Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s not only about intoxication, though, Lan Zhan! Just like how tea isn’t only about slaking thirst. There are depths of flavor and intensity to be explored in wines. And each year, the seasons shape the flavors in the wine! There’s no immorality in appreciating the artistry behind a well made wine, you know.”

Wei Wuxian’s throat had long since grown dry and sore, but there was a light in Lan Wangji’s eyes that gleamed differently from the haze of pain and grief that had been reflected in them before, so Wei Wuxian kept talking. His careful rebuttals of the lower-hanging rules from the Cloud Recesses were quiet enough to not reach the ears of the Xuanwu - if indeed it had ears, though a study of the beast’s anatomy was beyond his abilities right now - but even speaking at such a low volume still drove him to hoarseness. But drinking the water in the cave was out of the question, with it having been tainted by its occupant and its many unfortunate meals throughout the years.

It was time for another topic anyway.

“Speaking of drinks, I wonder if there’s a way to create a talisman that could make unclean water safe to drink. What do you think, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian asked, reaching for the stick he’d been using the poke at the earth. Rather than wait for a response, he began to draw. “I suppose a good base would be one used for barriers, don’t you think? After all, those can be made to accept some things and prevent the entrance of others. Uncle Jiang said it was called permeability. What if we made a repelling array that can be used on the mouth of a jar? Then if you poured unclean water into the jar, it would filter out anything that wasn’t water. That sounds like a good start.”

He sketched out the rudimentary shapes of the first repelling array he had learned as he spoke. He barely finished the basic outline when he heard, quiet as a whisper, “...spirit-repelling talisman.”

Wei Wuxian looked up from his work to find that Lan Wangji had raised his head again. “Huh? What about the spirit-repelling talisman?” 

Lan Wangji cast his eyes down towards what Wei Wuxian had drawn. “Repelling array would limit use to a vessel. Repelling talismans could purify a water body instead.”

Lan Wangji’s voice was harsh from disuse, but melodic in Wei Wuxian’s ears regardless. That his suggestion was brilliant hardly factored - it was nothing less than should be expected of his old classmate. He scuffed the talisman he’d drafted out with his shoe, nodding.

“You’re absolutely right!” he exclaimed, wincing as his own voice echoed slightly in the narrow walls of the cave. He paused, but no sound came from the chamber where the Xuanwu waited for them. After, he cleared his throat and brought the tip of his stick to the ground again. “Not to mention, there are other potential applications if it’s a talisman that can be applied to water already in a vessel. Like clearing soap from laundry or bathwater - or maybe even drying laundry? If the water repelled the clothes we could-- oh, there’s an idea! Maybe a water-repelling talisman to keep dry in the rain? You’re so smart, Lan Zhan!”

The sound of shuffling met his ears as he sketched his notes on the ground, and then there was heat against his arm. A glance to his side found Lan Wangji peering down over his work, implacable face drawn ever so slightly taut. “Hey, careful! Your leg is fragile! Save your energy for the big fight!”

His face grew tighter at Wei Wuxian’s words. “I am doing all I can,” Lan Wangji said, his quiet voice right in Wei Wuxian’s ear. “There is little energy to save.”

Although a comeback came to his lips, it died there just as quickly. It was true that there was little that could help them now, trapped in a dingy cave flooded with centuries of resentful energy with no food or water and injuries straining their already depleted reserves. If even one factor could change, then recuperation would be possible, but in their current state, just conserving the energy they had between them was a tall order.

Between them?

Abruptly, a conversation with a few drunken disciples from the Ouyang sect surfaced in his head. They had been discussing the possibility of accepting more women into their sect during that conference, and the more tawdry reasons as to why had only been discussed in an unofficial capacity - that is, after the trio and Wei Wuxian had polished off two jars of wine. Apparently, one of their disciples had taken up with a traveling female cultivator some months earlier and had seen immediate improvements to his golden core. Sect Leader Ouyang, never one to leave a potential “avenue for cultivational excellence” in the hands of only some of his sect’s members, therefore wanted to recruit and train more women so that more of them could practice dual cultivation and boost their abilities all the more.

Wei Wuxian had laughed at the concept with the disciples then, writing the conversation off as a way to bring some levity into the dreadfully dull conference. Now, though…

“Hey, Lan Zhan, are you familiar with the practice of dual cultivation?”

Lan Wangji’s expression did not change. Wei Wuxian took a moment to curse whatever had taken Lan Wangji’s disapproving glare from him since he had teased him in the Cloud Recesses. Getting a rise out of him may not have been his aim today, but it was still a shame to miss out on the fun.

“Yes.”

“Do you know if it really does improve your cultivation? Like, if we were to dual cultivate, could it possibly help us fight the Xuanwu tomorrow?”

His question was met with only silence and a noticeable stillness from Lan Wangji. Wei Wuxian held back the river of explanations and ideas with only his own heroic restraint. The silence grew tenser and tenser between them, but he bit his tongue. He would not be the one to break it.

“...yes.”

Lan Wangji’s response was barely a whisper. A wave of dizziness coursed through Wei Wuxian’s entire body at that single word, as the reality of what that response meant. Rather than break the delicate atmosphere, he straightened his back, looking Lan Wangji in the eye with deliberate calm.

“Can we try it?”

“Yes.”

This time, the answer was immediate. The dizziness returned, and Wei Wuxian coughed, trying to abate it. Fuck. He could have sex with Lan Wangji in a life or death situation, right? Plus, if things went poorly with the Xuanwu, at least he’d go out knowing the pleasures of the flesh. And male or not, Lan Wangji truly was a peerless beauty - he could get it up for him, no doubt. No drawbacks, really!

“Great! How, uh, should we…?” he asked, scraping through his memory to recall what he’d seen in Nie Huaisang’s cutsleeve pamphlet ages back. Lan Wangji’s leg wouldn’t allow for the position that had come up time and again, where one man took the other from behind. In fact, Lan Wangji’s leg wouldn’t allow for most positions.

“If...I lay on my back, you could…”

Mount him, Wei Wuxian filled in the gaps. Which meant that Lan Wangji wanted to-- well, it wasn’t what he’d initially had in mind, but he could be flexible. One of them would have to be, anyway, and Lans were famously rigid even without broken limbs. A nervous giggle bubbled up in his chest at the stupid thought, but he held it in, only nodding seriously in response to the bold suggestion.

“I can do that,” he agreed, leaning forward. “Since I’ll be the one at an advantage here, anything off the table? I hear that penetration’s the most effective, but, uh. Are you comfortable with that?”

Lan Wangji’s ears glowed like metal hot from the forge. Wei Wuxian’s tongue itched to lick them and see if they’d sizzle.

“Yes. I have sword oil to…”

He trailed off again, but Wei Wuxian got the gist. He took over, filling the air with words again as his heart beat a little faster in response to the idea that such a mundane thing could be made so dirty. No doubt he’d think of this when he next cleaned and oiled Suibian.

“Great idea, that should help to, uh, smooth the way. Better than spit, probably? I don’t know if you’ve ever used spit when you’ve handled yourself, but I’ve tried it and it gets tacky,” he babbled, leaning over and beginning to work his boots off. “Okay, so you’ll lay back, and I’ll get on top. Uh, how much should we undress? Can we kiss? Do you promise to tell me if you want to stop?”

Lan Wangji visibly swallowed.

“My leg is bandaged outside my clothes,” he said haltingly, hands hovering near his own waist. Ah, right. So not very naked. Wei Wuxian bit back his–disappointment? Unexpected!

“Okay, mind if I get naked?”

“Please,” Lan Wangji answered. It left him in a rush. Nerves, maybe? Wei Wuxian just nodded, shoving his boots aside and peeling back his robes. Lan Wangji’s gaze followed his movements before he reached into his own sleeve, drawing out a small tin of oil.

“Kissing?” Wei Wuxian prompted. Lan Wangji nodded wordlessly. “And if you want to stop?”

“You’ll know.”

Made sense, actually. For all that Lan Wangji was quiet and tolerant, he’d always drawn lines and corrected him when he’d pushed past his boundaries. Not that he had any intention of pushing boundaries today. Between the atrocities the Wens had committed against their sects and the upcoming fight against a creature of legend, things were uncomfortable enough. Besides, sex wasn’t something you were supposed to approach cavalierly, no matter what one might see a certain sect leader do.

That thought softened his stiffening cock immediately, so he cast it out of his head. Gotta get back into it! His first time baring it all for a partner wasn’t going to be marred by unsexy visuals or performance anxiety. He had to make a good showing - after all, it was Lan Wangji’s first time too!

He paused, down to his last layer. It was his first time too, right?

“Have you ever…with anyone else?” he asked, though he didn’t know what he’d do if the answer was yes. Worry about how he stacked up, he supposed? Congratulate him for getting there before he did?

Lan Wangji shook his head. It would have been a relief, surely, had the other man not also finally bared himself, revealing a cock that rivaled the one he and Huaisang had deemed the most unrealistic in all his picture books. It looked like it wasn’t even completely hard yet. Fuck, apparently they actually could be that big! Who knew?

“Same,” Wei Wuxian said belatedly when he noticed Lan Wangji’s questioning expression. He cleared his throat and pulled off the last of his clothes, shivering as the air hit his skin. The cold wouldn’t be kind to his respectable, completely reasonably sized dick, so he moved closer to the fire, padding over towards the other man. Lan Wangji reclined as he approached, his cock twitching as it filled out all that much more as the distance closed between them.

If his own perked up at the sight, well, good for Wei Wuxian.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. Getting down to Lan Wangji’s level seemed like an appropriate start, though, so he knelt next to him, feeling the coarseness of the dirt under his knee. As if he had felt it himself, Lan Wangji pulled his open robe out wider around him like a carpet and urged Wei Wuxian upon it with a strong hand on his waist.

Embarrassingly, that was all it took for him to reach full mast. His cheeks burned as his erection nudged against Lan Wangji’s clothed side. The man froze for a split second, then his lips fell open, cheeks flushing pink.

“Kiss me,” he whispered, trailing his hand up and Wei Wuxian’s hips before settling at the narrowest point. Wei Wuxian was leaning in before he could think about it, chapped lips pressing against chapped lips firmly, angle shifting just enough to spark a heated slide that sent shivers up his jaw before drawing back. With the brief contact came a tingling warmth that sank into his meridians, spreading through his body. Was that an energy transfer? Or was it an exchange?

One way to find out, he supposed, and he cupped Lan Wangji’s jaw in his palm, moving in to kiss him again.

This time, the warmth came immediately, eliciting the smallest gasp. As mouth opened, a wet tongue traced gently, almost hesitantly, across his lower lip. Heat reverberated through his body at the touch, and his eyes closed as he responded in kind.

Fuck. 

He forgot his original goal, revelling in the slide of their mouths with no heed to whose energy was going where. Somewhere along the line, he grabbed Lan Wangji’s shoulders and pushed him down onto his back, swinging a leg over him and settling into position, straddling his waist, cock hard against the exposed flesh of his abs.

Caught up in the new sensations, he didn’t register the hands gripping at his waist until they pushed him backwards, dragging the underside of his cock against warm skin. A trail of precum leaked out from the tip, wetting the skin beneath him, and he couldn’t help but grind down just a little, reflexively.

Fingertips dug into his waist, then, and pulled at him to repeat the motion again, again, again, until it dragged a helpless moan from his throat and into Lan Wangji’s mouth.

He broke the kiss, leaning back and opening his eyes. Lan Wangji’s lips looked…wet. Swollen.

Oh.

He dipped his head down and took his lips again. This time, when his hips flexed, something slick and hot podded against his rear, just to the side of his balls.

His face heated. That had to be…

Well, it was meant to feel good, right? It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Lan Wangji was dripping too. He tilted his waist and shivered as the spongy head slid easily in its own wetness to rest against his taint, just on the edge of his hole.

This time, it was Lan Wangji that broke the kiss, his hands sliding up to Wei Wuxian’s chest. The pink dusting his cheeks had deepened, breaths coming just quicker than usual.

Wei Wuxian’s cock jumped at the change. He’d done that? To the implacable Lan Wangji?

“Wei Ying,” he said. Was his voice deeper than usual? “The oil - may I?”

Right. He nodded, licking his lips. He could taste…he swallowed. “Yeah, just - you should kiss me while you do it.”

“Yes.”

One hand slid up into his hair, fingers rough on the scalp as his head was dragged back down for another long kiss. Then both hands left him as his eyes closed again, the taste of the other man heavy on his tongue. 

Since he was here, he resumed his slow, light grind, revelling in the friction of Lan Wangji’s warm skin against his dick. Mm, not bad.

After a minute (or longer, who could tell?), Lan Wangji’s hand was back on him again, this time settling just below the dimples of his lower back. Rather than push it down as he’d done before, though, he parted his asscheeks, exposing his hole to the air. A moment later, the pad of a finger followed, barely touching the side of the rim, and Wei Wuxian–

“Ohhhh!”

The noise more erupted from him than anything as a thick bolt of pleasure threw him off balance, rippling from the touch throughout his whole body before settling in his groin. His cock pulsed, jumping between their bodies and dribbling out a heavy stream of precum. 

Fuck, what was that ?

“Wei Ying?”

He kept his eyes squeezed shut. Like he could bear to meet the stone-faced jade of Lan’s gaze after letting out a sound like that. And from what? Being touched close to his hole? He had a thicker face than most, but how could anyone not be embarrassed by being so affected by a single touch?

“It’s fine, keep going,” he said in a rush, holding his hips absolutely still.

To his credit, Lan Wangji hadn’t removed his finger despite the unexpected reaction. The pad of the finger, slick with oil, began to slowly circle his entrance. He felt it tighten reflexively, closing off.

Wrong response, body! He needed that to loosen up!

“Bear down a little,” Lan Wangji murmured against his jaw, the movement of his lips tickling his skin. The finger circled all the while, the tip zeroing in on the center. Unwilling to question where such a suggestion came from, Wei Wuxian obeyed, and the very tip of the finger dipped in easily.

At least no sound escaped him this time. It felt…fine? Neither good nor bad. It was just pressure from an angle he hadn’t really felt before. The fingertip drew back just slightly before pushing back in.

While his finger worked further in with each pull and push, Lan Wangji tilted his hips back until his own cock slid back down between Wei Wuxian’s legs, then shuffled them to line them up so they could rut together between their stomachs. It took a few tries to find the right angle, but then the slide–

Fuck, Wei Wuxian’d already been drenched with precum just from the skin of his abs. The added pressure of his dick made him ooze.

He’d come before long if they kept up at this rate.

“Put it in?” he asked, hips twitching with the need to grind, push, do something to get enough friction to come. Lan Wangji kissed the corner of his mouth, distractingly warm.

“Not yet.”

Another fingertip caressed his rim before sinking in just to the first knuckle. To his dismay, he felt himself tense up again, his body seemingly trying to push it back out. At least the tension inched him back away from the edge, the pressure in his dick subsiding to a manageable level.

A deep breath later, he was able to bear down enough for the second finger to make it all the way in. When both made it to the last knuckle, he let out a sign - of relief, unconsciously - and a tiny, bitten-off noise came from Lan Wangji’s throat, the space between their bodies suddenly feeling a hair more humid.

He tried to wonder at what about that reaction the man had found pleasurable, but before he could form a thought, one of the fingers curled, the stretch on his insides shocking his mind to blankness.

It was starting to feel…less neutral. Maybe good?

Over the course of a few minutes, he had to refine his opinion of the sensations. The stretch at his rim, particularly when the fingers moved in, was novel and thrilling. It felt strange on his inner walls, though, particularly when those fingers scissored or curled together, like they were trying to hook something in his insides. But the rhythm of it, when Lan Wangji switched to pumping those fingers instead of curling and stretching, drew his shoulders down and his waist to ache with the need to move. He wanted to match that rhythm or take over, whichever he could get.

“I think I’m ready,” he managed, pushing back against the fingers and squeezing against the fingers once. Lan Wangji trailed kisses up his jaw to his lips, hands staying where they were. “Come on, I want it.”

Lan Wangji froze beneath him. Had he said something wrong?

No, apparently, because after that brief pause, both hands suddenly were moving again, slick fingers sliding back out and brushing his hip on the way to reach between their bodies. The other hand urged his butt upwards, confusing Wei Wuxian until he felt the head of that enormous dick drag against him, down the seam of his hip. He gleefully lifted his body until it slid back, past his balls and over his taint to rest against his hole, hot and wet.

He tilted his hips back, feeling the very tip catch on his rim and spit more precum against him. A quiet groan escaped the man under him, and then he used his free hand to push Wei Wuxian upright again, balanced on his knees with Lan Wangji lining his dick up to…to…

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, and despite the level, even tone, it almost sounded like begging. His eyes were fixed on Wei Wuxian’s, like he had to meet his gaze for this. Wei Wuxian almost wished he could hide his face against such an intense, earnest expression, one so full of heat he could feel his own cheeks warming from it.

What he did instead, however, was take a deep breath and press back against the head of Lan Wangji’s cock, bearing down as it breached the rim and started to push inside. Bit by bit, agonizingly slow, he let gravity drag him down until the stretch was nearly unbearable, and then suddenly the head was in.

“Hooooo, fuck,” he hissed, bracing himself hands on Lan Wangji’s chest. Now that there was no need to aim, Lan Wangji’s hands moved to his hands to Wei Wuxian’s waist, helping him to stay in place. A much needed assist, he had to admit, as his thighs strained to keep him from sinking further.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just–give me a minute. There’s a lot of dick left, you know.”

From there, each breath out, he let himself sink a bit further, the parting of his insides novel and distracting. His erection was flagging, but not irreversibly so, so he pressed on. As long as it didn’t hurt, he thought. If it didn’t hurt, if it didn’t hurt, if it–

“You don’t need to push yourself so hard,” Lan Wangji murmured, though his voice was strained. “We have plenty of time. Don’t hurt yourself.”

We have plenty of time. Huh. We.

He stopped his descent.

“Hey, use that Lan arm strength to hold me in place for a minute,” he said, leaning back a bit and taking his hands off his chest. The grip on his hips tightened, and he knew there’d be no risk of sinking deeper until he asked for it. Good.

He brought his freed hand down to his softening cock, wrapping it into a familiar grip and pumping it the way he liked it. The pressure on his insides was distracting, certainly, but he let himself get lost in the familiarity of the movements, eyes fluttering shut. Stroke by stroke, the tension left him, blood filling his dick in hot pulses and pleasure starting to coil again between his legs. He could get lost in this, if he let himself.

Well, Lan Wangji had said they had time. Why not?

Still teasing himself, twisting his wrist with the slow upstrokes the way he did when he’d had a rare evening to indulge in a longer, less perfunctory session, he traced his fingers up his body to his chest, squeezing his pec and drawing his fingers towards the nipple in a milking motion. The fingertips slowed as they reached the edge of the nipple and drew back to repeat the motion a few times, forcing blood into the tender peak until he finally let himself pinch, drawing a sharp, quick breath from the dart of pleasure that it sent to his dick. He circled the very tip of the nipple with a hard nail, breathing through his teeth at the syrupy heat that rippled from it with each light scrape.

Eyes closed like this, he could feel everything all that much more. The slip of his foreskin on the head of his dick, the tightening of his balls, and the pulsing of Lan Wangji’s dick in his ass whenever a sound escaped him. The added pressure with each twitch sent tremulous little shockwaves to his lungs. He felt himself flutter around the thick intrusion, his hole begging for its turn amidst the indulgent sensations in his body.

Fingers dug into his hips harder, and the bruising pressure made his cock jump in his hand.

“Nice,” he breathed, and then he squeezed back, the corners of his lips pulling towards his ears when Lan Wangji’s dick pulsed in him again. Was it leaking? He hoped it was leaking. His sure was.

“Wei Ying, you–”

He leaked more at the obvious tension in Lan Wangji’s voice. When he opened his eyes, he saw the man’s face had gone from light pink to a deep red. Ah, right. What self control he must’ve had, to still hold him in place as he’d asked.

“I’m ready to put more in,” Wei Wuxian said, dropping the hand from his chest and grabbing Lan Wangji’s wrist. “Take over for me up here and I’ll start to move again.”

He waited for Lan Wangji to move a tentative hand to his pec before letting gravity do its job, sinking down most of the remaining length in one go. This time, relaxed and feeling good from the hands on his body, the pressure splitting him open was exquisite.

Rather than push down the rest of the way, he raised his hips just a smidge, testing the slide out, before pushing down again just back to where he’d left off. Mm, friction was nice. He repeated the motion a few times, rising up higher with each repetition, feeling his body tense and open as he moved.

“Hnngh!”

Lan Wangji’s shoulders slammed back into the ground, chest heaving upwards, as Wei Wuxian set a steady rhythm, drawing upwards until just the head was inside before pushing back in. Every few strokes down, Lan Wangji’s hips bucked up, like he was fighting to get that last piece in and bury himself to the hilt. Each time, Wei Wuxian rose back up, gleefully racing against the motion. Finally, he felt like he was in his element.

The fingers on his chest tugged at his nipple, the sharp pleasure throwing him off tempo, and when he next came down, that last inch made its way inside, punching a gasp out of him and a surprisingly loud moan from his partner.

“Gently, gently!” he wheezed, even though his dick was now harder in the aftermath than it had been this entire time. His palm was getting so wet. “Treat me more delicately, it’s my first time!”

The words had barely left his mouth when the hand on his chest moved, snatching him by the back of the neck and dragging him down into a filthy kiss, the hand still on his waist coaxing him to rock back and forth, dragging the head of that thick, hot cock against the deepest parts of him. He gasped, the motion making it press against something inside him that flooded him with pleasure, and he found himself suddenly so close to coming that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold off, even if he tried.

Lan Wangji’s tongue thrust into his mouth when he gasped, and–

Oh no, he was going to–

His balls drew up tight, belly already tensing as he tipped over the edge in what felt like an eternity. His joints locked into place, hole clenching around the cock splitting him open so deliciously, even as it pushed into the root one last time, pulsing hard inside. Lan Wangji dragged his tongue back and groaned into his mouth, the sort of sound someone made when–when they were–

Following his lead, Wei Wuxian let an equally harsh, throaty moan force its way past his lips as he came, milking the cock in his ass with every pulse of his release that he painted their stomachs with. He couldn’t feel Lan Wangji’s cum exactly, not with the heat and pressure already messing up his insides, but he could feel how his body was pumping it in, the rhythmic seizing hammering against his rim like a heartbeat, and how his body squeezed him in return, greedily coaxing as much from him as it could.

It seemed to go on for ages, great shuddering breaths catching in his chest as wave after wave hit him, before it finally, gradually receded, leaving him boneless and lax.

He slumped against Lan Wangji’s chest, his attention immediately diverted from the mess between their bodies to the sensation of arms wrapping around his waist, anchoring him in place. The cold air of the cave against his skin should have been enough to make him shiver, but somehow, he was warm. That mystery was quickly solved, though, as he felt the flaring of spiritual energy surging through his meridians, lighting him up from the inside as it pulsed through his limbs and back to his lower dantian time and again.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, do you feel that? Is your energy also…?” he asked, making no move to change position. His question was met with a quiet, affirmative hum. “Great! This is so much better than I thought. Who’d have known we’d be so good at dual cultivation? Maybe I should test this with some–”

The arms around his waist tightened. Wei Wuxian blew a raspberry against Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

“Yes, you’re right. We need to conserve our energy. Good call. But I’m going to have to get up soon - we’re a mess.”

—

It was a close thing, the fight against the Xuanwu, an ordeal of chaos and precision in equal measures. Even hours after Lan Wangji struck the final blow, the reverberations of its bellows and thrashing still vibrated through Wei Wuxian’s skull, leaving him in a place between delirium and coherence. It only worsened as they waited, the quiet cold of the cave blanketing them in that liminal place between survival and decay, timeless and dark, wracked with fever and chills. When Wei Wuxian drifted off at last, not sure if he’d ever wake again, he did so with Lan Wangji’s song light on his ears like a lullaby - one last, little joy in an aching, spiraling uncertainty.

(Later, waking at Lotus Pier, it was the absence of the song that he noticed first, but he’d never admit such a thing out loud).

Chapter Text

So much had gone wrong in the world that it wasn’t until he was laid out and cut open, arms bound and a leather strap in his mouth, that the last brick in the monument to his mistakes fell into place. Wen Ning’s face paled as he readied a needle to stitch him up, and he called over his shoulder, “Jiejie, please look!”

That probably wasn’t something anyone wanted to hear at any point during an operation, but especially not when the worst was supposedly over. It still took a moment for Wen Qing to turn back around, eyes immediately following Wen Ning’s pointed finger. Exhausted as he was, Wei Wuxian didn’t bother even trying to strain his neck for a peek at whatever it was they had found nestled in his intestines. The important thing was that Wen Qing had said just minutes ago that Jiang Cheng’s body had accepted the core transplant, and all that was left was to put Wei Wuxian’s abdomen back together again.

“A-Ning, please monitor Jiang Wanyin for now,” she said, her voice subdued in a way that spoke to something more than just the exhaustion of operating on someone for more than forty hours. It was only after her brother moved to the bed next to them that she met Wei Wuxian’s eyes, threading her own needle.

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian tried to ask around the strap between his teeth. The words should have been unrecognizable, muffled as they were, but Wen Qing seemed to hear him clearly. She shook her head.

“There is a spiritual organ attached to where your core was,” she answered, reaching a clean hand in and palpating something in his insides. When she withdrew her hand and straightened up again, there was something akin to pity in her eyes. “A womb. I’d estimate four to six weeks or so of development.”

He blinked, pain forgotten, and jutted his chin out, spitting the strap upwards as best he could without using the muscles of his abdomen. Wen Qing, genius that she was, immediately drew it from his mouth for him with her other hand.

“A womb - like, for a baby?” he asked, the words foreign in his mouth. It wasn’t a word he thought he’d ever even said before today. Certainly he’d heard it, but…

Wen Qing nodded. “It happens sometimes in men who dual cultivate with other men when both partners have powerful cores. I’ve seen similar pregnancies before in my sect. Any pregnancy is delicate at this stage already, but one like this without a strong core to support it…”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t a doctor, but he wasn’t so dumb he couldn’t realize what she was saying. “And with everything else my body has gone through…”

She nodded again. “If you want to keep this baby, you need to dedicate yourself to your recovery. There are no guarantees, but it’s made it this far.”

He took a moment, turning over what she had said in his head. “It’s still alive?”

“Yes, for now. But it is fragile. No fighting, no traveling, no extra stress. You might try dual cultivating more with the father to keep the womb healthy, but avoid strenuous activity otherwise.”

The father.

A little Lan, he thought, and he ached for his arms to be untied, for his stomach to be stitched back up, for some reassurance that this wasn’t some hallucination brought on by so many hours of pain and trauma. For a donkey and a lead and a spouse to go with the little one Wen Qing told him he carried.

Wen Qing worked efficiently to close him up, glancing up at him briefly. “You can rest now,” she murmured, holding a needle above his forehead. “I’ll wake you after we’ve sent your sect leader on his way.”

Then the needle met his skin, and blissful oblivion took him.

---

Of all things, the child was all he could think of when Wen Chao held him over the mouth of the Burial Mounds not two days later. Even though it could not compare to being operated on for forty hours straight, the pain of being run through with a sword was sharp and heavy, and the blows the Wen soldiers had battered him with stuck to his body like leeches. And now, feet dangling in the air, Wen Qing’s words echoed in his head with each second that passed.

It is fragile.

It had survived the operation, hadn’t it? She’d woken him some hours after, the sun low in the sky, and told him he’d beaten the odds twice in one day. The first successful core transplant in history and there were no signs that he might have traded his baby for it. Hold on to that luck, she’d said, and be careful.

It is fragile.

The stab had been high on his abdomen, blessedly far from his dantian. However briefly, he’d thought he might still make it - that if he ran, if he let the adrenaline carry him, maybe he could outrun them. The first hand on him dispelled that thought, and the first punch pulverized it. Going to his knees when he was caught was almost instinctive. If he shielded it from their blows, if he threw them off their game with his words, if he could just find Wen Qing and beg her to save it–

It is fragile.

In the end, he’d managed none of it. Every inch of him had been struck and bruised, his coreless body no match for cultivators. Nothing awaited him at the bottom of this cliff except, if he was lucky, the mercy of an instant death. He fixed his eyes on Wen Chao as he boasted loudly about his victory, and if he resolved himself there to return from the grave to take his revenge, then it was well-deserved. And then before he could fully grasp it, he was dropping, stomach turning and body twisting in the air. I’m falling, he thought helplessly, unable to focus on anything else. And then, seeing the ground rushing up to meet him, let it be quick.

Alas, it wasn’t.

The ground squelched sickeningly when he made impact face down, sinking with the force of his body striking the earth. All the breath in him pushed itself out in a harsh cough, splattering the mud over his face. He knew nothing for a long moment, only the desperate emptiness of his lungs and the ringing in his ears. After some time - maybe seconds, maybe minutes - he managed a short gasp, and his world erupted into pain.

It overwhelmed him for an endless span, each breath agonizingly drawn and lost almost as quickly to the stabbing of his own ribs against his lungs. Having landed in mud was nearly a mercy to him, as it pinned him in place, stopping each shattered bone from moving. Instinctively, he found himself trying to pull from his golden core to try to heal the damage, but--

No core.

No medicine, no weapons.

No aid.

All that he had, aside from the clothes on his back, was the mud beneath him and the overwhelming pressure of the resentful energy spiraling around him. It prickled at his back and set the hair on his neck to stand on end, hissing muffled, unintelligible promises into his ears. And yet, after a moment, the places it connected with his skin numbed, and he found himself able to draw breath more easily. Strange, certainly.

His response to Lan Qiren’s question at the Cloud Recesses - his thought experiment, really - came back to him slowly. Resentful energy was just energy in another form, right? And he knew how to use spiritual energy to heal himself. If it could numb the pain, maybe it could be used for repair too. Energy was energy, like wine and tea were both drinks. And if the traditional teachings were true, and it did harm the mind and body after all, then so be it. What more could it take from him than what he’d already lost? If it did only harm, maybe at least it could hasten his demise.

Nothing to do but try it, then.

He flared his meridians open to the extent that he could, trying to convey his willingness to accept the resentment surrounding him. It took to him slowly at first, then quicker and quicker as it completed its first circulation of his spiritual pathways. His insides turned as the energy rushed to his lower dantian, a foreign sense of confusion - someone else’s confusion - settling in among his own thoughts as resentment coalesced where just a week ago his golden core had revolved. Ah, now I get it, Wei Wuxian thought numbly as whispers - feelings? echoes? - that were not his own were shoveled upon him from the inside, clamoring like a mob for his attention. So this was what drove those exposed to too much resentment to qi deviation or, in the case of non-cultivators, utter madness. Too much exposure to this would surely kill someone.

Despite the lashing of secondhand emotions, he continued directing the flow of resentful energy to his most life-threatening injuries, tweaking how he channeled it as he went. It was more volatile than spiritual energy. Maybe temperamental was the right word - it resisted his attempts to control it like some wild beast, stabbing at him when he tried to move it where it didn’t want to go. He gritted his teeth against the pain, wishing for a moment he still had the strap he’d bitten down on when Wen Qing cut into him.

The task took however long it took, his awareness of time fading in and out through the process. When at last the last of his bones had knitted back together, he had no energy left to stay awake, let alone get up. His last thought before unconsciousness took him was an apology - though to who, he couldn’t have said.

---

Time passed differently in the Burial Mounds. The sun could not reach the ground through the dense clouds of resentment in most areas, with only the occasional spot of mottled, dim light touching a patch of dirt or bamboo here or there. How he had survived the first day was beyond Wei Wuxian - when he had awoken, the ringing in his ears finally gone, the groans and growls of fierce corpses had filled the air like bird calls. His robes alone, soaked in blood and sweat, should have been enough to give away his position, even in the dark. When he at last peeled himself out of the crater he’d made in the ground, he even spotted fresh footprints in the muck around him. Perhaps the corpses had taken him for one of them and left him alone?

Regardless, he had survived somehow, and he aimed to keep it that way. He crafted a dizi from the sparse bamboo and tools from the shattered weapons and armors long abandoned by the corpses around him, more useful for their material than for actual protection down in this sea of resentment. Although he had never trained in it himself, he knew from his time in Gusu that music was a powerful method of manipulating spiritual energy, and he found the same was true of resentful energy. 

Food and water were harder to come by, and despite his attempts, he couldn’t get the resentful energy to work properly to practice Inedia. It took the better part of two parched days to get a working version of the talisman he and Lan Zhan had discussed in the cave of the Xuanwu, so at least he wouldn’t die of thirst. He found bamboo, but no bamboo shoots, no matter how he dug. The earth was devoid of other plants, even inedible ones, and he debated after a time whether he could survive on dirt and bamboo itself. There was no life down here - no carrion, no bugs, no scavengers but him. Which left only…

Well, he was damned anyway.

Eating sickened him, both metaphorically and literally, so he could only do it rarely. Just enough to survive. The nausea clung to him for days after. If he hadn’t been dropped off a cliff, it could’ve meant something else. But Wen Qing had said it was fragile. Morning sickness was out of the picture.

When he wasn’t dodging corpses, learning to play the dizi by ear, or scavenging what he could to stay clothed and safe, he conserved his energy, sitting in the cave he’d managed to clear out to use as shelter and putting his mind to work. Paper wasn’t plentiful, but he’d found scraps that he could possibly use for talismans. Bereft of anything else to do, he scratched out drafts of whatever crossed his mind into the dirt - improvements for existing talisman designs or novel ideas. Most went nowhere, but he had a few successes: one which could extinguish a fire without the use of spiritual energy and another to clean clothes and disinfect wounds.

And, of course, he daydreamed. Nothing light, kind, or happy could survive down in the Burial Mounds, even in his own head. But he could escape the pangs of hunger or ache in his head or the grief for all he had lost for just a few minutes when he imagined what terrors he might wreak upon Wen Chao once he found a way out. It was as pleasant as things could get for him.

Then, abruptly, a day came when he woke restless. His legs itched and the resentful energy he’d soaked in for so long seemed to sweep him up, pushing at his back. What little he’d made - Chenqing, his talismans, and a small, pale stone he’d carved to resemble a mantou - found its way into the oversized robe he’d managed to salvage and repair, and then he walked, an unnatural tailwind propelling him as quick as he’d ever walked, despite his fatigue.

It was as though the resentful energy of the burial mounds had made this decision for him. Impatience from an unembodied mass ushered him up a path not tread by living humans for decades. Corpses lined the sides of the old road, standing and watching through clouded, dead eyes as though he was a one-person procession. They did not attempt to attack him on sight, but rather seemed quieted, almost contemplative. It was a sentiment Wei Wuxian shared. His eyes stung as he climbed the hill, light finally sifting through the clouds, until he found himself in daylight for the first time in ages.

He stopped in his tracks at the edge of the Burial Mounds despite the impatient pressure of the resentful energy still at his back, and he turned around to look down the hill he had climbed. His former neighbors stood at the threshold between their lands and the lands of the living, huddling in groups. Now that there was light, he saw the corpses were clustered together with others who were wearing clothes of the same make and colors - sect garments mostly - and there were similarities in their desiccated faces.

Families. Friends. Martial brothers and sisters. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, since the dead tended to seek out the familiar from their lives, but he still felt a knot form at his throat when he put the pieces together. Closest to the threshold was a group of cultivators clad in Jiang purple, with the hollowed but familiar face of one long-dead Shixiong, lost maybe four years earlier in a night hunt, meeting his eye with something resembling recognition - maybe even affection - somehow recognizable in his expression.

Swallowing hard around the lump in his throat, he stretched his arms out and bowed, form as perfect as he could make it under the circumstances, and whispered a raspy “Thank you ” to the group. 

Then he turned on his heel and walked, alone for the first time since he’d parted ways with Wen Qing on the mountain all that time ago.

---

His first stop after leaving the Burial Mounds was a shrine he knew outside of Yiling. Whether because the Wens knew better than to defile a shrine or because it was far enough from the main road, Wei Wuxian couldn’t claim to know, but it looked untouched, just as he remembered it. Better, as it turned out, because upon stepping through the threshold, he found an untouched altar stocked with incense and water where he had wondered if he might find Wens or corpses. In the corner, the Daoshi leaned forward, setting down the scroll that he had been reading before Wei Wuxian entered.

“Please, no need, sir,” Wei Wuxian said in a rush, voice creaky from disuse. “I won’t be long.”

“Nonsense,” the man replied, levering himself out of his seat and shuffling towards him. “We have had so few visitors since the conflict began. The least I can do is greet you properly. What brings you to this shrine?”

Wei Wuxian bowed. “Daoshi, I have lost my home and have nowhere to burn incense and give offerings for those who went before me,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor. “May I use your altar and your incense?”

The Daoshi’s shuffling stopped as his shoes came into view. “Of course you may.”

“May I do any labor for the shrine in exchange for supplies for my travels?”

There was a pause before the old man sighed. “I don’t presume to know what brings you here for help instead of your sect, but I know a sect cultivator when I see one,” he said. Wei Wuxian schooled his face, still parallel to the ground, into neutrality. “My hands can no longer write for long enough to make spirit-repelling talismans. Help me to stock enough to make it through the war. You may stay here tonight and take your leave tomorrow with supplies for the road.”

Wei Wuxian straightened his back. “Thank you, Daoshi, but I don’t wish to burden you overnight. I can finish before sunset.”

The Daoshi nodded. “If that is what you wish,” he said. “Come work at the table when you are ready.”

After the old man had retreated to the back, Wei Wuxian wiped down the altar, then plucked two sticks of incense from the basket. He lit them and pushed the incense burner further back. He had no rice or tea or fruits, but he still placed the bowls and plates he found upon the altar as though he had anything to offer. He wasn’t sure whether there was anything more specific to be done - it wasn’t as though he’d spent much time with anyone who had been pregnant before. He’d never learned any rites for this. But all the same…

He brought his hands together before the shrine and then bowed once, the quiet of the shrine punctuated only by his own breaths and the birdsong and wind through the windows. He prayed, then, for the small life Wen Chao had snuffed out within him. It was such little ceremony for a child of the respectable Lan clan, but he could never face Lan Zhan again without doing something to quiet the soul of their little one, if indeed the soul met the body so early. 

I’m sorry, Little Lan, he prayed. I did want to meet you in this life, but I have a feeling we will have to meet in the next instead.

He kept his quiet vigil for two incense sticks’ time, after which he cleaned the altar and joined the Daoshi at the table. Wordlessly, the older man pushed towards him a case of talisman paper and cinnabar, with a brush and water and cloth to the side. Wei Wuxian picked up the brush equally quietly.

The brush moved across the paper without any conscious thought, muscle memory taking over from years of stocking the Jiang sect’s talisman stores as part of his duties as a servant. He could only make as many as he could lay out to dry at a time, and the table was smaller than the desk he’d used in Yunmeng. Between batches of forty, he waited, flicking the brush in the air into the designs he’d sketched out in the cave in the Burial Mounds. The movement of the brush itself helped, as it always had, to better work out the finer details for the talismans, and by the fifth batch, he used the wait to sketch the improvements to his designs onto the paper scraps he’d bound into a notebook. 

The Daoshi read his notes over his shoulder in what others might see as a frightfully rude gesture. After so long away from people, Wei Wuxian merely angled his hand to give the man a better view.

“How wide an area would that fire extinguishing talisman work?” the old man asked.

“About a quarter of the size of this shrine, I think.”

“Would the intensity of the fire have an impact on its efficiency?”

“No, but it could impact how close a person could get to the fire, if they’re not a cultivator.”

“Could you delay its activation so someone might be able to attach it to a stone and throw it into a fire?”

That gave Wei Wuxian pause. He set down the brush and stroked his chin. “You’re more familiar with talisman craft than I expected of a non-cultivator,” he said. “Where did you learn?”

“I suppose I should have mentioned that I cultivated for many years,” the Daoshi replied. Wei Wuxian felt his eyebrows lift before he could stop them. “I even managed to cultivate a weak golden core, you know? Not enough to be of use to any sect, but I felt quite accomplished when I managed it.”

“An impressive feat,” Wei Wuxian acknowledged, letting Chenqing slide forward in his sleeve pocket towards a waiting hand. His heart thudded behind his ribcage. “Did you study under a sect or on your own?”

The Daoshi leaned back, resting his arms on his belly. “I taught myself through books. No sect would take me, so I traveled and night hunted. You sect cultivators look down on rogue cultivators, so we rarely crossed paths on hunts.”

The adrenaline ebbed slightly as the man spoke. Wei Wuxian let himself relax. “My parents were rogue cultivators. I wonder if you ever met them.”

“Perhaps. What were their names?”

Ah, that would have been a mistake to disclose. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, leaning forward and stacking the dried talismans. “Do you ever night hunt these days?”

There was a long silence following the question. When Wei Wuxian looked up, the Daoshi’s eyes were fixed to the ground. “I made the mistake of night hunting near Dafan Mountain a few years ago,” he said. “The Wens allowed me to keep my life at the cost of letting that monster cultivator of theirs destroy my core. I was told it was a mercy. I suppose it was - I was never going to cultivate immortality, after all.” 

Wei Wuxian kept his mouth firmly shut. Instead, he picked up the brush and another talisman, smoothing the paper out unnecessarily. After finishing the first talisman, he took a deep breath.

“Do you want any other talismans besides the spirit-repelling ones?”

“The fire extinguishing one, please. The season has been harsh, and I am not spry enough to save my home if a fire catches.”

If he noticed that Wei Wuxian made a few extra of each talisman for him, the Daoshi didn’t mention it.

Chapter Text

There were a few hours before sunset when Wei Wuxian finished the last of the talismans, including a full stack of his experimental ones that the Daoshi had insisted he make and bring with him. The old man ladened his pockets with nut brittle, jerky, and an old waterskin, as well as an amulet for safe travels. He also pushed a folded paper bag of tea leaves into his hands, as though there would be an opportunity for tea on the road ahead.

The lean provisions (minus the jerky, which was traded for dizi membrane and glue at the first opportunity) saw him through the next few weeks - through four separate Wen encampments and eventually through Wang Lingjiao’s woefully under-guarded lodgings. He had reached the last of the nut brittle by the time he had Wen Chao, mutilated and fear-broken, begging for mercy before him.

He had never counted on witnesses, let alone ones who knew him. Rumors had met even his ears about Jiang Cheng’s merciless but strong leadership and Lan Wangji’s terrifying competence trailing through the wrecks of the camps he’d left in his wake. Seeing them in person was different from hearing rumors. Even through the haze of resentful energy whispering terrors and rage, coaxing him to further torment and torture, he couldn’t help but see the relief in Jiang Cheng’s eyes winning out over the shock. He also didn’t miss the cracks in Lan Wangji’s expression - despite the immediate recognition and relief from him, too, he couldn’t miss the unmistakable fear behind his eyes.

Fear, on the face of the man who’d put a baby in him and sung him to sleep with the softest voice.

A lullaby his little Lan would never hear.

Odd, really, how quickly the lump came back to his throat. He had intended to tell Lan Wangji when they saw each other again. He’d framed the conversation in his head a million times in the long hours in the Burial Mounds and the harsh conditions weathered on the road - how they’d made something and lost it so quickly, how he deserved to know, how he’d tried to honor their loss. But now, all that planning was dashed. 

He could live with Lan Wangji fearing him. He wasn’t sure he could survive his handsome face twisted with grief.

If pressed later, he would never have been able to recall precisely what he said to Lan Wangji to drive him away, or what precisely the other man said in his desperate, pleading voice. He was afraid and he disapproved, without hearing a word of explanation before making his judgments. Whatever words he had come up with didn’t matter in the face of the emotion.

He would remember Jiang Cheng’s explicit approval, though. And he would remember the satisfaction that came with the slow and painful death of the man who had taken everything from him.

After, when he’d embraced Shijie and made the necessary comments and excuses to keep Jiang Cheng from digging too deep about where he’d been for the past--fuck, it had only been three months? Three months, and yet he felt three decades older--for the past three months, he finally peeled himself out of his scavenged robes for the first time since he’d put them on, sinking into a lukewarm bath that felt scalding against his skin. He submerged himself to the nose and closed his eyes, letting the warmth soak in until it finally, finally reached his bones. Only after he’d grown acclimated to the temperature did he open his eyes again and finally, after three months, look down over more of his body than just his bony wrists.

The first thing he saw was his ribs. His entire ribcage seemed to jut out, skin clinging to each bone and leaving hollows between them. What muscle he’d had before Wen Chao had found him was shrunken. Below his ribs, his navel extended out just slightly in a small potbelly as it had when he had been a child on the street. Lower still, the meat on his thighs had diminished, leaving some loose skin. Strangest, he thought, was how his flesh had paled - he’d spent so many summers in Yunmeng’s lakes that he’d thought he could never lose the warm bronze the sun had laid on him, but now his skin was lighter than he’d seen it even in the depths of winter. At least his arms were pinker where he raised them from the water, even if it was just from the heat.

He did have to hand it to Wen Qing, he thought as he traced a finger up his stomach. He couldn’t find the scar from where she’d cut him open. Then again, he couldn’t find the scar from being stabbed either. Perhaps the resentful energy had been as effective at healing him as spiritual energy after all.

Wei Wuxian wondered if Jiang Cheng had noticed the incision scar when he woke from the transfer. His core had been the strongest of their sect - no need for modesty - and should have healed him quickly even without Jiang Cheng directing the flow of the energy to where it was needed. He certainly didn’t seem to have needed any recovery time either. According to the rumors, Jiang Cheng had, albeit alongside Nie cultivators, wiped out an entire Wen camp barely a week after the surgery.

A thought crept into his head unbidden of whether his Little Lan might have made it if he hadn’t convinced Wen Qing to perform the surgery. Or if he had managed to rescue Jiang Cheng before his core had been melted in the first place. He wondered if he’d have even put two and two together without the operation or if he would have been clueless even now. And if he had known, what would have happened anyway? The war wouldn’t have waited for him to finish cooking the little one, and the front lines were brutal.

Not that it mattered. What had been planted had already been uprooted, and nothing grew in him anymore.

He didn’t have forever to bathe, though, so he pushed the thoughts from his head again, scrubbing the dirt from his hair and body. By the time his fingers stopped dislodging grains of sand, clumps of blood, and indistinguishable filth from him, the bathwater was cloudy, gray-brown and cold. He levered himself out of the tub and dried off, then pulled on the fresh robes that Shijie had had one of the other servants lay out for him. He had to fold excess cloth at his sides, but the luxury of clean clothes after so long was blissful nonetheless.

He had finished dressing and was just putting the last of his belongings into his sleeve pockets when he heard Jiang Cheng’s voice call out, “You’d better be decent - I’m coming in!” The flap to the tent opened only seconds later, and his Shidi stepped through quickly. He glanced over Wei Wuxian and the tub, grimacing at the state of the water, and then turned around, putting a silencing talisman on the canvas of the tent before stepping further in. 

“What was the point of telling me to be decent if you were just going to come in so quickly anyway?” Wei Wuxian asked, though the teasing lilt he’d tried to add to his voice fell flat. “You’re lucky I’m so efficient or you’d have gotten an eyeful. What couldn’t wait for me to come back to the main tent?”

Jiang Cheng leaned against the tub. “The other sect leaders are at the main tent waiting to debrief you. It’s not every day that someone who’s been missing for months kills one of the main targets of the campaign.”

Wei Wuxian scratched his chin, intentionally nonchalant. “Yeah, I suppose I could’ve checked in sooner.”

Jiang Cheng shook his head. “I wanted to ask a few things before we got that far. Namely, where the fuck were you all this time?”

“Here and there,” he offered, drawing on the script he’d come up with during their months apart and shrugging. “Ran into some Wens in the area we were supposed to meet up. I couldn’t exactly track you down without losing them first, and by the time I did, I had no way of knowing where to find you.”

“Is that the truth? Because Wen Chao said he threw you into the Burial Mounds.”

Ah. Well, Jiang Cheng had never been one for subtlety, and neither had Wen Chao. He should have known that he’d brag about killing him and that those boasts would make it to the rest of the cultivation world one way or another.

“He definitely tried to,” Wei Wuxian said, pointedly leaving out the part where his attempt had been successful. “But honestly, do you think I’d be here now if he’d managed it? He’s a worthless braggart who thought he could claim yet another kill that he wasn’t responsible for. After taking credit for the Xuanwu that Lan Zhan killed, I can’t say I’d put it past him.”

It was working, he thought, though it brought him no joy. Jiang Cheng’s shoulders were relaxing incrementally. He almost missed the fleeting relief that passed over his shidi’s face.

“I figured as much, but a-Jie and Lan Wangji seemed to believe it,” Jiang Cheng said. Then he took a deep breath. “Wanna tell me about what you did to all those Wens? That was demonic cultivation, wasn’t it?”

It was less a question, Wei Wuxian understood, and more Jiang Cheng giving him his first order since taking over the sect. Tell me that you can control it. Tell me you’ve done the impossible. Tell me you’re the secret weapon that will bring the Jiang sect back to prominence during this war.

He could do that.

“Yeah, without a sword I didn’t have a ton of options,” he said. He pulled Chenqing from his sleeve and held it aloft in both hands. “I thought I’d try my hand at musical cultivation - you’ve seen Lan Xichen play the xiao before, right? A dizi isn’t too different, so I tried using it. I couldn’t make it work with spiritual energy, but since there was so much resentment following the Wens everywhere, I figured out how to use it instead. I think you have to know the melodies or something to use spiritual energy, but resentful energy is responsive to tone.”

Jiang Cheng, whose musical prowess was somewhere between “had heard a couple songs more than once” and “tone-deaf humming when he thought nobody could hear him,” nodded as though he understood any of it.

“Is it safe for you to use?”

“There are risks, but I can control and mitigate them,” he said. “Believe me - the Wens will never see me coming.”

“And the talismans?”

Wei Wuxian smiled, slipping Chenqing into his belt and fishing his talisman box (liberated from the second Wen camp he’d destroyed) out of his sleeve. “Easier to get talisman paper than weapons,” he explained. He opened the box and flipped through the stack, pulling out three of his new designs. “Had some time while I was waiting for safe passage and came up with some new designs. You saw my spirit attracting ones, right? They’re great for ensuring there’s enough resentful energy for my cultivation in an area. Added benefit - I can use them to lure corpses and ghosts into an area and then control them with Chenqing. For night hunting, they can be used to control where a fight takes place. Yunmeng Jiang can sell them if you want. I’ve also got a few more that we can use to shore up the treasury and rebuild the sect’s reputation.”

Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

Wei Wuxian picked up the first talisman, holding it out for Jiang Cheng’s inspection. “This one will clean a wound of dirt, debris, and poisons so it can be bandaged without risk of infection,” he said. “I don’t have any injuries right now, so I can’t show you, but I can guarantee its effectiveness. I think it’ll help a lot after battles.”

His shidi’s lips pursed. “True. We don’t have enough healers to handle all our wounded right away.”

Wei Wuxian put the talisman down and picked up another. “This one can put out fires in a space--oh, about the size of this tent,” he said. “Good for picking up and moving camp fast or for saving provisions if they catch fire. Among other things.”

That one might have been a mistake to bring out, in light of the last fire they’d both been unable to extinguish, so to speak. Jiang Cheng’s expression went hollow for a moment, but only for a moment. He nodded briskly. “And the last one?”

Wei Wuxian gestured to the tub. “This one was actually Lan Zhan’s idea, but I polished it while I was on the road. See how dirty the water is?” He didn’t wait for an answer, instead plucking the last talisman from the table and activating it, tossing it into the water. The moment it made contact, the water cleared. The filth rushed to the talisman, piling upon it in layers and leaving behind only clean water. Wei Wuxian reached down with two fingers and lifted the now filthy, heavy talisman from the tub, dropping it onto the table with a clatter. “Ta-da! It repels water and attracts everything to it that is not water. That includes poisons, salt, dirt, what have you. End result: Clean water. We can avoid having to refill baths or boil water to drink it safely. When I say this is the talisman that kept me alive out there, I mean it. I’d have been dead without it.”

Wei Wuxian demonstrated, cupping the bathwater in his hand and bringing it to his lips. It tasted like clean, albeit room temperature, water. 

Jiang Cheng looked mildly placated, if disgusted, at the gesture. “I suppose you’ll want them attributed to you.”

“No, let the broader Jiang sect take the credit,” Wei Wuxian said, the words leaving his mouth before he’d even consciously thought them. He only realized he’d said them out loud when Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow again. He worked his jaw silently once, then cleared his throat, bidding something reasonable to come out. “The other sects have their disciples, spiritual weapons, techniques. They have their treasure rooms and their treasuries. In the eyes of those sects, what does Yunmeng Jiang have? A handful of trained disciples without even a home to call its own and what, four weapons between us?”

“Wei Wuxian!”

It was impossible to miss the rage percolating in Jiang Cheng’s voice as he hissed his name in warning tones. Wei Wuxian continued, forming his argument in his head as it came out his mouth.

“I know! I know that’s not the case, but it’s not as though Lanling Jin or Qinghe Nie is going to see it any other way. It’s too easy for them to separate the sect from its members when we’re so few. We have to start drawing lines between the Jiang’s disciples and what the sect can bring to the war table.”

Jiang Cheng crossed his arms, frown deepening, but at least there was less anger on his face now. Small victories, he supposed.

“I’m already going to have attention on me that is separate from the sect. That’s good!” he hastened to clarify when Jiang Cheng’s visible fist tightened. “The last thing the sect needs is to draw the ire of the cultivation world by becoming associated with demonic cultivation. If that ire is on me, the cultivator using demonic cultivation, that’ll draw it away from the sect. So if they’re going to look down on a Jiang cultivator, the sect will need to balance it out to maintain its reputation. Yunmeng Jiang has always been known for its contributions in developing new talismans. These talismans can be sect innovations that will be valuable additions to the war effort, and their sale can bolster sect funding.”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “And the fact that we only offered up these ‘sect innovations’ after finding you isn’t going to tip them off?”

Wei Wuxian bared his teeth in a grin. “Of course not! After all, it only makes sense to divide up our valuables while traveling,” he said, the notes of his sing-song voice an echo of brighter days. He could almost remember being playful and happy when he pretended like this. “It’s hardly the Jiang Sect’s fault that I went missing with our collection of experimental talisman designs. But I could hardly have carried Zidian or the sect seal, right? Since I’m not from the Jiang family, after all.”

He watched as something played out over his Shidi’s face. He’d known this man for more than half a lifetime, and still he only caught some of the expressions. Outrage, guilt, frustration, all interspersed with something he could only grasp the edges of - something gentler than the younger man had been brought up to be capable of. Eventually, he settled with a sigh and a soft, almost whispered question.

“...and you’re...okay?”

He blinked, head abruptly empty at the unexpected question. He hadn’t really thought Jiang Cheng could surprise him anymore. But as he looked over the younger man, hale and strong and shouldering the weight of his responsibilities to the sect that had produced both of them, Wei Wuxian found he could set aside the ache at the very center of his being for just a moment and, shocked to realize it himself, answer with an equally quiet, mostly honest, “yes.”

---

It was during the debriefing that Wei Wuxian learned that Lan Xichen had also reappeared after going missing for months with new tools and strategies - namely, cultivators and an alliance - for the war. A lesser man would have been put out at being beaten to the punch in achieving something so unexpected, but Wei Wuxian was hardly going to complain about someone paving the way for him first. It also explained, at least somewhat, why Lan Wangji had been with Jiang Cheng rather than his own sect. With Lan Xichen back, the Lans were in good hands.

Unfortunately for Wei Wuxian, that also meant that Gusu Lan was in a good position to ask hard questions.

“And with regard to your newly developed cultivation style,” Lan Xichen said, tone even and almost friendly, even after nearly two hours of questions that had left the rest of the tent quiet. “How is it that you are tempering the side effects of exposure to resentful energy? The fact that you’ve practiced this for weeks without succumbing to its influence is impressive. Surely there must be an explanation for how you’ve managed such a feat?”

Can’t damage a golden core when you don’t have one, Wei Wuxian thought wryly. Aloud, he simply said, “I channel the energy through an instrument rather than my body, which limits its ability to enter my meridians.” 

Lan Xichen smiled. It used to put him at ease, seeing that smile, but Wei Wuxian could see now that it didn’t fully reach his eyes. A gesture meant to placate, rather than a genuine response. “Intriguing. However, limiting the avenues by which resentful energy can enter the body does not mean preventing all exposure. What is your plan to remove the energy that does sink in?”

“I have not had much opportunity to remove the energy, Sect Leader Lan,” he admitted, feeling several pairs of eyes snap to him. “Circumstances left me with few resources to dedicate to the problem.”

The smile thinned, becoming somehow more opaque. “I am sorry to hear that,” he said. “I am concerned about the effect this is having on you, particularly in light of how Wen Chao and his contingent died.”

Wei Wuxian had a retort ready for that, but it died on the back of his tongue when he saw Jiang Cheng glare at him with a warning in his eyes. Instead, he cleared his throat and said, “I understand your concern, but I had always intended to make him suffer before he died. I make no apologies for what I’ve done. The only thing this new method of cultivation changed was how he suffered.”

A ripple of murmurs swept through the tent. Jiang Cheng’s glare stayed on him, unchanged, and the smile dropped from Lan Xichen’s lips.

“I did not think you capable of torture,” Lan Xichen said evenly. “While I’m certain you entertained the idea of tormenting Wen Chao, I do not believe you are the type of person who would act on such ideas if not under the influence of an external factor.”

“Before I developed it, nobody would believe that musical cultivation could be fueled with resentful energy,” Wei Wuxian retorted. “Belief is not the same as truth.”

“I have never seen in you any capacity for cruelty,” Lan Xichen said. Wei Wuxian scoffed.

“You did not see what happened to Lotus Pier.”

“And yet,” Nie Mingjue drawled from his seat, interrupting the pair. “Neither did I see Sect Leader Jiang Wanyin torture anyone to death, and he saw it just as you did.”

The eyes of the room turned to Jiang Cheng at this. The young sect leader looked unimpressed, crossing his arms. “Do you think one of my subordinates would do such a thing without my approval and permission, Sect Leader Nie?”

The tent was unbearably silent for a long moment after Jiang Cheng’s question. Although Wei Wuxian schooled his face into neutrality, his heart beat a staccato rhythm against his sternum as he cast his thoughts towards anything that might salvage this situation. But what could he say, as the purveyor of said cruelty, that could be accepted as anything other than a desperate ploy? What could bring the blame for his actions back onto him, rather than the sect?

The silence was broken, surprisingly enough, by Lan Wangji.

“I have a proposal,” he said, his deep and quiet voice as loud as a thunderclap. Wei Wuxian turned to look at him, upright and dignified. “Gusu Lan has songs meant for cleansing resentful energy from those affected by it. I can play for him to clear it from his body and mind.”

Wei Wuxian raised his hands like a shield between them. “Ah, Lan Zhan, there’s no need--”

Unthinkably, Lan Wangji interrupted him.

“Wei Ying is otherwise without a means to remove the resentful energy. I am in a position to help.”

“Lan Zhan, please, you shouldn’t waste your efforts--”

“Wei Ying would be an asset to the campaign. It would not be a waste.”

His tone brokered no debate. Wei Wuxian stole a glance back at Jiang Cheng, whose lips were twisted into a scowl. When their eyes met, his Shidi nodded.

This was not an offer the Jiang sect could afford to decline, politically, and they both knew it.

Holding in a sigh, Wei Wuxian brought his hands together and bowed. “Then this lowly one will accept your proposal. Is that sufficient to assuage the concerns about the impact of my cultivation on my mind, Sect Leader Lan?”

The sect leader nodded. “Yes. Thank you to Wangji for offering such a solution.” He glanced around the tent once. “I believe I have had all the questions I prepared answered. Is there anyone else among us with anything to ask?”

Silence was his answer. He smiled again at Wei Wuxian as though he had not spent hours interrogating him. “Very well. We are glad to have you back, Wei Wuxian.”

“Likewise,” Wei Wuxian said, effortfully cordial. “I’ll take my leave, then.”

Jiang Cheng moved to stand, presumably to leave with him, but a representative from the Nie sect accosted him first, saying something about some intel or other. The sect leader glanced towards Wei Wuxian, completely unsubtle, and he waved off his shidi. They would be sharing a tent, after all, at least until he could secure his own. It was certainly not going to be the last time sect leader business took up his time, he was sure.

“Wei Ying. Can we speak?”

Lan Wangji’s voice to his side was such a shock he very nearly reached for Chenqing, catching himself at the last moment. He’d barely managed to convince these people he wasn’t a threat, for crying out loud! Drawing a weapon he’d used to torture and mutilate would probably have seen him imprisoned.

Outwardly, he merely turned his head to look at Lan Wangji, taking in his neutral expression. Gone was the fear and judgment from earlier, at least. Neutral was the best he could hope for.

He ignored the pang in his chest at the thought. 

“Why?” he asked, the effort needed to keep his tone level all the greater after hours of being needled by cultivators who thought themselves his betters. “We’ll have ample time when you play for me, won’t we?”

“I wanted to ask–”

“Ah, you must not have heard. Sect Leader Lan called for final questions after I agreed to your generous offer,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ve missed the window.”

He moved to pivot on his heel, to walk out of the tent, but a hand on his wrist stopped him. He froze with the icy rage that drew up his spine at the grip, curling his fingers into a fist.

“Wei Ying, please,” Lan Wangji said, voice quiet. “I want to speak privately.”

“Lan. Wang. Ji,” he enunciated, staring him in the eye. All decorum and friendliness had long left him, replaced by a torrent of anger that threatened to compel him to drag everyone down with him. “Let go of me. Now.”

Just as quickly, Lan Wangji let go. He snatched his arm back, biting back any number of scathing remarks, and finally, finally left, the echo of warmth on his wrist aching like a broken bone.

Chapter Text

He would never admit it, not under pain of death or any other circumstances, but although it wasn’t easy, adjusting to participating in a full-scale war was simple compared to adjusting to the Burial Mounds. There was food, shelter, and light by which to read and write. Although it was only once a week, he could soak his worn muscles and heavy bones in a warm bath. He had three entire sets of robes, courtesy of Yunmeng Jiang, and good, well-made boots to replace the road-bitten ones he’d left Lotus Pier with. And thanks to the water purification and cleaning talismans, even the smell of the camp was apparently far, far better than before, when only the most well-connected could have clean baths and clean clothes.

Not that he'd have really noticed. Even when he'd first made it to camp, it had been an improvement on the smell of corpses, to say the least.

The difficult part was people.

Before the Wen indoctrination - even during, honestly - Wei Wuxian had always been a social person. Conversation and connection brought light and energy into his day. The exchange of light-hearted barbs or unique experiences felt like part of who he was. He knew how his reputation as a charming, witty conversationalist preceded him.

It was easy to chat, but trying to maintain distance - to not get to know anyone too closely or let anyone who knew him see anything was amiss - that was hard. 

In that light, sitting with Lan Wangji in an empty tent while the other man played Cleansing for him should have been a relief. He and Lan Wangji had long developed the ability to share a comfortable silence, even back when he’d studied at the Cloud Recesses, albeit mostly when Wei Wuxian had exhausted his near-endless supply of banter and chitchat. The other man was also proper - he would not stare excessively like some of the Jin and Nie cultivators did, nor would he ask questions that were unrelated to what they were doing. 

If it hadn’t been for their last two disastrous interactions, he might have even enjoyed it.

Lan Wangji was already seated when he arrived, guqin positioned before him and fingers poised to play. He looked up when Wei Wuxian walked through the flap of the tent, for a moment looking like he might greet him, but lowered his eyes just as quickly.

Giving him space, probably. Awkward.

Once upon a time, he might have fidgeted his way through such an event with gusto, mind and body brimming with too much energy to just stay still and listen. Now, with no core and no fat stores to fuel his overused, fatigued muscles, the opportunity to sit back and rest, snatching a moment of sect-endorsed relaxation, was too tempting to resist.

So he planted himself down, leaning back against a surprisingly sturdy cot, and cracked his neck, loosening his tense muscles as best he could. He fixed his eyes on the ground between them. He moved Chenqing from his belt into his hands, lining up his fingers like he was the one about to play, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He peered up, raising an eyebrow. Lan Wangji had not moved. That elegant mouth of his was pulled into a straight line, gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian. The question of what he was waiting for died in his throat as their eyes met.

When was the last time he looked Lan Wangji in the eye? Really looked? He hadn’t in the tent when he was relentlessly questioned, nor had he when they’d met at Wen Chao’s final hideout.

It must’ve been in the cave, he realized, after fighting the Xuanwu. When he’d sung to him, neither of them aware of what was taking root in his belly.

At the first signs of a lump forming in his throat, he coughed. Better to distract himself than to ruminate again on the pain. “You…said you had questions.”

Surprise colored Lan Wangji’s face for just a moment before he could school it back to the blank expression from the day in the tent. He nodded, not breaking eye contact. “I do.”

“Private questions?”

“Yes.”

When no further words came from the other man, he sighed, resting his cheek in one palm. “Lan Zhan. Just ask. Whatever it is, it’s clearly distracting you. Distractions are deadly in times of war, or so I’ve been told.”

Golden eyes darted to the silencing talisman at the flap of the tent before closing. After a moment, he looked back at Wei Wuxian, apprehension on his handsome face.

“In the cave,” he said, haltingly. Wei Wuxian felt his breath stop in his chest. Did he know? How could he have figured it out? He forced himself to breathe again, waiting for the rest of the sentence, heart thudding behind his ribs and stomach roiling like he’d swallowed a live snake.

“Do you regret what we did?”

Potent relief washed over him, almost distracting him from wondering if there was an unspoken ‘too’ in the question. “No regrets. Why? Do you?”

“No.”

Lan Wangji was quick to answer, almost sounding defensive. Almost.

“Why ask, then?”

The man hesitated, fingers twitching over the guqin. “I…wondered. Since we found you. You’ve treated me differently.”

“Lan Zhan–”

“Treated only me differently.”

Oh.

‘Differently’ was a charitable way of putting it. With Jiang Cheng and Shijie and his sort of friends, his sort of acquaintances, his sort of peers, he’d managed to pick up his old habits seamlessly, faking well-being and age-old rapport like he’d just been traveling for months. But faced with Lan Wangji, his scripts and speeches and plans had dissipated like smoke in the wind. He couldn’t find the plot anymore, couldn’t remember how to react anything but emotionally.

He could admit it was a little unfair of him, but it wasn’t like it was intentional!

He cleared his throat. “You’ve only caught me at my worst since the war started,” he said, each word feeling like it was dragged from his stomach. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s all me.”

Silence shifted like a breeze in the room between them.

“Anything else you wanted to ask, then?”

The shape of a question peeked out from behind Lan Wangji’s lips, but the man shook his head. Instead, he finally put his fingers to the strings of his guqin and the first energy-imbued notes of song took to the air at last.

Despite Lan Wangji playing for nearly an hour the first session, Wei Wuxian hadn’t really expected any results. He’d been able to take stock of the resentful energy in his meridians before and after, and the volume of energy seemed the same. But curiously, hours later, he fell asleep the moment he lay in bed, as though he’d been snuck a sleeping draught, not awakening until long past dawn the next morning.

It must’ve done something, he reasoned. So where he’d planned to politely, diplomatically decline after the first session, he found himself agreeing to a second, and then a third, and then an hour every other day, after which Wei Wuxian would sleep like the dead. The sessions settled things a little between them - Lan Wangji no longer looked scared or judgmental (though Wei Wuxian assumed he was just hiding it better), and the grief and confusion Wei Wuxian felt when he saw him slowly ebbed.

No better than things had been before the war, but no worse. It was for the best.

It became part of his routine, like visiting Shijie after sunset and enjoying a snack with her or stocking the Jiang sect supply tent with his latest talisman designs. His return to civilization (if a camp could be called civilization, anyway) suited him well. He was becoming less gaunt by the day, the sallow bags under his eyes plumping back up as he ate and slept enough for the first time in months. 

He had been old enough when he had been rescued from the streets to remember the first time he experienced the joy of satiation. Now, after months without a full belly, it felt almost foreign the first time he finished a whole bowl of soup. Afterwards, though, meals only left him hungrier, though, as though his body was making up for the days it went unfed all at once. He found himself with strange cravings, which he found himself apologizing for despite Shijie’s insistence that it wasn’t any trouble.

(“Shijie, it’s not about the trouble. I just know that tea with vinegar is unnatural.”

“There’s still no need to apologize, A-Xian. If your body says you need tea with vinegar, then we’ll get you tea with vinegar.”

“But--”

“When you first started living with us, you used to ask for raw egg yolk in your tea. This is hardly stranger.”

“Actually, now that you mention it…”

“Yes, I’ll save a yolk for you too.”)

Although the meat packed back onto his limbs and the hollows between his ribs became shallower, his stomach continued to expand, pushing out to the same rounded shape it had been when he first came to Lotus Pier. He’d never quite forgotten how peoples’ eyes had lingered on him back then, how they’d stared at the juxtaposition of his skin-and-bones arms and sickly potbelly. Thankfully, with the season changing, he had no trouble convincing one of the quartermasters to make him a larger outer robe, which concealed his misshapen form.

(“Shijie, how long after Sect--after your father brought me to Lotus Pier did I stop looking so starved?”

“I don’t know how long exactly - you changed every day. Kids grow fast at that age.”

“But when did you notice I looked like a regular kid again?”

“I think I worried about how skinny you were for a whole year,” she said, making a show of trying to circle her dainty hand around his wrist. Her fingers barely made it more than halfway around. “You’ve been gaining weight back well this time. There’s no rush.”

She didn’t ask why he hadn’t relied on Inedia. He didn’t dare question why she wouldn’t ask.)

Between battles, Cleansing, eating, and strategizing, he also kept working on talisman design. He focused mostly on things Shijie had complained about (or rather had mentioned as “inconvenient” or “challenging.” He’d get her to complain properly to him someday). He crafted one that turned black if a piece of food was spoiled or poisoned, something which the mess tent servants immediately requested dozens of. Another, modeled after the heat retaining talisman everyone knew, held food and drink at a low temperature to keep it from warming up - an unsurprisingly difficult task in the heat of the mess tents.

The popularity of the new talismans was such that requests from the kitchen servants quickly made up the bulk of his work off the battlefield. When autumn began to fade, he used their large orders as an excuse to make their talismans right there in the mess tents, hands only kept steady by the ambient warmth of the makeshift stoves.

It was the first winter since his childhood that he was mundane. For years his core had kept him warm and comfortable, but now the wind cut through him to his very bones. Resentful energy made it worse, somehow, setting his flesh alight with pins and needles when he tried using it to keep warm. His outer robe, thick and rugged as it was, was barely enough to keep his teeth from chattering. Shaking fingers and teeth knocking together was a huge risk when one’s cultivation relied on playing the dizi.

(His eventual solution, a talisman that was meant to warm one’s sleeping bag for ten hours, was less popular than the wound cleaning and water purifying ones, but it still sold steadily. It brought him irrational delight to see that Jin Zixuan was among those who ordered enough to use one every night, and he made a mental note to bully him later about the differences in how he and his father warmed their beds.)

After a few weeks of cold, his body seemed to adapt, albeit poorly. From time to time, he’d become so warm that he needed to loosen his robes, drenched in sweat and feeling like he’d been cooked from the inside. Just as quickly as those times came on, they faded, leaving him damp in the freezing air.

As they planned their siege on Nightless City, he and Lan Wangji had even started speaking again. Cleansing no longer knocked him out so quickly, but it did leave him relaxed enough to bring up inconsequential, safe topics ( any stories about those bunnies I gave you?) and heavily filtered tales of his three months away from everyone ( I was just practicing scales on Chenqing and the innkeeper threw himself at my feet and confessed to being a Wen spy! Can you believe my luck? I got the location of two different encampments from him!). 

It was tenser when he ushered him to his tent after battles and skirmishes, a furrow between his brows deepening and his lips drawn thin while he played longer than usual, Wei Wuxian on edge. But overall, their time together was finally comfortable again.

Something was getting to him, though. His stomach rolled and toiled seemingly randomly. He felt as bloated as a week-old waterlogged corpse, with what he could only assume was gas bubbling beneath his skin. He avoided changing clothes if he could help it, not wanting anyone (himself included) to see the potbelly that malnutrition had given him. That, and he worried that if he undid his belts, he’d never be able to tie them again.

But a healer wasn’t an option, not with a missing core. He couldn’t risk being relegated to camp when he could make a difference. All he could do was hide his sick form and prepare, prepare, prepare.

Only weeks from the start of spring, the siege of Nightless City - and hopefully, the final battle - began.

Chapter Text

The siege lasted fourteen hours after Wei Wuxian's carefully controlled corpses took to the battlefield and probably would have lasted longer had Wen Ruohan not taken the bait - an opportunity to slaughter a sect leader in front of his loyal, exhausted, flagging followers. But end it did, along with the man’s bloodline and legacy. 

After playing a few probing notes to verify that the man was dead, Wei Wuxian finally let Chenqing fall from his lips. He slipped the dizi into his waistband, rubbing at the ache that had been worsening in his back for the whole battle and breathing an inward sigh of gratitude towards Madam Yu’s insistence on training him to manage his pain without it reaching his expression. From the other side of the rooftop he’d perched himself on, he saw Lan Wangji tip his guqin upright and stand, their eyes meeting. After all the hours of the siege, the man looked unfairly good despite the exhaustion evident on his face.

“Ah, Lan Zhan. Did we really just win?”

He didn’t think his voice would be loud enough to reach the other man over the celebratory din on the grounds below them, but Lan Wangji nodded in response all the same. “It couldn’t have been won without you.”

Wei Wuxian felt his face splitting into a genuine grin for the first time in months. “Praise, from the respectable Second Jade of Lan? How generous, Lan Zhan!”

He shifted, barely pivoting, when an agonizing squeeze crushed his middle, freezing him in his tracks. He sucked in a short breath as he felt all the blood drain, abruptly, from his head. He barely had the presence of mind to think, “oh no, am I fainting?” before the world around him narrowed, fading into nothingness.

---

The elation in Lan Wangji’s veins at seeing Wei Wuxian’s face light up like it had back at the Cloud Recesses turned quickly to terror as the other man’s face went slack, his eyes rolling back in his head. Something came out of his mouth then - Wei Wuxian’s name, maybe? Perhaps just a yelp - and he dove to catch him before he could hit the roof and roll, his guqin dropping against the shingles with a clatter. He barely managed, wedging one arm under each armpit and bracing himself. Once he was sure neither of them would slip, he shifted to pull Wei Wuxian against his chest and shook him. His face was ashy and damp with sweat, but he was breathing. His pulse was rapid, but strong, at least, though he didn’t so much as twitch in response to Lan Wangji’s attempts to wake him.

He didn’t know what to do. He needed a doctor. A healer. Those were all back at the camp.

He bundled Wei Wuxian closer, holding him more securely to his chest. A few eyes had landed on him as he tried to rouse Wei Wuxian, but he paid them no mind. What mattered was that he had enough energy to get back to camp, and it was safer to bring him to the healers than to keep trying to wake him on a rooftop or amidst a throng of celebrating victors. With what flagging spiritual energy he had left, he directed Bichen under his feet.

To his surprise, two cultivators on swords joined him as he took off towards the camp. Uncle, on his right, had both his and Lan Wangji’s instruments under his arms as he flew. On his left, Jiang Wanyin flew as close as he dared, craning his neck to get a glimpse of Wei Wuxian’s face and shouting something Lan Wangji could not hear over the roar of the air and the pounding of blood in his own ears.

The flight back to camp took nearly an hour, yet Wei Wuxian did not wake. If Lan Wangji hadn’t been focused on each shallow, shaky breath drawn against his torso and every tiny, pained, unconscious groan that escaped him, he could’ve thought him dead.

He landed, Uncle and Jiang Wanyin not far behind him, in the Lan section of the camp - more specifically, in front of the tent he shared with Uncle. Wei Wuxian did not stir, even as he alighted his sword and stumbled through the tent opening, Jiang Wanyin squawking something about moving to the Jiang section behind him. He ignored him, laying him out on his cot as gently as possible. Warmth met his shoulders as the other men caught up with him.

“Wangji, let me.”

Uncle’s hands touched his shoulders, trying to guide him back, but Lan Wangji stood steadfast, grasping at Wei Wuxian’s limp hand. The man was still pale, his palm clammy to the touch. At the first touch of Lan Wangji’s spiritual energy, he seized, his shoulders coming up off the cot, an unconscious writhing flinging his hands back away, a series of choked gasps coming from his throat.

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Wanyin shouted, alarm evident in his voice even as he pushed his shixiong’s shoulders back down. He leveled a glare at Lan Wangji. “Stop it! Whatever you’re doing, stop!”

Lan Wangji let go, still hovering over him. Wei Wuxian slowly sunk back down onto the cot, still unconscious and gasping.

“Uncle, what...I have never seen a reaction like that to a transfer of spiritual energy,” he said. This time, when Uncle pulled him back by the shoulders, he gave way. “What is wrong with him?”

“I do not know, but I will find out,” his elder said, taking hold of his wrist himself. “Sect Leader Jiang, please let go of him. I need to scan just him. Your energy will interfere.”

Jiang Wanyin squeezed Wei Wuxian’s shoulders once, perhaps unconsciously, but acquiesced, standing back just a hair further than Lan Wangji. Their eyes met over Uncle’s back, and for a moment, it felt like those months they spent together seeking any news, any clue, any hint of what had happened to the man on the cot. That shared, unspoken fear from back then crept back up in Lan Wangji’s head - what if we’ve lost him forever?

Uncle, of course, paid neither of them any mind. “His spiritual energy is completely depleted,” he said evenly. Tracing a hand up the spiritual pathways of his arm and over his shoulder. “Meridians are empty. There’s some fatigue, but not so much that he should have collapsed. More resentful energy than normal, even for him, though not enough to--”

His voice cut off as he reached just below Wei Wuxian’s diaphragm. Then Uncle, who Lan Wangji had never in his life seen do a double take, lifted his hand up as though burned, stared at his own fingers, and then quickly traced the spiritual pathways from his wrist through his chest and just below the diaphragm again. This time, when he lifted his hand, he straightened his back, face schooled in the carefully neutral expression he wore at cultivation conferences or conversations where he could not reveal his cards.

“He will need a surgeon,” he said flatly, tone as neutral as stone. “Not a Lan surgeon. Someone Wei Wuxian can trust if he awakens. The best you can find.”

Jiang Wanyin stepped back. “A surgeon? What’s wrong with--”

“The best you can find. As quickly as possible, Sect Leader Jiang.”

Dread crept up Lan Wangji’s spine. Uncle did not interrupt without good reason. For him to implore Jiang Wanyin like this…

Jiang Wanyin caught on quickly, rushing out of the tent without another word. Uncle turned around, retrieving Lan Wangji’s guqin and holding it out to him.

“Cleansing, if you can manage it,” he said, instructions echoing in Lan Wangji’s head. “Something slow and peaceful if you cannot.”

Lan Wangji took the guqin and arranged himself quickly, kneeling on Uncle’s cot across from Wei Wuxian. He could feel the muck from the battlefield smearing from the soles of his shoes onto the bedding, but he could not bring himself to care. As he drew up his spiritual power to play, he swallowed around the knot in his throat. For Wei Wuxian, he could play until his fingers were flayed to the bone and his core flickered out.

Not even a minute in, he asked, “What has happened to Wei Ying?”

Uncle shook his head and moved between them, back to Lan Wangji, before laying out a set of surgical tools from his footchest on the edge of the cot. He began peeling back Wei Wuxian’s bulky clothing, exposing lighter layers beneath.

It was as the second layer was opened that Jiang Wanyin burst through the mouth of the tent, a smaller figure in a hooded cloak beside him. Delicate hands, white up to the knuckles with cold, came up to undo the fastenings as soon as the flap of the tent shut.

“I know what you’re going to say, but please trust her,” Jiang Wanyin said emphatically, even as he guided the presumed surgeon to the cot. “She’s been allied with the Jiang Sect since she got us out of Lotus Pier alive.”

The newcomer swept the cloak off, and it was only the knowledge she could hold Wei Wuxian’s life in her hands that kept Lan Wangji from striking her on sight. He recognized her stern face and fine robes, sun embellishments and all, from conferences he’d attended since his teens. What limited intelligence they had of her during the war spoke to competence as a doctor and a reputation for levelheadedness, certainly, but still. Far from a neutral party.

“Maiden Wen Qing?” Wangji asked, fingers not missing a note.

Uncle stiffened, raising his head to look at the pair. His eyes widened as he took her in, then fixed on Jiang Wanyin’s.

“You swear she is one of yours?” Uncle asked. Jiang Wanyin bristled.

“I wouldn’t have brought her if she wasn’t.”

Wen Qing, for her part, ignored them, tying her sleeves back and looking at Wei Wuxian like she meant to make a study of him. Once her arms were free, she drew a needle pouch from her waist and set it on the cot next to the surgical instruments. Not so much as asking for any information nor explaining herself, she picked up Wei Wuxian’s hand and drew her fingers over his spiritual pathways just as Uncle had done. And, just as Uncle had done, she stopped when she reached his stomach, somewhere between his navel and sternum. Her eyes fluttered shut, but from what Lan Wangji could see, it was less out of concentration and more out of frustration.

“Did he tell any of you?” she asked, opening her eyes again. Her voice cracked, rusty with obvious disuse. “About his diagnosis after he escaped Lotus Pier?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. Jiang Wanyin, confusion evident on his face, replied, “No, of course he didn’t. He never tells us anything! What diagnosis?”

Wen Qing pulled a ribbon out of her robes, tying her hair back with an efficiency that spoke to hundreds of hours of experience. She opened her needle pouch and drew one out, pushing it into Wei Wuxian’s forehead, and then methodically pulled back his robes. Uncle leaned forward to help again, opening them up one layer at a time.

“Muffling talisman or silencing talisman, preferably silencing, and then we can talk,” she said, jutting her chin towards Jiang Wanyin, who hastily rifled through his sleeve in response. She looked at Lan Wangji next. “Save your energy for after. Play something calming without your spiritual energy.”

“I will retrieve clean linens,” Uncle volunteered, pulling the last of Wei Wuxian’s robes from him and pausing. “Unless you have need of a healer, albeit one untrained in surgery.”

Wen Qing nodded. “Linens, please. Then be ready to assist.”

A flash of light shone behind the doctor’s back as the silencing talisman was activated, and then Jiang Wanyin was at her side. His eyes widened, more white visible than color, as he peered down at Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji couldn’t see anything below Wei Wuxian’s shoulders from his vantage point, Uncle twisting in front of him to gather spare bedding from the footcrate and obscuring his view. He tilted his head, trying to find an angle that would let him catch a glimpse.

“Wen Qing, what the fuck is that?”

She picked up one of the surgical knives, holding it up to the light of the brazier appraisingly. Seemingly satisfied, she brought it down, and the coppery smell of blood abruptly tinged the air.

“He was about a month pregnant when Lotus Pier fell,” she said, hands moving quickly. “That’d put him at about eight months now. Maybe a couple weeks under - he really should be bigger than this.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in, and then Lan Wangji scrambled to his feet, knocking his guqin out of the way and nearly toppling the cot he’d been kneeling on. Uncle caught him as he stumbled forward. Now, without any obstacles between him and where Wei Wuxian lay, he finally saw what had elicited such a reaction from Jiang Wanyin.

Wei Wuxian’s abdomen was distended and round, but not in the way that he’d seen on men who overindulged in spirits or wine or food. His skin looked thin, like it had been papered over and stretched out, with angry silvery-red lines spreading across the entire mound at his middle. Wen Qing had cut an incision below his navel, almost at the start of his pubic hair, and she was inserting a spreader from the surgical kit into it, somehow anchoring it amidst the blood before pushing a hand into his body and positioning the surgical blade with her other.

“What do you mean, pregnant ?” Jiang Wanyin managed. Lan Wangji wondered the same.

Wen Qing did not look up from her task. “I do not have time to educate you on where babies come from, Jiang Wanyin,” she ground out, eyes not leaving her patient. Her wrist moved, and Lan Wangji caught a glimpse of what appeared to be an intestine. She pushed it out of the way like it was nothing and moved again, this time with the surgical knife, then pulled the blade out quickly amidst a gush of fluid, thrusting it onto the spare cot. “What matters is that he and the baby are in distress, and I must--move--quickly!”

She grunted out the last three words as she reached with both hands into the incision and pulled, tugging with controlled bursts. After a long moment, something round and dark emerged, almost the width of the incision itself, followed by wet, pink, and almost powdery flesh. It was only when it cleared Wei Wuxian’s body, its legs kicking out, that Lan Wangji recognized it as a baby.

“Laoshi,” Wen Qing said, and Uncle’s hands left Lan Wangji. He moved forward, linen in hand, and held out his arms. She placed the infant onto the bedding, then tied a piece of string around the cord still connecting it to Wei Wuxian. “Wipe the mouth and nose and wait for the afterbirth. I will manage the cord once Wei Wuxian is out of danger.”

Jiang Wanyin’s eyes followed Uncle’s movements as he stepped slowly and carefully towards the cot in the corner of the tent, but Lan Wangji couldn’t look away from Wei Wuxian’s bleeding body. Too much blood! Help him! He couldn’t help but think. Wen Qing was up to her wrist in his abdomen again. He couldn’t see what she was doing (neither could she, he imagined), but she moved methodically, the flesh of Wei Wuxian’s abdomen moving over her hands, rippling like thick canvas. What felt like an eternity later, her hands emerged with a thick, almost clotted-looking red bundle of flesh, which she placed on the spare cot and examined, flipping it twice. After nearly a full minute - a full minute during which Lan Wangji had to physically bite his cheek to keep from begging her to stop the bleeding, to close Wei Wuxian’s gaping abdomen - she turned back to the cot.

“I need a disinfectant,” she murmured. From her side, a dazed Jiang Wanyin pulled out a talisman, extending it towards her. She glanced at it, then up at Jiang Wanyin’s face, a question evident.

“It’s the wound cleansing talisman you gave us,” Jiang Wanyin said quietly. Her lips thinned out in what could have been a frown, but she sighed regardless and nodded. 

“That will do. Activate one for each layer I stitch up,” she said. She ducked her head, evidently giving Wei Wuxian’s insides a final once-over. She froze for a moment, eyes widening minutely, but whatever she saw seemed not to be a concern. She pulled back, expression back to neutral. She threaded a needle and began working, a steady hand closing the flesh layer by layer as she went. Lan Wangji moved forward, gathering spiritual energy to his fingertips, but she shook her head. “No energy transfusions until after he’s completely stabilized.”

For a moment, there was quiet, and then the reedy squall of an infant broke the silence. A sharp intake of breath from Uncle followed it, and Lan Wangji saw, out of the corner of his eye, his uncle lowering himself shakily onto his cot, the now wailing newborn still bundled in his arms.

“Wangji…”

Lan Wangji managed to tear his eyes from where Wen Qing was sewing Wei Wuxian back together with quick, practiced stitches. His uncle, utterly calm up until now, had suddenly gone pale. His eyes were fixed on the baby - so small, so thin, smaller than any baby Lan Wangji had ever seen - and he took a few shallow breaths, all blood drained from his face.

“Uncle?”

“Wangji, are you,” he rasped. He shook his head and took a much deeper breath. This time, his voice came out clearly, if quietly, but his words still shook the tent all the same. “Wangji, are you the father of this baby?”

Lan Wangji froze.

“What?” Jiang Wanyin said, a threat simmering in his tone. Lan Wangji could not have begun to care about that.

Even someone as talented and impressive as Wei Wuxian could not have made a baby from nothing. There had to have been a father. And with what Wen Qing had said - that Wei Wuxian had been a month pregnant when Lotus Pier fell - the timeline fit.

Gently, gently! He remembered Wei Wuxian chiding him all those months ago in the cave, the only time they’d been intimate. Just about eight months ago, in fact. Treat me more delicately, it’s my first time!

He suddenly understood his uncle’s need to sit down. He wobbled over towards the cot where his uncle sat and lowered himself next to him, taking a deep breath and looking at the tiny, crying infant. It was wrinkled and ugly, face screwed up as it wailed and wriggled in the linens, but when its eyes opened for just a moment, he saw they were lighter in color than any child he’d ever seen. No wonder Uncle had known immediately - now that he was looking, he couldn’t help but see his nose, his mother’s chin. Even despite the wrinkles and twisting, yowling face, he could see it. There might have been some of Wei Wuxian’s features, he thought, but his own stood out in bas relief. He reached out one shaking hand to touch, to feel for himself that it was real, and made contact with warm, soft skin. 

“Yes, Uncle,” he managed, barely audible over the baby’s cries. “I believe I am.”

Chapter Text

When Wei Wuxian woke, he found himself staring at the ceiling of one of the tents back at camp.

His limbs were heavy, like they were trapped under layers and layers of furs and blankets. He couldn’t quite get them to move how he’d like. A dull ache radiated from his midsection, like someone was pressing on a bruise, and his neck felt like it should creak or break when he tried to turn his head to look around. Judging by the light coming into the tent, it must have been midday, give or take, and the sounds of activity in the camp cluttered the air like leaves in the fall.

“A-Xian!”

Shijie’s voice cut through the noise outside the tent, and he forced his head to turn in the direction from which it came. She was at his side in an instant, smoothing the hair off his forehead and resting a wonderfully cool hand against his face. Despite the sting in his neck, he relaxed into the touch, trying again to move his arms.

“...jie,” he managed, the piece he managed barely scraping past his lips, so quiet even he could hardly hear it. He tried again, but nothing came out.

“It’s all right, A-Xian,” she said, kneeling next to the cot. That was new - he usually slept in a bedroll. “Try to have a sip of water.”

A shallow bowl, almost a plate, was lifted to his lips. The smallest trickle pooled into his mouth, and with great effort, he managed to swallow it without choking. The improvement was immediate - the moment the cool water made it down his throat, it was like he gained full awareness of his body and surroundings again. 

He took stock of what he could for now. The tent definitely wasn’t one of the Jiang tents - theirs had been acquired on a shoestring budget, their fabric thin and drafty compared to this one. But at the same time, he didn’t hear any other patients in here, so it probably wasn’t one of the medical tents either. And the blankets were warm and soft around him, a far cry from the threadbare bedroll he’d shivered through the night in until coming up with the warming talisman idea.

Whose tent was this?

“Enough for now?”

The question broke him from his pondering. He tilted his head up and nodded, trying to gesture for Shijie to help him sit up.

“Okay, slowly,” she conceded after a moment, setting the bowl aside and guiding him into a more upright position. His muscles fought him with every movement, but she braced him between her thin arm and the cot and drove him upright with surprising strength, piling blankets and pillows behind him with her free hand until he could be leaned back against them, the ache in his middle sharp and hot as he reclined. Fuck, had he been stabbed again ? He didn’t remember that. He ignored the pain, obediently taking another long swallow of water when she brought the bowl back to his lips.

“Shijie,” he said at last. “What happened? I thought...we did win, right? It’s over?”

An expression he’d never seen her make crossed her face, and he wasn’t sure he could put his finger on what it was. After a beat, she smiled and said, “yes, it’s over. We won. The last battle was finished a week ago.”

“A week?!” he asked, bracing himself against the cot and wincing. He brought a hand to his stomach, which--huh. He looked down, the sight of his lap greeting him for the first time in months. “What in the world…?”

Shijie reached out and took his hand, holding it in both of hers. That unfamiliar expression was back on her face.

“A-Xian, it’s okay. Wen Qing helped. You’re okay.”

Even though it was Shijie saying it, there were only so many times a man could be reassured that he was okay before the panic started to set in. Fuck. They knew about his core, didn’t they? Didn’t they? Tamping down the burning anxiety, he took a deep breath and played dumb.

“What do you mean, Wen Qing helped? I’m okay? What happened?”

Shijie squeezed his hand. “She...you…” she shook her head, looking lost for a moment. “Do you remember what she told you after she helped you and Jiang Cheng get out of Lotus Pier? That you were with child?”

Oh. Not his core, then. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t mean to,” he stuttered, trying to put together a rational sentence as the grief stung at his mind, fogged over and cottony with exhaustion. He’d slept for a week, yet his body pulled him back towards unconsciousness like it was owed more. Digging his nails into his palm for an edge of pain was just enough to keep him awake for now. “I--Shijie, I didn’t. I just. I didn’t mean to…”

When no other words came, he just bowed his head, neck weak against the weight of his fatigue and self-flagellation. What could he even say? It must’ve caused some complication or other. He’d heard of it before - how some women lost their children in the womb and fell ill after, sometimes months later, as the child rotted inside them. He should’ve known something was wrong when he never passed the corpse.

One of Shijie’s hands left his and tilted his heavy head up to look at her. “You didn’t mean to have a baby?” she asked, confusion knitting her brow. Wei Wuxian’s head went blank.

“Have...a baby?”

“Yes, A-Xian. You had a baby.”

He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t have.”

“Yes, you did,” she said gently. “You had a son, A-Xian.”

Oh. Past tense. A wave of fresh grief rolled over him. So it had been a boy. Not just a Little Lan, but a Young Master Lan. He hadn’t thought they’d be able to tell, given how early he’d lost it, but he’d been wrong. 

The flap of the tent opened behind Shijie and Wen Qing stepped inside, flanked by Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen. He pulled his hand loose and, more because Madam Yu had engrained it in him through years of discipline than because he was fully aware of what he was doing, he bent forward in what could have counted as a bow, had his muscles not resisted. Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes.

“Don’t bother. You had major surgery and your core is depleted. You’re barely healing better than a non-cultivator,” he said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

Wei Wuxian straightened up again as best he could, hoping he looked presentable. Sure, Shijie and Jiang Cheng and even Wen Qing had all seen him in worse states, but the leader of the Lan sect? Why was he even there ? “I’m sorry, I really don’t understand,” he admitted. “Shijie said...but..and--depleted? Surgery?”

That familiar placating expression started to form on Lan Xichen’s face, but before he could open his mouth, Wen Qing stepped forward and stood next to Shijie, grabbing at his hand and tracing his spiritual pathways. “Your spiritual energy was almost entirely diverted to your womb, likely to protect the baby from your cultivation method and everything else you went through. It’s not a surprise that you have almost none left after what I hear you’ve been up to,” she explained, her tone as level as if she was saying nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes met his, conveying a silent promise to explain more when they were without an audience. It’d do. “You went into labor during the final battle against Wen Ruohan. Your condition was extremely poor, so I had to cut you open to deliver the baby. You’ve been unconscious ever since.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed, staring back down at his lap. “Ah. Apologies for putting you through such a gruesome task. Have the remains been cremated, then?” he asked. Something in the room clattered, but he wasn’t going to look up to see what.

“No, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Qing said, dropping his hand. “The baby lived.” 

“You don’t have to treat me so gently,” he said. What else could this have been but pity? “It’s okay, Wen Qing. I know I lost it. I’ve had the time to mourn.”

“I am not lying to you, Wei Wuxian. Your son was underweight and born early, but his heart and lungs are strong. He’s not in nearly as bad of shape as you are.” Her hand hovered hesitantly over his wrist before she grasped it, the warmth of her palm almost scalding against his skin. “Why are you so certain of the opposite?”

“You said the pregnancy was fragile.”

“Yes, it was,” she agreed. “And?”

“And not two days after, I was stabbed, beaten, and thrown off a cliff,” he spat the words out, balling his fists in his lap. Shijie muffled a gasp. “If breaking every bone in my body didn’t do it, the three months I spent starving to death surrounded by resentful energy would. There’s no way I stayed pregnant through all of that.”

“Normally I’d think the same,” Wen Qing said, through gritted teeth from the sound of it. “But you seem to have managed. How did you miss this? Your stomach was out to here ! What did you think that was?”

“Malnutrition! Duh!” he exclaimed, finally looking up at her and throwing his hands up and wincing as the motion pulled at his stomach. “I was starved - skinny all over with a potbelly is exactly how I looked as a kid starving on the streets!”

“You thought this was protein malnutrition the whole time?! You complete idiot!”

“What the hell is protein malnutrition? Who’s the idiot? You’re the one who--”

“Regardless of Wei-gongzi’s knowledge of his condition,” Lan Xichen interrupted, “The fact remains that his son survived the birth, despite the apparent odds to the contrary. I would like to offer my congratulations.”

Right, he thought, dizzy. Shijie had mentioned that too. His son.

Lan Xichen continued speaking. “Wangji has informed me that he believes he fathered this child. Is that true?”

Fuck. Of course Lan Wangji would put the pieces together. No wonder his brother was here!

“It is,” he heard himself say, even as he winced internally. Double fuck! He should have denied it, should have kept it to himself. Lan Wangji didn’t need this kind of trouble. But instead of backtracking, he followed up with more information, completely unprompted. “We dual cultivated to try to enhance our stores of spiritual energy before we fought the Xuanwu of Slaughter. I’ve never been with anyone else.”

Lan Xichen nodded. “That is what Wangji said too. Thank you for confirming.” He bowed, then, a full, low bow. “While Wangji intends to ask for your hand in marriage, I must inform you that you do not need to agree to it for your child to be considered legitimate. Due to the circumstances surrounding your son’s conception and birth, Sect Leader Jiang and I have both already agreed to legitimize him in our respective Sect records regardless of your answer. Any decisions regarding marriage should be made only in accordance with your wishes. If you do decide to marry, we are prepared to negotiate your marriage contract.”

What!! Was!! Happening!!!

“What?” he asked. “I--why would--what do you mean, I don’t have to? Isn’t there a rule about children only being legitimized through their parents’ marriage in the Lan sect?”

Lan Xichen, perhaps kinder than Wei Wuxian had thought him recently, took pity on him. “I would be honored to tell you more at another time, but suffice it to say that our mother was not given a choice like you have been. Wangji and I have long agreed that any marriages we enter into must not be like our parents’ marriage. As for the rule, I do have the authority to overrule it or strike it from the wall as the leader of the sect.”

The rules could be changed after being literally etched in stone? He set that question aside for now, more concerned about the other issue at hand.

“But Lan Zhan plans to ask?”

“He requested that I ensure you know it is your choice before he does so, but yes,” he said. “Wangji could not have imagined himself in this position, I’m sure, but neither could he live with himself if you felt pressured into marrying him, even if only by tradition or social norms. It is as much for his sake as yours that he wanted me to impress upon you that it is your decision.”

Wei Wuxian took too deep a breath, apparently, pain punching the air out of him in a wheeze that pitched him forward, vision black around the edges with pain. When the darkness receded, he found himself propped up on both sides, familiar purple robes just outside the corners of his eyes. Shijie, on his left, had the water bowl back to his lips. To his right, Jiang Cheng had one arm draped across his back and the other hand braced against his shoulder, steadying him. He drew a smaller breath, and then another, until his vision fully cleared. He took another deep drink of water, trying not to think about how long it had been since he’d been touched so tenderly.

Eight months or so, his traitorous mind helpfully reminded him.

“Careful,” Jiang Cheng chided, though there didn’t seem to be any heat behind it. “Wen Qing put a lot of care into those stitches. Don’t ruin them.”

Once Jiang Cheng and Shijie had guided him back against the pile of bedding, he reached down to poke at the dull, radiating pain, looking over his torso again. His belly was swollen, but so much smaller than he remembered.

Smaller. Because something had been removed.

It hadn’t been malnutrition that had forced his body into such a bizarre shape! It wasn’t resentful energy that had bubbled under his navel or batted against his insides! It hadn’t been just fatigue from war that exhausted him and drove his muscles to spasm!

His Little Lan had been with him the whole time!

“Ah,” he heard Wen Qing say. “There it is.”

He looked up from his stomach again, heart pounding in his ears, casting his eyes between his visitors before settling on Shijie. “I want to see him,” he said, shoulders shaking. “Please, Shijie. Where is--”

“He’s with Lan Wangji. He has been taking good care of your son, a-Xian,” she soothed, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear for him. Of course he had been.

“Both of them, then,” he said in a rush. “I have to see them both.”

Shijie nodded. “I’ll bring them here,” she agreed, and with one more pat to his cheek, she turned around, bowing to the two sect leaders and Wen Qing before leaving.

She had barely vacated the tent when Wen Qing similarly bowed to Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng. “Sect Leaders, I beg your pardon, but in situations like this, I ask for privacy with my patient. There are questions I must ask that are important to his health that he may not wish to answer in the company of those he knows,” she said. When neither moved, she sighed. “If you are concerned for his safety, you could activate a silencing talisman and step outside its range, if that would suffice.”

Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng exchanged a look, but ultimately the Lan sect leader nodded first. “I will wait outside the tent for Wangji,” he said. “Jiang Wanyin, please call for me if it is needed.”

A minute later, Jiang Cheng stood on the other side of the tent and the talisman had been activated. Before Wen Qing could speak, Wei Wuxian called out, “Hey Jiang Cheng, remember the time you accidentally walked into a brothel because you thought it was a tailoring shop?”

Jiang Cheng’s expression didn’t change. Wei Wuxian sighed, a bit of tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

“Okay, we should be good to talk,” he said. “His face goes purpler than his robes whenever I bring that story up. He definitely didn’t hear us. What do you mean, ‘my core is depleted?’ There’s a difference between, uh.”

“I don’t have any conclusive answers, but I have some theories,” Wen Qing said, putting a hand to his wrist. She pushed the slightest bit of spiritual energy into his arm and then traced her fingers up, leading the warm spark like a magnet leading metal. “After I removed the placenta, your spiritual womb contracted instead of dispersing. You have the smallest, thinnest shell of a core, but you do have one. I can only think it’s because the womb was formed from a piece of your core - when it tried to retract into your dantian, it reformed as a core when it couldn’t find anything to return to.”

Her fingertips reached his dantian then, and for the first time in eight months, Wei Wuxian felt a sliver of spiritual energy warm him from the inside. It was absolutely tiny, like a glass ball, but it was there.

“It’s so…”

“Weak?” Wen Qing asked when he trailed off, raising an eyebrow. He nodded. “You’ll have to build it up again. But congratulations - you are probably the only person in history to cultivate two cores.”

He scrubbed furiously at his eyes. If Jiang Cheng saw him crying, he’d never hear the end of it.

“And how exactly are you here?” he asked. “A Wen with access to the camp?”

Her lips thinned. “It’s a long story, and longer when it’s the whole truth,” she said. “But the official version is that I’ve been a spy for the Jiang since I helped you escape from Lotus Pier. Allegedly, I’ve been providing Sect Leader Jiang with forward intel and novel talisman designs for wound cleaning and water purifying, among others. My contributions have apparently been substantial.”

As far as cover stories went, Wei Wuxian supposed it wasn’t a bad one. And if anyone was going to take credit for his talisman designs, Wen Qing would have been his choice anyway.

“Was I aware that you were a spy?”

“No, my arrangement was with Sect Leader Jiang only.”

“But were you actually a spy?” She didn’t reply immediately. Wei Wuxian felt his brows shooting towards his hairline. “Wen Qing, were you really…?”

“What do you think is more likely? That I was in contact with Sect Leader Jiang already or that he knew he could find me, a member of the enemy faction, somewhere close enough to camp for your surgery by accident ?” she asked, tone icy enough to freeze his line of questioning in his throat. “Regardless, I currently have the backing of the Jiang, Lan, and Nie sects thanks to my ‘contributions.’ It should be enough to grant me and my branch of the family asylum, though I’ll probably be married into one of the sects so they can keep an eye on me.”

“Oh? Does that mean you could become my--”

She cut him off there. “I’m hoping it’s the Nie sect. They may be a short-tempered and brutal bunch, but at least it’d keep me away from your antics.”

---

The flap of the tent opened just as Wen Qing finished her instructions on how to safely circulate spiritual energy through his once-empty pathways. Shijie entered first, ushering in a figure in white and blue carrying a parcel delicately with both arms.

Not a parcel, Wei Wuxian realized abruptly. Before his eyes adjusted, he knew it was Lan Wangji, so it could only be his son in his arms.

Their son.

For a moment, the air was still as gray eyes locked onto gold. All the many words that had been bouncing around in Wei Wuxian’s head suddenly vanished, leaving only an echoing need he could not hope to articulate in their place. His arms, unbearably empty, trembled against his diminished belly and exposed lap.

“I will take my leave, if Sect Leader Jiang would be so kind as to escort me,” Wen Qing said at last, breaking the spell. And ah, the silencing talisman must have dispelled too, because Jiang Cheng crossed the tent after she spoke. As she turned towards the tent exit, she looked up at Lan Wangji. She had to crane her neck to do so, an absurdity to Wei Wuxian. She was such an imposing figure in his mind that he had never really taken notice of her height. To see her barely reach Lan Wangji’s chin baffled him.

“Give very little spiritual energy at a time - as little as you can,” she instructed Lan Wangji. Jiang Cheng was glaring daggers at him from her side. “Now that he has stabilized, he should be able to accept it, but be very gentle. His circulation will be sluggish and too much energy could disrupt his spiritual pathways and meridians. Do not make me treat him for a qi deviation.”

With that, she bowed to him and left the tent, Jiang Cheng at her side. Jiang Yanli sat at the door, hands folded in her lap. Their chaperone, he assumed. A little late for that, wasn’t it?

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said softly, walking to the cot with short, but certain strides. The bundle in his arms was steady against his chest. He lowered himself into the seat next to him. “Would you--”

He thrust out his arms immediately, not trusting his tongue. Lan Wangji said no more, leaning forward and positioning the bundle in the crook of his elbow and moving his arms and hands without hesitation. He let himself be folded into the right shape, fervently casting his eyes over the swaddled baby and finding his sleeping face, tiny mouth moving ever-so-slightly as he breathed.

He breathed.

Pink cheeks contrasted beautifully with the curl of dark hair and the light blue of the blanket he’d been wrapped in. Such a tiny face, smaller even than the very palm of his hand. He ached to unwrap him, to untuck him from his swaddle and run his fingers down each limb. Did he have all of his fingers and his toes? He wanted to know every hair and mole and wrinkle. He wanted to wake him and see his eyes open, to look for any sense of recognition. Would he know that this was the person that grew him? If he spoke, would he know his voice from all the time he spent listening from his belly? From all the whispered apologies he’d made for not being able to bring him into the world like he’d wanted?

A droplet hit the blanket, and Wei Wuxian realized belatedly he was crying. He dared not move his hands to wipe at his face, lest he jostle the baby. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was sure I’d lost you.”

A deep, shuddering breath from his side pulled him from the little world his son had drawn him into. He lifted his head to peek at Lan Wangji, wet eyes meeting wet eyes. Seemed there was a lot of crying going around.

“Lan Zhan,” he managed, barely. The other man’s mouth trembled.

“Xiongzhang said you believed you miscarried,” he said. Wei Wuxian nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Wei Wuxian looked back at the baby. What could he say? It still didn’t quite feel real that he was here, living, breathing, growing, when not an hour ago Wei Wuxian would have staked his life on the certainty that he’d lost him. What little his exhausted brain could manage beyond confusion was reserved for managing his own feelings, not Lan Wangji’s.

Out loud, he just said, “I couldn’t burden you with more grief after you’d already lost your father and your home.”

“You lost your family and your home too.”

Oh. He hadn’t thought of it that way before.

Fatigue and emotion shredded his filters, and only time and rest could mend them. “When we met back up, you were scared of me,” he admitted. The rest came out jumbled, a stream of unconscious confessions and accusations. “I had planned to tell you. I had a whole explanation. I chose my words really carefully, I swear. But then you were there, and you were scared, and I--I just knew that it would wreck me.” 

“Wei Ying--”

“You were afraid of me. You condemned what I did to Wen Chao. But I thought he’d killed our baby, and you and your brother both thought me cruel and evil for my actions without listening to me. I couldn’t bear your reaction. I could hardly bear my own grief.”

In his arms, the baby shifted. He watched the blankets stretch with the movement of his arms and how his face crinkled around his mouth through a tremendous yawn. Then, his eyes opened just a crack, and bleary citrine eyes peered up at him.

“Oh,” he said, unthinking. “Oh, Lan Zhan, he has your eyes.”

The baby squirmed again, a little weaker this time, and his eyes drifted shut again as he settled back to sleep. One of Lan Wangji’s hands tucked the blanket tighter where it had loosened.

“Just the color,” Lan Wangji murmured. “The shape is different.”

Wei Wuxian finally looked back at Lan Wangji. Something in the set of his shoulders was different from before. War had been hard on all of them, certainly, but in the week he spent unconscious, Lan Wangji seemed to have grown years older. He wondered, against his will, if the shock of unexpected fatherhood hadn’t played a part as well.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he managed to say. “But I don’t know if I ever would have, if I’d been right about…”

Hands occupied, he flicked his eyes towards the baby to make his point.

Lan Wangji took a deep breath in and let it all out at once. “I understand your reasons,” he said. “And I should have listened sooner. But please know this: I was not frightened of you when we met again. I was frightened for you.”

“For me?”

“First I feared you were possessed, and then I feared the impact resentful energy would have on your body and mind. All I could think about was your safety.”

There was silence between them again, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as it had been. Perhaps that was good. Or perhaps Wei Wuxian was simply too tired, too emotionally drained from shock after shock to react to the quiet. He took advantage of the lull in conversation to listen for the tiny sounds coming out of their son and to seek out what features of theirs he could find on that small face. After a few minutes, he looked back at Lan Wangji.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Lan Wangji didn’t answer right away, but he hadn’t expected him to. Even back during his three months at the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian had noticed that words could be slow to come to the Second Jade of Lan. He’d never been one for patience before, so he’d filled the silence himself while awaiting a reply. Now, worn out with a sleeping baby in his arms, he let the quiet wash over him as he waited.

A short minute or so later, Lan Wangji said, “I do not know what I should do.”

Wei Wuxian could relate. He nodded, trying to coax more from Lan Wangji without interrupting his thoughts with inane babble. Lan Wangji fixed his eyes on the baby and continued.

“I cannot fathom being parted from our son,” he said, voice thick. “I don’t know how my parents survived it.” He took a deep, ragged breath, and then said, voice pitching as it quieted to a whisper, “I think my mother didn’t.”

The end of the sentence seemed to choke him, and then he folded in his seat, burying his face in his hands. A broken sob escaped, a gasp following as though he was trying to snatch it back. Once-steady shoulders shuddered, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes watered helplessly as the other man crumpled and wept.

He had never imagined that Lan Wangji could cry like this. When they’d spoken about the attack on the Cloud Recesses back in the cave, about the impending loss of the only parent Lan Wangji had left, he’d been the picture of restrained sadness. Back straight and breaths measured, even as he’d shed tears. He’d thought it heartbreaking at the time.

This was worse. His heart shattered for the man beside him.

He adjusted his arms so he could cradle the baby in just one elbow - was this okay? He’d never held a baby, so he had nothing to go off of - and reached out, laying a hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder like Shijie had done for him when he’d needed it. One thumb trailed back and forth, rubbing in time with his own breaths, a metronome for the man to follow when his heavy, hard sobs would no doubt eventually leave him lightheaded. 

He let him cry without interruption. Some things just needed to be done to completion, he thought, and this was one of them.

It took a while for Lan Wangji’s breathing to even out again. Longer still for him to sit upright again, swaying dangerously for a moment before steadying himself. His face was blotchy and pink, eyes bloodshot and swollen - nowhere near the immaculate picture he usually presented. A couple of his breaths caught as he wiped his face with his sleeve (his sleeve! ), looking anywhere but Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said between breaths. “I--”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said sharply, using his free hand to grip his chin and turn that handsome, puffy face towards him. “I have known about our son for maybe an hour, and I feel the same way.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened. “Wei Yi--”

“And not once since I learned he survived have I even thought about raising him without you.”

“Wei--”

“Your brother told me that you planned to ask me to marry you and that it was my decision. But it’s your decision too. You don’t have to marry me to keep our son by your side. We’ll be with you either way; I have no intention of making him grow up without both of his parents. And later, if you want to marry someone you love, I won’t stand in the way of--”

His lips were forcefully knitted together for the first time since he’d left the Cloud Recesses, and he realized a moment too late that Lan Wangji’s eyes had grown fierce with something. Anger? Indignation? Wei Wuxian could not tell, but whatever it was sent a shock of cold down his spine.

“Wei Ying,” he said, voice low and simmering, raw from the crying. “Do you think I would ask you to marry me out of obligation ?”

No, he didn’t. He shook his head, trying to unseal his lips.

“Protecting you. Dual cultivation. Searching for three months. Playing Cleansing. None of it out of obligation,” he said, unyielding in his gaze. “It was out of love.”

“Oh,” Wei Wuxian said. It still took him a moment to realize that his lips had unsealed themselves. 

Oh.

He’d never put a name to it before, but surely that was it, right? He needed Lan Wangji’s attention at all times. He thought him the most beautiful, the most brilliant, the most compelling person he’d ever met. Nothing thrilled him like Lan Wangji’s comfortable, steadfast company.

And now that he’d actually thought about it, it reframed everything he thought he knew about their relationship up to that moment. It wasn’t merely excitement from meeting someone on his level that had kept drawing him back to Lan Wangji - it was attraction. No wonder it felt so different spotting Lan Wangji in a crowd than anyone else. 

No wonder his criticisms and condemnations, deserved or not, out of concern or not, stung him at the core of his being. No wonder his praise and approval lit him up brighter than a lantern.

No wonder he’d been so excited to dual cultivate with him. Had it been anyone else stuck in that cave with him, he’d never have even suggested it, no matter how dire the circumstances had been. No, he’d wanted to sleep with him, and on top of that, he’d needed him to survive. He couldn’t have left any advantage on the table. Outliving Lan Wangji had been, and still was, utterly unthinkable.

Now that the word had come up, he knew. Of course this feeling was love. How had he been so unaware of it?

“Oh, Lan Zhan, forgive me for not understanding,” he said, warmth and joy bubbling under his skin. “I’ve been such an idiot for you. Around you. To you. If it’s for love, then of course I’ll marry you.”

It wasn’t a bad response, he thought. Then he noticed the expression on Lan Wangji’s face and his brain caught up with him.

He hadn’t even let Lan Wangji ask the question yet!

“Ah, that is,” he stuttered, mortified, even as the other man reached up and untied his ribbon. “If you were to ask, I mean, I would be honored to receive--just knowing is enough, or would be, that towards me, you feel--”

He trailed off, watching Lan Wangji wind his forehead ribbon around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, tying it with shaking fingers. When he looked back to Lan Wangji’s eyes, that fierceness was still there, albeit...softer? Happier?

“...let me clarify,” Wei Wuxian began again. “I love you too, Lan Zhan.”

A wail rose from the baby, and Wei Wuxian snatched his hand back to cradle him with both arms again as he squirmed against his chest. He winced, the motion putting pressure on his healing incision, and without a word, Lan Wangji leaned in to take the baby from him, holding him close and bouncing ever so lightly in his seat, patting a gentle, soothing rhythm on his back. The cries didn’t diminish, but the squirming did. He would have to remember that for once he had healed more.

“Here I was thinking he didn’t get anything from me,” he joked, smiling at Lan Wangji. “He’s got quite the voice.”

A tiny smile pulled the corners of Lan Wangji’s lips. “He also has your appetite.”

That gave Wei Wuxian pause. “Is he hungry? Can my body even…?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. “Wet Nurse,” he said. “Wei Ying has not yet produced milk.”

“Huh. Where did you find one?”

“Maiden Wen’s cousin. Her son has begun to wean, so she has been able to assist.”

Yet another thing he owed Wen Qing’s family for, Wei Wuxian surmised. The list kept getting longer. “I see. So is Young Master Lan hungry or just upset that I haven’t told him I love him too?”

Lan Wangji blinked. “Lan?”

“Ah, yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Since the moment I found out I was pregnant, he’s been my ‘Little Lan’ in my head. Plus, he’d be in your sect’s line of succession, right? I’d prefer it if he took your family’s name over mine. Was I too presumptuous?”

“No. Lan is good.” He bounced their son once more. “He is hungry.”

“Would you like me to take him to Wen Jing, then?”

Wei Wuxian nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d forgotten Shijie was there entirely, still seated near the flap of the tent. Lan Wangji’s ears flushed a deep red - ah, he must have forgotten too.

At least she wasn't a gossip; they could trust that she wouldn’t tell anyone anything she’d overheard.

“Please, Maiden Jiang,” he agreed. Shijie stood up, smoothing her robes out on the way to them, and ever-so-carefully accepted the baby, settling him into her arms with an ease that spoke to a familiarity with this exchange. She smiled at the two of them.

“I will be back shortly - a-Jing’s tent is not far.”

Wei Wuxian’s arms ached with emptiness as he watched her walk out of the tent with their squalling baby, but it had to be done. The last thing he needed was for his son’s wet nurse to have to cross a camp filled with cultivators with grudges towards Wens. All the same, he wanted him back again, ringing in his ears and all.

“A question.”

Wei Wuxian looked up at Lan Wangji again. Ah, he was probably accustomed to being separated during feedings. He’d have to adjust too. “Go ahead.”

“What did Wen Chao do?”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “I’m assuming you mean to me specifically, not just Lotus Pier?” he clarified. When Lan Wangji nodded, he sighed. This was always going to come up, wasn’t it? “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Mn.”

He wasn’t sure how long Shijie would take to return, so he didn’t have the luxury of thinking about the best way to say it. He could only hope it came out coherently.

“He and his men captured me a couple days after Wen Qing told me I was pregnant. One of them stabbed me before I could even fight back,” he said, the words heavy and bitter on his tongue. He’d meant to never share this with anyone, and now it was coming out twice in one day. Lan Wangji’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt. “Then they took turns beating me. After they’d each gotten a few blows in, they decided to kill me.”

It hadn’t hurt as much as he’d expected, he remembered. The beating, anyway. He’d thought that being coreless would make the pain worse, but it was about the same as it’d been even at the peak of his strength. He supposed it was good to know that cores weren’t really effective for pain management, despite what the so-called experts might say.

“How?”

“You know how,” he said. When no response came, he sighed, defeated. “He threw me into the Burial Mounds. I still don’t quite know how I survived it. All I know for sure is that if I had been relying on just spiritual energy there, I would never have made it out.”

One of his hands was suddenly wrapped in two warm ones. He put his other hand over them both, squeezing tightly.

The flap of the tent opened again, and Wei Wuxian shut his mouth. Shijie re-entered, Jiang Cheng following close behind her. She smiled brightly, and Wei Wuxian returned it.

“Shijie!” he said, tone more upbeat than he was feeling. “Is he eating? How far away is he? Ah, how long will I be stuck in this cot? I want to hold him again!”

Jiang Cheng looked unimpressed, the familiar scowl on his lips a comfort to Wei Wuxian. “Then heal faster or start making your own milk,” he snapped. His gaze turned to Lan Wangji, one eyebrow rising as he took in his bare forehead. Ah, right. “Are you planning to give him any spiritual energy, or should I take over?”

The hands holding his tensed, and Wei Wuxian sighed internally. The day these two would get along was no doubt far off, but he really needed them to at least tolerate each other for now. Sensing an argument brewing between the pair, he plastered his brightest smile onto his face, ignored the dull headache that exhaustion had bored into his skull, and inserted himself into the conversation again.

“We wanted to talk first,” Wei Wuxian said, shifting his arm so he could feel the ribbon move against his wrist. “You know, about marriage and parenting. You’ll negotiate the marriage contract for me, right, Jiang Cheng?”

“Said I would, didn’t I?” he said, though his voice sounded thicker. Lan Wangji squeezed his hand again and let it go, standing up.

“I will inform Xiongzhang and retrieve the baby once he’s fed,” he said. “Is there anything else I can bring to make you comfortable, Wei Ying?”

He shook his head. Lan Wangji hesitated for a moment, but then bowed to the Jiang siblings and left. Wei Wuxian looked at his wrist again. Was it really okay for Lan Wangji to walk around the camp without it? If it was him, he’d have felt naked. Should he return it when he came back? He should have asked more questions. Any questions!

While he pondered, Jiang Cheng lowered himself into Lan Wangji’s vacated seat. “We’re talking about it,” he warned him. Wei Wuxian blinked.

“Who? About what?”

“Stabbed. Beaten. Thrown off a cliff. We’re talking about it. Now.”

Fuck. Yeah, he wasn’t getting out of this one, was he? He leaned back on the pile of bedding behind him again, rolling his neck.

“Can it wait until I’ve gotten more rest?” he asked. The question was met with a glare. Yeah, he hadn’t thought he’d be so lucky. “It’s not a pleasant story.”

“No shit, got that from stabbed, beaten, thrown off a cliff,” Jiang Cheng all but growled. “Wen Chao did capture you, didn’t he? He wasn’t lying after all. You just didn’t want to tell us.”

“Didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“Yeah, well, you’re telling me. I’m your sect leader. You have to tell me shit like this so I don’t find out by accident,” he said, crossing his arms. A dangerous look settled onto his face. “The timeline is interesting too. You got thrown off a cliff two days after finding out you were pregnant. It took us four to get to that mountain after we left Wen Qing. She said you were a month pregnant when she told you, so it couldn’t have been too long after that. So tell me. How and when exactly did you find out you were pregnant? Because I might have an idea. ”

Icy realization curled at the base of Wei Wuxian’s neck. For all the time he’d spent in his academic shadow growing up, Jiang Cheng had never been stupid. He’d spent almost seven months putting together strategies, formations, and plans based on what few scraps of intel they’d been able to comb from rumors and spies. Though once he’d let himself be willfully blind where family and friends were concerned, war had forced both his eyes open. Wei Wuxian shivered under the calculations he could feel within his gaze now.

“I think Shijie should leave for this part,” he whispered. Jiang Cheng slammed a hand on the edge of the cot, shaking it.

“I don’t keep secrets from her,” he hissed. “And you’ve kept too many from both of us.”

“Jiang Che–”

“Not just the pregnancy. Secrets like why you haven’t used your sword since I gave it back to you. Like why a cultivator of your caliber would lose so much weight when I know you’re capable of sustaining inedia for months. Like why Wen Qing, who only sheltered us on her brother’s behest, approached me to offer intel and resources for the war effort like she was making something up to me.”

Well, to be fair, he wasn’t even aware of that last one. But he didn’t dare speak up over the damning evidence his sect leader was piling upon him.

“I think I know now, though,” Jiang Cheng said, voice seething and quiet. “All of it was because you made her cut out your core and put it into me.”

The accusation left his ears ringing, but he could do nothing to defend himself. Not trusting his voice, his lack of filter, his stupid, stupid mouth, he nodded. Jiang Cheng swore.

“You--you don’t even deny it,” he spat. “You made her cut out your core - is that when you found out? After you woke up, coreless and mediocre? And then you left, alone, pregnant, completely defenseless, while recovering from surgery?”

He swallowed, closing his eyes, and nodded again.

“Fuck!” There was a clatter as Jiang Cheng abruptly stood, knocking the chair backwards. Wei Wuxian chanced opening his eyes and found his sect leader facing away, fingers clawing at his scalp. “You didn’t have to do this! I would never have agreed if I’d known! Fuck! ”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “That’s why I didn’t ask.”

Jiang Cheng pivoted on his heel, staring wild-eyed at him. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but air. And then, like a house of cards, Jiang Cheng folded inward, shoulders falling towards his chest. To Wei Wuxian’s utter horror, there were tears on his cheeks.

“You didn’t ask,” he echoed, a sour, hysterical-sounding laugh trailing the words. “Of course. Why would you?”

Without another word, he turned on his heel, dragged his sleeve across his face, and walked through the tent door into the camp, leaving a bereft-looking Jiang Yanli and Wei Wuxian in his wake.

Chapter Text

Shijie had insisted after Jiang Cheng left that Wei Wuxian needed more rest, and despite the way his heart still pounded and still ached, he couldn’t deny she was right. She’d bundled up the linens that had been propping him up and tucked him back into the cot, settling into the chair next to it and running her fingers across his scalp until he drifted off despite his desperate wish to stay awake a little longer, to have more time with her and Lan Wangji and the little one. But he was too drained, too emotionally compromised, to fight the pull of slumber.

When he woke again, the tent was dark, save a candle resting on a footcrate in one corner, illuminating a figure with a book. He peeked over, squinting until he could make out the face of the person seated on the chair next to it, blinking as he took in the familiar beard.

“Laoshi?” he whispered, peeling apart sticky-dry lips. Lan Qiren’s eyes snapped up from the text to meet his.

“Yes? Do you need something?”

It wasn’t a friendly tone, but it was…soft, perhaps? That was new.

“Water?” he asked, and Lan Qiren was up in a second, moving confidently in the dim tent. Sure enough, he brought a bowl of water to his lips just moments later as though he thought Wei Wuxian incapable of holding it himself.

He found he appreciated it, holding back a wince at the ache in his gut when he tried to curl forward. Lan Qiren said nothing, just held the bowl and tilted it as Wei Wuxian drank in short, small swallows. Twice, he refilled the shallow bowl, patiently tipping it past his parched lips until finally, his throat felt less like it might crack.

“Thank you,” he whispered. Lan Qiren lowered himself into the chair next to the cot.

“Are you hungry? Or in pain?”

He shook his head. As long as he didn’t try to sit up, he’d probably be fine. “No need to trouble yourself.”

“Don’t worry about trouble,” Lan Qiren said. “You must heal, and you will heal slowly if you are not comfortable and nourished. I will ask again: Are you hungry or in pain?”

Fine. Honesty it was.

“It hurts a little,” he admitted, gesturing towards his lap, where the dull, radiating pain wrapped around him like a healing whipstrike. “I’ve had worse. Don’t have much of an appetite, though.”

The man nodded. “I will request a medicinal broth for your breakfast and an analgesic, then.”

He watched the other man pull on an over robe and exit the tent, leaving him alone again. Alone at last, he focused his attention on his body. First, he meditated on the physical sensations clamoring at him - the pain in his stomach, the stiffness of his joints, the hollow, almost nauseous feeling of an empty and sensitive stomach - and then on his meridians, following them to the tiny core flickering in his lower dantian.

It still didn’t feel real. The war won. A son. A fiance. A new core. All of it at once, a flood of fortune and unexpected spoils heaped on him in a single afternoon. It could have easily been an illusion or a dream.

But it wasn’t.

The air was no longer thick with anxiety and stress. There was pain in his abdomen and fatigue in his arms from delivering and holding a baby. Lan Wangji’s ribbon was still tied securely on his wrist. And in his lower dantian his fragile core slowly revolved, thin as thread and undeniably, inescapably present.

“Wei Ying?”

The soft familiar voice of Lan Wangji broke him of his meditation, and when he opened his eyes, he saw him in the chair next to his cot, a tray laden with bowls on his lap. How long had he been there, quietly watching him?

“Hello Lan Zhan.”

With his–lover? They weren’t formally betrothed yet. Intended? He’d have to figure out the right terminology soon - with Lan Wangji here, that surely meant a chaperone had to be there too. He glanced around the dim tent for a moment before he spotted her. Wen Qing had taken the seat Lan Qiren had been reading in when he first woke. Her eyes met his for a moment.

Don’t try anything, that look said. He had to admire her faith in him - where would he have found the energy?

“Uncle said you were in pain,” Lan Wangji said, drawing his attention away from her. He was holding out one of the bowls, filled with an almost rusty-looking liquid. “Maiden Wen said this painkiller should be easiest on an empty stomach.”

Wei Wuxian accepted it without argument, letting Lan Wangji tip the contents of the bowl into his mouth. It was both bitter and dusty on his tongue, an acrid aftertaste lingering on his palate after he swallowed. But he’d never known medicine to taste good, so he hadn’t expected any different.

Lan Wangji switched bowls, the new one steaming from its pale, almost opaque surface. He raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this?”

“Fortified bone broth,” he answered. “To help build up your strength.”

It wasn’t as good as Shijie’s cooking, but it beat the medicine and the fare he’d choked down at the Cloud Recesses. He drank in sips, the warmth suffusing him as though the broth was being soaked into his very flesh. By the end of the bowl, small as it was, his stomach felt stretched, like he’d overindulged at a banquet. The nausea had diminished too, at long last.

“Thank you.”

“No need.”

There were a few other bowls on the tray, but he waved them off as they were offered. After the leftovers had been set aside, Lan Wangji held out a hand.

“Maiden Wen instructed me on how to provide you a safe amount of spiritual energy,” he said. “May I?”

A spike of guilt pinned his arm in place. For all that he’d been caught up earlier in the shock and joy and raw, unfettered honesty, this was something he hadn’t considered. Something he thought he could lock away, never to speak of again - especially now that he’d made history, as Wen Qing had put it.

But Jiang Cheng was right. He had been keeping too many secrets. He couldn’t enter a marriage keeping this one.

“First, you should know why I started cultivating with resentful energy,” he said, the words thick and sharp in his mouth. “You–deserve to know. I should have told you sooner.”

The story stuck in his throat, choking him. Lan Wangji didn’t rush him, quietly sitting beside him and letting him gather his thoughts. But how to admit such a thing? When Jiang Cheng had stood in this tent earlier needling him, striking precisely and purposefully with each and every word, all he’d had to do was nod. If it had been on him then to explain himself, to confess what he had done to them both…

And how much could he really disclose about it? Jiang Cheng would surely rather be whipped than to have his own secrets laid bare. He couldn’t betray his trust again, not like this.

After a few false starts, he found his words again.

“I lost my core before I was dropped into the Burial Mounds.”

The tent had been quiet before, but once he said that, the air stood still. He chanced a peek at Lan Wangji, who seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. Horror and grief melded in his eyes, and at once his hands darted forward to grasp his wrist. His meridians prickled with the telltale pull of someone scanning them, someone clumsy and inexperienced in the healing arts. He hurried to explain more. 

“I’m alright now. I…the womb made when we dual cultivated, it was made up of spiritual energy,” he said. “After the birth, I think it repurposed itself. The energy tried to go back to my core and coalesced into a new one when it found my dantian empty.”

Lan Wangji had kept up the scan as he spoke, trembling fingers brushing the fabric of his robes in his haste. They stilled when they reached that miniscule spark at the center of his spiritual circulation. His pinched face slackened with clear relief, even as he kept pulling, kept seeking and questing for proof that it was really there. Wei Wuxian couldn’t bring himself to interrupt, instead watching him circle the area slowly, calluses occasionally catching as he went.

Finally, the pull at his energy stopped, and Lan Wangji laid his hand over his core instead. He met his eyes once more, nodding for him to continue.

“I don’t know how I survived the fall into the Burial Mounds,” he admitted, covering Lan Wangji’s warm hand with his own. “I nearly didn’t. My body was broken and coreless and surrounded by resentful energy. I was dying anyway, so I…gambled.”

“You had no other options.”

“Not if I wanted to live,” he said. He squeezed Lan Wangji’s hand, steadying himself with a deep breath. “And I did. I wanted to live, Lan Zhan. Even with how much I’d lost. And–and how much I thought I’d lost too.”

“Wei Ying?”

Remorse bloomed where it had burrowed into his stomach.

“I’d only known I was pregnant for two days, Lan Zhan,” he managed. “And then I was dying. I knew I must’ve–that there was no way I was still pregnant. I was so sure. So I used the resentful energy, even though I knew it was harmful. I let it into my body. I used it to repair everything that had broken when I hit the ground.”

It had been like shards of ice in his veins: sharp and cold, even as it numbed what it touched. Healing his injuries had been agonizing, but agony was preferable to death.

“I soaked in resentful energy for so long. It was a bargain. It gave me a way to survive and fight, to get revenge for what I’d lost and to protect what I had left. In exchange I let it hurt me.” He pressed their joined hands down on his still-swollen belly, ignoring the ache from his incision. “I didn’t know it wasn’t just me it might be hurting.”

Lan Wangji turned his hand over and threaded his fingers with Wei Wuxian’s, pulling their joined hands to his lips to kiss first his knuckles, then the wrist where his ribbon was still tied. Wei Wuxian swallowed thickly.

“Wei Ying, our son is alive because you are alive,” Lan Wangji said. He brought the fingertips of his free hand to meet Wei Wuxian’s skin and a tiny trickle of spiritual energy flowed into his meridians, nearly overwhelming even in such a small quantity. “He is unharmed. Every healer who has seen him has looked for damage from exposure to your cultivation method. They have found none.”

Of course they would’ve checked for it, but it stung all the same. What must they have thought of him in the week it took him to wake? Did they think he had chosen a dangerous and harmful method of cultivation with unknowable consequences while aware that he was pregnant? That he’d prioritized power over the wellbeing of his unborn child?

What must Lan Wangji have thought, caring for their son with no way of knowing?

He swallowed his questions. No answer to them would bring him peace.

“Unharmed or not, I put him in danger. And this will follow him for his whole life.” He took a deep breath. “Every emotional outburst. Every time he lags behind his peers. Everything he does will be scrutinized, and any way he differs from an ideal will be blamed on my cultivation method.”

Lan Wangji didn’t say anything. He merely kept his grip tight on his hand, continuing to transfer energy to him.

“All of it could have been avoided if I’d just seen a healer. If I’d been willing to let anyone know about my core. If I’d known I still carried him, I’d never have–”

“Rumination on what might have been is futile,” Lan Wangji interrupted. “Had you known, you might not have used demonic cultivation for the war efforts. You might not have taken part at all. Perhaps we’d still be fighting the Wens one, five, ten years from now. Perhaps the campaign would already have failed.”

Wei Wuxian scoffed. “Or perhaps it would have been won sooner.” 

Lan Wangji shook his head. “I meant it when I said that it could not have been won without you,” he said. “Your talismans alone saved thousands from infections, poisons, and fire. Before you joined the campaign, each skirmish and battle saw more casualties than the last. Our strategies and forces were not enough. It was only after you entered the fray that the tables were turned. You leveled the field, Wei Ying. We were fighting a losing war until you returned with techniques and methods nobody could have dreamed of.”

“Lan Zhan?”

“You might not have been the one to kill Wen Ruohan, but you single handedly made the siege of Nightless City possible. The entire cultivation world is indebted to you.” The energy transfer stopped, and he kissed Wei Wuxian’s hand once more. “Neither the Lan nor the Jiang sects will let anyone judge you or our son for your sacrifices when those sacrifices let them live free from tyranny.”

Said with such finality, such decisiveness, Wei Wuxian could believe it. He’d never known Lan Wangji to make a promise he couldn’t keep, and this sounded like a promise.

Still…

“You must have questions, though, right? About…this?” He gestured toward his core. Lan Wangji nodded, but he said nothing. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“No.” Lan Wangji resumed transferring energy to him. “I know Wei Ying will tell me everything in time.”

---

Recovery was both long and short to Wei Wuxian. Mostly long because, of course, he was restricted to the tent where he’d originally awoken, its canvas walls closing in on him even on the best of days. Each time he woke, he was fed bland broths, bitter tonics, and watered-down cups of tea like his teeth were just there for decoration. He was prodded, stripped down, checked for infections or qi deviations, and rubbed (nearly) everywhere with hot water at least once per day in the name of “cleanliness” and “proper circulation.” And most importantly, he was bored.

Sure, he’d asked for permission to get up and get back involved in the post-war efforts. That had been shot down immediately by both Shijie and Wen Qing. The doctor had him restricted to specific types of movements she claimed would help him build up his strength in the wake of everything he’d put his body through (okay, fine, he could admit that the resentful energy had been harmful. As it had been purged from his body, old injuries started reopening faster than his weak, newly reformed core could heal them, and Wen Qing’s estimate of an extra week of bedrest was promptly extended to a month. A month!). They only let him stand and stretch and walk circles inside the tent for minutes at a time. It took days before they even gave him control over his own bedpan.

But short too, as it turned out. Because…

“Has he grown again, Lan Zhan? I saw him just last night! How has he gotten this big and strong already?”

Wei Wuxian bounced his son carefully in his arms, smiling at the pink cheeks that had gotten chubbier by the day. His first few days out of the womb had apparently been frightening for everyone - the already skinny newborn had struggled to latch and lost weight every day until Wen Jing suggested feeding him every hour so he could get some milk in. A brilliant suggestion, as it turned out, because his poor latch only resolved with practice. By the time Wei Wuxian had woken up, the baby had figured out how to nurse properly, but he hadn’t gained back the weight he’d lost until just two days ago.

The weight had brought him more energy, and between each of the short hours Wei Wuxian got to spend with him, he seemed to be growing and changing so quickly. When his eyes had opened that first week, they had been unfocused, just barely moving even when colorful ribbons or the Jiang clarity bell were dangled before him. Now, he stared at people’s faces when they held him and tracked objects within his arms’ reach. Where he used to just shift his arms and legs a little here or there, he now pushed out with his hands and feet against his blankets, comfortable, but seemingly testing the limits of his swaddling.

Annoyingly, these changes seemed to keep happening while Wei Wuxian was resting. Have mercy on him, Wen Qing! His son would be walking before she deigned to let him off bedrest!

Lan Wangji, seated next to Wei Wuxian’s stupid, restrictive cot, didn’t answer the question. Instead, he merely watched the two of them, seemingly pleased to watch them bond.

“One week to go, huh? His one month celebration is coming so quickly,” Wei Wuxian mused, running his fingers over the soft skin of his baby’s jaw. The little one turned his head at the touch - rooting, Shijie had said, instinctively looking for food. “Ah, no milk in this bosom for you yet, sorry! You’ll have to wait a little bit longer for that, baby!”

“We will likely have to hold it in the camp,” Lan Wangji said. “But his 100 days can be held in Gusu.”

Not ideal, but given the circumstances it was the best they could hope for.

“I hope we’ll be married by his 100 days,” Wei Wuxian admitted, cradling him closer. “Are you sure we shouldn’t just elope? At the rate negotiations are going…”

“Perhaps.”

He hadn’t seen Jiang Cheng since the day he’d first woken up, though Shijie assured him that her brother would forgive him someday. Despite his anger, or perhaps because of it, he’d thrown himself into negotiating the marriage contract like it was another battlefield of the war. If you could call it negotiating, really. From what he’d heard thirdhand from Lan Wangji, whose brother kept him abreast of the progress, the Jiang sect leader was unrelenting in his demands, claiming that the Lans owed his head disciple reparations and concessions beyond the norm for the “damage to his reputation” and “dishonor” that Lan Wangji’s “liberties” had heaped upon him. Never mind that those “liberties” had been at Wei Wuxian’s own suggestion, of course, or that nobody would have known about them if not for the baby. Not to mention, what reputation did he have that tying down the second jade of Lan would not improve significantly? If anything, the longer this was dragged out, the more damage would be done to Lan Wangji’s reputation and honor.

He’d said as much to Lan Wangji more than once, though the man himself waved the concern off like it was unwarranted. A late wedding was nothing compared to a child born out of wedlock anyway. Neither was a blow that the Lan sect could not withstand, and his reputation could be rebuilt in time regardless. True though both of those things might have been, Wei Wuxian wished it was not necessary to test those assumptions.

Eloping was an attractive prospect, if not for the fact that doing so would probably have been the final nail in the coffin for any hope of reconciliation with Jiang Cheng. Yet another assumption he didn’t want to find out the accuracy of.

Well, it was a nice thought at least. He held in a sigh, smiling at the baby instead. Babies were supposed to absorb the energy of the people caring for them, after all! It wouldn’t do to expose the little one to the troubles of adults so early in his life.

“You’re going to need a name,” he told his son. “You can’t still be just ‘Little Lan’ when you’re my age, after all! Do you have any ideas?”

Naturally, the baby didn’t really react beyond watching his face while he spoke.

“Hmm, no suggestions? Don’t worry, then! Maybe your a-Die has thoughts?” He met Lan Wangji’s gaze, cocking an eyebrow. 

“A few, if Wei Ying wishes to hear them,” he acquiesced. At Wei Wuxian’s nod, he continued. “What do you think of Lan Ning or Lan Yong?”

“Not Lan Ning. Wen Qing’s brother is Wen Ning, which would basically make him his uncle if she ends up marrying Jiang Cheng,” he said. “Lan Yong - what character for Yong?”

“Permanence.”

“Hm.”

He shifted the baby, moving him to look him in the eye. Well, ish. His little Lan wasn’t great at eye contact yet, but it was the thought that counted. “How about it, Young Master? Would you like to be called Lan Yong?”

Lan Wangji leaned in. “Verdict?”

“Seems he’s decided to leave it up to us. I think Lan Yong is a fine name. A-Yong. Yong-er. Yongyong. I like it.”

Lan Yong wriggled in his arms again, drool shining on his mouth. Lan Wangji leaned in to delicately wipe at the corner of his lips, concentration evident on his brow. It softened his heart to see the gentleness in the motion, the gentle movements at odds with the fierce strikes that had rendered the man unforgettable to him from their first meeting at the Cloud Recesses. But it fit too, he supposed. Restraint and precision with a sword wasn’t so different from restraint and precision with a handkerchief, was it?

With the pressure of the wipe, the baby turned his head again, lips smacking open in search of food. He’d been fed only an hour and a half earlier - what a strong instinct this was!

(Wei Wuxian purposely did not wonder whether his son’s powerful appetite had anything to do with the months of malnutrition while he grew in his belly. No, it was a good thing that he ate so well. His parents would make sure he’d never want for food for as long as he lived.)

Come to think of it, actually…

“You know, Wen Qing said this morning that my, uh…that is, she thinks I’ve gotten healthy enough that my milk might…be able to come in now,” Wei Wuxian said, freeing a hand to gesture at his chest. Well, it was more like she’d happened to notice that his nipples had changed last time she inspected the scar from his surgery and started lecturing him immediately about how he could go about inducing lactation, if he wanted. From Wen Qing, a lecture was usually more like a command. “Apparently if I let him…suckle…it could prompt my body to start producing milk. Do you mind if I…?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. His eyes had been fixed on Wei Wuxian’s chest since he’d first mentioned the milk coming in.

Wei Wuxian swallowed his nerves and loosened the robes at his chest. The tent was artificially warm thanks to a heating talisman, but he still shivered at the first touch of air on his bare skin. He brought Lan Yong’s face close to the nipple, hesitant - was there an angle he should hold him at to make sure he was comfortable? What if he got upset when no milk came out? - but the first brush of his cheek against his father’s chest had him turning his head, lips closing around the nipple seconds later.

“Oh! Oh, that’s–that feels weird,” Wei Wuxian said, flinching at the unexpectedly strong suction. Did he have the whole thing in his mouth? Seemed that way. “Wow, and you said he had a poor latch before? Wouldn’t have guessed.”

The sensation dulled a little as he got used to it, though it was still far from comfortable. He watched for any changes to the baby’s face as he suckled. The lack of milk didn’t seem to bother him. He seemed content just to lay there and dust Wei Wuxian’s sparse chest hair with his tiny, relaxed breaths.

A few minutes passed, the silence only broken by the small snuffling noises escaping the baby. 

“Does it hurt?” Lan Wangji asked. 

Wei Wuxian shook his head. “Not really. It’s just very new,” he admitted. “No one’s ever touched my nipples besides me. Feels very different from when I do it.”

It was starting to get a little sore, though. He tried to remember the instructions Wen Qing had given him to encourage milk production. She’d said something about how massaging the area could get more milk out, right? Would it help the milk come in in the first place too? Couldn’t hurt to try.

Determined to find out, he laid his free hand over his chest, pressing his cold fingers into the flesh. It took a moment, but he found where the swelling began and pushed from the edge of it towards the baby’s mouth. The angle was different - usually, when he massaged his chest (for different purposes, and ones he would very much prefer to not think about while holding his tiny baby, thank you very much), he used the hand on the same side. But he caught on quickly enough. He kept at it for a couple minutes before sliding his hand down to break the suction from his aching nipple. The cool air was a relief now for the raw skin.

“Hey, don’t worry, we’re just switching sides, baby,” he said, swapping him to the other arm before he could start fussing and drawing his robe open a little more. The moment his face touched the other side of his chest, Lan Yong latched back on with vigor. “Hoooo, yup, just as weird on this side. Good to know.”

Once he was confident in his grip on the baby, he resumed the massage on this side. He’d have to check with Wen Qing if it was actually supposed to help at this stage - it wasn’t exactly easy on the wrist (or chest, if he was being honest). It took less time for him to reach that painful, hypersensitive, bruised feeling with the massage from the start, and he pulled his son’s lips from his chest again with a wince.

“Okay, time to let Baba have a break. We’ll try again later,” he said. Lan Yong smacked his lips once, then that face started to–oh no, oh no. “It’s okay! Don’t cry, a-Yong. Why don’t we just relax a minute, huh? You could take a nap?”

His pleas meant nothing to his child, a crescendo of wails building in the tent. Such strong lungs! 

“That’s his hungry cry,” came Lan Wangji’s voice, mostly drowned out by the screams. “Maiden Jiang, could you please take him to Wen Jing? It’s a little early–”

Shijie was at the side of the cot in an instant, reaching down to take Lan Yong from Wei Wuxian’s arms. Despite the ear splitting cries against her shoulder, she smiled genially.

“Do you mind if I leave you two for a little while? An acquaintance is visiting the camp. I’d like to stop by the mess tent for a chat - no more than half an hour, I would think?”

Half an hour without a chaperone? Wei Wuxian tried not to look too eager. “Of course, Shijie! If you see Hua Xiao there, tell him he still owes me for the extra heating talismans I made him before the siege!”

Shijie nodded. A minute later, the sounds of Lan Yong’s cries were growing more distant as she presumably made her way to Wen Jing’s tent.

“So, half an hour to ourselves, Lan Zhan,” he said salaciously, turning his head to grin at his to-be-betrothed. “How should we–”

The question was both cut off and answered at once as warm lips crashed into his. One of Lan Wangji’s hands flew up to cradle the back of his head, the other pulling at the still-loosened collar of his robe. It took a moment for him to get over the suddenness, but once he had presence of mind again, he immediately kissed back, swallowing a moan.

It occurred to him then that they hadn’t kissed since the cave.

What a travesty.

He grabbed Lan Wangji’s waist with both hands, dragging him closer until he was bent half over him on the cot. The fingers on his collar went slack, then pressed under his robe, trailing down from the warm, sensitive skin of his chest to his ribs, then further, inching beneath the tie at his waist.

Fuck, he was hard as a rock already.

“Can I?” Lan Wangji asked against his mouth, nails brushing the seam of his hips, this close to his cock.

“Hurry.”

Lan Wangji’s hand wrapped around him in an instant, and Wei Wuxian realized with dawning clarity that it was already too much for him. Weeks on bed rest with constant care and supervision had left him pent up and too sensitive. The first stroke nearly undid him entirely, a harsh gasp breaking the kiss as his hips jerked into the touch.

Oh no, this was…

“Lan Zhan, oh, oh, I’m–”

Lan Wangji pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. Even before that time in the cave, he’d wondered what desire would look like on that handsome face of his. The reality of it was better than his fantasies. Blown pupils were rimmed by just the smallest ring of gold, brow heavy and teeth sinking into his own lip. Seeing that intelligent gaze focused so intently on him made him hot beneath his skin, like he was filling up with steam. 

He felt himself dribble onto those clever fingers, making them slip on his crown on the downstroke, turning a simple shift in grip into a caress that careened him to the precipice instantly. He shuddered on the next stroke, tipping over the edge and spilling wet and hot onto his own stomach, Lan Wangji pumping him through each wave until he was too sensitive, softening in his hand.

“Oh fuck, Lan Zhan,” he managed before those lips were back on his, just a quick, searing press before he leaned back, scraping his palm through the mess on his lower stomach. He leaned back, quickly parting his own robes and–

“Oh, fuck, yes, I wanna see it,” Wei Wuxian panted, watching him draw out his own cock. It was already red and thick, the head shiny with moisture. He smeared Wei Wuxian’s cum over it, squeezing it and heaving a deep, desperate, loud breath, nostrils flaring and stomach visibly clenching. Oh, that was–was Lan Wangji really so turned on by…?

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji bit out, hand moving quickly over himself. It was evident that neither of them had any stamina to spare. He breathed like he’d just surfaced from a long dive, almost gulping air with every few strokes.

He hadn’t gotten to touch it last time, he remembered - at least, not with his hand. It was something he’d regretted after, though he hadn’t wanted to admit it. Knowing he’d lose his chance if he waited too long this time, he reached out, wrapping his own fingers around Lan Wangji’s and squeezing, joining him.. The motions were longer and quicker than he used on himself, but he loved it.

Just a handful of pumps later, Lan Wangji gasped something resembling his name and groaned, starting to come in great, powerful pulses. He couldn’t help but watch it happen, transfixed by the thick ropes falling like ribbons over their joined hands, cum dripping onto the floor of the tent as they both caught their breath.

Lan Wangji recovered first, somehow, giving both of them a cursory wipe down and cleaning as much as he could from their skin. Then he tucked himself back in and righted both of their clothes, laying soft, warm kisses up Wei Wuxian’s chest as he did so.

“Mm, nice,” Wei Wuxian sighed. “We should’ve done that sooner.”

Lan Wangji settled back into his seat. His ears were pink again - had he been blushing before? He couldn’t remember.

“I considered suggesting it,” Lan Wangji admitted. Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline.

“Really? When?”

“When you started letting me play Cleansing for you every other day.”

Wei Wuxian felt a grin split his face. He’d thought he was holding something in back then! Lazy and satisfied, he let the matter drop, leaning in to kiss Lan Wangji again. After a long moment, he drew back once more.

“So, twenty-five minutes to ourselves,” he said. “How should we spend it?”

—-

Three days before Lan Yong’s one month celebration, Wen Qing finally, finally let Wei Wuxian off bedrest. His core was strengthening and his recovery had gone quicker than she’d predicted, though she still cautioned him against anything strenuous. No sparring, no running, no lifting heavy weights, no swordplay, and no… swordplay.

An agonizingly awkward silence later, she let out a bone-weary sigh and dragged a nondescript pouch out of a qiankun bag, forcing it into his hands.

“Frankly, you’re not healthy enough for another pregnancy right now. Your core’s still probably too weak for it to happen, but just in case, swallow one of these per day,” she said. Then, imploringly, she added, “At the very least, don’t have penetrative sex until you’ve been taking it for two weeks.”

He tucked it into his sleeve. “You’re a lifesaver, Wen Qing.”

“That bag should have enough for two months,” she continued, ignoring the compliment. “If I can’t get you more, ask an apothecary for wild carrot seed pills. If they don’t have pills, the brewable version will do, but avoid penetration for a week if you have to switch. Any questions?”

“Yeah, does it only work if I’m the one getting–”

“Yes, it’s meant to stop the person who takes it from becoming pregnant,” she said, not letting him finish the question. “Feel free to split the pills between the two of you. Maybe you’ll remember to take them if you’re taking them together.”

“Fair enough. You can’t spare more than this?”

She glowered at him. “Absolutely not. That’s half my personal store of them. You’re welcome for sharing my contraceptives with you in the first place.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not just give them all to me? My Young Master Lan is going to need friends, you know!”

“Babies don’t start socializing until they’re almost two. You’ve got time to find some.”

Unsurprisingly, she was immune to even his most theatrical pouts. “All right, thank you for sharing,” he said, fake-sighing. “Here I thought you’d want to get it over with at a young age. Why wait?”

“Because the Jiang Sect needs to be rebuilt more before its first heir is born.”

He jumped when he heard Jiang Cheng’s voice from the flap of the tent behind him, the first he’d heard it in weeks, and pivoted on his heel. He was dressed in his best robes, hair tied up more elaborately than usual and pinned with an intricate guan. For the first time, Wei Wuxian didn’t have to remind himself that this was his sect leader, not just his shidi.

Then the words caught up with him.

“Heir? Wen Qing’s kid?” He spun back to look between the two of them. “Wait, I thought–didn’t you say you wanted to marry into the Nie sect?”

“Nie Mingjue wouldn’t take a Wen for a bride, and Huaisang says he doesn’t want to get married yet,” Jiang Cheng said, arms crossing in front of his chest. Wen Qing crossed the tent and stood next to him. “I had an existing alliance with her during the campaign. We’ll be absorbing her branch of the Wen clan and establishing healing arts as part of the sect training, provided they renounce the Wen sect. It was formalized yesterday.”

Formalized.

“Just to be clear, the agreement to marry was formalized, right? You haven’t married yet?”

“Of course not,” Jiang Cheng said dismissively. “The wedding isn’t until the latter half of the year.”

That was a relief, he supposed. Jiang Cheng stared at him expectantly. Right.

“My congratulations to Sect Leader Jiang and Maiden Wen Qing,” he said, bending into a perfect bow. “I look forward to receiving an invitation to attend such an auspicious event.”

The flap of the tent opened again, Shijie stepping through and smiling at him. “I see A-Cheng already shared word of his engagement.”

Jiang Cheng frowned. “It’s not why I came here.”

Shijie too had donned her most beautiful robes, a lilac and plum set upon which even the white mourning sash seemed to be elevated. For both of them to be in formal clothes…

“What’s going on? Is there some big event today?”

Shijie nudged Jiang Cheng at the elbow. “Yes, A-Cheng, could you tell A-Xian what’s happening today?”

His shidi flushed a deep, dusky color. He cleared his throat twice before speaking.

“I am the sect leader of the Jiang Sect now. That means I can make decisions based on what I think is right, even if they contradict those of…previous sect leaders,” he said. His eyes flickered down briefly, but he fixed them back onto Wei Wuxian and straightened his shoulders. “I am amending our sect records. Head Disciple Wei Ying, courtesy name Wei Wuxian, will be added to the Jiang family before his marriage.”

What.

“You can’t do that! I’m a servant!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “And I’m already marrying into another family! I don’t need–”

“It’s not about you!” Jiang Cheng interrupted, raising his voice to cut him off. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw Wen Qing hastily activate a silencing talisman. “There are three survivors of the original Jiang Sect. Shijie’s core never developed enough for her to complete her training. That leaves two people in the world who can teach new disciples.”

“You don’t have to adopt me into the clan for me to teach disciples!”

“Yes, I do! You’re not just marrying into another clan - you’re marrying the first heir to another sect’s leader. Your child is the second in line to lead the Lan Sect. Think about it!”

He threw his hands up. “I am thinking about it! Tell you what, treat me like I’m an imbecile. Explain it to me like I’m stupid, because I do not get it.”

“Oh, I’ll treat you like an imbecile, you imbecile” Jiang Cheng threatened. “How are you this–”

“A-Xian,” Shijie interrupted, laying a hand on her brother’s elbow. “Maybe it would help to think of it like it was my marriage. Remember, I was supposed to marry a sect heir as well, right? Imagine that I became a wife to a sect heir after all. As a member of the Jiang family prior to marriage, I could still visit in an official capacity even though my new family would be my husband’s, right?”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “Right, you would be able to participate in Jiang Sect rites and events as a member of the family if needed.”

“That’s right! But what if I was not originally a member of the Jiang family? What if I was merely a sect disciple? Would it be my right to participate in my original sect’s activities after marrying into a different sect?”

“It would require your new sect to give you permission-”

Oh.

Unfortunately, Jiang Cheng pounced the moment he caught on.

“Exactly. Sect Leader Lan could not agree to special dispensation for you to participate in Jiang Sect activities as the spouse of a main-family Lan without violating too many of his family’s precepts,” he explained. “However, if you were a member of the main Jiang family as well, he could grant blanket permission and allow you, your husband, and your child to stay in Lotus Pier while the sect rebuilds and trains, at least until we have someone capable of taking over.”

“Jiang Cheng, I…”

“And your–your son,” he said, voice softening. “He’d become my nephew. Having two sect leaders as uncles will be better than just one, right? I can lend him my protection as well.”

It was true, but still. Wei Wuxian hesitated. Years of Yu Ziyuan’s barbs and “lessons,” painted on his skin where his robes could conceal them, taught him that there could be no place for him in the Jiang Sect except as a servant. Even Jiang Fengmian had deferred to his wife on this point, reminding him not unkindly that Wei Changze had been a servant too, and he would have been welcome to stay his whole life too, had he wished to.

But they were gone now, all of them, and it wasn't just him affected by his position in the sect. Wei Wuxian could learn to listen to Jiang Cheng too.

Wei Wuxian could learn anything.

“Are you sure you won’t regret making me your brother?” he asked, seeking one last reassurance. Shijie smiled, shaking her head.

“You already were my brother,” she said. Jiang Cheng snorted.

“Nothing to regret. My parents gave me the blood that fills my veins. You gave me the core that fills my meridians. Doesn’t that make you family?” He narrowed his eyes, fixing Wei Wuxian with a judgmental stare. “You can give me your core without asking, but I need your permission to recognize you as my brother? No way. Tough shit, you’re just lucky I told you ahead of time instead of waiting until it was already done.”

Yeah, he really didn’t have any right to protest, did he?

“In that case,” he said, glancing between Wen Qing and his–siblings. “Does that mean Lan Zhan and I can’t get married until after you? Since your engagement has been formalized and mine hasn’t?”

Shijie giggled, while Jiang Cheng looked away, cheeks pink again.

Why?

“A-Xian, please don’t be mad at your Jiejie,” she said. Jiejie? Could he call her that now? “You were so worried about how being an unwed father was hurting Lan Wangji’s reputation and how it would look to anyone attending the one month celebration, after all. So…”

She trailed off, and Jiang Cheng picked up the rest of the story for her.

“So she met up with Huaisang and asked him to help.” He dragged out the last word disapprovingly. A rare, unrepentant smile graced her lips at his tone of voice. “And his help has been very effective. Maybe too effective.”

Wait, the acquaintance she’d gone to meet the other day had been Nie Huaisang? A dreadful understanding was brewing in his stomach.

“Let me guess,” he started. Jiang Cheng cut him off.

“According to the rumors, your expulsion from the Cloud Recesses for assaulting Jin Zixuan was a cover story,” he said, face pinching. “The real reason for your departure was that you and Lan Wangji had a whirlwind romance and secretly eloped. You were separated to avoid an ensuing scandal until you actually came of age and could have a proper ceremony to avoid losing face.”

He suddenly wanted to sit down. “I see,” he managed weakly. “So…is there any chance of correcting the story, or…?”

Shi–Jiejie smiled widely. “No, it’s out of our hands now,” she said, voice cheerful. “In fact, the general opinion is that it’s a very romantic tale. And tragic, of course, given that you two had to be separated for so long. It seems everyone is waiting for the marriage to be announced now that everything has come to light so they can formally offer their congratulations.”

Well, that was…unexpected?

“And you think this isn’t going to make things worse when the Lan refute the rumors?” he asked. “Given, you know, their strict opposition to lying?”

Jiang Cheng scowled. “They’re aware of the rumors. They haven’t refuted anything.” His cheeks flushed again. “Sect Leader Lan says he has no evidence either way. Though he did tell me when we finished negotiating your marriage contract last night that–”

“You finished negotiating! It’s finalized?!”

“Shut up, let me finish talking, you moron!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “He said if you and Lan Wangji eloped, he wouldn’t have to know when it happened - just that it did. Then he could honestly confirm the rumor that you and Lan Wangji married in secret.”

That was…huh. He cleared his throat.

“So hypothetically, we could do our bows today? And the marriage contract wouldn’t be void, and the Lan Sect would endorse the story Huaisang’s been spreading?”

Jiejie nodded. “A-Cheng took care to make sure the contract could be effective retroactively.”

“That’s great! Thank you, Jiang Cheng!”

Excitement churned in his chest, bubbling into a grin that he could feel splitting his face. The only reason they hadn’t eloped yet was out of respect for Jiang Cheng, and this was as good as permission, wasn’t it? He pulled on the warm over robe that Wen Qing had brought him when she’d first told him he would be taken off bedrest today and started towards the flap of the tent. The sooner he found Lan Wangji, the sooner he could start calling him his husband.

Jiang Cheng caught him by the elbow as he hurried past him.

“Hang on, wait until after you’re officially added to the Jiang family before you talk to Lan Wangji about it,” Jiang Cheng commanded, turning on his heel to lead him out of the tent. “Otherwise, he’ll probably elope with you before we get the chance.”

Fine, I’ll wait, he thought, and then finally, finally exited the tent, the winter wind cold on his face for the first time since the siege.

Chapter Text

The formal amendment of the Jiang Sect records wasn’t especially complicated. Jiang Cheng stood in what had been the sect’s unofficial training grounds at the end of the campaign, addressing the disciples - recruits that had joined during the war, most hailing from now defunct sects decimated by Wen Ruohan as he’d amassed his influence - and informing them of his decision to add Head Disciple Wei Wuxian to the main Jiang family. He made no grand speech and solicited no opinions. As sect leader, his decision was law.

A few new characters in the sect record and the echo of the sect seal stamping the page later, Wei Wuxian was officially a Jiang family disciple instead of an outside disciple. It took less than ten minutes.

It took far too long.

“I expect that all of you will behave in ways becoming of honorable Jiang disciples at my nephew’s thirty days celebration in three days’ time,” Jiang Cheng said, the command subtle in the way that his mother’s commands had been subtle. “If you do not, you will not return to Lotus Pier with the rest of us next week. Dismissed.”

The disciples had barely begun to move when Wei Wuxian moved in to accost his sister, standing demurely behind the table Jiang Cheng had set up for the occasion. She smiled, eyes warm and–shiny?

“Shijie, are you okay? It’s not too cold for you, is it?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Just happy. I’ve been waiting for so long for everyone to know you’re my brother.” She linked her arm with his, nodding in invitation to Jiang Cheng, who was still fanning the fresh ink on the sect records book. He replied with the universal gesture for ‘give me a moment,’ and she squeezed Wei Wuxian’s elbow. “You can still call me Shijie if you want, but you know you can call me Jiejie now, right?”

He swallowed around a lump in his throat. “Of course, Jiejie.”

The sect records book thumped closed behind them, and Jiang Cheng swept past to the pair. “Come on, Wei Wuxian’s going to lose it if we don’t get moving.”

Wei Wuxian snorted. “So judgmental of your gege,” he chided. Jiang Cheng flushed magenta down the back of his neck.

“Don’t you fucking start calling yourself my gege ,” he snapped, though he didn’t turn around. Jiejie tugged him forward, her pace sedate and nowhere close to closing the gap between them and their sect leader.

“Little brothers,” he stage whispered almost conspiratorially to her, earning him a laugh. He cupped his free hand around his mouth and called forward, “slow down, Didi! What are you rushing for?”

Jiang Cheng kept stomping forward, though now slowly enough that the two of them could catch up.

They reached the edge of camp quickly despite the more relaxed pace. The bustle of people managing the logistics of departing the warzone was nearly deafening. After weeks trapped in that tent, it was refreshing to be able to see what was causing the strange sounds he’d been cataloging in his boredom. Still, Jiejie’s hands on his arm were a welcome and necessary anchor; such chaos and crowding was overwhelming after so long in isolation.

“Do either of you know where I can find Lan Zhan?” he asked, craning his neck to scan the crowd for familiar robes and ribbon. Jiejie kept walking, pulling him with her as he looked. “The camp looks so different now. I don’t know how I’m going to find anything!”

“I believe Wen Qing said she would be bringing him to the tent she and Wen Qionglin have been sharing so she could speak with him about your recovery,” his sister said, Jiang Cheng keeping pace on her other side. “It’s a little bit out of the way, but it’s still in the camp itself. Probably easiest if we escort you there.”

A few familiar faces perked up as they passed, some smiling and waving, but for the most part his siblings’ presence seemed to keep everyone at bay. It was a relief - he was sure he was going to be unbearable in his current, impatient state.

It took a few minutes, but before he knew it, he was standing before a modest, unadorned canvas tent in a largely deserted section of camp. Jiejie squeezed his elbow once.

“Shall we?” she asked, and then she tugged him through the flap of the tent before he could answer.

The first thing he noticed was that the inside of the tent was lit with candles rather than braziers, casting more shadows across its contents as they flickered with the burst of air from the flap opening. There were no cots, no beds, no bedrolls - just a lacquered table set up like a shrine, and red–

And red. Red fabric, red paper, red ribbons, pinned on the walls, laid out on the floor, hanging from the roof of the tent.

“Wei Ying.”

Lan Wangji stepped out from behind the table, pristine and handsome, eyes meeting his unreservedly. To his left side stood Wen Ning and Wen Qing, and to his right Lan Xichen, who cradled a familiar bundle in his arms. Jiejie released his elbow at last, nudging him forward.

“Lan Zhan, is this–”

He belatedly noticed the cenotaphs on the lacquered table and suddenly, he couldn’t finish the question. Wei Changze. Cangse Sanren. Lan–

It was. Of course it was.

Luckily, Lan Wangji didn’t misinterpret the aborted line of inquiry, rather stepping forward and taking his hands. His robes were a deep blue, one Wei Wuxian could not recall seeing him in before, with a bolt of red fabric wrapped around him from the shoulders down - a cloak, he realized with a start. Because–because how could they get red robes with such short notice?

He felt something drop onto his own shoulders, and he didn’t have to look to know he’d also been draped with red.

“I may have been presumptuous. We can still wait and have a grand wedding if you wish,” Lan Wangji said, though there was no hint of remorse or hesitation in his words. “But I have waited too long already to call you my husband. Would you–”

He pulled Lan Wangji forward, tipping him into kissing range and cutting him off at the lip. Chastely, of course. No need to put on a show.

“Of course I would. Hurry, you must know how impatient I am.”

While he would have been happy to just kneel then and there, kowtowing at long last, he silently compromised in the blink of an eye when Jiejie brought up following what tradition they could. He’d never given thought to how his own wedding ceremony could be, on the rare occasion he’d thought of it before the war. With no family and no proper backing, just a servant, it seemed unrealistic to expect anything special.

But he had a brother and sister now, and despite the circumstances he found he wanted their first event as a family to be done properly. He wanted that memory.

There would be no combing ceremony, no sedan or travel. Neither of them was a bride and this tent wasn’t home to either of them, so they could skip the bribe and the doorgames. That only left offering tea. 

Jiejie carefully, almost solemnly prepared the tea, brewing it with lotus seeds alone (fair enough, he supposed - where would she have gotten longans or dates?) before pouring it from a plain pot into undecorated cups, which were placed upon the table before the cenotaphs - the best they could do to honor their families.

Straying further outside of tradition still, they also knelt to offer tea to Lan Xichen and to Jiejie, although they tried at first to decline.

“Jiejie, please. Who else could be more deserving?” he asked, while Lan Wangji waged the same quiet debate with his brother. “Without your love and support, I would have raised myself, and we both know what a very poor job I’d have done.”

They gave in quickly enough. That was what mattered.

With the tea offered, drank, and cleared away, that left only the bows.

At last.

He’d known what each bow meant before, in an academic way. It was a good, respectable tradition - one he’d never really dwelled on much. But now, with Lan Wangji at his side and their families bearing witness, the bows took on meaning. 

First, to Heaven and Earth.

Immeasurable gratitude gripped him as he lowered his head and shoulders. Gratitude that he lived here, in this world, in this country, in this era - despite the tragedy, the misfortune, the war - all because it meant he had been lucky enough to exist in the same time and place as Lan Wangji. 

Second, to the parents and ancestors.

He’d never met his grandparents, whoever they were, and his son would never meet his. But he couldn’t forget his mother’s smile and his father’s strong, steady shoulders. He wondered if Lan Yong would grow to resemble either of them in the future or if he might favor Lan Wangji’s parents. Surely everyone who had come before him had asked similar questions when they looked upon their children’s faces. Spotting Yong-er in his uncle’s arms out of the corner of his eye as he rose from the second bow, he hoped he might someday tell him who his features came from, even if he’d never see them himself.

Finally, to each other.

Their eyes met as they began the final kowtow, and despite the seriousness, the ceremony, the audience, he couldn’t stop his lips from stretching into a smile. Husband , he thought, and the word fit. It settled right into place alongside all the other labels he kept for the man in front of him like it had always belonged. This was his Lan Zhan: his friend, his soulmate, his partner, his equal. Father of his child. His first. His beloved. His husband .

Lan Wangji was already leaning forward as he rose from the final bow, a hand outstretched to cup his jaw and pull him into a heady kiss. It felt overdue, like it had been forced back until it burst from him, stronger for having been delayed. Distantly, he heard noises from the other occupants of the tent, but they didn’t matter - not now. He simply sank into it blissfully, letting his husband kiss him until he was light-headed.

When they pulled apart at last, Wei Wuxian couldn’t say he was surprised to see a smile - a real, genuine grin, almost - on his beautiful husband’s face.

And oh, how he looked forward to seeing it again, again, again.

—

He was still riding the high from his wedding - intimate and secretive as it had been - as he settled into his seat three days later in the large event tent that Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen had somehow managed to acquire, set up, decorate, and furnish just in time for Lan Yong’s 30-Day Celebration. He hadn’t had to lift so much as a finger himself, cloistering himself with his new husband and child in the aftermath of their bows while their family insisted on executing on their vision for the party. 

Said vision had admittedly been a good one, especially given that it had to be done in a tent. Tables had been arranged just so, with tasteful decorations and traditional food laid out. Jiejie had vanished into one of the mess tents so early in the morning that the moon and stars had still been bright in the sky, and Wei Wuxian had no doubt that her efforts had paid off - the banquet looked magnificent, and the smell wafting in the air from the plates, warm from heat-retaining talismans, had his mouth watering. Even the typically boring Lan-appropriate dishes looked appetizing - truly an amazing feat.

Lan Wangji still stood, rocking and bouncing with their son against his shoulder. His tantrum from when they’d entered the tent earlier - probably from being overstimulated, according to Wen Qing - had abated only minutes ago. His husband would probably keep it up until the last minute, one last cuddle before he was shown to the rest of the world for the first time.

He could understand the reluctance. In a few minutes, their son would go from being just theirs to joining the rest of society.

Could anyone really blame him for wanting to savor the last moments when his world was just the three of them?

But alas, it seemed the time had come. Jiejie poked her head through one of the tent flaps and called out, “we’re going to welcome the first guests,” both a thoughtful heads-up and a warning that everything was about to change. But Lan Wangji merely nodded, kneeling beside Wei Wuxian and settling the baby securely into the cradle of his elbows.

The first to enter was, perhaps unsurprisingly, Lan Qiren. He crossed the tent, head high, and stood before them, eyes fixed appraisingly on the baby.

Wei Wuxian desperately wished he’d gone to at least one of these before. He had no idea what he was meant to do here.

“He’s put on weight. Good,” his in-law said, nodding approvingly. “And his color is much better now. It is a relief to see that he has thrived. I know it was a matter of grave concern for you, Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, staring questioningly at Lan Wangji.

“Uncle assessed you after your collapse at Nightless City. He was the first person who realized what was happening and called for a surgeon to save you and the baby,” his husband explained. “He was also the first person to hold our son. Before you woke, he listened to all my worries and answered all my questions about caring for an infant.”

Lan Wangji turned to Lan Qiren, holding the baby out to him. “You have not held him since he was born. Would you like to hold him now, Uncle?”

Though Wei Wuxian never would have expected it, holding a baby suited Lan Qiren. Something softened in his posture and his expression, years falling from his face as he expertly cradled the little one. All at once, he remembered that the man was truly not that old - the weight of his brother’s abandoned responsibilities heaped upon him too young had aged him behind the eyes, but to Wei Wuxian’s knowledge, the man hadn’t even reached 40 years old. For the first time, gazing upon his grandnephew, he looked his age.

“What have you named him?” he asked, voice soft. People had begun to queue behind him, but they could wait.

“Lan Yong, with the character for permanence, Laoshi,” Wei Wuxian answered.

“A good name,” he said, approval clear in his voice. He stared at the baby a moment longer before passing him back to Lan Wangji and facing Wei Wuxian directly and bowing. “I look forward to welcoming my nephew’s husband to the Cloud Recesses. I hope you will come to call me Uncle as well, Wei Wuxian.”

Wei Wuxian bowed in return. “I would like that. Thank you for everything, Uncle.”

The exchange of bows seemed to signal his retreat, and the line of well-wishers (or, more likely, curious gossips judging by the faces he could make out) moved forward, Sect Leader Ouyang at the front.

From there, the greetings took on something of a predictable cadence. An esteemed cultivator would step forward, peering at Lan Yong like he was appraising an apprentice’s work. From there, he would either wax poetic about the beauty of new life coming so soon after war like the first buds after winter, offer some polite (if cliche) praise on his health, his hair, his name, what have you, or he would comment on how very much he resembled his father. Then he would congratulate him and Lan Wangji on their marriage (with some asking rather pointedly why they had not been invited to the wedding and whether there would be a formal announcement confirming said marriage) and on their son before bustling off to chatter with the other gossips and enjoy the hospitality of the Jiang and Lan clans.

(A few completely unsubtle “gentlemen” asked when the wedding would be held. Wei Wuxian could feel the smugness rolling off his husband when he answered that they had already been wed for some time now, and especially in the wake of a war with such heavy casualties they did not feel an opulent ceremony would be appropriate.

It wasn’t a lie, strictly speaking. Three days was some time.)

But interspersed, there were a few notable exceptions.

“Xichen is wrong. He looks exactly like Wei Wuxian.”

Nie Mingjue had very nearly needed to kneel down to get a close enough view of Lan Yong before making that declaration. Huaisang protested, insisting that he couldn’t possibly tell with such a young baby, and besides, weren’t his eyes Lan Wangji’s unique, impossible shade of gold? The sect leader ignored his brother’s twittering and fixed Wei Wuxian with a stare.

“Heard you were pretty touch and go for awhile there. Is your body okay?”

The question threw him for a loop. Nobody had spared a thought for his wellbeing so far - all of their praise and observations and inquiries had been about his baby or his marital status. It was unexpected that a man famous for his violent nature and temper would be the one to ask after his health.

He wasn’t the only one thrown, though. The chatter quieted slightly in the wake of the question, and he could see some of the worst gossips turning their heads to better listen for his response.

An idea came to him, then.

“It was as you said, Sect Leader Nie,” he answered, painstakingly keeping his voice at a normal volume. “I underestimated the dangers of cultivating with resentful energy. It is only because all my spiritual energy was used to protect him that Lan Yong was unscathed. But my recovery will likely take years. It’s possible I may never fully heal.”

“Nonsense! How could that be?!” Huaisang demanded before his brother could react. “I’m sure you’ll be back to normal soon. Your core is strong enough to heal anything.”

Good, reliable Nie Huaisang. He couldn’t have given him a better lead-in if he’d tried.

“It’s my core that’s the problem,” he said. He held out his arm, palm aloft. “It seems my choices have…compromised it. Here, feel.”

Huaisang hesitated, perhaps from the eyes of their audience around him, but he reached forward regardless, fingertips brushing the skin of his wrist and seeking out his spiritual energy. The prickle and pull told Wei Wuxian precisely when his friend took him up on his suggestion, though anyone watching could probably tell from how his eyes widened, brows arching towards his scalp.

“How can…surely your energy is merely depleted?”

He shook his head. The chitchat in the room had died down almost entirely, the attention of the crowd unabashedly on them. He fought the urge to squirm in his seat or change the topic.

He’d been the one to open the door to the possibility of cultivating with resentful energy. It was his responsibility to close it again, lest someone chose to wield it for destruction rather than protection. What better way than to make an example of himself?

“No, this is all that my core can sustain right now,” he explained, drawing his arm back. “Demonic cultivation is powerful, but it comes at a terrible cost. Had circumstances differed and the campaign drawn on any longer, I have no doubt it would have shattered my core and consumed me, mind, body, and soul. It was pure luck that it did not do so before the siege.”

His friend visibly trembled. “I had no idea the toll it was taking on you.”

“No one did. I couldn’t risk being kept from the frontlines,” he said, drumming up the drama for the next part. “But it’s okay. If this is the strongest my core will ever be again, if it remains this withered and decayed for the rest of my life, then it has already served the greatest purpose it ever could by protecting my son while he grew in me.”

Huaisang all but burst into tears, his shoulders creeping up and his head bowing as though he could hide the crying behind his hair. Nie Mingjue clapped a hand onto his shoulder in a gesture probably meant to comfort him, but the force behind the blow was a bit much.

“It is fortunate that you will have the chance to watch him grow up,” he said, steering his brother away. “Best wishes for your recovery, and congratulations again.”

After the Nie brothers moved on (amidst choked-off sobs from Huaisang and long-suffering pats from Nie Mingjue), the rest of the line was easy, even though Lan Yong began fussing not long after. It privately pleased Wei Wuxian that he broke out into wails when Jin Zixuan stiffly attempted to hold him at Lan Wangji’s invitation, discomfort obvious on the Jin sect heir’s face. Thankfully, he was among the last of the guests to greet them, and by the time the last of them had said their piece, it was time to join in the banquet.

“Should I take him to Wen Jing?” Jiejie asked, arms open to take his crying son. Wei Wuxian winced, taking the baby from Lan Wangji himself.

“No, but is there a private area where I can…?” he glanced around the room, suddenly self-conscious. He finished with a whisper. “My milk finally came in. I’ll leak through my robes if I don’t do it myself.”

As it turned out, someone had had the forethought to bring a dividing panel into the tent as well, set up with a sturdy chair and a table concealed behind it. Only after he sat down, undid his robes, and let Lan Yong latch, suckling ravenously, did he realize it had probably been set up for them . A spare baby-sized outfit was laid out on one end of the table, with a water basin and cloths on the other.

He owed so many thanks to his family for setting everything up. He would absolutely never have thought to prepare such an area if it had been on him to arrange all the details.

Just after Lan Yong had drank his fill (well, as much as he could before Wei Wuxian’s supply ran dry, anyway), he heard a curt rap on the dividing panel, looking up just in time to see Jiang Cheng peek around. His brother blanched at the sight - well, what had he expected, coming in while he was, uh, breastfeeding? - of Wei Wuxian’s bare chest, nipples red and sore. He hurriedly tugged at his clothes as best he could while holding his son.

“Can I–I mean, let me hold him. While you…get dressed,” Jiang Cheng said, stepping in and holding his arms out. “Even Jin Zixuan got to hold him today, and I haven’t yet.”

Fair enough, he thought, and he rose enough to gently position his milk-drunk son in his uncle’s arms, high on the shoulder. At Jiang Cheng’s quizzical look, he simply pivoted and draped one of the cloths from next to the basin over his shoulder. “He’ll need to burp,” he explained, guiding Jiang Cheng’s hand to pat his back with the appropriate rhythm and force. “Good chance some milk will come up with it.”

His sect leader made another weird expression, but did as he’d been shown while Wei Wuxian wiped down his chest and dried it before righting his robes one layer at a time. He was on the last layer when the telltale hiccup came from his son, and he looked up just in time to see a disgusted frown pass over Jiang Cheng’s face as Lan Yong coughed a mouthful of milk onto the cloth.

“Great, thank you. You should be okay to hold him normally now,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, swiping the cloth off him before the milk could drip or soak through. “Now, what did you come over here for?”

Jiang Cheng took a moment before shifting his grip on the baby to dig into his pocket with the hand he’d been using the pat his nephew’s back, drawing out a talisman. He activated it quickly, and the sounds of the tent turned cottony and distant.

Ah, muffling talisman.

“What you said out there,” he started, hesitant. He swallowed visibly and then continued. “When Wen Qing told me you had a core again, I…”

Oh. Right, he hadn’t explained that yet. Hadn’t had the chance.

“Right, from the energy that made up the womb,” he confirmed, though he was only mostly sure. “It’s really weak, but it’s there. Wen Qing thinks I should be able to build it back up like I did my first one, maybe even quicker with a few added tricks. I really will be okay, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng stared down at his nephew again, eyes fixed on his lax, sleepy face.

“I just–I have to know. You said that demonic cultivation had damaged it. I know that’s not what really happened, but.” He paused, the search for words obvious behind his eyes. “Was any of it true? Did it do lasting harm to you after all? Or was that all just to…dissuade anyone who thought to follow in your footsteps?”

“Jiang Cheng…”

“Please don’t lie to me,” he whispered. “Not again. Not about this.”

He sighed. All right. No more lies.

“Yes and no. I used resentful energy to heal injuries, but it’s not meant to do that,” he said. “Spiritual energy just empowers your body to heal faster. Resentful energy is more like…like glue to hold the pieces together. If you get rid of it, the breaks are still there. And not to overstate things, but I was thrown off a cliff and broke every bone in my body, Jiang Cheng. By the time I had a core again, I don’t think there was a single part of me not held together with resentful energy.”

“That sounds like all ‘yes’ and no ‘no’.”

He snorted. “The yes is that it’s true that my recovery will likely take years. But my core will be fine, and as it gets stronger, we can purge more of the resentment and everything can be healed. The damage will last a while, but not forever.”

His brother’s relief was palpable, even as he cleared his throat and nodded, face carefully neutral. Well, as neutral as Jiang Cheng could get. The poor man would never be able to keep his thoughts to himself with how expressive he could be.

“Good. That’s…good,” he said decisively. “You said ‘we’ - does Lan Wangji know?”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “He knows I lost my core, at least, and that I have a new one,” he said. “But I thought…I couldn’t tell him everything. Not without your permission.”

“You have it.”

This honesty thing was working out for him. He grinned. “Great, I’ll tell Lan Zhan soon, then,” he promised, a teasing lilt in his voice. “After all, he deserves to know what happened to the core he dual cultivated with, wouldn’t you say?”

It took a moment, but then Jiang Cheng reared back, face purple. Oops, too honest. “You– disgusting! ” he choked out. Oh wow, he was really just trembling with rage, wasn’t he? “Ugh! Why would you–that’s just–I’ll never be able to look at him again without thinking about–! How dare you?! Here, take your kid before I–”

Wei Wuxian laughed, scooping Lan Yong into his arms without missing a beat. “You’d have realized it yourself eventually,” he pointed out, nodding towards his baby. “You have to know how babies are made by now, right, Didi? Or do you need your gege to explain?”

“Fuck off! I’m never talking to you again!”

He waited a minute after his brother huffed off to rejoin the festivities himself, glad to see that he apparently hadn’t made a scene with his exit. When he made it to his seat, Lan Wangji plucked Lan Yong from his arms and pushed a full tray of food in front of him.

“All is well?” his husband asked, watching him start to devour his meal. He paused, considering.

“Yeah, Lan Zhan. All is well.”

Chapter Text

More tears than Wei Wuxian cared to think about were shed when the camp was all packed up and each sect was on its way to its respective territory. With the near-total destruction of Lotus Pier and the influx of new recruits about to flood Yunmeng, Jiang Cheng had surprisingly been the first to suggest that the newlyweds live in Gusu until the Jiang Sect had managed to build stable housing. Besides, they’d just be headed back to the Cloud Recesses in two months anyway for Lan Yong’s 100 days. It was in the marriage contract, after all.

(It had nothing to do with Jiang Cheng’s mortifying realization about what his secondhand core had gone through before he had it. Probably.)

So he said his goodbyes to his newly minted siblings and sectmates, letting Jiejie pull him into a tight hug and promise to visit. He bartered and haggled with his brother, eventually agreeing that if there was a place for them by then, they’d move to Lotus Pier to help train the new recruits when they came for his wedding to Wen Qing in the fall. And of course, he promised to write.

Wen Jing also came back with the Lans to Gusu. Not just as his son’s nursemaid (hey, even Wen Qing said it wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t producing enough milk yet. These things took time!), as it turned out, but also as a Lan widow. Her husband, Lan Yixuan, had apparently joined her family in the tradition of ruzhui so she could give their children her surname. He had been thrilled by the opportunity to learn medicine from the very best, spending most of their marriage studying. He, along with many other able-bodied cultivators of the Wen Sect, had died in the siege of Nightless City. There had been some debate about whether to allow her to join them, but in the end, a compromise was reached: Her son’s name would be changed from Wen Yuan to Lan Yuan, and he would be raised in the Cloud Recesses as would have been his right if it had been a traditional marriage rather than ruzhui.

(Privately, it was a relief to Wei Wuxian that his son would not be separated so soon from his milk-brother. There would be so few agemates for him in Gusu, thanks to the war, and Wen Jing’s good humor and kindness would surely mold A-Yuan into a fine friend for his little one.)

He and Lan Wangji settled into an old, well-maintained home in the Cloud Recesses, distant enough from the main areas that Lan Yong’s crying wouldn’t disturb the peace. To his utter shock, Lan Qiren moved as well, taking up residence in the nearest house and dropping by at least once every day to assist with baby-related tasks or to abscond with his grandnephew. “To give the new parents a break,” he said, but Wei Wuxian had caught him mooning over Yongyong enough to see through the excuse. Not that he’d say anything, of course. The only time he and Lan Wangji had for uninterrupted, uh, dual cultivation was when they had the house to themselves, after all.

Medically prescribed dual cultivation, even. He was under strict orders from Lan Mingyan, his new physician, to go to bed with his husband at least three times per week to strengthen his pathetically weak core. Wen Qing was still his favorite doctor, but Lan Mingyan gave his favorite treatment plans by far.

(And frankly, since more was surely better, his diligent husband had made it his mission to treat him every day. He’d say he didn’t know Lan Wangji had it in him, but, well. It was against the rules to lie.)

Lan Yong’s 100-days celebration was a shockingly large event. It was the first event hosted by one of the major sects that was not related to the war since the Sunshot Campaign had begun. Most of the cultivation world seemed like they would have fought another war just to get an invitation. So where his 30-days had been an evening in a tent, this celebration quickly expanded into being just one part of a three day conference where all the sects could come together and negotiate their trading contracts, plan upcoming meetings, and entertain new alliances - political and personal.

Wei Wuxian made a few appearances, but the only part he stuck around for its entirety was the actual 100-days party. Otherwise, he and Lan Wangji entertained Jiejie and Huaisang while their respective brothers took care of sect business.

Much awaited his small family in the future, far beyond what he could predict. Beyond his brother’s wedding, the move to Lotus Pier, and their eventual return to Gusu. More weddings, more family born, more friends made. Sect conflicts, sect diplomacy. Teaching, night hunting, learning. 

One thing was certain: the future looked bright.