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Chapter Text

Chapter 1: A Numb Kind of Silence

Thirteen Years Previously…

Wen Qing knows when the Burial Mounds fall. There is one night when she wakes up to the sound of her brother’s choked-off cry in the next room. She holds him, stroking a hand over the chilly grey skin of his forehead as he sobs dryly and she wipes bloody tears from his undead cheeks.

            “Young Master Wei is gone,” he tells her and she feels the truth of it sink into her heart like a stone. Unbidden, she sees Jiang Yanli’s face in her mind’s eye, how it with crumple and fall when they tell her Wei Wuxian will never come home. She imagines the way Jiang Cheng’s eyes will shutter, going cold and flat as Zidian sparks on his finger, longing to lash out at an uncaring world which would take everything from him and give precious little in return.

            Tears prick the corners of her eyes as she thinks of A-Yuan, who faithfully waits every single day for the time when they will all go back to Yiling and he will see his adoptive father again.

            They won’t be going back to Yiling. Not now, not ever. Wei Wuxian knew what he was doing when he sent her to Lotus Pier to assist in the birth of his nephew.

            “I can’t be there myself, but I can make sure shijie has the best doctor in the country – no, the world – to attend her, right, Qing-jie?”

            “Flattery will get you nothing.”

            “Make sure you take Granny and Wen Ning and A-Yuan with you, okay~”

            “Wei Wuxian, I can’t just - !”

            “You can and you will. I’ve already sent Jiang Cheng a letter. It’s decided. They’re waiting for you now. Can’t let them down, can I?”

            “And who’s going to keep you out of trouble in the meantime?”

            “I can take care of myself, Qing-jie!”

            She hadn’t believed him then, but she hadn’t thought it would come to this. She should have known, should have seen it when he began sending them away. Always in small groups. Always with an excuse. Uncle Four and some of the older scholars to Gusu to enrich Lan Xichen’s library, a whole troop of artisans to Nie Huaisang, a few craftsmen to the Ouyang Sect’s lands – and her and anyone with the slightest bit of medical knowledge to hover over his very pregnant sister at Lotus Pier.

            Wei Wuxian might be a genius but he wasn’t as crafty as he thought he was.

            But she had tolerated it. Even encouraged it, thinking it was only temporary, that he was just in one of his moods, trying some new experiment the children and elders shouldn’t be around. And now he was gone.

            “How did – how are?” she doesn’t know how to ask her little brother how he’s still alive even though the man who revived him is dead.

            Wen Ning hangs his head. “Whatever he did to revive me isn’t connected to his life force. He told me that much.”

            Wen Qing wants to snap at him for feeling guilty for something as silly as outliving a core-less moron with a death wish, but she’s not that big a hypocrite. The yawning pit in her chest where her best friend used to be comes with its own dose of aching survivor’s guilt. So instead she just holds her brother as he cries for their brother in all but blood and tries not to think about what comes next.

...

            “Lan Zhan, I’m going to destroy the Stygian Tiger Amulet. But there might be…aftershocks. You can’t stay here.”

            “I want to stay.”

            “Weren’t you listening? You can’t! Get going – ”

            “I will stay with you.”

            “Lan Zhan!”

            “You should not be alone.”

            “You stubborn ass! There’s a very angry mob of cultivators coming for my head and I’m trying to rip apart a malicious artifact packed full of resentful energy. YOU CAN’T BE HERE.”

            “I will hold them.”

            “What? Who?!”

            “The mob. I will hold them. Destroy the amulet.”

            “…Lan Zhan.”

            “Destroy it. Safely.”

            “I can’t, I can’t promise you that.”

            “Try.”

            “…I’ll try.”

…

            Lan Wangji knows he will be punished for this. As he stands in the rubble of the Yiling Burial Mounds, watching as the place Wei Ying and the Wen remnants tenaciously carved out from the unforgiving landscape burns to the ground, he knows his fate will be harsh.

            But it does not matter.

            Wei Ying is gone.

            He does not know if he failed. If he couldn’t keep them all at bay long enough, if some cultivator slipped past him and cut down Wei Ying while he was distracted dealing with the amulet…

            Lan Wangji does not know how to live with that thought.

            He knows destroying the amulet was risky. He knows Wei Ying knew the risks. He’d evacuated Yiling in anticipation of something going terribly wrong. He’d known Jin Guangshan was stirring up trouble, just looking for an excuse to send an army in to seize the amulet and with it the power to raise and destroy kingdoms. He’d known.

            But still. Lan Wangji does not know if he can live with this.

            He’s bleeding. His body is a thousand cuts held upright by will alone. His fingers are bloody where they rest on the strings of his zither, his robes (white, hadn’t Wei Ying always complained about the white? Mourning colors he’d called it) filthy and torn. He doesn’t know what to do now that it’s over. The mob is routed, but Wei Ying and everything he ever tried to do, or make, or be is dead.

            Lan Wangji stands very still in the face of all he has lost and bleeds.

…

            It’s been three days since his brother’s death and Jiang Cheng knows he has to do something about the Wens. They can’t stay at Lotus Pier indefinitely. Yanli has had her baby, both mother and child are healthy – were healthy even before the news broke. Jin Zixuan has begged forgiveness for the part his family played in all this pain. Jiang Cheng wants to hate him just like he hates Jin Guangshan, and Jin Zixun, and all the other golden-clad snakes at Koi Tower. But he can’t. He can’t hate the man who, sodden, injured and starving, trekked for miles all those years ago to bring help to save the very brother Jin Guangshan condemned to death.  He can’t hate the man who wore a groove in the floor pacing while Yanli was in labor. He can’t hate the man who holds Jin Ling with wonder and love in his eyes.

            And anyway, Jin Zixuan hadn’t known about any of this until it was too late. They’d kept him in the dark, just like the rest of them.

            So no, Jiang Cheng can’t hate him.

            He’s so…tired. So tired and heartsick and weary with all this hating he’s had to do lately. He’d hoped Jin Ling’s birth would be the start of a new chapter. That his nephew would come into a better world. Instead, he’s arrived just in time for his other uncle to be unceremoniously yanked out of it.

            “A-Cheng,” Yanli’s voice is soft and so beloved. He looks up to see her in the doorway, watching him with big, sad eyes.

            “Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asks, ready to fuss over her, needing something to pour all this protective energy pooling in his chest into.

            She shakes her head but settles on the seat he pulls out for her anyway.

            “Any word from Wen Qionglin?”

            She shakes her head again, “No. Jiang Cheng – ”

            “We can’t do anything until – ” until what? Until they confirm what they already know? Until the fierce corpse brings back his brother’s shattered body? Until what? What are you waiting for, Jiang Cheng? His mother’s voice on the pier, his childhood home burning behind her, ordering Wei Ying to protect him – but who would protect Wei Ying? He wants to go back, to ask her, to demand to know who was supposed to watch his brother’s back.

            “A-Cheng, we need to make some decisions about the Wens.” Yanli rests a hand on his arm, and he’s struck by her strength. She’s the kindest and the sweetest out of all of them, and yet she’s always been the first one to dry her tears and look at the world with clear eyes and a determined smile. “Jin Guangshan is already making demands.”

            Jiang Cheng nods. “What do you suggest?”

            Yanli’s lips press together, a sure sign he’s not going to like her suggestion. Her lips compressed when she told him their new brother was petrified of dogs. Her lips compressed when she told him she was going to marry the damn peacock. Her lips press together now, seconds before she says: “You need to marry Wen Qing.”

            Jiang Cheng startles so badly he chokes and hurls his teacup across the room. “WHAT.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: No Marrow in Them Bones (just trouble and sin)

Present Day…

Less than twenty four hours into his second life, Wei Wuxian has already decided that resurrection is not all it’s cracked up to be. So far he’s woken up in a donkey shed, been bullied by a donkey, then bullied by a human with the brains and body odor of a donkey, then assaulted, then harassed by a disembodied arm, then almost caught by his childhood crush/rival/nemesis. Now he’s lying on the forest floor, his donkey trapped in a net and none too happy about the situation.

            The feeling is mutual, Lil Apple.

            And, considering the sheer number of walking corpses his less-than-glorious return has involved, Wei Wuxian is 110% certain he is completely within his rights to scream bloody murder when he looks up to see a small, pale face peering down at him.

            The small, pale face shrieks right back, leaping away from his prone form and drawing a sword. A sword the small, pale person is clearly not entirely familiar with, judging by how the heavy weapon sags in their white-knuckled grip as they point it at Wei Wuxian.

            Wei Wuxian, realizing this is a human child and not a ghoul ready and willing to rend him limb from limb, groans and rolls onto his back, staring contemplatively at Lil Apple, thrashing in a net above his head.

            “I blame you for this,” he tells the donkey.

            She brays back at him as if to say ‘you were the dumbass who decided to bypass the road’.

            She has a good point. A good point he, for the sake of his tattered, battered, and abused pride, will happily ignore. Instead of contemplating where it all went wrong (a mental exercise he does not want to undertake, considering the events leading up to his death and subsequent rebirth), he jumps to his feet and spins on his heel to face the child. Who…really is a child, now that he takes a moment to really look. A boy, no more than twelve years old, too young for a courtesy name, confronts him with a sword far too big for his slight frame.

            “What are you supposed to be?” Wei Wuxian demands, “Are they letting kids night-hunt now? Where are your parents?”

            “I’m here with my father!” the boy snaps, “And what do you mean, ‘what am I supposed to be’? You’re the one running around the woods in all that makeup. You look like a fierce corpse!”

            Wei Wuxian laughs as the boy’s voice jumps up in pitch at the end. Definitely eleven or twelve. A child, really. “You’re the one who laid a trap for my donkey, kid.”

            “I’m not a kid!”

            “You’re not even old enough for a courtesy name! Your sword is longer than you are tall!”

            “It is not!” twin spots of red bloom on the child’s cheeks and Wei Wuxian bites back on a snicker. He’s like a little bitty Jiang Cheng!

            He carefully doesn’t think of his brother, doesn’t wonder if the Wens he sent to him and Yanli are alright; and he definitely doesn’t wonder if his sometime family mourned his passing or said good riddance to another demonic cultivator done and dusted.

            The boy draws a breath, visibly re-centering himself. When he refocuses on Wei Wuxian, his voice is noticeably calmer. “Who are you? What at are you doing out in the woods so late at night, sir?”

            “Sir!” Wei Wuxian likes that, it’s been too long since anyone’s treated him with anything like respect, “How do you like that? The little lord calls me sir!”

            “Don’t laugh at me! I’m trying to be polite!” and there’s that preteen temper again. The boy is practically bristling with wounded pride. Wei Wuxian does wonder, though, where are this kid’s parents? Why is he out here with a sword he can barely swing in the middle of the night?

            “You should really find your father, kid,” Wei Wuxian says, sobering, “It’s not safe out here – ”

            “I know, why do you think we put up the traps?” the kid says.

            Wei Wuxian glances up to where Lil Apple still hangs suspended. “Well, based on what you’ve caught so far I’d say it’s to harass random travelers and their donkeys.”

            “That was an accident!” the boy huffs, “And my father is around, I just…”

            “Are you lost?”
            “No!”

            “Then where’s your father?”
            “I...I temporarily misplaced him.”

            “What were you planning to do, hop in the net with Lil Apple and hope he comes to see what’s in his trap?”

            The kid looks away, “No…I was just going to wait here for him to find me,” he looks up, bristling again, “I didn’t expect some suspicious guy to come tromping through!”

            “Hey, who says I’m suspicious?” Wei Wuxian demands – admittedly he knows he’s very dangerous, thank you, but how does the kid know that?

            Of course, then an arrow interrupts him, confirming that at least one other person in these woods thinks he’s suspicious too. He dodges out of the way just in time to avoid collision with a very angry yellow blur.

            “GET AWAY FROM MY COUSIN!” the yellow blur screams, before coming at him with yet another sword.

            This confirms it. Resurrection is officially the worst thing that’s happened to him this week. Including getting himself blown up destroying the Stygian Tiger Amulet. That at least came with the knowledge that the angry mob led by the peacock’s stupider cousin wouldn’t get it and that the Wens were safely evacuated from the burial mounds pre-explosion.

            “Wow, this forest is just full of baby cultivators today, isn’t it?” Wei Wuxian observes cheerily as he dodges sword strikes from the yellow ball of rage. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the first kid lower his sword and hold up a hand to his cousin, possibly trying to call him off.

            “Who the hell are you calling a baby!” the angry yellow blur resolves itself into an angry yellow teenager, dressed in the colors of Lanling Jin, “I am Jin –”

            “Sorry, I really don’t care,” Wei Wuxian says lightly as he darts inside the teen’s guard, disarming him neatly and flipping the sword up to rest the flat of the blade against his shoulder, “But now that you can’t stab me, could you be a dear and get my donkey down?”

            The yellow teenager growls and draws his bow, proving he did, indeed, introduce himself by shooting first and asking zero questions, later or otherwise. “Who are you and why are you harassing my cousin – ” he blinks, glare momentarily dropping from his face as he asks, taken aback: “Wait, aren’t you… Mo Xuanyu?”

            “Uhh…” Wei Wuxian has no idea what Mo Xuanyu’s relationship to this kid was, so he shrugs and says: “Sure, maybe, who’s to say?”

            This was clearly not the right answer, because the Jin kid is back to pointing an arrow at his brand new face. Which. Rude. Why were all these juniors so rude?

            “Were you kids raised in a barn? What asshole taught you to yell at strangers and shoot at random passersby?”

            This just pisses the Jin kid off even more, “Shut the fuck up, my mother is an excellent and well-mannered lady! You’re just suspicious!”

            “Why does everyone think I’m suspicious!”

            “Well, you were running through haunted woods wearing ceremonial face paint in the middle of the night,” the younger one pipes up. “That’s pretty shady.”

            “How is that shady?” Wei Wuxian demands.

            “How isn’t it shady?” the Jin brat growls.

            “Well…well…you’re the idiots setting up traps and catching people’s donkeys! That’s not fair either!”

            “At least it isn’t shady!” snarls the Jin brat.

            “Guys, we’re going to attract actual evil spirits if we keep yelling,” the first kid says in what is probably the most reasonable statement to come out of the last few minutes. Both Wei Wuxian and the Jin brat pause and look at the kid, who shrugs, “I mean. Evil spirits are attracted to negative energy, right?”

            “Should have thought of that before you started leaving traps for random pedestrians,” Wei Wuxian points out.

            “RANDOM PEDESTRIANS HAVE NEVER BEEN A PROBLEM IN THE MIDDLE OF AN EXTREMELY HAUNTED FOREST, YOU’RE JUST WEIRD!” the Jin brat bellows, voice cracking a little in the middle.

            Wei Wuxian coos, mostly to see if the Jin brat will turn purple like baby Jiang Cheng used to, “Awww. You’re turning purple. Careful, people will think you’re from Yunmeng Jiang if you keep that up.”

            “MY MOTHER IS A JIANG AND I’M EXTREMELY PROUD TO BE OF HER FAMILY LINE, SO SHUT YOUR FACE!” The kid’s own face is, indeed turning purple and Wuxian’s heart is stuttering in his chest.

            “Jin. Jin Ling?” he asks, eyes filling with unexpected tears. It’s been so long, he thinks. It’s been… this kid has to be thirteen or fourteen years old. He has a courtesy name and a sword of his own. Wei Wuxian wonders if Yanli used the name he suggested, if Jin Ling goes by Jin Rulan now.

            “WHO SAID YOU COULD USE MY NAME LIKE THAT!”

            “You’re making him cry,” the younger junior protests.

            “GOOD!” snaps Jin Ling.

            “I’m not crying,” Wei Wuxian protests, “You’re just…you’re just so grown-up now.”

            “QUIT BLUBBERING!” Jin Ling huffs, face pinking, “Jeesh. You have to be Mo Xuanyu. Always so over the top and embarrassing.”

            “Does that mean we don’t have to fight him?” the littlest disciple asks.

            “Well, since I have his sword and you can’t even lift yours, it wouldn’t be much of a fight,” Wei Wuxian points out.

            “I – I’m lifting my sword right now!” the kid protests. Aww, he’s managed to ruffle both their feathers at once. This being an uncle thing is fun. Of course, right when he’s beginning to actually enjoy his return to the land of the living, something has to go and ruin it.

            That something is a flash of familiar purple lightning snapping out from somewhere behind him. Wei Wuxian yelps and dances out of the way just in time, making sure to spin on the ball of his foot in an utterly shameless display of ‘clumsiness’ in order to bring Jin Ling’s sword up to bat away the tip of the lash before it can cut through the space he once occupied and possibly hit Jin Ling.

            “Oh, no wonder you’re all so rude,” Wei Wuxian says, hopping out of range before Zidian can come back for another try at his head, “If this is how your seniors behave. Hello there, Sect Leader Jiang.”

            Jiang Cheng, resplendent in the purples and blues of Yunmeng Jiang, steps free of the shadows, Zidian crackling at his side.  “Step away from the children,” he says, voice a soft growl reminiscent of both his mother’s wrath and his father’s more contained but no less deadly disapproval.

            “I’m not a child!” Jin Ling huffs, “I have a courtesy name and my own sword!”

            Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both snort dismissively at the same time, which only serves to give Wei Wuxian déjà vu and a strange look from his foster brother. “You’re a child until I say you’re not a child,” Jiang Cheng snaps at his nephew.

            “Not to mention, technically I have your sword,” Wei Wuxian hums.

            Jiang Cheng’s face twitches like he isn’t sure whom to yell at first – his nephew for losing his blade, or this stranger for taking it. He ultimately doesn’t have to choose, because their conversation is interrupted by the kid whose name Wei Wuxian still doesn’t know.

            “We’re fine, Father. This senior’s donkey was just caught in one of the spirit traps by accident.”

            Wei Wuxian chokes on air. Father?!?! Jiang Cheng managed to reproduce? With who???? “How the hell did you convince some poor woman to marry you?” Wei Wuxian demands before thinking better of it. Story of his life, really. Both lives.

            All three Jiangs and Jiang-adjacents look miffed now. “What the hell do you mean by that?” Jin Ling demands.

            “Don’t swear,” his cousin reminds him as Jiang Cheng growls, “Watch your fucking language.”

            Wei Wuxian will not laugh, he will not coo at how cute his foster brother is with the juniors, he will behave himself and stay nominally in character as this Mo Xuanyu person.

            Jiang Cheng turns his ferocious glare on Wei Wuxian, who resists a reflexive urge to cackle at his sour face. “I asked. Nicely.”

            Wei Wuxian has an image of a flustered, grumpy, red-faced Jiang Cheng, eyes downcast, mumbling his way through a marriage proposal and his façade of near-calm shatters. Within seconds he’s gasping for air through peals of unrestrained laughter. Tears are coming to his eyes. He has to plant Jin Ling’s sword in the ground and lean on it for support, he’s laughing so hard. He’s wheezing. He hasn’t laughed like this in days, months, years. He doesn’t think he’s laughed like this since he got booted from Cloud Recesses.

            Wei Wuxian manages to rein it in only to hear Jin Ling protesting the way he’s using the boy’s sword and all his self-control shatters once again. There’s nothing graceful or dignified about this, he’s having a fit of hilarity at the ridiculous look on Jin Ling’s face and it’s too much.

            “You’re just like a baby peacock!” he finally bursts out as Jin Ling gets increasingly wound up and Jiang Cheng and baby Jiang look increasingly mystified and annoyed at his hysterics. “You’re a…PEACHICK!”

            “I hate you,” Jin Ling snaps.

            Wei Wuxian wipes the tears from his eyes. It feels like something’s finally come loose in his chest, like he’d been biting his lip to keep from screaming for too long and finally he can open his mouth and breathe.

            “Do you promise not to stab me if I give you back your sword?”

            “No!” Jin Ling instantly blurts, “You’re suspicious! You could be out here doing shady stuff! What if I have to stab you later?”

            This again. Jiang Cheng is clearly a horrible influence on the youth. Wei Wuxian turns to his younger nephew, “Okay, kid, you’re young enough to still be impressionable. Listen to me very carefully. Your cousin doesn’t have a sense of humor, and your father is clearly bullying me. This is your chance to be better than your elders. Grow as a person, don’t be like them.”

            The kid has the gall to look offended, “My father is one of the greatest cultivators in the world,” he says, raising his chin, “I would be proud to be one tenth of the sect leader he is.”

            Wei Wuxian glances to the side just in time to see Jiang Cheng’s face soften around the edges, something in his mouth and eyes going a little wobbly at his son’s praise.  “A-Xing,” he says, voice softer than Wei Wuxian has heard it in years, and he really wishes he could stay for this touching moment, but there is a very real chance of him being incarcerated at Koi Tower for his crimes against the Jin sect (never mind that they were the ones attacking him) if Jiang Cheng figures out who he really is. So, taking advantage of his brother’s momentary distraction, Wei Wuxian hefts the sword and snaps his fingers in Jin Ling’s general direction.

            “Hey, hey, kid.”

            Jin Ling looks up, frowning.

            “You want it?” Wei Wuxian indicates the sword, “GO GET IT.” Channeling what spiritual power he can muster up from this body’s underdeveloped golden core, he chucks the sword at the rope holding Lil Apple’s net off the ground, severing it in one strike. He spins on his heel, turns his back on the ensuing chaos, and bolts.

            “HEY!” There are three voices and an angry donkey braying after him, but Wei Wuxian is beyond caring.

            Cackling (hopefully) like a madman, he keeps on running, shouting “I’M A LUNATIC, I DO WHAT I WANT!” over his shoulder as he leaves his erstwhile family in the dust.

…

            Of course, scarcely an hour later a possessed statue is trying to flatten the children and Wei Wuxian is hastily fashioning a dizi out of bamboo and hoping he doesn’t pick up too many splinters doing this. What he wouldn’t give for his beautiful Chenqing. But the dizi was gone, probably taken with the explosion that decimated him and his last stronghold when he destroyed the Stygian Tiger Amulet. At least now, after seeing him at Mo Manor, Wei Wuxian knows Lan Zhan was out of range of the blast.

            He pauses his craftsmanship to grab the back of baby Jiang’s shirt and bodily haul him out from under the statue’s descending fist. “Send up a flare,” he snaps, “Call for your father.”

            “I don’t have any flares!” baby Jiang protests.

            Of fucking course he doesn’t. What happened to giving children explosives and hoping for the best? In his day – well, in his day they were at war and all bets were off.

            Gods, has Wei Wuxian become old?

            He shudders at the thought, bringing his newly crafted flute up to his lips and beginning a song he remembers from long ago, from a cold, dark cave and the Xuanwu of Slaughter and Lan Zhan’s humming soothing him to a restless sleep. He reaches out, calling for anyone, anything to come to their aid. There’s plenty of resentful energy in this forest, but most of it is being sucked into the whirlpool of power at the heart of the stone fairy. It takes effort to peel off any of it to throw back in her face. He gropes for a fierce corpse or even a restless soul, something with a little more power. Luckily for the rogue cultivators and a junior disciples (where did the baby Lans come from? It seems no one can keep track of their juniors tonight), no one has died yet. But, Wei Wuxian reflects, a cultivator’s fierce corpse would be very helpful right about now as he struggles to draw enough resentful energy away from the statue in an attempt to starve or restrain it.

            Then, like an immortal descending from the heavens, a grey blur slams into the stone fairy, chains rattling in its wake. The baby Jiang, who Wei Wuxian had been trying to keep sheltered behind him, looks up, a smile breaking across his face.

            “Uncle Ning!” he calls.

            Wei Wuxian’s fingers stutter and he almost stops playing. What. Is. Happening.

            The rogue cultivators (who mostly seem to be here to get in the way) start muttering amongst themselves, “The Ghost General, it’s the Ghost General,” they keep repeating with awe as the grey figure resolves itself into none other than Wen Ning. His pallid face turns toward Wei Wuxian, utter shock in his inky eyes, “…Young…Master Wei.”

            Wei Wuxian trills sharply on the dizi. One of the baby Lans bitches about his playing and Wei Wuxian bites back the urge to tell the teenager he’d like to see him try to make a flute in five seconds out of found materials. Wen Ning meets his eyes and gives him a sharp nod before turning and engaging the rampaging statue.

            “Uncle Ning is the best,” the baby Jiang observes. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian spots the boy regarding him with a shrewd look, “Mother says my uncle gave him a second life when cruel men killed him unjustly. I never met my uncle, but Mother and Aunt Yanli say he was very powerful.”

            Wei Wuxian shoots the kid a look meant to convey ‘less speculating, more fighting for our lives’ but probably doesn’t convey anything of the sort. He’s a little distracted trying to peel resentful energy off the statue and feed it to Wen Ning. A tall order for a hastily crafted flute and a song not originally meant to carry spiritual power.

            Jin Ling gets hurled into a tree and Wei Wuxian doesn’t have a third hand to restrain the littlest Jiang as he rushes to his cousin’s side. Jin Ling snaps something at him as he helps the older boy up, but Jiang jr. ignores him. The two baby Lans flicker in and out of the statue’s reach, their white robes flashing like moths amidst the soot and smoke from the fire (because of course one of the idiot rogue cultivators was stupid enough to set the forest on fire).  Red lightning sparks on Wen Ning’s chains as the cry of the flute crests over the sound of battle. Wei Wuxian’s eyes are surely glowing red now as he channels as much resentful energy as the tune can carry away from the stone fairy and into his old friend. All around him the fire in the trees turns green and eerie. The rogue cultivators cry out in fear and some dark part of Wei Wuxian laughs at the looks on their faces.

            Yes, they should fear him. He is the Yiling Patriarch, back from the dead. He is a ghost story come to life, he –

            “A-Xing, MOVE,” one of the Lans shouts, and Wei Wuxian whips around, prepared to jump into the fray bodily if necessary (maybe he should have kept Jin Ling’s sword), but Wen Ning is suddenly there, catching the cursed arm in an implacable grip, casting loop after loop of chains around the statue’s body, dragging it to the ground and finally subduing it in a blast of dust and red sparks. The cursed arm tears free and Wen Ning pounces on it like a cat on a sparrow, pinning it down.

            Wei Wuxian almost expects to see an empty, white-eyed gaze when Wen Ning looks up. Worry curls in his chest that maybe he went too far again maybe he broke his undead companion’s grip on reality once more. But the Wen Ning who turns to address the children is the same Wen Ning who tenderly carried A-Yuan in his arms (oh, A-Yuan, where are you now? Who have you grown up to be?) and laughed at all of Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing’s terrible jokes when things were at their worst. Dark eyes look to Jin Ling and baby Jiang as he asks, “Are you all right?” in a soft tone completely at odds with the way he’s bodily forcing a zombie arm to the ground.

            “We’re fine, Uncle, don’t worry,” the youngest Jiang says, Jin Ling’s arm thrown over his shoulder as his cousin tries and fails to look like he’s being cool and not being helped to his feet by the younger boy.

            Wen Ning nods with a pleasant smile, “You should be more careful.”

            “We were doing just fine!” Jin Ling sputters, only to be interrupted by one of the junior Lans bowing to Wen Ning.

            “Thank you for your assistance, Senior.”

            “Of course, Sizhui,” Wen Ning pauses, tilting his head and turning back to where Wei Wuxian has softened his flute playing, allowing the fire to flicker back to orange and gold instead of ghostly green. He dares not stop in case the arm breaks loose again. “Thank you for the assist, Young Master.”

            Wei Wuxian shrugs and prepares to deflect or perform. He doesn’t like the knowing look in Wen Ning’s eyes or the confused looks on the juniors’ faces. He begins to slowly back away, out of range of any sudden attacks (Wen Ning would never hurt him in the old days, but the old days are long gone and in their current states, Wei Wuxian isn’t sure he’d be able to subdue Wen Ning should the children decide he’s a threat and sic their senior on him). He keeps going, easing away step by step as the juniors start bickering amongst themselves and the rogue cultivators ooh and ahh over Wen Ning’s skills (which…is a bit of a strange development, but one Wei Wuxian will gladly take over the alternative).

            Wei Wuxian is so close to fading into the trees, the fire dying down before him. He’s so close, just a few more steps – and his back thumps into something very solid and very warm. Definitely not a tree. Trees, for example, do not reach up and wrap long, calloused fingers around Wei Wuxian’s wrist. Nor do they say, “You can stop now,” in the same cool, smooth voice that haunted Wei Wuxian’s last hours alive.

            He looks up, already knowing what he’ll see and is not disappointed. Time has been kind of Lan Wangji. The years have, if anything only refined the elegant lines of his face into something even more untouchably beautiful.

            “Wei Ying. You can stop now.”

            Wei Wuxian lowers the flute. “Lan Zhan.” How does he know? How does he always know every time Wei Wuxian tries to get away with anything? “You always catch me when I’m bending the rules.”

            Lan Zhan’s grip on his wrist tightens briefly and then eases. “Breaking the rules.”

            “Semantics.”

            “Mn.”

            A snap of purple lighting overhead has them both looking up to see Jiang Cheng leaping from a tree (he always knew how to make an entrance, didn’t he?). Wei Wuxian is ready for his brother to yell at him for his shamelessness, his flute-playing, his demonic energy, really anything and everything he’s done in the last 35 years he’s been a presence on this earth. Instead, the sect leader brushes past them with a brusque, “Lan Wangji, quit cuddling the necromancer,” before wrapping his nephew and his son in a bear hug.

            “Why are you both such reckless little fools!” he snaps – the effect entirely spoiled by the fact that he hasn’t released them from his hold yet, despite their protests, “I ought to confine you to quarters for a week. No, a month. No, you’ll be cleaning out bedpans and mixing medicines in the infirmary until your mothers are done with you.”

            “Father, we’re fine,” his son protests.

            “Get off!” Jin Ling howls; “Let me have some dignity!”

            Jiang Cheng releases them only to smack Jin Ling upside the head; “You’ll get your dignity back when you’re less of a plague on my sanity!”

            “That implies you had any sanity to begin with, old man,” Jin Ling grumps.

            “Care to repeat that, infant?” Jiang Cheng snarls.

            While Wei Wuxian is distracted with the Jiang family circus, the little Lans have approached their master and bow respectfully. While Jiang Cheng was focused on haranguing his charges, the Lans contained the arm in a spirit bag and Wen Ning ushered the rogue cultivators away from the scene of the incident (probably telling them to get going before Sect Leader Jiang tears them to pieces for letting his kids fight their battles for them).

            “We have contained the malignant spirit, sir,” the eldest (Sizhui, Wen Ning called him Sizhui) informs them.

            “Worst field trip ever,” the younger declares, despite a quelling look from his companion, “Can we go home now?”

            “Yes,” Lan Zhan, verbose as ever, declares.

            Jiang Cheng, who must have ears like a goddamn dog, whips around to glare at the Gusu contingent. “You had better not be going all the way back to Gusu.”

            Lan Zhan just stares at him. “Mn.”

            “With him?” Jiang Cheng asks, gesturing to Wei Wuxian.

            “Hey, who says I can’t go back to Gusu? I can do whatever I want!” Wei Wuxian protests.

            Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng, and even the children all give him flat looks. Which. Okay. Insulting.

            What’s even more insulting is the way Jiang Cheng snaps Zidian out to wrap around Wei Wuxian’s wrist and yank him out of his little knot of Lans. “Come on, idiot, we’re going home.”

            Shit. It seems Jiang Cheng has not been fooled by Wei Wuxian’s brilliant performance. Well, it’s not as if he has any dignity left anyway. Wei Wuxian immediately puts on his ‘harmless crazy person’ face and bursts into loud, melodramatic sobs, calling Jiang Cheng a beast and a brute and protesting that he has no right to haul him around like a common criminal. He’s really getting into it; the juniors are all looking increasingly disturbed, when Jiang Cheng snaps.

            “WEI WUXIAN, WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONCE?”

            That’s enough to shock Wei Wuxian quiet momentarily, but not for long.

            Jiang Cheng sighs at him. “Wen Ning told me. Lan Zhan calling you by name was also a pretty big tip off, Wei Wuxian,” he stresses the name as if that will get through Wei Wuxian’s thick head.

Wei Wuxian, seeing no other options, immediately bounces into his ‘happy loon’ persona. “Wei Wuxian? Who’s this Wei Wuxian?”

            Jiang Cheng looks seconds away from a stroke. Wen Ning is staring at him blankly like his soul has actually left his body with the force of his secondhand embarrassment. The juniors are all looking extremely unnerved, except for Sizhui, who is apparently a student of the Lan Xichen school of Neutral Pleasant Face for All Occasions. Wuxian turns to his last hope.

            “Hangaung-Jun, you won’t let the mean Sect Leader take me away and torture me, would you?”

            Lan Zhan looks incredibly tired. “Wei Ying. Your brother missed you. Be nice.”

            Wei Wuxian gapes at him.

            Sizhui makes a choking sound, while his buddy looks like he’s watching a dramatic play with horrified fascination. Jin Ling looks torn between being mortally offended by all of them and hopelessly confused. Jiang Cheng’s son, for some reason, grins.

            “I knew it.”

            “Knew what?” Jin Ling demands.

            Wei Wuxian looks around, checking for avenues of escape, only to catch the briefest exchange between Lan Zhan and Sizhui. The junior looks up at Lan Zhan, who nods near-imperceptibly and gently prods him forward. Before Wei Wuxian can even begin to parse what any of that means, however, a small, white-clad figure is bowing respectfully to him. “Lan Yuan greets Xian-gege.”

            “Lan - ” it finally clicks, and tears prickle at the corners of Wei Wuxian’s eyes, “A-Yuan?”

            The young cultivator looks up, grinning, “You remembered.”

            Of fucking course he remembered. What kind of parental figure does this kid think he is? “I helped raise you, didn’t I?” he protests, “and what kind of formal nonsense was that? I demand a hug, you un-filial child!” This would sound more impressive if it wasn’t said through tears, but it has the end result of a hug from his kid, so success is relative.

            “Why are you okay with any of this?” Jin Ling demands of his uncle, “he’s got to be possessing that body, if it really is the Yiling Patriarch.”

            “Don’t call him that, he’ll get a big head,” Jiang Cheng huffs, “and if he was possessing that body Zidian would have taken care of it. However this,” a vague gesture, “happened it’s legitimate.”

            “I’ll have you know, this body was generously donated to me,” Wei Wuxian says, tone lofty.

            The baby Jiang’s eyes are shining with excitement, “Hello, uncle, I am Jiang Xing, I’ve heard a lot about you. Did you really invent – ”

            “NO,” Jiang Cheng interrupts his son, “No questions,” he glowers at Wei Wuxian, “No teaching. You’re a terrible influence. I already have one child falling out of trees and terrorizing the citizens. I don’t need two.”

            “Some woman agreed to give you two children?” Wei Wuxian boggles, “Since when are you so smooth?”

            “Are we returning to Lotus Pier?” Lan Zhan interjects before Jiang Cheng can start yelling again.

            “Are you sure you want to come with us?” Jiang Cheng asks, “If my lady is back from the medical conference, there will be a lot of yelling.”

            “Did you take the children night-hunting without telling your wife?” Wei Wuxian asks gleefully, only to be ignored.

            “I will endure,” Lan Zhan says dryly.

            “No fair!” Wei Wuxian protests, “You’re funny around other people now? No one believed me in school when I said you had a sense of humor and you go and tell jokes after I die! What treachery!”

            Lan Zhan gives him a flat look. “I apologize. I will endeavor to be less humorous,” he turns to the Jiang group, “To Lotus Pier?”

            Jiang Cheng confirms. Lan Zhan nods and, stepping through the knot of juniors (Sizhui’s friend still looks very confused, poor thing) to address Wei Wuxian, “Will you fly with me?”

            Wei Wuxian blinks, shocked, “But…what about the donkey?” he says stupidly.

            “One of my disciples has taken care of the damn donkey,” Jiang Cheng snaps, “now get moving, I want to be home before daybreak.”

            And with that, they set off for the home Wei Wuxian hasn’t seen in years.

            He has so many goddamn questions.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: Howling Ghosts They Reappear

Thirteen Years Previously…

            “Marrying Wen Qing is the only way to keep them safe.” Yanli continues to sip her tea, unconcerned with Jiang Cheng’s respiratory difficulties.

            Jiang Cheng continues to choke. His sister pats his between the shoulder blades and keeps talking.

            “As the wife of a sect leader Wen Qing’s family could easily be folded into the sect and afforded our protection. An attack against them would be an attack against Yunmeng Jiang, something Jin Guangshan cannot do without violating the treaties drawn up at the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign and renewed with my marriage.” Yanli takes another sip of tea. “It’s the best way forward.”

            “The best way forward would be for my goddamn, pig-headed, noble idiot brother to still be breathing!” Jiang Cheng snarls, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes unbidden.

            Yanli bows her head, reaching out to squeeze his wrist. Tears well in her own eyes and Jiang Cheng instantly feels like dirt. “I’m sorry - ” he’s stumbling toward the beginnings of an apology when a Jin Zixuan, disheveled in a way Jiang Cheng hasn’t seen since the war, skids into the room.

            “Sect Leader Jiang, A-Li, we need you. Wen Ning has returned.”

…

            Wen Ning isn’t alone. The fierce corpse crouches over a prone figure and for a heart-wrenching moment Jiang Cheng hopes against hope that Wen Ning was wrong, that Wei Wuxian, that Wei Ying, his brother, survived against all odds just like he did all those years ago when Wen Chao hurled him into an abyss. Then Wen Ning shifts, revealing filthy, blood-spattered white robes instead of the Yiling Patriarch’s greys and blacks. Jiang Cheng’s terrible traitor heart lurches and falls all over again.

            He’s a horrible person. A horrible person to be disappointed that this tattered survivor of whatever happened in the Burial Mounds is Lan Wangji.

            (But he wanted it so badly to be someone else…)

            Wait. What was Lan Wangji doing in the Burial Mounds?

            “What’s going on here?” Jiang Cheng demanded while waving over a few hovering disciples, “You, help Wen Ning move this man indoors. You, alert Wen Qing that she has a patient. You, open a guest room and get bedding and clean clothes for our guest. Wen Ning, what was he doing there?”

            Purple-robed disciples scatter, Jiang Cheng glowering at them as if that will make them run any faster. Yanli has crouched down beside the prone figure, her peacock husband hovering uselessly behind her.

            Wen Ning looks up and meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes, “I found him at the Burial Mounds. He was…he was defending it. He was defending Master Wei.”

            Wen Qing arrives, barging past Jiang Cheng and immediately barking orders. Soon she has Yanli and Jin Zixuan enlisted as assistants, their bodies hiding Lan Wangji from view, but before Yanli’s lavender robes slip over Jiang Cheng’s line of sight, he spots Lan Wangji’s hands clenched around a slim black shape.

            “Is that – ”

            “Master Wei’s dizi, Chenqing,” Wen Ning answers before Jiang Cheng can get the full question out. “He wouldn’t let me take it when I tried.”

            “Was there any – ” Jiang Cheng can’t bring himself to ask the obvious question.

            “There was no sign of Master Wei’s remains. Only ashes.”

            “A-Ning, we need to get this man inside!” Wen Qing barks, “You in the purple – ” several disciples, Jiang Cheng, and Yanli all glance at her. Wen Qing throws up a hand, “You’re all in purple. Young Master Jin, Sect Leader Jiang, help A-Ning. Madame Jiang, you’re with me.”

            They all fall in behind Wen Qing, who leads the way, a pensive line between her brows and the ghost of whatever happened at the Burial Mounds dogging their footsteps.

…

            “I must return to Lanling Jin,” Jin Zixuan announces after Wen Ning relates what he saw of the Burial Mounds, “Jin Zixun’s actions must not be allowed to stand.”

            Wen Ning’s account was clear. Based on the weapons, talismans and flags left behind, Jin Zixun and a group of disciples attempted to besiege the Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji held them off while Wei Wuxian destroyed the Stygian Tiger Seal, and himself. There was no sign of Jin Zixun and the bulk of his gang, only the corpses of those cut down by Lan Wangji or the explosion.

            “My cousin and his cohort will be weakened. If I leave immediately I might beat them to my father, tell him the story before Zixun attempts to warp it in his favor,” Jin Zixuan continues. He and the Jiang siblings are gathered outside the sickroom door. On the other side lies Lan Wangji and the doctor attempting to piece him back together again.

            Jiang Cheng thinks of a lone figure in white, making a last stand against insurmountable odds, thinks of ‘nothing but ashes’ and wonders if any of them have enough pieces to put back together now that they’re missing one in black and red.

            Yanli looks up at her husband, pensive, “Are you sure you will be safe speaking against him?”

            Jin Zixuan bristles, “Am I not my father’s heir?”

            Yanli raises an eyebrow, “And was A-Xian not the hero of the Cultivation World scarcely a year ago? Public opinion is changeable and dangerous. Even to people like you.”

            Jin Zixuan bows his head, duly chastised. “I must go, A-Li. I cannot allow Jin Zixun to turn this into something it is not.”

            “Take some of our disciples,” Jiang Cheng says suddenly, “Not enough to constitute a show of force, but enough to make clear Yunmeng Jiang stands behind you.”

            “This could come to war if Sect Leader Jin pushes things,” Yanli murmurs, hands clenching in her sleeves.

            “It will not,” Jin Zixuan says, words sharp-edged and biting, “I will not allow it.”

            Yanli presses her fingers to her lips, “A-Xuan.”

            Jiang Cheng reaches out and squeezes his brother in law’s shoulder and says words that would have had his fifteen-year-old self screaming, “I believe in you.”

            Jin Zixuan’s eyes widen briefly before he nods, “Thank you.”

            Jiang Cheng nods tightly and turns away, allowing Yanli and her husband a moment of privacy. He catches Wen Ning’s eye and the fierce corpse motions him over.

            “When do we need to leave?” Wen Ning asks, eyes on the floor.

            “What?” Jiang Cheng asks, voice tight.

            “When,” Wen Ning clenches his jaw and fidgets with the edges of his sleeves, “Do we need to leave?”

            Jiang Cheng’s vision goes white at the edges. He’s clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles creak with the strain. “You and your sister,” he growls, “And your cousin,” his mind flashes to the time he and Yanli visited Wei Wuxian at the Burial Mounds, to his brother laughing with a toddler in his arms, “And any of your family members you like, will stay here as long as you damn well please. My brother tried to make you a home. The least we can do is continue his work.”

            Jiang Cheng walks away before he can start shouting about the unfairness of the world to a man who knows all too well exactly what that means.

…

            Jiang Cheng has taken to spending long hours in his nephew’s room, little A-Yuan at his side. He holds Jin Ling and thinks. Thinks too much, maybe. He cradles his nephew and talks very seriously with a toddler his brother treated like his own son, and wishes the world and all its pain would just disappear.

            Wen Qing keeps him updated on Lan Wangji’s status and Yanli keeps him updated on the news from Lanling Jin and Jiang Cheng worries until he doesn’t have any room left in his heart to feel any more.

            It’s been three days since Wen Ning returned with Lan Wangji and Wen Qing is sitting across from him, frowning into her tea, dark circles underscoring her eyes.

            “He’s not getting better,” she says, squeezing the cup between her palms.

            “It’s only been three days,” Jiang Cheng says, but it’s weak. He knows it’s weak. They’re cultivators. He’s seen Lan Wangji stand, covered in blood and bruises in the middle of a battlefield for hours and not flinch. He’s seen the man heal from wounds that would have been fatal for a non-cultivator. He’s been to war with Lan Wangji. He knows what it means when Wen Qing says he isn’t improving after three days.

            Wen Qing gives him a look. Her eyes burn into him, like she knows some secret even he isn’t aware of. “He’s lost his will.”

            Jiang Cheng wants to protest. How can that be possible? He’s Lan Wangji, the unmovable, unbreakable Second Jade of Lan. As passionless and eternal as stone. But then he remembers when Wei Wuxian came back from the Burial Mounds, came back as the Yiling Patriarch. Lan Wangji had asked him, pleaded with him to temper what he was doing, to be careful with himself. Jiang Cheng had seen the minute shifts in the motionless face as something crumpled behind the mask when Wei Wuxian said “No.”

            He couldn’t claim to understand the inscrutable Hanguang-Jun any more than he could understand the unfathomable Wei Wuxian. But there was something tying those two together and it had just snapped.

            So he doesn’t protest, he simply meets Wen Qing’s eyes in sad commiseration and sips his tea. “Wei Wuxian meant something to him.”

            Wen Qing scoffs, “He meant more than something. You see this kind of thing in old married couples or battlefield cultivation partners; people who die from illnesses or injuries their bodies should recover from, but don’t because they’ve lost someone precious to them, or something that gave them purpose. You hear about dogs pining to death or dying of sadness, but people do it too. It’s just quieter.”

            “He feels guilty,” Jiang Cheng realizes. “He feels guilty for failing to protect Wei Wuxian.”

            Wen Qing looks at him.

            Jiang Cheng shrugs and looks away, shoulders tightening, “We all feel it. We all feel like we failed him. But Lan Wangji was there. He was the last line of defense. And Wei Wuxian still died.”

            “It wasn’t his fault. It was the amulet – ” Wen Qing says, voice sharp as any sword.

            “I don’t blame him,” Jiang Cheng protests. He likes to think he’s changed quite a bit since he was that grief-stricken boy screaming in the rain, blaming the one person who always stood by him for the destruction of everything they loved. “I understand him.”

            That’s all he’s willing to say on the matter, and Wen Qing doesn’t push. They sit in silence together for a long moment until the door is flung open and a tiny figure comes toppling in, only to toddle over to Wen Qing and tug on her sleeve. “When Xian-ge back?” Wen Yuan asks, big eyes turned up to his cousin.

            “Greet Sect Leader Jiang,” Wen Qing chastises, clearly buying time.

            A-Yuan turns toward him and waves, “Hi,” before turning back to his cousin, “When Xian-ge back?”

            “He’s been asking for him every day,” Jiang Cheng tells her, unnecessarily.

            Wen Qing sighs and opens her mouth, obviously searching for some way to put off this tiny person who’s still faithfully waiting for his father figure to come home. Jiang Cheng beats her to it.

            “Xian-ge isn’t coming back,” and the words are ashes in his mouth, “but a friend of his is here and he’s very sick. Can you visit him and help him feel better?”

            Wen Qing is looking at him with calculation in her gaze as A-Yuan nods seriously. “Yes. Yuan help.”

            “Alright,” Jiang Cheng nods, his eyes teary for no reason as A-Yuan takes his large, sword-calloused hand in small, soft fingers, “Let’s visit Xian-ge’s friend.”

…

            Lan Wangji wakes up briefly during Yuan’s visit (the toddler had brightened immediately and shouted ‘Rich-gege!’ the minute he saw who it was, and Jiang Cheng definitely has questions about that). After the child is sufficiently distracted, Jiang Cheng leans over and says, voice soft, “My brother loved that boy like a son. A-Yuan is obviously attached to you. Don’t be another adult leaving him behind.”

            He leaves Lan Wangji to Yuan and Yanli’s tender mercies and sweeps out.

…

            Jiang Cheng has been ignoring the messages from other cultivators demanding he surrender his Wen refugees. Now he gathers them all up and presents them to Wen Qing.

            “What is this?” she asks as she eyes the pile.

            “These are all the letters I’ve received demanding yours and your brother’s heads on silver platters.”

            Wen Qing doesn’t flinch like Wen Ning might have. She just meets Jiang Cheng’s eyes and he remembers all over again that this is the woman who retained her dignity and her independence while crushed under Wen Ruohan’s thumb. “And Sect Leader Jiang needs assistance answering his mail?” she asks flatly.

            “It’s hard coming up with new ways to say ‘fuck off’ diplomatically. Yanli pointed out that if I were to marry the head of the Wen remnant branch it would be as simple as telling them to leave my spouse and in-laws alone.”

            Wen Qing blinks. “Wen Ning is a corpse. I don’t think he can cultivate with a partner.”

            Jiang Cheng looks at her frankly. “I meant you.”

            Wen Qing nods, lips pressed together, “I thought you might have.”

            “Given our positions, neither or us could really have hoped for a love match,” Jiang Cheng says bluntly. “I would treat you with respect and dignity. And your family would have asylum with Yunmeng Jiang.”

            Wen Qing gives him a considering look before nodding, “Very well,” she says, ever pragmatic. “You have yourself a deal.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: To Wake Up, Calm Down, Shape Up

Present Day…

            There’s a small person waiting for them on the pier, leaning against one of the pilings, arms crossed as they begin their descent. The second Jiang Cheng touches down the little figure pounces, revealing itself to be a girl roughly eleven years old, wearing the purple robes of her sect, a sword on her back, and a cumbersome splint on one leg.

            “Father! I can’t believe you actually took Xing on a night hunt without me! Was it good? Did you catch anything? Did you – hi Gusu Lan people – did you save anyone interesting?”

            “What counts as an ‘interesting’ victim of the supernatural?” Jin Ling scoffs.

            “More importantly, what counts as a boring one?” Jiang Xing counters.

            “You’re so lucky Mother isn’t back yet,” the girl continues, “She’s going to be livid.”

            “Not as livid as she’s going to be when she finds out how you broke your leg,” her brother mumbles.

            “It’s not broken,” the girl says flippantly, “It’s only fractured.”

            “That’s just a different type of broken!” Jiang Xing protests.

            “Anyway,” the girl sing-songs, “Are the Gusu Lan disciples staying, Father?” she pauses to take a breath and wait for a response. There’s a long moment of silence. “Father.”

            Jiang Cheng shrugs, “Sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were done talking or had just run out of air and needed to take a breath.”

            The girl puffs out her cheeks and huffs just like Wei Wuxian used to do when he was little and Yanli teased him. “Father. Answer my question!”

            “Which one?” Jin Ling grumbles.

            “Be nice,” A-Yuan, Wei Wuxian’s precious, well-behaved child, grown into a precious, well-behaved young man (and wasn’t that a mind-bender?) gently scolds.

            “Yes, I took A-Xing on a night hunt. A night hunt you could have participated in if you hadn’t broken your leg doing something foolish.”

            “What did she do?” Wei Wuxian asks in an undertone. He is ignored because there is no justice in the world.

            “It was an unexpectedly eventful evening. Yes, we captured a spirit, but it requires further study.”

            Wei Wuxian snickers, “Wow, ‘requires further study.’ Such big words and formal phrases you have, Jiang Cheng.”

            “Some of us are grown-ups,” Jiang Cheng snaps at him.

            “Ha! You were swinging through the trees like a show-off just hours ago!”

            “Well you were staggering around the forest like an idiot hours ago, so who’s – ”

            “Wei Ying. Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Zhan says in a tone of voice which suggests now is not the time to bicker with his long-lost brother. More’s a pity.

            Jiang Cheng grimaces and turns back to his daughter, “And we did save the hide of this loser, so that probably counts as interesting.”

            “YOU DID NO SUCH THING!” Wei Wuxian protests, “You showed up after Wen Ning and I took down the stone fairy – ”

            “Hey, we helped,” the other baby Lan interrupts, despite A-Yuan stepping on his foot.

            “- and all you did was bully me!” Wei Wuxian finishes, “The only person who’s been nice to me this whole time is Lan Zhan, and he barely tolerated me in the old days.”

            Jiang Cheng gives him a look like Wei Wuxian’s very existence pains him. “You’re so stupid sometimes I just want to shake your skull and see what falls out.”

            Wei Wuxian decides not to dignify that with a response and turns his attention back to Jiang Cheng’s daughter, who’s squinting suspiciously at him.

            “Who are you supposed to be?” she asks.

            “He’s our undead uncle in Ling-ge’s uncle’s body. It’s been a strange night,” her brother says flatly.

            The girl gapes at him unabashedly. “Really? Mother is going to lose her mind.”

            “Speculate about your mother’s reactions later, get inside and rest your leg now,” Jiang Cheng orders. His tone is gruff but his hand on his daughter’s shoulder is gentle. Wei Wuxian feels an unaccountable rush of pride seeing his brother so soft. Well, soft by Jiang Cheng’s standards, “A-Ling, A-Xing, show the Lan disciples and Hangaung-Jun to the quest quarters.”

            “Where am I supposed to go?” Wei Wuxian complains, “The barn?”
            Jiang Cheng looks at him like he’s the stupidest slug to crawl across the earth. “You’ll go to your rooms, you moron.”

            Wei Wuxian blinks. “My…rooms?”

            Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closes his eyes tiredly. “We rebuilt Lotus Pier to the same specifications as the original. I trust even with your abysmal memory you still remember where the rooms you slept in for years are located?’

            “…you didn’t board them up?”

            Jiang Cheng looks offended, “Why the hell would be waste space like that?”

            Wei Wuxian throws up his hands in an elaborate shrug, “I thought you’d hate me! You’re melodramatic enough to take it out on the architecture!”

            “I’m melodramatic?” Jiang Cheng roars.

            “So are they storage rooms now or something?’ Wei Wuxian asks, honestly confused now.

            Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth together and stomps away, “I give up. Find your rooms. Find out for yourself, you insufferable idiot.”

            “It was nice to meet you!” the Jiang girl chirps, “I’m Jiang Zhi and I’m way better than Jiang Xing at pretty much everything.” She turns, presumably to skip away from her increasingly annoyed brother, apparently forgets about the splint on one leg and nearly topples over. A-Yuan grabbing her by the back of her purple disciple robes is the only thing that keeps her from face-planting onto the pier. “Thanks, cousin!” she says lightly, as if she didn’t almost break her nose, and shuffles away as quickly as she can, cumbersome cast and all.

            Wei Wuxian is wondering if he missed a step on his way to rebirth and ended up in the wrong reality.

…

            It’s a beautiful morning, Wen Qing reflects as she approaches Lotus Pier, Jiang Yanli at her side, one of Jiang Cheng’s ridiculous spirit dogs (this one’s name is Pork Bun, honestly. She’s glad she had the good sense not to let her husband name their human children) running ahead.

            “What do you think they’ve destroyed in our absence?” Yanli asks, mouth quirked in the wry little smile that says she’s very aware of how chaotic her family is, but is willing to indulge their foibles so long as no one gets too hurt.

            “My peace of mind,” Wen Qing quips, “PORK BUN, GET BACK HERE,” she shakes her head, “I can’t believe I let him name that dog after food. I sound like an idiot.”

            “Ah, but an idiot with a very well-mannered dog,” Yanli says lightly, eyes glittering with humor as she pets the recently returned Pork Bun’s ears.

            Wen Qing sighs, “He spoils those dogs rotten.”

            “That’s what you do with dogs,” Yanli laughs, kissing Pork Bun’s nose, “So you get it out of your system before you interact with your human children.”

            Wen Qing snorts indelicately. Everyone and their brother know both of Jin Ling’s uncles spoil him rotten. Gleefully, in Jin Guangyao’s case, and under a front of false grumpiness in Jiang Cheng’s.

            “So,” she says lightly, “Place your bets now. How many injuries? And are they to people, buildings, or inanimate objects?”

            Yanli laughs, “I’ll bet A-Zhi has gotten herself and either her cousin or her brother into some sort of scrape –”

            “Ah, ah, too vague,” Wen Qing chides, “That’s just a description of her daily activities.” Her daughter, for better or for worse, is a bit of a hellion. Gifted with the deadly combination of more cleverness than sense, Jiang Zhi is always trying to keep up with Jin Ling (and Lan Yuan, when he’s able to visit) and managing to tumble into trouble as a result.

            Yanli shakes her head, “I yield, I yield. I bet someone brought home a stray.”

            “Human or animal?”

            “We’re about due for a visit from Lan Wangji and the Lan disciples, aren’t we?”

            Wen Qing shakes her head, “They’re hardly strays.”

            “Have you met Hanguang-Jun’s eyes? Yanli’s voice takes a contemplative turn, “He always looks so lost and sad, like he’s looking for something and he hasn’t found it yet.”

            Wen Qing nods silently. She treated him after the Burial Mounds. They both know exactly what Lan Wangji is searching for, just as they know that he’ll never find it.

            Yanli clears her throat and noticeably lightens her tone, “And Lan Jingyi is set to eat us out of house and home if we’re not careful. He’s definitely a stray if I ever saw one.”

            Wen Qing smiles. She likes when the Lans visit, if only to catch up with her baby cousin. A-Yuan is nearly a grown man now. He’s no longer the sticky toddler she remembers clinging to Wei Wuxian’s hands and playing with grass butterflies. He’s nearly her height, and unlike Wen Ning, he doesn’t shrink into himself the way his cousin did at that age. He stands still, tall and proud just like his adoptive fathers. Wen Qing is undeniably proud of him.

            They’ve reached the gates of the manor house, the disciples training in the yard pause to bow and greet their lady with a bright “Welcome Madame Wen, Madame Jiang!” Wen Qing waves them back to practice, smiling at their diligence. It took a long time for her to accept it, but when she thinks of home the first thing to come to mind will always be Lotus Pier, not her home village, not the Burial Mounds, and certainly not the horror that was the Nightless City. Where Wen Ruohan’s fortress had always felt harsh, hostile and claustrophobic, as if the walls were constantly closing in on her, Lotus Pier is always bright and lively. It’s warm in a way that has less to do with the sunlight streaming into every corner and more to do with the people moving through those spaces.

            She’s lost sight of Pork Bun again, but she can hear his happy barking as Yanli pauses to greet loyal retainers and ask after her family. What Wen Qing does not expect to hear is a bloodcurdling scream in response to that happy barking.

            “JIANG CHENG, WHAT IS THAT BEAST DOING HERE?” an unfamiliar voice shrieks. Yanli’s head jerks up and Wen Qing shoots her a questioning look right before a black-clack figure bursts out of a doorway, skids into the courtyard and tries to climb a support pillar. Pork Bun, incorrectly assuming he’s found a new playmate, bounds after the strange man, yipping with all the enthusiasm in his fluffy body. “JIANG CHENG, IT’S GOING TO EAT ME!” the man howls as Pork Bun takes a mouthful of his trailing robes in his mouth and tugs the way he does with the knots of rope Jin Ling gives him to chew on.

            “Pork Bun!” Wen Qing snaps at the unruly spirit dog, “Drop it!”

            Pork Bun turns big, questioning eyes on his mistress, tilting his head to the side, mouth still full of black fabric, and whines confusedly.

            “Pork Bun,” Wen Qing commands, “Drop. It.”

            “Wen Qing?!” the man clinging to the support pillar is apparently so surprised to see her in her own home that he loses his grip and slides back towards the floor. Pork Bun, thinking his new friend was coming closer to play, props his forefeet on the man’s back and paws enthusiastically.

            The man making a keening noise Wen Qing has never heard from a human throat before. If she ever wondered what pure, unadulterated fear sounded like, she now knows.

            She should not think this poor bastard’s suffering is funny. She should not. She is nationally renowned doctor. She is the wife of a Sect Leader. She is a role model. She is not going to laugh at this pathetic excuse for a human being.

            A flicker of white heralds the arrival of Lan Wangji, who takes in what is happening, strides over to the man Pork Bun is terrorizing, and lifts him up one-handed by the back of his robes. The much-abused robes start to tear. The man in black squeaks and wraps both arms and legs around the esteemed Hangaung-Jun and clings like a monkey.

            “ARE YOU A MAN OR A MARMOSET?” Jiang Cheng’s voice roars across the courtyard and Wen Qing turns to behold her husband, dressed in muted purples and blacks, frowning at the man currently burying his face in Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

            The stranger looks up at that and says, “But Jiang Cheng, dog!”

            Pork Bun is circling Lan Wangji uncertainly, pawing at the earth and whining up at his new playmate. All the spirit dogs know better than to pounce on the Lans’ pristine robes unless invited to do so, and Lan Wangji has never been terribly warm toward their canine companions in the past.  Wen Qing takes advantage of the spirit dog’s momentary confusion to bark, “PORK BUN, RETURN!”

            The dog cocks his head to the side, stops, thinks, and goes to Jiang Cheng. Wen Qing despairs of that animal. By far the stupidest of the litter and utterly besotted with Jiang Cheng, who spoils the dogs as rotten as he does his nephew. She gives up trying to get the creature back now.

            “Pork Bun, kennel,” Jiang Cheng instructs, and the dog meekly follows orders, retreating from the courtyard without protest. Jiang Cheng looks up, “He’s gone, you can quit strangling Hanguang-Jun now.”
            The black clad figure does not look up from where his face is pressed into Lan Wangji (who is bearing up with the patience of a saint, Wen Qing notices – she’s never known the Second Jade of Lan to be impatient, but it’s common knowledge he dislikes being touched and can be brusque with strangers). “How can I be sure?”

            Jiang Cheng huffs, “Shameless,” he looks up, realizes this little drama is being keenly observed by a dozen not-so-subtle junior disciples and orders all of them out of the courtyard. They acquiesce with bows and “Yes, Sect Leader”s but Wen Qing catches nearly all of them sneaking peeks at the stranger as they exit.

            “What did you say about strays earlier?” Wen Qing murmurs to her sister-in-law. Yanli does not respond immediately, and Wen Qing turns her head more completely to regard her. Jiang Yanli has gone paper-white and Wen Qing reaches out a hand to steady her. The other woman presses trembling fingers to her lips and stares fixedly at the stranger currently disentangling himself from Lan Wangji.

            “Your forehead ribbon’s crooked,” the man says, head tilted impishly as he gazes up at Lan Wangji, both feet firmly on the ground once more, “Shall I fix it?”

            And to Wen Qing’s utter and complete shock, Lan Wangji bows his head, offering the ribbon to the other man’s fidgeting fingers.

            Is this sorcery? Witchcraft? What is happening? Is Lan Wangji possessed? This is what she gets for leaving for a few days: her sect in chaos, and a stranger practically feeling up a houseguest.

            “Quit harassing Hangaung-Jun, you idiot!” Jiang Cheng snaps, “Have you learned nothing?”

            The stranger sticks his tongue out at Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing braces herself for Zidian to snap out and tear the offending appendage right off. But it doesn’t happen.

            “It is alright,” Lan Wangji says.

            “No, it’s not!” two voices contradict him. One, Jiang Cheng’s sharp and authoritative, the same scolding tone he uses with unruly disciples, the other, the stranger’s, undeniably flustered.

            “You threw a fit when I tried to use your stupid ribbon as a bandage in the Xuanwu cave, and you were bleeding out then!” the stranger – who apparently knows Lan Wangji – elaborates.

            Lan Wangji just stares at him, unblinking. Jiang Cheng huffs something that sounds a lot like “Fucking emotionally stunted morons.”

            Wen Qing refrains from pointing out that her emotionally stunted husband took five years of marriage and two children before having the nerve to tell her he loved her.

            Wait. Xuanwu cave.

            What.

            “A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli’s voice breaks through Wen Qing’s racing thoughts. The word trembles on her lips. Hope, delicate as butterfly wings shivering with each syllable.

            The man turns. Even with a stranger’s face, that stupid grin stays the same. “I guess my cover’s blown, huh?”

            “Cover?” scoffs Jiang Cheng, “What cover? You haven’t had any kind of plausible deniability since you ran in here screaming and crying over a dog. Not to mention, you climbed Lan Wangji like a tree. No sane person would do that!”

            “Hey, this may be a lunatic’s body but I’m – ”

            “The lunacy was a pre-existing condition,” Jiang Cheng interrupts.

            “A-Xian!” Yanli interrupts the squabbling, her eyes filling with unshed tears. She looks like a heroine in a novel, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling wetly. When Wen Qing cries her face turns red and blotchy, and Jiang Cheng isn’t much better. She wonders if you have to be pure of heart to cry with dignity or if it’s just the luck of the draw.

            “Hey, shijie,” Wei Wuxian (is it really Wei Wuxian? After all this time?) smiles crookedly at her. “Miss me?”

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji’s tone, heavy and full of years of pain, falls over the conversation like dense snow, “Do not joke.”

            Wen Qing’s gaze sharpens as she moves past the shock of what have been a very eventful few minutes. Over the years they’ve faced a number of demonic cultivators, all claiming to be the Yiling Patriarch, back from the dead. Most have been nothing more than two-bit crooks and charlatans. Jiang Cheng started taking spirit dogs out hunting with him just to weed out obvious fakes. None of them have ever been fooled, but there’s a first time for everything. Wen Qing is the final line of defense. She has to keep her wits about her. No matter how much she wants this to be her best friend, back form the dead, she has to make sure. She can’t let some hustler take advantage of her husband and she certainly can’t allow anyone to crush Yanli and Lan Wangji, who have never stopped hoping all these years.

            “If you’re really Wei Wuxian,” she begins, “Then tell me how Wen Chao punished you at the indoctrination when he took you away overnight.” She’s had questions prepared in case anyone ever got this far – questions only Wei Wuxian would know the answer to.

            A shadow passes over the man’s face, “He locked me in the dungeon with a vicious dog spirit.”

            “How did you survive?”

            “Wen Ning. He brought me something to put the dog spirit to sleep and medicine for my wounds.”

            “Scars?”

            “Bite marks on my shoulder,” and, to her surprise, he begins to recite every scar that had rested on Wei Wuxian’s original body, “Wen brand on my chest from the Xuanwu’s cave, lash marks on my back from Madame Yu, stab wound on my stomach from Wen Chao, that motherfucker, and – ” he pauses, and then, in a softer voice, “surgery scar on my chest from after Lotus Pier burned.” From after she’d removed his golden core.

            Lan Wangji is face goes stone-still and coldly furious at the recitation, and Jiang Cheng looks vaguely sick. Wen Qing doesn’t dare look to Yanli. She can’t bear to see the quiet devastation on the other woman’s face. All Jiang Yanli had ever wanted was to make sure her family was safe and loved. And look what happened.

            Wen Qing takes a deep breath. Time for the last question. “What happened after Lotus Pier burned?” her gaze sharpens, “Be honest.”

            And, the man tells her, tells them, the truth. Wen Qing watches her husband’s face, gauging his reactions. Jiang Cheng knows about the golden core swap; she’d told him before they’d married. Wen Qing could not enter into a marriage with such a massive secret between them. It would have only pushed them apart, put them in more danger. Wei Wuxian was dead by that point, there was no one left to hurt over it.

            The stranger tells them of Madame Yu whipping him, her slapping Wang Lingjiao, the fight, the last mistress of Lotus Pier binding him and Jiang Cheng with Zidian and casting them adrift. Her command to protect Jiang Cheng no matter what. Jiang Cheng, screaming at him, both of them crying in the rain. He glosses over the bleak days following the death of all they knew, skipping ahead to losing Jiang Cheng only to find him coreless and despondent.

            “How did Jiang Cheng get his core back?” Wen Qing demands, cutting to the chase.

            Wei Wuxian, and it is Wei Wuxian, meets her eyes for the first time, “You gave him mine.”

            She crosses the courtyard in three strides. Lan Wangji tenses behind Wei Wuxian, but she ignores him, pulling her friend into the kind of tight hug she normally reserves for her brother and her children. “Welcome back, old friend,” she says softly.

            His hands flail a little and that’s just like him too. He’s always been tactile, always pushing boundaries, pushing the limits of everyone’s patience, really, but when offered affection, any kind of companionable warmth undiluted by layers of obligation and formality, he freezes up. He settles for patting her awkwardly on the shoulders, “I’m back, Qing-jie.”

            Yanli’s hand on her back tells her to step away and make room for the other woman, who wraps both arms around her brother and finally allows the tears to flow.

            “Oh, shijie,” Wei Wuxian says softly, “It’s alright, really.”

            “No, it’s not,” Jiang Yanli says. She’s always been able to see through niceties and platitudes. “But it will be.”

…

            They reconvene, if heading, en-masse to one of the lesser halls can count as ‘reconvening’ after all the tearful reunions have wrapped up. The children are already there, although, Wen Qing acknowledges wryly, A-Yuan and Jin Ling are edging closer and closer to adulthood by the day, and her own children seem taller every time she blinks. The second Jin Ling sees his mother’s puffy, reddened eyes he bristles like an angry cat.

            “If anyone made Mother cry, I’ll break their legs!” he snarls, just like his uncle when Jiang Cheng’s in a snit.

            “Hey! I just got this body!” Wei Wuxian protests, “Quit threatening it!”

            “No one is breaking any legs,” Lan Wangji says with the kind of utter certainty that comes from knowing you’re bigger and stronger than 90% of the mortal population. That brand of Lan self-assurance is really pretty annoying, if you ask Wen Qing.

            Jin Ling puffs up like an angry bird about to antagonize a much bigger animal. Yanli interrupts him before he can dig his metaphorical grave any deeper. “A-Ling, is that any way to greet your mother and aunt?”

            Jin Ling, looking suitably chastened, bows formally to his mother and Wen Qing, giving the proper greetings before he’s swept into his mother’s arms and hugged tightly, over his protests that she’s embarrassing him in front of Gusu Lan.

            “Aunt?” Wei Wuxian asks, looking at Wen Qing.

            “Who else do you think could handle being married to Jiang Cheng?” she says, tone deliberately casual. It’s very satisfying when his jaw drops and he goggles like a fish.

            “What did you people do while I was gone?” he shrieks.

            “More importantly,” Wen Qing speaks over her friend’s sputtering, turning a gimlet eye toward her children. Her daughter’s leg is in a splint and her son is looking extremely guilty for someone who hasn’t even said anything beyond perfunctory greetings, “What did you people get up to while I was gone?”

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 5: Thoughts Like These Keep Me On my Feet

Thirteen Years Previously…

            Jiang Cheng is shouting at someone.

            This is not unusual, necessarily, but his tone is. Jiang Cheng’s normal reproofs are, if not playful, meant to be constructive. He rarely sounds genuinely enraged. Not so right now.

            Wen Qing is in the garden, drinking tea, supposedly keeping Lan Wangji company, but mostly making sure he eats and drinks and does something other than nod and hum thoughtfully in response to A-Yuan’s chatter. The little boy is enamored with his new caretaker, thrilled to narrate every aspect of his daily life to a captive audience. For Lan Wangji’s part, there are times when it almost seems like A-Yuan’s voice is the last thin tether holding him to this world. When the boy is napping, or ‘helping’ Wen Ning, or playing with A-Ling and Lan Wangji is alone, he just…fades. Even wearing borrowed purple Yunmeng Jiang robes, the Second Jade of Lade is more of a pale phantom than a man these days.

            Wen Qing rises. She’s wearing purple herself, her ragged grey and red robes long since replaced with ones more fitting of her new station. When Jiang Yanli asked her what clothes she would like she’d told the other woman “something practical that won’t show stains easily” and her new sister in law delivered. Wen Qing dresses in indigo and mauve now, with red embroidery picking out flames and Lotuses along the hems and plenty of hidden pockets for her herbs and needles. Her sword rests on her back, polished nearly as brightly as the gold headpiece holding her hair back.

            She is the Lady of Lotus Pier now, she reminds herself whenever she feels strange and self-conscious draped in rich fabrics. She and Jiang Wanyin – Jiang Cheng – are married now. She should present herself as befits the dignity of her sect.

            (The first thing her new husband takes off when they return to their chambers at the end of each day is his own elaborate hairpiece. He grumbles that it’s heavy and ridiculous and gives him headaches, and she smiles to herself as she watches him yank at his hair trying fruitlessly to unknot the tangles until he gives up and allows her free rein with the comb. Only then does she tease out every snarl and plaits the thick, silky mass into a loose braid just like her own. And every night he plucks the comb from her hands and kisses the backs of them, one press of lips to each, like a thank you or a benediction, and she doesn’t know what to do with that.)

            She leaves Lan Wangji and A-Yuan in the garden. She can feel Hanguang-Jun’s questioning gaze burning a hole through her back but she still motions for him to stay seated. She can’t have him re-opening the wounds she so painstakingly closed, can she?

            Jiang Cheng is holding court in the main receiving hall, a hall nothing like the craggy cavern Wen Ruohan used to call her to, day and night. Yunmeng’s receiving hall is all golden wood and gauzy curtains, full of warmth and light. The Master of Lotus Pier is standing, glowering down at a clump of cultivators in yellow and white.

            “Sect Leader Jiang, they must face justice – ” a smiling Meng – no, his name is Jin now, isn’t it – Jin Guangyao says, voice smooth and mild as milk.

            “You have no right to shelter dangerous criminals,” Jin Zixun interrupts, tone bombastic even as his voice wheezes in his chest.

            Wen Qing is a doctor, she took a vow to do no harm, but hate still flares hot and bright in her chest at the sight of him. She remembers all too well what it was like to watch this man stand by as his flunkies beat her brother to death before her very eyes. Cold creeps over her skin even as her fury blazes brighter. She remembers being cold and hungry and aching. She remembers the desperate race to reach Wei Wuxian, to beg the only friend they had left to please, please save her brother from his fate.

            Wei Wuxian, who died destroying the Stygian Tiger amulet because this man invaded their home before he could figure out a way to do it safely. Wei Wuxian, A-Ning, A-Yuan’s parents, so many lives destroyed because of this yellow-jacketed wastrel’s need for power and petty vengeance against a family who had done him no harm.

            “Bold words from a murderer,” Wen Qing says, tone even, voice hard as she steps into the room.

            “My lady,” her husband acknowledges her. She does her best to nod back regally. He has given her his name as her shield, the least she can do is not shame him.

            “You,” Jin Zixun’s face darkens. He’s looking unhealthy, she observes. She’d heard he’d been cursed, that he’d blamed Wei Wuxian. Who would he blame now that the infamous Yiling Patriarch was no more?

            “Wen Qing,” Jin Gaungyao nods to her, but does not bow. Jiang Cheng’s face darkens at the slight. “It would appear there’s been a miscommunication regarding your custody.”

            “Custody,” she says flatly. She’s tired. She’s so very tired of these people. She’s sick to death of honeyed words and hidden meanings. “Is that what we’re calling wrongful arrest and detainment?”

            “Speaking of wrongful arrest,” Jin Guangyao says smoothly, hardly batting an eye at her waspish tone. He turns to Jiang Cheng, “Gusu Lan requests that you return Lan Wangji at once.”

            Wen Qing cuts in before Jiang Cheng can, “Permission denied.”

            “And who are you?” one of the white-robed disciples finally pipes up.

            She glares at them, “His doctor.”

            Jin Gaungyao’s face darkens and he shakes his head in a good approximation of distaste, “Sect Leader Jiang, you should not have taken it upon yourself to discipline Hangaung-Jun. Gusu Lan Sect is a powerful, righteous and well-established clan, perfectly willing and able to police their own members.”

            Wen Qing’s vision darkens as pure fury builds in her veins. She’s never been close to qi deviation, but she thinks it might feel something like this.

            Luckily, her husband is quicker with his words, “We ‘took it upon ourselves’ to provide necessary medical aid to a gravely wounded ally and personal friend who showed up on our doorstep near-comatose after that,” he sharply gestures to Jin Zixun, “Mound of putrid waste nearly killed him in a misguided attempt to murder my sworn brother. An attempt which succeeded in destabilizing a dangerous artefact that ultimately killed my greatest friend and ally. So forgive me, Young Master Jin, if I’m reluctant to hand over Lan Wangji at this time.”

            Jin Gaungyao’s face shutters and Wen Qing finds herself thinking ‘there is nothing more dangerous than a proud man slighted too many times to bear.’

            Jiang Cheng isn’t done yet. “I have it on the very best authority that my brother in law Jin Zixuan has apprised your father of the events at the Burial Mounds and expressed our great displeasure at the treatment the Wen remnants received at Jin hands.”

            “They were dangerous criminals fermenting dissent!” Jin Zixun bellows.

            Wen Qing opens her mouth, but again Jiang Cheng beats her to the punch. “THEY WERE NON-COMBATANTS. CIVILIANS. DOCTORS, CHILDREN, THE ELDERLY.”

            “My family, my branch of the Wen Clan never did any of you any harm,” Wen Qing snaps, trying to lash them with her words the way Jiang Cheng lashes evil spirits with Zidian, “And you beat us, starved us, and murdered us.”

            “And you, Jin Zixun,” Jiang Cheng growls, “Contributed to the murder of my brother and the maiming of the one man brave enough to stand by his side.”

            “Lan Wangji will not be punished for doing an honorable thing,” Wen Qing says, trying to put enough steel in her voice to stop an army, or at least one powerful bully, “You want a scapegoat, look to your sect leader. As his doctor I cannot and I will not release Lan Wangji into the hands of people I know mean him harm.”

            “You little whore,” Jin Zixun yowls, all pretense of propriety vanished, “You Wen bitch. If it wasn’t Wei Wuxian it must have been you who cursed me, you witch-doctor – ”

            “THAT IS ENOUGH.” Zidian snaps, purple lighting flashing above their heads before the lash cracks down to the floor, leaving a burn the size of a waterlily on the wood paneling. He stares down their uninvited guests. “I am a patient man – ” that is certainly not true, but Wen Qing isn’t going to interrupt, “But I will not tolerate insults to my wife or her family. I’ve listened to you prate and prattle and I am finished tolerating you. Madame Wen is my wife. Her relatives are under my protections. Lan Wangji is an honored guest and is free to remain at Lotus Pier unmolested until the end of time is he so chooses. You will leave my sight, leave my sect, leave my city, now or you will taste lightning. Wherever my brother in law is, I expect him returned to my sister and their son in one piece sooner rather than later, whether or not he’s managed to get through your father’s thick head that the Wen remnants are not to be touched. Do you understand?”

            Dead silence falls in the receiving hall. Wen Qing doesn’t think she’s ever heard Jiang Cheng string that many words together in one sentence before. She’s certainly never heard that many words strung together in her defense before. Wei Wuxian, dear friend that he was, tended to show rather than tell when it came to protecting others. He hadn’t tried to reason with or convince anyone. He’d simply revived A-Ning, packed them all up and took them to the Burial Mounds the way you’d bring home a box of stray kittens.

            Jin Zixun’s jaw works like he wants to say something. His mouth opens, his face reddening, but Jin Guangyao slaps him silent and bows to Jiang Cheng respectfully. “As you wish, Sect Leader Jiang.”

            Jiang Cheng calls for a disciple to see the Lanling Jin contingent out before turning his formidable frown on the Gusu Lan disciples, who all look very uncertain. “If we…if we could have a full and, ah, accurate account of what transpired, it would be much appreciated. It would appear there have been some…miscommunications in regards to the facts.”

            Wen Qing barely restrains herself from snorting in derision. That word again. ‘Miscommunication’. Ha.

            Jiang Cheng looks about ready to deny them out of pure spite. Wen Qing steps in before he can burn an irreplaceable bridge.

            “My brother, Wen Ning would gladly give you a full account of all he witnessed,” she says coolly.

            The Gusu Lan disciple – he looks so young, he can’t be much younger than she is, but her spirit feels so very old these days – swallows tightly. “That would be the…um…”

            “Fierce corpse, yes.” Wen Qing says bluntly. “He’s entirely self-aware and still my brother. I would ask that you remain respectful and understand that any moves you make against him, unless in self-defense will be counted as a breach of trust and a violation of the decades of friendship tying our sects together.”

            They all blink before half a dozen be-ribboned heads bob in acknowledgement. “Yes, Madame Wen.”

            “A-Ning,” she calls, knowing he will hear her, and knowing that he’s probably lurking somewhere, the way he does when he’s worried about her or their new family but doesn’t want to be gawked at by strangers.

            The brush rustles outside and a dark head pops up, “Yes, Jiejie?”

            “These people have questions for you. About the Burial Mounds and what happened to Wei Wuxian. Will you speak to them?”

            Wen Ning’s face darkens as much as a face can be said to darken when the skin is gray and lifeless. “Yes, Qing-jie.” His eyes move to the Gusu Lan disciples, “But I cannot guarantee you’ll like what I’ll have to say.”

            The leader of the little band nods grimly, “After what just happened, we expected as much.”

…

            Jin Zixuan returns within a few days. He looks haggard, but is, as Jiang Cheng stipulated, still in one piece. Jiang Yanli sits him down and almost immediately starts wrapping him in blankets and feeding him soup. He sips broth obediently and watches her with tired eyes.

            “I love you,” he says, apropos of nothing, and her entire frame softens, turning in his direction slightly, like a flower seeking sunlight.

            She touches his cheek, “You lovely, silly man,” she says, as if in response to something. “You can’t control your father.”

            He looks down at his soup. “He will not escalate things; but he’s unhappy. It would be wise if I stayed clear of him for now.”

            “Then we’ll remain at Lotus Pier for now, my love.” Jiang Yanli says simply, “Now eat your soup.”

            Jin Zixuan opens his mouth as if to say something else incredibly sappy, when Jiang Cheng huffs, “You can be besotted with each other some other time. Let me eat my soup in peace!”

            “Peace soup!” A-Yuan says brightly from Lan Wangji’s side, clapping his hands and laughing, turning to his friend and excitedly gabbling a meandering story Wen Qing cannot begin to follow, but, based on Lan Wangji’s unwavering attention and careful “Mmms” is utterly riveting.

            She sips her own soup and tries to understand what feeling safe is like.

…

            Lan Xichen comes to visit and Jiang Cheng nearly fights him on principle. “I told you lot to stay away, and I meant it,” he snaps, tone barely in the neighborhood of ‘civil’.

            Lan Xichen inclines his head gracefully, “I heard a distressing report that my younger brother was injured, Sect Leader Jiang. I am here merely to inquire as to his health.”

            Jiang Cheng, bound by propriety and without an adequate reason to vent his simmering anger at the older man, nods tightly and says “Follow me.”

            Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng observes as they pass through the entrance hall, looks tired. The Lan brothers have always borne similar features, but Zewu-jun’s were always softened by his ever-present smile. Without it, Lan Xichen seems somehow both younger and older than his years, as if he’s carrying the worst aspects of both youth and age on his shoulders.

            Jiang Cheng wonders if he should make conversation. He’s never been any good at meaningless chatter or heartfelt platitudes. He’s not his siblings. He’s always needed a topic to talk about, a reason to speak.

            “How fares your uncle?” he says into a silence gone slightly awkward.

            “He is well,” Lan Xichen says, voice perfectly neutral and even. His face gives nothing away. “How fares my brother?”

            “My wife says he is healing as well as can be expected considering the number of wounds and amount of energy expended.” Jiang Cheng takes a certain amount of secret pleasure in saying ‘my wife’. Wen Qing is practical, talented and intelligent and he is proud to tie the two of them together. But even more than his pride in his spouse is the nagging need to challenge everyone around him, to throw his relationship in their faces and demand they respond. Ever since his brother’s exile, Jiang Cheng has been itching for a fight. A fight, he knows how to win. He had been unable to fight the slow, inexorable downward slide that marked Wei Wuxian’s last months on earth. He will not be so powerless again, he swears. He will declare himself and force others to declare themselves too. There is no room for two-faced liars going forward.

            Lan Xichen nods. “I congratulate you on your marriage.”

            Jiang Cheng coughs, a little surprised, but nods back with some semblance of grace. “I thank you.”

            “I must ask…” Lan Xichen pauses, as if mentally testing his words before speaking, “what is ‘as well as can be expected’?”

            Jiang Cheng cuts a glance towards him. Part of him wants to grouch ‘Just go see him yourself, dammit,’ but he knows that would be wildly inappropriate if not actively offensive. He knows Lan Xichen cares for his brother. The man just wants to know what to expect when he sees Lan Wangji.

            Jiang Cheng weighs what to tell the other clan leader. Does he share the worries Wen Qing has about Lan Wangji’s mental state? Does he speak of blood seeping from multiple sword and arrow wounds, marring pristine white robes? Does he tell Lan Xichen of the times Wen Ning has found Lan Wangji sitting alone at midnight, playing the quqin over and over again, the same melody every time?

            He clears his throat. “The wounds will scar, but heal with time. He will regain full range of motion,” he recites Wen Qing’s medical report with as little inflection as possible. She always says to avoid bias in reporting facts.

            Lan Xichen nods. “And how is he faring otherwise?”

            Huh? Jiang Cheng frowns.

            Lan Xichen looks away, gaze locked on some distant something, “Wangji was always very fond of Young Master Wei.”

            Oh.

            Well.

            “We have all struggled with losing Wei Wuxian.” Jiang Cheng doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so harsh, but he can’t help it. Wei Wuxian was his brother. They all failed to protect him. They’re all hurting. At least Lan Wangji can sleep at night knowing he did something to try to save the other man. Jiang Cheng doesn’t have even that comfort.

            “My condolences,” Lan Xichen offers.

            Jiang Cheng doesn’t tell him where to shove his condolences, but it’s a close thing. He pulls them to a stop at the gate to the garden where Lan Wangji spends most of his time, A-Yuan and Wen Ning at his side. He can hear A-Yuan’s high, childish laughter and bright, happy chatter over-scored by Wen Ning’s soft, deep voice.

            They come around the corner and Jiang Cheng can see the mismatched trio. A-Yuan sits in Hanguang-jun’s lap. He has a fistful of Wen Ning’s hair and is trying to braid it with limited success. The fierce corpse puts up with the rough treatment with the utmost patience, although it can hardly be pleasant having sticky little hands all over your hair.

            Lan Xichen makes a soft sound beside him and Jiang Cheng cuts his gaze over to the elder Sect Leader. Lan Xichen’s eyes are soft and sad as he watches his brother. “Wangji was always an introspective child,” Lan Xichen says, finally. “Our childhood…we were not raised in an expressive family. All I ever wanted was for him to not be so alone. All I wanted was for someone to see him and want to be by his side.”

            Jiang Cheng thinks of a teenaged Wei Wuxian, constantly teasing, tugging on Lan Wangji’s sleeves, breaking rules, offering pilfered loquats and laughing, always laughing, whenever Lan Wangji would look his way and frown.

            “You’re pretty focused on Lan Wangji. Why do you like him so much? The guy hates you.”

            “I think he’s interesting! I want to be his friend! Don’t you ever see someone and just want to know them, Jiang Cheng?”

            Lan Xichen is still speaking, “Our family has a history of loving too much and speaking our hearts too little. There is a great deal of unhappiness to be found, living in such a way.”

            Jiang Cheng shrugs, “We all want someone to look at us and see something worthwhile, something they want to keep close to them, something to love.”

            Lan Xichen blinks at him, “Very true, Sect Leader Jiang.”

            Jiang Cheng looks away, back to the toddler currently making a tangled mess of his brother in law’s hair. “He doesn’t talk much these days,” there are some days he doesn’t speak at all and some days he’ll only speak to A-Yuan. It’s like all his words dried up the day Wei Wuxian died. “So, don’t be offended if he’s silent.”

            Lan Xichen nods like this wasn’t the single most obvious, asinine thing Jiang Cheng could have said.

            “Thank you for your help and your patience, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen says finally, “On behalf of all of Gusu Lan, we appreciate all you and yours have done for our Wangji.”

            And with a swish of white robes, he’s gone, treading down the path to sit at his brother’s side and be formally introduced to a three-year-old and a fierce corpse. Jiang Cheng watches Lan Xichen with his brother for a moment and wishes the world were a different place.

Wen Qing comes up beside him and takes his arm. He tucks her hand through his elbow and squeezes it, needing the comfort of another human being as they leave the brothers to their conversation.

…

            “Thank you,” Lan Wangji says to Wen Qing that night as she’s cleaning his wounds and checking the bandages. Luckily, the major spiritual wounds have begun to repair themselves, freeing up more energy to direct toward the flesh and blood injuries.

            “I’m a doctor,” she says, “You don’t need to thank me for doing what doctors are supposed to.”

            “No,” he says, voice ragged from disuse but insistent, “Thank you.” He looks away, words all used up for the moment.

            Wen Qing sits back on her heels. She takes a moment to just rest a hand on his shoulder. Not doing anything, not adjusting bandages or checking sutures, just resting a hand on his shoulder like she would her little brother. From the way Hangaung-jun goes absolutely still, casual, kind touch has been a rarity in his life for far too long. She squeezes, gently.

            “It was not your fault. You did your best.”

            “It was not enough.”

            “Sometimes life is like that,” she says bluntly. “Sometimes the good guys lose. We pick up and keep going because sometimes the good guys win and because all we can do is go forward and hope there’s something better.”

            “I know.”

            “I know you know, dumbass,” Wen Qing wonders if she’s the first person in the world to call the esteemed Hangaung-jun a ‘dumbass’, “But sometimes we need a reminder. You get to remind me if I ever forget.”

            He tilts his head a little, like a questioning bird.

            “That’s what friends do,” she says firmly.

            “Friends?”

            “Friends.”

            They nod at each other. Lan Wangji seems to be out of words for the night, but that’s alright. They’d said everything that needed saying for now.

            Wen Qing returns to cleaning wounds.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: Days and Nights Awake and Fighting Thoughts of Losing It

After Wen Qing has yelled at her (her! Her and Jiang Cheng!) children for being reckless (turns out Jiang Zhi had attempted shooting her bow while jumping from a great height, just like Jin Ling had done in the forest when terrorizing Wei Wuxian. She’d hit the target but failed to stick the landing) and her husband for taking their eleven-year-old on a hunt (leaving his twin sister at home, something Jiang Zhi is still not over), they settle in to discuss the cursed arm.

“I think we should do a spirit summoning,” Wei Wuxian suggests after they’ve caught the ladies up on their adventures. Really, it’s the most reasonable suggestion, he doesn’t know why they’re all looking at him like he’s insane.

“You want to try to talk to the murder spirit?” Lan Jingyi blurts around a mouthful of chicken.

“Chew your food, you pig,” Jin Ling scoffs at him.

“What kind of a spirit summoning?” Jiang Zhi asks brightly. Too brightly. If he’s not careful, Jiang Cheng is going to blame him for corrupting the young around here.

“No one is – ” Jiang Cheng begins, only to be interrupted by an almighty crash and a purple-clad youth racing into the room, eyes wild.

“Sect Leader!” the boy bows; realizes how many esteemed personages are gathered in this particular room and tries to bow to all of them at once, his ponytail flopping gracelessly with every motion.

“Stop bowing, dammit” Jiang Cheng holds up a hand, “What’s the problem?”

            “The arm…” the kid pants, “it’s overwhelming the containment array. Senior Wen is wrestling it now.”

            Jiang Cheng swears. Wen Qing cuts a look at him before rising. “Is anyone hurt?”

            The disciple nods, “No one is gravely wounded but a few were overwhelmed by the resentful energy.”

            Wen Qing nods, “Have them sent to the infirmary, I will attend them.”

            “Yes, Madame Wen.”

            Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan have both risen, and Wei Wuxian scrambles to follow their example. Maybe he’ll get to speak with the arm’s restless spirit after all.

            “Take us to the arm,” Jiang Cheng orders. The children rise to follow and he glares them back into their seats. “This is not a task for children.”

            Jin Ling opens his mouth to protest that he’s not a child, but his mother gently grips his wrist and drags him back into his seat. “You may help your aunt in the infirmary, or you may eat breakfast. You may not charge blindly into danger,” she says with the kind of soft smile that makes it very clear she is not budging on this.

            “Sizhui is going with them!” Jin Ling objects.

            Lan Wangji looks at Sizhui like he’s not sure how the boy got there. Some sort of silent communication Wei Wuxian is definitely not jealous of passes between the two and Sizhui sits down and picks up his chopsticks again. His displeasure isn’t visible on his face, but Wei Wuxian can see it in the tight set of his shoulders and his extra-perfect posture.

            Lan Sizhui has some of the same tells Lan Wangji did at his age and it makes something small and sharp twist in Wei Wuxian’s chest. He missed so much time. His son isn’t his own anymore, no matter how pleased he appears to be at Wei Wuxian’s resurrection. A-Yuan has out grown him and it hurts.

            He reminds himself to be happy. The last thing he’d ever want is for his beloved adopted son to spend the rest of his life pining for him. That he grew up and grew up well with a loving adopted parent – and for all his blank face hides, is clear Lan Wangji loves his son with all the fierceness Wei Wuxian does. But it hurts to be superfluous in his own family.

            He can’t dwell on the past too long, though, not with Jiang Cheng leading the way to the source of all the ruckus, the disciple from before fluttering at his side.

            His brother flings open the doors to the containment chamber, revealing utter and complete chaos. Several disciples are unconscious, their comrades trying to pull them away from the vortex of dark energy swirling around the arm as it thrashes in its spiritual prison. Wen Ning clings to it like a flea to a horse, trying to pin it down with his entire body weight. Wei Wuxian winces at the undulating roar of all that resentful energy. He can hear it, the screams, the cries, all that ancient pain and anger being sucked into the maelstrom around the cursed arm. Whoever this was died in agony and Wei Wuxian can feel it in every inch of his battered soul.

            Jiang Cheng barks commands at the disciples, who hastily begin to clear out.

            “Hangaung-Jun,” Jiang Cheng gestures to Lan Wangji, who already sits before his zither, hands already in motion, waves of power rolling off the strings as he tries to suppress the arm. “Wei Wuxian!” He turns at his brother’s voice, only to nearly catch a flying object with his face. His hands scramble to firm up their hold on the thing, realizing as he looks down that it’s Chenqing.

            He immediately puts the flute to his lips and trills out a harmony to the song Lan Wangji is playing. All around them ribbons of light and darkness swirl.

            “WEN NING, MOVE,” Jiang Cheng commands, and the fierce corpse kicks off of the bucking arm just in time for Zidian to wrap its purple, crackling length around the forearm and slam in into the ground. Lan Wangji hits a note on the zither and the arm shudders in protest. Chenqing’s ghostly cry echoes over it, calling down more power in response. The arm fights them, thrashing in Zidian’s hold, but Jiang Cheng stands firm.

            All around them smoke and spiritual light swirl. The only reason Wei Wuxian knows his brother is still standing is the halo of purple lightning crackling around his body. Lan Wangji is nothing but a whisper against Wei Wuxian’s spiritual awareness, a familiar, anchoring presence in the vortex.

            A spiritual array, shining with golden light, forms above the struggling arm, pressing it inexorably down as Zidian keeps it from bolting. The arm gives one final shudder and then relaxes, hovering between the floor and the disc of golden power Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian summoned.

            The smoke dissipates and the spiritual light fades until only the golden array remains in place. Wei Wuxian sags with exhaustion and even Jiang Cheng slumps a little as the Sect Leader retracts Zidian.

            Lan Wangji remains pristine, but with the smoke and light gone Wei Wuxian can see the tightness around the other man’s eyes. He’s just as drained as they are.

            The arm is quiescent again, but, Wei Wuxian realizes, not speaking to him.

            “That’s odd,” he says, standing and approaching.

            “Wei Wuxian – ” Jiang Cheng begins – presumably to order Wei Wuxian to stay clear of the cursed limb. Wei Wuxian ignores him because Jiang Cheng is a notorious killjoy who is not the boss of him.

            Instead, he crouches down beside the trapped arm. “There’s no soul.”

            “No soul?” Jiang Cheng echoes.

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “Normally when there’s a limb this enraged it’s because the owner died a horrible death and the spirit is clinging to the body hoping to extract revenge and finally be at peace.”

            Lan Wangji has the decency to just nod instead of pointing out that all three of them know this, they all attended classes at Gusu, stop stating the obvious, Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng is ruder than Lan Wangji and scoffs.

            Wei Wuxian does not stick his tongue out at his brother because death has made him more mature. He thinks. Mostly he’s just distracted by the arm. “Instead the soul has been blocked from returning to the body. It can’t manifest, it’s not there. Instead the arm is just…sucking in negative energy. Like it’s trying to fill the void.”

            “Unusual but not unexpected,” Lan Wangji observes.

            Wei Wuxian nods, “Yeah, yeah, but that doesn’t answer the question of what it’s pointing at.” He gestures to the now-subdued arm. “It’s pointing us somewhere.”

            “Or to something,” Jiang Cheng points out, “Like maybe the rest of its body.”

            Wei Wuxian nods. “I wonder who this was. Obviously, whoever murdered them really, really hated them,” he pauses, “Hey, you don’t think this is my arm, do you?” he laughs, trying to lighten the mood.

            The mood is not lightened. In fact, both Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng look downright belligerent at that suggestion.

            Jiang Cheng looks ten seconds away from shouting at him when Lan Wangji cuts in with a frigid, “Do not joke, Wei Ying.”

            Wei Wuxian concedes the battle for humor in the face of horrifying murder arms is a lost cause. “Fine, fine, I know it’s not my arm. See this scar?” he points to a mark, “I didn’t have one like that. Happy now?”

            Both his companions give him looks expressing just how unhappy they are.

            “Wow, alright. Everyone’s a critic, I guess,” Wei Wuxian mutters, turning back to the arm, “Lan Zhan, do you remember that compass of evil I was working on way back when?”

            “Yes.”

            When Lan Wangji doesn’t see liable to keep speaking Jiang Cheng picks up where he left the conversation to die. “It’s pretty common now. Nearly every sect cultivator has one.”

            Wei Wuxian hums, “Figures. Okay, basically this arm is working like a giant compass of evil, but specific to whatever working stripped it of its soul and let it loose. So!” he claps his hands and grins up at his companions, “We just need to follow where it points.”

            “And find what exactly?” Jiang Cheng asks skeptically.

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “I don’t know! That’s why it’s fun!”

            Jiang Cheng looks like he wants to tell him exactly how un-fun that sounds but keeps quiet. “You’re incorrigible.”

            “I will follow the arm,” Lan Wangji announces over Wei Wuxian’s laughter.

            Wei Wuxian stops laughing immediately and glares at him, “What? And leave me behind? No way! I – ”

            Lan Wangji looks at him like he’s very dense. Jiang Cheng looks like he wants to throw him in the lake and be done with his nonsense. “Wei Ying will accompany me,” Lan Wangji says.  The unspoken “obviously” is more than apparent.

            “Field trip!” Wei Wuxian cheers, bouncing to his feet. “Jiang Cheng? Coming with?”

            For some reason Lan Wangji looks a little miffed at the suggestion. Weird. Wei Wuxian figured the other man would want a buffer between himself and Wei Wuxian’s…vibrant personality. What better buffer than Jiang Cheng, professional killjoy?

            Jiang Cheng opens his mouth, closes it, and considers. Wei Wuxian wonders if teasing his brother for thinking things through for once will get him whipped. Best not to risk it, he decides. He felt Zidian’s sting once before, and that was in a much stronger body with a much higher level of cultivation.

            “I will consult with Wen Qing,” Jiang Cheng decides, and sweeps out of the room before Wei Wuxian can come up with a suitably witty zinger to heckle him with.

            “Well, that was…weirdly mature of him,” Wei Wuxian says into the silence.

            “Don’t mock your brother,” Lan Zhan says, but Wei Wuxian turns just in time to catch the hint of a smile quirking up the corners of his mouth.

            He laughs delightedly. He takes it back, resurrection is fantastic.

…

            Stepping foot into the new Lotus Pier infirmary comes with a one-two punch of déjà vu and cognitive dissonance. The layout and ambiance are eerily similar to Wen Qing’s domain at the Burial Mounds but so much…more. More neat, more clean, more well-stocked, just…more.

            If Wei Wuxian ever doubted if his brother loved Wen Qing, this infirmary lays those doubts to rest. Every inch of the place is crafted with love and care, from the understated elegance of the screens, to the solid practicality of the glossy wooden floors.

            At the sound of their entrance Wen Qing whirls around, mouth open to either spout orders or reprimand them for disturbing the peace of the infirmary. Upon seeing them she closes her mouth and shakes her head, “Oh, it’s you.”

            Wei Wuxian huffs indignantly, “I come back from the dead and all I get is an ‘oh, it’s you’? Really, I’m feeling very neglected.”

            “She was talking to me,” Jiang Cheng says dryly, “You don’t even merit a mention.”

            Wei Wuxian squawks in outrage, “Hey! Not even a ‘welcome back to the land of the living’, from you people?”

            “Welcome back to the land of the living, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji intones seriously from Wei Wuxian’s other side.

            Wei Wuxian deflates, and puts a dramatic hand over his heart, “Ignored. Mocked. Neglected. My heart is breaking.”

            Jiang Cheng smacks him upside the head. “Stop being mean to Lan Wangji.”

            Wei Wuxian shoots him a confused look, “Huh?”

            “I was serious. Wei Ying is very welcome in the land of the living,” Lan Wangji says gravely.

            Not sure what to do with that and uncomfortable with the serious tone this conversation has taken, Wei Wuxian shuffles his feet and looks away. On a strange impulse he reaches out and tugs Lan Wangji’s sleeve like a shy child. This resurrection thing has made him humiliatingly soft. “Um. Thanks. Thank you, Lan Zhan. Glad to be here.”

            Lan Wangji, apparently also not sure what to do with the turn the conversation has taken, lays a gentle hand over where Wei Wuxian’s fingers are still tangled in his sleeve.

            Jiang Cheng sighs like the two of them are actively draining his life force and stomps away.

            Catching sight of lavender and gold robes flitting behind a screen and hungry for a distraction from the sudden knot of feelings caught in the back of his throat, Wei Wuxian theatrically perks up, squeezing Lan Wangji’s fingers reassuringly before chirping, “Shijie!” and bouncing after her.

            He turns the corner and finds himself in a small hallway ending in a doorway. He follows her through only to find himself in a small chamber dominated by a bed with a single patient lying asleep. Yanli pauses where she’s bent over the prone figure, looking up. Her face hardens briefly, as if she’s braced to tell whoever it is off for following her, only to realize who it is. Her brows soften and her shoulders unwind, her hands dropping down to rest on her patient’s chest.

            “A-Xian, it’s you.” She musters up a smile but it’s tired.

            “Shijie –” whatever Wei Wuxian was going to say, the words die on his lips as he takes in the figure lying on the bed. A man, dressed in pale yellow sleeping robes, his dark hair loosely braided away from his aristocratic features. Wei Wuxian shakes his head slowly, struggling to process the sight of familiar high cheekbones and sharp nose in such a context. The man’s chest rises and falls under his wife’s hands, eyelids flickering minutely as if he recognizes the presence of his old annoyance, Wei Wuxian in his sickroom.

            It’s Jin Zixuan lying there and Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to do with this information.

            “What happened?” Wei Wuxian asks. His family was supposed to safe. Even the more annoying members. His death was supposed to fix things.

            Yanli gives him a sad smile and brushes invisible lint off the blankets covering her husband, reaching up to smooth Jin Zixuan’s hair and run her thumb over his cheekbone. “A night hunt went wrong eleven years ago. Lan Wangji found him unconscious, alone in the middle of the woods. We still don’t know what happened.”

            “He’s been sleeping ever since?”

            She sighs, her shoulders sagging as she sits on the edge of the bed. She pats the space beside her, beckoning Wei Wuxian over. He perches tentatively, not entirely sure he belongs here. Yanli reaches over with her free hand and takes his.

            “Sometimes he wakes up. Briefly. Like a swimmer resurfacing. But then…he fades away again,” she looks down at her lap, squeezing her brother’s hands.  She sniffs once, delicately, but when she looks up her eyes are dry. Jiang Cheng’s armor may be his temper, Wei Wuxian’s armor may be his smiles and jokes, by Jiang Yanli’s armor has always been her composure. Her serenity always made her seem invincible, even in the dark days after the fall of Lotus Pier where everything seemed so unbearably terrible.

            “You know, you sort of saved his life,” she says, giving his hand another squeeze. “When you sent A-Qing to help me with Jin Ling’s birth, remember how you sent a gift with her?”

            “A bell. Just like the one Uncle gave me when he brought me home – I mean, here.”

            “Louts Pier will always be your home, A-Xian,” Yanli says with a quiet ferocity that clearly says they’ll be talking about this later, “The protective workings you put into the bell must have been different than whatever attacked him was expecting. It saved his life,” she laughs without much humor, “A-Ling was two. Just toddling around. We were all here for A-Xing and A-Zhi’s birth. A-Cheng wanted to go with A-Xuan, but he needed to be here for the birth. A-Ling didn’t know what was going on, but he knew we were all very worried. He wouldn’t let A-Xuan leave without the bell.”

            “I’m glad I could help,” Wei Wuxian says, at a loss for anything else to add.

            Yanli smiles a little bitterly. “The Jins all dismissed my concerns. They refused to investigate, even though whatever happened to him happened in their territory. Jin Guangshan threw a fit when A-Cheng and Lan Wangji tried to look into it.” She shakes her head, “It was just like…like right before the siege of the Burial Mounds. Like I was screaming at a world that refused to listen. And the people I love suffered for it.”

            “I’m sorry, shijie,” Wei Wuxian whispers.

            “Look at me,” she commands, steel in her voice. Wei Wuxian meets her eyes. “Nothing that happened was your fault.”

            “Shijie-”

            “No,” she insists, “I refuse to let you carry this. Not on your own. We all made choices and we all had to live with them as best we could. You did not burn down Lotus Pier. You did not kill our parents. And you had nothing to do with the Jin Sect’s mistakes. Before or after your death.”

            Wei Wuxian blinks.

            “I need you to say ‘yes, shijie, I understand,’” she coaxes gently.

            He nods numbly, “Yes, shijie. I understand.”

            She kisses his forehead like he’s two instead of twenty-two – no, he’d be thirty-five by now, wouldn’t he? Time is weird when you spend thirteen years away from the living world.

            She releases her husband’s hand to brush Wei Wuxian’s bangs away from his face – an unfamiliar face attached to an unfamiliar body and when Wei Wuxian has a second away, a second to think when he’s not being bombarded by crisis after crises and revelation after revelation, he’ll mourn for the lost soul that sacrificed this body so that he might live. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

            “All I wanted was for the people I cared about to live safely, in peace,” he whispers. It feels like a confession now, when twenty years ago it was a brash, defiant proclamation.

            “I know,” Yanli says, “It’s what we all wanted.”

            They were a generation who didn’t so much go to war as were thrown at it, into it, before they were ready, before they knew who they were and what they wanted. They were a generation sacrificed to the greed of other men. Wei Wuxian thought that his death was the last. The punctuation mark at the end of a nasty, brutal period in cultivation history.

            “The war never really ended, did it?” he says.

            Yanli’s lips press together. “Whenever I start to feel hopeless, I look outside. I see my son playing with his cousins. I see everything A-Cheng has rebuilt. I see A-Qing healing the sick and teaching the young. I see life going on. The world heals itself, A-Xian. It has to.”

            Wei Wuxian nods.  “Thank you, shijie.”

            They sit together for a long moment, listening to the world move outside.

…

Chapter Text

Interlude: Tell My Mother, Tell My Father, I’ve Done the Best I Can

Present Day…

            Lan Wangji finds his adopted son sitting on the pier after dinner. Wen Ning sent him out here, not telling him what exactly Sizhui needed, just pressing two mugs of tea into his hands and saying “He’s outside.”

            Sizhui has taken off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs, and pushed his robes aside to dabble his feet in the water. With moonlight gilding his profile and his feet bare, he looks much younger than his years, and lost.

            “Sizhui,” Lan Wangji says softly, trying not to startle the boy as he approaches. Sizhui is a good swimmer, having spent much of his youth at Lotus Pier, but he’ll be upset if he ruins two sets of robes in two days.

            He blinks, jumping a little in place and looks up at Lan Wangji. “Oh, Father.”

            Lan Wangji inclines his head in acknowledgement, settling beside his son on the pier, kneeling rather than following Sizhui’s more informal example. He passes the teenager a cup of tea in silence, giving them both a moment in sip in the peace and quiet.

            “What is on your mind?” Lan Wangji asks after a long moment of watching the moonlight ripple over the lake.

            Sizhui hunches his shoulders involuntarily and Lan Wangji bites back the reflex to tell him to sit up straight. His uncle would have, and Lan Wangji has been trying to break himself of the habit of emulating Lan Qiren in all things these last thirteen years.

            The boy sighs and Lan Wangji sees the child under the confident, capable junior disciple he’s become. He won’t be that child much longer, Lan Wangji knows, but for now he’s very young and very unsure.

            “I never thought I’d get to meet him,” Sizhui finally mumbles into his tea.

            Ah.

            “Wei Ying?”

            “I…” Sizhui blinks suddenly bright eyes, “I have so many questions for him. I want to know everything. I just…I’m afraid, Father.”

            “Afraid?” Lan Wangji is intellectually aware Wei Ying can be frightening, especially in his Yiling Patriarch aspect, but he, Lan Wangji, could never see him as something to be feared. He was always Wei Ying, impossibly bright and honorable and good. Wei Ying who spent years carving off little pieces of himself and giving them to anyone who asked, until he was left with only the tiniest sliver of himself, and he would still smile and say “it’s fine!”.

            Lan Wangji has feared for Wei Ying, but he has never brought himself to fear Wei Ying.

            “Wei Ying loves you. He would never hurt you.”

            “That’s not what I’m afraid of!” Sizhui bursts out, turning to his father, blinking rapidly, and oh, there are tears in his eyes. Lan Wangji’s heart squeezes and his stomach rolls. He’s never been able to bear his son in tears. The first time Sizhui – then A-Yuan – cried in his presence, Lan Wangji, still wounded, still filled with that terrible, aching void that had nearly consumed him, body and soul, when the Burial Mounds fell, had tumbled out of his sickbed and limped across the room to wrap both arms around the sobbing toddler. Wen Qing had found them clinging to each other, A-Yuan fast asleep, Lan Wangji still holding him, humming the song Xichen would play for him when he was lonely and small with too many feelings for his body to contain.

            Lan Wangji rests a gentle hand on the top of his son’s head, patting gently. Sizhui, used to his awkward expressions of affection, laughs wetly, rubbing at his eyes.

            “I’m afraid he’ll…be disappointed in how I turned out,” Sizhui mumbles to the water. “He’s so…” Sizhui shrugs, “He’s great. I mean, he’s a legend, but he’s also just so…bright. I don’t remember much from before. I just remember…” he squeezes his eyes shut like that will coax the memories forward better. “I remember laughter and flute music and feeling safe.” He says the words as quickly as possible, as if reciting a sutra or an incantation.

            Sizhui’s eyes open again. “I’ve heard stories about him my whole life. I’ve spent so much time missing him, wishing I could have all my parents back, that I could know all of you. And now I have the chance to and I thought…” he turns big, watery eyes up at Lan Wangji, “Father. What if he doesn’t like me?”

            A small exhalation, an almost-sound, of pain slips past Lan Wangji’s lips, and he reaches out to his child and pulls him close, squeezing the boy’s narrow shoulders tight and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. “You are smart, kind, and good. He could not dislike you.”

            “I’m boring,” Sizhui says in a small voice, “I’m not vibrant like Jingyi or energetic like Jin Ling, or clever like the twins. I’m just… good old Sizhui. Dependable. Like plain congee.”

             Lan Wangji decides telling his son he likes plain congee and it’s a perfectly respectable food to be compared to, would be counterproductive at this time. Instead he smiles privately to himself, and says, “Somehow you inherited Wei Ying’s sense of the dramatic.”

            Sizhui snorts, “I’m the least dramatic person we know.”

            “We know Wen Ning.”

            “Uncle Ning is a corpse, that’s inherently dramatic,” Sizhui argues.

            “Mn.” Lan Wangji says in a clear ‘let’s agree to disagree’ gesture.

            Sizhui laughs against his shoulder, but it’s still watery and their conversation has not been resolved properly.

            “Sizhui. A-Yuan, look at me.” Lan Wangji releases his son so he can look up at him, “You are clever. You are brave. You are strong. You are the pride and joy of my life. I am honored to have known you. Wei Ying will be as well.”

            Sizhui gives him the incredulous, poleaxed look he always does whenever Lan Wangji manages to muster the words to express how deeply his cares about his little patchwork family. “Father…”

            “Wei Ying was so proud of you when you were small,” he says softly, glad the words are working for him, that he can find some way to express how beloved this boy was by both his caretakers, “He would talk about you constantly. Everything you did was interesting to him. You were his son just as you are mine. He will be delighted to get to know you again.”

            “But what if…”

            Lan Wangji cuts him off, “He is just as afraid of disappointing you as you are of disappointing him.”

            Sizhui gapes at him again. “What? Why? He’s the Yiling Patriarch! He’s a legend!”

            “History has not been kind to him.”

            “But I will be!”

            Lan Wangji allows his son to see the tiny smile curving his lips. “Go find him. Talk. Bond.”

            “Father,” Sizhui pauses, reaching out to squeeze his arm, “I’m not replacing you. I never could.”

            Lan Wangji nods. “I know.”

            Sizhui laughs and throws his arms around his father’s shoulders and squeezes briefly but tightly before pulling his feet from the lagoon and gathering his shoes. He pauses, water pooling around his bare toes, and looks down to where Lan Wangji still kneels with his tea.

            “You should talk to him too, you know.”

            Lan Wangji tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow a fraction of a millimeter.

            “You told me you left some things unsaid. Maybe now’s the time to say them.”

            Lan Wangji nods in lieu of a response and Sizhui smiles at him and heads back to the main house, leaving wet footprints on the boards and a trail of water droplets from his shoes in his wake.

…

            Elsewhere, Wei Wuxian kneels in front of the Jiang ancestral shrine, a sibling on each side, incense lit and bows performed.

            “Hello, Uncle Jiang, Madame Yu. I’m sorry I haven’t visited more.”

            While he tells them all about their adventures the last few days, Jiang Cheng and Yanli each take one of his hands and squeeze.

            “Welcome home, brother,” Jiang Cheng mutters under his breath.

            Wei Wuxian nudges him with an elbow, but squeezes his hand back just as tightly.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7: Might as Well Do Your Worst to Me

Eleven Years Earlier…

            “You had better like these two,” Wen Qing grumbles from the bed, sweaty hair still plastered to her flushed face, one twin secure in her arms, her husband holding the other one, her sister in law on her other side. “I’m not going through this hell again.”

            “The payoff is worth it, though,” Yanli offers.

            Wen Qing gives her a flat look, “Tell me that when I don’t hurt everywhere.”

            Jiang Cheng has been suspiciously silent for the last five minutes, staring in slack jawed amazement at the infant in his arms as if the child’s every tiny movement held the secrets of the universe.

            “A-Cheng,” his sister calls. He doesn’t even blink.

            “You there in the purple,” his wife gripes, “I’m the mother of your children now, you should listen to me better.”

            “How could I not like them?” Jiang Cheng says, still sounded a little bit poleaxed. “They’re perfect.” He turns and spots Yanli, “Have you seen them? Jiejie, aren’t they perfect?”

            Wen Qing snorts, “I think we broke him,” she tells the infant in her arms, “Your father is a gibbering wreck now. So sad. You’ll have to run the sect in his place.”

            She looks up and Jiang Cheng is staring at her like she’s some sort of goddess. She wrinkles her nose. “What’s wrong with your face?”

            “You’re amazing.”

            She sighs. “Sit down before you fall down, you ridiculous man.”

            He settles on the bed beside her, a twin sleeping on each other their chests, Yanli shaking her head at them both. Wen Qing allows herself to lean on her husband’s strong shoulder, resting her head on his chest. “I’m tired.”

            “I know. You did so well,” he presses a kiss onto the crown of her head.
            “Never doing this again.”

            “I know. Whatever you want.”

            “Mmn.” She falls asleep safe and warm and wonderful.

…

            Yanli settles the infants in their cradle, allowing the new parents some much-needed rest and lets herself out into the hall, where she’s greeted by two little figures. She kneels down. “A-Yuan, what are you and A-Ling doing out of bed?”

            “A-Ling had a bad dream,” the child formerly known as Wen Yuan, now Lan Yuan since Lan Wangji made his adoption official last year, says with great dignity. Lan Wangji had suffered a relatively minor injury on a night hunt nearby a week ago and had returned to Yunmeng to rest and help wrangle the children in anticipation of Yanli’s niece and nephew’s birth.

            A-Ling, Yanli notes, was fast asleep against Lan Yuan’s side where they sat in the hallway.

            “He wanted to see you,” Yuan explains, “So I brought him here. But the door was closed. So, I said we had to wait. So, we waited. And then he fell asleep.”

            And it’s a little beyond a five year old’s – even the son of the mighty Hanguang-Jun – power to pick up a sturdy toddler and haul him back to their rooms on the other side of the complex.

            “It was very responsible of you to stay with him like this,” Yanli says diplomatically. “But don’t you think your father will be worried if he wakes up and you’re not where you’re supposed to be?”

            Yuan thinks about this for a moment, little brows pulling together in fierce thought. “No. It’s too early for Father to wake up.”

            “What if I hadn’t come out?”

            This stumps Yuan momentarily. “You would have come out eventually.”

            “Before your father woke up?”

            He shrugs, “He would have found me if he needed to.”

            “But he would have been worried. You don’t want your father to worry, do you?”

            Yuan’s face scrunches up as he ponders this. “A-Ling was worried now, though. That’s more important than if Father might be worried later,” he nods to himself, satisfied with his logic, “Yes. Eat the rice in front of you. Don’t think about the rice you might have later,” he recites. Yanli wonders who he heard that from. Probably his Uncle Xichen. He seems like the type to use pithy metaphors to teach patience and restraint.

            She can’t help but compare this child to the way Wei Wuxian was at his age – they’re so similar yet so different. Lan Yuan has all of Wei Wuxian’s slippery cleverness but there’s an air of gravity around him. Where Wei Wuxian had an almost defiant aura of forceful good cheer, Yuan has an aura of quiet contemplation that leaves you wondering how the wheels of his mind turn the directions they do.

            They weren’t related by blood, but Yanli swears she sees Wei Wuxian in this boy alongside Lan Wangji’s more immediate influence. Or maybe that’s just her own wishful thinking.

            “You’re a very kind gege to A-Ling,” Yanli tells him, “But in the future wake up your father and have him come get me. That way everyone knows where everyone else is and no one worries, alright?”

            Yuan nods gravely. Yanli almost feels like they’ve made some sort of pact and bites back a giggle, giddy from lack of sleep. It’s been a long night. She scoops up her son and takes Yuan’s hand to walk them back where they came from. She dearly wishes Zixuan was here. After Wen Qing’s seemingly never-ending labor, all Yanli wants to do is curl up with her husband and let the sound of his steady heartbeat lull her into some much-needed sleep.

             But her Zixuan, no matter what cracks Jiang Cheng still makes about him being a vain peacock, is an honorable man. And when reports of some sort of supernatural disturbance in the Jin countryside reached them he immediately volunteered to investigate. Lan Wangji had offered to accompany him, only to be told off by Wen Qing for “trying to aggravate his newly healed leg just to be a damned hero.”

            (Yanli swears she will make sure the twins are trained out of their parents’ bad habits when it comes to profanity.)

            So Jin Zixuan had gone off with promises to only scout, to be careful, to not engage in combat unless absolutely necessary, and be back at Lotus Pier within two days.

            Yanli curls up in her bed, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly. Tomorrow is another day. Another day to spend with her new niece and nephew. Another day, hopefully with her husband at her side.

            She falls asleep planning for how she’ll introduce A-Xuan and A-Ling to the new additions to their family.

…

            It’s been three days. Yanli is trying not to panic.

            “Where Papa?” A-Ling asks, tugging her sleeve.

            “I don’t know,” she tells him and feels her heart constrict painfully.

            A few minutes pass. She can hear one of the twins crying somewhere and the sound of Wen Qing’s voice rising to soothe the child. As the wind turns, she catches the strains of Lan Wangji’s guqin.

            “Mama,” Jin Ling tugs at her sleeve again, “Uncle Lan sad song.”

            “Sad song?” she asks.

            Jin Ling nods seriously, progressing from tugging at her sleeve to playing with the hem, wrapping it around his little fingers before letting it go and gathering it up again. “Sad song. Miss somebody.” He pauses and Yanli can practically see the wheels in his little head turn as he contemplates. “Where Papa?”

            She gathers him even closer, cuddling him against her chest and pressing a kiss to his forehead. She wonders if Lan Wangji is calling for Wei Wuxian’s spirit again. Wonders if A-Xian will ever answer him. If he’ll ever answer any of them or if he’s just…gone.

            “He’ll come home soon, baby,” she tells A-Ling and she hopes it’s true.

…

            The fourth day that dawns without any sign of Jin Zixuan Jiang Cheng is ready to send out a search party.

            Well.

            More to the point, Lan Wangji knocked on his door at five in the goddamn morning having appointed himself as a one-man search party.

            Jiang Cheng, who has gotten maybe four hours of sleep, blinks bleary eyes at the other man and prays to all the powers in the world that neither of the twins wakes up. “What?”

            Lan Wangji gives him a look that can only be described as tired. Which is entirely unfair, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion, as Lan Wangji does not have two newborns disrupting his sleep near-constantly.

            “Jin Zixuan has not returned. It is troubling the children,” Lan Wangji says seriously. He’s not a verbose man, but Jiang Cheng is a nevertheless a little envious of his ability to pull together complete sentences at this hour.

            “A-Ling had a bad dream and woke me up,” A-Yuan explains, just as serious as his father. They were matching expressions of gravity to go with their matching white Lan robes and matching cloud-patterned forehead ribbons and if Jiang Cheng wasn’t seconds away from slamming the door in Lan Wangji’s face, he’d find it endearing. “And he wanted his papa. And Yanli-jie told me to tell Father if I was going anywhere and so I told Father that we were going to find A-Ling’s papa and not to worry if we were back late because I would make sure to pack us good snacks and extra talismans. And Father said we needed to talk to you first, Sect Leader.”

            “You…children…what?” Jiang Cheng is struggling with sentence formation at the moment as well as struggling to comprehend the sprawling narrative that just tumbled from the normally reserved A-Yuan’s mouth.

            “The children will not be joining me. I will search alone.”

            “Father?” A-Yuan asks.

            Lan Wangji looks down at his son, “I am better equipped for searching.”

            “How?”

            “I can cover more ground more quickly.”

            “How?”

            “I can fly.”

            A-Yuan furrows his brows, “Can I fly?’

            “Not yet.”

            “When?”

            “Later.”

            “When later?’

            “After I find Jin Zixuan.”

            A-Yuan thinks on this a moment before nodding seriously. “Alright.”

            Lan Wangji inclines his head as if he just negotiated a trade agreement instead of talking a five-year-old out of tagging along on a search and rescue mission. Jiang Cheng is not sure if he’s charmed or perturbed.

            “I must ask to impose on your hospitality a little longer, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Wangji says formally, bowing slightly, “and ask that you and yours continue to look after A-Yuan while I am otherwise occupied.”

            Jiang Cheng nods, “Uh, sure. Of course. Can I sleep now?” He’d care more about how rude he’s being, but he hasn’t been this exhausted since the Sunshot Campaign, and while the threat of imminent death is no longer hanging over his head, imminent screaming infant is somehow worse.

            Lan Wangji bows, “Sect Leader,” and departs, Lan Yuan following in his wake.

            Jiang Cheng shakes his head and figures this will all make more sense when he’s less exhaustion-addled.

…

            It does make more sense when he’s better rested and that’s somehow worse than when he was too groggy to know what was going on. Jiang Cheng’s eyes snap open a few hours later to the sure knowledge of three things: his brother in law is still missing, Lan Wangji decided to hare off on his own to look for him like an idiot, and like an even bigger idiot, Jiang Cheng let him.

            “I am the stupidest man alive,” he tells his ceiling.

            Wen Qing, nursing one of the twins on the other side of the bed, looks down at him and raises an eyebrow, “Nice of you to realize it on your own.”

            Jiang Cheng covers his face with a pillow and groans. If he manages to lose two overly noble idiots in one week, he is near-certain the Yiling Patriarch and Madame Yu will both find some way to rise from the dead just to tell him off.

            He pulls the pillow away from his face and sighs. “I gave Lan Wangji permission to go searching for Jin Zixuan. On his own.”

            Wen Qing nods, “Yes, that was stupid.”

            “I should probably go after him.”

            “Maybe not alone.”

            “Why not?”

            “Are the disciples decorative now?”

            Jiang Cheng sighs. He misses charging off into danger with half a plan and a lot of overconfidence. It was so easy. And there were so few people involved. He hates people.

…

            Lan Wangji cuts through the air, Bichen’s blade humming beneath his feet. He’s always enjoyed flying. There’s something about how clear and cold the air is this high up that feels liberating in a way land-bound transportation cannot match. On the ground, he is Hanguang-jun, he is the Second Jade of Gusu, he is Lan Wangji, weighed down by years of history, thousands of rules, and the virtues and vices of all the Lans who came before him. He is a layers and layers of expectation hardened into an icy shell around a molten center.

            In the sky he is Lan Zhan.  In the sky he knows who that is. On earth he can sometimes feel whoever he is slipping away to make way for who is supposed to be. He can feel it in the way he wakes up some days and feels too numb to move, but rises and dresses anyway. Always perfect, always immaculate and always made of solid jade.

            Wei Ying knew who Lan Zhan was. He looked at him and saw the man in the sky, not the frozen jade statue he becomes on the ground. He made Lan Wangji think that Lan Zhan was worth something to someone. That he was important and interesting, not just his titles or his reputation.

            There are times Wei Wuxian’s absence is a scar, a little distant numbness, and there are times when his loss is a seeping wound, infected with years of misunderstanding and miscommunication and Lan Wangji’s regrets.

            There are times when being around people is too much, being still and frozen is too much, everything is too busy and too crowded and too loud, or too still and too silent and too numb. Those are the times when he throws himself into the sky and just… flies. Flies away from all of it. Composes melodies he may never play. Thinks thoughts that have no purpose other than to be pondered and then folded away to be taken out and examined later or related to a friend to make them laugh. (Lan Wangji is learning how to have friends. It is difficult sometimes, and he wonders if Wei Wuxian, who taught him how to reach out by reaching out to him over and over and over again, would be proud if he knew that Lan Wangji is trying, even without him.)

            Sometime he brings A-Yuan with him on these flights. With a child in his arms, laughing and squealing in delight, he takes out the old and dusty impulse to…play. He speeds up and slows down, takes sharp turns and lazy, looping spins just to make his son shriek with childish glee.

            This is not one of those flights, however. There is no A-Yuan and there are no self-indulgent tricks. Instead he combs the countryside around Jin territory, sending out talismans in search of a familiar spiritual signature. The cold bite of the wind on his cheeks is the only indicator of just how long Lan Wangji has been working. He won’t grow fatigued for hours now, but exercising so much spiritual energy at once is taxing, even on his highly developed golden core.

            Finally, finally, one of the talismans returns. Modeled off of Wei Wuxian’s papermen but without that level of sophistication, these are designed to be sent out in search of something specific and then return. Manipulating them does not require Lan Wangji’s soul to travel with them, and he will suffer no damage if they are destroyed. They are simple creatures, though, and have been known to grow confused in areas with too many or too few spiritual signatures.

            So far three talismans have returned besides this one – two latched onto fierce corpses, which he dispatched, and the third had been harassing a rogue cultivator. He has little hope for the fourth.

            He follows anyway, because he has very few options left to him.

            It’s with a sickening lurch in his stomach that he realizes the talisman has led him true. There, in the leaf litter, is a familiar golden yellow figure.

            Jin Zixuan is filthy, his clothes tattered and stained. Lan Wangji’s blood chills at the thought that he might actually be dead. What will he tell Yanli? Who will tell A-Ling his father will not return?

            Unbidden, a scene from the past flickers across his vision. A little boy, barely older than A-Ling, screaming and sobbing for his Xian-gege. Crying for a father figure who would never come home.

            Lan Wangji alights from his sword, calling Bichen back into its’ sheathe as he kneels beside Jin Zixuan. The other man’s skin is cool to the touch but not cold and a pulse flutters at his throat. His chest rises and falls with even breaths. Strangely, his sword is still sheathed, as if whatever had attacked him had caught him entirely by surprise – no small feat considering the Jin heir’s level of cultivation.

            Clutched in one hand, though, is a familiar Jiang family bell. Although, this one bore a lavender and gold tassel rather than the standard deep purple.

            Jin Ling’s bell. The one Wei Wuxian made for him.

            Lan Wangji frowns, stretching out his spiritual awareness, trying to sense whatever kept Jin XZixuan comatose. Whispers claw at the edges of his mind, the sounds of whatever power Wei Wuxian had imbued the bell with fighting with whatever had attacked his brother in law. Lan Wangji jerks back before whatever it is senses his presence and tries to latch onto his soul too.

            “A spiritual parasite?” Lan Wangji wonders to himself. “Could whatever this is have latched onto Jin Zixuan’s spiritual cognition and attempted to drain it dry? Such a thing would split a cultivator’s soul from his body. It would be…an abomination.” And not an abomination the way Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation was supposed to be. That was a dangerous path, but not one that always necessitated cruelty. Such a trick at this seemed to be, would be even more despicable than the core-melting hand. This could be adapted to use on civilian and cultivator alike, indiscriminately.

            But something in Wei Wuxian’s protective charms had stopped it. Something was even now keeping the spiritual poison from spreading. Whoever invented this attack had not taken demonic cultivation into account.

            That was something, at the very least.

            Lan Wangji stands and sends off a flare, hoping the search party a better rested Jiang Cheng surely sent after him will see it before a Jin party does. If Jin Zixun makes an appearance Lan Wangji may find himself doing something he would regret.

            Regret, if only because his elder brother would be very disappointed if Lan Wangji went around flinging Jin cultivators, no matter how horrible, off of cliffs.

…

            Yanli sits at her husband’s bedside and does not cry. She feels…withered. As if she has been drained dry of tears, dry of blood, dry of feeling. She clutches Zixuan’s hand in hers and watches him sleep and feels paper-thin, like the wind could slice through her like a knife.

            She kisses his palm and presses his cool, dry hand against her cheek.

            “I miss you, my love.”

            It’s been days. The Jiang doctors have done all they can, Wen Qing consulting when able.

            No one knows when he’ll wake up. If he’ll wake up.

            Yanli is almost surprised when a tear leaks from the corner of her eye. She’d thought she didn’t have any left to lose. She sets Zixuan’s hand down gently, folding it over his chest.

            A soft sound in the doorway has her looking up, expecting Jin Ling to be hovering again, even though it’s his nap time. Instead her eyes catch on the bright white of Lan Wangji’s robes. A-Xian always said the Gusu uniform looked like mourning robes. The comment seems more and more apt the more tragedy piles on their collective shoulders.

            She needs to get out of this sickroom. Her thoughts have taken a morbid, self-pitying turn her mother would certainly scoff at.

            “Hello, Lan Wangji.”

            He nods a greeting. His silences have grown less profound in the years since the fall of the Burial Mounds, but he’s never been a chatty man and Yanli expects he never will be.

            “How is he?”

            “There’s been no change,” she tells him.

            He nods. There’s not much to say to that. “I apologize. I should have found him sooner.”

            This is quite a speech coming from Lan Wangji. Yanli tries to give him a smile. “You did the best you could. You’re the only reason he’s here at all.”

            Lan Wangji inclines his head solemnly.

            Yanli twists her fingers together. “Thank you. For finding him.”

            Lan Wangji nods again.

            Yanli knows he will stand there feeling awkward and looking serene unless or until she does something to break the ice. So she forces herself away from Zixuan’s side, pressing a kiss to his forehead as she stands up.

            “Would you walk with me, Hanguang-Jun?”

            He nods and follows her out. She leads them into the gardens, the sunlight shockingly bright after her hours at Zixuan’s side. She stops for a minute, blinking black spots out of her eyes and taking in a deep breath of air scented with something other than medicinal herbs and clean linens. Lan Wangji stops beside her and waits for her to get her bearings. When they step onto the path, he’s at her side, walking in time with her.

             They stroll in silence for a few moments. There’s something soothing about Lan Wangji’s silences, Yanli thinks. He’s not like anyone she knows. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were always bright and loud, circling her like colorful kites. Zixuan is the same way, bright and sharp.

            Lan Wangji is…different. Like a cool, clear breeze where the rest of them are bonfires or fireworks.

            Wei Wuxian liked him. Maybe even loved him. Jiang Cheng never understood why, but having spent time in the man’s company, Yanli thinks she can understand, if only a little bit. Lan Wangji has a way of listening that makes you feel heard, and all A-Xian ever wanted was someone to listen to him, to hear him, to value him.

            “You loved A-Xian,” she says. She doesn’t make it a question. She remembers the days after Wei Wuxian disappeared during the war, before he returned as the Yiling Patriarch. She remembers the horrible days after the fall of the Burial Mounds, when Lan Wangji was a listless, empty shell of himself.

            Lan Wangji freezes for a moment before stepping forward again. They’re out of sync now. Yanli slows just a little bit so they’re back in step.

            “Yes.”

            Yanli nods. “I love Zixuan. So much. It feels as if there’s a hole in my life, in my world now. Like there’s a wound in the universe where he used to be. But life still goes on. And it’s almost…insulting. That it does.”

            “Yes.” That single word, so full of pain, tears itself from Lan Wangji’s throat beside her and Yanli resists the urge to reach out to him, remembering how uncomfortable he is with physical contact outside of his interactions with the children.

            “What drew you to A-Xian?” she hears herself asking. She immediately wants to shove the words right back where they came from. She’s exhausted, she’s overwrought and her lifetime of exposure to her brother’s…violently forthright personality has clearly done severe damage to her verbal filter.

            Beside her Lan Wangji sighs and she almost expects him to leave. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sounds…almost relieved when he speaks again. “He treated me like a human being.”

            It’s Yanli’s turn to miss a step now as she considers his words. They resonate strangely inside her and she finds herself smiling ever so slightly, despite herself.

            “I understand,” she tells him, “It was the same way for me with A-Xuan.”

            Lan Wangji doesn’t say anything, but she can sense his attention on her. He really is a very good listener.

            “Our parents’ marriage was not always a peaceful one. We all responded in different ways. Wei Wuxian by smiling, Jiang Cheng by frowning, and I…I kept the peace. I was the good sister, the dutiful daughter. And I was happy. But I was also treated a little like a paragon. Like I was perfect, beyond reproach. And then there was A-Xuan. And he never once treated me like some untouchable paragon. I was a human being, a flawed, imperfect creature. And when he told me he loved me…I knew he meant it was me he was seeing.”

            “The night I met Wei Ying he offered me alcohol and laughed when I scolded him. He sought me out. He teased me. No one teased me. No one spoke to me. It was just Wei Ying and my brother. I was real, to him.”

            Yanli looks up at him and catches sight of a look of indescribable longing inscribed on his features. Part of her tells her she should look away, that this is private. Another part of her remembers a soft voice saying “I was real, to him,” and makes sure he meets her eyes when he catches her gaze.

            He looks almost surprised to see her there, smiling gently at him. He looks away quickly, but she catches the slight upturn of his lips, an almost rueful gesture.

            “Lan Wangji,” she begins, “I am so tired of losing people I care about. I thought I was done being helpless. I was wrong.” She comes to a stop, squaring her shoulders, channeling her mother’s pride and her father’s dignity and maybe a little bit of Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng’s impetuous natures. She meets Lan Wangji’s gaze squarely. “I never want to be helpless again. I have a sword. I want to learn to use it. Better this time.” She’d never been a good student of the blade. Too soft, too gentle, too easily intimidated by her mother’s barked orders. She’d wanted to make good food and pretty things, not learn how to slice up other cultivators.

            But needs must. And she has reached her limit in losses she’s willing or able to take.

            “Help me. Please.”

            Lan Wangji nods, “Yes.”

            Yanli smiles. “Thank you, Hangaung-Jun.”

            “We will begin tomorrow.”

            “Of course.”

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 8: Stomp the Halls Louder than You

            Wei Wuxian wakes up energized the next morning. He’d been surprised the night before when Jiang Cheng had advocated taking the night to rest and reconvene tomorrow to hunt down whatever the arm was pointing at rather than charging off on a wild adventure right away. And, of course, Lan Zhan of the cool head and inscrutable features had immediately agreed with him. What had happened to his impulsive, impetuous little brother, huh? Who is this new, mature, serious Jiang Cheng?

But now it’s morning! And he’s going on a night-hunt! With his brother! And Lan Zhan! Who for some reason seem to hate him less now than they did a few – well…it wouldn’t be a few days ago to them would it? Maybe thirteen years softened some of the resentment. Although… Wei Wuxian remembers a bright, pale figure in the middle of a busy Yiling marketplace. A tall, solemn-faced man not only allowing a sticky toddler to cling to his leg, but buying the child a grass butterfly and giving him a fraction of a smile when little A-Yuan looked up at him with wide-eyed, slack-jawed wonder.

            Lan Zhan had visited him. Had paid for lunch and let A-Yuan climb all over him and smiled his near-invisible smile when Wei Wuxian teased him.

            Lan Zhan had been there when he died.

            Wei Wuxian shakes the grim thoughts away before his own depression draws resentful energy down on Lotus Pier. That would be some way to thank his hosts, huh? Calling dark forces down on their heads when they’ve just managed to subdue the soulless arm.

            He wanders into the kitchens and fetches a bowl of congee (heavily spiced because he wants to enjoy everything this new body has to offer, including its taste buds) before meandering out to the training grounds, where the day has already started for the Jiang disciples. He climbs a conveniently placed tree to eat his breakfast and watch as purple uniformed figures work their way through archery, hand to hand, and sword drills below. He realizes, with a start that Jiang Cheng is on the field as well, barking orders and pointers as his son and nephew harry him with their swords. To Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi are also training with the Jiang Sect Leader, holding off Zidian’s purple lash as the other two contend with Jiang Cheng’s formidable sword-work.

            Wei Wuxian whistles under his breath. His little brother sure has grown up.

            A flash of white catches his eye, and he turns his attention elsewhere, nearly falling out of the tree in surprise when he pinpoints its source. Lan Zhan is…sparring with Yanli. And, to Wei Wuxian’s delight, his shijie is giving as good as she gets. Wei Wuxian grins as he watches Yanli nearly slip under Lan Zhan’s guard, only to be rebuffed at the last possible moment, their swords meeting in a flash of steel on steel. He bites back the urge to cheer, then remembers that he’s reborn, it’s a new day in a new life and there’s no reason to second guess or hold back. He’s going to live this new life to the fullest, after all. And what is living life to the fullest but whooping and whistling as his elder sister trades blows with none other than the estimable Hangaung-Jun and even makes him sweat a little?

            They both pause and look up at him. He waves cheekily because that’s who he is as a person. They shake their heads and Yanli waves back. When Lan Zhan just sort of nods vaguely at him (he acknowledged him! Lan Zhan acknowledged him! Wei Wuxian’s fifteen-year-old self is cheering) she nudges him and gestures. Lan Zhan stiffens and then, slowly, raises a single hand and gives it one shake before tucking it back at his side.

            Wei Wuxian gives another whoop and a hearty cheer. “Lan Zhan, LAN ZHAN!!!” he waves at him, almost overbalancing and nearly falling out of the tree in the process, catching himself at the last minute and blowing a kiss in Lan Wangji’s direction just to reassure him he’s fine.

            Lan Zhan stiffens, nods jerkily. He nearly spins around and walks away, but Yanli catches him and spins him right back around.

            Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what to think about that. He’s even less sure what to think when Yanli nudges Lan Wangji again and the other man slowly, stiffly raises his fingers to his lips and blows him the stiffest and most formal kiss Wei Wuxian has ever seen.

            He nearly swoons.

            Instead he grins even more and waves again, then waves them back to what they were doing, turning his attention back to his congee. He’s still grinning to himself, though.

            A pebble bouncing off his shoulder draws his attention back to the world around him. He looks down to see a small, purple-clad figure under the tree.

            “Jiang Zhi?” he says.

            “Hey, Uncle Wei. Want to help me prank some assholes?”

            He grins at her, “Do I ever?”

…

            Wen Ning is preparing for Senior Jiang and Master Wei’s night hunt – Senior Jiang never remembers to pack everything he needs – when he looks up to see his niece and Master Wei walking right past, looking…well, looking just like Master Wei used to look when he was planning some prank.

            It was always hard in the Burial Mounds. Always. But…there were good days. There were days when Wei Wuxian was brighter and more vibrant. When he would plan harmless pranks and follow whatever whimsy occurred to him.

            Thinking about those days used to come with pain. It used to be an old scar, aching in the cold. It’s…strange to be able to look outside and see that…nothing is wrong. Master Wei is back and they’re all alright.

            Well, as alright as they can be with a metaphysical mystery on the loose.

            Wen Ning ducks outside. “What are you two up to?” he asks.

            Both of them spin around (as well as Jiang Zhi can with her leg in a splint).

            “Wen Ning!” Wei Wuxian chirps, “How are you this fine morning?”

            It is seven in the morning. Wei Wuxian never used to think seven in the morning was anything but deplorable.

            “Are you alright, Young Master Wei?” Wen Ning asks, “You’re not usually…ambulatory this early.”

            Wei Wuxian looks affronted. “I can wake up before seven, Wen Ning.”

            He smiles and can’t resist giving him a look as if to say ‘can you?’, to which Wei Wuxian responds by tossing his hair.

            Wei Wuxian sighs. “You know me too well, Wen Ning,” he shakes his head ruefully, “I can’t sleep. Not with so much out here to experience!” he smiles brightly, but it’s a little brittle.

            Wen Ning does know him, even after all these years, he realizes. Wei Wuxian is struggling, in his own way. He’s happy but he’s adjusting to a whole new world, and a whole new body. Wen Ning isn’t used to this feeling, at least not in the context of Master Wei. He’s used to feeling this protective, near-paternal elder-brother-uncle feeling towards his niece and nephews, not his mentor and friend. It’s strange to realize that thirteen years have passed and they aren’t the same people they were but…Wei Wuxian is.

            How painful must that be, Wen Ning thinks, to be the same but realize the world has moved on without you?

            So, he smiles and asks again, “What are you two doing?”

            Jiang Zhi grins at him. She looks so much like her mother. She has her father’s eyes, but her mother’s cocky grin, the grin Wen Qing would shoot him when they were children, and confident of the world and their places in it. The grin that’s only just now begun to creep back onto her face as the years have passed and they’ve both been safe and loved. “You know those bullies who were messing with A-Xing?” 

            “Yes,” he says expectantly.

            Jiang Zhi tosses her head like a displeased horse. “I overheard them talking at breakfast. They’re going to throw one of the juniors’ things in the lake while everyone else is at training.”

            “Did you tell your father?”

            “Nope,” she says firmly, “I’ll take care of it.”

            Wen Ning really wants to know how exactly she plans on doing that.

            “I like this child,” Wei Wuxian announces, “I’m keeping her.”

            “Young Master Wei, this one has parents. Parents who will be very upset if you steal her.”

            Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “Silly Wen Ning. I don’t need to adopt her. I just need to lure her to the dark side with me!”

            “Excuse you, Uncle Interloper, I am the reigning troublemaker around here,” A-Zhi declares with a cheeky grin.

            Wei Wuxian squawks a protest and Wen Ning tunes out their bickering with a soft smile. They’re soothing in their way, he thinks.

            He does get their attention when their quarry passes by, clearly skipping out on practice, and definitely headed toward the junior disciple dormitories.

            “Hey, you were supposed to be practicing talismans, right?” Wei Wuxian asks A-Zhi.

            She nods.

            “How good are you?”

            “The best,” she puffs out her chest, only to deflate, “Okay. The best for my age group. Sizhui has us all beat because he’s a bookworm.”

            “And five years older than you,” Wen Ning points out.

            A-Zhi tosses her ponytail. “I’ll catch up.”

            “That’s not how time works…”

            “In skills, not age,” A-Zhi rolls her eyes. She’s approaching the age where that will become increasingly common, according to everyone around him. Wen Ning is not looking forward to it.

            Wei Wuxian rolls up his sleeves and pulls out talisman paper with a flourish. “Watch and learn, little junior.”

            He writes out three talismans rapid-speed, showing A-Zhi the completed product when he’s done, before casting them toward the troublemakers skulking across the pier.

            The talismans don’t land on the students, falling short and fluttering into the lake instead.

            “Are they supposed to…do…that?” A-Zhi asks skeptically.

            Wen Ning hopes this is all part of one of Wei Wuxian’s schemes and not an embarrassing moment for his newly resurrected friend.

            Wei Wuxian just grins cryptically. Definitely a scheme.

            Wen Ning’s suspicions are confirmed when, with a mighty roar, a wave shoots up from the formerly tranquil lake at the problem children’s feet, arching over the cluster of teens, cresting far above their heads and crashing down on their shoulders, soaking them all through.

            A-Zhi roars with laughter, clapping her hands delightedly as the group start to whine and bicker amongst themselves, each accusing the others of being the source of their drenching.

            Wei Wuxian holds a finger up to his lips and hands her the papers, demonstrating the precise gestures involved in creating the talismans. A-Zhi cottons on quickly, brush flying across the papers and flicking them out, the papers overshooting the dock and drifting into the water on the other side of the pier the now-soggy bullies stand on.

            The water that rises in response isn’t nearly as impressive as its predecessor, more a series of angry, seemingly random spurts than a single unified wave, but its effect is an equally humiliating drenching. The scattershot nature of the second wave only sows confusion amongst the already irate, shivering students, who begin shouting at each other in earnest now.

            “Can I step in?” Wen Ning asks dryly, “Or are you two just going to torture them?”

            Wei Wuxian beams at him, “Being an uncle looks good on you, Wen Ning. Go ahead, ruin their day.”

            Wen Ning smiles. “It looks like their day is already ruined, Master Wei.”

            Wei Wuxian turns to A-Zhi, “And now the most important part of any prank. Time to disappear before there are consequences!”

            One of the soggy figures across the way turns and catches sight of them, voice rising as he points them out to his companions.

            “Run!” A-Zhi and Master Wei both shout, A-Zhi hobbling on her splint until Master Wei just scoops her up and runs off, cackling like a goblin.

            Wen Ning shakes his head and launches himself into the air to land on the pier in front of the older students. “Hello,” he says in his most pleasant voice.

            For some reason this makes all of them shriek like fussy infants.

            Jiang Sect disciples should really be made of sterner stuff. Maybe he’ll mention something to his sister and brother in law.

            “Any reason why you’re not at drills with your classmates?”

            It’s good to have Master Wei back.

…

            They meet at the gate at nine am to head out on their journey (Lan Zhan refuses to call it a ‘quest’ or ‘adventure’, despite Wei Wuxian’s very eloquent argument favor of such terminology). Jiang Cheng raises an eyebrow at Wei Wuxian when the other man comes wandering up. “Is there a reason Wen Ning brought three drenched juniors to Wen Qing for punishment this morning?”

            “Justice works in strange and mysterious ways, brother,” Wei Wuxian says serenely, before turning back to Lan Wangji, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, are you excited? This will be fun, won’t it? Just like old times! Except there’s no Wen Chao, haha. Unless it’s his arm. I could understand detaching the spirit from Wen Chao’s corpse. He was pretty unpleasant in life; I can’t imagine the afterlife improved him.”

            “Wei Wuxian, stop making morbid jokes!” Jiang Cheng barks.

            “It is not Wen Chao,” Lan Wangji declares.

            “Why not?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            Lan Wangji blinks, “You ensured there were not enough remains to create a fierce corpse.”

            Wei Wuxian actually deflates a little at that. “Oh. Right. I forgot.” He laughs weakly, “I was pretty awful back then, wasn’t I? You were right, huh? Demonic Cultivation harms the body and the mind, and the memory too apparently.”

            “Never awful,” Lan Wangji says.

            Wei Wuxian nearly stumbles. “Huh?”

            “Wei Ying was never awful,” Lan Wangji declares as if it’s a law of the universe, as immutable as the thousands of rules carved into the Gusu Lan cliffsides.

            Jiang Cheng sighs. Why did he agree to come with these two? He’s just glad he said his goodbyes to Wen Qing in private, away from his blabbermouth brother. If he had to listen to them flirt and hear Wei Wuxian tease him for being sentimental with his wife, he might do something he’d regret. Like fling Wei Wuxian off a cliff. Or learn a way to make the Gusu Lan silencing charm permanent.

            Now there’s a thought.

            Luckily, Wei Wuxian has the attention span of a bird, and is already tearing through a new conversation topic at top speed, pausing only to listen to Lan Wangji respond in various flavors of “Mn.”

            Jiang Cheng has changed his mind. If he has to keep listening to these two flirt, he’ll fling himself off a cliff.

…

            They find evidence of something being wrong after a day’s travel by sword. Suibian disappeared around the same time Wei Wuxian died, so he’s riding with Lan Wangji, who seems all too happy to accommodate Jiang Cheng’s clingy brother. More power to him. As much as Jiang Cheng loves Wei Wuxian (may he never, ever find out), the other man is a fidgety nightmare to share a sword with.

            “There’s something wrong with this town,” Wei Wuxian says.

            Jiang Cheng snorts, “Well, it’s covered in fog, deserted, and the compass of evil lead us straight to it. I’d say there’s something wrong with it.”

            Wei Wuxian shoots him a dirty look. “No, it’s just…” he waves a vague hand, “The ghosts don’t sound right.”

            Lan Wangji’s gaze locks on Wei Wuxian (he keeps watching him as if he’s afraid the other man will disappear if left unsupervised. Jiang Cheng would complain about how creepy it is, but he’s caught himself doing the same damn thing.). “The ghosts?”

            Wei Wuxian waves vaguely, “It’s…once you’re tuned in to resentful energy, you can sort of…hear it. Everywhere. Like a melody in the background. Most places the spirits are quiet. They might linger a bit and then pass on, or they might re-enter the cycle of reincarnation immediately. Sort of like wounds,” Wei Wuxian perks up, going into full lecture mode. It’s strangely…heartwarming to see this again. “Some damage barely leaves a mark, some leaves a scratch that heals neatly without much intervention, and some wounds fester. Deaths are the same way, spiritually. Resentful spirits are infected wounds.”

            “And you listen to that? All day, every day?” Jiang Cheng asks incredulously.

            Wei Wuxian blinks at him as if he hasn’t just told them something mildly horrifying. “Well. Sort of? It’s very muffled now that the amulet is gone. It could be unbearable with the amulet around, haha.” His laughter sounds forced. Jiang Cheng hates it. Wei Ying’s laughter should always be warm and natural, the way it was when they were young and the only thing to fear was Lan Qiren’s punishments. He shares a look with Lan Wangji, who clearly doesn’t like it any better.

“Don’t you…?” Wei Wuxian shakes his head like he, Wei Wuxian, is the one being silly, “No, you wouldn’t, would you?” he looks contemplative, “They didn’t get loud and constant until after the Burial Mounds…maybe you need to not have a…no, that doesn’t make sense...” his eyes grow distant in that ‘Wei Wuxian is thinking deep thoughts’ way that always makes Jiang Cheng nervous.

            So, he slaps him upside the head. “Stop that.”

            Wei Wuxian looks offended, “Hey, that was –“

            Jiang Cheng doesn’t get to hear just how uncalled-for that was, because they’re interrupted by a scream.

            Lan Wangji takes off, both of them on his heels as they break through the mists to see…a mostly deserted ghost town.

            That’s…not comforting at all. Jiang Cheng officially does not like this at all.

            Wei Wuxian winces slightly like whatever creepy ghost voices he can apparently hear have changed pitch for the worse. Lan Wangji looks wary, which is Lan for ‘completely on edge and maybe a little nervous’.

            A woman crouches on the ground, screaming and sobbing, clutching her head in her bony hands, looking seconds away from tearing her hair out.

            A man stands over her, looking utterly bewildered. “I swear, I didn’t do anything to her, I was just walking past and she jumped out of that alleyway and bit me! He holds up a bloodied wrist as if to prove his point.

            Lan Wangji pins him with one of his more vicious stares and asks, “What are you doing here?”

            “I – I’m – my friends and I, we thought we’d try to find some artifacts.”

            “Artifacts.” The way Lan Wangji says it, the single word somehow becomes both a question and an incredulous statement.

            The young man nods vigorously, “We’re trying to study demonic cultivation and we heard all these reports of restless spirits and monsters up here so we came looking to see if any of the Yiling Patriarch’s weapons were hidden up here. You know, they never found the Stygian Tiger Seal”

            “They aren’t, and they won’t” Wei Wuxian’s voice is flat and cold. “It was destroyed in the siege.”

            “You don’t know that,” the guy argues.

            “Yes, I do.” Wei Wuxian’s voice is chillingly empty. “Now go back to your idiot friends before you get yourself attacked by something scarier than this poor woman.”

            The young man looks mulish, like he might argue the point.

            Lan Wangji has moved to stand in front of the cowering woman, who’s babbling nonsense to herself in a frantic undertone. “It is dangerous here. Leave.”

            “Leave or I’ll remove you,” Jiang Cheng snarls because he’s not really here to talk sense into idiots, but he is here to protect civilians, and that woman looks terrified. Zidian sparks on his finger as if emphasizing his point.

            Wei Wuxian holds up a hand, forestalling the man as he backs away from Jiang Cheng’s wrath. “Wait. A word of advice, from one demonic cultivator to another,” he blinks and his eyes are red, shadows clinging to the hems of his clothes, red light sparkling at his fingertips. “Demonic cultivation is a tool, but most people see it as a shortcut. It’s not. Either you use it, or it uses you. Remember that, if you continue down this path. There is always a price to be paid for power and you have to be the one willing to pay it. No one else. You. You are responsible. No excuses. No scapegoats. And if I hear of someone abusing this power there is nowhere you can hide from me. Understand?”

            The man gulps and nods before skittering away.

            Lan Wangji looks to Wei Wuxian, face unreadable. “Wei Ying.”

            Wei Wuxian deflates, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes returning to their usual mercurial silver, sheepish grin on his face. “I know, I know, I went a little overboard.”

            “Mn.”

            Wei Wuxian looks up and shoots Lan Wangji a tentative smile as if he heard a hundred words of encouragement and support in that one monosyllable. Lan Wangji inclines his head, eyes softening into one of the many micro-expressions Jiang Cheng still struggles to read even after all these years.

            Jiang Cheng sometimes wishes he could speak as succinctly as Lan Wangji. Opting to give his brother and colleague some space, Jiang Cheng turns to the weeping woman. “Madam,“ he tries to speak to her, but that only makes her sob harder, shaking so hard he swears he could hear her bones rattle.

            A throat clears behind him, making the all spin around. Well, Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian spin around. Lan Wangji turns, serenely. The night watchman who drew their attention looks a little startled to have three intense gazes locked on him at once.

            “Ah, that’s a sad story there,” he indicates the woman, “She’s mostly harmless unless you startle her these days.” He places a pork bun on the ground in front of her and she falls to it with a frenetic hunger, tears gone as if they’d never been.

            The man straightens up, “She’s the lone survivor of some sort of massacre up the mountain a ways. Eleven years ago, her whole family settlement was wiped out in a single night. She was the only one to make it back here. She went mad shortly after, so we never did find out what happened. Sad, sad, story.” He goes on his way, swinging his lantern and calling out chants to ward off evil spirits.

            Jiang Cheng checks the woman over for injuries as best he can without touching her and without drawing her attention and frightening her. She seems fine, if manic, and he concludes the demonic cultivator was at least telling the truth about not harming her.

            Wei Wuxian frowns and taps his chin. “Interesting…”

            “What?” Jiang Cheng asks. This village is seriously creepy and the aura coming from the forest does not bode well. If Wei Wuxian can sense something, he’ll be the first to go after it just to get out of here.

            “There’s something drawing resentful energy into that forest,” Wei Wuxian points to the outskirts of town, where settlement fades into wilderness again. “Or maybe it’s just pooling there for some reason and not dispersing,” he grins one of those grins that sends Jiang Cheng right back into every single one of their childhood misadventures. “We should check it out.”

            “Yes,” Lan Wangji agrees.

            Now that he’s confronted with the choice, Jiang Cheng does not want to go into the scary nightmare forest, but he feels like he probably should and he’s not going to let his freshly resurrected, still-mentally-twenty-two-and-invincible brother show him up in the bravery department. “Fine. But something feels very wrong about those woods.”

            Wei Wuxian’s grin widens. “That’s because that’s where all the fun is.”

            Lan Wangji shoots a mildly despairing look in Jaing Cheng’s direction and he sighs in agreement. Sometimes, Wei Wuxian is not good for anyone’s health, least of all his own.

…

            It’s in the woods that things go from creepy to outright dangerous. They’ve been walking for several miles through vile smog that makes Jiang Cheng glad he wears his clarity bell on every night hunt and forces Lan Wangji to do the same. Wei Wuxian, of course, is perfectly content to stroll through clouds of demonic energy, happy as a clam and chattering absently as he takes stock of his surroundings.

            Lan Wangji has his Listening Face on, which basically translates to him staring straight ahead with a slightly abstracted look in his eye. It took many years and a great deal of miscommunication before Jiang Cheng learned this, and he’s very glad he did, otherwise he probably would have punched the other man for looking so damn bored every time someone says anything mildly interesting. Of course, this time Lan Wangji’s Listening Face is occasionally disrupted by his Looking at Wei Wuxian Face where everything hard and chilly about his features softens like snow on a sunny day.

            It’s disgustingly sappy and Jiang Cheng hates it.

            Really, he does.

            He especially hates times when Wei Wuxian will smile extra brightly and tug on Lan Wangji’s sleeve and babble about some new idea and they both go soft and sweet in each other’s general directions. It’s sickening, really.

            (He does not miss his wife and he is fine, thank you. He’s not grumpy at all.)

            Part of him wants to crack their heads together and inform them that if they don’t say something soon, he’ll talk to Zewu-Jun about arranging a marriage for them and that would just be embarrassing for everyone, especially Jiang Cheng.

            He’s almost relieved when a body comes lurching out of the trees with a snarl on its lips. At last, something to stab! He’s about ready to get to the stabbing when he realizes who it is and has to switch Sandu to a defensive block instead of an offensive strike.

            “Sect Leader Yao?” He always knew the other man was unpleasant, but he hadn’t factored in fierce corpse levels of unpleasantness.

            A flash of red light shoots past his vision as he dances out of reach of the shambling creature the other sect leader has become. Wei Wuxian’s talisman strikes true, blasting Sect Leader Yao back and away. Lan Wangji strikes a chord on the zither, freezing the former sect leader in place temporarily. Jiang Cheng unleashes Zidian and wraps it around Sect Leader Yao, immobilizing him.

            “Huh,” Wei Wuxian frowns at the sect leader, “That’s not normal.”

            “He’s a fierce corpse,” Jiang Cheng points out. In terms of Sect Leader Yao, that development is certainly not normal.

            “But he’s not dead,” Lan Wangji points out.

            “Corpse poisoning,” Jiang Cheng diagnoses, surprised, “It’s something in the air.” He hates these damn woods, he really does.

            Wei Wuxian nods. “Yep,” he says, “But luckily, we can purify him. Lan Zhan?”

            Lan Wangji nods and passes a glowing hand over the Sect Leader’s forehead, drawing a sigil for cleansing in the air. With a flick of his wrist the sigil activates and black smoke comes rushing out of the older man’s body. His skin turns a healthier shade and his breathing evens out as he sags in Zidian’s hold.

            “I could have done that,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

            “Yeah, but it’s prettier when Lan Zhan does it,” Wei Wuxian says, utterly shamelessly.

            Jiang Cheng growls and snaps Zidian back into ring form. “You’re lucky you’re so fragile now, otherwise I’d kick your ass.”

            “Wouldn’t me being fragile make ass-kicking easier?” Wei Wuxian wonders.

            “Yes, but I’d feel bad about it if I broke you.”

            “There will be no breaking Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji protectively.

            Jiang Cheng has a witty retort right on the tip of his tongue when there’s a crash, a flash of light and more screaming from elsewhere in the woods.

            “How much you want to bet more Yaos got corpse poisoning?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            “Mn,” Lan Wangji intones.

            “And how much you want to bet some sort of inter-sect night hunt is going on here and we haven’t heard about it because we’ve been traveling?”

            “Mn.”

            “And how much you want to be –”

            “WE GET IT, SOME YAOS GOT CORPSE POISONING AND ARE TRYING TO EAT PEOPLE, CAN WE GO NOW?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

            Wei Wuxian pouts, “You’re no fun.”

            “Just get on the sword.”

            They’re in the air when Lan Wangji says, voice completely serious, “I would not take that bet.”

            “We know, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian pats his arm, “Gambling is forbidden in Cloud Recesses.”

            “No. The odds are simply very bad.”

            “Lan Wangji is really good at gambling,” Jiang Cheng says, grinning, “Outside of Cloud Recesses.”

            Wei Wuxian makes an indignant noise, “I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not and I don’t like it.”

            “Gambling is forbidden,” Lan Wangji says very seriously, a rare glint in his eye.

            Wei Wuxian throws up his hands. “You’re both impossible.”

            “No, we just love winding you up,” Jiang Cheng says, feeling oddly cheery all of a sudden.

            “I’m going to ignore most of the words in that sentence and imagine it was my beloved shidi telling me he loves me and not taunting me,” Wei Wuxian says primly.

            “Your brother loves you, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says very seriously, as if he’s honestly concerned that Wei Wuxian somehow missed this.

            Jiang Cheng reminds himself that the Lan brothers are not like this. They show love by sitting in silence together, while he and Wei Wuxian always showed affection with merciless teasing and throwing each other into the lake.

            “Do you, really, Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian turns huge doe eyes on Jiang Cheng, who can’t tell if this is one of those times where Wei Wuxian is ribbing him back or actually feeling insecure.

            He’s even harder to read than Hanguang-Jun sometimes, Jiang Cheng swears.

            So, he huffs and frowns and says, “Yes, I love you, you impossible brat.”

            That was horrible. Jiang Cheng is never saying a word about feelings ever again. Except maybe to his wife when she has that magnificent, brilliant gleam in her eye and his chest fills with warmth at the sight of her, or his children when Xing does something clever or Zhi learns some new way to make his hair turn prematurely grey. Or when his idiot brother comes back from the dead and makes sad cow eyes at him.

            Wei Wuxian beams and whoops, “I MADE JIANG CHENG ADMIT HE LOVES ME! Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my little brother loves me!”
            “I’M OLDER THAN YOU NOW,” Jiang Cheng protests, even though his words fall on deaf ears.

            Oh well. At least he’s happy.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 9: The Weight of Life on Her Shoulders

Nine Years Previously…

            “If Jin Guangshan drags this conversation out any longer I’m going to snap,” Jiang Cheng mutters to his wife under his breath as the Cultivation Conference plods into the second hour of Jin Guangshan needling everyone in sight, and generally being the useless lump he always is. Madame Jin looks pained where she kneels with the rest of the Jin Cultivators. She should, by all rights, sit at his side as the First Lady of Lanling Jin. Instead she is displaced by the pack of female attendants in gauzy, suggestive robes that seem to follow Jin Guangshan everywhere like flies on a bull.

            “And do what, Honorable Sect Leader?” Wen Qing murmurs back.

            “Sic the dogs on him. I’ll tell them to go for his prick,” Jiang Cheng growls back.

            Wen Qing hides her smile behind the lacquered fan Nie Huisang presented to her the last time he visited Yunmeng. It’s a beautiful piece, decorated with a glorious phoenix motif and she delights in waving in the faces of everyone who would have seen her and her family turned to ashes.

            You thought I was a spark destined to flicker out. Think again, I am the flame. I am the phoenix and you will watch me burn.

            Across the room Lan Xichen looks like he’s trying to mediate his way out of his body, his bland smile as fixed and vacant as it has been for the last half hour. Lan Qiren seems to be attempting to stare a hole through a decorative wall hanging. He’s probably reciting his sect’s thousands of rules in his head just to stay awake, Wen Qing thinks a little meanly. Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji are repairing their relationship slowly, but things between them have been strained for the last four years, and Wen Qing is not inclined to be charitable to the Lan Elder. Across the room, Nie Mingjue is practically growling with frustration, his grip on his saber tightening and loosening as he glowers at all and sundry. Nie Huaisang is blatantly doodling behind his brother. Periodically he holds up a page and flaps his fan to get Jiang Cheng’s attention.

            Jiang Cheng glares at him until he hides whatever message or image he’s come up with this time, but he still turns whenever Nie Huisang signals him.

            Yanli is pointedly sitting with the Jiang entourage, not the Jins, although she had greeted Madame Jin warmly when they arrived. She’s taken to wearing Jin Zixuan’s sword on her back along with her own, at his insistence on one of the rare occasions he meandered toward consciousness long enough to speak to her.

            It certainly caused something of a stir among the Jin contingent when they first saw her, although Madame Jin had smiled a worn smile and immediately held out both hands to welcome her.

            Madame Jin, Wen Qing reflects, would be very beautiful if she did not look so desperately miserable all the time. Instead she looks as if life has been slowly drained from her body, leaving behind a shell with perfect posture and iron composure.

            It’s heartbreaking in its way.

            “He’s repeating himself,” Yanli murmurs under her breath at Wen Qing’s other side.

            “Of course he is, he’s an two-bit tyrant,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

            “No,” Yanli nudges Wen Qing and inclines her head in the direction of the Jin contingent, “Look.”

            Wen Qing looks. Despite all he’s done to her family, Wen Qing has very little experience with Jin Guangshan. Until she married Jiang Cheng, she’d only seen him from a very far distance on the rare occasions Wen Ruohan included her and A-Ning in his entourage. But he’d always seemed like a slick, composed sort of man. Oily in an over-styled sort of way. Not the flushed, rambling creature in front of her.

            “Is he sick?” Yanli asks.

            “Sick in the head,” Wen Qing snipes before she can rein in her tongue.

            Yanli swats her gently with her own fan (another gift from Nie Huisang, hers is covered in purple and gold lotuses and chrysanthemums), “Is that your medical opinion?”

            Wen Qing pauses and fights back her general instinct to avoid Jin Guangshan at all costs to take a measured look at him. He’s sweating, flushed, and stumbling over his words. His face is puffy and his eyes might be bloodshot, but it’s hard to tell at a distance. His hands are waving aimlessly as he accents yet another non-point.

            “Perhaps we should table this discussion until we have all had a rest and some restorative food and drink,” Sect Leader Ouyang interjects when Jin Guangshan takes a pause to drag in a labored breath.

            “Bold of you to interrupt, Ouyang,” Jin Guangshan begins acidly, only to be overridden by Lan Xichen.

            “What an excellent suggestion, Sect Leader Ouyang. We shall all think more clearly once we have taken a moment for rest and restoration of body and spirit.”

            Lan Xichen may not be the Chief Cultivator, but he has a voice that no one can really find it in them to argue with. Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue probably could, Wen Qing concedes, because they are argument enthusiasts, but their hearts wouldn’t be in it. The meeting begins to break up as murmurs of polite conversation take the place of official declamations.

            Jiang Cheng makes to escape to the other side of the room where doubtless Nie Huisang is waiting to gossip with him, but Wen Qing grabs her husband’s sleeve before he can rise. “We,” she has to force the words out through gritted teeth, “have to go help Jin Guangshan.”

            Jiang Cheng looks at her like she just suggested they all rip out their cores and give demonic cultivation a try. “What?”

            “A-Cheng, there’s obviously something wrong with him right now,” Yanli points out.

            They all look to the dais where Jin Guangshan’s entourage of heavily made-up ladies flutter around him while he leers at all of them in turn.

            Jiang Cheng makes a disgusted face, “There’s always something wrong with him.”

            “Just come with us, so he doesn’t look down my shirt and try to feel up your sister,” Wen Qing huffs, taking his arm. “I don’t like this any more than you do,” she adds in an undertone, “Helping him makes my skin crawl, but I’m a doctor, this is what I do. I save lives and help people.”

            “I’m not sure saving his life will help anyone,” Jiang Cheng mutters mutinously, but he allows himself to be led over to the monument to hedonism that is Jin Guangshan.

            “Sect Leader Jin,” Wen Qing says, lifting her chin and giving him only the shallowest, most perfunctory salute, “You are obviously unwell. Allow a doctor treat you.”

            He leers at her. Not for the first time Wen Qing wishes she could rip out the eyes of every man to do that to her. At her side, her husband tenses, a coiled spring, ready to strike.  Jiang Cheng is a master of grudge-holding. His memory is long and impressive and his capacity for anger is infinite, especially if the target of his rage harmed his family or caused his family to be harmed in any way.

            “And will you be performing this…examination?” Jin Guangshan drawls.

            “If you so much as look at my wife inappropriately, I will rip out your spine and beat you with it,” Jiang Cheng snarls, despite his sister’s placating hand on his shoulder.

            Jin Guangshan blinks slowly, as if surprised to receive this much venom this early in the conversation. “Ah, Jiang Wanyin, you always did take after your mother, didn’t you? Never one for subtlety or understanding.”

            Wen Qing speaks before Jiang Cheng can snarl a response that will surely land then in a brawl mid-conference. “What you’re failing to understand, sect leader, is that your health is precarious at the moment and you require treatment from a doctor right away. If you cannot be respectful and courteous to me, I will send for one from somewhere else. I’m sure Gusu Lan has someone who will be extremely subtle and understanding in regards to your excesses.”

            Jin Guangshan’s mouth twists into a moue of distaste. “Sect Leader Jiang, I would suggest you rein in your wife unless you want to turn out like your poor, harassed father.”

            “And I suggest you rein in your appetites before they kill you,” Wen Qing says curtly, “But I don’t think either of us is going to listen to any advice on this matter.”

            Jin Guangshan’s lips curl into a closed-mouth smirk and Wen Qing wants to hit him. She wants to hit him so badly. She cannot imagine how a creature like this managed to produce Jin Xixuan, who, despite his attitude, was a genuinely decent person and an excellent husband and father.

            “I am afraid I do not put much stock in advice from Wens these days,” Jin Guangshan says airily.

            “Funny, you took it pretty well when they had their swords to our throats during the war,” Jiang Cheng points out bluntly.

            They go back and forth for several long moments (every single one of which makes Wen Qing long to take a bath and scrub the weight of those nasty eyes off her skin) but Jin Guangshan refuses to give ground. By the time Lan Xichen signals they should resume the conference, both Jiang siblings are barely keeping their tempers in check and the only reason Wen Qing hasn’t exploded into a rage is because she’s had far too much experience dealing with this type of powerful man to be goaded into losing her cool.

            She’s dealt with Wen Ruohan. She can deal with the oily, cowardly, disgusting, definitely-very-ill Jin Guangshan.

            The three of them return to their seats fuming. Wen Qing can’t say for certain, but she has a sneaking suspicion both Jiang siblings spend the rest of the conference session pondering different ways they can enact petty revenge. Judging by the look on Meng – no, Jin Guangyao’s face as he watches his father sweat and wheeze on the dais, they aren’t the only ones.

            They break for a midday meal and a few hours of ‘peace and tranquility’ which is Gusu Lan code for ‘if we don’t get out of each other’s sights for five minutes things will get ugly quickly’.

            Wen Qing is strolling the gardens, her arm threaded through Jiang Cheng’s while Yanli follows behind, Madame Jin at her side. It’s almost peaceful out here, away from the stuffy interior. She hadn’t realized one could put that much gold on everything. And after having her eyes dazzled for several hours in the Lanling Jin receiving hall, she can honestly say no one ever really should put that much gold on anything. It’s clearly a danger to one’s vision, because she swears one of Jin Guangshan’s gauzy sycophants is racing through the garden to fling herself into Wen Qing’s path. Jiang Cheng immediately pulls up short and moves to step in front of the women, to presumably shield them from whatever mischief this is. Wen Qing huffs and pushes him back.

            “Miss?” she asks, trying to gentle her voice. She knows her delivery can be harsh, and she’s gotten out of the habit of tempering it for anyone other than the children. Her assistants in her infirmary back home are better trained than to burst into tears at the first brusque order in an emergency.

            The gauzy young woman looks up, her face covered in goopy, make-up heavy tears, her eyes wide and red as she looks up at Wen Qing.

            “You have to save him, please, you’re a doctor, aren’t you? You knew he was ill. Please, please save him. This is the best job I’ve had in months.”

            Jiang Cheng makes a confused noise beside her, but Wen Qing understands what this woman is saying.

            If Jin Guangshan dies, these women are back on the street all over again.

            “What happened?” Wen Qing asks. No matter her personal distaste for Jin Guangshan, she will not leave these young women distressed and a man possibly dying from something curable.

            “He just collapsed, Madame!” The girl cries, “Please come help.”

            “Lead the way, miss,” Wen Qing says, making sure to use a respectful form of address.

            The girl flushes pink up to the roots of her hair and gives a watery smile. “Follow me, my lady.”

…

            Jin Guangshan is still breathing, but it’s labored and he’s just as flushed and sweaty as before. He lies sprawled on an ornate gold bedspread, mostly naked, his robes peeled away from his laboring chest. Two of his girls hover around him, dabbing cool cloths on his face and trying to wake him. An older woman, closer in age to Madame Jin than the girl who fetched them, is organizing the fluttering girls. Despite wearing next to nothing, she stands straight-backed and imperious as she marshals her forces.

            “Xiu, Yanmei, take Suyin out to get some fresh air,” she orders, gesturing to where one girl sits in the corner, clearly having hysterics while a second comforts her. A third detaches from the cool cloth contingent to help lead her outside, “Yue, make cold compresses and place them on his armpits and groin. Liling – “

            “I’m here, Sisi,” the girl who brought them bows to the older woman, who turns to greet them.

            Wen Qing has seen many, many injuries. She’s birthed children, cleared pus from infected wounds, ripped a dear friend’s core out of his body while he screamed in her brother’s arms. She is far past horror at bodily hurts. When she sees Sisi’s face she isn’t disturbed, she’s just incredibly sad.

            Sisi was clearly a very beautiful woman once. Her body is lean and elegant, her eyes bright and lovely, her hair shiny and thick. But she is covered in thick, ugly scars, as if someone took a knife to her face then added a few marks to the rest of her for good measure. The injuries were clearly poorly tended and probably got infected more than once, the scars are stretched and inflamed, knots of pink and white instead of thin, silvery lines. Wen Qing promises herself that after she’s dealt with Jin Guangshan, she’ll check each and every one of these girls over and make sure they receive any medical care they need.

            They deserve it more than he does.

            “What happened?” she asks brusquely, ignoring the way her husband chokes and swears and, based on the rustling of his robes, turns away from the sight of the mostly-nude sect leader. She can hear him suggesting Madame Jin and Yanli wait in the hall as Jin Guangshan is indecent.

            Indecent in more ways than one, Wen Qing thinks in the corner of her brain not focused on the medical emergency.

            “Sect Leader Jin was taking advantage of the rest and relaxation period to…rest and relax with the girls,” Sisi tells her bluntly.

            “When did he fall unconscious?” Wen Qing asks, setting to work examining the man, “Jiang Cheng, I need your help lifting him!”

            “Why me?” he complains from the doorway.

            “Because you’re big and strong and I said so!”

            “But he’s naked!”

            “He has all the same parts you do!”

            “I definitely have fewer diseases than him,” Jiang Cheng grumbles as he approaches the bed to lever the older man up.

            “Ladies, please put pillows underneath his torso so he’s not lying flat. It should help him breathe,” Wen Qing says, smirking at her husband’s words. She looks to Sisi, “Please, continue.”

            Sisi explains he was halfway through a second round with the girls, when he collapsed. Poor, panicking Suyin was on top of him when his eyes rolled back in his head and he just went limp. (Wen Qing does not say ‘in more ways than one’ even though the Wei Wuxian in the back of her mind that she imagines saying all the mean quips she can’t, cackles at the thought.) Sisi, who seems to be some sort of den mother or madame to Jin Guangyao’s in-house brothel took charge of their efforts to revive him. Sisi, remembering Wen Qing, a doctor, was attending the conference, dispatched Liling to retrieve her. 

Wen Qing nods, taking all this in, then sets to work.

…

            With Sisi and the girls’ help they manage to save Sect Leader Jin’s life. More’s a pity. He’s weak, but conscious when she leaves him in Yue, Yanmei, and Xiu’s care. She gives Suyin a medicinal tea for her nerves, and enlists Jiang Cheng to carry the girl to the ladies’ chambers once she’s sleeping like a baby. Yanli goes with them, so no one spreads malicious gossip about Sect Leader Jiang picking up Jin Guangshan’s habits.

            Wen Qing doesn’t give a damn about malicious gossip, but she knows Jiang Cheng has to, and she gives a damn about him, so she shakes her head and concedes the necessity. 

            “This wasn’t natural,” Sisi says bluntly once she and Wen Qing are alone in the antechamber to Jin Guangshan’s rooms.

            Wen Qing glances at the other woman. “Why do you say that?”

            Sisi frowns. “He’s been…off the last few weeks. Disoriented, shaky, sweaty, flushed.”

            “He could be sick. It’s not uncommon for men with his lifestyle.”

            Sisi shrugs, “Maybe. He’s an oily bastard on a good day. He has plenty of enemies.”

            “You think he was poisoned.”

            Sisi nods, “Yes,” her face hardens, “But not by one of my girls.”

            Wen Qing holds up a hand, “I agree. On both counts. When Liling came to get me, she told me this was the best job she’s had in months. They don’t have any motive to kill him. Not when he has plenty of political and domestic enemies. And his symptoms do indicate a slow acting poison. If someone were trying to slowly kill him, but he consumed too much of whatever food or beverage contained the poison too quickly, you would see something like what happened today.”

            Sisi nods. “I don’t like it.”

            Wen Qing nods, “But we’ve done the best we can for now. I’ll leave him medications and strict instructions for how to take them. If he follows my directions, he’ll be fine.” 

            The unspoken, ‘for now’ hangs between them like resentful energy.

…

            “You saved Jin Guangshan’s life,” Jiang Cheng observes unnecessarily when they’ve retired to their chambers for the night.

            Wen Qing sighs and flops face-first onto their bed, not even bothering to take off her formal robes or remove her elaborate headpiece. “I know. I feel dirty.”

            Her husband chuckles, delicately removing her hair ornaments and gently pulling his fingers through the strands, untangling each knot and unpicking each delicate ornamental braid. Wen Qing practically purrs at the feeling of his blunt fingernails on her scalp. She’s so tired. So very, very tired.

            “You were very brilliant in there,” he says quietly.

            Wen Qing smiles into the bedspread, “And you were surly, but useful.”

            He laughs again, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, moving his warm, firm fingers under her loosened hair to gently massage the knots out of her neck. Little sparks light up her skin wherever his callouses scrape. After seeing those girls today, so young, so desperate, vulnerable and used, she hadn’t thought she could stomach a man touching her. But Jiang Cheng is different, she reflects. He’s gentle in his own rough way, he’s considerate. He never takes what isn’t freely given.

            She rolls over until she fetches up against his back where he sits on the side of the bed and buries her face in his hip.

            “I was almost one of those girls,” she whispers into his robes. His fingers still momentarily in surprise, but begin moving again, the touch lighter, gentler. More about soothing than massaging out the crick in her neck. “When the Jins began rounding us up they joked about sending the pretty girls to warm their Sect Leader’s bed. They never did, but we always worried that one day they would. You never knew what they were going to do to you in the camps. The rules changed all the time, the punishments too. I’d hear them talking about us. They said I had too much of an attitude to be pretty, but they said the nastiest things about the others.”

            Jiang Cheng shifts his hand so his thumb comes up to gently stroke the curve of her jaw. “You are smart. You are strong. You are not pretty, you are beautiful.”

            She wraps both arms around his waist. “I wish the world was a better place.”

            “I wish the people in it were better,” Jiang Cheng says.

            “Me too,” she agrees.

            They lie there together in silence for a long while.

…

            The next day Wen Qing skips the discussion conference again and knocks on the door to Sisi’s chamber. The older woman answers, looking wary and confused, as if she’s expecting soldiers coming to drag her away from a crime she didn’t commit.

            Wen Qing smiles as reassuringly as she can at her. She’s probably not very good at it, but Yanli is standing beside her and Yanli is.

            “Hello, Sisi,” Wen Qing greets her politely, “I’d like the chance to examine you and all your girls to make sure you didn’t ingest anything laced with the same poison affecting Sect Leader Jin.”

            Sisi looks wary, “We can’t pay.”

            Wen Qing raises an eyebrow, “And I don’t need money. But I do need to make sure there wasn’t any collateral damage in this little assassination attempt.”

            Sisi looks perplexed, “If you’re looking to hire us for your husband…”

            Yanli turns bright red and begins to sputter. “My brother would never –”

            Wen Qing grins wolfishly, “I keep my husband plenty satisfied.” Yanli turns an even deeper scarlet and hides her burning face in her hands.

            “A-Qing, I did not need to know that!”

            Sisi smirks, though, and gestures them inside. “Alright. Follow me.”

…

            Wen Qing concludes none of the girls were exposed to any of the poison, although she takes the time to do a full physical for each of them, giving them creams for sore muscles, soothing medicinal teas to help with insomnia and nightmares, and making sure they’re all knowledgeable about the most effective forms of contraception. She gives out talismans to prevent unwanted pregnancy and disease and listens whenever they have questions or just need someone to talk to.

            Sisi is her last patient, and she waits until the other women are distracted elsewhere before asking, “Do your scars hurt?”

            Sisi looks away, “I know they’re ugly.”

            Wen Qing sighs, “I can give you some creams to help ease the pain, make them less noticeable or inflamed, but I can’t make them go away completely. I can try to help, though.”

            Sisi slumps, “A jealous wife did this to me. The only reason I’m here instead of working the streets is because Meng Shi’s son vouched for me.”

            She must mean Jin Guangyao. Wen Qing is surprised. She’d always heard he was pleasant enough to talk to, but utterly ruthless. It is strange to hear stories of his good deeds that don’t involve the Sunshot Campaign or the death of Wen Ruohan.

            “Jin Guangshan grows tired of having me around, though,” Sisi admits, “He says it’s like having another wife. But without me…I don’t know who will look out for those girls.”

            Wen Qing passes her the scar cream, closing the older woman’s hands around the jar and squeezing gently, “If this mystery assassin ever succeeds, and you and your girls need somewhere safe to stay, come to Lotus Pier. We’re still rebuilding after the war and we could always use new disciples.”

            Sisi stares at her, brow furrowed. “Why would you want us?”

            Wen Qing meets her gaze, “Because you’re hardworking women who handled a crisis with grace and courage. And, more importantly, Lotus Pier will always welcome those who need shelter. They welcomed me, after all.”

            Sisi, proud, scarred, Sisi, squeezes her hands back and nods with great dignity. “I will consider your words, Madame Wen.”

            “Thank you.”

…

            Two weeks later Jin Guangshan is dead, having overdosed on a combination of the medication Wen Qing gave him, rich food, and alcohol. The painstakingly detailed instructions she’d provided regarding correct dosage are crumpled next to the empty container, completely disregarded. Madame Jin and Jin Guangyao send very elegantly worded letters thanking Madame Wen for all she did in attempting to save their Sect Leader’s life and regret to inform her of his untimely demise.

            Wen Qing holds onto her husband and children and feels a little guilty at the fact that, for the first time since the war, since Wei Wuxian’s death, she feels completely safe.

            Two days later five women arrive at Lotus Pier, led by an elegant, scarred lady.

            Wen Qing is running after her daughter in the courtyard – the twins are two and A-Zhi is terrifyingly mobile – when they arrive. She scoops up her little girl, crying “Got you!” when Jin Ling, now five and self-appointed messenger, comes running in, lisping around a missing front tooth.

            “Some ladies here to see you, Auntie!”

            Wen Qing, pressing kisses to her squealing daughter’s hair, looks up and smiles at Sisi, “Welcome to Lotus Pier.”

            Sisi bows elegantly, “Thank you, Madame Wen.”

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 10: Can’t Ask for Things to Be Still Again

Present Day…

            They come across Jin Ling, his dog Fairy, one of Jiang Cheng’s dogs, Lan Sizhui, and Lan Jingyi, battling four corpse-ified Yao cultivators and a demonic serpent.

            Of course, Wei Wuxian is more concerned about the dogs than he is about the actual monsters.

            “Jiang Cheng, you’re a horrible influence on the children!” he gripes as he pulls out Chenqing with shaking hands.

            “Will you be alright?” Lan Wangji asks.

            “JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES SO YOU DON’T SEE THEM!” Jiang Cheng suggests, jumping into the fray.

            Wei Wuxian decidedly averts his gaze from the dogs and puts his flute to his lips, pouring all the irrational fear shivering up his limbs into a piercing melody as Lan Wangji pulls out his zither to subdue the shambling not-corpses.

            “We have the Yaos,” Lan Wangji somehow manages to pitch his voice so it’s still audible over the battle without sounding like he’s shouting. Wei Wuxian should not find that as attractive as he does. “Take care of the serpent.”

            Jiang Cheng shouts confirmation, he, Jin Ling and the (shudder) dogs peeling off to herd the demon serpent away from the knot of cultivators.

            Wei Wuxian trills an elaborate melody on Chenqing, showing off a little as he draws the resentful energy out of the Yao cultivators, twisting the shadows into a dark containment array, neatly scooping the cultivators up and binding them in a tight knot.

            Lan Wangji hits a cascade of notes in rapid succession, laying a purification array over Wei Wuxian’s containment, shining gold against Wei Wuxian’s shadows. The arrays flex, contracting as Lan Wangji’s zither and Wei Wuxian’s flute finally hit the right harmony. With a pulse of energy, the arrays squeeze the Yao cultivators and then release, hurling dark energy outward in a blast of shrieking wind.

            Wei Wuxian winces at the onslaught, shrill screams and dark moans momentarily battering his ears before dissipating along with the arrays. The Yao cultivators slump to the ground, emptied of evil and unconscious.

            Wei Wuxian looks from the purified cultivators up to Lan Wangji, shooting him a smile both surprised and relieved. “Lan Zhan, that was amazing!”

            He is rewarded by the slightest curve of a smile from his friend. Wei Wuxian’s heart constricts much like the arrays did only seconds before.

            “Wow, if Gusu Lan ever manages to weaponize your face they’d be unbeatable, Lan Zhan,” he laughs. He’s clearly gotten rusty. He used to be so good at hiding his responses to Lan Zhan’s…everything. But that was before the war, before his defenses were unceremoniously stripped away and he was hurled into this new body in this new time where he and Lan Zhan fight side by side and Lan Zhan smiles at him regularly.

            A little furrow appears between Lan Wangji’s brows as if something about Wei Wuxian’s incredibly astute comment confuses him, but before he can ask whatever question is brewing in his complicated mind, there’s a crash and small explosion behind them.

            “We should check on the children,” Lan Wangji says instead.

            “And Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian agrees, hearing the crack of Zidian in the distance.

            “Yes, the children.”

            “I still can’t believe you’re funny in public now! No, don’t frown, your face is too pretty for frown lines!”

…

            The serpent is thrashing in Zidian’s grip when they arrive. Jiang Cheng is attempting to ride it like a donkey, and like a particularly bad-tempered donkey, the beast is having none of that. Since Jiang Cheng was the one to loop lighting around its’ neck and is currently the only force holding it in place, he can’t reach around to get his sword to lop its head off. Unfortunately, the boys aren’t doing much better. Jin Ling must have landed a shot, because an arrow is sticking out of the creature’s right eye, but his shot can’t have pierced the brain. He’s currently zig-zagging side to side to avoid the thing’s tail. Jingyi managed to stab the monster, but his sword is stuck and he’s being hauled along like a bag of dirty laundry. Sizhui has his own zither out and is striking at the creature’s face with his spiritual energy, strumming the same aggressive chord over and over. The beast slows and grows sluggish and disoriented every time a blast lands, but doesn’t seem any less peeved at all of them.

            “Lan Zhan, remember the Tortoise of Slaughter?” Wei Wuxian says.

            Lan Wangji looks at him.

            “Think you could do that thing again? With one of your extra guqin cords?”

            Lan Wangji nods and mounts his sword, taking out a long, thin piece of line. “What will you do?”

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll signal you when it’s time to strangle the beast.” And then he runs away because he doesn’t have a plan Lan Wangji will like yet and he doesn’t think he can stand up to any further questioning.

…

            Lan Wangji flies up, over the serpent, slinging his line around the creature’s throat and coasting until he’s positioned opposite of Jiang Cheng.

            “Jiang Wanyin!” he calls.

            “What are you doing here?” the sect leader asks.

            “The Yao cultivators are dealt with. On Wei Ying’s signal, pull in the opposite direction.” Lan Wangji does not know what the signal will be, but he’s put his trust in Wei Wuxian before and it always manages to pay off.

            Jiang Cheng looks confused but nods, willing to follow Lan Wangji’s lead on this one. Lan Wangji feels strangely honored by the trust placed in him, even though he’s really just a proxy for Wei Wuxian in this situation.

            Suddenly, a high, piercing note shrills through the air. Lan Wangji looks down and feels his eyebrows rise a fraction higher than usual. Wei Wuxian has positioned himself opposite Sizhui, on the other side of the serpent. Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji, and Lan Sizhui now form the points of a compass, with the monster trapped inside.

            Wei Wuxian is clearly getting impatient as he trills the flute again, this time diving into a simple, sharp melody, Sizhui weaving a harmony in once he catches on. Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji nod to each other and together the pull.

            A flash of energy, a blast of light and shadows, a slicing, cracking, slurping sound not unlike when they beheaded the Tortoise of Slaughter together, and…

            The serpent slumps to the ground, head separated from body, body sliced into multiple pieces, Jin Ling and Jingyi covered in monster blood and looking none too pleased about it.

            “THAT WAS AMAZING.” Jingyi blurts as they all stand around looking at each other.

            “WE’RE COVERED IN BUCKETS OF DEMONIC SNAKE BLOOD, IDIOT,” Jin Ling gripes.

            “STILL AMAZING.” Jingyi says boldly, before pausing, peering at one of his sleeves and turning a little green, “The blood’s pretty nasty, though.”

            In the distance, Jiang Cheng’s dogs bark. Wei Wuxian flinches, then tries to play it off as a completely normal gesture. No one is fooled, but they let him have his charade.

            “The dogs have found the rest of the Yao cultivators,” Jiang Cheng declares. “Let’s go purify them and find out what all these people are doing on this mountain.” Jiang Cheng says ‘people’ the same way someone else might say ‘toe fungus’ or ‘buckets of demonic snake blood’.  Lan Wangji can relate.

…

            “Um. Why do these guys looked like they’ve been chewed on?” Jingyi is definitely looking green now as he nudges a corpse (thankfully not moving) with his boot. “Do snakes chew on people?”

            “No, snakes bite once to incapacitate their prey and then swallow it whole,” Sizhui says absently, as if this was a totally normal thing to know.

            “You scare me sometimes,” Jingyi tells his friend.

            Sizhui blinks at him, “I read a lot.”

            “More importantly,” Wei Wuxian interrupts, “Those are human teeth marks.”

            Jin Ling scrunches up his face, “How do you know that?”

            Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to explain, catches sight of Lan Wangji, whose entire body is radiating the word “NO” at him, and closes it again. “You don’t want to know.”

            Jin Ling scowls at that. He really does look like his uncle when he does that. It’s adorable.

            Jiang Cheng took the dogs with him when he went to interview the now-awake and freshly purified Yao cultivators, so Wei Wuxian can comfortably circle the corpses without keeping his eyes peeled for any monstrous canine beasts.

            “Could they have attacked each other?” Sizhui asks.

            Wei Wuxian grins at his son, tamping down the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair proudly. “Maybe, but the other ones weren’t attacking each other, they only went after us.”

            “Maybe one of them was poisoned by the fog first and went after the others?” Jingyi suggests.

            “Mmm, good idea, but unlikely,” Wei Wuxian says. He casts his gaze around the group, “Teachable moment, gang, how do I know that?”

            The juniors glance at each other as if they weren’t expecting a pop quiz in the middle of a night hunt. Clearly Jiang Cheng hasn’t been barking enough questions at them while making them fend off vicious spirits. Madame Yu would be so disappointed her methods haven’t lived on.

            “No defensive wounds,” Lan Wangji takes pity on the tired teenagers.

            Wei Wuxian pouts at him, but accepts the answer, “Exactly, Lan Zhan. These men were surprised. They must have been surprised by something. And if it was one of them, then their attacker moved on, because no one could have fought back enough to kill whatever it was.”

            The teenagers look more than a little unnerved by that notion.

            Their musing is interrupted by Jiang Cheng returning with Sect Leader Yao. “I sent the dogs with the rest of the Yaos for your benefit,” he grumps at Wei Wuxian, but underneath his surly words is a tone of concern for his brother’s benefit that warms Wei Wuxian to his core. Well, Mo Xuanyu’s core, but the point stands.

            The Sect Leaders and Lan Wangji begin talking amongst themselves, Jiang Cheng dragging Jin Ling in when the teen tries to slink away, barking “learning experience,” at him when he still tries to slither out of his hold.

            Wei Wuxian tunes out most of their conversation. He gets the gist – the baby Lans (all equipped with Jiang bells, which is something he’ll have to ask about later, he has serious questions about how Lan Wangji and his family got so close) and Jin Ling are out dealing with reports of resentful energy building and vicious spirits attacking people in unusual numbers. Wei Wuxian’s ears perk up with he hears Yanli is leading the main Jiang contingent on a night home in one of the other problem areas. Last time he was alive his sister wasn’t in the field nearly this much. She’d managed logistics during the war, keeping the army equipped with food, weapons, and clothing, all the essentials that make a war party, without actually being part of that party.

            He’s weirdly proud of her. Just more evidence his shijie is the best of the best, clearly.

            He turns his attention away from what’s essentially turned into Sect Leader Yao demanding to know who he is, and Jiang Cheng getting increasingly annoyed and Lan Wangji getting increasingly monosyllabic and evasive.

            He catches a faint shout in the distance, realizes the baby Lans, including his kid, who he just got back, dammit, have wandered off. He follows the voice, the fog curling chilly fingers around him as he delves deeper and deeper into the woods. He trips over a root and staggers, catching himself on a tree. Well. He thinks it’s a tree.

            Wei Wuxian peels his fingers away from the strangely oily surface, shaking his fingers as if that could dispel the clinging weirdness of the thing. Ghostly whispers clutter his senses, teasing at the edges of sight and hearing, faint shrieks and screams and moans from what must be decades of lost souls. He wipes his hand on his robes and refocuses on the tangible world, zeroing in on the shout he heard.

            “Lan Jingyi, Lan Sizhui!” he calls.

            “Here!” two voices shout back.

            “We’re here, Senior Wei,” Jingyi elaborates, “You’d better come see this!”

            Wei Wuxian breaks through the tree cover only to arrive in a different type of grove entirely. The juniors race to his side, thankfully unharmed.

            “Senior Wei, senior Wei,” Jingyi gasps, “The vines, they’re…”

            “They’re restraining fierce corpses,” Sizhui says in a bewildered voice. “I didn’t think places like this existed anymore.”

            They don’t, much. They’re traps meant to capture large numbers of fierce corpses when there isn’t anyone around with enough power to perform a large-scale purification. They have one major drawback, though. They draw in resentful energy like a magnet and without anywhere to go, it just pools in the trap like water behind a dam. Hence why the area is so riddled with spiritual disturbances and monsters.

            Wei Wuxian explains all this to the eager youngsters as they stroll through the eerie, trapped bodies.

            “Could this be what happened to the villagers who disappeared?” Sizhui suggests.

            Wei Wuxian looks at him questioningly.

            Sizhui shrugs a little self-consciously, “I asked around about disturbances in the last twenty years. An old man told us a settlement was wiped out eleven years ago. Only one survivor.”

            Wei Wuxian nods, “Yes. We met.” He’s wondering if they can do a large-scale purification, since they have the Yaos for backup as well as Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng. With Wei Wuxian’s knowledge of resentful energy and the juniors’ help, they might pull it off. He’s examining the trap, wondering how to accomplish it most effectively, when a shout has him spinning around just in time to see a rotting, glowing, airborne head fly at Sizhui and Jingyi, mouth open to chomp on one or both of them.

            With a shout Wei Wuxian shoots a talisman at it knocking it off-course. It only circles around and goes for the juniors again, jawbones clicking eerily as its mouth opens and closes mindlessly. Growling under his breath in frustration, Wei Wuxian leaps forward, pushing the teenagers back behind him and lashing out with resentful energy, slamming the head back. It bounces off the barrier of Wei Wuxian’s red energy, whipping around and diving for them from above.

            “GET DOWN,” Wei Wuxian roars at the children, eyes glowing red as he draws a talisman in blood-red fire before him, slamming a palm into it and blasting the head, freezing it in place. He spins, gathering energy for another strike that will shatter thing into so much bone and brain matter, when a chord from a familiar zither sounds behind them.

            Silver light encases the head, suspending it in place so that it bobs harmlessly in the air, jaws slack and silent.

            A second chord from Lan Wangji’s zither blows away the clinging, greasy fog, exposing the three of them and the forest of corpses. Wei Wuxian looks up from where he still stands, burning talisman at the tips of his fingers, in front of the juniors, shielding them with his body. Gold eyes meet red and Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying. It’s alright.”

            Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how the other man knows, how that moment felt just like the Sunshot campaign all over again. Like the aftermath, when he’d been a fragile meat-shield between the Wens and a hostile world. Like being in the Burial Mounds, alone with nothing but death and decay.

            Wei Wuxian extinguishes the talisman. It was just a moment. He’s fine. He sends Lan Wangji a reassuring smile, only to completely miss Jiang Cheng arriving to thump him on the shoulder.

            “What kind of heroic bullshit was that, huh?” Jiang Cheng demands, “They have swords, you don’t!”

            “They’re kids!” One of them is my kid.

            Jiang Cheng sighs heavily and runs a hand down his face. “I hate you sometimes.”

            Which is code for ‘I love you dearly, brother, but you scared me shitless’. Wei Wuxian has gotten very good at interpreting Jiang Cheng’s various ways of running an exhausted hand down his face over the years.

            “Jin Zixun,” Lan Wangji interrupts both of them, looking perturbed.

            “Huh?” Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian say at the same time.

            Lan Wangji gestures at the head.

            “Good riddance,” snarls Jiang Cheng.

            Lan Wangji frowns, “I had wanted to examine his body after his death.”

            “Gross, why?” Jin Ling, ever inappropriate, asks.

            Lan Wangji tilts his head to the side. “He claimed to have been cursed. I wished to see if the curse marks remained.”

            “Aww, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian bats his eyelashes theatrically at his friend, “You wanted to prove me innocent?”

            Lan Wangji gives him a blank, confused look. There’s an adorable little furrow between his brows, “Of course.”

            Now it’s Wei Wuxian’s turn to look blank and confused. “Really?”

            Lan Wangji nods firmly, “Of course.”

            Wei Wuxian melts a little at that. He can’t help it! Lan Zhan is being so…Lan Zhan!

            “Excellent,” Jiang Cheng cracks his knuckles, “You’re good at Inquiry, Lan Wangji. Let’s interrogate the bastard.”

…

            Interrogating the bastard is fairly useless.

            “It’s like his soul is gone,” Sizhui says, sounding perplexed as he leans over Lan Wangji’s shoulder and watches his fingers move across the zither strings, “And all we’re getting are echoes.”

            Lan Wangji nods, “Sense memories from the flesh. Nothing more.”

            Wei Wuxian spins Chenqing between his fingers contemplatively, leaning over Lan Wangji’s other shoulder. “He’s the test subject.”

            “Test subject?” Sizhui asks.

            Wei Wuxian hums thoughtfully, “Yeees,” he drags the word out as he thinks things through, absentmindedly resting his chin on Lan Wangji’s shoulder as he hums to himself. In front of them snippets of scenes from Jin Zixun’s life play out in the ether.

            It’s mostly the moments of the greatest resentment, reflecting the energy in the air around them. Which basically boils down to a greatest-hits of Jin Zixun attempting to throw his weight around and being rebuffed by various others.

            As the scenes flicker through the timeline, Wei Wuxian can feel his stomach tightening. As the flashbacks speed past the confrontation where Yanli stepped in before Jin Zixun could raise a hand to Wei Wuxian. Where she claimed Wei Wuxian as her brother.

            He drops a hand down to still Lan Wangji’s fingers. “Stop. Stop it.”

            He doesn’t want to see the last time he and Jin Zixun were face to face. He doesn’t want to see the moments before his death. He especially doesn’t want Sizhui to see it.

            Lan Wangji’s fingers go still under Wei Wuxian’s hand.

            “Of course.”

            The images dissolve as they slide into Jin Zixun marching on the Burial Mounds, setting the village ablaze. Lan Wangji’s white robes flit into view just as he ends the song.

            “What was that?” Sizhui asks.

            “My death,” Wei Wuxian says curtly, standing up and whirling away, spinning Chenqing even faster between his fingers. “Now. This isn’t from the same body as the arm, there’s still a thread of connection between this head and the spirit. It’s echoes, but it’s something. The arm, that’s just…meat. Meat that’s sucking in an ocean of resentful energy all at once, but not meat that’s holding onto a spirit. This head,” he grins to himself, an idea beginning to germinate, “This is a test subject. Someone was testing out the ritual that blocked the soul from the arm. But this one wasn’t as successful. That’s why the compass of evil led us here. This…” he looks around, “this is someone’s…workshop.”

            He shivers, suddenly cold. “Someone, another demonic cultivator…used this place to…experiment, and then left this head flying around when they couldn’t control it.”

…

They find where the poor madwoman buried the rest of her family. Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Jiang Cheng uncover the bodies and re-inter them after examining them for evidence. The juniors, far more comfortable purifying the forest of older, less fleshy corpses, stay back to clear out the trap and attendant miasma of evil.

            “They were turned into fierce corpses,” Wei Wuxian says, voice flat, as he places a cheap pinwheel toy in a child’s lifeless hand. “And played with like toys. Some cultivator must have finally put them down. You can see the spirit marks.”

            “Xiao Xingchen,” Lan Wangji says.

            Wei Wuxian blinks, surprised to hear that name after so long. “We met him and his partner, Song Lan when we apprehended Xue Yang, didn’t we? They helped us bring him to Qinghe to face trial. I liked them. What do they have to do with this?”

            Jiang Cheng coughs, “We had some trouble with them several years ago. Turns out Xue Yang was not as dead as we thought.”

            “Do not worry,” Lan Wangji says, sensing Wei Wuxian’s darkening mood, “Jiang Yanli and Madame Wen took care of him.”

            Wei Wuxian chokes on air. The idea of the one of gentlest people he knows ‘taking care’ of a murder-happy lunatic is…he doesn’t know what it is.

            Jiang Cheng gets a weird, almost dreamy look on his face as he smiles viciously into the distance. “It was incredible.”

            “You’re pretty besotted with your wife, aren’t you?” Wei Wuxian grins at his brother, who immediately scowls and thumps him on the shoulder with a closed fist.

            “Mind your own business!”

            “Ow, ow, owww,” Wei Wuxian whines, “Lan Zhan, Cheng-Cheng is bullying me again!”

            “WHO ARE YOU CALLING CHENG-CHENG?” Jiang Cheng roars.

            Lan Wangji approaches, presumably to put a stop to Jiang Cheng vicious assault, but instead of putting a stop to Wei Wuxian’s brother’s reign of terror, gentle nudges them apart and says “Do I need to separate you?” in the exact same tone of voice Jiang Yanli used to use when they got too rough with each other as kids.

            Wei Wuxian slumps and admits defeat. His family and friends have all ganged up on him.

            Jiang Cheng huffs on the other side of Lan Wangji, “Now he’s pouting. Hanguang-Jun, fix him.”

            And Lan Wangji, the estimable Hanguang-Jun, kneels down in the dirt next to Wei Wuxian and says, completely seriously, “Do I need to kiss it better?”

            Wei Wuxian’s brain temporarily stops working. He’s not sure what his face is doing, but it can’t be anything good. His thoughts are just a never-ending shriek of confused emotions he’s kept under lock and key through a healthy diet of suppression and denial since he was fifteen. He’s not sure how long it takes for his thoughts to start making sense again, but when he blinks, Lan Wangji is frowning at him. If a little furrow between his brows, and a tiny, tiny, near-imperceptible downturn of his (perfect) lips counts as a frown.

            “That is what I did for the children when they were small and fragile,” Lan Wangji tells him seriously. And oh, gods, that’s cute too.

            “You’re a very good guardian, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian wheezes, “No one’s kissed my bruises since my parents died, haha.”

            “Way to lighten the mood,” Jiang Cheng deadpans.

            Lan Wangji seems to come to a decision. Nodding to himself, he leans forward and presses a kiss to Wei Wuxian’s forehead, right between his brows, where the Jin Sect’s vermillion dots go. “Back payment,” he explains, as if that makes anything make sense in this terrifying topsy-turvy world Wei Wuxian has been launched into, and stands up as if that was not the weirdest goddamn thing that’s happened tonight, flying head included.

            “And if whatever that was is settled,” Jiang Cheng says dryly, “Do your compass of evil trick and find out where to go next.”

            Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to say it’s not that simple, when Jin Ling shouts from the tree-line, bursting out of the underbrush clutching a slip of paper.

            “UNCLE! URGENT MESSAGE FROM MOTHER!”

            “What is it?” Jiang Cheng demands, taking the message and steadying his nephew before the teenager can crash into them.

            “The arm…” Jin Ling pants, “Mother was guarding it while we…dealt with the disturbances out here…the arm…”

            “The arm escaped,” Lan Wangji, reading over Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, summarizes.

            “Shijie!” Wei Wuxian shoots to his feet, all garbled thoughts about love and Lan Zhan and kisses gone, “Is she alright?”

            Jiang Cheng snorts, “She’s perfectly fine, she can handle herself.”

            Jin Ling nods, “Mother is alright.”

            “But the arm has fled,” Lan Wangji says seriously, “And it’s headed north.”

            Wei Wuxian thinks, “The head and the arm are linked by the soul-removal spell, even though they aren’t from the same body. I used the arm to find the head. I bet I can use the head to find the arm.”

            “Can we go with you?” asks Jingyi, who, along with Sizhui, has followed Jin Ling out to meet them.

            “No,” Wei Wuxian says, “It’s dangerous. You almost got chomped on by a flying head tonight. Isn’t that enough peril for you kids?”

            Jiang Cheng makes a sound that could be a cough but sounds a lot more like “HYPOCRITE.”

            “Hey, back me up here,” Wei Wuxian complains, “I know you don’t want your nephews and their equally-teenaged friend following us.”

            Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to have another ‘coughing fit’ when Lan Zhan says, without bothering to disguise it with a fake cough, “Yin Iron. You were sixteen.”

            “THAT WAS WARTIME.”

            “Technically the war hadn’t started yet,” Jiang Cheng points out.

            “WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON?”

            The Jiang Sect Leader shrugs, “Oh, they’re definitely not allowed to come with us. I’m just saying you’re a terrible role model.”

            Lan Wangji frowns at him and opens his mouth. Jiang Cheng cuts him off. “And it was incredibly irresponsible for Lan Qiren to send you off alone to hunt for Yin Iron at age seventeen, don’t try me, Lan Wangji.”

            Lan Wangji closes his mouth.

            “But Uncle – ” Jin Ling starts to protest.

            “No.”

            “We’re highly trained – ”

            “No.”

            “I’ll take Fairy –”

            “No.”

            “Uncle!”

            “I don’t like repeating myself, Jin Rulan.”

            Jin Ling huffs and folds his arms across his chest. “If I’m to be the Jin sect heir, I should experience what it truly means to be a cultivator at work.”

            “We’ll keep an eye on him,” Jingyi offers only to put his hand down immediately when Lan Wangji looks at him, “Or not. We could definitely go back to Lotus Pier. Help Lady Jiang and Madame Wen repair the damage from the arm’s escape…and stuff.”

            “Good boy,” Jiang Cheng says.

            Meanwhile, ignoring this battle of wills (it’s a foregone conclusion, really, Jiang Cheng will always win a battle of wills by default. He’s too stubborn not to), Wei Wuxian tinkers with the compass of evil and the head until he gets a powerful enough connection going.

            Jin Ling is about to make yet another argument in favor of him and his friends accompanying them, when Wei Wuxian crows in triumph, interrupting Jiang Cheng’s slow descent into incoherent rage.

            “QINGHE!”

            “What about Qinghe?”

            Wei Wuxian turns to his brother, who’s frowning at him (it’s a default expression, really) and beams. He can tell by the way his cheeks stretch and Jingyi unintentionally takes a step back that he’s probably smiling one of his more manic and borderline deranged smiles. Wei Wuxian cannot find it in himself to care. “I know where the arm is going.”
            “And it’s going to Qinghe.”

            Wei Wuxian laughs, “The adventure continues!”

            “We already knew that,” Jiang Cheng grumbles.

            “Can we come along?” one of the teenagers asks.

            “NO,” all three adults chorus.

            Jiang Cheng might have to escort the kids home himself. Just to make sure they get there in one piece. And don’t make any side trips. Not at all because he wants to leave Lan Wangji alone with Wei Wuxian for several days and see what happens. Not at all.

            They’re doing that thing where Wei Wuxian grins at Lan Wangji, who stares intently at him as he talks.

            Jiang Cheng nods to himself. Yes. Best to leave those two idiots alone for a while. He can wrangle the kids on his own.

…

            The next morning, having spent a few hours en route to Lotus Pier before making camp, Jiang Cheng wakes up certain of two things. One, he did not get nearly enough sleep. And two, Jin Ling and gone and his two self-appointed Lan guardians have hared off after him.

            The kid is in so much trouble when he finds him.

...

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Show Me Where He Built the Bodies

Six Years Previously…

            Over the years since her husband fell into a coma, Jiang Yanli has been to several medical conferences alongside Wen Qing. She’s seen brilliant researchers and charlatans and everything in between. They’ve never yielded any real results in terms of finding a cure for her husband, but she hasn’t given up hope. Hope is all she’s had for a very long time and she won’t relinquish it now.

            A-Cheng once asked her “How do you do it? How do you keep hoping like this?” in a fit of temper during that terrible time after A-Xian went missing during the Sunshot Campaign and they spent their days and nights running and fighting and fruitlessly searching. She’d smiled a smile that felt like broken glass in her mouth and said “Because even I can be selfish, A-Cheng. If hope is all I have, I’ll cling to it until it tears me to pieces.” He’d gone silent and stiff and she’d thought he might turn away, but instead he rested his forehead on her shoulder just like he used to when he was a little boy and he overheard other disciples complaining about him, calling him prickly and unlikable and unloved. Yanli would comfort him while Wei Wuxian sought out the culprits and punished them for the sin of making his shidi sad.

            So, she smiles and she hopes and wounds heal and life goes on, even with the ragged holes in it where beloved people used to be.

            “What a waste of time that was,” Wen Qing grumps at her side. She’s carrying her sword because it’s a symbol of her status, just like the Jiang bell tinkling brightly at her hip, but she hasn’t used it in all the time Yanli has known her. For all her brash temper, Wen Qing will always heal rather than harm.

            Yanli is carrying her sword at her side and Zixuan’s on her back. She’s carried his with her since the first time he woke up, only for a few seconds, to whisper, “It’s not safe, A-Li, protect yourself, protect Jin Ling…” before drifting back to sleep.

            It helps a little. To carry some part of him with her when she’s away. She’s always been shy. Quiet to her brothers’ clamor, tenderness to her mother’s temper, understanding to her father’s rigidity. She tries very hard to not give in to the little voice in the back of her mind that whispers ‘nowhere is safe, the world is a dangerous place, hide away, run, rabbit, run…’ on her bad days. She makes a point to get out on these excursions, to work to find a cure for her ailing husband, to stay connected to the world, no matter how hostile it can be. Because she knows it’s not all darkness and danger. She knows it can’t be, not when it contains her A-Ling, little A-Zhi and A-Xing, and Lan Yuan, who isn’t so little these days. He’s nearly ten and Yanli genuinely wonders where all that time went when she wasn’t looking.

            She smiles at Wen Qing’s grumpiness. “At least the weather is fine.”

            Wen Qing snorts, “The weather? Is that all we have to talk about? How about that con artist hawking those horrible Yiling Patriarch portraits on the street corner?”

            Yanli smiles primly. She was never a terribly talented cultivator, but even she could manage a little wind-summoning talisman.

            “So terrible, how they all flew away in that gust of wind.”

            “Oh, yes, so terrible,” Wen Qing snorts.

            Yanli grins at her sister in law, who grins right back.

            They walk in companionable silence. They managed to talk Jiang Cheng out of sending a spirit dog with them, but just barely. It had taken Yanli outright dueling her brother to a draw with their swords for him to relent. Even then, she suspects he let her win. She’s spent years working with Lan Wangji to hone her skills and catch up to her brothers, but she can’t be that good yet, no matter how flattering the female disciples that flock to her training sessions are. She’s sure her little sect sisters just appreciate a sword instructor who isn’t as scowly and intimidating as her brother when he’s in a snit.

            They’re making their way through some far-flung corner of the country where the roads are mostly empty and the people mostly uninterested in chatting, to Yanli’s disappointment. She’s no Wei Wuxian, making friends and enemies everywhere he goes, but she does like getting to know people. She enjoys hearing their stories, if nothing else. She’s about to turn to Wen Qing to ask about something she’d heard some other cultivators talking about at the conference, when a cry trickles out of the forest ahead of them.

            The women look at each other and nod. Yanli and her sword take the lead, Wen Qing following behind with a fistful of needles. The approach swiftly but cautiously, Yanli allowing her senses to open up to the world around her the way Lan Wangji taught her when she first started working to improve her sword-work.

            “You do not need to be powerful to be strong,” he’d told her, “Being aware will serve you better in battle than anything else.”

            Yanli always imagines her spiritual senses opening like a lotus, each petal reaching out to test the currents of energy flowing around them. Herself like the lotus itself, floating on the currents, moving with them and in response to them. She doesn’t sense any ill-will in this area, no traps or lurking evil spirits. But she does hear a voice calling for help and living, vibrant human spirit attached to that thin, thready voice.

            “Wen Qing, there,” she says, directing the other woman to the spot where she feels the struggling spirit.  

            The two of them have plenty of experience working together in search and rescue operations. Periodically one of the Jiang villages will be hit by a flood or a storm and the cultivators will be deployed to find and triage survivors. The only difference here is it’s a pleasant spring day rather than a wretched natural disaster.

            It’s much easier when the world isn’t trying to end around them.

            The voice belongs to a young girl around Sizhui’s age. She’s slumped against a tree as if she had been walking, but her legs gave out on her. She looks up when they approach and Yanli sucks in a breath at the gory mess that is her face.

            Instead of eyes, empty holes weeping blood and fluid stare back at the two of them. She’d clearly tried to bandage the wounds herself, because rough, lopsided strips of cloth crusty with old blood crisscross her face. Her head lolls in their direction, so her hearing must not be impaired.

            “Help,” she rasps, “Please.”

            Wen Qing swears under her breath, “If we find whoever did this, I’m dragging them back to Lotus Pier and letting Jiang Cheng flay them alive.”

            Yanli presses her lips together in agreement, glad she kept her sword sheathed. The girl’s pain seeps out of her like pus from a sore. Yanli closes up her spirit a bit, not wanting to accidentally add to the girl’s suffering by reflecting her pain back at her.

            “Hello, can you hear us?” she asks, keeping her voice soft, gentle. “I am Jiang Yanli and this is Wen Qing. What’s your name?”

            The girl licks her dry, cracked lips and chuckles wetly, “I’m called Qing too.”

            “I’m a doctor, A-Qing,” Wen Qing says, kneeling down beside her and shrugging off her pack. “I’m going to take care of your face. May I touch you?”

            The girl nods, “Sure. I’ve never had a doctor before. Are you any good?”

            “I’m the best around,” Wen Qing says with utter certainty.

            “Modest, huh?” the girl jokes as Wen Qing unfurls her own bright, burning spirit to use her qi to numb A-Qing’s face.

            “False modesty is pointless,” Wen Qing says bluntly, “This will hurt.”

            “Can’t hurt worse than it already does.”

            Wen Qing presses her lips together, “Yanli, help me bathe her face with water, we need to get these old bandages off, but they’re stuck on.”

            Yanli nods and the work begins.

            A-Qing’s eye sockets are ravaged, but there’s something chillingly clean about the wounds once they’ve cleared away all the dried blood and fluid. As if someone used cultivation to remove them rather than carved them out with a weapon or a tool. Wen Qing, wrapping the girl in her qi to dull the pain, cleans the wounds with medicinal alcohol she’s been distilling herself at Lotus Pier, before soaking a bandage in diluted tea tree oil and wrapping the empty sockets. She then packs an antiseptic poultice over the sockets and wraps A-Qing’s head in fresh, clean bandages, tied securely this time.

            Her wounds tended to, Yanli takes A-Qing’s hand, “Sweetheart,” she says, the term of endearment slipping out with a mother’s long practice speaking to children of various ages, “Who did this to you?”

            A-Qing sniffles. Despite Wen Qing’s best efforts, she’s still in some pain. She’d wanted to be aware, demanded it, even, when the older woman offered to send her to sleep for the procedure. She squeezes her hand, “You’re a cultivator, right, Lady Jiang?”

            “Yes.”

            “You’ve got to stop him. You’ve got to.”

            “Who?”

            “Xue Yang.”

            Yanli and Wen Qing share a look. “Xue Yang? He’s supposed to be dead,” Yanli says.

            Wen Qing, packing away her medical supplies, nods, “Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian were there when Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan apprehended him. Last I heard he was going to Nie Sect for justice.”

            Yanli shakes her head, “He escaped when Wen Xu attacked Qinghe. Last I heard the Jin Sect had him.”

            Wen Qing snorts inelegantly, “Oh, no wonder he’s out and causing trouble. Jin Guangshan wouldn’t know justice if it bit him in the – ” She looks at the child and reconsiders how to end that sentence, “…if it bit him.”

            Lame, but definitely more child-appropriate than what she’d been about to say.

            “I dunno how he’s out, but he’s out, and he’s got Xingchen-ge thinking he’s a changed man and everything but he’s not, I swear, I swear it’s true.”

            “We believe you,” Yanli hastens to reassure her.

            A-Qing shakes her head, “No, no, I lied a lot, a lot before, but I’m telling the truth now and you’ve got to believe me before he makes Xingchen-ge do something awful again.”

            Yanli heart squeezes in her chest. From A-Xian and A-Cheng’s reports Xiao Xingchen was an honorable, sensitive man. She doesn’t want to imagine what Xue Yang would make him do if he had his old enemy in his power.

            “Tell us. Please. Tell us everything you can.”

…

            Jiang Cheng is not sure how he ended up designated babysitter; but somehow, he went from peacefully reviewing paperwork and occasionally taking breaks to bellow at his disciples and put the fear of Zidian into them, to escorting a pack of children to see a troupe of traveling performers just outside of the town around Lotus Pier. He shares all this with Wen Ning, who just looks at him and says, “I don’t think four children could be considered a pack.”

            Traitor.

            True, Lan Wangji’s Lan Yuan is remarkably well-behaved, but Jiang Cheng doesn’t like the way that kid just quietly looks at things. Whenever Wei Wuxian was quiet, he was plotting something, and someday that terror’s early influence on the kid is going to start showing and Jiang Cheng wants to be prepared in case today is the day it does.

            Jin Ling is all puffed up and proud to play big brother to his younger cousins, who so far have only caused minor chaos, but it’s only a matter of time. Currently Jiang Cheng is carrying his son, who halfway through their journey politely tugged on his robes and said “Daddy, quiet time?” which is code for ‘my sister and my cousin are too loud, I wish to be above this rabble’ and means ‘pick me up and cuddle me but not really because I’m big now.’ A-Xing is a little too heavy to be carried like he used to be when he was really little, but he can sit comfortably on his father’s shoulders, where he plays with his hairpiece and watches the world pass serenely by.

            Jiang Cheng has to assume that amount of serenity is a once-a-generation thing. It’s the only way to explain how his sister has it, but he never did, and how A-Zhi and A-Ling are tiny adorable terrors, but all A-Xing wants to do after a little bit of running around is sip tea and read with his Uncle Ning.

            “Daddy, there’s a man.” A-Xing says, tugging on the ribbon holding Jiang Cheng’s hair in its topknot.

            Jiang Cheng isn’t surprised there’s a man – they are on a public road, after all – but he turns to look in the direction his son indicates anyway. He’s glad he did, because that’s no regular pedestrian A-Xing is pointing to. “Wen Ning,” Jiang Cheng says quietly.

            His brother in law stops and looks toward the dark figure slumped on the side of the road, a sword leaned against his shoulder, smudges of what look like dried blood on the bit of his face visible from their vantage point. Wen Ning nods and herds the children back to stay with Jiang Cheng before leaping away to investigate.

            “What’s happening?” Jin Ling demands, tugging on Jiang Cheng’s robes, “Uncle, who’s that?”

            “Daddy?” A-Zhi joins in her cousin’s chorus of questions, “Who’s that?”

            “Uncle, is Senior Wen going to fight him?”

            “No, Uncle Ning can’t fight him!” A-Zhi protests this suggestion.

            “Why not?”  Jin Ling sniffs, “Senior Wen is plenty strong.”

            “Duh!” A-Zhi agrees with this assessment, “He’ll kill him dead and we won’t learn who he is!”

            “Ning-ge isn’t going to kill him,” Lan Yuan reassures them, looking up at Jiang Cheng with both eyebrows slightly raised as if to ask ‘right? You aren’t going to let my cousin go around killing random pedestrians, right?’

            Jiang Cheng regrets the influence Lan Wangji has had on the youth. They’ve started picking up his habit of communicating in micro-expressions. It’s exhausting.

            At least the kid’s micro-expressions are easy to read and don’t leave Jiang Cheng feeling dumb the way Lan Wangji’s can.

            Small blessings.

            “Wen Ning is not going to kill anyone, jeez,” Jiang Cheng tells them. A-Zhi is tugging on his sleeves more vigorously now that she’s realized her brother is getting carried and she isn’t. She’d been fine with the arrangement before, when she could run around like a wild thing with Jin Ling, but now that they’ve stopped A-Xing’s height advantage is something to envy.

            “But he could, couldn’t he?” she asks.

            “Yes,” Jiang Cheng grudgingly agrees.

            “So he might.”

            “But he won’t.”

            “You don’t know that, Daddy.”

            Jiang Cheng stares at the sky and reminds himself to breathe.

            Down the road, Wen Ning has called a greeting to the prone figure, who looks up and acknowledges his approach. They speak for a few moments, before Wen Ning waves to Jiang Cheng, signaling the all-clear.

            A friendly cultivator.

            “See, Wen Ning says it’s fine. No one is being killed today,” he tells the children gruffly, “Now follow me, and be on your best behavior. We don’t know who this person is yet, so respect is important.”

            Lan Yuan nods gravely, as if this were a universal truth and even gives a little bow of acknowledgement. Jin Ling and A-Zhi chorus, “Yes, Uncle,” and “Yes, Daddy,” respectively and go back to running circles around him. A-Xing pats the top of his head and says “Yes, Daddy,” softly and makes no move to get down off his shoulders. Well, there goes Jiang Cheng’s dignity.  

            He shouldn’t have favorites. But right now, Lan Yuan is winning for ‘best behaved child’.

            By the time they meet up with Wen Ning and his new friend, the stranger is standing up, apparently unaided, although he certainly looks worse for wear. He still salutes respectfully when they approach, greeting Jiang Cheng with a grave, “Sect Leader Jiang.” When he raises his head, Jiang Cheng blinks in surprise.

            “Song Lan,” he blurts, then clears his throat, “I’m surprised to see you this far south.”

            And without Xiao Xingchen. The handful of times he’s encountered the two wandering cultivators after their first meeting the duo seemed joined at the hip. He can’t imagine what could have happened to separate them.

            “Ah, yes,” Song Lan nods, “I have been traveling rather aimlessly these last weeks.”

            Jiang Cheng frowns, “Did something happen? Have you been attacked?” he asks, indicating the dried blood on the other man’s face and the shabby state of his robes.

            Song Lan raises a hand to his jaw, rubbing at the stain until it crumbles away in rusty flakes. “This was a minor altercation with a resentful spirit. This,” he indicates the rest of his appearance, “is a longer story.”

            Jiang Cheng shoots a look Wen Ning’s way. They have a short conversation mostly made up of facial expressions, the kind of dialogue you find yourself having fairly often when you’re surrounded by hip-height and shorter young people whose input you don’t want or need when you’re making plans.

            Wen Ning nods, “Children, why don’t you come with me so your father can take Senior Song back to Lotus Pier?”

            There’s a chorus of whines and minor complaints but they manage to get themselves rearranged so Wen Ning has full custody of the children and Jiang Cheng is close enough to catch Song Lan if he suddenly collapses (considering the state of him, it’s definitely a possibility). A-Xing is settled on one of Wen Ning’s shoulders while his sister occupies the other and Jiang Cheng is again reminded of Wen Ning’s seemingly bottomless stores of patience. Wen Ning and company take off in their original direction and Jiang Cheng turns to Song Lan. “You look seconds away from total collapse,” he says bluntly, “Come to Lotus Pier so you can collapse somewhere safer than the side of the road.”

            Song Lan’s eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, but he doesn’t laugh or even smile fully. “Lead the way, Sect Leader Jiang.”

…

            “I been on the streets a long time,” A-Qing tells the women as Yanli takes out refreshments, building a fire and starting a pot of tea. Wen Qing packs away her medical supplies as the girl talks. “It’s a pretty common scam, y’know – pretending to be blind or crippled. People are nicer to you and sometimes they give you stuff and they can’t get mad if you run into them.”

            “You were a pickpocket,” Wen Qing clarifies.

            A-Qing nods, no shame on her face, “I’m good too. I’m not dead, am I?”

            Yanli presses a pork bun into the girl’s hands, “Tear off small pieces and eat it slowly,” she instructs.          

            A-Qing brightens the second the first morsel touches her tongue, “This might be the best thing I ever ate, Lady.”

            “No need for flattery, sweetheart,” Yanli tells her kindly, brushing her hair out of her face as she eats. “Just tell us your story.”

            A-Qing nods, “So I meet this guy, this cultivator guy, and he steps in when this rich man’s about to beat me stupid. And he makes me give the rich guy his money back, but he doesn’t rat me out, does he? He gives the man his purse and pretends the guy must have dropped it or something. And you can’t call a guy like this a liar – he’s a cultivator and he’s blind and he just looks really shiny and righteous and everything.”

            A-Qing spends the next hour telling them how Xiao Xingchen – who is apparently blind now, both Wen Qing and Yanli wonder how that happened, but A-Qing doesn’t know – took in a little “blind” urchin girl. After they’d been traveling together for a while they came across Xue Yang, who begged forgiveness and pled for a second chance. A second chance Xiao Xingchen gave him. “Because he’s soft,” A-Qing editorializes with great certainty, “he’s strong, but he’s soft. He’s too good at forgiving. All those people he forgave that didn’t deserve it probably just keeping coming back to wallop on him and that’s why he’s so strong.”

            Yanli isn’t sure what to do with that commentary. She’s been told much the same thing before by people who didn’t bear her nearly as much goodwill as A-Qing bears Xiao Xingchen. Wen Qing nudges the girl back on track and she continues the story without further elaborating on Xiao Xingchen’s character flaws.

            She explains that Xue Yang was always taunting her when Xiao Xingchen wasn’t around. Trying to trick her, make her slip in her blind act. “It wasn’t all an act,” she protests, “I really don’t have good eyes – I mean, I didn’t, when I had them. Things are blurry and I get headaches when I try to squint and make them less blurry. That’s why I was on the streets – I got thrown out for being a burden.”

            Yanli chokes down the urge to go and find whoever told this little girl she was a burden and do some walloping of her own.

            A-Qing tells them how Xue Yang would taunt and tease and bully her but be sickly sugar-sweet the moment Xiao Xingchen would come back. After he’d been around a while, Xiao Xingchen explained how he was still able to fight resentful spirits even without his eyes. “He can sense the resentful energy or something,” A-Qing explains vaguely and shrugs when they ask for more details, moving on to the next part of the story. She describes how Xiao Xingchen demonstrated this ability the first time they encountered walking corpses and how Xue Yang seemed a little too excited about that. How Xue Yang would bully and threaten stall vendors in the market whenever Xiao Xingchen wouldn’t hear. How A-Qing was getting nervous around Xue Yang, but couldn’t tell Xiao Xingcheng without revealing her deception about her sight.

            “And then…” she swallows convulsively, “Xue Yang figured out how to infect people with resentful energy. He’d take their tongues out somehow and he’d infect them and they’d act like fierce corpses but they were alive. I know they were because I saw him testing it out and he could take away the infection and put it back in over and over and he was laughing but I couldn’t tell because I wasn’t supposed to see and Xiao Xingchen wasn’t around.”

            Yanli and Wen Qing each have one of A-Qing’s hands in one of theirs, the pork bun long disappeared into the girl’s stomach and they both squeeze her hands as she gets more worked up. She sniffs, but there’s not enough let of her tear ducts for her to cry so she just licks her lips and keeps talking.

            “Xue Yang started infecting people and leaving them wandering around. Because two days ago he told Xiao Xingchen he’d found more fierce corpses and Xiao Xingchen should kill them,” she swallows convulsively, “And he did because he can’t tell if they can be saved, he just senses resentful energy and I saw him kill one and Xue Yang was behind him smiling. I screamed. Xiao Xingchen tried to comfort me, thinking I was scared of the fierce corpses. I wasn’t. I was scared because I knew what Xue Yang was doing. And then yesterday morning he sent Xiao Xingchen to get groceries and he caught me before I could go with Xiao Xingchen. And…and…” she sobs, dryly, “He took my eyes because he knew I’d seen him do it.”

            “How did you get away, sweetheart?” Yanli asks. She can’t look at Wen Qing’s face, she’s sure it’s murderous at the thought of anyone doing such things to innocent people. But Yanli can’t be full of rage on this girl’s and those anonymous victims’ behalf right now, she has to be full of love for A-Qing, she has to make sure this little girl feels safe here, with them.

            A-Qing swallows. “He heard Xiao Xingchen come back and went to greet him. I ran. Please, please, you have to help Xiao Xingchen. He didn’t mean to do it; he didn’t mean to hurt those people. You have to get him away from Xue Yang, he’s my only friend, he can’t – I can’t – he needs to be safe!”

            With that, Yanli breaks. She gathers A-Qing’s shaking, bony body into her arms and bundles her into her lap, holding her close. She runs a gentle hand through A-Qing’s matted, snarled hair, rubbing soothing circles between her sharp shoulder blades. “Shh, shh, we’re here, we’re here. You’re safe now. We’ll help your friend. We’ll stop Xue Yang.”

            “Do you promise?” A-Qing sniffles into her collar.

            “We promise,” Wen Qing says gravely from her other side, gathering them both into her strong arms and rocking all three of them together, “We promise.”

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: If I Was Smart I’d Make it Far

Present Day…

            “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan” Wei Wuxian is bouncing up and down like a small, excitable child at Lan Wangji’s side, tugging on his sleeve and holding some sort of...food product on a stick.

            Lan Wangji looks at him. Wei Wuxian is smiling, there’s a smudge of sauce on his face and his hair is messy and he’s real.

            “Try some?” Wei Wuxian offers him whatever it is on the stick and Lan Wangji almost says yes despite his lifelong aversion to street food, before he remembers Wei Wuxian has abysmal taste and is not to be trusted.

            “What is it?”

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “I dunno, the girl at the stand said it was good so I bought two.”

            He’s going to get food poisoning at this rate. He’s bought something at every food stand they’ve passed. It’s a sickness.

            “You’ll get sick.”

            Wei Wuxian shrugs and stuffs half the stick and whatever its’ contents are into his mouth, “Worth it,” he says around a mouthful of some sort of dough and filling.

            He’s disgusting. Lan Wangji wants to keep giving him money to buy as much questionable food as his heart desires.

            Speaking of… “Where did the money come from?”

            Wei Wuxian swallows and shrugs, “I pickpocketed Jiang Cheng.”

            Jiang Cheng will not like that. A small, petty part of Lan Wangji wants to be there to see the look on his face when the estimable Lord of Lotus Pier realizes he’s been robbed.

            He’ll probably turn as purple as his robes.

            It will be glorious.

            Those thoughts are unworthy of the Second Jade of Lan, but the older he gets the less Lan Wangji can find it in himself to care what is ‘worthy’ or ‘unworthy’ of the person he’s supposed to be. It’s been a long and painful process to free himself of the expectations burned into his brain from the day his mother died onward.

            Be a filial child.

            Diligence is the root.

            Morality is the priority.

            Do not make noise.

            Do not walk too fast.

            Do not laugh for no reason.

            Do not be overly happy.

            Do not be overly sad.

            Be grateful.

            Be loyal.

            Be.

            Do not.

            Be.

            Do not.

            His entire life has been circumscribed by a series of ‘be’s and ‘do not’s and by the time he had a chance to question, to ask why, it was too late and he’d already lost too much.

            “I’m probably giving you heart palpitations, huh, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian laughs. He’s finished the first skewer and started on the second, he pauses when he senses Lan Wangji’s eyes on him and tilts his head, raising an eyebrow, “Did you actually want some?” he holds out the remaining skewer. Lan Wangji shakes his head and Wei Wuxian shrugs and goes back to his snack, “I mean, what was the rule ‘do not have more than three bowls at meal times’? I’ve definitely broken that one. And what’s another one ‘do not go out at night’? Well, we’re both breaking that one, but I think it’s allowed when you’re fighting evil. ‘Do not act impulsively’ – that’s basically half my personality right there, acting impulsively, so you’re out of luck on that one.” He hums and sighs, tossing the sticks away and folding both arms behind his head. He rolls his head over to smile crookedly at Lan Wangji – even with a new face, his smile is the exact same it always was, slightly lopsided, all careless warmth just like the rest of him. “I’m afraid I’m beyond reforming. Sorry, Hanguang-Jun. I’m despicable and disreputable as ever.”

            “Do not spread empty words,” Lan Wangji says seriously.

            Wei Wuxian frowns, “What does that mean?”

            Lan Wangji raises an eyebrow slightly, and Wei Wuxian’s face twitches like the expression is somehow surprising. It may be, on further evaluation. Lan Wangji has spent just as many years now schooling himself on softening his face, on trying to be ‘approachable’ for other people, as he had previously spent on training his face into empty blankness. “Wei Ying is better at following the rules than he thinks.”

Wei Wuxian squawks, “What does that mean? I’m a glutton!”

“Do not be picky about food,” Lan Wangji quotes.

“I made Wen Ning into a fierce corpse!”

“Help the underpriviledged,” Lan Wangji continues to recite.

“I get into fights with everyone!”

“Have a strong will and anything can be achieved,” Lan Wangji has never

enjoyed the rules this much.

            “I’m friends with fierce corpses!” Wei Wuxian tries.

            Lan Wangji shrugs as if to say ‘so am I’ and Wei Wuxian makes a sound that might be categorized as a squeal and mouths ‘he shrugs now too’, “Love all beings. Honor good people. Be loyal.”

            “I’m vain and arrogant!”

            “Love and respect yourself.”

            Wei Wuxian lets out a frustrated huff. He’s running out of arguments. Lan Wangji’s chest feels bright and bubbly like a freshwater spring. He’s never had this much fun talking about his family’s wall of commandments. He’s never won an argument with Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian, who is huffing and flushed from the midday sun and bright-eyed and alive and here. “I disgraced myself and lived in the Burial Mounds for years!”

            “Do not live extravagantly. Uphold the value of justice.”

            “I practice demonic cultivation!”

            “Do not be wasteful.”

            “Wasteful…that one is a stretch and you know it, Lan Zhan.”

            Lan Wangji merely shrugs. Again. Wei Wuxian looks equal parts delighted and horrified. A sudden flash of inspiration darts across Wei Wuxian’s face and he smiles slyly. He thinks he’ll stump Lan Wangji with whatever he says next. He is wrong. Wei Wuxian’s virtues are many and Lan Wangji’s knowledge of his family’s rules is encyclopedic (or it was until he stopped visiting Cloud Recesses as often and his uncle added an extra thousand rules out of pure spite and Lan Wangji refused to learn any of them, also out of pure spite, not that either of them would ever admit any such thing,)

            Wei Wuxian is grinning his wide, toothy, dangerous grin, “I sleep late!” he announces triumphantly as if proving that he fails to live up to perfect Lan standards of behavior is irrefutable evidence that he’s as terrible as he seems to think he is.

            This entire conversation is absurd.

            Lan Wangji pauses and tilts his head to the side and pretends to contemplate it anyway, before looking Wei Wuxian dead in the eyes and saying, utterly deadpan, “Sleep schedules can be altered with proper incentives.”

            Lan Wangji has the exquisite joy of watching Wei Wuxian flush bright red to the roots of his hair and stare at him for a solid minute.

            He’s finally won an argument with Wei Ying. He thinks he’ll reward himself with some street food.

…

            He still does not like street food.

            Wei Wuxian eats the rest of it mechanically, still stunned into silence and obviously overthinking whatever big thoughts are cluttering up his head.

            Lan Wangji still feels very proud of himself. No one must ever know.

…

            The town is fairly large, so of course there are charlatans hawking fake talismans and charms against evil spirits on street corners. Lan Wangji loathes such things, but he’s become used to them due to constant exposure. Typically, it’s enough for him to simply walk up to the fakes in his full Lan regalia and stare at them particularly hard to get them to scatter.

            Wei Wuxian curses under his breath, “I hate these guys.”

            Lan Wangji nods.

            “They prey on people’s fear, it’s despicable.” Wei Wuxian huffs. “These hopeful people buy this garbage and they put it up, thinking they’re safe. They get overconfident and careless and some evil spirit gets them in the night.” He shakes his head, “I bet Wen Qing still says the same things about ‘miracle cure’ salesmen, huh?”
            “Madame Wen does not tolerate lies. Especially medical falsehoods,” Lan Wangji agrees.

            Most of the charlatans scattered at the sight of Lan Wangji’s white robes and sword, but one particularly bold soul is still hawking his wares at top volume.

            “PORTRAITS OF THE YILING PATRIARCH! SCARE AWAY DEMONS! KEEP AWAY EVIL SPIRITS! YILING PATRIARCH PORTRAITS!”

            Lan Wangji’s lips turn down at the corners. They never get Wei Ying right in those pictures. It’s a disgraceful scam on top of disrespectful.

            The Yiling Patriarch himself, he suddenly realizes, is no longer at his side. He’s clear across the street, snatching a picture out of the hapless salesman’s hands.

            “What is this?!” Wei Wuxian protests when he sees the monstrous visage. “The Yiling Patriarch was a handsome gentleman! He was well-known and praised for his looks! Lan Zhan!” he complains, holding up the picture, “Look at this garbage!”

            The salesman jerks and begins to sweat when he catches sight of Lan Wangji making his way across the street. Between Wei Wuxian making a scene (the other man is now combing through all the pictures, pulling faces at each one and making noises of protest at the ugliest) and the sudden appearance of a Lan cultivator, it will not be a good day for his business.

            “Selling false talismans is forbidden,” Lan Wangji tells him. They may be in Qinghe, but he knows Nie Mingjue was strict about controlling fake protective charms. If they’re particularly badly made they can actively attract demonic energy, doing more harm than good, not to mention placing civilians in danger.

            “They’re…” the man stumbles over his words, “They’re not talismans, just…you know, charms to dispel bad luck.”

            Wei Wuxian holds up a picture next to his face and tries to twist his features into the hideous, inhuman image on the paper. Lan Wangji is too disciplined to laugh, but he does feel the corners of his eyes soften and his traitor lips turn up a tiny bit.

            “You need to get rid of all of these,” Wei Wuxian declares with an air of authority that he definitely should not possess considering he’s technically homeless, broke, unemployed, and legally dead. Well, Lan Wangji corrects, not totally broke. He has Jiang Cheng’s money if he hasn’t spent it all already.

            The vendor opens his mouth to protest, only to catch sight of Lan Wangji’s disapproving stare and slump in defeat.

            “Yes, alright, they’re fakes.”

…

            Meanwhile, the juniors are having significantly less fun.

            “Sizhui.”

            “Yes.”

            “I think now is the time to acknowledge the truth.”

            Sizhui sighs, shoulders slumping, before he abruptly straightens, shaking his head in stubborn defiance of visible reality. “No, we just have to keep looking.”

            “We’ve lost Jin Ling. And the road.”

            “The road is over there.”

            “Oh. So, no huge loss then.”

            Sizhui gives him an unamused look and Jingyi throws up his hands.

            “He’s bright yellow and loud as a herd of elephants, how have we not found him yet?”

            Sizhui, taking note of how the entire forest has fallen silent in response to Jingyi’s sudden shouting, shakes his head and deadpans, “It’s a wonder.”

            They keep walking toward Qinghe.

…

            “My dear Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says lightly as they pass through the outer edges of the town, “Have you noticed we’re being followed?”

            Lan Wangji nods, “Yes.”

            “Shall we say hello?”

            Lan Wangji hums, “Mn.”

            “As soon as we’re outside the city?”

            “Mn.”

            They continue walking in silence.

            Wei Wuxian fidgets. “Do you think he cares if we talk?”

            Lan Wangji raises a single eyebrow a fraction.

            Wei Wuxian makes a vague gesture indicating their shadow, “I mean, it’s weird just chatting casually now that we’ve both acknowledged he’s here. Listening to us.”

            Lan Wangji gives him another blank look.

            Wei Wuxian huffs, “What am I saying; silence is your natural habitat.”

            Lan Wangji frowns infinitesimally, “I enjoy music.”

            “Shall we discuss music, then?”

            “To make the spy more comfortable?”

            “To make me more comfortable!” Wei Wuxian laughs.

            “You are uncomfortable with me?”

            “No, I’m uncomfortable being spied on.”

            Lan Wangji gives him a look as if to say ‘I’m not sure how us having an inane, pointless conversation about music is supposed to make you feel better about having a stranger watching our every movement, but I’m willing to humor you, you weird, weird man.’ It’s a very evocative look.

            “Do you…like music?” Lan Wangji asks slowly, brows furrowed as if he’s trying to unravel some hidden meaning in his own words.

            That’s it, Wei Wuxian gives up. He laughs. He laughs at the world, at their absurd conversation, at the fact that he’s alive and Lan Wangji is right here beside him looking equal parts earnest, majestic, and befuddled, like an eagle that’s just woken from a nap. He twirls Chenqing around his fingers, spins in a broad circle, throws his head back and laughs.

            “Oh, Lan Zhan. You make the world a merrier place.”

            Lan Wangji looks even more perplexed. “So does Wei Ying,” he finally answers.

            Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “Thirty-something year old you sure is sweet to me. You ought to be careful. People might start getting ideas.”

            Lan Wangji looks at him as if he’s not sure what’s happening in Wei Wuxian’s brain but he’s very concerned by it.

            They continue walking this way, with Wei Wuxian whistling aimless bits of tunes and Lan Wangji smiling that nearly-invisible smile he gives when he’s feeling very pleased with the world.

…

            Jin Ling is feeling very smug. He managed to sneak past his uncle and shake off his goody-goody cousin and Jingyi. How’s that for ability in the field? He loves and admires Sizhui – it’s basically impossible not to – but it’s more than a little exhausting always trying to keep up with Mr. Perfect Lan and company. Sizhui is everything Jin Ling is not – he’s mild-mannered, polite, serene, and devastating in battle. Jin Ling can’t help it – he envies him more than he’d like to admit. Just this once he wants to be useful in his own right, without his older cousins showing him up or his mother and uncles backing him up. He wants to shine as Jin Ling.

            (He knows it’s absurd, but there’s a tiny, childish part of him that thinks, maybe, if he just did something impressive enough, was powerful enough, he’d somehow be able to bring his father back. Failing that, when his father eventually wakes up, he wants Jin Xixuan to wake up to a son to be proud of. He wants to be that son.)

            He’s managed to make it pretty deep into the woods – he’s traveled by sword a good deal of the way. He’s probably bypassed Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji by now. Wei Wuxian’s new core is too weak for sword travel and even Lan Wangji will be slowed down if he’s transporting both himself and a passenger. A villager he passed on the road told him about some man-eating castle on the hill so he’s struck out in that direction, figuring an epicenter of resentful energy like that is sure to draw in something like the arm.

            The man-eating castle, when he reaches it, doesn’t seem like much of a castle. For one thing, there’s only one entrance and it’s sealed, although he breaks in fairly easily. There are also no windows anywhere he can see.

            “Stupid villagers,” he scoffs, climbing through the stone doorway, “This isn’t a castle, it’s a tomb.”

            As if in response to his words, torches flare to life all along a narrow, stony hallway. There’s nothing on the walls to indicate what sort of place this is supposed to be, no decoration or funerary goods, just blank, soulless stone.

            Jin Ling suppresses a shiver.

            He lights a talisman, not trusting the torches, and makes his way down the hall, the door falling shut behind him with an ominous thud. He flinches at the noise and glances back, regretting coming alone for the first time. But he straightens his spine and turns forward. He is a Jin, son of the Sect Heir, nephew to Chief Cultivator Jin Guangyao and Sect Leader Jiang Wanyin.

            (And nephew to the Yiling Patriarch himself, he realizes with a start, back from the dead.)

            The point is, he has a very impressive lineage and he needs to do right by it and not be afraid of a little darkness and a creepy door.

            He proceeds down the corridor.

            It opens up into a massive room crowned with an impressive dome. All along the walls, more torches flare to life, throwing shadows over an array of…coffins? Stone coffins line the floor, each carved with elaborate sigils and wards against evil. Jin Ling stumbles, tripping over the uneven floor, only to look down and realize a massive containment array is chiseled into the stone under his feet.

            Whatever this room was designed to keep contained, it must be truly terrifying.

            All the more reason to expect to find the arm here, he realizes, weaving between stone coffins, careful not to touch any of them. He’s clutching his sword to his chest like a security blanket, he realizes, easing up his grip and trying to reclaim some of the diginity he had when he walked into this place.      

            The air around him is thick and clammy with suppressed…something. Jin Ling does not like this place, he decides. He does not like it at all.

            One of the coffins isn’t like the others, he notes as he moves between them. It’s massive, although many of the others are just as large, but it’s leaking resentful energy, as if the wards on it are weaker than the rest, or… He steps up to the coffin. Looks down.

            Or the lid is slightly cockeyed where it sits, as if someone or something dislodged it.

            Jin Ling kneels down, examining the box. He pushes the lid away a little bit more, the stone groaning as he forces it ajar. He peeks inside, expecting to see a body and inside is confronted with a massive steel saber.

            “What?” Jin Ling whispers to himself, reaching down to prod at the sword with a tendril of spiritual power, only to find himself slammed back and away from the coffin.

            He flies through the air, crashing into a wall and sliding, all of the breath leaving his lungs as he struggles to squeeze air past the fresh bruises blooming on his back. Dizzy and disoriented, he tries to stand up, to force air back into his lungs, to reach out and investigate whatever sent him flying. But the wall has gone strangely porous behind him, almost spongy.  

            There are mudflats near Yunmeng, and his mother always warned against going out onto them, especially alone, because if you stand still for too long you begin to sink and the more you fight, the faster you go. People have become trapped, paralyzed by the sucking mud, slowly drowning in the earth itself.

            This wall feels like one of those mudflats must. Except Jin Ling is falling through it far faster than he would if it were mud. It’s hungry, he realizes, it’s trying to eat me alive.

            He thrashes, lashing out with spiritual power, but the wall is unmoved by his struggles, enveloping him with clinging, heavy darkness, invading his mind with clammy tendrils of nasty, sticking energy.

            Was this how Wei Wuxian felt in the Burial Mounds? Jin Ling wonders as his body goes cold and the room dims around him.

            His last thought before the wall drags him in is “I refuse to die like this.”

…

            They ambush the spy once they’re free of the village. Wei Wuxian uses his seemingly aimless whistling to call the shadows around him, shrouding his body and allowing him to slip away from Lan Wangji’s side between one blink in the next.

            Now you see me. Now you don’t.

            Lan Wangji continues onward, a pristine beacon of light in his bright white robes. A tempting target for their shadow. Wei Wuxian hangs back, swathed in darkness, coasting on shadows until he has a vantage point high above, perched on the branch of an old, sturdy tree, watching Lan Wangji as he makes his way through the trees.

            It’s strange, he thinks, not for the first time, being here. He doesn’t really remember being dead. He doesn’t want to remember being dead. He thinks that might be something the living mind just can’t comprehend properly, so it shields itself from the knowledge. He’s almost glad of it. Knowing how he went out, everything leading up to it, all his regrets and unfinished business… he might have even been a resentful spirit in death.

            And that’s not something he wants to think about.

            In the forest below another shape appears. It’s another cultivator, Wei Wuxian can sense that much, even with this body’s weak core. Not a terribly powerful one, his spiritual presence isn’t anything like Jiang Cheng’s or Lan Wangji’s, but respectable.

            He’s slinking through the forest, trailing Lan Wangji. His face is covered with some sort of scarf, and Wei Wuxian doesn’t recognize his robes as bearing any well-known sect’s insignia or colors.

            Oh well, hopefully that means this won’t cause a diplomatic incident.

            Wei Wuxian drops down from the tree, pulling shadows around him to muffle the sound of his fall. He lands behind the other man. His new body’s weak core turns out to be a blessing in disguise, he thinks as he reaches out and taps the other man’s shoulder. He starts and spins, hands coming up in a defensive position.

            Wei Wuxian laughs lowly, voice a dangerous purr, “Hello, there. Who might you be?” He doesn’t need to, but he flashes his red eyes a little. Just enough unnerve.

            The other man doesn’t identify himself, instead choosing to spin around and bolt for the trees.

            “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Wei Wuxian says conversationally, calling resentful energy to him, swirling shadowy tendrils around them, tugging the other man back in place.

            The spy, realizing he’s seconds away from being trapped, lunges upward, making for the treetops Wei Wuxian himself just descended from.

            Lan Wangji, shining like the bearer of light he is, blocks his exit, fingers flying across guqin strings, sending the other man crashing to the forest floor.

            He scrambles, fingers scrabbling against the leaf litter as he throws himself to his feet once again. Wei Wuxian is waiting, ready to be attacked. It’s what he would do in the spy’s place after all. He wouldn’t chance a confrontation with Hanguang-Jun, better to challenge the unknown demonic cultivator.

            But the spy doesn’t attack, he throws something to the ground, blue-grey smoke pouring up and around his body as he…vanishes entirely.

            Lan Wangji settles to the ground like a leaf drifting on the breeze. Nothing so undignified as crashing and dropping for him, apparently. He gestures and his zither vanishes once more. Wei Wuxian dismisses his shadows with a wave as well, crouching down to frown as the slightly discolored patch on the forest floor where a stranger once stood.

            “Well that was odd.”

            Lan Wangji just looks at him.

            Wei Wuxian huffs, “I’ll state the obvious all I want to.”

            “Mn.”

            Wei Wuxian throws up his hands and gives up on the dirt. “Probably a transportation talisman, pre-made.”

            “Mn.”

            “You can comment on how odd it was too, if it would make you feel included.”

            Lan Wangji looks at him. “Wei Ying.”

            “I’m just offering, Lan Zhan.”

            Lan Wangji looks very tired at that for some reason.

…

            Sizhui and Jingyi hear a crash and the faint echo of a very familiar guqin. They look at each other.

            “Well, that’s something,” Sizhui says because sometimes stating the obvious makes you feel better.

            “Something good or something bad?”

            “Something like my parents.”

            “So bad. In this situation, bad.”

            Sizhui gives him a dirty look but doesn’t bother to argue the point, just takes off in the direction of the chaos.

            Jingyi sighs and runs after him. Whoever said Sizhui was the perfect serene, level-headed Lan needs to get their head examined by a medical professional.

            Not Madame Wen, either, he decides. She’s secretly just as crazy as the rest of these people.

…

            Wei Wuxian is wandering around the clearing muttering to himself about transport talismans. Lan Wangji has mostly tuned him out, instead stretching out his senses, trying to get a feeling for this supposed ‘man-eating castle’. He senses something heavy and dark somewhere on the edges of his reach, but that could be anything from a graveyard to the sight of some long-forgotten battle. As he pulls his spiritual senses back into his body, reawakening to the world around him, he notices two familiar, bright presences close by and getting closer.

            Two familiar presences who most certainly should not be here.

            He straightens his spine, irritation at Jiang Cheng sparking at the frayed ends of his nerves. Jiang Wanyin, you had one job.

            “Wei Ying,” he warns his companion, who’s standing off to the side, looking as if he’s either lost in thought or deeply contemplating a tree. Knowing him, it might be a mixture of both.

            “Hmmm?” Wei Ying hums, “What Lan Zhan?”

            “Company.”

            Wei Ying blinks, shaking off his absentmindedness, gaze sharpening, “What kind of company?” he asks, taking out Chenqing and twirling it between his fingers.

            “The youthful kind,” Lan Wangji can’t quite keep the disapproving growl out of his voice as two familiar pale figures come crashing through the trees.

            “Father!”

            “Hanguang-Jun!”

            Wei Wuxian’s brows snap together and his posture tightens, the lazy slouch gone as if it had never been. “You two had better have a damn good explanation why you’re risking your necks out here, exactly where we told you not to be.” He pauses, thinks, “Oh gods, I sounded just like Jiang Cheng. Lan Zhan, what is the future doing to me?”

            Lan Wangji will deal with Wei Wuxian’s antics later. There are juniors who clearly need a refresher course on listening to orders. He turns to the two shame-faced teenagers. “Why are you here?” he asks, tone clearly indicating he is not going to take anything other than the absolute truth and that he’s really prefer if it were succinct and reasonable.

            “We lost Jin Ling!” Jingyi blurts out before Sizhui can collect himself. Jingyi bows to both of them, shamefaced, “We were with Sect Leader Jiang and we stopped to rest for the night and Jin Ling disappeared!”

            “We woke before Sect Leader Jiang,” Sizhui picks up the story – he never got comfortable calling Jiang Cheng ‘uncle’, for some reason Lan Wangji has never been able to decipher. “And when we noticed Jin Ling was missing we went after him.”

            “You went after him.” Lan Wangji’s voice is icy.

            “Why didn’t you wake up Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            “We thought he couldn’t have gotten very far,” Jingyi explains, shrugging, “I mean, he’s just one kid, after all.”

            “You are all children,” Lan Wangji reminds them, tone brooking no argument.

            “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian begins to protest, but clamps his mouth shut and looks away when Lan Wangji stares him down.

            “You should not have followed us. You should have woken Sect Leader Jiang.”

            “Hanguang-Jun – ” Jingyi tries to protest.

            “I am very disappointed in your conduct.”

            Jingyi’s gaze drops down at his feet and he falls silent.

            Sizhui looks deeply humiliated. He’s sneaking glances at Wei Wuxian as if somehow his former guardian being here to see his shame is making it all worse. If only he knew, Lan Wangji reminds himself bitterly, Wei Wuxian is hardly one to cast the first stones when it comes to accusations of impropriety or impulsivity. “We’re sorry, Hanguang-Jun.”

            That hurts. The reminder that he is not Sizhui’s father, not really. It’s been happening more and more the older he’s gotten, this distancing, this use of titles when they aren’t with friends or family. (Wei Ying should be family, could have been family, if only he, Lan Wangji, had been stronger, better, different – but it doesn’t do to think of that now). It hurts, and Lan Wangji is suddenly ashamed of himself as well. His chest is a knotted mass of guilt and worry and anger at these two young idiots for endangering themselves needlessly when they had adults they could rely on, adults that would listen.

            (He’d always tried to be better than his uncle, to listen to the children, even when the words they spoke made no sense to him, he always tried. But he knows Lan Qiren tried too. Lan Wangji wonders sometimes, on his darker days, if maybe Lans just aren’t built for love, if they’re missing some vital component. His brother loves everyone and everything so openly and so freely all his love slips out of him like water through a sieve, never to come back to him. Lan Qiren loves so miserly and so formally all of his love is trapped inside his body, bringing him nothing but pain. And Lan Wangji…well he’s always poured his love into a handful of other, better, people than he, but he never seems to do it right because they never seem to know that he’s here, tearing himself to pieces for love of them.)

            Wei Wuxian’s eyes are darting between them, this silent parody of a conversation, Chenqing lying still between his fingers, one thumb absently rubbing against the flute as if to soothe it or himself.

            “Let’s just find Jin Ling, alright?” Wei Wuxian says, voice softer than usual, “We’ll get him back to Jiang Cheng right away and everything will be fine.”

            The three Lans all nod miserably and follow Wei Wuxian as he guides them back to the path.

…

            “Hey,” Wei Wuxian says, bumping his shoulder into Jingyi’s, “What was all that about?”

            Jingyi cuts his gaze over to Wei Wuxian, “What?”

            “The little Lan stare-off back there. I haven’t seen that in years.”

            “You’ve seen it before?”

“You know I’ve known Lan Zhan since we were fifteen, right?”

            Jingyi stares at him for a very long moment. “…so? Sizhui was like, tiny when you died.” He suddenly blanches, “Oh, sorry, is that a bad thing to say? That was definitely a bad thing to say, I’m so sorry for bringing up your death, Senior Wei, sir, oh, wow, I just did it again.” He buries his face in his hands and groans. “I’m so tired. We’ve been chasing Jin Ling all day and I have no filter.”

            Wei Wuxian laughs and bumps his shoulder again, “It’s fine. Really,” he hums staring off into space, thinking about the good old days, “In my experience a Lan stare-off basically means two Lans have a lot of feelings but no way to express them so they just sort of stare at each other hoping the other absorbs the emotions somehow. And then they say something terse and walk away. It’s very confusing an uncomfortable.”

            Jingyi stares at him.

            Wei Wuxain narrows his eyes at him, “No. I refuse to get into a Lan stare-off with you. Unlike you people, I talk about my feelings.”

            Lan Wangji coughs lightly behind him.

            “Don’t you start, Lan Zhan!”

            “Wei Ying.”

            “Lan Zhan.”

            “Wei Ying.”

            “I give up!” Wei Wuxian throws his hands up in the air in defeat. Beside him, Jingyi looks very confused.

…

            A little behind them, Sizhui paces awkwardly beside his father and tries not to think about what Wei Wuxian said about ‘Lan stare-offs’.

            He is not successful.

            “I’m sorry,” he says softly, addressing his feet more than his adoptive father.

            Lan Wangji is silent, but Sizhui knows he’s listening.

            “I know we worried you. And we’ve probably worried Sect Leader Jiang. We were irresponsible and impulsive. We should not have behaved this way. I’ll accept any punishment you see fitting.”

            Beside him Lan Wangji makes a sound that might be considered a sigh in someone less refined. He stops, briefly. Sizhui draws up beside him, confused and uneasy. Lan Wangji’s profile is backlit by the afternoon sun, shadows catching on the furrow between his brows.

            “You sought to aid your friend,” Lan Wangji finally says, “That is admirable. The way you went about it was…ill-advised. I was angry because you disobeyed me and put yourself at risk. I never want anything to happen to you. I cannot always protect you.”

            Sizhui can feel the undercurrents in that statement, the words left unsaid. He grew up knowing his first adoptive father, his beloved Xian-gege, had died and that it was very tragic and that his new adoptive father had heavy, complicated feelings about that death. When he was old enough to take a courtesy name, Lan Wangji had taken him out onto the lake at Lotus Pier where they spent all day gathering lotus pods while Lan Wangji told him the story of Wei Wuxian.

            He had left certain details unsaid but Sizhui could fill in the blanks.

            “Father,” he considers his words, his tongue tangling itself trying to express feelings this big, this complex, “We’re family. We protect each other.”

            “You are my son.”

            “I know,” Sizhui doesn’t know how to express this, doesn’t have the words for it, but he has to try, “I’m sorry for calling you Hanguang-Jun back there. You were angry and I thought being respectful would help.” He sighs, raises his chin and looks at his father, “I’m not ashamed of going after Jin Ling. He’s my family and my responsibility is making sure he is safe and well. But I am sorry that I acted so rashly. And I am sorry to have shamed you.”

            Lan Wangji looks at him, gold eyes heavy and unreadable, “You are my son. You could never shame me. Disappoint me, yes. Shame me, never.”

            Sizhui gives in and rests his forehead against his father’s shoulder the way he would bump into him when he was seeking comfort as a child. Lan Wangji squeezes his shoulder once and just like that, they’re at peace again.

            “Come along. Wei Ying will find trouble unattended.”

            In the distant there’s a crash. Sizhui looks down the path, realizes they’ve lost sight of Wei Wuxian and Jingyi. “Or trouble will find him.”

…

            “The good news is,” Wei Wuxian chirps when the rest of the party reaches them, “We’ve found the man-eating castle. The bad news is, it’s definitely a haunted tomb, not a castle.”

            “Why are you so excited about this?” Jingyi complains.

            Wei Wuxian beams at him, “Adventure!”

            “Wei Ying.”

            “Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian practically chirps, bouncing towards the doorway, which stands open, gaping like the maw of some awful beast. “Come on, stop wasting time!”

            “We’re all going to die,” Jingyi intones, following Wei Wuxian.

            “Cheer up, Jingyi,” Sizhui tells his friend, “If we die, we won’t have to tell Sect Leader Jiang we lost his nephew.”

            “No one is dying,” Lan Wangji says sternly.

            Jingyi whimpers.

…

            The chamber full of coffins was creepy enough, in Jingyi’s opinion. But that just goes to show that if things seem bad, they can always get worse because next the tomb starts trying to eat them alive.

            Sizhui is shouting, Hanguang-Jun, who had already taken his zither out to attempt to communicate with whatever restless spirits dwell here, switches quickly from Inquiry to something much more aggressive, and Jingyi’s lost sight of Senior Wei, which cannot be good. Stones from the walls are flying, dust clogs the air and Jingyi can’t tell up from down. He’s trying to find Sizhui, he has to find Sizhui – when a dusty golden figure comes flying at him. He barely catches the body before hands are on his shoulders, shoving him through the chaos.

            “Go, go, GO!” Senior Wei bellows in his ear. “TAKE JIN LING AND GO!”

            Jingyi doesn’t have to be told twice, he clutches the bundle of filthy golden robes to his chest and lurches in the direction Senior Wei shoved him. He doesn’t know how long he’s staggering down corridors as the building tries to shake itself apart around him, but suddenly he’s out, sunlight replacing the dim torchlight, Jin Ling still clutched to his chest.

            Jingyi trips, falling to his knees and chucking Jin Ling down to sprawl, unconscious beside him. Someone must have been hot on his heels, because just as suddenly as Jin Ling was thrown into his arms, another body comes toppling out of the entrance, only to stumble over and on top of him.

            Jingyi groans around the strange knee in his stomach as a familiar voice makes it past the ringing in his ears to babble apologies.

            “Jingyi, Jingyi, I’m so sorry. We have to go, can you get up? Who’s that? Is that Jin Ling? You grab one arm, I’ll grab the other.” Sizhui isn’t normally this chatty, Jingyi thinks as he numbly does as he’s told. But that might have something to do with the fact that Jingyi isn’t responding and the tomb is still making dangerous noises behind them.

            They manage to get Jin Ling supported between them and shuffle away from the entrance, flopping down beneath a tree with none of the grace attributed to the Lan Sect and all of the exhaustion one feels after running for one’s life in a haunted tomb.

            Jin Ling flops between them, a dead weight, although the steady rise and fall of his chest is reassuring.

            Sizhui rolls his head over to meet Jingyi’s gaze. His face is smudged with dirt and grime, his forehead ribbon is crooked and there is moss in his hair. “Let’s not do that again.”

            Jingyi nods. He’s a little lost for words and his ears are still ringing slightly so he blurts out the first thing he thinks, “I’m so glad it wasn’t Hanguang-Jun who tripped over me back there.”

            Sizhui blinks at him, face going suddenly blank before his eyes scrunch up and near-hysterical giggles slip past his lips. He tries to keep it in, face twisting with the effort, but it’s too much for him and he’s laughing like a madman, covered in dirt, under a tree, his younger cousin passed out between the two of them. Their eyes meet and Jingyi starts laughing too, he can’t help it. Everything is just so much funnier when you’re not dead.

            “Can you imagine?” Sizhui whispers through deranged giggle-snorts, “Father tripping?”

            Jingyi chokes, “Hanguang-Jun kicking me in the stomach?”

            Sizhui wheezes, “He’d be so mortified.”

            “Him? What about me?” Jingyi demands, which only makes Sizhui laugh harder.

            “What are you two cackling about?” a new voice interrupts and it’s both their turns to choke, heads swiveling up to see and equally grimy Senior Wei grinning down at them, hair in utter disarray, face smeared with dust and dirt.

            “Nothing,” they chorus, seeing Lan Wangji, somehow looking tidy as ever, dusting himself off at the tomb entrance behind him.

            Senior Wei props both hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow.

            It’s just such a Wen Qing gesture Jingyi chokes on another laugh, catches Sizhui’s eyes and they start cackling all over again.

            Senior Wei throws both hands up in the air, “Lan Zhan, the children are mocking me!”

            “Mn.”

            “Don’t take that tone with me!”

            Jingyi’s laughter only increases in volume and hysteria.

            Wei Wuxian sighs and plops down on the ground in front of them, “Move over, let me take a look at your cousin,” he’s in the middle of saying when a flash of purple lighting lights of the clearing and they all stop to see a fuming Sect Leader Jiang descending from the sky.

            “Ooh,” Wei Wuxian hums, checking over Jin Ling for any injuries, “You’re all in trouble.”

            Jingyi sighs. Being a hero is such a pain.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 13: Warning Signs Like Butterflies

Six Years Previously…

            A-Qing is finally sleeping, curled up on the ground, using Yanli’s cloak as a blanket and Wen Qing’s bag as a pillow, when Yanli pulls her sister-in-law aside.

            “We need backup,” the first thing Wen Qing says, before Yanli can even open her mouth, “We’re not equipped to deal with something like this.”

            Yanli has a glint in her eyes that says nothing good for Wen Qing’s peace of mind. Everyone else may see Lady Jiang’s pleasant, self-effacing demeanor and assume that’s all there is to her, but Wen Qing knows better after all these years. The Jiangs are just like the rivers in their names – Jiang Cheng may be a rushing torrent, loud and rife with violent rapids most of the time, but Jiang Yanli is all smooth surface and powerful undertow. Her currents run deep but that doesn’t make them any less immovable.

            “No,” Wen Qing says preemptively. She’d thought her days of telling crazy people ‘no’ before they could voice their lunacy were over, but life, as usual, delights in proving her wrong.

            Yanli raises both eyebrows as if to say ‘What? Me? Have a crazy idea? Never.’

            Wen Qing clenches her jaw, “We can’t just rush off and fight a famous demonic cultivator.”

            “I never said anything about rushing,” Yanli says serenely.

            Wen Qing frowns, “You were thinking it.”

            “Never,” Yanli smiles, but it’s thin and watery. She’d spent an hour smoothing A-Qing’s hair and singing lullabies until the little girl finally fell into a restless sleep. She’s worn thin with carrying someone else’s pain.

            Just like Wei Wuxian before her.

            Wen Qing squashes the thought forcefully. Jiang Yanli is not another Wei Wuxian waiting to happen. For one thing, she has a modicum of sense.

            “We have to help her,” Yanli says. Her voice is utterly certain, there’s not a single speck of pleading. She’s made up her mind to do right by this child and she’ll do it – with or without Wen Qing’s input.

            Wen Qing isn’t sure what terrible thing she did in a previous life to deserve being saddled with this much misdirected nobility. “I know,” she acknowledges.

            “Can you call Wen Ning?” Yanli asks.

            Wen Qing presses her lips together and considers. She’d feel better about running off into danger if she had her brother at their backs. “Maybe. It’s a question of how to do so without alerting Xue Yang. Xiao Xingchen may be blind, but he’ll notice a flare.”

            Yanli massages her temple, nodding in agreement. “But, if we did have Wen Ning with us, do you think you can cure the people Xue Yang’s poisoned?”

            Wen Qing grimaces, “It won’t be pleasant, but…probably.”

            Yanli nods, considering. “If we had A-Ning with us, he and I could keep Xue Yang occupied so you can cleanse the infected people.”

            “You forgot two important factors,” Wen Qing says grimly, “One, we have a child with us, and two, Xue Yang has a brainwashed Xiao Xingchen on his side.”

            Yanli grimaces. “That’s…less than ideal.”

            Inspiration strikes, “Do you have any way to send one of those Jin butterfly messengers?”

            Yanli’s face brightens, “Yes, I could send one to Wen Ning.”

            “And send one out to find the nearest group on a night hunt,” Wen Qing suggests.

            Yanli frowns, “We don’t know who would intercept it, then.”

            Wen Qing shrugs, she doesn’t like every cultivator – to be honest, she doesn’t like a solid 70% of them – but needs must, “Backup is backup.”

            Yanli grimaces again but doesn’t argue the point. “I’ll send out the messengers.”

            “A-Ning should get here quickly,” Wen Qing says, “And if anyone’s nearby, they’ll respond.”

            Yanli nods and then says the absolutely insane thing Wen Qing had been anticipating her saying this entire conversation, “You stay with A-Qing. I’ll scout ahead.”

            Wen Qing stiffens, “Absolutely not.”

            “Don’t worry,” Yanli gives her a gentle smile. Wen Qing resists the urge to shake her, “I’ll be very careful.”

            Gods save Wen Qing from recklessly noble cultivators.

…

            The story Song Lan tells Jiang Cheng is an ugly one – a temple slaughtered, a vicious criminal long thought dead very much alive and on the loose, a relationship fractured by harsh words said in the heat of the moment.

            It feels too familiar for comfort in some ways.

            “I am sorry to hear about your family,” Jiang Cheng offers when Song Lan finally goes silent.

            Song Lan nods, “Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang.”

            “Jiang Wanyin is fine.” Jiang Cheng feels strange being referred to by title after the other man has essentially bared his soul to him. He can’t pay back Song Lan a truth for a truth, but he can at least try to bridge the gap between them.

            “I must find Xiao Xingchen,” Song Lan says with the same kind of utter conviction Jiang Cheng hears on the rare occasions Lan Wangji speaks of Wei Wuxian. “I must thank him. I must beg forgiveness. I must make sure he is alright.”

            “Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Jiang Cheng says, holding both hands up to keep the other man from standing up. He’s fairly certain if Song Lan tried to rush after Xiao Xingchen in this state he would collapse within an hour. “You’re not exactly full fighting strength right now.”

            “He gave me his eyes, Sect Leader Jiang –” apparently they’re still being formal, “I must find him. I was cruel, I was - ”

            “You were grieving you moron,” Jiang Cheng huffs. He’s tried being gentle but Song Lan is on the fast track to hyperventilating at this rate, “We all say things we don’t mean when we’re hurt.”

            “I blamed him. I told him their deaths were his fault, that their blood was on his hands, that if he hadn’t been so noble, so stupid,” there are tears gathering in Song Lan’s borrowed eyes, “I cursed his name. He gave me his eyes, I gave him nothing but – ”

            Jiang Cheng slaps a hand over the other man’s mouth, “Shut up.”

            Song Lan blinks teary eyes at him. It’s honestly a little embarrassing. Here Jiang Cheng is, a leader of a sect, a husband, a father, a grown-ass man, sitting in a ditch, watching one of his heroes struggling not to weep in the wake of a devastating tragedy, and he’s covering his mouth with a hand as if they were children sneaking around after dark. He’s honestly a little surprised when Song Lan doesn’t lick his palm the way Nie Huaisang would when they were skulking around Cloud Recesses without permission.

            “Are you going to take a deep breath and listen to me?” Jiang Cheng asks. Great, he’s using his dad-voice. Song Lan is going to hate him when he’s not having a panic attack.

            Song Lan takes a deep breath and blinks at him.

            “Another. Deep breath.”

            Song Lan does as he’s told.

            “Alright. Now listen to me.”

            Song Lan nods.

            “When I was seventeen my home was burned to the ground and my parents and fellow disciples murdered in front of me. I’ve been where you are. The only reason I survived was because of my brother. We were almost caught. He was out getting food and some soldiers almost spotted him, so I drew their attention. They capture me, they destroyed my core. And my brother, he…” Jiang Cheng swallows, he’s never spoken about this with someone outside of his family. He’d told Yanli after Wen Qing had told him and had never spoken of it again. He suspects Lan Wangji knows, but they don’t really speak about their respective Wei Wuxian-shaped scars. It’s both easier and harder than he expected. “He gave me his.”

            Song Lan’s eyes soften, fill with sympathy and Jiang Cheng has an unexpected moment of realization. He’d always thought soft-spoken, gentle Xiao Xingchen was the sweet one of the pair, always seeing the best of people, always giving more than he could afford to lose. But Song Lan is like that too, just quieter, less obvious.  They’re both too empathetic for their own damn good, in Jiang Cheng’s opinion.

            “I’ve been where you are. I have many, many regrets. But you cannot make things right at the expense of yourself. That’s just as much a betrayal of Xiao Xingchen’s sacrifice as if you’d ripped out the eyes he gave you and stomped on them. Understand?”

            Song Lan nods. Jiang Cheng tentatively pulls his hand off the other man’s face, but Song Lan doesn’t have anything more to say for the moment.

            “We’ll help you find Xiao Xingchen and we’ll give you a chance to make things right.” Jiang Cheng tells him.

            Song Lan stares at his hands, “Thank you, Jiang Wanyin.”

…

            Luo Qingyang, former member of the Jin Sect, current rogue cultivator, sometimes known as ‘MianMian’ among friends and particularly persistent acquaintances, is having a good day. She’s returning to her cottage, sword in hand after a particularly successful night hunt. The merchant caravan she protected from some particularly wily evil spirits was beyond grateful for her assistance, and the young trader traveling with them had been particularly enthusiastic, keeping her company, making her laugh and asking questions about her adventures for as long as their paths converged.

            She’d thought she was done with men after dealing with Jin Guangshan for so long, but this merchant with his warm eyes and gentle wit might just make her rethink her stance.

            She’s humming to herself, feeling light and carefree in a way she hasn’t since she was a teenager, when a golden butterfly tinted with purple light comes fluttering through the trees, bobbing up and down as if searching for something. It zeroes in on her, descending to hover right before her eyes.

            Luo Qingyang holds out a hand, letting the messenger alight on her palm. A vaguely familiar voice echoes from the messenger, asking for help from whatever cultivator receives this message.

            Luo Qingyang’s eyebrows shoot upward. She may no longer belong to Jin sect, she may have resigned her position there in utter disgust, but she still feels loyal to Jin Zixuan. He’d been her childhood best friend, her confidant and co-conspirator for so many years. That loyalty extends to his wife and son now too.

            She hasn’t seen Jiang Yanli in years, but there’s no question – she’ll answer the call.

…

            Jiang Cheng arrives at Lotus Pier, Song Lan in tow, in time to nearly run into Wen Ning as the other man rushes out.

            “Wen Ning?”

            His brother in law stiffens, looking as guilty as a fierce corpse can feasibly look. “Ah, hello Sect Leader.”

            Not this ‘Sect Leader’ garbage again. “Where are you going?”

            “Um. My sister sent a message. They found an injured civilian and need help, ah transporting her.”

            Jiang Cheng frowns at him. Wen Ning is a terrible liar, so the story is at least partially true. “The rest. Out with it, now.”

            Wen Ning slumps, “They need help hunting whatever hurt the civilian.”

            “Wen Ning – ”

            “JieJie and Jiang Yanli are very capable.”

            “That’s my wife and my sister in danger –”

            “And I’m helping; they’ll be fine.”

            “I’m going. You stay here.”

            “Please don’t.”

            Wen Ning looks absolutely miserable. He hates arguing with literally anyone. Jiang Cheng knows that. He probably shouldn’t use that knowledge to bully Wen Ning into doing what he tells him so often. It’s definitely unethical. But that’s his wife and his sister out there, dammit!

            “They need help. I’m help.”

            “You’re a purple ball of lighting and rage, sir.” If Wen Ning had blood flow, he probably would have blanched after that slip of the tongue.

            “Exactly. Helpful. Good at killing things.”

            Song Lan delicately looks away from their face-off and obviously tries to fade into the background as much as a tall man in all black can.

            “I think Jiang Yanli believes this requires…finesse.”

            “Finesse? Finesse?” Jiang Cheng demands, “YOU’RE A FIERCE CORPSE. YOU’RE THE OPPOSITE OF SUBTLE.”

            Wen Ning gives him a dry look at that outburst as if to say ‘ah, yes, and you’re the king of subtlety, I see’.

            Jiang Cheng glares. Wen Ning stares at him.

            “No, we aren’t going to do that stupid thing the Lans do,” Jiang Cheng huffs, “We will fight this out like normal people!”

            Wen Ning nods slowly. It’s a bit of a condescending nod for Wen Ning. Jiang Cheng suspects he’s been spending too much time with Lan Wangji.

            “Um. In that case, I’m just going to…” and with that he jumps into the air and surges away with all the preternatural speed of his undead body.

            Jiang Cheng swears a blue streak at his retreating back, then turns to Song Lan with a huff. “I hate when he does that.”

            “You could fly after him.”

            “No, someone needs to stay behind to look after the children.”

            Song Lan nods, wise enough not to comment as Jiang Cheng stomps back into Lotus Pier, only to be immediately tackled by three small children, all eager to tell him all about how Uncle Wen is off to fight bad guys.

…

            Yanli returns from scouting to find Luo Qingyang sitting at the campsite with Wen Qing and A-Qing.

            “MianMian,” she greets her warmly, saluting her and then offering a hug, which the other woman accepts with a look of slight surprise on her face.

            “Xue Yang escaped?” MianMian says incredulously when they break apart, “That rat bastard.”

            A-Qing grins, far too pleased to hear someone else cursing his name.

            “Don’t repeat that,” Yanli admonishes the girl in her best mother-knows-best voice.

            A-Qing’s grin widens, “I’d call him a fucking cowardly street-licking rat bastard son of a – ”

            Wen Qing slaps a hand over her mouth, “A-Qing.”

            MianMian laughs, “I like this little girl.”

            “You’ve said worse,” Yanli points out to a flushed and annoyed Wen Qing.

            “Medical emergencies don’t count!”

            “You and Jiang Cheng once competed to see who could come up with the foulest curse words – ”

            Wen Qing makes a strangled sound and throws a clump of dirt at her. Yanli laughs and dodges out of the way.

            They settle in around the little fire Wen Qing got started, the mood sobering as Yanli shares what she saw on her scouting trip.

            “I spotted them in the market nearby,” Yanli says, “He’s very careful to keep Xiao Xingchen within arm’s length.” She turns to A-Qing, “Xiao Xingchen was very concerned about you. He was asking every vendor if they’d seen a girl matching your description.”

            A-Qing sniffles a little, but her chin stays firm, “I knew he wouldn’t give up on me.”

            Yanli smiles at the girl sadly and continues, “He seems fairly harmless as long as Xiao Xingchen is around, he must be very invested in whatever game he’s playing.”

            “He’s playing some sort of long game to torment Xiao Xingchen,” MianMian says bluntly, “When he was imprisoned at Koi Tower Xiao Xingchen was all he’d talk about. He’s obsessed. With getting even or getting him, I don’t know.”

            “It sounds like a little of both,” Wen Qing says.

            MianMian and Yanli nod.

            “I was…” MianMian shivers, “No one ever wanted to be the one guarding his cell. He’d talk to you the whole time, and he’d say the worst things. And he’d twist anything you said to him around so that you started to believe you thought like him, that you were the same. And if that didn’t work, he’d threaten you with the worst things imaginable. It was awful.”

            Yanli reaches over and squeezes the other woman’s hand.

            “Why Jin Guangshan didn’t execute him, I’ll never understand,” MianMian says.

            “Because Jin Guangshan was scum,” Wen Qing says bluntly.

            MianMian blinks.

            “There’s very little love lost between the Burial Mound survivors and the Jin Sect,” Yanli says softly.

            MianMian nods, “Oh, I agree. I’m just not used to be people being so…honest about it.”

            Wen Qing snorts humorlessly.

            Yanli clears her throat, “There’s another thing –” she begins when a sudden crash interrupts her words. Both she and MianMian leap to their feet, hands on their swords, spinning to face the tree line where a dark shake is coming lumbering their way. Yanli braces herself for combat, expecting a fierce corpse, or even worse, on of Xue Yang’s sick experiments.

            She’s ready, waiting for whatever it is to come for them when the shadowy figure emerges from the trees, revealing itself to be…

            “Wen Ning!”

            “Hello, jie,” Wen Ning smiles as much as his stiff features allow.

            “That’s a fierce corpse,” MianMian says faintly.

            “Is there a problem?” Wen Qing growls.

            MianMian’s eyes light up, “I thought it was just an exaggeration! Wei Wuxian really managed to make it work. This is amazing!”

            Wen Qing relaxes a little at that.

            Wen Ning smiles at MianMian tentatively.

            Yanli claps her hands together, “And with everyone together, we can discuss the plan.”

            Wen Ning’s smile drops off his face, “Oh, do you not know about the pack of fierce corpses over that way?” he says, pointing off where he’d come from.

            Yanli smiles sweetly, “Precisely.”

            Wen Qing and MianMian trade glances. Something about that sweet smile is very unsettling.

…

            Once Wen Qing hears “the plan” she knows she was right to be unsettled by that smile. “You want us to chase the pack of poisoned civilians into that gorge,” she points to a spot on the makeshift map Yanli has drawn in the dirt.

            “It’s the perfect bottleneck,” MianMian admits, “They won’t be able to escape easily.”

            Yanli nods, “Exactly. We gather up all the people poisoned by Xue Yang. Wen Ning keeps them there, and Wen Qing works on a cure.”

            “A cure I don’t have yet!” Wen Qing protests, “Medicine isn’t magic!”

            “It’s sort of magic,” MianMian points out, “Most people don’t understand it and and it has somewhat miraculous results. That’s essentially magic.”

            Wen Qing growls, “That’s – I – ugh. You’re as bad as Wei Wuxian.”

            “It’s my plan,” Yanli says softly.

            Wen Qing glares at both of them, “You’re both as bad as Wei Wuxian. There, are you happy? You’re equally insane.”

            “You sound more like your husband every day, jie,” Wen Ning says softly.

            She thumps him on the shoulder, “He sounds like me, shut up.”

            MianMian interrupts, “I’m sorry, so if they’re taking care of the poisoned people – are we going after Xue Yang?” She looks to Yanli for confirmation, who shakes her head.

            “No, no, you’re keeping Xiao Xingchen busy. But don’t hurt him! We want him in one piece, but we don’t want him to accidentally hurt anyone either. I’ll take care of Xue Yang.”

            All three of them gape at her. A-Qing nods like this is a perfectly reasonable thing to say and not pure lunacy.

            Yanli blinks. “We can’t have A-Ning anywhere near Xue Yang, or he’ll send Xiao Xingchen after him. Xiao Xingchen can only sense resentful energy; he won’t know to leave Wen Ning alone. Wen Qing, you’re the only one with the knowledge to find a cure for the poisoned people, so you have to be there. Wen Ning can keep the cursed people from harming you. If Xue Yang is as clever as we think, he’ll have convinced Xiao Xingchen not to trust anyone but him, so we need someone to keep Xiao Xingchen distracted and away from Xue Yang. MianMian, you’re very good with words –”

            “I don’t know if I’m ‘breaking brainwashing’ good with words,” MianMian protests.

            “You kept A-Xuan out of trouble quite a bit at Cloud Recesses and I heard about how you talked Wen Chao out of punishing A-Xuan many times at the indoctrination.”

            MianMian flushes, “That was – that was just – ”

            Wen Qing elbows her, “You’re clever. Be proud of it.”

            MianMian smiles shly at that.

            Yanli claps, “So, that just leaves me to confront Xue Yang.”

            “That’s insane!” Wen Qing blurts out.

            “Are you sure you’re ready to for this, Lady Jiang?” MianMian says, much more tactfully.

            Wen Ning doesn’t say anything, but his expression speaks volumes.

            Yanli lifts her chin and stares them all down. “Xue Yang is behaving like a child. A cruel, manipulative child. He thinks the world owes him something, that he’s entitled, that he’s allowed to do anything to anyone just because he can. The truth is, the world owes none of us anything. We are what we make of ourselves. And he’d made himself a menace. I am more than capable to dealing with menaces when they present themselves. I am a Jiang of Yunmeng and we are not to be trifled with.”

            She stares at each of her companions in turn, chin raised, back straight, fierce and defiant as her mother before her.

            A-Qing says into the silence, “Hey, we might all die, but if we don’t this is going to be incredible.”

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: When Did All My Friends Become So Loud?

Present Day…

            “OF ALL THE RECKLESS, IRRESPONSIBLE, IDIOTIC, STUPID, DAMMABLE, HARE-BRAINED-”

            Wei Wuxian is honestly surprised Jiang Cheng hasn’t run out of adjectives yet. He’s got to be scraping the bottom of the vocabulary barrel now, but somehow he’s still going strong. His voice has deepened slightly from the way Wei Wuxian remembered it, or maybe Wei Wuxian has remembered it wrong. There was a time when his brother’s voice was burned into his brain, an unchanging constant. But the years before the Yiling Patriarch’s death had seen them pulling away from each other, one step at a time until they were separated by a chasm of secrets, trauma and distance until they were virtual strangers.

            Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what to think about this future, one where Jiang Cheng knows who he is and what he did and doesn’t hate him.

            Maybe Wen Qing was right all along. He should have told Jiang Cheng the truth all those years ago.

            Wei Wuxian’s hands are still on the unconscious Jin Ling. He can sense a darkness, an infection from the cursed tomb and he reaches for it automatically. His borrowed core flickers feebly at the touch of resentful energy and he forces down a shudder, biting his lip as his vision narrows down into the leg under his hands and the resentful energy coiled beneath the pale skin.

            Sizhui and Jingyi are standing, shoulder to shame-faced shoulder, taking their lecture like good little Lans. Normally, Wei Wuxian would intervene, make some jokes, re-direct Jiang Cheng’s ire in his direction, but he gets the feeling that Jiang Cheng needs to shout it out and the children could use a lecture or two after this nonsense. Plus, he can’t let go of Jin Ling.

            He can’t purify the infection, he realizes. His core’s too weak and his resentful energy would just feed the thing. So, he does the only reasonable thing. He draws it into his own body.

            It won’t kill him. He’s absorbed more demonic energy in less controlled environments, after all. And Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng are right there, and perfectly capable of saving him if things get out of control. Yes, he’s tired from the events of the last few days. And yes, this is probably stupid. But this is his nephew. His nephew who’s so much like his little brother, and Wei Wuxian has already proved he can’t help but sacrifice for Jiang Cheng.

            He reaches for the infection and pulls it into himself.

            It hurts.

            It burns.

            But he’s burned from the inside out before. He’s been cold and empty and scraped clean. He’s been torn to shreds and remade.

            But, son of a bitch, does this hurt.

            Jiang Cheng is still admonishing the students, but his words have gone fuzzy in Wei Wuxian’s ears, and his vision is narrowing to a bright, hazy point. He wonders where Lan Wangji is.

            Oh, right, he’s investigating the tomb.

            Right.

            Wei Wuxian wishes he was here.

            Jin Ling comes awake with a gasp and a choked cough. Wei Wuxian smiles to himself at that, but he doesn’t have much time to savor it, because that little pinprick his vision had narrowed to takes this moment to flicker out completely and he’s falling to the ground in a dead faint.

…

            Nie Huaisang is having an…interesting day. He’d sensed a disturbance at the Tomb of Swords and gone to investigate only to find not only his long-dead classmate but Lan Wangji and a trio of junior disciples making a scene.

            He’d known his schemes would bring chaos in their wake. One has to muddy the waters a bit before one can reveal secrets long buried in the silt.

            But, Nie Huaisang is not accustomed to this level of chaos in his day to day existence.

            He has to admit, he’s missed it.

            Jiang Cheng is shouting at a clump of shame-faced Lans, Lan Wangji is poking at the crumbled remains of a doorway, and Wei Wuxian (it’s Wei Wuxian, his scheme worked and he knows this is good, will be good, in the long run because someone has to stop Jin Guangyao before he decides everyone is his enemy and starts killing again in his systematic, careful way, but there’s something twisting painfully in Nie Huaisang’s chest when he sees Wei Wuxian’s new face and remembers a skinny, hopeless, heartbroken boy he couldn’t save. A boy named Mo Xuanyu), Wei Wuxian kneels in front of a boy in gold and yellow, who must be little Jin Rulan. It’s been a few years since Nie Huaisang interacted with his friends’ children. He’d withdrawn from the world after his brother’s death, had retreated to Qinghe to mop up the mess, lick his wounds, and plot his revenge.

            Listening to Jiang Cheng’s tirade reminds him how much he missed his old friend.

            He’s about to call out a greeting when maybe-Jin-Rulan jerks awake with a wheeze, and Wei Wuxian sways and collapses.

            Fuck. FuckfuckfuckFUCK. Nie Huaisang did not put all this effort into making sure his old schoolmate returned from the dead just for the spell to give out at the eleventh hour.

            Heedless of making a dramatic entrance, Nie Huaisang darts out from the trees, catching Wei Wuxian by the shoulders and propping him up. He’s still warm to the touch, and a heartbeat flickers in his throat, but Nie Huaisang is not reassured.

            “Are you alright?” Nie Huaisang asks, careful, so very careful not to let on that he knows exactly who Wei Wuxian is.

            Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng, apparently, have no such compunctions. They’re either extremely unsubtle or trust him. Or, of course, they just don’t see him as a threat, which is more likely.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji…cries? Gasps? The edge of devastation, fury, and buried grief color his simple words in thick swathes of suppressed emotion. There’s so many layers to everything Lan Wangji says. Nie Huaisang could always appreciate why Wei Wuxian enjoyed the other boy’s company when they were in school. Wei Wuxian’s twisty, complex mind reveled in the way Lan Wangji’s subtexts had subtexts, even as his surface thoughts threw up their hands and gave up in a huff.

            Jiang Cheng’s eyes rip away from the two boys he’d been scowling at to pin his brother with his stare. His eyes widen and he surges forward, coming to an awkward stop at Nie Huaisang’s side. “You stupid shithead, what did you do?” Jiang Cheng snarls at his brother’s slack face.

            Lan Wangji, silent as a ghost, appears on Nie Huaisang’s other side, a hand dropping to Wei Wuxian’s face, tracing the delicate line of his brow, the glow of spiritual power following in its wake.

            “He drew it into himself.”

            “He did what?” Jiang Cheng snarls.

            “What’s happening?” Jin Rulan blurts and Nie Huaisang doesn’t know how to respond, but Jiang Cheng takes it out of his hands.

            “Your uncle did something stupid.”

            Lan Wangji bends down and just…picks up Wei Wuxian as if he weighs nothing. “Jin Ling was poisoned by the tomb. Wei Ying took the poison into himself. He needs purification.”

            The baby Lans are hovering at their senior’s sides.

            “Will he be alright?” one of them asks, a hand coming up to clutch Lan Wangji’s sleeve tightly. Ah, this must be his adoptive son, Lan Sizhui.

            “Yes,” Lan Wangji says tersely. He then pins Nie Huaisang with his unnerving golden stare, “Take us to your stronghold.”

            Nie Huaisang nods mutely.

            Jiang Cheng growls and scowls at all of them. “You’re all still in trouble.”

…

            “What was that place?” Jiang Cheng asks bluntly as the three still-conscious adults sip tea in Nie Huaisang’s study. Wei Wuxian sleeps off his purification peacefully on the low couch behind Nie Huaisang. The Nie Sect Leader is already regretting sitting here. Lan Wangjis’ eyes have not left Wei Wuxian since he was healed and even though Nie Huaisang knows Lan Wangji isn’t staring him down, it feels very much like being called in for a lecture from Lan Qiren but a thousand times worse.

            Nie Huaisang blows on his tea and takes a sip, weighing how much to tell them. He buys time by taking another sip of tea. Lan Wangji continues to stare over his shoulder without blinking. It’s…extremely unnerving.

            “How much do you both know about Nie cultivation?” Nie Huaisang finally hedges. He ends up explaining their use of resentful saber spirits, their resulting predisposition to qi deviation, how he keeps curious people away from the tomb by sowing tales of horrific deaths and a haunted castle.

            Lan Wangji nods once. Jiang Cheng scowls, although that could just be his face. Nie Huaisang takes another sip of his tea and wonders how many dots they will connect without prompting.

            “The cursed arm is a Nie cultivator,” Lan Wangji finally concludes.

            Nie Huaisang widens his eyes and flutters his fan, projecting an aura of ‘harmless and confused’. “What arm?”

            Lan Wangji looks away, eyes still fixed on Wei Wuxian, but clearly deep in thought. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes at being left to explain but gives Nie Huaisang a rough outline of their last few days spent chasing a cursed arm, fighting a flying head, and nearly being swallowed by the Tomb. It’s liberally interspersed with grumbling complaints about the impetuous teenagers with their group, because apparently Jiang Cheng has a very selective memory when it comes to their own youthful exploits.

            Nie Huaisang waves his fan and makes appropriate gasps and “oh dear”s when appropriate.

            Jiang Cheng’s tale winds down and Lan Wangji blinks once before refocusing on the conversation. “Xue Yang is part of this.”

            Jiang Cheng makes a choking, chuffing sound like a horse startled when its rider sends it into a sharp turn. “What?”

            Lan Wangji tilts his head slightly, contemplative, “The head was his handiwork. The arm is apparently whatever is left of a Nie cultivator. He is connected somehow. If we investigate, we may find evidence of who this victim was and how he died.”

            Nie Huaisang likes where this is going very, very much, but he has to give them one more little push, just to make sure they continue going in the right direction. Pressing his mouth into a curious little moue of distress he fans his face and says, “You mentioned the head being Jin Zixun. Didn’t the rest of his body go missing?”

            “Yes,” Lan Wangji confirms, a little line between his eyebrows.

            He never got to take revenge for what happened to Wei Wuxian, did he? Nie Huaisang had grieved for his friend, had been willing to back Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan if they demanded Jin Zixun’s head on a silver platter, but he hadn’t understood the burning need to destroy the person who engineered the end of your family and your world until he lost his brother. The one constant in his life, gone in the most painful, degrading, dishonorable way imaginable just because Jin Guangyao got it into his head that da-ge was a threat.

            Nie Huaisang fans himself slowly, like he’s thinking. Admittedly, he’s always thinking, but sometimes you have to make it obvious. He grimaces as if this is an admission, “Da-ge’s body went missing soon after his death.”

            Jiang Cheng chokes, “And no one went looking for it???”

            Nie Huaisang shoots him a withering look, “Of course we did.”

            Jiang Cheng huffs, “You’d think it would have turned up in that case!”

            Nie Huaisang gives him a flat look, “One would expect Jin Zixun’s body would have appeared before now, too, and yet.”

            Lan Wangji is ignoring them, as usual. “Madame Luo lives nearby, yes?”

            Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng exchange looks, “Yes?” Nie Huaisang offers.

            Lan Wangji nods, “Good. She will know about the hunt for Xue Yang. I will ask her to escort me to his burial site.”

            “What about me?” Jiang Cheng demands, “Bad things always happen to you when you go off on your own. Wei Wuxian will have my head if I let you charge off and die!”

            Lan Wangji frowns, “Wei Ying…”

            “At least take the idiot with you,” Jiang Cheng suggests.

            “He should return to Lotus Pier with the children,” Lan Wangji says.

            Jiang Cheng scoffs, “You really think that will work? He’ll do exactly what they just did!”

            “You could accompany them.”

            “Because that worked so well the last time.”

            “Perhaps –” Nie Huaisang tries to interject.

            “You were inattentive. You will not be this time.”

            “I WAS WHAT?”

            Of course, that’s when Wei Wuxian groans and they both shut up and all three of them, Nie Huaisang included, stare at him. Well, Lan Wangji was always staring at him.

Wei Wuxian sits up, rubbing his face and blinking. He scans the room, looking a rumpled mess. Lan Wangji is practically vibrating in place, choking back the temptation to rush to the other man’s side, most likely. Nie Huaisang isn’t sure why he bothers fighting the impulse. People are so strange.

When Wei Wuxian’s grey eyes (still grey, and somehow so different with someone else’s light behind them than they had in Mo Xuanyu’s face. Nie Huaisang hadn’t known the boy long or well, and it is a great, shattering regret of his that he hadn’t been able to save him. That Mo Xuanyu had been the one to find Nie Huaisang’s notes about summoning Wei Wuxian, that the little fool had decided sacrificing his own body for revenge was the route to take. Nie Huaisang wanted Wei Wuxian back, needed him to catch his brother’s murderer, but he will always carry the Mo Xuanyu-shaped price) land on Nie Huaisang he frowns a little, as if trying to figure out what he’s doing here. Of course, Wei Wuxian’s eyes slide away to land on Lan Wangji’s face and all the tension (probably from waking up in a strange place, to be fair) bleeds out of him all at once.

“Lan Zhan,” he smiles tiredly, entire face going soft as if nothing bad can happen, because Lan Wangji is here. Really, this is ridiculous. “What happened? Why is Nie Huaisang here?”

“Rude,” Nie Huaisang puffs out his cheeks childishly like he would when they were young, “I live here.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, head tipping to the side like a curious bird. “Then why are we in Nie Huaisang’s house?”

            Jiang Cheng can no longer contain his outburst, “BECAUSE YOU NEARLY DIED YOU DUMB BASTARD.”

            Wei Wuxian pouts, looking rumpled and tired and young, “My parents were happily married, thank you.”

            Jiang Cheng growls.

            Wei Wuxian brightens, “Brother Nie, you can explain what’s going on with the sword tomb!” he goes to clamber off the couch, only to stagger. Lan Wangji is across the room in half a blink, catching him in his arms and re-seating him on the couch, tucking Wei Wuxian’s messy hair out of his face.

            “Rest, Wei Ying.”

            Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes extravagantly, “You just like showing off, Lan Zhan. We all know you can pick me up. It’s not impressive.”

            Lan Wangji’s face is a study in long-suffering.

            Wei Wuxian grins and elbows him, “I’m kidding, Lan Zhan. You should smile more.”

            Lan Wangji sighs through his nose. He looks very, very tired.

            Wei Wuxian, completely ignoring the weird tension in the room, leans on Lan Wangji’s shoulder and yawns. “So, what’s going on?”

            Jiang Cheng groans and sets about catching his brother up on all they’ve discussed.

…

            Ultimately, Nie Huaisang gets so sick of Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng’s bickering (not that the Second Jade of Lan stoops to ‘bickering’ per se, more frosty, monosyllabic snippiness that slowly winds Jiang Cheng up more and more until the other man explodes, which is not better) that he offers to personally escort the juniors back to Lotus Pier himself. They all stare at him dumbly until Wei Wuxian laughs, clapping and saying “That’s perfect!”

            Jiang Cheng frowns at him, “Why?”

            Wei Wuxian shoots him a sunny smile, “Because Brother Nie will have all three of them wrapped around his little finger in an hour or less.”

            Nie Huaisang hides his pleased smile behind his fan. Wei Wuxian may be dense when it comes to other people’s feelings towards him but he was almost as good as Mingjue at seeing straight through him.

            Jiang Cheng’s jaw works, but he finally accepts this undeniable truth, “You’re right.”

            Lan Wangji nods gracefully. “Acceptable.”

            Nie Huaisang flutters his fan a little, “But Jiang Cheng, don’t you need to return to Lotus Pier to prepare for the Cultivation Conference at Lanling?”

            Jiang Cheng shrugs, “Ah, no. No, it’s fine.”

            “But it’s very soon- ”

            “My wife and sister have it handled.”

            “But – ”

            “Jiang Cheng is afraid ~” Wei Wuxian sing-songs, head still resting on Lan Wangji’s shoulder. And Lan Wangji is allowing it. Which just goes to show that Wei Wuxian is very, very dense when it comes to his relationship with Hanguang-Jun.

            “I am not!” Jiang Cheng huffs.

            “You don’t want to tell shijie and Wen Qing you managed to lose the children.”

            “They were fine!”

            “No thanks to yooou,” Wei Wuxian hums.

            “I hate you so much.”

            “Lan Zhan, my brother is bullying me again!”

            “You can always come with us, Sect Leader Jiang and check in at Lotus Pier.” Nie Huaisang needles him lightly.

            Jiang Cheng drops his forehead to the table in defeat.

…

            Jiang Cheng ultimately does not come with them to Lotus Pier, mostly because he refuses to let his brother out of his sight after the scare at the tomb. Nie Huaisang likes to interpret this as Jiang Cheng trusting him to keep his nephews and Lan Jingyi safe. He knows it’s probably more along the lines of Jiang Cheng believing the juniors will take one look at the ‘soft’, ‘gentle’, ‘helpless’ Nie Sect Leader and decide it’s their sworn duty to protect him from all harm and minor inconvenience. Nie Huaisang will not disabuse him of this notion.

            In the entrance hall, where Jiang Cheng is lecturing Jin Ling, and the Lans are saying very respectful and Lan-like goodbyes to Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian pulls Nie Huaisang aside.

            “I’m sorry about Nie Mingjue,” he says.

            It’s strange. Nie Huaisang heard many, many condolences after his brother’s death. Lan Xichen had been utterly devastated at Mingjue’s loss, and had made it his mission to make sure Nie Huaisang wanted for nothing in the days that followed. They’d grieved together, but always with the shadow of Jin Guangyao behind them. Always so solemn, always so collected, so poised and perfect in his performance of sadness. And that was what made Nie Huaisang look further, dig deeper. How perfect Jin Guangyao’s solemnity was.

            It had been Lan Xichen who inadvertently pointed it out. He’d said, sitting next to Nie Huaisang on a quiet (too quiet, always too quiet without Mingjue’s booming presence) evening, “I don’t think it’s real to A-Yao yet.”

            “Why?” Nie Huaisang had asked, “What makes you say that?”

            Lan Xichen had paused, contemplative, “I’ve seen a great deal of grief, A-Sang. My father, my mother, my brother, my uncle…we’ve all lost so much.”

            “In the war?” Nie Huaisang had never realized how little he knew about the Lan brothers until that moment.

            “In the war, before the war, after the war,” Lan Xichen took a sip of tea. “Grief, loss, it comes and goes in waves. You go about your day and you forget your life has a hole in it now until you accidentally reach for something, only to realize it’s gone and isn’t coming back. You get used to it, you think about something else for a few moments, only to remind yourself you’re missing something vital and then you’re realizing the immensity of your loss all over again. Suddenly a door you could always open is nailed shut, or has disappeared as if it were never there, and you’re lost in your own home.”

            “What does that have to do with Jin Guangyao?”

            Lan Xichen shook his head, “I don’t think Jin Guangyao has realized the loss yet. His sadness is the uniform sadness of missing someone when you assume that they’ll be back again. Not the intermittent confusion of true grief.”

            Here, now, faced with Wei Wuxian’s honest and genuine face, big gray eyes simply…sorry for his loss, wanting to provide comfort, Nie Huaisang doesn’t know what to do. He’s been living a smoke and mirrors life for what feels like eons now.

            And smoke and mirrors people don’t have true friends.

            Nie Huaisang wants a friend.

            Nie Huaisang wants to be real.

            So, he hugs Wei Wuxian and says, “Thank you, brother.”

            Wei Wuxian squeezes him back, “That’s what friends are for.”

…

            “What was that about?” Jiang Cheng asks as the three of them leave the Nie stronghold behind.

            Wei Wuxian, who had been whistling to himself, looks back at him, “What?”

            “You hugged Nie Huaisang.”

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “He’s my friend. And he’s sad. You can see it when you look at him. He’s lonely. So, hugs.”

            Lan Wangji tilts his head slightly as if completely puzzled by how Wei Wuxian’s mind works.

            Wei Wuxian laughs at the two of them, “You’re both so weird.”

            Lan Wangji blinks, “Do you always…hug people? When they are lonely?”

            Wei Wuxain shakes his head, ponytail bouncing jauntily, “Nope. That’s a case by case basis thing. You would have ripped my arms off if I tried to hug you when we were kids, after all. So, I just tried to annoy you into being my friend instead. Did it work?”

            Lan Wangji looks utterly poleaxed.

            Jiang Cheng decides to break the tension the only way he knows how, he grabs Wei Wuxian by the back of the collar and pushes him forward, “Less being weird, more walking. We have to find Madame Luo so we can get moving on investigating Xue Yang. We’re on a time limit here, idiot. I have to be back in Lanling for the stupid conference soon.”

            Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out and rolls his eyes, skipping ahead as soon as Jiang Cheng lets go.

            “He’s such a fucking weirdo,” Jiang Cheng grumbles. He cuts a glance at Lan Wangji, who is staring pensively after Wei Wuxian, “Just ask him for a damn hug if you really want one. I swear, you two are driving me to drink.”

            They carry on to Luo Qingyang’s house.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 15: Bloodstain, bet it Tastes Like Me

Six Years Previously…

            She is on the ground and she can taste blood and dirt in her mouth and a man is laughing somewhere above her. Her hand is still wrapped around her sword. She spits and bares bloodied teeth at him. He laughs and tries to kick at her, but she rolls away from his foot and onto her knees. He overbalances and she slams the hilt of his sword into his nose as he tips forward. He rears back with a cry, shrieking obscenities at her, calling her nasty, horrible things and she does not care.

            She’s on her feet again and slashing at him, but he slams a wall of power into her torso, flinging her backwards. She doesn’t fall to the ground again, but it is a close thing. She drops to one knee, driving the point of her sword into the earth to keep herself planted. He’s whistling some childish tune to himself.  A nursery rhyme in a sinister minor key.

            She always hated this song.

            She’s on her feet again and they’re circling like rival predators, but he’s looking at her like he thinks she’s prey. His eyes drag down her slender body and she feels the sick slide of them and spits out more blood and dirt on the ground between them.

            He reels back, looking affronted that she could be so uncouth.

            He says something clever. She doesn’t dignify it with a response.

            He pouts, looks childish, teases her, a cocky lilt to his voice.

            She does not respond.

            His face crumples, refolds itself into something dark, twisted, anger burning all out of proportion.

            She isn’t playing along, you see. He hates that. He wants her to play along. He wants her to do the dance he’s scripted for her, and she will not, and he cannot abide the thought that she might not allow his scene to unfold just so.

            She spins her sword in an elaborate, unnecessary arc, just to feel the steel sing. He snarls like a feral creature and she is both afraid of him and disgusted by what a pitiable creature he is.

            He lunges at her, sword snaking through the air like silver fire, but her blade is the river and fire will always lose to water. She bends around his blow, using his momentum against him again, slipping behind him and slashing at his newly exposed back. He spins at the last moment and slaps her blade away with his, but his footwork is poor, his stance is weak, and he stumbles, swearing at her again.

            She slips out of his range again and readies her blade.

…

            Wen Qing is getting very tired of corpses. Or almost-corpses. Human zombies. Whatever their designation is in the sliding scale of ‘is it alive or is it dead?’ these creatures are a massive headache shambling around on two legs. She’d created an array to keep them contained and Wen Ning is doing his level best to herd them into it, but she’s starting to suspect the undead or mostly-dead are not really designed with herding in mind.

            “We’ve got a runner!” A-Qing, perched safely in a tree, out of the range of the shambling creatures, calls. Wen Qing had surrounded the array where Wen Ning was driving the corpses with a spiritual tripwire of sorts, modeled on Wei Wuxian’s old ‘binding’ talisman. She’d handed the ends to A-Qing and told her to call out if she felt anything activate it.

            She’s been calling out every minute or so for the last hour.

            Wen Ning is lucky he doesn’t get tired.

            Wen Qing, on the other hand, is running on fumes and stubbornness.

            Her brother leaps into action, tackling the escapee to the ground and bringing them back into the fold.

            “How long until the cure is ready?” Wen Ning asks.

            Wen Qing shoves hair out of her eyes, the steam from the pot she’s brought to a rolling boil over and improvised fire making little bits pull free from her updo and stick to her forehead.  “I don’t know,” she snaps. She knows how to handle corpse dust poisoning – ludicrously spicy food is the easiest home remedy there. And she knows how to handle large-scale purifications, but what she needs here is some kind of happy medium between the two. A large-scale purification would most likely kill the villagers, as the vessels for the resentful energy, while all the chili oil in the world won’t be enough to completely cure them.

            She wishes she had Xue Yang’s notes. Reverse engineering it would be best.

            For now, she has a hunch and some tinctures.

            “Try throwing this on them,” she suggests, ladling some of her concoction into a bowl.

            “Throwing…?” Wen Ning says uncertainly.

            “Trial and error, A-Ning! Trial and error!”

            Wen Ning shoots her another wide-eyed look before rushing to comply.

            “Another one!” A-Qing yells from her tree.

            Wen Qing growls under her breath and gets back to work.

…

            Their swords twist and tangle over and over again as they clash. He likes to run away, laughing like a child, only to skulk in the shadows and attempt to ambush her if she rushes after him. The only way to avoid falling into his trap is to follow at a leisurely pace, waiting for him to get impatient and pounce while she’s still ready for him.

            Her immunity to his taunts and his games is slowly driving him mad, if he wasn’t already. Her refusal to speak back, her blank, unimpressed stare has him slowly coming unglued.

            He slashes at her and she parries, but he’s not done, he comes back with a second strike, not a feint this time, and engages her sword while flinging a talisman at her other side. She staggers as an invisible force hammers into her body. Sweat drips into her eyes and he lunges for her as she struggles to regain her balance.

            Her footing is solid, though and she ducks, slamming a shoulder into his stomach. Air rushes out of his lungs, but he still brings his sword up to drive the hilt into the back of her head.

            She sees stars and her feet falter. He laughs and kicks dust into her eyes. She shoves away, trying to reorient herself as the world tilts of its axis. He sweeps in for the kill, but she sidesteps, batting his sword away.

            He’s not as good a swordsman as he thinks he is, but she’s still reeling and he’s rabid with rage. He lunges at her again, sword up.

…

            Xiao Xingchen was searching for A-Qing, and the sight makes MianMian’s heart squeeze. She introduces herself, takes his arm, offers to help, knowing she’s at least partially deceiving him.

            She hadn’t expected doing the right thing to make her feel so dirty.

            She knows she has to get this kind, lovely man away from Xue Yang. She knows Xue Yang is willing to murder innocents and blind little girls and the thought of him anywhere near Xiao Xingchen makes her burn with rage.

            But.

            But Xiao Xingchen speaks of him as if he were a precious friend. He tells her of their travels together, and says he’s so proud of all the progress Xue Yang has made. He says the younger man might make a noble cultivator someday.

            He’s proud of a lie.

            It still makes MianMian a little sick to think that she’s aiding and abetting in a murder. Not the murder of Xue Yang, not the real one. If Yanli can, she’ll capture him and bring him to Lotus Pier for justice. If not, she’ll take care of him (MianMian has to believe that Yanli is strong enough and smart enough not to fall to his blade). MianMian fought a war. She’s seen rough, battlefield justice, deserved and undeserved.

            But she feels sick at the thought that they’re murdering the Xue Yang this man thinks he knows. The Xue Yang who was young and confused and scared and lashed out, but who is now working hard, trying his best, redeemed and redeemable.

            She listens and she talks and she distracts Xiao Xingchen and she wishes they lived in the world he thinks he lives in.

…

            “Xue Yang.”

            “Who are you?”

            “I am Jiang Yanli of Lotus Pier.”

            “Why do I care?”

            “Why are doing this? Why are poisoning these people? Why are you using Xiao Xingchen to kill them? What’s the point?”

            “The point is, pretty little lotus lady, is that I can. I can make Xingchen like me. He’ll have to understand me then. We’ll be a matched set of monsters then.”

            “Why?”

            “Why what?”

            “Why all these people? Why murder them?”

            “Because that’s what makes power, pretty lady. They’d spit on me, stomp on me, snap all my fingers off of me if they could. One man did. I killed him. But they can’t. Not anymore. I could make them into corpses and have Xingchen kill them all while I watched so I did.”

            “…”

            “Aww, did I make you sad, little lotus lady?”

            “No.”

            “Will you fight me with that sword, then? Be a champion of ‘justice’ and ‘goodness’ and all those silly things people who’ve never had to struggle, to fight, to survive – ”

            “Just stop.”

            “What?”

            “Stop trying to justify yourself. You’re a child killing ants because he can. It’s sad and pointless and has nothing to do with whatever excuses you’ve made about how the world works or what it owes you. So just…stop.”

            “No.”

            “Very well.”

            The fight begins.

…

            “I have it,” Wen Qing says. Sweat pours down her back. He hair is half undone as she strains her spiritual powers to their absolute limit. Wen Ning can only do so much to keep the walking corpses contained. He has no core of his own, no spiritual energy. He’s a conduit for resentful energy, but he’s never mastered using it himself. The barrier, the array, the experimental cures are all coming from Wen Qing.

            She hasn’t felt this drained since giving birth.

            At least she’s not in agony this time. Although having her husband around would be nice.

            She shunts those thoughts aside and tells Wen Ning “You’re going to have to force-feed them.”

            He brother gives her a look that can only be described as ‘pained’.

            “They can’t kill you.”

            “They can bite me.”

            “You don’t feel pain.”

            “Not very well, at least.”

            “Just dose them, already.”

…

            She’s thrown to the ground again, and this time he stomps on her wrist and she hears something crack, her fingers spasming against her will as his boot comes down on her hand again.

            “What would you do without a pinkie finger?” he sing-songs at her, “we could be a matched set too, you know. Like me and Xingchen.”

            She doesn’t argue with him. It’s pointless. She’s not her brothers, she doesn’t need to fill the silence. She can let the silence speak for her. Right now she’s staring into his manic, dark eyes and she’s very sad for the lonely, tormented little boy he used to be. He kicks her ribs and they groan too. She rolls, scrambles away even as he kicks her sword out of her reach. It’s the final act. The sun was high in the sky but now it’s sinking, staining the whole world gold around them.

            Gold. Jin Zixuan and his ridiculous gold everything. She thinks of her husband and his aristocratic features screwing up in confusion, brows furrowed in concentration as she tries to teach him to slice lotus root.

            For all his skill with a sword, he’s no natural talent in the kitchen.

            She’d laughed and taken his hands in hers, guiding him through the unfamiliar motions and complimenting him when he does something right.

            Her enemy is teasing her, taunting her with the tip of his sword, flicking it in towards her face and away again. She’s sitting up now, legs pulled towards her chest, feet on the ground. The man laughs and his sword flits in, slipping through the skin of her cheek and leaving a thin trail of red, red blood in its wake. He sword is out of reach and she should be afraid, the man tells her so.

            Her sword far away. A wall behind her as she scrambles out of reach. A man and a sword eating up the view in front of her.

            An ending.

            She looks into his eyes. They’re fever-bright and his smile is distorting his face horribly.

            “I feel very sad for you,” she tells him, “But not for reasons you would understand.”

            His smile slips, face twitching as if he’s trying to figure out what to feel about that, what to do with it, how to process the words she is speaking. In that moment she rolls to her feet and, using her off hand, draws her husband’s sword from the sheathe at her back.

            Golden light flashes against ivory and filigree as Yanli drives Jin Zixuan’s sword into Xue Yang’s chest.

            He looks young and mean and surprised when he dies.

            Blood on her hands, blood on her face, body a massive, aching bruise, Yanli kneels beside a murderer’s cooling body and cries for the boy he used to be.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 16: They Call Me a Menace, They Say That I’m Cursed

Present…

            “We have to go with him.”

            “No, we damn well do not!”
            “He’s our senior, and a sect leader!”

            “He’s…him!” Jin Ling gestures exasperatedly at Nie Huaisang, who is listening to the juniors’ little snit with a tiny, mysterious smile hidden behind his ever-present decorative fan. Lan Sizhui stands beside him, looking utterly mortified by his companions’ poor manners.

            “Jingyi, Jin Ling, that’s enough,” Sizhui begins to reprimand them, only for Nie Huaisang to hold up a hand.

            “No, no, don’t worry about it, Lan Sizhui. We’ll just go ahead. They’ll catch up.” And with that, he turns and heads into the forest, off in the direction of the Tomb of Swords.

            “Sect Leader –” Sizhui begins to call after him, only to stop without finishing his sentence and begin tromping determinedly behind him.

            Sizhui catches up quickly, the sect leader is not rushing by any means.

            “Hello again,” Nie Huaisang says pleasantly, as if they’d been separated far longer than a few seconds, “Will your friends be joining us?”

            “If they know what’s good for them, they will,” Sizhui says serenely.

            Nie Huaisang smiles to himself and begins to count in his head.

            Three…two…one…

            “Where’s Sizhui?”

            “Sizhui? Sizhui???”
            “Where’s Sect Leader Nie?”

            “…”

            “…”

            “Dammit.”

            Two much louder sets of footsteps sound behind them as the other two scramble to catch up.

            “For the record,” Jin Ling puffs when he reaches them, “I still think going back to that damn tomb is a bad idea.”

            “Maybe for you,” Nie Huaisang says, “You were the one foolish enough to go inside when you knew it was haunted.”

            Jin Ling can’t really argue with that, so he just makes a noise like a grumpy kitten and subsides.

Oh, Nie Huaisang can see why Wei Wuxian likes children so much.

“Sect Leader Nie,” Lan Sizhui asks respectfully. He might be Nie Huaisang’s favorite. All the mild pleasantness of Lan Xichen on the surface, with all the bullheaded stubbornness of Lan Wangji and the reckless genius of Wei Wuxian underneath. Delightful. “Sect Leader Nie, why are we going back to the Tomb of Swords?”

Nie Huaisang hums to himself, “I sensed something when we were last there.”

“Something other than evil architecture?” Lan Jingyi grumbles.

Nie Huaisang swats him with his folded fan, “The Tomb of Swords isn’t evil. It’s just grumpy and a little mean.”

“It tried to eat Jin Ling.”

“Grumpy and a little mean.”

“It tried to flatten us!”

“You woke it up. You really shouldn’t go poking around places that might be upset. Never do overtly do anything upsetting. Save that for when no one is looking,” Nie Huaisang instructs, feeling a little proud of that pithy bit of wisdom.

“Seems sort of cowardly,” Jin Ling criticizes, “My uncle always says it’s honorable to declare yourself and take a stand for something.”

“Your uncle can do that because he’s strong,” Nie Huaisang says simply, “That’s a priviledge of the powerful. They have a chance to fight back from a place of strength. It’s not cowardly to take shelter and wait to strike when you know you wouldn’t be able to withstand staying in the open.”

Jin Ling scowls, “You have to be willing to take a risk. You have to stand for something. That’s part of being honorable.”

“What do you stand for then?” Nie Huaisang asks.

Jin Ling’s frown deepens, “I don’t know yet.”

“I think,” Sizhui muses, “That there are different sorts of strength. As a walking corpse my uncle Wen Ning can flatten buildings and tear through armies, but that’s not being strong. That’s being out of control. That’s just mindless destruction. For him, holding his power back enough to be gentle, to not break things, is strength. And Father, he’s seen so much pain in his life. It would be so easy to give up, to just leave everyone to fend for themselves, especially when they call him heartless and cold and say Senior Wei was a demon. For him strength is fighting for a happier, safer world, instead of giving up on it.” He swallows, looking suddenly a little uncomfortable with everything he’s blurted out. Nie Huaisang doesn’t think he’s ever heard the boy speak this much in one go. “Senior Wei told me that he wasn’t strong when he was the Yiling Patriarch. He was destructive, but that wasn’t being strong. Strength is enduring despite terrible things happening to you. It’s the narrow, difficult road that hopefully ends in a better world. And it’s different for everyone.”

Everyone is gaping at Sizhui now. He seems to realize he has all their eyes pinned on him all at once and flushes beet red, looking away.

“Don’t stare at me, please.”

“You’re pretty wise, there, Lan Sizhui,” Nie Huaisang says cheerfully to break the tension, clapping him on the shoulder, “Maybe I should be calling you ‘senior Lan’,” he jokes.

Sizhui flushes darker red, “Please don’t.”

They continue on to the Tomb of Swords.

…

            MianMian greets them warmly, if a little confusedly. “Is there a reason you’re coming this way?” she asks bluntly when they run into her on the road to her home village.

            “Do you want the long version or the short version?” Jiang Cheng asks. Behind him he can feel Wei Wuxian practically vibrating out of his skin with the urge to run up and enthusiastically greet yet another old friend. His brother may hate dogs with a burning passion, but he acts just like one sometimes.

            MianMian’s brows fold together and she exhales through her nose. “Long version,” she decides, “My husband has taken our daughter on a trading trip to the next town over. We can have tea at my house and discuss whatever nonsense you’ve uncovered now.”

            Lan Wangji lets out a little huff somewhere behind him, and Jiang Cheng smirks at the most likely indignant expression on the other man’s face at his work being referred to as ‘nonsense’.

            “Lead the way, Madame Luo,” Jiang Cheng says graciously.

            MianMian raises an unimpressed eyebrow, “Of course I’ll lead the way. Otherwise you’d get sidetracked or lost. I know you people.”

            Now it’s Jiang Cheng’s turn to huff indignantly, especially in the face of MianMian’s crooked smile at his annoyance.

…

            “I don’t want to touch it,” Jin Ling says.

            “If you can levitate objects through spiritual power alone, go ahead,” Nie Huaisang says serenely, sifting through the rubble of the Tomb of Swords. This will all need to be repaired as soon as possible, but first he needs to see if his calculations were correct and the legs are still here.

            “The last time I touched it, I almost died.”

            “No, the last time you touched it, Senior Wei almost died,” Jingyi corrects him.

            “I would have died if he hadn’t interfered,” Jin Ling argues.

            “Nearly dying is not an accomplishment; don’t brag about it,” Sizhui admonishes them both.

            Nie Huaisang really likes this kid.

            “I found a body!” Jingyi declares, breaking into Nie Huaisang’s thoughts. Rubble clatters and Jingyi makes a disgusted sound, “I found so many bodies. So many. Oh, oh wow, this is a not-alright amount of dead bodies.”

            “All the more reason not to touch the cursed rocks,” Jin Ling grumps.

            “Your mother taught you better than to turn up your nose at hard work,” Sizhui huffs at his cousin as if he were sixty, not sixteen.

            Jingyi coughs a quiet “Old Man Lan,” under his breath.

            Sizhui looks very tired.

            Nie Huaisang smiles to himself at the thought of three different teenagers in a different time and place, making fun of Lan Qiren and daring each other to do increasingly foolish things in the name of pride and glory. Or something like that. Nie Huaisang has never aspired to glory and he’s never had much in the way of pride. All he’s ever wanted was to make pretty things and write his poems and listen to his birds. Life had different plans, though, and now he’s here, carrying the burden of unwanted leadership on his shoulders and supervising a trio of idiot teenagers excavating a cursed family heirloom.

            Life is funny in the worst ways sometimes.

            “Hey, Sizhui, if Senior Wei was here, do you think he could turn these guys into an undead army?”

            “Why would you ask that?” Sizhui demands.

            Jingyi shrugs, “Always thought an undead army sounded convenient. They could do my chores and write lines for me when Lan Qiren is mad. They could bring me snacks and scare the stuck up assholes at home – ”

            “Jingyi, that is not an appropriate use of demonic cultivation!” Sizhui huffs.

            “Better than killing people.” Jingyi shrugs.

            “Well, yes, alright, that’s true…”

            “I’m just saying, an army of chore-doing corpses.”

            “Great-Uncle’s head would explode.”

            “Side benefit.”

            “How am I the one partially raised by Wei Wuxian?”

            “Uh, Sizhui? Jingyi?” Jin Ling interrupts their banter, “I touched the rubble and now it’s angry again.”

            Beneath their feet the tomb begins to rumble.

            Well. This is less than ideal.

…

            “Considering you’ve been dead for thirteen years, you look pretty good,” MianMian says when Wei Wuxian’s identity is revealed, after they’ve unfolded the whole story from Mo Manor to the mess at the tomb.

            He’d honestly expected a lot more shock. Maybe some screaming. Maybe even an attempted exorcism depending on how Jiang Cheng chose to drop that particular bomb on her.

            Instead, she’s smiling and bumping his shoulder with her own and acting like this is totally normal.

            “…are you feeling alright?” he asks.

            She rolls her eyes, “One, if any of my friends came back from the dead, it would be you.”

            He nods, that checks out.

            “Two,” she continues, “I’m a cultivator with a small child. You just start going along with whatever weirdness comes out of people’s mouths after a while.”

            “…So you believe us.”

            “I don’t see why you’d go for such an elaborate and unsustainable prank.”

            “…and you’re fine with it.”

            “I’m fine with you being alive. I’m less fine with whoever’s body that is being dead, but I know that’s not your fault.”

            Wei Wuxian’s eyes are burning. He really hopes now isn’t the time he breaks down and bawls like a baby in the middle of the street. He hasn’t done that since he was a tiny child being chased by vicious dogs. But MianMian’s casual acceptance of who and what he is feels so much like when Jiang Fengmian scooped him up, away from sharp teeth and tearing claws all those years ago.

            “Thanks, MianMian,” he manages to sniffle.

            “Good going, you broke him,” Jiang Cheng snarks.

            “I’m fine, Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says wetly, “I just never expected people to welcome me back. It’s all been…a lot.”

            “There are people who care for you, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says gravely, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze.

            Wei Wuxian reaches up and laces their fingers together briefly.

            MianMian raises an eyebrow. “So that’s still happening.”

            “It’s been happening in front of my for days. I want to rip out my eyes,” Jiang Cheng grumps.

            Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but he figures sticking his tongue out at Jiang Cheng is a safe bet.

            Judging by the scowl on his brother’s face, it may not have been the correct response, but it’s effective.

            MianMian rolls her eyes at both of them, “If you’re looking for information on Xue Yang, I’m not sure how much I can help you. His hideout was fairly thoroughly cleared out by the Chief Cultivator when he was killed.”

            Jiang Cheng doesn’t quite manage to hide his grimace and Lan Wangji’s face goes even stonier.

            “Who’s the Chief Cultivator now?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            MianMian scowls, “Jin Guangyao.”

            “Huh?” Wei Wuxian blurts out, “Why would he be Chief Cultivator? Why not Lan Xichen? Or Lan Qiren? Or…I don’t know. Anyone else! Literally anyone else. Make Wen Qing Chief Cultivator. She’d be great at it.”

            Jiang Cheng’s smirk takes on an edge, “She’d be amazing.”

            MianMian snorts, “I’m not a fan of the Jins these days, either, but when Jin Guangshan died suddenly years ago, Jin Guangyao stepped into the role and, he’s been competent so far. He’s well respected and popular. Lan Xichen backs him, as did Nie Mingjue before his death.”           

            Wei Wuxian frowns. Something is nagging him about Nie Mingjue’s death. Ever since the escaped arm led them to the Nie tomb he’s been suspicious, but he has no concrete proof the man was even murdered in the first place. As Nie Huaisang had told them, the Nie method of cultivation was commonly a deadly one, the more powerful the cultivator, the greater the risk. And Nie Mingjue was a powerful cultivator.

            So, he smiles and laughs and buries his ponderings to take out and pick apart another day, “Sure, sure. At least it’s not that bastard Jin Zixun. I’d hate to see my murder in charge, that’s just salt in the wound.”

            “I never liked having the Jins on top,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, “They were snakes all through the war and they turned us against each other and stabbed us in the back the minute they thought they could get a hold of the Stygian Tiger Seal after the war.”

            “Except for Peacock.”

            Jiang Cheng snorts like a bad-tempered horse, “Except for the damn peacock.”

            “No offense, MianMian,” Wei Wuxian says hurriedly, remembering all over again they’re badmouthing her former sect.

            She shrugs, “I left voluntarily and I left for a reason.”

            “We should investigate Xue Yang’s hideout regardless,” Lan Wangji steers them back on track.

            “He had multiple,” MianMian muses, “I’ve found a few in the intervening years. Some of them might still have some evidence.”

            “Let’s hope the Jins haven’t tampered with all of them,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

            “Let’s hope,” she agrees.

…

            The bodies apparently did not like being disturbed. They’d currently charging after Jing Ling and Jingyi, who are fending them off with talismans and swords, while Sizhui tries to soothe them back into submission with his zither. Nie Huaisang continues to comb through the rubble, unmolested. The corpses seem to sense he’s either a member of the Nie main family and therefore should be left alone or that he wasn’t the one to disturb the tomb in the first place and therefore isn’t interesting.

            He’s humming along with Sizhui’s music anyway.

            “Some help would be nice here, SECT LEADER,” Jingyi yells.

            “You’re doing great, children,” Nie Huaisang says lightly as a crash sounds somewhere behind him.

            “NOT HELPFUL,” Jin Ling snaps.

            “I have complete faith in you,” Nie Huaisang says lightly.

            “JIN LING, WATCH YOUR BACK,” Sizhui shouts and the trio focus back on the fight at hand.

            Nie Huaisang closes his eyes and reaches out with his senses, tuning out the children thrashing about behind him. He flips his fan open and uses it to focus his power the way traditional cultivators might use their swords. He lets the currents of spiritual energy bend and flow around him. There’s Sizhui, Jin Ling, Jingyi...the swords…his brother’s sword, Baxia, full of all Mingjue’s unspent rage, all his wasted potential, wasted life…the corpses are white noise at the edges of his perception, barely worth a mention…there…there. His brother’s fury, his betrayal, his loss, twisting and polluting his flesh even as his soul is trapped, kept at bay through unnatural means.

            Nie Huaisang smiles a humorless smile and flicks his fan.

            The rubble around them explodes. The teenagers cry out in surprise and scramble out of the way as a pair of legs come tumbling free of the dust cloud to land with a sick thump at Nie Huaisang’s feet. An arm rolls down the pile of shattered stone to fetch up next to them, docile now that it’s been reunited with part of its body.

            Sizhui strikes a piercing chord on his zither and the corpses defending the Tomb of Swords shudder and crumple to the ground like empty puppets.

            He looks up and meets Nie Huaisang’s eyes. “I think you know more about this than you’re letting on, Sect Leader.”

            Nie Huaisang shakes his head, “Don’t look at me, I don’t know anything.”

            “Are those legs?” Jingyi blurts, “Are we dealing with more body parts trying to kill us? Because I am not into that.”

…

            The first three locations they check are busts. Xue Yang’s last formal hideout has been so thoroughly ransacked by Jin ‘investigators’ it has Jiang Cheng grinding his teeth.

            “How much evidence do you think they’ve buried in their little secret library to use against us someday?” he growls.

            “Mmn,” Lan Wangji hums.

            Wei Wuxian frowns at both of them, “You’re pretty quick to suspect the Jins.”

            Jiang Cheng growls under his breath, “They killed my brother and enslaved my wife. I’m allowed to be bitter.”

            “Jin Zixuan was found comatose on their lands,” Lan Wangji says gravely.

            “But Jin Guangshan is dead,” Wei Wuxian argues, “And Jin Guangyao had no great love for his father. Why would he play along with his schemes?”

            “Jin Guangyao had plenty of reason to hate his father, MianMian acknowledges, “But he’s perfectly capable of his own schemes.”

            “It just doesn’t add up,” Jiang Cheng huffs, “Xue Yang, the arm, the Nies, it’s suspicious.”

            Lan Wangji looks like he wants to chastise Jiang Cheng for stating the obvious but can’t quite muster up the energy.

            It’s not until they reach the fourth bolt hole MianMian found in her independent investigations, this one near Yueyang, (Wei Wuxian has never been gladder Lan Wangji is willing to cart him around by sword as well) that they uncover something. It’s little more than a shack near a graveyard, but the faded, weathered talismans nailed to the interior walls are certainly indicative of something.

            Wei Wuxian is poking around the interior, pondering the scattered odds and ends from Xue Yang’s inventions and experiments and trying not to remember his own workshop in the demon slaughtering cave, when Lan Wangji’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

            “He carved his name into the wood.”

            Jiang Cheng snorts, “Of course he did. That’s what egotistical people do, isn’t it? He was a cocky little shit, of course he’d slap his name on anything he could get his hands on.”

            “No, that’s not it,” Lan Wangji says, but does not elaborate.

            “Even at the height of my arrogance, I didn’t go putting my name all over things,” Wei Wuxian offers into the slightly uncomfortable silence. “But when I first came to Lotus Pier I put my name on everything. Anything I could say was mine. I wanted people to always know that I was here. I wanted to be remembered. I stopped when I realized being remembered wasn’t a thing to be proud of for me.”

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji’s voice is hard and unyielding. Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to meet his eyes. He remembers a conversation in the rain, telling Lan Zhan that it wouldn’t be so bad if he was the one who killed him.

            When Wei Wuxian doesn’t respond, Lan Wangji says it again, somehow with more force, “Wei Ying.”

            Wei Wuxian finally looks up at him when MianMian drives an unexpected elbow into his spine, jolting him forward.

            Lan Wangji’s eyes are molten gold as he looks at him, “You are kind. You are good. You are worth remembering.”

            And then he turns and walks away before anyone can argue with him.

            All the breath leaves the Wei Wuxian’s lungs all at once. He sags in place, blinking, confused, a little furrow creasing the skin between his brows. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand this strange world he’s been dumped into. A world where he is missed and loved and remembered fondly. A world where Lan Wangji looks at him and tells him everything he longs to hear when he’s feeling shriveled up inside. A world where Jiang Cheng doesn’t look at him with furious betrayal in his eyes. A world where an old school acquaintance like MianMian can smile when she sees his face.

            He doesn’t understand.

            A handkerchief is nudged against his cheek and he takes it automatically, dabbing where a few stunned tears finally leaked from his unresponsive eyes.

            “I don’t understand,” he whispers.

            “None of us do,” MianMian says gently. “Love is horrible and marvelous like that.” She exits the hut, leaving Wei Wuxian to turn confused eyes on Jiang Cheng, who huffs and claps his shoulder.

            “After this is all over, we are getting blind drunk and talking about everything. And then never speaking of it again. Like men.”

            Wei Wuxian snorts wetly. “Sure, brother.”

            A crash from outside disrupts their conversation and they dart through the door (elbowing and jostling each other as they go) to see every coffin in the cemetery rattling as if the contents were attempting to escape.

…

Chapter Text

Interlude: It doesn’t change a thing (but even so)

Eight Years Previously…

            The first time Jiang Cheng tells Wen Qing he loves her, he’s delirious with fever and it’s his own damn fault.

            A storm had hit one of the nearby villages a few nights before and the Jiang disciples headed out to help the locals and perform any necessary search and rescue operations. All had come back except one – a young boy barely fourteen years old who had begged and begged to be part of the mission, even though his seniors had their reservations about his readiness.

            Jiang Cheng insisted on searching for the boy.

            “He’s one of my disciples, I can’t leave him out there.”

            “I’m not saying to leave him –”

            “His safety is my responsibility – ”

            “Lotus Pier is your responsibility, the storm is heading our way – ”

            “There are plenty of senior disciples here perfectly capable of handling a little bad weather, but I’m the only one with enough experience to find one lost child in a storm.”

            “Send Wen Ning.”

            “I have to do this, for my people, for my sect. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that kind of loyalty, Wen Qing, but I’d hoped you’d make the effort.”

            There is one fundamental truth about Jiang Cheng, and that is that his temper is quick to flare when he feels backed into a corner, and he will lash out with every cutting word he has in his extensive repertoire. Nine times out of ten, he doesn’t mean it. When it’s Wen Qing he’s arguing with, he never means it, and they both know it.

            But Wen Qing has a temper too, and she’s not above spitting her own venom when someone manages to find the cracks in her carefully forged armor.  

            “You criticize Wei Wuxian for abandoning Lotus Pier when it needed him, but I see now you aren’t so terribly different, are you?”

            They part in cold silence, Jiang Cheng’s sword lifting off into looming grey skies. Wen Qing doesn’t stay to watch is departure, it’s already starting to drizzle and she’d rather be inside, preparing to weather the storm.

            The storm passes in due time, clear skies and calm waters returning as they always do. Lotus Pier is still in one piece, but Jiang Cheng has not returned.

            Wen Qing, already wishing they could take back their harsh parting words, bites her lip and struggles to crush the worry that’s already begun to take root in the pit of her stomach.

            She struggles in vain.

            She doesn’t want to lose her husband now. She doesn’t want to live with this smothering regret around the jagged hole where Jiang Cheng normally dwells. She’s not given to sentimentality, but that stubborn, proud, stupidman has carved a place in her life and her heart and she wants him back in it where he belongs.

            The missing disciple returns.

            “You have to help the Sect Leader! Sect Leader Jiang – he needs help!”

            Jiang Cheng, that dammed idiot, had found the missing boy and tried to beat the storm and bring him back home, only to come across some sort of vengeful water spirit. He’d sent the boy on his way and challenged the creature single handedly. The boy knew nothing other than the sect leader seemed to be winning when he, starving and freezing, had flown home to get help.

            Wen Qing rarely uses her sword, preferring her needles and her qi, but she unsheathes it and takes to the sky, his brother running below her on his tireless legs, her husband’s – her disciples fanning out in the sky behind her like so many purple birds.

            Wen Ning is the one to spot Jiang Cheng, signaling Wen Qing, who descends to find her fool of a husband shivering, covered in mud and blood and only half aware of his surroundings.

            She swears forcefully and foully enough even Wen Ning goes pale. Jiang Cheng does not wake, even as Wen Ning gathers him in his arms like he weighs no more than A-Xing or A-Zhi and races back to the safety of Lotus Pier.

…

            Jiang Cheng slumps, glassy-eyed and listless with fever as Wen Qing strips off his filthy, soggy robes and scrubs him all over with a warm towel. She undoes his hair and gives it the same treatment. Braziers blaze in all four corners of their bedchamber and she talks the entire time she’s treating him. Some nonsense, some curse words, and some threats of making him copy rules once he’s better, to teach him a lesson just like they do in Gusu. The creature he fought bit him, and the wound has already begun to fester, so she cleans that out too, wrapping it in bandages and poultices and checking him over for any other damage, relieved to find only a few bruises.

            “You’ll drive me mad one of these days, Jiang Cheng, and that’s the truth. You’re such a hard-headed noble fool it’s giving me grey hairs.”

            She tucks him into bed and mixes up a tonic to keep his fever under control. She layers on quilts when he shivers and bathes his face with wet rags when he’s flushed and muttering in his sleep.

            She’s sent back in time to when they were young, too young for all the terrible things that happened to them, and he was lying in another bed, with another fever, with a different kind of glassy, empty eyes.

            She’s just glad most of the blood on him when they found him was the monster’s, not his.

            The morning of the second day he wakes a little, blinking vaguely at her. “A-Qing.”

            “Yes?”

            “I’m sorry, A-Qing. Shouldn’t…shouldn’t have said that .”

            “I know.”

            “You’re so good, A-Qing. Too good. I’m sorry.”

            She presses her lips to his forehead, partially to comfort and partially to gague his fever. “I’m sorry for what I said too.”

            “You forgive me?”

            “Of course,” she sighs, “Rest, idiot.”

            “If you forgive me,” his voice is so small, “I’m sorry. I promised I’d make you happy. But I don’t. I’m sorry.”

            “Sleep,” she tells him.

            He closes his eyes but his dreams a restless and his sleep is fitful. He calls out for his mother, his father, Wei Wuxian, and Yanli over and over, thrashing as he struggles with unseen forces and foes. Wen Qing lays her body over his more than once to keep him from tossing himself off the bed. It’s a gamble – sleep fighters and sleepwalkers have been known to strike people who touch them – but he stills under her, eyes flickering open.

            “Why?” he asks, and Wen Qing doesn’t understand what the question is, so she just presses her forehead to his. Tears leak out of the corners of both their eyes, and Jiang Cheng is still dreaming, and definitely not seeing her, but she sees him and it’s breaking her heart.

            “Why did any of that happen?”

            “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

            “Why do I – why does everyone?”

            “I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

            “I’m sorry,” he parrots back, eyes slipping closed, drifting back to a restless sleep.

            The third day he blinks his eyes open as Wen Qing gets to work cleaning and re-bandaging his bite wound. The infection is mostly cleared, but the wound is still deep, the tears jagged and nasty. It will probably scar, even with Jiang Cheng’s powerful golden core.

            “Do you love me?” he asks into the stillness.

            Not expecting him to be awake, Wen Qing’s head darts up, to catch stormy eyes locked on hers. “Do I what?”

            “Do you love me?”

            “I’m your wife.”

            “But do you love me?” He’s stuck on this, she can tell. His face is flushed, and his hair sticks to his cheeks in greasy tendrils and he should look completely gross, with his dark circles and sweaty skin. He is gross, really, but he’s looking at her with big, dark eyes and asking the question with such earnest, almost childlike intensity that her heart gives a fond squeeze anyway.

            She sighs, “You’re a fool.”

            “I know,” he settles back against the pillows, a little furrow cutting between his brows.

            “But,” Wen Qing continues before his mood can sink too far, “For five years you’ve fought for me and with me, lived with me, loved our children with me. Built a life with me. You’re the first person I want to tell when something good happens and the person I want to talk to when I’ve had a bad day. You’ve been at my side all this time and I’ve been at yours. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

            “So, do you love me?” he murmurs.

            She smiles, a little to herself, a little to him, “I supposed I do.”

            “Good,” he smiles a dopey, unguarded smile, “I suppose I love you too.”

            She sighs, leaning down to press their foreheads together. His eyelids flutter, sleep already dragging him back under. “It doesn’t change a thing,” she whispers to him.

            “I know,” he mumbles, “But it’s nice to know.”

            “I love you.”

            “I love you.”

…

            The fever breaks soon after, and by the fourth day Jiang Cheng is sitting upright, apparently with no memory of the last seventy-two hours. The first thing this new, improved, and coherent Jiang Cheng says to Wen Qing when he sees her is a very grave and formal: “What I said to you was unjust and wrong. I apologize.”

            Wen Qing, punch drunk from relief, shakes her head and laughs and laughs, even in the face of his confused consternation.

            Wiping the tears from her eyes, she smiles softly at him, “I know. I’m sorry too.”

            He nods, face shuttered in that way he has when he’s feeling emotions but doesn’t want anyone to know about it.

            “We talked about a lot of things while you were delirious, actually,” Wen Qing tells him, sitting on the mattress at his side. “You apologized then, too. Although it wasn’t as pretty as that.”

            He frowns at her, expecting teasing but unsure what form it will take. “Yes?”

            She does not tell him about his nightmares. He doesn’t need to know about their crying on each other. “Yes,” she agrees, and does not elaborate.

            He scowls. “What did I say? What did I do?”

            She raises an eyebrow, “You were wounded and off your head with fever, you weren’t exactly capable of doing much of anything.”

            “What did I say then?” he asks in a tone which could be mistaken for a whine.

            She smiles crookedly at him, “You. My dear, dear, darling husband – ”

            He scrunches up his face, “No – what – why – no pet names, please, I beg you.”

            She kisses the tip of his nose, feeling mischievous. The sun is shining, her husband is coherent again, and life will return to normal soon. Their children have been trying their Aunt Yanli’s considerable patience, and she’s sure they will soon have lapfuls of enthusiastic toddlers in an hour or less.

            “You, husband dear,” she ignores his groan, “Confessed your deep, abiding, and undying love for me.”

            He blinks at her. “That’s it?”

            She snorts, it is not an elegant sound, but Jiang Cheng looks oddly charmed by it, because he is, as previously established, a fool and, more importantly, a fool in love with her. “That’s it.”

            “Did you say it back?”

            Wen Qing considers, for a truly diabolical second, making him work for it, but decides against it. They’ve had a trying few days. Instead she presses a chaste kiss to his lips and says, voice gentle, “I love you too, Jiang Cheng.”

            His smile, rare though it may be, is blinding.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 17: Someday I Won’t Have to Feel the Cold

Six Years Previously…

            Wen Ning has the presence of mind to fire off a flare, which brings help in the form of Lan Xichen, who was apparently passing through on his way to…somewhere. Wen Qing is a little loopy, a lot exhausted, and not really paying attention anymore now that no one is actively trying to kill her.

            Lan Xichen dashes off to inform the Chief Cultivator, which means by the time Wen Qing has learned her sister in law, MianMian and Xiao Xingchen are all in one piece and are ready to just go home already, Yi City and the surrounding area are swarming with cultivators. Wen Qing sighs, leans against her brother, and says “Can we just leave? Is it rude to leave your own crime scene?”

            “We didn’t commit any crimes,” MianMian points out.

            “We were actively involved, though.”

            “It’s not our crime scene, though. It’s the site of our heroic efforts.”

            “Can we leave our heroic efforts and go take a nap?”

            They all look questioningly at each other, except for Xiao Xingchen, who is clinging to A-Qing as they silently weep together.

            “I say yes,” Yanli decides. She’s already given her testimony and when the Jin cultivator interviewing her pressed for more information, she crisply informed him that she had said her piece and any follow up questions could be addressed to her at Lotus Pier or not at all.

            The Wens, MianMian, and Yanli all look over to where Lan Xichen is conferring with Jin Guangyao as junior cultivators gather civilian statements around them.

            “You think if we’re really stealthy they won’t notice us leaving?” MianMian asks.

            “Fuck it,” Wen Qing declares, “I’m out of damns to give. Xichen knows where we live. Let’s go home.”

            Wen Ning nods firmly, which is as close to a rebellious declaration as they’re likely to get from him.

            Yanli, eyes red-rimmed, clothes bloodstained and hair coming loose from the delicate combs keeping it out of her face, squeezes Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s hands and goes over to gently but firmly tell Xiao Xingchen and A-Qing they’re coming back to Lotus Pier to recuperate.

            Wen Qing, longing for a hot bath, a soft bed, and her husband’s strong arms – in that order, leans against her brother and waits to head home.

…

            MianMian wasn’t sure what to expect upon arriving at Lotus Pier, but being greeted by three dogs, a semi-hysterical sect leader, and a very mournful looking stranger was not it.

            “What the ever-loving fuck happened out there?” Jiang Wanyin demands, charging out the gates to gather a groggy Wen Qing into his arms and check his sister over for injuries.

            Wen Qing sleepily whacks him on the shoulder, “Quit being an overprotective ass.”

            “We’re fine, A-Cheng,” Yanli reassures him more gently.

            “You’re covered in blood!”

            “It’s mostly not my own.”

            “How is that supposed to be reassuring?”

            Yanli shrugs, a tiny ‘well, I tried’ sort of gesture. “If that will be all, A-Cheng, I would like to bathe, get some fresh clothes, see my son and sleep for about a year. Will you be alright in my absence?” She somehow manages to say all that without sounding the tiniest bit sarcastic.

            Jiang Yanli is truly a marvel. MianMian is very glad Jin Zixuan finally saw sense and agreed to marry her.

            Jiang Wanyin scowls, somehow managing to pull the lines of his frown even deeper. “I’m more concerned about what happens to you in my absence. Fighting crazed murderers? Alone?”

            “I wasn’t alone,” Yanli says serenely, “Now, I really must freshen up before I see Jin Ling.” And she sails away, dignified as a queen.

            Wen Qing sleepily pats her husband’s twitching cheek. “We’re fine. Quit frowning. You’ll scare the children.”

            Jiang Wanyin huffs a grand sigh through his nose and, wonder of wonders, tries to relax his face somewhat.

            “Much better, Sect Leader,” Wen Ning says in perfect, utter deadpan and MianMian catches a laughing snort just after it escapes her.

            “Everyone’s a critic,” Jiang Wanyin sighs.

            Meanwhile, the sorrowful stranger has prostrated himself in front of Xiao Xingchen, who has also sunk to his knees. They’re currently cradling each other’s faces and speaking softly to each other. A-Qing must sense MianMian staring because the little girl just shrugs as if to say ‘what can you do? Men have a lot of feelings.’

            MianMian shrugs right back. The girl is right. Men do seem to have a truly inconvenient amount of feelings.

…

            Jiang Yanli does not manage to quite nap for a year. For one thing, someone was foolish enough to tell her young son what she was up to and he is right outside her door when she emerges, freshly bathed and dressed.

            “Hello, Mother,” Jin Ling says as seriously as an eight-year-old can manage.

            Yanli smiles and kneels down to gather him into a tight hug. She held it together when the other cultivators arrived, she held it together for her little brother at the gates, she held it together when she stopped by Jin Zixuan’s room, pressing her customary kiss to his forehead, but the entire time she’s felt like a fraying banner in the wind. Something in her chest is thin and fluttering and everything in her is just ready to fracture and collapse into a million tiny pieces.

            Missing Jin Zixuan is a constant, inescapable ache, but it’s at times like these that she feels his absence like an open wound. If he were here, she could hold him tight and listen to him breathe and tell him how sick and wrong it felt to run that blade through another human being’s chest. How her skin crawled when Xue Yang looked at her with his dead, predatory gaze like he was already dissecting her, flaying her open and watching her intestines squirm in his mind’s eye. The crunch and squelch and give of a blade sinking into a man’s abdomen and sticking there.

            But Jin Zixuan is not here, and she cannot burden her brother with this, with the knowledge that she is not invincible. They have always had to be strong for each other, that was the only way to survive. She would not put this on Jiang Cheng’s shoulders any more than he would put his war on hers.

            “It’s alright, Mama,” Jin Ling, her sweet, stubborn boy, says, patting her shoulder gently. “It’s hard fighting bad guys. When I’m grown up, I’ll fight them all for you, so you can take a rest.”

            She kisses the side of his head, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

            “Thank you for fighting the bad man, Mama.”

            She kneels in the hallway and clings to her son, her golden boy, for a little while longer.

…

            Wen Qing wakes up from her extended nap twelve hours later (turns out draining your spiritual resources dry is extremely physically taxing, something her husband is sure to lecture her on the minute he hears about how hard she pushed herself saving those people, because he is a giant, loving, angry purple hypocrite) feeling refreshed and more than a little disoriented. Here, in her bed, safe and wearing familiar clothes, with the scent of Jiang Cheng’s hair oil lingering on the pillow beside her, the last day or so feels unreal, like a dream. She rolls over, sighing deeply, and buries her face in her husband’s pillow, breathing in the scent he’s left behind. Incense and spices and the oils he uses on his hair and sword. Electricity, like an oncoming storm.

            She presses the pillow against her chest and breathes in home.

            She needs to get up, she needs to check in with her sect, she needs to make sure their guests are settled in, she needs to hold her children and kiss their foreheads and listen to their stories of the exciting days they’ve spent running wild with their father and cousins. But right now, she’s warm and safe and lying on fresh, clean sheets and listening to the sounds of her home all around her.

            She closes her eyes and gives herself a moment to breathe.

…

            MianMian is drinking tea with a quartet of children and trying not to feel like she’s been exiled away from the adults. The presence of Wen Ning, politely holding a teacup, even if he doesn’t need to drink the contents, mitigates that feeling somewhat, of course. She’s overall glad to not be sitting between Song Lan (the sorrowful stranger) and Xiao Xingchen the way Jiang Wanyin unfortunately is. The other two seem to be communicating mostly through vague statements and light, lingering touches, and Jiang Wanyin is looking increasingly uncomfortable. After trying to make conversation for a few minutes, he’s subsided into guzzling tea and shooting glances at the doorway. He’s probably praying to several deities that his wife will turn up and alleviate the awkwardness. A-Qing is sleeping in the infirmary, after repeated reassurances that Xiao Xingchen won’t go anywhere or do anything without notifying her first.

            “He clearly can’t manage on his own,” she had informed MianMian haughtily as she allowed the Jiang doctors to tend to her wounds. “He needs me to keep him from picking up any more unsavory individuals.”

            She had probably meant to shoot a skeptical look at Jiang Cheng, but she missed and directed her face somewhere in the vague vicinity of Wen Ning, who looked a little put out at the implication.

            Now MianMian is sitting with four curious little faces turned her way and wondering why she’s feeling like she’s about to be savaged by scavenging birds.

            “Did you kill the bad man?” one of the Jiang twins asks.

            “No, my mama killed the bad man,” Jin Ling says impatiently.

            “So, what did you do?” the other twin jumps in.

            “I distracted Xiao Xingchen so Jiang Yanli could kill the bad man.”

            “So, you didn’t see anything,” the second twin says skeptically.

            “Lady Luo contributed plenty,” the eldest child, wearing white and a Lan forehead ribbon for some unexplained reason, chides them.

            The twins shoot him skeptical looks and shake their heads, almost in unison, before turning back to their tea.

            Jin Ling stares at her, though, and MianMian raises an eyebrow at him.

            “You knew my father,” he says apropos of nothing.

            “Yes,” she tells him. It’s always best to be honest with children, “He’s a dear friend of mine.”

            “He’s not dead,” Jin Ling tells her, as if he’s ready for her to fight him on it.

            “I know,” she agrees.

            He deflates a little in the face of her acceptance. “Yes, well. Good. You know. That.”

            “Lady Luo might have some stories about Jin Zixuan,” the eldest child, the Lan, says gently, “about when he was a student.”

            “And when he was your age,” MianMian adds, “he and I grew up together.”

            Jin Ling brightens tentatively, as if he wants to overflow with excitement but isn’t sure she won’t let him down. “Really?”

            “Really truly,” MianMian tells him.

            He smiles a little to himself, sipping at his tea. “Can you tell me?”

            “Of course.”

            He beams at that and her heart squeezes because that’s Jin Zixuan all over – bluster and bluster and every now and then a soft, true smile.

            She cuts a glance at the Lan child, who is smiling gently down at his – friend? Cousin? She doesn’t know their relationship, but the Lan meets her gaze and gives her a smile as if to say ‘thank you’.

…

            Wen Qing finally manages to convince herself to get up and get dressed, only to find herself accosted the moment she steps outside the bedchamber. Her husband is in her space, crowding her, kissing her, mussing up her hair with his lovely, calloused fingers, and she’s loving it, she really is, but he’s walking her backwards, back through the doorway she just stepped out of and she wants to know what he’s keeping her from seeing.

            “Jiang Cheng, my love,” she pants when he finally detaches himself from her lips and switches to pressing light, teasing kisses down the side of her neck, and is it really fair that he sets her nerves on fire with every touch while she’s trying to talk to him sensibly? No, no it is not. “Love, light of my life – ”

            Pet names are always guaranteed to annoy him. He looks up from where he had been kissing his way down her throat to frown at her. “What?”

            She runs a hand down the side of his sweet, beloved, scowly face and says, “What on earth are you doing?”

            “Welcoming my wife home?”

            “Try again, darling.”

            He huffs, “Trying to avoid Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen’s stupid, stupid emotional, sexual, intimate-in-some-vague-way tension?”

            “Better.”

            “How is that better?”

            “It’s the truth,” she says bluntly, then gives him one of her crooked smiles, “And I like when you’re honest.”

            “You like when I’m annoyed because I make you feel like the sensible one.”

            She presses a light kiss to his lips, “That too.”

            He kisses her, softly, deeply and surely, before pulling away. “I love you.”

            “I love you too. And yes, I’ll help you hide from other people’s emotional problems.”

            “Thank you.”

            They duck back into their rooms to while a few hours away.

…

            “Do you think it’s occurred to them that they could just share? One eye for each of them?” the Lan child, who is by far the most sensible child/person in this place, ponders to MianMian a few hours later, after Jin Ling has returned, sulkily to his lessons.

            MianMian blinks, looks over to where Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan are still dancing around whatever is between them, Xiao Xingchen’s bandages firmly in place over his empty eye sockets.

            “I’ll have to ask Wen Qing about it.”

…

            Wen Qing is unavailable at this time, but does not regret it one bit.

…

            Jiang Yanli, post-nap, is disappointed to learn that further testimony, is, in fact, required of her. She’s relieved to learn that she’ll be giving said testimony to Lan Xichen, who is much easier to talk to than Jin Guangyao. She never could get comfortable with him, in Jin Guangshan’s household. He’d always seemed like he was playing a role rather than living a life and it unsettled her. No matter what she said or did he almost seemed to look through her, as if he didn’t find her worthy of his time or his attention. As if he’d seen her, judged her, and deemed her decorative at best and cripplingly naïve at worst.

            It was galling.

            And demeaning.

            She’d hated it, as much as she could ever manage to hate anything.

            Until she’d met Xue Yang.

            She hadn’t hated him, but the way he looked at her – as if she were less than human, or as if her humanity didn’t matter to him, as if he were peeling off her skin with his eyes…that wasn’t just galling, it was chilling.

            As it is, she’s settled in the garden with the tea service and she chats with Lan Xichen. She tells him her story, as much of it as she can, in clear, concise sentences. The Lans are never much for embellishment, she’s learned that though her long friendship with Lan Wangji.

            He nods at the end of it, and take a sip of tea. “Thank you, Madame Jiang. I realize this must be hard for you.”

            Lan Xichen has soft, compassionate eyes and an honest smile but Jiang Yanli can’t quite bring herself to confide in him. She likes him. She thinks they might even be friends one day. But she’s seen the sad, longing look on Lan Wangji’s face when he talks about his strained relationship with his family and she can’t quite unburden herself to Lan Xichen. He’s too forgiving. Too open. Ironically, she can’t trust that he’s safe because he trusts everyone unquestioningly.

            She wonders at what life has done to her sometimes. She wonders if she’s still herself.

            “I did have some ulterior motives for coming to see you,” Lan Xichen admits and Yanli smiles at him gently.

            She does like him, after all. She’ll listen to him, she’ll be his confidant and confessor, even if she’s become a little too jaded to allow him to be hers.

            Lan Xichen smiles and he looks tired. He’s looked tired for years now and it makes her want to wrap him in blankets and make him soup the way she does for Jin Ling, the way she did for her brothers long ago and far away, in the Lotus Pier of the past.

            “My brother – Wangji – and my uncle have been…at loggerheads, of late.”

            Yanli nods, she’s somewhat aware of this. Lan Wangji and his uncle have not seen eye to eye since Wei Wuxian’s death and while they’ve made a tense, tentative peace, at the end of the day Lotus Pier has become more of a home to the Second Jade of Lan than Gusu has been. He’s raised his son here, for the most part. Lan Yuan is as much a member of Yunmeng Jiang as he is of Gusu Lan.

            As it should be, some greedy part of her, desperate to cling to the last remnants of Wei Wuxian, whispers.

            Lan Xichen sighs again. “Uncle believes it’s high time Lan Yuan come to Gusu to stay and study, semi-permanently. Wangji is…resistant to this idea.”

            “What does he suggest instead?”

            “He suggested, in a fit of pique, that he himself was better suited to instruct Lan Yuan. Uncle took this as an insult and the discussion devolved from there.”

            Yanli nods. She knows Lan Wangji, better than most. Despite his cool exterior a storm rages beneath the surface and if you push him too far, he will become petty and strike back just as hard, if not harder, than you do.

            “Perhaps Lotus Pier as a compromise until Lan Yuan is of age to take a courtesy name?” she offers diplomatically.

            Lan Xichen nods, “It may be the only solution. I fear if Uncle keeps pressing this Wangji will lose his temper and simply abscond with the boy and we won’t hear from them for months if not years.”

            Lan Wangji would, if pushed. He’s been different since Wei Wuxian’s death. More prone to following his instincts and impulses, more prone to taking a stand where before he would let the current of history part around him.

            Jiang Yanli might like this new side of Lan Wangji, but the feeling is not necessarily universal.

            “I’m sorry this has put strain on your relationship with your brother,” Yanli says, cutting to the heart of the matter.

            Lan Xichen sags a little, “I’m very tired,” he confesses quietly. “I’ve tried so hard to reconcile them, but that simply seems to drive them further apart.”

            Yanli nods. “I’m sorry.” It’s all she has to offer.

            Lan Xichen smiles tiredly. “Thank you,” he takes another sip of tea, “And that brings me to the other problem at hand.”

            Yanli tilts her head questioningly.

            Lan Xichen sighs, heavy and sorrowful. “Nie Mingjue…his condition. It’s devolving. And I don’t know what to do to help him.”

...

Chapter Text

Chapter 18: Leave You the Dust, My Love

Present

            Fierce corpses blast their way out of their coffins, releasing clouds of dust and decay as they surge toward the cultivators. With a shout, MianMian draws her sword and engages with the first wave of bodies. Lan Wangji leaps free of the scuffle, summoning his zither and striking a chord that sends his attackers staggering backward. Jiang Cheng charges forward, Zidian flashing on his finger as he snaps his wrist forward, purple lighting lashing out at the snarling creatures.

            Wei Wuxian takes a step forward, is a second away from lifting Chenquing to his lips when he feels something strange tugging at the edge of his consciousness. A call, a cry, a subvocal scream trapped in a long-gone throat. Something rippling through the world on a frequency only a demonic cultivator or fierce corpse could attune to.

            Wei Wuxian reaches out with his spiritual senses, combing through the heavy, clinging darkness of this place.

            He’s whistling without realizing it, eyes gone vacant and unfocused, irises dull and red like old blood. He drifts forward, following the call of that tortured soul as it ripples out through the air like sound underwater.

            Somewhere someone is shouting his name, but Wei Wuxian can’t be bothered responding. It’s just Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng’s always shouting about something – typically something to do with him.

            He’s not interested in Jiang Cheng right now. He’s interested in whatever this is, this twisted siren song tugging him away.

            He tries to touch the restless spirit. It shrugs him off, curls in on itself and screams, pure tortured fury tangled in knots and covered in thorns.

            Wei Wuxian whistles sharply, rebuking whatever it is. It skulks back and away, still a knot of nastiness and rage, but contrite in its way.

            All around him something is happening, chaos is pressing in on all sides, but Wei Wuxian can’t spare it a thought. He’s following whatever this thing is, tracing it like veins back to the knotty, spikey heart of it.

…

            Jiang Cheng looks away from his brother for five seconds and the idiot decides to saunter through a battlefield whistling like a lunatic.

            “WEI WUXIAN,” Jiang Cheng barks, striking down a wave of fierce corpses with a blast of lighting. The scent of ozone fills his mouth and nose, overwhelming the stench of old death and he’s reminded of a five, ten, fifteen, a hundred battlefields. Shouting for his brother, striking down rows upon rows of enemies, death all around him, no end in sight. Lan Wangji’s zither cuts through the roar of battle, a cresting, crashing wave of sound at his back and this is all so very, very familiar.

            Wei Wuxian ignores him, of course he does, when has Wei Wuxian ever listened to him?

            “LAN WANGJI, GET WEI WUXIAN,” Jiang Cheng shouts, knowing trying to get through to idiot brother without backup is hopeless and, if Wei Wuxian ever listens to anyone in his life, it’s Lan Wangji.

            Wei Wuxian is still striding through the seething mass of the graveyard’s inhabitants, completely unfazed as corpses try to grab at him. There’s some sort of aura building around him, his eyes are empty, glowing red and chills race down Jiang Cheng’s spine even as he beats back corpses with a blast of purple lighting.

            “LAN WANGJI,” he shouts again.

            Wei Wuxian is still whistling, a high, chilling note cutting across the chaos of the battlefield. Tendrils of red and black energy swirl around him, twisting and bending, reaching, grasping like tentacles.

            It’s unnerving as all hell.

            Wei Wuxian lets out a high, piercing note that has Jiang Cheng and MianMian cringing and resisting the urge to cover their ears. The corpses stagger in response, wobbling in place, hesitant for a split second. Lan Wangji takes advantage of the momentary reprieve to coast down to hover beside Wei Wuxian. He reaches for the smaller man, a blot of white against swirling black and red, when the resentful energy around Wei Wuxian surges and the ground beneath their feet shivers and cracks.

…

            Lan Wangji hears Jiang Cheng’s shout.

            Wei Ying.

            He returns to earth.

            Wei Ying.

            The other man is the eye of a storm of red and black.

            Wei Ying.

            Bright, beloved eyes glow red like drops of blood frozen on the snow.

            Wei Ying.

            Lan Wangji reaches for him, tries to cut through the seething mass of resentful energy –

            Wei Ying.

            Then the ground splits open at their feet.

…

            The fierce corpse stuck on her sword won’t stop thrashing. MianMian tries to shake it off her blade to hack at it again, but it’s stuck, spitted like a pig, and still trying to claw at her with rotted fingers. This would be funny in other circumstances, but MianMian can’t find it in herself to laugh when she’s trying to shake off a half-rotted body still gnashing its teeth at her.

            She’s growling with frustration, pulling a talisman one-handed to throw off the damn creature. Jiang Cheng is shouting at Wei Wuxian somewhere behind her, but she’s a little distracted kicking a second and a third fierce corpse away from her as she slaps the talisman on the first and powers it up with a blast of spiritual energy, sending it flying off her blade. She turns, ready to face off with the two she’d kicked away earlier, when the earth jerks beneath her feet, nearly throwing her to the ground.

            “What the hell?” Jiang Cheng yells behind her and MianMian would like to second that emotion.

            The earth shudders under her feet. Every fierce corpse stills, swaying in place and she nearly hacks one’s head off out of sheer frustration. Somewhere something gives with a mighty crack.

            She turns to see resentful energy pour off of Wei Wuxian in waves as the ground literally splits open at his feet.

            She should have known these people were trouble.

…

            Wei Wuxian reaches out to the resentful energy, combing tender fingers through it, getting a feel for it, learning its quirks, trying to untangle some of its snarls.

            “Now what do we have here?”

…

            It wasn’t the earth that cracked open, Jiang Cheng realizes as, as one, every fierce corpse which had earlier been throwing themselves at the four of them with furious abandon, collapses like puppets whose strings have been cut. The curls of red and black power twisting around Wei Wuxian dissipate all at once, leaving his brother swaying, pale and exhausted, over a broken-open gravesite.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji darts forward to catch Wei Wuxian, who staggers away from the hole in the ground, looking disoriented and clinging to Lan Wangji with none of his usual shameless silliness.

            “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian pants. Beads of sweat stand out on his forehead, and his eyes, now a more natural shade of gray, are bloodshot.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says again, pulling him upright, supporting him as he sways in place.

            “It’s so angry, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says vaguely, “It’s so furious.”

            “What is?” Jiang Cheng demands. He’s glad Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji have moved past repeating each-others’ names over and over, but this doesn’t seem like much of an improvement.

            MianMian comes up beside him as he approaches the duo. She props both hands on her hips and peers into the fissure. She whistles under her breath. “You need to see this, Sect Leader Jiang.”

            “If it’s another demonic arm I want nothing to do with it,” he grumbles.

            “Not exactly…” MianMian hedges.

            Jiang Cheng gazes into the hole Wei Wuxian blasted and chokes on air.

            “It’s a torso.”

            “There’s so much rage.” Wei Wuxian sounds a little shell-shocked. Jiang Cheng remembers what he’d said in the haunted village, before they were terrorized by the head. He’s attuned to demonic energy. It’s always there in the background.

            “Who is it?” MianMian asks the obvious question.

            “I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng huffs.

            “What if – ” Lan Wangji begins before cutting himself off.

            “What if?” MianMian urges.

            Lan Wangji frowns like he wants to burn a hole through the torso with his eyes.

            “Lan Wangji?” Jiang Cheng asks.

            “Nie Mingjue’s body is missing,” Lan Wangji says.

            Jiang Cheng does not like where this is going. “Are you suggesting this is Nie Mingjue? That someone cut him into pieces and hid them like some sort of sick scavenger hunt?”

            MianMian grimaces, “That can’t be good.”

            “How did Sect Leader Nie die?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            “Qi deviation,” Jiang Cheng frowns. “It was…not pretty.”

            “That could be why you sense so much wrath coming from him,” MianMian suggests.

            Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “No, no, no. It’s not…he’s not just angry. He’s…hurt.”

            “Well he has been dismembered,” MianMian points out.

            Wei Wuxian shakes his head, “He feels…betrayed.”

            Jiang Cheng buries his face in his hands and groans. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

            Lan Wangji gives him an unimpressed look as if to say ‘ah, yes, and we’re all enjoying ourselves so much’. Jiang Cheng glares at him. Lan Wangji is still supporting most of Wei Wuxian’s weight – Wei Wuxian who seems perfectly content to lean against Lan Wangji instead of standing on his own two feet like the grown-ass man he’s supposed to be.

            This. This is the person whose halfway convinced Lan Wangji still somehow hates him. Jiang Cheng swears he’s going to scream if they keep being impossible.

            “Nie Mingjue was murdered and this is his torso,” Wei Wuxian declares.

            “We don’t know that,” Jiang Cheng cautions.

            Lan Wangji gestures to the wreckage all around them, the torso, and the entire adventure thus far.

            “Alright, so we heartily suspect that.”

            A perfect Lan eyebrow goes up, not even wrinkling that perfect Lan forehead ribbon. Lan Wangji may be a friend, but sometimes Jiang Cheng just wants to slap his perfect, expressionless face.

            “Who would want Nie Mingjue dead?” Wei Wuxian muses, “Wen Ruohan’s branch of the family was decimated and Wen Qing’s branch has no reason to bear Nie Mingjue any ill-will. Nie Huaisang never wanted to be sect leader, so he’d hardly resort to fratricide. Did the Nies acquire any major enemies while I was dead?”

            Jiang Cheng shrugs. The Nie sect had been one of the most stable ones coming out of the Sunshot campaign. He can’t think of anyone who’d directly benefit from Nie Mingjue’s death other than Nie Huaisang, and Nie Huaisang didn’t want any of the so-called ‘benefits’ of losing his brother and sect leader.

            MianMian hums thoughtfully, “Jin Guangyao.”

            “What?” Jiang Cheng blurts out, “But he and Nie Mingjue were sworn brothers!”

            “Their relationship was strained,” Lan Wangji points out. “Brother worried about them.”

            MianMian nods, “I still have contacts in Jin sect. According to everyone, Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue never saw eye to eye.”

            Jiang Cheng snorts, “How could they? Jin Ling is taller than Jin Guangyao.”

            MianMian raises an eyebrow.

            Jiang Cheng shrugs. The truth is the truth.

            “Mocking others’ height should be beneath you, Sect Leader,” Lan Wangji says in perfect deadpan.

            Wei Wuxian chokes on a laugh. “Lan Zhan, you’re the best.”

            Lan Wangji fairly glows at that.

            Jiang Cheng resists the urge to punch himself in the face so he doesn’t have to watch this disaster.

            MianMian shakes her head, “They hated each other. Jin Guangyao and Nie Mingjue. And Jin Guangyao is the type to hold grudges.”

            Jiang Cheng grimaces. Wei Wuxian, the contrary bastard, grins.

            “This is perfect.”

            “How is this perfect?” Jiang Cheng demands, “A man is dead!”

            Wei Wuxian flaps a hand at him, “Yes, but we can solve his murder and bring his spirit peace.”

            “Would that have made you feel better when you were dead?” MianMian asks.

            “Not important,” Wei Wuxian chirps, “We’re going to the Discussion Conference and we are going to snoop around and we’re going to solve Nie Mingjue’s murder! Maybe we’ll even find all the body parts…” he brightens even more, “Maybe when we solve his murder and bring him peace he’ll revive and Wen Ning could have an undead pal!”

            “Wei Ying, no.”

            “You’re no fun, Lan Zhan.”

            Jiang Cheng has never dreaded a Discussion conference more.

…

            Far away, in Lanling, in a secret storeroom hidden in Jin Guangyao’s quarters, a pair of undead eyes snap open.

            The terms of the spell were clear. If the torso’s burial site is disturbed, this corpse was to deal with whoever disturbed it.

            A black-clad arm reaches out and opens up the chest which had contained this corpse for the past six years.

            Time to cause a little trouble.

            Rubbery, undead lips twist into an eerie, empty smile.

            The corpse shuffles to the mirror and taps, taps, taps.

            Come here, Jin Guangyao. Let me out, Jin Guangyao. Let me play, Jin Guangyao.

            I’ll be good.

            The corpse jerks and shudders in place, adjusting to the unfeeling strength in its perfectly preserved limbs.

            In another, smaller box, a head, eyelids sewn shut, plastered in talismans to keep it complacent and in place, shudders, jerking, rattling its restraints.

            The corpse smiles and taps the mirror a little harder.

…

            Elsewhere, somewhere between reality and the afterlife, the angry, twisted soul of an angry, twisted man, senses something has changed. Xue Yang remembers his own name for the first time in six years.

            Yes.

            He is Xue Yang.

            He left instructions for Jin Guangyao. A recipe to make him, Xue Yang, into an undead warrior to rival the infamous Wen Ning.

            It looks like the little snake didn’t quite follow the instructions Xue Yang so carefully, so generously, left in excruciating detail.

            So Xue Yang will have to do this the hard way.

            He hones in on where his body stands, tapping away at a magic mirror like a stupid dog waiting for its master. Disgusting. Xue Yang blasts past the lingering specter of Nie Mingjue’s pathetic, shattered soul, slams into the corpse he’d left behind.

            If Jin Guangyao couldn’t manage to bring him back the right way, Xue Yang will just have to do this the hard way. He’ll just have to possess his own body, then. Use it as a tool to hunt down the little Jiang bitch and take care of her. Use it as a tool to find Xiao Xingchen and bring him back where he belongs, with Xue Yang.

            The corpse in the storage room jerks and shudders as Xue Yang seizes control of it.  The limbs flail, the smile turns macabre, and Nie Mingjue’s head rattles in its box.

            Oh, this, this will be fun.

...

Chapter Text

Chapter 19: Build a Home (wait to tear it down)

Six Years Previously…

            Lan Wangji sips his tea and stares blandly ahead. He isn’t necessarily not making eye contact with his uncle. He’s not slouching or pouting or refusing to look at him like Jin Ling will when his mother is reprimanding him. Lan Wangji is above such behavior. He’s not six, after all.

            Instead, he’s resting his eyes on a spot just over his uncle’s shoulder and not bothering to make much of an effort to respond to the older man’s attempts at conversation with anything more advanced than the occasional ‘hmm’. He learned at a young age that implying he is being listened to the key to letting Uncle work off his frustrations. He’ll rant a bit, stew, rant some more, drink tea with aggressive poise, maybe lecture a bit and end the conversation feeling refreshed while Lan Wangji and, presumably Xichen, although the elder Lan brother has always been better at pretending to avidly soak up every word to pass their uncle’s lips, spend most of the time daydreaming and ignoring their uncle.

            Of course, occasionally, and more and more frequently in the last seven years, Lan Wangji will attempt this tactic only to find his uncle only gets more distressed when he’s not being listened to. It would seem that now they’re older and have very little to say to each other, Lan Qiren actually wants a conversation partner.

            (Or, more likely, a Lan Wangji who verbally says “I understand, uncle” and “I agree, uncle” instead of leaving the other man to draw his own erroneous conclusions)

            Too bad, Lan Wangji thinks as he sips his tea and does not take his eye off the spot just over his uncle’s shoulder. He hasn’t been the obedient boy who took his uncle’s every utterance for gospel for a very long time.

            “Wangji, I do not understand your recalcitrance in this matter!” Lan Qiren finally huffs.

            Lan Wangji blinks out of his daydream.

            “Are you still discussing the matter of my son’s schooling?” he asks coolly.

            “Yes,” Lan Qiren hisses out between his teeth.

            “Why?” Lan Wangji asks simply. “I have made my thoughts on the matter clear. As have you. I am his guardian. I dictate where, when and how he will learn so long as he is in my care. You do not.”

            “Wangji,” Lan Qiren huffs, “You are being impossible. I did not think I raised you to be so blithely inconsiderate of your elders.”

            Lan Wangji blinks. “My elders wished to have me beaten, whipped, and confined to seclusion for defending the man I loved and adopting his orphaned ward. I have come to the conclusion said elders are not all-knowing, to my younger self’s continuing chagrin.”

            Lan Wangji is not a terribly verbal man. He doesn’t like words. There’s too much room for misunderstandings, for things to be twisted around and misinterpreted. There are too many ways they can be bent into hateful, cruel shapes.

            He likes music. He likes touch. He likes consistent, grounding truths. If he hugs his son, he is showing A-Yuan he is loved and cherished. If he writes a song for Wei Wuxian, names it after the both of them, and keeps it buried deep in the heart of himself for years, then he is remembering his love, he is making sure Wei Ying is not forgotten.

            Lan Qiren likes words. He and Xichen have always been more verbal than he. Lan Wangji likes to pick all his words out in advance when he’s talking to his uncle, so he is prepared for any conversational eventuality. This way he cannot be twisted up in confusion analogies and contradictory rules.

            Be righteous.

            Spurn Wei Wuxian.

            How could he do both?

            It would be impossible.

            “Wangji,” his uncle begins, “The elders may have been overzealous in their desires –”

            “Had they whipped me I would have endured it. I did not know better,” Lan Wangji is losing patience and his temper, “I would have borne it all. Patiently, and without complaint, and it would not have changed my heart. I knew Wei Ying was precious, that he deserved salvation, and the world was wrong to turn against him and the innocents he sheltered. But Cloud Recesses was my home, your rigid morality and your wall of rules was my life. Had I returned after Wei Ying’s death, perhaps things would have been different. But I came to Lotus Pier instead. And they welcomed me. And mourned with me. And gave my son and I a home.”

            He meets his uncle’s eyes for the first time, “They finished Wei Ying’s work. They showed me there are other ways to exist in this world.”

            Lan Qiren’s face is hard, a stiff mask. Lan Wangji wonders about his uncle, about the man who raised him and his brother. Lan Qiren had been young when Wangji and Xichen’s father had retreated from the world. Too young, perhaps. He’d probably done his best.

            But his best was not enough, and Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to risk his son’s education just to extend an olive branch.

            “Wangji,” Lan Qiren sounds pained. “I have always wanted what was best for you,” he stumbles, “I have been so afraid, so very afraid, that you and your brother would turn out like your father.”

            Lan Wangji has complicated feelings for his father. He understands his motivation – his need to bring his scandalous bride home to Cloud Recesses where she would be safe and by his side. After all, Lan Wangji had asked, nay, pleaded with Wei Ying to come home with him. To save himself even as darkness consumed him.

            “I am not like my father,” Lan Wangji counters, voice soft as he feels out the edges of his argument. He hadn’t prepared his words for this conversation, but it is a topic he’s thought on quite a bit. “I was always my mother’s son.”

            She’d been his sun, his moon, and his stars when he was small. His visits to her, so painfully few, so rationed out, so not enough, were the highlight of his months. And when she was gone, her light snuffed out so abruptly, he’d been so empty. His insides hollowed out, a yawning blankness under his skin as he tried to navigate the universe without his astral landmarks.

            Lan Qiren’s face tightens imperceptibly, “How can you say that?”

            Lan Wangji looks at him, this tired, trying man. “Had I returned to Cloud Recesses…” he begins, feeling out the edges of his words before he places them on his tongue, “I would have submitted to any treatment. Confinement, corporeal punishment, anything, so long as A-Yuan was safe. So long as Wei Ying’s last legacy was secure. I would have lived as my mother did – a prisoner in my own home, so long as he was alright.” He blinks, swallows, takes a steadying sip of tea.

            “If I had brought Wei Ying home, I would not have left his side. I would have protected him from anyone who wished to hurt him. I would have healed him as best I could, and if he told me to leave, I would do so. If he wanted to leave, I would let him. If he asked for Baoshan Sanren herself, I would have traveled the four corners of the world to find her for him. I would not have confined him. I would not have hidden away from him and the evidence of my so-called mistakes.”

            He’s gritting his teeth, grinding his molars together. The enamel creaks and the tea quivers in his cup. He takes a steadying breath and sets down the cup. “I would not have dumped my responsibilities on another’s shoulders. I would. Not. Be. My. Father.”

            It’s Lan Qiren’s turn to look away. Lan Wangji takes another breath, surprised at the tightness in his chest. That was so, so hard. He can’t, he can’t breathe. Not properly. There’s something squeezing his chest, compressing his windpipe and he gasps around it helplessly.

            “Nephew, Wangji.” Lan Qiren’s hand on his shoulder startles him out of near-hyperventilation. He looks up to see his uncle’s face, so much wearier than it had been when he and Xichen were small. “Breathe.”

            Lan Wangji follows his instructions and finds himself coughing, fine tremors shaking his fingers as he reorients himself.

            “I see…I was wrong. I – all I ever wanted for you and Xichen – ” Lan Qiren exhales, squeezes Lan Wangji’s shoulder and lets go. “I wanted you to have good, happy, stable, righteous lives. Instead you – this,” He clears his throat, “Instead you were children of war. I cannot undo the past, but I wish it had been different.”

            Lan Wangji nods, focusing on breathing and takes a sip of tea.

            Lan Qiren continues, his usual eloquence has deserted him, he looks fragile in a strange way, “You are right. You are nothing like your father. You are a better man than he.” Lan Qiren laces his fingers together, staring into the depths of his tea, “You are an adult, not a child, you have not been a child for many years now. And part of being an adult is doing the best you can in every situation you encounter, and then shouldering the consequences, bearing that responsibility. And you…you have done all that and more, Wangji. I do not understand you. I may never understand you. But you have my respect.”

            Lan Wangji stares at his uncle. All his words have deserted him. He hasn’t prepared a response for this. All he can do is put his hands before him and bow slightly over them in acknowledgement and thanks.

            “We will set aside the matter of Lan Yuan’s schooling at present,” Lan Qiren concedes. “Perhaps when he is older, he can come study with a class of guest disciples, as his uncle Jiang did as a youth.”

            It’s the closest Lan Qiren may ever come to acknowledging Wei Wuxian’s claim to Lan Yuan, the connection between Lan Wangji’s beloved and their shared child, but it is enough for now.

            He nods again and takes another sip of tea.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20: Sad Eyes, Bad Guys

            Qin Su twists her hands together anxiously, watching as servants scuttle back and forth, getting everything in order for the Discussion Conference. A letter rests, unread in a hidden pocket within her robes and she wonders if she should open it.

            She wonders what secrets she will never be able to un-see if she reads those words.

            She wonders about Mo Xuanyu, sometimes. How he’d been trying so desperately to tell her something before being ousted from the sect in disgrace.

            “The boy was disturbed,” her husband had said dismissively when she mentioned it. “Don’t worry about him.”

            But all Qin Su ever seems to do these days is worry. It’s as if she’s trying to make up for how content she was in the old days, before her son, her little Rusong died. As if her spirit is getting all the worry in now that she was too complacent to feel in the days before her son’s death. As if something in her is saying ‘you were careless, you allowed yourself to believe all was well and look what happened. Now you’ll fret the way you should have then, now, when it will do no good.’

            Suddenly fatigued, she looks away from the hustling servants. Her hands smooth over her robes restlessly, even as she flinches away from the crackle of paper when her palms pass over that hidden pocket and the letter she hasn’t managed to read yet.

            Qin Su wonders what terrible things it will say. Because good tidings have never come from secret missives carried by messengers with haunted eyes.

            She suspects it will have something to do with her husband. She hates to think it. She shudders away from it, even. The creeping suspicion that something is wrong, that something is rotten here in the gilded house of the Jin. Qin Su doesn’t think it’s Jin Guangyao, but he can be so…strange sometimes. His eyes will go cold and flat and he’ll look at her like he doesn’t understand what’s under her skin. Like he wants to unspool her brains and read her thoughts, but might not care enough to tidy them up and put them back where he found them afterwards. He’ll say all the right things, be sweet and courteous and gallant and somehow she’ll still feel as if she’s playing a part in a play, with no idea what happens when they run out of lines.

            Qin Su watches the other lady cultivators at these conferences sometimes and feels as if she’s on another plane of existence entirely. Wen Qing, the inimitable lady of Lotus Pier, laughing and needling Sect Leader Jiang, poking fun at his scowling face as he scoffs and crooks a smile despite himself. Jiang Yanli, serene and confident, warmly greeting all and sundry with kind words or gentle jibes. MianMian, bright and sunny and sure of herself in a way she never was when she was caught in Jin Guangshan’s gilded cage.

            And then there’s Qin Su. She looks at her husband, opens her mouth to say something, to attempt the kind of casual familiarity she sees between Wen Qing and Jiang Wanyin, and finds her mind scoured clean of words. She has nothing to offer. So, she turns to someone, anyone else, and exchanges pleasantries until she feels her face go numb.

            There are days where Qin Su looks at herself in the mirror and wonders who she is anymore. She feels like a paper woman. There are cultivators who can project pieces of their consciousness into paper people and walk them about where humans cannot go. Sometimes Qin Su feels like one of those paper puppets and wonders where the rest of her has gone to.

            The servants’ activities are suddenly too much, too loud, the gold inlay everywhere too bright, everything about this place nauseatingly gaudy. Resplendent in sick excess.

            Her head hurts.

            She retreats, hands resting over that secret pocket with the letter. Her head buzzes like bees are trapped behind her eyes.

            Qin Su passes through the golden halls and escapes into her husband’s chambers. His study is peaceful. It’s always empty this time of day, with Jin Guangyao meeting with other cultivators or Jin sect officials, tending to the day to day business of being Chief Cultivator and leader of Lanling Jin.

            Qin Su settles behind his desk, a familiar intrusion. As the years have passed, sitting here, at this desk is closer to truly spending time with Jin Guangyao than sitting at his side does. This is where he does his living. Out there, where she and every other member of their sect lurks, is where he does his acting.

            She runs her hands over the writing table’s golden wood and thinks about the letter burning a hole in her pocket.

            Qin Su is drifting, not quite meditating, not quite spacing out, when a thud jerks her back into her body and into reality. She blinks, shaking her head, and turns towards the mirror in the corner of the room. The mirror leads to the secret chamber where the Jin sect leaders have stored their most precious artifacts for generations. She’s been there once or twice – mostly when Jin Guangyao is tipsy and wants someone to coo over his treasures with him.

            It makes her feel strangely close to him, seeing him that openly delighted at…anything, really. Even if it’s just dusty old swords and scrolls.

            She approaches the mirror, footsteps soft and hesitant. She reaches out, brushing light fingers over the surface of the mirror. It ripples the way no mirror should at her touch. Whatever is on the other side thuds against the glass and she jerks her hand back, but does not step away. She leans closer, curious despite herself.

            She can hear, ear not quite pressed against the glass, fingernails tapping on the other side, like a dog scratching to be let in at night.

            Qin Su is not a powerful cultivator. She wasn’t raised to be. Her father had some very entrenched notions of lady cultivators being ornaments for their fathers’ and husbands’ first and practically skilled second. But she has a golden core, as rudimentary as it is, and she can reach out tentative spiritual fingers to whatever lurks on the other side.

…

            Xue Yang never expected his own body to be so…uncomfortable. Jin Guangyao is either an illiterate buffoon who cannot follow Xue Yang’s extremely comprehensive instructions regarding restoring Xue Yang to un-life, or he intentionally screwed up Xue Yang’s revival.

            If that’s the case, Xue Yang will have to rip out his throat and turn him into an undead puppet.

            Fair’s fair, after all.

            Whatever happened, Xue Yang’s body came back as a shambling, unaware animated meat sack rather than a fully aware fierce corpse. Luckily, his spirit was still lingering in the mortal world, waiting to possess another form just in time to seize control of his newly mobile corpse. He’s stuck possessing his own body the way a malevolent spirit might possess an animal or unfortunate human. How embarrassing.

            It’s ungainly. Xue Yang feels like an overstuffed wonton, like he’ll burst out of his fleshy wrappings at the slightest provocation.

            It’s more than ungainly. It’s appalling.

            He’s alternating between scratching at the glass and thumping on it when his temper gets the better of him. Xue Yang already tried to break it, only to find that, even with undead strength, he’s no match for the wards on what must be the Jin treasury.

            (When he gets bored he takes a few moments to smash another priceless heirloom or tear up another irreplaceable scroll. It’s very satisfying in its way.)

            There’s a sword on a stand. Xue Yang grins to himself. His sword is long gone, probably taken as a prize by that Jiang bitch, but this one will be a decent replacement.

            He reaches for the thing, running his eyes over the name carved into the sheathe.

            Suibian. “Whatever.”

            What kind of moron names their sword ‘Whatever’?

            Xue Yang rolls his eyes. He’ll just have to rename it when it becomes his. He tries to draw the blade, only to find it’s stuck fast. He snarls, jerking at the hilt. It’s not rusted in, the damned thing may be dusty, but it’s well-maintained. He rattles it, trying to shake the blade loose. It doesn’t like that, the sheathe heating up as if in rebuke.

            He drops it, hissing, when his hands begin to smoke.

            The sword falls to the ground, bouncing a little as it rolls to a stop.

            Xue Yang’s never seen a sword look smug before.

            He hates it.

            He kicks it just to show it hasn’t gotten the better of him, and turns back to the mirror, slamming his fist into it and watching the surface ripple but hold.

            He returns to pounding and scratching at it.

            Someone will come for him, eventually. He knows that little bastard, Jin Guangyao. He’s the type to visit his stupid trophies in his stupid claustrophobic treasure room.

            Xue Yang just needs to wait.

            He’s leaning against the glass, tapping at it, when it falls out from under him.

            Someone’s opened the door.

…

            Qin Su stumbles away from the mirror-door with a shriek, hands flying up to her face as a corpse tumbles out to sprawl at her feet. She leans forward, moving to inspect the corpse, when it jerks upright right under her nose.

            Qin Su lets out a little scream, feet tangling with her heavy robes as she tries to scuttle away from it. She’s too slow, though, a grey-skinned hand, missing the pinky finger but not less frightening for it, darts out to sieze her by the throat.

            “How many years?” a scraping, raw, open wound of a voice demands in her ear. The corpse’s hand is cold around her throat, the nails digging painfully into the tender skin of her neck. She’d once overheard Wen Qing telling a younger disciple that people’s fingernails keep growing for a little while after death. She wonders if that’s why fierce corpses have long, claw-like fingernails.

            “Since when?” she wheezes.

            “Since I died,” he sing-songs.

            “Who are you?” she gasps.

            “Who am I?” he snarls, dragging her even closer. Qin Su’s hands scrabble at Jin Guangyao’s desk, searching for anything she can use as a weapon. “I am Xue Yang.”

            Xue Yang. Xue Yang. The demonic cultivator Lady Jiang killed. The boogeyman that’s haunted children’s nightmares for the last six years.

            “Six,” she forces out, “Six years.”

            “Six,” Xue Yang spits, “That fucker.”

            “Who?” Qin Su whispers against his hold on her throat.

            “Oh no, no, no, pretty little lady. You don’t talk. You don’t talk at all. The last time I let a pretty little lady cultivator talk to me, well…it didn’t end well. Pretty little lady cultivators will be seen,” a vicious squeeze around her neck, “And not heard.”

            Qin Su nods, a tiny, terrified motion.

            Xue Yang chuckles, letting her go and spinning her around in one fluid motion. Now her back is to him and she can feel his eyes on the nape of her neck and fear crawls down her spine on tiny, dreadful feet. He shoves her forward.

            “Do you have a sword?”
            Mute, she hands him hers.

            He grins and it’s grotesque on his rubbery, grey lips. She’s seen Wen Ning, the ghost general, from a distance before, and his smiles were never this…inhuman.

            He draws the sword and prods her forward with it.

            “Now, let’s go out and greet your adoring public, Madame Jin.”

…

            Xue Yang tears through the servants, bounds off walls, flings full grown men across rooms, practically flies with the force of his unearthly speed and strength. Qin Su stumbles after him on numb legs, screaming for help, for him to stop, for the starbursts of red painting the walls to go away, for everything to revert to how it was only an hour ago.

            Xue Yang is laughing, as gleeful as a child. He bounces back to her side, grabbing her by the back of her robes the way you’d scruff a kitten and tossing her forward so she falls to her knees. He tells her to watch, to watch him, to take it all in.

            Tears are falling down her face and her robes are stained with blood, and Qin Su isn’t sure if she’s still screaming or if it’s all dried up in her throat.

            Xue Yang isn’t concerned with butchering Jin sect. He’s going somewhere, he’s going out, he’s dragging her along with him, he’s demanding she watch, he’s, he’s…

            Qin Su loses time somewhere along the way. Xue Yang has broken out of the Jin stronghold, dragging her along behind him.

            “Tell the good, noble cultivators to come after me if they can,” Xue Yang laughs, “And remind Jin Guangyao who has his wife and all his secrets~”

            Qin Su doesn’t know if she faints or if Xue Yang knocks her out, but she blacks out as he flees the shattered halls of Lanling Jin.

…

            Jingyi points out the flare to Nie Huaisang, “Sect Leader, Sect Leader Nie!”

            “Yes?” Nie Huaisang asks from behind his fan, raising his perfectly maintained eyebrows.

            “There’s a distress signal coming from the nearest watchtower! Lanling Jin needs reinforcements!”

            Jin Ling cries out, spinning around, squinting in the direction of the watchtower as if a detailed description of whatever happened will appear in the sky beside the golden fireworks.

            Sizhui is already turning his sword around, “We have to help them.”

            “I was supposed to take you back to Lotus Pier,” Nie Huaisang whines at them, while his brain whirls, trying to figure out what could possibly have happened at Lanling Jin in this early stage for distress flares to appear this far out.

            He comes up dry and that frightens him. He didn’t think he could be truly frightened anymore.

            Curious.

            Jin Ling, with all the impulsive decisiveness of his uncles and father, spins his sword around and bolts for Lanling.

            “Hey!” Jingyi shouts after him, “What the hell, pipsqueak?”

            “Fuck off, I have to help them. They’re my sect!” Jin Ling yells behind him, “And I’ll – I’ll fight all of you if you try to stop me!”

            Sizhui sighs and puts on a burst to speed so he’s shoulder to shoulder with his cousin, “Don’t go rushing off without us,” he says sharply, looking over his shoulder at Nie Huaisang. “Will Sect Leader Nie be joining us?”

            Nie Huaisang, mind still spinning, trying to divine what could have possibly happened, can only shrug and agree to follow the children blindly into danger.

            He’s becoming far too much like Wei Wuxian in his old age, he decides.

…

            “That’s a Jin distress flare!” MianMian cries.

            Jiang Cheng whirls around and swears when he spots the gold fireworks in the distance. “It must be bad if they’re sending distress signals through the watchtowers.”

            “Mn,” agrees Lan Wangji, stepping onto his sword and holding out a hand to Wei Wuxian, “Wei Ying?”

            “Into danger once again, eh Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian cocks an eyebrow.

            “It is what we do,” Lan Wangji says gravely.

            Wei Wuxian laughs as he accepts the hand and steps onto the sword in front of the other man, “And here you used to scold me for charging into danger.”

            “You should be more careful with yourself,” Lan Wangji says gravely.

            “What a jolly pair of hypocrites we are,” Wei Wuxian says dryly, a fretful line between his brows as he watches the gold fireworks dissolve and fall out of their configuration.

            “Lady Luo,” Jiang Cheng asks, “Do you wish to accompany us? Lanling Jin is your former sect.”

            MianMian nods, lips pressed together into a colorless line.

            “What will be do about the – ” she gestures vaguely at the torso.

            “I’ll carry it,” Jiang Cheng grimaces the grimace of a man who knows he will be carrying a corpse’s torso on his back for any length of time. “It needs to be reunited with its fellows eventually.”

            Wei Wuxian honors his brother’s sacrifice by not laughing as the other man uses Zidian to lash the torso to his back.

            “Not. One. Word,” Jiang Cheng growls as he shoulders the finished product.

            Wei Wuxian bites his tongue and looks away.

…

            Elsewhere, Jiang Yanli and Wen Qing leap into action, gathering medical supplies and armed cultivators to confront whatever has befallen Lanling. Lan Xichen, traveling as he often does, puts on speed, racing to make sure his last sworn brother left is in one piece.

            And even further afield, a pair of one-eyed wandering cultivators look at each other, a feeling of nameless dread curling around them even as their blind disciple whistles as she wanders down the road ahead.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21: Smile With My Teeth

Six Years Previously…

            Nie Mingjue lies, sedated, in his bed in the Unclean Realms. Wen Qing runs a weary hand down her face and turns to meet Nie Huaisang’s worried gaze.

            “I don’t know what else I can do for him,” she admits.

            Nie Huaisang’s shoulders slump and she feels it like a blade.

            “I understand,” he says.

            Wen Qing scrubs her hands over her face. “I’m no expert on qi deviation,” she cautions, “But this feels…strange.”

            Nie Huaisang gives her a curious look.

            Wen Qing sighs through her nose. “He shouldn’t be deteriorating at this rate,” she explains. “There’s no war, no crisis, no major tragedy in his life right now.” She shoots a look Nie Huaisang’s way to make sure she’s correct. The younger Nie nods in agreement.

            “Things have never been better in the Unclean Realms,” he says, “The sect is flourishing. We’ve actually been at peace for long enough to get a bit of an arts scene,” Nie Huaisang quirks a crooked smile, “Da-ge grumbles, but he lets me drag him to every festival and play so it can’t be that terrible for his health.” The smile drops off his face immediately after he finishes speaking. “I don’t know what else I can do. I’m not a warrior like Jiang Wanyin, I’m not a genius like Wei Wuxian. I make pretty things and I keep Da-ge from scaring the disciples too badly. I’m…decorative.”

            Wen Qing raises a single eyebrow, “I somehow think you’re a little more than decorative, friend.”

            Nie Huaisang flutters his fan, “Whatever could you mean?”

            “I think your pet spy network are what’s allowed the Nie Sect flourish so well after the war,” Wen Qing says bluntly, “You didn’t have any of the infighting or instability the others did after the Sunshot campaign. The Jins were stabbing each other in the back recreationally when they weren’t putting me and mine in chains. But not the Nies. You just settled down to cleaning up the mess Wen Xu left behind.”

            Nie Huaisang opens his mouth – probably to defer, but Wen Qing holds up a hand. “I don’t blame you or your brother for what my family and I endured. I don’t hold your successes against you. I am simply pointing out that even the Lans had a few unstable years, while there were suspiciously few disruptions in the court of Nie Mingjue. You did your job well, Nie Huaisang. It’s not shameful.”

            Nie Huaisang inclines his head. “I always thought you were too smart for Jiang Cheng,” he says, with a wry laugh and a flutter of his fan.

            Wen Qing laughs, “And yet.”

            Nie Huaisang flicks his fan, “You’re good for him. Keep him on his toes.”

            Their levity is quick to fade, as Nie Mingjue murmurs in his sleep and they both turn to look at him.

            “There’s not much you can do, is there?” Nie Huaisang says softly.

            Wen Qing sighs again, “I can mix him teas for relaxation, use my needles to help release tension in the body – but this is spiritual in nature. If Lan Xichen’s music isn’t working anymore…” she looks up at Nie Huaisang, “I’ll stay a while longer and observe. I’ll see if there’s anything I can do. But I wouldn’t pin all your hopes on me. I can’t promise anything will change.”

            Nie Huaisang inclines his head with a sad smile, eyes big and damp with tears, “I understand.”

…

            Jin Guangyao is not having a good week. Damn Xue Yang and his petty, stupid grudges and his apparent need to play with his dammed victims before striking the fatal blow. Now he, Jin Guangyao, is mopping up the stupid necromancer’s mess and racing around making sure nothing tying the two of them together was left in any of the fool’s hideouts.

            It’s exhausting.

            Su She seems to think Jin Guangyao is – shudder – mourning Xue Yang. This means Su She is tiptoing around Jin Guangyao’s supposedly fragile emotional state instead of reporting promptly and properly like a good lackey.

            “Spit it out, Su She,” Jin Guangyao finally snaps when the other cultivator takes too long dancing around the words instead of saying them.

            “Xue Yang left instructions regarding the, ah, treatment of his body,” Su She finally admits.

            Was that so hard? Jin Guangyao is fond of clever turns of phrase. He is the king of saying many things and many none or all of them. This doesn’t mean he doesn’t value directness from others. He’s been disappointed and abused by too many two-faced liars in the past. He may lie and scheme and bend the truth to get what he wants from people, but it’s only because they taught him to be that way first.

            “Alright,” Jin Guangyao says the with pleasant smile he trained his face into years and years ago, the smile Lan Xichen, bless him, always says makes it look like he’s in pain. Jin Guangyao has other smiles for Lan Xichen, warmer, realer, less perfect smiles. He’d had smiles for Nie Mingjue back before the other man betrayed him, refused to understand him, failed him, and cast him out. “What did Xue Yang wish us to do with his earthly remains?”

            Su She swallows, “Here. You read it.”

            Jin Guangyao’s smile sharpens like a knife, “Very well.” His words have bladed edges, but Su She doesn’t notice, just hands over the piece of paper with Xue Yang’s final wishes on it.

            Xue Yang always had terrible handwriting, Jin Guangyao muses. Jin Guangyao’s mother, Meng Shi, had beautiful handwriting. Everything about her had been beautiful. Refined. Educated. And no one had bothered to remember her name while the entire cultivation world will never forget Xue Yang’s. The soft, lovely things are never immortalized. Lan Xichen once told him, after Cloud Recesses had burned, when they were just two half-human creatures clinging to life in the wilderness, that their fragility is what makes a thing beautiful. That a blossom is lovely because it will wilt. That Cloud Recesses was beautiful because it could burn.

            He’d been feverish and struggling to come to terms with unimaginable loss, but Meng Yao had burned those words into his brain, just as he burned all things about Lan Xichen into his memory. Lan Xichen, lovely, elegant, idealistic Lan Xichen, who looked at him and saw a person, who would always nod and understand. Who would never judge him or repudiate him.

            Lan Xichen is beautiful. Which means he can be destroyed. Jin Guangyao will have to make sure he isn’t.

            Jin Guangyao is an unlovely creature. He made himself into one, carving himself out of the ruins of what he had been, because being sweet enough, soft enough, lovely enough was not enough to give him love or even safety. His father had kicked him down the steps of Koi tower. Nie Mingjue had rejected him the minute he showed himself to be anything other than sweet, soft, and lovely. So Jin Guangyao is no longer any of those things. He wears his old self like a pretty gilded skin of smiles and grace and he peels it off whenever he needs to do what needs doing.

            He reads Xue Yang’s last request.

            Su She startles when Jin Guangyao bursts out laughing, staring at his master as if he hadn’t been sure the other man knew how to make the sounds coming out of his throat right now.

            “What is it, sir?” Su She asks.

            Jin Guangyao, still chuckling, folds the message up and puts it away, “Xue Yang has some delusions of grandeur, doesn’t he?”

            “Didn’t.”

            “What?”

            “Well, he’s dead, sir. So, he doesn’t have any delusions. Not anymore.”

            Jin Guangyao shakes his head, “You really are a weak cultivator, weren’t you, Su She?”

            Su Shu draws himself up indignantly, puffing up like an angry bird. “I was a disiciple of Gusu Lan – ”

            “He’s here, Su She,” Jin Guangyao cuts him off. He seems to attract men with delusions of graduer. It’s exhausting. This is why he likes Lan Xichen. There is no arrogance in him, simple understanding of his own skill. It’s refreshing. “A man like Xue Yang, killed the way he was, will always come back a vengeful spirit.”

            Su She looks unnerved, shifting his weight from foot to foot as if he could catch a glimpse of Xue Yang’s vicious spirit lingering in the air around him.

            “And he wants me to make him into a conscious fierce corpse to rival the Ghost General.” Jin Guangyao shakes his head. “Fool.”

            “What?” Su She looks up nervously.

            “I’m not foolish enough to bring Xue Yang back as a conscious fierce corpse,” Jin Guangyao says brusquely. “He was hard enough to control in life. In death he’d be a nightmare. No, for now, we’ll remove his body from the site of his murder.”

            “And do what with it?” Su She looks very disturbed.

            Jin Guangyao shrugs, “I don’t know yet. But there’s nothing stopping me from using these convenient instructions our pet demonic cultivator left us to bring him back as a fierce corpse.”

            Su She makes a squeak of protest.

            Jin Guangyao gives him a look, “Sans spirit, of course. He’ll be uncontrollable with his soul intact. No, if Xue Yang is coming back, it’s as a puppet and nothing more.”

            “Or course, sir, I thought so as well,” Su She blantantly lies.

            Jin Guangyao tires of his pandering, but the other man does have his uses sometimes. “Yes, quite,” he says dismissively, and turns back to the wreckage of Xue Yang’s workshop.

…

            Nie Huaisang is worrying at the edge of a letter when Wen Qing joins him for breakfast.

            “What is it?” she asks.

            “Sect Leader Jin Guangyao has written,” Nie Huaisang says, “He will not be able to come play for Da-ge as he usually does. There is too much to do mopping up in the aftermath of Xue Yang’s death.”

            Wen Qing grimaces, “I’d apologize for the inconvenience, but Xue Yang was a murderous fuck and I’m glad we killed him.”

            Nie Huaisang laughs, surprised and bright at her casual profanity.

            Wen Qing’s lips twitch, “I’ve been told I have a sour temper in the mornings.”

            Nie Huaisang flicks his fan at her, “One could say that, yes.”

             Wen Qing shoots him a look and pours herself some tea. “So, what does this mean for your brother? Not hearing the song.”

            Nie Huaisang sighs, toying with the rim of his teacup but not drinking any. “I don’t know. It sometimes seems like the Song of Tranquility is working. Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao visit and play together, and Da-ge is his old self. But sometimes, after they leave, he just sits there, staring at nothing. And no matter what I say he doesn’t react. It’s like I’ve lost him in his own head.”

            “Do you managed to get his attention?”

            “Sometimes. Eventually.”

            “What’s he like then?”
            “Sometimes he’s fine. Sometimes he’s furious. Sometimes he’s sad. It’s like he knows he’s losing his hold on something and he’s mourning it. He’s mourning for himself.” Nie Huaisang’s eyes are shining with unshed tears again. Wen Qing wishes she could reach out and comfort him but she has no idea how to even begin to do so.

            “I’m sorry,” she says.

            Nie Huaisang offers her a brave little smile over the breakfast dishes, “We’ll do our best and see what happens.”

            Wen Qing remembers Wei Wuxian saying those words, or something similar, when they first came to the Burial Mounds. He’d looked around them, little Wen Yuan propped on one hip, grey smog clinging to the jagged cliffs above their heads, grinned and said “We’ll try our best and see what happens, won’t we?”

            It had been enough then, because it had to be enough, just like it has to be enough now.

            “Yes, we will,” Wen Qing agrees.

…

            Xue Yang had a fragment of Yin Iron. Jin Guangyao sits in his treasure room and toys with the thing. He’s irritated at how much cleanup this mess with Xue Yang has entailed. Luckily Jiang Yanli killed the bastard, not some random wandering cultivator. With Jin Zixuan’s wife involved, Jin Guangyao can claim jurisdiction.

            He’s concerned about his absence from the Unclean Realms. His plan for disposing of Nie Mingjue relies on extremely careful timing and Xue Yang’s unfortunate flair for the dramatic, even in death, has forced him to push back his visit to the Unclean Realms. If Lan Xichen gets wind of this, he might show up at the Nie residence to play the Song of Tranquility in Jin Guangyao’s stead, stabilizing Nie Mingjue and making it extremely obvious when Jin Guangyao returns and the song has a markedly different impact when played by his hand.

            He might have to stop playing the modified song for a time, setting his plan back even further. How galling.

            Jin Guangyo plays with the piece of Yin Iron. His shields are strong, the Yin Iron can’t influence him, not really.

            An idea begins to percolate in the back of his mind. The Yin Iron can’t influence him because his shields are in place. He knows it’s here; he knows what effects it can have on the mind. He’s aware of it, so he can combat its influence. Anyone who strolled into his treasure room would not share this awareness. They wouldn’t know to put up their shields. They would absorb the negative energy, they would be influenced by it so long as they were in the vicinity, slowly absorbing its power.

            Jin Guangyao smiles and puts the Yin Iron away. He may have come across a backup plan.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 22: My Secret (is I don't keep none)

Present Day

            Wei Wuxian wasn’t expecting a yellow-robed Jin disciple to scream and try and hit him over the head with a piece of wreckage the minute they touch down at Carp Tower, but considering his entire life to date, he thinks he really should have. Luckily, Lan Wangji doesn’t seem inclined to allow anyone to bash Wei Wuxian’s skull in because he catches the piece of timber in one hand and says, voice like ice, “No.”

            The Jin disciple bristles at Lan Wangji’s tone and protests. “That’s Mo Xuanyu, the bastard! He left here in disgrace and was told to never return! How dare he show his face here!”

            The disciple, upon further evaluation, can’t be more than seventeen. Wei Wuxian gives him a pass for being young and stupid and close in age to little Sizhui. Then he remembers what unmitigated terrors he and Jiang Cheng were at seventeen and reconsiders that pass.

            “No. It is not.” Lan Wangji says, completely and utterly seriously and, still one handed, shoves the timber and the disciple attached to it out of their path before carrying on.

            The disciple gibbers his protests at Lan Wangji’s uncaring back. Wei Wuxian shrugs at the lad, “Sorry, kiddo, I’ve never seen you in my life.”

            “WE WERE IN THE SAME CLASS FOR THREE YEARS!” the boy yelps.

            “Can’t recall. Didn’t happen,” Wei Wuxian chirps.

            “Disciple,” Jiang Cheng barks, voice full of the same powerful authority that made young Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng immediately fess up their every youthful indiscretion the moment Madame Yu pinned them with her trademark frown.  “You are lucky Master Lan stopped you before you accosted this man. He is a guest of the Jiang Sect and has no connection to the man you foolishly mistook him for. Return to tidying this mess. We will speak to Sect Leader Jin. Because you are young and, I am sure, already regretting your unfortunate mistake, we will not mention it to your leader.”

            The disciple gapes at them. Wei Wuxian sort of wants to gape as well. He…did not expect that from Jiang Cheng. His brother always had it in him, he’s sure. He’d seen hints of Jiang Cheng’s sheer force of personality on the battlefield during the Sunshot campaign, but it was young, fragile, made brittle and sharp-edged by recent tragedy. This Jiang Cheng is the final form of that power and Wei Wuxian is torn between bowing respectfully and cooing over his baby brother all grown up and terrifying miscreants.

            Once they’re out of earshot he does neither of those things, instead leaning into Jiang Cheng’s space and saying “That was mean.”

            “Shut up, idiot,” Jiang Cheng huffs.

            “You’re going to give that boy a crisis of confidence!”

            “Would you rather he bashed your head in?”

            “No, but Lan Zhan took care of the imminent threat, you didn’t have to make him question his own powers of observation! He may never recover!”

            Jiang Cheng scowls at him.

            “Ah-hah!” Wei Wuxian pokes the furrow between his brows with one finger, “There it is!”

            “There what is?” Jiang Cheng snarls.

            “My scowly little brother! Super-competent Sect Leader Jiang was freaking me out.”

            “Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji’s voice cuts in before Jiang Cheng can respond, “Do not attack Wei Ying. He’s still adjusting.”

            “Adjusting to what?” Jiang Cheng snaps.

            “The present,” Lan Wangji says serenely.

            MianMian, who had been content to observe, snorts a laugh, “He’s right, you have changed a lot since we were in classes together. It’s probably unsettling for Wei Wuxian.”

            “I’m not unsettled!” Wei Wuxian protests, feeling extremely unsettled.

            “Focus on the current disaster,” MianMian advises, “Not your disaster of a life.”

            “I’d be offended if it wasn’t so accurate,” Wei Wuxian comments.

            “Wouldn’t have been if you’d gone back to Gusu with Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng mutters.

            “He told you about that?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            “About how apparently you thought he meant prison while he meant food, shelter and love? Yes. It’s been thirteen years, we talk sometimes.”

            Wei Wuxian stares at him mutely.

            “You could have gone to Lotus Pier if you hadn’t made me stab you,” Jiang Cheng continues.

            “I made you stab me?” Wei Wuxian shrieks.

            “And disown you. You were an ass back then,” Jiang Cheng continues.

            Wei Wuxian sputters but no words come out, “Well, well, if I’d gone back to Gusu the food would have sucked and nobody loved me so it would have just been shelter and I had that at the Burial Mounds!”

            Jiang Cheng stares at him, “That’s your argument?”

            “Yes,” Wei Wuxian says smugly.

            “It’s terrible!”
            “It’s accurate! The truth is a terrible thing!”

            Jiang Cheng gapes at him and MianMian buries her face in her hands.

            Lan Wangji turns around and, in one smooth gesture, gathers a protesting Wei Wuxian into his side like a troublesome child, “Stay with me. I will correct your…misconceptions later.”

            “What?” Wei Wuxian says, the physical contact apparently having fried his brain.

            Luckily, they’re interrupted before more members of their party can turn into gibbering wrecks.

            “Uncle Jiang!” Jin Ling shouts, running through the rubble to skid to a halt in front of Jiang Cheng and offer him a greeting, “Have you seen Uncle Jin yet?” He pauses, glancing over at Wei Wuxian, who’s still trapped against Lan Wangji’s side. “Has that been worked out, then?”

            “No, very much no,” MianMian says before Jiang Cheng can respond, “We were in the middle of a very childish shouting match over past grievances when you showed up.”

            Jin Ling frowns at all of them, “Now is not the time!” he blusters as much as a thirteen-year-old can bluster. “My father’s home is a wreck!”

            Cries of “Father!” and “Hanguang-Jun!” cut through whatever scolding Jin Ling was going to give them, as Sizhui, Jingyi, and another random teenager scramble over a bunch of shattered decorative screens that had been blocking a hallway.

            “Where is Sect Leader Nie?” Lan Wangji asks as Wei Wuxian shouts, “Hey baby Lans, welcome to the crisis!”

            “He’s speaking with my father,” the strange teenager says as they make their way over to the adults.

            “Ouyang Zizhen,” Lan Wangji greets him.

            “Second Master Lan,” the boy says, saluting him.

            “You lot didn’t go back to Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng glowers.

            “We were on our way back,” Jin Ling hedges.

            “By way of the sword tomb, where we fought more horrifying undead things!” Jingyi squeaks.

            “Sect Leader Nie found legs in the Tomb of Swords,” Sizhui explains. “They must resonate with the arm.”

            “Sect Leader Jiang,” Zizhen says tentatively, “Can I ask…why are you wearing a, um, dead body?”

            “It’s just a torso.” Wei Wuxian scoffs, “Kids these days can’t handle a little dismemberment.”

            Lan Wangji frowns at him, “No one likes dismemberment, Wei Ying.”

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “Well, presumably not, but you kind of get used to it.”

            “I, for one, do not want to get used to it,” Jingyi declares.

            “Good,” Lan Wangji says.

            “Who is this person?” Zizhen asks, indicating Wei Wuxian.

            “Nobody,” Jiang Cheng snaps, unwrapping Zidian and easing the torso onto the ground.

            “I’m Sizhui’s mother,” Wei Wuxian says cheekily.

            “Please stop telling people you gave birth to him,” Lan Wangji says tiredly.

            “Psh, I only told you that, Lan Zhan.”

            Jingyi chokes on a laugh, “Oh, wow, you remember when Sizhui was little –”

            “No one needs to hear this story,” Sizhui complains.

            “Everyone needs to hear this story,” Jingyi grins. “Because I need something to focus on other than the dead torso no one’s explained and all the undead horrors.”

            Sizhui looks unimpressed.

            “Alright,” Jingyi claps his hands together, “When Sizhui was a guest disciple at Cloud Recesses – ”

            “Wait, he wasn’t first trained there?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            “No, I trained at Lotus Pier,” Sizhui mumbles.

            “Then he went to Cloud Recesses and met me,” Jingyi grins like his friendship is the greatest thing anyone could discover at Gusu, “And Zizhen.”

            Zizhen waves awkwardly.

            “Anyway, he was always breaking rules on accident. And whenever the teachers told him his parents would hear about it, he told them his mother would be fine with it.”

            “And because he’s a Lan surrounded by Lans they didn’t really know who his parents were at first,” Zizhen jumps in.

            “Yeah, we tend to blend together,” Jingyi shrugs, “Anyway, he drove his teachers crazy. They were all convinced his mother was some doting matron who never disciplined him a day in his life.”

            “Then Hanguang-Jun shows up one day and out comes the whole thing,” Zizhen grins.

            “And!” Jingyi chirps, “When the teachers told him about the whole ‘my mother is fine with it’ thing, Lan Wangji just…nods. And doesn’t say anything. They were tied in knots for days trying to figure out if the illustrious Hanguang-Jun had married some awful woman over a decade ago and kept it quiet.”

            “Then Lan Qiren found out,” Zizhen adds, “And the truth actually came out.”

            “We were both told to sit in the hall of ancestors and meditate on the evils of lying,” Sizhui says glumly.

            Lan Wangji huffs softly through his nose, “Wasn’t a lie.”

            Wei Wuxian elbows Lan Wangji in the side, “I’m not Sizhui’s mother!”

            Lan Wangji shrugs, “His original father, then. Wei Ying would have approved of Sizhui’s behavior.”

            MianMian is laughing hysterically and Jiang Cheng looks profoundly tired.

            “We’re all useless in a crisis,” MianMian giggles as she wipes tears of mirth out of her eyes.

            “Yes,” Jin Ling agrees grumpily.

            Jiang Cheng has taken off his upper layer of robes and is clumsily trying to wrap the torso up. He manages to fashion a makeshift bag and hoists it over his shoulder. “Alright, miscreants,” he huffs at all of them, “Time to stop gossiping like children and find Jin Guangyao and find out what,” he gestures at the wreckage, “All this is.”

            They fall in line, trailing after him as he marches off to hunt down the chief cultivator.

…

            Jin Guangyao is not having a good day. His smile, even his smile for Xichen, is growing more strained by the minute.

            “What happened here, A-Yao?” Xichen asks, voice gentle and confident as it always is. He rests a friendly hand on Jin Guangyao’s shoulder and the other man has to bite back the urge to shrug it off. He must not snap at Xichen.

            “I had kept Xue Yang’s corpse in my vault for further study, but it must have sensed the recent surges in resentful energy outside. It escaped and took my wife hostage.”

            “Xue Yang? A fierce corpse? How could that happen?” Xichen asks, golden brown eyes full of warmth and concern. It makes something akin to shame crawl across Jin Guangyao’s skin, but he crushes the feeling down ruthlessly.

            Jin Guangyao tilts his head thoughtfully. “I had kept some artifacts from the Xue Yang incident for further study, including his earthly remains. He was, after all, attempting to recreate some of the horrors the Yiling Patriarch unleashed. I felt I should keep his body and his work under close guard in case we needed information on demonic cultivation, in case one of the so-called ‘heirs of the Yiling Patriarch’ ever came to anything. I was a fool.” There, modesty, false of otherwise, will always bring out Xichen’s forgiving side.

            “You couldn’t have known,” Xichen says, as kind and understanding as ever, “Resentful energy is unpredictable.”

            Jin Guangyao nods, making sure to pause a moment, as if needing a second to internalize Xichen’s kind words. He’s played this part for many years, he has every gesture, every move memorized.

            “Why didn’t you burn the body?” a new voice interrupts them.

            Jin Guangyao turns around to see a shape in silvery grey robes kneeling in the wreckage that used to be his personal office.

            “How did you get in here?” he demands.

            The pale figure looks up. He only has one eye. “I followed Xue Yang’s energy.”

…

            Jiang Yanli looks up when she hears a familiar voice carrying over the grounds and cries of the wounded she and Wen Qing tend to.

            “Your husband is here,” she tells her sister in law mildly.

            Wen Qing shoves her hair out of her face, “A-Ning, hold the patient still, I’m going to pop his hip back into joint.”

            “Yes, jie,” the fierce corpse says meekly.

            “And yes, I hear him,” Wen Qing tells Yanli as she lifts and twists the injured cultivator’s leg back into its socket. “You can let him go, A-Ning,” she tells her brother.

            “Are you going to greet him?”

            Wen Qing sighs. They’d flown as fast as they could to get here, and they’d only just arrived half an hour ago. As much as she’d like to greet her husband and check him over for any idiocy-induced injuries, she has work to do here.

            “These people need me more,” she tells Yanli, who nods her understanding.

            On the other side of their makeshift infirmary Jiang Xing and Jiang Zhi mix poultices and prepare bandages. Xing looks at his sister, “How much you want to bet Father punches someone?”

            “No bet,” his sister replies, “You didn’t give a specific time frame. Father punches a lot of people. You’d just have to wait to win that one.”

            He nods, conceding his sister’s wisdom.

            “Besides,” Zhi continues, “Sect Leader Jin really pisses him off.”

            “Never trust a smiling politician,” Xing quotes.

            “Exactly,” Zhi agrees.

…

            “Who are you?” Jin Guangyao demands.

            “I am Xiao Xingchen,” the pale figure introduces himself with a shallow bow, “Disciple of Baoshan Sanren. I have…encountered Xue Yang in the past.”

            “Greetings,” Lan Xichen says with his own elegant gesture, “I am Lan Xichen, we met many years ago in the aftermath of those events.”

            “Well met, Sect Leader Lan,” Xiao Xingchen says politely.

            “I repeat, what are you doing here?” Jin Guangyao says through a gritted-teeth smile.

            “When my cultivation partner and I saw your distress flares, we came to investigate. I am glad we did so, I believe we can offer some invaluable insights, having dealt with Xue Yang during his lifetime.”

            “Then you are welcome,” Lan Xichen says preemptively and Jin Guangyao would resent the gesture, but he cannot argue with Xichen. He cannot alienate the only person he knows will never question or betray him.

            “Yes, come, tell us what you have found,” Jin Guangyao says, already wondering how to keep this stranger from saying anything he might regret.

…

            “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian asks in an undertone when they’re stopped, waiting for Jiang Cheng to badger yet another golden robed disciple into letting him through to Jin Guangyao’s inner chambers. The teenagers and MianMian are chatting with younger Jin disciples and servants, asking what happened, helping them clear rubble.

            “Mn,” Lan Wangji hums back.

            “What did Jiang Cheng mean, really? What did I misunderstand about your request to return to Gusu back then?”

            Lan Wangji sighs, “It is the past, Wei Ying.”

            “Yes, but I need to know. If I misunderstood something, I should make amends.”

            “Amends are not necessary,” Lan Wangji says, “I spoke poorly. You misunderstood my motives. I misunderstood your situation. I should have done more, done better. It is regrettable, but it is the past.”

            “No,” Wei Wuxian says insistently, “No, you couldn’t have done better.”

            Lan Wangji flinches.

            Wei Wuxian curses, “There I go, putting my foot in my mouth again. I’m sorry,” he says miserably, “What I meant was, you were a good friend to me, those last days. You tried. Which is more than most people did.”

            “I should have tried harder, done better,” Lan Wangji insists.

            “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, voice unusually serious, clutching at Lan Wangji’s sleeve as if his grip on the fabric will keep Lan Wangji in the present instead of drifting in the regrettable past. “What happened to me was not your fault.”

            Lan Wangji turns the full force of his golden eyes on Wei Wuxian. “Wei Ying,” he says and his voice is so soft, so quietly miserable, that Wei Wuxian presses his forehead against Lan Wangji’s shoulder just so he doesn’t have to look at the quiet devastation in those eyes.

            “No.” Wei Wuxian says, pulling away to meet Lan Wangji’s gaze again, “My fate was my own. You were not to blame. Understand?”

            “When I asked you to come back to Gusu, I was selfish,” Lan Wangji confesses, voice a strained near-whisper. “I wanted to protect you. You wanted to protect everyone else. I should have listened better.”

            Wei Wuxian’s shoulders sag, “You didn’t hate me back then, did you?” he asks. The idea had been germinating in his mind for weeks now, for longer, really, since the seed had been planted the night he died, when Lan Wangji had told him he wouldn’t face his death alone. But he hadn’t wanted to believe it, hadn’t known how to believe it. He’d grown so used to being hated, to being everyone else’s necessary evil, he didn’t know how to be anything else. And here was this glorious future where he had a family and friends and Lan Wangji – whatever they were to each other – waiting for him, wanting to see him again.

            “No, I have never hated Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji tells him gravely.

            “You were worried about me.”

            “Every day.”

            “That’s why you wanted me to come back to Gusu.”

            “Wei Ying was wasting away in front of me. It hurt to see. I did not know how to tell you.”

            Jiang Cheng has finally convinced whoever he was yelling at that he is, in fact, the leader of the Jiang Sect, no matter how much mud, blood, and various travel-related filth clings to him. They’ll be moving soon, heading towards Jin Guangyao and maybe even some answers. They don’t have much longer for this little heart to heart.

            Wei Ying grabs Lan Wangji’s shoulders, “Look at me.”

            “Wei Ying.”

            “Lan Zhan. You didn’t do everything right. But neither did I. You made my life better every day I knew you, and you made things easier for me, even when I thought you hated me. And for that, I am grateful.”

            Lan Wangji blinks, utterly at a loss for words. “Wei Ying.”

            Wei Wuxian grins at him. “Come on, Jiang Cheng’s stopped shouting, so I think that means we need to get moving.”

            “QUIT STARING INTO EACH OTHER’S EYES AND KEEP UP,” Jiang Cheng blusters at them from down the hall.

            “See?” Wei Wuxian grins and together they follow after the sect leader.

…

            “What do you sense, A-Qing?” Song Lan asks his disciple and adopted daughter as they walk the outer limits of the Carp Tower estate, following Xue Yang’s trail.

            “Anger, masses of resentful energy, but it’s strange…” she says, hands extended as if reading the air with her fingertips, “I sense…intention. Whatever this is coming from wants something or wants to do something. If we’re right, and it’s something Xue Yang made… or maybe even his corpse…” she swallows, her throat unexpectedly dry. “It’s aware, whatever it is. It’s not just Xue Yang’s work, it’s him, or part of him.” Her hands shake and she resists the urge to touch her long-healed eye sockets.

            Song Lan’s hand falls on her shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze, “I was afraid of that.”

            “Will he come after us?”

            “He will probably target Madame Jiang Yanli first, as she was the last one to thwart him.”

            “She can take him,” A-Qing bristles, “She’ll gut him just like she did the last time.”

            “Perhaps,” Song Lan agrees, “Madame Jiang is a very capable swordswoman. But for something of Xue Yang’s to come alive this long after his death…something else is at work here. There is more to this than meets the eye.”

            “Good thing we have so many of those,” A-Qing grumbles.

            “Of what?”

            “Eyes.”

            There’s a long moment where A-Qing wonders if she should explain the joke. Song Lan, knowing she cannot see the unimpressed look on his face, explains, “It is not that I don’t understand the joke. I just don’t think it’s funny.”

            A-Qing sighs, “I’m the only one with a sense of humor around here.”

…

            Behind the mirror, in Jin Guangyao’s treasure room, Suibian rattles in its sheathe and Nie Mingjue’s head snaps it’s sightless eyes open.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 23: Choke on the Ruthlessness Inside of Me

Six Years Previously…

            Nie Mingjue roars with laughter and applauds the minute Wen Qing finishes her description of the battle with Xue Yang’s zombies. Wen Qing shoots a look at Nie Huaisang, trying to discern if this is normal behavior or a symptom of qi deviation. She hasn’t had anyone applaud the story before.

            Nie Huaisang smiles behind his fan, a soft-edged, hopeful kind of smile. Alright. Apparently Nie Mingjue is just a very enthusiastic supporter of fierce corpse control.

            “Good riddance,” Nie Mingjue grins over the rim of his teacup. “My compliments to Lady Jiang Yanli. And yourself as well, of course, Madame Wen.”

            Wen Qing blinks. She hadn’t known what to expect from the leader of the Nies. He hadn’t exactly been the most forgiving of the Wens in the post-Sunshot era. But he’s never been anything but decent to her and Jiang Cheng at Sect Conferences and Nie Huaisang obviously respects him.

            Nie Mingjue takes a gulp of tea. His color is better, his eyes brighter, less shadowed than when she first arrived. “I take it Guangyao is dealing with the aftermath?” he asks with a grimace. “You’d better keep an eye on him. He’s a slippery – ”

            “Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang cuts in.

            Nie Mingjue snorts at him. “He’s slippery as an eel and clever as a fox, Huaisang.”

            “Yes, but pointing it out is rude.”

            “So’s lying. And it’s true.”

            “Selective truth-telling isn’t lying, it’s diplomacy,” Huaisang huffs.

            Nie Mingjue roars with unexpected laughter again, throwing back his head in his mirth. He shakes his head, “Maybe you should be sect leader, Huaisang. A diplomatic leader for this era of half-truths and peaceful afternoons,” he gestures to the garden around them.

            Nie Huaisang huffs, “Don’t say that sort of thing.”

            His brother shrugs, “I’m a soldier, you’re a poet. Each has its place.” Nie Mingjue looks strangely thoughtful, gazing off into the distance. “There is a reason Xichen thrives as he does. He’s managed to be both.”

            Nie Huaisang frowns, “You’re in a philosophical mood today.”

            “What do you think, Madame Wen?” Nie Mingjue says with a rueful, crooked half-smile, as if he too found the irony in the fact that he would be politely addressing any of the Wens after everything they’ve done to each other, the Wens and the Nies.

            “I have no opinion on either,” Wen Qing says bluntly, “I am a doctor. I am neither and both.”

            “Clever, Madame Wen,” Nie Mingjue says easily.

            “Part of being a soldier is trusting one’s comrades, isn’t it?” Nie Huaisang asks delicately, hiding halfway behind his fan, an inscrutable expression on his face, “Yet you say such things about poor Yao-ge behind his back, brother.”

            Nie Mingjue’s eyes are still distant and almost as inscrutable as his brother’s. Wen Qing frowns, trying to read the undercurrents in a conversation she doesn’t feel prepared for. “I have commanded men, soldiers, armies, even, since I was a teenager, Huaisang. Part of command is knowing the strengths and weaknesses of your men, your allies, your enemies, and yourself. To be prepared for anything to go wrong, for any weakness to be fatal. It erodes your ability to trust anything absolutely, especially when a weakness has made itself all too apparent in the past. I do not know how Xichen has preserved his ability to trust so entirely after all we have seen. I admire him for it. But I cannot follow his example. Perhaps that is my weakness. My distrust.”

            “Oh, certainly not the uncontrollable rages,” Nie Huaisang says with false levity, “Those are nothing but an asset and a boon.”

            Nie Mingjue’s mouth twists and he pokes his brother in the shoulder. “Brat. Why do you bring up such grim topics? Madame Wen will think we’re all dour scholars here.”

            “No, instead we’re dour berserkers who carry around ugly metal bats,” Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes.

            “Those are sabers, and you should practice with yours,” Nie Mingjue picks up the thread of a long-standing argument and the brothers fall into the easy patter of a familiar interaction.

            Wen Qing watches them, but mostly keeps her eyes on Nie Mingjue. He seems healthier, but there’s a tightness around his eyes as if he senses that this reprieve is temporary. That the worst is yet to come. She’s reminded horribly of Wei Wuxian in the weeks before his death, when he was sending them away from the Burial Mounds. The reminder sits heavily in the pit of her stomach even as she smiles at Nie Huaisang’s theatrics and Nie Mingjue’s false annoyance.

            It feels like her last days with Wei Wuxian all over again.

…

The Burial Mounds, before the Death of Wei Wuxian

            “What’s going on?” Wen Qing corners her friend one night, after he’s carried A-Yuan to bed and regaled him with tales of his own childhood exploits and all the places the boy will get to see at Lotus Pier when they leave the next day to assist Yanli with the birth of her child.

            “What do you mean?” Wei Wuxian plays dumb, giving her a silly smile as he goes back to picking through the heaps of sketches, diagrams and notations littering his workspace.

            Wen Qing folds her arms across her chest, “You’re up to something.”

            “Me?” Wei Wuxian asks theatrically, pressing a hand to his chest. “What on earth could I be up to?”

            Wen Qing pointedly glances at the demonic cultivation paraphernalia scattered around the cave; the literal pool of blood included.

            Wei Wuxian gives her a wounded pout, “Mean, Qing-jie. Acting all suspicious.”

            “You’re up to something,” she scowls at him. “You’re evacuating us like disaster victims.”

            “Technically we’re all disaster victims.”

            “Don’t change the subject, Wei Wuxian,” she snaps.

            Wei Wuxian sighs, shoulders sagging under his oversized robe. It hadn’t been too big when he came here, she thinks. He’s always been lean, but he’s grown skinny living her, wiry like the stubborn, blackened plants that cling to the cliffs all around them, growing warped and twisted but growing all the same. He runs a hand over his face and she sees his fingers shake just a little as he does it. “I need to destroy the seal.”

            “I agree,” Wen Qing says, “But you can’t, can you?”

            Wei Wuxian gives a hollow laugh, “I invented demonic cultivation, didn’t I? I can do whatever I want.”

            Wen Qing sighs. When will this idiot man learn he’s not invulnerable? “Don’t do anything until after I get back.”

            “Wen Qing –”

            She cuts him off ruthlessly, “No, you don’t get to do any stupid experimenting with massive amounts of explosive, restful energy without a physician present. I won’t have you tearing yourself to pieces for this.”

            Wei Wuxian gives her a wan, humorless smile, “But it would be worth it, wouldn’t it? If you could all live in peace?”

            “You’re one of us, dumbass,” Wen Qing says bluntly, “You have to live in peace, too.”

            Wei Wuxian hangs his head, silent, bitter chuckles shaking his bony shoulders. He’s been giving half his portions to A-Yuan, she knows it. “You and Jiang Cheng.”

            “Me and Jiang Cheng what?” she huffs.

            “You’re so similar, is all,” Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “So stubborn.”

            Wen Qing’s frown deepens, “Promise, Wei Wuxian.”

            “Promise what?”

            “That you won’t do anything stupid like trying to destroy the seal until I get back.”

            “I can’t –”

            “Promise, or I’m sitting on you and stabbing you with every needle I own.”

            Wei Wuxian gives her a scandalized look, “Well, if that’s my other option…”

            “Promise.”

            He sighs, shoulders dropping again, “Very well. I promise not to do anything stupid.”

            Wen Qing snorts, “That must have been physically painful for you.”

            “Yes, it was, utterly agonizing,” Wei Wuxian tosses his hair, looking disappointed when the long, matted masses of black hair he’s been wearing mostly down don’t swish the same way his bouncy ponytail used to. “Now, go away. You need to get a good night’s rest before heading to Yunmeng tomorrow.”

            “Remember your promise,” Wen Qing reminds him, “Nothing stupid while I’m gone.”

            Wei Wuxian nods, “On my tattered, battered and stained honor, Qing-jie.”

            “Good,” she nods definitely and stalks off.

            It’s not the last time she sees him. He’s there again in the morning, looking like he didn’t sleep all night, but he’s busy giving A-Yuan a million hugs goodbye and saying an individual farewell to every Wen family member accompanying them to Yunmeng, so her time with him is brief. It’s their last real, serious conversation, though.

            She wishes it was longer. She wishes she could go back and change something, anything, to make it all turn out better. She wishes she could have told Wei Wuxian he was one of her dearest friends, a surrogate little brother alongside Wen Ning. But she didn’t.

            Even Wen Qing has regrets.

…

            Nie Mingjue has a good week. There are no serious episodes. He overstrains his qi a bit on a night hunt but after a day of enforced rest under the eagle eye of his younger brother’s literal pet eagle, he recovers and is back in decent spirits within a day.

            “It’s not perfect, but it’s improvement,” Nie Huaisang says tentatively and Wen Qing wants to advise caution, but she doesn’t think it penetrates the bubble of hope around Nie Huaisang.

            Wen Qing lingers a few weeks longer. Lan Xichen stops by for a visit and is cautiously hopeful. Jin Guangyao is still busy with mopping up Xue Yang’s mess. Lan Xichen apologizes profusely on his behalf. Nie Mingjue is dismissive and curt every time their sworn brother comes up and Lan Xichen eventually subsides into disappointed silence, unable to reconcile them once more.

            Wen Qing’s sympathies are honestly with Nie Mingjue on this one. Forgiveness only goes so far before it becomes willful ignorance, after all. But she keeps her silence and leaves that snarl of conflicting personalities be.

            There are setbacks, but she and Nie Huaisang handle them, with Wen Qing teaching Nie Huaisang strategies for soothing and calming his brother’s qi once she’s gone. She can’t linger in Qinghe forever. She misses her husband and children and familiar home.

            After a month in Qinghe, teaching Nie Huaisang strategies even a low-powered cultivator like him could utilize, Wen Qing takes her leave and returns to Yunmeng, where she’s greeted by a frazzled Jiang Cheng, two over-energetic children, and a pack of hyperactive dogs.

            She hopes that will be the end of it.

…

            “What’s that, brother?” Nie Huaisang asks. It’s been quiet in the weeks since Wen Qing left them. His brother seems stable, if not totally recovered or totally in control. As Wen Qing kept reminding him, it’s a process and not one with a perfect or guaranteed outcome.

            Nie Mingjue grunts at the object sitting on his desk. “One of the artifacts they found in one of that bastard Xue Yang’s workshops.”

            “Ooh, it feels sinister,” Nie Huaisang flutters his fan dramatically.

            Nie Mingjue snorts, “Melodramatic as ever.”

            “Why’s it here, though?” Nie Huaisang asks.

            His brother shrugs, “Xichen said Guangyao was struggling to figure out what it was and what it did.”

            What it looks like is a crude, ugly statuette of a lizard inlaid with a tacky amount of gold and jewels and engraved all over with strings of nonsense symbols. Nie Huaisang says as much.

            Nie Mingjue laughs, picking the ugly thing up and tossing it from hand to hand. “That it is. It has some demonic energy clinging to it, but not enough to bring it to life or constitute a restless spirit. It’s not a demon-summoning device, these symbols are meaningless as far as I know. Xichen says the notes describing what it was were destroyed.”

            “Why do they want your help?” Nie Huaisang asks, fan fluttering, “Won’t handling that thing make your qi deviation worse?”

            Nie Mingjue shrugs, “I wouldn’t think so – no more so than having Baxia around, surely. Xichen said Guangyao told him our sect’s unique cultivation form might give us some insights.” He scoffs, “If Guangyao is trying to flatter me, it isn’t working, but the challenge is interesting enough.”

            “Are you sure you’re well enough for this?”

            “That’s enough, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue flares, “I’ve put up with your fussing and your coddling, but I am not an invalid, I am the leader of this sect. I will do this for my sworn brother, stay out of it.”

            Nie Huaisang flinches back from the sudden outburst, “Da-ge, are you?”

            “I’m sure.” There’s a note of finality in Nie Mingjue’s voice Nie Huaisang can’t argue with. He retreats, wondering what to do next.

…

            Lan Xichen comes by again and plays Song of Tranquility and Nie Huaisang wonders if he imagined his brother’s change in mood. He seems perfectly normal, talking to Xichen about the curious, ugly little statuette and not snapping or snarling once.

…

            Jin Guangyao is very proud of the workmanship on the statuette. Not the shape, that was pre-existing, he simply used garish ornamentation to give it a vague resemblance to something it might have been meant to be. The engravings are bastardized versions of the symbols he’s found in the notes he salvaged from Xue Yang’s workshop. He wishes he’d been able to scavenge more from the ruins of the Burial Mounds after Wei Wuxian went and blew himself up all those years ago. The Yiling Patriarch had an annoying sense of justice, but he was, in many ways, far more stable than Xue Yang had been. Wei Wuxian might have been half-mad from Yin Iron exposure towards the end and his work was still more coherent and less focused on irrational, petty vendettas.

            That could have something to do with the fact that the Yiling Patriarch’s enemies mostly wound up dead before the entire cultivation world turned on him, but Jin Guangyao digresses.

            The Yin Iron at the statuette’s core is the same substance that slowly poisoned Wei Wuxian’s mind in his final years. It has negligible effects on non-cultivators but a profound impact on unwary cultivators – demonic and conventional alike. It feeds on spiritual energy like a parasite and poisons the spiritual atmosphere around it. The more Nie Mingjue interacts with it, the deeper its influence will spread, like the slowest of poisons.

            When he dies, it will be a tragic accident. Heroic, perhaps. Went into qi deviation because he was just so devoted to his work. So sad.

            It’s not the ignoble, inglorious end he deserves, but Jin Guangyao doesn’t need a humilitation for his rival the way he needed one for his father. Pain will suffice. He’s not a monster, after all. He isn’t Jin Guangshan. He’s Jin Guangyao, and he will have the perfect world, the perfect life that he was denied for so long.

            Removing Nie Mingjue is just one step.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 24: It Burns Beyond the Grave

Present Day

            Qin Su curls in on herself and wishes she were anywhere but here. Beside her a pool of thick, viscous liquid that smells disturbingly like blood bubbles sluggishly. Like an oozing wound in the earth. Qin Su shudders and wraps her arms around her legs. She can feel the resentful energy of this place pressing in on all sides and she whimpers deep in her throat at the onslaught. She doesn’t know how anyone could live here. She knows this used to Wen Qing’s home, before the Yiling Patriarch destroyed himself and Madame Wen married Sect Leader Jiang. But Wen Qing is strong, and fearless, and, being a doctor, must be very used to oozing wounds, in the earth or otherwise. Qin Su is none of those things and she feels very small and very scared.

            “Why did you bring me here?” she asks, throat raw from screaming.

            “Huh?” the fierce corpse tilts his head at her. He’s remarkably well-preserved for a fierce corpse. Qin Su wonders if the body was stored with talismans to keep it intact. She can’t imagine why it would be – it would be much easier to deal with if it’s arms and legs had rotted off. But, as people frequently remind her, it’s not her place to question. Jin Guangyao is so clever and so wise, he must have his reasons.

            “Why here?” she asks.

            “Why not?” the fierce corpse gestures around them. “There’s so much resentful energy in the air,” her sniffs the air, “Smell that? All you can eat buffet for people like me, Madame.”

            Qin Su sniffs, “You’re not a person. You’re a fierce corpse.”

            The fierce corpse bares his teeth at her in a feral snarl, “I am Xue Yang, the greatest demonic cultivator since the Yiling Patriarch. I am more of a somebody than you, my dear, useless madame.”

            “No. You’re a ghost in a body that should have rotted years ago.” Qin Su doesn’t know why she’s saying these things. Her voice is wobbling, she’s still filled with that same old paralyzing terror. She’s not brave, she’s never been brave. If she were brave, she would have asked her husband years ago why he doesn’t seem to love her anymore. Why he’s so distant, why they never touch or kiss or make love anymore. Why, even though her beauty shines as brightly as it ever did, perhaps even brighter with time and dignity, her looks through her more than at her. If she were brave, she would sit with Madame Jiang and Madame Wen at Sect Conferences. If she were brave, she would ask them to be her friends, confess that she’s so lonely, so very lonely in her gilded cage.

            But Qin Su is not brave.

            But Qin Su is talking to the fierce corpse that’s kidnapped her. The fierce corpse powerful enough to practically fly all the way to the Yiling Burial Mounds from Carp Tower, even without a sword.

            Perhaps Qin Su is learning bravery, too much and too late.

            The fierce corpse – Xue Yang, he said his name was Xue Yang – grins a horrible rictus grin at her and she shudders.

            “Do you know why that is, Madame Qin? Do you know why your husband had little old me stashed away with all his bits and bobbles and nasty little secret treasures?”

            She raises her chin, “No. I do not.”

            He laughs again. It’s wet and burbling like air and fluid through a punctured lung. “Because I’m his dear, beloved friend and business partner,” Xue Yang tells her, “Because I helped him kill his darling papa and my trinkets and tricks, I’m sure came in handy later when other people needed killing.”

            Qin Su feels cold all over. She doesn’t know why, but it doesn’t surprise her that Jin Guangyao killed his father. It doesn’t even bother her all that much. Jin Guangshan was reprehensible, unnerving, with his sweaty, wandering hands and nasty, cold, lizard eyes. Her husband was a much better Sect Leader, anyway. And he’d never thrown his own son down the stairs.

            (His son, her son, her little Rusong. She wonders if she’ll see him again if and when Xue Yang kills her and dumps her body in front of Carp Tower. She wonders if her husband will mourn her, if he’ll remarry after she’s gone.)

            “You got out of control. You were experimenting on people and using poor Master Xiao to clean up your messes,” she says quietly, “You needed to be stopped and Madame Jiang stopped you.”

            “No comment on your patricidal husband’s nasty habits?” Xue Yang asks.

            “Who else did you kill for him?” she asks. She doesn’t want to know, but she has to know, but she doesn’t want to, but she must – her head’s all muddled and she hopes against hope it was just that damned Jin Guangshan and not anybody else. Clean, plain revenge she could understand. Vengeance, she might be able to respect.

            “Did you know, Madame Qin, you are married to a very clever man?” Xue Yang’s voice always sounds so taunting. Like he’s trying to get her to hit him. She wonders why. He doesn’t benefit if she hits him. She probably wouldn’t even land a blow, he’s so unnaturally fast and terrifyingly strong. He’d probably knock her across the cave like a ragdoll. He might even kill her.

            She wonders if he wants an excuse to kill her.

            “Your very clever husband discovered some very dangerous things in the Lans’ forbidden texts. Naughty, naughty, you might say, hm? Did you know it’s possible to seal off a cultivator’s spiritual energy? You knew that, did you? Clever lady, clever lady.”

            Qin Su knows he’s mocking her. She hates it, but she inclines her head and looks away anyway. She can’t afford to antagonize him.

            He continues monologuing. “Did you know, clever Madame Qin, that there is a song to instigate qi deviation? And there is a song to seal off spiritual energy? Those Lans just have songs for everything, don’t they? Well, your husband isn’t much of a musician but he is dear, dear friends with a certain Su She. Ah, you recognize him? Excellent.”

            “He was trained with the Lan Sect,” she whispers, mouth feeling very dry.

            “Yes, yes,” Xue Yang smiles that unnerving smile again, made more unnerving by the stiff, rubbery nature of his dead, preserved skin. “Your clever husband had a plan, once upon a time, to get the Yiling Patriarch, Jin Zixuan, and his idiot cousin out of the way all in one stroke. But that crafty Yiling Patriarch, he sent all the Wens away and destroyed himself before all the pieces could fall into place and Jin Guangyao could arrange things for Jin Zixuan to suffer and unfortunate accident in Wei Wuxian’s presence. So, a second plan had to be made.”

            “Why are you telling me all of this?”

            Xue Yang shrugged, “Because you can’t hurt me with this information, can you?”

            “I could tell everyone everything you’ve told me.”

            Xue Yang shrugs again. His shoulders are out of sync. Qin Su wonders if he can’t feel them in his corpse body. “If you live.” He must see some of the naked horror on her face because he laughs his awful, wet, hole-in-a-lung laugh again. “And even if you do, who will you hurt? They all want to kill me again anyway, because I was a very, very bad boy. All you’ll do is ensure I take your snake of a husband down with me, which would delight me beyond words can express, so,” he gestures with one hand. It’s missing a finger. Qin Su wonders if it was always like that.

            “I understand,” she says.

            “Good,” Xue Yang flourishes with the four-fingered hand again, “Shall we continue our story? Yes? Good. Your dear husband needed a backup plan. He and Su She set about combining the songs. Weaving together a song to induce qi deviation and a song to seal spiritual energy. And would you imagine what they created?”

            “No,” Qi Su murmurs.

            “Of course not,” Xue Yang waves away her answer, “A song which turns the listener’s own qi against him. Tearing him apart from the inside out, the poisoned qi never able to escape the body, since it’s been sealed. Just cycling through over and over again, spreading the poison further and further every time the golden core tries to heal the damage. It took years and years, but there it was, the perfect weapon.”

            “Jin Zixuan,” Qin Su whispers.

            “Jin Zixuan,” Xue Yang cheers, as if she were a good child guessing right on an oral exam. “Except now he was friends with Lan Wangji the righteous prat and they night hunted together constantly. Our mutual friend couldn’t risk Lan Wangji recognizing the songs and countering them, could he? So he waited and waited and finally, years and years ago, out Jin Zixuan goes on a night hunt, all alone in Jin territory. He never had a chance.”

            Qin Su frowns, “But he survived. He’s comatose, but he’s alive.”

            Xue Yang titters, “That’s where our favorite crafty plotter’s crafty plots failed. He forgot to account for demonic cultivation. That’s what he gets for not trusting me with his little experiments.”

            “Jin Zixuan was not a demonic cultivator,” Qin Su argues hotly. She barely knew the man, but he’d always been polite, if a little stiff and distant. She’d heard he’d been prone to putting his metaphorical foot in his conversational mouth when he was younger, but her mother’s fragile health and dislike of crowds kept them far away from Carp Tower when she was growing up, and she hadn’t met the Jin heir until long after he’d settled down with his lovely wife.

            He’d been a decent man. He hadn’t been some shadowy, skulking monster like the one monologuing at her in a cave in a desolate, abandoned wasteland.

            Xue Yang shook his head, tsking at her, “But his brother in law was. And apparently Wei Wuxian had more of a heart than we ever guessed.” He must sense or see her confusion, because he elaborates, “Jin Zixuan was carrying a talisman fashioned by the Yiling Patriarch. It protected him because our clever little idiot Jin Guangyao couldn’t trust his dear friend Xue Yang with his fratricidal hobbies. Oh well.”

            Qin Su wraps her arms even tighter around her, clutching at her robes. She doesn’t know how to make sense of this. “You could be lying,” she says. “You could say anything and I wouldn’t be able to prove you wrong. Why would Jin Guangyao try to kill Jin Zixuan? He was never anything but kind to him. He welcomed him. He pressed his father to include him in the family, to give him the family name. He was – ”

            “HE WAS IN THE WAY,” Xue Yang bellows over her. “You don’t understand, do you? You don’t understand what it is to be powerless to be willing to do anything to stoop to any level to scrape together a little dignity, a little status in life – ”

            Qin Su cuts him off, her voice frigid and unyielding, “YES I DO.”

            “How?” He snarls disdainfully at her.

            “I’m a woman.” She stands, hands still fisted in her robes, but her body quivering with frustrated rage, “I walk through a world full of men waiting and wanting to use and discard me. You don’t get to tell me what it means to be powerless when you’ve spent the last twenty-four hours reminding me of how very thin the barrier between me and violence and violation really is.” She stares him down, “I came of age in an age of war, too, after all.”

            Xue Yang gapes at her, then slowly, slowly, starts to clap. “A little spine from the illustrious Madame after all. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

            “Fuck you,” Qin Su says, the curse surprising her more than it does Xue Yang, who just throws back his head and cackles.

            “I’ll need you in a bit,” he tells her, “you’d better be able to send those butterfly messages, I’ll need them.”

            He saunters off, leaving Qin Su alone, trembling with fury and fear, standing beside a pool of blood.

…

            Xue Yang had to admit, he went through an embarrassing period where he had, perhaps, idolized the Yiling Patriarch. He had, perhaps, learned to play the dizi out of admiration for the man’s astonishing prowess with the instrument. He would never admit this, of course, on pain of, well, death. But he was quite good with the thing.

            Too bad he couldn’t put any spiritual power into his music now that he was confined to this hunk of rancid meat that had once been his lovely body. He explores his old idol’s residence, picking through the rubble, rolling his eyes at the sight of a child’s raggedy doll lurking under a pile of debris. No self-respecting villain of the cultivation world kept company with a toddler. It’s just embarrassing. Xue Yang is embarrassed for the Yiling Patriarch.

            After a great deal of exploration and a few more generous eye-rolls, Xue Yang finds what he was looking for. A collection of shoddy practice flutes. Perfect.

            He grabs two and returns to the Qin Su.

            “Any chance you know how to play flute?” he asks her. She must, right? Gently born people always learned musical instruments, right?

            “Yes?” she looked at him warily.

            “Good,” he shoves one of the flutes at her. “I’m teaching you the song for sealing qi.”

            She frowns, “The one that nearly killed Jin Xixuan?”

            “No,” he huffs, “Just the one for sealing. Then you’ll learn the one for sealing and deviating. They’re different.”

            Qin Su is looking very pale. Xue Yang doesn’t have time for this. He grabs a fistful of her hair and twists savagely. “You’ll learn, understand? Or I start breaking your toes. I need your fingers, so I’ll have to start breaking things from the feet up. But as long as it doesn’t impede your helping me, it’s fair game. So, I suggest you learn quickly and learn well.”

            Qin Su nods, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. Ha. There goes her defiance from earlier, then. Xue Yang knew it was a front all along. He grins at her, really lets her soak in the reality of his threat, before slinking back and demonstrating the song piece by piece.

…

            She loses track of time somewhere along the way, but Xue Yang eventually calls a halt, luckily before her fingers could blister too badly.

            “You’ll send the butterfly message now. And you’ll send exactly what I say to send. Understand?”

            Qin Su nods, hands shaking.

…

            The first message is a series of phony demands sent directly to Jin Guangyao. The second is different. Very different. By the time she crafts the third her eyes are filled with tears.

            “We’ll send the third one later. Maybe tomorrow,” Xue Yang tells her. He sounds, if anything, cheerier than before.

            She hates it. She hates him. She wishes she had the power of the Yiling Patriarch. She wishes she could harness the fury and heartbreak of the horrible place and bring it down on his damned head.

            But she can’t.

…

Butterfly message to: Jin Rulan

Xue Yang knows what happened to your father. He told me everything. I don’t have long. We’re at the Burial Mounds. Tell your uncle. Help me. He’s planning something. He’ll go after the rest of us next. Help me. Please.

• Your Aunt, Qin Su

…

            It’s evening when the butterfly message reaches Jin Ling. The tower is still in an uproar. Sect Leader Jin has received a message from Qin Su begging for help, relating her kidnapper’s ludicrous demands. Jiang Cheng belatedly realized that perhaps announcing to the return of the Yiling Patriarch would not be met with universal relief and bundled Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji off somewhere to continue investigating the scene of the crime while the Sect Leaders (including a very distressed Nie Huaisang and a serene, if grave Xiao Xingchen) meet to discuss their next move behind closed doors.

            Jin Ling was not invited, a point he’s been extremely petulant about ever since the doors closed.

            “I should be in there!” he complains for the millionth time to his increasingly uninterested friends, “I’m my father’s heir!”

            “I’m not in there with them, and I’m my father’s heir,” Ouyang Zizhen points out.

            “Yeah, but your sect wasn’t attacked!”

            “Don’t you spend most of your time at Lotus Pier?” Zizhen asks.

            “It split my time between the two,” Jin Ling huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

            “Father isn’t even in there,” Sizhui points out, obviously trying to be comforting, “And he’s an adult. It’s strictly sect leaders only.”

            “Then why is Xiao Xingchen in there, do you think?” Jingyi muses.

            Sizhui kicks him in the shin, “What’s wrong with you?”

            Jingyi shrugs, “Just stirring the pot.”

            “Well, stop.”

            Jingyi sticks his tongue out at him and Sizhui huffs.

            “Real mature.”

            “My mother is in there!” Jin Ling is still complaining. The only reason Wen Qing wasn’t with her, was because she and her children were still running the makeshift hospital ward for the wounded. “So is Madame Luo!”

            “They fought Xue Yang last time,” Sizhui points out reasonably, “As did Xiao Xingchen.”

            “Shouldn’t you call him ‘uncle’ or something?” Jingyi asks.

            “Why?”

            “Well, isn’t he your other father’s uncle?”

            Sizhui stares at him as if this thought hadn’t even occurred to him and it’s shut down his brain. “I…don’t know. I can’t call him the same thing I call Lan Qiren, it would upset him, but…”

            “Great, now Sizhui’s broken,” Jin Ling complains.

            “Our voice of reason will be missed,” Zizhen intones gravely.

            Their bantering is cut off by the descent of a sparkling golden butterfly. Jin Ling snatches it out of the air and practically inhales the message, his face going very pale, then very flushed, then a sort of gray color.

            “What is it?” Zizhen asks.

            Sizhui, snapping out of his funk and immediately going into mother-hen mode, reaches out for the message, “What is it, Jin Ling? Can I see the message?”

            Jin Ling stares at his friends, “I have to go.”

            “Go where?” Jingyi objects.

            “Do what?” Zizhen asks.

            Sizhui somehow gets the message away from him and reads it, his lips pressing together. “We need to tell my father.”

            “No!” Jin Ling says with a yelp, jumping to his feet, “I have to go, she’s knows what that bastard did to my father!”

            “You have no proof,” Sizhui argues, “You’re running into a trap.”

            “Better to run into a trap knowing it’s a trap than let him get away with this!” Jin Ling yells, drawing his sword.

            For a terrifying moment Sizhui wonders if his friend means to menace him with it, but the younger boy is leaping onto it and, oh no, this is definitely worse. “JIN LING, STOP!” he shouts.

            “NO! I HAVE TO KNOW HOW TO SAVE MY FATHER! I’M GOING. YOU CAN’T STOP ME!”

            “JIN LING,” Sizhui roars as his cousin speeds away. Grinding his teeth together, he pulls out his own sword and jumps aboard. “Tell my parents what’s happening, I’ll go after Jin Ling.”

            “No way,” Jingyi protests, “I’m going with you.”

            Sizhui glowers at him, “You just don’t want to see my parents angry at you.”

            “Yeah, exactly,” Jingyi agrees easily, then pauses, “And, of course, I’d like to keep the little brat out of trouble. You know. The usual.”

            “This is going to end in tears and lamentation,” Zizhen says gravely, boarding his own sword, “It will make an excellent epic poem.”

            “You’re all useless,” Sizhui groans, sword already rising under his feet. He pulls out one of the little papermen his father had taught him how to make long ago, when he was very small.

            “Your other father was much better at these than I. But if you send one out it will always be able to find me, if you need me.”

            Sizhui hastily casts the talisman and sends the paperman on its way. It runs off, snatching up the Qin Su’s message and carrying it over its’ head like an ant scuttling off with a particularly large crumb.

            And with that the juniors take to the sky and fly after their wayward friend.

…

            The boys don’t notice the fierce corpses until it’s too late.

…

            The paperman is very small and Carp Tower is very large and hard to navigate, especially in ruins. The little talisman creature runs and runs, never tiring in its search for Lan Wangji. The butterfly message in its arms is coming apart as it goes, though. Its message delivered, there is nothing keeping the butterfly message from dissolving as it was designed to do, but the little paper arms encircling it. Bits of golden energy trail behind the running paperman like the tail of a falling star, by the time it reaches the treasure room, where Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are poking around (unbeknownst to Jin Guangyao, still trapped in a meeting), only glittering fragments remain in its little paper arms.

            “Lan Zhan, I’m sure the head was here,” Wei Wuxian muses, “Can’t you sense it?”

            “This room is full of powerful artifacts,” Lan Wangji points out, “including those used for demonic cultivation.”

            Wei Wuxian pouts, “Are you saying I can’t tell one type of demonic energy from another? What do you take me for, Lan Zhan?”

            “Tired.”

            “Huh?”

            “Wei Ying is fatigued.”

            “Tired or not, and I’m not accepting your ludicrous claims that I’m ‘tired’, Lan Zhan, I can still tell there was something here and now there isn’t. Do you think he moved it? Why do you think he did it?”

            “We have no proof he did anything. The head would only confirm the victim’s identity and settle the question of whether or not it was Nie Mingjue. It being in the Jin treasure room would be provocative, but would require more investigation,” Lan Wangji says patiently. “You are jumping to conclusions.”

            “I’m making intuitive leaps, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian waves his off and turns back to the shelves.

            The paperman, in its haste to reach its target, trips over something large and metal lying on the ground. The metal hums with spiritual energy but doesn’t reach out to the paperman.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, kneeling down and gathering the paperman in one hand and the metal object in the other.

            Wei Wuxian turns around and blinks, “Oh. Suibian. I had…I hadn’t realized the Jins had it. Bastards.”

            Lan Wangji inclines his head, “Yes, based on Jin Guangshan’s behavior, many of them are, in fact, bastards.”

            Wei Wuxian chokes on a chuckle. “Your sense of humor has evolved, Lan Zhan.”

            The hand holding the paperman bobs, presumably as Lan Wangji shrugs.

            “And who is this little guy?” Wei Wuxian asks, bending down to poke the paperman in the head. The paperman would swat at the offending digit, but it can’t release the surviving fragments of the butterfly message to do so.

            “One of Sizhui’s,” Lan Wangji says. He passes Suibian over to Wei Wuxian, who takes the sword without a murmur, completely focused on the paperman.

            “Aww, this little guy is modeled on some of my designs.”

            “Yes, we constructed them based on your work,” Lan Wangji says dryly.

            Wei Wuxian beams, “Aww, so cute.”

            “The paperman is holding the remains of a message,” Lan Wangji delicately removes the message from the paperman’s hands, allowing the paperman to swat Wei Wuxian’s hand when the younger man tries to poke him again.

            “Ow,” Wei Wuxain frowns at the paperman, “Why’d you do that? Now I have a papercut.”

            “You should not have poked him so much,” Lan Wangji said simply.

            “Spoilsport.”

            Lan Wangji frowns at the butterfly message’s sad tatters. “It is addressed to Jin Ling. From Qin Su. Most of it is missing. She says ‘He told me everything…the Burial Mounds…he’s planning something…help.’ There was more but it has been lost.”

            Wei Wuxian looks grim, his normally laughing face closing down. “We have to find Jin Ling.”

            “Sizhui will have gone after him.”

            Wei Wuxian taps his fingers restlessly against his sword. “Not better, not better. The Burial Mounds isn’t safe for teenagers on a good day.”

            “Sizhui spent the first years of his life there.”

            “WHEN I WAS THERE TO SUPERVISE AND MAKE SURE HE DIDN’T GET EATEN!” Wei Wuxian tries to throw both hands in the air, nearly hits himself in the head with this sword, and drops his hands, sighing explosively. “We have to go after them, catch up to them. I can manage the Burial Mounds, we can rescue Qin Su, yell at the boys for being reckless, kill Xue Yang again and be home before anyone does anything else stupid.”

            “Yes,” Lan Wangji agrees. “I will alert our brothers – ”

            “No time, if all the sect leaders get involved it will only make a mess of things. Come on, Lan Zhan, vigilante justice!”

            “Going off on our own has never worked out in the past.”

            “Hush, you.”

            They turn to leave the room, the paperman now perched on Lan Wangji’s shoulder when a new butterfly message descends to rest in Lan Wangji’s hand.

            He looks at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian looks at him.

            The butterfly drops a lock of dark hair and a snipped off bit of cloud-patterned ribbon into Lan Wangji’s hand.

            They read the message.

…

Dear Hanguang-Jun,

Your son’s run off into danger, tsk, tsk. You’d better catch up to him before Jin Guangyao’s trap closes. Bring your little Jiang friends, too, let’s have a fun little reunion.

Ta,

Xue Yang~

…

            Wei Wuxian’s eyes flare red and the room grows dark as the shadows descend.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 25: Anger is Just Love Left Out, Gone to Vinegar

Six Years Previously…

            Baxia hates the Yin Iron. She can feel the insidious, oily slime of it, oozing malice in her master’s office. She can feel it digging its tendrils into her master every time he picks it up, bleeding poison into his spirit.

            Baxia rages against the Yin Iron, rattling in her stand until her master begins packing her away when he examines the artefact as a precaution. He tells her sternly to behave.

            Baxia resents that. But not as much as she resents the Yin Iron.

            But Baxia is a sword of destruction, not cleansing. She is designed to cut down evil, not to purify its influence. The Yin Iron is a spark, smoldering in the foundations of a house, waiting to flare up and eat them all alive. Baxia is the inferno hoping to smother it.

            It’s hopeless from the outset.

            Her master’s brother is the only one who listens as she screams her protests. As she strains to cut down the evil encroaching on her master’s vulnerable soul.

            “Please, Baxia, please be gentle with him. He was doing so well,” her master’s brother whispers to her late in the evening when her master has already left his office.

            Baxia rattles against her confines, aching to be with her wielder, to hunt, to kill the darkness closing in.

            “I don’t know how to help you,” her master’s brother tells her. “I don’t know how to help him either.”

            Baxia is not a blade for helping. She is not made for mending. That is what her master’s brother is for. She doesn’t know how to tell him this, though. She’s only a sword. Albeit one with her own vague version of spiritual cognition.

            Her master’s brother leaves her alone, the Yin Iron casting out threads of power, straining to snare him too, like a carnivorous plant when confronted with a juicy housefly. But her master’s brother leaves too quickly, doesn’t stay long enough for the poison to set in.

            Baxia rattles in her sheathe and yearns to burn down the world.

…

            There are days when Nie Mingjue is the brother Nie Huaisang remembers. He bursts into his younger brother’s room with the dawn, hurling open the curtains, tossing Huaisang’s clothes, boots and all, at him, and bellowing, “It’s time to get some fresh air! Come on, get dressed, breakfast is waiting!”

            On those days Huaisang will flop and flail his way out of his nest of blankets and pillows, grumble and squint his way through getting dressed for the day and slink downstairs to yawn at his brother over a hearty meal before following him out into the wilderness of Qinghe. Nie Mingjue will have heard a rumor of a restless spirit, or a haunted temple, or a water ghoul, and he’ll drag Huaisang along to trudge through the mountains, maybe find something that wants to kill them, kill it instead, and trudge back, perhaps in time for supper, if they’re lucky.

            It should be miserable.

            It is miserable.

            Nie Huaisang will look back on those days as some of the happiest of his life.

            Just him and his brother roaming Qinghe side by side.

            “Are you disappointed in me?” he asks once, when he’s feeling brave. They’re resting by a small stream, eating steamed buns and listening to the water trickle down the rocky slope. Buttery midday light filters through the treetops, dappling everything in gold. The whole world has gone green and grey and gold; Qinghe painted in the colors of the Nie.

            Nie Mingjue frowns at him, “What? Disappointed? Why?”

            Nie Huaisang shrugs, stretching his feet out in front of him, pointing and flexing his feet. “I’m the nobody of my generation. Yunmeng Jiang have Jiang Wanyin, Lanling Jin had Jin Zixuan and Jin Guangyao, Gusu Lan has the Twin Jades. Even the Wen have Madame Wen. And everyone knows Wei Wuxian was a great man.”

            “Great men are not always good for the world around them,” Nie Mingjue scoffs.

            Nie Huaisang shrugs. He can see the shades of gray in the world where his brother can’t. He doesn’t want to argue about the morality of Wei Wuxian right now. “And you just have me. I’m not exactly doing honor to our ancestors, am I? Ah, well, you always did tell me to try harder in school…”

            There are many things Nie Mingjue could say now. He could point out, flippantly, but correctly, that the real disappointment of their generation is certainly Jin Zixun, or even Su She. (Founding your own sect is only worth something if that sect is worth something, and a lame Gusu look-alike sect is embarrassing.) He could, even more flippantly, point out that at least Huaisang didn’t get kicked out of school outright like his friend Wei Wuxian. He might have flunked his first year, but they didn’t evict him. But Nie Mingjue does not say either of those things. He leans back on his hands, food set aside and looks at his little brother.

            “You’d better not be fishing for compliments or I’ll turn you upside down and shake you,” he grumbles. It has the desired effect; the corners of Huaisang’s mouth tip up and he lets out a surprised laugh.

            “You haven’t done that in years.”

            Nie Mingjue scoffs, “It’s hard to do when you’re not child-sized anymore!”

            “Are you a big, strong cultivator, or aren’t you?”

            “That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t barely come up to my hip anymore.”

            Nie Huaisang laughs, bright and clear as his beloved birds.

            Nie Mingjue laughs with him, a deep chuckle that springs from the center of his chest and takes a long moment to trail off and fade. “Huaisang,” he says, suddenly serious, “when you were young, I was very afraid. Afraid of what the world would do to you. You were soft, you see, and fragile. You were sick so many times that first year…” Huaisang was born before his time, with weak lungs and a blue tinge to his tiny, tiny cheeks. Nie Mingjue had tended to him obsessively, hovering, waiting to fulfill his every need. He wanted to fix this tiny, inexplicably delicate little creature that was so dependent on them for his every need. Nie Mingjue had only been a child himself, but his little brother fit in the crook of his elbow and he was so small and so precious. Mingjue had been a lonely child. His earliest memories are trailing his father’s disciples, trying to keep up with the big men and their massive sabers, until a red-faced drillmaster chased him off the practice field. His earliest memories of his father are of his back. He has no memories of his mother.

            But here was Huaisang. A little brother, a little person who needed him, who wanted him, who relied on him and loved him.

            “I pushed you so hard to master the saber because I realized, with our father’s weakening qi, you would need to be able to protect yourself sooner rather than later. I realized with you growing up that you would have to fight your own battles and I could not always be there to strike down every enemy you encounter. I was afraid. So, I pushed you to grow stronger, to make yourself powerful enough that nothing could threaten you.”

            Huaisang laughs, but it’s a light, chilly sound, “See how that worked out.”

            “Shut up, I’m still talking,” Nie Mingjue grumbles, shoving at his brother’s head with one calloused hand. “I hadn’t realized you could and would be strong on your own terms. I worried you’d be vulnerable without my kind of strength. You surprised me.”

            Nie Huaisang blinks, “But what can I do? I’m just silly Huaisang,” he flicks his fan, looking as big-eyed and helpless as possible.

            Nie Mingjue snorts, “Ha. You’re about as helpless as a dagger in a boot. You’re stealthy. You’re clever. And I am proud of you.”

            Nie Huaisang chokes on air. “What?” he squeaks.

            Nie Mingjue narrows his eyes at him, “You heard me. Don’t make me heap praises on your spy network I most certainly know nothing about, because that would force me to admit it exists.”

            “And we can’t have that.”

            “No, we can’t.”

            Nie Huaisang laughs, clicking his fan closed, “I think, brother, that we’re like two sides of a coin, you and I. Opposites but somehow still the same.”

            Nie Mingjue snorts, “I could have told you that. Without the metaphor.”

             “Simile.”

            “Whatever.”

            Nie Huaisang laughs and they continue on their way. They don’t find whatever creature was supposedly hauting this stream. It’s a good day.

…

            There are bad days. There are days Nie Mingjue locks himself in study for hours on end with the piece of Yin Iron.

            “Did he eat anything?” Huaisang will ask the servants when they come back with his brother’s meal trays.

            If it’s a better day they’ll gesture helplessly at the plate, showing how it’s been picked at but largely left alone. If it’s a worse day the servant will return wearing what had been on the plate.

            On days like that, Nie Huaisang marches over and yells at his brother through the door for scaring the servants. His brother roars back that they should stay out of his work if they don’t want dishes of food hurled at them, and how would Huaisang understand?

            He grows increasingly paranoid.

            “Sir,” the servant swallows tightly.

            “Yes?” Nie Huaisang looks up from a report.

            “You’d better come quickly. He’s thrown all the books off the shelves in the library, sir.”

            Nie Mingjue stands in the middle of a wreckage of papercraft, glowering at Nie Huaisang and the servant as they stand in the doorway, “That’ll stop those bastards from sending their sneaky paper men to spy on me, skulking bastards, cowards. FACE ME AND FIGHT INSTEAD OF SENDING YOUR SPIES TO CREEP AND SNEAK, WHY DON’T YOU?”

            “Who are you talking about?” Nie Huaisang asks helplessly.

            “THEM!” Nie Mingjue declare, pointing the chunk of Yin Iron at him like a sword, “THE ENEMY. The enemy is closing in, Huaisang, they’re closing in on us. They know our plans. They know our secrets. OR THEY THOUGHT THEY DID!” he whirls and topples a bookcase. He whirls back around and grins, manic, gleeful in his ruin and wreckage as a child toppling towers built of wooden blocks.

            “Put down the Yin Iron,” Huaisang begs, knowing it will mean nothing when his brother is in this sort of state. Nothing reaches him when he’s like this.

            Other days he grows morose, sits with the Yin Iron in his hands, eyes wide and blank, staring off into the distance. He doesn’t respond when spoken to and after the bookshelf incident, no one wants to risk touching him. He just sits for hours at a time, cradling the lumpy mass of metal in his hands, lips slowly moving.

            Once Huaisang ducks in close to hear what he’s saying.

            He’s reciting every member of their sect to fall in battle since he took command. He starts with their father. He ends with himself.

            It chills Huaisang to the core.

            Every good day feels like hope renewed. Every bad day is devastating.

…

            “Please, Lan Xichen,” Huaisang says, bowing deeply, “I beg you, get the Yin Iron away from him.”

            “I will try,” Zewu-Jun says with a sad, strained smile.

            The ensuing fight takes out a wall of the Nie fortress.

            Lan Xichen fractures one of his arms and breaks several ribs. Even concussed and disoriented, he apologizes to Nie Huaisang with tears in his eyes.

            Nie Huaisang is at the end of his rope. He writes to Jin Guangyao, demanding he come and take back his cursed artefact. Obviously, it’s malicious, obviously it’s too dangerous to keep around cultivators. It should be laid to rest in the Burial Mounds with the rest of Wei Wuxian’s work.

            Jin Guangyao arrives, all grave smiles and perfect poise. He tries to talk down Nie Mingjue, but it’s a morose day and he doesn’t respond. Jin Guangyao offers to play Clarity.

            “To ease da-ge’s mind,” Jin Guangyao offers, face pensive, “I have committed a grave error in asking for his help. I had thought it only a curiosity, not something with such terrible effects. I humbly beg Nie Huaisang’s pardon and offer my humble services as a cultivator and musician.”

            Lan Xichen’s arm is in no shape to play a child’s whistle, much less an advanced spiritual instrument. He’s asleep in the Nie infirmary, watched over by their best healers, anyway. Nie Huaisang knows Lan Xichen’s music always soothed his brother before. The elder Jade of Lan had, in fact, offered to play Clarity for him before the healers mercifully knocked him unconscious so they could knit his bones back together.

            Nie Huaisang knows nothing of musical cultivation. He’s completely tone-deaf. One could tell him Wei Wuxian’s demonic warbling was Clarity and he’d believe it if only because Wei Wuxian would learn to play Clarity on a dizi just to be a brat. He likes birds because they’re beautiful and surprisingly intelligent, not because of their musical abilities.

            Jin Guangyao plays Clarity. Nie Mingjue doesn’t even twitch. Nie Huaisang sighs.

            “It was a worthy attempt,” he offers.

            Jin Guangyao’s shoulders slump. He looks utterly dejected. When he tries to reach for the Yin Iron a concussive blast of spiritual energy blows him backwards and Nie Huaisang has to restrain him from trying to struggle through the barrier anyway, because when Nie Mingjue has one of his good days he’ll be heartbroken to know he’s the reason both his sworn brothers are in the infirmary. And he’ll surely have another good day soon, Nie Huaisang assures himself. He’ll have a good day with a clear head and Nie Huaisang can take him to see Lan Xichen who, even if he’s completely healed, Nie Huaisang will dress up in bandages and force into an infirmary bed if necessary. He’ll guilt Mingjue a bit, turn on the tears, play up the ‘look what you did to Lan Xichen,’ angle and Mingjue will surrender the Yin Iron without a murmur.

            It’s the perfect plan. Nie Huaisang comforts himself with it as he sits through a gloomy dinner with Jin Guangyao. He comforts himself with it as he takes out his formal hair ornaments and prepares for bed. He comforts himself with it as he’s closing his eyes to go to sleep.

            He comforts himself with it until he’s awoken in the middle of the night by and explosion.

…

            Watching his brother’s golden core as it tears him apart from the inside out will haunt Nie Huaisang for the rest of his life. He’s seen blood and gore before. But he’s never seen that look on his brother’s face. That impossible, inhuman rage, that heartbroken, devastated suffering, the bottomless well of misery in his eyes in his last moments as Huaisang screams his throat bloody, thrashing in Jin Guangyao’s arms as the smaller man holds him back.

            He screams and screams and screams. And in the future, many years from now, he will still be screaming, it will simply be silent now, trapped behind a helpless, clowning grin, and an elaborate fan. Years and year later, Nie Huaisang is still screaming.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 26: Tie Me Up and Come Undone

Present Day…

            Wei Wuxian remembers falling. Remembers falling from his sword into the waterborne abyss, hearing the cries of the damned trapped within it, screaming for someone to help them, to hear them, to save them. Remembers falling into the Burial Mounds the first time, the way hungry, spectral hands and teeth clutched and tore at him until he was a tattered sliver of a soul. Remembers falling as his last breath left his body, before the inferno rendered him nothing more than dust and ashes.

            He isn’t falling now.

            He hasn’t felt this kind of rage in a long, long time. It burns in his bones and chills his blood in equal measure. He isn’t falling, he isn’t slipping under the surface of the resentful energy boiling over within him. It isn’t dragging him down, he’s pulling it in.

            There’s a magnificent sense of peace which comes from letting go of your last threads of self-control. Wei Wuxian has bit his tongue and bided his time long enough. He’s been hunted like a pheasant and borne all manner of abuse with a smile or a sneer. He’s done now. He bowed out the last time they came to take his family. He hid them away and exited the stage, hoping to allow them the peace they’d long been denied.

            But this time is different. This time he will stand and fight for them. For A-Yuan. For Jin Ling. For Jingyi.

            They will not be sacrificed to their elders’ ambitions. Not like he was. Not like Wen Ning was. No more.

            “Wei Ying.”

            Lan Zhan. Beautiful, perfect Lan Zhan who is looking at him with so much pain and fear in his eyes. Wei Wuxian almost expects him to ask if he’ll come back to Gusu with him. But no, that was thirteen years ago. This is now. This is a new world full of new people with familiar faces. Wei Wuxian doesn’t belong in this world, but he will protect it.

            “Ah, lovely Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, reaching out a hand to touch his face with light, barely-there fingertips. “I should have burned this nest of vipers when I had the chance, shouldn’t I?”

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji grasps at his fingers, but Wei Wuxian is already pulling away.

            “Ah, well. I made many mistakes, didn’t I?”

            “Wei Ying!”

            Wei Wuxian turns away and heads for the door, “Time to have a chat with Jin Guangyao. And then I’m off to rescue our son. I suppose the future has some use for me, after all.”

            Lan Wangji may reach after him, but he doesn’t make contact, Wei Wuxian is already halfway down the hall, smoky tendrils of dark energy coiling and flexing around him as he speeds towards the meeting where his prey has holed up.

            First, Jin Guangyao, then he’ll come for Xue Yang.

…

            Jiang Cheng has had enough of this meeting. “This is getting us nowhere!” he barks, slamming his palm down on the lacquered table. The fragile little thing shivers like a leaf at the blow and he’s glad all over again for Lotus Pier’s practical, sturdy furnishings. “Xue Yang has taken Sect Leader Jin’s wife and fled. Where would he flee to? Somewhere rich in demonic energy, where a fierce corpse would be most powerful. So, we expand the search to include anywhere with large pockets of resentful energy. But you’re all sitting around gibbering!” Yanli, Madame Luo, and Xiao Xingchen had already been sent away after giving their account of the last confrontation with Xue Yang. Now it was just the Sect Leaders bickering about how to proceed. Jiang Cheng is thoroughly sick of all of it.

            “Sect Leader Jiang, we must consider how to allocate our resources most effectively,” Sect Leader Yao hedges.

            Jiang Cheng scowls, Zidian sparking on his finger, “I just told you how to allocate your resources most effectively. Are your ears and your brain broken?”

            Jin Guangyao, looking wan and pale, holds up a hand. Lan Xichen stands at his side, watching the younger man as if concerned he might collapse. Seeing as, based on appearances alone, Sect Leader Jin looks liable to faint if he so much as sips tea too forcefully, Jiang Cheng can understand Lan Xichen’s concerns.

            “I am particularly concerned that Xue Yang might have taken dangerous or otherwise unstable artefacts from the Jin treasury along with my wife when he made his escape. With Madame Qin as his hostage, Xue Yang could do incalculable damage to the countryside. Without knowing what is missing, or, indeed, why his corpse is suddenly mobile we cannot safely begin to hunt him.”

            “You want to delay a manhunt to do inventory?” Jiang Cheng snarls.

            “This could save lives, Sect Leader Jiang. We do not know what could have prompted Xue Yang’s sudden return as a fierce corpse. It has been many years since his death, why now?”

            Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to argue that this doesn’t matter when poor Madame Qin is probably maimed or dead, not to mention the probable fate of any civilian who stumbles across Xue Yang. He never gets to speak, though, the door to the meeting room flies open in a single reverberating thunderclap. He and the other veterans of the Sunshot campaign automatically duck, finding shelter where they can and draw or summon spiritual weapons or swords. Older sect leaders who saw no fighting scramble to find shelter and what weapons they can.

            What Jiang Cheng sees coming through that door chills him to his core.

            Tendrils of thick, greasy smoke froth from the doorway, twisting through the room like creeping vines, draining the vibrancy from all they touch. A dark, human-shaped something steps through the noxious cloud, a pair of red eyes glowing like burning coals through the smog. The flames in the lamps around the room flicker and turn an eerie green.

            “Jin Guangyao,” the dark figure says in a soft, sibilant voice. The smoke doesn’t disperse so much as regroup, clearing away from the figure to cling like shadows to every crease and fold of him. A pale, thin fog scuttles along the ground at his feet, chilling every cultivator assembled to the bone.

            “Mo Xuanyu?” someone familiar with Lanling Jin speaks up, sounding confused and utterly terrified.

            “Guess again,” Wei Wuxian says, turning his red eyes on the hapless cultivator and snapping his teeth into an expression more like a snarl than a smile.

            The chatty cultivator quickly becomes much less chatty.

            Wei Wuxian turns his attention back to the dais where Jin Guangyao sits, approaching the other man with all the slow inexorability of a glacier or an incoming lava flow. “Jin Guangyao, Jin Guangyao. You couldn’t content yourself with stealing all my trinkets and knickknacks, could you? No, you had bigger plans, mn? You needed something big, something important, like Hanguang-Jun’s son. But I’ll tell you a little secret,” his voice drops to a deadly, carrying whisper, “He was my son first.” Shadows bloom behind him like deadly waterlilies.

            “Mo Xuanyu had no sons,” someone says.

            Wei Wuxian twirls Chenqing, “I’m not Mo Xuanyu.”

            “The ghost flute,” someone whispers.

            “Is that -?”

            “The Yiling -?”

            “Patriarch?”

            Wei Wuxian has reached Jin Guangyao. He grasps the smaller man by the front of his ornate robes and yanks him up, out from behind his own table. A dozen swords leave their sheaths, only for a rope of smoke to smack them out of numb fingers. “Xue Yang has taken one of the people I love most in this world, Jin Guangyao. And somehow, you’re behind it all. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now and save us all a lot of pain before more of our bodies wind up in your macabre collection. I would hate to have to share a resting place with Xue Yang’s corpse and Nie Mingjue’s severed head.”

            “You’re the reason he’s back!” Jin Guangyao cries, eyes welling with crocodile tears. The shadows at Wei Wuxian’s feet darken, the green flames flare, and his red eyes burn at the words. “You – ” he’s playing at addressing Wei Wuxian, but he’s pitched his voice to carry to everyone. “Mo Xuanyu has summoned the Yiling Patriarch! His return has called up the spirits of other monsters such as himself! Demonic cultivators like Xue Yang!”

            Wei Wuxian tightens his grip on Jin Guangyao’s robes, “I wasn’t the one keeping Xue Yang’s preserved body in my treasure room.”

            “Why else would Xue Yang pick now to menace us?” Jin Guangyao argues, “It cannot be a coincidence that two undead demonic cultivators walk among us at once!”

            “What have you and your pet demon done with my son?” Wei Wuxian snarls. The shadows at his feet have begun to fray, to pulsate as his helpless rage builds. A clear-headed Wei Wuxian would never let Jin Guangyao’s silver tongue back him into a corner like this. But this unbalanced, red-eyed creature is nothing but pure protective, parental rage.

            “The Yiling Patriarch had no son!” one particularly brave idiot points out, “The Jins would have killed any Wei bastards, the same way they did the Patriarch.”

            “Hear that, Jin Guangyao, it’s not such a stretch to have you murdering children, is it?” Wei Wuxian sneers.

            It’s an alien expression, even on Mo Xuanyu’s less familiar face and it makes something in Jiang Cheng’s stomach squirm uneasily.

            Jiang Cheng wonders where Wei Wuxian’s normal voice of reason is. Lan Wangji should have been along to stop this by now.

            “Wei Wuxian,” and now there’s a sword pressed to the soft skin beneath his chin, and Jiang Cheng realizes, throat constricting, that Lan Xichen is threatening Wei Wuxian. “Release Jin Guangyao and explain yourself.”

            “Brother, leave him,” And there’s Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng, already halfway out of his seat, Zidian preparing to strike, turns at the sound of the other man’s entrance.

            “Wangji,” Lan Xichen says, sounding pained.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, “Leave him. We must find the children.”

            “Wei Wuxian, release the Chief Cultivator,” Lan Xichen demands.

            Wei Wuxian has that hunted look on his face Jiang Cheng remembers from when they were very young children and he’d first come to Lotus Pier. That hollow-eyed stare of the child from the streets being overwhelmed with an unexpected, vibrant world.

            He’s balanced on a razor’s edge, Jiang Cheng knows. The wrong push will be the end of him.

            “You,” Wei Wuxian whispers to Jin Guangyao, “You scared little man. So afraid of what might happen. The Ouyang sect mean nothing to you, and Lan Jingyi is inconsequential, but Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui, the heir presumptive of Lanling Jin and the nephew of Zewu-Jun…they’re the real prize. I understand now,” Wei Wuxian is nodding, slowly, theatrically, like a stage villain whose plan is finally coming together.

            “Who’s his son then?” someone whispers.

            “Probably doesn’t want to name him out loud.”

            “Ah, yes.”

            Jiang Cheng will never understand the need to gossip when a crisis is on.

            Wei Wuxian raises a finger of his free hand, “First, Xue Yang takes the boys,” another finger, “Then, all the sects come charging to their rescue except for the poor, distraught Chief Cultivator who must remain at home to oversee Koi Tower,” a third finger goes up, “then, Xue Yang, he kills them all. Just kills them. Dead. And their heirs are left to be puppet rulers with just the right handlers who will keep them in check long enough for you,” the fingers draw together and Wei Wuxian points them at his face, “to rule as undisputed lord of the manor indefinitely. None will be left who remember your inglorious past.” He drops his hand. “It makes sense.”

            “This is slander,” Lan Xichen argues.

            “What nonsense are you spouting?” Jin Guangyao protests, “I would never wish any harm to my nephew and his friends! You’re the one who came charging in here threatening me after raising Xue Yang just as you did the Ghost General! Clearly, the years since your death have made you a demon in truth rather than a demonic cultivator – Mo Xuanyu has inflicted a demon upon us all!”

            “That’s ridiculous!” Jiang Cheng hears himself shouting, but his voice is lost in the din of people falling all over themselves to give examples of things that have gone wrong on their lands recently, things which could only be signs of the rise of supposed demon Wei Wuxian.

            Wei Wuxian himself simply looks equal parts disgusted and furious. He drops Jin Guangyao, “Keep him,” he spits at Lan Xichen. “Waste your time blaming me for all your problems. I don’t care.”

            “Wei Ying, the children,” Lan Wangji says seriously.

            “He’s even corrupted Hanguang-Jun,” Jin Guangyao says, allowing Lan Xichen to help him to his feet, “Look and see.”

            Wei Wuxian blinks, “Yes, Lan Zhan. We have a troublesome fierce corpse to subdue.”

            And with a sweep of his robes, Wei Wuxian and his shadows exit the chamber.

…

            Jin Ling is going to get them all killed.

            “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY FATHER, YOU BASTARD?” he shouts at Xue Yang, who looks at him like he’s a particularly interesting insect.

            “Are you always this annoying?” Xue Yang asks. “No wonder your paternal uncle poisoned your daddy. If he’s anything like you, he’s probably less annoying catatonic.”

            Jin Ling snarls like a cornered dog and lunges for the fierce corpse. His hands are bound behind him, but he manages to scramble to his feet and try to head-butt the former demonic cultivator.

            Xue Yang laughs and steps aside, sticking out one foot so Jin Ling trips over it and faceplants into the dirt.

            “You must take after your father,” Xue Yang observes, “Jiang Yanli was much more graceful.”

            “You keep my mother’s name out of your filthy mouth,” Jin Ling spits, wriggling around to sit upright and glowering at the fierce corpse, “Or I’ll kill you all over again.”

            “With what sword?” Xue Yang taunts.

            Sizhui doesn’t know where their swords are, the ropes binding their hands are effectively blocking their spiritual powers, meaning he can’t sense his blade or his golden core at all. When they’d woken in the cave they’d been disarmed and bound. Completely helpless.

            “Where are we?” Zizhen had asked in a whisper.

            “In a cave,” Jingyi had replied.

            “I can tell that,” Zizhen had huffed, “I was hoping for something more specific.”

            Sizhui hadn’t responded, he’d been too busy gazing around them wondering at how this place could feel so alien yet so familiar.

            Then Xue Yang had appeared and Jin Ling had started screaming at him.

            Things devolved from there.

            Sizhui sighs. “Young Master Xue,” he says, though the honorific leaves a bad taste in his mouth, “Where have you taken us?”

            “Oh, you’re a polite one aren’t you?” Xue Yang laughs, “Let’s see, white robes, stupid ribbon, manners for days, you must be Hanguang-Jun’s precious baby boy!”

            “So, you’re ransoming us?” Zizhen asks.

            “Do I look like I need money?” Xue Yang laughs, “Look at me, I’m dead. The dead don’t need material possessions. I need revenge.”

            Zizhen gasps, “You want to lure Madame Jiang here so you can take your revenge!”

            Xue Yang shrugs. One shoulder rises higher than the other and Sizhui thinks he hears a faint pop as the joint protests the action, “Maybe. Maybe I just want all great, good cultivators here so I can pop as many of their little heads off as I can.”

            “Where is Madame Qin?” Sizhui asks, struggling to keep his tone even.

            “Practicing for her musical debut,” Xue Yang grins a rictus grin.

            “Be serious,” Jingyi complains.

            “Oh, but I am serious,” Xue Yang laughs, “And really, I’ve said too much.” He spins around and strides out of the cave, patting the struggling Jin Ling on the head as he goes. “Try not to do anything too stupid, little cultivators,” he says as he passes through the doorway.

            Jin Ling opens his mouth to shout something after the corpse, but Jingyi, who’s closest, kicks him and his mouth closes.

            In the ensuing silence, Jingyi asks, voice small, “Sizhui, do you think your father will come for us?”

            Sizhui knows he will. He knows both of them will. And, depending on what Xue Yang is planning, that could be the problem.

…

            The Yiling Patriarch. The Yiling bloody Patriarch is back and he’s here and somehow he knows far more than he has any right to. This is a complete disaster. Jin Guangyao needs to do something and needs to do it fast. Rapidly he calls the meeting back to order, quickly organizing hunting parties to send after the Yiling Patriarch and Lan Wangji.

            Jiang Wanyin tries to protest and Jin Guangyao turns on him, “Your attempts to shield your sworn brother are admirable, Sect Leader Jiang, but your charity is misplaced. Clearly, what we are seeing is the beginning of an epidemic of undead demonic cultivators. Your brother may have been a hero of the Sunshot Campaign, but his crooked path poisoned not only him but the entire world. He and Xue Yang must be found and put down with all expediency.”

            “Put down the Patriarch and Xue Yang will fall, won’t he?” Sect Leader Yao suggests. “If he’s brought that menace back, killing one will kill the other, right?”

            “Nothing is certain, Sect Leader Yao,” Lan Xichen cautions.

            “THIS IS MADNESS AND HERESAY,” Jiang Wanyin objects.

            “And you are blinded by your misplaced faith in a corrupted man,” Jin Guangyao says sharply.

            Jiang Wanyin opens his mouth to protest, but the Chief Cultivator cuts him off, “In these times we must be united as one. We know only this: the Yiling Patriarch has been resurrected in a new body and he has summoned up a servant of unquestionable evil to serve him in his new life.”

            “Correlation does not equal causation,” Nie Huaisang says timidly.

            “And what do you know, headshaker?” Sect Leader Ouyang, looking wan and stressed after the mention of his abducted son, snaps.

            “We must deal with this menace swiftly and effectively, before he can call up more demons to plague us. He has already corrupted Lan Wangji and has clearly made inroads in suborning Sect Leader Jiang. Keep your guard up, we do not know how he does this, so we must be cautious yet aggressive.”

            “Do not harm my brother,” Lan Xichen pleads, “I believe I may still reach him. His fondness for the man Wei Wuxian was is clouding his ability to see him as he is.”

            “Bullshit,” Jiang Wanyin objects, “You assholes have no proof Wei Wuxian has anything to do with Xue Yang. He’s been with me for days. He was with me when we received news of Xue Yang’s resurrection!”

            Jin Guangyao hangs his head mournfully, “So it appears a brother’s love has blinded Sect Leader Jiang to the evil at his side. If you are not with us in this, Jiang Wanyin, you are against us.”

            Jiang Cheng opens his mouth to protest, leaping to his feet, Zidian flashing on his finger.

            Jin Guangyao gestures and four guards wearing Jin livery converge on him.

            “Detain Sect Leader Jiang.”

            Jiang Cheng casts about for an avenue of escape. He searches the assembled Sect Leaders, looking for a friendly face. He finds none. Lan Xichen looks troubled, his mouth opening, his hand rising as if to caution, to ask for restraint, to suggest they talk things over, but the Jin guards are on Jiang Cheng before the elder jade can speak.

            He dodges the first’s strike, snapping out Zidian and wrapping the whip around the younger man’s sword. He rips it out of the guard’s hand and tosses it away, his own sword coming up to intercept a blow from the next guard. He leans into their locked blades, lashing out with Zidian at the third and fourth thug. He gets one across the face with the tip of the whip and he goes down, clutching at his eyes. The second catches the middle of the lash in the stomach and is flung to the side. Jiang Cheng disengages with the sword and spins, bringing Zidian to wrap around the swordsman’s middle and throw him into a wall. Some piece of flimsy furniture splinters under the weight, but Jiang Cheng can’t check to see what it was. He’s too busy dealing with the last guard standing, who took advantage of Jiang Cheng’s distraction and grabbed an abandoned sword. He lunges at Jiang Cheng now, sword glinting in the lamplight, now a healthy orange-yellow instead of Wei Wuxian’s eerie green.

            Jiang Cheng backs away only to step on one of the Jins’ stupid rickety tables. His foot plunges through the thin wood, splinters jabbing into this calf as he ducks another sword strike. Hampered by the table, and too close to use Zidian effectively, he’s trapped in a close-quarters sword duel.

            Jiang Cheng is the better swordsman, but he’s also bleeding and stuck in a table. He has to finish this quickly. His opportunity comes when the other man’s sword goes wide after being beaten back once more. Instead of going to for a quick killing blow, Jiang Cheng slams head into the bridge of the other man’s nose. A starburst of pain explodes behind his eyes, but the other man’s nose is now gushing blood and he’s unsteady on his feet. Jiang Cheng presses his advantage, swinging the pommel of his sword up, Jiang Cheng smashes the hilt of his sword into the guard’s temple and the man crumples like paper.

            Jiang Cheng wrenches his foot out of the table. He’d offer to pay for it, but he’s not feeling terribly generous towards the Jins at the moment.

            “Jin Guangyao, you’ve gone far enough,” Jiang Cheng growls, turning back towards the dais. He’s about to storm up to the Chief Cultivator when several things happen all at once.

            “No!” Nie Huaisang’s voice shouts.

            Jiang Cheng spins towards him, only to come face to face with the man he whipped in the face. A long, sizzling lash-mark has turned one eye to an oozing mess and the other is red and weeping. The man is holding a knife.

            A gust of wind slams into the man, knocking him to the side. Instead of burying itself in Jiang Cheng’s gut, the knife in his hand slashes a thin, burning line of pain across his side. Jiang Cheng looks up to see Nie Huaisang on his feet, fan open and extended.

            “Well come on, then!” Nie Huaisang cries in a wavering voice.

            Jiang Cheng lurches toward him, the Nie Sect Leader casting three more knife-like gusts of wind over his head, knocking back whoever may have tried to follow him.

            Bleeding, aching, blood pounding in his head and his veins, Jiang Cheng retracts Zidian and mounts his sword. He holds out a hand to Nie Huaisang, who takes it and hops onto the blade with him, fan still raised.

            They blast out of the doors (painful, painful, so many bruises Jiang Cheng regrets) and into the night.

…

            Yanli is not expecting her brother and Sect Leader Nie to crash land in her medical station, but really, nothing about today has gone according to plan, so this seems almost reasonable.

            Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang stagger off of Jiang Cheng’s sword and one of Jiang Cheng’s legs nearly collapses under him. Nie Huaisang and Yanli rush to support him as he tries to regain his balance, but when she presses against his side he lets out a short, sharp sound of pain and Yanli pulls back.

            “What happened?” she demands.

            “Xue Yang sent Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji a message,” Nie Huaisang pants, “He says he has Sizhui and his friends.”

            Yanli’s blood goes cold. “A-Ling? Does he have my son?”

            Nie Huaisang’s face goes even paler, but he nods, tightly.

            “Wei Wuxian seemed to think so.”

            Yanli’s grip on her brother’s arm tightens to bruising levels. “Where are they? Where have they gone? Where’s my son?”

            Wen Qing appears around the corner, “What’s happening? You’re disturbing the patients –” she trails off as she sees her husband suspended between his sister and his friend. Her face hardens. “Who did this?”

            “A table and a very angry man,” Jiang Cheng pants, “I’m fine.”

            “Fine? Fine?!” Nie Huaisang squeaks, “You were stabbed!”

            “Lightly scratched.”

            “You’re bleeding through your robes,” Yanli says.

            “Well, damn.”

            “Sit down before you fall down,” Wen Qing orders. “Now strip. Top layers off.”

            Jiang Cheng looks around at his sister, his friend, and his wife. “Ah, that’s – ”

            “Now,” Wen Qing looks downright murderous.

            Jiang Cheng takes off his top layers.

            “And roll up your pantleg.”

            Jiang Cheng complies, even as she tsks at the pieces of wood still lodged in his calf.

            “Tell us what happened,” Yanli pleads.

            Jiang Cheng sighs and does so.

            “Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji left to find the children, but Jin Guangyao is convinced Wei Wuxian summoned Xue Yang. He’s sending a hunting party after Wei Wuxian,” he says, wincing as his wife sews the slash at his side shut. “I tried to stop him. He claims I’ve been corrupted. It’s not safe for any of us here.”

            Yanli and Wen Qing’s faces are grim.

            “We have to go after them,” Jiang Cheng insists.

            Yanli presses her lips together. “I’ll go after the children. You keep them away from A-Xian and Lan Wangji.”

            “What? A-jie, no!” Jiang Cheng protests.

            Yanli glares down at him, “I killed that man once, I’ll kill him again. And if you think you can stop me from bringing my son home, think again.”

            “Take someone with you,” Jiang Cheng asks.

            “I will go with her,” a new voice interrupts.

            They turn to see Xiao Xingchen, resplendent in his white and grey robes, the space where his missing eye once sat covered by an elegantly embroidered patch.

            He bows, “Forgive me for interrupting. But I have much to atone for in my behavior regarding Xue Yang. Allow me to make this small gesture for a friend such as Madame Jiang.”

            “And Wen Qing and I can go with this idiot,” MianMian offers, poking Jiang Cheng in the side of the head.

            “I can – ”

            “Hold off the entire cultivation world single-handedly while injured? No, no you cannot,” Wen Qing says brusquely.

            “You let a table beat you in a fight,” MianMian adds, “You need backup.”

            “The table didn’t win,” Jiang Cheng objects, but no one is listening.

            “What should I do?” Nie Huaisang asks, trying to look as wilted and useless as possible.

            “You’re in charge of the twins until we get back,” Wen Qing says.

            Nie Huaisang wilts further. He’s terrible with children.

…

            Unbeknownst to everyone, the head of Nie Mingjue had made a bid for freedom when Xue Yang escaped the treasury. Unseen by any of the frantic cultivators, it rolled away. Having been kept in the Jin’s inner sanctum so long it was starved for resentful energy, but it still retained enough of Nie Mingjue’s rage and indomitable will to scoot along somewhat inelegantly, avoiding cultivators and civilians, avoiding the repeated commotions, as it slowly progressed towards a certain torso, abandoned in the chaos.

            It was close.

            So close.

            So very –

            The head fetches up against a pair of legs.

            The legs jump back as their owner chokes back a startled screech.

            The head lolls backward, peering through foggy eyes at this unexpected roadblock.

            A child, a boy, dressed in the purples of Yunmeng Jiang, kneels down in front of the head. “Who are you?” he asks.

            The head’s mouth is sewn shut and it doesn’t have any vocal chords so it cannot reply.

            The purple child grows even paler. “You’re the head. The head that goes with the body Father was helping put together. Oh, this is bad. This is very bad.”

            “It’s about to get worse,” another voice, also belonging to a child, this one a girl with a splint on her leg. She’s sitting sideways on her sword as if it were a bench, gliding up to the boy, who, judging by their similar features, must be her brother. “That bastard Xue Yang’s gone and taken Sizhui and Jin Ling.”

            “What?” the boy yelps.

            “Mmhm,” the girl says, “and Uncle Wei was furious and yelled at the Chief Cultivator, so now Jin Guangyao’s blaming him for everything, and Father fell through a table or something trying to escape the Jin guards and now he and Mother are off to warn Uncle Wei and Aunt Yanli is off to fight Xue Yang again.”

            “What about us?”

            “Nie Huaisang is in charge while they’re gone,” the girl smiles a mischievous smile.

            The boy frowns, “Do you think he’ll know what to do with the head?”

            The girl shrugs, “Only one way to find out.”

            The boy’s frown deepens, “You just want to show him a head and see if he panics. You do this stuff to everyone Mother and Father ask to watch us.”

            The girl tosses her head, “They should pick hardier babysitters. Survival of the fittest.”

            The boy sighs, “I guess we’ll show him the head.”

            “Maybe it’s someone he knows.”

            “That’s awful, don’t say things like that.”

            “Just, maybe he can identify the body. Proper burial and all that.”

            The boy sighs again, and picks up the head. “Between you and me, Master Head,” he says seriously, “My whole family is mad.”

            “I can hear you!”

            “Good!”

            They set off down the hallway together, two children and a head without a body. Maybe they’ll bring him to his torso. He thinks he might like to have one of those.

…

            Qin Su’s hands are shaking.

            “Play, Madame Su,” Xue Yang says, pressing his cold, dead fingers against her throat and squeezing. “Play, or I start cutting pieces off of the brats in the next cave.”

            Qin Su swallows, breath shuddering in her chest and brings the dizi to her lips.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 27: Sometimes I Bleed Like Run, River, Run

Present Day…

            Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are making good time when a wave of spiritual power slams into them like a shockwave. The sword under their feet wobbles, Lan Wangji’s control slipping at the onslaught.

            “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, voice sharp with worry, “Lan Zhan, what’s happening?”

            “Musical cultivation,” Lan Wangji grits out. Wei Wuxian cranes his neck back to look him in the eyes and finds a troubling furrow between the other man’s brows.

            A furrowed brow on Lan Wangji typically meant another man would be screaming.

            This is perhaps not good.

            “What is it? Can you fight it?”

            The “Mn,” Lan Wangji gives to the barrage of questions is not very reassuring.

            “Can I fight it?” Wei Wuxian asks.

            Lan Wangji doesn’t respond. The sword wobbles harder between their feet.

            “I’m going to take that as a ‘please, Wei Ying, try something so we don’t go splat’,” he mutters to himself as he pulls Chenqing free.

            He brings the demon flute to his lips, closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Lan Wangji’s hands on his hips, strong and steady and grounding instead of the increasingly unstable sword they’re precariously balanced on.

            He trills a single note and thinks of safety, protection, home. The first tune that comes to mind is an old one, that half-remembered melody from the Xuanwu cave all those years ago. It’s not a perfect reproduction, Wei Wuxian was half-delirious with fever the one and only time he’d heard the original, after all. But this is close.

            He plays his dizi and thinks of holding A-Yuan in his arms when he was small enough to bury in a radish patch, of Jiang Fengmian bringing him to Lotus Pier and saying “This is your home now, A-Ying,” of shijie’s soup and Jiang Cheng’s rough affection, of Lan Wangji cradling him in his arms, the two of them filthy, bloody, and soaking wet, and humming this song over and over until they were safe again. He thinks of Granny Wen and Wen Ning and Wen Qing and their scruffy, desolate, beloved village in the Burial Mounds. He thinks of Lan Wangji buying a straw butterfly for A-Yuan. He thinks of Yanli saying “it will always be the three of us,” in the wake of the destruction of Lotus Pier. He thinks of A-Yuan – Sizhui, now – tall and healthy and strong. He thinks of the rebuilt Lotus Pier and the way the sect has thrived under his brother’s hand. He thinks of Jin Ling puffing up like an offended bird at the slightest hint of a possibility of an insult to his beloved mother. He thinks of Sizhui and Jingyi laughing and the tiny ways A-Xing and A-Zhi resemble their parents while still being whole, new, wonderful little people in their own rights. He thinks of Lan Wangji, Lan Zhan, who never hated him, who missed him, who is holding him right now as they go to rescue their shared son.

            Wei Wuxian thinks of home and feels the resentful energy all around them blossom into something soft as smoke.

            The thing most cultivators forget about resentful spirits, Wei Wuxian muses, is that many ghosts are creatures of longing. They yearn for comfort, for family, for love. There’s a reason the Burial Mound specters never stole a single Wen villager under Wei Wuxian’s watch. He’d given them families and love to fill that aching, yearning void.

            And now they’re lending their strength to shield him and Lan Wangji.

            Grey smoke touched with red light, as if from a distant inferno, coils and swirls around them as the sword steadies beneath their feet.

            Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Wangji’s chest rising and falling against his back, the Second Jade winded in a way he wouldn’t usually be from something as simple as sword flight.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says in his ear, voice hoarse, “We must land.”

            Wei Wuxian doesn’t stop playing, but he does nod, and Lan Wangji responds by guiding them back down to earth, where they land with a minimum of staggering. Wei Wuxian plays one final flourish and dismisses the spirits. They retreat reluctantly, caressing his hair, whispering in his ears, welcoming him back.

            “Too kind, too kind,” he murmurs to them, before turning back to his companion, concern a sharp spike in his chest. “Lan Zhan, what’s wrong?” he asks.

            Lan Wangji stands just as tall and still as usual, but there’s something tugging at his shoulders and cutting new lines on his face. His hand is pressed to his chest. “It stopped.”

            “What stopped?” Wei Wuxian cries, “Your heart?”

            Lan Wangji gives him a incredulous eyebrow twitch, “No.”

            It’s Wei Wuxian’s turn to press a hand to his chest, “Be more specific, Lan Zhan. I can’t take the stress.”

            Lan Wangji nods gravely, “Mn.”

            Wei Wuxian throws up his hands in defeat.

            Lan Wangji turns his attention back toward the direction they’d be traveling. “Xue Yang is using Madame Qin’s cultivation abilities.”

            “How?” Wei Wuxian asks, “And really, are you alright? What happened up there? What attacked us? Was it Madame Qin?”

            “Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees, “In a way. Xue Yang must have coerced her into deploying a rare form of musical cultivation.”

            “What does it do?”

            “It seals,” Lan Wangji says grimly.

            “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian reaches for him and is only a little surprised when Lan Wangji allows the hand to rest on his arm uncontested. “Are you…?”

            “Drained,” Lan Wangji acknowledges, “Madame Qin’s cultivation level is not high. She was not able to sustain a long-ranged attack long enough to completely seal my power. But I am greatly weakened.”

            Wei Wuxian frowns, “Would you have noticed if you hadn’t been using spiritual energy when the attack occurred?”

            Lan Wangji shakes his head, “Probably not. It is musical cultivation, but the victim does not need to consciously hear the notes for it to carry weight. The music simply gives the attack shape.”

            “Hmm,” Wei Wuxian nods, frowning, “So that doesn’t mean it will slow down whoever is pursuing us.”

            “No.”

            Wei Wuxian gives him a tight smile, “Well, we’ll have to keep moving, then, won’t we?”

            Lan Wangji nods and they set off on foot.

…

            “Uncle Nie,” Jiang Xing says, startling Nie Huaisang, who did not hear Jiang Cheng’s little goblin approach. He whirls around, fan in hand, flapping it restlessly as he looks down at the purple-robed preteen.

            “Yes, small Jiang child who I am probably nominally in charge of.”

            “Only until our parents get back,” Jiang Xing says, and it should sound condescending, or insolent, but coming from him it sounds almost comforting, like he’s trying to sooth some of Nie Huaisang’s anxiety.

            How Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing created this child between the two of them is beyond Huaisang.

            Nie Huaisang nods, and tries to look dignified and like he knows what’s going on. “Did you need something?” he asks, hoping the answer is ‘no’.

            “Yes.” Jiang Xing clearly lives to crush Nie Huaisang’s dreams.

            “With what?” Nie Huaisang asks despairingly. Can he not have a quiet night waiting for his friends to come back with news of whether or not they’ve managed to successfully re-kill a psychotic fierce corpse and prevent the entire cultivation world from killing Wei Wuxian again?

            “Um,” Jiang Xing looks uncertain, “Ah. We may have…I’d like to preface this with the fact that we did not break in anywhere to find this. It found us. We were minimally involved, really.”

            This does not sound good. “What did you find?”

            “A head.”

            Nie Huaisang chokes on air. “A what?”

            Jiang Xing nods, “And we didn’t recognize it, so we figured it must have been someone who died when we were young, and it must have been a powerful cultivator since it’s rolling around on its own.”

            A self-propelled head. Would wonders never cease?

            “So, we thought we’d ask you who it is,” Jiang Xing finishes.

            Sure, why not? Nie Huaisang has lived through worse than having to identify and possibly subdue a mobilized cranium.

            “Alright,” he sighs, “Show me the head.”

            “A-Zhi, bring the head!” Jiang Xing yells in the direction of the doorway, looking remarkably unbothered by the whole situation.

            Goblins. Little purple-robed goblins, the both of them.

            Jiang Zhi glides in, seated on her sword so her splinted leg can hang free, holding a wrapped parcel on her lap – the torso Jiang Cheng found, presumably – and a grey-skinned something with lank black hair on top of it…

            “Oh gods,” Nie Huaisang says when the head rolls over in Jiang Zhi’s arms and hops a little in her hold, straining to approach him. Nie Huaisang approaches and peers at the grey, preserved features and his heart, lungs, and throat seize all at once as if someone applied a paralysis talisman to his insides.

            “Da-ge,” he whispers before fainting dead away.

…

            Elsewhere, A-Qing and Song Lan stagger as a ripple of musical cultivation sweeps over them. Song Lan reaches out to grab his student’s hands and help her guide her sword down into a less than graceful landing before the sealing spell robs them of the spiritual power to fly.

            “Was he always able to do that?” Song Lan gasps.

            “If he was, I don’t think Lady Jiang could have killed him so easy,” A-Qing observes.

            “He’s forcing a hostage to do this,” Song Lan says.

            “Probably,” A-Qing kicks at a loose rock, “He’s dead, isn’t he? Not like he’s channeling any spiritual energy.”

            Song Lan sits down on a nearby boulder, rubbing absently at his chest where his heart beats erratically as spiritual energy drains from him like a sieve.

            A-Qing is less affected. Her core is younger, smaller, and she’d been accustomed to living with access to one before. “Hey,” she asks when the silence goes too long.

            “Yes?”

            “Can I still stab Xue Yang with my sword even if I don’t have access to my spiritual energy?”

            Song Lan gives a tired sigh, “Your sword won’t have the purifying power of a spiritual blade wielded by a cultivator when your qi is sealed.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” A-Qing brushes the lesson off, “But is it still sharp and stabby?”

            A moment of silence and then, “Yes, A-Qing. It is still, as you say, ‘stabby’.”

            “Good,” A-Qing grins, “Because I missed my chance last time and I want to make up for it.”

            Song Lan would also like the chance to stab Xue Yang. Preferably many, many times. But Xingchen will look at him with one big, sad eye if he encourages their ward in her bloodthirsty ways.

            “Let’s go, A-Qing. It seems we’re walking.”

…

            Nie Huaisang comes to flat on his back and sputtering when Jiang Xing dumps a cup of lukewarm tea in his face.

            “Is this your brother?” Jiang Zhi asks, “Oh, he was really upset when you fainted. So I put him on your chest so he could be close to you.”

            Nie Huaisang looks down and immediately regrets it. Someone sewed his brother’s eyes and mouth shut. No, Jin Guangyao sewed his brother’s eyes and mouth shut. That golden snake wouldn’t delegate something like this, not when his spotless reputation was on the line. Nie Huaisang has a brief, nauseating vision of Jin Guangyao wearing that stupid hat and that stupid smug little smile as he threads needle with Nie Mingjue’s head sitting on the desk in front of him.

            “I might be sick,” he says.

            “Well don’t vomit on the head,” Jiang Zhi says, taking Nie Mingjue back, “He doesn’t deserve that on top of everything else.”

            Nie Huaisang rolls to his feet, staggers over to a potted plant and is immediately sick.

            “That can’t be good for the plant,” Jiang Xing observes.

            “Better it than the human head,” Jiang Zhi argues.

            Nie Huaisang straightens, smoothing his hopelessly rumpled robes, and clears his throat before bowing to his brother’s head. “Da-ge,” he salutes.

            The head bounces in Jiang Zhi’s hands as if trying to bow or nod.

            Nie Huaisang cuts his gaze over to the wrapped torso lying on the ground.

            He thinks of all the fierce corpses running around.

            “Da-ge, is your soul confined to your head?”

            The head bobs vigorously.

            Nie Huaisang opens a fan with a decisive flick of the wrist. “Children. Did your mother teach you how to make sutures?”

            The twins glance at each other uncertainly and nod.

            “Excellent.” Nie Huaisang brings out several spirit bags from his sleeves, opening them and depositing the arm and legs they’d found earlier beside the body. “We are going to reassemble my elder brother.”

            The twins glance at each other, down at the head, and then back at each other.

            “Sure,” they say in unison.

            Nie Huaisang has never been more grateful they’d been raised with Wen Ning and had no idea how terrifying most fierce corpses are. Or how terrifying his brother was in life. They’d only been five when the Red Blade Master had died, after all. They have no idea what they’re getting into.

…

            Xue Yang is angry. Madame Qin’s core is too weak to play the qi binding song all the way through. She collapsed three quarters of the way to the end. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. The fierce corpse snarls and stomps into the side cave where he’s been holding the juniors. The walls are thick and sound moves strangely here. Xue Yang can feel the demonic energy coiling around this place, hungry little ghosties trying to absorb him into their overwhelming miasma.

            There’s a good chance the kiddies in the next chamber weren’t affected by the song. He’d told Qin Su to project it out, into the world, after all.

            He storms into the side chamber, snarling, “Which of you brats knows how to play the dizi?”

            “You fucking – ” the loudmouth in yellow yowls, trying to charge him, but Xue Yang just grabs him by the scruff of his robes and hurls him away. He skids on his side and fetches up against a wall, looking dazed.

            “Not that one, I see.”

            One of the two in white is shaking and pale, his face taking on a grey hue when Xue Yang scowls at him, “Your sect does a lot with music, doesn’t it?”

            “Not the dizi,” the one in white says.

            “Then what use are you?” Xue Yang growls.

            “I’m a pretty good hostage?”

            Xue Yang snarls and turns away, scanning the one in brown and red, “Ouyang. You people don’t do musical cultivation, do you?”

            “No,” mumbles the Ouyang.

            “Do you know how to whistle?”

            The Ouyang demonstrates how much he really, truly, does not know how to whistle.

            Xue Yang turns to the last one in line. This one is staring at him with just as much venom as the one in yellow, but with a great deal more control. His robes are edged in lavender and blue, and puffy little blue clouds are embroidered on his forehead ribbon. Ah, yes, Hanguang-Jun’s son. The one he’s using to lure that self-righteous bastard up here.

            “You.”

            The boy looks back at him with a set expression, eyes furious, but mouth shut.

            “You know how to play the dizi, don’t you?” Xue Yang purrs. “I remember, it was all the gossips could talk about – how the glorious Hanguang-Jun allowed his precious baby boy to play a simple little flute any peasant could make. Not just a peasant flute, but the same type that evil, evil Yiling Patriarch used to play. Shameful, really.”

            The boy stares back at him, silent.

            “I have a job for you.”

            Silence.

            “It’s a simple thing, really. And as a reward for doing it well, I won’t cut out the Jin brat’s tongue and send it to his bitch mother in a box.” He kicks the Jin brat for emphasis, stomping on his fingers and smiling at the crunching sound they make under his boot when the boy tries to grab at his ankle and throw him off-balance.

            The delicate skin around Hanguang-Jun’s brat’s eyes quivers.

            Ha.

            Xue Yang’s got him.

            “Come with me.”

…

            It was only a matter of time before the other clan leaders and their lackeys caught up to them, Wei Wuxian thinks as cultivators drop out of the sky to surround them. Yes, he and Lan Wangji had a head start, but that just meant they’d been caught in the musical attack that sapping Lan Wangji’s energy. These troops were fresh, they clearly had missed whatever Xue Yang had sent their way.

            “Surrender the Yiling Patriach,” Jin Guangyao commands. He looks pristine. Not even his hat is askew.

            Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, is feeling increasingly grubby after days of travel and combat. All he wants is to go home, drink some tea, hug his son, and take a nap.

            Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be on anyone else’s agenda.

            “Hanguang-Jun, you’re a reasonable man,” Jin Guangyao begins.

            “I will not surrender Wei Ying.”

            “Wangji,” Lan Xichen breaks in, “we can talk about this.”

            “No, brother,” Lan Wangji’s voice is glacial.

            “The Yiling Patriarch is responsible for all of this!” Sect Leader Yao shouts.

            “Where is my son, you monster?” Sect Leader Ouyang demands.

            “What would I want with your son?” Wei Wuxian throws his hands up, “I’m trying to rescue the children and you’re getting in the way!” he can feel his eyes flare red as hours of pent up frustration and fear break through his iron control.

            “He’s going to curse us!” someone in the back yells.

            “I will if you don’t move,” Wei Wuxian snarls.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan murmurs, “Go.”

            “What? Lan Zhan, no.”

            “Surrender the Yiling Patriarch, Hanguang-Jun, allow him to face justice,” Jin Guangyao demands.

            “No,” Lan Zhan says, and then, in an undertone, “Wei Ying, go.”

            “I’m not leaving you,” Wei Wuxian argues.

            “Wei Ying, Sizhui.”

            Wei Wuxian’s heart twists but he still frowns at Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan…”

            “If you will not surrender the Yiling Patriarch, then we will take you in with him,” Jin Guangyao says, shaking his head with an expression of regret.

            “A-Yao,” Lan Xichen reaches out to his sworn brother, who holds up a dismissive had.

            “No, Xichen,” he pauses, almost theatrically. Wei Wuxian is reminded of all the times he’d put on a performance to goad Wen Chao while they were imprisoned in the indoctrination camp, “This man, this creature has unleashed a monster on us. Xue Yang has returned because of him. He has taken my wife. If your brother stands by him, he must be apprehended as well.”

            Lan Xichen shoots them an agonized look.

            “I have nothing to do with Xue Yang,” Wei Wuxian argues, only to be drowned out by a roar of anger from Jin Guangyao’s assembled forces.

            “All there is left to do is,” Jin Guangyao looks at Lan Xichen and in that moment Wei Wuxian knows he was faking his emotional speech about Xue Yang. Because there’s real pain in his eyes before he orders the assembled cultivators to attack.

…

            Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy may be faded and flagging but he is still an unparalleled swordsman. He knocks back a trio of cultivators with his unsheathed blade, then draws his sword in a single elegant sweep to block blows from two others. Wei Wuxian slides behind him so they’re back to back and draws his flute, smoke trailing after him, eyes burning like hot coals.

            “Wei Ying, GO,” Lan Wangji orders.

            “No!” Wei Wuxian shouts back, drawing three talismans and casting them out to plaster themselves over a trio of cultivators’ faces, immobilizing them.

            “WEI YING.”

            “I’M NOT LEAVING YOU, LAN ZHAN.”

            Lan Wangji smashes the hilt of his sword into a man’s nose, the stricken cultivator falling away caterwauling in pain and surprise. Someone slams into Wei Wuxian’s side and he retaliates with a knee to the other man’s stomach. This fight is rapidly devolving into a brawl. Wei Wuxian kicks off the ground, hoping to get out of the melee so he can use his flute. He’s grabbed by the belt and hauled back down. A blade nicks his cheek and a spray of blood flies up and out.

            Wei Wuxian grins and whistles.

            The iron in the blood, infused with resentful energy from his demonic cultivation, sharpens into needle-points, stabbing into faces, gouging eyes, tearing nostrils. Wei Wuxian whistles again, gathering swirls of shadowy grey energy and blasting outward, driving a line of cultivators back, but they’re only replaced by another wave.

            He hears a cry behind him and whirls, “LAN ZHAN!”

            Lan Wangji, a red stain blossoming against the side of his white robes, staggers. Wei Wuxian surges forward, blasting the cultivator away. The woman’s sword falls out of her hands, and Wei Wuxian grabs it, slashing at her face. The sword flies out of his hands, resistant to harming its master. Wei Wuxian, eyes blazing red, draws his flute and calls on the power of the Burial Mounds.

            A tide of darkness swamps their assailants, driving them back and away. The cultivators cringe back, only Lan Xichen and a handful of others powerful enough to withstand the initial blast.

            “You want a monster,” Wei Wuxian snarls, “I’ll give you a monster.”

            “Wei Ying, no,” Lan Zhan protests, “Leave them, go, find Sizhui.”

            “I won’t leave you. You’re coming with me.”

            The darkness swirls around them in a vicious cyclone, trapping them in the eye of the storm.

            Wei Wuxian’s mind whirls, scrambling for a plan, any plan, anything other than standing still, watching Lan Wangji bleed, and beating off a horde of cultivators until he finally passes out from exhaustion or Jin Guangyao stops wanting his head.

            “Lan Zhan, I – ” he begins, not sure what to say.

            He’s interrupted by a burst of purple lighting and a pissed-off voice he knows and loves yelling “Get out of here, morons!”

            “Lan Zhan is injured!” Wei Wuxian shouts.

            “Come with me,” Wen Qing’s voice answers him, grabbing him by the sleeve and hauling him away. Since he’s still clinging to Lan Wangji, he’s dragging along with them.

            Wei Wuxian casts one look back at his brother, who’s shoulder to shoulder with MianMian, beating off the cultivators left standing, before Wen Qing pulls them both onto her sword and propels them away.

...

Chapter Text

Chapter 28: We Go Down into the Darkness

Present Day…

            Nie Huaisang would like very much to not be awake right now. He would like a nice little fainting spell, where he’ll just collapse and open his eyes a few days from now, only to find everyone has magically solved all the problems without his input.

            Nie Huaisang never does get what he wants.

            Instead he’s here, trying not to throw up as he helps the Jiang children sew his brother together.

            “I hate this,” he whimpered toward the beginning of the proceedings.

            “Don’t be a wuss,” Jiang Zhi had said, sounding remarkably like her father.

            “Sorry, Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Xing said, applying neat little stitches to Nie Mingjue’s shoulder.

            “Apology accepted,” Nie Huaisang sniffed.

            Jiang Xing flushed, “Um. I meant Nie Mingjue. Since I’m stabbing him with a needle and all. But sorry to you too, I guess?”

            Nie Huaisang, in summary, feels very put upon and a little bullied.

            This is why he never reproduced.

            Now, Nie Mingjue is mostly reassembled, Nie Huaisang is feeling very nauseous and Jiang Cheng’s ghoulish children are looking very pleased with themselves.

            “What if he isn’t like Uncle Wen?” Jiang Xing asks, holding the final piece of their gruesome puzzle – the head, in his hands. “What if the resentful energy in his limbs overpower his soul and he ends up just a murder monster?”

            Jiang Zhi shakes her head, “If he’s a murder monster, he’ll definitely target Xue Yang, and whoever killed him, right? He’ll leave us alone.”

            “That’s a big ‘if’,” Jiang Xing points out.

            Jiang Zhi shrugs. “No way to tell but reattach the head and go from there.”

            “This seems unnecessarily dangerous.”

            “You say that about everything.”

            “Because everything you do is unnecessarily dangerous,” Jiang Xing protests.

            “Do you want me to sew on the head, since you’re too scared?”

            “I’m not scared!”

            “You seem pretty scared.”

            “Well, I’m not, so shut up.”

            Nie Huaisang is also grateful he never had any siblings close to him in age.

            “Sect Leader Nie Huaisang,” Jiang Xing interrupts his musings, “You’re the deciding vote. Do we finish sewing him up?”

            Nie Huaisang may have a reputation for shrinking cowardice, but that’s only among the people who hadn’t the privilege of seeing him go along with every single one of Wei Wuxian’s stupid schemes when they were in school together. Also, reassembling his brother was his idea. He’s sticking to it.

            “Sew up Da-ge,” he commands.

            Jiang Zhi gives him a feral grin. Nie Huaisang has to remind himself she and Wei Wuxian are not actually biologically related.

            This is probably a terrible idea. Then again, many would have said bringing the Yiling Patriarch back from the dead was a terrible idea, and look how that turned out.

…

            Wei Wuxian is back to thinking resurrection is not all it’s cracked up to be.

            He’s holding Lan Wangji close, heedless of the blood staining both their robes. “Wen Qing, Lan Zhan,” he babbles, “Lan Zhan needs help.”

            “Oh, stop blubbering,” she huffs, “he’s a powerful cultivator with a strong core. A little light stabbing won’t hurt him.”

            Lan Wangji shoots her a look as if to say ‘actually, it hurts quite a lot right now’.

            “Well, it won’t damage him permanently,” Wen Qing amends.

            “But his qi is sealed – ”

            “I will endure,” Lan Wangji says flatly.

            “Lan Zhan, stop,” Wei Wuxian says, “Just stay with Wen Qing, she’ll heal you, and I’ll go after Sizhui and the others.”

            Lan Wangji glares at him. “A moment ago you refused to go alone.”

            Wei Wuxian huffs, “That was different. I was leaving you to your death! Now I’m leaving you to be healed! Very different!”

            Lan Wangji’s face is all mulish defiance. “Different.” He says flatly. “Before I was allowing Wei Ying to escape. Now I would be abandoning Wei Ying unnecessarily.”

            “Unecessarily?!” Wei Wuxian squawks, “Lan Zhan, you’re bleeding!”

            “Wen Qing says it’s minor.”

            “Wen Qing is right here,” the woman in question says. “And would like to patch you idiots up now that we’re far enough away from the fighting.”

            “I don’t need patching up,” Wei Wuxian says just as Lan Wangji says, “Wei Ying needs assistance as well.”

            Wen Qing draws in a deep breath and prays for patience. “Stop, both of you, sit down, and stop being ridiculous for once in your lives.”

            Wei Wuxian thinks that’s a little unfair, but Wen Qing has a glint in her eyes that promised needles in case of defiance.

            He sits, still supporting Lan Wangji, but makes sure to glare at Wen Qing just to emphasize how he’s doing this under protest.

            She seems unimpressed.

…

            Xue Yang has decided his favorite thing about hiding in the Burial Mounds is the sheer volume of resentful energy paired with a near-limitless supply of corpses. He sets the now-cooperative Lan brat to learning the qi-sealing song while he starts digging up mass graves.

…

            The second wave of qi-sealing music breaks over the cultivators just as the tide of battle is turning against Jiang Cheng and MianMian. Zidian sputters, spitting a last few defiant sparks before going out and retracting back into ring form. Dozens of swords go from shining with sword-glare and purifying energy to dull hunks of metal. Spiritual weapons disappear or revert to inanimate objects. Slowly, the battle stutters to a complete halt as the erstwhile combatants stare at each other.

            “What demonic cultivation is this?” demands one of the Jin sect members.

            “Why are you asking me?” a Su sect cultivator huffs.

            “Is Sect Leader Jiang a demonic cultivator now?” an Ouyang asks.

            “Are you stupid now?” Jiang Cheng shoots back.

            “Was that a yes?” the Ouyang asks, sounding unsettled.

            “No, it was a suggestion that if you’re stupid enough to accuse me of demonic cultivation, maybe you should crawl home before your idiocy gets you killed!”

            “Huh?”

            “Fuck you, I’m not a demonic cultivator!”

            “Oh, alright. No need to be rude.”

            “Let’s all try to keep our wits about us,” Lan Xichen suggests, “And avoid panicking.”

            “Avoid panicking?” the Su from earlier squeaks, “Sect Leader Jiang has turned to demonic cultivation and cursed us all!”

            “What the fuck, I just said I didn’t!” Jiang Cheng shouts.

            “Oh, and your word is worth so much after that little display in the meeting,” huffs someone near the back.

            Jiang Cheng isn’t sure how he went from defending his brother with his life to this farce, but he would like to go back to bashing in heads. He feels like it would be more satisfying.

            “I can’t believe one of these morons managed to stab Hanguang-Jun,” sighs MianMian.

            “Why are you both so rude?” the Ouyang complains again.

            “That’s what happens when you try to kill people. They’re rude to you!” MianMian snaps.

            “Clearly,” Jin Guangyao begins, pitching his voice to carrying over their bickering, “Sect Leader Jiang has been taken in by his erstwhile friend just as all of us once were. He deserves our sympathy rather than our scorn.” Jin Guangyao smiles that ingratiating smile that makes Jiang Cheng want to beat him with his own stupid hat.

            He opens his mouth, ready to tell Jin Guangyao just where he can stick his sympathy, when MianMian steps on his foot none too gently.

            “I apologize for the way things escalated here,” Jin Guangyao says, “Clearly Xue Yang’s master, the Yiling Patriarch, has already reached him and has begun using his wicked tricks to throw off pursuit. Or perhaps some other cultivator has been forced into aiding the foul creature.”

            “My son would never do such a thing,” Sect Leader Ouyang says stoutly.

            “Nevertheless, it would appear that Xue Yang has grown more powerful, or gained a powerful ally. We must be on our guards. Unfortunately, in order to proceed, we must be certain of everyone here’s loyalty and commitment to thwarting the Patriarch and his creature.” He eyes Jiang Cheng and MianMian. “If you are to proceed with us, Sect Leader, Madame Luo, you will have to be restrained.”

            “What?” Jiang Cheng explodes.

            “That seems excessive,” Lan Xichen cautions, “We are all limited by the qi-sealing curse. Surely Sect Leader Jiang and Madame Luo are no threats. They should be treated with dignity – ”

            “Lan Xichen, we must remember we are, at the moment, all equally limited by the qi-sealing curse. And Sect Leader Jiang is a capable warrior, even without Zidian or Sandu. They must agree to a binding, should they continue with us.”

            “Why should be continue with you?” Jiang Cheng demands, “You keep trying to murder us.”

            Jin Guangyao gives him a pitying smile. “Ah, I shall rephrase. Forgive my bluntness, but you are too dangerous to leave unsupervised. You have thrown your lot in with the Yiling Patriarch once. We cannot risk it happening again. I’m sure you’ll agree, Sect Leader, that it really is for the best that you remain with us.”

            Lan Xichen is shooting agonized looks between his sworn brother and Jiang Cheng.

            “This is outrageous,” Jiang Cheng growls, “An insult of the highest order.”

            “So was siding with the Yiling Patriarch, but you did it anyway,” a mutinous voice calls from the crowd.

            “Please don’t make this more difficult,” Lan Xichen pleads.

            Jiang Cheng is trapped. He exchanges a look with MianMian. Yanli and Xiao Xingchen are still out there, hopefully outside of qi-sealing curse’s reach. Wen Qing has Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian, and his brother won’t be affected by qi-sealing. If Xiao Xingchen is around, Song Lan must be nearby. They have allies. They aren’t alone.

            Jiang Cheng grits his teeth and reminds himself of that as he allows strangers to take his sword and bind his hands. He glares daggers at Lan Xichen as he does. Of all the assemble cultivators, Lan Xichen is most likely to realize this is wrong. He’s already wavering. He just needs evidence of Wei Wuxian’s innoncence and Jin Guangyao’s culpability to push him over the edge.

            Jiang Cheng wishes they’d been able to warn him before everything went wrong.

            Beside him, MianMian bites the man who tries to gag her. He pulls away, cradling a bloody hand and she bares her teeth at the next one to try it.

…

            Jiang Yanil and Xiao Xingchen were just outside the reach of the qi-sealing curse. They’d taken the long way, approaching the Burial Mounds from a different angle, hoping to evade detection by either Xue Yang or Jin Guangyao and his mob. They’d avoided the worst effects of the qi-sealing curse, but they didn’t avoid the sudden onslaught of corpses clawing their way out of the earth only to fling themselves at their swords.

            Yanli falls in on Xiao Xingchen’s blind side, sword out in a defensive stance.

            Half-decomposed bodies claw their way towards them, sightless eye sockets gaping, loose jaw bones clacking as if trying to speak. Flesh falls away from the skeletons in grey ribbons, clothes reduced to tattered remnants, hair dry and brittle as straw.

            And the smell.

            The stench of death rolls off these poor people and Yanil bites back the urge to cover her nose and mouth.

            She grimaces. “Is this normal?” she asks.

            “How do you mean?” Xiao Xingchen replies.

            “One powerful fierce corpse summoning others,” Yanli elaborates, “Wen Ning doesn’t do it, but he’s very different. I think if he found himself surrounded by creatures like these he’d be horrified.”

            She has the absurd image of her undead brother in law trying to give these poor people proper burials over and over again, only for them to escape like children who don’t want to take baths.

            “I do not know,” Xiao Xingchen muses, spitting two corpses on his sword and flinging them away. “This specific set of circumstances may be unique. However, powerful sources of demonic energy have been known to attract other, more minor sources of resentful energy. If Xue Yang is as clever in death as he was in life, he may have discovered a way to harness this natural side effect for his own gain.”

            Yanli grimaces, “I prefer when legions of corpses were under my brother’s command. At least A-Xian is respectful about it.”

            Xiao Xingchen chuckles. “I have not witnessed Wei Wuxian’s corpse-calling in person. I will have to take your word for it.”

            They continue to beat back the oncoming dead. The bodies of fragile, mostly old and crumbling. They shatter easily but there are so many of them they form a strange wave of chattering skulls and decaying limbs. Yanil’s arms ache, but she braces her shoulder against Xiao Xingchen’s and keeps fighting.

…

            Wen Qing’s spiritual energy fails as the second wave of qi-sealing song crests over them. She swears and jerks away from Wei Wuxian, before the resentful energy he carries under his skin can sneak under hers and try to poison her core. She’s already patched up Lan Wangji, who is looking weary but alert. She shakes off her hands, cursing as resentful energy prickles against her nerve endings.

            “That’s the best I can do,” she sighs, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes sockets. “What was that?”

            “Qi-sealing song,” Lan Wangji says, “More powerful this time.”

            “He’s making the boys play it now,” Wei Wuxian says grimly. “Madame Qin isn’t powerful enough.”

            Lan Wangji nods grimly. His face is a little grey from blood loss and lost access to his core. “We must continue.”

            “Lan Zhan – ”

            “No,” Lan Wangji cuts off the argument before it can start.

            Wei Wuxian subsides, lips pressed together in a pensive line. “If you say so.”

            “I do.”

            They make eye contact for a long, strange moment, and Wen Qing resists the urge to avert her eyes. This feels extremely private and she does not want any part of it, thank you. She claps her hands together, startling both men into looking at her, “Come on, we need to get going.”

            “Shouldn’t we go back for Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian asks, looking pensive.

            Lan Wangji gives him a look that very clearly says ‘this is the man I have chosen to love, and he is a flaming idiot’. Wei Wuxian does not notice the look. Possibly due to the aforementioned idiocy.

            As much as it hurts her to say it, Wen Qing backs up Lan Wangji, “No. He bought you time. Don’t waste it. Get moving. He’ll be fine.” He’d better, she thinks, or she’ll get Wei Wuxian to bring him back from the dead just so she can give her stupid, noble, mule of a husband a piece of her mind.

            They get moving.

…

            Su She is a coward.

            He is alright with this.

            Cowards tend to prosper in this world of theirs. Or, at the very least, end up less dead than brave people.

            Look at Wei Wuxian. Once considered to be a brilliant prodigy, always running into danger. Now vilified by half the cultivation world and dead before his 24^th birthday.

            Bravery doesn’t get you anything, in Su She’s book. Yes, his cowardice got him ousted from Gusu Lan, but that just allowed him to form his own sect and find a better master to serve. Jin Guangyao isn’t a brave man either, although he is very good at faking it. He understands the way the world works.

            This is why Su She is comfortable doing as he’s told, even when his master’s commands make less sense than usual.

            If Jin Guangyao wills it, it must be a good plan.

            And that is why Su She is not with the mob of cultivators Jin Gunagyao sent after the Yiling Patriarch. Instead, he’s creeping around the Burial Mounds, setting up the failsafe that will ensure that, if worse comes to worse, a horrible tragedy will wipe out the major sect leadership. All but Jin Guangyao. (And Lan Xichen. He had been very insistent that Lan Xichen not be harmed. This is annoying, but Su She is willing to swallow his bitterness and do as he’s told. He always does.)

            Of course, he had not factored in a screaming gremlin child when he was preparing the final measures of his trap.

…

            A-Qing doesn’t mind her qi being sealed, although Song Lan isn’t looking terribly healthy without his. He’s lagging behind too. It just goes to show you that cultivators are way too dependent on this qi stuff. A-Qing never needed it before she started training with Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen. If losing his qi for a few hours is enough to make Song Lan look this tired, maybe cultivators should practice turning it off and training like normal people for a bit every day.

            A-Qing will have to suggest that once they’ve killed Xue Yang again and they’re all back together. She’s very brilliant if she says so herself.

            That’s when she hears a sinister-sounding guqin over the next ridge. She hadn’t realized guqins could sound sinister. Lan Wangji’s always sounds nice and soothing.

            “Song Lan, do you hear that?” she asks.

            He shakes his head, “No?”

            She pats his shoulder consolingly, “It’s not your fault your ears are old,” she tells him before bounding away, sword in hand.

            Maybe she doesn’t have her spiritual powers, but swords can still stab people – Song Lan told her so.

…

            Su She screams like a little baby.

            He’s not man enough to admit this, but in the future, A-Qing will make sure to always include this fact in her retelling so there is very little chance of Su She’s childish screaming going undetected. She tackles him from behind, pinning his arms and yelling for Song Lan, who comes rushing over the ridge to find his ward sitting on the leader of Mishan Su.

            “A-Qing, what is this?”

            “He was up to no good,” she says bluntly, holding up a bundle of talismans.

            Su She tries to protest his innocence to the dirt, but it comes out garbled. He wriggles under A-Qing’s weight, trying to throw her off, spitting curses at her as soon as his face is out of the dirt.

            “Careful,” Song Lan says coolly, leveling his sword at Su She’s face. “That’s my foster daughter you’re talking about.”

            Su She whimpers.

…

            Nie Mingjue wakes up.

            Rage.

            Rage.

            Rage.

            Burning. Fever. Burning up from the inside.

            Rage.

            Jin Guangyao.

            Meng Yao.

            Friend.

            Trusted.

            Traitor.

            Ally?

            Brother.

            Traitor.

            Rage.

            Rage.

            Rage.

            He roars, clawing at his face with one, stiff-fingered hand. He’s not burning anymore, but he can feel the lingering ache of it. The fever, the way his blood boiled and his golden core devoured itself like a collapsing star.

            “-other, Brother, BROTHER!” screams a voice. A familiar voice. A voice he promised to shield from harm. A voice that should never sound so pained.

            He blinks.

            The world is bright. It was dark the last time he saw it. There is gaudy gold everywhere. This is wrong. Qinghe is not nearly this ugly and overwrought.

            He opens his mouth again, just testing it, listening to the creak of his jaw as he drags air in and out of his body. Interesting. He closes his mouth. He tests his fingers next. Then his toes. Arm. Legs.

            Where is his other arm?

            Not important.

            He’ll find it later.

            He has unfinished business to attend to.

            No to test his torso.

            He sits up. Somewhere off to the side someone objects to this, but he ignores it. Good. Sitting up was successful. Now for standing.

            He stands slowly. His body creaks like a poorly greased door hinge.

            Well, the last he understood, he was dead. He’ll take creaky door hinge joints. It’s better than no joints at all.

            He turns his head, enjoying the height. He has strange, muddled memories of being short. Very short. Lying on the ground and rolling around levels of short.

            Hm.

            Best not to explore that, considering.

            He turns his head experimentally, and more parts creak, but nothing comes flying apart and his head is remarkably clear.

            He tilts his head down, taking in the owners of the voices for the first time. Two children and his baby brother sit on the floor, staring up at him. The girl is grinning like a mad inventor whose creation has worked a little too well. The boy and his brother look various shades of worried and hopeful.

            “Huaisang,” he says, his voice a creaky groan like air from a tomb.

            His breath must be abominable.

            “Da-ge,” Huaisang breathes. There are tears in his eyes. Nie Mingjue would feel guilty about those, but Huaisang always seems to be tearing up about something or other.

            “I was dead.”

            “Yes,” Huaisang nods.

            “You’re technically still dead,” the girl cuts in, “You’re a fierce corpse now. Like our Uncle Wen. You wouldn’t remember us. We were babies when you died. I’m Jiang Zhi and that’s my brother, Jiang Xing.”

            Nie Mingjue nods to them. He turns back to his brother. “I was murdered.”

            “Yes,” Huaisang’s face hardens, “By Jin Guangyao, may he burn in hell.”

            “Where is he?” Nie Mingjue wonders how Huaisang knew it was Jin Guangyao. But then again, Huaisang has always been more clever than he’ll let on. “Where is my murderer?”

            “Chasing Xue Yang,” Jiang Xing cuts in, “Who is also undead, and, apparently also has a bone to pick with Jin Guangyao.”

            “Hmm,” Nie Mingjue rumbles in his chest. He’s becoming more aware of his surroundings now, senses he never had as a living man unfurling the longer he stands here in this undead body. He can sense the corpses in the Jin family crypt, he can feel the sting of the wards scattered throughout Lanling. He can feel the dark aura of whatever rampaged through here earlier.

            He can feel a surge of power somewhere. The undead crawling out of their graves en masse.

            This resurrected Xue Yang’s work, no doubt.

            Interesting.

            He turns to the children and his brother, baring his teeth in a grimace-like smile. “I have work to do, I see.”

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 29: So Bury Me to Make it Stop

Present Day…

            Yanli is faltering under the masses of shambling undead. This isn’t like fighting another cultivator or even a ferocious beast. There’s no finesse, no room to breathe in this fight, it’s like trying to stop the wind with a paper fan. No matter how easily the corpses fall, there’s always two more scrabbling over their brethren like swarming cockroaches.

            She doesn’t want to die here.

            She can’t die here.

            She promised A-Xuan. She promised to wait for him. She promised to keep A-Ling safe.

            She doesn’t want to be like her parents, leaving her son behind before he’s ready, before he’s grown into the man she knows he can be. She and Jiang Cheng always said they wouldn’t be their parents.

            She thinks about how she and her brothers have, in their different ways, spent their lives trying to escape their parents’ fates. How Jiang Cheng might be the one to finally break the cycle. How Wei Wuxian might have the second chance his birth parents never had.

            She hasn’t led a bad life. She’s done her best in all things, and she is proud of what she leaves behind. But she can’t leave it now.

            She digs in her heels against the cresting wave of the undead and feels Xiao Xingchen shake in his weariness at her shoulder. The smell is suffocating. All dust and rot and blood rust.

            Yanli drags in one more breath. Cuts down another trio of skeletons so old they simply crumble under her sword.

            And then.

            And then.

            Something thrums through the air around them. Something deep and heavy, like a tolling bell, or ringing gong, or some deep note no human hands have managed to pull from guqin strings. And everything goes utterly still.

            All around them corpses in their hundreds shudder and fold in on themselves, like puppets whose strings have gone unexpectedly slack. And in one mass they peel away, crushing into each other as they create a path between their hordes and past rows of prostrate undead, strides a figure conjured from nightmares.

            Yanli gasps, the sound punched out of her.

            “What in heaven and hell is that?” Xiao Xingchen asks.

            An enormous, dark figure dressed in mismatched, ill-fitting robes raises an arm in greeting – because, Yanli realizes – he only has one arm to raise. His skin is pallid, the grey-blue of nothing living, his eyes yawning voids. He shouldn’t be familiar, but he is.

            “Sect Leader Nie Mingjue,” Jiang Yanli greets him, giving him a truncated battlefield salute.

            “Madame Jiang,” the apparition’s voice rattles and groans in his chest unnaturally. Rough, blocky stitches cut across his throat, drawing a line of black hatch marks that tell a gruesome story. “Young Master,” he acknowledges Xiao Xingchen.

            Xiao Xingchen salutes him in return. “May I ask what…predicated your…appearance here, Sect Leader Nie?”

            Yanli imagines she can hear dead muscles creak as Nie Mingjue smiles viciously. “A pair of precocious children and some thread.”

            Yanli chokes on a completely inappropriate laugh. She can imagine just which children those are. “Are my niece and nephew safe?” she asks.

            “They are with my brother.”

            Considering they pieced an undead Sect Leader together like a puzzle box and unleashed him on the world under Nie Huaisang’s supervision, Yanli isn’t sure that’s a shining recommendation for the younger Nie’s skills at keeping young people out of trouble. Yanli will have to give him the benefit of the doubt for now, however.

            “As much as your assistance has been appreciated,” Xiao Xingchen says, polite and elegant as ever, even after a near-death experience, “I cannot imagine you have returned to the living simply to save our lives.”

            “No.” Nie Mingjue was never one to mince words. Or spare feelings. “I have unfinished business with Jin Guangyao.”

            Xiao Xingchen is too polite to ask what on earth he’s talking about, but at this point Yanli covered in corpse…materials…desperately terrified some monster might be doing terrible things to her baby, and struggling not to imagine what chaos her brothers and Lan Wangji have brought down on their own heads.

            She has had a very trying day.

            “That will have to wait, sir,” she says stiffly, “Until we’ve dealt with Xue Yang. You see, he has my son and I’m afraid I am perfectly willing burn down the world to get him back.”

            Nie Mingjue salutes her again with a crooked grin, “I have the feeling, Madame Jiang, that wherever this Xue Yang is, that Jin snake will not be far off.”

            “Well we should get moving, then, shouldn’t we?” Yanli says, trying to channel Wen Qing’s no-nonsense attitude, “Will your corpse army be coming with us?”

            Beside her, Xiao Xingchen makes a small, choked sound.

            Nie Mingjue kicks at a corpse experimentally. It crumbles into dust and ash. “They seem…flimsy.”

            “But there are quite a lot of them,” Yanli points out.

            “True.”

            Xiao Xingchen sighs. “If they fall apart on the way we’ll come back to lay them to rest later, yes?”

            They set off, Nie Mingjue’s followers shambling at their heels.

…

            Xue Yang swears viciously. He doesn’t know how, but something is wrong. He can’t sense half the corpses on the mountain anymore. It’s as if they’ve simply…disappeared.

            This shouldn’t be possible.

            He grabs the Lan kid by the back of the neck and squeezes, shaking him until his teeth rattle, “Play it right, brat!” he snarls.

            The look the kid shoots him is downright venomous but Xue Yang knows it’s useless. The kid won’t dare move against him. Not when he has the other three and the lovely Madame Qin at his mercy.

            Pathetic.

            “Don’t look at me like that, little one,” Xue Yang coos, “We haven’t even made the cultivators really hurt yet.”

            “Why are you doing this?” the boy asks, voice surprisingly even, without even a trace of the pure rage in his eyes. “What can you possible accomplish?”

            “I can make. Them. Bleed!” Xue Yang lashes out, slamming his heel into the boy’s knee, grinning when he hears something crack and the teenager falls.

            The little Lan doesn’t scream, though. Xue Yang doesn’t like that. Xue Yang doesn’t like when they look at him like that, with their big, bright eyes, all serene and defiant, not letting anything show. Xue Yang doesn’t like when he can’t get under people’s skins, when he can’t pry a little fear and trembling out of them.

            The Lan boy looks up at him from the dirt floor, face beaded with sweat, white around the lips as he pushes down the pain and Xue Yang hates.

            “Cultivators,” Xue Yang hisses, “The great and the good.” The Lan boy is supporting himself with one hand planted on the floor. Xue Yang resists the urge to step on those fingers.

            “All I wanted was some candy. All I wanted was to play with my toys.” He steps on the Lan’s damaged knee, watching the blood drain from the boy’s face before backing off again. “But the cultivators had to have their way.They always have to have their way. Well, it’s my turn. I’ll finally have my say in things. Won’t that be nice?”

            “My father will come for you.”

            “You think I fear Hanguang-Jun?” Xue Yang sneers.

            “No, my other father. The Yiling Patriarch is coming,” the boy says, voice tight with pain and anger, “And he isn’t known for mercy.”

            “Neither am I,” Xue Yang sneers. He tilts his head, “Want to know something fun?” He holds up his hand with the false finger, “A cultivator – you’ve never heard of his sect, it’s long gone, I made sure – took this finger when I was very young. Wouldn’t it be fun, if, after I’ve dealt with all those great men and women who are coming for my head now, I did the same thing to you and your little friends? There won’t be anyone to object, will there? I can’t do it now, of course, I need all your fingers for the core-poisoning song later, when I have them all here like fish in a barrel. But I could get started on the others early. As a treat. There’s no one to stop me from having treats anymore.”

            The Lan boy’s stony façade finally breaks at that, he tries to surge to his feet with a cry, spitting mad for the first time and Xue Yang laughs and laughs as the boy’s knee gives out and sends him to the ground again without the fierce corpse even having to kick him again.

            Xue Yang leaves him on the floor.

…

            Qin Su learned how to make herself small a long time ago. Her mother used to call her “my little mouse” with a sadness in her eyes Qin Su never could understand. She knows when she’s better off imitating furniture. She’s lying still, hardly breathing, where she’d collapsed before. She’s listening to that monster terrorize that boy and tasting acid on her tongue. Her son, her little Jin Rusong would be a little younger than Jin Ling now. He’d be nearing the age where she and her husband would be considering whether or not to send him to study outside the sect or keep him home. Her heart is screaming even as the Lan boy stays silent.

            Her cultivation is weak, it always has been. The Jin Sect is not known for its powerful female cultivators. Not since Jin Guangshan – well, not since Jin Guangshan. Luo Qingyang was an exception and Qin Su, privately, was not surprised when the other woman left to forge her own path. But she can sense demonic energy, she can sense Xue Yang as he turns towards the other room, where the other captives lie vulnerable.

            Qin Su scraped her hands and face when she collapsed. It’s nothing to pick away the scabs. She traces the familiar talisman signs in blood on one of her trailing sleeves, once golden, now filthy with the dirt and ash of this place. She waits, scratching out the signs against evil on her sleeves in tiny, invisible motions.

            She senses more than hears when Xue Yang’s tone shifts from speculation to intent. She listens to him move toward the other room with purpose, waits until he’s in narrow passage between the two spaces, and then she surges to her feet. She lunges forward, summoning all the spiritual power in her body and slams it and the makeshift talisman painted onto her sleeve into the fierce corpse.

            There’s a flash, spiritual discharge flaring beneath Qin Su’s eyelids. She hears shouting – probably the boys in the other room. Xue Yang staggers beneath her weight, body bowing under the force of her attack. He rallies, because of course he does, no talisman powered by her feeble core will take him down. He shoves her off, flinging her across the cave. She barely manages to catch herself, the stone wall jarring her shoulder painfully as she makes contact. She falls to her hands and knees, her hair spilling in tangled black mass around her face. She must look wild. Mad. Sinister.

            Good.

            “You won’t touch those boys.”

            “You will not tell me what to do!” Xue Yang caterwauls. She must have caught him across the face somehow when she crashed into him – there’s an angry red welt across his face, sizzling like a fresh burn.

            He’s turned his back on the trio in the other room, though, and they’ve managed to get to their feet. Still trussed up they slam into Xue Yang’s back just like she did, shouting things that would have them kneeling penitent in their ancestral shrines if their mothers heard them, Qin Su is sure. Xue Yang goes down under and avalanche of teenage boy. He surges back to his feet quickly, supernaturally strong as only a fierce corpse can be, howling in animal rage.

            Several things happen very quickly in that moment.

            One. Xue Yang begins grabbing the boys and throwing them around like bags of rice, but there are three of them and they don’t stop moving and he only has two hands. Two. A terrible crashing roar like an avalanche mixed with a monsoon from somewhere outside the cave rattles them all down to their bones. Three. Someone starts playing the dizi, but it’s no song Qin Su has ever heard before. She turns her head – painfully, so painfully – to see the young Lan boy with the flute to his lips, frowning in intense concentration as he begins to play a piece nothing like the songs Xue Yang had demanded of him before.

            Everything goes very still.

…

            A little before this, unknown to Qin Su and Sizhui, a very different group was approaching the ruins of the Burial Mounds.

            “So, do you people have a plan or are you just making this up as you go along?” MianMian asks conversationally as they’re marched up the mountain.

            “Silence,” one of their captors snaps.

            “She makes a good point,” Jiang Cheng agrees, “You don’t have any spiritual power. And you’re going to fight the fierce corpse of the second most powerful demonic cultivator of all time. Oh, and you pissed off the most powerful demonic cultivator of all time when you stabbed his soulmate. So. You’re basically going on a suicide mission. Aren’t you smart.”

            Some of the more junior members of the cultivator mob are beginning to look a little uncertain. Sect Leader Yao is huffing and chuffing very indignantly. Always a good sign.

            Lan Xichen is looking pensive, “A-Yao, Sect Leader Jiang and Madame Luo do have a point.”

            “Xue Yang may have been a great cultivator once, but he is but one fierce corpse now. Even without our spiritual powers I assume we can overpower one man,” Jin Guangyao says confidently.

            “False confidence, always attractive in a man,” MianMian drawls.

            Jiang Cheng gapes at her.

            She shrugs, “Politeness isn’t really worth it when you’ve been tied up and frog-marched to certain death.”

            Well when you put it like that.

            “You have to know this isn’t right,” Jiang Cheng says quietly to Lan Xichen. “Recklessly endangering the heads of the cultivation world? Attacking your brother without hearing him out? Tying me and Madame Luo up like criminals?”

            “A-Yao is a victim here,” Lan Xichen cautions him, “His wife has been taken.”

            “So have my nephews,” Jiang Cheng spits, “You don’t see me turning cultivators against each other.”

            “You attacked us.”

            “You tried to execute my brother without a trial.”

            “Sect Leader Jiang, your brother – ”

            “Was already murdered once. I have no wish to repeat the events of thirteen years ago.” Jiang Cheng bites out. “Your brother trusts him.”

            “And I trust A-Yao.”

            Jiang Cheng exhales through his nose, “He murdered Nie Mingjue.”

            “Who?”

            “Who do you think?” Jiang Cheng snaps, “Jin Guangyao murdered Nie Mingjue. We’ve been on a scavenger hunt from hell tracking down Sect Leader Nie’s limbs the last few weeks.”

            Lan Xichen’s face is unreadable, “You have no proof. A-Yao was devastated when da-ge died. He blamed himself. He wouldn’t – ”

            “Motive. Means. Opportunity. Re-examine your blind loyalty before it kills us all.”

            If Jiang Cheng went back in time and told his teenage self that one day he’d been a prisoner of a deranged chief cultivator and that Lan Xichen would look at him with that degree of agony and fury he’d laugh in his own face.

            “You would do well to take your own advice,” Lan Xichen hisses. “Regarding your misplaced faith in Wei Wuxian.”

            Jiang Cheng lets the other man go.

            It’s not worth arguing.

…

            They reach the Burial Mounds. Fierce corpses in varying states of decay leer at them with slack jaws full of rotting teeth. Cultivators ready their swords with grim expressions on their faces. Jiang Cheng really wishes he had his damn sword.

…

            “Convenient,” Xiao Xingchen remarks as they march toward the Burial Mounds.

            “What?” Yanli asks.

            “Sect Leader Nie wishes to face Jin Guangyao. We want to challenge Xue Yang. It looks like we’re all headed to the same place.”

…

            Jiang Cheng and MianMian are left like so much luggage on the outskirts of the battlefield. Jiang Cheng curses the air blue and renews wriggling against his restraints.

            “Have you considered letting me try to untie your hands while you try to untie mine?” MianMian asks archly as they both try very hard not to watch the unfolding battle only a few feet away.

            Jiang Cheng had no thought of that, but he will never admit it.

            “If you think it will help,” he assents.

…

            Yanli, Xiao Xingchen, and Nie Mingjue come upon a scene of utter chaos. Cultivators armed with flat, powerless swords batter away at crumbling corpses like actors in a play. The entrance to Wei Wuxian’s Demon-Slaughtering Cave is sealed up tight behind the seething mass of combatants.

            “It’s like something out of a play,” Yanli says, watching the almost pathetic back and forth between the depowered cultivators and wasted corpses.

            “A bad one,” Xiao Xingchen says. It might just be the most critical thing Yanli has ever heard him say about other people.

            Nie Mingjue only has eyes for one man. “MENG YAO!” he roars over the din of battle, something deep in his chest, full of years of rage and pain, rattles out in a blast of demonic energy that sends cultivators and corpses alike staggering. It slams into the doors to the Demon-Slaughtering Cave and sends them vibrating like gongs.

…

            On the battlefield Jin Guangyao feels fear, true fear, for the first time in years.

…

            Nie Mingjue’s army of corpses falls upon the mass of cultivators and fellow corpses, attacking indiscriminately, animated only by their commander’s unrelenting, unreasoning rage.

…

            Approaching from outside, Wei Wuxian swears under his breath.

            “Bad?” Lan Wangji asks dryly.

            “Very,” Wei Wuxian says, uncharacteristically terse.

…

            Jiang Cheng is moments away – moments, really, MianMian, he is not terrible at knots, shut up – from freeing MianMian when he spots his obnoxious brother, his obnoxious brother’s silvery white shadow, and, most importantly, “Wen Qing!”

            He can tell by the tilt of her head as she takes in their predicament that she is not impressed.

            “Took you morons long enough,” Jiang Cheng grumps at his brother.

            “Well Lan Zhan was stabbed and then decided to be stubborn about it.”

            “Wei Ying was also stabbed,” Lan Wangji says quellingly.

            “Minorly.”

            “Not minorly.”

            “Minimally stabbed, that’s me.”

            Wen Qing has made herself useful and is helping untie them. This is why she is Jian Cheng’s favorite. He decides to tell her this.

            “Did they drug you as well as truss you up like waterfowl?”

            Jiang Cheng sighs.

            “The cultivators are going to get themselves killed,” MianMian says, “Nie Mingjue is angry enough his fierce corpses won’t care who’s in front of them.”

            “I’m very curious how he’s up and mobile,” Wei Wuxian says, eyes gleaming in that calculating way of his as he spins his stupid flute.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says.

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “A curiosity for another time, perhaps.”

            “Yes,” his companion agrees forcefully.

            “Once Sizhui is back with us,” Wei Wuxian says.

            “Yes.” Somehow Lan Wangji manages to make one word sound more like ‘yes, once our son and his friends are safe and sound you may play with the terrifying undead sect leader as much as your twisted little heart desires, my love’ than a single syllable has any right to.

            Jiang Cheng takes charge because that’s what he’s been doing for the last thirteen plus years and he likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at it. “MianMian, Wen Qing, we need to evacuate the battlefield. Get cultivators to safety. I don’t care if we have to knock them unconscious and drag them away. Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, get into the Demon Slaughtering Cave and take out Xue Yang.”

            “What about Jin Guangyao?” MianMian asks. “Sounds like Nie Mingjue has a bone to pick with him.”

            “Let him pick it, then,” Jiang Cheng snaps, “Our priority is getting everyone out alive. That little demon dug his own grave, he can get comfy in it for all I care.”

…

            “We must evacuate the battlefield,” Xiao Xingchen says, Yanli nodding agreement as they move to herd the increasingly overwhelmed cultivators away from the struggling corpses. Nie Mingjue doesn’t even notice their absence, he’s too busy hunting Jin Guangyao.

…

            Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji approach the doors to the cave, Wei Wuxian whistling high and sharp, no time for finesse as he demands the doors bow to his wishes. They creak militantly and Wei Wuxian lets out another piercing note, eyes flashing red. The doors jolt and creak open to admit them, a cool breeze slipping out like a resigned exhalation or a final breath.

            Wei Wuxian slips through the doors, Lan Wangji at his heels.

…

            Jin Guangyao can see Nie Mingjue’s corpse bearing down on him. He doesn’t think, he runs. Ahead he sees the doors to the Demon-Slaughtering Cave ajar. In a blind panic, he slips through.

…

            Sizhui never learned demonic cultivation. His Xian-gege never taught him. He was too young, and Wei Wuxian was too determined for his art to die with him. And Lan Wangji has never been anything but a spiritual cultivator of the highest order.

            But his father used to play a song late at night when he thought Sizhui had gone to bed. A song full of love and longing. A song Sizhui heard on a makeshift dizi in the middle of a haunted forest only a few weeks ago.

            Sizhui has always had a good ear for music.

            He plays his fathers’ song now and hopes it will make a difference.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 30: To Love Life or To Lose It

Present Day…

            Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a man who lived in a graveyard.  And when he couldn’t sleep, the man would wander the cliffs and play his cursed flute. There was one song he came back to over and over again. His first attempts to play it were shaky and uncertain as he felt out the foreign notes of someone’s else’s design. But he came back to it over and over again nonetheless, playing the notes until they were etched into his fingers, seared into tendons and sinew and bone.

            And the ghosts and demonic spirits and restless undead listened. This was their lullaby. The first song of love they’d been given in their long un-lives. When the man with the flute disappeared, the spirits did not mourn. They did not know how to. But when the song returned on another’s hands years later, they stopped to listen.

…

            As one body, every fierce corpse stops moving. They stand, swaying slightly like a field of tall grass as the sound of flute music crests over their heads.

…

            Wen Qing, MianMian, and Jiang Cheng start gathering cultivators the minute the corpses stop.

            “Why are they - ?” MianMian begins to ask.

            “Don’t question it, just start grabbing people,” Jiang Cheng says.

            Wen Qing spots a flash of purple robes across the half-frozen battlefield, “Jiang Yanli!”

            The other woman looks up, “Jin sect, to Madame Wen!” she orders in her firmest, most no-nonsense voice.

            “Who the hell are you?”

            “That’s Jin Zixuan’s wife, you moron.”

            “She doesn’t look like a Jin.”

            “MOVE IT NOW, DITHER LATER!” Jiang Cheng roars.

            “You aren’t our sect leader!” one of the Yao Sect protests.

            “TOO FUCKING BAD!” Wen Qing shouts, “NOW MOVE!”

            “What happened to the fierce corpses?” someone’s tremulous voice asks.

            “Is now really the time to be asking that?” Xiao Xingchen doesn’t shout, doesn’t bellow, doesn’t roar, yet somehow his voice reaches every ear on the field.

            “Neat trick,” MianMian mutters, grabbing Sect Leader Yao by the back of his robes and hauling him away from the immobilized fierce corpse he had been bashing away at.

            “INJURED TO WEN QING; BATTLE READY, TO ME!” Jiang Cheng does not feel the need to stop shouting.

            “No one is battle ready!” someone protests, “Our qi is sealed!”

            “ARE YOUR SWORDS DECORATIVE NOW? GET MOVING!”

            It’s going to be a long day.

…

            The corpse who was Nie Mingjue does not stop moving. He doesn’t have any lingering warm feelings towards the man from the Burial Mounds. He does have a great deal of negative feelings towards the door keeping him away from his quarry. He raises his singular fist and begins to bash away at it with the unnatural strength of the undead.

…

            There are things Jiang Cheng doesn’t know. There are things even Wen Ning and Wen Qing don’t know. Wei Wuxian likes it that way. He isn’t sure he could explain the way demonic energy felt those first few months, years, days, after he lost his core. After he took a one-way trip to damnation. Like a seething, hungry void eating him alive from the inside out. A black hole, but hungrier, more malignant. An entity that could only consume.

            It took time. It took a pound of flesh and a heap of bones and a nightmarish kaleidoscope of pain but he tamed the beast. He kept it fed on love and hate and his own unwillingness to die. He befriended it, make it part of himself.

            It lives in him, with him. He is the greatest demonic cultivator in the world for a reason.

            The world bends around him. He knows his eyes must be burning red, shadows seething in his wake, smoke crawling across the ground in his wake as the Burial Mounds respond to his presence and his rage.

            They enter the chamber. Xue Yang has thrown off the three bound juniors, but they keep trying to wriggle to their feet anyway. Flute music echoes from one corner. Behind him, Lan Wangji breathes, “Sizhui.”

            He’s safe then. Good.

            Madame Jin is a heap of bloody gold fabric on the floor.

            Wei Wuxian’s glowing red eyes fix on Xue Yang.

            “Children, back down.” His voice is strange, echoing and ghoulish. He doesn’t care.

            The juniors’ heads swivel to face him. They cringe back, scrambling away, over to Qin Su.

            “The children,” Lan Wangji’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.

            “Xue Yang,” Wei Wuxian says. “You took someone of mine.”

            “The Grandmaster appears,” Xue Yang drawls. His face is a twisted thing, seared with a line of talisman symbols.

            Out of the corner of his eye Wei Wuxian sees a pale shape appear beside the juniors. Good. Lan Wangji will keep them safe.

            Wei Wuxian and the hungry void inside him have other business.

            His eyes meet Xue Yang’s. One of the corpse’s is half melted, phlegmy fluid tailing down his seared cheek. The other is milky and dead.

            Wei Wuxian pounces.

…

            Sizhui almost stops playing when they appear. Wei Wuxian is half-man, half-shadow, a pair of glowing red eyes shrouded in seething darkness, Lan Wangji a burning beacon beside him, somehow still pristine and untouched. Sizhui is sixteen years old and he nearly sobs at the sight of them.

            “Father,” he says, pulling his flute away from his lips.

            “Keep playing,” Lan Wangji says.

            He doesn’t question it. He plays.

…

            Lan Wangji doesn’t know why he tells Sizhui to keep playing. He doesn’t know what that song could possibly do. But if there’s even the slightest chance, Lan Wangji will take it.

…

            Jin Ling was raised with two stories. One of his heroic uncle who sacrificed everything to save everyone. One of his monster uncle who became the ultimate evil to fight the Wens and then turned on the entire cultivation world in the aftermath.

            He doesn’t know what to believe. He knows what his mother believes. He knows what his Jiang uncle believes. He knows what Lan Wangji – whatever he is to their family – believes. But he also knows what the rest of the world claims to know.

            And he’s spent thirteen years walking the narrow line between their family and the rest of the world.

            But right now, faced with the creature wearing Mo Xuanyu’s face, Jin Ling is just glad whatever Wei Wuxian became is on his side.

…

            Wei Wuxian doesn’t bother to fight like a young gentleman. He doesn’t bother to fight like a cultivator. He fights like a wild animal. He fights like the child on the streets who used to jab fingers in eyes and tiny fists into tender body parts. He fights like the feral half-dead creature he became in when he was thrown into the Burial Mounds in the first place.

            Blood roars in his ears as he falls upon Xue Yang with fists and feet and teeth. He grabs the other man by the throat, shadows rushing and chattering around him like rattling bones and squeezes. Xue Yang punches him in the stomach but Wei Wuxian doesn’t let go. He whistles through his teeth, and grey mist leeches away from Xue Yang’s body, his limbs losing coordination as demonic energy drains away.

            This is no different from how Wei Wuxian lent Wen Ning power back in the forest on his first night back in the land of the living. Only instead of giving this fierce corpse strength, Wei Wuxian is taking it away.

            But Xue Yang was a feral eye-gouging youngster himself. He brings up a hand, fingers twisted into a claw and tries to rip out one of Wei Wuxian’s eyes, driving a thumb hard into a tear duct and dragging filthy, over-long fingernails through the tender skin over his eye.

            Wei Wuxian howls and shoves the fierce corpse away, kicking him in the stomach. Xue Yang recovers quickly, slamming him into the cavern’s wall. Wei Wuxian punches the undead man in the temple, then rips his own fingernails through the burn on Xue Yang’s face. The corpse snarls, rearing back. Wei Wuxian’s shadows coalesce around him, smoky tendrils entangling Xue Yang just as they had Nie Mingjue’s violent arm. Like spiderwebs, the more the corpse struggles, the tighter they wind.

            Something flickers in Xue Yang’s remaining eye – his tattered, restless soul struggling to retain control over his body as Wei Wuxian mercilessly drains the demonic energy from his bones.

            Wei Wuxian grabs Xue Yang’s head, snapping his neck. The corpse still writhes where he’s pinned, head bobbing nauseatingly now as Xue Yang twists his own corpse to suit his needs.

            “How long can you do this, Wei Wuxian?” Xue Yang drawls. “How willing are you to sacrifice your new life just for little old me?”

            Wei Wuxian doesn’t hesitate. He keeps whistling, high and eerie, keeps tightening his grip on Xue Yang’s broken body.

             “How long have you had this body?” Xue Yang asks, jaw clacking strangely from where his head dangles, “It has to be borrowed. I heard your old one had an incendiary incident.” He clicks his teeth. “This one isn’t used to these shenanigans. What happens when you burn through it?”

            Wei Wuxian doesn’t care. The all-consuming beast inside him is hungry.

…

            Lan Wangji frees the juniors. “Take care of Madame Qin.” They’re gaping over his shoulder, eyes blank and horrified at whatever they see there. Lan Wangji knows what’s there. He saw it during the war and it scared him badly enough to ask Wei Ying back to the one place he’s ever run away from – Gusu.

            “Go,” he orders the boys.

            They scramble to obey, coming out of their shock in fits and starts as they stagger to their feet. Lan Wangji turns to behold something from his nightmares.

            Wei Wuxian is wreathed in smoke, shadows nibbling at his silhouette, the line between his body and the power he wields blurring and bleeding like water stained ink. His eyes burn otherworldly bright in the darkness. Xue Yang the fierce corpse cackles from the web of darkness Wei Wuxian has trapped him in.

            “How long have you had this body? It has to be borrowed. I heard your old one had an incendiary incident. This one isn’t used to these shenanigans. What happens when you burn through it?”

            Lan Wangji feels cold.

            He can’t go back. He can’t lose Wei Wuxian again.

            Not for this.

            “Wei Ying!” he calls.

            No response.

            The shadows tighten. The light takes on a haze like the sky during a forest fire. Xue Yang laughs a gurgling, garbled laugh.

            “You know, when you ruin that body, and destroy mine, let’s have a little competition, you and me. First one to find a new body and possess it wins. Or, maybe first one to get exorcised by a cultivator wins. The more prominent the cultivator the more points. I’m hoping for Xiao Xingchen for myself. Maybe your bitch sister will be the one to get rid of your vengeful spirit?”

            Wei Wuxian lets out a feral snarl and the shadows seize.

            “WEI YING!” Lan Wangji cries.

            Some people say that everything slows down before an important moment. Some people claim to have an instant of stillness and clarity. Lan Wangji would say that is an artifact of memory. The way it spaces things out to make them more comprehensible.

            In this moment there is no stillness, no pause, no moment of clarity. There is only Wei Ying and the shadows consuming him.

            Lan Wangji leaps.

            He hopes Wei Ying will forgive him.

…

            Lan Sizhui can feel tears rolling down his cheeks. He’s playing the song, over and over. Wei Wuxian is screaming, shadows and smoke are twisting their way around him, his outline smearing in Sizhui’s vision in a way that can’t possibly just be tears. Xue Yang is laughing, laughing, laughing, and Sizhui trusts his father, trusts Lan Wangji to do what he’s always done – appear just in time to make everything alright again, but Sizhui doesn’t know how to fix this, doesn’t know how to bring Wei Wuxian back from the brink. He’s tired and scared and wants to go home, wants to feel safe lulled by the quiet sounds of Lotus Pier outside his windows.

            His father stands, a bright beacon in the fading light.

            Xue Yang’s laughter hits a crescendo and Sizhui hears him taunt Wei Wuxian.

             “You know, when you ruin that body, and destroy mine, let’s have a little competition, you and me. First one to find a new body and possess it wins. Or, maybe first one to get exorcised by a cultivator wins. The more prominent the cultivator the more points. I’m hoping for Xiao Xingchen for myself. Maybe your bitch sister will be the one to get rid of your vengeful spirit?”

            Sizhui keeps playing. His fingers are sore.

            “WEI YING!” his father shouts. Sizhui looks up to see Lan Wangji jump into the swirling vortex of demonic energy Wei Wuxian has spun around himself, tackling the other man to the floor.

            The shadows waver as their master goes down.

            “GET DOWN,” Lan Wangji shouts as the demonic energy, freed, explodes outward in a concussive blast. Sizhui sees Jin Ling, Jingyi, and Zizhen shield Qin Su as he ducks.

            Xue Yang drops to the ground in a limp heap of dead flesh.

            Lan Wangji curls over Wei Wuxian’s body as the whirlwind of demonic energy crashes over them, fleeing the cavern like disrupted bats.

…

            The tidal wave of demonic energy pours out from beneath and between the double doors, slamming into Nie Mingjue, seeping into the gaps between his rough stitches, filling him up to the brim.

            He makes a satisfied sound deep in his throat and resumes his assault on the door.

…

            Elsewhere in the caverns, Jin Guangyao ducks his head and tries not to be swept off his feet.

…

            Qin Su opens her eyes.

            A trio of disoriented, bug-eyed boys are crouched beside her. Across the room, the fourth one plays his heart out on Xue Yang’s flute. Where is Xue Yang? Qin Su cranes her neck, searching for him. She finds the corpse, battered and broken, twitching and jerking as he tries to stagger upright. She realizes with a start that there are more people in the chamber than before. Across from Xue Yang two more bodies lie in a crumpled pile. They’re moving, but only slightly, like sleepers creeping towards wakefulness.

            Xue Yang is pulling his shattered remains upright again, face twisting into a macabre smile.

            “Which one of you have a fire-starter?” Qin Su asks. She remembers when the Jins were talking about how to dispose of the Yiling Patriarch’s pet fierce corpse. She remembers Jin Guangyao saying fire was the only way.

            The boys blink at her, shell-shocked and she pulls out her firmest, most my-lady-Qin-Su voice, “Boys. Now.”

            They jerk, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen rustling through their robes until Jingyi produces a flint.

            Qin Su wrestles her way to her knees and then to her feet. Xue Yang only has eyes for the heap of limbs on the floor. She yanks her heavy, trailing robes out of the way, snapping the flint and striker together, sparks flickering with each strike.

            Xue Yang is still shuffling forward one agonizing step at a time.

            The boys must have figured out what she’s trying to do, because Jin Ling surges forward, grabbing Xue Yang by the leg. “Get him!” he yells at his friends and the other two follow suit, one taking the other leg, the other toppling the fierce corpse and pinning his shoulders once the three of them have him on the ground.

            “Do it, Auntie!” Jin Ling shouts, eyes wild.

            Qin Su strikes the flint and lets the sparks fall.

…

            Lan Wangji, head still ringing from literally leaping into a swirling mass of demonic energy, comes awake to the scent of burning. Wei Wuxian is mostly dead weight in his arms, half-conscious and groaning, and it’s all Lan Wangji can do to force them both upright. His vision swims and his stomach turns. Pain lances through his head and his hands shake where they clutch Wei Wuxian’s robes. He can feel the rise and fall of Wei Wuxian’s chest through his iron grip and it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

            He blinks the haze away from his eyes to see Jingyi, Jin Ling, Ouyang Zizhen, and Madame Qin standing around the burning remains of Xue Yang, Jin Ling supporting his aunt as she sways on her feet.

            The fierce corpse shrieks and laughs in the middle of his personal inferno, cursing them all as bastards and fools.

            “Just remember, Jin Guangyao is the reason you’re all here,” Xue Yang chokes out through his choked giggles, “Just remember. Jin Guangyao is the reason.”

            He says nothing else, no matter what the boys ask him, just laughs and burns.

…

            Jin Guangyao himself is not having a good day. He’d taken shelter in a side room but he could hear everything that was said in the main cavern. That fucking Xue Yang. That damnable, fucking bastard.

            Now he has this mess to clean up too.

…

            Nie Mingjue roars and lands a ringing hit against the doors keeping him from his quarry. The lesser fierce corpses around him still do nothing.

            “WAS ANYONE GOING TO TELL ME THERE WAS AN ENRAGED FIERCE CORPSE OVER THERE OR WAS I SUPPOSED TO JUST FIND OUT MYSELF?” Jiang Cheng shouts.

            “He’s with us!” Yanli shouts back.

            “THAT’S NOT FUCKING REASSURING RIGHT NOW!”

…

            Lan Wangji still feels like his head’s been run over by a cart and a team of oxen, but he’s capable of forming words now. Wei Wuxian is stirring in his arms, trying to sit up under his own power. “Lan Zhan?” he asks muzzily as he tries to wrestle his way upright.

            “Shh. Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji says back because he can’t find the words to express everything that just happened. He turns to the children instead, “Go, Sect Leader Jiang and reinforcements are outside. Get somewhere safe.”

            The boys nod shakily, surrounding Qin Su like protective ducklings. At their feet the fire that was Xue Yang is slowly burning itself out.

            “What’s that sound?” Ouyang Zizhen asks.

            “What?” Lan Wangji knows he must sound as blank as ever but he feels exhausted.

            “The ominous banging? Like something is trying to break in here? Where we are?”

            Oh. Lan Wangji just thought that was part of the headache trying to split open his skull.

            “I’m checking it out,” Jin Ling decides.

            Lan Wangji opens his mouth to forbid it, but the other two boys follow their friend and they’re away before Lan Wangji can stop them.

…

            Several things happen at once.

…

            One, Nie Mingjue slams his fist into the doors.

…

            Two, Jin Ling opens the doors.

…

            Three, Lan Sizhui stops playing. All the fierce corpses, deprived of their mandate from Xue Yang and soothed by Sizhui’s flute, drop like so many puppets.

…

Four, Jin Guangyao bolts from his hiding spot to take refuge in the main chamber, staggering to a stop in front of his wife and the two cultivators she’s helping to her feet.

…

            Five, Sizhui reaches out and yanks Jin Ling out of the way of the massive, enraged fierce corpse that comes charging through the doors. The other two juniors dodge of their own accord and Sizhui is up on his feet again, running, dragging Jin Ling after him.

            “What’s going on?” Jin Ling asks.

            “We’re getting help,” Sizhui tells him.

…

            “MENG YAO,” Mingjue roars.

            Jin Guangyao scans the three people still left in the room and picks a hostage.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 31: When Everyone Has Their Disguise

Present Day…

            Wei Wuxian is remarkably calm under Jin Guangyao’s hands. His pulse flutters at his neck, a butterfly trapped under the steel string cutting into his throat. His lips quirk up in a tired smile, blood from a trio of ragged gashes seals one eye shut but the other is clear and calm as it watches him, waiting to see what he’ll do.

            “Hello, villain,” Wei Wuxian says easily, “Funny meeting you here.”

            “You know nothing,” Jin Guangyao spits.

            “Mn, maybe,” Wei Wuxian agrees easily. “I don’t know why you killed Nie Mingjue, for one thing. I don’t know what you have to do with Xue Yang, but I have the feeling you’ll tell me.”

            “I’m innocent. Call off your Lan guard dog,” Jin Guangyao spits, a front of false bravado.

            “Hmm?” Wei Wuxian looks over to where Lan Wangji crouches, bruised, bloody and exhausted on the floor, staring at the cord around Wei Wuxian’s throat with hatred in his eyes. “Oh, Lan Zhan, it’s fine. I’ll be alright.”

            “Less whimsy, please,” Jin Guangyao snarls.

            “Release him,” Lan Wangji orders, even his voice sounding battered.

            “MENG YAO!” a voice roars one cave over and Qin Su presses shaking hands to her mouth.

            “A-Yao, please,” she whispers, “Please release him. Please. Let’s go home. It’s all over.”

            “No,” Jin Guangyao snaps, “It’s not over, it’s never over.”

            “Is that why you killed Nie Mingjue?” Wei Wuxian asks conversationally, “Because it wasn’t over? You couldn’t let it be over?”

            “Shut up,” Jin Guangyao spits, “You know nothing.”

            “Ah,” Wei Wuxian smiles that tired, understanding smile and Jin Guangyao hates it, “We’ve already discussed how little I know, Sect Leader Jin. I’ve been dead quite a long time, after all. Lan Zhan, don’t look so worried,” he laughs, a forced little thing, “I’ve died before and been quite alright.”

            Lan Wangji makes a small, pained noise in the back of his throat like a kicked dog. “No. Nothing was alright when Wei Ying died.”

            “Ah, but it was, wasn’t it?” Wei Wuxian says placatingly, “Everyone lived happily ever after despite me. I’ll admit I was a little sad to leave so soon, but you all did beautifully without me. Maybe I should have bowed out long before.”

            “No!” Lan Wangji’s voice is a tortured, agonized thing like twisting steel, breaking guqin strings, snapping bone. “Wei Ying.”

            “I did wish we’d had more time, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, “The first time I died. I thought to myself, ‘what if we could have had more time? Would I have told Lan Zhan everything?’ and then I went and died and stupid Jiang Cheng told you all my secrets. Well, Wen Qing told him first, but I can’t be angry at Wen Qing. She’s done too much for this poor bastard,” he flicks a dismissive hand at himself.

            Jing Guangyao is feeling distinctly like this hostage situation has gotten very out of hand.

            Wei Wuxian is still talking because apparently Jin Guangyao picked the one hostage with no sense of self-preservation. “But there was on little secret Jiang Cheng didn’t tell you. At least I don’t think he’d tell you. He’s a little dense. I’m sure he never noticed.”

            “Would you stop chattering?” Jin Guangyao snaps.

            “No,” Wei Wuxian says succinctly, “If these are my dying words, I’ll make them count, thank you.”

            Jin Guangyao’s patience is rapidly fraying.

            “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, “I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. And I’m sorry if you don’t want my love. I understand. It’s alright. I just wanted you to know.” Wei Wuxian smiles, “Alright, Sect Leader Jin, you can do away with me now.”

            “No,” Lan Wangji snaps, and even though he can’t even stand, he picks up a rock and throws it at Jin Guangyao. “Wei Ying.”

            The rock barely grazes Jin Guangyao’s robes. He gives Lan Wangji, who has gone very pale and crumpled a little from the effort, a disdainful glance.

            “If you really wish to live a life with your Lan Wangji,” Jin Guangyao tells Wei Wuxian, “You will call off Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse.”

            Wei Wuxian’s eyes are fixed on Lan Wangji’s crumpled form, his lips pressed together into a pale white line, “Fine.”

            Jin Guangyao smiles.

            Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse bursts into the chamber with a furious shout.

            Wei Wuxian whistles, stalling the fierce corpse in place.

            “I’m sorry, Sect Leader Nie,” Wei Wuxian says through dry lips.

…

            “UNCLE!”

            Jiang Cheng did not expect to find himself with an armful of sobbing nephew, but considering this nightmare started as a rescue mission, he’s a grateful for this outcome. At least comforting Jin Ling is more rewarding than arguing with cultivators who are apparently morally opposed to common sense.

            “Jin Ling!” he grabs his nephew by the shoulders and holds him out in front of him, checking the boy over for injuries.

            He seems to worse for wear but otherwise in one piece, as do the other three, who are crowding up behind him.

            “Uncle, you have to help!” Jin Ling pants.

            This sparks off an avalanche of teenaged shouting, with all four boys piling information on top of information until Jiang Cheng’s head is spinning with it all.

            “Fierce corpse!”

            “Xue Yang on fire!”

            “The YILING PATRIARCH!”

            “Madame Qin set Xue Yang on fire.”

            “JIN GUANGYAO POISONED MY FATHER!”

            Wait. What?

            “ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!” Jiang Cheng roars.

            The boys quiet down all at once.

            “Jin Ling. What was that about Jin Guangyao?”

            Jin Ling, eyes wild, blurts “Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang devised a method to not only seal qi but poison it against the cultivator. They used it on my father. The only reason he survived is the bell Uncle Wei created for me.”  

            “How did you learn this?” Jiang Cheng isn’t surprised, especially considering the events of the last twenty-four hours or so, but he still needs more information if he’s going to run around accusing the Chief Cultivator of attempted fratricide.

            “Xue Yang confessed,” Ouyang Zizhen tells him.

            “He gloated about doing it again,” Jingyi says, looking shaken.

            “You have to help my fathers,” Sizhui looks like he’s been run over by a stampede of oxen, his eyes bloodshot and his fingers bloody, “Jin Guangyao is in there.”

            “And a giant fierce corpse!” Ouyang Zizhen’s voice shakes slightly.

            “Please, Uncle!” Jin Ling clings to his robes the way he hasn’t since he was a small child.

            “Go find your mother and Xiao Xingchen,” Jiang Cheng orders, “They’ll look after you. I’m going after Wei Wuxian.”

            Jin Ling surprises him by hugging him, “Be careful,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear, before running off, the older boys trailing after him.

            Huh. How about that.

…

            Unnoticed by Jiang Cheng, Lan Xichen overhears the boys’ testimony. Heart cold and heavy in his throat, the Lan Sect Leader follows Jiang Cheng into the cave.

…

            “You…killed…me…Meng…Yao…” Nie Mingjue grits out through the binding Wei Wuxian has wrapped around his corpse.

            “That was an accident, Da-ge,” Jin Guangyao says, pulling together the scraps of his tattered composure. “The evil aura of the artifact overwhelmed you and destabilized your qi. A tragic accident.”

            “You…desecrated…my…corpse…”

            “Hardly the act of an innocent,” Wei Wuxian says softly before returning to his whistle.

            “I was afraid,” Jin Guangyao claims, the cord around Wei Wuxian’s throat tightening, “I knew I would be blamed. I brought him the artifact. I have many enemies, you know, the Jin are a pit a vipers; always waiting, always watching for a chance to take me down.”

             “Brother would have defended you,” Lan Wangji says softly. “Brother always defended you.”

            “Lan Xichen is one man, no one is as kind, as understanding as Lan Xichen. He’s the only one who understood I never meant – ”

            “Yes, you did,” Lan Wangji is implacable.

            “What would you know in your ivory tower, Lan Wangji?” Jin Guangyao spits, “What would you know of suffering? Of struggle? Of having to work for every scrap of dignity? You don’t get to judge me. You aren’t worthy.”

            “But I am,” Qin Su says quietly.

            “What?” Jin Guangyao blurts.

            “I believe Former Sect Leader Nie,” Qin Su is shaking, but her voice is firm. “You hated him. I know you did. Who do you think listened all those times you complained of the injustice of the world? When you railed against Nie Mingjue, who would dare judge you for one infraction? When you justified killing the Nie Master of Swords again and again and again as if I had the power to reverse Sect Leader Nie’s ruling? Just because you were beyond noticing me didn’t mean I wasn’t listening and supporting you. Playing the dutiful wife. Just because you didn’t care about my presence did not mean I ceased to exist.”

            “The Nie Master of Swords deserved to die. He insulted my mother, my parentage, my existence, over and over again and no one stopped me until I did.”

            “You…killed…him…during…an…invasion…” Nie Mingjue grits out through Wei Wuxian’s binding, “Defending…our…home…mattered…more…than…personal…scores….”

            “Of course, you would say that. You never had to sneak or scheme. Holding your vassals’ fates in your hands like a small god was your privilege from birth!”

            “A…leader…must…prioritize…defending…the…many…over…petty…squabbles…”

            “Again, the privilege of command! Everything I’ve ever had I’ve had to fight and scrabble and backstab for! The struggle never ends because those waiting to tear me down never stop coming!”

            “Your list of enemies is endless because you have made it that way!” snaps Qin Su, her shaking fists clenched in her torn, trailing sleeves, “You see slights and offenses everywhere you look!”

            “Because they are everywhere!” Jin Guangyao hisses.

            “You put them there!” Qin Su cries. “You stab them in the backs because you assume they’re about to do the same to you, and all that does it put a river of blood and a mountain of doubt between you and the rest of the world!”

            “BETTER A RIVER OF BLOOD THAN A BOOT HEEL ON MY NECK!” Jin Guangyao screams. “The world exists to use people like me and throw them away! But I will not allow it. I will never allow it.”

            “A-Yao,” a soft voice interrupts them and those still mobile turn to the doorway, where Sect Leader Jiang stands, sword out, holding back a distressed Lan Xichen.

            “Xichen,” Jin Guangyao breathes.

            “A-Yao, why?”

            Jin Guangyao laughs, voice twisted and strained, “Because I had to.”

            “No, no, you didn’t.”

            “Lan Xichen, stay put,” snaps Jiang Cheng as he tries to keep Lan Xichen from approaching the tableaux. “Jin Guangyao, release my brother immediately.”

            “No, I don’t think I will,” Jin Guangyao says. His tone tries for lofty and superior and lands somewhere in the vicinity of ‘strained and thready’. “He’s the only thing keeping Da-ge from tearing us all to pieces.” He nods towards the corner where Nie Mingjue’s corpse stands, wreathed in smoke from Wei Wuxian’s binding.

            “Not…them…just…you…” Nie Mingjue forces out.

            “You did not have to. You chose to,” Lan Wangji says.

            “Chose.” Jin Guangyao’s lip curls, “Who chooses to be born in a brothel? Who chooses to carry that burden all his life? Who chooses to be thrown down the stairs of Carp Tower at sixteen? Who chooses to spend all his life fighting to be rid of the stain of his father’s sins?”

            “You…could…have…been…content…with…me…”

            “How could I have been? One of your lackeys? Looked down by men like that sneering Master of Swords? Never a real person? You can judge me all you like, but everything I did needed doing.”

            “You poisoned your brother,” Jiang Cheng says, “You had everything you wanted. Recognition from your father. Revenge of your nay-sayers. Jin Zixuan, arrogant peacock that he is, still welcomed you, valued you. You would have been his right hand when he was Sect Leader. Was that not enough?”

            “Is it ever enough? Why do you think the Yiling Patriarch ran off to found his own demonic commune?” Jin Guangyao says, “No man wants to be second to his arrogant, ignorant brother.”

            “You’re wrong,” Lan Wangji interrupts.

            “All I ever wanted was everyone I loved to be happy and safe,” Wei Wuxian says, pausing his whistling, “I would have lived out my life as Jiang Cheng’s right hand and been glad.”  

            Nie Mingjue jerks, the smoke thinning, and Wei Wuxian resumes whistling.

            “You should have died when you were supposed to,” Jin Guangyao snaps.

            “Let me guess,” Wei Wuxian says, “Sect Leader Nie, if you don’t mind waiting to tear Jing Guangyao pieces until after I’m done. I think Lan Xichen will be a little more understanding of the carnage with all the backstory.”

            “Very…well…” the fierce corpse scowls.

            “Thank you,” Wei Wuxian smiles, the smoke trailing away, “My mouth was getting dry from all the whistling.”

            Jiang Cheng scowls, “Get on with it.”

            “Alright,” Wei Wuxian smiles, “Jin Guangyao. You were only ever loved fully and without reservation by one person, yes? Your mother. And life treated her cruelly for her love. You were taken in by the Nie. You thought you would try for unconditional love again. But that proved false when Sect Leader Nie failed to understand why you killed the Master of Swords. He even repudiated you! So much for love without judgment! And then you met Lan Xichen. You helped him. He was kind. He believed you every time. He was clearly the exception to a world of nastiness and cruelty. You spied for him. You killed Wen Ruohan for him. And then you were a hero to the whole cultivation world. A common boy made good! But it still wasn’t perfect. The world was still wrong. They still didn’t accept you. They didn’t love and respect you right, the way you wanted to be loved, the way you should be respected. The main barrier was your father, but it would take more time to get him out of the way. First, your brother. The man your father constantly compared you to. The man whose life you coveted. The heir. The golden peacock. And then there was little old me being a nuisance, keeping your family from consolidating your chokehold on the cultivation world. I’m sure your father told you to deal with me. And I’m sure you planned to kill two birds with one stone. What better excuse to kill me than if somehow, I could be blamed for Jin Zixuan’s tragic death? But then Jin Zixun spoiled it all. I died early. You improvised. Yet even as the heir it wasn’t enough. Even as the Jin heir Nie Mingjue was still there, so suspicious of everything you did, and your father still lingered. He died. Very convenient, everyone knew he’d collapsed during a Sect Conference. He must have been in ill health. So sad. Now for Nie Mingue. One last piece of revenge. One last loose end. You tidied him away. Now there was nothing between you and the prestige and safety you always craved.”

            “Rusong.” Qin Su’s voice interrupts, “Did he kill our son?”

            Wei Wuxian blinks, “I have no idea. I’m sorry.”

            Qin Su makes a pained sound and hugs herself tightly.

            Wei Wuxian licks his lips and clears his dry throat, “But you forgot Nie Mingjue had a brother who loved him.”

            “Are you saying Nie Huaisang brought you back from the dead?” Jiang Cheng blurts.

            Wei Wuxian shrugs, “He was researching it. Mo Xuanyu beat him to it.” Wei Wuxian glares over his shoulder, ignoring the blood dripping down his neck from the cord around it, “I’m sure whatever happened to that poor boy is somehow your fault too.”

            Lan Xichen looks as if his whole world is ending. The only sound is the crackle of the flames still feebly lapping at Xue Yang’s remains.

            “Very clever, Wei Wuxian,” Jin Guangyao says softly.

…

            Yanli is helping Wen Qing check over the boys for injuries and resisting the urge to hug the life out of Jin Ling and never let go when a familiar voice interrupts her work.

            “Long time no see, ladies!” A-Qing chirps.

            “A-Qing, what are you doing here?” Yanli asks.

            “Get it, get it, because I’ve never seen you?” A-Qing always did feel a need to explain her jokes. “Ah, I’m hilarious and underappreciated,” she sighs. The girl stretches, popping her back as she does. “Me and Song Lan captured some jerk who was laying traps for cultivators. Well, I captured him. Song Lan just threatened him and tied him up and asked some of the questions.”

            “Who was it?” Wen Qing asks.

            “Some guy named Su She. Real weasel. At first I thought ‘oh, wow, all this garbage he’s telling us is just a bunch of nasty gossip’ but then it turned out to be motive for a bunch of murders Jin Guangyao committed and I went ‘wow, rich cultivator people are awful’. I mean, I already knew that. Sorry, ladies, I know you’re nice rich cultivator people, but still. Jin Sect is the worst.”

            Yanli knows she’s gaping at A-Qing like a fish, but she can’t help it. “Jin Guangyao murdered who?”

            “I was trying to tell you before you and Auntie started fussing, Mother,” Jin Ling complains as Wen Qing cleans out a particularly dirt-crusted scrape, “Uncle Jin tried to murder Father! Uncle Jiang is going to save everyone!”

            “Taking a long time, isn’t it? I mean, if you’re just going to stab one guy, it isn’t that time consuming,” A-Qing observes.

            “Wen Qing, A-Ling, stay here,” Yanli orders, “I’m going to check on my brothers.” And confront the snake who thought he’d kill my husband, she thinks to herself.

            “Already on it,” A-Qing chirps, “Let’s go kill a Sect Leader!”

            “Don’t sound so cheerful about it,” Yanli sighs, “I don’t want to tell your foster parents I’m a bad influence.”

            “Please, I’m the bad influence here,” A-Qing dismisses her concerns.

…

            “We seem to have reached a stalemate,” Wei Wuxian observes. “Sect Leader Jin says he will kill me if I do not contain Nie Mingjue’s fierce corpse. But I know very well that if you do kill me, Sect Leader; Jiang Cheng and my beloved Lan Zhan will tear you to pieces and burn your remains so you will never return to the land of the living. And that’s if Nie Mingjue doesn’t get to your first. If I do contain Nie Mingjue we will be forced to continue standing here until my strength gives out, as we all know after my little recitation no one in this chamber will lift a finger to help you, and eventually I will collapse, freeing Nie Mingjue to savage you as he wishes. Or you could surrender to Lan Xichen, whose justice, I’m sure, Nie Mingjue, no matter who enraged, will accept. You would be brought back to Gusu and stand trial. Or you could surrender to Jiang Cheng, whose justice, if not gentle, will be swift, brutal, and more in line with what I’m sure Nie Mingjue is thinking.”

            “Shut up.” Jin Guangyao hisses.

            “You can’t talk yourself out of this one,” Wei Wuxian says. “Take it from me, I’ve talking myself in and out of danger too many times. There are some fights you cannot help but lose. This is one. Game over. You’ve lost.”

            “No,” Jin Guangyao whispers, “Xichen-ge. Please. You can’t believe the Yiling Patriarch over me. You have to – I’ve – everything I’ve ever done – I’ve never hurt you. Have I? Please, Xichen-ge, you’ve always defended me, I’ve always defended you, we’re –”

            “No,” Lan Wangji says, voice like steel, “You are not allowed to make brother feel guilty for your sins.”

            “Just surrender, A-Yao,” Qin Su pleads, “Stand trial. It will be fair. Lan Xichen will make sure of it,” she shoots a pleading look at Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng.

            “Life isn’t fair, A-Su.”

            “You think I don’t know that?” she hisses, “Just surrender. Please.”

            He turns away from her, looking at Lan Xichen again.

            Lan Xichen closes his eyes. “Please surrender, A-Yao. I will see you receive a fair trial.”

            All the fight goes out of Jin Guangyao. He releases his hold on Wei Wuxian. Without the cord around his throat, Wei Wuxian sinks to his knees beside Lan Wangji, who gathers him up in his arms. They cling to each other like shipwreck victims washed ashore after a tragedy.

            Jin Guangyao steps forward, head bowed, hands out, ready to be bound by Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue looks unhappy but allows it. Jiang Cheng watches the fallen Sect Leader approach with cold, clinical eyes, ready for any sign of treachery as Lan Xichen binds his former friend’s hands.

            “Aw, all the action’s over,” complains a voice.

            They all turn to see Jiang Yanli and a blind teenage girl.

            “All the revelations already happened? The bad guy’s arrested and everything?” the blind girl asks.

            “A-Qing, manners,” Yanli chides gently.

            “Well, I was expecting a fight!” A-Qing complains, “Stupid Su She didn’t even struggle much when Song Lan and I took him in.”

            “You have Su She?” Jin Guangyao looks scared for the first time.

            “Hoping to escape, were you?” Jiang Cheng says archly.

            “He told us everything,” A-Qing says confidently, “Like how you got thrown out of Nie Sect and how your father told you to dispose of Wei Wuxian and how you accidentally married your sister because your father was a gross pervert, and how you almost murdered Jin Zixuan, and how you killed your son because of the whole ‘married your sister on accident’ thing, and – ”

            “What,” Qin Su chokes out. Her whole body is shaking again. “No. My father was – he wasn’t – ”

            “Oh,” A-Qing’s voice is small, “You didn’t know?”

            “Jin Guangshan raped your mother,” Jin Guangyao blurts, “she kept it secret to her deathbed. She told me after we’d married, I couldn’t send you away, it would ruin you, I did what I could-”

            “Rusong. Our son. Our Rusong. You…” Qin Su’s whole body shakes where she stands, “You and me… and you.”
            “Rusong was tainted by our blood, A-Su,” Jin Guangyao explains, voice horribly gentle. “It was a kindness.”

            “He was my child!” Qin Su cries.

            Everything happens very fast.

            Qin Su grabs Jiang Cheng’s sword, pulling it from fingers gone slack with surprise. She grips it, fumbles it, twists it in her hands as if to turn it on herself. Multiple voices cry variations of “Madame Qin!” and “A-Su!”

            Nie Mingjue’s corpse is close. His is a resurrection born from rage, but his soul is not, at its core, a hateful one. He spent his entire adult life protecting his brother, his sect, his homeland. He reaches for her, hoping to stay her hand.

            Jin Guangyao is close. He reaches for her. He does not know why.

           The sword misses Qin Su, the blade piercing the dead flesh of Nie Mingjue’s single arm. The sword hits Nie Mingjue’s arm and passes cleanly through, finally burying itself in Jin Guangyao’s chest.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 32: What I’d Say (if I had any words)

Present Day…

            Jin Guangyao’s body slips off the sword as his legs lose the ability to hold himself up. Lan Xichen is at his side in an instant. His face is a tapestry of hurt, anger, and bone-deep sorrow.

            “A-Yao.”

            “A-Huan,” Jin Guangyao says with a bloody smile, “You were the only one…I never wanted to hurt.”

            “Don’t say that,” Lan Xichen hisses, tears gathering in his eyes, cracks finally showing in his perfect Lan discipline. “Don’t say you love me after you’ve hurt everyone I love.”

            “So, you…don’t love me anymore?” Jin Guangyao says, looking puzzled as blood dribbles down his chin.

            “You hurt yourself in doing all this, A-Yao,” Lan Xichen’s voice is an open wound, “You were your own first kill.”

            “You loved me, though? You loved me? You have to have loved me…”

            “I did,” Lan Xichen chokes, “that’s why you were able to hurt me.”

            “No…”

            “Yes.”

            “You were…the only one.” Jin Guangyao is unable to continue his protestations. His breath stills in his chest and he is gone.

…

            Later, after wounds have been seen to, testimony has been given, and a temporary camp has been erected in the burnt-out shell of Wei Wuxian’s former home, the Yiling Patriarch slips from the cavern he and Lan Wangji have been left to rest in. Lan Wangji is already asleep, exhausted from the day’s events, yet still looking poised and perfect and heart-breakingly beautiful in repose.

            Wei Wuxian presses a kiss to his forehead, and he could swear Lan Wangji smiles in his sleep at the contact.

            But right now, he needs to find another Lan.

            Lan Xichen is out in the open, sitting, staring into space, clutching a cup of tea long gone cold. As cultivators regained the use of their cores, groups had been sent out to the nearest town to retrieve supplies for their campsite, leaving them with a hodgepodge of dishware and enough food to last them until they’re ready to depart the next day.

            Wei Wuxian makes sure to scuff his feet over the stone as he approaches, not wanting to startle the other man.

            “Wei Wuxian?” Lan Xichen looks up, blinking.

            “Yeah, it’s me,” Wei Wuxian lowers himself to the ground with a weary sigh. He aches down to his bones, but someone needs to do this. “How are you feeling?”

            Lan Xichen scoffs hollowly, “Awful.”

            Wei Wuxian hums, “Honest.”

            “Lying is forbidden.”

            “Ah, well that explains it.” Wei Wuxian is not a patient man, but he knows by now that you can’t drag Lans’ feelings out of them all at once. You have to let them come to you.

            “I am so…” Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, “Sad. Bereft. Betrayed. Angry.” He pauses. “Yes, I am angry. I am so very, very angry, Wei Wuxian.”

            “Makes sense.”

            “He maimed us. All of us. He tied us into knots just to cut us into pieces. He killed my most beloved friend. He destroyed my brother’s life, Qin Su’s life, his own son’s life. He…why? Why didn’t he trust me to help him? I would have done anything for him. And he used me. He destroyed everyone I loved, twisted everything I believed in to suit his own ends, and still he said he loved me. I don’t want that kind of love, Wei Wuxian. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand any of this. I can’t – it’s my fault. I let him – I trusted him. It’s my fault.”

            Wei Wuxian sits beside him and lets him cry and listens.

            “When we were very young,” Lan Xichen begins, dragging breaths in through his sobs, “A-Zhan once asked why our family never seemed to know how to love people the right way. I told him not to say such things. He looked at me with his big, unreadable eyes, and said ‘we love too much or not enough. It hurts’. And then he walked away.” Lan Xichen clears his throat, “He mourned for you. All this time. And I hated you. I hated you because you managed to hurt him so deeply, so badly. I thought ‘why couldn’t that Wei Wuxian just stick to ruining his own life? Why did he have to drag my brother into it?’. Oh, I was a fool. I was such a fool.”

            “I don’t mind.”

            “What?”

            “I don’t mind that you hated me. It’s alright.”

            “You didn’t deserve it.”

            “I don’t know about that,” Wei Wuxian says, “But there seem to be a great many people in my life determined to make me believe that’s true.”

            “You should let them.”

            “You should let people help you too,” Wei Wuxian says. Before Lan Xichen can get a word in edgewise, he holds up a hand, “You will want to retreat. To lick your wounds and ponder all your mistakes. To take up less space in the world. To remove yourself as if you’re a tumor. Meditate on the past, on your choices, but don’t cut yourself off from the world. That will only hurt you and the ones who love you. Trust me.”

            “He’s right,” a new, stiff, rumbling voice interjects.

            Wei Wuxian cranes his head back to see Nie Mingjue towering over them. Someone has sewed the puncture wound in his arm up with a row of tidy black stitches. It stands out like a scar against his gray flesh.

            “I’ve got it, kid,” Nie Mingjue tells Wei Wuxian. “Get some rest before you collapse.”

            Wei Wuxian sighs dramatically, “Bossed around by a fierce corpse. Some Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation I am.”

            “Go back to bed, Wei Wuxian,” Nie Mingjue orders gruffly. “Lan Xichen is safe with me.”

            Wei Wuxian holds up his hands, “I know when I’m not wanted, never fear,” he chuckles, “I’ll go back to Lan Zhan now.”

            He walks away, eyes heavy, more than ready to finally rest. Behind him soft voices murmur to each other and the Yiling Patriarch hopes things will be alright.

…

            Jin Ling flat-out refuses to leave Qin Su unattended and his friends flat-out refuse to leave him alone. The end result is a sedated Madame Qin surrounded by four dusty, ducklings in stained and tattered robes. The boys are mostly dozing sitting up, Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen snoring where they sit. Sizhui’s eyes are still open, but they’re flickering closed every few seconds.

            “Just rest, your parents will be fine,” Wen Qing tells him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

            “Mn,” Sizhui hums tiredly.

            “Everything is alright now,” Wen Qing tells him. “You can sleep like the others.”

            Still that same Lan-esque monosyllable. “Mn.”

            Wen Qing strokes her nephew’s messy hair. “Sleep or I’ll sedate you too,” she says in her sweetest, most motherly tone.

            Sizhui’s eyes close, a smile tucking the corners of his lips up slightly.

            “That’s what I thought,” Wen Qing smiles.

            Jin Ling has sacrificed his dignity in the name of comfort after what has been an altogether horrific day. His head is lying in his mother’s lap, the rest of him sprawled inelegantly in front of her as she strokes his hair.

            “We have to keep an eye on Auntie,” Jin Ling yawns, “I don’t want her to hurt herself. She was so –” he yawns, “-brave when we were trapped with Xue Yang. She protected us. She was brave like you, Mother. Even though she doesn’t know how to fight, she shielded us from – ” another yawn, “- Xue Yang.”

            “We’ll make sure she’s alright,” Yanli promises.

            His eyelids are drooping, “Protect her from…herself…”

            Yanli presses her lips together, closing her eyes. What Jin Guangyao had done to that poor, kind woman. What her mother had done to her indirectly, by never telling her the truth. What kind of life is left to Qin Su now? Now that the whole world knows about her origins, her marriage, her son.

            It makes Yanli’s heart hurt to think of how the Jin will respond to this. Koi Tower has always been full of vipers. They’ll turn on Jin Guangyao’s memory en masse, denounce him, rush to claim they’d always known there was something wrong with him. And there will be people, many people, who will express open disgust at Qin Su’s very existence, though she herself was innocent.

            It will be down to Yanli and her family to protect her, to give her space to recreate herself. Now that they know what is wrong with Jin Zixuan, perhaps Wei Wuxian can find a cure? Perhaps they will really, truly, all be together again. Perhaps they really can go home.

            She strokes her now-sleeping son’s hair and thinks of the future.

…

            Lan Wangji wakes at five in the morning just as he always does, and take a moment to sit and watch Wei Wuxian sleep.

            Wei Wuxian has never slept like a Lan. He sprawls and thrashes like a child, curls himself into impossible shapes and burrows into the blankets as if he’s afraid a giant hand will come and extract him if he’s not well-hidden. He never braids his hair properly before sleep and it always comes half-unbound by the time he wakes up. It was the same at the front during the Sunshot Campaign, it was the same in the Burial Mounds and it is the same now.

            Wei Ying is Wei Ying no matter the circumstances.

            Lan Wangji thinks back to the cave, the confession, his own lack of response and burns. He must rectify this immediately. There is much about the last few days he cannot make right. There was too much poison to be drained from the wound for things to be peaceful again. But perhaps now that the wound is clean, it can begin to close. Perhaps it will heal clean and right this time.

            Wei Wuxian’s eyes move beneath his eyelids and he mumbles nonsense words in this sleep.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says.

            Wei Wuxian shifts, fingers curling and uncurling where they lay beside his face.

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats.

            Wei Wuxian wakes like a swimmer surfacing from a lake. When his roving eyes focus and settle on Lan Wangji’s face, he smiles. “Lan Zhan.”

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says.

            “About what I said before,” Wei Wuxian says muzzily, “Lan Zhan, you don’t have to-”

            “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji holds up his hand, stalling the inevitable flood of words, “I am not good with words. I never have been. They are…difficult. I feel…too much. I say too little. Words are never…the right shapes for me.”

            Wei Wuxian nods, slowly.

            Lan Wangji presses his lips together, “You remember the song? From the Xuanwu cave?”

            “Yes,” Wei Wuxian smiles crookedly, “I’ve played in the woods, you know. On my first day back!”

            “Yes,” Lan Wangji agrees, “That was how I knew it was you. Only you would know that song.”          

            “Only me and Sizhui, you mean,” Wei Wuxian raises an eyebrow, “I seem to remember a very familiar melody in that cave yesterday.” He reaches out to poke Lan Wangji, and in what can only be a fit of insanity, Lan Wangji captures his hand in his own.

            “Yes. I wanted him to…feel connected to you.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I…that song…it is mine. For you.”

            “You…wrote me a song?”

            “Yes.”

            Wei Wuxian is staring at him like he’s a riddle he hasn’t quite decoded yet. “Why, Lan Zhan? Why did you write a song for me?”

            “Because,” words are hard. They’re strangely shaped sharp things lodging in his throat, jammed up in his chest. But these are words Wei Ying needs to hear. “Because I love you. Have loved you. Will always love you. I loved you when we were young and you were always in trouble. I loved you when you hated me, screamed at me, told me to go. I loved when you were gone. I loved you when I found you again. I will always love Wei Ying.”

            Wei Wuxian’s free hand reach out, slowly, tenderly, to brush the very tips of his fingers against Lan Wangji’s face.

            “Oh, Lan Zhan.”

            Lan Wangji is out of words. He’s used them all up. He simply meets Wei Wuxian’s eyes instead.

            “What fools we have been,” Wei Wuxian’s eyes are bright with tears, but he’s smiling, so he must be happy, and then he’s pressing his lips to Lan Wangji’s and nothing else matters in the whole world but the dirt-salt-skin taste of him.

…

Chapter Text

Chapter 33: I Ring Myself (to see if I might chime)

Present Day…

         Chaos reigns in the aftermath of Xue Yang’s defeat at the Burial Mounds. It is swiftly downgraded to ‘organized chaos’ as soon as the principal players aren’t confined to bedrest by the indomitable Wen Qing, but it is chaos nonetheless.

         Wei Wuxian immediately sets to work reverse-engineering the qi-sealing song and creating protective talismans to ward it off, which pleases everybody, using his demonic cultivation to attach Nie Mingjue’s limbs to his body more securely, which pleases some and discomfits others, and engaging in increasingly scandalous public displays of affection with Lan Wangji, which pleases nobody except, perhaps, Lan Wangji.

         With Koi Tower half destroyed and without a leader, Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan take over the reconstruction/recovery effort with the understanding that they will step aside once Jin Zixuan is recovered enough to return to his rightful place at the head of his clan. (No one voices the obvious – that Jin Zixuan might never recover, that even with the Yiling Patriarch here to decode Jin Guangyao and Xue Yang’s curse, it might still be too late for the Golden Son of Jin. So long as Jiang Yanli holds on to hope no one can bring themselves to naysay her.) Qin Su, when given the option to return to her former home or carry on with the Jiang/Lan/Wei party, flatly refuses.

         “I don’t want to see it again. Any of it,” she says when Xiao Xingchen offers to fly her home. “If I never set foot in that place again it will be too soon.”

         To Xiao Xingchen’s credit, he does not argue or attempt to convince her otherwise. “Understandable, my lady. Is there anything Song Lan and I can recover for you and send to Lotus Pier? Any keepsakes or mementos?”

         She pauses, thinks. She looks pale and a little gray around the edges, like someone recovering from a wasting disease or a life-threatening fever. Her teenaged honor guard seems to have worked out some kind of schedule, where one of them accompanies her at all times. Young Master Jin Ling had to be restrained from dueling a member of the Yao clan who made some kind of improper remark in Qin Su’s presence only the day before. And Lan Sizhui seems to be avoiding his father and new…stepfather? Xiao Xingchen is unclear how Wei Wuxian is related to the teenager, although he’s been heard referring to himself as Lan Sizhui’s mother of all things. Whatever their relationship, Lan Sizhui seems to be coping with Lan Wangji’s new (or old? Xiao Xingchen really must corner his nephew and get the full story from Wei Wuxian himself rather than half-understood gossip) romance by giving his parents plenty of space and spending most of his time assisting Jiang Yanli, Wen Qing, and Qin Su.

         Qin Su exhales, “There is a box in my chambers where I keep all the mementos I could save from my son’s life. It is hidden, but I can tell you where it is. I think I would like it. I will want to look through it someday, I think. When everything is less painful.”

         “Of course, my lady,” Xiao Xingchen bows, “I will see it done.”

         She offers him a watery smile and a soft “Thank you,” before turning away to gaze into the distance again.

         The Jiangs are preparing to depart for Lotus Pier again, taking the recently resurrected Nie Mingjue with them, despite protests from some of the minor clans. Protests which fell on deaf ears when voiced to Nie Huaisang, and were met with shouting, glowering, and the crackle of lighting when presented to Sect Leader Jiang.

         “Will you follow your brother to Lotus Pier?” Xiao Xingchen asks Lan Xichen when the opportunity arises.

         The First Jade of Lan looks nearly as pale and wan as Qin Su. Xiao Xingchen supposes learning one of the people you loved and trusted most betrayed and lied to you for over a decade will do that to a person. He can’t imagine what he would be like if his Song Lan ever did such a thing. He knows Song Lan would never betray him in any reality, but he supposes Lan Xichen and Qin Su believed that about Jin Guangyao as well.

         “I believe I will,” Lan Xichen says quietly. He seems…depleted somehow in the aftermath. Diminished. As if parts of him were carved away all at once and now he must rebuild himself from the thin wisp of a man leftover. “I do not wish to be parted from da-ge so soon and Uncle is more than capable of running the sect in my absence. After all, the Lan were only peripherally impacted by all of this,” he gives Xiao Xingchen a tragic little smile that makes something ache deep in the other man’s chest. “It will be good to see Wangji so happy,” he says softly, almost to himself.

         “You are allowed to grieve,” Xiao Xingchen tells him. “It is natural.”

         Lan Xichen exhales, “But I cannot grieve too deeply or too publicly, you see. Because for all I loved him, Jin Guangyao was a monster, and my love and blindness enabled him to do monstrous things. Look at Nie Mingjue. This is how he must live now, because I allowed him to die an early, horrible, preventable death. You see how happy Wangji is now? He could have had that so much sooner, if only…”

         “You do not know that,” Xiao Xingchen says firmly, cutting off whatever dark turn this conversation might take, “You cannot change or control what might have been. You can only change or control what will be,” he reaches out and squeezes Lan Xichen’s shoulder, “I was in a similar position to you, once. I believed that Xue Yang had changed. That if I was only kind enough, if I only loved him enough, he would be better, different. But he was using me. He had already made his choices. In the end, we can love them, but we cannot control them. We cannot make them want to be better. We can only offer them the opportunity to choose to be so. And when everything goes wrong, and you are alone with your self-recrimination, your only option is to look forward, to see where you can avoid going wrong in the future. To see what you can do better now, not then.”

         “I do not know if I am capable of that.”

         “Perhaps not now. But you will be. If you allow yourself space to grieve the person he could have been and allow yourself to heal.”

         Lan Xichen smiles at him, a real, genuine smile and Xiao Xingchen mentally thanks Song Lan and the Jiang siblings. After all, they had been the ones to tell him these things after his own near-tragedy. Admittedly, Sect Leader Jiang had shouted some of them, but that was Jiang Wanyin’s way.

         The Jiang children, despite having manually sewn a fierce corpse together, seem to be none the worse for wear, and a very vocal in their disappointment at not having been there to see Qin Su set Xue Yang’s fierce corpse on fire. A-Qing does not hesitate to recount every instant of her own part in the drama, and preens ridiculously at the children’s enthusiastic admiration. When she isn’t trying her level best to corrupt (or be corrupted by, the lines are blurry at best) the Jiang youth, she’s following Wei Wuxian around like a bloodthirsty duckling, asking him questions about demonic cultivation he answers with unsettling good cheer. He’s somehow leveraged her interest in his work into free labor in his experiments, and now, whenever Xiao Xingchen goes looking for his foster daughter, he frequently finds her in the company of a black-robed necromancer, giggling maniacally over the results of their latest experiment. Lan Wangji bears all of this with astonishing patience and good grace, even when Wei Wuxian nearly loses his eyebrows to an exploding talisman.

         Xiao Xingchen actually manages to catch his nephew alone the night before the Jiang/Wei/Wen/Lan contingent is scheduled to depart for Lotus Peir. Wei Wuxian is hunched over a pile of papers, muttering darkly to himself. Lan Wangji sits against the wall behind him, sword laid beside him, asleep.

         “Wei Wuxian,” Xiao Xingchen greets him. The demonic cultivator startles, jumping a little in place before peering up at him, blinking owlishly in the low light.

         “Oh, hello,” he says, saluting vaguely in his direction. “What’s got you up so late?”

         Xiao Xingchen smiles, “I could ask you the same question.”

         Wei Wuxian laughs brightly, “That’s simple. I’m working,” he gestures to the piles of paper, the messy diagrams and surprisingly detailed sketches, “we go back home to Lotus Pier tomorrow after all?”

         “And what about Lotus Pier has you awake at midnight?” Xiao Xingchen asks.

         “Ah, haha, it’s that late already?” Wei Wuxian chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck.

         “A little later, actually,” Xiao Xingchen admits.

         Wei Wuxian laughs ruefully, stretching his arms above his head as his back pops alarmingly, “I never was any good at keeping to a schedule, ah well. I’ll be tired tomorrow, and Jiang Cheng will yell, but I’ll have Lan Zhan will to keep me from falling off his sword, so what does it matter?”

         “I hear sleep is good for your health,” Xiao Xingchen says a little archly.

         Wei Wuxian laughs again at that, “My health is fine. If Lan Zhan has his way I’ll live forever and then the world will regret people like you being concerned about my health.”

         Xiao Xingchen frowns, but does not comment on the self-deprecating humor.

         Wei Wuxian’s smile twists, turning wry, “I’m working on a cure for the Peacock, if you must know. I couldn’t stand it if we went all the way back to Lotus Pier and I couldn’t do anything to help him. Shijie’s so full of hope right now. Jin Ling is so excited to meet his father. I can’t let them down, not again.”

         “Again?” Xiao Xingchen asks.

         Wei Wuxian looks down at his hands. They’re covered in ink smudges and singe marks. The nails are ragged and there’s several healing scrapes from the last few days’ events. “Let’s not mince words, Xiao Xingchen. We all know what I was before.”

         “Do we?” Xiao Xingchen says mildly, “For I must admit, the only person of any importance who thinks of you as a monster seems to be you, Wei Wuxian.”

         Wei Wuxian’s head jerks up and he blinks, once, twice, three times. “What?” he finally chokes out.

         Xiao Xingchen folds his hands in his lap, “Wei Wuxian, several years ago Xue Yang nearly killed me and all I held dear. Your sister saved me from that fate. Your brother opened Lotus Pier to me and my family when we needed it most. Your sister in law ensured both I and my beloved could see again. And when I asked Wen Qing why they would do this for strangers like us, she said ‘It’s just how these Jiangs are. They hold on to people. They’ll fight tooth and nail for you if you let them. It’s how Wei Wuxian was too. That Jiang stubbornness is the only reason I’m alive today’. Everywhere I went there were stories about you, and some of them were quite gruesome. But most of them – the ones spoken by the people who knew you, and loved you, were all of your nobility. Your bravery and kindness. Sect Leader Jiang also had a great deal to say on your supposed stubborn pig-headedness and your apparent ‘damnable inability to ask for fucking help’.”

         Wei Wuxian snorts at the quote, but sobers quickly. “I don’t understand,” he admits, “I don’t understand this world. To me it feels like some sort of unhinged dream,” he gives a bitter laugh, “the closest I’ve felt to normal since I came back is when I’ve been fighting for my life. I don’t understand how they all just…want me here. How they’ve forgiven me. How they love me. What is there left to love about a monster? Am I even human anymore?”

         “To love and want to be loved, I think, is the most human thing of all,” Xiao Xingchen says softly.

         Wei Wuxian blinks at him, surprise flickering across his face, as well as something more serious, more contemplative. “Thank you, Xiao Xingchen. You’ve given me something to think about.”

         “Good,” Xiao Xingchen smiles. He sees a flutter of movement out of the corner of his eye and meets Lan Wangji’s gaze. “I will leave you to your work now,” he says, refocusing on Wei Wuxian, knowing full well that the moment he leaves Lan Wangji will firmly and emphatically inform Wei Wuxian of just how loved and cherished he is.

         There’s something very satisfying, Xiao Xingchen thinks, about finally being able to help where before he’d been the one who always felt like he needed helping.

…

         It takes weeks.

         Wei Wuxian hates this. Hates how difficult it is, how many holes there are in the notes they’d managed to salvage from Jin Guangyao’s creepy treasure room and Xue Yang’s abandoned hideouts. It takes weeks of working late into the night and trying and failing over and over again, first at Koi Tower, and then at Lotus Pier, before he finally thinks he might have something that could counter the curse laid on Jin Zixuan.

         It’s a song, of course, and it has two parts, one for the dizi and one for the qin, because he needs the cleansing abilities of traditional musical cultivation as well as his own cultivation’s ability to manipulate demonic energy.

         He stays up all night working on the song, and, when Lan Wangji appears, fully dressed and ready for his morning meditation, Wei Wuxian pounces on him.

         “Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian grabs at his robes with both hands, ignoring the ink stains he leaves behind and focusing instead on kissing that beautiful, stoic face all over.

         “Wei Ying?” Lan Wangji says when Wei Wuxian finally breaks away, the demonic cultivator bouncing on his heels like a child. Somehow, through some miracle of Being Lan Wangji, the Second Jade of Lan manages to reduce ‘good morning, I love you, why are you awake, are you alright, I love you’ down to a simple “Wei Ying”. Truly, he is one of the greatest gentlemen of his generation.

         “I think I’ve finally found it, but I need to test it and it’s early and I don’t play guqin and I can’t learn to play guqin just for this because I need my hands for the dizi.”

         Lan Wangji blinks at this onslaught of words. “A cure for Jin Zixuan?” he finally deciphers.

         Wei Wuxian nods eagerly, “Will you help? I want to try it early before anyone else is awake.”

         Lan Wangji tilts his head to the side.

         Wei Wuxian hunches his shoulders, “I don’t want shijie to see if it fails.”

         Warmth spreads through Lan Wangji’s chest as a burst of affection for this strange, mercurial, beautiful, utterly ridiculous man overtakes his customary restraint and he leans forward to press a lingering kiss to Wei Wuxian’s lips.

         “I will help,” he says when he pulls away.

         Wei Wuxian, who seems to slowly be warming to the concept that love is not conditional and this really is his life now, grins brightly at him. “Lan Zhan, so shameless.”

         Lan Wangji kisses him again just for the joy of it.

…

         Jin Zixuan opens his eyes, his head finally clear after so, so long, and immediately assumes he has finally managed to die. A wave of sadness breaks in his chest at the thought. No matter how dreamlike and hazy, no matter how hard he had to fight for every shred of a second, he’d treasured his few scattered moments with A-Li. He doesn’t want to imagine her face when someone tells her he’s finally drawn his final breath. He doesn’t want to see her wearing mourning white in his mind’s eye.

         He tries to be reasonable; he tries to tell himself that this could be good. That this means A-Li can finally let go of him. That she could perhaps re-marry, or settle at Lotus Pier permanently as a widow. That freeing her of the uncertainty of having a comatose invalid of a husband is the kind, noble thing to do.

         It doesn’t work.

         Imagining her with anyone else is impossible. No one would be worthy of A-Li. He, himself wasn’t even worthy of A-Li, yet she chose him anyway.

          Imagining her all alone at Lotus Pier as Jin Ling grows up and takes on more responsibility as the heir to the Jin Sect fills him with sadness and regret.

         He’s angry that he’s dead, really. Who gave this curse the right to kill him off after all this time? Hasn’t he fought it hard enough and long enough? Disgraceful.

         He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next. He’s never been dead before, after all. He’s contemplating how much being dead seems to resemble lying in bed and staring at a ceiling, when a face appears over his.

         “Are you awake in there? How’s your brain feeling, Peacock? Ready to say pompous and inane things again? Or has your brush with mortality made you more bearable?”

         The face is unfamiliar, but the words and tone are regrettably recognizable.

         “Wei Wuxian, if being dead means I have to listen to you prattle, I’m returning as a vengeful spirit just to get away from you.” He growls.

         This, unaccountably, makes the face that shouldn’t be Wei Wuxian, yet somehow is, grin a huge, toothy grin. It’s mildly upsetting. That grin never meant good things when they were at Cloud Recesses together, even when it was on a more familiar face.

         “We did it, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian crows, “The Peacock is back!”

         Lan Wangji joins the Wei Wuxian-but-not face in peering down at him. “Hello, Sect Leader Jin,” the Second Jade of Lan says seriously.

         Well, then. He must not be dead unless the world finally managed to end. He can’t imagine Lan Wangji allowing anything to kill him.

         “Am I not dead, then?”

         “No even a little!” Wei Wuxian is still grinning. It is still disturbing. “I have to get shijie! And Jin Ling!” he pauses a moment, “Huh, that’s going to be very weird for you. My teenager was a lot better behaved than yours when I reunited with him.”

         Jin Zixuan has no idea what is happening anymore, but even the thought of seeing his wife and son again has tears welling up in his eyes, “Go get them immediately,” he demands, “what are you doing chattering at me you moron? Go find my wife and son!”

         “Jeez, alright, impatient, aren’t you?” Wei Wuxian holds up his hands.

         “Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says reprovingly.

         “I’m going, I’m going!”

…

         Jin Zixuan has managed to extract himself from bed and is tottering around the room, supported by Lan Wangji, when Jiang Yanil appears in the doorway. She takes one look at him, standing, clear-eyed, and very, very alive, and hurls herself at him, wrapping both arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. Lan Wangji wisely steps aside to avoid getting elbowed in the face.

         Jin Zixuan, frail and unsteady from years of cursed inactivity, collapses right back down onto the bed under his wife’s weight, but wraps both arms around her and buries his face in her hair in return. They’re both sobbing messily in a heap of limbs on the bed when Jin Ling appears in the doorway.

         “Auntie said I was needed here – what the fucking hell?!” he shrieks, his face going crimson.

         “Come off it, they’re just holding each other and crying,” Wei Wuxian huffs, “They’ve just been reunited.”

         “SIZHUI MAY TOLERATE HIS PARENTS BEING SHAMELESS BUT I DON’T!” Jin Ling cries.

         Wei Wuxian sighs, “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you, Peacock. My teenager is definitely better than yours.”

         “WHAT KIND OF TERRIBLE UNCLE ARE YOU, ANYWAY?!” Jin Ling tries to snarl at him, but his eyes are watery, and his mother has released her stranglehold on his father and is instead gently helping him back on his feet, allowing him to lean on her as he turns to smile at his son.

         “A-Ling, it’s been too long,” he says in the softest, quietest voice Wei Wuxian has ever heard from him.

         “Father,” Jin Ling says, voice gone completely watery, and he steps forward to embrace his parents.

         Wei Wuxian smirks at his back. “I’m the best kind of terrible uncle,” he whispers under his breath.

…

         Wen Ning finds Qin Su sitting alone on the pier and almost walks away. Lotus Pier has been in happy sort of whirlwind ever since Jin Zixuan woke up and Wen Ning had stepped outside to get some fresh air and a few moments of quiet. He’s tempted to leave her to her contemplation, but he’s uneasy seeing her without her young followers, and his better nature wins out.

         “Madame Qin?” he asks softly and she looks up, blinking at him in surprise.

         “Oh, hello, Wen Ning.”

         “What are you doing out here?” he asks. He keeps his distance, knowing his gray skin and stiff features can be unsettling.

         “Oh, I was taking a moment to breathe,” she says, looking out over the water. “You know, I don’t think I’ve been this idle in years. Part of being a Sect Leader’s wife is actually a lot of rather boring administration. I don’t think I’ve had this much rest in thirteen years.”

         “Is that…good?” Wen Ning asks uncertainly.

         She smiles, “It’s not bad. But I don’t think I can do it forever.”

         “I couldn’t,” Wen Ning admits thoughtlessly. If he still had the ability to blush, his face would be crimson. What is it about this quiet, unassuming lady that makes it so easy to voice whatever’s on your mind? She’s like Jiang Yanli in that respect, and Wei Wuxian, in his own way. They both radiate the feeling that no matter what you say to them they won’t judge you for it.

         Her eyes twinkle and he thinks she might have laughed at his indiscretion once upon a time. “What do you normally do, Wen Ning?”

         “Oh, um,” no one really asks about what Wen Ning does. Everyone he talks to regularly already knows, with the possible exception of Wei Wuxian. “I help train the disciples, and I guard the pier when the Sect Leader isn’t around, and I help my sister in the infirmary, and I travel sometimes.”

         “Travel?”

         “Sometimes,” he fidgets with his hands, “Being surrounded by people all the time can be overwhelming, so Jiang Cheng and my sister send me off to deal with problems sometimes. Or just to collect rare and dangerous things from places alive people probably shouldn’t go. I like traveling. There’s something peaceful about it.”

         “I was never allowed to travel,” Qin Su admits. “The farthest I’ve ever been is the distance between Koi Tower and the strongholds of other sects.”

         “You can now,” Wen Ning suggests.

         “How?” Qin Su laughs, “My cultivation is weak, and I have no skill with weapons.”

         “Well,” Wen Ning pauses, uncertain where the idea is coming from, but somehow sure it’s a good one, even if only as a suggestion, “Nie Mingjue is still missing one of his arms. He and I were going to go look for it soon. You could come with us.”

         She gapes at him.

         If he had the blood-flow to do it, he’d been blushing down to the roots of his hair. “I’m so sorry, Madame Qin, I did not mean to offend you, I would never, I’m sure it’s horribly improper, I –”

         “No,” Qin Su cuts him off. There’s a strange sound coming from her mouth. It’s soft and unsteady, but Wen Ning thinks it might be laughter, “I’m the disgraced bastard daughter of Jin Guangshan. I unknowingly married my brother. I was kidnapped by a fierce corpse. I burned a fierce corpse to ashes and murdered my scheming, vile, bastard husband. I think,” giggles are escaping her mouth now in a torrent, the laughter building into something hysterical, like a lanced wound emotion is pouring out her in a wild torrent, “I think that traveling with a pair of lovely, upstanding gentlemen who happen to be dead, might just be the least improper thing I’ve ever done.”

         Wen Ning’s face is very stiff. Smiling can be difficult. But he smiles at Qin Su. “That sounds wonderful.”

…

         Someday, Jiang Cheng will put his foot down and demand Lan Wangji marry his brother if they’re going to be so shameless all the time. Someday, Qin Su, Nie Mingjue, and Wen Ning will find Nie Mingjue’s arm. Someday, Jin Zixuan will be well enough to travel and will return to the shattered remains of his sect with his very capable wife at his side, ready to rebuild. Someday, the children of Lotus Pier will arrive at Cloud Recesses to give Lan Qiren a new generation of headaches and a few hundred more rules for the wall of rules.

         But that is all in the future. For now, they are all home, at Lotus Pier, all of life spread out before them.