Chapter Text
Lan Wangji wakes at five, the force of Gusu trapped in his bones, and when he comes outside even the window over the sink is still dark.
“Where does he go?” Lan Wangji asks Chenqing. He stands in the middle of the room, his feet bare, wearing only his white inner robes. His voice is quiet, but in response the low fire glows slowly to life, throwing more light across the room.
Chenqing flickers, expressions sliding in and out of flames, too fast to be read. “He’s sabotaging the Wens. They camp, in the Wastes. They invented a new spell, the Distance-Shortening Array—”
“I know,” Lan Wangji says, quietly. “They used it at Gusu. We had everyone watching the hills. There was no way they could have appeared without warning.”
“Yeah, and it’s not just Gusu they’re hitting,” Chenqing adds. “They attacked Lotus Pier. They attacked the Unclean Realm. They’re coming for the Jins next.”
“I need to stop them,” Lan Wangji says. He realizes his hand is gripping the cloth of his robes, fisting in it, and stretches out his fingers. “I cannot, at this level of power.”
“How much cultivation did you lose, with that curse?” Chenqing asks. “How powerful were you?”
In his memory, Cloud Recesses burns, and Wen Chao’s sword is pointed at his chest. “Not powerful enough,” he says.
“Make a bargain with me,” Chenqing says, unexpectedly. “I’ll lift your curse if you can free me.”
“Free a powerful demon who made a contract with Wei Wuxian?” Lan Wangji asks. “What did you offer him, and what did he offer you?”
“I can’t say,” Chenqing says.
“Then how am I supposed to help you?”
“Please!” Chenqing’s face flickers in and out, too fast, like he is desperate. “It’s hurting us both, you know! The more Wei Wuxian practices demonic cultivation, the more his soul erodes!”
Lan Wangji pauses, and towards turn Chenqing. “How could I even help you?” he asks. “How do I help him?”
“He—Wen—” Chenqing’s voice is strangled, and sputters and spits. “I can’t say!” the fire says, after a moment. “He’s missing something. If you return it to him, then I think you’ll be able to free me. I think.”
“What is he missing?” Lan Wangji asks, sitting in the chair in front of the fire.
“I can’t say,” Chenqing says, voice taking the whine of despair. “But you can figure it out. And once you know, then you’ll be able to help us.”
Lan Wangji thinks of Wei Wuxian, of long fingers gripping his elbow, of the corners of his eyes when he smiles, of the long line of his throat, of his hands catching a single falling flower blossom.
“I don’t know how much I can help like this,” he says, his voice quavering again, staring down at his gnarled hands.
“And some Wen cultivator put that spell on you, hmm?” Chenqing asks, thoughtfully.
“A cultivator who came into the store, wearing black robes,” Lan Wangji says. “He told me to…give word, to Yiling Laozu.” He looks up at Chenqing. “Not Wen Chao.”
“Well, he’s got a variety of low-class flunkies,” Chenqing muses. “Was he more strong and silent, fist like a sledgehammer? Or look like a rabid animal that you need to put down, real mouthy?”
Lan Wangji tilts his head to the side, and Chenqing gives a flicker of flame that could be a shrug. “Mouthy,” Lan Wangji says, finally.
“Probably Xue Yang,” Chenqing says. “He’s got an inferiority complex a mile wide and really likes torturing people. But not terribly sophisticated.” The fire flickers a little bit, meditatively. “Make a bargain with me and I can tell you more,” it adds, throwing a tongue of flame towards Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji looks piercingly at the fire. He thinks of all the cunning demons in folktales, in fairy stores, and feels the hairs on his arms rise up. He looks down at his hands again. “No formal contracts,” he says, lifting his eyes to Chenqing. “But I will do my best to protect Wei Ying, and A-Yuan, no matter what happens to you.”
“I’m not that bad,” Chenqing protests. “Just stick around. You’re smart. I see you watching everything, thinking more than you talk. You’ll figure it out. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here.”
———
Lan Wangji spends the morning reading a book he’s never seen before, about speed and time energy, arrays that compress and extend time in a confined space. He’s frowning at pages when A-Yuan wakes, after sunrise, and gives him a cheerful “Good morning, Lan-qianbei,” and puts the tea on. He sits next to Lan Wangji and pulls out his stack of talismans and a book, both reading silently in the morning light, tea steaming next to them.
“Lan-qianbei, can you look at this,” A-Yuan asks, after a while, and Lan Wangji puts his book aside and starts looking over the papers with him. Wei Wuxian comes downstairs sometime after that, standing in the stairs in his crimson inner robes, waiting for A-Yuan and Lan Wangji to look up and notice him.
“But what’s this one?” A-Yuan asks, pushing another talisman over to Lan Wangji, and flips through the book open in front of him. “I can’t find this radical…”
“Ahem!” Wei Wuxian says, loudly, and A-Yuan looks up.
“Oh, good morning,” he says.
“Is that all I get! A lackluster good morning!” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, and comes the rest of the way down the stairs, into the kitchen. “After all the work I do!”
“Wei Ying. Good morning,” Lan Wangji says, raising an eyebrow.
“Okay Lan Zhan, I can tell when you’re making fun of me,” Wei Wuxian grumbles, sitting on the bench opposite them. “Give me some of that tea, A-Yuan. Got all these figured out, huh?” He picks up some of Wei Yuan’s talismans while A-Yuan pours him a cup of tea. “Pretty good. A-Yuan, focus on your transportation talismans!” He takes a drink of tea, his eyes scanning down the papers. “But Lan Zhan, you’re teaching him far too much of the simple stuff. He’s gotta be able to pick this up on his own. This isn’t Gusu summer school, after all,” he says, his voice teasing. “We’re not here for rote memorization.”
“What news do you have of the clans?” Lan Wangji asks, quietly, as A-Yuan pours tea. His eyes are fixed on Wei Wuxian’s face, and as he watches it settles, the smile fading. He looks older, more tired, when he doesn’t smile.
“I hate talking about the news before breakfast,” he says, voice colder, and Lan Wangji pushes a plate towards him, with rice and eggs.
“I know,” Lan Wangji says, handing him a clean pair of chopsticks, and Wei Wuxian gives him a lopsided grin.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I ever doubted you,” he says, shoveling the food into his mouth.
“What else am I working on today?” A-Yuan asks, pulling the talismans into a pile.
“Teleportation is your first priority,” Wei Wuxian says. “You have to be able to escape if Wen Ruohan comes for you, A-Yuan.”
“You always say that,” A-Yuan sighs. “I know! I can teleport almost 3 li now! But you said today we could work on other stuff too! What are we doing?” He practically bounces in his seat with excitement.
Wei Wuxian hums, eyeing him. “Practical things,” Wei Wuxian says, finally, around bites of food. He pauses for a long sip of tea. “There’s a farmer at the edge of Yiling who’s troubled by a lightless lantern. You’re gonna take care of it.”
“A what?!” A-Yuan asks, and Lan Wangji tilts his head in a bare question.
“A lightless lantern,” Wei Wuxian repeats, shoveling more rice into his mouth.
“That’s a bit high-level for A-Yuan,” Lan Wangji says.
“Well, we’ll help him, of course,” Wei Wuxian says, raising his eyebrows at Lan Wangji. “But I think this particular spirit will also have some important information for you, Lan Zhan, because I have it on good rumors that it’s a Nie spirit from the attack on Qinghe. We’ll go tonight,” he says. “After you finish those, and I finish some other things I’m working on.”
“What are you working on now?” Chenqing asks, flaring up. “Is that whatever that weird junk in the backyard is?”
“Stop insulting my inventions,” Wei Wuxian calls over. He finishes his breakfast, slurps the last of the tea, and reaches over towards A-Yuan’s stack of talismans. “Now, let me take a look at these….”
When Wei Wuxian teaches A-Yuan it’s entirely different than Lan Wangji’s patient, probing questions. He doesn’t bother with the things Lan Wangji points out, ignoring the connections between the sigils as if it’s something A-Yuan should have already mastered. Lan Wangji watches him draw out that twisted transportation talisman for A-Yuan, making the boy break down the different parts of the radicals, then draws another, with different radicals, lecturing A-Yuan on spiritual toll used for different distances depending on the way the talisman is drawn. He draws parts of location talismans that are Lan Wangji can see are related but several steps ahead, leaving them for the boy to finish later, then jumps around for a lesson about resentful tree-spirits and how to subdue them. It’s very….unconventional, Lan Wangji thinks, watching him lecture A-Yuan over the workbench, while Lan Wangji finds himself cleaning breakfast dishes.
“Subdue,” Wei Wuxian says, pointing with his flute, as if illustrating the death-willow spirit. “You can use magic, of course—are you practicing flute? like I taught you?”
“Yes, Wei-gege,” A-Yuan says, sounding impatient. “Or the talismans. Or with the sword!”
Lan Wangji turns around, leaning against the edge of the sink, in time to catch the sight of Wei Wuxian’s mouth tightening at the corners. Lan Wangji gives a tiny frown. None of Wei Wuxian’s lessons mention swordwork. The path of the sword is the easiest path to cultivation.
“If you want to learn the sword way you’ll have to ask Lan Zhan to teach you,” Wei Wuxian says eventually, lifting his eyes, meeting Lan Wangji’s gaze. “I gave that up a long time ago.”
“Could you not just redirect the resentful energy in the spirit?” Lan Wangji asks, his voice even. “Using demonic cultivation?”
Wei Wuxian frowns at him and points the flute towards him. “Lan Zhan! Do you think I’d let my son practice demonic cultivation? I would never.”
But it’s okay for you to do it, Lan Wangji thinks, but doesn’t say, because he knows the use in saying this by now.
A-Yuan groans. “You’re not even my real dad,” he sighs. “It’s just another cultivation method, you use it!”
“You do not,” Wei Wuxian says. “You may learn the sword from Lan Zhan if he wishes to teach you. But you are not to use demonic energy in this house. It takes too much off your life.”
“Wait, I get to use the sword?” A-Yuan says, sounding excited. “Lan-qianbei! Lan-qianbei! Will you teach me?”
Lan Wangji’s hands clench. “The Wens took my sword,” he says quietly. “I can teach you if you have a sword.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” A-Yuan says. “Wei-gege, do we have any swords? What happened to yours?”
“Sword? Who told you I ever had a sword?” Wei Wuxian crosses his arms, still holding the flute.
“Wen Ning,” A-Yuan says, and for a second his voice is subdued. Wei Wuxian gives him a soft look. Lan Wangji files that away under the long list of suspicious tidbits from the moving castle.
“Well, not anymore,” he says. “But I bet there are some around here somewhere. I’m going out this afternoon. When I come back we’ll go after a lightless lantern, hmm?” Wei Wuxian sets the flute in a glass vase on the table and walks up the stairs. “Hot water, Chenqing,” he calls, disappearing up the stairs. “And Lan Zhan? Try looking in the corner vase for some swords.”
This is how Lan Wangji ends up teaching A-Yuan how to use the sword. The corner vase, it turns out, is full of more weapons than a slim vase should be able to hold—several swords, a few sharp and decent, many dull but serviceable, along with long graceful bows, a few thick sabres, a long jeweled scimitar, an array of long, thin knives. They take two of the better swords out the front door onto a grassy field at the edge of the Wastes, while the castle settles down around them, and Lan Wangji teaches A-Yuan how to hold a sword, stances, basic moves.
It’s all Lan moves, of course, fluid and spinning, and with it comes meditation, comes seeking mental clarity. It’s hard in the Yiling Wastes, where there is so little spiritual energy around them, where the air is heavy and dark with resentment, where he can’t close his eyes without feeling Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation curling on the edge of his senses, sliding dark slivers of smoke up his spine.
It feels like temptation. It feels like the thing that would take over his soul, would slide silky tendrils along his bare skin.
“Wei Ying doesn’t teach A-Yuan the sword?” Lan Wangji asks A-Yuan, as the boy is sweating through a drill in the sunshine. “Did he talk to you about why?”
“I asked like a hundred times, but Senior Wei often slithers out of answering questions,” A-Yuan says, sighing.
That sounds right, unfortunately. Lan Wangji does not ask any more questions.
When they go back to the castle they find, in a very slither-out fashion, that Wei Wuxian has left without a word. A-Yuan is exhausted, slumping with his head at the kitchen workbench, and Lan Wangji, feeling both unbalanced and more complete than he has in weeks, cleans the swords and returns them to the corner vase. The light is golden from the Wastes-window, and dimming from the kitchen window.
Lan Wangji sends A-Yuan to nap, before the night-hunt, and thinks he should do the same. Instead he finds himself playing guqin in the flickering firelight, his fingers moving lightly over the strings.
He plays Rest, he plays Clarity, he plays until his mind is quiet, and the light from the window is faded. He closes his eyes, sinking into the music, reaching out through the music, feeling his core surge with the melody.
At some point he becomes aware that notes are joining it. A high whistle of a flute weaves in and out of the notes, calm, sorrowful, piercing around the dark notes of the guqin. He feels another force alongside his own, intertwining with his spiritual energy, wrapping the notes.
He opens his eyes but doesn’t stop playing. Wei Wuxian stands opposite him, eyes locked to Lan Wangji’s, flute to his lips. He looks steadily at Lan Wangji but continues to play, melody soft, letting the guqin lead. Lan Wangji lets his fingers pluck the final notes, letting the resonance echo before he drops his hands, still staring at Wei Wuxian.
Wei Wuxian drops the flute, holding it with one hand. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he says, then presses his lips together. He shakes his head and turns away.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. He stands up, stiffly, waving his arm to stash his guqin.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, standing at the table, still not looking at Lan Wangji. “I know all you’ve wanted is to go to Zewu-jun.”
“There is no point in my doing so only to be captured by the Wens,” Lan Wangji says. “But I cannot just come in and invade your home. I have to do something to help this war.”
“You’re not invading,” Wei Wuxian says, absently, then his gaze falls on the papers, neatly stacked on the table. Wen propaganda has its own stack. “But I know the feeling,” he adds, voice low and ragged.
“What is the lightless lantern?” Lan Wangji asks, coming to stand next to Wei Wuxian at the table. “A ghost lantern?”
“Rumor says that it’s a Nie cultivator who escaped the Unclean Realm…but not before a certain Wen cultivator got ahold of them,” Wei Wuxian says, turning around to face Chenqing, leaning against the edge of the table.
“Which Wen cultivator?” Lan Wangji asks, quietly.
“Do you know Wen Zhuliu, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asks, looking over at him, and Lan Wangji feels fear shoot into his spine.
“The Core-Melting Hand,” he says. “So this ghost is not just any cultivator, then. A cultivator…who had his core ripped out, then was killed.”
“Normally such a cultivator would become a ghost lantern,” Wei Wuxian says, nodding. “But if their core is gone…”
“That’s not your typical ghost lantern,” Lan Wangji says. “Is this safe for A-Yuan?”
Wei Wuxian laughs. “You’ve known A-Yuan two days and you’re already a better dad than me,” he says. “Lan Zhan. Let the kid try to fly. Besides, you’ll be there, and besides that, I’ll be there, supervising. What bad thing could possibly happen to him between the both of us?”
———
When they leave, Lan Zhan takes one of the spiritual swords, though he decides A-Yuan isn’t ready and Wei Wuxian laughs when he offers one to him. It’s a different weight than Bichen, slightly shorter, less responsive. But better than no sword, Lan Wangji thinks.
They go through the yellow switch, this time, to Qinghe, coming out of a door that lets them out onto a dirt road on the edge of a town. When Lan Wangji looks over his shoulder it’s a little shack on the edge of town with no light in the windows.
“Not every door is as glamorous as the moving castle,” Wei Wuxian says, dryly, and Lan Wangji turns his attention back to the road.
On the way Wei Wuxian drills A-Yuan, quizzing him on classes of monsters, ghosts, demons, and spiritual disasters. He’s a good student, Lan Wangji realizes, as he listens to A-Yuan recite off a litany of arrays, talismans, and curses that he couldn’t have known at that age. Though when Lan Wangji asks him about the origin of the cultivation sects, A-Yuan has no answer.
“We don’t study that kind of boring nonsense,” Wei Wuxian says, flapping a hand at him.
“Boring nonsense?” Lan Wangji asks, raising an eyebrow. “Wei Ying. If A-Yuan is going to become a cultivator when this is over, he needs to know history of the sects and swordsmanship, not just spiritual knowledge.”
“Well that’s why you’re here, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, his voice holding the trace of a smile. “Hear that, A-Yuan? You’re going to have to go be a real cultivator with Lan Zhan when this is all over.”
“When what’s over?” A-Yuan asks, and his voice is sharp, suspicious. “Why can’t I stay with you?”
“You can, you can,” Wei Wuxian says, backtracking. “Just idle talk, A-Yuan! Of course you’re staying with me. But you’ll have to go learn with Lan Zhan sometimes too, okay?”
“Sure,” A-Yuan says, though his voice still sounds suspicious. “Wei-gege, are we close to it yet?”
Wei Wuxian reaches forward and takes A-Yuan’s shoulder, stopping him in the road. He crouches down. “Look,” he says, quietly, and points with his flute.
Lan Wangji and A-Yuan follow the line of the flute. To the right of the road is a pond, the surface dark. On the opposite shore, a cluster of green lights floats, evenly spaced, with a conspicuous absence of light in the center.
“Ghost lanterns,” A-Yuan breathes, his voice full of excitement.
“And?” Wei Wuxian asks.
“Is the one in the middle the lightless lantern?” A-Yuan asks, quietly.
“Good,” Wei Wuxian says, standing up. “Go get ‘em.”
A-Yuan, released from his hold, rushes forward to the pond, pulling talismans out of both sleeves. He moves quickly and surprisingly soundlessly, stepping carefully around the reeds at the edge of the water.
Lan Wangji realizes he has been left alone with Wei Wuxian. They stand almost shoulder to shoulder, not quite touching. “What will he do?” Lan Wangji asks, watching A-Yuan walk towards the crowd of ghosts.
Wei Wuxian shrugs, one shoulder going up. “Ghosts like that have a lot to say to anyone who will listen,” he says. “A typical ghost lantern is so easy to scoop up that you can do it with no talismans at all. They’re often targets for other ghosts, or more powerful demons. But a lightless lantern may have more resentful energy than your typical ghost lantern.”
As A-Yuan approaches the ghost lanterns they draw together. He’s talking to them in a soft voice, his words too quiet to carry over the water. Something he says makes the ghosts bunch up, and they crowd around him, surrounding his face in soft green glow. Lan Wangji watches his face break into a soft smile, and he reaches forward and picks one up, the light turning in his hand to a physical lantern. He closes his eyes, touches his forehead and then the lantern, and then the door of the lantern pops open and the green glow leaps upward, toward the sky.
Wei Wuxian chuckles. “What a good kid,” he says. “He didn’t have to do that.”
“He’s freeing the spirits trapped in the ghost lanterns,” Lan Wangji says, watching another one coalesce into a lantern on A-Yuan’s palm. “That’s a fair bit of spiritual energy.”
“A-Yuan has potential,” Wei Wuxian says, sounding more like a real proud parent. “If he could cultivate for real, when this is all over, he will be very strong. He just needs to nurture his golden core.”
“Why don’t you teach him?” Lan Wangji asks, voice low.
“My cultivation level isn’t high enough,” Wei Wuxian says. Lan Wangji turns to look at him. Wei Wuxian doesn’t look back, staring over the lake. “I’m a demonic cultivator, remember? I gave up on normal cultivation long ago.”
“But you practiced it once,” Lan Wangji says, staring at Wei Wuxian’s face.
“Look at him, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, ignoring the question. “He’s down to the last one now, before the lightless lantern.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says, but Wei Wuxian gives him a cold, sideways glance, his gaze sharp, and Lan Wangji stops talking. He follows Wei Wuxian’s eyes back to A-Yuan, on the opposite shore, who is holding the last ghost lantern in his hand, speaking softly to it. In the green light there’s a patch of more concentrated darkness, right in front of him. He puts two fingers again to his forehead, then the lantern, and the lantern door opens and the green light emerges. In the dissipating light, A-Yuan stares directly into the lightless lantern. He opens his mouth to say something and the darkness swallows him.
“A-YUAN!” Lan Wangji yells, and before he can register he’s leaping, sword out, across the pond, to the opposite shore, and Wei Wuxian is steps behind him. They land with the darkness between them, Lan Wangji holding his borrowed sword and Wei Wuxian with talismans in both hands. Wei Wuxian’s eyes are flashing crimson.
“Spit it out,” he says, and his voice resonates with power, reinforcing the words. The darkness vibrates, shaken.
“A-Yuan!” Lan Wangji calls again, keeping his sword pointed at the darkness, and this time the darkness vibrates harder. It begins shuddering, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes widen fractionally. He yells: “Lan Zhan!” before it splits into pieces.
Wei Yuan stands at the center, right hand in front of him, talisman flaring in his left, and an array sits like a cage in his right hand. Inside it is a black lantern with a resentful energy pouring from it like a plume of smoke.
“A-Yuan, are you all right?” Lan Wangji asks. He doesn’t drop the sword, keeping it pointed at the thing in A-Yuan’s hand.
“It’s okay,” A-Yuan says. “It’s fine. Wei-gege, Lan-qianbei, please don’t worry. It just had….a lot of emotions.”
“A lot of emotions is no excuse for attempting to swallow my son alive,” Wei Wuxian says. His eyes still burn crimson and his gaze is solely focused on the dark lantern that Wei Yuan holds.
A-Yuan blinks, and the array shrinks down around the lantern until glowing red lines cover the lantern, like a latticework, containing the plume of smoke. “I promise I’m okay,” he says, looking over at Wei Wuxian, then over at Lan Wangji. “You were right. It was a Nie sect cultivator.”
Lan Wangji finally sheathes his sword, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t let the crimson in his eyes go. “Let’s take it home,” he says, finally, but narrows his eyes at the lantern, and another layer of latticework appears on top of the one A-Yuan cast. The lantern seems to shrink even smaller, in response. “We have some questions for this deceased cultivator.”