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Chapter Text

Let’s skip to the important part: I arrived before the outbreak of the Sunshot Campaign. It took me about a month to figure this out, and that’s after I started keeping track of the days. There was a period there, right at the beginning, that I can’t quite account for. You know the drill: I died, dying is upsetting, showing up in a strange new world is also upsetting, discovering that the strange new world is the setting of a very familiar fictional story is hard to process in a way that I’d be tempted to call unbelievable.

I didn’t believe it, for a while. I couldn’t. But eventually the daily grind wears you down. No phones, no cash registers, no glass, no asphalt, no concrete, no televisions, no satellite dishes, no skyscrapers, no plumbing, no air conditioning, no credit cards, no ATMs. At some point, the panicking ends. The mind adapts whether you want it to or not. The old normal begins to seem strange; the new normal takes over. 

I arrived in Yiling, which—in retrospect—seems awfully on the nose. So many turning points in the saga take place in the Burial Mounds, or in the shadow of them. I showed up very much as myself, no convenient golden core to catapult me into cultivator society, but with a few unexpected perks that I learned to appreciate: I spoke the language and, what’s more, I spoke the way I’d spoken in my old life, like an educated person. I could read and write. Literacy was rare enough in Xianxia-land that I could survive on it without any additional expertise. People would pay me a few bronze coins to scribe letters for them, and with a bit of hustling I earned enough to pay for the basics: food, a roof over my head, a set of used-but-not-too-worn robes. 

I promise not to backtrack through the boring stuff too much, but I’d been on vacation when I died. I’d spent five whole years saving up for this epic three-month-long trip on the Trans-Siberian Railway, dreaming about long days of staring out the window of my private compartment while the wheels clacked rhythmically against the tracks, punctuated by fun excursions into the world beyond. (Because I know someone is curious: I died on one of these fun excursions, in a rockslide. Like, two weeks in. I still feel cheated.)

Anyhow, preparing for this trip had been my chief pleasure for months before I actually left, and I transmigrated along with everything I’d been carrying when I died. So I arrived with a whole backpack full of useful stuff, including a fancy solar charger for my phone. I’d bought it in case of brownouts, which had seemed practical when browsing the shelves at my favorite adventure equipment store but in practice, the train had plenty of outlets. 

It could be slow to charge up, but it did work. And even without service or search engines, a phone is pretty useful. The pedometer still functioned, for example, and with the aid of a little keychain compass I could make maps. 

Really accurate maps. 

Really accurate maps are pretty valuable in ancient fantasy China. 

Once I got the hang of scribing for coins I started offering courier service, as well. There were no highways, few paved roads outside of cities. It’s hard to get around when you can’t reliably measure distance or direction, let alone check your hunches against a highly-engineered system of road signs. But once I’d mapped out an area, I could get around quickly and reliably. Over time, as I made more maps, my range increased. I could charge more for longer trips, and I made an okay living. 

Of course I still had to watch out for bandits. And fierce corpses. And supernatural beasts. It wasn’t exactly the safest way to earn money, but it did expose me to a lot of gossip. I spent most of my evenings in various inns, having dinner, drinking tea while I transferred increasingly-detailed maps into the dot-grid notebook that had transmigrated with me, and just generally soaking up the atmosphere. 

So I heard about it when the Wen Chao or Wen Xu swept through the stronghold of a minor sect and left only ruins behind. I heard about the proliferation of Supervisory Offices, and the burning of Cloud Recesses.

The burning of Cloud Recesses gave me a pretty good idea of where I’d arrived in the saga’s timeline. I knew what was coming, I wanted to help, but how? I was an underpowered nobody with no connections, no way to bend the ear of someone with enough influence to change the course of history. 

So what could I do? All alone with my foreknowledge and my backpack full of tricks, how could I make a difference? I thought, and I thought, and I settled on an answer. A scary answer, with a high chance of failure, but worth the risk. 

I could kill Wen Zhuliu.

Chapter Text

If I succeeded, it would have an impact. If Lotus Pier didn’t fall, if Jiang Cheng kept his golden core, a lot of things would change. Obviously, in some ways, everything would be better. If Jiang Cheng kept his core, then Wei Wuxian wouldn’t give his up. If Wei Wuxian didn’t give his up, he’d probably avoid the burial mounds. If he avoided the burial mounds, he'd never need resentful energy. And, if all that happened, he’d probably never develop the skills that ultimately won the Sunshot Campaign. 

Nor would he owe a life-debt to Wen Qing or Wen Ning. Or find himself so at odds with the cultivation world, so estranged from his family, that joining the Wens at Qiongqi Path would feel like a relief, or an inevitability. In fact, why save the Wens at all? Without the surgery, the shared trauma, would Wen Qing dare to approach Wei Wuxian for help? 

I love the saga partly because so many of its high points (like winning the Sunshot Campaign) were almost impossible to attain without its low points (like Wei Wuxian losing his core). So I was afraid that, even if I succeeded, I’d mess things up. Make the whole situation worse, cost more lives, spur a new disaster I couldn’t predict or prevent. 

But if I wanted to change things, that was the risk I’d have to take. And I couldn’t imagine being here, at this stage of the story, without trying to change things.

I could only pinpoint Wen Zhuliu’s position at one precise intersection of place and time: at Lotus Pier, during the massacre. According to the gossip I collected as I traveled, Wen Chao swept through the minor sects in force. Wen Chao was a coward, obviously, and reluctant to risk his own neck. But even if he’d wanted to go solo, it wouldn’t have been practical. He wiped out a sect and left behind a supervisory office staffed with Wen bureaucrats, Wen clerks, Wen soldiers, and a host of loyal Wen servants. 

Lotus Pier, as the home of one of the great sects, would need a larger than average staff. Even though Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu had high enough cultivation to travel by sword, they’d move at the pace set by their servants and supply carts. They’d set up camp before the attack, they’d do enough reconnaissance to notice the kites that the Jiang disciples used for archery practice. They’d give me a window of opportunity.

I spent weeks mapping the area around Lotus Pier. Five miles in every direction, marking down rivers and lakes and marshes, noting topography. The clock started ticking when I saw a young man marching with dogged determination along one of the trails weaving through the mountains cradling the lakes of Lotus Pier. I spent a lot of time in that area, since I figured the Wens would probably approach from the direction of Qishan and Nightless City. 

I tucked my backpack out of sight and called out to him. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.” 

The young man's steps neither slowed nor faltered. He was a mess. Dirty and bedraggled, the hems of his once-purple robes dragging through the dirt, lank hair tied away from his face with a twist of ragged cloth. But he was handsome in a way I’d come to recognize, with an eerie symmetry to his features and a glow to his skin that identified him as a cultivator. Beautifully high cheekbones, mouth like he’d been born sucking on a lemon.

Jiang Cheng, I guessed. On his way to summon a rescue party for Wei Wuxian, still trapped in the Xuanwu’s cave. Right age, right sect, right time, and his robes were (amongst other indignities) stiff and denatured from a thorough dunking. 

He spared me a single glance, decided I had nothing to offer or fear, and dismissed me from his notice. 

“A moment!” I called.

When he turned, thin lips already twisting with frustration, I threw a steamed bun at him. It would have been my lunch in another hour or so. He snapped the projectile out of the air without flinching, or seeming to track it with his eyes, and gave it a quick sniff. 

“You look like you need it more than I do.”

His expression soured further, but he made himself say, “Thank you,” before continuing on his way. I saw him take a bite out of the bun before he disappeared from sight. 

So I had the lay of the land. I’d spotted at least one needle in the haystack. To test myself, I retreated to the lookout I’d built—something like a deer blind, a tiny platform in a tree with a good vantage—and used a pair of compact birding binoculars (I’d imagined myself using them while looking out the window of my cabin on the Trans-Siberian Railway, peering at hawks as they hung almost motionless in a desolate blue sky. As it happened, I’d only used them once. The train had pulled into a station where I saw a dude peeing on some graffiti. I'd wanted a closer look at the graffiti, so I whipped out the binoculars. It had been a picture of a dick. Naturally.) to track the rescue party as it made its way back north.

I took a moment to pat myself on the back before moving on to the next challenge: murder. Killing a man in cold blood. First-degree premeditated taking of a human life. I get squeamish about swatting flies and smashing spiders. I’ve never killed a rat with a trap, let alone a person. Let alone a physically powerful cultivator with military training. Wen Chao might be a fool but Wen Zhuliu was observant and decisive.

I had a ton of ideas, but most of them weren’t very original. Sneak a sleeping potion into the rations. Get everyone in the whole camp drunk or high and then take advantage, à la Judith and Holofernes. Sneak into Wen Zhuliu's tent in the middle of the night (how?!?!?!) and slit his throat while he slept. One weak, untrained individual only had so many options against a whole sprawling camp of armed combatants. All of them were sneaky and underhanded, because I’d lose a fair fight. (Fun brain teaser: If I could only ever lose a fair fight, could it really be called fair?) 

The Jiang returned, and I got my first glimpse of Wei Wuxian—from a distance of a mile or so, via binocular, not very exciting. But the disciples in purple carried a stretcher with a body on it. Who else could it be? 

The Wens weren’t far behind. Wen Chao arrived with several hundred subordinates, traveling as stealthily as a group of that size realistically could. They set up camp about half a mile away from the shore of the great lake surrounding Lotus Pier. They didn’t light any fires, not even to cook, didn’t sing or carouse. I spotted them easily, but I also knew what to look for.

I’d settled on a plan that relied on my sense of who Wen Zhuliu was as a person. He had some good qualities, right? He had some dignity, he had some pride. I figured I could take advantage of that.

I scoped out the camp from my lookout, belted on a brand new, pitch black outer robe, and approached the conveniently-segregated and low security area reserved for the labor of servants. Unlike the rank and file soldiers, who washed down cold rations with some sort of alcohol, the high-ranking Wens had a pre-prepared stew to look forward to, sitting in a cauldron and warming through the repeated application of talismans. 

The talismans had to be applied every ten minutes or so. It was a largish cauldron, stew is fairly dense. I waited through two changes and then gathered my courage while the third set were fresh. The Wen servants were overworked and not, I thought, very close knit. I had a shot, right? I did. No one stopped me from slipping a laxative into the stew. 

And, yeah. A laxative. That was my solution. Because while Wen Chao ordered the cook’s immediate execution while farting loudly into his chamberpot, Wen Zhuliu couldn’t bear the humiliation. He snuck out of camp, found a quiet little spot where no one would see or hear or smell his incontinence, and groaned with relief as he squatted in what he imagined to be privacy. 

It was an awful thing to do, really. To take advantage of his good qualities. To engineer and exploit a moment of such vulnerability. I doubt any of the heroes of the Sunshot campaign would praise me for assassinating Wen Zhuliu with a garrotte while he shat. 

I think he heard my footsteps approaching, but too late. I looped the flexible wire around his neck and tugged on the handles that I’d fashioned from pieces of local driftwood, pale as bone. It took some muscle; I’d practiced on fruits and melons, so I threw all my strength into it right away. Braced my foot on his back before he could twist and used the leverage to yank even harder.

I pulled until the wire cut clean through his neck and caught on his spinal cord. Then, because I was panicked and paranoid and I’d decided in advance that if I came this far I had to finish the job beyond all possibility of doubt, I used a small hatchet to chop the head completely off. 

Mission accomplished, I snuck away. Unnoticed and uncaught. I bathed in one of the many streams flowing into the lakes of Lotus Pier, but it didn’t clear the smell out of my nose. I kept seeing his corpse and hearing his strangled gasp and I lost whole days to a void of pure self-loathing, so disgusted with myself that I couldn’t eat or sleep or do anything even vaguely related to self-care.

Eventually, though, the last of my uneaten food rotted. I’d spent every spare coin preparing for the assassination and I couldn’t buy more without getting some work. So, with dread in my heart, I ventured into Lotus Pier to hawk my services.

The whole place was in an uproar. Apparently Wen Chao had stormed the Jiang compound, accusing the Jiang of killing Wen Zhuliu. Apparently Madam Yu had not taken well to his accusation; she’d been especially insulted by the suggestion that Jiang would behave so dishonorably. Apparently, their mutual aggression escalated into violence. Without Wen Zhuliu to protect him, Wen Chao didn’t stand a chance. Madam Yu had killed him with Zidian.

A battle followed. The Wen attacked in haste, without Wang Lingjiao as a Trojan Horse, without Wen Zhuliu to neutralize Lotus Pier’s strongest fighters, without Wei Wuxian's back shredded down to the bone. They lost decisively. Very few of the invaders even managed a retreat. 

So Lotus Pier had survived. The Jiangs had survived. Everything had changed, and I had no idea what to do next. 

Chapter Text

Technically, that’s a lie. I knew exactly what to do next: hustle. I scribed and I ferried messages. I kept my ears out but I minded my own business. Who wants to be broke during a war?

I was still making maps for my own use, and I did my best to keep track of where the front lines lay so that I could stay far, far away from the action. I didn’t think I’d have any useful contributions there—canon kindly skimmed over the details and in any case, everything had changed. 

In every version of canon that I knew, the Jin had tried to play both sides. But in my reality, they didn’t have the luxury. After the failed attack on Lotus Pier, the Jiang immediately allied with the Lan and Nie sects to launch the Sunshot campaign. With three of the Great Sects united against him, and two out of those three fighting at full strength, Wen Ruohan couldn’t afford to leave the Jin on the fence. He pressured them to take his side—don’t ask me how—and they folded under pressure. 

Jin Guangshan remained a reluctant ally, stingy with his contributions of blood and treasure, but he must have managed the bare minimum because he held onto his throne in Koi Tower.

The combination of Wen and Jin had to make a pretty even match against the allied forces of Lan, Nie, and Jiang, and that was without factoring in Wen Rouhan’s necromancy. So long as every soldier who died on the field would rise and fight for Wen Ruohan, every battle would end in a WenJin victory. 

I was starting to think that killing Wen Zhuliu and preventing the emergence of the Yiling Patriarch had been a bad call. That I’d ruined everything, and all my favorite characters would lose years off of their already tragically short lives. I felt guilty all the time, guilty and heartsick. That was about my state of mind as I completed a delivery in Yueyang. I took a room at an inn, told anyone who’d listen that I could read, write, and travel from Point A to Point B for a fee, and brooded glumly over dinner. 

A few hours later, after I’d retired to my room but before I’d really started thinking about bed, a knock sounded at the door. Soft, a little hasty. I answered and there, right in front of me, stood the handsomest man I’d ever seen. Tall, lithe, dressed in dark gray with a red ribbon dangling from his dashingly-sloppy topknot. 

Could it be? It had to be, right? Had to be. 

“You’re a woman!” exclaimed Wei Wuxian. 

I nodded. I was, indeed, a woman. 

“Nobody said…” Wei Wuxian paused, scratched his nose. “Actually, never mind. A couple people did mention. You’re a courier?” 

“Yes.” 

“I need you to deliver a letter to Hedong.” 

“Okay.” 

Wei Wuxian blinked, disconcerted. 

“It would be a privilege for this one to be of service,” I tried. Thus far, I hadn’t had much practice with formal speech. 

“And you can reach Hedong?” 

“I’ve passed through it twice,” I answered. “I’m confident that I know the route.” 

“Hmm.” Wei Wuxian narrowed his glittering eyes. “That wasn’t a ‘yes’.” 

No guarantees in this life, my dude. Which, phrased more formally, sounded like, “I will deliver your letter or die in the attempt.” 

That was always the risk. Travel had gotten more dangerous since the outbreak of war. I’d actually seen a few fierce corpses, shambling and gruesome. So far, I’d been able to run away. But I’d probably been lucky.

“And I thought I was dramatic!” Wei Wuxian handed me a square of folded paper, blank on either visible side. It tingled against my fingertips. Some sort of protective charm? “Can you leave now?” 

“Now,” I repeated. Night had fallen in Xianxia-land. Not the best time for solo wandering.

“Right now,” he confirmed cheerfully. “The letter is for Zewu-Jun. He’s the only one who can open it. Literally the only one, so make sure to get it right. Luckily, he’s pretty easy to recognize! He’ll be wearing white or pale blue, with a ribbon across his forehead, like all the Lans do. Check for a silver cloud medallion at the center of the ribbon. If it’s him, he will smile at you, no matter where he is or what is happening around him.” 

“Thank you for sharing these observations. This one will not forget.” Especially since his description was kinda funny. “I will need at least five days to reach Hedong, perhaps as many as seven. Is that satisfactory?” 

“Just go as fast as you can. Zewu-Jun will pay you,” Wei Wuxian assured me. “Charge him five times what you normally would. He won’t try to bargain.”

“Something to look forward to,” I answered, with what enthusiasm I could muster. 

Wei Wuxian cocked his ear at a noise I couldn’t hear and turned away with a hasty wave, slipping into a room further down the corridor. I gathered my things with a sigh and stepped out into the cold night, looked up at the velvet sky pierced by achingly bright stars, soaked in the quiet unique to a small town that’s turned in for the night. 

Then I left. Down the tight-packed main street, past the scattered homesteads beyond, into the untamed wild. Once I was completely alone I pulled my phone from one pocket, my compass from another. Instead of consulting the book of hand-drawn maps in my pack, I pulled up a brief set of  directions that I’d thumb-typed out in my room. My first destination would be a small village, five miles to the northwest. 

With the pedometer to track my distance and the compass my direction, I made my way through the dark and reached the village around dawn. I chatted a bit with the locals, to make sure I’d come to the right place. I made a few adjustments to my map, adding my observations about traveling at night to an indexed reference page. Then I moved on to the next stop.

It wasn’t nearly as convenient as driving around with an automated guidance system. Map-making is complicated and I was an amateur. Sometimes I felt like I was playing a very complicated game of Hot and Cold, stumbling blindly from clue to clue. I had to break every journey into short chunks in order to compensate for my inevitable mistakes. 

I pushed myself to reach Hedong in five days, the low end of my initial estimate. The town had clearly been co-opted as a staging ground for Sunshot, with cultivators in sect colors spilling out of every teahouse, a makeshift hospital set up in a local park, and ranking officers occupying the largest and finest home in town. 

Figuring that Zewu-Jun would count among the ranking officers, I went there first. The Nie disciple stationed by the door ignored me when I said I’d brought a message for Zewu-Jun, then blocked me when I tried to advance through the door anyhow. I tried explaining that Wei Wuxian had sent me; the Nie disciple scoffed. I insisted that it was urgent. The Nie disciple offered to take the letter to Zewu-Jun for me, but I refused. I had no doubt the letter would self-destruct if anyone other than Zewu-Jun tried to open it and I didn’t trust this Nie disciple not to try.

I sat in the dirt and waited, trying to appreciate a chance to rest. Eventually, the Nie disciple on guard duty was replaced with a Jiang disciple. 

“Wei Wuxian sent me with a letter for Zewu-Jun,” I told him. 

“Wei Wuxian?” The Jiang disciple cocked his head. “Where is he?”

“Yueyang.” 

The disciple grunted. “Who was he with?”

“No one that I saw.” 

“Oh?” The disciple’s expression turned skeptical. “Describe him.” 

I raised my hand overhead. “About so high. Messy hair.” I spread my palms apart. “This wide at the shoulders. He wore gray but a Jiang clarity bell dangled from his belt.” I pulled the letter from the sleeve of my robe. “The letter he gave me is sealed. I can let you touch it, if that will help, but I can’t let you open it.”  

The Jiang disciple ran his fingertip across the paper and then gestured for me to follow him inside. 

Chapter Text

After yet more waiting, this time in a small anteroom, the sliding door opened and handsomest man I’d ever seen glided through. I know just called Wei Wuxian the handsomest man I'd ever seen, so just to be clear the newcomer was instantly recognizable as Lan Xichen. Someone less dazzled might have had an opinion about which of them ought to rank higher on the list of Young Masters or whatever, but in the moment it didn't matter. The one standing in front of me was the handsomest. 

Lan Xichen smiled his benign smile. He radiated friendliness. But there was something weirdly generic about him, and weirdly slippery. Like he wasn’t quite there, or wasn’t quite real. I immediately wanted to cast him as an android in a movie about uncannily handsome androids. 

“I’m told you have a message for me?” 

“This one apologizes for making demands on the Sect Leader’s valuable time.” I bowed, hoping I didn’t look too ridiculous, and held out the letter. “This one was told to deliver this letter into the hands of Zewu-Jun himself.” 

Lan Xichen turned the unmarked paper over in his hands a few times before slipping a nail between the folds and breaking the seal with a pop that I could feel but not see. Xichen huffed in mild amusement, but his face went still as the jade he was named for as he read. 

His gaze flicked up from the letter to me, quietly intent. “You came from Yueyang?” 

“From a river town, near the border with Qishan.” 

“And you could guide me to it?” 

I really, really hoped he didn’t expect me to turn around and head back out, travel for another five days and nights with hardly any rest at all. But no, of course not. I wasn’t thinking straight. “If it pleases the Sect Leader, this one could draw a map so that he will easily locate his destination when traveling by sword.”  

“Ah? Yes, please.” Lan Xichen refolded the letter and glided toward the door. 

I added, diffidently, “To make the map, this one will require a sheet of thin rice paper.” 

“I’ll have one brought immediately.” He hesitated, then added, “Time is of the essence.” 

Huh. What could be in that letter? I wondered, but the rice paper arrived quickly, along with a stick of charcoal, so I put the questions from my mind and got to work. I extracted my book of maps from my backpack, flipping to the right page and holding it open atop a small writing table. Then I laid the semi-transparent rice paper on top and began tracing the lines underneath. 

Lan Xichen returned as I was finishing up. By that time I’d set my book of maps—actually a dot-grid notebook that had transmigrated with me; the gridded paper had been an absolute lifesaver—to the side, so I could copy out the names of all the towns and landmarks that I’d passed along the way. 

“This map you’re copying,” Lan Xichen asked in his patented soothing tone. “Where did you obtain it?” 

“I made it,” I answered. 

“Ah.” 

I finished, flipping my notebook closed while holding the traced rice paper map up for Lan Xichen. He didn’t take it. He was staring at my notebook.

The hairs at the back of my neck prickled. Shit, I thought. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Lan Xichen finally reached out, but instead of taking the map he wrapped his hand around my wrist—gently, gently—and pressed his fingertips to the pulse point. 

“I’m not a cultivator,” I assured him. 

He gave me a strange look and said, “I find myself wanting more guidance than a map can provide. We will travel to Yueyang together. Carrying you on my sword will not tax me.” 

“I have not yet been paid for delivering the letter.” I straightened my shoulders and named my price. Five times my usual fee, just as Wei Wuxian had suggested. “I would charge the same for a return to Yueyang, no matter how we travel or at what speed.” 

“Agreed,” Lan Xichen said easily. 

A little too easily.

Ugh. I doubted I had anything to fear from Lan Xichen but who knew. I might as well admit that I’ve never much liked Lan Xichen. Which probably seems weird, because his whole deal is that he’s so likable. He’s the nice guy, the people person, trusting and supportive. 

But he struck me as, fundamentally, a weathervane. He goes wherever the wind blows. He never has an unpopular opinion, he never puts his own standing at risk. When Wei Wuxian is a rising star of the cultivation world, Lan Xichen likes him. When Wei Wuxian is a pariah, Lan Xichen joins in his persecution. He stands by while Wangji is whipped, and, worst of all, he turns on Jin Guangyao as soon as his crimes are exposed. 

If Jin Guangyao is a foil for Wei Wuxian, both of them prodigies from dubious backgrounds who rise to the top of a world where power is generally acquired and then passed on through blood, then Lan Xichen is a foil for Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji fully understands Wei Wuxian’s crimes, yet he remains stubbornly, impossibly loyal. By contrast, when Lan Xichen discovers Jin Guangyao’s crimes, he kills the guy.

Obviously it’s more complicated than that. Jin Guangyao and Wei Wuxian aren’t the same. They’re inverses of one another. Wei Wuxian flaunts his villainy and hides his virtue. Jin Guangyao flaunts his virtue and hides his villainy. 

But Xichen says that he’s been warned about Jin Guangyao’s unsavory behavior. That Nie Mingjue, among who knows how many others, tried to open his eyes to Jin Guangyao’s true nature.  And Lan Xichen says, with his own mouth, that he refused to believe them. 

What do you call a guy who has the opportunity to understand you fully but, instead, prefers only to see the good parts? Whose friendship is conditional upon your ability to hide the ugly parts? Because I’d call that guy toxic.

So yeah, Lan Xichen has never been my favorite. 

We were joined on the way out of town by two other Lan cultivators. They silently flanked Lan Xichen, unsheathed their swords when he did, set them afloat and mounted in eerie synchrony. They barely looked at me as Lan Xichen offered his hand and steadied me as I stepped onto the blade.

“Where should I hold on?” I asked.

“At the shoulders, please,” Xichen answered. 

I started out with a light touch and a nice cushion of air between our bodies, and I maintained that polite distance for about a minute and a half. That’s how long it took for Xichen to gain a couple hundred feet in altitude. Once he accelerated, and the wind began to whip at me, I abandoned courtesy and hung on for dear life. 

Which was a treat! Not going to deny it. He was a handsome guy, with dreamy shoulders and a broad back, and he had an appropriately soothing smell, like rain on fresh grass. Silky hair with enough weight that it hardly ever got stuck in my nose or mouth as we flew. 

The journey took most of the day, including a long break around the halfway mark. I needed it, too. Standing for hours is tiring. When I first got my feet on solid ground, I flopped onto my back starfish-style while the three Lan huddled around the rice paper map and chatted in voices too low to overhear. 

Eventually, because I knew we’d be back in the air soon, I made myself do a couple of basic vinyasa—just a sun salutation looped together with a chattaranga, yoga 101. I’d been practicing yoga for a few years before I died and I’d kept it up since I started working as a courier, to balance out all the walking. I’d have been stiff as a board without the stretching, and it's equipment-free strength training, too. 

I caught the Lan trio watching me, which was embarrassing, but I tested my understanding of the clan by returning their furtive glances with a very direct stare and it worked like a charm. They shuffled their feet like schoolboys. 

Heh.

After a quick bite to eat—herby balls of sticky rice, on the bland side—we were on the move again. As we approached Yueyang, Xichen tried calling over his shoulder for guidance. But I couldn’t see much, tucked behind his broad back, and the landscape was hard to recognize from an unfamiliar perspective. Instead of getting impatient, Xichen grounded us briefly, reversed our positions so that I stood in front and he pressed close against my back, and we flew low, almost skimming the water as we followed the river toward its source.

We reached the village where I’d left Wei Wuxian just before nightfall. I bowed low and hinted that the time had come to pay me so that we could part ways, but Xichen smiled implacably and nudged me toward the inn.

“Forgive my caution, but I must insist that you enter the inn alone and bring Wei Wuxian at least as far as the open door, where I may see and identify him.” 

So he was worried about an ambush. Well, I wouldn’t fault him for it. I entered the inn alone, asked the innkeeper where the cultivators were staying, and was directed to the same room I’d seen him enter just before I left.

I knocked and Wei Wuxian answered. “You!” he exclaimed, obviously confused. “I didn’t think I’d see you again!” 

“Zewu Jun is outside and I believe he’s worried that I’ve led him into an ambush,” I explained. “He’d like you to show yourself before he enters.” 

Something about my tone made Wei Wuxian smile, which was absolutely devastating. His eyes crinkled with mirth but he only said, “Zewu Jun is wise,” before following me out.

Wei Wuxian beckoned Xichen into the inn and the pair of them immediately forgot insignificant little me. Wei Wuxian guided Xichen upstairs while murmuring into his ear. By silent, mutual accord, the two spare Lan followed behind.

This left me alone, which I’d been waiting for. I’d had the whole day to think, and I’d decided that I ought to vanish at the first opportunity. I’d been paid handsomely for carrying Wei Wuxian’s letter, and the return trip had cost me nothing. While I could stay, and would have loved the extra money, I couldn't risk my book of maps. It was quite literally essential to my livelihood, the product of months of hard work, and it would take just as long to recreate.

It’s not that I wasn’t excited to have a close encounter with canon. That had been amazing. A part of me did want to stick around, see if I couldn’t find myself a place on the fringe of this grand drama. Surely I’d be in a better position to influence events if I were closer to them, right? 

But I still felt pretty conflicted about the fallout from killing Wen Zhuliu. And I was very, very aware that anyone on the fringes of these grand dramas ended up as canon fodder. For that matter, so did most of the core cast. The odds of survival were low across the board.  

So I allowed myself one wistful look at the inn, where I was no doubt missing out on something very interesting, and slipped away into the night. 

Chapter Text

I didn’t go far. It was late, and I was exhausted. I risked camping out in the open, which I try not to do, but I bedded down within shouting distance of a farmstead where a variety of healthy livestock grazed inside rickety fences. I figured that had to be a good sign. If monsters roamed at night, the animals would have been better secured. 

I got a little fire going and kept myself toasty while working on my to-do list, which had grown intimidatingly long over the past few days. I needed to do laundry, which was a whole ordeal in Xianxia-land, give my solar charger a chance to soak up some juice, restock my travel rations…

“Please remain calm,” came a very soothing, instantly recognizable voice from somewhere behind me.

I looked up from my phone and watched as Lan Xichen emerged from the darkness and sat on his heels beside me. He looked, as before, impossibly beautiful and perfectly serene. He did not smile. 

I remained silent, for a ton of reasons. Partly just to be difficult. It’s 100% stupid to start a game of silent chicken with a Lan, and I figured I’d lose eventually. Lan Xichen’s eyes flickered with comprehension when he realized what I was up to and, ever the soul of graciousness, he broke the silence himself right after. 

“I was hoping to have an opportunity to review your book of maps before we parted ways,” Lan Xichen explained. 

I figured. And I knew it was hopeless to resist, but I made no move to hand over my notebook. I just… I couldn’t do it. 

“I’m afraid I must insist,” said Lan Xichen. 

I didn’t move. Then Lan Xichen reached for my backpack and I panicked. Losing the notebook would be bad enough. He did not need to see anything else I kept in there. His eyebrows notched up as I snatched the pack and clutched it to my chest with both arms. I wanted to kick myself for acting so suspicious, but I couldn’t help it. With a little, self-pitying whine, I pulled the zipper as narrowly as possible, reached into grab the notebook by feel, and handed it over. 

“Thank you,” said Lan Xichen.

I really, really wanted to curse him out in response. 

He flipped through the pages, in no hurry even though the Lan bedtime hour had come and gone before he arrived. The silence stretched. I was furious and also on the verge of tears. 

Lan Xichen pointed to a capital letter ‘A’. “What are these symbols?” 

“An organizational system. That’s the name of the column. Column A. If I’m looking at this big map, and I want to see more detail, I’ll check the name of the column and the row. Like, Qishan is in Column A and Row 2. So then I flip to the page for A2, and…” I kept my thumb on the larger map and turned to A2, which was mostly blank. “It’s not much to look at because I generally avoid Qishan. Most of the As are a little sketchy, actually.” 

Lan Xichen hummed his understanding. “And I suppose you invented this system of organization yourself?” 

“It was part of my education."

He directed a very sharp smile at me. “Your education?” 

I nodded. 

“Where is this method taught?” 

“It’s, um. Pretty far away.” 

“Far away,” he repeated, openly disbelieving now. He flipped the notebook shut but didn’t give it back. “I am sorry to repay a job well done in a fashion that will seem to you a punishment. I have no reason to suspect you of any wrongdoing. Unfortunately”—he tapped the notebook—“I cannot allow maps of this quality to circulate freely. Nor, for the matter, the maker of such maps. If the Wens or Jins obtained this book, or even a few pages of it, perhaps copied onto rice paper as you so readily offered to do for me this morning, it would be devastating. Even imagining the consequences…” 

I winced. He was not wrong. 

“You understand. Good.” He smiled pleasantly. “Perhaps we can be civilized about this? You will return with me to the inn, and I will insist on keeping you close, but I have no wish to cause you distress.”

I sighed. I’d tried to do the right thing. Or the smart thing. Or the safe thing. Or some combination of those. I didn’t think I like, deserved to be at the center of things. I didn’t fantasize about getting my close up (Mr. Demille), or think I’d compare very well at all with these larger-than-life cultivators. 

But the plot had come for me anyhow. One of the Twin Jades of Lan had literally taken the choice out of my hands. And, well. I wasn’t miserable about it. 

“Yeah, sure.” I held out a hand for my notebook, very deliberately. “Let’s be civilized about it.” 

Lan Xichen laughed. Really laughed. I mean, I think it was a real laugh. Anyway, he gave me the notebook, I returned it to my backpack (which he was definitely eyeing with interest, now), and then he flew me back to the inn on his sword. 

I learned a little more about the situation that had brought everyone to Yueyang when Lan Xichen knocked on Wei Wuxian’s door and Lan Wangji answered it. I knew it was Lan Wangji because (a) he looked a lot like Lan Xichen and (b) he was in Wei Wuxian’s room. He was dressed informally, light robes loosely belted at the waist, his hair braided in preparation for sleep but the forehead ribbon still in place. He looked tired. 

“I have returned,” Lan Xichen said, quiet.

“It's good to see you safe,” Lan Wangji answered.

Lan Xichen tipped his head in my direction. “The cartographer.” 

Lan Wangji gave me a thorough once-over. “Mn.” 

“Sleep well.” 

Lan Wangji nodded. “And you.” 

And that was that. The door eased shut.

“He’ll recognize you now,” Lan Xichen warned, as he led me to—just to add insult to injury—the room I’d been occupying when Wei Wuxian first knocked. 

I’m not sure what I’d expected when he said ‘keeping you close’ but it definitely wasn’t a pallet in Lan Xichen’s room. It just didn’t seem like the kind of thing any cultivator would do, let alone a Lan. But maybe, as a non-cultivator, I didn’t count? Maybe I was more like a servant than a real person whose virtue had to be protected? 

I decided not to think about it.

Lan Xichen had a semi-elaborate pre-bed beauty routine and he didn’t seem to mind my unabashed attention to it. I recognized some sort of a cleanser, or maybe a toner? Applied with a tiny silk pouf. And a moisturizing cream stored in the most beautiful porcelain dish, painted with a cloud motif. Then some sort of hair oil, perfumed with that rain smell I’d so enjoyed, followed by several minutes of unhurried combing. 

“You think I am vain,” Lan Xichen said, setting aside his comb.

I did, but. “It’s not vain to wash your face or take care of your hair.” 

He hummed as though I’d said something interesting, which I realized I’d have to guard myself against. It was hard not to be flattered. “It’s too late for it now, but I’ll make sure we both have the opportunity to bathe in the morning.” 

I didn’t thank him, because I wasn’t going to thank him for treating his detainee decently, but I was glad to hear it. My silence must have communicated something, because Lan Xichen made a pleased little noise and blew out the candle. 

Chapter Text

When I woke up, one of my nightmares had come true: Lan Xichen was sitting on the floor with the contents of my backpack spread out across the floor. It made quite a display, stretching almost wall to wall. My phone, my charger, my binoculars, my maps, my e-reader (off), my wireless earbud case (closed), my wallet (open), a fancy aluminum water bottle, a Goretex windbreaker (spread flat), a mini first-aid kit, and my pen case, empty, with the contents ranged alongside: a mechanical pencil, a ballpoint pen, a highlighter, a six-inch ruler made of transparent plastic, a compact tape measure, a Swiss army knife with every tool exposed, an emergency whistle, a set of utensils made of lightweight aluminum, a reusable silicone straw, and three rolls of glittery washi tape. 

“Fuck,” I muttered, shoving myself upright, and his jaw just dropped. His eyes went so wide I could see the whites all the way around. 

Ah, yeah. Ladies cursing. I grappled for formal phrasing while simultaneously trying to clear the cobwebs out of my brain. “This one apologizes for using inappropriate language in the presence of the Sect Leader. The honorable Sect Leader should never suffer the insult—”

“Stop,” Lan Xichen interrupted. “An insincere apology is worse than none at all.” 

I scowled. I try to be careful about my language, but… Fuck. Truly. He’d set everything out so tidily, neatly separated, like he’d been looking at it and touching it for hours. He probably had. He woke up at five in the morning. 

Lan Xichen, following my gaze, sounded a little lost as he asked, “What is all of this?” 

“Some of it’s pretty hard to explain.” I hesitated. “All of it is irreplaceable.” 

“I would imagine so.” He picked up the phone, which didn’t look like much. A phone with the power off might as well be a paperweight. “You were holding this last night. It emitted light.” 

“Yeah.” 

He set it down with a deep sigh. “I wish I could approach these objects with the curiosity they deserve. I wish I could ask you about them in good humor, for the sheer pleasure of learning something new. But all I can think is that I was right to identify you as a danger, and right to contain the threat that you pose.” 

“I get that.” 

He shot me a curious look. "Do you?" 

A knock sounded at the door before I could answer. Lan Xichen called, “Enter,” and Lan Wangji stepped through, carrying a loaded tray. Lan Xichen jumped to his feet and took the tray. “Wangji,” he chided, herding his brother onto his bed. “You should not be using the stairs. You should not be carrying anything so heavy. Where is Wei Wuxian?” 

“I heard voices.” Lan Wangji surveyed the floor exhibit. “Wei Ying is asleep. You should fetch him.” 

Lan Wangji still seemed tired, even though it was morning, which didn't seem right. A powerful cultivator who'd presumably had plenty of sleep? Add Lan Xichen's fussing to the mix and another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. Lan Wangji had been injured. Seriously enough that Wei Wuxian had spirited him away to safety and then, unwilling to leave Lan Wangji unprotected but worried enough to seek help, come to me with his letter. 

“I’m not going drag Wei Wuxian out of bed—” Xichen protested.

Wangji stood.

Xichen folded like a house of cards. “No, sit down, I’ll bring him.” 

To give credit where it was due, Lan Wangji managed not to look smug about his little victory. He stared stone-faced at me and asked, "Do you have a name?” 

“An is fine.” Not actually my name, but it sounded similar enough that I’d been able to adjust to the change without dissociating. At the time I’d picked it, that had been my primary concern. 

“Mn.” Lan Wangji’s regard was sort of intrinsically uncomfortable. I could feel his attention, and I could also tell that he was having all kinds of thoughts that he chose not to share. “Do you have a family?” 

I shook my head. Not anymore. 

“Do you have somewhere to be?” 

That one startled me a bit. “No.” 

“You are but a simple courier. A free sprit. You roam the wide world without attachments,” he summarized. “This is what you would have us believe?” 

I made a face. “I am a courier.” 

The door burst open and Wei Wuxian leaped at Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan!” He hopped onto Lan Xichen’s bed and patted gently along Lan Wangji’s side. “You’re like a naughty teenager! You wait until your minders are asleep..ing in...and then you misbehave!” 

I bit back a smile. Seeing them together made everything I’d gone through to arrive at this point worth it. Just this: witnessing a happy moment, a bit of teasing that would have been impossible if Wen Zhuliu had lived and Lotus Pier had burned.

Something tugged my attention away from the pair. I looked around to find Lan Xichen hovering in the threshold, pointing his bland smile right at me. 

Yikes. 

“What is all of this?” Wei Wuxian demanded, mercifully breaking the tension. 

Most of it was pretty easy to explain, or demonstrate. And while Wei Wuxian was exactly as curious as you’d expect, and clever enough to intuit how to use an unfamiliar tool with only the briefest of explanations, he hadn’t come for a show and tell. 

Like Lan Xichen, he was most interested in the maps. He flipped through the pages until he found something that caught his attention and held it. “This map of Yunmeng is better than anything in the library at Lotus Pier.” 

I realized, with a rush of cold dread, that I was about to be in trouble. I’d gone over the area around Lotus Pier with a fine-toothed comb. I’d wanted everything: every hill and valley, every ford across every waterway, every homestead. All that extra detail was… noticeable. Especially to someone like Wei Wuxian, who knew the area like the back of his hand. Most damning, the terrain I’d concentrated on hadn’t been inhabited. I hadn’t been mapping it to improve my courier service. 

Lan Xichen leaned over and pointed at the top left corner of the notebook. “Do you see this symbol here? Does it appear at the top of any other pages?” 

Oh, great. Lan Xichen remembered my little lesson about gridding out my maps and labeling the rows and the columns. Fantastic. 

Wei Wuxian flipped through the rest of the Yunmeng maps, his expression chilling by the second. “Look at all of these,” he exclaimed, turning the pages before either of the Twin Jades could obey. “Are these… patrol routes?” He fastened a furious glare on me. “Why would you need a map of the Jiang patrol routes?”  

All three cultivators were giving me deadly looks now. 

“Lotus Pier is fine, isn’t it?” 

“Lotus Pier is fine?” Wei Wuxian echoed, volume rising with each syllable. “What’s that supposed to mean, Lotus Pier is—”

I didn’t see what cut him short because I’d pressed my back against the wall and looked away. It was hard to resist the urge to explain myself, but nothing I said would make those maps less suspicious. Quite the opposite. Talking would only make it worse.

Lan Xichen dropped to one knee at my side. I’d drawn myself up into a tight little ball, wrapped my arms around my shins. He tapped at the toes on one foot. 

“I am going to ask you a question, and I encourage you to answer honestly. Do you have any ties to the Wen or the Jin? Do you owe any member of either sect a debt? Have you accepted gifts or favors? Received promises of wealth or patronage?” 

I met eyes, as open as I knew how to be. “No.” 

“I believe you,” said Xichen, which didn’t convince me but did provoke a contemptuous little snort from Wei Wuxian. 

“You mentioned that your maps of Qishan are, as yet, incomplete,” Xichen continued. “What if we asked you to make such maps? Would you oblige?” 

“I avoid Qishan because it’s dangerous.” I glanced past him to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, still sitting side by side and still looking at me like I was a mosquito in need of swatting. “I’m not a cultivator, I can’t fight, I’ve never trained in any weapon—”

Xichen tapped my foot again, which shut me up. “You would not be alone. We would endeavor to keep you safe. Would you oblige?” 

I hesitated. 

Xichen smiled tightly. “You will explain your reluctance.” 

“It’s just—“ I stopped looking at anyone and stared up at the ceiling, because at this point the Good Cop, Bad Cop energy was pretty strong. “If you saw me making a map, you’d figure out how I do it. And you’d realize that if you stole my… tools… you could cut me out of the process pretty easily.” 

“What’s to stop us from doing that right now?” asked Wei Wuxian. 

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t figure it out on your own.” 

“Really. Huh.” Wei Wuxian sounded annoyed. “Well, now I’m curious. Which tools?” 

I pointed to my phone. “It’s fragile. And I’m pretty sure that using qi on it will break it. Please don’t break it.” 

Wei Wuxian turned the phone over in his hands, his annoyance mounting. He might be clever and inventive, but he didn't know where to start. Even if he had, the phone was out of juice. 

I tried to bargain. “If you promise to leave it in my possession when we part ways, whenever that happens—and promise not to let anyone else steal it—I’d be glad to help.” 

“Okay, we promise.” Wei Wuxian waved the phone at me. “What does it do?” 

Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen shot twin looks of exasperation at Wei Wuxian. 

“It’s drained right now,” I answered apologetically. “I’d need at least a day to get it working again.” 

“Drained?” Wei Wuxian squinted at the phone. “Drained of what?” 

“It’s hard to explain.”

That roused his suspicion again, but Lan Xichen intervened before Wei Wuxian could press the interrogation. “We had already decided to remain here in Yueyang for another two days. If she needs one day to prepare, it costs us nothing to wait.” 

“Thanks,” I murmured, and got a little nod in reply. 

And then I was so mad at myself, because this was exactly how Lan Xichen operated. He didn’t take a side, he didn’t stick his neck out, he just ran interference and exuded niceness. And I’d been sucked in! I’d been grateful, and felt warmly toward him, and thanked him. Ugh. 

“Why don’t I have that bath I promised you sent up?” Xichen offered, and while I was fully aware that he was angling for a private chat with Wuxian and Wangji, there wasn’t much I could do about it.

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

Baths had become a rare luxury for me, so I took my time. Prompted either by his sense of hospitality or of charity, Xichen had offered to share his toiletries with me, and I was pretty eager to find out what passed for fancy shampoo in Xianxia-land. His was paste-like. It softened in water but didn’t make suds or foam. The consistency made it hard to work through my hair evenly but it did leave my hair feeling clean and bouncy and soft. Pretty nice, all things considered. 

I hadn’t been carrying a hairbrush when I arrived—that had been in my bigger, wheeled luggage—but obviously, combs are in plentiful supply in these parts, and it had been fun to actually purchase one for myself. Mine was on the simple side, a light wood with fine teeth and a few flowers painted on the handle, but using it always gave me a little ping of pleasure. 

I was still combing my hair when Lan Xichen walked in, and he immediately blushed and started to back away.

“It’s your room,” I said, waving him in. “Don’t mind me.” 

He laughed, disbelieving and frustrated. “Shouldn’t you mind?” 

He was right about one thing: if I hadn’t had such a good sense of who he was, I’d have behaved differently. I’d have been more worried about sending wrong messages, more mindful of cultural cues. But it was hard to worry about Lan Xichen, paragon of virtue. And besides. “Why? You like men, right?” 

He shook his head, as though to clear it, still staring at the wall. “What gave you that idea?”

“Just… an impression.” 

“An incorrect one, as it happens.” He took a slow, deep breath. “I am pleased that you feel safe in my presence. But propriety is a courtesy, yes? An act of consideration.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” I let the hand holding the comb fall to my lap. “But I’m unfamiliar with the customs of cultivator society, so I might not always know what to do. You combed your hair in front of me yesterday, so I figured…” I shrugged. I had been surprised, but what did I know? 

“I should not have done so,” he admitted. “My apologies.” 

He quickly picked up an embroidered silk bag from the table by his bed—I’d been making bets with myself about whether it was a qiankun bag, but didn’t have an answer yet—and retreated to the door, his face turned away the whole time. “When you are ready, join us downstairs.” 

By the time I’d finished pinning up my hair, the three cultivators had migrated outside to practice their sword forms. Lan Wangji flowed through the stances empty-handed, no doubt because of his injury, but Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian both had their blades out. 

They were graceful in motion, like all the best athletes are. But they weren’t just athletes. They moved inhumanly fast, while maintaining total control over their bodies. And they were dead serious, even in practice, while slashing thin air.

They scared me, honestly. I knew swordsmanship was a key element of their cultivation, their quest for immortality, but it was also an art of combat. All three of them had been using it as such, to fight and maim and kill, and it showed. Seeing Wei Wuxian holding Suibian aloft gave me warm fuzzies, but he was hands down the scariest. I couldn’t compare their skills, I had no idea who’d win in a duel. But the Lans projected an air of detachment, Wei Wuxian of menace. 

Dinner was silent, obviously. Afterwards, the Lans ordered tea and Wei Wuxian a jar of wine. After the drinks arrived, Lan Xichen filled a cup for me. I picked it up, enjoying the heat and the steam while waiting for it to cool to a drinkable temperature. 

“You should drink with me,” Wei Wuxian said suddenly.

I blinked. “Me?” 

“They won’t.” He flipped a thumb between the Twin Jades. “And it’s no fun to drink alone! So it’ll have to be you.” 

Lan Xichen jumped in. “Wei Wuxian, please, offering alcohol to a maiden—”

“I’ll try a little,” I interrupted. I second-guessed myself as soon as the words were out of my mouth, but something about the conversation earlier, while I was combing my hair, nagged at me. 

I’d felt seen, noticed. Which meant I’d ceased to be beneath notice. Sure, my maps had caught Lan Xichen’s attention. And waiting for Lan Wangji to recover had forced us into close quarters. But I knew my place in this world, and I couldn’t afford to forget it. I was a nobody, I was mediocre, I was an outsider.

Drinking is usually a social lubricant, but in this case I knew it would alienate me from my companions—from the Twin Jades, at least. That was exactly what I wanted. To feel separate, and lesser, and disdained. 

Wei Wuxian shoved a dish full of clear liquid across the table and I traded my tea for it, raising it to my lips for a tentative sip. It was so strong. Just. Way too strong. “Wow,” I said, truly appalled. “That’s deadly.” 

Wei Wuxian cackled. “Just keep drinking!” he advised. “It gets better with every sip!” 

“I think my tongue went numb.” I tapped the tip of my tongue against the roof of my mouth, testing it. Yep. Numb. 

Wei Wuxian nudged Lan Wangji. “See what you’re missing out on?” 

I kept quiet as the conversation flowed, sipping alternately from the tea and the wine. They tried to be circumspect when talking about the war, cutting short sentences or exchanging significant glances instead of naming names, but I still picked up a fair bit. 

As expected in a no-Yiling-Patriarch-world, the Sunshot alliance struggled to defend the integrity of their own territory, let alone advance toward Nightless City. While Wen Ruohan pulled strings from the safety of his impenetrable fortress, Wen Xu and Jin Zixun ventured forth to lead the Brilliant Conquest (what the combined Wen-Jin forces had taken to calling themselves) in battle. 

Wen Xu sounded like Wen Xu—minimally competent, singularly brutal. Not a great thinker, but a cruel man on a long leash can do some damage. Jin Zixun, on the other hand. Jin Zixun. I’m not spelling that wrong, by the way. They talked about him like he was some sort of strategic genius. Like he was the one to beat, because he’d been outwitting and outmaneuvering them at every step. 

It was just so weird. Jin Zixun was a bully and a dupe. He didn’t do a single clever thing in any version of canon that I’d ever encountered. Canon did have lots of iterations. It stood to reason that this universe I’d found myself in would have its own quirks, and all the little changes could snowball into something truly new and surprising. 

But Jin Zixun, military mastermind? No. Something else had to be going on there. 

“Why are you making that face?” Wei Wuxian asked. 

Uh oh. “I’m making a face?”

“Like this.” Wei Wuxian twisted his mouth into a lopsided frown, then squinted with one eye.“This face.” 

It was an expression to match the concept ‘Jin Zixun, military mastermind’.

“That’s a terrible face,” I exclaimed. I knuckled my cheeks, trying to reset my expression to neutral. “I apologize.” 

Wei Wuxian laughed again, but this time it was a little mean—a little knowing. The sound of it gave me chills. I ended up asking Lan Xichen if he’d mind if I retired to the room. He agreed, but his expression was also a little knowing. 

Lan bedtime being what it was, Lan Xichen wasn’t far behind. He found me sitting cross-legged on my pallet, trying to distract myself with a novel on my e-reader. I’d loaded the thing up with enough books to last me a year, which had felt overboard at the time. Now they’d have to last me a lifetime. 

I’d tried explaining the e-reader to the cultivators, but all the books were in English so it didn’t leave much of an impression.

He sat primly on his bed. “Maiden An?” 

“Yes?” 

“I would like to be a friend to you. And as a friend, there’s something I must tell you.” His gaze caught mine, unwavering. “It is obvious that you are keeping secrets. It is obvious that you know more than you should. As a friend, I understand. How could I blame you for guarding your privacy, or exercising caution?” His expression turned wry. “Unfortunately, a Sect Leader cannot always be as patient or understanding as a friend.” 

Chapter Text

I agreed to give a demonstration of my map-making technique the next morning. “It’s slow and awkward,” I warned them, without dimming their enthusiasm at all. They went back and forth about the location: someplace private, either in Qishan or a place with sufficiently similar terrain. I was relieved when, in the end, they decided not to cross into enemy territory with one injured cultivator and one obvious liability (me). 

Wei Wuxian carried Lan Wangji on Suibian, to conserve his strength. I flew with Lan Xichen again. The two spare Lan were not invited, to my surprise. I’d kept my solar charger in the sun the day before, and then charged my phone during the night, so it was ready to go. 

We flew low the whole way, so as not to advertise our presence, through rough and mountainous terrain. 

“This is going to be a challenge,” I said, when we descended on a mountain pass. Big changes in elevation screwed up the pedometer. Nothing for it but to do my best, though. I brandished my phone. “This tells me how far I’ve gone.” I held up my other hand, which held a little keychain compass. “And this tells me in which direction I’m headed.” 

I activated the pedometer and walked one hundred feet north. “Normally I’d set a longer interval, but for now this is fine. The app says…” I showed them the screen and trailed off as they stared at it with complete non-comprehension. “Ah, this is a a numerical system and a unit of measurement you’re not familiar with. I… don’t think I can convert it to something you’d recognize. Well, the idea is to break the terrain into chunks of identical size. Like bricks that you stack on top of one another, and as close to exactly the same as possible. For this demonstration, the bricks will be… that number.

“At this point I usually take a picture and continue for another interval.” I switched to my camera app and snapped the landscape we’d just traveled, then showed them the picture. 

“What,” said Wei Wuxian. 

“Then, when I stop to eat or rest, I use the pictures and the pedometer and the scale I’ve set in advance to represent the area on paper. So long as the interval was always the same while I traveled, and I didn’t forget to stop for a photo, I can reproduce my route pretty accurately.” 

I unfolded the sheet of paper I’d begged from Xichen over breakfast, onto which I’d drawn a light grid with my mechanical pencil. “Every photo I take is automatically assigned a number, so every couple of intervals, I stop to write the number into the corresponding square on my grid, and then at the end of the day everything will be easy to sort. Or I could even…” I added a dotted line, to show my footsteps, and sketched in a copse of scraggly, half-dead trees. “Sketch out my trajectory and some environmental details in the moment, but I only do that when there are a lot of people around.” 

I looked up and the blank looks hadn’t changed at all. 

“If you have that”—Wei Wuxian pointed to the photo—“Why make a map at all? Isn’t that better than a map?” 

“It’s too much information,” I told him. “Especially at scale. You’d get lost in all the detail and never find what you were looking for. There’s actually a saying about this: The map is not the territory. A map is… an argument, an analysis, but in picture form. Think about it. When you consult a map, you’re asking a question. Usually a pretty specific question. ‘How do I get to here from there,’ or ‘What’s the annual rainfall in some faraway place.’ A map that shows you everything tells you nothing. A good map gives you an answer, which means it only tells you a piece of the story. And that’s always—inevitably—subjective.” 

Wei Wuxian blinked. “I think maybe it would not be as easy to replace you in this process as you have imagined.” 

“It would, though.” I cocked a hip and looked around. “Okay, let’s try this. You stand right here.” I sidestepped and scuffed my foot at the point where I’d just been standing. Wei Wuxian obediently stood where indicated. “And Second Young Master Lan? Will you come with me?” 

Wangji nodded, and I used the compass and pedometer to return to where we’d started, one hundred feet south. “Stand here?” He obliged.

I returned to Wei Wuxian and Lan Xichen. “Your turn, Sect Leader.” I gestured for him to follow and led him one hundred feet east. “Do you see how we’re all the exact same distance apart? And at right angles from one another? That’s the whole secret, really. I always know the cardinal directions and I always have a reasonably accurate record of how far I’ve traveled.” 

“I think Wei Wuxian was right,” said Lan Xichen, waving for the other two to leave their positions and converge on us. 

“Oh,” I said, and tried not to be pleased. 

By the time the other two had arrived, Lan Xichen had made up his mind. “Wangji, stay with Maiden An while she makes her map. Wei Wuxian, you and I will sweep the area, to head off any danger before it reaches them.” 

Wei Wuxian agreed and the two mounted their swords, flying off side by side. 

I smiled apologetically at Lan Wangji. “This will be pretty boring.” 

“Mn.” 

The nonverbal reply cheered me right up, and I got to work. Lan Xichen had indicated roughly what area he was hoping to chart, so I switched back to my usual quarter-mile interval and began plodding around. I wanted to be careful, and I had a few simple tricks to check my own work as I went along. Mostly, I’d drop an item on the ground and then move in a square. If I returned to the object I’d dropped, my measurements had been accurate. 

“Would you be able to work faster if we flew?” Wangji asked at one point. 

“I wish. This thing”—I waggled my phone—“counts my footsteps, so if I’m not walking it can’t tell me anything. Though, hmm. Cultivation gives you options that I don’t have. If you know someone who’s clever and inventive, I bet they could come up with a way to measure distance.”

Lan Wangji gave me a very unimpressed look. “If,” he deadpanned. 

I shrugged innocently. “Just an idea.” 

“Mn.” 

After a few hours of this, Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian returned at speed—the latter somewhat disheveled.

“Time to go!” Wei Wuxian announced, reaching for Lan Wangji. 

I took my usual position behind Lan Xichen. When I looked down at my feet, I spotted traces of blood around the hilt of the blade, where a perfunctory swipe with a cloth wouldn’t have reached. I only learned the details after we’d returned to the inn. Everyone gathered in Lan Xichen’s room to peer over my shoulder while I mapped out the location. Lan Xichen described the skirmish—a small patrol, easily disposed of—and everyone agreed that it had been wise to leave before reinforcements arrived. 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, as the conversation lulled.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian replied, delighted.

“Maiden An wonders if I know any ‘clever and inventive’ cultivators.” 

“Do you? Seems so unlikely. I mean, clever and inventive? That’s a lot to ask from one person.” 

“I know of one.” 

“How convenient! What luck!” 

“Mn,” Wangji agreed. “It is Wei Ying.” 

“Lan Zhan, you flatterer.” Wei Wuxian smirked. “Do you happen know what Maiden An wants with a ‘clever and inventive’ cultivator?” 

I looked up from my map. “A talisman or spell that measured distance could replace my pedometer and make the whole process a lot faster.” 

“And you think someone could invent that?” Wei Wuxian wondered. “A whole new spell, in a snap? Because you asked for it?” 

“Walking is fine,” I answered, returning my attention to the map. 

I didn’t hear Wei Wuxian say anything after that, but Lan Wangji’s, “Mn,” was a sure sign that something had been communicated between the two.

Chapter Text

We returned to Hedong early the next morning, and things started to feel a little more normal. All that time cooped up with the Twin Jades and Wei Wuxian had been completely surreal. In Hedong, everyone was busy again. Lan Xichen was leading a war, not babysitting one suspicious person. The compound reserved for ranking officers was elegant and spacious and full to capacity. There were no spare rooms for mediocre detainees. 

I ended up in a tent with a half-dozen female disciples. There weren’t a lot of women around, so even though I was in a Lan tent about half of it had been given over to female disciples from minor sects. So I had company (read: supervision) when I slept. During the day, I could roam freely around the camp, but a rotating roster of guards tailed me. 

The security made it awkward to socialize. Hard to start a casual little get-to-know-you chat with the human equivalent of a red flag standing at your back. Not being a glutton for punishment, I didn’t bother. Instead, I did my laundry, made some trail mix, mended some holes in my socks... dull, practical stuff. I did a lot of yoga, and got a lot of weird looks but, like, whatever. The Lan Sect didn't own handstands. 

I did poke around a bit, for the fun of attaching faces to familiar names. Nie Mingjue didn't spend much time in Hedong but when he passed through he was very easy to spot because he stood a full head taller than anyone else. Jiang Yanli had one of those strong-boned faces that looked strange on a young lady but would age beautifully... if she got the chance to grow into it. I was discreetly watching her prepare soup when a doe-eyed cultivator wearing Lan white without the headband approached, a sheaf of papers in one arm and no sword anywhere on his person. 

“Maiden An?” he asked. 

I nodded. 

He bowed shallowly. “This one is Meng Yao, chief aide to Zewu-Jun.”

Oh. 

How interesting. 

Meng Yao, who in canon had infiltrated Wen Rouhan’s inner circle as a spy for the Sunshot Alliance, had—in this altered world—ended up joining Lan Xichen’s inner circle. And also, probably not by coincidence, in this world where the Jin had allied with the Wen, Jin Zixun was widely regarded as a strategic mastermind. 

I offered a much deeper bow, acknowledging that his status was much higher than mine. “This humble one is pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

When I straightened, Meng Yao was looking at me with something that could have passed for admiring fascination. Like, it was a pretty intent look, not at all discreet, but with his eager smile and doe eyes, the effect was cringey rather than calculating. 

“I was asked to make sure you have all the supplies you'll need for your upcoming journey.” He offered me the stack of paper he’d been carrying—thick, good quality, and blank. “Zewu-Jun expected you to need paper but if there’s anything else I can prepare for you, let me know and I’ll do my best.” 

I assumed the blank paper was meant for map-making, so I said, “An inkstone, and brushes that can draw a fine line. Charcoal.” I thought for a minute, wondering if I ought to add anything else to the list. “Pigments for painting, if you have any.” 

“I will bring them within the hour,” Meng Yao promised, before whisking himself away. 

I tried not to stare at his back as he went. I had to do something about him, right? I mean, I didn’t have to. I could choose not to. No one would force me to interfere. But I had that feeling again, which had been missing since Wen Zhuliu, that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just stood back and watched events unfold. 

And while I didn’t want to overrate my own importance, I bore some responsibility here. Losing Wen Zhuliu and Wen Chao so early had forced the Wen to deviate from their canon path. If they hadn’t pressured the Jin to pick a side, Meng Yao probably wouldn’t be here. I did one thing, one impactful thing, and the consequences were still playing out months later, in ways I’d never predicted. 

“Are you excited to see me again, Maiden An?” called Wei Wuxian, snapping me out of my reverie. “How excited? Very? Extremely? So excited you just can’t contain yourself?” 

“Moderately excited.” I flashed a quick smile and bowed. “This one greets Young Master Wei.” 

“So unfair!” he exclaimed. “What must I do to gain your approval, Maiden An? I slave away inventing a whole new flare for you, I arrange for you to join me and my handsomest brother on a very exciting adventure, and you’re moderately excited?” 

“You only have one brother,” muttered Jiang Cheng, at his brother’s side. He looked better than he had the last time I’d seen him—not just cleaner but more confident. War had been good for him, which made sense. A man who was always primed for a fight would thrive in an environment where fights were plentiful. 

“How else would you be the handsomest?” Wei Wuxian quipped, and got an elbow in the side for a reply.

A little furrow appeared between Jiang Cheng's brows as Wei Wuxian introduced us. “Have we met before?” 

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not.” 

“You look familiar.” 

“I get that a lot.” I didn’t, at least not in this life. It happened enough in my old one that the lie came easily. 

“Enough reminiscing,” Wei Wuxian interrupted. “I want to show you what I’ve come up with! If it works, we’ll leave on a scouting mission to Qishan in the morning.” 

He led the way out of town, chattering along the way. “Lan Zhan is better now, or close enough as makes no difference. But Zewu-Jun doesn’t want to send him away again so soon, especially on a mission like this where we won’t have much time for training and conditioning. That’s the worst thing about a serious injury, all that extra training and conditioning…” 

Eventually we reached an open field, a few water buffalo clustered around a still, shady pond to escape the sun high overhead. 

“All right,” said Wei Wuxian. “Watch.” 

Wei Wuxian pulled a small cylinder from his sleeve, shook it a few times, held it horizontally and twisted off the cap. A ball of red light shot out from the mouth of the tube and streaked across the field, straight as a bullet. Instead of burning out when it reached the end of its trajectory, it continued to glow for a good thirty seconds before blinking out. 

“Well?” asked Wei Wuxian.

“It travels a set distance?” I asked. 

He nodded. 

“Would it be dangerous for me to go over there? To the endpoint?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Set off two more flares once I’ve reached the right area, okay?” 

“You got it.” 

I jogged across the field and, almost as soon as I’d come to a stop, Wei Wuxian sent out another flare. It stopped in the right area, but since it was important to be sure I grabbed a couple fallen branches and stacked them underneath the glowing red light in a cross shape. I backed away, the light winked out, and then Wei Wuxian sent another flare. It stopped in almost exactly the same spot, just a couple inches off—not, I felt certain, the fault of the flare but of a minute difference in the position of Wei Wuxian's hand while he'd fired it. One of the many pitfalls of trying to make a map without any measure of longitude and latitude. Like, if I'd had Google I could have looked up the probably fairly simple tech required to measure longitude and latitude, but I didn't, and I couldn't. 

Still, a flare like this would be a huge improvement over my pedometer. I jumped up and down in a silent cheer, so they’d know the test had been a success, and jogged back across the field. “I think it will work!” 

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Yeah?” 

“Have you checked to make sure that you can travel that far by sword before the light goes out?” 

“I have, but not with a passenger. If you’re not used to the stopping and starting you might fall off.” 

Or drop my phone, which would be almost as bad. 

“Jiang Cheng, get on your sword.” Wei Wuxian pointed from Sandu to the ground. “I’ll set off another flare. Carry Maiden An back and forth as many times as you can before the flare goes out, okay?” 

Jiang Cheng scowled. “Are you trying to make her sick?” 

Wei Wuxian nodded. “Yes, I am!”

Jiang Cheng sighed, but he did set his sword afloat and gesture for me to join him atop it. I started to step on behind him, which seemed to be the usual practice for passengers, but Wei Wuxian stopped me. 

“You won’t be able to use your… phone? You called it a ‘phone’ right? I don't like that word. You won’t be able to use that thing if you’re behind him,” he pointed out. 

So Jiang Cheng scooted back and I took the front. Wei Wuxian set off a fourth flare and Jiang Cheng didn’t wait for it to reach its destination. He gave chase immediately, I almost fell off, and he had to grab me and hold me up while keeping the sword on course. 

He was swinging us through a hairpin turn the second the globe stopped moving, which was terrifying even from two feet off the ground, and zooming back to the starting point. “Balance!” he snapped at me, then tugged on Wei Wuxian’s halftail while circling behind him. 

The whole thing made me appreciate just how considerate Lan Xichen had been. His flying had been perfectly smooth from beginning to end, no jolts or shudders or sudden movements. I hadn’t noticed, because I hadn’t had anything to compare it to. Besides, like, cars and airplanes. Both pretty different. 

The light winked out somewhere during our second loop, because it was gone when Jiang Cheng made his second pass around Wei Wuxian. He brought us to a halt and let go of me; I toppled off the blade with no grace at all, bending double and squeezing my eyes shut to stop my head from spinning. 

“If we’re really going to do this,” Jiang Cheng warned me, “You’re going to have to improve your balance. We’re unlikely to spend very long in Wen territory without running into some Wens. If you wobble every time I accelerate, you’ll get all three of us killed.” 

“You’re right, I understand.” I did a lot of core exercises, and a lot of balancing poses, so I ought to be up to the challenge. I glanced between them uncertainly. “How, uh. How will I practice?” 

“I have to go make more flares, now that the Young Mistress has approved of my humble creation.” Wei Wuxian gave me an exaggerated bow. “My shidi has time.”

“No I don’t,” he grumbled. 

“Then I guess we’ll all die!” Wei Wuxian chirped, already wandering off. 

“I suppose I did ask for it,” Jiang Cheng admitted, once his brother was well out of earshot. He raised his eyebrows at me. “Ready?” 

I spent the next few hours working to hold myself steady while Jiang Cheng performed increasingly horrifying tricks on his sword. Apparently it wasn’t enough to hold still while he lurched from a complete standstill to top speed or took sharp turns. I was also subjected to dips, dives, and sudden drops. The drops, it turned out, could not be learned. Jiang Cheng maintained his connection to Sandu through a drop with qi. I just fell. 

Meng Yao showed up somewhere in the middle of this carnival of nightmares. He’d brought the ink, brushes, and paint, along with two empty qiankun bags. “I realized that you might not have known to ask for these, but they’re essential for travel. Their size is deceiving—each one has a substantial capacity,” he explained, and I didn’t have the heart to interrupt him. Meng Yao had been thrown into cultivator society, too, and must have wished so often for just this sort of simple, basic explanation. 

The paradox of Meng Yao. His thoughtfulness didn’t surprise me at all, but neither would a knife in the back have surprised me. Truly, human nature can be so complex. 

After Jiang Cheng was satisfied, I spent the rest of the day drawing grids on the fresh stack of paper, using my ruler and a whole stick of the precious lead in my mechanical pencil. I emptied my backpack into one of the qiankun pouches, thrilled when it really did hold everything, and reserved the other for the supplies from Meng Yao. 

Next stop: Qishan.

Chapter Text

The combination of Wei Wuxian’s interval flares and my camera worked really well. We got into a rhythm that covered ground faster than I could believe. I showed Wei Wuxian how to use my compass (“How does this work?” “Magnets.” “What’s a magnet?” “Um. I don’t… really… understand magnets very well.”), so first he’d check the direction and release the flare. Then Jiang Cheng would ferry me to the glowing red ball, where I’d snap photos in every direction. By the time I finished, Wei Wuxian would be ready with the next flare. 

On my own, I can walk a maximum of twenty miles in a day. Ten is more my speed. And those ten miles are all along a narrow track, Point A to Point B. I fill out my maps in tiny chunks, expanding them as I crisscross a region. It’s slow and fussy.

Jiang Cheng, Wei Wuxian and I were covering almost ten miles in an hour. We were canvassing the whole region, methodically. When their spiritual energy began to flag, they’d ground us and I’d start sketching. For the first time, I collected data faster than I could synthesize it. I couldn’t draw fast enough. 

I left Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian to worry about the danger—which was constant. We moved quickly because every second we spent in enemy territory was a terrible risk. Someone had to be awake at all times, keeping watch. We ate dry travel rations and never built a fire. We got into a few fights, mostly with fierce corpses. They were everywhere in Qishan. You'd think that Wen Ruohan would want to spare his people the horror and the danger. But it was the opposite. The closer we got to Nightless City, the more fierce corpses roamed the land. 

"Do you see that?" Wei Wuxian said one night, huddled at the mouth of the cave where we'd set up camp.

Jiang Cheng approached willingly enough, but ducked once he saw where Wei Wuxian's finger pointed and angrily smacked his brother across the back of his head. "Warn me next time! What if they'd spotted me, standing around like an idiot?" 

I crept up last, almost crawling. We'd been directed to look at an encampment of Brilliant Alliance soldiers, and my first thought was that I, too, would like to be gathered around a crackling campfire with a drink to keep me warm.

"Look for fierce corpses," Wei Wuxian directed. "I've seen three now. They walk past the camp like it's not there." 

"Huh." I searched the dim outskirts of the camp. Outside of a large pitched battle, when Wen Ruohan directed the fierce corpses himself, they weren't very smart. As far as I could tell, they shambled around more or less at random and attacked anything warm-blooded. Seeing them pass by a whole camp full of likely targets was, indeed, noteworthy. 

"I'm going to take a closer look," said Wei Wuxian.

"Oh, no you don't." Jiang Cheng grabbed at the back of Wei Wuxian's robes. "You'll stay right here where it's safe." 

Wei Wuxian danced nimbly out of reach. "Give me an hour." 

"I'm not giving you anything, you idiot!" Jiang Cheng hissed. "Stay put!" 

"There." I pointed. "Right by the clothesline. A fierce corpse." 

A pause, as Jiang Cheng looked and Wei Wuxian escaped. 

"Dammit," Jiang Cheng snapped. "Did you do that on purpose?" 

"It really is ignoring all the soldiers," I said, somewhat apologetically.

"If he dies out there, I'll gut you and leave the fucking fierce corpses to find you and finish you off," Jiang Cheng threatened, slipping inside the cave. "Careless idiots, both of you." 

A little more than an hour later, Wei Wuxian returned, almost skipping with glee. "They've got an array," he sing-songed. "Now I have the array." He hopped over to his brother and ruffled Jiang Cheng's hair. "And I'm such a good brother that when I figure out how to win the war, I won't mention how you tried to stop me." 

Jiang Cheng slapped his hand away. "You sure talk big, Wei Wuxian." 

The rest of the trip went smoothly, maps filling out by the day, until out last night together. I'd shuffled in and out of a small town to buy food for the three of us that afternoon—I'd been the one to go because as a woman and a non-cultivator, I attracted the least attention. I made the mistake of buying steamed buns, since they weren't too messy, and regretted it when we finally sat down to eat them cold. 

Jiang Cheng took a bite out of his and then, in startled realization, pointed right at me. “I remember where I met you!” 

Oh no. “I really don’t think—”

“You gave me a steamed bun. I remember.” Jiang Cheng turned to Wei Wuxian, who listened with interest. “It was after the Xuanwu cave,” he explained. “I walked all the way to Lotus Pier to get help for your sorry carcass. Right before I reached the lake, I passed by a woman sitting on a log. She called out to me but I knew if I stopped moving for even a second, I wouldn’t be able to start again. I was that tired. I ignored her, but then she threw a steamed bun at me.” He looked down at the bun he’d just bitten into and finished, more quietly, “It helped.” 

Which was really sweet, but. “I’m not sure—”

“Maiden An,” Wei Wuxian cut in, sharp. “Don’t lie.” 

I fell silent. 

“Thank you for your kindness to my shidi,” he added, softer. “Though I wonder what brought you to Lotus Pier at that time?” 

I shrugged. 

“That must have been when you were making all those maps,” Wei Wuxian deduced. “Right after Cloud Recesses burned. Right before Lotus Pier itself was attacked.” 

I winced. The timing was suspicious. And, you know. In this case, the smoke led directly to a fire. I was not innocent here. 

“What are you saying?” Jiang Cheng demanded. “She gave me a steamed bun. She didn’t—I don’t even know what you’re suggesting—do you think she led the Wens to Lotus Pier? The location isn’t exactly a secret.” 

“She made a map of our patrol routes.”

I buried my face in my hands. My heart beat so wildly that each hard thump was actually painful. “Did the Wens act like they knew your patrol routes?” 

A pause, but I was panicking too hard to look up. 

“They didn’t,” Jiang Cheng said, but not—I thought—to me. His next words confirmed it. “Wei Wuxian, they didn’t. They blundered in like… like crazed beasts. No thought, no planning. You remember what we said, afterwards? How strange it was? The battle could not have gone worse for them.” 

“Then why lie?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “Huh? Maiden An? Why lie?” 

I raised my head, just barely. “For one thing, you ruin a small kindness by bringing it up again later. Or trying to trade on it. It was a single steamed bun, almost worthless. Young Master Jiang’s attention is valuable. I would not presume.” 

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. He recognized a dodge when he heard one. 

“I don’t have a better answer for you,” I added. 

“What is it you’re hiding? What could be so bad that even when you’re caught red handed you weasel around—” Wei Wuxian threw up his hands. “I don’t understand. I need you to explain. We have given you every opportunity—”

“Let me ask you a question,” I cut in, sure of myself in a way that carried through to my voice. “Do you only hide your misdeeds? If you were forced to share your secrets, would they be a litany of crimes and betrayals?” 

Wei Wuxian jerked back as though he’d been slapped. 

“What’s she talking about?” Jiang Cheng demanded. 

“How?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “How could you possibly—?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I dropped my face back into my palms. “Explaining wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t solve anything. It's not going to happen.” 

I doubt my whining was at all persuasive. They dropped the subject because I’d made it clear that I wouldn’t answer willingly. Maybe at some point they’d progress to threats, or worse, but not today. 

The conversation made it clear that my time with the Sunshot alliance—and my access to its leaders—was running out. Right now, my maps were so valuable that they’d set aside their very active suspicions. But I intended to keep my secrets, and eventually (once they had what they wanted, and I didn't have anything more to give) the balance would tip. 

Killing Wen Zhuliu had been a longshot, but going toe to toe with Meng Yao would be suicide. All the canon characters I’d met so far had found me suspicious, so I had to assume Meng Yao would intuit more and react faster. He’d outsneak and outmaneuver me—he’d foil my plans before I’d made them.

If I had any advantage here, it was the ticking clock. My window of opportunity with the Sunshot campaign might be closing, but the war wasn’t nearly over. Unlike Meng Yao, I could afford to burn all my bridges. If that was what it took, I could do it. 

When we returned to Hedong, I carried the maps to headquarters myself. A few people—including Meng Yao—offered to take them off my hands, but I made a fuss. I’d done the work, I wanted the credit. I’d earned the right to deliver them to Zewu-Jun personally. 

This is the sort of behavior I find very silly. I hadn’t done all the work, and I didn’t care about the credit. But it worked! Within an hour of presenting myself at headquarters, I was standing in Lan Xichen’s presence and I still had all of my maps. 

His face lit up when he saw me, which was nice. But I ruined it by scooting close and saying, “I need to speak with you in private,” which wiped his expression back to neutral. 

Even after he cleared the room, I didn’t trust the walls not to have ears. “Do you have silencing talismans?” 

His eyebrows notched up just a little, chiding. “Is that really necessary?” 

“I’d appreciate the added caution.” 

He set yellow talismans on all four walls. Hopefully they were the silencing talismans I’d asked for, but it’s not like I could check. Then he looked at me expectantly. I opened my mouth—I’d been rehearsing what I’d say all day—but the words wouldn’t come, so I started pacing. 

“Okay,” I said. “Okay. You really like Meng Yao, right?” 

Lan Xichen’s polite mask got just that little bit frostier. “I do, yes.” 

“He’s got so many good qualities, right? He’s smart and thoughtful and surprisingly brave. Really talented, and a hard worker, and empathetic. Give him a chance, and he shines.” 

Lan Xichen shifted his weight. A small sign, but I’d gotten him off balance. “You capture him well.” 

“And you trust him,” I continued. “He’s proven himself to you—proven his loyalties—stood by you at your lowest. You’re not going to doubt him.” 

Lan Xichen sifted through this for a minute. No doubt he could see where I was headed, and I was flattered that he bothered to weigh his reply. In the end, a little of his mask fell away. He looked a little less aloof, a little sharper. 

“He has proven himself,” Lan Xichen agreed. “As you, Maiden An, have not.” 

“I’m not going to ask you to trust me.” I knew I hadn’t earned it. “And—look. I hope you’re right about him. I would actually be thrilled if you were right. If he’s figured out that his father is a nasty piece of work, and he’s truly let go of the need for legitimacy and approval, and he’s realized that he’d actually be way better off hitching his wagon to your star than Jin Guangshan’s? That would be amazing.” 

I paused, scrubbed at my face, sighed. “But I need you to consider the possibility that none of those things are true. And I have come up with a test—you’ll be the one to carry it out, and you’ll be the only person who sees the results. If I’m wrong and he’s really yours, he won’t lose any face.” 

Waiting for Lan Xichen’s reply was excruciating. I felt like a rubber band, stretching closer and closer to the breaking point. 

“You know exactly which words to use, don’t you?” Lan Xichen asked, bitterly. 

“I did spend the past few days choosing them.” 

“I will hear you out.” 

I knelt at the nearest table, then set the stack of maps on top of it. “The mapping excursion went really well. Wei Wuxian’s interval flare worked so much better than my pedometer, and traveling by sword is so much faster than walking. Excepting the area in and around Nightless City, we mapped all of Qishan.” 

He knelt opposite, on the other side of the table. I could tell that habit compelled him to say something polite, like ’thank you’ or ‘good job’, but the words were stuck in his throat. It was my first clue that he was angry. 

“Present the mapmaking excursion as a success, but don’t share all of the maps. We covered so much ground that no one would ever guess that you’ve held any back. It’s up to you how many and which ones. Don’t tell me. Don’t tell anyone, if you can help it. If my theory is right, if Meng Yao is compromised, then he’ll pass your half-truth to the Brilliant Alliance. 

“Then you test what they know… and what they don’t know. Whatever you can come up with works, but I want to suggest at least one method. Any encounters you have with Jin Zixun in areas where Meng Yao has access to the new maps will be… the sort you’ve come to expect. Fights against a challenging strategist. 

“Meanwhile, look for an opportunity to confront Jin Zixun in one of the areas I’ve mapped, that Meng Yao hasn’t seen. Seek an encounter that you’re able to prepare for, which no spy could prepare him for, and you’ll meet a very different Jin Zixun. He will be clumsy and rash, with no strategy to speak of.” 

Lan Xichen flicked a glance down at the maps, then up at me. “Are you a Jin?” 

“No.”  

“One of Jin Guangshan’s bastards?” 

“Not that I’m aware.” I laid my hand on my thigh, palm up. A gesture of sincerity. “I know you won't thank me for this, no matter what you discover. If I’m right, it’ll be worth it. If I’m wrong… well, I’m the only one who needs to worry about that. Easy choice.”

Lan Xichen sat on that for a bit. “Perhaps I will administer your test. Perhaps not. At your request, I will not keep you informed.” He picked up the maps and somehow made them vanish into his sleeve. He smiled so blandly it felt like a slap. “You may go.”

Chapter Text

The confrontation rattled me. Big choices often did, and I’d just passed a point of no return. But that wasn’t all. Making Xichen angry had made me queasy. Sick at heart. Which was stupid! I couldn’t worry about his precious fee-fees. And how deep could they really be, if he’d turn on Meng Yao in a future where their relationship had had years to grow stronger? 

I spent some time meditating—pretending to meditate, really. Trying to make peace with my situation and, instead, focusing obsessively on all my mistakes. Revisiting everything I’d done since Wei Wuxian first knocked on my door and imagining myself making better choices. 

At least the fallout here would be on me. It itched at me, after killing Wen Zhuliu, that other people were living with the consequences of my choice while I remained untouched. I’d known that preserving Wei Wuxian’s core might make the whole war longer and bloodier, and that’s a pretty ugly choice. Then I stayed away from the front lines, blissful in my ignorance. 

This time, as far as I could tell, if I’d made a mistake I’d be the one to pay for it. If Meng Yao were exposed early, that could only be good, right? And if he passed the test, maybe he really had picked a different side this time around. I could live with that, even if the consequences for me personally were dire.

Or maybe neither. I’d always figured that Meng Yao liked spying on Wen Ruohan because it gave him the opportunity to side with the winner, whoever that happened to be. The same might hold true here and now. If the Brilliant Alliance won, he’d get credit for spying… and maybe for a final, impactful backstabbing, if he could manage it. If the Sunshot alliance emerged victorious, he’d ride his current position into the sunset. 

Maybe he’d pass my test, I’d suffer some terrible punishment, and then Meng Yao would still betray Sunshot in the end. The dreaded lose/lose. 

When I finally opened my eyes, night had fallen and Lan Wangji was sitting right beside me, also meditating. I made a startled little noise, and he opened his eyes. 

“I’ve spoken with my brother, and also with Wei Ying,” he told me in a neutral tone. “I will take you to the Unclean Realm.” 

“Right now?” I guessed. 

Wangji nodded. 

So somehow, over the last few hours, the tide had turned against me. Meng Yao? Or just a regular garden variety personal failure? Who knew. Lan Wangji certainly wouldn’t tell me. “What if I asked you to drop me off somewhere else? I could disappear, get out of your hair...?” 

“I would refuse.” 

“Figures.” Lan Wangji was a known stickler for rules. “I haven’t unpacked, so I’m ready when you are.” 

He unsheathed Bichen and set it afloat, stepped onto the blade, and we were off to the Unclean Realm. Which was exactly as grim as you'd expect: I was escorted from the severe, stone-clad entrance hall to a colorless, windowless, underground dungeon and politely locked inside my very own cell.  

To give credit where it was due, the Nies kept their dungeon clean. It didn’t smell. I didn’t see a single rat and only a few cockroaches. An adequate quantity of reasonably-fresh straw covered the raised stone slab that served me as a bed, so I didn’t have to sleep on the ground. The food was edible, and I never felt more than a twinge of hunger. 

On the con side: the bars allowed anyone to see in, a small tin bucket served as a toilet, and everything about that was awful. 

I still had all my stuff, so it was back to reading and yoga. Reading and yoga felt a lot less like a vacation from the inside of a windowless cell. Time passed slowly, and my patience wore thin. I didn’t feel like I deserved to rot in a dungeon but, I reminded myself, hardly anyone who came to a bad end in this saga deserved it. 

Things could be worse, I told myself. And then, as though I’d jinxed myself, they did get worse.

The dungeon had been dug into the ground and, like most underground spaces, maintained an even temperature through day and night. Cool, a little chilly. I’d only been supplied with a single thin blanket and I don’t sleep very well when I’m cold—the best I ever manage is a light doze—which ended up saving my life. Because when I heard a soft clink of metal on metal, I startled awake.

I opened my eyes to see a man in Nie sect colors fitting a key into the door of my cell. I didn’t recognize him, and he’d come in the wee hours of the morning. 

“What are you doing?” I asked, in a normal tone of voice.

The man jumped. Looked around cagily. Then he pressed tight against the bars of my cell and hissed, “Quiet! I’m breaking you out!” 

There was nothing obviously, visibly off about him, but no part of me believed that he had come to break me out. I couldn’t explain my reaction. It wasn’t logical. Just pure instinct, an internal warning system too loud to be ignored. 

He was still fiddling with the lock, so I had a tiny tiny tiny opportunity to react. I reached into my qiankun bag, unzipped my pen case, and felt around for the brushed steel of my emergency whistle. I raised it to my lips as the tumblers clicked, sucked in a breath as my pseudo-savior eased open the (well-maintained, properly oiled and, alas, quiet) door, and blew.

His reaction was almost funny. Like, he was not prepared for a shrill, piercing noise that went on and on and on. He started to lunge at me, realized before his leading foot even hit the ground that cornering himself in a dungeon cell with actual, real Nie guards on the way was a terrible idea, and tried to reverse course midair. All his limbs tried to move in different directions. 

This all happened in a flash. He quickly scrambled out of view from my cell, an alarm echoed from somewhere above ground, I heard shouts, and then the sound of feet slapping on stone. 

I didn’t stop blowing my whistle until a trio of Nie sect guards skidded to a halt in front of my cell, baffled and wary. I could only listen as the shouting got louder and more chaotic. The guy had been dressed to blend in. He might have gotten free. 

Eventually, the captain of the guard arrived. She was not happy to be awake, and it showed. She peppered me with angry questions: “Who was that man?” “Where did he get his Nie robes?” “How did you contact him?” She took it for granted that we’d been in cahoots and did not care to hear otherwise. 

I took this as a sign that Meng Yao had decided I was worth his attention. 

After that, life in the dungeon was terrifying. Presumably, Meng Yao had risen up the Nie ranks in this world. He must have known the Unclean Realm inside and out. So long as I remained, I'd be a fish in a barrel. 

A couple of days after the event I’d started calling (to myself, since I had no one else to talk to) an assassination attempt, I was moved from the standard-issue, fairly tolerable dungeon cell into a bamboo cage at the edge of what seemed to be a training yard. It offered exactly zero privacy and there were always people around—guards passed me on their patrol routes, guards stationed at a nearby gatehouse could see me, people going about whatever unrelated business that took them through the training yard glanced my way as they bustled on by. 

It was horrific. I had nothing to do besides stew, so this is what I deduced inside my increasingly-addled mind: news of the assassination attempt/failed breakout had reached Sunshot headquarters. Meng Yao, as Lan Xichen’s top aide, would have been fully within his rights to handle minor matters himself, rather than passing them on to Lan Xichen. He’d just been doing his job when he responded to the news about my 'escape attempt'. He'd probably returned a perfunctory request to tighten security. Maybe he’d made a suggestion as to how, but only because he knew the Unclean Realm so well. 

Result? Now I was suffering and also exposed. Easier pickings. 

I still had my Swiss army knife, and I used it during the wee hours when the population had thinned and the guards, while present, weren’t quite as alert. It took me about ten minutes of furtive cutting with the serrated saw tool to put a visible scratch on the bamboo. I kept at it, even though it seemed hopeless, because I didn’t have anything better to do.

It took about a week to cut two bamboo bars clean through. My serrated saw tool lost its edge but I kept going, even though I doubted it would do me any good. But then it started to rain, and the Nie guards were all babies about it. They wore hoods that obscured their vision, huddled inside their gatehouse, kept drifting away from their posts to warm their hands on sheltered braziers. 

By that time, I knew all the rotations. I’d had nothing to do for the last week but memorize them. I took my chance, kicked at the two bamboo bars I’d sliced until I’d made a gap that I could push myself through, and I ran.

Chapter Text

I figured the rain would make me hard to track, so even though I was wet and miserable, I pushed myself hard. I tried every trick I could think of, mostly gleaned from books and movies. If I saw a stream, I’d walk through it for a while. I veered toward rocky terrain, which wouldn’t hold a footprint like soft dirt. I avoided roads, villages, and farms. 

I was so proud of myself for making my escape, and evading pursuit (fingers crossed), that it took me a while to face the reality that I’d made myself pretty sick in the process. 

I mean, obviously. I was on my feet for a night and a day and a night again, while soaking wet. I got a fever, then a painful, phlegmy cough, a runny nose. I only ate what I could forage, which was nothing. Grass. A couple of crab-like creatures. I had no idea how to identify poisonous vegetation in Xianxia-land. Hunger made me lightheaded and messed with my sense of direction.

I did have aspirin—six of them, three single-use plastic packets with two pills each. I took all six, and made myself sicker. Aspirin suppressed the symptoms, which helped me do more damage to my health, to wear myself down even more. 

It started as a cold, just a cold, and eventually it dawned on me that I might not survive it. By the time I stumbled into a village I had no idea where I was, how long I’d been on the run, whose territory I was in. All of those questions seemed distant and difficult. I’d toppled all the way down Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs to the very base of the pyramid. 

The innkeeper told me that if I wanted a room, I’d have to pay in advance. I did not blame him. I looked like I’d been rolled in glue and dragged through a garbage dump. Luckily, I still had the generous payment from that initial delivery for Wei Wuxian. I handed over enough coins for a week’s stay and asked for food and a bath to be sent up. 

I ate ravenously, but my stomach revolted and sent most of it back up. I tried again. Took tiny sips of water with trembling hands. Made myself chew each bite twenty times before swallowing. Tears drenched my face and dripped off my chin by the time I finished my meal, squeezed out by a mixture of agony and relief. 

Eating exhausted me, or maybe it allowed me to feel my exhaustion. I wanted to bathe, but couldn’t make myself get in the tub. Nor could I bear to drag my filthy body onto the clean bed. So I fell asleep on the floor, and woke with a shaking fever. 

Whole days passed in a blur. I drank tea, slept, ate, drank tea, slept, drank tea, ate. My room had a window but the view outside of it seemed to shuffle like a slide reel, day and night trading places at random.

By the time I braved the tea room, still pathetically weak but desperate to get out of my own head for a while, the world had changed. Everyone was talking about how the Sunshot alliance had fought a great battle in Qishan, and killed Jin Zixun. 

I raised a glass and tried not to feel bitter. Three cheers for me. Hip hip hurray. One more thing changed for the better, with my help. Probably. 

Then the door opened, a Lan disciple walked in, and I realized I'd been celebrating way too early. I returned to my room, gathered my things, and since I was only one story above ground, I left via the window. I followed the road out of town, because I simply wasn't strong enough to make my way cross country, and hitched a ride on a cart from a sympathetic merchant. 

Around sunset, we reached a town. I tipped the merchant, even though my funds were dwindling, and took a room at the inn. We were still in Qinghe, which stung. I felt like I been on an epic journey but... on foot, sick, unable to travel in a straight line? Turns out, I hadn't gone far at all.

And I needed money to keep moving. Unfortunately, it turns out that no one wants to hire a sickly courier. I couldn't blame them—I wouldn't have hired me, in my condition. So it was back to scribing, which didn’t pay as well, so I had to do more of it in order to make ends meet. Working long hours dragged out my illness. I didn’t have the energy to exercise, my diet was mostly carbs, my cough had acquired a worrisome rattling quality… 

‘Escape’, I was discovering, wasn't something I could do and then put behind me. As an action, it was less past perfect and more present continuous. You could even call it a fundamentally imperfect activity, ba dum shhhhh. (That was a grammar joke.) I was proud of how far I’d come but it wasn't enough. I knew it wasn't enough.

Anyway, I woke up one morning with my head in Lan Xichen’s lap, breathing in the smell of rain. He was combing his fingers through my hair. Since when was that allowed? I stiffened but couldn’t make myself object. I’d been feeling so alone. 

“Rest,” said Lan Xichen. “You are not well.” 

My sigh of acknowledgment ended in a slight rattle. 

“I owe you the most profound apology for what I saw in the Unclean Realm,” he continued. “For sending you at all. It was a choice I made in anger. But I had never intended—would never have tolerated, even for a moment—your transfer to that cage. I didn’t know.” 

“Well, you’re good at that,” I pointed out. “Not knowing.” 

His hand stilled. 

I levered myself upright and massaged my temples to ease the dizziness. Sitting up normally didn’t make me dizzy, but eh. 

Xichen moved gracefully to the table, where a pot of tea waited. He poured a cup and brought it over. “Is there anything I can do to make amends?”

“Be a different person?” I suggested, taking the cup. The tea tasted complicated and herby—not like tea at all. More like medicine. Which I badly needed. “Sorry, that was unkind.”

“It was,” he agreed, fetching another cup since I’d emptied the first. “But you meant it, didn’t you?” 

“You think this is who you are.” I tapped the simple porcelain cup before taking another sip, already feeling better. Breathing more easily, thinking more clearly. “Thoughtful, humble, productive. A whole bouquet of virtues. But when I was in that cage, I knew I’d have to get myself out or die, and I think that’s who you are. You care, but it never matters when it counts.” 

Xichen leaned close, the fingers of one graceful hand tiptoeing up my neck from clavicle to chin, angling it exactly as though he were about to kiss me. He did not kiss me. He looked down at me through gleaming, low-lidded eyes and held me in his thrall, completely mesmerized. 

“Sometimes I wonder how you know so much, and sometimes I marvel that you see so little,” he said, without any bite at all. “Least of all yourself.”

“Wow,” I said, completely sincere. “Knives out, I guess.” 

Xichen laughed—one of the real ones?—and sat back on his heels. “I try to meet people where they are.”  

“Ouch.” 

His smile turned a little sly. “Mm. But I didn’t come to trade barbs.” He fetched another cup of tea, finally emptying the pot, and resumed his seat. “I thought to make you an offer, actually. Or—I should say—offer you a choice. If you wish to keep your distance from myself, and the war in general, I can send you to my home in Gusu. Few non-cultivators have the opportunity to spend time at the Cloud Recesses. It’s a beautiful place, even in its current state, and you would enjoy both comfort and leisure there.” He folded his hands together in his lap. “But you would rather remain in the thick of things, wouldn’t you?” 

I hesitated. “Maybe.” 

“I am currently in need of a senior aide. The position would suit you."

“Senior aide?” I repeated, dumbfounded. “Does that mean… Meng Yao?” 

"You were right about him. The test you suggested proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt." He looked down, lashes shielding his eyes from view. "He denied it, when I confronted him, and I wanted badly... Not to know. Exactly as you said. I wanted not to know. But I had just returned from the Unclean Realm, I read the letters he sent regarding your treatment—" 

"Gee, I'm glad that my near-death experience could buck up your courage," I drawled. 

"It should not have happened, and I should not have needed..." He drifted off, which was odd. He spoke easily, but chose his words with care. "I am in your debt. The entire Sunshot alliance is in your debt." 

"What does that mean, exactly?" I wondered. "If I asked you to let me go—to pretend you'd never found me, and to stop looking—would you?" 

"Yes. If that is what you wish." He shot me a very direct, very confident look. Almost a smirk. "Is that what you wish?" 

No. Ugh. How did he know that, though?

The almost-smirk broadened into a satisfied smile. "My aides are well compensated—the senior aide especially. You'll be encouraged to sit in on high-level meetings, or even attend them in my stead. You'll have access to confidential communiqués, free rein in our encampments, access to archived correspondence—"

"Okay, yes, I want the job," I interrupted, before I started drooling.

"Wonderful. Welcome. We're glad to have you." He paused. "Of course, having recently been given a harsh lesson on the value of caution, I need you to answer a question for me, first." 

Of course there was a catch. I should have seen that one coming from a mile away. "What question?" 

“You refuse to discuss your family, your home, your personal history. So be it; you’ve certainly offered proof that you’re from a distant land. But that only makes your interest in the war harder to understand—and if you try even once to deny your interest, this conversation is over. What is your goal, Maiden An? What is your desired outcome?” 

“I want the Sunshot alliance to win the war,” I said, to start with something easy. “If you win, I want the conquered sects to be treated well.” A fairly anodyne sentiment, but difficult to achieve. A good reason to stay close to Lan Xichen, too. “I’d like to see Jin Guangshan dead or removed from power.” 

“What else?” 

“About the war? Nothing that I—”

“What else?” Xichen repeated, more sharply.

“Well…” I looked down at my fingernails and tried not to squirm. “If there were a way to separate Wei Wuxian from Madam Yu without ruining his relationship with his siblings, I’d encourage it. Like, as an example, marriage.” 

Xichen blinked. “To you?” 

“No. Absolutely not. What even—?” The thought was so abhorrent I couldn’t hold it in my head. My brain spat it right back out. “To your brother.” 

That was why I’d mentioned it at all. Because he was offering me a position that might allow me to nudge things along, and it would be pretty underhanded to go behind his back. The trust exercise was working on me, I guess. Point to Lan Xichen.

Xichen blinked. Again. “To Wangji?” 

“Obviously?”  

“This is a concern of yours?” 

“I realize it’s not my business at all,” I admitted. “But you asked.” 

Xichen rubbed the little furrow that had appeared between his brows. “And now you have planted the idea in my mind.” 

I did my best imitation of Xichen’s placid smile. Point to me, maybe? 

He noticed the mimicry and his gaze warmed. “Make ready to travel. While you prepare, I'll fetch more tea." 

Chapter Text

“I’ve already been away too long, so we’ll have to move quickly.” Xichen unsheathed Shuoyue and set it afloat. He helped me into place behind him but when I grabbed the ball of his shoulder as I had in the past, he peeled my hand loose and swung my arm underneath his, then wrapped it around his broad chest. It changed the touch from a practical necessity into an embrace, where every nervous clutch would press my breasts against his back. 

I laugh-snorted—it was not the most subtle move I had ever been a party to. I guessed I was going to be, like, his secretary that he wanted to fuck? Was that my new role here? Not exactly aspirational, but what the hell. It could be fun for a while. 

To my delight, his ears began to turn red. “Don’t mock."

“Too late,” I chirped, but held on tighter to balance the insult.

Most of us develop a neutral headspace we can default to when touching people for non-sexy reasons. The gynecologist headspace, the locker room at the gym headspace, the full-body clutch with a platonic friend on a log ride headspace. You could call it the ‘let’s not make this weird’ headspace, and I’d been doing my best. At least 80% not weird about clinging to a sublime physical specimen for hours at a time. 

Okay, 70%. Still, a passing grade in not making it weird.

It was different, flying so close to someone after I’d been invited to enjoy it. Instead of holding myself stiff, I relaxed into the support of his body, warm and human under all the ethereal layers of silk. When my arms tired and sagged, I'd wriggle them back up over the swell of his pecs. I rested my cheek against the flat plane of his shoulder blade and sank into the moment, the height and the speed, the complicated world that looked so pristine from above, the butterflies tickling my stomach, light and ecstatic. 

By the time we descended on a new encampment tucked into a sheltered valley amidst the rocky mountains of Qishan, I was half-drunk with arousal. Buzzing and sleepy, dreamy and over-alert. I was not in any way ready for a handful of panicked Lan disciples to descend upon us the moment we landed. The whole camp was in an uproar, actually, people swarming around like a hive of angry bees, shouting at one another or right into the thin air. 

“Sect Leader, your aide has vanished in the night—”

“All our foodstores have been ruined! There’s sand mixed in with the rice, manure in every jar of oil, fruit crushed with lye—”

“Your tent has been disturbed, but we can’t assess the damage. Only Meng Yao would know what is missing, but Meng Yao is also missing—”

“The quartermaster’s records were burned, all our inventories of all our supplies are lost—“

“I am to blame for this,” confessed Lan Xichen, gutted. “I had recently obtained proof that Meng Yao had been spying for the Jin. But he saved my life once—in truth, saying he saved it only once understates the truth. In the weeks after Cloud Recesses burned I owed my survival to him dozens of times. Because I owed him a life debt, I told him what I knew and asked him to leave. I told him that he had until my return to seek safety elsewhere.” 

In exchange for this kindness, Meng Yao had spent his grace period preparing a lovely parting gift. 

Lan Xichen appeared lost, so I stepped in as best as I could. “Send everyone who has a designated work station in camp to their place and have each one make a report of what they find. What’s missing, what’s damaged, what’s salvageable. Every disciple who doesn’t have a work station should wait at their pallet for further instruction. 

“Is Wei Wuxian here?” I wondered. 

“No,” answered one of the Lan disciples. “He and Lan Wangji have left for Yunmeng. There's been trouble near the border with Lanling.” 

“Can you think of anyone who is here who’s particularly creative? Troublemakers, maybe, people who have ten wild ideas for everyone else’s one?” 

The disciple gave me an odd look. 

“Find the first three that come to mind and bring them here.” 

They were brought, a Nie girl and a pair of Jiang boys, and I told them to brainstorm ideas about damage that Meng Yao had done, or might yet do, that wouldn't turn up in a survey of the camp. “Did he send letters in the past few days? To who? Could he have ordered the release of valuable prisoners, committed to ruinous purchases, sent talented cultivators on a wild goose chase…? List everything you can think of—the nastier the better—and we’ll follow up, to see if Meng Yao had any of the same ideas.” 

I visited the disciples waiting at their pallets and delegated tasks one by one, making notes as I went. One to collect finished reports from the workstations, another to send alerts to other encampments, a third to arrange a meal, by whatever means he could. And then I retreated to the spacious white tent that served as a sort of mobile administrative office for the Lan, in order to coordinate everything. 

Much, much later Lan Xichen stepped inside. His shoulders slumped, his head hung low, he'd gone as gray as old newsprint. He seemed surprised to see me, though I'd been glued to the spot for hours at that point.

"You need to rest," he said, with obvious effort. He had been pretty useless all day, mooning about and making sad cow eyes at anyone who went to him with a request. 

I looked at the paperwork spread across my new desk. I’d been reading through the finished reports, writing up a summary, working up a rough timeline of Meng Yao’s activities over the last few days. 

“Soon,” I promised.

“Now,” he replied. “Not a suggestion.” 

I wanted to protest, but I’d reached the stage where my vision kept blurring no matter how many times I tried to rub my eyes clear. Giving in, I tidied up while Lan Xichen hovered by his own desk.

“You must think me the worst sort of fool,” he said, watching me clean my calligraphy brush. “To let this happen, given all I knew.” 

“I don’t,” I answered. And yeah, it surprised me too. “You couldn’t have done anything else. I can’t even bring myself to wish you’d done anything else.” 

He flicked a wry smile at me. “But you wish you could wish? I understand that.” 

“I’m not even sure of that.” I propped my elbow on my knee and my cheek on my palm, too tired to maintain proper posture and think at the same time. “You weren’t wrong. You weren’t wrong to value his strengths, or repay his kindness. All the good qualities you saw in him were real. But even if they weren’t, even if his motives were suspect from the start, a debt is a debt.” 

For some reason, this just made him sadder. “So there is no lesson to learn?” 

The problem was that I could fast forward to where all the obvious lessons went wrong. Even the ones I was tempted to draw myself. I wasn’t going to tell him Your very best qualities are liabilities. Ditch them. That way lay a permissive attitude toward war crimes, a known danger. I couldn’t say It’s great that you’re a loving and compassionate person but sometimes you need to ignore those impulses in favor of someone else’s harsh judgment without picturing Lan Wangji getting whipped. 

I’d figured something out, in between scrubbing the silk carpet Meng Yao had ruined by pouring water over shattered inkstones and tallying the cost of replacing two hundred pairs of ruined shoes. Lan Xichen’s utter failure at Guanyin Temple hadn’t been the moment that revealed the truth of his character, the way that Wei Wuxian's sacrifice of his golden core revealed the truth of his character. It had been the moment when he lost himself, the way the massacre at Nightless City had been the moment when Wei Wuxian lost himself. For both that moment of crisis had been the final crack in a character rendered fragile by years of slow erosion.

Xichen was a social, gregarious man who’d found himself increasingly isolated. He was a consensus builder who liked to meet people where they were, at a time when most of his peers were living in the gutter. He was a synthesizer of thoughts and ideas who’d been fed a steady diet of poison. How else could it have ended? 

“You can’t…” I struggled to put my thoughts into words. “You can’t come out of this doubting yourself. Some doubt is good! We should all doubt ourselves. But don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater.” 

“Throw what?” Lan Xichen interjected, horrified. 

“Nevermind. It’s just a saying. The—” 

“Is that a danger, where you’re from?” Xichen asked. “Accidentally discarding infants?” 

“I’ve never heard of it actually happening,” I assured him. “Though I suppose the saying must come from somewhere.” 

“Are your baths unusually large?” He wondered. “Or your babies unusually small?” 

“No, no..." I waved my hands, as though I could change the conversation by shooing it away. "The point of the saying is that you don’t want to get rid of the good with the bad. If learning the truth about Meng Yao leaves you unable to trust yourself, that’s just… one more item on the list of things he destroyed, that we needed, that were valuable.” 

“Ah.” His expression flattened. “You are kind.” 

“No, that’s really not it.” I reached for him, to hold his hand or something, thought better of it with my arm dangling in midair, and was not all all surprised when he darted out to catch it, squeezing harder than was comfortable. “Keep what’s good in yourself but then add something new, a thread to make the braid stronger. Think back on your time with Meng Yao. Were there moments when you overlooked something that he’d said or done, when you felt emotions you’d decided not to feel—because surely he faced enough contempt, enough doubt, without adding yours to it…?“

“Of course there were.” 

“And?” I pressed. 

“I was ashamed of myself,” he admitted. “I vowed to do better.” 

“Which is lovely—but I think that’s where you have work to do. How would you change those moments? The times when you saw clearly but dismissed the evidence of your own eyes and ears, when you ignored your instincts…” And then, because I couldn’t help myself. “It’s also a kindness to see a person completely, to fully understand their flaws and defects, and accept them in their entirety.” 

Which, hey, fun revelation time, was something I hadn’t been doing where Lan Xichen was concerned. He’d deserved better from me, from the very start, because I could have figured this out. I could have seen it, and been kinder. 

“Ah, Maiden An. What a journey you have taken today.” 

That startled a laugh out of me. “Yeah. I really have.”

“I will think on what you have said.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissed the knuckles. “Now rest.”

Chapter Text

The first surprise about my new job was that it would never have gone to a really gifted cultivator. Strong cultivators were too valuable to waste on desk work. It had suited Meng Yao for that reason (among others), and it suited me well enough. 

I didn’t have Meng Yao’s eidetic memory, but I did have a photo, video, and voice recorder. I didn’t have his nuanced understanding of social hierarchy or his manners… but I’d done my time in an office, and that gave me somewhere to start. Answer routine correspondence quickly. If Lan Xichen wanted something from someone, follow up so he didn’t have to. Chase down the slackers who were late with reports, compile information and present it clearly, flag irregularities for special attention. 

Admittedly, sometimes I was writing condolence letters or compiling casualty reports. That was how I found out that Jiang Fengmian had died, which knocked me sideways even though I’d never met the man. I cut open a letter, middle of the pile, flipped it open and—there it was, brief and to the point. 

Yu Ziyuan assumed leadership of the Jiang sect, at least through the end of the war. Her first notable act as Sect Leader was to recall Wei Wuxian from Lan Wangji’s side, even though the pair of them formed the single most effective team the Sunshot alliance had seen, so she could attach him to Jiang Cheng. 

Spiteful and counter-productive, typical of Yu Ziyuan, but she had the authority to carry her bad decisions through. 

Lan Xichen was gone at least half the time. A pretty substantial portion of my job consisted of being present in a place where people would look for him, so I could answer questions about where he’d gone and when I expected him to return. 

By the same token, it was my job to be present whenever Lan Xichen returned, so that I could answer questions about everything that had happened in his absence. He often returned late at night, outwardly as calm and pristine as ever, but in the absence of any urgent news he’d always choose first to spend time meditating or playing Liebing. 

Sometimes, when it was late but not too late, he’d call for tea and we’d chat for a while. Those evenings were, I have to admit, my favorites, and it must have showed because they happened more often as time went on. 

Eventually, on a particularly slow night, I felt comfortable enough to ask, “Do you want to hear some music from, er, my home?” 

He perked right up. “You play an instrument?” 

“Oh, no.” I made stop sign jazz hands to indicate how profoundly I did not play an instrument. “It’s on my phone.” 

He directed a dubious glance at the phone. 

I didn’t have a ton of classical music on my phone but I did have some and I figured it would go over better than more modern stuff. So I queued up a favorite of mine, Trois Gymnopédies by Erik Satie, and played it through.

“What is that instrument?” he asked, when it was done.

“It’s called a piano. It’s like… a big table, with ninety or so keys on it, and every time you press a key a hammer inside the table hits a metal cord…” 

“What are these keys you speak of? Why not strike the strings directly?” 

“Um…” 

“It is strange to me how often you appear baffled by the tools of your own land,” Lan Xichen observed. “Things that you use commonly, refer to with great familiarity, and yet the workings are a mystery to you.” 

“I guess it is strange,” I agreed. “There’s just so much to learn, you really have to pick and choose.” 

“Show me something you do understand,” Lan Xichen urged. “Something that would surprise me.” 

I cleared my desk, centered a sheet of blank paper on it. “Would you pose for me? Stay seated if you like, but hold out your arm as though you’re reaching for something. And twist your torso a little, like that, yes. Then hold still.”

“For how long?” he wondered. 

“I thought you Lans were good at holding difficult poses?” I returned, and began sketching. Horizon, vanishing point, head. Then move on to the shoulder, elbow, special attention to the elegant wrist. Knuckles, dextrous fingers of a musician, calluses of a swordsman. Backtrack to the neck and trunk, strong body only lightly suggested through the elegant robes. “The thing I find really fascinating is that almost everyone, if left to their own devices, tends to draw what they know and not what they see. A person has two eyes and two ears and two arms and our first impulse is always to draw them with two eyes and two ears and two arms. 

“The key to… this kind of drawing, what I’m doing now, starts with recognizing that there's a difference between the two. We're never seeing without interpreting. It's hard to ignore what you know to be true, to draw only what your eyes show you. I know that you have two arms, but from this perspective I only see one, so I only draw the one. I know that your head is larger than your fingers, but that’s not how it appears from my perspective. And here”—I sketched in a street behind him, roughly blocked in buildings that got smaller the closer they were to the vanishing point—“it’s the same principle, to create the impression of distance…” 

I flipped the drawing, wondering if I should color it. Lan Xichen leaned in to look and I braced myself for a comment on the portrait.

“This is how you convinced me to doubt Meng Yao,” he said, soft. “Everything about you changes when you speak with certainty. Your tone, your posture, the cadence of your speech. It’s unmistakable.” 

“I do wish I’d been wrong,” I said, apologetically.

“Hmm,” he answered, and tugged the picture a little closer. “May I keep this?” 

“Of course.” 

I tried other music, trying to stick to pieces that could be made without the use of electricity. He was pretty open-minded about it, to his credit, and had nice things to say about various quartets and instrumental tracks and folk songs. Maybe he was being politic. Then one day he saw me scrolling through my catalogue and asked, “Why do you skip over so many?” 

“You won’t like them,” I assured him. 

“What makes you so certain?” 

I pressed play on the first thing that struck me as totally Not Lan Xichen, which happened to be Oh! You Pretty Things by David Bowie. After a few seconds, he pushed the phone at me and said, “In future I will trust your judgment," which absolutely cracked me up. 

At one point he asked if I’d be interested in learning an instrument. I was about to agree, because it was such a fundamental mode of expression here, one of the few real joys to be found in a fairly grim military camp, something that could be solitary or shared. 

“I could teach you,” he added. 

“Oh, no,” I answered immediately, changing my mind on a dime. “You shouldn’t waste your time.” 

“Why would it be a waste of my time?” 

“I’m too old, and not musical enough—and not a cultivator—your time would be better spent—”

“Where it gives me pleasure,” he interrupted. “What instrument would you prefer?” 

I refused to answer, and thankfully he dropped it. 

By contrast, I almost never saw Lan Wangji. As in canon, he went where the chaos was and quickly earned the title Hanguang-Jun. When he did appear, stepping into Lan Xichen’s tent and finding me instead, he gave me increasingly dark looks. Once, after I’d politely informed him that his brother had taken a group of cultivators to seize a Jin supply caravan, Lan Wangji drifted over, peered at the letter I was writing, and said, “Your calligraphy is lifeless.” 

Which, to be fair, was true. I had a better than average ability to express my thoughts and ideas, but worse than average calligraphy. Something about my grasp of my native language had carried through during the transmigration—my easy fluency, yes, but also my terrible penmanship. 

Anyway, Lan Wangji was right but it also seemed like a weirdly rude and aggressive thing to say. 

“I doubt that’s going to change any time soon,” I told him, and continued writing. 

“And your posture is bad,” he added. 

I looked up, astonished. By his standards, sure, my posture must be terrible. But really? 

“I will find Brother,” Lan Wangji concluded, and swept out of the tent. 

Then Nie Mingjue killed Wen Xu, eliminating the last of Wen Ruohan’s sons and making almost a clean sweep of the Brilliant Alliance’s generals, yet the war wasn’t any closer to being won. As in canon, Wen Ruohan recovered from his losses by raising more dead. 

Nie Mingjue started making noises about sneaking into Wen Ruohan’s palace to kill him. If I hadn’t known how the attempt went in canon, I’d have been cheering him on. Given the state of the war, it sounded like a pretty damn good idea. Fighting the puppets was stupid and pointless. Better to head straight for the source of the problem, and take a chance on solving it.

Instead, I told anyone who would listen that it sounded awfully risky, and what if the planned assassination went wrong, could we really afford to lose our greatest military mind? Hmm? 

Of course, my opinion didn’t hold much weight while Nie Mingjue’s opinion was the heavyweight champion of the Sunshot Alliance. His proposal was rejected the first two times he brought it up at one of the periodic meetings of the three allied sect leaders, but as a third approached I knew he’d try again and it seemed more and more like he’d finally have his way. If his assassination attempt failed as it had in canon, there’d be no one to save him—no Yiling Patriarch to wrest the dead away from Wen Ruohan or distract him from his grisly torture. 

Despite his reputation for pragmatism, Nie Mingjue boasted a decent sense of timing. So he sat through the meeting with his arms crossed and a disdainful expression on his face, silently judging the overall lack of progress. One only had to look at his bulging biceps and disappointed mustache to hear him thinking, very loudly: This is all we have to show for ourselves? It’s time for drastic action.

And then Wei Wuxian, who’d been standing silently in the back of the Jiang delegation, seized the moment that Nie Mingjue had so skillfully prepared. He pushed in front of Jiang Cheng and announced, “I can neutralize Wen Ruohan’s puppets.” 

“Untrue,” snapped Madam Yu. She had the polished beauty and proud authority of a Disney villainess, and she was just as compelling as one, too. She drew the eye without trying. Then the spoiled it all by opening her mouth. “One more word and you will find yourself excluded from all future strategy meetings.” 

Wei Wuxian took the threat seriously enough to grab for Jiang Cheng’s arm, anchoring himself to someone who would not be kicked out. “If proper cultivation could counter Wen Ruohan’s necromancy, we’d already have figured out how. But we haven’t, and it won’t, so—”

Madam Yu slapped Wei Wuxian across the face, momentarily silencing him. “Leave or you will be made to leave. Do you understand?” 

Jiang Cheng shifted slightly, placing himself between Wei Wuxian and his mother. “Let him explain.” He glanced at the other sect leaders, cringing but determined. “Anything with a chance of ending this war—no matter what—deserves our consideration.”

Lan Xichen chimed in. “I agree,” he said. “Hearing the proposal doesn’t oblige us to implement it. Tell us, Young Master Wei. How will you neutralize Wen Ruohan’s puppets?” 

Nie Mingjue grunted his assent. 

“It has to do with these arrays I saw in Qishan.” Wei Wuxian passed a diagram he pulled from his sleeve to the cultivator on his left, wisely sending it around the room to arrive at Madam Yu last. “The Wens drew them around their camps. When corpse puppets approached, they walked right around the arrays and ignored anyone inside. Wen Ruohan can command his puppets directly, but he’s not doing it all the time, or one by one. For the most part, the puppets function independently, obeying their basic impulses. If the puppets are avoiding these arrays, there must be something about them that can override those impulses.” 

The diagram finally made it to Madam Yu. She ripped it to shreds. 

“We could use the arrays, and the puppets would avoid us. I’ve tested it, they work. But I’ve figured out something even better.” He pulled a folded cloth from his sleeve, pulled it taut between his spread arms, and displayed it to the leaders of the Sunshot Alliance. It had calligraphy on it, but nothing I could make sense of. “This will attract Wen Ruohan’s puppets. Make a circle from them, and it will trap them.” 

Lan Wangji was the first to decipher the characters on the flag, his eyes widening in shock. “Wei Ying,” he murmured, trying to snatch the flag away from Wei Wuxian. “This uses—”

“Resentful energy,” Wei Wuxian finished. “Yeah, it does. Because that’s what these puppets will obey. Once they’re trapped, we can do things properly. Liberate, suppress, eliminate, exactly like Lan Qiren teaches. But we’re not going to get anywhere near Nightless City so long as every corpse on every battlefield rises to fight for Wen Ruohan.” 

“You said that you tested the original array,” Nie Mingjue said. “Have you tested this new invention?” 

Jiang Cheng answered. “Three times during the past week. The puppet-lure flags work. When laid out in groups of four or more, they attracted puppets that ignored both Wei Wuxian and myself on their way inside the circle. Once inside, they could not escape.” 

“In smaller skirmishes, these puppet-lure flags will eliminate casualties entirely,” Wei Wuxian added. “I don’t know what would happen on a battlefield, where Wen Ruohan’s controls them directly, but I’d like to find out.” 

“But I speak for Jiang, I will never support the use of these evil things,” Madam Yu stated flatly.

“Nie Sect is in favor,” Nie Mingjue countered. “Xichen? What say you?” 

Confident that the Lans would decide in her favor, Madam Yu looked directly at Wei Wuxian for the first time—turning the nastiest, smuggest little smirk I’ve ever seen on him. The meaning could not have been clearer: he’d tried, he’d failed, and he would be punished.

“Resentful energy corrupts the mind and the body,” Lan Wangji objected, glaring fiercely at Wei Wuxian. “How is this tool made? How does it affect the cultivators who make use of it?” 

Lan Xichen nodded gravely. “You raise valid points, Wangji.” He glanced briefly, consideringly, at me and then cast his gaze across the room, drawing the attention of everyone present and letting it settle comfortably around him. 

“My brother speaks the truth. Resentful energy harms all who come into contact with it,” Xichen began. “Wen Ruohan has given ample demonstration of this truth, for anyone who needed a reminder. However, the Lan sect has methods to mitigate this harm. Of course it is better to prevent it entirely. That is always our preference, but it is not absolute. I am inclined to approve the use of these puppet-lure flags, but only under the condition that Wei Wuxian remain under the supervision of the Lan sect while making them. Our musical cultivation could cleanse him of resentful energy, while our doctors could monitor the circulation of his qi.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide with shock. He hadn’t expected Lan Xichen to agree. He could count to three, no doubt he’d known who would cast the tie-breaking vote, but he’d spoken up anyhow. Expecting to fail and be punished.

“Brother—“ Lan Wangji protested.

“I’d like you to play for him, Wangji.” Xichen spoke half to his brother, half to everyone. “Your grasp of Cleansing is unparalleled. If your playing is not effective, then no one’s will be. And if you should decide, as a master of this art, that you cannot counter the harm Wei Wuxian suffers, I will heed your warning and reverse my decision.” 

Not only did this gambit appease Lan Wangji, it brought the other two Sect leaders into something like accord. Putting a disapproving stickler in charge gave Madam Yu hope that Wei Wuxian would be quickly returned to her tender mercies. Giving the project a chance gave Nie Mingjue the opportunity to carry it forward with relentless bullying, should he find the new invention useful. 

The meeting adjourned with no further talk of an assassination attempt. Wei Wuxian followed Lan Xichen back to the Lan section of the camp, babbling thanks and making ridiculous promises all the way. Lan Wangji followed Wei Wuxian, and I trailed behind because I could. 

“It’ll be fine, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian insisted, draping one arm across Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “I’ve been testing the flags for weeks, and I’ve never been stronger!” 

“For weeks?” Lan Wangji snatched Wei Wuxian’s wrist where it dangled by his neck. He pressed his fingers to the meridian, lips thinning. “You should have come to me—”

“You would have refused to help!” 

“And now the damage is done,” Lan Wangji snarled. “I will play for you now. No excuses.”

“Why would I make excuses?” Wei Wuxian wondered. “I love it when you play for me. This is a win-win. I get to save the day and I get my own personal musician while doing it!”

Lan Wangji dragged Wei Wuxian to his tent, the latter chattering the whole way.

Lan Xichen let them go, aiming his feet toward the command tent. I followed him inside and watched his somber expression melt into something almost… gleeful? 

“Well?” He turned a broad smile on me. “What do you think?” 

“It couldn’t have gone better. That was everything—” I froze. I’d been about to say everything I could ask for but that wasn’t quite right, was it? It was actually, more precisely, a substantial portion of what I had already asked for. Back at the inn. When Lan Xichen had reclaimed me for the Sunshot alliance. “Wait a second. Did you do this for me?” 

Lan Xichen shrugged, still smiling. “For my brother. He cares deeply for Wei Wuxian, as you are... somewhat curiously... aware. But I was glad to have the idea ready to hand, once it was needed.” 

I beamed, aglow from the inside. It was heady, to see my wishes translate so elegantly and unexpectedly into action. Why had I been such an asshole about him? Why hadn’t I realized this was worth protecting, too? “I hope it works.” 

“As do I.” He frowned, cocking his ear toward the penetrating strum of a guqin. “Madam Yu. She is…” 

“Terrible?” I suggested. 

“Not treating that talented young man as he deserves,” Xichen said instead. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Such blindness does present an opportunity.”

Chapter Text

The puppet-lure flags worked, of course. In smaller skirmishes, they were practically an instant win button. Lay down the flags, collect the puppets, and then the Sunshot cultivators could liberate, suppress, or eliminate at their leisure. 

What’s more, as everyone but me was surprised to discover, neither making nor using the lure flags did any noticeable harm to traditional cultivators. Lan Xichen, either as a matter of strategy or sincere caution, continued to express his concerns. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian would periodically swoon on Lan Wangji, exclaiming, “I feel so weak, Lan Zhan. It’s the resentful energy. I think I need… music. I’m going to die without more of your exquisite, glorious, powerful… music…” 

This was about when Lan Xichen stopped visiting his brother’s tent. 

Larger battles still posed a challenge. Wen Ruohan’s direct control could flush the puppets from the flag circles, could make them destroy the flag circles, then push them at the Sunshot army. The Sunshot cultivators, wary of exactly this scenario, engaged cautiously. They retreated early, in order to avoid unnecessary losses, and as the puppets chasing them began to drift and slow, discovered that Wen Ruohan could not maintain a firm hold on thousands of puppets for very long. 

Countering the corpse flags pushed Wen Ruohan to his limits and burned him out.

When they knew the terrain—and, thanks to my maps, the Sunshot alliance always knew the terrain—they could drag the puppets along a pre-planned route until Wen Ruohan’s control snapped. At that point, the puppets shambled into hastily-erected lure arrays and the battle could be tidily and decisively ended. 

What’s more, putting puppets to rest in the small skirmishes whittled away at the numbers Wen Ruohan could bring to bear at larger engagements. Winning battles began to eat away at Wen Ruohan’s territory. The Jin, always the most fair-weather of friends, melted away as the tides turned. 

In canon, the Sunshot campaign ended with a bang. With Wei Wuxian controlling a sea of corpses, and Meng Yao planting a knife in Wen Ruohan's back. In the altered world I found myself in, the Sunshot campaign ended with a whimper. Sunshot cultivators swept the area around Nightless City, putting trapped puppets to rest and leaving only a modest corps of living human soldiers to defend the imposing basalt fortress. When confronted, most were eager to surrender. 

Wen Ruohan huddled in his throne room, lashing out with raw resentful energy at anyone who came near. The Twin Jades, joined by Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, riddled him with arrows from afar. Eventually, Wen Ruohan weakened. Nie Mingjue seized his moment and beheaded him with Baxia. 

From there on out, it was just a matter of dividing up the spoils. Well, I suppose there was plenty else to worry about—but I was one of the many gofers sent to comb through Wen Ruohan’s treasure rooms and libraries, compiling a list of valuables for the victors to divide among themselves. 

I tried not to have any opinions about the process. It would have been nice if everyone gathered in a circle to sing Kumbaya, but it didn’t seem realistic. And the Lan, having suffered the burning of Cloud Recesses, had some right to demand recompense. 

That’s what I told myself, anyhow.

The treatment of the surviving Wen, though. It was not great. Better, maybe, than Jin Zixun leading hunting parties through Nightless City to shoot fleeing Wen servants in the back… but only maybe. 

The sect leaders agreed to hold trials, to sentence each of the surviving Wen individually. In theory, not the worst idea. In practice, a pure travesty of justice unfolded in Nightless City. The trials were laughably brief; few lasted longer than ten minutes. A clerk stated the name and rank of the Wen offered up for judgment, rarely more. The Wen had a brief opportunity to speak, perhaps a few sentences before being cut off. After that, inevitably, a guilty verdict and a speedy execution. 

I don’t want to be judgey. What do I really know about wars, or ending wars, or moving on after a war? A lot of the Wens were actually evil and cruel, a lot of them went out of their way to treat prisoners and civilians inhumanely, all of them—willing or not, with hearts of gold or not—contributed to an aggressive war of conquest. 

But I’d always preferred the book’s take on the Wen remnants because it doesn’t carve out a handful of innocents with clean hands. There are no Dafan Wens. In the book, the Wen remnants are just… Wens. They still deserved better. They deserved fairer treatment, they deserved Wei Wuxian’s defense, and they deserved to live. 

They were not going to get any of those things from the Sunshot campaign.

Madam Yu and Nie Mingjue were not forgiving souls. They shared a harsh and unforgiving understanding of justice, a preference for punishment unalloyed by mercy. They felt justified in taking revenge. Lan Xichen tried to temper their judgments, but with little success. Jiang and Nie together could outvote Lan alone. I found myself wondering if he just didn’t care. 

“So the Wen sect will cease to exist?” I asked one evening, handing over the inventory of a small cultivation library I’d spent the day sorting through. Wen Ruohan’s grandmother had assembled the volumes and they’d never been integrated with the main sect library. A lot of stuff in Nightless City was like that: everyone had their little feifdom, everyone hoarded their piece of the pie, no one shared. “And everyone’s fine with that?” 

Lan Xichen scanned the list, marking the volumes he wanted with cinnabar ink as he went. “It was Wen Ruohan’s father who first encouraged the Wens to hold themselves apart. He forbade them from attending the yearly lectures held at Cloud Recesses, for example, which have always been as much about forging connections among the gentry as gaining an education. The result is that, in their defeat, none of us know any of the Wen well.” 

“So they all deserve to die?” I wondered. 

“No more than they would have deserved the benefits that would have rained down upon them if Wen Ruohan had won,” he answered, handing the inventory back to me. “And yet I suspect they would have accepted those without complaint.” 

I snatched the paper. “And the Jin?”

“They retreated and declared a cease fire. In order to bring them the same justice we offer the Wens, we would have to attack Lanling. I don’t think anyone has the appetite for it.” 

Apparently the Jin could get away with anything, in any universe. And I’d played a part in this? Disgusted, I began to stalk off, but Lan Xichen grabbed me by the wrist and tugged me down beside him, on the low sofa where he’d been sitting.

“You’re not happy,” he observed. 

“I hate everything that’s happening right now.” 

“You predicted it.” Xichen tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, straightened the collar of my robes. In the mood I was in, his fussing just made me madder. “Weeks ago, when I found you at that inn in Qinghe, you were already worrying about our defeated foes.”

“People who are hurting, who’ve lost a lot, can be very cruel.”

“They can,” Xichen sat back, reverting to his usual impeccable posture, with his knee grazing mine. “It has been argued to me that returning the suffering that has been inflicted upon is is fair recompense. That, in fact, the penalty must be greater than the crime in order to deter future would-be tyrants.” 

“I basically believe the opposite,” I told him. “Like, I disagreed with every single word you just said.” 

“So now I have spoken with two friends, each with opposite beliefs,” said Lan Xichen. “Why should I take your point of view?” 

Here’s the thing: I was pretty sure that if I could have had a chat with the Wei Wuxian of canon, the one who’d led the Wen remnants from the labor camp at Qionqi Path to the Burial Mounds, who’d learned to grow radishes and adopted little a-Yuan, he would literally hate me for preserving his golden core and sacrificing the Wens. 

Sometimes I’d see the Wei Wuxian of my world, still bright and laughing and arrogant, and I’d imagine the other Wei Wuxian, the one who’d learned everything the hard way, telling me that I’d erased from existence all the choices he was most proud of making. 

But I couldn’t explain any of that. 

“If two people commit the same crime, and then one of them is killed and the other let go, the system that allowed it to happen has failed. Crimes are bad and committing them is bad. Fine. But any authority that operates that way isn’t doing justice. It’s just giving instructions on how to get away with crimes.” 

Lan Xichen cocked his head. “We should free the criminal in our custody because the other escaped?” 

“The criminal didn’t ‘escape'," I countered. "He went home. You know where his home is, but you have no intention of going there. So you’ll kill the criminal in your custody—and a hundred like him, who have all committed lesser crimes, some of them pretty damn minor—and then in a few years, when the first guy shows up at a discussion conference wearing gold robes and a shit-eating grin, you’ll give him a seat.” 

Lan Xichen stiffened. “I don’t think—”

“That’s exactly what you’ll do.” I jumped to my feet. “And you’ll tell yourself, ‘Oh well we all made friends at Cloud Recesses and I know him, he’s good guy, actually, did me a favor that one time, why hold grudges?’ But all the people you’re executing right now will still be dead.” 

“Be careful with your words,” Lan Xichen quoted, quietly steely. “You are not a Lan, and you have not been taught the Lan disciplines, but I have yet to meet the person who would not benefit from paying more attention to that one.”

I stepped close and deliberately reversed the finger-walk he’d used on me back at the inn in Qinghe, tracing a line from his collarbone to his chin. To my shock, it worked just as well on him as it had on me—he leaned into the touch, his eyes going wide. 

“You know who was the best at following that rule?” I murmured, low and sweet. “Meng Yao.”

Chapter Text

So one of the perks of my job was that I could borrow Lan Xichen’s authority. Like, I could do all kinds of stuff—intrude where I did not belong, make demands of people with a much higher rank than me, commandeer resources—with the understanding that I, lowly aide, acted in his stead. I had no wishes of my own; I was a mere vessel for his.

And it was a pretty delicate position because he did not have time to keep tabs on me. Sect Leader Lan was a busy guy. Every day, he had a long list of important things to do and not enough hours to do them in. Important people clamored for his attention, meetings ate up his time, a baker's dozen of aides like me buzzed around him like bees competing for the same flower. 

Stand-up gal that I am, I’d been pretty careful not to overstep. I minded my manners and did my job. I wanted to be better than Meng Yao, I wanted to be worthy of that trust, I wanted Lan Xichen to feel safe in my care. 

But—you heard that ‘but’ coming, right? This has all been lead-up to the ‘but’—after that last conversation, I decided to abuse some of that trust. Working with Lan Xichen was a great option, but maybe I should still make my own plans, you know? 

So I paid a visit to the dungeon, had a chat with the clerk who organized the horrible trials, and reviewed the current schedule. Then I asked if he’d make a tiny little modification, I was so sorry to cause him trouble, but Lan sect would really appreciate it if he’d push Wen Qionglin’s trial back a couple of days. 

Sure, he said. No trouble at all. He was glad to help.

Since Wing Ning’s trial had been two days out, that gave me four whole days to figure out how to save his life. I left the dungeon literally biting my nails with anxiety. 

“What are you up to?” asked Wei Wuxian. 

I screamed.

“Something to hide, huh?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest and looking very smug. “Should I have a chat with…” His gaze flicked behind me. “Who’s back there, anyhow? Someone in charge of prisoners?”

Answer or stonewall, answer or stonewall? Neither seemed like a winning choice. 

He stooped to bring his eyes were exactly level with mine, steel gray and sharp as any knife. “You’re not going to wriggle out of this one, Maiden An.” 

Maybe not. But he’d learn less from the clerk, who’d have a nothing little schedule change to report, than he would from interrogating me.

“Talk to him all you want,” I said, and tried to dodge past Wei Wuxian. 

“Oh, no, I don’t think so.” He dragged me into a room where games of dice and Go lay abandoned on the tables, cloaks and hats hung from hooks along the wall, already collecting dust. It smelled of sour wine; the shards of a jar lay cracked on the floor. 

Something about seeing Wei Wuxian in this hastily abandoned guardroom shook me. My first instinct, after I learned Wen Ning was in the dungeon, was to stage a prison break or something, sneak Wen Ning out. But if I went that route, I’d fail. 

How did I know? Because Wei Wuxian hadn’t been able to save the Wens on his own. Trying had been his downfall. 

This was not a world where one person could stand against everyone and win. Every single real victory that any character won in canon had been collaborative. Some of those collaborations had been underhanded, the participants unwitting, others explicit. Going solo in a fraught political situation might be easier in the short term, but over the long term? Suicide.

“You know Wen Ning, right?” I asked. 

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “You know it’s creepy when you do that, right?”

“You met him… once?” I pressed. 

“No, actually.” Wei Wuxian looked a lot more interested all of a sudden. “Twice.” 

“What happened the second time?” 

“Ah-ah-ah.” He wagged his finger at me. “I didn’t follow you down here so you could ask me questions. Why are you asking about Wen Ning?”  

“He’s in the dungeon.”

Wei Wuxian straightened, worry draining some of the hostility from his expression. “He is?” 

“Trial’s in four days.” 

“Not if I have anything to say about it. He shouldn’t be in there at all.” 

Wei Wuxian was on his feet and halfway out the door when I yanked him back. “Four days is enough time to think before you act, Young Master Wei.”

“Is it?” He knocked my hand away and loomed a bit. “I take it you have a suggestion?” 

“Not yet.” I backed up, to escape the looming. “But there’s got to be a smart way to get him out.”

“And by that you mean…?” 

“Something that will stick,” I said. “Preferably without doubling down on the idea that war heroes can take or save lives on a whim.” 

“Nothing too ambitious, eh?” Wei Wuxian scratched his nose, thinking. “You said ‘trial’ and I didn’t spend a second considering whether or not it’d be fair.” 

“Exactly.” 

He shot me a sly look. “We should work together, huh? Since we’re both after the same thing.” 

Yes, please. But that look gave me pause. “I’d like to.” 

“There’s just one little problem. I’m not gonna trust you until I know what you were doing in Lotus Pier. Like, at all. Ever.” Wei Wuxian smiled sunnily. “And trust is essential to any partnership, right? So…”

“That’s fair,” I admitted. I weighed the pros and cons. On the pro side: I really believed the both of us working together stood a better chance than either of us alone. On the con side: Wei Wuxian would think less of me if he knew the truth. 

Huh. Easy choice, actually. 

I agreed, with a caveat of my own. “Only if you promise to keep my secret.” 

He barked out a quick laugh. “What a surprise. Sure, I’ll keep your secret. It’s not the protection that you think it is, though.” 

Maybe not. But it would be better than nothing. “I was there to kill Wen Zhuliu.” 

Wei Wuxian gave a quick shake of his head, unamused. “Cute, but what were you really doing?” 

“Killing Wen Zhuliu,” I repeated. 

“Do you expect me to believe that you”—he poked me in the chest, kinda hard—“poor little mapmaker girl who tells anyone who’ll listen that you couldn’t kill a fly, but only because you’re so useless in a fight—you”—he poked me again—“killed the Core-Melting Hand?” 

“Why do you think it took me so long?” I snapped, rubbing the sting of his pokes away. “Why do you think I needed all those maps? I spent months figuring out how to give myself a decent shot at him.” 

“You,” he said again, uncertainly now. 

“After Cloud Recesses burned I knew Lotus Pier would be next.” No need to mention how I knew. Anyone thinking about it rationally could have known. “So I went to Lotus Pier. Wherever they came from, I wanted to be ready.” 

“This is what’s been bugging me about you,” Wei Wuxian mused. “You act like a lost little lamb that’s been made to live among wolves, and it never felt true. It felt like a lie—because it was. You’re a liar. You’re a wolf, just like the rest of us. Only you wear sheep’s clothing, and people believe it.” 

“I act that way because that’s how I feel,” I told him. “It’s true to me. But I understand why you might have a different opinion.” 

“Wen Zhuliu,” Wei Wuxian repeated. “How did you do it?” 

“I didn’t agree to tell you that.” 

“Has it occurred to you that maybe you shouldn’t chop every piece of information in your head into bite-sized pieces and then sell them at a markup?” Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. “How are you not dead? Even if you did, like, stab me while I was asleep I bet that—“

The door opened and Lan Wangji stood in the threshold, first taking in the scene and then glaring daggers at me. 

“Wei Ying?” he asked.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian bounced across the room. “Perfect timing. We’re done here. Lead us out of the darkness, O Hanguang-Jun. Take us into the light.” Then he looked back over his shoulder and mouthed, “Later,” on his way out.

Chapter Text

I figured it would go like this: Wei Wuxian would have some wild ideas, and I’d help figure out the practical implementation. I got part of that right. The first part. Wei Wuxian came up with ideas at a staggering rate. 

All of them were… well. How about an example? At one point he seriously suggested triggering an eruption of the volcano at the heart of Qishan, near enough to Nightless City to force an evacuation. “We can release the prisoners during the evacuation. Even if the sect leaders want to reconvene later, they’ll have to start from scratch.” 

How do you make that practical? 

He also proposed flooding the dungeon—I think that was his version of ‘making the idea practical’—or starting a fire to destroy all of the clerk’s records, since it would be impossible to hold trials without at least the bare-bones info about who was being sentenced, what rank they’d held, and where they’d been posted during the war.

I didn’t hate that last idea. But it would be difficult to make such comprehensive destruction appear accidental, and destroying records struck me as the sort of decision that we’d regret in time. Real villains would have an easier time wiping their pasts clean; real trials would be impossible. 

“What about talking to Nie Huisang?” I suggested. “Or Jiang Wanyin? If you all agreed—”

“But they won’t,” Wei Wuxian answered with certainty. “Nie Huisang won’t care, and he trusts his brother. Especially about stuff like this. Jiang Cheng would intervene to pardon Wen Ning, I know he would, but he’d stop there. He’d think that was generous.”

By then, we were halfway through day two. Four days had seemed like a decent chunk of time when I’d been chatting with the clerk, but they went so fast. 

I stopped in at the little storage closet that served me as a bedroom in the Palace of Sun and Flames—aides had the privilege of staying in the palace proper, but we didn’t get first or second or third pick of the rooms. Most of the men in my position solved this problem by bunking together in various sitting rooms and parlors. As a woman, I got the peace and privacy of a storage closet. 

I let myself inside, startled first to notice that all the lamps had already been lit and second to find Lan Xichen was sitting on my bed and poking at my e-reader, which he’d managed to turn on. He looked so incongruous, wearing layers of patterned gray silk with a silver belt around his waist and a jade stick piercing his topknot, surrounded by hastily-rearranged boxes full of unused tea sets and broken instruments of torture. 

“Maiden An,” he greeted, in a tone that did not bode well. “Please, sit.” 

I sat. 

He sat the e-reader aside and laced his fingers together in his lap. “I had been under the impression that you were smart enough not to need perfectly obvious facts spelled out to you like a child. But since it appears I was mistaken, let me begin with a question: do you really think that in my years leading the Lan Sect I have never encountered a disciple so passionately committed to a righteous cause that they defied my wishes or, indeed, express orders?” 

I sucked in a breath through a throat gone tight. Shook my head. 

“I had assumed—again wrongly, to my dismay—that you would realize I spend a substantial portion of my time wrangling disciples with inflexible moral principles onto a safer and saner path.” 

I winced. His tone was as gentle as ever, but simultaneously so savagely cutting that I could feel my soul withering. My soul had been a plum, and was rapidly transforming into a prune.

“This being the case,” he continued, “I have an unfortunate abundance of experience at recognizing such behavior. It is, you should not be surprised to learn, the most glaringly obvious form of insubordination to me.” 

Of course. Of course it was. I really had been unforgivably stupid. 

“So.” Lan Xichen smiled without warmth. The worst smile. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’d like to discuss the present situation. Am I to understand that after one single conversation that did not end the way you preferred—so we are clear: the end that you preferred would have been for me to immediately promise drastic action, disregarding any consequences to my weakened sect’s most vital alliances—you decided to take matters into your own hands?” 

Pretty much, yep. I nodded. Ouch.

“Hmm.” Lan Xichen let that sit for a moment. “Having set your mind on drastic action, it is not surprising that you would choose to cooperate with the most reckless man I have ever met, Wei Wuxian. In this long series of extraordinarily poor choices, you made exactly one correct deduction: Wei Wuxian is always ready to act hastily for a good cause.”

I was actually starting to feel nauseous from shame. 

“Tell me, Maiden An,” Lan Xichen continued, even more softly now. “Are these qualities that you admire when you encounter them in others? Making excessive demands, poor situational awareness, a preference for rash action over deliberate strategy, reckless impatience…?” 

I forced out a very faint, “No.” 

“No,” Lan Xichen agreed. “And I haven’t even touched on the fact that, by seeking out Wei Wuxian specifically, you put two of your own goals into clear conflict. Had you considered the impact of your plans on the rather delicate arrangement that keeps him in my care, and away from Madam Yu?” 

I shook my head again. “I wasn’t thinking”—at all, fuck, I had not been thinking at all—“that far ahead.” 

"That puts it kindly." Lan Xichen sighed deeply. “What pains me, in all of this, is that I also made a mistake. I had thought you might trust me more.” 

I flinched at that—like the words hit me somewhere a few inches above my belly button and I curled around the hurt they left behind. 

“On reflection, I’m not sure why I believed that. Wishful thinking, I suppose.” He stood, touched me lightly on the shoulder on his way to the door. “Remain here for the rest of the day. Take the time to think.” 

The second the door slid closed behind him, the tears I'd been holding back fell.

Chapter Text

It was hard to “think” when you felt a profound, animal desire to crawl into the nearest hole and hide there forever. I didn’t ever again want to look anyone in the eye and know they’d seen my deficiencies the way Lan Xichen had just seen mine. I’d never felt so peeled apart, so clumsy or so inadequate.  

I was, weirdly—it felt weird to me in the moment, twisted and nonsensical—too ashamed to run away. I wanted to run away, I wanted it in my bones. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I could tell myself, “Grab your things and go,” and then I’d remain in place. The shame weighed a million pounds. It held me down.

And it would have been shitty to run. Another shitty thing, on top of the others Lan Xichen had just listed. Like puking all over the floor of a bar and then slinking away so someone else has to clean it up, only worse. 

Wen Ning couldn’t run away. 

Wei Wuxian had seemed confident that he could save Wen Ning. It wasn’t what I’d hoped—I had no idea where Wen Qing was and I didn’t know the names of the other Wen remnants well enough to search for them. I’d needed a bigger win to give myself a chance of finding out more. 

I didn’t eat, and didn’t feel hungry. Even the next day, and well into the afternoon, the thought of food nauseated me. I couldn’t sleep and didn’t know what to do when I gave up on trying. Work, I guess? If I wasn’t going to run away, I had to work. Until I was dismissed. Which I would be, obviously. No one gets caught undermining their boss like I just had and keeps their job. 

I got dressed and scuttled about, waiting for the axe to fall. Answered some routine correspondence. Forwarded some reports. Updated the accounts. Normally I’d have seen Lan Xichen five or six times by noon, checking in or ferrying messages, but I couldn’t have sought him out any more than I could have stuck my hand in a hot oven. When I had something to give him, I just… handed it to someone else. They all thanked me for it, too. Like I'd done them a favor out of the goodness of my heart.

Everyone else was totally normal. No whispers, no pitying looks. By the end of the day I was crawling out of my own skin, and it had been business (almost) as usual for twelve hours straight. 

Another sleepless night after that and the day of the trial dawned. I knew when Wen Ning would be brought up and I made sure to arrive early. What could I do to help? Nothing. Nothing that I could think of, anyhow. Bear witness. 

The trials were all held in a spacious hall in the Palace of Sun and Flames, papered windows along three sides to let in light and accented with columns and ceiling beams painted a bright red. The sect leaders sat in a row at the front and there was always plenty of room at the back for various hangers-on to watch or wait or take notes. 

Wei Wuxian arrived not long after I did, with Jiang Cheng. I leaned close and whispered, “Thank you, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” It honestly wasn’t until the deja vu hit that I realized I’d said a line. 

“I’ll take care of this,” he whispered back. And then, “You look awful.” 

Jiang Cheng promptly punched him in the arm. I decided that was reply enough and returned my attention to the proceedings.

I wouldn’t recognize Wen Ning, so I so I had to wait for the clerk to call his name. Then I looked, and it’s not that none of the prisoners had moved me before—they had—but it’s so viscerally wrong when you know the man in chains, a state of forced defenselessness, to have been so vulnerable to begin with, tolerating every unkindness and never returning it. 

He arrived dull-eyed and stoop-shouldered, dressed in dirty sect robes with his long hair tied back in a simple plait. He kept his head down and bowed to the sect leaders, a reflex rather than a meaningful gesture. He looked, as had the others before him, like a man who had given up.

The clerk read out the relevant information: Wen Qionglin, nephew of Wen Ruohan, assigned with his sister to administer the Yiling Supervisory Office. After the Supervisory Office fell he received several other high-ranking posts over the course of the war until he was assigned to the defense of Nightless City.

“I’d like to speak for Wen Qionglin,” Wei Wuxian called, stepping out from the crowd at the back to stand at Wen Ning’s side. “I can vouch for his good character. What’s more, he came to my aid during the war—and saved the life of my martial brother, Jiang Wanyin.” 

Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen seemed unmoved by this information. Madam Yu startled at the mention of her son and looked past Wei Wuxian to Jiang Cheng, who nodded.

“My shidi and I were scouting when a yaoguai attacked us. It took us by surprise, breaking my shidi’s sword arm before he could fully draw Sandu. He fought on left handed, and I fought, too, but I’m not sure what would have happened if someone hadn’t come to our aid. An archer, shooting at a distance but with great accuracy. The three of us brought down the yaoguai together. 

“Afterwards, when we went to thank him, we discovered that our savior was Wen Qionglin. He said that he couldn’t have killed the monster on his own, so it was only right to help. That even during a war, all cultivators are enemies of demonic beasts. These weren’t empty words. He could have killed both of us while we were occupied by the yaoguai. He is an excellent archer. 

“Not only did Wen Qionglin aid us in killing the monster, observing a truce of his own making, he tended to my shidi’s injury. He told us his sister is a doctor and that he had trained as her assistant. That she believed healers should offer their help first and ask questions never, and so did he. He bandaged my shidi’s arm and fashioned a sling. Thanks to Wen Qionglin, my shidi suffered no permanent damage to his sword arm.” 

“Son?” Madam Yu prompted.

“All true.” Jiang Cheng touched his right arm. “It was a bad break.” 

“Wen Qionglin has earned a pardon.” Madam Yu cast an expectant glance at Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen.

Nie Mingjue grunted, unconvinced. “You’d spare a Wen of the main line?”

Characteristic spite sharpened Madam Yu’s voice. “The behavior my first disciple calls ‘selfless’ is closer, in my mind, to treason against his own. If there’s enough of Wen sect left to take notice of our pardon, I can only imagine how they’ll thank him for passing up the best opportunity his sect ever had to strike a decisive blow during the war.” 

Nie Mingjue slid a glance toward Wen Ning and one eyebrow lifted, speculative and cynical. “Agreed.” 

Two votes carried the case, but Lan Xichen leaned forward to speak all the same. “I am troubled that this information only came to light because Young Master Wei interrupted our proceedings. If we had judged based only on the clerk’s summary, we would have committed a grave injustice.”

“But Young Master Wei did interrupt.” Nie Mingjue pointed out. “Everything worked out.” 

“Wen Qionglin is lucky that Young Master Wei’s curious mind led him to explore the dungeons, and lucky again that Young Master Wei was present to speak for him at a time when the bulk of our forces have already returned home.” Lan Xichen touched a loose fist to his chin, brows furrowed in concern. “The outcome of a trial should not depend on luck. Not ever, but especially not when lives hang in the balance.” 

“Xichen, we don’t have time to hear every one of these Wen-dogs’s life stories.” Nie Mingjue swatted the air, waving the problem away. “You Lan find entertainment in debating the fine points of every little dilemma, but it’s not practical.” 

Lan Xichen nodded gravely. “It is our established practice to be thorough and exact in such matters. We made many compromises in order to join with Nie and Jiang in these trials.”

“What makes you think that hearing the life stories of these worthless Wens would weigh in their favor?” Madam Yu tossed her head, amethysts glittering in her hair and at her ears. “I have agreed to spare the Wen who saved my son—but who’s to say what a careful accounting would reveal? Don’t you wonder if this ‘excellent archer’ ever aimed his bow at any Lans?”

“I prefer not to guess,” answered Lan Xichen, unruffled. “I would have the truth, as much of it as possible. The current process has proven to be inadequate. Will neither of you consider improvements?” 

This was when Nie Mingjue and Madam Yu realized that Lan Xichen wasn’t waiting for a placating pat on the head, a sop to his virtue before moving along to sully it anew.

Lan Xichen stood. “I respect Sect Leader Nie’s concerns about overlong deliberations, which prolong a state of uncertainty and delay our return to homes where our presence is much needed. I share Madam Yu’s conviction that the cultivators who prosecuted a war of aggression and devastated my sect must face punishment. But I cannot allow these concerns to override the most basic principles of right behavior. Morality is the priority. Be just.” Lan Xichen spread his hands. “Until significant changes are made, I must withdraw from these proceedings.” 

Lan Xichen bowed to his peers and took his leave, trailed by a handful of headband-wearing disciples in white. Wei Wuxian followed Wen Ning out of the hall, hopefully to make sure that he was freed from his chains and allowed to depart from Nightless City in peace.

I stayed put, reeling from relief and shock. 

Nie Mingjue signaled for the clerk to bring the next prisoner but Madam Yu looked uneasy. Jiang Cheng remained in the room; her gaze kept flicking back to him. 

The new prisoner trudged in, downtrodden and anonymous. Maybe he’d been a monster, maybe a hero. The clerk read out his name and rank. 

“We should adjourn,” Madam Yu said suddenly, rising to her feet. “In matters relating to the war, the three allied sects must act as one.” 

Nie Mingjue didn’t like it, but he made no attempt to continue on his own, either. Gradually, the room cleared as Madam Yu took her leave and the prisoner was escorted away. The onlookers scattered to new entertainments. 

The Nies left me alone in the hall and I still didn’t move.

Chapter Text

I felt a little like a bull in a china shop, and a little like a piece of china in the shop with the bull. Like every move I made would break something, and like I was too fragile to withstand an inevitable shock. 

So. Step one. Get my head on straight. I retreated to a little garden—in the same suite of rooms as that library I’d catalogued earlier; I think it had most recently belonged to Wen Chao’s wife—and stripped down for some yoga. 

Exercise is good like that, any type that requires focus and attention. It clears the mind, gets the blood flowing, draws out nervous energy and replaces it with the calm that only comes with exhaustion. After a couple of hours, I was dripping with sweat and ready to face my strange second life again. The plan? Shift back into wait-and-see mode. Listen, observe, gather information. Lan Xichen had, for reasons I might actually be able to ask him about at some point, just bought everyone time. 

I tied my robes back on loosely and headed for the hot springs which, thanks to the nearby volcano, were abundant in the area around Nightless City. The springs were divided by gender and the women’s area never had more than two or three people in it. I gathered the men’s baths could be crowded; I washed up in peace and changed into a fresh set of robes. 

A freshly-bathed Wei Wuxian called, “Maiden An!” as I was on my way out. He reclined on a low bench in the sandy little garden beside the fenced-in bathing areas, wet hair clinging to his neck and soaking through his gray robes. 

I detoured over to him and bowed deeply. “Thank you again, Young Master Wei.” 

“What for? I didn't do it for you.” Then he waved the question away before I could answer. “Wait with me a minute. Wen Ning is in the bath—he was filthy! I refused to let him go anywhere smelling like that. He’ll be out soon, you can say hello. It’ll be a happy little reunion!” 

I smiled faintly. 

Wen Ning emerged looking so much better than he had even a few hours earlier. He stood straighter, looked about curiously, smiled with real warmth when he spotted Wei Wuxian on the bench. 

Wen Ning bowed. “I’m sorry to have made you wait.”

“Don’t mention it. Sitting out here gave me the opportunity to catch up with a mutual friend! You've met Maiden An, right?” 

Wen Ning's eyes went wide with panic and he began to stutter apologies. “I must have forgotten?” he managed, after several stops and starts. 

“She was so concerned about your welfare, too,” Wei Wuxian mused. “Another mystery on the pile, I guess. I shouldn’t keep you any longer, Maiden An. Zewu-Jun was looking for you, last I saw him.” 

Lan Xichen was looking for me? Ok, cool. I could handle it. The worst that could happen wasn’t even that bad.

“I’ll find him,” I promised, and to Wen Ning. “Do you need anything?” I searched my memory for the first things I’d scraped and bargained for when I arrived. The most obvious answer was money, and it would be the hardest to ask for, so I pulled a handful of coins from the purse in my qiankun pouch without asking and pressed them to his palm. The amount would have lasted me for a week or so; a decent start. “A blanket, a change of clothes, a water pouch?” 

Instead of admitting to needing any of these things, Wen Ning tried to give me my money back.

“Nope, can’t, it’s yours now.” I skipped away, victoriously waving my empty hands in the air. “Take good care of yourself. And your people. I hope we meet again.” 

Wen Ning echoed the sentiment, sounding very confused, and I left him in Wei Wuxian's care.

When I reached the wing of the palace claimed by the Lans, Lan Xichen was having tea with Nie Mingjue. Fallout from the walkout? I continued on to the administrative nerve center where I had a desk, piled high with papers after a full day’s neglect. 

I still expected to be out of work shortly, but… might as well. I settled into my spot, prepped an inkstone and brush, and got to work. I’d made a solid dent in the backlog by the time Lan Xichen dropped to one knee in front of me and said, “When did you last eat?” 

He sounded so normal. I didn’t know how to react to normal. 

“Maiden An?” he prompted. “How long?” 

“Days?” I answered, which seemed impossible. I still wasn’t hungry. “Two days?” 

Lan Xichen made a disapproving noise, called an attendant over with a flick of his finger, and asked for a meal to be delivered. 

“I would have liked to discuss this with you before,” he continued, making himself comfortable on the opposite side of my desk. Like things were totally normal. What? “Now that you understand the situation, I’d like your thoughts. The Jin will be quick to seize the opportunity—” He broke off, finally noticing the confusion written all over my face. “Maiden An? Is something the matter?” 

“Only—er.” I fussed with my brush, wiping it on one of Wei Wuxian’s more recent inventions, a talisman that could absorb seemingly infinite amounts of ink. “Aren’t you going to dismiss me?” 

“For the evening?” He frowned. “I leave it to you to manage your work, as always.”

“From my position,” I clarified. “As your aide.” 

“No. Of course not.” He leaned across the desk, searching my expression. “But I see you have worried. Don’t.” 

“It was a firable offense,” I pointed out. 

“I have done you greater harm and expected your forgiveness,” he countered, as though I had a right to expect the same in return. As though I'd ever be foolish enough to assume that a powerful man extended to others the tolerance he demanded from them. Uncertainty crept into Lan Xichen's tone. "When you were angry with me, you spoke your mind. You were harsh, and did not mince words.” 

“So you did the same,” I realized, the whole situation rearranging itself in my mind. “Because that’s how you reach out to people. You mirror them.” 

He'd been meeting me where I was, returning what I gave. Not pushing me away, not trying to make me feel small. He'd been trying to bring me closer. But he didn’t express anger the same way I did. When I'd been angry, I'd insulted him, I'd lost my temper, I'd stomped off. "But Lan anger doesn’t burn hot,” I continued, putting together the pieces. He couldn't have yelled or stomped if he'd tried. It wasn't in his nature, and even less in his upbringing. “Lan anger is ice cold.” 

“In future I will be more gentle,” he offered.

“No. Don’t do that. Please.” This was hard for me, because the last couple of days had been excruciating, but a very guarded person had let down their walls and that was a gift. Anger wasn't the healthiest way to communicate but it could be very revealing. “You were justifiably angry, and you expressed yourself honestly and that’s good, actually, I appreciate that. It was just… very shocking.” 

The food Lan Xichen had ordered arrived and I followed him over to a table kept clear for quick meals, in a daze. I had misunderstood, just like I’d walked out of our conversation about the Wens, and then I’d gone out of my way to avoid him. He’d been angry with me, but he’d still chosen his words with exacting care: if I’d trusted him a little more, if I’d kept my temper, I would have known his plans sooner. 

I took a deep breath, careful not to touch any of the utensils yet. No talking during meals. “I’m sorry. You were right. I stopped listening, and I wasn’t thinking clearly, and if I’d trusted you just a little bit more…” 

He stopped me with a thumb across my lips. “Enough of that.” 

My brain whited out for a bit. When it came back, Lan Xichen was resting his cheek on his palm and smiling serenely. 

“Are you going to sit there and watch me eat?” I wondered.

He nodded happily. 

Little weird, but also kinda sweet. I picked up a spoon, starting on a bowl of noodles swimming in rich broth. It tasted amazing, my appetite whetted by hunger, but I wasn’t ravenous the way I should have been. Another mystery on the pile, indeed.

Chapter Text

After the plates were cleared away and replaced with hot tea, I asked, “Will you explain to me? Everything that happened today?” 

The room had emptied. It was late enough that anyone on the Lan schedule would be eager for bed—and these days that did generally include me—but I was feeling cozy and curious.

“Gladly.” Lan Xichen glanced at the door, then shifted closer to me and dropped his voice about as low as it could go while remaining audible. “These trials posed a problem that Lan sect encounters often. We have a reputation for righteousness—it is our greatest treasure. And like all treasures, it is… valuable in trade. Other sects often aim to make use of it, only rarely because they wish to improve themselves. Mostly they wish to wrap the cloak of our good reputation around some unsavory behavior.” Lan Xichen paused. “One of my duties is to protect the treasure of our reputation. Generally that means holding myself and my sect to a high standard of behavior. But a treasure that cannot be spent loses some of its value. And so sometimes, in order to maintain our reputation, I must lend it out where it does not belong.”

 “I’m surprised to hear you explain it so clearly,” I said. “The cold calculation.” 

“I never have before.” He watched me, patient and attentive. “But I want you to understand.” 

My breath caught. 

“Do you understand?” 

I was afraid that I did. Also I felt a little crazy. 

Lan Xichen hid his expression behind a sip of tea and then continued in that same low tone. “In the matter of the trials, Nie and Jiang relied heavily on the moral authority provided by the Lan while ignoring almost everything I said." Lan Xichen narrowed his eyes. “Which I tolerate, to a point. That’s the nature of an alliance. We share our strengths.”

“But only to a point,” I prompted.

Lan Xichen nodded. “You might think that the trials could continue on without me—the same two people making the same decisions, without much alteration. I contributed little beside my reputation. Nie Mingjue would have, because he has the courage of his convictions. But Madam Yu is in the habit of hiding her cruelty. I knew she would withdraw without a cloak.” 

“Amazing.” Lan Xichen was a political animal. Precisely for that reason, I’d never expected to hear him lay out his thoughts like this. No pretense, no gloss. “What made you draw the line?” 

“Ah.” Lan Xichen’s eyes twinkled. “Surely, you can guess?” 

“I can?” 

He took a very slow sip from his cup. Not answering, then. 

“The Jin,” I guessed, but only because he’d mentioned earlier that he wanted to discuss the Jin with me. Once I had an answer, and Lan Xichen’s eyebrows rose expectantly, I realized I could follow the logic a little further. “Because they’ll be paying very close attention to these trials. They’ll wonder what pardoning Wen Ning means for them.” 

Lan Xichen hummed his agreement. “And who remained in Jinlintai throughout the war, keeping his hands carefully clean?” 

“Jin Guangshan,” I answered immediately. But there was a second answer, which had always stuck out to me because of the change from canon. “And Jin Zixuan.” 

Lan Xichen nodded. “I think you were right, when we spoke earlier. Jin Guangshan is strategic enough to pick his moment, and he can be patient. He would wait in Koi tower for years, if doing so would win back his place among the great Sects.” 

“You think you can lure the Jin out earlier,” I guessed. “If Jin Guangshan thinks amnesty is on the table, he might expose himself.”  

“He won't be able to resist. Jin Guangshan can be patient. He doesn’t like it, though.” Lan Xichen paused, thinking. “When I can do the right thing and also advance a strategic goal, then I can justify disrupting key alliances as I did today. But it must be both."  

“But you already said—Jin Guangshan kept his hands clean,” I pointed out. 

“It will be a challenge.” Xichen stood and offered me his hand. “For another day. You haven’t slept.” 

I took the hand and used it to steady myself as I pushed onto my feet. “Isn’t it rude to point out that you’ve noticed?” 

“You should know that you are cared for,” he answered. "And that your welfare is important." 

I blushed and then, impulsively, rose up on my tiptoes and pulled him into a hug. "Thanks," I said. "It's really nice to be cared for. And to know that I'm important to someone." 

He made a soft, startled noise and then tightened his arms around my waist, rested his cheek on the top of my head. "It is my pleasure." 

Chapter Text

Turns out Lan Xichen is a hugger. Which, c’mon, no surprise there. Dude has big hugger energy. Because the combination of him being a Lan and my being a woman made hugging an extremely dicey activity, he had to resort to stealth-hugging. 

Not at all coincidentally, he was really good at stealth hugging. He’d had a lifetime to refine his technique, I guess. I’d get a quick pat on the back while filing out of a meeting, or crouch beside him to collect a signature and feel a gentle squeeze around the shoulder.

Work had gotten pretty hectic, as the three allied sects prepared to vacate Nightless City. There was a fair bit of behind-the-scenes scrambling as records were collected and prisoners were processed either for conditional release (all the non-officers), or for a small remaining cadre of Sunshot cultivators to guard within Wen Ruohan’s old palace. They’d be dealt with either during a new and improved round of trials, or as part of a detailed peace treaty with the Jin. 

Lan Xichen’s prediction began proving itself true as various Sunshot luminaries received tentative letters from Madam Jin and Luo Qingyang, reported chance encounters with members of the Su Sect, and merchants who’d been trading in Lanling began circulating a surprisingly consistent set of soundbytes along with their goods (“Jin Sect never had a choice, they’d have rather stayed out of it,” and “All they want now is peace,” being the most common).

Once the ground had been laid, Jin Guangshan began reaching out himself. As Lan Xichen’s chief aide, I could flit around and take a peek at the letters the other sect-leaders had received. To Lan Xichen, he praised his fairness, his impartiality, his devotion to justice. But to Nie Mingjue, he suggested that the Wens ought to be excluded from any treaty-making, because even the remnants of the Wen sect carried forward Wen Ruohan's blighted legacy.

Jin Guangshan told Madam Yu that while it remained the dearest hope of Madam Jin’s heart to see Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli marry, he understood if events had forced her to reconsider the match. If Madam Yu wished to break faith with her dearest childhood friend, he wouldn’t object. If, on the other hand, anything could be done to preserve the alliance they’d spent so many years planning, he stood ready to play his part.

Obviously Jin Guangshan aimed to open up divisions between the Sunshot sects, to worm his way into the cracks. But the strategy didn’t become less successful just because it was apparent. Nie Mingjue’s anger ran the deepest of the three. Madam Yu still wanted Jiang Yanli to marry Jin Zixuan. 

His message to Lan Xichen was the trickiest, and also the most characteristically Jin Guangshan. Putting a spotlight on Lan Xichen’s fairness accomplished two things: it isolated him and it pinned him down. The implied message was: I heard what you did, and I expect the same. I’ll hold you to it. 

I told myself to settle down. The sect leaders were competent adults, capable of looking after their own interests. The future looked messy, but life tended to be messy. 

I told myself these things because, in the back of my mind, the same thought kept resurfacing: everything would be fine if only Jin Guangshan were dead. So long as he lived, he’d devote all his poisonous charm to reclaiming his place at the top of the cultivation food chain. If he died, I’d be content with the situation at large. Fix-it accomplished. 

I’d like to think I’m not a fan of expedient murder. Even in a world where everyone carries a video camera in their purse and DNA testing is readily available, it can be difficult to judge someone guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. And even if you infallibly achieve that much—which, bee-tee-dubs, we don’t—it’s a pretty significant step beyond that to assume that you can administer punishment that remains fair when compared to all the other judgments being made, and all the other punishments being administered. 

Anyone who insists they can do both of those things is probably not competent to do either: to judge, or to punish. 

But the thing is, in this world, I possessed a tiny measure of omniscience. Not perfect omniscience—it got more imperfect by the day—but I knew three things about Jin Guangshan with absolute certainty: he wanted power, he’d do anything to get it, and he lied like he breathed. 

Is that an excuse? It’s an excuse. I shouldn’t make excuses where my own guilt is concerned. Once may be an exception, but twice is halfway to a pattern. 

So I kept sending the thought to the bottom of the pile. Jin Guangshan might be a menace but he was, to my memory, the kind of guy who liked to light some candles and get everyone in the mood before he struck. His one true stroke of genius lay in understanding that even if he believed himself singular—at the top of his sect, at the top of his world, deserving all privilege and every exception—he never, ever acted alone.

I had time. I could wait.

In the meanwhile, Wei Wuxian started roping Lan Xichen and me into occasional lunches with himself and Lan Wangji. Mostly, as far as I could tell, to give the very busy Twin Jades some quality time together. We’d sit down, the brothers would vibe in silence, and Wei Wuxian would distract me with stories. 

Some had a vaguely familiar air, like the encounter with Wen Ning he’d described at the trial. Either because coincidences happen or because fate is real, take your pick. But I will throw out there that at one point, at least according to Wei Wuxian, the Wens had tracked him to Yiling and set several buildings on fire in an effort to flush him out. He’d popped out of hiding and then baited them into the Burial Mounds, without ever entering himself, and briefly earned the title Yiling Patriarch. 

“None of those Wens ever came back, but the title didn’t stick,” he finished. “Which is fine! Who needs a title? And Yiling Patriarch has such an ominous ring to it.” 

He had a story about being ambushed by Jins on the Qiongqi Path, and another about Jins using captured Sunshot cultivators as targets in an archery competition. He took full advantage of my appetite for stories which devolved into lengthy, effusive praise of Lan Wangji. “Did I tell you about the time Lan Zhan stood alone against a hundred fierce corpses?” “Did I ever tell you how Lan Zhan was injured, right before we met you? It’s a good story! See, we’d heard that the Nie needed reinforcement—“ 

I was never entirely sure how true most of these stories were, especially since they were always so entertaining. But it was nice to see Wei Wuxian looking after Lan Wangji, and nice to feel included. 

Eventually, Wei Wuxian got around to asking me if I’d heard about the Tortoise of Slaughter. “I have,” I answered. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing the story from someone who was there.” 

“I was there, but Lan Zhan killed it using the Chord Assassination Technique. He'd never used it before, not even once. Can you believe he mastered it on the first try?" 

“Wow,” I said.

“You should be more impressed!” Wei Wuxian scolded. “While he did that, I climbed inside the tortoise’s shell so I could stab it.” He mimed the stabbing. “Much less complicated.” 

“What did you stab it with?” I asked. 

Wei Wuxian’s smile faded. “Huh?” 

“You didn’t have your sword, right? How did you stab it?” 

Wei Wuxian shook his head, as though I were a troublesome little toddler. “You always have such interesting questions, Maiden An.” 

I’d thought that one was pretty obvious, actually, but I never did get an answer. 

Three things happened that put an end to this fun little routine. First, Madam Yu let it be known that Jin Guangshan had offered hand over his bastard son Meng Yao for trial so long as he and Jin Zixuan were assured (informally, of course) that they would be spared the indignity. Second, I learned that Xue Yang, the infamous delinquent from Kuizhou, had been accepted into Koi Tower as a disciple and enjoyed unusual favor from Jin Guangshan. Third, Madam Qin—Qin Su's mother—died suddenly. According to rumor, she’d committed suicide; I doubted it. 

Who would connect those dots? They sounded totally unrelated, but I read a whole story in them. Jin Guangshan had decided to give his reputation a nice coat of polish, so he’d adopted serial killer and silenced (at least) one of his victims. 

I heard the final piece of news about Madam Qin’s death while playing dice with a handful of other grunts, a nice little unwind and gossip sesh. My stomach turned; I'd had enough of waffling. I excused myself from the game and, despite the late hour, went straight to Lan Xichen. 

He answered my tentative knock at his door, with his hair loose and his forehead ribbon off, stripped down to a light set of inner robes.

He smiled tiredly. “Maiden An.” 

I hadn’t seen Lan Xichen dressed down since Yueyang, and I’d forgotten how different he could look. Lan Wangji would be forbidding in fuzzy pajamas, but Lan Xichen actually needed all the accessories to tamp down his natural warmth. 

“Can I have a minute?” I asked.

“Always,” he answered, but his ears turned red when I didn’t immediately start talking at him through the sliver of open door. “Shall I, ah, invite you in?” 

I nodded.

He did not slide the door open any wider. 

“Tomorrow is fine,” I conceded, preparing to slip away. “Your schedule is busy but I’m sure I can juggle the appointments.” 

“Oh. Pardon me.” He stepped aside, making room. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

I poked around a bit, eyeing the scroll on the pillow of his rumpled bed, the tea service on the table, smelling the sweet residue of his late-night beauty routine. He’d been about to turn in. I sat beside the tea service, touching a finger to the pot—cold, probably empty—and gathered my thoughts as Lan Xichen shuffled about looking flustered. 

“I’ve really enjoyed working for you,” I began. “It’s been wonderful to wake up every morning and know I’ll have accomplished something useful by the end of the day, and have a superior who listens to me, and treats me with respect. I’m so grateful to have had the opportunity—”

“No,” Lan Xichen interrupted. 

“I don’t want to leave,” I admitted. “But I have to—”

“No.” He dropped to his knees, scooped up my hands, tugged me into the shelter of his body, spoke with his lips tickling my hair and his breath warm on my ear. “Let me help. Maiden An, if you would let me—”

“I’m going to kill Jin Guangshan,” I interrupted, wresting myself free. “So, no. You can’t help.” 

He fell back on his heels, stunned into silence. After a single breath, then a second—so even he had to be counting through the inhales and exhales—he managed, “You will fail. Jin Guangshan is an extremely powerful cultivator. He is wily, and will not answer a challenge fairly.”

“I’m still going to try.” I did not point out that there was a 0.0% chance that I’d be angling for a ‘fair challenge’. Kind of the opposite. I wanted it to be as unfair as possible, with all the advantage going to me. 

“He will—” Lan Xichen’s hands fluttered then slowly curled into fists in his lap. “He will not hesitate to kill you.” 

He sure wouldn’t. But I preferred not to dwell on that. “I wouldn’t go if I didn’t think it was important, and I wouldn’t quit if there were any way for me to come back.” 

Lan Xichen went still as a statue, staring right through me. The silence stretched until it made me squirm, and I’d been spending a lot of time with Lans lately. 

“Will you give me time to think of an alternate solution?” he asked. 

Been there, done that. “I’m sorry, but… no.” 

“I am likely to identify possibilities that you have not considered,” Lan Xichen pressed. “Or are you so eager to throw your life away?” 

“I really don’t want you to get involved,” I said. “It’s bad enough that I’m telling you my intentions. I wish I weren’t, because you shouldn’t have this on your conscience. But if it goes badly, and I’m identified, you’ll need to be prepared.” 

His jaw flexed. “I see. When will you go?” 

“When you leave Nightless City,” I answered. “I’ll see the work through here, wrap up any loose ends, and give you time to decide on a replacement.” Plus, this thing we’re doing will get really messed up if it goes on much longer, I didn’t add. A lot of things happen in the chaos of war that won’t fly afterwards, especially in a place like Cloud Recesses. 

“Not before?” he pressed. “I have your word?” 

“Not before,” I agreed. “I promise.” 

Chapter Text

Lan Xichen got a little distant after that. I didn’t mind. I figured I was getting off lightly. And I didn’t have time to fret, since work remained hectic and I had to squeeze all my preparations into my non-existent free time. A few months on the Lan payroll had done my purse a world of good. In the absence of any banks, I bought myself a second money pouch—bigger than the first!!—and then, in a fit of humor, clumsily embroidered the words SAVINGS ACCOUNT on it in English. 

“I have a savings account,” I told the boxes in my storage closet/bedroom. “I’m really moving up in the world.” 

I put half my earnings into my Savings Account and spent freely from the remainder, stocking up on all sorts of conveniences. I bought myself a one-person tent made of waterproofed oilcloth. A fur-lined cloak embedded with talismans to ward off dirt—Lan work, obviously. A pair of sturdy boots for travel and a pair of silk slippers for town, plus a second set of stockings so I could wash one while I wore the other. A stash of hard candies. 

I thought about buying a horse or a mule, and then naming it something like Lil’ Apple, or Big Apple (while raising a glass for a city I’d never see again), or maybe even Applesauce (since canon had been mashed up and then heavily sweetened), but after asking around a bit it turned out I couldn’t afford one.

No wonder canon’s Wei Wuxian had stolen his.

Wei Wuxian kept roping me into lunch, but thanks to the established pattern that kept the Twin Jades occupied with one another it didn’t turn awkward. At one point he leaned close to me and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What are you two fighting about?” 

“We’re not—” But then I remembered that Lan anger manifested differently from a normal person’s. Wei Wuxian was right. “Oh, I guess we are. How could you tell?” 

“It’s not that hard. You should be better at it by now, actually. So what are you fighting about?” 

“Oh, I’ll be leaving soon,” I answered. “That's why.” 

“Leaving? But—” Wei Wuxian cocked his head to the side. “Can you go home?” 

I shook my head. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” he said, which would have worried me more if I weren’t a few days away from exiting the scene. “That’s too bad. Thanks for all your help, Maiden An. Things might have gone differently without you, huh?” 

Very differently, in some cases. 

“I'll miss everyone,” I answered. "Take care of each other, okay?" 

***

The night before the Lans left Nightless City, Lan Xichen murmured, “We should talk,” and guided me to his room. Late, after dinner, when the last sleepy murmurs drifted out of rooms that looked, as they never had before, picked clean of every valuable. Every silk hanging and every silver candlestick had found a new home; moonlight splashed across bare floors and pooled in decorative fountains stripped of their statuary. Even Lan Xichen's room had been thoroughly plundered, though not by the sect leader himself. Nor me, though I'd catalogued the valuables. Quilted coverlets, silk carpets, porcelain vases. Nice stuff. 

After flicking silencing talismans at the walls, he invited me to sit. He arranged himself carefully, and this time I was able to match the crisp precision of his movements to the mood. 

“I will help you to kill Jin Guangshan,” he began. 

“What?” I squawked. “No, absolutely not.” 

He huffed a quick, unhappy breath. "You've carried your point; further protests are unnecessary. You won't succeed on your own, so I will help."

“I'm aware my chances are slim. You're still not helping.” I was actually horrified that I’d managed to trigger Lan Xichen’s worst quality: a willingness to help his friends do murders. Without much persuasion actually, what the fuck. “It would be a disaster for your sect and dishonorable for you, and I refuse.” 

But he was not listening. He was following the script for a different conversation, which was so strange. Usually he was so attentive, so observant, a man who listened and also made a show of listening, a small but reliable way to boost the ego of whoever happened to be speaking.

“There are several possibilities—”

“I’m not going to discuss the possibilities. I’m not going to consider anything you offer. At all.” I touched my chest. My heart was complaining at me. “If that’s everything—”

His expression softened, anger bleeding away and leaving worry behind. "You're serious." 

“Very.” 

“You’re not…” He hesitated. “You’re not trying to force my hand.” 

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” I batted the question away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving in the morning and I’ll feel awful if my last memory of you is a fight.” 

“I thought you intended for me to assist you in your plot.” He sounded upset. Which—no wonder, what a shitty thing to do. “That you'd threatened to leave in order to secure my cooperation.”

“No." I felt betrayed, like he should have known me better, and also angry on his behalf. “And if that’s what you thought I was doing, you should have refused. No, I take that back. Refusing wouldn’t be enough. You should have tossed me out like garbage, and I’d still call that generous.”

“And yet I would have preferred it to the truth.” His voice thickened. “Maiden An, please see reason. Whatever you are planning, your chances of surviving it are…” 

“We’ve already gone over this,” I pointed out. 

“I took it for a ruse. I couldn’t believe—” He cut himself off. When he spoke again, he was quiet. Defeated. “I didn’t want to believe. Surely you see how this will end?”

He looked so heartbroken that I couldn’t help but reach for him, wrapping my arms around his neck and letting him hide his face in my chest while I tried to soothe him. “Listen,” I said, “Listen. Don’t worry about me. You’re going to be fine. You’re so lovely, and so easy to love, and anyone who would take advantage of your trust doesn’t deserve you. Will you try to remember that?” 

He didn’t answer, just held me tighter. This put me in his lap, petting and shushing and babbling, when I realized his hand was on my breast. And not accidentally. It was right there, squeezing and cupping, and then he was mouthing at my nipple through my robes, and pulling me flush against him so I could feel that he was hard. 

I’d always assumed, back in my first life when I was an idiot, that Lan Xichen would be a gentle lover. Sweet, and really into foreplay, but kinda low energy. Generous but also fundamentally disappointing.

I didn’t know how to react when he just started bunching my skirts up over my hips. He pressed his forehead against my breastbone—silent, refusing one kind of connection while demanding another—then dragged his fingers between my bare thighs. 

I was already cracked like an egg, spilling feelings all over the place. I urged him on, saying, “Yes, yes, I want you to,” without pausing to think about whether I should. The answer would have been no. But I wasn't thinking, and didn’t want to stop. So I spread my legs wider, gasped when a slight shift brought his naked flesh into contact with mine. It took a small eternity for him to work himself in, big enough to make me hold on for dear life while some unevolved animal part of my brain panicked and skittered. 

And then it was over. Just… immediately. Lan Xichen’s chest heaved and I think maybe he was crying? I was completely addled by then, murmuring, “I’m sorry,” over and over and kissing the silky cap of his hair. I’m pretty sure I sniffled, “I just want you to be happy,” before trying to stand up and toppling like a Jenga tower because my legs had turned to jelly. 

It was a little scary and very humiliating. After a few tries, I managed to hold myself upright, none too steadily. I got a single absolutely searing look from Lan Xichen before stumbling out the door, only realizing in the corridor that I ought to get my clothes in order before walking around where anyone could see me.

I was retying my belt when Lan Wangji turned the corner. After raking a judgmental eye from my top to my toe, his graceful, even features hardened into a mask of cold jade. 

“You will tell me your intentions toward my brother,” he announced, and it was the first time I’d ever heard that particular tone from him, infused with determination so fierce as to be functionally indistinguishable from a threat. 

“I have none,” I answered. “I’m leaving right now, in fact.” 

A little furrow appeared between Lan Wangji’s brows. “You’re leaving?”

I tried to scoot past. “I’ll be gone by morning.”

He blocked me. “Does Brother know?” 

I nodded. 

Lan Wangji twitched, apparently unprepared for this answer. Most of the bite had gone out of his voice when he asked, “You don’t care for him?” 

“I care for him very much.” I’d thought that would be easy to admit—I’d admitted it to myself quite a while ago—but my feelings were still too close to the surface, and my voice broke halfway through. I cleared my throat. “If only that were enough, right?” 

Lan Wangji blinked, slow. “It is enough.” 

I felt an awful ache in my chest and before I could stop them, a couple of the tears I’d been holding back escaped. Damn it. 

“I’m so glad you believe that,” I said. “But it’s not always true.” 

Chapter Text

***

Where and when: in Yueyang, after An has delivered Wei Wuxian's letter and Xichen has flown her back to the inn where Wei Wuxian is tending to Lan Wangji, who is injured.

“Lan Zhan will be fine, stop worrying,” Wei Wuxian assured him. “I sent that letter because we worry worst when there’s no news at all. He needs to rest, and he shouldn’t be fighting just now. He would, if it came to it, and I’d back him against anyone, in any condition…” 

“You were right to stay with him and right to send word,” Xichen assured Wei Wuxian. “You have my thanks.” 

As ever, earnest praise flustered Wei Wuxian and he quickly changed the subject. “You got here so fast! When that courier told me she could make the trip in less than seven days, I was sure she was exaggerating. I remember thinking, ‘Why bother? Look around, there’s no competition, just tell the truth’ but here you are. Six days later!”

“In fact, she made the journey in five.” He rolled his shoulders, where he still felt the imprint of her hands. He’d asked the guards about her, after he’d caught a glimpse of her notebook. They’d laughed about how she’d sat in front of the headquarters all night, refusing to budge. “But of course no one recognized her, and apparently you’d insisted she deliver the letter directly to me?” 

“It would have disintegrated if anyone else broke the seal,” Wei Wuxian confirmed. “It felt risky enough to put it in writing that Lan Zhan was injured, and where.” 

“The guards offered to bring the letter to me, but she wouldn’t let them. She said Wei Wuxian had told her—”

“Wait, what?” Wei Wuxian interrupted. 

Lan Xichen suppressed a sigh. Why interrupt him with a prompt to finish the sentence he’d just started? 

“She said that Wei Wuxian had instructed her to deliver the letter—”

“You’re sure?” 

This time, Lan Xichen remained silent. 

“Xichen.” Wei Wuxian grabbed his arm and shook it. “I never told her my name.” 

Lan Xichen froze. 

Many people, including many common people, could identify sect cultivators by their robes. But Wei Wuxian did not wear sect colors. Lan Xichen himself would struggle to name many of the disciples that he’d been introduced to over the years without the help of their distinctive robes. What’s more, Wei Wuxian had a quixotic aversion to symbols of rank. He never wore the hairpieces, fine jewels, or precious ornaments that he had a right to as Jiang sect’s first disciple, items which might have allowed a stranger to estimate his rank.

A well-informed civilian might have been able to identify him as Jiang, because he did wear a clarity bell, but even that would be unusual. That this young woman had known Wei Wuxian by name—then traveled at speed with a book of maps that might, at least in wartime, be fully worth not only its own weight in silver but her full weight—

“Your sword?” Lan Xichen wondered.

“I hid it,” Wei Wuxian answered urgently. “I was knocking on a stranger’s door in the middle of the night, I didn’t want to scare her.” 

“Give me a moment with Wangji,” He wouldn’t be able to fully turn his mind to other matters until he’d seen his brother safe and sound. “Then we will have a word with this ‘courier’.” 

***

Where and when: In Yueyang, still during Lan Wangji's recovery. After the three cultivators went through the contents of An's backpack, she took a bath and they had lunch.

It had taken Lan Xichen several years to fully appreciate that ‘childish troublemaker’ and ‘incisive genius’ were not two mutually exclusive states of being for Wei Wuxian. He could do both at once. The proof had been, and continued to be, clearest during meals. 

When Wei Wuxian ate, he took a bite of one thing and then another. He couldn’t settle. Sometimes he hardly paused to chew; sometimes he got so distracted with his talking that he ate one bite to Lan Xichen’s ten. He drank enormous quantities of alcohol. 

And yet, even at his most hedonistic and haphazard, Wei Wuxian could be clever. For example: he’d learned to bring up topics which he knew that Xichen or Wangji would rather not discuss over meals. At such times, neither of them could answer, object, or gently steer the conversation in a different direction. 

“You know how Maiden An always says she’s from ‘far away’?” Wei Wuxian began, violently red sauce dripping from a strip of meat which he held dangling in the air.

Wei Wuxian did not like Maiden An. Lan Xichen did not like that he did not like Maiden An. Wei Wuxian knew this, and so he waited for mealtime. 

“So far away it’s not even worth trying to describe where! It’s far, conversation over.” Wei Wuxian shook his chopsticks for emphasis, splattering sauce across the table. “And yet her book full of maps doesn’t include a single li of land north of Qinghe, south of Yunmeng or west of Qishan. Wouldn’t a mapmaker have maps of the areas she’s traveled through on her way here?” 

It was strange. Lan Xichen himself had searched for the exact same clues to her homeland, hoping that her book of maps would reveal what the lady herself tried to keep secret. But Wei Wuxian’s summary was exact. Not a li north of Qinghe, south of Gusu, or west of Qishan. 

Lan Xichen set down his chopsticks, pushed his half-empty bowl away, and touched a napkin to his lips. Unlike Wangji, who took pride in following the Lan disciplines outside of Cloud Recesses, no matter how inconvenient, Lan Xichen had learned to make exceptions. 

“Where, within that region, did she obtain the equipment in her satchel?” he asked. 

Wei Wuxian scowled and stuffed a pickle into his mouth. 

***

Where and when: In Yueyang, the evening before the mapping expedition, when Wei Wuxian convinced Maiden An to drink alcohol

He hadn’t expected Maiden An to take the dish of wine. Mostly because he wouldn’t expect anyone who hoarded their secrets so carefully to risk the tongue-loosening effects of alcohol. 

But also because she was a woman. While most male Lan cultivators would admit, in confidence, to having tried alcohol at least once, he’d never seen a female cultivator of any sect drink wine. His instinctive reaction was distaste. Strong distaste. But then he caught the sidewise glance, the bitter twist to her smile, and knew she’d seen right through him. 

She always saw right through him. 

According to the general consensus, Wangji was stone-faced and impossible to read while he was more gregarious and open. Lan Xichen had always thought the general consensus to be entirely wrong, and foolishly so. 

Wangji expressed many emotions readily—displeasure, contempt, and impatience being apparent to anyone within a wide radius—and if he hid others, he went about it in a straightforward way. He bottled them, buried them, occasionally tried to deny them. But who, looking at Wangji, wouldn’t immediately understand that he’d built high walls around his heart, thick and difficult to scale? They wouldn’t guess what lay within, but they could see the shape of the whole without any difficulty at all.

Lan Xichen expressed a much narrower range of emotion—patience and good humor were his perennial top notes—and disguised the rest. Hardly anyone noticed. He formed superficial friendships very easily and true friendships with great difficulty. No one ever blamed this disparity on his character, as they blamed Wangji’s. 

Like Wangji, Xichen exerted constant effort to keep others at a distance. He let them a little closer, but never close enough to understand him. He dissembled (slightly different from lying, and he could defend the distinction if questioned, though of course he hadn’t been) for many reasons: it kept the peace, he liked to make people feel good, he found a convivial atmosphere laid the groundwork for productive problem solving, et cetera. 

Despite all of this, he loved the little curls of Maiden An’s lip when she caught a hidden motive, and he loved the snide remarks that made it clear she saw his flaws, fully as much as he loved the occasional exclamation of surprise or thoughtful smile.

Wei Wuxian began discussing the war and Xichen wondered at it immediately, since Wei Wuxian frequently expressed his distrust of Maiden An. Shouldn’t he know better? Was he just drunk? 

And then he realized that Wei Wuxian was threading strategy through his drunken ramblings. Because while Maiden An held her silence, the more she drank the more revealing her facial expressions.

At the mention of Wen Ruohan, she looked troubled. Jin Guangshan, contemptuous. Nie Mingjue? Curious. 

She had a reaction to every single cultivator of note involved in the war and, Lan Xichen realized, that was why Wei Wuxian named them systematically, one by one. 

Wangji, who grew daily more willing to join Wei Wuxian in his schemes, mentioned a letter he’d received from Uncle Qiren and Maiden An rolled her eyes. But she reacted most strangely to Jin Zixun—she made a face as though she’d smelled something foul, an expression which contorted further each time his name came up, distaste mingling with… disbelief? Horror? Some combination of the two?

Eventually, Wei Wuxian scared her off. Once she’d gone, he waved his dish of wine at Lan Xichen. “She’s not a ‘courier’. There's no way she's a civilian. She’s lying.” 

He might have disputed those points individually, but answered the deeper one instead. “You accuse her of dishonesty—I am more surprised by how often she tells the truth.” 

“Brother,” Wangji cut in, tone quelling. He recited one of the disciplines. “Do not mix public and private interests.” 

“Do you dispute the value of her maps?” Xichen returned. “Or engaging her cooperation in making more?” 

“No,” Wangji answered, frustrated.

“Are you going to tell me to be sensible?” Xichen pressed. Many, many people had told Wangji to be sensible about Wei Wuxian. Xichen had never been one of them. 

Wei Wuxian stepped in. “What are you going to do when it turns out we’re right?”

He answered, “That won’t happen,” with more confidence than he had any right to feel.

Wei Wuxian knew it, too. “But if it does?” 

“Then of course I will take appropriate measures,” Xichen answered. 

***

Where and when: Hedong, after Maiden An's mapping expedition with Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng

No sooner had Maiden An left, leaving behind her maps and her poisonous suspicions, than Wei Wuxian stormed in. He dragged Wangji behind him, a sure sign that he wanted something that Xichen would be inclined to refuse. 

“I’ve caught Maiden An in a lie and you’re not wriggling out of it this time,” Wei Wuxian began. “When I introduced her to Jiang Cheng, my shidi said she looked familiar. Maiden An insisted that they’d never met. But a few days later he remembered—they crossed paths near Lotus Pier, right before the Wen attack. When he brought it up again, she tried to deny it. Again. But she couldn’t, because he was sure this time.” 

Lan Xichen reached for the sleeve where he’d stowed Maiden An’s maps and then covered the reflex by smoothing the fabric down. He could see Meng Yao through the open doors, working diligently. 

How dare she, he thought, remembering his helplessness after Cloud Recesses had burnt, the humiliation of watching Meng Yao launder his clothes because he’d tried and made a set of rags instead. How glad he’d been to repay the favor when Meng Yao asked him for a position, and how Meng Yao’s competence had quickly proven that, once again, Lan Xichen owed everything to his brilliant friend. 

Quick on the heels of these memories came a second thought, more bitter and more honest than the first: How dare I. Because he knew that he would attempt Maiden An’s test. 

“Perhaps it is best if we remove her from our camp for a time,” Xichen admitted. “Until we are more certain of her loyalties.” 

The concession startled Wei Wuxian—he’d expected a stronger protest. But the test Maiden An intended for Meng Yao would reveal just as much about her. And he’d only trust the results if he could be certain that she had no influence over them. 

“Wangji, will you take her to the Unclean Realm? I’ll write a letter.” He paused. "I do have one request. Not unrelated. Wei Wuxian, say nothing of your recent mapping excursion. Pass my instruction along to Jiang Wanyin, as well. I'll mention it myself when I next see him. Until further notice, everything you accomplished on that trip is to be kept absolutely secret." 

After Wei Wuxian and his brother had gone, Meng Yao approached with a fresh pot of tea. He poured, and sat, and turned soft sympathetic eyes on Xichen. 

“The Sect Leader is troubled,” Meng Yao observed. 

Xichen shook his disquiet away and lifted the cup, drawing calm from the familiar ritual. Like Maiden An, Meng Yao saw right through him. Unlike Maiden An, he tried to hide the extent of his keen insight. 

Xichen understood the impulse because, in this respect, he resembled Meng Yao.

“We are always so hostile toward what we don’t understand,” Xichen observed, counting on Meng Yao to connect the observation to the subject of his most recent conversation. Then, because he hoped it might please his friend, “Maiden An said some very kind things about you.” 

“Oh?” Meng Yao ducked his head. “This humble one is always pleased when his efforts are acknowledged.” 

“She called you brave,” Lan Xichen said. “Isn’t that lovely? You’re one of the bravest people I know, a-Yao, and it’s too rare for others to see it.”

Meng Yao’s expression lost some of its sparkle. “Brave? This aide has welcomed her, and assisted in her travel preparations. I had no need to call on my courage for such small tasks.” 

“She is unusually perceptive,” Lan Xichen answered, for lack of a better explanation. His heart sank at the flicker of fear in Meng Yao’s eyes—he knew then, in his heart, what Maiden An’s test would reveal. But he would honor his friendship by making sure. He would hope, for so long as he could.

***

Where and when: Hedong, after Maiden An has escaped from the Unclean Realm

Xichen did not usually sort his own mail. In his opinion, delegation was the most essential skill of a leader. Find good people and empower them. A subordinate needed the freedom to act without fear of being set aside or gainsaid at crucial moments. Keeping his hands off while making himself available to offer help and guidance as needed was both a balancing act, and an art.

But Meng Yao had left for the afternoon, and the courier wore Nie green. 

“I’ll take your letters,” said Xichen, before anyone else could step in.

He received a small stack and tried not to seem too eager as he carried them to his desk. Meng Yao assured Xichen that he received regular updates on Maiden An’s well-being, that she’d been treated well (Nie Mingjue took care with such things) and showed no signs of distress. No doubt the latest update would be more of the same.

He had no reason to be impatient. Still, he snapped the wax seals and scanned the communiqués with something more than his usual attention. 

When he found the report on Maiden An, he had to read it three times before the words made sense to him. Not, as he’d expected, the detainee continues to spend her time with reading and peculiar exercises. No desultory assurance that the detainee remains healthy and in reasonably good spirits. No. The report said— 

He took a deep breath, counting to twenty on the inhale and the exhale both. 

The report said Maiden An has escaped from the bamboo cage to which she’d been transferred at Meng Yao’s request. 

Bamboo cages were an extraordinary punishment, even for a cultivator with a fully-formed golden core. In the case of a dangerous criminal, the combination of constant supervision and debilitating exhaustion brought on by exposure might justify a form of captivity that amounted to torture. For a young woman who’d committed no crime…?

At Meng Yao’s request. 

The Captain of the Guard, who’d penned the report herself, clearly had no goal beyond dodging responsibility for the unwanted outcome of ‘escape’. To this end, she mentioned Meng Yao’s instructions more than once. There had been a previous attempt, apparently. Instead of informing Xichen, Meng Yao had sent back a request for stricter supervision. For the cage. The Captain of the Guard had only been following instructions. 

Meng Yao had lied. Deliberately, repeatedly. And if he’d lied about this…? The truth had been a glitter at the corner of Xichen’s eye, but he’d refused to face it squarely. He still had—hope—a little. Not much. He slipped all the letters from the Nie courier into his sleeve, rather than leaving them on Meng Yao’s desk, and only told Wangji where he was going before flying at full speed to the Unclean Realm. 

He’d seen the cages before. Occupied, occasionally. It required little imagination to picture Maiden An in one, and yet somehow the reality was worse. The bare stone ground, not quite swept clean by the rain. The ragged edges of the bamboo she’d cut, creating such a narrow gap for herself. Maiden An had survived a week of this? And now she was alone—weakened, diminished, at the mercy of the elements— 

His fault. He’d sent her here. He’d trusted her well-being to a traitor. She’d known, she’d warned him, and in his efforts to be fair, he’d nearly killed her. 

He ought to let her go. She’d prefer it if he did. But if she were hurting, if she died…? If Meng Yao tracked her, if he’d told the Wen of her maps? How much worse would that be? He could—no, he must—find her, protect her, ensure her safety. He had an obligation, more than a desire. He could assign disciples to the search. Leave no stone unturned. 

"Thank you for informing me so quickly," he told the Nie Captain of the Guard, cool and calm. He felt disconnected from his own body, as though he were watching himself speak at a distance. "Do you know which way she went?" 

***

Where and when: Nightless City, Palace of the Sun and Flames, the morning after Maiden An's departure.

Lan Xichen spent the morning after Maiden An’s departure supervising the exodus of his Lan disciples from Nightless City, taking off in small flights one after the other. He would not have been capable of anything more taxing. 

Wangji had tried to comfort him, but it had been a rare case where Wangji had no comfort to offer. He’d been lucky in love and while Xichen delighted in his brother’s good fortune, it had affected his ability to give advice. Maybe she’ll return, Wangji suggested. What if she wants you to pursue her? 

Eventually, he’d had to tell Wangji that he’d settle his thoughts best through meditation. 

So he braced for another painful conversation when Wangji approached that morning, tugging Wei Wuxian along by the belt. Wei Wuxian tried to squirm free and complained, audibly, about how he didn’t want to talk to Xichen and he hadn’t meant for Wangji to take him so seriously and wouldn’t it be better to wait for another time? 

Wei Wuxian kept this up until he was a few short chi away, at which point he fell silent and adopted a respectful posture. 

“Brother,” Wangji said, undisturbed by any of this. “Wei Ying has something to tell you.” 

Xichen turned an enquiring expression on Wei Wuxian. The ground had been laid so intriguingly after all!

Wei Wuxian glanced briefly at Xichen before transferring his attention back to Wangji and pouting. 

“Wei Ying has something to tell Brother,” Wangji said, unimpressed. 

“Oh, fine.” Wei Wuxian huffed and said, matter-of-fact, “I figured out where Maiden An is from and why she’s here.” 

Xichen sucked in a sharp breath. “And you didn’t tell us?” 

“No, and you’ll understand why not once I explain.” Wei Wuxian crossed his arms over his chest, hunching his shoulders a little. “I’ve known for a while, actually, but I wanted to test my theory. It holds up. It’s the only one that holds up. But… uh… I’m pretty sure she’s a time traveler.” 

Xichen had a vivid fantasy of punching Wei Wuxian in the nose, watching blood spatter all over his face, and then sitting alone and undisturbed in a quiet garden for ten hours straight. Those two things, in sequence: first the blood, then the silence. 

He had never been less in a mood to appreciate Wei Wuxian’s teasing. But if he wanted it to stop, he could not take the bait. 

“An interesting theory,” Xichen said, perfectly neutral. 

“Some of the evidence is really obvious. Like, where did she get all that weird stuff? What’s that language on her ‘phone’ and where is it spoken? But then if she’s from so far away, how did she know so much about us? She knows things no one would ever have told her. Strange details, and too many secrets.”

“You have worried at these mysteries for a year now—” Xichen began.

“The best clue, though, isn’t what she knows,” Wei Wuxian continued, determined to finish now that he’d started. “It’s what she doesn’t know. The stuff she gets wrong. Like she thought I’d only met Wen Ning once. I met Wen Ning for the first time right before the archery competition in Qishan. You remember the discussion conference before the outbreak of the war? You were there. Lan Zhan was there. Maiden An was not there. When I introduced them, Wen Ning had no idea who she was. He certainly didn’t tell her. How did she know all about this chance encounter, but nothing about the time when he saved my and Jiang Cheng’s lives?”

“What does this have to do with time travel?” Xichen wondered. 

“Because she came back to change things, and I think she’s been pretty successful,” Wei Wuxian answered. “Every time she succeeds, she knows less about the future. Which is why all the weird stuff she knows happened before she arrived.”

“And when—” Xichen began.

Of course Wei Wuxian interrupted. “The first of us to meet her was Jiang Cheng, on his way back from the Xuanwu cave. So she was definitely here by then, and not, I think, much before. Everything fits with that. My first meeting with Wen Ning was months before the Xuanwu cave. But my second meeting, the one she didn’t know about, was months after.” 

“I hope that is not your only evidence,” Xichen said. 

“That’s just how I figured it out,” Wei Wuxian said. “But this is why I kept dragging you two to lunch. I wanted to be sure. I’d tell her stories and see which ones were new to her. She knows way too much about everything that happened before the Xuanwu cave. But afterwards? She’s like anyone else. Like, you can lie to her about stuff that happened after the Xuanwu cave. She hardly ever knows the difference.”

Xichen had a strong urge to poke holes in this theory, acquired at his Uncle Qiren’s knee. Uncle Qiren would say that absurd ideas didn’t merit serious consideration. Rather than legitimize an absurdity by acknowledging it, he’d silence Wei Wuxian, punish him, make an example of him—part of a pattern, between those two. 

Instead of doing as he’d been taught, Xichen offered another piece of evidence. “When she came to me with her suspicions about Meng Yao, she said she hoped she was wrong.” 

“Because she was guessing. It’s like the opposite of putting together a puzzle. She showed up with the whole picture and ever since, pieces have been disappearing. She told me about something she did early on—I promised to keep her secret—but the more I think about it, the more sure I am that by the time we met her, a lot of things had changed.”

Which surfaced another odd memory, one that had bothered him for a while. “She told me she thought I preferred men. On the first… no the second day after we met.” 

Wei Wuxian brightened. “I wonder who…?” 

“It’s not my inclination,” Xichen added, to be clear. 

“Perhaps you never married,” Wangji said, a deep sorrow in his eyes. “In this other life.” 

That would give rise to rumors. Probably he would suffer the same fate in this life, since the woman he loved had abandoned him in favor of a suicide mission. Loving once in a lifetime sounded very romantic until you tripped on some of the consequences. 

Xichen wasn’t convinced about time travel. But Wei Wuxian’s theory did fit better than any other explanation. It made sense of Maiden An’s most inexplicable behaviors. The idea was plausible enough that he decided to share something he had intended to keep entirely to himself.

“She has set out to kill Jin Guangshan.”

“Oh, wow.” Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide. “And she wouldn’t tell you why?” 

Xichen shook his head. “Not a word of explanation.” 

“Time travel,” Wei Wuxian said, confidently now. “I understand why you wouldn’t want anything to do with that, but—”

“She refused my aid,” Xichen interrupted. 

“You offered?” 

Xichen nodded. 

Wangji snapped to attention. Xichen had sent him on a few errands that probably made more sense, now that he knew what Xichen had been planning. 

Wei Wuxian scratched his nose. “That’s odd.”

At the time, Xichen had simply been hurt. And then afraid. He had a hard time thinking past the fear. “Even if she has good reason, I dread to think what will happen. If I can still stop her…?” 

He could. He’d had her followed. He’d thought it an acceptable compromise between instinct and intellect. 

“Don’t underestimate her.” Wei Wuxian’s expression turned shifty. “I know who I’d bet on, anyhow. And it’s not Jin Guangshan.” 

At those words, the knot tied tight around his heart loosened. A little—enough. “Thank you, Wei Wuxian. That's just what I needed to hear.” 

Chapter Text

I had originally planned to spend the night in my storage closet, say a few goodbyes in the morning. You know, like an adult. But after… everything… I didn’t have the face for it. I set out immediately, washed up briefly in a stream that—like many in Qishan—ran comfortably warm, and kept going through the night and into the early afternoon, burning up reserves of energy that I should not have had.

I’d been thinking about how to kill Jin Guangshan and while I wasn’t quite as pessimistic as Lan Xichen had been, I didn’t love my options. So far, my best idea went something like this: 

1. Become a prostitute.

2. Become such an amazing prostitute that my reputation spread far and wide, attracting the most elite Johns in the land.

3. Invite Jin Guangshan into my elegant boudoir and kill him while we’re alone. 

Aside from any qualms surrounding step #1, I had serious doubts about the plausibility of step #2. It seemed a little like deciding to join the NBA before learning to dribble. 

So I toyed around with alternatives. None were quite the slam dunk that actually achieving step #3 of my best plan would be, but neither did they require quickly becoming the very best at a profession with which I had zero experience.

Most of my alternatives drew from the same theme, though. Meng Yao had known what he was about, and would have picked his moment well. Maybe I could tail Jin Guangshan for a while, identify his favorite brothel, and then bribe my way in? Or get a job there as a laundress or cook or scullery maid? 

Or, skewing even closer to Meng Yao’s plan, set up some sort of elaborate orgy. Spend months circulating rumors about how fabulous it would be, how luxurious and taboo. Invite-only. I had some doubts about whether my ideas for a sex club would really thrill anyone in ancient fantasy China—there’s a fair bit of sexual experimentation everywhere, in any time, and it’s arrogant to assume otherwise. But the idea held enough appeal that I made a special note for it on my phone and kept returning to it. 

Still, how to finance something like that? Or could that be part of my plan? Approach the right people, drop some hints about where the money would go? 

What if I tried to lure him out with erotic drawings? Take some nudes with my phone, trace the naughty parts onto rice paper, juice them up for maximum impact…? I probably did have a better understanding of thirst traps than anyone else in this world, because digital cameras+the internet had brought the wisdom of crowds to bear on them in a way that that had never before been possible. Send some racy images his way, add some mysterious and teasing captions... 

That could work, actually. It had the two qualities I needed most: it would hit Jin Guangshan where he was weakest and allow me to capitalize on an advantage that no one else in this era could replicate. For bonus points, my prep work would not include sleeping with strangers and the plan left room for me to bail if things went sideways, almost up until the last minute.

A few days later, I was in the middle of my morning yoga session when I heard a rustle and yelp in the nearby bushes. I paused to investigate but several minutes of searching didn’t turn up anything suspicious—no footprints or peanut shells. Still, the incident made me nervous enough that I packed up camp immediately and spent the next few days at inns.

Still, I wasn’t entirely surprised when Lan Xichen showed up while I paused for lunch in a lovely little meadow, close enough to Yunmeng to have that lazy glow from green growth and slow waters and endless sunshine. 

“Did you have me followed?” I asked, before he could sidestep away from the topic. 

He sheathed Shuoyue, unruffled by the question, and sat a warm bun in front of me. “Your life is precious.” 

I took the bun and let that sense of being cared for flow through me, warm and energizing. “So is my freedom, and my boundaries, and knowing that the people who care for me respect my choices.” 

“No one stopped you from doing as you like, and no one would have.” Xichen strolled around the camp, inspecting my cookware, set out to dry after being washed, my tent, my protection talismans. “If you have your freedom, and I have at least a slim chance of saving your life when you inevitably risk it, then both of us win. Why object?” 

“Fair enough,” I conceded. “You’re hard to argue with, you know?” 

“By design.” He handed me a folded and sealed square of paper. “A detailed itinerary of the route that Jin Guangshan will take to the discussion conference where we will finalize the peace treaty.” 

I stowed the gift safely in my sleeve before complaining. “You shouldn’t be helping me. I didn’t even try to explain why I want to kill Jin Guangshan, or what he’d done to deserve it. I didn’t present a single piece of evidence.” 

“Yes, I noticed.” Xichen cheerfully confiscated my battered old tinder box and replaced it with a new one which looked to be made of silver, with an extra slot on the side stuffed full of talismans. A pretty thoughtful gift—I usually made fire the old fashioned way, because it was cheaper. “And yet I remember, not so very long ago, when you advised me to trust myself and my instincts. It seems to me that you should not give me advice and then object when I follow it."

“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much,” I groused. 

“I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount,” he returned, strolling over with his hands tucked into the small of his back, cool and neutral right up until he cupped the back of my head and bent to kiss me. He coaxed my jaw open with his thumb and took immediate advantage, every stroke of his tongue a deliberate tease. 

I wobbled when he finally let go.

“Thank you for trying to protect me, and my heart, and my sect." He set Shuoyue afloat and added, offhand as he stepped onto the blade, "Fear of loss is harrowing, but also clarifying. When next we meet, I will ask you to marry me. I hope you will consider my offer.” 

It wasn’t until much later that I noticed the dagger at my waist, slim and delicate with an opalescent sheen. It hadn’t been there before—he must have tucked it into my belt while I was distracted by the kissing—and it chilled my hand when I gripped the hilt, cold as ice and disturbingly alive. 

He’d given me a spiritual weapon.

Chapter Text

“What special things do you do?” I asked the dagger, wondering how I'd test it. But the answer came to me as clearly as if I’d found a written set of instructions. The dagger's name was Mercy—it came to me in English, I think because the communication was non-verbal—and it always struck true. It found its mark. If I had the will, it provided the way. 

The itinerary Lan Xichen had given me made the erotic drawing idea a pretty obvious Plan A. I spent some time taking nude photographs and then adapting them into X-rated thirst traps. You’re surely familiar with the genre: lips, breasts, butt and vag in various combinations, with only a vague indication that there’s a person attached to the relevant parts. Thirst traps can be evocative or stylish, melancholy or exuberant, they run the gamut. Not mine, though. Mine were as porny as possible, one graphically three-dimensional depiction of sexual availability after another.

The Jins would be traveling for four days, and I knew where they’d be staying, who’d be preparing their meals, at what hour they were expected to arrive and depart. I had the drawings slipped into Jin Guangshan’s room, left on his pillow or underneath an after-dinner jar of wine. 

I made a whole production out of it, actually. I went to a tailor for a cloak of cheap wool, with a massively oversized hood. I padded my breasts and hips, and cinched my waist, only partly to distort my figure. I added heels to be safe. For the pièce de résistance, I bought a gauzy veil and sewed little beads along the bottom, so they’d glitter and chime beneath the hood. 

I spent some time practicing a breathy, sexy voice—the hard part was committing to it, honestly—and approached the Jin lackeys in my oh-so-mysterious costume with theme-appropriate bribes. You would not think this shit would work, right? You would think that transforming into a devastating seductress would be more difficult. And… okay, yeah, it would be. 

But the Jin are tasteless, tacky bullies and I only needed to fool them for a few minutes at a time. I tried to let them know with my stride and my posture and my stupid breathy voice that I would destroy them, and thanks to all the bells and whistles they took it in the sexy way. Also, I bribed them. Why are rich people so bribable? Who knows, but they love a good bribe. In this case: medicine jars fully of Xianxia-style Viagra. They were thrilled. 

So the lackeys delivered my messages. On the flip side of every drawing, I wrote a number—a countdown, first three, then two, then one, and on the fourth day the picture came with an address. 

I’d been pretty careful about selecting a location. My first concern had been selfish: enough privacy to do the deed and a clear escape route for afterwards. But, in the event that I succeeded, I didn’t want whoever had rented me a room or loaned me a cottage to pay for what I’d done. In the absence of the true culprit, it’s always tempting to blame whoever’s available. 

Finally, the location also had to be sexy. Or, you know, s-e-x-x-x-y. So an old abandoned toolshed or whatever wouldn’t fit the vibe. Luckily, in the aftermath of a war, there are more options than you might ordinarily expect in terms of attractive and also abandoned buildings. 

I used an old school as my staging ground. It had walls, a little garden, a few little rooms and a back gate. With the addition of candles, torches, curtains and cushions I transformed it into sort of pocket brothel. 

And it worked! I was, as previously established, not wildly confident in my ability to keep the act going for very long in person. I’d fashioned a sort of negligee for myself—not quite naked but close—that I paired with a long scarf, to which I’d added a pocket for the spiritual dagger. And I’d made sure to spy on the Jin entourage through my binoculars a few times, so I could recognize Jin Guangshan and not accidentally kill some random lecher. 

When he actually walked through the gates to the school, all the fear I’d been holding at bay flooded in. I’d been trying to lounge seductively in a doorway, attractively lit by a dozen flickering candles, but he looked at me—I'd known better than to look Wen Zhuliu in the face—and his stupid smug smile turned sharp, wolfish.

I panicked. Like, my body revolted against me. It did not care about the plan. I was viscerally terrified, and I ran into the schoolhouse. Jin Guangshan, charming fellow that he was, gave chase. 

He caught me, because he was fast and my brain had gone into hiding, and I stabbed him. I don’t even know what else to say. I think he expected me to flail, which I did, but I had Mercy in my hand and it knew what to do. It practically yanked my hand forward. I stabbed him three times, in the heart twice, before he knocked me away with a single backhanded blow. My shoulder hit the wall and cracked; I knocked my head and dizziness combined with nausea and screaming pain that radiated across my chest.  

I switched the dagger to my other hand, because the arm still worked, and decided to trust its aim. I thought Right in the eye as I sent it flying. It got him right in the eye. 

I pulled down the curtains I’d hung around the room, which in addition to adding ambiance had hidden the word ‘rapist’ splashed across the walls several times in three-foot-high letters. I’d added the accusation as a red herring—to make people think Jin Guangshan had been murdered by one of his victims, and thus, not by me—and partly because I knew the accusation to be true. 

Jin Guangshan deserved to die in infamy. 

I grabbed the dagger, closed my eyes as I pulled it free from the socket of Jin Guangshan's eye, and swore violently as I forced my arms through a set of plain robes. A guard in gold tried to stop me as I slipped through the back gate; he’d heard a shout. I killed him, too. This might make me sound swift or badass or something, but actually I was just a mostly-naked woman (distracting, not an obvious threat) with a dagger that could do most of the work. 

The guard did raise my total lifetime murders to three, which was one more than I’d intended and three more than is truly advisable. 

My escape route had three separate stages. My shoulder was so fucked that my body had kicked in with a bit of dissociation and shock. Not great signs, but useful in the moment. I trekked through the woods to the first station, where I’d left a box with a change of clothes and a first aid kid. I tied the scarf I’d been wearing into a sling and put on costume #1, the mismatched rags of a beggar. My sexy seductress garb went into the now-empty box and a couple of fire talismans destroyed the evidence. 

Then I hobbled along to the second station, a room in a riverside inn. I had to climb in through a window with only one working arm, kept trying to grab with the other and passed out from the pain, but I made it inside. I had a second change of clothes and some money waiting for me inside. I bundled the beggar costume into a qiankun pouch, took my time washing up, and changed into costume #2: exhausted housewife.

I considered searching out a doctor but decided against—not so close to the scene of the crime. So instead I proceeded to station three, which involved catching a ferry across a broad, fast-moving river and then trekking another ten miles cross country to the cave where I’d left the rest of my possessions. 

At the third station, I transformed back into myself and finally got help for my shoulder. The doctor suggested rest. I wanted to laugh in the face of pain and defiantly march on out of there, but it was like he’d said the magic word. Rest. Rest. Yeah, for a little while. 

Chapter Text

News of Jin Guangshan's death spread like wildfire and provided me with a lot of work. Everyone had important letters to send. Merchants contacted their suppliers, craftsmen sent nervous queries to clients, officials reached out to counterparts in nearby towns for advice.

The discussion conference where the sects had been meant to hammer out a peace treaty was delayed by several weeks, during which Jin Zixuan assumed leadership of his sect. When the sects eventually did convene, I kept well clear. I didn't want to remind anyone who'd recognize me that I’d vanished at an opportune moment. Prudence is the better part of valor, as the saying goes.

In the following weeks, a whole slew of news filtered down from on high: a new set of trials at which Jin and Wen officers would be judged side by side and by the same rules; the renewed engagement of Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan; an engagement between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian; the area in and around Dafan mountain ceded to the Wen remnants led by Wen Qionglin, while the remainder of Qishan was sliced up like a pie and the pieces distributed to any major or minor sect hungry enough to hold out a plate.

Not bad, I thought, mentally congratulating everyone involved. Myself included. I made my way toward Gusu, by a roundabout path. When a local artist needed a finished commission delivered to Yunmeng I carried it, and from there an aging grandfather who'd just finished transferring ownership of his farm to his son in Baling needed the deed couriered over. 

What with one thing or another, it took me a couple months to reach Caiyi Town, a full half year after I'd left Nightless City. By then, it seemed kind of silly to assume Lan Xichen wanted to pick up where we’d left off, or to take his last words too seriously. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to—I had serious doubts about whether I’d fit in in Cloud Recesses in any capacity, and no desire to watch everyone squabble about it. 

I dawdled instead, filling out my notebook with maps of Gusu, traveling from the cloud forests all the way to the rocky coast where seagulls wheeled over a leaden sea. I'd spent so long at the heart of the Lan sect that I'd lost some perspective, and exploring the region brought the big picture back into focus. I caught occasional glimpses of beribboned cultivators in white, on swords flying overhead, making their aloof way through the markets. I saw cloud motifs on food stalls, drank tea at inns from cups disproportionately fired to soft white or pale blue.

I was drinking tea early one morning when a young Lan disciple found me. He was skinny and soft-cheeked, with lively eyes. He bowed and asked, "Does this disciple have the privilege of addressing Maiden An?” 

I slid a glance from the disciple to the proprietor of the inn where I'd stayed the night before, a short, sprightly woman who shrugged unapologetically. 

“That’s right," I answered.

"Sect Leader Lan sent me to extend an invitation to visit the Cloud Recesses." 

“And you’re here to show me the way?” 

The disciple bobbed. 

“It will take me a few minutes to gather my things.” I flipped him a few coins. “Would you buy something I can eat while we walk? And whatever you want for yourself, with anything left over.”

Lan or not, the kid was thrilled with this arrangement. I emerged from the inn with my qiankun pouches hidden in my sleeve and my backpack on my back to find him chewing his way through a spun-sugar rabbit. 

I snapped off a little piece for myself, laughing at the mournful look I got, and glumly started the twenty mile hike to Cloud Recesses. I didn’t get winded like I used to, but my quads were burning after the first quarter mile. Only seventy-nine of those to go!

“How come everyone always talks about Lan arm strength and no one talks about Lan thighs?” I wondered aloud. Then answered my own question while the disciple shot me a scandalized look. “Because no one can see the thighs, that’s why. Sorry, kid. Should have been obvious.” 

It wasn’t so bad hiking through the day, when every twist and turn of the trail presented a new and stunning view of karst mountains and clinging pine trees, robed in wispy clouds. The light gradually deepened as we hit golden hour, softening the harsh landscape, then shaded into bronze and violet. Then the sun set. I asked the junior guiding me, who'd been remarkably patient even though he could have jumped on his sword and made the journey in a small fraction of the time, and he thought that at the pace we were going we'd reach the gates in another two hours. 

From then on I doggedly put one foot in front of the other in the dark, following the trail of pale flagstones ever upwards and trusting that the disciple would know if we got lost. I'd been fresh as a daisy in Caiyi Town but arrived at the rough-hewn gates to Cloud Recesses a sweaty, droopy mess. I was shown to a secluded cottage surrounded by an ornamental pond, told that I should make myself at home, and reminded that I ought to have been in bed an hour ago. 

I dropped my backpack, my qiankun bags, and my outer robes, flopping tiredly across the bed. What a slog. 

I had not moved even an inch when an extremely graphic drawing of a butt… of my butt, actually… plus a twisted back (also mine) and a plump breast (generous exaggeration)… filled my entire field of vision. 

“How many of these did you make?” Lan Xichen asked. 

I groaned. “Mercy, please, I'm too tired to count.” 

“I collected four.” Lan Xichen flicked the drawing away and sitting beside me on the bed. “At no small difficulty.” 

I covered a yawn. “Why bother? They don’t look like me at all.” 

“The figure is unidentifiable,” Xichen agreed. “The artist’s style, however, is entirely unique.”

“Oh.” I winced. “Oh, fuck. How stupid can I be? I thought I was so careful…” 

“You were careful.” He ran a hand along my side, slow and firm. “May I join you?” 

I scooted over. "I'd apologize for being a mess but that's your fault."

"If you say so, then I accept responsibility." He lay down at my side and cuddled me into his chest, little spoon style. I sighed into the embrace, warm and strong and smelling of rain. 

“I hope I didn’t make too much trouble for you.” I couldn’t believe I’d missed something so obvious. Admittedly, I hadn’t shown very many people here drawings I’d made using Western-style perspective—maybe just Lan Xichen himself—but as far as incriminating clues went, it was about one step down from leaving behind a bloody fingerprint. 

“You created trouble for the Jin.” The arm he'd draped around my waist tightened. “In the scramble to identify which of Jin Guangshan’s victims might have murdered him, the people most fervently demanding answers compiled quite a lengthy list… it took them too long to realize that, in doing so, they’d detailed his crimes and admitted to abetting them. They spoiled his memory utterly; salted the earth where his name once flourished. I would say you’d set a clever trap, if I hadn’t wondered... Maiden An, did he… were you…” 

“Oh!” I twisted in Lan Xichen’s arms, cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead. He must have been wondering for months. “No, I’d never even met him before.”

Lan Xichen shuddered with relief. 

“I hate that you worried for so long. That must have been awful.” 

“You will make it up to me,” he said, dark eyes intent.

“Ah?” I laughed. Nervously. “How will I do that?” 

“Your presence is a balm to my soul.” His hand, which had settled on the small of my back, drifted lower. Squeezed. “Your touch a blessing. Maiden An, you must marry me.” 

I hummed, and let him distract me with kisses, and lick down my neck, nipping gently as he went.

“That was a question,” he added, working at my belt. “It requires an answer.” 

Responding to the invitation to Cloud Recesses had been half a yes—but I wouldn’t accept until I had a better sense of the consequences. “I have some concerns.” 

“Is that all?” He looked up at me as he parted my robes, his smile pure and boyish. “Maiden An, you don’t have to go easy on me.” 

“Serious concerns!” I protested, while I still could. The rest of me was crumbling at an alarming rate. 

“It is kind of you to give me an opportunity to impress,” he murmured, sly, and it was the last really coherent thing either of us said for a while. 

It turns out that Lan Xichen does like slow, gentle lovemaking. But with a devious edge—all that hard-earned self-discipline is a deadly weapon in bed. 

It was hours before either of us slept, and morning came too fast. We ate breakfast together and then I got a personal tour of Cloud Recesses, still in the early stages of recovering from the Wen attack. The debris from the destroyed library had been cleared away; the shell of a replacement had begun to take shape. Many homes had burned, and the encroaching forest with them. 

But the majestic mountains, the babbling brooks, the expansive quiet—how can silence be stifling in a place where the grandeur of nature creeps right to your doorstep? In a place like Cloud Recesses, yelling only reminds you of how small you are. Just a speck on the canvas. The silence lifts you up, because harmony with such immensity is… empowering. 

“Would you like to… what is the word you use? For your morning exercise?” 

“Yoga?” I asked. We’d reached a secluded little garden and it would, indeed, be perfect for yoga. 

“That, yes. I often come here to practice my xiao. Would you mind if I played, while you… yoga?” 

I responded enthusiastically, because I was stiff and sore for whole laundry list of reasons. “That would be perfect.” 

Lan Xichen settled within the shelter of a little gazebo and took up Liebing. I listened to him play while I stretched and then began to string poses together in a vinyasa. I’d always been taught to repeat a flow three times. First slowly, paying attention to correct posture, good form. Then faster the second time, trying to truly flow from one pose into another without a break. The third time is the same as the second, but with added difficulty. 

My quads and my hips were killing me, so I focused on those. Lots of three-legged dog, flipping the dog, wild thing into fallen triangle. I finished feeling so much better than before, energized and loose-limbed, fully present in my own body. 

After a flow, I usually spend some time working on a pose that haven’t yet mastered. Dropping from a handstand right into crow, maybe— 

“It’s not traditional,” said someone—a man—dry and disapproving. 

I yelped and ran for the outer robe I’d discarded while Lan Xichen calmly lowered Liebing and answered, “It’s not traditional, but every element is orthodox. Breathing exercises, qi circulation, even martial arts. We do much the same.” 

I got a look at the intruder after I’d covered myself. Like all high-level cultivators, he had smooth skin without a wrinkle in sight, a body honed by a lifetime of rigorous martial arts training, and lustrous hair.

Unlike most high-level cultivators, he did not look young. He looked like… Okay, imagine an extremely handsome actor who’s method acting as an IRS investigator. And he’s really good at it. His performance is such a tour de force that you almost can’t tell he’s gorgeous underneath all the prissy, slightly power-mad nitpicking. 

“Inferior practices have no place in Cloud Recesses,” the IRS investigator said. 

“I’m not convinced it is inferior,” Lan Xichen answered. “She progressed from qi condensation to the nascent soul stage in less than a year.” 

“Uh,” I said. “What?” 

Lan Xichen flicked a sharp glance at me and shook his head. 

“We cultivate with the sword, no exceptions,” said the IRS investigator. “And you, in particular, must set an example.” 

Lan Xichen nodded gracefully. “I take my responsibility seriously. Still, you acknowledge that she has cultivated a solid foundation using acceptable practices?” 

The IRS investigator pursed his lips. 

Lan Xichen waited, patient as ever.

“Yes,” said the IRS investigator. “So long as you’ll put an end to these aberrations immediately—”

“I am grateful to have my observation confirmed by yours.” Lan Xichen smiled. “You can put the concerns raised by the Elders to rest. I will discuss the future with Maiden An.” 

The IRS investigator grunted and curled his lip at me. “She is weak, and will remain weak for years at best. A lifetime, more likely. You’d leave the sect to make up for her deficiencies?” 

“We would be lucky to have her,” Xichen said, and nothing else. 

The IRS investigator pivoted on his toe and stalked away. 

“My uncle Qiren,” said Xichen, once we were alone. “You know something of him?” 

“Yeah, but—uh—I’m a little preoccupied by—uh—“

“You truly did not know you were cultivating?” Xichen paused, touched a soft fist to his mouth. “No, never mind. I cannot ask the question earnestly. When we first met, you had no idea. But you reached the foundation stage months ago, and felt the effects.”

“I guess,” I admitted. “I mean, I noticed some changes. And after you gave me Mercy, I started to really consider the possibility… but your uncle is right. I started too late.” 

“Do you have sufficient expertise to prefer my uncle’s judgment to my own?” 

“It’s common knowledge.” 

“It is best to start core formation early, that is true.” Xichen patted the spot beside him in the gazebo and I sat, feeling wobbly. “But you made good progress on your own, and it would accelerate here. Cloud Recesses is saturated in spiritual energy.” He tapped Liebing. “And I know several spiritual songs that make cultivation more effective.”

“That’s why I feel so amazing right now?” Not that I needed to ask. Usually I did not finish a yoga session with more energy than I’d had when I started. That… is not how exercise works. 

Xichen nodded. “Presumably I have answered one of your concerns. What are the others?”

Chapter Text

I ordered my thoughts. “I don’t want to be a source of conflict. I don’t want to be a burden, or a pariah, or a pawn. And I suspect that if the Sect Leader marries a nobody from nowhere, without a family or a dowry or any useful connections…”

“Then that is my privilege.” 

I gave him a skeptical look.

“The Lan are more accepting of love matches than most sects,” Xichen continued. “For all our strict rules, most of us are romantic and it’s even said that… ah, you already know?” 

“You only love once?” I finished. 

Xichen smiled, a bit wry. “You see why I am so determined.”

“But what happens when your uncle Qiren keeps finding new things to criticize?” I asked. “I could give up yoga. Orthodox cultivation is more important to you than getting one specific kind of exercise is to me. But what if he just likes stopping me from doing something I enjoy? Because that would be a problem.” 

“Uncle Qiren is easy to manage; I’ll teach you how.” 

“You’ll teach me?” I echoed, wondering if he’d ever been this confident in canon and thinking: yes, probably, at the beginning. He’d started out with an air of effortless command that had hollowed out over time, left him harder and more fragile. 

“Consider it practice.” He grimaced. “As my wife, you will face many such challenges.”

I leaned into him and laughed. “Don’t sell it too hard.” 

He picked up my hand, kissed it, and then pulled me to my feet. “I don’t need to. We both already know you like to be in the thick of things. And you are capable; the work you did as my aide is good preparation for what awaits.”

I shot him a sidelong look. “How long have you been planning this for?” 

He smiled sweetly. “Can I interest you in a bath?” 

That took forever, for… reasons. We were on our way to lunch when I got the chance to ask about the engagement between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. “How did you convince the Jiang to agree?” 

“I made it a condition of exempting Jin Zixuan from trial.” Xichen shook his head, wondering. “For all that they did not value Wei Wuxian, they certainly made a fuss about losing him.” 

“They always knew what he was worth,” I answered. “But part of that worth, for them—a substantial part, I think—was his willingness to be treated poorly.”

“A caution for us in Cloud Recesses,” he observed. “I’ll make sure Wangji knows we are counting on him to make sure history does not repeat itself.” 

Lunch was silent and mildly spiced, as expected, though the vegetables were fresh and flavorful—as good as anything sold a fancy farmer’s market. And I’d come up in a foodie culture that went gaga for superb produce, served simply. The variety of small, light dishes that Wei Wuxian saw as a terrible punishment reminded me of the sort of restaurant where you had to make reservations months in advance. 

After we ate, Lan Xichen excused himself for the afternoon to work. I continued exploring on my own, and ended up eating dinner alone too. Which I appreciated, actually. It was nice to have time to myself; I would have been more worried if I were escorted about and monitored 24/7. 

I’d curled up for the evening with tea and a book from the library when Lan Xichen let himself into my cottage. 

“Pardon my tardiness—you’re well? You’ve eaten?” 

“I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself.” I tapped the book, a history of the Lan sect. The fate of the previous Madam Lan raised enough red flags that I’d decided to do some research. I wanted to know exactly how often the spouses of Sect Leaders—especially ones who hadn’t been born into the sect—found themselves isolated and disempowered. 

“A minor but… perhaps predictable… crisis has emerged.” Lan Xichen sighed. “I’m going to have to leave for Lotus Pier—a particularly flagrant indiscretion has convinced Madam Yu and myself that Wangji and Wei Wuxian must marry as soon as possible. Next week, most likely.” 

“Who caught them having sex?” I wondered. 

Lan Xichen knuckled his temple. “A Daoist priest.” 

I cackled so hard I fell over. 

“Yes, very amusing.” He shot me a sly look. “You know, if we were engaged, I could include you in the wedding party.” 

I stopped laughing. “You are so devious.”

“Keep up, Maiden An,” he answered, white robes fluttering as he swished away.

Man, that attitude. It really worked for me. 

But I would not be so easily swayed! I finished my first book of Lan history that evening, and returned to the interim library (actually just the head librarian’s house) the next day. I had some complicated feelings when I learned that they’d once had a whole book chronicling the spouses of the Sect Leaders, but it had burned. 

A lot of books had burned, and I couldn’t be too suspicious… but come on. 

I exchanged my introductory overview for a handful of biographies and found a pretty garden to read in. 

The most worrisome thing about the condensed overview had been how often the Sect Leader’s spouse didn’t get any mention at all. They just never came up. But biographies had to address the subject’s personal life, and gave me a better sense of the range of possibilities. 

Unfortunately (or fortunately), that’s what I ended up with: a range of possibilities. There were cases that reminded me of Madam Lan—spouses who were expelled from the Cloud Recesses, spouses who walked away, spouses who were sidelined in favor of concubines. And then there were the spouses famous for leading night-hunts, the spouses who took over the day-to-day duties of the Sect Leader so their husband (famous for his night-hunting) could spend more time doing what he loved, spouses who devoted themselves to interesting or silly or useful pet projects.

But they were all love stories. Even the tragic ones were romantic tragedies.

I read about childhood sweethearts who spent one week apart and then vowed never to suffer the misery of separation again, about star-crossed lovers overcoming the odds, about widows who withered from grief. I read about scandals (a pair of close cousins; a teacher and a student) and about political matches. 

Lan Xichen joined me after lunch. “Why not just talk to me?” he asked. “I think I’ve been accommodating.” 

“Very,” I agreed. “But it’ll be a more useful conversation if I’m better informed.” 

“True.” He tipped his chin at the books. “What have you learned?” 

“Nothing that would scare me away.” I took a deep breath. “I know this is a sensitive question but—do you have any regrets about the way your mother was treated?” 

“Ah.” He pulled Liebing from his sleeve and let his fingers play along the shaft without ever lifting the instrument to his lips. “Many.” 

I didn’t want to press him—the subject was too painful—so I just waited. The sun inched noticeably across the sky while I waited. 

“My father was very selfish,” he said finally. “I believe that when he married my mother, and the pair of them entered seclusion, he made the right choice. He saved her life, he acknowledged the gravity of the situation, he gave tempers time to cool. But to remain in seclusion? I have never found it in myself to forgive him. And I have tried. He missed—among other things—many opportunities to improve my mother’s situation.”  

I caught something of Xichen’s subtle political mind in his answer. He didn’t charge headlong into problems. He picked them apart, looked for workarounds, weaponized patience. And I could see shades of the man he’d grown into—in both lives, this one and the one that would never come to pass—in it, too. Enough to know that he’d spoken from the heart. 

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s get married.” 

His beautiful dark eyes went wide. He clutched at my hand. “Do not jest.” 

“We could take our bows right now if you want.” 

“Now?” he repeated, dazed. 

“Why wait?” 

“Forgive me—only, I am quite tempted to do as you suggest, and—Maiden An—” He pronounced my name with no small amount of exasperation and fled. 

Huh. Wonder what that was about. 

Chapter Text

Privately, I wondered if Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s wedding wasn’t better for having been rushed. Without a long lead-up to the ceremony, there was no time to prepare an expansive guest list. The families of both grooms attended—such as they were—and they reached out to a few good friends, like Nie Huaisang and Wen Ning. 

Madam Yu and Lan Xichen, thoroughly defeated by the couple they’d been wrangling over, had lost the will to fight. Did Lotus Pier have any claim on Wei Wuxian? He’d do whatever he wanted, obviously. Could the Lan demand that he commit to following the disciplines, or wear sect colors, or renounce his loyalty to the Jiang? No point. 

Madam Yu still tried to ruin her least favorite disciple’s special day. She cleared out his bedroom, sent all personal things things to Gusu, and then moved Lan Xichen into it when he arrived. Wei Wuxian spent the night before his wedding in his brother’s room, and got dressed there as well. She gave Wei Wuxian no say in the menu, refused to let him wear any heirloom jewelry (Lan Wangji bought new, to make up for it, but the rejection must have stung), and frequently reminding him that the marriage disrespected the memory of Jiang Fengmian, whom they ought still to be mourning.  

She didn’t seem to understand how pathetic she seemed, the eager perpetrator of petty tyrannies, untouched by joy or—at the very least—relief. 

In the end, neither groom arrived on a palanquin, neither wore a veil, and both donned robes of borrowed red silk, hastily tailored to fit. Jiang Yanli cried, and then Wei Wuxian cried, and then Jiang Cheng pretended not to cry, while all the Lan looked increasingly uncomfortable. 

All but one, anyhow: Lan Wangji radiated smug satisfaction so intensely that getting anywhere near him felt voyeuristic. 

To the surprise of exactly no one, the happy couple retired early. 

From then on it was just a nice party. Wen Ning had brought Wen Qing—or, as I discovered after a brief conversation, she’d refused to let him attend alone, on the suspicion that he’d been baited into a trap. 

I asked both the Wens about life on Dafan mountain. They discussed the trials of starting fresh in a new place, preparing the land for farming, convincing residents of nearby villages to trust the newly-arrived doctor with an alarming family name, skimping on meat so as not to overhunt the mountain and reduce populations of wild game for the next year. 

A bit of fishing yielded a brief mention of Wen Ning’s adopted son, a-Yuan, which made my heart ache with a tangled mix of joy and sorrow. 

I knew that the Wens wouldn’t be able to form a sect on Dafan mountain. They were too smart to invite the inevitable violent reprisal and, on top of it, didn’t have enough cultivators to try. So I suggested that, if little a-Yuan showed promise, I’d do my best to secure him an invitation to train with the Lan. 

“That’s so kind of you,” Wen Ning said. “He’s such a smart little boy, and so good-natured—”

“But the future is uncertain,” Wen Qing cut in, petite and sharp and protective. “All of this is years in the future. It would be better to discuss such delicate matters after your marriage.” 

“I won’t forget,” I promised.

Nie Huaisang fluttered his fan and drank too much. Nie Mingjue, after drinking too much, pulled me into a corner and said, “Zewu-Jun is the best man I know and if I find out that you aren’t appreciating him the way he deserves I will bury you.” 

“What a good friend you are!” I exclaimed. I’d never gotten a shovel talk before, and I was kind of thrilled. Something for the bucket list.

Nie Mingjue squinted at me, confused by this response. “I don’t care that you’re woman. You’ve done the work of a man and now you can face consequences like a man. I’ll put you in an unmarked grave, do you understand?” 

“Since you’ve already almost killed me once, I’m pretty sure I do.” I did my best impression of Lan Xichen’s political smile. “Luckily, that’s all in the past.” 

I didn’t even know what I was going for there—but I did enjoy the slightly unnerved way that Nie Mingjue kept looking back over his shoulder as he walked away. 

I was still smiling about it later, when Lan Xichen asked, “What’s made you so happy?” 

“Nie Mingjue really cares for you,” I answered. “It’s sweet.” 

“Sweet,” Lan Xichen repeated. “You might be the first person to ever say that about him.” 

Eventually, the women caught some cue that it was time for us to make ourselves scarce—probably drunkenness among the men had reached a critical mass—and I excused myself for the night. 

Early the next morning I ventured out into town and took a boat tour of the lakes, gliding over dark water with mist rising all around me—exquisite even though the lotuses weren’t in bloom. I tested my spice tolerance at the food stalls and ambled back to Lotus Pier on a cloud of vacation-induced contentment. 

Wei Wuxian caught me almost as soon as I reached the main complex, hooking his arm through mine and coaxing me to dip my feet in the water with him. 

“Guess what?” he prompted, once I’d got a few swishes in.

“Do I actually have to guess?” 

“We can pretend you did. But you got it wrong, because you’ll never guess. Try harder next time, will you? I come up with these games and the least you could do is give it your best effort. After all we’ve been through together—”

“You bought a donkey,” I guessed. 

“What would I do with a donkey?” Wei Wuxian asked. 

“You’re pregnant.” 

“I wish!” 

“You’ve taken up the dizi.”

“A little—stop being creepy—anyway, what you have failed to guess is that, as a respectable married man, I have been specially selected to act as your chaperon.” 

I cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“I know! Apparently because I’m married to a man, it’s safe for me to chaperone women? Which seems a little strange to me, like didn’t it ever occur to anyone that—”

“You like both?” I supplied.

“Exactly!” He nodded emphatically. “And now that you’ve guessed that correctly, I can’t resist. It’s time travel, right? Your big secret? You’re a time traveler.”

My jaw dropped. I’d decided early on not to tell anyone, because I couldn’t imagine a scenario where I’d be believed. Why give myself the headache when, as it turned out, I didn’t need to? But I’d never considered the possibility that someone might guess. 

“We’re going to be family!” Wei Wuxian urged. “Families tell one another these things! Share with your soon-to-be-didi.” 

“Not exactly time travel,” I answered, which made Wei Wuxian whoop with triumph. “But you’re close.” 

“Close? Maiden An, that’s not an answer, that’s a riddle. What’s like time travel but not time travel? I don’t know, explain.” 

It took me a bit to come up with an answer that felt honest without opening up a whole cupboard full of inadequately-sealed canned worms. “There’s a lot I don’t understand, and what I can explain wouldn’t make much sense to you. The world I grew up in is about a thousand years away from our present. It’s really different.” 

“A thousand years?” Wei Wuxian repeated. “People still care about us in a thousand years?” 

I nodded.

He propped his chin on his hands, looking out over the water. “But probably not in a good way, huh? Since you came back to change things?” 

“I don’t want to talk about the way things might have been.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“At this point, it’s a little like describing a dream. Who cares? Just a waste of everyone’s time.” 

“Sure, nice dodge, but I think we’d all care a lot if you’ve still got plans. Like, Wen Zhuliu, Jin Guangshan… anyone else on the list?” 

“No.” The only villain left alive was Meng Yao. I would never underestimate him, but I also had no idea what he’d do in a world where his true nature had been exposed early and thoroughly. “There might only be one thing that I came here knowing, that still matters now. I admired the Wei Wuxian I read about in books a lot. Even though things have changed, I’d still trust you to tell right from wrong. So if you ever end up in a situation where you need help… ask me. I won’t care how it looks and I won’t ask for an explanation.” 

Wei Wuxian’s eyes went wide. “You mean that.” 

I nodded. 

Wei Wuxian sighed and leaned back on his hands, one foot flicking up to send a plume of water out across the calm lake. “I’ve been lucky with my new family.” 

“How long until we can call Lan Qiren shushu?” 

Wei Wuxian cackled. “Wait, wait, we’ve gotten off the topic. Because now that I’m your chaperone, I’m going to be very strict! I’m going to make you follow all the rules!” 

“I find that hard to believe,” I observed.

“That’s because I haven’t explained the rules. Are you ready? We’re going to go over them very carefully. No mistakes!” 

I nodded. “I’m ready.”  

“Rule number one: don’t get pregnant.” 

I blinked. 

“That’s really important,” Wei Wuxian added. 

“I agree,” I assured him. 

“That’s the main one.” He waggled his finger at me. “All the future brides of Gusu Lan are counting on you to follow it to the letter. How would you feel if you deprived them of my excellent chaperoning skills?” 

“I think I’ve figured out why Lan Xichen chose you for this particular task,” I said wryly.

“What, that’s not enough for you? Okay, I’ve got more rules. How about rule number two: don’t get caught having sex!” 

“Definitely worth adding to the list,” I agreed. 

“It’s harder than it sounds,” he complained. “People tend to assume unmarried young gentlemen and ladies aren’t having sex, so they just barge in on you at the most inconvenient times. Whatever happened to privacy, huh?” 

“It’s gone the way of the dodo,” I agreed mournfully.

“The what?” 

“A dodo is a flightless bird that… has not gone extinct yet, wow. That ruins the idiom. I wish I could remember where they lived. They always look so cute in pictures.” 

A shadow fell over us then, in the form of the Twin Jades. They resembled one another more than usual, which was saying something because their resemblance was always a bit uncanny. They were both dressed formally in shades of pale blue, the silver medallions on their forehead ribbons gleaming in the sun, tall and elegant and wearing expressions of extreme self-satisfaction. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go swimming.” 

Lan Wangji’s radiant happiness dimmed just the slightest bit. He sent a beseeching glance at his brother. 

Lan Xichen, to the surprise of Lan Wangji and no one else, answered, “What a wonderful idea. Wangji, you ought to take advantage of the warm waters here while you can.” 

“Exactly!” Wei Wuxian grabbed Lan Wangji by the arm and began dragging him toward a canoe. “Besides, you promised, and Hanguang-Jun always keeps his promises.” 

Lan Xichen took Wei Wuxian’s place on the pier, rucking his skirts up past his ankles so he could dip his feet as well. 

“So Wei Wuxian is my chaperon?” I asked. 

Lan Xichen smiled serenely. 

I grinned. “Shameless.” 

“I am not doing this”—he made a vague circle with his finger, encompassing the whole of Lotus Pier—“again. Would you rather wait six months?” 

I shuddered. “I think I might die.” 

Lan Xichen startled. “That’s… flattering?”

“The Sect Leader is as modest as ever,” I answered, almost straight faced. 

Lan Xichen tsked at me and we fell silent, listening to the soft lapping of water against the wooden pier, the birdsong, the faint but unmistakable sound of Wei Wuxian crowing triumphantly in the distance. A good day, and I could only hope for more just like it. 

FINIS

FADE TO BLACK

ROLL CREDITS

MONTAGE TIME

MAIDEN AN, pictured in Lan white attending her first cultivation class, surrounded by children half her size. Clumsily picking up a practice sword. Doing an excellent handstand and putting senior disciples to shame. 

Voiceover: Maiden An became Madam Lan six months later at a simple yet crushingly elegant ceremony in Gusu. Everyone attending agreed that Lan weddings were the worst while also secretly vowing to copy the floral arrangements and music at their own wedding, or their children’s wedding, or their sibling’s wedding, depending.

LAN XICHEN, pictured in an extremely elaborate guan and ten different kinds of lace. B-roll of minor sect leaders whispering to one another about how Lan Xichen is the nicest guy they’ve ever met but also… they’re scared of him? Cut to Xichen dressed informally, helping his first child learn to walk while Madam Lan claps. Then Xichen in a duet with Wangji, both of them much older and still content. 

Voiceover: Lan Xichen was briefly elected to the role of Chief Cultivator, at which he excelled. His efforts (and those of his wife) hastened war recovery efforts and kept the peace at a difficult time. Eventually, he stepped down to spend more time with his family. 

WEI WUXIAN, pictured guzzling Emperor’s Smile in the jingshi while Lan Wangji fetches another jar from underneath the floorboard. Leading junior disciples on night hunts, causing a minor explosion while inventing new talismans, hiding in the back mountains with Madam Lan while they test a simple telescope.

Voiceover: Wei Wuxian gained renown as a high-level cultivator, ingenious inventor of items both magical and mundane (some of them surprisingly advanced!), and serial adopter of orphans. A seasoned warrior who never tired of following his husband ‘where the chaos is’, he could also frequently be found sneaking candy to the youngest Lan disciples even though he’d been told to stop so many times, making his husband carry him around Cloud Recesses even though he could perfectly well walk, and flying loop-de-loops for the fun of it. 

LAN WANGJI, seated on a rock in the center of a pond with a magnificent yet also surprisingly quiet waterfall in the background, playing the guqin. Brushing Wei Wuxian’s hair by candlelight. Demonstrating sword forms for one of his (many, how did he collect so many?) children. 

Voiceover: Lan Wangji never lost his ferocious reputation, but those who knew him—and the number grew surprisingly large as the years passed—never felt safer than in his presence, and never hesitated to turn to him for help or advice. A master of sword and music, he sparked in a new era of musical cultivation among the Lan, expanding and refining their repertoire of spiritual songs. 

OTHERS

Pictured: 

Wen Sizhui hitting it off with Lan Jingyi soon after his arrival in the Cloud Recesses, where he’d been sent to study cultivation. 

Wen Qing in her prosperous surgery on Dafan Mountain, greeting a visiting colleague who’d come to learn from the most brilliant doctor of the age. 

Jiang Yanli marrying Jin Zixuan in the most elaborately tacky wedding the cultivation world had ever seen. Everyone had a great time but no one returned home vowing to copy the floral arrangements or the music. 

Madam Yu, returning to Meishan after stepping down as Sect Leader of the Jiang. (No one is quite sure what sparked that decision; possibly Lan Xichen was involved.) 

Xue Yang, after he’d killed the entire Chang clan, looking bizarrely calm even as his neck is centered on the block before he's beheaded. Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen look on, both uninjured.

Meng Yao, taking over a minor sect in the far west of Qishan. So far away that no one bothers with him, so minor that no one really cares when the previous sect leader dies under mysterious circumstances. And after that, things run so much more smoothly! What’s to complain about?