zhan's wrist, fingers tight enough to bruise.

"And it references him as the YunmengJiang head disciple," Jiang Cheng continued.

"I began drawing it up prior to recent events," he said. Lan Zhan shifted his attention towards Lan Xichen, confusion obvious to Wei Wuxian, though it only really manifested in a slow blink and twitch of an eyebrow. "The matter of our brothers' happiness has been top of mind for me since the end of the war. And whereas I had come to think that certain circumstances would have rendered such a thing moot—" Wei Wuxian tried not to flinch, "—I did hold out some hope."

"As..." Jiang Cheng took a deep breath. "Wei Wuxian's younger brother—" Not his younger martial brother, Wei Wuxian realized with a hard hammering of his heart. Jiang Cheng had called himself his didi. Jiang Cheng acknowledged they were true brothers. Jiang Cheng— "Wait. This last section references his parents. You didn't…" He coughed. "You shouldn't have included my parents in here. I don't think they would have. They." He shook his head. “They wouldn’t have wanted that.”

"Ah," Lan Xichen said faintly. He looked towards Wei Wuxian.

"He didn't mean Madam Yu and Jiang-shushu," Wei Wuxian said. He took a steadying breath when Jiang Cheng turned to him. "Jiang Cheng… my parents are alive. They don’t remember anything about their lives, or themselves—" Me, “—But they’re alive.”

He watched Jiang Cheng's face as he relayed the story. The confusion turning to disbelief. A fragile sort of want which looked a lot like envy.

"Two strange assholes show up claiming they’re your parents, at the worst possible time for you and you believe them?!" he demanded.

"Lan-xiansheng knew them," Wei Wuxian said, which he’d begun to think of as possibly the greatest understatement anyone ever offered to anyone ever. "He recognized them. Part of why I want my clarity bell back is so we can use it to try and restore their memories."

The low-burning envy began to bank higher. Jiang Cheng's lips tightened over his teeth as he suppressed the urge to bare them, a holdover from their childhood, when Madam Yu castigated him for his 'sour face' and he struggled to keep his expression neutral whenever he was unhappy.

"If your parents are alive—" The words might as well have been ripped out of him, hollowing him out, "—Then why do I need to bother with this?" He held up the contract.

"I've known them for a month, Jiang Cheng. You're my…" His voice caught. Jiang Cheng froze. Wei Wuxian fought down every instinct to shy away from the term, ground into him by Madam Yu's viciousness and Jiang-shushu's indifference and managed to force it out. "My brother." He grabbed Lan Zhan's wrist and squeezed tight, something he thought both of them needed.

"Twin Prides of Yunmeng," Jiang Cheng whispered. Wei Wuxian nodded. Jiang Cheng looked at the document again, furiously glaring at it instead of looking at Wei Wuxian. "This is never going to work."

Wei Wuxian's mouth dropped open to protest even as Lan Zhan shifted angrily at his side.

"Our silk merchants won't agree to anything less than priority rights for the wedding clothes," he said, voice wobbly. Wei Wuxian hesitantly began smiling. "And there's no way my head disciple is going to live in Gusu. What, you think he'll just commute on a daily basis?"

“I’m sure we can find some means of balancing Wei Wuxian’s duties to YunmengJiang and my brother’s duties to GusuLan,” Lan Xichen said, looking ridiculously pleased.

“Jiang Cheng, you want me to come home?” Wei Wuxian asked.

"Of course I want you to come home, you idiot." Jiang Cheng threw up his hands. "But why would you? You've got…" He waved a hand at Lan Zhan. "And your 'friends' Wen Qing and Wen Ning. Your parents are alive." This, more than anything, brought his voice the closest to cracking. "You have everything," Jiang Cheng hissed, the veneer of anger barely hiding the devastation beneath it. "I don't know why you'd want to come back to Lotus Pier since everything is so wonderful without us."

Without me, Wei Ying silently corrected.

Lan Zhan spoke before he could. "Not everything," Lan Zhan said.

Cold terror filled him. Wei Wuxian whipped around. "Lan Zhan—"

"What do you mean?" Jiang Cheng demanded.

"Wei Ying does not have everything."

"Lan Zhan, no."

Too late. "Tell me," Jiang Cheng said, and, fuck, Wei Wuxian never wanted to hear that tone in his brother's voice again. It reminded him of those sickening, terrible days after the fall of Lotus Pier, while they recovered in Wen Qing's house in Yiling, every day prepared for terrible news and knowing that worse yet was still to come. Believing they'd hit rock bottom but still expecting the worst and resigned to the fact it loomed before them.

"Can you give us a minute, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asked.

Lan Zhan glanced at him, stricken, but inclined his head and disappeared out the door, his tightly clenched fist tucked against the small of his back. Lan Xichen looked back and forth between them, levity fled, and then followed.

Once they were alone, he expected Jiang Cheng to yell when he didn't speak right away. Wei Wuxian glanced furtively upwards and found Jiang Cheng merely staring back at him. He realized he could find a way to laugh it off. To tell Jiang Cheng Lan Zhan was trying to get under his skin, or didn't know what he was talking about. He could say that Lan Zhan meant his position as head disciple of YunmengJiang—he definitely didn't have that anymore—and Jiang Cheng would believe him. Or, at least, he'd want to believe him enough to let it fly.

"We got the idea from Song Lan," Wei Wuxian finally choked out.

Jiang Cheng’s face lost all colour by the time Wei Wuxian finished.

“What the ever-loving fuck?” he finally whispered. Wei Wuxian barely recognized his own voice by the way Jiang Cheng forced it from his lungs. “You— Wei Wuxian!”

“You’d lost everything!” Wei Wuxian protested. “Everything, Jiang Cheng! Your home! Your parents! Your golden core! What else could I do?”

“And what did you lose, then?” Jiang Cheng demanded. Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, but Jiang Cheng pressed on. “I lost everything? So did you, you fucking moron! Your home! Your sect! And the whole time all I could think of was that at least you and A-Jie were safe, and then you disappeared and I lost you too!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes suddenly felt hot. He dashed at them with his palms.

“And you never really came back,” Jiang Cheng forced out. “Did you? You couldn’t, because then you’d have to explain why.” He shook his head violently, tears streaming down his face. His hair flew wildly around his head. “Why?” He lifted wet eyes. “Did my parents… did they make you think you had to?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian said immediately. “I did it because…” He didn’t know how to say the words. They’d never said them before. He felt like his abdomen was being cut open all over again. “Because you’re my brother. And I—I love you. That’s why. That’s all.”

“‘That’s all,’” Jiang Cheng repeated with a wet scoff. “‘That’s all.’ Well, you’re my brother and I love you too, you fucking ingrate, it’s why—” He stopped. Then, just as abruptly, “A-Jie is going to be insufferable about this,” he stated. “Years of telling us to act like a family and she’s not even here when we finally figure it out?”

“It doesn’t feel very figured out,” Wei Wuxian said. There was the hanging ‘why.’ He didn’t know what to do about it, but now that they’d both been carved open for the second time, he thought it wouldn’t be too bad to leave some of it for later.

“Well, she wouldn’t have anything to do if it was, I guess,” Jiang Cheng muttered. He began patting at his hair, trying to put it back to order. His hands paused. “The Jin are going to cause no end of problems for us after this.”

They exchanged a grim look, perfectly on the same page about one thing: if Shijie’s heart got broken because of this, LanlingJin was going to have a whole other war on their hands.

Lan Wangji marched out the door and down the path away from the Jingshi, the first stirrings of guilt at war with the longstanding anger he'd felt since discovering what Wei Ying had lost.

How had Jiang Wanyin not known?!

The same reason, Lan Wangji suspected, that he’d been ignorant of it himself. Wei Ying had disseminated and avoided and all but outright lied, and allowed them all to be distracted by his drinking and the ever-present threat of demonic cultivation. And yet, Jiang Wanyin had lived in closer quarters and observed Wei Ying on a daily basis. He’d been in a much better position.

It was not fair.

Lan Zhan stopped short when he turned a corner and found Wen Qionglin in front of him. They regarded each other closely—or, so Lan Wangji assumed, given that neither of them were particularly emotive.

“Did you know?” Lan Wangji asked. A ridiculous question, of course he’d known. Instead, he clarified, “Were you there?”

“Yes, Lan-gongzi,” Wen Qionglin admitted. He dropped his head to his chin.

“Did it happen when the Wen attacked Lotus Pier?” He had been trying to put a timeline to the events; organizing them chronologically gave him something to focus on instead of the devastating reality.

“L-Lotus Pier?

“I have long understood Wen Zhuliu led the attack. Was that when he burned out Wei Ying’s golden core?”

“N-no, Lan-er-gongzi.” Wen Qionglin shook his head and looked down at the ground. “That was not what happened.”

Then when Wen Chao found him in Yiling? Wei Ying had been… unclear on certain points when it came to unveiling the full story, but when else could it have happened?

Dread settled in Lan Wangji’s gut at the idea. Wei Ying would have been thrown into the Burial Mounds so soon after such a horrible ordeal. Injured, heartbroken, robbed of his home and strength. Nausea roiled in his stomach when he thought of the harsh words he’d spoken to Wei Ying upon finding him in Wen Chao’s rooms, now knowing what his zhiji had gone through.

Lan Wangji turned with the intention of marching right back into the receiving room to stop Jiang Wanying from saying something unforgivable, halted by a hand on his arm. He looked at it with mild outrage, but Wen Qionglin did not loosen his hold.

“I-I think it would be best to allow them to speak, Lan-er-gongzi,” Wen Qionglin said.

Lan Wangji could not tell if it was death or natural reticence keeping his tone deferential, and then chastised himself for the ungenerous thought. Wei Ying had gone out of his way to help Wen Qing and her family and restore Wen Qionglin to cognition. It did not behoove him to treat them with anything less than respect to honour Wei Ying’s sacrifices.

“A-Yuan is with Popo,” Wen Qionglin offered.

A kindness masquerading as a distraction. Yes, Lan Wangji supposed, he would feel more settled with occupation, and going in search of A-Yuan felt far preferable to any other task.

Popo had selected a small room imminently suitable for a single person who occasionally entertained her family. A-Yuan sat on the floor at her knee, playing quietly with a couple of toys. He lit up when Lan Wangji stepped inside and abandoned the playthings to run over to him and hug him around the legs.

“I made a new friend!” A-Yuan told him. He held up his arms and Lan Wangji obligingly picked him up. “His name is Lan Jingyi, and he’s one year older than me but he still played with me all morning!”

“Very good,” Lan Wangji said. He bowed to Wen Popo, the usually smooth movement made slightly awkward with A-Yuan in his arms. “Your Xian-gege is speaking with a visiting sect leader.”

Popo smiled kindly and allowed him to take A-Yuan to the back hills to seek out the bunnies. Wen Qionglin trailed after them, a quiet presence that Lan Wangji did not disdain in the way he did most others. A-Yuan cooed over the bunnies, but struggled to remain still enough to encourage them to come closer. Eventually he contented himself with sitting on his heels and holding out a piece of long grass.

“Like fishing,” Wen Qionglin said. Though his expressions remained mostly fixed save for when he exerted considerable effort, his face did seem softer.

“These are bunnies, not fish, Wen-gege,” A-Yuan insisted.

Wen Ning’s mouth twitched.

Wei Ying returned to them late into the evening, well after the call for the evening meal but ahead of the curfew. A-Yuan had dozed off waiting for him, resting with his head pillowed on Lan Wangji’s thigh as Lan Wangji played a few tunes on his guqin crafted to promote restful sleep and gentle dreams.

“He had my bell,” Wei Ying said. He slumped down against Lan Wangji. His skin appeared pale and his eyes were rimmed with red from crying, but he also seemed more settled than Lan Wangji had observed since before the war. “He was just carrying it around with him this whole time.”

Lan Wangji thought to those interminable three months, and Jiang Wanyin’s insistence on carrying Suibian with him until they found Wei Ying. Perhaps, like Wen Qionglin, Jiang Wanyin deserved some measure of clemency.

“Will Wei Ying now return to Lotus Pier?” he asked. His fingers stumbled over the strings.

Wei Ying straightened and carefully placed his hands atop Lan Wangji’s. With infinite care he tugged them away from the guqin and folded them up with his own hands, Wei Ying’s skin significantly warmer than Lan Wangji had come to expect.

“Once we’re married, if my husband agrees to come with me,” Wei Ying said. He leaned over and kissed Lan Wangji’s fingers.

“I followed Wei Ying to the Burial Mounds,” Lan Wangji said. “I will follow him to Yunmeng.”

Wei Ying chuckled. “At least Lotus Pier will be nicer.”

“‘Nice’ is a subjective term.”

“Lan Zhan!”

Jiang Cheng stayed in Cloud Recesses over the next few days while Wei Wuxian tinkered with his bell, examining it as closely as he could—the exposed parts, anyway—and jotted down ideas as to how he could use the elaborate array carved into the delicate metal to help bolster his own ideas.

“I’m going to write to A-Jie and tell her everything,” he said. “Well, not everything. I wouldn’t put it past Jin Guangshan to read her mail and we don’t need anyone in Koi Tower finding another reason to treat you like shit.”

“Zewu-jun is trying to figure out how to deal with them, too, and the best way to keep the Dafan Wen safe from retaliation,” Wei Wuxian told him.

“Fucking messy,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “No wonder you’re so focused on getting your parents’ memories back. That’s got to be easier compared to the rest of it.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong.

Late that night, long after curfew, they sat with their heads together examining the bell from every angle.

It took Wei Wuxian a while to notice that Lan Zhan, or at least Wei Wuxian was pretty sure, had fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Wei Wuxian had momentarily abandoned the enormous stacks of paper to confirm the hypothesis. He knelt down in front of Lan Zhan and slowly waved his pointer finger back and forth in front of his eyes.

“You’re such a nerd,” Jiang Cheng murmured, half-asleep himself. “Leave Lan—” A jaw-cracking yawn drowned out his words for a second and he slurred most of them when he finished, “—Wangji alone.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Lan Zhan,” he whispered.

Lan Zhan snored.

Lan Zhan snored!

A small puff of an exhale, but a snore nonetheless. A regal snore. Very dignified.

“I didn’t know he snored,” Wei Wuxian said.

“Why would you? It’s not like you’re sharing a bed. Because you absolutely have not been. And if you have, I don’t want to hear about it now or ever. And if I do hear about it in any way, shape, or form, I’m going to tell Jiejie and you’re going to have to explain it to her.”

Wei Wuxian kissed the tip of Lan Zhan’s nose and bounced back to their work.

He’d been waiting for Ghost-jiejie and Mountain-xiong, or even Lan Qiren, to show up and nudge him about his progress while studying the Jiang clarity bell. Surprisingly, they all seemed to be keeping their own counsel. He suspected something had occurred between the three of them that had them hiding to nurse their wounds. That was all right, though; he needed the time to concentrate.

Midnight came and went before the thought occurred to him; a dreadful, chilling idea that made him sick to his stomach with realization.

“I think…” Wei Wuxian said aloud, voice hoarse with realization. “I think that I’ll need to take the bell apart.”

Jiang Cheng looked up at him, stare intense.

“No,” he said.

Wei Wuxian’s face twisted up. “Jiang Cheng—”

“No. You do not get to take your fucking bell apart.” He stood and rounded to Wei Wuxian. He grabbed Wei Wuxian’s shoulders and shook him hard enough that Wei Wuxian practically felt his teeth rattle. “I will go back to Lotus Pier and get you another fucking bell to play with. Yours stays intact, got it?!”

Wei Wuxian coughed out a half-sob. “Got it.”

“Good. Fuck. Why do you overcomplicate things all the fucking time?” Jiang Cheng released him and stood. “I’ll go in the morning. Get some sleep. Alone.”

“Sure thing, Jiang Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng nodded brusquely and left the house, Wei Wuxian smiling after him.

“I keep telling you he’s all bark and no bite,” Wei Wuxian told Lan Zhan. “And you know how I feel about dog metaphors.”

Lan Zhan loosed another gentle snore.

Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen were reviewing the business of the day, something which had become noticeably less cumbersome once Lan Shuping had removed himself to secluded meditation, when Wei Wuxian appeared in the doorway.

“I have it,” he said. There was none of the enthusiasm Lan Qiren had expected, rather a solemnity that indicated that, yes, he had uncovered the solution and now dreaded what truths might result.

“I shall summon Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze to the Mingshi as soon as you’re ready,” Lan Xichen offered.

“Now,” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Qiren’s heart beat out a quick double tap against his ribs. “Let’s… let’s do it now.”

Lan Qiren nodded and stood to follow him. They walked in silence together, the joint object of scrutiny from disciples they passed en route to the Mingshi. They did not speak. Lan Qiren supposed they were both struggling with the truth of the matter: neither of them would come out unscathed by whatever truths this innovation was destined to uncover.

They stopped in front of the doors.

“Whatever is uncovered,” Lan Qiren finally said, “You are not obligated to blindly forgive them.”

Wei Wuxian turned to look at him. Before he could ask the inevitable follow up—whether Lan Qiren anticipated having forgiveness denied himself—the rest of their party arrived, announced by Xiao Jingfei’s laughter.

“A-Xian, I hear you’re preparing to prove how brilliant you are all over again?” Xiao Jingfei asked.

“I hope so, Ghost-jiejie.”

He had no true reason to follow them into the Mingshi. The rules dictated that any experimental techniques needed to be supervised by a senior member of the sect, and Xichen neatly met that criteria. He supposed it was his own desire to finally be held to account for his past failings that determined his presence. They deserved the chance to repudiate him as soon as possible.

Wei Wuxian had already set the array, a veritable masterwork drawn on the floor of the Mingshi and awaiting activation. Lan Qiren took a moment to marvel over it; truly, if they managed to save him from his own reputation, Wei Wuxian would go down in history as one of the foremost gifted cultivators of their time.

He directed Xiao Jingei and Wei Changze to their respective places.

“You’re going to hear the ringing of a bell,” he said. “Some memories will be clearer than others.”

“I know you’ve done your best,” Wei Changze said. He shifted his gaze from Wei Wuxian to Lan Qiren. “We trust you.”

The entire room seemed to take a deep breath.

And then Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Xiao Jingfei activated the array.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Chapter Text

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

There is an air of excitement pervading the Mountain, and everyone is breathing it.

Especially Jingfei, because Jingfei is waiting to hear news of her San-Shixiong and San-Shixiong is her favourite.

He’s been on the Mountain for nearly three hundred years, to hear the other disciples tell of it, but hasn’t lost his ability to laugh, which Jingfei has privately considered the principle issue with many of her other martial siblings. Jingfei lived with him for all the years between Shizun bringing her to the sect and finally reaching the age where they allowed her to move into the dormitories, just a month prior! San-shixiong helped her choose her spiritual weapon and told her that it would be her perfect match. He laughs at her jokes and helps her with her pranks. Once, even, when she’d hidden a snake in Shijie’s bed to get back at her for making Jingfei run laps even though she’d done nothing to deserve it, he’d even told Shijie that he’d seen other snakes of the sort in his own house. (Once she’d stopped screaming anyway.)

And now San-Shixiong is about to reach a breakthrough.

“And well past time, too,” Da-Shixiong had said, glancing at Jingfei out of the corner of his eye when he spoke, “He’s given too much of himself to worldly matters before now.”

After his breakthrough, Jingfei is going to try and cook him his favourite meal.

Word comes a little after midday: he’s done it! And not only that, but he’s ascended!

Jingfei jumps up and down, holding onto her Er-Shijie’s arm. “I’m so happy! When he comes back, I’m going to make him tell me everything. Er-Shijie, did you hear there are dragons in the Heavens?”

Er-Shijie’s face sobers. “A-Fei,” she says, as gently as she can, “San-Shixiong won’t be coming back.”

Jingfei freezes in place. She drops Er-Shijie’s arm. “That’s not a nice thing to say,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry, A-Fei, we all thought you understood. Once you ascend, you remain with the other immortals. You don’t return for anything save the greatest calamity.”

“No,” Jingfei shakes her head. “He promised he’d always look out for me.”

“He’ll be watching. Of course he will.”

“No! It’s not the same!” Jingfei rips away from Er-Shijie. “He has to come back down!” She’s going to the pavilion where he’d been meditating. She’ll yell at the top of her lungs until he listens and comes back.

“I’m sorry,” Er-Shijie repeats, uselessly. “This is the goal for all righteous cultivators, A-Fei. It’s why we’ll feast and celebrate him tonight, then place his name in Shizun’s hall among the others of our sect who have gone ahead of us. They’ll all be prepared to welcome him.”

Jingfei feels her jaw begin to shake and hates the pressure building behind her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry. She wants to be angry! She is angry!

“Not me, then,” she finally snaps. Er-Shijie looks devastated. “I’m going to cultivate to immortality and then I’m going to keep my feet right here, on the earth, where they belong so nobody who loves me will miss me!”

With that last scream, she flings herself out the door and runs away to hide in the forest.

Shizun must find her later, long after Jingfei has sobbed herself to sleep against an ancient banyan tree. Jingfei only knows because there’s a small package of her favourite steamed buns sitting beside her. She cries when she eats them; they taste exactly like San-Shixiong’s.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

A-Chang is kneeling behind his mother, his forehead on the floor in an exact copy of her own bow. Jiang-zongzhu sits at the front of the room before them. If A-Chang shifts his chin a bit, he can see the man as well as his mother.

A-Niang is beautiful. She has soft eyes and a tiny freckle next to her left eyebrow. When in need of comfort, A-Chang has been allowed to touch it since he was a baby.

Jiang-zongzhu, on the other hand, has an unkind face. His eyes are always hard when they look A-Chang’s way.

“My wife believes that you have appropriately atoned for your actions and wishes to reinstate you as her personal maid, claiming she cannot do without you,” he says. He sounds angry. “But I think the wife of a sect leader might do far better than a maid who has allowed herself to be dishonoured.”

Jiang Fengmian is standing at his father’s side. His face is softer. He’s older than A-Chang by nearly ten years, but always has a kind word for him, a rarity in and around Lotus Pier, where A-Chang and his mother live in a small room without windows, scars on the wall from where spare weapons had once been tossed inside and left to rust. A-Chang loves Jiang Fengmian almost as much as he loves his own mother.

“I understand, Zongzhu. Madam Jiang has always been exceedingly kind and I have done my best to serve her well.” She does not lift her head, but adds, “Even despite my betrayal.”

“I’m sure I do not understand what you mean by that,” Jiang-zongzhu says. His voice has turned from rock to ice. “If this is to be allowed, I need to know that the honour of the Jiang will remain unimpeachable.” His mother nods, her chin scraping across the ground. “Will you speak the name of your son’s father?”

A-Niang takes in a shaky breath. “No, Zongzhu,” she whispers.

“I ask again: will you say his father’s name?”

“No.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper; even this close to her, A-Chang barely hears the word.

“One last time, and answer truthfully or face the fullest consequences meted out to the unfaithful servants of YunmengJiang: will you ever speak the name of his father?”

Out of sight of Jiang-zongzhu, A-Niang’s hands clench into fists. Her mouth flattens into a thin purse of lips. But when she speaks, her voice is clear and calm, “Never, Zongzhu.”

There is a long pause. An assessing one. A-Chang reaches out and clasps a small handful of his mother’s skirts and holds on tight.

“Do you know the consequences of lying to a sect leader?”

“…Yes.”

“Speak them.”

“To be publicly flogged, hair shorn, stripped, and banished.”

“Remember it well, for if I discover you have lied here and now, this will be levied upon both you and your child.” Jiang-zongzhu turns his gaze towards A-Chang. “He will be as you are: lowborn, and accorded neither account nor merit, only ever a servant of YunmengJiang.”

His mother swallows nervously. “Will he be permitted to learn cultivation?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Jiang-zongzhu all but growls. “The servants of this sects accorded such respect are of honourable stock. Ask again and I will consider the question to be worthy of the same punishment as regards the matter of his birth.”

“Very well, Zongzhu,” A-Niang says. She sounds broken. “My son and I thank you.”

She lifts her head and looks over her shoulder towards A-Chang. When she catches his eyes, she raises her eyebrows in expectation. She’s told him what to say, and A-Chang easily remembers the words.

“Thanking Zongzhu for his mercy and benevolence,” A-Chang recites.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Jingfei finds a baby in the shrine at the base of Shizun’s mountain. He is small and weak, but very solemnly reaches out and grabs a handful of her hair when she bends over to examine him. She laughs and takes him to her master.

“I found him in the temple,” she says.

“He will be your responsibility,” Shizun tells her.

Jingfei wonders if her master has thought this through. All the same, she takes her new shidi under her wing and tries to protect him and teach him just as San-Shixiong had with her. For the first few years, he lives mostly with their sect healers, building his strength. Jingfei visits him as often as possible, fretting over how cold he feels and bringing him blankets and warming food to help. At six, once the healers declare him sufficiently strong, he moves into her house. At ten he goes into the dormitories with the other younger disciples.

Just before Shidi turns fifteen, Jingfei decides to leave the mountain. Her shidi is the first one she tells. Late one night she sneaks out of her house and slips into the dormitory to find him. She presses her palm over his mouth to quiet him when he wakes with a start at her touch.

Shidi looks at her with wide, wounded eyes. “Why does Shijie have to leave?” he whispers.

“I don’t have to. But, Shidi, this mountain is too small for me.”

Shidi shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, then reaches out and takes her hand. Like always, his skin feels frigid against hers. She rubs his small fingers between her palms.

“It will be all right,” she promises.

“I want to come with you,” he says.

“Don’t act with haste. Learn everything you can from Shizun first. You know that you’ll never be able to return once you go.” She tweaks his nose. “Should you decide to come find me when you’re older, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Shidi reluctantly releases her hand.

Not even a week later, Jingfei takes the last name ‘Xiao,’ like many of her martial siblings before her, and descends.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Wei Changze is sitting behind Jiang Fengmian with wine in hand and waiting for his master to call him forward to serve it. YunmengJiang is hosting a Discussion Conference, gathering many powerful sect leaders and their strongest disciples in one place, sharing stories of their recent accomplishments and solidifying their alliances. There will be a crowd hunt soon and Wei Changze is nervous about it.

Jiang Fengmian notices and gestures him forward to serve him a cup. “What is it?” his young master asks.

“Forgive me, Jiang-gongzi, it is not my place to say,” Wei Changze whispers.

“Ha, A-Chang, now you must tell me.” Jiang Fengmian’s tone is kind, but Wei Changze knows and order when he hears one.

“Did… does Jiang-gongzi remark the representatives from TingshangHe?” Jiang Fengmian makes a show of sipping his wine and subtly looks towards the back of the hall, where the lesser sects have gathered. “They have three servants now, but had four when they entered. Once Jiang-zongzhu announced the location of the crowd hunt, one of them snuck out. His robes were cut different than the other servants, which would have made it easy to conceal a sword. I believe that he was a disciple, in truth, and has gone to scout out the hunting grounds to put his sect in a favourable position.”

Jiang Fengmian hums around the lip of his cup. “That is a serious accusation, A-Chang,” he says.

“Which is why I hesitate to speak it, Jiang-gongzi. Please forgive this humble one’s impertinence.”

“It would only be impertinent if proven false.” They both know, if it is proven false, Wei Changze will be feeling the punishment for weeks.

Jiang Fengmian catches the eye of one of his father’s disciples. He whispers orders to search out anyone who might have gone to seek an advantage for their sect in the next day’s hunt.

The TingshanHe cultivator is caught quickly. TingshangHe is banned from attending Discussion Conferences for the next five years. Jiang Fengmian is lauded for his canniness and attention to detail in noticing the deception. And Wei Changze is made Jiang Fengmian’s personal attendant.

Jiang-zongzhu is pleased with all but the last of these.

“Be careful not to single that one out for any particular acclaim,” Jiang-zongzhu warns Jiang Fengmian. “It might invite speculation.”

Wei Changze pretends he does not know what Jiang-zongzhu means. Has always pretended he does not know what Jiang-zongzhu means.

“Don’t worry, Father. No one ever pays much regard to a servant,” Jiang Fengmian says, casting a warm smile Wei Changze’s way.

Wei Changze bows his head.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

The world decides to call her Cangse Sanren long before Xiao Jingfei swans into Lan Qiren’s life. The two of them cross paths on a night hunt which either of them might have dealt with alone but dispatched effortlessly when approached as a joint effort.

He is the first real friend she makes for herself. He scolds her about her manners, her effusive joy with the world around her, her casual demeanour and callous disregard for her personal safety. Xiao Jingfei accepts every comment and criticism with good grace and constantly laughs over him whenever he speaks. She’s older than him but calls him ‘Gege’ with irreverent delight in order to fluster him. She drives him to madness, right up until she finally pushes him too far and he kisses her, pressing all his frustrated desire into her mouth even as his body cages her own against a nearby wall.

“I do not do this lightly,” he tells her once he forcibly yanks himself away. “I cannot.”

“I believe you,” she says. She kisses the scruff on his chin. “Everyone in this whole world is so stupid, Gege. You’re the only one who makes sense to me.” She meets his eyes. “Keep making sense. Keep me.”

He kisses her again. Consumes her.

They marry secretly, Lan Qiren convinced that his sect will never approve, and Xiao Jingfei convinced she is long past reach of her shizun’s cares. They make promises to one another they both fully intend to keep, even if the world pulls them apart like bread divided among many mouths.

“I will not be selfish with your heart,” he says over a shared cup of tea.

“I am too terrible a person not to be selfish with yours,” Xiao Jingfei laughs.

Once again, she wakes to find steamed buns waiting at her side. At least one of her martial family is pleased for her.

“Are they raw?” Lan Qiren asks, laughing.

She has no desire for children. Not yet, anyway. “Fully cooked, Gege.” She pushes one into his mouth. “Ask me again in a few years.”

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

The old Jiang-zongzhu dies. Jiang Fengmian ascends. He marries a fierce daughter of MeishanYu. Wei Changze does not believe they are particularly suited for one another, but he does his best to be supportive of their marriage.

Yu Ziyuan brings new life to YunmengJiang, living up to their clan motto in ways to which Jiang Fengmian has only aspired. She is called Madam Yu instead of Madam Jiang, and makes Lotus Pier her domain.

More than once, she casts her eyes towards Wei Changze, considering.

“What does your servant think?” she asks Jiang Fengmian one night while she ponders over a trade proposal from QishanWen.

Wei Changze is sitting halfway between them as they occupy different sides of the hall.

Jiang Fengmian, engaged with his own study of this year’s lotus yields, barely looks up. “What should that matter?”

“Is he not the one silently running this sect?”

Jiang Fengmian slowly raises his head. He does not look at Wei Changze, his attention entirely on his wife. There is a long moment of tense silence where it feels like the world is about to end in fire and blood.

And then Jiang Fengmian laughs.

“What a thing to say,” he says, shaking his finger. “Ah, my lady, please give your husband some face.”

The next morning, Wei Changze is told he will be restricted to assisting with basic duties. He runs back and forth between inventory management, organizing training weapons, cleaning used dishes. And at the end of an exhausting day, he returns to his room at night to find stacks of Jiang Fengmian’s work waiting for his review.

He completes it all without complaint.

Lotus Pier is his home, after all.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Qingheng-jun marries. Lan Huan is born.

“I must return to Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren whispers into Xiao Jingfei’s hair, quietly devastated. “And remain there. My brother has stepped away from every responsibility he’s ever accepted in the name of marrying this woman, including fatherhood, and it will fall to me to lead our sect.”

“It’s all right,” she whispers into his cheek, trailing her lips across his skin. “Everything will be all right.”

“I cannot ask you to give up your freedom,” he says, “Nor to sacrifice your life for me.”

No one will ever question why she loves him so fiercely, but if they do she will tell them about this moment. “You have the largest pieces of my heart,” Xiao Jingfei promises. “You don’t need to return them.”

They whisper words of comfort into one another’s mouths that night, promises they both silently swore to keep and despair at the idea that they might be broken.

“I’ll come to you whenever I can,” Xiao Jingfei tells him the next morning.

He presses an entry token into her palm. “As often as you wish,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she repeats, her heart tearing apart in her chest.

Xiao Jingfei makes good on the offer at least once a season for many years. She is present when Lan Huan takes his first steps and congratulates Lan Qiren on raising such a strong young man.

“Don’t tease,” he murmurs, ears blazing red with the compliment.

“You love it when I do,” she says with a laugh. She produces a small rattle drum and Lan Huan stumbles towards her. She scoops him into her arms and peppers his face with kisses, earning herself a sweet giggle. “And don’t you worry, A-Huan, I’ll be here to make sure that your Shufu remembers how much.”

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Three years after their marriage, Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan finally have an heir.

“Take care of the baby, A-Chang” and “My maids are not accustomed to a baby’s cry; you need to deal with it,” become a familiar refrain from the respective leaders of YunmengJiang.

Wei Changze does not mind. As far as he is concerned, Jiang Yanli is the most beautiful child ever born.

Wei Changze meets Xiao Jingfei at Jiang Yanli’s thirty-day celebration. He is tasked with taking the infant away to give Madam Yu a moment of peace amidst the throng of visitors, and Xiao Jingfei finds him in one of the smaller rooms off the Lotus Pier receiving hall. A-Li is crying, disturbing the peace of the adults who have come to pay their respects to her parents, and Wei Changze is desperately trying to calm her. He sings, poorly, and bounces her in place.

“Try sticking your pinky in her mouth,” a deep voice suggests from nearby. Wei Changze’s cheeks blaze with embarrassment over being thus discovered. Xiao Jingfei, hoping to meet with Lan Qiren at the celebration, hid herself away when she realized that the Lan had sent a handful of their elders instead. “It works with my nephew.”

Wei Changze, desperate, tries. Jiang Yanli suckles madly at his finger for only a moment before her eyelashes flutter and she calms. Combined with the gentle sway of his hips, she quickly falls asleep.

“Thank you,” he chokes out.

Xiao Jingfei’s robes are stained and torn from months on the road, yet she carries herself with more dignity than many of the sect leaders who have come to visit. With Jiang Yanli now asleep, she slinks over to get a better look.

“Cute,” she declares.

She is not looking at Jiang Yanli when she says it.

Wei Changze falls fast and hard. Jinzhu and Yinzhu, both of whom he interchangeably refers to as ‘Zhu-jiejie’ suggest it is because he is young and inexperienced. This may be so, but it doesn’t lessen the enormity of his feelings. When he gathers the courage to admit them to her, Xiao Jingfei kisses him, slow and sweet, and tells him about the half of her heart currently residing in Gusu.

“You need to know, because my heart has other pieces big enough for you, but you’ll have to share.”

Given that he has benefitted from the largesse, he cannot complain. She regales him with stories of her Gege long into the night and through to the dawn and kisses him on the docks before he leaves to begin his daily chores.

Xiao Jingfei stays close to Yunmeng through the remaining summer and into autumn, visiting Lotus Pier with such frequency that rumours begin circulating that she wishes to become Jiang Fengmian’s second wife. It drives a spike into the budding friendship between Xiao Jingfei and Yu Ziyuan, severing the root from the bud.

Jiang Fengmian approaches her about it. Wei Changze stands at the door, listening with mortification as he proposes. Xiao Jingfei laughs until she realizes that he’s serious.

“Does Ziyuan know you’re here?” she demands.

“My lady will understand that it is her husband’s prerogative to manage such affairs.” Jiang Fengmian smiles, but he must know he is the only one who believes such a thing. “And why else would you visit so often, if not because you wish to install yourself in my household?”

Xiao Jingfei looks at Wei Changze. He looks back, and their gazes lock across the room.

Jiang Fengmian notices. His smile fades into a hard glower that Wei Changze often saw upon his father’s face. He does not say a word, but leaves the room and demands Wei Changze follow him.

For disgracing YunmengJiang by encouraging dishonourable attentions from a visiting cultivator, Wei Changze receives the worst beating of his life.

Jinzhu and Yinzhu, acting in accordance with their mistress’ wishes to be rid of both Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren, seek out Xiao Jingfei that same evening and help her secret Wei Changze out of Lotus Pier. He wakes halfway to Gusu, a sudden storm making the water choppy as they make their way up the river. Xiao Jingfei cards her fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry I laughed at him,” she whispers. “If I had been kinder, he might have spared you this.”

Wei Changze thinks of the old Jiang-zongzhu and how Wei Changze has always suspected himself to be the incidental result of a similar insult to a man’s ego, and cannot bring himself to hate her for it.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Gege welcomes Wei Changze with the gruff and infinite kindness he usually reserves for his nephew. A-Huan is almost three years old and babbles happily when he sees Xiao Jingfei. It gives her something to focus on as Lan Qiren applies foul-smelling medicinal paste to Wei Changze’s injuries and half-carries him to visit the cold springs the following morning.

Wei Changze later admits to her that his first impression of Lan Qiren was one of kindness. Xiao Jingfei is glad that someone besides her finally sees it.

They stay in Cloud Recesses for a month as Wei Changze recovers. Xiao Jingfei frets over him, blaming herself right up until Lan Qiren figures out why she has been out of sorts.

“This is not your fault,” he tells her. Wei Changze is once again visiting the cold springs, trying to alleviate the lingering pains left behind by the bone-deep bruising.

“If I don’t blame myself, I’m going to blame Jiang Fengmian,” she says. “And then I’m going to want to kill him.” Her San-Shixiong would understand, she tells herself. So would Shizun. More than one of her martial siblings escaped the cultivation world to her master’s mountain to avoid meting out similar retributive actions. Or, in some cases, the consequences of having visited them upon the deserving.

Lan Qiren has spent significant time with Wei Changze over the past weeks, helping him overcome the challenges left by such crippling pain. He looks tempted to allow Xiao Jingfei the liberty of killing a sect leader.

“I would harbour you here if you did,” he finally says. “But you know better than anyone what that might mean.”

Xiao Jingfei thinks of Lan Qiren’s sister-in-law, secluded in her tiny house nestled among the gentians, and sighs. An entire mountain has already proven too small for her. She cannot submit to such a thing.

“I suppose he can live,” she grumbles.

Gege carefully doesn’t smile. “Very magnanimous.”

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Wei Changze discovers that Lan Qiren plays weiqi and happily presents himself as a potential opponent during his convalescence. He wins nine out of ten games they play, which Lan Qiren seems to find gratifying despite his losses.

“Losing builds character,” Xiao Jingfei assures him while lying on her back, busy balancing A-Huan on the balls of her feet with legs stretched into the air. A-Huan is uniformly delighted by his first exposure to flight and waves his arms towards her as though he wants to swim through the air back into her arms.

“Hush,” Lan Qiren grumbles, resigned to the loss of yet more territory when he yet again underestimates Wei Changze’s penchant for long-term strategy.

Lan Qiren kisses Wei Changze the night before he and Xiao Jingfei are set to leave Cloud Recesses. They’ve been his guests for nearly three months while Wei Changze recovers from his injuries, and though Wei Changze has hoped he understood the slow, bubbling undercurrents between them, he has not dare hope such a thing might be possible. Lan Qiren settles his palm against Wei Changze’s cheeks and draws nearer. He waits until Wei Changze nods, unable to speak, and then set himself to exploring the meaning all the unsaid words settled on the tip of Wei Changze’s tongue.

Xiao Jingfei watches them with quiet but intense interest.

All of them are glad that Lan Huan is staying with his mother that evening.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze travel all over the world (save for Yunmeng, a place they swear they’ll never return to.) She shows him her favourite places and tries to make up for the years he was confined to Lotus Pier. They return to Cloud Recesses regularly, drawing out their visits a bit longer every time. A-Huan is endlessly pleased to see them, and not only because they spoil him with toys and sweets and stories.

While Gege and A-Chang play weiqi, Xiao Jingfei distracts A-Huan. It’s easier for her now that he’s old enough to have a conversation.

One morning, when A-Chang makes a particularly clever play and then blushes over the look Gege shoots him across the table, Xiao Jingfei laughs and hops to her feet.

“Come on, A-Huan, let’s go for a walk.”

Her nephew lights up and grabs her hand. He buzzes happily at her side, their clasped hands swinging between them as they make their way towards the back waterfall. She regales him with stories of their recent travels, a meandering tale.

“You travelled all the way to Meishan again?” A-Huan gasps. “Last time you were there, you came back and said that the air smelled like camphor wood. Does it still?”

“What a good memory! I told you that more than a year ago.”

A-Huan lights up under the praise and, to further prove the point, begins reciting the sect rules, starting with the first. They sound correct to Xiao Jingfei—she never bothered to learn any of them, save for the ones that seemed to work best when deliberately antagonizing Lan Qiren.

“Very good,” she finally says, fearing that if she lets him go on, she’ll end up hearing all three thousand rules and they’ll end up missing dinner. A-Huan preens under the praise, raising his chin and wiggling like a pleased kitten; it’s such a unique trait that she finds herself laughing all over again.

They return back to find Lan Qiren and Wei Changze slightly rumpled, but with dinner in hand.

“Our nephew has a remarkable memory, A-Chang,” Xiao Jingfei says.

This time, Gege preens as well.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

It’s been nearly five years since A-Chang has left Lotus Pier, and he is not expecting to run into Jiang Fengmian in Cloud Recesses—a place that has become a safe haven. He is out walking with A-Huan, stealing a few moments with his beloved nephew to give his partners some time alone together. Spotting Jiang Fengmian steals the breath from his lungs with a spike of anxiety that squeezes them in an icy grip.

He looks wells, at least. Hale. A line of disciples follow behind him as he navigates the walkways.

Wei Changze feels oddly shaken at the sight of him. The years have not been entirely kind; the stress of running a sect as large and influential as YunmengJiang is reflected in the lines gathered around his eyes.

He stops short when he sees Wei Changze. Wei Changze releases A-Huan’s hand and bows low.

“Jiang-zongzhu,” he greets.

Jiang Fengmian does not reply. When Wei Changze rises—without awaiting permission as he might have while still a servant—he watches Jiang Fengmian’s attention stray towards A-Huan.

“You must be the son of Qingheng-jun,” Jiang Fengmian says.

“I am!” A-Huan pipes up. He bows, significantly shallower than Wei Changze, befitting his position as the young sect heir. “This one is Lan Huan, courtesy Xichen.” ‘Xichen’ still feels too big for him, though he seems taller every time Wei Changze and Xiao Jingfei return to Cloud Recesses. “This sect heir greets Jiang-zongzhu.”

“Well-mannered, as expected from a scion of Qingheng-jun,” Jiang Fengmian says. He smiles kindly and returns the bow. “I am here to meet with the sect elders. Perhaps the sect heir of GusuLan would be interested in escorting me?”

“Oh.” A-Huan looks at Wei Changze. “Would that be all right, Uncle Wei?”

“Of course. I shall wait for you here,” Wei Changze says, smiling to hide his discomfort.

A-Huan moves to Jiang Fengmian’s side to take the place of the disciples who had escorted him this far. Wei Changze waits as patiently as he can, the anxiety building with each passing moment, a slow unfurling of a bud he’d thought long dead and desiccated.

A-Huan returns with his usual cheerful smile still in place.

“Jiang-zongzhu is so nice!” he says. He takes Wei Changze’s hand when offered it, and the anxiety relaxes its grip.

“What did you two talk about?”

“I told him all about Cloud Recesses, and that I live with Shufu. And you and Auntie Xiao when you visit. He said that it must be confusing for me to have so many adults who aren’t my parents in the same house, but I told him I liked it.”

“Good,” Wei Changze says, faint.

He tries not to worry over the matter.

(He fails.)

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Xiao Jingfei’s heart is crumpling in her chest.

They’ve come to Gusu to celebrate the birth of Lan Qiren’s second nephew. The moment they received his letter announcing the new arrival, they’d rushed to Cloud Recesses, elated at the expansion of their growing family. News of his imminent arrival had been met with mixed feelings, but having him here, now… there’s just too much wonderful about it to worry over anything else.

The moment they’d walked through the gates, something seemed different. They’d been allowed through the gates. Right up to the Hanshi.

Now she knows. Because within the hour one of the elders had delivered the ultimatum: if Lan Qiren wishes to keep custody of his nephews and remain a disciple of GusuLan, his association with them must end.

“If—if we tell them we’re married,” Xiao Jingfei begins. Lan Qiren’s expression crumples further into the depths of his pain.

“I’m sorry,” Gege whispers. His infant nephew is sleeping in his arms, and while he should look overjoyed, all he seems is defeated. His shoulders, usually broad enough to carry the weight of the world, are slumped and small, and he can barely bring himself to meet her eyes.

She’s trying to tell herself that this isn’t a surprise. They left earlier than planned during their last visit when one of the elders made an offhand comment about Jiang Fengmian raising concerns over A-Huan’s upbringing. This is the final result.

It’s been five months—the longest they’ve been away. Wei Changze grips her hand tight enough to bruise as they weather the terrible storm wreaking irreparable damage on their family.

“I cannot give up the boys,” Lan Qiren chokes out. “They will be passed into uncaring hands and treated as sect assets rather than children.”

Come with us, then, Xiao Jingfei wants to beg. Bring the boys. They’ll be in such good company, Gege. You’ve told us yourself your sister-in-law doesn’t seem to love them..

She does not speak it, though. She’s always known how important GusuLan is to Lan Qiren. The pride he takes in his sect and the loyalty they have ground into him since birth. If she asks, he will decline and the idea of it will haunt him. She doesn’t want that pain for him. She wants him to raise his nephews with love and joy, not steeped in his own regrets.

A-Chang feels it as keenly as she. Silently, he reaches into his sleeve and withdraws his pass token. Lan Qiren stares at it, expression cracked open. Everything is written plainly on his face, all born out of his devastation.

“Keep it,” Lan Qiren begs him. He stretches out a shaking hand and closes A-Chang’s fingers back around the token. “As my vow that I will find you again, as soon as I can.”

“The very moment A-Huan takes over from Qingheng-jun,” Xiao Jingfei demands, trying to keep her voice from betraying the tears she’s struggling to choke back. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

Lan Qiren nods.

These precious few minutes are all they’re allowed. Xiao Jingfei clasps Wei Changze’s hand in her own as they’re escorted to the gates by a covey of Lan disciples eager to see them gone. They aren’t even permitted to say goodbye to A-Huan; even with his brilliant memory, he’s going to forget what they look like, Xiao Jingfei just knows it.

“You didn’t tell him,” Wei Changze says once they’re clear of the gates. He sounds as terrible as she feels.

“Gege’s heart is already broken,” Xiao Jingfei says, as though her own isn’t in tatters, “No sense in shattering whatever shards of it are left.”

Xiao Jingfei is pregnant.

It terrifies her.

“I don’t know that I want to be a mother, A-Chang!” she fretted when she discovered, pacing the clearing around their tent. She unconsciously avoided stray logs, rocks, and roots without looking down, her feet always finding the best place to step. “What am I supposed to do with a baby?”

“Love them,” Wei Changze told her gently, “Whoever they are. Support them. Teach them. Isn’t that what every parent is supposed to do?”

“What if Gege doesn’t want this? What if… Do you want this?”

Xiao Jingfei reconsiders the question now. She hopes what remains of her heart will be sufficient while raising them.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Wei Ying is born.

The moment he’s placed in Wei Changze’s arms, Wei Changze feels different as a person. As the local doctor helps Xiao-Fei clean up, he holds Wei Ying as carefully as possible, this tiny person for whom he is now responsible. He doesn’t think he’s ever loved someone this way. Wei Ying has the look of Wei Changze’s mother; her nose, the shape of his eyes. He can’t help but drop a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Xiansheng, your wife is ready,” the doctor says.

She leaves them as Wei Changze settles down next to Xiao-Fei’s side.

“Here he is,” Wei Changze says. He tilts the baby towards Xiao Jingfei who stares at him wide-eyed. “He’s beautiful, Xiao-Fei.”

She nervously runs her teeth over her lower lip before pressing her right canine into it.

“I… don’t know what to do with him,” Xiao-Fei says, looking at their son. She sounds terrified. Wei Changze kisses the top of her head.

“Do you want to hold him?”

“I guess I should.” She sounds unconvinced, but her arms are steady when Wei Changze places Wei Ying into them. He supports her as she shifts the infant around to rest against her bare chest. “A-Chang, what do I do?”

“Love him,” Wei Changze says, feeling as unprepared as Xiao-Fei looks. “As best as we can.”

There’s a distant look in her eyes. It comes and goes, though with less frequency now that several months have passed since their parting with Lan Qiren. They both miss him like a limb has been severed.

“I could write to him,” Wei Changze offers. “He should know.”

“Yes. And if I thought he’d be permitted to receive our letters, I’d agree. But even before you came into our lives, he wrote me regularly whenever we were parted. He’d find ways to get in contact with us if he could.”

Ying-er mewls and she turns another panicked look at him. “Um?”

“You should feed him.”

“Right. Yes. There’s… going to be a lot to remember, isn’t there?”

Wei Changze kisses her again. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here to help.”

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Years pass. Ying-er grows strong enough to lift his head. He sits up. He walks. He talks. That for Xiao Jingfei is the turning point. Suddenly he’s a little person instead of a somewhat demanding accessory. She still leaves Wei Changze mostly in charge of parenting, but she’ll dart in to spoil Ying-er with candies and toys when A-Chang isn’t looking. She tells him stories of night hunts she’s been on—sometimes probably too gory for a child, and Wei Changze scolds her over it—but Ying-er takes it all in with shining eyes. He’s going to be an absolutely brilliant cultivator, she’s sure of it.

She’s shocked by how much she loves him.

They receive news of a night hunt in Yiling. Bodies are piling up and none of the surrounding sects are willing to commit cultivators to investigating, scared off by the proximity to the Burial Mounds.

They’ve just arrived when a letter arrives, the messenger exhausted at having spent a month trying to track them down. Xiao Jingfei recognizes the writing and her heart trips over itself in her chest. While A-Chang buys him a jar of wine to thank him for his troubles, Xiao Jingfei frantically unrolls it.

My dearest loves,

I beg, beg, beg you to forgive this fool his many wrongs.

My wilful ignorance has effect the welfare and happiness of so many. I have been allowed myself to be deceived over the righteousness of those men who call themselves our sect elders. All this time, I have believed my brother’s wife fairly punished for her crimes and have only now discovered that she has been unjustly prisoned.

I never should have allowed myself to be persuaded to send you so far from me, when you would have seen through the deception much faster than I, if given the chance. I beg you to return now and help me bring my sister-in-law justice. If it cannot be found in Cloud Recesses, then we will free her together, and escape with you afterwards.

I cannot know if these words make sense, but please return to me. I never wish to be parted from you hereafter. Allow me to live once more in your hearts and only trod upon paths that still bear your footprints.

LQR.

Poor Gege. Xiao Jingfei is devastated for him. She begins to dash off a reply, only managing a few lines before Wei Changze returns to her side, Ying-er clutching his hand.

“It’s worse than we imagined,” he said.

“What is?” Ying-er demands.

Xiao Jingfei pinches the tip of his nose. “Your—” She wants to call Lan Qiren his second father, but she suspects Lan Qiren should be informed first. “A very good friend of your parents.” She looks at the letter. “No sense sending it. We’d get there before the messenger would.”

Ying-er’s eyes light up. “Do we get to ride on your sword?”

(This, he has decided, is his very favourite thing in the entire world, and Xiao Jingfei is not above bribing him with rides in order to get him to do such loathsome labours as eating strange foods and going to bed on time.)

“We do,” she says. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Wie Changze repeats.

“I can’t let more people die here,” Xiao Jingfei says. She still has to live with her conscience once they’re reunited with Lan Qiren. Reunited. Finally. “I’ll go tonight. Gege will understand a brief delay.”

She leaves A-Chang in charge of Ying-er and settling all their things in the inn.

Xiao Jingfei has only been in the Burial Mounds once before. She’d hoped to avoid hunting here again, but there are now close to fifteen dead.

She scours the area where it was last seen to no avail. There are marks in the dirt which she thinks belong to claws, but it’s hard to tell. After two hours, her impatience gets the better of her and she cuts a thin line in the meat of her forearm to try and draw it in with the scent of blood.

The beast finds her not long after.

She cannot make out details. It seems to be composed of shadows, bones, and hatred. They chase each other back and forth through dead trees, rotted foliage, and rocks. She scores hit after hit, but it only seems to absorb more darkness each time.

Xiao Jingfei finds herself backed up against a rock face, sword in hand but her spiritual energy all but exhausted. She’s not injured, but she’s also not going to win this fight. She braces herself as it descends upon her.

White fills her vision.

She thinks she hears her San-Shixiong’s voice.

And that’s all she knows until she hears the sound of a dizi.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͎̱̰̥͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Wei Changze is still waiting for Xiao-Fei to return to their room. It’s been almost a full day, and he is fighting down panic with every inhale. Knowing that Lan Qiren is expecting them makes every moment feel like an hour, and the past day has been a short eternity.

He was raised on stories of the Burial Mounds. The uncles of the Jiang sect loved telling gruesome stories about it, mostly designed to stop any foolish young cultivators from trying to prove their prowess by going on a nighthunt in the area. He would listen on the sidelines, glad he never had to worry about finding himself faced with the task of venturing inside.

What if Xiao Jingfei encountered something she couldn’t fight? Or what if she’s hurt? Waiting for a rescue to come? Is he meant to simply sit in comfort while she might be dying?

Finally, he turns to Ying-er, playing nicely on the floor with a couple of his carved wooden toys. Ying-er is oblivious to the clawing, nauseating worry tearing through his guts. He’s spent the last hour unpacking and repacking their things for the upcoming trip to Gusu.

“Ying-er, I need to go find Mama,” he says. He crouches down in front of his son. “I need you to stay in this room, all right?”

“Okay, Baba.” Ying-er studies his small herd of toy animals before picking out Xiao-Fei’s favourite—a tiny lion—and pushing it into Wei Changze’s hands. “Here. For Mama when you find her.”

Wei Changze feels a swell of love and presses a long kiss to the top of his son’s head.

He finds the innkeeper downstairs. He does not care for the man; he has a cruel air about him and a disturbing habit of licking his lips nigh-constantly which has left them sitting chapped over decaying teeth.

“Sir,” Wei Changze says, “I am going in search of my wife.” He reaches into his sleeve and pulls out the Cloud Recesses token concealed within. “Please, if I do not return by this evening, send this to Gusu for Second Young Master Lan and ask him to come and collect my son.” He cannot bear to add to Lan Qiren’s troubles in such a way, but to who else could he possibly entrust Ying-er’s care?

The innkeeper licks his lips, staring at the token. “Is that real jade, then?” he asks.

Wei Changze frowns. “Sir?”

“Yes, xiansheng, I will do what you say.”

Wei Changze leaves the inn with a heady sense of guilt only surpassed by his worry.

Xiao Jingfei is going to find him on the road to her, he just knows it. She’s going to be furious that he’s thrown himself into danger, and then she’ll laugh at him because her anger runs hot and she never knows what to do with it except laugh at it. She’ll forgive him, they’ll collect Ying-er, and they’ll go to Gusu to help Lan Qiren and his sister-in-law.

They’ll finally be together again as a family. A-Huan must be thirteen by now. And he’s only heard of Lan Zhan in passing whenever he stoops to mongering for gossip about GusuLan.

The air in the Burial Mounds is cold and smells like rotten leaves. He finds the first traces of a battle and follows them, his pace quickening with every step as he discovers broken branches and trampled ground. Terror grips his heart. This cannot be happening. Not now!

He stumbles out of the woods and into a small clearing between two standing stones. There is a skeletal corpse dead on the ground, its skull cracked open and split in two.

There’s no sign of his wife.

“Xiao-Fei?” he calls. Silence. “Xiao-Fei?”

He steps forward and the ground lights up beneath him.

There is white.

D̸̻͔̫͔̭͎̊͛̐̈́̓̾͋̍͐̂̓̈́͘̕͝Į̸̡̧̙̹͔̖̬̗̬̰͕̼̘̺͙̣̖̞͓̈́̊͘͜͜ͅN̵̛̫̟̪̫͇͕͇͖̦̹̮̱̂͂͛̓̈́̿͗͂̈́͝G̵̡̛̠̩̲̣̯̰̲̹͋̉̉̓͑̾͌̎͗̌͐͑̓̌̐͌̎́̑̎̀̕̚͠͠

Chapter Text

Hours had passed. Not enough for a lifetime, Lan Xichen supposed, but long enough to feel as though they’d all aged. Shufu looked lost and guilty. Wuxian increasingly twitchy. Wangji joined them and sat next to Wei Wuxian, linking their hands together atop Wuxian’s knee.

Wei Wuxian jumped to his feet as the light emanating from the array began to dim. Still until now, Xiao Jingfei's fingers began to twitch at her side and Wei Changze's forehead creased.

"I... I don't need to be here when they wake up, right? Lan Zhan? I don't need to be here?"

"Wei Ying must do what's best for him," Wangji assured him.

“However,” Lan Xichen said, drawing their attention, “Perhaps it might be wise to stay and listen to what they have to say. I imagine there will be quite a bit.”

Wei Wuxian nodded and grasped Wangji’s hand all the tighter.

(Lan Xichen hoped so, anyway.)

As the light grew ever dimmer, the tension in the room increased. When it totally faded away, Wei Wuxian lurched forward a half-step towards the door before stopping in place. Lan Xichen watched him visibly sturdy himself in preparation as Xiao Jingfei’s eyes, and then Wei Changze’s, slowly opened.

“You left him in Yiling,” Xiao Jingfei whispered. It would have been low enough to go unnoticed save for the deafening silence of the room. “A-Chang—”

Wei Changze choked on the breath in his lungs and nodded. Shamefaced, he hid his eyes in the crook between index finger and thumb, obviously forcing himself to keep breathing. “I can’t ever forgive myself for it,” Wei Changze said.

She squeezed his arm and then turned back to Wei Wuxian. He looked at her with such guarded hope that Lan Xichen had to look away.

"Are you...?" he began. He stopped.

“I’m sorry, A-Xian,” Xiao Jingfei said at once. “I’m so sorry I don’t know how to be your mother. I never did. Not when you were born, not when you started walking, not when I left you and your father to go into the Burial Mounds. And I certainly don’t know now that you’re fully grown. A-Chang and I always thought we’d just learn as we went along, a little more every year to keep up with the changes as you grew. And I’m sorry that never happened. I…” She sighed. “For what it’s worth, I would have loved to see you grow up.”

“Abandoning you in Yiling will be my greatest regret,” Wei Changze said. He waited for Wei Wuxian to look up and meet his gaze before continuing. “But I am so, so thankful that you’ve grown into a brilliant, principled man. And it might not mean anything, but I’m proud of you.”

Wei Wuxian bent his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. His shoulders shook.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” he choked out.

Wei Changze’s heart broke—Lan Xichen saw the moment it happened reflected his eyes.

“Then hear it again,” Xiao Jingfei said. “Because for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, too.”

Wei Wuxian sobbed. Wangji slowly wrapped him in a loose embrace which Wei Wuxian listed into with ungainly bonelessness. Wei Changze started to reach out, but paused. Wei Wuxian didn’t give him the chance to pull back. He seized Wei Changze’s hand and held onto it with white-knuckled ferocity. Xiao Jingfei placed her own hand atop theirs.

Eventually, they pulled apart. Wei Wuxian dashed the tears away from his cheeks (Wei Changze did the same, albeit somewhat more subtly) and stood.

“We should go check on A-Yuan,” he said. “Would. Would you both want to join us for dinner? Tomorrow?”

“Of course, A-Xian,” Wei Changze said.

They watched Wei Wuxian leave with twin sad smiles, Wangji hovering at his side.

Xiao Jingfei took a deep breath. “A-Chang?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be very mad at you. And we’re going to talk about this. Later.”

Wei Changze nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.” She turned to Lan Qiren. “And you, Gege.” She crossed to him. When she lifted her hand towards his face, he twitched. Not a flinch, Shufu commanded far too great a control of himself for that, but a small yet definite movement which made her pause. “Oh.” She forced a smile. “I guess you weren’t really anticipating us showing up again.”

“I was not,” Lan Qiren agreed. Wei Changze stepped up behind her. Lan Qiren looked back and forth between them. “And I am no longer the man you knew.”

“Twenty years we’ve been gone. Twenty-five since we last saw one another. But that doesn’t mean we don’t want to learn about the man you’ve become,” Xiao Jingfei said.

“You should not seek to know him,” Lan Qiren said. “He is unworthy of your attentions.” Lan Xichen took a step back in shock when his uncle dropped to his knees. He pressed his forehead to the floor. “I am sorry.”

Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze watched, shocked to silence, as he rose again and left the Mingshi.

“Twenty-five years,” Wei Changze whispered.

Xiao Jingfei nodded mutely. She reached blindly for his hand, but the same devastation remained writ large on her features when she caught it.

“This must have been a tiring experience,” Lan Xichen finally offered. They both turned towards him. “Please, allow me to escort you back to your guest house. I’ll arrange for a meal to be brought, if you wish.”

“What, we haven’t scared you off, too?” Xiao Jingfei demanded, rubbing her forehead. “I’m starting to think we should have just stayed as Ghost-jiejie and Mountain-xiong.”

“For what it’s worth,” Lan Xichen said, his own voice suddenly and embarrassingly watery. “This A-Huan is very glad to once again see his Auntie Xiao and Uncle Wei.”

“You—” Wei Changze began.

Lan Xichen offered a small smile. “You did always laud my excellent memory.”

He should have expected being folded into their embrace. He remembered the strength in Xiao Jingfei’s arms enveloping him nearly from his earliest memories, and the warmth of Uncle Wei’s stomach against his cheek. They hugged the same way, now, albeit at a vastly different angle.

“A-Huan, A-Huan, A-Huan,” Xiao Jingfei laughed. “Ah, or is it Xichen, now? Or Zewu-jun?”

“This unworthy nephew would be glad to be called A-Huan again.” He tilted his chin down and smiled wryly. “In private, at least.”

Xiao Jingfei tugged a lock of his hair, still grinning. The smile slipped away from her face. “Do you know why he’s apologizing to us?”

Lan Xichen had long speculated at the cause of his uncle’s many sorrows, but did not wish to present anything as truth. “I suspect Shufu has unfairly shouldered many burdens. I’m glad you’ve returned and may help alleviate them.”

“Of course we will. Gege’s always in his head about something. I suppose twenty-five years is well enough time to entrench.” Xiao Jingfei nudged his side. “But that will all wait. I want to hear everything about you. Who told you to get as tall as your Uncle Wei, hm? I certainly never gave you permission!”

“Apologies, Auntie Xiao, I shall endeavour to make amends for this egregious error.”

“Ugh, and you’ve gotten your uncle’s sense of humour, too. Unbelievable.”

“I think his delivery is actually quite a bit softer, Xiao-Fei.”

It had been so long that someone had acknowledged Shufu had a sense of humour at all that it temporarily set Lan Xichen off his equilibrium. Wrong-footed, he managed to smile before waving them ahead of him out of the Mingshi and back to their guest house.

Xiao Jingfei looked surprised when Wen Qing sought her out two days after the restoration of her memories. Wen Qing supposed it wasn’t an unusual reaction; for the most part, Wen Qing had made no effort to spend time in her company her during their time together in the Burial Mounds, and hadn’t made much of an effort since their relocation to Cloud Recesses.

Wei Changze, she noted, had continued in his unfailing kindness towards her and her family. Despite, presumably, having quite a bit more on his mind (both literally and figuratively) now that his memories were returned, he still came to see them on a daily basis. He spent time laughing with the uncles, checking up on Popo, gently offering suggestions to her for how they might reestablish a community independent of GusuLan once the matter of the Jin was settled. She enjoyed his company as much as she enjoyed anyone’s save A-Ning.

With the exception of these visits, Wen Qing had tried to be as discreet as possible when moving about Cloud Recesses. Especially when Jiang Cheng had come to visit, though she did not care to examine that inclination too closely. So, yes, she could understand that it was a surprise to Xiao Jingfei to be approached apropos of nothing.

She found the other woman meditating in one of the back pavilions, conspicuously alone. Wen Qing had the feeling Xiao Jingfei was the sort of woman who did well on her own, but thrived when around others. Her opposite, she supposed. The other person who’d ever improved her with their company outside of her family was Wei Wuxian.

Wen Qing knelt down across from her to patiently await.

Xiao Jingfei spoke only a short time later, eyes still closed and her palms resting on her knees. “What do you need, Wen-guniang?”

Wen Qing didn’t bother disassembling. They both knew she wouldn’t have come searching for the other woman’s company if she didn’t need something. “I want to ask some questions about the capabilities of Baoshan Sanren.”

“You wouldn’t be the first.” Xiao Jingfei finally opened her eyes. “But there are oaths I swore when leaving the mountain that may prevent me from providing you the answers you want.”

Wen Qing nodded. Not a surprise. “I can respect a sect’s need to protect their secret techniques,” she allowed. “This has more to do with something with which I’m already acquainted.” Xiao Jingfei nodded for her to continue. “You are aware that Wei Wuxian has no golden core.”

Xiao Jingfei’s lips twisted unhappily. “One of the first things I learned about him.” She sniffed and looked towards the trees. “The knowledge feels quite a bit different now.”

“Do you think that your master might be able to do something to help him?”

“No,” Xiao Jingfei said, without a shadow of a doubt.

“Why not?”

“Shizun has many talents. Restoring a golden core burned out of a person’s body is not among them.” Her gaze grew troubled. “I’d send him to her myself if I thought she would be able to help.”

“It wasn’t burned out,” Wen Qing said. “His meridians are perfectly intact. His lower dantian undamaged.”

Xiao Jingfei frowned. “How? Nothing that damages a core in such a way leaves the system fully intact.”

“I surgically removed it in order to transfer it to another,” she said.

Xiao Jingfei’s face lost all expression. Wen Qing found this lack of emotion far more frightening than any show of anger. She had long learned the trick of managing rage—both justified and unwarranted—while serving at her uncle’s pleasure. This utter blankness from an otherwise expressive woman unsettled her.

“Why?” Xiao Jingfei’s voice, likewise, had been stripped of all emotion. And yet, despite this, Wen Qing had the distinct feeling of being in no little amount of danger.

“He requested it of me, in order to save his… to save Jiang Wanyin. We discovered a document outlining the concept buried in my mother’s medical library, and together with the knowledge that Xiao Xingchen had requested your master perform a similar operation—”

“Wait,” Xiao Jingfei said. Wen Qing paused, trying not to allow the interruption irritate her. “Xiao Xingchen? My shidi, Xingchen, came down the mountain?”

“Years ago,” Wen Qing said with a sharp nod, “Before the war. And then he returned to your master to have her transplant his eyes into the body of his dear friend.” Their friendship had not survived it; she wondered if the knowledge in part had impacted Wei Wuxian’s desire to keep the secret from Jiang Cheng.

It took her a moment to notice that Xiao Jingfei’s knuckles had gone completely white where they gripped her knees.

“My shidi came down the mountain,” she said, very slowly, “And then returned to have his eyes removed by my shizun, an act which inspired my son to have you tear out his golden core and transfer it into the body of the Jiang heir?”

At the time, Jiang Cheng had been zongzhu, but Wen Qing suspected that she would not appreciate the clarification. Instead, Wen Qing merely nodded.

Xiao Jingfei closed her eyes again. A small line appeared between her brows. “If his meridians are completely intact and his spiritual pathways undamaged, then there is a very good chance that Shizun will able to help him rebuild it. It will be a long and very painful pathway, but I suspect that the process of removing it would have been worse.”

Wen Qing refused to feel guilt over the correct assumption.

“Once matters have settled, I will point you in direction to lead you to my master’s mountain. I expect you to accompany him.” She did not phrase it as a request. “And you will explain to my shizun in excruciating detail the process and steps you followed to remove his core in order for her to correctly assess how best to help him.”

The prospect of being allowed to learn at the feet of Baoshan Sanren made Xiao Jingfei’s arch tone significantly more palatable, not to mention the implicit order in the words. “You will not accompany us?”

“No, I will not. I swore an oath not to return.”

Xiao Xingchen had cared enough for Song Zichen to break it. Wen Qing found it disappointing that Xiao Jingfei didn’t have the same depth of feeling where Wei Wuxian was concerned. Nevertheless, they had a means of moving forward. She would re-transcribe the notes Wei Wuxian had insisted she destroy and prepare for however long the journey. Perhaps they might bring A-Ning along. And, doubtless of course, the mountain itself would have to fall upon him to stop Lan Wangji from accompanying them.

“Very well.”

“Good. And thank you for your honesty, Wen-guniang,” Xiao Jingfei said.

Wen Qing nodded, though Xiao Jingfei’s eyes remained shut, and she stood to return to her rooms.

The air at her back seemed colder.

“I am going to find Jiang Fengmian’s memorial tablet and piss on it!”

The walls nearly buckled with the power of Xiao Jingfei’s rage as she stormed into their house.

“What is it?” Wei Changze asked, standing.

“Do you know…” Xiao Jingfei’s shoulders shook. “What…” Her breaths came in small, gasping inhales which seemed to catch in her throat, painfully if the staggered gasping exhales which followed indicated anything. “What he… What they…”

“Xiao-Fei,” Wei Changze said. He grabbed for her hands, but she ripped them clear of his grasp. Wei Changze’s eyes widened and he stepped back, concern escalating into the beginnings of true panic. He’d never seen her like this before. Angry, yes, they both knew of her temper. But not this raw, ragged, rage.

Unable to speak, she shook her head. When he stepped closer again, she permitted it. He wrapped his hands around the back and her neck and he bent over to press their foreheads together.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “Xiao-Fei, please.”

When she did manage to finally force air into her lungs, it stuck in her lungs and her entire body tensed, unable to release it.

“Exhale,” he said. She tried. He could tell from the way her shoulders curled in. He placed his hand against her chest, slowly palpitating his palm in time with his own breathing until she managed the first breath.

The story came out in fits and starts, the torn pieces of a picture that horrified him more and more as it came together. He understood her anger, but all he felt was absolutely sick with gut-rotting grief.

Fengmian, he nearly choked out aloud, What have you done?

He’d gleaned more than enough to understand that Jiang Fengmian had treated his son with exactly enough affection to secure his loyalties while allowing rumours of his parentage and mistreatment by others to persist. He’d shown A-Xian the minimal amount of care his father had always warned him off of showing Wei Changze, and used it to advance the interests of his sect while leaving A-Xian to suffer consequences easily addressed if he’d provided guidance and direction instead of charming indifference. Wei Changze understood all the reasons why (his fault, his fault, his fault) and it sickened him.

Xiao-Fei finished the tale by sharing her agreement with Wen Qing, which nearly froze her breathing all over again. All the rage drained out of her, as did the blood from her face.

“A-Chang,” she whispered. “I can’t tell him where the Mountain is!” Xiao Jingfei tore herself out of Wei Changze’s arms. “It’s forbidden. I swore an oath neither to return or directly reveal its location.” She shook her head wildly. “If my word can be broken by one thing, it could be broken by anything.” She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. “I can’t do it.” She sank to her knees. “The one thing only I might be able to do for him and I can’t do it.”

Wei Changze knelt before her and gently tugged her hands away from her eyes. She refused to look at him. Wei Changze rested his chin atop her head. His front quickly soaked through with her tears, and Wei Changze found himself looking up at the ceiling to try and fight back his own.

“Xiao-Fei,” he murmured. “You don’t have to break your oath.” This crisis he could address.

“But then all I can give him is the riddle Shizun offers to anyone looking for her,” Xiao Jingfei sniffled.

“Yes. But he’s clever.” Wei Changze pulled her back into his embrace. She didn’t fight it; instead, she took the selfish relief it offered both of them. “He’s so clever. He has all your cleverness. If you even hint to him how to find it, he’ll be there badgering your master within a week’s time.”

She coughed out a sad little laugh, a bleak facsimile of cheer, though the tears continued. “He will, won’t he?

“And Shizun is going to love him.”

Jiang Cheng retuned to Cloud Recesses late one night, well past when A-Yuan was in bed, close enough to curfew that he had to demand they allow him to see Lan Xichen as a fellow sect leader on a matter of enormous importance. Apparently they’d only spoken for a few minutes before Lan Xichen had sent disciples out to summon them to join him, curfew be damned.

They all gathered together in Lan Xichen’s sitting room, and Wei Wuxian cast a gaze around the faces. Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng, his parents, Lan Qiren… people who now all called him family.

“Sandu Shengshou has brought troubling news,” Lan Xichen said.

Jiang Cheng gestured with his chin to a pamphlet depicting a hideously ugly, nigh-demonic man with a smattering of writing beneath it. “Those have started appearing in Yunmeng, and one of my disciples came back from visiting her family to say they’ve reached far further.”

Wei Wuxian reached for it at the same time as Wei Changze. They exchanged a smile and Wei Changze withdrew to allow Wei Wuxian to snatch it up.

“‘Beware the Yiling Patriarch,’” Wei Wuxian read aloud. His brow creased, because what the significantly exaggerated fuck. “That’s supposed to be me?”

“Pretty good likeness, actually,” Jiang Cheng said.

Wei Wuxian corked his thigh. Jiang Cheng slapped his shoulder.

Lan Qiren sighed, “Gentlemen, please.”

Right. He continued, “‘Beware, beware, beware. He is known to kidnap children and drink their blood. He seduces the good and turns them to evil. He trucks in poisons. He hunts the vulnerable. He cracks open the bodies of the righteous and feeds their bones to his Ghost General.’ Jiang Cheng, what is this?”

“It’s the beginning of a campaign,” Wei Changze said grimly.

“What campaign?” Lan Xichen repeated.

“To justify the war the Jin wish to bring upon A-Xian.”

EARLIER

Meng Yao found pacing undignified and cursed his feet for their twitching. Pacing suggested a lack of composure indicative of a troubled mind, and he strove not to allow anyone to see he was troubled.

And he was troubled.

Deeply troubled.

Because, unfortunately, it seemed that the entire sect of GusuLan, including Er-ge, had collectively lost complete control of their faculties.

Word had already circulated that they’d taken in the remaining members of the Wen sect and now word had begun to circulate that Wei Wuxian had taken up residence in Cloud Recesses as well! Merchants, only, of course, but Meng Yao had his own people ready and willing to confirm the matter.

What was Er-ge thinking?! Meng Yao had gone out of his way to try and paint an... appropriately coloured picture of Wei Wuxian once he’d defied Jin Guangshan which should have flown in the face of every GusuLan discipline and damned him to remain in the Burial Mounds until Jin Guangshan (via Meng Yao) schemed up some way to seize the Ying Tiger Tally and do away with him for good.

He'd had thoughts about it. Terrible thoughts. Ones that became more appealing every day he spent under his father's command, watching his elder brother parade about, showered in admiration Meng Yao wondered whether he'd truly done anything to earn. Innumerable accolades while Meng Yao, who had struck down Wen Ruohan, found himself treated little better than a servant.

What else would you expect, my sweet little weasel? the memory of Wen-zongzhu whispered in his ear. A warm welcome for the son of a whore? You’ve done what he needed from you. You’ve given him a new bauble to trot out for others to exclaim over. But what else are you good for? A servant can easily do everything you’re doing.

Meng Yao could not argue, not even against his imagination. But what better way to prove his worth than to his father than to present him with the most powerful artifact currently in circulation? He'd wished so long for his father's acknowledgement and admiration. Now that he had even a fraction of it…

An empty victory, as easy as it had been to imagine Wen Ruohan whispering in his ear, he found it far easier to conjure up Nie Mingjue's. You didn't want his love, you wanted his respect. And now you know you'll never have it.

He winced when his hand jerked tight in his hair, nearly hard enough to pull some out.

"Be quiet, Da-ge," he muttered, deliberately lowering his hand to his lap. "He'll respect me once I figure this out."

Damning silence. But then, wasn't that what he wanted?

Late into the night, only slightly further along than he had been, he received a summons to his father's rooms. He took a few deep breaths, reordered his hair and collected his hat, and obeyed.

Still lost in thought, barely further along in his planning than he had been, he turned a corner and was nearly bowled over. A firm hand caught him beneath the elbow and steadied him.

"Thank you, Da-ge," he murmured by rote.

"Oh. Oh!. You're welcome. A-Yao."

Startled, he yanked his arm out of Jin Zixuan's grasp. "Ah, forgive me, Jin-gongzi." Jin Zixuan's expression cooled and he stepped back, swiftly tucking his arm behind his back. "You..." He frowned and cast his gaze around. While, yes, it was not entirely out of the question for Jin Zixuan to be so far from his own rooms, it did seem curiously late. "Forgive me," he repeated, mind already whirling. After all, this corridor was not terribly far from the paths leading to their guest suites.

"Never mind," Jin Zixuan said stiffly. "Good evening."

He stepped around Meng Yao, consciously making an effort not to shoulder him out of the way, and continued onwards.

Meng Yao waited until he'd turned a corner, and then carefully placed his hat upon his head and made his way to his father's rooms.

"First, get rid of that," his father ordered when Jin Guangyao stepped through his door.

The 'that' in question, a young woman not much older than his mother must have been when she'd given birth to Meng Yao, kept her eyes downcast as she pawed at ripped robes to pull them up over bared shoulders littered with bruises. In a subtle defiance, one he would likely be punished for, he waited until she'd managed to put herself in order before bowing to her. She looked at him with haunted eyes; he hated the familiarity of the expression and how often he'd seen it on his mother's face.

"Please, follow me," Jin Guangyao said, trying to keep his voice level.

She followed him out, shoulders heaving but wisely silent. He led her through the servant's corridors, to a little-known exit near the kitchens. He'd made it his business to map all such convenient exits upon arrival; he hadn't wanted, at the time, to consider the wherefores of the habit.

He paused at the door and she slipped past him, arms crossed tight against her breast and shoulders silently shaking. He swallowed down the wrenching feeling of weight lodged in his throat.

"Here," he said, pulling the fine jade yaopei from his belt. He'd purchased it for himself by carving off a not-insignificant amount from the funds he'd been given to appropriately outfit himself as a son of Jin Guangshan. The one small indulgence he'd made for the pure joy of owning something fine. The first luxury he’d ever allowed himself. "Take this and do with it what you will."

She silently took it from his hands, her own shaking violently as her fingers closed around it. Jin Guangyao watched her go until she'd disappeared into the dark alleys beyond and then for a few long minutes afterwards.

He'd imagined, obviously foolishly, that things might be different as a son of Jin Guangshan. Now he knew: he was nothing more than a servant to Jin-zongzhu.

Jin Guangyao made his way back to his father's rooms. Within, Jin Guangshan had set himself to his cups, an empty jar of wine already tipped over on its side.

"May I refill your wine?" he asked.

Jin Guangshan snorted, a half-snore that Jin Guangyao took for agreement, and obligingly topped up his half-empty cup. His father drained it again immediately and impatiently waved it back in Jin Guangyao's direction for another.

"Do you know, Guangyao, when I recognized and legitimized you, it was in hopes that you would prove yourself worthy of the honour?"

Frankly, Jin Guangyao knew it had more to do with wanting the prestige of having a son who had struck the final blow to Wen Ruohan, but as long as his father desired to engage in polite fiction, he felt it behooved his participation. "I hope I have alleviated some of your burdens, Father."

"I thought you had." He slammed his empty cup on the table. "Until I received report that Wei Wuxian had quit the Burial Mounds to live in comfort in Gusu!"

Fuck, Jin Guangyao thought. He plastered his most appeasing, congenial smile upon his face. "Father, reports of the matter have only just came in—"

"And you took it upon yourself to decide that I should not be informed immediately?"

"I only wished to address the matter before it came to your attention and caused you any concern."

"Well then you have failed me on two accounts!"

Jin Guangyao dropped into a deep kowtow, hands folded in front of his head. They made an attractive target upon which for Jin Guangshan to step, a target of which he took advantage when he stood and rounded the table. He ground down his heel and Jin Guangyao bit the inside of his cheek to keep any sound of weakness from escaping.

"When you presented your scheme—" Suggested it, merely, in order to appeal to his father's vanity and want of power. His father had fallen upon it like a hungry beast on a fresh kill. "—It was with the express promise of delivering the Yin Tiger Talisman to me within the year. Only three months and it has already fallen apart."

"I'm sure I can find a way forward," Jin Guangyao said, trying to keep the desperation from his tone. He'd spent so much of his life begging—for himself, on behalf of his mother, to claim even a crumb of respect—he did not wish to keep doing it forever.

"What, with Zewu-jun now championing his cause? You know where he goes, Chifeng-zun will follow. Will you leave us without any viable allies? In this, the days after the greatest war of our age?"

A war in which you did not participate, nor dedicate significant resources. In truth, LanlingJin could take over the world at this point: GusuLan and YunmengJiang completed gutted by the Wen, QingheNie possessed of strong warriors mean in number. The only thing keeping his father's ambitions in check was Wei Wuxian and they both knew it.

"My sworn brothers will see reason when I present them with the case for upholding righteousness," Jin Guangyao said. He wished he could make it a promise.

“And you think they’ll believe you?” Jin Guangshan asked. He laughed, an ugly sound which filled Jin Guangyao’s ears. “You, who killed Chifeng-zun’s men?”

He’d hoped help would come quicker and only wished to forestall Da-ge’s death

“Who failed to keep the prisoners in Qiongqi pass?”

He’d arranged the camps in accordance with the treaties made between the leaders of the remaining Great Sects. Selfish, dishonourable men had ruined what might have been a reasonable solution befitting the righteous victors of a terrible war.

“Who has failed at every enterprise I’ve demanded?”

They were not the enterprises of the Venerated Triad. No matter what Jin Guangshan said, in this, at least, he could not be touched.

“Then allow others to sway them, since you feel my word will be insufficient,” Jin Guangyao said. “We will circulate such rumours as to make even the strongest men tremble and force GusuLan to repudiate this attempted reconciliation. Their elders are too shrewd to allow such association taint their names.”

Jin Guangshan considered it a moment. “Are you not already circulating rumours?”

“Such ventures can be amplified, Father. Allow me the honour of serving you.”

“Well, you’d better.” He stepped past Jin Guangyao’s hands this time instead of upon them. “Because my true son has recently been proving himself a disappointment. Should he continue, I’ll need to believe at least one of my heirs is worthy of inheriting my legacy.”

A legacy built on depravity, violence, and greed.

Then why do you want it? Nie Mingjue’s phantom voice asked.

For the first time in many years, Jin Guangyao had no answer.

Chapter Text

Since assuming his illustrious and rightful position, Yao Bang had always considered himself the People’s Sect Leader.

Oh, doubtless doubtless, their exalted Chief Cultivator led the sects with grace, dignity, honour, and equanimity, all the while exalted in his personage. But Yao Bang wanted to be recognized as grace itself. Therefore it behooved him to spend time with the mediocre and inconsequential people of Pingyang. He needed to ensure they knew that his sect was not like the loftier members of the gentry and instead humble and therefore just as deserving of appropriate levels of awe and respect. The very best way he knew how to do this was by gifting them with his presence. And the best vantage point for this happened to be the largest local teahouse. Always abuzz with activity and, yes, it did him good to lend an ear to the goings on of the ordinary, where the occasional pearl could be plucked from its briny surroundings.

He sent several of his disciples ahead to forewarn the owner of his arrival in order not to overwhelm the man with his presence. He thought he spotted one or two of them nipping between stalls to speak to common vendors, hopefully not to waste their money on cheap trinkets of no use. Whether they did or not, the vendors marked his passing and made a point of calling out to him to wish him good fortune. He generously waved and nodded, all the while making a note to speak with his disciples about the dangers of frivolities. Yao Sect needed to be unimpeachable in its good taste.

The owner of the tea house smiled and scuttled over when Yao Bang entered the main room. The little man, hamsterish in both looks and behaviour, bowed at least twenty times. An acceptable number, though Yao Bang was obliged to wave him off to avoid excessive displays of (appropriate) recognition lest they be here all day. He then offered a flurry of compliments, which Yao Bang magnanimously laughed and waved off (likely far earlier than he might have, had he been a humbler man.)

The owner led Yao Bang to his usual table, the best in the house, though he obviously would have settled for a plain and unremarkable corner. A young man sat at the next table over, holding court over a disparate group of unwashed men. Apparently none of them had marked his entrance. Yao Bang congratulated his own beneficence in not calling them to task for the implied insult. They might not be fit company, but surely they should know well enough to acknowledge their betters.

He patiently waited for them to recognize him. The owner himself brought Yao Bang’s tea and yet the table remained ignorant to the privilege of his company. Whatever they spoke of, it must have been interesting indeed. It would not hurt, he decided, to listen in case the matter pertained to his person. (Or, indeed, provided him with news to share.)

The subject of their conversation appeared to be one of the pamphlets he’d seen about that rascal, Wei Wuxian, sat on the table between them. This, then, would doubtless prove enlightening. Yao Bang loved nothing more than discovering the wickedness of others in order to add his own voice to the chorus of the righteous. And, obviously, avoid pitfalls of a similar nature. He knew himself capable of the greatest forbearance, but evil might succeed in corrupting even the most pious, enlightened and wise minds.

“And then, it is said, the demonic cultivator killed an entire family to repay the insult,” the man finished. “Even the women and children.”

“Despicable!” the general call went up. “Such evils must have been perpetrated by that Yiling Patriarch.”

Yao Bang nodded to himself. He had heard many such stories of the wickedness of Wei Wuxian. Only proper for stories to spread and ensure people were warned of his tricks. How terrible that his dear friend Jiang Fengmian had not seen the snake in his bower. How fortunate he’d died before it became apparent.

“No, my friends. This was the work of Xue Chengmei.” The man’s voice lowered. “I’ve heard that many of his deeds have been ascribed to Wei Wuxian in Xue Chengmei’s own efforts to hide his evil and shift the blame.”

The owner returned to buzz in Yao Bang’s ear. Yao Bang waved him off, trying to listen. When he persisted, Yao Bang violently wagged a finger in the man’s face to chase him away.

Fortunately, he had not missed much; the storyteller had waited a few moments after the resulting din had died away.

“It is well known that Xue Chengmei served Wen Ruohan during the Sunshot Campaign, but disappeared before it ended.” He lowered his voice and Yao Bang shifted over in his seat, tilting his ear closer to the next table. “I hear he has used Wei Wuxian as a scapegoat for all his evils.”

“How can this be?” one man demanded. Yao Bang nodded. Very right, too, for such things to be questioned. Yao Bang had been in Koi Tower when Wei Wuxian had disparaged Jin Zixun, after all. How it had pained him to see his dear friend’s nephew so insulted. Even though, well, if it had to be said, Jin Zixun had been behaving somewhat ungallantly. But such things were to be expected of the young! Not that Yao Bang would ever offer such insult to his allies. But boys would be boys.

“Think about it. You all heard the stories of Xue Chengmei long before the Sunshot Campaign began, correct?. He is well-known as a demonic cultivator. But Wei Wuxian has always been considered a righteous member of YunmengJiang.”

“Oh, that is true,” another man agreed. “Stories of Wei-gongzi’s righteousness reached us even here in Pingyang.”

“Did he not once come to offer training to the Yao Sect archers, once? Such an agreeable young man.”

This, Yao Bang would admit, was true. He’d struck Yao Bang as a good natured, comely young person when he’d visited. And such a favourite of Jiang-xiong! He drank a cup in memory of his old friend. And then another in recognition of Jiang-xiong’s excellent judgement. There seemed no conceivable way that a cultivator of such reported evils had grown to manhood under his old friend’s care. Not even with such a wife.

“But then why would Sandu Shengshou banish him from his sect?” one surprisingly canny labourer asked.

“I hear he only acted due to pressure of the Chief Cultivator.” This last title, the storyteller dropped his words to a veritable whisper. “Thanks so some small disagreement between him and his nephew.”

“You, boy!” Yao Bang finally called. A hush fell over the nearby tables and the gathered listeners all dispersed like bugs in a sudden burst of light. “Come, join me.”

“This unworthy one is far too beneath the dignity of Sect Leader Yao to even begin to aspire to share his table,” the young man said, bowing in his seat with an excellent grasp on deference; his forehead nearly touched the wood grain.

“Your discretion is a mark of excellent manners, even with your inferior breeding,” Yao Bang said shrewdly. The young man flushed with pleasure. “Please, I insist.”

The young man acceded to his request and shuffled over. Yao Bang understood the envy on the part of the rest of his fellows, left behind. He refilled Yao Bang’s cup without prompting.

“You—” Yao Bang squinted at him. “Are familiar to me. What do I call you?”

“I am infinitely undeserving of your attentions, Sect Leader Yao, and have never been notable enough to earn your recognition. Please, address me as you would any servant.”

“Very humble,” Yao Bang said approvingly. “What is this I have heard you say about Xue Chengmei? He is well known, thanks to the efforts of the the Daozhangs Xiao and Song to bring him to justice, but I have not heard much of him since the early days of the Sunshot Campaign.”

“I fear you have heard of him, Sect Leader, but in stories which have been unjustly blamed on Wei Wuxian.”

Yao Bang frowned. “Yes, yes. So you’ve said. And I was there when Wei Wuxian insulted the honour of Jin Zixun. I can see how Jin-xiong would have taken exception to it. However,” He slapped his hand on the table, though only loud enough to emphasize his point, “He then freed the Wen dogs from Jin imprisonment.” He nodded to himself and sat back in his seat. “How would you account for that?”

“I would never seek to argue against the infallibility of Yao Bang’s observations,” his companion hurried to say. “Only. I do wonder.” Yao Bang leaned forward, curious despite himself. “With all the wickedness set at the feet of Wei Wuxian, if true, would he not have acted worse?”

“That.” Yao Bang’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Truly.” He wagged a finger. “I have often wondered as much myself.” Or, he would have, had the running of his sect not kept him from such trivial daydreams. “Especially,” he announced with a thoughtful nod, “With his possession of the Stygian Tiger Seal.”

“Oh, Sect Leader, do you truly not know?” The man leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Wei Wuxian has denounced the Seal and given it up to the leadership of GusuLan for destruction.”

Yao Bang’s eyes narrowed. “How is it that someone of no account knows all this?”

The young man’s eyes widened and he dropped his head, bringing his arms up in front of him in a show of honest deference. “Pardon me, Sect Leader, pardon me. I know nothing at all of importance or merit. I merely repeat stories I have heard in my travels. These were all tales told to me by a merchant recently returned from Caiyi.”

Ah, there. All was now explained. Merchants always provided reliable gossip, especially those who plied their trade in Gusu and could be convinced to sell more than simple wares. Had one of them shared such things with this young man, especially one out of Caiyi where gossip was the hardest to come upon, Yao Bang felt inclined to believe it.

“I am very pleased to hear it.” Yao Bang deliberately stroked his chin. He’d noticed a few of the more respected elders of other sects doing so, and it always leant them a distinguished air. Far, far too young to be considered ‘elder’ himself, he nonetheless felt he shared in their dignity. “Now, surely you are too young to remember the days long before the Sunshot Campaign.” The young man’s lips twisted into a small smile Yao Bang did not quite understand, but he muscled onwards, “But back then, Wen Ruohan and Jin-xiong were exceedingly fond of one another.”

“Oh,” the young man said with surprise. “But, surely Jin-zongzhu is more righteous than any other sect leader,” the young man said, “Excluding yourself, of course. Sect Leader Yao is well known for his goodness.”

“Very canny. I am indeed seen as a standard to which my peers aspire, though I would never say as much myself,” Yao Bang agreed. “One does wonder.” He lowered his voice. “If anyone else remembers that his recently legitimized son was involved with Xue Chengmei in Qinghe.”

The young man gasped. “No. Surely not! Lianfang-zun?”

“Mn. I heard much of it. Perhaps,” he beckoned the young man closer, “There is something to be discovered there.”

“Greater minds than myself would have to uncover any scandal, Sect Leader.” The young man bowed again. “I am unworthy do to more than share stories. I am, again, humbled to have enjoyed even a few moments in your presence.”

Yao Bang nodded and allowed the young man to refill his cup yet again. Once he finished his drink, he stood, honoured the young man with a nod of acknowledgement, and showed himself out of the tea house.

Rumours were such nasty, insidious things. Perfectly capable of casting blame where none was meant to be had. He would have to acquaint Ouyang Cao with everything he’d heard immediately.

Wei Changze rose from his seat and rolled his shoulders back. Lan Qiren watched from around a nearby screen as he unfurled himself from the mawkish persona under which he’d laboured while performing for Sect Leader Yao. He stood taller, and moved with more confidence. More than one person who had been ignoring him shot him admiring looks. Lan Qiren wished to do the same and yet felt he’d lost the privilege.

He dropped his eyes.

Wei Changze rounded the privacy screen and joined Lan Qiren at his table.

“It’s good to know some things never change,” he said. He sat across from Lan Qiren. When he moved to reach for the tea, Lan Qiren waved him off and poured for them both instead. Wei Changze sighed happily over the fragrant steam and added, with a wry smile, “And some people.”

“I feared he had recognized you for a moment.”

“And he might have, had men of his particular inclinations ever bothered to look behind their peers to see the servants standing at their shoulders.”

Once again, Lan Qiren waved him off when Wei Changze went to reach for the tea. Wei Changze’s eyes softened. Lan Qiren realized this had been their habit as well before… before. When Wei Changze still carried with him all the habits and mannerisms of a servant instead of an equal, and Xiao Jingfei and Lan Qiren had tried their best to counter the inclinations through small acts of service.

“I do not like seeing you diminished,” Lan Qiren admitted, swirling the pot a moment before refilling their cups. “That… tone in your voice. It reminds me of those first days after leaving the service of Jiang Fengmian.”

“I can see how the reminder would have been objectionable,” Wei Changze said. His tone should have been bitter but merely came across as terribly sad.

“A-Chang, please.”

The words came out before he could bite them back. Had he not sacrificed the right to use such endearments? Lan Qiren looked away, silently seething at being unable to express himself properly. Years, he had managed decent articulation in front of hundreds of students. And now he stumbled when it came to speaking to a man he had loved? Still loved? Would never stop loving even when the remnants of his heart stopped thrumming out its sad, broken beat.

He had been trying to find ways to articulate his failings since finding them both alive again in the Burial Mounds. A boon offered by the immortals, but certainly not on his behalf. How ridiculous a man he was, in apologizing for things they could not possibly know or appreciate, and him too cowardly to expand upon them. No. They deserved his honesty.

“I fell in love with you in those moments. Not because of your deference, but because you allowed me to truly see it as a veneer.”

“Hence the memory you shared.”

“I wanted you to have a glimpse of what we had without burdening you with the expectations of anything more.”

“Qiren,” Wei Changze said. He put his cup down and took Lan Qiren’s hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

Lan Qiren’s head shot up. “You have nothing—”

“We do. We left you. We should have fought for you and I’m sorry we didn’t understand that.”

“I sent you away.”

“And we listened. We shouldn’t have. You deserve people who will fight for you.”

Lan Qiren shook his head violently. “You, you and Xiao-Fei, had so much of my heart that there was barely any left of it when we parted, and any that remained withered upon news of your death. I forgot—I let myself forget—all you had taught me about balancing discipline with empathy. And I,” his face twisted beyond his control “I took it all out on your son. Because he should have been our son, A-Chang. Had I one single inkling he’d lived, I would have gone to find him. I would have fought the entire world to bring him home. But it feels as though I blinked my way out of my grief and suddenly this last piece of you and Xiao-Fei stood in front of me again, now twisted by Jiang Fengmian into someone I did not recognize and I could not countenance it on top of all my many failures. I treated him poorly and I know that I am at least somewhat responsible for the state you found him in.

“No, A-Chang. You have nothing to apologize for. It is I who needs to make amends.” Lan Qiren shook his head. “And I do not know if I can.”

Wei Changze looked at him with wet eyes. “Don’t say that,” he whispered.

“‘Do not tell lies,’” Lan Qiren recited.

Wei Changze rose onto his knees and shuffled around the table. Lan Qiren remained still right up until Wei Changze took his hands. He considered pulling them away, as he had the very first time Wei Changze had ever reached for him, but knowing how much that hurt him, and knowing how much he’d hurt him all over again now, he could not.

“This is a conversation we should have together. But I promise you that whatever you’ve forgotten, whatever you’ve lost, Xiao-Fei and I will return it to you,” Wei Changze promised.

Lan Qiren curved around their joined hands and Wei Changze obligingly squeezed them tighter.

Earlier

“The question becomes where it’s Jin Guangshan or one of his people circulating the rumours,” Uncle Wei said, studying the pamphlet.

Lan Xichen breathed in slowly through his nose. “My sworn brother,” he offered on the exhale, “Is clever. And has only just been installed as a legitimate son of Jin Guangshan. I can see him being pressed to the task.”

“I see,” Wei Changze said.

Across from him, Wangji looked suitably sympathetic. Yet why should he? The man he lov— The person he valued most in the world had proved a maligned party in all this, forced into an impossible situation by circumstance. Lan Xichen worried this would not be the case for him, Da-ge, and A-Yao.

“He’s based quite a bit of his strategy on rumour,” Wei Changze said. He began setting stones on a weiqi board. Lan Qiren watched the arrangement with interest as Xiao Jingfei cleaned her sword. “He’s made it salacious enough that people will seek out more, but horrifying enough to repulse them away from looking into anything further. A-Xian has been made out to be the worst villain of his generation.”

“I’m surprised no one’s accused me of eating babies,” Wei Ying whined at Wangji’s shoulder.

Jiang Wanyin shifted uncomfortably.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened. “What, really?!”

“That one didn’t last very long,” Jiang Wanyin offered with an apologetic downturn of his mouth.

“It gives me some hope that there are apparently some things too wicked to be believed,” Lan Qiren said. He kept his eyes on the game board as Wei Changze continued placing both black and white pieces, carefully setting up a problem.

“Yes, he has to make it believable if he wants to succeed,” Wei Changze agreed absently.

He placed a few more stones, content to play against himself. Lan Xichen quickly lost track of his strategy—his weiqi skills were everything expected from a proper young master, but this surpassed his talent at the game—yet it seemed that black would easily emerge victorious. It made his despair over the situation, Wei Changze’s visual metaphor competently capturing the helplessness of the situation.

“How does one fight rumour?” Wangji asked.

“The same way you fight any opponent,” Wei Changze told him. He played three more pieces and suddenly a pattern emerged, the white pieces surrounded by a careful arrangement of black, which now neatly captured a wide swath of space. “Carefully.” He looked at Shufu. “Is Yao Bang still the sect leader of PingyangYao?”

“To our lasting surprise,” Lan Qiren muttered. “Why?”

“I’ll need to go to Pingyang, then.”

“You want to see Sect Leader Yao?” Wei Wuxian asked, his mouth twisted with the same scepticism of his tone.

“Not particularly but in this case there are no better options,” Wei Changze said. “Unless he’s significantly changed in particulars, Sect Leader Yao is the most pernicious rumour-monger in the known world.”

No one argued.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t take you, A-Chang,” Xiao Jingfei said. She nodded towards Wei Ying. “A-Xian and I have an errand to run that’s long overdue.”

“We do?” Wei Wuxian asked. Xiao Jingfei nodded but did not elaborate.

Wei Changze, on the other hand, seemed to understand. He swallowed and then asked in a small voice unbefitting of a man his stature, “Qiren, will you take me?”

Shufu looked at him with quiet reservation, but agreed, “I will,” he said.

“Good.” Wei Changze then turned to Lan Xichen. “Your sworn brother, do you believe him to be a good man?”

Lan Xichen gave the question deepest consideration. Had Mingjue not asked him the same thing? (Albeit far more abruptly.) Until he’d seen for himself the way the Wen remnants had been living, he would have given an unequivocable yes.

“A-Huan.” Lan Xichen reluctantly raised his eyes, feeling significantly younger than he had any right to feel. Wei Changze looked back, steady as the mountain by which he’d been called. “Bastard sons do not always have the luxury of refusing the demands of their fathers.”

“Thank you, Uncle Wei.” Lan Xichen nodded. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “I believe that A-Yao can be a good man.”

“All right. I’ll remember. Because after this, the next move will be his.”

Chapter Text

“Daozhang, may we sit with you?”

Xiao Xingchen tilted his head, trying to emulate body language which indicated thought as opposed to betraying everything he already knew about the two persons who had requested an audience. One taller and wreathed in the sulfuric scent of resentful energy, the other significantly shorter and the spokesperson for the pair. On guard, but unwilling to be discourteous, Xiao Xingchen nodded and waited for them to take their places. Should they look to cause trouble, he would not be polite.

“I’ve heard a number of stories about Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze Xiao Xingchen—great name, by the way, I’d love to hear all about how you came by it—” Something about the tone struck a familiar chord, Xiao Xingchen thought, though he had no context for it. Relearning his world by touch and sound alone was still a challenge he had yet to overcome. The speaker was a woman, he decided, despite the deep rasp of her voice. “But I have yet to hear the story of how you lost your sight.”

“It is one I share but rarely,” Xiao Xingchen said. He shifted his hand to the left until it touched his tea cup. He picked it up and took a shallow swallow. When he set it down again, the second person refilled it without a word. He smiled in acknowledgment. “I am afraid that the telling will not live up to the ideas upon which you’ve hung your expectations.”

A small snort, quickly hidden. It nearly made his breath catch with memory. He repressed it quickly; this was no place for nostalgia.

“By all means, Daozhang, surprise me.”

He obliged, curious as to where the complementary curiosity stemmed. He omitted certain details, of course. He was already widely known as a disciple of Baoshan Sanren and if they were here to discover the means to reach his master’s mountain, they would leave confounded save for the riddle he could offer. Such knowledge could not be made readily available. Having already broken one oath to shizun, he only hoped to make some sorry amends by keeping the other.

Halfway through the story, the woman began impatiently tapping her fingers on her knee, a growing collection of tension until she exploded out with, “And your best idea was to give him your eyes instead of, I don’t know, one and allowing you both to have limited vision?”

Xiao Xingchen smiled as politely as he could, which Zichen had always found very amusing for reasons he could not, or refused to, articulate. “Why should I doom both of us to be lessened, when my friend—” He barely stumbled on the word, and felt very proud, “—Might be whole?”

A moment of silence followed, and then the woman huffed out a sound something between a sob, a laugh, and a snarl, “Fucking unbelievable. I cannot believe you are still like this! How did Shizun ever allow you off the mountain?!”

Xiao Xingchen frowned. “I beg your pardon,” he said slowly, “But… Who are you?”

“It’s Jingfei, Shidi.”

His frown would have turned to a scowl, had the pull on the scarred tissue around his eyes allowed it. “I do not appreciate such deception,” he said primly. “And I will not allow any such sport to be made of my shijie’s memory.” He stood, but did not bow. “Good day.”

He’d only turned from the table before the woman said, “One hundred and fifty-seven.”

He froze.

Wei Wuxian watched as Xiao Xingchen slowly turned back, his face beneath the covering contorted in disbelief and pain. “Shijie?”

“Oh, Shidi.” Xiao Jingfei stood and crossed to him. She smoothed down the front of his robes and then stroked the side of his head. “Who told you to grow up, hmm?”

Xiao Xingchen let loose a small gasp and folded down to the ground. Xiao Jingfei caught him at the last moment, keeping him from completely toppling over and enfolding him in a loose embrace.

Wei Wuxian’s heart thrummed out a quick double beat. Xiao Jingfei did give great hugs.

“What’s one hundred and fifty-seven?” he asked after a few moments.

“The number of disciples on our master’s mountain,” Xiao Jingfei replied. “Minus one.”

“When I was very young, Shijie told me there were one hundred and fifty-eight disciples, and told me to go and count them all,” Xiao Xingchen whispered, voice heavy with unshed tears. “I did so five times. And each time I only counted one hundred and fifty-seven.”

“He came to me in tears, sure he’d lost one of our martial siblings.” Xiao Jingfei stroked the side of his head. “Silly Shidi forgot to count himself.”

“No one else knows that story,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I did not even tell Zichen. But, Shijie, how are you alive?”

“It’s a very short story,” Xiao Jingfei laughed. “And nevermind it. When I discovered you had come down the mountain, I knew I needed to come find you.” Xiao Jingfei’s hand strayed across his face covering. “It’s good to know Shizun allows us back onto the mountain when we need her help to mutilate ourselves.”

He grabbed her hand. “It was my choice, Shijie. Shizun argued against it for many hours before allowing herself to be swayed.”

Xiao Jingfei grumbled wordlessly. “We’ll talk about this more later. Don’t think we won’t.”

Xiao Xingchen managed a shaky smile.

“Then this must be Wei Wuxian,” he said, gesturing across the table. “I am glad you’ve reunited. I heard troubling rumours and thought I might have to come seek you out to provide help and preserve Shijie’s last legacy.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach swooped. He hadn’t thought (besides Lan Zhan) legitimately thought about coming to help him instead of eliminate him. He hoped he would have been in a state to accept it.

Xiao Xingchen decided to return to Cloud Recesses with Xiao Jingfei and A-Xian.

“I had often wished to visit,” Xingchen admitted as they traversed the steep pathway up. “I understand the library is very fine, and the scenery lovely.”

A-Xian looked wide-eyed and stricken his way, but Xiao Jingfei laughed. “He’s teasing you, A-Xian,” she said.

Xingchen’s lip curled. “As you say.”

Every so often, she glanced at him sidelong, cataloguing all the small differences between the man he’d become and the child she’d left behind. Whenever she caught herself doing it, she looked towards A-Xian flanking her other side, as though reflexively needing to do the same thing.

She hadn’t meant to leave a string of abandoned children in her wake.

The thought, unexpected and vicious, forced her to turn her head and bite down hard on her lip hard enough to bleed. Whatever comment she might have had for their conversation died away and she spent the next few hours in guilty silence. It dogged her thoughts, twisting them up and souring everything. She didn’t know if A-Xian noticed. He’d caught Xingchen up in a discussion about poetry, a topic in which both of them seemed curiously invested, and one that offered her few chances to interject, leaving her with the slow curdling in her stomach.

They reached Caiyi and gave up their hired horses to the hackneyman in order to walk up the path to Cloud Recesses.

They’d barely made it past the entry—A-Xian looked surprised that the entry token A-Huan had pressed into his hands before their leavetaking worked—when the man himself came to greet them.

“Your pardon, Zewu-jun, but having located my shidi, I couldn’t very well leave him behind.”

She kept her tone light and playful, but she felt the strain around her eyes.

“The reputation of the Bright Moon and Gentle Breeze of course precedes him,” Lan Xichen said. “By all means, you are welcome to Cloud Recesses.”

“Thanking Zewu-jun. It has been many long years since Shijie and I have had the opportunity to speak. Your consideration is deeply appreciated.” Xingchen bowed deeply.

“Are Gege and A-Chang back from their ‘errand’ yet?” Xiao Jingfei asked.

“No, but we expect them this evening, or latest tomorrow morning,” Xichen said.

A-Xian disappeared to go in search of Lan Wangji, allowing Xichen to escort her and Xingchen to the small house he’d set aside for Xingchen’s use.

“Thank you, A-Huan,” she said.

He smiled warmly. “Would you prefer your evening meal served here, Auntie Xiao?”

She nodded and he left them to make the arrangements.

“You were very quiet on the road, Shijie,” Xingchen said as he carefully moved from one side of the room to the other, slowly checking for furniture or obstacles in his path and getting the lay of the land. One or two things he nudged into new positions to keep his path clear.

“Well,” she said. She crossed her arms and leaned against a nearby wooden beam. “You and A-Xian seemed to get on well enough without my commentary.”

“He’s a good boy,” Xingchen said. He returned to the table in the middle of the room and took a seat at it. “But I suspect you’d have been more forthcoming if there wasn’t something bothering you.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“To me. I might not currently be the most observant man, but I certainly know you well enough to make up for any shortfalls in the area.”

She chuckled and reluctantly joined him at the table. He did her the very great favour of waiting for her to speak, but then he’d always been good at drawing out words she didn’t care to speak to anyone else.

“You were fourteen when I left the mountain.” He nodded. “Old enough to take care of yourself.”

“An art you often told me I needed to refine.”

“Well, and look how right I was!” she said, waving a hand in the air between them in the general direction of his face. His smile faded into a piqued moue of annoyance and she sighed. “Sorry.”

“I know seeing me like this must be hard for you,” he said. “And, more than likely, is compounded by seeing my shizhi as a grown man.”

Xiao Jingfei buried her face in her hands, tempted to scream into her palms. She muscled down the urge. What good would screaming do? Xingchen, brilliant as he’d always been, waited in patient silence until she felt ready to raise her head again.

“You did not fail me, Shijie,” he said. Xiao Jingfei coughed out a wet sob that she struggled to turn into a laugh, which fooled exactly neither of them. “Even—Shijie, hush—even if you had not spent the last twenty years lost to the world, we would not necessarily have travelled together. Indeed, my decision to leave Shizun’s mountain was only partly informed by my desire to see you again. I still would have sought out Zichen. I still would have loved him enough to give him my eyes after they’d been stolen from him. Though…” He pressed his lips together. “Though now that you’re here, perhaps you can do me the great honour of performing the valuable service for which I would have come to seek you out in the aftermath of it.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Shijie,” he whispered. Blood began trailing down his cheeks, small rivers that caught on the edge of his bandage and clung for a moment before the weight of them broke free of the fabric. “My eyes.”

Xiao Jingfei jumped up and rounded the table to drag him into her arms. She clung tightly as he sobbed out his grief. Of course he wouldn’t have allowed himself to feel the loss before now. For Song Zichen he would have had to be brave. For Shizun, fearless. And who else in this entire world would have given him the chance to grieve properly?

“Oh, Shidi,” she murmured once the crying had dwindled down. Her sleeves were a mess of blood and snot, and she had to twist her forearm around to find a clean place with which to dash away her own tears.

“I thought it would fix things,” he said, voice hoarse. “But he still hated me after the deed was done.”

“I cannot think anyone of good sense could ever hate my perfect xiao-shidi,” she said.

Xingchen sniffed miserably. “I’ve lost him forever.”

Xiao Jingfei stroked her thumb across his temple in a nonsense rhythm. Once he’d calmed, she kissed his forehead and went to collect some water from the house’s small kitchen. With painstaking care, she gently unwound the bandages from his eyes and put them aside to launder later.

“Even if he hates you,” she said, brushing the cloth across his cheeks to clear away the tacky blood from around the cavernous wounds beneath his eyebrows. Shizun had obviously kept the surgery as neat as possible, but there were only so many tools which could be used to such an end, and they all demanded their own terrible price. “Which would make him very stupid—” Xingchen laughed wetly, a sound so eerily similar to the same one she’d made only moments before that she thought her heart might burst, “—You will always have a home with me.”

Once she’d finished, she retrieved a fresh length from his bags and redressed it. Cloud Recesses had some renown as great healers; she hoped someone might be able to help heal the still-gaping wounds. Or, at least, keep them from reopening whenever he cried.

She tucked him into bed not long after, the travel and confession exhausting him past the point of bearing. When the servant arrived with their meals, she set a simple warming charm to them and left them on the table for him to find when he woke.

With Gege and A-Chang still gone, she wandered the paths of Cloud Recesses. They’d been familiar to her, once. A long time ago, even without considering the time she’d spent tucked away. Her feet led her to one of the smaller back waterfalls, a bare trickle compared to the greater falls and deep splash pool. A thin stream of water that had managed to wind its way through rock and forest towards a small creek half-choked with decaying wood. She walked along the creekbed until she found the two flat stones upon which she and Lan Qiren used to perch while meditating side by side. Moss had all but consumed them, now. She knelt down next to the one she still privately thought of as her own and scraped away the growth. After a moment’s thought, she did the same with Lan Qiren’s, for nostalgia’s sake, and then settled herself upon it.

Her mind couldn’t calm enough to truly meditate, but the peace and silence did give her an opportunity to reflect. Nothing she might have done would have changed Xingchen’s mind, she silently repeated to herself. And she knew A-Xian to be a noble, righteous man who felt things very deeply. Perhaps, even if Jiang Fengmian hadn’t raised him with a deep sense of obligation, his brilliant mind and willingness to give himself to those he loved might have brought him to the same destination, just along a different path.

Arrogant, stupid girl, her Shizun would have said. Do you need to add to your own burdens by shouldering those carried by the others around you?

Night had long since fallen by the time she stirred. She made her way back to Lan Qiren’s house and slipped into the darkness within. She trailed her fingers across the fine decorations he’d placed in conspicuous spots, likely to make the place seem respectable rather than barren, but stopped at the entrance to his bedroom.

She slipped out of her robes and let them drop to the floor and headed to his bed to tuck herself under the covers. She pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and pressed her face into it to catch his scent. Breathing in the smell of him, she allowed the familiarity to ease her into sleep.

Ghost-jiejie sought him out early the next morning.

“It’s too early,” Wei Wuxian whined to Lan Zhan, who knelt next to their bed and nudged Wei Wuxian to rise up out of it. “Lan Zhan! Go tell her it’s too early!”

“I have tried,” Lan Zhan said.

Wei Wuxian heaved out a huge, beleaguered breath but reluctantly rose. Lan Zhan had very helpfully already laid out some clothes for him and graciously did not scold Wei Wuxian for keeping the white underrobe he’d stolen the day before.

In the main room, A-Yuan stood in front of Ghost-jiejie, the two of them locked in an intense staring contest. A-Yuan, hands on hips and a stubborn jut to his chin which Wei Wuxian found oddly familiar, looked closer to winning.

“Xiang-gege,” A-Yuan said once Wei Wuxian stepped into the room. “Tell Ghost-jiejie that I will win.”

A-Yuan leaned closer and Ghost-jiejie blew on his face.

“That’s cheating!” A-Yuan howled, tantrum imminent, especially when Xiao Jingfei looked seconds away from laughing. Wei Wuxian swept in and grabbed A-Yuan up in a tight embrace, gently finding all his ticklish spots until the child was a giggling mess in his arms.

“Ghost-jiejie is indeed a terrible cheater,” he said as A-Yuan heaved out a last hiccupping lungful of laughter. “I’ll go and talk to her about it right now.”

A-Yuan nodded, but kept smiling which was all Wei Wuxian could really hope for. He turned and threw him in Lan Zhan’s direction. Lan Zhan, possessed of fortunately excellent reflexes, caught him without any apparent effort. He pinned Wei Wuxian with a vaguely unimpressed look, completely undercut by how his eyes softened.

“You’re good with him,” Xiao Jingfei said after they’d stepped outside. She took the lead, strolling in the direction of the back hills.

“I like kids,” Wei Wuxian said. He scratched the side of his nose and laughed. “Especially that one.”

“And his parents?”

“Well, it’s starting to look like Lan Zhan and I,” he said. His grin broadened at the very thought of it. Popo hadn’t explicitly said anything about it, but he’d come to recognize the thoughtful, pleased look on her face whenever he took A-Yuan off her hands had slowly begun extending to Lan Zhan as well. Well, and Mountain-xiong, but Wei Wuxian figured he had the prior claim.

She waited until they’d crossed the treeline before asking, “And you’re happy with that?”

“Yes.” No provisos, no modifiers, no question. But the fact that she’d asked at all made his stomach twist uncomfortably. Hadn’t she told him that she hadn’t really been prepared to be a mother?

“Good.”

She led him through the woods, down an ill-used path to a small waterfall where two rocks had been scraped clean. She gestured him to one and she sat on the other. Someone, it wasn’t hard to guess who, had carved the character for ‘Dawn’ into the surface beneath his left knee.

“I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me,” she said.

Instantly on guard, Wei Wuxian shifted around on the rock. “If I can,” he said. She didn’t look thrilled at the response, but she must have decided to muscle through it anyhow.

“Would you have given your core to Jiang Fengmian?”

Wei Wuxian blinked. “No?” Of all the questions he’d been afraid she might ask, this one seemed born out of the very air.

Xiao Jingfei’s shoulders relaxed, betraying the tension he hadn’t realized was there.

“What about Yu Ziyuan?”

“No. What is this about, Jiejie?” he asked.

Xiao Jingfei cast her gaze towards the waterfall. He wondered if looking away from him made it easier for her to ask whatever was clearly on her mind.

“Gege’s always told me that, among my very many character flaws, my arrogance is the worst,” she said after several long minutes. Wei Wuxian felt torn between outrage on her behalf and the lingering horror of hearing her refer to Lan Qiren in such a way. “Yesterday, Shidi inadvertently reminded me of the fact.”

It would have had to be inadvertently, Wei Wuxian thought. He’d very quickly gotten the impression that Xiao Xingchen worshiped Xiao Jingfei with the single-minded admiration born of hero worship. Wei Wuxian had probably felt the same way about her when he’d been a kid.

(Being honest with himself, the longer he spent with her, he’d started to understand it a bit better all over again.)

“He told me that there’s nothing I could have done to stop him from giving his eyes to Song Zichen,” she said. “It follows, to me, if we hadn’t disappeared, and we’d raised you…” She stared harder at the waterfall, practically leaning towards it with the intensity of her attention.

Wei Wuxian considered the words, his fingers idly tracing the character carved into the stone. He supposed it wasn’t hard to guess where her thoughts were taking her.

“I wouldn’t have given my core to Jiang-shushu or Madam Yu,” he said, as firmly as he felt capable of managing. There was a lump in his throat as he said it, guilt bundled with horror at the idea. “I think, if Shijie had needed it, I would have. Or Lan Zhan. But not. Not anyone else.” He glanced up at her, afraid that she’d take it as an insult. He knew some other people would have. She just nodded, even more tension bleeding from her shoulders.

“You obviously love them all very much,” she said. She smiled; it looked sincere. “And Jiang Wanyin. I’m glad.”

Jiang Cheng worried about it too, Wei Wuxian knew. He’d seen it in his brother’s eyes when the truth had come out. That Wei Wuxian had only done it out of obligation and the sense of debt. And while that might have been part of it, initially, the procedure wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t desperately wanted it to succeed.

He said as much to Xiao Jingfei. “Wen Qing told me it wouldn’t work if I had the slightest doubts. And I didn’t. Jiang Cheng was dying. But if it had been Jiang-shushu, I don’t think I could have convinced myself it was truly what I wanted.” He hesitantly reached out and touched her knee. She looked at his hand in surprise. “You being there wouldn’t have changed my mind.”

Xiao Jingfei looked up at him. “I’m very proud of the man you’ve grown to be, A-Xian,” she told him. The words still punched the air right out of his lungs and settled something inside him he’d probably been missing for a long time. “Even though I don’t really have the right to say it.”

Maybe not, but it still felt nice to hear.

“I think… I think I’ve always been better as a sister than a mother,” she finally admitted. She shrugged and grinned, the same expression he had felt cross his face a thousand times in his life when he’d been trying to brush off discomfort with humour. “Maybe, if you’ll let me, I’ll make a decent grandmother?”

He obligingly laughed. “A-Yuan deserves a big family.”

“So do you,” she told him.

They shared a smile and then settled to watch the waterfall.

Chapter Text

They returned to Cloud Recesses late in the afternoon.

“It will take a week at least to see how effective Yao Bang is at spreading rumours,” Wei Changze said. He smiled, an expression full of irony. “These ones, at least. We should take the time to prepare for whatever retaliation will follow.”

“You believe there will be escalation?” Lan Qiren asked.

“I’ve no doubt about it.”

Before he could elaborate, however, a happy cry caught their attention from down the path. A-Yuan, dressed in Lan robes less a forehead ribbon, came charging down the path towards them. Wei Changze grinned ear-to-ear and knelt down to catch him up in a fierce embrace.

“I missed you, Mountain-gege,” A-Yuan said into Wei Changze’s neck.

“I missed you too. But you must remember that while you’re here, you need to do your best to follow the rules.”

A-Yuan sighed, but nodded. “No running. No shouting. No. Um. No talking during meals. No… No…” He frowned. “Too many ‘nos,’ Mountain-gege.”

"I know it seems like a lot," Wei Changze assured him. From around a nearby corner naturally created by trees, Wei Wuxian and Wangji appeared, significantly less distressed once they spotted A-Yuan in Wei Changze's arms. "But you're very clever. I know you'll have all the important ones memorized very quickly."

Before Lan Qiren could ask what constituted 'important' where the GusuLan disciplines were concerned, Wei Wuxian swept in to collect A-Yuan.

"Welcome back, Mountain-xiong, Shufu," he greeted.

"I trust your trip was fruitful," Wangji added.

"It was one of the less objectionable of my visits to Pingyang," Lan Qiren said. "And here?"

Wangji glanced to Wei Wuxian, which Lan Qiren found wholly unsurprising. "Quiet," he said, which was.

"I suspect we will be calling a meeting in the near future to discuss next steps," Lan Qiren said.

"We will be attentive."

A burst of giggles drew their attention as Wei Wuxian dipped A-Yuan close to the ground. "Ugh, Lan Zhan! This radish is far too heavy!" He feigned a stagger. "I need your help immediately!"

"Pardon me, Shufu. My assistance in this urgent matter is required."

Lan Qiren's lips twitched as Wangji moved to Wei Wuxian's side. He turned back to Wei Changze, only to find a warm smile awaiting him.

"I'm glad to see you happy," Wei Changze said.

"Yes. Well." Lan Qiren coughed. "We should go in search of your wife. I'm sure she's managed to perpetrate some terrible mischief in our absence."

Wei Changze obligingly waved Lan Qiren onwards.

Xiao Jingfei was not in the rooms allocated to her and Wei Changze. Nor in the training grounds. For a terrible moment, Lan Qiren worried she might be in the kitchens, but they proved empty as well.

A fool, perhaps a significant one judging from Wei Changze's kind eyes, Lan Qiren did not think to look to his own home until they'd exhausted the other obvious avenues. Xiao Jingfei waited within with the meagre number of possessions she and Wei Changze had brought with them out of the Burial Mounds.

"We're moving in," she stated.

Lan Qiren stared at her. And, then, quite beyond his control, heaved out a laugh of utter disbelief. Xiao Jingfei grinned at him. As the laughter overtook him, Wei Changze grabbed his shoulder and held on as Lan Qiren began to shake off the many years of solitude which had followed their absence from his life.

"Of course you are," he finally managed to gasp.

Xiao Jingfei inclined her sharp chin in a quick nod.

Once they had brushed off the dust from the road, she seated herself behind Lan Qiren, brushing out his hair. She hesitated to touch his ribbon, which he found wholly uncharacteristic. He would not have put it past her to lay claim to him through its manipulation. He waited for it with every gentle tug of the comb through his hair. At the same time, he felt nearly naked without his guan, hair falling loose around his shoulders to his back. He did not care to think on how… appealing he found the thought.

(It had been many, many long years.)

"Gege, I've come to realize something," she said

"Dare I ask?"

"I think A-Chang and I both know that our…" She paused. "Absence," she finally decided, "Has been the source of much grief."

He wanted to nod, but her hard little hands in his hair prevented it. For the best, he supposed. They all knew the truth of it.

"But if we'd been here, it doesn't mean we would have changed all that much. My xiao-shidi would still have sacrificed his eyes. A-Xian might have found someone else he loved enough to sacrifice his golden core. Your sister-in-law and Qingheng-jun… well. The only thing that I think we would really have changed—" At this, she swung around and settled herself across his knees. Her hands drifted along with her easy grace, coming to rest on his cheeks. "—Is you."

"Arrogant," he murmured, helpless to articulate the emotions running ramshod through him.

"Always," she agreed. She leaned in and finally kissed his forehead ribbon, sending a violent shudder from the base of his spine to every limb attached. His hands flew up to rest upon her hips, fingers tight on her body. "We should have come to you the moment we received your letter. We should have defied the Lan elders and been here with you. We should…" Her voice broke and she hid her expression by pressing her chin against his forehead. "We should have made ourselves your home."

Lan Qiren shifted his head forward, dragging it down her chin until he came to rest his forehead against her breastbone. He tilted his gaze to look towards Wei Changze, who appeared just as cracked open as Xiao Jingfei sounded.

"You have always been my home," Lan Qiren said.

He sat with his head tucked beneath her chin, their breathing coming in synchronized breaths for several long moments until Wei Changze joined them. He pressed himself up against Lan Qiren's back to bracket him between them.

"I don't know what you want with this foolish old man," Lan Qiren admitted.

"The same thing we always wanted with our foolish young man," Wei Changze said.

"To share our lives with you," Xiao Jingfei finished, refusing to leave any room for doubt.

He did not deserve this. He knew it in his bones. He'd said as much to Wei Changze. But he wanted to deserve it. He wished for them to wrap them up in their warmth and remind him what it meant to be a true human once more, instead of the shell he'd allowed the elders to make of him.

"Please," he finally whispered.

Xiao Jingfei's hands, still on his cheeks, now nudged his face upwards. She met his eyes once his raised his head and allowed them both a moment to gaze at one another. Then, without preamble or whisper of intent, she kissed him with all the intensity and purpose they'd both been waiting for since they'd last parted.

He became achingly aware of the feel of her body against his, of Wei Changze pressed to his back, sense memories long forgotten to him flooding back in a wave of nostalgia and longing he'd thought he'd lost long ago. He'd wished to recall the shape and taste of her mouth, and the feeling of Wei Changze’s hands on his hips.

“You know,” Wei Changze whispered in his ear, “More than once, I had to help Xiao-Fei remain quiet while sharing close quarters with the others in the Burial Mounds.”

“Oh?” Lan Qiren asked, faint. He quickly coughed away the embarrassing strain in his voice. “I suppose it would be out of character for you to show any self-restraint, even in such an instance.”

Xiao Jingfei laughed. She pulled back and quickly presenting a silencing talisman to cast its net around the house.

“Shall we test your self-restraint now, Gege?” she asked with a broad grin.

Lan Qiren leaned forward to press a kiss into her mouth.

Early the following morning, Lan Qiren went in search of Xichen. Well. He went in search of Lan-zongzhu to advise him of the unexpected change to his circumstances as well as, he supposed certain context to them. Together, they’d determined that the only way for him and Xiao Jingfei to marry had to be in secret to avoid the repercussions which would be inevitably meted out by his sect. With so many changes to the council of elders, and knowing they had Xichen’s approval, he hoped the time had finally come where he no longer had to deny her.

His nephew was already hard at work, frowning over some report or another. He looked up with a smile, to all appearances relieved to be distracted from them.

“I have come to let my sect leader know of a change to my circumstances,” Lan Qiren said, bowing lower than familial relationships warranted. He wanted his nephew to understand he was serious. He wished for his sect leader to understand that he would not be denied this chance of happiness again.

“I am glad to hear it,” Xichen said, with all apparently sincerity. “I assure you, there will be no opposition.”

Lan Qiren opened his mouth to argue, but paused. There… there wouldn’t be. Not now with Lan Shuping removed to secluded meditation. He frowned over it. He’d assumed that it had been mere circumstance, but he wasn’t the only elder who had originally been present to enforce their will upon Lan Qiren’s family. A number had died during the Sunshot Campaign, when the Wen had burned Cloud Recesses. They’d found at least four bodies barricaded inside their own homes, practically ash. But afterwards it seemed that one at a time they had recused themselves from their lofty positions. Lan Qiren had given it little thought at the time. Oversight on his part, apparently: it had not occurred to him until now such movement had been by design.

“Xichen?”

“I had long wondered why my Auntie Xiao and Uncle Wei stopped visiting after Wangji’s birth.”

Lan Qiren’s blood ran cold. “My nephew—” He stopped, unsure how to continue. He had not realized Xichen remembered Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze.

“I know that you are too honest to have concocted some small fiction regarding your parting, and therefore we never spoke of them, did we?”

No. Xichen had asked a number of times and Lan Qiren, his grief too close to the surface, had refused to answer. Another small shame to add to the monumental number.

“It was not until I assumed the mantle of sect leader and began dealing with the elders myself that I began to suspect the truth of the matter. And you will need to forgive my speculating as to why you hated a certain young man when he came to Cloud Recesses.”

“I never hated Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren said, helpless to address anything else.

“No, I do not believe you did. But you certainly believed he lacked the qualities of an ideal student.”

“The only ones who have had the qualities of an ideal student are yourself and your brother,” Lan Qiren huffed. And then, with a heart full of shame, he admitted, “He did remind me of his parents.” And, oh, how to discover such a thing by seeing the same broad, irreverent grin that had so haunted him. He’d selfishly reacted in anger. Nothing short of the discipline whip would assuage his guilt over the matter and yet he could not allow himself to be crippled when his sect demanded so much from him.

But he’d never made the connection to any possible memories of Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze to Xichen’s easy acceptance of the rascal who’d come in their midst. Perhaps he should have spent less time bemoaning the possibility of Wangji experiencing the same unhappiness Lan Qiren himself had long battled, and more time wondering at Xichen’s insistence on gently pushing the two of them together.

Xichen gently pressed on. “I believe Uncle hated the memories which accompanied him. Perhaps… perhaps both memories and the deep regret that he chose to raise his foolish nephews while sacrificing those two he greatly loved.”

This could not be born. Lan Qiren stepped forward and grabbed Xichen’s arm. His nephew blinked in shock, which intensified when Lan Qiren bodily turned him around to meet his gaze. Xichen stood taller than him, now.

“I have never regretted any decisions I made which led to me raising you and Wangji,” he stated, tone as uncompromisingly sincere as he could make it.

Xichen’s gaze softened slightly. “Thank you, Shufu.” He pressed a warm palm to Lan Qiren’s cold fingers, still squeezing his arm. “But Shufu has made many sacrifices in his life to provide this unworthy nephew and his brother a stable home,” Xichen said. He cast Lan Qiren a sidelong look, full of damning understanding that Lan Qiren could not bear to look upon. “At least two too many, I suspect. So it is my great honour as both your nephew and sect leader to acknowledge you now, and formally offer both Xiao Jingfei and Wei Changze a home in Cloud Recesses.”

“Thank you,” Lan Qiren choked out. “But I suspect once this situation with LanlingJin is addressed, we may want to seek out the road. A great many changes have happened since they left this world and I do not wish to deny them the chance to discover them. Nor do I wish to live a life apart.”

“A home is not a place you are obligated to stay, Shufu. It is a place where your return may always be greeted warmly.” Xichen placed a hand over Lan Qiren’s. “That place will always be with this nephew.”

Likely more physical affection than they’d shown one another in years, they squeezed one another’s hands and then released their respective holds.

“Would you like me to inform Wangji?” Xichen asked.

“No. I will do it. Or,” he said with a small chuckle. “I rather suspect I’ll have been denied the chance at this point, given that your Auntie Xiao is just as early a riser as I.”

Lan Wangji slept deeply. Even before such… invigorating yet exhausting activities had become a part of his daily life, he’d found that the everyday demands of social interaction, physical exertion, and the required focus in building his golden core had regularly left him in need of a decent night’s rest.

Waking with a small child atop his chest had not been a previously-accounted for factor.

“Good morning, A-Yuan,” he said prior to opening his eyes.

“Good morning,” A-Yuan repeated. “Mountain-gege is here.”

That was unlikely, given that, “It is very early.”

“Mn!”

This expression, mournfully, A-Yuan had borrowed from Lan Wangji himself, though he had added a certain enthusiasm to it that Lan Wangji had never managed. He glanced to his left, where Wei Ying usually slept, and found the bed empty. While he did not recall going to bed alone, this was not unusual. Even with the affair of his parents’ memories resolved, Wei Ying often stayed up long past an acceptable hour to fiddle or experiment with some new thought or idea that caught his attention. While Lan Wangji did not like the idea of Wei Ying getting less than the ideal amount of daily rest, he did enjoy massaging out the cricks in Wei Ying’s neck when he passed out at the desk in their main sitting room.

Lan Wangji rose. He dressed himself, A-Yuan helpfully passing him his sash, guan, and the acceptable ornamentations. He looked at Lan Wangji’s ribbon with covetous envy, which Lan Wangji decided would need to be addressed with Wei Ying prior to any promises, despite initial inclinations.

In the main room, Wei Changze sat across from where Wei Ying had, indeed, passed out atop a generous pile of illustrations, notes, and doodles which at a glance looked both innovative and mildly heretical. Wei Changze smiled in time with every wheezing breath that crept loose from Wei Ying, a picture of paternal pride.

“Mountain-xiong,” Lan Wangji greeted. “Forgive us for not being prepared to receive you.”

“No need to apologize. I appreciate how this visit falls outside typical visiting hours.”

“As well as your own preferences,” Lan Wangji said. Their entire time in the Burial Mounds, as well as anecdotal evidence since they’d returned to Cloud Recesses, he had not known Wei Changze to rise early.

Wei Changze nodded. “Indeed.” He waved towards the door. “I was hoping we might speak. Perhaps A-Yuan could show us to the back waterfall?”

“Oh! I love it!” A-Yuan chirped. “Xian-gege says you can catch fish there, but you have to splash around and be very, very loud to get their attention.”

“Did he say that while someone else was meant to be watching you?” Wei Changze chuckled.

“Qing-jiejie. She says fishing is supposed to be a ‘quiet activity,’ but I didn’t catch any that way, so I’m going to try Xian-gege’s way today.”

Lan Wangji, with a last look at Wei Ying, followed them out the door. A-Yuan darted back and forth between Lan Wangji and Wei Changze, holding one hand and then the other, happily chatting about any number of matters, all of which led Lan Wangji to believe that they would need to work out some sort of schedule to ensure he was not left alone for long periods in the morning prior to an adult be conscious and present.

They reached the junction in the path that led to the waterfall and A-Yuan charged forward, leaving the two of them alone. Or, at least, behind as they both quickened their pace to keep up with him.

“I thought it would be appropriate to speak with you given that your brother is already inclined in our favour.”

Lan Wangji tilted his chin, hoping to convey curiosity while dreading what might come from it.

“We would like your blessing to continue our relationship with your uncle.”

“Unnecessary,” Lan Wangji said immediately.

“This is where you and I disagree,” Wei Changze said. “In another life, I would have called you A-Zhan. I might have been present for your first steps. Your first words. And, were the world kinder, I would have been involved in liberating your mother.”

Lan Wangji paused in step. Such emotion filled him—unindentifiable, somewhere between rage and grief and regret—that he could hardly breathe.

“Why do you say these things?” Lan Wangji demanded.

“Because I want you to understand what you are agreeing to if you say yes.”

They wandered further up the path, reaching the splash pool in time to watch A-Yuan jump gleefully in. Lan Wangji took an abrupt step forward, but paused when Wei Changze caught his arm. A-Yuan surfaced with a happy laugh to paddle around the small area caught between two broad stone rock shelves. They both moved closer in case A-Yuan found himself sucked out towards the main splash pool, keeping themselves on the shore.

“My principle concerns are not the impact your absence has had on my life,” Lan Wangji finally stated, “But that you abandoned him.”

"I did," Wei Changze said. Lan Wangji felt another small stab of guilt over the pain in his voice and sincerely troubled cast to his expression. “I think there is nothing in my life I will ever regret more. It’s a small consolation knowing he grew up to have champions such as yourself on his side.”

Lan Wangji thought this over silently for a moment. “I have not always been his champion.” There had been too many misunderstandings and too many cross words for him to claim such a title, no matter how he’d regretted them after the fact. He hoped those moments were now behind them.

“Wei Ying has forgiven you,” Lan Wangji finally offered. “And, having been the recipient of his forgiveness myself, I must accept his judgement. My uncle is dear to me. I trust his heart to you.”

“Thank you, Lan Wangji,” Wei Changze replied with every sign of solemn sincerity. “Xiao-Fei and I will do everything in our power to honour that trust, and be worthy of A-Xian’s forgiveness.”

Lan Wangji nodded and returned the bulk of his attention to A-Yuan, who, it seemed, had taken Wei Ying’s words about fishing to heart.

Chapter Text

Jin Zixuan rose and dressed early, feeling terribly particular about his wardrobe for the morning. He waved off the first five offerings of his man servant, determined to look his best. He anticipated—hoped for—a final decision regarding his betrothal to Jiang Yanli. Now, surely now that Wei Wuxian had left the Burial Mounds as a guest of GusuLan, this whole affair might be put behind them and any hold outs or lingering reservations regarding their engagement would come to an end.

And, if not, dressing his best would help him feel more prepared to approach his father regarding the… steps he and Jiang Yanli had taken to ensure the engagement would be approved.

“No, no,” he said, waving away the basic clip he usually wore in his hair on casual mornings with his family. “It must be that one.”

The servant obligingly selected the finest of his ornaments and set it brilliantly in his hair. He examined himself in a brass mirror, straightened the front of his robes, centred and re-centred his belt to set the decorations to the front, and then nodded, prepared.

Heart aquiver, he made his way to Glamour Hall, determined to arrive early, hoping and irrationally dreading a moment alone with A-Li. Surely he had no further cause to dread, he told himself. Not when their engagement was all but solidified and they’d…

A-Li turned a nearby corner, a small fleet of maids following close behind her at the behest of his mother. “Good morning, Jin-gongzi,” she said with an infinitely sweet smile.

How he longed to call her by a more familiar term as he had… before. “Jiang-guniang,” he said. They bowed to one another. Jiang Yanli looked up at him through her lashes, setting his heart to racing. The sensation was not new; for many years he’d thought it a mild form of indigestion before realizing it stemmed from much more tender feelings. What a relief he’d figured it out before irrevocably destroying this fragile thing between them.

After a beat of discomfort, he offered his arm and she allowed him to escort her into the hall.

The mood in Glamour Hall when Jin Zixuan arrived swelled with the pressure of an oncoming storm. He looked first to his mother, who deliberately refused to meet his eyes, and then to Guangyao. His half-brother smiled amiably but provided no insight. Jin Zixuan did not think he imagined the strain around his eyes.

There were a noticeable number of guards stationed around the room. More than usual. He took his seat and tried to puzzle it out. With Wei Wuxian having removed himself from the Burial Mounds, perhaps his father feared some sort of retribution against LanlingJin? But then, GusuLan had sworn on their honour that he posed no threat and claimed many of the allegations against him had been false. Jin Zixuan fancied he knew Lan Wangji long enough to trust implicitly in his integrity, even if he did seem oddly intense around Wei Wuxian.

Rumours had it that Xue Yang had been spotted in one of the towns on the borders of Lanling. Yes. That surely had to be it. Distant Snow and Cold Frost was supposedly in close pursuit, but it behooved them to make every effort to protect themselves until the villain’s capture could be confirmed. Even the merchants in and around Koi Tower had been telling tales of his evils, a refreshing change from the stretch of months where it seemed that all they spoke of was Wei Wuxian. It made the walks he took with Jiang Yanli far more pleasant now that she was not constantly plagued by worries over her second brother.

“A-Xuan,” Jiang Yanli said, quiet enough that nobody noticed the intimacy. He swayed closer to her. “Have you heard anything about interrupted letters? Only, I’ve been expecting word from my brothers, and nothing has come.”

“I will find out for you,” he assured her. And then, “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything? Ginger tea?”

She smiled and gently pulled away from him, looking for all the world as if it didn’t shatter them both. “Not yet.”

Jiang Yanli moved across the hall to take a seat next to his mother. Jin Zixuan gazed after her, likely with ill-disguised longing, then took his own place to the right of his father. Next to him, shuffled slightly towards the wall, Guangyao offered a smile. Something about it set Jin Zixuan’s teeth on edge, but he couldn’t truthfully say what. After years of denying his half-brother due to his father’s insistence that bastards didn’t belong in their hall, he felt unable to parse whether his feelings of discomfort genuinely stemmed from Jin Guangyao’s actual presence, or if he’d just been conditioned to feel that way. He had liked it when they’d encountered one another and A-Yao had slipped in calling him ‘Da-ge.’ He hoped that his father’s demands might lessen and they might be able to attain something closer to a real brotherhood.

(He’d have to talk to A-Li regarding how to go about it. Doubtless she’d have some excellent ideas.)

His father was late for breakfast, he noted. And Zixun wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Separately this wouldn’t have bothered him, but he’d noticed his cousin stepping up his attempts to ingratiate himself to Jin Guangshan more and more recently. And he’d always be his father’s heir, but it had been many years since he’d been his his father’s favourite and it rankled.

Jiang Yanli caught his eye across the room and smiled, gentle and reassuring.

One of his father’s advisors scurried up to his mother and whispered something in her ear, then coaxed her away, out of the hall. His mother cast a single look of upset towards Jiang Yanli before allowing herself to be pulled away.

The feeling of tension grew worse.

“Jiang-guniang,” Jin Guangyao said almost the moment the door closed behind Mother’s heels, “How do you feel about Wei Wuxian suddenly quitting the Burial Mounds?”

“Very pleased, Jin-er-gongzi,” Jiang Yanli said.

“Really? I must admit, I am surprised,” Jin Guangyao pressed. Jin Zixuan shot an irritated look his way, which his half-brother blithely ignored. “After all, hasn’t he brought out his Wen army with him? Those responsible for the deaths of your parents?”

Jiang Yanli’s smile faded away. “My brother commands no army. And if he did, we would have heard about it via our friends in Gusu.” She leaned forward slightly. “We do have friends in Gusu, don’t we?”

Jin Zixuan enjoyed the rare sight of seeing Jin Guangyao blink. A subtle hesitation, there and gone in a moment, notable only because of the man he was.

“I—” he began.

Before he could answer further, Jin Guangshan finally arrived. He took his seat at the front of the room and stretched. Not to loosen his muscles, though—he didn’t extend his arms nearly far enough. It seemed fake somehow. Jin Zixuan found himself frowning over it.

“Well,” he called, loud enough to reach outside the hall. “What’s the day’s business, then?”

“Jiang-guniang has expressed her happiness that Wei Wuxian is not longer confined to the Burial Mounds,” Jin Guangyao said blandly, “And is free to practice his evil arts where he pleases.” The words were so unaffected as to remind Jin Zixuan of a poor actor reading from a script.

“That’s not what she—” Jin Zixuan began.

His father interrupted, “I’m sure this is merely a reflection of the lady’s good nature. We cannot expect women to show truly good judgement where sentiment exists.” He waved a hand. “No, Guangyao, give the lady leave to enjoy her sensibilities.”

Pleased his father dismissed Guangyao’s insinuations—ones Jin Zixuan would need to address before his half-brother stepped completely out of line—but likewise irritated at Jiang Yanli’s judgement being treated as unworthy. He knew her value. He looked her way and tried to convey it with his eyes, only to find her staring directly at Jin Guangyao instead. He would not meet her eyes.

“I would, and gladly. We all know that Jiang-guniang is here at Madam Jin’s invitation, though I am beginning to fear her intentions.”

“What are you talking about?” Jin Zixuan demanded before his father could.

Jin Guangyao produced a letter from his sleeve. “I’m afraid that the wickedness of Wei Wuxian stems not from his own inherently malicious nature, but from roots dug deep into Yunmeng soil.” He stood and ferried the letter to his father. “Please, Zongzhu. If you would.”

“I think you might be gasping over mere shadows, Guangyao,” his father declared, once again curiously loud. “What could this possibly say?” He regardless began reading it over.

Jiang Yanli stood. “Jin-zongzhu, please, if that letter is intended for me, I have not had a chance to read the contents.”

“In such times, it behooves Koi Tower to keep close watch on its enemies and allies alike,” Jin Guangyao said.

“I see nothing in this letter to indicate ill-intention, Guangyao,” Jin Guangshan scoffed, “Only that Jiang-zongzhu is pleased that his sister is happy here and his hopes that Madam Jin and I will soon confirm her betrothal.” Jin Guangshan smiled at Jin Zixuan. “Hopes I share.”

For some reason, the words did not settle the slow spreading fear in Jin Zixuan’s blood.

“Oh? And further down the letter?”

“Hmm? Nothing but trade concerns—Jiang-guniang, please direct your brother to come to me for counsel, his youth is shining through in this—and…” Jin Guangshan stopped, then frowned. “Jiang-guniang, would you say it is appropriate for Wei Wuxian to return to YunmengJiang as head disciple?”

Jiang Yanli did not falter. “A-Xian is a brother to me, Jin-zongzhu, and long proven his skill at leading our disciples.”

“And what leadership do you believe a demonic cultivator can impart to righteous individuals?” Jin Guangyao asked.

“That is precisely my fear,” Jin Guangshan said with a grave nod.

Jiang Yanli took a deep breath. “I believe Jin-er-gongzi is setting some sort of trap for me,” she said, quiet but determined. She did not look at Jin Zixuan. “Please, now that I see it, do not feel you need to wait before springing it.”

Jin Guangyao inclined his head. “I will oblige. You and Jiang-zongzhu both claim you wish Wei Wuxian to resume his place as Head Disciple of YunmengJiang. As a demonic cultivator, he will doubtless pass his wicked tricks onto Jiang disciples. Therefore, it can only be assumed that the intention of YunmengJiang is to become a sect of demonic cultivators.”

“That’s—” Jin Zixuan began.

“The legacy of my excellent friend Jiang Fengmian cannot be thus impugned!” Jiang Guangshan declared. “This is an abomination which must be curtailed.”

At some silent signal, Jin Zixun entered the room with a handful of Jin cultivators at his heels.

“Until this is fully investigated, Jiang-guniang, you will be removed to the Koi Tower dungeons,” Jin Guangyao told her. “I hope our fears prove baseless but knowing that you came here with the intention of seducing our sect heir, I fear they will not be.”

Jin Zixuan, driven to silence by his overwhelming confusion, leapt to his feet. “You cannot do this.”

“She truly has ensnared you, son,” Jin Guangshan said with a moue of false pity.

Jin Guangyao nodded. “How terrible even the most righteous among us can be deceived.”

Jin Zixun motioned to the cultivators he’d brought along to surround Jiang Yanli.

“You can’t,” Jin Zixuan repeated.

“Sit, Zixuan,” his father ordered, all his outrage leeched from his face and leaving him dispassionately sipping at his morning wine. “Before you are likewise implicated.”

“You know I would never trespass into demonic cultivation,” Jin Zixuan argued, “Father, please.” Jin Zixuan looked beseechingly towards Jiang Yanli. She still refused to meet his eyes. Did… did she believe he’d played some part in this? No. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t! Surely she had to know—

“I love her,” Jin Zixuan declared. “And as your heir, I will pledge the entirety of my honour on the belief that she is not involved in demonic cultivation.”

Jin Guangshan finished his cup and gestured for one of the maids to bring him another. He examined the contents. “You are no longer young enough to rely on your inexperience as an excuse,” Jin Guangshan finally said, still dismissing Jin Zixuan with his inattention. “And as my heir you need to uphold the standards I am required to demonstrate as Chief Cultivator.” He looked at Jin Zixuan. “Or you will not be my heir.”

The words struck him mute. Jin Zixuan stared, first at his father and then towards Jiang Yanli as Jin Zixun all but herded her out of the room.

Jin Zixuan waited until nightfall.

The decision had been made well in advance, of course. He’d made it almost the moment Jiang Yanli had been surrounded. But no matter what certain individuals might think of him, he was not stupid. Foolish, apparently, and arrogant enough to allow it to blind him, but not stupid.

“You did this,” he whispered at Jin Guangyao after Father had left the room. “How could you?”

Jin Guangyao had merely looked at him, drawn and pale. “You must be exhausted from this morning’s events. Unless… unless you are saying I should not uphold the standards of righteousness required by our father.” His gaze darted down the corridor, where two guards waited to attention. He lowered his voice. “Are you suggesting an alternative?”

In lieu of answering, Jin Zixuan spun on his heel and left, refusing to be caught up in whatever games Guangyao wanted to play.

Shortly after the changing of the guards, he made his way to the Koi Tower dungeons. He rarely had cause to come down here. Once, in his youth, his father had brought him down to teach him a lesson.

“You see, Zixuan, this man made some terrible allegations against me,” Jin Guangshan said, waving a hand to one of the wretches locked away. Formerly simple robes had been reduced to tatters, and signs of abuse poked through from beneath them. The man did not raise his head. “We are LanlingJin. Do you know what that means?”

Zixuan shook his head.

“Our coffers are full because we do not suffer others to take advantage of us. We stand strong. And we do not allow our reputations to be impugned by the worthless.”

The man had been released shortly thereafter, to limp home back into the arms of his weeping wife. Jin Zixuan thought it was mercy at the time. Now he wondered.

“Yanli,” he whispered, darting between cells and searching the darkness for the occupants. They were all empty. Hadn’t… handn’t there been prisoners down here? Not the Wen dogs, those had been too dangerous to keep outside of the camps, but he seemed to recall a decent number of criminals and vagrants being held at some point.

“A-Xuan?”

All other cares forgotten, he ran the short distance towards the voice. Jiang Yanli appeared ruffled from even the short stay in her cell, but thankfully unharmed. She pressed herself to the bars and Jin Zixuan caught her hands, tangling their fingers together. He helplessly pressed his mouth to her hands, a smattering of kisses across her knuckles.

“Come,” he said. He produced the key he’d snatched from the dungeon’s main entrance. “We need to go.”

“Zixuan, what are you—?”

“I love you,” he told her. “I do. And I love…” His fingers flit tentatively across her stomach. “Our future. And I choose you over my sect, my position, and my father.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but only for a moment.

Jiang Yanli kissed him through the bars and, once he’d unlocked the door and drawn her into his arms, once again the moment they were no longer parted.

“We can go to Lotus Pier,” he said. “There will be evidence disputing these claims.”

Jiang Yanli brushed her fingertips across his forehead. “I’m sorry, A-Xuan, but I don’t think that they require evidence one way or another.” He frowned. “They want A-Xian and his power. This is how they’ve decided to acquire it.”

Jin Zixuan shook his head, though he knew the words were true from the moment she spoke them. He took her hand and led her through the hallways towards the entrance.

Outside, Zixun awaited them, a dozen of his father’s senior disciples stood behind him, backlit by torchlight.

Jin Zixuan stopped short and tucked Jiang Yanli behind him.

“Cousin,” Jin Zixun greeted with the same sort of overly loud bravado in his voice that Jin Guangshan had employed earlier. It set Jin Zixuan’s teeth on edge. “I suspected you’d succumbed to the wicked tricks of the Jiang. How terrible it is to be proven correct.” He flicked his sleeve and the cultivators spread out around them. “We will save you from their pernicious influence, have no fear.”

Jin Zixuan did not wish to pull his sword on others from his sect, but he did not know what other options he had. Behind him, Jiang Yanli clutched the back of his robes.

“Leave me,” she whispered. “You can fly faster alone. Go and find A-Xian and A-Cheng. They’ll be able to help get me out of here.”

“Never.” He pulled his shoulders back. “Loyal warriors of LanlingJin, you have been deceived. Do not allow yourselves to be driven to ignoble acts. Follow me to my father and help convince him that he has been mislead.”

No one moved, save for Yanli pressing her forehead against his back between his shoulder blades. Jin Zixun merely sneered.

“Take them both,” he said over his shoulder. The cultivators all drew their swords. “But be careful of my cousin.”

Before any of them could more than twitch forward, a figure robed in black descended from the nearby rooftop. He thought it was Wei Wuxian for only a moment before realizing they were entirely too short. And Wei Wuxian had never seen the need to disguise himself; the person had chosen a white veil to disguise the lower half of their face. Combined with the severe bun into which they’d pulled their hair, it was nearly impossible to determine their sex.

Nearly. He thought for a radical moment that Mianmian had returned to save him but dismissed the idea right away. The sword in her dainty hand had the look of a first-class spiritual tool and Mianmian hadn’t replaced her blade yet. At least, not as of his last report.

Tension thickened the air like smoke in a small room.

“Well,” Jin Zixun said, eyes wide and tone wrong-footed. “This… Dd… Did you use your wicked tricks to summon aid, Jiang-guniang?!”

Their unexpected ally unsheathed her blade. Jin Zixuan had never allowed another to fight his battles. He eased himself out of Jiang Yanli’s hold and stepped up to stand beside her.

“All of you step down,” he said, holding out the thinnest thread of hope they could leave now without violence.

“It seems the heir of LanlingJin has decided to repudiate righteousness,” Jin Zixun said. “How my uncle’s heart will break with his betrayal.”

One of the cultivators took this as their cue and charged forward with a yell, screaming a murderous rallying call. Jin Zixuan easily caught the naked steel with his sheath and knocked the attacker back into a group of his friends. Three of them toppled to the ground with the force of it.

“You’ll need to be more ruthless, Jin-gongzi,” the masked cultivator said in a low, raspy voice.

“I cannot kill my shidimen,” Zixuan protested.

The masked cultivator shrugged. “As you like.”

The others ran forward. Jin Zixuan knocked another back, but their new ally struck down two Jin cultivators, opening one’s neck and then swinging into the momentum of the blow to slit the other one across the stomach.

“Don’t—!” Jin Zixuan began.

“You may do as you wish, Jin-gongzi, but I won’t leave an opponent alive to attack me again later.”

Jin Zixuan wanted to keep pulling his blows, but a single incautious moment left him with a wound which opened his arm from shoulder to elbow. He dispatched the man responsible and then stared at the blood now soaking his robes, half in disbelief. He knew these men. They’d served as bodyguards to his father throughout the Sunshot Campaign, kept from the field of battle only by the loyalty they had for Jin Guangshan. He thought he could trust their honour.

The same man came at him again. Jin Zixuan cut him down.

Jin Zixun disappeared from the killing field, into a narrow side hallway which led to the guard barracks. More men appeared.

“We need to go,” Jin Zixuan said.

The masked cultivator nodded and slashed her way through another opponent. “Take Yanli.”

He paused, but only for a moment. He spun around, cut down one of the stray men who’d tried to go around him to get to Jiang Yanli, and ran to her. She tucked herself into his arms and he leapt up towards the nearest roof.

Their ally followed a moment later, leaving the bodies littering the ground behind them.

“Follow me to Gusu,” she said.

“But, Lotus Pier—”

“Trust me. Please.” Her eyes creased above the line of her veil.

Jin Zixuan looked at Jiang Yanli. He did not know this woman, but he trusted A-Li’s judgement. If she wanted them to press on to Yunmeng, he would.

But Jiang Yanli nodded. “Gusu, then,” she whispered. She pushed into Jin Zixuan’s embrace.

With a nod, the cultivator mounted her sword and led them into the night.

Jin Guangyao stared into the night, his back ablaze with the consequences of his father’s displeasure. He’d known from the moment Jin Zixuan had approached him that his half-brother would make the attempt to rescue Jiang Yanli. He’d all but begged his elder brother to understand him and found himself rebuffed.

He’d warned Jin Zixun about it and handpicked the disciples to accompany him to prevent Jin Zixuan’s foolishness, ones that were loyal exclusively to Jin Guangshan and would have no problem killing Jin Zixuan; those who had not followed Jin Zixuan into the war and were easy to convince that he’d been seduced into evil. Cowards and fools who had paid for their safety at Jin Guangshan’s side during the war and were singularly loyal to the sect leader instead of the sect. Liabilities if, for whatever reason, Jin Zixuan finally figured out that his best option was to take over from Jin Guangshan.

Jin Zixun had only reluctantly believed him, but staked out the entrance to the dungeons just in case.

“I do not think he will raise a hand to Zixuan,” Jin Guangyao had told his father.

Jin Guangshan merely smiled. “With the promise of an appropriate reward, he’ll do what he’s told.”

He wondered what ‘appropriate reward’ Jin Guangshan had promised. He certainly hadn’t held Jin Zixun’s failure against him, no. No, his anger at Jin Zixuan’s flight had been firmly directed towards Jin Guangyao, as though he could have accounted for this stranger appearing to assist in their escape.

Meng Yao threw off his hat when he limped into his room later that night, silently cursing the masked cultivator. He hated being taken by surprise. He’d had no recourse. And they could not blame GusuLan, YunmengJiang, nor even the Yiling Patriarch. All of the surviving disciples had insisted that the person had been completely unidentifiable, and word had spread too quickly now to try and twist the narrative to Jin Guangshan’s advantage. His father knew it, too. Which was part of why he now found himself limping and in need of bandages for his ruined back.

Meng Yao did not pace. He refused to submit himself to the indignity of nervous shuffling. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a moment to think order his thoughts:

Wei Wuxian had rescued the remaining Wen Remnants from the Jin camps.

Thus, they had prevented any recourse save escape into the Burial Mounds.

Despite a nauseating amount of power, Wei Wuxian had decided to remain quiet and unobtrusive.

Thus, they had spread rumours of Wei Wuxian’s wickedness and evil tricks.

Rumours, more pervasive and somehow more believable, had arisen to counter them.

Thus, they had seized Jiang Yanli in hopes of forcing him to act.

Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had both been removed from Koi Tower.

He frowned, eyes sliding open. Move. Countermove.

Someone had turned this into a game.

Earlier

Lan Xichen watched Wei Changze carefully place more stones upon his weiqi board.

“We’ve ruined their chances of relying upon rumour,” Wei Changze said, contemplative. He stared unseeing at the stones, all scattered in a nonsense collection of back and white pockets, as far as Lan Xichen could tell. Wei Changze shifted a few around to surround two black pieces. “He will now look at reclaiming the space and removing some of our stones.” He tapped one of the pieces with his finger. “He’ll want to make it quick and effective. Someone who A-Xian cares about and is unprotected.”

“You mean Jiang Yanli,” Lan Qiren mused. Wei Changze’s lips pursed and he nodded.

Lan Xichen felt a moment of gratitude that A-Yuan had demanded Wei Wuxian’s attention and he’d left this meeting early, Wangji quick at his heels; he did not think his brother-in-law-to-be would be terribly sanguine at the news.

“Well, I’m off to Lanling, then,” Xiao Jingfei said.

“It should be me,” Lan Qiren said.

“Or myself. I know Koi Tower very well,” Lan Xichen offered.

“You’re both too recognizable,” Wei Changze said, before Xiao Jingfei more than opened her mouth to rebut. “Even if you go disguised, this may require a fight. The Lan sword forms would identify either of you, or point the blame to Lan Wangji. No one will recognize the sword forms of the Immortal Master on the Mountain—”

“Shizun used a spear first. The influence is clear if you look for it,” Xiao Jingfei agreed.

“—And unless she sidles right up to Jin Guangshan—”

“Which I will, to kill him, if any of you would just say the word.”

“—No one will know her.” He sighed. “Do not kill Jin Guangshan, Xiao-Fei. Our child—Everyone just escaped one war. We cannot throw them into another.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll let the old pervert live. For now.” Xiao Jingfei fished a mianshi out of her sleeve to hide her face.

“Your forbearance is appreciated,” Wei Changze said, dry as dust.

She laughed and stood, then bussed Wei Changze’s cheek and dropped a second kiss atop Lan Qiren’s head before escaping into the night.

Chapter Text

When Jin Guangyao arrived in the Unclean Realm, he took in a deep breath through his nose. At this time of the year, the Unclean Realm smelled like hot stone, small whiffs of vapour crawling up from the walls and effusing the area. It made him feel more like himself; more Meng Yao than the caricature of a proper young master into which he’d been shoved.

Jin Zixun slammed their shoulders together and Jin Guangyao stumbled, reminded of the many reasons that, while the Unclean Realm made him feel more like a person than a prop, it had never been a true home.

Nie Mingjue greeted them at the gates instead of allowing them inside, no sign of Nie Huaisang. Jin Guangyao swallowed back his disappointment.

“Da-ge,” he greeted.

Before he had the chance to continue, “You, Chifeng-zun, are being tasked by the Chief Cultivator to come with us,” Jin Zixun stated.

Jin Guangyao expected Nie Mingjue to be furious. Instead, he merely looked back and forth between them, lips twisted in an unimpressed line. “What does the Chief Cultivator need from QingheNie?”

“To do what you’re told,” Jin Zixun sniffed.

Baxia rattled in her sheath and Jin Guangyao stepped forward to present a rolled scroll. “This is a message from my father, Jin-zongzhu. Only a few days ago, my brother was abducted from Koi Tower.”

Nie Mingjue’s face twisted in surprise. “What?”

“Yes, by… Well, Da-ge, please read the account for yourself.”

Nie Mingjue quickly scanned the account with far less attention than he reasonably should have given it. The lines in his sworn brother’s face deepened with every month. “Jiang Yanli? You’re suggesting Jiang Yanli is a demonic cultivator.” He shook his head. “Preposterous. She practically ran our infirmary during the war.”

“With soup in place of medicine, no doubt,” Jin Zixun said. “She seduced my cousin, and upon being confronted escaped with him into the night.”

“At least, as far as my father is concerned,” Jin Guangyao said. “Please, Da-ge. I would be immeasurably happy to discover some misunderstanding, Da-ge, but I fear that the only way it would be believed is if we have some neutral third party to join us at Lotus Pier when we go to request an accounting.”

“This is what you ask of me? To join you in searching Lotus Pier for some evidence of wrongdoing?”

Jin Zixun thought he must be subtle when he barely hid an amused laugh. “Thoroughly.” He tilted his head, as if in thought, “I do not believe you will need to put the Unclean Realm at any disadvantage. All we need is an arbiter to confirm our findings. You alone would more than suffice.”

“Alone? My word carries sufficient weight?”

“There can be no doubt,” Jin Guangyao said. “Please, Da-ge. We could leave today.”

“Tomorrow at the earliest,” Nie Mingjue said.

“Tomorrow?!” Jin Zixun swung on Jin Guangyao. When Jin Guangyao reached out to place a calming hand on his arm, Jin Zixun viciously threw him off. Jin Guangyao stumbled, only caught by Nie Mingjue’s hand on his back. He almost wished that Da-ge had let him fall; it would have satisfied Jin Zixun far more.

“Tomorrow,” Nie Mingjue repeated. “You are both, of course—” Caustically aimed at Jin Zixun, “—Welcome to stay here tonight.”

“I have men camped on the border of Yunmeng to manage,” Jin Zixun said. He smiled at Jin Guangyao, an ugly thing full of suggestion. “Normally, I’d say that if you need my ‘cousin’ here to further convince you, you could have him—”

Nie Mingjue’s face twisted in anger and disgust. “You—”

“But I need him for logistics.” Jin Zixun smiled, a nasty curl of his lip. “You’re welcome to him once we’re done.”

Before Nie Mingjue could stay more, Jin Zixun mounted his sword and took off. They watched him go in silence, Nie Mingjue at Jin Guangyao’s below. Jin Guangyao took a steadying breath and, for a moment, allowed himself to be himself.

“Thank you, Da-ge,” Meng Yao whispered.

“I’m not happy about this,” Nie Mingjue said.

“I understand,” Meng Yao replied. “These underhanded measures are not the way Chifeng-zun prefers to conduct himself.”

“They are not,” Nie Mingjue agreed.

Overhead, Jin Zixun circled impatiently back, scowling down at them. Meng Yao pressed his lips together tight enough that they pulled into a ghoulish half-smile. Nie Mingjue did him the favour of looking back at him without faltering. After a very long moment, he pressed his palm into Meng Yao’s shoulder and then watched as Meng Yao readied himself once again. He tried to pull Jin Guangyao back out from wherever he’d receded and failed. He’d only ever been wholly himself in the Unclean Realm, and while he’d been punished for it in the long run, he found he’d missed it.

“A-Sang has missed you,” Nie Mingjue said before Meng Yao mounted his sword.

Meng Yao’s heart clenched in his chest. “Have you?” he asked, barely recognizing the way the words bled out in a harsh whisper of arterial spray.

Nie Mingjue did not respond, but he also did not look away as Meng Yao took flight.

Jin Zixun looked around with a vaguely proprietary eye as they entered the town on the outskirts of Lotus Pier, eyeing up the various vendors and their wares. A bloat of Jin disciples followed at his heels, smug and ready. Enough to outnumber the remaining Jiang disciples at least five to one, by Meng Yao’s last report; at least twice the number of Jin soldiers as had been rumoured to have been involved in the first Massacre of Lotus Pier, as perpetrated by the Wen. He’d arranged for his father’s people to join them in waves, small additions to their number which slowly swelled.

Nie Mingjue noted them. He’d led an army during the Sunshot Campaign; Jin Zixun was a fool to forget the fact. “I still hope you are wrong,” he said.

“As do I, Da-ge, of course. No one wants to suspect their dear friends of evil acts.”

Jin Zixun snorted. “If they were innocent, then they wouldn’t have made off with their woman.”

Baxia rattled in her sheath. Meng Yao quickly darted a hand out to touch Nie Mingjue’s elbow. They could not afford for him to lose his temper before they reached the gates of Lotus Pier. He needed to be careful with Nie Mingjue and Jin Zixun, moreso than usual. Most people were taken in by sweet smiles and an unassuming air, but his actions during the Wen attack on the Unclean Realm had stripped that paint from his mask, and no matter if A-Sang might miss him, he had a careful path to walk in order to make sure Nie Mingjue believed he was trustworthy, while not overreaching and irritating Jin Zixun into taking any significant notice of him. He found himself engaged in a tricky balancing act between deferential and arrogant in order to make himself palatable (believable).

Meng Yao, he had to be Meng Yao for this, hovered at Nie Mingjue’s side to address any complaints or offhanded comments Jin Zixun might level his sworn brother’s way. The last thing he needed was for Nie Mingjue to lose his temper over his cousin’s arrogance.

Otherwise, Nie Mingjue would not be swayed.

“I believe that the masked warrior who attacked you in Koi Tower was the second disciple,” he told Jin Zixun.

“When the time comes, kill her first,” Jin Zixun said to the men behind him.

“‘If,’ I’m sure is what you meant,” Nie Mingjue said. Jin Zixun cast him an irritated glance. “If there is no evidence of wrongdoing, then there will be no need to fight.”

“Of course,” Jin Zixun sniffed.

They passed through the town outside of Lotus Pier late in the day, narrowly dodging around the many gathered farmers, a collection of broad-shouldered people deep in pockets of discussion. They kept their eyes cast respectfully downwards. Nie Mingjue strode forward with purpose, obliging the rest of them to keep pace; Jin Zixun needed to make sure that Da-ge did not arrive in advance of the rest of them in order for this plan to work.

As expected, only a handful of disciples met them at the gates of Lotus Pier. The Jiang had made significant inroads to recovering their numbers since the war, but had yet to come close to their former glory.

“Would you please tell Jiang-zongzhu that Lianfang-zun, Chifeng-zun, Jin Zixun, and a small number of my father’s warriors have arrived for an audience?” Meng Yap asked, pitching his voice to be assiduously pleasant.

“Will Lianfang-zun require his entire party to join him?” the oldest of the sentries asked.

“Yes, and please convey to Jiang-zongzhu my appreciation for the consideration.”

One of them nodded and ran off.

“Nothing suspicious I can see,” Nie Mingjue commented.

“They’re hardly going to be playing with fierce corpses at the gates,” Jin Zixun snorted. He leaned closer. “And note that only one of them went to announce us. This might be a means of them warning Jiang-zongzhu in advance to hide any wrongdoing.”

Nie Mingjue shot him a narrow-eyed look of consideration. “You’re being a little heavy-handed,” he said at length.

Meng Yao resisted the urge to scream at them both.

Jin Zixun’s face twisted in confusion, but before he could say anything further, the messenger proved efficient in his task and returned.

“Please, Lianfang-zun, Chifeng-zun, Jin-gongzi, follow me.”

The guard led them towards the Jiang greeting hall. The Jiang sect leader sat at the front of the room, looking every inch the inheritor of his parents’ legacy.

“You’ll excuse me, we were not expecting such distinguished company,” Jiang Wanyin said dryly, through a curled lip. He looked past Jin Zixun. “Or so many of you.”

“We are here to address some concerning matters with you, Sandu Shengshou,” Jin Zixun said. “Most particularly the matter of your sister, Jiang-guniang, and the whereabouts of her and my cousin, the sect heir of LanlingJin.”

Meng Yao watched his face carefully; he found Jiang Wanyin exceedingly easy to read. Where there might have been surprise or apprehension, there was only simmering anger. For the first time, he felt the small budding hope in his chest begin to blossom. Nie Mingjue might have been feeling generous when they met, after all, and Meng Yao could hardly allow his attention to drift away from the byplay between Jin Zixun and Da-ge during their approach to note any irregularities around them. This, Jiang Wanyin’s irritation, offered the first proof that foolish, blind trust might be rewarded.

“My sister was under the care and keeping of Koi Tower,” he said, making very letter effort to hide his anger. He stood, Zidian sparking on his wrist. Behind him, the sounder of Jin cultivators took a step back, hands on their swords. “Are you suggesting she is missing?”

“Not missing, fled.” Jin Zixun added a level of insinuation into his voice, “With the Jin sect heir.” Zidian flared again. “After being arrested under suspicion of emulating the dark arts sported by your head disciple, Wei Wuxian.”

“How dare you,” Jiang Wanyin snarled.

Jin Zixun smiled. “There has been word circulating that YunmengJiang is determined to follow the path laid by QishanWen.”

“Let’s not take it too far, Jin-gongzi,” Nie Mingjue said before Jiang Wanyin had a chance to use his spiritual tool on Meng Yao’s idiot cousin.

“My elder brother is wise,” Meng Yao said. “It would not be appropriate to level such accusations without proof.”

“Fine. Jiang Cheng, this entire affair has caused deep concern to the Chief Cultivator. We are determined to satisfy ourselves that Jin Zixuan is not being held here and there is no evil being perpetrated by your sect as set by the standard of Wei Wuxian.” The words sounded wooden and rehearsed. Nie Mingjue had been correct, after all: Jin Zixun was being far too heavy-handed.

The hall fell silent, save for the electric sparks tinging off Zidian.

“You,” Jiang Wanyin said, low and dangerous, every word a blow, “Are of course. Welcome. To tour Lotus Pier.” He looked towards Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. “If there is doubt of our righteousness.”

Nie Mingjue shifted uncomfortably. Meng Yao merely looked back.

“We are, of course, very obliged.” Jin Zixun turned to the small army at his back and nodded.

The signal went up to their comrades in the back, all of them instructed well in advance. Jiang Wanyin’s frown deepened, but he made no effort to protest. Silently, one of his men slid the door to the hall shut, trapping them all inside with no less than fifteen Jin cultivators between them and the exit.

Which, Jin Zixun apparently decided it was time. He hummed. “We will find my cousin dead, I’m afraid. Somewhere in the back rooms. Murdered by Jiang Yanli in some wicked ritual to advance her own unorthodox cultivation, a result of her inability to properly develop her golden core.”

Jiang Wanyin stiffened. “You dare?”

“How can you know that?” Nie Mingjue demanded.

“Because you will discover him, Chifeng-zun. You and Lianfang-zun will die very valiantly before you can bring report of it.”

Meng Yao closed his eyes and breathed out. He’d known. Of course he’d known. He’d just wished he’d been wrong.

Nie Mingjue’s hand went to Baxia and eyes to Jiang Wanyin. Jiang Wanyin nodded solemnly.

Jin Zixun waved. The Jin soldiers in the room surged forward and surrounded Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao, and Jiang Wanyin, bisecting their small circle and leaving Jin Zixun on the outside looking in.

“Please accept the Chief Cultivator’s sincerest wish that your deaths will prove the catalyst for the other sects to come to heel and make better choices.”

The soldiers all took a threatening step forward with a single syllable of a yell, perfectly synchronized.

Nie Mingjue scowled furiously. “Do you think the three of us I cannot handle this poor collection of lackeys?”

“I think you’ll kill them all,” Jin Zixun said, already looking to the nearby window as an avenue for his own escape. “Which will be necessary. As my uncle said, it would hardly due to have only Jiang disciples dead. It would make us look far too much like the Wen.”

Before anyone could move, the door to the hall opened again. Jin Zixun frowned and whipped around, halfway to scolding whatever one of the soldiers had broken formation. He frowned when a young man stepped inside.

Meng Yao frowned. A servant of the Jiang, he imagined, though he did not recognize him. Not the masked cultivator, certainly. He seemed far too young to be anyone important, and he did not carry a sword.

“Jiang-zongzhu, Chifeng-zun, Lianfang-zun.” He bowed. “It is done.”

Nie Mingjue breathed out a hard sigh and Meng Yao nearly grabbed Da-ge to keep himself standing with the bolt of relief that hit him like lightning lashing the surface of the sea.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jin Zixun demanded. “Guangyao, what’s he talking about?”

“All of you,” the young man continued. Something in his tone made Jin Zixun’s men freeze. “Put down your arms. Your comrades are taken. This plan is foiled.”

Jin Zixun drew his own sword, finally sensing the very real danger he was in. “How?”

“My men have been waiting in the marketplace,” Nie Mingjue said.

“The farmers,” the young man said. “We trusted you wouldn’t notice.”

With a fierce glare from Nie Mingjue, emphasized by a shaking of Baxia and a flicker of angry purple from Zidian, the Jin disciples laid down their arms.

“There is no proof of this,” Jin Zixun said, shaking his sword at the stranger. “Do not be swayed by the lies of this… person.”

No one moved. No one save the young man. He stepped softly around the gathered group to come stand before Meng Yao.

“Lianfang-zun,” he said.

He held out his hand, palm open, to reveal a black weiqi stone. Meng Yao reached into his own sleeve to retrieve its partner, cast in white. He presented it by bringing his own hand level with the stranger’s. They met one another’s eyes, the stranger—undoubtedly younger than him—possessed an oddly paternal pride and looked at him in a way that made Meng Yao’s chest puff up in ways he’d never felt before. Meng Yao found himself smiling with actual sincerity in a very, very long time.

“Thank you,” the stranger said.

Meng Yao glanced at Nie Mingjue, then abruptly yanked his gaze away.

“Who are you?” Jin Zixun demanded, his broken voice betraying his anger.

“No one of consequence,” the stranger replied. “There will be no action taken against the Jiang today. Those we have arrested here will be found guilty of attempting an assault on Lotus Pier, which Jin-zongzhu will surely disavow as any action on his part when he learns that Chifeng-zun witnessed such treachery.”

And doubtless, when Meng Yao spoke in support of Da-ge’s discovery, his father would try to offer him up as a sacrifice in place of his father being called to account for everything he’d demanded. And had Meng Yao not laid careful plans and put his faith in a single black rock, doubtless it would have come to pass.

He’d acted unwisely in placing his blind trust in a stranger, hoping that he’d be understood with no other recourse than a single stone and the belief that his anonymous opponent matched him in terms of skill. In defiance of a lifetime of experiences, acting unwisely had been the means of his salvation.

Jin Zixun lowered his sword, eyes filled with rage. “So be it.” His smile returned. “But maybe you should have considered that my uncle is at least as smart as his little bastard. Xue Yang is, even now, approaching Cloud Recesses with an army of the dead.”

Meng Yao’s lungs stopped working as horror overcame him.

He continued with smarmy glee, “And since everyone knows whose speciality it is controlling the dead, it will not be much of a challenge for the entire world to imagine that Wei Wuxian massacred everyone there.”

Earlier

Meng Yao had anticipated the summons after Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli fled. He found it hard to retrieve Jin Guangyao from the recesses of his mind, a robe that felt suddenly ill-fitting and awkward.

He'd known from the moment Jin Zixuan had approached him that his half-brother would make the attempt to rescue Jiang Yanli. He’d seen it in Jin Zixuan’s eyes that morning when Jiang Yanli had been escorted from Glamour Hall.

Unfortunately for all of them, his father had known, too.

He’d laughed about it to his ministers. “Zixuan knows that women are just a means to an end. He won’t jeopardize his place as my son and heir for her.”

Jin Guangyao had stood at the side of the room with the other servants, already anticipating the consequences when his father was proven wrong.

The summons came later than he’d expected. Not late enough for his presence in the hallways to be remarked upon as he scurried towards his father’s rooms, but unusual in terms of Jin Guangshan’s habits.

"I suppose this is my fault," Jin Guangshan said once Jin Guangyao entered the room. “Trusting the son of a whore to understand the importance of this affair.”

My mother, Meng Shi, taught me more about political nuance than you could ever dream, Meng—no, Jin Guangyao thought. His mother, still consigned to the brothel in which his father had left her to wallow, who possessed superior understanding to half of the men in Koi Tower and nearly all the women, raised him with the expectation that he would bring her skills to bear. And now that he’d found a worthwhile opponent somewhere in the world, one from whom he’d love to learn, he found himself toadying to a piggish reprobate of a man who could not conceive of anyone lower born being his equal in intelligence and skill.

“I don’t like that look on your face, boy,” Jin Guangshan said.

Jin Guangyao ducked his head. “Forgive me, Father.”

“Jin-zongzhu.”

“Forgive me, Jin-zongzhu.”

The door opened. Jin Guangyao did not look up, but judging from the footfalls and distribution of weight, he knew when he looked up he would find his cousin standing before him. He managed a glance upwards; Jin Zixun employed his habitual smirk as he nodded with exaggerated meaning to Jin Guangshan, and then draped himself across a nearby daybed.

“Where’s your hat?” Jin Zixun asked once he’d positioned himself.

Meng—Jin Guangyao did not reach for his hair. Hes surely hadn’t braided in the Nie-style plaits? No. No, he couldn’t have. That would never have gone unremarked by his gather.

“I am not unaware of A-Xuan’s defects,” Jin Guangshan said. “He spent too much time tugging on his mother’s skirts. But you should have accounted for it.”

Jin Guangyao felt no need to reply; why bother, when he knew that his father’s temper would not be appeased?

“I should have known that she surpassed her usefulness the moment she gave me a single son and no others.”

Jin Zixun huffed in agreement. “He’s my ‘best friend’ and his own worst enemy, Uncle.”

“Indeed,” Jin Guangshan sniffed.

Jin Zixun hadn’t approached him to ask about the best candidates to take with him when he confronted Jin Zixuan’s “treachery.” He hadn’t needed to. The inner circle of Koi Tower had already handpicked the men exclusively loyal to Jin Guangshan and the only reason Jin Zixuan hadn’t known it was because he failed to notice anyone who hadn’t directly caught his attention. Even the stupidest man in Koi Tower (Jin Zixun) knew that the disciples who had not followed Jin Zixuan into the war would be easy to convince that he'd been seduced into evil. Little surprise they’d been unable to stand against Jin Zixuan himself, let alone his unexpected ally; during the Sunshot Campaign, Jin Guangshan had ordered the strongest to the front lines and kept the most malleable to himself.

“This does put us on our back foot, Uncle,” Jin Zixun said. “With my cousin out there, spreading who knows what gossip about our sect while in thrall to that bitch from Yunmeng.”

“What do you think, A-Yao?” Jin Guangshan said with a shrewd eye. “Can we recover from this?”

“Undoubtedly,” Jin Guangyao dutifully reported. “Father, it will be easy to convince the civilized world that my brother has been seduced by wicked tricks, much like those which convinced GusuLan to stand with the Yiling Patriarch.”

“Will it indeed?” Jin Guangshan hummed. His tone set Jin Guangyao immediately on edge. “It seems to me that the only way to truly convince people of it is to liberate the Lan sect from the Patriarch’s clutches. Perhaps Wen-xiong was right to start with Gusu.”

Cold suffused Jin Guangyao’s body. ‘Wen-xiong.’ When Meng Yao had landed the killing blow on Wen Ruohan, he’d done it hoping to be recognized as a hero, erasing past misdeeds and explaining away any actions he’d taken while trying to survive the Sunshot Campaign. If he’d known that his father had personally funded Wen Ruohan’s rise to power, he’d have allowed Da-ge to cut him down. At least then he wouldn’t be constantly torn between obeying his father’s wishes while trying to make reparations for preventing the Jin sect leader’s ambitions.

“Please, Father,” he said, “I believe Zewu-jun can be convinced to return to sense.” He had to find a way to save Er-ge.

“You haven’t managed so far. And now my poor cousin is suffering from your failure,” Jin Zixun pointed out.

Jin Zixun had hated Jin Zixuan by association since Jiang Yanli had roundly set him down at the Phoenix Mountain Hunt. The only reason Jin Guangyao even remarked upon his presence in the meeting was because he feared what it meant. After all, with every other child fostered on a poor, vulnerable woman significantly younger than the ‘Zi’ generation, his father had to be considering whether he required a new heir apparent.

“I think when it comes down to it, we must resign ourselves to the loss of allies,” Jin Guangshan said. He tapped his cup and Jin Guangyao scrambled to refill it. “Given you’ve done such an excellent job at uncovering the rot at the centre of YunmengJiang, we can no longer support them in their endeavours. And, of course, that leaves only three great sects.”

“An auspicious number,” Jin Guangyao tried to plead.

“Yet at least one great sect too many. Wen-xiong always suggested that Chifeng-zun was too much like his father. Too proud. Too stubborn. And now this Zewu-jun is also proving a challenge.” He leaned forward, expression grave but eyes alight with sick humour. “I do not think that these two sect leaders should be permitted more influence than LanlingJin.”

“Quite right,” Jin Zixun agreed.

“My sworn brothers can be made to see reason,” Jin Guangyao said, mildly as possible.

“I think you should content yourself with a single brother at the moment,” Jin Guangshan told him. “Put that clever mind to work and figure out which one you want to keep, hmm? And be grateful that you’ll still have one at the end of the day.”

He bowed. “Father,” he whispered.

“Zongzhu,” Jin Guangshan corrected.

“Zongzhu. I will go and make what arrangements are required.”

“Good. My nephew and I have other business to discuss.”

Jin Guangyao bowed at his waist and made his way towards the door.

“Oh, Guangyao?” Jin Guangshan called after him. Jin Guangyao stopped in his tracks. "Do you know what would inspire greater sympathy than one dead son?"

Jin Guangyao did not dare voice the answer, for all he knew that it had to be:

"Two dead sons," Jin Zixun offered.

"Very good, nephew." Jin Guangshan settled himself in his seat.

Sickened, Jin Guangyao left the room with his head hung low.

This shouldn’t have happened. He’d long resigned himself that the first time he’d come to Koi Tower, glutted on the stories his mother had told him about his father, he’d expected a righteous and caring man who would elevate him to a position of prominence. While recovering from the results of the assumption, he’d resigned himself to finding a way to be useful to a man who valued utilitarian skills and set himself to the task of becoming exactly the sort of asset a man like that would require. And then apparently destroyed that chance by unintentionally foiling his father’s plans in his attempt to be a hero.

He should have known: Jin Guangshan did not care about righteousness nor usefulness, when neither helped pave his way to power.

He wanted to curse Wei Wuxian for damning his chances of rising to prominence in his father’s house, but he might as well have cursed the moon for crossing the sky; something inevitably would have spoiled his chances because Jin Guangshan was never invested in him succeeding.

What bothered him was this unanticipated interference. He hated being taken by surprise. His life had more than once depended on being able to correctly predict circumstances and potential outcomes and being stuck blind in a situation he could not have predicted made his stomach clench with anxiety.

Wei Wuxian wouldn't know him from a hole in the ground and was almost certainly too self-centredly righteous to even know that Jin Guangyao was playing against him. He had no doubt that if Wei Wuxian had an inkling of his existence then this entire venture would be fruitless; he was clever and powerful, and only through chance and fortune was he too wound up in himself to notice the machinations of those around him.

Lan Qiren might have, perhaps, been strategic enough to counter him, but Guangyao's impression of the man had been one of old scars—metaphorical and physical—that had resigned him strictly to scholarly pursuits.

There had to be someone he hadn't anticipated. A strategist of whose existence he had been ignorant. And if there was someone he had not accounted for, then there was a chance he could not win. Er-ge's life depended on him winning.

He spun the thoughts around again and again all the way back to his room. If, indeed, another strategist had moved into place against him, then perhaps there was a way to keep his brothers alive.

He summoned a servant. "Please send for Su Mingshan."

The servant nodded and scurried off, leaving him scant time to compose a letter. There were still too many variables. If the strategist was possessed of a similar mind to Meng Yao, then no manner of pleading or desperation would appeal; he'd need some sort of personal motivation to get them on side.

But it offered the best chance.

Su Mingshan arrived quicker than expected, his robes and hair in disarray in deference to the late hour.

"Su-xiong, I need to ask you to do something for me you will not like," Meng Yao said.

"Anything," Su Mingshan answered immediately, eyes gleaming with the anticipation of being of service. Meng Yao wanted to cringe back from the expression. While Su Mingshan might have been one of the only true friends he'd made for himself, it did not follow that he would be forgiven for the request.

"Please take these to Cloud Recesses and deliver them directly to Zewu-jun," he said, offering both the letter and a single weiqi piece.

Su Mingshan's smile dropped off his face as though it were a stone tossed from a mountainside. "I," he ground out, "Am no longer welcome there."

"Go as my representative. Seek out Zwu-jun and tell him its urgent," Meng Yao said. He pushed the letter and the stone into Su Mingshan's hands. "Please."

Su Mingshan glared resentfully at the items, but finally nodded. "Should I request a reply?" he muttered.

"No. If... if Zewu-jun agrees with the contents of the letter, then he will know what to do," Meng Yao said. "And, Su-xiong, you would be wise not to return to Koi Tower after its delivery."

Su Mingshan frowned. "But what about all our plans? The way Jin Zixun treats you—"

"One way or another, I do not think they will come to fruition," Meng Yao said.

Su Mingshan reluctantly turned away. He was a lesser sect leader, with barely a handful of disciples. Meng Yao's father would not remark upon his coming and going, as long as he did not make a spectacle of it. And as much as he would hate to know it, he was now the best hope of Er-ge's survival, so long as his unknown opponent had prioritized human life. He suspected, hoped, it to be the case.

"Su-xiong," he said, before his friend quit the room. "Once you've delivered the message, would you please go to Yunping and see about retrieving my mother?"

Su Mingshan frowned. "You said it wasn't time yet. That your father would be angry?"

"I do not think we'll be able to avoid that, now," Meng Yao said. "Please, will you take her to Moling and hide her there?"

"Meng-xiong, it's starting to sound like you—"

Meng Yao grabbed Su Mingshan's arm and squeezed. His friend's mouth snapped shut and he nodded.

Long after Su-xiong had left, Meng Yao sat in front of his room's small brazier. The fire had died down, barely allowing for even the smallest amount of heat, a single small flicker of warmth and light in an otherwise dark room. For many years, all he had wanted was to be Jin Guangshan's son. Respected and appreciated for his skills and the value he could bring to his father's hall. He'd enjoyed such distinction for a few precious months. He'd have to content himself with the fact.

He stripped himself of his outer robes and settled atop his bed to meditate. In one hand, he rubbed the pad of his thumb across a white weiqi stone.

Chapter Text

Wen Qing supposed that the reunion between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli had been touching. There had been significant amounts of crying, and subsequent promises of soup. Jin Zixuan had stood slightly back from them, obviously uncomfortable, and the sight of him filled Wen Qing with tooth-cracking hatred. Wei Wuxian had asked, many times and with increasing desperation the longer they were away from his natal sect, whether or not Jin Zixuan had been involved with the camps. Every one of her family members claimed not to have seen him there, but he was the sect heir. How could he not know? She’d never formally been a part of her uncle’s machinations outside of her usefulness to him in a medical capacity, but he’d never hesitated to boast of his plans.

“‘Jie?” Wen Ning whispered behind her.

Wen Qing did not turn.

“We never saw him in the camps,” he repeated for the hundredth time.

“You never saw Jin Guangshan either,” she stated. She did not want to hear her younger brother defending a member of the sect who had done their utmost to see them all dead. Bitterly, before he could reply, she demanded, “Wei Wuxian is busy. Shouldn’t you be off following Lan Wangji?”

Silence followed the question, leaving Wen Qing to be swept up in her guilt. She finally turned, arms crossed against her chest. A-Ning looked at her. She wondered if she read hurt and accusation in his eyes or if she was merely projecting the feelings onto an expressionless face.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“You don’t have to be,” he said.

When speaking with others outside their family, even Wei Wuxian, he spoke in halting tones and uncertainty. With her, now, he remained quiet but did not second guess himself. She deeply resented that he would never be able to grow into his own, and once again found herself hating Jin Zixuan.

The hate continued all through the next week, as she studiously avoided everyone outside their family, right up until late one night when the man himself came pounding at her door.

“Please,” he said when she opened it. He dropped into a deep, deep bow, “A-Li, she… Please. Come?”

She pinched her lips together. While this likely brought up the historical total of ‘pleases’ ever uttered by the entire Jin sect to two, she could not help but wonder why she would ever help him.

But she did still owe Wei Wuxian. He might consider their debt repaid—if, indeed, he had ever actually considered it a debt at all—but she knew that what she owed him far outweigh what he believed.

“Let me collect my things,” she said.

Jiang Yanli was supposed to be staying in her own home, but judging from the scattered collection of items Jin Zixuan had either joined her, or visited her often enough that it didn’t make much difference. In the next room, she found the other woman sweaty and pale, clutching her midsection and breathing heavily through her nose.

Wen Qing only looked at her a moment before asking, “How far along are you?”

“A month,” Jiang Yanli whispered. “Please, I can’t—”

“You won’t,” Wen Qing stated.

She sat at Jiang Yanli’s side and took her wrist in one hand and pressed the cup of space between her thumb and forefinger to her pelvis. The small presence within twitched, barely the smallest bundle of life, tiny yet undeniably present. Wei Wuxian’s nephew. A life she needed to save.

“I’ll need you to take three deep breaths in,” she told Jiang Yanli. “With each exhale, I am going to feed spiritual energy into your veins.”

“My meridians are not strong,” Jiang Yanli gasped, pain threading through her voice.

“I’m aware.” Wen Qing looked up and caught Jiang Yanli’s gaze. “I will not let your child die.”

Jiang Yanli held her gaze. Despite the sweat and pain lining her brow, she did not falter. She finally nodded and held out her free hand. Jin Zixuan practically crashed to the floor in his haste to take it.

“One,” Wen Qing commanded. When Jiang Yanli exhaled, Wen Qing slipped the smallest amount of qi into her spiritual pathways. They were indeed weak, thinned across years of sickness and neglect. Wen Qing imagined her own power as the thinnest string which needed to be carefully threaded through. The first attempt failed and her lips pursed with displeased.

“Two.”

From somewhere outside, a scream filled the air. Wen Qing ignored it, all her focus on saving this tiny life. This time the veins, expecting her power, loosened slightly. Not enough to fully allow her qi to fully seat itself, but enough that it began to take root.

“Three.”

Now her spiritual energy found a welcome home. She circulated it slowly through Jiang Yanli’s body, strengthening her circulation and reinforcing the muscles and workings of her heart. Jiang Yanli’s breathing eased, the strain on her heart and lungs easing now that additional strength had been added to her own power.

She grabbed Wen Qing’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” Jin Zixuan repeated.

Wen Qing wanted to tell both of them she’d done it for Wei Wuxian, but another agonized cry broke as a wave on a beach. Jin Zixuan, apparently also just noticing the outburst, kissed Jiang Yanli’s fingers once and then escaped out the door.

“Stay here,” she ordered Jiang Yanli.

Jiang Yanli barely had the chance to nod before Wen Qing had left her to recover.

Outside, a veritable army of the dead were lurching forwards, a wall of corpses all headed their way. Jin Zixuan pulled his sword and stood at the entrance to their courtyard, his shoulders heaving as he prepared to forestall what looked like their inevitable death.

Where was Wei Wuxian?

Wen Qing drew out her koudi and began weaving a web of protection around the house. There were more than there had been when she’d stopped her possessed family from attacking her back at Dafan Mountain, but surely she could keep them at bay long enough for the other defenses in Cloud Recesses to react. Jin Zixuan fell back, coming to stand at her side with his blade at the ready in case she failed.

(Was the rest of her family safe?)

Sweat rolled down Wen Qing’s forehead in rivulets as she tried to maintain the barrier keeping the fierce corpses at bay. In each of them she saw the shadows of those she’d lost, either before or during the Sunshot Campaign. Her throat ached for water and her entire body strained with the effort of channeling her spiritual power through an unfamiliar spiritual tool. How she wished her needles might have served some purpose.

A movement from the rooftop drew her eye for only a moment. Wen Ning leapt into the middle of the crowd of corpses, half-burying himself among them to drive them backwards.

Her entire body ached with the effort of channelling her spiritual energy in such a way so soon after helping Jiang Yanli. How long since she’d last been called upon to do this? Before the Sunshot Campaign, surely?

Dafan Mountain, she realized, when her family had last been whole (for better or for worse) and her uncle had looked to the rest of them to experiment upon as he claimed control of the Yin Iron. And now, just like them, she recognized some of the faces in the throngs of those trying to break through her barrier.

I’m sorry, she thought, the swell of grief bleeding through into her playing and unintentionally strengthening the barrier. I wish I had found you sooner.

A fierce corpse slipped past A-Ning and crashed into her barrier. Wen Qing’s knees shook as though she’d been physically struck, but she kept the playing calm and consistent. Should she falter, what remained of her family would be ripped apart. Let her meridians strain and snap from the demands she now placed upon them, she remained steadfast.

The crowd of fierce corpses grew with every moment, all but swallowing A-Ning in their unending waves of screaming rot. More and more crashed into her barrier, straining both the thin threads of power and her own abilities to the very limit to keep them contained. She wanted to run and hide, but knew very well that if she stopped playing, it would be over. Had the rest of her family escaped this would-be devastation? Had they escaped the slaughter of Qishan, the deprivation of Qiongqi Pass, and the horrors of the Burial Mounds, now just to die in Gusu?

(At least, she thought, the scenery was improved.)

In the distance, the haunting call of a dizi reached her. She kept playing, her fingers shaking around the koudi as the fierce corpses began to peel away, one by one, until all that remained were a handful of unfamiliar puppets in decaying Jin regalia.

A-Ning reappeared to beat them back, all but herding them towards the music. She waited, still playing, until the last of them had been drawn away into the darkness.

Finally her knees buckled. She hit the ground, hard, her koudi tumbling from her hands as she heaved out a lungful of foul blood which had caught in her throat as her meridians strained to keep up with the demands she’d placed upon them. Through her eyelids, her eyes reflexively slammed shut, she could tell when the bright golden light cast by the barrier faded away.

Barely a moment later, Jiang Yanli fell upon her, rubbing her back until the last of it was expelled.

“Here,” Jiang Yanli crooned, a sweet and reassuring tone that she had likely employed to ease her brothers through many pains. “Thank you, Wen-gunian. We are all safe.”

Wen Qing barely managed to heave in a breath through the sticky taste of blood clinging to the inside of her throat. She allowed Jiang Yanli to draw her into a fierce embrace, the first she’d permitted herself to enjoy in years.

“They’re all dead,” she whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” Jiang Yanli said. “So, so very sorry. You saved us. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

“Neither of us will,” Jin Zixuan added.

Wen Ning joined them a moment later. He did not touch her; while she wished for what had once been the warmth of his hands, she felt a selfish relief that the cold of the grave kept well away.

“A-Ning, you should go help A-Xian,” Wen Qing whispered.

Her brother looked over his shoulder, towards the retreating mob, then nodded and leapt off to follow.

Jiang Yanli gave Wen Qing another moment to steady herself before pulling away. “There will be many injured,” she said. Wen Qing nodded in agreement. “Will you need help?”

Wen Qing, feeling every inch the matriarch her family needed her to be, rose to her feet. “Yes. Let’s prepare what we can.”

The dead had arrived without warning, flooding through the gates as though the sentries were paper screens inevitably fated to tear.

They’d been seated for a comfortable family dinner when the cry went up. Shufu had looked for all he world as if his worse nightmares had become reality. He’d exchanged a single look with Ghost-jiejie before she tore out the door, leaving them to organize themselves.

“I will not be sent away again,” Xiongzhang stated.

“No, you cannot be,” Shufu agreed. He picked up A-Yuan. “You are Sect Leader. Please. Go to our senior disciples and organize them. I shall try and lead the lesser disciples and their families to safety.”

“And us, Uncle?” Lan Wangji demanded.

Lan Qiren looked directly at Wei Wuxian. “The Stygian Tiger Seal is locked in the Mingshi. Wangji can open the doors by virtue of his blood. Do what you must.”

They scattered.

Wei Ying knew where the dead swelled. While Lan Wangji could do little more than returning his love’s spiritual tool to his hands, he followed where Wei Ying lead. A throng of corpses knotted on the walkways leading towards the main structures drew them forward.

“All right,” Wei Ying said, attention fixed on the choked field of dead. “I guess it’s a good thing I wasn’t allowed to go to Yunmeng.”

“Indeed,” Lan Wangji agreed.

Wei Ying whipped his dizi out and twirled it around his fingers before settling it against his lips. He closed his eyes and began to play, black smoke curling up around him in a billowy curtain of resentment.

The angry dead continued pushing forward. Wei Ying’s brow creased as he intensified his playing. The dissonant chords burrowed under Lan Wangji’s skin like the approach of a lightning storm. Yet they did not pause.

“They won’t listen to you, qianbei!” Xue Yang called from the back of the herd, grinning wildly.

One of the puppets lurched forward and swiped at Wei Ying’s face. Lan Wangji jumped into the way and knocked it back with a spiritually-powered blow from Bichen. It stumbled into another tangle of fierce corpses and knocked them to the ground. They strained and struggled against one another to rise, all the while keeping their full attention locked on Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji grabbed Wei Ying and hauled him into the air, atop the nearest roof, just ahead of the grasping hands of the fierce corpses and their uncanny, unwavering attention.

“Don’t you wonder where they came from?” Xue Yang shouted after them, eyes ablaze with sick joy. “Why you can’t control them?”

Wei Ying’s playing faltered.

“Don’t you recognize them, qianbei? The men you murdered at Qiongqi Pass?”

Wei Ying’s dizi fell away from his mouth, coming to hang limply at his side as he stared at the puppets before him. There were more than Lan Wangji had imagined. Reports, at the time, had varied. Jin Guangshan had claimed that there had been only a small handful of men, meant to supervise the Wen and report wrongdoing but not interfere with the peace of their daily lives. Here there had to be fifty or more.

“Who do you think Jin-zongzhu called to clean up your mess?” Xue Yang seemed to dance in place with excitement. “You shouldn’t have left them behind, Wei-qianbei! They were lonely for someone to come along and offer them their revenge.” His smile hardened. “And don’t you think they deserve it?”

Fifty fierce corpses over which Wei Ying had no control, along with countless others all come to destroy Lan Wangji’s home.

“I’ll lead these ones away,” Wei Ying finally said. He pulled a spirit lure from inside his robes. “Into the back hills. If they really are here for me, they’ll follow.”

“If Xue Yang is correct and they have come to settle the score, you will not require a lure,” Lan Wangji said, already prepared to follow in Wei Ying’s steps and protect him in his flight.

Wei Ying smiled mirthlessly. “I wouldn’t want to risk losing any of them. Just because I can’t control them doesn’t mean Xue Yang can’t direct them.”

He ripped the skin of his thumb open on his right canine in order to activate the lure. Before he could, a small hand plucked it from his grasp. Wei Ying and Lan Wangji whipped around; Ghost-jiejie and Xiao Xingchen stood behind them.

“Daoshang! Who is this you’ve brought to play with me?” Xue Yang crowed.

They all ignored him.

“You have a better chance of controlling the others here,” Ghost-jiejie said. She affixed the spirit lure to her chest and then drew her sword. “Shidi and I will deal with these ones.”

“There’s too many,” Wei Ying protested, trying to snatch it back from her.

“There are more attacking the rest of Cloud Recesses.” She smiled at him, wan but with the obvious intention of comfort. “Go on. Before anyone gets hurt.”

She leapt off the roof and into the middle of the puppets. Xiao Xingchen nodded to them briefly before following close behind her.

“A-Niang!” Wei Ying screamed. Lan Wangji grabbed him before he could join them.

“Come. The quicker we help dispatch the others, the sooner we can return to help their fight,” he said.

Wei Ying stiffened, but did not yank his arm away. Instead, with a last broken-hearted look towards where his mother had already been swarmed, he retreated with Lan Wangji.

The waves of restless dead seemed unending.

Lan Qiren placed himself at the head of a phalanx of senior disciples at the entrance to the cold pond cave, a wretched echo of where his nephew stood only a few years prior in an attempt to protect the most vulnerable members of their sect.

He did not know where Wangji nor Xichen had gone during those first moments after the alarms had been raised. Reaction born of panic from when the Wen attacked had driven him out of bed to the dorms where they housed the youngest and most vulnerable members of their sect and herded them to the back hills before he’d even registered what he’d done. He’d spent so many hours imagining what he would have done differently that his movements feel almost rehearsed.

He had never regretted sending Xichen away under the pretext of saving some of the irreplaceable items from their library. He did regret wasting time searching for Wangji instead of trusting that the younger of his two nephews, powerful in ways that still defied his expectations, to adequately protect himself. Retrospect, now, proved an important ally. Especially with Wuxian at his side, he had no doubt Wangji would be fine.

With their young, elderly, and sick protected by the cold pond cave, he stood waiting for the dead to reach them and wondered if he truly heard a dizi in the distance, or merely wished it to be so.

Xiao Jingfei showed up moments later to deliver a number of others into his care—the Wen remnants, along with a handful of disciples who he had not been able to find during the initial sweep—then escaped back towards the trees find Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian.

She kissed him fiercely before leaving. “Survive,” she ordered.

She’d disappeared before he could repeat the sentiment. Damn her. He finally felt alive again after walking around hollow and gutted for two decades; she and Wei Changze needed to live through this. He no longer had young children in his care to give him purpose and reason to keep fighting his way out of his grief every morning.

The first of the dead emerged from the treeline.

Lan Qiren possessed only a fraction of the strength and power of his nephews. That fraction, however, still amounted to more spiritual power than most cultivators could aspire. He swung around, calling upon his golden core to channel power through his guqin and blasted them backwards. Behind him, the other disciples began to play Rest with varying levels of competence. One or two, he decided as he braced himself for another wave, would require remedial instruction once this fight had ended.

“Lan Feng,” he called after they’d knocked the first of the fierce corpses back. “Make sure to report to Lan Yisheng at the soonest opportunity to have your guqin restrung. Lan Shu, I expect to see you more frequently in the tutoring sessions offered during Wu hour moving forward.”

“Yes, Laoshi,” they both replied.

Good. He needed them to know he expected them all to live through this.

More fierce corpses flooded forward. There had to be an end to them, Lan Qiren told himself. Wherever they’d come from, they would not match the innumerable forces driven forward by Wen Ruohan.

One of the fierce corpses in ragged yellow robes stained with black and brown broke away and lurched forward. Lan Qiren turned his attention towards it for only a moment to force it backwards when a clawed hand closed around his neck. He ripped himself out of its grasp but felt skin give away under sharpened nails. He stumbled backwards, grabbing at the torn flesh and trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Loashi!” a chorus of voices called.

“Keep them back,” he managed to cough out, blood collecting in his throat. “Keep—” He dropped to his knees. “Keep them—” Black began creeping into his vision and his heart, a hard thrum in his ears from the moment the battle began, sounded weaker with every beat. He tried to focus himself, but the pain combined with the distracting sounds of battle and the sound of his heart failing…

A weak but determined hand clamped down over his atop his neck. Skillful fingers shifted his own around, pressing into painful spots which nonetheless seemed to reduce the black crawling into his vision. He felt a vein pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Here,” Wen Popo said, apparently unfazed by the violence around them. “Hold them steady.” She kept her hand firm. “You, boy, come here!”

One of the disciples dropped down next to her. Lan Feng. He paled immediately. “Laoshi!”

“Stop that,” Wen Popo said. “Take his wrist. Feed him spiritual energy, but very slowly. Let his own meet and mingle with yours.”

Lan Feng swallowed nervously but did as instructed. Lan Qiren felt the difference immediately, his own power bolstered by Lan Feng’s. All around them, the sounds of the battle against the fierce dead raged on. It might as well have been sweet music for all she seemed to notice.

Wen Popo gradually gentled her hold and finally removed her hand. “Keep your hand steady,” she told Lan Qiren. He obeyed.

“Give me your sash,” she told Lan Feng.

Lan Feng blinked. “What? No. I need it. What about yours?”

Lan Qiren’s eyes narrowed, but Wen Popo was quicker to reply. “I’m an old woman, you ridiculous child. I will not be left cold and in want of my dignity. You have fifteen layers, you can spare one.”

Chastised, Lan Feng immediately set himself to untying his sash. Once he had it off, he handed it over to her. Wen Popo shifted Lan Qiren’s head, careful to keep his hand steady, and looped the sash underneath his neck.

“There,” she said. “Enough. Remove your hand.”

Lan Qiren did not like the way his fingers shook as he did. Wen Popo tied the sash carefully, bundling a decent amount of fabric against the wound before tying it neatly.

“Thank you, Wen-daifu,” he whispered once it had been secured.

“I’m not a doctor,” she told him. “I’ve just raised my fair share and listened to their woes.”

She stood and cast her gaze out towards the fight. The disciples had forced back the rest of the corpses, many already on the ground and at peace with their death. Lan Feng, desperately trying to hold his robes shut with one hand, helped Lan Qiren stand with the other.

“Please don’t make me write lines for being inappropriately attired, Laoshi,” he said.

“I think we can forgive this instance,” Lan Qiren said. He barely recognized his own voice. “But I’m still expecting you to take better care of your instrument.”

Lan Feng sighed, dejected. “Yes, Laoshi.”

“I think that’s the last of them,” Wei Ying gasped between heaving out mouthfuls of rotten blood. Lan Wangji rubbed his back, expression tight with worry. “I’m—” He hacked up another, “I’m okay.”

Wei Ying was not ‘okay.’ Wei Ying had extended himself far past his limitations in putting the dead to rest. They stood surrounded by the fallen, fierce corpses who had been willing to listen to him when he used Chengqing to play them to their final sleep. Lan Wangji did not know how the rest of his sect fared. He feared for his uncle. His brother. A-Yuan. The rest of his family he’d found among the Wen and Auntie Xiao. And those who had gone to Lotus Pier. But Wei Ying lived. He had to comfort himself with that until he knew the whole of it.

He tucked himself under Wei Ying’s arm and helped him rise.

“We should find A-Niang,” Wei Ying whispered. “And—”

“Wei-qianbei!”

‘And’ would have to wait.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened. Lan Wangji helped him shift around towards where Xue Yang stood in the distance. He looked significantly more disheveled than he had when they’d left him to Xiao Jingfei and Xiao Xingchen. A long line had been carved into his cheek—opposite the scar that Xiao Xingchen had left at their first meeting—and blood and dirt soiled his robes.

There was, distressingly, no sign of those who had tried to stand against him.

Wei Ying pulled himself from Lan Wangji’s arms and straightened. As he did, more dead emerged from behind Xue Yang. Lan Wangji began to suspect that he’d not only pilfered the dead from Qiongqi Pass, but all those buried since the Sunshot Campaign.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji whispered.

“It’ll be all right, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said. He lifted Chenqing to his lips. Xue Yang watched with wide, delighted eyes. “You focus on him.”

Lan Wangji needed no further instruction. He whipped Bichen upwards and threw himself forward towards Xue Yang. Wei Ying played behind him, drawing the attention of the fierce corpses towards himself and trying to keep them out of Lan Wangji’s way. Xue Yang’s sword danced into his hand and he slipped backwards with a cruel laugh. He deflected two of Lan Wangji’s blow and then leapt up into the trees, Lan Wangji close behind him.

“I don’t know why Wei-qianbei values you so much, Hanguang-jun,” Xue Yang laughed. “You’re so boring!”

Lan Wangji swiped at him and Xue Yang narrowly managed to avoid his legs being cut out from beneath him. He launched himself up into the air and swung over Lan Wangji, Bichen’s very tip narrowly missing splitting his stomach open

As he moved further and further away, Xue Yang’s laughter saturated the air, drowning out Wei Ying’s dizi. Lan Wangji did not know where his family was. It made him fight all that much more fiercely.

“Once you’re dead, he and Daoshang will realize I’m much more fun.”

Xue Yang dropped to the ground. Lan Wangji followed, determined, Bichen raised before him. When Xue Yang turned, it was with a broad grin. “Song Lan figured it out.”

It was all the warning Lan Wangji had before the swishing sound of approaching steel gave him the barest second to fling himself backwards. The last time he had seen Song Zichen, the man had been hale and strong; the black veins now creeping up his neck and twin voids consuming his eyes spoke to what Xue Yang had done.

“When Jin-zongzhu told me that Daoshang had come here, I knew I had to follow,” Xue Yang said. “He’s going to be my reward.”

Bichen clashed with Fuxue, Song Zichen’s remarkable strength born of death tossed Lan Wangji backwards. He did not wish to fight a former ally but there seemed to be no cognition in his gaze.

“Keep one another company!” Xue Yang called. “I’m going to go check on Wei-qianbei!”

Lan Wangji turned his attention after him for only a moment. Too long. Fuxue came straight towards him, and his arm at an angle making it impossible to intercept. He prepared himself for the blow and reply, regretting that Bichen would need to finish what Xue Yang had begun.

Wen Ning dropped down atop Song Zichen a heartbeat before Fuxue found purchase in Lan Wangji’s chest. He threw Song Zichen backwards.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji said.

Wen Ning nodded at him then flung himself after Song Zichen.

With Xue Yang’s laughter hanging in the air, Lan Wangji turned around to pursue. He all but flew back towards Wei Ying, called by Chenqing’s haunting song. He cleared the trees in time to see the last fierce corpse fall, Wei Ying following it to the ground. His love managed to catch himself, barely, and looked up as Xue Yang closed on him.

Lan Wangji’s heart screamed Wei Ying’s name, but his focus remained on Xue Yang as he knelt down before Wei Ying, apparently unaware of Lan Wangji’s approach. He moved as silently as possible. Wei Ying marked his presence; Lan Wangji could tell in the way his shoulders relaxed. He drew close enough to hear Xue Yang’s next words.

“Shall we have our heart to heart now, Qianbei?” Xue Yang asked. He ducked down to meet Wei Ying’s eyes. “I’d love to know how you refined your piece of the Yin Iron. Mine’s powerful, but as you can see… not very precise.”

“I’m not going to be able to help you,” Wei Ying told him.

Xue Yang’s voice took on a distinctly pouty timbre. “Not yet. But maybe once your Hanguang-jun is dead, along with your mother and everyone else you love, you’ll see that there’s not much left for you to do.”

Xue Yang lifted his arm to stroke Wei Ying’s face.

It did not finish its journey. Lan Wangji would not allow him to place a hand upon Wei Ying.

Xue Yang howled as the limb hit the ground and fell back, grabbing the stump where it had been. Lan Wangji kicked him away from Wei Ying, considering telling himself it was not spitefully done, but also unwilling to lie within Cloud Recesses.

“Wei Ying?”

“I’m all right,” Wei Ying said weakly.

Lan Wangji helped him stand. Any colour that had remained in his face prior to this last wave of the dead had vanished, his bloodless lips tinged very faintly with blue. The Stygian Tiger Seal slipped from his sleeve to float in the air, resentful energy pouring off it.

When Wei Ying began to raise Chenqing, Lan Wangji grabbed his wrist.

“Wei Ying, no.”

“I have to,” Wei Ying whispered. Lan Wangji tightened his hold and Wei Ying placed his free hand atop Lan Wangji’s. “Lan Zhan, I need to destroy it.”

Xue Yang’s piece of the Yin Iron twitched and vibrated in the air in response to the Stygian Tiger Seal’s presence. Lan Wangji wanted to ask if it mightn’t wait until Wei Ying was stronger, but they both knew the answer before he even spoke the words. All he could do was brace himself against Wei Ying’s side as he called to both remaining pieces of Yin Iron.

“No!” Xue Yang howled as it slipped from his sleeve. “Wei-qianbei, don’t!”

With a single discordant note, Wei Ying blew both the Stygian Tiger Seal and the unrefined piece of Yin Iron apart. Lan Wangji threw up his arm, blocking the shrapnel with his sleeve.

Xue Yang screamed, a sound echoed by a thousand voices around Cloud Recesses before they all went silent.

Wei Ying’s eyes rolled back in his skull and he collapsed, lifeless, with Lan Wangji barely managing to catch him before he hit the ground.

Chapter Text

“Xiao-Fei!” Lan Qiren yelled, gaze roaming across the field of the dead. “Xiao-Fei?!”

The dim light cast by the sun disappearing behind the mountains offered precious little illumination. With night coming, they would need every torch in Cloud Recesses put to the task of clearing the remains. As a sect, GusuLan supported a little over two hundred disciples; Lan Qiren estimated almost ten times that in the number of fierce corpses that had invaded their home.

The runner who’d come to tell them of the hard-won victory had been unable to say much more than ‘the dead have fallen.’ Lan Qiren had ordered the civilians to remain within the protected boundaries of the cold pond cave until he’d determined for himself that Cloud Recesses was safe. He was glad he’d done so… he did not wish for the children to see the graveyard their home had become.

“It was Xue Yang,” the runner told him as Lan Qiren descended from the back hills. “Wei-qianbei and Hanguang-jun fought him and emerged triumphant.”

“Are they well?” Lan Qiren demanded.

“Hanguang-jun has taken Wei-qianbei to the healing rooms.” At his frown, she continued, “That area was not effected by the attack, Laoshi. I believe that our healers have already sent word that they can help the injured.”

Lan Qiren took comfort in that his nephew and Wei Wuxian had lived, then set himself to the task of finding Xiao Jingfei.

Fields of bodies piled atop each other like bulrushes upon the earth. Few were dressed in Lan regalia, a bare comfort given that he could not find his… his… “Xiao-Fei!”

“Here, Laoshi!” one of his disciples called.

Lan Qiren ran to his side, trying not to give himself over to hope. A small handful of disciples had pulled a pile of corpses away to reveal a small cavity. And buried beneath it, Xiao Jingfei covered her shidi’s body. Red and brown stained her back where a dozen hands must have ripped at her before they’d all fallen.

“Xiao-Fei,” Lan Qiren gasped.

Slowly, Xiao Jingfei turned her head, and with that movement, revealed her shidi unharmed beneath her. The disciples dragged her out of the pile and into Lan Qiren’s arms.

“Gege,” she managed.

He held her tight, willing himself to believe this was not a hallucination. Lan Feng checked Xiao Xingchen, then caught his eyes and nodded once he’d made sure the other man lived.

Lan Qiren leaned down and rested his forehead against Xiao Jingfei’s. She bunched her fist in the back of his robes and dragged him forward, holding tight as though she wanted to fuse their bones together.

He gathered her into his arms and stood. His limbs still felt weak from the fight and blood loss, but Lan Qiren would always be strong enough to bear this particular burden.

“We’re going to talk about this,” she murmured, poking at the makeshift bandage wrapped around his neck.

“I’m sure,” he said, “That A-Chang will have stern words for the both of us.”

“At least we’ll be alive to hear them.”

He craned his neck to kiss her forehead, and did not chastise her when she passed out in his arms.

Meng Yao travelled on Baxia to Cloud Recesses in the company of Nie Mingjue and Wei Changze, wishing all the while that he was the one riding double on Baxia.

Jiang Wanyin had remained behind in Lotus Pier to see to the organization of Jin prisoners, neatly commanding the Nie cultivators dedicated to their cause.

“Send me word of my brother and sister,” he ordered before allowing them to go.

“Of course,” Da-ge said. He’d clasped Jiang Wanyin’s arm. “And when this is done, we might be well-served to extend our brotherhood.”

They’d arrived to Cloud Recesses and found corpses crowded the gates, piled up upon each other to make a fence of the dead. Meng Yao’s hand clenched around the sheath of his sword, fear clenching his heart. Had Er-ge survived this? Would… would Da-ge and Meng Yao be all that remained?

“We need to find Er-ge,” Meng Yao whispered.

Nie Mingjue nodded mutely.

Inside the gates, a small handful of Lan disciples waited behind a barrier, chirping once they spotted Lan Xichen: “Liangfang-zun! Chifeng-zun! Wei-xiansheng!” They did not seem significantly harmed. Thank the heavens.

“Where is Zewu-jun?” Nie Mingjue asked.

“Zewu-jun is in the healing pavilion,” one disciple offered. She frowned. “He’s with Hanguang-jun and Wei-qianbei.”

Wei Changze visibly paled. “How—” His voice broke and he took a moment to cough away the weakness. “How many were lost?”

“We’re still accounting for it, Wei-xiansheng, but far fewer than the Wen attack by first reports.”

As they made their way towards the healing pavilion, a number of things caught his attention: GusuLan had already put themselves to the task of clearing away the remains, but the disciples who spearheaded the efforts did not seem harmed. The buildings still stood; much of the fighting having taken place in the common areas and spaces between their homes.

He heard the uproar around the healing pavilion long before they arrived. The healers had done their best to triage the situation, but their resources were obviously and significantly strained. He was already rolling up his sleeves as he made his way towards the door. The injured crowded the walkway leading towards the door, novice healers flitting between them to assess their condition and offer what aid they could while the seniors saw to the worst casualties.

Their head healer spotted him and heaved a sigh of relief. “Lianfang-zun, we’ll be glad to have your help. Zewu-jun has not taken any rest these past twelve hours.”

“Of course.” He cast his gaze about the area. “These cannot be the worst of it?”

“I have ceded the floor to Wen-daifu. She’s inside helping the worst of the injured.” The head healer bowed. “I feel many will live thanks to her care.”

They found Lan Xichen in the midst of the work, identifying those who needed the most care and doing his best to follow the advise and direction of the healers. Without prompting, Meng Yao began scurrying back and forth, bringing bandages and medicine, while Da-ge helped direct those disciples who were uninjured to keep order. Without prompting, Meng Yao shifted his attention from the injured to Lan Xichen, forcing water down his throat as they all helped tend to the wounded.

Hours passed. Morning to afternoon towards evening.

And then, finally, Hanguang-jun appeared at Er-ge’s side. “Xiongzhang.”

Lan Xichen looked up, eyes bleary. Meng Yao grabbed his elbow to keep him steady when his knees shook.

“We have all taken our turns. It is now time for Xiongzhang and his brothers to rest,” Lan Wangji said.

Meng Yao, caught up with the head healer to discuss logistics, paused when he felt Lan Xichen’s gaze upon him. Da-ge had long disappeared to help direct the clean up efforts. He had no idea where or when Wei Changze had gone, merely that he had.

“Shufu—” Lan Xichen began.

“Shufu is fine. Our family is safe,” Wangji said. He gently took hold of Lan Xichen’s wrists. “It is time to rest,” he repeated.

Meng Yao followed as Lan Wangji tugged Er-ge into the main pavilion. Lan Qiren, a thick bandage wound about his neck, waited within next to twin beds upon which Cangse Sanren and Wei Wuxian slept. Ah, and there was Wei Changze, seated at Lan Qiren’s side and looking drawn and pale. They both straighted when Lan Xichen stepped through the door.

“All right, nephew?” he asked. Lan Xichen nodded.

“What can I do?” he asked. He cast his gaze around the hall. Wen Qing had fallen asleep in a small alcove, Jiang Yanli tucked up beside her. Jin Zixuan lay stretched across their feet, unconscious but with sword in hand.

“Set a good example for your sect,” Lan Qiren replied. “And take time to replenish yourself.”

Lan Xichen nodded. Meng Yao stepped forward and guided Lan Xichen to a sleeping mat near Wei Wuxian. It seemed their family felt the need to be close to one another. Meng Yao wondered if he might be accorded the same grace.

“Wangji? What about you?” Lan Xichen asked once Meng Yao had him settled.

Lan Wangji looked towards Wei Wuxian. “My heart is yet beating,” he said.

With that, Lan Xichen seemed to lose what little strength remained in his legs. Meng Yao helped him to a nearby mat to rest.

“I may not be here when you wake, Er-ge,” Meng Yao told him, a thousand matters weighing upon his mind. “But please trust that I will return.”

Lan Xichen caught his hand and squeezed his fingers, then finally submitted to rest.

This was taking too long, Jin Guangshan silently fumed.

He waved for one of his round-faced little girls to refill his cup.

Zixun should have sent word regarding Lotus Pier. He’d promised his nephew Yunmeng, on the understanding that he’d made short work Chifeng-zun and his useless little bastard. He’d graciously given his nephew a day and a night to celebrate his victory, but the lack of messenger made a small, bitter part of him worry over their success.

Why hadn’t he heard anything?

He gestured for another. And another. Two jars and then three. He’d be not only the Chief Cultivator, but in charge of the last remaining significant sect. A shade away from being Emperor. He quite liked that. Even if his bastard had failed him and forced him to rely on his brother’s useless son instead of providing what might have been a legitimate heir. Dying would serve his purposes well enough, he supposed. And it wasn’t as though there weren’t more little bastards who would inevitably come creeping out of the woodwork to try and curry his favour, especially once LanlingJin took its rightful place.

(Zixuan, he now knew, had been a write-off since birth. Jin Guangshan should have married Qin Cangye’s wife when he had the chance… Even if she had born him a daughter after their one and only coupling, they might have been more successful with future issue.)

“Zongzhu, your sons have returned,” a messenger announced.

Jin Guangshan tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness overcame him and he abruptly sat back down. “My… son?” Jin Guangshan shook his head. “My nephew, my heir, you mean.”

“Sons, Zongzhu. Jin Zixuan and Lianfang-zun await your summons.”

He cast his gaze about the room, looking at his remaining disciples. The ranks were significantly culled. He’d sent his most loyal along with Zixun. Those from wealthy families who had bought their way out of joining the Sunshot Campaign and knew that their honour depended on his recognition.

(Those who did not know he’d used their family fortunes to support Wen-xiong in his attempted conquest.)

“Bring them,” he finally heaved.

The page disappeared, and moments later Zixuan and Guangyao stepped inside. A-Xuan had maintained the vermillion mark and still wore the heraldry of his sect. Guangyao—Meng Yao, he supposed, given that he’d shit on every opportunity Jin Guangshan had offered—had returned to the simplistic heraldry of a whore’s son, and dared to come before him with hair plaited in the style of the Nie. Jin Guangshan looked between them, glowering at the way they stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a show of defiance he needed to destroy.

“Father,” A-Xuan said, “I am here to hold you to account for your evils.”

Jin Guangshan choked out a confused laugh, wine sticky in his throat. “My evils? Everything I’ve done is for you.”

“Don’t say that,” Zixuan begged, yet again proving himself to be little more than his mother’s son. She’d always been weak.

“It has been only for himself, Xuan-ge,” Meng Yao whispered.

Jin Guangshan laughed, low and ugly. “I’ll give you one final chance,” he told Meng Yao. “Kill Zixuan and I’ll officially recognize you as my heir.” It was the wine talking, he decided. Obviously there were no ‘last chances’ for sons of whores, especially those who had failed him time and time again. But he didn’t want Zixuan’s blood on his hands. Not directly, anyway.

Meng Yao looked to Zixuan. To Jin Guangshan’s horror, Zixuan, his son, had the gall to look back at his bastard brother with gaze conflicted, as though this would-be fratricide simply bothered him instead of causing him actual concern. They nodded at one another and then returned their attention to him.

“Lotus Pier stands,” Zixuan stated. “Cloud Recesses will be restored to glory. I will redeem LanlingJin and return our sect to a place of righteousness.”

Jin Guangshan chuckled. “Will you? You, a child. Your allies, children. None of you know what it is to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with greatness. None of you.” Wen-xiong had once said the same thing. Jin Guangshan wished he’d had the power to stand behind his words, instead of falling to madness.

“Perhaps, but I do know what it means to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with goodness,” Zixuan said. He drew his sword. “I will ask you to stand down, Father, and acceded to retirement. You may live out a quiet life, away from political matters. I am afraid to say this is the only opportunity you have to agree to the offer, which I have only arranged thanks to the mercy of our allies.”

He exchanged a significant look with the bastard. Jin Guangshan wanted to spit.

“Where are my loyal disciples?” he cried. “Come and defend your sect leader!”

Not a move. Not a twitch. The men lining the room remained still.

“You will regret this,” he stated, looking back and forth between Jin Zixuan and the bastard. “He will find a way to infect our sect with rot.”

Zixuan had the gall to look pitying. As though he were the adult and Jin Guangshan the pathetic child. “My father is tired,” he announced. All of the disciples lining the room took a coordinated step forward. “Please see him to his rooms.”

“He’ll kill me,” Jin Guangshan cried as he flung his hand towards Meng Yao, a last desperate attempt before they removed him. “Just watch! Your Sect Leader will be murdered!”

As they dragged him past Meng Yao, his bastard smiled and bowed. “I have no reason to wish for your death,” he said, dimples on full display. He lowered his voice. “Not when leaving you alive to stew over your failures will be a much worse punishment.”

The last thing Jin Guangshan saw as he was dragged away was his son, his only true heir, clapping Meng Yao on the shoulder and smiling.

Wei Ying would not wake up.

Lan Wangji had expected the prolonged unconsciousness, memories of the Sunshot Campaign still front of mind. It had taken Wei Ying many days to wake after he’d defeated the forces of Wen Ruohan. All he could do was sit and play soothing songs to promote healing.

This time, his efforts were more frequently interrupted, as there seemed to be a coordinated effort on behalf of their family to prevent him from driving himself to exhaustion.

“I will be needed in Lotus Pier soon to help A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli told him. “Won’t you let me sit with A-Xian for a while before I go?”

She had frequently been in Wei Ying’s company during his initial recovery, Lan Wangji acknowledged, and could be trusted with his zhiji’s care while he took some time to rest.

“Rich-gege,” A-Yuan said, appearing at his side, “Wen-jiejie said I should come and ask you for lunch.”

A transparent attempt, but an effective one. A-Yuan monopolized his attention for an entire afternoon, and then demanded Lan Wangji join him at bedtime. Exhausted, Lan Wangji fell asleep halfway through recounting the story of his first meeting with Wei Ying. When he woke the next morning, he found A-Yuan snoozing atop his chest. His reluctance to wake his child kept him dozing in bed for another two full hours.

(He would admit that the additional rest served its purpose.)

“A-Zhan, did you know your elder brother has not slept in two days?” Ghost-jiejie said the next day. “I’ll sit with Ying-er a while if you would save me the trouble of going to yell at him.”

Xiongzhang had many responsibilities demanding his attention and thus Lan Wangji went to shoo Xichen into Nie Mingjue’s care, then allowed himself a momentary respite at his brother’s insistence.

“Please,” Wei Changze said at some point, Shufu at his side, “Sleep.”

Surprisingly effective. Lan Wangji did not like it.

It took nearly a week for Wei Ying to finally wake. Lan Wangji was thankfully at his side when his beautiful eyes finally fluttered open.

“Lan Zhan,” were his first words. And then, “Is everyone safe?”

Lan Wangji bent over Wei Ying’s side. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Wei Ying whispered, curling his hand into Lan Wangji’s hair. “Good.”

He fell asleep again, fingers still against Lan Wangji’s scalp. Unwilling to disturb him, Lan Wangji lay down with his head on Wei Ying’s shoulder, relief a powerful sedative and one that drove him to the first true rest he’d had since before Xue Yang’s arrival.

Song Zichen had not realized that, being dead, he might still be allowed the refuge of sleep.

Or, perhaps, he was not truly asleep. His thoughts felt fluid and unfettered by the mocking voice of Xue Yang ordering his body to perform atrocities over which his mind had no control. Instead, the peace of silence he feared he would never know again, close enough to sleep to be easily mistaken.

He opened his eyes.

Xiao Xingchen sat at his side, limbs arranged in elegant repose. Song Lan ached to want to reach for him. But the memories of distaste of the notion, along with the chill weighing down his limbs, kept him still.

Instead, “Xiao-xiong.”

Xiao Xingchen stiffened in place and turned his head towards Song Lan. “A-Lan.”

A-Lan? No. No, they had given up such affection when Song Lan had chased him away in his grief. A grief which should not have engendered Xiao Xingchen’s sacrifice. A grief, he thought, he might carry with him forever.

Before any of this could be articulated, Xiao Xingchen swept towards him. Not touching—Xiao Xingchen knew better—but moving close enough that his hair fell in a curtain around Song Lan’s face. Song Lan looked at the bandage wound across his eyes as though he could see through them to the vacant holes Baoshan Sanren had carved into her disciple.

“What happened?” Xiao Xingchen asked before Song Lan could.

Song Lan found his face unwilling to respond to basic emotions. He wished to frown, but it felt more of an effort than he wished to devote. “Xue Yang found me,” he responded. Such simple words. “He poisoned me. He killed the entire village I had been trying to help.” An innocuous haunting which had been quickly dispatched. Now he wondered if it had been a trap all along.

Xiao Xingchen’s mouth turned down in sorrow. “We wondered where all the dead had come from,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Song Lan closed his eyes. It did not help. He’d spent too much time in darkness, haunted by the voice of the man who would call himself Song Lan’s master. He reluctantly opened them again.

“Where am I?”

“Cloud Recesses,” Xiao Xingchen told him. He reached down Song Lan’s body and retrieved a talisman. “Your cognition has been fully returned, thanks to my shizhi.” Ah, then Wei Wuxian had been present. Song Lan thought he remembered Xue Yang ranting about his skill and talents. How fortunate for him his captor had been correct.

“And Xue Yang?”

“Imprisoned, for now. Cloud Recesses does not allow killing within its borders. But the new Zongzhu of LanlingJin has demanded his extradition and I believe that Zewu-jun will acceded the request.”

Good, Song Lan thought, glad the viciousness did not reflect in his expression. He did not wish for Xiao Xingchen to think him lesser for his want of revenge, for all it might masquerade as justice.

“What now?”

Xiao Xingchen lifted his hand, but paused before pressing it to Song Lan’s cheek. “Now, I think, I would like you and I to find a way of starting over.”

“Can we?”

“I’ve never hoped for anything more,” Xiao Xingchen said.

Song Lan looked at him. A blind man and a broken corpse. What future could they have?

He supposed, more than anything, he wished to discover it. His limbs responded slower than he would have liked, but he tentatively brushed his fingers across the back of Xiao Xingchen’s hand. He still winced—internally, at least—at the sensation of touch, but it was much muted. On the knife’s edge of tolerable. He did not like to think this was something to be grateful for.

And yet.

Chapter Text

It took Wen Qing two months to declare Wei Wuxian fit for long travel; she’d spent most of the time coordinating his recovery with the Cloud Recesses healers from the newly established Wen township, only occasionally visiting herself.

“You were bedbound for three weeks,” she said crossly when he whined about it, “And besides the journey to find her, we do not know how she’s going to approach the matter. I want you as healthy as possible.”

“Besides,” Jiang Wanyin muttered, “You don’t want to miss ‘Jie’s wedding.”

Lan Qiren thought it rather telling that this, moreso than his own physical well-being, provided Wei Wuxian with the proper motivation.

(The wedding, which took place with some expediency, had been very lovely.)

After the clean up had been completed and the dead laid to rest with proper honours, Lan Qiren had offered to remain in Cloud Recesses with Xichen. Given that Wangji would be accompanying Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing, he did not wish for Xichen to be unsupported.

“Thank you, Shufu, but I have A-Yao, Wanyin, and Mingjue ready to assist if needed.” He smiled. “You have already given this nephew, and this sect, more of yourself than should have been demanded. Please, go with my blessings.”

“And it’s not as though we won’t visit,” Xiao Jingfei pointed out.

“Indeed, with A-Huan here and A-Xian and his family bound for Lotus Pier, I imagine we’ll be regular guests of both Gusu and Yunmeng,” Wei Changze agreed.

Thus, when the morning of their departure came, and everyone gathered at the Cloud Recesses gates to see off the small party, they were not the only ones leaving. Lan Qiren’s own qiankun pouches were stuffed nearly to full with all sundry of items to make an itinerant life significantly easier.

There was a last question demanding an account, however:

“Why a donkey?” Xiao Jingfei demanded, regarding the creature with a slight grimace.

“He’s a very noble creature, A-Niang,” Wei Wuxian protested. He tried to stroke the animal’s neck, but the donkey swung its head around to nip at him. He narrowly managed to yank his hand back in time. “Don’t you try that with A-Yuan,” he warned, wagging his finger.

“He won’t!” A-Yuan called from his perch on the donkey’s back. “He’s a good donkey.”

Wei Wuxian did not look nearly sceptical enough in Lan Qiren’s opinion. Wen Qing looked as bemused by the donkey as Lan Qiren himself, her expression suggesting that she would not be in anyway accountable for its care.

Predictably, Wei Changze and Jiang Yanli had accosted Wangji in order to present him with an impressive number of carefully wrapped packages. Lan Qiren supposed he shouldn’t have wondered where Wei Changze had disappeared to shortly after their arrival.

“Thank you, Madam Jin—”

“I told you to call me Jiejie.”

“Yes, Jiejie. Thank you, Wei-xiansheng—”

“Yuefu, please. We’ve had this discussion many times.”

“Yes, Yuefu. Thank you, Yuefu.”

(“Reminding me is a task they both take great pleasure in,” Wangji once admitted to Lan Qiren. “I would not rob them of it.”)

With impressive coordination, they shoved another half-dozen packages into his arms.

Lan Qiren moved to Xiao Jingfei’s side.

She laughed, “I think between them, they’ve emptied the stores of both Cloud Recesses and Koi Tower.”

“Should that be the case, I have no doubt Jiang Wanyin will honour the renewed trade agreements,” Lan Qiren said.

As one, they both turned to where Jin Zixuan stood with Jiang Wanyin, the two of them looking pained and unimpressed, respectively.

After the parting gifts had been secured to the donkey, who looked remarkably irritated at being required to serve its purpose as a pack animal, Xiao Jingfei sidled up to Wei Wuxian’s side.

“Are you ready, A-Xian?” Xiao Jingfei asked. Wei Wuxian nodded. “All right.” She ducked in close to him and whispered in his ear. He nodded along, forehead creased in concentration until she’d finished.

“Lan Zhan, we’re heading west,” Wei Wuxian said.

Xiao Jingfei tugged a lock of his hair. “Well done.”

They gathered together to watch as Wangji, Wei Wuxian, and Wen Qing led the donkey out the gates. Lan Qiren found himself wholly unsurprised when Wen Qionglin appeared at their side a moment later.

“We could follow,” Wei Changze told them, coming to stand at their side.

“This is their journey, A-Chang,” Xiao Jingfei reminded him. “We have our own paths to follow.”

“Ones we may finally walk upon together,” Lan Qiren agreed.

They bid their own farewells and, finally, left Cloud Recesses together.