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Chapter Text

A devil had been known to walk among them for ages now, and his residence was surmised to be that most evil of places the Burial Mounds, for where else would he have access to the myriad ghosts and fierce corpses he was rumored to have at his command. The description of his looks changed from time to time, as he always changed himself to suit the fashions of the age. But every description given was steadfast in a few particulars; that he was a master of the six arts, wore robes of deepest black, had a sword of unknown name, and carried a dizi that exuded the aura of thousands of unknown terrors were found in every extant account of a sighting. And a sighting was always recorded thusly: that an heir of a great clan had declared himself such a one as could defeat this evil devil and bring peace to the people and the land; and that the devil would appear and accept the challenge and compete against the heir in any of the six arts of his choosing, with very high stakes – those being that should the heir win, the devil would grant him treasures untold and leave the mortal world forever, and that should the devil win, he would claim the heir’s soul.

In every account, the devil was the winner.

The devil had not been seen for close to a century – and not for lack of trying, but most were too scared to brave the Burial Mounds, and the few who did were never seen again. But one day, the Twin Jades of Gusu, two brothers of peerless looks, skills, and intelligence, were interrupted in their discussion of sect business by a harried Lan disciple who had been sent to summon them to their uncle’s rooms, and there they received an idea of the devil’s reemergence after so long a time.

“Shufu,” they greeted in tandem as they bowed and then knelt before their uncle’s tea table.

“Xichen, Wangji,” Lan Qiren greeted in return and moved to grab a scroll as his youngest nephew, Lan Wangji, poured them tea. “Three weeks ago, the quartermaster and a few senior disciples made a trip to Caiyi Town to replenish our stores of bow string from a favored supplier. And there they encountered a fortune teller who prophesized the coming of the devil to anyone who would listen. They relayed it to me, and I thought it nonsense.”

The Twin Jades could only bow their heads in acknowledgement, for long had they been aware of their uncle’s disbelief in such a story as a soul-stealing devil. (Not that one existed, as they encountered many as cultivators, but that one would not find its death at the end of a cultivator’s sword before one sighting could turn into a centuries-old urban legend was beyond belief.)

“But within two weeks, the same story came to me from Gusu City, and more – that every fortune teller in Jiangnan has prophesized the same. And so, I sent off an inquiry to Qinghe to see what Nie Mingjue has heard, and I have just received his answer.” He handed the scroll he’d picked up previously to his eldest nephew, Lan Xichen, who unrolled it to begin to read.

“This same prophecy,” he continued, “Has spread through Hebei, as well, but more concerningly, through Shaanxi, Shandong, and Hubei, where it is said to have originated.”

Lan Qiren stopped and took up his tea, watching over the rim as Lan Xichen finished reading and set the scroll down. His brow was furrowed slightly in thought, moving his forehead ribbon just slightly off center, and his lips parted to say he knew not what, but it was Lan Wangji who broke the silence.

“The Burial Mounds are in Hubei,” he murmured. Lan Xichen took up his thought immediately.

“Has there been any reported unrest in that area?” he asked his uncle, who shook his head.

“Many cultivators have gone to take a look at the state of things, as I understand from Jiang Fengmian,” he said as he indicated another scroll off to his side. “And he has assured me that nothing seems amiss with that place or the surrounding towns and villages. But though I have known Jiang Fengmian all my life and know him to be an honorable man and responsible sect leader, I cannot find it an easy thing to let this matter drop without judging things in a more direct manner.”

Which was as close as Lan Qiren, as well-bred as he was, would ever come to admitting the disdain in which he held any trained outside of Gusu Lan out loud, and which was as good as an order that one of his nephews would undertake the trip to Hubei and report as to the actual state of that place. And that undertaking, without a sound or look between the three gathered, naturally fell to Lan Wangji, known throughout the jianghu as Hanguang-jun, who went wherever there was chaos and left peace and order in its place. And what was that centuries-old place of death and despair if not chaos incarnate?

Lan Wangji set off the next day. He woke up at mao shi and completed his morning ablution, his meditation, and his breakfast in no great hurry (for he, like his uncle, put little stock in the legend and even the prophecy) before grabbing his qiankun pouch, his sword, and his guqin and making his way to the main gate of the Cloud Recesses. Lan Xichen was there to see him off.

“Wangji, take care in your journey and even more in your destination. Prophecy aside, the Burial Mounds are a dangerous place for anyone.”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji said with a bow, the only response he was usually prone to give as an acknowledgement and a goodbye together. He proceeded down the mountain upon which they made their home, and only once he had cleared the long and winding stairs did he unsheathe and mount his sword, Bichen, to begin the long flight to Hubei.

The morning air was still brisk, the wind produced by his flight biting, as the still-rising sun had not yet overcome the night’s chill, but it was no bother to a cultivator of his skill and more, one born to a mountain people, who could withstand the cold of snow and winter and a mountain night as others could not. And so, his mind was engaged elsewhere as he traveled, particularly on the oddness of seemingly every fortune teller in the jianghu relaying the exact same fortune.

If one believed in such things, it would seem a harbinger of doom. But if one did not, it would seem like the greatest of schemes. The common people would be desperate for protection, and the cultivation sects (or at least only some, Lan Wangji allowed) would fleece them for everything they could. And “the devil” would forever be an evil in every shadow and around every corner – for no intelligence of these prophecies that his uncle had received had ever alluded as to when this would take place, this great coming of evil. But, of course, no prophecy of good or bad ever did.

By midday, he had crossed into Hubei and was just nearing Yunmeng when he decided to land and try to discern the air and attitude of the people who were much nearer the Burial Mounds than his own. And as he thought he would, he heard nothing more in the market than frightened wonderings and stories handed down through the generations – the father of a father of a father of somebody was there when the devil won someone’s soul. He found the same from the patrons within the teahouse he chose for his meal and resolved that he’d be at no advantage to linger once he’d finished, and that he’d continue on his way to the Burial Mounds.

He was halfway through his meal when he was interrupted by the noisy arrival of several Jiang cultivators. They were ushered happily and deferentially to a few empty tables by the proprietress and loudly ordered several plates of food and jars of wine. Lan Wangji was content to ignore them and finish his meal until a splash of darkness amidst their purple and blue robes caught his eye. There, trussed up in more bindings than his slight build warranted, was a boy, tossed to the floor and left alone but for the watchful eyes of a few senior Jiang disciples. His head was bowed and his body curled in on itself, and he had the air more of a frightened child than a wanted criminal; and, against his better judgment (or maybe against his rational judgment), Lan Wangji left his payment on the table, stood, and walked over to their group.

He was noticed instantly, his white robes bright even in the dim interior of the teahouse, and the Jiang disciples hastily stood to greet him.

“Well met, Hanguang-jun,” the senior-most disciple said as they all bowed. “What brings you to Yunmeng?”

“Night hunt,” he answered – not technically the truth but not wholly a lie, as there could be something to subdue where he was headed. He let his eyes move to the young man. “He is to stand trial at Lotus Pier?”

Several of the disciples looked at the boy while some looked between themselves. And in all the looks, Lan Wangji thought he could detect a bit of hesitancy. The senior-most disciple blinked and swallowed before saying, “We are bringing him in for questioning concerning the, uh, prophecy; though, of course, Gusu Lan, who eschew all rumors, might not be aware.”

Lan Wangji was most certainly aware and now was a little bit suspicious. “And what has made you think him of having information?”

The senior-most disciple took affront to this question, as evidenced by the lifting of his chin in defiance and the sneer in his voice when he replied, “This is Jiang sect business and not business of yours.” But his bravado could only last so long against Lan Wangji’s cold stare. “The merchants were concerned. He appeared one day in black robes with a dizi in hand, and it is our duty to protect the people of Yunmeng.”

Lan Wangji looked at the boy again. His robes were indeed black beneath the dirt stains, but he saw no evidence of a dizi. The boy tentatively looked up and caught his eye, and Lan Wangji caught the smears of over-eager application of face paint and powder. And supposing that these cultivators must think they had caught the devil himself, Lan Wangji could only think that a devil who changed fashions with the age, as he was said to do, would probably have a better hand at it. But all he replied was, “And it is a crime in Yunmeng to wander the market with black robes and a dizi?”

The Jiang disciple could only sputter, not brave enough to so obviously lie to Hanguang-jun’s face. Lan Wangji continued, “If it is only to remove an unwanted stranger from your lands, I am leaving now and will escort him away. Otherwise, I may need to pay a visit to Jiang-zongzhu to see if the state of things has so drastically changed since his recent letter to my uncle that people are being detained without having committed a crime.”

That put an end to whatever argument they could have tried before it even began, and the Jiang disciples grudgingly hauled the boy to his feet and freed him from the bindings before shoving him none too gently in Lan Wangji’s direction.

“His belongings,” he said coolly, and a disciple toward the back of the group scrambled through his robes to produce a qiankun pouch, a dizi of poor craftmanship (either personally made or very cheap), and what looked to be a coin purse. Lan Wangji could easily imagine how the boy, even if released, would have never received his own money back, and he allowed his contempt for such an action to show in his glare and stiff bow of parting; and without a word more, he led the boy out of the teahouse.

They walked in silence to the edge of the town and then out of it toward where Lan Wangji thought he remembered a river or stream on the map of Yunmeng he’d memorized in his youth. Once found, Lan Wangji invited the boy to freshen up while he procured some travel rations from his qiankun pouch. When the boy returned, his face bare of powder and paint, Lan Wangji offered him the rations, which he took after only a slight hesitation and ate them quickly.

“Thank you, Hanguang-jun,” the boy said quietly when his mouth and hands were free.

“No need,” Lan Wangji replied. He saw no reason for anyone to feel he needed gratitude for righting a wrong, and he quickly moved on to ask, “What is your name?”

“Ah, this one is Mo Xuanyu,” the boy said with a hurried bow from his seated position.

“And where is your destination? I will see you safely there if I can.”

“Oh,” Mo Xuanyu hesitated. “I don’t really have one. I left home but have nowhere to go.” He fidgeted in silence a moment before continuing. “I’m not him, you know. My mother taught me the dizi, and black robes were all that was available to me when I left – only to find I had inadvertently fashioned myself in the likeness of a monster. One, if I understand correctly, who is foremost in everyone’s thoughts and conversations everywhere I could possibly go. So, I doubt anywhere will be safe.”

Lan Wangji didn’t disagree, but he also thought a mere change in robes would solve Mo Xuanyu’s problem; yet he debated saying as much. He would offer his own spare robes if they would answer, but their builds were so decidedly different and the make of his robes so remarkably fine, that it would very likely be trading one problem for more. And the paltry look of the coin purse didn’t bode well for Mo Xuanyu’s ability to purchase his own. Lan Wangji resolved to purchase them for him, but it would have to wait until they were no longer at the mercy of Jiang jurisdiction (Lan Wangji couldn’t always lean on his reputation to the same effect with such a temperamental bunch), which, unfortunately, was the Burial Mounds and the surrounding lands.

“You may travel with me as far as my destination, if you wish,” he offered. “I am going to Yiling.” Which, again, not strictly a lie, for the most straightforward entrance to that ancient place was through the poor village unfortunate enough to have been settled under the stretches of its shadow. “And there,” he continued, “We can procure you new robes so that your continued travels will not see the same trouble.”

Mo Xuanyu blushed and sputtered and demurred, and Lan Wangji was steady and silent until the boy gave in and agreed, which was just in time, as the day was winding down, and Lan Wangji would see himself at his destination before hai shi if he could. So, they stood, and he mounted Bichen and held out his hand for Mo Xuanyu to do the same.

“We’re not walking?” Mo Xuanyu asked in surprise, and as Lan Wangji decided that needed no answer, he gave none and waited for the boy patiently. And after a bit more hesitation, he allowed himself to be pulled up and situated, and Lan Wangji took off.

They descended outside of Yiling just as the sun was setting, and after waiting for Mo Xuanyu to find his feet, they walked into the nearest inn and asked for two rooms, dinner, and a bath. Mo Xuanyu tried to protest, but Lan Wangji had the most extraordinary ability to not hear when he didn’t want to, and the boy eventually gave in with suitable grace.

After dinner and escorting Mo Xuanyu to his room, Lan Wangji sat down in his own room to review the texts from the library he and Lan Xichen had thought might be helpful in his task. They included any extant night hunt reports for areas surrounding the Burial Mounds, both recorded around the times of the devil’s accounts and outside of them, to determine if there were any patterns of evil activity that seemed to announce his presence. There were also the accounts themselves, no better than the word-of-mouth stories, but at least in a mode of translation that didn’t change details through the generations. And lastly, texts on the devil’s victims, as Lan Wangji had a strange urge to know the nature of the men who had seemingly challenged a devil and whether it had been righteousness or arrogance that led to their ruin.

He’d only made it through the night hunt reports (from which no pattern could be discerned) and one of the accounts (in which the sect heir had drunkenly proclaimed at a discussion conference banquet, “And where does this cowardly devil hide himself and think he’s so great? I dare him to cross swords with me and see who’s the better!”) when he deemed it dark enough to tempt the spirits of the Burial Mounds into mischief and set out for that accursed place.

When he got there, all was silent and still. Not even the wind moved over those bloodstained grounds. And Lan Wangji noticed very easily that the wards the great sects had banded together to erect centuries ago still stood, whole and holding back the terror within. It was all as Jiang Fengmian had reported. And yet, even as he thought that, it struck him that the evil of the Burial Mounds and the wards holding it captive predated the earliest account of the devil appearing. He wondered if that meant the devil, if he existed, was powerful enough to bypass the wards. He wondered if that meant the great sects had brought the evil of the devil upon themselves, if it existed, by daring to rein in the Burial Mounds. And he wondered, suddenly, why anyone thought the devil had anything to do with the Burial Mounds at all, since in none of the accounts were his origins ever said to be certain.

If the devil were real, and he wasn’t here, then he could be anywhere, and that thought did not sit well with Lan Wangji. But he could do no more than be wary and return to Gusu with his findings.

He returned to the inn and retired to his room to get only a few hours of sleep before he unfailingly woke at mao shi. He once again completed his morning ablution and meditation in no great hurry but held off on breakfast until Mo Xuanyu knocked quietly on his door. They descended to the dining room together, and as they waited for their food, Lan Wangji told Mo Xuanyu his plan to purchase the boy new robes in a less conspicuous color before he would return to the Cloud Recesses.

Mo Xuanyu took much convincing to accept such kindness, which was a feat on Lan Wangji’s part for being unable to vocalize his assurances while food was on the table; but his eyes could be as stubborn as his words (or so Lan Xichen had told him), and he did eventually wear Mo Xuanyu down, and to the closest clothier they went at the conclusion of their meal.

They left the clothier with beautiful but sturdy new robes for Mo Xuanyu in an earthy tone more red than brown, but not before two conversations took place that drastically altered Lan Wangji’s plans.

“Where will you go?” Lan Wangji asked as the seamstress took Mo Xuanyu’s measurements.

“I thought about it last night, and I only know where I am not going.” He gave a little shrug of his shoulders and then quickly apologized when he was scolded by the seamstress for moving. “I’d rather not show my face in Yunmeng for a while. And, uh, Lanling is out. For reasons. But oddly still concerning my face.”

Lan Wangji didn’t comment on that, but he wasn’t blind. But his suppositions were dangerously close to a breach of his disciplines, so he moved past it by saying, “That still leaves a great deal of places to go. What are you interested in doing?”

Mo Xuanyu was quiet a moment before he said, “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to continue my cultivation training. I started as a child, but…” He trailed off. “I was never really any good at it. It’s probably too late for me.”

Lan Wangji disagreed. It was all in the teaching style, and most sects, great and small, had little patience for disciples that needed a little extra attention. But not Gusu Lan. He had made it a point, along with his brother, to ensure that their sect lived up to their discipline that knowledge came first, no matter the obstacles to imparting that knowledge. And with that in mind, Lan Wangji proffered an invitation.

“It is never too late to learn, Mo Xuanyu. And if it is of interest to you, Gusu Lan would welcome you as a disciple.”

Mo Xuanyu was overcome with emotion and speechless until the seamstress was done with her task. And when she moved off to find something to suit, Mo Xuanyu bowed very deeply and said, “This humble one is honored by Hanguang-jun’s invitation and selfish enough to accept, though gratefully.”

“Not selfish,” Lan Wangji replied. “Diligence is the root. Be diligent in learning, and you will be worthy to be Gusu Lan.”

As they waited for the seamstress to return, they were able to catch the conversation of two old men that had set themselves up just outside the clothier to while away the day with xiangqi. And though Lan Wangji tried not to eavesdrop, it was near impossible with how loudly the men rambled. But it eventually produced very valuable information.

There was news out of Qishan, as there often was, and it dealt with Wen Ruohan’s sons, as it often did. They had made a spectacle of themselves in a village near Qishan’s border with Qinghe, and while the details on how it had come about were murky at best, it was said that Wen Ruohan’s youngest son, Wen Chao, had been heard exclaiming, “How dare you mention that cowardly devil before me! Let him come to Qishan, and we’ll see how he grovels before the might of the Wen clan!”

And Lan Wangji was reminded of the account he’d reviewed last night, how a sect heir had declared something to the same effect, and not a week later, the devil had appeared. He shared a look with Mo Xuanyu.

The prophecy might not have been all that far off. And so, to Qishan they would go.

Chapter Text

Before setting off from Yiling, Lan Wangji sent his brother and uncle a message recounting what he had seen of the Burial Mounds, his thoughts on what it could mean, his encounter with Mo Xuanyu and subsequent invitation, and his intent to travel to Qishan with a quick summary of what they had heard of Wen Chao. It was as wanting in thorough explanation as his speech, but his brother and uncle had reconciled themselves to his style and manner long ago and could read what he didn’t write as much as what he did. And with that chore done, Lan Wangji and Mo Xuanyu started on their way to Nightless City.

There was no knowing if or when the devil would appear before Wen Chao, so they wasted no time and began their journey on Bichen. But Mo Xuanyu was of a delicate nature and didn’t take easily to the height and speed Lan Wangji was used to employ, and his golden core was a pathetic thing that couldn’t really afford him the protection to regulate his temperature in the cold air and wind. So, they were obliged to walk some part of the journey; and Lan Wangji, not used to having companions in his travels, much preferring the silence and ease of night hunting alone, was surprised to find that Mo Xuanyu was very tolerable company. He could be silent for long stretches of time without it being at all awkward or uncomfortable; and when he did speak, it was with a humble and shy reserve that Lan Wangji could not tell if it was his natural personality or due to Lan Wangji himself. So, he exerted himself to introduce a topic that would be of some use and interest to both of them and prompted Mo Xuanyu to speak on his previous training.

“Ah,” Mo Xuanyu said awkwardly as he ducked his head. “Well, I was a former disciple of Lanling Jin.” He cut his eyes to Lan Wangji to see his reaction, but Lan Wangji said nothing. “I was able to form my core and learn the basics of the Jin sword style, but I couldn’t seem to get much farther. And…” He paused a moment. “And I wasn’t very much liked by anyone. They seemed to take one look at me and decided I should be avoided.” He’d made some vague gesture at his face; Lan Wangji didn’t know if it was meant for the paint he’d taken back up or the distinctive Jin features. Either, certainly, but more than likely both.

Mo Xuanyu cleared his throat and continued, “I don’t know what the final stroke really was, but I was kicked out. They kept my sword and sent me back to my mother’s home, where my aunt is mistress. And it was shameful to them that I had been sent back and didn’t treat me very well. So, I left to shift on my own. But you saw how great that worked out.”

Well, it had put him in the way of getting a proper education with Gusu Lan, so it hadn’t been the worst decision, Lan Wangji could allow. His sect would help with his core and further training with the sword; and if it turned out that Mo Xuanyu would never be all that strong, well, many cultivators weren’t. And not all needed to be strong. Sects ran on more than just night hunts, so Lan Wangji was positive they’d find a place for Mo Xuanyu. And as it happened, that night as they made camp, Lan Wangji made the discovery that Mo Xuanyu had an affinity for arrays, and he cheerfully conversed about his private study when he’d had access to a sect library and how he’d enjoy learning more. Lan Wangji assured him that he’d receive all the tutoring in arrays that the boy could want, and they both went to sleep satisfied with a goal for Mo Xuanyu’s continued training.

No one was really ever glad to arrive at Nightless City, but journeying from Jiangnan to Hubei to Shaanxi in as few days as possible was taxing to anyone and would make anyone glad to finally arrive at a destination of some length’s stay. And so, Lan Wangji and Mo Xuanyu were glad to arrive. The first task was procuring lodgings, close but not too close to Wen Ruohan’s palace so that they wouldn’t attract immediate attention but could also quickly navigate to the scene of anything that could be what they were there to witness. The second was to learn what intelligence they could of Wen Chao and his challenge to the devil, which was easy enough, as it was all anyone could discuss. It was all so much praise for Wen Chao’s talents and curses for the devil who would dare to think himself Wen Chao’s equal, let alone his better. But Lan Wangji’s own knowledge of Wen Chao’s skills and the shifty eyes of the conversationists led him to believe they were under some duress to speak highly of the second heir, which Lan Wangji didn’t find hard to believe at all, not in a place like Nightless City.

Lan Xichen had sent a reply during their journey; and if his brother’s urging for caution for the Burial Mounds had been expected, his more urgent words of caution for Qishan were not. Though Lan Wangji had only been gone a few days, several very concerning events had taken place back home, the chief of which had been the discovery of a waterborne abyss in Biling Lake; and after very little but careful consideration, it was concluded that the thing had been driven into Biling Lake, which only had one river feeding into it and which river’s source was Qishan.

Then had come the news from Qinghe, of Qishan cultivators’ belligerent infringement of Qinghe’s borders, which was where Wen Chao had made his declaration and apparently killed some Nie cultivators. Nie Mingjue was furious and very little was staying his hand for retaliation. But Lan Xichen had urged caution with the Nie sect leader, and Lan Wangji agreed because it sounded like a deliberate provocation for a sect leader known to have a provocable temper; whereas the placement of a demon in Biling Lake was a subtle one and one calculated, to Lan Wangji, to see how far Qishan could push Gusu.

And finally, there was news from Yunmeng to relay that only a day after Lan Wangji and Mo Xuanyu left, Qishan cultivators had arrived in Yiling and established a supervisory office, annexing it and the Burial Mounds under Qishan authority; and Jiang Fengmian would do nothing, for any action on his part would at once put Yunmeng Jiang in direct conflict with Qishan Wen and make him a hypocrite, since as long as Yiling had been under Yunmeng jurisdiction was just as long as Yunmeng had ignored it.

And so, it was obvious that Qishan Wen was making bold moves to exert its authority into the other sect territories; and while Lan Xichen would much rather order his brother home, he only sent his wish that Lan Wangji take the greatest of care in keeping himself and his new charge safe from harm. (Of course, he also sent his greetings to their prospective new disciple and conveyed the wishes of their uncle that Lan Wangji provide a faithful account of the boy’s potential that he may begin the plans for his placement in the appropriate classes.)

These warnings were enough to put Lan Wangji on alert, for Qishan Wen would also presume to keep tabs on prominent cultivators, and Lan Wangji’s travels were never secret when so many were eager to speak of “the people’s Hanguang-jun.” He could well imagine the annoyance it caused arrogant people like Wen Chao for himself to have so much sway and importance outside Gusu. Therefore, it was no surprise that, as he and Mo Xuanyu joined the inn’s patrons in the dining room for dinner, they were greeted by Qishan Wen cultivators led by Wen Zhuliu, Wen Chao’s chief protector and the Wen clan’s most dangerous weapon.

“Well met, Hanguang-jun,” Wen Zhuliu said with a perfectly polite bow. “Wen-zongzhu would have me escort you to Scorching Sun Palace.” His blank eyes moved to Mo Xuanyu briefly, and he added, “Your companion may accompany you, if you wish.”

This was not an invitation but an order from the current Chief Cultivator and not one that Lan Wangji could defy without consequences to more than just himself, as things currently stood. Nor could he, in good conscience, leave Mo Xuanyu alone in what now seemed to be enemy territory, and so he only nodded in assent and motioned Mo Xuanyu to follow.

If the Jin sect’s Golden Carp Tower was described as ostentatious, the Wen sect’s Scorching Sun Palace could be described as macabre, which only begged to understand how the Inferno Palace compared, but no one who had been there had ever left to tell the tale. This was not Lan Wangji’s first visit to the Scorching Sun Palace, but no amount of visits could inure one to the sense of dread and despair that practically seeped from every crack and crevice, and Lan Wangji could only wonder (and silently judge) how a cultivation sect could allow such resentful energy to gather in its seat of power. But he took care, as in most cases, to keep his thoughts and feelings from parading across his face as he was led to Wen Ruohan’s throne and bowed his greeting to the Chief Cultivator, Mo Xuanyu doing the same but trying to make himself as small as possible behind Lan Wangji.

“Lan Wangji,” Wen Ruohan said in a careless and superior tone. “I can’t say I’m pleased by your uninvited presence in Qishan. You lot seem to think my lands are at your disposal. The conceit of the other sects astounds me.”

Lan Wangji ignored the sneers of Wen Ruohan’s sons and court, as well as his own inclination to scoff at the man’s hypocrisy, and instead bowed again very low and said, “This one offers his apologies for the presumption. Wangji is on a quest to seek information on the widespread prophecy; and only concern for His Excellency’s family has brought about this thoughtless action.”

Wen Ruohan said nothing, only gazed thoughtfully upon Lan Wangji’s bowed form, but his youngest son, Wen Chao, ill-mannered and prideful, would not keep his tongue. He swaggered forward, sure that Wen Zhuliu would keep Lan Wangji in line, and said, “The great Hanguang-jun – presumptuous and thoughtless by his own admission! But how can you think a simple apology is enough to repay the insult you have given my father and the Wen clan? That you’re so full of yourself to think us in danger from a mere devil, to think us so powerless as to be unable to defeat him! The insult is too great! And I think my father should teach you a lesson.” He smiled smugly at Lan Wangji and turned to Wen Ruohan to urge the man’s concurrence. And as Wen Ruohan deliberated on his response, a hush fell over the assembly that was soon broken by the echo of a footstep.

“Is Wen-zongzhu granting audiences to anyone today?” a voice asked from the throne room’s entrance, and the sea of courtiers parted to reveal –

The Jiang disciples had certainly made too hasty an assumption with Mo Xuanyu, but even Lan Wangji was hard pressed to admit that a similar conclusion for the man before them would be just as hasty; for this was certainly what one would expect from the descriptions in the accounts of the devil. He was of a height and a build with Lan Wangji, if only slightly less so, a nearly negligible difference. His dark hair was down and loose, the end in a fair course to reach his ankles, with only the strands at his temples pulled back and tied with a red ribbon; and they blended into his robes, which were of a black so deep, the color seemed to leech what light there was from the room. Tucked into his sash was an inconspicuous sword, slim with a sheath of wood; and in his hand was a black dizi with a red tassel that pulsed with enough resentful energy to completely overwhelm that of the Scorching Sun Palace itself.

And his face! It was a picture of youth and beauty with expressive eyes and a mouth ready to smile. And behind him were three young maidens, whose demure attitudes and downcast eyes could almost obscure the fact that they were not of the living. This was a devil in essence, if not in truth, and Lan Wangji could only stare as the man moved forward and took the place beside him before the throne.

Wen Ruohan frowned down at the man in displeasure, his eyes quickly taking in his appearance and making the same connections Lan Wangji had. But all he said was, “Yet another uninvited guest.”

“Uninvited?” the man repeated and blinked in confusion. He raised his free hand and pointed at himself. “Me? I would never be so presumptuous or thoughtless.” He cut an amused look at Lan Wangji, and the young maidens giggled behind their sleeves. Lan Wangji made no sign that the tease had landed save for the tightening of his grip on Bichen. The man returned his gaze to Wen Ruohan. “Your son invited me. He declared his challenge, and I am come to accept. Let him step forward so that we may begin.”

Wen Chao, in fact, took a step back and cried, “You’re the Yiling Laozu?!”

The man blinked in confusion again and asked, “The what?”

“Gongzi,” one of the maidens interjected quietly. “The people have begun to call you Yiling Laozu, for none of them know your name.”

“Eh?” was the man’s shocked reply. “You mean to tell me no one bothered to remember? The indignity!”

That he would think anyone would want to or should remember the name of an evil devil was incomprehensible, and Lan Wangji inadvertently let out an offended, “Ridiculous.”

If the man heard, he made no sign, and he sketched a quick bow and said, “This one is Wei Wuxian. Please have your scholars write it down this time. And present to me Wen Chao, that we may conclude the challenge.”

“And here you have presented yourself as neither presumptuous nor thoughtless, and yet you dare to demand something of the Chief Cultivator?” Wen Ruohan cried angrily.

“I care little for the titles and courtesies of the cultivation world, but I would teach its inhabitants not to challenge me so arrogantly with little thought for the consequences,” Wei Wuxian replied with a sharp smile. “Do not be eager to be the first ones to find out what happens when a challenge is rescinded.”

The threat hung heavy in the air, the sudden and sinister red tint to Wei Wuxian’s eyes halting Wen Ruohan’s tongue on a refusal to comply. After a moment, he waved his hand in assent, and the courtiers that had crowded forward moved back to the edges of the throne room. Lan Wangji and Mo Xuanyu did the same, and Wen Zhuliu moved into position near to and behind Wen Chao, who was arguing with his father’s decision.

“Do not shame me further,” was all Wen Ruohan said, and Wen Chao was forced to face Wei Wuxian.

“Wen-er-gongzi,” Wei Wuxian greeted his opponent. “Choose an area of skill in which you wish to challenge me, that you may have me – ah, what was it? – grovel before the might of the Wen clan.”

Wen Chao paled at having his own arrogant words thrown back at him and dithered on a response. As much as he boasted, he couldn’t not know himself and his level of skill in anything he could select for the challenge. He looked about him and caught Wen Zhuliu’s eye, who nodded at him imperceptibly, and Wen Chao’s bravado resurged. Who cared what he picked? Wen Zhuliu would never let him lose!

“A sword duel,” he said confidently with a haughty sneer. Wei Wuxian nodded.

“A duel, then. The first to yield is the loser. Should Wen-er-gongzi win the duel, I will grant him one wish and consider our business settled. Should I win the duel, I will extract a price equivalent to the insult given.”

Lan Wangji frowned minutely. It wasn’t exactly what the accounts had provided for the terms of the challenges, but it wasn’t wholly unlike. One wish granted to the winner could be “treasures untold,” though the part about leaving the mortal world forever didn’t seem to be accurate. And a price equivalent to what the devil deemed an insult might just always have been the challenger’s soul. An “area of skill” was also much broader than the six arts, and Lan Wangji wondered when that had changed or if it had ever been true.

His attention was brought back to the proceedings by the start of the duel. Wei Wuxian had exchanged his dizi for his sword, and it was clear he knew how to wield it. His flow was smooth and graceful, his attacks swift, his dodges quick; but it was apparent from the start that he far out-classed Wen Chao and was only playing with him as a tiger would slowly and methodically stalk prey. Watching him move and laugh filled Lan Wangji with an odd sensation, and every scuff of his step and ring of his blade landed on his ear as notes on a guqin, put a twitch in his fingers, to such an effect that Lan Wangji could almost have said that Wei Wuxian’s everything was like music.

In the split second succeeding that revelation, Wen Chao was on the floor, Wei Wuxian’s blade to his neck; but before Wei Wuxian could demand that Wen Chao yield, Wen Zhuliu moved in to attack and was repelled backward to crash into a group of courtiers. Wei Wuxian still had his blade and eyes locked on Wen Chao, and it had been the three young maidens who had intercepted the attack. No longer were they playing at being mortal – the fangs, talons, and red eyes showed them to be the nefarious creatures they were, and they stood protectively around their master as Wen Zhuliu regained his feet.

“Such dishonorable behavior for a great sect,” Wei Wuxian lamented playfully. “Come, young master, and yield while I am still of a mind to be merciful.”

Wen Ruohan stood from his throne and cried, “The sun yields to nothing!” And his cultivators took up the cry and proceeded to attack.

“The sun yields to darkness,” Wei Wuxian laughed out over the din and sheathed his sword while simultaneously pulling free his dizi. The notes that spilled from the instrument were discordant and piercing, and the resentful energy swelled within the great room, with more vicious ghosts seeping from the shadows to join the ghost maidens in their quest to rip every Wen cultivator in the room to pieces. Everything was chaos.

Of course it was, though, for, outside of the Cloud Recesses, Hanguang-jun would not be in a place chaos was not also present. And though this skirmish had nothing to do with them, the Wen cultivators were indiscriminate in who they attacked, and Lan Wangji found himself entering the fray to protect himself and Mo Xuanyu. He stepped and turned and fought their way through on a path that led them to the throne room door and only stopped for a second to look behind him. The battle raged like a storm, and Wei Wuxian stood in the calm eye of it, his eerie music swelling with commands for his undead army. And for a moment, Lan Wangji could swear those glowing red eyes were locked on his – and in the next, he was fighting their way out of the Scorching Sun Palace as more Wen cultivators pushed their way in, and then he and Mo Xuanyu were out into the humid night and on Bichen, racing away from Nightless City.

When the sun rose in the morning, it was only literally; it had figuratively been shot down and lay buried in the ruins of its palace on earth, the bodies of the Wen cultivators scattered in pieces among the debris. Except for those of Wen Ruohan and his sons, left intact but very obviously dead, with a bloody note on the wall in a careless scrawl that read, “Betrayal is the ultimate insult, and the price is annihilation.”

The oddest thing about the scene was that it was completely cleansed of resentful energy, and any lingering ghosts or spirits had been laid to rest.

Word spread quickly of the massacre to the other sects; and had the whole of the Qishan population been slaughtered, had any of them been at open war with Qishan Wen, they would have descended to scavenge all they could from the wreckage like vultures. As it was, the Qishan people still lived, as did a branch family of Wen Ruohan’s line; Wen Qing, Qishan’s most acclaimed medical cultivator, would ascend to the position of sect leader and lead it into a less prosperous though more righteous future; and the rest of the sects would content themselves that at least they could choose a new Chief Cultivator.

The sects could move quickly when it was of benefit to them, and it was only a few days after their escape from Nightless City that Lan Wangji received a message from his brother stating that an emergency conference would be convening in Lanling, and as someone who was known to have been in Qishan at the time, the sects were requesting his presence to give an account. One look at Mo Xuanyu could tell how uneasy he was at the prospect, but Lan Wangji was hesitant to leave him on his own after the shock of what they’d just been through.

He resolved to find a solution to ease the boy’s worries as they traveled, but to Lanling they were to go.

Chapter Text

“The primary problem,” Mo Xuanyu started one day on their trek to Lanling, “Is obviously my face.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed.

“So, I’m thinking – a mask. We can find one in the marketplace beforehand.”

“If that is what you want,” Lan Wangji answered, and Mo Xuanyu returned to the little song he’d been playing on the dizi. It turned out that Mo Xuanyu had a bit of talent, and Lan Wangji made a mental note to test his aptitude for musical cultivation when they finally made it to Cloud Recesses. But it was twice now that his plans of going home had been set aside for tending to something having to do with the devil, Wei Wuxian, so when that would be was anyone’s guess.

Lan Wangji still wasn’t quite sure what to make of what he’d witnessed of Wei Wuxian in Nightless City. No amount of meditation could settle all of the feelings that had been roused in that dark place. There was a part of him, forged by three thousand sect disciplines, that knew he should condemn the devil for that display of what he was sure was demonic cultivation. But there was another part, that had stood next to the devil and only found a man (no ghost or nefarious creature; alive, and with qi brimming under all that resentful energy), that had to wonder what of all he’d seen could truly be defined as evil.

His actions were those of self-defense, Lan Wangji could allow. And more, other than the three ghosts he’d arrived with, the ones he summoned had been the restless dead that had been festering in Nightless City, no disturbed graves or desecrated bodies. And by his actions, prompted as they were, did he not do much actual good by preventing Wen Ruohan’s further aggression toward the other sects?

He allowed those thoughts to fade as they chose a spot for camping that night and focused on making dinner. Mo Xuanyu shyly asked if Lan Wangji would play, so he spent some time after dinner playing a few calming tunes until hai shi, which did have an impact on his own mind and allowed him to settle and sleep. But he was awoken several hours before mao shi by the strains of a dizi. His initial thought was that Mo Xuanyu had been unable to sleep, but he quickly heard that the melody was too expertly played to be the boy, and saw that Mo Xuanyu was still bundled tightly in his bedroll. Lan Wangji quietly stood from his own bedroll, picked up Bichen, and slipped into the darkness of the surrounding trees.

He followed the music to a clearing, in which he found Wei Wuxian atop a large rock in the middle of the clearing, bathed in brilliant moonlight. It was just as alluring a scene (more so, even) as seeing him in the dim throne room of the Scorching Sun Palace, and Lan Wangji could again only stare as the sweet melody enveloped him. When it broke off abruptly, he returned to his senses and found that he’d moved closer to the rock unconsciously and that the man now gazed upon him with an amused grin. Wei Wuxian spun his dizi between his fingers before slipping it into his sash next to his sword and lithely floating down to the ground and landing just a few paces from Lan Wangji.

“Well met, gongzi,” he said with a smile and a bow. “Though, I am curious what would keep a Lan up past hai shi.” He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Or wake him before mao shi.”

Lan Wangji only slid a deadpan stare to the dizi in Wei Wuxian’s sash before returning it to his face. Wei Wuxian followed his gaze.

“Ah?” he said. “Me?” He looked back at Lan Wangji and smiled playfully. “Are you saying my song was that alluring that it pulled such a handsome man from a dead sleep?” He paused briefly. “Get it? A dead sleep?”

Lan Wangji said nothing, but his grip on Bichen tightened.

Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. “No sense of humor. How very Lan,” he muttered. Then he gave Lan Wangji a speculative once-over. “I can see why they call you Hanguang-jun. You’re very sparkly. Shiny. Bright.” He smiled, and when he still received no reaction, he said, “You’re a man of few words, I see.”

“I only talk to people qualified to talk to me,” Lan Wangji deigned to reply.

Wei Wuxian blinked and then threw his head back to laugh uproariously, the amused sounds echoing throughout the clearing startling some night animals from their perches and burrows. As his laughter settled down, he asked, “And I’m not qualified? I heard you say so many words to Wen Ruohan, though! You can’t tell me he was more qualified than me!”

Lan Wangji straightened his back further (there wasn’t far to go) and looked past Wei Wuxian’s shoulder as he replied, “Concessions can be made for those who kill people for perceived slights, imagined or otherwise.”

Wei Wuxian laughed again, amusement lighting up his features pleasantly, and he said, “And you don’t think I could kill you for such an offense as your haughty silence?”

“Could, perhaps. Would, no.”

Wei Wuxian’s laughter abruptly stopped, and his smile slowly fell, but not into any countenance of anger, only confusion. But he recovered quickly. “You think too highly of a devil, Hanguang-jun.”

“Are you?”

“What?”

“A devil.”

“Ha!” Wei Wuxian cried. “And what part of that spectacle makes you think otherwise? Haven’t you heard the prophecies?”

Lan Wangji nodded and said, “But it does not follow that they speak of you. To connect the two without proof is folly.”

“Are you for real?” Wei Wuxian asked as he put his hands on his hips. “I just killed a hundred men with a dizi, and you want to say I’m not the devil foretold?”

“Demonic cultivation harms the mind, body, and spirit, and I am concerned for the danger you to pose to yourself and others, but that doesn’t make you a devil that no one can attest ever existed.”

Wei Wuxian was flustered by these straightforward words and tried to cover the awkward feelings that arose from them by joking, “My, so many words, Hanguang-jun! It must be because we’re so close now.”

Lan Wangji frowned minutely. “Not close.”

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian immediately agreed with a serious nod. “We haven’t even been properly introduced.” He took a step backward and bowed to a respectable degree. “Wei Ying, courtesy name Wuxian, no clan affiliation.”

Lan Wangji refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely, and only flipped his sleeves peevishly as he brought his hands up to return the bow. “Lan Zhan, courtesy name Wangji, Lan clan of Gusu.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian murmured as he gave Lan Wangji a saucy wink. “We can be close now!” He perceived the flash of annoyance in Lan Wangji’s eyes and wagged his finger as he cried, “Ah! Do you want to call me ridiculous again?”

“Shameless,” Lan Wangji corrected.

“That’s me!” Wei Wuxian laughed. “Ah, Lan Zhan, I like you! Let’s be friends! And as a sign of friendship, I’ll tell you a little secret.” He leaned forward, and as he did, his sweet, amused smile curled into something nasty, and his eyes glowed a red so bright, the clearing looked bathed in blood. “I’m as much of a devil as I need to be to cleanse this world of the unrighteous.” He winked again. “Tell your friends about me.”

Lan Wangji knew he should probably detain Wei Wuxian, question him more, learn everything he could to decide on the best course of action, but it was like he was spellbound and could only watch in fascination as Wei Wuxian sunk into a veil of shadows and disappeared from the clearing. After a few minutes, he turned around and returned to his bedroll, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, he retraced every look, every word of the encounter, committing everything to memory, and by mao shi, a few stanzas of music were repeating themselves in his head, his fingers longing for his guqin. But they were still a bit away from Lanling, so he went through his morning routines, made and ate breakfast with Mo Xuanyu, and then gathered the boy up on Bichen to make their way thither.

The marketplace on the outskirts of Lanling was just as opulent and crowded as the one just outside of Golden Carp Tower, and Lan Wangji was secretly thankful for people’s tendency to get out of his way as Mo Xuanyu darted from stall to stall admiring all the trinkets and accessories available as he searched for a suitable mask. He’d forgone his paint and powder today, sure they’d give him away even with a mask, and was only looking for something that could cover his upper face and nose, which carried the most prominent Jin resemblance. He eventually found a mask to answer made of steel pounded thin enough not to be heavy with beautiful silver filigree all across. He was embarrassed to find that his meager savings couldn’t cover the cost and more so when Lan Wangji swooped in and purchased it for him.

“Thank you,” Mo Xuanyu murmured as they began heading toward Golden Carp Tower.

“No need,” Lan Wangji replied, and Mo Xuanyu smiled as he tied the mask on.

“What do you think? Do you think it’ll work?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji assured as he took the boy in. It covered the greatest portion of his face, and if someone could recognize him from the cut of his chin, then someone was looking too closely. But to be safe, Lan Wangji asked, “May I relay your situation to my brother?” When Mo Xuanyu looked at him, he explained, “Xiongzhang could more deftly deflect attention from you should anyone be too curious.”

Mo Xuanyu thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “Might as well. He’ll have to know sooner or later.”

It was true enough, and Lan Wangji resolved to do so at the first opportunity he could guarantee they wouldn’t be overheard, which was a rare opportunity indeed in Golden Carp Tower.

As they walked, Mo Xuanyu recounted tales of his time spent wandering these markets and imparted his knowledge of the merchants and their families, which at times came perilously close to gossip, but as they weren’t in Cloud Recesses, and Mo Xuanyu wasn’t yet a Lan disciple, and they seemed to be at least some happier memories of this place, Lan Wangji let him continue unchecked and provided the necessary sounds to let him know he was still listening. But Mo Xuanyu’s talking gradually fell to silence the closer they came to the foot of the tower’s grand staircase where they paused for a few moments to allow Mo Xuanyu to gather his courage; and then Lan Wangji led the way up.

Lan Xichen awaited them at the top of the stairs, having received Lan Wangji’s message of their imminent arrival. He smiled joyfully to see his brother safe and whole and warmly returned his bowed greeting. He hadn’t missed the boy in the mask behind Lan Wangji, and he gave his brother a look that begged explanation, to which Lan Wangji returned a look that begged patience.

Always willing to grant his brother all the patience in the world, Lan Xichen sidestepped that topic nimbly and said, “Wangji, you’ve made good time. The opening banquet is tonight, and the conference only begins tomorrow.” He turned his attention to Mo Xuanyu. “You must be” – here, Lan Wangji gave a sharp shake of his head – “Our new disciple applicant,” Lan Xichen finished smoothly. “Well met.”

“This one greets, Zewu-jun,” Mo Xuanyu said softly with a quick look at Lan Wangji.

“Well, you both must be tired. Let me-”

He was interrupted by the arrival of Jin Guangyao, another one of Mo Xuanyu’s situation who had a much different outcome. Though his cultivation was no higher than Mo Xuanyu’s, he had inherited a cleverness and skill for flattery and obsequiousness that Mo Xuanyu hadn’t, and that had served him well in carving out a spot of recognition within their father’s sect, something that Mo Xuanyu had never accomplished and rather suspected wasn’t the prize it had been promised to be. He ducked behind Lan Wangji as Jin Guangyao approached.

“Welcome to Golden Carp Tower, Hanguang-jun,” Jin Guangyao greeted pleasantly. “I hope your journey here was smooth.” He spotted Mo Xuanyu behind the Twin Jades and smiled. “I didn’t realize you were bringing a guest. I’ll have an extra room prepared immediately.” He signaled to a servant nearby, who scurried off to complete the task.

“Our apologies, Jin-er-gongzi,” Lan Xichen said. “We should have given notice that Wangji would be bringing a disciple applicant he met while traveling.”

“It’s no trouble, Zewu-jun. Lanling Jin hospitality is open to all,” Jin Guangyao replied, and no one dared comment aloud on the veracity of such a claim.

They were soon led to their rooms so that Lan Wangji and Mo Xuanyu could freshen up and rest before the banquet, but before that, Lan Wangji motioned Mo Xuanyu and his brother into his room and affixed a silencing talisman on the closed door.

“I take it you have information of serious import,” Lan Xichen said with an amused smile.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji replied and nodded at Mo Xuanyu.

Mo Xuanyu bowed and said, “This one is Mo Xuanyu and apologizes to Zewu-jun for such negligence in greeting you properly.”

“Ah, no need for all that,” Lan Xichen said gently as he lifted Mo Xuanyu from his bow. “I imagine there was need for concealment.” Mo Xuanyu fidgeted with his sleeve and said nothing, so Lan Xichen looked at his brother.

“Mo Xuanyu is the son of Jin-zongzhu and was a former Jin disciple.” Lan Xichen closed his eyes briefly at the news. “He thought it best to disguise himself while here to not cause any issues.”

Lan Xichen let out a small sigh. “I’m sad to say that I think I agree. All the sects are rightly disturbed by what happened in Qishan, but the Jin seem the most outspoken. It might not do to give them cause for greater agitation.”

“This one apologizes and will stay in his rooms for the whole conference,” Mo Xuanyu said hastily.

Lan Xichen smiled. “Well, as you like, though I don’t think that’s necessary if you went through the trouble of a disguise.” Mo Xuanyu touched his mask lightly in thought and then nodded. Lan Xichen continued, “You should greet Shufu when you are washed and rested, Wangji. I’ll see you at the banquet.”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji said in agreement and in goodbye as Lan Xichen left the room. He looked at Mo Xuanyu. “Would you like to go to the banquet?”

“I think I might be too nervous to do otherwise,” Mo Xuanyu admitted with a blush. “I feel the risk for trouble lies in either path, but at least at the banquet I’ll have you and Zewu-jun.”

“Then I will collect you when it’s time to go. Please have a peaceful rest.”

Lan Wangji washed, meditated, and greeted Lan Qiren, who had been greatly relieved (on the inside) to see his nephew unharmed, and then Lan Wangji still found himself with some time before the banquet was to begin to fill as he could; and he finally succumbed to the urge that had been his constant companion since Nightless City and sat down to his guqin to test out the melody that had haunted him all this while. He played; he brought the notes forward into existence and listened closely to what they said. When the meaning was muddled, he tweaked and amended; and when the meaning was all too clear, he blushed but persevered; until the slant of the sun across the floor caught his eye, and he put away his guqin to dress.

The banquet was as irksome as he’d dreaded it would be, with an uncountable number of people coming up to him (or yelling across the room, in the Yao sect leader’s case) to ask about what he’d seen in Qishan. And though his brother and uncle tried to redirect the questions, there was no reprieve until Nie Mingjue harumphed quite loudly and told everyone to wait for Lan Wangji’s account at tomorrow’s conference where they could all hear it and where Lan Wangji would only have to tell it once. No one was willing to cross Nie Mingjue, so Lan Wangji was finally left in peace.

The most notable thing to happen (Lan Wangji didn’t deign to call it interesting) was Jin Zixun drunkenly discussing how the “Wen-dogs” had had the right idea but wrong execution of how to deal with the devil, though a timely interruption from Jin Guangyao had prevented the man from declaring anything resembling a challenge, and the night ended without much fuss.

The next day’s conference was also as irksome as he’d dreaded. Jin Guangshan, the Jin sect leader, opened the conference with expressions of joy to be gathered with his friends and esteemed cultivators and pontifications on the evil of the attack on Qishan Wen and the death of their Chief Cultivator. When he was done, Jin Guangyao introduced a letter from Wen Qing, the new Wen sect leader, that contained apologies for her absence as she settled matters in Nightless City and promises of personal correspondence forthcoming to a number of sect leaders, not least of whom was Nie Mingjue, and which was obviously regarding the recent skirmishes on the contested border. Nie Mingjue didn’t look pleased or appeased by such a promise, but his countenance hardly differed from one moment to the next when in public, so it could mean anything from displeasure to disinterest, and no one would ever guess which it was.

Finally, Jin Guangyao turned a deferential smile on Lan Wangji and said, “Hanguang-jun, it is understood that you were in Qishan when this disturbing act took place, and all gathered would greatly appreciate any information you could share.”

Lan Wangji remained seated and settled his gaze on the floor in the middle of the throne room. “When at the Nie border, Wen Chao had been overheard to have dared the devil of the widespread prophecy to appear before him and the Wen sect. Several days later, a man entered the Scorching Sun Palace unimpeded. He wore black robes, had a sword and dizi, and was accompanied by three ghost maidens.” He paused to think about his next words, overcome with a compulsion to not provide this particular audience with more information than they really needed, and the assembled cultivators shared alarmed looks with each other.

Lan Wangji continued, “He introduced himself and asked Wen Chao to step forward so that they could begin the challenge. Wen Ruohan refused at first but then assented. Wen Chao chose a sword duel.”

Here he was rudely interrupted by the Yao sect leader loudly asking, “How does Hanguang-jun know all this?” As interrupting was against the Lan disciplines, he received several flinty stares from the Lan disciples in attendance, not least of which was Lan Qiren; but Lan Xichen gave him his most benevolent smile, the one bestowed on those he pitied in some way (and for the Yao sect leader, that might have been for ill breeding), and said, “Wangji was in Scorching Sun Palace when everything happened.”

Everyone gasped in shock and surprise at the revelation, and everyone clamored to be heard with their questions of how Lan Wangji could have been there, but Jin Guangyao reined them all in and invited Lan Wangji to continue.

Lan Wangji nodded. “The challenge of a sword duel was accepted. And when Wen Chao lost, Wen Zhuliu attacked. The ghost maidens rebuffed him, and Wen Ruohan set his cultivators to attack also. The man and his ghosts defended themselves, and I escaped the battle and only learned of its outcome the next morning.”

Silence reigned for a few heartbeats after he stopped speaking and then someone cried, “Commanding ghosts!”

“It’s the devil from the prophecy for sure!” cried another.

Many others took up the cry in agreement, the din growing cacophonous, until Jin Guangshan stood from his throne and cried, “Silence! Friends, let us be calm. This news is grave indeed, but only calm heads will bring resolution. This devil is a danger to every righteous sect, but we can prevail over evil if we stand together.”

“No need,” Lan Wangji’s voice cut through the murmured assent, and all eyes turned to him in shock.

“What is the meaning of this, Hanguang-jun?” the Ouyang sect leader asked.

Lan Wangji raised his eyes to Jin Guangshan as he answered, “He met Wen Chao in a fair duel, and it was the Wen clan’s unrighteous act of attacking the winner of a fair duel with the intention to kill that caused the man to defend himself. The sects have no grounds for retaliatory action.”

“No grounds!” cried the Yao sect leader. “He is a soul-stealing devil! If the Wen had not attacked, he would have taken Wen-er-gongzi’s soul!”

Lan Wangji was sure no one in the room would have minded that a bit, but he held his countenance and replied, “We cannot know that, and we cannot condemn a man for an act he didn’t commit.”

“We all know Hanguang-jun to be fair and righteous,” Jin Guangyao said. “But defending such a devil is very shocking. Could he have been bewitched?”

There was more shocked murmuring, as that would make the most sense! Someone as upstanding as Hanguang-jun, as quick to liberate souls and eradicate evil, for him to protect evil instead – it must be the work of the devil!

“Not a devil, a man,” Lan Wangji responded firmly to these claims. The one about being bewitched he merely ignored; it was preposterous that he’d been magicked in any way, but charmed, captivated, entangled –. Better to ignore the suggestion and move on.

“A man?” Nie Mingjue questioned. “Then – a demonic cultivator?” That silenced everyone, too; Lan Xichen’s brow visibly furrowed.

“The last known demonic cultivator who could command the dead so easily was said to have disappeared centuries ago, ripped to pieces by his own army of corpses.”

Lan Wangji quickly debated the merit of keeping his suppositions to himself but thought it might help in his argument that they could not be too hasty with actions against Wei Wuxian, especially if his suppositions were proved; at the very least, he could bring his brother to consider things as he was and said, “Predating any mention of a devil.”

Lan Xichen nodded slowly. “And then a devil that could command the dead, that evidenced the same prowess with resentful energy, has appeared in the centuries succeeding.”

“Are you suggesting,” Nie Huaisang leaned over to say in what he must have thought was a whisper, “That the demonic cultivator, the devil, and this man who just appeared are the same person?”

Lan Xichen only blinked in wonder. Lan Wangji tightened his grip on his knees. And Nie Mingjue said, “That would make him-”

That would make Wei Wuxian immortal.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji had indeed begun to suspect that Wei Wuxian was an immortal, as well as that his actions, however they were documented in the annals of history, had a purpose, a turn of good, which a night of extensive research had seemed to confirm; and which had begun with a full recitation of his encounters and observations of the man to his brother and uncle.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen said as they sat to tea that night rather than going to bed. “Tell us what we must know.”

Lan Wangji nodded and waited until Mo Xuanyu, who he’d invited to join them in this discussion, had poured them all tea to relate what he’d held back. “The other sects may have called him a demonic cultivator due to the presence of the ghost maidens, but I did witness him call forth the ghosts of Scorching Sun Palace to aid him, and he did control them with his dizi.”

Lan Qiren stroked his beard in thought. “It is a wonder no one made the connection before. The grandmaster of demonic cultivation controlled his corpse armies with his dizi. If I recall correctly, it was named Chenqing. Quite ironic.”

Ironic indeed, Lan Wangji thought, for he was quite sure that no one had been willing to allow that cultivator to explain his situation in any kind of detail. But to Lan Qiren’s point, it had happened so many centuries ago that no one, save perhaps Baoshan-sanren, the only known immortal, could even remember what all had transpired. The histories were thin on the topic but were rife with accounts of the devil.

Lan Wangji looked at his uncle and said, “Have you ever come across the name of that grandmaster, Shufu?” If there was a record of the dizi’s name, surely there was record of the man’s.

Lan Qiren reached for his tea as he thought. “If it was ever recorded, it has been lost.” He took a sip of tea and then said, “You mentioned that he introduced himself to Wen Ruohan.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “Wei Wuxian.” He paused before he added, “He has no clan affiliation, but his skills and knowledge mark him as a man of the gentry.”

Lan Xichen looked at his brother in amazement. “You have much more information on him than anyone has at least recorded.”

Lan Wangji sipped his tea slowly before straightening his shoulders and saying, “I met him on the way to Lanling. The conversation I had with him and the fact that he cleansed Nightless City entirely of resentful energy leads me to believe that we are missing something crucial in this story.”

His brother and his uncle stared at him in astonishment, as did Mo Xuanyu, who cried out, “And where was I when this happened!”

“Asleep,” Lan Wangji answered. “I think he intended me to seek him out.”

“Why do you say so, Wangji?” Lan Xichen asked.

Lan Wangji took a moment to consider his words and what he should impart. There had been some part of the conversation that would be too embarrassing to repeat. But there had been one thing Wei Wuxian particularly had instructed him to pass on, so he said, “I asked him to confirm if he was a devil, though I already knew he is not, and his answer when we parted was that he was as much of a devil as he needs to be to cleanse the world of unrighteousness.”

They were all silent a moment, and then Lan Xichen asked, “What do you suppose he meant by that?”

Lan Wangji didn’t immediately answer; instead, he lifted his qiankun pouch and took out the library materials he’d left the Cloud Recesses with, particularly the documents on the victims. He spread them out on the table. “I had intended to look into the people who had challenged the devil and lost. I would do it now to understand if the meaning could be made clear.” And he reached for a scroll.

And being scholars and interested in the answer themselves, his brother and uncle likewise reached for a scroll each, and they began to read. Mo Xuanyu fidgeted for a moment before he reached for one, too, eager to help.

The meaning of Wei Wuxian’s words would seem to have been very straightforward upon review of the victims’ lives; and their ends, it turned out, as only very few actually died at the hands of the devil. Most of them, through means unknown, very soon after defeat in their challenges, were exposed in many sordid and unrighteous scandals that had led to their exile, their execution, or even the downfall of the entire sect. Not one of the victims had ever been held in very high esteem, nor did it seem like their actions against the devil stemmed from any feeling but arrogance.

“Do you think,” Mo Xuanyu said as he was perusing another scroll, “That righteous cultivators and people not affiliated with a sect ever challenged the devil?”

All three Lan men looked at him and then looked at each other. It would be rather a shock if there was an evil devil loose in the jianghu and no righteous cultivator had stepped up to challenge him.

“Then he only accepts challenges that come from those whom he has cause to bring to some sort of justice,” Lan Xichen surmised.

“He did stop the Wen clan from further antagonizing the great sects,” Lan Wangji murmured. “We can imagine what would have happened if things had gone unchecked.”

They could indeed imagine and wished not to, as the thoughts and images conjured were nightmarish. The Wen clan had long been conquering smaller clans in Qishan, annihilating them when they refused to yield, and it was the work of seconds for anyone to see how a similar fate had probably been in store for the other great sects.

And so, when they finally went to bed, it was with a firm belief that they had fully hit on Wei Wuxian’s motive, though it could not be proven, and that Wei Wuxian was more than likely the grandmaster of demonic cultivation – who had not been ripped to pieces by his corpse army and seemed to reap no injuries or malignant behaviors from the use of resentful energy, a revolutionary revelation for that seemingly unrighteous path (Lan Qiren was particularly interested in how this was possible). There were still many questions, but Lan Wangji was convinced that any threat there was to the cultivation world did not come from Wei Wuxian; they seemed to come from within their own ranks, and Wei Wuxian seemed to be the only one doing anything about it.

That thought kept Lan Wangji awake despite a dragging tiredness, and so he did not miss the strains of a dizi he was most probably meant to hear. He pulled on a couple of layers over his inner robe and grabbed Bichen before slipping out the window, not wishing to alert any servants roaming or watching the corridors. He followed the lilting melody to a secluded pavilion that he had never seen before. The gardens surrounding it were wild and overgrown, almost as if nature was trying to reclaim this small part of what had been taken from it. And sitting informally along a railing, his back against a broad post, was Wei Wuxian, just as Lan Wangji had expected. He couldn’t be surprised that Wei Wuxian had snuck into Golden Carp Tower when he’d done the same at Scorching Sun Palace.

Wei Wuxian stopped playing and gave Lan Wangji a wide smile. “Lan Zhan!” He jumped down from his perch and made his way closer. “We should stop meeting like this. People will talk!” He winked and laughed at Lan Wangji’s unamused stare. “Ah, Lan Zhan, did I wake you up again?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji disagreed and looked around the pavilion. “What has happened here? For the Jin sect to allow this to fall into such disrepair is unusual.”

“Hm?” Wei Wuxian looked about, too. “Ah, well, it’s a story long forgotten, but a young lady was said to haunt this pavilion and her spirit unable to be liberated, suppressed, or eliminated, as her anger and sorrow was too great. So, the Jin clan had put up wards to keep people out, and when that didn’t work, they put up maze arrays, and eventually enough time passed that everyone forgot it was here.”

Lan Wangji focused his senses to detect the ghost, but there was no trace of resentful energy except for what clung to Wei Wuxian’s dizi. He said so, and Wei Wuxian shrugged.

“I sent her on quite a long time ago, long enough that the maze arrays have worn down to nothing.” When Lan Wangji gave him a questioning look, he said, “She could not be handled with qi, so I handled her with resentful energy.”

Lan Wangji was quiet a moment and then said, “So you are the grandmaster of demonic cultivation, and you are immortal.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him in surprise. “Ah, well, you figured it out, huh?”

“You weren’t subtle,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “That I can’t deny. But I didn’t think anyone would ever put it together. The ladies did say I had been forgotten.”

“You wanted me to.”

Wei Wuxian fiddled with the tassel on his dizi – Chenqing. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “No idea. It’s not like anyone knowing makes my task easier.”

“And why do you think that?” Lan Wangji asked quietly. “A burden shared lightens the load.” He didn’t ask what task; he didn’t think he needed to.

Wei Wuxian looked off into the distance. “When I created this method, I was accused of leaving the righteous path. Let it be so, I thought, for there wasn’t much righteousness on that path when I looked at what I’d left behind. I’ll walk that narrow path, take that single-log bridge, and keep to my principles and live without regrets, I thought. And so, I have. But it is still a single-log bridge, and I must walk it alone.”

Lan Wangji disagreed, but he didn’t know how to say that he would walk it with Wei Wuxian without betraying the sentiments that were steadily growing within him the more he came to know the man. Instead, he thought to impart some of the same meaning, if less embarrassing to himself, by saying, “No righteous path, no matter how narrow, is only made to allow one traveler passage.” He paused before adding, “You would have help in whatever task you have undertaken if you but ask, Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian pressed his lips together to hide the trembling caused by such words, but there was no mistaking the glimmer of tears in his eyes. He swallowed a couple times before he could speak again, much too moved by hearing someone call his birth name for the first time in an eternity. When he could, he said, “Maybe I did want someone to figure it out. Maybe I was tired of being alone. And I saw you and thought-” Here he cut himself off, and after a moment continued, “It doesn’t matter what I thought. Ah, Lan Zhan, you are too good, after everything I’ve learned about you, to associate yourself with the likes of me.”

“The likes of you?” Lan Wangji murmured. “A cultivator of such strength that he has attained immortality? Of such skill that he has never lost a challenge or duel against other cultivators and members of the gentry? Of such resilience and ingenuity that he has mastered resentful energy?” He watched as Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened at his words, and then he concluded, “It would be an honor to associate myself with such a man.” He refrained from adding that it would also be a pleasure, but he was unsure if he kept the sentiment from his tone of voice, softened and sincere with his feelings.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian finally replied. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

Lan Wangji had nothing to say to that, but when Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything further, he whispered, “Wei Ying.”

Wei Wuxian lifted his free hand, as if to touch Lan Wangji, but let it fall before he got too close. “Ah, Lan Zhan, you are the best of men. But I would not have you caught up in this madness. Things are much changed since I was last engaged with the cultivation world, my opponents more cunning, and I am not infallible. And you should not bear any of the blame or trouble if I should fail.”

Lan Wangji accepted the rejection with pain and grace; but also with a resolution that what help he could give Wei Wuxian, even if indirectly, would be given.

Wei Wuxian seemed to shake off the melancholy of their conversation and smiled at Lan Wangji. “Mao shi isn’t that far off, Lan Zhan, so going back to bed would be useless. Would you care to spar?” He motioned to Bichen in Lan Wangji’s hand. “I’ve heard much of your skill and the unparalleled beauty of Bichen in motion. I’d love to see for myself. Just a little no-stakes fun.”

Lan Wangji could think of several reasons to decline, but his desire to accept and spend just a little more time with Wei Wuxian outweighed them, and he shifted silently into a sparring stance. Wei Wuxian laughed and did the same, and they spent the time until sunrise in a dance of blades that showed to each the impressive amount of skill, strength, and speed the other possessed and for which there was no clear winner by the time they had to call an end.

Bichen was angled toward a vital spot on Wei Wuxian’s torso, and Wei Wuxian’s blade was at Lan Wangji’s neck; and as they pulled apart, Lan Wangji caught sight of the name of the blade engraved near the hilt. He raised one brow in question as Wei Wuxian sheathed the sword and said, “Suibian?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes filled with mirth. He opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by the abrupt arrival of his ghost maidens. His smile fell into a serious look for a moment before he returned his attention to Lan Wangji. “Another time, then. I’ll see you around, Lan Zhan.”

And then he and the ghost maidens disappeared into the shadows, and Lan Wangji returned to his room determined to help Wei Wuxian in whatever was about to happen if he could.

As it happened, there was little he could do to help in the events that followed. But help wasn’t exactly needed, as it took very little effort for an unstable man to fall when only given a few little pushes.

The conference had indeed been called as an emergency to address the fall of the Wen clan and the devil, but since no one really cared about that mean and belligerent sect, and since no one really thought it a good idea to meddle in the affairs of an immortal (if the devil really were an immortal; however, no one was quick to suggest they find out), the sect leaders came to an agreement that they could take the opportunity of being together to get some inter-sect business out of the way, with an end goal of leaving Lanling having chosen a new Chief Cultivator. But the choice was not so easily made.

Many in attendance thought the choice was obvious and that Nie Mingjue should be Chief Cultivator. He was righteous and just, fair and to the point, and a capable leader in times of both peace and strife. But his detractors said he was too hot-headed to be dependable at all times; and Nie Mingjue himself had little interest in the position. Others said that perhaps Lan Xichen should be considered, as he shared those same good qualities with Nie Mingjue, and no one could ever accuse Lan Xichen of being hot-headed; but some insisted that to be governed by a Lan was to be governed by their three thousand principles, too, which was by no means true but hard to dispute when one looked at the rows of straight-backed disciples in stainless white robes. And so, it came down to Jin Guangshan and Jiang Fengmian, and the arguing was fierce and so provoking that the discussion had to be tabled for the day and resumed on the morrow.

And that was how it went for a few days, during which a few odd things took place. The first, and seemingly unconnected to anything, was the disappearance of Qin Su, Jin Guangyao’s wife. Not that it was common knowledge that she could not be found; she was in mourning, having lately buried their son, and was not expected to be seen all that much. But Mo Xuanyu had gone in search of her, as she’d been one of the only ones to treat him with any kindness, and he’d been unsuccessful. Not even the servants he questioned seemed to know where she was. And then a rumor began to circulate that a prisoner in the Jin sect dungeons had vanished, rumors which Jin Guangshan waved away as nothing, echoed by Jin Guangyao; though, the latter never seemed to pull off his father’s air of unconcern and indeed looked increasingly strained each time he had to speak of it. And then it all came to a head one morning when Jin Zixun burst into the throne room, robes disheveled, and cried that he had been cursed!

“What do you mean you’ve been cursed?” Jin Guangshan said irritably, upset that he still hadn’t been named Chief Cultivator.

Jin Zixun pulled aside his robes to show his mottled chest, grotesque, oozing holes covering the expanse of his torso. “It’s the Hundred Holes Curse!”

The assembled cultivators gasped and cried out in shock, and the Yao sect leader shouted, “Who would do such a thing?”

“Who do you think? Obviously, it’s that devil! He went after the Wen cultivators, and now he’s coming after us!”

Lan Wangji, who had been listening and watching with little interest up to that point, glared at such an outlandish claim, his grip tightening on his knees to keep himself seated and from doing anything rash.

“Zixun,” Jin Zixuan, Jin Guangshan’s only legitimate son and current heir to the Jin sect, said. “That is a bold claim to make of someone who may be an immortal. Why would he want to curse you?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jin Zixun retorted. “His goal is obviously to take out the powerful sects and their most powerful cultivators.”

Lan Wangji clenched his teeth against the temptation to point out that powerful cultivators would never succumb to something as low-level as the Hundred Holes Curse; and when he felt he had control over himself, he said, “There is no proof that he has ever instigated the events in the accounts. You cannot make this claim without evidence. Anyone is capable of casting this curse.”

Jin Zixun turned an angry sneer on Lan Wangji, intent on a scathing response, but Jin Guangyao interrupted by saying, “Hanguang-jun makes an excellent point; however, we cannot know that this devil didn’t commit such evil acts to drive cultivators to seek him out for a challenge. If this is the case, then perhaps we should return to the topic of how to stop his tyranny.”

“What do you suggest?” Nie Huaisang asked from behind his fan. “What could we possibly do against an immortal demonic cultivator?”

“Jin-zongzhu said it the other day!” the Yao sect leader declared. “We can prevail over evil if we stand together! And Jin-er-gongzi is a clever strategist! He planned the attack against the He sect. He can come up with something against one man! Can’t you?” he asked Jin Guangyao eagerly.

“Yao-zongzhu honors this one with his praise,” Jin Guangyao said with a deferential smile. “But, yes, there is always a weakness that can be exploited, and in very little time, I am sure I can find us a way to victory against this devil.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” a voice sounded out through the throne room. Every eye turned toward the room’s entrance, including Lan Wangji’s as his heart sped up, and they beheld a smirking devil.

Wei Wuxian glided into the middle of the throne room, twirling Chenqing, and his ghost maidens followed behind him. But they had grown in number, from three to five, and Lan Wangji gave his attention to them fully for a moment and found that the two additions were, in fact, not ghosts at all. He returned his gaze to Wei Wuxian, wondering who these women were and if they had anything to do with Wei Wuxian’s plans, though it seemed likely.

Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao wore similar looks of shocked dread, but they both recovered quickly, and Jin Guangyao stepped forward to greet Wei Wuxian. “The assembled sects greet the Yiling Laozu,” he said with a low bow.

Wei Wuxian clicked his tongue. “That name again. I know you all like to hand out names and titles like rare gems, but it’s not exactly flattering that you don’t know my name.”

Jin Guangyao blinked and then gave him a strained smile. “Forgive this one, Immortal One,” he ventured to say, and when Wei Wuxian made no move to contradict him, he continued, “Your name has been lost to history, and we would not presume to address you without due respect.”

“You mean you don’t dare call me a devil to my face.” Wei Wuxian smiled sharply. “Well, this one is Wei Wuxian. Be sure to write it down this time. You know, for others. I can’t imagine you’ll be around all that long after the conclusion of our challenge to pass it on.”

“Ah, Wei-sanren, I’m afraid I misspoke. I have no wish to challenge you.”

“I find that hard to believe when you were very clear about being able to declare victory over me. Now, how did I misunderstand that?”

Before Jin Guangyao could attempt to talk his way out of trouble, Jin Zixun stepped forward and cried, “If you want a challenge, I'll give you one! I challenge you, and when I win, you will remove this curse you put on me!”

“Pass,” Wei Wuxian said without removing his eyes from Jin Guangyao, shocking everyone gathered. It seemed that Lan Xichen had been correct when he guessed that Wei Wuxian didn’t accept every challenge, and Lan Wangji wondered what crime Jin Guangyao committed to have gained the immortal’s ire.

When no one said anything for a moment, Wei Wuxian added, “Even Wen Ruohan thought it wise not to rescind the challenge his son made. Is that your decision?” His eyes began to take on a red glint.

“No, this one wouldn’t dare,” Jin Guangyao said after a quick look at his father.

“Then, Jin-er-gongzi, choose an area of skill in which you wish to challenge me, that you may secure your victory over me.” The tone of his voice made it clear how little he believed that would happen.

Jin Guangyao took a moment to think before he bowed demurely and said, “Then I challenge Wei-sanren to a competition of musical talents.”

“A musical duel, then,” Wei Wuxian said. “A difficult area in which to determine a winner, so I will request from our audience some volunteers for fair judges. I only ask that one be a novice and one be an expert in music.”

Lan Wangji was close to offering himself, but he knew he could not be unbiased. So, it was with some relief that he watched his uncle stand and volunteer to be the expert judge. And after some prodding from his brother, Nie Mingjue grudgingly offered to be the novice judge. They were then situated at tables quickly placed at the front of the room, and then they all looked at Wei Wuxian, who bowed to the judges.

“The winner will be determined by the judges. Should Jin-er-gongzi win, I will grant him one wish and consider our business settled. Should I win, I will extract a price equivalent to the insult given.” He twirled Chenqing between his fingers and then swept that arm out toward Jin Guangyao. “The challenger may go first.”

Jin Guangyao nodded and accepted his guqin that a servant rushed forward to provide. He looked over at his father, whose severe frown told him he’d better be the winner at the end of this, and Jin Guangyao planned to be. He was going to take a risk, one that would anger a few influential people, but defeating Wei Wuxian should be enough to overcome that. So, with a settled mind, he sat and began to play.

Lan Wangji started in shock as the first notes rang out into the room, and he shot a look at his brother to see that he also recognized the song and that it was backed by quite a bit of Jin Guangyao’s qi. The Twin Jades looked at their uncle, whose furrowed brow was the only indication that he was as disturbed by what he was hearing as they were.

When the song came to an end, a few people dared to clap, but all eyes were riveted to Wei Wuxian, who was neither vanquished nor perturbed, as Lan Wangji supposed Jin Guangyao had meant to happen, Chenqing twirling lazily between his fingers as he smiled. “Jin-er-gongzi is talented indeed,” he said. “To think he could play the Lan sect battle song near flawlessly.” Jin Guangyao’s fingers twitched in his lap. “But there were some interesting measures in there that didn’t belong but sounded familiar. Tell me, has Jin-er-gongzi perhaps been to Dongying?” Jin Guangyao looked alarmed at the question, Nie Mingjue looked confused, and Lan Qiren looked angry.

“Jin Guangyao!” Lan Qiren cried. “Not only have you dared to learn and use a Lan clan technique, but you have dared to corrupt it with the forbidden music of Dongying!”

Jin Guangyao rushed to stand and bow. “This one begs the Lan sect’s forgiveness! But this is an opportunity to overcome this devil, for I have sealed away his qi!” And he whipped around to bring his sword down on Wei Wuxian; but it met the same end as Wen Zhuliu’s ill-conceived attack, and Jin Guangyao was thrown back by one of the ghost maidens.

Others stood to attack, as well, but found that they could barely draw their swords, their qi having been sealed with Wei Wuxian’s.

Lan Wangji stood and said coldly, “Jin Guangyao, this behavior is cowardly and no different than what the Wen clan did.”

“It’s all right, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said; and if anyone realized that the devil used Lan Wangji’s birth name in such a lighthearted way (as Lan Xichen did), they made no sign. “I’ve come to expect nothing better. But Jin Guangyao,” he said to his opponent, “I would continue the challenge, and the ladies will ensure you, as the only one with any qi right now, will behave as I play.” He turned back to the judges and brought Chenqing to his lips. The music that came forth was the same Lan Wangji had heard in Scorching Sun Palace, and they all watched as three ghosts materialized in the middle of the throne room.

The shock and dread that filled the room was greater than any before, for in front of the assembled cultivators now stood the ghosts of the He sect leader, who’d been killed in vengeance for the death of Jin Rusong; the ghost of the Qin sect leader, Qin Su’s father, who lost his life in the attack on the He sect; and the ghost of Jin Rusong, Jin Guangyao’s son, said to have been murdered by the He sect.

Wei Wuxian’s song paused, and the man gazed at the ghosts of the two men, took in the hateful glares they were giving Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao, and said, “My, the ghosts of Golden Carp Tower sure have a grudge.” Then he knelt by the young boy’s ghost. “And this one died in so much pain and confusion. It's all right, baobei. I’ll see you put to rest and at peace.”

Then he brought Chenqing to his lips again and played a faultless rendition of Rest. The boy’s ghost faded to nothing easily, but the anger of the other two couldn’t be overcome by Rest alone. The song shifted to something firm and unknown, but Lan Wangji could feel the strong suggestion in it for the ghosts to let go of their anger and be free. And when they still hung on, the tone shifted again to something hard and commanding, discordant and piercing, and the ghosts finally gave in and left.

No one dared to move as Wei Wuxian lowered Chenqing and stood. He gave a considering look to Jin Guangyao before turning back to the judges. “The verdict, please.”

Nie Mingjue, though he was irritated to have to give credit to a demonic cultivator, didn’t even pause before he rendered his. “I say Wei Wuxian wins by default based on Jin Guangyao’s violation of the rules of engagement.”

Lan Qiren took a moment before he nodded his agreement. “A judgement on the music itself is impossible, given the fact that both competitors dueled with musical cultivation rather than musical talent, and both used corrupted methods, at that. However, some consideration is due to the intent and actions of both, and in this case, the more righteous competitor should be deemed the winner.”

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes slightly at such a stuffy answer, but then he smirked and said playfully, “The judges are wise.” He slid his gaze back to Jin Guangyao. “And the price for betrayal is annihilation.” But instead of attacking, he turned to his ghost maidens and invited them forward with a small jerk of his head. Lan Wangji noted, though, that it wasn’t any of the actual dead women who moved; it was the two live women who stepped forward and bowed.

“It’s Qin-furen!” someone cried, and both Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao went pale.

It was indeed the wife of the late Qin sect leader and mother to Qin Su, who had gone missing not long after her daughter’s wedding, just after the announcement of her pregnancy. The woman with her was her handmaid, who’d been dismissed from service upon the disappearance of her mistress, and the story they brought with them was almost unbelievable! They spoke of the depravity of the Jin sect leader, who had forced himself on his friend’s wife, and she’d hidden the truth of Qin Su’s parentage to spare her husband the shame; which meant that Qin Su was Jin Guangyao’s sister, a secret that had been told him to prevent the wedding that had had little effect; and then Qin Su’s mother had been abducted and kept locked away to keep the secret from spreading, as the news of her daughter’s pregnancy by her half-brother had convinced her that telling the truth was better than letting her daughter continue to unknowingly commit this heinous sin. Why she hadn’t been killed outright, she wouldn’t say, but one could guess how she’d spent the past decade or so, a victim before and still very beautiful.

Their story stopped there, but it opened new theories that others were quick to pick up on and demand an explanation for: the death of Jin Rusong was now seen as disposing of the evidence of sin; pinning the death on the He sect was now seen as getting rid of a troublesome rival in Jin sect territory with a convenient excuse no one would question; except, apparently the Qin sect leader, who no one could fully tie into the story until Jin Guangyao, backed into a corner by his father’s constant denials of knowledge and guilt, admitted that the Qin sect leader had had doubts about his grandson’s death and Jin Guangshan’s insistence on killing every last member of the He sect, and so the Jin sect leader had ordered his son to make sure the man never made it home. Jin Guangshan continued to deny his involvement in any of it and laid all the blame at the feet of his son and further said that he regretted ever recognizing the boy as his own, which produced in Jin Guangyao an anger so great that he attacked his father!

It deteriorated from there, with everyone (except the Lan, of course), screaming to be heard, and it ended with Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao being taken into custody for a full investigation and Wei Wuxian slipping away into the shadows.

It had also ended with the disgrace of the Jin clan leaking out to the common people throughout the jianghu and the loss of their influence over the cultivation world; and Lan Wangji could only conclude that that had been Wei Wuxian’s goal all along.

And with the fall of Jin Guangshan, the sects quickly voted that Jiang Fengmian would be the new Chief Cultivator, and he would have his work cut out for him helping Jin Zixuan investigate and sentence his relations. But his wife Yu Ziyuan would be more formidable support than Jin Guangshan’s wife had ever been, so no one was really worried that the Jin duo and all their accomplices wouldn’t receive the punishments they deserved.

And with all that settled, at least for now, Lan Wangji could finally return to the Cloud Recesses and think about his own next steps.

Chapter Text

“The price for betrayal is annihilation,” Wei Wuxian had said to Jin Guangyao, and for some days afterward, many had wondered if that had only meant that Jin Guangyao would soon meet his end, whether by execution or some yet unknown grisly fate. But then Jin Zixun, angry at Wei Wuxian for dismissing his challenge and leaving him cursed, had gathered a great many Jin cultivators and marched them to Yiling, where they forced their way into the Burial Mounds and never came back out. And so, the number of Jin cultivators was so severely reduced that, though the sect still had a great deal of wealth, it had very little manpower to speak of; and of the five great sects, the Jin sect was now the least so.

The news, when it reached the Cloud Recesses, only affected Lan Wangji as far as it affected Mo Xuanyu’s plans to join the Lan sect. He and his brother informed the boy of what had happened and gently asked if returning to the Jin sect, now that it was greatly in need of disciples, was something he wanted to do, and if so, they would speak to Jin Zixuan about it.

Mo Xuanyu took some time to think about it, but not too long a time, and ultimately decided that the Jin sect, no matter what it now was or could be, was not a good place for him. In the little time he’d been in Gusu, he’d come to love the quiet and peace of the mountains and the gentle way of life he’d been introduced to in the Cloud Recesses. He was accepted by his peers and elders (though, there had been a brief debate on whether his face paint and powder were allowed – they were, but Lan Wangji had taken him into Gusu City to find someone who could teach him how to apply them more modestly), and he loved his music lessons. He didn’t think he’d ever been more at peace in his life, and he wished to stay with Gusu Lan.

It was after one of these music lessons a few weeks later that Lan Xichen decided it was time to discuss with his brother how Lan Wangji had seemed more distant than usual of late and see if there was anything he could do to assist in whatever was bothering him. He met Lan Wangji outside the room for his last class of the day and walked back with him to his residence, the Jingshi.

As Lan Wangji prepared the tea, Lan Xichen said, “Mo Xuanyu is doing well in his lessons; though, he was already quite good.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed.

“It is too bad we don’t have a dizi player in the sect,” Lan Xichen continued. “While it’s similar in theory to the xiao, it is a different instrument in the end.” He focused intently on Lan Wangji, having caught the slight twitch of fingers when he’d mentioned a dizi player. He suddenly recalled that moment in Golden Carp Tower, when Wei Wuxian had called his brother Lan Zhan, and he thought he might know what was bothering him. He wasn’t sure what he could do personally, but he wanted to see his little brother happy, so he did what all good siblings would do and opened the topic to slowly pry every detail out of his reticent brother that he could.

“Perhaps we could seek out a dizi master to teach here for a bit, open the lessons to anyone interested in something other than the guqin or xiao.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed again, though he seemed a little restrained.

Lan Xichen picked up his tea. “Have you happened to meet one in your travels, Wangji?” He sipped his tea as Lan Wangji frowned at the table. “A master should enjoy the challenge of teaching in a musical cultivation sect.” Lan Wangji lifted his gaze to glare slightly, and Lan Xichen sighed. “Didi, tell me what troubles you. I am here to help. If it is about Wei Wuxian, you need not be anxious about my reaction.”

Lan Wangji turned his head away, hiding his eyes from his brother, but Lan Xichen didn’t miss the red tint to his revealed ear. He allowed silence to settle between them, content to wait and drink his tea while his little brother gathered his thoughts.

“It is like I have known him always, Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji finally murmured. “Though he is so different than one would expect of an immortal. He has a lively spirit, one that would have grated when I was younger, no doubt; but it intrigues me now, how he can laugh and smile so innocently after all he must have seen and done in his long life.”

Lan Xichen hummed thoughtfully. “We don’t know much about immortals,” he offered. “Baoshan-sanren renounced the world, and she’s the only one anyone knows. Until now, of course. But perhaps we should not attribute her particular traits to all immortals.”

“I have never met Baoshan-sanren and cannot know what she is like; and yet I can say that there is no one like Wei Ying.”

Lan Xichen didn’t so much as blink at the unfamiliar name, just smiled a little wistfully. It seemed that his little brother had found someone he could call fated, and now no one else would ever do. The Lan elders were in for a bit of a surprise. To cover up an amused smile at the thought, Lan Xichen asked, “Do you know how to contact him?”

Lan Wangji blinked in question and asked, “Why would I?”

“Oh, Didi,” Lan Xichen said slightly reproachfully. “Is that not why you’ve been moping all these weeks? Because you want to see Wei Wuxian?”

Lan Wangji would not lie and say no, but he wouldn’t admit to it either. He couldn’t let his brother know that he kept seeing Wei Wuxian’s laughing and smiling face every time he closed his eyes; that he kept thinking about the way Wei Wuxian’s body moved as they’d sparred; that he kept hoping that the way Wei Wuxian sighed when he said his name meant that he wasn’t alone in his feelings – because Wei Wuxian was an immortal who came and went as he pleased, and Lan Wangji was just a man, no matter his potential, who had responsibilities to his family and his sect, no matter their shared values and the shared desire to be out there and doing good where it was most needed.

“I can see what you’re thinking, Didi,” Lan Xichen said. “And none of that should matter just yet. All the little details can be handled later. Right now, it’s only about how you feel about each other and if it’s the same desire to go forward together.”

Lan Wangji let out a small sigh. “I do not know how to find him. And I do not know if I am brave enough to say anything if I did.”

“Finding the right words can be difficult,” Lan Xichen agreed. “But it’s not something you need to figure out immediately, if you choose to search for him. Just know, I will support you in whatever you decide.”

“Thank you, Xiongzhang.”

They finished drinking their tea, and Lan Xichen left Lan Wangji to his thoughts. He sat at his guqin and idly plucked the strings, wondering how he would go about finding Wei Wuxian and if he even should. It seemed like an impossible task and only frustrated him to think of. Meditation proved no help, at least in his room, so even though hai shi was upon him, he slipped out of the Jingshi and made his way to the Cold Spring. The cold water forced his thoughts away from Wei Wuxian to focus on not freezing, and then he was able to slip into a meditative state where intrusive thoughts couldn’t overtake his mind. He found calm, if not peace, his heart steady and slow; until he surfaced enough to pick up the strains of a dizi once again, and then he was racing away from the Cold Spring, struggling to slip back into his robes and move toward the sound at the same time.

The melody led him to the back hill, where the rabbits lived and where very few had permission to go. And there, in the middle of a sprawling meadow, was Wei Wuxian, once again made brilliant and ethereal in the light of the moon. He looked different than before, still in black robes, but they had hints of grey and more pronounced accents of red; and most different was his hair, all of it bound up in the red ribbon in a long, silky tail that trailed down his back. Lan Wangji moved silently closer until only a few paces separated them.

“Wei Ying.”

Chenqing fell into sudden silence, and then Wei Wuxian slowly turned around. When his eyes found Lan Wangji’s, a sweet smile pulled at his lips, and he softly said, “Ah, Lan Zhan, you always come when I call.”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji said and meant, “I will always come when you call.” When Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything further, Lan Wangji asked, “What are you doing here, Wei Ying?”

“I came to see you, of course! I’m sure you have so many questions you were too much of a gentleman to ask, but I thought to sate your curiosity before I go back.”

“Back?”

Wei Wuxian shrugged. “To where I stay – Baoshan-popo’s mountain for wayward immortals, population one.”

Lan Wangji noted that Wei Wuxian didn’t call it home, but he didn’t pry, only asked, “You do not count Baoshan-sanren in the population?”

“And let her catch me calling her ‘wayward’? No, thank you.” Wei Wuxian laughed and then took in Lan Wangji’s wet robes and hair. “I always seem to be interrupting you from something, Lan Zhan.”

“You are free to schedule your visits for more reasonable times.”

“Oh, but then I’d only get to see Hanguang-jun and not Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian laughed again and then dropped to the ground, kicking his legs out and leaning back on his hands. “Come join me, Lan Zhan! Ask all your questions. I promise to answer them.” He raised the fingers of one hand in a solemn salute.

Lan Wangji took the few steps separating them and then knelt next to Wei Wuxian, his white robes puddling around him and shining in the moonlight. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked at Wei Wuxian. “How do you choose your challenges?”

Wei Wuxian blinked in surprise, not having anticipated that question, and then shrugged. “I talk to the dead. It’s pretty easy to find someone who has evaded justice when the victims can point me in the right direction. Most of the time, I’m just an unassuming rogue cultivator helping one soul at a time. But every now and then, you find multiple victims, you find a pattern, you find the person responsible for so much injustice, and the devil strikes.”

“And so, the Wen and Jin sects?”

Wei Wuxian went still for a moment before he answered. “Kind of. I certainly was pointed in those directions, but then I had to spend some time digging into Jin Guangyao. The plan had always been to strike the Wen sect first, but everything had to be in place to take down the Jin sect before I could start.”

Lan Wangji hummed in thought. “What happened to Jin Zixun?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him in confusion. “Who?”

“The cultivator who challenged you in Golden Carp Tower. He took many Jin cultivators to the Burial Mounds and never came back.”

“Oh, well, sure. The Burial Mounds won’t let anyone go, not after the last time. But I didn’t have anything to do with that; I didn’t accept his challenge, after all.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a moment, thinking about what Wei Wuxian had said and what other questions he had. He was now satisfied that Wei Wuxian had never used the Burial Mounds as a base of operations, but he wondered what the relationship between the two was, for it seemed there was one. But that felt too personal to ask, as was asking how Wei Wuxian came to use resentful energy (he wondered if the two were connected) or how he became immortal. He could ask how Wei Wuxian had orchestrated this whole thing, but he didn’t think it mattered all that much. So, in the end, he only asked, “Where is Qin Su?”

“In Qinghe,” Wei Wuxian answered immediately. “I got her out of Golden Carp Tower in case something went wrong. She’s been reunited with her mother.”

Lan Wangji frowned slightly. “Why Qinghe?”

Wei Wuxian let out a big sigh and let himself fall backward to lie prone on the ground with his hands beneath his head. “Well, that’s where this all started.” Wei Wuxian laughed lightly at the startled look on Lan Wangji’s face. “I’m about to let you in on the cultivation world’s biggest secret, Lan Zhan, so prepare yourself!” After a somewhat long pause (for dramatic effect), Wei Wuxian continued, “Nie Huaisang is an unparalleled spymaster.”

Lan Wangji honestly didn’t know how he should feel about that. He supposed he should feel surprised, but he found he wasn’t. It was something to ponder later.

“Completely surprising, right?” Wei Wuxian said. “I’m not sure how he knew about me or tracked me down – he must have a spy network the width and breadth of the jianghu! But he just showed up at my inn one night and threw down a challenge. I really had no reason to accept, but he looked a little desperate.”

Lan Wangji had known Nie Huaisang most of his life, and there was only one thing he knew of that would make the sect heir desperate.

“It turns out that Wen Ruohan was looking to start his great conflict in the guise of normal border disputes with Qinghe,” Wei Wuxian continued. “Nie Huaisang found out about these plans. And Wen Ruohan having already murdered the previous Nie sect leader, and Nie Mingjue having the same vulnerabilities, Nie Huaisang feared for his brother’s life. So, he challenged me in hopes that if he won, I would grant his wish to protect his brother.”

“And did you take up his challenge?”

“Well, I was bored, and it seemed like a good cause. And, honestly, I didn’t think I’d lose.”

Lan Wangji tilted his head curiously as a thought struck him. “And did you lose?” he asked with slight disbelief.

“And how!” Wei Wuxian cried. “I was completely floored and honor-bound to help him out. So, me and the ladies started looking into the Wen sect, and boy, did they have some plans!” He gazed solemnly at Lan Wangji, who could only stare in horror as he said, “Up near the top was burning the Cloud Recesses to the ground.” He shook his head. “The plans were so minute; I don’t think they could have planned it on their own. Same for Lotus Pier. Not for the Impure Realm, though. That was more poke and prod and see what happens, like pulling a tiger’s tail.”

“And so, more than protecting Nie Mingjue, you took steps to protect us all.” Wei Wuxian shrugged and looked away in embarrassment. “You didn’t mention Golden Carp Tower,” Lan Wangji pointed out after a moment.

“Ah,” Wei Wuxian said as he gazed up at the night sky. “Yes, well, there were plans to destroy Golden Carp Tower, but only after the other three sects had been brought under Wen control.”

“Because the Jin sect was plotting with them,” Lan Wangji said slowly as things started to fit together.

“Inasmuch as trying to not be destroyed themselves. But they were planning to be on the winning side either way; they only presumed the winning side would be Wen Ruohan’s. It was while I was digging into all that that the other things Jin Guangshan and his son had done came up. Jin Guangyao also had plans to kill his brother and father and become Jin sect leader. But he wasn’t expecting me to show up and ruin everything!” Wei Wuxian gave a short, triumphant laugh.

Lan Wangji sat in silence as he thought through all he’d been told. It was a horrifying thought, but it made sense that the Jin sect had truly been ready and in good enough positions to betray them all. Their disciples’ and leader’s avarice was a known fact, as was the sect’s very close ties to Yunmeng Jiang, which only stood to get closer with the pending wedding of the main families’ children. And Gusu Lan had hosted its share of lectures and conferences enough for visitors to gather vital intel. But where the Jin disciples were never welcome was the Impure Realm; the Nie sect had no real ties with any of the other sects save a very few trade agreements and the sect leader’s friendship with Lan Xichen. But hardly anyone was ever allowed entrance into the stronghold, and its secrets were probably secrets still.

“Lan Zhan?”

Lan Wangji snapped out of his thoughts and moved his gaze to Wei Wuxian. “My apologies. I was just thinking.”

“No need to apologize!” Wei Wuxian said with a smile. “It’s a lot to learn!” He let out another big sigh and stretched out his arms and legs. “Ah, it’s so nice here, Lan Zhan. Baoshan-popo’s mountain is so pure it’s almost suffocating, but here – it just feels like life, with the wind and water, the animals and disciples. And even though it’s behind walls, it just feels so free.”

“You don’t feel free on Baoshan-sanren’s mountain?” Lan Wangji asked softly.

“It’s not that I don’t,” Wei Wuxian replied. “It’s just a little lonely. She’s busy with her disciples, and her disciples don’t really interact with me, what with all the resentful energy hanging around me.”

“Then why go back?” Lan Wangji found himself asking. It seemed so impertinent, but it had just slipped out.

Wei Wuxian gazed at him in silence for a moment before averting his eyes. “She’s the only family I have left, and who besides family would really tolerate a demonic cultivator hanging around?” He abruptly sat up but wouldn’t meet Lan Wangji’s eyes. “So, any more questions, Lan Zhan?”

This was it, Lan Wangji thought. Their conversation would come to an end, and Wei Wuxian would leave for a mountain that no one could find and not return for who knew how long. And maybe he could ask to be friends and stay in touch, but he wanted so much more than that. Could he risk letting his feelings be known, though? He didn’t want to burden Wei Wuxian with them, after all.

He suddenly remembered Wei Wuxian telling him that he wished to live his life without regrets, and so, too, did Lan Wangji; and letting Wei Wuxian go tonight without an attempt to impart some small understanding of how much the other man meant to Lan Wangji would be one. So, with all the courage he could muster, Lan Wangji asked his final question. “Would you please accept my challenge?”

Wei Wuxian met Lan Wangji’s eyes in surprise. “What?”

“I challenge you, Wei Ying. Will you accept?”

Wei Wuxian frowned uncertainly. “You mean a spar or something? Without any stakes?”

Lan Wangji’s heart began racing, but he tried to keep still and calm. “A challenge of musical talents. If you win, you may exact any price you see fit. And if I win, you will grant me one wish.”

Wei Wuxian lowered his eyes and murmured, “And then our business will be settled?”

“If you wish it to be settled,” Lan Wangji replied.

Wei Wuxian lifted his gaze again and studied Lan Wangji’s face, searching for some idea of what this meant. But Lan Wangji’s answer made him hope that at least the other man would still want to see him. And so, he accepted the challenge with a small nod.

Lan Wangji returned the nod and stood gracefully. “Please join me in my residence. My guqin is there.”

Wei Wuxian scrambled to stand, and Lan Wangji led him down the path to the Jingshi. Inside, Wei Wuxian looked around in wonder as Lan Wangji made his way to the table holding his guqin and sat down behind it. He watched patiently as Wei Wuxian flitted to every corner and item in the residence, poking at things with Chenqing. Eventually, he made his way over and sat down in front of Lan Wangji’s table to look closely at the instrument.

“It’s beautiful, Lan Zhan. The perfect complement to the beautiful Hanguang-jun! What’s its name?”

“Wangji,” he replied as he placed one hand lightly on the strings.

Wei Wuxian let out bright laughter. “And you thought so little of my naming skills – I saw that look when you read Suibian’s name!” He laughed a little longer before it died down into nervous silence. Wei Wuxian swallowed and then said, “All right, Lan Zhan. The challenger may go first.”

Lan Wangji nodded, and then he played the song of his heart; and as his feelings poured out with every plucked string, he felt a little lighter. The only judge this day was Wei Wuxian, as only Wei Wuxian was ever meant to receive and judge these feelings; and even if he was rejected, Lan Wangji knew that he could at least rest easier knowing he’d tried. And if the price was his soul, well, that was fine; Wei Wuxian could have it, as he already had Lan Wangji’s heart.

When the song came to an end, he lifted his eyes to Wei Wuxian, not having been brave enough to do so while playing, and was surprised to see tears trailing down Wei Wuxian’s face. Concerned, Lan Wangji asked, “Wei Ying, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing!” Wei Wuxian cried as he lifted his sleeves to wipe his face. “Ah, I’m sorry, Lan Zhan! Nothing’s wrong. That was so beautiful! I’ve never heard anything so moving. There’s nothing I could play to equal it!”

Lan Wangji felt this praise was too much; he felt his ears heat in embarrassment. “Thank you,” he could only mumble in response.

Wei Wuxian chuckled slightly. “Who knew this would happen to me twice? Losing a challenge so easily!”

Lan Wangji’s heart began to race again. “Lose?”

“Didn’t I say there’s nothing I could play to match you? Of course, I lose! I concede!” He laughed lightly. “I guess this devil won’t be getting your soul, eh, Lan Zhan?”

“You could always try again,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Wuxian blinked in surprise. “What?”

“If my soul is what you desire, you are free to try for it as many times as you wish.” Lan Wangji wasn’t sure if that was clear, that he wanted Wei Wuxian to come back and keep coming back, but only if it was by choice; if it wasn’t clear, he’d keep speaking until it was.

Wei Wuxian stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes and whispered, “Lan Zhan, what is it that you wish? What wish can this one grant you?”

Lan Wangji swallowed and slowly stood, his legs and hands slightly trembling as he moved to kneel beside Wei Wuxian. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before lightly taking Wei Wuxian’s hand in his, and he said in the same soft whisper, “My wish is that Wei Ying would give this one a chance to court him.”

Wei Wuxian inhaled sharply. “Court? You want to court me?” When Lan Wangji nodded, he asked, “So that song was for me? About your feelings for me?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agreed.

“Oh, Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cried and threw his arms around Lan Wangji’s neck. “You’re too good! I don’t deserve you! I thought-!” He lifted his face from Lan Wangji’s shoulder. “You have to know that I like you so much! Before I even met you!”

“Before?” Lan Wangji repeated in a daze; he was more preoccupied with Wei Wuxian’s arms still around him and how his own had snuck around Wei Wuxian’s waist. He snapped back to the conversation when Wei Wuxian wiggled in his arms, and he looked up to see a blush painting Wei Wuxian’s cheeks.

“Well, okay, this is embarrassing, but Nie Huaisang’s challenge was in painting, and I chose the subject. I said, ‘Let’s paint a paragon of justice and virtue,’ just something ridiculous that struck me in the moment; and when we were done, I had painted some random statue of a god I had seen somewhere, and Nie Huaisang had painted… you.” Wei Wuxian removed his arms from around Lan Wangji and covered his face with his hands.

“I was captivated! I conceded defeat and demanded he tell me about you. The peerless Hanguang-jun! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian wailed. “Do you know how stunned I was to see you in person in Nightless City? I couldn’t believe my luck! But was it good luck or bad luck? I didn’t know! But how could it have been good luck when the beautiful paragon of justice and virtue was about to see me destroy Wen Ruohan? With demonic cultivation!”

Lan Wangji gently grabbed Wei Wuxian’s wrists and pulled his hands away from his face. “I think it was very good luck,” he said.

“No! You can’t look at me and say things like that! And like you said on the way to Lanling! Lan Zhan! Do you know how your words tortured me?”

Lan Wangji gave him a small smile. “I am sorry they did, but I stand by them.” After waiting for Wei Wuxian to stop wailing about his smile, Lan Wangji asked, “So, you are open to a courtship with me?”

“Open to it? Lan-er-gege, I’d skip straight to the bows if it wasn’t too forward!”

Too forward or not, Lan Wangji couldn’t stop himself at such stirring words, and he leaned forward to kiss Wei Wuxian soundly, who, after a delighted gasp, eagerly returned the embrace and practically melted into Lan Wangji’s lap.

And after the fervor of the first embrace died down and more whispers of mutual feelings were exchanged, Lan Wangji simply held Wei Wuxian in his arms and thought about how drastically his solitary life had changed in so short a time, from chasing down rumors of a devil to finding his fated partner.

He mused aloud, “It is funny to think that the accounts of the devil were right about one thing.” When Wei Wuxian looked at him in question, he said, “Winning the challenge has granted me treasures untold.”

“No! Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian cried, wriggling in Lan Wangji’s lap. “Why would you say that? Your words are devastating! How could you be so cruel to your Wei Ying?”

Lan Wangji tightened his grip on his love and hid his smirk in Wei Wuxian’s hair as he answered simply, “The devil made me do it.”

The End