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Lan Xichen entered the tent to Huaisang rinsing a bloody washcloth.

He red sluiced down the basin, murking the clean water. The longer Xichen watched the delicate way Huaisang washed the blood off of Mingjue's wounded arms and torso, the more Xichen had to resolve himself.

"Huaisang," he called out, swallowing before attempting a small smile.

Either he was not heard or Huaisang was ignoring him. A part of Xichen was grateful that the waver in his voice was barely noticeable. He came closer, hesitant as he situated himself by Huaisang's shoulder.

"They said you had a long journey without pause. Have you eaten at least?"

There was a brief pause of Huaisang's fingers tenderly stroking Mingjue's hair, his head tilting momentarily in Xichen's direction though he did not speak nor meet his eyes.

"Huaisang," he tried again to no avail. There was a pang of guilt that came unbidden. He moved to take over the washing. "Allow me—"

Huaisang batted his hand away with surprising force. Startled, Xichen almost missed the way fury swept over Huaisang's face before it morphed into his own surprise and a mark of sadness.

"Sorry," he said quietly. "I'm not hungry, but thank you, Zewu-jun."

Lan Xichen watched him for a moment as he proceeded to clean his brother's face. Lan Xichen did not attempt to offer his assistance again; his help was plainly not welcome.

"Your spy," Huaisang said in the same quiet inflection. "It's Meng Yao."

It was fortunate that news traveled fast: there would be no room for doubt of Meng Yao's contribution to their victory, and no one would suddenly throw unwarranted accusations at him for his supposed betrayal.

"Yes." The hint of pride did nothing to lessen his guilt. A-Yao's cleverness secured them the certainty of victory, though at the cost of withstanding trauma as Wen Ruohan's right-hand man. Lan Xichen could only imagine the horrors he had been put into as a bystander and not. "A-Yao proposed the plan."

It's a gamble for a single life at least, Meng Yao had said, we're all expendable, and I even more so. I'm not a leader like you or Chifeng-zun.

It had been a convincing argument at the time, until Lan Xichen had realized what awaited Meng Yao in the Fire Palace. Lan Xichen had prayed for Heaven's kindness and had hoped for Meng Yao's safe return.

"Better a single life than the life of many, he said. It's a calloused way to regard one's self, but war is not a normal circumstance and—"

Huaisang abruptly barked a harsh laugh. "And it didn't even occur to you that he might not be pertaining to his own life? If he can callously regard himself that way, then that just means he can gamble anything else."

"Huaisang! That's the opposite of what Meng Yao meant!"

"Is it? The war is over and done with but he's not the one lying on a bed injured and unconscious."

Lan Xichen glanced at Mingjue who was yet to wake since Wen Ruohan's death, and he couldn’t say he blamed Huaisang for blaming him. He understood it now, at least, that Huaisang's reaction came from the grief of seeing his only family left hurt.

Huaisang exhaled sharply and closed his eyes. "Please leave. If da-ge needs a healer again, I'll get one myself."

Lan Xichen nodded weakly. "I'll return later to check—"

"You'll return if I want you to or once da-ge asks for you specifically," Huaisang interrupted. "I don't care if you're da-ge's second command in the war, Zewu-jun. I won't forget that you allowed him to walk into a trap without giving him and his men any warning."

Huaisang effectively silenced Xichen’s next few words. He left the tent numb, mind simultaneously blank and with a number of things racing that barely left room for comprehension.

His feet sought a path further from the camps. Lan Xichen exhaled once he was in the safety of his own company. 

He didn’t know. He didn’t know what to make of Huaisang's implications. Lan Xichen had made that decision while dangling on the precipice that would decide the outcome of the war. He had tipped on the right side but at the cost of Mingjue and his men's lives.

They won, he reminded himself. They won and Mingjue was alive, recuperating. They won because of the collective effort on the war front. The lives they lost along the way were not forgotten and would be honored rightfully.

Lan Xichen struggled with the ugly feeling that came along with coming to terms with that fact. It didn’t help one bit when he returned to the camp and passed by the infirmary next to the rows of the dead that required proper burials, where a number of them were the recent dead who had followed Nie Mingjue in storming the Fire Palace. 

Had Lan Xichen made the wrong call? Had he made the wrong choice as opposed to the one that could have resulted in considerably lesser casualties?

There was no use second-guessing himself now, was there? What happened had happened, and if his actions and decisions resulted in unnecessary deaths then they were all on him and he would carry them close to his conscience for the rest of his life.

"Xiongzhang."

Lan Xichen turned to the voice. His brother approached silently, whole and unharmed. "Wangji."

Wangji stared at him in question, concerned and curious.

"Fret not, I'm not hurt," Xichen assured him, mustering a smile that was gone in an instant. "Are you?"

His brother shook his head. Xichen knew his younger brother was a capable one, and like many others of his peers, he was forced by the war to grow up too soon. He had not been there when Wangji was hurt, when was trapped in a cave, and when Wangji was searching for Wei Wuxian for the most part.

Xichen had been remiss as an older brother, he realized.

"How is Young Master Wei?"

He was met with a slight frown, unhappy and full of worry. "Wei Ying is not well, Xiongzhang."

Xichen ached at the hurt in his brother's voice. He was not wrong. The war might have obfuscated the fact that Wei Wuxian had returned different, wielding demonic cultivation that contributed largely to pushing the tide to their favor. But in peacetime, what then? It wasn't an immediate concern during the war when their forces were making use of Wei Wuxian's abilities; the necessary evil, some were wont to whisper behind his back. 

"I need to bring Wei Ying to Gusu, Xiongzhang."

They would turn on him, and by then only Wangji would be the one to remain steadfast on his side. Wangji must have known of this too if he was starting to insist that Wei Wuxian had to be brought to Gusu.

"Then bring him. I know the Elders will have doubts, but if you explain to them why they will understand. Uncle will want to hear your case first, but he will support you." Xichen knew he would, especially once he found out that Wangji's plea was coming from devotion. "I will be there," he promised.

It was enough for Wangji to understand that he was supported, and Xichen thought he saw a hint of a small grateful smile there when Wangji gave him an acknowledging bow that Xichen was unable to stop.

It unwound some of the tightness in his chest. In this, at least, he was able to assuage Wangji's fears.

They passed by Nie Mingjue's tent when they returned to the camps, and Wangji caught his glance. Huaisang did not like him visiting again, and Xichen would respect that.

At his brother's inquisitive gaze, he replied, "Chifeng-zun is recovering but still unconscious. Young Master Nie wants to personally attend to him along with the Nie healers."

"Nie Huaisang was in Gusu."

He should have been, and now that Xichen had mulled it over, his arrival had been quick considering the distance, no matter if he had pulled no stops. 

"Someone must have sent a letter on the same day we left for the Fire Palace. It was admittedly dangerous for him to go with much uncertainty, but it'll do well for Mingjue-xiong to see his brother first thing when he wakes up."

They would be reunited again after the span of time they had been apart, and Xichen hoped for Nie Mingjue to wake up soon to see his brother.

Xichen did not dare disturb Meng Yao in his rest that night.

Sect Leader Jin and his retinue of Jin Cultivators who arrived a shy of dawn had no qualms asking for Jin Guangshan's son, the war hero who had slain the beast that was Wen Ruohan.

Nevermind that Jin Guangshan had shunned him away before, when he had no achievements in his name and without a coin in his pockets.

Xichen let Meng Yao the short time of rest he was allowed, though he wished, dearly, to hold A-Yao should he needed someone to assure him that it was finally over.

Xichen did not visit still when A-Yao passed on a message not to be disturbed.

Nie Huaisang barred him from entering Mingjue’s tent, and Xichen doubted he would be let in before his older brother woke.

He quelled his dismay and proceeded to give aid around the camp to whoever was in need of hands.

He helped oversee the burial of a hundred of their men during the day, and at night he prayed for their safe passage in the afterlife, for Nie Mingjue's swift recovery, and for A-Yao's well-being.

He glanced at the quiet, undisturbed tent of A-Yao. Xichen had not once seen any movement of the flaps of the entrance, though granted he had been to and fro the camping grounds and assisted with tending to a couple of the injured. He liked to believe he had helped with more than the wounds, that more than anything else he had helped gather back their will to survive.

Xichen had played a song for the children, and he couldn’t wait to share to A-Yao the young earnest faces, and how one of the young boys had embraced his legs and beamed up at him with a missing tooth.

There would be time for his stories. If A-Yao wanted to take his time then it was what he deserved and more.

Xichen did not miss the way Jin Guangshan was getting antsier with Meng Yao's absence. Of course he would want to see the son who brought him glory—Xichen sighed to himself. It was not his place nor his feelings that mattered here. All A-Yao wanted was to be recognized by his own father and to fulfill that promise to his mother.

And he would have it soon, perhaps even without needing to step out at all from his present sanctuary.

Xichen was in the small makeshift kitchen when he caught the young man who was often attending to the meals along with the ladies who had taken up the task to prepare and cook meals, and who had previously relayed a message from Meng Yao about needing rest and not wanting any visitors.

"Are you to bring Meng-gongzi his midday meal?" Xichen asked him gently.

The younger man shook his head, a little confused once he bowed. "This one was ordered by Meng-gongzi not to bring him any meals, that he'd rather fix it on his own."

Surely, Xichen would have caught a glimpse of Meng Yao if that was the case. Thinking about it, it was odd of him not to show up at all now that his father was around; though it was also for the same reason that Xichen couldn’t blame him if he was purposefully avoiding anybody.

"I understand. I assume you haven't seen him around here as well?"

The answer was a hesitant shake of the head. "I—Forgive this one, Zewu-jun. I might have, but with everything that has to be done..." He bit his lip, lowering his head. "This one can only apologize."

Xichen smiled at him. "It's not your fault," he told him. "And I know what you mean.” He was keeping himself occupied, though if only to avoid making the difficult decision alone on how to handle the Wen prisoners. “Thank you for lending a hand in helping each other. I appreciate your hard work." He pretended not to see how starry-eyed and startled the boy was. It was hardly praise, merely a statement of a fact. "What is your name?"

Zhu Feng, a son of a traveling rogue cultivator, was from Yunping and one of many who was unfortunate enough to witness the sacking of Lotus Pier; a hardworking young man who aspired to be a cultivator like his father, while expressing his fondness for cooking like his mother.

"This one doesn't want to be impertinent, but..." Zhu Feng said after Xichen decided to bring Meng Yao's meal on his own; and possibly take on the duty from now on if A-Yao would allow it. "If Zewu-jun will be speaking with Meng-gongzi, then please give him my gratitude for his contribution. This one can only be half as brave as Meng-gongzi and the soldiers who fought in the war, like Zewu-jun."

Xichen promised to bring the message along, and as such he found A-Yao's tent, feeling a surge of warmth and hopefulness. Zhu Feng’s genuine words would not be the first, of that Xichen was certain.

"A-Yao? I brought you your meal," he called out. He waited for a moment, and when there was no response, he added, "... I completely understand if you refuse company still. I will leave your meal outside, but there is a warm soup that might get cold quickly."

As if to prove Xichen's statement, a cold breeze swept past, and with it a whiff of an acrid smell of decay that his nose had gotten used to after helping with a number of the dead and the ill.

He paused when the smell lingered, and for an alarming second, he thought it was coming from within the tent.

Xichen swallowed. "A-Yao?" he tried again, louder. "A-Yao if you're there, please answer me."

Fear crept up to Xichen each passing second, and it was barely a minute before he rushed in, greeted by the permeating smell of rot that invaded his senses.

In the middle of the tent, A-Yao was hung by the neck.

Faintly, Huaisang heard the commotion outside, of men running across the Nie Sect's camping grounds and past his da-ge's tent.

He paid the noise no mind, keeping close to Mingjue’s side and barely registering Zonghui's bid of leave to check what was going on.

It must be the noise that stirred da-ge awake, who blinked blearily and stared at him. "Huaisang?"

Huaisang could cry at his voice. “It's me, da-ge.” His brother, very much alive than the last time he had seen him. Huaisang underestimated how much he missed him. “I'm here. I'm here. It's going to be okay.”