Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Things could be worse," he said. "Definitely worse."

Beside him, Wangji turned to look at him, his expression more open than it had been in the past decade. And then, he smiled—a warm, resolute smile, the kind that said, let’s do this.

What else was there to do? Their once peaceful world lay in ruins, their quiet life stolen by those who refused to accept the new order. But this time, when Wei Wuxian stood at the edge, he was not alone. And if they would not accept this reality—then he would take it down with them.

The array was one of the most complex he had ever devised—designed to restore lost memories, created for his use alone. It was meant to help him reclaim fragments of his past, to remember the parents whose names had been silenced by the harshness of the streets and a childhood spent in a place where speaking of them was forbidden.

But now, with a few adjustments, that same array would do more than recover memories. It would set things right—correct the wrongs inflicted upon him and his, born of greed, ambition, jealousy, and resentment twisted by misplaced hatred.

Wei Wuxian gazed into those beautiful amber eyes. "Lan Zhan, we will wake up when we first formed our golden core. That’s as far back as it can take us."

Lan Wangji took his hands, pulling him into a tight embrace. He whispered, "Do it."

The array blazed to life, shining like the sun, tearing apart the present to carve a path for a new future.

He was cold, wet, and hungry—all familiar sensations, ones he had nearly forgotten in the warmth of his husband's embrace during the happiest fifteen years of his life. Nearly lost, but never truly forgotten.

The scenery around him was desolate and grim—crumbling buildings lining a narrow alley, their walls worn down by time and neglect. Filth, mud, and discarded things littered the ground.

Like me, he thought with bitter irony.

And yet, despite the unfortunate conditions of his new reality, he was happy—because it worked. His consciousness had been sent back in time, into his much younger body.

Too young, actually.

A flicker of confusion crept in. Why wasn’t he in Lotus Pier? If his memory served him right, he had formed his golden core a few months after his eighth birthday. So why was he here instead? In this alley in Yiling, where the stench hit him all at once—rot, filth, and dampness assaulting his senses. After years of sandalwood and fresh air, the contrast was nauseating. His stomach twisted in protest, and when he turned away, he dry-heaved.

There was nothing to vomit.

He took his time to steady himself, to sharpen his senses and regain control. Turning his sight inward, he searched for familiarity within himself—and that’s when he found it.

Something incredible.

Something that should not be there.

A core. Small and fragile, barely more than a spark—yet unmistakable. And the fact that he could sense it at all made it all the more extraordinary.

When he first used his Recollection Array, the memories came in snippets —fleeting images of his parents, vivid and warm.

His mother and father playing with him, singing lullabies, guiding his small hands as he learned to hold chopsticks, patiently teaching him how to dress himself. He saw their laughter, the joy in their eyes as they taught him his first characters, their delight at his quick understanding.

And then, a clear memory—his tiny fingers gripping a brush, carefully writing his name for the first time at just two years old.

His mother’s voice, filled with awe and pride: “A-Ze, our son is a prodigy.”

Now, the memory that surfaced—clear and sharp—was just as incredible. His mother, her movements fluid and elegant, guided him through a meditation technique woven into a dance-like sequence. Each motion was deliberate, a perfect blend of grace and control.

"This will stretch your muscles, enhance the flexibility of your joints, and strengthen your core," she had told him, smiling. "So you can become mighty, just like your A-Niang and Baba."

He could almost feel her hands adjusting his posture, hear the warmth in her voice, see the pride in her eyes as he stumbled but kept going. The memory was so vivid, so alive, that for a fleeting moment, he was that child again—safe, cherished, unstoppable.

He remembered doing those very same moves when he was cold, hungry, and scared on the streets.

With no warmth but his own breath, no shelter but the shadows, he had moved—stretching, flowing, repeating each step just as his mother had taught him. The movements brought heat to his trembling limbs, strength to his weary body, and, most importantly, a spark of hope.

Hope that he would survive. Hope that he would find a way forward. Hope that one day, he would no longer be alone.

When Jiang Fengmian found him, those memories had faded into fleeting glimpses of a past he clung to as best he could. The graceful dance his mother had taught him—the one that once brought him warmth and strength—was replaced by rigid training routines, each movement weighed down by the expectations of excellence.

The fluidity was lost, discipline taking its place. What was once a source of comfort became a duty, a means to prove his worth in a world that demanded more from him than mere survival.

And so, without much thought, he moved.

After all these decades, his limbs recalled the sequence his mother had once taught him. At first, he was clumsy, his steps uncertain. But muscle memory was a remarkable thing, and with each motion, his body remembered. And perhaps the array had retained some of its original properties, because more memories surfaced—unhindered, flowing freely, filling every corner of his mind.

He would sort through them later. For now, he simply let them come.

With a smile, Wei Wuxian danced in that dingy alley, the grime and filth forgotten. He moved with hope in his heart and a future waiting to be rewritten.

Lan Wangji broke a rule. He ran through Cloud Recesses as if fierce corpses were chasing him, his little feet barely making a sound against the quiet, stone-paved paths he knew like the back of his hand. The afternoon air was cool, but he didn’t stop, letting instinct guide him.

He came to a halt in front of a tiny cottage, the one where gentians would bloom in the spring—delicate petals swaying in the breeze, admired by the select few allowed this close to the inner sect grounds. But not by the one person who had loved them the most.

When Lan Wangji first opened his eyes after Wei Ying activated the array, the flood of returning memories was slow but steady. His mind immediately assessing the situation.

He was in his earlier chambers—the ones he had shared with Xichen. And, judging by the setting, it was during a meditation session with his brother and uncle. He and Xichen sat facing Lan Qiren, both deep in meditation, their breathing calm and even.

Though he had unwavering trust in his husband, wonder and amazement still filled him as he took in the sight of a much younger Lan Huan and Lan Qiren. It worked.

His consciousness had truly been sent back into his younger self. There was no doubt about it. And yet, the reality of it still left him in awe.

And in that moment, surrounded by the past made new, he was overcome with love for his brilliant husband.

Memories crowded his mind, vivid and overwhelming. His mother’s voice, her face—clear and sharp, as if he had just seen her yesterday.

But that couldn’t be.

He knew when he had formed his golden core—just a few months before his eighth birthday, during a meditation session with his uncle and brother. That realization explained his current situation.

He turned his focus inward, and there it was—the spark in his dantian, beginning to spin. He felt the flow of Qi rushing through his meridians, gathering and coiling steadily at his core. It spun with growing strength, balanced and stable. A herald of the strong golden core he would soon grow.

He had to be there. He had to verify it with his own eyes.

Even knowing—truly knowing—that his mother was not waiting for him, he couldn’t stop himself. He ignored the startled calls of his uncle, the disciplined order that governed Cloud Recesses forgotten in the face of his desperation. The need to see for himself overpowered logic, drowned out reason.

His breaths came fast and shallow as he stood in the doorway, the silence pressing down on him. The air was still, untouched by the warmth of her presence.

His gaze swept the room, desperate for a trace of her. A lingering scent. A forgotten shawl. Anything to prove that, just maybe, fate had granted him something more than a second chance.

But the cottage was empty.

Just as he remembered.

The clear, gentle voice of his mother overcame his uncle’s distant shouts, wrapping around him like the warmest embrace.

"A-Zhan, my beloved mantou, do not lock away your joy. Smile for me, please."

And he did.

His trembling breath steadied, his emotions settling like ripples fading from a once-disturbed pond. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting her words anchor him, letting her presence—real or not—fill the aching space in his heart.

He would always smile for her.

And for Wei Ying.

"Lan Zhan!" His uncle’s sharp voice rang behind him, "Explain yourself!" Lan Wangji turned, meeting Lan Qiren’s stern gaze. His uncle stood rigid on the porch, disapproval carved into every line of his face. Behind him, Lan Xichen watched with concern, his young features tense with worry. Once, the weight of that frown—the deep-set disappointment in his uncle’s expression—would have filled a younger Lan Wangji with guilt and apprehension. It would have strengthened his resolve to follow the rules even more closely, to prove himself worthy, to be the model disciple he was expected to be. But this Lan Wangji... His mind was already running through reasonable justifications for his actions, searching for the right words to explain why he had abandoned meditation to sprint through Cloud Recesses like a reckless child.

How could he explain that he had been chasing a ghost of the past? That the echo of a voice long lost had pulled him forward with a force stronger than reason?

Lan Wangji straightened, his expression carefully composed, yet within him, emotions still stirred. He glanced at Lan Xichen—his ever-gentle, ever-understanding brother—then back to his uncle, whose sharp eyes demanded an answer.

"I wished to confirm something," he said at last, his voice steady.

A vague yet truthful answer.

And then, without a word, Lan Wangji extended his right arm.

Lan Qiren’s frown deepened in confusion, but he took the offered hand and pressed his fingers to Lan Wangji’s wrist, checking his meridians with practiced precision.

The reaction was immediate. His uncle’s eyes widened, his breath caught in a sharp inhale, and for the first time in as long as Lan Wangji could remember, pure joy shone in his stern gaze. He continued his inspection, his fingers tracing the steady, powerful flow of Qi that now pulsed within Lan Wangji’s meridians, the unmistakable sign of a newly formed golden core.

The previous transgression was forgotten.

Releasing his hand, Lan Qiren straightened, his voice filled with rare pride. “Congratulations, Lan Zhan. You have a strong and stable core.”

Lan Xichen, who had been watching in quiet understanding, broke into a joyful smile. Without hesitation, he stepped to his brother’s side, warmth radiating from him as he gently placed a hand on Lan Wangji’s shoulder.

"Congratulations, Didi."

Lan Wangji kept his expression neutral, his movements precise and composed as he bowed gracefully to his uncle.

"Thank you, Shufu."

His voice was steady, betraying nothing of the storm within.

Even as he accepted the congratulations, his mind was elsewhere—on him.

Wei Ying.

Was he safe? Had the array worked as flawlessly for him as it had for Lan Wangji? He recalled Wei Ying saying that he had formed his golden core around the age of eight, meaning he wouldn’t have returned yet. They had agreed that since Lan Wangji would arrive first, that he would wait for the message confirming Wei Ying’s arrival.

But he wouldn’t simply sit idle.

It was time to put his plan into action.

Chapter Text

Wei Ying stared at his reflection in the pond’s still surface, lips pressing into a thin line.

This… was the best he could do for now.

No amount of scrubbing would fully rid him of the starved look on face. His malnourished frame was painfully obvious, his limbs too thin, his body frail from years of hunger. Whatever remnants of baby fat still lingered on his face only made his features appear unbalanced, his cheeks rounder than the rest of his gaunt frame, eyes to big on his face.

And his hair— what a disaster.

It was a tangled, matted mess, thick with dust and neglect. It would take more than just a few washes and scented oils to restore it to anything remotely manageable.

But his clothes were even worse.

They weren’t too small, which only served to highlight the real issue—he hadn’t grown as he should have. Starvation had stunted him, his body denied the nourishment it needed to thrive. The fabric was threadbare, torn in more places than he could count, and his shoes… or what was left of them, were barely held together with bits of frayed rope.

He let out a breath and shook his head, pushing away the frustration. How had he survived the winter?

It didn’t matter.

He was here. He was alive.

He was no ignorant street urchin.

Not anymore.

Beneath the grime and frailty of his small body, he carried the mind of a thirty-five-year-old man. A man who had lived, learned, fought, and lost. A man who had reshaped the very foundations of cultivation, only to be hunted for it.

And now, he had another chance.

He wasn’t helpless. His knowledge, once gained through hardship and blood, was now his greatest weapon. He had built Mo Xuanyu’s barely-there spark into a formidable golden core—he knew how to cultivate, how to strengthen, how to endure. More than that, he had reached an understanding of the balance between yin and yang, an insight that had allowed him to create the very array that had brought him here.

That same knowledge had once helped him craft talismans and tools beyond anything the cultivation world had ever seen—innovations that had earned him both admiration and fear.

And in the end, that fear had turned to hatred.

They couldn’t control him. They couldn’t bend him to their rules.

So they tried to destroy him again,

Not just him, but those he cherished. Those he loved.

Not this time.

This time, he would wield his knowledge differently. He would be wiser, more careful. The world had cast him aside once before— let them try again.

It took him an entire morning to find a sharp enough tool to "borrow" from the town smith, just so he could carve a dizi from a carefully chosen bamboo stalk. Since it was early spring, wild fruit was scarce, but he still needed food. So, he decided to rely on one of his greatest skills—his mastery of the dizi—to earn some coins.

Years of playing alongside Lan Zhan had honed his abilities, sharpening his technique to near perfection. So, when he blew into the small instrument, he found himself cringing at the dissonance.

“There’s room for improvement,” he muttered sullenly, examining the flute and making a few adjustments before heading into town. Well it will have to do.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the bustling town centre. People moved in a steady stream, bartering at stalls, gathering last-minute goods before retreating to their homes for the night.

Wei Wuxian positioned himself carefully, choosing the busiest spot with practiced ease. He set down a small basket—one he had crafted from the leftover bamboo scraps from his dizi—before taking a steady breath.

Then, he lifted the instrument to his lips and began to play.

He started with familiar tunes, simple and popular songs he had picked up during his travels with Lan Zhan. As the notes filled the air, his mind drifted to those days—of riding side by side, of teasing Lan Zhan until that rare, exasperated sigh escaped him accompanied by that precious smile. Of Wen Ning’s quiet loyalty, of SiZhui’s bright presence, of nights spent hunting fierce creatures and mornings spent in peaceful companionship.

How he loved those days.

How he loved the feeling of freedom, of adventure—of being with his husband and son, building new memories to replace the bitter ones of the past.

He let those emotions flow into his music, pouring warmth and longing into every note. His qi followed instinctively, weaving through the melody, making the sound richer, more profound.

For the second time since waking in this tiny, frail body, Wei Wuxian forgot his hunger, forgot his tattered clothes and aching limbs.

For now, there was only the music.

When he finally lowered the dizi, silence hung in the air for a brief moment before he truly took in the sight before him.

A large crowd had gathered, their gazes still locked onto him, lingering on the final echoes of his music. Some had wonder in their eyes, as if they had just witnessed something magical. Others wore soft, wistful smiles, and a few even had unshed tears glistening at the corners of their eyes.

Wei Wuxian let their reactions settle in, then grinned—his brightest grin—and bowed deeply.

The response was immediate.

Clapping erupted, along with cheerful exclamations—

"Oh, dear boy, that was wonderful!"

"Please, play another song!"

"You are truly talented!"

Wei Wuxian chuckled, shaking his head fondly but relented, lifting his dizi once more. If they enjoyed it that much, who was he to deny them a few more songs?

By the time he finally wrapped up, the evening had settled into a warm glow, and his little woven basket was full—not just with copper coins but even a few small pieces of silver.

He stared at the earnings for a moment, blinking in pleasant surprise.

A very productive evening indeed.

As Wei Wuxian gathered his bounty, an old woman approached him with a warm smile creasing her wrinkled face.

“Here, little one, take this,” she said, handing him a small covered basket. “You look like you really need it.”

Her chuckle was a rusty, gritty sound—rough with age but not unpleasant.

Curious, he lifted the cover and was met with the sight of four plump, steaming meat buns. His stomach clenched painfully at the smell, a reminder of just how hungry he truly was.

Still, he didn’t forget his manners. Smiling brightly at her, he said, “Thank you, Auntie! That is very kind of you.”

He reached for a few coins to give her in return, but she shook her head firmly.

“None of that, boy,” she scolded lightly. “Come back tomorrow and play again, and I’ll give you more.”

Wei Wuxian blinked in surprise before breaking into a grin. “Then I guess I have no choice but to return, Auntie!”

The old woman chuckled again, patting his arm before shuffling away.

Well, he thought, tucking the basket close to his chest. This day just keeps getting better.

On the way to find a quiet place to eat, he spotted a man selling water gourds and decided to buy one. The vendor, having heard him play earlier, offered him a great deal. Grateful for the bargain, he took the gourd to the town’s well, filled it with water, and drank greedily—he hadn’t realized just how thirsty he was. Finally, he settled into a quiet corner and took a bite of his first warm, delicious meat bun. "Mmm… heaven," he murmured, savoring the taste. But he quickly realized he had eaten too fast, his stomach protesting almost immediately.

Wei Wuxian took his time with the second bun, forcing himself to slow down. If he ate too quickly, he’d only make himself sick, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

As he chewed, his gaze wandered over the thinning evening crowd, the once-bustling market settling into the quiet of approaching night. That’s when he saw them.

Not far from where he sat, deeper into the alley, two small figures huddled together, their thin frames barely visible in the dim light. But what caught his attention most was their eyes—wide, hollow, locked onto him. Or rather, onto the food in his hands.

He knew that look. Hunger, sharp and merciless.

Slowly, he stood and walked toward them, careful not to move too quickly and startle them. He settled onto a small log nearby, pulling out the last two buns from his basket. Without a word, he held them out.

The older child, probably around his age, eyed him warily. The smaller one—just a toddler, no more than two or three—clung to his side, barely able to stand on his own. Children that young rarely survived on the streets.

For a moment, they hesitated. But hunger won over fear.

The older one darted forward, snatching the buns with quick hands. He shoved one into the toddler’s grasp before devouring the other so fast Wei Wuxian doubted he had even chewed it.

His younger companion followed suit, eating just as desperately.

Wei Wuxian watched in silence, his chest tightening.

He had been them once.

He was still one of them—cold, hungry, and alone but different.

Kneeling down to their level, he spoke gently, "If you wait here, I’m going to get more. Don’t leave, okay?"

Two quick nods answered him, their wide eyes still filled with cautious hope.

Satisfied, he turned and jogged out of the alley, scanning the street for the kind old woman with the meat bun cart. She hadn’t gone far.

"Antie!" he called as he reached her, slowing to a stop. "Do you have more? I’ll buy them—they’re really good." He pulled out a few coins and held them out to her with both hands.

She gave him a knowing smile, taking only two coins before placing four more buns into his basket.

Wei Wuxian frowned at the exchange. "Are you sure that’s enough?"

"Don’t trouble yourself over it, boy. Just enjoy them," she chuckled, waving him off.

He bowed deeply, gratitude shining in his expression. "Thank you, Antie, really—"

"Stop bowing, you’re making me dizzy!" she scolded playfully, shooing him away with a laugh.

Grinning, Wei Wuxian turned and hurried back to the alley.

The two children hadn’t moved.

Wordlessly, he handed them each another bun, watching as they disappeared just as quickly as the first.

"Better?" he asked.

They both nodded at the same time.

"Here," he said, holding out his gourd, "drink some water."

"I’m Wei Ying. What’s your name?" he asked after they each took careful sips from the gourd.

The older boy hesitated, glancing at the younger one before replying. "I’m A-Yun," he said cautiously, his voice hoarse as if he wasn’t used to speaking much. "And this is A-Bao."

He offered them a reassuring smile before asking, "Do you two have anywhere to go?"

A-Yun’s small frame tensed immediately. He lowered his gaze and shook his head.

Wei Wuxian hummed thoughtfully, glancing up at the sky. The last streaks of daylight were fading, and the night’s chill was settling in. No home, no family, and a younger one to care for—it wasn’t a situation to be left alone.

“Well,” he said casually, stretching his arms over his head, “it’s getting cold, and I don’t feel like sleeping alone. How about we stick together for now?”

A-Yun hesitated. Wei Wuxian could see the conflict in his expression—caution battling against the need for survival. But A-Bao was already gravitating toward him, curiosity and the comfort of a friendly face easily winning over the small child’s reservations.

That settled it.

A-Yun let out a quiet sigh, then gave a small nod.

Wei Wuxian grinned, ruffling his messy hair. “Alright then, let’s go find a good place to sleep.”

Looks like I have company now.

The nook between two buildings, where he had slept the night before, proved just big enough for the three of them. Wei Wuxian rearranged the straw he had gathered from one of the inn’s stables, where he had managed to sneak in the previous night. He settled the youngest in the far corner, letting A-Yun take the space between him and A-Bao.

The barely there overhang would shield them if it rained, and despite being a filthy, run-down alley nook, it felt surprisingly cosy with the three of them huddled together.

Chapter Text

Sleep eluded him that night. The two small bodies unconsciously sought warmth in their sleep, pressing close until he could feel their bony frames against his own. Not that he was in much better shape—but knowing this did nothing to ease the tightness in his chest.

He had pushed aside the newly awakened memories throughout the day, too occupied to face them. The night before, exhaustion had won out. But now, in the quiet stillness, they refused to be ignored.

His mind was a restless kaleidoscope of images and emotions, shifting and twisting as they tried to settle into some semblance of order. Not an easy task for someone whose thoughts rarely quieted, even in his most peaceful moments.

But he needed to acknowledge them—to face the bitter picture they painted and the uncomfortable truths they revealed upon closer inspection.

He had actually formed a golden core before ever arriving at Lotus Pier. It might not have held enough to stabilize itself, lacking proper understanding due to his inexperience at the time, but the meridians had been fully formed, overflowing with uncentered qi.

That strength, that foundation—it had been the work of himself and his parents. No one else’s

Reviewing all of this through the lens of his life experiences, he came to a stark realization—his so-called debt had been greatly exaggerated.

Had the Jiangs given him a chance at a higher education? Yes. Had they provided him with shelter, food, and clothing? Yes. Had they offered him the opportunity to step into the cultivation world? Yes.

And yet, despite all of that, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had been cheated—considering everything he had given back in return.

And Jiang Fengmian must have known about his cultivation status when he was first brought to Lotus Pier—especially after the healers’ careful examination.

Then why had no one told him? Why had he never been made aware of it?

Instead, he had been constantly reminded—especially by Madam Yu—that he owed them everything. That everything he was, everything he had achieved, was because of them.

But was that really the truth? Or just the version they wanted him to believe?

The years spent at Lan Zhan’s side had led him to many uncomfortable realizations—truths that, upon closer inspection of his past, had shaken his once-unwavering loyalty to the Jiangs.

Some of these epiphanies came from his own reflections, but others were born from interactions with his son. One day, while discussing his time  in Lotus Pier, Wen Qing’s ghostly voice seemed to echo through Lan Zhan’s words when he asked, “Would you have liked Sizhui to have the same upbringing as you did?”

The answer had been immediate. A resounding no .

He would never wish his childhood upon his little radish.

And yet, at the time, he couldn’t bring himself to dwell too much on those emotions. He had always swept the doubts aside with his usual reasoning— What’s the use of thinking about it now? What’s done is done.

But it wasn’t done now.

He had quite literally given himself a new chance. And with it, different choices had to be made.

And one of those choices was to never join the Yunmeng Jiang clan again—to avoid being taken in by Jiang Fengmian, freeing himself from any further debts and sparing them from his so-called disruptive presence.

Maybe this time, Jiang Cheng would grow up less bitter, without the constant comparisons weighing him down. Maybe he would be more confident in his own worth. Jiang Yanli wouldn’t have to play the role of peacemaker, endlessly bridging the gap between them.

Though, he would miss her cooking. Her kindness and open affection toward a malnourished, affection-starved child were what had truly cemented his loyalty to the Jiang clan.

And then there were all the memories he had regained—precious moments with his parents, filled with pure joy and playful banter. He had witnessed their quiet conversations over evening meals, the animated retellings of their night hunts, and their discussions on how to improve next time.

And yet, not once had they mentioned Jiang Fengmian or Lotus Pier.

How had his father parted ways with them that they weren’t even worth talking about?

He had more memories now—memories of his mother recounting her adventures on the Celestial Mountain. She spoke of the immortal’s endless patience with her antics, of the mischief she had stirred up alongside other disciples, effortlessly roping them into her schemes.

But his father never spoke of his supposedly closest friend.

Hadn't he been Jiang Fengmian’s right-hand man? Hadn’t they grown up together?

Then why the silence?

So many questions, so many puzzles—no wonder he couldn’t sleep. His mind was feasting on them, turning each thought over like a banquet laid out before him.

He missed how Lan Zhan used to sing him to sleep like a baby whenever his thoughts spiralled out of control.

Closing his eyes, he began to hum their song, letting the warmth of those memories wash over him like a soothing meditation. The love, the safety, the quiet happiness—he let it all settle his restless mind.

And finally, sleep came.

He was jolted awake from a fitful sleep by someone tugging insistently at his robes.

"Gege! Gege! Wake up!"

Wei Wuxian’s eyes snapped open, instinctively scanning the alley for any threats. His heart pounded for a moment before he focused on the two children beside him. Both were watching him with apprehensive expressions, their wide eyes filled with concern as he slowly came to his senses.

"What is it?" he asked, scanning his surroundings once more.

"You were crying in your sleep," A-Yun said quietly, still watching him warily.

Wei Wuxian blinked, raising a hand to his face. His fingers came away damp.

Ah. That made sense.

At least he wasn’t screaming—that was a win, considering everything that had unfolded in the past few days. Nightmares weren’t new to him, though they had become rare over the years. Lan Zhan’s presence had worked miracles.

A-Bao cuddled closer to him, a tiny attempt to offer comfort.

Ah! So sweet! Wei Wuxian thought, his heart melting.

"Gege not sad, A-Bao here," the little one declared with utmost sincerity.

Unable to withstand the sheer sweetness any longer, Wei Wuxian scooped him up into a tight embrace. A-Bao chuckled, squirming slightly, but not enough to truly want to escape.

"Why would I be sad when I have such sweet hugs at my disposal?" Wei Wuxian teased, reaching out to pull A-Yun into the hug as well.

"Ahhh, cuddles like this are the best remedy for cold, damp mornings," he sighed dramatically, grinning as a small, reluctant smile finally bloomed on A-Yun’s serious face.

And it was a cold and damp morning, the sky heavy with overcast grey.

Well, at least he wasn’t alone in this cold, damp alley.

He had two small bodies pressed close, sharing their warmth with him.

It was the rumbling of three hungry bellies that finally broke the light-hearted moment.

"Well, I guess we should go find some food," Wei Wuxian said brightly, patting his stomach.

A warm meal would definitely be heaps better than sitting around in a cold alley with empty stomachs.

Taking the two leftover meat buns from yesterday, Wei Wuxian handed one to each child before rising with purpose.

"They're not warm, but they'll do for now," he said, stretching to shake the stiffness from his body.

He’d have to go through his meditation and movement routine later—he couldn’t afford to be lazy when it came to his cultivation.

"Why aren’t you eating?" Wei Wuxian asked when the two just stared at him instead of eating.

"What about you, gege?" A-Yun asked, so serious that for a moment, he reminded Wei Wuxian of Lan Zhan softly scolding him for not taking better care of himself.

"Ah, not to worry! This gege still has a few coins to buy more later. Come on, eat up—I’m older and stronger!" he said cheerfully.

A deep frown appeared on A-Yun’s face, as if he were trying to solve the world’s biggest riddle. Then, in an utterly matter-of-fact tone, he asked, "How old are you?"

Wei Wuxian chuckled to himself, thinking, If only you knew.

But he couldn’t exactly say 35, could he? Who would believe him?

So instead, he grinned widely and declared, "I’ll be eight at the end of autumn. You?"

A-Yun nodded sagely, apparently coming to a satisfactory conclusion, and said, "I will be seven in the summer, and A-Bao will be four next winter."

Then, as if their conversation had settled something important, he gave a small nod to A-Bao—who had already started eating his bun—and began eating his own.

The morning bustle had already begun by the time the three of them emerged from the alley.

Wei Wuxian wasted no time hunting down the old auntie’s meat bun cart and bought six buns, once again managing to get a good deal from her. After that, he purchased a small bottle of cheap chili oil and some salt, already planning to catch some fish later and cook them over an open fire.

By noon, he had secured a spot playing his dizi outside one of the restaurants, earning them three big, steaming bowls of dumpling soup and a few coins from delighted patrons.

A warm meal, just as I promised, he thought with satisfaction.

While going through his movement and meditation routine, Wei Wuxian considered his next move. If he truly wanted to avoid returning to the Jiangs, it might be wise to leave Yiling sooner rather than later.

He hadn't seen any purple-clad cultivators yet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t coming. And the best way to avoid them was simply not to be here.

But where should he go?

A nearby village might not be wise either—too close, too easy to be found. Going further would require more planning and, most importantly, more funds.

He exhaled slowly, pushing the thoughts aside. Meditation was supposed to be about qi flow, not travel plans.

Focusing inward, he allowed his qi to flow freely through his meridians, guiding it slowly and purposefully until it gathered and spun steadily in his dantian.

He loved this method of meditation. It came much easier than simply sitting still and, for him, was far more effective. With each controlled movement, he could feel his qi becoming more stable, his body growing stronger.

A memory surfaced—his mother, gracefully going through the same motions, her voice laced with amusement as she said, "Did you know that my master created this technique just for me? Because I could never sit still long enough for traditional meditation methods to actually do any good?"

Wei Wuxian chuckled to himself. Like mother, like son.

The Recollection Array was one of his best inventions—it just kept giving.

Memories that had once been lost or buried deep now surfaced with vivid clarity, allowing him to see his past from a perspective he had never truly considered before. It was both a gift and a burden, but one he was willing to bear.

After all, knowing the truth, no matter how uncomfortable, was always better than living in ignorance.

Chapter Text

           Lan Zhan methodically sifted through his mental to-do list, his expression serene as his uncle's voice droned on—a slow, ponderous lecture on the virtues of strict adherence to the rules, the sole path to a righteous life, and so forth. It had been three weeks since his return, during which he had carefully observed his surroundings, assessing his position and the extent of the elders’ influence within the sect. It was remarkably easy to eavesdrop when the adults in question never considered that a mere seven-year-old could grasp the true weight of their words. 

         Today, he had resolved to undertake the first and most crucial task on his list. With no classes scheduled for the afternoon, the hours until dinner were entirely his to command. Ordinarily, he would have spent this time in the library, immersed in self-study. However, this Lan Zhan had long since exhausted the knowledge contained within those shelves—and even that of books yet to be placed there. His understanding was far broader and deeper than even his uncle’s, enriched by years of travel alongside his husband, not to mention the wealth of wisdom he had absorbed simply by standing at his side, from his husband. 

         Wei Ying had been right—his uncle was unbearably dull. How had he never noticed before? Had his devotion to the rules been so deeply ingrained in him that it took years away from these lectures to recognize just how little his uncle truly engaged his students, especially on the most tedious subjects?

         If Wei Ying was given the same topic to teach, he would not only capture everyone's full attention but also ensure they gained a deeper understanding. He had a way of making knowledge come alive, always finding a practical application, a reason why something mattered. He never simply recited rules—he questioned them, dissected them, made sense of them. Some, he would concede, held value, but most? In his own words, they were "just ugly decorations on that mountainside cliff."

Lan Zhan preferred a more methodical, direct approach to learning—memorization through repetition, followed by understanding through discipline. Wei Ying, on the other hand, always insisted that understanding should come first, that memorization would follow naturally, especially if the subject was made engaging.

       And he had proven his method time and time again, not only earning the admiration and respect of every junior fortunate enough to learn from him but even impressing some of the senior disciples as well. His way of teaching was effortless yet captivating, turning even the most reluctant students into eager learners.

  And that, had been one of the reasons for his downfall—once again. His growing popularity among the younger generation had not gone unnoticed, nor had it been welcomed by those who clung rigidly to tradition. The juniors admired him, sought his guidance, and flourished under his teaching, but their enthusiasm only deepened the resentment of those who viewed his unconventional ways as a threat.

After the events at Guanyin Temple and the revelations that followed—the web of lies spun by the Jins, the greed that tainted the entire cultivation world, and their passive indifference in the face of injustice—one might have expected reflection, remorse, or at the very least, acknowledgment of their wrongdoings.

But no such reckoning came. Instead of guilt, there was resentment. Instead of accountability, there was bitterness. They despised being unmasked, hated being forced to confront the truth of what they truly were: hypocrites.

During the first two years after their reunion, he and Wei Ying spent most of their time traveling and night-hunting. Their stays at Cloud Recesses were brief, only occurring when his presence was absolutely necessary—either due to his uncle’s absence or Xichen’s self-imposed seclusion.

Otherwise, they remained on the road, moving from place to place, their days filled with the quiet thrill of the hunt and the unspoken understanding that neither of them was quite ready to be bound to one place just yet.

But the situation had taken a toll on his uncle, and so their life on the road had to come to an end. Settling down in Cloud Recesses would not have been a problem—if not for the absurd new rules inscribed upon the cliff, all aimed at restricting Wei Wuxian.

The juniors faced unjust punishments simply for associating with him, and the elders made no effort to hide their disdain. They refused to acknowledge Lan Zhan’s marriage to Wei Ying, dismissing it as an aberration, while ceaselessly complaining that he was corrupting the sect’s youth. And through it all, Wei Ying bore the disrespect with a smile, though Lan Zhan knew better—knew how much sharper words could cut than any blade.

Fed up with the situation, Lan Zhan went to see his brother in seclusion. In no uncertain terms, he told him that if he did not come out and take immediate action, he would leave the sect and never return, abandoning Lan An's legacy to the hands of corrupt, power-hungry elders.

He did not soften his words, nor did he allow Xichen the refuge of silence. "You are making the same mistake again," he said, his voice steady but unwavering. "Hiding away because you cannot face your own misjudgements will not undo them. You failed to act then—will you fail again now?"

The meeting had the desired effect. Lan Xichen left seclusion and swiftly initiated a series of reforms that cornered the elders, drastically curtailing their influence.

The first to go were the absurd restrictions placed on Wei Wuxian—every rule targeting him was eliminated without debate. Then, Xichen turned his attention to the sect’s rigid doctrine, tasking the elders with a complete overhaul of the rules. They were to draft a new, comprehensive, and non-contradictory code within a set period. If they failed, Lan Xichen would revert the sect’s laws to the original 250 rules laid down by Lan An, the very foundation of their clan.

There was little room for protest. To argue against this decree would be to openly disrespect the sect’s founder and the legacy they claimed to uphold. Bound by their own reverence for tradition, the elders had no choice but to comply.

And they failed—laughably so. The so-called "reformed" version of the rules was nothing more than the old one dressed in different wording, with a few minor behavioural restrictions removed to give the illusion of change. The elders had been certain that Lan Xichen would never follow through with his threat. They had groomed him too well, after all—moulded him into the perfect, obedient puppet who would bow to their will.

How wrong they were.

Not only did Lan Xichen dismantle their feeble attempt at reform, but he immediately ordered the removal of every rule that had been added over the centuries, restoring the sect’s doctrine to its original 250 laws. The cliff, once crowded with rigid decrees, now stood nearly bare, stripped of the excesses that had weighed it down for generations.

"I guess seclusion did grow your brother a backbone," Wei Ying mused, grinning as he took in the sight of the now-empty rock face. And every time he passed by it, he would let out a delighted giggle, pausing to admire the vast emptiness where once the sect’s hypocrisy had been carved in stone.

Lan Zhan recognized that this had been the final straw—the drop that made the glass overflow. With their power stripped and their influence reduced to nothing, the elders had little left but their growing resentment. And resentment, when left to fester, inevitably sought an outlet.

Powerless and humiliated, they turned to scheming, reaching beyond Cloud Recesses to gather other malcontents from other sects whose authority had also been diminished, whose bitterness toward the Yiling Patriarch had never faded. Because, in the end, it was always about power. It was never about righteousness, never about justice. Just control—who held it and who dared to take it away.

But this time, they could not confront him directly. They could no longer rally the masses against him as they once had. The revelations at Guanyin Temple had changed everything, and over the years, Wei Wuxian’s favour among the people had only grown—especially among the younger generation.

His ever-advancing cultivation and the ground-breaking innovations he had introduced to the cultivation world had reshaped his image entirely. No longer was he seen as a reckless reprobate, a scoundrel to be cast aside. Instead, he was regarded as a scholar, a visionary—one of the brightest minds the cultivation world had ever known. His influence had become undeniable, and that, more than anything, was what the bitter remnants of the old order feared the most.

So they stayed quiet and plotted, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

They could no longer openly challenge him without exposing their own pettiness and irrelevance. But patience had always been the weapon of the powerless. They bided their time, watching, waiting—for a single moment of vulnerability, a single misstep. Because if there was one thing they had learned, it was that power was never absolute. And sooner or later, even the brightest light could be dimmed.

And their wish was granted when Lan Zhan and Wei Ying were lured into the perfect trap.

During their last night hunt near the former Qishan western border, they caught wind of troubling rumours—whispers of a beast terrorizing travellers, leaving behind nothing but blood and shattered remains. The descriptions were chillingly familiar, evoking memories of the legendary Xuanwu of Slaughter. A creature of such ferocity and resilience that even seasoned cultivators would hesitate to face it.

Neither of them could ignore such a threat. If a beast of that calibre truly roamed free, it had to be dealt with before more lives were lost.

And so, without hesitation, they set off—only to realize too late that they had walked straight into a carefully laid snare.

The rumours led them deep underground, into a vast, dimly lit chamber where the air was thick with the scent of decay and something far darker. The moment they stepped inside, the trap was sprung—an imprisonment array ignited around them, ancient and intricate, designed not to kill, but to contain.

This was no ordinary array. It was one of the forbidden ones, the kind used in the darkest corners of cultivation history to imprison those whose cores could not be sealed, whose power could not be easily extinguished. And the price for such a cage? Human sacrifice.

The truth hit them like a blade—this wasn’t just a trap. Every missing traveller, every soul whispered about in rumours, had been taken not by a beast, but by those who had orchestrated this moment. They had been slaughtered, their souls burned as fuel for this array.

By the time Lan Zhan and Wei Ying understood the full extent of what had been done, it was already too late.

For weeks, Wei Wuxian tried relentlessly to free them, exhausting every method he could think of to breach the array without collapsing the mountain on their heads. But no matter what he did, the outcome remained the same—their prison held firm. The array could only be broken from the outside.

Tired, hungry, and fraying at the edges, Wei Wuxian finally snapped.

What followed was the angriest rant Lan Zhan had ever heard from him. His voice, usually teasing or light even in the worst of times, now shook with frustration and unrestrained fury.

"We finally found it, Lan Zhan. We finally had our peace."

His fists clenched at his sides, his breath uneven as he paced the confined space, glaring at the unyielding runes glowing faintly in the dim chamber. "After everything—after the war, after the hatred, after all the shit we went through—we had it. A home, a life, freedom. And now? Now we’re back here again. Caged like beasts, waiting for the next great injustice to swallow us whole."

His laughter was sharp, bitter, laced with exhaustion. "It’s like the heavens just won’t let me be, huh? Maybe they think I got off too easy the first time."

"You know what will happen after this, right?" Wei Wuxian’s voice was quieter now, but no less fierce. He turned to face Lan Zhan, eyes dark with anger and something far more dangerous—resolve. "They’ll say the beast ‘overcame’ us. We died  like heroes, upholding the oath that every so-called righteous cultivator swears to—protecting the innocent. And behind their pompous words, they’ll snicker, already planning how to undo everything we fought for."

His breath came fast and unsteady, his fury rising with every word. "Xichen will hold firm, but for how long? How long before they get rid of him too, just like they did us? How long before Sizhui is forced under a leash—or a sword—his life measured by how obedient he is? And what about Jin Ling? Rest assured, they’ve roped in some of Jin Guangshan’s most devoted admirers, furious over the changes his successor has made. Do you think Jiang Cheng alone will be enough to protect him?" His voice was laced with bitter certainty. "They couldn’t handle the new order, so they set out to destroy it again—starting with me."

He took a step closer, his fists trembling. "But no more, Lan Zhan. I will not go down quietly. I will not let them trample all over me again. If they refuse to accept the new reality, then they will go down with it. I will show them what I am capable of."

He turned away, pacing as he tried to steady his breathing. And then, suddenly, he stopped. His entire body went unnervingly still, his gaze locked onto the ground with an eerie, razor-sharp focus.

Then, ever so slowly, a terrifying grin spread across his face.

"Let’s bring their plan down along with their entire reality.

Once he regained his focus, his mind became unstoppable.

"We can’t get out of here," Wei Wuxian murmured, his eyes gleaming with a sharp, almost manic intensity. "But what if… we forget about now and focus on when?"

He began pacing again, his thoughts racing, weaving through theories and possibilities at a speed even Lan Zhan could barely follow. "The Recollection Memory Array can retrieve long-lost memories, pulling them from the depths of the mind… so why shouldn’t it be able to send them back to a specific time?"

Then, he froze. The room was silent for only a breath before he turned, eyes wide, breathless with revelation.

It was the Eureka moment he had been searching for.

The moment when Wei Wuxian, against all odds, once again achieved the impossible.

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan was startled back to the present by the sound of a throat clearing.

He turned toward the source and found his uncle staring at him with a deep frown. Had he asked him something? Was he waiting for an answer?

A quick glance around the room told him everything he needed to know—the classroom was empty. He was the only one left.

How long had he been lost in the memory? Apparently, long enough to miss the entire lecture.

"Mhm," he thought, already resigned to his fate. He would undoubtedly be assigned lines. No matter—today’s plans would not be deterred.

"Class was dismissed a few minutes ago, Lan Zhan," his uncle said, voice calm but firm. "You have not been paying attention. Is there something on your mind?"

"I am familiar with the topic," Lan Zhan remarked evenly, his tone composed and unwavering. "Lan Zhan apologizes if his inattention has disrespected the elder."

Lan Qiren sighed, rubbing his temple before nodding in acknowledgment. "You are free to go. You will be assigned lines later." He turned away, already reaching for a scroll on his low desk, dismissing the matter with his usual efficiency.

Lan Zhan wasted no time. With a swift bow, he turned on his heel and left, moving quickly through the quiet paths  of  Cloud Recesses. His destination was clear—the innermost sect grounds, a place no one dared to tread without purpose.

The building was simple and small, nestled within the secluded inner sect grounds. A faint glow of warning wards shimmered around it, meant not to keep intruders out but to alert the resident within of any approaching presence. After all, this was a self-made prison—one locked from the inside.

Lan Zhan ascended the steps slowly, his movements measured. Without hesitation, he knocked on the door. The wards had already done their work; the person inside knew he was here.

Silence.

Undeterred, he knocked again, firmer this time. He was not leaving anytime soon. The person within could ignore him all they wanted, but they could not out stubborn him.

That was his secret power.

At the fifth knock, the door swung open—a little too forcefully. The man inside was clearly annoyed by the persistence, his expression set in a deep frown.

But the moment his eyes landed on Lan Zhan, he froze. Annoyance flickered into surprise, his grip on the door tightening.

Lan Zhan bowed, his voice steady. "Fuqin."

Then he straightened and waited.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken. They stood there, staring at each other, neither willing to break the silence. 

Waiting.

"Lan Zhan?!" the man said, his voice rough, as if unused for too long. His surprise was evident, lingering in his furrowed brows and the way his posture stiffened. "What are you doing here?"

Lan Zhan did not answer immediately. He simply met his father’s gaze, steady as a mountain.

"I wish to speak with you."

The words were simple, direct—yet they carried a weight that could not be ignored.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, allowing the flow of spiritual energy to settle in his dantian. His muscles relaxed as he came to a graceful stop. His core was beginning to stabilize—though it still flickered and trembled, it was a natural part of the process. He would give it a week top before it became strong and stable, the base of the future strong core he will cultivate.

The formation of a golden core remained a mystery to cultivators. While various methods existed, with meditation being the most common, the reason qi gathered into cores  was still not fully understood. Every living being—humans, animals, even plants—possessed qi, the vital force that sustained life, allowing it to thrive even in the harshest conditions.

Some cultivators managed to form meridians and circulate qi but never succeeded in gathering it within their dantian. For centuries, this was considered the norm—until someone formed a golden core, forever shifting the goal of cultivation. Few ancient texts from that era survived, and those that did were hidden within the great sects' libraries.

Wei Wuxian had discovered one such text, a very old bamboo scroll, in  Cloud Recesses. It contained a series of fascinating theories on qi movement, a subject that piqued his interest since he was tying to grow a flickering core at an age  considered to be impossible. 

Those cultivators were now seen as weak and failures, but Wei Wuxian discovered that they could still achieve considerable strength without a golden core—provided they could absorb qi and circulate it properly through their meridians. Though they would never be as powerful as someone with a golden core, since they essentially acted as reservoirs of qi for later use, they were far from powerless.

Sword cultivation only emerged after the formation of golden cores, as it demanded far more energy than earlier methods. In the beginning, talismans were the standard practice, and sword cultivation was even considered heretical—an unorthodox approach that defied tradition.

He had always been fascinated by the history of cultivation, eagerly devouring every scrap of information he could find on the subject.

He let his mind settle and allowed himself to bask in the warmth of the early afternoon sun. It had been a good day; though the morning had started overcast and cold, it had turned out to be surprisingly pleasant.

When he opened his eyes, the two children in front of him were seating on a log with matching expressions of wonder and curiosity on they face. 

After their warm meal, Wei Wuxian had decided to find a quiet place to go through his routine. They had made their way down to the river flowing south of Yiling, just as the sun finally emerged, gracing them with its golden light.

“What?” Wei Wuxian asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Gege dance prettily,” A-Bao murmured, voice soft, as if afraid to disturb the moment. Beside him, A-Yun nodded in agreement.

Wei Wuxian chuckled at their innocence. Heavens, they were so cute!

“Well, my A-Niang taught me this dance, and if you’d like, I can teach it to you too,” he offered, settling on the ground in front of them.

A-Bao nodded enthusiastically “A-Bao wants to dance prettily!” declaring with a bright smile.

A-Yun, his expression serious, looked up at the sky with mock exasperation. “Only girls dance prettily.”

“I am a girl,” A-Bao said defensively.

“Exactly,” A-Yun retorted. “You always like to dance, but people mustn’t know you’re a girl. Remember what Auntie Su said?”

"You're a girl?" Wei Wuxian asked, looking at A-Bao with surprise.

The young child froze, her wide, fearful eyes looking  at him as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

A-Yun immediately stepped in, his voice gentle but firm. "It’s okay, A-Bao. Gege is kind—he’s our friend. Only old strangers must not know." He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer in a protective gesture.

Oh, Wei Wuxian thought. He hadn’t been able to tell under all the grime and ragged clothes. But it made sense—girls usually fared even worse on the streets. They were often sold to brothels or met even darker fates.

"It’s our little secret," he said reassuringly, offering A-Bao a small smile. A-Yun nodded in agreement, pulling his little companion closer.

After a moment, Wei Wuxian asked, "Where is Auntie Su?"

A-Yun lowered his gaze, his voice turning quiet. "We don’t know. She took care of me and A-Bao when we lived at the big house, but then… there was a fire. The jiejies were screaming and running. A-Bao was really scared. We were sleeping with Auntie Su when she woke us up and told us to run."

His hands clenched slightly as he continued, "We stayed with an old man for a while, but he wasn’t a good man. He called me and A-Bao bastards and parasites." His voice took on an angry edge. "He was always yelling at Auntie Su, calling her ugly names. One night, she woke us up and said we had to leave because the old man was going to send me and A-Bao away. She said it was a very bad place, so we had to run."

A heavy silence settled between them before Wei Wuxian gently prompted, "And then what happened?"

"We traveled for a while, but Auntie Su got really sick, so we stopped here. We slept in the back of the inn near the tea house while Auntie Su worked. I helped all the time—I clean very well!" he added, his tone briefly brightening before fading again.

"But then… she wouldn’t wake up," A-Yun’s voice wobbled, and he sniffled, trying to hold back his tears. "A-Bao was so scared." He took a shaky breath before continuing. "The mean woman at the inn threw us out. She said she didn’t need useless rats under her roof." His voice grew quieter, thick with grief. "A-Bao was so scared," he repeated, silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I think she’s dead," A-Yun finally whispered. His voice was so quiet it was almost swallowed by the breeze.

"There was so much snow outside that night… we didn’t know where to go," he continued, his small hands gripping his ragged sleeves. "That night, we sneaked into the inn’s kitchen to find some food, but they caught me. They beat me really hard… but A-Bao was so hungry." His voice trembled, ending in a shaky sigh. "We’ve been alone ever since."

Wei Wuxian exhaled slowly, his chest tight with emotions he didn't want to name. Without a word, he rose and gathered the two children into a tight embrace.

"Well, Gege is here now," he said, making his voice as bright and reassuring as possible. "You’re not alone anymore."

But deep inside, he felt anger and resentment at the cruel world and why were  always the vulnerable who suffered the most.

"Hey, how about I teach you how to fish?" Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, eager to lighten the heavy mood.

A-Bao's face lit up with excitement, nodding eagerly, while A-Yun, still sniffling, simply shrugged in agreement.

It turned out to be a happy afternoon after all—full of laughter and joy. Wei Wuxian took advantage of the warm weather to scrub off a bit more of the grime, helping his didi and meimei—because that’s what they were now, his siblings—clean up as well.

By the time the sun began to set, they had caught seven decent-sized fish. They roasted three over a small fire for their meal, while Wei Wuxian managed to trade the remaining four for a few cheap pieces of talisman paper.

Tonight, he would send Lan Zhan a message. It had been three days since he returned, and he had promised to let him know as soon as possible.

He missed Lan Zhan.

As the evening bustle slowly faded, he let the final notes of his performance drift into silence. A-Bao and A-Yun sat beside him the whole time, watching intently as he played. With a deep bow, he thanked the crowd for their generosity, the small basket at his feet now holding a decent collection of coins.

As people began to disperse, he settled down next to his siblings, tucking away their earnings with a satisfied smirk. Not bad at all, he mused.

His makeshift pouch, fashioned from a scrap of his tattered clothes, held a decent amount of coins and even some silver—but not enough if he planned to leave Yiling anytime soon.

He reached inside the small basket that the old auntie gave him yesterday and he pulled out two meat buns and handed them to A-Bao and A-Yun before taking one for himself. They were cold by now, but still delicious. Since they had already eaten fish earlier that evening, he decided to save the remaining buns for breakfast tomorrow.

Tonight, at least, they would sleep with full bellies.

"I want to learn to play like you, Gege," A-Yun said after finishing his bun, his expression serious. "I want to help earn more money."

"Me too!" A-Bao exclaimed joyfully, her eyes shining with excitement.

Wei Wuxian nodded. "Of course, I'll teach you. I’ll make small instruments for both of you, and then we’ll play together," he said with a smile.

"You made the flute?" A-Yun asked in wonder.

"Yes," Wei Wuxian replied, twirling the instrument between his fingers. "It’s not the best I’ve ever made, but it’ll do for now."

Wei Wuxian chuckled at their childish wonder, reminded of how easily impressionable children were—especially those who had known so little joy in their lives.

To outsiders, they must have looked like nothing more than three lost children, huddled together on a street corner. But to A-Bao and A-Yun, he was the closest thing to a parent they had now.

Even if they didn’t know he was an old soul in a child’s body, they somehow sensed his experience, instinctively regarding him as a senior, someone to trust and rely on. Children were often far more perceptive than adults gave them credit for.

Wei Wuxian was truly happy for their company, and to top it off, he found their cuteness and innocence utterly endearing.

"Alright then, let’s head back to our alley," Wei Wuxian said, seeing the now almost empty market. "It’s getting cold."

Both children nodded and stood up, following him toward the narrow alley where their ‘cosy’ little nook awaited them.

After the little ones finally fell asleep, huddled together on their makeshift bed of straw, Wei Wuxian quietly took out a talisman paper.

It’s time to tell Lan Zhan I’m back, he thought, a soft smile tugging at his lips—one filled with longing.

Wei Wuxian nicked his finger with the  small blade, watching as a bead of blood welled up before pressing it to the talisman paper. He hadn’t bought cinnabar—it was too expensive, and the cheap kind was hardly worth using. Blood, on the other hand, worked far better in situations like this.

Now that he thought about it, blood was always better than cinnabar, even the highest quality kind. Cultivators preferred cinnabar for its convenience, but the more uptight, self-righteous ones shunned blood use entirely, deeming it improper. After all, blood was commonly associated with dark magic, and heaven forbid they be accused of such a horrid thing.

Wei Wuxian scoffed at the hypocrisy. Nothing new on that front. Not that they wouldn’t resort to forbidden techniques themselves if their interests demanded it.

This communication talisman was his own creation, inspired by the Jin sect’s butterfly messages—but far superior.

Unlike the Jin’s version, which required a fair amount of energy and could only carry brief messages, his design was far more efficient. It consumed minimal energy and could transmit much more than just a few words—he could send an entire lecture if he wanted.

It was also far more stable. Instead of fluttering through the air like a delicate butterfly, his talisman appeared directly in front of its intended recipient and could only be heard by that person. A secure, precise, and  a far more superior version of the old one. 

When he finished writing the characters, he fed the talisman a small amount of qi. Almost instantly, a tiny, fluffy black bunny appeared in his palm.

Of course. That was his husband’s preference. Wei Wuxian would have preferred a bird—something swift and striking—but no, Lan Zhan liked his bunnies.

Shaking his head fondly, he murmured his message, watching as the little creature dissolved into a soft burst of glowing sparks. He had to admit, he liked that effect. It added a touch of flair.

Settling down, he leaned back against the wall, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he waited for Lan Zhan’s reply.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji reviewed the notes he had meticulously recorded in his personal journal, evaluating the progress made over the past few months. He had done well so far, yet there was still much to accomplish. The sudden return of his father from seclusion remained the focal point, and even now, the reactions of his uncle and brother continued to evoke a peculiar sense of satisfaction.

When Qingheng-Jun appeared that night at dinner, his uncle, for the first time in  "ever"  lost his eloquence, repeatedly asking "how" and "why" throughout the entire dinner conversation. His brother, to Lan Wangji’s surprise, did nothing to suppress the tears that welled up in the corners of his eyes.

Lan Wangji remained mostly silent, offering only brief and vague replies whenever questioned. True to his word, his father did not disclose the details of their conversation. Instead, he declared that it was time for him to take his responsibilities seriously and no longer leave the burden of running the sect to his younger brother. He also praised Lan Huan’s cultivation and expressed his eagerness to truly know his two remarkable sons, having already missed so much of their lives.For the next few weeks, their father devoted most of his time to Lan Wangji and Xichen, often engaging his elder brother in long, thoughtful debates on various topics. Watching them, Lan Wangji came to realize just how deeply his brother had felt the absence of a father.His uncle remained in shock, hesitant to accept the change as permanent, as if expecting Qingheng-Jun to retreat into seclusion again at any moment. Yet, as the days passed, he gradually appeared more at ease.

For the first time, afternoon classes with his uncle had been canceled, leaving only morning sessions. This allowed the acting sect leader ample time to reacquaint the true sect leader with the sect’s affairs. Occasionally, Lan Xichen joined these meetings, with their father noting that it would be beneficial for him, as the sect heir, to grasp the fundamentals early on.

Seizing the opportunity, Lan Wangji discreetly utilized his husband’s tools to spy on the elders, gathering as much information as possible. After weeks of careful observation, Lan Wangji came to a stark realization—the rot had set in far earlier than he had initially thought, likely long before his father first ascended to the position of sect leader. The talismans he used as listening devices allowed him to hear firsthand what he had long suspected: a certain faction of elders was displeased by his father’s return. Now, with undeniable proof, he confirmed that they did not welcome Qingheng-Jun’s reappearance and were already conspiring to undermine his authority. He was no schemer, but he was a patient observer. Rather than making the first move, he would wait—let them act first. Then, when the time was right, he would expose them.

He also spent some time alone with his father, explaining the sequence of events that had led to him being sent back into his seven-year-old body. He did not go into much detail, but his father—keen and perceptive—seemed to read far more between the lines, understanding what was both said and left unsaid.

On his eighth birthday, his father presented him with a beautifully crafted portrait of his mother.

"I made it myself, A-Zhan—the way I remember her," he said softly.

Lan Wangji traced the delicate brushstrokes with his gaze, his chest tightening. It was the first time in this life that he had seen her face so clearly, captured with such care and warmth.

For now, he would encourage his father to implement gradual changes within the sect, steadily curbing the elders' influence. And when the time came, he would strike. He would not make the same mistake twice—this time, he would not simply contain the rot. He would eradicate it.

He meticulously reviewed all the information he had gathered, carefully planning his next move. Thus far, he had already persuaded his father to reconsider some of the more absurd sect rules—such as the prohibitions on laughter and running—along with other minor behavioural infractions that had no place being etched into stone as unyielding law.

He closed his notebook with a sigh. It was almost nine o’clock. Rising to prepare for bed, he was just about to move when, amidst a sudden burst of glowing sparks, a small, fluffy bunny appeared before him.

Lan Zhan’s heart pounded. That early? He tried to do the math, but excitement overtook him. With slightly trembling hands, he extended his palm, allowing the bunny to hop into it.

A clear, childish voice rang out.

"Lan Zhan, your husband misses you very much. How are you? Is everything all right? Did you arrive well? I am fine, by the way. I arrived earlier than expected. Please respond quickly!"

Tears slipped silently down Lan Zhan’s face. Wei Ying had arrived safely and  he missed him. Oh, how he missed him too.

The little bunny hopped around excitedly, as if pleased with itself for delivering the message, before dissolving into another burst of glowing sparkles.

Lan Zhan took a few moments to collect himself, steadying the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Then, with practiced ease, he retrieved a piece of talisman paper and carefully inscribed the spell. Within seconds, a white, fluffy bunny appeared before him.

He loved this representation of the talisman—loved the way his beloved had chosen to express his affection through such an invention. It was a small but undeniable testament to how deeply Wei Ying cherished him, and every time he used it, it filled him with the warmest feeling.

Speaking softly, Lan Zhan murmured, "I miss you too, my love. I am very happy that you arrived safely. Please let me know if you need anything—we can use the Carryaway talisman to send you whatever you need."

He paused for a moment before continuing, "My father has come out of seclusion. I told him the truth, and he will help."

His fingers brushed lightly against the soft fur of the talisman bunny before releasing it, watching as it disappeared in a shimmer of light, carrying his words to the one he longed for most.

The carryout talisman was yet another of his husband's brilliant inventions—a refined variation of the traditional transportation talisman. Designed to send supplies instantly to hunting parties with minimal energy expenditure, it was far more practical than its predecessor. Unlike the transportation talisman, which required time to master and drained a cultivator’s spiritual energy, this one was remarkably simple to use. All it needed was a paired set—a sending talisman and a receiver.

It was innovations like these that constantly reminded Lan Zhan of Wei Ying’s unparalleled genius, his ability to turn complex cultivation techniques into something both effortless and efficient.

He sat on the bed, waiting, because he knew there would be a reply—his husband never disappointed. And sure enough, in a soft shimmer of light, the fluffy black bunny reappeared before him.

Extending his hand, Lan Zhan listened as Wei Ying’s playful voice rang out:

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, my beautiful Lan Zhan, your voice is so cute! I bet your face is even cuter."

Lan Zhan’s ears warmed instantly.

"Thank you for the offer! We could use a few things—blankets, clothes, and shoes. Yes, we! I've only been here a couple of days, and I’ve already acquired a little brother and a little sister. They’re the cutest little things, Lan Zhan! I can’t wait for you to meet them."

There was laughter in his voice, bright and full of warmth. Ah! his kind, kind husband.

"I made myself a small ditzy and played in the town market, I made good money! Still, a package from my beloved husband would be nice. Let me know when you send it so I can activate the receiving talisman."

A pause, then softer, tender words that made Lan Zhan’s heart ache with longing.

"I love you, Lan Zhan. Sleep well."

Lan Zhan held the small black bunny in his palm a moment longer, letting the warmth of Wei Ying’s words sink in. Then, carefully, he wiped away the dampness in his eyes and began  making a list with the items needed to be sent. 

It was late, but Lan Zhan did not care. His feet carried him toward the servants' quarters with quiet determination.

Reaching his destination, he knocked on the door and waited. Though it was close to nine, there was still time.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing Supervisor Mu Shinyin. A tall, middle-aged woman with a kind but commanding presence, she was in charge of all the servants in Cloud Recesses. She had once died during the Wen attack, sacrificing herself to protect those under her care.

"Young Master?" she said, surprise flickering across her face. "How can I help you?"

Her gaze was curious as she studied him. They had never truly interacted before, but Lan Zhan knew of her well—she was both feared and respected among the servants.

"I need your help gathering some supplies for a friend," Lan Zhan said, his voice steady. "And I would like you to keep it between us. But you may tell my father if you wish."

Supervisor Mu Shinyin’s curiosity deepened. "What kind of supplies?" she asked.

Silently, he handed her the list he had prepared earlier and waited as she read through it. After a brief moment, she nodded. "Do you need it right now?"

He gave a single, firm nod. Without hesitation, she turned back inside. A few minutes later, she emerged, now wearing her winter overcoat. Though spring had begun, the air in Cloud Recesses still carried a lingering chill.

"Let’s go, Young Master," she said, fastening the coat securely. "We’ll have everything ready before the hour is up."

Lan Zhan reviewed the contents of the box one last time. Satisfied, he closed the lid, then turned to Supervisor Mu Shinyin. Bowing deeply, he said, "Thank you for your assistance, Supervisor Mu."

The woman smiled warmly. "No need, Young Master. It is my duty, after all, to provide assistance. Do you need help carrying the box?"

It was a large box, but he would not be carrying it—he would be sending it.

"No, but it is kind of you to offer," he replied, bowing once more. Then, he stood still, waiting.

Supervisor Mu, sensing she was being dismissed, returned his bow with an understanding smile before quietly taking her leave.

Once alone, Lan Zhan sent a message to Wei Ying, instructing him to activate a receiving talisman. Then, he prepared his sending talisman and waited.

A few moments later, the talisman flickered to life—the part that indicated the receiver was ready glowed softly. Without hesitation, he activated it, and in a flash of light, the entire wooden box filled with supplies vanished.

He exhaled a quiet sigh of relief, satisfied that he had managed to send everything so quickly.

Almost immediately, a message bunny appeared, bouncing happily before Wei Ying’s joyful voice rang out:

"Lan Zhan, you are amazing! I know you worry about me, but there's no need—I am not the defenceless little child I once was. I took care of myself back then, and I can definitely look after myself now. Please rest assured, your Wei Ying  takes good care of himself."

A brief pause, then, softer—filled with warmth.

"Love you, husband."

Lan Zhan closed his eyes, holding onto the echo of those words, his heart full.

When Lan Wangji returned to his chambers, it was well past nine. His brother, already prepared for bed, sat at the low table in the middle of the room, his expression pensive—most likely worrying about him.

"Lan Zhan, where have you been? Are you alright?" Lan Xichen asked, concern lacing his voice.

Lan Wangji inclined his head slightly. "I apologize for worrying you, Brother, and for staying past curfew. I was helping a friend."

With practiced efficiency, he began getting ready for bed.

"Helping a friend?" Lan Xichen repeated, confusion evident in his tone.

"Mhm," Lan Wangji replied simply, offering no further explanation.

Sensing that he would get nothing more out of his younger brother, Lan Xichen sighed and, with a quiet shake of his head, retreated to his side of the room to sleep.

That night, sleep did not come easily to Lan Zhan. His mind was restless, though not with worry—for once, it was with quiet happiness.

Wei Ying was safe. He had received news from him, heard his voice, and even helped him in a small way. And soon… soon, they would meet again.

Plans were already taking shape in his mind, weaving together possibilities and preparations. The anticipation thrummed in his chest, making rest elusive. But he did not mind. For the first time in a long while, the future felt just within reach.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

They set off two days later early  in the morning, and everything has gone smoothly so far. They were the only children in the group, and Master Lee proved to be a great travel companion. Wei Wuxian discovered in him a talented storyteller with a sharp sense of humour.

The convoy consisted of covered wagons, most of them pulled by buffaloes, two unbearably noisy donkeys, and four horses that were well past their prime.

The guards provided for protection by the magistrate were actually two rogue cultivators, both in their thirties . During their travels, he and Lan Zhan had discovered that it was common practice for rogue cultivators to sell their services as mercenaries for the protection of merchant convoys. They were preferred over regular guards because they could also defend against malevolent creatures if encountered along the way.

And it is well known that cultivators, even the rogue ones, are stronger than ordinary soldiers due to their Golden Core. For this reason, the imperial authority does not interfere in sect politics. While the emperor has the advantage of large numbers in his army, the sects possess the skills and power that come from their Golden Cores. Abilities that, even after so many centuries, remain a mystery to ordinary people.

Even though cultivators were present at the imperial court, they were there solely to protect the imperial family from any resentment that may appear, because the imperial court was just as corrupt, and where there was corruption there is bound to be resentment. The mysticism and mystery surrounding them, whether they came from temples or sects, granted them a certain level of protection and deference.

It was decided to make the  stop for the night near a small pond not far from the road. While Wei Wuxian began preparing dinner, Master Lee tended to the buffaloes. Although Lan Zhan's cooking skills were far superior to Wei Wuxian’s, over the years, he had managed to reach a level where the food he prepared was at least edible.

So, he stuck to simple dishes, preparing a basic congee with vegetables and some tofu. A-Bao and A-Yun, tired from the journey, dozed off by the fire on one of the bamboo mats sent by Lan Zhan. He had managed to store most of their belongings in the two Qiankun pouches, while the rest fit into a small bamboo back basket he had bought specifically for the journey—the box was too large to carry.

Stirring the congee in the clay pot, Wei Wuxian smiled to himself as he recalled A-Bao and A-Yun’s astonishment when he explained how the Qiankun pouches worked.

"These pouches have special incantations embroidered with spiritual silk, allowing a cultivator to store large amounts of items in a seemingly small space. The stronger the cultivator, the more they can store inside. They’re incredibly versatile and especially useful for transporting and neutralizing malevolent creatures."

"What’s spiritual silk?" A-Yun asked, curious.

"It’s silk from silkworms that are continuously fed spiritual energy. That’s why these pouches are so expensive and can only be used by cultivators," Wei Wuxian explained.

Wei Wuxian admired how curious A-Yun was—he had a sharp mind and grasped complex information surprisingly quickly for his age. A-Bao, on the other hand, had a more open and cheerful personality, possessing what Wen Ning used to call empathy, as she was highly perceptive of the emotions of those around her.

The children quickly picked up the sequence of movements that made up his meditation routine. This morning, when they practiced, Wei Wuxian only had to make a few small corrections.

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan sat at the low table inside the tea house, outwardly composed—an image of perfect stillness. But beneath the surface, tension coiled tight within him, a storm barely held at bay. The tea house, nestled along the main road, offered a clear view of Kaojinlu’s bustling main street. A quiet little village, not far from Caiyi.

Across from him sat his father, while beside him, his brother observed in quiet curiosity, half amused, half intrigued. Their presence was both a comfort and a restraint, grounding him when all he wanted to do was take flight. The soft murmur of conversation, the clinking of teacups, the occasional laughter drifting in from outside—all of it faded into a distant hum. His focus was elsewhere—fixed on the road, waiting.

It had all started with a message.

Wei Ying had sent him a bunny message to say that he would soon be heading his way with a group of travellers  bound for Guangling. They would pass not far from Caiyi. The moment Lan Zhan heard those words, his heart had lurched, and without hesitation, he had gone straight to his father. The plans had to be moved forward. There was no more time to waste.

Then, another message arrived—ten days later.

I’m a mere day away from Kaojinlu.

That was all it took to set his mind ablaze. The thought of Wei Ying so close—just a few miles west—made it nearly impossible to stay still. It had taken all his restraint not to cast everything aside, not to ignore duty, decorum, and the weight of his clan’s rules. To hell with waiting. To hell with secrecy.

And now, they were here. Sitting in this tea house, waiting. Eyes flickering toward the window every few minutes.

At least Xiongzhang was some what in the know. Lan Zhan had made sure of it, pulling him aside a few days before. 

“There is someone very dear to me coming to Caiyi,” he had said, voice low, carefully measured. “No one must know except us. Not the disciples. Not the elders. Not Shufu.”

Lan Xichen had regarded him for a long moment before a small, knowing smile touched his lips.

“Very dear to you?” he echoed, a quiet amusement in his tone.

Lan Zhan did not answer. He simply met his brother’s gaze, steady, unflinching.

Lan Xichen sighed, setting down his cup. “I won’t ask questions, A-Zhan. But will you tell me when the time is right?”

A nod was his only answer. There were some things his brother did not need to know—at least, not yet. His  father and  brother's presence here was necessary, after all, to provide the excuse of a simple family trip through Caiyi. Of a father showing his sons the life outside Cloud Recesses

And now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Lan Zhan lifted his teacup, took a slow sip. His hands remained steady despite the whirlwind inside him. Somewhere on that road, Wei Ying was drawing closer. Closer and closer still.

And soon—soon—they would meet again.

Lan Zhan arranged for Wei Ying to stay with Wan Shangchen, the brother of Lan Fenhua. Lan Fenhua, in turn, was married to one of his father’s cousins, Lan Wuxu. When he explained to his father that it would be best if Wei Ying did not reside in the Cloud Recesses for now, the reasoning was immediately understood—he wished to keep the elders from prying into his and Wei Ying’s affairs. The simplest way to ensure that was for Wei Ying to live elsewhere.

Wan Shangchen, though not a cultivator, was a minor lord who owned a vast estate situated between Caiyi and Gusu. His residence was close enough to the Cloud Recesses—merely an hour  walk—making it an ideal arrangement. Both Lan Fenhua and her husband were steadfast supporters of Xichen’s reforms in that other life, a fact that only added to their reliability. They were also Lan Jingyi’s grandparents, the ones who had raised him after his parents perished in the Wen attack.

His father had recommended them, and Lan Zhan agreed immediately. They were trustworthy, good-hearted people. After meeting Wan Shangchen himself, Lan Zhan found that he appreciated the man’s straightforward, no-nonsense demeanour—it reminded him, in some ways, of Wen Qing.

However, Wan Shangchen did not agree to anything at once. He insisted on hearing the full story first, which was shared with him in a private meeting alongside Lan Zhan and his father. Despite not being a cultivator, he possessed an impressive understanding of arrays and talismans. His reaction to the truth was telling—he did not even flinch at the mention of time travel, nor at the revelation of a 47-year-old consciousness residing in a much younger body.

Once the arrangements were made, all that remained was to wait for Wei Ying’s arrival—which should be any minute now. Please.

The impatience gnawing at him was unfamiliar, unsettling. He had always been a steady, methodical, and patient man, but now, with every passing second stretching unbearably, he found he did not like this feeling at all.

It was close to noon when a large group of travellers appeared at the edge of the village, making their way down the main road.

Lan Zhan went utterly still, barely breathing as his sharp gaze swept over the approaching figures. He did not know how long he sat there, unmoving, watching them draw closer and closer, his heart pounding in his chest. He searched for one person—the person. And the moment he spotted him, he knew.

Wei Ying was walking beside two men, engaged in a lively conversation, his hands gesturing animatedly. Two children trailed behind him, listening with wide eyes, hanging onto his every word.

That was all it took.

Whatever restraint Lan Zhan had left snapped—shattered beyond repair.

He shot to his feet, the chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor, and without a second thought, he ran.

He barely registered the startled voices behind him. He did not care for the glances thrown his way. Nothing mattered except the person ahead of him.

And then—Wei Ying saw him.

His face lit up like the very sun in the sky, and without hesitation, he ran too.

They met somewhere in the middle, colliding into each other’s arms with a force that knocked the breath from their lungs. Neither let go. They clung to each other as if they might disappear, as if letting go would wake them from a dream.

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying murmured over and over, his voice trembling, thick with  tears.

Lan Zhan felt the warmth of those tears against his neck, mingling with his own as they traced silent paths down his cheeks.

"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan whispered, his voice barely audible, trembling as quiet sobs threatened to overtake him.

"I'm here, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying soothed between soft hiccups. "Don't cry—you know I can't bear it when you cry."

Lan Zhan only tightened his arms around him, holding him as if he could never let go. "Wei Ying… first," he managed, voice raw with emotion.

But before either could say more, two small arms suddenly tried to wrap around them, startling them apart. A sweet, childish voice rang out, full of innocence and delight—

"Gege! A-Bao too!"

Lan Zhan watched as Wei Ying, without hesitation, gathered the child into their embrace with one arm, holding her close.

"Yes, A-Bao too—and A-Yun as well," Wei Ying said gently, reaching for the other child who stood just behind A-Bao, watching apprehensively.

After a brief hesitation, A-Yun stepped forward, allowing Wei Ying to wrap an arm around his small shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed embrace.

Lan Zhan stood frozen, his gaze shifting between them, the weight of the moment pressing against his chest.

With a bright smile, Wei Ying turned to him. "Lan Zhan, this is my meimei, A-Bao, and my didi, A-Yun." Then, looking down at the children, he said encouragingly, "Just like I showed you—greet him properly."

They both lifted their little arms and performed a formal bow. The movements were unpolished, a little clumsy—but earnest.

Lan Zhan felt something in his chest tighten.

It needed work, of course, but Wei Ying was right.

They looked adorable.

"A-Zhan?!"

His father’s voice came from behind him, steady yet gentle.

Lan Zhan quickly wiped his face and turned to see his father and brother standing a short distance away, watching him. His father’s expression was soft, kind. In that moment, he looked so much like a grown-up Xichen that it was almost startling.

"Introduce us," his father said, his tone warm with quiet amusement.

Lan Zhan straightened, instinctively placing a reassuring hand on Wei Ying’s back before turning to face his family.

"Father," he said steadily, "this is Wei Ying, and these are his siblings, Wei Yun and Wei Bao."

Wei Ying's eyes widened slightly as he took in the man before him. Then, as if regaining himself, he stepped forward and executed a perfect, graceful bow. Beside him, his siblings followed suit—though their bows were noticeably clumsier. "We greet sect leader Lan" he said politely.  

Lan Zhan felt a flicker of something deep in his chest—pride, warmth, something softer and warm. 

His father, ever composed, gave a small nod of approval.

After that, Wei Ying introduced the two rogue cultivators and Master Lee to Lan Zhan, his father, and his brother. The men, initially at ease, became noticeably flustered upon realizing they were in the presence of such an esteemed sect leader.

Once the introductions were done, Wei Ying took his leave of them, offering effusive thanks for allowing him to travel with them. Promises were exchanged—of keeping in touch, of safe journeys ahead—before he finally turned away.

With a swift, practiced motion, he retrieved a back basket from behind one of the carts, slinging it over his shoulders. Then, without hesitation, he fell into step beside Lan Zhan, following them toward the inn his two little brothers  at his side. 

Lan Zhan  finally has his Wei Ying within reach, he was happy.

Chapter Text

Upon returning to the inn, Wei Wuxian and his siblings were escorted to their room, where Lan Zhan, ever attentive, immediately arranged for a light lunch and a warm bath for each of them. Grateful for the chance to wash away the dust and fatigue of travel, Wei Wuxian let his husband fuss over him. He had long accepted that this was Lan Zhan’s way of steadying himself—by ensuring that Wei Ying was cared for, safe, and comfortable. After days on the road, Wei Wuxian had no intention of protesting.

Aside from the customary pleasantries, he spoke little to the others, content to wait for a later hour and instead watch Lan Zhan move through familiar motions—laying out fresh robes, pouring tea with effortless grace, and making sure A-Bao and A-Yun ate their fill. A-Bao, for her part, was well on her way to latching onto Lan Zhan like a barnacle, trailing after him with open adoration.

Lan Zhan had never been one for grand gestures, but his love was woven into the smallest details—a guiding hand, a steady presence, a quiet act of care. And Wei Wuxian felt it, in every glance, every touch, and in the quiet spaces between heartbeats.

That evening, they dined in their room, with Lan Zhan nestled close to Wei Ying, his presence filling him with immeasurable warmth. No matter his age, Lan Zhan was still Lan Zhan—and as a child, he was undoubtedly the most endearing sight Wei Ying had ever beheld. Sorry, little radish, but your baba missed your a-die very much.

Lan Xichen observed them with quiet amusement when Lan Zhan kept slipping the best pieces of food into A-Bao’s bowl. Their father, ever composed, remained unreadable yet watchful.

A-Bao sidled up to Lan Zhan, eyes wide with awe as she studied him, while A-Yun clung to his other side, still wary of the cultivators in their pristine white and pale blue robes. The meal was frequently interrupted by A-Bao’s delighted exclamations as she savoured her food, her enthusiasm filling the room with warmth and lightness.

After the dishes were cleared, Lan Zhan quietly prepared tea. The silence that settled over them was not the product of rigid rules but rather carried an unspoken weight of contemplation. It was A-Bao who broke it, watching Lan Zhan’s graceful movements with wonder.

“Pretty gege makes tea prettily!” she exclaimed, eyes shining.

Wei Wuxian burst into laughter, his mirth ringing through the room. Lan Xichen chuckled softly behind his sleeve, while Qingheng-jun’s eyes glimmered with amusement, his lips barely suppressing a smile.

Lan Zhan’s ears turned a deep shade of red as he inclined his head toward A-Bao, his expression solemn.

“Thank you,” he said with his usual seriousness. Then, after a brief pause, he added, letting the faintest hint of teasing slip into his voice, “I could teach Wei-guniang to prepare tea just as prettily.”

Wei Wuxian nearly melted on the spot. He loved his husband so much.

A-Bao, utterly enchanted, beamed at Lan Zhan, having just found her new favourite person. And truly, Wei Wuxian couldn’t blame her; she had excellent taste.

Meanwhile, A-Yun remained cautious, standing close but keeping a watchful eye on Lan Zhan. He was far too serious for his age, but Wei Wuxian understood. Life had never been easy for children like them. They had learned early on to be wary, to tread carefully in a world that was rarely kind.

“I trust the journey was uneventful, Wei-gongzi,” Qingheng-jun said, taking a slow sip of tea.

Wei Wuxian flashed a bright smile. “Nothing major, Sect Leader Lan, and the company more than made up for any inconveniences.”

Qingheng-jun regarded him thoughtfully before continuing, “Lan Zhan speaks highly of you. I look forward to getting to know you better.” He paused, his gaze drifting briefly to A-Bao and A-Yun before adding, “And I must admit, your younger siblings are quite charming.”

“Thank you, Sect Leader,” Wei Wuxian replied, bowing slightly. “And thank you for coming to greet us.”

“You are welcome,” Qingheng-jun replied smoothly. “I was rather curious to meet the person my younger son holds in such high regard.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, but his attention quickly returned to Lan Zhan, whose ears remained stubbornly red. Are they going to stay that way forever? he mused, watching his husband’s barely contained discomfort with amusement. He’s too cute.

When A-Bao let out a jaw-cracking yawn, it was decided that it was time for everyone to retire. The Lans had rented rooms at the inn—one for their father, another for Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen, and the last for Wei Ying and his siblings.

But, of course, Lan Zhan had no intention of being separated from Wei Ying.

And so, it was settled: A-Bao and A-Yun would share a room with Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. The two beds were more than enough for four children, while Lan Xichen and Qingheng-jun took the remaining rooms.

Chapter Text

The next morning, they set off for Caiyi on horseback. Since the children didn’t know how to ride, Qingheng-Jun took A-Bao on his horse, Xichen rode with A-Yun, and, of course, Wei Wuxian rode with Lan Zhan. The distance between Kaojinlu and Caiyi wasn’t far, so they traveled at a leisurely pace, taking the time to admire the scenery and engage in light conversation.

"I knew both of your parents, Wei Wuxian," Qingheng-Jun said after a discussion about the two rogue cultivators that helped with the river cleansing.

Wei Wuxian perked up immediately. "You did, Sect Leader Lan?" he asked eagerly, anticipation making him almost lose his balance on the horse.

"Yes," Qingheng-Jun confirmed. "They both attended the guest lectures at the Cloud Recesses. I was older and  already a sect leader at the time and did not participate, but my younger brother did. He knew them quite well—they even went night hunting together a few times."

Wei Wuxian could barely contain his curiosity, hanging onto Qingheng-Jun’s every word. 

"He and your mother never really saw eye to eye," Qingheng-Jun continued. "Lan Qiren was always serious and strict, and his unwavering adherence to the rules made him an easy target for your mother’s teasing."

He paused, a faint trace of amusement in his tone. "She always found it funny how easily she could shake his composure with a few witty retorts and well-placed arguments. She was very clever—just like you—and never suffered fools. And my brother… well, he could be quite foolish at times."

Wei Wuxian frowned in thought before asking, "Weren't the female disciples separated from the male ones back then?"

Qingheng-Jun let out a light chuckle. "Trust me, that never stopped your mother. And after a while, everyone simply gave up trying."

Upon their arrival at Pine Hidden Manor—a sprawling estate nestled deep within a dense pine forest—Wan Shangchen, Qingheng-Jun, Lan Zhan, and Wei Wuxian held a private conversation where the entire arrangement was detailed again. Before his arrival, Lan Zhan and his father had enlisted the help of one of their most trusted cousins to secure a residence for him—somewhere close to the Cloud Recesses, beyond the elders' reach, yet under the protection of a powerful local figure.

Wan Shangchen was a stern-looking man in his forties with scholarly inclinations—a fact Wei Ying quickly deduced upon discovering his extensive personal library. Gusu Lan, you have competition, he mused as he browsed the shelves lined with scrolls, bound books, and even some ancient bamboo slips.

Wei Wuxian and his sibling were to assume the identities of orphaned children from one of Wan Shangchen's many  northern cousins, whom he had graciously taken in as wards at Pine Hidden Manor. This arrangement had the full support of his family—including his wife and three daughters—who had agreed to welcome them into their home.

His wife was a petite woman with a warm, kind demeanour and a sense of humour that Wei Wuxian found quite to his liking. She and her daughters were not privy to the full truth of the situation—only that the newcomers were orphaned children in need of a home, the offspring of long-lost friends of Qingheng-Jun, which was not exactly a lie since he knew both his parents.

The host’s three daughters were disciples of the Lan Sect. When their aunt married one of the sect leader’s cousins, the young girls were introduced to cultivation, showing early talent. Now, all three had successfully formed their golden cores and were on their way to becoming formidable Lan cultivators.

Every five days, they were allowed to spend a day at home with their parents, which provided the perfect excuse for Lan Zhan to visit—accompanying his second cousins while also seeing Wei Wuxian. It was the only way his husband could return to the Cloud Recesses with a somewhat reassured heart, knowing that Wei Wuxian was safe and well.

The first week was a bit hectic for Wei Wuxian as he adjusted to his new home and got to know their hosts. He spent more time with A-Bao and A-Yun, the latter struggling the most with the overwhelming changes.

When asked if he was all right, A-Yun hesitated before admitting, in a small voice, that he expected them to be thrown out onto the streets at any moment.

Wei Wuxian reassured him that would never happen, speaking with all the confidence he could muster. But deep down, he knew that mere words wouldn’t be enough—only time would ease that fear.

Chapter Text

Today, his brother would receive his sword and courtesy name. The ceremony in the Lan Sect is simple, even for an heir. In contrast, other sects often hold grand ceremonies with elaborate rites, especially for their heirs. The age at which a disciple receives their sword varies between sects and sometimes depends on their level of cultivation. However, a cultivator always receives their courtesy name at the same time as their sword. In the Lan Sect, all disciples receive their sword and courtesy name at the age of 12, regardless of their cultivation level. The reasoning behind this tradition is that a disciple must reach a certain height to properly wield a sword designed for an adult.

Lan Zhan agrees. The Wen Sect introduces cultivators to the sword at the age of 10, mainly because they want them to become accustomed to it early on. However, this also results in the highest rate of sword-related accidents among the cultivation sects. The Nie Sect, on the other hand, holds the ceremony at 14 years old, as sabres are even more dangerous than swords.

The ceremony is scheduled to take place before noon, followed by a banquet to coincide with the midday meal.

He was heading toward his father's quarters for breakfast. It had become a routine for him and his brother—sometimes joined by their uncle—to share breakfast and dinner together, a tradition he had come to cherish. Over the past two years, he had slowly come to appreciate his father, and he deeply regretted the time they had lost before.

His father bore a striking resemblance to Lan Xichen in both looks and presence, but beneath that composed exterior was a sharp mind—far more perceptive when it came to sect politics. He was a wise leader with a steel spine, unwavering in his principles. It still baffled him why he chose seclusion. 

It was the beginning of summer, with everything in full bloom, the air heavy with sweet scents. And in that moment, he realized how much he missed Wei Ying.

They had just seen each other two days ago, yet he still wished Wei Ying could be here to share this moment with him.

Wei Ying had flourished in the last couple of years. His  relationship with Wan Shangcheng was unusual—somewhere between friendship, apprenticeship, and guardianship. The respect Wen Shangcheng held for Wei Ying was evident in the way they interacted, but he also never hesitated to curb Wei Ying’s more mischievous tendencies.

A-Yun and A-Bao were developing quickly under Wei Ying’s tutelage, already well on their way to fully maturing their meridians.

His husband had gained considerable popularity among the members of Pine Hidden Manor, both servants and masters alike. Not only that, but he had also made quite a few friends in Caiyi, forming connections with merchants and artisans.

With his father's help, Wei Ying had established a warning system in Caiyi to detect any kind of resentful creature—whether land, air, or waterborne. The system had already proven highly effective, having alerted Cloud Recesses to several minor hauntings. The warnings were transmitted to special pendants worn at the waists of the sect leader and three trusted senior disciples.

The relationship between his father and Wei Ying had evolved in a very surprising way to Lan Zhan. Although he had expected them to get along, what he hadn't foreseen was how Wei Ying had awakened a mischievous side in his father. A few months ago, some of the elders had handed a formal written protest regarding the changes brought about by the elimination of certain rules and the redistribution of decision-making power from their hands to some of the senior disciples.

The changes practically restricted the roles of the elders to merely counselling on more serious matters, and they managed to rally some older members of the clan to share in their dissatisfaction. Arguing with them was not his father’s favourite thing, something he had expressed during one of their visits to the manor.

However, he and Wei Ying began to exchange some very funny and unorthodox methods to handle the situation. Lan Zhan observed their interactions and discovered a completely new side to his father—one that was playful and far more unconventional than he had ever imagined. The playful exchange between them was both amusing and surprisingly effective, showing Lan Zhan a side of his father that was rarely seen in public.

In the end, the elders were divided into two camps: the true malcontents and those who, though reserved in their protests, had begun to see the positive changes his father's reforms had brought and were reconsidering their positions. He then tasked each group with determining which reforms were harmful and why. One side would list the pros, while the other would list the cons. By doing this, he kept them arguing amongst themselves, effectively occupying them for a while.

It was funny because it actually worked. Wei Ying had pitched the idea to his father as a joke, but to his surprise, not only did his father put it into practice, he also seemed to find great comfort in watching the elders argue. Wei Ying still laughed every time he thought about it, amazed that such an sneaky solution had turned out to be so effective.

"I guess they are not as bright as I thought," Wei Ying said, laughing. His father chuckled in response, "It’s not that they are stupid, they simply couldn't entertain the idea that they could be manipulated like this by their own clan members and leaders. They think they are held in very high esteem—and they are—but when the reforms brought good changes and they still complained, their influence has started to wane."

His father was seated at the low table in the centre of the room, reading a letter. Lan Zhan silently took a seat on the other side and waited for him to finish. The letter bore the Wen Sect crest. When his father finally looked up, he had a contemplative expression in his eyes. After a few moments, he said, "The Wen Sect will hold the annual cultivation conference at the end of summer. Normally, it was the Jiang Clan’s turn, but Wen Rouhan has decided to hold it in Qishan. The reasons are not stated in the letter."

It wasn't uncommon for one sect to take over hosting the annual conference from another if it had something important to celebrate or major announcements to make, but for one sect to host the conference two years in a row was unheard of.

"This has not happened before to my knowledge," said Lan Zhan.

"I know," his father replied. "Even when I was in seclusion, the important events were presented to me in a bimonthly report, and I never read of Qishan Wen hosting two years in a row."

This was a deviation, and a significant one.

"And there is a letter addressed to you," his father said, handing him another letter without a seal. It was neatly folded, and atop it was his name written in clumsy calligraphy, as if it had been written by a child. Lan Zhan immediately took the letter and carefully opened it.

To Second Young Master Lan,

I am Wen Ning, son of Wen Chunwen and Wen Fang. I am writing this letter to you because of a dream I had about us meeting in a dark forest, where Lord Hanguang Jun was trying to bring light, and I was trying to find the Yiling Laozu. I am asking permission to come visit you, since the village fortune teller told me that I should follow the man in white. My sister helped me write this letter and she would accompany me. Please let me know when we could come.

With respect, Wen Ning of Dafan Wen

Wangji looked at his father and asked, "Did these two letters arrive at the same time?"

"Yes, they arrived this morning, but by different couriers. The official one came with a Wen Sect envoy, while the other came through a courier from Yiling," his father replied. "Is there something wrong?"

"If I am reading this correctly, there is another one that has time-travelled," Lan Zhan said.

He needed to let Wei Ying know that a young Wen Ning might hold memories from their other life. Was he the only one? He had mentioned Wen Qing—did she remember as well? And most importantly, was Wen Ning’s presence the reason for the major change in this timeline?

Lan Zhan passed the letter to his father, who read it silently before looking up with a questioning expression. "Who is the Yiling Laozu?"

Lan Zhan had never shared with his father the title his husband  had been given. "it was Wei Ying title . I was called Hanguang-Jun, and Wei Ying was the Yiling Laozu."

Qingheng-Jun murmured, "The Light Bearer." There was a familiar pride in his voice, one Lan Zhan had often seen in his father’s eyes—but this time, it carried a deeper weight.

"Titles are usually bestowed by others, shaped by rumours and the beliefs of the common people," Qingheng-Jun reflected. After a brief pause, he asked, "Why was Wei Wuxian called the Patriarch of Yiling?"

"At first, it was a title given in mockery and hidden fear," Lan Zhan replied, his voice cold. "But it held more truth than they understood. During the war, he led armies of fierce corpses into battle, shifting the balance in our favour. His methods and power inspired both fear and admiration—power they secretly desired for themselves. But decades later, when he cleansed the Burial Mounds, the name was spoken with reverence."

"Armies of fierce corpses…" his father murmured, lost in thought. "And I presume those methods were the reason why everyone rallied against him, ultimately leading to his downfall?"

"Yes," Lan Zhan replied. "The fact that they could not control him—and that the power he wielded was beyond their reach—made him an easy target. They won only because Wei Ying never desired power. He only wanted to protect… and they used that against him, both times."

"And you know who Wen Ning is?" Qingheng-Jun asked.

"He and Wei Ying were like brothers," Lan Zhan replied. "It was his family that Wei Ying died protecting."

Their conversation came to an end when his brother and uncle joined them for breakfast. Lan Xichen was visibly nervous yet excited—finally, he would receive his sword. Lan Zhan, on the other hand, still had a few more years before he would get Bichen. Sometimes, he truly missed his sword.

The ceremony went smoothly, without a hitch. Lan Xichen received his sword, Shuoyue, and formally recorded his courtesy name in the sect’s main registry alongside all other disciples. He bowed respectfully, expressing his gratitude to his masters, the sect leader, and the ancestors.

The feast that followed was a quiet affair. Thanks to his father's reforms, the food had gained a bit more flavor—aromatic herbs and other spices were now permitted in moderate quantities, making the meals more enjoyable.

Later that afternoon, Lan Zhan quietly slipped out of the Cloud Recesses to find Wei Ying. He intended to return before dinner. He found him deep in discussion with Wen Shangcheng. Apologizing for the interruption, he asked if they could speak in private.

"Lan Zhan, what is it? I thought you’d be celebrating with your brother?" Wei Ying's voice was full of concern as he looked at Lan Zhan. He handed him the letter in response.

Immediately after he read it, Wei Ying rose, his brow furrowed, and began pacing, theories quickly forming in his mind. "How is this possible? Wen Ning was nowhere near the deep cave..." He stopped, read the letter again, then turned to Lan Zhan. "I’ve always had a connection with him, ever since I brought back his consciousness all those years ago. The array should have only worked on our consciousnesses, but if mine was tied with his... then it’s possible."

He turned to Lan Zhan with urgency in his eyes. "We need to talk to him. Invite him here—not in Cloud Recesses." Wei Ying grinned widely. "Wen Ning is back, maybe Wen Qing too. I can’t wait to see them, Lan Zhan!"

Lan Zhan smiled at his husband's excitement. He had once resented the closeness Wei Ying had with Wen Ning, but over the years, as they spent more time together, Lan Zhan had come to know the shy boy—who possessed more courage than any cultivator alive. He admired Wen Ning's resilience and loyalty.

After a moment, Lan Zhan spoke again. "Wen Rouhan also sent an official letter informing Father that this year’s annual conference will be held in Qishan."

Wei Ying stopped and looked at him, his expression growing serious. "Again?"

"Mhm," Lan Zhan replied.

Wei Ying began pacing again. "We’ll know more after we talk to Wen Ning," he said after a pause.

That night, Lan Zhan fell asleep late. His mind was restless as he thought about the changes their arrival would bring to this new timeline. They had tried their best to keep a low profile, carefully beginning to make subtle changes from within. However, it seemed that the game was more complicated than they had anticipated—another piece had just moved on the board, and they would need to refine their approach. The weight of this realization lingered in his thoughts as he drifted into a troubled sleep.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian felt like he was about to jump out of his skin. Ever since Lan Zhan extended the invitation to Wen Ning and arranged a meeting in Caiyi, he had been on edge. The message was sent to Yiling via a special courier, who returned two days later with confirmation—they would arrive in Caiyi in another two days.

Wangji and his father were set to meet Wen Ning, who would be accompanied by his sister, Wen Qing, and their parents, in Caiyi. From there, they would be escorted directly to Pine Hidden Manor.

They were set to hold the meeting in Wan Shencheng's  office, and that was where they found him—pacing anxiously.

Right there in front of him stood Wen Ning and Wen Qing. Behind them were a woman and a man, whom Wei Wuxian presumed to be their parents. But at that moment, he hardly cared. Because the instant his eyes landed on Wen Ning—young, alive, and with adorable, chubby cheeks—he couldn’t hold back. He let go of everything and pulled Wen Ning into the tightest hug possible.

He was shaking, crying, and had no idea how to stop.

"Master Wei," Wen Ning whispered, returning the embrace just as tightly. Someone—most likely Lan Zhan—was rubbing soothing circles on his back. There were murmurs around them, but Wei Wuxian paid them no mind.

One of his deepest regrets had always been that he couldn’t save Wen Ning. Because of him, the kindest, most innocent soul in the world had been condemned to walk the earth as a corpse. Wen Ning had reassured him countless times, saying he never blamed him—that he was grateful for the time they spent together before everything fell apart, that thanks to him, he even got to share moments with A-Yuan.

But no matter how many times Wen Ning said it, Wei Wuxian had never truly forgiven himself.

It was as if the universe itself was telling him, "Look, he’s alright. He’s alive and well. It’s time to let go."

No one spoke as he and Wen Ning held onto each other, letting them have this moment—two brothers in everything but blood, reunited at last.

When Wei Wuxian finally looked up, his gaze landed on Wen Qing, who hovered nearby like a watchful eagle. She kept her distance, not wanting to intrude, yet ready to stand by her little brother at a moment’s notice. There she was—his soul sister. Her ever-present frown was fixed in place, her stern demeanour unwavering, even at such a young age. What was she now? Twelve? Thirteen?

God, she looks so young. And no less scary.

"Qing Jie," he said with a smile, still clutching Wen Ning.

The frown on her face deepened. He wanted so badly to hug her too, but the look she gave him made it clear—while she might have been told something, she held no memories of their other life.

In the end, he let go.

Wei Wuxian flashed the brightest, most reassuring smile he could muster—first at Wen Ning, then at everyone else. With a lightness in his voice that was entirely genuine, he said, "Let’s all sit down, have some tea, and talk."

Wen Ning was here. That was all that mattered.

After the required pleasantries and introductions, everyone settled around the low table. He was seated between Lan Zhan and Wen Ning, and couldn't have been happier.

Lan Zhan, ever composed, began preparing and pouring the tea with practiced ease. The room remained silent as he worked, the only sounds being the quiet clink of porcelain and the soft trickle of tea filling the cups. No one spoke.

Everyone was measuring each other carefully, taking their time to assess, to understand.

Wen Qing looked so much like her father—the same stern expression, the same frown, the same slight tilt of the mouth whenever something was presented as a puzzle. Even the shape of their eyes and nose mirrored each other.

Wen Ning, on the other hand, took after their mother. Wen Feng carried the same kind, open expression, and their eyes were nearly identical—gentle, warm, and full of quiet understanding.

"Wen Ning, please tell me everything," Wei Wuxian said once the tea was served and everyone seemed a little more at ease.

Wen Ning hesitated, his eyes flickering toward Qingheng-Jun and Wan Shancheng before settling on Wei Wuxian, as if silently asking for permission.

"Yes, you can speak freely," Wei Wuxian assured him immediately. "We are among friends."

At that, Wen Ning nodded, took a deep breath, and began.

"I remembered everything about three weeks ago. But I started having strange nightmares about a year and a half ago—right after the incident with the ghost."

Wei Wuxian stiffened slightly. He remembered Wen Qing telling him about that—how Wen Ning had been possessed by a resentful ghost when he was very young. It had left a lasting mark on him, affecting his spirit. After that, he became more withdrawn, shy, and started to stutter.

"I didn’t understand those dreams at the time, but after I remembered everything, they all made sense," Wen Ning said.

Wei Wuxian's mind was already racing. "Did you form your golden core three weeks ago?" he asked, wanting to confirm his theory.

Wen Ning’s eyes widened in surprise. "Yes… How did you know?"

"I’ll explain later," Wei Wuxian said quickly. "Please, continue."

Wen Ning nodded. "I wanted to tell everyone—to warn them and tell them to leave—but I didn’t know how. So I told Jiejie first, and she believed me. She helped me tell Mother and Father."

Wen Qing straightened, her voice sharp. "Wen Ning has never lied to me, and he would never make up such ridiculous stories. There had to be something more to it."

Her tone left no room for argument.

And no one argued.

"And then I remembered you telling us that you lived on the streets of Yiling for a few years," Wen Ning continued. "So I convinced my parents to go there and look for you. I tried to explain to them that I knew you had something to do with what was happening to me."

Wei Wuxian blinked, taken aback. "Why would I have anything to do with it?" he asked, almost offended.

Wen Ning simply looked at him with those big, innocent eyes—his expression practically asking, Did you not?

Wei Wuxian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before nodding in resignation. "Yeah… it was me. I’ll explain later."

Again, Wen Ning nodded and continued.

"When we arrived in Yiling, we couldn’t find you. So I thought maybe the Jiangs had already found you, and I wanted to go to Lotus Pier to see you. But then Mother learned from an old lady selling meat buns that a little Wei Ying had left about two years ago for Caiyi. That’s when I realized you might have gone to Cloud Recesses… but I didn’t want to assume. So I sent a letter to Second Young Master Lan."

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened. "So that’s why you wrote that bizarre letter with the fortune teller and the dreams? You were trying to speak in code?"

He couldn’t contain himself—this was too cute. He started giggling, and poor Wen Ning turned beet red.

"The letter was bizarre," Lan Zhan said seriously, "but cleverly formulated. It was meant to be dismissed as the ramblings of a feverish child with bad dreams if it fell into the wrong hands."

Wei Wuxian had to admit—it was clever in its simplicity. "But what if only I had retuned and not Lan Zhan?" he asked curiously.

"Then it wouldn’t have been taken seriously and would have been dismissed and because I used your titles and not your names no one would know about whom I was talking about," Wen Ning answered. "But since you went  to  Caiyi, I assumed he remembered too."

"My son insisted that you and Second Master Lan, did everything together," Wen Chunwen said gravely. "So whatever one of you did, the other must also be involved."

Wei Wuxian barely resisted the urge to laugh. Wen Ning, you really do know  us?

"I must admit," Wen Chunwen continued, his tone measured, "until I saw your reunion, I had my doubts. But not anymore." He fixed Wei Wuxian with a piercing stare. "That means that everything my son has told us about this future has, at some point, happened in the other timeline?"

"Yes, Wen Xiansheng, it has," Wei Wuxian answered seriously.

"Actually, I’m very surprised to see you here," he continued. "It’s been my understanding that you and your wife had passed before Wen Ning’s eighth birthday, yet here you are." He looked at them both and then at Wen Ning, who appeared slightly panicked.

"That was actually my fault, Master Wei," Wen Ning said hesitantly, his voice tinged with guilt. "After the incident with the ghost, my parents had planned a trip to Qishan. But because of my nightmares—and the effects they had on me—they cancelled the trip. I think, unintentionally, I prevented their deaths."

There was a cautious hope in his tone as he spoke, as if unsure of how his words would be received.

Wei Wuxian smiled at him reassuringly. "It's not your fault, Wen Ning," he said gently. "You were just trying to protect your family. Sometimes, things happen in ways we don’t fully understand, but what's important is that you’re here now, and everyone is safe."

He placed a hand on Wen Ning's shoulder, his smile warm and full of encouragement. "Don’t blame yourself for things beyond your control."

Wen Ning nodded, visibly relieved.

"You saved your parents—that’s a big thing," Wei Wuxian continued, his tone soft but sincere. "And I’m very happy for you." He smiled warmly, then added, "Not only that, but you don’t stutter anymore."

He paused, looking at Wen Ning with a knowing gaze. "In the other life  Wen Ning you gained enough confidence that you completely lost your stutter. I guess you brought that confidence with you."

Wen Ning’s eyes brightened, and for the first time, he looked more at ease. The weight that had been on his shoulders seemed to lift, if only for a moment, and Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel proud of him.

"We waited for a response in Yiling," Wen Ning continued, "and when we received it, we set out for Caiyi as soon as possible. I’m a bit surprised that you’re not in the Cloud Recesses," he said quietly.

It was Lan Zhan who answered. "My father is trying to implement some reforms in the sect, and due to their nature, I didn’t want Wei Ying caught in the middle."

Wen Ning looked a bit confused, then nodded sagely. "I think I understand."

"You do?" Wei Wuxian asked, surprised.

"I think I do," Wen Ning said. "You see, after your disappearance in the other... life? There was a lot of turmoil in the Lan Sect. I don’t know all the details, but before me and Sizhui went looking for you, Zewu Jun was in some conflict with the clan elders. Something about a marriage contract."

Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Zhan, his eyes burning with intensity. "They didn’t wait long, did they?"

Lan Zhan’s response was frosty, his anger barely contained. "Mhn," was all he said, his tone leaving no room for further discussion.

"What’s the last thing you remember?" Wei Wuxian asked, his voice gentle as he turned to Wen Ning.

"It was night," Wen Ning began, his voice thoughtful. "Sizhui was asleep in his room, and I was on the roof. Then, I felt this incredibly strong pull—something I can’t really explain. And then there was a bright light. When I opened my eyes, I was back in my room in Dafan, meditating with my sister."

Wen Ning looked at Wei Wuxian, his brow furrowed. "What happened?" he asked softly.

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath before answering. "Lan Zhan and I were lured into a trap during a night hunt. There had been disappearances and mangled bodies found near an abandoned old mountain, but we couldn’t find any souls to tell us the story. As we investigated, we found ourselves trapped in a very ancient array—one designed to imprison powerful cultivators. It was fuelled by the souls of the lost."

He paused, his eyes distant as he relived the memory. "I tried everything to break it and free us, but nothing worked. In the end, I had no choice but to use a modified array to send our consciousness back in time to prevent us from walking into the trap."

Wen Ning’s eyes widened. "But… the problem was, we couldn’t control how far back we went. I deduced that since we used the energy of our cores, the earliest we could return was the moment we formed our cores." He looked directly at Wen Ning. "That’s why I asked you about yours."

"But why did I return? I wasn’t even with you," Wen Ning asked curiously.

"I've been thinking about this ever since I found out you came back, and the best explanation I have is that when i brought your consciousness back then, a strong connection must have formed between us. Because no matter what Xue Yang did, the Jin clan was never able to control you, and I believe that my spirit wasn’t entirely vanquished  when I destroyed the Seal—because of that connection."

Wei Wuxian reflected on the time spent with Wen Qing and the remnants of her family, the little information he had gathered over the two years they spent together in the Burial Mounds. A theory was beginning to form in his mind. But it was Wen Ning who spoke up, his voice shy.

"Father, were you planning for our branch to defect from the main sect?" he asked softly.

Wen Chunwen looked startled by the question, then nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I discussed it with the elders, and we believed it was the best option. We would have had to give up our lands and our name, but our family was more important. But now that I think about it, considering the fact that we never returned from Qishan, it’s easy to deduce that it didn’t go well with my cousin."

No, it didn’t, thought Wei Wuxian, realizing that their absence in Qishan had likely altered something else in the timeline. But what? He wasn’t the only one pondering this, as after a while, Qingheng Jun asked, "Does your cousin suspect your intentions?"

Wen Chunwen shook his head. "No, we never really spoke outside of the casual, polite greetings at conferences, and we were rarely invited."

"Has he ever sent people to Dafan to check on you or inquire about why you refused to send cultivators?" Wan Shengchen asked for the first time.

"No, never," Wen Chunwen replied. "As I said, we were always considered insignificant. We might be the oldest branch, but we have the smallest number of members. I believed that since we were often overlooked and never truly garnered any attention, he would not object to the defection."

"That means your decision to delay your travel to Qishan not only saved your lives but has also  changed something important," Wei Wuxian commented aloud, more to himself than anyone else. "We just have to figure out what."

"How exactly did they die?" Wei Wuxian asked Wen Ning.

"They said it was a night hunt," Wen Ning replied thoughtfully. "From what I remember from the others  conversation, father and mother joined a night hunt, and that’s when they died."

He paused for a moment, his expression tinged with sadness. "My family never believed that, but I don’t know any more. I’m sorry."

"No worries," Wei Wuxian said reassuringly. "We’ll figure this out eventually."

"Wei Ying is right," said Lan Zhan. "We will figure it out."

Wan Shengchen rose and said, "You are welcome to stay here for as long as you like. It would be my pleasure to host you. I believe you must be tired and might want to rest a bit and freshen up before dinner. I have prepared rooms for you and your family. If you would please follow me, I will show you to your chambers."

"I’ll see you later, Wen Ning," Wei Wuxian said, hugging his friend.

"We must return as well," Qingheng Jun added, as Lan Zhan nodded in agreement. "We’ll be back tomorrow."

Wei Wuxian said his goodbyes to Lan Zhan and his father. Once they left, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something about that night hunt had altered history. With a deep sigh, he headed to his rooms to check on A-Bao and Ayun, and to freshen up before dinner.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian barely slept that night. As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, he left his chambers and made his way to the small garden at the back, where he began his meditation and sword form routine. Over the past few years, he had cultivated a remarkably strong golden core—far superior to the one he had in his previous life.

Life at the Pine Hidden Manor was vastly different from his days at Lotus Pier. Though both places had provided him with shelter and nourishment, the atmosphere could not have been more distinct. Here, there were no burdensome expectations weighing on his shoulders, no debts demanding to be repaid. On rare occasions, he would bring up the fact that he was living freely on Wan Shangchen’s estate, but the response was always the same:

"You are not living here for free, Wei Wangzi. I have learned a great deal from you, and the improvements you've introduced—especially the use of simpler talismans—have benefited my household immensely. You have repaid your stay many times over."

He was no stranger to being taken advantage of in his past life. The cultivation world had readily exploited his inventions, treating them as mere conveniences while seldom granting him the recognition he deserved. However, things began to change once Lan Zhan became a true shield between him and the rest of the world. With that quiet yet unwavering support, Wei Wuxian found himself seeing and understanding situations in a different light.

"I know you have no desire for fame, fortune, or political power," Lan Zhan would say whenever these discussions arose. "But being taken advantage of has nothing to do with that. You can be kind and benevolent while also knowing your own worth."

The fact that he cared so little for recognition was precisely what made him an easy target. That, and the way he had never truly valued himself as he should have. Even now, he still struggled with it.

A little later, A yun and A bao joined him. The two had grown beautifully, their cultivation progressing steadily. It had become a routine for them to meditate and practice sword forms together, a shared discipline that bonded them.

In his past life, Wei Wuxian had developed an entirely new sword form. He had no desire to use the Jiang sect’s style, as he was no longer their disciple, nor did he wish to adopt the Lan sect’s techniques, given his strained relationship with their elders. Instead, he decided to create something of his own.

There were 24 fundamental sword forms that served as the foundation upon which each sect built its unique style. Wei Wuxian took this foundation and wove together a style entirely his own—a seamless fusion of techniques from the Jiang, Lan, Jin, Wen, and even a touch of the Nie sect. He selected only what resonated with him, shaping an elegant, flowing form defined by flexibility, speed, and unpredictability.

Now, he had the chance to pass down his technique to his two younger siblings. Both were already beginning to show where their strengths lay.

A yun was bold and straightforward, favouring the most direct and efficient path to victory. His attacks were decisive, wasting no time on unnecessary movement. A bao, on the other hand, was more reserved. She took her time, moving fluidly like a dancer around her opponent, observing and analysing. She had a sharp instinct for pinpointing weaknesses, striking only when the moment was right. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a quiet sense of pride.

Watching them move through their forms with their small practice swords, he observed carefully, stepping in to correct them when needed. Yet, with each passing day, those corrections became less necessary. Their progress was undeniable, their movements more refined and confident.

A quiet sense of pride swelled in his chest. Teaching them had started as a simple routine, but now, it felt like something far more meaningful—a legacy taking shape before his eyes.

All of a sudden, A yun stopped mid-movement. He stood still for a moment, then turned and ran straight to Wei Wuxian, his right arm extended.

Wei Wuxian reacted instantly, reaching out to check his meridians. And there it was—the spark. A tiny, delicate grain of qi, just beginning to spin, slowly gathering energy like a ball of yarn winding itself together.

Without hesitation, he sent a steady stream of his own qi through A yun’s meridians, guiding it toward his dantian, helping the energy spin faster and stabilize.

"Keep focusing on it, A yun. Feed it energy." His voice was calm, steady. But inside, he was more excited than he had been when he first discovered his own core.

Wei Wuxian took his time, carefully assessing A yun’s meridians and guiding him through the process of settling his core. Only when he was certain it had fully stabilized did he finally open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was A yun’s face—lit up with the brightest smile he had ever seen. Wei Wuxian had never seen him smile like that before.

"Congratulations, A yun! You did it—you formed a golden core!" he exclaimed, pulling the boy into a tight embrace.

Before he could react, A bao squealed in delight and threw her arms around them, joining the hug. Laughter and warmth surrounded them, and in that moment, Wei Wuxian thought—this day had started wonderfully.

They ran to Wan Shangcheng’s office, eager to share the news. The announcement was met with joy, and Wan Shangcheng, ever composed yet undeniably pleased, promised a grand feast to celebrate Ayun’s achievement.

Over the past two years, the bond between them had deepened. Wan Shangcheng’s steady and serious nature had slowly won over the once-reserved and cautious boy, helping him relax and feel more at ease in his new environment. His quiet guidance had provided A yun with a sense of security, allowing him to grow with confidence.

When the Wen family joined them for breakfast, they, too, offered their heartfelt congratulations, pride and warmth evident in their eyes.

Soon after the midday meal, Lan Zhan and his father returned—but they were not alone. Han Liu and Han Zhang accompanied them, their expressions serious. Without hesitation, they all gathered in Wen Shangchen’s office, sensing the urgency of the situation.

Apparently, the two had gone to the Cloud Recesses in search of Wei Wuxian, bearing important news that could not wait.

After the greetings and introductions were out of the way, everyone gathered around several tables joined together, with tea and refreshments. The rogue cultivators eyed the group for a few moments before Han Zhang spoke.

"I must confess, Young Master Wei, that after we parted ways, we did not expect to see each other to soon—and in such esteemed company," he said, his gaze briefly shifting to Qingheng Jun and Wan Shangcheng. "I expected inquiries regarding our last hunt together, but you have no idea the ruckus it created," he continued, looking toward his brother, who nodded in agreement.

"We should start at the beginning then," Han Zhang continued. "After we parted ways, we accompanied the convoy until it reached its set destination. Afterward, we returned to the village to check on the array, curious about how the cleansing was progressing. That’s when we found a group of senior Jiang disciples in a heated argument with the villagers. They wanted to study the array, but that meant they had to deconstruct it and interrupt the process. The locals were very opposed to this—they even threatened to break any agreements with the Jiangs if they didn’t leave the array alone."

Han Zhang paused for a moment, his expression darkening as he recalled the events. "We stepped in and told them the array should not be tampered with, and that they wouldn’t be able to learn anything by doing so. When they learned that we were the ones who set the array, they became quite insistent—and I would say, quite aggressive. They demanded that we show them how it works."

He then turned his gaze directly to Wei Wuxian, his expression pointed. "We told them it didn’t belong to us, but to a reclusive master, and that it was not ours to give away."

Wei Wuxian nodded, his expression sincere. "You have done well, Han Daozhang. I have no intention of sharing it with any of the great or small sects." He paused for a moment, his gaze steady. "I already gave you my permission to use it when the need arises, but not to share it with others. Thank you for honoring our agreement." He bowed his head in acknowledgment, the respect in his gesture clear.

"Thank you, Young Master Wei," Han Zhang said, bowing his head in return. "Anyway, they left in the end, not very happy, but at least the village was safe. We stayed there for another week until the cleansing was finished, then we destroyed any evidence of it, just in case they decided to come back."

He paused, as if reflecting for a moment before continuing, "We’ve used your array one other time, about a year ago, in a village in the north . It is indeed revolutionary."

"We stayed there until the cleansing was finished and then erased any trace of it," Han Liu continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "The news spread very quickly, and we even got titles, if you can believe it. We didn’t use them, though—the array isn’t ours, and it didn’t feel right to accept them."

Wei Wuxian smiled warmly at the two of them, shaking his head. "You are wrong," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You should accept those titles. After all, you were the ones who powered the array and helped set it up. Not only that, you have my permission to use it. Do not downgrade your effort."

He paused for a moment, looking between Han Liu and Han Zhang with a knowing look. "After all, we’re fellow rogue cultivators. We should help each other."

"I may not have a sword yet," Wei Wuxian continued, seeing the curious looks from the two cultivators, "but I do have a golden core."

Han Liu and Han Zhang both smiled at that, clearly pleased. "Congratulations, Young Master Wei. That is great news indeed!"

Wei Wuxian nodded with a grin. "Thank you. And today, my younger brother formed his golden core as well. You are welcome to stay and join us for the feast to celebrate."

"It will be our pleasure," Han Zhang said, smiling warmly in return.

"Ever since the second time we used the arry, we've been showered with offers to join several sects, including the Jiangs and the Wens," Han Zhang continued, his expression serious. "We refused, of course, and tried to stay out of their reach as much as possible."

He paused before adding, "We are also here to let you know that I think Jiang Fengmian is looking for you. We were in Yiling last month, and he was there with a handful of disciples. Apparently, they learned about your parents' deaths about two years ago, and they've been searching ever since."

Han Zhang's gaze grew more sombre as he continued, "Master Lee told us that they come regularly, asking questions. We did not say anything, but some of the residents mentioned that street children come and go, and they rarely last long on the streets."

Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Zhan, then at Wen Ning, his gaze thoughtful. He sighed deeply before speaking, his voice laced with a quiet weight. "My father was once part of the Jiang clan before he defected and married my mother, who was a rogue cultivator. I think he sees it as his duty to look after me, but I do not want to join his sect. I’ve already found a family here."

Han Liu nodded in agreement. "You’re right," he said, his tone resolute. "I do not wish to join the Jiangs, and I don’t believe you would fare well with the Madam. I definitely wouldn’t," he murmured the last part under his breath. He cleared his throat before continuing, "And your father left for a reason."

Wei Wuxian didn’t disagree. Han Liu was right—his father had left for a reason. He might not know the full details, but that didn’t mean the reason didn’t exist. The weight of that truth lingered in his thoughts, unspoken yet undeniable.

Han Zhang looked at Wen Chunwen and his family pointedly, and Wei Wuxian understood immediately that there was more to the story—likely something involving the Wen clan that why he hesitated, uncertainty settling in.

"We are among friends here, Han Daozhang," Wei Wuxian said after a moment, his voice steady. "Whatever is revealed here remains in this room."

There were many nods of approval around the room, a silent promise of trust. Han Zhang, somewhat reassured, continued.

"The last time we used the array was in a village within the Wen sect-controlled territories," Han Zhang said, his tone grave. "And since we’ve refused to join the Wen sect, we’ve encountered Wen cultivators quite often. It’s like they are following us, appearing to 'help' us whenever we take a hunt in their territories. We feel hunted, like prey."

Wen Chunwen looked troubled as Han Zhang continued, his words heavy with concern.

"We’ve been avoiding Wen sect territories lately. It has become quite troublesome," Han Zhang said, his gaze flickering toward Wei Wuxian. "We came looking for you to inform you about the sect leader, Jiang, and to ask the Lan sect for permission to settle in Caiyi for a while. We’d like to lay low and let things cool off for a while."

The weight of their words hung in the air, and the tension in the room grew more palpable. It seemed like there was far more at stake than Wei Wuxian had anticipated.

Wan Shangcheng said trying to lift the mood. "You are welcome to stay at Pine Hidden Manor for as long as you like. It would be my pleasure to have you as my guests." He glanced at the two cultivators, offering a reassuring smile. "Whatever the situation with the Wen sect may be, hopefully, it will blow over."

Han Zhang and his brother bowed deeply in thanks. "Thank you for your kindness, Wan Zhu. We are truly in your debt."

Wan Shangcheng shook his head with a gentle smile. "No debt, Daozhangs. It is my pleasure to offer my house as a sanctuary for honourable rogue cultivators such as yourselves."

The sincerity in his voice and the warmth in the room seemed to ease the tension, if only slightly, as the promise of safety and sanctuary took root.

Wei Wuxian realized in that moment that they had already caused ripples across this timeline. Things had changed, and the familiar path of their previous life was no longer something they could rely on. He could feel it—this shift was undeniable, as if the very fabric of their lives was twisting in new directions. The events unfolding around them were no longer bound by the constraints of their past experiences.

The realization settled in him slowly, but there was a flicker of something else, something he couldn't quite suppress: a bit of excitement. The uncertainty of the future no longer felt like a burden. Instead, it was an open invitation to explore, to shape this life differently. The path ahead was unfamiliar, but it promised possibilities they hadn’t considered before.

Despite the weight of the changes, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation—a feeling that this time, they had the power to rewrite their own story.

Chapter Text

"I like A-Yun and A-Bao," Wen Ning murmured softly. He sat with Wei Wuxian in the quiet of the small back garden. The night was deep, and the others had long since retired to their rooms. After the evening’s celebrations—where everyone had gathered in the main hall to congratulate A-Yun on his golden core—both A-Yun and A-Bao had fallen into an exhausted slumber. With the household now at rest, Wen Ning and Wei Wuxian seized the rare moment to talk

"And they like you," Wei Wuxian said, gazing up at the night sky. "It's strange, Ning-di… Having you here, Qing-jie, Lan Zhan, A-Bao, and A-Yun—sometimes, I get this sudden panic that it’s all too good to be true. Like I might wake up any moment and find myself back in that cave, trapped."

His voice trembled on the last words, making them barely intelligible. "I know it’s irrational to still be afraid of something like that, but I can’t help it."

"I understand completely, Young Master Wei," Wen Ning replied softly. "After I regained my memories, I had the same fear. I still do. I don’t think it ever truly goes away."

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me 'Young Master Wei'? You’re supposed to call me Wei-ge, got it?" Wei Wuxian huffed, exasperated by his friend’s insistence on formality.

Wen Ning blushed, then nodded, fully aware that he would inevitably slip up again in the future.

"I’m just happy that my parents are alive, no matter what the future brings," he continued. "After your disappearance, ZeWu-Jun sent many search parties to look for you, but there was no trace. Without you, things became incredibly difficult. Sizhui did his best to help, but the more he got involved, the more strain it placed on the Sect Leader."

Wei Wuxian exhaled sharply. "I can imagine it—like a pack of jackals catching the scent of weakness. Lan Zhan was Xichen’s pillar of strength. He may still deny it to this day, but his brother relied on his steady presence more than he ever realized."

"Sizhui even reached out to Sect Leader Jin for assistance, but things weren’t exactly smooth in Jinlintai either. Still, Jin Ling sent a few trusted people to aid the search."

"It wouldn’t have made much of a difference," Wei Wuxian muttered. "That damn cave was deep and completely isolated. Honestly, I’m still amazed at how foolish I was to fall into their trap. I knew something felt off, but I let my overconfidence get the better of me. We never expected an attack—not until it was too late."

"You can’t blame yourself, Wei-ge," Wen Ning said gently. "I know your instinct is to take everything upon yourself, but no one saw it coming—not until the Sect Leader Jin pointed it out."

"He did?" Wei Wuxian asked, surprised.

"Yes. He had been dealing with some difficulties from certain older sect members for a while. He was quietly investigating, trying to weed out the bad eggs."

Wei Wuxian let out a dry laugh. "That sect is nothing but a basket of bad eggs. If there’s anyone good in there, they must be the most miserable people in the world."

He had made countless plans in his head—some of them discussed with Lan Zhan—but every time, something new would shift, forcing them to reshape their strategies once again. Wei Wuxian was never much of a planner; he was more of a doer.

He missed Huaisang. That seemingly clueless façade concealed one of the sharpest minds in the cultivation world. After the events at Guanyin Temple, their relationship had grown somewhat distant, especially after Huaisang took up the mantle of Chief Cultivator.

Heavens, the amusement never ended after that—watching all those sect leaders confidently believe they could outmanoeuvre the infamous Head Shaker, only to be proven wrong. Very, very wrong.

But as time passed, their friendship slowly rekindled—especially after Lan Zhan had to endure what was perhaps the most heartfelt apology ever given by the Chief Cultivator himself.

That had been another amusing moment—watching Huaisang attempt to brave Lan Zhan’s icy stare, shifting nervously under the weight of his unrelenting gaze, all in an effort to mend their friendship.

But they did mend it, and what they built afterward was something stronger—more mature. It was the perfect conclusion to a tangled and complicated history. After all, it was thanks to Huaisang’s intricate machinations that Wei Wuxian had been brought back, even if it had come at the expense of one poor, broken lunatic.

He had a plan for him as well.

"Wen Ning, do you think your father is still awake?" Wei Wuxian asked after a moment of silence.

"Yes, it’s still early for him," Wen Ning replied.

"Good. Come, I want to speak with him," Wei Wuxian said, rising to his feet and heading toward the Wen family’s chambers.

"What happens if Wen Ruohan dies?" Wei Wuxian asked, his tone sharp and direct.

Wen Chunwen stiffened at the question. They sat around the table in the middle of the sitting room—Wen Feng at her husband's right, while Wen Qing took the left. Wen Ning sat beside Wei Wuxian, looking slightly startled at the bluntness of the inquiry.

An awkward, uncomfortable silence settled over the room, but Wei Wuxian didn’t care. He had no time for pleasantries—he needed answers, and he needed them now.

It took Wen Chunwen a few moments to gather himself before speaking. "A question like that, addressed to me—Wen Ruohan's second cousin—is quite hazardous if it were to spread," he said coolly.

"And who, among those present, would speak of it outside this room?" Wei Wuxian countered with a cold smile. He saw the other man shiver slightly before taking a deep breath and answering.

"Since Wen Xu is only fourteen, one of the Wen elders would become the acting sect leader until he comes of age—normally at twenty."

"Which elder is most likely to take the mantle?" Wei Wuxian pressed.

Wen Chunwen fell into deep thought before replying, "The most probable candidate would be Wen Rouhan's uncle, Wen Danshang."

"What can you tell me about him?"

Though his brows furrowed at the sudden interrogation, Wen Chunwen answered, "I know him quite well, actually. He was the one who encouraged me to pursue the healing arts. He is an honorable man, but he has very little support among the other Wen elders. He has never sought leadership, and though he spent most of his youth in Qishan, he has since retired to a small estate in the north near Xiaoguan."

Wei Wuxian nodded, deep in thought.

Wen Chunwen hesitated before finally asking, "Are you planning to kill Wen Ruohan?"

Wei Wuxian's lips curled into a grim smirk. "I planned it from the beginning . I had envisioned it happening a few years from now, but given the changes that have already taken place, I see no reason to delay it any longer. I'd rather deal with a cultivation world without Wen Ruohan in it."

"I don’t know if we could be of much help," Wen Feng added in a quiet tone. "We are healers—we swore to do no harm."

"Don’t worry," Wei Wuxian replied, still lost in thought. "I wouldn’t involve you in the process. But you’ll likely be involved after."

A sharp gasp came from his right. When he turned, he saw Wen Ning staring at him, wide-eyed, realization dawning in his expression.

"Are you planning to use the array?" Wen Ning asked.

Wei Wuxian's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "I perfected it. Fine-tuned the effects. And yes, I plan to use it on Wen Ruohan."

Then, turning to Wen Chunwen, he asked, "He has a strong golden core, I assume?"

"Yes, very strong," Wen Chunwen replied, his confusion evident. "I don’t understand," he said, looking from his son to Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian gave a small, measured smile. "And it’s better that it stays that way for now—plausible deniability. You can rest assured, I won’t involve the Dafan Wen, but I believe, as a healer, you will likely be asked to help. The only thing you need to do is your duty—without mentioning me or what we discussed here tonight. If you do that, you will be safe."

Wen Chunwen’s face was a mix of conflicting emotions as he tried to come to terms with what he was hearing.

Wei Wuxian continued, "Think of it this way, Wen Xiansheng—by eliminating a few people, we are saving thousands. It’s like weeding a garden to protect the good crops."

"And what gives you the right to be the judge?" Wen Chunwen retorted coldly.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward, his voice steady but filled with an edge. "The fact that I had to die and be reborn twice. That I watched every single person I cared for taken away from me because I refused to kneel to the greedy. That I had to resort to the power given to me by the dead to defeat a tyrant who wouldn’t think twice about ending your life if he saw you as even the slightest threat. I don’t claim innocence, Wen Xiansheng, but I made a promise when I used that array—to protect those dear to me. And if I have to fight dirty to do that, then so be it."

"I watched our family being slaughtered, Father," Wen Ning said, his voice colder than Wei Wuxian had ever heard it before. "I watched children die of starvation, and women sold to the highest bidder. The old and the young were cut down simply because they carried the Wen name. Whatever righteousness you speak of now, it is misplaced."

He finished, his tone softening slightly, almost apologetic for berating an elder.

Wen Chunwen looked at his son with sorrow, nodding in agreement, and didn’t argue further. Wei Wuxian stood up, offering a polite apology once more for the late visit, then bid Wen Ning and the others good night. As he left for his rooms, his mind already raced with thoughts of the array he needed to review and prepare.

Chapter Text

The notes were unusually tidy for him, neatly stacked in the corner of the low table after their fourth revision today. He picked up the small clay blob, no larger than a pebble, rolling it between his fingers to gauge its weight and size. He had spent the past few days refining it, meticulously perfecting the intricate array inscribed within—a challenging feat, given the complexity of the design and the limited space on the tiny piece of baked earth.

This project was old, born from an idea he had while living in the burial mounds—a plan meant to cleanse that cursed place once and for all. Yet, he had never been able to bring it to fruition, his death cutting the endeavour short. It was rooted in a theory that had plagued him ever since he escaped that wretched place, where he had been cast away by Wen Chao. By all rights, he should have perished there, devoured by the seething resentment, for it was widely believed that no one ever left the burial mounds—at least, not alive. For a time, he even believed he had died, that at some point in that abyss, he had ceased to be, and what remained of him now was something not entirely human.

He had no recollection of what transpired after his death—only the searing pain and the embrace of darkness, cold yet strangely comforting, before awakening in Mo Xuanyu’s body. But the theory kept resurfacing in his mind, again and again, refusing to fade.

Once his core had grown strong enough, he resolved to test it—to cleanse that mountain. With his husband's unwavering support, years of meticulous design and refinement finally bore fruit. The array worked, proving his theory beyond doubt and freeing the burial mounds from their suffocating resentment.

It was this triumph that earned him the greatest recognition. His name became renowned, and his treatise on the nature of Yin and Yang found its place in the libraries of every cultivation sect.

Once, during a conversation with Wen Ning, he mused about reversing the array’s purpose—turning it into a mechanism that would draw upon the resentment of all those a person had wronged, like a divine judgment made manifest. With a wry smile, he had joked that if he were to set it upon Wen Ruohan, the man would be dead within weeks, crushed beneath the sheer weight of accumulated hatred.

“Like a curse,” Wen Ning had remarked.

“Well, not exactly,” he had replied. “It’s far more intricate than a curse. A curse doesn’t account for a person’s motivations or beliefs—this does. It seeps in, settles, and functions like a reversed shield.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain it, but at its core, the array was nothing more than an incredibly complex defence mechanism—not for oneself, but for those around you, protecting them from the harm you might cause.

The idea stemmed from the very array he had designed to cleanse the burial mounds. As he refined its intricacies, he realized that, in theory, it could be altered—not to dispel resentment, but to redirect it. If the original array could purge malevolent energy from a place, then its inverse could gather and focus it upon a single person, forcing them to bear the weight of the grievances they had sown.

It was a thought both fascinating and unsettling. The implications lingered in his mind long after that conversation with Wen Ning, a concept teetering on the edge between justice and cruelty.

After returning to the past, he began working on the array in earnest, refining it bit by bit until it functioned exactly as he intended. It was a delicate balance—ensuring that it wouldn’t simply curse its target but instead reflect their own deeds back upon them, forcing them to bear the weight of the resentment they had sown.

The only way to truly test it was to use it. And there was no better subject than Wen Ruohan. He had intended to wait, to perfect every detail before setting it into motion, but time was no longer a luxury he could afford. The risk of delay had grown too great. Sooner than planned, he would have to act.

The Wen family would leave the day after tomorrow, just after the final meeting—a last chance to gather everyone before he set his plan into motion. He would miss them, especially his Ning-di and Qing-jie, who had begun to warm up to him in her own distinct way.

It always amused him how she would scrutinize him with that sharp gaze of hers, then, in a tone that allowed no room for argument, say, “You haven’t slept, have you? Are you planning to eat, or will you starve yourself just to prove you're immortal and don’t need nourishment?”

Her way of caring was blunt, unwavering, and impossible to ignore. And, in truth, he would miss it.

Her wariness toward him had begun to wane, largely thanks to Wen Ning’s unwavering trust in him. Though cautious at first, she was slowly allowing herself to accept him in her own way.

Their father, however, remained somewhat distant, his demeanour still edged with coldness. But even there, subtle signs of trust were beginning to emerge. It wasn’t much—small gestures, fleeting moments—but it was enough to show that, given time, the walls between them might finally come down.

It was well past midnight—time to finally get some rest. He placed the notes into a special box, one that only he could open. Once Wen Ruohan was dead, he would destroy them.

This array would exist only in his mind, nowhere else. He would not allow it to fall into the hands of the power-hungry, those who would twist it into something monstrous. Some knowledge was too dangerous to be written down.

The next day arrived beneath an overcast sky, a steady drizzle veiling the world in a curtain of soft gray. But inside Wan Shangcheng’s private office, the atmosphere was warm and inviting. The scent of freshly brewed tea mingled with the subtle sweetness of the snacks laid out before them. Conversations drifted easily, lingering on trivial, mundane topics—small talk meant to fill the space before weightier matters were addressed.

The two rogue cultivators were absent, as they were not privy to the full details of the plan. This meeting was for those who understood the stakes, those who would soon play their part in what was to come.

"Wen-xiansheng, you may choose not to be present for this discussion," Wei Wuxian said, his gaze resting on the Dafan Wen leader. "I’m about to reveal the method by which I plan to kill Wen Ruohan."

Wen-xiansheng exhaled slowly, his expression resigned yet resolute. "Young Master Wei, at this point, I cannot deny my involvement. I already know too much to turn back, and I would rather be fully informed than left in the dark."

Wei Wuxian nodded. "Very well, as you wish. But remember—what is discussed here stays here. It must not be shared with anyone outside this group."

Around the room, everyone nodded in agreement.

He cast a brief, knowing smile at Wen Ning and Lan Zhan before continuing. "Wen Ning already guessed the other day—the method I will use to end Wen Ruohan’s reign over the cultivation world. In my previous life, I developed a theory of cultivation, one that serves as the foundation for the array I intend to employ.

"It is highly complex, but its function is quite straightforward. It will destroy Wen Ruohan from within. The array redirects all the resentment of those he has wronged back to him, creating an imbalance in his qi. That imbalance will steadily grow, destabilizing him until it results in a lethal qi deviation."

He paused, scanning the room to gauge everyone’s reactions. Silence reigned—most likely due to disbelief. When no one spoke, he continued.

“That is why I mentioned that you might be called upon. Your branch specializes in spiritual healing, and a powerful leader teetering on the edge of qi deviation is no trivial matter. If it happens publicly, others will look to you for assistance. You must act as though you have no idea what is happening.”

His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge of warning beneath his words. If anyone suspected their involvement, the consequences would be severe.

"Has it ever been tested?" Wan Shangcheng asked curiously. Ah, he always did enjoy the scholarly side of Wan Shangcheng. Wei Wuxian smiled. "Where would I have had the opportunity to test it? But I am certain it will work. The only uncertainty is how long it will take."

"So it’s like a curse," Qingheng-Jun observed.

Wei Wuxian shook his head. "Not exactly. I admit, it looks like a curse, but it’s fundamentally different. A curse acts from the outside—no matter what the victim does, the outcome remains unchanged. And a curse can be broken with external intervention. This, however, cannot."

Wan Shangcheng frowned in thought. "So what you’re saying is that as long as Wen Ruohan continues down this path, he will be relentlessly assaulted by resentment until he qi deviates?"

"Exactly," Wei Wuxian confirmed.

Qingheng-Jun’s expression was unreadable. "Can it be stopped?"

Wei Wuxian chuckled. "If Wen Ruohan suddenly walks the path of righteousness—yes."

A pause. Then Qingheng-Jun raised a single brow. "Do you see that happening?"

Wei Wuxian only smiled.

After a few moments of contemplation, Wan Shangcheng suddenly exclaimed, "How on earth do you come up with these ideas?" His face was a picture of bewilderment. "I mean, I’ve been your apprentice for the last two years, and I’m still amazed at the way your mind works, Wangzi."

The use of Wangzi —a title meant to elevate Wei Wuxian above him—made Wei Wuxian inwardly grimace. He had tolerated it during their lessons, where their discussions on cultivation theory, arrays, and talismans felt more like exchanges between equals. But here, now, it unsettled him.

He opened his mouth to protest, to say something about it—but stopped short when he caught the look Wan Shangcheng shot him. A silent warning. 'D o not dare contradict me now.'

Wei Wuxian sighed inwardly. He let it go. For now.

The exchange did not go unnoticed. Some of those present smiled knowingly, while others looked slightly confused—but no one commented on it.

Wei Wuxian, ready to move on, continued, "It doesn’t matter how I came up with it now."

"Of course, it doesn’t," Wan Shangcheng murmured sarcastically.

Wei Wuxian shot him a look, but before he could retort, Wan Shangcheng leaned forward, his tone turning serious. "What we should focus on now is how do you plan to set it up?"

"Well, I have a plan for that too, but I’ll need some help—especially from Lan Zhan and Qingheng-Jun."

Qingheng-Jun regarded him with a calm, assessing gaze. "How can I help?"

Wei Wuxian exhaled. "You and Lan Zhan will need to supervise me for an extended period. I won’t be conscious, and you’ll have to constantly monitor my qi flow."

Lan Zhan caught on immediately. "For how long?"

"I don’t know exactly. A couple of days, maybe."

Lan Zhan’s expression darkened slightly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I want to meet it."

Ah, his husband was worried.

Wei Wuxian smiled reassuringly. "And you will, Lan Zhan. It’s okay—she’s the best of the best. I’d even say she’s better than Heiwu."

But Lan Zhan’s concern didn’t waver, his gaze still filled with quiet determination. Wei Wuxian sighed inwardly. Ah, this husband of mine, always worrying...

"I believe I speak for everyone when I say that I’m a bit confused," Wan Shangcheng said, his words immediately followed by a few nods of agreement from the others.

Wei Wuxian chuckled. "While I was still a Jiang disciple, I invented a method to transfer my consciousness into an inanimate object—like a piece of talisman paper. I call it the Paper Man Talisman . It’s quite basic, but it was useful for looking into tight places my body couldn’t fit."

He paused, then continued with a small, amused smile. "Later, I refined the technique, developing a way to send my consciousness into a living creature. The catch is that the animal must be trained and willing to allow me access to its mind. That’s how, in the past, I made a very good friend—a crow named Heiwu."

His gaze grew distant for a moment, lost in the memory, before he refocused on the present. "Over the past year, I’ve made a new friend—a very intelligent and agreeable corvid named Geleihou. I’ve been training her, and she has been quite accepting of me."

He glanced at Lan Zhan then, as if anticipating his husband's reaction. Ah, he’s definitely going to worry again, he thought with a sigh.

"You’ve never done it for more than a couple of hours," Lan Zhan stated, his voice steady but edged with concern. "How dangerous will it be?"

Wei Wuxian offered him a reassuring smile. "That’s why I’m asking you and Qingheng-Jun for help. With you two there, nothing could happen to me."

As he spoke, he reached for Lan Zhan’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. He felt a flicker of tension ease in his husband’s grip, but the worry in Lan Zhan’s eyes didn’t fully disappear. Heh, well, he’ll take what he can get, Wei Wuxian thought with a quiet sigh.

Across the room, Wen Chunwen frowned. "So, just to make sure we’re all on the same page—let me see if I understand this correctly. You plan to transfer your consciousness into a corvid, fly it to Qishan… and then what, exactly?"

"Plant this in his vicinity—most likely in a private garden," Wei Wuxian said, holding up the small clay blob for everyone to see.

"I’ve engraved the array inside it. On the outside, it looks like any ordinary pebble, but once activated, it will latch onto Wen Ruohan’s core. And then…" He shrugged slightly, "we wait."

"Ingenious," Wan Shangcheng whispered in awe.

"Mn," Lan Zhan hummed in agreement. "Wei Ying is bright."

They better stop that, Wei Wuxian thought, feeling his face heat up slightly. Even after all this time, he still wasn’t used to compliments.

Silence settled over the room as everyone processed the information. The weight of it, the risks, the sheer audacity of what he was about to attempt. Wei Wuxian knew how dangerous it was—how taxing it would be on his mind. But if he could pull it off, everything would change.

And that’s what he wanted. Change.

"When do you want to do it?" Qingheng-Jun asked.

"Tonight," Wei Wuxian replied without hesitation. "No need to delay."

"Do you need something set up?" Wan Shangcheng inquired.

Wei Wuxian shook his head. "No, just a quiet room where we won’t be disturbed."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Finally, it was happening.

Chapter Text

The sky remained dark and heavy with rain throughout the day, though at least the wind did not join the gloom. Dinner was simple but filling, and Wei Wuxian ate under the watchful gaze of his husband, who carefully ensured that the most nutritious morsels found their way into his bowl.

Perched quietly on his shoulder, Geleihou accepted the occasional treat he offered from the snacks on the table. She was an imposing raven, her glossy feathers interrupted only by a dark grey patch on her back—hence her name, Geleihou, "Grey Back." Though only a few months had passed since they first met, their bond had grown remarkably strong.

Unlike his previous connection with Heiwu, merging his consciousness with Geleihou’s felt effortless—like slipping into a well-worn robe. It was a seamless, almost instinctive experience, far more natural than his link with Heiwu. He theorized that this ease stemmed from Geleihou’s age and her untainted spirit, devoid of resentment.

Heiwu, on the other hand, had entered his life after the cleansing of the Burial Mounds. The bird had seemed drawn to him, shadowing his every step as if intrigued by the strange figure who had altered its former home. Over time, it grew bolder, approaching him frequently enough that he began to feed it. At some point, without realizing when, he had attuned himself to its needs—enough to consider an experiment.

The first attempts were unpleasant, and Heiwu, unsettled by the intrusion, kept its distance for a while. But eventually, she returned, and with patient effort, he refined his technique. In time, he could share her vision for hours before exhaustion set in.

With Geleihou, however, the experience was entirely different. She never resisted. His initial failures were due not to her reluctance, but to his own expectations—he braced for opposition that never came. Geleihou accepted his presence with a serene indifference, unaffected by the temporary surrender of control. It was not full domination; rather, he was a passenger, a co-pilot, borrowing her senses for a time rather than commanding them.

Now, Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, Qingheng-jun, and Wan Shancheng sat in a rarely used private room at the back of his office. The daybed had been made comfortable, and his father had brought his guqin and flute, both instruments he was skilled in. If necessary, Lan Zhan had also brought Wangji.

Wei Wuxian settled onto the bed and exhaled. “Let’s go over this again. Once I connect with Geleihou, all you need to do is monitor my qi flow and feed it to me only when necessary.” He glanced at them before adding, “If anything goes wrong, use the talisman I gave you—it will break the connection. But don’t use it just because you see me twitch or sweat a little; that’s normal. And definitely not if I make any noises.” His gaze landed on Lan Zhan, who remained expressionless, though Wei Wuxian knew exactly what was going through his mind.

With a small sigh, he softened his voice. “Please, Lan Zhan. I have to finish this, okay?”

Lan Zhan held his gaze for a long moment before finally responding. “I will not let Wei Ying come to harm. So if he wishes to finish this, he must be very careful.”

With a quiet sigh, Wei Wuxian lay down and gave a short, soft whistle. Geleihou fluttered onto his chest, her dark eyes sharp and watchful. Gently, he reached for the small black bead tied around her neck—a powerful talisman designed to anchor his consciousness to her for an extended period. The flight to Qishan would not be a short one.

Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift free. The sensation was always strange, but by now, he was used to it. Seeing the world through a raven’s eyes was nothing short of extraordinary. Colours shifted, their hues unfamiliar yet mesmerizing, and his vision stretched in all directions at once, granting him a perspective no human could ever experience.

Perched on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, he nuzzled the side of his face with his small feathered head, an affectionate gesture. Then, with a sharp caw, he spread his wings picked up the pebble and soared through the open door, heading toward his destination.

The road ahead would be long.

Wei Wuxian reached Qishan in the early morning, his wings aching from the long but uneventful night’s flight. Landing on the highest roof of the palace, he took a moment to rest, setting down the small clay pebble before surveying the area below.

According to Wen Ning, Wen Ruohan’s private chambers were located on the eastern side of the palace, near the main gardens. It took some time to pinpoint the exact location, but once he did, he picked up the pebble and took flight again.

Settling in the gnarled branches of an old tree nearby, he waited patiently, sharp eyes scanning for the perfect place to hide it. Once Wen Ruohan was dead, the pebble would crumble to dust, leaving no trace behind.

Now, all that remained was to wait for the right moment.

Wen Ruohan was an early riser, and by the time Wei Wuxian had settled in the tree, the palace was already stirring with activity. Servants moved briskly, cleaning and tending to their tasks. No matter—he could wait.

Closing his eyes, he focused on steadying his mind, attempting to meditate away the creeping fatigue that threatened his control. The long flight had taken its toll, and maintaining his connection with Geleihou for so many hours was beginning to wear on him.

By noon, the servants had finally cleared out, leaving the area undisturbed. Seizing the opportunity, Wei Wuxian swooped down and carefully placed the small pebble inside a large ceramic vase standing beside the door. It was the perfect hiding spot—sheltered from the elements yet close enough to ensure its effect on the person inside.

Satisfied, he retreated to the cover of the tree’s thick branches, settling in to wait. Now, all that remained was for Wen Ruohan to arrive.

By the time Wen Ruohan finally arrived late that afternoon, Wei Wuxian was teetering on the edge of impatience, nearly tempted to take flight and search for him.

Seeing him up close, however, brought an unexpected sense of detachment. During the war, he had never faced Wen Ruohan directly—except in the final battle, and even then, his focus had been on controlling the corpses rather than the man himself. Now, as he observed him, it felt as though he were looking at a stranger, someone he had perhaps met only once in passing.

And yet, this man would one day be responsible for the deaths of countless innocent  people. The thought was surreal.

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes and focused on the array. A moment later, he felt it activate.

He lingered a little longer, watching as Wen Ruohan strolled leisurely along the winding paths of the garden, oblivious to what had just been set in motion. Then, with a final glance, he spread his wings and took flight, heading home.

It was past midnight when Wei Wuxian finally arrived home. Gliding through the open doors, he landed on his own chest before releasing his hold on Geleihou. The relief was immense—like lifting a massive boulder from his mind.

As he opened his eyes, the dim candlelight revealed Lan Zhan sitting nearby, his expression worried, while Qingheng-jun silently fed him spiritual energy.

“Lan Zhan… it’s done,” Wei Wuxian murmured, exhaustion crashing over him.

Before he could hear a response, he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

A week later, Wei Wuxian received a message from Wen Ning—his father had been summoned to the Nightless City.

Two weeks later, the news arrived—Wen Ruohan was dead, along with two of his closest advisors.

Wei Wuxian didn’t know how to feel at first. It was almost cathartic—to be free of a threat that had loomed over them for so long. But now, it was gone.

There would be no war. No burning of Cloud Recesses. No fall of Lotus Pier.

Jiang Cheng would not lose his golden core and his parents.

The Dafan Wen would not end up in Jin sect work camps.

And no one could ever implicate them—or the Dafan Wen, for that matter. They had been nowhere near Qishan or Wen Ruohan when the symptoms started . 

Wei Wuxian had destroyed all his notes on the array. The only evidence left was Geleihou—but who would ever suspect a raven?

He didn’t feel ecstatic. He didn’t rejoice.

Just relief.

The future had changed.

Instead of the conference, which was cancelled, a funeral was held—one that every sect leader attended. Yet their presence was motivated less by mourning and more by idle curiosity, as they gathered to exchange gossip and catch sight of the new Wen sect leader. As Wen Chunwen had foretold, Wen Danshang was installed as acting sect leader until Wen Xu came of age. Wen Ning’s letters made it clear that hardly anyone desired the role. Moreover, the mysterious deaths of Wen Rouhan and his two closest advisers had spurred whispers of a curse upon the Wen leadership. Despite their outward dismissal of such superstitions, not a single voice opposed Wen Danshang’s rise to power.

Wei Wuxian found it amusing that, despite the widespread rumours of the Wens' insatiable thirst for power—both before and after the war—they seemed decidedly unwilling to challenge a supposed curse. Not that such a thing truly existed. He had anticipated a fierce power struggle that would destabilize the sect for the foreseeable future, yet, in the end, all it took was the mere spectre of an unknown curse to put an end to any ambitions.

He didn’t know exactly what had transpired in the weeks leading up to Wen Rouhan’s death, but whatever it was, it had left a powerful impression—one strong enough to silence ambition and keep even the most power-hungry at bay.

The conference was rescheduled to take place at Lotus Pier, as originally planned, with new invitations sent out for the end of summer. Lan Xichen would also attend, as these gatherings traditionally included friendly competitions among the sects. During the week that both Qingheng-jun and Lan Xichen would be away, it was decided that Lan Zhan would stay at the Pine Hidden Manor, where, after so many visits, he 'apparently' had formed friendships of his own.

Everything was beginning to settle into a new and exciting reality, with an unknown future stretching ahead—and Wei Wuxian loved it. He embraced the change so fully that he was completely caught off guard when, one day in Caiyi, while out shopping and enjoying himself with A-Bao and A-Yun, he unexpectedly ran into Jiang Fengmian and a group of his disciples.

At that moment, he was in the middle of haggling—perhaps a little too loudly—with an old vendor over a small comb he wanted to buy for his meimei. His enthusiasm must have drawn attention, because suddenly, a voice spoke from behind him:

"I will buy that comb for you, young master. It seems very important to you."

Wei Wuxian froze. That voice—mildly amused, soft in cadence—was one he had not heard in years. Slowly, he turned, and when he lifted his gaze, he found himself staring into a pair of warm, amused brown eyes.

He saw the exact moment Jiang Fengmian made the connection. The recognition dawned as the sect leader took a closer look at him. It was no surprise—Wei Wuxian had sometime been told he bore a striking resemblance to his father, though his eyes, unmistakably, belonged to his mother.

"Wei Ying."

The name was barely more than a whisper, but it sent a jolt through Wei Wuxian. His mind raced. Panic stirred in his chest, the instinct to deny everything and disappear flaring up immediately. But really, what would be the point? He was no longer under their control, and it wasn’t as if Jiang Fengmian could simply kidnap him and drag him back to Lotus Pier.

So instead, he forced a smile and tilted his head playfully. "How do you know my name, esteemed cultivator?"

Rather than answering, Jiang Fengmian studied him carefully before asking, "Who are your parents?"

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want to know?" he asked, feigning suspicion.

The sect leader sighed, his expression gentle. "I’m sorry if I startled you. It’s just... you look so much like a dear friend of mine. And I’ve been searching for his young son, who went missing a few years ago."

Wei Wuxian held his gaze, studying him in turn. Jiang Fengmian looked sincere, almost heartbreakingly so—hope flickering in his eyes, as if he truly believed he had found what he was looking for. For a brief moment, Wei Wuxian hesitated.

Before he could say anything, a familiar voice called out from behind him.

"A-Ying, did you manage to get a good price after all?"

Wan Shangcheng approached with A-Yun and A-Bao at his side, his sharp gaze immediately flickering to Jiang Fengmian with suspicion.

"I was working on it, Wan Bofu, when this esteemed cultivator called my name," Wei Wuxian replied cheerfully, flashing a bright smile at Wan Shangcheng.

The older man, already well aware of Wei Wuxian’s history with the Jiangs, understood the unspoken request for discretion at the time . Not that it mattered anymore—Jiang Fengmian had already seen him, and recognized something in him.

Wan Shangcheng nodded politely to the sect leader before speaking. "I am Wan Shangcheng Zhu. How can I help you?"

Jiang Fengmian, briefly taken aback by the direct yet courteous introduction, quickly composed himself. "I am Jiang Fengmian, sect leader of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect," he said with a respectful bow of his head. "I apologize if I was too forward, but I have spent years searching for the son of a dear friend who passed away. This young man bears a striking resemblance to him, so I merely inquired about his parents. I meant no harm."

His voice was calm, his posture measured, but there was a quiet urgency in his tone—an earnestness that Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite ignore.

Wan Shangcheng glanced at Wei Wuxian, his expression as stern as ever, but in his eyes was a silent question: How do you want to handle this?

Wei Wuxian took a breath, steadying himself, before turning back to Jiang Fengmian. With an elegant bow, he spoke, his tone light yet deliberate.

"This one is Wei Ying, son of Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren, and respectfully greets the sect leader."

The cat was out of the bag—no more hiding. Wei Wuxian would just take things one step at a time. There wasn’t much else he could do now, anyway. He had a guardian in Wan Shangcheng, and as his ward, he had nothing to fear. Jiang Fengmian might have once been a figure of authority in his life, but now, he held no power over him.

Chapter Text

The room was small, yet it offered the privacy they sought. After their meeting in the market, Wan Shangcheng suggested they retreat to a tea house, where they could sit and converse in a more privet setting. It was clear that Jiang Fengmian was far too exhilarated by his unexpected encounter with Wei Wuxian to continue their discussion in the bustling streets.

After the introductions were complete and the tea was served along with the snacks the low table they were placed on became a quiet divide between him and the sect leader. Jiang Fengmian sat on one side, while on the other, Wei Wuxian found himself nestled between A-Yun and A-Bao. The latter, ever perceptive, picked up on the tension in him immediately. Over time, A-Yun had learned to recognize the subtle cues she unconsciously displayed in emotional situations, and he followed her lead without hesitation. That was why, at this moment, both his siblings stood by him, offering their silent support—even if they didn’t fully understand the circumstances.

Jiang Fengmian regarded them with a curious and slightly amused expression, perhaps finding their quiet solidarity endearing. Meanwhile, Wan Shangcheng, seated in the right corner, observed the scene in silence.

"I must confess, I am relieved to find you safe and well cared for," Jiang Fengmian said after a moment. "These past few years of searching for you have been difficult, and not knowing your circumstances has been even harder."

Wei Wuxian regarded him quietly, searching for something beyond the usual calm and gentle demeanor Jiang Fengmian always displayed. He had always found it difficult to read the sect leader—his kindness felt effortless, his affection measured yet genuine. As a street child, starved for warmth, Wei Wuxian had eagerly latched onto every gesture of care, every fleeting moment of attention directed at him, weaving in his mind the image of a figure larger than life—his savior.

Looking at the man before him—at the joy in his expression upon finally finding him—Wei Wuxian saw him not through the eyes of the starved child he once was, but as a man who had known true affection, who had learned that not every smile was a sign of friendship. And now, with that understanding, he caught the quiet desperation hidden beneath Jiang Fengmian’s composed exterior—the faint tremble of his hand, the way his eyes flickered now and then toward Wan Shangcheng. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

"After I learned of your parents' death in Yiling, I immediately sent out a search party across the region, but we found nothing," Jiang Fengmian continued, his voice steady, yet laden with the weight of years spent searching. "To be honest, I was beginning to lose hope. But then, I heard a rumour that you had travelled to Guangling with a group of merchants. I followed every lead, searching town after town, yet each time, I found nothing."

He exhaled softly before adding, "I had only stopped in Caiyi because I intended to visit Sect Leader Lan and discuss inter-sect matters with him. I never expected that fate would bring me to you here."

"When exactly did you learn about their deaths?" Wan Shangcheng asked calmly.

"About two years ago," Jiang Fengmian replied. "I found out completely by accident during a night hunt in Yiling. The magistrate was complaining about how they relied too much on rogue cultivators—and how a pair of them had gone on a hunt and never returned."

He fell silent for a moment, his expression distant, lost in thought, before continuing, "When I learned their names, I started asking about you, but no one seemed to know anything.The inn owner they stayed with said they had left a child behind, but when they never came back, the boy ran away."

Wei Wuxian let out a sharp snort at that, startling the sect leader. "I didn’t run away—I was thrown out when the money ran out. I lived on the streets for two years before I left."

Jiang Fengmian nodded, a sorrowful look in his eyes. "I assumed as much at the time," he admitted, "but there was no way to prove it."

"But now that I have finally found you," Jiang Fengmian said, casting a brief glance at Wan Shangcheng, "I would like to ask you something."

He hesitated for a moment before continuing, "Would you be willing to come with me to Lotus Pier and become a member of the Jiang Sect, just as your father was? I have a daughter and a son your age—they would become your siblings. Of course, Wei Bao and Wei Yun would be welcome as well. This would be a great opportunity for them."

He smiled warmly at the two sitting on either side of Wei Wuxian, his expression gentle and inviting.

Wei Wuxian felt a pang of sadness for the sect leader. He could hear the eagerness in his tone, see the quiet hope in his eyes—convinced that he was offering them a great opportunity, unaware that, in another life, he already had.

And while Wei Wuxian was grateful for the support Jiang Fengmian had given him in that past life, as things stood now, he couldn’t imagine A-Bao and A-Yun growing up under Madam Yu’s rule. That alone was telling enough.

Before refusing, Wei Wuxian decided to seize the opportunity to gather information. This was a rare chance, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

"Sect Leader Jiang," he began carefully, "you said my father was a dear friend of yours, yet they never spoke of you to me. I don’t remember ever being in Lotus Pier. If my father was part of the Jiang Sect, why did he leave?"

Jiang Fengmian was taken aback by the question, clearly not expecting it. He took a deep breath before answering.

"Your father loved your mother very much," he said, his voice measured yet tinged with something almost wistful. "And because she was a rogue cultivator, he chose to leave the Jiang Sect to follow her."

A shadow of sadness crossed his face as he continued, "I don’t know why he never spoke of me, but he did write to me. And he visited Lotus Pier a few months after you were born."

Then, he fell silent, his gaze distant, as if lost in memories long buried.

"Why did Cangse Sanren refuse to join the Jiang Sect?" Wan Shangcheng asked, his tone sharp. His gaze locked onto Jiang Fengmian, challenging him to speak the truth. "It seems rather unwise to turn down the opportunity to be part of a prestigious sect."

He let his words linger before continuing, "As you mentioned to A-Ying earlier, his father was a long-time friend of yours. So why would his wife urge him to leave the sect—the only family he had ever known? The life of a rogue cultivator is far from easy, and an offer from a great sect is not something one dismisses lightly."

Jiang Fengmian remained silent for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. Finally, he sighed.

"Cangse Sanren was not the kind of person to be bound by rules or hierarchy," he admitted. "She valued freedom above all else, and no sect—no matter how great—could offer her the life she wanted. To her, the structure of a sect was a cage, even if it was a golden one."

His expression darkened slightly before he continued, "As for why she wanted Wei Changze to leave the sect… I can only assume it was because she knew he would choose her over anything else. He loved her deeply, and she was his world. If she wouldn’t stay in a sect, neither would he. It wasn’t about rejecting an opportunity—it was about choosing the life they wanted, even if it was a difficult one."

His fingers tightened slightly around his teacup as he added, "I never resented him for it. But I did wish, for his sake and yours, that things had turned out differently."

There was more to it—Wei Wuxian could feel it. He was about to press further when Wan Shangcheng spoke first, his tone sharper than usual.

"Sect Leader Jiang, I had hoped for an honest conversation," he said coldly. "But it seems there are deeper reasons why a loyal friend would leave. And if you cannot be truthful with A-Ying—or even with yourself—why should he trust any promises you make?"

For the first time, Jiang Fengmian’s calm, benevolent mask faltered. His expression darkened, and he shot Wan Shangcheng the most heated look Wei Wuxian had ever seen from him.

"Have you even known Wei Changze?" Jiang Fengmian asked coldly.

"No," Wan Shangcheng admitted, unfazed by the sect leader's tone. "But I know when someone isn't telling the whole truth. And I know A-Ying. If he is anything like his parents, I have no doubt that there is more to this story than what you’re revealing."

His voice remained cold,his manner direct. "I am not an ordinary man, Sect Leader Jiang. I am a lord, well-versed in the ways of sects—especially since I live beside one. Do not mistake me for someone easily deceived."

Jiang Fengmian was clearly frustrated that the conversation was not unfolding as he had hoped. However, as the leader of one of the great sects, he quickly composed himself. Forcing a smile, he said,

"Whatever the reason for Wei Changze’s departure from the sect, I was the closest thing he had to a brother. That means it is my duty to care for his son."

His attempt at diplomacy, however, did not land as well as he had hoped. Wei Wuxian saw it—the exact moment Wan Shangcheng decided to be ruthless. He had nothing to lose; he owed the Jiang Sect nothing.

"These children have been under my care for the past two years, and in that time, I have come to see them as my own," Wan Shangcheng said, his tone as sharp as a blade. "I have every right to inquire about the reasons behind your friend defection—especially if they reveal circumstances that would be less than ideal for A-Ying to return to."

He let his words sink in before delivering the final blow. "I have heard the rumours, Sect Leader Jiang. Rumours about your wife's temperament and her well-known dislike of Cangse Sanren. I believe that, perhaps, the true reason they chose the life of wanderers lies there."

"Jackpot!" Wei Wuxian thought the moment he caught the flicker of emotion on Jiang Fengmian’s face—the slight paling of his skin, the widening of his eyes, the almost imperceptible flinch at Wan Shangcheng’s accusation.

But Wan Shangcheng was relentless.

"Whatever guilt or misplaced duty compels you to take these children from a stable home—where they are cared for and appreciated—only to place them in an environment where their worth may be measured by how well they serve the sect, I urge you to reconsider." His voice was calm, yet merciless.

"You speak of family," he continued, eyes sharp as steel, "but can you guarantee that your wife will see them as such? Can you protect them from her resentment? And even if you do, can you be certain that your children will ever truly hold affection for them?"

"Do not make promises you cannot keep," Wan Shangcheng said with finality. "Not when you struggle to speak the whole truth."

Wei Wuxian truly liked Wan Shangcheng. It was almost unreal—the way this man had so firmly taken his side, disregarding all the rigid social constructs that dictated loyalty and obligation, simply to stand as a pillar for him to rely on.

Jiang Fengmian looked defeated. He let out a deep sigh before finally addressing Wei Wuxian directly.

"If you do not wish to come with me to Lotus Pier, I cannot force you," he said, his voice weary yet composed. "But don’t dismiss the offer so quickly."

Then, turning to Wan Shangcheng, he continued, "There will be a cultivation conference at Lotus Pier towards the end of summer. I will send an invitation to you and your family—bring Wei Wuxian and his siblings with you." His gaze softened as he looked at the children. "It would be a good opportunity for Wei Ying to see the place where his father grew up."

Wan Shangcheng gave a curt nod. "We will wait for the invitation, Sect Leader Jiang, and we will send our confirmation as soon as possible." His tone remained polite, but there was an unmistakable finality to it.

"Thank you for the invitation, Sect Leader Jiang. I will think about it," Wei Wuxian said with a smile, neither accepting nor rejecting outright.

Jiang Fengmian regarded him with quiet fondness. "I’m truly glad you have found a good home with Wan Shangcheng zhu. It’s clear his family treats you well, and I do not wish to take that away from you. But if you ever wish to become a cultivator, like your parents, I would be more than happy to guide you." His voice was soft, genuine.

Perhaps he truly was happy for him. Perhaps his offer to teach him cultivation was sincere. But at what price? What unspoken debt would be placed on his shoulders? And what would he be expected to give in return?

Wei Wuxian could not see himself as part of the Jiang Sect. Even if he didn’t already have a golden core, he would not ask for Jiang Fengmian’s help. "Thank you for the offer, Sect Leader Jiang, but I already have a golden core," Wei Wuxian said with a smile.

Jiang Fengmian actually gaped. "You do?" Disbelief coloured his voice.

"Yes, I do. My parents taught me how to form one, and I never really stopped trying. Even when I was living on the streets, cultivating helped me survive the harsh conditions of Yiling’s back alleys," Wei Wuxian replied, watching with quiet satisfaction as wonder flickered across Jiang Fengmian’s face.

"Can I check?" Jiang Fengmian asked, reaching out instinctively.

Wei Wuxian's first instinct was to refuse. But then he noticed the curiosity gleaming in the sect leader’s eyes and thought, Well, if he wants to see, why not? Without a word, he extended his wrist.

Jiang Fengmian’s qi swept over him—cautious, delicate, a quiet probe into his meridians. But as soon as he reached the core, he gasped, eyes widening with something close to shock.

"A very strong core," he whispered, almost reverently.

And there it was.

For the briefest moment, unmasked beneath the awe, was an expression Wei Wuxian recognized all too well—covetous, almost feverish, as if Jiang Fengmian had stumbled upon an unimaginable treasure. A near-manic desire lit his gaze, one that spoke volumes more than any words ever could.

So, I was right.

There had always been affection, yes. Perhaps even genuine care. But beneath it all, cultivation had played a larger role than anyone cared to admit.

Jiang Fengmian had known all those years ago. He must have.

When he had taken him to Lotus Pier the first time, he had already seen his potential. He had understood what an asset Wei Wuxian could become.

What a catch, Wei Wuxian thought bitterly. The perfect shield for his children.

A wave of disappointment washed over him with the realization.

He had never truly thought of himself as unhappy in Lotus Pier. He had loved his shidis and shimeis, adored his shijie, and even Jiang Cheng—prickly as he was—had been his closest companion. He had respected Jiang Fengmian and, in his own way, even Madam Yu.

But as time passed and more revelations came to light, the illusion he had built around that period of his life began to crumble.

The reality was not as rose-coloured as he had once believed

And seeing that brief flicker of disappointment in Jiang Fengmian’s eyes—the moment he realized he could not claim ownership over his cultivation—was something Wei Wuxian had never expected.

It was subtle, barely there, gone in an instant. But he had seen it. And it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Jiang Fengmian quickly composed himself, smoothing his expression into something warm and inviting. With a gentle smile, he said, "Please come to Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian. It would be my pleasure to introduce you to my family."

The meeting ended quickly after that, wrapped up in promises to keep in touch and other banal pleasantries that Wei Wuxian barely registered.

Still, he was glad it had happened. Something within him settled, a weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying lifting from his shoulders. A hidden guilt—for leaving Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng behind—had lingered in the corners of his mind for so long.

Now, it felt a little lighter.

Upon returning home, they were met with a letter from Qingheng-Jun, a quiet warning about Jiang Fengmian’s presence in Caiyi.

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but laugh. How ironic—just as he had firmly chosen another path, fate seemed determined to offer him closure in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Perhaps this was destiny’s way of tying off loose ends, ensuring he moved forward without lingering doubts.

Chapter Text

It was the beginning of spring. The air remained crisp, but the sun shone brightly, melting the last remnants of snow that clung stubbornly to the earth. Though it was still early morning, Wei Wuxian paid no heed—after so many overcast days, the clear sky felt like a blessing, and the fresh, invigorating air filled him with renewed energy.

Today marked the first day of lectures at the Cloud Recesses. As Qingheng-Jun’s protégé and Lan Zhan’s close friend, Wei Wuxian had naturally been invited, along with his brother, Wei Yun, courtesy name Jingshan. Not that he had anything to learn from these lessons, but the chance to see Lan Zhan every day was not one he would pass up. And for A-Yun, the experience would be invaluable.

A-Bao and A-Yun had grown so much, so beautifully, that Wei Wuxian sometimes found himself on the verge of tears just thinking about them. Both had formed strong golden cores and were blossoming into remarkable cultivators—not just in skill, but in virtue, something far too many lacked in this era. They had each chosen to learn an instrument, with A-Yun favouring the dizi and A-Bao the pipa, and they often played together with Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen. The latter had grown particularly close to them after Lan Zhan revealed the truth of their time travel, offering a summary explanation the events in their other lives.

To Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Lan Xichen had become an entirely different person under Qingheng-Jun’s guidance. He still possessed the same calm, kind demeanour and his unwavering ability to see the best in people, but now he carried himself with a newfound strength—his once gentle resolve reinforced by a steel backbone. Under Qingheng-Jun’s tutelage, he had also gained a deeper understanding of politics, no longer merely an idealist but a leader with discernment and quiet authority.

When Lan Zhan had outlined the mistakes made in their past life—not only by Lan Xichen but also by himself and Qingheng-Jun—Wei Wuxian saw a more perceptive, self-aware Lan Xichen emerge. Of course, these changes had been made possible by the reforms that Sect Leader Lan had steadily implemented over the past eight years since emerging from seclusion. Many of the rigid rules had been abolished, and those that remained were reworded to prevent over-interpretation. Out of the original 3,000 rules on the Wall of Discipline, only 1,600 remained—nearly half had been erased.

Wei Wuxian smiled as he glanced at the now half-empty stone façade, recalling the day Lan Xichen, utterly fed up with everyone using the rules as a counterargument to his reforms, had taken drastic action. When the elders failed to present any logical reasoning for their resistance, he had erased 3,750 rules from the Wall of Discipline in a single day. The uproar that followed had sent the elders into a frenzy, and while the act had been deeply satisfying, even Wei Wuxian had to admit it hadn’t been worth the chaos that ensued.

Now, however, change had come gradually, and most of the old-guard malcontents had been stripped of their influence—either forced into seclusion or publicly shamed after repeated complaints from disciples landed on the sect leader’s desk. Qingheng-Jun had ensured that every inquiry into their actions was as public as possible, slowly but surely exposing their hypocrisy for all to see.

And those complaints had only been possible because of his reforms. By giving the disciples a voice and a proper channel to report injustices, Qingheng jun had dismantled the unchecked authority that once allowed the elders to act without consequence. No longer could they hide behind outdated traditions or wield the rules as a weapon against progress. Slowly but surely, the old order crumbled, making way for a new era—one where justice and reason held more weight than blind adherence to the past.

Up ahead, Wei Wuxian spotted Lan Zhan waiting for him at the gates. He had wanted to be the first to arrive today, which was why he had done something he rarely ever did—wake up before the sun. He glanced at A-Yun beside him and grinned before enthusiastically waving at his husband.

“Lan Zhan!” he called, his voice echoing through the mountains. After all, everyone should know that Wei Wuxian had arrived—not that he planned on causing trouble (at least, not intentionally), but he would certainly bring some excitement.

A-Yun smiled, shaking his head. “If he’s been waiting for you since before sunrise, I wouldn’t be surprised,” he remarked. The teenager was already well accustomed to their dynamics and had long since built up an immunity to their shamelessness.

“Hey, too early to be snarky,” Wei Wuxian shot back, grinning as he playfully nudged his didi.

When Wei Wuxian finally reached Lan Zhan, he bowed respectfully—just for formality’s sake—before immediately pulling him into a tight embrace. “I missed you so much, Lan Zhan,” he murmured into his neck , grinning when he noticed the faint flush dusting Lan Zhan’s ears. Delighted by the sight, he giggled and hugged him even tighter.

A-Yun let out a long-suffering sigh. “You literally saw each other two days ago.”

“Exactly!” Wei Wuxian huffed, looking thoroughly vexed. “That’s too damn long.”

“Mn.” Lan Zhan nodded in agreement, then turned to Wei Wuxian with a calm but pointed look. “Language.”

Wei Wuxian couldn't help but laugh. After all this time, Lan Zhan would always be Lan Zhan—steadfast, unwavering, and ever so particular about his rules. It was endlessly endearing. With a bright grin, he tightened his hold for just a moment longer before finally letting go, his heart light and full.

"Welcome to the Cloud Recesses, Wei Jingshan," Lan Zhan said, offering an elegant bow to the young boy.

Wei Jingshan immediately returned the gesture. "Thank you, Lan Er-Gongzi."

"I will show you to your chambers," Lan Zhan continued, turning to lead the way.

They followed him through the Cloud Recesses, admiring the elegant yet understated beauty of the buildings and the tranquillity that permeated every corner of the well-tended gardens. The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of pine, adding to the serene atmosphere.

As they walked, they encountered several junior cultivators who recognized Wei Wuxian from past night hunts. Their faces lit up as they greeted him with bright smiles and respectful salutes. Wei Wuxian, after all, was well known among the juniors—he often accompanied them on hunts, guiding them with both skill and humour. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was making friends, and not just among the younger disciples. Even some of the senior ones had grown fond of him over time, despite—or perhaps because of—his relentless energy and charm.

He and his brother were the most well-liked young rogue cultivators around Caiyi Town and the Cloud Recesses. Their easy-going nature, coupled with their undeniable skill, had earned them a good reputation among both the locals and the Lan disciples.

With Wei Wuxian being a close friend with  both the Twin Jades of Lan and held in high regard by the sect leader himself, he had become quite the celebrity in these parts. His prestige as the ward of Wan Shangcheng only added to his growing social status, further cementing his place as a figure of both admiration and intrigue.

When they arrived at the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes at Lan Zhan suspiciously.

“Lan Zhan, am I staying at the Jingshi? Because we agreed that I’d share a room with my brother.”

“Wei Ying and Wei Jingshan will live in the Jingshi. Father added two more rooms,” Lan Zhan replied in his usual deadpan tone, as if he hadn’t just delivered the greatest news ever.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes lit up. “Really? That’s fantastic! Did you hear that, A-Yun? We’re staying in the Jingshi! Do you have any idea what an honour this is?” he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Without hesitation, he latched onto Lan Zhan’s arm, grinning like the lovesick fool he so unapologetically was.

A-Yun, meanwhile, gave him a flat look. “Are you sure it’s an honour, Xian-ge? Because it feels more like I’ve just been appointed your chaperone.”

“Heh, no matter. What’s important is that we’re together,” he said cheerfully, bounding up the steps.

His room was, of course, right next to Lan Zhan’s, while A-Yun’s was on the other side, near a small sitting room. Wei Wuxian turned to his husband with a wide grin.

“It’s perfect, Lan Zhan. I’m very happy.”

Wei Jingshan shook his head in amusement before heading off to settle into his new quarters, wisely leaving the two love-struck fools to their own devices.

“You’re not the best chaperone, you know,” Wei Wuxian called teasingly after him.

“I know. I’m just happy to have my own room,” Jingshan shot back, closing the door behind him.

Wei Wuxian laughed, his smile bright. “I just love my brother so much.”

As they journeyed to the Lanshi, they encountered A-Ning—now known as Han Ning, courtesy name Qiongling—and Qing Jie from the newly established Xilan Han Sect. The Dafan Wen had finally severed ties with the Wen main clan, leaving Dafan behind to settle on a vast stretch of land near the sea, just south of the Cloud Recesses. Nestled among forested hills, the breath-taking landscape had become their new home, and the former Dafan Wen were quickly gaining recognition in the region, particularly for their expertise in healing arts.

Following Wen Ruohan’s death, Wen Chunwen had waited a year before informing the newly appointed acting sect leader of their intent to separate. According to Wen law—mirroring the customs of many other sects—any branch wishing to break away from the main family was required to relinquish both their name and ancestral land, a rule designed to discourage such departures. However, Wen Danshang, who held a certain respect for Wen Chunwen, did not oppose the decision. Instead, he facilitated their transition, even contributing with  funds to help them secure new land.

Their new home had been acquired at an exceptionally low price, thanks to Qingheng-Jun, who had declared, “This land belongs to the Lan Clan, but it has never been used, so we are giving it to you.”

That small but significant act of generosity had allowed the newly formed Xilan Han Sect to establish themselves without the burden of crippling debt. Their settlement flourished quickly, benefiting not only from their deep knowledge of healing but also from the goodwill they had earned in the last three yeas of aiding the injured and sick, regardless of sect or status.

Now, Han Ning and Han Qing walked with quiet confidence, no longer bearing the weight of a  past as members of a fallen branch of the Wen Clan. Their robes, in deep blue and silver, bore the insignia of their newly established sect—a mortar and pestle with three tea leaves peeking out, and upon the mortar, the symbol of yin and yang, representing the harmony and balance achieved through the art of healing.

Seeing them here, standing tall and unshackled from the shadow of a tyrant’s deeds, filled Wei Wuxian with a rare sense of satisfaction.

They had taken their new name from the matriarchal side of their lineage, honouring the roots that had nurtured them long before the Wen Clan’s shadow fell upon them.

He pulled Han Ning into a tight hug before bowing respectfully to Han Qing.

“Ning-di, Qing-jie, when did you arrive?” he asked, smiling warmly.

“Yesterday,” Han Ning replied with a shy smile. Though he had grown more confident, he had never truly lost his gentle nature.

“Great! Let’s walk together,” Wei Wuxian said cheerfully, throwing an arm around Han Ning’s shoulders with his usual easy familiarity.

They were among the first to arrive, taking seats at the head of the classroom, with Han Ning and Qing Jie settling just behind them. As they got comfortable, more disciples began to trickle in. The back rows filled up first, leaving the latecomers no choice but to take the seats at the front.

Wei Wuxian surveyed the gathering with a pleased smile. Everyone was here.

The Jins had arrived in all their ostentatious glory, led by a certain golden peacock and his insufferable cousin. The Jiangs had taken their places as well, featuring an ever-scowling Jiang Wanyin. The Nie Sect was represented by none other than Nie Huaisang, who was making a valiant effort to appear as small and unnoticeable as possible. The Ouyangs, the Yaos, and disciples from various smaller sects—honoured to have received an invitation—filled the remaining seats, murmuring quietly among themselves as they waited for the lecture to begin.

This was the first time Wei Wuxian had seen Jiang Wanyin since his return. He had deliberately skipped the conference at Lotus Pier—what would have been the point? He had already made peace with the past.

Jiang Fengmian had never sent another invitation after that, apparently understanding the message when Wei Wuxian failed to show up.

Jiang Wanyin was much the same as he remembered—except now, his scowl carried an even sharper intensity, as if he were trying to strike people down with a single glare.

The two disciples accompanying him were familiar. In another life, they had been his shidis. Now, they were strangers.

From what he had heard, Jiang Wanyin was still not the head disciple. Apparently, Jiang Shumin had not retired early this time, unlike in Wei Wuxian’s previous life as a Jiang.

When Wei Wuxian glanced at Nie Huaisang, the latter winked at him and nodded in greeting. Wei Wuxian grinned, returning the nod. They had already become friends again during last year’s lectures. One day, while wandering through Caiyi Market, he had spotted Huaisang and couldn’t resist approaching his old friend to reacquaint himself. From then on, they met regularly in town, catching up over tea and idle conversation.

During that time, Huaisang had even stayed at Pine Hidden Manor several times, enjoying Wan Shangcheng's hospitality. After the lectures ended, they had maintained a steady correspondence, exchanging letters filled with clever remarks, musings on the ever-shifting world of cultivation, and, of course, the latest gossip.

Another significant change brought about by Wen Ruohan’s downfall was that Nie Mingjue had yet to ascend as sect leader—his father was still alive and now served as the Chief Cultivator.

Jin Guangshan had fought hard for the position, but it seemed few truly trusted him. His reputation was far from stellar, and there was no war , to eliminate all other viable candidates.

Qingheng-Jun’s entrance brought an immediate hush to the room. He was accompanied by Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, and together, they moved with quiet dignity to take their seats at the head of the hall.

After the initial greetings, the Lan sect leader addressed the gathered disciples. "Welcome to this year’s Cloud Recesses lectures. It is an honour to host such esteemed attendees, and I hope this year proves to be both enriching and fruitful, fostering new knowledge and lasting friendships."

After the entire class bowed in gratitude, they prepared for the presentation of gifts—a customary gesture of respect toward the hosts of the lectures.

Wei Wuxian found himself surprisingly happy to be here. As he watched each sect present their gifts, a grin tugged at his lips.

This is going to be a fun year, he thought, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Chapter Text

The beauty of a cloudless blue sky, though serene, can sometimes be seen as monotonous. Clouds bring movement, depth, and nuance, inviting the dreamer to craft stories from their shifting forms. Yet, for those who can see beyond—to the vast majesty of the universe—there is nothing dull about it.

That was how Wei Wuxian once saw Lan Zhan: a clear, flawless sky, beautiful yet seemingly unchanging. But fate granted him the rare privilege of seeing deeper, beyond the composed exterior Lan Zhan showed the world. To him, Lan Zhan was anything but boring.

Now, sitting on the front porch of the Jingshi, watching his husband quietly read a new collection of poetry, he could almost see the thoughts flickering through his mind with each verse. How had he ever believed him to be cold, merely by observing the surface? It was still a mystery. Wei Wuxian could conceal his emotions when he wished, but unlike his husband, it was not second nature to him. He had always worn his heart openly for all to see.

Over the past couple of  weeks, he had managed to maintain an uncharacteristically good image—staying out of trouble, answering when called upon in class, embodying the model student. And it was, without a doubt, the most tedious thing he had ever done. Sitting through Lan Qiren’s endless lectures, nodding along to lessons he already knew—some of which he had even disproven in another lifetime—was nothing short of excruciating

But to have moments like this with Lan Zhan, he would endure it. For it was in these quiet, peaceful times that happiness sank into his very being—simple, profound, and utterly fulfilling.

Since Lan Zhan had agreed to his uncle’s request to attend the lectures to pose as an example for the other students—his already stellar reputation now even more revered—he had done so under one condition: that he and Wei Wuxian would only attend morning classes, leaving their afternoons free to dedicate themselves to furthering their cultivation together.

They spent those afternoons reading, training, and enjoying quality time with the bunnies. The fluffy creatures had been reintroduced to Cloud Recesses the same year Qingheng-jun revised the sect rules, clarifying that while pets were generally allowed, loud and disruptive animals—like dogs—were explicitly forbidden.

Though Wei Wuxian had somewhat overcome his fear of dogs, he still didn’t like the creatures.

"You were supposed to correct my sword forms, Xian-ge, not just stare at Wangji-ge," A-Yun's voice cut through Wei Wuxian’s reverie.

Startled, Wei Wuxian blinked and turned to his didi. Oh. Right. He was supposed to be supervising training.

"Ah, sorry, A-Yun," he said with a sheepish grin. "But you’re already very good! You could take a break if you want and continue later."

Wei JingShan sighed in resignation. "Of course. Maybe when Wangji-ge isn’t around."

"What? Betrayal!" Wei Wuxian exclaimed, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. "Lan Zhan, my own didi wants to separate us! Ah, family can be so cruel sometimes!" He let out a dramatic sigh.

Wei Jingshan merely smiled, shaking his head at his elder brother’s antics.

"He is right. Wei Ying should pay attention to his disciple," Lan Zhan remarked, eyes still fixed on his book.

Wei Wuxian gasped. "Lan Zhan, you too?! The betrayal runs deep!"

From around  the shrubs bordering the the courtyard around the Jingshi, Han Ning appeared, carrying a basket. He smiled shyly at everyone.

"I made too many snacks last evening, so I came to share some with you. I hope I’m not intruding," he said with a polite bow.

"Aha! My best didi has come bearing treats to soothe this poor, wounded heart of mine!" Wei Wuxian declared dramatically. "Come, A-Ning, let me see what delicious creations you’ve made this time."

Over the years, Han Ning had become quite proficient in the kitchen. Though when he was a fierce corpse he didn’t eat, he enjoyed preparing food for the juniors during night hunts, often surprising them with all sorts of goodies.

As he set the basket down, they eagerly gathered around to sample the offerings—soft, fluffy steamed buns filled with sweet red bean paste and an assortment of other delightful baked goods.

"How is Qing-jie?" Wei Wuxian asked, munching on a delicious rice biscuit. "I haven't seen her since last week."

"She’s been training in the Healing Pavilion with the other healers," Han Ning replied quietly.

Han Qing and Han Ning had been invited to the lectures primarily due to their sect’s healers reputation, particularly in spiritual healing. To facilitate an exchange of techniques and experience, a special arrangement had been made. While they would still attend classes a few times a week, most of their time would now be spent in the Healing Pavilion, deepening their knowledge and refining their skills.

Han Ning had found his calling in the study of herbs. He enjoyed cultivating them, experimenting with new plant species to enhance their healing properties. Much of his time in the Cloud Recesses was spent in the herb garden, exchanging knowledge with the gardeners and refining his techniques in medicinal herb cultivation.

"She finds her time in the Healing Pavilion most exciting," Han Ning continued. "She has already made some very interesting observations on the techniques the Lan healers use to treat weak meridians. She’s quite pleased with her findings."

"I’m not surprised," Wei Wuxian remarked thoughtfully. "She’s always been a pioneer in her field."

Up the path, Wei Wuxian spotted Nie Huaisang approaching at a brisk pace. He wasn’t running—not because he was fearing breaking a rule since that particular restriction had been lifted—but he was moving quickly nonetheless, because he always preferred to avoid unnecessary exertion.

"Nie-xiong! What a surprise! Come, we have delicious treats!" Wei Wuxian called out gleefully.

Over time, Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang’s relationship had grown more relaxed—cordial enough that he could now visit the Jingshi freely. Still, there was always a hint of wariness in his demeanor whenever he stepped into Lan Zhan’s presence.

Ah, my husband, always keeping everyone in check, Wei Wuxian mused with amusement as he watched Nie Huaisang instinctively slow his pace under Lan Zhan’s steady gaze.

Upon seeing Han Ning, Nie Huaisang’s face lit up with a wide smile as he eagerly bounced over to his friend.

Their friendship had blossomed last summer during one of Nie Huaisang’s visits to the Pine Hidden Manor, when Han Ning had also been there. Since then, they had kept in touch through letters, and Han Ning had even visited the Unclean Realm after last year’s lectures had ended.

As for Huaisang—well, being Huaisang, he had failed all the tests and was required to return this year as well. Not that he complained much. In fact, he had once admitted that he would rather come back to the Cloud Recesses than endure his dage’s training.

That alone was a testament to how much better the Cloud Recesses had become compared to his past life. Some rules and codes of conduct still remained, but the atmosphere was noticeably more relaxed and welcoming—a place of learning, not just rigid discipline.

"Han-xiong! Did you make the rice biscuits?" Nie Huaisang asked eagerly, peering into the basket.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "My favorite!"

Han Ning smiled. "Help yourself—there’s plenty for everyone."

Nie Huaisang grinned mischievously. "I have to admit, Han-xiong, you’re going to make the best sworn brother ever."

He paused, waiting for everyone to catch the meaning behind his words.

"Your father agreed?" Wei Wuxian asked, raising a brow.

"Yes, he did," Huaisang confirmed. "He’s just happy that I’ve made such close friends. He’ll be visiting Cloud Recesses next week for some sect business with Qingheng-jun, and Da-ge will be accompanying him."

The idea of Wei Wuxian, Han Ning, and Nie Huaisang becoming sworn brothers had first come up on their very first night together in the Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian, thrilled to be reunited, had snuck in some contraband Emperor’s Smile. In his happiness, he had suddenly declared that he wanted to swear brotherhood with Han Ning—after all, he already called him didi and his sister Qing jie. Nie Huaisang, of course, immediately shouted that he wanted in too, and just like that, the decision had been made.

The sect leaders had been informed, approval had been granted, and now, with Sect Leader Nie’s blessing, it was finally happening.

"Why does this fell like Ning ge is going to be the big brother?" mused Wei Jingshan

"Because he the best of us" said Wei Wuxian  proudly.

"Congratulations," Lan Zhan said, his voice steady but sincere. "I am happy for the three of you."

"Thank you, Lan-xiong! I am very happy too," Huaisang replied, beaming. "Father said we’ll discuss the details when he arrives, but most likely, the ceremony will be held at the end of the lectures." He happily munched on a rice biscuit before suddenly stopping, his eyes widening as if he had just remembered something important.

Lowering his voice to a near-conspiratorial whisper, he said, "I have some very interesting news."

"Gossip is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses," Lan Zhan stated in a deadpan tone.

"Yes, gossip is," Wei Wuxian countered smoothly, already urging Huaisang with a look to continue. "But news isn’t."

After casting a wary glance at Lan Zhan, Huaisang leaned in and said, "The Wen Sect Leader is preparing for a grand conference next year in Qishan to commemorate his retirement and the appointment of Wen Xu as the new sect leader. It will be a seven-day extravaganza—competitions, banquets, games, and all sorts of entertainment!"

"Invitations will be sent soon," Nie Huaisang added with a satisfied nod.

Wei Wuxian had always found it extraordinary how Huaisang managed to get information before anyone else. He narrowed his eyes in playful suspicion. "How do you always know this stuff?"

Huaisang coyly hid behind his fan and said, "Whatever do you mean, Wei-xiong? Are you implying that I spy? I simply listen to people that others deem unworthy of their time."

And there it was—his secret. Servants were often privy to inside information, which they shared with merchants, who in turn passed it along to traveling traders and performers. Before anyone realized, the rumour mill was already in full swing. The real trick was knowing how to listen—discerning what was truly said, what had been exaggerated for dramatic effect, and what was most likely the truth.

Huaisang had a knack for this sort of thing, and over the years, Wei Wuxian had come to appreciate that trait—because, after all, information was power.

This conference would most likely coincide with the one from his past life, and he was curious to see how things would unfold this time—especially how Wen Xu would present himself. In all these years, he hadn't heard anything bad about him. No bad rumours, no ill reputation. But that didn’t mean much. No one could ever truly know.

"And?" Wei Wuxian prompted, because he could tell Huaisang wasn’t finished. There was something more—he could see it in his eyes.

Huaisang glanced pointedly at Lan Zhan, hesitating.

"Don’t worry," Wei Wuxian reassured him with a grin. "He’s just as interested, but he’s obliged to point out the rules. So, what other news do you have for us?"

He chuckled at the wary look Huaisang shot his husband. Cool down, Lan Zhan—you’re disrupting my information mill, Wei Wuxian thought, amused.

Huaisang took a breath before continuing. "Well, you told me to gather some information on Jin Guangshan’s paramours, and I have something that might interest you."

He pulled a neatly folded list from his sleeve and handed it to Wei Wuxian.

"Here, you’ll find the names of all the ladies he has favoured in the past few years. I don’t know why you need this, but honestly, it wasn’t even that hard to collect. The man has no shame." Huaisang scoffed. "He’s terrified of his wife but does a terrible job of hiding his conquests. Not only that—so far, I’ve discovered four illegitimate children."

Wei Wuxian’s brows rose slightly, but he remained silent, letting Huaisang continue.

"Among them," Huaisang added, lowering his voice slightly, "is one of my father’s secretaries—Meng Yao. I had no idea he was his father." He shook his head, the revelation still settling. "I plan to tell Father when he arrives, but honestly, I bet there are more." His tone turned sharp with disgust.

Wei Wuxian scanned the list, his eyes catching on a particular name—Mo Chun—and beside it, the mention of her four-year-old son, Mo Fei.

His grip on the paper tightened slightly. He had already been planning to send Han Zhang and his brother to Mo Village to take Mo Xuanyu away from that abusive environment, to give him a chance at a better life. But this... this confirmed just how far Jin Guangshan’s neglect and irresponsibility spread.

He needed as much leverage on Jin Guangshan as possible. And there was no one better suited for digging up dirt than Huaisang.

But as he read further, he saw other names that gave him pause. It’s better if I ask the Han brothers to check on all of them—just in case.

Huaisang, who had been watching him closely, finally spoke. "Are you going to tell me why you need all this information?" His tone was light, but his eyes were sharp with curiosity.

"You mentioned last week that your father wants to pass the mantle of Chief Cultivator to someone else," Wei Wuxian said.

At Huaisang’s nod, he continued, "What do you think Jin Guangshan will do?"

There was a pause as Huaisang processed the question—then his eyes widened in horror. He gasped. "Ooooh, we so do not want that."

"Exactly," Wei Wuxian said, lips quirking in satisfaction. "So we need to gather as much dirt on him as possible."

Huaisang, however, shook his head and pointed at the list. "Wei-xiong, that won’t be enough. Do you think the other sect leaders don’t have bastards of their own? Pff! Trust me, they’ll condemn him openly but support him in secret."

He snapped his fan open and fanned himself furiously, deep in thought. "No, no, if we want to make sure he never even gets close to that position, we need something bigger ..."

And that is the Nie Huaisang I know and need, Wei Wuxian thought as he watched his friend.

He could already see the spark of enthusiasm igniting in Huaisang’s eyes—the thrill of unraveling schemes, of playing the long game. He might act clueless, but give him a puzzle like this, and he thrives.

And what was a friend for, if not to fan the flame?

Wei Wuxian had no doubt that there was more —more secrets, more skeletons hidden in Jin Guangshan’s closet. But he couldn’t just dump it all at once. Huaisang had to come to it naturally, had to take ownership of the chase.

So he started small, with the most obvious and easiest bait. And now, all he had to do was sit back and watch as Huaisang did what he did best.

"Well, this was just the first thing that came to mind," Wei Wuxian said, watching the gears turn in Huaisang’s mind.

Huaisang waved his fan with a smirk. "Don’t worry, Wei-xiong, I know exactly where to look." His eyes gleamed with excitement. "Believe me, a man like Jin Guangshan has far more buried secrets than just a few lovers and illegitimate children. This is going to be very interesting."

Han Ning, amused by his friend’s growing enthusiasm, snickered and handed him another biscuit.

Another goal Wei Wuxian had in mind was to prevent Meng Yao from joining the Jin Sect.

Jin Guangshan was a sleaze, a coward—but more importantly, he was not a mastermind. The power the Jin Sect amassed after the war had little to do with him. It was Meng Yao who orchestrated their rise, handling the reins of strategy and logistics, all while acting under his father’s orders. Jin Guangshan may have worn the crown, but it was not he who built the throne.

As long as Meng Yao never gained his father’s recognition, he would have no power—and without him, Jin Guangshan had no mastermind to rely on. From the looks of it, that recognition seemed unlikely to ever come. But Wei Wuxian needed to be absolutely sure.

"Shall we head to the training fields?" Huaisang asked, rising to his feet and adjusting his robes. "I won’t fight, but I do enjoy watching," he added with a smile.

Wei Wuxian almost forgot about the friendly sparring session scheduled for the afternoon. These exercises were held weekly to give young cultivators the chance to gain experience and exchange friendly banter.

He wasn’t particularly eager to participate—after all, it hardly seemed fair for him to show off skills honed over two lifetimes. He had managed to slip away from last week’s session, but skipping again might raise suspicion.

"Sure, let’s go," he said, grabbing Lan Zhan’s hand and tugging him toward the training field.

Everyone was already gathered at the training field, each sect forming its own tight-knit group as they waited for the Lan sword master to arrive.

As soon as Wei Wuxian and his group stepped in, they were immediately surrounded by Lan and Nie disciples, falling into easy conversation. The atmosphere was lively yet comfortable, filled with chatter and laughter.

So why was that insufferable Jin disciple sneering at them?

What had they done now?

Wei Wuxian was about to find out the reason for the sneer soon enough, because Jin—can’t help my face—was marching toward them with an arrogant tilt of his head.

"Wei Wuxian! I challenge you to a duel!" he declared, as if doing him some grand favour. Behind him, a group of Jin disciples snickered, clearly entertained by the spectacle.

Jin Zixuan, standing off to the side, looked visibly displeased by his cousin’s challenge but chose not to comment.

Wei Wuxian leaned slightly toward Lan Zhan, whispering, "I guess some pests you just can’t avoid."

Nie Huaisang, having overheard, snickered behind his fan, while Han Ning looked down, trying (and failing) to hide his amusement.

"Well, Jin-gongzi," Wei Wuxian said with an innocent smile, "I think it’s only polite to introduce oneself before issuing a challenge. After all, while you seem to know my name, I’m afraid I can’t boast the same knowledge."

The young Jin disciple puffed up, clearly offended. "I am Jin Zixun, nephew of Sect Leader Jin Guangshan!" he declared with pride.

Wei Wuxian raised a brow. "Ah, I see. But don’t you think pitting yourself against a mere rogue cultivator would be too small a challenge for such an esteemed member of a great sect?" He tilted his head, glancing around as if seeking approval from the gathered disciples.

Those unfamiliar with his skills nodded in agreement, thinking he was genuinely questioning the fairness of the duel. Meanwhile, those who knew better were already struggling to contain their amusement, waiting for the inevitable punchline.

"If you’re afraid, I’ll understand," Jin Ziwun said mockingly. "But these exercises are meant to help us learn. You could take it as a learning experience." His tone dripped with condescension, thick enough to drown in.

Wei Wuxian could barely keep a straight face. He wasn’t even annoyed—just thoroughly amused by the preening peacock in front of him.

"Well, Jin... Zixun," he said, deliberately mangling the name with a thoughtful pause, watching as the young Jin’s face twitched in irritation. "I accept your challenge. But let us wait for the sword master—we wouldn’t want to offend our gracious hosts." His voice was soft, polite, and utterly insincere, as he even inclined his head in a show of exaggerated respect.

Behind him, Nie Huaisang snickered behind his fan, while Han Ning kept his gaze firmly on the ground to stifle his laughter.

Shortly after, Lan Kaishi, the sword master—a stern-looking man in his forties with a permanent frown—arrived. Upon being informed of the challenge, he nodded and allowed it, ensuring both parties agreed. Challenges were permitted, but only under the supervision of a senior.

Wei Wuxian and Jin Zixun stepped into the centre of the training field, a large circle forming around them as disciples gathered to watch.

Wei Wuxian gripped his sword lightly and bowed respectfully. In return, he received only a shallow nod from Jin Zixun. Huh. At least I might have some fun... maybe, he sighed internally.

His sword, Xin Ming, was slightly longer and lighter than Suibian. He had refused to name it Suibian—there would only ever be one Suibian. Xin Ming (new life) had been gifted to him by Qingheng-jun on his twelfth anniversary, yet he still chose to go by Wei Wuxian. It was the name his parents had given him, and that was something he would always keep.

Jin Zixun attacked first, and it was the sloppiest technique Wei Wuxian had ever seen. Even A-Bao had done better at ten years old. With a single effortless move, Wei Wuxian parried the attack and disarmed him with ease.

  A deafening hush fell over the crowd.

Jin Zixun hastily picked up his sword and lunged again—only to meet the same result. Every single strike he attempted was easily deflected, and each time, he lost his grip, his sword clattering to the ground.

It was becoming really embarrassing.

Wei Wuxian didn’t even break a sweat. He barely moved. And worst of all—he was bored.

You aren’t even fun, he thought, sighing internally.

In his past life, he had never crossed swords with this idiot—he hadn’t had a golden core, after all. But maybe he should have. Even a non-cultivator could have defended them self against those attacks.

"What in the world are the Jin teaching their disciples? This is just embarrassing."

"That's enough," barked Lan Kaishi. "The winner is Wei Wuxian."

"He’s cheating!" Jin Zixun yelled, his face red—whether from exertion or sheer embarrassment, it was hard to tell.

Lan Kaishi’s sharp gaze snapped to him. "How?"

Jin Zixun spluttered, struggling to find his words, but before he could dig himself deeper, Jin Zixuan cut in. "Enough, Jin Zixun," he said firmly. "You’ve embarrassed yourself enough." His voice carried clear disappointment.

Jin Zixun sheathed his sword with a furious huff and stomped off the training field like a child throwing a tantrum.

I haven't seen or heard the last of him, Wei Wuxian thought, sighing in resignation as he watched him leave.

Turning to Lan Kaishi, he bowed respectfully before re-joining his friends. Around them, the crowd buzzed with excited whispers, gossip spreading like wildfire. But no one else challenged him after that.

The rest of the sparring session continued with friendly exchanges between different sects—some more competitive than others, but all in good fun.

Then, a prickling sensation made Wei Wuxian glance around the crowd. His gaze met a familiar glare.

Jiang Wanyin.

His former shidi was staring at him as if Wei Wuxian had just stolen his coin purse.

Wonderful. That was the last thing he needed—to ignite Jiang Cheng’s already fierce competitive streak. His former shidi never treated a challenge lightly; to him, everything was a matter of pride and preserving face. This was the side of Jiang Cheng that had always frustrated  Wei Wuxian the most.

"Here we go again," he thought with another sigh.

Chapter Text

It was happening, Lan Zhan thought.

After the first two weeks of living with Wei Wuxian, he had spoken with his father about it. Qingheng-jun had agreed, of course—though he had done so with a teasing smile. In truth, he was even worse than Xichen when it came to teasing him. Especially now, as the lecture had begun. While his brother merely found mild amusement in his suffering, his father seemed to delight in rubbing salt into a fresh wound, so to speak.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. A moment later, his beloved stepped into the room, his bright smile shifting into bemusement at the sight of Wan Shangcheng. After exchanging polite bows, Wei Wuxian immediately took a seat beside him, his gaze flitting curiously between the two elders.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, addressing the seniors present.

Qingheng-jun answered calmly, "No, Wei-gongzi, there is absolutely nothing wrong. Last week, Wangji came to me with a request, and I thought it wise to settle the matter as soon as possible. That is why Wan Shangcheng-zhu is here." He remained unperturbed as he continued, "We have already discussed the conditions and reached an agreement. All that remains is the meeting with the matchmaker to finalize the date and formalize the arrangement. We merely wanted to inform you two of the situation"

Lan Zhan remained still, waiting for Wei Wuxian’s reaction.

For a brief second, Wei Wuxian stiffened—before turning to him with the brightest smile Lan Zhan had ever seen.

"Lan Zhan!" he exclaimed so loudly that even Qingheng-jun flinched. "You cheeky little tease, going behind my back and getting me hitched!" He clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. "Letting me suffer all this time—who’s rushing things now? Weren’t you the one who insisted we should wait and do things properly this time? Tsk, tsk, Lan Zhan."

Lan Zhan couldn’t help but smile at his husband’s antics. It was a good thing he loved him so much.

Wei Wuxian turned his attention to Wan Shangcheng, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Are you here to negotiate a good bride price for me, Wan Shangcheng-zhu? What did you get?"

With an impassive expression, the elder simply handed him a large sheet of paper. Wei Wuxian read it twice before looking up at his father , eyebrows raised.

"And you agreed to this?"

Qingheng-jun sighed before nodding. "It was that, or watch my son waste away from pining."

Wan Shancheng added dryly, "And frankly, I need to see you two married as soon as possible. Your endless mooning over each other is starting to get on my nerves."

"I do not moon, Wan Shangcheng-zhu," declared Wei Wuxian, offended. "I simply admire my fiancé's beauty with great dedication and consistency—like a scholar studying the heavens! It’s a very dignified pursuit, thank you very much."

Wan Shangcheng regarded him with a raised brow, though the subtle twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed his amusement.

"Whatever you choose to call it, it needs to stop. A betrothal will be announced as soon as the agreement is signed and witnessed by the matchmaker."

"You are already living together, and I highly doubt poor Jingshan can endure this farce much longer. The boy is at his limit," he continued, arms crossed. "His presence was meant to ensure propriety, yet when I saw him today and asked how things were going, he let out a sigh so deep I feared he might collapse from sheer exhaustion. Far too heavy a sigh for someone his age."

Wei Wuxian gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "What nonsense! We have done nothing inappropriate in his presence!"

Wan Shancheng snorted. "Haven’t you? You haven’t seen the way he rubs his temples, muttering about 'learning the true meaning of suffering.' He also mentioned that he now knows more about flirting than any respectable young cultivator should."

Wei Wuxian sputtered. "Ridiculous! We are very well-behaved!"

Lan Zhan, ever composed, took a sip of his tea before adding in his usual calm tone, "Jingshan has been sleeping in Huaisang quarters these past few nights."

Wan Shancheng’s brow arched even higher. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Because he says the air is fresher there," Lan Zhan replied.

Wei Wuxian coughed and averted his gaze. "Ah, well, you know—young people need their space. He probably enjoys Nie-xiong’s company."

Wan Shancheng pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly as if summoning the patience of a saint. "Yes, well, I’m sure he has always enjoyed Nie Huaisang’s company. However, given my fondness for the boy, I’d much prefer to see him develop a healthy education on the  courting process—one that does not involve fleeing his own residence in search of breathable air."

Lan Zhan could finally see an end to his suffering. After all, it had been his idea to wait.

Wei Ying had been surprisingly tame in his physical affection compared to before, limiting himself to chaste hugs, fleeting touches, and hand-holding. They reserved their more indulgent displays—light kisses, cuddling—for the privacy of the bunny field or when no one was around. Which, as it turned out, was quite often. He guessed they were not as discreet as they thought

Just as Wan Shangcheng had pointed out, Wei Jingshan was not the most diligent chaperone. . In fact, he made a point of avoiding them whenever possible. More often than not, he spent his free time with Huaisang and Han Ning—and he genuinely enjoyed their company.

But a few nights ago, Wei Ying had sneaked into his bed, claiming he’d had a nightmare and didn’t want to sleep alone.

Lan Zhan had never been good at refusing his husband—especially when it came to nightmares. Rare as they were, they still happened from time to time. And no matter how much he had vowed to be patient, no matter how much waiting was supposed to be his own idea…

He was beginning to wonder if he had, perhaps, severely overestimated his own resolve.

After leaving the two seniors to their planning, Lan Zhan and Wei Ying made their way to the bunny field, where Lan Zhan fully intended to cuddle his husband in celebration.

"Ah, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying sighed happily, leaning into him. "I’m so glad you finally decided to let go of this ridiculous idea of taking the proper steps ."

Lan Zhan hummed, steady as ever. "We will still take the proper steps—just with a shorter distance between them."

With that, he lengthened his strides ever so slightly.

Wei Ying burst into joyful laughter and immediately matched his pace, his bright eyes glimmering with mischief. "Then I suppose I should follow suit, shouldn’t I?"

"Jin Zixun of the Jin Clan greets Lan Er Gongzi and his betrothed," the fool sneered, casting a contemptuous glance at Wei Ying, "and wishes them a most harmonious union."

Stifled laughter flickered across the faces of his companions.

While male lovers and concubines were relatively common, marriages between cut sleeves were exceedingly rare. Marriage, after all, was primarily a tool for forging alliances and securing legitimate heirs. Reactions to their betrothal varied—many were bewildered, some intrigued, and others sneered openly in disapproval.

Lan Zhan had never cared for public opinion when it came to his relationship with Wei Ying—at least, not in the past. But now, he found himself irritated by the way those who disapproved cast judgmental looks at Wei Ying, as though he were nothing more than a victim of an ambitious rogue cultivator. He could do little to change their minds, but he had long since perfected a glare sharp enough to cut without ever drawing Bichen.

His companions quickly tensed, attempting to rein in the fool, but Jin Zixun remained blissfully unaware of just how precarious his situation was. Naturally, he continued his prattling.

"I would have expected the esteemed Lan Er Gongzi to be more mindful of the dangers of associating with an ambitious lowborn, but I suppose he must be truly skilled… hmpf!"

Before he could finish his tasteless diatribe, Lan Zhan silenced him—sealing his lips with more force than was necessary.

"Thank you, Lan Zhan," Wei Ying said brightly.

Turning to his brother with an air of casual amusement, he added, "And that, A-Yun, is how you handle a situation like this—because trying to reason with people like him is like fighting a losing battle," his tone that of a teacher pointing out something mildly interesting.

Jingshan frowned. "What is his problem? Is he jealous or something?"

"Mn," Lan Zhan nodded. "Or something."

They had been on their way to the Hanshi for dinner with Lan Zhan’s father, brother, and uncle. Sect Leader Nie and Nie Minjue will join them, who had arrived that morning with a group of Nie disciples. But along the way, they had encountered Jin Zixun, who—unsurprisingly—had wasted no time mocking their freshly announced betrothal.

Watching that pitiful excuse for a cultivator struggle to break the spell—while his so-called friends subtly edged away—brought Lan Zhan a quiet sense of satisfaction. Especially knowing Jin Zixun wouldn’t be able to undo the spell until morning and that, should he struggle too hard, he might even damage his vocal cords permanently. He had perfected this spell over decades, it was unbreakable.

It was almost amusing how the Jins sneered at their union when, in truth, their sect harboured the highest number of male concubines. They simply kept them out of the public eye, but everyone knew.

  With a steady hand resting on Wei Ying’s lower back, Lan Zhan turned, steering the two brothers away from the nuisance—only to hear the unmistakable whisper of a blade leaving its sheath.

Did he truly believe he could inflict harm? Lan Zhan’s grip on Bichen tightened, his body already shifting to shield his beloved and his brother.

But what he saw was not a reckless fool attempting to strike a cultivator far beyond his reach in skill. Instead, Jin Zixun stood frozen sword drawn in his hand, his complexion ashen, a massive sabre hovering mere inches from his face. Its sheer presence alone seemed to drain the blood from his cheeks.

Nie Qingwu was a force to be reckoned with—renowned for his immense strength, commanding presence, and unwavering sense of justice. He bore an uncanny resemblance to his son, Mingjue, though his expressions was more open, his smiles more frequent. Yet, in this moment, there was nothing warm about him. His dark gaze was razor-sharp, enough to make even Lan Zhan stiffen.

"I was under the impression the Jin Clan instilled proper manners in its disciples," he said, each syllable edged with ice. "Or have they now taken to striking fellow cultivators in the back?"

Beside Nie Qingwu stood Nie Mingjue, mirroring his father’s fierce glare, while on the other side, Huaisang peeked from behind his fan—likely smiling behind it.

"Answer me, boy!" Nie Qingwu thundered, his voice like a crack of thunder.

Jin Zixun flinched violently, his wide eyes darting to Lan Zhan as if seeking salvation.

"He can't speak, Sect Leader Nie," Wei Ying interjected smoothly, bowing respectfully alongside his brother. The other Jin cultivators, scrambling to follow suit, hurriedly performed deep bows, their movements rushed and clumsy.

Immediately understanding, Nie Qingwu asked, "How long?"

"Tomorrow morning at the earliest," Lan Zhan replied calmly.

"Good," Nie Qingwu said with finality, smoothly calling his sabre back to its sheath on his back. His sharp gaze softened slightly as he turned to Lan Zhan. "I will report this to your father, Wangjí," he added, his tone now carrying a hint of warmth. "Such a breach of courtesy must be met with severe punishment. In martial traditions, attacking an opponent from behind is considered one of the gravest acts of dishonour—often punishable by expulsion or worse. Integrity in battle is as valued as skill itself. Your father, I am sure, will not take this lightly."

If Jin Zixun could turn any paler, he might have rivalled the pristine white of Lan robes. Whatever fragile strength had been holding him up—perhaps sheer pride—seemed to drain from him in an instant, and his knees nearly buckled beneath him.

Lan Zhan inclined his head in quiet respect before turning away. Without another word, he, Wei Ying, and the others made their way toward the Hanshi, leaving Jin Zixun to stew in his humiliation.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian quickly concluded that Nie Qingwu was one of the funniest men he had ever met—second only to Lan Zhan, of course. Unapologetically brash and loud, he was a striking contrast to the quiet restraint of the Lan sect.

During the meal, Nie Qingwu had remained silent, begrudgingly following the Lan tradition of silent dining. But the moment tea was served, he launched into a spirited retelling of the earlier incident to Qingheng Jun. By the time he was halfway through, Wei Wuxian found himself firmly on Team Nie Qingwu.

Now, he fully understood why Nie Mingjue had been so furious with Wen Ruohan. Losing a father was painful in any circumstance, but to lose one like Nie Qingwu had… that had to cut far deeper. More concerning, however, was the expression on Qingheng Jun’s face. He was genuinely furious about the matter—something that did not bode well for Jin Zixun.

"I'm hardly surprised," Nie Qingwu scoffed, his tone laced with derision. "That sect seems to have a talent for keeping specimens like that alive and breathing. A sect reflects its leader in both ethics and discipline, after all. I never expected much from Jin Guangshan’s nephew, but honestly—do they not even pretend to save face beyond their gilded walls?"

Wei Wuxian hid his grin behind his teacup. "Oh, they did try… but Jin Guangshan ruined that years ago."

"You might just be onto something there, Wei Gonzi," Nie Qingwu remarked, a broad grin stretching across his face. "And I do mean that in the most unkind way possible. If his son bears even the slightest resemblance to his cousin, we are in for some rather… lively future cultivation conferences."

"I would classify that as insufferable ," Qingheng Jun replied with a wry smile.

"Ah, that’s only because you don’t know how to navigate these situations, my friend," Nie Qingwu countered, waving a hand dismissively. "If I didn’t find humour in all of this, I would have killed Sect Leader Yao the moment he stepped into my halls to whine about one petty grievance or another. Apparently, my lofty position as Chief Cultivator consists of wiping their noses and sending them to bed without supper!" He threw up his arms in exasperation before continuing, "Do you know the fool wrote to me last month, demanding an urgent meeting? And do you know what the crisis was? His utter dismay over Sect Leader Wen’s refusal to approve a marriage contract between his daughter and Yao’s son. "I have met his son," he said, incredulity colouring his tone. "And if I had a daughter, I wouldn’t agree to the betrothal either."

Wei Wuxian grinned broadly at the sect leader—he really liked him.

"I wouldn’t say Jin Zixuan is like his cousin," said Wei Wuxian. "Aloof? Yes. A preening peacock? Absolutely. But not like his cousin."

The sect leader raised an eyebrow. "Peacock?"

Lan Zhan gave a small nod. "Mn."

"Yes, you know, like a peacock—beautiful, arrogant, and completely clueless," Wei Wuxian explained with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Sect Leader Nie laughed heartily, the sound rich and unrestrained. "I like you, Wei Wuxian," he said, grinning. "I’m glad that a Sang has finally found himself some truly good friends. You chose good people to swear brotherhood with, A-Sang," Sect Leader Nie said to his son, nodding approvingly. "I always worried you spent too much time with those birds and fans instead of building real friendships—because, in adulthood, those are what truly matter."

He smiled warmly at his younger son before gesturing toward the man beside him. "Look at me and Sect Leader Lan here. We've known each other for years! In fact, it's thanks to me that he isn’t like his brother." He leaned in and loudly whispered the last part.

Lan Qiren, who had remained silent through the conversation, immediately shot him a glare. "Speaking ill of others is forbidden," he said stiffly.

"Oh, relax, Qiren," Sect Leader Nie replied with a teasing grin. "And get rid of that beard. It doesn’t make you look wiser—just older and uglier. You didn’t object when we spoke ill of the Jins," Nie Qingwu pointed out with a smirk.

"It still stands," Lan Qiren said primly, though his face was beginning to turn a bit red.

"Heh," Nie Qingwu chuckled, shaking his head. "I like you too, you prickly Lan." He laughed good-naturedly, clearly enjoying himself.

Lan Qiren merely sipped his tea and huffed.

So, the old goat really does respect Nie Qingwu, Wei Wuxian thought, watching him closely. He didn’t seem truly upset—just putting on a show of being bothered for propriety’s sake.

After Qingheng Jun fully took up the mantle of leadership from his brother, Lan Qiren devoted himself entirely to his passion for education. When the drama with the elders began, he mostly kept to himself, offering advice here and there but rarely meddling.

Wei Wuxian supposed that, in hindsight, Lan Qiren had always been the way he was due to the immense stress of running a sect—constantly questioning whether he was doing a good job. In his past life, after marrying Lan Zhan, they had their fair share of debates, but Lan Qiren had always resented him for unravelling the hypocrisy hidden beneath years of tradition and dogma.

But now, since none of that had happened, he seemed noticeably more relaxed.

"Why not hold the ceremony here in the Cloud Recesses?" Nie Qingwu proposed, his voice carrying easily as he glanced between Huaisang and Wei Wuxian. "Han Ning is already here with his sister, so everything is conveniently in place. Their families are close, so inviting them shouldn’t be an issue. And since I’ll be staying for the week, why not conclude it with the swearing-in?"

"Really?" Huaisang asked, blinking in surprise.

"Of course! Han Ning is the sweetest boy I’ve ever met, and I like Wei Wuxian too—so what’s the delay?" Nie Qingwu said with a grin.

Wei Wuxian chuckled. "I won you over this quickly, Sect Leader Nie? Isn’t this a bit rushed?"

Nie Qingwu arched a brow. "Are you having second thoughts, boy?"

"Not at all," Wei Wuxian replied, his grin turning mischievous. "After all, you’ve already sized me up, trying to determine whether I’m not just a social climber with ulterior motives. And since the kindest soul alive already won you over last winter, I suppose my only real surprise is how effortlessly I seem to have earned your approval."

Nie Qingwu’s grin widened even further—if that was even possible. "I’m a good judge of character, boy. And besides, I knew your parents."

Wei Wuxian tensed, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as he turned to the sect leader. "You knew them?"

Nie Qingwu’s smile softened, nostalgia settling over his features. "They were extraordinary cultivators—strong, honourable, and perfectly matched despite their differences. Your mother was bold, utterly indifferent to social etiquette, while your father was the very definition of propriety and loyalty."

Turning to Lan Qiren, he chuckled. "Remember that night hunt when she saved our skins?" His laughter was rich with amusement. "She was the fiercest woman I’ve ever met. To be honest, I was a little afraid of her." Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he added, "After she shaved his beard that time in the Cloud Recesses, I made sure never to cross her. Heaven knows what she might have done to get back at me."

Wei Wuxian felt a lump rise in his throat. First Qingheng Jun, and now Nie Qingwu—two esteemed sect leaders who had known his parents and had nothing but praise for them. He had never felt prouder.

"Could you tell me more about them, Sect Leader?" he asked, his voice laced with hope, eyes alight with quiet yearning.

Nie Qingwu’s expression softened so much at the request that Wei Wuxian was momentarily taken aback. This man is nothing but a big softy inside, he thought, stunned.

"Well, let me see," Nie Qingwu mused. "After that night hunt, we all stayed at the Unclean Realm—well, all except the Purple Witch," he added, a little too forcefully.

"You mean Madam Yu?" Wei Wuxian asked, raising an eyebrow. Nie Qingwu looked at Qiren and said 

"I know, I know, Qiren," Nie Qingwu deadpanned the moment he noticed Lan Qiren opening his mouth, "we shouldn’t speak ill of others." Then, with a pointed look, he added, "But it is the truth."

"You see, after she quite literally saved our hides, Qiren, Fengmian, your father, and I all thanked her properly. I even invited them to the Unclean Realm for a feast in her honour. After all, she saved two sect heirs, and a spare," he said with a teasing glance at Lan Qiren before continuing. "and Yu Ziyuan, who of course, refused."

"I don’t recall her thanking the rogue cultivator either," Nie Qingwu continued. "She went straight back to Meishan, even though she had wounds that could have been easily treated at the Unclean Realm. Not life-threatening, mind you, but still—why refuse care? Fengmian tried to convince her to stay and rest, but she spouted some nonsense about duty to her clan or something like that." He scoffed.

"To be honest, I never liked that woman," he admitted, shaking his head. "I have no idea how Fengmian managed to live with her for so long. Pride and competitiveness, I can understand—but she takes it to an entirely different level."

He fell silent for a moment, lost in thought, before continuing, "My guess? She was envious of all the attention we were giving your mother. She hated being overlooked, and that night, Yu Ziyuan was far from the centre of praise." He waved a hand dismissively before grinning. "Anyway, I think it was at the Unclean Realm that your parents truly grew close. I caught them whispering together in the upper garden."

He snickered at the memory. "Your father turned as red as a beet. Your mother? Not so much—utterly shameless, if you ask me. But I liked her." His grin widened, his voice warm with fondness.

"When I heard that Changze left the Jiang Sect to be with your mother, I immediately extended an invitation for them to join the Nie," Nie Qingwu said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Your mother almost accepted, you know. But in the end, I think it was Changze’s unwavering loyalty to the Jiangs that made them refuse. A pity."

He sighed, then chuckled as another memory surfaced. "They still visited often during the first year of their marriage. In fact, you were actually born in the Unclean Realm." His grin widened.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened in surprise. "I was?"

Nie Qingwu nodded. "Your father got so drunk that night—he cried every single time he held you after that," he recalled fondly, laughter rumbling in his chest.

As silence settled over the room, Wei Wuxian finally asked, "Do you know why my father left the Jiang Sect?"

Nie Qingwu frowned slightly, contemplating his words before replying, "I don’t know the exact reason—your father never spoke of it. But your mother let a few things slip now and then." He exhaled, crossing his arms. "My best guess? Yu Ziyuan. She never liked your mother, that much was obvious. And when rumours started spreading about Fengmian confessing his feelings for your mother and being rejected… well, I imagine things only got worse."

He shook his head. "All I can tell you for certain is that the rumour wasn’t true. Cangse denied it vehemently. Your mother always said that, in the end, Fengmian resented her—not because of some unrequited love, but because she took away his closest friend. You see, he relied heavily on your father."

After a moment of quiet reflection, Nie Qingwu spoke again, his voice firm yet warm. "You should be proud of your parentage, boy. They were incredible cultivators—strong, honorable, and worthy of respect. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise." His expression darkened slightly. "Better yet, if anyone dares to badmouth them, tell me, and I’ll handle them properly."

Wei Wuxian felt a warmth spread through his chest at those words. He lowered his head respectfully and said with quiet sincerity, "Thank you, Sect Leader Nie."

Nie Qingwu's frown eased into a satisfied nod. "You’re welcome, Wei Wuxian."

That evening ended on a joyful note, leaving Wei Wuxian with something he never expected—stories of his parents, memories of them through the eyes of those who had known them well. He had learned more about them in one night than he ever had before, and for that, he was truly grateful.

Chapter Text

The ceremony took place in Cloud Recesses the day before Sect Leader Nie’s departure, marked by a grand banquet to which all were invited. Classes were suspended for the day, allowing those who wished to witness the ritual and the banquet after  to attend freely.

Once again, Wei Wuxian was reminded of the destructive power of envy and the unfortunate consequences it could bring—for there was no other explanation for the incident that unfolded at the banquet’s conclusion.

Han Ning’s parents and several relatives had come to witness the young man’s moment of recognition, when he finally received the attention and companionship he had long deserved. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, was accompanied by his siblings, his guardian, and the rogue cultivators who had just returned from a mission he had assigned them. The Nie contingent was present as well, led by their sect leader. With such a gathering, the day should have been filled with harmony and joyous celebration.

But peace was never guaranteed when the Jins, who considered themselves above all others, were involved.

 In response to Jin Zixun’s blatant act of disrespect toward the Second Young Master Lan and his betrothed and his severe breach of martial courtesy Sect Leader Lan issued a formal letter to Sect Leader Jin, informing him that his nephew was henceforth expelled from the lectures and should be retrieved from the Cloud Recesses immediately.

To handle this matter, Jin Guangshan himself arrived, accompanied by a retinue of cultivators and servants. He had come the day before the ceremony, and after a private discussion with Sect Leader Lan, Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Sect Leader Nie were summoned to present their account of events. Not that it mattered—the decision had already been made.

If there was one person Wei Wuxian never wished to meet, it was Jin Guangshan, the most insufferable man in the entire cultivation world. Watching him now, listening to the way he spoke and carried himself, Wei Wuxian could only marvel at the fact that this man had managed to become Chief Cultivator. It was yet another reminder that wealth could mask even the most corrupt of souls, turning sinners into saints in the eyes of the world.

It was both amusing and disheartening how effortlessly Wei Wuxian could see through Jin Guangshan’s lies and omissions—because it spoke volumes about the other sect leaders as well. Not all of them were fools, and yet none had dared to stand against this man when it truly mattered. Whether out of complicity or a desire to avoid stirring troubled waters, they had all chosen silence.

But Wei Wuxian was no longer alone. This time, those standing by his side were well aware of Jin Guangshan’s true intentions, hidden beneath his carefully crafted words.

Of course, it was Sect Leader Nie’s presence that ultimately forced Jin Guangshan to downplay the matter. In the end, the meeting concluded with an unmistakably dissatisfied Jin Guangshan and an even more resentful Jin Zixun—who now bore the humiliation of being expelled from the lectures, a serious stain on his reputation… or whatever remained of it.

At the end of the meeting, the Jins were invited to the banquet following the ceremony, and perhaps in an attempt to preserve some dignity, Jin Guangshan reluctantly accepted.

Just as the banquet was in full swing, with guests savouring the rare and exquisite dishes—meals not often served in the austere halls of the Cloud Recesses—a sudden, piercing bell rang out, echoing through the mountains. The unmistakable sound signalled a breach in the wards.

Immediately, a Lan disciple rushed into the hall, his hurried steps betraying a sense of urgency as he made his way to Qingheng-jun. Bowing swiftly, he delivered his report in a tense voice.

"Sect Leader Lan, the containment area  has been breached. The resentful creature captured a few days ago  escaped."

The presence of resentful creatures  was not an uncommon occurrence in the  cultivation sects. During night hunts, disciples often captured resentful creatures—most commonly walking corpses—to contain them temporarily for study. These creatures served as valuable teaching material for younger disciples before being exorcised.

Just last week, the Lan sect had successfully captured several walking corpses along with two low-level yaos. They had been securely confined within a specially designed containment area—until now.

Agitated murmurs spread through the hall, unease rippling among the guests. But before the tension could build, Sect Leader Lan spoke in a clear, authoritative voice.

"I apologize for the interruption. There has been a minor issue with our containment area, but there is no need for concern. Please continue enjoying the celebration."

With a slight tilt of his head and a graceful hand gesture, he signalled Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, and Lan Xichen to follow him. Without hesitation, they rose and exited the hall alongside him.

Almost immediately, Nie Qingwu and Mingjue followed.

"We've left the others nie cultivators to supervise the banquet," Qingwu informed them as they moved swiftly toward the containment area.

The creatures were dealt with in mere moments. They posed little threat—especially with so many powerful cultivators present. But the real problem became apparent after a quick investigation: the wards had been tampered with.

These creatures hadn’t escaped on their own. Someone had set them loose intentionally.

“I have a strong suspicion about who might have done this,” Wei Wuxian remarked, his sharp gaze sweeping the area in search of clues.

“So do I,” Nie Qingwu muttered, his voice taut with barely restrained anger. “But we have no proof.”

“Perhaps this will help?” Nie Mingjue called out, holding up a gold-embroidered coin pouch for all to see.

Wei Wuxian took it from him, a smirk playing at his lips as he examined the fine stitching. “Honestly, how careless can you be?” He ran his fingers over the embroidered characters before reading the name aloud. “Jin Zimin.” Shaking his head in amusement, he turned toward Sect Leader Lan—only to stop abruptly.

For the first time, he saw an expression on Qingheng-jun’s face that he had never witnessed before. Not mere displeasure or disapproval, but raw, unrestrained fury.

Nie Qingwu stiffened at the sight and stepped forward, concern evident in his tone. “Are you alright, Qilian?”

“No,” came the icy reply. Without another word, Qingheng Jun turned sharply on his heel and strode toward the banquet hall with purpose.

Nie Qingwu murmured eyes wide. “This should be interesting" hurrying after him.

The others followed without hesitation.

The hall no longer carried the same festive atmosphere as before, though the guests made an effort to relax and regain their good spirits. Conversations had softened, laughter was subdued. It was in this muted ambiance that Qingheng-jun entered, striding purposefully toward the Jin contingent.

“Sect Leader Jin, my apologies for interrupting your enjoyment, but could you tell me if you are familiar with someone named Jin Zimin?”

Jin Guangshan narrowed his eyes slightly before replying, “He is the son of one of my first cousins. May I ask why—”

He never got the chance to finish.

“And where, may I ask, is he right now?” Qingheng-jun pressed, his voice cool and controlled.

“I am here, Sect Leader Lan,” a voice answered from within the Jin contingent. A cultivator rose to his feet, his demeanour relaxed, almost nonchalant. “How can I be of help?” A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

Qingheng-jun remained composed. Holding up the embroidered pouch for all to see, he asked evenly, “Would you kindly tell me if this belongs to you?”

The smirk vanished almost instantly. Yet beyond that brief flicker of shock, Jin Zimin’s expression betrayed little.

Wei Wuxian watched intently, his gaze shifting between the Jins, particularly Jin Guangshan, whose displeasure was evident.

So, this hadn’t been done with his knowledge, Wei Wuxian mused. The unease on several faces—and the genuine surprise on others—suggested that while many within the Jin sect had been aware of something, they hadn’t known the full extent of it.

"Sect Leader Lan, I am not sure what you are insinuating, but there must be some misunderstanding—one that can surely be discussed in a more private setting," Jin Guangshan said, his eyes darting around the hall. In an attempt to salvage some dignity, he softened his tone. "Let us not disrupt the festivities any further."

"Sect Leader Jin, there is no misunderstanding," Qingheng-jun replied, his voice steady. "And I am owed an explanation." He gestured toward the gathered guests. "They will be my witnesses."

His gaze swept over the hall before he continued. "The Gusu Lan Sect has been gravely offended by important members of your sect over the past two weeks. So I must ask—do you have an issue with the ethics and conduct among your own disciples? First, your nephew insulted my son's betrothed, then went so far as to draw his sword against him when his back was turned. And now, another of your nephews has tampered with the wards meant to contain resentful creatures, releasing them onto my sect’s grounds and endangering everyone residing here."

Qingheng-jun took a step forward, his piercing gaze locking onto Jin Guangshan. "Tell me, Sect Leader Jin—what exactly am I supposed to believe about the Jin Sect right now?"

"Sect Leader Lan, I do not think that a mere pouch found near the site proves anything," Jin Guangshan said, his anger now evident. "Let us not jump to conclusions, especially when both of my nephews have been present here the entire time."

"Jin Zixuan," Qingheng-jun addressed the sect heir directly, his sharp gaze sweeping over the Jin contingent. "Were both your cousins present throughout the entire evening?"

Jin Zixuan looked stricken, the most uncomfortable he had ever appeared. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as his eyes darted from his cousins to his father, silently pleading for help. It was almost pitiful.

"Sect Leader Lan, I believe that—" Jin Guangshan began, only to be cut off abruptly.

"I am speaking to your son and sect heir," Qingheng-jun interjected coldly. "I believe he is capable of answering a simple question."

Jin Zixuan swallowed hard. What felt like an eternity passed—though in reality, it was only a few seconds—before he finally spoke, his voice steady and clear.

"No, Sect Leader Lan. Jin Zimin joined the banquet about half an hour ago," he admitted with a small bow.

Qingheng-jun nodded before turning back to Jin Guangshan, who, despite the mounting evidence, was not ready to relent so easily.

"Sect Leader Lan, I believe a thorough investigation is required. This has all the markings of a setup," Jin Guangshan insisted.

Qingheng-jun's patience snapped.

"Do you take me for a fool, Jin Guangshan?" he thundered, his voice so powerful that several people flinched violently—Jin Guangshan among them.

His expression was like carved stone, his presence commanding. "I want you, your sect members, and every Jin disciple attending lectures here to leave Cloud Recesses and Gusu tonight. Your sect is banned from stepping foot on our grounds for the foreseeable future. I will send an official demand for compensation, and if you wish for our sects to maintain any form of collaboration, I suggest you comply."

He stood like an emperor passing judgment, and Wei Wuxian—along with most of the hall—watched in stunned admiration.

"You will leave immediately, Sect Leader Jin," Qingheng-jun stated firmly, his voice brooking no argument.

For a moment, Jin Guangshan remained frozen, too shocked to speak. But that final command shattered whatever hold had kept him rooted to the spot. With no other choice, he turned and stormed out, his sect members following closely behind, escorted by a group of Lan cultivators.

Qingheng-jun took a few moments to compose himself before turning back to the hall.

"Thank you all for joining us today to celebrate this joyous occasion," he said, his tone steady but measured. "I deeply apologize for the unfortunate incident that disrupted our celebration. I ask that you now return to your quarters and rest. Tomorrow’s classes will be cancelled—please take this time to meditate and relax."

His slight bow to the gathered guests was met with a chorus of murmured acknowledgments and returned bows.

As Wei Wuxian followed the sect leader out of the hall alongside the others, he couldn’t help but think about Jin Guangshan’s predicament. There had been far too many witnesses to this incident, and they would undoubtedly write home about everything that had transpired. Qingheng-jun had chosen to confront him publicly for a reason.

Gossip might be forbidden within Cloud Recesses, but outside its walls, it was a weapon—one that could cut deeper than any sword.

Jin Guangshan’s reputation would take a significant hit after this, and those who already harboured ill will toward him would not hesitate to use this against him. And those who sympathized with him would probably try to distance themselves, at least for a while.

His chances of ever becoming Chief Cultivator were dwindling by the hour.

Chapter Text

That evening, following the Jin debacle, the Han brothers and Wan Shangcheng visited Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan in the Jingshi to convey the latest developments regarding Wei Wuxian's request. Shortly after Huaisang provided Wei Wuxian with the list of Jin Guangshan's illegitimate offspring, Wei Wuxian reached out to Han Zhang and his brother, seeking their assistance in locating and, if possible, bringing one of them to Caiyi. He had also discussed with Wan Shangcheng the possibility of bringing him to Pine Hidden Manor. After sharing his history with Mo Xuanyu, the man not only agreed but also dispatched the Han brothers to Mo Village immediately. Over the years, Han Zhang and Han Liu had become familiar figures at Pine Hidden Manor. Although still rogue cultivators, they found a home at Wan Shangcheng's estate, a place to rest between their travels. Prior to Wei Wuxian's involvement, the only cultivators at the manor were family members, such as his sister, brother-in-law, and later his daughters. Now, cultivators came and went, much to Wan Shancheng's delight. Through the Han brothers, he also became acquainted with other rogue cultivators who visited occasionally. At one point, Wei Wuxian remarked that if this trend continued, he might have to establish a sect, as there would be volunteers willing to join. For now, it was merely an internal jest, but there was still time.

​They were all seated at the low table in the main room, savouring the tea Lan Zhan had prepared and after exchanging a few pleasantries, Wan Shangcheng went directly to the point: "Mo Chun and Mo Fei are at Pine Hidden Manor," he said without delay. "They are safe, and after a thorough examination by Wen Chunwen, they were declared healthy, aside from slight malnourishment, but that's quite normal in many lower-class children."

​Wei Wuxian felt a profound sense of relief and leaned slightly into Lan Zhan, his rock. "Thank you, Wan-zhu," he expressed sincerely. "I am deeply grateful."​

"There's no need for thanks," Wan Shangcheng responded calmly. "It's our duty to assist those in unfortunate circumstances. Moreover, Mo Chun insisted on working in exchange for food and shelter."​

Han Zhang's expression turned grim as he added, "They were not treated well, and Madam Mo was far from hospitable until she discovered we are cultivators." He continued, "They even attempted to extort money for their release. I cautioned them that if they wished to avoid trouble with the Lan Sect and Lord Wan Shangcheng, they should refrain from causing further issues."

Lan Zhan inclined his head in gratitude. “Thank you very much for your help, Han Zhan and Han Liu.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Lan Gongzi,” Han Liu replied with a slight smile. “The little one proved to be a rather lively companion.” Then, after taking a breath, he continued, “We also have more news. We came across an intriguing rumour a few moths ago about someone on the list Wan Shangcheng provided us.

"A year ago, Meng Yao went to Koi Tower—presumably to speak with the sect leader—but was rather unceremoniously thrown out. Unfortunately for him, his visit coincided with the sect heir’s birthday celebration, and Madam Jin was particularly displeased by his audacity. However, a few months later, the young man managed to secure a good position within the Nie Sect.”

Wei Wuxian nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm. We already know about that. After all, Nie Huaisang compiled the list himself, and when he saw that name, he was clearly surprised.”

"I have no idea how he gathered those names," he said after a moment, "but another one in particular stood out to me, so I decided to look into it. The name sounded familiar."

"Up north, near the temple, there is a Buddhist monastery. A few years ago, when we visited our masters there, a monk introduced a young boy with potential for cultivation. He had been left at the monastery by his aunt, who claimed his birth was shameful and wanted no stain upon her family. The monks took him in—he was only seven at the time.

"Years later, one of the senior monks recognized his potential, so he was brought to the temple."

Wei Wuxian was lost in thought when Han Liu spoke again.

“He must be around eleven by now. I wouldn’t worry about him, Wei Gongzi. Life at the temple isn’t too harsh, and he’s in a good place.” Han Liu offered a reassuring smile. “I just wanted you to know that at least one more person from that list is safe and well cared for.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, a smile of relief crossing his face. “I’m glad. It’s always a comfort to know that an unwanted child has found a secure home. What about the fourth name?” he asked, his expression turning serious.

The two Daozhangs exchanged hesitant glances before one of them finally spoke.

“To be honest, we’re not entirely certain about her. All we have are rumours—far too many, as often happens with those from prominent families. But what we do know is that she is a Yunmeng Jiang disciple.”

Wan Shangcheng’s expression flickered with surprise as he instinctively turned to Wei Wuxian. The moment Wei Wuxian had seen her name on Nie Huaisang’s list, he had been just as taken aback. In his past life, she had been one of his shimei—a strong cultivator with a bright, lively personality, well-regarded by all the disciples. As the granddaughter of Yunmeng’s most influential silk trader, she was deeply entrenched in nobility, her family wielding significant power through wealth and connections. The ease with which rumours about her had surfaced and the lack of effort required to unearth details made Wei Wuxian suspect that Jiang Fengmian had known the truth all along. That was precisely why he had asked the two brothers to investigate further.

His gaze sharpened as he regarded them. “What have you learned so far?”

Han Zhan exhaled before responding. “According to the rumours, Jin Guangshan was a frequent visitor to her grandfather’s estate. That wouldn’t have been unusual if they had trade agreements. However, his visits abruptly ceased after whispers spread that the man’s daughter was pregnant—and that the child was his. The main family never denied the claim, yet they never confirmed it either.

“Nine months later, she gave birth… and died in childbirth.”

A heavy silence settled over the group before he continued. “A few years later, the child became a disciple of the Jiang Sect and has remained one ever since. Given her close ties to her grandfather, she often spends time at his estate.”

Han Zhan’s gaze flickered between Wei Wuxian and Wan Shangcheng, as though sensing there was more to the story—something unspoken between them. Yet, he chose not to pry.

Wei Wuxian remained lost in thought for a moment before finally offering the two rogue cultivators a smile.

“Thank you for all the information you’ve gathered. I’m truly grateful for your help,” he said, inclining his head in gratitude.

“There’s no need to thank us,” Han Liu replied with a knowing smile. “It wasn’t particularly difficult—and besides, gathering information is what we do best.”

Wei Wuxian had to admit, after Nie Huaisang, these two were remarkably skilled. And more importantly, they had provided some truly valuable insights.

Shortly after, the two rogue cultivators excused themselves, needing to leave the Cloud Recesses before curfew. Together with Wan Shangcheng, they made their way back to the manor.

Wei Wuxian remained so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice Lan Zhan had already prepared for bed.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan’s gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Your bath is ready.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at his husband, taking a moment to process the words. “Oh… how long was I spacing out?” he asked, finally noticing Lan Zhan already settled for the night.

“A while,” Lan Zhan replied, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “But Wei Ying often does that when he’s thinking.”

Wei Wuxian let out a soft chuckle and leaned into him, inhaling his familiar, calming scent. “And you always take care of this old little me,” he murmured before his expression darkened, his voice turning quiet. “She died in the fall of Lotus Pier.”

Lan Zhan remained silent, letting him continue.

“There were rumours of a possible betrothal between her and Jiang Wanyin. I suspect Jiang Fengmian was aware of her parentage, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Madam Yu knew as well. But what strikes me as strange is how these wealthy, well-connected people—who have the means to control gossip—never denied nor confirmed anything. It’s as if they wanted the rumours to spread. My guess? Her grandfather was hoping to gain something from it… if he hadn’t already.”

“Leverage over Jin Guangshan,” Lan Zhan said flatly.

Wei Wuxian nodded slowly, deep in thought. “That’s what I suspected. But an illegitimate granddaughter isn’t something the gentry would acknowledge so easily. They usually go to great lengths to hide such things—they certainly wouldn’t allow her to become a disciple of a great sect.”

“They would if it increased her value and prestige,” Lan Zhan countered.

Wei Wuxian turned to him, a grin spreading across his face. “Lan Zhan, you’re a genius. Of course they would. They probably allowed the rumour to spread at first to pressure Jin Guangshan into taking responsibility. Even making her mother a concubine in his court would have been a valuable connection for her grandfather.”

“But Madam Jin would never tolerate concubines,” Lan Zhan noted. “For her, that would be the ultimate humiliation.”

“And Jin Guangshan is afraid of her,” Wei Wuxian added with a smirk. “When that plan failed, her grandfather must have changed tactics. By then, the rumours had already taken root, and denying them so late would have done more harm than good. So why not turn the situation to his advantage? When the opportunity arose, he ensured his granddaughter became a cultivator of a great sect. With her background and heritage, she became a valuable prospect for future alliances.”

A shadow of sadness crossed Wei Wuxian’s face. “I hate how the gentry see their children as nothing more than bargaining chips” he murmured.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan nodded in quiet agreement.

With a deep sigh, Wei Wuxian pushed himself up. His husband had drawn him a bath, after all—it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

The powerful gentry have always played their games for power at the expense of the lower classes, Wei Wuxian thought bitterly. They never cared for their struggles—people were nothing more than disposable pieces on their chessboard. But to Jin Guangshan, in particular… even his own children were replaceable to him. All that ever mattered was power, and if someone else had to do his dirty work, all the better.

Jin Guangshan never had a good reputation, but his sins were the sins of nearly every powerful leader—so, of course, none of them would be the first to point a finger. They were just as guilty. However, the moment supporting him threatened their wealth or influence, they wouldn’t hesitate to turn against him.

A few weeks after the swearing ceremony, Huaisang arrived at the Jingshi with some very interesting news—news that Wei Wuxian had already known . Yet again, it was further proof of Huaisang’s almost supernatural talent for gathering information.

After relaying the fact that Sect Leader Qin’s daughter was actually Jin Guangshan’s—a revelation Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan were already aware of—Huaisang’s sharp eyes caught the subtle flicker of recognition in their reactions.

That was all it took.

They watched in real time as suspicion bloomed in Huaisang’s expression before he smoothly masked it, slipping into his well-practiced persona of feigned ignorance and incompetence. But Wei Wuxian knew better.

And if there was one thing he couldn’t afford to lose, it was a friend—and a valuable ally—like Nie Huaisang.

With a quick glance at Lan Zhan, who gave a small approving nod, Wei Wuxian made his decision.

He told Huaisang everything—the truth about their other life, how their consciousness had travelled back in time, and the steps they had taken ever since.

Huaisang remained silent throughout, never interrupting with questions. Instead, he listened intently, while Wei Wuxian’s sharp eyes carefully tracked every subtle shift in Huaisang’s expression. The only indication that the revelations had truly shaken him lay in the quiet, calculating way he absorbed every word.

At the end, they let the silence settle, giving Huaisang time to process everything he had just learned. It was a lot to take in, and Wei Wuxian remembered how deeply it had affected Xichen when Lan Zhan had told him the truth.

Finally, Huaisang exhaled, his tone unreadable.

“So… my father dies. My brother is killed by his sworn brother. You are murdered while trying to protect Ning-di’s family. Then you come back thanks to Mo Xuanyu—using an array I provided. And after over a decade of scheming and acting like a fool… I become Chief Cultivator?”

His voice was light, almost amused, but the sharp glint in his eyes told a different story.

“In a nutshell, yes,” Wei Wuxian said, watching his sworn brother carefully.

“And,” he added after a beat, “you were also responsible, in a way, for Wen Ruohan’s death. In doing so, you saved my father. Meanwhile, my brother’s killer is currently in the Unclean Realm… serving as one of my father’s secretaries.”

He let the words settle, studying Huaisang’s reaction.

Huaisang didn’t once lift his fan to hide behind it. Instead, he lightly tapped the closed fan against his palm in a slow, thoughtful rhythm.

He wasn’t deflecting. He wasn’t retreating behind his usual mask.

He felt safe in their presence—safe enough not to hide.

That was either a good sign—or a very bad one. It could mean Huaisang truly trusted them… or that their time left on this plane was already running short.

Though, in truth, Wei Wuxian mused, the thought was more of an ironic introspection than a real concern.

Still, his sworn brother could be terrifying in ways entirely different from others. The Nie were proving, time and time again, that they were formidable in their own ways.

“That changes everything,” Huaisang murmured, his gaze fixed on some distant point behind them.

Wei Wuxian watched him carefully. “I won’t speak for Meng Yao, but right now, his power is limited. Without Wen Ruohan, it will be much harder for him to gain recognition from his father.” He had a feeling Huaisang’s thoughts were already drifting in that direction.

“Are you sure?” Huaisang asked softly. “When I told my father about Meng Yao’s parentage, he was surprised—but not upset. He believes that everyone should be recognized for their own abilities, and Meng Yao is highly skilled. My father even said he’s the best secretary he’s ever had.”

Huaisang paused for a moment before continuing, his voice edged with something unreadable. “But since he craves his father’s approval so desperately… how can he be trusted not to share sensitive information with Jin Guangshan in exchange for it? He most likely did so in the other timeline—during the war.”

Wei Wuxian had never considered that possibility in the beginning. Only after his resurrection—after years of contemplation, sifting through everything he had learned about Meng Yao and his intricate machinations—did he begin to suspect it.

Huaisang, on the other hand, had pieced it together in less than an hour.

His mind simply worked differently.

"Are you saying you have sympathy for Meng Yao?" Huaisang asked curiously.

Wei Wuxian shrugged. "No, just pointing out that he hasn’t done everything yet . We should at least consider the possibility of change."

Huaisang's gaze sharpened. "Did you hold the same consideration before Wen Ruohan's death?"

The way those words cut through the air sent a chill down Wei Wuxian’s spine. That look in Huaisang’s eyes—it was precise, unyielding. A quiet reminder that in this game, it was eat or be eaten.

Bitterness curled in his chest, but he managed a small smile.

"Touche."

A thought struck Wei Wuxian as he watched Huaisang carefully assess the newly imparted knowledge.

“Did you have anything to do with that incident a few weeks ago? The fierce creature let loose in the Cloud Recesses?”

Huaisang’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and assessing. Wei Wuxian saw the precise moment he decided to drop the act. A small, knowing smile graced his sworn brother’s lips.

“Well, of course not, Er-di ,” he said smoothly. “But I did make sure there was enough evidence for the culprit to be caught.” He nodded to himself, clearly pleased. “A well-placed pouch is undeniable proof—evidence that cannot be easily refuted.”

Wei Wuxian’s mouth was still open in shock when Lan Zhan’s cold voice cut in.

“Did you tamper with the wards?”

Huaisang gasped theatrically. “Lan Xiong, you wound me! I merely happened to overhear Jin Zixun and a few of his cousins plotting to ‘get even’ with the Lans. So, naturally, I tasked someone with following them.” He shrugged as if it were all very mundane. “After they set the creatures loose, all I had to do was ask that same person to carefully place a pouch I had ‘conveniently’ removed from one of them at the scene of the crime.”

A wicked little snicker escaped him. “I must admit, it was very entertaining to watch those idiots realize they were utterly screwed. ”

Once the shock wore off, Wei Wuxian burst into laughter. This was glorious. No matter how devious Huaisang could be, he had to admit that his timing was perfect.

Lan Zhan, on the other hand, did not share the amusement. He simply exhaled, resigned. Since no innocent person had been accused, he chose to accept the situation rather than argue against an already settled matter.

“So,” Wei Wuxian asked after his laughter had subsided, “what are you planning to do about Meng Yao?”

Huaisang smirked. “Well, for now, I plan to sic my great-aunt on him.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him, clearly confused. “Your great-aunt ?”

Huaisang’s smile widened. “Nie Baozhai. She’s the one who oversees the servants in the Unclean Realm. If I sic her on Meng Yao, I sic the entire retinue of servants to spy on him. That should keep him properly occupied until I return.”

Wei Wuxian giggled with glee. “Sang-ge, you are terrifying. ”

And he was —because someone like Huaisang was the kind of threat you never saw coming until it was too late.

Wei Wuxian was just grateful to have him on his side.

Chapter Text

Wei Bao stood proudly beside her two older brothers, Wei Wuxian and Wei Jingshan, as she received her sword from Sect Leader Lan. Wei Wuxian’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, and A-Yun, standing beside him, fared no better—both overwhelmed with emotion as their beloved younger sister reached this milestone.

It was a moment Wei Wuxian had long envisioned and meticulously prepared for, yet he still found himself unready. His sweet, fiercely protective Mei-Mei now wielded a sword of her own. While teaching her and A-Yun the fundamental forms, he had come to understand that a cultivator begins to develop their unique fighting style even before mastering the basics—so long as they are encouraged to explore what suits them best.

Both Wei Bao and A-Yun had done just that, their styles as distinct as their personalities. A-Yun fought with precision—agile, direct, and economical in his movements—while Wei Bao was swift, fluid, and strategic, favoring evasion to study her opponent before delivering the perfect strike. It was instinctive to her, something that took others years of experience to master. Watching her, Wei Wuxian could not help but be amazed at how naturally it all came to her.

It was a sweet and intimate moment, shared only with the closest of friends and family, followed by a joyous banquet where Wei Bao received an abundance of gifts and heartfelt congratulations. As the evening drew to a close, Sect Leader Lan made an important announcement: this year’s Cultivation Conference would be held at the Cloud Recesses. He extended an invitation to Wei Wuxian and his siblings, allowing them to participate in the competitions scheduled during the event.

It was not uncommon for young rogue cultivators to be invited to such competitions—often seen as a chance to showcase their skills, earn recognition, and even be recruited into a sect. Eligibility required a golden core and the receipt of one’s sword, meaning that if Wei Bao wished, she could compete.

Wei Wuxian, however, had no desire to participate. It would hardly be fair to pit juniors with only a few years of experience against his decades of cultivation. Lan Zhan, as the Second Young Master of the Lan Clan and at the age of fifteen, was expected to compete as a matter of duty—but Wei Wuxian saw no such obligation for himself.

"I know what you're thinking," came a quiet voice beside him. Wei Wuxian hadn’t even noticed Huaisang approach, but now he stood there, partially hiding his face behind his fan. Raising an inquisitive brow, Wei Wuxian waited for him to continue.

"You think it’s unfair," Huaisang mused, "to flaunt your years of cultivation against those who are still learning."

Wei Wuxian huffed but said nothing, so Huaisang obliged, lowering his fan just slightly. "But let me give you some advice—these competitions aren’t just about showing off or proving a sect’s superiority. They are a vital means of gaining recognition and prestige… and you will need both."

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. "And why, exactly, would I need them?" he asked, already suspecting the direction Huaisang was leading him.

"So that when the time comes, your words will carry weight and be heard—even if you are young. There is nothing more valued than the voice of a rising hero," Huaisang said with a knowing smile.

"But a hero can fall just as quickly if he goes against the powerful," Wei Wuxian countered, his thoughts drifting to the past—the time when he was hailed as a hero during the campaign, only to be cast aside the moment he refused to bend to public opinion.

Huaisang sighed but nodded. "Yes, he can. But admit it—you made it far too easy for them. You had no support. The Jiangs were still rebuilding, and you never asked for help."

"He’s right," came another voice from his right.

Wei Wuxian turned to find Han Ning watching him intently.

"You’re both ganging up on me, aren’t you?" Wei Wuxian groaned, dramatically crossing his arms. "I feel trapped. I swear, I’ll tell Lan Zhan." He pouted mockingly, drawing a chuckle from both his friends.

"Just think about it," Huaisang said before gracefully slipping away.

Wei Wuxian sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to compete—he loved a good challenge—but was it really worth it? When he brought up his complaints to Lan Zhan, hoping for some sympathy, he was met with a response just as infuriatingly reasonable.

"With a good reputation, you have already half-won an argument," Lan Zhan had said simply. "But Wei Ying should do as he sees fit."

In the end, he decided to participate.

No one was happier than A-Bao. "My Da-Ge is the best! You and Wangji-Ge will put everyone to shame!" she said, beaming with excitement.

A-Yun, though more restrained, was just as pleased. "At least now you can prove that the only reason you hold back during the weekly sparring sessions is because you don’t want to humiliate them and shatter their already fragile self-esteem," he said, nodding as though he had just stated an undeniable truth.

Wei Wuxian squinted at him. "You’re spending too much time with Huaisang." He glanced between his didi and his sworn brother, their innocent expressions doing nothing to reassure him.

'They are definitely becoming close,' he thought, suddenly a little worried.

"Why are you worried?" A-Bao asked, her tone unusually serious.

Wei Wuxian blinked at her, caught off guard.

"You’re a powerful cultivator, a skilled swordsman, and an expert in archery. Not to mention, you’re a genius when it comes to arrays and talismans. And yet, you want to hide all of this. Why? Is it because you don’t want to show off? Or… are you afraid that they might use these achievements against you?"

Her reasoning surprised him.

If he were just a regular fourteen-year-old, none of this would be an issue. But she didn’t know the truth—she didn’t know that he had time-traveled, that he had literal decades of experience over the other participants. Comparing them to himself would be unfair.

And yet…

He needed a good reputation. If he wanted his voice to carry weight in future debates, to be heard when it truly mattered, then he couldn’t afford to remain in the shadows forever.

As for his achievements—well, they had been used against him once before. A-Bao’s conclusion was astute, especially for a twelve-year-old.

Wei Wuxian found himself quietly impressed. She was young, but her insight was startlingly accurate. Perhaps he should listen to her more often. If she was already capable of such sharp observations now, who knew what wisdom she would offer in the future?

In his previous life, this annual Cultivation Conference had been held in Qinghe, but given the many changes over the years, its relocation was not entirely unexpected.

What was unusual, however, was the absence of the Jin Sect. Their banishment from Lan Sect lands was already a deep humiliation, but being barred from the conference carried even greater consequences. It meant the loss of countless opportunities—alliances that could have been formed, deals that could have been negotiated, and the chance to exchange cultivation techniques and advancements with other sects.

Their absence would only fuel the growing rumors surrounding them since their exile from the Cloud Recesses, further tarnishing their already questionable reputation.

So, it was no surprise when Sect Leader Jiang arrived at the Cloud Recesses to plead for the restriction to be lifted—at least for the duration of the conference.

When Wei Wuxian mentioned this to Huaisang, the latter merely hummed in understanding before remarking, "That makes sense. After all, Jiang Yanli has been promised to Jin Zixuan since childhood, and the betrothal contract was signed just a few weeks after the incident. I’d bet Sect Leader Jiang got a very good deal because of it." He snickered.

"They already signed the contract?" Wei Wuxian asked, startled.

"Oh yes," Huaisang confirmed with a smirk. "I heard there was quite the delegation, led by Madam Jin herself, that stayed at Lotus Pier for an entire week." He waved his fan lazily. "I don’t know the exact details of the deal, but if Fengmian had the chance to rip the Jins to shreds, I’d wager he took full advantage of it."

"He would be a fool not to," Wei Wuxian muttered, crossing his arms.

The Jin Sect’s power had taken a serious hit after their banishment, and if Jiang Fengmian had the opportunity to negotiate from a position of strength, he would have been wise to seize it. Whatever the details of the agreement were, one thing was certain—the Jins would not have walked away from Lotus Pier with the upper hand.

In the end, Sect Leader Lan relented—allowing Madam Jin and Jin Zixuan to participate, accompanied by a small group of cultivators and attendants. However, neither Jin Zixun nor any of his cousins, nor any of Jin Guangshan’s close relatives, were permitted to attend.

It was a clever blow, one aimed directly at Jin Guangshan and his loyalists. Wei Wuxian could only hope this was the beginning of the end for the sect leader. He had no desire to destroy the Jin Sect entirely or create a dangerous power vacuum—he simply wanted its corrupt leader replaced.

Upon hearing that Sect Leader Jiang was in the Cloud Recesses, Wei Wuxian did his best to avoid him. He spent most of his time either buried in the library or secluded in the Jingshi, steering clear of common areas where an encounter might occur.

Unfortunately, his luck wasn’t the best.

After morning classes ended, he found himself walking straight into Jiang Fengmian and Jiang Wanyin.

"Ah, Wei Wuxian," Sect Leader Jiang greeted warmly, a warm smile on his face. "You’ve grown so much since the last time we saw each other."

Wei Wuxian quickly schooled his expression, bowing respectfully. "This one salutes Sect Leader Jiang."

He barely had time to straighten before noticing the sharp glare Jiang Wanyin directed at him.

Since the start of the lectures, their interactions had been minimal—limited to cold, polite greetings when necessary and the occasional glare from the Jiang heir. Otherwise, Jiang Wanyin had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with him. That was perfectly fine with Wei Wuxian. Ever since the Jin delegation left, the atmosphere had felt more relaxed—though perhaps that was just his own perception.

So far, he had done a fantastic job of avoiding unnecessary conflict. He had no desire to provoke the temperamental teenager.

So why was Jiang Fengmian trying to ruin the balance? How could he not see the way his son tensed at the attention he was giving Wei Wuxian?

"I was just heading to the Hanshi for lunch with Sect Leader Lan and Lan Xichen. Would you like to join us?" Jiang Fengmian asked hopefully. "I’m sure your future father-in-law would not object, and I would also like to offer my personal congratulations on your betrothal. Though unusual, cultivation partners are rare and should be celebrated."

Wei Wuxian nearly laughed. Was he… brown-nosing him? The thought was amusing.

"Thank you, Sect Leader Jiang," he replied smoothly, "but I already promised to have lunch with my fiancés, my sworn brothers, and my didi." Hopefully, that would be the end of it.

"Ah, yes, your sworn brothers," Jiang Fengmian continued. "Congratulations on that as well. You’ve made very good connections during these lectures."

Wei Wuxian resisted the urge to sigh. Was this man seriously praising him in front of his son? The sheer cluelessness was almost terrifying.

"Thank you," he said instead, keeping his tone polite. "But I knew Han Ning and Nie Huaisang before coming to the lectures. This was just a natural conclusion to our close friendship."

Beside Jiang Fengmian, Jiang Wanyin’s glare was still in place but the tension in his shoulders did not go unnoticed. Wei Wuxian could only hope this conversation would end before things got any more awkward.

"To be honest," Jiang Fengmian continued with a sigh, "when I heard you were invited to the lectures, I had hoped you and Jiang Wanyin would become friends—just as I was with your father."

Wei Wuxian barely held back a scoff. Was he serious? His son was standing right there, for heaven’s sake! Could he be any more unaware? Had he always been like this?

Wei Wuxian couldn't believe it. How had he not noticed Jiang Fengmian’s blatant dismissal of his own son before? Had Wanyin been right all along—had he really cared more for him than for his own child?

One thing was certain: he didn’t want that affection, and he needed to put a stop to it immediately.

Especially because the glare on Jiang Wanyin’s face was downright murderous.

With a calm yet firm voice, Wei Wuxian spoke.

"Sect Leader Jiang, with all due respect, whatever relationship you had with my father ended at some point. Both of you went your separate ways. You cannot force your son into a friendship just so you can relive a lost dream of reconciliation with my father." His tone was polite, but there was steel beneath it. "I appreciate the sentiment, but perhaps you should ask your son first before making statements like that."

A tense silence followed. Wei Wuxian didn’t need to look at Jiang Wanyin to know that, for once, they were in agreement.

"I didn’t mean to offend," Jiang Fengmian said, clearly taken aback by Wei Wuxian’s blunt dismissal. "I just held hopes that you two would become friends."

Wei Wuxian sighed, but his resolve didn’t waver. "I understand," he said, his tone lighter but still firm. "But keep your hopes to yourself and focus on your own son’s hopes and dreams instead."

He gave a respectful bow. "Sect Leader Jiang, Gongzi."

Then, without waiting for any more awkward or misguided words from Jiang Fengmian, he turned and walked away, leaving no room for further argument.

In the past, Wei Wuxian had always reassured Jiang Cheng that his father loved him, that he didn’t prefer him over his own son. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

Maybe he had been biased—maybe he had placed Jiang Fengmian on such a high pedestal that he never even considered the possibility that the man truly had favored him over his own blood.

But he couldn’t say that anymore. Not after today.

Jiang Fengmian had built up such a myth around him, had clung so tightly to an idealized version of who Wei Wuxian was, that he was now forcing that same delusion onto his own son again.

And that, Wei Wuxian realized, was something he could no longer ignore.

Or maybe… it wasn’t him personally that Jiang Fengmian favored, but rather what he could be—a shield for the Jiang Sect, a powerful asset to support Jiang Cheng when he became sect leader.

If that was the case, then his persistence did not bode well.

Because it meant that Jiang Fengmian had very little faith in his own son’s ability to stand on his own. And that lack of faith would only hurt Jiang Wanyin in the future.

Yeah… the latter was more probable.

But that didn’t make it any less ugly.

But it did lead to a very interesting conversation with Jiang Wanyin a week later.

Wei Wuxian was in the rabbit field with A-Bao, who had accompanied Wan Shangcheng to Cloud Recesses for a meeting with Sect Leader Lan. His sister was happily cooing over every bunny that hopped up to her for treats, completely in her own world.

She wasn’t a stranger to them—this wasn’t the first time she had come along whenever Wan Shangcheng had business with Qingheng-Jun. And just like before, the rabbits seemed to adore her, crowding around as she giggled and gently stroked their soft fur.

Wei Wuxian smiled at the sight, but his moment of peace was short-lived. Because that was when Jiang Wanyin appeared.

Jiang Wanyin appeared momentarily startled to see them. He hesitated, seeming on the verge of turning away—but after a brief pause, he changed his mind and strode toward them instead.

Wei Wuxian rose and offered a polite bow. Jiang Wanyin returned a curt nod, his expression taut with discomfort, lips pressed into a thin line.

The glare was expected. He always glared. But he said nothing, leaving the responsibility of starting the conversation to Wei Wuxian—though he was the one who had approached in the first place.

Not that it mattered. Before Wei Wuxian could speak, A-Bao, utterly unbothered by the tension, suddenly thrust a bunny into Jiang Wanyin’s hands.

"Here, hold him!" she said with a bright, encouraging smile.

Jiang Wanyin, caught off guard, instinctively accepted the rabbit, though he held it stiffly, as if uncertain what to do. He glanced between the small creature and the girl before him, his bewilderment plain to see.

"Not like that—here, let me show you!" A-Bao gently adjusted his grip. "Now, stroke his fur. See? Much better, isn’t it?" She nodded approvingly.

Still rigid, Jiang Wanyin hesitantly followed her instructions. Wei Wuxian barely managed to suppress a laugh.

Well, this was certainly not how he expected this conversation to begin.

Wei Wuxian watched with barely concealed amusement as Jiang Wanyin awkwardly stroked the rabbit’s fur, his expression torn between confusion and begrudging acceptance. The bunny, oblivious to the tension, simply nestled into his arms, content with the attention.

A-Bao beamed. "See? He likes you!"

Jiang Wanyin scoffed, shifting slightly as if uncomfortable with the praise. "It’s just a rabbit," he muttered, but his hands remained gentle.

A-Bao smiled. "Gege always says people who like animals have soft hearts," she said matter-of-factly, then tilted her head in thought. "So maybe you’re not as scary as you look!"

Jiang Wanyin sputtered, caught between indignation and surprise, while Wei Wuxian outright laughed.

Yes, he thought, this was definitely not how he expected this conversation to go.

Wei Wuxian remained silent, watching Jiang Wanyin closely. He was clearly upset, but his usual deep scowl had softened—just slightly. His focus was now on stroking the bunny exactly as A-Bao had instructed. So, Wei Wuxian waited.

When the silence stretched on and Jiang Wanyin still didn’t speak, Wei Wuxian finally broke it.

"This is my sister, Wei Bao," he said, tilting his head toward her. "And if you're not careful, she might charm you into smiling with her cuteness."

Jiang Wanyin shot him a glare before turning to A-Bao and inclining his head politely. "Thank you, Wei Guniang," he said with uncharacteristic cordiality. Then, as he continued petting the rabbit, he added, "I have an older sister too—she's very kind, like you."

A brief pause. Then, with a pointed look at Wei Wuxian, he added dryly, "And I imagine you must have the patience of a saint to put up with an older brother like him."

Wei Wuxian gasped in exaggerated offense. "You don’t even know me!"

Jiang Wanyin simply snorted and returned his attention to the rabbit.

A-Bao giggled. "Da-ge is silly like that sometimes, but he’s very kind," she said, nodding with utmost seriousness.

"A-Bao, why are you badmouthing me? I'm right here—and deeply wounded!" Wei Wuxian clutched at his chest dramatically, wiping away an imaginary tear.

"See what I mean?" she laughed. "I said you're kind, but you're also silly at times!"

Jiang Wanyin was already visibly more at ease when he finally spoke, still focusing on the rabbit in his hands.

"Did my father ask you to join the Jiang Sect?"

His tone was neutral, but Wei Wuxian noticed the way his shoulders tensed again.

"Yes, a few years ago," Wei Wuxian answered simply. "I refused. At the time, I already had a stable situation, and I didn’t even know that Sect Leader Jiang had been a close friend of my father. He never spoke of him to me."

Jiang Wanyin remained silent for a moment before asking, "Do you know why he left?"

"According to what I’ve heard from Sect Leader Nie and Sect Leader Lan, it was due to disagreements between my mother and Madam Yu," Wei Wuxian replied, carefully watching Jiang Wanyin’s reaction. He didn’t look surprised.

"When my father learned about their deaths, he spent most of his time searching for you," Jiang Wanyin said, his voice controlled but heavy with unspoken emotion. "He and my mother fought more often than usual back then. At first, I didn’t understand why. But later, I overheard her accusing him… accusing him of still being in love with your mother."

The anger in his voice was undeniable now. Then, Jiang Wanyin turned to him, eyes sharp with resentment.

"Ever since he found you in Caiyi, he’s looked at me like I wasn’t enough. Like I was a disappointment." His voice grew bitter. "I hated you because I never understood—what the hell is so special about you? You’re nothing but a rogue cultivator with good connections. You barely participate in the lectures, and after that humiliating spar with Jin Zixun, you never accepted another challenge."

"First of all, your father was not in love with my mother," Wei Wuxian said coldly. "Sect Leader Nie said she denied that vehemently. Second, whatever reason my father had for leaving is between him and Sect Leader Jiang—we may never know."

"They were fighting because of you!" Jiang Wanyin nearly yelled. "If it weren’t for you—"

He stopped abruptly when Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"How exactly is that my fault?" Wei Wuxian asked, voice calm but cutting. "I wasn’t even there. Should I take responsibility just because I exist?"

Jiang Wanyin set the rabbit down abruptly and stood, pacing nervously in front of them.

"What else am I supposed to believe?" he sneered. "You, your mother, your father—all of—"

"Enough."

Wei Wuxian’s voice was sharp, and Jiang Wanyin flinched.

"Be careful what you say next, Jiang-gongzi," he warned. "My parents are dead, and whatever blame you’re trying to put on them—on me—should have ended the moment my father left with my mother. They extricated themselves from that situation. What happened after that is on your parents, not mine. And certainly not on me."

Jiang Wanyin clenched his fists. "Are you saying—"

"Yes," Wei Wuxian cut in. "I am."

"They are discerning adults and should know how to behave as such—especially in front of their children," Wei Wuxian said evenly. "Placing blame on people who have been dead for years and turning that anger on me? That just sounds like they’re avoiding responsibility for their own actions."

Jiang Wanyin was so angry he was trembling, most likely because he couldn't refute Wei Wuxian's reasoning. But unsurprisingly, it was A-Bao who finally broke through to him.

"You’re hurt," she stated simply, looking at him intently.

"What?" he started, almost recoiling as if struck.

"You’re hurt," she repeated, nodding as if she had reached a reasonable conclusion. "I understand. If my Da-ge and Er-ge were fighting because of someone from outside, I would be angry with them too. But… is it fair?" she asked earnestly. "How can the other person be responsible for my brothers' behaviour? Shouldn't they know better?"

There was raw emotion in Jiang Wanyin's voice when he spoke next.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" he demanded, his frustration spilling over. "No matter what I do, it’s never enough. No matter how much I train, how hard I practice, I’m always not as good as the Twin Jades of Lan or Nie Mingjue. Now they’re even comparing me to that Jin Zixuan." His voice full of disgust.

"And now, to learn that my father thinks I need you as a friend?" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "As if I’m so lacking that I need you to compensate for it?"

"We are all lacking," A-Bao said quietly. "We all have our strengths and weaknesses. We just have to balance them and ask for help with the things that are difficult for us." She gazed at Jiang Wanyin with a quiet understanding, her expression sincere.

He let out a tremulous sigh. "You even talk like my sister," he murmured.

A-Bao beamed. "She seems great! I would love to meet her someday."

For a fleeting moment, Jiang Wanyin’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. But then his gaze shifted to Wei Wuxian, his expression hardening once more.

"I will not be your friend just because my father wants me to be," he said firmly.

"Of course not," Wei Wuxian replied with an amused tilt of his head. "I should first be pardoned for all these accusations, shouldn’t I?"

Jiang Wanyin snorted. "Do you take anything seriously?"

"Not really. Life's too short," Wei Wuxian replied, flashing his most infuriating grin.

Jiang Wanyin let out another snort, shaking his head in exasperation before bowing politely to A-Bao and walking away.

"He’s very hurt," A-Bao whispered after a few moments, her voice filled with quiet concern.

Wei Wuxian sighed. "I don’t think he knows what to do with it."

That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Jiang Wanyin had slowly drowned in bitterness until all that remained was anger—anger that had festered over the years, hollowing him out until he was empty and alone.

Wei Wuxian wondered if his presence in Jiang Wanyin’s life had done more harm than good in the end. Even now when he was not beside him, there had been no shortage of people for Jiang Wanyin to be compared to, no escape from the impossible expectations weighing him down.

His hands clenched at his sides. He was really starting to dislike Jiang Fengmian and Madam Yu. One had built an illusion so fragile it shattered under the weight of reality. The other had taught their son only how to place blame instead of taking responsibility. And now, Jiang Wanyin was left to carry the consequences alone.

Chapter Text

It was nearing midnight when Lan Wangji arrived at Elder Lan Rushan’s residence. The lights were out, and all was still—exactly as expected at this hour for any Lan. Pausing before the entrance, he took a deep breath. This night would mark the end of the last elders’ influence within the Lan Clan, for they had crossed an unforgivable threshold—not mere misdeeds or minor corruption, but treason against the sect itself.

The man inside remained unaware of the fate that would soon befall him, for there was no room for justification, no escape from the reckoning they had brought upon themselves. Lan Wangji’s fury was tempered only by the knowledge that this would be the final nail in the coffin the elders had so carefully built for themselves over the years.

At his side stood five senior cultivators—those who would form the new advisory council of the Lan Sect, a balance of youth and wisdom, heralding the change to come.

He glanced to his right at Lan Wuxu and his son, Lan Yiming, then to his left at his wife, Lan Fenhua, and the two senior female disciples. At Lan Wuxu’s slight nod, Lan Wangji pushed open the door—it yielded easily to his touch—and stepped inside.

Without hesitation, he strode toward the elder’s chambers, leaving the female disciples to handle Lan Rushan’s wife and younger daughter, who still resided with him. It took Lan Rushan a few moments to comprehend what was happening. Then, as if on cue, he erupted in outrage, his voice laced with indignant fury.

“What is the meaning of this, Wangji? Have you no respect for your elders? Has the dignity of the Lan Clan fallen so low that its second young master now behaves so disgracefully?”

Lan Wangji met his gaze with cold, impassive eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was devoid of warmth, allowing no room for protest.

“Lan Rushan, you are under arrest for treason and for attempting to take the Sect Leader’s life. You will be held under guard until your trial tomorrow.”

With that, he stepped aside, allowing Lan Wuxu and his son to restrain him. As protests and feeble justifications erupted behind him, Lan Wangji ignored him, his focus already shifting. He turned toward the elder’s study, methodically searching for any evidence that would seal their case, his mind undisturbed by the clamour of the condemned.

It had all begun that evening, just before curfew. Lan Wangji had been engaged in his evening routine when a junior disciple arrived with urgent news—the Sect Leader had been brought to the infirmary. Upon his arrival, he discovered that both his brother and uncle were also afflicted , though his father’s condition was by far the most severe. Han Qing quickly discovered that the three of them were poisoned. 

He and Wei Ying immediately set out to investigate the Sect Leader’s chambers and his uncle and brother's as well,   accompanied by two senior disciples, while Han Ning, along with two Lan healers, was dispatched to the kitchens to check for traces of poison. Meanwhile, Han Qing took charge of the treatment, assisted by the Lan sect’s senior healer.

Nie Huaisang, along with Wei Jingshan and two other senior disciples, were tasked with exploring several possible suspects. It did not take long for Lan Wangji and Wei Ying to uncover the source—the incense his father burned in his chamber had been laced with poison. This explained why his uncle and brother had also been affected, as they spent the most time in their father’s quarters.

Upon discovering this, Han Qing immediately examined them for contamination, because they spend time there as well and confirmed the presence of small traces of the poison in their bodies—not enough to be fatal but still dangerous if left untreated. Since they were not in immediate danger, Lan Wangji and Wei Ying took charge of the investigation and the apprehension of those responsible.

Soon after the poisoned incense was identified, Nie Huaisang arrived with Su She, bound and subdued. Under the effect of Wei Ying’s truth talisman, Su She confessed to aiding the elders in procuring the poison from the Jin sect. Humiliated by their loss of influence, the Jin had readily supplied the toxin when contacted by Lan Rushan and two other elders, who saw this as their opportunity to rid themselves of a leader who had drastically curtailed their power.

Lan Wangji had suspected this for years. He had watched these three elders carefully, knowing all too well how they had pulled the strings from behind the scenes in his past life. Yet in this life, without solid proof, he could not afford to act prematurely.

They were careful, meticulous in covering their tracks, making it nearly impossible to accuse them of anything outright. So he waited. He let them believe they were untouchable, allowed them to grow comfortable—until they made a mistake.

Still, regret weighed heavily on him. His patience had come at a cost. His father, his brother, and his uncle had suffered because of his restraint. If only he had acted sooner.

After a thorough search, Lan Wangji found nothing incriminating. He had not expected much, but he had to try. For years, this man had managed to evade him, slipping through his grasp time and time again. But that no longer mattered. With Wei Ying’s truth talisman, they would uncover the evidence they needed. He was not disillusioned.

Returning to the infirmary, he found Wei Ying being treated by Han Qing alongside his brother and uncle. Both were conscious—his brother already looked better, while his uncle remained pale and weak but alert. Their father, however, was still unconscious; Wen Qing had been forced to sedate him to prevent further harm.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji called softly as he approached. “Are you alright?”

Wei Ying turned to him with a warm smile. “Yes, Lan Zhan, I am. Qing-jie just insisted I get treated right away.”

“He will be completely fine in a few days,” Han Qing interjected matter-of-factly. “The poison only slowed the circulation of his qi through his meridians. There are no lasting effects.”

She then turned to Lan Wangji, hand extended. Understanding, he immediately complied, grateful for her presence at a time like this. Han Qing nodded and spoke firmly. “You will begin treatment immediately as well.” Pressing a cup full with medicine into his hands, she instructed, “Take this now, then sit near your fiancé.”

Lan Wangji obeyed without question. As soon as he settled, she placed several needles at precise acupoints along his body, and moments later, he could feel his qi circulating more smoothly.

“Focus on circulating your qi, Lan Er-gongzi. It will help purge the poison faster,” she instructed before turning to Han Ning. “A-Ning, administer the fourth doses to Lan Gongzi and Lan Xiansheng.”

Once she had checked on the Sect Leader again, she addressed them all. “This poison is unique and extremely dangerous because it acts slowly. By the time symptoms appear, the damage has already been done.”

Lan Wangji looked at his father, silent concern in his eyes. Han Qing understood and answered the unspoken question.

“He will recover, but his meridians will take longer to heal. His cultivation has been significantly affected, though not destroyed.”

She then turned to his brother and uncle. “You will both recover as well. Though the damage to your meridians is significant, your youth will aid in your healing. By the end of the year, you should make a full recovery, Lan Gongzi. Lan Xianchen, your recovery will take longer, but you will be well in time.”

"Was Sect Leader Lan just lucky?" Wei Ying asked after a moment of silence. "If the symptoms had already appeared, but he will still recover…?"

"No, he was not just lucky," Han Qing replied. "After my initial examination, I was able to determine that a very large dose was administered in a short period of time, which caused his symptoms to appear earlier than expected."

"So they grew impatient and rushed the process," Wei Ying mused thoughtfully.

"Yes, most likely," Han Qing confirmed. "That would also explain why Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren developed symptoms as well."

"Were all the suspects detained?" Wei Ying asked, his expression unusually serious. He had every reason to be—he knew all too well what these elders had done in their other life.

"Yes," Lan Wangji answered. "All three of them. They will be interrogated in the morning."

Wei Ying nodded, saying nothing more before settling into meditation.

It was going to be a long night, Lan Wangji thought as he closed his eyes and followed suit.

They managed to get a few hours of sleep before the interrogation and completed a second round of treatment with Han Qing, who once again assured them that they would recover fully within a few days.

Nie Huaisang had also managed to procure physical evidence—something Lan Wangji had not expected. While the elders had been cautious, destroying anything that could incriminate them, Su She had not shared their meticulousness. Whether he had simply believed he wouldn’t be caught or had kept those letters as leverage against the elders, the result was the same: undeniable proof of their betrayal.

Su She had not been denied discipleship, largely due to Wei Ying’s insistence. Wei Ying had argued that Su She might prove useful in the future, given that they already knew his inclinations and character. And, in a way, he hadn’t disappointed. While he had refrained from outright misbehaviour—aside from a few minor slips—Lan Wangji had kept a close eye on him from the moment he was accepted as a disciple.

Over the past year, he had observed Su She’s growing closeness with Elder Lan Rushan. Remembering Wei Ying’s words, he had remained wary, and as always, his husband had been right.

Su She had been given another chance, an opportunity to walk the right path. But once again, he had chosen ambition over loyalty, scheming against his own Sect Leader in the hopes of securing a better position within the sect.

Wei Ying’s truth talisman was yet another of his ingenious inventions—one that, when used correctly, could make interrogations remarkably efficient. Once placed on the subject and activated, it became impossible for them to lie. They could choose to remain silent, but even that would be an act of self-incrimination.

Before proceeding, Wei Ying took the time to explain how the talisman worked, conducting several tests on those present. Some were instructed to tell lies, others to speak the truth, proving the effectiveness of the talisman beyond any doubt. Once satisfied, the accused were brought in.

The gathering was composed of the most senior disciples. With the Sect Leader still unconscious, Lan Qiren took his brother’s place at the head of the proceedings. Seated at either side of him were Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen.

Wei Ying, the only outsider permitted to be present, sat beside Lan Wangji. Not only was he the creator of the talisman, but he was also Lan Wangji’s betrothed—two reasons no one dared challenge his presence.

Su She was the first to be interrogated, and under the influence of the truth talisman, he revealed far more than anyone had anticipated—even Lan Wangji found himself momentarily stunned.

His testimony not only confirmed the guilt of the three detained elders but also implicated two others who had already been forced into seclusion, exposing their involvement in the conspiracy. However, what shocked the gathering the most was the extent of Su She’s betrayal—he had been leaking sensitive information for nearly two years.

Among the secrets he had divulged were details about the Lan sect’s cultivation techniques, as well as classified internal affairs. The sheer scale of his treachery sent a heavy silence through the room, and for the first time, Lan Wangji felt a cold fury settle in his chest. This was no mere ambition—Su She had actively endangered the very foundation of the Lan Sect.

When the elders were brought in one by one for questioning, they remained defiant at first, clinging to their pride and refusing to acknowledge their crimes. But as the truth talisman forced their confessions, their resistance gradually crumbled. By the end, they looked defeated and resigned.

With everything they had admitted—combined with the incriminating evidence found in Su She’s quarters—there was more than enough to convict them of treason and attempted murder of their Sect Leader. Their fate was sealed.

However, the most shocking moment of the trial came when Lan Wangji, his voice steady and cold, asked about his mother’s death. The room fell silent. No one had expected this question, least of all Lan Rushan.

For a moment, the elder hesitated, but under the talisman’s influence, he could not withhold the truth. His confession sent a wave of stunned disbelief through the hall.

He revealed that the elder his mother had killed had been manipulated into believing that she was attempting to control the Sect Leader, coercing him into revealing the sect’s most guarded secrets. The elder, convinced of her treachery, had confronted her. But when she denied the accusations, refusing to submit, Lan Wangji’s father’s teacher—one of the most respected figures at the time—had attacked her, determined to prove her weakness.

In the end, it had cost him his life.

The truth rang clear: Lan Wangji’s mother had not been the villain they had been led to believe—she had defended herself.

Lan Qiren, who had remained composed throughout the proceedings, finally snapped. His fury exploded, shaking even the most seasoned cultivators present. Years of silence, of unanswered questions and buried pain, erupted in that moment. But for Lan Wangji, there was only a quiet, bitter confirmation of what he had always suspected.

"This goes beyond treason—this is the most abject evil ever concealed among us," Lan Qiren declared, his voice shaking with righteous fury. "We, who are meant to be the pillars of virtue, the examples for the younger generation, have harboured men who twisted the very rules they were sworn to uphold—rules meant to guide and protect, not to be exploited for power and personal gain."

His gaze swept over the room, heavy with disappointment and wrath. "What good are our principles if those entrusted to guard them instead corrupt them to serve their own agendas? Today, in this very hall, the legacy of Lan An has been tainted."

He turned his piercing stare toward Lan Rushan, his expression hard as stone. "I can think of no punishment more fitting than death for men as vile as you."

Yet, after a moment of measured silence, he continued, voice now edged with cold finality. "Each of you will be whipped with the Disciplinary Whip—thirty-three lashes, one  for each year you have schemed, lied, and dishonoured our legacy. And if you still live after that, you will be sentenced to lifelong seclusion, stripped of your titles, your influence, and your place among us."

The chamber was deathly silent. No one spoke. No one dared to. The weight of judgment had been passed.

"Thirty-three lashes with the Discipline Whip," Wangji thought. "None of them will survive."

The punishment was to be carried out the following day—publicly. All five elders would be whipped before the entire sect, a final display of justice.

When the hall had emptied and only the two brothers remained and Wei Ying, Lan Xichen finally broke the silence. "They will not survive," he murmured, his voice heavy with understanding. He turned to Wangji, his expression sorrowful yet resolute. He, more than anyone, knew the weight of thirty-three lashes—knew what it had meant for Wangji in another lifetime.

A sad smile flickered across Xichen’s lips, but before he could say more, Wei Ying spoke, his voice quiet and cold.

"Good."

He didn’t need to explain. They all knew. He was likely thinking the same thing Wangji was—of a punishment long past, of injustice suffered in silence. But this time, there would be no mercy for the guilty.

After everything he and Wei Ying had endured, after all the pain and injustice, they had finally managed to get some justice. And yet, it did not feel as cathartic as Lan Wangji had hoped.

Their screams under the whip, their agony—so raw, so absolute—offered no satisfaction, no comfort. It was not enough to heal the wounds they had inflicted upon the sect, upon his family. It was not enough to bring back what had been lost. All he felt was bitterness, a hollow ache for the years that had been stolen, for the people who had suffered and never recovered.

One by one, the elders lost consciousness before their punishment was complete. And before the final stroke could be dealt, all five were dead. Weakness and corruption—this was the legacy they left behind.

Eight days after the trial, his father finally woke. Though still weak and with severely damaged meridians, he was stable. The immediate danger of qi deviation had passed.

Sitting at his bedside, Lan Wangji recounted everything that had happened—the investigation, the trial, the punishment. He explained what they had uncovered, every betrayal, every truth that had been forced into the light.

As Qingheng-jun listened, his face paled further, his expression growing more stricken with each revelation. When Lan Wangji finished, his father remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice laced with quiet sorrow.

"Did you know, Wangji, that after all these years, I had hoped—foolishly—that they would not walk the same path? That without the war, without its horrors, they would not succumb to greed and power?" He exhaled, the weight of regret pressing into every word. "I grew up admiring and respecting these men. And my teacher..." He shook his head in dejection. "To think he could be so easily swayed by lies and hearsay."

His hands trembled slightly as he looked at his son. "I let you and your brother down," he whispered. "I abandoned your mother to their ‘mercy.’ I let them drag me down and keep me there for so many years."

His voice cracked, but there were no tears—just an endless, weary regret.

"Father, what was lost cannot be recovered, and what was done cannot be undone," Lan Wangji said quietly, his voice steady yet gentle. "But we must look at what we still have and find our happiness in the present."

Qingheng-jun's breath hitched slightly, but he said nothing, only listening as his son continued.

"We have all lost enough and wasted enough time. There is no purpose in dwelling on regrets. It will hurt, but you still have me and Xichen. And the sect—our sect—is finally free of their influence." Wangji met his father’s gaze, his golden eyes resolute. "Now, we must focus on what must be done to ensure this never happens again."

For a long moment, Qingheng-jun said nothing. Then, silently, the tears came.

He did not sob, did not wail—he simply let the grief spill over, unguarded, for the first time in decades. Lan Wangji stayed by his side, offering quiet companionship, allowing him the space to mourn all that had been stolen from him.

It would take time, but his father would recover. Wangji believed that.

And perhaps, what surprised him most was that Qingheng-jun did not seem bitter about the damage to his cultivation. When he finally spoke again, his voice was rough but calm.

"I am alive, Wangji, and I will recover—one day." He let out a slow breath, a trace of something almost like relief in his expression. "Not to the level I might have, had all this never happened. But I will still be here—with you and your brother." His lips quirked in a faint, tired smile. "A Sect Leader does not need a strong core. Just a strong sense of justice and an agile mind."

Lan Wangji inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth in those words.

His father would not be the same man he once was. But he was here. And perhaps, for now, that was enough.

Huaisang had not ceased his investigations after the trial. Certain information had sparked lingering suspicions, fuelled by rumours he had previously dismissed. Though Wangji had never been particularly close to him—his initial acquaintance with the young Nie heir born more out of his connection to Wei Ying than personal affinity—he had always found Huaisang’s methods overly cunning and unpleasant. Yet, he could not deny their effectiveness.

A week before the conference, Huaisang arrived at the Jingshi one afternoon, settling himself across from them with an unusually sombre expression. He stared at the table in silence for a long while before finally exhaling deeply and speaking.

"I have been a fool," he admitted. "I made a mistake in dismissing something as mere gossip. But after recent events—especially Su She’s betrayal—I decided to dig deeper."

He paused, lifting his gaze to meet theirs before continuing, "And what I found changes everything."

Then he turned to Wei Ying and said, "As long as Jin Guangshan remains wealthy and influential, he will only act when an opportunity for greater power presents itself. That is why, when I first heard the rumours, I dismissed them as inconsequential—he is an opportunist, not a reckless schemer.

But I hadn't realized that his opportunity had arrived the moment Sect Leader Lan emerged from seclusion. He had been pursuing the Lan Sect’s secret cultivation techniques for years, seeking a way into one of the great sects. I have no doubt he has spies within the Nie Sect as well—and I wouldn’t be surprised if Meng Yao is among them.

"I believe he has been close to Lan Rushan ever since he attended the lectures at the Cloud Recesses. His wife, not being a Lan by birth, is not as bound by the sect’s strict rule against gossip—and she happens to be quite the gossip.

Her maids, too, are far from discreet."

"It was easy to discover that he and Jin Guangshan had been corresponding for years after I took note of the gossip. But then why wasn’t Wangji-xiong able to find a single letter addressed to him from Sect Leader Jin? There should have been at least some inconsequential correspondence between them, given their supposed closeness—it wouldn’t have raised any suspicions.

What became suspicious to me was that there was nothing at all."

"What was he hiding? That’s why I had some of my people keep watch for any correspondence from the Jins arriving at the Cloud Recesses. And…"

Huaisang reached into his sleeve and produced a letter, placing it on the table.

"Apparently, Jin Guangshan had sent this before he learned about the events surrounding the trial. By the time the news reached him, the letter was already on its way. The Jin courier was immediately recalled—but not before my people managed to get their hands on it."

Wangji's gaze lingered on the neatly folded letter, its broken seal a silent testament to the secrets it once concealed. He then shifted his eyes to Huaisang, who remained composed, his fan tapping idly against his palm.

But before Wangji could reach for it, Wei Ying picked it up instead, unfolding it with deliberate ease. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud:

Dear Friend,

I must admit that your last letter brought me great satisfaction. At long last, this matter will be resolved, and justice will be served. With individuals like us—true cultivators who uphold tradition—we can restore order and cleanse the Lan Sect of its decay.

Rest assured, you have my unwavering support, and together, we shall prevail. While I previously advised you to increase the dosage against the poison master’s recommendation, I doubt it will make a difference. As long as the poisoning does not appear deliberate, no suspicion will fall upon you.

Additionally, you may send that Su boy to me at your earliest convenience—I will ensure he is well rewarded for his efforts.

Yours, ever your friend and ally,
Jin Guangshan

In the silence that followed, only the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the roof could be heard—until Wei Ying suddenly burst into laughter.

"He just handed us the most damning evidence on a silver platter!" he wheezed between fits of laughter. "He practically put himself in the spotlight!"

Lan Wangji remained impassive, but Huaisang, still frowning at the letter, looked deeply displeased.

"What’s the problem, Sang-ge? Why are you so angry with yourself?" Wei Ying asked, wiping away a stray tear of mirth.

Huaisang let out a dramatic sigh, his voice taking on a distinctly whiny tone. "Because if I hadn’t dismissed that ridiculous gossip about their so-called friendship, I would have looked into it sooner! I could have uncovered their plans before everything happened and spared Qingheng-jun all that suffering!"

Lan Wangji observed Huaisang closely—he was truly put out by his oversight. "You should not blame yourself, Nie Huaisang," he said calmly. "No one is perfect."

Huaisang, however, did not seem consoled. His pout only deepened.

"Sang-ge, let me tell you something," Wei Ying interjected, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "The fact that you managed to obtain this letter at all is nothing short of a miracle. You've just handed us the most powerful weapon against that depraved sect leader. Not only that, but the cultivation conference is about to become very interesting. Can you imagine? The Jins have no idea what’s awaiting  them."

Then he asked, "What happened to the courier?"

"He’s safe," Huaisang assured him. "The letter was carefully and silently removed from his possession."

Wei Ying’s grin widened. "So, best case scenario for them—Jin Guangshan thinks the letter is simply lost?"

"Yes, you could say that," Huaisang confirmed. "It was taken while the courier was outside Lan territory."

Wei Ying chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, this will be fun indeed."

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian despised three things above all: dogs, waking up at five in the morning, and Jin Guangshan. The letter Nie Huaisang had managed to procure from the recalled courier had ignited such fury among the members of the newly established Lan Sect advisory council that he almost felt a twinge of pity for the Jins attending the upcoming conference—especially since their sect leader and several senior members remained banned.

The following day, he presented the letter to the council and Qingheng-jun, ensuring they knew it was Nie Huaisang who had uncovered it. Not that it seemed to register—everyone was too stunned by the damning revelations about the Jin Sect leader and their most trusted elders.

“We cannot let this go unchallenged, Sect Leader,” said Lan Fenhua, her voice thick with outrage—perhaps a little too loud, considering her husband was the most soft-spoken man Wei Wuxian had ever met. Qingheng-jun, though equally furious, looked exhausted. He was still recovering from the lingering effects of the poison.

“No, we cannot,” he agreed. “There will be consequences.”

“This should be addressed on the first day of the conference,” said Lan Bitian, the eldest among them. Her serene face and strikingly pale blue eyes gave her an air of wisdom. “We should not permit them to remain on our lands longer than absolutely necessary. Furthermore, the rest of the cultivation world must be informed of their treachery before they continue making deals with them.” Her voice, though calm and slightly gravelly, carried undeniable authority.

Qingheng-jun exhaled heavily, glancing at her before responding. “That is my intention as well, Gupo. If the Jin Sect refuses to meet our demands, we will sever all ties with them.”

She nodded in understanding.

The council consisted of six members—three men and three women—each representing a different generation within the sect. The younger disciples were represented by Lan Yiming and his cousin, Lan Yunli. The middle generation was spoken for by Lan Fenhua and her husband, Lan Wuxu. Finally, the most senior members were Lan Bitian and her brother, Lan Jianshi—a rather intimidating old man whose scowl alone was enough to leave a lasting impression.

What surprised Wei Wuxian the most was how naturally the conversation flowed—so unlike the rigid council sessions of the past that he had attended. There were no constant reminders of authority, no rules invoked as counterarguments to their own advice. This was how a council was supposed to function: a true discussion where each member contributed their thoughts, offering reasonable justifications rather than merely reciting rules carved into stone.

By the end of the discussion, several courses of action had been decided upon, each tailored to different possible outcomes. Regardless of how events unfolded, all of them placed the Jin Sect in a highly precarious position.

The first sect to arrive the day before the conference was the Nie Sect, and Wei Wuxian was delighted to reunite with its leader. Nie Qingwu greeted him with hearty laughter and a series of forceful slaps on the back—clearly unaware of his own strength—his booming laughter echoing through the courtyard.

The Jiang and Jin delegations arrived together, as Madam Jin, along with her retinue of servants and disciples, had spent the previous week at Lotus Pier. Among the last to arrive was the Wen delegation, led by Acting Sect Leader Wen and Wen Xu.

What was most surprising, however, was that despite the Lan Sect’s restrictions on the number of Jin representatives allowed within the Cloud Recesses, the Jin delegation still outnumbered both the Wen and Jiang sects combined—most of them being servants. If this was an attempt to flaunt their wealth and importance, it was a grave miscalculation. Though Qingheng-jun said nothing upon their arrival, his displeasure was evident. It was clear that his patience had reached its breaking point.

What worried Wei Wuxian most was the sight of his former shijie and the emotions it might stir within him. For decades, he had been haunted by his guilt for her death, fearing that he would never be able to let it go. But when he saw her from a distance, standing beside her family, the expected wave of sorrow and remorse never came. Instead, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

She was safe. She had her family by her side, and there was no war looming on the horizon to take that away from her. In the end, she would still marry the Peacock—though, given the revelations this conference was about to bring, that decision might soon be shaken.

Wei Wuxian kept out of the way, spending most of his time in the library. After the Nie Sect’s arrival, he found himself there with Huaisang, Nie Mingjue, and Nie Qingwu. They brought him up to speed on the latest developments within the Cloud Recesses—the trials, the punishments, and most importantly, Jin Guangshan’s deep entanglement in it all.

A long silence followed as Nie Qingwu sat in quiet contemplation. Then, turning to Huaisang, he asked, “And you played an important role in uncovering some of this evidence?”

Huaisang swiftly raised his fan, his voice light but measured. “I helped.”

Nie Qingwu studied him for a moment before humming thoughtfully. “I believe you did.”

Another pause stretched between them before he let out a soft chuckle. “You’re just like your mother, A-Sang. She was always remarkably well-informed about the latest gossip—and what made it interesting was that her sources were always reliable.” He snickered, shaking his head as if recalling a distant memory. “She had this uncanny talent for unearthing hidden trade routes and noble families’ secret treaties. And whenever anyone asked how she knew, she’d simply smile and say, ‘Servants are always close, and sometimes far more knowledgeable about what happens under their master’s roof than the master himself.’”

“You never told me that!” Huaisang exclaimed, eyes wide, his fan momentarily forgotten.

“Well, I didn’t think it mattered that much,” Nie Qingwu replied with a shrug.

“You always told me she was kind,” Huaisang pressed.

“And she was very kind,” his father affirmed .

“And gentle, and funny, and that she smiled a lot.”

“She did all of that, A-Sang. Your mother was all of those things and more,” Nie Qingwu said, his voice softer now. “But I should have seen this coming. After all, you always manage to discover the latest poetry books, art, silk, and fan merchants before anyone else. From that to political intrigue—well, it’s only a small step.”

Huaisang narrowed his eyes. “Are you making fun of me?”

“On the contrary, A-Sang,” Nie Qingwu chuckled, “I’m very proud that you’ve finally found your calling. You may be physically weak, but that might just be your best camouflage.

“Don’t you find that sneaky?” Huaisang asked, raising a curious brow.

Nie Qingwu took a long sip of his tea before replying calmly, “Every being on this plane has a defence system, a way to protect itself from predators. If that appears ‘sneaky’ to a sword-wielding warrior, well—that’s his problem. I think it’s quite clever,” Nie Qingwu remarked with a small smile. “You could be of great help to your brother—he tends to see the world in stark black and white, forgetting how many colours exist in between.”

“I’m right here,” Nie Mingjue grumbled, scowling.

Nie Qingwu took a leisurely sip of his tea. “And that doesn’t make me wrong.”

Mingjue folded his arms but refrained from arguing, while Huaisang seized the moment. “Does this mean I don’t have to do sabre training anymore?” he asked hopefully, though his tone carried a trace of suspicion.

“Oh, you’re still training,” Nie Qingwu replied without hesitation. “It’s essential for your cultivation.”

Huaisang let out a dramatic sigh. “But why? I’m awful at it, and I hate it,” he whined.

“What if he cultivated using something else?” Wei Wuxian suggested, swirling his tea lazily. “Like a fan, for instance?” He directed the question at Nie Mingjue, but he had already caught the spark of interest in Huaisang’s eyes.

“Fans?” Huaisang repeated, perking up.

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Yes, fans. There’s a sect of female cultivators in the west, affiliated with the Yu Sect, who practice fan cultivation. Their weapons aren’t just for show—they conceal blades, needles, and other surprises. Their style relies on agility, deception, and precision rather than brute strength.” He tilted his head toward Huaisang. “That sounds a lot more suited to you than struggling with a sabre, doesn’t it?”

Nie Qingwu hummed thoughtfully. “Unconventional, but fitting.”

Nie Mingjue sighed, rubbing his temples as if resigning himself to the inevitable. “As long as he cultivates properly, I suppose it doesn’t matter how.”

Huaisang’s face lit up. “So I can train with a fan instead?”

“We’ll see,” Qingwu replied, though the amused glint in his eyes suggested the decision had already been made.

The first discussions of the conference were scheduled for the afternoon, while the morning was set aside for a friendly sparring session among the lecture attendees. Names were drawn from a large bowl, and students were randomly paired. The event was intended as a light-hearted display for the sect leaders and an opportunity for the younger generation to showcase their abilities before their peers.

Since Wei Wuxian had chosen to participate in the lectures, his name naturally found its way into the bowl.

Lan Wangji was paired with the heir of the Tingshan He Sect, while Han Ning faced off against Jin Zixuan. Wei Jingshan was matched with the Yao heir, and Nie Huaisang was set against the heir of a minor sect affiliated with the Nie, hailing from the Pingzhou Clan.

And, as if the heavens themselves delighted in their irony, Wei Wuxian found himself facing none other than Jiang Wanyin.

Since Lan Zhan was the Second Young Master of the Lan Sect, he was the first to step onto the sparring field. Wei Wuxian watched with interest as the heir of the Tingshan Sect faced off against him, pleasantly surprised by the young man’s sword technique. Naturally, he lost—this was Hanguang Jun, after all—but he held his own admirably. The match earned Wei Wuxian’s respect. During the lectures, the boy had mostly kept to himself, often seen in the company of another minor sect heir from the east.

Next came Han Ning and Jin Zixuan. The Jin heir ultimately won, but not easily—Han Ning gave him a challenging fight, forcing him to put in real effort.

Then, it was Wei Wuxian’s turn.

Paired against Jiang Wanyin, he initially considered holding back—not enough to let him win, but just enough to avoid humiliating him. During the weekly sparring sessions that had taken place throughout the lectures, Wei Wuxian had rarely seen Jiang Wanyin challenge opponents from other sects. Most of the time, he sparred with his own disciples. Their swordsmanship wasn’t bad, but it was a bit sloppy, lacking the sharpness that came from diverse competition.

Whenever Jiang Wanyin did spar against someone outside of his sect, Wei Wuxian noticed the struggle. He wasn’t bad, not at all—but he wasn’t as strong as he had been in his past life. The difference was significant, and it only proved one thing: he hadn’t been challenged enough.

But the thought died as soon as it came—this boy needed to learn early that being a sect heir did not automatically make one skilled.

With just three well-placed, decisive moves, Wei Wuxian disarmed Jiang Wanyin.

The disbelief in Jiang Wanyin’s eyes was almost painful to witness, but what struck Wei Wuxian most was his own sense of unease. How had he fallen so far behind? In his past life, Jiang Wanyin had been sharp, relentless—a formidable opponent. But now? His technique was sloppy, his attention to footwork non-existent, and worst of all, he carried a misplaced confidence in his abilities.

Had no one corrected him? Had no one challenged him, pointed out his weaknesses, forced him to improve?

Jiang Wanyin had never won against him before, no matter how many times he had challenged him—but he had always put up more of a fight than this. What had happened?

Had his absence affected Jiang Wanyin more than he realized? Had the lack of real challenges within his own sect stunted his growth as a cultivator?

Wei Wuxian couldn't shake the thought. Jiang Wanyin had always been driven, always fought with a fire that refused to be extinguished. But now, it was as if that fire had been smothered—not gone, but struggling for air.

He bowed and turned away, heading back to his group, but not before catching the deep frown on Madam Yu’s face. Her sharp eyes were fixed on Jiang Wanyin, displeasure evident in every line of her expression.

As he reached Lan Zhan, he exhaled softly and murmured, “She destroyed her own son.”

Lan Zhan glanced at him but remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“She taught him pride,” Wei Wuxian said, voice low, “and drilled into him the importance of being an heir—but never gave him the skill to counterbalance that damn ego.”

His words were edged with frustration, but beneath it lay something heavier—something dangerously close to pity.

“Mn. Not your fault,” Lan Zhan answered calmly.

Wei Wuxian huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m not blaming myself, Lan Zhan. If anything, these lectures have been a real eye-opener for me.”

He crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Blame is the last thing I’d place on myself right now. It’s more like… disappointment.” His voice dropped slightly, his smirk tinged with something bittersweet. “And maybe a sense of vindication.” He exhaled, glancing back toward Jiang Wanyin. “I did a lot more for her son than she ever cared to admit.”

His little brother ended up winning his match, while Huaisang, unsurprisingly, lost—not that anyone had expected otherwise.

Later that day, they all gathered in the great hall for the first discussion of the conference. Wei Wuxian was seated with the Lan sect. Technically, he had two other options—the Nie and the Han sects, since his sworn brothers were from those clans—but one look from Lan Zhan had ended any argument before it even began.

The first day of the conference was always reserved for important announcements, formal greetings, and the introduction of new sects.

After Qingheng-jun’s welcoming speech, each sect took their turn expressing gratitude to the Lan sect for their hospitality. Some presented gifts, while others shared significant news—births, marriages, betrothals, and notable accomplishments.

As expected, the Jiang and Jin sects formally announced the engagement between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli. A few births were celebrated, a few deaths solemnly acknowledged—nothing unexpected or out of the ordinary.

Jin Guangshan’s absence was the most tantalizing piece of gossip at the conference. Despite the outward displays of righteous indignation whenever rumours were exchanged, the sect leaders and their entourages secretly relished such intrigue—perhaps even more than ordinary people.

So when Qingheng-jun addressed the assembly regarding the whispers and speculation surrounding Jin Guangshan’s ban from Cloud Recesses, every ear in the hall was keenly attuned, eager for confirmation, scandal, and perhaps even the promise of further revelations.

"Esteemed sect leaders ," Qingheng-jun began, his voice calm yet firm, carrying the weight of the moment. "The matter we must now address is of grave importance—one that, under different circumstances, could well be considered just cause for war."

A ripple of unease passed through the room, whispers briefly rising before dying down under the weight of expectation. Every leader, every disciple present knew that whatever followed would not be mere rumour or courtly intrigue—it would be a revelation that could alter the landscape of the cultivation world.

Qingheng-jun let the silence stretch, his gaze sweeping across the gathered sect leaders and disciples, ensuring that the weight of his words had settled. Then, with deliberate calm, he continued,

"In light of recent events, the Lan Sect has conducted a thorough investigation into certain allegations concerning the Jin Sect and its leadership. The findings are… troubling, to say the least."

The hall tensed. Even those who had anticipated scandal were now on edge, hanging onto every word. Jin Guangshan’s absence, which had been the subject of whispered speculation throughout the day, suddenly felt far more ominous.

"We stand at a crossroads," Qingheng-jun went on, his voice measured but unyielding. "The integrity of our sects—and the foundation of the cultivation world itself—depends on how we choose to proceed."

"An attempt has been made on my life."

Gasps and hushed whispers filled the room. Even those who prided themselves on their composure could not entirely suppress their shock.

"The attack was carried out by cultivators from within my own sect. I assure you, I am well and will recover in time, but this betrayal runs deeper than a mere act of discontent. These traitors did not act alone—they had support, assistance from beyond our borders."

The murmurs grew louder. Sect leaders exchanged glances, some wary, others intrigued.

"Who?" Asked sect leade Yao

"For the past week, we have been investigating this treachery. And what we have uncovered is… troubling." His eyes swept across the room, lingering for a moment on the Jin Sect's delegation. "Evidence has surfaced that implicates those I once considered allies."

The weight of his words settled heavily upon the hall. A tense silence followed—one filled with anticipation, unease, and the undeniable scent of impending conflict.

"Jin Guangshan."

Qingheng-jun spoke the name aloud, yet even if he had whispered it, the impact would have been the same. The hall, poised on the precipice of revelation, erupted into chaos. Outraged voices clashed, accusations and exclamations colliding in a cacophony of disbelief. The uproar was deafening, a storm of indignation that needed to run its course before order could be restored.

Through it all, Qingheng-jun remained composed, his gaze steady as he observed the reactions unfolding before him. The Jin delegation was visibly shaken—Jin Zixuan stood frozen in shock, his complexion drained of all color, as if the very foundation of his world had crumbled beneath him. He looked so utterly lost that even if someone were to strike him, he might not have registered it. Madam Jin’s initial expression of stunned disbelief swiftly hardened into rage, her fury barely restrained beneath her dignified veneer.

It took time for the hall to settle, for the furious murmurs to subside enough for Qingheng-jun’s voice to once again command the room. When he finally spoke, his words were measured but heavy with the weight of betrayal.

“The attempt on my life also endangered my heir and my brother, though in a lesser manner. I stand before you now only because of the incompetence of those who sought to orchestrate my downfall—their arrogance in believing themselves untouchable, their negligence in underestimating those they thought beneath their notice.”

His gaze swept across the hall, lingering on those who had the most to lose, those who flinched beneath the weight of implication. The truth had been spoken, and there would be no turning back.

Madam Jin’s voice cut through the lingering tension in the hall, sharp and steady despite the fury barely contained beneath her composed exterior.

“What proof do you have, Sect Leader Lan?” she demanded.

She did not ask whether there was proof—no one in the cultivation world would dare believe that the Lan sect would make such a grave accusation without evidence. The question was not of existence but of substance. What kind of proof did they hold?

Qingheng-jun, calm and methodical as ever, reached into his sleeve and retrieved a letter. Without a word, he handed it to a nearby Lan cultivator, who carried it with solemn precision to Madam Jin.

The hall watched in expectant silence as she took the letter, her eyes scanning its contents once, then again, and then a third time, as if searching for a flaw, a way to refute what lay before her. But none came. Her fingers tightened around the parchment before she let out a slow breath and handed it back, her face unreadable.

Qingheng-jun did not leave room for doubt. “And that is not all,” he continued. “We have testimonials—witnesses who have confessed to Jin Guangshan’s involvement. Some were his co-conspirators, others his enforcers. Each of them confirms the same truth.”

The weight of those words settled over the hall like a heavy mist, thick with implication. There would be no easy escape from this.

All eyes were now locked onto the Jin delegation, the weight of scrutiny pressing down on them like an iron shackle. None more so than the Jiangs.

Madam Yu’s face was unreadable, yet the solemnity in her expression was unlike anything Wei Wuxian had ever seen. Her usual sharpness was tempered, her lips drawn into a thin, tight line as if she were already calculating the consequences of this revelation.

Beside her, Jiang Fengmian bore a deep-set frown, the lines on his forehead betraying the thoughts racing through his mind. He was most likely weighing the pros and cons of maintaining the engagement between Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan.

Wei Wuxian would bet that his wife was doing the same. If there was one thing Madam Yu cared about above all else, it was maintaining the Jiang Clan’s dignity. And right now, their close association with the Jin sect did not reflect well on them.

"I believe Sect Leader Lan has already reached a verdict and rendered his judgment. What, then, is the sentence?" Madam Jin inquired, her tone laced with condescension rather than conciliation.

Wei Wuxian blinked, momentarily taken aback. Was she truly choosing this stance? With her son's future at stake, she was attempting to cast the Lan Sect as the unreasonable party?

Nie Qingwu tilted his head, his expression one of polite curiosity, though his words were anything but idle. "Were you also involved in this scheme, Madam Jin?" he asked, his tone deceptively mild.

"No," she answered—too abruptly, too sharply. The response only served to draw sceptical glances from those around her.

Realizing her misstep, she swiftly composed herself, straightened, and bowed deeply. "In the name of my sect, I extend my sincerest apologies to Sect Leader Lan for the suffering inflicted upon his sect by…" She faltered, swallowing hard before forcing out the words. "By Jin Guangshan’s involvement." The name left her lips as if it burned.

She exhaled slowly before continuing, her voice carefully measured. "I wish to assure the Lan Sect, on behalf of the Jin Sect, that I will take every possible measure to see that justice is served and that those responsible face the full consequences of their actions."

A tense silence followed Madam Jin’s words, the weight of her forced apology settling over the room like a heavy fog. Her composure was impeccable, but Wei Wuxian could see the cracks—her hesitation, the barely restrained bitterness in her voice as she uttered Jin Guangshan’s name. It pained her to admit his guilt, yet she had no choice.

Nie Qingwu watched her with the sharp, assessing gaze of a hunter waiting to see if the prey would bolt. The other sect leaders exchanged glances, some sceptical, others merely intrigued by the unfolding drama.

Qingheng-jun remained impassive. “Justice must indeed be served,” he said evenly. “The Lan Sect will not tolerate treachery, nor will we allow the actions of one man to be swept aside with mere words. I trust the Jin Sect understands the gravity of this situation.”

Madam Jin inclined her head, her expression unreadable. “Of course, Sect Leader Lan.”

But Wei Wuxian wasn’t convinced. The way she had maneuverer the conversation, placing herself as the voice of reason, made it clear—she wasn’t surrendering. She was stalling, calculating, planning her next move.

"To ensure that justice is served, the Lan Sect will cease all trade and annul any existing contracts with the Jin Sect for as long as Jin Guangshan remains in power," Qingheng-jun declared, his tone calm yet decisive. "As he is a fellow sect leader, it is not my place to impose punishment—that responsibility falls to the Jin Sect’s council of elders. However, until I am satisfied with the measures taken regarding this matter, these sanctions will remain in place. Additionally, compensation must be paid immediately. These terms are non-negotiable."

Silence hung in the hall for a long moment before Nie Qingwu spoke, his voice carrying the same resolute finality. "The Nie Sect will likewise sever all trade and alliances with the Jin Sect until all conditions set forth by Sect Leader Lan are met in full."

Madam Jin stared at the Nie Sect leader in disbelief, but before she could respond, the leader of the Tingshan He Sect spoke up.

"The Tingshan He Sect will do the same," he declared firmly.

What followed was a cascade of announcements, a domino effect rippling through the hall as one sect after another—most of them affiliated with the Lan and Nie Sects—declared their intent to sever trade relations with the Jin Sect, effective immediately.

Wei Wuxian glanced around, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected this. Most of these sects were not acting purely out of principle—they were seizing an opportunity. When the time came to renegotiate contracts in the future, they knew they could push for better terms. The Jin Sect had long been infamous for its greed, leveraging its power to exploit smaller sects with unfair deals. Now, with their influence suddenly weakened, those very sects were making a calculated move.

Smart, Wei Wuxian thought with an almost admiring smirk. Sect leaders were rarely foolish, and this was nothing less than a golden opportunity.

Overwhelmed by the unfolding events, Madam Jin bowed once more to Sect Leader Lan before addressing the room.

"I will do my utmost to ensure that the Jin Sect follows the proper course of action, in accordance with the high moral standards we have always upheld. One sect leader’s disgraceful actions should not tarnish an entire sect when righteous cultivators still strive to maintain our proud legacy."

She was grasping at straws now, and everyone knew it. The so-called high standards of the Jin Sect had long since eroded under Jin Guangshan’s rule, and no one in the hall was naïve enough to believe otherwise.

Maintaining what little composure she had left, she continued, "I ask Sect Leader Lan to excuse the Jin delegation for this evening. At dawn, we will depart for Jinlintai to see that justice is served without delay."

With measured steps and forced dignity, the Jin Sect members rose and made their way out of the hall, their retreat observed in utter silence. Every eye in the room followed them—judging, scrutinizing, and silently weighing the implications of what had just transpired.

In the morning, for the second time that year, a Jin delegation departed from the Cloud Recesses in disgrace. The once-proud golden peonies embroidered on their robes seemed dulled under the weight of humiliation, their steps measured but heavy with the knowledge that the eyes of the cultivation world were upon them. Unlike their grand arrivals, full of pomp and self-importance, their departure was marked only by silence and shame.

Chapter Text

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian dominated every competition at the conference. Lan Zhan claimed victory in both the sword-fighting and music challenges, while Wei Wuxian triumphed in archery as well as the talisman and array competition. In archery, Han Ning secured third place, with Lan Xichen in fourth and Lan Zhan in second. Meanwhile, in sword fighting, Lan Zhan took first place, followed by Wei Wuxian in second, Nie Mingjue in third, and Lan Xichen in fourth.

Wei Jingshan secured sixth place in sword fighting, following Tingshan He Sect heir, who took fifth. In archery, he placed fifth. These being  the only two competitions he agreed to participate in.

After the Jin delegation’s departure, they quickly became the main topic of gossip. Many sect leaders, long frustrated with Jin Guangshan’s manipulations, seized the opportunity to voice their grievances, openly discussing the numerous times they had been taken advantage of and revealing the questionable negotiating tactics the Jins had employed. With the Jin Sect’s disgrace, they finally felt emboldened to speak out without fear of repercussions. Of course, such stories must be taken with a grain of salt, as they often tend to take on a life of their own, growing more elaborate with each retelling.

Nevertheless, some grain of truth remains, and Wei Wuxian has once again been reminded of the fickleness of the cultivation world. His outstanding performance in the competitions earned him considerable notoriety and accolades , along with invitations to join several sects—all of which he refused. Yet, he knew all too well how quickly their admiration could turn to hostility.

Everything so far had proceeded as smoothly as expected. New alliances were forged, contracts signed, and deals made—this time without the influence of the Jins. Though the Jin Sect still held power in the cultivation world, that could change quickly if they failed to act soon. From the many discussions Wei Wuxian had been privy to, it was clear that the tides were shifting.

Tomorrow marked the final day of the gathering, dedicated to celebration—Lan-style, of course. With no more competitions or contests, the remaining time was meant for mingling and relaxation.

As the late afternoon sun cast golden hues over the landscape, Wei Wuxian had just enjoyed a peaceful moment with the bunnies—alone, but still fun. Lan Zhan’s presence had been required by his father and uncle, leaving Wei Wuxian to his own devices.

On his way back to the Jingshi, he took the more scenic route through the southern hills. That was when he heard a sharp, familiar voice—Madam Yu.

He stopped in his tracks, listening carefully. From the tone alone, it was clear she was berating someone—most likely her son. And sure enough, he was right.

There, in a small clearing, stood Jiang Wanyin, breathing hard and drenched in sweat, his gaze fixed on the ground as his mother tore into him.

Not his business, Wei Wuxian thought, already turning to leave—until her next words stopped him in his tracks.

"You’ve proven yourself useless yet again. Despite all the effort I’ve poured into your training and cultivation, you’ve done nothing but disappoint me. I can not believe you have Yu blood in those veins —it must be your father’s blood that made you this weak. Either you improve before the Wen conference next year, or be ready to face serious consequences .

Wei Wuxian almost felt sorry for him. Madam Yu had never held back when it came to her son—no wonder he had grown up so full of resentment and bitterness.

Wei Wuxian remained rooted to the spot, silently grateful that he had escaped such a unhealthy environment.

"You are dismissed, " she said coldly.

Jiang Wanyin immediately bowed, sheathed his sword, and left without so much as a glance at his mother. Only when she turned to leave did she finally notice him standing there, watching her.

She used to intimidate him. Once, her sharp tongue and cutting words could shake him. But not anymore. He wasn’t a frightened disciple or a powerless child—he was Wei Wuxian the Yiling Patriarch , and she held no sway over him now. The realization was strangely freeing.

He bowed politely and turned to leave, but her voice, laced with disdain, stopped him once again.

"Eavesdropping on private conversations is rude and a sign of poor upbringing," she sneered. "But then again, one can only expect so much from the son of Cangse Sanren."

" My mother died protecting the innocent and upholding the oath every cultivator takes," Wei Wuxian said coolly, meeting her gaze without flinching. "I would presume that the esteemed Lady of Lotus Pier knows better than to speak ill of a great dead cultivator in front of her son."

His voice was even, almost polite, but there was an edge beneath it—one that dared her to continue.

Madam Yu’s expression darkened, Zidyan waking up on he finger for a moment, it seemed as if she might strike him, but then she simply scoffed.

"Sharp-tongued as ever, just like your mother," she said, her tone dripping with disdain. "It’s no wonder you turned out the way you did."

Wei Wuxian only smiled, utterly unbothered. " I’ll take that as a compliment."

He didn’t move. She didn’t move. Like two predators sizing each other up before a fight.

In the end, he took the first strike.

"Why do you hate my parents so much?" he asked.

Madam Yu frowned, as if caught off guard by the question. But after a brief pause, she answered.

"I never hated your father. He was a decent cultivator—quiet, loyal. But your mother…" Her voice turned sharp, laced with old resentment. "She took him away from the sect he called home. She had no respect for order or discipline and thrived on the attention of gullible men."

"In the end, your father was a fool who followed that woman down the path to his own death."

Wei Wuxian was beginning to understand. Madam Yu had spent her life poisoning everything around her, then lamented that no one appreciated her.

He smiled, unbothered. "Strange. Everyone I've met who knew my mother had nothing but praise for her—and they had no reason to lie. But what I hear from you?" His tone was light, almost amused. "It sounds a lot like envy—that she was able to build strong bonds with other powerful cultivators, while you..." He let the sentence trail off, his smile widening.

He could almost taste her anger—it filled the air so thickly it was suffocating. But he didn’t care.

"And now you’re tearing down your own son," he said, his tone almost pitying. "All because he doesn’t measure up to the son of the woman you hated."

Madam Yu’s eyes flashed. "What do you know about my son?" she snapped.

Wei Wuxian met her glare without hesitation. "I fought him. I watched him in the duels. He has incredible potential. But instead of encouragement, all he gets is scorn—constant comparisons, as if his worth is tied only to being better than someone else."

His voice was steady, but there was a rare seriousness in his gaze. "You’re not making him stronger. You’re making him doubt himself."

"Are you telling me how to teach my own son?" she demanded, disbelief sharpening her tone. "You not only dare to think yourself better than him, but also presume to know more about cultivation than me? You dare to lecture me on how to raise my own child?"

There it was—that deep-seated fear of being lesser, of being questioned. Of being wrong.

"I dare because I have taught cultivation to my siblings—and my younger brother outperformed your son in the competitions." Wei Wuxian’s voice was calm, steady. "I dare because I’ve seen first-hand that encouragement builds confidence, and confidence leads to strength. How do you expect him to grow when all he ever hears from you is blame and belittlement?"

He took a step closer, eyes serious . "Strength isn’t just about wielding a sword or winning duels. It’s knowing your worth. And how can he ever know his, if the one person who should believe in him the most never does?"

Her ring pulsed with so much purple energy that it was a wonder she hadn’t gone up in flames.

"Do not look down on me, boy. It is not in your best interest," she hissed, menace lacing every word.

Wei Wuxian only smiled—pitying, almost amused. "It doesn’t feel good, does it? To be belittled, to be told you’re not enough, that you’re lacking." He tilted his head slightly, watching her carefully. "So why do you do it to your own son?"

He let the question hang for a moment before continuing.

"I may be stronger than him in cultivation, but he could be better than me at something else—something I’ll never master. But he’ll never find out, will he? Because that chance has been stolen from him." His voice was steady, but there was a quiet weight behind it. "Taken by an indifferent father and an insecure, abusive mother who clings to imagined slights from the past, from a woman long dead. Do you see the irony?"

Her eyes burned with a menacing purple glow, the dimming light of dusk making the energy around her seem even more volatile. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper of pure, simmering rage.

"You know nothing about me."

Each word was laced with venom.

"You are nothing but a lowly rogue cultivator, lucky enough to have caught the attention of a few important people. Do not dare to put yourself above me or my son because of that. Just because you managed to whore yourself to the Second Young Master Lan, do not pretend you understand those above you, boy."

The insult hung heavy in the air, sharp as a blade. But Wei Wuxian? He only laughed.

"Ah, yes, insulting my fiancé—surely that proves me wrong," Wei Wuxian drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He shook his head, his amusement fading into something more resigned. "You’ll never even consider the possibility that you’re wrong, so I won’t waste any more breath." He turned slightly, glancing at her one last time. "But I will tell you this—if you continue down this path, you’ll succeed in raising a man just as miserable as you."

With that, he bowed—not mockingly, but with the impeccable grace of someone who knew his own worth. Then, without another glance, he turned and walked away, leaving behind a seething Yu Ziyuan.

There was nothing more he could say to this bitter woman.

To think he had once respected her. Heavens, how naïve he had been.

He had done all he could for the Jiangs in this lifetime. The threat of war had been removed; Lotus Pier would not burn, nor would the Jiang sect fall under the Wen Clan’s sword. In his opinion, that was more than enough.

Once, during one of their many drunken conversations, Huaisang had pointed out something Wei Wuxian had never truly considered—or perhaps had simply refused to.

"Jiang Wanyin owes everything to you and the Wen siblings," Huaisang had mused, swirling his cup lazily. "Everything he built after the war stands on the foundation you put in place. Without you, the Yunmeng Jiang sect would have ceased to exist, swallowed up by the Yu sect and the smaller sects surrounding Yunmeng."

At the time, Wei Wuxian had laughed it off, waving away the thought as nothing more than Huaisang’s usual dramatics. But now, standing here, looking back…

Perhaps there was more truth in those words than he cared to admit.

If she heeded his words, then perhaps Jiang Wanyin would find some happiness—something more than duty, more than resentment. Maybe he wouldn’t become the miserable, lonely man Wei Wuxian remembered from before.

Because right now, he was heading straight down that path, headfirst.

After the conference ended and the sect leaders, their retinues of servants, and their disciples had all departed, a profound silence settled over the mountain. It was so peaceful, so soothing, that for the first time, Wei Wuxian truly understood the Lans’ reverence for tranquillity—and their need for it.

Not much official news came from the Jin sect, aside from a single letter confirming that the requested compensation would be delivered within a week. Everything else came through rumours, carefully gathered by Huaisang.

It seemed that the moment the Jin delegation returned to Jinlintai, Madam Jin had unleashed her fury upon Jin Guangshan. Rallying the elders and other key members of the main family, she had moved swiftly—pushing to strip her husband of power and install Jin Zixuan in his place.

As expected, Jin Guangshan would not go down without a fight. He still had allies among the senior members of the Jin clan, those who benefited from his rule and were unwilling to see him removed so easily.

It would take a few months before the full weight of the broken deals and severed contracts began to press down on the Jin sect. But Huaisang was certain—once the flow of money slowed, once the wealth and power that kept Jin Guangshan afloat started to dwindle—his days would be numbered.

Of course, none of that ever came to pass—because barely a month after the conference, Jin Guangshan was found dead in a brothel.

The exact cause of death remained a mystery, shifting with every retelling. Some claimed he had been strangled, others whispered of poison, while a few spoke of a curse—retribution for his countless sins. What was certain, however, was that he had died in a most undignified situation. Whatever that meant, no one seemed willing to explain outright.

Madam Jin wasted no time. The moment news of his death reached Koi Tower, she installed Jin Zixuan as the new sect leader, wielding power from the shadows as she ruthlessly purged the sect of her late husband's influence and supporters.

And so, as the lectures drew to a close, two weddings were announced.

The first was between Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian. The second, between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli.

For Wei Wuxian, that was all that truly mattered. He was finally marrying his husband again—this time in a grand ceremony, meticulously arranged by both Wan Shangcheng and Qingheng-jun. The two men seemed determined to make it the event of the year, sparing no effort in upholding the Lan sect’s prestige.

Wei Wuxian, however, couldn’t care less about the grandeur or the politics behind it. As long as he got to wear red, stand beside Lan Zhan, and take their bows together, nothing else in the world mattered.

The wedding was set to take place in the spring, with invitations already sent and preparations well underway.

Around the same time, Qingheng-jun received another invitation—this one for Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s wedding, scheduled for the beginning of summer.

The saddest part of the lectures ending was that it also marked the end of Wei Wuxian’s cohabitation with Lan Zhan—at least for now. Lan Qiren had insisted they observe certain traditions and customs, which meant they could not live together until the wedding.

Not that it affected them too much. After all, Lan Zhan could visit the manor as often as he pleased, and it was only a few months. They could manage.

A few weeks after the lectures ended, Huaisang wrote to Wei Wuxian with an interesting piece of news—Meng Yao was no longer in his father’s employ.

Not because he had done anything wrong, but rather because Huaisang had placed him under such heavy supervision that every servant in the Unclean Realm kept a watchful eye on him. The constant scrutiny had taken its toll, adding immense pressure on the young man.

With Jin Guangshan’s death, Meng Yao had likely lost all hope of securing a place within the Jin sect. And with no clear path forward, staying in Nie service—especially under such stress—had lost its appeal. So, he left.

"I wouldn’t worry about him, though," Huaisang wrote. "Before his departure, my father granted him a generous stipend as a token of gratitude for his service, along with a letter of recommendation to help him secure a good position in another sect."

Not that Wei Wuxian had ever truly worried about the man, but it was a relief to know that their paths were unlikely to cross under unfortunate circumstances in the future.

With all his possible routes to power cut off, whatever Meng Yao chose to do from now on would likely be far less ambitious—or so Wei Wuxian hoped.

Chapter Text

The Wei-Lan wedding quickly became the most significant event of the year. Ever since the conference, the Lan sect’s influence had surged, further solidifying its standing among the other sects. Receiving an invitation to the wedding was a mark of prestige—so much so that those left out were instantly subject to scrutiny.

Everyone, in one way or another, sought to secure an invitation. Letters arrived under the guise of discussing sect affairs, unexpected visits were made where guests subtly (or not so subtly) lamented their lack of an invitation, often suggesting that some unseen hand had interfered. One particularly bold sect leader even went so far as to claim he had lost his invitation and requested another—despite never having received one in the first place.

The whole spectacle was endlessly amusing to Wei Wuxian, who found the antics of these so-called esteemed leaders both ridiculous and, in some cases, impressively audacious. After months of such persistence, Qingheng Jun finally relented, sending invitations to every sect leader he could think of—some even receiving a second one, just to put an end to the ordeal.

The week before the wedding, Caiyi Town grew so crowded that campaign tents had to be set up around the outskirts—some so lavishly furnished that they made it clear their occupants were not just sect leaders who had failed to secure a room in one of the town’s limited inns, but individuals who considered themselves of great importance.

On the morning of his wedding, Wei Wuxian felt as if he were walking on clouds, elated that the long-awaited day had finally arrived. In all the excitement, he couldn’t even recall who had helped him dress and prepare. All he knew for certain was that he had been woken early—not that he had minded in the least—bathed, his hair styled, and dressed in his ceremonial robes. By the time he finally looked into the mirror, the person staring back at him was almost unrecognizable.

His wedding robes, though heavy with rich silks and adorned with exquisite silver and gold embroidery, were striking in their simplicity and elegance. There would be no veil—both grooms stood as equals—and though, in practice, he was marrying into the Lan sect, the thought didn’t trouble him in the slightest.

Before noon, Lan Zhan arrived at the manor astride a magnificent white steed, looking almost divine in his red ceremonial robes—so similar to Wei Wuxian’s yet somehow even more breath-taking. He effortlessly passed the trials set by his brothers and sisters, much to everyone's surprise. Even Han Qing, the most serious doctor imaginable, had volunteered to take part, which was a shock in itself.

Wei Wuxian was given a beautiful black steed to ride alongside his Lan Zhan to the Cloud Recesses. They chose the long route, cutting through Caiyi Town, and all along the way, the streets were alive with celebration. The people of Caiyi—and many who had clearly travelled from much farther away—gathered to cheer them on. Flowers were scattered upon their path, music filled the air, and warm wishes followed them with every step.

By the time they reached the gates of the Cloud Recesses, the procession trailing behind them stretched so far it likely reached the foot of the mountain. Of course, much of this attention was due to the sheer rarity of such an event. A wedding between two outstanding young men was uncommon, and when they did occur, they were usually quiet, private affairs. But this—this was something else entirely.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were well-liked in and around Caiyi, their presence leaving a lasting impression on the town. During the lectures, Wei Wuxian had even managed to forge a few friendships with some of the students, his charm and wit breaking through even the most reserved exteriors.

After the dramatic events of the cultivation conference—an ordeal known far and wide, with gossip spreading like wildfire—their wedding sent ripples through the cultivation world. The union of two powerful cultivators, one a renowned young rogue, the other the esteemed young master of a great sect, became the stuff of legend. Their love story took on an almost fairy-tale quality, a tale whispered from one end of Jinahwu to the other, each retelling making it all the more extraordinary.

Of course, everyone wanted to witness something as extraordinary as this. A wedding between two powerful cultivators, with such contrasting backgrounds, was a spectacle too rare to miss. Yet, Wei Wuxian couldn’t shake the suspicion that Nie Huaisang had a hand in the growing frenzy.

His suspicions only deepened when he caught wind of books—already circulating in certain circles—that romantically detailed his and Lan Wangji’s love story. The embellishments were almost too poetic to be coincidence, and if anyone had the means, the connections, and the sheer audacity to orchestrate such a thing, it was certainly Nie Huaisang.

Every sect leader was in attendance, including Jin Zixuan and his mother. After the death of her husband, she had managed to ease some of the restrictions imposed by the Lan sect, allowing her more freedom in such matters. However, this time, their presence was notably subdued—far less ostentatious than one might have expected from the Jin clan.

It was a careful balancing act. They did not wish to draw too much attention, yet they made sure their presence was acknowledged—just enough to be noticed, but not so much as to invite further unfavourable gossip.

They made their vows and performed the traditional bows—first to the heavens and the earth, then to their parents. Wan Shangcheng solemnly held the two ancestral tablets bearing the names of Wei Wuxian’s parents, ensuring they, too, were honoured in the ceremony. Finally, they turned to each other and bowed, sealing their union not just in tradition but in devotion.

The cheers that erupted when the ceremony concluded were deafening, echoing through the Cloud Recesses with unrestrained joy. The grand feast that followed in the Great Hall was nothing short of magnificent, every seat filled with guests eager to celebrate.

For the first time in history, the Lan sect temporarily lifted its strict ban on alcohol, allowing wine to be served—a decision that only added to the revelry. Tables overflowed into the courtyards, with tents set up to accommodate the sheer number of attendees. The normally serene and disciplined Cloud Recesses had transformed into a scene of jubilant chaos—laughter, music, and the clinking of cups filling the night in an unprecedented happy  pandemonium.

Everyone would remember this day for the rest of their lives—especially the Lans. The sight of Lan Qiren, usually the embodiment of strict discipline, sitting in resigned defeat as the chaos unfolded was something no one would ever forget.

His normally stern expression had given way to one of quiet suffering, as if he had accepted his fate. The once-orderly halls of the Cloud Recesses were now filled with laughter, music, and the unmistakable scent of wine. Rules had been shattered, decorum tossed aside, and yet, there was no stopping it. Lan Qiren could only sit, watch, and endure—knowing that this day, wild and unruly as it was, would become legend.

The newlyweds remained just long enough to accept congratulations from most of the sect leaders before finally retreating to the Jingshi, now beautifully adorned in red and gold.

Once inside, Wei Wuxian wasted no time plastering silencing talismans over the walls, doors, and windows—an almost excessive number, just to be safe. And then, at last, the restraint they had both upheld for so long shattered.

Passion ignited like wildfire, unchecked and unrestrained. Years of longing, of stolen kisses and quiet yearning, culminated in this moment—where they could finally give and receive freely, without hesitation. With two powerful golden cores between them, exhaustion was a distant thought. They did not hold back, letting all that energy spill over into sensuality, desire, and utterly unrestrained pleasure.

No one dared to disturb them—not in the morning, nor at noon, nor even by evening the next day. The entire sect seemed to silently agree that the newlyweds deserved their privacy, and so, trays of food were discreetly left outside their door, untouched save for the occasional replacement.

Inside, time lost all meaning. What unfolded behind those talisman-sealed doors could only be described as pure, unrestrained, hedonistic abandon—a long-overdue indulgence in desire, love, and the freedom to finally have each other without restraint.

On the third day, the newlyweds finally emerged and joined the main family for dinner. Both of them looked utterly radiant—Lan Wangji as composed as ever, yet unable to keep from gravitating toward Wei Wuxian, while Wei Wuxian himself practically glowed with satisfaction. They sat close, touching constantly, exchanging looks and soft smiles, utterly wrapped up in each other.

It was enough to test even Qingheng Jun’s patience. By the end of the meal, they were gently advised to take their time and only re-join society when they were certain they could behave themselves properly. Wei Wuxian, laughing unabashedly, agreed wholeheartedly—though whether he actually intended to comply was another matter entirely.

After a  week, the newlyweds had to face reality and resume their responsibilities. Though reluctant, they embraced their duties with a renewed sense of purpose.

One of their first visits was to the Pine Hidden Manor, where Wei Wuxian’s sister and brother remained under Wan Shangcheng’s guardianship. Seeing them again filled him with joy, even though he   decided to visit a few times a week to continue training them and guiding their cultivation personally after  the wedding.

When offered the chance to move to the Cloud Recesses, they gently declined. This was their home, they said, and with Wei Wuxian so close, there was no need to leave.

One of the wedding gifts Wei Wuxian presented to Sect Leader Lan was a new set of protective wards—an upgraded version of those he had previously designed. He and Lan Zhan had spent the past year refining them, improving their strength and efficiency in ways that far surpassed the original. With Sect Leader Lan’s permission, Wei Wuxian dedicated much of his time working alongside the sect’s ward masters to implement the new system. Not that anyone would have refused—these wards were far beyond what anyone had expected, especially considering that the designs had been created by a mere sixteen-year-old. With his years of experience and refinement, they were nothing short of extraordinary.

His gift to Lan Qiren was a copying and writing talisman, designed to help the elder preserve his thoughts and draft letters with greater ease. The talisman itself was an elegantly crafted brush, inscribed with several intricate spells. When infused with even a small amount of spiritual energy, it would write whatever its wielder commanded, flawlessly transcribing their words.

Practical and efficient, it was a gift well suited to Lan Qiren—one that promised to save him hours of meticulous work while ensuring that not a single stroke of his thoughts was ever lost.

Wei Wuxian gifted the same enchanted brush to Qingheng-Jun, Lan Xichen, and Lan Zhan as well.

The first time Lan Qiren used the brush, it nearly brought tears to his eyes. The effortless elegance with which it transcribed his words was nothing short of miraculous. But as soon as the other senior sect members witnessed its effects, they, too, wanted one of their own.

Wei Wuxian, ever generous—and perhaps a little amused—obliged, earning himself even more favour within the Lan clan. It wasn’t long before someone suggested that they could make a fortune from these talismans, turning them into a valuable asset for the sect.

As Wei Wuxian continued discussing his other inventions with Lan Qiren, the elder finally came to a profound realization—his brother had gained far more than just a son-in-law. They had gained a true genius, one whose brilliance could shape the future of the cultivation world.

By the time Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli’s wedding arrived, Wei Wuxian had already begun making a name for himself—not just as a formidable cultivator but as an innovator. The Dictation Brush , aptly named by Lan Qiren, had gained widespread acclaim among scholars and sect leaders alike.

But it was another of his older creations, the Preservation Talisman , that truly cemented his reputation. Designed to keep perishable goods fresh for extended periods, it proved to be a game-changer for merchants and sects alike. No longer would food supplies spoil during long journeys; delicate herbs and medicines could now be transported without fear of deterioration.

What had begun as simple experiments in talisman crafting in his past life—born of necessity and lack—had now evolved into something far greater. Once again, Wei Wuxian’s ingenuity was reshaping the cultivation world.

Because how could he not? It was in his nature to challenge limitations, to push the boundaries of what was possible. Innovation flowed as naturally from him as breathing, and with the support of the Lan Sect, there was no telling how far his creations would reach.

Not only that, but sixty percent of the profits from these inventions would go directly to Wei Wuxian himself, ensuring that he would become a very wealthy man in just a few short years.

In his past life, he had never truly capitalized on his creations. Many of his innovations had been taken and used without his permission, with no acknowledgment or compensation. But this time, he knew better. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that sect leaders would never truly value something unless they had to pay a hefty sum for it.

And so, Wei Wuxian made sure they did.

Another endeavour that soon captured Wei Wuxian’s attention was an idea proposed by Wan Shangcheng—a guild for rogue cultivators. The cultivation world had always been dominated by sects, leaving independent cultivators to fend for themselves, often struggling without resources, shelter, or support. Wan Shangcheng envisioned a network, a sanctuary where rogue cultivators could find refuge, guidance, and aid in times of need. Headquarters where they could exchange knowledge, accept commissions, and gain legitimacy in a world that often saw them as little more than outcasts.

It was an idea that resonated deeply with Wei Wuxian. After all, his parents had been rogue cultivators, wandering without the backing of a great sect, and they would have benefited greatly from such an organization. He understood all too well the struggles of those who walked that path—isolated, overlooked, and often at the mercy of those with more power and resources.

But this time, he could change things. Now, he had the means, the influence, and the experience to make a difference . And so, with Wan Shangcheng's help, he set out to turn the Rogue Cultivator’s Guild from an idea into reality.

He envisioned a school and a library, a place where rogue cultivators could expand their knowledge, refine their skills, and access teachings that were typically reserved for sect disciples. More than that, he wanted to these schools to be a sanctuary for their children—a safe haven where they could learn, grow, and be cared for while their parents were away on night hunts.

No longer would independent cultivators have to choose between their duty and their families, between survival and education. This guild would be more than just a refuge; it would be a foundation for a better future—a future where rogue cultivators were no longer outsiders, but a respected and thriving force within the cultivation world.

After sharing this idea with Qingheng-Jun, Wei Wuxian was once again surprised by the acceptance and encouragement he received from the sect leader. He had expected resistance, perhaps even scepticism, but instead, Qingheng-Jun listened carefully and acknowledged the merit in his plan.

However, he also offered a word of caution. “Not every sect will take this lightly,” he warned. “There is nothing more dangerous than a sect fearing competition.”

Wei Wuxian only grinned in response, eyes alight with mischief and conviction. “Maybe that’s exactly what they need, Yuèfù —a little competition to make them do better by the people they swore to protect.”

Han Zhang and Han Liu were absolutely ecstatic about the idea. To them, it wasn’t just a good plan—it was long overdue. Bringing rogue cultivators together under a structured guild wasn’t just practical; it had the potential to change their way of life entirely.

Not only would it provide security, resources, and legitimacy, but it would also make their day-to-day struggles far easier. No more wandering aimlessly, no more struggling alone.

Eager to see it succeed, Han Zhang and Han Liu volunteered themselves as ambassadors, spreading the word among their fellow rogue cultivators. They wanted to gauge the response, to see how many would be willing to come together for something like this.

And if the excitement in their voices was anything to go by, the idea was going to take root faster than anyone expected.

If the idea was well received, Wei Wuxian thought it wise to establish the first headquarters in Caiyi Town. It was a bustling place, well-connected to major sects and trade routes, making it an ideal starting point.

However, he had another plan in mind—a vision for something even greater. But that would come later, once the guild had gained traction and proved its worth. For now, Caiyi would serve as the foundation, a stepping stone toward something far more ambitious.

Chapter Text

The Jiang-Jin wedding was nothing short of extravagant. The sheer display of wealth was so overwhelming that Wei Wuxian half-suspected they had emptied their coffers to achieve such grandeur. It was clear they were attempting to reclaim their lost prestige, and for now, their only weapon was money—something they certainly hadn't skimped on.

Yet, rather than exuding true magnificence, the entire affair leaned more toward the gaudy, a desperate attempt that tried too hard and ultimately fell flat. Wei Wuxian found it amusing.

He and Lan Zhan had received a personal invitation to the wedding in addition to the formal one sent to Qingheng-jun. This was undoubtedly Madam Yu’s doing—a deliberate move to flaunt her daughter's wedding, likely in an effort to overshadow the excitement surrounding his and Lan Zhan’s own union. It baffled him how these so-called adults behaved like petulant children, desperate for validation.

What they failed to grasp was that he simply didn’t care. His own wedding, organized by Wan Shangcheg and Qingheng-jun, could have been a quiet family affair, and he would have been just as happy. What he and Lan Zhan shared was beyond these petty displays of status and power.

In the end, whatever their intentions had been, the spectacle failed to impress. Wei Wuxian watched the entire ostentatious display with amusement, listening to the gossip swirling around him—if nothing else, it made for great entertainment.

Huaisang was in his element, eagerly gathering every bit of gossip from all possible sources and taking giddy delight in sharing his findings with his brothers. They had arrived the previous evening, been led to their chambers, and from that moment on, the spectacle had begun.

Wealth was flaunted at every turn—woven into the sheets and drapes, spilling over in the lavish food and drink, even extending to the opulent baths they were provided. This was more than mere hospitality; it was a statement, a grand display meant to impress.

Not that he, Lan Zhan, or the others particularly minded. As Lans, they would never voice their opinions—but silence carried its own form of judgment.

Jinlintai, even on an ordinary day, was garish, an overwhelming excess of gold and ornamentation. But now? Words failed him.

Thankfully, Lan Qiren had remained in the Cloud Recesses, still exhausted weeks after their own wedding. Wei Wuxian suspected he wouldn’t have survived this one.

The bride’s arrival was heralded by a cacophony of shouts, cheers, music, and fireworks. Her palanquin—a grand, gilded spectacle—shone blindingly under the sunlight. Yet, despite the noise and fanfare, the onlookers gathered for the spectacle seemed less than enthused. The moment, rather than feeling triumphant, was oddly anticlimactic.

At the banquet following the ceremony, where sect leaders lined up to offer their congratulations to Jin Zixuan, the atmosphere remained somewhat subdued. The sects closest to the Jins made a valiant effort—some a little too desperate—to inject excitement into the gathering. However, their enthusiasm only served to make those less invested feel even more awkward.

By the end of the event, everyone was relieved to leave and return to their normal lives. Huaisang, ever the dutiful gossip, was kind enough to send Wei Wuxian a letter detailing the post-wedding chatter. As it turned out, the Jin clan’s grand gamble had not paid off. They had sought comparison, and they got it—but not in the way they had hoped.

No one enjoyed having someone else’s wealth shoved in their face; rather than admiration, it bred resentment—especially when the Jins imposed the highest taxes in the cultivation world. In the end, they had learned a valuable lesson: money could not buy everything. Not when their sect’s reputation had already suffered multiple blows in recent years.

But he and Lan Zhan couldn’t have cared less. They were far too happy to waste even a moment dwelling on the Jins’ failed spectacle—especially with another significant event looming on the horizon: the Wen cultivation conference.

This gathering would mark Wen Xu’s official introduction as the new sect leader of the Wen Clan, as Wen Dansheng finally stepped down from his role as acting leader. According to rumours, Wen Dansheng and Wen Xu had built a close relationship over the years, with the elder taking the young heir under his wing to prepare him for the immense responsibility of leading such a powerful sect.

Wen Chao, however, was a different story. Wei Wuxian hadn’t heard much about him lately, but based on past conversations with Han Ning, it seemed the two brothers had never truly gotten along—their relationship had always been strained, contentious at best. How that dynamic would play out now remained to be seen.

As Lan Zhan’s husband, he was naturally expected to attend the conference. Deciding to make the most of it, he chose to participate in the archery competition—just as he had last time—scheduled for the final day of the event.

Every sect, big or small, had been invited to participate in the conference and celebrate alongside the Wens as they welcomed their new leader.

The Lan contingent arrived late the evening before and was greeted by Wen Dansheng and his wife. It was Wei Wuxian’s first time meeting the man, and he found him somewhat reminiscent of Lan Qiren—cordial and polite, but in a serious, detached manner.

The next morning, not long after sunrise, Huaisang was already knocking on their door, brimming with news.

"Meng Yao tried to enter Wen Xu’s service," he announced the moment he shut the door behind him. "Wen Dansheng contacted my father after seeing the letter of recommendation from him, asking for more details about the young man. Of course, he was assured that Meng Yao had been an excellent secretary and that he left willingly—not because he was banished or punished for any wrongdoing."

Huaisang’s eyes gleamed with mischief. This was just the setup; the real story was yet to come. Wei Wuxian knew that look well, and sure enough, after a dramatic pause, Huaisang continued.

"Wen Xu values Wen Dansheng’s opinion greatly. When he asked for his thoughts on Meng Yao, Wen Dansheng advised caution. And not only did Wen Xu listen—he sent Meng Yao to work in one of the magistrate offices in town instead of taking him into his inner circle, at least until he could gather more information."

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. "And what made Wen Dansheng suspicious?"

"The fact that Meng Yao left a very good position, with a glowing recommendation, just to serve a young and inexperienced sect leader," Huaisang answered, clearly savouring the moment. He looked at them expectantly.

Wei Wuxian caught on quickly. "So he’s looking for a leader who’s easy to manipulate—someone young, someone he can mould and use to gain more power and influence."

Huaisang snapped his fan shut with a satisfied nod. "Exactly! You see, the very letter my father wrote in his favour ended up working against him."

Lan Zhan remained silent, but his expression showed he was following the conversation.

Huaisang continued, his excitement barely contained. "Meng Yao couldn’t gain much under the Nie sect’s leadership because my father already has trusted people who will always come before an outsider. And let’s not forget—he has the life experience to not be so easily swayed. Plus, an army of servants watching Meng Yao’s every move didn’t help him much."

Wei Wuxian smirked. "So now he’s trying his luck elsewhere."

"Precisely!" Huaisang grinned. "And Wen Xu, despite everything, isn’t as much of a fool as Meng Yao had hoped."

Then, Huaisang sat down, glancing between Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan as if contemplating whether to share the next part of his story. For a few long moments, he remained silent, fingers idly fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. Finally, he let out a breath and continued.

"A few months ago, I was informed about   something… unsettling about our sect’s unique cultivation technique. I wasn’t particularly happy with what I learned, so don’t ask me to divulge any details—at least not yet."

He fell quiet again, gaze flickering downward before pressing on.

"Somehow, Meng Yao learned something about it. Not the full truth, but enough to piece together a convincing story. He decided to use this sensitive information to entice Wen Xu, dangling it as something that could be of use to the Wen Sect in the future."

Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows shot up in interest. "And?"

Huaisang’s lips curled into a smirk. "And Wen Xu didn’t take the bait. Not only that—he immediately informed Wen Dansheng and said outright that he could never trust a man who so easily betrayed his former master’s secrets. If Meng Yao was willing to do it once, what guarantee did Wen Xu have that he wouldn’t do the same to the Wens someday?"

Wei Wuxian let out a low whistle. "Well, that backfired spectacularly."

Huaisang nodded. "It did. Last night, my father had a very long conversation with Wen Xu and Wen Dansheng. When he came out of it, he was furious. Then, without a word, he went straight to Qishan. He didn’t return until very late."

He paused, studying their expressions before delivering the final blow. "From what I’ve gathered… Meng Yao won’t be a problem anymore."

That was, without a doubt, the most intriguing story he had heard in some time.

Wei Wuxian had never met Wen Xu before the war, but everything he had heard about him painted an unflattering picture—a ruthless, arrogant heir moulded in the image of his father. But if Wen Xu had been raised in an environment where the only way to earn approval from a tyrannical ruler was through cruelty, then perhaps his actions had been more about survival than true nature.

And if that were the case, then—whether intentionally or not—Wei Wuxian had saved Wen Xu the moment he killed Wen Ruohan. He had given him the chance to become something different.

What was even more surprising was that Wen Xu had taken that chance. Under Wen Dansheng’s guidance, he had grown into a proper, honourable leader. One who, it seemed, had the wisdom to see through men like Meng Yao.

And with that, another long-standing dilemma settled itself in Wei Wuxian’s mind.

For decades, he had wondered—would Meng Yao have turned out differently if he had been given better circumstances? Or was his thirst for validation so overpowering that he would have walked the same path no matter what?

Now, he had his answer.

Meng Yao had been willing to betray the very people who had given him a chance, offering up sect secrets in exchange for influence and power. And for what? Perhaps to one day make a move against the Nie Sect over some perceived slight.

There was always a choice.

Wen Xu had been given the opportunity to change, and he had taken it. Meng Yao had been given the same, yet he had chosen otherwise.

And yet, the domino effect of the changes set in motion after Wen Ruohan’s death had, so far, fallen overwhelmingly in their favour.

Wei Wuxian supposed that eliminating one great evil—no, two, if he counted Jin Guangshan—had rid the cultivation world of a rot that might have festered  if left untreated.

Without Wen Ruohan’s tyranny, Wen Xu had been able to step into leadership and, against all odds, become a respectable sect leader. Without Jin Guangshan’s scheming, the Jin Sect had lost much of its unchecked influence, preventing further corruption from spreading through the cultivation world.

Maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to change for the better.

The competition went as well as expected.

Wei Wuxian also encountered someone he could have happily gone an eternity without seeing again—Wen Chao.

The so-called cultivator was much the same as before: arrogant, insufferable, and utterly lacking in basic social skills. He sneered at everyone, looking down on them as if he were still someone of importance.

Only this time, he had absolutely no backing.

As Wei Wuxian had observed over the past few days, Huaisang had been right—Wen Chao and Wen Xu did not see eye to eye. And from what Han Ning had once told him in his other life, it seemed they had never gotten along well to begin with.

Wei Wuxian took first place, with Lan Zhan following closely in second. Lan Xichen secured third, Han Ning came in fourth, and Nie Mingjue placed fifth. Sixth place went to a promising Wen Sect disciple, while Jiang Wanyin landed in seventh. Eighth and ninth were taken by two Jin Sect disciples.

As sect leader, Jin Zixuan was unable to compete, so he had to content himself with watching from the side-lines as his sect members placed lower than expected.

After being disqualified embarrassingly early, Wen Chao had, predictably, thrown a tantrum—ranting about cheaters and unfair practices. His complaints, however, earned him nothing but a swift dismissal.

Quite literally.

Wei Wuxian heard that he had been sent to his quarters without dinner, placed under guard like an unruly child. It was almost comical.

He saw no great future for this pest, and Huaisang agreed. Wen Chao spent very little time in Nightless City these days, and sooner or later, he was bound to get himself into trouble. This time, though, he had no powerful backing to shield him.

He was nothing more than a rabid dog without teeth—no Wen Zhuliu to clean up his messes, no Wen Ruohan to indulge his cruelty. And when consequences finally came knocking, there would be no door left to keep them out.

Surrounded by well-wishers and friends celebrating his victory, Wei Wuxian was caught off guard when Wen Xu himself approached to offer congratulations.

"Congratulations on your victory, Wei Gongzi. Or should I call you Lan Furen?" Wen Xu said, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, amused, but answered with an elegant bow. "Wei Wuxian is more than enough, Wen Zongzhu."

"Very well, Wei Wuxian," Wen Xu replied, his tone a touch too proper. Then, with a subtle gesture, he added, "May we walk?"

Wei Wuxian glanced at Lan Zhan, offering him a reassuring smile before following the Wen sect leader.

So far, Wen Xu didn’t seem arrogant or cruel. If anything, he came across as a bit awkward—but not unpleasant. Since he had been the one to request this private conversation, Wei Wuxian waited patiently for him to speak first.

When they had distanced themselves enough for privacy, Wen Xu finally broke the silence.

"I’ve been hearing some rather strange rumours," he began, his voice measured. "Something about a guild for rogue cultivators—and that you and a certain local Caiyi lord might be the ones behind such an endeavour."

Wei Wuxian studied Wen Xu’s expression, trying to gauge whether he was pleased or displeased by the idea. But the sect leader’s face betrayed nothing.

"Yes, Sect Leader Wen," Wei Wuxian said clearly. "My parents were rogue cultivators, I was one myself before my marriage, and I have close friends who are as well. The idea isn’t mine, but Lord Wan Shangcheng’s. I believe it would greatly benefit a class of cultivators who have been wilfully  ignored for far too long."

Wen Xu regarded him in silence for a few moments, nodding as if he had reached a conclusion. Then he said, "I believe you are right, and you have the Wen Sect’s support in this endeavour."

Wei Wuxian blinked. What? He had not been expecting that. He was so caught off guard that he could only stare for a second.

That small smirk returned to the corner of Wen Xu’s mouth, clearly amused by his reaction. "I trust not many sect leaders will support this?" he mused. "And Sect Leader Lan is behind it as well?"

Wei Wuxian nodded.

Wen Xu exhaled slowly. "My sect declined morally a great deal during my father’s reign. My uncle has been working tirelessly to redeem it and raise it from decay. In doing so, we have welcomed a few rogue cultivators into our ranks—those who proved to be proficient and remarkable in their own right. I became quite close with some of them, and through them, I’ve come to understand their struggles."

Wei Wuxian had expected resistance, scepticism, even polite dismissal—but not this. Wen Xu’s support wasn’t just a formality; it seemed genuine.

"I believe we can all benefit greatly from such an organization," Wen Xu continued. "There are many rogue cultivators who choose not to join a sect for various reasons, but that should not mean they are to be ignored or dismissed entirely. To be honest, it would also be an excellent opportunity to exchange and expand our cultivation knowledge."

He glanced at Wei Wuxian, his tone turning thoughtful. "By bringing together individuals with such diverse cultivation styles, we would be fostering an environment of ingenuity—something that the great sects, for all their pride in being the guardians of knowledge, have struggled to achieve. In truth, there has been little true progress in cultivation over the last century."

Wei Wuxian couldn't help but be impressed. Wen Xu’s perspective was surprisingly pragmatic—far more forward-thinking than he had expected.

Wei Wuxian smiled, his tone light but curious. "I must confess, after all the stories I’ve heard about your father, I didn’t expect you to be such a forward thinker."

Wen Xu’s expression remained composed, but there was something distant in his gaze as he replied, "My father was cruel, that much is true. But he was also a forward thinker, Wei Wuxian. He had grand plans to reshape the cultivation world from its very foundation. I don’t know exactly how he intended to accomplish that—he died before he could achieve his dream—but I am certain he had something along these lines in mind."

Oh, how wrong he was.

Wei Wuxian kept his expression neutral, but internally, he scoffed. Wen Xu had no idea just how far Wen Ruohan had been willing to go.  The man wouldn’t have merely reshaped the cultivation world—he would have crushed it beneath his rule, moulding it into something unrecognizable, something twisted beyond repair.

And yet, looking at Wen Xu now, Wei Wuxian found it almost amusing. The new sect leader truly believed his father’s ambitions had been in service of progress. In a way, that misunderstanding was a blessing. Perhaps it was better that Wen Xu never knew just how monstrous Wen Ruohan’s vision had truly been.

"Sect Leader Wen, I am very pleased to know that we have the Wen Sect’s support," Wei Wuxian said, bowing respectfully.

Wen Xu gave a small nod, signalling the end of their conversation.

As Wei Wuxian made his way back to Lan Zhan’s side, he couldn’t help but smirk at the reaction he was met with. Lan Zhan’s usually serene face held the barest flicker of surprise, while Huaisang—always dramatic—stood with his mouth slightly open in sheer astonishment.

"You’re joking," Huaisang finally managed, blinking at him.

Wei Wuxian laughed, shaking his head. "Not at all. He approached me himself and offered his support without me even needing to ask."

Huaisang snapped his fan open and waved it in front of his face, still looking stunned. "That is surpising," he muttered.

Lan Zhan remained quiet, but the flicker of curiosity in his gaze made it clear he, too, was intrigued by this unexpected turn of events.

Han Ning's words were quiet, his tone thoughtful. "He always looked miserable back then," he said after a pause. "We rarely interacted, and when we did, he pretty much dismissed me all the time. It was Wen Chao who loved being cruel." Wei Wuxian considered that for a moment. It aligned with everything he'd observed so far—Wen Xu had been raised under a tyrant, forced to play a role in his father's reign. But unlike Wen Chao, he hadn't revelled in the cruelty. And without Wen Ruohan's shadow looming over him, he had  become something else entirely.

Maybe Wen Xu had never truly been a monster, just a man trapped in the role he was forced to play. And now, free of that role, he was trying to build something better.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan met Han Zhang and Han Liu in Yueyang, as planned, to accompany them on a mission that Wei Wuxian was particularly eager to complete—the Xuanwu of Slaughter. Without hesitation, he asked the brothers for assistance with an exceptionally dangerous night hunt, and they agreed even before fully understanding what it entailed.

The group had arranged to meet in Yueyang after the conference, and once the full details of the mission were explained, Han Zhang and Han Liu showed no sign of fear—only excitement.

“We knew you wouldn’t have sought our help for something simple, so we came prepared for a challenge,” one of them remarked. “Besides, your techniques are so revolutionary that we’re certain we’ll witness something extraordinary.” Their eyes sparkled with anticipation. “We’re curious to see what you consider difficult.”

They carefully explained their mission to Qingheng-Jun, assuring him that they were not undertaking it alone. To bolster their efforts, they had enlisted the aid of two rogue cultivators, Han Zhang and Han Liu.

Since the sect leader was still recovering from the effects of the poison, he was unable to accompany them. Likewise, they chose not to bring Lan Xichen, despite his meridians having been healed and mended by Han Qing. Given the immense presence of resentful energy they would be facing, they did not want to risk hindering his recovery and progress.

Thus, they were granted permission to go. 

After a good rest and a satisfying meal, they set off for Muxi Mountain, where a particularly resentful creature lay dormant. Wei Wuxian saw this as the perfect opportunity to test his improved array—one he intended to use once more to cleanse the Burial Mounds.

The last time he had attempted the cleansing was during his first stay there with the Wen remnants. But then he died, and everything was put on hold. After his resurrection, he spent years experimenting with various methods, searching for the right formula to finally lay that cursed place to rest. It had been an arduous process spanning decades, a journey of trial and error. But in the end, he and Lan Zhan succeeded.

Now, with several refined arrays and enhanced musical techniques at his disposal, Wei Wuxian was ready to put them to the test. Muxi Mountain, with its lingering resentment and the formidable tortoise lurking within, was the perfect proving ground. If successful, it would confirm whether any final adjustments were needed before the ultimate step in purging the Burial Mounds. And as a bonus, they would rid the world of yet another dangerous creature in the process.

The cave was undisturbed, its silence heavy with an eerie stillness. Wei Wuxian felt the resentment pressing against him even before he stepped inside. As he approached the deep, cavernous pool at the heart of the cave, the voices grew louder—a chorus of anguish and rage.

This was the one side effect of his affinity for resentment that he hated the most: the screams of the dead. They were never pleasant.

Pushing past the discomfort, he set to work, carefully inscribing the arrays. Each was designed to activate at key moments throughout the cleansing process, ensuring a controlled and efficient purification. If everything went according to plan, they wouldn't even need to draw their swords.

Hours later, after meticulously checking and rechecking every sigil and seal, the four of them took their positions. The brothers, were tasked with maintaining the containment wards, while Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian would focus on the cleansing itself.

Much like the array Wei Wuxian had once used to purify the tainted waters of a certain village, this formation would eventually begin sustaining itself, feeding off the purified energy. But until that moment arrived, they would have to proceed carefully, mindful not to exhaust themselves before the process could take hold.

The brothers activated the warding array, its intricate design ensuring the creature would remain contained throughout the entire process. The moment the protective formation flared to life, Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian set their own arrays into motion—two carefully calibrated formations meant to slowly begin drawing out the resentment.

At first, nothing happened. Then, as the creature sensed the resentment being siphoned away, it awoke. With a furious roar, it thrashed violently within the raised wards. But so far, so good—the containment held, keeping it trapped within the designated perimeter. This allowed the cultivators to work undisturbed, free from the immediate threat of attack.

When the Xuanyu of Slaughter emerged from the depths of the pool, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering glow of the array, Han Zhang and Han Liu paled. Terror was evident in their eyes, but they never faltered, keeping the barrier steady. Wei Wuxian noted their composure with satisfaction—he needed them to hold firm so he and Lan Zhan could focus on the next step.

With a silent nod to his partner, they retrieved their instruments and began to play. The haunting melody resonated through the cavern, interwoven with spiritual energy designed to guide and accelerate the cleansing process. Hours passed—how many, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure—before the first signs of strain became apparent. The array flickered slightly, signalling a gradual depletion of spiritual energy. He held on, and so did the others.

Then, at last, a breakthrough. The self-sustaining cycle of the array activated, marking a critical step in the process. Wei Wuxian wasted no time. “Focus on drawing spiritual energy from the environment!” he called out to the others. “It’ll help replenish your core until the end!”

The Xuanyu continued to thrash, bellowing its fury, but the containment array held strong despite a few worrisome flickers—something Wei Wuxian mentally noted to address later. So far, everything was going according to plan.

As the vanquishing array flared to life, they changed the tune, shifting to the final phase of the process. The creature’s movements grew sluggish, its form weakening under the relentless force of the cleansing array. Slowly, its roars quieted. Its body, once a mass of rage and malice, began to wither and crumble—until, at last, it turned to dust.

The silence it left behind was almost unsettling.

But Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan did not stop. One final step remained.

Without a word, they changed the melody once more—a variation of Rest that they had composed together. A song meant not to vanquish, but to soothe. To lay to rest whatever tormented souls still lingered in the wake of the Xuanwu’s destruction.

As the last notes faded, the oppressive weight of resentment in the cave lifted, leaving behind nothing but the stillness of  hard-won peace.

They collapsed where they sat, letting the sheer relief of finally ridding the world of the monster wash over them.

“We did it,” Wei Wuxian whispered, his voice barely audible.

Lan Zhan, just as exhausted, nodded weakly in response.

Nearby, Han Zhang and Han Liu had also slumped against each other, looking utterly spent yet undeniably content. Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, still feeling the thick presence of spiritual energy lingering in the cave—vast, untapped, and searching for something to anchor itself to.

“Meditate,” he instructed. “There’s enough qi in this cave to replenish the cores of an entire sect.”

They wasted no time, settling into quiet meditation. The energy responded almost immediately, swirling toward them, chasing away their exhaustion and fatigue, bringing much-needed relief.

At some point, Wei Wuxian must have drifted off.

When he woke, he found himself cradled in Lan Zhan’s arms, the warmth of his husband’s body enveloping him. He tilted his head slightly and realized Lan Zhan was asleep still, his steady breaths fanning softly against Wei Wuxian’s hair.

He glanced around in the dim cave. Han Zhang and Han Liu were also fast asleep, their exhaustion finally catching up to them.

With a sleepy sigh, Wei Wuxian snuggled closer, breathing in the familiar mix of sweat and sandalwood. The tension in his muscles faded, replaced by a rare sense of peace.

The cave felt different now.

Gone was the suffocating stench of decay and rot, replaced only by the damp, earthy scent of stone and soil. And, perhaps the most profound change of all—the silence.

Not the eerie, ominous silence of lurking danger, but a true, blessed stillness.

No screams. No anguished wails. No tormented whispers of the dead.

Just silence.Wei Wuxian reveled in it.

Later, he felt Lan Zhan stir beside him. He opened his eyes to meet the most beautiful golden gaze in the world—warm, tender, and filled with love. And it was all for him.

A giddy feeling bubbled up in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he leaned in and kissed his husband. It was deep, passionate, the kind of kiss that would have led to so much more if they had been alone. But, alas, that would have to wait.

With a sigh, he pulled away, pressing his forehead to Lan Zhan’s. “Later, love,” he murmured. “Not to worry… later. ”

He stole another brief but intense kiss before rising to his feet. Walking to the edge of the pool, he stretched out a hand, focusing.

A moment later, something stirred beneath the dark waters. With a sudden whoosh, a rusted black sword shot into his palm.

At Lan Zhan’s questioning look, Wei Wuxian grinned. “I have plans for this.”

Lan Zhan’s brows furrowed slightly, his silent curiosity tinged with concern.

Wei Wuxian turned the sword over in his hands, inspecting it. “It’s nothing more than an empty, rusted piece of metal now, but because it once held so much resentment, its nature has changed.” He looked up, eyes glinting with mischief. “And I have plans for it.”

Lan Zhan’s expression shifted, his curiosity now mixed with quiet wariness.

Wei Wuxian chuckled, stepping closer. “Nothing nefarious, love. Trust me.” He kissed him on the cheek, slipping the sword into a Qiankun pouch before heading toward the sleeping rogue cultivators.

It was time to wake the brothers.

They travelled south, intending to reach Yiling, but stopped in Kuizhou for a well-deserved rest. More importantly, Wei Wuxian needed some alone time with his husband before they went any farther.

They rented two rooms at the best inn in town—one for themselves and one for the brothers. After a satisfying meal and a much-needed bath, Wei Wuxian meticulously plastered silencing talismans over every surface. He barely had time to turn around before Lan Zhan attacked.

There was something about the aftermath of a night hunt that made their desire for each other even more intense—more raw, more consuming. It was a primal hunger, an unquenchable fire, and they fed it eagerly, over and over again. The night passed in a blur of tangled limbs and breathless moans, their bodies moving in perfect sync, their qi mingling and growing as it swirled between them, deepening their connection in ways beyond the physical.

If there was one thing he and Lan Zhan excelled at, it was dual cultivation.

The myths about it were true. It was partly thanks to dual cultivation that he had managed to grow his core to such an extraordinary level in his past life. And now, in this one, the same energy surged within them, stronger, brighter, boundless.

Sleep was scarce that night, but neither of them minded.

He always cherished the sense of contentment that followed a night of passion with his husband—the quiet, relaxed state of his mind was a rare blessing for someone with an overactive brain. After a leisurely breakfast, he and Lan Zhan joined the brothers in the inn’s tea-serving area, a tranquil room on the ground floor that opened into a well-maintained garden. The amused glances the brothers cast their way as they entered didn’t faze Wei Wuxian in the slightest. He felt so at peace, and nothing could disturb his happiness—not yet, at least.

That is, until a commotion erupted in the main room of the inn. The sounds of shouting, curses, shattered ceramics, and overturned tables filled the air. With a resigned sigh, Wei Wuxian followed the two rogue cultivators who immediately sprang to their feet at the noise, Lan Zhan close behind him.

In the centre of the chaos, amidst the broken shards and toppled furniture, stood a boy no older than ten. Three men loomed over him, but the boy held a large wooden bat with an air of defiance.

“Come any closer and I’ll hit you again, pig,” he hissed at one of the men, who was clutching his shoulder in pain. “You either give me what you owe or I’ll make sure you regret it.” There was no trace of fear in his voice—only a disturbing sneer that twisted his youthful face.

There was something familiar about that face, though Wei Wuxian couldn’t quite place it. A memory hovered just out of reach—until his gaze fell on the boy’s right hand, where a pinkie was missing.

Xue Yang.

What were the chances? He glanced at Lan Zhan, and sure enough, he saw recognition in his husband’s eyes as well. Wei Wuxian gave a small nod to show that he understood. But before he could dwell on the implications, he stepped forward, smoothly inserting himself into the tense standoff.

“Who owes you what, boy?” he asked with a friendly smile.

Xue Yang regarded him with sharp suspicion before jerking his chin toward the man still clutching his injured shoulder.

“He promised me ten coins to watch his cart full of merchandise,” he spat. “But now he’s accusing me of stealing and won’t pay up.”

Wei Wuxian tilted his head. “Did you steal?” he asked, not quite willing to take the boy’s word at face value, but needing to hear his answer.

Xue Yang’s expression darkened instantly. “Of course not!” he snapped. Then, with a smirk, he added, “But maybe I should have, if I’d known the pig wasn’t going to pay me anyway.”

The merchant’s eyes darted from Wei Wuxian to Lan Zhan, then to the Han brothers. It didn’t take long for him to realize that they were cultivators—and not just any cultivators, but ones from a prestigious sect. The white robes and forehead ribbon of the Lan Clan were unmistakable. Bowing deeply, he adopted the servile tone that Wei Wuxian despised.

“Esteemed cultivators, I humbly ask you to judge and deliver justice,” he said, his voice thick with false deference. “This child promised to guard my wares while I slept, but instead, he stole from my merchandise and now demands more payment. Please, I entrust myself to your wisdom.”

“You slimy pig!” Xue Yang snarled, raising his bat to strike again.

Before the blow could land, Han Zhang swiftly plucked the weapon from his hands.

“Hey! Give that back! He deserves it!” Xue Yang yelled, lunging for the bat, but Han Liu caught him and restrained him with ease.

“Set me free!” Xue Yang hissed, struggling violently.

“Quiet down, boy,” Han Liu commanded, his tone firm.

To Wei Wuxian’s surprise, Xue Yang actually stopped fighting, though his glare could have burned through steel. Satisfied, Wei Wuxian turned back to the merchant and nodded for him to continue. The man, sensing fortune shifting in his favour, eagerly obliged.

“He’s nothing but a street urchin,” the merchant said, shaking his head in disappointment. “I only wanted to give him a chance to earn honest money, but if I had known he was a delinquent, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Wei Wuxian hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Did you know he was a delinquent before you entrusted him with your wares? Or did you come to that conclusion afterward?”

The merchant hesitated. “I confess, I didn’t know for sure when I first asked him. But almost all street urchins are, in some way or another. When my friend here”—he gestured to the man beside him—“told me to check before paying, I noticed things missing. When I asked the boy about it, he became violent.”

He shot a glare at Xue Yang, who opened his mouth to protest—only to snap it shut when his gaze met Lan Zhan’s cold, unreadable expression.

“I see,” Wei Wuxian mused. “And what exactly is missing?”

“I sell lacquered wooden jewellery boxes, bone combs, and hairpins. I’m missing several combs and a very expensive box,” the merchant said.

Wei Wuxian turned to Xue Yang, who was now glaring at him .

“Did you take all of that?”

Xue Yang scoffed. “Of course not! What would I do with jewellery and wooden boxes? He’s lying because he doesn’t want to pay—like the pig he is!”

Wei Wuxian hummed again, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Have you considered the possibility that he might not have taken the items, but simply fell asleep, and someone else stole them?” He turned back to the merchant. “After all, you have no proof that he did it.”

The merchant huffed. “If that’s the case, esteemed cultivator, then I shouldn’t have to pay him at all! He failed at his job.”

That was all Wei Wuxian needed to hear. He sighed, pulled out a talisman, and pressed it against the merchant’s chest. Activating it, he smiled sweetly at the man’s startled expression.

“That’s a truth talisman,” he explained. “You won’t be able to lie while under its influence. Now, tell me—are you actually missing anything?”

The merchant took a deep breath, fighting valiantly to keep his mouth shut, but in the end, he lost the battle.

“No,” he admitted through gritted teeth.

“So you just didn’t want to pay the boy because you learned he’s a known thief in the area and thought you could use that as an excuse?”

The merchant’s face twisted in outrage. “He’s nothing but a street rat! He doesn’t deserve my money!”

Wei Wuxian had heard enough. Ripping the talisman away, he fixed the merchant with a cold, sharp look.

“Pay him double what you promised,” he said, voice like steel. “As compensation for the slander. If you refuse, I’ll deal with you personally. And if you don’t believe me, by all means— try me.”

The smirk that accompanied his words must have been particularly menacing, because the merchant paled before hastily shoving a fistful of coins into Xue Yang’s open hand with an outraged huf.

The merchant stormed out of the inn, his steps deliberately loud with indignation, likely trying to salvage what little pride he could in front of onlookers. But Wei Wuxian’s focus shifted quickly back to the boy. His eyes widened in surprise when he caught sight of the gleam in Xue Yang’s gaze—something alive in his eyes, like stars flickering in the dark.

“What was that?” Xue Yang asked, his voice curious, almost childlike in its wonder.

“What was what?” Wei Wuxian responded, feigning ignorance, though a smirk tugged at his lips.

“That talisman,” Xue Yang clarified, still processing the power he’d witnessed. “I’ve never seen a truth talisman before.”

Xue Yang’s grin twisted into something far too pleased, his eyes darkening with amusement. “That was fun,” he purred, his voice sharp with delight. “Watching the pig sweat and huff, knowing he couldn’t lie. Can you teach me?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t shocked by the request. Last time he met Xue Yang, the boy had shown a similar thirst for manipulation—an intense, manic desire for power and control, for anything that might twist the world to his whims. It was nothing new, just another example of how Xue Yang seemed to latch onto things that fed his darker inclinations. But still, it was telling. He wants to learn, Wei Wuxian thought, to master what he doesn’t fully understand yet.

He watched Xue Yang closely, his eyes narrowing slightly. There was something unsettling in the way the boy’s hunger for power reflected so clearly in his gaze—a dangerous kind of fascination, an obsession with the ability to control. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but wonder if Xue Yang had already reached a point where there was no return. Or perhaps, with the right kind of guidance, there could still be a chance for him. A part of him, stubborn and hopeful, clung to the idea that it wasn’t too late—just like Wen Xu, whose path was altered, when someone intervened in time.

Wei Wuxian knew better than most that not all lost souls could be saved. He’d seen too much darkness and tragedy to believe that everyone could find redemption. Once someone had travelled so far down a twisted road, it was often too late for them to turn back. And yet, that spark in Xue Yang’s eyes—something wild, yet somehow vulnerable—lingered in his mind. Maybe he could still be saved. Maybe not. But if there’s any chance, I can’t just ignore it.

With a quiet sigh, Wei Wuxian pushed the thought aside for now. It was too soon to decide. But he knew one thing for sure—Xue Yang was a force that could either burn brightly and consume everything in its path or, just maybe,  light a way for new future if someone tried hard enough to guide it.

Wei Wuxian studied Xue Yang for a moment before asking, “What do you know about cultivation?”

Xue Yang’s answer came quickly, his voice tinged with bitterness. “Only that cultivators are assholes and can’t be trusted. But so far, you’re different.” His eyes glinted with something almost eager, like a dog at the sight of food. “I want to be powerful like you.”

Wei Wuxian’s expression grew serious, and his tone followed suit. “A cultivator protects the weak, upholds justice, and does not cause harm out of pettiness or revenge.” 

Xue Yang scoffed. “Well, then all the ones I’ve met are just pretending to be cultivators, because they definitely didn’t protect the weak or uphold justice,” he said, his words dripping with mockery.

Wei Wuxian nodded slowly, a shadow crossing his face. “Maybe. But if you want me to teach you, you’ll have to understand that there are no shortcuts. There’s no negotiation here, young man.” His voice held a quiet but firm conviction.

Xue Yang raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “No negotiation, huh? You sure about that?”

Wei Wuxian’s gaze hardened. “You want power? Then you’ll have to walk the path of a true cultivator. No shortcuts, no lies. If you think you can just use others to get what you want, you’ll never make it.” His words were stern, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps hope, perhaps challenge—in his eyes.

Xue Yang didn’t answer immediately, the glint in his eyes now a little more thoughtful, a little more calculating. "We'll see," he muttered, more to himself than to Wei Wuxian. The path ahead was unclear, but one thing was certain: Xue Yang was ready to test the limits of whatever Wei Wuxian was willing to teach him.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian sighed contentedly, draping himself comfortably over his husband. “You're the best, Lan Zhan,” he murmured, basking in the warmth of their closeness. Moments like these were the ones he treasured most. “I love you so much.”

“Love Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan replied, his mesmerizing voice sending shivers down Wei Wuxian’s spine.

“I love your voice so much,” Wei Wuxian whispered, pressing closer. Lan Zhan’s arms tightened around him, almost to the point of pain, but he didn’t care. He would cherish this forever—the way his husband ruined him and then put him back together with such tender devotion.

They had just finished a soothing bath after an evening of unrestrained passion. It was well past midnight, but Lan Zhan never seemed to mind when their long, fevered nights disrupted his usual routine. Sleep schedules blurred into insignificance when weighed against the intoxicating pleasure of being together.

There was always a wildness in Lan Zhan, a fierce intensity so carefully concealed from the rest of the world that Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but be possessive of it. The thought that this side of his husband belonged to him and no one else filled him with exhilaration.

After all these decades together, their bond had only deepened, growing stronger in ways he never imagined possible. Even the comfort of routine had taken on an electrifying edge, as if their connection defied the mundane. They could almost read each other’s thoughts, sense each other’s moods with nothing more than proximity. Their energies were so perfectly in sync that, at times, it was almost disorienting.

"Did you feel it too, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asked, his voice laced with curiosity and something deeper—something almost reverent. He recalled the sensation toward the end, that strange paradox of a void being filled and a fullness being emptied. It wasn’t the first time he had felt it, but lately, it had been happening more often, growing sharper, more pronounced.

The first time had been at a pivotal moment in his past life—when his golden core had begun expanding at an unprecedented rate. Their lovemaking had intensified alongside it—not in wildness or urgency, but in depth, in vividness. The emotions, the sensations, had become so piercingly real, so overwhelming, that in those moments, he felt himself both emptying and filling at once.

At first, he had dismissed it as a natural response to the strengthening of his core, an effect of their dual cultivation. But now, the phenomenon was impossible to ignore. It was clearer, more defined—something beyond mere physicality, something that felt like a truth waiting to be unravelled.

"Mn. Stronger—more defined,” Lan Zhan replied, his voice calm yet thoughtful. “I have been thinking… These past few months, since our wedding, there have been noticeable changes in how we perceive the world around us.”

He paused, as if carefully choosing his words. “For example, I have become acutely aware of the spiritual energy emanating from every cultivator—their distinct signature. Each one is unique. Some have qi that flows faster than others, while some radiate heat. Does that make any sense to you?”

Wei Wuxian blinked, taken aback, but as he considered Lan Zhan’s words, a thrill ran through him. It did make sense. More than that—it resonated.

“Absolutely,” Wei Wuxian said, his excitement evident. “Every cultivator has a unique qi flow, distinct from all others—we’ve always known that. There’s even a theory that explains why some swords respond only to their rightful masters, like Suibian, and why certain cultivation techniques don’t work equally well for everyone.”

His eyes gleamed as he leaned in closer. “This actually supports my theory—that there are no weak cultivators, only inadequate techniques. It’s not always about talent or strength, but whether the method aligns with the cultivator’s natural qi flow. If we could understand and tailor cultivation techniques to the individual, imagine the possibilities…”

"You feel so different from me, yet we are perfectly complementary," Wei Wuxian continued, his voice soft with wonder. "Like two pieces of a puzzle that fit together despite their uniqueness."

He let his fingers trace absent patterns over Lan Zhan’s arm, his thoughts unfolding as he spoke. "That’s why I was never able to cultivate properly while sitting still—I need movement, not stillness. My qi flows like a rushing river, untamed, always shifting. But you… you thrive in stillness. Your energy is deep, steady, like an unmoving lake reflecting the sky."

He glanced up at Lan Zhan, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "No wonder we balance each other so well."

"You are different, Wei Ying," Lan Zhan said, his gaze steady. "Your qi feels cooler, yet it moves faster than mine."

Wei Wuxian's brows furrowed in thought. "While yours is slower and so much hotter," he murmured, turning the idea over in his mind. "It contradicts everything we understand about reality. Coldness should bring stillness, not movement, and heat should drive motion, not the other way around."

His excitement grew as he spoke, the puzzle pieces shifting into place in his mind. "But what if it’s not a contradiction? What if it's proof that qi isn't just about temperature or speed, but something more complex—something deeper? Maybe it's not just yin and yang but how they interact, how they shape and respond to each other…"

He trailed off, eyes alight with curiosity, already eager to test the limits of this new revelation.

"The yin and yang are part of the same whole," Wei Wuxian mused, his voice dipping into the cadence of memory. "When we are alive, yang takes control. When we die, yin takes the lead, and yang lies dormant."

It was part of the theory he had developed in his past life—the very foundation of the treatise that had reshaped how cultivators viewed the realms of the living and the dead. A revelation that had set him apart, made him feared, made him dangerous in the eyes of the orthodox.

"But yin does not equal resentment," he continued, his tone sharpening with conviction. "Resentment is contaminated yin—tainted by the emotions a person carried in life. The closer to death, the more likely their yin becomes corrupted, burdened by regret, hatred, sorrow." He exhaled, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "That old saying, 'You should die with a clear conscience,' holds more truth than any of those dusty treatises on the nature of yin and yang."

He glanced at Lan Zhan, waiting for his reaction. His husband had always been the one person who never recoiled from his ideas, who never feared the way he thought, even when others had branded him as dangerous.

"Wei Ying proved his theory when he used this concept to cleanse the Burial Mounds," Lan Zhan said, his voice steady, yet laced with the quiet pride that had never faded, even after all these years.

"Everyone else was trying to vanquish the resentment, not liberate the yin from its contamination," Wei Wuxian continued. "No wonder they achieved nothing. Energy will always resist force—no matter its nature. The greater the energy, the stronger the resistance. You can’t just brute-force your way through something like that. It’s like trying to put out a fire by throwing more fire at it. But if you separate the flames from the fuel…" He gestured vaguely, excitement sparking in his eyes. "It burns out on its own."

He tilted his head, considering. "I’ve always wondered… If cultivators stopped treating resentment as something purely evil and actually understood its nature, how much more could be done?"

Lan Zhan regarded him with that steady, unwavering gaze. "Wei Ying is always ahead of his time."

"But this feeling… it opens new doors to my theory," Wei Wuxian murmured, eyes unfocused as he tried to grasp the full implications. "Because it doesn’t feel complete. There’s more—we’re not getting the whole picture."

Lan Zhan’s voice, filled with quiet wonder, broke the silence. "It balances itself."

Wei Wuxian frowned slightly, turning to him. "The qi?"

"Yes," Lan Zhan confirmed. "It tries to balance itself every time we are together."

Wei Wuxian's breath caught. A distant, almost awed look overtook his expression as he worked through the thought, fitting the pieces together like a puzzle finally falling into place.

"We’re creating a whole," he whispered, voice barely audible. Then, his eyes widened, blazing with realization. "Lan Zhan… we are literally becoming one. Our energy—it’s trying to form a bridge, to merge completely. Two people, one qi. A bond that could never be severed."

The very idea sent a shiver through him. It was more than cultivation, more than dual cultivation—it was something fundamental, something that transcended even life and death.

Wei Wuxian rose abruptly, extending his hand as Bichen soared effortlessly into his grasp—almost as if Lan Zhan himself had summoned it. Seeing his own sword in his husband's hands, Lan Zhan reached out, and Xinming responded in kind, flying to him without hesitation. They had always been able to wield each other's swords, but never before had they called them. In fact, this was the first time they had even attempted it. No cultivator could summon another’s sword without first subduing its spirit, yet they had done so without such a ritual—marking an unprecedented moment in their understanding of sword cultivation.

"We are becoming one," Wei Wuxian whispered in awe, his gaze fixed on his husband, whose expression mirrored his own astonishment.

"We are balancing each other out, creating a qi unique to the two of us," he continued, his voice laced with wonder. "I've never heard of anything like this before—never read about it anywhere. Are we the first, or has it simply never been recorded?"

"How does it feel, Lan Zhan?" Wei Wuxian asked, nodding toward the sword in his husband's hand.

"Different," Lan Zhan replied, his gaze fixed on Xinming. "But not strange. There is no resistance."

Wei Wuxian hummed in agreement, shifting his grip on Bichen as he moved through a few sword stances. "The same for me," he murmured. "It’s as if she knows me—like she’s finally getting the chance to meet me in person. And she’s welcoming, warm." He paused, searching for the right words. "Like a new set of comfortable clothes. Not unpleasant, just… not quite the same as the old ones. I must research this thoroughly, Lan Zhan. This development is incredible—revolutionary. There must be some writings about it somewhere; we can't be the first," Wei Wuxian said, carefully settling Bichen back into its scabbard.

"First, we rest," Lan Zhan replied, opening his arms.

Wei Wuxian wasted no time, slipping into his embrace and snuggling close with a deep sigh. "Yes," he murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "There’s plenty of time to reflect on this later."

The next morning at breakfast, they were met with a grumpy Xue Yang, scowling as he tugged at the clothes they had bought for him. He clearly disliked them. 

After their meeting, Wei Wuxian had decided to take the child with them, which meant giving the rascal a bath and finding him something new to wear—his old clothes were beyond repair. To the bath, Xue Yang had no objections, but the new outfit was another story.Wei Wuxian silently laughed at the coincidence of him making the same comparison last night

"They make me look like a young master," he sneered. "I don’t want to look like one of those useless, pampered brats."

Wei Wuxian sighed, already tired of the complaints. "Lan Zhan and I are young masters. Are we useless?" he asked pointedly. "I may be pampered, but that’s only because my husband loves me very much. Your objections are based on prejudice and ignorance—not all young masters are the same."

Xue Yang scowled but had no immediate retort.

"If you don’t like the clothes, don’t wear them," Wei Wuxian said with finality.

"And wear what, exactly?" Xue Yang shot back. "You threw away my old clothes. Am I supposed to go around naked?"

"Maybe then you'll learn to appreciate what you're given and stop complaining all the time like a pampered young master," Wei Wuxian shot back with a grin.

Xue Yang opened his mouth, ready to retort, but a sharp slap to the back of his head cut him off.

"Enough, brat," Han Liu said in a stern voice. "Just say thank you and learn to appreciate what is given to you out of kindness."

Xue Yang immediately quieted, sulking but heeding the warning. Wei Wuxian raised a brow, intrigued. Somehow, the older cultivator had managed to gain a certain authority over the unruly child, effortlessly curbing his more wild tendencies.

They arrived in Yiling late, their journey mostly uneventful. After securing rooms at the best inn in town, they settled in for the night—he and Lan Zhan sharing a room, while Xue Yang stayed with the brothers.

Before turning his attention to cleansing the Burial Mounds, Wei Wuxian wanted to reinforce the wards, ensuring some measure of safety for those who lived here.

Being back in Yiling felt strange, like returning to the ruins of a burned-down home. Not painful, just… odd. Life continued as usual—people going about their business—but the city was quieter. Fewer people walked the streets, and the usual cacophony of street vendors and peddlers hawking cheap talismans and miracle cures was noticeably subdued.

At the entrance to a familiar alley, Wei Wuxian stopped. This was where he had woken up eight years ago. The space looked smaller than he remembered, filthier. Slowly, he stepped forward, his gaze tracing the outline of the small corner where he had once taken shelter. Lan Zhan walked beside him, a silent guardian angel.

The corner was still there, unchanged. The straw that once provided meagre comfort had long since disappeared, but the dampness, the stifling scent of mildew and decay—it lingered. How had he endured this? The resilience of street children was truly remarkable.

Lan Zhan took his hand, drawing him close in silent comfort. He understood. No words were needed.

Wei Wuxian took a deep breath, then turned away from the dark alley, leaving the past behind for now. The market, though quieter than he remembered, was still alive with movement and the murmur of voices.

That was when he saw her.

She stood by her small cart, just as she had all those years ago, with two large baskets filled with steaming buns. Wei Wuxian approached slowly, his heart unexpectedly light.

"A dozen dumplings, please," he said gently.

The old woman smiled at him, nodding as she began to prepare his order. She didn’t recognize him. Too much time had passed. She looked older now, more bent, with deeper wrinkles lining her face. But that same kind smile remained, and when she spoke, her voice was still the same—gravelly but warm, a soothing, familiar rumble.

"Here you go, young master. These are the best buns you’ll ever eat," the old woman said warmly as she handed over the neatly wrapped buns.

"I know, Auntie Lee," Wei Wuxian replied, smiling. "Years ago, I was once gifted these very same delicious buns because I played a ‘mean ditzy’ and looked like I really needed them." His voice wavered slightly, an unexpected warmth rising in his chest. He blinked rapidly, feeling tears prickle at the corners of his eyes.

The old woman paused, studying his face closely, as if trying to place a long-forgotten memory. Wei Wuxian smiled wider, and then—

She gasped.

"That smile… those eyes…" Her hands trembled as she reached for him, as though she needed to be certain he wasn’t a mirage. "Little Wei Ying? Look at you! You’ve grown so much—such a handsome young man!" Her bright smile was filled with both joy and disbelief.

She turned her gaze to the man standing beside him. "And this young man?" she asked curiously.

"Ah! Allow me, Auntie Lee," Wei Wuxian said with barely restrained excitement. "This is my husband—the great Lan Wangji." His voice brimmed with pride and happiness. Lan Wangji bowed to the old woman with the elegance expected of him. 

"Husband?" she echoed, momentarily confused. She examined Lan Zhan seriously, as if committing him to memory. Then, as if a long-buried realization struck her, she gasped again, glancing between them. Her hand flew to her mouth in shock.

"The wedding of the century… it was you? You married  Second Young Master Lan?"

Wei Wuxian laughed, shaking his head. "The wedding of the century? Really, Auntie Lee? There must be some exaggeration there," he said, feeling an uncharacteristic warmth creeping into his cheeks.

"Dear boy," she chided, eyes twinkling with amusement, "news of your wedding spread far and wide! My son wanted to attend, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans." She cackled to herself, clearly delighted. "You must know by now how notorious the event was!"

Wei Wuxian groaned playfully, covering his face with one hand. "I was hoping people would eventually forget."

"Forget?" Auntie Lee scoffed. "Not in this lifetime!"

"So you are Wei Wuxian," she said in awe, her voice tinged with reverence. "The Wei Xiao Jun," she added, pride evident in her tone. "A great cultivator already at such a young age—and married too," she tsked good-naturedly, shaking her head as though she couldn't quite believe it.

"Wait, what did you call me?" Wei Wuxian asked, surprised by the title she had just given him.

"You mean Wei Xiao Jun?" Auntie Lee laughed, clearly amused by his confusion. "What, you didn’t know how people referred to you? Young master—everyone knows you mostly by this title, then by your name!"

Wei Wuxian blinked, still in disbelief. "Now there’s a humble cultivator, if I ever saw one," Auntie Lee teased. "To not even know his title."

Wei Wuxian shook his head, feeling a mix of confusion and slight embarrassment. "I wasn’t aware of any titles," he admitted. Wan Shangcheng sometimes called him Wangzi, but that was usually in private. But this… he had no idea

Auntie Lee chuckled. "Well, it seems even the great Wei Xiao Jun has his moments of humility," she said with a wink. "But don't worry, everyone knows who you are. You just didn’t hear it all this time because you do not listen to gossip!"

Wei Wuxian chuckled again, a bit flustered but touched by her words. "Auntie Lee, you're making me sound much more impressive than I deserve." He glanced over at Lan Zhan, who was still standing quietly beside him, his gaze calm but filled with quiet pride.

"You’ve always been special, little Wei Ying," Auntie Lee continued, her smile warm and knowing. "Even when you were just a street rat, I could tell you'd grow into someone extraordinary."

Wei Wuxian felt a lump form in his throat at her kindness. "Thank you, Auntie Lee," he said softly. "I never forgot your kindness, not for a single day."

"I know I’m just a small old woman in Yiling," Auntie Lee said, her voice full of warmth, "but would you two esteemed young masters do me the honour of coming to my humble house this evening for dinner? My son would be very happy to meet you again, Wei Wuxian." She bowed slightly, a gesture of genuine hospitality.

Wei Wuxian stopped her from bowing further, his heart light. "Thank you for the invitation, Auntie Lee. We will be honored to taste the delicious meal prepared by you."

"Aahhh, you flatterer!" Auntie Lee exclaimed, laughing as she waved her hand in mock embarrassment. "Stop making this old woman blush!"

"I’ll be waiting for you tonight, then," she said, a bright smile spreading across her face. "You already know where I live."

Wei Wuxian grinned, glancing at Lan Zhan before asking, "Can we bring two friends and a brat?"

Auntie Lee raised an eyebrow, amused. "Master Lee already knows the other two," he said with a knowing smile.

Auntie Lee chuckled, then nodded. "It’s settled, then! Be there at eight."

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan walked back to the inn in a quiet daze. "Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian said softly, his voice full of disbelief, "I have a title."

"Mn," Lan Zhan responded, his gaze steady and warm. "Wei Ying is a strong and honorable cultivator. His title is well earned." There was clear pride in his voice, something that made Wei Wuxian's heart swell.

"Wei Xiao Jun, the Smiling Gentleman," Wei Wuxian whispered to himself, still a bit dumbfounded. The title felt so foreign on his tongue.

He paused for a moment, mulling it over. "I guess there's not much I can do about it. Titles are given by others in the wake of great deeds or heroic actions, and once they're given, you can't just give them back," he mused aloud.

Lan Zhan glanced at him, his eyes soft. "You don't need to give it back."

Wei Wuxian smiled, a quiet, fond expression crossing his face. "And this time, it’s a much lighter one. I like this one much better."

This was the true proof that his path had changed for good. The title, the respect, the honor—it was all a reflection of the man he had become. No longer the misunderstood, rebellious cultivator of the past, but someone who had earned his place through strength, kindness, and deeds that mattered.

Wei Wuxian smiled to himself, the weight of it all sinking in. For the first time in a long while, he felt at peace with who he was—and with the life he had built.

Chapter Text

The wards surrounding the Burial Mounds were riddled with weak spots—so many, in fact, that it was a wonder their only troubles were wandering corpses and low-level monsters. All day, he and Lan Zhan had patrolled the perimeter facing Yiling, walking the length of the barrier and soaring above the valley to inspect every last thread of its protection.

The Burial Mounds stretched across a vast valley nestled between two rugged peaks, sloping westward until it met the deep gorge that severed it from the rest of the mountain range. The only route to Yiling was a narrow, treacherous ledge skirting the gorge’s edge, ending an hour’s walk from the village. To the southeast and east sides, sheer rock walls formed a natural barrier, shielding the valley from outside intrusion.

The northern boundary, however, was far more precarious—partly defined by the gorge and partly by a steep drop leading into a perilous forest, teeming with resentful creatures drawn to the lingering malice of the mounds. Here, the wards were at their weakest, left neglected for centuries. Those facing Yiling had been better maintained, yet still fell far short of what was needed.

​Restoring the wards was no simple task, but with Lan Zhan's assistance, along with Han Zhang and Han Liu, they would be able to reset the barriers and implement stronger protections for the people of Yiling. That endeavour was slated for tomorrow; today was dedicated to mapping the area to determine the exact surface they needed to seal and to better understand the valley's perimeter.​

Wei Wuxian was no stranger to the Burial Mounds. After all, he had once cleansed the area. However, he wanted to ensure that nothing significant had changed, as the new wards he planned to implement differed slightly from those before, incorporating additional specific functions for enhanced security. In his previous life, after purging the mounds, he had taken ownership of the land—a vast expanse that proved to be extremely fertile. Life had flourished there, as if something long suppressed had been unleashed, springing forth with unbridled vitality.

​Although the Rogue Cultivators Guild was still in its nascent stages, the response from those invited to join had been overwhelmingly positive. Wan Shangcheng had already commissioned the construction of the Caiyi headquarters, with completion anticipated before year's end. Given the enthusiastic assistance from both the rogue cultivators and the local residents of Caiyi, the project might well be completed ahead of schedule.

​Wei Wuxian envisioned establishing another headquarters in Yiling. This region had long been neglected, leaving its inhabitants without adequate support from cultivators. By founding a guild headquarters there, he hoped to provide much-needed protection and, over time, uplift the community from the entrenched poverty that had plagued them for centuries.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan later met with the Yiling magistrate, Magistrate Fu, a small, thin, middle-aged man with a sickly complexion, who couldn't stop bowing upon learning their identities. Despite the many times he had seen it , the deference commoners showed cultivators remained jarring, especially considering how little they received in return, even when dutifully paying their taxes.​

Once the magistrate settled down, they were seated in a small private room with tea and snacks. Wei Wuxian attempted to explain the purpose of their visit in the simplest terms possible, clearly outlining their intentions. However, the magistrate appeared to face some challenges, looking at them with wide, uncomprehending eyes—nodding his head but not truly appearing to grasp the meaning. After Wei Wuxian finished explaining, he awaited a reaction beyond the bewildered expression the magistrate currently wore.​

After a moment of silence, Wei Wuxian asked carefully, "Magistrate Fu, did you understand what I just told you?"​

The magistrate hesitated before replying, "Yes, I think I did, esteemed cultivators." He cast wide-eyed glances in their direction. "You wish to establish a headquarters for the Rogue Cultivators Guild here in Yiling, you seek my assistance in finding a suitable location, and wish to know if the people of Yiling would be amenable to this?"​

He continued, "Do you understand what you are proposing? There are three other villages in the same situation as Yiling—not far from that cursed place—poor and ignored by everyone, but with nowhere else to go. Yet, you wish to build a guild here, in this place forgotten by all heavens and gods above." He looked genuinely surprised. "Why?"

Wei Wuxian was caught off guard by the question, taking longer than necessary to respond. It was clear that Magistrate Fu understood their intentions—he simply couldn’t fathom why they had chosen Yiling.

"Magistrate Fu, my apologies for asking this, but do you truly believe the people of Yiling do not wish for a better future and greater protection? Or do you think they would oppose it?"

The magistrate pressed his lips together as though holding back tears, lowering his gaze to the table. He took a few deep breaths before speaking, his voice unsteady, unshed tears glistening at the corners of his eyes.

"Want?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Esteemed cultivators, if you succeed in doing what you have just proposed, the people of Yiling will build temples in your honour. Do you have any idea how much pleading it takes before a sect finds enough kindness in their hearts to offer aid? We have relied on rogue cultivators for centuries, but they only pass through—many never return."

His expression hardened with determination. "If you are truly serious about this, I will do everything in my power to assist you. And I can guarantee that not only will the people of Yiling agree, but every soul who has lived here for more than a few years will stand with you and help in any way they can."

Magistrate Fu proposed an old manor on the outskirts of Yiling, near the river that ran a few miles south of town. Soon, they discovered it was the same site where the former Wen supervisory office had once stood at the start of the war. Since there had been no war-driven claim or dictatorial plans for dominance, the Wen never reclaimed it.

During their visit, Magistrate Fu explained that the manor had originally been built by a merchant, drawn by Yiling’s inexpensive land. However, he had not lived there long—after the tragic deaths of his wife and son, blamed on the miasma from the Burial Mounds, he attempted to sell the estate. But with no buyers, the place had been abandoned.

"It has remained under the care of the magistrate's office for as long as I can remember," Fu said. "We sealed it off to prevent looters from scavenging materials, and despite the years, it has remained structurally sound. It will require repairs, esteemed cultivators, but I can provide workers and materials. However, we lack the means to offer financial support."

​Wei Wuxian responded, "We do not require financial support, Magistrate Fu. Your assistance with materials and manpower is more than sufficient." As he inspected the elegant window screens, he inquired, "What is the cost of this property?"​

Magistrate Fu replied, "There will be no charge. I can transfer the property to your name immediately. The owner passed away years ago, and with no claims made, it now belongs to the magistrate's office." He bowed deeply and added, "Put it to good use, esteemed cultivators, and we will be forever grateful."

​"That is extremely generous, Magistrate Fu," Wei Wuxian remarked.​

Magistrate Fu shook his head. "It is you who are generous, esteemed cultivators. Your plans for this property will bring much-needed peace and prosperity to us all—a priceless gift."​

They agreed to meet the following day to sign the deeds for the manor and the surrounding land, which extended to the river and deep into the forest west of Yiling. The sizable property offered ample space for future expansion.

Wei Wuxian leaned closer to Lan Zhan and whispered, "What will he do when he learns that I plan to cleanse the Burial Mounds?"​

Lan Zhan's lips curved into a subtle smile as he replied, "Find out."​

Embracing the challenge, Wei Wuxian turned to Magistrate Fu, who was in the process of closing the gates. "Magistrate Fu," he called out, "I intend to replace the wards on the Burial Mounds tomorrow. If the weather is unfavourable, it may take an additional day. With this, I hope you'll experience fewer disturbances from the resentment lingering there and from the creatures that lurk within."​

He continued with a smile, "In the future, I plan to cleanse the entire mountain. The system I've developed requires a bit more refinement, but I believe that within the next two years, it will be feasible."

Wei Wuxian’s words left Magistrate Fu staring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, much like a fish caught in the open.

"Beg your pardon?" Fu stammered, still processing the information.

Wei Wuxian repeated himself, "I said I intend to cleanse the Burial Mounds in the future, so a headquarters like this will be very useful."

"Can you do that, esteemed cultivator?" Fu asked, a note of disbelief in his voice. "No offense meant, but many have tried and failed. Even entire sects united could do nothing more than establish those wards. Please, don’t tease an old man. Such hopes have been beyond our reach for too long."

The tremor in Fu’s voice deepened, and Wei Wuxian’s smile faded as he realized the magnitude of what he’d just said. He quickly reassured the magistrate, "Magistrate Fu, I am a man of my word, and my husband here can confirm."

Wei Wuxian pointed to Lan Zhan, his voice becoming more resolute, "He is a Lan. They do not joke or tease with serious matters. He can vouch for my character. When I say the chances of success are high, I am not lying. This is our plan, and we are determined to put it into action, not just offer words and promises."

But before Wei Wuxian could finish, Magistrate Fu suddenly prostrated himself before him, his forehead hitting the ground with a hard thud.

"Magistrate Fu, what are you doing?" Wei Wuxian exclaimed in shock. "Get up now! I am not the emperor—please, get up!"

Despite Wei Wuxian’s protests, Fu remained on the ground, his face wet with tears. The sheer admiration in Fu’s gaze made Wei Wuxian uncomfortable. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Panicking slightly, Wei Wuxian pulled the magistrate up by force. "Please, you’re making this difficult for me."

Maybe he should have been more careful with his words. The poor man was on the verge of having a stroke.

After some time, they managed to calm the distressed magistrate and secured his promise to keep their plans confidential for now. Wei Wuxian wished to avoid causing unnecessary panic or prompting more instances of people prostrating themselves before him or Lan Zhan.​

By the time they returned to town, Magistrate Fu appeared more composed and noticeably happier. Perhaps, for the first time in years, he glimpsed a future filled with hope. They agreed to reconvene the following evening to finalize the paperwork for the property. The magistrate assured them that all documents would be prepared by then.​

With arrangements in place, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan headed to the inn to prepare for Auntie Lee's dinner invitation and to inform the others who would be joining them.

The atmosphere in the Lee household was warm and relaxed, despite an initially awkward moment when the stoic Lan Zhan entered. Everyone felt at ease, focusing on genuine hospitality rather than attempting to impress. The Han brothers quickly reconnected with Master Lee, who was delighted to see Wei Wuxian. Upon learning that Weixiao Jun was Wei Ying, the husband of the Second Jade of Lan, Master Lee expressed his admiration.​

"Had I known it was you, I would have made every effort to attend the wedding," Master Lee said with a smile. "I would have loved to see you dressed in red. People said that you rode to the Cloud Recesses astride a magnificent black steed beside your husband, and they likened you to two young immortals on their way to heaven."​

​Wei Wuxian flushed slightly, scratching the back of his head. "Wow, people do like to exaggerate," he said, a bit embarrassed. "I barely remember what happened that day, but I do recall there was a very big crowd."​

Han Liu shook his head in disbelief. "Big crowd? So many people came from far away they had to set up camp tents on the outskirts of Caiyi because there was no more room in the inns."

"I barely reached the Cloud Recesses in time; the crowd was densely packed along the way," Han Liu continued.​

Han Zhang added, "Not to mention that Wan Shangcheng and Qingheng Jun organized tables in Caiyi and around Gusu so those who came from far away could have something to eat. Everyone was very pleased by the thought."

​Wei Wuxian, feeling a surge of embarrassment, swiftly changed the subject to divert attention from the wedding tales. He hadn't realized the profound impact their union had on so many. Glancing at Lan Zhan, he sensed a quiet satisfaction emanating from his husband. It was evident that Lan Zhan was content, perhaps because the celebration had accorded Wei Wuxian the recognition and acclaim Lan Zhan always believed he deserved.

​Wei Wuxian, aiming to steer the conversation away from the wedding anecdotes, inquired, "How are things around Yiling? I've noticed fewer people on the streets than I remember."​

Master Lee responded, "Not much to tell, young master. People come and go around here. If you're not born here, you're likely to leave sooner rather than later. Even those born here, if they're lucky enough to find better opportunities elsewhere, seldom hesitate."​

He continued, "Life here is harsh. People tend to die young. I, along with a few others, are exceptions. There's always been more disease..."​

Auntie Lee added, "We tend to grow roots here and be close to our neighbours; that makes life less challenging in a place like this. Going somewhere else and starting all over is harder and not worth it. What if we are not welcome in other places? You know the saying: 'There is no place like home.'" She nodded thoughtfully.

"What brings you to Yiling, young masters?" Auntie Lee inquired.

"We've come to help," he replied. "We're reinforcing the wards around the Burial Mounds and have already had a productive discussion with Magistrate Fu about establishing a headquarters for the Rogue Cultivators' Guild."

He continued, "My guardian, Wan Shangcheng, came with the idea of a guild to unite cultivators unaffiliated with any sect. We've already begun constructing one in Caiyi and hope to complete it by the end of the year. Three major sects—the Gusu Lan, Qishan Wen, and Qinghe Nie—have pledged their support."

"And every rogue cultivator we've spoken to is enthusiastic about the initiative," Han Zhang added.

Their host regarded them for a long moment before Master Lee finally spoke, his tone questioning. "So, a sect for rogue cultivators?"

"No, not a sect—a guild," Wei Wuxian clarified, emphasizing the distinction. "Sects are built around bloodlines and clan loyalty, while a guild is founded on a shared craft. In our case, cultivation. The hierarchy will be based on merit, not lineage."

"And you want to establish one of its headquarters here in Yiling?" Auntie Lee asked.

"Yes," Wei Wuxian replied. "Magistrate Fu assured us that the locals would not be opposed to it."

"Opposed to it?" Auntie Lee scoffed. "Young master, no one in their right mind would object to such an endeavour. This will be immensely beneficial for all of us—why on earth would we disagree?"

"That mountain has brought us nothing but trouble, and now you come to reinforce the wards and bring cultivators with you," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "No one will oppose you—I can guarantee that. More than that, this means we will no longer have to rely on those lofty sects who see us as nothing more than beggars." Disdain coloured her voice as she spoke.

"You truly are Wei Xiao Jun, Wei Wuxian," she said, her voice full of admiration. "Wear that title with pride and never let anyone stop you from achieving such a marvellous plan."

Wei Wuxian, however, always found it difficult to accept compliments and praise. He had been uneasy with such words, aware of how easy they could be turned against him. Envy and greed were powerful motivators, and those who wielded them rarely recognized the injustices they spread. For them, their gains and power were far more important than the consequences left in their wake.

It was easy to say, not to mind their hatred and jealousy, to ignore their sharp tongues spreading rumours and lies, and to live your life without regrets. Wei Wuxian had tried to do that once—and he had failed miserably. The truth was, he couldn't simply shrug off their poisonous words and vile gossip anymore and he would fight back. He wouldn't let their hatred lead him to his death or the destruction of everything he held dear. Instead, he would carry on, determined to protect what mattered most, no matter the cost.

Early the next morning, Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, and the two brothers set out for the Burial Mounds to install the new wards. Xue Yang was left with Auntie Lee, and despite his protests, he easily succumbed to her company, especially when the promise of delicious sweet buns was mentioned.

The group worked through the day, placing the anchor stones and carefully engraving the sigils on them. They then set the main array in the centre of the mounds, where the resentment was thickest. Thanks to Wei Wuxian's talismans and personal wards, the task was not as difficult as it would have been without such protection.

The weather was kind, allowing them to finish before nightfall. Once activated, the wards formed a dome-like barrier around the entire area—larger than the original protected zone. The ward had a few added specifications, such as a "fight-back" feature. If anyone tried to breach or copy the ward system, a severe backlash would strike the intruder, ensuring the security of the mounds and its secrets

Another key feature of the wards was their ability to prevent anyone from entering—or being forcibly thrown inside. The barrier would block any passage, ensuring that neither intruders nor the creature within could cross its threshold.

Additionally, the wards possessed a cleansing property, maintaining a constant flow of pure Qi through the wards. They would absorb resentment both from within and outside the barrier, gradually purifying the surroundings while using the refined energy to sustain themselves.

"You are truly a master, Wei Xiao Jun," Han Zhang whispered in awe, his brother nodding in agreement as they gazed at the wards. "I can already feel the resentment clearing around me—the pressure is fading... I can actually feel it."

"Good," Wei Wuxian said, his sharp eyes fixed on the wards. "That’s exactly what they’re meant to do. In a few weeks, there will be very little resentment left outside these barriers. Nothing will escape, and the people will be safe—at least until I face the final task... the cleansing."

"We will return tomorrow to see how they hold," Lan Zhan said quietly.

Wei Wuxian nodded, and with that, they all headed back to town. Upon arriving, they met with the magistrate to finalize the signing of the property deeds.

When they informed him that the wards had been successfully established, the magistrate nearly collapsed to the ground again. This time, however, Wei Wuxian was ready—he swiftly caught him before he could prostrate to them again.

The next morning, they returned to the wards and found everything functioning as intended. Satisfied with their work, they began planning their next journey—to Meishan, or more precisely, the small clan east of Meishan that specialized in war fans.

Their goal was to set Huaisang up with a proper cultivation plan, knowing full well that his notoriously lazy brother would never commit to wielding the sabre. They had encountered this small yet formidable clan in their past life and had been impressed by their skill and power, despite their seemingly innocuous choice of weaponry.

However, they couldn't take Xue Yang with them. Since the Han brothers were staying in Yiling to oversee the renovation of the new headquarters, it was decided that the brat would remain with them. Naturally, Xue Yang objected—loudly—but his protests were unexpectedly and swiftly silenced by Han Liu. There was an unmistakable authority in the man's presence, an unknown power over the boy that made it startlingly easy for him to correct his behaviour.

Wei Wuxian was intrigued. He couldn’t help but wonder what a few weeks under the Han brothers’ watchful eyes would do for Xue Yang’s character.

It would be just him and Lan Zhan on the road again. Ah, the memories—those long, wonderful days and breath taking nights.

Chapter Text

As they arrived at the Dailing Sect, a breathtaking sight unfolded before them—forested hills embraced crystal-clear streams that wove through narrow valleys, leading to a secluded settlement. Bamboo houses, built on stilts with wide, covered terraces, nestled harmoniously within the lush greenery.

This was the home of a small yet resilient community, founded by women cast adrift in a world ruled by men. Their ancestors had been widows and scorned wives, concubines and courtesans, bastards and orphans—those who had nowhere else to turn. When they first encountered this sanctuary in their past life, they had been astonished by the inclusivity and harmony that thrived here. People from all walks of life lived together, not merely surviving but flourishing, cultivating and crafting a unique way of life.

They had stayed for months, and Wei Wuxian, in particular, had been drawn to the sect’s open and liberated form of governance. Here, leadership was not determined by bloodline but by merit—skill, wisdom, and the ability to guide others. The ruling couple shared power as equals, dividing responsibilities according to their strengths rather than rigid tradition. It was a society unlike any other, free and unshackled by the constraints of the outside world.

They would be strangers to the people here now, but that didn’t dampen the warmth in Wei Wuxian’s heart. He was simply happy to return—to these rolling, verdant hills and the breath-taking mountains to the east, their jagged peaks forming an intricate lacework against the horizon.

He and Lan Zhan stood just beyond the sect’s protective wards, the very ones he had helped reconstruct in his past life, waiting for the guards to announce their arrival. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint, familiar aroma of fermenting spirits.

“I can’t believe we’re here again, Lan Zhan,” he whispered to his husband, a quiet excitement in his voice. “After all these years, I never thought I’d see this place again. And I definitely can’t wait to taste that amazing drink they make here.” He hummed in delight at the memory, a grin tugging at his lips.

Lan Zhan’s gaze softened, and a subtle trace of amusement crept into his usually steady voice. “Is that why you’re so happy to be here?”

Wei Wuxian turned to him with a wide, mischievous grin. “Of course not—but it’s a pretty big factor.”

The guard returned, accompanied by a younger version of Yan Tangshi—one of the sect’s leaders. Though she appeared more youthful than he remembered, the sharp, assessing glint in her eyes remained unchanged. Suspicion lay comfortably on her features, as if it had always belonged there.

She approached with measured steps, maintaining a respectful distance. After a brief pause, she inclined her head in greeting and spoke in a firm, steady voice. “How can I help you, Daozhangs?”

Wei Wuxian responded with a deep bow, Lan Zhan mirroring his gesture with quiet elegance. Straightening, he offered a bright, easy-going smile.

“We are travellers in search of a master skilled in war fans and small weapon cultivation. We have heard that such expertise may be found here,” he said smoothly. “We come in peace and seek only to expand our knowledge in all matters of cultivation. In exchange, we may be able to provide you with talismans and warding techniques.” His grin widened, effortlessly disarming, the very picture of charm.

The woman’s gaze flickered between them, unimpressed by Wei Wuxian’s easy charm. Arms crossed, she regarded him with cool scepticism.

“You look rather young to be offering us wards and talismans,” she remarked, her tone even but firm. “Such arts take years to master. I’m sure you understand my hesitation.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled, undeterred. “We understand your caution, Sect Leader, and I’m well aware of my own age.” He pressed his hands together in a polite gesture. “Perhaps we should have introduced ourselves first. This one is Wei Wuxian, and the beautiful person beside me is my husband, Lan Wangji.” He turned slightly, gesturing to Lan Zhan with an unmistakable fondness.

“Please forgive our intrusion, but our request is sincere,” he continued. “We believe that your sect’s cultivation techniques might be the key to helping my sworn brother, who struggles with more conventional styles.” His voice was warm but earnest, his usual playfulness tempered by genuine respect.

Yan Tangshi took her time assessing them, her sharp gaze lingering on each of them in turn. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji waited patiently, neither pressing nor wavering under her scrutiny. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she inclined her head in a measured bow.

"I am Yan Tangshi, one of the leaders. Welcome to the Dailing Sect," she said, her tone more cordial now, if not exactly warm.

Without further words, she turned and led them through the village. The settlement was just as Wei Wuxian remembered—bamboo houses perched on sturdy stilts, narrow paths weaving through lush vegetation and children running freely . If his memory served him right, they were heading toward the sect’s official hall, a long and imposing structure set atop a solid stone foundation.

Inside, they were shown into a welcoming room that overlooked a vibrant green garden. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly steeped tea. They settled at a low wooden table, where steaming cups of tea and an array of delicate, fragrant snacks awaited them.

Yan Tangshi took a sip of her tea before regarding them once more. “So, what have you heard about us?” she asked, her voice calm but probing. “Your claims are unusual. Our techniques are not widely known beyond these hills, and we receive few travellers.”

Wei Wuxian smiled, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his cup. “Ah, but you do receive travellers,” he countered, his tone light but sure. “And it only takes one person, deeply impressed by your cultivation techniques, for word to spread. Those who seek knowledge will always find their way.” He took a sip of tea, savouring its warmth before adding, “I was advised by a rogue cultivator—someone who, apparently, had knowledge of your sect—to come seek your expertise.” The lie sat heavy on his tongue, but he could not reveal the truth. 

Yan Tangshi studied him carefully, her expression unreadable, but Wei Wuxian could sense the shift—her wariness, while still present, was beginning to ease.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the quiet filled only by the distant rustle of leaves and the soft clink of porcelain as they sipped their tea. Then, through the open garden doors, a man entered.

He was dressed in simple training robes, the kind worn for ease of movement rather than ceremony. His presence was steady but unassuming, his posture relaxed yet commanding in its own way. Stopping before them, he gave a formal bow.

“I am Yan Shiyun, the other leader of the Dailing Sect,” he introduced himself, his gaze settling on them with quiet curiosity.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan immediately rose, returning his bow with equal respect before reintroducing themselves. Once everyone was seated again, Yan Shiyun regarded them with a measured smile.

Ah, Wei Wuxian remembered him vividly. The man was just as he had been back then: calm, composed, and deceptively unremarkable in appearance, only younger now. But beneath that exterior was a fierce cultivator—and an even fiercer drinker.

Well, almost. Because as Wei Wuxian recalled, he had won that drinking contest. No one could outdrink him, after all. A grin tugged at his lips at the memory.

"Your sworn brother—who is he?" Yan Tangshi asked.

"He is Nie Huaisang, the Second Master of the Nie Sect," Wei Wuxian replied. "He never had a talent for, nor did he enjoy, the cultivation style practiced by his clan. I believe you could truly help him. He is an avid collector of fans, and if he were to master smaller weapons instead of the Nie Sect’s heavy sabres, he might become a better cultivator and  would be able to defend himself. That way, we wouldn't have to worry so much about his safety."

Wei Wuxian knew all too well that Huaisang had carefully crafted his image as weak and incompetent to avoid rigorous training, making himself seem harmless and unworthy of attention. Yet, no disguise was failproof. As a noble, he remained a potential target, and no amount of feigned uselessness could change that.

"We have heard of him," Yan Tangshi said thoughtfully. "A known patron of the arts." She exchanged a glance with her husband before continuing, "We have long traded with merchants from the north, but recently, the demand for our fans, paintings, poetry, and storybooks has surged. Many of our artists use aliases, yet their works sell exceptionally well in Nie territory. Only recently did we discover that the most ardent patron of these arts is none other than the Nie Sect’s Second Young Master himself."

Wei Wuxian grinned widely at the couple. "That is undoubtedly him. His appreciation for beauty is rare among the members of his clan. But as his sworn brother, I can't ignore an opportunity to help him grow stronger—and I truly believe that in him, you will find an invaluable ally." He was certain that if Huaisang discovered that some of his favourite fans and poetry originated from this place, he might very well decide to settle here permanently.

Yan Shiyun regarded him with an expectant smile. "We are not opposed to teaching him some of our techniques, but we ask for one thing in return—anonymity. We have lived here for centuries, safe and hidden from the cultivation world. Our prosperity lies in remaining unknown, and we have no desire to change that. We will help your friend, but only if he respects this request. And you as well, of course."

"You have nothing to worry about," Wei Wuxian assured them. "I understand all too well the value of being left alone—especially when one has no interest in meddling with sect politics." His tone turned slightly sombre at the end, a shadow of past experiences flickering in his voice.

"And no one understands the importance of discretion better than Nie Huaisang, Sect Leaders," Wei Wuxian continued with a knowing smile.

Yan Tangshi nodded in understanding. "Very well, then. We agree to help him. He may come when he feels ready, but he must understand that our techniques take years to master. He will need to leave his home for a considerable time. We do not send our masters beyond our lands to teach—if he wishes to learn, he must come here himself."

"I understand, Sect Leader. That is entirely reasonable," Wei Wuxian replied. "And I believe my sworn brother will be more than happy to reside here, surrounded by artists and like-minded individuals who share his passion."

He paused before adding with a warm smile, "In gratitude, I would like to offer something in return. I am highly skilled in the art of talismans and wards, and I would be more than happy to assist you in this regard."

"I am well aware of your skills, Young Master," said Yan Shiyun. "We have been using your preservation talismans for some time now, and they have greatly improved the quality of our shipments—fruits and other perishable goods arrive from distant regions in far better condition. Moreover, your recently released personal warding talismans have proven invaluable to our cultivators during their night hunts. Weixiao jun is quite well-known around here."

Wei Wuxian blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected to be recognized by his title in such a remote place. It made sense in Caiyi Town, but this far south? "So, even this corner of the world has heard of me," he murmured, slightly embarrassed.

Lan Zhan, ever serious, responded in his signature deadpan tone, "Wei Ying is a great cultivator. His name should be known everywhere."

"Ah, Lan Zhan, stop saying things like that, or these people will think I’m nothing but an attention seeker—when the only attention I want is yours," Wei Wuxian said, grinning as he watched a faint blush creep up his husband's ears.

Yan Shiyun chuckled, watching their interaction with amusement. "I must confess, when I first heard of your wedding, I assumed it to be a political arrangement. Clearly, I was mistaken." His eyes gleamed mischievously.

Wei Wuxian shifted slightly, looking a little flustered, but before he could respond, Yan Shiyun continued, "Do not feel embarrassed, Young Masters. Here, love is something to be celebrated." Then, with a teasing lilt to his voice, he added, "That said, I do ask for a measure of decency in public spaces."

Wei Wuxian laughed good-naturedly at the man. In his past life, Yan Shiyun had been a pleasant companion, and this younger version of him was just as lively and entertaining.

In the end, they agreed to Wei Wuxian’s offer to craft new wards, as the ones they currently used were quite old. Of course, he had already known that—that was precisely why he had made the offer in the first place. However, for any talismans he chose to share, he would be fairly compensated.

Not that he minded much. At the very least, he had the chance to help some very old friends—friends he was truly happy to reconnect with.

They remained in Dailind for about two weeks—Wei Wuxian busied himself setting up the wards, while Lan Zhan, to his own quiet surprise, made a few young friends. Some of the  children, destined to become exceptional musicians in the future, were naturally drawn to his skill. Knowing this, Lan Zhan couldn’t resist offering a few guqin lessons to those interested.

Despite his cold exterior, the children quickly grew fond of him. It didn’t take them long to realize that beneath his serious demeanour was someone whose guqin playing was nothing short of divine. Even some of the more senior musicians joined his lessons, leading to long discussions afterward about the intricacies of music cultivation.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian found himself competing against Yan Shiyun once more in a drinking game—and winning. But with Yan Shiyun’s easy-going nature, victory hardly mattered. As long as the company was entertaining, he was content. And Wei Wuxian? He could be very entertaining—especially when alcohol was involved.

This particular wine was unlike anything he had tasted before. It retained a light fizziness from the fermentation process, giving it a unique texture with a pronounced sweetness and depth of flavour. Of course, his strong cultivation prevented him from truly getting drunk, but that didn’t stop Lan Zhan from shooting him a very stern look over his excessive drinking. Not that it mattered—Wei Wuxian always made sure to earn his forgiveness after in very imaginative ways.

Beyond drinking and long pleasant conversation with Yan Shiyun, Wei Wuxian also gave lectures on talismans and arrays to those interested. His lessons quickly gained an enthusiastic audience, particularly among the younger crowed , who took to calling him Smiling Gege—because really, how could he not smile when surrounded by so many adorable faces?

Leaving was more difficult than he had anticipated. Wei Wuxian had grown fond of the freedom and simplicity of this place—where there were no rigid rites or suffocating etiquette, only the natural courtesy of everyday interactions. People here spoke openly, with a rare straightforwardness that had become increasingly scarce, especially among the gentry.

He could not leave without making a promise to return—because he would return. Sooner or later, this place would call him back.

Chapter Text

Beneath the vast night sky, they soared upon their swords, the stars and luminous moon guiding their way through the darkness. Flying beside Lan Zhan was a quiet delight—Wei Wuxian found himself stealing glances every minute, captivated by his husband's graceful posture. The pale blue and white of Lan Zhan’s robes shimmered under the moonlight, lending him the ethereal presence of an immortal traversing the heavens. Even his dark hair, caught in the night breeze, seemed to move with elegant precision—a stark contrast to Wei Wuxian’s own untamed locks.

Unlike Lan Zhan, he neither dressed in pure white nor adorned the signature forehead ribbon. Still, he honoured the Lan Sect’s colours in his own way—his inner robes were white and blue, while silver-embroidered cloud motifs adorned the edges of his dark blue outer robe. Red was ever-present in his attire, adding a touch of defiance and vibrancy to his look. Now, he wore deep crimson under-robes beneath the midnight blue, a deliberate balance of tradition and individuality. He had never been forced to conform to the Lan Sect’s strict dress code, and since no one objected, he saw no reason to. Only in formal settings did he yield, opting for varying shades of blue as a compromise.

They chose to travel through the  night, hoping to reach the next town in time to secure a room at the inn. After walking for some time, they mounted their swords, soaring through the tranquil, moonlit sky to hasten their journey. The night was bright, the air warm and still—perfect conditions for flying.

As they neared the town, Wei Wuxian suddenly felt a powerful surge of resentment. The intensity of it nearly threw him off balance. He scanned the surroundings but saw nothing out of the ordinary—though that meant little, given how deeply attuned he had been to resentful energy ever since the Burial Mounds.

"Lan Zhan," he called, his voice sharp with urgency. His husband turned to him at once, immediately sensing the gravity of his tone.

"Resentment. Strong. I can feel it," Wei Wuxian said, pulling out a talisman and activating it. The paper charm flared to life, then shot forward, leading them toward the source of the disturbance. Without hesitation, they followed.

The talisman guided them to a wide clearing near a ravine, where several cultivators were locked in battle against three enormous yaoguai. The signs of exhaustion were clear—their movements sluggish, their expressions strained. Two cultivators already lay motionless on the ground. Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan exchanged a brief glance, then descended into the fray without a word.

Wei Wuxian landed on one side, Lan Zhan on the other. Without hesitation, he flung seven talismans into the air, arranging them into a seven-point array with a swift flick of his fingers. His voice rang out, firm and commanding:

"Fall back toward the treeline! Now!"

The remaining cultivators obeyed instantly—whether out of relief or sheer exhaustion, he couldn’t say. The moment the last one retreated, Wei Wuxian activated the array, trapping the yaoguai before they could pursue their fleeing prey. The creatures howled and thrashed against their confinement, but the barrier held strong.

Without pause, Wei Wuxian drew his dizi, and Lan Zhan his guqin. Together, they began playing—the same song they had once used to exorcise the Xuanwu of Slaughter. The haunting melody filled the clearing, its power pressing down on the monstrous creatures. Enraged, the yaoguai turned their attacks on the ones weakening them, but the array kept them contained.

They played without pause, the music chipping away at the beasts' strength until their furious struggles slowed… then ceased. Their bodies withered, dark energy draining from them, until all that remained was dust scattered on the wind.

Sensing the lingering unrest in the air, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan shifted their melody, the notes of rest now soft and soothing—a song of release. Slowly, the resentment dissipated, and with it, the restless souls tied to the place. Peace settled over the clearing once more.

Though drained from the long flight and the exorcism, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan were still far better off than the cultivators they had just aided. As they approached, Wei Wuxian took note of their robes—Meishan Yu.

The leader, a woman in her forties, stepped forward as soon as they were within speaking distance. The moment Wei Wuxian got a proper look at her, recognition flickered in his mind—he had known her in his previous life. She bowed deeply.

"Daozhangs, the Meishan Yu Sect thanks you for your assistance—for quite literally saving our lives. We are in your debt," she said, her voice steady and polite despite her exhaustion.

Wei Wuxian waved off her deference with an easy gesture. "No need to trouble yourself with such things right now," he said lightly. His gaze flickered to the unconscious cultivators. "Is everyone alright?"

The woman studied her people for a moment before giving a firm nod. "Yes. Our wounds will heal, and they will survive."

"Good," Wei Wuxian said, letting out a deep breath. "We should get everyone to safety and tend to their wounds." He gestured toward the unconscious cultivators. "Do you need help carrying them?"

The woman shook her head. "No, we can manage. We have rooms at the inn in town—it’s not far." Then, with a polite inclination of her head, she added, "Please, come with us. At the very least, allow us to thank you with a meal."

Wei Wuxian grinned. "I wouldn’t say no to that. And we were heading that way anyway."

With that, they set off together. Too exhausted to fly, they walked the rest of the way, reaching the town about an hour later.

Upon arrival, they were given a room to rest and invited to join the Meishan Yu cultivators for breakfast the next morning. Wei Wuxian gladly accepted before retreating to their quarters, eager for a bath and to rest for what little remained of the night

"She is Yu Xitian, the heir to the Meishan Yu Sect," Wei Wuxian said as soon as they were inside.

"Mn. I remember her from some cultivation conferences," Lan Zhan agreed.

"I met her at Lotus Pier once when she came with her mother—the real Madam Yu. That woman was terrifying, even more so than her daughter, Yu Ziyuan," Wei Wuxian said with a dramatic shudder. "Yu Xitian was quiet but had a commanding presence. And from that encounter, all I learned was that Yu Ziyuan did not like her older sister."

"Does Yu Ziyuan like anyone?" Lan Zhan asked, his tone as cold and dry as a winter breeze.

Wei Wuxian blinked, then grinned, wide and delighted. "Ah, my dear husband, I will never get used to this side of you. And to think—people say you're boring. If only they knew!" He sighed dramatically, then shot Lan Zhan a pair of lovestruck, exaggeratedly moony eyes.

The next morning, a bit later than usual, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan entered one of the more private rooms in the inn, designed for discreet meetings.

Yu Xitian stood as they entered, inclining her head politely. Beside her was a young man in his early twenties, his striking resemblance to her making it clear he was likely her son.

"I apologize for not introducing myself earlier," she said with a slight smile. "I suppose last night’s ordeal took a toll on all of us."

She carried herself with quiet confidence and an air of elegance, her presence commanding without being overbearing. Her attire was simple but made of high-quality materials, practical yet refined—ideal for night hunts.

"I am Yu Xitian, heir to the Meishan Yu Sect," she introduced herself matter-of-factly, with neither arrogance nor an air of superiority. "And this is my eldest son, Yu Chengyong. We are very grateful for your assistance." She bowed her head slightly in appreciation.

"Wei Wuxian greets Yu Xitian and Yu Chengyong," Wei Wuxian said, returning the bow with respectful ease.

"Lan Wangji greets Yu Xitian and Yu Chengyong," Lan Zhan added, his bow precise and elegant.

Yu Xitian’s smile deepened. "Ah, I thought as much," she said, her tone warm. "Please, sit and feel at ease. We are among friends here."

With a subtle hand signal, she motioned to a servant waiting by the door. Moments later, food and drinks were brought in and carefully arranged on the large table before them. The servant was dismissed as soon as everything was set.

"Not knowing your preferences, I ordered a bit of everything," she said, gesturing toward the wide array of dishes.

"Do not worry yourself about it, we’re not picky eaters," Wei Wuxian said with an easy smile.

"But you do enjoy good wine, don’t you?" Yu Xitian asked, lifting a large covered ceramic jar with a measured look. "This is one of the finest wines Meishan has to offer." Her sharp gaze settled on him, studying him with unsettling intensity.

Wei Wuxian chuckled, though he couldn't ignore the piercing scrutiny. "Well, who doesn’t like wine, Yu Furen?"

Yu Xitian’s lips curved slightly, but her gaze remained knowing. "Lan Er-gongzi, I know, does not indulge—his strict adherence to clan rules makes that quite clear. But as his husband, I assume you still partake, despite those rules?"

Wei Wuxian hesitated. Was she present at his wedding? He didn’t remember much about that day—it was all a blur of ceremony and emotion.

"Ah, about that…" he started, scratching his nose. "It has been convened that some rules can be bent, considering I am not currently in the Cloud Recesses." He grinned mischievously. Not that he hadn’t bent the rules inside Cloud Recesses as well.

"I am sure it has," Yu Xitian said, giving Wei Wuxian a knowing smile.

"Wei Ying is not forbidden to indulge in things that bring him joy and pleasure," Lan Zhan said, his tone firm and serious.

"Oh, I am sure he is not," she replied, amusement flickering in her eyes. But she let the topic drop with a light clap of her hands. "Enough about that—let us enjoy this magnificent meal."

They did not eat in silence. Conversation flowed easily, light and pleasant, touching on nothing in particular. The atmosphere was warm, and by the time tea was served, Yu Xitian began recounting the events of the previous night.

"It was supposed to be a mid-level yao, not three high-level yaoguai," she said, shaking her head. "I brought a few juniors with me, hoping to expand their experience. Only three senior cultivators accompanied us—one of them being my son."

"Your juniors held their ground remarkably well against such powerful beasts," Wei Wuxian noted. "They were quite impressive."

"Not as impressive as Wei Xiao-jun," she countered, a note of respect in her voice. "I have never seen such a display of skill and power. You are truly remarkable cultivators, Wei Xiao-jun ,Lan Er Gongzi." She smiled at them—not just in gratitude, but with something else.

There was pride in that smile, and it unsettled him. Being proud of one’s son, one’s disciple—that he understood. But pride for a stranger? That was harder to grasp.

"Thank you, Yu Furen," Wei Wuxian said sincerely. "Your praise means a lot to me."

A few moments later, Yu Xitian turned to her son. "Please go check on the juniors," she instructed.

Yu Chengyong nodded, bid them farewell, and left. A dismissal if Wei Wuxian had ever seen one.

Then, Yu Xitian looked at them, her expression contemplative, as if choosing her next words carefully.

"The array you used," she began, "I have never seen anything like it before. Combined with your unique music, it created an incredibly powerful effect." She paused, thoughtful. "Just the two of you managed to exorcise three high-level creatures in about an hour. That is… rare."

Yu Xitian’s expression grew distant, as if she were recalling something from long ago. The faraway look in her eyes softened her features, giving her a more youthful appearance. Then, suddenly, she turned to Wei Wuxian and smiled—a warm, almost fond smile.

Wei Wuxian was taken aback. He blinked, frowning slightly. "Is everything alright, Yu Furen?" he asked, uncertain. He wasn’t sure what to make of the situation.

"Yes, Wei Wuxian. I am well." She paused for a moment before continuing, her voice gentler. "You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago."

"Really?" he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

"Yes," she said, her smile deepening. "Your mother."

Wei Wuxian stared at her, momentarily speechless. She knew my mother?

It wasn’t strange—his parents had travelled widely, and their reputations were well known. But this was yet another high-standing cultivator who had known Cangse Sanren personally. It was becoming a pattern he hadn’t expected.

"We were quite close, actually," Yu Xitian said, her voice laced with nostalgia. "We hunted together a few times—less so after she got married, but we still met occasionally when chance allowed it."

Wei Wuxian leaned forward slightly, eyes alight with curiosity. He loved to hear stories about his mother, and this was someone who had fought alongside her.

"The first time I met you, you were barely a year old—the happiest baby I had ever seen," she continued with a fond smile. "You were absolutely adorable. Of course, now you're a very handsome young man, but as a baby? Simply precious."

Wei Wuxian stared at her expectantly, hanging on to every word. And she did not disappoint.

"After she married that Wei Changze, we only night-hunted together once," Yu Xitian went on. "But she was a fierce cultivator. She might as well have been a Yu—she never knew her own roots, after all. I told her that the Yu clan would have been proud to call her their own."

She took a deep breath, as if sifting through old memories. Then, with a chuckle, she added, "She even impressed my mother in a single meeting. Can you imagine? She actually made my mother take back her words. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but she apologized to  Cangse."

Yu Xitian shook her head in astonishment. "I had never seen my mother apologize to anyone before."

Wei Wuxian’s mind drifted back to memories of Yu Zongzhu—the head of the Yu clan. He could still remember her fierce demeanor, a gaze so sharp it felt like it could cut through metal. In his previous life, he had met her only once, during one of her visits to Lotus Pier. Yu Ziyuan had arranged a friendly sparring match between the disciples to impress her mother with the talents of the Jiang sect’s disciples she trained. Wei Wuxian had been paired with Jiang Cheng at the time, and naturally, he had won.

But what stuck with him all these years wasn’t the match itself—it was the piercing, approving look Yu Zongzhu had given him. He had felt both scared and honoured at the same time, knowing how much weight her approval carried. He could still recall the cold, calculating way she watched him, her nod of acknowledgment as minimal as it was significant.

To think that his mother had actually made that woman apologize to her—it was almost impossible to imagine. Wei Wuxian’s respect for his mother only deepened in that moment.

Damn… He thought, a small smile tugging at his lips. My mother was fierce.

Yu Xitian laughed softly, clearly amused by Wei Wuxian's surprise. "She used to call me Tiantian," she continued, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I hated that nickname. And she always laughed when I protested."

Wei Wuxian froze, his eyes widening in recognition. He had heard that name before. Tiantian. His mother had told him stories about a great cultivator named Tiantian who made monsters quake in fear and men bow before her might. A brilliant and powerful figure who seemed larger than life in his mother’s stories.

"My mother used to tell me stories about a great cultivator named Tiantian," Wei Wuxian said, his smile widening as the pieces fell into place. "She made monsters quake in their skins and men bow in front of her might." He chuckled, clearly fond of the memory. "I loved those stories. Was that you, Yu Furen?"

Yu Xitian’s eyes twinkled, and she nodded, albeit with a touch of irony. "I guess, I was the only Tiantian she  knew." She sighed, shaking her head, as if the memories were both fond and slightly exasperating. "God, that woman… She really liked to tease, but not in a mean way. She was always kind and generous, but heaven forbid you stepped on her wrong side..."

She smiled wistfully, her voice softening with admiration. "Fierce, I tell you."

Yu Xitian’s expression softened, a shadow of sorrow passing over her features. "She never backed down from a challenge," she said, her voice tinged with melancholy. "Maybe that was what ultimately brought about her death. She had no sense of self-preservation—fiercely protective, yet willing to take very high risks."

Wei Wuxian, hearing those words, understood all too well. I got that from her, he thought. The reckless courage, the willingness to dive headfirst into danger without a second thought for my own well-being. It had been his mother’s way of living, and  it  has been  his own, too for a long time.

"When I learned about your parents' death, I asked Fengmian if he knew what had happened," Yu Xitian continued, her eyes distant. "He said he was looking for you so I sent a few Yu cultivators to inquire as well, and eventually, I heard you were somewhere in Caiyi, under the care of a local lord. I was relieved, knowing you were being well taken care of."

She paused, her gaze turning a bit more solemn, but with a warmth that touched her words. "Then I attended your wedding to Lan Er-gongzi here. Your mother would have been so proud of you. You looked magnificent—and you seemed very happy."

Wei Wuxian felt a bittersweet wave of emotion wash over him at the thought of his mother’s pride, even if it was no longer something he could receive from her directly. It warmed him, yet reminded him of all that had been lost. He offered Yu Xitian a small, grateful smile. "Thank you," he said softly. "It means a lot to hear that."

Yu Xitian's tone turned sharper as she spoke, a trace of bitterness in her words. "I wish they would have accepted the offer to join our sect after Wei Changze left the Jiangs," she said, shaking her head in disappointment. "But she said no—something about her husband’s loyalty to the Jiangs." She sighed, clearly frustrated. "Stupid, if you ask me. It may seem honourable to everyone, but trust me—Jiang Fengmian is not an honourable man. When he specified that one of the conditions for setting Wei Changze free was that he would never join another sect, that’s not honourable."

Wei Wuxian was taken aback. "What?" he asked, clearly surprised by this revelation.

"Oh yes," Yu Xitian continued, her voice laced with disdain. "That was the condition set forth by Sect Leader Jiang for his friend’s freedom. Trust me, he was no friend to Wei Changze." She shook her head, her tone dripping with contempt.

This explanation suddenly made a lot of sense to Wei Wuxian. It explained the silence from his parents, their reluctance to speak about the Jiangs. It also shed light on the tensions that had remained unspoken all these years.

Yu Xitian's voice softened slightly, but there was still a hint of bitterness. "It’s a good thing you didn’t end up in the Jiang sect. You wouldn’t have fared too well under the rule of that man and my sister."

Although Wei Wuxian had always known about Madam Yu’s animosity toward his mother, he raised an inquisitive brow. "But Madam Yu is a powerful cultivator—no one can deny that. Yet, she hated my mother so much?"

Yu Xitian sighed, her face softening into a more reflective expression. "My sister is a powerful cultivator, yes. But her pride and ego are her greatest weaknesses. She hated your mother because she gained my mother’s approval so easily, while Ziyuan still struggled to gain recognition. It was my mother’s biggest mistake—raising all three of her daughters in such a competitive environment. To Ziyuan, everything was a competition. And if she didn’t win, she became bitter and angry."

Wei Wuxian listened quietly, taking in the complex emotions behind Yu Xitian’s words. There was a mix of resentment, regret, and sorrow there. It seemed that behind the powerful façade of Madam Yu, there had been a deeply competitive and fragile person struggling for validation—a struggle that had undoubtedly shaped the way she viewed his mother.

Yu Xitian’s expression darkened as she continued, her voice laced with regret. "Instead of redirecting that frustration and anger into something constructive, she always blamed everyone else but herself," she said, shaking her head in disappointment. "She never took responsibility for her mistakes, and if you ever pointed that out, you became her enemy instantly" She sighed deeply. "Your mother had no filter, it’s no wonder my sister hated her—especially since Cangse was more popular and well-liked than her."

There was a moment of silence as Yu Xitian collected her thoughts, the weight of the past clearly still pressing on her. Finally, she sighed, her expression softening. "But enough about the past. Come to Meishan sometime," she said, her tone lighter. "I want to see my mother's reaction to you, and I would really like to get to know you better. Now that we’ve met, it would be a shame not to stay in touch."

Wei Wuxian smiled, appreciative of her warmth and sincerity. "It would be our pleasure, Yu Furen. We will make sure to plan a visit to Meishan in the near future," he said, the offer genuine.

The conversation shifted after that, becoming lighter as the meal progressed. However, it didn’t last long, as their duties soon called them to leave for Yiling and then to the Unclean Realm to inform Huaisang about his future training plans. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but reflect on everything he had learned about his parents, particularly the deep complexity of Jiang Fengmian’s actions toward his father  for leaving the Jiang sect.

The promise his father made—never to join another sect—was not entirely uncommon, but the context made it more telling. To place such a condition on someone you considered a dear friend only spoke volumes about the superficiality of their relationship. It revealed a possessiveness that spoke more to fear and insecurity than to genuine friendship. Jiang Fengmian’s actions painted a picture of a man who feared losing control, not a friend who wanted the best for his companion. Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of disillusionment. Jiang Fengmian wasn’t a friend to Wei Changze—he was just a master who wanted to keep his hold on his disciple.

Chapter Text

Yiling, a modest town forgotten by the world and weighed down by poverty, was nevertheless laid out with practicality in mind. At its heart, two main roads crossed to form a central axis, around which the essential structures gathered—markets, shops, and civic buildings forming a compact, purposeful core. Radiating outward, residential quarters emerged in concentric layers: some still alive with daily life, others weathered and crumbling, and a few entirely deserted as one approached the town’s fringes. Scattered farms dotted the outermost edge, forming the final trace of human settlement.

From this boundary, it took roughly an hour on foot to reach the first ward of the burial grounds. Beyond it, the path continued upward—another hour’s climb—to the secluded  large valley cradling the heart of the burial mounds, the way up skirting the edge the deep ravine.

The Guild's new headquarters stood at the southern edge of town, not far from the river. Surrounded by an expansive stretch of land, it could be reached from the town centre in about half an hour. Though it was the property farthest from the burial mounds, it was still close enough that in the past  the lingering resentment emanating from them was still felt.

Upon arriving in town, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan flew straight over the burial mounds to inspect the wards. They began their survey from above before descending to examine them more closely on the ground. Everything appeared intact—no visible damage—but Wei Wuxian could still sense faint traces of tampering, attempts to breach the barriers.

“So, word has spread,” he murmured.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan replied, his voice as expressionless as ever, though Wei Wuxian could still detect a hint of irritation beneath the surface.

“I hope at least a few of them got the message,” Wei Wuxian added with a grin, casting a sidelong glance at his husband.

The ‘fight back’ mechanism he had woven into the wards delivered a powerful pulse of spiritual energy through any intruder’s meridians, incapacitating them for a month or more—a firm reminder not to meddle in matters beyond their understanding.

Outside the wards, the lingering resentment had diminished significantly. The sky was clearer than Wei Wuxian had ever seen in these parts—a vast, open blue unmarred by haze or gloom. Though he could still detect faint traces of the dark energy, it became almost imperceptible the closer they drew to town.

It was late afternoon, and the atmosphere in town felt unusually vibrant. The streets bustled with activity, and there was a noticeable shift in mood—people moved with ease, and more faces wore smiles than he remembered. The change was subtle but deeply felt.

As soon as the townspeople spotted them, everything ground to a halt. Vendors paused mid-sale, children stopped playing, and adults bowed deeply in respect. Some called out titles he recognized, while others addressed them with honorifics he hadn’t heard before.

“Weixiao-jun, Zhuangyan-jun—welcome back!”

It took Wei Wuxian a moment to realize that they were addressing Lan Zhan. He turned to his husband, a wide grin blooming across his face.

“Zhuāngyán-jun—that’s you, Lan Zhan! You’ve got a new title now. A little different from the last one, but still suits you perfectly.”

Lan Zhan’s ears turned a faint shade of pink. “I like it,” he said simply.

“You’re not the ‘Light Bringer’ this time,” Wei Wuxian continued with amusement, “but the ‘Solemn Lord.’ Not quite as flashy, but very appropriate, I think. Everyone else sees you as dignified and composed.”

Lan Zhan said nothing, but the look in his eyes softened, and Wei Wuxian knew he was pleased—if a little embarrassed.

From within the crowd, the town magistrate emerged, hurrying toward them with a wide smile that softened his usually sickly appearance. The joy on his face made him seem years younger. As he reached them, he bowed deeply, his voice brimming with sincerity.

“Weixiao-jun, Zhuāngyán-jun—welcome back!”

Wei Wuxian waved a hand lightly, his tone cheerful. “Please, Magistrate Fu, there's no need to bow so low. All this formality for a couple of young cultivators barely past the cusp of manhood—it's a bit much, don't you think?”

“No, no, esteemed cultivators,” the magistrate insisted, straightening only slightly. “You deserve every bit of the respect you're shown—and more. What you've done for this town in just a few short weeks... even all the great sects combined couldn’t achieve in centuries.”

He gestured around them, voice full of quiet wonder. “Since you raised the wards, the resentment has vanished completely. The air feels lighter. The sky has never been this clear, and the sun shines brighter than it has in living memory. I don’t exaggerate—I've lived here for over forty years, and even the elders say the same.”

Wei Wuxian glanced up at the sky, lips curling in a thoughtful smile, while Lan Zhan stood silently at his side, eyes calm but attentive. The warmth of the townspeople’s welcome, the sincerity in the magistrate’s voice—it all settled around them like a blanket of contentment, that something did improve and they did made their lives easier

“Nonetheless, it would put us more at ease if you toned it down a little,” Wei Wuxian said kindly, his smile easy.

“Of course, Weixiao-jun, I understand,” Magistrate Fu replied, visibly relaxing. “Just know that all of us are truly grateful.”

“Well,” Wei Wuxian added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “you are our elder—it should be us bowing to you, not the other way around.”

“Absolutely not, esteemed cultivators,” the magistrate said, suddenly firm. His tone shifted, carrying the weight of a decree. “In this town, you bow to no one—young or old.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Wei Wuxian chuckled softly, raising his brows at Lan Zhan. “Well then,” he said under his breath, “I suppose we’ve been officially up ranked.”

Lan Zhan gave the faintest of nods, the corners of his mouth just barely lifting.

Turning to the magistrate, Wei Wuxian asked, “So, what’s the latest news?”

“Well,” Magistrate Fu began, brightening a little, “the rehabilitation of the old manor is nearly complete. The main buildings and a few of the annexes have been fully restored. The two Daozhangs you left in charge have been tremendously helpful—not just with the construction, but also with helping  the townspeople. A number of rogue cultivators have joined the rebuilding efforts too—acquaintances of the Daozhangs, from what I gather.”

He paused, his expression shifting subtly, voice turning more sombre. “We also received some visitors from the major sects—mostly from the Jiang sect, a few from the Jin, and representatives from several smaller ones in the surrounding region.”

He gave a slow shake of his head. “There was a bit of a conflict when the Jiang visited for the third time—this time accompanied by Jiang Furen.”

Wei Wuxian arched a brow. “Jiang Furen? What happened?”

“I’d never met her before, but I’ve heard... stories. And she certainly lived up to her reputation. The Han Daozhangs would be able to explain better, but from what I know, she insisted on visiting the Burial Mounds.”

He hesitated, then added with a note of unease, “They came back with two of their cultivators unconscious. The Daozhangs were not pleased.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “And the cause?”

“The healer said he couldn’t treat them. He’s not a spiritual healer, and their condition appeared to be related to their qi. Their meridians weren’t damaged, exactly, but... disrupted. He suspected something to do with an echo or backlash from a ward.”

Wei Wuxian exchanged a quick glance with Lan Zhan, whose eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“She left with the unconscious members of her sect, to be treated by the sect healer” the magistrate went on, ” and threatened to return to demand compensation. But so far, she hasn’t reappeared.”

Wei Wuxian sighed softly. He had expected interference from the Jin sect, but it seemed the Jiang might prove just as troublesome. Whatever peace he'd hoped for was likely to be more complicated than he'd imagined.

Magistrate Fu, unaware of the cultivator’s thoughts, continued speaking with growing enthusiasm.

“As word spread, merchants began arriving in Yiling to see things for themselves. Quite a few of them have decided to stay—or return soon—after witnessing the improvements first-hand,” he said, nodding as if affirming his own words.

“When the news got out that the Guild had the support of three major sects, they saw an opportunity—an emerging region on the brink of prosperity. They want to be the first to take advantage of the current situation.”

He glanced around, clearly proud of what had been achieved. “It’s like the founding of a new sect,” he continued. “The merchants who arrive first secure the best deals, gain favour, and often enjoy greater long-term success. They foresee prosperity growing around the Guild... and so do I.”

His voice held conviction, a quiet pride that brought a faint smile to Wei Wuxian’s face.

“That was our intention from the beginning, Magistrate Fu,” said Wei Wuxian, his tone sincere. “We wanted to offer support so people could rebuild their lives—and hopefully, thrive.”

“And it will do just that, Weixiao-jun,” the magistrate replied with quiet conviction. “That, I guarantee.”

When they finally arrived at the old manor, Wei Wuxian stopped in his tracks, momentarily stunned. It was almost unrecognizable.

The once-crumbling outer walls had been replastered and now looked as though they’d just been built. The heavy gates gleamed, polished to within an inch of their lives. Every structure on the estate stood proud and pristine, their roofs clean, their paint fresh. Even the gardens had been revived—neatly trimmed, vibrant with colour, and laced with carefully repaired stone pathways that wound gracefully between flowerbeds and ornamental trees.

Inside, the transformation continued. Sunlight streamed through repaired windows screens with beautiful carved wooden lace, casting golden patterns across polished floors. New drapes in rich, calming hues fluttered gently in the breeze from the  opened doors. The furniture had all been restored—lacquered wood gleamed, cushions looked plush and inviting, and not a speck of dust lingered. The air smelled clean, touched with the faint scent of flowers and fresh linen.

Everything shone with new life, a testament to the collective effort of those who had worked to restore it. It no longer resembled the haunted husk it once was—it was a home, full of light and promise.

“Everything is perfect,” Wei Wuxian whispered, his gaze sweeping over the polished surfaces, the soft colours, the quiet sense of luxury that spoke of great care and attention to detail. It wasn’t opulent—but it was warm, welcoming, and thoughtfully crafted. A space that invited peace.

“Thank you, Weixiao-jun,” Magistrate Fu said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “I’m truly glad everything is to your liking.”

Just then, a side door opened, and Han Zhang stepped inside. He paused at the threshold, smiled warmly, and bowed.

“Ah, I thought I heard familiar voices. Welcome back. I hope the journey wasn’t too difficult—or too dull?”

“Han Daozhang,” said Magistrate Fu, returning the bow with respectful ease. “I was just showing Weixiao-jun and Zhuāngyán-jun the progress that’s been made.”

“Thank you, Magistrate Fu,” Han Daozhang replied with a smile. “Come, let’s go into the office and sit down. There’s fresh tea waiting.”

With a quiet gesture, he ushered them forward, the sunlight catching on the newly lacquered wood as the group made their way into the heart of the manor.

Seated around a large low table, the four of them sipped tea as they discussed the renovations in greater detail. Magistrate Fu laid out several documents—ledgers noting materials already delivered and those still en route—his meticulous handwriting marking every column.

Beside him, Han Daozhang unfolded a detailed blueprint of the manor’s planned expansion, scheduled to begin next month. It included newly designed disciples’ quarters, an east-side extension to house guest dormitories and wandering cultivators, and an entirely new wing intended for long-term residents. The expansion would easily double the size of the original estate.

Wei Wuxian examined the layout with an approving nod. He had foreseen this growth and was pleased it was unfolding even sooner than expected.

Once some final logistical and administrative matters were resolved, Magistrate Fu took his leave, bowing once more before exiting with the quiet grace of someone well-versed in giving cultivators their privacy.

As the doors closed behind him, Han Zhang let out a slow breath and poured them all fresh tea.

“Now,” he said, voice lowering slightly, “let me bring you up to date on the matter of the wards.”

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan both leaned in slightly, expressions shifting to quiet attentiveness.

“It seems word of mouth can’t be stopped,” Han Daozhang began, tone dry. “Once people heard new wards had been raised around the Burial Mounds, cultivators from all over started showing up to take a look. Most didn’t cause trouble. They came, they looked, they left. Some insisted on meeting the ward’s creator, and when told you weren’t here, they left behind invitations—most of them for you to visit their sects.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen such an assembly of self-important cultivators in my life. The Jin, in particular—their tone made it sound as though offering you an invitation was a priceless honor, as if you should be groveling in thanks.”

He snorted. “But the worst were the Jiang. They came multiple times and spent hours up there. Every time I checked on them, they got prickly—agitated. On their third visit, they brought Madam Yu and a larger group. I was notified immediately.”

A grim expression crossed his face. “When I arrived, two of their senior cultivators—later revealed to be their ward masters—were attempting to access one of  the anchor stone. Most likely to study the sigils. I warned them against it.”

He gave a humourless chuckle. “That’s when Madam Yu stepped right into my face and told me to stop meddling in Jiang Sect business.”

His eyes narrowed at the memory.

“Not long after, a pulse of energy from the wards rendered both ward masters unconscious. Chaos erupted. Madam Yu accused me—and my brother—of attacking them. She demanded I explain the workings of the array so they could heal their disciples.”

Han Zhang sipped his tea before continuing, his tone even but laced with quiet irritation.

“I told her the truth. Only the two of you—the creators—have knowledge of the complete array and sigils. I manage the area, but the design itself is beyond me.”

“She didn’t like that answer,” he added dryly. “For a moment, I honestly thought she’d suffer qi deviation out of sheer fury.”

Wei Wuxian gave a low whistle.

“She took them to the local healer, but as he explained, he isn’t trained in spiritual healing. There was nothing he could do. In the end, they took their unconscious cultivators and left—but not before she threatened to return and demand compensation.”

Han Zhang met Wei Wuxian’s gaze. “I told her plainly: since she attempted to breach wards that did not belong to her—essentially trying to steal —any claim to compensation was void. And if she wished to escalate matters, we’d bring the issue before the Chief Cultivators for mediation.”

There was a beat of silence as the weight of the account settled between them. Then Wei Wuxian leaned back slightly, eyebrows raised.

“Lan Zhan,” he said with a faint grin, “I think our wards are working perfectly.”

“Mn. Did she contact you after?” Lan Zhan asked quietly.

“No,” Han Zhang replied, shaking his head. “But I did send a letter to Sect Leader Jiang, informing him of the incident—emphasizing that tampering with wards not your own is considered a serious offense, tantamount to theft. I also sent a similar report to Sect Leader Nie.”

“Good,” Lan Zhan said with a small nod, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his otherwise calm face.

“No other problems since then?” Wei Wuxian asked, lifting his cup again.

“Nothing major,” Han Zhang replied. Then, after a moment’s pause, he added thoughtfully, “I don’t know if Jiang Fengmian was aware of what Madam Yu was doing… but the mention of involving the Chief Cultivators seemed to cool things down—at least for now.”

He turned slightly to glance out the window. Night had fallen quietly, blanketing the garden in shadows and soft starlight.

“How is Xue Yang doing?” Wei Wuxian asked, the boy's face flashing across his memory.

Han Zhang chuckled. “He’s… not a bad kid, really. A little unhinged, maybe. The time he spent on the streets left its mark—he’s rough around the edges, defensive, quick to bite back. But my brother manages him well. They've grown close, surprisingly. And then there’s Auntie Lee. He’s like a different person around her. It’s strange to watch, actually.”

“Sounds like someone’s found his people,” Wei Wuxian murmured, amused.

“He has potential,” Han continued, “very bright. Quick learner. Picks up cultivation techniques faster than expected. He’s got a sharp mind—and a sharper tongue. Aside from a few minor pranks, nothing serious has happened.”

He paused, then grinned, clearly holding back laughter.

“Did I mention that he hates cultivators?”

Wei Wuxian blinked, then laughed. “He what?”

“Yeah,” Han said, chuckling. “When I pointed out the irony—how he’s training to become one—he snapped at me. Said, ‘I’m a guild cultivator, not one of those pampered, self-important sect brats.’”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “He really meant it, too. The way he said it… priceless.”

Wei Wuxian grinned at Lan Zhan, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “See? We’re raising rebels.”

Lan Zhan, expression unchanged, simply sipped his tea. But the faintest curve of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

They were shown to their quarters, located in the main section of the compound. The suite consisted of two adjoining rooms—one to serve as their bedroom, the other as a receiving area. Both opened onto a small, serene garden, where moonlight shimmered over a tranquil pond. If Wei Wuxian wasn’t mistaken, a few lotus flowers were gently swaying on the water’s surface, their pale blooms glowing faintly in the night.

The rooms held an understated elegance. The design favored comfort and practicality over luxury or ostentation. Soft rugs covered the floors, and low tables surrounded by plush cushions invited quiet conversation or peaceful rest. Everything exuded warmth and calm—a space crafted for real living, not display.

Wei Wuxian took it all in with a contented smile. It was perfect. He loved everything about it.

After a much-needed bath and a delicious meal, Wei Wuxian curled up in his husband’s arms for the night, drifting off to sleep almost immediately. The journey had worn them both down more than they realized, and rest came quickly and deeply.

The next morning, they took their time exploring every corner of the newly restored manor. Han Liu soon joined them, followed not long after by the ever-energetic Xue Yang—who, to Wei Wuxian’s mild surprise, looked genuinely happier than when they had left him in Yiling with the Han brothers.

He bounced around them, practically bursting with energy, excitedly showing off everything he had learned.  And still, he found time to complain, naturally.

“They made me kneel in the ancestral hall,” he groused, frowning. “There aren’t even any plaques there! Who was I kneeling to?”

Han Liu, clearly having heard this complaint more than once, replied in a flat tone, “The future ancestors.”

Xue Yang scowled. “Then I’ll kneel when they actually exist. Otherwise, it makes no sense!”

“Respect your elders, brat,” Wei Wuxian said sternly, though his eyes twinkled with amusement. “That man is your teacher and your guardian. Show some proper respect.”

Xue Yang opened his mouth to argue, but Wei Wuxian leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with mock gravity. “If you keep talking back, I’ll have Lan Zhan make you do handstands. And trust me… after that, you’ll be begging to kneel in the ancestral hall instead.”

The boy visibly blanched, clearly weighing the threat. Lan Zhan, silent beside them, didn’t even blink—but the faint arch of a brow was enough to seal the warning.

Xue Yang grumbled something unintelligible and stalked ahead, but not before muttering, “Still doesn’t make sense…”

Han Liu merely sighed.

“He’s not a bad kid,” Han Liu said pensively, watching Xue Yang dash ahead. “But he needs a lot of guidance—and more than that, he needs stability.”

He turned to face them fully, his expression calm but resolute. “Leave him here in Yiling, with me and my brother. He’s already found people he likes and trusts here. I don’t think moving him again would do him any good.”

“I was only planning to take him with us if he became too much for you and your brother to handle,” Wei Wuxian replied.

Han Liu chuckled softly. “He’s not too much—just your typical troublemaker. Up at the temple, we had plenty of kids like him. The older disciples helped guide the younger ones. I’ve had experience with difficult children before.”

A fond smile tugged at his lips as he added, “Besides, I’ve grown quite attached to the little brat.”

Wei Wuxian smiled warmly, glancing ahead where Xue Yang was crouched by a flower bed, poking at something in the dirt.

“I’m glad,” he said softly. “He deserves people who care.”

Later that day, Wei Wuxian penned a letter to Nie Qingwu, informing him that they would be arriving in Qinghe in about a week. Lan Zhan, in turn, wrote to his father, letting him know they would be staying in Yiling for a short while before making their way north.

They planned to depart in two days, taking the time to rest and enjoy a rare moment of peace before the next journey.

During that time, they met with several of the rogue cultivators who had joined the rehabilitation efforts. Many of them expressed a desire to settle permanently, drawn by the growing stability and purpose the guild offered. It was clear that Yiling was becoming more than just a temporary project—it was becoming a home, and for some, a second chance.

Later that evening, one of the rogue cultivators approached Wei Wuxian. She was a woman in her twenties, accompanied by her husband—both dressed plainly but carrying themselves with quiet strength. She had come to Yiling after hearing about the guild headquarters being built, hoping to find a stable place to settle. Now, with a child on the way, she sought not just safety, but a home.

The news warmed Wei Wuxian’s heart. He offered them his heartfelt congratulations and assured them they were welcome to stay and raise their family in peace. They reminded him, in some bittersweet way, of his own parents—what their lives might have been like had they had such a sanctuary. Perhaps things could have turned out very differently.

They sat together in one of the common rooms of the main building, lanterns casting a soft glow over the space. Once tea had been served, the woman seemed hesitant. She exchanged a glance with her husband, as if gathering her courage, then looked at Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan.

“I hope I don’t seem too forward, Weixiao-jun,” she began, voice cautious but sincere, “but may I ask… your father’s name?”

Wei Wuxian blinked, caught off guard by the question, but answered, “My father was Wei Changze. My mother was Cangse Sanren.”

The woman nodded slowly, then continued, “And… your grandfather?”

Wei Wuxian’s expression shifted slightly. “Why do you want to know?” he asked, his tone gentle but wary.

“I apologize if I’m being impolite,” she said, bowing her head, “but… was it Wei Jiwang?”

Wei Wuxian sat back, stunned. That name—he hadn’t heard it aloud in years. He’d only come across it once, long ago, in a forgotten payment record buried in the Jiang sect’s archives. He’d been helping Jiang Cheng prepare a report at the time, sorting through old financial records. The document had been misplaced among more recent files, but the name had stood out. When he’d asked Jiang Fengmian about it, the man confirmed that Wei Jiwang was his grandfather. A rogue cultivator. Apparently, he had been close to Jiang Fengmian’s father and was often commissioned for night hunts by the Jiang sect.

When Wei Jiwang died, the former sect leader took in his son—Wei Changze—and that, in time, led to the close bond between Wei Changze and Jiang Fengmian.

Wei Wuxian stared at the woman, thoughts swirling.

“…Yes,” he finally said. “Wei Jiwang was my grandfather.”

The woman let out a soft breath, her expression softening with a mix of relief and emotion.
"I thought so," she said gently. "My grandmother and your grandfather were first cousins."

Wei Wuxian froze, his thoughts grinding to a halt. A relative?
Could it be true?

"I know this must be a shock," she continued, her voice careful, understanding. "It was to me as well, when I heard that you were the son of Wei Changze. I never met your father myself, but… after Wei Jiwang’s wife passed, he left behind the rest of the family. We lost contact with him for many years, until we heard news of his death. Some of our elders tried to find his son afterward. That’s when we learned he had become a disciple of the Jiang Sect."

She paused, her expression tinged with quiet regret.

"But when they saw he was under sect leader Jinag’s protection, they decided not to interfere. He seemed to be in good hands, and our family… well, we’re rogue cultivators, and have been for generations. That life isn’t easy. They believed that if he had a better path ahead of him, they should not disturb it."

Wei Wuxian was silent, heart heavy with the unfamiliar weight of what could have been.

"We never knew he left the sect," she said softly. "Or that he married. We only heard, much later, of his and your mother’s deaths. But… we didn’t know about you. Not until now."

She looked at him with warmth in her eyes, a quiet sadness layered with hope.

Lan Zhan sat silently at Wei Wuxian’s side, his presence steady, grounding. Wei Wuxian finally found his voice, rough and quiet.

“That makes us…” Wei Wuxian started.

“Third cousins, I think,” she finished with a gentle smile.

“Yes, I guess it does.”
His smile broadened, a warmth blooming in his chest that he hadn't expected.

“Are there more of your family?” he asked, the question coming out quieter than he intended.

The woman nodded. “My father is still alive—he settled in a village near Baling. I also have a brother, a rogue cultivator as well. He plans to join me here later this year. He’s more of a wanderer than I am. After I met my husband, we started looking for a place to settle down. That’s what brought us here… but I never dreamed I’d meet a long-lost cousin.”

“Trust me,” Wei Wuxian said, chuckling softly, though there was a weight behind it, “I thought I was the only one left. I never searched because I was told there was no one else.”

His smile dimmed, just a little.

Back then… I didn’t even question it. Naive.

But how could he have? He had been shackled to the Jiangs, to their loyalty, their tragedy, their silence. They were the only family he’d ever known—and they had made sure it stayed that way.

He glanced at Lan Zhan, whose calm, steady presence was his anchor. Then back at the woman—his cousin—who looked at him with soft eyes and no expectations.

“You’re not alone,” she said gently, as if sensing the storm behind his gaze. 

Something loosened in his chest, something that had been locked tight for a long, long time.

“Thank you,” he said, voice quiet.

Chapter Text

They ended up staying an extra day in Yiling so Wei Wuxian could spend more time with his newly discovered cousin, Bai Biyu, and her husband, Guo Dong. During their conversations, he learned that his grandfather had once had an older brother who died young and childless—a common risk among rogue cultivators. It was a fate Wei Wuxian hoped to change for future generations.

Bai Biyu mentioned that she still had an uncle living in Zizhou, within the Meishan territory. Their relatives, it seemed, were scattered all across Jingwu, most of them wanderers, making it difficult to stay in touch. Still, Wei Wuxian hoped that once the guild was officially established, he could gather them all under its banner—reuniting what Bai Biyu jokingly called the "Wei Dynasty."

Another revelation from their encounter struck him deeply: his ancestors had been rogue cultivators for centuries. Their lineage, Bai Biyu said, was as old as any of the great sects—perhaps even older.

“The story we have about our first ancestor,” she told him, “is that she left her master's school because she disagreed with his teachings. Since then, the  Wei have always been free thinkers—never shackled by tradition or hierarchy. We’re the rebels, the ones who turn right when everyone else turns left.”

It all made sense now. His father had left the sect that bound him with outdated loyalties, choosing instead a life of freedom alongside Wei Wuxian’s mother. He carried the blood of two wanderers—no wonder rebellion and nonconformity came so naturally to him. He had always pushed back against classism and blind obedience. And ultimately, it was that spirit that led to his downfall.

He remembered Popo’s words before her death: “Master Wei, you gave us a great gift—the chance to die free. And for outcasts like us, there is no greater honour.”
Now he finally understood what she meant.
Better to die free than to live in chains.

Everyone had tried to burden him with debts—favours owed, loyalties demanded, expectations he never agreed to. But the Wei were never meant to live under the weight of obligation. For them, being bound by debt was a fate worse than death.

“We had a huge advantage when we came back into our younger selves,” Wei Wuxian said quietly. “We knew the future. We had decades of experience. But I’ve just realized something—when a Wei chooses freedom, even a short life becomes a better one. My parents died young… but they died happy. And that’s what I want too—to live freely, for however long I can.”

“No dying,” Lan Zhan said firmly, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Wei Wuxian smiled and leaned in to press a soothing kiss to his cheek. “It was a figure of speech, love. Don’t worry—I’ve got no intention of dying anytime soon.”

“No dying,” Lan Zhan repeated, voice low and steady, as he deepened the kiss.

They were nearing Qinghe and decided to rest for the night before the final leg of their journey to the Unclean Realm. Renting a quiet room in a modest inn, they allowed themselves the rare luxury of peace and warmth. After their usual nightly passion—a familiar dance of tenderness and fire—they lay tangled together beneath the covers, hearts steady, breath calm, basking in the golden afterglow of love.

Technically, he was now a member of the Lan Clan—but so far, no one had tried to weigh him down with duties or obligations. He and Lan Zhan were left to their own devices, free to wander as their hearts desired.

Qingheng-jun had made his stance clear from the start: though Wei Wuxian was part of the clan by marriage, he would always have the freedom to honour his parents’ legacy. And the more conservative members of the Lan sect kept their opinions to themselves—perhaps because his talismans were steadily lining their coffers.

Wei Wuxian had expected the wealth, of course. In his past life, his creations had brought considerable fortune to the Lan sect. This time, he’d simply chosen to monetize them earlier. He liked having money at his disposal—not for luxury, but for freedom.

With his share of the profits, he happily funded the founding of the Yiling Guild office entirely on his own. The Caiyi branch, meanwhile, had been established by Wen Shangcheng. Everything was falling into place with surprising ease—this time, he was building his future with open eyes and steady hands.

By midday the following day, they crossed into the familiar territory of the Unclean Realm. The air here was heavier—not with sorrow, but with the weight of memory, legacy, and quiet strength. Wei Wuxian hadn’t set foot on these grounds since their return. Much had changed, yet the land still whispered echoes of the past: the clash of blades, the lament of a fallen, and the fragile hope of something reborn.

Lan Zhan walked silently at his side, their hands brushing now and then—a quiet, grounding touch that tethered him.

At the gates, they were greeted by Nie Huaisang, impeccable as ever. His robes were crisp, his smile just a touch too knowing.

“Aiya, look who’s finally come to visit! The great Founder of the Yiling Guild—Weixiao-jun—and his esteemed husband, Zhuangyan-jun, no less. Shall I prepare tea… or open the wine?”

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “Wine. Definitely wine,” he said, then glanced playfully at Lan Zhan. “And tea, of course.”

“Perfect,” Nie Huaisang said, his fan snapping open with a practiced flick. “There’s much to discuss. Your Guild is causing quite the stir—some sect leaders are intrigued. Others… less so.”

Wei Wuxian smirked. “That just means it’s working.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes sparkled. “That, or you’ve become an even bigger headache in this life than the last.”

They were escorted to the guest quarters and later joined over a late afternoon meal by Nie Qingwu. The conversation soon turned serious. While the Unclean Realm had pledged support in principle, the finer details still needed to be defined: training partnerships, designated safe zones for rogue cultivators, and ways the Nie Sect might benefit from becoming a strategic ally.

Lan Zhan mostly listened, offering the occasional quiet insight, allowing Wei Wuxian to lead. And it struck Wei Wuxian how much had changed—not just in the world, but within himself. In his past life, he had spoken loudly from the margins, driven by desperation. Now, he spoke with conviction, with clarity—and beside him stood someone who had chosen to stay, again and again.

“The Guild can offer support during night hunts,” he said. “I also plan to organize lectures to encourage the exchange of cultivation techniques and experiences—not just  doctrine, but practical knowledge that can actually make a difference out there.”

He leaned forward slightly, tone earnest. “An agreement would also grant you access to any new techniques the Guild develops.”

Nie Qingwu studied the contract again, then nodded. “I want to add another stipulation,” he said, tapping the paper. Wei Wuxian looked at him, intrigued.

“I want it written that any attack on Guild cultivators within Nie territory will be treated as an assault on the Nie Sect itself. Those responsible will face consequences—not just from the Guild, but from us as well.”

Wei Wuxian blinked, a little ashamed not to have thought of it first. “That’s a very good idea,” he said sincerely. “I agree, Sect Leader Nie.”

“If the Guild gains popularity,” Huaisang added, folding his fan slowly, “there will be opposition. It threatens the balance—threatens profits, egos, old power.”

“We have no territory,” Wei Wuxian said. “We go where the trouble is. And that alone will unsettle sects who can barely handle their own night hunts.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Wei Wuxian continued, contemplative. “For now, we’ll build Guild offices in the territories of our allied sects—Nie, Wen, and Lan. But our cultivators won’t be confined by borders. That freedom will likely make them targets—more so than when they were simply rogues picking at the crumbs beneath the masters’ table.”

He paused. “But I have contingencies in mind. I just need time to refine them. For now, we follow the current. And with the overwhelming support we’ve received from rogue cultivators, I’m content.”

“You should be,” said Nie Qingwu, grinning proudly. “It’s an incredible endeavour—and an honourable one. You’re honouring your parents’ memory.”

It hadn’t been his idea originally, but Wei Wuxian found himself warmed by the thought. Yes—his parents would’ve been proud. He was certain of that.

That night, they stood together on a balcony, overlooking the mountains bathed in silver moonlight. Wei Wuxian leaned into Lan Zhan’s steady warmth, arms wrapping around his waist.

“Do you think it’ll work?” he asked softly. “The Guild. Building something new—outside of the old systems.”

Lan Zhan looked down at him, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “This time, you are not alone. It will work.”

Wei Wuxian smiled, his heart buoyed by something dangerously close to hope. “Then I’ll build it. A place where people like us can breathe.”

Lan Zhan kissed his temple. “I will build it with you.”

The next morning at breakfast, Wei Wuxian presented the proposed arrangement for Nie Huaisang’s cultivation training.

Huaisang listen with open suspicion, but as Wei Wuxian continued to explain—describing the small sect tucked away on the far side of the cultivation world, their emphasis on artistry, elegance, and the unique blending of aesthetics and technique—his expression slowly transformed.

“They’re the ones behind your favourite poetry collections,” Wei Wuxian said with a knowing smile. “And those fans you’re always carrying? Most of them come from artisans in that sect.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes lit up. He turned to his father, all bright enthusiasm and unguarded hope. “I want to go! I so want to go. They sound like exactly my kind of people!”

Nie Qingwu narrowed his eyes, folding his arms with a sigh. “You want to leave your home for an extended period, travel halfway across the world, and live among strangers—all because of poetry and fans?”

He turned a sharp look on Wei Wuxian. “And what kind of training, exactly, will he be receiving?”

Wei Wuxian chuckled softly before answering, “Rest assured, Sect Leader Nie, they take cultivation very seriously. They may be artists, dancers, and poets, but their techniques are precise and deadly.”

He sipped his tea, then added, “The sect specializes in the use of small, often concealed weapons—blades hidden in fans, throwing knives, even specialized needles, when aimed at precise acupuncture points, can incapacitate opponents many times their size.”

“These techniques were developed over generations, mostly by women. And since they are often physically smaller or less muscular than male cultivators, they learned to defend themselves through precision, agility, and creative strategy.”

Nie Qingwu’s frown didn’t entirely disappear, but it did soften slightly as he considered the practicality of such methods.

Nie Huaisang, meanwhile, looked positively radiant. “Did you hear that? Fan blades and poetry! It’s basically my destiny.”

Nie Mingjue looked at his younger brother as though he had lost his mind. But Nie Qingwu merely smiled and nodded, his expression serene.

“Alright, you have my permission,” he said. “But I will be going with you. I want to see this cultivation technique for myself and feel the environment before making any decisions. If I do not like what I see, you will return with me.”

Huaisang’s face fell a little at that, the weight of the uncertainty settling on his shoulders. He turned to Wei Wuxian, silently seeking some reassurance.

“Do not worry, Sang-ge,” Wei Wuxian said with a warm smile. “He will definitely like it.”

Nie Qingwu raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Wei Wuxian for a moment, as though assessing his certainty. “Are you sure?”

Wei Wuxian’s grin widened. “Yes, Sect Leader, I’m sure,” he said, with absolute confidence. Oh, I’m very sure.

A week later, they left the Unclean Realm, with Nie Qingwu leaving Nie Mingjue in charge and only two other disciples accompanying them. Their journey was frequently interrupted by Nie Huaisang's insatiable curiosity, especially when they passed merchants importing rare goods from Dongying. Huaisang was also very adept at collecting gossip along the way, much to Wei Wuxian’s amusement.

“You’ll never guess what I just found out!” Huaisang called out, rushing over to them with a beautifully ornate box in his arms, looking absolutely delighted.

“I could never guess, Sang-ge,” Wei Wuxian teased, giving him a playful side glance. “Because there’s so much that fascinates you, it would probably take years just to catch up.”

Huaisang flicked his fan open with a snap and lightly tapped Wei Wuxian's arm with it. “That’s because you lack the insight and imagination to appreciate the juicy gossip I uncover.”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow, slightly offended. “Me? Lacking imagination, Sang-ge? Are you sure?”

“Oh yes, it’s clear,” Huaisang replied with a smirk, enjoying every second of teasing. “In the world of talismans and cultivation, you’re top-tier. But when it comes to worldly affairs, you have to admit, you’re a little behind. You can’t even begin to imagine the kinds of things I learn.”

Wei Wuxian puffed out his cheeks in mock indignation, pretending to pout. “I may not be as ‘versed’ as you think, but don’t you dare call me unimaginative!”

“So, what have you learned?” Nie Qingwu asked, enjoying the lighthearted banter between the two. “Do not keep us in suspense.”

“Thank you for asking, A-die,” Huaisang responded obligingly, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. “As it happens, there was a fallout between  Qin Canghye and the Jin Sect.”

He paused, savouring the reaction he was about to provoke. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened in surprise, and he gave a low whistle. Lan Zhan remained impassive, showing no outward reaction. But Nie Qingwu’s frown deepened.

“Weren’t they close allies?” the sect leader asked, clearly intrigued and concerned. “I just heard that Madam Jin wanted to arrange a marriage between his  daughter and her nephew, Jin Zixun.”

His voice dripped with disgust as he finished, “I mean, I wouldn’t blame the man for breaking the alliance if he was offered such a low prospect for his only daughter.”

“That’s not all, but you must promise not to tell anyone,” Huaisang added, glancing at his father. Then he turned to Wei Wuxian, who simply shrugged.

Nie Qingwu’s expression hardened slightly. He would guard the secret. But if the cat was already out of the bag among the Jin upper echelons—what with their love for gossip—it wouldn’t remain hidden for long. It had already reached Huaisang’s rumor mill, and it would not stay a secret for long.

“Of course, you have my word,” Nie Qingwu said, his frown deepening. “Go on.”

Huaisang leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Qin Su is the daughter of Jin Guangshan.”

Nie Qingwu’s eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. He stared at Huaisang for a long moment, then sighed, shaking his head in disgust. “That man... it’s a good thing he’s dead.”

They all nodded in agreement, the weight of the unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

Huaisang continued, his voice laced with quiet contemplation. “Apparently, Jin Guangshan forced himself on his best friend’s wife, and when talks of her possible marriage to Jin Zixun began, she snapped—and somehow, the truth came out.”

Nie Qingwu’s expression darkened even further. Huaisang continued, “Sect Leader Qin broke all ties with the Jin Sect, and two other small sect leaders from the region followed his example.”

Huaisang nodded thoughtfully. “It seems that no matter what the Jin Sect does, they can never seem to escape the shadow of Jin Guangshan’s past.”

Huaisang turned to his father, his expression serious. “You should reach out to those sects and sign agreements with them. Now is the time to intervene. I know it sounds predatory, but it’s in their best interests too. Now that they no longer have Jin support, they’re vulnerable. They’ll be eager to associate with the chief cultivator—especially with your reputation.”

Nie Qingwu considered his words and nodded slowly. “That’s actually a good idea.”

Huaisang’s satisfaction was clear as he nodded in return, but then his expression shifted to something more reflective. “Poor Qin Su…”

Wei Wuxian felt a pang of memory. He remembered all too well how easily Huaisang had sold that girl’s secret in his past life, using it as leverage for his revenge on Jin Guangyao. Despite Huaisang's apparent compassion now, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but see the ruthless side of his friend—how far he would go when backed into a corner, and how fiercely he would protect those he considered his own.

They reached Dailing without further incident, and from the moment they arrived, Huaisang was completely overwhelmed—in the best way—by the artistic spirit of the sect. 

To Wei Wuxian’s amusement, Nie Qingwu not only approved of the place but seemed just the slightest bit intimidated by Yan Tangshi. The formidable sect leader met his frowns with her own, glare for glare, neither willing to yield. Yan Shiyun, meanwhile, looked entirely amused by the silent showdown and left them to it, wandering off ahead to settle Huaisang into his quarters and introduce him to his masters and teachers.

To Huaisang’s utter shock, he met—flesh and blood—one of his favourite poets, an older man with sorrowful eyes and a voice like winter rain. He very nearly prostrated himself at the man’s feet. Wei Wuxian, comfortably leaning back with a cup of wine in hand, simply watched the scene unfold with a grin.

Meanwhile, Lan Zhan was practically ambushed by the musicians he had played with during their last visit. Judging by the faint curve of his lips, he didn’t mind the attention.

The grand finale of the ongoing silent contest between Nie Qingwu and Yan Tangshi took place, fittingly, on the training field. The entire sect turned out to watch. Strength clashed with speed, brute force met fluid precision. It was an extraordinary match—and in the end, Nie Qingwu won by the slimmest of margins.

Both were drenched in sweat and panting, but they were grinning like children who had just discovered a new game. Wei Wuxian had never seen a smile that wide on Yan Tangshi’s face.

In that moment, a lasting friendship was forged—tempered by respect, sealed by battle.

And Wei Wuxian was happy.

They remained in Dailing for another week, during which Wei Wuxian had the distinct honor of besting both Nie Qingwu and Yan Shiyun in a particularly intense drinking game—a victory he would no doubt recount with great flair for years to come. Every time he visited, Dailing gifted him memories like rare gems, each one carefully stored near his heart.

When it came time to leave, they did so without Huaisang, who had already begun his training in earnest under the watchful guidance of his new masters. Parting ways on the road, Nie Qingwu turned north, returning to Qinghe, while Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan continued west, bound for Meishan Yu, where they intended to pay a visit to Yu Xitian and the formidable Yu Matriarch.

Chapter Text

Meishan Yu was situated much like the Lan Clan—perched high on a mountain. Wei Wuxian had never visited Meishan Yu before, not in his past life, nor in this one. This was his first time. At the foot of the mountain lay two small, well-kept settlements. Upon their arrival, they secured a room at an inn and sent word ahead announcing their visit.

The village was carefully tended, its people warm and welcoming. The next morning, Yu Xitian came personally to escort them to the sect grounds. She appeared genuinely delighted to see them, keeping the mood light with cheerful conversation as she pointed out notable sights and landmarks along the way.

Meishan Yu was encircled by mountains, their sect built atop the largest peak— unlike the Cloud Recesses of the Lan Clan, instead of stairs, a winding path ascended the mountain, crossing several graceful bridges along the way.

The sect grounds were build on a vast plateau, offering sweeping panoramic views of the surrounding region. From this height, the two villages nestled in the long valley below were clearly visible. Wei Wuxian found the place to his liking—the architecture was simple, clean, and the buildings were low and modest, nearly hidden beneath a canopy of lush greenery. It felt less like a sect compound and more like another quiet mountain village.

They were led into the largest of the buildings, where a spacious, unadorned hall awaited them. At its centre stood the matriarch of the Yu Clan, poised in a high-backed chair. Though there was no dais to elevate her above the others, her straight-backed posture and severe expression commanded immediate respect and silence.

To this day, Wei Wuxian could recall the strange alertness her presence stirred in him. In the past, he had feared her. Now, that fear had evolved—less about who she was, and more about how instinctively his body responded to her presence. Like standing before a predator.

Once the introductions and formal greetings were complete, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan were invited to take seats to the chairs on the right of Sect Leader Yu. A small table between them was laden with delicate pastries and an assortment of snacks. Yu Xitian took her place across from them, offering a warm smile to their composed, slightly stiff postures. She said nothing, simply waiting with practiced patience for her mother to speak.

Sect Leader Yu studied them with a sharp gaze —it felt as if she were peering directly into their minds, reading every unspoken thought. The resemblance between her and Madam Yu was striking. Yet while Madam Yu’s frown had always come from a place of perpetual dissatisfaction, her mother’s expression bore the weight of long years filled with hard choices and constant scrutiny.

After a long moment, she finally spoke. “My daughter has spoken highly of you both,” she said, her tone cool and composed. “I am grateful for what you did—for saving her life, and the lives of the disciples who were with her. The Yu Sect is in your debt.”

Wei Wuxian shifted slightly, the word ‘debt’ making him uncomfortable. “There’s no need for that, Sect Leader,” he replied with a polite smile. “We simply did what any passing cultivators would’ve done in that situation.”

“That may be so, Weixiao-jun, Zhuangyan-jun,” she answered evenly. “But as it happened, it was the two of you who passed by and chose to act. You faced and eliminated three powerful youguai on your own. Your reputation is clearly well-earned.”

"Thank you, Sect Leader Yu," Wei Wuxian said graciously. "But I must also commend your junior disciples. Despite their youth and inexperience, they stood their ground against formidable foes with admirable courage."

Sect Leader Yu inclined her head in acknowledgment, then gave a subtle signal. A servant promptly stepped forward to pour the tea. Once it was served, the servant withdrew, leaving the four of them in quiet company. They sat for a moment in silence, appreciating the tea—it was exceptionally good.

"I’ve been hearing a rather interesting rumour," the matriarch said after a pause, her voice measured. "That you and your husband have established a Rogue Cultivators Guild—one in Yiling and another in Caiyi. Is that true?"

Wei Wuxian studied her expression carefully. This was not a simple request for information—she already knew. So he offered her a mild smile and replied, "What exactly would Sect Leader Yu like to know about the guild?"

A faint smile touched her lips—just the barest curve, but her eyes revealed more than her expression did. "You favour directness. I like that. Diplomacy gives me headaches," she said with a trace of approval. "What I would like to know, Weixiao-jun, is what your intentions are for this guild—and whether it's true that you've already secured agreements with three major sects."

"My intentions are simple," Wei Wuxian replied, his voice steady. "To create a protective system for rogue cultivators. I plan to establish guild headquarters throughout Jianghu—places where these cultivators can find shelter, receive education for themselves and their children, take on night-hunt requests, and seek mutual aid. As for your second question—yes. The Gusu Lan, Qishan Wen, and Qinghe Nie sects have all offered their support and have signed cooperation agreements."

He felt himself relaxing slightly as he spoke. The clarity of purpose gave him confidence.

"Impressive," Sect Leader Yu said, eyeing him with an appraising gaze. "It’s a solid idea—and I like it." Her tone had shifted; it was no longer simply evaluative, but decisive. "I’d like to know the terms of those agreements. If they are suitable, I may consider entering one with Meishan Yu as well."

Wei Wuxian was not surprised. He could already see where this was heading. No doubt she had dispatched people to examine the wards around the Burial Mounds. Now that word had spread, everyone wanted a piece of what he was building. Naturally.

"They’re fairly straightforward," he said calmly. "First—no hostile action toward guild cultivators while they operate in your territory. Second—you may request assistance for especially difficult night hunts. And third—shared access to any innovations in cultivation techniques or tools developed by the guild."

Sect Leader Yu stood in thoughtful silence, clearly weighing the terms. Her expression remained unreadable, her gaze fixed on Wei Wuxian as if she were measuring not just the offer, but the man himself.

Sensing the pause, Wei Wuxian added smoothly, “Of course, there would be a reciprocity clause. The guild would also request first access to any innovations developed by Meishan Yu. Still, the core mission remains—protection and support for rogue cultivators.”

“That seems reasonable,” Sect Leader Yu said at last, her voice calm, but with a note of interest that hadn’t been there before.

Yu Xitian, who had been quietly observing the exchange, leaned forward slightly, a smile on her lips. “Considering the technique you used to subdue those youguai, I imagine your guild is already ahead of most sects in terms of innovation.”

Then she turned to her mother, eyes bright. “You should have seen it, Muqin. Truly extraordinary—an entrapment array, woven together with a music score. The beasts turned to dust before our eyes.”

“The Meishan Yu Sect has always admired those who think beyond the boundaries,” Sect Leader Yu said, her voice steady, almost contemplative. “Especially those bold enough to challenge social convention. True growth only comes when limitations are broken—change never blooms from complacency.”

Wei Wuxian held her gaze, though his thoughts drifted elsewhere—to a time when words like those might have meant everything to him. A time when he could have used someone who stood firmly beside him, not just in admiration but in solidarity.

But admiration is easy when it costs nothing. When there’s no risk. In the face of real consequence, even those who praise outcasts and rebels often step aside. The Yu were no different. Lofty ideals, he’d learned, offer no shelter to the one standing alone against the world.

“Would Sect Leader Yu have supported the guild,” Wei Wuxian asked, voice calm but unwavering, “if the three great sects hadn’t already done so?”

He knew he was treading dangerous ground. But the old bitterness, long buried, had risen too strongly to ignore. He didn’t want support only in times of success—he wanted to know who would stand beside him when the world turned its back.

Yu Xitian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, nearly reaching her hairline. She immediately glanced toward her mother, whose expression remained impassive—stern and unreadable, as if carved from stone.

But Wei Wuxian didn’t look away. He met the matriarch’s gaze head-on, letting the question hang in the air between them. There was no apology in his eyes. No retreat. He had no interest in polite games or diplomatic veils.

Then, something unexpected happened.

Sect Leader Yu let out a short, dry huff—almost a laugh. The rigid lines of her face eased. Her frown softened, and for the first time, a more open, almost human expression appeared.

“Will the guild do the same?” she shot back, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“I would like to believe so,” Wei Wuxian replied, his tone still calm, but edged with quiet steel. “If there is one thing I refuse to compromise on, it is integrity, Sect Leader Yu. I understand that circumstances can shift, but once I choose to stand with someone, I do so fully—with solidarity, especially in just causes. And I expect the same level of commitment in return.”

His words held weight—a warning, not veiled but clear. His expectations were not negotiable.

The matriarch studied him for a moment longer, then nodded, her expression one of sober respect. “You have my word, Weixiao-jun.”

There it was: the strength of a sect that often kept to itself, rarely entangling in sect politics, yet still managing to form quiet but powerful connections—often through well-considered marriage alliances. Meishan Yu did not move loudly, but when it did, the steps were deliberate.

“Two young cultivators like yourselves have managed more than some sect leaders who were handed fully established legacies—and spend their time doing nothing but complain,” she added, her voice dry, tinged with unmistakable derision.

Wei Wuxian caught the tone and offered a wry smile, but replied modestly, “Sect Leader Yu, the idea for the guild wasn’t mine. Credit goes to my guardian, Lord Wan Shangcheng. He was the one who first proposed it—and founded the initial office in Caiyi. I only claim the Yiling branch.”

“He sounds like a wise man,” she said, nodding with quiet approval. “But don’t diminish your own merit, Weixiao-jun. It takes more than vision to do what you’ve accomplished—it takes courage, and conviction.”

Wei Wuxian inclined his head in thanks, the sincerity in her words softening some of the lingering edges inside him.

“His parents would be proud of him,” Yu Xitian said with a warm smile. “His mother was always walking the edge of convention, and never once stepped back from a challenge.”

At the mention of Wei Wuxian’s mother, something shifted in Sect Leader Yu’s expression. The severity in her face softened—just slightly, but unmistakably.

“She was my favourite rogue cultivator,” the matriarch said, her voice laced with a rare melancholy. “She never let me dismiss her, never allowed herself to be underestimated just because she wasn’t affiliated with a formal sect. She stood her ground—challenged me, even. No fear in her at all.”

A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at her lips.

“She actually dared me to retaliate,” she added, the memory clearly vivid. “Heavens… she would have made a remarkable Yu.”

“You’re very much like her,” Sect Leader Yu said, her gaze steady on Wei Wuxian. “But physically you resemble your father more. The eyes and the smile—they’re hers. But the rest… it’s him.”

She leaned back slightly, the memory settling gently over her expression.

“He was a good man. Quiet, unassuming, fiercely protective of her. A rare kind of couple, the two of them—balanced, strong, and utterly loyal to one another.”

Wei Wuxian listened in silence, absorbing every word like precious fragments of a story he’d never been told. Each detail was a thread weaving together the image of parents he had barely known, who had existed in whispers and the harsh echoes of others’ judgments.

And yet, here—here were powerful voices, leaders of respected sects, speaking of them with admiration, with warmth. The praise from three sect leaders now rang in quiet harmony within him, soothing something deep in his soul.

It was like balm on an old, unseen wound—one carried by the boy he used to be, who had known so little about where he came from, and had heard even less that was kind.

They spent the next few days in Meishan, with Yu Xitian as their guide whenever her duties allowed. She showed them the mountain paths, the training fields, the quiet meditation halls tucked beneath trees heavy with blossoms. Every meal was taken in the company of Sect Leader Yu herself and towards the and of their stay an agreement was signed and sealed. And the more time Wei Wuxian spent in her presence, the more he realized how vast the difference could be between reputation and reality.

His first impression of her had been that of a stern, formidable woman—intimidating, almost severe. And she was, to a degree. But once the edges were worn down by familiarity, she revealed a side that was surprisingly warm, even playful. She didn’t often show it, but when she did, it made the room feel lighter.

One thing he noticed, though, was her strictness with her own family. She showed no favouritism to her children or grandchildren, and in fact, she seemed to hold them to even higher standards than the other disciples. Praise was rare, and usually reserved for those outside her bloodline. When mistakes were made, her rebukes were blunt and unfiltered. Not the gentlest way to raise a child—no wonder Madam Yu had come to view the world as a battlefield, where victory was everything.

And yet, Yu Xitian hadn’t grown bitter like her sister. There had to be more to the story—more grace, more balance, somewhere behind the curtain of the past.

On the final day of their stay, Sect Leader Yu approached Wei Wuxian privately. In her hands was a small, unadorned wooden box. She held it out to him with quiet gravity.

“This belonged to your mother,” she said. “I want you to have it. I won it from her in a bet, years ago. And I think it’s time it was returned to you. I suppose you already have much to remember her by.”

Wei Wuxian accepted the box with reverence. He opened it slowly.

Inside lay a simple jade hairpin—modest in design, without ornament or flourish. There was nothing outwardly remarkable about it. And yet, it stole his breath.

It had belonged to his mother. That alone made it priceless.

“Thank you, Sect Leader Yu,” he said, bowing deeply. “This is a gift beyond words.”

“It’s my pleasure, Weixiao-jun,” she replied, a rare smile touching her lips. “Know that you are always welcome here. And do come visit this old lady when you’re in the region.”

He had arrived in Meishan to honour a simple invitation from a grateful cultivator he had once helped. But he left with far more—a light heart, treasured memories, and the quiet, unexpected comfort of finding another piece of his roots.

Wei Wuxian’s journey back to Yiling was peaceful, the weight of the simple jade hairpin in his pocket a steady reminder of the unexpected connections he'd made. The days in Meishan had given him more than just a fleeting sense of camaraderie—they had given more pieces for the canvas that he started to build of his parents.

As the winding mountain paths gave way to the familiar, sweeping landscapes of Yiling, Wei Wuxian found himself reflecting on the lessons that had come with those few days in Meishan. It had been a rare kind of peace, one that had seeped into his soul and made him feel as though he’d finally found a fragment of what he’d lost.

But it wasn’t just the gift from Sect Leader Yu that had lightened his heart. It was the feeling of being seen—truly seen—not as a symbol of past mistakes or as an outcast, but as someone who could grow, who could stand shoulder to shoulder with others in the face of challenge.

The weeks in Yiling passed quietly. There wasn’t much for Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan to do, as the Han brothers had handled most of the administrative tasks efficiently. They revisited the guild’s plans a few times, making some necessary adjustments. The most notable change was the Han brothers' decision to take in the children living on the streets—offering them a chance at safety and education. It was a heart-warming addition, but otherwise, the days were peaceful.

Wei Wuxian found himself teaching classes to the new children who had joined the guild, as well as training the fresh batch of disciples. The number of cultivators joining their ranks was steadily increasing, and he was genuinely pleased to see it. Most of those who came were parents, and when they realized they could leave their children in safety while they went on night hunts, they eagerly seized the opportunity.

There was a rhythm to life in Yiling now. Time spent with his cousin helped him learn more about his family, and for the first time in years, Wei Wuxian truly felt at home. More so than in Caiyi or Cloud Recesses.

One evening, as he lay with his head resting on Lan Zhan’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, a thought crossed his mind. His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

“Lan Zhan,” he murmured, “would you be upset if I said I feel more at home here than in Cloud Recesses?”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of Lan Zhan’s breathing. But then, in his usual calm, quiet tone, Lan Zhan spoke.

“No,” he said simply. “Wei Ying is right. This feels like home.”

Wei Wuxian shifted slightly, looking up at him. The softness in Lan Zhan’s voice—uncharacteristically warm—made his heart swell.

“I like teaching the young ones,” Lan Zhan continued, “and training the new novices. Rogue cultivators are different. They are more grateful than most disciples and far more dedicated to their calling than the sects.”

Wei Wuxian smiled faintly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "You noticed that too," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Mn.” Lan Zhan nodded, his gaze soft but steady. “You are right. They are more dutiful, and far less concerned with appearances.”

It was something Wei Wuxian had noticed as well. The sects, with their obsession over reputation and glory, seemed to forget that in their race for prestige, they often trampled over those they sought to impress. The quest for more territory, more taxes, more influence had blinded them to what truly mattered: the people they were supposed to protect and nurture.

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could already feel it—the shift in the world of cultivation. Wan Shangcheng had been right. The guild they were building would change the balance of power between the sects. It would reshape the entire landscape of cultivation, offering a sanctuary for those who had once been ignored or cast aside.

“The guild will shift things, won’t it?” Wei Wuxian murmured, almost to himself.

Lan Zhan didn’t answer immediately, but the subtle tension in his body told Wei Wuxian that he understood. They were on the cusp of something monumental, something that would change not just their lives, but the entire world of cultivation.

They had found a home, a purpose, and together, they would see it through—whatever the cost.

When they arrived in Caiyi, deep bows and warm smiles greeted them at every turn. As they passed by, the reverence in the titles and salutations felt odd —an unmistakable sign that something had shifted. Once recognized, they now received a level of deference that spoke of a deep-rooted respect born of recent transformation.

At the Caiyi guild office, they were welcomed by Wan Shangcheng himself. The construction of the headquarters was progressing admirably; most of the main structures had already been completed. What surprised them even more was the flurry of activity—numerous people engaged in a variety of tasks, each contributing diligently to the growing enterprise. It was clear that the Caiyi office had also attracted a significant number of devoted followers, each eager to play their part in this new chapter of cultivation.

Once seated with a cup of tea, Wei Wuxian inquired, "There were so many people out there—how many members have joined?"

Wan Shangcheng smiled and replied, "According to my records, 37—if we don't count the children. But what is even more encouraging than numbers is the spirit with which they joined… hope." He paused, emphasizing the last word.

"Wei Wuxian, what we started here is more than just a sanctuary. It now possesses a life of its own—and life can be snuffed out as easily as it is kindled. This kind of movement has been needed for so long, and now everyone is eager to help push it forward. It grows so effortlessly."

He chuckled softly. "I never imagined something like this, Wei Wuxian. This is beyond our wildest dreams."

He paused, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. “We started this as a simple haven for the rogue cultivators, but it has grown into something much more. It has taken on a life of its own—a living, breathing entity that connects us all. And life, as you know, can be as fragile as it is resilient.”

Wei Wuxian’s gaze shifted to the view beyond the window, where groups of disciples could be seen animatedly discussing plans, repairing the structure, or tending to the daily needs of the sanctuary. “It’s remarkable,” he murmured. “I never imagined our dream would spark such a movement. Seeing everyone come together like this—it stirs something deep within me.”

Wei Wuxian recalled the journey through Caiyi as he inquired, “When we arrived and passed through, the people showed such deep reverence. Did something happen?”

Wan Shangcheng grinned warmly and replied, “Weixiao-jun, Zhuangyan-jun—you are no longer merely young cultivators. You have been bestowed with titles, and recent events have grown you into legends.”

“Legends?” Wei Wuxian furrowed his brow, echoing the question.

“Indeed,” the elder confirmed. “There’s talk of your infamous wedding, your triumph in the cultivation competitions, the wards you established around the burial mounds, and your masterful deployment of talismans and arrays. Not to mention the story from Meishan Yu—of how you confronted three massive beasts and saved their heir.”

Wan Shangcheng chuckled softly at their expressions—more so at Wei Wuxian’s, for Lan Zhan remained as composed as ever. “You see, you have just founded a guild for rogue cultivators—a sanctuary for their support and protection. And now, word of your deeds is spreading far and wide across Jianghu. What do you think these wonders will do for your reputation?”

Wei Wuxian paused, a faint smile playing on his lips as he considered the growing legend that now followed him. He had been a legend in the past to, but in another way. So far their journey has been quite smooth, only time will tell how things will evolve.  

Chapter Text

Lan Zhan stood before his father, a low table with tea and delicate snacks separating them. He had been preparing for this conversation for nearly a month. Over the years, he had grown closer to his father, slowly allowing forgiveness to take root for what had happened with his mother. Yet, while forgiveness came, forgetfulness never did.

He, too, had made mistakes in his life and had known the comfort of being forgiven. But he had never possessed Wei Ying’s boundless capacity for grace—and, truthfully, he didn’t aspire to. In their relationship, someone had to hold others accountable, and if Wei Ying hesitated, Lan Zhan would not. He did not fear difficult decisions.

His father had proven himself with time—he had changed, learned, and grown. His brother, Lan Xichen, had become more assertive, more politically astute; his gentle naivete tempered by hard-earned wisdom. Yet he was still, unmistakably, Lan Xichen. Even their uncle had changed, unburdened after handing back leadership of the sect. He had become more withdrawn, a quiet presence who offered guidance only when asked—and even then, he deferred to the council.

But despite all the growth, all the change, Lan Zhan could not forget how once, they had treated him as an enemy. How his voice had been silenced with thirty-three lashes of the discipline whip. How his beloved had been abandoned to the cruelty and corruption of the cultivation world. How even his own kin had raised their swords against him.

No, he had not forgotten. And if he truly searched his heart, perhaps he had not fully forgiven either. He had forgiven just enough—to let them live.

“How can I help you, Wangji?” his father asked, a gentle expression softening his features.

“I wish to secede from the Gusu Lan Sect, Father,” Lan Wangji said plainly.

The words hung heavy in the air. His father stilled, eyes widening, breath catching in his throat.

“I do not mean to leave the Lan Clan,” Wangji clarified calmly. “Only the sect. I no longer wish to be its heir. I want to live in Yiling, with Wei Ying, and build a life there.”

His father inhaled slowly, steadying himself before speaking again. A faint crease formed between his brows. “But… you do not need to sever ties with the sect to live in Yiling with your husband. Why would you pursue such a separation?”

“My duty as heir to the sect will not allow me to fully commit to my new responsibilities,” Wangji replied. “My work with Wei Ying and the guild demands my complete attention. I will always be a member of the Lan Clan—but I can no longer be a member with responsibilities within the sect. I wish to dedicate myself entirely to what we are building together.”

Qingheng-jun let out a long, weary sigh, his voice low and resigned as he spoke. “You are decided on this?”

It wasn’t quite a question—more a statement dressed as one.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan nodded. “Yes. I am.”

“And if I were to oppose you… you would leave the clan as well?”

Lan Zhan gave a single, solemn nod. His father closed his eyes briefly in understanding, then opened them with quiet acceptance.

“Well,” he said at last, “as much as it pains me, I would never take your freedom from you, Wangji. So—I accept your decision. After all, this is not so uncommon. In many families, daughters leave to build a new life with their husbands. They remain part of the family, though their paths diverge. You are no different.”

“Thank you, Father,” Lan Zhan said, bowing his head with deep respect.

“Do not thank me, my son,” Qingheng-jun replied softly. “In truth, I have known this day would come—perhaps ever since the day you stormed into my seclusion and demanded I take responsibility for my actions. You carried the weight of an old soul even then. If anyone deserves happiness, it is you—especially after you and your husband took a shattered past and wove it into a better future. The world may never understand what you have done for it.”

“We did not do it for the world,” Lan Zhan said quietly. “We did it for ourselves. The world was never our friend. We owe it nothing.”

Qingheng-jun chuckled, a sound half-bitter, half-fond. “You remind me so much of my own father. He never forgave completely, never surrendered his right to retribution against those who wronged him. The elders never liked that about him. It's why they clung so tightly to control over every sect leader who came after.”

He paused, lost in thought, a pensive silence falling between them.

Lan Zhan considered his father’s words. Perhaps they offered a reason for the elders’ actions—but not an excuse. He had never known his grandfather. After the death of his grandmother, the old sect leader remained just long enough to see his son ready to inherit the burden. Then he stepped down, retreating to a Buddhist monastery where he spent the rest of his life in quiet reflection until his passing.

It was a path not unfamiliar in their lineage. He had followed the example of Lan An, who, after the loss of his partner, also returned to the monastery, entrusting the legacy of the sect to those who came after him.

They could finally begin. Yiling awaited them—a place to start anew, to build the future they had long dreamed of together.

When Lan Zhan returned to the Jingshi, he found Wei Ying seated with a slight frown, eyes scanning a letter with furrowed brows.

“Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asked softly, settling beside him. Without a word, Wei Ying handed him the letter.

It was from Han Ning of the Xilan Han Sect, requesting their presence at the sect at their earliest convenience to discuss an important matter. No details were offered—just an urgent invitation.

Lan Zhan read the brief message twice, then looked up. “Do you think something has happened?” he asked, concern flickering in his gaze.

Wei Ying shook his head. “No. Nothing dangerous, I think. Just something that can’t be put in writing.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Lan Zhan said. “Xilan Village is only an hour by sword.”

Wei Ying nodded, then studied him quietly for a moment. “How did it go with your father?”

“Well,” Lan Zhan replied, his expression softening. “He agreed. I’m free of my duties to the Lan Sect. We can settle in Yiling.”

Wei Ying’s eyes searched his face. “Are you sure about this, Lan Zhan? I don’t want to be the reason you leave your family behind.”

“I am not,” Lan Zhan said gently. “You are my family. And we can always visit.” He reached for Wei Ying’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “My family will always be wherever Wei Ying is.”

Wei Ying groaned, half-laughing, half-melting. “Ahh, Lan Zhan—stop being so sweet! My heart can’t take much more of this.”

“Yes, it can,” Lan Zhan murmured, pulling him closer. “It always has.”

Then he kissed him—slowly, deeply—with all the love, devotion, and quiet fire that lived in his heart.

When they arrived in Xilan, Han Ning was there to greet them. He seemed unusually nervous—more so than they’d ever seen before. Without a word, he led them to a modest house with a serene courtyard. They sat at a round table beneath the generous shade of a large tree, its branches casting cool shadows over most of the space. There, they waited for Han Ning to speak.

“Is something wrong, Ning-di?” Wei Wuxian asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Not exactly,” Han Ning replied. Then, after a deep sigh, he continued. “A-Yuan’s mother… she died during childbirth.”

Wei Wuxian gasped, immediately reaching for Lan Zhan’s hand and gripping it tightly. He squeezed back, his pulse racing.

“A week ago, his father died too—drunk and careless. He fell. The loss of his wife… it shattered him.”

Han Ning’s voice was steadier now, but his grief was palpable. “I spoke with my parents and shared more about your past relationship with A-Yuan. I know you both said you would stay away, that as long as he was happy, you wouldn’t interfere in his life. But it seems fate had other plans.”

He shook his head, regret clouding his expression.

“In his previous life, A-Yuan’s father died in a Night Hunt before he was born, and his mother passed in childbirth—just like now. I really thought Qing-jie’s presence would make a difference this time… but she was too weak.” His voice broke slightly, heavy with sorrow. “I wish we could have saved her,” he whispered.

“Then last week, my cousin—his father—got drunk and stumbled off a steep slope. Broke his neck. He left two children behind, too consumed by grief to care for them properly.” There was a flash of anger in Han Ning’s tone—more emotion than Lan Zhan had ever seen in the usually composed man.

“Two?” Wei Wuxian echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

Han Ning looked up, a sad smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, two. We never told you before. We never spoke of her. But A-Yuan had an older sister. She died in the camps.”

Lan Zhan felt his heart clench, the old pain resurfacing. And with it, the fury—hot and bitter—toward the Jin. He had never forgotten. And perhaps… he never would.

“A-Yuan never mentioned her,” Wei Wuxian said weakly.

“He wouldn’t have,” Han Ning replied gently. “He was so young—barely two—when you took us away. Malnourished, in shock… He had no real memories of the place, just scattered nightmares. He didn’t remember her. Maybe that was for the best.”

Han Ning’s voice dropped. “She was only three. She got sick, and within two days… she was gone.” A tear traced down his cheek, which he quickly wiped away with an angry swipe. “I tried to save her. But she was so starved that even if she had recovered, it wouldn’t have mattered. She was too weak. We had nothing.”

Lan Zhan felt his heart shatter again and again. How could the world be so merciless to children? To innocents? He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Beside him, he could feel Wei Ying trembling.

“What are you asking, Han Ning?” Lan Zhan asked quietly, though deep down, he already knew. Or at least, he hoped he did.

Han Ning looked at them with a sad but hopeful smile. “I… we’d like you to adopt them. If you're willing.”

He paused, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I know how much A-Yuan loved you both—Xian-ge, Wangji-ge. I know that with you, these children would be raised in a home filled with love and kindness. You’d help them grow into people we could all be proud of.”

He hesitated, then added with a soft, bittersweet smile, “They’re two now. And… they’re a package deal.”

Wei Ying looked at Han Ning, a tremulous smile spreading across his face as he nodded vigorously. “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

“Mn. I agree,” Lan Zhan said softly, his voice tight with emotion, breath caught in his chest.

Han Ning gave a grateful nod and rose to his feet, disappearing into the house. Lan Zhan watched the door like it held the secrets of the universe. He wasn't even sure he blinked.

When Wen Ning emerged, he carried a small bundle in his arms. Clinging to the hem of his robes, a toddling little girl followed, her unsure steps wobbly but determined.

Wei Ying held out his arms instinctively. As the baby was placed into them, his hands began to tremble more violently. He was trying so hard not to break down and sob. Lan Zhan wrapped an arm around him, squeezing tightly as they both looked down at the tiny, beloved face.

The baby was small and fragile, with a round little face, wisps of dark hair, and the cutest nose Lan Zhan had ever seen. Gently, he traced a trembling finger along the baby’s impossibly soft cheek.

Then he turned to look at the little girl.

She stared at them with wide, curious eyes. He reached out an arm toward her, smiling softly at the little girl. She looked at him for a long moment, then slowly approached. Lan Zhan bent forward and lifted her gently into his lap, holding her close. She didn’t resist—only watched him intently, as though trying to understand him.

And when Wei Ying turned toward her with a beautiful, teary smile, she smiled back.

It was small, hesitant at first—but it bloomed like sunlight, and in that instant, it lit up Lan Zhan’s entire world.

If there was ever a moment in his life to cherish as deeply as his wedding, it was this—right now. At just seventeen, Lan Zhan had become a father of two, and he couldn’t imagine greater happiness. His heart was full, overflowing. His family was complete—and somehow, even more than complete.

They couldn't bear to be apart from the children, not even for a moment. When the nursemaid came to feed A-Yuan, they remained in the same room, sitting quietly as she tended to him behind a screen. Meanwhile, A-Yue sat in Wei Ying’s lap, babbling away in her sweet, nonsensical way. Though she was too young to form actual words, it didn’t seem to matter—Wei Ying responded like he understood every sound, making silly faces and playful voices that sent her into fits of joyful giggles.

Lan Zhan watched it all with a heart so full it ached. He had never seen his husband like this—radiating with joy, glowing with it. Bliss poured out of him, pure and unfiltered. Lan Zhan knew, somewhere in the quiet corner of his mind, that this happiness had come from someone else’s sorrow—a couple whose happily ever after had been stolen from them too soon. But in this moment, his selfish heart let that thought fade into the background.

The entire day was spent with the children—playing, holding them, memorizing every little sound and movement. Later, they shared a quiet meal with the family, the children never far from reach. They turned to Han Chunwen and thanked him with deep sincerity for the priceless gift he had entrusted to them.

Han Chunwen simply smiled and said, “As long as they are happy, it’s worth everything.”

They remained in the village. Lan Zhan wrote to his father, informing him that he and Wei Ying had adopted two amazing children and that they would be staying in Xilan until A-Yuan was weaned and ready to travel to Yiling.

To his surprise, his father arrived the very next day, eager to meet his new grandchildren.

He already heard  of A-Yuan from his brief stories of the past life , but when he held the baby in his arms, tears welled in his eyes. Like Wei Ying, he rocked the child gently, humming a soft lullaby—one Lan Zhan knew well. Their mother used to sing it to him and Xichen when they were young.

Lan Zhan had never seen his father so overcome with emotion and joy. And in that moment, he felt something shift between them. A quiet closeness bloomed—because now, he could see that his father would be a wonderful grandfather.

Over the following weeks, more members of the Lan clan came to visit. His uncle arrived, followed by his brother, Lan Xichen, and even Wan Shangcheng. Lan Fenhua and Lan Wuxu came as well, proudly announcing that they, too, would be grandparents come next spring.

That meant Lan Jingyi was on the way—and Lan Zhan couldn’t wait to reunite the two boys. He did not know about Jin Ling yet there was no announcement from Koi Tower, but if he would be born again he would make sure that brat would behave  properly around others. He liked him well enough but he always became frustrated by the  boy abrasiveness , so like his uncle, a man  Lan Zhan still disliked to this day.

In the meantime, the children stayed with them under the same roof to begin forming bonds and building trust. They wanted A-Yuan and A-Yue to feel truly connected—to each other, and to their new parents—before the journey to Yiling.

But truthfully, if not for the need to wait until A-Yuan could travel safely, they could have left sooner. A-Yue was already inseparable from Wei Ying, who had completely won her heart. She followed him everywhere, bright-eyed and beaming, already deeply, joyfully attached.

Eight months later, with A-Yuan strong and weaned, they finally returned to Yiling—four of them now, not two. They brought the children home to the place where their new life as a family would truly begin.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian had just finished the last of the letters, stacking it neatly atop the others on his desk. This task usually fell to Lan Zhan—his husband had always handled much of the administrative work at the Yiling Guild office—but Wei Wuxian couldn’t in good conscience leave every tedious detail to him. So, he’d taken it upon himself to manage the internal correspondence, leaving the external affairs to Lan Zhan, whose calligraphy was nothing short of art.

Over the years, Wei Wuxian's own handwriting had improved from its original chicken scratch, and he did put in the effort when writing official letters—but it still paled in comparison to Lan Zhan’s elegant script. He didn’t mind. Lan Zhan genuinely thrived on meticulous work; he was built for it. Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, still had the attention span of a toddler.

It had been nearly five years since he and Lan Zhan brought Yuan and A Yue to Yiling to begin a new chapter of their lives. The guild had grown steadily in that time—what began as a modest endeavour had become something much larger. More and more cultivators had joined their ranks, and not all of them were rogue. Some were defectors from established sects, disillusioned with their circumstances or fleeing situations that had placed their lives in danger.

The growing influence of the Yiling Guild was a bitter pill for the most sects to swallow. Still, once a cultivator severed ties with their sect, they were free to make their own choices—something that rankled many, especially the Jiangs. A significant number of those who joined the guild from other sects had come from the Jiang sect, and when asked why they left, the answer was almost always the same: poor leadership. More specifically, Madam Yu’s treatment of disciples from lower-class backgrounds—those whose families were merchants, craftsmen, or otherwise deemed beneath the gentry—had driven them away.

Deals like the one his father had once been forced to make with Jiang Fengmian—choosing to live, yet vowing not to join any other sect, only returning to the one they had just left—had become increasingly common. The problem with such arrangements, however, was that they were rarely well-considered. A rogue cultivator did not belong to the guild; they merely had an agreement with it—for shelter, protection, and assistance in times of need.

Even when these deals explicitly forbade any affiliation with the guild, there was little recourse if, down the line, that same cultivator chose to join it anyway. After all, a rogue cultivator was just that—free from sect allegiance. The Chief Cultivator, an outspoken supporter of the guild, had once remarked that such conditions were more a matter of personal promise than binding contract. Whether they were honoured or not depended solely on the cultivator’s own sense of integrity—not on the sect they’d left behind.

His father had kept his word to Jiang Fengmian, out of loyalty and the remnants of a once-cherished friendship. But not all cultivators were guided by the same code of honour his father had lived by.

The mantle of Chief Cultivator had been passed to Qingheng-jun a few years prior, when Nie Qingwu stepped down—along with a wry warning that the title came with a parade of whiny sect leaders, many of whom seemed to derive strange satisfaction from complaining about the most trivial matters. Qingheng-jun had taken it in stride, though not without the occasional long-suffering sigh.

At first, the Yiling Guild was met with little more than raised eyebrows and dismissive scoffs. But as its popularity grew and sects began losing influence over towns and villages, the tone shifted. Unlike the traditional sects, the guild didn’t operate on territorial claims or tax revenues. Instead, it worked on a commission basis: when a town requested help, they would pay the guild only once the issue—big or small—was resolved. And the guild delivered. Promptly.

Requests began pouring in from all corners of the cultivation world, and the reliability with which the guild fulfilled them sent ripples through the established order. Word spread. Communities that had long been overlooked or aided too late by their affiliated sects began withholding taxes, choosing instead to pay the guild’s commission. It was, to many, a better bargain—one rooted in results rather than obligation.

The sects most affected by this shift were those not affiliated with the guild. The Lan sect, ever pragmatic, had no qualms about allocating part of the taxes they collected to pay the guild cultivators who resolved issues within their territory. It didn’t impact their overall revenue, and often improved their standing with the locals. On occasion, they even commissioned the guild themselves when they couldn’t respond to a hunt in time—ensuring their citizens were protected and satisfied, and their reputation intact.

Other sects followed suit. The Wen, Nie, and Yu—along with several smaller sects—recognized the practicality of collaboration. They preferred reaching out to the guild for assistance rather than risk losing tax revenue from neglected territories. Better to share a portion than lose everything.

Only a few sects stood in opposition: the Jiangs, the Jins, and a scattering of minor sects aligned with them. They refused to enter into any agreements with the guild. And as time went on, they began to feel the consequences—steadily losing influence, territory, and revenue.

That was when the real problems began. During a conference where guild representatives had been invited—an unprecedented move in itself—Jiang Fengmian raised an accusation: that guild cultivators were encroaching on Jiang territory, interfering with night hunts that the sect had already dispatched disciples to handle.

Wei Wuxian’s response had been calm, direct, and characteristically unapologetic.
“We received a request, Sect Leader Jiang,” he said. “According to the village head, he had reached out to the Jiang sect weeks before our arrival, with no response. When nothing came of it, he turned to us. If someone asks for help, we will not ignore it simply because a sect decides it's not a priority.”

What was strange—almost laughably so—was that this was suddenly considered a problem. In the past, sects routinely prioritized glory-laden hunts, leaving smaller or less prestigious ones to rogue cultivators. It wasn’t just accepted—it was expected. Now, with those same rogues unified, organized, and no longer isolated or vulnerable, they were seen as a threat: not just to reputation, but to revenue.

After the conference, the tension didn’t ease—it only thickened. Whispers followed the guild delegation as they departed: derision from those aligned with the Jiang and Jin sects, unease from those still affiliated with them but beginning to doubt. Wei Wuxian could feel the shift in the air. This wasn’t about cultivators or commissions anymore. It was about pride, control, and the slow unravelling of a system that had gone unchallenged for generations.

A week later, an unsigned missive arrived at the Yiling Guild office. It was anything but subtle—an accusation that the guild was overstepping, fostering disloyalty among cultivators, and “disrupting the natural order” of the cultivation world. Lan Zhan read it in silence, his expression unreadable, though the faint crease between his brows deepened.

“This isn’t about that village,” Wei Wuxian said, pacing behind him. “It’s about the fact that we didn’t wait for their permission to act. That someone stepped in where they failed.”

Lan Zhan folded the letter with deliberate care and set it aside. “They fear losing power.”

“They already are,” Wei Wuxian muttered. “And they know it.”

The confrontation came sooner than expected. At the next summit hosted by the Nie sect, Madam Jin made a pointed show of accusing the guild of “undermining the very foundation of sect governance.” Yu Ziyuan nodded in agreement, seething, eyes sharp and cold as they bored into Wei Wuxian across the room.

He didn’t rise to the bait—at first. But when Yu Ziyuan suggested that the guild be barred from accepting commissions in certain “protected” territories, his patience snapped.

“Protected?” Wei Wuxian echoed, his laugh dry and bitter. “You mean neglected. Abandoned unless there’s glory to be had. If the guild answers a cry for help, that’s not undermining. That’s fulfilling a duty you’ve turned your back on.”

The room fell into a hush. Even Qingheng-jun, seated at the head of the assembly, remained silent. But in that silence, lines were being drawn—clearer and sharper than ever before.

Later that night, as they prepared to leave, Wei Wuxian glanced at Lan Zhan. “Did I go too far?”

Lan Zhan looked at him, steady and unshaken. “No. You told the truth.”

Wei Wuxian offered a crooked smile. “That’s what worries me.”

Ever since that confrontation, there had been minor incidents—tensions flaring between sect cultivators and guild members in the field. The guild had instructed its cultivators to step back whenever a sect team appeared, relinquishing the hunt without protest in order to avoid escalating the situation. So far, the strategy had worked.

The Jiang and Jin sects, in particular, were now forced to respond to requests with actual urgency, arriving earlier than they ever used to—if only to prevent the guild from stepping in first. And every time Wei Wuxian thought about those lofty sects scrambling to fulfil duties they had once treated as beneath them, he couldn’t help but smile. It was almost poetic—being forced to serve the people, not by honour or principle, but by competition.

The pitter-patter of tiny feet jolted Wei Wuxian out of his thoughts, just seconds before the doors to the office he shared with Lan Zhan burst open. A whirlwind of four-, five-, and six-year-olds came tumbling in.

“Baba, Baba! A-die sent us to bring you to lunch!” A-Yue announced at full volume, her little voice commanding the room as she marched up to his desk.

“A-die said we should pester you until you come,” A-Yuan added, grinning brightly, the picture of innocent mischief.

Little A-Ai nodded vigorously in agreement, but it was A-Shuang— energetic as ever—who launched himself onto Wei Wuxian’s back with a victorious yell.

“And since I’m the loudest,” he declared, far too close to Wei Wuxian’s ear, “I will lead the Annoying Movement!”

Wei Wuxian laughed, eyes crinkling as he reached back to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Well, I’m older and stronger and I can definitely outrun every single one of you—and the loser gets buried in the garden to do more growing!”

That sent the children into a riot of delighted shrieks and giggles, scattering like startled birds as they sprinted out the door, racing toward the summer pavilion where Lan Zhan had likely already set the table.

In Yiling, children were allowed to be children. To run, to laugh, to cry out loud. That was why A-Shuang loved it here so much. And what amused Wei Wuxian endlessly was how—despite the rigid environment the boy had grown up in during his previous life—he’d somehow managed to hold on to his boisterous, straightforward nature.

Truly, he was the most un-Lan that had ever Lan-ed.

The summer pavilion was already bathed in golden light when they arrived, the scent of fresh soup and steamed buns drifting lazily through the garden. Lan Zhan stood by the table, setting down the last of the dishes with quiet precision. He looked up just as the children tumbled in, their faces flushed with excitement, laughter trailing behind them like ribbons.

Lan Zhan's expression didn’t change much—barely a shift—but Wei Wuxian caught the softening in his eyes as A-Yuan barrelled into his side, clutching at his robes with sticky fingers. A-Yue chattered nonstop about who won the race (spoiler: she did, obviously), while A-Ai climbed onto the bench beside him. A-Shuang made a bold attempt to swipe a bun before Lan Zhan gently guided his hand away and handed him a bowl of soup instead.

“Eat first,” Lan Zhan said simply, his tone firm but fond.

A-Shuang grinned. “Yes, A Yuan's diedie.”

Lan Zhan didn’t reply, but the tips of his ears turned just a shade pinker. Wei Wuxian laughed, settling in beside him and stealing a piece of dried fruit from his bowl.

“You know,” he said, nudging Lan Zhan with his shoulder, “We’re raising an army of chaos gremlins. I hope you’re proud.”

Lan Zhan glanced at the children—bickering, grinning, trying to balance dumplings on their chopsticks. “I am.”

Lan Shuang (Lan Jingyi) had been spending more and more time in Yiling. His parents often left him with them—sometimes for a few days, sometimes weeks—whenever night hunts or sect duties pulled them away. Not that the boy ever complained. If anything, he thrived here. Cloud Recesses had changed compared to his previous life, but even softened, its silences and structure still felt too tight around him. Yiling, with its open skies, its noise and warmth, felt like freedom.

And A-Ai—his cousin’s daughter—was rarely far from his side. She had grown up wound into the lives of A-Yue and A-Yuan, the three of them like siblings in everything but name. Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan loved them all fiercely. These children, wild and laughing, were a constant wellspring of happiness—sunlight breaking through the long shadows of what had been.

As the meal unfolded in a chorus of stories and clattering bowls, Wei Wuxian leaned back slightly, his hand finding Lan Zhan’s under the table, resting gently on his knee.

“This is nice, huh?”

Lan Zhan glanced at him sideways. “Very.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, full of affection. “Good. Because I think we just got roped into raising an  honorary disciple.”

A pause.

“Mn,” Lan Zhan said, eyes drifting toward A-Shuang—now standing on the bench mid-performance, passionately recounting how he’d heroically tripped over a turtle and saved A-Ai’s life in the process.

“Eat first then tell the story” said lan zhan calmy, while the boy sat back down to eat.

Wei Wuxian burst out laughing again, loud and unrestrained, his heart weightless. In a world still shifting, still filled with uncertainties and battles yet to come, this—this messy, noisy, ridiculous moment—was something real. Something to keep.

Even Yiling itself had changed in the past few years. The town had grown steadily—no longer marked by derelict buildings or abandoned streets. New houses lined the roads, and what was once a quiet, half-forgotten place had blossomed into a thriving settlement. Many cultivators chose to settle within or around the town, especially those with families who longed for stability. Others still clung to the wandering lifestyle, but whenever they passed through Yiling, they found a home within the guild compound.

The Yiling office had expanded far beyond its original plans. New quarters, stables, and storage buildings had been added to accommodate the growing numbers. By Wei Wuxian’s own estimate, the complex was now larger than Lotus Pier itself—though, to him, that comparison meant little.

In the beginning, most of it had been funded from his own resources—the wealth he’d quietly amassed over the years through various inventions and innovations, which had turned out to be no small sum. But now, the Yiling guild was entirely self-sufficient, running on commissions, trade, and its own momentum.

Not only had the Yiling office grown, but two new branch offices had been established as well. One in the north, deep in Nie territory near Hejian, which was headed by the Han brothers, who had chosen to relocate so they could be closer to the temple where they had grown up. The other was founded in Qishan territory near Hedong, overseen by two rogue cultivators—one of them Bai Biyu’s older brother, Bai Bolin.

Each branch was managed by one or two trusted cultivators, their role not unlike the one Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan played in Yiling and Wan Shangcheng in Caiyi: to keep the doors open, to provide shelter and support to rogue cultivators passing through, and to act as a stable presence for those who had nowhere else to turn.

Wei Wuxian had helped fund both offices at the beginning, drawing again from the wealth he'd accumulated over the years. And like the Yiling office before them, both branches had eventually become self-sustaining—growing into something greater than what he had first imagined when the guild began.

After lunch, the children were gathered by Lan Zhan for their afternoon lessons, their little voices settling into attentive quiet as he guided them into seated positions. Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, made his way toward the training field, where a group of juniors was already assembled, awaiting his arrival with bright eyes and eager grins.

He enjoyed these sessions. There was something deeply satisfying about watching their progress—correcting stances, demonstrating new techniques, and weaving lessons into laughter whenever he could. His mother’s meditation methods had helped many of the younger cultivators find their centre. He continued to adapt those techniques, shaping them to each disciple’s needs. Some flourished in stillness, but others—like him—required movement to reach calm. And that was fine. There was no single way to cultivate strength.

Toward the end of the session, as the sun began to dip behind the courtyard walls, a sparrow made of glowing talisman light fluttered into the training grounds. It landed on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, dissolving into smoke as a voice filled his ears—Han Zhang's.

“Weixiao-jun,” came the strained whisper, heavy with pain. “One of our night-hunting parties was attacked. Three wounded, two dead. Among them... A-Yang.” His voice caught, cracking as he spoke the name. “We request your presence at the earliest.”

Wei Wuxian stood frozen, the words sinking in like cold water. Then, without another moment wasted, he turned on his heel and headed straight for the disciples’ quarters. He found Wei Jingshan working with the youngest cultivators, guiding them through basic stances with a sharp eye and encouraging voice.

“A-Yun,” Wei Wuxian called, using his brother’s birth name. “Lan Zhan and I are leaving for Hejian. There’s been an attack on guild cultivators. You’re in charge until Bai Biyu and Guo Dong return from their hunt.”

Jingshan’s expression shifted to a frown, but he nodded without hesitation. “Wounded?” he asked, already anticipating the worst.

Wei Wuxian gave a single, grim nod before heading off to find Lan Zhan.

Wei Jingshan and their sister, Wei Bao, had moved to Yiling shortly after Wei Wuxian had officially taken over management of the guild office from the Han brothers. Together, they’d taken up the responsibility of training the youngest disciples. A Bao, in particular, was gifted with the smallest ones—those still forming their golden cores. She had a natural patience and warmth that made the children gravitate to her. A few of the orphans had started calling her niangiang.

Wei Wuxian had tried to correct them—“Shijie is more appropriate,” he’d said—but she’d only smiled, brushing it off as she always did.

“I don’t mind, Xian-ge. They’re little. When they grow, they’ll stop.”

But deep down, Wei Wuxian knew they probably wouldn’t. And maybe that was all right.

He didn’t need to search long for Lan Zhan. His husband was already striding toward him across the courtyard, robes catching the wind, a storm brewing behind his usually calm expression.

“You received the message?” Wei Wuxian asked, voice low but steady.

“Mn. From Han Liu,” Lan Zhan confirmed with a sharp nod. “We leave tonight.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t argue. There was no time. He turned without another word and made his way to the nursery.

His sister was there, as expected, gently trying to wrestle a squirming toddler into a clean robe while two others toddled around her legs in delighted chaos. She looked up when he entered, a smile already forming—until she saw his face. The smile faltered immediately.

“We’re leaving for Hejian tonight,” he said quietly, stepping inside. “There’s been an attack on guild cultivators.”

Her hands stilled as the meaning sank in. Wei Wuxian crossed the room and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “I’m leaving the little ones in your care, meimei.”

She reached up and took his hand, squeezing it in silent support. “Go, Xian-ge. Take care of things. Don’t worry about them.”

“I don’t,” he said softly, trying to offer a smile but failing. “I know they’re safe with you. You’re the best gugu these little radishes could ever ask for.”

He pulled her into a hug then—brief but grounding—and in her quiet strength, he found the steadiness he needed. He drew a breath, his cheek resting for a heartbeat against her shoulder.

Then he stepped back, nodded once, then left to prepare for the journey. 

There was no room for delay. Duty—and grief—waited in Hejian.

After a quick goodbye to the children—who were used to their babas vanishing off on night hunts—Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan took to the skies, swords slicing through the cool evening air as they headed north toward Hejian.

Wei Wuxian’s thoughts were a whirlwind.

He had always known something like this could happen. The moment the guild began gaining real influence, it was only a matter of time before someone tried to undermine it through violence. That was why he’d made preparations from the very beginning. Every guild cultivator carried one of his newly developed teleportation talismans—easier to activate, less energy-intensive, keyed to take them to the nearest safe zone or guild office.

Their mid-sashes weren’t just decorative, either. Woven with layers of protective spells, they guarded against curses, low-level resentment, and even moderate resentful creatures. Every guild hunt group moved in pairs or teams, with clear instructions to retreat at the first sign of real danger or confrontation.

And yet… two were dead.

A-Yang was dead.

That didn’t sit right with him.

It shouldn’t have happened.

Lan Zhan flew slightly ahead of him, calm and resolute as ever, but Wei Wuxian knew his husband well enough to feel the tightly coiled tension in the air between them. The stillness before a storm.

This had not been a random ambush.

It wasn’t a misstep by reckless juniors.

No, this had been something else. Something meant to send a message. And now, there would be repercussions. Not only for the ones who orchestrated it, but for anyone who thought the guild could be intimidated.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw tightened, urging Xinming to fly faster

They wanted a confrontation?

They were about to get one.

Chapter Text

The Hejian office was quiet and somber, a heavy stillness settling over everything like a shroud. People moved silently, white sashes tied around their waists, a sign of mourning. Yet, more than sorrow, it was the anger that struck most sharply—raw, cutting, impossible to ignore.

Lan Zhan felt it because Wei Ying felt it. His husband had always harboured a keen sensitivity to resentment, and as his power grew, so too did that sensitivity. Over the years, their bond had deepened to the point where Lan Zhan could attune himself to Wei Ying’s emotions with little effort. And now, he was overwhelmed. The fury within Wei Ying was so intense, so consuming, that it left no room for moderation—least of all from Lan Zhan himself, whose own heart mirrored the same seething rage.

They were meant to balance each other. But how could they, when both stood on the same burning edge?

They flew through the night, pausing only for brief meditation and rest. It wasn’t much, but they were strong enough to endure. They had to be.

Han Zhang met them at the entrance. All the wards were in place, the full security system active. He looked pale and worn, the fatigue evident in the tight lines around his eyes—but there was resolve in his bearing. He bowed his head slightly in greeting.

“Tell me everything,” Wei Wuxian said as they made their way toward the ancestral hall.

“It was a routine hunt,” Han Zhang began, voice low. “Simple. Perfect for first-timers. They were accompanied by a senior cultivator and our most experienced junior.”

He paused, visibly composing himself before finishing, “Xue Yang.” A deep breath followed, his hands tightening at his sides.

They waited in silence, giving him space to gather his thoughts.

“When the alarm bell rang—someone had breached the shielded area around the transport array—we rushed to the site. We found the senior and two juniors. The senior and one junior were unconscious. Apparently, the one who remained conscious had just enough clarity to activate the transportation talismans for the other two while A-Yang held off the attackers.”

He turned to them then, eyes hard, voice steady with fury.

“They were dressed in black, faces concealed. According to the junior, there were nine—maybe ten. They attacked without warning, using poisoned arrows. It all happened so quickly he could recall very little. The only thing he remembers clearly is A-Yang shouting, ‘Use the talismans!’ And then... he woke in the containment ward.”

“We used transportation talismans to appear as close as possible to the place the junior described,” Han Zhang said, his voice strained. “But by the time we arrived, it was too late. We found A-Yang’s body.”

He swallowed hard, the memory catching in his throat.

“He was stabbed at least eight times, with numerous lacerations and cuts across his body. That boy... he put up one hell of a fight.”

Grief and pride mingled in his voice, creating a raw, unsteady mix.

“He saved the two juniors. The senior… even if the arrow wouldn’t have been poisoned, it had pierced his heart. He wouldn’t have made it.”

They walked in silence until they reached the entrance to the ancestral hall. There, Han Zhang stopped and turned to face them. His lips were pressed into a tight line, and unshed tears shimmered in the corners of his eyes.

“A-Liu is taking it very hard,” he whispered, then stepped inside. They followed.

Two beautiful coffins lay side by side, the scent of incense thick in the air, clinging to the silence. Han Liu was kneeling before them, back straight, but the grief radiating from him was almost tangible.

Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian approached the coffins. One held the fallen senior. The other—Xue Yang, courtesy name Congming.

Lan Zhan gazed at the young face, calm and still. A faint, mischievous smile lingered on his lips—unsettling in its peace. He looked as though he were only sleeping, caught mid-dream.

In his past life, Xue Yang had died wearing a manic grin, madness etched into every line of his face. But this smile… this was different. Not manic. Not cruel. Just quietly playful.

Lan Zhan had hated the man Xue Yang had once been. But he had come to appreciate the boy he became in this life.

Though his nature remained wild, his path had shifted. He had learned to channel that volatile energy toward something meaningful. His actions were no longer born of revenge, madness, or cruelty—but of protection. Of strength used to shield rather than destroy.

And in the end, he died doing just that—defending his juniors and his teacher.

Han Liu rose when he saw them, his movements stiff with restrained emotion. His gaze fell to Xue Yang’s coffin, and pain carved deep lines into his face.

“He was my son,” he said, voice cracking under the weight of grief. “This will not go unpunished. They attacked children.”

His eyes blazed as he looked at them—burning with fury, with helplessness barely held in check.

“Children,” he repeated, louder now—almost a cry. “What kind of cowards travel in numbers only to strike down children?”

He was shaking, not from fear, but from the sheer effort it took to keep from breaking apart.

“Whoever is behind this,” he growled, “I will go to the ends of the world if I must—I will see them pay, and dearly.”

“They will,” Wei Wuxian said.

His voice was low, but it struck like thunder. The quiet steel behind it carried more weight than any shout. It was the voice that once echoed through battlefields, that had led armies and summoned the dead. It was the voice of the Yiling Patriarch—not the feared necromancer of old, but the man who would burn the world down to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

And in that moment, the promise hung in the air like a curse.

They left the ancestral hall slowly, walking through the hushed compound. The air was thick with incense and mourning, the kind that seemed to settle into the bones.

Then, Han Liu stopped.

His eyes turned toward a cherry tree, still in bloom.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan followed his gaze. The blossoms swayed softly in the breeze, pink and pale, falling and being replaced in a cycle that never ended.

Lan Zhan had seen this tree before—of course he had. It was Xue Yang’s creation, the result of an attempt to modify the preservation array gone slightly awry. He did not know what the boy tried to achieve but had instead made something extraordinary: a tree that bloomed through every season, from spring through snow. Every fallen petal was replaced by another, an unceasing defiance of time.

Han Liu stepped forward and placed a trembling hand against the tree’s trunk. And then the sobs came—quiet at first, then deep, shaking, wracking his body. He made no attempt to stop them.

In silent solidarity, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan stepped closer, each placing a hand on his shoulders. No words were spoken—they weren't needed.

And then, something shifted.

Lan Zhan couldn’t explain what happened next. A pull, a flicker in his core—a resonance. As though the grief that surged from Han Liu had opened something wider. And in that space, a memory surfaced.

But it wasn’t his.

In a courtyard washed in twilight, Han Liu stood beneath the cherry tree that bloomed stubbornly out of season. A younger Xue Yang was practicing sword forms, his movements quick, but unrefined.

“Your stance is still off,” Han Liu said, arms crossed. “You lead with your temper. You’ll die with it if you don’t learn control.”

Xue Yang rolled his eyes but shifted his feet. “I don’t need control. I need to hit harder than the other guy.”

Han Liu raised an eyebrow. “And if the other guy is stronger?”

“Then I hit faster.”

Without warning, Han Liu stepped in and struck—not hard, but quick enough to knock the boy off balance. Xue Yang caught himself, eyes flashing.

“That’s your answer?” Han Liu said quietly. “Every time someone is stronger, faster, more cruel—you just try to outmatch them?”

“It’s worked so far.”

“It won’t forever.”

Xue Yang looked away, jaw tight. “Why do you care, anyway?”

There was silence. And then—

“Because,” Han Liu said, voice softening, “when I look at you, I see a boy who could  be anything. I don’t want you to die proving a point. I want you to live—to protect others, not just fight for yourself.”

Xue Yang didn’t reply. He only stared into the growing dusk, fingers twitching tightening on his practicing sword

A long moment passed.

Then: “That tree’s still blooming.”

Han Liu followed his gaze. The blossoms danced in the wind, luminous in the half-light.

“It is,” he said. “So don’t let it be the only thing you leave behind.”

And now, standing beneath that very tree, they exhaled slowly. The air was heavy with loss, but there was something else beneath it—something still alive.

Xue Yang had left behind more than a tree. He’d left behind a legacy. A choice. A change.

And even in death, that mattered.

Lan Zhan slowly removed his hand from Han Liu’s shoulder and turned to look at Wei Wuxian. He found the same distant expression mirrored in his husband’s eyes—unfocused, tinged with sorrow, yet sharp with recognition.

He had seen it too.

The memory. The boy under the twilight sky. The tree in bloom. And the weight of Han Liu’s grief—felt not only with empathy, but as if it were briefly their own.

They were fathers. They knew what it meant to love a child with everything they had. And they understood, perhaps too well, how unbearable it would be to lose one.

But the memory—that part was a mystery. It wasn’t theirs, and yet they had shared it. It lingered in the air like the fading echo of a dream.

Wei Wuxian gave a faint nod, eyes meeting Lan Zhan’s.

“Later,” he said quietly, as he turned away. “Now’s not the time. We’ll look into it when the moment’s right.”

Lan Zhan inclined his head. Over the past few years, they’d grown used to strange occurrences—ripples in spiritual energy, remnants of lives lived before, fragments of something larger just beyond the veil. But this... this was different. Clearer. Sharper.

And somehow more personal.

They gave Han Liu space, allowing the man a few more moments with the tree, with his grief. When he finally stepped back, shoulders squared but his eyes red, Wei Wuxian spoke gently.

“We want to see the place where it happened.”

Han Liu nodded, his voice still hoarse but steady. “I’ll take you. It’s about an hour away by sword.”

Han zhang glanced toward the compound. “Let me inform my second that we’ll be gone for a while. Then we can leave.”

Wei Wuxian gave a single nod, while Lan Zhan silently turned his gaze skyward. The clouds were beginning to part, streaks of pale light slipping through the grey.

Just as they were about to rise into the sky, five figures appeared at the horizon—fast, deliberate, and unmistakably armed.

All four men tensed, hands drifting toward their weapons, spiritual energy humming faintly in the air. But moments later, the tension eased.

Nie cultivators.

More specifically—Nie Qingwu, Sect Leader Nie, accompanied by Nie Huaisang and three others in the green and silver of Qinghe.

Wei Wuxian turned to Han Zhang, one brow raised.

“I sent warning messages to all the guild offices,” Han Zhang said calmly. “And a personal message to Sect Leader Nie. After all, this happened in his territory.”

Wei Wuxian gave a brief nod. “Good call.”

Lan Zhan’s gaze settled on Nie Qingwu as he approached, and his brows drew slightly together. The man looked thinner than the last time they’d seen him, paler too—but none of that diminished the storm of fury radiating from him like heat off sun-baked steel.

Even more unsettling was Nie Huaisang.

Gone was the fluttery fan-wielding boy who ducked conflict with nervous laughter. Ever since his return from the Dailing Sect nearly a year ago, he had changed. Sharper. Focused. There was a stillness to him now, a quiet, confident gravity that made people instinctively pay attention.

Wei Wuxian had tested that stillness once, not long ago, requesting a friendly duel—only to find himself outmanoeuvred without a single blade drawn. Huaisang had offered a real challenge, moving like a man who didn’t need a weapon to kill.

He descended gracefully from his sabre, which, as far as anyone could tell, he used solely for flying. Nie Qingwu landed behind him, his expression like thunder.

No greetings were exchanged.

“Is it true?” Nie Qingwu asked without preamble, voice low and clipped.

Han Zhang inclined his head solemnly. “Yes, Sect Leader. The senior cultivator and Xue Congming are dead. Two juniors survived—one severely wounded, the other will recover within a week.”

“How old?” Nie Qingwu’s voice was ice.

“Thirteen and fourteen,” Han Zhang said. “A Yang was sixteen.”

Nie Qingwu’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, his spiritual pressure flared like a blade being unsheathed. Lan Zhan’s hand twitched at his side, but there was no need—Qingwu pulled it back in with a visible effort.

“We were about to head to the site to investigate further,” Wei Wuxian said. “You’re welcome to join us. We’ll bring you up to speed on the way.”

Lan Zhan nodded in silent agreement. Time was precious, and whatever lay waiting in that forest, he wanted to face it now.

As the group prepared to depart, Nie Qingwu turned slightly, his voice low but urgent.

“Is Yiling secure?”

Wei Wuxian answered without hesitation, his tone steady with conviction. “Don’t worry, Sect Leader Nie. Jinshan is in charge. He knows the wards, the emergency protocols—every defence we’ve put in place. If anything happens, he’ll handle it.”

Lan Zhan gave a silent nod, backing his husband’s words with calm certainty.

Nie Qingwu regarded them both for a beat longer, then gave a curt, satisfied nod. “Good. Let’s go.”

And with that, the sky filled with motion.

Blades shimmered as they rose together, a deadly flight of cultivators cutting through the wind.

They flew with purpose only the wind howling around them, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms long behind.

The clearing felt too peaceful, considering lives had been lost here.

Birdsong floated through the quiet woods, wind rustled gently through the trees. It was calm—unnaturally so. As soon as they landed, Nie Qingwu was brought up to speed with quick, clipped words. Then, without wasting time, they spread out, searching for any sign—anything that could give them a clue about the attackers.

Wei Wuxian, a seasoned tracker, crouched low and pointed. “Someone died here. And here.”

He moved fluidly through the clearing, eyes scanning the ground, fingers brushing the grass. “Look at the bent stalks… and the lower branches of that bush. There was a struggle. Someone fought hard.”

He continued, mapping the chaos that had once filled the silent space.

“Where did you find Xue Yang?” he asked without turning.

“There,” Han Zhang replied, pointing toward a large tree with a massive, gnarled trunk.

Wei Wuxian’s gaze narrowed as he approached the spot.

“They left nothing behind,” Nie Huaisang said, his fan spinning lazily in one hand as he surveyed the scene. “Picked up every arrow, erased any clear trace.”

“They were careful,” Lan Zhan murmured, his eyes following the faint marks only a trained cultivator might notice. “Too careful.”

“But not perfect,” Wei Wuxian said, glancing back at the others. “They didn’t get rid of the blood. And that’s more than enough.”

“Inquiry?” Huaisang asked, folding his fan with a snap.

“And rendering” said Lan Zhan

Wei Wuxian nodded. “Exactly. Inquiry alone lets the cultivator hear the echoes of what happened, but the language is unique to the Lan Clan. With rendering, the rest of us can understand what’s said during the process.”

Huaisang raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you used it so freely.”

“I don’t,” Wei Wuxian said. “But for this, it’s worth it.”

He pulled out a blank talisman and bit his finger, writing intricate sigils in blood. He handed it to Lan Zhan, who did the same, adding his own markings with steady, practiced precision.

The moment the talisman was complete, a complex array shimmered into life on the ground beneath the tree where Xue Yang had died. Lan Zhan stepped into the centre, sat with his legs crossed, and placed his guqin gently in front of him.

He began to play.

A faint hum filled the air as spiritual energy gathered, weaving into the melody. The clearing seemed to hold its breath.

“I call for the soul of Xue Congming,” he played, the notes carried by the strings.

There was no delay.

“Zhuangyan-jun,” came a familiar voice, bright and brazen. “I was waiting for you.”

Even in death, Xue Yang’s tone was unflinching, bold. It brought a tight, aching warmth to Lan Zhan’s chest. So much promise, gone too soon.

“Tell us everything,” Lan Zhan played.

“They were cultivators, but they felt like assassins,” came the voice, slightly fainter now, but clear. “Trained. Fast. I killed four, injured at least three more. They didn’t speak much. But they were coordinated—deadly.”

Despite everything, pride tinged his words.

“They were good,” he added, “but not good enough.”

A silence settled over the clearing. Lan Zhan’s music softened, mournful.

“Justice will be served,” he played.

“I know,” Xue Yang replied. “Tell Father I’m sorry… but I don’t regret staying. I couldn’t run. Not with the others still there. He should be proud. I wasn’t an easy kill.”

“He can hear you,” Lan Zhan played gently.

“Good.”

The spiritual thread wavered—growing thin, faint.

Lan Zhan’s fingers slowed, then stilled, as he closed the inquiry.

When he looked up, he saw Han Liu on his knees, shoulders shaking with quiet, violent sobs. Han Zhang knelt beside him, holding him tightly, his own face streaked with tears.

And in the clearing—so peaceful it felt wrong—grief finally made itself heard.

“Here, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian said, gesturing to a patch of trampled grass and snapped branches. The signs of a struggle were clear—blood, scuff marks, disturbed earth.

Lan Zhan nodded silently and stepped forward. As before, they activated the rendering talisman, fingers stained again with blood and precision. The array flared to life, and Lan Zhan seated himself within it, his guqin resting calmly before him.

He struck the strings, sending a pulse of command through the spiritual air—sharper, more forceful than before. Four spirits responded, drawn by the compulsion.

Lan Zhan, refined master of inquiry, could now hold communion with multiple souls at once—ten if needed, though each was a weight he bore with solemnity. He wove his will into the melody like steel beneath silk.

“Names?” he played, the tone cold and commanding.

“Ru Chan.”

“Ru Bian.”

“Zou Yin.”

“Li Shan.”

The names echoed through the clearing like confessions in a temple.

“What sect do you belong to?” The question rang out, relentless.

“No sect.”

“We serve the Order of Rudong.”

“A mercenary group” Wei Wuxian muttered, frowning. “Assassins.”

“Who contracted you?” Lan Zhan asked, driving the inquiry deeper.

There was resistance—uncertainty, fear—but he struck the strings harder, pushing.

“Who hired you?” The command rippled with force.

“They wore hoods,” one voice replied. “Did not give names.”

“But—” another spirit interrupted, “I saw the Jin vermilion mark on the man forehead.”

Wei Wuxian’s breath hitched, expression tightening.

Another voice added, slower. “The woman’s weapons. I recognized them.”

“Whose?” Lan Zhan pressed, his command sharp.

“One of Yu Ziyuan’s  servants. I’ve seen her before. Her blade.”

A chill settled over the group.

Lan Zhan’s fingers hovered above the strings for a moment longer before the melody died into silence. The souls faded, leaving only wind and tension in their wake. He played rest immediately liberating whatever spirits lingered around.

“That witch,” exploded Nie Qingwu, his voice cutting through the clearing like a blade.

“That is not unexpected,” murmured Nie Huaisang, his fan now closed and still, his expression unreadable.

“A Jin… and one of Madam Yu’s servants,” Wei Wuxian said, fury flashing in his eyes. "I believe it's time to settle some matters definitively "

“I will announce an emergency Cultivation Conference,” said Nie Qingwu firmly. “Two weeks. Enough time to gather witnesses, evidence”

He turned to Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian, his expression iron. “I will inform Qingheng-jun of everything that happened here. You—focus on uncovering more.”

Then his gaze shifted to Huaisang. “I assume you already have a plan?”

“Ai, a single plan?” Huaisang smiled. Not the soft, harmless smile most once associated with him—but something sharper, colder. “I have several.”

The way he said it sent a chill through the air. Lan Zhan, for a brief moment, was grateful they were on the same side. He did not envy the ones who weren’t. He almost felt sorry for them.

Almost.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian surveyed the aftermath of the battle—brief, but devastating. This was not the outcome he had wanted.

He had come to the hidden Rudong compound, located within days by Huaisang, with a simple purpose: to ask for the names of those involved in the assault on the guild cultivators. He had no intention of dismantling their covert organization. All he sought was information—and a promise that they would never again target the guild.

But nothing was ever simple when it came to assassins.

After a day spent scouting the area, Wei Wuxian, along with Lan Zhan, Han Liu, Nie Huaisang (who had insisted on joining), and Yu Xitian with four other Yu disciples—since the compound lay within Yu-controlled territory—were ambushed.

And naturally, they defended themselves.

He had counted thirty-eight bodies so far.

The two who remained alive were bound and kneeling, watched closely by Han Liu, whose cold precision in battle had cut down everything in his path. Huaisang had been just as lethal—his movements fluid and almost dance-like, spinning, leaping, and ducking with graceful agility. Not a single poisoned arrow or blade had touched him, and he had landed more deadly strikes than even he had expected.

Yu Xitian turned her sharp gaze toward the two prisoners.
“How many more are still hiding?” she asked, despite having already dispatched her disciples to search every building.

Silence.

“They’ll talk,” Wei Wuxian said coolly, his voice devoid of sympathy. “Don’t worry, Yu Furen.”

Lan Zhan stood beside him, his robes still pristine—barely a speck of blood or dust on them. Wei Wuxian glanced at him, still baffled. They used the same spells on their clothing, yet his own robes were always stained after a fight.

“We found children!” a Yu disciple called from across the courtyard.

Leaving the prisoners in Han Liu’s care, the group rushed toward the building. Inside, they found eight children, all dressed in plain garments. The older ones had stepped protectively in front of the younger, their faces pale with fear. A few bore bruises.

Wei Wuxian approached slowly, his tone soft as he offered his warmest smile.
“We’re not going to hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”
Then, kneeling slightly to meet their eyes, he asked, “Where are your parents?”

The oldest among them—a boy who couldn’t have been more than ten—watched the group warily before replying.

“We don’t have any.”

Wei Wuxian frowned in confusion. “Then… who were the people outside?”

A bitter, almost mocking smile crept across the boy’s face.
“You mean the ones you killed?” he said. “Our masters.”

The boy’s words struck Wei Wuxian like a slap.

He straightened slightly, then softened his smile, gentler now.
“Well,” he said quietly, “they are not your masters anymore.”

The child’s brow remained furrowed. “Are you our master now?”

“No,” Wei Wuxian replied, his voice calm but firm. “I’m what you might call a cultivator. And cultivators do not keep slaves.”

But the boy’s expression didn’t change. Suspicion lingered in his eyes.

“They were cultivators too,” he said, his voice laced with quiet defiance.

He could have denied the boy’s claim—but instead, he chose to correct the assumption.

“Yes, they were cultivators,” he said gently, “but they were also assassins. We are not like them. We do not keep slaves.”

He gestured to the group behind him. “We have disciples—students whom we train in cultivation to protect others, not to harm the innocent.”

The boy still looked wary, but some of the tension in his posture eased.

“These are my best disciples,” Yu Xitian said approaching “You’re safe with them. They’ll make sure you eat something and then take you to the Meishan Yu Sect .”

She paused, letting her voice soften further.

“If you choose to become cultivators, you can join the junior disciples and learn. If not, we’ll find families who will take you in—families who will care for you.”

Wei Wuxian turned to her.
“Thank you, Yu Furen.”

Yu Xitian shook her head. “No thanks are necessary. We cannot abandon these children to their fate.”

Returning to the kneeling prisoners, Wei Wuxian pressed a truth talisman to each of their foreheads. The glow flared briefly as the magic took hold.
“Who were those children?” he asked.

He felt their inner resistance, their spiritual cores straining against the compulsion. But eventually, the talismans won.

“Orphans,” one of them rasped. “Street children no one wanted. We take them in… train them. Those who survive become part of the Order.”

Wei Wuxian’s jaw tightened. It was a practice he had heard of—common among brothels and slave traders, where the vulnerable were plucked from the streets and sold like livestock. These so-called orders were no different. They preyed on the defenceless to swell their numbers.

He took a step closer. “Tell me—how can I find the ones who attacked the Guild cultivators a few days ago?”

“You can’t,” the prisoner replied, breath hitching. “They are not to return until the mission is complete.”

“What is the mission?” Huaisang asked, sharp and sudden.

“Each group is independent,” the man answered, clearly straining under the talisman’s power. “Only they know the mission details. When we receive a request, we send a team to meet with the client to agree on payment and conditions.”

Wei Wuxian’s voice turned cold. “Who sent the request regarding the Guild cultivators?”

The prisoner’s face had gone deathly pale. His resistance was draining what little spiritual energy he had left. But still, he spoke:

“Yu Ziyuan.”

Yu Xitian inhaled sharply, even though the suspicion had already been festering. Now, it was confirmed.

Huaisang stepped forward, voice like steel.
“Was it her first contract?”

Wei Wuxian glanced at his sworn brother, unsure where he was leading. But the prisoner answered:

“No.”

“Who was the first?” Huaisang pressed, unblinking.

“…Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze.”

Wei Wuxian’s blood turned to ice.

His parents.

Assassinated.

His voice was little more than breath when he spoke. “Explain.”

“We were paid to follow them,” the prisoner said, barely conscious now. “Wait for one of their night hunts… and ensure they didn’t return alive.”

“What about the child?” Wei Wuxian pressed, desperate to make sense of it all.

The man blinked, confused. “What child?”

He hadn’t known.

So they hadn’t been told of his existence.

She didn’t care whether he lived or died—so long as Cangse Sanren was no longer a thorn in her side. Wei Wuxian and his father had been nothing more than collateral damage.

He turned abruptly, storming away before he did something irreversible. He still needed the two men alive—as witnesses.

Lan Zhan was there, silent and steady, following him to a secluded corner of the compound. It was quiet, hidden from view. And there, Wei Wuxian let it out—a raw, rage-filled scream that tore from his chest like a wound bursting open.

How deep did Yu Ziyuan’s hatred for his mother go, that she would hire assassins to kill both her and her husband? That she would leave their child—him—on the streets to fend for himself?

In his first life, she had made sure he never forgot what she believed he owed her. Had taken every opportunity to remind him that he was beneath her, beneath her children. He had endured her cruelty. Even believed he deserved it.

But now, the truth was clearer than ever.

What sick satisfaction had she taken in tormenting the son of the woman she despised?

Wei Wuxian stood with his back to Lan Zhan, hands clenched into fists at his sides. His breath came in harsh, uneven bursts, his vision swimming with the heat of fury and betrayal. He wanted to tear something apart—to scream again, louder this time, until the heavens cracked open and demanded answers.

How many times had he bowed his head beneath her roof? How many years had he swallowed his pride, endured her disdain, her scorn, her whispered jabs and sharpened silences? How often had he tried to make himself small, acceptable, grateful—for her shelter, for the scraps of her tolerance?

And all that time, she had known. She had ordered it.

She’d murdered his family.

A bitter laugh twisted out of his throat, sharp and broken. He felt like a fool. Worse—he felt like a pawn in a game he hadn’t even realized he was part of.

Behind him, Lan Zhan didn’t speak. He didn’t offer platitudes or ask if Wei Wuxian was all right. He simply wrapped his arms around him , a calm presence in the storm.

Wei Wuxian turned his head slightly, just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye. “I knew she hated my mother. Everyone did. But this…”

Lan Zhan's gaze remained steady. “Hatred is one thing. This was cruelty.”

Wei Wuxian let out a shaky breath, the fight slowly draining from his limbs. “I let her raise me. I let her shape me. And I thought… I thought I deserved it. Like I had to pay for my mother being too wild, too loud, too different.”

Lan Zhan’s voice was quiet but firm. “You did not.”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes. “I should be used to betrayal by now. But this... this is something else.”

“You are not alone,” he said softly. “You never were.”

The words slipped into the spaces between Wei Wuxian’s ribs and anchored there. He didn’t reply, not right away. But he turned in his husband arms and hid his face in his neck inhaling his calming scent, letting it ground him, taking strength and purpose that was freely given.

Yu Xitian took responsibility for the two prisoners. She would personally escort them to the Unclean Realm, where they would be held until the conference. Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian, Lan Zhan, Nie Huaisang, and Han Liu set off to track down what remained of the team responsible for the attack on the Guild cultivators.

The mission gave Wei Wuxian something he desperately needed—purpose. Focus. A reason not to storm Lotus Pier and confront Yu Ziyuan with blade in hand.

The next day, upon arriving in Yiling, a message talisman from Wan Shangcheng appeared before him. . Another attack had taken place. Fortunately, there were no casualties—only a few minor injuries. Han Ning and Han Qing had came to the Caiyi office when they heard, stabilizing the wounded and heading to the Hejian office to tend to a gravely injured junior cultivator.

They hadn’t managed to capture any of the attackers, but they had killed two more. Fortunately, they were  not able to take the bodies with them this time,  leaving them behind.

Qingheng-jun had performed a spiritual inquiry at the scene, gathering much of the same information—enough to suggest a connection to Yu Ziyuan and an unidentified male member of the Jin clan. Wan Shangcheng suspected Jin Zixun. Wei Wuxian agreed.

Later the next day, another talisman arrived—this time from Bai Bolin. He was tracking the remaining assassins into the Kazun Forests, a vast, uninhabited stretch of woods  between Bunan and Yingchuan.

They set out at once.

Wei Wuxian called upon Geleihou, his raven companion—a clever bird he often relied on during difficult night hunts. She could understand basic commands and was especially skilled at spotting signs of movement or life from above.

Now, they were resting by a narrow stream, taking a short break after Bai Bolin had joined their search party, when Geleihou swooped down and landed on Wei Wuxian’s shoulder, gently pecking at his robes.

“She found them,” he said, rising to his feet.

The others followed immediately.

“How does he know?” Bai Bolin asked, frowning.

“I just do,” Wei Wuxian replied simply. “She’s a very good friend. I understand her very well.”

The five  of them took to the skies.

They flew for over an hour, scanning the forest below until they spotted a faint campfire tucked between a dense patch of trees. Quietly, they landed a short distance away, then split up, approaching the camp from four different directions—silent, swift, and ready.

The fight lasted less than five minutes.

The six remaining assassins—three of whom were still recovering from injuries—stood little chance against them.

Wei Wuxian struck like a shadow with teeth, Xinming cutting through resistance as easily as air. Lan Zhan moved with measured grace, each blow swift and final. Han Liu carved a path with cold precision, while Huaisang—fan in hand—directed subtle but deadly diversions. Bai Bolin’s strikes were clean, decisive, and perfectly timed.

The enemy realized the battle was lost almost before it began.

Four of them, unwilling to be captured, turned their weapons on themselves—dying before anyone could intervene.

The remaining two tried, but they weren’t quick enough. One was disarmed by Lan Zhan with a flick of his wrist. The other fell unconscious at Han Liu’s feet before he could even raise a blade.

Silence returned to the forest, broken only by the crackling of the abandoned campfire and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.

It was done, thought Wei Wuxian as he stood watching the two bound prisoners.

The last of them.

He would question them later—at the Unclean Realm, where Yu Xitian and the other two captives were already waiting.

The bodies of the dead were gathered in silence and burned. No one spoke much during the grim task. There was no triumph in it—only the heavy finality of duty fulfilled.

The journey back to Qinghe was quiet.

Each of them with their own thoughts. No one mentioned the four who had taken their own lives. No one needed to.

Their mission was complete, but it still did not bring back what they lost

Wei Wuxian said nothing.

But in the back of his mind, the pieces were still shifting—lining up like chessmen on a board he hadn’t known he was playing.

Yu Ziyuan. Jin Zixun. His parents.

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

The interrogation of the final two prisoners yielded little beyond what they already knew.

They had been paid handsomely to disrupt night hunts led by Guild cultivators—no names, only targets. Their orders were clear: cause chaos, take as many lives as possible, young or old. The attacks were spaced far apart, designed to confuse and disorient, to instil fear and shatter morale.

But the plan had not gone as expected.

They had gravely underestimated the juniors—especially Xue Yang, whose unpredictable, ruthless defence  had dismantled an entire operation in one night. Four assassins dead, three seriously wounded, and a meticulously laid plot left in tatters.

The captives admitted that the second half of their payment would only be delivered once a significant number of Guild cultivators had been killed. The implication was chilling—but implications weren’t enough.

Despite everything gleaned through inquiry and confession, there were no signatures. Nothing that directly tied Yu Ziyuan—or Jin Zixun—to the contract. Without proof, all they had were suspicions and circumstantial evidence. And that could be dismissed.

That was where Nie Huaisang came in.

His network had already begun gathering pieces.

Since the scandal, the Jin clan had been careful. Polished. Clean. And the Jiangs, long-standing in their honour, had no overt blemish to their name.

But that didn’t mean they were untouchable. That didn’t mean they could not be hurt, especially when the Madam reputation would be severally tarnished even by speculation. “We have to set the stage at the conference, sometimes the guilty ones can not abstain from outing themselves" said Huaisang one night. 

Measures would be taken. Huaisang had already promised that both clans would suffer one way or another—and Wei Wuxian trusted that look in his eyes when he said it.

Still, Wei Wuxian was torn.

He didn’t want to punish an entire sect for the crimes of a few. He didn’t want to sow resentment toward the Guild cultivators they had fought so hard to protect. But he also couldn’t back down. Not now.

If there was one thing he understood about the major sects, it was this: reputation meant more to them than the truth. Sometimes, even more than justice.

The evening before the conference, Nie Huaisang joined them just as the final dishes were being laid out. His entrance was grand as always, a fan flicking open with a flourish, and an unmistakable smugness lighting up his face.

“Well, my dear Xian-di and Wangji-xiong,” he said cheerfully, “I bring you both the very best news.”

Wei Wuxian arched a brow at him, noting the gleam in his brother’s eyes—like a cat who’d gotten into the cream. “Don’t keep us in suspense, San-ge. What is it?”

Huaisang settled himself at the table with a self-satisfied sigh. “I’d expected uncovering something on Madam Yu would be a challenge. She may be prideful, arrogant, and vengeful—but she’s not stupid. Unfortunately for her, the same cannot be said about her co-conspirator.”

Wei Wuxian exchanged a look with Lan Wangji.

“The moment we began suspecting the Jin in question was Jin Zixun,” Huaisang continued, “everything got much easier. The man is not only proud and arrogant—he’s also utterly stupid. After the Cloud Recesses incident, things soured for him within the Jin Sect. He was heavily restricted by Madam Jin, who didn’t care much for him even before Jin Guangshan’s death. Since then, his influence has plummeted.”

He flicked his fan lazily, enjoying the build-up.

“So naturally, Madam Yu thought she could use him to advance her agenda. And that—” he grinned, “—was her biggest mistake. Because all it took was a few drinks for that idiot to spill secrets like a broken teapot.”

Huaisang paused dramatically. “And so, through some very trusted ears, I learned that they were supposed to split the bill. Madam Yu paid the first instalment—through a servant who delivered the sum directly to the assassins, more precisely one of her personal maids. Jin Zixun, however, was responsible for the rest. Only, instead of delivering it himself, he left the money with a magistrate near Lanling, where he owns an estate. He even sent detailed instructions on what to do and when to pay.”

With a flourish, Huaisang reached into his sleeve and withdrew a folded letter, placing it on the table like it was a royal decree.

Wei Wuxian leaned forward, took the letter, and read it—once, then again. His shoulders began to shake.

A moment later, he burst into laughter.

This—this was precious.

Jin Zixun had, once again, managed to utterly screw himself over… and this time, he’d dragged Yu Ziyuan down with him.

Lan Wangji, calm as always, looked at the letter with a flicker of interest. “This is enough?”

Huaisang smiled, eyes gleaming behind his fan. “It’s more than enough.with the prisoners confessions we are set"

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Another misplaced Jin letter? That’s one more stain on their already messy reputation. You’d think they’d have learned to guard their correspondence by now.”

Chapter Text

Sect leaders and their entourages began arriving at the Unclean Realm in the early hours of the morning. Among them were Qingheng-jun, leading the Lan delegation, and Sect Leader Yu, who came to join her daughter—already present, having arrived a few days before with the two prisoners.

Sect Leader Yu's expression was far sterner than Wei Wuxian remembered. There was a weariness etched into her features, one that hinted at inner turmoil and difficult decisions. She spoke only the bare minimum required by courtesy before retreating to her quarters, where she remained, even during mealtimes.

Yu Furen later confided that her mother had always sought solitude when faced with painful choices. She herself had been more forthcoming about the conflict she felt regarding her sister's actions. Though she knew the right path, she admitted it was far from easy to follow.

Wei Wuxian refrained from raising the matter of Yu Ziyan with either of them. Regardless of their personal convictions—whether they chose to support Madam Yu or remained neutral—the truth stood unchanged. Consequences would come, and he would pass judgment once their positions were fully revealed.

The Jin sect was an entirely different matter. Though Jin Zixuan had formally assumed the position of Sect Leader from his mother, she continued to wield considerable influence, serving as his most trusted advisor. Their delegation arrived closer to noon, but made their presence immediately known with an ostentatious display—an entourage of attendants so large it seemed they required one servant for every conceivable task.

What caught Wei Wuxian most off guard, however, was not their arrival but the company Jin Zixuan kept. It was not Jiang Yanli at his side, but his concubine.

The marriage between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli, if rumor was to be believed, had always been distant. Two years into their union, Jiang Yanli had given birth to a son they named Jin Ling—earlier than in Wei Wuxian’s past life—but his former nephew was still born, and this time, the boy had been given the chance to live and grow up with both parents.

A year after Jin Ling's birth, Jin Zixuan took a concubine—a formidable cultivator from a northern sect. Though she was not of gentry birth, a strong bond had formed between them almost immediately, after a single encounter during a night hunt.

According to the intelligence Nie Huaisang had gathered, the relationship between the Jin sect leader and his concubine had grown significantly closer than his marriage. Rumour had it Jiang Yanli had been quietly moved to a different wing of Koi Tower—lavishly furnished, but deliberately distant. Meanwhile, Jin Zixuan and his concubine were almost always seen together, not only as companions, but as partners in council.

Wei Wuxian had to admit, upon seeing her, that the woman possessed a commanding presence. She carried herself with the ease and assurance of a cultivator fully aware of her own strength. There was nothing timid or demure about her—only poise and dignity, the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly who she was.

He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for Yanli. He had once hoped that, in time, love would blossom again between her and Jin Zixuan. But perhaps the circumstances had changed too much, or perhaps the affection had never run as deep as he once believed.

Even if he hadn’t died in his past life, he thought now, maybe that affection would have faded all the same.

Jin Zixun was also present—a surprise in itself. Nie Huaisang had assured him he would be, though he hadn't explained how he'd managed it. Normally, Jin Zixun wouldn't have been included in a delegation of this nature, Madam Jin kept him away from affairs of diplomacy or inter-sect politics.

Wei Wuxian didn't press for details. Whatever strings Huaisang had pulled, he managed to secure his presence there—and that was enough.

Nie Huaisang had spent the last two weeks carefully preparing the ground, allowing rumours to circulate—tales of attacks on guild-affiliated cultivators, whispers of casualties among junior disciples. He let the rumour mill exaggerate and distort the truth as it pleased; it served his purpose. The real goal was to ensure that those responsible remained unaware of the capture—and complete elimination—of the Rudong Order. The reason for the conference needed to be widely speculated, but never accurately guessed.

And that wasn't all.

Huaisang’s spy network had been working in full force behind the scenes, drawing out every thread of dissent and discontent surrounding Madam Yu—both within the Jiang Sect and beyond. Whispers of her more controversial decisions, old grievances, and lingering animosities were gently stirred back to the surface, carefully fed into the undercurrents of sect politics. It wasn’t just about sowing doubt—it was about spotlighting fractures that had long been ignored.

The Jiang delegation was the last to arrive. Madam Yu and Jiang Wanyin stood at Jiang Fengmian’s side, a picture of unity on the surface—but Wei Wuxian, and likely many others, could see the strain in their stance.

At the sight of her, Wei Wuxian’s first instinct was to draw Xinming and challenge her on the spot. The urge surged through him, fierce and blinding—an echo of the fury he’d felt when he once caught Wen Chao in his grasp. He wanted to see her fall, to tear her apart piece by piece, to make her suffer in all the ways she deserved.

It startled him, just how deeply that rage ran.

He hated this part of himself—the one that burned so hot with vengeance he forgot to ask if it was worth it. He had lived through that once before, let wrath consume him until nothing else remained. Maybe… maybe if he had stopped, questioned himself sooner, things could have turned out differently.

But now, Lan Zhan stood beside him. Always beside him. His presence alone was a steadying force, anchoring Wei Wuxian in the present. Through the deepening bond between them, he could feel Lan Zhan’s awareness of his rage—matching it, yes, but not feeding it. Grounded, clear, focused.

It was that steadiness, that quiet strength, that held him back from drawing his sword.

Later that afternoon, the great hall of the Unclean Realm was thick with tension and anticipation. Conversations buzzed beneath the surface like a swarm of bees—rumours and speculation, fanned by two weeks of unchecked gossip, passed from one corner of the room to another. Every whispered theory circled back to the same question: why had Nie Qinghui called this gathering?

Wei Wuxian took his place at the tables reserved for the Cultivators Guild. Lan Zhan stood at his right, silent and composed as always, while Han Liu stood at his left, ever watchful. Wan Shangcheng and Bai Bolin were also present, representing their respective guild offices, their expressions grave.

The guild delegation was seated to the right of the hosts—Nie Qinghui, Nie Mingjue, and Huaisang. Opposite them, on the left, sat the Lan sect, serene as ever, with the Wen delegation beside them. Just off to the side of the guild representatives sat Sect Leader Yu and Yu Xitian, their presence like a flint waiting for a spark. The Jiang sect had taken seats beside them, and the Jin delegation was positioned next to the Wen—an arrangement that had not gone unnoticed.

The seating alone was a message, and everyone in the room was trying to read it.

Sect Leader Nie raised one hand to silence the room. The hum of conversation died down as he spoke, his voice loud and clear.

"Thank you all for coming to this conference. I apologize for the urgency, but the matter we must discuss is of great importance."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the assembled sect leaders and delegations before continuing.

"When the Nie Sect signed the agreement with the Cultivators Guild, we included a specific clause stating that guild cultivators are free to hunt within our territory without fear of repercussions. Over the past five years, this collaboration has been fruitful. Their assistance with night hunts has been invaluable. I believe Sect Leader Lan and Sect Leader Wen can attest to that as well."

A calculated move—Wei Wuxian noted—calling on his allies early to establish the tone.

"We agree with you, Sect Leader Nie," said Wen Xu with a polite nod.

"Yes, my friend, you are absolutely right," added Qingheng-jun. "We’ve all benefited from the collaboration."

Several other sect leaders, those with longstanding agreements with the guild, murmured their assent.

"And so," Nie Qingwu continued, "any attack on guild cultivators within Nie territory will be taken personally, as the Nie Sect has promised them protection."

The murmurs grew louder again, more curious this time.

"What exactly happened, Sect Leader Nie?" asked Sect Leader He, leaning forward.

"Two weeks ago," Nie Qinghui replied, "a group of junior cultivators set out on a routine night hunt. For some of them, it was their very first. They were ambushed by assassins. One senior and one junior—only sixteen years old—were killed. Two more were severely wounded."

The hall erupted in whispers and gasps, the tension shifting into something sharper.

"And how exactly does that concern us?" Madam Jin interrupted, her voice clipped and laced with impatience. She looked genuinely exasperated. "Why does this merit an urgent conference? I hope there is more to it than a simple attack on a handful of cultivators by unknown assailants."

A few nodded in agreement. Others scoffed, more loudly than they might have meant to.

"So an attack on children doesn’t merit attention?" Nie Qingwu asked, brows furrowing. His voice was hard now. "I know you don’t hold the guild cultivators in high regard, Madam Jin. But I would think even you could concede that eleven armed assassins against three juniors and a single senior is excessive."

He looked her squarely in the eye.

"Especially you, being both a mother and a grandmother."

"The death of children is always a tragedy," Madam Jin said, her tone sharp and clipped. "What I wonder is why these particular deaths require a full conference. What exactly do you seek from us?" Her annoyance at Nie Qingwu’s redirection was barely concealed, her gaze cool and pointed.

"That," he replied evenly, "is a very good question, Madam Jin. Because the answer is quite simple."

He let the silence stretch a moment before delivering the blow.

"Our investigation into the assassins revealed that they were contracted and paid by one of your family members—and Yu Ziyuan."

The silence that followed was absolute. You could have heard a pin drop.

Madam Jin and Madam Yu both went deathly pale. Jiang Fengmian stared at his wife, mouth slightly open, genuine shock written across his face. Perhaps… he truly hadn’t known.

And then, the hall exploded.

Shouts rose from every direction—demands for proof, accusations of slander, outrage at trusting the word of assassins. Most of the protests came from the Jin delegation, while the Jiang sect remained eerily silent.

"Silence!" Nie Qingwu roared, his voice echoing like thunder through the great hall.

Heavens, Wei Wuxian thought, the man really does have a voice like a storm.

Once the uproar faded, Sect Leader Nie continued, his tone colder now, more dangerous.

"Do you truly think the Nie would call a full conference without evidence? That we would base accusations on a few words from dying men and leave it at that? I have other ways of confirming the truth."

Madam Jin swallowed hard, her composure faltering. It was Jin Zixuan who found his voice first, still visibly shaken but composed enough to ask the question everyone was holding back.

"Who in my family, Sect Leader Nie?"

"Jin Zixun," Nie Qingwu answered without hesitation. "He and Yu Ziyuan hired assassins from the Rudong Order with explicit instructions—kill as many guild cultivators as possible. Age was not to be a consideration."

The room trembled under the weight of that statement.

All eyes turned—slowly, inevitably—toward Yu Ziyuan and Jin Zixun.

Jin Zixun looked like he might collapse under the weight of the moment. His face had gone ghostly pale, sweat beading at his brow. He shrank under the furious gaze of Madam Jin, who had turned to him the instant Nie Qingwu named him. Her expression was unreadable at first—an icy mask—but her eyes burned with a fury that could have scorched him where he stood.

"Is it true?" she asked, voice low and cold, the kind of tone that preceded storms.

Jin Zixun opened his mouth, but no words came. His lips moved in silent panic, caught between fear and the impulse to defend himself.

Yu Ziyuan, on the other hand, stood rigid and unyielding, like a general before a battlefield defeat. Her face had lost all colour, but there was no sign of shame. Only pride. Only rage.

She did not speak.

Wei Wuxian felt the air shift—this was no longer a question of proof. The tension had already turned judgmental. The entire room held its breath, waiting for denials, confessions… or lies.

Even among the Jin, there was movement—shifting, whispering, glances exchanged behind fans and sleeves. The seeds of doubt were taking root, whether they wanted them to or not.

Wei Wuxian glanced at Lan Zhan, who remained silent and still, but the faint narrowing of his eyes spoke volumes. He was watching everything. Weighing it.

And in that moment, Wei Wuxian realized—they were just on the brink of a political fallout, especially for the Jin and The Jiangs

"San Niang… is this true?" Jiang Fengmian asked, voice quiet, stunned.

Yu Ziyuan turned to him, eyes blazing.

"Of course you would believe them over your own wife," she spat, venom dripping from every word. "Did it occur to you this might be a fabrication? That you are listening to the twisted testimony of murderers, not facts?"

Jiang Fengmian turned to face Nie Qingwu directly. "Sect Leader Nie, with all due respect, what evidence do you have to accuse the Lady of the Jiang Sect in such a public manner?"

At his signal, two Nie cultivators silently slipped through a side door.

"We have witnesses," Nie Qingwu said calmly. "And material proof as well."

The two Nie cultivators returned, leading four prisoners into the hall. They were bound, but otherwise unharmed, their expressions a mixture of defiance, fear, and resignation. Without ceremony, they were marched to the centre of the room and forced to kneel on the cold stone floor.

Gasps rippled through the assembly.

Yu Ziyuan went rigid.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed, tracking her reaction. Her face drained of what little colour remained, her gaze fixed on one of the prisoners—the very man they'd interrogated at the Rudong compound.

So… she does know him, Wei Wuxian thought, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. This is going to be too easy.

"To avoid falsehoods," said Nie Qinghwu, stepping forward, his voice once again commanding, "we will use the Truth Talisman—an invention I believe most of you are familiar with. Created by Guild Representative Weixiao-jun."

He gestured toward Qingheng-jun, who stood smoothly and approached the prisoners. From within his robes, he drew four thin slips of paper, etched with a delicate web of red ink.

One by one, he pressed them to each prisoner’s forehead. The talismans flared with a brief, sharp glow, then vanished, leaving behind a glowing character: 真—truth.

The glow slowly faded, but the symbol remained faintly etched into the skin, visible proof that the talisman had taken hold.

A murmur spread through the hall—uneasy.

The Truth Talisman was not widely available. Wei Wuxian had only sold a small number of them, strictly to trusted sect leaders and justice officials. It wasn’t meant for casual use—it was powerful, precise, and dangerous in the wrong hands. But now… it was going to speak for itself.

No lies. No evasion. Only the truth.

Wei Wuxian smiled a flicker of anticipation in his eyes.

Let’s see what you have to say about what they have to say.

Wei Wuxian stood, his presence commanding the room as he addressed the first of the kneeling prisoners—a man they had caught in the forest during the ambush. His voice was calm but unmistakably sharp:

"Who hired you to kill Cultivators Guild members?"

The man didn’t even hesitate. There was no point in lying—not with the Truth Talisman burning faintly on his forehead.

"A man and a woman," he said. "The man wore the Jin red vermilion mark on his forehead. The woman… she was one of Yu Ziyuan’s personal servants."

Gasps rippled through the room. Eyes turned instantly toward Yu Ziyuan.

"How did you know she was her servant?" Wei Wuxian asked evenly.

"One of us recognized the weapon she carried. It was a distinct blade—one used only by disciples of the Yu sect."

"Would you be able to recognize the weapon again if you saw it?"

"Yes. I never forget a weapon. Not in my line of work."

Wei Wuxian turned to Nie Qingwu, who now had his eyes fixed on Madam Yu with grim finality.

"Could you ask your personal maids to present their weapons to the witness?" he asked—not a suggestion, but a command.

Yu Ziyuan said nothing. She sat frozen, lips pressed into a hard line, her gaze locked on the prisoner as though she could burn him alive with her eyes.

It was Jiang Fengmian who finally broke the silence. His voice was hard, cracking under pressure:

"Jinzhu. Yinzhu. Show your weapons."

The two women sitting quietly behind the Jiang delegation did not move. Their eyes flicked toward Yu Ziyuan, clearly waiting for her word.

Jiang Fengmian slammed his hand against the table. "That is an order!"

Only then did they rise, their steps hesitant as they approached the witness. In silence, they unsheathed their blades.

The assassin didn’t hesitate. He pointed straight at the longer, elegantly curved knife held by Yinzhu.

"That one," he said, voice steady. "I remember it. I’d never forget a weapon I see."

Yinzhu returned to her seat with her sister, her face pale, expression unreadable—but visibly shaken.

"It proves nothing!" Yu Ziyuan snapped, voice cracking with rage.

"It proves everything, Madam Yu—"

"Do not call her that," came a cold voice from the left. Sect Leader Yu, face stern and unreadable, eyes locked on her daughter with unflinching judgment.

So. The Meishan Yu had taken their side.

Wei Wuxian gave a small, respectful nod. "Yu Ziyuan," he said, the words sharp and deliberate. "Only you could command those two. They barely listen to Sect Leader Jiang. Do you truly expect us to believe they acted under someone else’s orders?"

"Who are you to question me?" she spat, her voice heavy with venom.

"I am the Yiling representative of the Cultivators Guild," he said, standing tall. "It is my duty to protect all rogue cultivators. They are not unprotected anymore. They will be represented, and their voices will be heard. Crimes against them will be brought to light and punished."

His words were not just for her. They were a declaration, a warning, aimed at everyone seated in that great hall.

Wei Wuxian turned once more to the assassin.
"Do you recognize the Jin man in this room?"

The man looked around slowly until his gaze stopped on the Jin delegation. Without hesitation, he pointed.

"Him."

Jin Zixun.

A tense silence snapped as Madam Jin suddenly whipped toward her nephew, her voice shrill and furious, no longer holding onto decorum.

"You leech! You've done nothing in your life but bring shame to the Jin Sect. And now—now you’ve done so for the last time!"

Then she turned to Nie Qinwu, her voice trembling with rage.
"He's yours. Do with him whatever you will. As of this moment, he is stripped of all titles and rights to the Jin name."

She didn’t even look at her son as she spoke.

Jin Zixuan nodded, his voice steady despite the shock etched on his face.
"I agree with my mother’s decision."

At Nie Qingwu's signal, two Nie cultivators stepped forward and seized a stunned Jin Zixun. He struggled, voice cracking as he cried out:

"No! Zixuan, you can’t let her do this! I’m your cousin!"

His protests echoed down the hall until they disappeared completely.

A heavy silence followed.

"The Jin Sect deeply apologizes for the crimes committed by my cousin," Jin Zixuan said, rising and bowing deeply toward Wei Wuxian. "We will pay whatever reparations the Guild deems necessary."

Wei Wuxian returned the bow. "Thank you, Sect Leader Jin. We will send word once a decision is reached."

He turned to the Jiang delegation next, his tone sharp.
"If his confession isn't enough, we have a letter that clearly incriminates your wife."

He handed the paper to Jiang Fengmian—the letter Huaisang had recovered from the magistrate. Fengmian took it with shaking hands, read it in silence, and then Wei Wuxian  passed it to Jin Zixuan.

"Is this your cousin’s handwriting?"

Jin Zixuan scanned it briefly, then nodded.
"Yes. Without a doubt."

He handed it to back Wei Wuxian

Yu Ziyuan, who had been quiet up until then, finally snapped.

"So what now? I'm the lady of the Jiang Sect. You cannot touch me!"

Wei Wuxian didn’t flinch. "No, I cannot. But your husband can."

Jiang Fengmian’s face was pale, but his voice, though trembling, was firm.
"Despite everything that has been revealed here, Weixiao-jun, her punishment remains in my hands."

Wei Wuxian inclined his head.
"As it should, Sect Leader. But it may help you to know this—your wife was behind the deaths of my parents, Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren."

The words landed like thunder. Jiang Fengmian staggered back slightly, his hands trembling. Wei Wuxian’s voice shook with controlled fury as he turned back to the assassin.

"Tell us about the contract on my mother" he ordered. 

The man exhaled, defeated.
"Fourteen years ago Yu Ziyuan wanted a contract on Cangse Sanren. I led the team that made sure she and her husband didn’t return from their last night hunt. Her husband wasn’t part of the contract, but he died trying to protect her."

Jiang Fengmian went white as cotton. His eyes locked on his wife, wide and disbelieving.

"You… you killed them?" he whispered.

Yu Ziyuan sneered.
"She deserved it."

But she never got to say anything more.

The sound of the slap echoed through the hall, loud as thunder. Jiang Fengmian was trembling, face contorted with fury and heartbreak.

"I gave you everything," he said, voice roaring now. "I listened to your every whim. I gave you power, respect, control of the disciples and the hunts. I dismissed every complaint—blindly—because I believed in my duty to stand by you."

He took a breath, then nearly collapsed into stillness.
"But you killed Changze… because you didn’t like his wife?"

He straightened with sudden clarity.
"You are the bane of the Jiang Sect."

His voice grew stronger as if a fog had lifted.

"I should have listened to A-Ze. All those years ago, when he tried to warn me. But I was blind. Angry that he wanted to leave. But he was right."

Then, he gave a sharp, decisive nod.

"Your core will be sealed permanently. You are stripped of your powers and will be sent into lifelong seclusion. You will receive twenty lashes from the discipline whip. Your maids will be sent to the Meishan Yu Sect. No one is to visit you without my permission."

"You can’t do this! I am the Madam of the Sect!" she screamed.

"No. You were the Madam of the Sect," he said, coldly. "From now on, the Jiang Sect has no Madam—until Wanyin marries."

He turned to Wei Wuxian and bowed deeply.

"I cannot make up for your parents’ loss, but I swear to you, Weixiao-jun, she will be punished. You have my word—your family will have justice."

He was pale, shaken, but resolute.

Then, Sect Leader Yu rose. She walked down the aisle slowly, each step measured like a royal procession. She stopped in front of her daughter. She forcefully took her hand and with a single tug, the Zidian ring uncoiled from Yu Ziyuan’s finger and wrapped itself around sect leader Yu's own finger.

"You do not deserve this anymore," she said coldly. "You are not a Yu anymore. From now on, you are simply Ziyuan."

Then she returned to her seat, her posture straight as an empress on a throne. Ziyuan stood frozen, gaping at her mother in disbelief.

"Take her to the Jiang chambers. Do not let her out of your sight," Jiang Fengmian ordered to the cultivators behind him. He held out a hand.
"Your sword."

Still in shock, Ziyuan handed it over without protest.

Jiang Fengmian turned to Nie Qingwu.
"We will leave the Unclean Realm tomorrow morning. In light of these revelations… I have serious matters to reflect on regarding the future of my sect."

He bowed, then followed his disgraced wife out of the hall.

Jiang Wanyin rose too—pale, but holding himself with quiet dignity.

Jin Zixuan stood next, his voice clear.
"The Jin Sect apologizes as well. We will also retire and depart tomorrow."

He bowed to Wei Wuxian.
"We will await your demands, Weixiao-jun."

Then, with the rest of the Jin delegation behind him, he left the hall.

Wei Wuxian stood motionless in the stillness that followed the storm. The grand hall of the Unclean Realm, once filled with shouting, rage, and trembling confessions, had fallen utterly silent.

He glanced at Nie Qingwu, gave a brief nod of gratitude, and turned to make his way back to his seat. As he sat down, Lan Zhan immediately reached under the table, his hand closing over Wei Wuxian’s without a word. His grip was steady—warm, grounding.

Wei Wuxian didn’t speak. He just let the contact anchor him, his fingers curling weakly in return.

It was done.

Justice had been delivered. Not just for the nameless rogue cultivators, not just for the slaughtered children, but for his parents—for Wei Changze, for Cangse Sanren.

Yu Ziyuan had been stripped of everything she held dear—her power, her name, her pride. She would live out her days in the cold seclusion of the Jiang Sect, watching the world move on without her.

But Wei Wuxian felt… hollow.

His parents were still dead. Xue Yang was still gone. All those years lost, all the silence and pain and rage that had marked his journey—they didn’t vanish just because justice had caught up.

Lan Zhan’s thumb moved gently across the back of his hand. That small motion cracked something inside him, made the weight in his chest ache even more.

You can’t have it all, he thought bitterly.

But at least today, he had something—truth spoken, voices heard, consequences faced.

He leaned into Lan Zhan, quietly resting against his shoulder. His eyes drifted closed for just a moment, exhaustion threading through him like silk.

And Lan Zhan let him, silent and unwavering.

The pain would never really leave. But for the first time in years, the past had been acknowledged. And that, perhaps, was a beginning.

Chapter Text

The conference yielded a number of new agreements in favor of the guild. Notably, representatives from unaffiliated sects began reaching out to Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, signaling interest in potential alliances. A clear shift in the balance of power was evident, as several sects sought to distance themselves from the Jin and Jiang clans. The humiliation—particularly for the Jin, who had once again suffered a public blow to their prestige—underscored a changing landscape in the cultivation world. A new contender had emerged, rising swiftly over the past years, bolstered by formidable allies and growing influence.

Two days later, at the close of the conference, the four assassins were executed publicly—along with Jin Zixun, who screamed, begged, and cursed until the very end. The execution was carried out swiftly, sparing the audience from enduring more of his voice than necessary.

Following consultations with all the guild's key representatives—Han Liu, Wan Shangcheng, Bai Bolin, Lan Wangji, and Wei Wuxian—formal requests for compensation were sent to both the Jin and Jiang sects. The sums demanded were substantial, with the Jin facing a significant financial blow, and the Jiang likely to experience several years of economic setback.

Though Wei Wuxian was reluctant to appear greedy, the amounts were not only approved but personally recommended by the Chief Cultivator, Qingheng-jun, who remarked:
"Compensations should be felt deeply, not brushed aside as inconsequential as a warning for the future."

Wei Wuxian missed his children and the familiar landscapes  of Yiling dearly, but he knew he could not return just yet. There was still one pressing matter that could no longer be delayed—the Nie sect's cultivation style.

Despite the tonics and elixirs Han Qing had sent, it was already taking a visible toll on Nie Qingwu. The sabre was beginning to leave its mark—not just on his body, but on his temperament and spirit. The death of Wen Ruohan had granted him several more years than in his other life, but the Nie curse was relentless. If left unaddressed, it would claim its due.

In his previous life, Wei Wuxian and Huaisang had managed to slowly implement a plan to reform their cultivation style—subtle shifts in training methods, paired with structural modifications to their sabres. It hadn’t cured the curse, but it had helped, particularly for the younger disciples.

This time, however, Wei Wuxian was pursuing a different path. The core of the plan remained—the sabres would be modified—but now, the disciples wouldn’t have to give up the weapons they held so dear. With careful alterations, their bond to the blade could remain intact, while the dangerous path to qi deviation was rerouted, if not entirely avoided.

After a long and winding conversation with Huaisang about how best to approach this new endeavour, the two finally settled on a path: directness. Despite Huaisang's usual fondness for subtlety, he admitted that his father had always despised subterfuge. In the end, a straightforward approach felt not only fitting—but necessary.

And so, it was with clear intent and quiet determination that Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, Nie Huaisang, and Nie Qingwu found themselves gathered in the sect leader’s private study, each prepared to speak—each ready to persuade Nie Qingwu to choose a path that could save his life and preserve the future of the Nie sect.

The room was dimly lit, the late afternoon sun filtering through the screened windows and casting long shadows across the heavy lacquered desk. Nie Qingwu sat behind it, spine straight, tension coiled in his shoulders. His sabre rested nearby—its presence as heavy as a second heartbeat in the room.

He looked at them one by one—Lan Wangji, calm and silent as ever; Huaisang, uncharacteristically solemn, his fan unopened in his lap; Wei Wuxian, eyes bright with intensity; and finally, at the quiet weight of expectation that hung in the air.

“Why does this feel like an intervention?” Qingwu asked dryly, his lips twitching into something that almost resembled a smile—but didn’t quite get there.

“In a sense,” Nie Huaisang replied, leaning forward. “It is. But not one meant to scold. We’re here because we don’t want to lose you. Or your disciples. Or the future of the Nie sect.”

Qingwu’s gaze narrowed on his younger son with suspicion. His eyes swept across the faces in the room before falling to the sabre at his side. His fingers flexed, but he didn’t reach for it.

“You told them?” The words came out as both a question and an accusation.

“Yes, I told them,” Huaisang answered, straightening in his seat, meeting his father’s eyes without flinching. “You know the genius that hides behind that childish demeanour—” He gestured toward Wei Wuxian, who frowned at the phrasing but held his tongue. “And ever since you told me, I’ve been watching for the signs. They've been there for a while now. It’s time to act.”

Wei Wuxian  spoke next his tone calm. “The way your sect cultivates—yes, it’s powerful. Fearsome. But the price it demands... it’s not sustainable. You’ve felt it already, haven’t you?”

Qingwu didn’t answer, but a flicker passed through his expression—reluctant acknowledgment, maybe. It was enough.

“A die,” Huaisang said softly, “I know how proud you are of the Nie traditions. I am too. But traditions can evolve. That’s why I asked Xian di to look into this. If it works, it could save lives. Qing jie’s tonics and elixirs aren’t enough anymore, and you know it. They can’t hold it off forever.”

He glanced briefly at the other two. “And they can keep a secret.”

Lan Wangji spoke then, his voice quiet but resolute. “Your secret is safe with us. You have our word. And strength lies not only in what is passed down—but in the wisdom to change what harms.”

A silence followed—not uncomfortable, but full.

Nie Qingwu looked at his sabre again, then at the three standing before him: his son, and two others who were no less sons in spirit, if not by blood.

“And your solution?” he asked, eyes landing on Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian allowed himself a small smile. “Modifications to the sabres. A shift in how spiritual energy is cycled during combat. Nothing drastic. They won’t lose their edge, or their spirit. But they’ll stop feeding contaminated yin to your meridians.”

Qingwu exhaled slowly, leaning slightly back , eyes thoughtful. “You’ve already started working on it.”

“I have,” Wei Wuxian said. “And I’d like to show you.”

For the first time that day, Nie Qingwu truly looked at him—not just as a peer or ally, but as the man who might, finally, offer the Nie sect a future free from quiet, honourable madness.

“Then show me,” he said.

They followed Wei Wuxian to the training field, where the late sun cast long gold ribbons over the stone walls. From within his sleeve, Wei Wuxian produced a small, glossy black stone and held it up for Nie Qingwu to see.

“This is black jade,” he said. “It’s not as prized as white or green jade, but it’s far more effective when it comes to protecting against resentment. On its own, it can’t do much—at least not against the amount of resentful energy your sabres regularly come into contact with. But when engraved with the right arrays and spells...” He turned it between his fingers, and the light glinted off its polished surface. “...it becomes an extremely powerful purifier.”

He glanced at Nie Qingwu, who was watching with guarded interest.

“I tried white, green—even red jade,” Wei Wuxian added, “but black has given the best results by far. May I see your sabre?”

He extended his hand. For a few seconds, Qingwu hesitated, then slowly unsheathed his weapon. “Be careful,” he warned. “It doesn’t respond well to strangers.”

Wei Wuxian only smiled and took the sabre into his hands. As he did, he began humming a soft, melodic tune. At once, the sabre spirit stirred, not aggressively, but curiously—a low, thrumming resonance pulsed through the blade, like a purr vibrating just beneath the metal.

“It’s a feline,” Wei Wuxian said, still smiling, eyes half-lidded in concentration.

Nie Qingwu blinked. “What?”

Wei Wuxian’s voice softened. “The spirit in your sabre—it’s a big cat. A tiger, most likely.”

He closed his eyes, tuning himself further to the energy within the blade. The spirit tested him, cautious, wary, but not hostile. He felt a flicker of challenge, then curiosity. “Oh yes,” he said. “A tiger. A white one.”

Opening his eyes again, he met Qingwu’s stunned gaze.

“You didn’t know?” Wei Wuxian asked, a frown creeping across his brow. “You’ve wielded this sabre for years—and you never realized what kind of spirit lived in it?”

Nie Qingwu shook his head slowly. “No one knows for sure. We’ve always assumed it was an animal spirit, born of the resentment we draw from beasts. We kill so many… We thought it was just some amalgamation. You’re saying it has an identity?”

Wei Wuxian laughed softly. “Oh, it does. And you should be prepared to finally meet it.”

He held up the black jade, now etched with a complex purification array. With delicate precision, he affixed it to the hilt using a temporary binding component. Then, with a brief chant, he activated the array.

The sabre began to glow—a deep, pulsing green at first, then lightening gradually to a warm, almost golden hue. The spirit inside stirred sharply, startled by the sudden change. For a moment, it resisted.

But Wei Wuxian only continued humming, calm and unwavering.

The tiger quieted.

And then, it yielded.

The array flared briefly, then settled into a soft glow, the black jade thrumming with quiet power. The sabre, once tinged with cold resentment, now felt... lighter. Steadier. Cleansed.

Wei Wuxian exhaled and looked at Nie Qingwu. “That was just the beginning. But do you feel it?”

Qingwu reached for the blade slowly, reverently, as though seeing it for the first time.

The moment Nie Qingwu connected with his sabre again, his eyes widened. He drew in a sharp breath and moved instinctively, performing a few sweeping motions to let the newly balanced energy circulate through his meridians.

After a few moments, he turned to Wei Wuxian, awe written across his face. “I can actually feel the beast. I know what it is now,” he said, amazed. “You are right, it’s a white tiger.”

He smiled—broadly, joyfully—as he continued to move, flowing with the sabre in ways that felt both foreign and instinctive, like rediscovering a part of himself he hadn’t realized was missing.

When he finally stopped, he frowned slightly and asked, “Why does it feel a bit cold?”

“That’s the purified yin,” Wei Wuxian replied. “It feels cold, while yang feels warm.”

Qingwu looked puzzled. “Explain, please. Because yin has never felt this… freeing. Resentment is supposed to be heavy and loud.”

Wei Wuxian shook his head. “That’s the misunderstanding I’m trying to fix. The common view is flawed. Yin does not equal resentment. Resentment is corrupted yin.”

Seeing Qingwu’s frown deepen, he continued, voice calm but firm.

“Qi is balance—yin and yang working in harmony. While we’re alive, yang dominates—active, bright, forceful. Yin stays in the background, supporting, nourishing, steadying. That’s why ancient teachings say you can’t cultivate immortality with resentment in your heart.”

He took a step closer, eyes bright with conviction. “All the negative emotions we accumulate—hatred, rage, envy, jealousy, greed—they stain the yin. Because yin is slow and receptive, it absorbs those things easily. That stain is like dirt—if it’s not cleansed, it lingers. And if we die carrying that weight, that’s when we see resentful ghosts… walking corpses.”

Nie Qingwu was silent, absorbing his words.

“When we die,” Wei Wuxian went on, “the roles reverse. Yin takes the lead, and yang supports from behind. Yin becomes the guide—it leads the soul through the afterlife, toward its next reincarnation. But if that yin is heavy with resentment, the soul can’t move on. It lingers. It festers. It becomes something else entirely.”

He glanced at the sabre again, now glowing faintly at the hilt where the black jade rested.

“What I’m offering isn’t just a patch. It’s a way to cleanse the root of the issue. To give your sect a future that doesn’t lead its disciples into madness.”

“Yin doesn’t harm the mind,” Wei Wuxian said gently. “It’s the imbalance that causes qi deviations. When yin and yang are out of harmony—that’s when problems arise. But when they’re balanced… the energies align on their own, naturally. No struggle. No madness.”

Nie Qingwu looked down at his sabre, now calm in his grasp. He studied it in silence for a long time, the weight of years behind his gaze.

“So all this time…” he said finally, voice low. “We’ve destroyed so many resentful spirits… so many creatures… when we could have just liberated them?”

His hand rose to his forehead, fingers pressing there as if to ease the pressure of that realization.

Wei Wuxian didn’t answer immediately. He let the truth settle between them like dusk.

Finally, he said, “Some beasts do reach a stage where even liberation is impossible. They’ve gone too far, consumed by hatred and pain until there’s nothing left to save. But that’s rare. Very rare.”

He met Qingwu’s eyes.

“Most of the smaller resentful ghosts—those lost souls your disciples destroyed in the hundreds—could’ve been cleansed. Freed. Not every ghost wants to linger. Some just don’t know how to move on.”

The air grew still around them, heavy with something deeper than guilt—grief, perhaps. But also, hope.

Nie Qingwu’s hand tightened around his sabre, not in anger, but in quiet resolve. “Then we change,” he said. “Starting now.”

Nie Huaisang looked at his father, then exhaled in quiet relief and nodded. “Yes. We change.”

He turned to Wei Wuxian. “When do you plan to publish your treatise?”

Wei Wuxian smiled faintly. “It’s been ready for years. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”

“The fucking right time is now,” Nie Qingwu said, voice forceful. “What you’ve discovered—boy, this is beyond incredible. You’ve reinvented the entire cultivation system. What are you waiting for?”

Wei Wuxian looked away, the smile fading into something heavier.

In his past life, when he first published the theory, he was hated for it. They had called it heresy. Said he was trying to corrupt the righteous path. It took years before anyone even considered he might be right—and only after the Burial Mounds were cleansed.

He looked back at them, gaze steady. “I’m waiting for the Burial Mounds to be cleansed. Because at the foundation of all this—the theory, the modifications, everything—is the principle of purifying resentment. Once I prove that it works on the most cursed land in the cultivation world… they won’t be able to deny it.”

A heavy silence fell over the training field.

“You want to cleanse the Burial Mounds?” Nie Huaisang asked slowly, stunned. Wei Wuxian had never told him—not even once—that he had already done it in his past life.

“I already started,” Wei Wuxian said. “It might take another year or so to finish. I installed the array two years ago and let it work quietly. It feeds off the resentment it purifies. Haven’t you wondered why Yiling’s crops are so plentiful? Why it feels so light and peaceful there now?”

Both Nie Huaisang and Nie Qingwu stared at him, like they were seeing him for the first time.

“I thought the wards you put up were just really good at keeping the resentment at bay,” Huaisang murmured.

Nie Qingwu’s voice came out slightly high, half disbelief, half awe. “You’re saying you’re almost finished cleansing that cursed place?”

“Yes, Sect Leader,” Wei Wuxian said simply. “Not quite yet—but close.”

Nie Qingwu just stared for a long moment before huffing out a laugh full of wonder. “If they don’t build you a damn temple after that, I will.”

“No temples!” Wei Wuxian said quickly, almost panicked. “No reverence, no statues—please, I hate all that.”

Nie Qingwu shook his head, muttering under his breath, “If you don’t ascend directly into the heavens after this, then the gods are unjust.”

After a few more moments of silence—time given to let the weight of everything settle—Wei Wuxian finally spoke again, turning to Nie Qingwu with calm certainty.

“You’ll need to attach those stones to the hilt of every sabre,” he said, pointing to the piece of black jade again. “And have very specific, complex sigils engraved on both the hilt and the blade. The process is delicate. If done wrong, it won’t work—or worse, it might backfire.”

He glanced between father and son. “I’ll need you to send your best weapon masters to Yiling, as well as the disciples most inclined toward the arts of talismans and arrays. I’ll train them personally—how to bind the stone to the weapon, how to carve the sigils, and the intricacies of the arrays that make it all function.”

Wei Wuxian’s expression grew serious. “And I’ll need those you trust most. This information shouldn’t be shared beyond the people who handle the weapons.”

Nie Qingwu gave a firm nod. “That makes sense. Our sect has kept our own secret for generations—we know how to guard what must be protected. I’ll make sure this knowledge stays where it belongs.”

His voice carried the weight of an oath, the kind the Nie sect didn’t make lightly.

Wei Wuxian exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh of relief slipping from his lips. It’s done, he thought. A task he had quietly dreaded was now behind him—and in the end, he had been worrying for nothing.

Nie Qingwu was not like Mingjue, all stark contrasts of black and white. There was a flexibility to him, a steadiness that endured even under the strain of resentment. Despite everything, he had kept his rationality intact.

Wei Wuxian  genuinely liked the man. He hoped Nie Qingwu would live to see a hundred years—because people like him were rare in this world.

Too many good leaders had died in his past life, leaving their legacies in the hands of children—too young to understand the weight of what had been passed down, too green to grasp the subtleties of leadership. The war had turned those children into adults far too quickly. But they hadn’t gained wisdom—only strength and hate.

They departed for Yiling a few days later, bringing with them a small group of trusted weapon masters and talisman cultivators—those who would remain under Wei Wuxian’s guidance for the foreseeable future, learning the delicate art of engraving sabres and refining spiritual arrays.

But it wasn’t the work that weighed most on Wei Wuxian’s heart—it was the longing for home.

When he and Lan Zhan finally returned to their courtyard, their children came running to them, tears streaming down their cheeks as they laughed and cried all at once. The moment those little arms wrapped around their waists and necks, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan broke down too—tears slipping silently as they knelt, embracing their children tightly.

In that moment, all the burdens of the world seemed to lift.

Here, in Yiling, in their home, with their miracles clinging to them and calling their names—they felt whole again.

Chapter Text

Wei Wuxian had just finished inspecting the array within the Burial Mounds and was now making his rounds to check on the wards. So far, everything remained stable—the wards were holding remarkably well. In fact, the recent release of purified energy into the surrounding land had only strengthened them further. Over the past year, he had made subtle adjustments that enhanced their power and stability.

This place, once steeped in resentment and chaos, had gradually become his land—their land. With strong, carefully woven wards encircling it, the Mound was slowly transforming into a sanctuary for him and Lan Zhan. A refuge from the world, a place where they could escape its burdens and simply be.

The cleansing process was progressing more swiftly than expected. While he'd originally estimated it would take a another full year to rid the area of lingering resentment, now it seemed it might take less. Still, only time would tell.

Yet, deep in the most hidden corners of the Burial Mounds, some beasts remained—creatures born of resentment, clinging to the last shadows of corruption. They never attacked him when he came to examine the arrays. He was always ready for a fight, but so far, none had dared confront him.

Even in his past life, when he had fled this place and later returned with the Wen remnants, these creatures had kept their distance. Then, he’d believed it was due to the protective wards he had established. Now, he entertained other theories—perhaps there was something instinctive at play, an unspoken understanding that they could not defeat him, that he was not a foe to be trifled with.

But they could not hide forever. As the resentment continued to be cleansed, their safe havens would shrink, and eventually, those who remained would be forced to face him.

Wei Wuxian was patient. He would wait. He would not hunt them—not yet. He would give them the choice: freedom or destruction.

Wei Wuxian had just begun the journey back to Yiling when he felt it—a subtle shift in the air. He moved instinctively, a sharp dart slicing past his ear. Without pause, he slipped behind a tree, senses flaring outward.

Two presences.

One pulsed with the unmistakable energy of a golden core. The other… strange. Suppressed. Muted. His mind immediately leapt to Ziyuan. Could she have escaped her imprisonment?

Without hesitation, he sent a warning to Lan Zhan through their spiritual bond, instructing him to heighten security and activate emergency protocols.

But then—a cold numbness bloomed in his right leg, spreading swiftly to the left. Within two breaths, his knees gave way beneath him, and he crashed to the ground. Poison, he realized, eyes darting to the small dart embedded in his right thigh. Potent.

Grinding his teeth, he summoned his golden core, forcing its energy to protect his vital organs. His limbs were already growing heavy. Another warning flickered through the bond to Lan Zhan before his arms failed him entirely.

Two figures emerged from the treeline, clad in dull robes of black and grey, their faces obscured. They bore no insignia, no mark of identity. Unremarkable—deliberately so.

One stepped forward, fast and silent, blade glinting in her hand. As she pulled down her face covering, her expression twisted into a venomous smile.

“Ziyuan,” he breathed.

"That’s right,” she hissed, voice dripping with hatred. “You’ll die with my name on your lips.”

She raised her blade—but before it could strike, a blinding light enveloped him. Weightlessness consumed his senses, and then—

Darkness.

The next moment, air rushed into his lungs—cool, unfamiliar. Scents he didn’t recognize flooded his nose, and bright light assaulted his eyes. He blinked against it, disoriented.

It felt like a transportation talisman had been triggered.

But he hadn’t used one. He hadn’t even prepared one. His last thought before loosing consciousness  has been 'Stupid', a silent curse . He hadn’t thought anyone would dare come after him—not in Yiling.

When consciousness returned, Wei Wuxian found himself lying on a soft bed, the air thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. Above him stretched a ceiling of dark wooden beams, the surrounding walls a calm blend of pale grey and white—serene, pristine. Golden light filtered through screen windows, casting dappled patterns across the floor.

Just before dawn… or perhaps dusk, he guessed, still disoriented.

He tried to move. His limbs were heavy, sluggish—but not numb. Carefully, he turned his focus inward, scanning his meridians. The poison was mostly gone, flushed from his system. Only a residue remained, the ghost of its potency lingering in his muscles.

He looked around. The room was spacious, elegantly arranged. Painted screens divided the space, each one depicting mist-shrouded mountains and flowing rivers. A wall of herbal cabinets stood to one side, their drawers meticulously labelled. Low tables and cushions were arranged in quiet order, the kind that spoke of frequent use and careful hands.

He pushed himself upright, managing to sit halfway before a voice called out from behind one of the screens.

“What are you doing? Please lie down,” came a gentle but firm command.

A young man emerged and moved to his side, guiding him back with practiced ease.

“Where am I?” Wei Wuxian asked, studying him through slightly narrowed eyes. The stranger appeared to be younger, though not by much.

“You’re in the infirmary,” the man replied. “You were poisoned. Quite seriously. It would’ve killed most cultivators outright, but your strong core kept it at bay. You were fortunate—my master was nearby, and she specializes in poisons.”

There was unmistakable pride in his voice as he spoke of her.

“Who is your master?” Wei Wuxian asked.

“You’ll meet her soon. She’s on her way now.” The man examined him again, sharp-eyed and attentive. “Are you in pain?”

“No… Just a heavy limbed.”

“That’s normal. It’ll fade soon.”

Wei Wuxian let his head fall back onto the pillow with a soft exhale. “How long have I been here?”

“Only a few hours,” the young man said with a small smile. “You managed to drive out most of the poison on your own. Very impressive—you probably saved your own life.”

Wei Wuxian took several deep breaths, forcing himself to centre. He began to circulate his qi, gradually shedding the heaviness in his limbs. With each breath, clarity returned, and his body felt more his own.

A few moments later, he sensed a new presence enter the room. Opening his eyes, he saw a woman standing before him—of average height, with snow-white hair neatly coiled at the back of her head. Despite her hair, her face bore no more than the signs of a woman in her early forties. Yet her aura was unmistakable—powerful, calm, and vast. It radiated from her like ripples over water.

She studied him closely, her eyes sharp and discerning, before glancing at the young man beside her. Without needing a word from her, he responded immediately.

“The poison is out of his system,” he reported. “Only faint residual effects remain, which should fade within the next few hours.”

She nodded once and stepped closer, lifting her left hand in silent request. Wei Wuxian, understanding, offered his wrist without hesitation. He felt her qi slide through his meridians, probing gently but thoroughly—deeper, in fact, than he had ever felt before, even into hidden pathways he hadn’t known existed.

After a moment, she withdrew and nodded again.

“Very good recovery,” she said in a clear, composed voice. “You possess a remarkably strong core for your age… nearly approaching the threshold of immortality. I’m impressed.”

Her expression was unreadable—composed, curious, yet revealing little emotion.

Then, holding up a familiar object in her palm, she asked, “Where did you get this?”

It was his mother’s jade hairpin, the one he always wore in his hair since Sect Leader Yu had returned it to him. His brows furrowed as he answered, cautious but honest—he could feel the strength behind this woman, and lying would be foolish.

“It belonged to my mother.”

“Your mother?” she echoed, a frown flickering across her face.

“Yes. My mother, Cangse Sanren. And I would appreciate it if you returned it to me.”

His voice held a subtle edge—polite, but firm.

The woman regarded him for a long moment, then nodded and placed the pin in his open hand.

She took a seat on a chair beside the bed and gently helped him sit up, letting him rest against the wall.

“Where is your mother now?” she asked.

“She’s dead,” he answered quietly.

The woman looked down. A shadow passed over her face—sorrow, real and unguarded.

“May I ask,” Wei Wuxian continued, “to whom I have the honour of speaking? Forgive me, but this situation is… somewhat unsettling.”

She gave him a faint, bittersweet smile. “I am Baoshan Sanren. Your mother’s master.”

Wei Wuxian stopped breathing. His lungs refused to function until his body forced him to inhale sharply.

“How… how did I get here?” he asked, breathless.

She pointed to the jade hairpin.

“I gave that to your mother when she left my mountain. Hidden inside it is a protective array—an ancient talisman meant to activate only in moments of mortal danger. I never imagined it would bring her son back to me. She must have passed it on to you.”

Her expression softened, and she smiled faintly.

Wei Wuxian stared at the jade hairpin resting in his palm, the soft glow of the fading golden light catching along its delicate curves. Something twisted in his chest. Why had his mother given away such a treasured keepsake—one that held such power, such intent?

“She lost it… in a bet,” he murmured, voice quiet and distant. “It was only recently returned to me.”

Baoshan Sanren nodded, her expression touched with the warmth of memory. “That sounds like her. She never ran from a challenge.”

A gentle silence fell between them—soft, reverent, filled with unspoken remembrance. Then, confusion clouded Wei Wuxian’s gaze as he turned the hairpin over in his hand.
“Why would she give away something so important? Especially if it could have saved her life…”

“She didn’t know,” Baoshan Sanren said, her voice quiet. “I never told her what the pin could do. I thought… I could protect her from a distance. But she was brilliant. Wild, sharp-tongued, impossible to teach. And yet… kind to the core. Fiercely loyal to those she loved. I begged her not to leave the mountain.” She shook her head, ruefully. “She insisted.”

The weight of realization struck him like a stone to the chest.

His mother… had unknowingly given away her one true chance at salvation. The jade hairpin—delicate, powerful, life-saving—had passed from her hands because she couldn’t say no to a challenge. If she had kept it… if she had known… she might still be alive today.

Wei Wuxian wanted to scream, to curse her foolishness—or perhaps curse the heavens themselves. Because in the end, the same hairpin had saved his life. Maybe… maybe this had been the plan all along. A bitter kind of fate. A thread of protection meant not for her, but for her son.

He pressed the jade tighter in his palm, as if he could wring answers from it.

So many revelations over the years had peeled back the layers of his life, offering a picture vastly different from the one he once believed. One where things had begun to unravel long before he ever understood what he had been born into. And so much of it, he now saw, began right here—with Baoshan Sanren. If she had only told his mother about the array hidden within the hairpin, maybe—just maybe—things would have been different.

So many maybes. So many unseen turns and circumstances that had piled one upon another, until they buried the childhood he should have had under the weight of tragedy.

He closed his eyes, grief catching in his throat. All the pain, the loneliness, the hunger, the bitter scrape of loss—it all came surging up now, too late to undo, too tangled to forget.

But maybe… not too late to understand.

“She left for the world,” Wei Wuxian replied bitterly. “And the world killed her.”

Baoshan Sanren’s eyes darkened. “Who?” she asked, voice sharp with restrained fury. “Who killed her?”

Wei Wuxian looked away, jaw tightening. “The same person who poisoned me today.”

Another heavy pause. Then urgency crept back into his voice.

“My husband—he’ll be worried. I sent him a warning through our bond, but I don’t know what happened after I was taken. I need to contact him, let him know I’m safe.”

“We can send a message,” the young man offered gently, stepping forward. “Just give us a name.”

Wei Wuxian gave a faint smile. “Lan Zhan. But we have our own way of communicating. All I need is a talisman strip and some cinnabar.”

Baoshan Sanren’s gaze narrowed slightly. “No talisman message can pass through these wards.”

“Do you mind if I try?” Wei Wuxian smirked, holding out his hand. “I designed these talismans myself. No ward can stop them.”

She regarded him for a moment, then slowly nodded, handing him the materials.

Wei Wuxian drew the sigils with practiced ease, then activated the charm. The small black bunny shimmered into existence and hopped into the air.

“Lan Zhan, I’m safe. Please don’t worry. I was attacked by Ziyuan and one of her maids—they used poison darts. But my mother’s hairpin saved me. I’ll explain everything later. Please be careful. Make sure the children are safe. I love you. Be careful.”

The bunny vanished in a flicker of light. Wei Wuxian stayed still for a heartbeat, then looked up.

“Did it work?” the young man asked.

“Yes,” he said softly. “He’ll answer soon.”

And just as he finished speaking, a white bunny blinked into existence, hopping gently into Wei Wuxian’s waiting hands. The familiar, beloved voice filled the air.

“Wei Ying, my love. Thank the heavens you’re safe—we’ve all been worried. Ziyuan is dead. The moment I felt your warning through the bond, I teleported to the edge of the wards. Caught them trying to escape. Her maid lived long enough to confess that they hit you with a poisoned dart, and then you vanished in a flash of light. We thought you used a transportation talisman, but we couldn’t find any trace of you.

I’m in Lotus Pier now, returning the bodies. They didn’t know she had escaped—the other maid took her place and fooled the servants bringing her food. Please, come home soon. The children miss you. I miss you.”

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes for a long moment, taking in the news that everyone was safe.

Baoshan Sanren sat in thoughtful silence for a few moments, giving Wei Wuxian time to collect himself—and herself time to observe. Finally, she spoke, her voice contemplative.

“You have her brilliance… and her eyes. Even her smile,” she said softly. “It’s hard to believe the talisman worked. Was it your creation?”

“Yes,” he replied simply.

She nodded, then smiled, a glint of amusement flickering in her gaze. “A husband? Children? Aren’t you a bit young to be married… and already a father? And to a man, no less?”

Wei Wuxian frowned faintly. “Is my husband being a problem?” he asked, guarded concern in his voice.

“Not at all,” she said, waving a hand. “In my day, I knew several cut-sleeves among the cultivators. That’s not the issue. I was just curious…” Her eyes twinkled. “How many children do you have?”

A mischievous smile curved her lips, and Wei Wuxian matched it with one of his own. “Two, so far. My body could only carry so much. Who knows what the future holds? My husband loves me very much.”

The young man beside them, flushed furiously, clearly thrown by the comment. Baoshan Sanren threw her head back in laughter—clear, joyful, and unrestrained.

“Oh, boy, I don’t even know your name yet, but I already like you,” she said between chuckles.

Wei Wuxian inclined his head with mock formality, his teasing smile firmly in place. “My name is Wei Ying. Courtesy name: Wuxian. Title, if you must, Wei Xiao-Jun.”

“I don’t understand…” Xingchen muttered, still red-faced. “Did you actually carry the children?”

Baoshan Sanren groaned with fond exasperation. “Good heavens, Xingchen. He was teasing us. Stop being so naïve. If you want to leave this mountain, you’ll need to wise up first.”

Wei Wuxian chuckled. “He’s sweet. Don’t bully him too much.”

“Oh, I won’t,” she said, still grinning. “But he’s got a lot to learn.”

So this was Xiao Xingchen, thought Wei Wuxian, he looked so young and innocent. 

Wei Wuxian watched his mother’s master with growing curiosity. Baoshan Sanren was not at all what he had expected. He’d always imagined a stern, ethereal woman, distant and enigmatic, who spoke only in riddles and proverbs. But the woman before him was surprisingly warm, quick to laugh, and seemed to enjoy teasing those around her.

“This is Xiao Xingchen, by the way,” she said, gesturing toward the young man beside her. “A very promising disciple—brave, hardworking… but hopelessly naïve when it comes to the world.”

“Grandmaster,” Xingchen sighed, though he was smiling. “I’ve lived on this mountain since I was three. I only know what you’ve taught me.”

Wei Wuxian grinned. “Well, that explains it. You didn’t exactly grow up in the easiest classroom.”

He glanced at Xiao Xingchen again—polite posture, clear eyes, a subtle steadiness to him. Not a pushover by any means, but still untouched by the harsher edges of the world.

Baoshan Sanren scoffed, not unkindly. “Excuses, excuses,” she said, folding her arms. “He’s got good instincts, but I swear he’s going to bow himself into trouble one day.”

Wei Wuxian laughed. “You might be right. That’s the kind of face people want to lie to.”

“And that’s why you’re staying a little while,” she added slyly, “so he can learn a few things from someone with teeth.”

Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Am I being conscripted?”

She only smiled, serene and amused. “You’ll be repaid in food and answers.”

“I have to return home, Grandmaster,” Wei Wuxian said softly, a deep sigh escaping him. “I need to see my family… make sure they’re truly safe. I can't stay here, even though I would very much like to.”

He paused, then added with a flicker of hope, “Do you think… perhaps I could return another time? Maybe with my husband and our children?”

Baoshan Sanren regarded him quietly, her expression unreadable at first. Then, slowly, she shook her head, though not unkindly. “The mountain doesn’t easily welcome those who’ve already walked too far into the world,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “But… I could visit you.”

She smiled, and it softened her whole face. “It’s been a long while since I’ve left the mountain. I don’t involve myself in worldly affairs—but visiting family… that’s something else entirely.”

Then she turned her gaze to Xiao Xingchen. “And you, little one,” she said with gentle affection, “do you still wish to return to the world?”

There was a note of sadness beneath the question, subtle but unmistakable.

Xiao Xingchen smiled warmly, a kind of calm certainty in his eyes. “Yes, Grandmaster. I do.”

Then, with a spark of mischief that mirrored Wei Wuxian’s own moments earlier, he added, “But… if I can’t visit you here, maybe you could visit me too?”

Baoshan Sanren let out a surprised laugh, light and clear. “Ah, you're learning after all,” she said. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

“There is always hope, Shifu,” Wei Wuxian said softly, his tone laced with a sadness he didn’t try too hard to hide. “I once lost hope myself… but time, and fate, they didn’t let me disappear. They kept giving me chances—even when I didn’t think I deserved them. I see that now.”

Baoshan Sanren watched him, her gaze sharpening. “You have a very old soul,” she remarked quietly. “That is… rare.”

He held her eyes for a long moment, debating. In the end, he said only, “Let’s just say I carry some memories from a past life that helped guide me.”

She studied him a little longer, clearly suspecting more, but after a breath, she nodded and let the subject go—for now.

“We will leave tomorrow morning,” she said, her voice shifting back to its usual steadiness. “Rest tonight. Recover fully. I truly look forward to meeting this husband of yours… and your children.”

Then she turned to Xiao Xingchen, her expression gentling. “And I’d feel much better knowing you’re under his care—until you’ve learned enough of the world to walk in it with confidence.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled warmly at his master, then looked to Wei Wuxian with genuine curiosity and affection. “I look forward to meeting your family.”

Wei Wuxian grinned, his eyes alight with quiet joy. “They’ll love you Shishu.”

"You’re older than me—you can’t call me that! I’m only seventeen," Xingchen protested, a hint of panic in his voice.

Wei Wuxian grinned. "But you're my martial uncle. That’s what I’ll call you."

Xiao Xingchen could only sigh. "Just… think about it," he said quietly.

Wei Wuxian leaned in slightly, his grin widening with obvious delight at Xingchen’s flustered state. “Nope. You’re stuck with it now, Shishu. It’s already been sealed by the heavens. There’s no escaping the bonds of cultivation seniority.”

Xiao Xingchen gave him a withering look, though the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying the smile he was trying to suppress. “The heavens are cruel.”

Wei Wuxian threw his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Truly, but they have a great sense of humour.”

Baoshan Sanren, who had been watching them with an amused gleam in her eyes, added dryly, “You two are going to cause so much trouble together, aren’t you?”

Wei Wuxian didn’t miss a beat. “Trouble? Us? Shifu, I’m a model of restraint and decorum.”

“Liar,” Xiao Xingchen muttered, earning himself a wink from Wei Wuxian.

“Think of it this way,” Wei Wuxian said, patting Xingchen on the shoulder with mock sympathy, “you’ve just gained a very charming, endlessly wise, and slightly unhinged martial nephew. That’s a gift.”

Xingchen squinted at him. “I think you misspelled ‘chaotic.’”

“I’ll take it.”

They both smiled now, the tension of everything that had happened softening for a moment in the warm light of their banter.

“Rest now,” Baoshan Sanren said with a fond smile. “The world will still be there in the morning. And it’s better faced after some sleep.”

Wei Wuxian sighed and lay back, glancing between his new shishu and his master’s curious, watchful eyes. “Alright. But just know—when I introduce you to my kids, I’m absolutely telling them to call you Uncle Xingchen.”

The groan that followed was so heartfelt, even Baoshan couldn’t help but laugh, then  rose  quietly "I will go bring something light for you to eat" she said as she left. 

Wei Wuxian watched Xiao Xingchen out of the corner of his eye as the younger man quietly tidied up the space around the infirmary bed—methodical, gentle, unaware of the weight of fate resting just on the edge of his path.

His heart ached with the knowledge of all the pain Xiao Xingchen had endured in another life. A life where innocence met cruelty, trust met betrayal, and love… love was lost too tragically, too soon.

Not this time.

Not in this life.

This time, Xiao Xingchen would not walk blindly into darkness. This time, Wei Wuxian would be the light at his side until the right hand could reach out and take his again.

He smiled softly to himself, full of hope.

Song Lan… wherever you are, come find him. You’re meant to.

Some souls, he had learned, were simply fated. Twisted by time, torn by tragedy, but always, always drawn together again.

And he would make sure nothing—no poison, no lies, no schemes—would keep them apart this time.

“Xiao Xingchen,” he said gently.

The young man looked up, curious.

“You have a bright future. Guard your heart, but don’t be afraid to share it. The people meant to love you… will find their way back to you.”

Xingchen tilted his head, puzzled but touched by the earnest tone. “That’s… very poetic, nephew.”

Wei Wuxian snorted. “Get used to it. I’m full of unsolicited wisdom.”

He turned to the window, where evening light began began to die and made a silent vow to whatever heavens might still be listening—

This time, let the story end differently.

Chapter Text

Now fully recovered and free of poison, Wei Wuxian stood outside the infirmary. Nestled among trees and lush greenery, smaller buildings were scattered throughout the grounds, connected by winding stone-paved paths that lent the place the charm of a quiet village.

The early light bathed everything in a golden hue, while a delicate mist rose from the ground in the cool morning air. The crispness in the breeze, just shy of cold, reminded him a little of the Cloud Recesses.

In the distance, two older men stood with Baoshan Sanren, who seemed to be giving them instructions. One of them glanced at Wei Wuxian with mild curiosity, while the other continued conversing with the immortal. It appeared Baoshan Sanren did not live alone on her mountain after all.

After a moment, the two men bowed respectfully and took their leave. The immortal then turned and approached him with a gentle smile.

"I do not live alone on this mountain," she said, echoing his earlier thoughts. "Some of my disciples have remained with me to help care for the little ones."

"How many disciples live here?" he asked, looking around with curiosity.

"Not many," she replied. "I haven't ventured outside in quite some time. Xingcheng is the youngest among them. I think I will take this opportunity to travel a bit, see what has changed in the cultivation world—and perhaps find a few new young ones. I do miss having them around."

"How often do you leave the mountain?" he asked.

"It depends," she replied, a distant look in her eyes. "Sometimes decades pass, sometimes only a few years. When I first settled here, I didn’t leave the mountain for over half a century."

She let out a deep, weary sigh. "Immortality is both a blessing and a curse. Loneliness is a hard thing to overcome, and I was never one to seek solitude. Those decades wore me down. After a while, you begin to lose touch with your humanity."

Her gaze softened with the weight of memory. "That was when I left my seclusion for the first time. But the world is no place for an immortal—it always seeks to twist power into ambition. They tried to use me to gain more power and prestige, so I returned here once more. But not alone."

A faint smile touched her lips. "I found two small, abandoned children. I brought them back with me. They gave me purpose again... kept me anchored in reality."

"Ever since then, I’ve made it a habit to take in unfortunate children and raise them." she said softly. "It makes the long years easier to bear. Even if most of them eventually leave, some choose to stay."

She offered him a warm smile. "No one is meant to live alone—not even an immortal. It’s hard to let them go sometimes, but it’s still better than enduring loneliness."

Wei Wuxian glanced at her, a bit sheepish. There was a question on his mind, but he hesitated, not wanting to seem rude.

"Go ahead, ask," Baoshan Sanren said with a teasing smile. "I can see it written all over your face."

He chuckled and shrugged. "Alright then—how old are you, exactly?"

Baoshan Sanren burst into a hearty laugh before answering. "To be honest, I don’t really know anymore. One tends to lose track of time after a while. But I’m older than all the cultivation clans. In my day, there were no sects or great houses—just solitary masters taking on disciples as they pleased."

She paused, the faint trace of nostalgia in her eyes. "My own master was a stern and rather unpleasant man, but wise in the ways of cultivation. I left him as soon as I felt there was nothing more I could learn."

"How did you know when you'd become immortal?" he asked, captivated by her story and how freely she shared it.

Baoshan Sanren regarded him with a thoughtful expression. "You’re close, you know. For your age, it’s remarkable—though not unheard of. Few reach that threshold but even fewer cross it. I believe you will. When? That remains to be seen. But when it happens..." She smiled faintly. "You’ll know."

Wei Wuxian wanted to press for more but decided against. Close? The idea stirred something uncertain in him—half awe, half apprehension. Immortality was the goal of every cultivator, he had tought of it many times but he never made it a life goal; he had always lived too fast, burned too bright. Was Lan Zhan close to? Most likely, yes, he was. But now, standing here in the serene quiet of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, he found himself wondering what it would be like to live through centuries… to witness the rise and fall of entire eras.

He looked at her, this ageless woman who seemed equal parts myth and memory, and asked softly, “Is it worth it?”

Baoshan Sanren didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked out over the mist-laced forest below, the wind gently tugging at the edges of her robes.

“It depends on how you live it,” she said at last. “Immortality can be a long, empty road if walked alone. But if you fill it with purpose, with people you care for, memories worth keeping… then yes. It can be worth it.”

Wei Wuxian nodded slowly, the words sinking deep. He thought of his past—of people he’d lost, people he’d protected, of burdens carried and joy stolen in fleeting moments.

For now, though, he was just grateful to be standing here, alive, breathing the clean morning air.

After sharing a hearty breakfast with Xiao Xingchen and the immortal , they began their descent down the mountain. The narrow, winding path wove through thick trees and pockets of mist, until they reached two tall stone totems etched with ancient sigils. With a graceful flick of her hand, Baoshan Sanren caused several of the carvings to glow faintly. A soft light surrounded the stones, and without hesitation, she stepped between them—and vanished.

Wei Wuxian glanced at Xiao Xingchen, who gave him an encouraging smile before following his master through the stones.

Taking a breath, Wei Wuxian stepped forward—and the world shifted.

The light was different here, softer and warmer. The air carried unfamiliar scents: wildflowers, tilled earth, and distant hearth smoke. Rolling hills stretched out in every direction, and nestled in a low valley was a quiet village. He turned, expecting to see the stone totems—but behind him was nothing but a simple dirt path, winding back into the trees.

“We’re not on the mountain anymore,” he said, scanning the landscape.

“No, we’re far from it,” Baoshan Sanren replied as she began walking toward the village.

“That was some sort of transportation gate, wasn’t it?” he asked, quickly catching up to her.

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Once you pass through, you can’t return the same way—at least, not without my permission.”

“Does it always open here?”