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Chapter Text

“Cut off his hand?”

Cold horror shot down Wei Wuxian’s spine as Yu Ziyuan repeated Wang Lingjiao’s words back to her, disbelief and disgust ringing clear in her voice. Unconsciously, his fingers curled inwards, his head swimming with horror as his heart pounded desperately against the floorboards beneath him, as though trying to break through and escape –

But escape wasn’t an option. Of course it wasn’t. This was his clan, his home, and when it needed him most –

Need you? A cruel voice sneered in the back of his mind. Who needs you? You think we would be in this mess if it wasn’t for you? You brought this upon us – you brought ruin to the door of Yunmeng Jiang!

“Yes,” Wang Lingjiao said lightly, stealing Wei Wuxian’s attention. He looked up, his back screaming with pain as the movement tugged the burning wounds Zidian had left across his spine. Wang Lingjiao folded her hands over her knees, leaning back slightly to make herself comfortable in the Lotus Throne, and anger cut through the pain and dread in Wei Wuxian’s chest. “I’ll bring it back to Wen Chao, and then he’ll be perfectly willing to forgive Lotus Pier’s insolence in this case.”

Yu Ziyuan said nothing, her jaw tight in a way that meant pure fury. Wei Wuxian could see the deliberation in her face, her cold consideration of the offer, and the horror thrumming through his veins grew stronger, wrapping around his throat. She would agree. If it meant the clan would survive, Yu Ziyuan would agree –

And even as the thought hit him, he saw her face harden in resolve, saw her sigh as though this was nothing more than an irritating interruption to her afternoon.

His heart stopped beating.

“Jinzhu, Yinzhu, lock the doors,” she demanded coolly. “Don’t let anyone see the blood.”

“A-Niang!” Jiang Cheng cried, his voice ragged and horrified even as his mother’s maids bowed, making their way to the doors.

“Yes, Furen.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng flew into Wei Wuxian’s field of vision once more, crashing to his knees in front of him and flinging out his arms desperately. As though that could stop it. As though – “A-Niang, please, you can’t! Don’t do this – she’s lying! She’s lying, he never attacked Wen Chao, he didn’t –””

“Stand up,” Yu Ziyuan snapped, but Jiang Cheng shook his head, his voice catching on what sounded like a sob.

“You can’t, A-Niang, you can’t!” The terror in Jiang Cheng’s voice ripped through Wei Wuxian like a blade, and he closed his eyes. “Please, please don’t do this, it’s not fair, it’s not right, you – please, A-Niang, please!”

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, his fingers trembling even as they curled a fist, like an anemone closing itself away from a predator. Really, he had no greater chance of escape than an anemone did.  

Drawing a deep breath, he steeled himself as best he could. If it protected the clan, if it let them live in peace even a little while longer, then it would be worth it. He’d just have to learn how to fight with his left hand. It wasn’t impossible, he could do it.

“Well done,” Wang Lingjiao crooned, and Wei Wuxian glared up at her in time to see her lean forward in the throne. “Guards, hold him down.”

Wei Wuxian flinched, and Jiang Cheng gave a cry of both fury and fear, jolting as though he was going to fight them, but before anyone could move, Yu Ziyuan said coldly, “There’s no need.”

“Oh?” Wang Lingjiao asked, raising her eyebrows lightly, but Yu Ziyuan didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to them, and Jiang Cheng leant back, stretching his arms out wider as though there was any way to stop this now.

“A-Niang,” he whispered. “A-Niang, don’t, please, please don’t-”

“A-Cheng, get up.”

“You can’t!” Jiang Cheng yelled, panic clawing through his voice. “A-Niang, you can’t, when A-Die gets home-”

“Don’t you dare speak of him to me!” Yu Ziyuan snapped, and Wei Wuxian swallowed. “He is not here. While he is not here, his duties lie with me. Jinzhu, Yinzhu.”

For the first time in his life, Wei Wuxian saw the two maids share a look of uncertainty at their mistress’s command, but it only lasted a second. They swept forward, each grabbing Jiang Cheng by the arm, and dragged him up, and away.

“No! No, don’t – Wei Wuxian!”

Wang Lingjiao laughed, and loathing burnt through Wei Wuxian like nothing he’d ever felt before. “Your son needs to learn a little decorum, Yu-furen.”

Yu Ziyuan’s eyes flashed. “Watch your tone.” Wang Lingjiao’s eyes widened, her lip curling in offence and outrage, but before she could speak, Zidian sprang to life on its master’s wrist.  

“You,” Yu Ziyuan seethed, glaring at Wei Wuxian with a hatred that stung almost as badly as the lash wounds. “I always knew you would bring our clan to the brink of ruin. I will not let you push us into the abyss.”

“A-Niang!” Jiang Cheng screamed, and Zidian struck.

Wrapped around his wrist –

Agony.

Wei Wuxian screamed. No amount of shame could stop him – not while a heat worse than fire was cutting through his flesh, while pain shrieked through every nerve in his arm, and when he felt Zidian cut through the bone he choked on his own cry.

Darkness bloomed over his eyes, dizzying, disorientating, suffocating –

Overwhelming.

All that he knew was pain and darkness and darkness and pain, and –

And then, distantly, the sound of sobbing, desperate and wretched. Jiang Cheng. Then came laughter, high and cruel, and a loathsome voice crooning about a supervisory office…

Jiang Cheng started yelling, his voice full of fresh rage and fear, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t make out the words. He pulled himself back into the present, trying to understand what they were saying. One thing was clear – the threat wasn’t over. The threat wasn’t over, and Jiang Cheng was still fighting, he might get hurt –

Wei Wuxian forced his eyes open, fighting to raise his head. Wang Lingjiao was standing now, walking towards Yu Ziyuan – stepping around the growing pool of blood seeping out from the stump of Wei Wuxian’s wrist.  

“Though perhaps, an alternative arrangement can be reached,” said Wang Lingjiao blithely. “There’s another house nearby that I liked the look of. Perhaps, for now, the Yunmeng Supervisory Office can be set up there…”

“Perhaps?” snapped Yu Ziyuan, the venom in her voice somehow less than it had been when she addressed Wei Wuxian. Somehow, it was that that bled the rest of the strength from him, and his face fell to the floor, the tears he’d been trying so hard not to shed disappearing into the pool of his own blood. 

Behind him, he could still hear Jiang Cheng sobbing, and he ached to reach him, but the agony was overwhelming, seeping into every part of him, and he couldn’t move –

“Perhaps,” Wang Lingjiao repeated. “Wen-er-gongzi has heard much about Lotus Pier, and he had his heart set on the Supervisory Office being raised here – but I like you, Yu-furen. I think we would do well as neighbours. I’m sure Wen-er-gongzi will be appeased if I bring him back more than just a hand.”

“What the hell do you want?” Jiang Cheng’s voice ripped raw and aching from his throat, and Wei Wuxian forced his head to turn, sliding through his own blood so he could see his shidi. Jinzhu and Yinzhu were still holding him back, their teeth gritted as he fought against them.

“If we take Wei-gongzi back with us, I’m sure that would please him.”

A fresh wave of dread crashed down over Wei Wuxian, but it was nothing compared to the terror on Jiang Cheng’s face.

“No – no! Haven’t you done enough, you – you said it would be over, you said –”

“Well, that was assuming the Supervisory Office would be here,” said Wang Lingjiao, and Jiang Cheng shook his head desperately. There were tears pouring down his cheeks, but Jiang Cheng hated crying in public, he hated it. Automatically, Wei Wuxian dug his fingers into the floor, trying to pull himself towards his brother, but the lash wounds screamed as he did.

He ignored them, ignored whatever Yu-furen was snapping back, and pulled harder. Jiang Cheng looked at him and sobbed, straining harder against Jinzhu and Yinzhu.

“Wei Wuxian,” he sobbed, and Wei Wuxian thought he saw a tear fall from Yinzhu’s cheek. He didn’t care. His brother was crying. His brother needed him.

“Jiang Cheng,” he whispered, but speaking hurt, and his voice was quiet, and useless. He stretched out his hand, his only hand, towards his brother, fingers trembling –

And Jiang Cheng cried out, and then there was a foot on Wei Wuxian’s back, stomping cruelly into his wounds and forcing him to the floor. He couldn’t keep the cry of pain behind his teeth, and he heard Jiang Cheng roar.

“Get off him! Get off him, get off, leave him alone!”

“What do you say, Yu-furen?” said Wang Lingjiao somewhere above him, and the foot on his back twisted, ripping the wound further open. Wei Wuxian gasped, and darkness danced before his eyes once more.

“A-Niang,” Jiang Cheng sobbed. “A-Niang, A-Niang, you can’t! Please, please – you did what they said, please don’t – A-Niang, they’ll kill him, please, please!”

“You may take him, assuming you release our sixth shidi back into our care.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng shrieked, but a flicker of relief nudged at Wei Wuxian’s heart.

If he had to die, it would be worth it to keep Liu-shidi safe.

“Of course,” said Wang Lingjiao, and Jiang Cheng screamed.

“No! No, get away from him, get away from him, Wei Wuxian! Wei Wuxian!”

The foot raised from his back, but mere seconds later there were arms grabbing at his shoulders, wrenching him up off of the ground with an iron grip.

“No! No, leave him alone, leave him – leave him – Wei Wuxian! Wei Wuxian! A-Xian!”

Wei Wuxian clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut so the Wen wouldn’t see his tears. If this meant that his clan would survive, that they would at least have time to prepare for the Wen’s next move, then it would be worth it –

There was an earth-splitting roar, a clamour of voices shouting. The man on Wei Wuxian’s left side crumpled to the ground with a yell, followed a split second later by the man on his right. Without the soldiers to keep him upright, Wei Wuxian pitched forward, but before he could hit the ground another arm wrapped around his chest, dragging him back to hold him desperately close.

Jiang Cheng.

“Stay away!” his brother yelled, desperate and afraid and backing away, but there was nowhere to go, and Yu-furen was glaring and Wang Lingjiao was laughing, and Jinzhu and Yinzhu were bleeding on the floor and terror spiked in Wei Wuxian’s heart.

If his brother gave them a reason to hurt him –

“Jiang Cheng,” he choked, clutching at his brother’s arm with trembling, bloody fingers. “Jiang Cheng, it’s okay, let me go. It’s okay. I’ll be back, I promise, just let me go. Let me go.”

A horrible keen of a sound left Jiang Cheng’s throats as the Wen soldiers loomed closer again, this time with their swords fully drawn. Wei Wuxian felt Jiang Cheng’s arm tighten around his chest, felt his panicked breath against the back of his neck.

“No,” he whispered, and then he cried, “A-Niang, please-”

“Stupid boy!” Yu Ziyuan yelled, and then Wei Wuxian saw the purple spark of Zidian, and he didn’t have enough strength to try and stop it.

He could tell by Jiang Cheng’s cry that Yu Ziyuan had put no spiritual energy into the blow, but it struck as a whip all the same, curling around Jiang Cheng’s arm and wrenching it away from Wei Wuxian. Still, Jiang Cheng clung on with his other hand, but the Wen soldiers lurched forward, ripping Wei Wuxian away.

He glanced down at his wrist, his stomach heaving.

Oh.

It was still bleeding.

That explained the dizziness. The hopelessness.

And the darkness, that claimed him before he was even out of the hall.

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng’s hands were covered in blood.

It wasn’t his own, no matter how fiercely he wished it was. But the bloodied handprint on his sleeve, the spatter on his robes, the deep, red stain on his skin – it was all his brother’s. Looking down, all Jiang Cheng could see was a haze of red and purple, blurred by tears that seemed never ending, even now that his throat was too sore to keep screaming.

That was all he’d been able to do.

Scream while his mother beat his brother with Zidian, scream while she cut off his hand –

Scream when Wei Wuxian’s eyes rolled back up into his skull, when he collapsed, limp and still as a corpse, into the arms of the men that held him.

And it had done nothing. Had been useless, hopeless.

Because his mother… his mother let them take Wei Wuxian away.

“Wei Wuxian! A-Xian, wake up! A-Niang, A-Niang, please! Please, help him! A-Niang!”

But Wei Wuxian didn’t move, and his mother wouldn’t look at him. The soldiers continued walking towards the door, and Jinzhu and Yinzhu continued to hold Jiang Cheng back, their grip like iron. It didn’t matter how much he fought, how desperately he struggled – their grasp didn’t falter, and Jiang Cheng felt his own tears sting as they streaked down his cheeks.

“Stop!” he howled. “A-Niang!”

“Wait,” said Yu Ziyuan, and her voice held so much command that the Wen soldiers hesitated. Jiang Cheng’s heart leapt, hope beating viciously at his rib cage.

Please, he begged silently, please, A-Niang, don’t let them take him, don’t let them, please –

“That wound needs tending,” she said sharply. “Zidian cauterised it, but not completely. Unless you bind it the boy will die before he leaves Lotus Pier.”

It was still bleeding, Jiang Cheng realised with horror, forcing himself to look at the stump of his brother’s hand. The wound wasn’t gushing, but there was still a steady ooze of blood, and there was already so much of it on the ground, and on A-Xian’s clothes, and on Jiang Cheng’s hands…

“Oh!” said Wang Lingjiao, smiling. “Thank you, Yu-Furen. With all the clamour that had escaped my notice. It’s no matter – I can solve that.” To Jiang Cheng’s horror, she pulled the brand free from her belt, and he shook his head desperately.

“Don’t!”

But his shout couldn’t drown out the cruel hiss of hot metal pressing against the wound, couldn’t disguise the sudden, pungent stench of burning flesh. His mother’s nose curled up as she looked away, and Jiang Cheng felt Jinzhu shudder behind him –

He could still smell it. It didn’t matter that he’d been dragged away, locked in his bedroom like a child – he could still smell the reek of burning flesh, the iron tang of his brother’s blood in the air…

He shuddered.

“I must say, Yu-Furen,” said Wang Lingjiao lightly, “your son really ought to learn some composure. It’s not becoming for a young master to be screaming and wailing like a child. We of Qishan Wen would not stand it.”

Yu Ziyuan’s eyes snapped back onto the other woman, narrowing viciously. “I was not aware that Qishan Wen allowed their young master’s unwed lovers to speak for their entire clan,” she said sharply, and Wang Lingjiao’s face pinched in anger.

“How dare you?! If you speak to me like that again, Yu-Furen, I fear we will cease to be friends.”

Jiang Cheng heard Yinzhu scoff in disgust behind him, a near silent sound that went unheard by the rest of the room.

Yu Ziyuan’s eyes narrowed further, the anger practically radiating off of her. “Then do not speak of my son. You have what you came for.”

The tension in the room grew sharp, brittle, and it seemed to dig into his lungs like shards of broken porcelain – but then Wang Lingjiao smiled. It was a little tighter this time, less relaxed, but no less self-satisfied.

“I do,” she said, looking back at Wei Wuxian. Her smile grew stronger, and darker, and Jiang Cheng’s stomach curled. “Well, if there’s truly to be no offer of refreshments, I think it’s best we take our leave.”

“I think so too,” said Yu Ziyuan, and Jiang Cheng’s heart stopped. “However, I must make one thing clear to you.”

“Oh?” Wang Lingjiao raised an eyebrow, tearing her eyes away from Wei Wuxian’s lifeless face.

“The first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang committed a crime against Wen Chao – this of course merits punishment. However, as you said earlier, going further than taking a hand for such a crime would be barbaric. His crimes do not warrant death – should you chose to execute him, we may cease being friends.” The words were laced with poison, the threat veiled so thinly it may as well have been spelled out, but Jiang Cheng knew they were useless. Wen Chao hadn’t worried about the political fallout of locking the core disciples of the main clans in a cave with a monster to die. There was no way in hell that threat would stop him from killing Wei Wuxian – he’d torture him first, Jiang Cheng knew he would, and –

“Of course,” Wang Lingjiao simpered, smiling. “We wouldn’t want that.”

Yu Ziyuan nodded once. “I shall see you out.”

And she had. His mother had heard Jiang Cheng screaming, heard him begging, and she’d still shown Wang Lingjiao out of the room. A small, distant part of Jiang Cheng had still believed in her, even then. Had hoped that she’d make it to the gates and change her mind, or that she’d had a plan all along to get rid of the Wen and keep his brother where he belonged –

But she hadn’t.

Instead, she’d issued silent instructions for Jinzhu and Yinzhu to take Jiang Cheng into his room and keep him there. He wasn’t sure how long it was before she returned, but it felt like an eternity.  

“Where is he?”

She sighed, her gaze softening with a sorrow and a sympathy she had never offered his brother. “Gone.”

The word hit like a knife to the chest, and Jiang Cheng lurched for the door, but his mother caught him before he could reach it.

“I know this hurts you,” she said, grief in her eyes as they studied his. “I am sorry that it does. But for the sake of Yunmeng Jiang, this was the only choice.”

Jiang Cheng flinched back, a choked cry breaking from his lips, and his mother’s expression hardened slightly, becoming more resolute.

“You saw the manner with which that filthy maid held herself – she had the weight of the entire Wen clan behind her. If they were not appeased, we would have had to fight to protect our home today – and we are far from prepared. In all likelihood, they would be setting up their ‘supervisory office’ in our halls now-”

“They’re going to kill him!” Jiang Cheng bit out, and Yu Ziyuan met his gaze, unflinching. “They’re – they’re going to kill him, how – how could you let them do that? How could you do that?”

“He is only one person,” she said firmly. “If handing over one disciple could spare the rest of us from ruin, how could I make any other choice?”

“And if it was me?” Jiang Cheng demanded. “If she came here to punish me?”

Yu Ziyuan hesitated, the furrow of her brow giving her away even before she spoke. “You are the heir to Lotus Pier. Your worth is far greater than that of the son of a servant.”

A strangled laugh broke from Jiang Cheng’s throat. “Bullshit!” His mother’s eyes widened in shock and fury, but for once in his life, Jiang Cheng was too angry and upset to be afraid of the expression. “It has nothing to do with that! If it were Jinzhu or Yinzhu you would never let that bitch take them! If it were anyone else, any other member of our clan you would never let this happen, you would fight for us, but – but not him? He’s the first disciple of our clan –”

“Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone!” she spat, her grip on his arms growing stronger, biting. 

Jiang Cheng flinched, and then ripped his arms away, lurching for the door.

“A-Cheng!” she shouted, and Jiang Cheng’s fingers grazed the doorknob. A hand grasped the back of his robes, flinging him back into the room. “Where do you think you’re going?!”

“To get him back!”

“Oh? And how are you going to do that?!”

“I don’t care! Whatever it takes!” Jiang Cheng shouted back, adrenalin pounding through his skull like a hammer. He’d never argued back to his mother before, not like this, but right now that didn’t matter, it couldn’t matter –

“You will not!” Yu Ziyuan warned, grabbing his shoulders again. “Listen to me, you foolish boy! Allowing that woman to take him today was the only way to avoid a political fallout that would have decimated Yunmeng Jiang. The power of the Wen Clan is unrivalled – if they wanted to slaughter our entire clan there is little we could do to stop them,” she spat bitterly. “Even the other clans united would struggle to stand against them, and while everyone knows that, the chances of such a union are slim. If you try to take Wei Wuxian back by force, you will be giving Qishan Wen justification to massacre our clan. Is that what you want?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head desperately. “But the other clans – if we let the Wen run rampant like this – surely they’ll see – supervisory offices and snatching disciples – the other clans will see that this can’t go on, they can help us!”

“You think the other clans will rally behind the son of a servant?” Yu Ziyuan said, laughing bitterly. “Even if it were you, A-Cheng, the other clans wouldn’t dare join forces against the Wen for the sake of one captured disciple.”  

Jiang Cheng clenched his teeth, trying to tug free from his mother’s grip, but she didn’t let go. “Then I’ll go on my own, and –”

“Absolutely not! I forbid it!” Yu Ziyuan’s eyes flashed with warning, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders painfully. “I have already made it clear to the rest of the clan – anyone who dares attempt to retrieve Wei Wuxian will be banished from Yunmeng Jiang, permanently. We must focus our efforts on strengthening our clan, politically and maritally. That is what is important. Whether you agree with my decision or not, it is made!”

A last, desperate hope struck Jiang Cheng, and he blurted out, “A-Die will be home soon –”

“Leave your father out of this!” she snapped. “Do you think there’s anything he can do now? Attempting to negotiate Wei Ying’s release would only lower the standing of our clan, and even he would not be as stupid as to risk the wrath of the Wen clan by attempting to take him back by force.”

“No!” Jiang Cheng cried, tears breaking free from his eyes. “No, there has to be something we can do – there has to be!”

His mother’s expression fell, and she put a hand on his cheek. “A-Cheng,” she said, her voice suddenly sadder, and even a little gentler. “I know this is difficult –”

But even as he longed to lean into his mother’s embrace, Jiang Cheng felt guilt and nausea burn up his throat. He pulled away. “No – no! You never cared about Wei Wuxian, never, you – get off of me!” He fell backwards, and anger clouded his mother’s face once more.

“Just stay here,” she ordered. “You are forbidden from leaving Lotus Pier – until I return, don’t even leave this room!”

Then, she left him alone.

He didn’t know what to do. With any luck, his father and sister would be home soon, and he knew that there was little Jiang Fengmian wouldn’t do for Wei Wuxian – but he also knew there were things his mother was right about. Launching an attack to retrieve Wei Wuxian would bring the wrath of the Wen upon their heads, and they had little chance of success with a negotiation…

So, would Jiang Fengmian agree with his wife? He – he might not agree with her decision, but there was worryingly high chance that he would agree there’s nothing more they could do. Yanli would never stand for it, but she’d have even less say in the matter than Jiang Cheng would.

And Jiang Cheng…

He couldn’t stand the thought of waiting. As deeply as he knew that the wrong move could endanger his entire clan, as much as he feared it, he also knew that if the roles were reversed, there would be nothing that would stop Wei Wuxian from trying to find him.  

Shame burned in his stomach. If the roles had been reversed, Wei Wuxian would have probably been able to save Jiang Cheng’s hand. He was always –

No. No, he couldn’t think like that. Not now.

He had to do something. If he didn’t, then Wen Chao would kill his brother, sure as death.  

Without another thought, Jiang Cheng began scramble around his room, grabbing all the supplies he could think of, throwing them into a Qiankun pouch. His hands ached for Sandu, but his sword was still in Qishan. Without his sword, it would be difficult to travel distance at speed, and teleportation talismans were difficult – he was still far from mastering them. Even Wei Wuxian found them exhausting…

A lump rose in Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he took a deep breath.

Then, he fell back into action, dropping onto his hands and knees and pulling out a box from under his bed. He hadn’t touched it for years, and his fingers slid through a thin layer of dust as he opened it, rummaging through the few childhood keepsakes he’d held onto to find the training sword lying at the bottom. It was almost the same size as Sandu, though of course not nearly as strong. It wouldn’t take him as far or as fast, but it was better than nothing.

His fingers closed around the hilt, and a ghostly echo of laughter rang through his memory, filling his mind with images of himself and his brother sparring and wrestling and playing –

He had to get out of here.

He shoved the sword into the Qiankun pouch, glancing at the windows. They were too obvious – Jinzhu and Yinzhu would catch him the moment he tried to sneak through them. Even if he managed to get past them and run, they were just as fast as he was, and their cultivation was almost as strong as his mother’s. In a fight he’d be outmatched – it was too risky.

Dimly, a faraway part of his brain remembered breaking out of their grasp to throw himself down in between his brother and his mother. He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time – how could he have? – but now he wondered if he’d really overpowered them. Perhaps he’d been overcome with strength and adrenalin – but if that was the case, he’d have been able to tear away again when they dragged him to his room.

Perhaps they’d just let him.

Thinking on that hurt too much, and Jiang Cheng let a sob escape his lips –

And then a thought struck him, wild and outlandish – and possible. He stared down at the floorboards beneath his feet. Maybe there was a way to get out without being seen after all…

He crouched down, running his fingers over the seams between the floorboards. Then, he let himself cry, let himself break out into wailing sobs like an infant – and as he did he set to work. The sound of his sobbing drowned out the scrape of his knife against wood, the splintering of the floorboards, the creaking of the very foundations of his bedroom, and he knew that Jinzhu and Yinzhu would not question it. Jiang Cheng had never been quiet in fear or grief.

It took longer than he’d hoped – long enough that his throat was screaming from overuse, but finally his knife cut through into thin air, and with a particularly loud wail he kicked down, dislodging the final wooden beams between his bedroom and the lake below. He caught them before they could splash into the water, setting them carefully to the side with the rest of the wood he’d removed, and –

There was a knock at the door.

He froze.  

“Gongzi…” Yinzhu hesitated, her voice muffled by the door. “Xiao-gongzi, is there anything we can do? Anything you need?” The concern in her voice was genuine, and Jiang Cheng took a deep breath.

“I need my brother!” he yelled back, his voice catching on the final word. He coughed, and then yelled even louder. “If you can’t bring my brother back here then get lost! Go away, go!”

There was a pause. Then, “As you wish, Jiang-gongzi. We will be outside if you change your mind.”

Jiang Cheng barked out a strange sound, a wordless fusion of a laugh and a cry, and he heard her footsteps retreat from his door. Not far – only just enough to give a semblance of privacy without compromising her guard duties. Slowly, he let his sobbing wind down, struggling to make it sound as natural as possible. If he was suddenly silent, they’d be suspicious – but getting himself under control was much harder than he’d hoped.

Finally, he drew a deep breath that only shook a little and positioned himself over the hole in the floor. He strained his ears – he could just about make out the sound of Jinzhu and Yinzhu murmuring to each other outside, though their words were impossible to catch.

Good.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Jiang Cheng lowered himself slowly down through the floor and into the water below. It was colder here, much colder than the rest of the lake, with the water in the perpetual shade of the house, but Jiang Cheng barely noticed. He dove deep, deep down, swimming with a strength and skill only a lifetime of living on the water could build, cutting as clear a line he could away from Lotus Pier.

Hold on, Wei Wuxian, he thought desperately. I’m coming.

Something is wrong…

Jiang Yanli took a deep breath, trying to focus in on the feeling. It had started a few minutes ago, a soft, distant whisper in the back of her mind, but as the boat glided smoothly along the river it had grown stronger, more urgent.

More frightened.

Something was wrong.

Nothing had gone wrong on the way to Lanling, nor so far on the way back. There were few other boats on the river, but that was normal for the place and the season. The shores seemed quiet, but not unnaturally so. Birds flitted between the trees, leaves rustled with the movements of hidden animals as they made their way along the river bank. There was no unnatural stillness, no sign of trouble.

And still, the feeling grew stronger, curling like a serpent in her gut, coiling around and around and around –

Her arm curled tighter around her stomach. A-Xian had only just recovered from his ordeal in Qishan, and he still hadn’t fully regained the weight he had lost trapped in that cave for so long. If he was hurt again, or if it was A-Cheng, this time…

She drew in a sharp breath and turned, looking away from the river ahead and back at her father, who was talking quietly with Jiang Bowen.

“Forgive me,” she said, and at once they looked up. “A-Die, I…” as she spoke, she felt a little silly. Both men were looking at her expectantly, warmth in their eyes as she pulled them away from talk that was clearly important, but… She straightened. “I think we should go faster.”

Her father frowned slightly. “Faster?” The boat wasn’t exactly idling, but Yanli knew full well it was far from full speed. “Is something wrong?”

For a moment she hesitated, her teeth on her bottom lip. She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know. It sounds a little silly, but I… I just have a horrible feeling…”

Her father’s frown deepened, but even before he’d signalled to Jiang Bowen, the other man had moved towards the back of the boat, instructing those steering to speed up. A little relief swept through her, and Jiang Fengmian came to her side, his eyes studying her intently.

“What sort of feeling?” he asked, subtly taking her elbow to steady her as the boat gained sudden speed.

“I’m not sure,” she confessed. “But…”

“It is enough to concern you,” he finished, and she nodded. “Trust in your instincts, A-Li, but remember…” he smiled, and Yanli felt a little more of her fear fade away. “Trust in Yunmeng Jiang, too. If there is trouble, we will face it.”

She nodded back, offering a smile of her own, and Jiang Fengmian patted her cheek gently, before turning his eyes ahead. It was a comfort to have him beside her, all the more for his having acted on her concerns when she had no more proof than a bad feeling, but…

Still, the unease in her gut didn’t budge. If anything, it grew stronger, and heavier, as if the snake within her was writhing in pain, and by the time the docks of Lotus Pier came into view her heart was racing rabbit-fast in her chest.

Then, as they got nearer, she saw someone run out onto the dock, someone small. When they drew nearer enough for her to see the boy’s face, her heart raced even faster.

It was Liu-shidi, but instead of his usual smile or his serious ‘patrol face,’ he looked utterly distraught, pale as a ghost with cheeks streaked with tears. When he saw them, he ran to the end of the dock, waving frantically at them.

As soon as they were in earshot, he cried, “Zongzhu, Jiang-zhongzhu – Da-shijie!”

Jiang Fengmian leapt from the boat while they were still meters away, landing deftly on the pier and putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Yanli yearned to follow, but she had to wait until the boat was nearer, and her father addressed the sobbing child.

“Little one, what’s wrong?”

“He – he – he’s gone!” Liu-shidi sobbed, trembling from head to toe. “Da-shixiong – they took him, and, and Yu-furen says we can’t fix it and – and it’s my fault, she was angry about my kite, and-”

Yanli stumbled onto the pier, her feet unsteady as the words screamed through her brain.

He’s gone – Da-shixiong –

A-Xian.

“Slow down,” Jiang Fengmian said, his voice steady and firm. “Take a deep breath.”

Liu-shidi obeyed, his entire body shaking violently as he did. Yanli reached out a hand, rubbing circles onto his back as the other disciples finished tying the boat and crowded nearer.

“Now, what happened?”

“Zongzhu,” Liu-shidi whispered. “We – we were sh-shooting kites and, and the Wen clan showed up. They said that I – that I was a traitor because my kite looked like the sun and, and that I was trying to shoot down the sun and I wasn’t! I wasn’t, Zongzhu, I promise, I-”

“I know,” Jiang Fengmian said seriously. “What happened then?”

“They t-took me away,” the boy whimpered. “The soldiers held me and – and I didn’t see but San-shixiong told me – the lady went into the sword hall with Yu-furen and Da-shixiong and Jiang-gongzi, and – and they beat Da-shixiong badly. They, they said it was because of what happened on the mountain, they –” A frightened whine drowned out his words, and the boy closed his eyes, looking down.

Her heart pounding in her throat, Yanli choked out, “What? What did they do, shidi?”

Da-shixiong is gone –

Was –

Was he –

“They cut off his hand!” Liu-shidi sobbed, and Yanli gasped, her own hands flying up to cover her mouth. The boy sobbed harder, and her father’s face set in fury and fear, and Yanli felt her knees tremble beneath her.

“What?” Jiang Fengmian rasped.

“They cut off his hand, the lady made them cut off his hand, and then – then they brought me home, but, but they took him away! Yu-furen told us that our hands were tied, that, that Da-shixiong had broken the rules and brought it on himself and that we h-had to focus on protecting the clan. She – she said that if we tried to rescue Da-shixiong we’d bring ruin onto the whole clan and that if anyone tried, they’d be exiled forever and I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He broke down sobbing, and Yanli felt her throat tighten as she opened her arms. The boy fell into them, burying his face in her robes and clutching tight, repeating those same words over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Stop apologising, shidi,” she said, but her voice was thick, and there were tears stinging her eyes her heart was racing so fast it felt like it was about to burst out of her chest. Still, for a moment she held him tighter. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

“Fengmian!”

Yanli’s heart stopped dead in her chest, and Liu-shidi flinched at the sound of her mother’s voice. She looked up in time to see Yu Ziyuan coming towards them, her brow furrowed at the sight of Liu-shidi peeling away from Yanli, desperately wiping at his face.

“What did you do?” Jiang Fengmian asked quietly, his voice seething with rage, and at once Yu Ziyuan’s eyes narrowed.

“What did I do? I protected this place, and everyone within it. I did what had to be done. If you want more details, I suggest you ask me for them, rather than a sobbing child.”

Liu-shidi flinched, but Yanli could tell her mother’s ire was not aimed at him.

“The Wen came to Lotus Pier and demanded punishment. They also threatened to usurp us from our own home and establish a supervisory office – a threat we were able to avoid, for now. But yes – in order to avoid such a fate, Wei Wuxian was surrendered to their custody.”

Yanli couldn’t breathe. Her lungs were crumbling inwards, collapsing beneath the pressure of the pain in her chest, and she felt herself begin to shake as her father clenched his fists.

“His hand?” he growled, and Yu Ziyuan sighed, pursing her lips.

“For the safety of our people and our clan, I cut it off myself.”

A wounded cry tore from Yanli’s lips, breathless and aching, and she gasped, but the only air she could reach was thin and reedy, and it didn’t reach her chest, not at all.

“There was no other choice. They will not kill hi-”

“How do you know?” Jiang Fengmian bellowed, and Yanli flinched. “How do you – how could you?”

“How could I?! How could you not, if the positions were reversed? Would you let them attack our clan as payment for Wen Chao’s grievances? Or let them set up office in our home?!”

“I do not believe there wasn’t another way!”

“Then you are a fool –”

“No more so than you are a demon,” Jiang Fengmian spat, and Yanli’s eyes widened as shock struck her mother’s face.

“A-Die-”

“For all your jealousy of Cangse Sanren, you forget, Wei Changze was my best friend – would you not have taken in Jin-furen’s child, had the situations been reversed? Would you have let me curse the boy, beat him, cut off his hand? Sell him to the Wens?! For crimes he had not committed?!”

“I did not sell-”

 “It doesn’t matter! You have never been able to look at that boy without seeing his mother, and you’ve never been able to treat him well because of it-”

Her mother gave a high, bitter laugh. “Are you not speaking of yourself and your own son?!”

“How dare you-” but even as her father roared, the realisation struck Yanli like a knife to the heart.

“A-Cheng,” she sobbed, and somehow, by some miracle, her parents turned to her. “Where is he?”

Pain flickered across her mother’s face, just for a moment. “In his rooms.” Then, she inclined her head, and her voice became a little softer. “Go to him.”

With a sob, Yanli glanced at her father, who nodded, tears in his eyes.

“I did not enjoy it,” said Yu Ziyuan icily, as Yanli backed away. “You may not believe me, but it was not done out of spite, or jealousy.”

“You-”

Yanli never heard what her father had to say to that. She started to run, almost immediately feeling the pain of a stitch in her side as she gasped, sobbed. A-Xian… her A-Xian, her Xianxian…

To have lost his hand –

He must have been in so much pain. And the Wen – they nearly killed him, last time, they – if they –

She sobbed, running faster. Stumbling. If A-Cheng had seen it happen, he’d be beside himself. It was a wonder he was even in his room – but then as she drew closer she saw Jinzhu and Yinzhu outside. Oh. Of course.

They bowed their heads as they saw her, grief and sympathy in their eyes, and they left her pass. She knocked on the door.

“A-Cheng?”

No reply.

“A-Cheng,” she sobbed. “Can – can I come in?”

There was still no answer, and she closed her eyes. She knew her brother well – the silence was as good an invitation as any. She opened the door and stepped quickly inside, closing it behind her to avoid revealing her brother’s vulnerability to the world –

And stopped dead in her tracks.

There was a hole in the floor. Big enough for a person to fit through. A-Cheng wasn’t there.

She drew a shuddering breath.

He was gone.  

She should tell their parents.

Politically, if A-Xian was officially in the Wen’s custody, planning a rescue or even attempting to negotiate his release was dangerous. She had seen the few survivors of Pingyang Yao herself, she knew that. Successful or not, any attempt to save A-Xian was terribly risky. But A-Cheng was gone, and even as fear rose within her pride curled around it.

She sat down on the bed, staring down into the darkness of the lake below. She wanted to dive in herself, to swim and run and fight until her brothers were both back in her arms, safe and whole - but she couldn’t. She would be lucky even to make it out from under the main compound with one breath, and the chances of her swimming to the edge of the lake were even slimmer.

The tears in her eyes seemed to burn hotter as her frustration rose. She’d thought she had made peace with the meagre limitations of her body long ago, the frailty that doctors could never explain, that her mother despaired of and her brothers worried over. It was simply the way she’d been born, and given that her body allowed her to live happily and comfortably with those she loved, it was enough.

But when A-Cheng and A-Xian went to Qishan and Yanli’s weakness prevented her from taking their place it had ached between her ribs. And now… now that pain screamed through every bone of her body, underpinned by a guilt that made her want to throw up.

Here, alone in her didi’s room, Yanli let herself sob until her lungs hurt, made herself pray until all her thoughts blurred into one and her clarity bell dug so hard into her hand that the skin began to break. She barely felt it. How could she, when it was drowned out so utterly by the pain in her heart?

Eventually, her lungs tired, and her sobs died a slow and weary death. The tears continued to fall, but she made no effort to stop them. She simply stares down into the inky black water of the lake and prayed to every god she could think of, the same desperate, aching prayer.

Bring them home. Bring them home. Please, please, just bring them home .  

There was a soft knock at the door, and Yanli raised her head. She didn’t speak.

“Jiang-gongzi, Jiang-guniang,” said Yinzhu gently, opening the door. “Forgive the intrusion –”

She froze, her eyes flickering between Yanli and the hole, and then her face grew pale.

“Guniang,” she whispered, but Yanli said nothing. She didn’t try to stop Yinzhu as she turned and fled, no doubt to fetch Yu Ziyuan. There was no point. She knew where Yinzhu’s loyalties lay, there was no use asking her to keep this quiet.

Moments later there was the sound of hurrying footsteps, and Yanli watched soundlessly as both of her parents flew into the room.

“A-Li,” her mother gasped, voice strained. “Where is your brother?!”

“Gone,” Yanli said. Her voice sounded odd. Hollow.

“Gone – what do you mean, gone?! When did he go?!” For the first time in her life, Yanli heard a hint of panic in her mother’s voice, but she could not bring herself to lower her head or offer a demure apology. Instead, she spoke truly.

“I don’t know. He was gone when I arrived.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, you foolish girl?!” Her mother cried, and Yanli met her eyes.

“Offering him time is the only way I had to help him,” she said quietly. “I would have followed, if I could.”

Yu Ziyuan gave a short, sharp cry, whether of anger or despair Yanli did not know. She could not tell. Her mother turned to Yinzhu. “Send out disciples to bring him back at-”

“No,” Jiang Fengmian said firmly. “Do not.”

“Are you insane? If he is caught, not only will A-Cheng be punished, but the entirety of our clan will suffer for it! Even if by some miracle he succeeds, do you think Qishan Wen will not know? That they will spare us?!”

“I know that I cannot sanction a rescue mission for those reasons,” her father said darkly. “You made sure of that. But A-Cheng’s actions are his own. I will not have you stop him.”

“Not even for his own protection? Though that makes sense-”

Jiang Fengmian’s hand jerked up as if to slap his wife across the face, halting at the last second, and Yanli gasped. Trembling with rage, he gritted his jaw and lowered his hand.

“Never presume to tell me my thoughts towards my own son again,” he seethed. “That A-Cheng felt he had to leave before I could return is my failure, and I accept it. But whether he succeeds or fails, we will deal with the political ramifications as they come. We will strengthen our clan, our ties to the others. If we have to say that A-Cheng is a distressed child unable to let go of his shixiong then we will. But you are very much mistaken if you think for a moment I will not do everything in my power to get both boys home, where they belong. You will not override me on this. No disciple of Yunmeng Jiang will hinder A-Cheng’s search.”

Yinzhu looked uncertainly at her mistress, who was staring blankly at Jiang Fengmian. Yanli couldn’t read her mother’s expression. There were too many emotions raging in her eyes, too much hiding behind the lock of her jaw.

“Very well,” she said quietly. “But I will remind you of this, Jiang Fengmian, when you have successfully doomed us all.”

Chapter Text

The lotus flowers were blood red. Wei Wuxian frowned, staring at them. He’d never seen them bloom that colour before, not at Lotus Pier. Here, the flowers grew in pale pinks and purples, never in shades so deep or dark. Was something wrong? He crouched down, his back aching from yesterday’s training, and let his hands trail in the water, cupping the nearest flower and pulling it from the water.

“A-Xian! A-Xian!”

He looked up, smiling at the sight of his sister hurrying towards him. “Shijie!”

“Xianxian,” she cried, but something was wrong – she sounded afraid. His heart jumped, and he dropped the flower, lurching towards her.

“Shijie, what’s wrong?!” Yanli’s face was twisted in fear, and Wei Wuxian felt a stab of terror. “Shijie?!”

“Xianxian, your hand!” she sobbed, grabbing his arm, and Wei Wuxian started, looking down. There was blood pooling in his palm, dripping down his wrists, and he blinked.

“Oh! No, shijie, it’s okay! It’s just the lotus flowers –”

“Xianxian,” she whispered, her voice trembling, and he looked up again to meet her eyes. “My Xianxian…  Come home…”

He blinked, a cool sense of dread flooding through him. “Come… Shijie, what are you talking about? I am home…”

But as he spoke, his hand grew warmer – uncomfortably warm. He looked back down, and saw the blood on his skin begin to move, shifting, and then bubbling, as if –

As if it was starting to –

Boil?

His heart began to race, but its beat was strange – unsteady, faltering. The heat grew fiercer, and with it came a vicious hissing sound as the blood began to rise like steam from his skin. Fear thrummed through him as the heat grew to an inferno.

“Shijie!” he cried, yanking his hands away before it could burn her, too, and the pain seared so strongly his eyes glazed over. Agony shrieked through his wrist, even worse than the pain across his back, and the ground beneath his feet began to shake.

“A-Xian!” his sister cried back, and he refocused on her hands –

And clutched within her grasp was –

Was –

His hand?

He stared down at his wrist, and a strangled keen left his lips. Sure enough, at the end of his wrist was nothing but a stump, blood falling away like petals shaken free from a flower.

“Xianxian!” Yanli begged. “Please – you have to come home!”

The ground jolted violently beneath him, and even as Wei Wuxian pitched forward darkness swarmed up towards him, agony exploding through him –

“A-Xian, please-”

He fought to raise his head, but the darkness was suffocating, bearing down upon him with such force that it stole the breath from his lungs. Beneath his face, he could feel the rough grain of the wood of the pier – except the wood was never rough, it was smooth and polished and –

“A-XIAN!”

The ground jolted again, and Wei Wuxian felt a splinter push into his cheek. It was strange – between the excruciating burn of his hand and the agony on his back, he wouldn’t have thought he could notice, but he did – another small spike of pain in the darkness.

He peeled open his eyes, but there was little to see. Was it night? Strange… a moment ago it had been day, he’d been on the pier with –

No.

The air vanished from his lungs.

No – he hadn’t been with his sister. She was… she was away with Jiang-shushu, she – he –

“Wei Wuxian!”

Jiang Cheng.

Memory flooded back, underpinned by the echo of his brother’s screams, and Wei Wuxian squeezed his eyes shut. That was why his back hurt. That was why his hand…

He tried to draw a deep breath, to breathe through the pain, but even that aggravated his back, and it was all he could do not to let the air escape in a sob. He had to focus. He was…

Well… actually he didn’t know where he was.

He forced his eyes to open again, and as they adjusted to the gloom, he noticed a strange texture to the darkness. Something had been thrown over him, a heavy sheet or blanket. That explained the added pressure on his back. What was more, the ground was still jostling beneath him, which suggested that it wasn’t the ground at all. More likely, the wood pressed against his cheek was that of some sort of cart. So, they were still moving.

He swallowed, and took another deep breath.

Focus. Don’t think about how much it hurts. Just… focus.

Tentatively, he began to flex his muscles, trying to test out how much manoeuvrability he had, but within a second the pain and exhaustion made him stop. His limbs – those that remained – felt empty, hollow, and what little motion he had in his legs only revealed heavy shackles around his ankles. He wondered if he was tied to the cart, or if his legs were just bound together. He wondered if the Wen thought he’d be capable of escaping, either way.

Right now, he doubted he’d be able to get out of bonds made of fraying string, let alone steel. Tears stung the corner of his eyes, no matter how viciously he tried to blink them back, and Wei Wuxian took a deep breath. He turned his attention to what he could hear, listening intently. There was the low trundle of wooden wheels, the hooves of several horses, and he could hear men marching, too. Little else.

He wondered how long they’d been moving. The last thing he remembered was his brother screaming for him. He winced, praying that Jiang-shushu and Shijie would return soon, if they weren’t already back. Yanli would be able to comfort Jiang Cheng. She’d be able to make him understand that it wasn’t his fault, that he did everything he could…

But the thought of his sister hurt almost as much as the memory of his brother’s anguish.

It would hurt her, what had happened. She would worry, she’d worry terribly – and that was Wei Wuxian’s entire concern, that’s why the thought of her ached so much. It wasn’t because he was terrified and in pain, and yearning desperately for his Shijie to be there to make it better. Tears began to pool beneath his face, stinging like salt-water as they lapped against his eyes once more. Dimly, he wondered at the sensation. If they didn’t hurt leaving his eyes, he didn’t understand why it should hurt now.

Was he not hurting enough?

The movement around him began to slow, and then trundled to a halt. Wei Wuxian held his breath. Distantly, he heard the sound of talking, but it was too far away to make out any of the words. He strained his ears, trying to listen, but the effort made his head spin nauseatingly. It already felt so light…

After several minutes, the sound of marching resumed, and the movement resumed. An awful, simpering voice said, “Ooh, put that over there. The corner of the courtyard, there!”

Moments later, the movement stopped with a jolt, and Wei Wuxian breathed out sharply. It hurt.

Everything hurt.

It really, really hurt.

He braced himself, expecting Wang Lingjiao to come over and wrench the blanket away from him, but instead he was left alone, listening to the sounds of people moving around, of firm orders and muted conversations. His tried to keep track of what was said, desperate for anything to keep his mind off of the pain, but he soon found himself drifting in and out of focus, his eyelids beginning to flicker. It was dark, and it was warm, and the thought of falling asleep and leaving the pain behind him was almost too tempting to resist.

Then, there was the sound of a gate banging open. “Jiaojiao – why have you asked me here?”

Wei Wuxian’s teeth clenched.

Wen Chao.

“Welcome to the Yunmeng Supervisory Office, Wen-Gongzi,” said Wang Lingjiao, and Wei Wuxian’s heart seized.

Hadn’t she said about the supervisory office at Lotus Pier? Was he still at home, had the Wen attacked regardless of his –

“This is not Lotus Pier,” Wen Chao said, a hint of anger in his voice. “I told you to take Lotus Pier!”

“I would have,” Wang Lingjiao said quickly, “but-”

“The whole point of the supervisory office is to make sure the main clans still fear us!” said Wen Chao hotly. “Do you honestly think Yunmeng Jiang will fear us because we claimed a manor from a family even more worthless than them?! They won’t even care.”

“They will!” Wang Lingjiao said. “They will, Gongzi, because I brought you a present.”

Wen Chao paused. “What?”

“…I don’t want to tell you.” Suddenly, Wang Lingjiao’s voice was as petulant as a child’s. “I did all this hard work, and I showed that old hag Yu Ziyuan who was boss, and I found you a much nicer place to house the office, and all you can do is yell at me.”

 Wei Wuxian blinked. Was she serious? If she’d been ordered to take over Lotus Pier, choosing to take Wei Wuxian instead wouldn’t have been within her power to do… If she’d truly fucked up so badly…

“Jiajiao-”

“No!” she squeaked, and there was a sound like a stomping foot. “No, it’s not fair! I made an example of Wei Wuxian, I made that brat Jiang Cheng scream like a baby, and I brought you a special present and you don’t even care. Is there someone else? Have you grown sick of me?!”

Fuck… Wei Wuxian thought, mildly horrified. What a truly awful woman.

“No, of course not! Of course not, Jiaojiao! I’m just surprised, is all. I’m sure Fuqin won’t mind that we’ve set up the residence here instead, don’t cry. Don’t cry!”

Wei Wuxian almost laughed. She was crying?! There was some overexaggerated sniffling, and the sound of Wen Chao cooing, and Wei Wuxian thought he might vomit.

Then… “Now, what present was it that my lovely Jiaojiao got me?”

“Well…” she paused, and gave a small laugh, and then the blanket covering Wei Wuxian was ripped away roughly.

The sudden light blinded him, and he blinked rapidly as Wang Lingjiao held out her hands towards him, as though displaying some wonderful piece of art.

“I made a different deal with Yu-furen,” she said proudly, and even before his vision fully adjusted, Wei Wuxian could see Wen Chao’s hateful face twist into a smile. As his eyes focused, Wei Wuxian realised that they were alone, within the courtyard of a large, lavish house.

“Oh…” Wen Chao breathed, striding towards the wagon. “Wei Wuxian…”

It took all of Wei Wuxian’s strength to offer Wen Chao a bitter, mocking smile, but Wen Chao only laughed, his hands moving up to cover his mouth like a child with a brand new toy.

“You cut off his hand?” He said, his voice full of glee.

“Mn,” said Jiajiao, grinning. “That Yu Ziyuan did it herself. Here.”

Wei Wuxian’s stomach twisted with disgust as Jiaojiao took out an object wrapped in red cloth, unwrapping it before passing it to Wen Chao. It was a hand.

His hand.

A strange, dizzy disconnect filled Wei Wuxian’s brain. He knew that it was his hand Wen Chao was holding, he could see that it was, but he couldn’t feel it – because of course he couldn’t. But it was still his, and a cool rage pooled in his gut at the sight of it in Wen Chao’s grasp.

“That’s mine,” he wanted to say, but there was no way to do so without sounding like a petulant child, without giving his tormentors greater satisfaction.

Besides, given the amount of pain he was in, it was unlikely that he’d be able to speak without his voice breaking, and he would be damned if he showed weakness like that in front of Wen Chao. Wei Wuxian had survived the Xuanwu of slaughter – he could survive this.

He had to.

“Well, well, well,” crooned Wen Chao, stalking closer. “The last time we spoke, you thought yourself oh so high and mighty, didn’t you, Wei Wuxian? How does it feel now the tables have turned?”

Automatically, Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, but no witty response reached them. His brain felt sluggish and unsure, and so he resigned himself to simply glaring at Wen Chao instead. To his disgust, Wen Chao laughed.

“Don’t even have anything to say?” He asked, and Wei Wuxian met his eyes.

“Not really,” he said, and his throat ached with every word. Still, while his voice was raspy and pained, it didn’t shake. “What’s the use in talking to a man too dumb to know his own sects’ sacred precepts?”

“You!” Jiaojiao snapped, her eyes flashing as she stepped forward, but Wen Chao’s grin deepened, and he held up a hand. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sang softly. “You had your chance to be funny at Qishan,” he said, crouching down to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “But let me tell you – now, you have no choice but to behave.”

“Oh really?” Wei Wuxian asked, nose wrinkling in disbelief and disgust.

“Really,” Wen Chao said, laughing. “Because now that you’re a prisoner, now that you’re an example…” he paused, clearly going for dramatic effect. As much as Wei Wuxian would never admit it, a shiver ran down his spine as the pause dragged on. “Now, the safety of Yunmeng Jiang depends entirely on what you say, and what you do.”

Cold horror rushed down Wei Wuxian’s spine, and despite himself he drew in a sharp breath. Wen Chao’s eyes narrowed, like a hawk spotting its prey.

“If you’re a good little dog, and your pathetic clan are obedient, then Lotus Pier will remain in Jiang Fengmian’s hands – for now. But if you misbehave, or you even think about trying to escape, then that just shows a lack of cooperation from Yunmeng Jiang. A rebellious intent. Do you know what Qishan Wen do to rebellious clans?” He said softly. 

Wei Wuxian said nothing, but he could feel himself trembling uncontrollably, could feel the icy dread flooding every vein. Wen Chao was right. He couldn’t escape – not if it would endanger the rest of the clan.

“We crush them,” Wen Chao whispered, leaning close. “So go on, Wei Wuxian. Curse my name, spit in my face – we all know you can’t behave for long. And as soon as you misbehave, as soon as you prove yourself more of a rebel than a prisoner… then I’ll butcher every last member of Yunmeng Jiang. Understand?”

Wei Wuxian looked away, not trusting himself to breathe, let alone speak. Wen Chao laughed again, and then seized Wei Wuxian’s hair, dragging his head roughly back to meet his eyes.

“I thought I told you to behave,” he said mockingly. “That’s not very respectful, is it? I said, do you understand?”

“Yes, Wen-gongzi.” The words were bitter acid on his tongue, and Wen Chao laughed brighter.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun…”

Anger and grief blazed through Wei Wuxian’s heart, and he struggled to even out his breathing. He couldn’t retaliate. There was no way to fight this, no way to make it even a little less satisfying for Wen Chao –

Unless…

Wei Wuxian let his eyes lose focus, allowed his eyelids to flicker. Vaguely, he saw the blurred shape of Wen Chao shift, felt the hand in his hair shake him hard. Then, he rolled his eyes back up into his skull and let his body fall, deadweight, into Wen Chao’s grip.

“Hey!” Wen Chao barked, shaking him, but Wei Wuxian kept his eyes closed, kept his body as limp as possible. “Did he really just pass out?”

“He lost a lot of blood,” Jiaojiao pointed out, before putting on a sickeningly sweet tone. “But clearly it was the might of Wen-gongzi that tipped him over the edge. Let’s lock him up for now – we can play with him later.”

“Okay,” Wen Chao agreed easily, dropping Wei Wuxian’s head. Forcing himself not to tense, Wei Wuxian let his face smack against the bottom of the wagon, fresh pain blooming over his nose and cheek.

“Hey, you there!” We Chao barked. “Where’s your dungeon?”

A startled, stuttering voice replied, “G-gongzi?”

“Your dungeon,” Wen Chao repeated, as though speaking to an imbecile. “Where is it?”

“We, we don’t have a dungeon, Gongzi, this is a private home,” the voice replied, and with a start, Wei Wuxian recognised it. It was Qiu Wufan, a wealthy merchant who lived only a mile or two from Lotus Pier. His daughters were a similar age to Wei Wuxian and his siblings and had often played with them in Lotus Pier when they were children. Even now, then the Jiang family often would be invited to tea at the Qiu manor, or vice versa. Though they weren’t cultivators, it was true that the Qiu family was the only one in the area who could rival Lotus Pier in terms of wealth, and they were more inclined to opulence than the Jiang were.

That said, they were kind people, and generous to the less fortunate. They did not deserve this.

“Not anymore. A supervisory office must be well equipped to deal with area it supervises,” Wen Chao said scornfully. “Do you have any rooms that lock from the outside?”

There was a pause, and then Wen Chao spoke again, his voice more dangerous.

“Do you not understand the position you’re in?” Wen Chao asked quietly, dangerously. “This is an honour for you. A great honour. You will do everything you can to serve us. If you defy us, you’ll end up worse than him.”

Wei Wuxian heard a sharp intake of breath.

“…Wei-gongzi?”

Wen Chao snorted. “Gongzi? Don’t make me laugh. As if the son of a servant could ever truly be a dignified young master. Now, let’s try again. What rooms do you have that lock from the outside?”

“There’s – our treasure room, Wen-gongzi.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart sank as Wang Lingjiao gasped excitedly, and Wen Chao snorted.

“Wonderful! Perhaps there you’ll find tribute to offer us, in thanks for this great honour,” he said scornfully. “You there – guard that filth. And you – show me the way to your treasure room.”

“Y-yes, Wen-gongzi,” Qiu Wufan said quietly. “It’s this way.”

Anger curled through Wei Wuxian’s gut as he heard the man lead Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao away, but it was quickly overcome by his utter uselessness. There was nothing he could do to help Qiu Wufan. There was nothing he could do at all, but endure.

But it hurt. It hurt so much.

He took a deep breath, trying to focus on something, anything else. He was still in Yunmeng – that was a good thing. Except the more he dwelt on how close he really was to home, the more his heart ached. He knew that if he walked through that courtyard and out of the front door, if he left this house and ran, he could be home in a matter of minutes. He knew the way, every step of it. But he couldn’t.

Perhaps it was worse, to be so close, with no hope of returning…

He felt tears burn beneath his eyelids, and he took another deep breath, opening his eyes just a crack. The courtyard was mainly empty, but there was a soldier standing in front of him, facing away. The guard, he presumed. He could see the hustle and bustle of movement at the far end of the courtyard, with far more red robed Wen soldiers than household members of Qiu Wufan.

He turned his head slightly, gazing up at the sky. It was cloudless and dark, the stars twinkling high above him, just as out of reach as his home. He wondered how long he’d been unconscious…  

A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he glanced over at the roof.

His heart froze.

For a moment he thought – prayed – he was hallucinating, but no.

Jiang Cheng.

Terror pounded through his chest, his heartbeat coming quick and uneven at the thought of Jiang Cheng being caught. His brother met his eyes, his face wrought with agony, but Wei Wuxian shook his head as subtly as he could.

Go, he thought desperately, get the fuck out of here Jiang Cheng, go!

He saw Jiang Cheng’s face harden, his lips part in a silent protest, but Wei Wuxian looked meaningfully at the guard, and then back at his brother.

“Too dangerous,” he mouthed silently. “Go!”

Even at a distance, he saw Jiang Cheng’s lower lip wobble, and even as it raced faster, his heart broke.

“I’ll be okay,” he mouthed, and Jiang Cheng shook his head. “Go!”

The guard coughed, and Wei Wuxian glanced at him fearfully, before his eyes flickered back to Jiang Cheng. His brother wiped his eyes angrily, mouthing something, words Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite read – words that looked frighteningly like “I’ll be back.”

“Just go,” he pleaded silently, and Jiang Cheng gave a small nod, disappearing off of the roof.

Relief swarmed through Wei Wuxian like a tidal wave, and his head span with the force of it. Dizziness carried him, and his eyes fluttered closed of their own accord as the world grew blotchy, and then black. He shouldn’t lose consciousness again, but… but he needed to rest. The last thought he had before he passed out was one of weak determination.

Wei Wuxian had survived the Xuanwu of Slaughter. He could – hopefully – survive this.

Chapter Text

Usually, a trip to Qinghe from Yunmeng would take several days. The distance was considerable, even on horseback, and while it was possible to take the sword, the amount of energy it spent was rarely worth the cost.

Jiang Cheng made the journey in less than twelve hours. By the time he arrived, his knees were trembling beneath him, and his chest ached with exhaustion. His eyes burnt from the wind, made worse by the fact he seemed to have run out of tears halfway through the flight. He hadn’t stopped, not once, and a hard, pounding pain ached through his skull. His spiritual energy was depleted so thoroughly that his core physically hurt, and his hands shook wildly.

He knew that he must have looked like a madman banging on the outer gate just before dawn, demanding, begging, for an audience with Nie Mingjue.

But after all of that, now that he was here…

Nie Mingjue’s answer was clear from the look on his face.

Jiang Cheng’s heart twisted and fell, and he swallowed. “Please,” he rasped again, his pride rankling a little, but not nearly enough to stop him. “I cannot save him on my own. Please.”

Standing beside his brother, Huaisang looked anxiously between Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue, his expression crumpling as Mingjue sighed.

“Jiang-gongzi-”

“Da-ge,” Huaisang said quickly, almost desperately. “Da-ge, can’t we-”

But Nie Mingjue shook his head and Huaisang fell silent. Even now, though, the older man’s expression was sorrowful, his eyes tinged with regret.

“Jiang-gongzi, I cannot help you. Not directly – not like this.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Jiang Cheng found himself shaking his head, his heart sticking in his throat. “Nie-zongzhu-”

“I am sorry,” Nie Mingjue said, the words so genuine they hurt.  He stood, putting a hand on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.  “Truly – your brother is a good man, and does not deserve such punishment. I am grateful to you both for getting Huaisang out of the cave on Muxi Mountain, and for your aid when the Wen broke through our outer wall. But joining you on a rescue mission would be tantamount to declaring war on Qishan Wen, and that is not a war we can win alone.”

“But Da-ge!” Huaisang protested, aghast. “Wei-xiong is my friend, we can’t just do nothing!”

Nie Mingjue sighed, inclining his head. “Politically speaking, the best way to get your brother back alive is to wait a month, maybe two – then have your father negotiate his return. I’m sure that Jiang-zongzhu will be more than willing… It may cost your clan, but not so much as refusal would have, or a rescue attempt would. Failed, or otherwise.”

“Wei Wuxian does not have two months,” Jiang Cheng grit out, clenching his fists. “They’ll have butchered him by then.”

Nie Mingjue grimaced. “If I could help, I would,” he insisted, and Jiang Cheng’s fists clenched tighter. “But I’ve spoken much with Xichen and his uncle recently – a little with Jiang-zongzhu, too. Every sign points to a war against Qishan Wen, but…” he clenched his teeth, nose curling in disgust, “…as much as it pains me to say, without the support of Lanling Jin, it is likely a war we cannot win. And Jin-zongzhu…”

Was sitting on the fucking fence.

“We cannot afford to make the first move in this war, Jiang-gongzi. Not without Lanling’s support.” Nie Mingjue sounded as though the words he spoke were acid on his tongue. “If Qinghe supported you in rescuing your brother, that is what we would be doing. I’m sorry.”

“But they’ll kill him!” Huaisang cried, grabbing Mingjue’s sleeve. “Da-ge, Wen Chao and that woman hated Wei-xiong, and they tried to kill all of us in the cave!”

“And if war breaks out before your ‘two months?’” Jiang Cheng demanded, his throat tightening. “If that happens, they’ll butcher him, he-” his voice broke and he cut off, pursing his trembling lips. Tears burnt hot in his eyes, a weakness he hated to show, but… “Nie-zongzhu, if I don’t try and save my brother now, he – he’s as good as dead. If it were Huaisang…”

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes for a moment.

“Da-ge,” Huaisang whimpered. “Please…”

Nie Mingjue looked up at Jiang Cheng, grief heavy in his eyes. Heavy enough to crush Jiang Cheng’s hope into dust.

“I am sorry,” Nie Mingjue said again. “I cannot risk direct aid, or officially endorse any course of action other than waiting. But…” His voice became steely, and Jiang Cheng looked up at him. “I will work harder at convincing Jin Guangshan, at forming an official alliance. And, in the meantime, I will not stop you. Do you have supplies? Food, water?”

Jiang Cheng blinked, shaking his head a fraction, and Nie Mingjue nodded.

“Huaisang will show you to the storerooms before you leave. Take anything you need. If you wish to rest, we can have a room made up for you in moments.”

“I don’t – I don’t have time to rest, Nie-zongzhu, but… thank you,” Jiang Cheng said, and Nie Mingjue sighed.

“I’m sorry I cannot offer more.” He glanced at Huaisang, and then shook his head. “Good luck, Jiang-gongzi. I mean it.”

Recognising the end of the conversation, Jiang Cheng bowed, and Nie Mingjue inclined his head before leaving the room. Huaisang gave a small choked off sound.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I – I really am sorry, Jiang-xiong…”

Jiang Cheng swallowed, hard. Wei Wuxian would assure Huaisang that it wasn’t his fault, and Jiang Cheng wanted too, as well, but the words got caught in his throat. Instead, he met his friend’s eye, and shook his head.

“The storerooms?” he asked, his voice wavering a little.

“Through here!” Huaisang said hastily, almost tripping over his feet as he rushed to lead Jiang Cheng out of the hall. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to rest, just for a little while? An hour, or, or maybe two? If you don’t rest, you’ll…” Catching Jiang Cheng’s glare, Huaisang cut himself off, glancing down at his toes. “Sorry, sorry…”

Jiang Cheng’s stomach twisted. He didn’t reply. He knew that Huaisang wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t rest, not until he had some sort of idea of what he was going to do next. When he had a plan, he would rest.

Maybe.

When they reached the storerooms, Huaisang pressed so many supplies into Jiang Cheng’s hands that he could barely hold them all. Even when Jiang Cheng’s qiankun pouch was full, Huaisang tried to give him more.

“That’s as much as I can carry,” Jiang Cheng said, pushing another pouch of rice cakes back into Huaisang’s hands.

Fidgeting anxiously, Huaisang asked, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He paused. “Thanks.”

Huaisang shook his head, his eyes glistening with tears. “I – I want to do more, I… is there anything else you need, Jiang-xiong? Talisman paper, ink, rope – anything?!”

Jiang Cheng began to shake his own head, but then he paused. “I wasn’t able to get my bow,” he said, and at once Huaisang nodded.

“Wait here!” He said, and without waiting for an answer he sprinted out of the room. A few lingering moments later he returned with a bow and an enormous, full quiver, one that he was already stuffing into another qiankun pouch. “Here,” he panted, handing the bow over first. “Will that do?”

Jiang Cheng blinked in surprise, staring down at one of the finest bows he’d seen in a very long time. “This… this is… are you allowed to give me this?”

For once, Nie Huaisang’s face was deadly serious. He nodded. “Da-ge said anything you need. If I can’t help properly, then… then at least I can try and help like this.”

A lump rose in Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he nodded.

“Thanks,” he managed to mutter, but Huaisang shook his head.

“I’m just… I’m sorry I can’t help more,” he said mournfully. Then, “Jiang-xiong? What… what are you going to do?”

It was raining, now. Jiang Cheng didn’t know whether the universe was mirroring his own despair or giving him its very own orders to turn back. With the biting wind in his face and the icy water cutting at his cheeks and lessening visibility it certainly felt like the latter.

He ignored it.

Ignored the way the cold ate deep into his aching muscles, how much more energy he had to use just to keep up speed against the wind. Even if it was warning him to turn back, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

He had to figure out what the fuck he was going to do. He didn’t even have a true direction in mind – he was currently heading south, as if to return home, but he knew that wasn’t an option. And he’d seen the security Wen Chao had put up around the Qiu family’s mansion – there was no way in hell he could get his brother out on his own. He needed help, he knew he did, but there was nowhere to turn.

There was absolutely no point going to Lanling – he’d known that much even before he left Yunmeng, and his conversation with Nie Mingjue had only confirmed it. But even if he approached the Lan, their answer would likely be the same as Nie Mingjue’s. Perhaps it would be delivered more kindly by Lan Xichen, but nonetheless they were in even less of a position to help, and –

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened.

Perhaps – he couldn’t get any help directly from the clan leaders, but maybe, just maybe…

He changed direction, veering sharply towards the east and putting on as much speed as he could muster.

Maybe…

Maybe.

The weather grew worse the further he travelled, the clouds around him becoming heavy and dark, the rain growing harder and colder. As hard as he tried, it was impossible to keep the conditions from slowing him down. Exhaustion ached through him as he fought on, pushing harder and harder towards Gusu even as the wind fought to send him in the opposite direction.

At one point, the rumble of thunder sent shivers down his spine and set all the hair on his body on end, the fear of imminent lightning so strong that he nearly fell from his sword – but after that, the rain died down. The wind was still strong, almost impossibly so, and the clouds remained heavy and dark, but visibility improved without the ceaseless sheets of rain.

By the time he reached the familiar mountains of Gusu, the rain had stopped altogether – and night was drawing in. Frustration burnt against his freezing skin, and ached through his throat. He could have made the journey in half the time, he was sure of it, but now the sun was beginning to set, and nearly a day and half had passed since his brother was ripped away from him. He didn’t know how much time he had, but it wasn’t much, and if he’d wasted it…

Desperation clawed up his throat as he landed in front of the guards at Cloud Recess. He hadn’t been back since the lectures, and distantly he noticed that there were now four guards stationed outside the gates, as opposed to the two that had been customary back then.

“Jiang-gongzi, good evening. We did not know to expect you,” said one guard, stepping forward and bow in as Jiang Cheng reached the ground. “Apologies, but there is no admittance to the Cloud Recesses after seven-”

“I don’t care,” Jiang Cheng interrupted, breathing heavily. “I don’t need to come in – I need to see Lan-er-gongzi. It’s an emergency.”

The lead guard frowned. “Do you require assistance?”

Jiang Cheng’s anger fared, and he clenched his teeth. “No, I need to see Lan-er-gongzi,” he grit out. “Please.”

“Can I enquire to the nature of the emergency?”

Jiang Cheng fought the urge to scream, his nostrils flaring, but before he could speak, the guard added, “You ask me to disturb Lan-er-gongzi minutes before our clan retire for the night, without offering any further reason as to why. I do not think it unreasonable to ask what this emergency is.”

“It’s an urgent one,” Jiang Cheng growled. “It’s –” he broke off, his voice catching in his throat. He couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t risk word getting to Zewu Jun or Lan Qiren before he had a chance to speak to Lan Wangji. “It’s a matter of life and death. Please.”

After a long moment, the lead guard inclined his head, murmuring to one of the others, who disappeared behind the wards.

“We will relay your words to Lan-er-gongzi. If he sees fit, he shall come. Please wait here.” 

Jiang Cheng nodded gruffly, too angry to remember his manners. He turned, glaring out at the side of the road, at the clearing where he and his sister and his clan had waited all that time ago, when their invitations for the lecture had been lost.

When Wei Wuxian went back to get them, after failing to charm his way inside. 

Feeling tears burn in his eyes, Jiang Cheng closed them quickly, but as he did his mind conjured the image of the last time he’d seen his brother. Wei Wuxian, sprawled awkwardly in the back of an old, blood-splattered wagon, his arm ending with a mangled, bloody stump at the wrist, his face so pale he could have been a ghost already.

Even in that poor a state, Wei Wuxian had wanted Jiang Cheng to run.

A desperate urgency rose within him, and he bit down hard on his tongue.

Hold on, he begged silently. Hold on, Wei Wuxian, please…

“Jiang-gongzi?”

Jiang Cheng jumped, looking back up at the gates, a fragile hint of hope beating in his heart at the sight of Lan Wangji striding towards him. He looked odd, and it took Jiang Cheng a minute to realise that his hair was half down, though he was still fully dressed, with a sword at his side. Not Bichen, of course.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” he replied hoarsely. “I need to speak with you, alone. It’s-” he began to say an emergency, but already Lan Wangji had nodded, gesturing for Jiang Cheng to follow as he walked further into the clearing.  

“What is it?” Lan Wangji asked when they were out of earshot of the guards, a frown on his face.

Jiang Cheng took a deep breath. He couldn’t fuck this up. “Look… I know you hate my brother,” he said, and Lan Wangji’s eyes widened a fraction. “But I know sure as hell that he helped you in that godforsaken cave as much as you helped him, and even if he didn’t, you owe him for that dumb quest, and-”

“What happened?” Lan Wangji asked, his voice almost as urgent as Jiang Cheng felt. “Where is Wei Ying?”

Stunned, Jiang Cheng froze, but only for a moment. “Wen Chao took him,” he said tightly, and the other man’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “As punishment for what happened on Muxi Mountain, they’ve taken him into custody, and they – they’ve-” his throat stuck on the words, anger and grief rising through him so strongly he felt the urge to vomit. They hadn’t tortured his brother. Jiang Cheng’s own mother had seen to that. “He’s been tortured,” he bit out, and Wangji’s eyes widened again, his lips parting slightly in what seemed to be shock. “He – they took his hand, and-”

Lan Wangji breathed in sharply, a crease forming in his brow. Somehow, it was that final micro expression that made understanding click in Jiang Cheng’s mind – Lan Wangji looked horrified. “His hand?!”

Jiang Cheng nodded sharply, shakily. “It… it was cut off,” he croaked, and Lan Wangji clenched his sword. It would have been some comfort that even the second jade of Lan thought this had gone too far, but Jiang Cheng needed more than pity or sympathy. “They’re going to torture him, and they’re going to kill him. They say they won’t, but I know – you saw how much Wen Chao hates Wei Wuxian. They’re going to butcher him the first chance they get. And I know that Gusu Lan won’t interfere, just as Qinghe Nie and even my own clan won’t – I know that politically it’d declare war on the Wen and it’s wiser to wait but I don’t give a damn. I’m going after my brother, alone if I have to, but – but I need help. And you owe him. You owe him.”

For a moment, Lan Wangji said nothing. His lips were still parted, apparently the Lan equivalent of a mouth hanging ajar, but then he breathed in sharply, straightening his shoulders as his face set in stone-cold resolve.

Fuck.

“I will go with you.”

“After all he fucking-” Jiang Cheng froze, his anger crashing to a halt as his mind registered the words. “What?”

“I will go with you,” Lan Wangji repeated. “To save Wei Ying. Where is he?”

Shock rocketed through Jiang Cheng, so strong that for a moment he couldn’t breathe, let alone reply. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, until he was able to suck in a breath to say, “Yunmeng. He’s still in Yunmeng – a couple of miles from Lotus Pier. The Wen have taken over a house there.”

Lan Wangji nodded once. “Let’s go,” he said, sharp and certain, and relief coursed through Jiang Cheng’s v eins.He nodded back –

And his knees buckled. He swayed, catching himself before he could fall, and Lan Wangji’s eyes widened.

“… do you need to rest?” He asked, and Jiang Cheng glared at him, feeling hhis cheeks burn a little.

“No.”

For a long moment, Wangji said nothing. Then, “You will not get far by pushing beyond your limits.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jiang Cheng muttered. “I’ll rest when we have some sort of a plan.”

Lan Wangji studied him carefully. “Do you truly think you can make it to Yunmeng in such a state?”

Indignation and anger rose hot within Jiang Cheng’s chest, but Lan Wangji spoke as though it was a genuine question rather than a slight, and if he was honest with himself…

Lan Wangji glanced over his shoulder, and Jiang Cheng tensed. “We should leave. When we have made some headway, you should rest.”

“…okay,” Jiang Cheng conceded. “Let’s go.”

There was food on the table, and it smelt delicious. Hunger gnawed at Wei Wuxian’s empty stomach, and his mouth watered, but he was good at ignoring hunger. He had been for as long as he could remember, and right now it was as good an anchor as any to keep his focus away from the worst of the pain. He could smell soups and stews and meats, spiced noodles and fried rice – it smelt wonderful.

Unlike the person sitting at the table.

Wen Chao turned in his seat, smirking down at Wei Wuxian. “This is good, you know,” he said, holding up a large piece of duck and waving it towards Wei Wuxian. “Just delicious.” Wei Wuxian kept his expression bored, looking away as Wen Chao made a show of eating his food. “You must be hungry.”

Wei Wuxian said nothing, focusing in on the pangs of pain across his stomach. They were so much softer than the strikes on his back…

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Chao said softly, “are you ignoring me?”

“Forgive me, Wen-gongzi,” Wei Wuxian croaked. He was so thirsty that his voice hurt as he spoke. “I didn’t realise it was a question.”

“It was.” Wen Chao waited, and Wei Wuxian managed not to role his eyes. Barely.

“I’m not hungry, thanks,” he muttered, and Wen Chao snorted.

“Liar.”

Wei Wuxian tensed, but Wen Chao returned to his food, eating noisily and sloppily, as if begging Wei Wuxian to compare him to the pig he so clearly was.

Maybe he was goading him.

And as soon as you misbehave, as soon as you prove yourself more of a rebel than a prisoner… then I’ll butcher every last member of Yunmeng Jiang.

Fear shuddered through him, ice cold and sharp as a blade, sending the hair on his arms on end. If Wen Chao attacked Lotus Pier, if a single disciple lost their life because Wei Wuxian couldn’t hold his tongue… There’d be nothing left to do but slid his own throat.

“Maybe you’re not hungry,” Wen Chao said, his mouth full. “But you must be thirsty… Do you want a drink?”

Wei Wuxian’s breath caught in his parched throat, and he tried to swallow. In all likelihood, Wen Chao would only keep water from him for longer if he admitted his thirst, but it wasn’t like denying it would get him anywhere, either. Before Wen Chao could prompt him to give an answer, Wei Wuxian said, “Yes… please.”

Wen Chao put down his chopsticks, twisting around and putting his arm over his knee as he leered down at Wei Wuxian. “Beg me.”

“What?”

“Beg me, properly,” Wen Chao said smugly, taking a jar and placing it in Wei Wuxian’s view. “If you do, this is yours. Go on.”

Anger and humiliation burnt through Wei Wuxian’s skin, and for a long moment he considered refusing. He wanted to refuse, to maintain his dignity and remain unmovable to the end – he knew he could do it, but…

But all he could think of was Liu-shidi, not even ten years old and arrested by the Wen for the crime of painting a kite – if Wei Wuxian didn’t obey, didn’t debase and demean himself for Wen Chao’s pleasure, then Liu-shidi could just as easily be dead.

“Please,” he rasped. “Wen-gongzi, I beg you. May I please have something to drink?”

Wen Chao hummed thoughtfully, standing up and taking the jar. Surprise and suspicion struck Wei Wuxian, and he watched cautiously as Wen Chao came over, crouching about a meter from Wei Wuxian’s face.

“Not good enough,” he said in a low voice, tipping over the jar.

Wei Wuxian watched as crystal clear water poured out onto the ground below, and hatred seethed within him, so strong he began to tremble. Wen Chao poured out the entire jar, the puddle growing over the tiles, tendrils shooting out in different directions. One wound its way towards Wei Wuxian, growing tauntingly closer and closer, and Wen Chao laughed.

“Learn to beg properly and you might get somewhere,” he sneered. “In the meantime… lap it with your tongue like the dog you are, if you’re that thirsty.”

It took every morsel of restraint he had not to glare at Wen Chao. He closed his eyes instead, and the other man laughed. The trail of water tickled the end of his nose.

“Honestly,” Wen Chao said softly. “I’m a little surprised you’re this weak. A little whipping is all it took – now I can’t even torture you properly until you’ve regained a little strength… Oh – though if we’re being fair, I’m sure this took it out of you, too.”

Agony shot through Wei Wuxian’s arm, barbed arrows of pain shrieking from where cruel dingers dug into the bandages around his wrist. His eyes snapped open, and a whimper broke free from his lips before he could stop it. Wen Chao smirked, and Wei Wuxian felt his breathing grow faster, shallower – uncontrolled.

No.

He had – had to get a hold of himself. He had to control it, to bear it –

In… out… in…

Wen Chao pinched tighter, and even though he soldered his teeth shut, a moan of pain still escaped.

Fuck.

“Does it hurt?” Wen Chao asked softly, and Wei Wuxian turned his face away. “Uh, uh, uh…” Wen Chao dug his fingers in even harder, and it took every ounce of self-control in Wei Wuxian’s body not to rip his arm away. “I asked you a question. Does it hurt?”

“It hurts,” Wei Wuxian grit out, catching the look in Wen Chao’s eye just fast enough to add, “Wen-gongzi.”

Wen Chao laughed, and dropped Wei Wuxian’s arm. Breathing heavily, Wei Wuxian brought it to his chest, unable to keep from curling protectively around it. His cheek slid on the wet floor – the water he so desperately, achingly wanted to drink. But no – he wouldn’t sink low enough to lap water from the floor like a dog.

Yet, a frightened voice whispered in his mind. If there was a more explicit threat…

There was a knock on the door behind him. Wei Wuxian was too tired to try and turn around to see who it was, but he didn’t recognise the voice. “Wen-gongzi, a group has arrived from Qishan. They have a message from Wen-zongzhu.”

“Huh… Send them in,” said Wen Chao lazily, waving his hand. “And put that back where it belongs. I’m finished for now, anyway.”

“Yes, Er-gongzi.”

The sound of brisk footsteps was the only warning Wei Wuxian had before he was yanked harshly from the ground and dragged out of the room. It would be a relief, if it wasn’t for the wounds on his back shrieking as he moved. He made no sound, letting the nameless, faceless soldier drag him through the Qiu family’s home into the treasure room they had repurposed as a dungeon.

Though the walls and floor were still beautifully decorated, the shelves had been stripped bare, and the display cabinets stood empty.

Almost.

On the most central shelf of the room, sitting on top of a preservation array, was Wei Wuxian’s hand.

The guard dragged him past it to the far wall, where iron hooks had been newly hammered into a mural depicting the nearby lake. Wei Wuxian grunted as he was thrown to the ground, trying desperately to breathe through the pain, ignored by the guard as he grabbed Wei Wuxian’s remaining hand and shackled it to the wall. Then, without even a glance back, the guard left, closing the door behind him and plunging Wei Wuxian into darkness.

There was no light in the treasure room. Wen Chao had ordered the torches taken away. But the darkness and quiet were a relief, a reprieve he was sure he wouldn’t get forever. Even before Wen Chao said it, Wei Wuxian had known that his situation would only get worse when he healed.

Despite himself, he felt tears burn in his eyes, and with a shuddering breath he let them fall. Even if there had been anyone here to witness it, they couldn’t see in the dark. If he cried now, he might have a better chance of holding it in later, of –

Footsteps ran up to the other side of the door. Wei Wuxian froze.

Already?

It hadn’t even been five minutes – had Wen Chao changed his mind so soon? A cold horror washed over him. What if the word from Qishan ordered Wen Chao to fulfil his original orders, to seize Lotus Pier? Wen Ruohan couldn’t be pleased that his son’s mistress had made such a significant decision – if he overrode it –

Wei Wuxian would have to fight. He’d have to, even though moving his body felt almost impossible, and his left hand was chained to the wall –

The lock rumbled open, then the door, and someone slipped inside, immediately closing it again behind them. Unknowingly holding his breath, Wei Wuxian inched backwards, and then a talisman lit up, bathing the room in a warm, glowing light.

“Oh…” the person whispered, voice breaking on the word, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened.

“Wen Ning?” he breathed.

“Wei-gongzi…” Wen Ning murmured, his expression utterly distraught. Still, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but laugh.

“Ah, Wen Ning… we have to stop meeting like this.”

Wen Ning did not seem to find that funny. Instead, his eyes filled with tears. “Wei-gongzi, you… you…”

“Yep,” Wei Wuxian wheezed, forcing a smile onto his face. “Back in Wen Chao’s dungeon. It’s embarrassing, really-”

“Your hand,” Wen Ning whispered, his voice wobbling, and Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened painfully, silencing him. “I – I hoped that they weren’t – that when they said – I’m sorry, Wei-gongzi, I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Wei Wuxian protested, only to break out into choking coughs. He was speaking too loudly for his throat to handle. Immediately, Wen Ning surged forward, holding out a water gourd.

“Here, Wei-gongzi!”

Wei Wuxian drank gratefully, his eyes fluttering closed in relief as cool water poured down his throat. As he did, he felt Wen Ning shift around him.

“Here,” Wen Ning said again, holding out a much smaller bottle when Wei Wuxian had finished drinking. “Take this. It will help the pain.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped open as Wen Ning raised the bottle to his lips. Instantly, Wei Wuxian grasped the bottle with his teeth, throwing back his head to down the medicine in one go.

“I’m sorry,” Wen Ning murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He reached back carefully, unhooking the chain binding Wei Wuxian’s left hand to the wall. Relief flooded through the limb as it lowered, and Wei Wuxian swallowed, flexing his fingers.

“Wen Ning… What are you doing here?”

“Word came to Yiling that you were captured,” Wen Ning said, his eyes dark with worry. “I – was worried, so I came to see what had happened… I got here this morning, b-but I wasn’t able to reach you…”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Didn’t your sister tell you to stay away from me? Won’t you get in trouble?”

Wen Ning shook his head heartily. “No, Jiejie’s just worried about me.” He paused. “I don’t know how to get you out, yet, but-”

“No!” Wei Wuxian’s hand shot out to grab Wen Ning’s arm, and the younger boy flinched. Still, Wei Wuxian gripped his arm, fear flooding through him. “No, Wen Ning, you can’t. I can’t – if I escape, Wen Chao will sack Lotus Pier. Yunmeng Jiang… I can’t. I’m not going anywhere. You can’t rescue me, Wen Ning.” Dismay flooded Wen Ning’s face, clear as day, and Wei Wuxian shook his arm. “Promise me, Wen Ning, please.”

“I p-promise,” Wen Ning said, but he was shaking his head as he did. “But Wei-gongzi, you… Wen Chao, he…”

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian promised. “Whatever happens to me, that’s okay. As long as Yunmeng Jiang is safe.”

Wen Ning’s lip wobbled, but then he nodded. “Okay. But I’ll look after you.”

“Wen Ning-”

“Wen Chao doesn’t pay any attention to me. He’ll hardly know I’m here.”

“If he catches you-”

“He won’t,” Wen Ning said, wide eyed and sincere. “But I can get you medicine, and water and food. You saved my life, Wei-gongzi. I won’t let you die here.” He jumped. “Oh, speaking of-” he rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a meat bun, unwrapping it quickly and passing it to Wei Wuxian. “Here.”

Tears slipped down Wei Wuxian’s cheek as he accepted the food, his throat too tight to eat, at first.

“Thank you, Wen Ning,” he rasped instead, and Wen Ning gave a small smile.

“Honestly, Wei-gongzi, it’s the least I could do,” he began, and Wei Wuxian shook his head.

“No, it isn’t. Thank you.”

Wen Ning bowed his head, and Wei Wuxian took a small bite of the bun. It was cold, but it was also fresh, and delicious, and a whimper left his throat despite himself. Wen Ning patted his shoulder, his touch feather-light in a clear attempt not to aggravate his wounds. Honestly, a friendly touch was such a relief that Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he’d have minded if it hurt.

“It’s going to be okay, Wei-gongzi,” Wen Ning promised. “You’ll see…”

Chapter Text

It was mid-morning by the time they reached Yunmeng. Though it was the last thing that he wanted to do, Jiang Cheng had agreed to grab a couple of hours rest shortly after midnight, but the only difference it seemed to have made was to add a churning of guilt and shame to the mess of feelings in his stomach.

He certainly didn’t feel any less tired. If anything, he felt worse. His heartbeat was too fast, too faint, his body leaching strength from his organs now that his spiritual energy was all but gone. He was lightheaded, unsteady on his feet, but they were here, they had made it, and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to pass out in front of Lan Wangji of all people.

They touched down in the woods a few miles out from both the Qiu house and Lotus Pier, wary of being seen by either, and hiked the rest of the way through the woods. As they walked, Lan Wangji held something out wordlessly to Jiang Cheng.

He blinked, staring down at a simple bread roll. What he meant to say was “Thanks,” but what came out was, “I have food.”

For his part, Lan Wangji didn’t look offended. Instead he simply nodded. “Then you should eat something.” Before Jiang Cheng could rankle at being told what to do, Lan Wangji took a delicate bite of the bread roll himself, and Jiang Cheng’s shoulders slumped.

Right. Eating would probably help. He reached into his Qiankun pouch, pulled out one of the many, many buns Huaisang had packed for him, and ate. Strength bled back into him – not a lot, but enough. Enough to keep him on his feet, moving forward. It might not sustain him in a fight, but well… that was what adrenalin was for.

Before long, they reached the house, peeking through gaps in a dense shrub to get a good look at the gate, but as they did Jiang Cheng’s heart plummeted. Already, the smooth, white wall around Qiu Wufan’s home had been painted a blistering red, with the words ‘Yunmeng Supervisory Office’ emblazoned in ugly golden characters over the main door. Outside it were two guards, standing sharp and to attention, their eyes scouring the woods around the home. It looked wrong. So wrong.

“Is there another way in?” Lan Wangji murmured, his voice nearly soundless.

Jiang Cheng grimaced. “There’s a back gate, but that will be guarded too. We can scale the walls, but the Wen have probably put up wards by now.” After all, if they’d taken time to paint the wall, they’d have taken the time to make sure their ‘supervisory office’ was secure.

“Mn…” Lan Wangji paused. “Darkness may offer more cover.”

Jiang Cheng looked away. It would – especially if they waited until the early hours of the morning, when those inside were more likely to be asleep. But he didn’t want to wait. If he did, it would have been a full forty-eight hours since he’d last seen his brother.

He didn’t know how much time he had left.

If he had any at all.

He shifted his position to get a better view of the guards. They held themselves well, but he could probably take them...

“We cannot attack directly,” Lan Wangji breathed, as if reading his mind. “If we are seen, the Wen will declare war on our sects, and there will be nowhere safe to take Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng froze, the scowl that had been carving deeper and deeper onto his face falling away to surprise. Lan Wangji wasn’t looking at him, but the determination on his face looked genuine. So did the concern.

A lump rose in Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he nodded roughly.

Idiot, a voice hissed in the back of his head. Of course there’d be nowhere safe to take him – you’re so fucking dumb that without Lan Wangji you wouldn’t have had the sense to think about after…

He swallowed. Hard.

Truthfully, he hadn’t thought much about after. He couldn’t. But he knew that his mother and Nie Mingjue and Lan Wangji were all right – getting this wrong could have dire consequences.

“We…” he cleared his throat as quietly as he could. “We need to get in and out quickly. Leave no proof that it was us.”

“Mn.”

“But how?” Jiang Cheng breathed, his voice cracking.

For a long moment, Lan Wangji didn’t reply. Then, he murmured. “We should scout the area. See if there is a safer way in.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, and they moved, circling the house as quick and silent as ghosts, but the more they search, the deeper Jiang Cheng’s heart sank. A tall, strong wall encircled the Qiu family’s home, and sure enough, there were guards posted at both gates. Though scaling the wall was possible, Jiang Cheng had done it before, it was hard to climb subtly over the wall, and they had no way of knowing what wards were there, or even where within the sprawling mansion his brother was being held.

They had no plan.

“We should wait for nightfall,” said Lan Wangji quietly, when they had passed around the building three times.

Reluctantly, Jiang Cheng nodded. He couldn’t think of an alternative.  

Lan Wangji paused for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was even quieter. “You will be no use to anyone if you exhaust yourself.”

Jiang Cheng’s teeth clenched, but even more reluctantly, he nodded again. “There’s a cave. Five minutes that way,” he muttered. “You should rest too. You were up most of the night.”

Lan Wangji gave a single nod, and Jiang Cheng led the way back to the cave. He could have done so with his eyes closed – he knew these woods like the back of his hands. It was small, not quite tall enough to stand in, and only going back a couple of meters, but there was space to sit inside. If the Wen decided to do any patrols around their new territory, Jiang Cheng and Wangji would not be so easily seen.

“I will keep first watch,” Lan Wangji said, sitting at the edge of the cave, and Jiang Cheng grunted an acknowledgement, letting himself tumble down to curl up on the ground. Just weeks ago, he’d travelled nearly seven days and nights without food or rest, but now here he was, shuddering on the dirt like a weakling.

Shame flooded through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

A quiet voice in the back of his head reminded him that it had been barely a week since they’d returned from Qishan, that his body hadn’t yet recovered from going nearly a full week without food or rest, that of course he couldn’t do it again, but… Wei Wuxian hadn’t recovered either. Wei Wuxian’s position was far, far worse.

Despite his guilt, sleep took him quickly, his exhaustion pulling him down into a dark, foggy nothingness.

The next thing he knew, there was a voice calling quietly to him.

“Jiang-gongzi.”

He jumped violently, waking with a burst of adrenalin that shot through his heart like lightning. He snapped upright, and Lan Wangji’s eyes widened as he leant back, further away from Jiang Cheng.

“…Apologies,” he said quietly, and Jiang Cheng shook his head, feeling his cheeks burn.

“No, it’s…” he cleared his throat, fumbling in his Qiankun pouch for his water to avoid Lan Wangji’s gaze. “What time is it?” It was dark – his companion was illuminated only by the dim light of a talisman.

“Close to midnight,” Lan Wangji murmured. “We should move, soon.”

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng muttered, rubbing his eyes and sitting up straighter. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

“It seemed better to wait until the household was likely asleep.”

Jiang Cheng glared at him. “What happened to you resting, too?”

Lan Wangji met his eyes without a hint of shame. “I meditated. Do you know where in the house they may be holding him?”

Jiang Cheng grimaced, his annoyance at Lan Wangji drowned out by the weight of his task. “No idea. It’s a damn big house, and they’re not the sort of people who’d have any need to hold prisoners. I…”

Lang Wangji sighed, but nodded. He extinguished the light talisman and stood up, taking a step outside of the cave – and he paused. Jiang Cheng scrambled to his feet, leaving the cave himself, but as he passed Lan Wangji, the other man stood still, staring in the direction of the house with a pinched expression.  

Jiang Cheng waited, but Lan Wangji made no sign of moving.

“Uh… Lan-er-gongzi?”

Lan Wangji swallowed. “I… don’t,” he murmured.

“Don’t what?” Jiang Cheng blinked, and then alarm and rage curled through his gut. If Lan Wangji was backing out now –

“I do not hate your brother,” Lan Wangji said, his voice even quieter than before. He didn’t look at Jiang Cheng, his eyes remaining focused on the distance. “You said so. At the Cloud Recesses. I do not hate Wei Ying.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed, an unexpected warmth flickering in his heart – even if he could have guessed that ‘hate’ might be too strong a word by the fact the Second Jade of Lan was standing here now.

“Oh…” he didn’t know what to say, other than an awkward, “He’ll… be glad. That you don’t.”

Lan Wangji finally looked at him, eyes wide. “Wei Ying believes I…?”

Jiang Cheng had not expected the alarm on Lan Wangji’s face, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He shook his head slightly, backtracking a little. “I mean, he knows he annoys you,” he said awkwardly.

Lan Wangji looked away, the motion so brusque it likely hurt his neck. “Let’s go.”

“Sure,” Jiang Cheng muttered back, infinitely relieved that the conversation was over, and they crept through the forest towards the house. As they did, however, Jiang Cheng’s eye was drawn over and over to Lan Wangji’s light blue robes, the fabric seeming to glow in the moonlight. With a grimace, he pulled a cloak from his Qiankun bag, handing it over.

“Here. Your robes are too light.”

After pausing for a moment, Lan Wangji gave a slow nod, pulling the cloak over his shoulders. It didn’t cover everything, but it was sure a hell of a lot better than walking around in a blue so light it reflected the moon. Wordlessly, they drew closer and closer to the southernmost wall of the house. If Jiang Cheng remembered correctly, that was where the kitchens and dining halls were – areas likely to be empty at this time of night. They scaled the wall and laid low on its roof, looking intently down into the sprawling buildings below. While for the most part the mansion seemed still and empty, there were guards moving between courtyards and lounging against doors.

The main courtyard, the place where Jiang Cheng last saw his brother, was empty.

A lump rose in his throat, and he took a deep breath, shifting his weight to prepare to leap down into the courtyard, but Lan Wangji breathed in sharply.

“The wards.”

Jiang Cheng cursed himself silently, narrowing his eyes, and his gaze fixed on a subtle, shimmering sheen that spread over the whole courtyard. The wards were subtle, and from the look of things, both strong and complex.

“If we attempt to break them, they will alert the caster,” Lan Wangji said in a low voice, as though he thought Jiang Cheng couldn’t recognise that.

“It’s fine,” Jiang Cheng muttered, pulling a pre-drawn talisman from his sleeve. He activated it, his heart burning as his brother’s design glowed red, and pressed it down to the wards. Slowly, a hole appeared in the wards, pushing out slowly against the magic like a giant bubble growing bigger by the second. Without hesitation, Jiang Cheng jumped through it.

A moment later, Lan Wangji followed. The curiosity in the other man’s gaze felt like nettles brushing up the back of Jiang Cheng’s spine, and he glared at Lan Wangji.

“Wei Wuxian is my brother,” he muttered defensively, turning away before Wangji could reply.

He snuck to the nearest building, peering inside to see a darkened dining hall. Unlikely. When he turned back around, Wangji was looking through the window of another building, but he looked back at Jiang Cheng and shook his head.

This was going to take fucking ages.

Scowling, Jiang Cheng slipped through the dark to the next building, one of the kitchens. The door was shut, and he opened it just a crack, peering inside. The room was empty, but at the back of it was a door, likely leading to a cellar or pantry –

And there was a faint light glowing beneath the door.

His head snapped up, whipping back around to meet Wangji’s eyes, and within an instant the other man was there, peering in alongside him.

“It could be someone else,” Jiang Cheng breathed. “An enemy…”

The soft, near silent sound of Lan Wangji drawing his sword was strangely comforting.

Jiang Cheng nodded, drawing his own blade. They crept into the kitchen, and Jiang Cheng realised that he was holding his breath as his hand reached out of the cellar door. He glanced over his shoulder, and at Wangji’s nod threw the door open.

There was a young Wen at the end of the cellar, who’d clearly been stuffing food into a small bag, and Jiang Cheng’s fury rose –

And the man whipped around –                                    

And his eyes grew round.

“Jiang-gongzi, Lan-er-gongzi, thank goodness you’re here!”

It was Wen Ning. The recognition was instant, sharp and sudden, but it meant nothing, and Wen Ning’s words meant nothing. Jiang Cheng was already surging across the room, and he grabbed the man by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall and pressing the sword to his throat.

“I swear, if you try to scream, you won’t live long enough to see help come!” he hissed, his eyes narrowing as Wen Ning flinched, the bags tumbling from his hands as he raised them.

“Jiang-gongzi-”

“Do you understand?!” Jiang Cheng demanded, and Wen Ning nodded, slightly, his eyes wide and frightened.

“Y-yes, I understand, b-but I wouldn’t!” he said quietly, urgently. “You’re here for Wei-gongzi, right?”

“What else would we be here for?” Jiang Cheng snapped, and Wen Ning nodded again, his eyes flickering fearfully between Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji.

“I – I can help you, I’ll help you!” he stammered, “b-but please-”

Anger roared in Jiang Cheng’s chest, fuelled by the fear behind it, and he snarled. “Why would we believe you?”

“Wei-gongzi saved my life!” Wen Ning insisted, a fervour in his voice that took Jiang Cheng by surprise. “That’s why I’m here!”

Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth. The boy’s face was earnest, almost defiant, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t trust him, he…

“What do you mean?” asked Lan Wangji quietly.

“I was in Yiling, with my sister,” Wen Ning said quickly, looking at Lan Wangji. “We – we heard that Wei-gongzi had been taken, that Wen Chao was bragging about it, and I came to see if I could help. I swear, that’s the truth!”

Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes, distrust still raging through him. “If I take this sword away and you scream, I swear…”

“I know!” Wen Ning insisted, and Jiang Cheng scowled, taking a step back.

“Where is he?”

“In Qiu-xiansheng’s treasure room,” Wen Ning said instantly. “Wen Chao’s repurposed it as a dungeon. B-but – we can’t get in there tonight. It’s too-”

“Why the fuck not?” Jiang Cheng growled.

“It’s too dangerous,” Wen Ning insisted. “The only entrance to the treasure room is through the main bedroom and… that’s where Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao are. There are guards outside, too. In, in the daytime the guards patrol, and – and I can get past a lot of them, if I ask nicely, b-but they wouldn’t let me through at night. They’d know something was wrong.”

“Then we take them out,” insisted Jiang Cheng fiercely.

Wen Ning winced. “S-since the incident in Muxi Mountain, Wen Chao’s demanded some of the s-strongest cultivators as his bodyguards – they’re all trained by Wen Zhuliu, and they’re… they’re all good.”

Dread sunk in Jiang Cheng’s stomach, and Lan Wangji spoke quietly.

“Even if we are able to overpower them, it will likely be loud. Getting out unseen would be difficult.”

“There’s also, another, uh… complication,” Wen Ning said, wincing again. “Wei-gongzi, he… he might not be completely cooperative…”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he-he – I th-think Wen Chao told him that if he escaped they’d – they’d attack Lotus Pier, and Wei-gongzi… he made me promise not to try and help him escape,” Wen Ning admitted.

Jiang Cheng clenched his teeth. “Well… fuck that. He’s not getting a choice – we’re getting him out.”  

Wen Ning nodded, a small smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll help, if I can! T-technically, he didn’t make me promise not to help you rescue him.”

Uncertainty tore at Jiang Cheng’s chest, and his hand clenched so tightly around the sword hilt he could feel his veins bulging. Getting away from the guards was undoubtedly a good idea, but he couldn’t trust that Wen Ning wouldn’t lead them straight into a trap.

He couldn’t trust him. No matter how earnest Wen Ning looked, no matter the fact that Jiang Cheng had seen Wei Wuxian rescue Wen Ning from the waterborne abyss with his own two eyes, no matter how harmless the younger boy had always seemed in Cloud Recess… No matter how badly Jiang
Cheng wanted to trust him, he didn’t dare to.

Not with his brother’s life on the line.

“How would you propose to help us?” Lan Wangji said quietly. “If rescuing him tonight is not possible, what would you propose?”

Wen Ning drew his shoulders back, the strength of the pose weakened by the anxious way he twisted his hands together. “Well, Wen Chao received word from Qishan, today. He’s, he’s been called back, there’s gonna be a, a huge banquet for Wen Xu’s birthday, so he’s going to leave in two days, and-”

“We can’t wait that long!” Jiang Cheng bit out, anxiety stabbing at him. “Wei Wuxian, he –” His voice choked off, and he snapped his mouth shut, looking away. There was a pause, and then Wen Ning spoke quietly.

“He doesn’t… he doesn’t have much, but he has some time,” he murmured, his face pulling into a grimace. “And Wen Chao’s plan is to take him back to Qishan… he’s… he’s playing with him, trying to goad Wei-gongzi into disrespecting or defying him, he wants an excuse to go further… but if Wei-gongzi doesn’t rise to it, then we have time.”

Jiang Cheng’s heart clenched. “You mean that he’s safe as long as he can keep his mouth shut?” he asked in horror. In that case, Wei Wuxian was as good as dead.

Wen Ning nodded. “As long as he behaves, he’ll stay alive.” His grimace deepened. “The soldiers, they… they have a wager going, as to how long he’ll last. But I really think that rescuing him on the road would be easier – I… I think I have the start of a plan.”

“You say they leave in two days… What will happen to Wei Ying in the meantime?” asked Lan Wangji intently.

Swallowing, Wen Ning hung his head. “Wen Chao… Wen Chao will hurt him. But getting into the treasure room tonight, it’s too dangerous. And I – I can bring him medicine, and food-” He held up the bag he’d been filling when they entered. “That’s why I’m here, this is – this is all for him. I promise. I’ll look after him, as much as I can. I… I can find out more about their plans. I can find the best opportunity possible – the best chance to get Wei-gongzi out safely. But I really think our best bet is on the road.”

Jiang Cheng looked at Lan Wangji, who pursed his lips. After a long moment, Lan Wangji nodded slightly, and Jiang Cheng sighed. “Fine. Fine – but I swear, if you double cross us…”

“I understand,” said Wen Ning, nodding intently. “But you two should get out of here. The guards patrol every hour or so, they’re nearly due.”

“Rendezvous with us tomorrow,” Lan Wangji ordered. “In the evening – two hundred feet from the back gate.”

“Okay,” Wen Ning agreed. “I will, I promise.”

Grinding his teeth together, Jiang Cheng struggled to take a breath. Every instinct in his body screamed at him not to go, to just barrel through the mansion and fight his way into the treasure room, but he couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t.

And so he left, following Lan Wangji back into the night, and over the wall, a fresh stab of guilt cutting into his heart every step of the way.

Chapter Text

Wen Chao and his mistress were laughing. If he’d been watching from the outside, Wei Wuxian might have laughed too, but at them – not with them. In a fantastic display of stupidity they had planned to hang Wei Wuxian by his wrists from the ceiling – they’d got all the way to shackling his left wrist before they realised why that plan wouldn’t work. Of course, they’d found the realisation hilarious.

“What do we do now?” Wen Chao crooned, yanking Wei Wuxian’s hand up by the chain around his wrist. “Hang him up with just this one?”

Panic leapt in Wei Wuxian’s heart, and he looked quickly at Wen Chao. If he was strung up by one arm, he didn’t know how long it would take before his body sustained permanent damage, and if he lost the use of his left arm, too –

“I don’t know,” Wang Lingjiao hummed. “But that would be wonky… and it wouldn’t make much use of this, would it?” She grabbed for the stump of Wei Wuxian’s wrist, and he instinctively yanked his elbow back. Wen Chao looked over sharply, narrowing his eyes.

“Uh, uh, uh,” he tutted. “That’s not good manners, now, is it?”

Dread churned in his gut, faster even than anger this time, and Wei Wuxian swallowed. Heart racing, he moved his arm forward again, back towards Wang Lingjiao. Grinning, she snatched his stump, her nails digging sharply through the bandages. Wei Wuxian hissed out a pained breath, unable to trap it behind his teeth, and Wen Chao smiled smugly.

“Well, if we can’t go with the first plan, we’ll just have to modify it.”

He snapped his fingers, and two lengths of rope shot forwards, coiling around Wei Wuxian’s arms from his shoulders to his wrists. Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth as the ropes bit deep into his flesh, crushing his wrists together so tightly his remaining fingers began to tingle. Still, the ropes were not finished, weaving themselves in knots until there was no chance of even his handless wrist twisting free. The remaining lengths of rope twined together, landing neatly in Wen Chao’s hand, and he grinned.

“How’s that, Jiaojiao?”

She gasped in apparent delight, beaming and clapping her hands to her cheeks. “Ah, Wen-gongzi – your cultivation is so impressive!”

Impressive?! Wei Wuxian snorted. He’d successfully controlled what was undoubtedly pre-enchanted rope – it was hardly anything difficult –

Wei Wuxian froze.

He hadn’t – he hadn’t meant to –

Wen Chao was glaring at him, but there was a smile curling his lips, too, and Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat, stumbling over itself as it sped into a race –

“Forgive me, Wen-gongzi,” he began, “there was something in my th-”

The slap struck him so hard he felt his teeth cut into his cheek, and he breathed in sharply.

“Do you think I’m stupid, Wei Wuxian?” Wen Chao whispered.

“No,” Wei Wuxian replied, the lie tasting like iron on his lips. Or perhaps that was the blood in his mouth.

Wen Chao laughed softly. Dangerously. “Hmm… if you want to laugh at my cultivation, I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

“I-” Wei Wuxian began, but he was cut off as Wen Chao snapped his fingers again and the rope shot upwards, wrapping around a ceiling beam and dragging Wei Wuxian from the ground. He cried out, unable to help himself as his feet scrabbled for purchase, his toes barely grazing the floor. Within seconds, his arms were screaming in pain, and his stump felt like it was on fire –

“Now, how’s this for cultivation?” Wen Chao grinned, holding out his hand and curling his fingers though reaching to dig Wei Wuxian’s heart out through his chest, and Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened beneath a sudden, crushing heat –

Fire –

There was fire, raging at the base of his throat, searing his chest, licking his chin, and he let out a strangled scream. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt – he couldn’t breathe – and he couldn’t put it out –

He tried to writhe back, to get away, but it felt like the fire was coming from inside his throat, and there was nowhere to go. Pressure crushed around his neck, and another scream was torn from him, but it hurt almost as much as the flames. On his next inhale all he could taste was smoke, and the pressure around his throat squeezed impossibly tighter. A guttural, gargling gasp left his lips, desperate and hopeless, as his vision grew blurry, through pain or lack of oxygen, he didn’t know –

And then the flames stopped.

Just as suddenly as they started, they fell away, and the pressure disappeared from Wei Wuxian’s neck. He became aware of the sound of Wang Lingjiao giggling delightedly, clapping her hands together. Uncaring, Wei Wuxian opened his mouth and sucked down a greedy breath, and then another, and another –

“What do you think?” Wen Chao demanded, leering at him. “How’s that for cultivation?”

Wei Wuxian gasped down another breath, and Wang Lingjiao stepped forward, cracking a whip against his stomach. He grunted in pain, and choked –

“Wen-gongzi asked you a question!”

“Im-impress-ive,” Wei Wuxian wheezed. “Wen… gong…zi… is… skilled…”

Wen Chao snorted, studying his nails. “Don’t you forget it. If your golden core was as strong as mine, you’d be able to heal from that in no time, but with the state of you…” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head pitifully.

Wei Wuxian didn’t respond. In all truth, if his core really was as weak as Wen Chao’s, he’d be in a better position – if his cultivation was that low, he wouldn’t have been stable enough for them to drag out and start torturing again in the first place. As it was, the strength of his core was as much a curse as it was a blessing.

“Now,” said Wen Chao, stepping back. “Jiaojiao?”

With a vicious smile, Wang Lingjiao stepped forward, the whip in hand. Time dragged on relentlessly, and when she finally tired of the whip, Wen Chao stepped forward with a bamboo cane.

Soon, agony had conquered Wei Wuxian – his entire body stung viciously, ached dearly, but nothing had been as bad as the fire.

Which meant he was fine, because the fire had to have been hours ago, now. The burning had dulled to the point that it was now just unbearably warm. He was fine.

He was fine.

“Jiaojiao,” Wen Chao purred, throwing aside he cloth he’d been using to wipe the blood from his hands. “Are you having fun?”

“Mn! Are you, Gongzi? Did I do well with this present?”

Wen Chao’s eyes glinted, and he leant down to kiss her. Wei Wuxian was only just able to stop himself from grimacing.

“You did very well,” Wen Chao said, “but for tonight, we have to put it away soon.” She pouted, and he stroked her chin with his thumb. “Remember, we need it to walk in the morning.”

She sighed, her pout growing. “I suppose…”

“You can do one last thing, if you like,” said Wen Chao. “Just, avoid his legs.”

Wang Lingjiao’s eyes lit up, and she smiled. Wei Wuxian tried to focus more on the words than the dread that shuddered down his spine at the expression. Walk? Why did he need to walk in the morning?

Were they leaving Yunmeng? The thought made him feel physically sick. As difficult as it was to be so close to home and unable to reach it, the idea of leaving was almost unbearable.

Or, a worse thought, what if they were returning to Lotus Pier? If they had their justification, or their orders, if they were going to march on Lotus Pier and dragging him with them to watch?

His heart began to pick up speed again, but he didn’t have enough strength left to panic, asexhaustion sapped the strength from his limbs and made his head spin. Nausea swam in his stomach, and when he took a deep breath, his ribcage ached from the effort.

“Ooh,” breathed Wang Lingjiao, and Wei Wuxian’s dread rose higher. She reached to her belt and drew out a knife.

Shit…

He refused to let fear show on his face, but there was no way of stopping his breath from picking up speed as she came closer, and satisfaction smouldered in her eyes.

“Gongzi, can you lower him down?”

“Of course, my love,” Wen Chao said, snapping his fingers. The ropes above Wei Wuxian’s hands went suddenly slack, and he crashed down onto his knees, only for his arms to be yanked back up above his head, the movement feeling like fire tearing through his exhausted limbs. Wei Wuxian clenched his teeth, breathing heavily.

Wang Lingjiao laughed. “You look better kneeling,” she said, and Wei Wuxian fought the urge to gag.

Then, she pressed the knife to his cheek, its tip hovering over his eye, and Wei Wuxian froze.

“If you spit it out, I’m going to cut out your eyes,” she said lightly. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, Guniang,” he breathed at once, despite the fact that no, he didn’t understand.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to – the images her words conjured in his mind were each more horrific than the last, but at least she put the knife away, reaching into the pocket of her dress, and pulling out some sort of rag. When she shoved it into his mouth, for a moment Wei Wuxian was relieved. Sure, it looked filthy, and tasted horrible, but it wasn’t exactly torture. Then, she ripped the ribbon out of Wei Wuxian’s hair, binding the gag tightly in place, and yes, this sucked, but it could be worse, it could be so much –

Then, Wang Lingjiao pulled a glove over her hand, and clamped it down over Wei Wuxian’s mouth and chin, and before he could take a breath her other hand pinched his nose shut –

And Wei Wuxian jerked, flinching backwards, but her grip was impossibly strong, and his arms were still bound, and there was nowhere to go. Within seconds, his head began to swim, panic rising within him as his lungs began to scream.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe again, and his throat was burning again, and a soundless, breath of a whimper left his lips, muffled beneath the gag.

They won’t kill you, he thought fiercely, they need you to walk, they need you to walk, they need –

He couldn’t breathe. No matter how he tried to move his chin or widen his mouth or wriggle away, he couldn’t get free, he couldn’t get any air, and the world grew fuzzy around the edges. His head hurt, everything hurt, and he could hear his blood pounding through his ears, and it hurt.

It hurt, it hurt –

Desperate, frightened noises made their way through the gag, sounds Wei Wuxian didn’t even know he was capable of making, and he leant back desperately –

The ropes holding his arms up went slack, and Wang Lingjiao let go of his nose and mouth to throw him to the floor. Without his arms to stop himself, Wei Wuxian crashed down painfully, his chest and face smashing against the floorboards with a force that would have forced the air from his lungs, if there was any. He breathed frantically through his nose, but it wasn’t enough, he still couldn’t breathe around the gag – but then there was a knife scratching his cheek, tearing through the ribbon. Wei Wuxian spat the rag onto the ground, coughing and choking as his throat protested the sudden air.

He wheezed and spluttered, curling around onto his side in a desperate attempt to take the pressure off of his lungs, and tried to move his arms down from above his head, but they’d been held in position for so long they refused to move.

Wei Wuxian whimpered despite himself, and blood bubbled from his lips, dribbling down to the floor below. He was shivering, he realised, violently, and he had no strength left to try and stop it.

Wen Chao was howling with laughter. “Oh, he didn’t expect that! Ah, Jiaojiao, Jiaojiao, you really are a wonder…”

“I know,” she said smartly, smiling as she draped herself over his arm. “That’s why you love me.”

“It is,” he crooned, poking her nose. Then, he turned back to Wei Wuxian, striding over to crouch down at his face. “You’re probably wondering what’s going to happen tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Fuck you, Wei Wuxian thought venomously. “Yes… Wen… gongzi…” he wheezed.

“We’re going back to Qishan,” Wen Chao murmured, his eyes shining with malice. “It’s my brother’s birthday – there’s going to be a huge party, and I have so many ideas about how you can help with the entertainment. Assuming you make it all the way there, that is. Who knows, perhaps you’ll prove that Yunmeng Jiang is too weak to stand on its own as a sect…”

Wei Wuxian said nothing, aiming his glare at the blood splattered floorboards beneath him. Laughing softly, Wen Chao patted his cheek.

“Good boy.”

Disgust and fury rose within him, and Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth. Wen Chao rose, holding out his hand, and immediately one of the silent guards on the door passed him a towel. He wiped his hands, and then tossed it down to the ground.

“I think Wen Ning’s still skulking around here somewhere,” he said, and Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat. Yesterday, Wen Ning had confirmed that Wen Chao knew he was here, but if Wen Chao was suspicious – “Get him to fix this up, make sure it’s in condition to go in the morning.”

“Of course, Wen-gongzi,” the guard said, bowing out of the treasure room, followed by Wen Chao, Wang Lingjiao, and the other guard, leaving Wei Wuxian alone in the room without even bothering to chain in him to the wall again.

Wei Wuxian let his eyes flutter close. He knew he needed to take stock, to figure out how bad his injuries were, but even the thought of it seemed monumentally difficult. Everything hurt, and now that the blood was flowing back into his arms the ache was unbearable, underpinned by a sensation like a thousand needles scratching through every vein. He tried to shift his arms, but the pain peaked, a small, gasping cry broke from his lips.

Don’t move, he thought to himself. Just… just don’t move…

He heard the door open, followed immediately by Wen Ning’s strangled gasp.

“W-Wei-gongzi!” There were hurried footsteps, the sound of something falling to the ground, and by the time Wei Wuxian managed to open his eyes, Wen Ning was in front of him, a cold, trembling hand touching his cheek. “Wei-gongzi, can you hear me?!”

“Mn,” Wei Wuxian confirmed wearily. “I… I can hear you.”

“I…” Wen Ning choked. “Wei-gongzi, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, Wen Ning… It’s not your fault…” he breathed.

Wen Ning hummed anxiously, sounding utterly unconvinced. “It’s… it’s going to be okay,” he promised waveringly, “I, I can help, just, hold on, okay?”

“Mn… holding on…”

He felt Wen Ning quickly unwrapping the ropes from his arms and wrists, and the heavy sensation of a blanket or robe being draped over his back. Then, he felt a small bottle press against his lips.

“Here, drink this-”

Before Wen Ning had even finished speaking, Wei Wuxian drank desperately, barely registering the bitter taste of the medicine as it went down.

“I’m going to do something about these burns first, okay?” said Wen Ning, and Wei Wuxian nodded slightly. There were several soft, strange sounds, scraping and stirring as Wen Ning mixed some sort of tincture or salve. It was a oddly soothing sound, until Wen Ning added a stammering, “I’m s-sorry, this is going to sting.”

“That’s o-” Wei Wuxian’s words were strangled by his own scream as a shooting pain seared through his neck, the pain so wild it was as though the fire had been relit. His eyes bulged open to a white sheen of agony as he tried to jerk back, but there was a strong hand on his shoulder holding him in place.

“I’m sorry,” Wen Ning sobbed, and the sensation spread up his neck, slipping over his cheeks, and Wei Wuxian howled –

And then –

Relief.

The burning fizzled out, and left in its place was a cool, slimy sensation, one that tingled strangely, but barely hurt. Wei Wuxian sucked in a deep breath, and then another, and then his head tipped back, a desperate laugh of relief leaving him. Wen Ning rubbed his shoulder gently.

“Fuck…” Wei Wuxian breathed. “That feels amazing… if you want you can just drown me in that stuff…”

Wen Ning gave a weak, watery laugh. “I’m s-sorry, Wei-gongzi, it only really works on burns.”

“Pity… Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Wen Ning said miserably, and Wei Wuxian glanced at him, his eyes finally focusing properly on the younger boy’s face. “If, if I’d been able to distract Wen Chao properly…”

“That’s too dangerous, for both of us.”

“I know… I’m just going to look over your arms now, alright? I don’t think there’s any dislocations, but there might be muscle or ligament damage, and I want to check your… your wrist. The painkiller I gave you should kick in soon, though, that will help.”

“Thanks,” Wei Wuxian repeated, wincing as Wen Ning took a hold of his left arm, gently guiding it back down into a more natural position in front of his body. A hiss of pain escaped Wei Wuxian’s teeth, but only a little. He tried to distract himself as Wen Ning probed and massaged his arm, casting through his mind for something to think about. “Why… do you always… say what… what you’re doing… when you’re healing?”

“What? Oh, well, Jiejie says that it’s important,” said Wen Ning absently. “That when people are hurt, and scared, they need to know what’s going on and what we’re doing. In case they think we’re trying to hurt them, or that we’re causing unnecessary pain.”

“Huh…” Wei Wuxian thought on that for a moment. “Are you a doctor too, Wen Ning? You’re certainly good at it?”

“Me?!” Wen Ning laughed nervously. “No, not – not yet. I’m not very good compared to Jiejie – I’m still learning!”

“You’re still young, too,” Wei Wuxian pointed out. Wen Ning didn’t reply, moving onto Wei Wuxian’s right arm with delicate hands. Wei Wuxian grimaced as Wen Ning’s probing grew closer and closer to the stump of his wrist, the pain growing sharper by the second. Carefully, Wen Ning removed the old bandages, wincing at the sight of the wound.

Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped. “Is something wrong? Is – is it infected, or-”

“No, it’s healing okay,” said Wen Ning softly. “Brace yourself for a moment, Wei-gongzi, this will hurt a little.”

Wei Wuxian sucked in a breath, bracing himself for the heat that had come earlier, but this time all he felt was a sharp sting. He glanced down to see Wen Ning applying a powder, rather than a salve, and despite everything, he felt his curiosity pique.

“That’s a different medication.”

“Mn. They have a similar base, but the salve works better on fresh wounds. The powder will be more effective, here,” Wen Ning said, carefully redressing Wei Wuxian’s stump. It hurt, but the pain was so much less than it had been that Wei Wuxian could have sobbed. Still, Wen Ning’s eyes lingered on the bandages for a moment, his brow furrowed in worry.

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian pressed, his hand reaching automatically to hold his own forearm.

“It…” Wen Ning glanced away. “It just looks like it hurts, Wei-gongzi.”

A lump rose in Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he gave a weak smile. “It’s not so bad,” he lied, and Wen Ning looked at him incredulously. “Okay, no, it’s awful, but it hurts less now than it did an hour ago, and then it hurt less than it did yesterday. So we’re making progress.”

Wen Ning looked entirely unimpressed, but he didn’t say anything, instead pulling away the blanket and turning his attention to Wei Wuxian’s torso and back. His robes were in tatters from the blows of the whip and the cane, and Wen Ning’s face pinched.

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian whispered automatically, but at the look Wen Ning gave him, he fell silent. Without a word, Wen Ning began to wash the countless welts and bruises criss-crossing over Wei Wuxian’s chest and stomach and back. Each wound stung anew as Wen Ning applied salves and treatments, and beneath them all the wounds of the Zidian still cut particularly deep.

It had to be nearly ten minutes before Wen Ning finally finished, carefully pulling the blanket back up over Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian tried to sit up, but all Wen Ning needed to do to stop him was put a hand on his shoulder.

“You need to rest,” he said, his voice low. His eyes were low, too, staring at the floor rather than at Wei Wuxian’s face, and his lip was starting to tremble. “To… tomorrow…”

Wei Wuxian’s heart sank, and he pulled a weary smile onto his face. “Wen Chao’s dragging me to Qishan.”

Wen Ning swallowed and nodded, and then met Wei Wuxian’s eyes tearfully. “Wei-gongzi, I’m… I’m so sorry, b-but… I can’t come with you. T-to, to Qishan. I’m sorry, I-”

“Wen Ning,” Wei Wuxian interrupted softly, reaching out with an aching arm to squeeze the younger boy’s hand. “You’ve already done so much more than I could have asked for. I owe you, Wen Ning.”

“No you don’t!” Wen Ning protested, looking ridiculously alarmed at the concept. “Wei-gongzi, you saved my life, and I – my… my clan…”

“Is not you,” Wei Wuxian said, squeezing Wen Ning’s hand tighter. Despite the growing dread at having to suffer through the rest of this ordeal without Wen Ning there to pick up the pieces, Wei Wuxian was relieved that Wen Ning was not going to Qishan. Already, he was too close to gaining the suspicion of Wen Chao, and judging by the looks he’d given Wei Wuxian’s wounds, he was already traumatised enough. This was better, really. It had to be. “Thank you, Wen Ning.”

“If, if I don’t go back to Yiling, Jiejie will get really cross with me,” Wen Ning mumbled, as though he had to actually justify his choice to Wei Wuxian.

“As she should,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding. “You need to look after yourself, Wen Ning. I’ll be okay.”

A tear rolled down Wen Ning’s cheek, and he swallowed. “I’m sorry, Wei-gongzi.”

“Don’t be,” Wei Wuxian replied, smiling sadly. “Thank you, Wen Ning. You’re a wonderful friend.”

Wen Ning sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “You – you are a wonderful friend too, Wei-gongzi. Here,” he passed over a small Qiankun pouch, opening it to reveal an assortment of food inside. “Hide that in your robes, for the road. There’s a little medicine in there, too, for external use only! And here, for tonight!” He pulled out a wrapped meat bun, and Wei Wuxian felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he smiled.

“Thank you, Wen Ning.”

“You’re welcome,” Wen Ning said, his voice cracking. “I… I need to go, Wei-gongzi.”

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian said, squeezing his hand one last time and smiling as best as he could. “Thank you, Wen Ning. For everything.”

Wen Ning stood, and then bowed. “Farewell, Wei-gongzi.”

“Goodbye, Wen Ning.”

Wen Ning hurried to the door, and then paused, looking back over his shoulder with haunted eyes. “Wei-gongzi… Forgive me.”

Wei Wuxian opened his mouth, but before he could reply Wen Ning hurried out, closing the door behind him. Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. He was alone, now. Truly, utterly alone. But he’d be okay. He could do this. He could… he could do this…

“I can do this,” he whispered, trying to regulate his breathing enough to speak, but his voice trembled, escaping as a near silent sob. He squeezed his eyes shut, hugging his good arm to his chest and whispering desperately through tears that wouldn’t stop. “I can, I can d-do – I can – I’ll be – it’s okay… it’s okay, you’re okay, it’s... it’s okay…”

Chapter Text

Cold water crashed onto Wei Wuxian’s face, pouring violently into his nose and tearing him from a dream of his sister stroking his hair and singing him lullabies. He spluttered and rolled over, his body screaming with the motion as he tried to shield his airways, tried to catch his breath –

A foot connected with his ribcage, hard.

“Get up,” a voice said, cold as the icy water now sluicing down Wei Wuxian’s chest. “If you make us late, you will bleed for it.”

Wei Wuxian wheezed, pushing himself upright with his good arm. Apparently, he wasn’t fast enough – the guard seized a handful of his hair and yanked him onto his knees, snapping an iron collar shut around his neck. It rubbed painfully against the burn wounds there. Wei Wuxian winced, but whatever salve Wen Ning had given him had worked miracles – the wounds felt weeks old, rather than hours.

The painfully collar was heavy, so, with three lengths of chain hung down from it, reaching to around Wei Wuxian’s waist. Two of them ended in shackles, and the third in a heavy lock. Wei Wuxian’s gut twisted. Unconsciously, he glanced over at the cabinet, to where his hand still sat atop a preservation talisman.

“Pay attention,” the guard growled, slapping him sharply across the face, and Wei Wuxian glared up at him. This guard was a stranger, older than Wei Wuxian, and uglier, too, with a nose too small for his face and cruel eyes overshadowed by wild, bristling brows. His hand was outstretched, but Wei Wuxian didn’t move, and the guard’s eyes narrowed. “I said, pay attention! Are you stupid? Give me your hand!”  

Anger rippled through Wei Wuxian, and he took a deep breath, pulling a smile onto his face. “Which one? I can’t reach my r-”

This time, when the guard struck his face it was with a closed fist, the blow so hard that the back of Wei Wuxian’s head smacked painfully against the wall behind him.

“I heard you think you’re funny,” the guard said coldly, snatching Wei Wuxian’s hand and locking one of the shackles around his wrist. It was tight. “But you’re not. Try it again, and you’ll bleed for it.”

Wei Wuxian was pretty sure that his nose was already bleeding, but he wasn’t dumb enough to say it. He kept his mouth shut, and his eyes on the guard.

“Stand,” the guard ordered, and Wei Wuxian forced his aching legs to move, getting unsteadily to his feet. The guard brought out a new chain, securing it tightly around Wei Wuxian’s waist so tightly he could feel the iron digging into his flesh. To it, the guard attached to another chain hanging from the collar, the one with the lock.

Then, the guard grabbed the last of the collar chains – the one with the empty shackle – his eyes fixing on the stump of Wei Wuxian’s arm.

A cold smile tugged at his cheek, and Wei Wuxian tensed, drawing his arm unconsciously to his chest. A shackle wouldn’t hold his right arm, unless it was painfully tight – a horrific image flashed through his mind of a spiked shackle, with barbs on the inside to hold his wrist in place –

The guard gave a soft, scoffing laugh, and secured the shackle around the chain circling Wei Wuxian’s waist. Relief flooded through Wei Wuxian, but in the next moment the guard was procuring yet another length of chain, this one far longer, and far thinner, and Wei Wuxian felt waves of disbelief and alarm and annoyance crash down over his head.

“Wow,” he croaked, unable to stop himself. “You must really get off on this, huh?”

The guard froze, his eyes widening even as his nose wrinkled in disgust. “You –”

For the third time he struck Wei Wuxian around the face, but this time there was spiritual power behind the blow, and Wei Wuxian was unable to stifle a cry of pain as he was flung to the ground. The guard tore something from his belt, and Wei Wuxian barely had a second to brace himself before the whip lashed at his sides, hot and biting and cruel.

“You filthy brat!” The guard bit out, breathing heavily as he lowered his arm. “How dare you speak to me like that?! Wen-er-gongzi will learn of your disrespect.”

A sudden horror thrilled through Wei Wuxian, and he froze. He was supposed to behave, he had to behave, fuck –

“They said you were supposed to be some great prodigy,” the guard snarled on, “but look at you. Look at all it took Wen-er-gongzi to tame you.” He spat on the floor at Wei Wuxian’s feet. “You’re pathetic. Your insipid insults are nothing more than the mewling of a kitten that thinks itself a lion. Even a mange-ridden dog has more worth than you. Don’t flatter yourself to think I would ever have interest in you – that anyone would. Get up.”

Head spinning, Wei Wuxian pushed himself back up onto his feet. If Wen Chao found what he’d said to be a sign of rebellion, of misbehaviour, if Lotus Pier suffered because he was a fucking idiot –

The guard used a small, iron ring with a hinge to gather all three of the chains running from Wei Wuxian’s collar, and threaded the final, longer chain onto the ring, snapping it shut and sending a surge of spiritual energy through to seal it.

“I would’ve just used the collar,” the guard sneered. “Watched it break your neck as soon as horse started running.”

Dread sunk deep into Wei Wuxian’s gut at the implications of that, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on them. The guard turned, yanking the chain, and Wei Wuxian followed, trying to move fast enough that he wasn’t being dragged. They moved swiftly through the Qiu family home, and when they reached the entrance courtyard they found it full of horses and carriages, the Wen contingent evidently ready to move.

A door opened on a large, disgustingly ornate carriage, and Wen Chao stepped out, followed by Wang Lingjiao, who twirled her hair over her fingers as she worked.

“You’re late,” Wen Chao said, glancing at the guard, who tugged the chain sharply downwards, sending Wei Wuxian crashing to his knees.

“My apologies, Wen-er-gongzi,” said the guard, bowing. “It was as you said – the prisoner thinks himself bolder in your absence. Though he hasn’t dared misbehave before you, he showed the most vulgar disrespect.”

It was a trap –

It was a fucking – Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought Wen Chao smart enough to think of something like that, he hadn’t thought –

Fuck –

Fuck, fuck –

Wen Chao clicked his tongue. “What a shame. And I liked having Lotus Pier as our neighbours...”

Panic shot through his heart, and Wei Wuxian bowed, his cheeks burning with anger and shame as he choked out, “Wen-gongzi, forgive me!”

Wen Chao sighed. “I’m a benevolent leader. It was a small transgression. If you can survive today’s ride, and submit to due punishment at camp, I won’t push the matter any further. Let’s go.”

Before Wei Wuxian knew what to think, he was dragged up onto his feet, and the guard held a small jar to his lips.

“Drink.”

Wei Wuxian did as he was told, shuddering as a foul liquid poured out into his mouth. With effort, he swallowed.

“That should give you the energy to go all day,” the guard said, a cruel smile playing at his lips. “Good luck.” With that, he turned, tying the long chain to the axel of Wen Chao’s carriage.

It could be worse, Wei Wuxian thought desperately. He could… it could be… he – Wen Chao could’ve chosen to ride his horse – at least this way Wei Wuxian didn’t have to look at him. Yes, that would be worse, this was better. This…

The group started moving, and Wei Wuxian stumbled after the carriage. He could feel whatever concoction the guard had given him start to seep into his bloodstream, lending strength to his core and his body alike. But with it came an inescapable stinging pain, as though stinging nettles had taken up root inside every vein and organ within him.

It wasn’t as bad as the torture of the day before, but it hurt.

Then, the group began to pick up speed. The chain grew taut, and Wei Wuxian threw himself forward, desperate to keep up. With every step he ran, the stinging sensation grew worse, and the pain of every blow he’d taken burnt brighter. But…

If you can survive today’s ride…

He had to keep going. It didn’t matter that it hurt. He’d survive – he’d be fine. He’d be okay. He just had to… just had to… keep… moving…

His eyes glazed over, barely focusing enough to see of the road beneath his feet. More than once, his foot landed in a pothole or pitfall, more than once his ankle threatened to twist or break, but he kept going. Kept moving.

His lungs burned, shrinking in on themselves and screaming for air.

Keep going. Keep…

They stopped.

As orders to halt rang around him, Wei Wuxian swayed on the spot, uncertain whether they were about to set off again, but then someone brushed past him, and even that faint touch was enough to send him collapsing to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.

“Get some rest while you can, maggot,” an unfamiliar voice scoffed, and Wei Wuxian watched the shadowed figure go through hazy eyes, breathing in great, open mouthed gasps of air.

Slowly, his hammering heart eased, and his attention focused enough to realise that the Wen were setting up camp for lunch. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breath. If he could get a handle on himself, he might be able to accelerate the healing process.

But lunch didn’t last long enough for him try. The next thing he knew he was on his feet again, he was running. The stinging sensation faded away, but so did his strength, and it felt like he was suffocating with every breath he tried to take.

But he could keep going. He had to, had to keep –

His foot hit a divot.

This time, he had no strength to save himself. He didn’t cry out as his ankle twisted, the blazing hot pain of a bad sprain shooting up his leg. When he hit the ground, the only sound of leave his lips was a pained puff of air. He didn’t have the strength to scream as the chain dragged him behind the horse, as his body bumped over the ground and the skin was torn from his side by the rough road. All he could do was flip over, making sure that he was on his side in a meagre effort to cradle his right arm protectively against his chest. Vaguely, he heard laughter, scornful and gleeful and hellish in his ears, and he closed his eyes, begging every god and Buddha he’d ever heard of to just pass out.

But though unconsciousness crept tauntingly at the edges of his awareness, it refused to take him entirely. The trickle of relief he felt when the world began to darken was soon drowned by the realisation that night was drawing in, that the world really was darkening.

But then, at last, they stopped.

He didn’t try to move. What was the point? It would be a miracle if he had no broken bones – a miracle he doubted was possible given the stabbing and throbbing of his ribs, and the searing heat of his ankle. Alongside the agony, he could feel the sticky warmth of blood on his back, and he had no doubt that the wounds left by Zidian and Wen Chao had reopened. Though the stump of his hand had been shielded most of the way, it still ached so badly that if he had a little more strength, Wei Wuxian might have thrown up.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there. Time blurred into itself, but it was long enough for him to smell the smoke of campfires, the cooking of food. It was long enough for the darkness to deepen fully into night, and for him to hear those around him eating, chatting, laughing. Long enough that his eyes fluttered closed, a small relief as pain kept him awake.

Then, things got worse.

“Oh, look – he’s asleep.”

Wei Wuxian gritted his teeth, wondering vaguely what was worse – the horrific aching of his body or the grating of Wang Lingjiao’s simpering voice.  The cruelty behind her tone stung like the bite of an ant, and her voice was unbearably annoying.

Yes – that’s what was worse. Her voice had to be worse.

Because the pain –

“Wei-dog – wake up,” Wen Chao barked, landing a kick to his ribs that sent a blinding pain through his entire body.

Well, if he didn’t have broken ribs before, he certainly did now.

Sucking in as deep a breath as he dared, Wei Wuxian opened his eyes, but it took several moments before his vision cleared enough to make out Wen Chao and his mistress sneering down at him.

“I thought I made it clear,” said Wen Chao, “you still have to make up for this morning’s-” Wen Chao cut off as a sound rang through the air, a sound that chilled Wei Wuxian down to his aching, broken bones.

Wolves. Howling.

Distant, but not distant enough.

Horror widened Wei Wuxian’s eyes, and his breath came in short, sharp pants as panic coursed through him.

Slowly, Wen Chao started to laugh. “Oh, this is going to be good…”

Lan Qiren had been known to say that patience was a virtue. Lan Wangji knew better. Patience was a battle, a relentless fight against the discomfort of waiting. Practising patience meant enduring, either through frustration or irritation – or agony.

The last three days had been that agony, laced with guilt and uselessness. It felt like kneeling outside a locked door, one that would never open. Waiting for the Wen to move out, waiting further for night to fall, for the camp to form – they were still waiting.

And then it had got impossibly worse.

For the past few days, all they’d had to prove Wei Ying was still alive was Wen Ning’s increasingly anxious reassurances – now, Wangji could see it with his own eyes – and he could still do nothing.

Their plan depended on waiting for the Wen contingent to turn in for the night.

Waiting, while they watched Wen Chao torture Wei Ying. They were hidden in the trees around the campsite, close enough to see and hear, but too far to properly assess Wei Ying’s condition, and Lan Wangji’s knuckles were beginning to scream from how tightly he gripped his borrowed sword. His teeth ached from how tightly they were gritted, and he could barely breathe – it took all the strength he had to war against his instinct to swoop in and snatch Wei Ying away before the next blow could fall.

Beside him, Jiang Cheng was trembling violently, biting down hard on his hand in a clear attempt to stop himself from making noise. Lan Wangji had seen the younger man’s fury several times before, but never like this, never with so much grief and anguish so clear in his tear-filled eyes.

It felt wrong to see. Everything about this felt wrong.

The sound of a wolf howl rang out once again, much closer this time, and Wangji steeled himself.

“Ahh, that was fun,” Wen Chao said loudly, laughing as he wiped Wei Ying’s blood from his hands. “But I’m not sure you’ve quite paid the price. Not yet.”

Lan Wangji’s heart clenched, and beside him Jiang Cheng let out a near silent whimper.

“I think,” Wen Chao continued, “that you don’t deserve shelter tonight. Do you hear that? There are wolves in these woods, Wei Wuxian. Do you think you’ll last the night outside? The guards won’t protect you?”

Wei Wuxian made a quiet, broken sound, too soft and distant for Wangji to properly hear, but one that sounded achingly like, “Please…”

Wen Chao reached forward, grabbing the plethora of chains attached to Wei Ying and dragging him to the edge of the camp, a little closer to Jiang Cheng and Wangji. It wasn’t enough to see Wei Ying’s face, but Wangji could hear better now, and his heart twisted painfully.

“D-don’t, Wen-gongzi, don’t, p-please, p-please-”

Jiang Cheng flinched, closing his eyes tightly and gripping the branch in front of him as Wangji fought back tears of anger and pain. Jiang Cheng had argued vehemently against wolves, though he’d refused to give a reason besides, “Wei Wuxian does not like dogs.”

“What other predator announces its presence?” had been Wangji’s reply, sound and logical, and reluctantly, eventually, Jiang Cheng had agreed. Now, Wangji wished he hadn’t.

“If you survive the night, I’ll let you ride tomorrow,” Wen Chao said evilly, chaining Wei Ying to a nearby tree. “But from the sound of it, the wolves are hungry. They can smell blood, you know.” He crouched down, blocking Wei Ying from Wangji’s view, and Wei Ying gave a guttural cry. When Wen Chao stood back up, there was a fresh pool of blood oozing from Wei Ying’s side. “Just in case it’s not enough.”

Fury roared through Wangji so strongly that every inhale felt like fire. He gripped his sword even tighter, praying his composure to keep, for the first phase of the plan to work, and work quickly –

“Everyone, let’s go drink!” Wen Chao cried, and the rest of the Wen cheered, returning to the centre of the camp. Leaving Wei Ying alone.

“Please-” Wei Ying choked, and one of the guards turned. He was an unfortunate looking man, with a nose that seemed too small for his face, and when he spoke his voice was just as ugly.

“Pathetic,” he spat. “This is just what you deserve.” Fast as the crack of a whip, the guard kicked Wei Ying in the head, and Wangji sucked in a sharp breath. The branch Jiang Cheng grasped splintered beneath his grip.

Before them, Wei Ying slumped down.

Didn’t move.

“Get up,” Jiang Cheng whispered, his voice so hoarse Wangji could barely hear it, so hurt he could not stand to. “A-Xian, get up!”

But Wei Ying didn’t move, and the guard snorted, turning back around and sauntering back towards the others, leaving Wei Ying alone on the outskirts of camp. When he strained his eyes, Wangji could make out the sight of Wei Ying’s chest rising and falling, and relief gutted him.  

Wangji had to move –

Not yet, he reminded himself forcefully, his eyes fixed on the rise and fall of Wei Ying’s chest as Jiang Cheng shuddered more and more violently beside him. Just a little longer, a little longer…

Wen Ning’s initial plan had been simply to drug the Wen contingent, take Wei Ying while they were sleeping, and disappear into the woods. While it was tempting in its swiftness and simplicity, it left the obvious flaw that the Wen would know he’d either escaped or been rescued – faking an animal attack may not fool them forever, but would buy them more time. Lan Wangji hadn’t expected Wen Chao to set it up so easily for them.

The remaining elements of Wen Ning’s plan worked almost immediately – within minutes, Wen Chao and his companions were complaining about sleepiness, the lowered dosage sending them to their beds within a matter of minutes. Two guards shuffled towards the front of the camp, and another to the back – no doubt to stand guard over Wei Ying. It was the small nosed guard, the one who’d kicked Wei Ying, and as he began to yawn at his post Wangji’s rage fanned into fury. As the guard’s eyes began to close, Wen Ning came creeping through the brush to Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng, the wolf whistle in his hands.

“Is it working?” he whispered. Even as he spoke, the guard slumped against the side of the tent, clearly unconscious.

“Yes,” muttered Jiang Cheng impatiently, his words clearly forced out through gritted teeth. “Can we fucking move now?”

Wen Ning twisted his hands together. “In – in another few minutes they’ll all be completely under, if we wait-”

“I’m done waiting,” Jiang Cheng growled back, drawing out the claw they had carved and launching himself towards the guard.

Without hesitation, Wangji leapt after him, making a beeline for Wei Ying. He was so, terrifyingly still, and when Wangji reached him, his heart stumbled to a stop.

As much as he wanted to scream, self-control forced his words out as a whisper. “Wei Ying!”

The other man’s face was pale as a corpse, littered with bruises and welts and cuts still seeping blood. The skin around his eyes was unharmed, forming a macabre mask beneath his eyebrows and above his cheeks, but other than that there was no area untouched. His neck – as much as he could see beneath the hideous collar – was raw and red with burn wounds, wounds that curled up around his chin and licked the bottom of his face.

His robes were torn and tattered, covered in blood both dried and fresh, and through the tears and the rips what skin Wangji could see was black and blue and red.

“Wei Ying…” His voice broke over each word, and Wei Ying didn’t move. He was breathing, Lan Wangji could see that much, but… “Wei Ying!” 

No response.

He shook Wei Ying’s shoulder, and a lock of tousled, dirty hair fell into his face, smudging against the blood there. With trembling fingers, Lan Wangji tucked it back, his guilt deepening. He had to stick to the plan. Had to move.

“Hold on,” he breathed, standing up and grabbing the chain used to tie Wei Ying to the tree. There was no need to use spiritual energy – Wangji’s rage and hopelessness were strong enough for him to rip the chain apart with his bare hands. It was better this way, more authentic, and Wangji turned back.

But Jiang Cheng was already there. Something hot and sharp burnt between Wangji’s ribs as the younger man eased Wei Ying off the ground and into his arms, cradling him close against his chest. For a moment, just a moment, Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, hugging his brother’s limp body closer, but then they snapped open again, meeting Lan Wangji’s.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Wangji nodded once, glancing over towards the guard. His corpse was splayed over the ground, neck torn open, face marred with deep, vicious claw marks. It might not fool the Wen for long – not if Wen Zhuliu was among them – but it was a start. That was all they needed.

They ran.

Chapter Text

His brother wasn’t moving. It was the only solid thought in Jiang Cheng’s mind, repeating on a desperate, endless loop as they flew through the forest, their swords fast and low to avoid being seen. Seeing the state of Wei Wuxian, they had given up on their initial plan of making straight for Gusu – it was too far, and A-Xian’s injuries were too severe.

He needed to see a healer.

Now.

Jiang Cheng’s throat tightened, and he hugged his brother closer. Wei Wuxian was breathing, but the rise and fall of his chest was slow, and shallow, and he hadn’t so much as stirred in the two hours they’d been running. If it was already too late…

“We’re almost there!” Wen Ning called quietly, and Jiang Cheng felt tears burning in his eyes as they sped up.

“Hold on,” he muttered, lowering his head to mumble into his brother’s hair. “Hold on, A-Xian, hold on.”

Honestly, Yiling was the last place he wanted to be heading. He’d been reluctant enough to agree to make for Gusu, convinced only by Lan Wangji’s solemn promise that his uncle and brother would not refuse Wei Wuxian sanctuary, and by the fact it would hardly be the first place the Wen would look for them. But Yiling…

Taking Wei Wuxian from one supervisory office to another felt like madness, and as certain as Wen Ning was that his sister would not betray them, Jiang Cheng could not trust it. Even if she did agree to help, there were others there, soldiers and guards and servants who would have no reason to keep Wei Wuxian’s presence secret – who would have plenty of incentive not to.

But Wei Wuxian needed a doctor, and Yiling was closest.

They had no other choice.

Ahead, Wen Ning slowed as the trees began to thin. Through them, Jiang Cheng could make out a large fence, and he swallowed. His heart was beating so fast it had blurred into a frenzied humming in his chest, dread thrumming through every beat.

They dismounted, and Wen Ning took a deep breath. “Okay… let me just check the guards.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He did not sheath his sword, instead willing it to hover near his feet, just in case. Beside him, Lan Wangji seemed to have a similar idea, though instead he gripped his blade firmly, his eyes scanning the forest around them.  

Seconds stretched into minutes, and anxiety crawled up Jiang Cheng’s spine. He shuddered, his whole body convulsing, and Wei Wuxian’s head slipped from where it rested against his chest, lolling limply over Jiang Cheng’s arm.

Like a corpse.

The stab of horror that shot through Jiang Cheng was enough to draw a gasp from his lips, and Lan Wangji looked over sharply even as Jiang Cheng shifted his grip, jostling his brother back into place as gently as he could. Trembling, he rested his forehead atop Wei Wuxian’s hair for a moment.

Please, he thought urgently. Please, please, wake up…

“Is he…?” Lan Wangji trailed off, his voice unusually small, and Jiang Cheng flinched.

“Still breathing,” Jiang Cheng muttered. There was a loud creak, and he looked up sharply.

A door was opening in the fence before them, one so well camouflaged it had been all but invisible before. Wen Ning peeked out from behind it, gesturing to them urgently.

Jiang Cheng held his breath. Summoned his sword back into its sheath. Followed.

Behind him, Lan Wangji took the rear. He did not stow his sword, and Jiang Cheng felt a fraction better for it. As Wen Ning led them inside, the hair on the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck stood up. The Yiling Supervisory office was quiet, far quieter than the Qiu’s manor had been. Wen Ning had already told them that it would be, that it was much less heavily guarded being in an area without any major sects nearby, but still… It unsettled him.

“Here,” Wen Ning breathed, them into a small bedroom. “Here, put him on the bed. I’ll go get-”

“A-Ning?”

Jiang Cheng stiffened, whirling around so fast something pulled in his neck. Wen Qing was standing in the doorway – their only exit, she was blocking the only exit – her eyes wide with surprise – but only for a moment.

In the next second her eyes narrowed, fixing on Wen Ning. “What did you do?”

“Jie! Please, Wei-gongzi needs your help! Wen Chao was torturing him. Please, let them stay with us, just until Wei-gongzi’s healed. Please!” Wen Ning said, his eyes as round and sorrowful as a puppy’s.

Wen Qing pursed her lips, shaking her head once, and Jiang Cheng’s heart plummeted down to shatter against the ground. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and bowed shortly to Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji. “Jiang-gongzi, Lan-er-gongzi – I’m sorry, but you cannot stay here. I –”

“Jie!” Wen Ning protested, but she looked at him sharply.

“I’m not going to be here, A-Ning,” she said, her voice as sharp as her gaze. “I’m expected to return to Qishan for the celebrations – I was supposed to leave this morning. I told you not to go to Yunmeng, and I know you got my message to come back,” despite the anger in her words, there was sympathy in her eyes when she added, “Do you truly think you can hide three of the most prominent young masters of the cultivation world – one of whom is a fugitive – without me? It’s much too dangerous. If Wen Chao discovers what you have done –”

“He won’t!” Wen Ning said quickly. “We, we disguised it as an animal attack, and also I told everyone last night that I was leaving on foot to come back here, so I have an alibi!”

That had been Lan Wangji’s idea. Jiang Cheng hadn’t had the wherewithal to consider things like that, and apparently neither had Wen Ning until the Second Jade brought it up.

Wen Qing’s lips pursed tighter. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Besides, A-Ning, you’re expected back in Qishan with me. If you don’t go, it will look suspicious, and if you do, who will keep them hidden?”

“We don’t have to stay,” Jiang Cheng said quickly, his voice coming out far more ragged than he would’ve expected. “We’ll go, today, but please… He needs a doctor, Wen-guniang. He… he won’t wake up.”

Wen Qing nodded. “Put him on the bed.”

Relief nearly knocked Jiang Cheng’s knees out from under him and he hurried over to the bed before she could change her mind, laying Wei Wuxian down as carefully as he could. With the wounds he’d taken from Zidian only days before, Jiang Cheng hesitated to lay his brother on his back, but it was clear from the glimpses he caught through Wei Wuxian’s tattered clothes that his front would be no more comfortable.

He swallowed, lingering near his brother’s head, until Wen Qing said, “There’s a bowl over there – wash your hands.” When Jiang Cheng looked at her, she added, “If you’re going to hover, make yourself useful.”

Without hesitation, Jiang Cheng hurried to the corner of the room, washing his hands as quickly and as thoroughly as he could. Wen Ning was already bustling about the room, nodding as Wen Qing gave him rapid fire instructions, but in contrast Lan Wangji stood dead still in the centre of the room. His eyes were fixed on Wei Wuxian, but he made no effort to get nearer, so Jiang Cheng ignored him, kneeling by his brother’s head.

Wen Qing began to remove Wei Wuxian’s robes, and the floor fell away from under Jiang Cheng’s knees. There was almost no inch of visible skin on Wei Wuxian’s body that hadn’t been touched, marred with deep, bloody grazes and glistening gashes, or bruises so mottled and dark they could have been painted on with ink. There were burns, too, and half-healed welts from a whip or a cane, and that was without even considering the vicious wounds from Zidian – without considering his what had happened to his hand.

Jiang Cheng still hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at the stump of Wei Wuxian’s wrist.

“A-Ning,” Wen Qing said, and Wen Ning bustled over, putting a small bowl of strong-smelling liquid down beside Jiang Cheng, handing him a clean cloth. “Jiang-gongzi, if you could clean his face…”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure whether she genuinely needed help or just wanted to give him something to keep him out of her way, but he didn’t care. Grateful to have something to do with his trembling hands, he wet the cloth and gingerly set about washing his brother’s face. Within moments, his stomach curled, and the gratitude turned to ash in his mouth. The cloth came away covered in dirt and blood, and the open wounds on Wei Wuxian’s face glistened a taunting red when the grime was cleaned away. Jiang Cheng knew it was important, and he rankled at how dirty the wounds had been allowed to get, but without the extra layer they looked worse.

So much worse.

When he’d finished, Wen Qing didn’t give him another task. She was too busy with her own work, treating the vicious wounds littering his brother’s abdomen. He soaked the cloth once more, taking it to the mats in Wei Wuxian’s hair and rubbing away as much of the dried blood as he could.

There was a knock at the door.

Jiang Cheng spun around, automatically throwing out his arms in front of his brother and nearly hitting Wen Qing in the chest. Across the room, Lan Wangji’s sword was already raised, his back facing them, and Wen Qing swore beneath her breath. She rose, moving swiftly over to the door and casting Lan Wangji a warning glare as she did. When she opened the door, it was only enough to reveal herself, and Jiang Cheng held his breath.

“Yes?” she said brusquely.

“Guniang, we are ready to depart.”

Wen Qing sighed. “Ah. Thank you. My brother has finally returned, but he decided to walk from Yunmeng and he’s caught ill again. We should be with you in a few hours – we can depart then.”

“Very well, Guniang. I hope Wen-gongzi recovers soon.”

“Me too,” said Wen Qing dryly, and the door closed. She sighed again, lowering her head for a moment, and then nodded, turning back to the room of frozen men. She studied them for a moment, and then strode back towards Wei Wuxian. “Lan Wangji, while I can’t offer you room and board, while I am here my protection stands. I’d find it easier to treat Wei-gongzi without an unsheathed sword at my back.”

Lan Wangji hesitated, and then bowed his head, sheathing his sword. “Apologies, Wen-guniang.”

“No need,” she said, already kneeling beside Wei Wuxian once more. “I understand your concern.” Jiang Cheng glanced over at Lan Wangji as Wen Qing began to work again. The other man was facing the door, but now and then he cast quick, anxious glances in their direction. Though his face was as blank as ever, there was something raw and frightened in his eyes– something that Jiang Cheng couldn’t deal with right now. He looked away.

It took Wen Qing hours to tend to each of Wei Wuxian’s wounds. Jiang Cheng didn’t know exactly how long, but it was long enough that he began to fear the inevitable knocking of another guard, though none came. By the time Wen Qing was finished, Wei Wuxian was wrapped in so many bandages he looked like he was dressed in mourning white, and the image turned Jiang Cheng’s stomach.

Just as the thought passed through his mind, Wen Ning appeared at his shoulder, holding out a folded pile of clean robes. “Here, Jiang-gongzi…”

“Thanks,” Jiang Cheng muttered gruffly, and Wen Ning nodded. Wen Ning and Jiang Cheng dressed Wei Wuxian in the simple, dark robes, and a lump rose in Jiang Cheng’s throat. Now, it looked like Wei Wuxian was sleeping.

But he hadn’t woken up. He hadn’t even stirred.

“Wen-guniang…” Jiang Cheng’s throat tightened. “He… when will he wake?”

It had to be when. It couldn’t be if. It couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t –

“It’s hard to say,” she admitted, looking down at Wei Wuxian with concern. “His body is sending all available energy to his injuries. I’ve done as much as I can, and it should be enough to ensure a full recovery, for the most part, but… His mind may also be trying to protect itself from what he’s endured – there’s a chance that will extend the coma.” She paused, her brow furrowing as her eyes grew heavy with sorrow and guilt. “Normally, I would keep him here, I wouldn’t advise him to travel, but… staying here is too dangerous. If I were here, I could keep the guards in line without arousing suspicion, but I can’t guarantee your safety if I’m not. If I don’t return to Qishan, it will arouse suspicion – especially since A-Ning was so obviously interested in Wei-gongzi’s wellbeing.”

Wen Ning’s eyes widened. “B-but-”

“The guards saw you enter his cell more than once, A-Ning, and no one will believe that you were going in there to torture him,” said Wen Qing, not unkindly. “If we leave for Qishan on schedule, that solidifies your alibi.” She shook her head. “If we risk staying, Wen Chao will order a search, and if he finds you… With the risk involved, I truly believe it’s in his best interests to move.”

Before Jiang Cheng could say anything, Lan Wangji spoke up.

“I agree. Given the circumstances, the sooner we can move, the better.”

Jiang Cheng stared at him, and then looked back at Wen Qing. “How do we do that without making him worse?”

“I’ll pack you all the medicine you’ll need, and tell you how to use it. If you can, carry him in your arms, not on your back – if you carry him on your back you run the risk of gravity reopening some of his wounds. Break frequently, if you have to. Keep him clean and keep him warm. Try not to jostle him around too much.” She paused, her face sinking deeper into sorrow. “I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

“It’s enough,” Jiang Cheng croaked, surprising even himself. He cleared his throat. “He’s alive – if he heals, that’s enough.” Wen Qing met his eyes and inclined her head.

“A-Ning, get me a box. I’ll sort those medicines.”

As the Wen siblings moved about the room, Lan Wangji stepped over to Jiang Cheng, his eyes darting towards Wei Wuxian every few seconds. “Do you intend to stick to the plan?” He murmured.

“What part?”

“Come with me to Gusu.” Lan Wangji spoke so quietly his voice was barely a breath, and Jiang Cheng glanced at him.

“It’s not like I have much choice,” he muttered. Then, “Thanks.”

“Mn.”

A few minutes later, Wen Qing came over with a small medicine case stuffed full of bottles and vials, each labelled in clear ink. Jiang Cheng’s head span a little as she described the poultices and pills and powders and their uses, but he memorised the information, and he could tell that Lan Wangji was doing the same. When she was satisfied, Wen Qing passed the case to Jiang Cheng, who stowed it immediately in a Qiankun pouch.

“Is there anything else you need? Food, blankets, supplies?” she asked.

Jiang Cheng had more than enough of that from Qinghe. “No, thank you.”

“Very well. Let’s get you out of here.”

Leaving Yiling was less difficult than Wangji had feared. They didn’t encounter anyone on their way out of the supervisory office, and after bidding farewell to Wen Qing and Wen Ning it was easy to disappear into the trees, taking to their swords once more.

Lan Wangji didn’t trust the ease of it. From her behaviour, he doubted that Wen Qing had any intentions of betraying them, and he didn’t think that they were being followed, but still… Things felt too easy.

Perhaps it would feel different if he was the one carrying Wei Ying. Unearned jealousy burnt in his chest at the sight of Wei Ying cradled in Jiang Cheng’s arms, at the sight of his head resting against his brother’s chest. Perhaps if he could look down and see Wei Ying in his own arms, if he didn’t have to look closely just to see whether or not he was still breathing, it would be easier to breathe himself.

Or perhaps not.

Then, Jiang Cheng faltered, his sword wobbling in the air as he said, “A-Xian?!”

Wangji looked over sharply, all but falling from his sword as Jiang Cheng leapt to the ground, shifting his brother in his arm’s. Wei Ying’s face was shifting, his brow pinched in pain or fear as his eyes roamed under his eyelids.

“Wei Wuxian, can you hear me?” Jiang Cheng demanded, his voice raw and desperate. “A-Xian!”

There was a quiet moan of pain, and Wei Ying’s face turned ever so slightly towards Jiang Cheng’s chest. Wangji’s heart leapt into his throat, strangling him into silence as Jiang Cheng shook his brother slightly.

“A-Xian!”

Wei Ying whimpered, and then sighed, his forehead relaxing a little. It would have been a relief to see the pain disappearing from his face, if it wasn’t for the implication that he was slipping back into unconsciousness. Wangji’s throat grew tighter, so tight he could barely breathe, and Jiang Cheng’s shoulders slumped, his lower lip trembling a fraction.

“A-Xian…”

Lan Wangji took a deep breath. They’d been on the move for several hours now. It was likely as safe as it was going to get.

“We should eat,” he said quietly. He was sure that Jiang Cheng would bristle at the idea of stopping only for rest as much as Wangji would, but he was also sure that they both needed it. At least this way there was an excuse.

“Okay,” Jiang Cheng whispered.

They found a spot between the trees, and Lan Wangji brought out a blanket, laying it on the ground so that they didn’t have to put Wei Ying down on the dirt. Jiang Cheng sat on the edge of it, laying Wei Ying down so that his head was pillowed on the younger’s lap. Jealousy flared once more in Wangji’s heart, instantly battered by guilt. He knew that the bond Wei Ying shared with Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli was closer to that of siblings than sect siblings. Wangji had no right to be jealous.

Berating himself, he turned to busy his hands, using spiritual energy to heat water for tea. They had no shortage of supplies – when Wangji first saw just how much Jiang Cheng was carrying he’d been amazed. When he found out that most of it came from Qinghe… it made sense.

Nie Huaisang and Wei Ying were good friends, and Nie Mingjue was among the most righteous men Wangji knew. He didn’t doubt that Nie Mingjue would have accompanied them himself, if doing so would not have risked the wellbeing of all the people in Qinghe. Worry for his own clan gnawed at the back of Wangji’s mind, but he was not a clan leader. His actions, were they discovered, could be described by his brother or uncle as the reckless or thoughtless actions of a boy net yet eighteen. He would take responsibility, and he would stand behind them, but they should not doom his clan.

He hoped.

He passed Jiang Cheng a cup of tea, earning a gruff nod in thanks. That was fine. Wangji didn’t feel like talking, either.

However, a few minutes later, Jiang Cheng broke the silence.

“Thank you.”

Lan Wangji glanced over, but Jiang Cheng wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed on his brother’s face, his forehead furrowed, neck bent.

“There’s no need,” Wangji replied quietly, but Jiang Cheng looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes that burned with sincerely and shone with tears.

“Thank you,” he repeated, more forcefully. His arm was curled around Wei Ying, holding tight. “I owe you a great debt. Yunmeng Jiang owes you a great debt.”

Unease curled in Lan Wangji’s gut. “There is no debt. I wanted to help.”

A flicker of frustration passed over Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and his chin jutted up slightly. “What, does his life mean that little to you?”

Wangji blinked. What?

“Oh, Wei Wuxian’s just the son of a servant, there’s no debt there-”

“If that was the case would I be here?” Wangji replied, anger flaring, and Jiang Cheng –

Paused. Then grimaced, and looked away.  

“…sorry.”

Wangji said nothing. Discomfort prickled beneath his ribs, and he fought the urge to get up and walk away, to clear his head – though it wasn’t too hard to fight. It would mean walking away from Wei Ying.

“I-” Jiang Cheng began, unexpectedly breaking the silence once more. “It’s – people do. They do think he – because his parents weren’t – that…” He pursed his lips tightly, but Wangji could see tears escaping his eyes, and alarm struck him.

Though not nearly as hard as the stuttered, choked words that left Jiang Cheng’s lips next.

“It was… it was my mother. His hand, she… that bitch Wang Lingjiao ordered it, but it – it was – my mother… she cut… she…”

Horror coursed through Wangji’s body, breaking his heart and crushing his lungs as it went. He had assumed that it was the Wen who had severed Wei Ying’s hand, but for it to have been an senior member of his own clan, someone he trusted –

For it to have been the mother of the family who had taken them in…

He felt sick.

“Sh-she was ordered to, but she – she did it,” Jiang Cheng continued. “Because it was… she thought it was… worth it.”

Wangji’s own eyes stung. Jiang Cheng looked away, his cheeks burning red, though with rage or shame or sorrow, Wangji couldn’t tell. Perhaps all three.

Lan Wangji swallowed, choosing his words carefully. “…I came because it was the right thing to do. Wei Ying is a good person, and… a friend. That is why there is no debt.” Wangji paused as Jiang Cheng glanced at him. “But… you are welcome.”

Jiang Cheng gave a soft, bitter laugh, wiping his eyes roughly on his sleeve. “Thanks.”

In that moment. Wei ying stirred again, his face tugging into an expression of discomfort once more. At once, Jiang Cheng snapped to attention, squeezing his brother’s arm.

“Wei Wuxian!”

Wei Ying moaned, shifting, and Jiang Cheng rubbed his arm.

“A-Xian, come on…”

And Wei Ying’s eyelids fluttered open. Just a crack, at first, but enough for Wangji’s heart to stop. He held his breath as Wei Ying’s lips parted, as he slowly blinked his eyes open further –

“J… Jiang… Cheng?”

“I’m here!” Jiang Cheng said immediately, his grip on Wei Ying’s arm softening as he rubbed it. “I’m here, it’s –”

But Wei Ying’s eyes bulged open wide, his face contorting in horror. “N-no, no - wolves - Jiang Cheng, wolves, run–” It sounded like every word was painful, his breath wheezing around his words, and every instinct in Wangji’s body screamed to do something to stop that sound, to make sure that pain and fear never seeped into Wei Ying’s voice again.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Jiang Cheng said hurriedly. “There are no wolves, A-Xian, I promise. No wolves, no dogs –”

“Heard,” Wei Ying wheezed, reaching with a bruised and trembling hand to squeeze Jiang Cheng’s arm. “I heard –”

“You heard Wen Ning with a whistle,” Jiang Cheng said. “That was us, it’s okay. I promise there are no wolves.”

To Wangji’s dismay, though the fear in Wei Ying’s eyes grew less urgent, the horror grew deeper. “Wh- Jiang Cheng, what did you do?”

 “It’s okay,” Jiang Cheng promised. “You’re safe now.”

That did not, Wangji noticed, answer the question.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying growled weakly, moving as though the was trying to get up, but his body betrayed his intentions as he slumped against his brother’s legs, as Jiang Cheng held him gently down. “What did you do?”

“Rescued you, obviously. You’re welcome.” A week ago, Lan Wangji would have described Jiang Cheng’s tone as a sneer: now it sounded almost fond.

“No…” Wei Ying’s eyes filled with tears as he pawed at Jiang Cheng’s sleeve, and Wangji’s heart shattered. He was torn between the strong feeling he was intruding and the desire to comfort Wei Ying, but he neither turned away nor moved forward, frozen in place as a sob left Wei Ying’s lips. “No, Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng - they’ll - they’ll burn down Lotus Pier, they’ll-”

“They won’t!” Jiang Cheng swore. “They won’t - we made it look like an animal attack, that’s what the wolf howls were for - and even if they do, we’ll be prepared.”

But Wei Ying sobbed again, shaking his head. “They’ll kill - Jiang Cheng, I can’t - I can’t! I have, have to go back, you – I can’t let them, won’t-”

“A-Xian-”

“I can’t be the reason our clan burns, A-Cheng, please, please-”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng protested, his eyes glistening with tears. “Listen to me, you won’t! I swear, I – look, stop making me cry in front of Lan Wangji!”

Wei Ying froze, surprise pushing through the anguish on his face. “Wh-what?”

Jiang Cheng jerked his chin towards Wangji, and Wei Ying looked over, his eyes growing almost impossibly wide. “Lan Zhan?!”

Chapter Text

Determination hummed through Jiang Yanli’s veins as she waited in the throne room of Jinlintai. Her father’s letter was tucked securely in her sleeve, and every word of it was imprinted in her mind. Elsewhere in the city, her mother would likely be taking tea with Jin-furen by now, but that was fine. In truth, Yanli felt steadier without her. That being said, if Yu Ziyuan was here, or if Jiang Fengmian had been able to come himself, she would not have been waiting so long for an audience.

After a long discussion, Yanli and her father had agreed that it was safer for him to remain behind.

For one thing, his leaving would leave Lotus Pier vulnerable at a time they were trying to bolster their defences, but more importantly, if Jiang-zongzhu made an official visit to Jinlintai immediately after his beloved first disciple was taken, the Wen would suspect insurrection. On the other hand, if he sent his wife away to visit her sworn sister, people would be more likely to see a man enraged by his wife’s decision.

They wouldn’t be wrong.

“If you have any care left for your family, you’ll persuade Jin-furen to put pressure on her husband to stand against Wen Ruohan, but I won’t try to command you. If you have no wish to help us, fine. Just do not get in Yanli’s way.” Those had been the last words her father spoke to her mother, and Yu Ziyuan had not deigned to reply, turning her back on her husband and striding further into the boat.

She hadn’t spoken to Yanli at all throughout the journey, and even when they arrived at Jinlintai she had said little more than, “Be careful,” before striding away with Jinzhu and Yinzhu to find Jin-furen.

And now, Yanli waited.

Behind her, Fang Yusen scoffed quietly. “This is ridiculous. If Zongzhu or Jiang-gongzi were here, Jin-zongzhu would never keep them waiting.”

Yanli hummed, at once an agreement and a gentle warning.

“I’m sure Jin-zongzhu would be here faster if he wasn’t so afraid of Yu-furen and Jin-furen,” muttered Xie Qingyuan, her voice even quieter than Yusen’s – and much more bitter.

“Shimei,” Yanli chided, glancing over her shoulder. Qingyuan wasn’t wrong, either, and Yanli was definitely grateful for the presence of the disciples with her, but in Jinlintai the walls had ears, and they needed Jin Guangshan on their side.

A few moments later, the doors behind them opened, and Yanli’s eyes widened. Jin Guangshan was striding into the hall, but he was not alone. Jin Zixuan walked a few paces behind him, averting his eyes quickly at the sight of Yanli – and with them, was Nie Mingjue.

“Ah, Jiang-guniang. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Jin Guangshan said, with a smile that turned her stomach. “My apologies, but I won’t be able to see you today after all – it seems Nie-zongzhu here has some urgent matters that require my attention. Please, do make yourself comfortable around Jinlintai. Perhaps we can speak tomorrow.”

Alarm shot through Yanli’s heart, but she ignored it, taking a deep breath and pulling a polite smile onto her face.

“My apologies, Jin-zongzhu, Jin-gongzi, Nie-zongzhu,” she said, bowing. “But I fear the matter which I’ve come to address is also very urgent.”

Jin Guangshan’s smile grew, twisting into an awful expression of patronising, faux sympathy. “Jiang-guniang, I’m not sure what your grievances are, but do you really think their urgency is on par with that of sect leader matters?”

Yanli could practically feel the anger seething from the disciples behind her, but she trusted them to keep their composure. She kept her own smile impeccably polite, drawing a breath to remind Jin Guangshan she was on a mission from her father and tell him exactly how urgent her business was, but before she could speak, Nie Mingjue cut in.

“Jiang-guniang,” he greeted, bowing to her before turning back to Jin Guangshan. “Jin-zongzhu, I suspect that Jiang-guniang and I are here to speak on the same subject.” Yanli’s eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat as Nie Mingjue all but growled, “Qishan Wen have gone too far.”

Surprise stole the air from Yanli’s lungs, but she gathered herself as quickly as she could, returning the bow. “Indeed. Jin-zongzhu, my father has sent me here to petition you to form an alliance against the tyranny of Qishan Wen. I-”

“Ah, Yanli,” said Jin Guangshan, cutting her off with a fond expression one might use to humour a precious child. Yanli suppressed a shudder. “I heard that your shidi had got himself in some trouble with Wen Chao at Qishan, and that he was pursued for it. But I don’t see how that can be described as tyranny, when the boy brought it on himself.”

Rage flared in Yanli’s chest, rising up to turn her vision red – red as the blood in the throne room at Lotus Pier, red as the blood her A-Xian spilled when they cut off his hand. He had not brought this upon himself, and the insult cut Yanli to the bone, but even if he had, “The punishment in no way fits the crime.” Her voice was cold, too cold, perhaps, given the twitch of Jin Guangshan’s eye, but before he could speak, Nie Mingjue cut in.

“Forgive me if I misunderstood,” he said, his voice anything but contrite, “but I was under the impression Wei Wuxian ‘brought it on himself’ by first drawing attention away from Lan Wangji and you, Jin-gongzi, when you both refused to read the Wen Clan’s precepts.” Jin Zixuan’s cheeks flushed, but Nie Mingjue didn’t pause. “Then, he helped them both stop Wen Chao from stringing up another one of your disciples as live bait – and his final crime was working with Jiang-gongzi and Wangji to enable every surviving disciple to escape the cave. The cave that Wen Chao buried them in, with a Xuanwu of slaughter.” He turned to Jin Zixuan. “Have I got that right?”

“Now, Nie Mingjue-” Jin Guangshan began, but in the same moment, Zixuan said,

“Yes.”

“Would you disagree that without Wei Wuxian’s actions, you’d probably be dead?” Mingjue pressed, and Zixuan’s face twitched, displeasure flickering across it.

“It was Lan Wangji who realised there was another exit,” he said, and bitter anger rose in Yanli’s chest, until he added, “but without Wei-gongzi’s actions, it’s unlikely Jiang-gongzi could have actually found it, and it would have been almost impossible for us all to escape.”

“Most honourable of him,” said Jin Guangshan, his voice so off handed and uncaring that Yanli had to fight the urge to clench her teeth. “And I do agree that Wen Chao’s actions seem harsh, given the circumstances, but he did threaten to kill Wen Chao, which was hardly his place. Do you truly expect Lanling Jin to go to war for a boy who couldn’t hold his tongue?”

Yanli felt her cheeks burning as rage coursed through her, stronger than any she had ever felt before. It was an unfamiliar emotion, anger this strong, and it tasted bitter in her mouth. “Your son owes Wei Wuxian his life,” Yanli reminded him, her voice as cold as steel and strange even in her own ears. “But even if he did not, even if A-Xian truly had brought this upon himself, this matter is not only about him. I know my father spoke to you of the Wen’s recent actions only last week, when we escorted Yao-zongzhu here – and Pingyang Yao is not the only minor clan to have been wiped out by the Wen. Since my father and I left Lanling, the situation has only grown clearer, and more urgent. Wen Ruohan intends to subjugate not only the minor clans, but the other four great clans beside them. Wen Chao’s initial intention was to claim Lotus Pier as a supervisory office, and to therefore establish dominance over Yunmeng Jiang.”

Jin Guangshan’s eyes narrowed, and Yanli’s anger receded just enough for alarm bells to rise. She’d spoken too harshly – Jin Guangshan was a sect leader, and more significantly he was one of those men, the kind who would rankle at the very idea of being challenged by a woman.

One of those men, who Yanli had been warned about her whole life.

“There are some men, A-Li, who will never take a woman seriously. Sometimes, they’re cowed by those of us with strong voices and high cultivation, like your mother, but I fear those tools will never be at your disposal. However, a man does not have to take you seriously to hear you. There are ways of getting men to do what you want even when he sees you as nothing more than a little girl.”

“But Popo, is that not debasing myself?”

“Good gracious, child, I’m not talking of selling yourself! Though even so, I suppose it can feel as such. But my sweet A-Li, sometimes a woman has no choice. And remember, you cannot lose the respect of such men, because you never truly have it. They have no respect for your heart or your thoughts or your words – only for your body, and how meekly you behave. Such men do not respect your mother when she speaks – they fear her. But, as I say, child – there are ways of getting what we need.”

Her grandmother’s words had stuck in her heart ever since she heard them, wedged there like a small thorn – rarely painful, but never comfortable. Never forgettable.

She let her eyes widen, allowed the tears that had barely stopped since she heard A-Xian had been taken to mist her eyes, and a moment before they fell she bowed, low.

“Jin-zongzhu, Yunmeng Jiang implores you to commit to an allegiance to bring the Wen to account, before things become even worse. We need your strength, Jin-zongzhu.”

Jin Guangshan stared at her for a moment, and then laughed. “Yanli,” he set, setting her teeth on edge, “I understand this must all seem urgent and alarming to you. But if the matter really was so urgent, why did Jiang-xiong not come himself? Or at least send A-Cheng? Clearly, your involvement in this matter is only making you fret.”

Pushing down the urge to snarl, Yanli drew together a small, sad smile. “The last time my father left Lotus Pier, Wen Chao attempted to wrest control of it away from him. He is fortifying our defences – it isn’t practical for him to leave. My brother is busy working to rally support from the minor clans around Yunmeng. As it is, that leaves this lowly one to deliver Jiang-zongzhu’s message.”

It also left her mother, of course, and questions may be posed as to why she had not attended this meeting herself – especially as she, too, was in Lanling. However, Jin Guangshan feared Yu Ziyuan even more than his own wife. Yanli doubted she would be asked to explain her mother’s absence.

“Only a fool would believe they will not try the same in the other great sects soon,” said Nie Mingjue darkly. “They’ve already attacked the Unclean Realm and burnt the Cloud Recesses once – they’ll do so again. Their excuses are weak and unjustified. They mean to take total control of the cultivation world – we must stand against them.”

“Do you truly think you know what that would entail? You know nothing of war, Nie Mingjue,” Jin Guangshan said sharply.

“At this stage, war is all but inevitable,” Nie Mingjue retorted. “You’ve been told of the Yin Iron by now, Jin-zongzhu. Do you honestly think the man wielding it will not grow worse? Do you truly believe he will spare you and your city if you stand aside?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Yanli could see Zixuan shuffling uncomfortably, but she didn’t look directly at him. She kept her eyes on Jin Guangshan, who was glaring furiously at Nie Mingjue. This was not ideal. She needed Jin Guangshan to commit to the allegiance.

“Jin-zongzhu,” she said, allowing the slightest tremor in her voice. “You are right that this business frightens me. The idea of war breaking out is more than I can bare – but from what I understand, Nie-zongzhu is right. It seems inevitable. Without Lanling Jin, I fear we could not withstand it.” She let a few tears escape her eyes – just a few – to slide tragically down her cheeks, and Jin Guangshan’s expression softened slightly. He clicked his tongue.

“Truly, your father should not have sent you for this,” he said, shaking his head. Then, he sighed. “Very well – Lanling Jin will consider joining your allegiance. This is not a matter I can rush into without thought, you understand.”

“Of course,” Yanli said, bowing again. “Thank you for your compassion, Jin-zongzhu.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Jin Guangshan said, looking pleased with himself. “Please, Yanli, go and take rest. I will see to it you’re brought refreshments.”

Deciding it was safer not to push her luck, Yanli inclined her head. “Thank you, Jin-zongzhu.”

“Indeed,” said Nie Mingjue, a weight of threat in his voice. “Qinghe Nie respects your need to consider such matters. But, Jin-zongzhu – I don’t think any of us have the luxury of thinking for very long.”

He had to be seeing things. This couldn’t – how could –

Wei Wuxian blinked rapidly, expecting the image to change, but it didn’t. Just meters away from him, sitting on the dirt with an unfamiliar sword beside him and a brow pinched in concern, was Lan Zhan.

The strength in his neck gave out, and Wei Wuxian’s head dropped back down onto Jiang Cheng’s lap, but he grimaced, trying to shift back upright. Jiang Cheng clicked his tongue, but said nothing, quietly adjusting their position so that Wei Wuxian could see.

But even though he was seeing, he didn’t understand.

Lan Zhan swallowed, and then said, “Wei Ying…”

He was really here. Wei Wuxian didn’t understand – he didn’t know how Jiang Cheng had got him out, or why Lan Zhan was here, or why the pain felt so far away.

Maybe it’s a dream, he thought with growing horror, maybe it’s a hallucination, and I’m going to wake up and be back at that campsite, or the wolves – if the wolves got closer –

“Hey,” Jiang Cheng muttered, rubbing his shoulder, and Wei Wuxian jumped.

“Wh-what?” he croaked. “I don’t – I c… how? Why?!”

Lan Zhan’s eyes flickered up to meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and then looked back at Wei Wuxian.

“I assisted Jiang-gongzi in your rescue,” said Lan Zhan quietly, as if that made any sort of sense.  

“Why?” Wei Wuxian repeated, and Lan Zhan’s face creased in anger –

Except –

Really…

It looked more like the expression he’d worn during their first fight with the Xuanwu, after the filthy creature sank its teeth into his already broken leg.

Wei Wuxian’s faltering heart stopped beating. “Lan Zhan, are… are you hurt?”

A blink, and Lan Zhan’s expression shifted, now looking more confused than anything else. “I am unharmed. Jiang Wanyin is also unharmed, as is Wen Qionglin.”

Another stab of panic shot through Wei Wuxian’s chest. “Wen Ning?!” He tried to raise his head again, to look around, but his body was so weak, and his head was so heavy.

“Hey, stop it,” Jiang Cheng scolded, flicking his forehead gently. “Wen Ning’s not here – he’s gone with his sister to Qishan. But he helped us get you out, and she helped us stitch you up.”

Confusion flooded Wei Wuxian’s already spinning head, and he shook it slightly, but that hurt. “He – he promised he wouldn’t try and rescue me… and where… where did Wen Qing come from?”

“Apparently, he didn’t promise he wouldn’t help someone else rescue you,” said Jiang Cheng, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “We took you to Wen Qing, but we couldn’t stay in Yiling. I’ll explain later – it’s a long story.”

The fear that had been interrupted by the revelation of Lan Zhan’s presence began to rise again, and his heart stuttered into a race. If they were caught, Wen Ning and Wen Qing could lose everything, and Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng…

“When you break, I’m going to go straight for your precious little shidi,” Wen Chao breathed in Wei Wuxian’s ear. “Or no – perhaps I’ll visit your sister first. I heard Jin Zixuan thought she was so plain he couldn’t stand to be around her, but I think she’s pretty enough…”

“No!” Wei Wuxian choked, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s wrist. “No, you can’t – Wen Chao will kill everyone, you –”

“We will not allow that to happen,” said Lan Zhan firmly, and Wei Wuxian looked desperately at him. “Lotus Pier is strengthening its defences, and as Jiang Wanyin said, we made it look like an animal attack. I doubt the ruse will hold for long, but it will be long enough. We are aware of the risk, but it was calculated. The risk was worth the reward.”

In no world did that make sense.

“They burnt the Cloud Recesses once,” Wei Wuxian protested weakly, “Lan Zhan, you shouldn’t be here, if you make yourself a target, you – you should go –”  

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng scolded, but before he could go on, Lan Zhan interrupted quietly.

“I weighed the risks,” he repeated. “And I am returning to Gusu.” Wei Wuxian felt a flicker of relief, until he added, “That is where we’re headed.”

“What? Why?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Jiang Cheng said fondly, shaking Wei Wuxian gently. “Stop interrogating us! Because they were going to kill you! After all we went through to rescue you, after Lan Wangji left his home at the drop of a hat to help you, you sit here and say ‘why?’” Wei Wuxian swallowed, glancing away, and Jiang Cheng’s voice became gentler. “That’s just what friends do. If it was me they’d taken, what would you have done?”

“That’s-”

“If you say different, I’ll hit you. I don’t care how hurt you are.”

“Jiang-gongzi,” Lan Zhan warned, sending Jiang Cheng a steely glare before looking back at Wei Wuxian. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, and a chill ran down Wei Wuxian’s spine – one that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “We can’t rest much longer, but you don’t need to worry. Soon, we will be in Gusu – there, you can rest and heal. The Wen have no reason to seek you out there. You will be safe. You have my word.”

A lump rose in Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he fought against the frail beat of hope fighting in his heart. If that was really true, if they really had managed to rescue him without dooming both of their clans, could… could it really be over? Could he… could he actually rest?

“It’s okay, now,” Jiang Cheng murmured, wiping away tears Wei Wuxian hadn’t noticed shedding with a gentle hand. “I swear, I won’t let them touch you again. It’s okay now, A-Xian.”

It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. There was so much more to fear, so many ways this could go wrong, but –

“You do not need to believe it,” added Lan Zhan. “It is still the truth – we will protect you. It’s over.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed hard, a shudder running through him, and Jiang Cheng hugged him close, his other hand stroking over Wei Wuxian’s hair.

“It’s okay, A-Xian,” he whispered. “We’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

The relief Lan Wangji felt when they reached Caiyi was indescribable. It had taken them almost three days to travel from Yunmeng, longer than any of them had hoped, but given the state of Wei Ying, it was unavoidable. Wen Qing had warned them that the medications may cause fatigue or confusion, especially in the first twenty-four hours, but Wangji had not been prepared for two days of watching Wei Ying slip in and out of consciousness, often seeming to get caught between the two.

In these moments, his eyes would roam wildly beneath his eyelids, and he would respond to their voices with mumbled nonsense, his words incoherent, and confused, and afraid. More than once, he grew agitated, struggling in Jiang Cheng’s arms and hitting weakly at his brother’s chest in an effort to get away, to escape from whatever horror his mind was tormenting him with. It hurt to watch, cutting deep into Wangji’s chest.

To make matters worse, it slowed them down. More than once, they had to stop to settle Wei Ying before he hurt himself, and they also had to stop periodically to administer more medication.

However, slowly he began to recover his energy, and the periods of confusion became shorter and further apart. Wei Ying was not well enough to walk for any sort of distance, but he was strong enough to needle Jiang Cheng into agreeing to carry him on his back, rather than in his arms. It was faster, significantly so, being a good deal less exhausting, but their pace was still slower than Wangji would have liked.

That said… despite how hard they had pushed, despite Wei Ying’s injuries and the weight of the threat crushing around them, there had been moments of the journey that had been surprisingly… pleasant.

Like the day before, holding Wei Ying in his own arms for a while to offer Jiang Cheng some respite – like the bright red of Wei Ying’s cheeks when he blinked awake to see Lan Wangji’s face rather than his brother’s.

 Like the moment at camp that Wei Ying said, “Really, after all of this you shouldn’t call him Wanyin. Not even the Peacock calls him Wanyin, and we like you much more than him. Just call him Jiang Cheng.” Such a thing felt wrong, over-intimate and bordering on impolite, but Jiang Cheng had merely shrugged and said, “He’s not wrong.” Wangji paused, and then nodded slowly. “Very well, Jiang-xiong.” The corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth had twitched towards a smile.

Now, finally, they were almost there, and relief was flooding into the space exhaustion had carved in his bones, a grateful ache that made it easier to breathe as they skirted the edge of the city and made for the road up to the Cloud Recesses. They ascended the mountain faster than they’d moved in hours, buoyed on by the knowledge that soon they would finally be able to rest, and soon they saw the threes begin to thin before them.

“Thank fuck,” Jiang Cheng breathed, hoisting Wei Ying a little higher up his back, inadvertently waking him in the process. He frowned, blinking sleepily as they cut through the woods and up towards the gates to the Cloud Recesses.  

“We’re there?” he mumbled, and Wangji smiled slightly.

“Mn. Almost.”

But even as he spoke, the hair on the back of Wangji’s neck began to stand on end. He wasn’t sure exactly what was wrong – not until they grew close enough to hear the sound of footsteps. Marching.

A chill ran down Wangji’s spine, his leg aching afresh with the memory of the Wen guard’s sword, his heart clenching at the memory of his home set ablaze. For a lingering, desperate moment, his heart protested that it might not be the Wen, that there were other reasons a group of cultivators might march in formation to the gates of the Cloud Recesses.

Then, they saw flashes of red through the trees.

Wangji stopped dead in his tracks, Jiang Cheng flinching to a halt a moment later.

“Is that…” Wei Ying said weakly.

“Fuck,” hissed Jiang Cheng, wheeling back around to Lan Wangji. “We need to go!”

“Wait!” Wei Ying whispered, his voice urgent. “Jiang Cheng, if the Lan are under attack we have to help-”

“You’re not in any fit state to help anybody!” Jiang Cheng snapped. “We don’t know if they’re under attack – I don’t hear any shouting!”

That was true. It was quiet, so much quieter than it had been when Wen Xu forced entry to Wangji’s home. That could be a good sign.

It could also be a sign that the fight was already over.

Lan Wangji’s mouth felt dry, and his heart hammered somewhere up in his throat.

“I… have to know,” he said. His voice sounded alien in his own ears, wavering and unsure. “If Gusu is under attack…”

“Of course you do!” said Wei Ying firmly, even as Jiang Cheng took a few steps back.

“We’ll wait for you at that stream we just passed,” he said, his voice low and urgent, and Wangji swallowed. Nodded.

“I will return,” he promised, his eyes catching for a moment on Wei Ying’s face. He tore himself away, slipping through the trees towards the entrance. It was in eyesight within two minutes, and Wangji’s heart leapt at the sight of his brother standing before the gate, though whether it was from relief or fear, he did not know.  

“…as I said, Wen-qianbei, we were not expecting you,” Xichen was saying, and though to others his tone would sound perfectly polite, Wangji could hear the tension running through it. “I’m afraid the Cloud Recesses are not currently in the greatest state to house guests. If you wish, Gusu Lan should be more than happy to hire you a house in Caiyi to stay while we discuss this… business… you speak of.”

The man snorted, turning his face away as if Xichen was barely worth his time, and Wangji’s blood boiled. Though his back was to them, when the man’s face turned, Wangji could sight of his profile, and after a moment recognition struck. It was one of Wen Ruohan’s closest advisors, if Wangji remembered correctly, a man by the name of Wen Zhiqiang.

“Not currently in the greatest state to house guests,” he parroted, turning back to Xichen. “That’s a fancy way of saying you haven’t managed to clean up the mess from the last time Qishan Wen was forced to visit. Though I suppose maybe that should be expected – when was it you got back, Lan-zongzhu, after you fled like a snivelling child?”

Lan Wangji clenched his teeth, his fists curling in so tightly his fingernails broke the skin as his brother’s jaw tightened.

“If Wen-qianbei is insistent of staying within the Cloud Recesses, we will of course accommodate him,” Xichen said tightly. “Might I enquire the length of your stay, so I can ensure your needs are met?”

Wen Zhiqiang gave a cold laugh. “That will depend on you, Lan Xichen. If you and your sect behave yourselves, I don’t imagine I should have to stay for too long. But I’ve heard all sorts of whispers of insurrection stemming from the so called ‘Great sects.’ We can’t be too careful, can we?”

“Of course not,” said Xichen. His face was calm, if a little tense, but Wangji could see how tightly his brother’s hand was clenched around Liebing, and he swallowed.

“Polite as ever,” Wen Zhiqiang scoffed. “Such a good Lan you are.”

Xichen’s jaw clenched, visibly this time, and he looked away –

Towards Wangji. His eyes widened, and Wangji tensed, preparing to run to his brother’s side, but in the next moment Xichen closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. To the Wen, it would have looked like a reaction to Wen Zhiqiang’s words, but to Wangji, the meaning was clear.

Stay back.

“Let me show you inside, Wen-qianbei,” Xichen said, opening his eyes once more, and Wangji watched with a sickening churn in his stomach as a dozen Wen cultivators marched into the Cloud Recesses.

For a moment, Wangji was trapped by his own indecision, the choice before him boring into his chest like a blade. If the Wen intended to burn his home a second time, he needed to be there, to do all he could to stop them, but though Xichen’s shaking head had been subtle, Wangji knew his brother – it was a clear order to stay away. Furthermore, Wei Ying was still dangerously weak, and Jiang Cheng would struggle to defend him alone – if the Wen had made it this far, they couldn’t be safe. They needed him.

With great effort, Wangji turned, throwing himself back into the woods. His heart was hammering up in his throat, and by the time he caught up with Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying, his hands were shaking.

“Do not stop,” he managed to say, and within in instant Jiang Cheng was running at his side.

“What the fuck happened?” Jiang Cheng demanded, his voice shaking. “Do you think they followed us?”

Wangji shook his head, but it took him a minute to order his thoughts into words. “They ‘have business’ in Gusu, but they did not seem to be searching for anyone specific… Yunmeng would not be the only place they intend to set up a supervisory office. They may be here for a similar purpose.” He swallowed, hard. “We cannot go in. It – Cloud Recess has been breached before. If the Wen have freedom to search, there is nowhere safe to hide.”

“What about those caves?” Jiang Cheng demanded, his eyes wide, “The ones you two stumbled into?”

“No good,” said Wangji, his chest tightening at the memory of Su She’s betrayal. “The Wen know how to get in.

“What?!” cried Wei Ying. “How?”

“They were told. We must go,” Wangji insisted, pushing harder.

“No – wait. Wait!” Wei Ying said, so forcefully Lan Wangji actually stopped. Jiang Cheng did the same, and Wei Ying swallowed, meeting Lan Wangji’s eye. “Lan Zhan, you should go back. Jiang Cheng, you too.”

“What the fuck are you-”

“Listen!” Wei Ying snapped, “I’m not telling you to throw me back to Wen Chao – I’ll find a cave or an inn or something, I’ll hide. But you two need to go back to Gusu and Yunmeng. You gave Wen Ning an alibi, but neither of you have one.”

He was not wrong, particularly in Jiang Cheng’s case. Still, that was of no consequence.

“I will return to Gusu when you are safe,” he swore. “Not before. Xiongzhang told me not to return.”

“When?” Wei Ying asked sceptically.

“Now,” Wangji replied. “The Wen have little cause to suspect I am involved. The only people who know I’m with Jiang Cheng are my brother and the guards, but Xiongzhang will ensure they do not speak of it.” He turned to Jiang Cheng. “Where do we go now?”

Jiang Cheng pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly. Then, he blinked and looked up. “Meishan. We’ll go to Meishan.”

“It’s a long way,” Wei Ying protested, but Wangji nodded. The blood of Meishan Yu ran in Jiang Cheng’s veins – they would not turn him away.

“Do we have adequate supplies?” he asked, and Jiang Cheng winced. The journey to Meishan from Gusu would likely take over a week, and even with the surplus Mingjue gave them…

“I don’t know,” Jiang Cheng said grimly. “But we don’t have much of a choice.”

“Agreed,” Wangji said.

“But-”

“Just shut up, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng snapped, already turning around to set a course to the west. Wei Ying looked desperately at Wangji, shaking his head slightly.

“Lan Zhan… I don’t want to ruin your life,” he whispered, his voice raw and desperate.

“Then don’t leave it,” Wangji replied tightly. Wei Ying’s cheeks turned pink, and Wangji’s ears burnt, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Dread and fatigue ached through Wangji’s bones as he and Jiang Cheng remounted their swords, once more pushing themselves as fast as they could go. It felt wrong leaving the Cloud Recesses behind him, like a physical pain that lodged deep in his gut, but he ignored it.

He’d made his choice. He’d obeyed his brother.

He just hoped they’d both done the right thing.

They did not stop flying for six hours, not until night began to close in around them, spitting down rain and offering the rumble of distant thunder. The woodland they landed in was dense, too dense in places, and it took them almost another hour to find an area suitable to camp, but eventually Wei Ying spotted a small grove, sheltered by a copse of bamboo. The large stalks bent forward over the clearing slightly, offering a little protection from the elements, and Wangji reasoned it was as good as they were likely to get.

Wangji hovered nearby as Jiang Cheng eased Wei Ying off of his back, ready to reach out if Wei Ying’s knees gave out again. They wobbled, but only for a second, and Wei Ying let out a long, low breath. Shuddered.

No one spoke as they set up camp, not until Jiang Cheng pulled out their water gourds and grimaced.

“We’re running low,” he admitted.

“I can hear running water. There’s probably a stream nearby,” Wei Ying offered quietly, avoiding their eyes. Lan Wangji strained his ears, and then nodded. It was faint, only just audible, but he could hear it too.

Jiang Cheng sighed heavily, and then glanced at Wangji. His eyes flickered to Wangji’s borrowed sword, and then Wei Ying, and he nodded.

“I’ll go,” he said wearily, and Wangji nodded back. It had been an unspoken rule over the last few days that if they had to separate, whoever was less tired would stay with Wei Ying – as Jiang Cheng had been flying all day with his brother on his back, the duty to protect him was left to Wangji.

“I can-” Wei Ying began, but Jiang Cheng glared at him.

“No, you can’t. Sit down before you hurt yourself,” he demanded, and Wei Ying rolled his eyes, his arm crossing defensively over his chest as Jiang Cheng disappeared into the trees.

Wangji’s eyes were drawn to his wrist, and the bandages wrapped around it. Grief swelled within his heart, aching deep in his chest. No matter how many dressings they changed, or how much mediation they applied, Wei Ying’s hand would never heal. The injustice of it burnt, but it was nothing, nothing beside the pain. Wangji opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Wei Ying spoke.

“Lan Zhan, I… thank you. For everything. But I…” He paused and looked up, his eyes meeting Wangji’s. “If you want to go home, please go. You’ve done enough, you’ve done more than enough – you don’t owe us anything.”

Frustration reared in Wangji’s chest, but before it could turn bitter he thought of what Jiang Cheng had told him before Wei Ying first woke.

 “What, does his life mean that little to you?... Wei Wuxian’s just the son of a servant, there’s no debt there… It’s – people do. They do think he – because his parents weren’t – that… It was… it was my mother. His hand, she… that bitch Wang Lingjiao ordered it, but it – it was – my mother… she cut… she…”

For the first time, Wangji wondered if Wei Ying believed it, too. That his own life was worth less than his peers because of his heritage, or his role within his family. Wei Ying had always acted with such strength and confidence – it hadn’t even passed Wangji’s mind that he might have thought less of himself, but if he considered the possibility…

It made sense, and Wangji’s heart broke.

“I am not here because I owe a debt,” he said quietly, holding Wei Ying’s gaze and steeling his nerves. “You are my friend. I won’t go. Not until you are safe.”

Wei Ying’s mouth dropped open, his eyes growing wide as his cheeks flushed red, and for a long moment he just stared at Wangji, blinking rapidly.

“Oh… I…” Wei Ying cleared his throat, offering a crooked smile that wavered far more than usual. “Huh… I thought I was just a pain in your neck.”

“Are we not friends?” Wangji asked, and Wei Ying’s eyes grew even wider.

“What?! No, of course we -” His eyes narrowed. “Lan Zhan! You tricked me.”  

“Mn.”

Wei Ying gave a weak laugh, and Wangji’s heart skipped a beat. The laugh was weak and frail, but it was true, and the first Lan Wangji had heard since they rescued him.

“Okay, okay…” Wei Ying glanced down, but then his eyes flickered up again, meeting Wangji’s eyes sheepishly. “Thanks, Lan Zhan. I still don’t get… anyway. Thank you.”

Wangji inclined his head, but it was less an acknowledgement than it was a play for time. For the first time in his life, he was faced with an emotional conversation he did not want to end – he wanted to push, to help, but he had no idea how. With a small sigh, Wei Ying stepped back, leaning against the bamboo stalks, and Wangji pursed his lips slightly.

“Sit,” he said.

“I’ve been carried around like a sack of potatoes all day,” Wei Ying protested. “If I don’t start building my strength back up, what use will I be to anyone?”

“You will build your strength back by resting appropriately,” retorted Wangji, and Wei Ying rolled his eyes before relenting, gingerly moving to sit down. Wangji swept forward, offering an arm, and Wei Ying gave a weak smile, allowing Wangji to help him to the ground. Wei Ying’s hair fell into his face as he moved, and he raised his arm to tuck it back only to falter, closing his eyes for a moment and reaching up with his left hand instead.

Lan Wangji could not tear his gaze away from the bandages, his mind overlaying the image with the memory of the wound beneath. Twice, he and Jiang Cheng had needed to change the dressings. Wangji did not know if he would ever be able forget the sight of the wound.

“It was wrong.”

“Huh?”

“It was wrong,” Wangji repeated, his voice tight. There was a lump in his throat, unmoving even when he swallowed. “Of Yu Ziyuan. To take your hand.”

Instantly, Wei Ying’s face shuttered. “Lan Zhan,” he said, his voice low and serious. A warning. “She did what she had to do to protect the clan. It was-”

“Wrong. She should not have.”

“You weren’t there,” Wei Ying replied hotly, instantly defensive. “This is none of your business, Lan Zhan. For the sake of the clan, she had to.”

“Are you not part of Yunmeng Jiang? Are you not part of her household? Why are you not worthy of her protection?”

Wei Ying’s eyes blazed with anger, his jaw clenching. “That’s not the point. I brought it upon myself, I –”

“So you should not have protected me from Wen Chao, or prevented him from killing Luo Qingyang. You should have let Wen Chao slaughter everyone he wished to, should have stood aside and let me die in that cave.”

“What?! Of course not, that’s-”

“Ridiculous,” Lan Wangji agreed. “Your actions were reckless, but well intentioned. They were good. If you believe you truly stood with justice, then why should you be punished for it? If you should not have been punished for it, does that not make the penalty unjust?”

“Of course,” Wei Ying said, his voice pained. “But that’s not the point, Lan Zhan.”

“Then what is the point?”

“Yu-furen took my hand because if she didn’t, the Wen would have attacked Lotus Pier – Jiang-shushu was away, along with half our senior disciples, we were unprepared – it could have been a disaster, Lan Zhan! Of course one person was worth sacrificing.”

“And you would say the same thing if she had taken Jiang Cheng’s hand?”

“She wouldn’t,” said Wei Ying hotly, looking away. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

Wei Ying gave him a foul look. “Are you really going to make me say it?” Wangji said nothing, and Wei Ying’s jaw clenched. “Jiang Cheng is the sect heir. Of course he’s worth more than me.”

“Because your father was a servant? Do you truly believe that?” Wei Ying’s lips parted slightly, but Wangji did not give him time to speak. “If you came across two infants on the road, one from an upper gentry family, the other the child of a beggar with no cultivation to speak of, would you deem one life worth more than the other? Would you look at the poorer child and declare their life was worth less? Or that it was worth sacrificing for the ease of the other?”

Wei Ying looked away, his arm winding tighter around his stomach as he shook his head. “This isn’t – you – just stop, Lan Zhan. Stop.” His voice was aching, so deeply Wangji felt a touch of regret. He stopped.

They sat in silence for a while, and Wei Ying sniffed, wiping his nose on his sleeve and turning his face further away from Wangji. Lan Wangji lowered his head and offered Wei Ying a handkerchief.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, it’s… don’t worry about it,” Wei Ying sniffed, taking the handkerchief, though he didn’t use it. Instead, he ran his fingers absently over the cloud sigil stitched into its corner. “Yu-furen made the choice she had to. Don’t be mad at her.”

… Lan Wangji was not sure that was something he could achieve in this lifetime. However, that sentiment would likely not comfort Wei Ying, so aloud he said, “I will not speak it again.”

“Thanks,” Wei Ying mumbled. He sounded very small, and Wangji hated it.

Had he made things worse? He probably had. Wei Ying hadn’t seemed as sad before – he’d laughed, even. Cursing himself, Wangji wracked his brain for something to fix it, trying to think of what his brother would say –

And the thought of Xichen sparked an idea.

“Xiongzhang is ambidextrous,” he said, and Wei Ying blinked, looking at him in surprise. “As a child he favoured his left hand, but most sword forms were designed for right-handed swordsmen. So, he learnt to use both hands. He could teach you.”

Wei Ying smiled, his eyes lighting up a little. “Really?”

“Mn.”

 Wei Ying looked down at his wrist, nodding slowly. “That’d… I’d like that.” Then, suddenly, he stiffened, looking up with narrowed eyes. “Though speaking of brothers, mine’s been gone for too long.”

Instantly, unease shot up Wangji’s spine, and he looked up. Wei Ying was right. Wangji got to his feet, sending Wei Ying a withering look as he – clumsily – rose too.

“What, you want to hide me in the grass like a baby deer?” he said, and Wangji’s lips tightened.

“If I thought you would stay,” he replied. Every instinct within him screamed that taking Wei Ying with him was a bad idea, but there was no way he could leave him undefended. In that case…  “Keep quiet, and close.”

Wei Ying nodded, and Lan Wangji moved to the edge of the clearing. He hesitated. Drew his sword.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pressed, anxiety rising in his voice.

Wangji cast his eyes down, following the subtle trail of Jiang Cheng’s footprints through the winding trees. The sound of running water grew louder, stronger, and they came to a fast, rushing stream – and Wangji froze. In the soft mud of the bank, Jiang Cheng’s footprints were surer, more defined – and they were much further apart.

He’d been running.

And what was worse, above the sound of the stream, he could hear a rumble of voices.

And the crack of a whip.

“No!” The sound that left Wei Ying’s lips was so mangled it was barely a word, and he ran forward, his legs dangerously unsteady as he sprinted towards the sound of the voices. In an instant, Wangji caught up, and then overtook him, steering Wei Ying off toward the side as the voices grew clearer.

And sickeningly familiar

“This way,” Wangji breathed, as he heard the awful, unmistakable sound of Wen Chao’s laugh. “Stay hidden.”

Wei Ying didn’t respond. His breath was ragged and shallow, his face as pale as when they’d found him as they crept through the trees, peeking out into another clearing. Wei Ying breathed in sharply, as if he was about to scream, and Wangji clamped a hand over his mouth.

Jiang Cheng was standing opposite them, his back against a large, stony outcrop, each of his arms held by a Wen soldier. He looked furious, and there was a nasty red mark on his cheek – though it looked more like a blow from a hand than a whip. He did not look hurt. Not badly. Not yet.

“…ask again,” said Wen Chao. “Where-” He brought down the whip against Jiang Cheng’s stomach, and Wei Ying jolted in Wangji’s arms. “Is-” crack! “Wei Ying?”

Wei Ying jerked in Wangji’s grasp, as if trying to throw himself forward, and Lan Wangji held tighter, keeping his hand clamped over Wei Ying’s mouth. “Right now his only crime is helping you,” he whispered urgently, and Wei Ying whimpered, though in pain or protest Wangji was not sure. “If you reveal yourself, you only prove Wen Chao right.”

Wei Ying flinched, then shuddered, slumping back against Wangji’s chest and nodding. Slowly, Wangji removed his hand from Wei Ying’s mouth.

“I told you,” Jiang Cheng growled, breathing heavily. “He’s not here… I’m night-hunting.”

“That’s a lie,” Wen Chao said smugly, and Wangji held his breath. “I know it is. Don’t you want to know how I know?”

Jiang Cheng scowled. “It isn’t a lie.”

“It is,” said Wen Chao, holding out his hand. One of the soldiers stepped forward, handing him a small object wrapped in black silk and talismans, and Wen Chao peeled the wrapping away slowly, dramatically.

Revealing a hand.

Horror crushed Wangji’s lungs as he understood, as he grabbed Wei Ying’s arm and pulled him back, even as he knew it was no use.

“There’s no shortage of blood to use for a tracking spell here,” Wen Chao goaded, and Jiang Cheng’s face grew as white as his brother’s. “Look! It even points.”

 The hand glowed red as Wen Chao poured spiritual energy into it, slowly rising up into the air.

“Lan Zhan, run!” Wei Ying choked, but there was nowhere to go.

If the Wen could track Wei Ying anywhere there was nowhere to hide - all he could do was –

“Lan Zhan go!” Wei Ying pushed him away with surprising strength, but he was still injured and weak, and no match for Wangji.

In the same movement, Wangji spun around, planting himself solidly in front of Wei Ying as the hand turned, slowly, lazily, pointing right at them.

Chapter Text

He should have run faster.

When he first caught sight of Wen Chao’s scouts at the river, Jiang Cheng’s first thought had been to fight, but then he’d realised that he was still within earshot of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. If they heard a commotion, they’d look for him – they’d be caught.

So Jiang Cheng had run, forcing as much speed as he could into every desperate step, putting as much distance between the Wen and his brother with every step.

But he hadn’t been fast enough.

The corpse of the first man who’d caught up was still splayed out on the ground thirty feet away, his head almost completely severed. The second and third to catch up were dead too, but the fourth was more agile, and had dodged Jiang Cheng’s sword long enough for the fifth and sixth and seventh to attack at once, and now…

Now, they pinned him in place as his brother’s disembodied hand spun in the air, as it pointed to Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian standing just meters away in the trees. Anger and fear burnt in his gut. They shouldn’t have followed him, they should have fled.

He should have run faster.

 “Lan Wangji?” Wen Chao said, his voice equal parts thrilled and incredulous. “I didn’t expect to see you here…”

Without a word, Wangji raised his sword, all but blocking Wei Wuxian from view as he did. Jiang Cheng’s heart drummed against his ribcage, screaming for Wangji to take Wei Wuxian and run, but they couldn’t. With Wei Wuxian’s hand in their possession, the Wen could track him to the ends of the earth, he would never be safe –

And Jiang Cheng had been caught. Cool dread seeped through his veins with the realisation that Wangji would likely hesitate to fight with Jiang Cheng’s life caught in the balance – but they had no other choice. They couldn’t just hand Wei Wuxian back to Wen Chao. Never.

“Oh,” Wen Chao said, this time in a grating, scornful voice. “Are you going to fight us, Lan-er-gongzi? The great Second Jade thinks himself so high and mighty he can take on the whole world?! And for what?” His nose wrinkled in disgust as his gaze shifted towards Jiang Cheng’s brother. “Wei Wuxian… I thought I told you what was going to happen if you escaped.” Even sheltered behind Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng saw his brother flinch. Wen Chao took a step forward, but Wangji threw out his left arm, completely shielding Wei Wuxian from view.

“He did not escape,” Wangji said coolly, and Wen Chao frowned.

“What?”

“Escape implies action. Intent. Wei Ying was unconscious when we took him. He was rescued. He did not escape.”

Wen Chao scoffed. “Do you think you’re clever? Or perhaps you think you’re funny. Pah!”

He’s a hell of a lot smarter than you, Jiang Cheng thought fiercely.

Wangji said nothing, his posture only growing stronger. Apparently rankled by the silence, Wen Chao clenched his fists. “Answer me!”

Wangji said nothing. Instead, his gaze flickered over to meet Jiang Cheng’s eyes – and if there was a question there, Jiang Cheng wanted to make sure that the answer was clear.

Fight.

Understanding passed between them, shooting down Jiang Cheng’s spine like lightning as Wangji inclined his head.

Quick as death, Jiang Cheng twisted his right arm and yanked it free of the soldier’s grip, driving his elbow back a split-second letter to crush the man’s nose. He thrust his arm forward, stabbing his fingers into the eyes of the soldier holding his other arm, and a heartbeat later he was free. Shouts rang out, and the first soldier swung wildly at Jiang Cheng with his blade, but Jiang Cheng ducked, using the momentum to kick the second soldier in the gut with enough force to send him tumbling away.

Wen Chao was squawking outraged orders as the clang of metal on metal broke out, and Jiang Cheng glanced across to see Wangji facing off against five soldiers with a speed to match the gods, Wei Wuxian standing wide eyed behind him.

Another blow aimed for Jiang Cheng’s neck, and he leapt back, blocking a punch and dodging another blade. He needed a weapon – there were too many soldiers, he wouldn’t last long unarmed, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t have a choice.

He picked a target, whirling around and striking with a blow that should have shattered the man’s sword arm, but the soldier moved with the motion, stabbing out with his left hand – and Jiang Cheng saw the small knife clutched in it too late. White-hot pain burst across his shoulder as the blade slashed deep, and he grimaced, ducking back out of the way as fast as he could. Unrelenting, his opponent drove forward, and Jiang Cheng snarled.

He lurched back into an offensive, dodging the hits from both sword and knife with a speed that took his own breath away – a speed he couldn’t maintain for long. His own strikes were landing, but the man barely seemed to feel them, regardless of how much spiritual energy Jiang Cheng forced into his blows. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see more soldiers rushing towards him. He needed an opening.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian yelped, and Jiang Cheng’s jaw clenched.

He needed an opening now.

Or, he had to make one. Gritting his teeth, he threw up his left arm just a moment too late, letting it take another hit from the small knife – leaving his opponent’s guard down. He had a fraction of a second, and Jiang Cheng took it, striking the soldier’s neck as hard as he could.

With a grunt, his opponent crumpled, and Jiang Cheng wrenched the sword out of his hand, turning just in time to catch the blade of another soldier with it. It wasn’t over. Apparently, the time for one-on-one combat was done, and within a few seconds Jiang Cheng found himself facing a ring of opponents, spinning around with an exhausting speed.

“Wen Zhuliu!” Wen Chao shrieked, cowering behind a row of unmoving soldiers. “Do something!”

“S-since the incident in Muxi Mountain, Wen Chao’s demanded some of the s-strongest cultivators as his bodyguards – they’re all trained by Wen Zhuliu, and they’re… they’re all good.”  

Wen Ning hadn’t been wrong.

A blade nicked Jiang Cheng’s back, and another his chest, but he couldn’t land a single blow on his opponents. Not when there were five of them moving with equal speed, equal strength, not when he was just one person.

“Jiang Cheng!”

Jiang Cheng’s neck snapped around at his brother’s cry, his heart stopping. Wei Wuxian had apparently decided to join the fight, too – though he was still sheltered behind Wangji there was a sword in his hands, and a Wen soldier crumpled at his feet – but now he was motionless, staring at Jiang Cheng in horror.

“Look out!”

Jiang Cheng ducked, but even as the sword passed over his head from behind, the soldier in front of him lunged forward, their sword flaying open his cheek. Blinding pain flashed through him, and Wei Wuxian screamed.

“Jiang Cheng!”

With a howl of pain and rage, Jiang Cheng swung his sword, creating enough force to send his opponents flying back. They’d recover soon, he only had a second, but he needed to regain his feet –

He turned –

And Wen Zhuliu stood before him, his hand drawn back in preparation to strike.

Yelling wildly, Jiang Cheng swung his sword, and Wen Zhuliu dodged with ease. Jiang Cheng’s heart pounded deathly fast and out of rhythm within his chest and he drove forward, aiming strike after strike at a man he knew full well to be far beyond his own level of cultivation, a man he almost definitely could not defeat.

A man he had no choice but to fight. He wouldn’t lie down and sacrifice his brother. He couldn’t.

There was a loud thud, and a crack –

“No – Lan Zhan!”

Automatically, Jiang Cheng looked up at his brother’s cry, his heart stopping at the sight of Lan Wangji crumpled against a large tree, cracks growing in the bark behind him from the force with which he’d been thrown. Before Jiang Cheng could blink, there was a soldier with a hand in Wangji’s hair, pushing a knife to his throat, and in the next heartbeat another tackled Wei Wuxian, crushing him to the ground –

And in the third, Wen Zhuliu’s hand closed around Jiang Cheng’s throat.

The silence that followed was immediate, broken only by the sounds of wheezing and coughing from the injured, by the unsteady rattles of Wei Wuxian’s desperate breathing. His face as impassive as ever, Wen Zhuliu twisted the sword from Jiang Cheng’s grip with his free hand, tossing it down to the ground before looking back at Wen Chao.

“You pathetic scum,” Wen Chao bit out, his voice trembling – perhaps from rage, perhaps from fear. Perhaps both. “You dare attack Qishan Wen, and for what?! This worthless piece of filth?!” He lurched forward, away from the shelter of his soldiers and kicked Wei Wuxian in the ribs. Jiang Cheng’s desperate cry of protest was choked by Wen Zhuliu’s grip around his throat, and when Wangji threw himself forward, Jiang Cheng could see a line of blood form from the blade at his throat.

“I’ll kill you here,” Wen Chao continued, all but frothing at the mouth as his face contorted in rage. “I’ll cut off your filthy heads and throw them at your precious sect leaders before I raze your clans to the ground!”

Horror coursed through Jiang Cheng’s veins like a frozen tidal wave, filling his lungs with a cold, crushing weight.

You knew, a cold voice scolded in the back of his mind. You knew there’d be consequences, that you might lose your life or endanger the clan. You knew that all along – look what you’ve done.

If Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji lost their lives beside him, if the Wen attacked Gusu and Yunmeng with the intent to eradicate two of the great sects –

It would be all Jiang Cheng’s fault, and if his brother died regardless…

 “Wait,” Wei Wuxian choked, and Wen Chao scowled, kicking him again.

“Don’t!” Jiang Cheng choked, wincing as Wen Zhuliu’s grip grew tighter, and Wen Chao spun around to face him.

And his eyes widened, a furious smile pulling onto his face. “We’ll crush your cores first,” he said, and Jiang Cheng’s heart stopped beating. “Wen Zhuliu will destroy your golden cores, and I’ll take off your heads myself! Do it, Wen Zhuliu, crush his core, now!”

Fear tore a cry up Jiang Cheng’s throat, but it was caught by Wen Zhuliu’s tightening fist, and he tried desperately to shake his head.

“No!” Wei Wuxian cried. “Wen-gongzi, please – please!”

Wen Zhuliu drew back his free hand, and Jiang Cheng grappled with the wrist around his throat, kicking his legs desperately. He couldn’t – this couldn’t be – he couldn’t – couldn’t –

“Wen-gongzi,” a voice whined, and Wen Zhuliu paused. Everyone turned, glancing towards the edge of the group, where two more soldiers were emerging from the trees with a disgustingly familiar pink-clad figure between them. “Is it over yet? Oh!”

Wang Lingjiao blinked down at Wangji, and then at Jiang Cheng, and then she gasped in delight, clapping her hands. “Wen-gongzi, congratulations! What a perfect gift to bring your father and brother!”

Wen Chao’s expression shifted strangely, as though he wanted to keep scowling but couldn’t help but preen at the praise. “What?”

Wang Lingjiao picked her way through the pile of Wen corpses Wangji had left in his wake, taking Wen Chao’s arm and clinging to it. “Wen-gongzi is so clever – instead of bringing back the pathetic first disciple of Yunmeng, he caught the heir to the Jiang Clan and the Second Jade of Lan! Oh, are you crushing his core already?” She pouted. “Wen-gongzi, wouldn’t it be so much more entertaining to do it at your brother’s feast? In front of all our dignitaries… they would see your victory.”

Wen Chao’s frown slowly eased, falling away into a smirk. “Jiaojiao, Jiaojiao, you truly have the best ideas.” He leant over, kissing her passionately. “I’m sure my father will be very pleased.”

“We don’t need this one, now,” she added, looking down her nose at Wei Wuxian, before turning back to Jiang Cheng with glinting eyes. “Let’s kill him, Gongzi, let’s do it now!”

No!

Jiang Cheng smacked frantically at Wen Zhuliu’s hand, unable to make a single sound around it, as Wangji fought against the men holding his arms.

“Don’t!” Wangji seethed.

 But Wei Wuxian rolled over, grinning up at Wen Chao with blood on his teeth.

“Go ahead,” he spat. “Whatever torture techniques you’ve got, bring them on. Torture me – do your worst. Let’s see how long I can take it.”

Wang Lingjiao sneered at him. “Don’t pretend to be so brave. You’re going to die.”

“It’s precisely because I’m going to die that I am not afraid,” Wei Wuxian replied, that same wicked grin on his face. “Go ahead – kill me. Watch me come back as a ferocious ghost and slaughter you all! I’m not like Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan – I wasn’t born into a gentry clan. I never had a soul-calming ceremony. So go on – kill me. Or do you not have the guts?”

“Wei Ying!” Wangji cried, an anguish in his voice that seemed far too raw, far too open to have come from Lan Wangji, and Jiang Cheng began to claw at Wen Zhuliu’s arm, digging in his nails as deep as he could.

Wen Chao paused, glancing between Wei Wuxian, Wangji, and Jiang Cheng for a moment. Then, suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he grinned.

“Ha… Wei Wuxian… I know exactly what to do with you.” He looked up, and his sneer returned. “We’ll camp for tonight and set off first thing tomorrow. If we go by sword, we’ll still have time to make it back before the party.”

Jiang Cheng looked desperately at his brother, his heart aching with every frantic beat at the cold, determined smile on Wei Wuxian’s face. He knew that smile, he knew that Wei Wuxian would do everything in his power to draw the attention away from Jiang Cheng and Wangji, and he wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair, or right, and Wei Wuxian’s injuries were already so severe... Jiang Cheng didn’t know how much more his body could take. He tried to swallow, to make a sound, but Wen Zhuliu’s grip was so tight that the only noise to escape sounded like a whimper. Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped over to him –

“Wen Zhuliu,” Wen Chao demanded, and Wen Zhuliu straightened his arm, holding Jiang Cheng out in front of him. With his other hand, Wen Zhuliu grabbed Jiang Cheng’s wrists, wrenching them down. In the same instant, Wen Chao lunged forward, sending forth chains to pin Jiang Cheng’s arms to his sides. The chains were heavy, and cold, and they squeezed painfully around his body, winding around his legs so tightly he feared for his circulation.

Wen Zhuliu tossed Jiang Cheng to the ground as if he was nothing, and rage flared alongside his fear and guilt and grief. He watched as the soldiers held Wangji in place, as he received the same treatment, and bile rose in the back of his throat. Wen Chao couldn’t even tie up his own prisoners without help. It was pathetic.

It was terrifying.

The soldiers dragged them through the woods to Wen Chao’s camp, complete with elaborate tents and a cookpot already bubbling over the fire, though Jiang Cheng noted with a small sense of victory that they’d had to abandon their carriages. Judging by the tents, Wen Chao hadn’t lost much in the way of comfort, but it was better than nothing.

It had to be.

The soldiers tossed Jiang Cheng down into the dirt at the edge of camp, leaving two to stand guard over him as Wei Wuxian and Wangji were dragged away, out of his sight. His heart dropped as he lost sight of his brother, fear cloying up his throat. In the end, he needn’t have worried.

Because, when the Wen had eaten and drank, when they were ready for entertainment, they dragged Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng and Wangji into the centre of camp together.

“Remember,” said Wen Chao, clearly savouring the moment. “We can’t go too far tonight. We want our prizes to be in good condition for my father, after all, and it wouldn’t do for Wei-dog to die before his time. But they killed our men today, and that won’t go unpunished.”

As if you give a fuck about your men, Jiang Cheng thought viciously.

“I think two strikes for each man you killed is fair,” Wen Chao continued, smirking at Jiang Cheng and Wangji. “You’ll take one, and Wei Wuxian will take the other.”

“No – you can’t! Don’t hurt him!” Jiang Cheng shouted, his voice raw and useless, as Wangji breathed in sharply.

Wen Chao smirked.  “I can.”

By the time it ended, agony laced across Jiang Cheng’s chest, but it was nothing to the anguish inside it. Wei Wuxian had collapsed between him and Wangji, too weak even to raise his head as he shivered against the floor. It was his brother’s suffering that brought Jiang Cheng to tears, that clogged his throat completely.

“A-Xian,” he whispered, his voice catching, and his brother opened his eyes, blinking through a haze of pain to meet Jiang Cheng’s gaze –

And a hand grabbed the back of Jiang Cheng’s robes, dragging him away.

“No!” he yelled, trying to struggle free. “Let me go!”

There was a sickening thud, a grunt of pain, and Jiang Cheng froze.

“Every time you make a fuss, we’ll beat your pathetic excuse for a shixiong,” Wen Chao said loudly. “Don’t test me, Jiang Cheng.”

Tears stung in Jiang Cheng’s eyes, but he blinked them away fiercely as he was dragged back to the outskirts of camp.

When morning came, the Wen undid the chains, only to grab a large stick of bamboo, pressing it horizontally against his back and binding his arms to it, forcing them out to the sides. The cords were painfully tight, and the position made his wounds burn fiercely, but worse was the dread.

He tried to look between through the camp and through legs of the soldiers, tried to grab a glance of his brother, or even Wangji, but as he craned his neck one of the soldiers pushed him forward. With his arms bound uselessly out to the sides, there was nothing to stop him from crashing face first into the dirt, and he clenched his teeth.

“Nosy scum,” the soldier muttered, and Jiang Cheng glowered at him.  

He heard a pained grunt, then another, and his head snapped towards the sounds desperately, but he was facing the wrong way. All he could see were the legs of the Wen around him.

But he knew. He knew that they were hurting his brother again, that there was nothing he could do to stop them. That he’d failed. Completely and utterly failed.

A few minutes later, he was wrenched back up onto his feet. The soldiers holding his arms mounted their swords, and Wen Zhuliu stared at him emotionlessly.

“One knee on each sword,” he said, his voice toneless. “Otherwise you can hang between them.”

“Until our arms get tired,” added the same soldier who’d pushed him earlier. Wen Zhuliu gave him a look, but said nothing, turning away. Gritting his teeth, Jiang Cheng knelt, one knee on each sword as instructed. It felt alarmingly unstable and as the soldiers took to the sky, Jiang Cheng’s stomach swooped uncomfortably. The sky was open beneath him, and with his arms bound he felt completely, utterly helpless.

If the soldiers decided to push him, or even just let him go…

It would be a miracle to survive the fall.

Even in the air, it was hard to get a good look at his brother or Wangji. There were at least thirty soldiers, and they seemed intent to keep their prisoners separate from each other. If it was meant to make them feel isolated, it was working. Jiang Cheng had never felt so alone in his life.

They moved faster than Jiang Cheng and Wangji had, considerably so. Without the need to go unseen, the Wen flew high and straight, avoiding the need to dodge trees or forestry, and they took breaks only when Wen Chao or his mistress demanded it. During these breaks, Jiang Cheng was still kept apart from the others, but he heard Wen Chao laugh as Wangji asked to give Wei Ying the medication he needed.

“Medicine? I don’t think so. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Jiang Cheng’s teeth gritted, his hands clenching into fists.  

They flew on, travelling until evening drew in, and the Wen built up another elaborate camp. Once again, the Wen ate, and drank, and once again the three prisoners were dragged to the centre of the camp when they were done.

“I wonder,” said Wen Chao, “have you figured out where we’re going yet? Probably not. You’re not that bright. You tried to go back to Yunmeng first, after all.”

Jiang Cheng blinked, unsure for a moment what Wen Chao was talking about, but then it clicked. By the time the Wen would have realised Wei Wuxian was gone and thought to actually look for him, Jiang Cheng and Wangji would have already been in Yiling, or perhaps leaving it. With the hand pointing directly to where Wei Wuxian was, and not where he’d been, Jiang Cheng could see how they’d interpreted the trajectory as Yunmeng.

Well. At least Wen Ning and Wen Qing were safe.

“Don’t worry,” said Wen Chao. “I won’t ruin the surprise.”

Wei Wuxian gave a pained smile. “I’m sure it’s just as disappointing as you are.”  

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng hissed, panic flaring. His brother was in so much worse a state than the rest of them – if he insisted on drawing the Wen’s attention away from Jiang Cheng and Wangji, Jiang Cheng feared he’d be dead before they reached whatever horrible doom Wen Chao had planned for him.

But though anger glistened in Wen Chao’s eyes, he also smiled, crouching down. “Oh,” he said softly. “Did you not want to show your shidi and Lan Wangji how pathetic you became when it was just you we had? Did you think now, my threats no longer stand? Just because your friends are here doesn’t mean you can misbehave now.”

Jiang Cheng watched in horror as his brother froze, what little colour he had draining from his face.

“Did you forget,” Wen Chao continued, his smile growing. “You won’t be the only one to suffer the consequences.”

Wen Chao lashed out, slashing deep across Jiang Cheng’s uninjured cheek with a shining knife, and Jiang Cheng yelped in pain. Even as he cried out, Wen Chao spun faster than Jiang Cheng thought he could move.

“Stop!” Wei Wuxian cried, and on his other side, Wangji gave a grunt of pain. “Stop, Wen Ch- Wen-gongzi, please, stop!”

Jiang Cheng blinked frantically, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes as blood wept down his face. The wound on his other cheek was only just starting to scab at its shallower ends, and already every time he opened his mouth it hurt. Now…

“I warned you,” Wen Chao sang, “I warned you what would happen when you misbehaved … and you did. Of course you did.”

“Wen-gongzi,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice suddenly frantic. The tone sent a chill down Jiang Cheng’s spine, frightening him more than anything else so far. “Forgive-”

“It’s too late! Far too late.” Wen Chao’s grin grew more vicious. “It’s a big day tomorrow. I’m not a cruel man. I’ll let you get some sleep.” He waved his hand, and once again Jiang Cheng was dragged away from Wei Wuxian and Wangji.

The next day, they seemed to travel even faster, flying steadily in a single direction, and as they did, Jiang Cheng really took note the direction they were travelling in. His heart stopped dead in his chest.

They were moving west.

They were heading towards Yunmeng.

Oh, god, he thought frantically. No, please – god, please, no, please no – not Lotus Pier, please, please don’t –

But as the day progressed, they bypassed Yunmeng, and Jiang Cheng’s confusion grew. They certainly weren’t heading straight for Qishan. Were they heading to Yiling? Did they know that Wen Ning had helped them, after all? The thought made Jiang Cheng feel very cold, but it also brought a slither of guilt-ridden relief. It was better than Wen Chao making good on his threat to raze Lotus Pier to the ground.

Then…

Then, Jiang Cheng saw a haze of black smoke on the horizon, the tell-tale sign of resentful energy. And he knew.

“No,” he choked, and one of the soldiers holding his arm pinched it, hard.

“Quiet.”

Desperation hammered through Jiang Cheng’s veins as they drew closer and closer, as they bypassed the supervisory office, and the city of Yiling – as they began to fly over the Yiling Burial Mounds.

“Wei Wuxian… I know exactly what to do with you…”

Jiang Cheng’s chest grew tight, and he looked desperately through the group of soldiers, searching for his brother, but he couldn’t see him. Unconsciously, he began to shake his head, his whole body trembling as they moved deeper into the Burial Mounds, suspended over the darkness below.

Then, he heard Wen Chao speak. “Wei Ying, Jiang Cheng… do you know where you are yet?” There was a cool laugh. “These are the Yiling Burial Mounds. Surely you of Yunmeng will know its resounding name. Perhaps young Lan Zhan does not know of this place. It’s a mountain of corpses, an old battleground. You can dig up a corpse wherever your shovel lands – countless corpses have been tossed inside, nameless, barely bound. Can you sense the resentful energy? It’s so thick… so powerful even Qishan Wen could not suppress it. So we gathered it up, and we trapped it here. Isn’t it impressive?”

Slowly, the Wen shifted formation. Without any signal Jiang Cheng could see, they formed a circle, and for the first time, Lan Wangji was directly on his right. He looked as pale as his robes, and a red, weeping wound carved over his chin and down his neck. While his jaw was set in anger, there was a terror in his eyes that hurt to look at.

And then Jiang Cheng looked opposite, and his heart clenched. Wei Wuxian was being flown into the middle of the circle, Wen Chao and his bitch of a lover alongside him. Wei Wuxian’s arms were no longer bound, and the sight chilled Jiang Cheng to the bone.

“Let me tell you,” Wen Chao was saying, a sick grin on his face, “this is just the daytime. It gets so much better at night.”

Wei Wuxian was shivering, his eyes wide as they scoured the land beneath them, as they glanced up to see Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji –

“And once a person goes in,” Wen Chao continued, “there is no way for him to return – body or soul. There’s no way out.” He leant over, putting a hand on Wei Wuxian’s back.

“Don’t!” Jiang Cheng’s cry tore painfully from his throat. “Don’t, Wen Chao, don’t you dare! Don’t – don’t you dare, don’t, don’t –”

Wen Chao looked up, scowling. “Shut him up!”

“No!” Jiang Cheng yelled desperately, struggling against the guards holding him. “Wei Wuxian, Wei Wuxian-” One of the guards let go of his arm, only to shove a gag into Jiang Cheng’s mouth, tying it tightly behind his head. Wei Wuxian winced, his lips parting, and Jiang Cheng shook his head frantically, helplessly trying to shout through the gag.

“Please,” Wangji said suddenly, a desperation in his voice Jiang Cheng could never have imagined. “Please, Wen-gongzi – don’t.”

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian said quickly, clearly trying to smile, but his voice was broken, and terrified, and Jiang Cheng keened through the gag. “A-Cheng, Lan Zhan, it’s-”

Wen Chao shoved Wen Wuxian, hard.

And Wei Wuxian fell.

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji screamed, sounding as though his heart was being torn from his chest, but Jiang Cheng barely heard it. He was too busy screaming himself, straining against the hands holding him, watching as his brother tumbled through the dark air.

No – no, no, no, no –

As he fell, Wei Wuxian turned, his face staring up at them, and the terror on his face was like nothing Jiang Cheng had ever seen.

Tears blurred Jiang Cheng’s vision as he wailed through the gag, as his brother disappeared into the dark smoke. He fought helplessly, writhing in the grasp of the soldiers as sobs ripped from his throat, smothered by the gag.

Wen Chao scoffed, and threw something down after Wei Wuxian, something pale –

His hand.

Wei Wuxian’s hand.

Jiang Cheng howled. He had failed. He had failed his brother in the worst of ways, and Wei Wuxian was gone. He was gone, he was gone –

And it was all Jiang Cheng’s fault.

Chapter Text

Wangji couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t scream.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t see Wei Ying anymore. The darkness had swallowed him whole, snatching him from Wangji’s sight and dragging him down into the most cursed place on earth. Even here, suspended above the clouds, the resentment was chokingly thick – below…

Below, it could only be worse. Wangji knew what sort of demons and monsters would dwell in that darkness, he knew how poisonous the very air must be. He had no need for Wen Chao’s gloating – Wangji knew. And he knew that if Wei Ying had survived the impact, if he hadn’t been dashed to death on violent, rocky crags… if he was still alive, he wouldn’t be for long.

Wangji couldn’t breathe.

Jiang Cheng was still fighting. Wangji could see him out of the corner of his eye, thrashing against their captors’ grip, regardless of what would happen if he fell, too. Guttural screams tore from his throat, his anguish and anger unmuffled by the gag, and each sound drove into Wangji’s chest like a nail.

Wangji wanted to scream. He couldn’t breathe.

Someone began to laugh, the sound jarring and caustic in Wangji’s ears. “What a show… what a show!”

Jiang Cheng shrieked through the gag, and Wangji jolted. What was he doing? What was he doing – Wei Ying might still be alive. If he was alive, then he was down there, and he was alone – injured, weaponless, vulnerable – he needed help.

Wangji pitched forward, letting his knees slip off of the swords he was balanced on, but his captors caught him at once, adjusting their grip on his arms –

Holding a knife to his throat.

“I don’t think so,” the knife wielder growled, pressing his blade against half-healed scratch Wangji had received when they were first caught.

The world blurred before him, his lungs burning from the lack of oxygen and the weight of his body hanging above the abyss, and Wangji wanted to scream.

But he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t let himself, he couldn’t –

The soldiers yanked him up higher, and the blade dug deeper, threatening to break the skin.

“Fix your knees,” the knife wielder demanded. “Now.”

Resentment seethed in Wangji’s gut as he did as he was told, slicing his left knee on the blade before he was able to catch it properly, to catch his balance. A jolt ran through him at the pain, but not a gasp. He couldn’t, he couldn’t breathe, wouldn’t breathe, he couldn’t –

But he was only human. As Xichen so liked to say, Wangji was only human, and he broke, sucking in a burning breath of air –

And as he did, he felt his ribs shatter, digging into his heart with claws of broken bone and tearing it apart in his chest. Nothing else could explain the agony, the visceral, physical sensation of his heart –

Oh…

This was why they called it heartbreak. But no… people survived heartbreak, and Wangji did not see how anyone could survive this. It felt like he was being unmade.

Tears poured down his cheeks, and he made no effort to stop them. He was sure that he would fail, if he tried. With each ragged, treacherous breath, the world around him fought to come back into focus. Wen Chao was saying something, and the sky was starting to spit with rain, but Wangji barely noticed. Maybe if he stared long enough into the abyss, the smoke would shift and clear, and he would get one last chance to see…

Did he want to see?

“…celebrate!”

Wangji blinked. He caught the word only because of how wrong it sounded, and as he understood nausea burnt in his stomach, fierce as acid. Wen Chao wanted to celebrate… this.

He heard what sounded like muffled cursing from Jiang Cheng, and then Wen Chao spoke again.

“Jiang Cheng, Jiang Cheng… you do realise that if you’d just done nothing, this never would have happened, don’t you?” he said, his voice soft as a snake. “There’s no point being angry at me. This is your own fault.”

Wangji looked up sharply, glaring at Wen Chao, but the man simply raised his eyebrows, smirking at him.

“Am I wrong?” he said. “Do you really think you’ve helped here, Lan Wangji?”

The words hit like a blow, and guilt seared through Wangji’s bones, but… he was wrong. Rescuing Wei Ying, trying to… it was the only feasible course of action. The only option Wangji would have been willing to live with. His sin was not his trying.

His sin was his failure.

He looked away, and Wen Chao laughed again. “Let’s go!”

The world faded in and out of focus on the flight back to Yiling. The world was blurred enough by his tears, and made worse by his eyes failing to focus for more than a few seconds. For the most part, sound passed over his head, voices blurring into meaningless noise around him. Not that he cared, or that it mattered. It was easier, to pretend he just was, to pretend that the only things in the world were himself and his grief. To pretend that there was nothing left to fear, because the worst thing that could possibly happen had already come to pass.

But just because the worst had already come to pass, that didn’t mean that there would be no more horrors to come. When the Wen began to slow down, Wangji forced himself back into his body, straining to pay attention. They were on foot now, marching through town, and while Wangji knew there was a perfectly good – and empty – supervisory office they could use, instead Wen Chao and his men charged into a large inn, demanding its exclusive use for the evening.

If the owner had a mind to protest, it clearly changed when his eyes fell upon Jiang Cheng and Wangji, still bound with bamboo at their backs, covered in blood and dirt, their faces pale and drawn. Within minutes, the inn’s previous guests had been ushered away.

“Let’s go and wash up!” Wen Chao said. “Then, we’ll feast!” He paused, his tone sharpening as he addressed the owner. “You will provide your best food, and your best wine. You will also lock the front door – and you will not make us wait. .”

“Y-y-yes, Gongzi, of course,” the owner stammered, bowing so low his nose nearly brushed his knees as he backed away.

Wangji stumbled as he was pushed forward, but then he felt the guards cutting the ropes binding him to the bamboo, and he felt a surge of relief as his arms finally fell back down to his sides, though it was almost unnoticeable beside the pain still throbbing through his chest. Immediately, his arms were crushed together and retied, though this time just at the wrists. His arms ached and stung, but it was far more comfortable.

The soldiers drove him into the back corner of the room, shoving him to the ground, hard. A moment later, Jiang Cheng was tossed down beside him. Like Wangji, he had been rebound, and at some point the gag had been removed from his mouth, though Wangji could still see the red marks it had left on his cheeks. It looked like it may have been tight enough to bruise. Jiang Cheng’s eyes were empty, faraway, and they didn’t so much as flicker towards Wangji. His skin was not only pale, but sickly grey, and clammy, and it sent alarm bells ringing through Wangji’s mind.

He looked almost like a corpse himself.

Wangji’s chest tightened. He was not the only one feeling this pain. He wasn’t…

He wasn’t alone.

As the majority of the Wen thundered upstairs, Wangji’s lips parted, moved around the words, but it took another few moments and a deep, shuddering breath before he was able to whisper, “Jiang-xiong…”

Jiang Cheng didn’t look at him. It was as though he couldn’t hear him, as though he was in another room, another town, another world –

“Jiang-xiong,” Wangji repeated, just a little louder.

Still, Jiang Cheng didn’t move.

Wangji felt a tear fall from the bridge of his nose, and his voice trembled despite himself as he said, “Jiang Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng jolted, his eyes snapping over to Wangji and widening –

And then they filled with tears, and Jiang Cheng gave a ragged gasp. Wangji’s throat closed up. He didn’t know what to say next, he had no idea, but then Jiang Cheng made a small, strange sound, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh and a sob.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng wheezed, his lip wobbling.

“Fuck,” Wangji whispered back, and Jiang Cheng blinked, letting out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“Fuck,” he repeated. “You actually… Wei Wuxian will –” Pain flashed across Jiang Cheng’s face as he cut himself off, mirroring the pain that shot across Wangji’s own heart. Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and Wangji did the same, holding it as long as he could.

When he opened his eyes once more, Jiang Cheng was looking at him, but he glanced away as he caught Wangji’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Cheng murmured hoarsely. “That… you’re here…”

“I am not,” Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng looked up at him sharply. “We… did what we had to do. And we will get justice.”

Jiang Cheng blinked several times, and then nodded, tears falling from his cheeks and onto the floor. “Fuck justice,” he said, voice suddenly seething. “I want revenge.”

The deeply ingrained teachings of his sect urged Wangji to reroute such a dangerous thought, to remind Jiang Cheng that revenge and justice were not interchangeable, that vengeance was a poison that would equally affect he who enacted it – but. Here? Now? In the face of this?

“Mn,” he agreed, and Jiang Cheng gave a sharp nod. For a moment, there was fire in the other man’s eyes, but almost immediately it faded. Exhaustion and grew took its place, and Jiang Cheng shook his head slightly, closing his eyes. “Fuck…”

Wangji swallowed. He did not know that he’d ever felt so desperately, achingly lost, and he closed his own eyes, fighting to think rationally. If they wanted justice – if they wanted revenge – then he and Jiang Cheng would have to survive, and escape. In order to do that, Wangji needed his strength. The best way to gather strength right now would be through meditation, but the harder he tried to focus, the stronger Wei Ying’s face grew in his mind.

He breathed in, and Wei Ying was smiling, no, laughing, falling back away from the table in the library with an expression Wangji had been too incensed to enjoy at the time. Wangji had sent him away. He had looked at that bright smile, those shining eyes, and he’d told them to piss off.

His breathing wavered, and Wei Ying’s memory shifted in his mind, his face becoming bruised, bloodied, and pale. But smiling, still smiling, as weak and frail as the expression was, his cheek resting against Wangji’s chest.

“Thank you, Lan Zhan…”

But then Wangji exhaled, and all he could see was Wei Ying falling, his smile gone, his eyes bright with terror rather than mirth as he plummeted into a darkness that Wangji couldn’t reach –

And Wangji choked on his next breath, a shudder running through him. He had to focus, to channel what energy he had to his golden core, to strengthen himself however he could.

His eyes flickered open in silent surrender, filling with tears in the span of two blinks. Jiang Cheng’s eyes were still closed, but it was clear he was neither meditating nor asleep – his jaw was clenched tight, and he was shivering, his breathing short and sharp and shallow.

Wangji swallowed. They didn’t have long, he was sure, before Wen Chao and the rest of his men returned. He raised his head slightly, looking around the inn. Two Wen soldiers stood nearby, talking to each other, but their posture was attentive, and their eyes moved regularly to the corner where Wangji and Jiang Cheng had been thrown. There were two exits – the front door, and, on the other side of the room, a smaller door that appeared to lead to the kitchen.

As Wangji watched, the door opened, one of the inn staff bustling out to clear the last of the cups and nut shells that had been left over the far most table. A stab of fresh pain burst through Wangji’s chest, his mind flying back to Yueyang, to sitting at a table with Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang… To Wei Ying asking for ghost stories, and tipping the waiter enough to feed his family for a week.

To the sound of Wei Ying’s laugh, the shape of his smile. The way his eyes shone as they creased up, the way he said, “Lan Zhan!”

Wangji squeezed his eyes shut, tight. It hurt. Everything hurt.

It hurt.  

Taking a deep breath, Wangji tried to take stock of his physical injuries, but it was difficult. Everything paled in comparison to the pain in his chest, still a throbbing agony that he could barely breathe around. Next to that, what was the burning sting of the lash wounds the Wen had inflicted on him at camp? What was the bite of the lacerations on his arms and torso he’d won during the fight, what was the violent bruising on his back and ribs from how hard he’d been thrown into the tree?

None of it mattered. If he had to run, or to fight, he would be able to.

He flexed his wrists, examining the rope binding them together, and to his surprise he realised there was a little give there. It was not much, but in their haste to get washed up the soldiers had clearly paid less attention to how well they bound their captives. It would not be difficult to break free. He paused, opening his eyes to glance at Jiang Cheng.

Now was not the best moment to try. They should let the Wen feast themselves into a stupor, try to wait for a better moment. Wangji didn’t want to show his hand too soon.

It was not long before Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao returned, now dressed in gaudy, expensive robes, parading around the room as though they were attending some great banquet. To Wangji’s relief, the waiter soon came bustling out of the kitchen with plates of food and countless jars of alcohol, filling the Wen’s cups and plates before they could complain about slow service.  

“Music!” Wen Chao crowed, raising his glass. “Let’s have music!” His eyes fixed on the waiter. “You have music, don’t you?”

The young man’s eyes widened, and he shook his head slightly. “I, I don’t-”

“Ah, ah, ah - yes, of course Gongzi!” The owner said quickly, hurrying over. “Of course, it shall be arranged.”

He took the waiter by the sleeve and led him out, returning a few minutes later with a boy who could not be older than thirteen or fourteen, who was clutching a flute to his chest. The child’s eyes were wide with concern, and only grew wider as he took in the figures in the room. When his gaze fell on Wangji and Jiang Cheng, the colour fell from his face.  

“We’ve sent for the best musicians in Yiling,” the owner said, bowing. “But we would hate to keep Wen-gongzi waiting. Until they arrive, please allow my youngest son to entertain you. He has moderate skill.”

The boy gave a deep bow of his own, and Wen Chao shrugged.

“If you can play well, do it,” he demanded, and the boy glanced up, anxiety dancing in his eyes. “Something celebratory. This is a wonderful occasion.”

Fury screamed at the edges of Wangji’s agony, and his teeth clenched tightly. Beside him, Jiang Cheng let out a small, almost inaudible growl.

The boy licked his lips nervously, and began to play. He was good – very good, in fact. The sound of his flute was smooth and bright, and on any other day Wangji would have considered the music beautiful, if a little lively for his tastes.

Now, it hit his ears like the screech of a demon, the joy in its tune grating against his anguish in a way that was almost unbearable.

At least it won’t give Wen Chao reason to punish him for poor musicianship, Wangji thought, and he was grateful for it, but that didn’t stop his heart from writhing at the sound of such a happy, victorious tune.

He glanced at Jiang Cheng. The younger man was trembling, his eyes fixed furiously on Wen Chao, tinged with tell-tale red of tears. Wangji wondered if his vision was red, too. He wouldn’t be surprised.

“Drink!” Wen Chao demanded, and his soldiers cheered, and their party began in earnest. Conversation and laughter rose up like thorny vines, and Wang Lingjiao began to dance to the boy’s music. Her moves were outrageously suggestive, but even more gratingly, she was entirely out of rhythm. Wangji looked away. He was sure that whatever ‘celebrations’ Wen Chao had in mind, he and Jiang Cheng would not be left alone in the corner for long.

He was right.

“Oh, our guests!” Wen Chao crowed. “Bring them here, bring them here!”

Wangji barely had a moment to brace before he was dragged unceremoniously into the centre of the room and forced to kneel before Wen Chao, Jiang Cheng at his side. There was a slight waver in the music, and out of the corner of his eye Wangji saw the boy’s eyes pinch in fear, but he kept playing.

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourselves,” Wen Chao said, with an air of mocking surprise. “This is a moment to celebrate.”

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng snarled, and Wen Chao laughed.

“I said, it’s a celebration,” he insisted. “And if you want your petty little clans to survive, you are going to celebrate with me.”

Fury roared through Wangji’s veins as Jiang Cheng went red with rage beside him, as two soldiers stepped forward with cups of strong smelling liquor, holding them beneath Jiang Cheng and Wangji’s noses.

“Drink,” Wen Chao ordered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Drink to the death of Wei Wuxian.”

Wangji pursed his lips, glaring at Wen Chao silently. Jiang Cheng spat on the ground.

Wen Chao smirked, and nodded.

Fingers dug into the sides of Wangji’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open, and horror and revulsion rose within him like a tidal wave. He jerked back, but there was a hand in his hair, dragging his head back, and then he felt the cup on his lips, and a rush of cold alcohol poured into his mouth. It stung the back of his throat, its taste sweet and sour and overwhelming, and the fingers that had so carelessly pried his mouth open now clamped it shut, another hand pinching his nose so he had no choice but to swallow.  

It burnt down his throat, and when the hands left his nose and mouth Wangji drew in a painful gasp of air –

And that was the last thing he knew.

Shaking his head furiously, Jiang Cheng managed to tear away from the hands of the soldiers who’d shoved the wine down his throat, glaring up at Wen Chao. Wang Lingjiao gave a sickening, trilling laugh, and Jiang Cheng pulled back his lips to snarl out a curse –

And Wangji pitched forward, hitting the ground with a thud.

The room fell suddenly silent, the laughter of Wang Lingjiao and the taunts of the soldiers and the trill of the flute cutting off in an instant, and Jiang Cheng’s heart stopped with them. Wangji didn’t right himself – he didn’t move.

He wasn’t moving.

Horror shrieked through Jiang Cheng’s veins, and he looked up quickly. “What did you do?” He yelled. “What – what did you give him, what the fuck did you do?”

The Wen wouldn’t poison them, would they? That didn’t seem dramatic enough, somehow, but he couldn’t tell if Lan Wangji was even breathing, and he didn’t understand what else it could be.

“What did you do?” Wen Chao snapped at his guards, and Jiang Cheng’s confusion and fear rose in unison.

“Wangji!” he called, his heart pounding somewhere up in his throat. “Wangji, wake-” Lan Wangji moved his head, turning his face towards Jiang Cheng. His eyes were bleary, unfocused, welling with tears, and then they moved past Jiang Cheng, up towards the soldiers –

And they narrowed.

Jiang Cheng blinked as a scowl descended over Wangji’s face. The Second Jade of Lan sat up in one swift, solid motion, looking around the room slowly, attentively – his eyes fixed on Wen Chao. Narrowed further.

Wen Chao’s nose wrinkled. “What the-”

In a burst of motion, Wangji flew up from the ground, tearing apart the rope binding his wrists and sending it flying in both directions. Wen Chao screeched in terror, leaping back as the soldiers dove forward, but Wangji barely seemed to notice. He dispatched warrior after warrior with nothing more than his bare hands, a terrifying whirlwind of motion and rage.

Jiang Cheng rushed to test his own bonds, but before he could break free he was tackled from behind, throwing him to the ground and crushing the air from his lungs. He sucked in a gasp, stifled by the weight of the soldier now sitting on his back. Gritting his teeth, Jiang Cheng looked up in time to see Wangji grab a man by the arm and swing him through the air like a weapon, knocking Wen Chao, his lover, and five soldiers to the ground with one blow.

Jiang Cheng gaped.

What the fuck…?

Wangji spun around, but then he froze, his eyes widening as they fell on the boy with the flute. The kid was cowering in the corner, and he gave a soft cry of fear as Wangji flew across the room towards him. Without hesitation, Wangji picked the teen up under his shoulders and turned, jumping to the top of the stairs in one go and depositing the boy there. Then, Wangji nodded, giving an audible, “Mn,” before throwing himself back down the stairs like a swooping ghost – aiming straight for Wen Chao.

Four soldiers leapt for him at once, forcing him back, and Jiang Cheng winced, but Wangji seemed unperturbed. Jiang Cheng didn’t understand how he was dodging every single blow, how he was managing to –

But no. Cold horror ran down Jiang Cheng’s spine as he saw red bloom over Wangji’s robes, first on his arms, then his back, his chest, even his legs –

Blows were landing. Dozens of them. Lan Wangji was just acting as though he couldn’t feel them, as though they didn’t matter, and even now several of the men he’d felled were back on their own feet. The others were more likely stunned than dead, and Jiang Cheng knew it was only a matter of time before Wangji was overrun.

A hand grasped at Jiang Cheng’s hair, wrenching his head back, and in the next second, Jiang Cheng felt the bite of a blade against his neck.

“Lan!” the soldier above him barked. “Stand down!”

Wangji turned, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the knife. For a moment, everyone was still, but then Wangji scowled, whirling around and grabbing a flower vase from a nearby shelf. He threw it, hard, and Jiang Cheng heard the soldier cry out in shock. The knife flew away from Jiang Cheng’s neck as the man raised his hands to cover his face, and a heartbeat later the vase shattered. Water and porcelain crashed down over Jiang Cheng’s head, and a flower drooped down over his head to flop in his face.

Wangji launched towards him, but before he could tackle the man on Jiang Cheng’s back, a dark blur flew down the stairs, aiming straight for him.

“Wangji, look out!” he choked, but Wen Zhuliu was already there, jabbing coldly at Lan Wangji’s pressure points.

For a moment, Lan Wangji swayed on the spot. Then, he tipped forward, slumping to the ground just a few feet before Jiang Cheng. He shifted his head to meet Jiang Cheng’s gaze, his eyes filling with tears.

“Wei Ying… is gone,” he croaked, his voice thick and slurred, and unmistakably heartbroken. Unable to keep tears from his own eyes, Jiang Cheng swallowed, tried to reply –

“What the fuck was that?!” Wen Chao shrieked. “How dare you, how dare – get him up! Get him up, right now, bind him!”

Jiang Cheng watched helplessly as Wangji was dragged up onto his knees and bound with chains, binding his arms to his torso and winding all the way up to his throat. Wangji hardly seemed to notice the guards as they tested the chains. He glared at Wen Chao, unceasing, unblinking, but as furious as his gaze was, it was also a little unfocused, a little blurry…

As though he was drunk. As though he’d drunk a single cup of wine, and immediately become so drunk that he was unable to feel pain, unable to control his actions.

“Argh!” Wang Lingjiao wailed. “He tore my dress! Gongzi, he, he tore my dress!”

“Pathetic cur,” Wen Chao snarled. “Stop staring at me like that! What’s wrong with you?!”

Wangji did not reply, and he did not stop glaring at Wen Chao.

“You!” Wang Lingjiao seemed, stalking over and slapping Wangji hard around the face, raising her hand to strike him again. “Wen-gongzi told you to – argh!”

In the moment Wang Lingjiao brought her hand back down, Wangji barred his teeth and bit her hand. She screeched, smacking at him with his other hand, but Wangji only dug his teeth in deeper, until Jiang Cheng could see blood pouring down her fingers, dribbling down Wangji’s chin.

“Let go!” Wen Chao barked. “Let go, let go!”

Jiang Cheng watched in horror as the soldiers grabbed their swords once more, though this time they kept their blades sheathed as they beat Wangji violently with them. Still, Wangji did not let go, and Wang Lingjiao wailed, trying desperately to pull her arm free.

“Get off, get him off!”

As her screaming rose in pitch, Wen Zhuliu stood beside her, grabbing Wangji’s throat and staring him in the eye.

“Let go, or I crush your core,” he said tonelessly. Jiang Cheng’s heart skipped a beat, and for a horrific moment Wangji paused.

Then, he released Wang Lingjiao’s hand, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. Wang Lingjiao wailed, throwing herself into Wen Chao’s arms and clutching her hand to her chest.

“Took Wei Ying’s hand,” Wangji snarled. “Eye for an eye.”

And despite his heartache and his grief, and the weight of fear on his chest, Jiang Cheng smiled.

Chapter Text

Awareness came slowly to Wangji. Sleep clung to him in a way it never had before, and even when sensation began to return to his body, opening his eyes felt like an insurmountable difficulty. Instead, he kept them closed, trying to take stock of his body, but that was difficult, too.

Because what he felt was agony.

Every muscle in his body ached, bone deep and vicious, and deep, lancing pain sliced across his arms and his legs and his torso, as though he’d spent the night being sliced apart by a butcher. His arms and legs wouldn’t move, and nausea roiled in his stomach. His head was pounding, and his chest ached in a way that suggested broken ribs.

What… what had happened?

He swallowed, and instantly noticed the taste of blood. A thrill of fear ran down his spine. Was he bleeding? Why? How? The last thing he remembered was fighting as his mouth was pushed open… what had happened?

He finally forced his eyes to open, but they felt uncomfortably gummy, and it took a few moments of blinking before his vision was clear. He was in a dark, stone room – a dungeon, perhaps? – and Jiang Cheng was sitting opposite him.

Wangji’s heart dropped.

The younger man was shackled at the neck, wrists, and ankles, a pool of dark, heavy chains in his lap. While the deep gashes in his cheeks had started to scab over in the last couple of days, now they were gaping open again, and haloed with fresh bruises. It was hard to tell if the shadows beneath his eyes came from fatigue or bruising. His lip was split so deeply it was seeping a slow, ceaseless trail down his chin, and his robes were torn, fraying, and covered in much, much more blood than they had been in Wangji’s memory.

“Wh-” he rasped, wincing at both the gravelly sound of his voice and the pain of it leaving his lips. It felt like sand had been poured down his mouth and throat, and with difficulty, he swallowed. “What happened?”

Jiang Cheng raised an eyebrow. “What do you remember?”

Wangji thought back, trying to think past the pounding in his skull. What did… “There… Wen Chao… wanted us to drink.”

To his surprise, Jiang Cheng gave a soft snort, almost a laugh. “I wondered…” He shook his head and – even more bizarrely – gave a small smirk. “Well, they made us drink. And then you beat the crap out of them.”

Bewilderment and alarm rose through Wangji with equal strength, and he shook his head slightly, only for the throbbing pain in his skull to flare. “What?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged, resting his head back against the wall, that small, smug smirk still in place. “I didn’t know it was possible to get that drunk off of one cup of wine – first you passed out. Then you woke up, broke free, and tried to fight your way to Wen Chao. It was really impressive, actually. Unfortunately, Wen Zhuliu took you by surprise and they managed to incapacitate you – but even then, you bit that bitch’s Jiaojiao’s hand so hard you nearly took her fingers off. I think the bones are broken. It was great.”

Blinking, Wangji cast back in his mind, but all he remembered past his mouth being forced open was the dark nothingness of sleep. “I… don’t remember…” He swallowed again, trying to raise a hand to his throat, but his arms were restricted, tightly. He glanced down to see chains winding around his torso, binding his arms to his sides, and more coiling around his legs, binding them together, too. He could also feel shackles around his wrists and ankles, and now that he paid attention, his throat, too.

Jiang Cheng winced. “They went a bit overboard,” he said, grimacing. “And, uh… don’t be surprised if they gag you today. Only reason they didn’t last night was because I managed to convince them you might choke on your own vomit.”

It took Wangji a moment to take everything in. To hear that he had been so destructive without retaining any memory of it was unsettling – beyond unsettling. It turned his stomach not to know what he had done, what had been done to him – to know that there was a whole span of time when anything could have happened… And even though Jiang Cheng seemed to think it a good thing…

“They punished you,” he stated, and Jiang Cheng shrugged again.

“They punished you, too,” he replied bluntly. “It was worth it.”

But shame was beginning to burn in Wangji’s gut. “No. I knew there was give in my bonds, but I wasted the advantage. Our condition is worse than it was before. That cannot be worth it. I am sorry.”

“You didn’t see the look on her face,” Jiang Cheng returned, but he also closed his eyes. “We’re fucked either way.”

Wangji swallowed. Thirst clawed at the inside of his throat, worse than it had ever been before in his life. If this was what drinking did, he had no desire to ever do so again. Though of course, the alcohol wasn’t the cause of the worst of his injuries, not directly.

It wasn’t responsible for the agony in his chest, either.

“See, Emperor’s Smile… I’ll spare you a pot, and then you can forget about this… deal?”

He would never forget. He wouldn’t let himself, he couldn’t. Wei Ying in the moonlight, his impossible smile that was at once cheeky and sheepish, untouched by the grief that was to come. That first night…

But even now, even as he tried to picture that brilliant smile, his mind overlayed the image with the memory of Wei Ying falling, the terror on his face, that last –

“It’s okay, A-Cheng, Lan Zhan, it’s-”

Wangji’s chest tightened like a vice.

There was the sound of a key turning in a lock, and Wangji tensed, looking around until he saw a door in the dark wall. For the first time, he noticed that they were in what looked to be a cellar, though the shelves were stripped bare. A small, barred window above their heads let in what little light there was, and Wangji braced himself as the door opened.

But to his surprise, the figure that slipped inside was the boy from last night, the flautist, and he looked terrified. His face was pale and clammy, and he pushed the door shut quickly beside him and turned – swallowed.

Then, he gave a little bow. “Gongzi, Gongzi,” he greeted, his voice almost inaudible. “I’m sorry to disturb you, b-but Fuqin says the soldiers will wake soon. I, I’ve come to give you these.” He darted forward, reaching into a bag on his hip and passing Jiang Cheng a bread roll and a water skein. “I, I don’t know if they’re feeding you, but, I…” he trailed off, moving warily towards Wangji and hesitating before him. “Thank you, Gongzi.”

Wangji blinked, unsure of what he was being thanked for, but before he could respond the boy knelt before him, holding the bread roll close to his face.

“I’m s-sorry that I can’t untie you, I don’t know how,” he whispered. “And I don’t, I don’t want to make any trouble. M-may I?”

The idea of eating from the boy’s hand brought humiliation to Wangji’s cheeks, but he supposed the shame would be worse eating from the floor like a beast. He nodded, and the boy quickly tore a strip from the bread, holding the very edge of the piece so that Wangji could take it without touching his fingers.

The bread was particularly good, fresh and warm, and surprisingly, the nausea in his stomach began to abate. The boy was almost painfully respectful, averting his gaze as Wangji ate. When the bread roll was finished, he offered Wangji a flask, and Wangji stiffened.

“If it’s the same as this one, it’s just water, Lan-xiong,” Jiang Cheng murmured, and the boy looked surprised.

“Y-yes, Gongzi, it’s water. D-did you want something else? I don’t know if I have time to-”

“Water is fine,” Wangji said. “Water is preferable. Thank you.”

The boy nodded, holding the flask to Wangji’s lips. The sensation of cool, clean water pouring down his throat was a relief beyond Wangji’s expectations, and within a few moments he had drained the flask dry.

“Thank you,” he repeated, but the boy shook his head.

“It’s the least I could do,” he whispered, glancing anxiously at the door. “I need to go, before, before anyone-”

“Don’t forget this,” said Jiang Cheng gruffly, handing him back the flask. “You were never here.”

The boy gave a small smile, nodding anxiously. “Thank you, Gongzi.”

“No,” Wangji said, “thank you.”

With a final, frightened smile, the boy bowed and scurried out of the room. Wangji heard the door lock behind him, and he held his breath, concerned that he’d hear the young flautist getting caught, but there was nothing. He frowned slightly.

“Are there no guards on the doors?”       

Jiang Cheng glanced at the door. “It’s not like this place has a dungeon. We’re in the wine cellar,” he muttered. “Only way out is through the kitchen, and there’s only one door out of the kitchen. The guards are probably there.”

That made sense. Wangji wondered whether the empty shelves had been plundered by Wen Chao and his soldiers, or whether it had been removed to prevent him from drinking any more.

“Why did he thank us?”

Jiang Cheng gave another lifeless laugh. “You. He thanked you. In the middle of your rampage you took him upstairs, got him out of it. By the time Wen Chao had stopped screaming long enough to care about music the inn owner had got back with the band, so the kid managed to skip the rest of the night.”

Oh… Well, at least he’d taken care of the child.

Jiang Cheng shifted, and then coughed, his entire face creasing with pain. When he took his hand away from his mouth, Wangji saw blood on his lips. Wangji’s relief faded, washed away by his shame. 

“What did they do to you?”

Jiang Cheng scowled. “What is this, twenty questions?”

Wangji did not know Jiang Cheng well enough to interpret what the spark of anger in his tone meant, but he was certain that it wasn’t malice.

“I only want to know what it is I have done,” he said quietly, and Jiang Cheng sighed.

“Nothing you didn’t suffer worse for,” Jiang Cheng said, raising a knee and hugging it to his chest with a wince. His voice grew quiet, very quiet. “I thought they were going to beat you to death, for a minute. What I got… It wasn’t as bad. I’m fine.”

There was a finality in his tone that could not be misunderstood, so – reluctantly – Wangji let it go.

Shortly afterwards, the door burst open, and Wen Zhuliu strode into the room, pulling a bundle of cloth from his robes. Wangji stiffened, drawing back, but Wen Zhuliu simply grabbed the chains and pulled Wangji up onto his knees. With his legs bound and his arms immobile, Wangji wobbled for a second.

“Open your mouth,” Wen Zhuliu said blandly, and Wangji glared at him. In just as soulless a tone, Wen Zhuliu said, “Open your mouth, or I will make you.”

Reluctantly, furiously, Wangji obeyed, and the wad of cloth was stuffed into his mouth. A moment later, a long strip of fabric was tied around his head, sealing his mouth, and he glared, breathing slowly and deliberately through his nose.

“It is done,” Wen Zhuliu said, and two more soldiers filed into the small room, taking Jiang Cheng by the arms, dragging him to his feet and leading him away. Cold, distant humour rose in Wangji’s chest. Were they truly that scared of him?

Any humour faded after he was dragged outside like a sack of rice and thrown face down in the dirt, when he heard Wen Chao say, “Now!” and the sound of blades being drawn.

“What are you doing?!” Jiang Cheng cried, his voice hoarse and raw, and alarm jolted through Wangji’s heart.

“Speak again, and I’ll cut out your tongue,” Wen Chao growled, “Do not test me!”

Wangji looked up, catching Jiang Cheng’s furious, frightened gaze, and then over his shoulder at in time to see two soldiers reach him, their swords drawn. As one, they thrust their blades forward, and Wangji heard the shriek of metal on metal, and felt one nick his skin as it shot across his back – under the chains. The swords had been inserted under the chains, and a sudden thrill of fear ran through him.

Did they mean to –

The swords rose, answering Wangji’s question, and his stomach dropped in horror as the ground fell away from beneath him. It was one thing to fly as a captive, arms bound, one knee on each sword, but to be suspended beneath the blades of your enemy –

“You better not squirm, Lan Wangji,” Wen Chao taunted. “We wouldn’t want you to fall, would we?”

The flight to Qishan took a little less than twelve hours. The Wen moved faster than they had the day before, considerably so, and they had less distance to cover.

It was the worst flight of Wangji’s life. Fear thundered through him like never before, his heart stopping every time he heard the chains move or shift, his stomach dropping at every shift in speed or change in angle of the blades above him. Wangji had never been afraid of flying, but he wasn’t flying. He was suspended, helpless, and if the chains slipped, or the Wen so wished, he would fall. He would fall, and die.

Like Wei Ying.

It was all he could see as he looked down at the world below, the memory of Wei Ying’s expression as he fell, and no matter how hard he tried to think of anything else, he failed. Recollections of meeting Wei Ying were overlaid with blood and bruises, the thought of his laugh drowned out by that wretched, “It’s okay…”

Over and over, his mind played it out. Over and over, he watched Wei Ying fall, watched the resentment close over his face… Over, and over, and over, and his tears fell through the sky like rain. It was unrelenting, unceasing, and save a short break for lunch, they flew almost solidly for over twelve hours.

Finally, as the sun began so sink, they reached Nightless City, landing in a small, quiet courtyard before the palace.

“We’ve made good time,” Wen Chao said, before waving his hand dismissively towards Jiang Cheng and Wangji. Wang Lingjiao was clinging to his arm, and stubbornly not looking in Wangji’s direction. “Get them ready. I can’t deliver them to my father looking like shit.”

“Yes, Gongzi!” the soldiers chanted.

“Wen Chao,” said Wen Zhuliu quietly, stepping forward. “You remember what we spoke of?”

“Yes, yes,” he said dismissively, sauntering off with his mistress. As he left, Wangji and Jiang Cheng were dragged towards a small, dark building on the edge of the courtyard. A dungeon, by the looks of it, though when they were dragged inside, it wasn’t quite what Wangji had expected. In the centre of the room, behind a heavy door of iron bars, he could see a staircase cutting down under the earth – that he had anticipated – but around it, the walls were pale and clean rather than dank or dark. More iron-barred doors were set into it, four by his count, but when he was pushed through one, the cell equally strange. The floors were stone, but clean and smooth, and there was plenty of light streaming in through the narrow window that ran just below the roof. There was a bed, small and simple, but complete with neat blankets and pillows, and most bizarrely, in the other corner of the room there was a bathtub.

Wangji looked over his shoulder, but even as he did Jiang Cheng was snatched out of sight, forced into another cell. Instinctively, Wangji tried to grit his teeth, but all he could do was bite onto the gag, and he grimaced. He heard someone enter the cell behind him, heard the door close.

The soldiers holding him spun him around, and once again Lan Wangji found him face to face with Wen Zhuliu. In three quick strikes, Wen Zhuliu sealed his spiritual energy, stealing the strength from Wangji’s limbs, and the warmth from his skin. He fought not to shiver, forcing himself to maintain eye contact.

“If you fight, I will crush Jiang Wanyin’s core,” said Wen Zhuliu, as calmly as though he was discussing the weather. “Do you understand?”

Seething, Wangji nodded, and Wen Zhuliu clicked his fingers. The chains fell away, pooling around Wangji’s feet, leaving only the shackles around his wrists intact. One of the other soldiers cut the gag away. Then, one of them handed Wangji something. A bar of soap. The other placed a worn towel and a pile of folded clothes on the bed. With a thrill of anger, Wangji recognised them as his own, the spare set he’d stored in his Qiankun pouch. He’d already known the Wen had looked through his things, and he knew that they’d confiscated his guqin, but the reminder that strangers had pawed through his belongings was not a fond one.

“You have five minutes,” said Wen Zhuliu. “Wash yourself, or we will do it for you.”

With that, the Wen all left the room. Pausing at the door, Wen Zhuliu clicked once more, and the shackles fell from Wangji’s wrists. They clanged into the chais on the floor, which shot out between the bars of the cell, back towards Wen Zhuliu, who finally turned away, leaving Wangji alone.

 For a moment, Wangji didn’t move. A part of him wanted to refuse on principle, but as deeply as the thought horrified him, he wouldn’t put it past the Wen to strip him and wash him themselves. Reluctantly, he forced his aching body to move, taking off his outer robes, and then, after a moment of hesitation, his inner robes. He kept his trousers on, and had no intent of removing them, but there were so many wounds on his torso that cleaning them properly would be a sensible decision.

His muscles ached in protest as he clambered into the tub, very movement bringing a fresh shot of pain from another injury. The water was cold, very cold, but that was no issue. The Cold Ponds were far worse, and at least the water was clean.

There was an undeniable relief that eased through him as he scrubbed himself clean. A part of him was disgruntled at that, seeing how he had been ordered to bathe, rather than invited, but he was too exhausted to care. At least now he could wash away the dirt and sweat and grime of the last few days.

And the blood.

Within the first two minutes, the water was clouded, rusted red blood swirling through the tub like storm clouds dancing through the sky, jarringly carefree. Still, Wangji scrubbed, washing himself as thoroughly as he could as quickly as possible. He did not want to risk the Wen returning while he was in his undergarments – it was bad enough that the barred door had no cover. There was no point trying to wash his hair in so short a span of time, but he rinsed the ends, where mud or blood tangled it into small clumps.

Getting out of the tub, he dried himself briskly, changing into his own spare robes. They smelt like home, and tears stung Wangji’s eyes fiercely. He wanted to go home. It felt childish admitting it, even in the privacy of his own mind, but he wanted to go home. He wanted his brother, his uncle –

He closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, and drew in a deep breath. There was no point dwelling on those thoughts. If he wanted to see the Cloud Recesses again, he had to focus on surviving. He combed his fingers through his hair, trying to make it more presentable, and then adjusted his ribbon, his heart aching for home as his fingers brushed over the family sigil.

There was a loud clang, and it was only years of practising self restraint that stopped Wangji from jumping violently. There was a soldier at the door, a short, metal cudgel in hand that he’d clearly just banged against the iron bars, and Wangji stared at him.

“Hands!” the man barked, banging on the bars again when Wangji did not move. “Hands out in front of you.”

Glaring, Wangji held out his hands. As he did, Wen Zhuliu appeared in the doorway, drawing a talisman in the air and casting it forward. Once more, shackles shot out to seal around Wangji’s wrists and ankles and neck, but this time they looked different. The metal was a shade far nearer to silver than to iron, and it shone where it caught the light. The chains that ran between the shackles were smaller, and so brightly polished they looked more like decoration than restraints. However, Wangji was under no illusions they would be easy to break.

The cell door opened, and Wen Zhuliu strode forward, a silk sash in his hands. He raised it towards Wangji’s mouth, but Wangji leant back, making his voice as cool as possible.

“That will not be necessary.”

“That is not your choice to make,” Wen Zhuliu replied, and Wangji seethed as the gag was tied over his mouth. The silk was soft against his skin, and Wangji was sure that he could get it loose with enough movement, but he kept still, and kept quiet. He’d already made the mistake of breaking free too soon once before. He would not make the same mistake again.

“Let’s go,” Wen Zhuliu said, and Wangji clenched his jaw, following before he could be dragged along by his chains. As he entered the corridor, the door to the next cell swung open, and Jiang Cheng was shoved out of it, stumbling in shackles of his own. Like Wangji, he appeared to be in clean clothes, the worst of the grime gone from his face and neck and hands, and like Wangji he was gagged with a silk scarf and bound in shining chains.

Jiang Cheng met Wangji’s gaze, his eyes burning, but then he was shoved forward once more, and their eye contact broke. Wen Zhuliu marched them back to the entrance of the dungeon, and Wangji’s gut coiled in disgust.

Wen Chao was waiting for them. He smirked, eyes roaming over Wangji and Jiang Cheng. “Perfect. Now they look like proper prizes.”

The words of Jiang Cheng’s bitter protest may have been muffled by the gag, but the vehemence and fury were unmistakable. Without hesitation, one of the soldiers struck him in the stomach with the butt of his sword.

“Quiet!” he snapped.

With a sickening grin, Wen Chao strode to the large, iron barred door over the staircase, and a guard swept forward, casting first a complex talisman to unlock it, then using a key. The door swung open with an eerie creak, and Wen Chao sauntered down the stairs. Two soldiers flanked him, and then Wangji was prodded sharply in the back. Fists clenching, he followed, descending into a grimy darkness that far better fit his idea of a dungeon than the clean rooms they’d been led to.

Black stone and black iron made the walls, broke in some places by heavy wooden doors, and the sound of crying and muttering could be heard behind several. As they marched on down the corridor, and Wangji also heard a low, rumbling growl. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, but they didn’t stop, not there. Instead, Wen Chao strode deeper and deeper down, until they came to another guarded door. The guards stepped aside, and even as they did so they were casting talismans, no doubt the first stage of unlocking the door. Wen Chao, too, performed a spell, though Wangji couldn’t say of what sort, his view blocked by Wen Chao’s back. He heard the turn of another key, and the, soundlessly, the door swung open.

And Wangji’s stomach dropped.

A tunnel stretched out before them, sloping upwards, and even darker than the dungeon. In the dim torchlight, he could see black walls splattered with rusted red bloodstains, and when he was pushed inside after Wen Chao, the smell smacked him in the face.

The stench of blood, and death.

It took all his effort not to flinch as he forced himself forward, up the tunnel after Wen Chao. The floor was sticky beneath his feet, and when the light hit at the right angles he caught sight of claw marks in the walls. Once, he saw a human fingernail caught in one of the scratches.

Fear began to pound through his chest, raw and aching. Whatever it was they were being dragged to… it promised pain, and humiliation, and it threatened death.

Wangji didn’t want to die.

Even now, with his heart torn apart in his chest and the weight of grief on his shoulders, he didn’t want to die. He wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself in battle, but this was different, and Wangji…

Wangji was scared.

After a while, he began to hear an odd sound – a combination of growling and murmuring, and it became a physical struggle to stop himself from trembling. When they reached the end of the tunnel, it took a moment to unlock the door at the other end – then, they were marched out into a dark antechamber. Before him, Wangji could see men mulling around in a circle, their faces turned towards something that hovered above them.

The realisation struck him like an arrow to the chest.

The Yin Iron.

He heard Jiang Cheng give a muffled cry and he glanced over his shoulder, but the younger man’s eyes were fixed on the men in the circle. Wangji followed his gaze, and his blood ran cold.

Puppets.

They were puppets. All of them.

Wen Chao strode forward, but the guards held Wangji and Jiang Cheng behind. Wangji heard Wen Chao call, “Fuqin!” in greeting, then a more reluctant, “Da-ge. I have news from Yunmeng!”

Wangji glanced at Jiang Cheng as Wen Chao launched into his report about the events at Lotus Pier, and the capture of Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng met his gaze, his eyes glistening with tears and despair.

“…and now, Fuqin – I’ve brought you presents.”

Wangji was shoved forward, hard, and before he could catch his footing a soldier grabbed the chain around his neck, dragging him out into what he soon recognised as a throne room. As they wrenched him forward, Jiang Cheng cried out through the gag, from pain or protest Wangji wasn’t sure. The Wen didn’t want them to walk – they wanted to drag Wangji and Jiang Cheng before Wen Ruohan, and it happened so fast that they succeeded.

The next thing Wangji knew, he’d been forced to his knees before a dark throne, staring up at Wen Ruohan, Wen Xu at his side.

“Oh…” said Wen Xu quietly, his mouth slowly curling towards a smile. “Chao-er… I’m impressed.”

Wen Chao preened. “Fuqin – may I present, your prisoners – Gusu Lan’s so called ‘Second Jade’ Lan Zhan, and the heir of Yunmeng Jiang, Jiang Cheng.”

“Interesting,” Wen Ruohan breathed, his eyes glinting as he leant forward. “Very interesting…”

“I thought we could show them off at the feast,” Wen Chao said eagerly. “Crush their cores before the court!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wangji saw Jiang Cheng flinch slightly.

Wen Ruohan said nothing. He stared at them, his eyes moving slowly over Wangji, and then Jiang Cheng, a cold, considering look on his face. Slowly, his head tilted to the side, his eyes shining as his hand stretched out, and dread rose in Wangji’s stomach –

And then he felt it, the icy burn of resentful energy brushing past his cheek, winding around his body, and he flinched, but there was nowhere to go. Beside him, Jiang Cheng’s grunt was muffled, but unmistakably afraid as a coil of thick, black smoke circled them, breathing through their hair and robes, whispering threats and promises of devouring them –

And Wangji couldn’t breathe.

Then, abruptly, the resentful energy fell away, leaving in its wake a silence that rang like a gong in his ears. Wangji looked up, breathing heavily. Wen Ruohan’s hand was closed, tendrils of resentful energy disappearing into his fist.

“No,” Wen Ruohan said finally, his voice soft but certain. His eyes hadn’t moved from Wangji and Jiang Cheng, and with difficulty, Lan Wangji suppressed the urge to shudder. “No, I don’t think so. Not now.”

“What? But – but Fuqin, if you make an example of them, we can-”

“No,” Wen Ruohan repeated, his voice sharpening. “We will tell no one of this – not yet. No one outside of this room will know that they are here – no one who does not already know. Those who do – ensure they do not speak of it.” That was addressed to Wen Zhuliu, who inclined his head.

“I… I don’t understand,” Wen Chao said pathetically.

“You have presented us with a unique opportunity, Chao-er,” Wen Ruohan said. “We won’t squander it. We could announce that we’ve taken them into custody, we could humiliate their clans with their shame – and we will. But not yet. The other clans are already planning their petty rebellion. Already, they seek to move against us, and sooner or later, they will. This may enrage them into acting sooner, or it could delay them, but it will not put them off forever. It is of no consequence – I will not fear a war I cannot lose. But, that said…”

Wen Ruohan fixed his eyes on Jiang Cheng and smiled, a cold, cruel expression that curled Wangji’s toes in his boots. Jiang Cheng breathed in sharply, and Wangji held his breath.

“Jiang Fengmian’s cultivation is mediocre, and his temperament is weak. How interesting it will be to watch him try to rally for war without his first disciple, or his only son – without even knowing if they’re dead or alive. I wonder how many men he’ll spare to search…”

Heart twisting, Wangji looked at Jiang Cheng. He was trembling, his face paler than Wangji’s robes, and though his brow was creased in fury, it did nothing to disguise the fear and grief in his eyes.

“And Lan Xichen…”

With a jolt, Wangji looked back at Wen Ruohan quickly, horrified to find that the man’s smile seemed even crueller than before.

“Lan Xichen is nothing more than a pathetic child playing dress-up as a sect leader. How will he go about planning for war when his beloved little brother is missing?”

Wangji’s blood ran cold. His brother was one of the best cultivators of their generation, but Wangji knew full well that he was Xichen’s biggest weakness. If he disappeared, if Xiongzhang didn’t know whether Wangji was safe – that would eat Xichen alive, and Wangji knew it.

“We’ll hold them until we have use of them… in the meantime, throw them in the dungeons. Keep them intact, and recognisable or they’ll be no use to us. But as long as you don’t maim them beyond reason… do as you will with them.”

Wen Chao and Wen Xu smiled, twisted, sickening grins that turned Wangji’s stomach.

“Yes, Fuqin!” Wen Chao said eagerly, bowing low, and Wen Ruohan smiled at him, his expression uncomfortably fond.

“You did well, Chao-er. Have fun.

Chapter Text

The rain was relentless, thundering down so hard Lan Xichen could barely see a few feet in front of him, but that was probably a good thing. It added even greater cover than the night did, and the clouds smothered the moon and the stars, increasing his chances of getting through Yunmeng unseen. Thunder rumbled, so loud and close Xichen could feel it reverberating through his stomach, and a split-second later lightning cracked open the horizon – far too close. His hair was standing on end, the static in the air threatening a strike, but he couldn’t stop. He could make it to Lotus Pier.

He had to.

Desperation clawed at the back of his throat, as though the rain had stripped away his efforts to keep his anxiety at bay. He swallowed, hard, but it had little effect. He shuddered. Took a deep breath.

Lights danced below him, and he sped up, relief and adrenalin humming through his veins. Almost there. He was almost –

Thunder roared again, so much closer this time, and Xichen clapped his hands over his ears, wincing as his head rang. He caught the scent of lightning in the air and stiffened, straightening up in the span of a heartbeat and moving his hands as fast as death –

He almost wasn’t fast enough.

Almost.

Spiritual energy glowed around his hands as he thrust his arms into the air, catching the lightning before it could strike him. The energy was immense, and a sizzling heat filled the air – Xichen steeled himself, pouring power into his palms and forcing the lightning to redirect. White light blasted around him as the lightning bolt shot down towards the earth, and Xichen forced himself not to gasp, to take a deep, even breath instead.

An uncomfortable sensation buzzed across his skin, a tingling not unlike a limb falling asleep. He glanced down, grimacing as he noticed a smear of soot on his palm. Logically, he knew that he was lucky. If they could react in time, cultivators with less power or finesse would have little hope of deflecting the lightning, and in all likelihood even Wangji would struggle.

But even with that in mind, Xichen felt shame as he rubbed the soot away. If he’d performed the technique perfectly, there would have been no mark. It wasn’t an enormous mistake, not at all, but it felt like all he had done for months was make small, petty mistakes.

Only those small, petty mistakes, were putting his family and his clan at risk.

A thought struck him, violent and sudden as the lighting itself. If someone had looked up in that moment, if he had given away his position –

He looked down at the ground, his mouth suddenly very dry. Lotus Pier was almost upon him, and off to the west was the supervisory office. He had no doubt that the latter would have eyes on the Jiang’s residence – if they looked at the sky too…

It did not matter. Lan Xichen was not doing anything wrong, not even by the convoluted standards of Qishan Wen.

In theory.

Steeling himself, he began to descend. Within seconds, he could feel that Lotus Pier had increased the strength of the wards nearly ten-fold from the last time he had visited. He sensed their strength well before he reached them, and their aptitude was impressive.

As he reached the main gate, Xichen fought not to look anxiously over his shoulder. If he did, he thought he would likely appear more suspicious. As it was, the dark should make him indistinguishable from a Jiang disciple – his robes were a deep, midnight blue that could easily be taken for purple in such lighting, and he’d hidden the glare of his sword as he travelled, keeping his hood high over his face.

If he looked like he belonged there, he was less likely to be caught out by the Wen.

Two disciples stood guard outside the gate, sheltered from the rain by the roof, and their eyes narrowed sharply as he approached.

“Who goes there?”

Lan Xichen pushed his hood back a fraction, allowing the guards to see his face. One man, he recognised, and it was clear from the surprise on his face that the Jiang disciple recognised him, too.

“Lan-zongzhu?”

He inclined his head. “My apologies for calling unannounced, especially at so late an hour. I need to speak with Jiang-zongzhu – I’m afraid the matter is urgent.”

The guards exchanged a glance, and then they nodded.

“We will send him your request for an audience,” one said. “You may wait inside.”

Lan Xichen bowed slightly. “Thank you.”

The Jiang disciples returned the bow, and then the gates opened, near silently. The two guards escorted him inside, replaced seamlessly by another two disciples who must have been on duty inside the gates.

“I will go and speak with Jiang-zongzhu,” the guard who’d recognised him said. “Please wait here.”

“Of course,” Xichen murmured. Though the courtyard opened before him, he was mercifully now under the roof himself, and it was a welcome break from the rain. He glanced around, a little surprised when he caught sight of what looked like a guard patrol at the other end of the courtyard. He’d never heard of such things in Lotus Pier before… but then, the Jiang were clearly preparing for war.

The thought made Xichen feel a little sick, though he firmly believed it was almost certainly going to be necessary. If Wen Ruohan did not cede to their demands, which he likely wouldn’t, war was the only way forward. Lan Xichen was not afraid of fighting or dying, but he was afraid of leading his people down the wrong path. He was afraid of his clansmen dying for his own poor decisions, for the countless innocents who would no doubt be caught up in the nightmare that was war.

And most of all, he was he afraid –

“Lan-zongzhu.”

Xichen looked up in time to bow deeply to Jiang Fengmian as he approached. The man returned the bow, his face warm as ever, though wearier, and pinched with concern.

“How can we be of service this evening?” he asked.

“Thank you for seeing me. Is there somewhere private we may speak?” Xichen asked, and Jiang Fengmian nodded, casting a meaningful look at his disciples.

“Please, follow me,” he said, striding down the side of the courtyard. “Do you want a towel, or some dry clothes?”

Despite himself, Xichen gave a small smile. “Ah, no thank you, I’m fine. I’m not cold, and I’m afraid my business is quite urgent.”

“Mn, I’d expect it to be, receiving a visit from Gusu Lan at this time.”

“My apologies,” Xichen began, but Jiang Fengmian waved his hand.

“It’s no matter. I wasn’t asleep. Here, my office.”

Thanking Jiang Fengmian, Xichen stepped inside, and his eyes widened slightly. Jiang Yanli was standing by her father’s desk, her brow pinched in concern. She bowed as she saw him.

“Lan-zongzhu.” Then, she glanced at her father. “I can go.”

A thought struck Xichen, and he shook his head slightly. “Do not leave for my sake. In truth, this matter concerns you, too, and you may have information that would be of use to me. I would appreciate it if you stayed, if that’s alright.” He glanced at Jiang Fengmian, who looked at his daughter with an expression that clearly offered the choice.

Yanli inclined her head. “How can we help, Lan-zongzhu?”

He straightened. He’d spent the whole journey wondering how best to approach the topic, and worrying over the answers he might receive. The best cases scenario was that Wangji was safe and sound in Lotus Pier with Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian.

The worst…

“I need to know where my brother is.”

Confusion and surprise passed over both of their faces, and Xichen’s stomach sank like a stone.

“Lan-er-gongzi is missing?” Jiang Fengmian asked, his voice heavy with concern, and Xichen felt his throat close.

If Wangji wasn’t here –

Ignoring his rising panic, Xichen spoke calmly. “He left Gusu just over a week ago – Jiang Wanyin came to our door seeking Wangji’s aid, and they departed together. Though Wangji did not pass on the specifics of the matter, he informed me that it was an emergency – having now heard of Wang Lingjiao’s visit to Lotus Pier, I feel reasonably confident that I know what that situation was. Three days ago, I saw him in the forest around the Cloud Recesses, but the roads were overrun by Wen cultivators, and all I could do was signal to him that it was not yet safe to return – I haven’t heard from him since.”  

Before him, both Jiang Fengmian and his daughter turned pale. The latter was the first to speak.

“When… when you saw Lan-er-gongzi… was A-Cheng with him? Was… was A-Xian?” her voice wavered with heartbreak and hope, and Xichen fought off a grimace.

“I didn’t see them,” he said apologetically, “but it is unlikely they would have risked being caught. If he was alone, Wangji would not have retreated.” Not even if Xichen ordered him to. “Do you know where Jiang-gongzi is now?”

Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Yanli exchanged a glance, their faces grim. After a long moment, the man shook his head.

“No,” he said, his voice heavy. “We have not heard from him since he left.”

“That may not be a bad sign, though,” Jiang Yanli added, her voice quiet. “He would not risk coming back here, not directly. It’s possible he wouldn’t want to risk contact at all.”

Lan Xichen’s stomach twisted. “I understand…” he said. “That said, I am concerned that Wangji has not checked in.”

“You said that there was a heavy Wen presence in Gusu,” said Jiang Fengmian. “Perhaps Lan-er-gongzi is just exercising due caution.”

But Xichen knew, down to his bones. “He could not have entered the Cloud Recess safely, but he would not have gone so long without sending a message of some sort. Not unless something prevented him from doing so.”

Wangji would never intentionally make Xichen worry. If he thought the clan elders would disapprove of his actions, he might send a vague missive, void of any information of value, but he would still let Xichen know he was safe.

Jiang Fengmian pursed his lips, turning away for a moment. Then, he turned back, his face grave. “Until now, we’ve made no attempts to reach out to A-Cheng – that seemed the best way to help. I admit, his silence has concerned me, but as A-Li said, it was not unexpected. However, Lan-er-gongzi’s silence… that may be a different matter.”

“Do you think they’ve been captured?” Jiang Yanli asked, looking intently at Xichen, who felt his heart twist.

“It’s a possibility,” he admitted, and fear flickered over her face.

“Qishan Wen are nothing if not ostentatious. If they had captured A-Cheng and Wangji they would have already made an announcement, especially if they believe their arrest to be justified,” Jiang Fengmian pointed out, though he did not look fully convinced. “It would be out of character for them to keep such a thing silent.”

“Perhaps,” said Jiang Yanli uncertainly. “But during the indoctrination, Wen Chao did leave so many young cultivators in that cave to die – they didn’t announce that.”

“Mn,” Jiang Fengmian acknowledged darkly. “I will send a couple of disciples after them. It should not be too hard to find a night hunt story for cover. If the group remains small, they are more likely to go unseen. With any luck, they will find the boys hunkered down somewhere safe.”

Xichen nodded. “Gusu Lan will do the same.”

Jiang Fengmian stared at him, a sympathetic grimace on his face. “It feels like so little – it is so little. But the cultivation world is on the brink of war – in such circumstances, doing more may well do more harm than good.”  

A lump rose in Xichen’s throat. “I understand.”

“Wei Wuxian… do you want revenge?”

…

It wakes.

The world around It is cold, drowning in smoke and dark energy, and at first all It knows is despair.

But then thoughts begin to form, an awareness that It instinctively knows is new. Before, It did not think. Before, It did not know emotion, did not know fear and fury and rage –

It does not like this.

It looks around, and realises that in itself is strange. It could not look before. Now, the world comes into focus, shapes cast in smoky greys and dark shadows. Spying an old fallen log, It scrambles for cover, cowering and trembling at the emotions tearing through It.

It doesn’t like this.

It is confused, and afraid, and It doesn’t like this. It doesn’t want to be wracked with fury and fear, It doesn’t want any of this. Once, It knows, It was part of a greater whole, and It did think or feel, and there had been pain, but never like this this.

It wants to go back.

All around It, there is screaming.

It shudders, curling in on itself. It’s so confused. So horribly, horribly confused – and It is angry. Now that It is hidden, and safe, its anger flares, burning hotter and fiercer –

And then that rage bursts forth from It, a wave of energy so strong that the log above It shatters, collapsing It. Startled, It scurries free of the debris, shaking itself off.

This, too, is new.

Tentatively, It splays its fingers out again, sending out another burst of energy – this one far smaller and weaker, a mere puff of black smoke that dissipates inches away from its fingertips.

But still, a thrill runs through It.

It isn’t helpless.

… It is angry, though, and It thinks back, searching for the reason behind its fury. If It can just remember…

Agony – heat worse than fire cutting through its flesh, through its bone –

Screaming – sobbing –

Not its own.

Someone important. Someone It cares for –

Screaming.

And It is torn apart.

It rages.

…

It grows stronger.

When the first ghost descends upon It in search of an easy meal, It fights back – a battle that ends in stalemate – but notably not defeat. It learns, and when the next ghost tries their luck, It grasps the ghoul and devours their essence.

And It grows stronger.

…

The screaming is constant. Incessant, never-ending – It is constantly surrounded by a cacophony of anguished voices, the pain of the dead. And then, It hears something different.

Sobbing. The broken, bitter sobbing of a living soul.

It knows that voice. Once, before, that voice was its own – or rather, once It had belonged to that voice. A new emotion rushes through It, tinged with alarm and determination, but happier, brighter – excitement. It hurries towards the sound as fast as It can manage, and that’s fast, now – It finds the source of the voice sheltered beneath on overhang, curled up in on himself with an arm wrapped tightly around his middle.

Its excitement fades.

The voice, the Body, is suffering. He cries, and shudders, and still he works, fumbling with something dark and dangerous with a single, clumsy hand.

“Why…” he sobs. “Why… won’t you… fucking… work?!”

Despair rises, so thick It can taste It – and so can the other spirits of the Burial Mounds. One surges forward, sensing weakness, and It prepares to pounce, but even before It can move the body strikes out with his hand, casting a talisman with a raw, aching yell. The talisman is weak, but the sparks it casts are enough to drive the spirit away.

Aching with sympathy, It moves towards him. The Body may be suffering, but It is thriving. It can help! It hurries, and the Body sees It – and his face contorts in horror. For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then the Body screams, the sound raw and painful, and he throws a bone at It, scrambling to cast another talisman.

“Get away!” He roars, anguish in his tone. “Get away, get away, leave me alone!” On the last word, the Body casts a third talisman, and It only just manages to leap away before a barrage flames can consume It. It flees, and as It does, more new emotions pour through It.

Rejection. Abandonment. Heartache.

The Body sobs, and It hides.

…

It hides, but It also watches.

In the darkness here, It is thriving, but the Body isn’t. Watching is torment. It could leave – It knows It would only grow stronger – but It doesn’t want to. When It looks at the Body, It feels fond, and protective, more new feelings that It likes far more than the anger and grief. The Body may not like It, but It loves the Body. Once, they were whole. Just because they’re apart, doesn’t mean they no longer belong together.

So It watches, lingering in the shadows just out of the Body’s sight – It has no desire to be incinerated. Most of the time, the Body pours all of his effort and energy into that strange, metal object he had cried at before, forging something, creating something – although creating what, It isn’t sure. Only when exhaustion overwhelms him does the Body sleep, and he rarely eats.

The Body needs to eat.

That being said, there is little for the Body here. Unlike It, the Body cannot survive on ghosts and resentful energy alone. He has stripped bark from what few trees grow in here, but the supply is paltry, and the energy provided is minimal. Several times, It has watched the Body squeeze his eyes shut tight, his whole being cringing as he forces himself to turn to the bodies and bones instead. That would be a more plentiful supply, if not for the state of the corpses, and how the Body so often vomits after eating. Clearly, this isn’t a solution either, not in the long term.

However, there is another option – one that is far easier for It than the Body. Almost nothing lives in the Burial Mounds, but there is one animal that can live almost anywhere, that is undaunted by the hiss of resentment or the stench of death.

Rats.

Those that live here are unnaturally large, but they’re also uncommonly fast and clever. They must be, to avoid being consumed by feral ghosts – as such, by the time the Body draws near they have already disappeared into the dirt. It, however, is small, smaller even than most of the rats. Even if they do spy It, they don’t deem It a threat.

They are wrong.

The task is almost laughably easy. Collapse near a nest, lie in wait – snatch the first rat that tries to take a bite.

Break their neck.

In the end, carrying the rat back to the Body is the hardest part of the task. The rat is nearly twice its size, and with only five fingers It takes a while to figure out how to hold the creature. In the end, It grabs the tail with its thumb and pointer finger, dragging It through the dirt until It reaches the cave where the Body is sheltering.

Fortunately, the Body is currently asleep, so It is able to drag the rat all the way in, leaving It in a very obvious position.

Feeling smug (another new feeling, and one It loves) It scurries away to hide.

…

In hindsight, the obvious position was a little too obvious. When the Body wakes to find a dead rat a few inches from his face, he yells in fright, flailing backwards so quickly he smacks his arm into the cave wall.

That said, the Body eats.

…

Time passes.

It grows stronger, and now, so does the Body. It brings rats every day, and even dares to show itself now and then – but not completely. Not yet. Instead, It allows the Body to catch a glimpse of it before it disappears into the shadows once more. The Body hasn’t tried to blast it again, so It thinks things are going well. Content that the Body is strong enough to defend himself, It explores by day, wandering deeper into the Burial Mounds and devouring ghost after vengeful ghost who dare to cross its path.

It grows so much stronger.

Then, one day, It hears something magical.

Music.

It had forgotten what music was, but now Its spirits soar, and joy and excitement trill through It, down to Its fingertips. It leaps up, abandoning the half-eaten wraith It just defeated and scurrying towards the sound as fast as It possibly can.

As It moves, It registers that the sound is wrong. Faltering, and a little clumsy. There are notes missing, and It knows them. Those are Its notes.

The Body is playing, and without It, the melody is incomplete.

Sure enough, when It reaches the cave where the Body has made his home, It finds the Body sitting cross-legged with a strange, black flute, eyes closed in concentration. A wince passes over the Body’s face as a note trills sharp and off, and he readjusts, trying again.

The tune is slow, and beautiful, and one that brings more comfort than expected, given that the memories the tune evoke are of a cold, dank place, and a fever wracking through the Body and It alike.

And the tune is incomplete.

It tip-toes closer, a shiver running through It. Unable to help itself, It begins to tap its fingers against the ground, moving as It knows they should move around the flute. It knows, and as the Body plays, It dances silently, aching to influence the sound.

It wishes it could reach the flute, that is not possible. It can hover and fly, now, using the resentful energy it cultivates, but not for long. Not long enough to hold itself up beside the flute and play.

One day, maybe.

Assuming the Body doesn’t try to incinerate It first.

Then, It freezes.

The music has stopped.

“Well…” the Body says, its voice croaking and sore. “It… it’s really… you, isn’t it?”

Slowly, It looks at the Body, who is looking right at It with an expression of wary, weary interest. More importantly, his hand is wrapped around the flute, which rests in his lap. The Body has grown stronger, but not at the same speed as It – if It flees now, It can escape before the talisman strikes.

It shoots towards the mouth of the cave, but the Body cries out.

“Wait – wait!”

It freezes. Slowly, slowly, turns around.

“You… you’re the one that’s been leaving these, right?” the Body asks, holding up this morning’s rat by the tail.

Cautiously, It bobs up and down in a nod.

To its amazement, the body gives a hollow laugh. “Fuck… fuck… and you’re… y’know…”

He holds up his right wrist, and pain and grief well through It so strongly that a full moment passes before It can gather the strength to nod again.

“Fuck,” the Body says again. “I… I must be going mad. I must – I must’ve lost my mind…” Tentatively, It creeps closer, and the Body shakes his head. “You’ve cultivated your own consciousness, but you’re still trying to help me… why?”

It closes the last of the distance between them, pressing its knuckles into the Body’s leg. The Body gives a tremulous laugh, reaching down and poking It cautiously.

“This is so fucking weird…”

It bristles, offended, and the Body shakes his head.

“Okay, okay… sorry, Xiaoshou.”

Little hand.

It freezes.

It’s not that It doesn’t know the Body’s name. It has known the Body’s name since its first moments of consciousness, maybe even before. But…

If the Body is Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian… what is It?

It knows the words their teachers would use. Demon, monster – abomination. They would think It a thing that needs destroying, purifying, especially now it isn’t…

Isn’t…

It isn’t Wei Ying, anymore.

The Body is. It is… abomination, demon, monster –

“Xiaoshou?”

Suddenly, It is moving, and It panics until It recognises the rough warmth of Wei Ying’s palm beneath it, lifting It up so that It is level with his face.

“You okay?” Wei Ying asks, frowning lightly.

It pauses, considering the question. If the Body is Wei Ying… Well, Xiaoshou is a better name than It.

Xiaoshou bobs up and down, once, and Wei Ying nods grimly.

“Good. Because we need to get the fuck out of here.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes, the memory of Yiling felt like a dream. Three months ago, she wouldn’t have imagined feeling that way – then, Wen Qing had chafed at the feigned independence, the number of soldiers watching her every move – not to mention the unmistakeable, looming threat of the Burial Mounds nearby. It had been stressful, tense, and visiting Popo and the rest of their family had been made unnecessarily difficult, with frustrating check-ins and delegated schedules.

But looking back, she should have been more grateful.

Since the war began, and since then those feigned freedoms had been stripped away one by one. She hadn’t been allowed back to Yiling for over a month, confined to Nightless City instead.

“There will be no need for you to return to Yiling. I’ve sent General Wu in your stead.”

Unspoken was the admittance that they needed a stronger military presence so close to Yiling. Unspoken was the order not to leave Nightless City without leave.

It was unspoken, but Wen Qing understood.

Now, visiting Popo was an impossibility. All Wen Qing could do was pray for her family’s continued safety –

Pray that the war would not touch them.

It certainly hadn’t touched Qishan. For most, life here had barely changed, and some didn’t even seem to register that it was a war at all. Three months ago, Qishan Wen announced they had rejected a list of pathetic, arrogant, and disrespectful demands from the other great sects, that their troops were mobilising to quash this petty rebellion. The consensus in the city was that it was no more than an inconvenience, that the might of Qishan Wen would soon bring the world to heel.

Silently, Wen Qing doubted that the demands of the other sects had been pathetic, arrogant, or disrespectful. She had her suspicions as to what they would have said, what injustices they wished to see called for account, and in her heart she did not disagree with them – but it didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping her head down, and refusing to allow A-Ning to voice his protests, even in the safety of their own rooms.

They could not afford to give Wen Ruohan any reason to question their loyalty.

Not when his temper was growing worse day by day.

Contrary to the perception in Nightless City, the war outside was already a grave one. Wen Qing heard little firsthand, but A-Ning heard a lot more, often asking returning cultivators what they’d seen on their excursions. It worried her, but no one at Nightless City took A-Ning seriously enough to consider why he would be asking, and if his eyes were wide enough and awed enough, some men would boast to him for hours.

So far, Qishan Wen had lost three large battles – but they had won more. The other sects may be armed with righteous fury, but Qishan’s army outnumbered theirs by hundreds, and that was without taking his puppets into account.

“Guniang, you’re needed in the dungeons.”  

Wen Qing’s heart sank. For a moment, she didn’t move, staring down at the teacup still held in her hands. The mere trace of a ripple brushed over the surface as a faint tremor ran through her hands, and she put the cup down, folding her hands in front of her and turning to face the guard.

Sometimes, healing felt as wicked as murder.

“I see,” she said. “Urgently?”

“Yes, Guniang,” said the man, his voice grave, and her heart sank further.

It wasn’t the first time she’d been called down to the dungeons, but it was impossible to get used to. There, her work never felt like healing. Not really. Not when those she coaxed back from the brink of death so often begged her to let it end.

“Very well, I’m coming,” she said, rising swiftly and taking both her medical bag and medicine case from their places beside the door. Nodding, the guard swept back out into the palace, striding so quickly Wen Qing was almost forced into a run. Her sinking heart began to pick up speed. Apparently he had not lied when he claimed the matter was urgent.

As it was mid-afternoon, the halls of the Scorching Sun Palace were far from quiet, but few of those bustling through the corridor paid Wen Qing and the guard any attention as they rushed past. Most were women, finely dressed and laughing amongst themselves, nobility and entertainers who had long since been at home in the palace – women whose lives had never been touched by the war outside, who probably thought it nothing more than a bit of excitement for the men to discuss.

She hated their ignorance. She envied it.

She had no time for either emotion. She kept her pace, following the guard out into the courtyards. The man’s seemed to move even faster, and Wen Qing shifted her grip on her bag, increasing her own pace –

“Hurry, Qian-er, we’re going to be la-”

A blur shot out from another entrance to the courtyard, crashing into Wen Qing and nearly knocking her off her feet – knocking the medicine case out of her hands. The sound of carefully organised jars shattering filled the air, and automatically Wen Qing pushed out with her sword hand, forcing the assailant back an arm’s length to find the paling face of a twelve-year-old disciple, Wen Tian. Behind him, his twin had his hands pressed over his mouth, his eyes wide and horrified.

“What the hell are you doing?” The guard yelled, and both boys cringed.

“W-we’re sorry, we’re late to class, and-”

“You will be sorry! If this prisoner dies because you stopped Wen-guniang from treating him, Wen-zongzhu will have your head!”

A strangled choking sound left Wen Tian’s lips, and Wen Qian cried out, “We’re sorry, we’re so sorry-”

“Go and fetch A-Ning, immediately, tell him that I need my spare medicine case in the dungeons now. Run,” she ordered Wen Qian, and he turned and sprinted back with a cry of “Of course, Shijie, right away, Shijie!” Turning to Wen Tian, she added, “Clean this up carefully and bring it back to my rooms. Don’t leave any trace of the mess.”

“Yes, Shijie!” Wen Tian said hastily, bowing low, and Wen Qing turned back to the guard, starting towards the dungeons again just as fast as he’d moved before. With a growl, the guard turned too, his own pace now almost at a run.

Unease churned in Wen Qing’s stomach. She wasn’t aware of any prisoner currently held who would be considered important enough to cause havoc if they died. In all likelihood, her future patient was someone who had so far failed to give over the information their torturers wanted, someone who knew something too valuable to kill.

Sure enough, when they reached the dungeons they walked past the main cells, down into the tunnel that led to Wen Ruohan’s ‘Inferno Palace.’ Wen Qing had only been down here a few times before, and her chest tightened as they walked deeper down, the torchlight flickering menacingly against the walls. Usually, those kept here were already condemned to death, and had no need of a healer.

However, Wen Qing also knew that the cells at the far end had the highest security in the dungeons, a place to keep dangerous and valuable prisoners away from the prying eyes of others.

The sound of muffled screaming screeched down her spine as they passed Wen Ruohan’s torture chambers, and Wen Qing slowed her breathing. She was here to do a job. The faster she did it, the sooner she could leave.

Mercifully, they bypassed the torture chambers, heading instead for the far cells. Abruptly, the guard stopped, turning to face Wen Qing.

“No one is aware of these prisoners’ presence, and no one will be. Zongzhu’s orders is that their captivity remains a secret – disobeying will result in your own internment.”

A chill ran down her spine, but she used it to make her expression cold. “Understood.”  

Nodding, the guard turned, unlocking the door. “Zongzhu insists that this prisoner be kept alive, but Er-gongzi – was over enthusiastic.”

“Understood,” Wen Qing repeated, and the guard opened the door.

Steeling herself, Wen Qing ducked inside, the stench of blood hitting her so strongly it was a struggle not to recoil. It was dark inside the cell, and even more so when the guard pushed the door closed behind her, and Wen Qing quickly lit a talisman, flooding the small room with light.

Sprawled face-down besides the far wall of the cell was her patient – a man, guessing by the size of his shoulders and hands. His robes were torn and bloodied, and his arm was splayed out at an awkward angle beside him, his face shielded by a cascade of dark, matted hair –

But Wen Qing couldn’t see if he was breathing.

She swept down, kneeling beside the patient and moving his hair from his face –

And she froze.

Because the battered, bloodless face before her –

It belonged to Jiang Cheng.

Fear stabbed between her ribs, sudden and frantic, and she looked back quickly at the door. Did Wen Ruohan know about Yiling? Had she been caught – was this a warning?

But no –

No, they’d allowed her to bring her medical bags, encouraged her to – and they wouldn’t bother with the façade of her walking herself to the dungeons if she was caught. The guard hadn’t even bothered to lock the door – she had to focus.

She still didn’t know if he was breathing.

Cursing herself, Wen Qing snapped into action, holding her fingers beneath Jiang Cheng’s nose. For a moment, there was nothing, and her fear rose, but then she felt it, the barest trace of breath against her skin. She reached for his wrist, forcing herself to ignore the rush of her own blood pounding through her ears as she took his pulse. It was weak, shallow and faltering and barely there, and his spiritual energy was all but spent.

Without intervention, Jiang Cheng could be dead in minutes.

Immediately, she began to pour spiritual energy into him. She couldn’t afford to do so for long – based on the deathly white colour of his skin, she suspected catastrophic bleeding, and that would need to be stemmed within the next few minutes, but the boost to his spiritual power would buy him time.

She heard the smattering of desperate footsteps, and the low, urgent instructions of the guard once more.

“…no one is to know this prisoner is here.”

“Un-understood!”

A-Ning.

She looked up just as her brother hurried into the cell, her spare medicine case in his hands.

“Here, Jie-” A-Ning stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open, and Wen Qing cut him off before he could speak.

“Quickly, I need you to cut his robes off,” she instructed. Her mouth felt very dry. “I need to know where he’s bleeding.”

Looking utterly distraught, her brother nodded, setting her medicine kit down and throwing himself down beside her. Without a word, he cut Jiang Cheng’s robes free, revealing a back criss-crossed with deep lash wounds. Fresh wounds cut across half-healed scabs and angry scars, with the oldest scars looking easily two or three months old – but not all of the wounds were healing. Two were fully infected, leaking pus, and a further two were not far behind, already badly inflamed. But as bad as they were, these wounds would not have led to his current state.

“Jiejie,” A-Ning whispered hoarsely, and Wen Qing swallowed hard, stopping the energy transfer and running the back of her hand down his spine.

“Help me roll him,” she said, and Wen Ning nodded, carefully rolling the unconscious man onto his back. A few more lash marks littered his chest, equally vicious to those on his back, but her attention was immediately stolen by the swelling over his lower ribs, and the deep, black bruise above it.

Her heart sank as her suspicions rose, and soon her fears were confirmed.

Her blood boiled.  

“Er-gongzi – was over enthusiastic.”

Fuck that.

Er-gongzi had beaten him so badly that his broken ribs pierced his lungs and nicked an artery, drowning his chest cavity in internal bleeding.

Clearly catching the look on her face, A-Ning winced. “Jie… can… can you save him?”

Wen Qing pursed her lips, already reaching for her needles. “I’ll do my best.”

Her brother nodded anxiously, his hands wringing together, but a cool, careful calm was already filling Wen Qing’s mind. She was the best doctor in Qishan Wen, her healing cultivation second to none, and she would never have been able to achieve that if she wasn’t able to clear her mind to work.

Without hesitation, she began to work, trusting in her own skill. It was not the most severe wound she had ever tended, but it was critical and complicated, and by the time she had stopped the bleeding and reset Jiang Cheng’s ribs her robes were covered in blood, and her own spiritual energy was beginning to wane.

Still, there was no time to rest. She sent A-Ning out for warm, clean water and set her attention to the infected lash wounds. Through it all, her brother hovered behind her, upset practically radiating off him, and Wen Qing’s heart ached. A-Ning was far, far too emotionally invested in this. This was why she’d warned him away from making friends with Wei Wuxian and his friends, why she’d warned him to keep his distance –

Because that was what made this so difficult, that was why she looked at Jiang Cheng’s battered face and felt the same pain and dread and anger she would for a friend. It wasn’t that she had grown to like Jiang Cheng and his siblings and the rest of her classmates during her time at the Cloud Recesses, or that her respect and even fondness for Jiang Cheng had risen seeing how fiercely he had demanded her to help Wei Wuxian. It wasn’t that. She was too careful for that.

She had to be.

She sighed, exhaustion sinking deep into her bones. “A-Ning… see if you can fetch some more clean water, and some clean robes.”

“Of course,” he said hurriedly, scrambling back out of the room, and Wen Qing sighed again, finally turning her attention to Jiang Cheng’s arm.

In the first stroke of mercy she’d seen, his bones were not broken, but the limb had been dislocated, explaining its unnatural angle when she first entered the room. It seemed a simple enough dislocation, and she braced her hand against his chest, driving his shoulder back into its socket.

Jiang Cheng moaned.

She paused, glancing down to see his head tilt to the side, brows pinched in pain.

“Jiang-gongzi,” she said sharply, and his brow furrowed further. Slowly, his eyes blinked open, blurry and unfocused, and relief washed over her.

Hazily, Jiang Cheng’s gaze fell on Wen Qing, and then he stiffened, flinching away.

“Jiang-gongzi,” she repeated, drawing back slightly. “Can you hear me?”

He blinked several times, his eyes moving between her face and her robes, and confusion covered his face. “Wen-guniang?” he croaked.

“Mn.” She reached for a nearby bottle and held it to his lips. “Drink this – it will help with the pain.”

His lip curled up as though he was about to protest, but then he clearly changed his mind, drinking greedily. Then he drew back with a gasp, looking at her through heavy lidded eyes.

“Did… did they… catch… you, too?” he wheezed, and pain spasmed across Wen Qing’s chest at the sound of guilt in his voice.

“No,” she said quietly. “I have been in Qishan since the war began.”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened a fraction. “The war… so it’s… real? Not just… Wen Chao… bullshitting?”

Horror flooded through her. “It is real – Jiang-gongzi, how long have you been here?”

“Don’t know… only got… few days… out of Yiling.” His voice was heavy with pain, but something told her it wasn’t thanks to his wounds.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and she meant it.

“Yunmeng,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Is… is it…?”

“I’ve heard of no major victories there,” she said carefully, and Jiang Cheng swallowed.

“Oh…” he breathed, his lower lip trembling as his eyebrows rose towards the centre of his forehead, and even with his eyes closed the relief and grief were both clear on his face. “Wen Chao… said… he said that I… I killed them, too.”

Dread coiled around Wen Qing’s chest. “…too?”

Even as Jiang Cheng’s eyes squeezed tighter shut, a tear escaped down his cheek, and he turned his face away.

“M… my… my brother…” he whispered, the grief in his voice enough to break her heart. “I… killed… my brother…”

Her heart began to pound in her chest, the dread growing stronger by the second, and Wen Qing swallowed.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Jiang Cheng looked back at her, wincing at the movement. His eyes swam with distrust and guilt-ridden grief, and Wen Qing raised her chin slightly, even as she found herself putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Wen Chao…” his voice trembled, his eyes filling with tears. “Wen Chao th-threw Wei Wuxian in – into the Burial Mounds… b-because I failed… I wasn’t fast enough…”

Grief and horror flooded Wen Qing’s lungs, stealing her breath and churning her stomach all at once. Her eyes stinging violently, she swallowed again, trying to pretend that her voice wasn’t trembling. “I’m sorry, Jiang-gongzi – I truly am. Wei Wuxian was… a good man.” Jiang Cheng whimpered, turning his face away once more, and Wen Qing squeezed his shoulder. She knew that she shouldn’t, that it wasn’t her place and if anyone overheard her, they could get the wrong idea about her loyalties – but she couldn’t help herself. She leant forward, lowering her voice. “But Jiang-gongzi, that was not your fault. Wen Chao’s actions lie on his shoulders alone.”

Jiang Cheng’s brow furrowed, his confusion and distrust filling his narrowing eyes as he looked back at her. “You…” he paused for a moment, breathing heavily, and then his voice grew more bitter. “Why… why do you… care? You’re… a Wen…”

Wen Qing pretended that the words did not sting. “I cared in Yiling,” she said, lowering her voice further, and Jiang Cheng held her gaze. Now fully focused, his eyes bored into hers so intently it felt like he was staring into her soul. They were the ocean beneath a midnight storm, unreadable but for razor sharp flashes of grief and anger and guilt and thought, each appearing for just a second like the white foam of a wave before it was swallowed up by the rest.

After a moment, Wen Qing realised she wasn’t breathing.

Jiang Cheng’s lips parted –

“I’m back, Jie – Jiang-gongzi!”

She glanced around at her brother, narrowing her eyes. “Lower your voice!”

“The guard’s at the other end of the hall,” A-Ning protested, but he did speak more quietly as he hurried over, a bucket in one hand and a pile of black robes beneath his other arm. “Jiang-gongzi, you’re awake!”

Jiang Cheng’s unreadable eyes flickered over to Wen Ning, and then they closed once more. His expression pained, Jiang Cheng nodded.

“Can you… give me something… to fix that?” he asked dryly. Wen Qing wasn’t sure whether or not he was serious – she didn’t know whether he was sure either.

Either way…

“Here,” she said, taking a small phial from her medicine case, even as her instincts screamed at her to stop. “Take this every few hours. It won’t make you sleep, but it will help the pain. Do not let anyone find it – they will take it from you if they do.” And question where he got it – a question with very few possible answers. “Your wounds will need redressing – if I can return to do so, I will.”

Jiang Cheng stared at the bottle for a moment before closing his hand around it, nodding his head slightly. “Thank you…”

“A-Ning’s brought some clean robes. I’ll see to the last of your injuries, and then he can help you dress, and put your arm in a sling to help your shoulder heal,” she said. “I’ll see to it the guards ensure you are fed more while you’re healing-”

Jiang Cheng’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist, and Wen Qing froze. Despite the strength of his grip, his voice was small and hoarse as he asked, “Do… you have to… go?”

Heart racing, Wen Qing looked up at her brother, who looked like he was about to cry.

“We, we can stay for –” he began, but Wen Qing shook her head.

“It’s too dangerous,” she said, and Jiang Cheng nodded again, letting go of her immediately. Guilt seeped into Wen Qing’s bones. “A-Ning…”

“Just one… one more thing,” Jiang Cheng said, meeting her eyes once more. “Do… do you know… if Wangji… is alive…?”

Her heart dropped once more. Of course, she should have realised, but somehow she hadn’t registered the fact that Lan Wangji had likely been captured, too.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I didn’t realise you were here until I arrived in your cell. But if possible, I will find out for you.”

“Thanks…” Jiang Cheng breathed, closing his eyes. It was a relief, though it shouldn’t have been. Her patient’s awareness and level of consciousness should be more important than how laid bare she felt beneath their gaze. Her hands shouldn’t threaten to tremble as she performed the last of her physical exams, and her chest shouldn’t feel so tight as she applied the last of the medicinal powder to his wounds.

“I’ll wait outside,” she said quietly. “Good luck, Jiang-gongzi.”

He didn’t reply until she was already at the door.

“You too.”

She shuddered as she stepped outside, forcing her face into impassion once more as the guard looked at her.

“A-Ning is getting him dressed,” she said. “If Er-gongzi wants to keep him alive, his wounds need to be kept clean, and he needs to be fed well. Additionally, his arm should be kept in the sling, if possible.”

“He’ll live?” the guard asked, and Wen Qing pushed down her indignation.

“He will live. If my instructions are followed.”

“Very well. I shall pass them on. Thank you, Daifu.”

She inclined her head. The knowledge that the guard’s thanks were solely for his own sake sat bitter on her tongue, but it was not as sour as her own hypocrisy. Would she not feel the same if the face had not been a familiar one? If it hadn’t been someone she was – no, that her brother was – friends with? 

She feared that A-Ning would linger too long and draw suspicion, but a few minutes later he emerged.

With barely another word, they returned to their rooms. The whole way there, she could feel the nervous energy radiating from her brother, the questions no doubt waiting to burst from his lips. By some mercy, she was able to get him their rooms and cast a silencing talisman around them before Wen Ning spluttered out –  

“We have to do something!”

“No,” she said, and her brother’s jaw set, his hands clenching into fists.

“Jie-”

“No,” she said again, more sharply, grabbing his wrist. “A-Ning, listen to me – this is not a game! If you get caught trying to help Jiang Wanyin, you won’t get a simple beating from Wen Chao or locked in the dungeon overnight – they will torture you, and they will kill you. They will torture me, and kill me.” He flinched violently, but she only tightened her grip. “We’re at war, A-Ning, and Jiang-gongzi is not on our side. The best we can do is tend to his wounds when permitted, and pray that he survives to the end of the war.”

“But we rescued Wei-gongzi, we can-”

Wen Qing’s voice broke as she interrupted her baby brother. “A-Ning, Wei Wuxian is dead.”

A-Ning froze, his whole body stiffening as his eyes grew wide. Wen Qing softened her grip, taking his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and why would her voice not stop trembling? “I am, A-Ning. I liked him, too. But he’s gone, and if you try to do something stupid, you’ll be gone, too. I can’t do that, A-Ning, don’t you understand? And if something happened to us, what would happen to Popo and the others? We are the only protection they have, if we’re gone – it’s too dangerous. It’s too dangerous.”

Her brother didn’t move, his eyes staring at her but not really seeing, and fear stabbed through Wen Qing’s chest.

“A-Ning? A-Ning!”

He blinked, his eyes focusing on her – then filling with tears. “He… he was my friend…”

Tears burned down Wen Qing’s cheeks as she pulled her brother close, running a hand over her hair. She felt his face press into her shoulder, felt him shudder violently in her arms, and her soul ached.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

Her brother let out a sob, just one at first, but then there was a second, and then A-Ning was sobbing in her arms like he was a child once more. Wen Qing clutched him as tight as she could, aching from the knowledge that she had no words to comfort him. All she could do was run her hand through his hair and let his tears soak her shoulder.

Eventually, she felt his knees buckle, and she moved them over to the daybed, sinking down to sit so close their legs were jamming together.

“W-we’re – we’re on the – wrong side – Jiejie,” A-Ning gasped between sobs, and she grimaced. “We’re on – the wrong – side!”

“Shh…” she pressed a kiss to his hair. “A-Ning-”

“It’s wrong!”

She pulled back, just far enough to hold his face in her hands. “I know. Trust me, A-Ning, I know, but we don’t have a choice. If he even suspected that we planned to defect, Wen Ruohan wouldn’t just kill us, A-Ning. He would hunt our family to the ends of the earth, he would kill everyone.”

Lip quivering, A-Ning protested, “But what if they win? What if – what if we leave, and, and the Sunshot Campaign wins – then he couldn’t hurt anyone, ever again!”

Wen Qing’s heart ached. The Sunshot Campaign was destined to lose this war. They may have righteous fury on their side, but Qishan Wen outnumbered them sixty to one – and that was without counting Wen Ruohan’s puppets.

“Even if it were possible for them to win the war, it wouldn’t matter,” Wen Qing said. “War takes time, A-Ning – Wen Ruohan would have more than enough time to find Popo and the others – we would have no way of getting there first. It’s too dangerous.”

A-Ning tore his face away, glaring down at the ground. From the iron grip of his hand on her robes, Wen Qing knew it was not her he was angry at.

“We have to be able to do something…” he pleaded, voice cracking.

“Like what?” Wen Qing asked, her voice aching with exasperation and pain.

“…Can’t… we, we know he’s there now, we can bring food and medicine, and – and if Lan-er-gongzi’s there we can help him too-”

“Do you think the guards would let you pass? Into the Inferno Palace?”

Her brother’s chin jutted up slightly. “I’m a young master, I’m allowed there if I want.”

“It’s unusual behaviour for you. They would notice in a heartbeat – and if Wen Chao or Wen Xu noticed, Jiang-gongzi and Lan-er-gongzi would suffer for it,” she warned, but A-Ning hung his head, tears pouring down his cheeks.

It was too dangerous to help. She knew it was too dangerous to help. But even as she repeated those words to herself, she thought of Jiang Cheng’s face, of the vulnerability in his voice when he asked her to stay.

She thought of Wei Wuxian.

She swallowed, wiping the tears from his cheek. “Maybe… maybe, we can try,” she said quietly, and he looked up at her hopefully. “Just to bring them food, some medical attention… If Wen Ruohan wants them alive, it’s for a reason, and we may be able to justify it for that reason. But you must promise me that you won’t do a single thing without running it by me first.”

“I promise!” he gasped immediately.

“You must listen to me,” she insisted, taking his shoulder and shaking it slightly. “If you don’t – I won’t lose you, A-Ning, do you understand? I can’t!”

Wen Ning swallowed and nodded, his eyes filled with tears. He fell back into her arms, hugging her tightly and pressing his face back into her shoulder. “I understand, Jiejie. I d-don’t – I can’t lose you either…”

She closed her eyes, pressing a kiss to his hair. “I’m here. Jiejie’s here.”

A-Ning gave a small sob. “He… he was my friend. He was my friend.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

Chapter Text

The wound on his chest had begun to turn green. It was concerning, especially considering the uncomfortable warmth running beneath his skin, likely the early signs of a fever.

There was little Lan Wangji could do about it. The cell he was confined to was small, with nothing inside it but a small hole in the back to be used as a bathroom. He supposed he should be grateful that it was a hole and not a bucket. He didn’t even have any water – a single flask was delivered morning and night with his paltry excuse for meals, and removed with the dishes immediately after eating.

Once, he’d tried to keep a hold of the flask. The guards had wrested it off of him, and told Wen Xu, who’d beaten Wangji until he lost consciousness.

So, washing his wound was out of the question until the evening at least.

All Wangji could do was meditate, to cultivate as best he could. Every day, he moved his body through his clan’s sword forms, refusing to allow his muscles to atrophy even as the weight fell from his body. It wasn’t working. He was growing weaker, and he knew it, but the alternative was to do nothing.

Even on the days when his wounds screamed like a furnace, it seemed harder to do nothing.

This morning, however, his arms had given out when he performed a handstand, a combination of a surge of pain and an unexpected weakness – and he knew exactly what had caused it.  

The brand on his chest.

Even without the infection, it was the most painful of all his wounds. Largely due to the physical pain, a furious heat and desperate, raw ache – but also… also because it…

It was in the wrong place.

That had been the first thought to strike Wangji when Wang Lingjiao’s iron hit his chest – on the left side of his chest, just over his heart.

Wei Ying’s had been a little to the right.

It wasn’t a rational thought, he knew it wasn’t, but… he couldn’t help it.

The only thing that hurt worse than the brand was his grief.

Every time pain flared behind the burn, fierce enough to drown out every other ache in his body, all Wangji could think of was Wei Ying, ignoring his own identical brand to tend to Wangji’s broken leg.

Of Wei Ying’s smile… his laugh…

His final, breathless plea.

Most of the time, Wangji’s grief was almost too heavy to breathe through.

The sound of footsteps cut through his attention, and he looked up sharply. He pulled his robes back on over his chest and placed his hands on his knees, closing his eyes. It infuriated Wen Chao when he thought Wangji was ignoring him. Until Wangji could get justice for Wei Ying – until he could get revenge – petty rebellion would have to do.

He heard the door open, heard someone step inside. Heard the door close once more.

Then,

“Lan-er-gongzi!”

Lan Wangji’s eyes flew open in surprise. Sure enough, standing in front of him with a small bag and an expression torn between relief and pain, was Wen Ning.

“Wen-gongzi,” he replied, moving to get up to bow, but the younger man yelped quietly, shaking his head and hurrying over.

“Don’t get up, don’t – it’s alright!” he said hurriedly, and Wangji’s heart began to race.

He scanned Wen Ning’s face for any sign of injury, guilt cloying on his tongue as he asked quietly, “Were you caught?”

Wen Ning’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, lowering his voice. “No, no, I’m okay, Jiejie’s okay! We’ve been stuck in Qishan for a while now, but we’re okay. No one caught on – they didn’t even question us!”

Relieved, Wangji sinking back into a more comfortable position. “Good.”

“Mn,” said Wen Ning distractedly, his face once again pinched with concern. “But that’s not important – are you alright? I’m sorry you’ve been down here for so long – Jiejie and I didn’t know you were here until yesterday. They called her down to help with Jiang-gongzi, and he mentioned you, so Jiejie asked if there were other people Wen-zongzhu wanted to keep alive, and if we should check on them before they also reach that state, then-”

“What state?” Wangji asked, too alarmed to care that he was interrupting. “Is Jiang Cheng alright?”

Wen Ning grimaced. “He’s… okay. Wen Chao beat him quite badly, but Jiejie was able to patch him up. Wen Chao and Wen Xu have both gone out for the war, so hopefully he’ll have a chance to heal without anyone bothering him again. Are you alright?”

Automatically, Wangji began to nod, but then he paused. “There is a wound on my chest that is infected.”

Wen Ning winced. “Ah… I’m sorry! Can I see? I should have some things here to help!” He held up his bag, and Wangji nodded, carefully peeling back his robes to reveal the angry brand. Wen Ning’s eyes grew wide and horrified, flicking between Wangji’s face and chest several times.

“Lan-er-gongzi…”

Wangji glanced away. “If you have means to treat it…”

“Of course, of course!” Wen Ning said hurriedly, opening his bag. Focusing on his breathing, Wangji was able to keep from flinching as Wen Ning began to tend the wound, but it was a close thing. Then, Wen Ning spoke again, his voice smaller and more pained than Wangji had ever heard it. “Lan-er-gongzi, I… I really am sorry… about… about Wei-gongzi…”

Lan Wangji closed his eyes, bowing his head. Wen Ning seemed to take it as a nod, which was good, because Wangji couldn’t bring himself to even “Mn.”

“If I’d have known, I would’ve… I…”

Grief coiled around Wangji’s throat, threatening to choke out all sound. He breathed in heavily. “You could not have changed it,” he said quietly. “Even if you were there.” Suddenly, a strange sensation smoothed over his chest. He glanced down, confused as the pain of the burn began to fade to a mere simmer.

“Jiejie’s poultice,” Wen Ning said weakly, in answer to the unasked question. “It’s the best for burns. Wei-gongzi-” He broke off, looking away, and Wangji’s heart ached.

Wei Ying what? He had not had such a poultice when they were in the Xuanwu’s cave – but then Wangji remembered the still healing burns licking up Wei Ying’s neck and chin when they found him, and he swallowed.

“Lan-er-gongzi, I know you spoke of the burn, and I’ve done what I can for it – but I can help your other wounds, too, if you don’t mind?”

It was a bizarre way of phrasing it, but Wangji found himself oddly comforted by Wen Ning’s asking for permission. “Please.”

Wen Ning worked in silence, applying ointments to the numerous lash wounds, lacerations, and bruises that littered Wangji’s torso. When he finally spoke again, his voice was hushed to no more than a whisper. “Lan-er-gongzi… There’s not much that Jiejie and I can do to get you out of here right now. But I want to help, I really do! I was thinking, if I can find a way to send word to Lan-zongzhu…”

Wangji’s heart leapt, but as quickly as it did it plummeted back down through his chest. There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to see Xichen, to have his xiongzhang come to rescue him from this hellhole, but he forced himself to say what he had to.

“No.”

Wen Ning looked taken aback. “But Lan-er-gongzi, no one knows you’re here!”

“I know,” Wangji said heavily. “If Xiongzhang knows I am here, it will distract him from the war.” In all likelihood, Xichen already suspected that Wangji had been captured. Wangji would have never willing gone so long without sending word to his brother, and Xichen knew that. But there was a difference between Wangji being missing, and Xichen knowing for certain that he was being held in Nightless City.

There were very, very few things in this world that could prompt Xichen to act rashly, and Wangji knew that he was one of them. If he thought there was even the slightest chance of success, Xichen might attempt to launch a rescue, or worse, negotiate with Wen Ruohan – and Wangji knew full well that Gusu Lan could not afford it.

Wen Ning winced, his hands wringing together. “But… but Lan-er-gongzi…” he bit his lip and trailed off, looking away. “There has to be something,” he murmured, almost to himself, determination outweighing the clear desperation in his voice.

Warmth bloomed in Wangji’s heart, small, and fragile. “For now, it is enough that you are here,” he admitted quietly. For the last three months, his only visitors had been his tormentors, and the relief of a friendly face and gentle voice was immense. Seeing the disbelief on Wen Ning’s face, he added, “Is there more you can tell me about the war?”

“Oh! I think so! What do you know already?”

“…That we are at war.”

“Ah, right,” Wen Ning said, blushing slightly. “Well, uh, I don’t think anyone’s winning so far. Qishan Wen have won quite a few battles, but the Sunshot Campaign are holding their own, they’ve won three big ones in the last fortnight!”

“Sunshot Campaign?”

“The alliance between the other four great sects,” Wen Ning explained hurriedly. “Right now, they’re fighting on four fronts, from what I’ve heard – the Lan in Gusu, the Jiang in Jiangling, the Nie in Hejian, and the Jin in Langya.” He grimaced slightly. “Jiejie thinks that it will make it more difficult for them, I think, but they’re all holding their ground! I heard that the supervisory offices in Gusu, Qinghe and Yunmeng have been dismantled.” He paused. “They say Zewu Jun is travelling between the four fronts to maintain the alliance…”

So, he is a target, Wangji thought with a stab of dread, but he quickly dismissed it. Xichen was already a target, whether he moved from front to front or not. 

Furthermore…

“He’s probably also looking for you,” Wen Ning said quietly, “but I’ve heard he’s giving all of Qishan’s generals a headache, so that’s a good thing!”

“Mn,” Wangji agreed. “You said that Wen Chao and Wen Xu have both left Qishan?” 

“Yes – Wen Xu’s gone to Hejian, I think. I heard Nie-zongzhu’s making more progress than they’d like him too. But I’m not sure where Wen Chao is. I think towards the Jiangling front, but I don’t know. I don’t think he plans to fight as much as Wen Xu does, but he likes bossing the soldiers around.”

Wangji nodded slowly, digesting that information. It made sense for Wen Chao to choose Jiangling of the four fronts Wen Ning mentioned – it was closest to Qishan, and offered the smoothest retreat if his feet grew too cold. On one hand, Wangji suspected that the four sects would stand stronger together, but at the same time, they all had homelands to protect.

Guilt clawed at the inside of Wangji’s chest. He wanted to be on the front lines himself – he wanted to fight. He was not ignorant of his own strength. He would be a significant asset on the battlefield, he could help – he would have a much greater chance to avenge Wei Ying. But instead, he was absent at best and a threat at worst, if Qishan decided to use their hostages as leverage in the war.

“Do not draw attention to yourself,” he told Wen Ning finally, “but I would be grateful to hear any more information you may find.”

“Of course,” Wen Ning said seriously. “Are you sure you don’t want me to send word to anyone?”

“Certain,” Wangji swore. “For now. It is not safe for any of us.”

“Okay,” Wen Ning said reluctantly. “But at least take these.” He passed Lan Wangji a small vial, a large flask of water, and a box. “The first one is a painkiller. I remembered that you don’t eat meat or much spice in Gusu, so I hope this is okay. Oh, and also this!” He passed Wangji a small Qiankun pouch, one small enough to easily conceal in his robes. “To keep them in. Since the guards have already taken your own pouches, they won’t think to look for a new one,” he said proudly.

Overcome, Wangji felt a lump rise in his throat. Yesterday – Wen Qing and Wen Ning had discovered his presence here yesterday. In that time, Wen Ning had not only managed to make contact, but bring him food, and water, and medicine – and he still seemed to think his actions were too little.

Wangji rose onto his knees, bringing his arms in front of himself and ignoring Wen Ning’s squawked protest to bow. “Thank you, Wen-gongzi. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing, really! It’s the least I could do-” Wen Ning began, but Wangji looked up, and he fell silent.

“It is much more than nothing. I appreciate it deeply.”

Wen Ning glanced away, but didn’t protest again. There was a gentle rustling sound, and a thin tendril of smoke curled from his pocket. Wen Ning winced.

“Jiejie said I shouldn’t stay too long,” he said apologetically. “She gave me a timer, she said it would be suspicious if I took too long, and-”

“She is correct,” Wangji agreed, ignoring the somewhat alien part of him that desperately wished not to be alone. “You should go.”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Wen Ning promised, and Wangji stared at him.

“Safely,” he insisted. “As soon as you can safely.”

Wen Ning nodded, but Wangji kept staring at him until he said, “Safely. I promise.”

“Thank you, Wen-gongzi.”

Wen Ning gave a weak smile, and left the cell. Suspicious that the guard might search the cell, Wangji put the box, vial and flask into the new Qiankun pouch, hiding it in his robes and returning to a meditation pose. Sure enough, just moments after he did the door flew open with a bang.

“Up,” the guard barked, and Wangji rose, standing at the back of the cell as the guard searched it. Apparently satisfied, the guard grunted once and then left, locking the cell behind him.

It was nearly an hour before Wangji felt safe enough to inspect the contents of the box, and when he did his eyes stung. Nestled safely inside were several lidded dishes, whose contents looked to have been copied carefully from the kitchens of the Cloud Recesses. Unable to resist, he tasted one, and homesickness struck him so strongly he couldn’t breathe. The taste was not identical to that of the food at Gusu, but it was beautifully, achingly close.

He had not thanked Wen Ning deeply enough.

He was careful not to eat too much, taking only half a dish worth of food and saving the rest. Each dish’s lid was inscribed with a preservation talisman, so he felt confident stowing them back in his secret Qiankun pouch. If he was careful, the food would last him a week, padding out his daily meals and offering a taste of home, and of hope.

True to Wen Ning’s word, the next week passed with no torturous visits from Wen Chao and Wen Xu, a reprieve that he relished. As deeply as he could, he focused on his cultivation, running through any potential escape method in his mind.

Then one day, he felt it.

The dark, unsettling power of resentful energy looming towards him. He stiffened, rising to his feet as he heard the sound of footsteps walking slowly towards the cell, as a coil of thick, dark resentment curled under the door and towards him.

Lan Wangji cast a talisman to dispel it, but before the spell could work the resentful energy shot forwards, wrapping around his neck like a clawed hand and throwing him against the back wall, pinning him there. Stars danced before his eyes as his head spun, and the resentment clenched tighter around his neck.

The door to the cell flew open with a bang that rang through Wangji’s eardrums, and his blood ran cold.

Wen Ruohan.

During his imprisonment, Wangji had only been visited by Wen Ruohan twice. But both times, the leader of Qishan Wen had proven why his sons’ sadism had the reputation of being a mere shadow of his own.

And on neither of those occasions had Wen Ruohan looked so furious. His eyes glowed red with fury, his face contorted into a vicious expression that sent terror coursing through Wangji like a firestorm.

“You!” Wen Ruohan seethed, and another wave of resentful energy crashed into Wangji. White hot pain tore through him as the dark energy forced its way into his flesh, and Wangji choked, his feet scrambling uselessly against the wall. “Your damned Sunshot Campaign – who do you think you are?”

With the final word, Wen Ruohan drew Wangji towards him as fast as summoning a sword, only to throw him back against the wall so hard he felt his skull crack against the stone. Pain blinding him, Wangji gasped in a breath, but before he could do more than that, he was yanked back up into the air, pinned against the wall once more.

“Vile, pathetic, treacherous slime!” Wen Ruohan roared, and with every word another wave of resentful energy crashed into Wangji, burning like acid through his flesh and meridians alike.

Indescribable agony screamed through every part of him, an acidic burn more fierce than the brand, a stabbing anguish as sharp as his grief. A desperate scream tore through his chest, but pain and resentment strangled him so thoroughly he couldn’t breathe, let alone cry out.

The world began to turn white before his eyes, and desperation clawed at Wangji’s heart. It hurt, it hurt too much, too much, too much –

He wanted his brother.

He wanted his brother, he wanted his uncle –

He wanted Wei Ying.

“Bah!”

The resentful energy tore away from him and Wangji gasped in a ragged breath, his head tipping back to try and get more air. Slowly, his eyes refocused, and his heart seized at the sight of Wen Ruohan stalking closer, one hand holding the Yin Iron, the other clenching an obsidian knife.

“What do you think, little Lan?” Wen Ruohan seethed. “Do you think it’s justified?” Eyes glinting with rage, he pressed the knife to Wangji’s throat. “They killed my son – Nie Mingjue cut off my Xu-er’s head – don’t you think it’s fitting I send them a head back?” Terror shot through Wangji’s chest and he desperately willed his limbs to move, but the resentful energy was pinning him to the wall so strongly he could barely twitch. “It would be better if you were the Nie brat, more fitting, but still…” Wangji felt the blade break his skin, felt his heart race rabbit-fast against the razor-sharp edge of the knife. “Nie Mingjue is good friends with your brother – don’t you think your head is the next best thing?”

Wangji felt a bead of blood run down his throat, and even as terror coursed through him, he forced himself to glare at Wen Ruohan. If the only thing he could do was glare –

“I asked you a question!” Wen Ruohan hissed, shoving the knife deeper, and a choked whimper tore from Wangji’s lips as pain seared across his throat, followed a second later by the warm flow of blood. It wasn’t a fatal cut, not yet, but if the knife dug any deeper, Wangji would begin to bleed out. Desperation seared through his chest. He didn’t want to die – he couldn’t, not yet –

But it wasn’t his choice. He clenched his jaw shut, glaring as best he could, and Wen Ruohan narrowed his eyes.

“Brat!”  

The blade twisted free, only to bite deeply into his cheek and wrench upwards –

And Wangji felt his forehead ribbon fall free.

He choked in a gasp, his heart freezing in his chest as he watched his ribbon flutter into Wen Ruohan’s outstretched hand, the blue silk dripping with blood.

No, no, no –

“Your death will not be so quick and easy,” Wen Ruohan said, his eyes narrowing. “It will be long, and slow, and your brother will know. Your brother will know that as he fools around with his pathetic war, you are suffering a fate that makes lingchi look like mercy.” A crazed, vicious smile moved across his lips. “Unless, of course, he complies. What do you think are the chances of your survival, little Lan? Do you think Lan Huan will surrender his army for your sake? Do you think he will bring me the head of the man who killed my son?”

Wangji’s breathing was too quick, too shallow, but he couldn’t get it under control. He tore his eyes away from his ribbon to glare at Wen Ruohan, but the man’s smile only grew wider and crueller.

“Will Lan Huan bring me the head of Nie Mingjue if it will save his precious didi? I don’t think he will. I don’t think he’s strong enough.”

He wouldn’t. There were few things that Lan Wangji knew with more certainty than the fact that his brother was a good person – perhaps the best person Wangji knew. He would never take an innocent life, not even to save Wangji’s – and he would especially never harm his dearest friend.

But it would break him.

Forced into making that choice, forced to let Wangji die –

It would destroy his Xiongzhang.

“And when he doesn’t, when he fails…” Wen Ruohan’s eyes grew even darker, even crueller, and resentful energy began to coil around Wangji’s limbs. “Then, I will reanimate your corpse, and reunite you with your brother. We’ll see how many of your own clansmen you’ll slaughter before your own people cut you down – and we will see just how well your brother is able to lead his war campaign then.”

Abruptly, Wen Ruohan took a sharp step back and clicked his fingers. The Yin Iron shimmered and writhed, and a thick coil of dark, black smoke slithered out, more corporeal than the rest of the resentful energy it emitted. With a stab of fear, Wangji realised what it was – a demon, slowly taking on form. Blood red eyes glinted through the smoke, eerily human, but the creature’s face and body were snake-like, with wickedly sharp horns protruding from its head, its body was punctuated by short, taloned limbs.

“Begin,” Wen Ruohan said quietly, and the demon shot forward, sinking its teeth into Wangji’s neck –

And then all he knew was agony.

Chapter Text

The war was taking a toll on Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue knew that few others would make such an assumption – by all appearances, it seemed that Xichen was thriving amidst the chaos of the Sunshot Campaign. Unequivocally the most important person in maintaining unity between the four fronts of the war, Xichen boosted morale at every camp he visited without even seeming to try. He single-handedly ensured that communication flowed as smoothly as possible between the Sunshot Campaign and their allies, and offered invaluable advice and strategies with a calm that was almost infectious.

And wherever Lan Xichen fought, their forces rarely lost. The skill and might of Zewu Jun was almost unparalleled, and he was shaping up to be a clear hero of the war, a symbol of the strength and righteousness of the Sunshot Campaign.

But as strongly as Mingjue agreed with Xichen’s growing reputation…

No one else ever saw him when the doors were closed.

“Is this your blood?”

Xichen shook his head mutely, his eyes focused on the floor, hazed with exhaustion.

“None of it?” Mingjue pushed, and Xichen shook his head again.

“I didn’t have time to change. Sorry,” he said quietly, so quietly Mingjue could hardly hear it.

He scoffed. “I’m not bothered about that. Sit down.”

Grabbing a bowl of warm water and a washcloth, Mingjue helped Xichen shrug off his outer robes, replacing them with a clean set. Then, Mingjue began to scrub the dried blood from Xichen’s arms.

It took only two minutes before Mingjue found a gash on Xichen’s arm, and he pursed his lips.

“It’s not your blood, huh?”

“It’s Suyin’s.”

Mingjue paused, his heart sinking. “…Who?”

“My cousin, Lan Suyin,” Xichen murmured, still staring at the floor. “She was a doctor, helping people on the battlefield, she wasn’t even fighting.” He let out a long, shuddering breath. “The sword went right through her skull…”

Mingjue grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Xichen nodded absently.

Without another word, Mingjue cleaned and dressed the wound on Xichen’s arm, saving the lecture. Xichen began to shiver lightly, but his breathing was even and slow, so Mingjue wasn’t too concerned about shock or panic. Instead, he paused his task to grab a blanket from the side, slinging it over Xichen’s shoulders.

At that, Xichen looked up, blinking at him.

“Show me your other hand,” Mingjue said, and Xichen glanced down, offering Mingjue his left arm without a word. He’d obviously had a chance to wash his hands, but there was dried blood slicked up his wrist and further up his arm, and so Mingjue scrubbed.

“I thought it was a safer option,” Xichen murmured, and Mingjue listened. “If we’d met them past the head of the river-”

“Then we’d have lost many more than we did today,” Mingjue reminded him.

“Maybe. If I’d-”

“Stop. Reflecting on our mistakes is important, Xichen, but you’re not reflecting. You’re blaming yourself for the crime of failing to see the future.”

Xichen turned his face away, closing his eyes. Then, he sighed. “You’re right. But I… how has it become our responsibility to decide who to send to fight? Why is it our choice who lives and who dies?” His voice trembled, heartbreakingly childlike. “I – I never wanted that, Mingjue-ge.”

“I know,” said Mingjue, feeling the same weight in his own chest. “But as much as it feels it, we are not ‘choosing’ who lives and who dies. Tell me, Xichen – do you or do you not allocate your troops based upon their strengths and experience?”

“…of course, but-”

“If we want our clans to survive this war, we need to win it,” Mingjue said firmly. “And if we want to win this war, we need to fight. They all know this – every cultivator in our army knows it. You are sending your people where they have the best chance to succeed and survive. Sometimes, we must make decisions where the odds are stacked far more against them than we would like, but that is war, Xichen.”

For a long moment, Xichen was silent. Then he shook his head, resting it in his hands. “I know…”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Xichen shook his head into his hands. “I’m not sure. Before Jiangling, I think…”

“Xichen…”

“I was looking.” Xichen’s voice broke on the final word, and Mingjue closed his eyes.

Oh.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t say he would be any different if it were Huaisang missing – hell, he wasn’t much different now. Any moment he had spare, he turned his attention to the crowds and the lands around him, scouring the faces and trees alike for any sign of Wangji or the young masters of Yunmeng Jiang. He knew there was little chance of his finding them there, but he didn’t have time or resources to search farther, and doing nothing wasn’t an option. Not when it was Wangji.

“…is there any sign?” He asked, his heart heavy. He knew the answer even before Xichen shook his head, his eyes filling with tears.

“I don’t know where else to look,” he admitted, his voice choked. “Everyone we’ve sent out has come back empty handed – except for some who haven’t come back at all. I’ve scoured the woods around Gusu, and I’ve searched near Yunmeng and Qinghe and Meishan – I don’t know where else to look.”

Mingjue understood. Truthfully, he did not know where to look either – but there was one question that demanded to be asked, one that sat cold and heavy at the back of his throat. His own heart breaking, he put a hand on his friend’s wrist.

“Xichen… have you tried Inquiry?”

Xichen flinched violently, tears spilling down his cheeks as his lip began to quake. “I – I couldn’t. I thought – I tried, but – but I couldn’t – Mingjue-ge, I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t do it!”

“Alright,” Mingjue murmured, squeezing his friend’s wrist. “You don’t have to, Xichen. You don’t have to.”

But Xichen shook his head, his eyes squeezing tightly closed, his arm wrapping tightly around his stomach. “I couldn’t do it, but – but if he – Da-ge, do you think – do you think he’s…”

“I don’t know,” Mingjue said truthfully, before Xichen had to force himself to say the word. “I pray that he’s not, with all my heart, but I don’t know.”

A ragged sob tore through Xichen’s chest. “He’s in trouble, Mingjue. If – if he’s alive, he’s injured, or captured, or trapped, he – he needs me, and I can’t find him!”

Nie Mingjue hung his head. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than the hell plaguing Xichen, and he knew that there was nothing he could say that would bring any comfort. What comfort could there be? With a heavy sigh, he did the only thing he could think of and sat closer, putting an arm around Xichen’s shoulders. Immediately, Xichen collapsed into him, grabbing fistfuls of his robes and sobbing violently into his shoulder. Even now, he was quiet, quiet enough that the sounds of his anguish would go no farther than the tent, no matter how forcefully his sobs shook him. 

His own eyes stinging, Mingjue wrapped his arms around his friend and held him close, wracking his brain desperately for any sort of clue they may have missed, but he wasn’t hopeful. If anything, they’d only found the opposite – clues that weren’t really clues at all, leads and sightings that had turned out to be nothing more than misunderstandings or mistakes.

“I can’t find him!” Xichen’s wail was muffled by Mingjue’s shoulder, and Mingjue held him tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. What else was there to say? “I’m sorry.”

It did not take long for exhaustion to claim Xichen. After a short while his sobs lost strength, and his shuddering grew fainter. Steadily, his grip faded, his body falling limp in Mingjue’s arms.

Without hesitation, Mingjue guided him to lie down on the bed, taking another blanket and covering him. There were still tear tracks tacky on Xichen’s cheeks, and his face was still pale as death, but at least he was asleep. That was something.

Rubbing his eyes, Mingjue moved back over to his desk. He’d abandoned the maps and notes strewn across it with the news that Xichen had returned to camp, but now they commanded his attention once more. By defeating Wen Xu, the Nie had achieved a significant victory, but there was no time to be complacent. If they didn’t press this advantage, it was next to worthless.

That said, there were two obvious paths ahead to push on further into Hejian, but both were wrought with risk, and so far Mingjue was struggling to find the better of the two. With a heavy sigh, he pushed down his own fatigue and set to the maps, drafting proposals for each of the routes. He’d present each to his council and discuss it with them tomorrow – or today, as the case may be. By the time he finished, dawn was beginning to touch the horizon. Ignoring the niggling, Huaisang-like voice protesting his own hypocrisy, he settled for splashing his own face with cold water rather than bothering to try and get some sleep.

He hoped that Xichen would sleep past five, at least for an hour or two, but by the time he came back around the screen after changing his robes and sorting his hair, Xichen was sitting up in bed, blinking blearily around the tent.

“Ah…” he said, his voice raspy with sleep. “I’m sorry, Mingjue-ge, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“You needed it,” Mingjue said, studying him. “Probably still do.”

Xichen gave a weak smile. “I’ll be fine.” Mingjue raised his eyebrows, but Xichen’s smile grew almost wry. “Tell me, Mingjue-ge, how long did you sleep last night?”

Nie Mingjue snorted. “Touché.”

Stifling a yawn, Xichen rubbed his eyes delicately. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Mingjue paused carefully. “Well, we want to push further south within the next forty-eight hours, but there are a couple of different routes we could take, and I need to consult with my council before we decide. I’d appreciate your input, too.”

“Of course,” Xichen said. “What are the options?”

For a moment, Mingjue paused again. He didn’t know whether or not to bring up the search for Wangji again – there was no way it was not front and centre in Xichen’s mind. Seeing his face, Xichen’s expression became almost stubborn.

“I can focus, Mingjue-ge,” he said firmly, but Mingjue shook his head.

“I’m not worried about your ability to focus,” he argued, and Xichen sighed, glancing down.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But truly, I… I don’t know where else to look. I don’t have any leads, or any idea of where to go next. I won’t stop looking – I will never stop – but at the same time… If I let the war effort slip because I was searching blindly, Wangji would never forgive himself. It would be different if I had any sort of lead, but… While I’m thinking of my next steps, it makes sense to do what I can here in the meantime.”

His heart heavy, Mingjue nodded. It wasn’t like he disagreed. “Very well.”

From the moment they stepped out of the tent that morning, the grief and stress all but vanished from Xichen’s face. In its place was a steady, attentive expression, matched with a voice that was calm and measured – firm when he needed to be, gentle when he could afford it. The turmoil wreaking through him was hidden by a mask even Mingjue struggled to see through – when he was outside of the tent, Lan Xichen was exactly who they needed him to be. He was Zewu Jun.

And as proud as it made him, Mingjue ached to see it.

Still, Xichen’s input was invaluable. There wasn’t a single member of Mingjue’s council who wasn’t visibly relieved to see him, and the boost in confidence was enough to get them to agree to a primary route by midmorning. By lunchtime, scouts had been sent out, and they were already making preparations to press onwards, progress faster than Mingjue had dared to hope for.

As the afternoon worse on, the mood in camp was tangibly high. For most, the high of their last victory was yet to fade, and anticipation hummed through the very air as the camp prepared to move on. Every group he checked on, from his officers to his foot soldiers and his armourers to his healers reported being ready to move, eager even.

As he made his way back towards the war tent, Nie Mingjue allowed himself a moment, just a moment, to feel that relief and anticipation himself.

And a cry of horror rang through the air –

Short and sharp, but terrified and anguished –

Xichen.

Without a seconds’ hesitation, Mingjue broke into a run, tearing back into the war tent and breaking through the ring of startled disciples around its edge. Xichen stood in the centre of the tent, his face wrought with horror, a box and a letter clutched in his hands –

And then he fell, crashing down to his knees with another strangled cry.

“Out!” Mingjue barked, and his disciples jumped, hastening to obey. “Everyone, out! Zonghui – where did they come from?!”

His second in command needed no further explanation. “The normal messenger – I’ll take him into custody.” Mingjue grunted in approval, and Zonghui swept out of the tent after the others, leaving Mingjue and Xichen alone.

The letter fluttered free from Xichen’s grip, his now-free hand hovering over the box. His breathing was too fast, too shallow, and Nie Mingjue had never, ever seen him look so horrified.

Dread crushed down on his heart like an anvil, and Mingjue stepped closer carefully, making his voice as gentle as possible. “Xichen?”

Xichen flinched, looking up and him –

And then his eyes filled with tears –

And he screamed.

It was a sound unlike anything Mingjue had ever heard, a raw cry of desperate anguish that cut right through his very soul. Horror tore through him, and Mingjue dropped to one knee himself.

“Xichen!”

But Xichen squeezed his eyes shut, the box clattering to the floor as he snatched its contents free, clenching them in his hand and hugging it to his chest. Curling over himself, Xichen wailed, and Mingjue saw a flutter of blue and red silk fall down his wrist –

Pain struck Mingjue dead in the chest.

A forehead ribbon. A blood-soaked forehead ribbon.

That could only mean…

“Xichen,” he said again, grabbing his friend’s shoulder. “Xichen, I-”

“No!” Xichen howled, his body shuddering violently, and Mingjue let go quickly. “No, no, I – can’t, I can’t, I can’t!”

“Xi-”

But Xichen cut over him, a wordless scream of agony so loud Mingjue’s ears hurt. In the same moment, he grabbed Mingjue’s wrist, clutching it so hard Mingjue felt himself start to bruise. Shaking his head desperately, Xichen choked through his screams, “I can’t!”

“Can’t what?” Mingjue demanded urgently. When he got no response, he grabbed the letter from the ground, scanning it quickly –

An avalanche of horror crashed down upon him, cold, crushing, suffocating –

Lan Xichen,

Long enough have Qishan Wen tolerated your part in this treacherous rebellion. In the wake of the cowardly murder of Wen Xu, Qishan Wen see it fit to inform you that your brother, Lan Zhan, is currently in our custody charged with high treason. His execution has already begun – but the process of demonic lingchi takes a week. Within this time, it can be stopped.

In his mercy, Wen Ruohan will pardon your brother and commute his sentence if you agree to the following demands:

Stand down your army.

Officially surrender yourself to Nightless City, handing over all spiritual weapons in your possession.

Bring with you the head of the murderer Nie Mingjue.

If each of these demands are met, the life of Lan Wangji will be spared. If you fail to meet a single requirement, his death is guaranteed. To remind you – the execution process has already begun. You have one week.

Mingjue’s mouth felt very dry. He swallowed hard, grabbing his friend by the shoulders and squeezing. “Xichen, Xichen look at me. Look at me!” With a desperate sob, Xichen met Mingjue’s eyes, and for a moment, the pain within them was so severe that Mingjue couldn’t breathe. “Xichen,” he forced himself to say. “You need to breathe. I need you to breathe.”

Xichen sucked in a shuddering breath, but he released it a moment later in a low keen, shaking his head. “I need – I need to – to go to Qishan,” he sobbed. “Need – need to get to Wangji –”

“Then what?” Mingjue demanded, his heart breaking. He couldn’t imagine the agony Xichen was going through, and he knew that charging to Qishan would be his own first reaction, but he also knew that they needed to act on reason, not instinct. “What would you do when you got there?”

“Doesn’t – doesn’t matter,” Xichen gasped, grappling with Mingjue’s arms. “Something, anything – they can take me, they can do whatever they want-”

“That won’t be enough. You know it won’t, Xichen – it would only end with both of you dead.”

Xichen keened. “Then, then I’ll – I’ll -”

“You’ll what? Bring them my head?” Xichen flinched so violently it looked like Mingjue had stabbed him, but Mingjue pressed on. “Kill a stranger and take them his head? Hope they don’t notice?” For a split second, Mingjue saw consideration flicker across Xichen’s eyes after the second suggestion – but only for a second. Horror and guilt quickly drowned it out, though Mingjue didn’t judge him. “Listen to me. Listen. You need to breathe.”

But instead, Xichen collapsed into Mingjue’s chest, sobbing desperately. His heart aching, Mingjue held his friend close, letting him cry. Logic wouldn’t help here, not yet. The choice before Xichen was utterly abhorrent, but also cruelly effective. Wen Ruohan had to know there would be next to no chance of Xichen delivering Mingjue’s head to Qishan Wen, but murdering Wangji would undoubtedly break Xichen’s spirit – something that would cripple the Sunshot Campaign.

Taking out both Jades of Lan would be a blow far worse than the loss of Wen Xu was to Qishan.

If Wangji was killed…

It was a grief Mingjue would carry on his shoulders for the rest of his days.

“If there’s anything that can be done, we’ll do it,” he swore, hugging Xichen close. “If there’s a way to rescue him, we will.”

Xichen choked. “D-do – do you think we can?”

“I don’t know,” Mingjue admitted painfully. “But we’ll try.”

In his heart, Mingjue didn’t know what chance they had. Launching an assault on Qishan was out of the question – and likely do more harm than good – and sneaking into the dungeons of Nightless City… Nie Mingjue did not know if it could be done.

There was a crushing dread in his chest, warning that Wangji’s death was all but inevitable. If anything could be done to prevent it, Nie Mingjue would put everything he had towards it –

But in truth, he didn’t know if there was anything he could do anything but pray.

It was the work of minutes.

As he walked through the bloodied courtyard, even Wei Wuxian marvelled at how easy it had been. Nearly fifty corpses of Wen soldiers were strewn across the stone ground, draped over stolen sculptures and carefully maintained hedges. Nearly fifty men, and between his flute, his amulet, and Xiaoshou, Wei Wuxian had despatched them in minutes. There’d barely even been any noise.

He smiled.

Some of the faces he recognised as those who’d been with Wen Chao all along, those who’d helped beat Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan – those, he set the drowned ghost to, watching their eyes bulge with horror as they drowned on ghostly water, their feet still on dried ground. Others were strangers. For them, Wei Wuxian felt nothing.

He had a job to do.

Delicately, he opened the door before him, making sure to move as slowly as possible. He could hear terrified whimpering coming from within, and the curl of his smile grew more satisfied. He glanced down at Xiaoshou, shivering with anticipation at his ankles, and jerked his chin towards the door. The hand flexed its fingers, scuttling inside like some giant spider –

And Wang Lingjiao shrieked, her terror so piercing Wei Wuxian’s ears hurt. He smiled harder.

“Get away, get – ahh!”

Slowly, Wei Wuxian stepped inside the room, resentful energy curling around his ankles like black smoke, and turned towards the bed in the corner. Xiaoshou was already there, moving almost too fast to track, tugging at Wang Lingjiao’s hair and robes, scratching deep wounds into her cheeks and arms.

“Ghost!” she screeched as she saw him, waving an arm wildly and desperately pressing a talisman against her chest with the other. “Ghost, g-ghost!”

A million retorts flew through Wei Wuxian’s mind, but he said nothing, widening his smile to show his teeth. Then, as she screamed, he slowly raised the flute to his lips. Began to play.

“Save me!” she wailed, scrambling as far back in the bed as she could, clutching the covers around her as though they might offer some protection. “Help, help, someone help me! Help!”

There was no need to worry. Help was not coming. Everyone who could offer it was dead, and Wei Wuxian had ensured that Wen Chao’s room was locked from the outside before he started. He relished the idea of letting Wen Chao run, of hunting him down just as he had hunted Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan. Wei Wuxian could imagine little more satisfying than letting Wen Chao taste that final sliver of hope, only to rip it away at the last second.

But he couldn’t. He was on a time limit, after all.

“H-help!” Want Lingjiao blubbered, shaking her head frantically. Wei Wuxian continued to play, tendrils of resentful energy coiling towards her in a tantalising dance, and she sobbed, finally thinking to address him. “W-Wei-gongzi, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it wasn’t me! It wasn’t me, Wen Chao made me! He made me, I didn’t – I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! Please!”

A small part of Wei Wuxian felt sorry for her. He couldn’t imagine being so pathetic a creature, so willing to wield power and pain with an army behind him, so cowardly as to abandon any sort of principle or dignity when alone. But it was a cool, detached pity, like watching a fierce corpse walk blindly into a wall. There was something to pity there, but that didn’t mean the pitiable thing was not evil. It didn’t mean the pitiable thing didn’t deserve everything it had wrought upon itself.

The Wife felt fitting. The ghost of a young woman married off to a man twice her age, a man who had no intention of setting aside his lover for his new bride. When the young Wife fell pregnant, the lover had murdered her, strangling the life from her and her unborn child alike, tossing the young woman’s corpse into the Burial Mounds. By some mercy, the child’s spirit moved on, but the Wife remained, her entire being now steeped in fury and hate. She had no desire to rest in peace, not until she had her vengeance.

And why should she? What justice was there in silencing her fury, of burying the crime done to her just because the perpetrators were long since dead?

Why shouldn’t she take revenge now?

Take revenge for them both.

Wang Lingjiao’s screams became hysterical as the Wife’s body took form, and it was a struggle not to smile as the ghost swept down, tearing into Wang Lingjiao’s flesh with talon-like nails and teeth sharp as daggers. It was a shame it was hard to play the flute properly while smiling.

Wei Wuxian played, guiding and strengthening the Wife’s attacks at every turn, watching as rivers of blood ran down Wang Lingjiao’s arms and chest and face. Xiaoshou stepped back, its fingers curling around its thumb in a gesture Wei Wuxian had come to interpret as the equivalent to folding its arms, practically radiating satisfaction as it watched.

“Hel-” Wang Lingjiao began, but the Wife leant down and tore out her throat with her teeth. Wang Lingjiao gave an awful, gurgling gasp, blood bubbling on her lips, and Wei Wuxian slowly lowered his flute.

That was quicker than he’d intended.

The Wife drew back, hovering behind Wei Wuxian’s shoulder and growling softly down at Wang Lingjiao, who stared up with bulging, desperate eyes, one mangled hand pawing uselessly at her throat. Wei Wuxian stared down at her as her eyes slowly lost focus.

The gurgling stopped.

The Wife growled appreciatively, and Wei Wuxian glanced at her. “Is that enough?” he asked gently. Even as he asked, he felt her energy swell, a wave of agony and fury and drive, and he knew the answer. “Okay,” he murmured, opening the amulet and recalling her inside. “Okay.”

Once again, Wei Wuxian raised his flute to his lips. As he played, Wang Lingjiao’s body rose up like a puppet, and a sense of grim satisfaction filled Wei Wuxian’s chest. He drove her over to Wen Chao’s door, releasing the locking talisman to send her inside.

A shriek of pure terror rang through the room, and Wei Wuxian fought not to smile. He stepped in after her, and Wen Chao’s eyes bulged so wide it was a wonder they didn’t fall out.

“Wen Zhuliu! Wen Zhuliu!” Wen Chao shrieked, and Wei Wuxian paused. He hadn’t seen Wen Zhuliu in his sweep of the camp. It didn’t matter. He narrowed his eyes, playing harder, and Wang Lingjiao’s corpse lurched forward, diving in to attack. Wei Wuxian was careful – very careful. He didn’t want Wen Chao to die, not yet. He had questions.

Wen Chao screamed frantically as the corpse of his lover tore at him like a rabid beast, tearing the skin from his arms and chest and neck, ripping the hair from his head handful by bloodied handful. The agony in his screams turned Wei Wuxian’s stomach a little, but it was also satisfying beyond anything he’d hoped for, and he played a little harder, watching as Wen Chao writhed on the ground.

The door burst open behind him, and Wei Wuxian ducked gracefully, avoiding the strike of Wen Zhuliu’s sword with ease.

“Wen Zhuliu!” Wen Chao babbled, and Wei Wuxian turned, narrowing his eyes.

Without missing a beat, Wen Zhuliu lurched towards Wei Wuxian’s stomach, palm outstretched, but Wei Wuxian wasn’t about to give him such a chance. He leant back and blew a sharp note on his flute, and energy burst from his amulet, throwing Wen Zhuliu back against the wall. The man’s eyes widened in surprise and alarm, but Wei Wuxian didn’t give him time to figure out what had just happened. Another coil of resentful energy shot out, wrapping around a knife on Wen Zhuliu’s own belt, tearing it free –

Slicing through his neck.

Wen Chao shrieked as Wen Zhuliu fell, but pain quickly drowned out the sound of his panic. The reanimated corpse of his mistress tore at him over and over, until he was sprawled, quivering on the floor.

Wei Wuxian whistled sharply, and Wang Lingjiao’s corpse stepped back, her head dropping unnaturally to the side, sending blood spurting out of the wound on her neck. Whimpering, Wen Chao tried to shuffle away, but Wei Wuxian strode over, pinning his arm in place with a foot. Wen Chao howled.

“Quiet,” Wei Wuxian said coldly, and Wen Chao’s screeching faded into frightened blubbering. “Where are they?”

“W-W-Wei-gongzi –”

“Where,” Wei Wuxian growled, enunciating each word, “are Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan?”

“Nightless City!” Wen Chao yelped quickly. “They’re – they’re in the dungeons at Nightless City! I can get them for you, I’ll fetch them-” he cut off with a shriek as Wei Wuxian increased the pressure on his arm.

“The same dungeon I was held in?” he demanded. “With that… dog?”

“Y-yes, no, it’s – it’s further in! Further in, they’re in the Inferno Palace. It’s, it’s the most g-guarded area in Qishan, I – I can help you! I’ll help you, see? Th-th-this is a misunderstanding!”

Wei Wuxian smiled coldly. “A misunderstanding?”

“Yes, yes! I’ll bring them to you, I’ll bring them straight to you, there’s-” He choked off as Wei Wuxian moved put a foot on his throat instead.

“The only misunderstanding here is your belief that you will live through the next hour,” he said. “I do not need your help.”

“No, wait – please!” Wen Chao shrieked, but Wei Wuxian simply stepped back, whistling once more.

With an ungodly, gurgling shriek, Wang Lingjiao’s corpse lurched forward again, and Wen Chao’s screams filled the air.

By the time Wei Wuxian was done, Wen Chao’s corpse was in pieces.

Wei Wuxian walked back out into the courtyard, closing his eyes as the cool night air hit his face. Resentful energy still lingered, but the air was still so much clearer than anything he’d breathed in months. Even after cleansing the area of the Demon Subdue Palace, there had been a grim stuffiness in the air there, and the rest of Burial Mounds were far worse. It was almost strange to fill his lungs without exacerbating the constant buzz of pain moving through his body.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, gazing up at the sky. He could see the stars more easily here, too.

He’d forgotten how bright they could be.

But there wasn’t time to look at the stars. Tracking down Wen Chao had taken several days, and he was still at least a day out from Qishan. Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng had been imprisoned by the Wen for more than three months – if their captivity had been anything like Wei Wuxian’s –

He wouldn’t let it last a minute longer. Wei Wuxian glared down at Wen Chao’s sword, his lip curling. It was likely that the blade wouldn’t work for him, but it was clearly the most powerful weapon there, and Wei Wuxian needed to fly. But despite his suspicions, the blade pulled free from its sheath with ease, and Wei Wuxian snorted. It seemed even Wen Chao’s own sword couldn’t stand him.

Ignoring the sharp ache in his core that had become so common a part of his life, Wei Wuxian took to the sword, taking off out of the courtyard –

And he froze.

Something was missing.

He frowned, looking around. “…Xiaoshou?”

There was no reply. Of course, he hadn’t been expecting a sound, but usually if he called out, the hand responded with a wave, or sent out a spark of energy to show its location. Instead, everything was still.

“Xiaoshou! I’m going!” he yelled, but there was still no response. “Fuck…”

He could just leave – a sane person would probably leap at the chance to leave their demonic ex-body-part behind and fly away as fast as they could. But somehow… Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel fond of the little demon. He huffed, closing his eyes and focusing on its energy. If Xiaoshou was close enough, he could usually hone in on –

There.

He returned to the ground, striding back into the room Wen Chao had died in –

Stopping dead.

“Really?”

Xiaoshou froze, turning towards Wei Wuxian. Then, it bobbed up and down in a motion that Wei Wuxian knew to be a nod, and returned to its task, hacking at Wang Lingjiao’s wrist with Wen Zhuliu’s discarded knife.

“You know she’s already dead.”

A wave of emotion flew out and struck Wei Wuxian, an indignant insistence that it was the principle of the matter.

“We need to go,” Wei Wuxian pressed, and Xiaoshou nodded again. With a burst of energy, it flew into the air, shooting back down as fast as an arrow to strike one final blow with the knife. Wang Lingjiao’s hand fell from her wrist, tumbling free. Xiaoshou twirled the knife over its fingers in an admittedly impressive manoeuvre, driving it through Wang Lingjiao’s palm and pinning it to the floor.

Xiaoshou gave a final, satisfied nod, flying through the air to perch on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. For a moment, Wei Wuxian stared at the newly severed hand, pinned to the ground.

He had to admit, it did feel like justice.

Chapter Text

The urge to burn Nightless City to the ground was almost unbearable. It seethed beneath his skin, goading him to take out his amulet and his flute like he had at Wen Chao’s manor and track down Wen Ruohan, cutting him down and slaughtering any soldier that stood in his way.

But he couldn’t.

It was one thing to take out fifty soldiers in an isolated manor house, but it was another to face the hundreds – if not thousands – of cultivators in Nightless City on his own. Furthermore, Wen Ruohan still had of the Yin Iron.

The Stygian Tiger Amulet was powerful, but Wei Wuxian was still working out just how powerful it was. There was a chance it was stronger than the Yin Iron, that with it he would be able to wrest Wen Ruohan’s puppets from his grip, but Wei Wuxian hadn’t had the amulet long enough to know.

Even that uncertainty might not have stopped him. His rage was unrelenting, and the amulet whispered to him, goading him to take revenge, urging him he could succeed –

But it wasn’t an option.

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan were hostages. If Wei Wuxian was drawn into too large a fight, if his enemy had time to drag his brother and Lan Zhan into the fray – he would be powerless. The chances of saving them both in the midst of a battle were not odds Wei Wuxian was willing to risk. For himself, for his clan, Wei Wuxian was willing to attempt the impossible, but not with Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan on the line. Never, risking them.

So, he ignored the urge to wreak havoc as he slipped through the shadows of Nightless City, taking out guards only when he wasn’t able to pass by unseen. It wasn’t hard to remember his way to the dungeons.

 Two soldiers stood guard outside, but as Wei Wuxian watched, another pair approached from the other side of the courtyard.

“Anything to report?” asked one of the new guards.

“Nothing. Not even anything interesting to listen to.”

The new guard clicked his tongue. “Really? That’s a pity. It makes the time go faster, hearing those poor bastards scream.”

Rage roared through Wei Wuxian’s veins, and his hands trembled as they clenched into fists. He reached towards his weapons, but as he did, the old guard said something that chilled his bones.

“There aren’t many left. Zongzhu cleared the dungeons yesterday – there’s only two or three left down in the Inferno Palace to play with. The rest of ‘em are all dead already. There’s a whole new horde of puppets to send to the front lines.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart thundered frantically in his chest, terror overwhelming him with every beat. If he was too late –

If Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan were –

If he was too late –

The new guards took their posts, and the others left. Wei Wuxian swallowed, taking a deep breath and trying to steady himself. He reached into his Qiankun pouch, and the Stygian Tiger Amulet brushed against his fingertips, eager to be used. He reached past it. With how powerful the amulet was, Wen Ruohan would sense its presence if it was used. Instead, he reached for the two flint blades in the bottom of the pouch.

The first real tools he’d forged in the Burial Mounds, they were small enough to fit in his palm and sharp as razors, and he fixed his sight on the guards. He took a deep breath, drawing on just a little resentful energy and flinging out both knives, fast as death. Though his left arm’s aim was growing better, Wei Wuxian didn’t fully trust it yet, but the resentment was more than enough to guide the blades to their mark. Before the guards could so much as blink, the knives shot straight into their hearts.

One grunted, but that was the only sound to escape either man as they crumpled at their posts. With a low whistle, Wei Wuxian drew on more resentment, sending it shooting out towards the guards. It fought him, for a moment, but he focused, and slowly the two guards’ bodies stood back up, standing guard at their posts.

Nothing else moved. The courtyard was quiet, but not unsettlingly so. The coast was clear. Wei Wuxian swept over to the dungeon door, snatching the blades from the Wen guard’s chests as he did. It was a good thing their robes were red and black – from a distance, no one would notice the blood.

Swiping the keys from the guard’s belt, Wei Wuxian made his way inside. There he found no guards, but another locked door, and impatience hissed at him as he tried key after key. Finally, he found it, slipping through and pressing on down the same dark, sloping tunnel Wen Chao had driven him down during indoctrination. Soon, it opened up slightly into the familiar corridor of cells, watched by a single guard. The man was dead before he had a chance to open his mouth, and as his body hit the floor an eerie silence filled the space. Every cell was empty, and every door was open – except one.

Even if the others were bolted, Wei Wuxian would have known this was the next door to take. Even from here, he could feel the resentment broiling behind it. It demanded a talisman as well as a key to unlock, but despite the complexity of the Wen clan’s spells, breaking it was child’s play. He shoved the door open –

And screaming filled his ears, so loud and vicious he flinched, clapping a hand to his ear. Resentment hung chokingly thick in the air, echoes of the agony that had been suffered here, the anguish of souls trapped even in death. He sucked in a shuddering breath, forcing himself to concentrate, to push the sounds of the spirits to the back of his mind.

On his shoulder, Xiaoshou trembled, and Wei Wuxian pushed onwards, towards the dim light at the end of the tunnel. The screaming around him grew louder, and his heart raced more desperately by the second, and before he knew it Wei Wuxian was running. He should have been running this whole time, he –

If he was already too late –

He almost ran right into the wards at the other end of the tunnel, but he caught himself in time to shatter them with a snarl, breaking out a dark chamber. The blood-splattered walls were lined with cells, and there were another two tunnels leading to more chambers, but Wei Wuxian’s attention was stolen on the pair of guards standing before a heavy, wooden door.

They raised their swords, but Wei Wuxian struck faster. The first crumpled dead on the ground, but the second dodged his blow, launching himself at Wei Wuxian and swinging his sword with immense power. Clearly, the cultivator was strong, perhaps nearly as strong as Wen Zhuliu.

But Wei Wuxian had felled Wen Zhuliu in a matter of seconds, and he tore down this nameless guard just as fast. Without pausing to breathe, Wei Wuxian pulled the bolts free on the door and wrenched it open –

His heart stopped dead in his chest.

Everything froze.

Even his heart stopped dead in his chest, and time stood still around him.

A demon loomed at the far end of the cell, a creature so powerful its aura struck Wei Wuxian like a blow to the chest, but it paid no attention to him at all. Instead, it stooped over a bloodied body, its tail flicking in pleasure as it feasted on its victim’s throat. The man pinned beneath it was writhing in agony, his back and neck painfully arched and his face hidden from view, but even now his feet kicked feebly in a hopeless effort to fight –

A low, guttural grunt of pain tore from the man’s throat, and Wei Wuxian’s worst fears were realised.

“Lan Zhan!”

Two of the demon’s heads snapped up, red eyes narrowing as they fixed on Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t care less, because its third head was still sinking its teeth into Lan Zhan’s throat, still gorging on his blood, and his spiritual energy, and his pain –

“Get off him!” Wei Wuxian roared, striking out with his flute and sending resentment hurtling towards the demon –

But the demon roared back, the sound as sharp as razors in Wei Wuxian’s ears, and the blow crumbled before it could land. Snarling, Wei Wuxian grabbed his flute and raised it to his lips, summoning resentful energy into the now familiar fingers that acted in place of his right hand. He began to play, high and sharp and urgent. There was no point trying to control a demon like this. It was a battle of wills, and Wei Wuxian could win it – but not quickly. What was more, he could sense the influence of the Yin Iron on the demon, both controlling it and strengthening it at the same time.

He needed to destroy it.

Xiaoshou shot across the floor, sending out sharp bursts of power that hit the demon like small blades, and it hissed, turning sharply –

Dragging Lan Zhan with it by the throat. Wei Wuxian heard a choked whimper of pain, and the world before him turned red. In his Qiankun pouch, the Stygian Tiger Amulet screamed to be used, but Wei Wuxian didn’t need it. Not when his own fury and desperation were as strong as this.

Black arrows of pure resentment burst forth from his flute, a barrage the monster couldn’t evade, and it roared as the blows began to land. Fast as death, it stood up on its hind legs, dragging Lan Zhan in front of itself like a shield, and Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened.

The flute shrieked, almost a second too late, and the arrows changed course, circling the room –

And Wei Wuxian played harder, pouring both spiritual and resentful energy into his playing as hard as he could. Pain screamed through his core and his eyes began to burn, but he didn’t care. He played, and the arrows came together to form a single bolt, glowing red and gold and writhed in smoke, humming with every sort of power he had.

Faster even than the demon, it shot around the edge of the room, piercing through monster’s chest with a sickening thunk. The demon screamed with all three of its mouths, and even as the sound threatened to deafen him, Wei Wuxian lurched forward –

Because Lan Zhan was falling.

Just as Wei Wuxian’s fingers brushed Lan Zhan’s arms, the demon flailed out, sending Lan Zhan tumbling across the room – striking towards Wei Wuxian’s neck a second later. With a scream of rage, Wei Wuxian thrust out his arm before its blow could land, embedding his hand in the demon’s chest. It howled, and he clenched his teeth, feeling the blood boil in his veins.

Destroy it… destroy it… destroy it!

Do you want revenge?

With a pathetic, wrenching gasp, the creature began to flail, its cries becoming desperate as its body crumbled, as the energy that had sustained it for centuries was siphoned away.

Just as it had fed on its countless victims, its essence was stolen too, stored not within a demonic soul, but within an amulet tucked in a small, grubby Qiankun pouch.

It squirmed and screamed, but Wei Wuxian’s hatred only flared stronger, and he squeezed tighter, fought harder. Ignored the blood streaming from his nose, his ears, his eyes –

Ignored everything except the rage burning through him.

Even as the demon’s body dissolved, falling away into dust and smoke, Wei Wuxian’s fury was not satisfied. It was insatiable, unbreakable, and he would destroy everything in his path until vengeance was had, until his enemy experienced a thousand times worse than what they’d inflicted on –

His eyes widened, and Wei Wuxian sucked in a strangled gasp, whirling around as fast as he could.

“Lan Zhan! Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!”

Lan Zhan hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen. He was face down on the filthy ground, his hands bound together and pinned beneath him, his entire body jerking with violent spasms. Wei Wuxian flung himself down, his heart twisting at the sight of the vicious bite marks on Lan Zhan’s neck. Tendrils of black spread out from the wounds, sinking the demon’s poison into his veins, and Wei Wuxian sobbed, pressing a hand over the bite. He reached out with his own energy, his stomach churning as he registered the amount of demonic energy in Lan Zhan’s bloodstream – and how little spiritual energy Lan Zhan had left.

Making matters worse, the demonic energy was infused with intent – it was hurting him, torturing him from the inside to increase the pain and fear the demon would feed on, and Wei Wuxian wanted to howl.  

“Lan Zhan,” he choked, dragging the other man into his lap and summoning the resentment out of the wound as quickly as he could. Perhaps it was dangerous to siphon it into the Stygian Tiger Amulet – it had already consumed most of the demon, and its power was growing harder to hide –

But he didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

“Lan Zhan – Lan Zhan –” He wanted to say more, to offer comfort or assurance, but all he could sob out was that name…

Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he jerked his head up, baring his teeth. Xiaoshou stared back at him, quivering slightly, and Wei Wuxian felt his lip tremble. 

“Go find Jiang Cheng,” he demanded, his voice thick with tears. If his brother was also trapped in a cell with such a demon… “Go!”

Xiaoshou nodded, shooting out of the room faster than Wei Wuxian had ever seen it move. His throat tightening, Wei Wuxian turned his attention back to Lan Zhan. The resentful energy was still coming, so much of it – that thing must have been poisoning Lan Zhan for days.

Days.

Suddenly, Lan Zhan jerked in his lap, a breathless sob tearing from his lips as his face furrowed in pain. Wei Wuxian held tighter, his heart aching.

“It’s okay,” he promised thickly, “it’s okay, Lan Zhan, it’s almost done. It’s nearly over, nearly over, I promise.”

Lan Zhan moaned, turning his face away, and Wei Wuxian swallowed hard.

“I promise,” he pleaded. “I promise, Lan Zhan, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here now. I’m – I’m sorry I’m so late. I’m so sorry, Lan Zhan, I’m so sorry.”

He wrenched free the last of the demonic energy, dissipating it within the span of a heartbeat and readjusted his grip, brushing the bloody, matted hair out of Lan Zhan’s face. With a start, Wei Wuxian realised that Lan Zhan wasn’t wearing his forehead ribbon. He glanced around the cell but saw no sign of it and his stomach churned.

Lan Zhan took a deep, shuddering breath, but his eyes remained closed. His forehead was furrowed, and beading with sweat, and Wei Wuxian bit his lip, hard.  

The energy may have gone, but the echoes of the agony they wrought would linger, and that said nothing of any physical wounds Lan Zhan might have. With a start, Wei Wuxian reached down to Lan Zhan’s hands, which were bound together with shackles so tight his wrists were raw and red.

He was too late. Lan Zhan was alive, but he had suffered. He has suffered more than he could have ever deserved, worse than any soul could be expected to bear.

Wei Wuxian was too late.

He tore the shackles away, and Lan Zhan’s arms fell limply to his sides. A sob broke from Wei Wuxian’s chest, and he pulled Lan Zhan further into his arms. “You – you can wake up now,” he insisted thickly. “Lan Zhan, you can wake up now.” But Lan Zhan didn’t move, and Wei Wuxian felt tears falling down his own cheeks. With a cry, Wei Wuxian shook Lan Zhan’s shoulders. “Lan Zhan, please!”

And Lan Zhan frowned, his lips cracking open. Wei Wuxian’s heart leapt. “W… W…”

“Lan Zhan!” he yelped, and Lan Zhan’s eyes opened a fraction, bleary and confused.

“Wei… Wei Ying…” Lan Zhan breathed, his voice creaking painfully. With a fumbling hand, Wei Wuxian snatched a water gourd from his pouch, holding it to Lan Zhan’s lip.

“I’m here,” he promised, “I’m here, Lan Zhan! Here, drink, it’s okay.”

Brow wrinkling, Lan Zhan did as he was told, letting his eyes flutter closed once more. He turned his face away slightly, and Wei Wuxian removed the water gourd, dabbing at the edge of Lan Zhan’s mouth with his sleeve. It was dirty, but so was Lan Zhan, and he leant into Wei Wuxian’s touch slightly.

“Wei Ying…” he murmured, his eyes still closed. “I’m… sorry…”

For a moment, Wei Wuxian was so stunned he couldn’t breathe. “Wh-what? What do you mean?”

“Couldn’t… avenge you…” Lan Zhan breathed, and Wei Wuxian saw a tear escape from beneath his closed eyelids. “F’rgive me…”

“Lan Zhan-”

“Please…” Lan Zhan’s voice broke. “Forgive me… and take me… with you…”

Automatically, Wei Wuxian pulled Lan Zhan closer, and as he did, a tear fell from his chin, staining Lan Zhan’s robes with another drop of red. Wei Wuxian rubbed his cheeks on his shoulder quickly, trying to get the worst of the blood off of his face.

 “Of course I’m taking you with me,” he protested, trying to make his voice sound teasing and light-hearted. Failing. “I didn’t come all this way to leave you here!”

Immediately, Lan Zhan relaxed, practically melting into Wei Wuxian’s arms as the frown smoothed away from his face. “Wei Ying…”

“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian swore, and Lan Zhan drew a deep breath, so deep his rib cage shuddered.

A sudden swell of emotion hit Wei Wuxian, but it wasn’t his own – it was Xiaoshou, and though the feeling was underpinned by urgency, the overwhelming sensation was that of relief. Jiang Cheng needed help, but he wasn’t in so poor a state as Lan Zhan.

Relief shuddering through him, Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, and Lan Zhan turned his face towards him, his nose brushing Wei Wuxian’s robes. “You won’t… leave me?”

“I won’t,” Wei Wuxian promised, fighting the urge to hug him even closer. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Mn…” Lan Zhan murmured, drawing in another deep breath. “Do I just… let go?”

In an instant, Wei Wuxian’s blood ran cold. Lan Zhan’s breathing was growing slower, his voice softer, and when the last three words sunk in, the realisation hit Wei Wuxian like a knife to the chest.

“No!” he cried, too loud, too panicked, and Lan Zhan jerked in his arms, eyes flickering open a little. Heart hammering against his ribs, Wei Wuxian shook his head. “Don’t let go, Lan Zhan, don’t you dare! Don’t you dare!” Confusion furrowed Lan Zhan’s brow again, his eyes slowly coming to focus on Wei Wuxian. “I’m not a ghost come to take you away – you’re not dying, Lan Zhan. You’re not dying – you can’t. I’m here, Lan Zhan, I’m alive, and I’m here –”

Lan Zhan’s frown grew deeper, his eyes focusing on Wei Wuxian. His lip trembled, but even as it did his jaw set in anger.

“Don’t.” Even with a voice weaker than a dying breath, Lan Zhan managed to sound both angry and heartbroken at once. “Do not… use… his face… do not…”

Desperation and grief tightened Wei Wuxian’s throat. How many times had the spirits in the Burial Mounds played tricks with his mind? How many times had he hallucinated Lan Zhan or Jiang Cheng or Shijie in front of him, just barely out of his reach?

“I’m not,” he promised, his voice wavering as he took Lan Zhan’s hand, pressing it to his own throat. “I’m not a ghost, and I’m not a demon wearing someone else’s face. It’s me – the same Wei Ying that bothered you in the library, the same Wei Ying you met Lan Yu with, that you got trapped by the Xuanwu with. It’s me, Lan Zhan, and I’m alive, and I’m here. I’m here.”

A whimper broke from Lan Zhan’s lips, his fingers shifting, pressing deeper against Wei Wuxian’s pulse. His eyes widened, filling with tears as his lips parting in surprise.

“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian whispered again. “It’s okay, Lan Zhan. It’s okay, now.”

Slowly, Lan Zhan met his eyes, fear and hope warring in his expression. “…you fell?”

“I fell,” Wei Wuxian echoed, “but I survived. After all you and Jiang Cheng did to try and keep me alive, it would’ve been rude not to try and keep myself that way.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathed, his voice full of awe. “Wei Ying…”

“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian replied. “And I’m going to get you out of here, okay? So you have to hang on.” Panic began to claw up his throat once more. “You can’t let go, you can’t give up – you can rest, but you’re not allowed to stop breathing, Lan Wangji, you hear me? Don’t you dare let go.”

“Won’t,” Lan Zhan whispered, staring at him as though he was some sort of wonder.

“Just keep breathing,” Wei Wuxian ordered. “Keep breathing.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan said. Somehow, it sounded like a promise.

Chapter Text

Someone was stroking his hair.

It woke him, pulling him from the relative respite of sleep with jarring gentleness, and a shiver ran down Jiang Cheng’s spine as his aching stomach clenched. He kept his eyes closed, kept his breathing as even as he could – tried to give no sign he’d woken.

Because this was new.

For as long as he’d been here, the only non-violent contact he had experienced had been from Wen Qing, but she hadn’t been back for days, and she wouldn’t stroke his hair.

Not like this.

This was different, and new – and terrifying. After everything they had done, there were only so many ways the Wen could escalate their torment. They’d clearly been trying over the last few days, bringing out instruments of torture he could have never imagined, leaving him too weak to even stand, but this…

There were only so many ways this could lead. Were they trying to play a new mind game? To trick him into seeking relief from his captors, either to sway his mind or try and crush it by ripping the comfort away again? Was there a ghost or a demon in his cell, playing with its food before it devoured him whole?

An image flashed across his mind, the memory of Wangji spasming on the ground as a demon tried to devour him, of Wen Ruohan’s growl of “You’re next,” in his ear, as guards held Jiang Cheng up by his arms and forced him to watch.

That had been two days ago. If Wangji was still alive now…

He shuddered, and the hand paused. Jiang Cheng froze, and then let out a sigh, praying that it sounded natural, praying not to give anything away –

And then cool fingers sunk deeper into his hair, massaging his scalp with gentle circles that sent a jolt of even greater horror down his spine.

Because that was familiar, gut-wrenchingly familiar, and there were only two people in the world who stroked his hair like that – but no. After the murder of his brother, there was only one person he could imagine stroking his hair like this, someone that Wen Chao had threatened again and again and again –

And if she was here –

Panic leant Jiang Cheng a surge of energy, and he rolled over as quickly as he could, eyes flying open to see – 

No one.

The cell was empty.

His breath hitched in his throat. Yanli wasn’t there, and relief would have overwhelmed him if it wasn’t for the horror and revulsion shuddering through him. That feeling… it had been gentle, but also unmistakable. Jiang Cheng knew, he knew that someone had been touching him – and he knew no one could have disappeared so quickly. Not without somewhere to hide.

So how – and more pressingly – why? What did they want?

What… what would they do next?

Nausea roiled through his stomach, and he rolled back onto his other side to take pressure off of his broken rib.

And his heart stopped dead in his chest.  

The door to the cell was open. It was open, but in its place shimmered a black barrier of resentful energy, strong and vicious, with threatening red sparks dancing upon the black smoke.

He was dead. Jiang Cheng was dead. The hand in his hair – it had to be a ghost or a demon, toying with him before it bared its teeth. What power did he have to fight back against a spirit he couldn’t see if he didn’t even have the strength to stand?

He was dead, he was dead –

The barrier moved, opening to allow a man to fly through, another figure bundled in his arms. Jiang Cheng flinched back, his arm raising weakly in front of his face in a useless attempt at defence. His breath caught in his throat as he recognised the motionless Lan Wangji, and then –

Then –

The face of his brother, dark and furious – the face of a vengeful ghost.

But when it fell on Jiang Cheng, his expression fell into one of despair.

“Jiang Cheng!” the ghost cried, rushing forward and crashing down onto his knees beside him. Jiang Cheng couldn’t move – he couldn’t breathe.

The ghost froze.

“A-Cheng,” he said more quietly, his voice aching. He fumbled, pinning Wangji to his chest clumsily with a handless right arm, reaching out for Jiang Cheng with his left only to hesitate, his hand hovering inches away. “A-Cheng, don’t be scared. It’s just me. I’m here now.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t breathe. His heart was racing, and disbelief and confusion were tearing through him so violently his head was starting to spin, but he wasn’t scared. Not anymore.

With one look at Wei Wuxian’s agonised eyes, he knew that even as a ghost his brother wouldn’t harm him. There was nothing to be scared of – except the possibility that this wasn’t a ghost – that this was a hallucination, and Jiang Cheng was truly losing his mind.

Heart stuttering, Jiang Cheng reached out towards the hand in front of him, full expecting his own to pass through it.

But it didn’t. Wei Wuxian’s hand was solid, and cold, and when Jiang Cheng tugged it towards him, pressing his fingers to his brother’s wrist –

There was a pulse.  

His brother had a pulse.

He was… was he…?

“A-Xian?” Jiang Cheng rasped, his voice catching in his throat. “Wei… Wei Wuxian?”

“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian promised, tears spilling down blood-stained cheeks as he tried to smile, grabbing Jiang Cheng’s hand. “It’s okay, it’s going to be okay now. I’m going to get you out of-”

A strangled, desperate sob broke from Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he flung himself upright with all the strength that he had left, ignoring Wangji’s legs pressed between them to wrap his arms around his brother. Wei Wuxian sucked in a surprised breath, but then leant forward, wrapping an arm around Jiang Cheng and squeezing him tightly. It hurt, every part of his damaged body screaming in protest, but it was the greatest hug Jiang Cheng had ever received.

“A-Xian…” it came out as a whimper, muffled by his brother’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” his brother replied thickly, his hand sinking into Jiang Cheng’s hair. “It’s okay, now, Jiang Cheng, I’m going to get you out of here. Okay?” He pulled back, rubbing a thumb over Jiang Cheng’s cheeks and smiling weakly. “We’ve got to go. Can you walk?”

Jiang Cheng glanced at Wangji, feeling a spike of panic. The other man was barely conscious, his eyes closed but his hand clenched tightly around Wei Wuxian’s robes. It was clear he couldn’t walk, but it had taken all of Jiang Cheng’s strength to fling himself at his brother, and already his muscles were trembling violently from exhaustion.

“You…” he swallowed, his mouth dry. “You can’t carry us both, we-”

“Don’t be stupid,” Wei Wuxian scolded gently. “Of course I can.”

But the fear was clawing up Jiang Cheng’s throat. How? How could his brother carry both of them all the way out of Qishan? Would Jiang Cheng slow them down? Would Wei Wuxian – would he leave – would he leave someone behind?

“Hey, hey! Jiang Cheng, look at me,” Wei Wuxian ordered, patting Jiang Cheng’s cheek until he met his eyes. “Trust me.”

“You’ve only got one hand,” Jiang Cheng choked.

His brother scoffed. “What, so I should just leave you behind? I’ve still got two arms, don’t I? Come on, get on my back.”

He turned, and Jiang Cheng took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around his brother’s neck. Swiftly, his brother rose, and Jiang Cheng’s stomach lurched as pain shot through his shoulders, his arms trembling with the effort of holding on as his legs dangled. He gritted his teeth, but a whimper escaped his lips all the same, and Wei Wuxian glanced over his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice low and serious. “Hold on, Jiang Cheng, just hold on. I’ve got an idea…” He lifted Wangji up higher, freeing his arm with a grunt of effort. “Okay – wrap your legs around my waist. Can you do that?”

Clenching his jaw, Jiang Cheng tried, pain shooting through his whole body at the effort.

“That’s it,” Wei Wuxian coaxed, but his voice was strained. “You can do it.”

With a grunt of pain, Jiang Cheng managed to cross his legs over and lock himself into place. His weight shifted, leaning even more greatly on his brother and offering his arms a bittersweet relief, but it wouldn’t last. He knew that as soon as Wei Wuxian lowered Wangji back down, the other man’s body would knock Jiang Cheng’s legs away, and if he wasn’t strong enough to hold on –

A brilliant string of blue light shot from his brother’s hand, breaking Jiang Cheng from his thoughts. As he watched, the light wound around him, wrapping under his thighs and the back and his knees at the front, rising up to loop around his brother’s shoulders, too. Relief rippled through him as it took his weight, and the talisman held fast, taking some of Wangji’s weight, too, as Wei Wuxian lowered him down to rest atop Jiang Cheng’s legs.

“Ready?” Wei Wuxian asked. He sounded almost breathless, and guilt smarted across Jiang Cheng’s chest.

He nodded, pressing his face into his brother’s shoulder. “Ready.”

Wei Wuxian dashed out of the cell, and Jiang Cheng shuddered, taking a deep breath. It had clearly been a while since Wei Wuxian had bathed, and his skin and clothes stank of sweat, dirt, and blood, but beneath it… beneath it all, his brother smelt the same. And when Jiang Cheng pushed two shaking fingers against his brother’s throat, he could feel Wei Wuxian’s heartbeat, fast and a little erratic, but steady. Really there.

Really…

Alive.

Jiang Cheng sobbed, trying to muffle the sound with his brother’s shoulder, but of course, that didn’t work.

“What’s wrong?!” Wei Wuxian demanded, not even slowing as he tore back through the tunnel towards the main dungeons.

You’re here, Jiang Cheng thought desperately. You’re here, and you’re alive, and I failed you and lost you and you’re still here. You’re here, you’re here, and I missed you –

“…you stink,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice sticking.

A sharp bark of a laugh left Wei Wuxian’s lips. “Seriously?”

Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitched up at the corner. “Need a bath.”

“So do you!”

“I know…”

With another desperate laugh, Wei Wuxian leapt past the main dungeons, tearing up the staircase, and Jiang Cheng’s heart began to beat rabbit-fast in his chest. He didn’t know if it would be day or night outside, but to get to see outside… he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. The fresh air was so close he could taste it as they burst up into the building –

And five guards stood in their way, raising their swords. Jiang Cheng sucked in a deep breath, but Wei Wuxian just yelled, throwing out a talisman that cut through the air like a blade of fire. The first three men were cut in half, but the second two ducked. One was too slow, and his head rolled violently down the stairs, but the third dodged the blow all together, crying out.

“Attack! We’re under attack, all guards to the dunge-”

Wei Wuxian whirled around, roundhouse kicking the man in the throat, and he crumpled. They burst outside into the courtyard, but soldiers were spilling in by the dozen, and Jiang Cheng felt despair rise up his throat.

Not again. Not again, not again – he couldn’t lose his brother, couldn’t go through – no – no –

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice cold and steady. “Close your eyes.”

“Wha-”

“Trust me,” Wei Wuxian said. “Close your eyes.”

A whimper broke from Jiang Cheng’s throat, and he clenched his eyes shut, clinging on to his brother as tightly as he could.

Not again. Not again, please not again, please, please, please –

The hair on the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck stood up as his brother began to whistle, and the air around them seemed to grow thicker, heavier. Colder.

And within the span of a heartbeat, Jiang Cheng recognised the looming threat of resentment in the air, and horror sliced through his chest. He knew what came next, what always came next. Wen Ruohan, and a new method of torment –

The screaming began, and Jiang Cheng opened his eyes –

But it wasn’t his brother or Wangji that was screaming. Instead, the nearest soldiers had collapsed to the ground, some clutching their throats, others clawing at their own eyes as resentment engulfed them.  

Wei Wuxian whistled sharply, and a figure swept past them, sending an icy chill through Jiang Cheng’s bones. A ghost.

It was a ghost, and it fell upon the nearest soldier and tore out its throat with its talons. It spun around, meeting Jiang Cheng’s eyes – and then it turned, spinning away to attack the next soldier. Another ghost swept past, cloaked in black smoke, ignoring Jiang Cheng and the others to attack the Wen.

His heart stuttering, Jiang Cheng gripped his brother tighter. He didn’t understand, this didn’t make sense –

Wei Wuxian’s whistling grew faster, and so did the ghosts, and the swirling smoke of resentful energy on the ground –

Oh.

Wei Wuxian… Wei Wuxian was –

“Oh, god,” Jiang Cheng croaked, and Wei Wuxian stopped whistling.

“Hold on!” He said grimly. “Keep your eyes closed, and hold on.”

Jiang Cheng clenched his teeth, barely muffling the sob escaping his lips. Wei Wuxian was controlling the dead. If his brother wasn’t a ghost, he was a demonic cultivator, something most saw as even more evil and dangerous than the dead themselves, and horror and disgust churned in Jiang Cheng’s stomach.

But… the Wen were falling. Wei Wuxian was fighting, and winning, and the people that had tortured them were dead on the ground. And when the shock settled, Jiang Cheng realised he wasn’t actually as disgusted as he should be.

“Not that way!” Wei Wuxian yelled suddenly, and Jiang Cheng looked to the ghosts, but they didn’t seem to hear. A moment later, Wei Wuxian stepped forward onto a sword, and then they were flying, soaring through the air so fast Jiang Cheng’s eyes stung. He glanced over his shoulder to see a great cloud of black smoke behind them, shimmering unnaturally in the sky. Cover.

They sped away through the air, and the only thing to chase them was the screams of the dying below. Jiang Cheng watched as they passed over Nightless City and swept down over the edge of a cliff, putting on more speed than he thought possible. In less than an hour, Nightless City was nothing more than a speck of light in the distance.

A tremor shuddered through him, then another, and another, and just like that he was crying again. Silent, gasping sobs that shook through his entire body, and he didn’t understand. He shouldn’t be crying – he should be laughing, cheering, crowing to the sky about their escape. Even if this wasn’t over, even if there was still a chance of them getting recaptured, for now he was here. He was out, and safe, and his brother was here. His brother was here. Alive, and strong enough to rescue both Jiang Cheng and Wangji from the bowels of Nightless City.

“Jiang Cheng?” Wei Wuxian called, sounding suspicious. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Jiang Cheng choked, and his brother squeezed his wrist.

“Just hold on. Just a little longer.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, pressing his face against Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop them. He was too tired to even try.

Eventually, the sun began to sink behind them, cool winds ushering the night in, and soon Jiang Cheng found himself shivering all the more for it. He was only wearing one layer of robes, and tattered, filthy ones at that. His tears stung like ice on his cheeks, but just as his teeth began to chatter, Wei Wuxian angled the sword towards the ground.

The land below them was almost entirely unoccupied, with only one building as far as the eye could see – a traveller’s inn, resting on a large, dirt road. Wei Wuxian touched down in the woods behind it, adjusting Wangji in his arms to hold him more securely with his right arm – and to free his left. The sword flew into his hand.

“What… what are you doing?” Jiang Cheng croaked.

“Trust me. Stay quiet,” Wei Wuxian said, his voice low and dangerous. A sense of dread ran down Jiang Cheng’s spine, but he held his tongue, and his brother stalked around the edge of the building, finding the back door to the kitchen.

Kicking the door open, Wei Wuxian stepped inside, and a young girl by the stove gasped, her mouth falling open –

“Don’t scream, I won’t hurt you,” Wei Wuxian said. “I need you to fetch the owner of this house. I promise, we mean them no harm. Can you do that?”

She nodded, darting out of the room.

“Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng whispered anxiously.

“Shh.”

Moments later, the girl returned, hiding behind the sleeves of a middle-aged man with a worried brow. When he saw Wei Wuxian, the worry on his face morphed into terror.

“Please don’t worry, Xiansheng. I don’t want to hurt you,” Wei Wuxian said immediately, his voice firm. “Unfortunately, I have to be cautious. My companions are badly injured – I need a room for several nights, and I need our presence here to be a secret. No one can know we’re here. If you’re able to host us…” he let go of the sword, letting it hang in the air, and the girl gave a choked whimper as he reached into his robes.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t see at first, but then Wei Wuxian threw a heavy pouch down onto the table, and gold jewellery spilled out onto the wood. A necklace caught Jiang Cheng’s eye, and for a moment he was back in the cell, watching that golden sun pendant swing from Wang Lingjiao’s neck as she loomed over him, bringing down a barbed whip with all her might.

“There’s more where that came from,” Wei Wuxian said, jolting Jiang Cheng back into the present. “And it’s yours at the end of our stay, if you can stick to our requests. No one can know we are here, and no one can enter our room without permission. Where you can, you will bring us the things we request quickly and discreetly. Can you help us?”

The owner’s eyes flickered towards Wangji and Jiang Cheng, fear carved deep into his face in an expression that seemed somehow familiar.

“I… I don’t want any trouble,” he said shakily, and Wei Wuxian inclined his head.

“We won’t give you any. If anyone else tries to, I will take care of them,” he swore.

The man’s pursed lips were trembling, and he swallowed, eyes flickering between the jewels, the sword, and their faces. “Very well,” the man said, his voice creaking slightly. Wei Wuxian inclined his head and sheathed his sword. “Please, follow me.”

He led them through what appeared to be servants’ passageways, taking them up two flights of stairs.

“This is our most private room,” he said anxiously. “There is only one room on this floor. If – if Gongzi needs anything, he can ring the bell.”

Wei Wuxian nodded. “Thank you. Please send up some food – soup, some with meat and some without. I need water, enough for bathing, and I need medicine, anything that would help with wounds or infection. And clean robes. Simple ones are fine, but they must be clean, and warm.”

“Understood, Gongzi,” the man said, bowing low. He hesitated. “Will… will the young masters be… be wanting entertainment?”

Realisation jolted down Jiang Cheng’s spine, and he choked, gripping his brother tighter. They were in the same inn – the owner looked familiar because this was where they’d been taken after the Burial Mounds, where Wangji had lost his mind –

“Entertainment?” Wei Wuxian said, sounding both surprised and suspicious, and Jiang Cheng swallowed hard, whispering in his brother’s ear.

“We’ve been here before! This was where Wen Chao took us, on the way to Qishan. It’s the same owner, I know it is.”

Wei Wuxian stiffened, and when he spoke again his voice was dangerous and cold. “You will not inform Qishan Wen that we are here. If you do, I swear I will burn this place to the ground.”

The owner bowed low with a strangled gasp. “We will not, of course we will not! Gongzi, this lowly one is not associated with Qishan Wen – we are not associated with cultivators at all! I’m just an innkeeper, the nearest village hasn’t a single cultivator in, we – we’re normal people! We don’t wish for any trouble, I swear it. No one here will send word to Qishan, no one.”

Wei Wuxian tilted his head back towards Jiang Cheng slightly, keeping his eyes on the owner and asking silently for Jiang Cheng’s opinion.

“…he didn’t seem to enjoy hosting, last time,” he said, and Wei Wuxian relaxed slightly.

“If anyone from Qishan Wen does come, you will tell them you have not seen us. If they continue to give you trouble, I will take care of it.”

“Understood,” the owner said, still bowing low. “I will fetch you what you’ve asked for, right away!”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said. “Knock four times, so I know it’s you.”

“Of course, of course!” the owner said, scurrying away. Wei Wuxian stepped inside the room, closing the door behind them, but he made no move to put Wangji or Jiang Cheng down. Not until he freed his hand and cast a talisman, revealing no sign of tampering or booby traps within the inn room.

There were two beds, one against the far wall and another off to the right, and Wei Wuxian made a beeline to the far wall, gently laying Wangji down on the bed. Before releasing Jiang Cheng, however, he ran over to the other bed, dragging it across the room so that it was beside Wangji’s. Then, and only then, did Wei Wuxian release the talisman binding them together, crouching down until Jiang Cheng was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“…A-Cheng,” he scolded gently. “You can let go now.”

But Jiang Cheng’s arms didn’t want to. They remained locked around his brother, and so did his legs, and frankly his heart didn’t want to let go either.

What if he let go, and his brother disappeared again?

What if –

“Come on,” Wei Wuxian coaxed, pulling Jiang Cheng’s legs free with an embarrassing lack of difficulty. He didn’t try to tug away Jiang Cheng’s arms, however, instead squeezing his wrist gently. “Let go.”

Jiang Cheng – was being a baby. There was a lump like sandpaper in his throat, and he slowly forced his arms to release, letting them fall limp by his sides.

“See, was that so har-” Wei Wuxian’s teasing died as he turned around. “A-Cheng!”

In an instant, his hand was on Jiang Cheng’s cheek, the other on his shoulder – except it wasn’t the other, it was a stump, because his hand was still gone, and a desperate, howling sob tore from Jiang Cheng’s throat –

“Hey, hey!” The soothing tone of Wei Wuxian’s voice was somewhat negated by the fear on his face. “It’s okay, A-Cheng, you’re safe now. I know it hurts, but I’m going to fix it, okay? I’m going to fix it, and no one will ever hurt you like that again. Do you hear me?” He sounded so fierce that Jiang Cheng almost believed him, his thumb wiping Jiang Cheng’s tears away even as his fingers stroked his hair. “Never again. I won’t let them.”

But Jiang Cheng couldn’t stop crying. Like a fucking baby, he couldn’t stop crying – the tears were endless and sob after sob tore from his chest, each one sending a stab in pain through his ribs, but the pain wasn’t the problem. Of course, everything hurt, and of course he was terrified that it wasn’t really over, but the worst thing –

The worst thing was the fear of Wei Wuxian leaving his sight, disappearing again and leaving him behind, and –

“A-Cheng,” Wei Wuxian all but pleaded, shaking his shoulder. “Trust me. Trust your Shixiong, okay?”

Jiang Cheng knew that the term was meant to tease, to encourage him to snort and say ‘whose shixiong?’ but how could he? How could he when that word didn’t even feel strong enough anymore? He reached out, grabbing a hold of Wei Wuxian’s robes as tightly as he could, and his brother flinched.

Flinched.

“You fell!” Jiang Cheng choked, feeling his whole body tremble violently. “You fell, and – and you were dead, Wei Wuxian, I thought – I knew – you were dead, and it was my fault, you were dead-”

“Your fault-?” Wei Wuxian began, outraged, but Jiang Cheng cut over him.

“I saw you die!” He cried, the words ripping from him painfully. “I saw you die, and I – I you – you’re here but – if you – d-don’t leave me. Please, Wei Wuxian, please – don’t leave me again, I can’t – I can’t-”

“A-Cheng,” Wei Wuxian breathed, looking like his heart was breaking. He lurched forward, pulling Jiang Cheng into his arms. “I won’t. I won’t. I’m here now. I’m here.”

Jiang Cheng howled, burying his face on his brother’s shoulder, and he felt Wei Wuxian sob.

“I’m here,” his brother promised. “I won’t leave you again. I promise. I’m here. It’s okay now. It’s okay.” Jiang Cheng pressed closer, shuddering violently. “Shh,” Wei Wuxian murmured, stroking his hair. “Shh now, it’s okay. It’s okay, now. I swear. I’m not going anywhere. And none of this – none of it – is your fault.”

Pain stabbed through his heart, and he gritted his teeth, shaking his head against his brother’s shoulder. “I couldn’t even fucking rescue you,” he bit out. “I – I made everything worse. I got Wangji captured, I got you killed – I wasn’t good enough to-”

“Stop,” Wei Wuxian insisted, drawing back just enough to look Jiang Cheng in the eye. “Just stop. You didn’t know Wen Chao still had X- my hand. You didn’t know he could track us – this isn’t your fault. I promise – trust your Shixiong, now, huh?”

It wasn’t true, Jiang Cheng knew it wasn’t true, but he was too tired to argue. His lip wobbled and he lowered his head, tumbling against his brother’s chest again. Wei Wuxian hugged him close.

“Trust your shixiong. It’s going to be okay. I need you to let me check Lan Zhan’s injuries first – I know you’re hurt too, and I promise I’ll check as soon as I can, but Lan Zhan-”

“I know,” Jiang Cheng gasped, trying to stop sobbing. “That thing, it was… it was devouring him.”

“Yes,” said Wei Wuxian tightly. “But he’s going to be okay. I’ll be as quick as I can, alright? I know you’re in pain.”

Jiang Cheng drew back and shook his head. “I’m fine. I can wait.”

Wei Wuxian studied his face for a moment, and then he nodded. “Okay.” He pressed his forehead to Jiang Cheng’s for a moment. “I promise, A-Cheng. I’m not going anywhere.”

And somehow, despite everything… Jiang Cheng believed him.

Chapter Text

The innkeeper was generous. They’d barely been in the room for twenty minutes before he arrived with the items Wei Wuxian had asked for, far exceeding what he’d expected. For food, they were delivered four trays of delicious smelling food and another tray of tea, and alongside six sets of clean robes they were given numerous towels and washcloths and clean bandages. The medical kit offered was large and extensive – and crucially clearly labelled – and the innkeeper’s oldest sons brought not one but two steaming bathtubs up the stairs to their room.

“We can bring a third,” the innkeeper began, but Wei Wuxian shook his head.

“It’s not necessary. This is more than enough. You have my thanks.”

The innkeeper bowed low. “Anything, Gongzi, anything you need. There’s a bell outside your door – if you wish to call for us, please don’t hesitate. Anything you need, now.”

Wei Wuxian inclined his head, keeping his composure cool and polite as he tipped the innkeeper another handful of Wang Lingjiao’s treasures.

His knees gave out the moment the door closed. He barely caught himself before he fell, and he clamped his hand over his mouth, winding his other arm around his stomach and forcing himself to take a deep breath.

To get it the fuck together.

His brother might not be able to see him, thanks to the screen Wei Wuxian had pulled in front of the beds before opening the door, but he could still hear, so Wei Wuxian couldn’t make a sound. Jiang Cheng needed him to have it together.  

“…Wei Wuxian?” his brother croaked as if on cue, and Wei Wuxian rubbed his face quickly, grabbing a small bowl of chicken broth and hurrying back around the screen. To his dismay, Jiang Cheng was sitting right at the edge of the bed, as if he was about to leave it, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. At the sight of Wei Wuxian, his shoulders slumped, his lip beginning to tremble.

Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. “Aiya, what’s the matter with you?” he chided gently. “I told you, I’m not disappearing. Here, take this – you eat up while I look after Lan Zhan. Be careful, it’s hot!” He eased the bowl into Jiang Cheng’s hands, and his brother swallowed, his stomach growling audibly. “Don’t eat it too quickly, though. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Wei Wuxian had learnt that lesson the hard way when Jiang Fengmian first brought him back to Yunmeng. Learnt it again after leaving the Burial Mounds. A starved stomach couldn’t take much food at once.

Jiang Cheng nodded shakily, and Wei Wuxian offered him the best smile he could muster. Then he turned back to Lan Zhan, and his smile died on his lips.

He’d known all along that the wounds Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan received would be horrific, but the reality was so much worse than he could have imagined. Wei Wuxian had covered Lan Zhan’s chest with a sheet when he went to open the door, but between the blood and bruises licking up Lan Zhan’s neck and the sickening dip of his stomach, there was no illusion that he was well. 

He needed a doctor, someone who specialised in cultivators – but all he had was Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian, whose hand was shaking so badly it had taken him several minutes to undo Lan Zhan’s robes. The blood-soaked ties had set hard as bone, and in the end he’d taken a knife to them rather than waste time fiddling around one-handed.

He’d frozen then. He couldn’t afford to freeze again now.

Wei Wuxian peeled back the blanket, once more revealing the myriad of vicious wounds covering Lan Zhan’s chest, each worse than the last. Bruises in every shade, welts that oozed blood or pus, others that had half-healed, covered in angry scabs. Gaping lacerations ran deep enough to glance the glistening of muscle below, and a jagged, puckered brand on his breast, mere inches away from where Wei Wuxian’s own burn lay.

Lan Zhan’s pulse was weak and thready, his blood and spiritual energy both desperately depleted by the demon that had gorged on him, and there was nothing Wei Wuxian could do about it. Lan Zhan needed a transfusion of pure spiritual energy, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t offer it. His own energy was stained by the resentment he cultivated – if he tried giving it to Lan Zhan, it would burn through his meridians with the same electrifying pain that coursed through Wei Wuxian. It would do far more damage than it could mend.

All Wei Wuxian could do was try to tend Lan Zhan’s other wounds, and pray that it would be enough to let him heal, but he didn’t know where to start. There were so many injuries, and each and every one of them was his fault. If it wasn’t for him, Lan Zhan would still be in Gusu, he would still be healthy, and whole, and –

He needed to focus.

First things first – clean the wounds.

He moved quickly – even with the need for several trips to bring everything he needed around the screen to Lan Zhan’s beside, it was only a minute or two before he was able to peel the blanket back, taking a clean cloth and warm water to the dizzying array of injuries. Many were encrusted with dried blood, disguising the scabbing so well in several places that Wei Wuxian nearly reopened wounds trying to get it off. One or two still actively oozed blood, and a third, a nasty looking gash beneath his breast, was tinged green, leaking pus. Anger coursed through Wei Wuxian’s body at the sight of it, a fury so strong he felt his whole body begin to tremble.

How dare they?

How dare they?!

Behind him, Jiang Cheng coughed, and Wei Wuxian breathed in sharply, glancing down. A small coil of black smoke was rising from the pouch on his waist, and he breathed out sharply, forcing it back into the amulet. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jiang Cheng with his face in his soup. He glanced up with an expression that might have looked sheepish, if it wasn’t so utterly exhausted.

“I’ll slow down,” he said, his arm curling protectively around his soup, and relief trickled down Wei Wuxian’s spine.

“You better,” he warned, and Jiang Cheng nodded.           

Wei Wuxian looked back at Lan Zhan and swallowed, hard. He couldn’t lose control. Not here, not now. They needed him.

“Let’s get this finished,” he murmured, soaking the cloth again and moving on to the next injury. “I don’t want you to get cold, Lan Zhan.”

But Lan Zhan didn’t respond. He hadn’t stirred since they got here, and anxiety was burrowing deeper and deeper into Wei Wuxian’s soul. Lan Zhan was breathing, he could see that at least, but he was so still, and he was unresponsive, and it was terrifying.

As quickly as he could, Wei Wuxian finished cleaning the wounds, reaching next for the medicine box. He took the small flask of energy restorative pills first, opening the vial and studying them. It was unlikely this kit was put together by cultivators, so he wasn’t sure how effective it would be, but it was better than nothing. He slipped a pill between Lan Zhan’s lips and then paused, taking out a smaller vial, one of several containing a single dose of a strong painkiller.

He turned around, passing it to his brother. “Take this. It will help.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t need any encouragement, swallowing the medicine in one go with a shudder. Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, and reached for a bottle of antiseptic ointment.

“I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, this might sting a bit,” he warned, carefully beginning to apply the ointment. He had to stop his damn hand from shaking. “Don’t worry, though, it won’t take long. And this will help you heal quicker, I promise. Just bear with it.”

Lan Zhan didn’t move, and Wei Wuxian swallowed, forcing his focus into his work. He had to make sure that the right tinctures were used for the right wounds, that his hand was steady enough not to cause further damage. Shijie had taught him his way around a medicine kit many years ago, and he had never been more grateful for it.

He had never missed her more.

Time passed with a burning urgency as he worked. Every second he spent without covering or reclothing Lan Zhan was a chance for him to catch cold, and every minute he spent on Lan Zhan was another Jiang Cheng spent untreated. But he couldn’t risk missing a severe injury, and it took him twice as long as it should have, working with only one hand. Xiaoshou could have helped, but there was no chance in hell Wei Wuxian was going to risk his brother seeing his little demon hand running around. There was no way that could end but disaster.

Finally, it was time to dress Lan Zhan’s wounds, but with the sickening array of injuries the only solution Wei Wuxian could think of was bandaging Lan Zhan’s whole chest.  

“Bear with me, Lan Zhan,” he apologised, winding his right arm under Lan Zhan’s back and supporting his neck as best he could with the stump of his wrist. “I just need to lift you up for a moment.” He lifted Lan Zhan up into a sitting position and prepared to wrap the bandage –

Froze.

Because Lan Zhan’s back was in a state almost as bad as his chest – there were no burns or brands, but there were bruises and welts and lashes and cuts in all stages of healing, wounds that were dirty, and untreated, and a sob broke from Wei Wuxian’s lips. He should have known – he was a fool to assume the damage was limited to Lan Zhan’s chest, it was stupid, but even as he berated himself, the strongest word echoing through Wei Wuxian’s mind was how?

How? How did it keep getting worse?

“Oh god, Lan Zhan…”

Lan Zhan moaned.

Wei Wuxian’s heart leapt, and he lowered Lan Zhan carefully down to better see his face. He pulled the blanket up again to cover Lan Zhan’s chest and grabbed his friend’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan, can you hear me?”

Lan Zhan’s brow wrinkled, his eyes scrunching up tighter even as his cold fingers twitched around Wei Wuxian’s.

“That’s it!” Wei Wuxian coaxed, squeezing his hand gently. “That’s it, Lan Zhan, you can do it. That’s it…”

Slowly, very slowly, Lan Zhan’s eyes flickered open, hazy and pained. “Wei… Ying…”

“Here,” Wei Wuxian promised immediately, and Lan Zhan’s eyes found his, sending a shiver of relief down his spine.  “I’m here. You’re safe now, Lan Zhan. Here, have some water.” He forced himself to let go of Lan Zhan’s hand, using his stump to raise Lan Zhan’s head slightly and his hand to lift a cup to his lips. Dutifully, Lan Zhan drank. “That’s it. That’s it. This one now – it will help with the pain.”

But as he lifted the vial towards Lan Zhan’s lips, Lan Zhan shook his head, his hand trembling with effort as it rose up to grip Wei Wuxian’s wrist with alarming strength.

“Wei Ying…” he breathed, his voice breaking beneath a fear and urgency that turned Wei Wuxian’s blood cold. “Xiongzhang…”

A bolt of horror shot down Wei Wuxian’s spine. Lan Zhan looked terrified – had Zewu-Jun been trapped in Wen Ruohan’s dungeons, too? Had Wei Wuxian missed him, left him behind?

“What about him?” Wei Wuxian asked, trying to keep his voice even.  

“He cannot… cannot go… to Qishan…” Lan Zhan pleaded, eyes boring into Wei Wuxian’s desperately. “The demon – its purpose was… to threaten my brother. He… he cannot go to Qishan. Wei Ying… please…”

Understanding flooded over him, underlined by relief, and he put his hand over Lan Zhan’s, squeezing gently. “His goal was threatening Zewu-Jun?”

Lan Zhan nodded slightly. “And… to punish… Nie-zongzhu.”

“What for –” Wei Wuxian cut himself off, shaking his head. It wasn’t important. “Alright. We sh-”

“Xiongzhang will try,” Lan Zhan wheezed. “Will try to reach me… tell him – stop him – please…” Lan Zhan’s voice began to hitch with every breath, all but choking on every word he forced out, and Wei Wuxian found himself rubbing circles into the back of Lan Zhan’s hand with his thumb.

“Okay,” he soothed, “okay, Lan Zhan, I’ll send a message. I promise.”

“Needs – needs to hear it now,” Lan Zhan choked. “Already been… days… he’ll be… almost there… please!”

Fuck…

“I’ll do my best,” Wei Wuxian swore. “I’ll – I’ll think of something. While I’m thinking, will you take this? Please?”

He held up the pain relief, and Lan Zhan closed his eyes, nodding slightly. Wei Wuxian held the vial to his lips, and with a wince Lan Zhan drank. A faint shiver ran through him, and Wei Wuxian patted his hand again. Lan Zhan still hadn’t let go of his wrist.

“That’s it,” Wei Wuxian murmured, wracking his brain for the fastest way to send word to Lan Xichen.

If Lan Zhan was right, and his brother was already on his way to Qishan, all traditional methods of communication were out. Finding him on the road would only advertise his location, and those methods were all far too slow…

And even if he did manage to get a message across…

“Lan Zhan, if I send a message, is there something I could say to prove you’re here? So that Zewu-Jun doesn’t think it’s a trick, or a trap… Maybe something only the two of you would know?” he asked, and Lan Zhan blinked at him, swallowing. Then, almost silently, he whispered,

“…Gentians… Purple gentians.”

Something about Lan Zhan’s tone brought a lump to Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he nodded. “Okay. Okay, Lan Zhan.”

His mind already whirring through potential talismans and spells to use, Wei Wuxian grabbed a piece of talisman paper and a stick of charcoal from his pocket, scrawling as succinct a message as he could:

Lan Zhan out of Qishan – safe. Retreat. Contact Soon. Purple Gentians.

An idea sprung to him, one bizarre enough that it might actually work, and he rolled the talisman paper up into a miniature scroll, tying it with a small piece of string. Then, he activated a paperman talisman, subtly infusing it with both spiritual and resentful energy to boost its stamina.

“A paperman?” Jiang Cheng asked weakly, and Wei Wuxian nodded.

“It will work.” It would be fast, faster than any living thing could possibly be, but finding its target…

That would be –

He paused, his eyes catching on a red smear on his wrist. Lan Zhan was Lan Xichen’s closest blood relation. That could work.

Wei Wuxian scrawled a spell onto the back of the Paper Man, grabbing the discarded, blood-red washcloth from the side. The blood was a little diluted, but it was more than enough to do the job, and better than risking doing further damage to Lan Zhan. Smearing the blood into place, Wei Wuxian sent spiritual energy into the talisman, activating it –

It shot out of the window and into the night, faster than Wei Wuxian could track.

He breathed out.

“Okay… that should work.”

Lan Zhan let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to th – hey, no, stay awake for me,” Wei Wuxian sat down quickly on the edge of Lan Zhan’s bed, and Lan Zhan opened his eyes, staring at Wei Wuxian with a trembling lip. “Just a few minutes, hey Lan Zhan? You need to eat something, just a little something. You need to get your strength up.”

Lan Zhan blinked slowly, and then whispered, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Wei Wuxian replied, smiling shakily. “I’ll be right back, alright? Right back!”

He rushed around the partition, grabbing a bowl of the vegetable broth and hurrying back around, sitting back on the edge of the bed.

“I’ll help you,” he promised, propping Lan Zhan up a little on the pillow. “As soon as you’ve eaten something, I’ll have a look at your back, and you can sleep then if you need to. I’m sorry this is taking so long.” He ladled soup onto the spoon, holding it to Lan Zhan’s lips, but Lan Zhan gripped his arm again, and Wei Wuxian glanced at him. “Hm?”

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, and Wei Wuxian winced.

“Don’t be silly,” he chided. That Lan Zhan had anything to thank him for… “Be a good boy and eat your soup. Come on!”

Obediently, Lan Zhan took a mouthful. It had to be embarrassing for him, being spoon-fed like this, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t see an alternative. Even beyond the pain, there was so much about this that Lan Zhan must hate – being half naked around Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, the frustration of being powerless and unwell, and entirely at the mercy of Wei Wuxian.

Lan Zhan shouldn’t be thanking him.

Wei Wuxian should be begging his forgiveness.

By the time the soup bowl was empty, Lan Zhan’s eyes were beginning to flutter closed, and he squeezed Wei Wuxian’s wrist weakly.

“It’s alright,” Wei Wuxian murmured, covering his hand with his own once more. “You can rest again now, Lan Zhan. As long as you remember our deal, that is!”

“Don’t… let go,” Lan Zhan breathed, closing his eyes. “Keep breathing.”

“That’s it. It’s alright now, Lan Zhan. You’re safe.”

With a soft sigh, Lan Zhan slipped into sleep, and Wei Wuxian swallowed. He glanced over at his brother, who had sunk down to lie on his side. He was still clutching the bowl Wei Wuxian had given him.

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian said heavily. “I’ll be as quick as I can, A-Cheng, I-”

“I’m fine. The medicine worked.”

From the pinched expression of his brother’s eyes, Wei Wuxian knew he was still in pain, but he took the out with a pained smile of his own. He carefully rolled Lan Zhan onto his side to treat the wounds on his back. This time, Lan Zhan seemed to be sleeping rather than unconscious – every now and then he would shift or jolt a little when Wei Wuxian tended the more vicious wounds, but he didn’t wake. Even when Wei Wuxian finally managed to bandage him, Lan Zhan remained sleeping, and Wei Wuxian tucked him into the bed with a small nod. It was possible, of course, that there were also injuries to his lower body and legs, but for now, he looked more comfortable, and there weren’t any worrying bloodstains on his trousers. Wei Wuxian would check when Lan Zhan was more lucid – and after Wei Wuxian had seen to Jiang Cheng.

“Come on then,” Wei Wuxian said gently as he approached his brother. “Your turn.” He began to undo Jiang Cheng’s robes, which proved a little easier than Lan Zhan’s. Jiang Cheng closed his eyes.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said quietly, a lie if ever Wei Wuxian had heard one, and he braced himself.

It didn’t help.

Jiang Cheng’s entire torso was in just as bad a state as Lan Zhan’s. There were no burns or brand marks, but instead there was a hideous, bloodied mess on the centre of his chest, a wound the size of Wei Wuxian’s palm, and it looked like –

It looked –

It looked like someone had started to flay his brother alive, and from the jagged edges of the injury it –

It looked like they’d used their fingernails.

“…I didn’t want it on me,” Jiang Cheng said, defiance trembling through his broken voice as he caught where Wei Wuxian was staring.

The air dissipated from Wei Wuxian’s lungs. “What?”

“I didn’t…” Jiang Cheng swallowed, glancing down. There were tears in his eyes, on his cheeks, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t breathe. “They… carved something,” he said. “Into my skin. I didn’t want it on me.”

A horrifying image flooded Wei Wuxian’s mind of his brother alone in the dark, bleeding worse and worse by the second because he was still clawing away his own flesh –

“Don’t!” Jiang Cheng choked suddenly, and Wei Wuxian jolted. “Don’t cry!”

A strangled laugh broke from Wei Wuxian’s throat, wild and fractured, and he shook his head. “How could I not… Jiang Cheng…”

“I had to,” Jiang Cheng protested weakly. “I had to, I – I had to get it off, Wei Wuxian, I-”

“It’s not that,” Wei Wuxian choked, shaking his head. “It’s… fuck… fuck. Look what they did to you, Jiang Cheng! Look what – I should have been there. I should have got there sooner, I-”

“I was the one trying to rescue you, remember?” Jiang Cheng protested, as though that wasn’t one of Wei Wuxian’s greatest failures. “I failed you, you didn’t-”

“Bullshit,” Wei Wuxian said, but before Jiang Cheng could reply he squeezed his hand. “But we can argue about this later. For now… let me help?”

Jiang Cheng’s brow was creased in anger, but it melted away in moments, and he nodded. “Did I hear them bring in tubs?” he asked hopefully, and Wei Wuxian pursed his lips, considering.

“They did,” he admitted. “But if you want, you can have a bath, but you won’t be able to sink in properly – we’ll have to keep you above the water from around here up,” Wei Wuxian warned, holding his hand just inches above his brother’s naval. “Too many open wounds.”

“That’s fine,” Jiang Cheng said, heartbreakingly eager. “I just – I want to be clean.”

Wei Wuxian smiled weakly. “I know the feeling. Alright, just give me a minute.”

He returned to the bathtubs, using a quick talisman to siphon off water from one to the other, leaving a shallower tub that Jiang Cheng could sit in more comfortably. Something tickled beneath his nose, a familiar feeling, now, and he wiped the blood away on his sleeve.

Moving back around the screen, he lifted his brother up carefully, taking him around to the tubs. He helped Jiang Cheng out of his filthy trousers and into the water, and Jiang Cheng shuddered as he sat down.

“You alright?”

“It feels amazing,” Jiang Cheng whispered, and Wei Wuxian smiled slightly.

“Good.” He took another bowl of hot, clean water from the other tub and a washcloth. “This will probably feel less amazing, but you know what I need to do.”

“Yep,” said Jiang Cheng, already bracing. He flinched as Wei Wuxian set the washcloth to his skin, but only once. He barely moved a muscle as Wei Wuxian worked, cleaning every wound he could reach on Jiang Cheng’s upper torso. Below water level, the wounds were mostly bruises, along with a few healed lacerations and scabbed over whip marks, but he’d pay more attention to those later with the ointments.

Almost without noticing, Wei Wuxian began to hum as he cleaned his brother, moving on to help Jiang Cheng scrub his arms and his legs – both of which were bruised and scratched, but free from greater injury. He didn’t dare use the soap the innkeeper had provided in case it aggravated any of the wounds, but from the relief on his brother’s face, it didn’t seem to matter that much.

When they were younger, they used to bathe together on a regular basis. Wei Wuxian would help Jiang Cheng get rid of the grass stains on his knees, and Jiang Cheng would detangle Wei Wuxian’s hair. Sometimes, Shijie would sit just outside the room, telling them stories or singing to them in hopes of keeping their attention away from mischief, and it was one of these songs he found himself humming. The realisation tightened his throat, and the sound hitched, but as it did, Jiang Cheng leant back into his touch.

They couldn’t take too long. With half of his body in the water, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to wait for Jiang Cheng to start shivering. Soon enough, Jiang Cheng was back in bed, dry and dressed in clean trousers, lying on his side to allow Wei Wuxian to tend to his wounds properly. By the time an incense length had passed, Jiang Cheng was bandaged and re-dressed, lying on his side beneath the blankets of his bed.

Wei Wuxian tucked the covers up to his chin, just like Shijie had down for them both when they were children, and Jiang Cheng looked away.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For the bath. I know it would be easier to just wash the wounds, but…”

“No need,” Wei Wuxian replied, more seriously than he meant to. It was hard not to – he understood, after all. Now that Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng were safe, there was little he wanted more immediately than getting the Burial Mounds off of his skin. “Get some rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him. “When will you rest?”

“Later,” Wei Wuxian said shortly. “Listen to your Shixiong.”

The corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth twitched, but then his eyes grew sadder, more serious. “Wei Wuxian – are you going to send a message to Jiejie? The way you did to Zewu-Jun?” 

Wei Wuxian paused. The thought of his sister was an aching wound in his chest, and he wanted nothing more than to see her, to have her hold him close and stroke his hair, to have her whisper that it was all going to be alright –

“She’d want to know,” Jiang Cheng said, his voice very small. “She’d want to know that we’re alive.”

A lump rose in Wei Wuxian’s throat, grief and pain compounded by guilt, and he nodded. “Of course,” he whispered. “Of course I will. Get some sleep.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, but then paused, his eyes lingering on Wei Wuxian.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Wei Wuxian added. “I promise.”

Another little nod, and Jiang Cheng swallowed. Smiling slightly, he murmured, “It’s not for nothing, now.”

“What?”

“You’re alive,” Jiang Cheng breathed, still staring at him. “It’s worth it, if you’re here. When you were dead it… was heavier.”

Pain tightened like a fist around Wei Wuxian’s throat, but before he could even react, Jiang Cheng closed his eyes. Tears burned in Wei Wuxian’s, and he turned away, clamping his mouth shut to keep from making a sound.

He had to keep it together. The tears fell free down his cheeks. He had to write to Shijie. His fingers trembled as he pulled another talisman from his pocket, staring at it for a long, long moment, trying to think of the right words.

There was so much he wanted to say to Yanli, so much more than could ever fit in a normal letter, let alone a single piece of talisman paper. He wanted to see her so desperately he could hardly breathe, but at the same time…

He didn’t know he wanted her to see him. After all the trouble he’d caused, how much he’d put Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan through, with a stump of a wrist and demonic energy poisoning him down to his soul…

If she saw him like this, he… he didn’t know how he would stand it.

But Jiang Cheng was right. Yanli would want to know they were alive. It would help her to know.

Finally, he put charcoal to paper.

Shijie – sorry if we worried you! Jiang Cheng and I safe. Speak soon. Love Xianxian.

It was far from perfect. Desperately far from perfect. But it was enough.

He sent the talisman away with another paperman, this time borrowing Jiang Cheng’s blood, and it shot out of the window into the night like its brother. Swallowing, Wei Wuxian glanced at the two beds. Both Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng were fast asleep, their breathing slow and even, and he sighed. At least –

His eyes narrowed. Something was moving on the far side of Lan Zhan, and when he leant over –

“Xiaoshou!” he hissed, and the little demon let go of Lan Zhan’s hand quickly, backing up into a ‘What?!’ type of gesture. “You know what!” Wei Wuxian breathed, snatching Xiaoshou into his palm and rushing back around the curtain, his voice as quiet as he could make it in his fury. “Do not let them see you!”

The image of Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan sleeping was projected into Wei Wuxian’s head, and he shook it fiercely.  

“Don’t you know what they’d do if they caught you?” he whispered. “You’re a demon! They-”

Xiaoshou bristled, projecting memories into his head tinged with warmth and care, memories of stroking Jiang Cheng’s hair and tugging Lan Zhan’s robes, memories so fond it physically hurt.

“I know!” Wei Wuxian’s voice hitched. “But it doesn’t matter. If they see you, they won’t wait to figure out who you are. It doesn’t matter who you are – you know what Lan Qiren says. ‘Banish evil, establish laws, and goodness will be everlasting…’ They’ll see a demon, and they’ll destroy you, Xiaoshou. It’s too dangerous. Don’t touch them, and do not let them see you.”

Xiaoshou shrank in on itself sadly, and guilt panged across Wei Wuxian’s heart.

“I know! But it’s for the best, okay?” he paused, glancing at the bathtubs. “Can you do me a favour? Can you watch over them for me, while I wash up? Let me know if they start to wake up? Please?”

Begrudgingly, Xiaoshou nodded, and Wei Wuxian smiled, stroking its back.

“Thanks.”

Xiaoshou hopped down, scuttling back around the corner, and Wei Wuxian let out a long breath.

Keep it together. Just keep it together.

He stripped down, unable to keep from grimacing at the state of himself. He’d never minded being a little dirty, but now he was utterly filthy, his entire being caked in blood and dirt from his time in the Burial Mounds and slaughtering Wen soldiers. He’d washed his face and hands upon leaving, but the rest of him was hidden beneath his robes, and there’d been no time to worry about it.

Swallowing, he grabbed a bar of soap and stepped into the unused tub, shuddering as the hot water embraced him. It felt amazing, and as he bent his knees and curled his back to sink his shoulders into the water he felt a pang of guilt that Jiang Cheng didn’t have such a chance. The wounds flashed before his eyes, and no matter how many tears fell free into the water below, the images wouldn’t wash away.

His brother, his Lan Zhan, torn to pieces to try and protect him.

This was all his fault.

“…I am not here because I owe a debt. You are my friend. I won’t go. Not until you are safe...”

“…Stop interrogating us! Because they were going to kill you! After all we went through to rescue you, after Lan Wangji left his home at the drop of a hat to help you, you sit here and say ‘why?’ That’s just what friends do. If it was me they’d taken, what would you have done…?”

“…It was wrong. Of Yu Ziyuan. To take your hand...Your actions were reckless, but well intentioned. They were good. If you believe you truly stood with justice, then why should you be punished for it? If you should not have been punished for it, does that not make the penalty unjust?”

Wei Wuxian sank deeper, letting the water close over his head. Both of them… both Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng were so adamant Wei Wuxian wasn’t to blame for this, but it didn’t make sense. He knew it was his fault. Believing otherwise…

He flinched as an image of Yu Ziyuan flashed across his mind. She knew, too. She knew that this was his fault.

“…It was wrong. Of Yu Ziyuan. To take your hand…”

Was it? It was easy for Lan Zhan to say that, looking only at the aftermath, unaware of the lack of choices facing Yu-furen in that moment. With the history involved, it was far more complicated. And regardless of that, it was irrefutable that neither Jiang Cheng nor Lan Zhan would have been captured or tortured if they hadn’t tried to help Wei Wuxian. How could that not leave the blame at his feet?

“It’s worth it, if you’re here. When you were dead, it was… heavier.”

He might have been to blame, but Wei Wuxian also rescued them. Here and now, he would make it better – he would heal them, he would fix things. It wouldn’t atone in full, and later he would undergo anything those older and wiser deemed necessary to make it right, but here and now, it was enough.

Here and now, he was enough.

Wei Wuxian’s face broke the water, and he took a deep breath.   

Chapter Text

If Lan Xichen was perfect, he wouldn’t be here.

If he was perfect, he would still be at the camp in Qinghe, he would have listened to Mingjue and accepted that it was impossible, that they had no feasible way to reach Wangji in time. He would acknowledge that his own role in the war was too valuable to risk when they had no way to plan a successful rescue, that all he would do by trying was endanger the lives of his whole clan, at a time they needed him most.

Lan Xichen had been raised to be perfect.

But he wasn’t.

He was weak, and he was selfish, and it was Wangji.

There wasn’t a choice. He had to do something. Sneaking out of the camp had been difficult, and getting into Qishan had been harder, but now –

Now he was stuck.

And he didn’t know what to do.

There was a wall pressed against his back, and the shadows wouldn’t cloak him long if the Wen aimed their lanterns his way. Xichen might have snuck his way into Nightless City, but he couldn’t get closer to the palace, and even if he did –

Even if he did, he had no guarantee that Wangji was inside. Wen Ruohan’s dungeons might be in the wider Nightless City, or even beyond its borders, and Xichen didn’t know how to find them. All he knew was that the Scorching Sun Palace was the most heavily guarded place in Qishan, that it was his best shot.

And that he couldn’t reach it.

He was painfully close. A large courtyard stood before him and the Palace, wide enough that there was no way around it, but Xichen had been waiting for nearly half an hour for an opportunity to cross. Unfortunately, it seemed to be one of the busiest courtyards in the city – there was never more than a half minute gap between patrols passing through, and Xichen’s chances of crossing unseen in that time were painfully slim. What was more, he had no way of seeing how heavily patrolled the other side was.

If he was seen, the Wen would likely kill Wangji at once.

But they were running out of time.

Tears of frustration burnt in his eyes, and he swallowed hard. Wen Ruohan’s letter had given him a week – it had already been six days. He didn’t know what ‘demonic lingchi’ was, but he could guess, and the horror of it was an acid burning through his bones. It had already been too long, and he was running out of time –

And he was stuck.

He couldn’t move forward. He couldn’t even be completely certain which direction was forwards. But he couldn’t go back.

He didn’t know what to do.

Mingjue had warned him this would happen. Had warned him with a voice more broken than Xichen could have imagined from him, had gripped Xichen’s hands almost as hard as Xichen grasped his.

“I’m sorry, Xichen. I’m so sorry. But we don’t have the strength to launch an assault on Nightless City, and we don’t have the intel to break in. We don’t know the layout, the security – even if we made it to the palace, how would we know where to find him, where to look? We’d be caught before we even found him, Xichen. It’s suicide. And I can’t let you do that.  You know Wangji would never let you, either. I’m sorry.” 

Lan Xichen was sorry too. He was sorry that he could not be the leader his people needed, that Mingjue wanted him to be. He was sorry for taking the plain clothes of a lower Nie disciple, unmarked and indistinct, for playing a song to put the very people protecting him to sleep so he could slip by.

He was sorry that he had abandoned his people, had left a warfront for a mad hope and a prayer.

But that contrition was nothing compared to the desperation coursing through him, and it was nothing compared to the anguish of leaving his brother to die.

He just didn’t know – he didn’t –

Stop, a voice murmured in the back of his mind, one that sounded achingly like his mother’s. Stop now, A-Huan. Think.

Stop.

Think.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pressing his hand over his chest to feel for the pouch beneath his robes. Tucked safely inside was his own forehead ribbon, too conspicuous to wear now – and his brother’s. Cleaned. Mended. Awaiting its owner.

Lan Xichen clenched his jaw.

He hadn’t come to Qishan to give in to despair. He had come because infinitesimal as it was, there was still some hope he might be able to rescue Wangji – there had to be. And as long as there was hope, Lan Xichen would do anything in his power to reach him.

If he had less than half a minute to cross the courtyard and find cover, so be it. It would be difficult to do so unseen, but not impossible. Xichen held his breath, waiting for the next pair of cultivators to march out of view.

Three…

Two…

He sprang forward, running into the courtyard –

Something flew past his face, missing him by a hair’s breadth, and Xichen’s heart skipped a beat. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing nothing, looked back ahead –

Skidded to a halt. A paperman hovered before him, its arms wrapped around a small scroll – staring right at him.

He was caught.

Xichen looked around wildly for the caster – but no. He didn’t have time. If the Wen knew he was here, he had to get to Wangji.

He had to get to Wangji now.

He shot a spell at the paperman, rushing past it, but his talisman didn’t land. A heartbeat later, the paperman was in front of his face once more, running straight into his forehead and nudging him back with surprising strength. It wasn’t nearly enough to move Lan Xichen, but something about its insistence gave him pause –

He fell back into the cover of the alley, and a split second later two soldiers rounded a corner opposite him, striding into the courtyard. Xichen pressed himself against the wall, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the paperman flatten itself to the stones beside him.

But the cultivators didn’t see him. They walked on, and Lan Xichen glanced at the paperman. It shook its arms towards him, offering up the scroll, and Xichen took it warily. He eased the scroll open, and the moment he did, the paperman disintegrated. Xichen frowned, and then glanced at the paper –

And his heart stopped.

Lan Zhan out of Qishan – safe. Retreat. Contact Soon. Purple Gentians.

It wasn’t –

It couldn’t be –

It was a trap –

Except –

Gentians.

Purple gentians.

His heart began to beat again. Wangji – Wangji was –

Tears blurred his vision, and a desperate gasp broke from his lips. He clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut as relief flooded his body.

He was alive.

And another voice spoke in the back of his mind – this time more familiar, stronger. This time, it sounded like Wangji.

Get out of here. Now.

Xichen slipped the paper into his robes and turned, running back down the street. His heart was racing in his chest, but it was no longer desperate and frantic – now it felt like it was soaring through his chest.  

He was alive.

Wangji was alive.

The knowledge carried him through the streets of Nightless City faster even than his racing heart, and dodging the eyes of the Wen cultivators took on a new ease. This was an adrenalin born of elation, a relief so strong he could barely breathe through it, and even as he ran it felt like flying. The borders of Nightless City grew closer, and Xichen ran faster, breaking into the final courtyard –

“Who – hey! Stop right there!”

Xichen’s head whipped around over his shoulder, his eyes widening at the sight of a pair of soldiers following him – then another pair, and a third, a fourth, until the courtyard was swarming with guards, and when Xichen looked back ahead he saw more cultivators streaming out from the gates, running towards him.

Ah.

That wasn’t ideal.

Without pausing his stride, he threw Shuoyue down beneath his feet and took to the sky, trusting the concealment charms he’d placed to hide his identity. He soared into the air, towards the wall –

White hot pain exploded beneath his right shoulder blade, knocking him off of his sword headfirst. He heard a triumphant cry from below, felt the cold of the metal arrowhead in his back, felt the wind rushing past his face –

He pushed it, using his own momentum to spin back upright, trusting that Shuoyue would catch him –

It did. His feet met the blade, and in an instant he was shooting back upwards again, even faster than he had before.

Too fast for any other arrow to catch him again. He heard the Wen clamour and shout below, and saw the angry, red glow of wards appearing before him, but it was the work of a heartbeat to tear through them, soaring into the night sky and out of the city.

He glanced over his shoulder, pain shrieking through his back at the motion, and his jaw clenched. There were Wen cultivators behind him, ready to give chase.

Very well. If they wanted a chase, that’s what Lan Xichen would give them. He leant forward, sending a little spiritual energy to his back – just enough to force the arrow out and stop the bleeding. The rest of his power he poured into his sword, shooting through the air so fast that his eyes stung.

Faster, he urged Shuoyue silently, faster, a little faster, please –

His sword obliged, and by the next time he looked over his shoulder he saw no sign of the Wen cultivators – nor even a trace of the lights of Qishan.

An odd, strangled sound broke from Lan Xichen’s throat. He wasn’t sure whether it was a laugh or a sob, but whichever it was, it was accompanied by tears streaking down his cheeks – tears he was certain weren’t caused by the wind. Another mangled sound tore from his lips, then a third, but it was on the fourth that Lan Xichen realised he was doing both. Somehow, he was laughing and sobbing at the same time, his relief and his heartache so strong they overwhelmed each other.

Wangji was alive.

His didi was alive.

He was alive, he was safe, he was out of Qishan – Xichen might have failed him, but someone had not.

But even as that thought hit his mind, another, more worrying thought wrapped around it.

…who?

Who had sent the note? It wasn’t written in Wangji’s hand, and it addressed him as ‘Lan Zhan’ – the last time Xichen saw that written down was in Wen Ruohan’s ransom letter, no doubt intended to disrespect his younger brother. The realisation dripped down his spine like cold water. If might still be trick, he might have let himself be sent away –

But no. If someone else had taken his brother, or if this was another trick of Wen Ruohan’s, there would be no way for them to know the significance of purple gentian flowers. It wasn’t information Wangji would give to anyone, not even under duress – and indeed, who would think to ask for it? It meant nothing, except to the two of them. To them, it was everything.

The realisation crashed into him with more force than the arrow had, and Xichen clutched at his heart, relief and joy breaking his heart wide open. There was one person that might sense – one person Wangji wouldn’t mind bearing his heart for, someone who would have every reason to rescue him in the first place –

Someone who always called Xichen’s brother ‘Lan Zhan.’

“Thank you,” he whispered, his words stolen by tears and the wind, “Thank you, Wei Wuxian.”

It had been such a wonderful dream.

Painful enough, dark enough to be believable, but so beautifully hopeful. An end to the pain, hope for his brother – and most crucially, most desperately, most wonderfully –

“It’s me – the same Wei Ying that bothered you in the library, the same Wei Ying you met Lan Yu with, that you got trapped by the Xuanwu with. It’s me, Lan Zhan, and I’m alive, and I’m here. I’m here.”

Wei Ying…

It was a beautiful dream. Even the pain had seemed less, and somehow that relief was following him into the waking world. If he could, Wangji would linger there until the end, spend his last moments believing that Wei Ying was alive. It was infinitely better than the nightmares the demon had taunted him with, the agony it had forced into his veins with every pulse of its venom.

Of course, there was a chance that the dream was manufactured by the demon, too. He’d heard of monsters that lulled their victims with images of ultimate bliss before striking – except that didn’t make sense, not here. The demon had spent days ensuring Wangji was experiencing as much agony and terror as possible. For it to give in now…

No. It was more likely to be his own mind, trying to give him some respite in his last moments.

He didn’t mind. It was a beautiful dream.

But now, whether he liked it or not, Wangji was waking. Any minute now, this dull echo of pain would turn into agony, and he would feel the stab of the demon’s teeth in his neck. He would open his eyes to his cell, would use all the strength he had to fight a battle he knew he would lose…

It would be easier… it would be so much easier if he could just let –

“You have to hang on! You can’t let go, you can’t give up – you can rest, but you’re not allowed to stop breathing, Lan Wangji, you hear me? Don’t you dare let go.”

He felt tears well beneath his eyelids.

It was such a beautiful –

“Lan Zhan?”

He stiffened. Held his breath.

All his dreams, his nightmares, his memories – nothing sounded as real as this. And…

Someone was squeezing his hand.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, hey – I need you to breathe for me, come on.”

He couldn’t breathe. If he breathed, it would be real, and in reality Wei Ying was dead –

But then something shifted beneath him – a bed shifted beneath him – and cold fingers grabbed his other hand, squeezed tight –

“Breathe for me, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying’s voice begged.

Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered open – and fell immediately on Wei Ying’s face. A choked breath shuddered from him, and Wei Ying gave a worried smile, squeezing his hand tighter.

“That’s it. There you go. We did have a deal, Lan Zhan.”

Wangji swallowed. It hurt, his throat was painfully dry, but he had to try. “Wei Ying…”

“I’m here,” Wei Ying promised, but as he did, he tried to pull his hand free from Wangji’s –

Wangji clung tighter. “Wasn’t… wasn’t a dream?”

A weary smile broke across Wei Ying’s face, and he shook his head. “No, it wasn’t a dream. You’re okay now, Lan Zhan. Let me get you some water-”

He tried once more to pull his hand free, but again Wangji tightened his grip.

“Lan Zhan,” he insisted, but Wangji wasn’t listening.

His focus was somewhere much more important. Wei Ying was here, and he was alive – but he was painfully thin, and worryingly pale, his eyes shadowed with dark circles. He was wearing simple, brown robes that seemed to drown him, and Wangji could see scrapes and scars over his neck, wrists, and face. No doubt beneath his robes, there were far more.

Wangji shifted his grip, pressing his fingers to Wei Ying’s pulse. Wei Ying flinched, tugging at his arm, but when Wangji held firm he didn’t force their grip to break.

“Lan Zhan-”

“Wei Ying,” Wangji interrupted, looking up to meet his gaze. “Are you hurt?”

Wei Ying’s eyes widened, his eyebrows creasing in distress. “Me?” A strangled laugh left his throat, a desperate, gut-wrenching sound. “Lan Zhan, you’re the one –”

But Wangji squeezed his hand tighter, interrupted again. “You… were almost dead. Wen Chao… he beat you, almost to point of death… then you fell. Are you hurt?”

Wei Ying’s eyes filled with tears, but then he squeezed them closed, hanging his head. Panic flared through Lan Wangji’s chest, but before he could ask again, Wei Ying whispered, “Ah, I’m okay. I’m okay, Lan Zhan. All healed. Well, except-” He waved his stump with another weak laugh, and Lan Wangji’s stomach churned. “But I’m okay, Lan Zhan. I promise.” Lan Wangji hesitated, his eyes roving over the scratches on Wei Ying’s neck and chin, and Wei Ying tried to smile again. “Scrapes and bruises, Lan Zhan, it’s just scrapes and bruises. Let me get you some water, some medicine. Please.”

Reluctantly, Wangji nodded, forcing himself to let go of Wei Ying’s hand. Wei Ying twisted around, but he remained perched on the side of Wangji’s bed, reaching to a small side table. As he did, Lan Wangji caught sight of Jiang Cheng on the other bed. The other man was asleep, and breathing deeply, and relief sunk through Wangji’s chest. Wei Ying turned back, handing him a small cup of water.

“Here…”

The relief the water brought his throat was incredible, and he gave a soft sigh of satisfaction, unable to keep from licking his lips.

“More?” Wei Ying asked, and Wangji swallowed, nodding.

“Please.”

Wangji drained three more cups before Wei Ying paused him. “Here – take these, now. That one will help with the pain, and this will help get your strength back up.”

“Thank you,” Wangji murmured, taking both. The pill was bitter on his tongue, and the tincture that followed was sickeningly sweet, and he sighed, letting his eyes close for a moment.

“How are you feeling?” Wei Ying replied quietly, and Wangji assessed.

“Exhausted,” he admitted finally. “The pain is tolerable.” He paused. There was more he wanted to say, words that burnt on the tip of his tongue – words he would never have dared speak aloud before, except perhaps to his brother. But after torture and isolation – after the weight of his grief… “Relieved. Grateful. Wei Ying… thank you.”

“Please, don’t,” Wei Ying said quietly, and Wangji looked at him, his heart clenching at the expression of guilt on Wei Ying’s face. “Don’t thank me, Lan Zhan. If it wasn’t for me, you – you’d never be in this position. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Lan Wangji’s heart twisted. “Wei Ying…”

Wei Ying looked away. “Please, Lan Zhan. Please, don’t thank me.”

Lan Wangji pursed his lips, and –

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng repeated, more forcefully. “I owe you a great debt. Yunmeng Jiang owes you a great debt.”

Unease curled in Lan Wangji’s gut. “There is no debt. I wanted to help.”

A flicker of frustration passed over Jiang Cheng’s eyes, and his chin jutted up slightly. “What, does his life mean that little to you? Oh, Wei Wuxian’s just the son of a servant, there’s no debt there-”

A thought struck him.

“Does my life mean so little to you?”

Wei Ying’s head whipped back around, horror on his face. “What?!”

Lan Wangji stuck his jaw out slightly, meeting Wei Ying’s eyes. “Does my life mean so little you don’t require thanks for saving it?”

The colour drained from Wei Ying’s face. “Wha – no, no! Of course I don’t, you –” he choked off, his teeth clenching as he shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was trembling. “That’s low, Lan Zhan. It’s my fault. You don’t need to thank me,” he spat out the words as if they were poison, “because it was my fault you’re here. Not because I don’t… fuck… what the fuck, Lan Zhan?”

That… hadn’t quite been the response Wangji had been trying to evoke. The last thing he wanted was to upset Wei Ying, but even so… there was colour on Wei Ying’s cheeks now.

Truthfully, Wangji was relieved to see it.

“If so, why can I not thank you?” he pushed. “Because you believe it is your fault? It is no more your fault than it is mine,” he pushed, and Wei Ying’s eyes bulged.

“In what worl-”

“You blame yourself for this,” Wangji said, holding Wei Ying’s gaze. “Your justification is that you brought Wen Chao’s wrath upon yourself, but it was my fault you did. You drew his attention by accompanying me to search for the Yin Iron, and later by drawing his attention away from me during the indoctrination. By your logic, that makes this my fault.”

Wei Ying’s eyes grew even wider, fury and disbelief warring across his face as he shook his head. “What the fuck, Lan Zhan?”

“Am I wrong?”

“Of course you are-”    

“How?” Wangji tried to push himself up, only to be brutally reminded how weak his body was. His arms gave way before he could brace himself, pain shooting through them, across his back. He winced before he could catch himself, and Wei Ying’s expression fell into concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked urgently, putting his hand on Wangji’s again. His fingers were cold, but beneath them warmth sparked across Wangji’s skin, and he had to fight the urge to turn his hand over and wind his fingers through Wei Ying’s.

“Fine,” he murmured, gazing up at Wei Ying’s face –

That face, that he’d spent so long desperately remembering, that he’d known he would never see again –

That face he’d mourned.

And it struck him, in a way he hadn’t yet had time to process –

A realisation that cracked open his ribs and filled his lungs, that made his heart falter even as it soared. 

He didn’t have to grieve anymore. All of his anguish and his grief, the weight that had crushed his chest so furiously in every waking moment – it would ease. It would fade.

And the regrets that had weighed so heavily on his chest, every chance he thought he had missed… there was still time.

He still had time.

Because Wei Ying was alive.

A lump rose in Wangji’s throat, and he steeled himself, turning over his hand and squeezing Wei Ying’s. Surprise flashed Wei Ying’s face, and Wangji felt a small smile tug at his own lips.

“I am tired,” he said, “but relieved. Grateful.” Wei Ying began to wince, but Wangji squeezed his hand, “I am grateful that you saved my life,” he insisted, “but I am more grateful that you are alive.” Wei Ying’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open slightly. Wangji felt his own eyes sting, and he squeezed Wei Ying’s hand a little tighter. “I believed you were dead, Wei Ying. I mourned you. I missed you.”  

Tears sprung to Wei Ying’s eyes, and he pursed his lips, glancing down.

But his hand gripped Wangji’s tighter.

“…I missed you, too,” he whispered, his voice catching. “I’m sorry – I’m sorry it took me so long to get you out of there. I’m so sorry.”

“No need,” Lan Wangji insisted. “You are alive. That’s all that matters.”

Wei Ying closed his eyes, glancing away with a sigh. “Lan Zhan-”

“You’re alive,” Wangji repeated. “You rescued me. You rescued Jiang Cheng. We are alive, because of you.”

“If it wasn’t for me, you’d never have been here.”

“If it wasn’t for me, neither would you.”

Wei Ying looked back at him sharply, and Wangji raised his chin. After a long moment, Wei Ying looked away again, huffing out a humourless laugh.

“You – let’s just agree to disagree, okay, Lan Zhan?”

“For now,” Wangji conceded, and Wei Ying laughed again. It was a soft sound, and a sad one, but it was music to Wangji’s ears.

“Okay, Lan Zhan. Okay…” He shook his head, smiling slightly. “Honestly… you’re awake for five minutes and you’re already arguing with me. Who knew you could be so stubborn?”

“Did you not?” Lan Wangji replied, raising an eyebrow. It hurt – there was a wound on his brow that was scabbing over – but Wei Ying’s smile grew stronger.

“Ah, I suppose I did. Are you hungry? You only ate a little last night.”

Wangji considered. Though dulled, the pain was so widespread it took him a moment to establish whether or not hunger was one of the things he was feeling. He nodded, and Wei Ying smiled. “Okay then. Give me a second.” He stood up, freeing his hand, and as cold as Wei Ying’s fingers had been, Wangji’s felt colder without them. Wei Ying disappeared behind a screen, sending a pulse of alarm through Wangji’s chest, but he took a deep breath and forced it down, listening intently to the sounds of Wei Ying moving through the room.

He was still here.

Wangji caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, so fast his heart skipped a beat, and he looked over at Jiang Cheng. But there was nothing – the other man was lying still on his bed, his brow furrowed even in sleep. As Wangji watched, he began to stir, sighing softly as his head moved to the side.

Which meant that whatever Wangji had seen moving, it was likely not Jiang Cheng.

“Wei Ying!” he cried, and Jiang Cheng jerked awake with a choked gasp as something clattered to the ground behind the screen.

“Wha-” Jiang Cheng began, but Wei Ying was there in an instant, cutting over him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I saw something.” Struggling to sit up, Wangji nodded towards Jiang Cheng.

Blinking blearily, Jiang Cheng looked around, and Wei Ying swept over, looked around –

Paused.

“Lan Zhan, sit down-” he began.

“I saw something,” Wangji insisted, his arms trembling beneath him as he tried to push upright. Wei Ying gritted his teeth, ducking down to glance under the bed, but when he rose he was shaking his head.

“What did you see, Lan Zhan?”

“…I don’t know. It moved too fast.”

 “Fuck,” Jiang Cheng wheezed, and Wei Ying grimaced.

“It’s okay,” he said, even as Wangji’s stomach curled. “There’s nothing there. It was probably just your mind playing tricks on you-” even as Wangji’s lips parted for a furious protest, Wei Ying added, “God knows I… it doesn’t matter. I’ll check, okay Lan Zhan? I’ll double check.”

Throat catching, Wangji nodded, watching as Wei Ying cast a familiar talisman, one to reveal any hidden presence in the room. Nothing.

There was nothing.

Jiang Cheng groaned, flopping back against his pillow, and Wangji felt shame rise within him.

“My apologies,” he began, but Wei Ying cut him off.

“Don’t be stupid, Lan Zhan, it’s fine,” he chided. “It’s nearly seven in the morning, anyway – high time for Chengcheng to be awake.”

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng slurred, turning his face away from them both. “Not you, Wangji. ‘m goin’ back to sleep.”

Wei Ying smiled fondly at his brother, shaking his head. Then, he moved back to Wangji’s bed, perching on the edge again.

“The best way to get Jiang Cheng to take care of himself is to tell him not to,” he whispered conspiratorially, but his smile quickly faded. “Are you okay, Lan Zhan?”

His ears burned, and Wangji glanced away. “Mn.”

“I’m sorry.”

Wangji looked back in alarm and confusion. “Sorry?”

Wei Ying smiled sadly. “I wish I could make you feel safer, but…”

“You do,” Wangji replied immediately, and Wei Ying’s smile grew softer, as though he thought Wangji was indulging him. “Wei Ying, you do.”

“I’ll do better,” Wei Ying promised, guilt flashing across his eyes. “Are you okay if I go and grab that food? I can keep talking while I’m around the screen, if you like?”

Wangji would like that – he wanted to hear Wei Ying always, to have the constant reminder that he was here, alive, breathing, but… he glanced across at Jiang Cheng and shook his head.

“Are you sure? He won’t mind.” Wei Ying’s tone was teasing, as though he expected his brother would mind. Wangji thought he knew better, but still.

“I am fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be quick.”

Wei Ying was not lying – within a minute he was back from around the screen, a tray in his hands. There was a small bowl of steaming congee, two small osmanthus cakes, and a pot of tea balanced on the tray.

“I’ll pick the noodles up later,” Wei Ying said quietly. “You wouldn’t like them anyway, they’re spicy.” Wangji nodded, watching as Wei Ying set the tray down on the table. “I know it’s not much, but that’s for the best when you’ve not eaten in a while. Little and often is best – I promise.”

“I trust you,” Wangji replied gravely, his heart aching at the question of why Wei Ying knew such a thing with such certainty. A thought struck him. “Have you eaten?”

Wei Ying rolled his eyes, but he also nodded. “I have. I’m full.” He patted his belly in a manner that would be far more convincing if his robes didn’t hang so loosely. His smile met his eyes, but beneath them were circles dark as bruises, and another thought struck him.

“When did you last sleep?”

Wei Ying laughed quietly. “Lan Zhan-”

“When?”

“…a while ago,” Wei Ying allowed, “but I’m fine, Lan Zhan, really. I’ll sleep tonight, I promise.”

“You should sleep now. I am awake. I can keep watch.”

Wei Ying’s face fell slightly, and he shook his head. “You need to be able to sleep again, if you need it. Your wounds are serious, Lan Zhan.”

He considered. Given that he was yet to be able to sit upright, he knew Wei Ying wasn’t exaggerating, but even so… “I will wake you, if I need to rest.”

Wei Ying snorted, a smile tugging at his lips. “No, you won’t.”

That… was probably true, Wangji thought begrudgingly.

“Are you really so bored of my presence already?” Wei Ying teased.

“Never,” Wangji swore, and Wei Ying’s smile softened.

“Ah, Lan Zhan… I did miss you.”

A lump rose in Wangji’s throat. “I missed you too.”  

Wei Ying’s lip quivered slightly, and then he cleared his throat. “Let’s get you sitting up a little, okay? Get some food into you.” He moved over, carefully lifting Wangji up and rearranging the pillows beneath him to prop him up slightly. The motion tugged at his wounds, but it also saw him held against Wei Ying’s chest, and something not entirely unpleasant fluttered in his stomach.

Then it ended, and Wei Ying moved away to place the tray on Wangji’s lap. Ignoring the tremor running through his hand, Wangji took the spoon, and then looked at Wei Ying.

“Will you eat, too?”

Wei Ying blinked. “I ate earlier, remember?”

Wangji looked pointedly at Wei Ying’s stomach before meeting his eye again. “Little and often, you said?”

Wei Ying smiled. “Okay, okay. You win, Lan Zhan. Give me a second.”

He disappeared back around the screen, returning a moment later with another small bowl of soup. He raised it towards Wangji, perching on the end of his bed once more. “Let’s eat.”

Somehow, it felt like one of the greatest meals of Wangji’s life. 

Chapter Text

“…I’m sorry, Jiang-guniang… I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”

The doctor’s voice was hollow and wavering, and Yanli closed her eyes for a moment, pursing her lips to keep them from trembling. Grief struck her sternum, swift and strong, but she couldn’t cry. Couldn’t crumble. It didn’t matter that her own shidi had just passed away right in front of her, it didn’t matter that –

No. No, that wasn’t true. It did matter.

But that was why she had to keep it together.

She drew a deep breath and opened her eyes, gazing down at the lifeless face of Jiang Haoyu. Three days ago, she had sent him and Fan Xinyan out on the latest search for A-Cheng and A-Xian – now, he was dead, and Xinyan was still desperately putting pressure on the wound on Haoyu’s abdomen. Her eyes were glazed over, unseeing, and Yanli didn’t think she’d heard the doctor’s words.

And the doctor… for as long as Yanli could remember, Liu Chen had been the senior doctor at Lotus Pier, but she had never seen him like this. Grief and exhaustion were carved so deeply onto his face it aged him by decades, and he didn’t seem able to tear his eyes away from Haoyu’s face.

“I’m sorry,” he said thickly. “I’m sorry, Jiang-guniang.”

Yanli swallowed down the lump in her throat, shaking her head. Her voice was still strained when she managed to speak. “No, Liu-Daifu – thank you. I know you did everything you could. Thank you.”  

“I…” Liu Chen trailed off, closing his eyes. “His father… his father needs to be told.”

“I will write to him,” Yanli promised, but Liu Chen shook his head.

“No, Guniang, I will do it. That – that is the least I owe him.” His voice cracked, and he looked at Fan Xinyan, his face pinching in pain. “Fan-guniang, you can stop now.”

But Xinyan shook her head, tiny, desperate movements so fast it was almost a blur.

“Fan Xinyan,” Liu Chen pressed, “he is gone.”

A whimper broke from Xinyan’s lips, and the shaking of her head became more frantic. Face crumbling, Liu Chen opened his mouth, but Yanli stepped in.

“Liu-daifu, could you be so kind as to let Jiang Yuming know that Haoyu needs her now?” she asked softly. “Xinyan and I will wait with him until she arrives.” Liu Cheng bowed his head, and Yanli paused. She wasn’t sure whether it was her place to speak here or not – Liu Chen was her elder, and it still felt inappropriate to pry into his thoughts uninvited. But in her parents’ absence, Jiang Yanli was the acting head of Lotus Pier, and some things needed to be said. Some things were important. “Daifu, if you want to write to Jiang Yuze because he is your dear friend, and you wish to tell him yourself that his son is dead, you have my blessing and support. But you do not owe him for failing to save his son from an unsurvivable wound. I know you did all you could, and Yuze-shishu will know, too.”

Liu Chen looked at her sharply, but Yanli held his gaze, and after a moment he looked away. “Thank you, Jiang-guniang,” he said gruffly. “I will fetch Jiang Yuming, and then I will write to Yuze.”

“Thank you,” Yanli murmured, and he bowed, leaving the room. Heart aching, Yanli turned her full attention to Fan Xinyan, squeezing her hand gently. “Shimei, you can let go now. You’ve done so well – you brought him home. But you can let go now.”

“No!” Xinyan sobbed, her eyes fixed on Haoyu’s face. “N-no, if I let go he’ll bl – he’ll bleed to death, Da-shijie, I c-can’t-”

“He won’t,” Yanli said, feeling tears escape her own eyes. “He’s already gone.”

“No!” Xinyan keened, shaking her head again. “I didn’t let go, I didn’t – how could he have died if I didn’t let go?”

“Xinyan… he was gravely wounded. It is not your fault. There was nothing more you could have done – but what you did do was incredible.”

For the first time, Xinyan tore her gaze away from Haoyu, staring stricken at Yanli through bloodshot eyes.

Yanli squeezed her hand, gathering all of her own strength to keep her voice as smooth as she could. “You brought him home, Shimei. You brought him home. In the end, he knew that he was home, and that he was safe, and that you were there. And for Haoyu that – that is an incredible thing.”

Xinyan sobbed, letting her chin fall to her chest. “I don’t want to let go. Da-shijie, I – I don’t want to let him go.”

“I know,” Yanli murmured. Her voice wavered, and she swallowed, squeezing the younger woman’s hand again. “You can take your time.”

Nodding, Xinyan hung her head and cried, each sob wracking through her body so violently Yanli was sure it must hurt. Trapping her own sobs behind her teeth, Yanli held Xinyan’s hand and rubbed her back, wishing there was more she could do. She didn’t even trust herself to speak.

When her left her in charge, Yanli had known that it would be a challenge beyond any she had faced before in her life. She had expected it, embraced it with all the determination and devotion she had. They were at war, after all – the decisions she was forced to make for the sake of Lotus Pier were often almost impossible, and the logistics of bolstering their own defences while simultaneously taking in frightened locals and organising scouting missions made her head ache. There was so much to do, and so much at stake – Yanli had anticipated that.

What she hadn’t understood… what she never could have understood…

What it was like to live through a war. To watch your friends and your family return from battle wounded, maimed, dying – to do your best to help them, only to know it was not enough. To know that you had given the orders that the scouts had followed, that if they fell on a mission, it was one a mission you had sent them on. Yanli might not have been commanding any battlefields, but that didn’t mean she was spared from having to send her own people to their possible deaths.

Eventually, Fan Xinyan began to regain control of her breathing. Slowly, she removed her hands. Blood oozed from the wound, but only a little. Only for a moment. Xinyan hung her head. “I… I’m sorry, Da-shijie…”

“Oh, Shimei, you have nothing to apologise for,” Yanli replied, her voice tight. She took the younger woman’s hands, squeezing them tight. “Nothing.”

Fan Xinyan’s chin rose slightly, but she still would not meet Yanli’s eye. “We didn’t find any trace of Jiang-gongzi and Da-shixiong…”

The confirmation was a blow to Yanli’s gut, but a familiar one. “There’s no need to report on that now,” she soothed. “You barely got far enough to try, and that was not your fault either. I’m sorry that we didn’t know there were enemies that close…”

For the first time, Xinyan met her eyes. “There was no way you could have known, Da-shijie. We were all surprised.”

Yanli glanced away. For the most part, their information regarding the war came straight from her father on the frontlines, but the Wen were making more and more of an effort to sneak past their lines and worm their way further into Yunmeng. It was something that made the scouting missions vital, even without looking for A-Xian and A-Cheng, but Yanli didn’t have enough people to search properly.

“Nevertheless,” she said quietly.

There was a soft knock and the door, and they glanced over.

“Come in,” Yanli called, feeling a modicum of relief as Jiang Yuming entered the room. Exhaustion and sorrow cut wrinkles into her brow, and for the first time in her life, Yanli saw her father’s aunt looking her age.

“A-Li, Xinyan,” Jiang Yuming greeted, her voice heavy with grief as she looked to the bed. “Oh, Haoyu…” After a moment she looked up at Yanli and Xinyan, and though her eyes were misted with tears, her voice was as strong. “Have the doctors seen to you, Xinyan?”

Yanli nodded on her shimei’s behalf. “She is uninjured.”

“Well that’s a blessing, at least,” Jiang Yuming sighed, looking back down at the dead man. “Go and rest, both of you. I’ll take care of our Haoyu from here.”

“Thank you,” said Yanli, hoping that her aunt would hear the weight behind her words. It had long since been Jiang Yuming’s responsibility to take care of their dead, but Yanli had never been so grateful for it. If she had to do it herself…

Jiang Yuming inclined her head with a sad smile, and Yanli put her arm around Xinyan’s shoulders, guiding her out of the room and back to the younger disciples’ own quarters. By now it was close to midnight, so Yanli helped Xinyan get cleaned up and into her nightclothes. When she was sure that Xinyan was settled, Yanli went to the guards on duty. In the flurry of chaos when Xinyan first carried Haoyu back, Yanli had ordered new patrols sent out immediately to search the entire twenty-mile radius around Lotus Pier. It was a tall order, and one she wasn’t sure possible, but Xinyan and Haoyu had run into trouble far too close to home.

“No one’s returned yet, Jiang-guniang, but no one’s sent up a distress signal either,” the captain of the guard confirmed. “We were able to form six patrols of three people each, and they’re all fast on the sword. It shouldn’t take too much longer.”

“Thank you,” Yanli said, hoping her tone didn’t sound so weary to the captain as it did to her. “If the patrols find anything amiss, please tell me at once. No matter what time it is.” Though no one in Lotus Pier had so much as hinted that they questioned Yanli’s authority in her parents’ absence, she had needed to remind a few of the elders that their duty now was not to shelter her, but to alert her in a crisis.

The captain bowed. “Yes, Jiang-guniang.”

Yanli offered the strongest smile she could muster in thanks, though she had no doubt it was a pale expression. She was utterly exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to sleep, but instead, her aching feet brought her to the ancestral shrine.

Heart aching, she knelt down and began to pray.

Soon, there would be another tablet here to grieve. A marker of Jiang Haoyu, a warrior even younger than A-Cheng.

And her A-Cheng… her A-Xian…

They were still –

She squeezed her eyes shut. Prayed harder. They would come home. They had to. They had to – Yanli needed her brothers, she needed them safe and whole, and they had to come home –

Even if –

Even if it was only their –

No. She prayed harder. Harder.

Eventually, the aching of her knees became too much to bear. Slowly, she raised her head, feeling tears course down her cheeks to fall from her chin.

She was so tired. Too tired even to get up and return to her chambers – but she had to. People would expect her to be there. If they needed her, couldn’t find her…

She stood up, swaying on weak legs –

And something danced in the corner of her eye. She turned –

And her heart leapt –

Froze –

A paperman.

A-Xian.

She looked around wildly, but there was no sign of anyone else in the vicinity, and she looked back at the paperman. It flew towards her, holding a small scroll in its arms, and she raised her trembling hands. The paperman fluttered closer, pressing its face against her fingers before floating up and landing on her palm.

“A-Xian?” she whispered, hope pounding painfully through her heart. “Is – is that you?”

The paperman lifted up the scroll, and as soon as she took it, the paperman floated down, hugging her thumb for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh of a sound, it disintegrated. A whimper broke from Yanli’s throat before she could stop herself, and she closed her hand, trying desperately to keep a hold of the little talisman, but it was already dust in the wind. Only the little scroll remained, and Yanli stared down at it.

For a moment, she couldn’t move. Then, as delicately as she could, she opened it.

Shijie – sorry if we worried you! Jiang Cheng and I are safe. Speak soon. Love Xianxian.

Yanli’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, but she barely heard the thud, barely felt the pain.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

They were safe. Her brothers were safe. A gasp tore from her throat, and then a sob, and Yanli clamped her hand over her mouth. Her heart flew wildly within her chest, beating so fast she could feel it, and her lungs felt so light it was a wonder she didn’t start floating.

A-Xian… A-Cheng…

Safe.

It felt like she’d been hit by a tidal wave, sweeping her off her feet and throwing her around in the current, but it was the most wonderful thing she had ever felt, and even as she sobbed she began to laugh. She had no control over either, and she felt a distant twinge of alarm. If any of the disciples saw her like this, sprawled on the ground, crying and laughing close to hysterics – that would not do well for their confidence at all.

Get a grip, she thought, but even that thought was tinged with elation, was easy to ignore, because A-Xian had written to her, and he and A-Cheng were safe, and it –

It was everything.

Still. She needed to compose herself – at least until she could make it to her own rooms. She put her hands to her stomach, forcing herself to deepen her breath until she felt it below her palms. She felt almost giddy, as though the effort of pausing the laughter and the sobs was making her head spin, but she ignored, slowly rising to her feet. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Yanli tucked the little scroll into her robes, close to her heart, and returned to her rooms as quickly as she could.

When she arrived, she found that someone, had set up a bath for her, and though the water was now barely lukewarm, Yanli smiled at the gesture. Just as Jiang Yanli had never wavered in her love and loyalty to her clan, she had never doubted its reciprocation, but since the rest of her immediate family left, the other disciples had seemed to make a pointed effort to take care of her, too.

As difficult as it was to carry the fear and grief of her people on her own shoulders, to know that her duty was to protect and comfort her elders and her juniors alike, to present the strength they all needed to maintain… it was always a little easier with reminders like this.  

If it had been only ten minutes ago, Yanli would have forsaken the bath to crawl straight into bed, but her relief joy was strong enough to cut through her exhaustion and grief, and it would feel good to be clean. She took the note out from her robes and unfurled it again, running her fingers over the words. At its core, the handwriting was A-Xian’s, but it was far messier than usual, and a lump rose in her throat.

Of course it was.

It was written with his left hand.

Anger and grief rose to block her throat, her thumb moving over the characters of her brothers’ names, and a small voice spoke in the back of her mind.

Perhaps if they both survive, you might someday forgive her for this…

Yanli pursed her lips, putting the note carefully to the side. She didn’t want to think about her mother. In one, twisted way, the war was a blessing – Yu Ziyuan had left to fight, sparing Yanli of the cacophony of painful emotions that struck her every time she saw her mother’s face.

Jiang Fengmian had felt the same. He had said as such when he told Yu Ziyuan he would not leave her in charge of their home – and when he said she would not follow him to the frontline in Langya.

“I can no longer trust that you would make the choices I deem in the best interest of our people,” he had seethed, “A-Li will do it better. I’ve heard the frontline in Lanling could need some support. You should take a small group there.”

For once, Yu Ziyuan had not argued the point. Perhaps she could see the out Jiang Fengmian gave in the wording – as far as Yanli was aware, no one from Lanling had asked for support, but it allowed Yu Ziyuan to depart on a suggestion. To save a little of her pride.

Or perhaps, she didn’t want to see them, either.

With a heavy sigh, Yanli stripped down to bathe. With a start, she realised that she’d taken the skin off of her knee when she fell, and there was a bruise beginning to bloom on her hip, too. She shook her head slightly sinking into the lukewarm water with a shiver.

“They’re alive,” she whispered to no-one. “They’re alive. They’re safe.” Her eyes flickered closed. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

But as the water cooled around her, so too did Yanli’s relief. They may be safe now, but she didn’t know where her brothers were. She didn’t know if their safety was continued or guaranteed – or even… fear curled in her gut… even if A-Xian was telling the truth.

Shuddering, she began to wash –

Someone knocked at the door.

Yanli jolted, alarm instantly shooting through her. She grabbed for a towel. “Who is it?”

“Jiang Yu, Guniang,” said the captain of the guard grimly. “Apologies for the disturbance-”

“No need,” she called back, a little flustered, “please give me a moment.” She fumbled out of the tub and into some clean robes as quickly as she could, hurrying to the door. From the wince on Jiang Yu’s face, her damp hair and hasty outfit made it quite clear she’d been indisposed, but she stepped outside nonetheless. “What happened?”

“One of the patrols just sent word,” he said, his voice more solemn even than it had been when discussing Haoyu’s passing. “They found a group of survivors fleeing towards Yunmeng – the residence of the Baling Ouyang clan has been destroyed.”

Yanli breathed in sharply. “Destroyed?”

“Burnt to the ground,” Jiang Yu said, his voice thick with disgust. “According to those who fled, it was a massacre. Ouyang-zongzhu and most of his cultivators are on the Jiangling front with Jiang-zongzhu – the rest of the clan were unprepared.”

“How many survivors were there?” Yanli asked. Baling Ouyang was a smaller clan, but growing – even if the majority of their cultivators had gone to war, they would not have left their families and servants unattended. There would have to be at least fifty or sixty people still –

“Six,” Jiang Yu said, and Yanli’s stomach lurched. “Ouyang-furen, her son, and four other children. All are wounded, except the baby, by some miracle.”

“Heaven help us,” Yanli breathed. Then, she looked up sharply. “Jiangling is much closer to Baling than we are – I know that is where the front is, but did Ouyang-furen say why she ran here, rather than to her husband?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Jiang Yu. “The Wen surrounded them in all other directions – and Ouyang-furen is certain the Wen are pursuing. Our scouts saw torches on the distance. A lot of them.”

“How many is a lot?”

Jiang Yu paused. “A battalion’s worth.”

Yanli’s heart began to pick up speed, and her hands clenched. “A battalion’s worth?” When Jiang Yu nodded, she took a deep breath. “What does that mean? For Yunmeng?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Jiang Yu said heavily, “but most likely, it means that the Wen allowed Ouyang-furen to escape – that they intend to keep Jiang-zongzhu busy on the Jiangling front, and cut up from the south-east to strike while he is away.”

Yanli felt cold, ice cold – but this was a possibility she’d prepared for. “To strike us.”

“Yes, Jiang-guniang.”

“How long do we have?”

“Perhaps a day, but I would not count on it. An army cannot move as fast as scouts can, but even so…”

“And our defences?”

He shook his head, and Yanli’s heart skipped a beat. “The fortification of the wards has been non-stop, and they are strong – we should have the strength to maintain them. But if the wards fall… we don’t have the manpower to repel an army the size Ouyang-furen described. Not as we are.”

“Then how are our supplies?” she asked, her mind whirring. “If it comes down to a siege, how long will we have?”

“With the work you have done on our stores, maybe a month,” Jiang Yu said quietly. “But Jiang-guniang… Meishan may still be safer.”

Yanli frowned. “Meishan?”

Jiang Yu sighed. “It may be time for you to go, Guniang.”

“I am not leaving, Shishu.”

“Jiang-gongzi and Wei-gongzi are still missing,” Jiang Yu said quietly. “With your father on the front lines, the future of our clan is in your hands. To preserve that would be no crime. The battlefield is not your forte, Jiang-guniang, but your strengths are irreplaceable. Take the youngest of our shidi and shimei, find safety with your mother’s kin. We will remain and hold on to the last.”

Yanli felt her eyes sting, but she smiled. “Shishu… thank you for thinking of my safety, of our shidi and shimei, and thank you for your loyalty. But I will not leave. My father left the clan in my hands, and I will do what I can to protect it. Besides, if we fled now, I do not know that we would make it to Meishan unscathed – not without taking more fighters from Lotus Pier. Our best chance is to stick together.”

Jiang Yu grimaced. “Jiang-guniang, please…”

“Bring the survivors into Lotus Pier, as quickly as possible, and send word to the rest of the civilians at Lotus Cove straight away. They should have a chance to evacuate – the Wen may leave them be, but I have my doubts. If they wish to shelter here they can, but make it clear we are the true target. They might do better fleeing Yunmeng altogether,” Yanli said, thinking hard. “Draw back the patrols to the ten-mile mark and tell them to continue retreating as the Wen draw nearer. We need to know when they’re going to arrive, and I want everyone within the wards before they do. When the sun is up, spread the word throughout Lotus Pier that we are preparing for battle. As for our littlest disciples, make sure that all those too young for a sword receive knives and bows. We will keep them from the fighting as long as we can, but in the worst case scenario they should not be unarmed.”

“I will do all of that, Jiang-guniang, but I repeat my request. You should go,” he said, meeting her eyes sincerely. “We will fight for you regardless of whether or not you are here.”

She smiled sadly. “I know – that’s one of the reasons I must stay.”

“Guniang-”

“I have made up my mind,” Yanli insisted softly, and Jiang Yu bowed.

“Very well. I will see to it we are ready.” He paused, and then raised his head. “It may be time to start carrying your sword, Jiang-guniang.”

Chapter Text

The medicine was beginning to wear off when Jiang Cheng woke up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sleeping, but it was long enough for the pain for return with a vengeance. Exhaustion ached through every muscle, and hunger was beginning to gnaw at his stomach.

It was a thousand times better than waking up in his cell in Qishan.

He was warm, and the bed beneath him was soft – and his brother was alive. Wei Wuxian was alive, and Jiang Cheng and Wangji were free. That was an anaesthetic in itself.

With a sigh, Jiang Cheng stretched, carefully testing his aching muscles. As expected, every motion sent pain shooting across his body, but it was manageable, and even though his limbs felt like lead, they were easier to move than they had been in weeks. Whether from eating, sleeping well, or the medicine his brother had given him, Jiang Cheng felt a little stronger.

But only a little. Unease curled in his gut. In truth, he doubted he’d be able to take more than a few steps – and an unsettling voice in the back of his mind suggested he’d be lucky to even stand.

And he’d thought their ordeal was over once before.

“It’s okay, now,” Jiang Cheng murmured, fighting not to cry himself as he wiped tears from Wei Wuxian’s bruised cheeks. “I swear, I won’t let them touch you again. It’s okay now, A-Xian.”

“You do not need to believe it,” added Wangji. “It is still the truth – we will protect you. It’s over.”

Wei Wuxian shuddered, and Jiang Cheng hugged him close, sinking his hand into his brother’s hair.

“It’s okay, A-Xian,” he whispered. “We’ve got you.”

Jiang Cheng had believed it, in that moment. His brother’s injuries had been so severe, and they had already suffered enough. How could it have possibly got worse?

Easily enough. That was fate’s answer. Jiang Cheng had failed to keep the Wen from his brother, had failed to keep his promise – and in that, he had learnt a valuable lesson.

Things could always get worse.

Never, ever, trust that things were over.

If they were attacked now, Jiang Cheng would be useless. He had to rebuild his strength, and he had to do it quickly. But even as he took a deep breath, focusing his attention on his golden core, frustration flickered through him. Cultivation could not help strengthen his body if he had no spiritual energy to spare, and for months now his core had poured all its energy into his wounds, working desperately to keep him alive. It would take precious time to rebuild his spiritual strength, too.

Jiang Cheng swallowed. Finally, he glanced around the room. Lan Wangji was still in the bed beside his own, though now he was propped up against several pillows. He wasn’t fully upright, Jiang Cheng noticed, but he was awake, and the moment he caught Jiang Cheng’s eye he raised a finger to his lips, nodding his head slightly. Jiang Cheng followed his gaze to see Wei Wuxian slumped against the wall at the end of Wangji’s bed, dozing. Even in sleep there was tension in his shoulders and a crease in his brow, his hand clenched tight around the new black flute, but he was resting, at least.

Jiang Cheng snorted quietly. “Did he agree to sleep?” he breathed, and Wangji shook his head. Jiang Cheng huffed out a small laugh, shaking his own head as he pulled himself upright. It hurt, his ribs searing particularly cruelly, but when he leant back against the headboard for support the pain settled back into a tolerable ache. “How long’s he been out?”

“An hour,” Wangji murmured. “Or two. It is nearly noon.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, glancing back at Wangji. He looked jarringly frail, with sunken cheeks and dark, bruise-like smudges beneath his eyes. With a start, Jiang Cheng realised that his forehead was bare. There was no sign of his ribbon, and his hair hung loose and tousled, somehow making him look much younger. Much more vulnerable. Jiang Cheng swallowed.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he murmured, and Lan Wangji glanced at him, his eyes widening. Then his gaze softened, and he inclined his head.

“Mn.” A moment later, he added, “You, too.”

Jiang Cheng nodded back, his eyes drifting towards Wei Wuxian once more. “I never thought that this was how…” He trailed off, a lump rising in his throat. If he’d thought things through more thoroughly, perhaps they wouldn’t be here. If he’d planned a single step beyond ‘get Wei Wuxian away from Wen Chao,’ then maybe their rescue wouldn’t have failed so terribly. In truth, when he begged for Lan Wangji’s help at the Cloud Recesses, he hadn’t thought about how it would end at all.

“I do not regret it,” Lan Wangji said, his voice as sincere as it was quiet, and Jiang Cheng glanced at him. He was staring Wei Wuxian, and though his voice was sombre there was a strange softness around his eyes. “Wei Ying is alive.”

Eyes stinging, Jiang Cheng looked back at his brother, too. He swallowed, hard. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For coming with me.”

“…Mn,” Wangji said. Somehow, it sounded like ‘You’re welcome.’

Jiang Cheng shifted – but it was a mistake. Blinding pain shot across his back, and a hiss escaped his teeth as one of the lash wounds rubbed against the headboard behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, Wangji was looking at him. Jiang Cheng grimaced.

“I don’t suppose he left any of that pain medication in easy reach, did he?” he whispered, and Wangji shook his head slightly, his lips pursed in a way Jiang Cheng guessed meant concern. Grimace deepening, Jiang Cheng sighed. “I can wait…”

Lan Wangji didn’t look convinced, but Jiang Cheng didn’t care. He couldn’t guess when his brother had last slept, and he wasn’t about to wake Wei Wuxian up now because he was in a little pain. It had been so much worse in the cell. He could endure this.

After a while, Wei Wuxian shifted, his right arm wrapping around his waist, and Jiang Cheng’s stomach lurched. He wondered how long it would take before the sight of his brother’s stump was normal – he wondered if he would ever want it to be.

“No! No, don’t – Wei Wuxian!”

Wang Lingjiao laughed. “Your son needs to learn a little decorum, Yu-furen.”

Yu Ziyuan’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t look at Jiang Cheng. “Watch your tone.”  The Zidian sprung to life on her wrist, and terror lashed across Jiang Cheng’s chest. “You,” she seethed, glaring at Wei Wuxian as he lay prone on the ground. “I always knew you would bring our clan to the brink of ruin. I will not let you push us into the abyss.”

“A-Niang!” Jiang Cheng screamed, but she brought down Zidian all the same, wrapping it around Wei Wuxian’s wrist –

And Wei Wuxian screamed.

A lump rose in Jiang Cheng’s throat, so painful he struggled to breathe around it, and he looked away. It had been weeks, months, probably, since that day, but it felt like only days. Even in the pits of Nightless City, in his mind’s eye Jiang Cheng’s brother still had two hands. He wondered if it felt normal to his brother, yet, or if Wei Wuxian still flinched every time he saw it.

There was a soft knock at the door, and Jiang Cheng jumped, his heart stopping dead –

Wei Wuxian shot to his feet, thrusting his flute out before him. Black smoke poured from the end of it, and Jiang Cheng could have sworn that his brother’s eyes glowed red before he flew around the screen and out of sight.

Wangji drew in a sharp breath, and Jiang Cheng looked at him, his heart racing anxiously. Lan Wangji looked wide-eyed, he looked afraid, and –

“Who is it?” Wei Wuxian snapped, his voice cold and brittle as ice.

A small, nervous voice came through from the closed door. “A… A-Song, Gongzi, the – the innkeeper’s son.” Jiang Cheng let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, closing his eyes.

“What do you want?”

There was a pause, and then, “We haven’t seen you today, Gongzi, and we, we just wondered if you would like some lunch? I can take down your dirty plates, too, and, and if there’s anything else you need…” A-Song trailed off. His voice was vaguely familiar, and Jiang Cheng guessed it was the innkeeper’s youngest son, the flautist. There was a brief pause, and then…

“Are you alone?” Wei Wuxian demanded.

“Um, I am?” The boy sounded confused. “I – I can get my father or my brothers, if you need them…”

Jiang Cheng heard the door fly open, and a startled squeak from A-Song.

“Huh…” said Wei Wuxian. “Thank you. You can put them down there.”

There was the sound of shuffling footsteps, then of trays being set down. “Oh…” said A-Song quietly. “Were… were the dishes not to your liking, Gongzi?”

“What? Oh, no, we’re not done with those ones yet.”

“I can take them away, if-”

“It’s fine. Just leave the new dishes. You can take those empty ones.” Another pause, and Jiang Cheng heard the tinkling of a coin purse. “Here – something for you, for your troubles.”

“Oh! Oh, no, Gongzi, I can’t take it.”

“You can,” Wei Wuxian said, but A-Song cut him off.

“No, no – thank you, Gongzi, thank you very much, but I can’t – I won’t. Lan-gongzi saved my life. This is the least I can do.”

Wei Wuxian paused. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I see. Well, thank you.”

“Will… will Lan-gongzi and the other Gongzi be alright?” A-Song asked.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. He would be offended, but to a non-cultivating family Wangji was much more recognisable as a Lan than Jiang Cheng was a Jiang, especially given that he’d had his ribbon the first time they’d been here.

“They will,” said Wei Wuxian, his voice becoming firmer again.

“Good,” said A-Song. “Thank you.”

A moment later, there was the sound of the door closing, locking. Wei Wuxian reappeared, a distraught expression on his face as he hurried over.

“Shit,” he breathed, looking frantically between them. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep – are you both okay?”

“Of course we’re okay,” Jiang Cheng said, as though his heart wasn’t still racing. Beside him, Lan Wangji was very pale, his eyes fixed on Wei Wuxian’s flute. So far, Wei Wuxian didn’t seem to have noticed – he was too busy shaking his head anxiously.

“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” he repeated, his hand clenching and un-clenching around his flute. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jiang Cheng scolded. “We might not be able to fight, but we can keep watch. You look exhausted.”

“Jiang Cheng-”

“That said, if you’re awake now, is there any more pain medicine?”

Wei Wuxian winced, guilt flashing over his face. “You should have woken me,” he insisted, grabbing a vial from his robes and hurrying over, passing it to Jiang Cheng. “Here. Lan Zhan, do you want some too?”

“Mn,” said Wangji quietly, and Wei Wuxian flinched, passing him another vial.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Please don’t be. You needed the rest,” said Lan Wangji quietly, and Wei Wuxian opened his mouth.  

“Did the kid say there was lunch?” Jiang Cheng interrupted. “It smells good.”

“Jiang Cheng-” Wei Wuxian began, but he cut himself off. Face still twisted in guilt, he disappeared back around the screen, returning a moment later with a large tray.

Jiang Cheng’s stomach rumbled in anticipation as his brother set the tray down on the table between the two beds. His mouth began to water as he watched Wei Wuxian fill a bowl with rice, meat, and vegetables, passing it to Jiang Cheng quickly.

“Here, eat,” Wei Wuxian insisted, as though Jiang Cheng needed any encouragement. Wei Wuxian filled a second bowl, piling extra vegetables atop the rice in place of the meat and handing it to Wangji. “Lan Zhan…” He paused. Though he evidently still felt guilty enough for worry to line his brow, Jiang Cheng saw the moment Wei Wuxian’s curiosity won through.  “Lan Zhan, what did the kid mean? That you saved his life?”  

Lan Wangji glanced down at his bowl. “He is mistaken,” he said quietly. “He is lucky I did not bring Wen Chao’s attention to him.”

Wei Wuxian glanced between them, frown deepening. “Oh? What happened?”

But Lan Wangji didn’t look up, and Jiang Cheng felt a lump rise in his throat. As glorious as the havoc of drunken Lan Wangji had been, the events immediately before it…

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourselves,” Wen Chao said, with an air of mocking surprise. “This is a moment to celebrate.”

“Fuck you,” Jiang Cheng snarled, and Wen Chao laughed.

“I said, it’s a celebration,” he insisted. “And if you want your petty little clans to survive, you are going to celebrate with me.”

Rage flooded through Jiang Cheng almost as strong as his grief, and a soldier shoved a cup of liquor towards his face.

“Drink,” Wen Chao ordered, his eyes glinting with malice. “Drink to the death of Wei Wuxian.”

Agony tore through Jiang Cheng’s chest and he spat on the ground, but a moment later a solider was forcing his mouth open, pouring the wine down his throat.

The aftermath had been no better. The beating he received himself was bad enough, but he’d been convinced for a while that Wen Chao was going to beat Wangji to death on the dining room floor.

“What happened?” Wei Wuxian asked again, but the curiosity was gone from his voice. In its place was only fear, and an underlying, expectant anger.

Suddenly, Jiang Cheng remembered something else. “Wangji said fuck.”

Lan Wangji looked up, staring at him, and Wei Wuxian’s jaw dropped open.

“He – you – what?”

“Lan Wangji said ‘fuck,’” Jiang Cheng repeated, and Wei Wuxian’s face split into an astonished grin.

“Lan Zhan! And I missed it?!”

The tips of Wangji’s ears burnt red, and he quickly looked back down at his bowl.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian protested, laughing slightly and shaking his head. He grabbed a bowl of his own, piling it high with rice and vegetables, and then sat cross legged at the end of Wangji’s bed, pointing his chopsticks at Jiang Cheng. “I don’t believe you.”

Jiang Cheng raised his eyebrows at Wangji, who glared at him. Then, quietly, Lan Wangji said, “Fuck.”

Wei Wuxian gave a delighted laugh, and both Jiang Cheng and Wangji looked at him. Jiang Cheng felt his heart soften at the sound, and even as Wangji glanced down, it almost looked like he was smiling.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian said, his voice changing from awed to teasing in a heartbeat. “What would your uncle say?” Lan Wangji gave him a look, and Wei Wuxian laughed again. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. I won’t tell him.” But then Wei Wuxian paused, and the glee on his face disappeared into concern as he looked at Wangji. “Would the innkeeper agree with you?”

“What do you mean?” Jiang Cheng asked.

“Would he agree that Lan Zhan saved his son, or that he put him in danger?” Wei Wuxian asked, sitting upright and putting down his bowl. His hand was already inching towards his flute. “If he thinks we are a threat to his family, would he call the Wen?”

“I don’t think so,” admitted Jiang Cheng, even as a shudder ran down his spine. “The Wen were the bigger threat. They wanted ‘entertainment,’ while we were here. The boy – A-Song – was playing the flute when Wangji got free. He took out half of the Wen soldiers and whisked the kid upstairs and out of the way before Wen Chao’s dogs were able to catch him again.”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian relaxed slightly. “Good on you, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said non-committedly, his brow pinched as he stared down at his bowl.

Silence fell as they ate. It wasn’t quite enjoyable – there was too much lingering concern in the room for that, but it was comfortable, far more so than he would have expected back in their days at the Cloud Recesses.

It felt like a lifetime ago…

Ignoring the lump in his throat, Jiang Cheng cleared his bowl, trying his best to heed his brother’s advice from the day before and not eat too fast. He wasn’t sure whether he’d managed it, or whether Wei Wuxian was too busy scoffing down his own food to notice Jiang Cheng rushing his. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure how long his brother had been out of the Burial Mounds for, but it was clear he hadn’t had enough food for a long time, either.

“…I don’t even know how long it’s been…”

“Huh?” Wei Wuxian asked, and Jiang Cheng realised that he’d spoken his thoughts aloud. He met his brother’s eye and swallowed.

“How long has it been? Since they – since we were last home? Do you know?”

Wei Wuxian put his bowl down beside the bed, nodding. “Three and a half months, more or less. From what I was able to tell.”

Jiang Cheng breathed out. It felt like it had been so much longer than that, but somehow it was still a shock to learn that full months had passed. “Three months?”

“Probably closer to four,” Wei Wuxian admitted, his face grim.

“Do you have any news?” Jiang Cheng asked, his heart stuttering. So much could happen in three or four months, while he’d been stuck in that damn cell – “About the war, about home? Wen Qing said she hadn’t heard of any victories in Yunmeng, but-”

“Wen Qing?” Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. “When did you see Wen Qing? Was she caught?!”

“Not caught,” said Wangji. “Recalled to Qishan.”

But even as Wangji spoke, guilt and dread coiled around Jiang Cheng’s lungs. In the terror of breaking free from Qishan, he hadn’t spared a second to thing about Wen Qing and Wen Ning. Still –

“They should be fine,” he said, though his voice sounded weak in his own ears, and Wei Wuxian looked at him worriedly, “Wen Qing and Wen Ning were both called down to the dungeons to make sure we didn’t die before we were supposed to-” anger flashed across Wei Wuxian’s eyes, “-but they were free. They didn’t help us escape, and they’re – they’re Wen. Wen Ruohan has no reason to suspect them.” His mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Right?”

Wei Wuxian bit his lip, glancing away, and Jiang Cheng’s stomach churned.

“They are of Qishan Wen,” Wangji agreed quietly. “If we returned, we would put them at greater risk.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, looking up with a weak smile. “You’re probably right. Wen Qing is clever enough to keep them out of trouble. But to answer your question… I don’t know much. I know that there is a war, and that Lotus Pier is still standing, but I didn’t really have time to ask any more questions. The best news I have for you is that Wen Chao is dead. Wang Lingjiao, too.”

The words stole the air from Jiang Cheng’s lungs, a torrent of conflicting emotions tearing through his chest. Strongest of them all were relief and vindication, a soul-deep satisfaction that their tormentors were gone, but Jiang Cheng was surprised how hard disappointment struck, too. He had wanted to kill Wen Chao himself – he had fantasised about it with visceral clarity more times than he could count. Taking revenge on him and his bitch of a lover now was impossible, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth – one he felt awful for feeling at all. Of course, Wei Wuxian had just as much right to take revenge as Jiang Cheng did, arguably more.

Still, he just had to know… “Did you make them pay?”

Wei Wuxian met his eyes. “I did.”

“Good,” said Jiang Cheng, and his chest eased slightly.

Wei Wuxian gave a dark smile. “How do you think I knew where to find you?” He shrugged slightly, the darkness fading from his expression, though the sombreness remained. “After that, I went straight to Qishan. That’s all I know.”

“Wen Xu is also dead,” Wangji offered quietly. “Chifeng-zun killed him.”

“Huh. How’d you know-” Wei Wuxian cut off suddenly, anger flashing across his eyes. “The demon? That’s what Wen Ruohan was ‘getting revenge’ for?” Lan Wangji gave a little nod, and Wei Wuxian clenched his jaw in fury.

“I should’ve taken him out, too,” he muttered, a thin coil of black smoke rising from the end of his flute. “I’m going to kill him…”

An icy chill swept through the room, and the lights began to dim. Jiang Cheng shivered, the air on his arms standing on end as a sense of dread crept over him. “Wei Wuxian…”

His brother jumped, twirling his flute behind his back and shoving it into his belt with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. The atmosphere broke, the chill receding as the light returned, but the hair on Jiang Cheng’s arms was still standing on end.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asked, the levity in his voice so clearly forced it was almost comical.

Jiang Cheng swallowed, glancing towards Lan Wangji, who watched with worried eyes.

“Wei Ying,” Wangji said quietly. “How did you get out of the Burial Mounds?”

Wei Wuxian stiffened, pulling on a forced smile. “Ah, I told you already. After all the two of you did to keep me alive, it would’ve been rude not to do the same myself.”

“We are grateful,” said Wangji sincerely, and Wei Wuxian’s cheeks blotched red. “But how?”

Wei Wuxian’s smile grew tighter, and more brittle. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you don’t want to know…”

“We do,” Jiang Cheng said bluntly, and Wei Wuxian looked sharply at him.

“You don’t,” he said, his voice bordering on dangerous.

“Wei Ying-”

“Just drop it, okay?” Wei Wuxian stood up, his face like thunder –

Jiang Cheng’s heart fell like a stone. “Where are you going?!”

In the same moment, Wangji choked, “Wei Ying!”

Wei Wuxian flinched, his expression faltering. “I – I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry.”

“You better not!” Jiang Cheng snapped, fear making his voice sharper than he intended. “What, you think you can walk away from this because you’re the only one who can walk?”

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian stopped himself, turning his back on them. When he spoke again, his voice was trembling, though with anger or fear, Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure. “I’m not going anywhere. But I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji said, his voice strained. “You used demonic cultivation.”

Wei Wuxian froze. For an achingly long moment, he didn’t move – he didn’t even seem to be breathing. Then, slowly, he turned to face them, his face stricken.

He didn’t speak.

Not a single word.

Abruptly, Jiang Cheng registered the gravity of what they were speaking about. He hadn’t not known – of course he hadn’t – but his attention had been firmly on his brother, and wanting to know what had happened to him over the course of their separation. But as much as Jiang Cheng knew that Lan Wangji cared deeply for Wei Wuxian, he was still the perfect Second Jade of Gusu Lan. Lan Qiren’s words from their days in the Cloud Recesses rang through his mind, and Jiang Cheng’s blood ran cold.

If he went along with his sect’s teachings, at best Wangji would cast them aside and break Wei Wuxian’s heart. At worst…

It was in the open now. There was no going back.

 “You did,” Jiang Cheng croaked. “Didn’t you?”

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, trembling for a moment. Jiang Cheng saw the very moment his brother made a decision, his lips pursing as his chin jutted up. “So what if I did?”

“Wei Ying-”

“I did what I had to do,” Wei Wuxian snapped, but as angry as his voice was his eyes were wide and wild, belying a terror that cut Jiang Cheng to the core. “I had no sword, no talismans – I had one fucking hand! How else was I supposed to get out of there? If you were trapped at the bottom of the sea would you try to control the ocean, or just hold your breath and hope for the best? I was dead the moment he threw me in there, but I couldn’t help you if I was dead! So I did what I had to. If you want to judge me for it-”

“Who said anything about judging?” Jiang Cheng cut in, panic rising, and his brother gave a wild laugh. It was twisted and scornful, and so unlike the way he’d laughed earlier that Jiang Cheng’s eyes stung.

“Oh, you’re not?” he mocked.

“No-” Jiang Cheng began, his throat sticking.

“Wei Ying-”

“I won’t apologise! I -”

“Wei Ying!” Wangji’s voice was so desperate that Wei Wuxian stopped, staring at him. “It will hurt you.”

Once again, Wei Wuxian froze, but this time his expression was one of shock and confusion, as though the thought they would be worried about his wellbeing hadn’t even crossed his mind. Jiang Cheng’s heart ached.

“Resentful energy will harm your body, and your soul,” Lan Wangji pressed, and Jiang Cheng swallowed.

“It already has,” he said, “hasn’t it?” Wei Wuxian glanced towards him, and Jiang Cheng sat up straighter, wincing as he did. “Hasn’t it?!”

“Sit down!” Wei Wuxian said, but Jiang Cheng wouldn’t back down.  

“Answer me!”

“What does it matter?!” Wei Wuxian asked, his voice achingly close to despair. “I didn’t have a choice-”

“And it wasn’t our choice to be beaten, either, but you’re still fretting over our wounds,” Jiang Cheng argued, “We’re allowed to worry over yours!”

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted, but no words came out. Blinking rapidly, he stared at Jiang Cheng, and slowly his lip began to tremble, tears glistening in his eyes.

“There-” he choked, before shaking his head and glancing away. He swallowed. “There’s no point worrying about it,” he said, his voice raw. “I didn’t have a choice, what’s done is done, and there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“I can-” Wangji began, but then he faltered, his lips pursing. “Find me a guqin – I will play Cleansing. That will help.”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “The Wen… they took Wangji?”

Nodding, Wangji repeated, “Find me a guqin. I will play.”

“Lan Zhan, you can’t even sit up properly,” Wei Wuxian protested. “You’re in no state to play.” Wangji glared, and Wei Wuxian’s shoulders slumped slightly. He sighed. “When you’ve got some strength back, then you can play for me. If it makes you feel better.”

Lan Wangji looked like he was about to protest, but he also looked like a strong breeze could knock him out of bed, so Jiang Cheng cleared his throat.

“That does seem reasonable,” he accepted, before turning his attention to his brother. “In the meantime –”

“In the meantime, you need to sit back down,” Wei Wuxian insisted. “You’ll aggravate your wounds.” He sighed, “I’m fine, A-Cheng, Lan Zhan, really. It’s okay.”

Reluctantly, Jiang Cheng leant back again. “You’ll let him help you,” he demanded. “As soon as he’s able to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Wuxian said dismissively, and Jiang Cheng glared at him.

“Promise,” he growled, and Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes half-heartedly.  

“I promise.” He paused, glancing at them both with a vulnerable, uncertain expression. “I uh… thought you’d both be a little more… outraged.”

“I’m not happy about it,” Jiang Cheng admitted, “but you’re alive. That’s what matters.”

“Mn,” Wangji said, the agreement unmistakable.

Even as Wei Wuxian’s eyes filled with tears, he smiled, sitting back down – this time on the end of Jiang Cheng’s bed rather than Wangji’s.  “Okay. Let’s talk about something else, though. Something nicer.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, trying to think of a decent topic. His mind first turned to home, but in an instant he thought of his mother, and Zidian, and blood on the Sword Hall’s floor. He shut down that line of thought sharply. Instead, he thought back to their days at the Cloud Recesses – but then he remembered the news of Wen Xu’s attack on Gusu, and the occupation they’d seen when they tried to retreat there. The Cloud Recesses was unlikely to be a comforting topic for Wangji, especially since they had no idea of its current status.

Just like that, Jiang Cheng was stuck. He glanced at Wangji, who looked slightly troubled, and then to Wei Wuxian, whose brow was furrowed deeply in thought. Catching his eye, Wei Wuxian smiled tiredly.

“Lan Zhan, have you ever heard the story of the Big Panda and the Tiny Dragon?”

Despite himself, Jiang Cheng felt a small smile tug at his cheek, and he glanced at Lan Wangji, who shook his head. Wei Wuxian’s smile deepened, and he crossed his legs, wiggling into place until Jiang Cheng’s feet were digging into his thigh.

“It was Jiang Cheng’s favourite story, when we were kids,” Wei Wuxian explained, and though Jiang Cheng felt himself blush slightly, he confirmed his brother’s words with a nod when Wangji looked his way. “Shijie tells it best, but I think I can do a pretty close second.” He cleared his throat. “Once upon a time, there was a great panda…”

Over the following days, Lan Wangji’s strength returned slowly – very slowly – but he could not bring himself to mind as much as he should. Wei Ying had the innkeeper send them up some playing cards and a Weiqi board, and as silly as it felt to spend hours on end playing games, Wangji enjoyed every moment of it. He didn’t know any card games, but Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng took it in their stride, teaching him as they went. Though Wangji lost far more hands than he won, it was entertaining. Also, he seemed to surprise them both when it came to Weiqi.

“Lan Zhan! That’s the fifth time you’ve beaten Jiang Cheng, and you’ve beaten me four times – how the hell have we only managed to beat you three times between us?! Who knew you were so good at Weiqi?”

“…I play with Xiongzhang,” he admitted, and Wei Ying’s face broke into a smile.

“Ah, that makes sense. For now, I’ll graciously accept defeat…”

A small voice in the back of Wangji’s mind felt guilty, especially as they were at war, but for once, Wangji found it easy enough to ignore. While the food and medicine worked to restore their health, Wangji and Jiang Cheng could do nothing but rest, so he did not consider it a waste of time. Furthermore, he did not join in with the brothers’ gambling, so he was not breaking any disciplines.

And after everything they’d been through…

“We deserve this,” Wei Ying crowed proudly on the third day, through a mouthful of osmanthus cake.

Wangji found that he agreed. By now, he was strong enough to walk several paces, and that night Wei Ying arranged for the innkeeper to bring up a fresh tub of hot water and bath supplies. For several minutes, Wei Ying busied himself in the corner of the room, moving the privacy screens around to cordon off a corner of the room. This makeshift bathroom was complete with the tub, a low table stacked high with towels, clean robes, soaps, and oils, and a second table bearing clean bandages and neatly stacked medicine jars. There was even a taller table beside the tub holding a pot of tea.

“Ta-da!” Wei Ying said proudly, showing off his creation.

“Thank you,” Wangji said, sincerity ringing from every syllable, but Wei Ying waved it off.

“It’s nothing,” he protested, as though he hadn’t just been preening for Wangji’s approval. “But before you get started…” He hesitated, but only for a moment. “Would you like me to wash your hair for you?”

Wangji’s mind went blank.

Yes! His heart cried, clamouring desperately for him to speak, aching for the intimacy of Wei Ying’s hand through his hair –

But –

Ah –

Wei Ying’s smile became softer, almost wry as he looked at Wangji’s blank face. “I’m not teasing, Lan Zhan,” he promised, soothing just a little of his panic. “But you’re far from full strength, and your arms might get tired, that’s all. I did Jiang Cheng’s the other day.”

He had, Wangji recollected. Somehow, even as that dulled Wangji’s alarm, it stirred something complicated in his gut. He knew that Wei Ying cared for him, and that was a treasure more than he could hope for, but… being cared for the way Wei Ying cared for his brother…

It was enough. More than enough. If Wei Ying was alive, any relationship with him was enough to make Lan Wangji content for life. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault that Wangji wanted more.

Wangji would never allow his feelings taint their friendship.

Unfortunately, Wei Ying misinterpreted his pause. “Ah, you don’t have to! I can leave you in peace, don’t worry-”

“No,” Wangji said quickly, his voice coming out almost in a rasp. He cleared his throat, feeling his ears burn. “Yes.” Wei Ying blinked at him, clearly confused, and Wangji felt his jaw clench shut.

“No, yes…” Wei Ying repeated slowly. “What?”

Wangji swallowed. “I would appreciate your help. With my hair.”

Wei Ying laughed. “So formal! Okay, Lan Zhan. Give me one second!” He hurried over the table, pulling a pillow out from beneath it and settling it beside the tub. “Here, sit down. Face the tub, first, and I’ll comb it through.”

His heart fluttering far faster than it should, Lan Wangji did as he was told. Wei Ying laughed softly, and before Wangji could decide whether to ask what was funny, Wei Ying ran his fingers through Lan Wangji’s hair, and all thoughts flew out his mind.

“Even now you’ve got perfect posture,” Wei Ying teased, combing his fingers through the worst of Wangji’s tangles. It felt wonderful, and when Wei Ying stopped in favour of picking up a comb, Wangji had to fight not to protest. After a moment, Wei Ying laughed again. “Honestly… your hair is so well behaved! Mine takes ages to comb properly even when it’s been washed, but yours… What’s your secret Lan Zhan? Hm?”

Lan Wangji had many secrets, but none had to do with his hair. “Genetics.”

Wei Ying laughed a third time, the sound warming Wangji right down to the tips of his toes.

After a few minutes, Wei Ying had him turn around, but before Wangji could rest his head back Wei Ying swept in with a towel, layering it over the edge of the tub.

“That should be more comfortable,” he said, sounding satisfied as he guided Wangji’s head back. A shudder ran down Wangji’s spine – a sensation that was far from uncomfortable. “Good?”

“Mn,” Wangji said, and Wei Ying nodded. He began to pour blissfully warm water over Wangji’s hair, and a sigh of relief escaped Wangji before he could stop it. His ears burnt, but Wei Ying didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he set about washing Wangji’s hair, nimble fingers massaging his scalp, and Wangji could hardly breathe.

It felt incredible.

“I’ve always liked playing with hair,” Wei Ying murmured. “Shijie used to stroke my hair to get me to go to sleep, sometimes…”

Wangji thought of his brother, a pang of longing shooting across his chest. Xichen had never really played with Wangji’s hair, but did used to hum Wangji to sleep sometimes, when they were small. The last person Wangji remembered stroking his hair was his mother.

Except…

It could not be described as stroking, let alone playing, but Shufu used to wash his hair sometimes, when he was a child. More often than not, it was managed by the attendants – the responsibilities imposed on Lan Qiren by his brother were immense, and rarely offered time for the more hands-on aspects of his nephews’ lives. Sometimes, however, he was able to take time to tend to their hair himself, and though he had never said so, Wangji had loved it.

It could hardly have been described as luxurious or indulgent – Shufu’s actions were brisk and practical, and he never took more time than he needed, but his hands were gentle, and though he and Wangji were both comfortable with silence, Shufu often broke it with quiet, serious praise.

I heard your calligraphy has improved vastly this week, or I noticed your focus during meditation this morning, Wangji – well done, or even, Li-qianbei tells me you performed admirably in your first qin lessons… yes, I am aware that you would not play in front of the other students. That is something you must work on, of course. But Li-qianbei informed me that when they had left, you demonstrated excellent work.

Lan Wangji had almost forgotten that ritual of theirs. By the time Wangji was seven he was washing his own hair, and while Shufu had found other occasions to bestow such encouragements, it was far less often.

Homesickness churned through Wangji’s gut, but even as it did, Wei Ying’s thumb pressed deep into the base of his skull, the sensation sending a spark of electricity down Wangji’s spine. Suddenly, Wangji did not want to think about his uncle at all.

If Wei Ying’s hands felt this good in his hair –

Wangji breathed in sharply, his body tensing. He – he couldn’t sit here and lech over Wei Ying while the other man was doing him so big a favour. It was inappropriate, beyond inappropriate –

“Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan. I know you don’t like being touched,” Wei Ying said, easing off. “I’ll be quicker, I promise.”

No!

Say something! A voice screamed wildly at him, a voice that was uncomfortably similar to Xichen’s. If you don’t say something, he’ll stop washing your hair!

He should stop! A more judgemental thought replied. If you’re going to think so disrespectfully of Wei Ying while he assists you, you don’t deserve his help!

Wangji’s lips parted, and he managed to choke out, “It’s fine.” 

“I’m not offended,” Wei Ying assured him, “you don’t have to spare my feelings. You’re so tense it’s a wonder you haven’t popped a blood vessel.”

Panic shot through Wangji’s brain, even as embarrassment seared his ears. Certain Wei Ying could see the chaos tearing through him in his gaze, Wangji shut his eyes. “Not tense-” he began, but that wasn’t true, and it was obvious, and – “It’s fine – being touched is fine. If it’s you.” The words felt thick and clumsy on his tongue, and he cringed internally.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying said fondly, unconvincedly –

“This – is nice.” Wangji was not sure his voice had ever sounded so unrecognisable. Not even when he lost his two front teeth at aged six and developed a lisp for several months.

“Really?” Wei Ying sounded surprised. Wangji nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Perhaps he should just turn around and drown himself in the bathwater, though it was unlikely Wei Ying would let him. “Okay then… you can tell me though, if it isn’t.”

“Mn.” Even the single syllable came out strangled, but mercifully Wei Ying didn’t question him again.

Less mercifully, Wei Ying did not return to massaging Wangji’s scalp, though he did take his time rinsing Wangji’s hair and finishing up. Somehow, he even made wringing out Wangji’s hair feel like a luxury, and disappointment cooled in Wangji’s chest as Wei Ying gathered his hair in a towel, guiding him to turn around away from the bath. However, the disappointment was premature – Wei Ying was not yet done. When he’d towel dried Wangji’s hair, he took up the comb once more, before finally applying oil to the ends of Wangji’s hair and combing through one final time.

“Can you tilt your head back for me?” Wei Ying asked, and Wangji obliged, savouring the feeling as Wei Ying gathered his hair into a high ponytail. For several minutes, Wei Ying twisted and tugged Wangji’s hair gently, but then he sighed. “Dammit… I’m sorry, Lan Zhan… I have to accept defeat.”

Wangji glanced over his shoulder with a frown, feeling his damp hair fall loose around his face. Wei Ying held up his stump with a wry smile.

“I can’t tie it out of your way so you can have a bath,” he said, looking more annoyed than upset. “I tried! Unfortunately, it seems there’s things you need two hands for.”

“I can manage,” Wangji said, heart burning at the reminder of what Wei Ying had lost. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Wei Ying said with a smile. “I’ll let you have a bath in peace now, I promise. Just let me know when you’re done, and I’ll help redress your wounds.”

“Mn,” Wangji said, watching Wei Ying duck back around the screen. He swallowed, running his fingers through his own hair. It was nothing like Wei Ying’s touch.

Behind the screen, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng began murmuring quietly, and Wangji felt his ears burn again. He twisted his hair into a loose bun, securing it with a snatch of ribbon from the side, and then began to disrobe.

He felt oddly vulnerable as he did, with Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng just on the other side of the screen, but the feeling dissipated as soon as he sank into the water. It was only a few shades under uncomfortably hot, and relief seeped into his muscles as the water closed over him. It had been so long since he’d been clean. The last time he’d bathed had been his first day in Qishan, when Wen Chao wanted them to be presentable prisoners before Wen Ruohan.

Lan Wangji would never take being clean for granted again.

After an over-indulgently long soak, Lan Wangji finished up and got out of the bath, putting on a fresh pair of trousers.

“Wei Ying…” he called quietly.

“Lan Zhan? Are you finished?”

“Mn,” Wangji said, and a moment later, Wei Ying’s head popped around the screen. Wangji felt his ears heat up again, and he cursed himself silently.

It shouldn’t be strange for Wei Ying to see him without a shirt. Even if it was rarely done in Gusu, it was not inappropriate for young men to be shirtless in such circumstances. Wangji had even visited the Cold Springs shirtless before, though thankfully not the time Wei Ying visited. A strange, regretful longing swept through Wangji’s stomach. Perhaps it would have been better for Wei Ying to see him then, instead, rather than the scarred mess of flesh that was his torso now. It wasn’t pleasant to look at, and even Wangji’s own gut turned at the hollow of his stomach, though that was thankfully reducing with every good meal.

“Let’s see how your wounds are healing,” Wei Ying said, guiding Wangji back to the cushion. His eyes caught first on the brand, pinching in anger, but he didn’t say anything, instead grabbing the medicine bottles and bandages and setting to work, chattering as he did. “…Honestly, Lan Zhan, I think everything’s healing smoothly. There’s no sign of infection, and things seem to be moving in the right direction – as far as I can tell, anyway. I’m not a doctor, but Shijie’s a good teacher, and I’ve been injured enough myself to know how things are supposed to heal.” The last part of that sentence was delivered unacceptably proudly, and Wangji frowned at him. “What?!”

“It is not a good thing to often be injured,” Wangji said.

“No, but it’s a good thing to heal quickly,” Wei Ying countered. “You live and you learn.”

“Be more careful,” Wangji said, but even as he did his eye caught on Wei Ying’s wrist, and the words turned to ash on his tongue. Of all his recent injuries, few – if any – could be argued as having come from a lack of care. Catching the change in Wangji’s expression, Wei Ying smiled wryly.

“I’m careful about things that matter.”

“You matter.”

Wei Ying’s cheeks went pink, his lips parting for a moment. For a wild moment, Wangji imagined leaning forward, kissing those lips –

No.

Bad.

Restraint.

Wei Ying recovered, smiling again, though it was softer this time. He hadn’t noticed before Wei Ying, how a person could have so many different smiles. “Thanks, Lan Zhan.”

“No need.”

Wei Ying’s smile grew surer. Eventually, he finished re-dressing Wangji’s wounds, ending with taking his pulse.

“Your spiritual energy is starting to get stronger,” he said, pleased.

“Mn,” Wangji agreed, and then he turned his hand over, taking Wei Ying’s wrist instead.

“Hey-”

Ignoring Wei Ying’s protest, Wangji searched his spiritual energy with his own, alarm hissing through him at what he found.

“Wei Ying-”

“I know, I know!” Wei Ying said hastily, snatching his wrist back. “It’s bad. There’s still too much resentful energy there, but it’s fine! A little longer and you’ll be able to play your cleansing and put me back together, okay? It doesn’t hurt.”

“You’ve not cultivated resentful energy since we’ve been here,” Wangji said. “For it to still be in your system-”

“What’s going on?” Jiang Cheng called suspiciously, and Wangji heard footsteps.

“Lan Zhan’s not dressed yet!”

The footsteps stopped. “Okay, then I’ll ask from here. Wangji, what’s wrong with him?”

“There is too much resentment in Wei Ying’s spiritual energy. It is dangerous –”

“And we already knew this,” said Wei Ying. “But you’re not well enough to do anything about it yet.”

Wangji glared at him. “I can play.”

“Oh yeah? With what energy reserves?” Wei Ying countered. “You’ll pass out, and that will set back your own healing. I promise, Lan Zhan, as soon as you’re strong enough you can try. That’s all. Just be patient.”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “You fucking hypocrite.”

“I know, I know.” Wei Ying rolled his eyes, but his expression grew more serious as he looked at Wangji. “I promise, Lan Zhan. At this rate, you’ll be able to play a little in a couple of days. A few more, and we’ll be well enough to get out of here. But if we push too far too soon…”

Reluctantly, Wangji nodded, and Wei Ying smiled.

“Besides, there are worse things than being trapped here with us, aren’t there?”

Wangji smiled.

Despite Wangji’s best efforts, his rate of healing did not dramatically increase over the following days, but it did continue to improve. By the end of the weak, his spiritual energy and stamina had improved to the point that Wei Ying agreed to try and find him a guqin the next day.

Perhaps it was in anticipation of the following day, but that night Wangji was struck by nightmares far worse than he’d had since leaving Nightless City. He woke in the morning in a cold sweat to a gentle hand squeezing his own.

Across the room, Wei Ying snored.

Wangji froze. Was Jiang Cheng holding his hand?

But no – he could hear Jiang Cheng breathing heavily in the bed across from him. Wangji tensed, and the hand released his, moving away –

Lan Wangji threw his hand out, grabbing his assailant and sending out a light talisman with his other hand, flooding the room with light –

His eyes widened.

Squirming in his grip, trying desperately to get free was –

A severed hand.

“What’s happening?” Jiang Cheng barked, sitting up in bed as Wei Ying leapt to his feet –

And the colour drained from Wei Ying’s face. “Oh, fuck…”

“Shit!” Jiang Cheng yelped, staring at the hand as it struggled to escape Wangji’s grip. “Is that-”

“A demon,” Wangji confirmed, automatically reaching for a talisman with his other hand. He didn’t sense any killing intent, or even much resentment, but –

“Ah, ah, ah, wait!” Wei Ying hurried over, grimacing. “Don’t – god dammit… Don’t hurt it, Lan Zhan.”

Wangji stopped, looking between the hand and Wei Ying – and Wei Ying’s wrist.

“Oh my god,” breathed Jiang Cheng, before yelling, “Oh my god! Wei Wuxian, what the hell-”

“I can explain-”

“Can you? Can you?”

“I don’t – shit, shit – Lan Zhan, please. Please. Don’t hurt it. It won’t hurt you, I swear, it won’t hurt anyone. I can explain, I promise!”

Wangji stared between Wei Ying and the hand again. “This is… your hand.”

“Yes,” Wei Ying admitted.

“It has cultivated consciousness.”

“Yes,” Wei Ying said, shifting uncomfortably. “It happened in the Burial Mounds. But Xiaoshou isn’t a danger, I swear.”

“Isn’t a dan – it’s a demon!” Jiang Cheng shouted. “You’re – it’s – did you name it?”

“Stop shouting!” Wei Ying protested, panic in his eyes. “I can explain – I – really…” Wei Ying trailed off, swallowing hard. He met Lan Wangji’s eye, staring imploringly at him. “I’m sorry, Lan Zhan I…”

Wangji stared at him for a moment, then back at the hand. It wasn’t struggling anymore, instead trembling in his grasp. It was true that he felt no killing intent emanating from the little demon, and as disturbing as it was to know that a demon had been holding his hand, it had not felt like a malevolent action. Wangji eased his grip, flattening out his palm, and the hand shook like a wet dog, standing up on its fingers. As Wangji stared at it, the hand turned towards Wei Ying, then back towards Lan Wangji, who had the unsettling feeling that he was being watched.

Tentatively, the hand rocked back onto its wrist to wave at him.

“Fucking hell…” Jiang Cheng swore, and the hand cowered down, turning slightly towards him.

“I don’t know what happened,” Wei Ying said, sounding defeated. “I don’t know whether it was the atmosphere of the Burial Mounds, or when I… but while I was there…” he held up his hand towards the little demon helplessly. “Xiaoshou woke up, and kept coming back to find me. It brought me food, and helped keep away other ghosts and demons… By the time I managed to get out, it… it seemed wrong to leave Xiaoshou behind. We have the same memories, and it… cares, about the people I do.”

“How do you know?” Wangji asked, as Jiang Cheng spluttered in wordless indignation.

“We can project thoughts and images to each other,” Wei Ying admitted. “There’s still a connection. I told it to stay hidden, to leave you both alone, but it’s stubborn.”

“It – that’s what was stroking my hair!” Jiang Cheng yelped. “In the cell, back in Qishan, it – I knew there was something there, I fucking knew it.”

Rocking back up on its wrist, the hand bowed towards Jiang Cheng, low and sombre as if in apology.

Wei Ying gave it a look. “I told it to leave you both alone. But it… cares about the same people I care about.” The hand wrapped around Wangji’s once more, squeezing gently as if to prove Wei Ying’s point. “Xiaoshou, stop!”

 To Wangji’s astonishment, the hand gave Wei Ying a rude gesture, and Wei Ying frowned.

“For the love of-” Wei Ying held out his hand, and Xiaoshou shot across the room into his grasp. “Look, I swear-”

“Has it hurt anyone?” Wangji asked.

Wei Ying met his eyes. “Wen soldiers. When I said it could. But it won’t hurt anyone without orders. I won’t let it.”

“You can’t control it enough to keep it away from us!” Jiang Cheng protested, and Wei Ying glared furiously at the demon. In response, Xiaoshou began to emit small, red sparks that bounced harmlessly from Wei Ying’s skin.

“Fine. Fine!” Wei Ying said sharply to the hand, before looking up at them. “It wants me to tell you it just wanted to help. You were upset, and it didn’t do anything it thought you wouldn’t like me doing. But it’s sorry if it upset you, and if you want it to stay away from you, it will.” Xiaoshou bobbed up and down in agreement. “It’s a little menace, but it’s not dangerous. I promise.”

Wangji pursed his lips. “The goal of cultivation is liberation,” he said quietly, and Xiaoshou flattened slightly against Wei Ying’s hand.

“Xiaoshou doesn’t want that,” Wei Ying replied. “It hasn’t hurt anyone, not outside of a battle. If Xiaoshou wants to exist, why can’t it? It hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Fucking hell, Wei Wuxian,” Jiang Cheng breathed, pinching his nose. “You can’t tell anyone about this. You think the other clans will – oh my god.”

Wangji hesitated, considering the facts. “If it does not cause trouble, I will not take action against it,” he said, and Wei Ying glanced at him, hope flickering behind the disbelief in his eyes.

Jiang Cheng’s scowl deepened, and he held out his own hand. “Let me see.”

Wei Ying hesitated, but Xiaoshou launched from his hand and flew across the room to land deftly in Jiang Cheng’s giving a little wave.

“It helped you?” Jiang Cheng checked.

“Yes.”

“Defended you?”

“Yes.”

“And is definitely your old hand?”

“Yes. I don’t know how many more disembodied hands are running around the Burial Mounds… but yes, it’s definitely mine.”

Jiang Cheng sighed. “Fine. I won’t blast your little hand demon.”

Xiaoshou wiggled happily.

“Thanks,” Wei Ying said, sighing heavily. “Well, that got my heart racing. What time is it?”

Wangji considered for a moment. His body clock had suffered from both captivity and recovery, but though he’d slept in he still had some semblance of the time. “Around seven, I believe.”

“I thought so. Well, I’m up now… I might as well go into town and see if I can find you some sort of guqin,” Wei Ying said, rubbing his eyes. “At least now I can explain that I can keep an eye on you while I’m gone. If anything happen, Xiaoshou will tell me.”

“And vice versa, I hope,” said Jiang Cheng sharply, and Xiaoshou nodded decisively. Jiang Cheng did not seem overly convinced. “Why don’t we all go?”

 “You two are too recognisable.”

“Mm hm,” Jiang Cheng said, still unconvinced. “We’re also getting cabin fever.”

“Better cabin fever than a slow and torturous death,” Wei Ying returned. “I’ll be back soon.”

Lan Wangji wanted to argue, but he couldn’t deny that Wei Ying was both less conspicuous, given that the Wen believed he was dead, and in a much better position to defend himself if things did go wrong. Checking his own reserves, Wangji knew he still would not last long in a fight.

As Wei Ying got ready to go, Wangji found himself staring at Xiaoshou.

“It can connect with you even when you’re apart?” he asked, and Wei Ying nodded.

“Yep. It will tell you if there’s something to worry about, I promise.”

Perhaps Wangji had been away from Gusu for too long – given that they were speaking about a demon, that sentence should not be as comforting as it was.

“Okay,” Wei Ying said, taking a deep breath. “I’m off. Xiaoshou – be good. If not, Jiang Cheng will stick you in a prison array!”

Xiaoshou startled, racing across the room to and hiding under Wangji’s robes, peeking out from beneath them like a child playing hide and seek. 

“How come I’m the bad guy?” Jiang Cheng protested.

“Because Lan Zhan’s always more indulgent with me,” said Wei Ying easily. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he disappeared out of the door, and Jiang Cheng shared an incredulous look with Wangji. Slowly, his eyes drifted down to Xiaoshou.

“You really are friendly?” he said, and Xiaoshou nodded.

Jiang Cheng looked back up to meet Wangji’s eye, his gaze clearly seeking some sort of answer, but Wangji had nothing. Shaking his head, Jiang Cheng turned away, breathing out a sigh and sitting down on the bed. Wangji glanced down at the hand peeking out from between his feet.

“You can come out,” he said. “Jiang Cheng will not harm you.”

Xiaoshou tiptoed out from beneath Wangji’s robes, somehow managing to look sheepish. It scurried towards Jiang Cheng, pausing at the base of the bed to draw characters into the floor. For a moment, they shone in a glowing red light.

Sorry, A-Cheng

Jiang Cheng snorted. “This is bizarre.” He held out his hand, and Xiaoshou hopped onto it happily. “So, so weird.”

Suddenly, Xiaoshou froze, fingers splaying out in apparent alarm. Panic punched Wangji straight in the chest, his breath catching in his throat.

“What is it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, his voice suddenly much higher, and Xiaoshou shuddered, red sparks flying out from its fingers as it writhed out of Jiang Cheng’s palm. It shot towards the door, only to stop and turn back, circling around the room so fast Wangji could barely track it, and before Lan Wangji could run for the door, he heard the clamour of footsteps tearing back up the stairs –

The door burst open, and Wei Ying tumbled back through, pale as death, with eyes wide and wild as a ghost’s.

“What’s wrong?!” Jiang Cheng cried, and Wei Ying shook his head.

“Yunmeng,” he croaked, and Wangji’s heart crashed down through his chest. “Lotus Pier – they’re under attack!”

Chapter Text

It looked like the entire world was ablaze. Above their heads, the wards hissed and crackled, glowing a vicious red beneath the sheer force of the Wen’s bombardment and casting a fiery light over Lotus Pier. The protective dome that had kept the enemy at bay for almost a week was beginning to crack, sending sparks of blistering energy raining down to the buildings below.

Outside, battles were already raging. They were surrounded on all fronts – inland shone the glares of hundreds of swords, while across the water purple lightning cracked through the sky. Her parents may have returned to Yunmeng, but they fought on opposite sides of the lake, and more than a thousand Wen soldiers now stood between them and Lotus Pier. The fighting seemed closer than it had the day before, but that might have been desperate, wishful thinking.

It didn’t matter now, in any case.

There was no way for Jiang Fengmian or Yu Ziyuan to reach Lotus Pier before the wards fell. Not now. 

“I fear we only have an hour, maybe two, but – These wards should have lasted weeks, Guniang, and beneath any other assault they would have, but this… This is the power of the Yin Iron. Zongzhu warned us, but I didn’t realise… I never thought…”

They didn’t have hours, anymore.

If they were lucky, they had minutes before the wards collapsed entirely.

Jiang Yanli was so afraid she could hardly breathe.

“Guniang,” Jiang Bowen said quietly, achingly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked slowly, forcing them back, giving a tight smile. “Yes, I do.”

“Guniang,” her father’s third in command pressed, sounding desperate. “None of us would think less of you for going inside – we would feel better for it! If anything happened to you –”

“I understand, Shishu,” she interrupted softly. “But my father left the clan in my hands. In his absence, I must do what I can to protect it.” She glanced over, meeting his eyes. “For my own sake, I need to.”

Jiang Bowen closed his eyes, but then he nodded. “Very well,” he said heavily. “Then I will protect you, as best I can.”

“Thank you,” she replied, struggling to keep the tremble from her voice.

It was not that Jiang Yanli wanted to fight – the truth could not be further from it. Fear and dread thrummed through every inch of her body with each anxious beat of her heart, and all she wanted to do was run and hide – but she couldn’t. She knew that Jiang Bowen was right – Yunmeng Jiang would forgive her for sheltering with the most vulnerable members of their clan, but she couldn’t.

How could she, when others even less able than she was now stood in defence of Lotus Pier?

The skilled disciples Jiang Fengmian had left behind to defend their home were few, barely enough to fill the main courtyard, but they would not fight alone. They were joined by – outnumbered by – those who had no place on a battlefield.         

The walking wounded, disciples who had returned maimed from the frontline, who were so critically injured they ought to still be bed-bound. Clan elders, who had to put down their walking sticks to take up their swords. Children, barely old enough to own a spiritual sword, who refused point-blank to shelter with their younger clan members. Servants of Lotus Pier and Civilians of Lotus Cove, people who had no cultivation skill at all but still clutched non-spiritual weapons in unpractised hands.

This was the force that now stood against a thousand Wen soldiers.

If Yanli did not stand with them, she would never forgive herself.

Even though –

Especially though –

Their chances of surviving –

Jiang Yanli was not naïve. The odds were stacked so high against them, the best that they could hope for would be for some to survive long enough for reinforcements to reach them.

For help to come in time to save those sheltering behind them.

Over the last week, the Jiang had reinforced the indoor training room in every way they could, barricading the doors, reducing the windows to arrow slits and carving every ward they could think of into the walls. Inside, their most vulnerable were sheltering – the youngest children of Lotus Pier and Lotus Cove, the handful of adult civilians and servants who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight, and the children who had survived the massacre of Baling Ouyang. Ouyang-zongzhu’s wife, Li Suyin, had been seriously wounded in her escape from Baling, but even with her left arm bandaged and bound to her chest, she insisted on fighting with the Jiang.

“Furen, no one would blame you for staying with your baby. You’re already wounded, you don’t have to fight,” Yanli had told her, but Li Suyin had met her eyes, somehow looking defeated and determined at the same time.

“The only thing I have left to give A-Zhen now is time,” she’d replied softly. “I’ll give him as much of it as I can.”

Now, she stood at Jiang Yanli’s left side. Together, they stood guard before the doors to indoor training hall, with two dozen fighters spread out across the small courtyard before them.

Above their heads, the wards creaked and groaned, and a ripple of fear ran over the courtyard.

Yanli took a deep breath, and projected her voice with all the strength she had. “Don’t despair! Our enemy may outnumber us, but this is our home. These are your lives, and they are precious – they’re worth protecting.  So protect them, and protect each other, and remember that we are Yunmeng Jiang. This fight might look unwinnable, and our odds may be impossible, but we are Yunmeng Jiang! To attempt the impossible is what we do.”

A resounding roar rose up among the disciples, so loud that for a moment it drowned out all else, and the hair on the back of Yanli’s neck stood up. She felt tears in her eyes, felt a lump rise in her throat, but she ignored them, raising her voice even louder. It hurt.

“There are only two ways this battle will end – we will win, or we will go down with such a fight that Qishan Wen will tremble when they remember us!”

The roar of appreciation that replied was so fierce Yanli almost believed her own words. She wanted to believe them, more than anything, but what was more important was that her clan believed.

If there was one thing they needed right now, it was hope.

“Attempt the impossible!” she cried.  

“Attempt the impossible!” they yelled back, thrusting their swords into the air, and Yanli blinked back tears.

The wards buckled with a tremendous screech, and Yanli flinched, gripping her sword tightly. She hadn’t unsheathed it, not yet. Her core was not strong enough to wield it for long, so her sleeves and pockets were stuffed with talismans borrowed from A-Xian’s room. They required much less spiritual power, and with most of them drawn by her brilliant little brother, they would offer no small amount of protection.

This time, Yanli’s tears would not be blinked back, and she closed her eyes tightly. It was a mercy that her brothers were not here. They were both brilliantly strong and talented, but neither were strong enough to turn the tides of this battle alone. No one could be. It was better that they stayed away, that they stayed safe.

If her didi both survived, then maybe Yanli would be able to have some peace in death.

She just –

If she could have seen them –

Just once –

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and opened her eyes, wiping her tears as quickly as she could. It was better they weren’t here. It had to be.

Her hand drifted down to her chest, pressing over her heart. Tucked safely into her innermost robes, A-Xian’s note was there, the last bit of communication she’d had with her brothers. It was enough.

It had to be enough.

A soul-shattering crash ripped through the air, and Yanli couldn’t help but gasp as she looked up in horror. The spiderweb of cracks that covered the wards glowed a violent, bright white, and an ear-splitting screech pierced her ears –

The wards shattered, and a cry of fear broke free from Yanli’s throat as sparks of spiritual energy rained down over Lotus Pier. For a split second, she thought the whole compound was about to burst into flames, but the sparks didn’t catch.

Instead, Lotus Pier was engulfed in the sound of a thousand war cries, a clamour of noise so loud Yanli felt it shake her bones. Within seconds, it was joined by the clash of metal on metal, by screams of rage and of pain, and it was so loud –

How was it already so loud?

Shadows shot into the sky – but no – they weren’t shadows –

Soldiers.

Wen Soldiers, swarming over Lotus Pier like a plague of hornets, diving down in every direction –

In this direction.

Yanli snatched a glitter talisman from her sleeve, casting it into the sky with as much strength as she could. Golden sparks exploded through the ranks of the airborne Wen and they scattered, veering off course.

The Jiang archers took advantage of the chaos, firing into the air, and Wen began to drop from sky –

But even as they fell, those behind them rallied, pouring into the courtyard from every direction but the water. Yanli cast another glitter talisman into the sky, then another, then another, but for every dozen Wen she stunned, twice as many took their place.

Within minutes, they were coming from the ground, too, pouring into the courtyard from several directions, outnumbering the Jiang five, six, seven to one –

It was already chaos.

Already hell.

As their comrades occupied the Jiang, a group of Wen rallied and charged towards the doors, and Yanli reached for another talisman –

But Jiang Bowen leapt forward before she could move, bringing his sword down in a strike so powerful it beheaded the first three Wen in one go. Yanli’s stomach lurched, and Jiang Bowen spun around, beating back another two soldiers with the sheath of his sword even as he sunk his blade into another’s chest.

There was a violent bang, and across the courtyard flames sprang across the floor, lighting beneath the feet of a trio of Jiang cultivators. Their screams tore through the air, and she snatched another talisman from her sleeve, casting it towards them. A torrent of water rained down, drowning the flames, and though one of the Jiang soldiers staggered back, the other two rallied, pushing forwards –

“Guniang, watch out!” Jiang Bowen barked, and Yanli looked around to see several men charging towards her, just out of Jiang Bowen’s reach.

Before Yanli could grab another talisman, Li Suyin sprang from her side. Her blade danced faster than Yanli could track, taking down all four men as though it was nothing –

Another bang, and across the rooftops Yanli could see a billow of smoke, the glow of flames. She couldn’t cast a spell that far, not from here, and her heart pounded frantically against her ribcage. Her eyes roamed frantically over the battles before her, over her people fighting, bleeding, falling, and she snatched a handful of freezing talismans from her pocket.

Her aim had to be perfect, and she didn’t dare to breathe as she cast the first spell. The talisman stuck to the shoulder of the Wen soldier looming over San-shidi, and its victim froze immediately. San-shidi recovered himself, striking the immobilised man down with a cry before turning to the next foe.

Likewise, Yanli turned her attention away. It should feel dishonest, incapacitating the enemy so her people could cut them down, but Yanli didn’t care. She couldn’t care. All she could do was scan the battlefield, cast talismans wherever she saw people faltering – pray she could save –

“Da-shijie!”

Glancing towards the scream, Yanli cried out, dodging the scimitar aiming for her throat by inches. The Wen soldier snarled, making to strike again, but then he jerked as if struck from behind, his, eyes widening in surprise. Without hesitating, Jiang Yanli drew her sword –

Cut his throat.

Blood sprayed towards her, and she recoiled, darting back as the man fell to the ground. As he fell, Yanli saw the reason he’d jerked – an arrow, sticking out of the centre of his back. A pulse of confusion shot through Yanli. Surely, the fight was too close for bows and arrows, now, it was –

Her heart froze.

That voice, the one who had screamed –

That was Liu-shidi’s voice.

Liu-shidi, who was too young to own a sword, who should be inside –

She looked past the dead man, horror flooding through her as her eyes fell on the nine-year-old boy. Instead of sheltering in the indoor training halls, he was looking out of a nearby room, his face pale as death but gut-wrenchingly determined, his little hands clasping tight to a bow. As Yanli watched he gave a frightened nod and drew another arrow, aiming into the sky –

To where more Wen were coming.

Of course, more Wen were coming.

Yanli’s heart threatened to break through her ribcage. Even if she could make it to Liu-shidi and drag him back to the safety of the indoor training hall, she couldn’t afford to open the doors. There was nothing she could do, nothing but let her nine-year-old shidi fight.

She tore her eyes away, looking back ahead –

In time to see a man weave past both Jiang Bowen and Li Suyin, charging Yanli with a vicious smile. Instantly, she flung a freezing talisman towards him, but he dodged with ease, striking towards her chest. The clash of metal on metal screeched through the air as Yanli deflected the blow. The man was fast, so fast, and he pressed her back with a laugh –

A laugh –

It took every ounce of concentration and energy Yanli possessed to block his strikes, demanding a speed that bled her spiritual energy dangerously fast. There was no time to think, no time to breathe –

And he was laughing.

This was a game to him. He was taunting her, playing with her –

A second.

Jiang Yanli was just a second too slow –

The soldier’s blade plunged into her side.

Blinding hot pain shrieked through her, tearing a scream from her lips.

“Jiang-guniang!” Jiang Bowen yelled, and Yanli’s eyes flickered towards him –

In time to see a Wen drive their sword through his back, its tip piercing his chest.

No – no!

But there was no breathe in Yanli’s lungs to scream as she watched her Shishu collapse, as she herself staggered back from the soldier that was still laughing. It felt like her waist was on fire, like the man’s blade was still cutting into her.

And he was still laughing.

Her back hit the door to the training halls.

Anger seared like lightening down her spine.

There were children behind that door.

Her shidi and shimei were behind that door.

And there was nothing Jiang Yanli would not give to protect them.

She let her arm fall, as though her sword was too heavy to carry, and the soldier raised his own blade above his head.

Adjust your grip –

Fast –

Now!

She thrust up with all her strength, driving her sword in through her opponent’s stomach, up into his chest. His eyes blew wide open, lips parting in apparent shock, and Yanli yanked her sword free. For a moment, the man remained on his feet. Just a moment. Then he swayed. Fell.

Yanli sucked in a shuddering breath, glancing down at her side. Red was blooming over her waist, and a whimper broke from her lips as she pushed a hand against the wound.

It hurt.

Perhaps she should be relieved, she thought distantly. The blow had caught her side, stabbing through the edge of her waist – if it had been any further to the side, it would have impaled her. It was quite possible that she had no internal damage, that even she might survive it.

But there… there was so much blood. Already, dizziness was beginning to hum through Yanli’s mind, whether from the bleeding or the exhaustion of her spiritual energy, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Either way, the result would be the same if she stumbled, if she lost consciousness.

Or when.

Her core ached from even that pitiful amount of sword-work she’d done, but she forced what little energy she had left to her side, praying that it might at least slow the bleeding. Tears blurred her vision, but she looked up all the same, casting a frantic look over the battle.

The battle they were losing.

Even as she watched, soldiers trampled over Jiang Bowen’s corpse, charging towards the doors – towards her. Li Suyin couldn’t hold them all back alone, and she was beginning to falter under the assault of so many foes at once.

Another group broke past, heading straight for Yanli. She raised her sword, but agony shrieked through her side and nausea surged up her throat. She shifted to a two-handed grip, but her arms still trembled beneath the weight of her sword.  

A sound cut through the air, strange, out of place.

A flute.

Wild, desperate hope sprang into Yanli’s heart. Had help actually come? Zewu-Jun had a xiao, she’d seen him play – if the Lan had come then maybe –

The soldiers bore down on her at once, stealing her attention. With a desperate cry, Yanli swung her sword in a wide arc, sending out a wave of spiritual energy that sent the men flying back –

That made the world bloom black before her eyes.

Her knees buckled, and she staggered back to slump against the door. Her lungs were screaming, and her core was aching, and the wound in her side was agony. Desperately, she tried to suck in breath, blinking until the darkness gave way and the world came back into view.

Too late.

Two more Wen were charging past those she’d knocked down, but even those on the ground were already getting back onto their feet. Above them, she saw a thick, black cloud forming overhead, suffocating Lotus Pier with dread so strong Yanli choked on it.

Resentful energy.

The last drop of hope bled out of Yanli’s heart. The wards around the indoor training halls were built to keep out cultivators, not ghosts or demons – beneath the force of such heavy resentment, they would fall within the hour.

The darkness roiled and eddied, and at its centre Yanli caught sight of a lone figure balanced on a sword, a flute raised to their lips.

Time seemed to slow as the Wen loomed over her, raising their swords –

A chorus of ear-splitting shrieks tore through the air, the very sound enough to steal what air was left in Yanli’s lungs.

Those were not the screams of the living.

The Wen brought down their swords towards her –

Unheeding of the ghost that swept towards them all, bloodlust seething in its eyes. It looked a frail thing, its ghostly flesh drawn too tight over a skeletal form, but there was nothing weak about the screech that tore from its throat, or the vicious fangs in its mouth –

Or the way it thrust its fists through the backs of the two Wen soldiers looming over Yanli.

Clawed, grasping hands burst out through their chests, clenched around the mangled remains of their hearts. Blinding terror froze Yanli in place, and the ghost threw back its head to scream again, its rage and resentment strong enough to turn the air around them to ice.

Its head snapped back down, those dark, hate-filled eyes landing on Yanli.

The ghost hissed, drawing back its thin white lips into a scowl.

Ripped its hands back out of the Wen soldiers, their hearts still crushed in its fists.

Yanli felt her own pulse weaken to an anxious flutter, as though her heart was shrinking in on itself in a futile effort to stay within the safety of her ribcage, and she tried to brace herself.

But the ghost turned away. Lunged for the next Wen soldier.

As she watched it go, Yanli saw to her horror that the entire courtyard teeming with ghosts, spirits of all shapes and hideous forms that tore at the living, ripping them apart with teeth and claws and even ghostly weapons. More swept down by the moment, and Yanli looked up.

Ghosts were bleeding down from the cloud of resentment in the sky, the black smoke taking form as they shot down into Lotus Pier, massacring everyone in their path –

Except, no.

No, they weren’t – they were only attacking the Wen. It didn’t make sense, she couldn’t understand, but she saw it. Even when one frightened Jiang disciple swung his sword through one of the ghosts, the creature just hissed and disappeared, reappearing several meters behind said disciple and tearing the head off of the nearest Wen soldier.

A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she looked back at the figure in the middle of the cloud of resent. That flicker, that movement –

Red ribbon.

Yanli’s heart skipped a beat. From here, she could see that the flautist was one-handed – in place of his right hand, she could see black smoke in the shape of fingers, marking out the notes, and she knew. The wind whipped back his hair, enough for her to see –

A-Xian.

Horror and relief struck her in equal measure, but before she could process anything, a yell rang out from the Wen.

“It’s him! In the clouds – shoot him down! Shoot him-”

The crier was silenced, but the braver among the Wen rallied –

Aimed their weapons at her brother’s back.

Somehow, the twang of their bowstrings was as loud an explosion in Yanli’s ears, and a frantic scream ripped from her throat.  

“A-Xian!”

Her brother whipped around, his eyes glowing red, and Yanli watched in terror as the arrows screamed towards him –

But A-Xian threw out an arm, a burst of swirling resentment sending the arrows and swords spinning around, shooting back to embed in the hearts that cast them.

And then his eyes fixed on her. Widened in terror.

“Shijie?!”

His cry tore through Yanli’s chest like a blow, his terror and anguish so strong she couldn’t stand it, and she felt a sob rise in her throat as he threw himself forward. He shot down from the sky just like one of the ghosts, leaping from a sword she didn’t recognise and skidding to a halt in front of her, reaching her in seconds.

“Shijie,” he choked, grabbing her arm and looking desperately at the blood on her waist. “Shijie, Shijie, you’re hurt-”

But behind him, the braver and stronger of the Wen were still rallying, and with his back turned they charged her little brother.

“A-Xian, watch out!” she begged.

Wei Wuxian whipped around, blocking her from the Wen’s view and raising the flute to his lips once more. His tune was sharper now, more urgent, and another wave of ghosts bled down from the sky. The terrible clamour of war cries and weapons was drowned by near-hysterical screaming as the ghosts overwhelmed the Wen in the courtyard at her brother’s command.

“Retreat!” a Wen screeched, several beats behind the straggling survivors already trying to tear their way out of the courtyard. “Retr-”

A ghost in blood red robes appeared out of nowhere behind him, breaking his neck in a single motion.

Not one Wen soldier left the courtyard alive.

But as A-Xian played, something glistened on the side of his neck. To Yanli’s horror, blood was weeping from his ears.

“How can you make sure that the resentful energy will only listen to you, and not harm others?”

“I… haven’t figured that out, yet.”

It seemed frighteningly clear that A-Xian might have figured out how to stop the ghosts from harming Yunmeng Jiang, but hadn’t discovered how to stop it from harming him.

“Xianxian,” she whispered, and her brother glanced over his shoulder –

And Yanli’s heart stopped beating. Blood shimmered down his cheeks and his chin, pouring from his eyes and his nose, and he was shaking violently. There was a terrifying red glow to his eyes, but it was worry that flickered within them as he looked at her.   

“A-Xian,” she breathed, “A-Xian, stop – you have to stop – you’re hurting yourself!”

His gaze flickered down to the blood on her waist, and he lowered the flute for a moment.

“Hold on, Shijie,” he said hoarsely, “It will be over soon.”

“A-Xian-” she pleaded, but though he flinched, he turned back around, continuing to play.

Slowly, achingly slowly, the screaming faded away, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the trill of A-Xian’s flute. That, too, began to slow, and the ghosts vanished like a bad dream, rising back into the cloud of resentful energy coiling above them. It eddied down like a whirlpool, disappearing into A-Xian’s pocket.

Silence hung heavy over Lotus Pier.

Then, A-Xian choked, and coughed up a mouthful of blood.

“A-Xian!” she cried, grabbing his arms and turning him around to face her. The red glow had faded from his eyes, but his face was covered in blood and his breathing wheezed and rattled, coming far too shallow and fast. Every few moments, he spasmed like a man struck by lightning, and as Yanli wrapped her hand around his wrist, she felt his spiritual energy burn beneath her fingertips. “A-Xian!”

“Shijie,” he choked, blood on his lips. He swayed on his feet, dropping his flute to grab her arm. His voice sounded so afraid, so young – “Shijie, you’re hurt.”

She sobbed, shaking her head and pressing a hand to A-Xian’s cheek. “Xianxian… my Xianxian-”

A-Xian’s knees buckled, and Yanli cried out in fear, trying desperately to keep him up, but he was too heavy, she was too weak, and together they crashed to the ground. Agony exploded across Yanli’s side, her wound begging to be noticed, but it didn’t matter, how could it matter when –

“Shi-Shijie-” A-Xian choked, his body jerking violently, and Yanli tugged him into her lap with all the strength she had left.

“A-Xian, it’s – it’s going to be okay, it-” she sobbed, her voice trembling almost as badly as her body. The battle was over, but her fear was only rising as her brother spasmed in her arms. “What’s wrong? What’s – how do I –” Her voice broke, and she hugged him closer. “A-Xian… Hold on, please… please hold on, Xianxian, please.”

But even as his eyelids flickered and blood poured from his nose, all A-Xian could choke out was, “Hurt – Shijie – you – Shijie!”

“J-just, just hold on,” she begged, tears falling from her cheeks to land on her brother’s face. “I’ll – I’ll be okay, Xianxian, but only if you are, alright? I need you to be okay.”

A-Xian’s lips parted, but nothing escaped them but blood, and Yanli sobbed. She looked up, heart stuttering at the blood and carnage all around them. Her eyes were blurring, even beyond the mist of tears, but Yanli fought unconsciousness with everything in her.

Her Xianxian – her Xianxian was hurt –   

“Someone help!” Her attempt to shout came out as a whimper, and A-Xian shuddered at the sound of it, grasping her wrist with burning fingers. Yanli sobbed again, lowering her head to press a kiss to her brother’s flaming forehead. “Xianxian, hold on. Someone – someone will come, Xianxian, just – please – hold on…”

Chapter Text

Jiang Cheng was still screaming.

The sound was almost inhuman and painfully raw, as though it was ripping open the inside of his throat on the way out. It had to hurt – Wangji could see blood on Jiang Cheng’s lips, on his teeth – but Jiang Cheng didn’t even seem to notice. He just kept yelling, tearing uselessly at the golden spirit net trapping him and Wangji in the boat.

At times, Jiang Cheng was coherent enough to form words, alternating wildly between vicious threats to shatter every bone in Xiaoshou’s body and desperate, tearful pleas for the demonic hand to just listen, just let them go. Xiaoshou flinched from his threats and cringed away from his pleas, but it didn’t yield, scuttling anxiously up and down the edge of the boat, shooting out of Jiang Cheng’s reach every time that he lunged for it.

Jiang Cheng still screamed, and Lan Wangji couldn’t begrudge him for it.

Not when Jiang Cheng was screaming for the both of them.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Cheng yelped as Wei Ying hopped out of the boat and onto his stolen sword, casting a spirit net charm around the boat. Wangji’s heart froze in his chest, horror turning his blood to ice as he took in the grim, determined set of Wei Ying’s face, as he understood –

No –

“Neither of you are in a fit state to travel, let alone fight,” Wei Ying said gravely. “I can’t let you get hurt. Not again.”

“Wei Ying-”

“Wei Wuxian! Don’t you dare, don’t you fucking – Wei Wuxian! Let me out!” Jiang Cheng yelled, thrusting his arm out of the spirit net, but Wei Ying ducked back, already out of reach.

No, no, no –

“Wei Ying,” Wangji begged, his voice aching and urgent, “You cannot fight them all alone. Do not – do not go alone, Wei Ying –”

Don’t leave us, Wangji thought desperately, but with his heart in his throat he couldn’t force out the words. Don’t leave me, Wei Ying –

“Wei Wuxian! This is my home, this is my home, let me out! Let me out, Wei Wuxian!”

“Xiaoshou,” Wei Ying said, and the ice in Wangji’s veins grew sharper beneath anger and fear he couldn’t breathe through, “Protect them.”

“Wei Ying!” he choked, as Jiang Cheng roared,

“Don’t!”

But Wei Ying ignored them. He had turned away and left them behind, had flown into battle unprotected, alone –

And then –

Then Lan Wangji had watched in horror as a cloud of resentful energy formed over Lotus Pier, greater and more powerful than he could ever have imagined. Here on the water, they were barely close enough to make out the sounds and screams of battle, but the resentment was so strong they could feel it, so strong Wangji could taste it. And at its centre stood a lone figure on a dark sword, a red ribbon flickering in his hair, a flute raised to his lips.

It was too much.

It was far, far too much – Wei Ying’s core was already damaged by demonic cultivation. When Wangji had taken his pulse, he’d felt firsthand the caustic burn of resentful energy scouring through Wei Ying’s veins, he’d felt just how unstable Wei Ying’s core was. It hadn’t made sense then, how the damage could be so great, but it did now, watching this madness.

It made sense, and it terrified him.

Wei Ying had gone too far – much too far – and if he kept going, even a little further…

His golden core would destroy itself.

Destroy him with it. 

And Wangji couldn’t reach him. The spirit net was too strong, and neither he nor Jiang Cheng could break it. They had tried. Blood and splinters were jammed under Jiang Cheng’s fingernails from where he’d tried to tear up the bottom of the boat, but when it saw what he was doing, Xiaoshou had flared out its fingers, extending the spirt net underneath them, too. Wangji had sent his own spiritual energy into the spell, searching frantically for any weaknesses, but he found none, and the effort threatened to drain what measly reserves he had himself.

Distantly, logically, he knew that was why Wei Ying had left them behind.

He didn’t care.

Suddenly, Wei Ying dropped, and Wangji sucked in a desperate breath. The motion was so fast that he couldn’t see whether Wei Ying had flown or fallen –

Only that he was gone.

Gone, out of sight, he’d disappeared –

Wei Ying was gone –

Wen Chao put a hand on Wei Ying’s back, shoved him off of the sword –

He fell –

“Wei Ying!” Lan Wangji screamed, feeling as though his heart was being torn from his chest, as he caught one last glimpse of Wei Ying’s terrified face, as the darkness snatched him away, swallowed him whole –

“What just happened?” Jiang Cheng yelled, lunging forward to grip the edge of the boat with such force it rocked violently. “Wei Wuxian! Wei Wuxian!”

Wangji looked sharply at Xiaoshou, his heart twisting. The demonic hand had ceased its anxious pacing, its fingers splayed out widely in the same gesture of panic it had made in the inn, so tense fine tremors ran through it.

It looked terrified.

“Let us help,” Wangji said urgently, and Xiaoshou flinched, twitching towards him. “Xiaoshou – let us help him!” The hand wavered as though hesitating, and Wangji pushed. “Please.”

Jiang Cheng looked frantically between Xiaoshou and Wangji, his eyes bulging with panic. “You-” he choked. “Let us – please, us help him. Let us help, please!”

Xiaoshou hesitated a moment longer, and then bobbed sharply, flying to the back of the boat and dropping back down onto five fingers. A red glow flickered beneath its palm, growing stronger by the second, and the boat trembled beneath them. A moment later, the boat jerked forward, and then it flew, shooting towards Lotus Pier as fast as a sword could fly.

Wangji tumbled down, barely managing to catch himself in time before he landed face first in the bottom of the boat. His gut clenched.

How do you expect to help Wei Ying if you don’t even have enough strength to keep your balance?

The thought whipped scathingly through his mind, but even as it did, he disregarded it. It didn’t matter if he was too weak, if he didn’t have the strength to do more than buy Wei Ying a single moment. If that was all he could do, so be it.

As they grew closer, the sound of battle became louder and sharper, but it was only as it did that Wangji noticed the strangeness of the noise. It was like no battle he had ever heard – there was no clash of metal on metal, no threats or curses or war cries –

There was only screaming. Underpinned by wails of terror were the unholy screeches of the dead, and Wangji’s blood ran cold.

Then, he caught a single word shrieking through the clamour.

“Retreat!”

Several red-robed figures burst out onto the nearest pier, sprinting towards the lake with terror-struck faces. The fastest launched himself towards the water, throwing himself to the mercy of the lake, but before he could reach it a black-shrouded figure shot towards him, snatching the man out of the air mid-jump. The Wen soldier screeched – but only for a second.

More ghosts descended on those still running, clawing out their chests and ripping open their throats. He felt no sympathy for the Wen soldiers, but the bloody brutality made Wangji’s gut churn. One of the ghosts looked up, pitch-black eyes locking onto his own, and Lan Wangji’s heart stopped beating. The ghost drew back its lips into a snarl, and Wangji grappled to think of a spell –

But then the ghost turned, shot back into Lotus Pier, out sight. The others followed, leaving only the corpses behind.

The golden spirit net dissolved as they neared the pier, and before they’d even reached it Jiang Cheng launched himself out of the boat, making it rock once again. It took Wangji several precious seconds to regain his balance. If he was at full strength, or even at half strength it would be nothing, but his recovery had been so slow. Even a week after escaping the demon, he was all but useless, his knees wobbling as he clambered out of the boat behind Jiang Cheng, feet slipping on the blood drenched deck.

It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was Wei Ying.

He could hear the flute now, its sound cutting through the screaming, telling them where to go. Lan Wangji ran, but within a few paces his heart thrummed too fast and too shallow with the effort. His head began to spin and his stomach roiled, but he clenched his teeth and pushed harder, faster. Jiang Cheng was just ahead, leading the way deeper into Lotus Pier, and Xiaoshou flew beside them, shooting between them like an anxious herding dog. Sparks flew from its fingertips, and more than once they landed with a fizz against Wangji’s skin.  

A red-robed soldier scrambled out into the path ahead of them, his sword flailing wildly as he screamed, but Jiang Cheng didn’t hesitate, punching the man in the face and knocking him into the water. A split-second later, a ghost shot around the corner, half formed and shrouded with a cloud of resentful energy. Only its face was clear, the visage of a young girl with bared teeth and a violent gash in her forehead. Jiang Cheng and Wangji skidded to a halt as the girl faced them, drawing back her lips to let out an angry, chattering growl –

And then she leapt after the Wen soldier, dragging him up out of the water. The man wailed, kicking and flailing, but within a second the ghost snapped his neck, letting him fall once more beneath the surface of the lake. She stared at Jiang Cheng and Wangji, and Xiaoshou flew forward, but before it could get in front of them the ghost girl bobbed her head in a bow, spinning around and vanishing in a puff of smoke.

He was still in control. For now, Wei Ying was in control.

Breathing heavily, Wangji tried to swallow. It had to be the blood pounding through his ears, but the screaming seemed to have dwindled –

Except when Jiang Cheng began to run once more, when Wangji followed, the sounds of terror and battle truly did start to fade. As they faded, the cloud of resentment over their heads drained away, and the sound of a flute grew louder –

But then it stopped.

Lan Wangji’s heart froze.

Before him, Jiang Cheng choked, stumbling over his own feet. Then, he ran faster, leading Wangji deep into the heart of Lotus Pier. People began to come into view, Jiang disciples and their allies standing stone-still and shellshocked among the bodies of the dead.  

A young boy turned slowly towards them, too stunned to do anything other than stare.

Xiaoshou shot forward, and panic pierced Wangji’s heart.

If it was seen…

Wangji snatched the demonic hand out of the air. It stiffened in shock, but without hesitating Wangji stuffed the little creature into his pocket, gripping it tightly to keep it from flying out again.

Then they broke out into a courtyard.

And Jiang Cheng screamed.

It was different from every cry he had made before –

A sound so broken, and desperate, and anguished –

The scream of a man whose heart had been ripped from his chest –  

And Lan Wangji looked –

And grief split his ribcage apart, eviscerating his heart and his lungs.

Wei Ying...

Wei Ying!

His body lay crumpled in front of a large door, blood pouring from his eyes and his nose and his mouth, wisps of resentful energy clinging to his skin. He was –

He looked –

And beneath him –

“Jie!” Jiang Cheng howled. “A-Jie, A-Xian!”

Beneath him was his sister, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Her face was pale as death, and a pool of blood was steadily growing at her side. Her eyes were hazy and pained, when they landed on Jiang Cheng, and she raised a single, trembling hand –

Collapsed backwards.

Somehow, that seemed enough to snap the Jiang disciples back into action. Even as Jiang Cheng lurched forward, a nearby woman lunged forward, catching Jiang Yanli before she could hit the ground. As if a spell had been broken, people began to rush around, rushing to the aid of the wounded and yelling out orders –

But Wangji ignored them, all of them, running after Jiang Cheng through a courtyard littered with corpses to reach Wei Ying’s side.

Wei Ying, who he’d already lost once, who – who might already be –

Who –

“Jie,” Jiang Cheng sobbed, grabbing her hand and Wei Ying’s wrist at the same time. “A-Jie, A-Jie you’re hurt –”

Pain ricocheted up Wangji’s legs as he crashed to his knees beside them, but it didn’t matter. He grappled for Wei Ying’s other wrist, pushing his fingers to Wei Ying’s pulse point –

Grief stuttered, terror flared.

Wei Ying was alive, but –

“A–Cheng,” Yanli choked, blood on her lips. “A–Cheng, A–Xian… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do, A–Cheng, I – I don’t know how to help him, what to –”

Wei Ying was alive, but his demonic cultivation was actively destroying his core. His skin was unbearably hot beneath Wangji’s fingers, and the energy shooting through his veins was more violent than Wangji could ever have feared.

He was – he was dying.

Wei Ying was dying.

No… no…

“Wei Ying,” Wangji begged, his voice breaking. In his pocket, Xiaoshou shifted, intertwining his fingers with Wangji’s. Tears filling his eyes, Wangji squeezed back.

“Heaven help us,” a newcomer breathed, bustling over.

“Daifu,” Jiang Cheng choked, and the doctor flung himself down beside them, sending a stab of desperate hope through Wangji’s heart.

“What have you two done to yourselves?” the doctor murmured, his voice shaking. “Guniang, you”

“A-Xian,” Yanli whimpered in protest, but her voice was desperately weak, and Wangji shuddered.

“Just a moment, Jiang-guniang. I promise I will see to your didi, too.” The doctor said, taking her pulse. His voice hardened slightly. “Jiang-gongzi, take this – now, put pressure on your sister’s wound, that’s important. Ouyang-furen-”

“I’m here,” said the woman who had caught Yanli.

“Give her this,” the doctor passed her a small bottle. “As for our Wei-gongzi…” Apparently aware that neither Jiang Cheng nor Wangji would relinquish their grips on Wei Ying’s wrists, the doctor pressed his fingers to Wei Ying’s neck –

Hissed in a breath.

“Wh-what is it?” Yanli whimpered. “Daifu, what, what is it?”

“I don’t,” the doctor choked. “His core… I’ve never seen this before… The damage… damage like this, I…”

“You have to help him!” Jiang Cheng yelped. “You have to-”

“Jiang-gongzi,” the doctor whispered, and Wangji’s heart went cold.

“No – no! You – can you fix him?” Jiang Cheng sobbed, though to who, Wangji didn’t – “Lan Wangji! Can you fix him?!” Wangji tore his eyes away from Wei Ying to meet Jiang Cheng’s gaze. “You said – it’s the resentment, isn’t it?! You said you could fix it, you said you could get it out of him–”

“Lan-er-gongzi,” the doctor said urgently. “If you have a way of cleansing the resentment from Wei-gongzi’s core quickly, there’s a chance I could –”

A chance –

Chance –

“I need a qin,” Wangji said. He didn’t know what the doctor meant by quickly, if Cleansing would be too slow, but it didn’t matter. It was Wei Ying, and he had to try.

“No one cultivates with them here,” Jiang Cheng began.

“Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to be a spiritual weapon, a normal instrument will do,” Wangji insisted, desperation running ragged through his veins.

A disciple, one he hadn’t even noticed, yelped, “Xie-shijie has one! I’ll get it, I’ll get it now!” Even before she finished her sentence, the disciple ran away, and Wangji swallowed, squeezing Xiaoshou once more, silently willing the demonic hand to stay hidden. He pulled his hand from his pocket, placing it on Wei Ying’s forehead instead. It was hot, blazingly hot, his brow furrowed in pain or discomfort.

Hold on, Wangji begged silently. Hold on, Wei Ying, please…

“Alright, while we’re seeing to that – Ouyang-furen, Fan Xinyan come here, I need you to move Jiang-guniang to –”

“No,” Jiang Yanli said, and even with a voice so weak it was barely a breath, her tone was one of steel. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“A-Li –”

“A–Xian needs me,” she insisted, clinging onto Wei Ying’s sleeve with a white knuckled grip. “I won’t leave him. I won’t. Not again.”

“I’m just asking you to go inside,” the doctor said gently. “Your wound is severe, Jiang-guniang. It needs to be tended, and quickly –”

“I won’t leave him,” Jiang Yanli protested, her pain-hazed eyes full of a resolve that stunned Lan Wangji. “If you tear him from me by force, I will never forgive it. He – he’s– he’s been gone for so long. He can’t – he needs to know that he can’t go.”

“Guniang…”

“I am still… in charge… of Lotus Pier,” Yanli said, raising her chin even with her breath becoming strained. “You will not take him from me… or me from him… I order it.”

The doctor glanced at Jiang Cheng, perhaps for backup, but the younger man was too busy putting pressure on his sister’s wound and looking fretfully at his brother to pay attention.

“Alright,” the doctor relented, “Ouyang-furen, take over from Jiang-gongzi, apply pressure to Jiang-guniang’s wound. Check intermittently, let me know when the bleeding stops.”

“Understood,” said Ouyang-furen grimly, nudging Jiang Cheng’s arms out of the way to put pressure on the wound. The moment his hands were free, Jiang Cheng grabbed his siblings’ hands once more, squeezing them tightly.

The doctor grabbed a small vial, slipping a pill between Wei Ying’s lips.

“There’s going to be damage to his internal organs,” he said gravely. “Hopefully, this will slow it down…”

There was a clamour nearby, and Wangji looked up to see a man flying towards them, flanked by half a dozen others. With a cry, Jiang Fengmian leapt from his sword, charging across the courtyard. “A-Cheng, A-Li, A-Xian!”

Jiang Cheng looked up, tears spilling from his eyes as he cried, “A-Die!”

“What happened?!” Jiang Fengmian demanded, crashing down to his knees beside his children with none of the decorum Lan Wangji would have expected. The clan leader seemed too busy putting a hand on Jiang Cheng’s back and reaching for his daughter with the other to care about propriety, and Wangji felt his respect for the man grow. “Liu Chen, what’s wrong with them? They’re saying that A-Xian – that he somehow caused…”

“He saved Lotus Pier,” said the doctor, Liu Chen, “but in the process…”

Face pale, Jiang Fengmian reached out to squeeze Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying’s linked hands before taking Wei Ying’s pulse. He hissed in a breath, looking sharply up at the doctor.

“Lan-er-gongzi may be able to help us stabilise him, and Wei-gongzi has always been strong,” Liu Chen said, and Jiang Fengmian glanced up at Wangji in faint surprise, as though noticing him for the first time. The doctor’s next words stole their attention in a heartbeat. “But Zongzhu… it would be best to be prepared.”

Jiang Cheng moaned, bowing his head as his sister sobbed, as their father closed his eyes.

“Jiang-guniang’s injuries are also severe,” said Liu Chen quietly, and Jiang Fengmian’s eyes snapped back open. “She will not allow us to take her inside to receive treatment-”

“No,” Jiang Yanli wheezed, panic lighting in her eyes as she clung to Wei Ying. “I won’t leave him, A-Die, I – I can’t-”

“Hush now,” Jiang Fengmian said quietly, stroking her hair back. She whimpered, and Jiang Fengmian looked to the doctor. “Can we not take them inside together?”

“We can,” Liu Chen said uncertainly, “but with Wei-gongzi’s condition there… there may be backlash…” He looked up, grimacing. “Where is Xinyan with that damned guqin?”

“A-Li,” Jiang Fengmian began, but his daughter shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“He needs me,” she protested, “and I, I need – I need-”

“I know,” Jiang Fengmian soothed. “I know.” He made no move of ordering that Yanli be taken inside, instead reaching for Wei Ying once more. “Hold on, A-Xian,” he said fiercely. “You hold on, now.”

“A-Die…” the name fell broken from Jiang Cheng’s lips, and Jiang Fengmian looked at him, his expression stricken.

“It’s alright now, A-Cheng,” he said. “They’re going to be alright. You’re home now, it’s alright.”

 Out of the corner of his eye, Lan Wangji saw another group of people run into the courtyard, this time from the opposite direction Jiang Fengmian had arrived from. A woman was at their head, her robes covered in blood-spatter, and though he had never seen her before, Lan Wangji knew in an instant who she was.

“A-Cheng?” she cried, and Jiang Cheng and Jiang Fengmian both stiffened, looking towards her. “A-Li?”

Yu Ziyuan.

Hated seethed through Wangji’s gut, and he raised his arm quickly. The sleeves of the robes the innkeeper provided were far from his normal size, but they still went a little way to hiding Wei Ying from her view. She frowned, opening her mouth –

“Yu-furen, Jiang Yu requires help with the aftermath. Go help him,” Jiang Fengmian said coldly, and anger flashed across her face.

“Jiang Fengmian-”

Wei Ying jerked violently, his chest arching up as if his body had been struck by lightning. Fresh blood bubbled on his lips, and Wangji turned his back on Yu Ziyuan to clutch Wei Ying’s wrist desperately.

“Wei Ying!” he choked, as Wei Ying’s siblings sobbed his name –

“Get out of here!” Jiang Fengmian ordered furiously, glaring at Yu Ziyuan, “You’re agitating him, get away! That is an order.”

“I’ve found it!” yelled the disciple who’d gone in search of the guqin, rushing over. “Here! Will this do, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Even before the young woman finished talking, Wangji snatched the guqin from her arms, all but throwing it to the floor before him. His fingers burnt when they released Wei Ying, and his heart screamed as he put a foot between them, just enough space to set up the guqin.

Then, sparing only a second to make sure the instrument was in tune, Lan Wangji ignored the chaos around him and began to play. He poured his spiritual energy into every note, focused every scrap of intent in his mind on the melody. If he had Wangji, or even a lesser spiritual instrument, he would be able to channel so much more, but he didn’t. This was what he had. It just had to be enough.

As his focus narrowed, the world fell away, leaving nothing but Wangji and Wei Ying behind, enveloping them in the cool, dark nothingness of a deep trance.

Please, Wangji prayed, trying to force more power into his notes. Please, be enough. Please. Please.

Wei Ying…

Stay.

Please.

Slowly, thin wisps of dark mist began to curl up and away from Wei Ying, disappearing into the nothingness. Somehow, Wei Ying seemed to grow smaller without it, to look frailer, and an unbearable terror clawed up Wangji’s throat.

He couldn’t do it again. He could lose Wei Ying again –

He couldn’t.

Please, Wei Ying. Please, please, please –

You said you wouldn’t leave.

You said –

Please.

It might have been his imagination, but somewhere Lan Wangji almost thought he heard a distant whisper, and he clung to it with all the hope he had.

Lan Zhan…

Chapter Text

Throughout his time in the dungeons of Qishan, there had been nothing Jiang Cheng wanted more than to be at home with both of his siblings. At the time, it was an impossibility – as far as Jiang Cheng had known, Wei Wuxian was dead. The possibility of the three of them returning home together had been nothing more than a fantasy.

And an agony, razor-sharp claws digging deeper into his grief, but he had spent countless hours imagining it all the same, sinking as often as he could into the comfort of daydreams and memories.

Then, Wei Wuxian returned, and Jiang Cheng had allowed himself to hope that someday soon it would be a reality. That even if they couldn’t return to Lotus Pier for a while, his siblings would be together, that they would be safe.

He never imagined that they would be together at Lotus Pier, with that same agony crushing Jiang Cheng’s chest.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt anymore.

They were home, they were together.

They were supposed to be okay.

But they weren’t.

Instead, Jiang Cheng was wedged between the sickbeds of his brother and his sister, his knees hugged tightly against his chest. To one side of him was Yanli. The doctor had assured them that her condition was stable, but the medication he had given her had lulled her into a deep sleep, and she barely stirred. Her skin was deathly pale, and while Jiang Cheng had seen his sister ill more times than he dared to count he had never seen her look so lifeless. He’d never seen her look so small…

And on his other side was Wei Wuxian, as pale and still as a corpse. He wasn’t spasming or twitching anymore, but it only made him look more dead.

Lan Wangji had had played for nearly an hour before he collapsed over the guqin, spitting up blood in the seconds before he lost consciousness, and after that Liu Chen had worked on Wei Wuxian for several hours, but all he could offer them…

“I don’t know, Zongzhu. He – he has always been strong. If he survives the next two nights, then he – he might have a change.”

Jiang Cheng’s brother hadn’t stirred at all. The only sign of movement was the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest.

His siblings were both here, and they were both breathing, but Jiang Cheng felt just as agonisingly alone as he had in that prison cell.

He swallowed. It hurt. His throat felt like it was full of sand.

Across the room, the was a soft, pained sigh, and Jiang Cheng glanced over at the bed behind Wei Wuxian’s. Lan Wangji had barely moved either, in the hours they’d been here. He looked a little better than Jiang Cheng’s siblings, but only because that was an exceptionally low bar.

His father hadn’t questioned it when Jiang Cheng insisted that Lan Wangji be brought into the same sick room as Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli. Jiang Cheng was glad he hadn’t, because he had no idea what argument he would have made. It was just… in the last four months, every time Jiang Cheng had felt safe, he, Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji had been together.

It was –

Better.

But now Jiang Cheng was the only one conscious. Now and then, Wangji made small, pained noises in his sleep, but other than that he barely stirred either. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure how long it had been – night had fallen by the time the doctor finished working on Wei Wuxian, but now it was day again, and it had been long enough for Jiang Cheng to watch the light of the sun move from one side of the room to the other.

No one had woken up.

Jiang Cheng was alone.

The door opened, and fear scuttled up Jiang Cheng’s spine until he recognised the silhouette of his father in the door. He lowered his head, feeling a lump grow in his throat.

He didn’t know how to face Jiang Fengmian right now. Jiang Cheng had wilfully disobeyed his mother in leaving Lotus Pier, and while he didn’t think his father would condemn him for that, he knew how bitterly disappointed Jiang Fengmian would be that he had failed. How ashamed he would be that Jiang Cheng did not fight with his brother and sister, that he could not help like Wangji did afterwards – how ashamed he would be just looking at Jiang Cheng now.

Jiang Cheng knew he looked like a child, but he couldn’t bear to let go of his knees. If he did, he felt like he might unravel completely.

When he and Wangji first reached that courtyard, when he first saw his brother’s broken body sprawled in his sister’s blood-soaked arms –

For a moment, Jiang Cheng thought he had lost both of them. That they were both – that his sister and his brother were both –

It was agony even worse than losing Wei Wuxian the first time, and it was still embedded in his chest, a poison arrowhead leeching poison into his heart.

He still might lose them both.

He heard his father sigh, heard the soft pad of his footsteps across the floor.

“No change?” Jiang Fengmian asked gently, and Jiang Cheng shook his head. After long pause, his father said, “Here.”

Jiang Cheng looked up, blinking in surprise at the sight Jiang Fengmian holding out a bowl of towards him. He… he didn’t think his father had ever brought him a meal before. As it was, Jiang Cheng didn’t want it, not now. Fear had tied his stomach in knots, so tight and painful that the very idea of eating made him nauseous.

When Jiang Cheng failed to move his father sighed again, sitting down on the edge of Wei Wuxian’s bed, his knees almost grazing Jiang Cheng’s. “A-Cheng… It may not be your sister’s soup, but you need to eat something.”

“How-” the word died on his tongue as he looked up at his father. There were tears in Jiang Fengmian’s eyes, and a pain so deep it cut Jiang Cheng to the bone. Jiang Cheng had never seen anything like it.

“I know you will not want to. But A-Cheng, you…” Jiang Fengmian swallowed, studying Jiang Cheng’s face intently. “You’ve lost so much weight. These past months… you’ve suffered so much. You need to eat something.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed hard, glancing down. “I’m fine-”

“Don’t lie to me,” his father interrupted, his voice stern, and Jiang Cheng flinched, glancing back at him. His heart stopped beating.

There were tears on his father’s cheeks.

His father was crying.

“I have eyes, A-Cheng,” he whispered. “I can see you. So do not lie to me, now.” He held the bowl out again. “Just a few mouthfuls. Please.”

Hands trembling, Jiang Cheng reached out and took the bowl. There was something comforting about the warmth on his hands, and he raised the bowl to his lips, taking a small sip. It wasn’t Yanli’s cooking, but it still tasted of home, and tears sprung to Jiang Cheng’s eyes. He managed several more mouthfuls before his stomach protested, and he lowered the bowl.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, and his father shook his head, taking the bowl and setting it down on the floor.

“There’s no need for that,” he said heavily, looking over at Wei Wuxian. He sighed. “Your mother wishes to come and see you.” Jiang Cheng flinched, pain dashing across his chest, but before he could say anything his father continued. “I will not allow her in the same room as A-Xian. Not until he’s well enough to decide if he wants to see her. If you want to see her, of course you may go to her – but I told her that the decision is yours. She will not ambush you here.”

There was a fierce bitterness to Jiang Fengmian’s voice, and Jiang Cheng realised that his childhood perceptions had been wrong. His father hadn’t hated his mother before.

He did now.

Still… his own feelings towards his mother were far too complicated, too painful – something to unravel later. For now, all he could think, all he could say was, “Good.”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Fengmian paused, clearly weighing his words. “Can you tell me what happened?”

It was a vague question, but Jiang Cheng knew what it meant.

“Did she not tell you?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“She did,” Jiang Fengmian said softly. “But I would hear it from you, if you are able to tell me. And I – I would know what happened afterwards.”

Jiang Cheng hesitated, meeting his father’s eye.

And then he couldn’t keep it in any longer.

The words poured out of him with an unstoppable force as he told his father everything, from the negotiations with Wang Lingjiao to the supervisory office at the Qiu house, to his desperate flights to Qinghe, to Gusu –

A lump grew in his throat as he told his father of the help he’d received, of Lan Wangji and Wen Ning and Wen Qing, and guilt twisted in his gut as he confessed his failure to keep his brother safe –

Even as tears choked him, Jiang Cheng kept going, telling his father of how Wen Chao had recaptured them –

Of the Burial Mounds -

Of Qishan –

But there, for the first time, Jiang Cheng became stuck. Describing the horrors that had been inflicted on Wei Wuxian and on Wangji was one thing, but when it came what he himself had endured in the dungeons… how was he supposed to say any of it out loud, let alone to his father?

How was he supposed to –

He couldn’t.

Instead, he skirted around the topic, stammering on before his father could ask any follow-up questions. In another life, he would also have kept secret the way his brother’s demonic cultivation saved them from Nightless City, but after the battle at Lotus Pier there was no point.  

He didn’t mention Xiaoshou, though. Even if his father was unlikely to condemn Wei Wuxian, it felt like the demonic hand might be pushing things too far. Other than that, Jiang Cheng told his father the truth about their flight from Qishan, about the inn in Yiling, about hearing of the attack on Lotus Pier –

About Wei Wuxian trapping Jiang Cheng and Wangji on the boat, and charging into battle alone.

“…eventually the spirit net fell,” he croaked, “but by the time we made it to Lotus Pier the battle was over. We only, only arrived a few minutes before you did.”

He glanced up at his father to find Jiang Fengmian staring at him, unmoving. The pain in his eyes was so deep you might drown in it, and Jiang Cheng felt his stomach churn. He lowered his eyes again.

“I’m sorry, A-Die…”

“Sorry?” his father choked, eyes widening. “What – A-Cheng, what could you possibly think you have to apologise for?”

“I left without permission. I endangered our clan. And I couldn’t – I couldn’t…” Jiang Cheng’s failure stuck in his throat, ad he swallowed hard. “I couldn’t save him. I just made more trouble, and I got Wangji captured. I couldn’t even help-”

“A-Cheng!” Jiang Fengmian put a hand on Jiang Cheng’s knee, and he stiffened in surprise. “How could you have – what else do you think you could have done? You did rescue A-Xian – how could you possibly have known that Wen Chao had such means to track you afterwards? No sane person would ever keep hold of a severed hand.”

Jiang Cheng thought of Xiaoshou and grimaced. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t actually sure where the little hand was – he hadn’t seen it since the boat.

“A-Cheng,” his father said again, stealing Jiang Cheng’s attention. Jiang Fengmian moved his hand to his shoulder, squeezing it gently. “A-Cheng, you have nothing to be sorry for. I am proud of you.”

Jiang Cheng blinked. This had to be – was he dreaming? Catching his expression, his father looked even more pained.

“I am so proud,” he said quietly, “and I am sorry, A-Cheng. I am so sorry you did not feel that you could wait for me.” Jiang Cheng’s breath caught in his throat, and he shook his head, but his father squeezed his shoulder. “A-Die is sorry, A-Cheng.”

Something inside him broke, and Jiang Cheng burst into tears. Shame burnt his cheeks and churned in his stomach, but before it could truly take hold his father shifted, pulling Jiang Cheng into his arms. He held him close, almost painfully close, and Jiang Cheng sobbed, hiding his face against his father’s chest like a baby.

“I’m so sorry you’ve suffered so much,” Jiang Fengmian murmured, his own voice thick with tears. “But it’s over now, A-Cheng. It’s over. You’re home, and A-Xian and A-Li are home, and they’ll be okay. You’re all going to be okay, now. A-Die will make sure of it.”

A keen escaped Jiang Cheng’s throat before he could stop it, but his father only rubbed his back gently. For the first time in months, a crushing weight lifted from Jiang Cheng’s shoulders. He didn’t need to know what to do anymore.

“It’s alright,” his father continued, even as his voice broke. “Everything’s going to be alright now.”

Jiang Cheng let out a small wail, clinging tighter to his father. He cried until his strength was gone, and he had no more tears to shed. By the time he finished, it was starting to get dark, and he finally pulled away from his father’s arms, wiping his cheeks with his sleeve.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Do not be,” Jiang Fengmian said gruffly. “None of this is your fault, A-Cheng. I… I have made many mistakes. Many. For a time, I was afraid they had cost me your lives.” He glanced down at Wei Wuxian and Yanli, and his voice grew quieter, almost fragile. “They almost did. I will not make the same mistakes again. I swear it.”

Jiang Cheng had no idea what to say to that, but he was spared answering by a soft knock at the door. They looked up to see Liu Chen at the door, a tray balanced on his hand. The man looked utterly exhausted, with dark circles beneath his eyes that almost rivalled Wei Wuxian’s. Jiang Fengmian cleared his throat and stood up.

“Daifu,” he greeted.

“Apologies for interrupting, Zongzhu,” said Liu Chen with a bow. “I just need to check in on Jiang-guniang and Wei-gongzi. It’s time for their medicine.”

“Of course,” Jiang Fengmian said, inclining his head. “Please, go ahead.”

Liu Chen nodded, heading to Yanli first. Jiang Cheng watched anxiously as the doctor took his sister’s pulse, but then Liu Chen smiled, albeit weakly.

“She is doing well,” he said warmly. “Given her constitution, her recovery is likely to be slow, but steady. Already her pulse is stronger, and she has recovered a small amount of spiritual energy. That will help her. By tomorrow, perhaps the day after that, we will be able to wake her.”

Relief flooded through Jiang Cheng so strongly that he could barely breathe, let alone thank the doctor, but his father was here now, and Jiang Fengmian answered for the both of them.

“That is a relief to hear,” he breathed, bowing. “Thank you, Liu-daifu. Thank you.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” Liu Chen said, administering another vial of medicine. “If Guniang and Gongzi recover, that is all the thanks I need.” He paused, glancing up at Jiang Fengmian. “She did exceptionally well in your absence, Jiang-zongzhu. Without her, I fear even Wei-gongzi would have been too late to save Lotus Pier.”

Jiang Cheng swallowed hard, staring at his sister. It still made his head spin, the knowledge that Jiang Yanli had chosen to be on the battlefield, that she’d taken up her sword even knowing it would likely lead to her death –

It shouldn’t be surprising, but he still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Not when he’d so nearly lost her.  

“I do not doubt it,” said Jiang Fengmian warmly, though his voice was also pained. “I left Lotus Pier in her hands for a reason. I only wish it did not cost her so dearly.”

Liu Chen nodded. “But she will recover, Zongzhu. I am sure of that.”

Jiang Fengmian nodded, following the doctor as he moved around to Wei Wuxian. Jiang Cheng reached out, smoothing the blankets over his sister and squeezing her hand for a moment. Then he tucked it under the blankets too, turning to watch Liu Chen take Wei Wuxian’s pulse.

This time, the doctor did not smile, and Jiang Cheng’s blood ran cold.

“Daifu?” Jiang Fengmian asked, when the silence went on for too long.

“The damage Wei-gongzi has suffered is extensive,” Liu Chen said quietly. “His spiritual energy is still dangerously unbalanced. Lan-er-gongzi’s playing was invaluable, and it is clear Wei-gongzi is fighting, but… I cannot say that he is out of danger. Especially…” his eyes sidled towards Wangji, and he winced. “It was this one’s fault for failing to realise how much energy Lan-er-gongzi was expelling. I should not have let him exhaust himself, and I fear they may both suffer for it. But he has made it this far, and that is no bad thing.” As he spoke, the doctor poured a vial of medicine into Wei Wuxian’s mouth, tilting his head back and watching carefully as he swallowed. “We will know more tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Jiang Fengmian said, his voice rougher this time.

Finally, Liu Chen moved around to Wangji, taking his pulse, too.

“Lan-er-gongzi is just exhausted,” he said. “I would be surprised if he does not wake soon. I do not believe he’s in any real danger.”

“That is a relief,” Jiang Fengmian said. “Thank you.”

Liu Chen just shook his head, sighing. Then, he looked at Jiang Cheng.

“I’m fine,” Jiang Cheng said reflexively, and both his father and the doctor stared at him. “I’m fine,” he repeated more strongly. “Wei Wuxian already – I’m fine.”

“Very well,” said Liu Chen, bowing. “I will not overstep. But I must advise you eat something, Jiang-gongzi, and get some proper rest.” He nodded towards the empty bed on the other side of Yanli’s. Jiang Cheng glanced away, but his eyes caught on the now-cold soup bowl, and he grimaced.

“Thank you,” Jiang Fengmian said. “We will take your advice. Please ask the kitchens to send A-Cheng a proper meal.”

“Of course, Jiang-zongzhu.” The doctor left, and Jiang Fengmian sighed as he did.

“I’m afraid I must go, too,” he said heavily. “There is still much to do. When the food comes, please eat a little, A-Cheng. You need to rebuild your strength.”

Jiang Cheng nodded. Somewhere between telling his father what had happened and sobbing like a baby in his arms, the knots in Jiang Cheng’s stomach had unravelled. He was still afraid, and it still hurt, but it felt… easier, somehow. Lighter.

He felt like he might actually be able to eat a little.

Jiang Fengmian nodded, squeezing A-Xian’s hand and kissing Yanli’s forehead. Then, he squeezed Jiang Cheng’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back before bedtime,” he promised. “If you need anything, call for it.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, and his father left the room. Just a few minutes later, Liu-shidi came by with a tray of food, worry carved deep into his little face as he glanced at Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli. Somehow, when his eyes fell on Jiang Cheng they lit up a little, and he hurried forward.

“Shixiong,” he said hurriedly, rushing over with the tray. “You’ve come back! Here, here…”

Jiang Cheng took the tray gratefully, setting it on his lap. “We have.”

Liu-shidi hesitated, glancing down at the floor and twisting his hands in his sleeves. “I’m sorry, Gongzi… about the kite, and-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng scolded, and his shidi’s cheeks flared pink. “That wasn’t your fault, and you know it.”

But Liu-shidi bit his lip, glancing at Wei Wuxian. “But… Da-shixiong…”

“If Da-shixiong hears you blaming yourself for this, he’ll throw you into the lake,” Jiang Cheng warned, reaching out and squeezing the boy’s wrist. “It’s not your fault, Shidi. Really.”

So many people could be blamed for what had happened, but Liu-shidi was absolutely not one of them.

The boy gave a hesitant smile. “I’m really glad you’re home, Shixiong.”

And despite everything, Jiang Cheng was able to offer a small smile back. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

 Lan Wangji muddled awake slowly, blinking open sleep-sticky eyes to reveal the blurred image of a dim, unfamiliar room. His mind felt uncomfortably foggy, and for a moment he couldn’t figure out where he was, or why he felt like he’d just run a thousand miles, why there was such an ache in his core –

Then it all crashed into him like an avalanche. He breathed in sharply, sitting bolt upright, but the motion made his head spin violently, the world before him losing focus again as it blurred before his eyes. His pulse ran thrummed through his veins too fast, too shallow, and he raised a heavy hand to rub his eyes –

“Ah, Lan-er-gongzi,” said an unfamiliar voice, low and almost soothing. “Don’t be afraid. You’re safe here.”

Heart catching in his throat, Wangji squinted, trying to force his eyes to focus –

But even as he turned towards the voice, as his vision began to clear, a thrill of horror distracted him. His heartbeat grew faster, more frantic, and he looked around frantically. He needed to know, he needed –

Where was –  

His heart stopped.

There was a bed beside his. Wei Ying was lying in it.

Still as a corpse.

Pale as a corpse.

It wasn’t enough, a terrified voice whispered in the back of his mind. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t –

“Lan-er-gongzi,” the man said again, gently insistent this time. “A-Xian is breathing. He is safe. A-Cheng is safe. You are all safe, now.”

Lan Wangji wasn’t sure he believed in safe anymore.

The Cloud Recesses had been safe, but then they had been raided and burnt by Wen Xu’s forces before Wangji’s very eyes. The Cold Caves had been safe, but then Su She betrayed their secrets, sacrificing their people to save his own skin.

Once, there had been people that made Lan Wangji feel safe. His uncle. His brother. Wei Ying. But now, which of them had Wangji not seen bleed? He had been reminded violently of their mortality again and again, had been reminded that they could be torn from him at any moment –

How could Lan Wangji believe in safe, anymore?

Tears threatened to blur his vision once more, but Wangji blinked them back, staring at Wei Ying’s chest. True to the man’s words, Wei Ying’s chest was rising and falling – too shallow and slow to comfort Wangji fully, but steady and rhythmic enough to assure him that there was no immediate danger that it would stop.

Drawing as deep a breath as he could, Wangji tore his eyes away from Wei Ying to glance around the room. There were two other beds on the other side of Wei Ying’s, and to Wangji’s faint surprise Jiang Yanli was in one of them, either asleep or unconscious. The other bed was empty, but after a beat Wangji spied Jiang Cheng slumped against the wall between his siblings’ beds, also fast asleep. A pillow had been slotted behind his head, and a pile of blankets had been tucked up around him.

Finally, Lan Wangji turned his attention to the speaker, seeing Jiang Fengmian standing at the end of his bed. Despite everything, Lan Wangji felt a flutter of shame at his rudeness, especially in the face of a sect leader, and he made to rise so that he could bow, but Jiang Fengmian hurried forward, holding out a hand.

“Ah, please Lan-er-gongzi, there’s no need,” he said, stopping short of actually touching Wangji. His expression was far more open than Wangji was used to seeing from a man of his authority, the gaze both exceedingly gentle and exceptionally sad. “You’ve exhausted yourself quite thoroughly – it will take some time to recover your strength.” He reached towards a small table between Wangji and Wei Ying’s beds, pouring a small cup of tea and passing it to Wangji.

Lan Wangji stared at the cup, and then back at Jiang Fengmian, struggling to make his voice work. “Thank you.”

Jiang Fengmian seemed to wince. “There’s no need for that, either,” he said softly. “Welcome to Lotus Pier, Lan-er-gongzi. I wish it was under better circumstances.”

A lump rose in Wangji’s throat, and he bowed his head, using it as an excuse to look away.

“Lan Zhan, have you ever been to Yunmeng? There are lots of fun things to do there – there’s great food… How about this, if you ever come to Lotus Pier, I will pick lotus for you.”

Never.

That had been Wangji’s reply. He’d been so frustrated by Wei Ying’s frivolity and recklessness and beauty, and he had been such a fool.

His gaze was pulled inescapably back to Wei Ying, the lump in his throat growing more painful by the second.

I’m here, he thought. I came. Aren’t you going to hold up your end of the deal? You need to wake up to pick lotus for me.

He swallowed, turning his attention back to the tea and raising the cup to his lips. The blend was far finer than anything Wangji had tasted for months – the inn in Yiling had good food and decent tea, but nothing of the quality a great sect could afford. If grief and fear were not such a crushing weight on his chest, Wangji would have enjoyed it greatly.

When he finished the cup, he glanced around again swiftly, before turning his eyes back to Jiang Fengmian. “Where is the guqin?” he asked, his voice coarse and painful. “I will play for Wei Ying.”

Jiang Fengmian smiled sadly. “I’m afraid I cannot allow that. Not today. You’ve already given A-Xian all the energy you have to spare – if you give any more you may not survive it.” Wangji’s throat tightened, but before he could protest, Jiang Fengmian continued. “When you have regained your strength, I would be most grateful if you played for him again. But while I know little of musical cultivation, I am aware that the musician must have energy to use for it to be effective at all.”

Lan Wangji lowered his eyes. Jiang Fengmian was not wrong – Wangji felt as though the strength he had regained over the last week had almost entirely drained away, and he hated it.

“Lan-er-gongzi,” Jiang Fengmian said solemnly, and when Wangji glanced back at him the clan leader bowed low. Shocked, Wangji’s eyes widened, but before he could react Jiang Fengmian continued, “Yunmeng Jiang owes you a great debt for all you have done for A-Xian and A-Cheng. You have our deepest gratitude.”

Shame burnt Wangji’s ears, and he lowered his gaze once more. “I…am not worthy.”

“Lan-er-gongzi, you chose to accompany A-Cheng when no one else would, on a mission that not only did not involve you, but put both yourself and your clan in considerable danger. You have suffered deeply for it, and just last night you played for A-Xian with no regard to your own wellbeing,” Jiang Fengmian said, but though his voice was gentle, his words only added to Wangji’s guilt.

“I could not help,” he protested hoarsely, the weight of his failure crushing down on him. “I was unable to protect Wei Ying or Jiang Cheng from Wen Chao. I failed to stop them throwing Wei Ying to the Burial Mounds. I failed to assist in the escape from Qishan. I could not-” his voice cracked. “I could not heal Wei Ying.”

For a long moment, Jiang Fengmian said nothing. Then, he said, “Lan Wangji… Liu Chen told me if you had not played for A-Xian last night, he would be dead.” Wangji’s heart seized, and he looked up sharply. Jiang Fengmian met his gaze, his expression wrought with grief – and set in resolve. “There was no doubt in his mind. A-Xian would not have survived without you. That in itself is a debt so great I may never be able to repay it. And yet even before then… you helped A-Cheng when he had nowhere else to turn. You came willingly, with no threat or promise of reward. It was not your fault that you were captured – that is no one’s fault but Wen Chao. If you choose to believe that you have failed, Lan-er-gongzi, that is your prerogative. However, that does not erase our gratitude, and it does not erase our debt.”

Wangji stared at Jiang Fengmian, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying, let alone react to it. Wangji could not bring himself to believe the man’s words, but nevertheless they seemed to have eased just a fraction of the weight on Wangji’s chest sense.

After a moment, Jiang Fengmian smiled. It was a warm smile, gentle and – bizarrely – fond.

“It is a lot to talk about when you’ve just woken up,” he said. “I’ll have someone bring you something to eat shortly. If you’d like to refresh yourself, there’s fresh water in the basin through there,” he pointed to a screened off portion of the room to other side of Wangji’s bed. “I’ve had some clean clothes set out for you – I’m afraid they’re not quite your colours, but they should do. Oh!” His eyes widened for a moment as he remembered something, and then Jiang Fengmian’s smile became even gentler. “I meant to tell you – I’ve sent word to your brother, and to your uncle. I’m afraid it’s unlikely Lan Qiren will be able to leave the frontlines at present, but I expect your brother will be here soon – perhaps as early as tomorrow.”

Wangji’s heart rose, hope and relief flooding through him strong enough to steal his breath. Perhaps it made him childish, but he didn’t care.

His brother knew where he was.

His Xiongzhang was coming.

“Thank you,” he said thickly, remembering his manners several beats too late, but Jiang Fengmian only smiled and shook his head.

“I’ll give you some privacy to freshen up.”

With that, the man glanced over Wei Ying and his siblings, and then slipped out of the room.

Wangji swallowed, his own gaze moving to Wei Ying once more.

A-Xian would not have survived without you.

The words tolled through Wangji’s chest like a death sentence, and he slipped out of bed, kneeling beside Wei Ying and taking his wrist. Given how deathly pale and still Wei Ying was, Wangji expected him to be cold as a corpse as well, but Wei Ying’s skin was still unsettlingly warm. The blistering torrent of spiritual energy was slower, but it was still there. Still hurting him.

Lan Wangji’s lip quivered, and he closed his eyes, squeezing Wei Ying’s hand.

Then he froze.

He hadn’t –

From the moment he started to play Cleansing, Lan Wangji hadn’t thought once about the little demon in his pocket. The spell might not have been enough to heal Wei Ying, but Wangji hadn’t thought to shield Xiaoshou from its effects –

It was possible it had done great harm to the demon.

And Wangji hadn’t felt it move since he woke up.

Dread shuddering through him, Wangji reached slowly into his pocket, his fingers brushing that corpse-cold skin –

And Xiaoshou shifted, twisting around slowly to stroke the back of Wangji’s hand with his thumb. Its movements felt slow, and weak, but they were there, and Wangji exhaled a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He squeezed the hand in his pocket, squeezed the hand still attached to Wei Ying. Only the former squeezed back, and the motion was painfully weak.

Swallowing, Wangji hung his head, and as he did his eye caught on his robes. His stomach churned. Dried blood covered his front, though it was camouflaged far better by his borrowed brown robes than it would be his usual attire. He glanced at Wei Ying for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered, pulling himself away to duck around the screen. As soon as he was safely out of view of the doors and windows, he pulled Xiaoshou out of his pocket, resting it on his palm. The little demon sluggishly pulled itself upright, giving half a wave before collapsing back down onto Wangji’s palm.

Alarm spiked through him. “Are you hurt?”

Xiaoshou curled its fingers up towards its palm, shifting left to right in a ‘no’ motion, but Wangji pursed his lips.

“You are not well,” he insisted, and the little hand hesitated. “Is this… my fault? Did Cleansing hurt you?”

Xiaoshou shook back and forth in denial again, but it was too fast to be convincing.

“I’m sorry,” Wangji said. “I didn’t consider it. I did not mean to harm you.”

Xiaoshou hesitated for a moment, and then wrapped around Wangji’s hand. Suddenly, Wangji heard the familiar notes of Cleansing, and an overwhelming sense of bone-deep exhaustion flooded his mind. Somehow, he knew it was not his own fatigue – it was somehow heavier, and yet frighteningly frail in the same moment, as though it would take every ounce of strength in his body to move, and the effort would shatter his bones into thousands of pieces.

Then Xiaoshou let go, and as abruptly as it arrived the sensation vanished.

Wangji stared down at the demon as it curled its fingers back towards its palm, pressing down as though trying to nestle into Wangji’s hand.

“It tired you,” Wangji surmised. “Weakened you.” Xiaoshou bobbed up and down, and Wangji felt a pang of guilt. “I am sorry.”

Xiaoshou rose a little, shaking back and forth in a ‘no’ motion before wrapping around Wangji’s hand again and squeezing gently. There was no wave of emotion this time, but somehow Wangji still knew with bone-deep certainty that the demon meant to say, ‘It’s alright.’

A pang of sadness shot across Wangji’s chest. Was there no part of Wei Ying that didn’t think it could be harmed at will by those who should protect it?

“My concern was Wei Ying,” he said quietly. “Without Cleansing, he would-” His throat closed. He couldn’t say it.

And he didn’t need to – Xiaoshou nodded earnestly, its thumb rubbing comforting circles onto the back of Wangji’s hands.

Maybe… maybe Wangji was wrong. Maybe it was not simply that Xiaoshou thought itself expendable, but instead…

“You care for Wei Ying?” Wangji asked, and Xiaoshou nodded even more fervently. A huge swell of fondness rose in Wangji, and he nodded, his next words so quiet even he could barely hear them. “Me too.”

Xiaoshou hugged his hand, and Wangji squeezed back.

A thought struck him.

“You are a demon – do you feed on resentment?”

Xiaoshou made an odd little shrugging motion, and Wangji frowned. The hand was always quite clear when answering ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ but this was a little more muddled.

“Sometimes?” he guessed, and Xiaoshou nodded. Wangji’s hope rose. “There is still resentment in Wei Ying’s system – it is still causing damage. Can you draw it out of him? It may also help you regain your own strength.” Even before Wangji added the last sentence, the hand drew itself up in interest, using a single finger to trace a few characters onto Wangji’s palm.

Will try

Wangji nodded, hope sparking in his stomach. “Remember to stay hidden,” he instructed. “I will join you in a moment.”

Xiaoshou saluted, and then tumbled off of Wangji’s hand, plummeting towards the ground like a stone. Alarmed, Wangji caught it before it could hit the floor, and the hand turned back as though looking at him.

“Be careful,” Wangji whispered, lowering it to the ground, and the hand nodded, scuttling off around the screen.

As swiftly as he could, Wangji cleaned up and changed his robes, pausing only when his eyes caught sight of a comb sat beside the basin.

“Honestly… your hair is so well behaved! Mine takes ages to comb properly even when it’s been washed, but yours… What’s your secret Lan Zhan? Hm?”

With a trembling hand, Wangji took the comb, brushing his hair as quickly as he could. It felt embarrassingly inappropriate to keep it down, but there was nothing there to tie his hair back with, and even if there was, his arms felt weak from the effort of simply brushing it.

Feeling slightly exposed and a little uncomfortable, Wangji made his way back around the screen. The room seemed uncomfortably still.

“Xiaoshou?” he whispered, and the blankets on Wei Ying’s bed shifted, rising up at the side to reveal Xiaoshou peeking out from beside Wei Ying’s arm. Wangji nodded, and the demon disappeared beneath the blankets once more.

Feeling a little at a loss of what to do, Lan Wangji sat back down on his own bed. He wanted to sit at Wei Ying’s side, to hold his hand –

But it wasn’t his place.

It would have to be enough be here.

He settled in to meditate, but it was difficult to focus, and his concentration was soon broken by a quiet knock at the door, and a disciple ducking in to deliver Wangji a tray of food. She did not linger, instead passing Wangji the tray and asking if he needed anything else, before hurrying out as soon as he’d declined. It was understandable, of course. Lotus Pier had just suffered a violent attack – that any of their people were taking time out of their day to wait on Lan Wangji was more than he could ask for.

He ate in silence, feeling strangely alone. Lan Wangji had always been used to being on his own, had always found comfort in it, but now… now, there were three others in the room with him, and the distant bustle of people outside, and Wangji felt achingly lonely.

He tried to tear his mind away from his thoughts, turning his attention instead to the food, but that didn’t help much. It was a little too spicy for his tastes – edible, but only just. Beneath the heat was a dizzying array of flavours – none of them unpleasant, but together they were overwhelming, and it was a chore to finish the bowl. Despite his manners, Wangji would not have finished it if it wasn’t for his desperation to regain his strength as quickly as possible.

When he had eaten, Wangji returned to trying to meditate, though he didn’t have much success. His mind kept scuttling back to reality, alarming him into opening his eyes and checking that Wei Ying was still breathing. After a few hours of this, Jiang Cheng yawned awake. It took only a moment for the sleepy confusion on his face to disappear, replaced by panic as he looked between his siblings, taking first his sister’s pulse, then his brother’s.

Only then did he look up at Wangji, and his shoulders slumped. “You’re awake,” he croaked, and Wangji inclined his head. Jiang Cheng pursed his lips. “Are… are you okay? Last night, you…”

“I am fine,” Wangji said quietly, as though he didn’t feel as weak as a child.

Jiang Cheng nodded slowly, glancing over Wangji’s new robes. “Have you eaten?”

“Mn.”

“Good… that’s good.” Jiang Cheng sank back against the wall for a moment, rubbing his eyes. Then he stiffened, sitting up straight and lowering his voice. “Have you seen the hand? Xiaoshou?”

Even as Wangji nodded, the little demon flicked the blankets off of itself, hovering in the air to wave at Jiang Cheng. Its flight only lasted a second, but it looked a good sign to Wangji that it had enough energy to do so. He reached out, carefully covering the demon with the blanket once more.

“It should not be seen,” he said, and Jiang Cheng nodded gravely.

“No, it shouldn’t.” He paused. “I’m… strangely relieved it’s okay.”

“Mn…”

Clearly, the schedule at Lotus Pier aligned far more closely with Jiang Cheng’s body clock than it did Wangji’s. Not long after Jiang Cheng woke, the disciple who’d delivered Wangji’s breakfast returned with a tray of food and the doctor, Liu Chen, in tow.

Lan Wangji averted his eyes while the doctor looked over Jiang Yanli, checking her pulse and her wound and administering medicine, but when the man turned to Wei Ying, Wangji couldn’t look away. He realised too late that to take Wei Ying’s pulse, Liu Chen would lift the covers, but mercifully the doctor chose Wei Ying’s left arm. For now, Xiaoshou remained hidden.

Surprise coloured the doctor’s face, and Wangji’s heart stuttered in his chest. Liu Chen put the back of his hand on Wei Ying’s forehead, and then gave a small twitch of a smile.

“What is it?” Jiang Cheng asked urgently. “Is he okay?”

“I don’t know how, but the levels of resentment in his system have fallen dramatically overnight,” Liu Chen said, shaking his head slowly. “More than I would have thought possible.” He looked up at Wangji, his smile growing. “It must be residual from your playing, Lan-er-gongzi. We owe you even greater thanks than I first thought.” He bowed low, and guilt burnt through Wangji’s gut.

It was not residual from Cleansing – there may have been lingering results, but they would have been mild, and Wangji felt Wei Ying’s pulse this morning. But Lan Wangji couldn’t say ‘In truth, it is the work of a demon,’ so he held his tongue, standing up to return the doctor’s bow.

“Oh, no, please Lan-er-gongzi, there’s no need for that,” the doctor said, almost scoldingly, as though he had not just bowed yourself. “This is a sickroom, there’s no need for you to stand on such formalities. Please, sit down.”

It seemed as though the doctor’s words were meant to soothe, but Wangji only felt more unsettled as he obeyed. Of course, Gusu would not ask the wounded to risk harming themselves for the sake of propriety, but it would never be dismissed in so casual a way, not outside of immediate family.

After a few more minutes of fussing over Wei Ying, the doctor approached Wangji, bowing his head. Unsure of how to react, Wangji remained still.

“May I take your pulse, Lan-er-gongzi?” Liu Chen asked, and Wangji nodded, raising his wrist without compliant. Contrary to his reaction to Wei Ying, the doctor winced. “Ah, I feared as much… I’m afraid you’ve greatly depleted your energy reserves, Lan-er-gongzi. Here, I’ll give you something for the pain nausea.”

Wangji blinked, his lips parting to deny that he was nauseous, but before he could speak he realised that he actually was. He hadn’t noticed it, or even the continued aching of his wounds, beneath his fear for Wei Ying and his own exhaustion. The doctor passed him a small vial.

“Here, drink this.” When Wangji had done so, the doctor passed him a small pill. “This will help restore your energy faster.”

Wangji took it quickly, bowing his head. “Thank you.”

To his surprise, the doctor clicked his tongue. “No need for that, Lan-er-gongzi. We are the ones that should be thanking you.” He looked towards Wei Ying with unmistakeable fondness, and Wangji’s heart raised just a fraction.

The day passed slowly, long moments of stillness and quiet broken by the visits of the doctor and Jiang Fengmian, and occasionally other disciples or servants bringing more food or medicine.

Around mid-afternoon, Xiaoshou scuttled out from beneath the blankets, scurrying over to Wangji.  

“Are you well?” Wangji murmured, and Jiang Cheng looked over quickly. Xiaoshou nodded absently, pulling at Wangji’s robes and letting itself back into his pocket. Hesitantly, Wangji put his own hand in after it.

Xiaoshou felt a little warmer now, and at Wangji’s touch it flipped over, sketching a single character onto his palm.

Full

With that, it snuggled closer and curled up into a loose fist, giving Wangji the bizarre impression of a cat curling up after a feast, sated and content.

Strangely buoyed by the thought, Wangji slipped off the bed, crossing to Wei Ying and taking his pulse. There was still a faint shadow of resentment tainting his spiritual energy, but it was minimal, now. Unfortunately, though Wei Ying’s own qi was still erratic and unsettled, it was also far weaker than it should be.

Pursing his lips, Lan Wangji studied Wei Ying’s face, trying to see if there was any change. There was still no colour in his cheeks, though the hue of his skin was perhaps a little less ashen than before.

“Is everything okay?” Jiang Cheng asked, suspicion and concern creeping into his voice.

“Mn,” Wangji said non-committedly. “The resentment is all but gone. He is still very weak.”

Jiang Cheng sighed, running his hands through his hair. “That’s something, isn’t it? It can’t be a bad thing if the resentful energy is gone.”

Wangji wanted to agree, but he was too scared to hope. Almost unconsciously, his fingers shifted from Wei Ying’s wrist towards his palm. He just wanted to hold Wei Ying’s hand, to offer some small modicum of comfort –

For who? A voice in his mind thought scathingly. Is it Wei Ying you want to comfort or yourself? This is not your place.

He heard footsteps outside and snatched his hand back as Jiang Fengmian and Liu Chen entered the room. This time, Wangji was already standing, so he took the opportunity to bow. But Liu Chen returned the bow far deeper than should, and though Jiang Fengmian bowed his head in reply, he also gave a sad smile, as though Wangji had disappointed him somehow. Uncertainty fluttered through Wangji’s stomach.

“Please don’t stand on ceremony on our account, Lan-er-gongzi,” said the doctor, gesturing to Wangji’s bed. “Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable.”

Feeling even more out of place, Wangji sat down. This time, the doctor turned his attention to Wei Ying first, studying his vitals and slipping a pill between his lips before turning to Jiang Fengmian.

“He isn’t out of the woods, but he’s in a far better state than he was yesterday,” Liu Chen said. “At the very least he is no longer hammering on death’s door.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Jiang Cheng asked urgently, and Wangji looked quickly at the doctor.

“I’m afraid it’s too early to tell if he will make a full recovery,” Liu Chen said carefully. “We don’t know the extent of the damage caused, and the resentment lingering in his system was only part of the issue. If we are lucky, Wei-gongzi will continue to fight, and he’ll wake in the next few days. If he does not, he may begin to deteriorate again. For now, at least, his condition is stable.”

“After last night, I will take ‘stable’ gratefully,” said Jiang Fengmian, reaching down to brush Wei Ying’s hair away from his face. “Keep it up, A-Xian. You’re doing so well…”

Wangji’s throat tightened, and he glanced away. The interaction did not feel like his to see.

“He is,” said the doctor with a fond, weary smile, turning his attention to Jiang Yanli. After a few minutes of examining Yanli and administering medicines, he stood up with a weary smile. “Jiang-guniang is also doing well. I imagine she will wake soon. Perhaps even tonight, though tomorrow is more likely.”

“Thank god,” Jiang Cheng breathed, and Jiang Fengmian reached out to squeeze his son’s shoulder.

“Yes,” he said heavily, “and thank you Daifu.”

Wangji felt a little of the tension leave his shoulders. Though he did not know Jiang Yanli well, he liked her, and what was more he knew how much her brothers adored her. If her injuries worsened, Wei Ying would be devastated.

A thought struck Wangji like a dart to his sternum, unease creeping through his chest. He should have realised it sooner, and guilt squirmed in his gut that he hadn’t – but he didn’t know Jiang Yanli well, and more importantly, she did not know him.

Wangji knew little of women, but did know that most would find it exceedingly uncomfortable to wake up with a strange man in their room even at the best of times. Right now, Jiang Yanli was wounded, and weakened – surely such discomfort would only be worse?

The honourable thing to do – the right thing to do – would be to ask for alternate lodgings, but…

If he did…

He glanced at Wei Ying, his heart twisting at the thought of leaving his side. Even if his condition was stable, even if Xiaoshou could warn him of any changes, the idea of leaving went against every instinct Wangji had.

But what grounds did he have to stay? He was not family.

It was not right.

Besides, said a voice in the back of his mind, strangely like his uncle’s, it’s not like the Jiang will throw you from Lotus Pier altogether. The least you can do is suggest it.

“Lan-er-gongzi?”

Wangji looked up sharply to see Jiang Fengmian, Jiang Cheng and the doctor staring at him. It was the doctor who had spoken, and he bowed.

“Lan-er-gongzi, how are you feeling?” 

Wangji swallowed, offering his wrist as the doctor approached. “Well. Thank you.” In truth he felt little better than he had earlier in the day, though the medicine had successfully chased the nausea away.

After taking his pulse for a moment, the doctor nodded gravely. “You’ve recovered a little energy, though it looks likely it will take at least two or three days before you recover enough to play.” Wangji’s stomach swooped unpleasantly. “Please don’t look so alarmed, Lan-er-gongzi – you’ve already helped Wei-gongzi’s recover enough strength to tide him over.”

Wangji inclined his head, and the doctor stepped back with a satisfied nod.

“Very well. If you’ll all forgive me, I have other patients to attend to.”

“Of course, of course,” said Jiang Fengmian, bowing as the doctor left the room.  

Steeling himself, Wangji spoke.

“Jiang-zongzhu… Jiang-Guniang… would it not be disconcerting for her, if she awakes to a stranger in her bedroom?”

Jiang Fengmian’s eyes widened in surprise, as though the thought had just occurred to him, but then his expression softened into a smile. “You are not a stranger, Lan-er-gongzi, and more importantly this is not a bedroom, it is a sickroom. The fact that you care to raise the subjects tells me that there is nothing inappropriate about you staying. But of course, if you are uncomfortable, we can certainly make more suitable arrangements.” He paused for a moment, his expression becoming wry. “My apologies, Lan-er-gongzi – it was remiss of me to forget that the Lan prefer more private accommodation. Hopefully you can forgive me, given the circumstances. We will find you something more suitable – in fact, there is an adjoining room to this one we can prepare for you for tonight, if you wish.”

A lump rose in Wangji’s throat, but he forced himself to nod. As much as he wanted to cling to the first part of Jiang Fengmian’s answer, he knew that the second half was not actually a question.

“There’s no need to apologise,” he said, bowing. “Jiang-zongzhu had more urgent priorities. If it is no trouble…”

“You’re too kind. And it’s no trouble at all. Of course, you’re more than welcome to stay here throughout the day,” Jiang Fengmian said, a smile on his lips that looked strangely fond. “We will have the room sorted for you by the evening.”

Wangji nodded, trying to remember to be grateful.

“Sorry,” Jiang Cheng muttered, when his father and the doctor had gone. “I didn’t think about the fact you’d want some privacy.”

“It is fine,” Lan Wangji said softly, biting back his own regret. “I am not offended.”

“I guess I forgot A-Jie doesn’t know you as well,” Jiang Cheng murmured, squeezing his sister’s hand.

“Mn,” Wangji agreed. It was for the best. It had to be. But as evening rolled into night, and Jiang Fengmian showed Wangji into the adjoining room, it was difficult not to regret the choice to leave Wei Ying’s side.

The room was pleasant enough, though much smaller than the other, containing little more than a single bed and a small table.

“I know it’s hardly suitable lodgings.” Somehow, Jiang Fengmian’s voice sounded both sincere and teasing at the same time. “But it is still a sick room, after all. There’s another exit there, that will take you out near the main courtyard. Given the circumstances we have guards patrolling constantly, so if you need anything simply step outside and ask. Is there anything you need now?”

Lan Wangji shook his head. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak.

“Very well. I’ll let you get settled. I don’t know if you’ve been following Gusu Lan’s usual schedule, but even if you have not, you must be tired. Goodnight, Wangji.”

“Goodnight, Jiang-zongzhu,” he replied, giving a small bow of thanks. Jiang Fengmian smiled, and left through the door still connecting Wangji to Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng.

The door snicked shut behind him.

Panic flooded into Wangji’s chest, sharp and sudden, coiling around his heart and shooting through every vein. His breath began to hitch, and his hands began to tremble –

And he didn’t want to be alone.

Before, Lan Wangji had never minded alone, had always liked alone, but now –

Now he –

He didn’t want to be on his own.

Because alone, the wooden walls of Lotus Pier began to look like black stone, and the bed and table seemed to fade away, as though he was back in that cell.

That cell, where solitude was only broken by torture.

No, he thought fiercely, clenching his fists. No – this is different.

This was a sickroom, not a cell, and the Jiang meant him no harm –

But he was afraid. He hadn’t expected to be, hadn’t thought that he would be so weak, but he was so afraid.

His eyes burnt, and he squeezed them shut, sitting down on the edge of the bed.  

Get a hold of yourself, a voice growled in his mind, and he forced himself to draw in as deep a breath as he could manage. Another.

Another.

Some distant part of Wangji knew that he might feel better if he slept, but the thought of undressing for bed, the idea of removing even a single layer made him feel unbearably vulnerable, so he stayed where he was.

It was so quiet.

Didn’t he like the quiet? Wasn’t it a comfort?

Didn’t –

Wasn’t –

A frantic fist knocked at his door, desperate and urgent, and Wangji’s heart seized, flying into his throat –

But the knocker didn’t wait for a reply, flinging open the door –

And – oh…

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji choked, in the same moment that his brother cried out, “Wangji!”

Lan Xichen crossed the room so fast that Wangji barely had time to get to his feet. Within the span of a heartbeat, Xichen’s arms were around him, hugging him so tight it hurt, and Wangji clung to him with all the strength he had.

“Wangji,” Xichen choked, his voice breaking on a sob, and Wangji shuddered with a silent sob of his own, pressing his face against his brother’s shoulder. “Wangji – Didi – thank God. Thank God!”

Wangji squeezed his eyes shut, tangling his fingers into his brother’s robes.

He was here.

Xiongzhang was here.

The fear was gone.  

“I’m sorry,” Xichen sobbed, his hand cradling the back of Wangji’s head, fingers carding through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Wangji, I’m so sorry!”

The guilt in his voice was so heavy it crushed the air from Wangji’s lungs. A wordless sound of denial broke from his throat, and he shook his head against his brother’s shoulder, clinging tighter. “I looked,” Xichen whispered desperately. “I looked everywhere, but I couldn’t – I couldn’t-”

“No,” Wangji managed to say, shaking his head again. “No guilt.”

“Wangji-”

“No guilt,” Wangji repeated, his voice trembling. “I know you looked, Xiongzhang. I always knew.”

Xichen let out a cry, no less anguished for how quiet it was, and Wangji felt his own lip begin to tremble. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, Wangji could feel the burn of tears, and he could feel his brother trembling, could hear his quiet, gasping sobs.

And Wangji stopped trying to hold back. No sound left his lips, but he didn’t need it to. He let himself fall apart in his brother’s arms, let himself sob silently, let his tears soak his brother’s shoulder. They stayed that way until Wangji’s knees buckled beneath him, and Xichen gasped sharply, taking Wangji’s weight.

“Wangji!”

“I’m okay,” Wangji breathed, letting his brother guide him to sit back down on the bed. Xichen sat beside him, so close their legs pressed together, and he did not let go of Wangji completely – one hand wrapped around Wangji’s, and without hesitating Lan Wangji entwined their fingers.

It was a position far more likely for the Yunmeng brothers than the Twin Jades of Lan, but Lan Wangji didn’t care.

In fact, a small part of him whispered that it made it all the more comforting.

“Are you hurt?” Xichen asked, brushing the tears from Wangji’s cheeks with his thumb. “Do you need me to send for anything?”

Wangji shook his head. His brother did not need to know the extent of what had happened, that many of his wounds still ached, dull and almost constant – but fading with each day that passed. The pain was fading. That’s what mattered.

“Tired,” he supplied, and Xichen nodded slowly.

“Jiang-zongzhu told me you were exhausted,” he said softly. “He also told me that you were injured.”

Wangji clenched his jaw, and his brother squeezed his hand.

“Wangji… please tell me.”

A lump rose in Lan Wangji’s throat and he looked down. “My wounds are healing. The pain is minimal, now.”

Xichen swallowed, searching Wangji’s face with an anxious gaze. “Wangji…”

“I do not need anything,” he insisted, and Xichen took a deep breath, nodding.

“Alright…” Fresh tears filled his eyes. “Oh, Wangji… I’m so glad that you’re safe.”

Safe. There was that word again, that word he knew could only be a lie –

But coming from Xichen, he almost believed it.

Something must have shown in his face, because his brother made a small, pained sound, and squeezed Wangji’s hand.

“You are safe,” he whispered. “You’re safe now, Wangji. It’s over.”

Wangji’s throat tightened. “Xiongzhang…”

“Yes?” Xichen murmured when Wangji trailed off, squeezing his hands gently.

“I… missed you.”

Xichen closed his eyes tightly, squeezing Wangji’s hand so hard it hurt. “I missed you, too, Didi. I thought – oh!”

Xichen’s eyes flew open, and he reached into his robes, pulling out a small, silk pouch. He had to let go of Wangji’s hand to open it, and something in Wangji’s chest demanded to protest, but then Xichen brought out a familiar silk ribbon.

Still severed in half. Still bloodstained.

“Ah,” Xichen said awkwardly, and then his hand glowed with spiritual energy. The blood vanished, and the silk bound itself back together before their eyes, leaving Wangji’s ribbon pristine and whole once again. “I should have done that sooner,” Xichen said in a small voice. “But I thought – I thought you were gone. I thought I’d lost you, Wangji, and I couldn’t –” He broke off, closing his eyes tightly. Wangji put a hand over his, squeezing so that his ribbon was pressed between their two palms. Xichen opened his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “I’m so glad that you’re safe. I’m so glad that you’re safe.”

“Mn,” Wangji agreed, and Xichen gave a watery laugh. 

“I missed that,” he whispered, and Wangji felt his ears heat up. “I was so afraid, Wangji.”

“I’m sorry that I made you worry…”

“No,” Xichen replied, far more gently than Wangji had. “If I’m not allowed to apologise, neither are you.”

“Xiongzhang-”

“I mean it,” Xichen said strongly, and Wangji glanced down. Xichen squeezed his hands. “At some point, I will need to hear an account. But it doesn’t have to be now – not unless you want it to be.”

Wangji pursed his lips. He didn’t want to talk about it now, but he knew that he would want to talk about it even less as time went on.

“I mean it, Wangji, you don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready. We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want-”

“It was the right thing to do.”

Xichen frowned slightly, and even as Wangji’s conviction tightened, he felt unease curl in his gut. His brother might agree with him, when he was in possession of the facts, but the elders would not. His uncle would not.

“Wei Ying was taken unjustly,” Wangji said, his throat feeling very dry. “He was innocent, and his life was in danger. Gusu Lan could not help officially. I could. I followed our disciplines. Do not break faith. Uphold the value of justice. Shoulder the weight of morality. Follow-”

“Wangji, stop,” Xichen all but begged, squeezing his hands. “I am not asking you to justify your actions. I know why you left, and I know that in not telling us you thought to protect the clan from repercussions.” Guilt coursed through Wangji’s veins. That was true, but it was also – “I also know that you did not say where you were going for fear that Shufu would stop you. But no one had told you not to leave the Cloud Recesses. It is not written on the wall of discipline that no member of the clan may leave without giving notice. And even if it was, even if it had-” he broke off, his eyes pained, “Do you really think that is what I meant by asking for an account? Do you really think I could care whether you have broken rules now?”

Lan Wangji swallowed, looking down.

“Is that what you think of me?” Xichen pressed quietly, and Wangji shook his head.

“Shufu-”

“Shufu isn’t angry, Wangji,” Xichen said. “He is upset you left without permission, and he is probably aware that you did so to avoid his saying no, but he isn’t angry. He was terrified for you. Everyone is. Shufu and the elders – we had little information, but everyone believes that you left under the belief you were doing what was right. No one is angry.”

It shouldn’t come as such a relief, but Wangji felt himself slump slightly.

“I only want to know what happened,” Xichen continued softly. “But only when you’re ready to tell me.”

Wangji breathed closed his eyes. “Jiang Cheng needed help. Wei Ying had been taken. Tortured. Held less than two miles from his home. I agreed to help. We – we rescued Wei Ying.” His voice ached, and his brother squeezed his hands. Wangji squeezed back. “The Wen were returning to Qishan, but Wen Qionglin helped us. Drugged the camp. We took Wei Ying to Yiling. Wen Qing tended to his injuries, but we could not stay. We tried to return to Gusu. I saw you.”

Xichen breathed in sharply, and Wangji opened his eyes to see his brother nodded.

“I thought as much, at the time,” he said, voice pained. “I hoped you might have gone to the back hills…”

“Too dangerous.” Wangji lowered his gaze. “And it would have brought ruin to Gusu. Wen Chao found us that night, using Wei Ying’s hand.”

Lan Xichen frowned heavily. “Using… what?”

“He retained Wei Ying’s severed hand,” Wangji said, the words bitter on his tongue. In his pocket, Xiaoshou remained motionless. “And used a spell to track its owner.” As Xichen’s frown shifted from confusion to disgust, Wangji continued. “We fought, but were overcome. We were captured, and Wei Ying…”

He couldn’t say it.

Wei Ying had survived, had escaped, and Wangji still couldn’t say it.

“Wei Ying…”

“A-Cheng, Lan Zhan, it’s-”

“Wangji, you can stop,” Xichen whispered. “You don’t have to.”

He did. He did, because otherwise he would have to say it again, say it later, and Xichen needed to know about the Burial Mounds in order to understand the rest. He needed to know why Wei Ying had turned to demonic cultivation, to understand the choices he had made –

“Wen Chao threw him to the Burial Mounds,” Wangji rasped, and his brother choked in horror.

“The Burial Mounds?!”

Wangji nodded, closing his eyes. The horror on his brother’s face was too much to take. “I thought he was dead.”

“Oh, Wangji…”

“Jiang Cheng and I were taken to Qishan. Wen Ruohan believed it would cause more strife to hide our presence there. For us to remain missing. We were held in different dungeons.” He trailed off, and silence hung in the air for a moment, broken only by the hitch of Xichen’s breath.

“I received a letter,” Xichen whispered, his voice hollow, “from Wen Ruohan. It said you – you’d been condemned to ‘Demonic Lingchi.’”

Wangji nodded slowly.

“Can… can you tell me about that?”

Wangji opened his eyes, meeting his brother’s already anguished gaze. “I…” he swallowed. “I do not know if Xiongzhang wants to hear it.”

Tears chased each other down Xichen’s cheeks, but he raised his chin. “If Wangji can say it, Xiongzhang will listen.”

In truth, Wangji wasn’t sure if he could say it. He didn’t think he could find the words. He hesitated, and then turned his head to the side, pulling down the bandage around his throat to reveal the puckered bite mark left behind from the demon’s attack. It had been healing better than he might have expected, given how he received it, but it was still an ugly wound, and Xichen whimpered.

“Wangji…”

“It fed on my blood,” Wangji said quietly. “And my spiritual energy… my pain, and my fear. Wen Ruohan used the Yin Iron to control it. To make sure it did not end me quickly.”

“Oh…” Xichen whispered. “Oh, Wangji… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Wangji moved the bandage back into place. “It was not your fault.”

“No,” Xichen admitted, agony carved into his face so deeply it looked like it might never fade. “No, but I am sorry it happened. I’m so sorry I couldn’t reach you.”

“I would not have wanted you to,” said Wangji. “You are Lan-zongzhu, you need to-”

“I was in Qishan, when I got the message that you were safe,” said Xichen, and Wangji’s blood ran cold.

“Xiongzhang-”

“I couldn’t do what Wen Ruohan demanded,” Xichen said, interrupting again. “I couldn’t bring him Mingjue-ge, I couldn’t withdraw our army, but I couldn’t do nothing. I had to try. I was trying to establish a way to reach the dungeons when the paperman found me.”

“Xiongzhang,” Wangji admonished, staring incredulously at his brother. “You are Lan-zongzhu-”

“I am both,” Xichen said fiercely. “And I was Xiongzhang first. I made the choice I could live with, Wangji.”

Wangji wanted to argue, but the strength of Xichen’s words was immoveable. And in a way… would Lan Wangji not do the same if their positions were revered?

Had he not already done the same, with Wei Ying?

“I will always be there for you, Wangji,” Xichen insisted. “Whatever happens.”

Wangji wanted to say, ‘And I for you,’ but what came out was a strangled, “Mn.” From the look on his brother’s face, he understood.

“I know,” he murmured, and then offered a weak smile. “You should get some rest. It’s getting late, and you’re tired.”

Wangji was exhausted, but alarm crawled over his skin like swam of fire ants at the thought of being alone again, and before he could stop himself he reached out to snatch his brother’s sleeve.

“Wangji?”

“…I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Xichen murmured, his question clear in his tone.

“… Will… you stay?” Wangji asked, unable to meet his brother’s eyes as embarrassment curled in his chest.

“Stay?”

“Here,” Wangji whispered. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Of course,” Xichen breathed, as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Warmth chased the shame from Wangji’s heart as his brother squeezed his hand. “Of course I’ll stay.”

And even though maybe he shouldn’t, Lan Wangji felt safe.

Chapter Text

Jiang Yanli was no stranger to pain.

It would come as a surprise to much of the cultivation world, she was sure. She was aware that most knew her only as the treasured but frail daughter of Jiang-zongzhu, that their perception was of a girl who would tire at the slightest discomfort and swoon at the merest pain.

No one knew that her pain tolerance was as high as her brothers’. Actually, not even her brothers knew that – and she intended it to stay that way. They fretted over her ailments enough as it was. They didn’t need to know that in her very worst moments of illness, Yanli had endured agony that Liu Chen’s strongest pain medicines barely touched.

It was rare for the pain to be that fierce, but discomfort was as familiar to her as a clouded sky. Just because she could not fight off illness so easily did not mean she could not endure it.

A stab wound was no different.

The pain was simultaneously sharp and throbbing, and it radiated from her side throughout her abdomen and torso, though Liu Chen’s medicine had brought it down to a dull ache.  To her faint surprise, it wasn’t the worst pain she had ever experienced. The exhaustion and weakness that accompanied it was very unpleasant, but no different from that experienced after a bad fever.

She would be alright. She would survive this.

Liu Chen’s face broke into a tearful smile when she said as much, his shoulders relaxing visibly even as he bowed his head.

“Yes, yes you will,” he said, patting her hand. “I never doubted you, Jiang-guniang.”

Yanli smiled, inclining her head slightly despite the effort. “Thank you, Daifu.”

“I’ll send for some breakfast,” he said. “Your appetite may take a few days to return, so don’t worry if you cannot stomach much, but do eat a little if you can. And oh, I’ll tell your father you are awake.” Yanli’s smile grew – then froze.

“My mother…” she began uncertainly, and beside her A-Cheng flinched.

Liu Chen bowed. “Jiang-zongzhu has ordered that Yu-furen is not to be permitted here until Wei-gongzi is strong enough to decide if he wishes to see her. If you wish to see her before that, we can-”

“No,” Yanli said quickly, relief washing over her. “No, thank you.”

Liu Chen bowed once more, taking his leave, and Yanli turned her head to the side, looking over her brothers. Though A-Xian was unconscious, he was no longer covered in blood, and both A-Cheng and Liu Chen had promised he was making good progress.

As for A-Cheng himself…

Tears stung Yanli’s eyes.

The doctor hadn’t even mentioned A-Cheng’s condition, as though there was nothing wrong with him at all, but there was.

His skin was unhealthily pale, marred with bruises and scars, and he was so thin. His cheekbones protruded painfully far, and his own robes hung awkward and loose around him.

He had suffered.

Her baby brothers had suffered so much.

And Jiang Yanli had not been able to protect them.

“A-Cheng,” she whispered, raising a trembling hand to touch his cheek. The effort was almost impossible until A-Cheng caught her hand, holding it there with tears in his eyes.

“A-Jie,” he whispered back.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, and his brow pinched together in worry.

“Does what hurt? Are you – do you need Liu-daifu-”

“Shh…” Yanli cut him off before he could truly panic. “You, A-Cheng. Are you in pain?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened and then he shook his head, ducking his gaze. “I’m fine.”

He was lying.

“A-Cheng,” she whispered again, chest aching. “Don’t lie to Jiejie. Please don’t lie to Jiejie.”

“I’m not!” he said hurriedly, scrambling a little closer, but his resolve crumbled as she held his gaze. “I’m alright, I – it’s not – there’s… It’s nothing, A-Jie. I’m okay.”

“It isn’t nothing,” she protested weakly, but A-Cheng shook his head.

“It’s just aches and bruises now, it – I barely feel it. I promise.”

Yanli felt her lip begin to tremble, her thumb tracing the hollow of her little brother’s cheek. “Are you hungry? You’ve lost so much weight.”

He looked down again. “I’m okay, A-Jie. I’ll eat when breakfast comes.”

Yanli nodded absently. Even with A-Cheng holding her had in place, her arm was beginning to tremble with the effort of holding it up, but she couldn’t pull away. She couldn’t. “You have suffered…” she whispered, a tear tracing down her cheek. A-Cheng closed his eyes, pressing his cheek into her hand, and her voice broke. “You’ve suffered so much… Where were you?”

A-Cheng’s tears fell onto her hand faster than she could brush them away, and it seemed to take a great deal of effort for him to whisper, “Qishan.”

Yanli was not surprised, but despair still ran down her spine at the confirmation. It had been one of her greatest fears in the past few months, that her little brothers were both at the mercy of Qishan Wen. A fear second only to the bone-slicing terror that they were already gone. That her A-Cheng and A-Xian were already dead, their bodies uncared for and rotting and –

No. They were alive. They were alive, and they were here. That was what mattered.

She lowered her arm, taking A-Cheng’s hand instead. Their fingers entwined, though A-Cheng’s grip was as gentle as if he was handling paper-thin glass.

“Were you together, at least?” she asked, but she could immediately read the answer in the fall of her brother’s face. “A-Cheng?”

He shook his head, and when he opened his eyes, they were swimming with tears. “He – A-Xian – I got him away, A-Jie, I got him away from Wen Chao, but we weren’t fast enough. He caught us, and took Wangji and I to Qishan, but before he that – he –”

He choked off, and Yanli’s heart ached with fear even as it raced with dread. “Breathe – breathe, A-Cheng. Please?”

He sobbed, but then forced himself to draw a shuddering breath. “The Burial Mounds,” he choked, and Yanli’s blood ran cold. “Wen Chao threw him into the Burial Mounds. He’d been beaten so badly, I – I thought I was watching him die… I w-wasn’t, he survived, he’s here, but I thought – for all that time, I thought –”

The Burial Mounds.

Her A-Xian, her Xianxian, he –

He had been maimed, and tortured, and thrown into the most cursed place in living memory –

And her A-Cheng had watched his brother fall, had believed he had watched him die, and then lived with that knowledge for weeks, maybe months –

There was no way that any physical pain could come close to this.

“A-Cheng…” her voice trembled. “Xianxian…”

“He – he escaped,” A-Cheng explained tearfully. “He got out, and he rescued Wangji and I, but…” A-Cheng looked at the bed behind him, his shoulders hunching in to make himself smaller. “It cost him.”

Yanli looked at their brother’s pale face, tears pouring down her cheeks. He looked so ill, and both A-Cheng and the doctor had said he was improved from yesterday, and Yanli could barely breathe.

“That’s –” she swallowed, gathering herself enough to ask, “that’s how he knew how to… how to do what he did?”

She hadn’t had time to wonder before.

A-Cheng nodded, and Yanli closed her eyes, pursing her lips to keep from sobbing.

“A-Jie,” her brother sobbed, and she swallowed, hard.

“It’s – it’s okay,” she whispered automatically, and when her brother keened she squeezed his hand, her instincts overriding her own pain. “It’s okay now, A-Cheng. We’re together now. That’s all that matters. That’s all that matters.”

A-Cheng sobbed, his head bowed low. “You’re hurt.”

“Shijie,” A-Xian choked, blood on his lips. He swayed on his feet, dropped his flute – “Shijie, you’re hurt.”

“Yes,” she said as she squeezed his hand. “And A-Cheng is hurt, and A-Xian is hurt. But we’re together. We’re together now. That’s what matters.” She tried to smile, even as her lip trembled. “I missed you both so much, A-Cheng. Jiejie missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.” A-Cheng whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry we worried you, I’m sorry we were gone so long, I’m sorry-”

“I’m so proud of you,” she murmured, and he froze, his eyes widening. “So proud.”

A-Cheng hung his head, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He rubbed his arm roughly across his eyes. Gathering her strength, Yanli reached up to run her thumb over his cheeks, clearing the rest of his tears with the tenderness he deserved.

“Where’s Lan-er-gongzi?” she asked. “Is he alright?” The last thing she remembered before she lost consciousness was Lan Wangji collapsing over the guqin, coughing up blood.

“He’s next door,” A-Cheng said, nodding towards the connecting room. “He’s exhausted, but he’ll be alright. He was in here, at first, but he was worried that you’d be uncomfortable with a stranger sleeping in the same room.”

“Oh...” Yanli considered that for a moment, her heart warming at the consideration.

 She’d seen the look on Lan Wangji’s face when he saw A-Xian lying in her arms. Any doubts that she may have had that Lan Wangji cared about her brother could not have survived that moment – in fact, she now suspected that his feelings may run deeper than the friendship she’d first assumed. Even if she was wrong in that particular regard, Lan Wangji had clearly been distraught, and she had no doubt he’d rather be with A-Xian if he could.

“Did you tell him he’s welcome to come in and visit?” she asked, and A-Cheng nodded. “Good…” As much as Yanli would usually prefer not to be seen on her sickbed by those outside of her family or clan, somehow she didn’t want to keep Lan Wangji away.

Especially as when he was talking earlier, Jiang Cheng had called the other man ‘Wangji.’ Not Lan-er-gongzi, not Lan Wangji – not even Lan-xiong. She so rarely heard her brother refer to anyone by name like that, even with his closest friends. She could count on one hand the number of times he’d referred to Nie Huaisang by name rather than ‘Nie-xiong’ – he even used A-Xian’s full name more often than not. Or at least he used to. Today, she hadn’t heard it once.

In any case, she knew what it meant. A-Xian wasn’t the only one who thought of Lan Wangji as a friend, not anymore. Lan Wangji had won the regard of both of her brothers, and there was little that could make Jiang Yanli more fond of a person.

Someone knocked urgently at the door, snapping her out of her thoughts, and A-Cheng flinched.  

“Come in,” she called, though her voice was so weak it was barely audible. Nevertheless, the door opened instantly, and her father hurried inside, the stress on his face melting into a smile as he met her eyes.

“A-Li,” he breathed, striding over to perch on the bed, on the opposite side to A-Cheng. His calloused hands were warm as they enveloped hers, and it looked like he had won significantly more grey hairs in his time away at the front. “You’re awake – how are you feeling?”

“A-Die,” she said, smiling wearily. “I am fine. Tired, and sore, but I will be fine. You’re finally home.”

“I am,” he said, guilt and pride warring on his face. “You did a wonderful job in my stead, A-Li. Thank you for taking such good care of Lotus Pier.”

“It was my duty, and I was honoured to carry it out,” she said, as solemnly as her weak voice would allow her to. Her father smiled, though tears sprung to his eyes.

“I knew you would do well, but you far surpassed my expectations. I did not mean for you to fight on the front line of a battle, A-Li.”

“I was not on the front line,” she pointed out gently. “I was in the rear guard.”

Jiang Fengmian raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. But it was my duty,” she pushed quietly, and her father sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“What am I going to do with the three of you?” he said quietly, squeezing her hand and smiling wryly at A-Cheng. “My three heroes might bring great honour to Yunmeng Jiang, but I don’t know if this A-Die’s heart can take it.”

“A-Die…” Yanli began, but the sorrow in her father’s eyes chased the words from her mind. She swallowed, instead bracing herself to ask, “The battle… how bad were our losses?”

Jiang Fengmian accepted the tangent with a nod of his head, his expression grave. “They were heavy. We lost nearly fifty, and many more are wounded. Liu Chen is hopeful most will pull through, and I hope he’s right… But things could have been far worse.” He smiled wearily at Yanli. “It was very clever, keeping the most vulnerable in the indoor training hall. Not a single person in there was harmed.”

Yanli had guessed as much, thanks to A-Xian’s arrival, but the relief still stole her breath for a moment.

“Thank goodness,” she breathed, but then alarm seized her. “Liu-shidi – he snuck out to fight, I saw him in the battle –”

“He’s fine,” her father promised. “He won a rather impressive scratch for his troubles, but it’s not as bad as it looks. I think he’s more afraid of getting in trouble with his Da-shijie.” He gave a sad smile. “He wasn’t the only junior to sneak out – several of them did, but they all survived. Their seniors took care of them.”  

A bittersweet pride filled Yanli’s chest. That all of their juniors had survived was a miracle, but she knew that the cost to keep them alive was likely the lives of their seniors.

There was another knock on the door, this one significantly calmer.

Jiang Fengmian glanced at Yanli, and when she nodded, he called, “Come in.”

The door opened, and Fan Xinyan came inside with a tray full of food, followed a moment later by Xiao-shidi, carefully balancing a large tray in his own arms. The look of concentration on the five-year-old’s face was so adorable that Yanli couldn’t help but smile.

“Jiang-guniang,” Fan Xinyan breathed, her voice full of relief. “It’s so good to see you awake!”

“Thank you,” said Yanli. “How are you, Shimei?”

“Well,” Fan Xinyan replied warmly, passing her tray to A-Cheng, who settled it onto his lap. “Xiao-shidi, you can put that down here on this little table-”

“I can do it!” Xiao-shidi all but shouted, his scowl deepening, and Yanli’s smile grew.

With great effort, he lowered the tray onto the table between Yanli and A-Xian’s beds, its contents wobbling as he did, but nothing spilled. When he had done so he hurried over to the side of the bed, leaning against A-Cheng and beaming at Yanli.

“Da-shijie, you’re awake!” he sang, but then he glanced over his shoulder, and his smile faded into a pout. “Da-shixiong’s still asleep, though.”

“He is,” said Jiang Fengmian calmly, “but he’s doing better. We’re hopeful that he will wake him soon, too.”

Xiao-shidi nodded, looking both convinced and satisfied by this. “Are you feeling better, Da-Shijie?”

“I am,” she said with a smile. “It will be a while before I’m completely well, but I’m feeling much better.”

“Good,” he said firmly. “My Jiejie got hurt in the fighting, too, but her leg is getting better. And her – Lan-er-gongzi used her qin to make the magic music to make Da-shixiong all better.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Yanli said. “You must say a big thank you to your Jiejie from me, okay?”

The little boy nodded firmly. “I will.”

“We’ll leave you in peace, Da-Shijie, Gongzi, Zongzhu,” said Xinyan, bowing her head to each of them and taking Xiao-shidi’s hand. “We’re glad you’re doing better.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

Her father helped her prop herself up a little, passing her a small bowl of congee. Yanli was only able to manage a few mouthfuls before her stomach protested, but she was able to drink a little tea. A-Cheng hesitated when he realised she’d stopped eating, looking anxiously at her. She smiled wearily.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “You need to regain your strength.”

“So do you,” he protested.

“Liu-daifu did say if may be a few days before my appetite returns,” she reminded him gently. “I’ll have a little more later.”

“Eat, A-Cheng,” their father said, and A-Cheng ducked his head, obediently returning to his bowl.

“I’ll make you some soup soon,” she promised. “As soon as I can stand in the kitchen for long enough.”

“Not that soon,” her father warned, at the same moment that Jiang Cheng said, “I can wait.”

Her smile grew, and she looked past A-Cheng to A-Xian. “Hopefully by then, Xianxian will be awake, too.”

“Liu Chen seemed hopeful this morning,” Jiang Fengmian said, and A-Cheng glanced anxiously over his shoulder. “He said the resentment is all but gone.”

The ‘but’s remained unspoken, but heavy in the air. The resentment may be gone, but the damage it had caused would not fade so easily. Just because a hand had been removed from a flame did not mean the burn was no longer dangerous.

After a long moment, A-Cheng gave a small smile. “To be honest, the smell of your soup is probably the best way to wake him up.”

Their father huffed a laugh, and Yanli smiled.

“That’s true,” she murmured, glancing down at her hands. She wished that her cooking was as magical as her brothers always claimed it to be, that A-Cheng’s joke was a literal fact – that just the smell of pork rib and lotus soup would be enough to coax A-Xian out of his coma. If it were true, she would drag herself to the kitchen right now, her own wounds and weakness be damned.

Eventually, A-Cheng finished eating, and their father gathered up the two trays.

“I would stay longer if I could, but there are some things that require my attention,” he said, stroking back Yanli’s hair and kissing her forehead. “I will be back-”

Before he could leave, however, there was a third knock at the door, and Yanli looked up in surprise. Once again, her father glanced at her, waiting until she nodded before he called out, “Come in.”

She was not surprised to see Lan Wangji walk inside, though the sight of Zewu Jun beside him was less expected. Still, after all they had been through Yanli was far more pleased to see the brothers reunited than she was perturbed by another outside visitor.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Lan Xichen said. “I’m glad to see you’re awake, Jiang-guniang.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, her eyes flickering towards Lan Wangji. The robes he was wearing were clearly Yunmeng Jiang, but his forehead ribbon had been returned to its rightful place, and he looked more like himself for it. “It is good to see you both. Thank you, Lan-er-gongzi, for helping my brothers.”

Lan Xichen smiled at his brother as Lan Wangji stiffened, glancing down.

“Mn.” After a moment, Lan Wangji glanced back up, his eyes moving over to A-Xian. Lingering there.

“He’s the same as last night,” said A-Cheng, and Lan Wangji looked at him sharply. “Your bed’s still there, if you want to sit.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened slightly, and he glanced at Yanli. She smiled, nodding slightly, and Lan Wangji sat down on the empty bed beside A-Xian’s.

“I won’t impose on you for too long this morning,” said Lan Xichen to Yanli, before looking at her father. “Though I may have to beg some of your time this afternoon, Lan-zongzhu.”

“There is no need to beg – your counsel will be appreciated,” said Jiang Fengmian, and Lan Xichen smiled, inclining his head.

“Before then, however, I was wondering if I might play Healing – for you Jiang-guniang, and for Wei-gongzi. It cannot mend major wounds, but it can bolster the body’s own healing abilities, and provide spiritual power that it can guide into healing.”

“That would be lovely,” Yanli breathed, glancing towards her brother.

“Thank you,” Jiang Fengmian said warmly, standing to bow low at Lan Xichen. “I appreciate that deeply.”

“You’re most welcome,” Lan Xichen said. “I must admit, my motives are only partly selfless. I fear if I don’t help one way or another, Wangji may steal another guqin and play before he’s ready to.”

Lan Wangji looked sharply at his brother with an expression of abject betrayal, and Yanli hid a giggle behind her hand.

“Then I will leave you to it,” said Jiang Fengmian, smiling warmly. He squeezed A-Cheng’s shoulder and took up the trays, casting a fond look at A-Xian as he passed. “Thank you, Zewu Jun.”

“You’re most welcome.”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji said through gritted teeth as the door closed behind Jiang Fengmian, but Lan Xichen simply raised his eyebrows, pulling his xiao from his sleeve.

“This should help you and Wangji, too, Jiang-gongzi,” he said. “Healing does not have to be directed at a single target.”

Yanli hesitated, glancing towards her motionless brother. “Lan-zongzhu, does it… does it work more effectively, if it is directed at a single target?”  

“A little,” Lan Xichen allowed, “but I am confident that I can play with enough strength that the difference will be negligible. If you are able to meditate, that may accelerate the effects, but there is no need to worry if you are unable to. Please just relax.”

Yanli closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath as Lan Xichen began to play. The music was beautiful, light and uplifting, and as it played, Yanli felt her breathing grow easier. The pain eased, until it almost seemed to have vanished entirely, and soon it felt like she was floating.

She felt warm, and she felt safe, and time faded in and out as she let herself drift, carried by the music.

But then she heard something else. Muffled at first, but soon growing louder, sharper, stealing her attention. The floating sensation melted away, discomfort and disappointment flooding in to take its place.

Then, the noise sharpened into words. They were coming from outside the room, but they were close – very close.  

“…dare you?! You dare tell me what parts of my own land I may deign to enter-”

Yanli’s eyes flew open, anger and alarm shooting through her veins.

“My apologies, Yu-furen. We are simply following Zongzhu’s orders.”

 “What orders?” Yu Ziyuan snapped. “How dare you stand in my way?!”

“Our orders were not to allow you to enter this room without his express permission, under any circumstances. Apologies, Yu-furen, but I cannot let you pass.” Yanli did not know that she’d ever heard Fang Yusen’s voice so cold.  

“You! My children are in that room, who are you to deny me to see them? You speak of orders – I order you to let me pass!”

“Your orders do not supersede those of Jiang-zongzhu,” said Jiang Yuming, her voice even colder than Yusen’s.

Yanli glanced at her brothers, finding A-Cheng’s face as pale as snow, anger and fear warring in his eyes. For the first time, she was grateful that A-Xian was still unresponsive. Lan Wangji rose, moving to stand at the end of A-Xian’s bed, his face like stone, and Zewu Jun faltered in his playing.

Yu Ziyuan gave another harsh laugh. “So you’re telling me that you think it right that Lan-zongzhu may see my unmarried daughter on her sickbed, but I may not?”

Yanli’s fury rose as Lan Xichen lowered his xiao, an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Jiang-guniang, I…” he began, but Yanli shook her head.

“I am grateful for your presence, Zewu Jun,” she said, hopefully managing to mask the fact she was talking through gritted teeth. “Pay her no mind.”

“Whether I think it right or not is immaterial,” said Jiang Yuming. “Our orders are from the clan leader himself. If my opinion was relevant, my stance still would not change. I trust my nephew’s judgement.”

“You-!” Yu Ziyuan cut herself off, and Yanli could almost see her mother’s face growing red as she debated whether or not it was worth being flagrantly disrespectful to her elder. “My children are injured! What business is it of Fengmian to stand between a mother and her children?”

Jiang Yuming did not hesitate. “Of course it is his business. He is their father.”

Lan Xichen glanced uncertainly towards Yanli and Jiang Cheng, discomfort growing on his face.

“Since when does he know what is best for his children?!”

“You are not going to change my mind, Yu-furen. I suggest you stop trying.”

There was a pause, and then Yu Ziyuan’s voice rose further. “A-Cheng! A-Li!”

A-Cheng flinched, and Yanli tried to sit up, only to fail and slip further down into the bed. Her brother jolted, grabbing her arm.

“A-Jie-”

“I’m alright,” she wheezed, patting his hand. “I’m alright.”

“Yu-furen, please lower your voice. This is a sick room.”

“Do not tell me to lower my voice! A-Cheng, A-Li!”

“Yu-furen!” Jiang Yuming snapped, her voice finally matching Yu Ziyuan’s in a shout. “You are harming your children!”

Silence fell like shattering ice, hanging sharp in the air for lingering moment.

When she spoke again, Jiang Yuming’s voice was less loud, but no less firm. “They need rest, Yu-furen – if you upset or agitate them, you will undo what progress they’ve already made. You speak of Zewu Jun, but you do not consider why he is here! He agreed to play Healing for A-Li and A-Cheng, but he cannot do so with a racket going on just outside. The music has stopped. I implore you, go and speak with Fengmian if you wish to argue his orders, but please – do not do it where your children can hear. They have been through enough.”

Yanli held her breath, and A-Cheng’s grip on her arm became painfully tight.

Silence followed, lingering on far longer than it had before, and tension wound tighter and tighter in Yanli’s chest. There was the sound of footsteps, and then a soft knock at the door. Yanli winced, but her mother would not have knocked, and sure enough when the door opened it was her great-aunt who stepped inside.

“Please forgive the intrusion,” she said quietly. “Are you alright, A-Li, A-Cheng?”

Yanli breathed out, doing her best to smile. “Thank you, Gupo. We’re alright.”

“Mn…” Jiang Yuming did not sound convinced, but she did not pry. Instead, she turned to bow low at the Lan brothers. “Zewu Jun, Lan-er-gongzi, please accept our apologies for the commotion. This is a time of great difficulty for Yunmeng Jiang, and tensions are high. Given the circumstances, I hope you will not hold our lapse in composure against us.”

The twin Jades of Lan both bowed back, though their expressions were vastly different. Still standing guard at the end of A-Xian’s bed, Lan Wangji wore a face like stone, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with what looked like anger. In contrast, Lan Xichen’s polite smile did little to hide his obvious disquiet. Uncertainty shone in his eyes, and his knuckles were white around his flute.

Still, his voice was as warm and polite as usual as he replied, “Of course not – it is most understandable for emotions to be running high. Yunmeng Jiang have already shown great kindness in hosting us during such a trying time – that is the only matter of note.”

“Zewu Jun is most kind,” said Jiang Yuming, bowing once again. “I’ll leave you in peace, but do know I’m just outside if you need me.”

“Thank you, Gupo,” Yanli said, bowing her head, and her aunt ducked back out of the room.

An awkward silence lingered in her wake, and Yanli glanced at A-Cheng. His face was pale, and his eyes fixed on her blankets with a fierce focus. Heart aching, Yanli squeezed his hands, and he flinched, looking at her with wide eyes.  

“It’s alright,” she murmured, reaching with a trembling hand to brush his hair from his face, “you don’t have to see her.” A-Cheng shuddered, looking away, and she paused. Her gut churned, but Yanli ignored her own emotions with ease, adding, “Unless… you want to?”

A-Cheng flinched again, more violently this time, his eyes wide and wild as they snapped onto her face.

“It’s alright if you do,” she said quietly. “There’s no right or wrong in what you want here, A-Cheng.”

“I don’t,” he said hoarsely, his face stricken. “Not now, not yet, not –” he broke off, looking over his shoulder at A-Xian. “Not ‘til…”

“Me too,” Yanli whispered, squeezing his hand. She followed his gaze, finding that Lan Wangji had turned back towards A-Xian’s bed, taking his pulse.

“Xiongzhang,” he said, and Lan Xichen’s eyes widened slightly. “Healing was disrupted.”

“Oh, of course,” Lan Xichen said, clearing his throat uncomfortably as A-Cheng glanced at him, only to look away again sharply with flaming cheeks. The embarrassment and discomfort were clear as daylight on A-Cheng’s face, and Zewu Jun gave a weak smile. “Unless… I can leave, if you would like me to?”   

“Please, carry on,” said Yanli, even as A-Cheng nodded gruffly. “If you wish to leave, we won’t stop you, but… if there’s more you can do for our Xianxian…”

Lan Xichen’s expression softened, and he nodded, raising his Xiao to his lips once more.

Within minutes, the music carried Yanli away once more, peace settling into her bones as though it had never left. She drifted for what felt like a blissful eternity, and this time when awareness came back to her it was slow, and gentle, like the first warm breezes of spring dusting off the last of the winter’s snow.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Wangji?”

Xiaoshou’s attention piques.

“Can we talk, while A-Jie’s asleep? In there?”

That voice – that’s the voice Jiang Cheng uses when something is secret, low and urgent. Xiaoshou likes secrets. It doesn’t enjoy being a secret, but It remembers the excitement of better secrets. Presents stashed under the bed in the run up to Shijie’s birthday. Emperor’s Smile, hidden in a Qiankun pouch and smuggled into the guest house. Soft, white rabbits, sequestered in the back hills of the Cloud Recesses.

Good secrets. Xiaoshou hopes that this is a good secret.

Still nestled in Lan Zhan’s pocket, It feels him rise, walking across to the door that links their two rooms. It hears the door open, hears Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng step through –

A spark of uncertainty flickers through It. Zewu Jun left a few minutes ago. If Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng, and Xiaoshou all leave the room, Shijie and Wei Ying will be alone. Shijie is asleep, and despite Xiaoshou’s best efforts Wei Ying is still unconscious. They are vulnerable – they should not be alone. It is not safe.

… But if it was not safe, Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng wouldn’t leave. Xiaoshou knows that. And outside, Yuming-gupo is guarding the door.

They are safe. Xiaoshou is free to listen in on Jiang Cheng’s secrets.

Jiang Cheng sighs, and when he speaks his voice is strained and awkward. “We need to talk about it. Before A-Jie wakes up.”

“About what?” Lan Zhan asks, suspicion in his voice, and Xiaoshou’s anticipation rises –

“Xiaoshou.”

- plummets.

Damn it.

Not a good secret after all.

Boo.

“What about it?” Lan Zhan says as Xiaoshou slumps sulkily in his pocket.

It doesn’t like being a secret.

It didn’t like hiding from Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan, and it doesn’t like hiding from Shijie and Jiang-shushu either. It understands why, It does, but Xiaoshou isn’t a vengeful demon. Xiaoshou is helpful – Xiaoshou was able to pull the resentment from Wei Ying’s body, Xiaoshou made sure Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng got to Lotus Pier in time. Xiaoshou protected Wei Ying in the Burial Mounds, and It protected Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan, in Qishan, and yet what had It earned for Its troubles? Being stuffed in Lan Zhan’s pocket or smothered under blankets the whole time It had been home.

 If it wasn’t for the lack of choice, Xiaoshou would love being with Lan Zhan. It’s warm and dark and comfortable in the pocket, and sometimes Lan Zhan even reaches in to hold Its hand. Xiaoshou loves that – It just doesn’t love that It’s not supposed to leave.

It’s hardly even seen Shijie at all. Only glimpses when it scurried from Wei Ying’s bed back to Lan Zhan’s pocket. It hasn’t been near her.

It's not fair. 

“We need to tell A-Jie.”

Ooh.

Xiaoshou perks up again.

“No,” Lan Zhan says decisively.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, Xiaoshou wants to tell Shijie. It wants to snuggle up beside her, it wants to be held, to be safe. Shijie is safe. The safest in the world.

Yes – Xiaoshou is going to see Shijie.

“I wasn’t asking,” Jiang Cheng snaps as Xiaoshou slips out of Lan Zhan’s pocket without so much as rustling his robes. “We have to. The damned thing couldn’t keep away from us, there’s no way in hell it will be able to control itself around A-Jie.”

Rude.

Xiaoshou could have self-control if it wanted to. But why bother when it could go and see Shijie instead? It nods to itself and continues scurrying towards the open door, a simple spell cloaking it from Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan’s sight –

“But if she meets it the same way we did…”

Xiaoshou freezes.

Remembers.

They had been so scared. When Xiaoshou slipped up and let Lan Zhan see It, the fear that emanated from Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng was so strong that Xiaoshou could have feasted on it – not that It ever would. It wasn’t that type of demon, and even if It was, it would never, ever relish their fear. No way.

But they had been scared.

And if It scared Shijie…  

“A severed hand prancing around on its own could scare the crap out of anyone,” Jiang Cheng says, and Xiaoshou sinks towards the floor. “And she’s still… she’s so weak, I… I don’t want to risk...”

Xiaoshou can’t frighten Shijie. It can’t – the only thing more unforgivable than scaring Shijie would be hurting her. But It wants… It wants to see her.

“We should not tell her. That would be safer. We will instruct Xiaoshou to behave.”

“It won’t work.”

“You do not know that. If you are unsure how she will react-”

Tuning out the sound of the brewing argument, Xiaoshou considers the situation. Annoyingly, Lan Zhan has a good point – It doesn’t know how Shijie would react to seeing It, and It doesn’t want to scare her. But right now, Shijie is still asleep. If Xiaoshou sneaks in now, It can see her without frightening her at all.

It just wants to see her. To know that she’s okay.

Xiaoshou resolves Itself, rushing to the door. Jiang Cheng left it slightly ajar, and Xiaoshou slips through the gap, making for Shijie’s bed –

It freezes.

Oh…

Oh no.

Shijie is not asleep.

Shijie is awake.

Shijie is awake, and staring at Xiaoshou with wide, shocked eyes. Fear flickers across her face, and Xiaoshou shrinks back as her eyes dart up to the door, then to Wei Ying –

Then back to Xiaoshou.

And her expression shifts.

The fear softens into confusion and concern, her brow furrowing as she stares at Xiaoshou. Her lips part in a small ‘o’, an expression that Xiaoshou thinks – hopes – to be more surprise than terror.

She swallows, and then whispers, “I heard… Are you… what they’re talking about? In there?” She points weakly towards the door, and Xiaoshou nods. Her eyes glisten, and she blinks rapidly for a moment. “Are… are you Xianxian’s?”

Xiaoshou nods again, and Shijie nods back slowly.

“I see,” she breathed, holding out her hand. “Will you come here?”

There is nothing in heaven or hell that could make Xiaoshou refuse. It flies towards her, but Shijie flinches. Slowing down abruptly, It lands on the end of the bed and hesitates. Shijie stretches out her hand a little further. It tiptoes closer hesitantly. It doesn’t want scare her. It really doesn’t want to scare her. But Shijie doesn’t flinch again, instead lifting her hand slightly and spreading out her fingers.

Xiaoshou rises, Its fingertips meeting Shijie’s. Gently, impossibly gently, she shifts to cup Xiaoshou in her hand, her thumb tracing the crease where Its middle finger meets Its palm.

There is a scar there.

A small one, won when Wei Ying was ten years old. The scar is small and faded now, and so hidden by the crease of Its finger that you wouldn’t see it there unless you were told.

Or unless you already knew.

It wasn’t the first wound Shijie had tended for Wei Ying – but it had been the first time Wei Ying had gathered the courage to go and ask her for help.

Xiaoshou looks up and sees tears in Shijie’s eyes, and panic shoots through It. It lets go of her thumb and flips over to hold her hand properly, squeezing it gently. Shijie gives a weak little laugh.

“Perhaps I should be more surprised,” she breathed, “but after all that has happened…”

There’s a yelp from the other room.

“What?! What do you mean it’s not – where is it?!”

A moment later, the sound is followed by muffled swearing, and then Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan tumble back into the room, freezing in unison at the sight of Xiaoshou in Shijie’s hands. It’s quite comical, actually, to see them so in sync. Xiaoshou likes it.

“Boys,” Shijie says in greeting, her voice warm. “Do you think you could tell me how this happened?”

“A-Jie,” Jiang Cheng chokes. “I… we…” His eyes move down towards Xiaoshou, and irritation flicks across them. “You-! Do you have a death wish?”

“A-Cheng,” Shijie chides, frowning. “There’s no need to be cruel.”

He wilts, but the frustration lingers in his gaze. “I’m not, I just – if someone else sees…”

“Right now, there’s no one else here to see,” she says. “That said, I would like to know what it is I am seeing. If you don’t mind.”

“Wen Chao threw Wei Ying’s hand into the Burial Mounds with him,” says Lan Zhan, his voice tight. “It cultivated consciousness. We do not know how. But it – seems friendly. Please do not be alarmed.”

Shijie smiles, her expression so fond it hurts to see. “I’m not alarmed. He doesn’t seem to be very threatening.” Her thumb rubs circles into the back of Xiaoshou’s hand, and Xiaoshou goes boneless, relaxing against Shijie’s palm.

“It’s not – not to us anyway,” Jiang Cheng says grumpily. “Wei Wuxian says that it shares his memories, loves the same people he loves.”

Xiaoshou nods decisively, nestling closer to Shijie.

“I see…” she pauses, but continues stroking Xiaoshou’s back. “But technically speaking… he is a demon?”

“Yes,” says Lan Zhan. He sounds perturbed, which is upsetting, because Xiaoshou thought that Lan Zhan liked It now. They’d held hands a lot. And Lan Zhan can’t have been perturbed by Shijie, because Shijie is the best person in the world. Xiaoshou pouts. “If It wanted to, it could be very dangerous.”

“Mm…” Shijie hummed, and Xiaoshou wriggled free from her hands, tracing words in shimmering red energy across the bedsheets. 

Don’t want to.

With that, It scurries back into Shijie’s hand, and she gives a little laugh.

“I see,” she says. “That’s comforting… Is it…” she pauses again, but this time she looks directly at Xiaoshou, addressing It rather than the two boys. “Are you still… connected, to Xianxian? In some way?” Xiaoshou nods, and she purses her lips for a moment. Fear returns to her eyes, and when she speaks, her voice is very small. “Do… do you think he is going to be alright?”

Xiaoshou nods as emphatically as It can, desperate to chase the fear out of her eyes once more. It half works – Shijie laughs again, but she also raises a shaking hand to wipe tears from her eye.

“That’s good to know,” she whispers.

After a long moment, Lan Zhan speaks, his voice still uncomfortable. “Jiang-guniang… it is dangerous-” Xiaoshou bristles in indignation, but Lan Zhan continues, “for people to know of Xiaoshou’s existence. It has not yet caused any harm to an innocent person, but it is still a demon. For most, Its innocence will not be reason enough to spare Its life.”

Oh – is Lan Zhan worried for Xiaoshou? Is that why he sounds so uncomfortable?

If so, he’s being silly. Xiaoshou knows that It has to stay a secret from the wide, wide world – It doesn’t like it, but It knows. But this isn’t the wide, wide world, and it isn’t a stranger, either. This is Shijie, and there is nowhere more safe in the world.

“I understand,” she said, her voice softer and sadder than before. “Please be assured, Lan-er-gongzi, I won’t do anything to endanger him.”

Duh.

Xiaoshou cuddles closer, Its annoyance giving way to contentment –

Until Shijie speaks again.

“Thank you, Lan-er-gongzi. I can’t imagine it is easy for you to ignore the doctrine of your clan for our sake.”

The reminder makes Xiaoshou want to curl into a ball and hide.

It’s been trying not to think about it, trying as hard as it can.

But It knows. Lan Zhan tolerates Xiaoshou, but it can’t be comfortable for him. Lan Zhan doesn’t like rules to be broken, and he definitely doesn’t like to break them. And what is Xiaoshou if not a walking broken rule? Its very being defies the laws of nature – a demon that doesn’t feed on humans or seek mindless revenge or havoc.

Gusu Lan have so many rules. Xiaoshou remembers each and every one, Its palm and fingers cramping with the memory of transcribing them hundreds of times.

And Xiaoshou… by just letting Xiaoshou exist, Lan Zhan breaks so many…

“There is no need to thank me,” Lan Zhan says quietly. “I have broken no rules.”

Xiaoshou startles so violently It almost tumbles out of Shijie’s hands.

“I have broken no rules,” Lan Zhan repeats. Alarmed, Xiaoshou flies towards him, pressing the back of Its fingers against Lan Zhan’s forehead. It does not feel that he is feverish, but – “I am serious,” Lan Zhan says, gently pulling Xiaoshou down.

Feeling an odd mixture of elation that Lan Zhan feels comfortable in Its presence and indignant that he clearly thinks Xiaoshou can’t remember the rules, Xiaoshou shoots to the side table. There is a brush and some paper there – most of it a half-written letter Lan Zhan is writing to his uncle, which Xiaoshou ignores, grabbing a fresh leaf and writing:

Do not associate with evil.

Lan Zhan’s expression does not change. “You are not evil.”

That is true, but it’s also besides the point. Xiaoshou is very sure that according to Gusu Lan, demons are evil.

It writes:

Shoulder the weight of morality.

Lan Zhan simply stares at it. “I am.”

No dishonest practises, It scribbles.

“Secrecy does not inherently mean dishonestly. I have told no lies.”

Frustration growing, Xiaoshou scrawls:

Follow the righteous way – do not take crooked paths.

“I am.”

Do not disagreed laws and rules!!!!

“I am not.”

Xiaoshou resits the urge to scrunch up the paper in frustration – but only so that it can write:

Banish demons. Establish laws. Then goodness will be everlasting.

Lan Zhan is quiet.

Xiaoshou underlines ‘Banish demons,’ with such force the brush splays out and splatters ink all over the table.

No one speaks.

Suddenly, Xiaoshou feels very small. It proved Its point, but this doesn’t feel like winning. Hiding a shiver, It flies back to Yanli’s side, and at once her hands open to welcome It. Xiaoshou cuddles against her, hiding in the shelter of her hands.

“…I have disregarded one element of one rule,” says Lan Zhan quietly. “But only in its most literal form.”

…

Xiaoshou dares to peek over Shijie’s fingers. Lan Zhan’s expression is somber, but his eyes are dark with determination.

“To take the rule literally, yes – the discipline instructs us to banish demons. But other rules add context. Be loyal and filial. Be easy on others. Do not hold grudges. Love all beings. Honour good people. Respect the filial ones. Stay on the righteous path. Uphold the value of justice. Embrace the entirety of the world. Have courage and knowledge, have courtesy and integrity, have affection and gratitude. Earn trust. Believe sincerely. Be generous. Taking the Wall of Discipline in its entirety, it is clear that at its purest essence, the core value of Gusu Lan is to eradicate evil, and protect the good. You are not evil. Demon or not. By the letter of every other discipline, you should be protected. Not threatened.”

Xiaoshou trembles. It wants… It wants to believe him. Perhaps It should – Lan Zhan doesn’t lie. He never lies. But…

Its gaze moves across the room, to the words ‘banish demons.’

“Propriety suggests reciprocity – it is impolite not to reciprocate,” Lan Zhan recites. “You offered me friendship and protection. To return anything else is impolite. Morality is the priority, harmony is the value - ”

Xiaoshou waves, wishing that It could shout ‘Enough, enough!’ Luckily, Lan Zhan gets the message. Of course he does. Lan Zhan is very clever.

He looks right at Xiaoshou, and says just one more thing.

“My conscience is clear.”

There was a boulder sitting on his chest.

It had happened once before, when he was still in the earlier stages of forging the Stygian Tiger Amulet. A spell gone wrong, a stroke of bad luck, and boom – the mountain came down around him. By some twisted fortune, on that occasion one boulder had wedged against another, stopping it from crushing Wei Wuxian’s chest entirely. By the time he regained consciousness, Wei Wuxian had possessed just enough strength to wriggle free.

He didn’t know whether he’d have the strength to do it again.

It hurt.

It was so heavy, and he was so tired –

And he could hear his siblings here.

It was a dream – he knew it had to be. For the first few days, Wei Wuxian had clutched at every apparition and hallucination he saw, desperate to know that he wasn’t alone, but he knew better now. He was alone – except when he was dreaming.

And this…

This was a beautiful dream.

Jiang Cheng and Yanli were sharing memories of their happiest times, their voices soft and warm, and now and again Wei Wuxian even heard an ‘Mn’ from a voice that could only be Lan Zhan. It brought tears to Wei Wuxian’s eyes, even beneath his closed lids.

He wished that he could stay in this dream forever. He would take the pain and the fatigue in a heartbeat, to be able to listen to his favourite people in the world, to know that they were safe.

But they weren’t. Wen Chao had Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan, and rather than helping them, Wei Wuxian was lying still and useless as a corpse, clinging to dreams and memories. He needed to move – if he could reach out to Xiaoshou, then maybe –

But no… confusion and disquiet rippled through him. That wasn’t right – Xiaoshou was guarding Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng. They’d already left the Burial Mounds, left Qishan, so where –

Why…

Memories hit him like a whip – Lotus Pier burning, his Shijie with a sword in her hand, covered in blood –

His panic roared, a desperate cry making its way to his throat, but before he could make a sound, he heard Yanli laugh. Clear. Close.

It didn’t…

It didn’t sound like a dream. Not anymore.

Could… could it really be real?

“I forgot about that,” she said, her voice equal parts frail and fond. “I’d never seen so many frogs in one place.”

“The cooks nearly killed us,” Jiang Cheng added, and Wei Wuxian could hear the smile in his voice. “I tried telling him we’d get caught if we took a cooking pot, but he pointed out it was the only thing we had with a lid.”

They sounded… they sounded so real. So close. But Wei Wuxian couldn’t dare to believe that he was awake. He couldn’t. If he woke up and his siblings weren’t there –

If he woke up and Yanli was –

He couldn’t –

“Why?” Lan Zhan asked, sounding utterly perplexed.

“We were building a frog army,” said Jiang Cheng. “Obviously.”

“…a frog… army?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?” Somehow, Lan Zhan sounded even more confused.

And his voice sounded even closer.

Even more real.

…and between the weight on his chest and the pain wracking through his body, Wei Wuxian certainly felt awake.

“I can’t remember, exactly. I think it was to distract the kitchen so we could steal the desserts they were making for the cultivation conference.”

Terrified as he was that speaking would shatter this dream, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but croak out, “Liar.”

Yanli gasped, and the bed shifted beneath him as someone sat at his side, grabbing his hand.

“The Peacock was… staying… for the conference,” Wei Wuxian wheezed. Every word felt like a ball of sandpaper ripping through his throat, and it seemed to take all the strength of every muscle in his chest to take a breath, but there was a record to set straight. “You wanted… to put them… in his bed.”

“A-Xian!” Yanli cried, her voice desperate, and Wei Wuxian tilted his head towards the sound.

Dared to open his eyes.

Just as soon as his vision focused it blurred with tears, and Wei Wuxian swallowed hard. She was there – Yanli was there, in a bed just a few feet from his own. Propped up with several pillows, she looked a little too pale, and utterly exhausted, but she was alive. She was alive, and awake, and here.

“Shijie,” he whispered, his voice creaking around the word. “I missed you.”

She sobbed, and Wei Wuxian’s heart broke, but she also smiled, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Xianxian… I missed you too. Your Shijie missed you so much.”

Tears streaming down his face, Wei Wuxian felt his lip wobble. “I’m sorry… I was so late,” he choked, his eyes drifting towards her blankets. He wasn’t sure exactly where she was wounded, but from the amount of blood he’d seen he knew it was serious “I couldn’t reach you in time…”

“You did reach me in time,” she soothed, and Wei Wuxian started to shake his head. “A-Xian, if you hadn’t come when you did, I would be dead.” He flinched violently, his entirely being recoiling from that thought. The hand holding his squeezed, and he glanced up to see Jiang Cheng looking significantly pale. “You saved my life, A-Xian. I’m alive, because of you.”

He shivered. “But… you’re hurt.”

“So are you,” she said, staring beseechingly at him. “But it’s okay now, Xianxian. We’re together now. That’s what matters.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “You scared me so badly, A-Xian.”

Nausea churned in Wei Wuxian’s stomach and roared up his throat. He had known from the moment he raised his flute to his lips that his sister might see the very worst side of him, that she would be horrified and disgusted – that maybe her whole opinion of him would change. He wouldn’t regret it, not if it had saved her life, but he wished that she hadn’t seen. He wished so hard it hurt.

“I’m sorry, Shijie,” he whispered. “Please don’t be afraid… I’d never let that touch you. Never.” The last word was said with such conviction it caught in Wei Wuxian’s throat, and he coughed violently. At once, Jiang Cheng hummed, putting a hand behind Wei Wuxian’s head and gently tilting it up.

“Here,” he said gruffly, holding a cup to Wei Wuxian’s lips. “Drink.”

Greedily, Wei Wuxian did as he was told, shuddering at the relief of the cool water on his throat. As he did, he caught sight of another bed on the other side of his own, and looked to see Lan Zhan sitting there, staring at him. There was worry wrought deep into Lan Zhan’s brow, and Wei Wuxian looked away, his cheeks burning. He drained three cups before Jiang Cheng decided that was enough.

“Just pace yourself,” he murmured, his voice unsettlingly gentle. “Are you in pain? Should we call Liu Chen?”

Wei Wuxian thought of the sight of Lotus Pier in flames, of how many bodies he’d seen strewn across the ground. Liu Chen had far more important things to do.

“I’m fine,” he said, and Jiang Cheng scowled.

“Wangji-” he began, but before he could finish or Wei Wuxian could interrupt, Lan Zhan said, “Mn.” As Wei Wuxian looked, Lan Zhan strode over to the door, disappearing outside. Wei Wuxian’s heart skipped a beat, but then his sister spoke again, snatching his attention back –

And her expression tore through Wei Wuxian like a blade. He didn’t think he had ever seen Yanli look so desperately heartbroken, and his own heart shattered within his chest.

“A-Xian…” she hesitated, her lip quivering. “Xianxian, I wasn’t scared of you.” She shook her head slightly, tears spilling freely down her cheeks. “I was scared for you. You’d been gone for so long, and I was so afraid – and then you were there, just in the nick of time, but you – you almost died, A-Xian. If Lan-er-gongzi hadn’t been here to play Cleansing, you… You almost died in my arms.” Her voice broke, and Wei Wuxian began to sob silently, his whole body shuddering. “I don’t – I can’t – That’s what scared me, Xianxian. I thought – I thought I was going to lose you, before I ever even got you back. I thought I was going to lose my didi. You’ve been asleep for three days. That’s what scared me. I’m not afraid of you, Xianxian. How could I ever be afraid of you?”

Wei Wuxian sobbed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Shijie.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she insisted gently. “You just need to be more careful with yourself. I can’t lose you, alright? I can’t do it.”

“Okay, Shijie,” he whispered.

“You overdid it this time,” said Jiang Cheng grimly, “but Lotus Pier is safe for now. So that’s something.”

The floorboards creaked slightly with someone shifting their weight, and Wei Wuxian opened his eyes to see Lan Zhan still lingering by the door.

“I can return later,” he said quietly, awkwardly, his eyes flicking between Wei Wuxian and Yanli. Yanli smiled, wiping her eyes.

“Ah, I’m sure you’ve seen us both in worse states than this by now, Lan-er-gongzi,” she said. “You’re welcome to stay if you want to.”

To Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Lan Zhan nodded, reentering the room properly. Jiang Cheng patted the end of Wei Wuxian’s bed, and after a moment of hesitation Lan Zhan sat down there.

“The doctor has been called. Jiang-zongzhu, as well.”

“Thanks. We’re telling him what an idiot he was,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Zhan fixed Wei Wuxian with a stare.

“You channelled far too much resentful energy. Do not do that again.”

“And don’t leave us on any more boats,” Jiang Cheng threatened.

“You need to take better care of yourself, Xianxian,” Yanli added.

Wei Wuxian looked down towards his feet. “What choice did I have?” They all fell silent. “If it was between my life and everyone in Lotus Pier…”

The quiet lingered around them, and Wei Wuxian swallowed.

“No one is saying you weren’t very brave,” Yanli said quietly. “Or that we are not grateful. I understand why you did what you did… In fact, I imagine it was the same reason I chose to fight.”

Terror shot down Wei Wuxian’s spine, even though he knew the battle was already over. He hadn’t had time to consider why Yanli had been on the battlefield, but it hadn’t crossed his darkest nightmares that she might have entered a battle willingly.

Yanli met his eyes strongly. “I had people to protect, and a duty to look after my family. If I fell, I would have had no regrets. But it would have hurt you.”

No.

It would have broken him. If Wei Wuxian had returned to find his Shijie dead, if she had been cut down in the terror of battle – he wouldn’t – even the thought of it crushed the air from his lungs and pierced his chest –

He couldn’t –

“That’s how I feel,” she pushed, and he looked at her wildly. “That fear, that pain – that is how I feel, knowing that you put your life on the line for us. I’m not upset with you, A-Xian. But I can’t lose you. We can’t lose you. Do you understand?”

Wei Wuxian nodded meekly, rubbing the tears from his cheeks. Jiang Cheng sighed, and began to stroke his hair.

“Don’t get yourself worked up,” he chided. “You’re still healing.”

Wei Wuxian glared reflexively. “You started it.”

“Boys,” Yanli chided, but then she froze, her eyes filling with tears again.

“Shijie?!”

“A-Jie, are you-”

“I didn’t know if I’d ever get to say that again,” she whispered, a wobbly smile coming to her face. “I was so afraid… but you’re home now. My boys are home now.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long before the Liu Chen bustled into the room. Wei Wuxian almost didn’t recognise the doctor at first – his once dark hair was now overshot with grey, his face just a shade too pale, and lined with new wrinkles. Exhaustion hunched his shoulders, but when he met Wei Wuxian’s eyes, the relief in Liu Chen’s smile was so strong Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile back.

“Wei-gongzi,” he greeted. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but snort at the word choice, and he smiled. “Thank you. It’s good to see you, Liu-daifu.”

Liu Chen’s expression softened. “It is good to see you, too, Wei-gongzi. Very good indeed.”

He reached for Wei Wuxian’s wrist, taking his pulse, and Wei Wuxian stiffened – then slumped. There was no point worrying about Liu Chen sensing the resentful energy within him. Any hope he’d had of keeping it a secret was long gone.

“How are you feeling?” the doctor asked, pausing in his prodding to look Wei Wuxian sharply in the eye.

The word ‘fine’ formed on Wei Wuxian’s lips, but he could feel his siblings and Lan Zhan staring at him, and he sighed, giving in. “Exhausted,” he admitted. “And it feels like there’s an elephant crushing my chest. Everything aches.”

In truth, ‘ache’ was an understatement. It felt like lightning had burnt through every vein in his body, slicing and searing simultaneously, leaving him burnt and cut open from the inside out. In its essence, it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. Ever since he started to control the resentment in the Burial Mounds, practising traditional cultivation had sent that violent burn crackling through his meridians. Even talismans now were wont to make his nose bleed.

But this was far, far worse than the backlash he’d received before, even after escaping Qishan.

“You scared me so badly, A-Xian.”

“Mm,” said Liu Chen, snatching Wei Wuxian’s attention. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes grave. “I’m not surprised – you suffered extensive injuries, Wei-gongzi. The resentful energy you wielded scorched through every meridian, and eventually the damage it inflicted on your own core was so severe that in its effort to fight back, it began to destroy itself. I can only imagine how bad the pain must be.”

Yanli sniffed, badly muffling a little sob, and out of the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian saw Lan Zhan flinch.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian tried to smile. “It’s not that bad. It’s bearable!”

“That’s because Lan-zongzhu has played ‘Healing’ for you on a daily basis, and because we’ve been pouring medicine down your throat every few hours,” said Liu Chen bluntly. He took Wei Wuxian’s wrist again, putting his other hand on his chest. “Take a deep breath for me.” Wei Wuxian obeyed, his ribcage screaming in protest. “Good – now hold it. Hold it.” Within seconds, Wei Wuxian’s lungs were screaming, but he tried to focus on keeping the effort off of his face. He’d held his breath underwater for ten times longer than this, more even. If Jiang Cheng knew how much he was struggling now, Wei Wuxian would never live it down. “…and release.”

Relieved, Wei Wuxian exhaled, and Liu Chen nodded slowly, removing his hands.

“Well, that’s a relief at least. Your lungs suffered particularly badly – I suspect because of the method you used to cultivate the resentment – but they seem to be functioning well enough.” He paused, meeting Wei Wuxian’s eye again. “You have probably already noticed, Wei-gongzi, but I have had to seal your golden core.”

Wei Wuxian froze. Panic flooded through him as he felt for his core, finding that Liu Chen was telling the truth. If his spiritual energy was sealed, if he couldn’t fight, if they were attacked –

If the Wen came back –

“Liu-daifu-” he choked, but the doctor met his eyes dead on.

“If I had not, you may not have recovered at all,” he said sharply. “Between Lan-er-gongzi’s ‘Cleansing’, Lan-zongzhu’s ‘Healing’ and every scrap of knowledge I have, we were able to keep your core intact, Wei-gongzi, but barely. You must not try and break the seal or practise any cultivation until I have cleared you to do so. I don’t know how it is you cultivate resentful energy – that is not something I’ve ever seen before, and so I cannot temporarily cut off your ability to do so as I have with your core, but I must impress upon you, Wei-gongzi, if you cultivate either method now, your life will be at immediate and serious risk. I know that you like to take my words as suggestions, but disregarding them now would likely cost you your life. Do you understand?”

Jiang Cheng shifted anxiously on the bed beside him, gripping his hand.

“How long for?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“Wei Wuxian-” Jiang Cheng growled.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Liu Chen. “But you must give yourself time to heal, Wei-gongzi, or we will not be able to pull you back again. You must not practise cultivation until I allow it.”

“You’ve seen the strength of Qishan Wen,” said Wei Wuxian quietly. “All of you have. If I use demonic cultivation, we have a fighting chance.”

“Not if you drop dead on your first steps onto the battlefield,” Jiang Cheng snapped.

“A-Cheng,” Yanli chided softly, before looking towards Wei Wuxian. “He isn’t wrong. A-Xian, I understand where you are coming from, but the matter of whether or not you should use your new method in battle is a discussion for later. Right now, you’re in no state to cultivate, so it doesn’t matter.” She held his gaze, and Wei Wuxian lasted only a moment before he ducked his chin and nodded.

“Alright, Shijie. I’ll be good.”

She smiled, and Wei Wuxian’s heart swelled. He wanted to reach out, to squeeze her hand or even hug her, but even sitting upright in bed had taken tremendous effort.

It didn’t matter. She was here, and she was alive. Safe. That was what mattered.

“Do you have any questions, Wei-gongzi?” Liu Chen asked gently, and Wei Wuxian thought for a moment.

“How badly is Shijie hurt?”

“A-Xian,” Yanli sighed, though she was smiling wryly at him.

“Her wound was serious, but she is healing well. She should be able to start getting up in the next couple of days,” Liu Chen answered dutifully. “Jiang-gongzi and Lan-er-gongzi are also healing well, though most of their wounds were inflicted some time before they reached us – as I’m guessing you know. Do you have any questions about your own condition?”

Wei Wuxian considered for a moment. “How soon can I have something to eat?”

Liu Chen smiled. “I will contact the kitchens immediately. You’re due another dose of the pain medication in a few hours – I will check in on you then.”

…in short, Jiang-zongzhu, while I do not begrudge your leaving, and hope dearly that you reached home in time, I must implore you to send troops back to the front in Jiangling as soon as possible. We are losing ground, and without your support I fear the Wen will take the region entirely before the month is out…

Jiang Fengmian closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. His headache was getting worse. It had started as a buzz at the back of his head, but now it throbbed throughout his entire skull, the pressure building behind his eyes. It might have been the lack of sleep, or perhaps dehydration, but either way it didn’t matter. He did not have time to tend to it.

He-zongzhu’s letter was right – he knew it was. Fengmian had known from the moment he ordered his troops to turn for home that doing so could be catastrophic to the front in Jiangling, and no doubt that had been part of Wen Ruohan’s plan. In terms of numbers, the Wen had the upper hand by hundreds, and they had already split the fighting across four fronts. Adding Lotus Pier itself as a fifth would benefit them, even if they had lost the battle. Yunmeng Jiang had to return to the front line, and soon.

But that meant leaving again.

Leaving, with the knowledge that Wen Ruohan had the power to cast down their wards, knowing that the number of warriors they could spare to stay home as guard would never be enough.

Leaving his children behind.

That was the thought that stuck like a blade in his chest. He had been parted from them for so long, and for them to return so brutally wounded –

It made Jiang Fengmian feel sick.

In his heart, animal instinct screamed at him to barricade them in his own rooms, stand guard himself against anything that tried to hurt them, but he couldn’t. They wouldn’t thank him if he did, and more importantly Jiang Fengmian was also Jiang-zongzhu. There were many more lives under his protection than just his children.

But to leave them before A-Xian had even woken…

He sighed, opening his eyes and picking up a brush. He would have to send some troops out today, even if it was no more than twenty or thirty. He Xing was a great cultivator and had a good mind for strategy, but the coalition of minor clans he led in Jiang Fengmian’s absence numbered half of Yunmeng Jiang, even with the small group of warriors Fengmian had left in Jiangling.  

He penned a short reply, promising to bring greater numbers in the coming week, taking care not to be too exact. He wasn’t sure, yet, how many he would keep stationed here. With the potential cost on both sides being human lives, the calculations were unbearable to decide.

Draining the cup of stone-cold tea on the desk, Fengmian rose, leaving his office to find Jiang Yuze. His second in command was easy to locate, watching over the training of their youngest disciples with an eagle eye.

“Zongzhu,” he said with a bow as Jiang Fengmian approached. Unlike usual, the disciple leading the training did not pause, and the little ones did not break form to clamour for Jiang Fengmian’s attention. He felt his heart break a little. It was not fair – these children were far too young to have to understand why they needed to train so hard.

“Yuze,” he said, turning his attention to his second in command and handing over the sealed letter and the list of names. “I need you to send these disciples back to Jiangling ahead of the rest of us with this letter – He-zongzhu needs reinforcements as soon as possible.”

Jiang Yuze stared at the papers for a moment, then back at Jiang Fengmian. “Zongzhu, were you not supposed to be resting?”

“Liu Chen advised me to do so, but now is not a good time. I will rest later.”

Concern carved deep into Jiang Yuze’s forehead. “Shixiong, you haven’t slept in three days. You barely slept before that.”

The familiar address brought a weary smile to Jiang Fengmian’s lips. “You have not fared much better, Shidi. There is too much that needs my attention right now.”

“Your full attention,” Jiang Yuze pushed. “Which you cannot give if you are dead on your feet.”

“I trust you to tell me if I reach such a state,” said Fengmian. “Right now, my mind is clear. What’s more-”

“Zongzhu!” someone yelled, and Jiang Fengmian whipped around to see Fang Yusen running towards him. Even as Fengmian’s guard raised, he saw the smile on the boy’s face, the brightness in his eyes, and Fengmian’s heart skipped a beat as Yusen spoke again. “Wei-gongzi’s awake! Da-Shixiong is awake!”

Relief hit Jiang Fengmian so hard in the chest that his knees almost gave way. He glanced at Yuze, but all the man said was, “Go!”

Just as he had when he was told that A-Li was awake, Jiang Fengmian ran through Lotus Pier paying no attention to decorum or pride. It seemed to take an age to reach the rooms his children were housed it, but as he approached his footsteps faltered.

The last time he had seen Wei Wuxian conscious… It had been when he and A-Li took Yao-zongzhu to Lanling. So much had happened since then, and A-Xian had been wronged so badly…

In truth, Fengmian was afraid that A-Xian would not want to see him. He had every right to be angry. But in the same moment…  Jiang Fengmian feared that A-Xian wasn’t angry enough. That he would accept what had been done to him – that perhaps he even believed it was justified. Either way, Jiang Fengmian’s heart would break.

After all the countless hours of rumination that had haunted him these past months, Jiang Fengmian was almost too ashamed to see the boy he had raised.

He bit back such self-pitying thoughts and pushed through the door without thinking to knock, almost sending Liu Chen flying backwards as the doctor tried to leave.

“Apologies, Daifu,” he said, but Liu Chen shook his head with a weary smile.

“Not at all, Jiang-zongzhu, not at all,” he said, bustling out of the room.

Jiang Fengmian looked past him, and for the first time in months his eyes met Wei Wuxian’s. While he was still sickly pale, A-Xian’s eyes were bright and alert, and as soon as they met Fengmian’s he smiled.

“Jiang-shushu!” he greeted, and though his voice weak, it was as warm as it had ever been. Far warmer than Jiang Fengmian deserved.

“A-Xian,” he replied, his voice sticking in his throat painfully. “You’re awake…” His eyes began to burn. “How are you feeling?”

A-Xian’s smile took on an almost sheepish hue, and Fengmian’s heart ached.

“Ah… a little tired, a little sore, but I’ll be alright. It’s good to see you, Jiang-shushu.”

Guilt and pain twisted through Jiang Fengmian’s chest, and he swallowed. “You too, A-Xian,” he murmured. It felt like a great snake had wrapped around his neck, squeezing unbearably, but he forced himself to clear his throat and smile at Lan Wangji. “Lan-er-gongzi, would you mind excusing us for a moment? I believe your brother is in the main courtyard.”

At once, Lan Wangji bowed his head and stood up, but Wei Wuxian startled, looking at the Second Jade with an almost panicked expression.

“Are you coming back?” he asked, and without hesitation Lan Wangji nodded, his expression softening.

“Mn.”

Wei Wuxian visibly relaxed, his smile returning. “Oh – good.” Lan Wangji smiled, and somehow Jiang Fengmian’s heart eased slightly as he watched A-Xian’s eyes follow Lan Wangji out of the door. Old memories stirred of his youth with Wei Changze, of watching those same eyes soften for another white-robed figure, happiness creasing the corners in the exact same way.

A fresh wave of grief crashed down onto his shoulders, but by now the burden upon them was so heavy it made little difference.

It was not as though Jiang Fengmian did not deserve it.

He looked over the three children before him, his aching heart whispering that ‘children’ was probably no longer an appropriate word. Each one of them had been brutally dragged from adolescence into adulthood, and Fengmian hadn’t been able to protect a single one of them.

As much as he wished it, he could not go back. All he could do was try to move forward, and after months of pondering on the mistakes and his made and how to fix him, Jiang Fengmian had long accepted that his children needed to know the truth. They needed to know where he had failed – they needed to know that he knew where he had failed.

So they could trust he would not make them again.

“A-Xian,” he said finally, but then he paused.

Closed his eyes.

“You will not call him A-Ying. You’ve already done your son the disservice of making that boy his Shixiong, you will not add insult to injury by addressing him as familiarly as you do your own son!”

Keeping the peace could be damned.

That woman would not dictate his actions.

Not anymore.  

He opened his eyes, and met Wei Wuxian’s once again.

 “A-Ying… I am so sorry.”

The way Wei Wuxian’s eyes blew wide with shock and dismay was gut-wrenchingly predictable.

“Please don’t say that, Jiang-shushu,” he protested, conviction shining in his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This disciple drew too much attention to himself and brought trouble to the clan, he-”

Bile rose up Jiang Fengmian’s throat with every word, and he held up a hand. “Enough.” His voice broke, but it also burnt with conviction of his own, “You will hear me, A-Ying.”

He had to. After so many years of Jiang Fengmian’s inaction, of his failure to make himself clear, it was vital now that Wei Wuxian understood – and that A-Cheng and Yanli did, too. He was sure that not a single one of them wished to be having this conversation, but it was necessary. Vital, even.

Biting his lip, A-Xian glanced towards Yanli. Her brow was creased with worry, but she nodded slightly, and Wei Wuxian swallowed, looking back to Jiang Fengmian with a little nod of his own. For his own part, Jiang Cheng was stock still, his eyes fixed on the floor by Jiang Fengmian’s feet – his hand gripping A-Xian’s with a white knuckled grip.

“I am sorry,” Fengmian said once more. It was an act of self-control that the words didn’t fall from his lips a dozen more times, that he was able to move on with his sentence. “I am sorry for how much you have suffered, and for the fact that so much of that suffering was brought by the hands of our own clan. I am sorry we were not able to find you, to help you. And I am sorry,” his voice cracked once again. “I am sorry that I left you at the mercy of a woman who would go so far to harm you. That I did nothing to prevent it – that my actions contributed to it.”

“Jiang-shushu,” A-Xian protested, his voice trembling. “This…” he raised the stump of his right hand, and Jiang Fengmian failed to keep from wincing. Shame coloured A-Xian’s cheeks, and he swallowed. “This was not your fault, Jiang-shushu, and it wasn’t Yu-furen’s fault either. She had the entire clan to consider – this was a small price to pay in return-”

Anger flashed across Jiang Fengmian’s chest, though he knew he had no right to it. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, and Wei Wuxian shut his mouth at once. “Your hand, your life – neither of those are small things, A-Ying. Do not undermine your importance to this family. What’s more – that was her excuse. That she didn’t have a choice, that anyone else would be forced to do the same in her shoes. But I do not agree.” A-Xian’s lips parted, but Jiang Fengmian continued. “I do not believe she would have done the same if they had asked for any other member of our clan – and I know she would never have done so if it were A-Cheng or A-Li. But even if you choose to believe that she would, even if you claim she had no choice but to take your hand or doom every soul in Lotus Pier… that does not excuse how she did so.”

Tears were beginning to fall down Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, mirroring those spilling freely from Fengmian’s own eyes, but he could not stop. Throughout that entirety of his marriage he had held his tongue, ignoring and dismissing the vitriol Yu Ziyuan spat in the name of not aggravating her further, of keeping things civil.

And it had nearly cost him the three most important people in his life. He would not be silent again.

“It could never forgive how cruelly she cursed you and berated you. You speak of the clan – how does it make our clan look to have her abase our head disciple so viciously in front of our enemies? It does not excuse how it was an afterthought to stop the bleeding, how she sold you to them without even an attempt to negotiate. She is not lacking an education in diplomacy – even if she was forced to take your hand, she could still have argued for you to remain here, she still could have offered something else in your place. She did not even try. She knew as well as I what Wen Chao did in that cave, that he damned the young masters of every great sect to die. She knew as well as I what that meant. That Wen Chao would not think twice about killing you for his own pleasure, or his own cowardice.”

Jiang Cheng was trembling now, biting down on his lip so hard the skin was white, and Wei Wuxian seemed to sink further down into his pillows. Every instinct within Jiang Fengmian fought to dismiss their worries with soft, empty words, to pat their heads and change the subject, but he ignored them.  

“My wife,” he said, the word bitter on his lips. “My wife knew this, and she let them take you. She did not organise a plan for your rescue – she forbade it. She believed that you were nothing but a nuisance to our clan, that perhaps we were even better off with you gone. She forgot that you, as well as A-Cheng, were the reason the rest of our disciples returned from Qishan in the first place. She would not have done what she did to any other member of Yunmeng Jiang, disciple or servant. Not in so vicious a manner. Not so cruelly. She was wrong. And I am deeply sorry for it. But I… I have fault too.”

“Jiang-shushu-” Wei Wuxian croaked, but Jiang Fengmian fixed him with a stare, even as Yanli whispered a heartbroken, “Xianxian…”

Still looking anywhere but at his father, Jiang Cheng slipped onto the floor between the two beds, offering his sister his spare hand even as he kept hold of A-Xian’s.

“Much of the fault is mine,” Fengmian admitted, his shame so strong he couldn’t help but close his eyes. “I allowed her to believe she was entitled to such actions. To avoid conflict, I failed to condemn when her words and her punishments were too harsh, I and allowed her to dictate your place in our household. I let her dictate how you addressed A-Cheng and A-Li, how they addressed you – even how I addressed you. For the sake of keeping the peace, I let her do as she would. Instead of intervening, I gave you special attention, but not only did that fail to protect you, but it also made her believe I was spurning A-Cheng,” A-Cheng flinched at that, and Jiang Fengmian swallowed.  “I see now that perhaps A-Cheng thought the same – and I can see why. I made everything worse. I did not want to see it. To face it. I was a coward, and idle, and-”

“Jiang-shushu, please,” Wei Wuxian begged, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Stop…”

“A-Die…” A-Li whimpered, but Jiang Fengmian couldn’t stop. Not now.

“I am sorry, A-Ying. And I am sorry, A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng jumped, looking up at him with wild shock in his eyes – a shock that broke Jiang Fengmian’s heart.

“I do not favour one of you above the other,” he said, his voice raw. “Perhaps I should – you are my son, A-Cheng, and perhaps it is wrong of me not to hold you above him, but I have raised you both. I have loved you both. I have been lenient with A-Ying because Ziyuan is so cruel, and because he is not the one who will have to take my place one day – he will never have to shoulder the same responsibilities as you. I want you to be ready, A-Cheng. I want you to be the best you can be. But I have never loved him more than you. If I have – I have made you think that way, and I am sorry. I am so very sorry.”

“A-Die,” A-Cheng croaked, and Jiang Fengmian closed his eyes. All three of his children were sobbing, and there had been no break to the tears on his own cheeks.

“A-Die is sorry,” he whispered.

Something crashed into him, and his eyes flew open to find Jiang Cheng wrapped around him, clinging on as though for dear life. Behind him, both A-Li and A-Xian had their hands outstretched, as though they had urged him forward, and Fengmian squeezed his eyes shut again, holding his son close.

“You did the best you could, A-Die,” Yanli sobbed, and he looked up in time to see A-Xian nodding fiercely.

Yet more tears filled Fengmian’s eyes, and the image of A-Xian before him blurred into that of another – the face of a man he remembered in greater detail than either of his own parents, even though they had died after.

“Then my best was poor indeed,” he said, squeezing A-Cheng tightly for a moment before pushing him gently back, leading him to sit. A-Cheng perched on the end of Yanli’s bed, and Jiang Fengmian rested on A-Xian’s, though he made a point to take A-Cheng’s hand. “I will do better.” He met Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “I will not allow her to harm you again. Never again. If you wish it, I will never allow her in your presence.”

“But you can’t, Jiang-shushu,” Wei Wuxian protested weakly. “She’s your wife, she’s A-Cheng and Shijie’s mother – you can’t break up your family for me, Shushu, you can’t-”

“That is what your father said,” Jiang Fengmian admitted, the memory cutting deep into his chest, and Wei Wuxian fell silent. “And I will reply to you as I should have to him – you are my family, A-Ying. Just as much as she. More, in fact – you have not betrayed this family.”

He paused for a long moment, and then took a deep breath, meeting A-Xian’s eyes.

Changze’s eyes.

From their shape to their colour to the warmth within them… Wei Wuxian’s eyes were so much like his father’s. Fengmian wasn’t sure if A-Xian even knew that – he had always refrained from talking too much about Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren. Part of that was another effort to pacify his wife, but a larger part than he would admit was his own reluctance. His own grief, and his own regret.

It was just another way he had let A-Xian down.

“You are so much like your father,” he said, and despite his grief, he felt the corner of his mouth pull towards a smile. “Both my wife and Lan Qiren see your mother when they look at you – and you are very much like her, too.  Your spirit is all your mother’s – your energy, your sense of humour, your sense of justice… But your soul… your cleverness, your kindness, your loyalty – that is all your father’s. You are the greatest parts of them both, A-Ying.”

A-Xian’s eyes were wide as he drank in Fengmian’s words, alight with a heart-breaking wonder, and Jiang Fengmian sighed.

“In truth… I was in love with your mother, for a time.” Wei Wuxian hissed in a breath as A-Cheng and A-Li looked up in horror and surprise, but Jiang Fengmian made sure not to let the sentence hang for too long. “It was difficult not to be. We were young, at the Cloud Recesses, and she was bright, and funny, and beautiful. Talented, too, beyond anything I had seen before in our generation. I liked her – and yes, loved her. But I loved your father more.”

He still remembered the moment he realised that he and Wei Changze had fallen for the same woman. They were night hunting, staying in an old, run down temple in an abandoned village, and as was their way, the two young men had been talking long after the fire died down. It was only then, in the dark, that Changze let his expression slip. His voice had given little away as Fengmian talked on and on about how deeply he admired Cangse Sanren, but his eyes…

Barely visible in the darkness, his eyes had shone with a pain Fengmian had never seen before.

“Everyone still seems to think they ran away together,” he murmured. “That it came as a great shock.” He laughed, a small, sad sound. “I’d known for years. I knew Changze better than I knew myself. When I realised that he was in love with her too… I knew that his feelings were deeper than mine.”

It had been almost instantaneous, the way that Jiang Fengmian’s feelings towards Cangse Sanren shifted. He still vividly remembered the way disappointment had welled within him and drowned the butterflies in his stomach, the way his heart had sunk with a finality he still found hard to understand. In that moment, seeing the pain in Wei Changze’s eyes when he thought Fengmian couldn’t see, realising that his best friend was in love with the woman he admired…

In that moment, Fengmian knew that he and Cangse Sanren would never be.

 “My love for her was a schoolboy’s crush, nothing more. I would like to think that even if my affections had run as deeply, I would have done the same anyway. I loved your father too much to stand in the way of his happiness. He was…” His throat tightened. What words were there to describe what Wei Changze had been to him? What words could suffice to make his children understand? Best friend sounded too juvenile, and shidi too distant. After all that had happened, he did not know that he had the right to call himself Changze’s brother. “He was the most important person in my life. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I would have given my life for his in a heartbeat.” Once again, his mouth quirked into a smile despite himself. “Even though that sentiment outraged him… But regardless – to give up on a childish crush on a woman who did not return my affection anyway… It was nothing.”

He looked at Wei Wuxian, at the features that he shared with his parents, and the ones that were all his own… A-Xian looked like a man viewing the mountains for the first time – or like a child rescued from the streets, and brought into the luxury of Lotus Pier.

Jiang Fengmian should have told him this before. Should have said all of it before.

“I knew they were courting almost before they did,” he recalled, a bittersweet smile growing stronger on his lips. “My admiration for Cangse remained, but the nature of my affection changed. I loved her as a sister-in-law, and in fact our friendship grew for it. Contrary to popular belief, their marriage was not a surprise to me. I was there. I gave them my blessing to come and go from Lotus Pier as they pleased. ‘Sanren’ was not just a moniker your mother took from her Shizun. I’ve never met anyone with such wanderlust in all my life – she would not have been content to live permanently in Yunmeng. Changze was still a member of Yunmeng Jiang, as was Cangse by marriage, but they had their own path to lead. It wasn’t… it wasn’t until you boys were born that they stopped coming back.”

“Why?” To his faint surprise it was A-Cheng who asked, his voice thick with tears. “Was – was that A-Niang, too?”

The look of heartbreak on A-Cheng’s face made Fengmian wish that he could lie. “It was. Over time she grew angrier and angrier at their visits, and it had been a longer stay than usual. Changze didn’t want to risk you being born on the road, A-Xian, so for the last month of your mother’s pregnancy they returned here.”

Fengmian had been so happy. His daughter was the brightest, smiliest toddler he’d ever seen, and his wife was about to give birth to their second baby. His dearest friends were about to have their first, a child he looked forward to almost as much as his own, and everyone he loved was in the same place. Ziyuan was more irritable than usual, yes, but she was also very, very pregnant. Fengmian did not know much about pregnancy, but from observing it alone he thought that her mood seemed fair. Perhaps if he had paid attention then, things might have been different.

“I was thrilled when you were born, A-Ying, and I didn’t think it would be possible to be happier until A-Cheng was born a week later… I thought you two would grow up together, as Changze and I did, that in A-Cheng would be blessed with the same sort of friendship I had … But your mother misunderstood. She took my words to mean that I was happy A-Cheng was born a boy only so he would be a companion to A-Ying. You were two days old, A-Cheng, and she flew into a rage worse than I had ever seen. She accused me of being A-Ying’s father, and Cangse’s anger rose to meet hers. If they hadn’t both just given birth, I fear Lotus Pier would have seen a fight the likes of which they would never see again. That night, Changze told me they would not come back.”

“What are you talking about?” Fengmian choked, his throat raw from shouting. “Changze, you can’t be serious – I’ll keep her away from Cangse! If you’re worried about A-Ying, Ziyuan would never harm him – she has a sharp tongue, but she would never hurt a baby, A-Chang, you can’t-”

“I know that we are safe here,” Changze said quietly, and it was so rare that he would interrupt that Fengmian was struck dumb. “I have always known that, Jiang-zongzhu. I know you would keep A-Ying and Cangse safe.”

An awful thought dropped through Fengmian’s stomach, so revolting his gut churned. “A-Chang, you don’t think that I – that A-Ying is-”

Wei Changze’s eyes widened in genuine surprise and he reached out, squeezing Fengmian’s wrist. “No, Shixiong. I know that’s not true. There is no one I trust more deeply, other than perhaps Cangse. But our presence causes strife in your marriage.”

“Your presence makes me happier than I ever am without it,” Fengmian countered, and Changze smiled sadly.

“I think that is part of the problem,” he said softly. “Your wife believes you care for us more deeply than her.”

“I-” Fengmian broke off, and Changze’s smile grew surer. Sadder.

“You cannot break up your family for me, Jiang-zonzghu. It is better we don’t come back.”

“It… this wasn’t supposed to happen,” choked Jiang Fengmian, his eyes burning, and Changze swallowed, hard. “This is your home.”

Tears welled in Changze’s eyes, and he nodded. “It was. Take good care of it, Shixiong.”

Panic rose in Fengmian’s chest, and he grabbed Changze’s wrist. “I will not cut you out of my life! Changze-”

“I would never ask you to do so,” Changze swore. “We will always be your friends, Da-ge. We will not come to Lotus Pier, but I will send word whenever we pass Yunmeng. There are many places we can meet. But it is better if we don’t return to Lotus Pier. I’m sorry.”

“I only saw them a few times after that. The last time, you boys were barely four years old. Cangse was talking about making a longer journey now that A-Ying was bigger, so I didn’t question it when I did not hear from them for a while. The next thing I heard was news of their deaths.” Not for the first time, the cruel irony of the situation twisted painfully in Fengmian’s chest. “That was why it took me so long to find you, A-Ying. I didn’t think to look anywhere as close as Yiling. I’m sorry.”  

“That wasn’t your fault, Jiang-shushu,” A-Xian whispered, his voice sounding thick with tears. “You didn’t know.”

“If I had put my foot down – if I had faced conflict, rather than avoiding it… It would have been better, for all of you. We would have sidestepped much of this grief. I am sorry. But I promise – it will not happen again.”

Quiet hung in the air for a moment, until A-Xian apparently could not bear it any longer.

“I never blamed anything of that, Jiang-shushu.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have,” Jiang Fengmian said gently. He reached out and took A-Cheng’s hand, and his son looked up at him. “I will do better, now. I promise.”

Chapter Text

Lotus Pier really was beautiful. Though he had been here for almost a week, Lan Wangji hadn’t seen much of it – in fact he hadn’t really left the two adjoining sick rooms. It felt a little uncomfortable doing so now, but Jiang Fengmian clearly desired privacy, and it would feel ill-mannered to linger in the adjoining room – especially as Jiang-zongzhu had explicitly pointed him in Xichen’s direction.

So, with the help of some clear directions from the guards outside of the rooms, Wangji was now making his way through Lotus Pier to the main courtyard, and he couldn’t help but stare as he did. The beauty was different to that of the Cloud Recesses – here things were brighter, more colourful, and the details and decorations were more elaborate and intricate. Even the lake itself was covered with a lace blanket of lotus flowers, the gentle pinks and purples of their petals shining beneath the sun.

It was no wonder Wei Ying loved it so much.

It felt wrong exploring it without him. The further he grew from the bedroom, the more Wangji felt discomfort gnaw at his chest. After a week of never being more than a single room away, it felt desperately wrong to be walking so far from Wei Ying, and if Wangji had thought that his fear would ease when Wei Ying woke, he had been sorely mistaken. Instead, the terror that Wei Ying would not wake had been replaced by the dread of what their future would hold now.

“You’ve seen the strength of Qishan Wen. All of you have. If I use demonic cultivation, we have a fighting chance.”

But if Wei Ying pushed himself so far again –

“A-Xian would not have survived without you.”

Lan Wangji shuddered.

No matter how beautiful Lotus Pier was, it couldn’t hope to distract him from that. Especially with reminders of the recent battle so frequently scarred into the buildings and walkways around him. The blood had long since been cleaned, but scorch marks remained, licking up the side of buildings and casting immovable shadows on the ground. Gouge marks littered many a wall and pillar, and in some places portions of the railings had broken away entirely, perhaps falling into the lake with whatever poor soul had been thrown against them.

Predictably, the damage grew more prevalent as he approached the main courtyard, but it was also here that Wangji found people working to repair it, working with a single-minded determination that did not stop them from glancing up and smiling and nodding at him as he walked past.

Even now, the people here smiled so easily.

Even now, Lotus Pier was beautiful.

When he reached the courtyard, Wangji noticed his brother quickly. Lan Xichen was speaking with one of the Jiang clan’s elders, his face grave, but when he saw Wangji, Xichen excused himself, walking swiftly over.

Lan Wangji bowed his head, glancing towards the elder. “Xiongzhang did not need to cut short his conversation…”

His brother shook his head with a small smile. “The conversation was already ending – I’m sure I’ve already taken too much of Jiang-xiansheng’s time. I was just about to go and meditate. Will you walk with me?”

Wangji nodded, and his brother smiled, leading him out of the courtyard. Unlike Wangji, Xichen seemed to know exactly where he was going.

“Are you well?” he asked as they walked, glancing at Wangji’s face. Before Wangji could reply, Xichen’s eyes lit up, and he asked, “Is Wei-gongzi awake?”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Wangji’s lips, and he nodded. Immediately, his brother’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Oh, Wangji, I’m so glad to hear that. So glad.”

“Mn,” Wangji said. “He is talking with his siblings and Jiang-zongzhu.”

Xichen nodded. “Of course, it is natural they would want some privacy.” Even as he spoke, he led Wangji out onto a small pier that jutted out into the lake, offering them a little privacy of their own. “How is he?”

Wangji felt his own smile fade. “Exhausted,” he admitted. “He is in a lot of pain.”

“Ah…” Xichen winced. “I suppose that’s to be expected…” His tone was gentle, and though he did not speak it aloud, the follow-up question was clear in his voice.

Something else is bothering you, isn’t it?

Lan Wangji’s jaw tightened. “He is already talking about cultivating again.”

Xichen’s expression faltered. “Ah… with his… new method?”

“Mn. He says we cannot afford to sacrifice the advantage it gives us.”

“I see…” Xichen grimaced, and then he paused for a long moment. “He isn’t wrong.”

Shock and horror shot through Wangji in equal measure, and he looked sharply at his brother. “Xiongzhang!”

“I mean it, Wangji,” said Xichen, meeting his eye unflinchingly. “What he was able to do here…”

“No,” Wangji said immediately, his heart hammering rabbit-fast against his ribcage. For Wei Ying to wield that power again – it was too dangerous –

“Wangji-”

“It will kill him,” Lan Wangji insisted. “He cannot.”

“Wangji, I’m not suggesting that he should be allowed to fight in his current state – of course, he should be able to heal, to gather his strength,” his brother replied gravely. “He clearly overexerted himself in the battle for Lotus Pier, and I would not ask him to do so again, but with the power he has, if he is willing to fight… if he is willing to use it –”

“Demonic cultivation,” Lan Wangji said blankly, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You wish to make use of –”

“Do you condemn him for it?” Lan Xichen interrupted, fixing Wangji in his gaze. “For that which he’s done already?”

“No,” Wangji said immediately.

“Do you believe I should? That I should frown on the method he used to rescue you, or scorn him for the way he saved his home?”

Wangji’s hands curled into fists, squeezing so tight it hurt. “No…”

“It was necessary. I understand that. All I’m saying is that it may be necessary again.”

Wangji’s mouth felt very dry. He shook his head, but as he did Xichen sighed, bowing his head.

“You don’t understand. You’ve seen awful things, Wangji – you’ve endured terrible things – but you haven’t yet fought in this war. You have not seen the scope of it, or how far the Wen reach, how strong their armies are. If nothing changes, Wangji, we –” he broke off, closing his eyes, and Wangji’s blood ran cold.

His brother’s expression spoke for himself.

If nothing changed –

“We will lose the war,” Xichen said in a low voice, opening his eyes again to meet Wangji’s gaze. “For now, we are holding on, but we are outnumbered, and while Wen Ruohan wields the Yin Iron we are also outmatched. We can’t go on like this forever, Wangji. And if we lose – if we lose, Wei Wuxian will not survive.” Wangji flinched, but his brother pushed further. “None of us will. If we lose, the best that we can hope for is that Wen Ruohan does not slaughter every member of the other great clans down to the last child, but even if he does choose to keep some alive to lord over… That won’t include us, didi. He will not spare your life, and he will not spare mine. We will be killed, if not on the battlefield then…” he trailed off, tears in his eyes, and Wangji understood.

If they were not killed on the battlefield, then he and his brother would be dragged back to Qishan for Wen Ruohan to torture until he grew bored enough to kill them.

The sight of a dark, familiar cell flashed before his eyes, the blood on the floor, the sound of Jiang Cheng howling nearby, the agony shrieking through him –

But then he saw his brother there in his place –

His brother screaming –

“Wangji!”

He jumped violently, blinking the nightmare away to find his brother closer than before, worry carved deep into his brow and guilt shining in his eyes. Xichen’s arms were half raised, as though he had stopped himself from taking Wangji’s hands, and Lan Wangji’s heart ached.

He wanted –

“I’m sorry,” Xichen murmured, “I’m so sorry, Wangji. I didn’t mean – I just need you to understand. We have to be open to every option before us.”

Lan Wangji nodded numbly, his eyes fixed on his brother’s hands.

He understood. He didn’t want to. He wanted to ignore his brother’s words, or even better refute them with cool logic and a sharp tongue – but he couldn’t. Xichen was right.

If they lost the war, Wen Ruohan would annihilate the central families of all four major clans, and everyone that Wangji loved would be among them. The only other possibility would be to flee, but Lan Wangji knew in his heart that Wei Ying would never. Not even if he was begged to.

He understood, but…

“We will help him,” Xichen promised quietly. “Gusu Lan will help Wei Wuxian, however we can. But ultimately, Wangji, it isn’t my call, and I’m afraid it isn’t yours either. Whether Wei Wuxian will fight – how he will fight… That decision is a matter for Yunmeng Jiang to decide. But after the last attack… Jiang-zongzhu knows how high the stakes are. On both sides of the equation.”

Nausea roiled in Wangji’s stomach, and he looked away, staring out at the still waters of the lake. Nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Xichen murmured again.

“No need,” Wangji mumbled back, but his brother sighed.

“I wish I could shield you from all of it,” he admitted, and Wangji glanced up to see his brother’s eyes fixed on the lake, too. “The war. The danger. The truth. But none of that will help you, didi. I’m so sorry.”

“I want to know,” Wangji said, and Xichen smiled sadly.

“I know you do.”

Wangji glanced back out at the lake, his gut churning. “…what if we win?”

Lan Xichen frowned “What do you mean?”

“If we win. Will we do to the Wen as they would to us?”

Lan Xichen was quiet for a long moment. “…I honestly haven’t thought that far.”

“Wen Ning and Wen Qing put their own lives in danger to help us. Among the Wen clan there are children. Others who do not fight.”

Xichen blinked, and then shook his head. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. If we win, I swear I will do all I can to make sure the treatment of our enemy is fair.” Wangji nodded, and his brother stared at him for a long moment before sighing again. “Wangji, while you’re still healing… this Xiongzhang has a selfish request.”

Lan Wangji looked back at his brother, silently asking him to go on, and Xichen clasped his hands behind his back.

“Soon, I will have to leave Lotus Pier. It has been too long since I checked in with Nie-xiong at the Hejian Front, and longer still since I’ve been to Langya. But own wounds are healing, and you’re still regaining your strength…” Lan Xichen gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “I fear if we left together, regardless of how capable you are, I would worry myself to death. Wangji – will you stay here, under the protection of Yunmeng Jiang, until you are back to your full strength? I know you are probably anxious to fight, but I’m sure that Jiang-gongzi and Wei-gongzi are too – when you are all at your full strength you could ride to the front lines together.”

Wangji’s lips parted in surprise, even as warmth filled his chest.

‘Stay in Lotus Pier with Wei Ying until he and Jiang Cheng are well. Join the battle then.’

A selfish request indeed.

He smiled slightly and nodded. “Mn.”

“Thank you,” Xichen said, and though his tone was almost teasing, the relief in it was indisputable. But then his smile faded, and his tone became soft and sad. “I’m sorry, Wangji. You asked me to stay. I wish that I could. More than anything.”

A lump rose in Wangji’s throat as he thought of that first night, of the overwhelming panic that consumed him when he thought that Xichen was about to leave the room. The idea of Xichen leaving Lotus Pier entirely was no less daunting, though the dread had taken a moment longer to sink in.

If Xichen left – when Xichen left – he would take all feelings of safety that Wangji had left with him.

But it didn’t matter.

“You must go,” he said quietly, averting his gaze. “The Sunshot Campaign needs you. I will be fine.”

“If I could stay-”

“You can’t.”

Xichen sighed shakily, closing his eyes. “No. I can’t.”

The lump in Wangji’s throat grew tighter, more painful, and he looked down at his feet. “I am glad you came.”

Xichen looked up, startled, but then he smiled, his expression so blindingly obvious and impossibly fond that he did not need to speak at all.

Of course I did.

They stood there for a long while in comfortable silence, watching the wind on the water, but eventually Xichen said that he should return to his duties. He brought Wangji through Lotus Pier to the guest rooms that Jiang Fengmian had given Xichen. Even in such a critical time for Lotus Pier, the rooms were well befitting of a visiting sect leader, beautifully decorated with expensive treasures and exquisite paintings, with a fully equipped office adjacent to the frankly luxurious bedroom.

Shame curdled in Wangji’s gut as he glanced at the bed. Xichen had not slept in it once. After Wangji asked him to stay that first night, Xichen had taken it upon himself to sleep on the couch in Wangji’s room, and the comfort it brought had been so great that Wangji had not been able to bring himself to protest. It was childish, he knew that, but…

Xichen was leaving soon. Silently, selfishly, Wangji wanted to cling onto that comfort while it lasted.

The office, on the other hand, had clearly seen extensive use. By the look of it, whenever Xichen was not with Wangji or in a meeting with Jiang-zongzhu, he was here, drawing up countless battle plans and formations, tracing route after alternate route onto maps of Qishan and the four main battle fronts. Though he had been at Lotus Pier for almost as long as Wangji had, Lan Xichen had clearly not been idle.

He clearly could not afford to be.

“Can I help?” Wangji asked, his eyes drawn to what looked like a battle report –

Oh.

Not a battle report. A casualty report.

The numbers were so high…

Xichen looked up at him, surprise in his eyes for just a moment before his gaze softened into fondness. “Quite possibly… Most of this is hypothetical at this stage, but it needs to be considered. If you do want to help…” He paused, a bitter smile playing at his lips. “You would have to know the details of the war thus far, to be up to date with all of it. It isn’t exactly the most pleasant of topics while you’re healing.”

Lan Wangji met his brother’s gaze head on. “Tell me.”

It took several hours for Xichen to relate the events of the last few months, and Wangji was grateful for the aid of the maps and diagrams in front of him. There was much to learn, and his brother was right – nothing about the topic was pleasant. The more that Wangji learnt, the more he understood about Xichen’s sudden openness towards demonic cultivation.

They were not losing, but at the same time…

“We are not winning,” Xichen sighed heavily, putting down the map and meeting his eyes. Wangji did not think he had ever seen his brother look so tired. “Even the victory at Lotus Pier – we may not have lost, but the front line at Jiangling was crippled, and Wen Ruohan confirmed that the great sects will abandon the front lines if he marches directly on their homes… He may try to sneak past the front lines again.”

A cold horror shot down Wangji’s spine. It hadn’t skipped his mind that the attack on Lotus Pier had come so soon after Wei Ying rescued him and Jiang Cheng – if it was retaliation for their escape…

The Cloud Recesses could be next.

“With any luck, Wei Wuxian’s performance here should be enough to keep him from acting immediately, but we cannot count on that.” Xichen’s lips pursed, his brow furrowing. “I’ve tried to predict as many of his next possible actions as I can, but it’s impossible to know for certain…”

“Xiongzhang carries a heavy burden,” Wangji said quietly.

A weary smile crossed Xichen’s face as he looked up at Wangji. “Yes, but it was much heavier before.”

A lump rose in Wangji’s throat, but at that moment there was a knock at the door. They both looked up.

“Yes?” Xichen called.

“Apologies for the disturbance, Lan-zongzhu – Jiang-zongzhu asks if you and Lan-er-gongzi would meet with him.”

“Of course,” Xichen said, rising gracefully, and Wangji followed. It did not take long for Wangji to realise that they were heading straight back to the sick rooms, and relief melted a tension he hadn’t even noticed he was holding from his shoulders as they pushed the doors open.  

The first thing that Wangji noticed was that the furniture had been rearranged – the daybed Wangji usually used had been brought around to sit around a foot past the end of Wei Ying and Yanli’s beds. Parallel to the far wall, it formed a rectangle with the other two beds, where Wei Ying and his sister were both sitting up against the pillows.    

Wangji’s immediate thought was that Wei Ying looked tired. Almost more tired than he had been before Wangji left. There was a red tint to his eyes as though he had been crying, and when Xichen and Wangji entered his gaze was distant and hazy.

However, when he saw Lan Wangji Wei Ying broke into a smile, so warm and genuine that Wangji’s knees threatened to buckle.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying’s tone was as warm as his smile, even when he replaced the expression with a pout. “You were gone for so long!”

Before Wangji could point out that he had returned the moment he was invited back, Jiang Fengmian stepped forward, greeting the Lan brothers with a smile and a bow.

“Thank you for coming, Lan-zongzhu, Lan-er-gongzi.”

“Of course,” said Xichen warmly as he and Wangji returned the bow. “It is good to see you awake, Wei-gongzi.”

Wei Ying smiled. “I’m to glad see you too, Zewu-Jun.” He paused, and his expression shifted, guilt flickering across his face. “Zewu-Jun, I…” Wei Ying trailed off for a moment – just a moment, but long enough for Xichen to interject without technically interrupting.

“I must thank you, Wei-gongzi, for rescuing Wangji. I will forever be grateful to you, and Gusu Lan is in your debt.”

Wei Ying paled, but before he could say anything Jiang Fengmian spoke up.

“While the worth and cost of A-Xian’s actions were of course immeasurable, I’m afraid I must disagree that you are in our debt, Zewu-Jun.” Jiang Fengmian’s chased the colour back into Wei Ying’s cheeks, staining them redder than Wangji had seen them since their days in the Cloud Recesses. “On the contrary, it is the opinion of Yunmeng Jiang that we are in debt to Gusu Lan, both for the selfless and invaluable support Lan-er-gongzi offered A-Cheng in rescuing A-Xian, and for saving A-Xian once again after the Battle for Lotus Pier.”

It was Wangji’s turn to flush, but even as he glanced down at the floor he caught sight of the fatherly smile coming to Jiang Fengmian’s face.

“I suspect that you will be as unmovable in your stance as I am in mine, Lan-zongzhu. Perhaps in that case, we might accept that all debts could be considered fulfilled.”

Xichen smiled. “If that is the wish of Jiang-zongzhu, I can certainly accept it.”

“Good,” said Jiang Fengmian, with enough finality that it left no room for either Wei Ying or Wangji to protest. “Now that is settled, please, come in.”

He gestured to Wangji’s daybed, and without pausing at the room’s strange set up, Xichen immediately sat down. Wangji took a seat at his side, as Jiang Fengmian sat at the end of his daughter’s bed opposite Jiang Cheng, who was sitting on the end of Wei Ying’s. While unorthodox, the layout meant that they were not towering over Wei Ying and Jiang Yanli to talk, and Wangji found it quite comfortable.

“I apologise for the informality of the setting,” Jiang Fengmian said heavily. “If I had my way, we would wait until A-Xian and A-Li are well enough to join us in a more suitable manner, but we do not have the luxury of time. Soon, I will have to return to the frontlines. From our conversation this morning, Lan-zongzhu, I know that you will need to leave even sooner than that.”

Wei Ying made a small, choked sound, his gaze shooting to Lan Wangji, but darting away again as soon as their eyes met. Wei Ying ducked his head, giving a couple of rather unconvincing coughs.

“I’m afraid so,” Xichen confirmed. “With your blessing, I mean to set out tomorrow.”

Lan Wangji was barely able to hide his own flinch. Tomorrow. Xichen had already said soon, but Wangji hadn’t realised that soon meant tomorrow… It felt like no time at all.

“What’s more, I am sorry that we must have this conversation now,” Jiang Fengmian said, the regret cutting ever deeper into his voice as he looked at Wei Ying. “You’ve only just woken – it isn’t fair.”

“I don’t mind, Jiang-shushu,” Wei Ying said immediately, the corner of his lip curling towards a smile. It did not meet his eyes.

“You will when you figure out what we’re talking about,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, shooting his brother a glare that Wangji could easily identify as concern by now.

Wei Ying’s fragile expression fell, his jaw tightening as he glanced around the room. His eyes flickered uneasily between Jiang Fengmian and Lan Xichen, and even as his hand clenched into a fist he seemed to shrink back against the pillows.

“Ah,” he said, a horrible, forced levity in his voice. “I get it. We’re having that conversation then.”

“There’s no need to worry, Xianxian,” Yanli said softly. “We already told you, we aren’t angry about your… new methods.”

A panicked, disbelieving bark of a laugh tore from Wei Ying’s lips. “No, no, of course not. Everyone’s thrilled that I took up demonic cultivation, it’s going to be the latest fashion-”

“A-Xian,” Yanli worried.

“Please let me assure you, Wei-gongzi, I certainly do not condemn your actions,” said Xichen warmly, softly, and Wei Ying’s eyes snapped onto his. “I have my concerns, but I owe my brother’s life to your new methods. That is not something I take lightly.”

Wei Ying looked at Lan Wangji, a wince flickering over his face.

“This is not an attack, A-Xian,” Jiang Fengmian promised. “But we do need to discuss what you did, and how. And…” he sighed heavily, “and… if it is possible for you to wield those powers again, on the battlefield.”

“It is,” Wei Ying said immediately. “I know that we need-”

Jiang Fengmian held up a hand. “It is not, if you cannot control it. If it harms you as severely as it has on this occasion, it is not an option I am willing to consider. That’s why I felt it so important to ask Zewu-Jun and Lan-er-gongzi to join us. Normally, I would keep such an affair within the family, but no medicine of ours came close to Lan Wangji’s guqin music when it came to healing A-Xian. As such…” He paused. “I know I just spoke of our debts being settled, but I wonder if I might ask one more favour of the two of you.”

“Name it,” Xichen said at once, and Jiang Fengmian bowed his head in thanks before looking straight at Lan Wangji.

“Lan-er-gongzi, would you mind staying in Lotus Pier a while longer? After-”

“No,” Wangji said immediately, before he realised Jiang Fengmian meant to continue his sentence. Ears burning, Wangji elaborated. “I do not mind. I will stay.” Out of the corner of his eye, Wangji saw Wei Ying’s eyes widen in surprise.

Jiang Fengmian, on the other hand, did not look surprised at all, and Wangji wondered whether the two sect leaders had already discussed the arrangement between themselves. “Thank you, Lan-er-gongzi. Zewu-Jun…?”

“That is perfectly acceptable to me,” Xichen confirmed. “Wangji may not be healed enough to take to the battlefield himself, but I am sure it will comfort him if he is able to help here in any capacity.”

“Mn,” Wangji agreed.

“Thank you,” Jiang Fengmian said, meeting Wangji’s eyes with a smile. “It is my hope that with your help, we will be able to find a way for A-Xian to cultivate this way without destroying himself. We are once more in your debt, Lan-er-gongzi.”

“No debt,” Wangji insisted. “It is the right thing to do.”

Jiang Fengmian did not argue. He smiled for a moment, before turning back to Wei Ying. His smile faltered.

“I am sorry,” he said again. “These questions may be unpleasant – I’m sure the answers will be even more so. But they do need to be asked, and they do need to be answered. Do you understand, A-Xian?”

For a moment, Wei Ying just stared at his clan leader, and Wangji’s heart ached. Wei Ying looked utterly overwhelmed, and Wangji was filled with an overpowering urge to grab him into his arms, to shield him from the conversation, from the future, from the world –

“I understand,” Wei Ying said, and he sounded like a man uttering his last words at the gallows.

“I know you have considered the possibilities around cultivating with resentment before,” said Jiang Fengmian carefully. “I can still remember the indignation in Lan-xiansheng’s letter. But did you practise this before the Wen came to us? Had you already begun to experiment then?”

Wei Ying began to shake his head, only to pause. He pursed his lips until the flesh around them went white. Jiang Cheng opened his mouth, but Yanli shook her head at him. The youngest of the Jiang siblings remained silent, his hands bunching into fists.

“No…” Wei Ying said slowly. “Not intentionally. Only once.”

With a start, Lan Wangji remembered a dark cave and the stench of blood, the sheer horror of watching Wei Ying hang from the Xuanwu’s mouth by a sword driven into the beast’s head –

Of the sight of a hundred smoke drenched swords flying out of the dark water to pierce the monster’s flesh.

“The Xuanwu,” he said, and Wei Ying nodded slowly, looking away from them all. 

“Yeah… that was the first time. The only time. Before.”

“What happened on that occasion?” Jiang Fengmian asked.

Still staring into the corner of the room, Wei Ying recounted their plan of attacking the Xuanwu from the inside and out. His voice was dull, but it tightened when he spoke of the dark sword he found in the beast’s stomach, and the screams he heard when he reached out to the swords below.

“I didn’t understand it,” he said. “Not really. I just… tried. And it worked.”

“So… that creepy sword you wouldn’t drop when we got you out,” Jiang Cheng said slowly, his face pale. “That was a demonic sword? That taught you how to… you know…”

“It didn’t teach me… but it channelled resentment the same way a normal sword channels spiritual energy. More or less.”

“Do you still have it?” Xichen asked. “If we could establish where it came from…”

But Wei Ying shook his head. Silence lingered for a moment, and then Jiang Fengmian spoke quietly.

“That was the only time you attempted it before you were captured?”

Wei Ying nodded.

“So, in a matter of months, you not only began cultivating a whole new method, but you mastered it to such a degree that you were able to slaughter an entire battalion of enemy soldiers,” Jiang Fengmian said. “How did you do it, A-Xian?”

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Wei Ying’s lips, just for a moment. “…aren’t we supposed to attempt the impossible?”

“Don’t be a smart arse,” Jiang Cheng scolded. “You’re not cute.”

“I’m very cute.” Wei Ying’s retort was mumbled an instinctual, but it still made Wangji want to smile.

“Boys,” Yanli chided gently. “Xianxian… how did you do it?”

Wei Ying swallowed, his hand drifting towards his chest – and then he froze. “Where are my clothes?”

“You’re wearing them,” Jiang Cheng began, but Wei Ying cut across him with a voice tight with fear.

“My clothes, that I came in – where are they?”

“With the washerwomen,” Jiang Fengmian said calmly. “In truth, they should probably be thrown out, but that’s your decision.”

Horror was growing stronger and stronger on Wei Ying’s face, and Wangji’s stomach twisted. “I – my qiankun pouch, I-”

“This one?” Jiang Fengmian asked, holding up a nondescript brown pouch, and Wei Ying froze. “Is this what you were worried about?”

For a long, tense moment, Wei Ying did not move. Then, slowly, he nodded. Jiang Fengmian reached over and held out the pouch. As he did, a wisp of black smoke curled free from the top, and Wei Ying snatched the bag, swallowing hard.

“What is it?” Jiang Fengmian asked. “Some sort of weapon?”

Discomfort crept down Wangji’s spine, the sensation akin to that of a hundred spiders scuttling over his flesh as dread settled deep in his stomach. Wei Ying was silent for a long time. Then, with a trembling hand, he rested the pouch on his stomach and undid the cord. Picking it up again, he rested it on his palm.  Slowly, two twin pieces of metal rose from the pouch, shrouded in the black shadow of resentment, curling around each other like some twisted depiction of yin and yang. Each was carved in the form of a tiger, and curved in such a way that they would form a complete circle, if placed together.

Power emanated from them, stronger than Wangji had had felt from any other spiritual weapon, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

“What… what is that?” Jiang Cheng choked hoarsely.

“…I call it the Yin Tiger Tally,” Wei Ying murmured, and his fingers curled up around the pouch. At once, the amulet fell back into the bag, and Wei Ying put the pouch back on the bed, pulling the drawstring closed.

“Where did you find it? Was it also within the Xuanwu, or did you come upon it in the Burial Mounds?” asked Jiang Fengmian, and Wei Ying hesitated, shaking his head slowly.

“Xianxian,” Yanli asked, her voice even softer and gentler than Wangji had ever heard it. “Did you make it yourself?”

Wei Ying swallowed, finally raising his eyes to look at his sister. Without a word, he nodded, and shock struck Wangji like a sword to the chest. It was not that he doubted Wei Ying’s capabilities, but he had been in the Burial Mounds only three months, and from what little Wangji had pieced together, much of that time was spent trying to survive.

“How?” Jiang Fengmian breathed, for the first time losing his composure and looking as shocked as the rest of them.

But Wei Ying’s eyes were still fixed on his sister, brimming with thinly veiled fear.

“Our Xianxian is so clever,” Yanli said, and tears glistened in Wei Ying’s eyes for a moment. He blinked them away quickly, offering Yanli a small, brave smile before turning back to Jiang Fengmian.

“I used the sword. The demonic sword. It was still in my qiankun pouch – I’d forgotten I had it, but when I fell into the Burial Mounds, it fell free.”

Memory falling tore through Wangji’s heart like a blade, and he clenched his jaw, trying to keep his face calm.

“It’s okay… A-Cheng, Lan Zhan, it’s-”

“At first, I was just trying to survive. The resentment was everywhere, it was so strong… it was like being trapped at the bottom of the sea,” Wei Ying murmured, avoiding their gazes again. “I tried to fight it, but I was still injured, and no matter what I tried, how many spells I cast, it was… it couldn’t be enough. The only thing I could think of was to try and use what was around me. I tried… And then then I heard it. Whispering. It asked… if I wanted revenge.”

It was impossible not to picture the scene, Wei Ying broken and beaten after Wen Chao’s torture, afraid and alone and drowning in hatred and grief.

Wei Ying, hearing an offer for vengeance…

But there was no legend or tale Wangji could think of where that could end well.

 “It had so much power… and I had so little.”

Don’t do it, Wangji thought, as though it hadn’t already happened, as though silently begging could do anything to change the past.

“So I took it. Learnt how to use it… and figured out how to forge it into something better.”

“Is that how you saved us?” Yanli asked softly. “You used that?”

Wei Ying nodded. “It was even stronger than I thought it would be… a lot stronger. But that just means we can do the enemy more damage.”

 “And that you sustain more damage yourself,” Jiang Fengmian added, and Wei Ying grimaced. “That is my greatest concern right now.”

“…do you need to use the amulet, Wei-gongzi?” asked Xichen thoughtfully. “Your new method – does it rely on tools such as the amulet?”

“Not necessarily. I can channel it like normal spiritual energy, or with the flute on its own,” Wei Ying admitted. “I’ve only really used the full power of the amulet once. Here.”

“But you had cultivated resentment extensively beforehand? Between the Burial Mounds and Lotus Pier, I mean?” Xichen asked, and when Wei Ying nodded, he continued, “How badly did that harm you? Before you used the Yin Tiger Amulet?”

“Badly,” said Wangji, before Wei Ying could minimise the damage. “It lingered in his system long after he used it, and caused injury as it did.”

Xichen winced, but he also nodded. “I fear it won’t be as simple as clearing the resentment from your body after each use of demonic cultivation…”

“We do not have much time to research further, but every moment we do have we will utilise,” swore Jiang Fengmian. “Then – it will be down to the four of you. I need you to work together and come up with a solution that allows A-Xian to fight without destroying himself in the process. That is your task, though it may be an impossible one. Do you accept it?”

Lan Wangji spoke in a heartbeat, his voice joining Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng’s in a steely unison.

“I accept.”

Chapter Text

No matter how old he got, Wei Wuxian knew that he would never forget the sheer bombardment of emotions that had overwhelmed him when he first came to Lotus Pier.

They’d struck all at once, a confusing cacophony of conflicting feelings that he hadn’t known what to do with. Wonder and excitement had been at the forefront, making his heart soar, but they were soon overpowered by a bone-deep anxiety that all was not as it seemed. Fear had gnawed at his gut, a terror that Jiang Fengmian’s words were too good to be true, or that he wanted something in return, or that this would all be ripped away as quickly as it appeared.

And alongside the wonder and fear there’d been so many other feelings, relief, disbelief, confusion – more than he could ever hope to name.

It felt like being taken by a tornado, being flung wildly through the air and spun round and around and around, all while someone strong and safe held you close, promising again and again that everything was going to be alright.

In hindsight, it was unsurprising. Wei Wuxian had been so young, and he had been plucked from the only life he had ever known, his role in life changing beyond reason or recognition. The world around him was new, and strange, and unsettling – but they were also beautiful, and wonderful, and beyond little Wei Ying’s wildest dreams.

He never would have imagined that he would feel that way again.

But he did.

For the second time in his life, Wei Wuxian’s understanding of the world and his place in it had been thrown into disarray.

Except this time, it hadn’t been so sudden. Not quite.

When Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan first rescued him from Wen Chao, they had made it very clear that they believed it was the right thing to do, that Wei Ying’s life was worth the risk to their own lives, to their clans.

“For fuck’s sake, stop interrogating us! Because they were going to kill you! After all we went through to rescue you, after Lan Wangji left his home at the drop of a hat to help you, you sit here and say ‘why?’ If it was me they’d taken, what would you have done? … If you say that’s different, I’ll hit you. I don’t care how hurt you are.”

And…

“It was wrong. Of Yu Ziyuan. To take your hand.”

At the time, Wei Wuxian had put it down to bravery, and to naivety. They were so sure of their convictions, but they were wrong – Wei Wuxian was not worth it. When they were recaptured, when he was thrown into the Burial Mounds…

It felt like being proven right. Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan were at Wen Chao’s mercy, were tortured in Qishan for months –

But they…

They still hadn’t blamed Wei Wuxian. Not once.

In fact, Lan Zhan had tried to argue that the entire situation was his fault, a concept so ludicrous Wei Wuxian had thought his mind was about to explode.

“Your justification is that you brought Wen Chao’s wrath upon yourself, but it was my fault you did. You drew his attention by accompanying me to search for the Yin Iron, and later by drawing his attention away from me during the indoctrination. By your logic, that makes this my fault.”

Except…

As ludicrous as it was, Lan Zhan’s words had planted a seed in some deep, hidden part of Wei Wuxian’s heart.

It clearly wasn’t Lan Zhan’s fault – but did that mean that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s either?

More than that…

“It’s worth it, if you’re here. When you were dead it… was heavier.”

“I am tired… but relieved. Grateful. I am grateful that you saved my life, but I am more grateful that you are alive. I believed you were dead, Wei Ying. I mourned you. I missed you.”  

They loved him. Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan weren’t just fond of him – they valued his life as something precious. They deemed his safety as important as he deemed theirs.

And perhaps Wei Wuxian couldn’t believe it himself, but he knew that they believed it – and that had been nurturing the seed in his heart. Every day, it had grown a little stronger, a little surer – the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was worth more than he had always believed himself to be.

That maybe he wasn’t… expendable.

It had been a fragile thing, a seedling of a thought not quite ready to peek through the dirt to see the light of day.

But then Wei Wuxian woke up at Lotus Pier, and Jiang Fengmian confronted him even more sharply and straightforwardly than Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan, and in doing so had reached deep into Wei Wuxian’s chest and pulled the seedling out into the blazing sunlight with a force that left him reeling.

His Clan Leader, his Jiang-shushu, believed that Yu Ziyuan had been wrong, that she had always been wrong. That he had been wrong to enable her. That Wei Wuxian had been wronged, cruelly and deeply before the Wen ever came to Lotus Pier.

His Clan Leader insisted that Wei Wuxian’s life was… was just as important as…

“I do not favour one of you above the other. Perhaps I should – you are my son, A-Cheng, and perhaps it is wrong of me not to hold you above him, but I have raised you both. I have loved you both.”

“ Do not undermine your importance to this family.”

And then, while Wei Wuxian’s head was still spinning from that, Jiang Fengmian and Zewu Jun were condoning his use of demonic cultivation, were prioritising finding a way to ensure his safety rather than to maximise the potential of their greatest weapon in the war –

And Wei Wuxian felt like that small child again, overwhelmed and confused and lost – but also safe, and cared for, and…

And it was so much.

The people he loved the most in the world believed that Wei Wuxian was important.

They believed it. Shijie. Jiang Cheng. Jiang-shushu. Lan Zhan.

And Wei Wuxian…

He thought…

He thought that he might finally believe them.

It made him want to cry and to laugh all at once, but right now it was just him and Lan Zhan alone in the room, and it would probably concern Lan Zhan if Wei Wuxian started to hysterically sob laughter, so that wouldn’t do.

That morning, Lan Xichen had left for the front lines, and a short while later Liu-Daifu had announced that Yanli was well enough to take a proper bath, with the assistance of a nurse and a maid. The relief on her face was immense, and Wei Wuxian was a little envious – he would love a proper bath, and Jiang Cheng evidently felt the same, because he declared that he would take the opportunity to visit his own rooms for a bath himself.

Wei Wuxian, however, was still bed-bound on Liu Chen’s orders, despite protesting that he felt fine, and definitely felt well enough for a bath.

“If you still think so this evening, I will reconsider,” the doctor had sniffed. “In the meantime, you are to stay in bed. Lan-er-gongzi, I trust that you will fetch me if our Wei-gongzi tries to go wandering.”

Lan Zhan nodded. “He will not.”

Wei Wuxian had harrumphed at that, but only a little. It was nice to think about Lan Zhan looking after him. Except…

He cleared his throat, and Lan Zhan looked away from the window at once, meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

“You know, if you borrowed a sword and took off now, you could probably catch up with him.” Lan Zhan frowned, and Wei Wuxian gave a small smile. “Your brother. I know how much you missed him. If you don’t want to stay here…”

Lan Zhan’s frown deepened into something more stubborn. “I will stay.”

“I know that Jiang-shushu asked you to, but it was an invitation, not an order,” Wei Wuxian pushed gently. “I’ll be okay, if you want to go, Lan Zhan, then please-”

“I do not,” said Lan Zhan bluntly. The tips of his ears seem to be going red. “Xiongzhang and I had already discussed it. I… want to stay.”

Suddenly, Wei Wuxian’s throat felt very dry. “Really?”

Lan Zhan nodded, his ears going even redder. “I want to help you. I want to stay.”

“Oh…” Wei Wuxian glanced down, unable to keep a smile from tugging at his lip. “That’s good.” He shouldn’t ask – he knew that he shouldn’t ask – but the more Wei Wuxian tried to keep the words in the more they fought to burst out. “Why?”

“…you are my friend,” Lan Zhan said quietly, not meeting Wei Wuxian’s eyes. “I want to help you.”

Wei Wuxian’s heart tumbled over itself, sending butterflies fluttering through his chest. He wasn’t sure why – it was a simple answer – but a breathtakingly simple one. Wei Wuxian had expected another argument about the greater good or who still owed what, but Lan Zhan’s words held none of that.

You are my friend. I want to help you.

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, and Lan Zhan’s lip twitched up into the tiniest hint of a smile.

“No need,” he said.

Wei Wuxian smiled, fondness filling his chest. “In that case, I should show you around! You’ve been at Lotus Pier a week now, and I’m sure no one’s given you the tour-”

“Sit,” Lan Zhan ordered, his voice immediately lowering into a warning tone.

Wei Wuxian wiggled further upright, holding up his arms. “I’m fine Lan Zhan, really. Look!” He moved his arms in circles and wiggled all his fingers, but Lan Zhan did not look impressed.

“Sit,” he repeated, and Wei Wuxian pouted.

“Lan Zhan. I feel fine!” Exhausted, and a little like the marrow had been scraped from his bones with a blunt spoon, but fine!

“Liu-Daifu said to remain in bed. So we will.”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. “But that’s boring!” He whined.

“Your sister has been bed-bound for a week,” Lan Zhan pointed out calmly. “She did not complain.”

“Of course she didn’t – Shijie’s is an angel, she doesn’t complain about anything! But that doesn’t mean it’s not boring.”

“It is less boring now,” Lan Zhan said quietly.

“Oh really?”

“You’re awake.”

For the second time, Lan Zhan’s words filled Wei Wuxian with enough warmth to leave him speechless, and he cleared his throat.

“I am very entertaining,” he said weakly, and Lan Zhan nodded.

“Mn.”

Desperate to change the subject before he started blushing, Wei Wuxian said, “You seem to get on with Shijie very well.”

“She is very kind. I respect her greatly,” Lan Zhan said. “If I were to be left in charge of the Cloud Recesses in the absence of my brother and uncle, I can only hope I would do as good a job as she did.”

Wei Wuxian shuddered as the memory of his sister, blood-soaked and screaming, filled his mind. “I’m sure you would…” he managed to say. “She never should have been on the battlefield.”

“It was a brave decision,” Lan Zhan began, and Wei Wuxian shook his head.

“No, I don’t mean – she never should have had to be on the battlefield. I know why she chose what she did, I – I understand it, but… I should have been here. Shijie should never have had to make that choice.” Wei Wuxian’s throat tightened, and he felt his eyes sting. “Her – her cultivation isn’t strong, Lan Zhan, she – she should’ve have ever had to make that choice.”

Lan Zhan was quiet for a long moment. “It was not your fault you were not there,” he said quietly.

A tear escaped Wei Wuxian’s eyes, and he wiped his cheek quickly. “I know… but if I’d brought us back to Lotus Pier sooner…”

“Maybe Jiang-guniang would not have had to fight,” Lan Zhan admitted, but then he went on. “Or maybe Jiang Cheng or I would not have survived the journey. Maybe we would have been caught. You had reason to believe our presence could cause Lotus Pier more harm – you had no way of knowing that your sister was in charge alone.”

Wei Wuxian sniffed, pursing his lips. “I… should’ve…”

“Wei Ying – it is not your fault,” Lan Zhan repeated more quietly, more gently, and more tears escaped Wei Wuxian’s eyes.

“She… she got hurt, so badly, Lan Zhan… I thought – when I saw her I –” he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut and wrapping his arm around his stomach.

Then he felt cool fingers wrap over his hand, squeezing gently.

Wei Wuxian shuddered, turning his palm over to hold Lan Zhan’s hand. For a moment, they sat in silence, until Lan Zhan broke it.

“She is healing,” he said softly. “She is well.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian sniffed, pressing his eyes shut tighter. “I know.”

There was another long moment of quiet, but then… “My brother was in Qishan.”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes flew open, and he looked at Lan Zhan in surprise. “What?”

“When your talisman reached him,” Lan Zhan said, his eyes seeming to make no attempt to hide the dread within them. “He had gone to Qishan, to search for me. He was already in the heart of Nightless City – he could have been captured. He could have been killed. He should not have been there – but he was. Because of me.”

Wei Wuxian swallowed. “Lan Zhan…”

“He is Lan-zongzhu. His duty was to put the safety of the clan above my life, to put his own safety above my life – he should not have been there. But he was.”

“You’re his brother,” Wei Wuxian murmured, and Lan Zhan nodded.

“He was more fortunate than Jiang-guniang – he escaped unscathed. But…”

“It’s still scary,” Wei Wuxian finished, and Lan Zhan nodded once more.

“It is still scary,” he agreed.

Wei Wuxian glanced down, realising somewhat abruptly that he and Lan Zhan were still holding hands. He swallowed. “Lan Zh-”

The door flew open, and Wei Wuxian snatched his hand back, almost as quickly as Lan Zhan did. Jiang Cheng paused on his way through the door, staring at them suspiciously.

“What?” he said.

“What?” Wei Wuxian replied. “Well, that’s a polite way to greet the young master of another sect, Jiang Cheng, where are your manners?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, striding over to his own bed and sitting down. He looked good for having had the bath – he was wearing fresh robes, and his cheeks were rosier than Wei Wuxian had seen them in a long time.

“He’s not the ‘young master of another sect,’” he scoffed. “He’s Wangji.”

“Did you hear that Lan Zhan?! The disrespect – unless Jiang Cheng knows something we don’t about you being demoted?!”

“You’re ridiculous,” said Jiang Cheng. “I almost liked you better when you were asleep.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, but didn’t retort. The ‘almost’ in Jiang Cheng’s sentence was a clear indicator of how upset he had been, and contrary to popular opinion, Wei Wuxian did sometimes know when to stop pushing.

“Nice bath?” he asked instead, and Jiang Cheng smiled wistfully.

“It was wonderful,” he admitted. “You’ll need one soon, you’re starting to smell. Again.”

“I’m bed bound,” Wei Wuxian replied. “You’ll have to sponge bathe me.”

Jiang Cheng snorted. “Fat chance,” he scoffed, as though Wei Wuxian hadn’t helped bathe him in Yiling – as though they didn’t both know that Jiang Cheng would absolutely help if Wei Wuxian needed him to. Jiang Cheng flopped down onto his daybed and made himself comfortable, glancing between Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan thoughtfully.  

“What?” Wei Wuxian asked suspiciously.

Jiang Cheng frowned. “What do you mean what?”

“You’re thinking… that’s never good.”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes, looking at Lan Zhan. “Has he tried to escape yet?”

Wei Wuxian began to shake his head. “No-”

“Once.”

“Lan Zhan! I did not!”

“You tried to get out of bed.”

“Not really,” Wei Wuxian protested. “I was just teasing you.”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji. He sounded entirely unconvinced.

“Well, I suppose it could be worse,” said Jiang Cheng blithely, sitting down and making himself comfortable. “I’m glad that you’re staying, Wangji – it will be good to have another pair of eyes on him.”

“Rude,” Wei Wuxian muttered.

“You know…” Jiang Cheng trailed off thoughtfully. “I was thinking the other day… it is nice having you around, Wangji, and A-Jie likes you. Maybe…”

A cool feeling of dread crept up Wei Wuxian’s spine. “Maybe what?” 

“Our friendship is strong, but the alliance between our clans could always be stronger,” Jiang Cheng said, “If we arranged a marriage contract between you and A-Jie, Wangji-”

“What?!” Wei Wuxian half shrieked, and his brother stared at him, blinking confusedly. “Jiang Cheng, you-” Panic and possessiveness flooded through Wei Wuxian, and he stammered trying to find something logical to say. “You can’t put Lan Zhan on the spot like that!”

“What do you mean on the spot?” Jiang Cheng protested. “On the spot would be if I said something in front of A-Jie.”

“Jiang Cheng-” Wei Wuxian growled.

“Do you not think he’s a suitable choice?” Jiang Cheng challenged, and Wei Wuxian choked.

On paper… on paper yes, Lan Zhan would be a suitable match. Besides A-Jie, he was the best person that Wei Wuxian knew. He was handsome and intelligent and strong, and he came from a good background – he was perfect, for every logical reason.

Except –

The thought –

The thought of Jiang Yanli marrying Lan Zhan felt like a blade buried in his chest, twisting more viciously by the second. It wouldn’t – he couldn’t –

“We both like him, he’s a good person, a good cultivator, from a good family. If anyone is actually good enough for A-Jie, it might be you, Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said seriously.

Wei Wuxian’s mind went white, and he scrambled frantically for a logical rebuttal. “I – it – Jiang Cheng!”

“What?!”

“It – it should be Shijie’s choice!” Wei Wuxian blurted out, his voice strangled.

“Of course it should be her choice,” said Jiang Cheng. “But still-”

Wei Wuxian choked wordlessly, looking at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan’s face was deathly white and completely blank, his eyes fixed on Jiang Cheng without seeming to really see him. A beat of relief pulsed through Wei Wuxian’s chest, only to be immediately drowned by panic. He’d never seen such a look on Lan Zhan’s face before, and he couldn’t guess what it meant, and –

“Lan Zhan?” he wheezed.

At once, Lan Zhan’s eyes snapped over to Wei Wuxian, and his ears began to turn red. His lips parted, but no sound came out, and Wei Wuxian swallowed.

“Don’t tell me you don’t think A-Jie is good enough for you?” Jiang Cheng said suspiciously, and Lan Zhan’s face somehow grew even paler.

“I do not think that,” he said, his voice somehow sounding just as strangled as Wei Wuxian’s.

“It was just an idea,” Jiang Cheng said defensively. “Anyway, it’s not important right now. Wangji, how long do you think it will be before your brother can get those books sent from Gusu?”

The subject change was so abrupt that Wei Wuxian got whiplash, and Lan Zhan blinked several times. Jiang Cheng watched them expectantly, and after a moment Lan Zhan cleared his throat.

“It may be several days. Xiongzhang will have sent word immediately, but last he heard the fighting in Gusu was fierce.” His voice still sounded strange, but Jiang Cheng seemed to ignore it, his face turning grace as he nodded.

“A-Die said the same. In that case we’ll start with what we have here.”

“Mn,” said Lan Zhan.

There was a pause, and then the two began discussing the theories they had touched on the night before, but Wei Wuxian barely heard what they were saying. Nausea curled in his stomach, and he wound his arm around himself, pushing tightly.

In theory… in theory, did it not make sense? Lan Zhan might be the only person in the world Wei Wuxian would consider worthy of Jiang Yanli, but the thought of it –

Something prodded him in the leg, hard, and he glanced down to see Xiaoshou staring up at him. Before he could ask what the little demon wanted, it hopped up onto his chest and touched the back of his hand, sending a memory into the forefront of Wei Wuxian’s mind with a strange wistfulness.

A cold cave, a ribbon around his wrist, the back of his hand brushing against Lan Zhan’s…

Not in the mood, he thought grumpily, but Xiaoshou nudged him again. Yearning burnt through Wei Wuxian’s chest, and he glared at the demon. I know, he thought sternly, but it doesn’t matter. Drop it.

Lan Zhan was one of the most important people in Wei Wuxian’s life, and ever since he and Jiang Cheng rescued Wei Wuxian from Wen Chao, there had been a shift in their relationship that Wei Wuxian treasured beyond words.

Somehow, though most of that time had been spent apart, they had grown closer. Lan Zhan was more open with him, but more than that… he was affectionate, offering Wei Wuxian words that conjured butterflies in his chest and made his heart ache.

“You are my friend. I want to stay.”

Wei Wuxian could almost feel the ghost of Lan Zhan’s hand holding his, and he closed his eyes.

They were friends. Their friendship was close, and true, and pure, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t jeopardise that.

He wouldn’t.

It felt wonderful to bathe properly after a week of being trapped in bed. A water-repelling charm kept her wound and bandages clean and dry, but the warmth of the water had done wonders for Yanli’s aching muscles. Her hair was clean and oiled and combed, and the clothes Xie Qingyuan had taken from Yanli’s room were among her most comfortable.

Now, clean and warm, Jiang Yanli sat on a throne of soft pillows, gazing out of the window at the lake. She would not stay long here, away from her brothers, but Qingyuan had suggested that Yanli linger awhile while she drank her tea.

“It will help you regain your strength to take time for yourself, Da-shijie.”  

That was likely true, but it wasn’t her main motivation for taking a little while for herself. For the first time since A-Xian woke, he and Wangji were alone. The more time she spent with Lan Wangji, the more Yanli was certain that his affection for her brother was more than platonic, and as for A-Xian… Well. Yanli was confident that she had known the true nature of his feelings for the Second Jade of Lan longer than he had.

It was no chore at all to give them a little time to themselves.

Someone knocked at the door.

“A-Li.”

Yanli stiffened, and tension tightening every muscle the bath had managed to relax.  

Well… it was far from unexpected, she supposed.

She lowered her cup and took a deep breath, composing herself as the door opened, and her mother’s shadow cast across the floor.

“Hello, Muqin,” she said quietly.

Yu Ziyuan stared at her for a long moment, and Jiang Yanli stared back. It was the first time she had seen her mother since her parents left for battle, unless she counted the brief glimpse she had caught while A-Xian was bleeding out on her lap, before her father sent his wife away.

To Yanli’s surprise, Yu Ziyuan did not look well. It would not be obvious to most – her clothes were immaculate, and her makeup was as careful and deliberate as ever, but it could not fully hide the bags beneath her eyes or the unhealthy hue of her skin – not from Jiang Yanli. Though the evidence was mostly hidden by her robes, Yu Ziyuan had clearly lost weight. Her cheeks were becoming hollow – though not nearly to the same extent that A-Cheng and A-Xian’s had been when they returned.

“A-Li,” she said, her voice stern. “They told me your condition is improving.”

“It is,” said Yanli, inclining her head. “Thank you for your concern.”

Yu Ziyuan pursed her lips. “There’s no need to pretend now. My concern is clearly of little value to you.”

Anger lashed through Yanli’s chest, chased by a disappointment that seemed to weigh more than the sky. It was not that she’d thought her mother might actually lead with care or gentleness, but that did not mean it did not hurt to be proven correct.

Yanli could not count the times she’d already had this conversation in her head. Over and over, she had played it out in her mind, considering all of the things she wanted to say, weighing them against all of the things she needed to say.

It had kept her up at night, wondering – worrying – that when the time came, a lifetime of peacekeeping would lead her to holding her tongue.

She thought of her brothers, and her resolve grew stronger than stone.

“Is that truly what you want to say to me?” she asked quietly, meeting her mother’s eyes.

Anger flared across Yu Ziyuan’s cheeks.

“Should it not be?!” she snapped. “From how Liu Chen tells it, you were on your death bed, yet you still refused to see me! You barred me from your side, from my son’s side – you deigned to have servants tell me where I can and cannot go in my own home! Yet now you see fit to ‘thank’ me for my ‘concern.’”

Yanli focused on the feeling of her fingers against her teacup, carefully considering her words before she spoke. “I do appreciate your concern, and I have never doubted that you care for us. A-Cheng, and I. And truly I… I still love you, A-Niang. But after all that has happened… care and concern are not enough.”

Yu Ziyuan’s eyes widened, and she took a step forward, her hand clenching into a fist. “You-”

For a moment, red and black robes flashed before Yanli’s eyes, the memory of the battlefield overwhelming her, stopping her breath and seizing her heart. She flinched, her hand automatically moving to shield her wound.  

Her mother stiffened. “…Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice softening a fraction.

Closing her eyes, Yanli took a deep breath, bringing herself back to the present. To what was important.

“Shijie… I missed you…”

Opening her eyes, Jiang Yanli raised her head, meeting her mother’s gaze once more. “Yes. I am hurt. What you did to A-Xian, to A-Cheng, what they have suffered… there is nothing in the world that could hurt me more than that.”

The worry on Yu Ziyuan’s face disappeared beneath rising fury, and Yanli fought to keep fear from her own face. As much as she believed herself fully justified, she had dreaded her mother’s wrath all her life, and it was a dread that would not be dispelled easily.

“You ungrateful girl,” her mother snarled – but among the anger, Yanli thought she could see pain in Yu Ziyuan’s eyes. “What I did? I did what I had to do to protect this clan, I did what needed to be done, and for it my own children treat me like a villain worse than the Wen!”

“Muqin,” Yanli said, her voice wavering only a little, “if you truly believe that you are the wounded party, I fear there is no point in our having this conversation. Neither of us will get what we want.”

Yu Ziyuan’s eyes narrowed. “I refuse to be condemned for saving our clan.”

“You did not save our clan,” Yanli said, cold creeping into her voice despite her attempts to keep it even. “A-Xian saved our clan. Without him, we would have been overrun. You saved no one – you saw an opportunity to cast out A-Xian in a way you thought you could justify. But you cannot justify it.”

“You-”

“If you do not wish to hear me, you do not have to see me,” said Yanli, adrenalin trembling through her. “If you wish to see me, then listening is the price. All our lives, you have treated A-Xian so cruelly, when all he has ever done is supported our family, adored our family – when he has worked himself to the bone to make Yunmeng Jiang proud. You blame him for stealing attention from A-Cheng, but there is no one in the world who has been there for A-Cheng more than him. When I couldn’t go to Qishan, he kept A-Cheng safe. He was the reason they made it home – and for that you almost killed him.”

Her voice broke, and tears were stinging their way down her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop. Even if she’d wanted to, the momentum was too fierce to stop now.

“You could have gone easy on him – put on a performance for that awful woman without beating him almost unconscious – You could have negotiated, have used any one of the lessons in diplomacy and politics that you taught us, you could have – You don’t get to pretend that this never happened. You can’t just expect for us to forgive you, to act like you were within your rights, to act like nothing happened! It happened. You did what you did, and it nearly killed both of my brothers. I can’t forgive that. I can’t.” She swallowed. “I won’t.”

“A-Li!”  

 “You have broken our family,” Yanli said, her entire body trembling. It felt like her ribs were crushing in on her lungs, and she could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, and all she wanted was to run back to her brothers, to hold them so close she couldn’t breathe. By now, tears had blurred her vision so thoroughly she could barely see outline of her mother’s face. “You did this, A-Niang. You did it. If you’d tried to fix it, if you were sorry… If you were sorry, then maybe something could heal, but… I don’t know if it ever can. Xianxian did not bring trouble to our clan. He did not break our family. You will blame him, I know you will, but you did that.” A sob broke from Yanli’s chest despite herself, but she pushed on. “We all damaged this family. You, A-Die, A-Xian, A-Cheng, me – there were things we all did, things we all should have done but didn’t – there’s fault on all sides that led us to this point. But you are the one that went too far. You are the one that broke us. That was all you, A-Niang. And do you know what – what breaks my heart?” A strange, strangled laugh broke from her throat. “Of all of us, A-Xian would be the first to forgive you. And you don’t deserve that. You don’t.”

To her surprise, Yu Ziyuan said nothing. Yanli drew in a shuddering breath, wiping her eyes to get a clearer look at her mother’s face. Yu Ziyuan was pale, her lips pursed into a tight line, but Yanli couldn’t read her expression. She did not know if it was more anger or sorrow or pain – or maybe Yanli was being too generous.  

She drew herself to her feet, and her knees buckled. At once, her mother’s arm shot out to catch her, but Yanli caught herself on the side of the chair instead, steadying herself and then stepping away.

In that moment, for the first time in her life, Jiang Yanli saw tears shining in her mother’s eyes.

Grief struck Yanli dead in the chest, so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Jiang Yanli still loved her mother. Love was not something that could be turned on and off at will.

She wished that it was.

If she did not still love her mother, maybe this would not hurt as much

“I said that I never doubted you cared for A-Cheng and I,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Unless you want to prove me wrong, please leave us alone. If you continue to defend your actions, all you will do is cause us more harm. If you wish for things to get better, you will have to make amends first. Otherwise, our family will remain broken – and you will remain alone, on your side of the break.”

Wiping her cheeks, Yanli left the room on unsteady legs, her heartbeat as fast and fragile as a hummingbird’s wings. Jinzhu and Yinzhu were waiting outside, their brows furrowed in concern, and beside them the nurse who had helped Yanli bathe was wringing her hands in her dress – but before she could think of something to say Yanli saw Jiang Yuming approaching hurriedly.

Without thinking, Yanli took a trembling step towards her, and at once her great aunt was at her side, taking her arm.  

“A-Li,” she murmured as Yanli clung to her arm, letting the older woman take her weight. “I heard that your mother… are you alright?”

“I’m alright, Gupo,” she whispered, but her voice sounded thick and tearful. “I – I would like to go back to my brothers.”

“Then we will go,” said Jiang Yuming smoothly, leading her away. “Fengmian should have known that she would ambush you…”

“He – we – were more concerned keeping her away from Xianxian,” Yanli whispered. Her voice sounded very small. “I knew there was a chance… I…” Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she hung her head. “I… Gupo…”

Jiang Yuming paused, turning to face Yanli and putting a hand on her cheek. “What is it, A-Li? You know you can talk freely to me. You can tell Gupo.”

There was a lump in Yanli’s throat, and it ached so badly…

“I…” she whispered, “I… I think I wanted her to find me. I wanted a chance to, to tell her how I – I wanted… but I didn’t… I didn’t to confront her, but at the same time I did, and-”

“Oh, A-Li,” Jiang Yuming breathed, pulling her into a hug. “It’s alright. It’s alright. You are allowed to feel conflicted. The gods know when she tried to enter your rooms the other day there was a part of me that was grateful for the chance to give her a piece of my mind. I felt very selfish for feeling so grateful when it meant that you and A-Cheng would have to hear it, not to mention the Twin Jades of Lan… It’s natural, A-Li. And it’s alright.”

Clinging onto her great aunt like a child, Yanli gave a muffled sob. “I did,” she realised. “I did give her a piece of – I told her what – what I thought, I – I actually – I –” she broke off, broke down, sobs and tears pouring from her with an intensity that made her knees sag.

“It’s okay, sweet girl,” Jiang Yuming murmured, taking her weight with one arm, stroking her hair with the other. “It’s alright now. It’s okay. I’m very proud of you. Gupo’s very proud of you.”

Yanli shook her head into her aunt’s shoulder, trembling violently. “She… she’s not even sorry. Why isn’t she sorry, Gupo?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, A-Li. Maybe she is. Some find it impossible to say. But I don’t know.”

Yanli sobbed, and her aunt began to walk again, her arm wrapped warmly around Yanli’s shoulders as she guided her to a nearby bench. When they sat down, Jiang Yuming held Yanli close, letting her cry until her tears ran their course. When they had, she took out a handkerchief, gently drying Yanli’s cheeks.

“There,” she murmured. “That’s better.”

“Thank you, Gupo,” Yanli whispered, and her great aunt shook her head with a smile, pressing a kiss to Yanli’s forehead.

“Nonsense. That’s what Gupos are for. Now, would you like to take a moment for yourself, or would you like to return to your brothers?”

“I’d like to get back, now,” Yanli said at once, and Jiang Yuming smiled.

“Why am I not surprised?” she said. “Let’s go.”

 When they got back, Yanli was pleasantly surprised to see that A-Xian was napping, his face peaceful and innocent, and immediately, she smiled.

“A-Jie?!” A-Cheng cried quietly, and she winced, but it was quiet enough that their brother didn’t stir as A-Cheng rushed to her side. “What’s wrong? You look like – what’s wrong? Gupo?”

Jiang Yuming glanced at Yanli, who smiled and nodded. “Thank you for everything, Gupo.”

“You’re most welcome. Take good care of your Jiejie, now, A-Cheng,” said Jiang Yuming as she left, and A-Cheng looked frantically between them.

“What happened?”

“It’s alright, A-Cheng,” Yanli soothed, smiling at him. “Jiejie’s okay.”

Worry knitted his brow, and Yanli let him lead her back to her bed, gently tugging him to sit down beside her. She kept their hands entwined, keeping her voice as calm as she could.

“I saw A-Niang,” she said, and the colour drained from A-Cheng’s face in an instant.

“Oh…” he whispered, looking down. “Is – she isn’t… did she…”

“She is glad that we are both well,” Yanli said carefully, achingly. She knew that A-Cheng needed the truth, that he deserved it, but looking after her brothers was the only thing that Yanli knew. “She is… resolved. In her actions.”

A-Cheng flinched, and Yanli reached out. In an instant, he fell into her, hugging her so tightly her wound protested. She clung back even tighter. He was so much bigger than her now, but somehow he still felt small in her arms.

They sat in silence for a while, until finally Yanli pulled back, wiping a single tear from her brother’s cheek.

“Where’s Wangji?” she asked, and A-Cheng cleared his throat slightly.

“He went to have a bath, too. When A-Xian fell asleep.” He paused, and something twinkled in his eye – something almost like mischief.

“What?” Yanli asked suspiciously. “A-Cheng, what did you do?”

He gave a smug smile, glancing at their sleeping brother. “Well… I gave them a nudge.”

“A nudge?”

He nodded, grin widening. “I told them that maybe you should get engaged to Wangji.”

…

“You what?!”

“I said that the clans would benefit from a marriage alliance, that maybe you and Wangji should get married.” As Yanli blinked incredulously, A-Cheng continued, “Jie, you must have seen the way they look at each other. I just gave them a little push.”

Yanli closed her eyes, but she couldn’t help but smile. “A-Cheng…”

“It was funny!”

In truth, under certain circumstances she might have considered playing along with such a ruse to encourage A-Xian and Wangji to recognise their feelings with each other, but as the situation stood…

“As much as I appreciate your wanting to help A-Xian with his love life, I’m not sure that now is really a good time,” she said gently. “He must still be processing what A-Die told him, and with everything else that’s going on… Perhaps tricking him into thinking he is competing with one of his siblings for the affections of the one he likes isn’t a good idea.”

A-Cheng’s face fell, but it looked more like a pout than a grimace. “Perhaps…”

Yanli smiled. “I’m sure you only had his best interests at her,” she teased, poking his nose. “You wouldn’t say something like that just to get a rise out of our Xianxian, would you?” A-Cheng wrinkled his nose, but he also grinned. Yanli sighed, shaking her head. “That said, I’m not sure that Wangji is quite as accustomed to that kind of teasing. I hope you didn’t disconcert him too much.”

“He’ll be fine,” A-Cheng insisted, and the door opened. As if on cue, Lan Wangji walked inside, and when he saw Yanli he froze, his face going stark white even as his ears grew redder than wedding robes.

Jiang Yanli turned to A-Cheng, sparing just a second to give him a sharp, withering look, before turning to smile at Wangji.

“Hello, Wangji. I hope the baths were to your liking?”

“Mn,” Wangji managed, but it sounded more like he was choking than speaking, and Yanil shifted slightly, making sure that her hand was hidden by her sleeve as she poked A-Cheng hard in the leg.

“I was just saying to A-Cheng how grateful I am that you’re staying with us,” Yanli said sincerely, and the panic in Lan Wangji’s eyes grew brighter. “It will be so good for A-Xian, and… well, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but it almost feels like I have three little brothers now. I know it is forward of me, you’ve not been here long, but after everything… I am grateful.”

Lan Wangji blinked, and then he swallowed, the panic in his eyes fading a fraction. “I… don’t mind.”

She smiled warmly. “I’m so glad.” She looked at A-Cheng. “I suppose this makes you my third didi now, A-Cheng.”

“What?!” Jiang Cheng spluttered, outraged. Yanli smiled demurely, fixing him with a gaze.

If you hadn’t teased A-Xian and Wangji, I wouldn’t have teased you…

His face fell into a scowl. “No way. I’m your first didi. I don’t care if those two are older – they joined the family later.”

“Hmm,” Yanli teased, holding her chin thoughtfully. “But Wangji is so much more grown up. He would make a good first didi.”

“Jie!” A-Cheng squawked, and A-Xian stirred.

Wangji sent a sharp look at A-Cheng, finally moving away from the door to sweep down to A-Xian’s side.

“Sorry,” A-Cheng hissed, and Yanli smiled, squeezing his hands. She thought that A-Cheng should know well that she was only teasing, that no one could ever usurp his place in her heart, but after all that had come out in the last few days she thought it best to make herself clear.

“You should be quieter while Xianxian is sleeping,” she chided in a whisper. “Then Jiejie won’t have to replace you after all.”

A-Cheng rolled his eyes, but he also smiled. “Okay, A-Jie.”

“He is still asleep,” Wangji murmured, looking reproachfully over his shoulder at Jiang Cheng. “He needs rest.”

“I know, I know. I said sorry!” Jiang Cheng hissed in protest, and Lan Wangji’s eyes flickered in a way that almost looked like an eyeroll, which Yanli found somewhat delightful.

“We will let him rest,” she promised. “In the meantime, now that A-Die and Zewu Jun are gone, I was wondering if perhaps Xiaoshou can help A-Xian, with his cultivation. What do you think?”

At once, the tone shifted, and Yanli mourned it a little, but it was necessary. This was important, more important than anything. Still, at least Lan Wangji could meet her eye again.

It was the little wins, after all.

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, Lan Qiren did not hate Wei Wuxian. He did not like him – not at all – and he had despaired every day the boy spent in the Cloud Recesses. The first disciple of Yunmeng Jiang was incorrigible, and irresponsible, and rude, and the influence he had exerted on his classmates at the lectures was quite terrible.  To make matters worse, despite the boy’s obvious faults, Wangji had inexplicably grown to care for him, and Lan Qiren silently bewailed the friendship whenever it crossed his mind.

Yes, Lan Qiren disliked Wei Wuxian immensely – but he did not hate him.

Hate was a strong word, and a stronger force, and Lan Qiren was a grown adult. His hate was reserved for the world’s darkest corners. Corruption. Evil. War. Things that tortured the good and the innocent, wrongs that ran so deep they could never be made right. That was what Lan Qiren hated.

He had no space or time to hate an irritating eighteen-year-old junior disciple whose greatest crime was driving Lan Qiren to distraction.

And now, though he may have committed acts far more severe than that, at the very least Wei Wuxian had given Lan Qiren a reason to fly to Lotus Pier.

“I am sorry to have to do this,” Qiren said gravely, bowing to his cousin, Liqin. “To leave the frontlines at such a time as this-”

“Is necessary,” Lu Meilin, Liqin’s wife, interrupted. “Qiren, you should have gone a week ago.”

Lan Qiren fixed her in a stare. “I am in command of this entire front of the Sunshot Campaign. It would have been unjustifiable to leave for a mere matter of personal business.” The words were harsh, if only because of how many times he had repeated them in his own mind over the past seven days. The moment he received the letter from Jiang Fengmian confirming that Wangji was alive and safe in Lotus Pier, all Lan Qiren had wanted to do was fly there. To see with his own eyes, to know –

To know that Wangji really was alive.

To know how badly he had been hurt.

But Lan Qiren couldn’t leave. His duty was here – how could he face the men and women laying down their lives for their clan if he flew away from his responsibilities to visit his nephew?

A week ago, he could not have left. Now, however, things were different.

“I see,” Meilin said pointedly, her eyebrows rising slightly. “Was it not you who allowed Lan Biming to return to the Cloud Recesses when her son was injured?”

“Lan Biming is not in command,” Lan Qiren replied.

“We understand the gravity of this matter, Qiren,” said Lan Liqin evenly, inclining his head. “You must go, and you must go quickly. You are needed. We will hold the line here.”

His tone was measured and certain, and for all her impertinence, Meilin’s face was determined and grave.

“Leave Gusu to us,” she said firmly. “I’ve no doubt your own task will be no easier – and no less important.”

Lan Qiren bowed, and Liqin and Meilin bowed back low. They were both talented cultivators, and though Meilin’s talents were largely devoted to healing, she also had one of the most brilliant minds for tactics that Lan Qiren had ever seen. Tempered with Liqin’s rare combination of bravery and caution, they were a formidable team – and more than capable of standing in for Lan Qiren while he was away.

“Thank you,” he said gravely. “I will see you upon my return.”

“Stay safe,” Meilin replied, and Liqin nodded.

Fighting the childish urge to tap his qiankun pouch to check that it was still there, Lan Qiren took to his sword, shooting into the sky.

He had thought, in all those months of silence, that he had prepared himself for the worst. As best, at least, as one could prepare for these things.

If the last fortnight had taught him anything, it was that nothing could have prepared him at all.

It had begun with a thick envelope, addressed to him in Xichen’s trembling hand, a far cry from his nephew’s usual detailed calligraphy. There were three letters within it, and through a cruel stroke of luck, Lan Qiren opened the oldest one first.

A letter that was not written by Xichen.

It was written by Wen Ruohan.

And its contents had ripped Lan Qiren’s heart out through his chest.

Unbreathing, Lan Qiren ran his eyes over the words again and again, as though there was some magical way that they would change between viewings –

But they didn’t change.

Lan Zhan… execution… Demonic lingchi… one week…

Execution…

One week…

With a stab of panic, he looked at the date on the top of the letter – and then Lan Qiren let out a low moan. It was dated seven days ago, which meant –

It meant that Wangji –

That A-Zhan was –

Lan Qiren barely had the presence of mind to stagger out of the tent before he threw up on the grass outside, alone in the quiet of the post-nine pm Lan encampment. It was a shameful waste of food when supplies were so limited, and a faraway part of his mind wondered how he could think of such a thing as grief unlike any he had ever experienced tore through his body like a tidal wave.

He had never even imagined there could be a pain like it. He’d heard it said how soul-destroying the loss of a child could be, had witnessed it with a painful new frequency since the onset of the war, and he had not doubted its potency, but nothing… nothing could have prepared him for it. 

But unlike the parents he had witnessed burying their own children, Lan Qiren was afforded the mercy of escaping his grief.

There were two other letters in the envelope, after all – the first was in an unfamiliar, clumsy hand, and bore only eleven words.

Lan Zhan out of Qishan – safe. Retreat. Contact Soon. Purple Gentians.

He had not trusted it. How could he, when so much was unsaid? Who had sent the letter, and what were their motivations? It was certainly not Wangji’s hand, and he would never have referred to himself as ‘Lan Zhan’ – was it truly an ally, or was it one last taunt from Qishan, a final spark of hope that they could wrench away to strike another crushing blow to his family?

The third letter had not offered much more certainty. Unlike the others, this one was from Xichen, but in a way it provided more concern than it did comfort. Xichen believed the second letter, he said. He believed that Wangji was alive, that he’d been rescued and was safe –

And Lan Qiren knew that if Xichen was wrong, if this was one final trick from the Wen –

Both of his nephews would be gone. Xichen would not survive it.

Not when he had gone to Qishan, turned away only at the behest of the mystery letter. He would blame himself, and it would ruin him. Perhaps even kill him. And of course, he could have died anyway.

Because Lan Xichen had gone to Qishan.  

It was inconceivably irresponsible – the chances of success with such a mission were infinitesimal, and the consequences of failure…

Xichen was Lan-zongzhu. It was his duty to consider his whole clan, to put their needs above his own – if he did not, the whole of Gusu Lan could fall. After Xichen, Wangji was the last direct heir of Lan An’s bloodline – if they had both perished in Nightless City…

Lan Qiren did not know that he could survive the loss of both of his nephews. He was not sure the clan could, either. Xichen should never have gone to Qishan.

He should have come to Gusu.

I should have gone, Lan Qiren had thought over and over, as though Xichen might hear him if he just thought it hard enough, I would have gone to Qishan. I am expendable. I would have gone. Why did you not find me first?

It had been incredibly difficult to pull his focus back to the battlefield, but Lan Qiren had done so. He had to – there were hundreds, if not thousands of lives at stake, and Qiren was in a position to protect them. There was nothing he could do to aid his nephews, not when he didn’t even know where they were

(If they were even-)

But then, a week later, the second letter had come, this one from Jiang Fengmian, and the relief had hit Lan Qiren so strongly it had brought him to his knees.  

Wangji was alive. He had suffered, had endured months of torture in Wen Ruohan’s dungeons, and he was injured and weary – but he was alive, and healing, and Lan Qiren had knelt all night in the ancestral hall in thanks of it.

Wei Wuxian had rescued Wangji from Qishan, and Lan Qiren doubted he would ever be able to repay him. Even as a childish, primal voice in the back of his mind hissed that if it wasn’t for Wei Wuxian, Wangji would not have needed rescuing, it was perfectly easy to dismiss it.

Lan Qiren would not have condoned Wangji’s decision to assist Jiang Wanyin in rescuing Wei Wuxian – it was foolish, and could have brought grave danger to their clan – but he could not fully condemn it, either. Based on what Wangji had told him about the indoctrination in Qishan and the information that came out of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian had been seized and tortured on false charges. It was very probable that the Wen would have killed him. Wangji’s decision to intervene was well intentioned, and in line with their clan’s principles.

More importantly, it was also Wangji’s choice. Wei Wuxian had not asked him to get involved – to blame Wei Wuxian for this situation would be ridiculous.

In the end, Wei Wuxian had saved Wangji’s life. Lan Qiren’s gratitude was immense, and it had washed away the harshest of his feelings towards Wei Wuxian in a heartbeat.

However.

This morning, Lan Qiren had received another letter from Lan Xichen.

And when he read that letter, Lan Qiren’s heart had plummeted so fast it may as well have been shot from the sky.

Apparently, Wei Wuxian had taught himself how to wield resentful energy – he had created a weapon powerful enough to slaughter an entire Wen battalion – and Lan Qiren’s nephews wanted to help him.

Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji wanted to help Wei Wuxian establish a ‘safe’ practise of demonic cultivation.

Lan Qiren did not think he could be blamed for the strangled squawk of rage that had left his throat when he first read the words.

Xichen had laid out his argument with great care, expressing how and why he believed this was the truest application of their rules and principles, twisting the Lan sect disciplines to condone that which they were supposed to condemn most fiercely and instructing for a list of specific books to be sent from their private library to Lotus Pier, and once again Lan Qiren felt physically sick.

“Spiritual energy is energy; resentful energy is energy as well. Spiritual energy is stored in the dantian. It can split mountains and fill oceans, available for human use. If so, then why can't resentful energy also be used by humans?"

“How can you make sure that the resentful energy will only listen to you, and not harm others?”

“I… haven’t figured that out, yet.”

“If you figured that out, the cultivation world would not allow you to exist!”

That damned, stupid boy…

Lan Qiren had never thought Wei Wuxian would be idiotic enough to action his foolish words. Yet from Xichen’s letter, the boy apparently thought he had no choice.

Quietly, a part of Lan Qiren accepted that trapped alone in the Burial Mounds, it was quite possible that the boy was correct.

However, to condone such a thing, for Gusu Lan to condone such a thing. It roiled against the very core of his being. And yet…

They were at war.

Already, the war had forced Lan Qiren to bend the principles that so defined him, to cast aside the specifics of the rules in order to hold as true to their spirit as possible.

There were rules in war, but only on paper.

Dishonour and underhanded tactics were rampant in among the ranks of the Wen, and though Lan Qiren knew that his own disciples were more disciplined and less destructive, he still had to make decisions more slyly, like attacking the enemy from behind, or sending a small group on a mission he knew would be almost impossible to succeed in order to guarantee the lives of a whole battalion.

All of that would be enough to incite his wrath, but none of it compared to the grief of burying so many members of his allies. So many of his clan.

So many of his kin.

And when he thought of all the dead…

Lan Qiren had to accept that there was a chance that his nephews were correct, too. The advantage that such a weapon could give them in the war…

Lan Qiren had buried too many of his own disciples to dismiss such a thing off hand.

And so, Lan Qiren was on his way to Yunmeng. It was a journey that should take at least a day by sword, but though his students sometimes forgot it, Lan Qiren was a strong cultivator. He was perfectly capable of flying so fast that the wind cut at his face and stung his eyes, and maintaining such a pace over great distances was within his capabilities. A small part of him argued that it was foolish – if he was to encounter trouble, draining his spiritual reserves so dramatically would put him in a difficult situation. But this was an urgent situation, and…

It had been four months, three weeks, and five days since he last saw his nephew. And of that time, Lan Qiren had only been able to trust that Wangji was alive for the past week.

As such, he reached Lotus Pier in just under six hours, just as the midday sun rose above the lake, sending sunlight shattering sharp across the water. At another time, Lan Qiren would take a moment to enjoy the natural beauty, but there was no time for frivolity now.

Instead, he waited outside Lotus Pier’s formidable wards, maintaining all outward signs of patience as the Jiang guards hurried to alert their clan leader to his presence. A few short minutes later, Jiang Fengmian himself appeared, letting Qiren in through the wards.

“Lan-xiansheng,” he greeted with a hint of surprise. “We were not expecting you.”

“I believe you were expecting some books from my library,” Lan Qiren replied, his voice perhaps a little sharper than it ought to be.

Jiang Fengmian smiled, but it was a guarded expression, unnervingly steely. “Indeed – Lan-zongzhu kindly offered to let us borrow them. I did not realise that you would escort them personally.”

Later, Lan Qiren would scold himself severely for the lack of decorum, but in that moment he was far too exhausted and emotionally drained to do anything other than cut to the chase.

“Is my presence unwelcome, Jiang-zongzhu?”

The clan leader’s smile grew wider – and colder. “That depends on the intention of your visit. I am well aware of how you regard A-Xian, and I understand that his current exploration goes deeply against your principles – but if you wish to confront him about it, I am afraid you have undertaken a wasted journey.”

“I do not wish to confront him,” Lan Qiren replied tightly. “I wish to assess whether I believe the judgement of my nephews to be correct, and if so to offer my assistance.”

“And if you do not agree?” pressed Jiang Fengmian.

“I will make my case, and then remove myself from Lotus Pier. It is certainly not my place to discipline Jiang-zongzhu’s disciples within Lotus Pier.”

“Make your case?” Jiang Fengmian repeated. His smile had gone completely now. “Lan-xiansheng, as I said, I will not allow you to confront A-Xian on this matter. I know you believe that he needs stricter discipline, that his imagination and his nature will bring dishonour and misfortune to Yunmeng Jiang if he is not brought to line, but let me tell you that the last thing he needs now is discipline. He has been punished enough, and he –” Jiang Fengmian broke off, something like a wince passing over his face. “It is vital to both his health and to the future of the Sunshot Campaign that we support him now. I will not stand for anything else.”

Affronted, Lan Qiren drew in a sharp breath. “I believed the boy would’ve benefited from more discipline, yes, but that does not mean I think the boy deserved to be maimed and tortured.”

Jiang Fengmian blinked, looking a little surprised – and almost guilty.

“From what I have heard from Xichen, the boy’s intentions are in the right place, whether or not his methods can be fully justified. What is more… it sounds very much like he has already paid a great price for his. At the very least he has earnt the opportunity to be heard.”  

Jiang Fengmian stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally, he said, “If you decide that you cannot condone the path we have chosen…”

The use of ‘we’ did not slip Lan Qiren’s attention. He sniffed. “Then I will make my case for turning back to you. I will not confront Wei Wuxian while he is still wounded, nor will I do so at all while in the territory of Yunmeng Jiang.”

Once again, the Jiang clan leader took a long moment to stare at Lan Qiren. Then, finally, he nodded, his smile returning. It was smaller this time, a little wry and more than a little weary, but it was also far more genuine.

“Very well – come in, then. I’m sure you are desperate to see Wangji.”

Protectiveness bristled up Lan Qiren’s spine – he was not used to those outside his closest family (and perhaps Nie Mingjue) referring to his nephew so casually. He certainly knew that Wangji did not like it – but then Jiang Fengmian had been sheltering his nephew for the last fortnight, and Yunmeng Jiang were far more cavalier about these things.

What was more, as he looked at the other man, Lan Qiren realised that if there was any soul on earth who understood what he had been going through over the last four months, it would be Jiang Fengmian.

Though his pride wouldn’t allow him to explicitly admit being ‘desperate’ for anything, that realisation prompted him to at least say, “Mn.”

Jiang Fengmian’s smile became wry, and he held out his hand. “This way. Though the last thing I want to do is keep you from your nephew further, would you mind briefly coming to my office? That way I can give you an account and answer your questions prior to your seeing A-Xian – I believe Wangji is with him at the moment.”

Lan Qiren would mind very much, but unfortunately it was a reasonable request, not to mention the reason he had come. “Of course.”

As it transpired, Jiang Fengmian’s account of the events aligned exactly with those Xichen had outlined, but it was far more detailed. He discussed the conditions Wei Wuxian had experienced in the Burial Mounds, the way the boy had tracked down and executed Wen Chao to establish where Wangji and Jiang Wanyin had been taken.

How he had found Wangji…

“I don’t know how much Lan Xichen was able to pass onto you regarding what Wangji and A-Cheng endured in Qishan,” he said quietly, gently, and Lan Qiren’s mouth felt very, very dry.

“Very little,” he said gruffly. “If you have more information, Jiang-zongzhu…”

Jiang Fengmian shook his head slightly. “I have not asked Wangji directly – I rather had the impression he would not like speaking of it. But based on what A-Cheng suffered, and the wounds and scars they arrived with… The torture was brutal, and it was daily. Whips, knives, burns – I don’t know that there’s any form of torment the scum did not use. Even when there was a day or two between beatings, they were still starved, and A-Cheng has mentioned how the guards would often shout and bang the doors of their cells at shift changes to disturb their sleep. It…” The clan leader broke off with a shudder, and Lan Qiren felt sick. “They suffered, Lan-xiansheng. It’s both a miracle and a testament to their own strength that we got them back in one piece, but I fear a full recovery will take a long time. Far past the healing of their physical wounds.”

Lan Qiren couldn’t speak - it felt like there was an iron fist clenched around his heart, squeezing it so hard that it might burst. He hadn’t… he hadn’t expected better news, but…

To know for certain…

To know what Wangji had…

“Mn,” he choked, the sound strangled beyond recognition, but there was understanding amidst the grief in Jiang Fengmian’s eyes as he nodded.

“And,” he said softly, even as Lan Qiren’s heart screamed ‘No more!’ “I presume Xichen told you about Wen Ruohan’s… demands.”

Demonic lingchi –

Execution –

“Yes,” Lan Qiren rasped.

“It was exactly as it sounds,” Jiang Fengmian admitted, and Lan Qiren wanted to scream. “Wen Ruohan unleashed a demon on Wangji, and used the Yin Iron to both strengthen the demon and draw out the process. It fed off him in every way imaginable, over the course of several days. It gorged on his blood, his qi, his fear… even his pain.”

Lan Qiren didn’t realise that he was moving until he had already turned away, his trembling hand pressed against his mouth. Bile was twisting in his stomach, burning up his throat, and his mind – his foolish, treacherous mind kept conjuring an image of it – kept picturing the unbearable sight of a demon draining his nephew dry of –

God…

Oh God…

“I’m sorry,” Jiang Fengmian said, his voice so quiet Qiren barely caught it.

He couldn’t breathe – he couldn’t breathe –

“But A-Xian got there in time,” the Jiang Clan leader continued, continuing on so gently it almost reminded Lan Qiren of Xichen. “He was able to destroy the demon, and purge the remaining resentment from Wangji’s body. Wangji is healing well, and the demon is gone.”

Lan Qiren took a deep breath, pretending that his body did not shudder with it, and turned around. “Wei Wuxian has my deepest thanks for that,” he rasped. “Whatever the methods he chose.”

Jiang Fengmian inclined his head. “I am glad to hear it.” With that, he continued his account of how Wei Wuxian spirited Wangji and Jiang Wanyin away from Qishan, and then finally the battle of Lotus Pier. By the time he had finished, Lan Qiren had gained a little more control over himself – enough, at least, to make a preliminary determination of the situation.

“Thank you, Jiang-zongzhu. Based on what you have said to me… I do believe that I agree with the judgement of yourself and my nephews – assisting Wei Wuxian in finding a way to practise this… new method… safely should be of highest priority, both for the boy’s sake and for the sake of the war. I offer my assistance in this endeavour.”

Of course, there was a chance that upon seeing Wei Wuxian himself, Lan Qiren might change his mind, but somehow, he doubted that would be the case.

“Thank you,” said Jiang Fengmian, bowing deeply. “We would appreciate your insight, Lan-xiansheng.” He rose. “Unless you have any further questions, perhaps now we should reunite you with your nephew.”

“I would appreciate that,” said Lan Qiren, as properly as he could, and Jiang Fengmian smiled.

“Come this way.”

Anticipation thudded through Lan Qiren’s chest as they made their way through Lotus Pier, and soon Jiang Fengmian was standing outside of a guarded door, knocking on it. He did not wait for an answer before opening the door, and Lan Qiren stood wooden outside. “We have a visitor.” Jiang Fengmian glanced back, gesturing for Lan Qiren to come inside.

He saw Wei Wuxian first, as he was in the centre of the room, propped up in bed with papers strewn around him. The colour drained from his face as he looked at Lan Qiren, but Qiren paid it no mind. His eyes were already moving, searching, but they did not have to search for long, because right beside Wei Wuxian –

They found Wangji.

There was an ugly, red bite wound scabbed over on his neck, and he looked too thin, but there was colour in his cheeks, and his eyes were as alive as ever, widening with surprise as they met his own.

And Lan Qiren saw his nephew let out a breath, warmth in his voice as he rose to bow and say, “Shufu.”

It was only thanks to years of practised self-control that Lan Qiren did not charge across the room and snatch his nephew into a hug. Instead, he nodded, stepping further into the room and allowing himself to smile. Wangji came over to greet him, and Lan Qiren could not stop himself from squeezing his nephew’s wrist.

“Wangji. I’m glad to see you.”

“You, too,” Wangji replied immediately, intently, and Lan Qiren blinked before the stinging in his eyes could form noticeable tears.

“Are you well?”

Wangji nodded. “Jiang-zongzhu has been very generous. I am healing well, and my strength is returning.”

“Good,” Lan Qiren said, easing out a breath. “That is good.”

Wangji almost smiled, but then he straightened a little, looking wary. “I offered Xiongzhang an account of my actions. Leaving Gusu.”

Lan Qiren sniffed. “I have read it. That is not what I have come to discuss.”

Immediately, Wangji stiffened, looking quickly over his shoulder, and Wei Wuxian winced.

“Lan-xiansheng…” he said, his voice very dry, “None of this was Lan Zhan’s idea, he-”

“A-Xian,” Jiang Fengmian interrupted, which was fortunate, because Lan Qiren’s own interruption of ‘Obviously!’ had been mere seconds away from breaking from his lips. “Lan-xiansheng has come to offer his help.”

Wei Wuxian’s incredulous expression was actually quite offensive. “…really?”

“I did not leave the front lines at Gusu to run missions as an errand boy,” Lan Qiren replied tautly, turning to Wangji. “I did, however, bring the books your brother requested myself. We have much to discuss, but first, I would like to speak with you alone.”

“My room is next door,” Wangji said, and Qiren inclined his head, indicating for his nephew to lead the way. As it transpired, by ‘next door’ Wangji in fact meant the adjoining room, but when the door closed it muffled the hushed conversations of the Jiang well enough.

The familiar comfort of privacy settled over his shoulders, and Lan Qiren studied Wangji’s face carefully.

“Wangji,” he said quietly. “Are you well?” He had already asked, and Wangji had already answered, but his answer had been vague, and they had not been alone then, and the question kept tumbling through Qiren’s mind in an endless loop.

He couldn’t keep his eyes from the wound on Wangji’s neck.

It fed off him in every way imaginable, over the course of several days. It gorged on his blood, his qi, his fear… even his pain.

“I am well,” Wangji said quietly, and Lan Qiren’s eyes snapped to meet his. “The pain is minimal, now. My strength is returning.”

And your mind? Lan Qiren wanted to ask, but he didn’t know how to. A deep, painful yearning stirred in his gut, urging him to fold his nephew into a hug and hold him like a child, but he couldn’t. If it was Xichen, it would be different – though Lan Qiren himself was not physically affectionate he knew that his older nephew would welcome it, but Wangji… Wangji had not embraced him since he was perhaps seven years old.

“I am sorry for making you worry,” Wangji murmured.

“Worry does not begin to describe it,” Lan Qiren replied sharply, unable to help himself, and Wangji glanced down. Guilt flickered through Qiren’s gut. “I do not know if I have ever been more afraid in my life,” he clarified. “I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are safe, Wangji.”

His nephew glanced back up at him, and before he realised what he was doing Lan Qiren reached out to pat Wangji’s hair –

And Wangji flinched.

Horror coursed violently through Qiren’s veins, and he drew his hand back immediately. “My apologies,” he said gruffly, his voice sounding strange in his own ears.

Wangji’s eyes pinched, and he swallowed. “Shufu-”

“I hope they have been feeding you well,” Lan Qiren said, silently cringing at both the interruption and the utterly terrible segue in the conversation. “I am aware the cuisine in Yunmeng is rather more elaborate than that of Gusu.”

“They have fed me well,” Wangji replied, but the words were automatic, and did not match at all with the distress in his eyes, the shame on his face. “Shufu, I didn’t mean… It… I am sorry, Shufu. It’s not you… I am glad to see you, too.”

Lan Qiren’s heart ached. “It’s no matter, Wangji, do not think on it.”

“You just surprised me,” Wangji said, his voice getting quieter by the moment. “But it is not… I do not…” His ears were burning red, shame growing stronger on his face, and Lan Qiren shook his head.

“Wangji-”

“I am sorry, Shufu,” he said, raising his arms as if to bow.

“Wangji!” Lan Qiren caught his nephew’s wrists, and they both froze, staring at each other. Wangji’s eyes were always so expressive to those who could read them, and now Qiren could see them swim with trepidation, shame, and pain – and something that looked almost like hope.

Lan Qiren’s painstakingly cultivated resolve broke. Carefully, he raised his own arms, terrified that Wangji was going to flinch away again, but instead his nephew took a staggering step forward, closer –

And Lan Qiren wrapped his arms around him, holding on tight. Wangji shuddered, but then his arms rose, and he clung to Lan Qiren with a strength that squeezed the air from his lungs.

Somehow, it was easier to breathe than it had been for months.

 “I am sorry that I scared you,” Lan Qiren murmured, and Wangji shook his head. Clung tighter.

“You did not. I was startled – I’m sorry, Shufu, I-”

“You do not need to apologise,” Lan Qiren chided softly, a lump rising in his throat. He closed his eyes. “Shufu is sorry he did not reach you sooner. That you spent so long in that place…”

Wangji drew back, and though his heart protested, Lan Qiren released him, lacing his hands together behind his back to stop himself from reaching out again.

“That was not your fault,” Wangji said seriously. “You did not know where I was.”

“I had my suspicions,” Lan Qiren said. “Though it is true, I had no information that I could act upon. If I had, then maybe…”

“You could not have known,” Wangji said. He paused for a moment, and then said, “Wei Ying saved me.”

Lan Qiren could not help but sigh. “Yes, I am aware of that.”

“Without him I would be dead,” Wangji pushed, and Lan Qiren raised his eyebrows, though the words made him want to cringe.

“I am aware,” he repeated.

“I know Shufu will not agree with his methods, but-”

Lan Qiren held up a hand and Wangji fell silent, though his jaw clenched in a promise of oncoming stubbornness.

“Do you believe I lied about my intentions coming here, Wangji?” he asked sternly, and his nephew stared at him. Eventually, Wangji gave a small shake of his head.

“No, Shufu.”

“As I said, I’ve already spoken to Jiang-zongzhu at some length about the context behind Wei Wuxian’s actions, and the decision that Xichen made to support them. While I am still apprehensive, I recognise the merit of the decision, and will offer my assistance.”

For a long moment, Wangji stared at him. “Wei Ying thinks too poorly of himself.”

Lan Qiren scoffed, thinking of the bravado and arrogance Wei Wuxian had displayed in his classroom, but Wangji’s eyes grew cold, and he persisted.

“He believed he deserved what Yu Ziyuan did to him,” he said, and Lan Qiren felt like ice was dripping down his spine. “He did not.”

“He did not deserve that,” Lan Qiren agreed, feeling a flicker of indignation at the relief flashing across Wangji’s eyes. Did even his own nephew truly think he was so callous?

“We are seeking to convince him,” Wangji said. “It is important. Don’t… please do not be harsh with him, Shufu.”

Lan Qiren could feel a headache coming on. “I do not intend to harm Wei Wuxian,” he said, thoroughly sick of saying the same thing in so many different words.

Mercifully, however, it appeared that Wangji was more easily satisfied than Jiang Fengmian. He gave a single nod, and then said, “Thank you for coming, Shufu.”

Lan Qiren smiled slightly. “You are welcome.”

When they returned to the other room, Jiang Fengmian seemed to have allayed the concerns of his children – both Jiang Yanli and Jiang Wanyin looked considerably calmer than they had been before. Wei Wuxian, however, seemed to be imitating a statue, his entire body stiff and motionless, his eyes cast down at the ground the moment Lan Qiren entered the room.

Clearly catching sight of this, Wangji swiftly crossed the room, sitting back down on a cushion beside Wei Wuxian’s bed, unnecessarily close.

Then, to Lan Qiren’s abject shock, Wangji smiled, reaching up to squeeze Wei Wuxian’s hand.

Wei Wuxian jumped, but he did not look nearly as surprised as Lan Qiren felt, and even as he glanced anxiously at Wangji, he appeared to intertwine their fingers.

How on earth is that fair?! A childish voice protested in the back of Lan Qiren’s mind, comparing his own awkward attempt to hug his nephew with the easy way Wangji initiated physical contact with Wei Wuxian, of all people.

However, the thought was childish, and irrelevant, and Lan Qiren recited the disciplines against envy and pettiness in the back of his mind, even as he cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for your patience. As Jiang-zongzhu says, I am here to offer my assistance.” He snapped his fingers, and his qiankun pouch opened.

Thirty-six books rose out of it, flying leisurely up one at a time and then stacking themselves in neat piles of four on the table beside Wei Wuxian’s bed. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened, and Jiang Wanyin’s mouth fell open, though beside them Jiang Yanli did a better job of covering her surprise, offering Lan Qiren a hopeful smile.

“If you are able to update me on what progress you have made so far, I will be able to ascertain which tomes would be most helpful to use next,” he said.

“Thank you, Lan-xiansheng,” Jiang Yanli replied warmly, and Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian echoed her.

“Thank you, Shufu,” Wangji said, offering a small, grateful smile of his own – and in that moment, Lan Qiren felt certain that all of his choices were worth it.

Her husband’s voice was as cold and blank as fresh fallen snow. “I’m surprised you came.”

In truth, so was she. Throughout their entire marriage, Jiang Fengmian had never summoned Yu Ziyuan before, not in so many words. She would have never let him hear the end of it if he had. Even now, outrage seethed behind her teeth, waiting to be released in a tirade of righteous fury, but…

She wanted to hear what he had to say. A part of her was impressed that Fengmian had found his backbone, another suspicious of what it was that he wanted. It had nothing to do with the gnawing ache she refused to acknowledge within her chest. She did not miss him.

She did not.

Yu Ziyuan had her pride.

She had little else beside it.

“You will remain alone, on your side of the break…”

Her children…

She did miss her children – that much Yu Ziyuan would admit. After all, the ache was so strong no amount of pride or fury could disguise it, not completely – even though they had defied her. Even though A-Cheng had ripped up his own floorboards to stand against her, and A-Li had stood on a battlefield she was far too frail to survive.

Her anger could not overcome the fact that they had suffered, her children had been wounded beyond her worst nightmares, had almost lost their lives –

She wanted to butcher every bastard that had laid a finger on them, to take their tormentors apart piece by bloodied piece.

“What you did to A-Xian, to A-Cheng, what they have suffered… there is nothing in the world that could hurt me more than that…”

Apparently, her list of targets should include herself. Apparently, it did not matter that all she had done was for their own sakes. They would not let her hold them. Would not let her near them. All for the sake of the boy that had poisoned their family from the moment he was born, the moment she saw Fengmian gazing at him with pathetic, lovestruck eyes.

“For all your jealousy of Cangse Sanren, you forget, Wei Changze was my best friend!”

That was not how a man looked at the child of his friend. It couldn’t be. It had been the rotting keystone at the centre of Yu Ziyuan’s existence for so long. It had cost her…

She was not wrong. She could not be.

Not now.

Fengmian was surprised she came, and so was she, but agreeing with her husband now was the last thing Yu Ziyuan wanted to do.

“If I did not come, I’m sure you would have made some kind of scene,” she said dismissively, flicking her sleeve.

He stared at her, and refused to dignify her words with a response. He did not even bother to stand from where he was sitting behind his desk. “In two days’ time, I must return to the front lines in Jiangnan. You are to return to Langya.”

Indignation scurried across her skin, and she bristled. “I-”

“I don’t care,” said Jiang Fengmian flatly, his interruption so sudden it startled her into silence. “I do not trust you to remain around my children.”

“My children,” she snapped. “They are my children, Fengmian – more so even than they are yours! I carried them, I birthed them – and I have never done anything to endanger A-Cheng or A-Li, unlike you-” For the first time, anger flashed across Jiang Fengmian’s eyes, but Yu Ziyuan pushed the advantage, her heart skipping a beat as she pressed, “A-Li should never have been on that battlefield! Never.”

The moment she had seen her daughter slumped on the ground covered in her own blood, the image had stabbed itself into Yu Ziyuan’s heart, remaining lodged there like the tip of a broken blade. Nothing had ever scared Yu Ziyuan as much as that moment had, nothing had ever hurt as much as seeing her daughter wounded so viciously –

“There is nothing in the world that could hurt me more than that…”

“I never asked her to be,” Jiang Fengmian growled. “I never intended her to be. If I had been able to trust that our people would be safe in your hands, I would never have had to leave her in charge.” He stood up sharply. “You were the reason A-Li was in that position, and you were the reason A-Cheng thought he had to run off on his own. You have more than endangered our children, you have hurt our children. Even more than I have.” His jaw tightened. “I will not allow you the opportunity to do so again. You will return to Langya.”

“Everything I have done has been to protect A-Cheng and A-Li,” she insisted heatedly.

“I will not have this fight with you again,” Jiang Fengmian retorted. “Your treatment of A-Xian nearly killed all three of them. Your intentions aside, you know where I stand.”

She did. She could count on one hand the number of times she had spoken to her husband in the last four months. On each occasion, they had spoken of nothing else.

“Who would you have lead the clan this time?” she demanded. “A-Li is still wounded, and A-Cheng-”

“Neither of them,” said Jiang Fengmian bluntly. “They have another task, one even more important. Their concentration cannot waver.”

Disbelief and fury blazed white hot across Yu Ziyuan’s chest. “Him? You would leave him in char-”

“Not this time,” Fengmian retorted icily. “A-Xian is still healing, and he shares their task. Jianyu will lead the clan in my absence.”

Yu Ziyuan gnashed her teeth. “He was not enough to defend Lotus Pier before. The chance of retaliation is high, Fengmian – if you will not see fit to leave me in charge, then at least give me leave to stay here and defend my children!”

“There is no need,” he said blandly.

“No need?!”

“Our wards have been strengthened, as much as they can be, and I have adjusted who will be left behind to offer Lotus Pier and Lotus Cove the best protection we can afford. As for A-Cheng, A-Li, and A-Xian, Lan Qiren has already agreed to protect them. As I said, their task is crucial to the war effort – he will defend them above all else. Your presence will be unnecessary.” Yu Ziyuan felt like she had been slapped across the face, but Jiang Fengmian pushed forward mercilessly. “You are to leave Lotus Pier before I do. You will not return until I give you leave.”

“So I am to be exiled?” she breathed. “Is that what our future looks like?”

Jiang Fengmian stared at her. “I don’t know. My concern now is the war. If we are all fortunate enough to survive, we can discuss it then.”

“I won’t go,” she said hotly, and Fengmian’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh?”

“I will not be treated like this!” Yu Ziyuan spat. “How dare you?”

Fengmian stepped out from around his desk, his face hard and cold as ice. “I dare. You will go, or I will make you. I will have you dragged out of here by your hair if I must.”

Fury demanded that she call his bluff, but for the first time in her life she had no doubt that Jiang Fengmian would follow through with his promise. She had half a mind to fight regardless, but…

“You will remain alone, on your side of the break…”

For the first time in her life, Yu Ziyuan surrendered.

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

His mother was leaving today.

It wasn’t exactly as a surprise, Jiang Cheng knew it had been coming but… somehow, it still felt sudden. In some ways, it was a relief. Every time he left the safety of their sickroom it was impossible to escape the complicated, gut-churning dread that he might be ambushed by Yu Ziyuan, and he was sure Wei Wuxian felt the same. Jiang Cheng could see his brother growing stir crazy, but he hadn’t actually made any real effort or protest to leave the room yet.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t ready to face his mother. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be. The hurt ran too deep – he wasn’t sure he could forgive her, and he didn’t know if he ever should. If she would ever deserve to be forgiven. With everything else going on, it was too much to think about. It was too overwhelming. He wasn’t ready.

But…

This was war. His mother was leaving, and… as phenomenal a cultivator as she was, that didn’t guarantee she would make it back alive.

He hated her, but he also loved her, and there was a frighteningly real chance that he would never see her again.

Jiang Cheng raised his fist –

“You can’t, A-Niang, you can’t! Please, please don’t do this, it’s not fair, it’s not right, you – please, A-Niang, please!”

He froze, and his hand trembled.

“Wei Wuxian! A-Xian, wake up! A-Niang, A-Niang, please! Please, help him! A-Niang!”

Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, but that was a mistake. The moment he did, the memory struck him with the force of a tidal wave – Zidian crackling around his brother’s wrist, Wei Wuxian’s screams ringing through his ears, the acrid stench of blood and burning flesh –

He turned away.

“A-Cheng… it’s okay if you want to see her,” Wei Wuxian whispered into the dark, quiet enough not to disturb A-Jie, already fast asleep on his other side. “It’s okay if you don’t, of course you don’t have to, but… if you want to… that’s okay too.”

He did want to see her, but he also didn’t, and he was out of time to decide.

“Who said I want to see her?” Jiang Cheng hissed back, wrapping an arm around his stomach.

“No one,” Wei Wuxian murmured, “but she’s still your mother, and it’s okay if you still love her. I just… I don’t want you to regret… do what you think you’ll regret the least, A-Cheng. That’s my advice.”

Bracing himself, Jiang Cheng turned back, and knocked on the door.

He heard his mother’s voice snap something from inside, but it was muffled enough that he couldn’t make out the words, and he stubbornly ignored the urge to flee. After a moment, the door opened, revealing an uncharacteristically exhausted looking Yinzhu. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and though she held herself with her usual poise, her shoulders were ever so slightly slumped, as though burdened with a tremendous weight.

When she saw Jiang Cheng, her eyes widened. “Jiang-gongzi,” she said, surprise clear in her voice.

Discomfort crawled up Jiang Cheng’s spine, and he found himself unsure of what to say. He’d never felt awkward or uncomfortable around his mother’s attendants before, but he hadn’t seen either of them since they dragged him away from his brother, kicking and screaming…

“Gongzi…” Yinzhu asked through the door, her voice aching and concerned. “Xiao-gongzi, is there anything we can do? Anything you need?”

It hadn’t been their fault. Jiang Cheng knew that it hadn’t. It was –

“A-Cheng?”

Jiang Cheng stiffened, and Yinzhu opened the door wider, stepping aside to allow Jiang Cheng to see his mother staring at him in surprise. At once, everything he had wanted to say disappeared from Jiang Cheng’s mind, and his mouth felt like it was full of sand, dry and sharp and heavy on his tongue. His mother was wearing an expression he’d never seen before, her lips parted in surprise even, disbelief and grief screamed from her eyes. Her gaze scanned him from head to do, urgent and unblinking, as though she thought that he would disappear if she looked away even for a second.

For a long moment, no one moved.

The, Yu Ziyuan swallowed, straightening. “A-Cheng,” she said again, her voice calmer this time. “Come in.”

It was an unusually gentle invitation, but Jiang Cheng couldn’t quite trust it. He thought of the look on his sister’s face when she returned after being ambushed by their mother. This was a bad idea. He wasn’t as strong as Yanli, he was nowhere near as strong as Yanli –

But he’d already made the decision. He wouldn’t go back now.

Jiang Cheng stepped inside.

“Jinzhu, Yinzhu,” his mother said, and immediately the two other women bowed.

“Yes, furen,” they chimed, leaving Jiang Cheng and Yu Ziyuan alone in the room.

Silence settled in their wake, prickly and uncomfortable. Eventually, Jiang Cheng swallowed.

“A-Niang…” he trailed off, unable to find any words to follow, and his mother stared at him, a strange look in her eyes that Jiang Cheng couldn’t even begin to interpret.

It looked almost like tears.

“A-Cheng,” she said finally, raising her chin. “You decided to come and see me after all.” Her voice was hard, and proud, even if it trembled and Jiang Cheng felt like he was shrinking, like he was as small as Xiaoshou and a hundred times more vulnerable.

He wanted to run away, but he also wanted to run to her. He wanted to scream at his mother, and he wanted to hug her, and he wanted her to say that she was wrong, to say that she was sorry, to say that she would fix it –

Jiang Cheng swallowed, blinking against the vicious stinging of his eyes.

It was a good thing Jiang Cheng was used to not getting what he wanted.

“I just came to say goodbye,” he said quietly, breaking eye contact and looking to the ground. “Before you leave.”

She stiffened, and Jiang Cheng’s gut twisted. “Before I am thrown from Lotus Pier, you mean. Did you know that your father threatened me?”

Jiang Cheng winced. “A-Niang…”

“Don’t ‘A-Niang’ me! You’ve been here weeks, and the only time you deign to see me is when I am leaving?” she snapped. “I suppose you’re on your father’s side in this?”

His heart dropped like a stone to shatter at the bottom of his ribcage, but Jiang Cheng raised his own chin. “No,” he said, his voice trembling. “He is on my side.”

She recoiled, anger flashing across her face. “You-” she snapped, stepping forward sharply, and Jiang Cheng flinched, his arm coming up automatically in defence –

And his mother froze.

Slowly, Jiang Cheng lowered his arm, looking back towards his mother. Her eyes were wider, rounder, and with a start, Jiang Cheng wondered if that strange look within them could be pain.

She pursed her lips, looking away sharply, but when she spoke her voice was softer. “…have your wounds healed? Liu Chen said they were quite extensive.”

“Mn… I’m doing well.” He still ached, in places, and his strength was still yet to fully return, but he was doing a little better than Wangji, and much better than Wei Wuxian, so he couldn’t complain.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “Thank goodness…”

The silence settled between them once more, and Jiang Cheng could’ve help but avert his gaze, looking down at his feet again. He felt so very, very small. “I didn’t come here to fight, A-Niang. I’m sure that A-Die and A-Jie have already said everything I’d want to, that they said it better than I ever could. I just… wanted… to say goodbye.”

The lump in his throat became too big to speak around, and Jiang Cheng fell silent. For another long moment, his mother stared at him. Then, she said, concerningly softly, “You are angry with me.”

His mouth felt very dry. “Yes,” he whispered.

“You have not forgiven me,” she pushed, her expression unreadable, and Jiang Cheng bit down on his lip.

“…no…”

A part of him yearned to, desperately, but he still woke up every other night with his brother’s screams ringing in his ears.

“And yet you came,” she said quietly, and Jiang Cheng swallowed.

“I am angry,” he whispered. “I’m hurt. I won’t ever be able to forget what you did, a-and I don’t know if I… I can ever forgive it. But I… I still missed you.”

Yu Ziyuan’s face broke. Jiang Cheng caught sight of tears in her eyes before she squeezed them closed, turning around and pressing a hand to her lips, but he had already seen the pain spasm across her face.

Something wet dripped down onto his collarbones, and with a start Jiang Cheng realised that he was crying, that tears had fallen all the way down his cheeks before he even knew they were there. He raised his sleeve quickly, brushing them away.

After a moment, his mother turned back around, closing the distance between them with a few hesitant steps. When Jiang Cheng didn’t flinch away, she gave a sad smile, stroking his hair.

“I missed you too,” she said, her voice wavering. “My son…” She pulled him into an embrace, holding him tight, and Jiang Cheng’s breath caught in his lungs. To admit that she had missed him was more than he’d ever thought he would hear her say, but it…

It wasn’t enough.

His arms rose automatically to return the hug, but his limbs felt wooden and awkward, and though it had been a long time since he last hugged his mother, he didn’t remember that her embrace had ever been so hard. Her hand brushed over his hair, and all he could think was that her fingers were so cold…

He stepped back, swallowing. “Take care, A-Niang.”

Something almost like panic flashed in his mother’s eyes, but when she spoke, she’d regained enough decorum to make the word sound like an order rather than a plea. “Wait.”

Jiang Cheng waited, and despite himself hope rose in his heart. If he’d managed to get through to her, even a little, if she just acknowledged she might have had other options, then –

“These are dangerous times,” she said, her voice low and serious. “I want you to have this.”

He frowned in confusion, but then something shifted against his wrist. He looked down, and his heart stopped beating.

Zidian.

Uncurling from his mother’s arm, wrapping around his –

Purple lightning crashed down, lashing around his brother’s wrist –

Cutting clean through –

And the blood –

“No!” Jiang Cheng screamed, snatching his hand back and ripping the spiritual device away, throwing it aside with all his strength. It struck the floor with a tremendous bang, carving a deep gouge into the wooden floorboards.

His mother’s eyes bulged wider than he had ever seen them, her face ashen white. Slowly, she moved her gaze from the Zidian to Jiang Cheng, the shock on her face morphing into fury and back to shock within the span of a heartbeat.

“How dare you?!” she breathed, but Jiang Cheng was already stumbling back.

“No,” he choked, hugging his wrist to his chest and shaking his head. “No, no – I won’t take it. I won’t, you can’t make me take it!”

Yu Ziyuan held out her hand, summoning Zidian back to her. “Jiang Cheng-”

“No!”

“This is your birthright-” she protested, anger and shock warring in her voice.

“I won’t take it,” he swore, nausea twisting his gut even as his resolve tightened. “Zidian took my brother’s hand – I won’t wield it, I won’t!”

“Jiang Cheng-”

He turned, reaching for the door, and a cold hand grabbed his wrist. Jiang Cheng whipped back around, his heart racing as he tried to tug his wrist free, but even as she tightened her grip, his mother held up her other hand in surrender.

“Wait,” she asked, and he swallowed, hard. “A-Cheng, I – wait.”

The ice of her fingers against his skin felt chillingly like the shackles that had so often bitten into his wrists in Qishan, and Jiang Cheng took an unconscious step away, his back pressing against the door.

“Don’t take it,” Yu Ziyuan said, her voice tight, and angry, but somehow also tender. She released his wrist, and cupped her palm around his cheek instead. “I want you to have it, but that – that is a matter for later.” She hesitated, pursing her lips for a moment. “The last time we parted, it was in anger. I… appreciate your trying to ensure that this time is different.”

Jiang Cheng’s throat tightened, and looked away. His hands were trembling.

Yu Ziyuan sighed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him into another hug. This time, he couldn’t make his arms move from his sides.

 “Be safe, A-Cheng,” she murmured into his hair.

He swallowed, reaching up to squeeze her hand. “You too, A-Niang.” Her grip eased, and Jiang Cheng drew a shaky breath. “Goodbye.”

This time, when he pulled free and stepped out of the door, his mother did not call him back.

Under any other circumstances, Wei Wuxian would be delighted to be outside, especially for the first time in what had felt like weeks. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm with a gentle breeze, and the fresh, Yunmeng air was a delight he would never take for granted again. Every so often he would breathe in deeply and catch the faint scent of lotus flowers, one of his favourite scents in the world.

But today, Wei Wuxian’s heart was as heavy as a tombstone. He was standing at the end of the pier beside his siblings, trying not to look as though he was leaning too heavily against Jiang Cheng. Though his strength was slowly returning, the endless days of lying in bed had left his muscles weak, and his knees trembled beneath him – but Wei Wuxian couldn’t show it.

Not now.

Before him on the lake were several boats filled with the cultivators who had returned to defend Lotus Pier, ready to go back to the frontlines. Behind him were those who were remaining behind – the young, the old, the injured, and a skeleton team of cultivators to defend them.

Wei Wuxian should be with those going to war, instead of sheltering at home like a child. He understood it, but he also hated it.

He hated it.

As if sensing what Wei Wuxian was thinking, Jiang Fengmian stepped towards him, smiling warmly.

“You’ll be with us soon, A-Xian, I’m sure,” he said, squeezing his shoulder. “As soon as you’ve figured this out. Remember, I don’t want to see you on that battlefield until you have.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to protest, but there was a lump in his throat and his heart was aching, and all he could do was hang his head.

“A-Ying,” Jiang Fengmian murmured, squeezing his shoulder again, and Wei Wuxian glanced up meet his eyes. “You are staying behind because you are the greatest chance of saving us all – not because you have failed at anything. Remember that, alright? Take care of A-Cheng and A-Li, and take care of yourself.”

Swallowing, Wei Wuxian managed to nod. His eyes were stinging, but he couldn’t let the tears fall – not now, where everyone could see.

Behind him, Lan Zhan shifted ever so slightly, pressing a hand against Wei Wuxian’s back. The silent comfort was solid and grounding, and Wei Wuxian found himself able to draw a smile onto his face. 

“I will, Jiang-shushu,” he said. “Be safe.”

Jiang Fengmian smiled and nodded, turning to Jiang Cheng. Wei Wuxian’s brother had been quiet since he returned from speaking with his mother yesterday, and his eyes were fixed on the water as though it held the answers to every question in the universe. A single tear trailed down his cheek, and Jiang Fengmian tutted gently, patting Jiang Cheng’s cheek and subtly brushing the tear away with his thumb.

“Don’t cry, little fool,” he said gently, his voice so quiet that only Wei Wuxian and his siblings could hear. “I never said I wouldn’t return.” He paused, and then added, “I am so proud of you, A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng looked up quickly, and fresh tears welled in his eyes as he nodded almost desperately, dashing his arm across his eyes.

“I won’t let you down, A-Die,” he swore, and Jiang Fengmian’s smile grew sadder.

“Of course you won’t,” he promised. “You never have.” He turned to Yanli, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Look after yourself, A-Li. You’ve proven what your brothers and I have always known – you are the very heart of our clan. Don’t forget how much we need you.”

Unlike Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, Jiang Yanli made no clear attempt to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks, but her smile was also stronger and surer.

“We need you too, A-Die,” she replied, and he smiled, kissing her forehead. Then, he stepped back, his eyes roving proudly over all three of them.

“Take care of yourselves, and take care of each other,” he instructed. “Jianyu will take the mantle of running the clan. All you need to focus on is your mission. I’m sure I will see you soon.”

With that, he turned, stepping onto the last of the boats to leave back for the frontlines. Wei Wuxian felt Jiang Cheng’s hand slip into his, and he squeezed it tightly. Just a moment later, Jiang Cheng let go again, and Wei Wuxian sighed.  

God, he wanted to be on one of those boats.

The entirety of Lotus Pier watched as their loved ones sailed back towards the battlefield, watching in a still, unbroken silence until the boats had long since disappeared. A baby was the first to break the quiet, letting out an excited, squealing laugh that made everyone jump. For his own part, Wei Wuxian lost his balance as he whirled around at the sound, but Lan Zhan’s arm wrapped around him, keeping him upright as they all looked towards the noise. 

The wife of Ouyang-zongzhu – Li Suyin, Wei Wuxian thought – was shushing her infant son, her cheeks bright red. The boy was pointing at a colourful bird that had landed on a nearby railing, wiggling in excitement. Despite himself Wei Wuxian felt a small smile tug at his lips.

“A-Zhen,” Li Suyin chided, though Wei Wuxian was glad to hear that there was no real reprove in her voice. “This is a solemn moment.”

A ripple of muted laughter ran over the gathered Jiang clan members, and everyone seemed to wilt slightly.

“I’m glad that someone is happy,” Yanli said warmly, and baby A-Zhen looked at her, smiling widely and resting his head on his mother’s shoulder. “We should all be getting on, I suppose.”

Wei Wuxian sighed, his head turning towards the water –

And his heart skipped a beat.

Because Lan Zhan’s arm was still around his waist, helping him stay upright, which meant that he was close –

Very, very close.

Lan Zhan’s face was just inches away from his own, so close that Wei Wuxian could count every one of his dark eyelashes. His eyes were wide with something Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite read, and his lips were slightly parted –

And Wei Wuxian was staring at them. He was inches away from Lan Zhan’s face, and he was staring at his lips, and he wrenched his gaze back up, cheeks burning as an apology sprang to his lips –

Only to see Lan Zhan’s eyes snap up from – Wei Wuxian’s lips?

Had – had Lan Zhan been looking at Wei Wuxian’s lips?

“Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian whispered, his voice catching in his throat, and he saw Lan Zhan’s ears blazing –

“Ahem!” Shijie cleared her throat, and Wei Wuxian jumped again, his cheeks burning even hotter as she saw him looking at him with an uncomfortably knowing smile and pink cheeks of her own. When she caught his eye, she glanced towards Lan Qiren, who was making his towards them, and Wei Wuxian’s stomach dropped like a stone.

Lan Zhan stiffened, stepping backwards sharply, and the warmth of his arm disappeared from Wei Wuxian’s waist. Mercifully, Lan Qiren didn’t seem to have noticed – though his face was grim, it was more contemplative expression than a furious one. If he noticed Wei Wuxian’s cheeks burning, or the furious red of Lan Zhan’s ears, he did not acknowledge it, instead addressing Lan Zhan, Wei Wuxian, and his siblings.

“If we are returning to our daily tasks, I will return to the library,” he said. “We have much to work on.”

“We do, but I do feel like we were gaining some momentum yesterday,” Yanli said hopefully. “Perhaps today we’ll get a little further?”

“Indeed, Jiang-guniang,” said Lan Qiren, but Wei Wuxian couldn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Mn,” he mumbled noncommittedly, his mood sinking even lower. He’d hoped to have something to show Jiang-shushu before he left for the frontlines. Instead, he had nothing. Nothing.

Though not for a lack of trying.

They had fallen into something of a routine since Lan Qiren arrived. Every morning, Lan Qiren visited their room to discuss where they would direct their research that day, before retiring to either the library or his own guest quarters to ‘study in peace.’ Later in the day, the group would reunite and discuss their findings and theories.

 It actually wasn’t as awkward or soul-destroying as Wei Wuxian had expected, having Lan Qiren assisting them. Though the man was as gruff and curt as ever, it seemed that he was being genuine when he said that he didn’t condemn Wei Wuxian’s actions, and that he wanted to help. His insight was genuinely valuable – as he himself had said, “The great sects don’t send their children to me just so I can teach them manners and etiquette.”

However, while Lan Qiren’s presence wasn’t soul-crushing, the research itself was – something Wei Wuxian feared would only get worse.

Something that did get worse.

In the days following Jiang Fengmian’s departure, they searched from dawn to dusk for some technique or theory, but days passed, and then a week, and still all they managed to do was rule out every single theory they’d come up with.

Until one night, Wei Wuxian had a nightmare. He woke in a cold sweat, the horror of the dream taking form as a theory, a possibility that made his blood run even colder. The very concept sent ice splintering through his bones, made his heart ache in his chest, but it…

It could work. At the very least, it would get Wei Wuxian onto the battlefield faster, it would save god knew how many lives – it would work –

But the cost…

The cost was so great that Wei Wuxian tried to put it out of his mind. He knew he wouldn’t be the only one who wouldn’t like the idea, and it – there might be a better way. They might still have a better choice.

But the idea haunted him, the implications, the practicalities, and the risks all running through his mind, consuming his thoughts for the whole day, and then the next, and the next…

Until it was all he could think about – until he knew he had to say something. But he didn’t…

As selfish as it was, he didn’t want to…

“Xianxian?” Yanli asked quietly, and Wei Wuxian jumped, looking at her. They were sitting at a table out on one of the docks, but to his surprise, the sun was just starting to set, casting a red glow across the lake, and it appeared that Lan Qiren had arrived. The last time Wei Wuxian had paid attention to anything, Liu-shidi had been taking away the lunch trays.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian said, scratching his nose, “Sorry, Lan-xiansheng, I didn’t notice you arrive.”

“That much is evident,” said Lan Qiren, though fortunately he didn’t sound too angry or offended.

“You’ve been quiet for hours, Xianxian,” Yanli pressed, her eyes dark with worry. “What are you thinking about?”

Wei Wuxian looked away, biting on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. If he didn’t suggest this… it was likely that no one else would, and if he did, he couldn’t take it back. He didn’t expect anyone to like it, but with no other options they would eventually have to agree.

He steeled himself, cleared his throat.

“What if… what if I didn’t have a golden core?”

Silence.

Then –

“Wei Ying-”

“What?!”

“A-Xian-”

“I’m serious,” Wei Wuxian said quietly, and the others fell silent once more. “The main problem we’re facing now is that demonic cultivation and traditional cultivation aren’t compatible – when I cultivate resentment, my golden core fights it. When I cultivate traditionally, the resentment damages my meridians. If I didn’t have a golden core, there would be considerably less damage to my body. If Lan Zhan’s willing to play Cleansing for me, I’m sure it wouldn’t be too bad. It wouldn’t kill me.”

The others stared at him in stunned disbelief. He wasn’t sure that he had ever seen Lan Zhan or his siblings look so horrified, and Lan Qiren was staring at him with a more disgusted expression than Wei Wuxian could have imagined him capable of.

Wei Wuxian swallowed. “We’re running out of time.”

“You –” Jiang Cheng choked off, apparently unable to think of the right words.

“Wei Wuxian,” Lan Qiren seethed, outrage blazing in his eyes. “That is the most unacceptable proposal I have ever heard. Such a thing would sever you from the righteous path forever, not to mention spitting in the face of those who have taught and trained you.”

“But it’s not about me,” Wei Wuxian protested, his heart racing. “Lan-xiansheng, it wouldn’t kill me, and it’s the fastest way of getting me to the frontlines. The faster I get there, the less innocent people die – if we’re speaking practically-”

“Practically?” Lan Qiren cut in. “Don’t be so moronic, Wei Wuxian! What merit do you envision their being in such a path? There would be no backlash from your own core, this is true, and that might make the damage slower, but the resentful energy would still cause irreparable harm to your body. What’s more, it would leave you unconscionably vulnerable. I wish that I could say that the necessity of finding a safe way to practise your new methods is driven only by care for your health, but that is untrue. If you are weakened or vulnerable, you may fall, and if you fall, we will be in even worse a position than we are now.”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “I’m not sure that-”

“Do not interrupt me!” Lan Qiren interrupted, and Wei Wuxian opened his mouth – only for Yanli to squeeze his hand painfully hard. “Resentful energy is unstable enough as it is. If you were in a weakened state and lost control, what would stop the backlash from blowing up in your face and butchering your allies along with your enemies? If you were to call ghosts to a battlefield and then die yourself, how would you expect your fellow soldiers to fight the Wen and the dead? And to make matters worse, then there is the topic of your amulet!”

“I-”

“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng hissed, glaring at him. “Wei Wuxian, just shut up!”

“You said it yourself,” Lan Qiren pushed, relentless. “It is not bound to you. If you fell, what is to stop the enemy beside you from taking your Stygian Tiger Amulet and wielding it himself? Nothing. If it was to be stolen from you now, it would not reject the thief’s control any more than it would yours. Their prowess would be less, but its power would not diminish. It is obscenely irresponsibly to wield demonic cultivation on the battlefield without being at the peak of strength and health. Sacrificing your golden core would not solve any problems – it would only create new and greater issues while barely delaying the ones we have now. No – it is a ludicrous idea, and I won’t hear any more of it.”

Frustration and anger seared hot on Wei Wuxian’s cheeks, and he drew in a breath, but before he could speak, Jiang Cheng spat,

“Neither will I! That is the single dumbest thing you have ever said in your life, Wei Wuxian. I forbid it.”

Wei Wuxian ground his teeth together. “You forbid it?”

“Yes!” Jiang Cheng’s voice was tight with anger, but there was fear there too, and Wei Wuxian’s heart ached as his brother looked at their sister, a hint of panic in his voice. “A-Jie…”

“A-Xian,” she said, pleaded, and he looked at her. His heart seized – Yanli’s face was as pale as death, her eyes wide and misted with tears. “It – I – I can see where you’re coming from, and I – I feel desperate too, but Lan-xiansheng is right. That’s far too dangerous, there’s far too little reward – we can’t risk that. You understand, don’t you Xianxian?”

Wei Wuxian swallowed, feeling himself deflate. Relief rippled through him, a tension he hadn’t noticed melting away from his chest, but even as it did guilt turned the relief to acid. What right did he have to be relieved when there were so many lives at stake? When he had failed, yet again.

“We’ll find another way,” Yanli insisted, squeezing his hand gently. “We will, A-Xian. No one is giving up.”

“Indeed we will, Jiang-guniang,” said Lan Qiren firmly, a conviction in his voice that Wei Wuxian wished he could share.

The conversation fell apart shortly after that. For all their shared conviction that they would find a better way, the sheer horror of Wei Ying’s proposal had shattered all motivation and momentum to discuss things further tonight. Even Shufu was visibly perturbed, his hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist behind his back as he took his leave just a few minutes later. Jiang Cheng was not far behind, muttering angrily about needing to clear his head, and soon Jiang Yanli followed, leaving Wei Ying and Lan Wangji alone.

At first, Wangji thought that Wei Ying intended to head inside too, but after rising from the table Wei Ying headed to the edge of the dock instead, slumping down and letting one of his legs dangle over the edge. He brought his other leg up against his chest, resting his chin on his knee as he stared out over the darkening lake.

By now, the sun had set almost completely, casting the water in a cloak of deep reds and purples, and stars were beginning to awaken in the darkening sky. It was beautiful. Achingly so.

Wordlessly, Lan Wangji went to Wei Ying’s side, sitting cross-legged beside him. Wei Ying didn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze out over the lake, but he did sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly.

After a long, quiet moment, Wei Ying murmured, “What if it’s impossible?” Wangji glanced at him, but Wei Ying kept his eyes stubbornly on the lake, hugging his leg close to his chest as he elaborated. “It’s easy enough to say that we’ll find another way, but what if there isn’t another way to find?”

The possibility stabbed fear deep into Wangji’s chest, but there was only one answer he could give. “Then we will build one.”

For the first time, Wei Ying tore his gaze from the lake, looking defeatedly at Wangji. His eyes were dull and sorrowful, as though he had already come to the conclusion that such a sacrifice would be inevitable. “And if that’s impossible?” 

“Is that not the essence of your clan?” Wangji asked. “To attempt the impossible?” Wei Ying grimaced, looking away again. “You’ve never backed down from it before.”

Tears shone in Wei Ying’s eyes, and he stared down at the stump of his wrist. “Attempt the impossible…” he recited. “Just because you attempt something doesn’t mean you succeed, Lan Zhan.” His voice sounded very small, and very tired, and Wangji fought the instinct to fold Wei Ying into a hug. “If… Lan Zhan, if there’s a way that we could push the Wen back, to turn the tides of the war – if I knew that there was a way for us to win, and I didn’t use it… I don’t think I could live with myself.”

Wangji’s throat tightened. The same thought weighed heavy on his own shoulders, haunting him with questions he did not think he could bear to answer. If it came down to it, could he sacrifice Wei Ying for the sake of the entire cultivation world? Was he strong enough?

“The responsibility is not yours alone,” he said quietly. “You are one person, Wei Ying. But regardless, we will not let that happen.”

“Lan Zhan…”

“We will find a better way,” Wangji insisted, hearing his own voice grow fiercer, feeling his conviction burn brighter. “It has not yet been two weeks, Wei Ying. Give us time.”

“We don’t have time-”

“We do. Not much – the Sunshot Campaign will not outlast the Wen forever, but it is holding its own. It will buy us time, Wei Ying. I promise.”

Wei Ying stared at him for a long moment, his eyes still heavy with sorrow and defeat even as the corner of his mouth crooked into an unconvincing smile. “Ah, Lan Zhan… You sound so sure.”

“I am sure.”

Wei Ying’s lip trembled slightly, and his voice cracked. “How? How can you be so sure?”

Lan Wangji held his gaze, marvelling at the beauty of Wei Ying’s eyes in the starlight even as he spoke. “Two reasons.” His voice caught in his throat, and he paused. Even with Wei Ying, even now, his instincts screamed at him to hide any vulnerability, to be strong and sure and certain, but if it helped Wei Ying…

And if it was the truth…

“Two?” Wei Ying prompted quietly, and Wangji nodded.

“First,” he said, choosing the easier of the two to begin with, “Because Wei Ying has already achieved the impossible. More times than I can count. I know he can do it again, and I will help.”

Wei Wuxian’s lips parted in surprise, an endearing pink brightening his cheeks. “Lan Zhan…”

“Wei Ying is brilliant,” Wangji insisted. “We will find a way.”

Wei Ying looked away, his cheeks burning darker as he bit his lip. After a long moment, he asked, “And the second reason?”

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, fighting the urge to look away. There was no point in Wei Ying knowing his thoughts if he did not understand how deeply Wangji meant it. “Because I cannot bear the alternative.”

Wei Ying looked back at him sharply, his surprise even stronger than it had been before. He let go of the leg he was hugging to his chest, letting it hang over the edge with the other. “Lan Zhan…”

“If the only choice before us is to lose the war or sacrifice Wei Ying, I…” He broke off, looking down at his own hands and feeling his eyes sting. “I do not know that I could suffer either.”

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying breathed, gentle and sympathetic as he reached out to squeeze Wangji’s wrist. For the first time, he didn’t sound defeated or grim, because now his focus had shifted from himself, had moved to comforting Wangji – and Wangji hated it. “I wouldn’t die.”

“Then let me,” Wangji demanded, looking up to meet Wei Ying’s eyes again. “If it comes down to that, I will give my core, I will wield the amulet.”

“What?! No!” Wei Ying cried, horror stark on his face, and he drew back his hand like he’d been stung. “Lan Zhan, what the hell-”

“Why is it acceptable for you, but not for me?” Wangji protested, matching Wei Ying’s tone.

“Don’t be so stupid, Lan Zhan, my god-”

“Answer the question,” Wangji demanded, his heart beating faster by the second. “Why is it not acceptable for me to sacrifice my core, my cultivation? You have worked no less hard than I to develop yours. Your teachers have put in no less work than mine, you are no less dear to your family and your clan than I am to mine! What difference is there between us that every sacrifice must be made by you?”

“You don’t know how to wield resentful energy!” Wei Ying argued angrily. “My core is already damaged, I already know-”

“You could teach me.”

A wild, furious laugh tore from Wei Ying’s throat, and he turned, bracing to get up. Wangji reached out and grabbed his arm, holding him in place, and Wei Ying looked at him with eyes burning in fury. At least it wasn’t the same deadened defeat they’d held before. “I won’t. What the fuck is wrong with you, Lan Zhan?”

“This!” The reply was almost a yell, and Wei Ying stiffened. Wangji swallowed, grappling for the right words. “This – how you feel. That is how I feel, when I think of you giving your core. It is frightening. Infuriating. It hurts.”

Once again surprise flickered over Wei Ying’s face, but this time it disappeared quickly, melting into a bone-deep sorrow Lan Wangji wished that he could fix. Wei Ying sagged, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

“Sorry… I’m sorry, Lan Zhan.”

Wangji wasn’t sure what he was apologising for, but that didn’t matter. “No need.”

Wei Ying huffed out a breath that might have been close to a laugh, shaking his head. He seemed to shrink in on himself, and his next words were whispered so quietly Lan Wangji barely caught them. “I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Wangji replied, and Wei Ying swallowed, looking back at him. There were tears on Wei Ying’s cheeks, and Wangji’s own eyes stung fiercely. “But we will find a way. We will.”

Wei Ying let out a long, shuddering breath, and then nodded. “Sure… sure we will.” He sounded far from convinced.

“Trust me,” Wangji asked, almost begged, and Wei Ying smiled sadly at him.

“I trust you, Lan Zhan,” he said, reaching out and squeezing Wangji’s hand. “Of course I trust you.”

Wangji squeezed his hand back, gazing at him. It took his breath away, the way Wei Ying’s skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, the way that the stars reflected in his eyes. Wangji’s heart fluttered, and despite his best efforts he found himself thinking of the day on the pier when Wei Ying tripped into his arms, of their faces just inches apart, of the curve of his lips…

“You’re so beautiful in the moonlight, Lan Zhan…” Wei Ying breathed.

Lan Wangji’s heart stopped beating and he froze.

Wei Ying’s eyes widened, the colour draining from his cheeks. “Did… did I say that out loud?”

Slowly, Lan Wangji nodded.

Wei Ying gave a strange, desperate laugh, alarm in his eyes as he waved his hands frantically. “Ah, sorry, Lan Zhan, ignore me, ignore me!”

Lan Wangji’s heart beat once – twice – faster, faster, faster –

Because the panic in Wei Ying’s eyes, it looked like…

“Wei Ying?”

“Ignore me, ignore me!” Wei Wuxian chanted through anxious laughter. “I’m just -”

“Wei Ying is also handsome,” Lan Wangji said, cutting off Wei Ying’s babbling and sending his own heart even faster. “In the moonlight, and without it.”

Wei Ying fell silent, his eyes growing wide, and Lan Wangji’s courage rose.

Back in Qishan, he had been tormented repeatedly by all the things he had never said to Wei Ying, by the agony of never having let him know just how much Wangji cared – but since their escape, Wangji had said none of it. Once again, he had locked his love in his heart for fear of ruining the friendship he treasured so much, but…

But looking at Wei Ying now…

I wish that I can always stand with justice, and live with no regrets.

“I like you,” Lan Wangji murmured, and Wei Ying’s eyes grew impossibly wider. By now, Wangji’s heart was a drum in his chest, beating painfully against his ribs even as it raced, and he swallowed. “I like you.”

“Like me?” Wei Ying whispered.

Wangji nodded. “Mn.”

Wei Ying shook his head slightly, his voice incredibly small. “Like – like a friend?”

Lan Wangji paused. He did value Wei Ying’s friendship, more than almost anything, but this question had to be answered carefully, truthfully, and it took him a while to find the right words. “I like you as a friend. But, not only as a friend. I…” His throat grew tight, fear rising in a crescendo – “I love you.”

Wei Ying stared at him. His expression was oddly blank, but his eyes were desperate, searching, and he whispered, “You… love me?”

“Mn,” Wangji’s own voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I am in love with you.”

“…me?” Wei Ying whispered, and Wangji nodded.

“You.”

Wei Ying didn’t move. Lan Wangji didn’t think he had ever seen Wei Ying so still – not when he was conscious, at least – and the air disappeared from Wangji’s lungs. He waited –

Waited –

“You love me?” Wei Ying breathed, and Wangji nodded. He would repeat himself a third time, but he couldn’t draw enough breath to speak. Wei Ying blinked, his lips parting, and then he smiled, the smallest, shyest smile Wangji had ever seen. “You really love me?”

His head was starting to spin now, fear rising higher with every racing heartbeat.

Wei Ying gave a soft, breathless laugh, closing his eyes and hanging his head –

And squeezing Lan Wangji’s hand.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispered, opening tear-filled eyes and beaming at Lan Wangji. “Lan Zhan, I like you so much.”

It felt like Lan Wangji was falling, like he was flying, and he drew in a breath –

“I love you,” Wei Ying breathed, still smiling even as tears danced down his cheeks, sparkling in the moonlight. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I love you.”

And Lan Wangji tipped forward, catching Wei Ying’s lips in a kiss. Wei Ying gasped, but before Wangji could draw back, Wei Ying gave a muffled moan, deepening the kiss. A raw desperation rose in Wangji’s chest, and he sunk his hand into Wei Ying’s hair, cradling the back of his head as Wei Ying twisted to better face him, his arms winding around Wangji’s neck.

Euphoria unlike any he could have imagined flooded through Wangji as Wei Ying’s words tumbled through his mind again and again and again…

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, I love you…”

Wei Ying drew back with a gasp, leaning his forehead against Lan Wangji’s as he caught his breath, a smile playing at his beautiful lips. “Lan Zhan…”

Wangji hummed in reply. Words seemed impossible, so instead he pressed his forehead a little closer to Wei Ying’s, feeling the metal emblem of his forehead ribbon between them. It was impossible not to smile, and Wei Ying gave another breathless laugh.

“You’re so pretty when you smile, Lan Zhan,” he said, and Wangji’s ears burnt. Wei Ying pulled back a little further, his right arm remaining hooked around Wangji even as he reached out with his left hand, tucking Lan Wangji’s hair behind his ear. “You’re really sure about this?” he asked, meeting Wangji’s eyes. “Even knowing everything – the demonic cultivation, the-”

“Yes,” Wangji said, putting a hand on Wei Ying’s cheek – putting his thumb over Wei Ying’s lips. “If you ask again, I will be offended.”

Wei Ying laughed, his lips parting beneath Wangji’s thumb. “Lan Zhan…”

“Ahem…”

Lan Wangji froze, arms locking around Wei Ying, who yelped and jumped so violently he almost slipped into the lake. With a looming sense of dread, Wangji looked over his shoulder to see Jiang Cheng standing several paces away, his cheeks bright red as he stared deliberately out over the lake.

“You’re late for dinner, and you made Jiejie worry,” he said. “Also, you two are completely shameless, and if I ever catch you in public like that, I swear I will break your legs.”

Wei Ying burst out laughing, resting his forehead against Wangji’s again. “Lan Zhan,” he choked, “Lan Zhan, we’ve ruined his plan of a great marriage alliance between you and Shijie.”

“As if,” Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Glad to see pushing you two in the right direction finally worked. C’mon. You’ll upset Jiejie more if you don’t eat. And don’t even think about being disgusting at the dinner table. I’m still too skinny, I don’t need to be throwing up.”

“What do you mean pushing us? Who pushed us?” Wei Ying demanded, and despite himself, Wangji felt a smile tug at his lips. If they had been caught by anyone else, Lan Wangji would have been mortified, but after all they had been through together he found Jiang Cheng’s obvious embarrassment amusing rather than humiliating.

He leant forward, pressing a kiss to Wei Ying’s cheek, enjoying both Wei Ying’s squeak of surprise and Jiang Cheng’s disgusted groan.

“It is no matter,” Wangji said, smiling at Wei Ying’s startled expression. “Come – Jiang Cheng is correct, you need to eat.” He stood, bringing Wei Ying up with him. “Let’s go.”

“God,” Jiang Cheng spat, disgust clear in his voice. “I can’t believe I have to put up with two of you, now.”

“Well, you do,” Wei Ying said lightly, taking Wangji’s chin in his hand and turning his head, kissing the end of his nose.

“Damnit! Stop!” Jiang Cheng yelled, turning around and stalking his way back towards the inner compound. “I’m telling A-Jie, you’re disgusting!”

Exchanging a smile with Wei Ying, Lan Wangji began to follow Jiang Cheng back inside. The stakes had not changed, and the weight of the world was still on their shoulders, but somehow Lan Wangji had never been so happy.

Chapter Text

Wei Ying is happy – so, so happy, happier than Xiaoshou ever knew it was possible to be.

Throughout the entirety of Xiaoshou’s existence, It has been able to feel Wei Ying’s emotions just as easily as Its own, and there have been moments of relief and hope and even joy, but nothing that has ever come close to touching this. This is different. This is a happiness that fills Wei Ying’s entire being, that lifts his heart higher than Xiaoshou knew it could rise. It is a happiness that makes the whole world feel bright, a happiness so brilliant Xiaoshou still can’t wrap Its mind around it.

It is a happiness so strong that Xiaoshou cannot stop dancing, and twice It is nearly caught by Lan Qiren, mid-twirl across the room. Luckily, Wei Ying never notices to tell Xiaoshou off, because both times Wei Ying is too busy detangling himself from Lan Zhan’s arms in an attempt to look presentable.

To Xiaoshou and Wei Ying’s surprise, Lan Qiren was surprisingly accepting of Lan Zhan and Wei Ying being in love. When Lan Zhan went to tell his uncle of the relationship Xiaoshou had hidden in his pocket, too impatient to wait for news with the others even as It cringed away from the inevitable outrage, but instead, Lan Qiren had just sighed.

“I cannot say I did not see this coming,” he had said, sounding resigned – but not, Xiaoshou noted, overly unhappy. “I will not withhold my blessing, but I must insist that you both strive to prove worthy of each other, and do not let this distract either of you from our mission.”

According to what Lan Zhan said to Wei Ying later, this was, in fact, the Lan Qiren equivalent of firm support.

However, this does not mean that Lan Qiren is even a little bit accepting of anything that he classes as ‘shameless behaviour.’ Unfortunately for Wei Ying, in Lan Qiren’s books the list of things he counts as shameless behaviour is a very big list indeed. Holding hands seems safe, but anything more is wont to incur a popping vein on Lan Qiren’s forehead and a strict reminder of the rules of propriety.

So far, this has only happened twice, but Xiaoshou knows that Wei Ying is very sure he does not want it to happen again, because Wei Ying is now trying very hard to stay in Lan Qiren’s good books. There are two main reasons for this, the first being that he is very grateful for Lan Qiren not blasting him into oblivion for demonic cultivation and choosing to help instead, and the second being that he does not want to sow any sort of discord between Lan Zhan and his uncle. As such, while Wei Ying enjoys shamelessly lounging over Lan Zhan for most of the day, when Lan Qiren is around he is always on his best behaviour.

Xiaoshou doesn’t mind this, because It can take advantage of the situation and have Its own turn holding Lan Zhan’s hand (in the safety of Lan Zhan’s pocket, of course.) Wei Ying doesn’t think that this is fair, and says so loudly when Lan Qiren is not there, but Wei Ying does not stay annoyed for very long, because he is happy. Utterly, incandescently happy.

And it isn’t just Wei Ying and Xiaoshou that are happy – everyone is happy. Lan Zhan is practically radiating joy, and he smiles almost as often as Wei Ying does. Jiang Cheng is prancing around like a smug house cat, taking every opportunity possible to pounce on Wei Ying and Lan Zhan and call them shameless, and grinning from morning till night. Shijie almost seems happier than Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are, her excitement dancing in her eyes from dawn till dusk, and more often than not smiling even in her sleep.

The small population of Lotus Pier is also happy, revelling in their Shixiong’s joy as though it was their own, and even Lan Qiren seems less grumpy than before.

And with everyone so happy, the mood shifts.

Research sessions that had been so defined by grim determination and dwindling hope are revitalised, and new avenues of exploration are opened. Dead ends are twisted into new theories – could they seal Wei Ying’s core temporarily? Could they channel rather than temper the counteraction of the two techniques? 

Progress doesn’t follow straight away, but the failures don’t hit quite so hard, and then Liu-Daifu says that Wei Ying is strong enough to start cultivating, and they develop the first theory solid enough to test.

“…that’s it – remember, clear your mind, focus on your meridians,” Lan Qiren guides as Wei Ying plays, tendrils of resentful energy taking the form of his missing hand. Hidden in Wei Wuxian’s pocket, Xiaoshou sulks jealously, unable to keep Its own fingers from tapping along to the tune. However, even as It does, It pays attention. This is important, and even if Xiaoshou can’t play the flute, It’s here to do a job. Lan Zhan’s instructions had been very clear.

“If Wei Ying loses control, you must help him expel the resentful energy before it can damage his meridians. And, you must stay out of sight of Shufu.”

Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan stand on opposite ends of the courtyard, maintaining a strong array around the area in case anything goes wrong. Yanli is watching from outside the enchantment, an encouraging smile on her face.

Wei Ying plays, and beside him, the Stygian Tiger Amulet hums in the air, resentment pouring out of it to pool on the ground.

A ghost forms from the smoke, a wretched, gaunt figure with thin lips pulled back over sharp teeth, and Xiaoshou can see in its eyes that it is strong.

And it is angry.

The ghost fights against Wei Ying’s control, but it can’t break away as Wei Ying plays, ordering it through the obstacle course set up on the courtyard. It slashes the ‘enemy’ mannequins they’ve set out so violently they are carved in two, and it avoids the ‘friendly’ mannequins with visible rage, its claws reaching towards them even as Wei Ying’s music keeps it at bay.

The ghost throws back its head, revealing a neck slit almost to the bone, and lets out a blood-chilling shriek, and then it rolls its neck –

"I think that's enough," Lan Qiren advises, and Wei Ying’s playing calms, urging the ghost to relax, to let go. “Good,” Lan Qiren says gruffly, stepping forward and pulling out his guqin to help. “Very good. Now, try to liberate-”

Anger flaring, and ghost shrieks again, twisting around and soaring up into the air. It hits the top of the barrier and crashes back down, eyes wild and wicked –

And Xiaoshou feels Wei Ying’s carefully cultivated concentration crack –

The ghost breaks free, soaring towards Jiang Cheng, and at once instinct takes over. Wei Ying draws in a sharp burst of resentment without adjusting his qi, and even as he chokes on a mouthful of blood the ghost is wrenched back away from Jiang Cheng.

“Enough!” Lan Qiren barks, sending out a blast with the guqin –

At the same time Jiang Cheng throws a talisman. Whatever the two spells are, they collide with a spectacular bang, and the ghost disappears beneath a barrage of flames.

All in all, the experiment has failed quite spectacularly. 

That said, Xiaoshou drains the resentment from Wei Ying’s meridians before it can do too much damage, and  Lan Zhan plays Cleansing to get rid of the rest, while Shijie oversees putting out the fire and cleaning up the scorch marks.

And they take notes. Figure out what went wrong. Try again.

Day after day they are beaten back, but day after day they move just a little further forward. Momentum is slow, but unmistakable, and soon enough Xiaoshou knows they are getting close. They experiment, and they fail, and they try again.

Again.

Again.

The happiness around Lotus Pier changes, sharpening into anticipation.

They experiment – fail – try again.

Experiment – fail – again.

Experiment – succeed.

Try again.

Again, and again, and again.

Then, they are ready.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“We can’t afford to keep maintaining the line,” Nie Mingjue had explained to Zixuan when he invited him to join the task force. “If we cannot gain any ground, sooner or later the campaign will be crippled. We need a win, an advantage, and this may be our best chance to get one. Our scouts report that the Wen have moved most of their men from the Indoctrination Bureau to bolster the frontlines – if we are able to take the bureau, we would have a stronghold in Qishan itself, and close to Nightless City at that.”

That had made sense to Jin Zixuan. “And we can claim our swords back.”

Nie Mingjue had inclined his head, a grim smile on his face. “I thought that might interest you.”

The plan itself had been solid, and the task force small. The mission was led by Nie Mingjue’s second hand, Nie Zonghui, who brought three other Nie cultivators that Jin Zixuan recognised as being part of Nie Mingjue’s inner circle. Zixuan brought with him two disciples from Lanling Jin – his sect uncle Li Yong, a strong cultivator who had taught Zixuan all he knew about battle tactics, and his younger cousin Jin Zitian, a remarkable swordsman with a spine of steel. Their number was brought to eight by Pei Feng, a disciple from a minor clan near the Unclean Realm who had more than proven himself on the battlefield, his talent impressive for one from so small a clan. By all rights, every one of their number was strong enough to take on four or five Wen cultivators at a time without breaking a sweat.

Though their plan had relied on stealth, they had expected a fight – but they hadn’t expected the undead.

Or, more accurately, just how many undead there were.

 Their intelligence was mostly correct. Wen Ruohan had moved most of his men out of the Indoctrination Bureau, but he had left nearly two hundred fierce corpses in their place. Most were Wen soldiers, with the gut churning implication that rather than burying and honouring their dead, the Wen had been dragging their fallen comrades back to Qishan to be turned into puppets.

Worse than that, however, were the other fierce corpses. The ones dressed in the robes of Qinghe Nie, of Gusu Lan, of Yunmeng Jiang – of Lanling Jin.

And there were so many of them.

In a matter of minutes, the task force was surrounded, fighting back-to-back in a circle so tight there was barely room to move. Even with the overwhelming numbers, they might have stood a chance if the fierce corpses had been ordinary people, but these were the corpses of cultivators. Animated by resentment, they were as strong in death as they had been in life, and they held swords in and spears in practised hands – and they fought with no less skill than the living.

From the beginning, it looked hopeless, and it was only down to the raw skill of the group that they had lasted so long – they must have been fighting for almost an hour before the first of them fell.

It was one of the Nie cultivators, and even as he crashed to the ground three fierce corpses charged through the gap he had left in their formation, crushing his body beneath their booted feet, stabbing another of the Nie cultivators from behind.

Beside them, Li Yong whipped around, cutting through the corpses that had broken into the circle even as Nie Su filled the gap, her sabre swinging in a wide arch as she sent out a blast of spiritual power, throwing the fierce corpses away from the bodies of her comrades –

A blade screeched off of Zixuan’s sword, his block sloppy enough that his enemy landed a deep, gouging scratch on his face. Gritting his teeth, Zixuan drew his concentration back. He had to stay alive.

He had to.

He sidestepped to allow Li Yong back into the formation, his sect uncle glancing at him even as they fought.

“Are you alright, gongzi?”

“I’m fine,” Zixuan replied sharply, striking the head from the next fierce corpse.

“Of course you-” Li Yong cut off, his voice suddenly strangled. “A – A-Yun?”

Jin Zixuan’s blood ran cold, and he followed his shishu’s gaze to see a gut-wrenchingly familiar corpse fighting its way towards them, lips pulled back into a fierce snarl.

Throughout the entire battle, Jin Zixuan’s heartbeat had been fast but steady, controlled and faultless, but as he met the black eyes of that face he knew so well, Zixuan’s heart stumbled.

It… it really was…

“A-Yun!” Li Yong cried, charging forward even as Zixuan yelled.

“Don’t! Li Yong-”

Too late.

Li Yong didn’t make it halfway to the body of his son. He was one of the greatest fighters of Lanling Jin, but even as he blocked blows from left and right with his sword and hilt, another strike came from ahead, and a waterfall of blood spilled down his neck –

He fell.

“Shishu!” yelled Jin Zitian, and Zixuan snapped at him,

“Focus!”

Mercifully, Zitian had always been a good listener as well as a good fighter, and he held his position, continuing to hold back the corpses to Zixuan’s right.

Focus, Zixuan reminded himself, even as grief clawed at his chest and a the urge to scream rose in his throat. Focus. He kept fighting, beating back corpse after corpse, until his sword collided with an achingly familiar blade.

Li Yun.

Zixuan’s shidi. Li Yong’s son.

Missing, since a particularly fierce battle near Langya.

Dead.

Undead.

Their eyes met, and suddenly Jin Zixuan felt paralysed. He had to strike, he knew he had to strike – it wasn’t even Li Yun anymore, but –

But Li Yun had a laugh like thunder, and a generosity Zixuan scoffed at, and a little sister who rode on his shoulders and tugged at his braided hair like horse reins.

And Zixuan didn’t –

He couldn’t –

“Jin-gongzi!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jin Zixuan saw the shadow of a blade sweeping towards him and he leapt back with a curse, kicking Li Yun’s fierce corpse back in the same motion. The warning had come from Pei Feng, and Zixuan nodded at him in thanks. Pei Feng nodded back, turning his attention back to the foes around him even as another corpse aimed at him from behind. The circle had all but shattered now, rendering it almost impossible to guard each other’s backs, but Zixuan struck the corpse’s head from its shoulders before it could reach Pei Feng, using the momentum to cut another down, another, another –

Clawed hands grabbed Zixuan’s leg, and he couldn’t help but cry out as sharp teeth sunk into his flesh. He looked down, stabbing furiously at the corpse latched onto his calf, and then he looked up in time to see another fierce corpse launch at him –

And Pei Feng barrelled into Zixuan, knocking him out of the way and tearing his leg from the dying corpse’s grip –

And then Pei Feng took Li Yun’s blade through the chest. Li Yun, who Zixuan had failed to take down.

A guttural cry of horror choked from Zixuan’s throat as Pei Feng staggered back, his eyes wide and surprised.

“Oh…” the young man said, staring down at the sword protruding from his chest. He fell to his knees, even as Zixuan scrambled to his feet, as he blocked the blade of the next foe. “Oh,” Pei Feng said again, and then his eyes slid closed, and he collapsed face first into the dirt.

Zixuan wanted to scream, he wanted to –

No.

Pull it together, the thought fiercely, regaining momentum and cutting down another corpse, another, another, Pull it the fuck together!

Gritting his teeth, he spun around, using the momentum to gather more strength, forcing his mind to focus –

Then Jin Zitian howled, and Zixuan whipped around once again to see his shidi on the ground. There was a blade driven through his shoulder, pinning him to the ground, and even as he kicked its wielder away, another puppet was swinging its blade down to finish the job.

With a roar, Jin Zixuan brought his own blade up with such force that the fierce corpse was sent flying. Zixuan spun around, sending a fierce blast out of his sword to clear the space around them. It would barely buy him a second, but that would have to be enough.  

“Tang…ge...” Zitian ground out through gritted teeth, and Zixuan grabbed the sword. The blow had struck straight through Zitian’s shoulder socket, the blade wide enough it had all but severed his arm from his body – but Zixuan didn’t have time to assess further. He wrenched the blade free, slamming a talisman down against the gaping mess of flesh left behind, cauterising the wound. Zitian screamed, seizing Zixuan’s arm, but then his pain-hazed eyes fixed on something and he yanked Zixuan out of the way of another blade.

It saved Zixuan’s life, but it also tugged him right off of his feet, and another puppet surged towards him. He was almost too late to block the blow – almost. Zixuan surged to his feet and shielding his cousin as best he could. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Zitian still gripping his sword with his uninjured hand, stabbing at the the ankles of the nearest corpses with a quickly failing strength –

There was a grunt, and a roar of rage from one of the Nie cultivators –

Nie Su had fallen, too.

“Fuck,” Zitian sobbed, anger and pain stronger than the fear in his voice as he kept stabbing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Something hit Zixuan in the side, a blow strong enough to knock the air from his lungs, and he whipped around to see a corpse screaming mere inches from his face. It was too close for Zixuan to swing his sword, and in a moment of blind fury he headbutted the corpse, sending it sprawling far enough back for him to stab it.

A sound cut through the air, high and clear and strange.

A flute?

Jin Zixuan’s heart leapt. Had the Lan come?! Would they have enough numbers to launch a rescue?

White robes flew over his head, and a sword cut through the sky, its glow blinding as the force of its strike felled every corpse within twenty feet. A man touched lightly to the floor with pristine white boots, turning to face the few corpses between him and what remained of the task force, and Zixuan’s eyes widened.

It was Lan Wangji.

Lan Wangji, who had been missing for months, who rumours claimed had reappeared in Yunmeng during the Wen’s mysterious defeat, and in his hand was Bichen. The last Nie cultivator let out a guttural cry of relief, and Zixuan glanced over his shoulder to see another wave of crumpled corpses, and a purple robed figure before him. Jiang Cheng – with Sandu in his grasp, the blade dripping with blood.

The horde of fierce corpses surged forward, but to Zixuan’s astonishment they began to turn on each other, their swords finding the near impossible weaknesses of their fellow fierce corpses with apparent ease. Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji danced around the remaining trio of the task force, keeping the fighting away from them and catching the few stray corpses who still lurched towards the living.

Breathless, Jin Zixuan looked around for whoever was playing the flute, expecting to see Lan Xichen or perhaps even Lan Qiren – it had to be a distraction spell, something that would confound their enemies. Because it couldn’t be what it looked like – Gusu Lan could not be controlling the undead.

But when Jin Zixuan’s eyes moved towards the sky, his already shaking breath caught in his throat. High above the battlefield was a man on a sword, shrouded in resentful energy, a flute at his lips. As Zixuan watched, black smoke rose from the fierce corpses, circling the man before concentrating at his side, swirling tighter and tighter until it looked like a ball of obsidian hanging in the air at his side.

The sounds of battle slowly died as more and more resentment swarmed the man in the sky, until finally the last of the fierce corpses collapsed, and silence fell.

Jin Zixuan couldn’t move. He couldn’t even breathe. What – what had he just –

What?

He might never have moved again if it wan’t for the cough of pain from his cousin below him, the feeling of Zitian’s fingers digging into his injured leg.

“Ge…” he rasped. “Tang-ge, I… I think I’m seeing ghosts.”

Alarmed by the weakness of his cousin’s voice, Zixuan wanted to reach out and help him, but there was a demonic cultivator hanging over his head, and though his hand was trembling, Zixuan couldn’t afford to sheath his sword.

Before he could think of what to do, the man on the sword turned and swept down, the lingering resentment around him vanishing like a snuffed-out flame, and Jin Zixuan’s eyes bulged.

It – it was –

“Jin-gongzi?” Wei Wuxian said, sounding genuinely surprised as he landed, tucking his flute and sword into his belt. “What are you doing here?” His eyes flickered down to Zitian, and his expression tightened. “Shit – is he injured?”

For a moment, Jin Zixuan couldn’t speak. “Wei Wuxian…” he managed weakly, “What the fuck was that?”

“That,” Jiang Cheng said icily, “is how we’re going to win the war. And it just saved your life.” Before Jin Zixuan could so much as blink, Jiang Cheng threw a small bottle at him, and Zixuan caught it on instinct. “That should help with his pain, and his energy levels. Keep him stable until we can get him to a doctor.”

Glancing between Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian, Jin Zixuan swallowed. His eyes flickered to the mountains of corpses behind them, and he nodded slowly.

“Thanks,” he muttered, crouching down and holding the bottle to Zitian’s lips.

“Tang-ge?” Zitian asked warily, looking at Wei Wuxian, and Zixuan squeezed his arm. As much as the use of demonic cultivation unsettled him, Wei Wuxian had just saved their lives, and Lan Wangji of all people stood by his side. For now, it was enough for Zixuan to set his concern aside.

“Drink it,” he murmured, and with a shuddering sigh, Jin Zitian obeyed.

“What are you doing here?” Jin Zixuan asked, and Wei Wuxian frowned.

“We asked first,” he protested.

“We came to reclaim our swords,” said Lan Wangji, earning a pout from Wei Wuxian which he promptly ignored. “They were being held in an underground treasury. We found the ease of retrieving them suspicious, and when we surfaced, we heard the battle.”

“Thank you for your assistance, Lan-er-gongzi, Jiang-gongzi, Wei-gongzi,” said the surviving Nie cultivator, Nie Zonghui. His voice was pained, and rasped in a way that suggested he was having trouble breathing, but it was also very intent. “We were here on orders to take the Indoctrination Bureau. Nie-zongzhu had received intel that the battalion here had marched out several days ago – we did not know that the corpses were still here.”

The three newcomers all winced.

“That must’ve been a nasty surprise,” Wei Wuxian said with a grimace. “How many of you are there?”

A lump rose in his throat, and Jin Zixuan couldn’t help but hang his head, squeezing Zitian’s shoulder again as Nie Zonghui spoke for them.

“We were eight,” he said quietly. “We three survived – thanks to the three young masters.”

“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian said, and for once his words sounded entirely genuine. His eyes were heavy as they scanned over the dead, and they pinched as they fell on purple robes. “You should get back to the nearest camp,” he said roughly. “We’ll take care of the dead.”

Jin Zixuan glanced at the sea of bodies around him, frowning at Wei Wuxian. “That will take hours.”

“You want to leave them here?” Wei Wuxian retorted, and Jin Zixuan’s eyes narrowed.

“I did not say that,” he said coldly. “But the bodies of my people are here – I want to know how it is you plan on taking care of them.”

Both Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng looked enraged, but something in Wei Wuxian’s expression became softer. Sadder. “We’ll bury them. Properly.”

“How…” Zixuan began, but then he shook his head. “We should bring them back with us. Our people. I don’t know about those of other clans, but many of my people have been missing for weeks, some longer. They do not deserve to be buried in a nameless grave in Qishan. Their families deserve peace.”

Wei Wuxian was staring at him with a strange expression, and then he inclined his head. “Alright. We’ll go back together, then. Help you bring the bodies back. We’ll come back with reinforcements later to occupy the Indoctrination Bureau – we set up wards around all of the buildings, no one will be able to get anywhere near it.” He paused, looking over the sea of red clothing. Then, he sighed. “Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, can you help Jin Zixuan gather our people’s bodies together?” he said quietly. “I’ll take care of the Wen.”

The other two nodded, and Lan Wangji approached Zixuan and Zitian, pulling out a blanket from his qiankun sleeve and passing it to Zixuan.

“Apologies that we cannot move you sooner, Jin-gongzi,” he said gravely to Zitian. “We shall move out as soon as we are able.”

“No… no problem,” Jin Zitian said weakly, and Zixuan flicked the blanket out over his cousin.

“Will you be alright if I help retrieve the corpses?” he asked quietly as Lan Wangji walked away.

“Of course,” Zitian said, though his breathing sounded concerningly shallow. “Li… Li Yun-shidi…”

“We’ll bring all of them back,” Zixuan promised, and Zitian closed his eyes, nodding.

“Good.”

“Don’t do that!” Zixuan snapped, and his cousin blinked at him.

“Don’t do what, Tang-ge?”

“Close your eyes. You’re too injured to sleep.”

Jin Zitian rolled his eyes. “Tang-ge-”

“I mean it,” Zixuan said sharply.

“I wasn’t going to sleep,” Zitian protested mulishly. “I was just closing my eyes.”

“Well, don’t.”

Once again, the sound of a flute rang out through the air, but this time the tune was different. It was low, and haunting, when Zixuan looked at Wei Wuxian something swept uncomfortably in his stomach. Where Wei Wuxian’s right hand should be there was a ghostly hand formed of resentful energy, allowing him to play. Jin Zixuan had known that Wei Wuxian had lost a hand, but it was strange to see it in person, even without the spectral hand beside it.

Tearing his gaze away, Jin Zixuan joined Lan Wangji and Nie Zonghui in gathering the bodies of those not dressed in Wen robes, laying them in a line that grew heart-twistingly longer with every minute that passed. While they worked, Jiang Cheng returned inside to find a cart to transport the bodies, and Wei Wuxian played his flute.

After a while, there was a pause in the song, and Jin Zixuan looked up to see Wei Wuxian raise his sword, leaping in the air and spinning before striking down with his blade. A long, large ditch appeared in the ground, and Wei Wuxian touched down beside it, raising his flute to his lips once more. The bodies of the Wen soldiers rose up again, and Zixuan’s heart spasmed, but this time their movements were slow and sluggish, and they walked down into the ditch Wei Wuxian had created.

Zixuan watched in amazement as the corpses laid down one by one in long, neat line, arranging themselves in their own grave. Slowly, Wei Wuxian lowered his flute.

“They’ve already died twice,” he muttered. “If we don’t bury them Wen Ruohan will just raise them again.”

Jin Zixuan stared at him for a long moment. He had expected Wei Wuxian to simply pile the bodies and burn them – that’s what Zixuan would have done. Not only would it stop Wen Ruohan from using their corpses once more, but these were their enemies, men who had cut down their friends and comrades, who had stormed their homelands and slaughtered minor clans without hesitation. They were evil men, fighting for an evil man, and Jin Zixuan would feel no guilt for burning their corpses and letting their ashes disperse in the wind.

It hadn’t crossed his mind that Wei Wuxian would feel differently. From what Zixuan had heard, what he could see with his own eyes, Wei Wuxian had suffered worse than he had at the hands of the Wen, so this mercy…

Zixuan’s eyes were drawn down to the neat line of corpses, to the bloodied lines cracking apart their necks and faces.

It was the truth – they had died twice.

Their corpses had been reanimated by the man that they fought for, their souls robbed of peace by the clan they had died for. After all they had done, Zixuan felt a grim surety that they’d got what they deserved, but at the same time…

At the same time, he was too tired to insist that their corpses be burned instead, that argue their souls deserved to suffer more.

As Wei Wuxian covered the grave, Jiang Cheng returned from inside with a large cart, along with two horses to draw it. Somehow, he had even managed to find large swathes of white cloth to wrap the dead with. Zixuan wasn’t sure how, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Together, the small group wrapped the bodies of their dead, loading them carefully into the cart. Thirty-seven had been fierce corpses, trying to cut down their own kin. Five had been alive just hours ago.

“Oh,” Jiang Cheng said abruptly, when the last of the bodies was placed in the card. “Sorry – I forgot.” Before Zixuan could ask what he was talking about, Jiang Cheng reached into his qiankun sleeve and pulled out –

Suihua.

“Here,” Jiang Cheng said, and though his voice was gruff it was also softer than Jin Zixuan had ever heard it.

Warmth spread up Zixuan’s arm as he took the hilt of his sword, a relief filling his chest that was as bone-deep as it was bittersweet.

“Thank you,” he murmured, glancing towards Jin Zitian, who was sitting propped up against the wheel of the carriage. Jiang Cheng followed his gaze.

“Was he at indoctrination, too?”

“Obviously-” Jin Zixuan began, before realising he wasn’t sure that he could recognise all Jiang disciples that had joined Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian in Qishan either. He cleared his throat. “Yes. But let’s get back to camp first. He needs a doctor more than he needs his sword right now.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, glancing between Zixuan and Nie Zonghui.

“We’ll get there faster if we fly,” he said. “If you’re tired, then-”

“I have strength enough return to camp, Jiang-gongzi,” said Nie Zonghui, his voice polite but firm, and Zixuan nodded.

“I’ll take Zitian,” he said, leaving no room for argument and striding over to loop his cousin’s good arm over his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

The nearest camp wasn’t close, but they made good time, even with a break in the middle of the journey to check on Jin Zitian’s injury. It wasn’t looking hopeful, and Zixuan had a sickening feeling that his shidi might soon by missing an arm, but at the very least Zitian was clinging to consciousness.

The journey took close to seven hours, and night was falling as they rode into camp. Even before they landed, Jin Zixuan caught sight of one of the army doctors bustling past and flagged him down immediately. They handed Zitian off to the healer, Zixuan with a quiet promise to visit soon, and then headed straight to the commander’s tent.

Nie Zonghui and Jin Zixuan entered first, finding both Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen inside looking extremely grave. The moment that Nie Mingjue looked up and saw them, the colour drained completely from his face. He leapt to his feet, rushing over and seizing Nie Zonghui’s arm.

“Zonghui, Jin-gongzi-” he broke off, his eyes growing pained as they scanned Nie Zonghui’s face. “I am so sorry.”

Nie Zonghui froze mid-bow, and Zixuan frowned. “Sorry?”

“Our intel was wrong,” Nie Mingjue all but growled. “I sent you on a fucking suicide mission, and I-”

“Zongzhu,” Nie Zonghui protested, an interruption that would have sent Jin Guangshan into a rage. “Our scouts couldn’t have known about the fierce corpses-” he paused, frown deepening. “Zongzhu, how do you know?”

“I received word that Wen Ruohan had moved troops away from the Indoctrination Bureau so that he could use the setting to raise fierce corpses,” Lan Xichen explained apologetically, his eyes heavy with regret. “I knew that Nie-zongzhu was planning an incursion and I came as fast as I could, but regretfully I was too late. I only arrived a few hours ago. I can’t imagine what carnage must have met you…”

“You were right to retreat,” Nie Mingjue said heavily. “The others…?”

“Jin Zitian is with the doctor. The rest fought bravely, and fell in the battle,” Nie Zonghui said gravely. “But we did not retreat.”

Nie Mingjue blinked, clearly taken aback.

“You did not?” Lan Xichen asked, frowning. “Then how…?”

“Someone came to our aid,” Nie Zonghui said, and the two clan leaders exchanged a glance.

“Who?”

Jin Zixuan glanced over his shoulder at the door, and Nie Zonghui inclined his head, raising his voice. “Could the three young masters please come in?”

Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng walked inside, standing shoulder to shoulder. As they rose their arms to bow to Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen, Zixuan noticed with surprise that the three were standing close enough that their elbows brushed. It wouldn’t have caught his notice if it was Wei Wuxian standing in the middle, but instead it was Lan Wangji that stood in the centre, looking perfectly at ease at being so close to the Yunmeng brothers.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen breathed, his voice suddenly light with hope. “Have you…?”

“Mn,” said Lan Wangji.

“And it…?”

“Mn.”

“As strong as…?”

“Mn.”

Jin Zixuan’s confusion grew as he glanced between the two brothers, as Lan Xichen’s eyes grew wider with amazement and joy, as though he knew what it was Wei Wuxian had done on that battlefield, as though –

As though he approved of it. Of demonic cultivation, as though –

“Xichen,” Nie Mingjue said, interrupting the Twin Jades’ exchange. “What’s going on?”

Lan Xichen turned to him, a hopeful smile on his face. “Mingjue-ge, I told you that Wangji was working with the young masters and mistress of Yunmeng Jiang, that it was important.”

“You did,” Nie Mingjue said slowly, glancing at the Lan Wangji and the Yunmeng brothers. “You mean to say that this ‘project’ allowed three junior disciples to take down over a hundred fierce corpses?”

“Two hundred and twelve,” Wei Wuxian corrected, and Jiang Cheng elbowed subtly him in the ribs.

Lan Xichen nodded. “I didn’t want to speak of the details unless it was proven a viable choice,” he said. “But now… Mingjue-ge – I think Wei Wuxian has a way to win this war.”

Chapter Text

Anxiety clawed through Jiang Cheng’s stomach as he studied Nie Mingjue’s face, trying to gauge whether his frown was one of disapproval or contemplation. The clan leader had not spoken at all during Wei Wuxian’s explanation of his cultivation techniques, or during Lan Xichen’s warm endorsement, and while the deep furrow of his brow indicated he was at least considering the proposed new methods, the violent clench of his jaw and fists pointed worryingly towards anger.

Jiang Cheng hadn’t been overly concerned about the idea of Nie Mingjue condemning demonic cultivation or the Stygian Tiger Amulet – if Lan Qiren had been convinced then surely Nie Mingjue wouldn’t hesitate to seize the advantage with both hands? But the silence had gone on for a while now, and sweat was beginning to bead on the back of Jiang Cheng’s neck.

It didn’t help that Jin Zixuan looked faintly horrified, his face drawn and pale and ever so slightly green, his eyes moving between Wei Wuxian, Nie Mingjue, and Lan Xichen over and over. The seventh man in the room, Nie Zonghui, looked less perturbed than Jin Zixuan and Nie Mingjue did, his expression more thoughtful than anything else, which Jiang Cheng supposed was something.

After another long moment, Lan Xichen cleared his throat lightly. “Nie-zongzhu, can we perhaps trouble you for your thoughts?”

Nie Mingjue’s eyes snapped onto him, and then back to Wei Wuxian, his gaze somehow growing even more intense. “You’re sure you can control it? That it won’t harm our own people?”

“I’m sure,” Wei Wuxian swore, the corner of his mouth crooking up into a wry smile. “Lan-xiansheng would never have let me out of Lotus Pier if he wasn’t certain I could control it.”

Nie Mingjue snorted, the sound close enough to humour that Jiang Cheng let out a breath of relief.

“That I can believe,” Nie Mingjue said, rubbing his jaw as his eyes lit up with possibilities. “This… this could change everything.”

“It could,” said Wangji, speaking for the first time. “But Wei Ying cannot fight this war alone.”

Nie Mingjue’s frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“That Wei Ying is a person, not a weapon,” Lan Wangji said, vocalising the concern he had shared with Jiang Cheng and his siblings for weeks. “While his abilities are great, they cannot be used in place of our armies. Wei Ying cannot fight alone, nor can he be everywhere at once.”

“I wish that I could take out the entirety of Wen Ruohan’s army myself, but it’s not that simple,” Wei Wuxian said with a self-deprecating smile. “Even with the Stygian Tiger Amulet, the amount of energy demonic cultivation demands is extensive, and just like with any other technique, the more you fight the more energy you use. And shamefully, I can’t do it without backup. I need to focus entirely on controlling the resentful energy, which leaves me vulnerable to physical attacks.”

“There is no shame in-” Lan Xichen began, but at the same moment Nie Mingjue demanded,

“And just what do you mean by that? Do the pair of you think that Qinghe Nie would withdraw our armies and cower behind a single man?”

“Not Qinghe Nie,” Wei Wuxian conceded, and Jin Zixuan bristled.

“Neither would Lanling Jin,” he said sharply.

“Maybe you wouldn’t,” Wei Wuxian said, a little too pointedly. They all knew of Jin Guangshan’s reluctance to join the war, after all. Anger flashed across Jin Zixuan’s face, but Lan Xichen cleared his throat delicately.

 “I think what Wei Ying and Wangji mean is that it is the natural inclination of a leader to protect their own people, and that there may be those who seek to demand that Wei-gongzi stand between their people and Wen Ruohan – and that should that happen, we would appreciate the support of Qinghe Nie and Lanling Jin.”

“Mn,” Wangji said, inclining his head, and Nie Mingjue grimaced.

“There will be,” he growled. “Damned cowards. Rest assured, you can rely on Qinghe Nie.”

Relief flooded Jiang Cheng, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian said, more genuinely than Jiang Cheng was used to hearing from his brother. It was slightly unnerving.

Still gazing at Wei Wuxian, Nie Mingjue shook his head. “We’ve all heard the rumours from Lotus Pier, but I never thought…” He paused, frowning again. “Will it work against the Yin Iron?”

“I think so,” Wei Wuxian said. “I can’t say for certain that the Stygian Tiger Amulet can overpower the Yin Iron, but I’m sure it can counter it.”

Nie Mingjue nodded. “May I see it? Your amulet?”

Jiang Cheng glanced at Wei Wuxian, who reached into his qiankun sleeve, pulling out the Stygian Tiger Amulet and resting it on his palm. Slowly, it rose a few inches into the air, spinning lazily above Wei Wuxian’s palm. Nie Mingjue’s eyes widened as he stared at it, and beside him Jin Zixuan’s lips pursed tightly.

“I have a question,” said Jin Zixuan, his voice quiet but sharp, and Jiang Cheng stiffened. Wei Wuxian inclined his head, his smile far from friendly, and in response Jin Zixuan’s chin jutted up. “I want to know if you are you discriminating between enemy spirits and the souls of our own people? Would our comrades die beside us, only to be dragged back into consciousness against their will? Some of them have already been turned into fierce corpses, have already been made to strike down their own kin – do you really think it is justified to subject them to more suffering?”

Oh… Jiang Cheng’s frustration and defensiveness bled away, and with a wince he remembered the bone-deep exhaustion and devastation on Jin Zixuan’s face as he loaded the lifeless bodies of his clansmen into the cart at the Indoctrination Bureau. It might have been a trick of the light, but at one stage Jiang Cheng thought he’d actually seen tears in Jin Zixuan’s eyes. 

Wei Wuxian’s smile faded, but somehow his expression seemed warmer for it, and he shook his head.

“No,” he said, his voice both soft and sure. “It isn’t like that, Jin-gongzi. For one thing, when someone dies a violent death, their soul is in too much chaos to take form straight away, even if someone tries summoning it. There’s a reason you’ve never heard of a ghost taking revenge on its murderer on the same night it died. In the midst of battle, I couldn’t call on those who fell around me even if I wanted to. Theoretically, I could control their corpses – in that case you’re manipulating their body and any lingering spiritual energy, but not their soul. Fierce corpses don’t have consciousness. But I wouldn’t manipulate the bodies of our people – not if there was any other choice.”

Jiang Cheng thought of the purple clad corpses they’d brought back from the Indoctrination Bureau, his heart aching.  

“Then,” Wei Wuxian continued, “if a spirit is ready to rest in peace, there is nothing I can do to call it back against its will. Also… when I call on ghosts, they don’t suffer.”

“You sound very sure of that,” Jin Zixuan said, and Wei Wuxian shrugged.

“I’m pretty sure – as sure as I could be without being dead myself. They don’t always like being controlled, and some of them get pretty angry about it, but it doesn’t hurt them. Not unless I wanted it to. In a lot of cases, it actually helps them.”

“Helps them?” Jin Zixuan repeated incredulously, and Wei Wuxian nodded seriously.  

“You know that most ghosts linger due to anger or hatred – I offer them a way to vent their resentment, to take their revenge and wreak enough devastation to satiate their anger and let them move on. Of course, it’s not usually who they would actually want to take revenge on, but often, it’s enough.”

Jin Zixuan stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. “I see… That sounds… reasonable.”

Wei Wuxian inclined his head. “Lan-xiansheng had similar questions.”

“I’m sure he did,” Nie Mingjue muttered, shaking his head slowly. Hope was kindling in his eyes, and a slow smile spread across his face as he looked up at Wei Wuxian. “This really does change everything. I will call a war meeting with the leaders of the Sunshot Campaign – together, we can make real plans, and end this war for good.” He paused, considering. “Until then, we should keep the details to ourselves. No doubt Wen Ruohan will already have his suspicions after Lotus Pier and the Indoctrination Bureau, but the less he knows about who you are and the extent of your abilities, the better.”

Jiang Cheng nodded gravely, Wangji and Wei Wuxian doing the same. At that moment, a voice called from outside of the tent. “Nie-zongzhu...”

“Yes?” Nie Mingjue called back.

“Lan-xiansheng and Jiang-guniang have arrived.”

A look of mild surprise passed over Nie Mingjue’s face, but he inclined his head. “Bring them in.”

“Jiang-guniang?” Jin Zixuan blurted out, and Jiang Cheng frowned heavily at him.

“Is that a problem, Jin-gongzi?” Jiang Cheng asked, threat looming in his voice, even as he staunchly ignored the fact that both he and Wei Wuxian had had a problem with Yanli following them to the frontlines.

The argument had been fiercer than any they had ever had with their sister before, and had lasted over an hour.

“For the seventh time, I won’t go anywhere near the battlefield!” Yanli insisted, her voice raised and heated, frustration blotching red on her cheeks.

“That doesn’t mean the battlefield won’t come to you!” Jiang Cheng protested, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. They were trembling, the thought of his sister caught in another battle carving through his bones like a blade, hollowing out his marrow. “That’s what happened last time!”

“You’re more help, here, Shijie-” Wei Wuxian began, but Yanli cut him off, her voice sharp as a blade.

“Do not patronise me, A-Xian,” she snapped, and their brother’s eyes opened wide with horror. He hadn’t been, Jiang Cheng knew he hadn’t been, and surely A-Jie knew too, but – “Yes, I can do much here. But everything I can do here, I can do in a battle camp. I know about medicine and I know about logistics, and I can help in the running of the camps – I would be just as much use there.”

“Shijie, please,” A-Xian begged, and Jiang Cheng felt his eyes sting fiercely. “You have to be safe, we need you to be safe-”

“Do you care what I need?” she demanded, the tears pouring down her cheeks doing nothing to disguise her fury. “Does it matter to you what I can or cannot live without?”

Jiang Cheng glanced sidelong at his brother, understanding prickling between them like a static shock. They did, of course they did, but if it was a choice between what A-Jie thought she needed and what would keep her safe…

And of course, Yanli read their glance like a book. A wild, painful laugh tore from her throat.  “Do you really think I deserve so little respect? That because my body is weak I don’t know my own mind?”

“No!” Jiang Cheng choked, swaying on his feet even as Wei Wuxian fell to his knees, grabbing for Yanli’s dress. For the first time in her life, Yanli stepped back, and Wei Wuxian gave a wounded cry.

“No, Shijie, we don’t – of course we don’t! Shijie, please!”

“Please stay, Jiejie,” Jiang Cheng begged, dropping to his knees beside his brother. “If anything happened to you-”

She turned away, squeezing her eyes shut and hugging her arms tightly around herself, but then she turned and crouched to bring herself level with them, as though they were little children again. Her hands trembled violently as they reached out, one cupping each of their cheeks, and Jiang Cheng shuddered, unable to keep from leaning into their touch.

“If anything happened to me, something worse would have already happened to you,” she whispered, her voice aching, and Jiang Cheng sobbed.

“Shijie,” Wei Wuxian begged brokenly. “Shijie, Shijie-”

“I spent four whole months not knowing where you were,” she said. “Do you have any idea what that was like? Not knowing if you were alive, if you were hurt – thinking… thinking… I can’t go through that again. I can’t. Compared to that, the pain of being stabbed was nothing. Nothing has ever hurt me more than missing you, than fearing that you were – I can’t sit at home, a hundred miles from every battle. I need to know. I need to see you, to be with you, for as long as I can.”

Between the tears in his eyes and how violently he was trembling, the world blurred almost completely before Jiang Cheng’s eyes.

 “I would go mad,” Yanli sobbed, her hands moving down to clutch their shoulders rather than their cheeks, as if grabbing onto them was the only thing holding her up. “I would lose my mind, I would go mad, I would – I won’t do it. There is nothing you can do to make me stay, nothing! If you try leaving me behind, I will only follow you. I swear, I’ll follow to the ends of the earth if I have to! You cannot leave me behind. You can’t.”

In the end, it was clear that the only way to make Yanli stay behind would have been to lock her up, to trust their disciples to keep their Da-shijie prisoner, and –

Neither Jiang Cheng nor Wei Wuxian could do that. Not in a million years, not even if it would keep her further away from the grim world of war.

“The war has already touched me,” she had reminded them, holding a hand over her side. “I’m sure it has worse to show us, but we can face it, if we’re together.”

Of course, the agreement stood strictly on the grounds that Yanli made every effort to stay away from the fighting, so when they had decided to try and seize their swords from the Indoctrination Bureau on their way to join the war effort, Lan Qiren had offered to escort Yanli to a nearby camp to meet them there.

Whether or not Jin Zixuan thought he was entitled to have a problem with this, Jiang Cheng would never know, because before the other man could speak the tent flaps opened and Lan Qiren and A-Jie entered, bowing to the group.

“Hm,” Lan Qiren said, when the pleasantries were over, “Am I correct that we have arrived too late to contribute to the introduction of Wei-gongzi’s new methods?”

Nie Mingjue inclined his head. “We have been offered a thorough explanation, though if Lan-xiansheng wishes to offer any further inside, Qinghe Nie will gladly hear it. Knowing that this plan has the support of such an esteemed elder made it much easier to accept.”

Lan Qiren’s eyes seemed to soften slightly, and he hummed in appreciation. When his uncle did not add anything further, Lan Xichen smiled at Yanli.  

“I’m glad to see that your injuries have healed, Jiang-guniang,” he said warmly. “You look very well.”

“Thank you, Zewu-jun,” Yanli said, smiling just as warmly back. “It is good to see you, too.”

“Injuries?” Jin Zixuan repeated, his voice strange and small, and Yanli’s cheeks went slightly pink.

“Shijie was in command of Lotus Pier when the Wen attacked,” Wei Wuxian said, somehow sounding equal parts grim and proud. “She was injured protecting Yunmeng Jiang’s most vulnerable. Not one person behind her was harmed.”

“A-Xian,” Yanli protested quietly, growing redder. “That was because you arrived in time.”

“But you’re better?” Jin Zixuan pushed, even before Wei Wuxian could reply. The Jin sect heir was looking intently at Yanli, and Jiang Cheng exchanged a suspicious glance with Wei Wuxian.

“I am very well. Thank you, Jin-gongzi, for your concern,” she said sweetly, sincerely. She turned to Nie Mingjue, offering another short bow. “I would like to offer my help to your encampment, Nie-zongzhu, while my brothers are stationed here.”

“Your offer is greatly appreciated,” Nie Mingjue said, returning the bow. “Tomorrow, I will introduce you to the disciple in charge of logistics – I am sure she will be most grateful for Jiang-guniang’s talents.” Jiang Yanli inclined her head, and Nie Mingjue turned to Lan Qiren. “Will you be staying here tonight, too, Lan-xiansheng?”

“Certainly, should it not inconvenience Nie-zongzhu,” said Lan Qiren. “In the morning I will return to Gusu.”